August 8th, 2002



I’ve noticed I’ve been writing a lot about work lately. I guess if the past couple of weeks were like our first date, I’d be the annoying guy who spends the whole dinner talking about his job. But if you were expecting an apology from me, forget it; because as my mom and girlfriend tell me, I’m one stubborn bastard. And besides, I’m paying for your dinner, so you have no choice but to sit there and listen.

Besides the fact that work has intensified a bit, my life outside of work has been relatively mellow. No K-town. No Grey Goose. No shaved goats. It’s primarily for two reasons: My primary social connections have all been out of town, and my ass is partied out. Normally this hits me around September, but now that I’m 85 years old, I no longer have the stamina to make it to the fading edges of summer. It’s like the fun, crazy part of me just quit and left to start his own band. (Hmm, this line might actually work for an ad I’m working on. Yeah I just brought up work again. Shaddup.)

So what have I done in the past seven days? Well, I did see two movies: "Austin Powers in Goldmember" and "Signs."

"Goldmember" had its rare moments, but the bulk of it catered to 13-year-olds who still haven’t realized that dipping a sleeping friend’s hand in warm water doesn’t work. It’s not til your first year of college that you realize that the best way to make a buddy piss his pants in his sleep is, oh, about eighteen beers.

"Signs" was okay, because M. Night Shama-lamma-ding-dong (Although I don’t know what the hell he was thinking when he cast himself as the veterinarian.) has this gift of creating chilling suspense and the anticipation of something truly ominous. The problem was all that suspense and anticipation was for nothing, because the ending was a piece of shit. "Snow Dogs" had a more spine-tingling finale. If you haven’t seen "Signs" yet, my advice is to skip the last ten minutes and then sneak into "Blue Crush."

I also found a cute little restaurant in Santa Monica called Chez Mimi. I’d been meaning to go there for about a year, but didn’t get around to it ‘til now. Great place for a date, except for the part where you’re the only couple in there under the age of 50.

After that was a going-away party for two of our friends, who were among the first to get married, and the first to have a kid. At times it occurs to me that although we’re in the same room, we’re existing in completely different worlds. I know there’s a remote possibility that I’ll have to enter their world some day, but I’m not sure I’m suited for life on that planet. I’ll probably suffocate because of the heavier atmosphere or find the gravitational pull oppressive. Then it’s back to Happy Bachelor Planet.

So back to the departing couple+kid. They were moving to Phoenix so that the husband could share a practice with his dad, a successful orthopedic surgeon. I don’t know if I could ever work with my dad. For one thing, I know he’ll be underpaying me…

ME: Uh dad, about my paycheck.

DAD: What about it son?

ME: It’s a bit meager. It’s 50 cents more than what you paid me in high school for mowing the lawn.

DAD: Well that’s because I took the standard G.Y.L.A.R.Y.U.A. deduction from your pay.

ME: The GYLA … what? What the heck is that?

DAD: Giving You Life And Raising Your Ungrateful Ass.