Finally, a few words about England...

The wife and I recently returned from a must needed and well deserved “extended vacation” in Europe. I put quotes around that phrase because after five years of marriage we’ve learned that “extended vacation” actually means “visiting relatives on holidays.” You can imagine this tragic definition caused considerable laughter between us once we learned that the Brits call all vacations “holidays.”

While I’ll spare you any long-winded details of our trip, a couple of moments drew such rare inspiration that not mentioning them seems criminal. We spent a remarkable night on the grounds of Canterbury Cathedral surrounded by beauty and history I never imagined beyond reading Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales” and T.S. Eliot’s “Murder in the Cathedral.” The gothic structure’s brown, aged walls are adorned with weatherworn statues of saints and martyrs and seem to reach up from ground as if to support the sky. Because we stayed on grounds, we were able to walk around the World Heritage site at night, those same walls lit only by the blue shading of moonlight.

Inside, the Cathedral became a living, breathing animal. Tourists and clergy moved about, inspecting rows of monuments, the enormous architecture and the sheer awe of a structure that has drawn pilgrimages to the site since medieval times. While I never claim to be the most ardent Christian, I was close to tears as I walked along the deep grooves worn into marble floor by ages and ages of pilgrims. And the stained glass, dancing by sunlight, filled the dark and amazing space with small touches of color and a sense that much-higher presence surrounded those gathered.

That night we attended a candlelit choral concert inside the cavernous chamber. Again I fought back tears as voices filled in the perfect acoustics of the holy structure. The emotions rendered that night, still linger.

Another moment I hope will always remain at easy recollection belongs to the Tate Modern, London’s newest art gallery. While I could spend several hours recalling the amount of precious art Sarah and I studied there (as well as at the National Gallery), one room brought me an incredible sense of harmony.

In the 1950s Mark Rothko was commissioned to paint a series of murals for the Four Seasons restaurant in New York City. The owners hoped that the color and brightness seen in his earlier work would be the perfect companion to their restaurant’s atmosphere. However, upon finishing the canvases, Rothko dropped out of the commission because the darker mood of the piece seemed unsuitable for the restaurant setting. The work now lives in a smallish room at the Tate that is surrounded by other pieces of his art, as well as several of Jackson Pollock’s better know pieces.

Once inside, enormous, dark canvases become the small room. With your back to the door, you are washed in what seems like such simple strokes, but by lingering longer, the deep complexity of the work presses into you. At first you feel a sense of claustrophobia, the type of anxiety that felt when embarking upon near-impossible tasks, but moments later the room transforms from tight space to infinite openness. Thinking back, the time I spent soaking in the canvases of maroon, dark red and black closely match the religious experience felt on our trip to Canterbury.

New Deserted Cartoon...

I'm back from London (more on that later). But big news is buddy Rob has a new Deserted cartoon. Brush up on your Shakespeare.

Friday, the day after the 12th ...

So I remember the sleepover I had for a birthday "party" many, many years ago. I couldn't have been more than 10. Four friends from the neighborhood and I snuck in late viewings of HBO while wrapped in our sleeping bags on the hardwood floor of my parents' living room in the "Jewel of the Forest," Jasper, Texas. The original "Friday the 13th was the last of several movies we watched that evening, and it was the one movie that gave me nightmares for months. Watching it now, it's slightly less scary than then. Actually, at times, it's a little bit funny. But those few sleepless nights, where I couldn't sleep because I swore I kept hearing in the "chh-chh-chh-chh-haa-haa" sound of the background music, continue to haunt me to this day ... well, sort of.

Happy Friday the 13.

This time you ride in the side car...

What a night. Tiny beer night at Tied House with friends (where the wife admitted her love for Christina Aguilera — yeooch). Then a lovely walk downtown before heading home. And now a late, sleepless night watching — grab your grease-paint mustaches — The Marx Bros.'s Duck Soup (one of my favorite movies that was not listed here in an earlier posting) and then listening to The Decemberists newest album "The Crane Wife*."

*Maggie, listen up.

Sharks patrol these waters ...

err ... this ICE.

Saturday the wife and I walked down to HP Pavilion, home of the NHL's San Jose Sharks, for the second home game of the season (against BC's favorite team nonetheless - the NY Islanders). It was Sarah's first-ever professional hockey game and just my second. Our seats ( you can see the view above ) were about as nose-bleed as you can get. But the action, even from what seemed like a county over, was quick and exciting. At least the action was quick and exciting for most of us. Sarah, a little impatient at 13 minutes and 58 seconds in the first period, said "Would somebody score already?!" And like magic, seven seconds later, the Sharks did. The season-ticket holders that were making fun of her just seconds earlier, invited her (and her Mojo) back to any home game in the near future.

Sharks win. Fun stuff.

This will be short...

but not as short as it could have been. I'm 32. Celebrated my birthday with slight fanfare. A quiet walk on the sand by the powerful Pacific Ocean as the sun set over the water. Later a drunken party at Tim's during which I couldn't even hold my own (with age comes less tolerance, I'm learning). And today, a quiet afternoon running errands with the wife.

Some may call that less than spectacular. For me being here today is the most spectacular event since my birth.

The great heat wave of 2006…

Well, to say it’s been hot here in Northern California would be, as they say in the business, a slight understatement. We’ve had a record breaking 10-days straight of plus-90 degree temperatures in the South Bay. After living in North Carolina and growing up in Texas this seemed a bit tame at first, but after persisting and then wilting through the period sans air conditioner, I learned quickly what the word “sweltering” truly meant.

Oh, the wife and I were brave at first. Upon arriving at our new home we pledged to be true Bay Area-ians and refrained from the useless purchase of an ac unit for the new house. All along we were told “you’ll have two bad weeks of temps around 90, but the rest of the year you’ll be comfortable without having to fall back on any technology superior than a ceiling fan or two.” So we easily bought into it. We fell in love with the house we are in now — ac or not. But then day four of ten...

I hadn’t slept well (surprise there) for those four days. The wife was suffering from a horrendous summer cold and I was waking before 6 a.m. every morning drenched in a hot sweat. We both were becoming more and more cranky as the hot days passed and Bob the Cat was becoming more like Bob the Slug.

It was a Friday morning and I had tried every conceivable combination of open windows, open doors and floor fan placement trying to get a breeze into the bedroom to no avail. After moving outside onto one of the patio chairs for an hour to cool off, I managed to not only watch the sun rise, but also the temperature rise. The air outside quickly went from 85-ish to more like 90-ish. The breeze, gentle earlier on, died completely. I found myself sticking to the patio chair in a way that made me think of old Warner Bros. characters who pulled themselves like Velcro off of hot items. Hot became hot. On top of that, a new beast began to invade Northern California: humidity.

So that night after work, I drove over to our friendly neighborhood Fry’s Electronics to price portable air conditioners. When I first arrived there were about 75 units waiting in the front aisles, calling out to every shopper, “buy me … I’ll make you cooooooollller.” People flocked to them in a type of hypnotic trance.

My trance was broken by sticker shock — $399 for the cheapest version — and the fact that they were mostly manufactured by a company I’d never heard of. So, I rushed outside to call the wife and report that by the great power of supply and demand, prices had skyrocketed (in a moment of weakness earlier this summer we had priced them online and found them for just under $200). After twenty minutes of haggling with the wife, we decided that the purchase was necessary for our sanity. So I went back in. The 75 units were now down to a mere 30. Yes, they were selling like hotcakes.

However, I was unafraid. I turned to a salesman who knew nothing about anything and started asking questions. He gave me a brochure and tried to read to me what was on the side of the box as if it were written in a language I didn’t understand. I told him I could indeed read English and asked if he could provide any additional information. He could not. Twenty minutes later there were only 20 units left. I freaked. People were grabbing two at a time. It was as if air conditioners were the hottest new toy at Christmastime.

So I ran to the front of the store, procured a shopping cart, raced back to the aisle of cool and grabbed one of the cheapest brands left. I then made for the front counter where a line of hundreds snaked through in rows that reminded me of the wait you see at the hottest roller coaster at Six Flags. Forty-five minutes later, I made the $400 purchase and began to push out to the car. Looking back I saw only two units left on the floor. In an hour and a half, Frys had moved 73 units. In case you’re doing the math — and you should because I can’t (turn to the calculator) — that’s $30,000 if you say they were all the cheap ones. And they weren’t. The most expensive one was $699.

So tonight it finally began to cool off. Tonight we decided to open the windows and try to live in our entire house and not just the air-conditioned back bedroom. So far, so good. There is a nice sea breeze blowing and I’m not “Sweating to the Oldies” like Richard Simmons. All in all, it was $400 for five good nights of sleep. That’s $80 a night. A good investment if you ask me. A couple of friends have spent money on hotels. Some might call that smart, not investing too much in an expensive unit. But I hear there’s another heat wave coming next week. This time, we’ll be prepared.

Shows this summer ...

There was Cochella of course, much earlier this year, where I saw Franz Ferdinand (the best at the festival), the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (a very close second), My Morning Jacket, Gnarls Barkley (quickly becoming a favorite), Kayne West and so many more that I can't remember. Of course there was also Madonna, who we didn't actually see, but heard during our last night escape to the parking lot. I can't say she sounded very good at al, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt since we were quite a bit away from her packed tent. The trip, with buddies Tim and Denis was incredible. I'll try to blog about it soon.

But my update tonight is about the shows coming up. This week will be fun. Tuesday it's Sonic Youth and Pearl Jam with newly anointed Californians Chris and Tiffany (friends who just moved here from Charlotte) and Sunday it will be the Raconteurs, Jack White's side band, with Tim, Kevin, Leslie and the wife.

Then for the birthday celebrations surrounding my all-important 32nd birthday (which also includes my inaugural trip to Vegas) will be one of my new favorite bands: Dirty Pretty Things. Stay tuned for updates!

To what do we owe this? …

I’ve been thinking a lot lately of our places here on Earth and what causes us to be who we are. Nothing has brought these thoughts to me more convincingly than an email I received tonight from an old college roommate.

Keith was a stanch democrat and at the time of our cohabitation, a real intellect who questioned everything from rock and roll music to the existence of God. He was a great mind who worked for me at the college paper as a political columnist and assistant editor. During our time at East Texas State, he wrote convincingly about why the president of the student body should step down after a “scandal” that led to several members of the schools fraternities being sworn in as student congress members without a general election. I can’t tell you how much fun it was working late nights on stories that we thought were crucial to due process and balance of power.

But beyond that, we had a great personal relationship. He was always there to talk through problems and politics, usually with a smoke in hand, our common bouts of insomnia and almost always Pink Floyd playing in the background. Funny that he chose to email me an update on his life the same week that former Floyd front man Syd Barrett died.

Anyway, Keith’s email started by telling me that he had surprisingly changed his party affiliation to Republican. I was shocked at first, but then my understanding of small town Texas afforded me a tiny bit of understanding into why this type of thing happens. Texas has become a pretty conservative place in the past few years thanks to the man in the White House. Gone are the days of LBJ and ideals that flush mostly left. Keith has returned to our hometown of Paris, Texas and is expecting his second (and as he says probably last) child in October. He is married to his high-school sweetheart. He is making ends meet working as a manager of a shoe store. Some would call that the simple life, but it makes sense for someone who has found the ground wire in his life, even if he now leans more to the right.

Keith also talked about his involvement with a church. Something I’ve been thinking as of late is an important part of life. I was a little shocked that the same person that used to question God’s existence, now was a very active member in a church. That type of change has been written about in books and has been passed down in stories so many times that it seems cliché, but knowing Keith as I do, I realize and will pass to you that is could be nothing short of sincere on his part.

Faith is an important part of life. Whether it is a false comfort as so many poets have reported or the dire need for sense of place on this planet, to each his own. You have to have faith to live. Happiness is knowing you are here for a reason.

Of course my mind plays tricks on me in so many ways, but tonight it seems to push further towards the question of “why am I here.” Keith helped me answer that a little tonight. Knowing that people from your past that you had important relationships with, who years later want to know how you’re doing so much that they spend the time tracking you down, just to send you an update through email is very flattering. It means that somewhere in time I meant enough to someone that they’d say howdy even years later. I’ve always felt like I have taken these things for granted. I’m learning that when it comes to friendship, you can’t do that.

Life’s too short.

Thoughts of mortality… eventually

He is one of this place’s good people — a figure of strength and stability in a world of constant change. Most people, including those who have had coffee with him every morning for decades at the local coffee shop, know him as Charlie. I know him by just one name: Granddad. He is one of the few people I look to with incredible admiration. He is kind, honest and God-fearing. He is tall, strong and wise. My entire life I’ve seen him be nothing less than giant, larger than life. And as grandsons often do, I saw him as invincible. However, recently I’ve seen him as we all are: mortal.

In recent weeks I’ve seen him in one hospital or another. Fighting heart disease at 79. Where once a strong, tall, powerful man of words and actions stood, I see a weak, struggling old man who knows his next breath could be his last. That knowledge would be devastating to most everyone. But not Charlie. My grandfather has made peace with this world and knows his calling is higher. His faith carries him through and makes him the man I’ve always seen him to be. Even though his body is failing him now, he still has sharp eyes that tell you that he’s ready for life after death. For those of us here in the present who will debate the afterlife for years to come, knowledge that the passing tide could be at hand is a treacherous venture. For Charlie, it’s just the next step; an enviable position that shows confidence and builds character. While suffering the most pain, he is sure of his position. You can’t find that strength anywhere here on Earth.

But no matter when his final breath comes, I know he will live on inside of my brothers and I because he helped mold us into the men we are now: strong, capable and immortal in our thoughts and ideals. We are as tall inside as he is outside. We will always be that because he helped make us this way.

and on that note, my favorite bible verse: "being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6

More to come ...

Please hold. We will return very soon.

Big Rock, Little Rock...

Flight to Little Rock. Check. Room at the Hampton Inn. Check. Mini-fridge full of Shiner Bock and Miller Light. Check. Friends from Charlotte in suite across the hall. Check. No Rain until after the ceremony. Priceless.

Well, Luke got hitched in Little Rock this weekend to a wonderfully beautiful and well-suited mate, Allison. A beautiful time in an interesting place. Sunday the newly weds headed to Aruba and the wife and I headed back to California. It went fast, but the weekend was unforgettable.

The big highlight of the trip? Easy. Luke's face all lit up when he was repeating his vows. But his wonderment was followed closely by the ceremony's awesome finale. As soon as the pastor announced the new couple, James Brown's "I Feel Good" blared from the speakers and the excited couple danced down the aisle with a joy reserved for such occasions. The attendants were brought to their feet with a roar of applause usually reserved for a bottom-of-the-ninth, two-out, tie-breaking home run. Exceptionally entertaining.

Other highlights? The rental car: a brand-spanking-new, red Ford Expedition quickly nicknamed "Clifford the Big Red Dog." I parallel parked the mother on the first try. The six of us quickly nicknamed "The Charlotte Six" rode through the burbs of Little Rock in high style. Another favorite? Our theme song, which we sketched out during many trips from the downtown bars to the hotel: "Little Rock, Little Rock of Horrors" (Of course, to the tune of "Little Shop of Horrors"). There was also the Saturday afternoon screamfest to Boston's "Feel Like Making Love."

And really, love's all the weekend was really about.

Wedding for couple No. 3262338509215000

So the wife and I are headed back southeast this weekend for what could turn out to be the wedding of the year. Our Charlotte pal Luke (or the man behind the LUUK link to the left ) and his gal pal are tying the knot Saturday in Little Rock, ArKANSAS (wife's spelling, not mine). As I look now over our travel schedule, it goes something like this: take American Airlines flight from the Oakland airport, connect in Dallas, take American Airlines shuttle to Little Rock, catch mule-drawn carriage from dirt-packed runway to downtown motor inn. Beware of the locals. Kidding. Jokes. Laugh.

Anyway, in case you're wondering, yes, our friend has decided to get married on April 1, otherwise known to the general public as April Fool's Day. You may think this is "cute" or "interesting" but anyone who knows Luke knows he's bad with dates and this is to keep from any future embarrassment with the future wife. Again, jokes. Seriously though, Luke is a man who is always full of surprises, so I'm guessing there is something slightly sinister afoot. Stay tuned.

And for our non-wedding entertainment there's this advertisement for the city that says: "Learn about the President of the United States or POTUS at the entertaining and family-friendly Clinton Presidential Library and Museum..." POTUS? Have we really come that far as a society that we need an acronym for the freaking presidential office? Kind of PO-dunk to me. But of course with little else to do in Little Rock, we'll be there.

Half Moon Bay...

The wife and I ventured from the warm, dark cavern that is our condo this weekend in order to dip our feet into the breathing wonders of the Pacific Ocean. The largest ocean on the planet rises and falls a mere hour's drive from our home and the ride through the rolling, green hills mesmerized us to the point that few words were spoken during our trip. The ease at which we progressed from hazy skies and overpopulation to sun-drenched heavens and quiet beaches pressed away any weariness the weeks before had amassed. The violence of crashing waves upon an outcropping of rocks nearby calmed us, as did the gawking of white sea birds circling above. Deep sand stung our bare feet, but smoothed in areas where the water recently receded. But there, where the water ebbed and flowed, we cautioned away. Along this stretch of northern California coast, the salty water is freezing and a single touch is enough to permanently chill your core. We laughed as if tickled by this cold, and then rushed to find comfort by burying our feet into the warm sand. We sat for several silent moments on a thick, black rock and allowed the ocean to speak for us. We had come here to offer our tidings and receive the blessings of the ocean. The energy of the waters filled us. The walk at Half Moon Bay made us whole again.

New Deserted Cartoon...

Check out the newest installment of my buddy Rob's web cartoon Deserted on his site (There's also a link to his site in the link bar at left). If you haven't already taken a look at his stuff, you should do that immediately. There are about a half dozen original shorts that will make you smile.

The Raconteurs rock

Been meaning to deliver this not-so-new-anymore-news for some time. (Thanks to my good friend in the know — Tball, who shared the facts months ago. I know blog, smog!). Anyway, here's a link to the new Jack White side project, The Raconteurs, which also features Brendan Benson. The site has two songs and a video for the first single "Steady as She Goes." The song is great. UPDATE: After you enjoy that wonderfully designed site (just love the early-80s-type interface) you can slide over here to listen to BBC DJ Dermot O'Leary Saturday night broadcast featuring a live, in-studio spot from the band. Who says I'm always late with news? Enjoy.

And there was a dance ...

We were younger then. High school prom. She was beautiful even in one of those fluffy Jackie-O pink dresses that's sole purpose was to ensure teenage girls with particularly well-off parents didn't get pregnant after the prom. I was not as well-off, nor did I struggle to make the $80 payment on my basic tuxedo. Of course, the prom picture-taking was frightening. Two of us, dressed better than we would be on any other day save our (separate) wedding days. My arms curved around her waist in the most uncomfortable way, as if my parents were making me hug my sister after some long, drawn-out fight instead of holding on to someone I'd had a crush on for most of my life. But she was just as tense. The smile wrapped gently below her cheeks seemed disingenuous, which was hard to imagine for someone so sweet in all other aspects of life. There we stood, uncomfortably waiting, wrapped in each other's arms, under the sliver of an alumnium-foil-covered, cardboard-cutout moon, as close as we'd ever been, waiting for the photographer to give us one final cue before the flash froze this awkward moment in time.

FLASH

The photo now speaks volumes. The space between us grew as the night progressed. During the photo opportunity, the space measured maybe two inches, max. By the time the night was over, that space measured a lifetime. [ STAY TUNED ]

Something about the people you meet ...

I'm entranced by the novella I'm reading at the moment, "A Month in the Country" by J.L Carr. While there are many reasons to enjoy the feathery read, the story is most inviting due in part to my mental state as of late (and at 135 pages, it's been easy to pick up). The story follows a man close to my age who leaves the loud, manic streets of London to restore a medieval mural found recently at a church in a small English town. Simply written, the book has been a tremendous joy. But the theme of simplicity is what has caused the book to resonate. My life has been pretty loud lately (as if you hadn't noticed by the lack of blogging I've — or we've, if you follow the current theories of my multipersonality — done). Lots of stuff at work, very little time to myself and some family happenings from back home thrown in to the mix. For all the dissonance around me, this book takes me back to how I felt while reading Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises." It's a treasure.

So, there's a passage that reminded me of people that have passed through my life and how at times I've treated them and that got me to thinking that this represents those dealings painfully well. And as much as I like the book, this passage made me hate it just as much.

"I never exchanged a word with the Colonel. He has no significance at all in what happened during my stay in Oxgodby. As far as I'm concerned he might just as well have gone round the corner and died. But that goes for most of us, doesn't it? We look blankly at each other. Here I am, here you are. What are we doing here? What do you suppose it's all about? Let's dream on. Yes, that's my Dad and Mum over there on the piano top. My eldest boy is on the mantelpiece. That cushion cover was embroidered by my cousin Sarah only a month before she passed on. I go to work at eight and come home at five-thirty. When I retire they'll give me a clock— with my name engraved on the back. Now you know all about me. Go away: I've forgotten you already."

We're back and all new-and-improved-like

Ok. So I wasn't going to promise much, but I can't help but say that in the coming weeks you'll be hearing much more from me. Needless to say, my sleeping patterns have cycled back to the insomnia side and I'm quickly growing tired of watching old episodes of Family Guy on Cartoon Network (OK. That's a lie. I'm not really tired of watching Family Guy!, but I'm running out of shows I haven't seen). Anyway, take a look around, you'll notice a new look to the site, another sign that my insomnia has returned. There will be more improvements, more diary-like entries and other stuff that will prove I haven't actually found a remedy to my sleepless nights. Damn seasons. Can't trust them. I mean look at what happened after I moved to the Bay area. For the last two weeks we've gotten freaking snow. We never get snow. Never. Oh well. It's only March. Spring's getting loaded as we speak. So on to a quick update. Since we last spoke I've: Seen Norm McDonald at the Improv. Skied Squaw Valley! at Lake Tahoe (there a story coming on this). Been promoted at work. Driven down Highway 1 from San Francisco to Santa Cruz. Got the news that two of my best friends are getting married (to each other). Gotten addicted to a new gadget (my Blackberry, there's another couple of stories there). Gotten two bad haircuts (and one good one). Saw all but one of the Oscar-nominated Best Picture films (story there). And now written one more blog entry than I have in the last four weeks. So there. Updated. Stay tuned, there's more to come.

Still MIA, but for now, a musical interlude

We here at eInsomnia continue to have some sort of bug in our updating software and have been unable to post solidly for some time. According to the government's recently released statement, the name of the worm that could be causing our system's malfunction is SLEEP. However, as the young, former-Weezer fans in line at the Spoon show would say, this is a quick "shout-out" to inform my loyal readers ( I know of at least TWO - Keep the comments coming! ) that I have in my possession my very own two-day pass to the 2006 Coachella Valley Music Festival!

Come on now. This is serious music muscle. The lineup includes Franz Ferdinand (I'm Your Villian), My Morning Jacket, Daft Punk, Wolf Parade, Tool, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Block Party, Coheed and Cambria, James Blunt, The Magic Numbers and much, much more.

By the way, check out an entire day of last year's show in two-minutes here.