I'm one day early, but the way things tend to unfold, I wanted to get this down on - er - paper...virtual paper...digital paper...ASAP.


What I remember is standing at my parents' front door when I was 5 years old. My mom, I think, was standing next to me in the red, red, RED living room, and I stared out into the night sky and caught a glimpse of a single star. Or maybe it was the moon.

For the purposes of the story, it was a star.

I said aloud:

Star light, star bright
first star I've seen tonight,
I wish I may,
Iwish I might,
have this wish
I wish tonight.

I closed my eyes, and, propped up in the doorframe in my tiger-striped jammies, I wished for a little brother or sister.

This is one of the most vivid memories of my young life.

I pictured playing and tumbling with a younger sibling; shoving eachother down on the grass, inflating the pool and splashing around, playing catch if it was to be a brother, breaking dolls' necks be it a sister. Lo and behold, one year later, I was told that the McGarrys were to be introduced to a new family member: Mom was preggers.

Our Dad recollects waiting for her to go into labor, and as they carted Mom out of her room to deliver the long-awaited babychild, "The Bridge on the River Kwai" played on the television. It was during the pivotal March to the death railway camp scene, and Dad was torn between dashing out to help deliver his 2nd born and watching the brave soldiers march to their certain deaths (a family classic tale that has been spun time and again).

My own memory is being wakened by our grandmother early one morning with the phrase, "It's a girl!" being uttered in a thick Italian dialect. Half-asleep and completely confused, it took a few seconds to sink in, but once it did, I remember being excited to finally meet my little sis, and then realized that sometimes, wishes do come true.

Tomorrow, Renee hits 30 years of age: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EmNay!

Today, on my way out for my first mountain biking adventure in La Tuna Canyon, made possible by the near 85 degree temperatures, in March, no less, I was zipping along the freeway, bright beams of sun baking my left arm as the unseasonably hot desert wind dried out my sinuses, when tiny, white flakes began cascading across my windshield. I checked the rearview and confirmed it: Millions of soft flecks of white were whipping across the 4 lane highway.

It was when I looked at the road ahead of me again and saw chunks of styrofoam, probably fallen from a garbage truck up the road, being smashed to bits by oncoming traffic. Everyone around me was smiling.

For a few, glorious moments, it was snowing in Los Angeles.

Tonight is my 2nd ukulele lesson, held at McCabe's Guitar Shop in Santa Monica. These are my first music lessons since I was in high school, which has given me pause to reflect:

Each and every Friday night, my freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior years, I would either be dropped off or drive myself to the home of Inez Crofts, my 65 year old voice instructor, walk in the rear studio door, which was connected to her greenhouse, and sing warmups for 30 minutes before diving into a half hour's worth of classical voice compositions. I remember the summer twilight as I entered the studio, and the dark, humid Chicago air when I stepped back outside; harsh winter winds hitting my ears like spikes as I'd rush into the greenhouse door, where humidity and heat levels were near-tropical and the blistering cold that greeted me as I dashed to the car.

When Inez' husband of 40+ years passed away, lessons were canceled for a month. When I returned, 16 and unsure how the hell people reacted to losing a spouse of 4 or more decades, I recall walking in her studio door and seeing her lying on the sofa, eyes closed, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. I knocked, crept in, and asked if she was all right. She sat up slowly, wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded; she hugged me, sat down at the piano, and played a lovely, quiet, classical piece, the hot, summer, Chicago air hanging outside as the setting sun sliced through the fogged greenhouse windows.

I learned a lot on Friday nights. More than I ever knew at the time.

As you may or may not know, or perhaps you do or do not care, I am part of an internet nerd-alliance called fark . Unlike most online geeky groups, there is no commonality between members: Flickr has photo geeks, coolrunning has running geeks, and fark...well, we're just geeks.

Tonight is a HUGE fark party at Cat N' Fiddle in Hollywood. Never before has such a large collection of adult virgins been attempted.

And yes, I am a Flickr and Coolrunning member as well.