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Superman, Kryptonite and life in general ...

Everyone seems to have a weakness. There's no way to keep from the occasional fault lying beneath the surface. You can easily be mammoth in stature, but lingering like a whisper is something not quite strong enough to hold. Truth is that is why we exist. Overcoming the things that hold us back makes us stronger.

Who we are becomes what we can overcome. Life is pain, princess.

Go fly a kite ...

So after a long, rough week, the wife and I decided we needed a little get-away so we headed north from San Jose (after a slight detour due to my bad sense of direction) to the white sandy beaches of Half Moon Bay. Along for the ride was our old friend, the good Jolly Roger kite we bought during a camping trip to North Carolina's Outer Banks a couple of years ago. The kite now has the good fortune of being flown on beaches created by both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Arrgghhh! So we flew the kite for an hour or so and buried our feet in the sand for yet another peaceful sunset on a California beach. Helps the weight of the week (and the world) feel a little less heavy.

Say what? ...

"Seen" on Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, N.C.
What happens in Chapel Hill ... stays in Chapel Hill

Tripping out on the way to The Wedding (the Movie!)

Ok. So here I am playing around with iMovie. It's our trip to Chris and Tiffany's wedding. There will be more fun coming. Enjoy.

Tripping out on the way to The Wedding...

Ok. So we're supposed to be close to landing at D/FW airport at this moment.

Obviously The Wife and I aren't.

Instead we're sitting at home watching Game 2 of the Miami-Chicago NBA playoffs. Why you ask?

Take a look at the map (you can click it to make it bigger). The Wife and I are way over there on the left in San Jose. The pre-wedding festivities for our friends Chris and Tiffany (hereby listed as "The Couple" and the festivities listed as "The Wedding") are way over there on the right. In between: scary red boxes.

Those little red boxes were so scary that "The Folks that Make Decisions" at Mineta/San Jose International Airport rescheduled our flight there twice today. After the second delay, Sarah and I decided not to press our luck (the "Folks Behind the Counter" couldn't promise we'd make our connection). So we opted out for a flight early Wednesday morning in hopes of reaching "The Wedding" by early tomorrow evening. We'll see.

But the fun didn't stop at our rescheduling. When we asked about our checked luggage, the "Folks Behind the Counter" said to go to baggage claim, it would be 10 minutes.

It was two hours. Talk about a good start to the trip.

Wish us luck tomorrow. I promise pictures and stuff when we return.

And then there was a dance (Part 2)

Continued from Part 1. Catch up HERE (about half way down page).

FLASH

Her Mom expected her home by possibly noon. My Dad ordered me home by 1:30 a.m. … “And not one second later.” Both parents were serious. Her mother — either generous and very cool or weird and very dumb — lent us the keys to her shiny, new Ford Explorer so I could drive a group of our (her) friends to the nearest big town for a fancy (over-priced) pre-prom dinner. Meanwhile my parents allotted me an extra 30 minutes of curfew and the promise that my father would be sitting at the corner of our street in a lawn chair waiting for me if I missed the allotted time. He was serious. He’d done it before.

I parked my car in front of her large, beautiful home, paused for a moment, started to hyperventilate, caught my breath and then quickly made for her front door. Once there I paused for a moment, started to hyperventilate, caught my breath, looked at the slight reflection of myself in the door’s glass and then knocked gently on the pane. My heart was beating so fast I felt as though I would hurl on my black tuxedo. However, stomach acid would have clashed horribly with the cummerbund that matched the royal pinkness of her dress. Earlier my brother had joked that pink was for sissies. I agreed whole-heartedly, but didn’t remark back. I’d seen worse. My best friend was wearing some teal-purple vest under his jacket that with the addition of just the slightest bit of electric current, would have lit him up like the Las Vegas Strip.

Her mother came to the door with a smile on her face and a kind word or two about my monkey suit. I felt like a fraud, a child in my father’s clothes as she led me from a foyer filled with nice family portraits to a living room filled with very original art. The mother calmed my nerves slightly by saying her daughter was “still getting ready, but should be right down. Why don’t you sit?” So I planted carefully on the couch, trying desperately not to wrinkle my pants. Soon we were chatting about how wonderful fleeting moments like these were in life and how happy she was that her daughter had picked me to escort her to one of the most memorable nights of her life. I think she was quoting a poem of some kind, when the daughter appeared at the top of the stairs.

She was incredible. At that point in my young life I’d seen no one more beautiful. Still to this day, only two other moments have taken my breath completely away. But this was my first. She smiled, her long, dark hair pulled behind her head in a way that accentuated her always striking smile. Her makeup was that of a seventeen-year-old girl trying to look 25, but slightly beneath the foundation, the energy that always consumed her face shone through like a bright light. I struggled to cough, as my throat grew dry. I could not take my eyes away as she nearly floated down the stairs.

I was still staring, in a trance, when her mother spoke. She spoke again. The third time my trance was broken, because she raised her voice in an impatient way and asked the question: “Well … don’t you think she’s beautiful?”

I did. And to this day I still occasionally play this moment over in my head. I could have gone in so many different directions. However, my brain was truly paralyzed by the beauty before me. I reached and reached, searched and searched and tried desperately to clear the dryness from my throat. Then, after rubbing my neck with my hand, and then running it up my cheek and through my hair Christian-Slater style, I said the most offensive comment I could have conjured.

“She looks … very … nice.”

The breath the Mother took in sucked the life out of the daughter. Beautiful's eyes dropped for a second and the smile that beamed so bright turned down ever so slightly for just a touch of a moment. Then being the sweet, enduring person she always had been, her face lit back up and she said, “You look great.”

But I felt like ass.

FLASH [ stay tuned ]

We're coming back real soon...

So what's a blogger to do when he doesn't blog? I guess I should stop playing so much on Second Life and get going in real life.
Seriously. Anyway. Stay tuned. There are many more stories to tell. Much more to write. The internet is nothing without information. Right?
So, stay tuned.

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.