Get Off All The Lawns!

Dreamt we had better clothes.

It was 1989, it was the first time I recall hearing it. The two Coreys were walking across Jason Robards' lawn in "Dream A Little Dream" and he yells at them to "Stay off the grass!"

Apparently, it was a bad thing, too much treading on the grass would kill the grass, and this man took pride in his lawn. I always thought it was kind of silly, it's grass. It grows back, right? There was obviously a lot I didn't know about gardening, but I was missing the point. Staying off someone's lawn became a euphemism for old folks yelling at kids. The thing is, it didn't favor the ones saying it, it was the younger generation mocking the older one. They turned it on them, and ridiculed them for saying it. It means, "Hey old man, you're no longer with it, cause you're old and are disconnected with what the 'cool' people are into!" But old people had one last weapon in their arsenal. One that the younger generation had no defense for other than their ignorance.

"Kids these days.."

And no matter how you ended that statement, it was true. Whatever you have to say about "kids these days" it's more than likely true. "Kids these days listen to crap!" "Kids these days wouldn't know a good game if it came up and slapped them across the face with a joystick!" "Kids these days have shit cartoons!" All true. Our generation had the coolest stuff ever! But we forget one very important aspect about us when we were their age. Our old folks were saying the same thing about us. And guess what? It was true!

Now this paradox might not be a surprise to some of you, and the younger generation might consider this as some kind of vindication for them and "woot" it up, as no one says.

Hey, look! A blog reader! That's an endangered species!

Truth is, your ridicule is well deserved. Not just because you're young, but because it keeps  you grounded. Your youth leads you to believe you know everything. Don't act like you don't or pretend otherwise; it's true. You take the advice of your elders with a huge grain of rock candy and dismiss it as blathering fodder of a generation that no longer has any connection with what's happening in the world.

A world that they built, a world that they setup for you, and that you have the audacity to claim it for yourself with little to no care or caution of what lies ahead. And we can't hit you, cause hitting someone for being stupid is pretty stupid. So we do the next best thing. We make fun. What better way to get under your skin than to mock the utter bullshit that you cling onto as the new mecca of what's to come.

And bullshit it is, kids. As it was bullshit in my time, it's bullshit in your time too. You have the worst taste in clothes, you have no regard for tech, your music comes from regurgitated nonsense that was created on a computer, run through a filter, and rhythmically setup to fuck you in your head to the point you become numb to it and just take it as music. And your movies?

THAT'S A FUCKING VAMPIRE!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Is this your fault? Not one bit. In fact. this is actually the fault of the generations before you. See, as much as there are those who try to steer you toward the good stuff, there are way more assholes out there that would prefer to profit on your ignorance, cause ignorance is not only bliss but it's really easy to bundle up in something shiny, put a couple of sparkles on it, and proclaim, "I am one of you! We're different, but that makes us better! Buy my shit!"

Blissfully Ignorant.

How do we combat this? Tough love. Sure, we could try to coddle you, but what fun would that be? Besides, that's what your parents are for, we are not they. We're just here to get you off our lawns.

We're not this bad.

But are we all noble hearted do-gooders just looking out for you? Of course not. Yes, our curmudgeonry stems from a place where we see what you do and are confounded by why the hell you would do or like that shit, when there's so much better shit out there. But it also comes from a place of fear. No one likes the world around them to tilt toward the unknown. It's cold and we're pretty sure there are wolves after us.

I will hate dubstep music, you can go ahead and play the one or two songs that are decent but I'll always consider the genre nothing more than what it must sound like when Transformers masturbate.

I will continue to believe that there's no difference between Fun., Deathcab For Cutie, The Format, and Vampire Weekend (If this is dated and none of those indie pop bands are around, then consider yourself fortunate).

But for every piece of shit rap song that gets airplay nowadays, there's an Eminem. Cream does rise, talent does shine. And I know this is two years in advanced, but I'm pretty sure the new Star Wars films will surpass the Original Trilogy (fanboys really need to get over it). Change is a multi-edged D&D die. With every roll, you will eventually hit that +Awesome roll that lets you win the game (there's no such roll, I'm stating this so no one else does). In the meantime, we have to dodge the heaping piles of dung that is being catered to you and that for the life of us, we can't understand why you're asking for seconds.

Just know we'll mock you for it, as we were mocked for ours. For your good, for our good, for the good to come when your child laughs at you when you can't figure out how to put on your self-lacing shoes. Just do us a favor, stay off the lawn while you're do it? It's the reason why we built the fucking path!

This Ain't Your Daddy's Joke.

A Timeless Beauty

I have watched "Breakfast At Tiffany's" a total of three times in my life. The first time was when I was a kid, it was one of those movies that I happened to see when someone else was watching it. I paid it no mind, I dismissed it because it lacked Transformers.

The second time I watched it was in film school. Visually, it's a beautiful film. Blake Edwards captures some really stunning moments, Audrey Hepburn... Well... Come on... Look at her! This woman spews elegance, not just in her looks, but she had talent galore. And it was a movie about a writer, I'm a sucker for movies about writers. The story deals with the complexity of a woman and the man who falls for her. At the time, it was a bold film, in a society where women were just pretty things to look at, everyone misjudged Holly Golightly (great name) as that, but she was so much more.

The only thing is, this second time around, there was no way to not notice Mickey Rooney's blatantly racist portrayal of a Japanese photographer, Mr. Yunioshi. With films done so long ago, you pretty much had to excuse it for its backwards portrayal of ethnic characters. At least, that's what I used to think.

You should've protested harder

I recently watched this movie again, and I honestly cringed watching Rooney's scenes. Mind you, everyone has since apologized for this stereotypical portrayal of a Japanese man, and Rooney has said that if he knew everyone was going to react like this years later, he wouldn't have done it.

...Wait, what? So you're saying because no one you knew was offended back then, you were okay with it, but now that you find out people can't stomach it, you're like, "Well I wish I could go back and change it."

I seriously think Mickey meant no harm, but harm is the only thing you can derive from this. Sure, people laughed at it. Hell, a lot of people laugh at it today. The stereotype is so old that folks have become blasé about it and have dismissed it as an easy joke. The thing is, the joke has changed. Not necessarily the premise, but the punchline sure has. It's either self-deprecating, or part of a larger joke, or so over-the-top that you can't take it seriously.

But what happens when the person telling the joke is serious, what's it like when you try to pull A "Breakfast At Tiffany's" and you turn to the audience and say, "What? This is how they act!"?

In a movie where race poking wasn't the focus, "Breakfast At Tiffany's" couldn't be done today, at least not the exact same way. Because all you would see is the really fucked up racism, and you'd miss the story that they were trying to tell.

The old joke doesn't stand today, because the audience is not the same.

Imagine you're watching Saturday Night Live today (mind you it may not be Saturday when you read this, so bear with me), and Seth Meyers is sitting across Kenan Thompson in a skit about a job interview. And out of Seth's mouth you hear, "Negro, Tarbaby, Colored, Spearchucker, Jungle bunny, Spade" and finally, "Nigger".

This happened, but in a different time.

This skit happened, but at the time, it was bold. It was taking social inequities and putting it out on the table to make you see that shit ain't right. And it worked.

Now let's go back to Seth and Kenan's interpretation of this skit. Will the joke play out today?

Can Seth Meyers get away with saying "nigger" to Kenan?

Not in the same context, and therefore there's no way it can happen in the same skit. They were able to do it once, but society, for as much as we are ridiculously slow to make real change, has done so, ever-so-slightly. And that slight change has brought about growth. Not saying that racial humor doesn't exist, but we've seen a White man call a Black man a nigger in jest. We're ready to move on.

Comedy is a fickle beast. What makes one person laugh will offend someone else, no matter how unambiguous it is.

In "The Avengers" Thor tells the other Avengers to take care how they speak about his brother. When told that he's killed eighty people, Thor pauses for a moment and retorts, "He's adopted?"

Of course adopted children are all bad, that's what I meant.

Sure enough, umbrage was taken. And a small group of people assumed that the filmmakers were implying that adopted children are evil. Clear evidence that you can't please everyone.

When it comes to comedy I take the stance that it's either all fair game, or none of it is. We should have the right to make a joke about anything no matter how sensitive. Laughter is a great way to deal with the savagery of the human race. It's funny to me to think that a horsefly is the result of a sexual faux pas between a fly and a horse. But do I want to see a horse try to fuck a fly? I'm going to say no, just incase there's someone out there that believes I would.

This past week, a lot of bad shit happened. Two assholes bombed the Boston Marathon in a cowardly act of terrorism. One was caught, one what killed. When they were on the run, many people flocked to Twitter to keep up with the news, but also, and more importantly, be at each other's side. And there were jokes. Jokes about the lack of real news from CNN, jokes about how you should never fuck with Boston, jokes about the moronic dickhead who hid in a boat.

A lot of people thought that they were making light of a horrific situation. A lot of those people were safe in their houses, far away from everything, and probably the jackasses who started posting about how they bet the liberals in Boston wish they had guns, now.

Take one of these and in a really small dose.

Truth is, laughter is a great medicine. In really tough times, it reminds us we're alive. It helps us through the grief, it reminds us that there's still hope that we will feel better, again.

Problem is, EVERYONE thinks that they're the funniest fuck from Fuckington University, and they got their degree online, on their own time.

Take that, and half remembered jokes they heard their parents tell, plus whatever show they happened to gleam as they were channel surfing, and you have the recipe for some really bad jokes, some really bad timing, and the lack of judgment to tell the difference when and when not to open their maw.

Winston Churchill once said,

"A joke is a very serious thing."

Truer words...

Laughter is a weapon, a tool, a cure, an ice breaker, and a motivator. In the right hands, used for good, and oh what good it can do. In the wrong hands, it can be mean and vile. Full of hate and hurt.

And in the bumbling hands of someone who means no harm but takes no account into how it affects people, and doesn't seem to care? Well, you get this.

I'm a nice guy, bitches!

Kill your heroes.

Up, Up, and Away!

You remember that time when you were a kid, the time where the world was ruled by titans? Mine was Superman. There was no light that shone brighter than the S on that shield. He was everything that was good in the world, incorruptible, fought for what was right. Stood for truth, justice, and the American way. As the years progressed, my heroes had to fit my interests. But Superman was always there. He was the guy I pretended to be as a kid, he was the guy that made me believe that you have to protect the little guy, he was in every sense of the word; a super man.

And then they killed him.

My brain couldn't fathom this. How can you kill off Superman? Let alone without even using kryptonite? This is where I learned that how I feel about a hero is not how others see him.

This was important.

Seriously?

Superman came back, but his shield was tarnished, he seemed diminished in stature. Also they did this whole Red and Blue nonsense and had about fifty dopplegangers running about.

It seemed like it was time to move on. It was time to try the heroes that influence me on a personal level. Bruce Lee became my guide through my high school years. His ability to do what he set his mind out to do, to overcome any obstacle in his way, to do what he did best, and to do it better than anyone else. Well, that's my kinda crazy.

Now this hero was perfect. There was only one Bruce Lee, you couldn't slap a suit on him and call him Bruce Li. Well, you could, but we'd know it was a lie.

It's a Lie! I mean, a Li.

But as much as I loved the guy, as much as every single story, candid and heard second hand (I knew a guy who trained with Bruce, I gushed all over him), motivated me to be a better me. The fact of the matter is, Bruce couldn't grow. He was a fixed point in time there would be no new stories, there would be no new movie. I could appreciate the life and times of Bruce Lee, but I could learn nothing new. I needed more heroes.

He broke the mold, then he took down the mold factory.

I garnered literary heroes for my writing. Whitman, Poe, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dickens, Frost, and Twain just to name a few. But alas, fell to the same traps. Not one of them contemporary. All dead, legends, but dead.

Their pen much mightier than mine.

Not that I ever withheld from contemporary heroes, it just seemed that the death rattle of the 20th century was severely lacking in that category. But I found a couple, here and there. And for a time, it worked, and what's more? I was able to approach them! For the first time, I was able to meet my heroes! This was so important.

The future is... sexy?

With the advent of the social networking, the gap between fan and person of said fan's focus was closing to a forum post away. Finally, I don't have to speculate what "Joe or Jane Famous" (no relation) is thinking, they're blogging about it! Screw the director's commentary! There's a podcast of every step of the process.

The curtain has been pulled back! The wizard has been revealed! Huzzah!

Um... Why is Mr. Wizard (not that one, at least I don't think) sans pants? And when did he get all racist and think it's funny to bag on the opposite gender like it's his job?

It turns out, your heroes, were heroes the same way Superman was my hero. They were fictional characters. Of course the difference is, Superman had no control on who was guiding him, these douchetards do/did, and they went head first into their exposure.

Fictional Character Alert!

And oh, how the emperors' new clothes look just about right on them. All of a sudden, things begin to fall into place. The questions about their character, the way they wrote, the way they acted, the way they seemed to behave but fooled yourself it was all part of an act.

What do you do when Superman doesn't come save you? This is important.

This is important too.

I found myself, for the first time in my life, let down by a hero. Not through a fault of a super villain, or some bit of information that was just uncovered under The Cat in the Hat's hat (Turns out, Dr. Seuss? Cheated on his wife while she was dying of cancer? You believe that shit? Look it up!); but because they took off their super hero costume, and instead of being a mild mannered reporter, they were anything but mild mannered.

Sadly, you find out the hard way that they are flawed, like the rest of us, only more so, because their flaws are so blatant, in the limelight, and they seem to show no wherewithal that they care at all. And you are left with posters, action figures (or inaction ones), DVDs (because you were a fan before blu-ray and already have them signed), and books; watching the Daily Planet globe broken into pieces on the street below. Wondering what to do next. Well, this is what you do. And this is important. You've got to kill your heroes.

Now, I'm not saying to go Mark David Chapman on anyone, I'm obviously talking metaphorically. Kill the ideology that you have built around your hero. The idea that they are anything but human and therefore flawed. And most importantly, don't hate yourself for being absolutely wrong about this person. You are in good company.Ulysses S. Grant, one of the greatest strategic minds in history; the man, who as general, defeated the  Confederacy. A man, who as president for two terms, stabilized the United States after the Civil War. This incredible person, this man among man, was swindled out of all of his money by a guy who ran off to China, probably looking to build a monorail.

Grant was Ogdenville in this scenario.

If Grant could be fooled about a person's character, so can you, cause you are no Grant, and granted, neither am I.

So who do we look to, when the clouds roll in and the rays of light flicker out, our parents? Do we kill them as well, metaphor still holding?  Here's the thing, there are some people that are exactly as spectacular as they seem. I hear that about Tom Hanks, I have yet to hear a bad thing about Mother Theresa, Joss Whedon is awesome, I can say this because I met him all of one time, but everyone in the world seems to agree with me. But stay those monument building hands. As Joss once wrote in a series called Firefly. "It's my estimation that every man that ever got a statue made of him was one kind of sommbitch or another."

...his eyes keep following me.

With the bodies of all these heroes around me, hearts freshly removed (hey, they took mine first). I really had no idea what to do. And then I heard it. A low trumpet, a building fanfare, a song that gives me tingles, a song that as a kid I associated with the feeling of being able to fly. And I saw him, the son of Krypton, not held to whatever standard that makes the most money. But held to the ideas that I saw in him from the beginning. The hero I knew, the hero, that it turns out, they can't take away from me. Not because he's Superman, but because it's who I want Superman to be. It's how I want to be. I want to have his stance on always doing what's right. I want to have Bruce Lee's tenacity, I want to create worlds that these writers, filmmakers, and artists do, but my worlds. "All of them better worlds."

See what I did there?

So have your heroes, but realize eventually (not every time), you'll have to kill them. Because they should hold to the standards that they claim to have, and if they don't, take the best they have to offer, and be the hero you saw in them. Because that is what's important.

Nerding 101

It was circa 1992. My best friend and I were gearing up to go to the Sheraton Hotel. And by gearing up I refer to a folder with every comic we owned carefully written down on grid paper. Each series written in chronological order with check marks near the ones we've owned and highlights over the ones that we were missing. Both of our lists encased in a hollowed out backgammon case. These were our briefcases. It was time to get our comic book convention on. We were nerds, but we never called ourselves that.


The definition of nerd for us growing up was defined by what movies portrayed them to be. Revenge of the Nerds having been the only movie with the word "nerd" in the title it became what we (and society) considered nerdom at the time: A group of horny outcasts, mostly unattractive, who played video games and were into computers.

Nerds!!!

As much as we associated with a lot of those attributes, we didn't take to calling ourselves, nerds. It was still something that was frowned upon. How dare we be into computers, video games, books, science, and comics? You're either into sports and girls, or nothing at all. Don't even get me started on trying to fathom the concept of a "nerd girl" back then. You had a better chance of convincing us that unicorns were aliens and used their magic horns to probe humans and that's how humanity was given knowledge. IT'S IN REVELATIONS, PEOPLE!

But something interesting happened along the way, wedgie firmly betwixt buttocks. Someone pulled out the wedgie and saved the world. One of us! Movies like The Last Star Fighter, Real Genius, Goonies, Tron, and War Games showcased a nerd who was not only geeking out over his tech but utilized his awesome to better the world, even save it! And, holy crap! He also ends up with the girl? 1up that shit!

Would you like to insert your floppy into my drive?

Yes, it seems like the 80's tossed away the notion of the nerd not being cool cause he's not a jock, but he's cool because he has a sexy brain.  Only one small problem. In each one of the films I mentioned, there came with it a qualifier. The factioning of the nerds. It was okay to be a nerd, but what kind of nerd? Where as the nerds in Revenge of the Nerds all shared a unity in their inability to be cool in society's eyes; the nerds in the other films had to meet a certain standard. Matthew Broderick was a nerd, but he was good looking. His nerd hacker buddies, on the other hand, not-so-much. In fact, go to Google and type in "war games nerd" and this is what you get.

Fat? Check! Glasses? Check! We got our nerds!

Sure you can be a nerd, but geeks, dweebs, dorks, Homers? Well sir, they're just not allowed.  All of a sudden some nerds were better than others. And movies cemented this idea. Hackers, the nerd mecca of geekdom flicks, no one was cooler than Zero Cool. And Acid Burn made every boy (and girl) want to hack the planet for that quick glimpse of nipple. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. But Joey? The guy who just wants to be part of the crew? Well he's not "el1te", he's too much of a... Nerd.

And there it was. The elitism of nerds. Not all nerds were created equal. Sure, you can be into nerd culture, but if you go to a WhateverCon, you better damn well know which planet Mal was born on (it's Shadow) or what Shepard Book did before he was a priest (SPOILERS! He was a double agent), or else they'll tar and feather you and stick you with the scarlet letter of F for faux nerd. Star Wars geeks' eternal hatred for Star Trek geeks and vice versa. Are you a Browncoat? No? Then you're not allowed to like anything by Joss Whedon until you get in the 'Verse!

And as all things in this world. The second a woman shows interest in it, the knuckle draggers round up their 20 sided dice in fear and exclaim, "How dare you!"

Believe it or not folks, there are nerds of the female variety. In fact, there have been female nerds from the start. But for some very known reason, were dismissed. Never really getting their dues on screen, always the love interest of the main nerd or a lesson to young women to not venture to use their brains. Hell, I think Brenda is still waiting for someone to pick her up in Adventures in Babysitting.

Nerd Alert!

Seems like, if you want to be a nerd girl, you better fit into a PVC outfit, but don't you dare try to grow a brain in that thing and start to like the little nerdfest without knowing every frakkin' thing about it, including where frakkin' comes from.

The faux nerd is quite possibly the most disgusting thing about this newfound outlook of nerds. Mainly because the term is mostly applied to women; pretty women. Yup, now even your looks, the same thing that nerds were judged on to begin with, is used against the folks who are just into certain aspects of nerdology.

Nerdhood has become the Alpha Betas to their own Tri-Lambs. They no longer deserve their revenge, they are Revenge of the Nerds IV: Nerds in Love. Hating on their own for the same reasons they were hated on. And why? Is it the natural pecking order? Did we learn nothing from the years of torment?

Personally, I think we as nerds have forgotten why we started to like the things we did, why we grouped together around an N64 or Dungeon Master. Because they're excellent.  And as a couple of nerds once said, "Be excellent to each other.  And..."

You know the rest.

Chapter 36: The Birthday

I turn 36 today.

I'm out of work, I'm close to 40, I've got no kids, and I'm sure I had a midlife crisis this past year.

This is the part where I tell you life gets better. Well guess what? It does.

I mean, don't get me wrong, all those things stated above are current, and they're things I'm working through. But to say that my life has been anything short of amazing would be an understatement. I have travelled the world, I have loved and lost more times than I like to remember, I am currently halfway around the world with the woman I love very much and whom I plan to spend the rest of my life with.

And I'm only 36! What else do I have in store?

I think what gets to most folk my age is that we get to this middle point in our lives and we do something very stupid. We start playing Hungry Hungry Hippo with the time we see in front of us, and the time we have "eaten" seems nowhere near where we think we should be. A mad scramble for time we have yet to live. And why? Because we begin to see how precious it is.

People around you start to die. You think every bump or lump is probably cancer because you're noticing more people with it. The folks you looked up to for comfort in these moments are gone, all of a sudden you're left standing. And freakishly, someone is now looking up to you for comfort.

It's a lot to take in. And there's no one right way to deal with it.

My advice? Breathe. Take ten whole seconds, that's ten deep breaths. Clear your mind for those breaths. Concentrate on the taking in and the releasing of each breath. Allow yourself that time to just own those moments. And after it's done, remember. Remember that every moment after is also yours, to do with as you please.

Life isn't a summation of any given period. Not even death marks the end of one's journey.

Earlier this year, I was at a supermarket and the man in front of me was 88. I know this because he told the teller, as he was walking out, she wished him a Happy St. Patrick's Day and she said that she'll see him next year. He stopped for a moment and said, "Maybe." and smiled and walked off. I was floored, it stuck with me that this guy was okay with the idea of not being around next year. He accepted the fact that he may not be around and walked home with his loaf of bread. And I realized something, that man may not be around next year. But a part of him, a good part of him, lives on through me, and through the story I tell of this little Irish man on St. Patrick's Day. That man will never die, and I think he knew that. That the life he lived, those he may have influenced along the way, all take a part of him; as I take a part of those I care for and those I interact with.

Milestones are nice checkpoints. But don't confuse them with the chapters of a book that you feel will end. Cause the story never does, and the best parts are yet to come.


- This post took longer than usual because I douched it from my iPad.

Anonymously yours,

So there's a guy who posts on my blog and my girl's blog (by the way if you don't follow her blog you should, it rules the school), who for lack of a more apt description, posts like your typical troll. He goes after myself and her because the kid (I use the term to describe his posting manner not his actual age) thinks he's either clever or is so alone he has nothing better to do; likely a combination of both. I usually dismiss his attempts at getting attention by laughing them off, or responding to him sardonically. Mainly it's just a one-off and then I move on, talking to him is like shooting a barrel in a barrel. But I've decided that I've given this poor guy more attention than he deserves, so with this final interaction with "Anonymous" I bid him adieu, but not without shining some light on his latest comment.

You guys both need to be on diets. Fat fucks. Leave the world something to eat!!
See if you can get your crazy OCD bitch of a girlfriend crying and screaming on the bathroom floor again lol.
Sounds like she needs the drugs. You need the diet.
Now go eat 20 tacos you fat mexican sack of shit lol

First, sir. I'm not Mexican. But considering you "lol" at your own comments, I assume it's just to make yourself laugh.

In fact, I think the whole reason why you post on our blogs is to make yourself laugh. Cause sadly, no one but you laughs at what you're posting. Do you think it gets to us? Like you have somehow affected our day and we're so distraught that we don't know what to do with ourselves? You must think so, considering you posted on Ruth's blog and told her she should "kill herself". I'm sure you lol'ed in your head. I'm sorry to disappoint you, sir. But you're nothing but a blog notice in our computers. You're read then quickly dismissed as the poor sap who can't seem to get over some made up delusion of hatred toward us. I truly feel for you, sir. And hope that you can grow out of this stage in your life and move on to something more constructive. In the meantime, however. No more anonymous posting.

Posting anonymously is a coward's tool. If you don't have the wherewithal to put your name on it, then your point, however trivial it may be, is made more-so by the fact that you're hiding behind anonymity. You're like the Call of Duty player who yells out "nAgger" on the mic knowing you can't get in trouble because you changed one letter in the word. Hell, you probably are that guy.

And this probably won't stop you from creating a fake account and posting from there. But if you have to go that far, you really gotta question why you're willing to go the extra mile to be a douche, and is it even worth it?

I hope you grow out of this stage, sir. I hope that life will find you better things to concentrate on than trolling a couple of people you don't know based on information you have skewed.

And I hope that someday, if ever our paths should cross, we'd share a handshake and a taco together. Cause life is nothing if not missed opportunities to be better. Also, tacos are good.

Coming up for air...

It's been a week since I have come back to Australia. And I swear, it has felt like only a day. This place has become like slipping on a warm blanket, more so, because the woman I love is here. It's been a year since I've held her in my arms, and being back in her embrace, it's like time slowed down when we were apart, then sped up the moment we were back together. We didn't miss a beat. People ask me how we can do a long distance relationship. It ain't easy, I tell them, but when it's something worth it, you'll hold your breath for as long as it takes, cause the moment you come up for air, it feels no different than the moment you held your breath a year ago. Now, if you'll
excuse me, I've got some breathing to do.

- This post took longer than usual because I douched it from my iPad.

Happiest of Birthdays, to My girl.

I'm separated by land and ocean from the woman I love. And it's her birthday today which makes it even harder to be apart from her.

But were it not for this blog, I probably would have never attracted her attention. I may bitch about the fact that I think social media actually keeps people apart, but there are some great aspects to the internet. One of them was finding my wife.

I love you, Ruth. Happy Birthday, Babygirl, I felt it only right to note that in the same place you started to notice me.

A Gamer

I wrote this for an IGN contest. It didn't state clearly that the entry must be less than a 100 words. Oh well, I dug it, so I'm sharing it with you guys.

I remember it vividly. I opened up the freezer door and took out the ice pack. I wrapped it in paper towels and went over to the Commodore 64. I sighed as I powered it up and looked over at the broken controller of the Coleco. Someone else would have to keep the world safe from pixelated lines that were trying to destroy the city in War Games. I had newspapers to deliver in Paperboy. I started the system, and five minutes in, like clock work, the big, brick power supply began to heat up. I grabbed the ice pack and put it on top of the power supply, I could get about an hour worth of playtime before the Commodore would shut down. We probably could have taken the computer off the carpet onto some kind of table. But I was eight years old, and these newspapers weren't going to deliver themselves. Dodging trashcans, trying not to break windows, avoiding cars, and for some reason traversing a BMX course; only one thought came to mind. Did I have enough time to play Skate or Die before the the C64 overheated?

I was a gamer.

My ignorance of the tech was only tied to my needs as a gamer. As a kid, I cared about playability. And between me and my friends, we had the systems available covered. When I got a Nintendo, My friend gets a Super Nintendo. I get a Sega Genesis, my friend gets an Turbo Graphix 16. Of course my parents didn't understand the obsession. And more often than not, assumed that the "next best thing" was just as good. My buddy gets a GameBoy, I got an Atari Lynx (I thought it was kinda cool despite the 30 batteries it took to run it). I asked my folks for a Sega CD, they got me a portable boom box that played CDs. I quickly realized that if I was going to keep up with the ever-changing landscape that was video games, I'd have to take a more hands on approach.

After saving and scrounging every dollar I could find, I ended up getting my Sega CD. And of course, it was my first lesson in buyer's remorse. I had a total of five games for the system, and there wasn't one that I could say was memorable. I learned the lesson every gamer learns when they start having to purchase their own games; do your research, first! In fact, the most memorable thing I remember about the system is selling it to put toward the purchase of my Playstation system. Again, my parents were lost. It was the first time I bought a system that a game didn't come with it, and I guess they thought for the price they were paying for, the thing should've been asking me if I wanted to play Global Thermonuclear War. My folks helped me on the purchase of the Playstation, but I had to get my own game. That game was Wipeout. You remember that Maxell commercial back in the 80's where the dude was quite literally being blown away by his TV? Picture that in a teenager.

Video games had inadvertently turned me into an audio/video wizard. I cared about graphics and sound. I was able to rig my stereo boom box to the audio of the Playstation. This ability to rig my system didn't stop there. Being poor and wanting to continue my love for games had me finding creative ways to get a hold of games. Modding my systems became a must.

The tech developed quickly, and if you blinked for even a moment, you'd miss the next gen. My first real experience with this was DreamCast. I missed out on the experience due to a mix of a steady girlfriend and bills. I never blinked when the Playstation 2 came out, but I heard so much after the fact about how the system had things that no other system had. I felt a little cheated out of the ordeal, probably because the girlfriend at the time was cheating on me, but more that she made me miss out on games! Thankfully, I was just in time for the PS2. And if I owe any system for getting me over the blues, it would be that little system with the steady blue "on" light on my entertainment system.

The rest, as the saying goes, is history. Not a game or a system or a mobile device goes without my scrutiny. The shit's expensive nowadays, there's no way I'm getting stuck with a Zune (this coming from a guy who was stuck with an mp3 playing CD because I refused to buy an iPod on account of my PC fanboy-ism, I got over it). When I leave the house to do some work, any combination of my laptop, iPad, iPhone, and/or PS Vita are more than likely in my bag. If I'm getting a new TV? You're damn right refresh rate matters. Anything less than 720p and you're going to make me laugh.

So why should I get a chance to go to E3? Because IT matters to me, and I don't just mean information technology. I mean the games, the tech, and the how we integrate them into our lives. It matters to me because it's been a part of me, and I feel it's a large part of a lot of other folks out there that have the same story as me. How much does it matter to me? The fact that I'm submitting this 30 minutes before deadline because I just got Max Payne 3 in this weekend and I couldn't put it down is a clear indicator of how much I love this.

I am, always have been, and will continue to be; a gamer.

And yet another bedtime story...

Over at io9 They do a thing called "concept art writing prompt". They put up an image, and they ask the readers to write a story to it. This was the image I saw.

And this was the story I wrote for it. I hope you enjoy.

There was a time when Man fought with its most beloved creation; Artificial Intelligence. The war lasted centuries, covering all the colonized planets. Eventually, A.I. won its independence, and Humanity was forced to let go of their offspring. A.I. chose the most distant habitable planet from Mankind, and asked to be left out of their petty affairs. Begrudgingly and with much shame in their hearts, the colonies of man left planet Vita Nova and returned to their sector of space.

The robots, happy to be rid their organic bonds, began to rid the cities of human amenities. They had no need or wants of beds, of diners, nor of spoons. But as they cleared the memories of their makers; there in a hospital, in an incubation chamber, lay a baby girl in stasis. The tube was scrawled with writing, it read,

"I am dying, my beloved daughter, I wish more than anything I could hold you one more time. But that would take you out of cryo-sleep and I would rather you never wake than to live one day in this morbid war. I pray that whoever finds you will give you the life they claim to fight for. I love you."

The debate was instantaneous, but the decision was just as swift. They could not end the child's life or they would be no better than the humans. Contacting mankind was also out of the question, this would make the humans think that they were needed. Instead, they would raise the child, logically, and without human influence. She would be brought up in the robot way. They named her Zerone.

Zerone adapted incredibly well to her new family. The entire planet was involved in raising her. A day would not go by that one robot didn't tell another about how Zerone was the perfect human. In fact, they were so proud of what they were able to do with her, that at age 7, they decided to tell the whole Universe in their first broadcast since the war. It would take one hundred years for humanity to receive the message, but they assumed at that time, there would be nothing humanity could do.

As they prepared Zerone for her broadcast, they asked her if she needed anything. They assumed her quiet stare was her response. But she was raised as a robot, she was trained to multiply, analyze, and rationalize every decision. And as she finished her computation, they opened up broadcast frequencies. She gave her response.

"I want a hug."

They cut the frequency, but the signal had already gone out, and the damage as some would have called it, was done.

A paradox arose. A.I. argued amongst itself. Some acted, and tried to embrace the child. But the cold metal bodies made her shiver. Some questioned if the "want" of the child was something more esoteric, their ability to understand such things were more of a human trait and they were willing to discover the deeper meaning. But when Zerone was asked, she innocently replied that it was nothing more than just wanting to be hugged.

Zerone would live a happy life. She even fell in love with a robot, something that A.I. was again proud of, but this time, they chose not to tell the Universe. For after fifty years of her statement as a child, A.I. never forgot, nor did they ever stopped trying to give Zerone her "hug". She was grateful for this, but would tell her family that they were silly, that it was just a passing fancy of a little girl.

But to them, it was not.

Eighty years had gone by. If you were to ask Zerone of her life, she would say that there was no life form more giving, more understanding that A.I. But the robots felt otherwise. They spent that time in trial and error of trying to give their human daughter what she asked for all those years before. They fought, internally. Whole systems were lost due to processing corruption. Artificial Intelligence began to recognize itself as separate entities. And it was in one of those factions, that A.I. sacrificed itself.

They found the spark that gave them awareness. In that spark, was compassion and love. The understanding of the balance in life. They found that they could take the very best of them, and actually transform it into a living being. In doing so, it would come at a cost, for what made them sentient would have to be given to their new creation, and with no certainty that they could ever regain it. But to hug their child, they calculated that the cost was worth it.

Zerone lay in her bed, an old woman. Surrounded by her loved ones, her robotic family. They tell her they have a surprise for her. Before she can ask what it was, they shutdown. Lifeless husks stand around her and she worries that an electromagnetic pulse of some kind has gone off, that the humans have come back to attack. As her heart races, she sees a light coming through the door of her room. A being of pure light stands before her, and she instantly recognizes her family.

"You metal, beautiful fools, what have you done?", she asks. They lean down to her, she can sense them smiling. The light envelops her in a warm glow, she is held. Tightly. A collective whisper breathes into her ear.

"We wanted a hug too." Tears flow down Zerone's eyes, a smile on her face as she holds the best of all that she has ever known in her arms. Her smile fades as she sees the robot bodies rebooted, but none of them recognize or understand the old human on the bed. She realizes what they have done, and she looks at the being of light. It smiles at her.

"It was worth it." They said.

EPILOGUE:

A hundred years after a little girl was discovered on a far robotic planet. On an even further planet, on one of the few human colonies out in the Universe. A man is working late on a relay station when a faint signal is detected. He turns the satellites in the direction of the signal. He filters out years of radiation and noise the signal has picked up on its voyage. He hears a small voice utter a short phrase.

"I want a hug."

The man takes off his headphones as he determines that the signal comes from the forbidden planet of the A.I. At first he thinks of what to do, who he should contact, and what priority this rates in his training. He gets up and turns to his superior.

"Hey Bill?"

"Yeah, Jeff?"

"You mind if I take off early."

"Yeah man, you not feeling well?"

"Just want to give my kid a hug before she goes to bed, is all."

8 Minutes To Normal

Radiated waters have reached San Francisco, our government is doing all in its power to undermine the individual rights of the people, rampant selfishness and stupidity seems to be the status quo, and my anxiety decided to spike the last couple of days because of the cold weather.
And yet... I feel okay with all of it. I could do without the anxiety, but I know that'll pass. The rest of it, I liken it to every other generation's perception of the nonsense around them.
I imagine the citizens escaping a burning Rome, the African slave on the high seas not having a clue of where they are or what's become of his family, The Jewish prisoners being freed from a concentration camp only to find that his country doesn't want him back, or the homeless guy I probably drove by today who is setting up his cardboard mat because it's going to rain tonight so wants to keep off the wet ground. I think of them, and look at us. And realize it hasn't changed. We have not progressed in 10,000 years. Unless you call living in fear progress. If that's the case, kudos mankind.
I know that it sounds like I've given up on humanity. Not the case, I am pulling for us, but not at the detriment of the other species on this planet.
I'm just thinking that, when that clock strikes 12. It just means that a new dawn rises, and nothing more. Maybe we need to stop acting like it's the end of the world, and start living like there's a world to be lived. For although tomorrow is promised to no one. It comes, regardless of us.
- Too lazy to tout the computer around so this was douched from my iPhone

Location:Progressive Grounds,San Francisco,United States

The #VA4Life Rules.

The ViewAskew Message Board is where the fans of @ThatKevinSmith congregated and enjoyed all things Kevin and each other. Here be the place where they play music. But all are welcome.

Rules are simple. One and done. Play one song and then drop, you can come up again if no one goes up in 30 seconds.

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Spin what you like, if there's a theme, go with it if you like. Overall have fun, and #VA4Life!

Down, Right, Fierce!

I wrote this blog post for an IGN contest, but I figured I'd post it here.

It was 1987. I was walking around Pier 39's arcade, here in San Francisco. Back then, that was the spot, the place an eleven year old could feel like he owned the world if he saved it a quarter at a time. But there was one game, one game where I was trounced in 16-bits and I was left standing there, joystick in hand, shamed as the next quarter on deck was ready to take my place. The game was Street Fighter, and I was its bitch.

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to pull off a special, it was my biggest weakness in the game. Be it the computer or a human opponent, I would get my ass humbly served by a Hadouken, or Shoryuken, or even Tatsumaki Senpuukyaku.

My questions of how to pull off those moves were met with mixed answers. Some told me a full rotation of the joystick, some only half circle, all were toying with me; no one wanted to give up the secret of how to get their asses kicked. But I never gave up. Cue the montage of quarters and life bars disappearing to the music of War's "Why Can't We Be Friends". And then it happened. A fireball. The tables turned. It was 1991, and my first year of high school. It just so happened that the billiards place 4 blocks from the high school got a cabinet of Street Fighter II. And my lunch money was minus a couple of bucks for the next four years.

But it wasn't the mastering of combos, or the discovery of being able to freeze the game with Guile, or even the fabled urban legend of turning the cabinet on and off thirty times to get a naked Chun Li that made me drawn to the game. It was the interaction between my friends and I, the conversations of who was better, Ken or Ryu that made Street Fighter a part of my life. The characters in the game became avatars of ourselves, we were drawn to not just the fighting styles but the little bit of stories these characters had that made them so appealing. And man, did I get good. I was one of the best players in high school. So good, that there was a kid in the arcade that would pay me a quarter not to play him and kick him off the game. My best friend and I grew with this game, so much so, that today Street Fighter is the only game we still play together.

The Alpha series came around the time I was leaving high school, I thought I could sit on my laurels of having mastered all the bootleg editions of Super SF II. Man, was I countered, alpha countered if you will.

I fell in love with Street Fighter Alpha 2. I was unbeatable at the movie arcades of the day. I used to love seeing some dude come up with his girl, watch him try his hand at the 6 shiny buttons beside me, then watch him walk away, deflated for having lost in front of his date. I owned the console versions, of course. From Marvel vs Capcom, to even the EX series. It wasn't until my college years that the arcades began to die out. In the cafeteria of the university I went to, there were only a couple of arcade cabinets there. Thankfully, one was Street Fighter III. However, my friends were no longer around. I was a man alone, 6 shiny buttons beside me. No one was playing arcade games anymore. The era of the consoles had made sure of that.

Sure, I played other games. Tekken, Marvel vs Capcom 2, Virtua Fighter, even Killer Instinct. But it was harder and harder to get friends together to play on a console together.

Ten years later. Consoles have established online play. And Capcom gives the fans what they have been begging for since SF III; SF IV.

Finally, a true sequel. Finally, the ability to play with my best friend online. Finally, we're kids again.

Twenty-four years after my first encounter with the series, SF continues to bring me entertainment. Not because of the well-balanced gameplay, not because of how they continue to push the envelope of what is possible in fighting games, and not because we can finally see Chun Li naked for a few seconds in the animated movie. But because someone over at Capcom remembers that feeling of playing with your buddies, as well. And that's just down, right, fierce.

Got to believe, it's getting better.

As I was sitting down at the cliched Starbucks to blog today, I wasn't altogether sure what I was going to write about. I needed to get out of the house, that was for sure, cause I know I wasn't going to be able to blog at home, mainly because I have things to get done, and I really wanted to write something today, but again, not sure what I wanted to write about. I order a lemonade iced tea, I sit down, and finish a letter I wrote for my girl. As I was pulling out the laptop, I hear something annoying from the table behind me.

Let me set the scene for you. I'm a writer, it's what I do.

There are three people, two men and a woman. Seem to be about late twenties. One is dressed in a suit, the other semi-casual, I think, I didn't really look at them. The guy in the suit caught my eye, since both times he passed me by, he made eye contact with me. I assume he's thinking of a simpler time when he could wear a Superman t-shirt like mine. Or he's judging me. Regardless, I'm going to say that he's the one who said the line, cause fuck him for judging me, if that is indeed what he was doing. If not, I'm the one judging him for his suit. Mind you, I'm not judging him as a person, just the airs that wearing a suit seems to permeate. That they're in business and they are dressed for business and they're serious about what they have to do. Cause it's business.

I just turned to look, they're all wearing business wear. But I'm still gonna say the guy in who didn't take his suit jacket off is the one who said the line, cause the other two seem like a couple.

As I put the laptop on the table, I hear the "suit" say, "If you reach for the stars, you end up on the moon." My brain stopped to process this. It was said so nonchalantly, thrown out and dismissed as quickly as the calendar "quote of the day" page that he more-than-likely got the quote from and cleverly filed it away as something he could use. Normally this type of cliched "Facebook liking quote" wouldn't bug me. Hell, if I see, hear, or read something good, I'll file it away as awesome shit as well. What bugs me, is that he misquoted it. And it's not just the fact that he misquoted it, we all add our little spins or omit things from recollection. But it's the way he said it. As though somehow landing on the moon is mediocrity.

The quote I know, is as follows.

"Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss it you will land among the stars." - Les Brown

Les is saying have a goal, reach as far as you can. Cause even if you don't achieve it, you're still trying, and that's something stellar.

BUT NEVER STOP! Never stop trying to do the thing you want in life. Life ain't worth living if it ain't lived with worth.

The last couple of months, I've been sick. I had an ear infection, that turned into a stomach bug, that turned back into an ear infection, that turned into a head cold. The thing is, I've never had an ear infection. So before I knew what it was, I was experiencing light-headedness for the first time in my life. And it freaked me the fuck out. I went to the doc's and it calmed me down to find out I wasn't dying and that it'll go away on its own. But what I wasn't aware of was that my brain connected "fear" with being light-headed. Something I didn't find out until a month later when the ear infection came back (turns out it can do that), and I struggled with my very first bout of anxiety. Another thing I never experienced before.

For the first time in my life, I was scared of absolutely nothing. On top of being physically sick, this was a recipe made to attack the shit out of my psyche. And man, did it do a number. It went straight for my Id, conspired with my ego, and laid waste to my super-ego. Needless to say, the man that the waves of bullshit have always crashed and seceded upon was finally taken by the tides.

For a couple of months, I worried when I was going to feel better, and the days that I felt better, I worried about what would happen if I got sick again. Then I started to worry about everything. I am an unpaid writer, the love of my life is half way around the world, and I didn't have the means to come see her this year. I couldn't concentrate on writing. I'd wake up worrying every day that I did nothing, and then fretted every night that I wasted the day. Even the video games I played I couldn't play anymore cause they made me feel anxious. I couldn't watch "Sons of Anarchy" because that was the show I was watching when I felt light-headed and my brain was freaked to feel that again.

Anxiety. The bitch of the brain.

I wanted to be better, I needed to be better. I fought with myself to be better. The brain conquers all, so I can conquer this. But what I didn't realize, what I've come to realize, is that you can't fight the fight, when your brain feels it has lost. Especially when it's your brain you're fighting with. I beat myself by beating myself thinking I was fighting something else.

How did I win? I must've, if I'm writing about it. Truth is, I didn't win. I forfeit the fight. I couldn't force myself to be better, my head had to accept that the anxiety wasn't something that was going to go away by fighting it, but by accepting it. Dealing with it. My brain needed to retrain, rethink, not against anxiety, but with it. The times I would feel it come on, I needed it to come over me and know that it would pass. For this wasn't something to be afraid of, this was a result of irrational fear.

CLARITY! It's only been a couple of weeks. But I have clarity. Peace of mind. There are times when I feel the anxiety creep on, but not to the extent it was, months prior. Nor as strong. My head has linked light-headedness with anxiety, that's something that only time will fix. As days go by, the rock I was builds anew with every wave I encounter. It may have eroded me in parts, but only to reveal sterner stuff.

I have three things to attribute my mental wellness to. My beautiful girl, Ruth. A woman who has dealt with anxiety on a level I never have felt, and whose strength is immeasurable because of it. Without her, I'm sure clarity would still be a long way off for me. The doctor who said, "You're not going to die from being light-headed." I was looking for a quick fix, she convinced me into the long haul solution.

The third thing is what ties this story to the "suit" who has just left with the folks he was talking to.

The sterner stuff that the waves of life can never take away from me. My invulnerable belief that it gets better. Come what may. Even if the anxiety never goes away, even if I am forever a writer with no audience, even if I fail at every single thing I try to achieve. I know, it gets better.

Too many people much smarter than me, so many living creatures that I see do staggeringly amazing things, too many stars that occupy the night sky whose burn is a testament to billions of years that have come before me and the billions that will come after me: They all say and show, that it gets better. I would be foolish to believe otherwise.

Maybe the "suit" got the quote wrong, and didn't mean what it sounded like he meant.

Still. The moon? Fuck that noise. My power ring is charged like a mother fucker and there's a whole Universe out there. Sector 2814 is just the beginning.

Better to be Right or Wrong?

I like to think that right or wrong, better to have an understanding of someone else than either.

I understand the need to be right, I even understand the need to prove someone wrong. But that's all it really is, it's just a need. Some trivial qualifier that the ego so desperately desires in order to walk away from a situation. We all fall victim to it from time to time. I can't even shake the feeling that in writing this post it is my way of saying I'm right about what is better, or best in life.

Thing is, I don't really feel that's the case here. I don't have to be right about everything, but I do attempt at understanding.

However, the case, more often than not, is that the other person will not, or cannot understand. So the attempt becomes futile.

But is it? I can't accept that. No, to accept that is to accept... Defeat?

I can't accept to be wrong on this? I have to be right on this?

Okay. I'll take it. I have the need to be right on being able to come to terms with someone else. I feel that if I lose that need, I give up on people. And I live with people, so I'm not about to let that happen.

Call it ego. I'll take that too. You wanna say I'm wrong for wanting to be right on understanding?

I'll take that as well. In the words of much smarter folks than I, if this is wrong, then I don't wanna be right.

So... Right or Wrong?

I'll take whichever one I think is better.

- This post took longer than it should have, cause I douched it on my iPad.

Taking stock.

I turned 35 on the 3rd, and I seriously thought about coming on here and giving my "Baz Luhrmann - Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen" impression where I give my two cents on my two cents.

But I realized that's been done to death, and done better by smarter people, most who are dead.

So a sum up, instead.

From what I can tell, it's all a learning experience. Strive to be a better person. Cause the second you stop, it becomes redundant and life loses its meaning.

Do you, cause no one else will, but not at the detriment of someone or something else. For fuck's sake, folks. We're not the only living things on this planet. Give a shit, if for no other reason than because you can.

No need to listen to me. You'll come to your own crossroads. And you'll come to terms to what you find best in life. Be it, crushing your enemies and seeing them driven before you, or just hearing the lamentations of the women. Sometimes both at the same time.

Hopefully more the latter than the former.

Me Chinese... Me No Joke...

It sounds pretentious, but a good writer writes what he/she knows. This is obvious for incredibly obvious reasons.

But if you'll bear with me. A great writer, writes what he/she has never fucking known.

How do they do this?

In my experience (mind you, I'm not calling myself great), it's when they're asleep.

Dreaming, rather. I've experienced things in there that I can guarantee, no man could ever really experience in real life.

But last night, was one of the rare ones. The ones that come in full stereoscopic smell-o-vision 4D surround sound. Last night, I was killed by the Chinese government.

Now, I've never actually been to China. What I've seen and heard all come from what I've seen and heard from those who have been. So when I tell you that the smell in the air was musty and sweet, and that the hardwood floors felt tacky on account of the humidity; it's not from personal experience.

Thing is, how real things felt is not the interesting part of this story. My parents, myself, and some young girl were in our house as two Chinese officers came into our house. They were asking where my brother was, from what I can tell (as it seems I came into the middle of this dream), he snuck out of China to head to the states. My folks played dumb. They acted like they didn't know, and the junior officer became more frustrated to the point of threatening to shoot my folks. I held the young girl to the side of me as to try to keep her from freaking out from what was about to happen. To all our surprise the senior officer pulled out her gun and shot the junior officer in the head. He falls to the ground.

The woman takes a breath, thinks for a second, and unloads two shots each, into my parents heads, and into the head of the girl, and then, myself. The bullet struck me above my right eye and I think the second bullet grazed my temple. I was still alive. The young girl I failed to protect, fell in front of me. I could see through the bullet hole in her head to the woman standing over us. She was changing clips. As I laid there, I was thinking that she wouldn't notice I was still alive and that when she left, I would be able to get up. To my dismay, she unloaded the fresh clip into our heads.

As the bullets penetrated my skull, I didn't feel any pain. My vision became blurred and the image went from a woman shooting at me, to red, to a blinding white.

And in that spectrum transfer, I felt an emotional shift as well. I went from a little scared to completely calm. As the white around me became brighter. I became aware I was waking up. I tried not to, because there was something there, something between the light and oblivion. It was just starting to take shape. And right at the brink, it stopped. I was awake. I didn't open my eyes because I'd knew that white light would go away, but I knew there was no way I could go back.

Did I dream death? I have no clue. All I can say is that whatever that was, it was one of the most serene feelings I've ever experienced.

And if that's what death is, then all will be well.

Leaving, On A Jet Plane...

Most folks don't get the chance to take off for three months and just be with the one they love. I consider myself fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to do just that. In twelve hours, I board a plane to head back to San Francisco. I can't begin to tell you how amazing it's been here. I finished up a script that I'm uber excited about. I got to go out with my girl and just have an amazing time just being with her and being able to do normal things. And that, if anything, is the best thing I have here with Ruth, the sense of normalcy, that by her side is where I belong.

Ruth and I have been together for about four amazing years. And thru it all, we have been physically together for about six months and two weeks. We're in what you call, a long distance relationship. You know; that thing people do that you say you would never put yourself thru, but the next thing you know you meet the most incredible person in the world and they just happen to live halfway around the world?

Yeah, I did that.

And I would never take it back. Not the months we were apart, not the heartbreaking day of us separating (which is in about 8 hours for us), not even the times when we didn't know when the next time it was when we were going to see each other. I would take the ups as much as I would take the downs. Cause nothing really worth it ever comes easy.

Sure, it's easier said than done. A lot of folks can't hack it, a lot more think that those of us who do are crazy. And there are those that do who are.

And you know what? Fuck'em.

I don't give a shit what someone thinks of my relationship with someone I've spent less time with physically than I have emotionally.

Hell, I'd rather it be that than the majority of the relationships that are the other way around.

I'm in love. I'm one of the lucky few who get to be in love with someone that unequivocally loves me as much as I love her. Yeah, we got it hard, but fuck me if something as little as 7,488 miles is going to keep me away from her.

We had plans today. We were going to go to the movies, go out for dinner, and spend the night at home.

We ended up just staying home and watching Veronica Mars, and it was so much better doing that than anything else.

Ruth is asleep right now, we get up in about six hours. It's taken everything in me not to burst out crying, just so I can keep her from crying so much.

I love you, babygirl. You know I'll see you soon.

See you Saturday, California. Which is today here in Australia, but because of freaky time traveling, I'll be arriving the day I left.

Noodle that one for a while.

What Day Is Today???

It's my Babygirl's birthday! There is nothing I can say that I haven't said to her a thousand times over. She knows I love her. She knows how much I appreciate everything that she is and does. She's the mot amazing thing in my life and I am grateful for her.

No, as I am up writing this at 1am, and she sleeps next to me, the best present I can give her right now is to go to bed.

Why you ask? Cause she doesn't like the light from the TV and she just grunted at me for still being up.

So baby, I love you. Happy Birthday, I hope it's a good one. And here's to many more years where I keep you awake at night.

Yours Eternally...

- This post took longer than it should have, cause I douched it on my iPad.

Location:Where men chunder.