Sometimes, things just happen. Sometimes, you don't understand them, but you know that it's important. Sometimes you get scared. Sometimes everything in your body hurts. Sometimes the echoes are lonely. Sometimes the ache of that loneliness is the only thing that reminds you that you are alive. Sometimes you love so much it hurts. And the people that you give yourself to never understand the value of this sacrafice.

Sometimes you realize what really hurts is how little you understand yourself. So you spend your life searching for a glimpse of who you are in the eyes of others.

Sometimes I get scared. Sometimes I get scared when people get too close to me. Sometimes it hurts so much, that my hands hurt those who come too close. Razor hands. You'll always find the ones who are just like you.

This is my inaugural post since I switched my blog over to a more private location. It got scary for a while...my not feeling like I could say anything honest because I was scared that it would affect my non-blogging life...my friendships, my relationships. And now, freedom. This has been one of the best weeks of my life, knowing that I have done things, the right things, that were in my best interest.

I was in a great relationship for two years, and I think the bottom line was that I was in a relationship with a wonderful person, my best friend and someone whom I hope to be close friends with for the rest of my life, but it wasn't the right relationship for me. I didn't feel that passion for the person as a partner and a lover, and it was something that ate at me all the time, the guilt that I just couldn't find it in me to want that person in that way. It hurt his self-esteem as well, that I may not be attracted to him or appreciate his looks when in truth, he was a beautiful man. But I there was a part of our connection that wasn't there.

I think I always knew. It's not like things had suddenly changed and I was suddenly wondering why I had lost the feeling. I think I wanted to create that feeling, but after a while, I could either deny the fact it wasn't there, or face it to be fair to both of us.

Sometimes I would get scared because I knew that he would be an amazing partner and husband to someone else, and I didn't know why he couldn't be that for me. I think I was being selfish by being afraid to give him up. But ultimately, I didn't make him happy, no matter how much he thought so. I think we made each other happy in many ways, but so sad in others. I love him and hope that his dreams come true.

I remember the day, when I woke up and I knew it was the right decision. I had locked him out of our room and ignored his knocks to come in because I wanted to be alone. I had bought a brand new journal, a clean journal, and I started to write in stream of consciousness. Sometimes this is the easiest way for me to communicate with myself...I let myself flow and then as I read what I write, I start to understand. Because if I'm flowing well, what I write is the truth.

Watching a relationship fall apart is like falling in slow motion. You know it's happening but you try not to pay attention or admit it, as if that will make the pain of the fall less real. Why do people stay, then? Fear. They are afraid to let go of a collective past. More so than fear of the unknown? You are always going to be afraid to let go of anything you know to be safe. Because once you realize what safe is, you realize how much is not safe in this world. You can spend a lifetime collecting things, or you can spend a lifetime collecting ideas. Both can be equally worthless. There is a lot of pain in this world; it's like we brought it with us when we showed up. I'm looking for a master. There is something that is bothering me and I don't know what it is. You are not being able to convincingly argue things because you aren't talking about the core issue. The core issue is that you are not happy. YOU ARE NOT HAPPY. You can dance around it, slice and dice it, try to give it different names and reasons, but the face does not change. Could you be happier somewhere else? Without certain things in your life? Problem solve. Physical pain is hard for you psychologically. On the other hand, physical pain can also be a symptom of psychological pain. Your body is getting stronger. Your mind is getting stronger. Your psyche is getting more active. You are starting to get deep into the lights and the darks. We have to live equally in the light and the dark. That's a fact. That is something that can't be changed, only denied or deferred. I am tired of not having my own domain, tired of taking care of someone else. I am selfish now. I no longer want anyting to do with what is altruistic or kind. I only want self-survival which involves finding out what is important to me, no matter how noble or disgusting. I want my own space, to not be invaded in my own space. This is mine. I want for no one to tell me what to do anymore. I want to be an island unto myself, and choose the diplomatic terms with which I will operate. Big cities bring city problems. The psyche gets wounded in different ways out here. You have to figure out what you want to do and the master will appear. Master. Peer. I would like either. I need someone to talk to. I understand that I have to be ready, so I will try to process my thoughts so that my though process is less inhibited. I would also like more mental courage.

He came into the room, unlocking the door from the outside. I became very angry, though I never looked up from my journal or stopped writing.

I would like for my personal space to not be invaded. I get very angry when I can't have my own safe place. I am angry right now because you think you have a right to my space. This is a betrayal to me. This is something that will make me look at you as though you are the enemy. Right now, my space is threatened and I am not looking at it happily. If you do not leave, I will force you out. I think it's over. I really think it's over. I just can't live a lie anymore. I don't even know what the lie is, I just don't feel like this is truthful. You want to be angry at me, be angry. Let him be angry. And sad. And hurt. You will be as well. Let him feel all the things he needs to feel. And then let him go. It is up to the stronger person to say that this is not it. Do you ever feel like there are two people inside of you, someone who is young and learning, and someone who is old and wise, but can't remember? When the younger one hurts, the older one leads. When the older one hurts, the entire system goes into dispair. When my older one hurts, I need a master. I need someone from the universe to answer questions. Truthfully, I always had to answer them myself or wait until I forget my questions. I never really got an answer back.

When I woke up the next morning, I knew. I felt free, because I knew that I knew what was right, and I knew that I had the courage to make the right decision. I went to work to mail some bills and then to Starbuck's to write, and I just felt lighter. I was scared though, because there was still a part of me that was scared that I was making the wrong decision, that maybe this was an act of self-sabotage. It didn't feel like it though. It felt different. I re-read what I had written the night before, and I felt confident. I wanted to tell someone though, to hear this decision outside of my head. So I called Sareet, and as I was leaving a message for her, a man that had once been significant but whom I had forgotten walked into the restaurant next door.

Who is he? I don't know. I know who he is, but I don't know who he is to me. All I know is that in the two years of my committed relationship in which I would have done anything for it to work out, there was only one person that I was attracted to, so much so that I had to leave treatment with him in order for me to give my best effort to work out my relationship. He always intrigued me...the hands of a healer, but some kind of block that prevented his hands from being connected to his heart. I used to watch him, wonder where he was because sometimes he was there, and sometimes he was so far away. There was something very warm and soothing about his energy though. I think my boyfriend picked up on it because he started showing up to my sessions. I had to leave. I believe I spun a very convoluted, slightly angry story about why I was leaving. It was a very difficult time, emotionally.

So of all days, after having not seen him in over a year, he shows up. As he ate inside, I contemplated if I would say anything. I watched him leave and I struggled, and a part of me yelled his name. I went to shake his hand and to my surprise, he gave me a hug. We talked and I was relieved when I asked him if he wanted to sit down and he did. We talked for a few hours and it was good. He asked when I was usually there, and I was glad that it meant that he might want to see me again.

What does this mean? I don't know. My life has always operated by fate and coincidence, so maybe this is a moment of comfort and companionship, a rest stop... maybe this is another soul connection that will lead me to the next step of my journey, and hopefully him to his next step.

All I know is that it is a wonderful feeling, because my creativity is back, and I'm excited about what is around the corner for me. I have been praying for a deeper soul who has courage and can help me with some understanding.

I showed him the safe place that I had created, the condo I had remodeled. He said if his circumstances were different, he could see himself living in a place like this. That made me feel good because it means he feels safe there. He's very guarded in some sense because he has experienced a lot of hurt in his life. The color black seems to have significance to him. Sometimes I want to hug him and put my head on his shoulder.

I had a dream last night where we were taking a walk, and I felt safe with him. So I asked him if I could hold his hand. He said yes and it was a beautiful feeling. I gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead, and in all, I was very content and peaceful. It was a great dream, the kind that made me feel good when I woke up.

Who knows, because a lot can interfere with a core connection--environment, circumstances, ego incompatibility, etc. But for now, it feels really good to have him in my life again.

Interview with me at Game 3 of Warriors/Jazz series:

http://www.ktvu.com/video/13307891/index.html?source=

Greatest dunk I've ever witnessed

Never make a decision out of fear, for in that case it will be the wrong choice.

who is looking for me?

Hey Grey Anatomy fans...when Meridith attacks:

http://entertainment.yuku.com/topic/462/t/--39-t-stand-Ellen-Pompeo--seeing---Punk-39-D-video-.html

Hate her character. Hate looking at her. Hate her personality. Hate whiny diva actresses in general. They're bad people.

As a member of Team TR after the whole f-bomb fiasco, had the pleasure of meeting him at Home Depot a few nights ago. We spent some time chatting with him at the self-checkout and I have to say, he's incredibly nice, down to earth and intelligent. Very soothing energy about him, and big, beautiful soulful blue eyes that kind of made me wish I was a gay man. He's the kind of guy that you really root for, because he's a great actor, and a very sincere, nice person. He's one of the good ones. Wasn't at all worried about the fact that the only thing in our basket was a menacing roll of duct tape. I was happy, because you get jaded in this town...I don't like to meet actors, directors and writers I like, because there's a good chance they're jerks, and I don't want to get turned off of their work because I just don't respect them as people. But it's cool when you met someone whose work you admire, and they're also a real, sincere person.

January 1, 2007
An Appreciation

From Father to Son, Last Words to Live By

By DANA CANEDY

He drew pictures of himself with angel wings. He left a set of his dog tags on a nightstand in my Manhattan apartment. He bought a tiny blue sweat suit for our baby to wear home from the hospital. Then he began to write what would become a 200-page journal for our son, in case he did not make it back from the desert in Iraq.

For months before my fiancé, First Sgt. Charles Monroe King, kissed my swollen stomach and said goodbye, he had been preparing for the beginning of the life we had created and for the end of his own.

He boarded a plane in December 2005 with two missions, really — to lead his young soldiers in combat and to prepare our boy for a life without him.

Dear son, Charles wrote on the last page of the journal, I hope this book is somewhat helpful to you. Please forgive me for the poor handwriting and grammar. I tried to finish this book before I was deployed to Iraq. It has to be something special to you. I’ve been writing it in the states, Kuwait and Iraq.

The journal will have to speak for Charles now. He was killed Oct. 14 when an improvised explosive device detonated near his armored vehicle in Baghdad. Charles, 48, had been assigned to the Army’s First Battalion, 67th Armored Regiment, Fourth Infantry Division, based in Fort Hood, Tex. He was a month from completing his tour of duty.

For our son’s first Christmas, Charles had hoped to take him on a carriage ride through Central Park. Instead, Jordan, now 9 months old, and I snuggled under a blanket in a horse-drawn buggy. The driver seemed puzzled about why I was riding alone with a baby and crying on Christmas Day. I told him. “No charge,” he said at the end of the ride, an act of kindness in a city that can magnify loneliness.

On paper, Charles revealed himself in a way he rarely did in person. He thought hard about what to say to a son who would have no memory of him. Even if Jordan will never hear the cadence of his father’s voice, he will know the wisdom of his words.

Never be ashamed to cry. No man is too good to get on his knee and humble himself to God. Follow your heart and look for the strength of a woman.

Charles tried to anticipate questions in the years to come. Favorite team? I am a diehard Cleveland Browns fan. Favorite meal? Chicken, fried or baked, candied yams, collard greens and cornbread. Childhood chores? Shoveling snow and cutting grass. First kiss? Eighth grade.

In neat block letters, he wrote about faith and failure, heartache and hope. He offered tips on how to behave on a date and where to hide money on vacation. Rainy days have their pleasures, he noted: Every now and then you get lucky and catch a rainbow.

Charles mailed the book to me in July, after one of his soldiers was killed and he had recovered the body from a tank. The journal was incomplete, but the horror of the young man’s death shook Charles so deeply that he wanted to send it even though he had more to say. He finished it when he came home on a two-week leave in August to meet Jordan, then 5 months old. He was so intoxicated by love for his son that he barely slept, instead keeping vigil over the baby.

I can fill in some of the blanks left for Jordan about his father. When we met in my hometown of Radcliff, Ky., near Fort Knox, I did not consider Charles my type at first. He was bashful, a homebody and got his news from television rather than newspapers (heresy, since I’m a New York Times editor).

But he won me over. One day a couple of years ago, I pulled out a list of the traits I wanted in a husband and realized that Charles had almost all of them. He rose early to begin each day with prayers and a list of goals that he ticked off as he accomplished them. He was meticulous, even insisting on doing my ironing because he deemed my wrinkle-removing skills deficient. His rock-hard warrior’s body made him appear tough, but he had a tender heart.

He doted on Christina, now 16, his daughter from a marriage that ended in divorce. He made her blush when he showed her a tattoo with her name on his arm. Toward women, he displayed an old-fashioned chivalry, something he expected of our son. Remember who taught you to speak, to walk and to be a gentleman, he wrote to Jordan in his journal. These are your first teachers, my little prince. Protect them, embrace them and always treat them like a queen.

Though as a black man he sometimes felt the sting of discrimination, Charles betrayed no bitterness. It’s not fair to judge someone by the color of their skin, where they’re raised or their religious beliefs, he wrote. Appreciate people for who they are and learn from their differences.

He had his faults, of course. Charles could be moody, easily wounded and infuriatingly quiet, especially during an argument. And at times, I felt, he put the military ahead of family.
He had enlisted in 1987, drawn by the discipline and challenges. Charles had other options — he was a gifted artist who had trained at the Art Institute of Chicago — but felt fulfilled as a soldier, something I respected but never really understood. He had a chest full of medals and a fierce devotion to his men.

He taught the youngest, barely out of high school, to balance their checkbooks, counseled them about girlfriends and sometimes bailed them out of jail. When he was home in August, I had a baby shower for him. One guest recently reminded me that he had spent much of the evening worrying about his troops back in Iraq.

Charles knew the perils of war. During the months before he went away and the days he returned on leave, we talked often about what might happen. In his journal, he wrote about the loss of fellow soldiers. Still, I could not bear to answer when Charles turned to me one day and asked, “You don’t think I’m coming back, do you?” We never said aloud that the fear that he might not return was why we decided to have a child before we planned a wedding, rather than risk never having the chance.

But Charles missed Jordan’s birth because he refused to take a leave from Iraq until all of his soldiers had gone home first, a decision that hurt me at first. And he volunteered for the mission on which he died, a military official told his sister, Gail T. King. Although he was not required to join the resupply convoy in Baghdad, he believed that his soldiers needed someone experienced with them. “He would say, ‘My boys are out there, I’ve got to go check on my boys,’ ” said First Sgt. Arenteanis A. Jenkins, Charles’s roommate in Iraq.

In my grief, that decision haunts me. Charles’s father faults himself for not begging his son to avoid taking unnecessary risks. But he acknowledges that it would not have made a difference. “He was a born leader,” said his father, Charlie J. King. “And he believed what he was doing was right.”

Back in April, after a roadside bombing remarkably similar to that which would claim him, Charles wrote about death and duty.
The 18th was a long, solemn night, he wrote in Jordan’s journal. We had a memorial for two soldiers who were killed by an improvised explosive device. None of my soldiers went to the memorial. Their excuse was that they didn’t want to go because it was depressing. I told them it was selfish of them not to pay their respects to two men who were selfless in giving their lives for their country. Things may not always be easy or pleasant for you, that’s life, but always pay your respects for the way people lived and what they stood for. It’s the honorable thing to do.

When Jordan is old enough to ask how his father died, I will tell him of Charles’s courage and assure him of Charles’s love. And I will try to comfort him with his father’s words.
God blessed me above all I could imagine, Charles wrote in the journal. I have no regrets, serving your country is great.

He had tucked a message to me in the front of Jordan’s journal. This is the letter every soldier should write, he said. For us, life will move on through Jordan. He will be an extension of us and hopefully everything that we stand for. ... I would like to see him grow up to be a man, but only God knows what the future holds.

Just found an old interview I did with Jeremy Piven back in college. I thought I was being subtle, but I wonder if the snarkiness was too obvious.

http://www.jeremypiven.net/July%201998%20-%20Daily%20Arts.txt

Back then Cusack was great. I hear now he's ranting about how Cusack is jealous of all his success. If that man's penis were to his body what his ego is to the continental United States...well, just remember the image from that Flinstones opening of what happens when a rib rack is attached to Fred's car.

The thing I left off was when he said that if Michigan gave him an honorary degree, he'd be willing to speak at our graduation. Nevermind that we had already booked Kofi Annan, who, some would say, still has considerably more impressive credits.

Okay, I know it's been too long since I last blogged when I can't remember if I sign on as a new blogger or an old blogger. Apparently I'm a new one now.

I just got back from an impromptu trip to the bay area. I think there comes a point in your life, or several of varying magnitude, when you look at the people around you and you're acutely aware of their immense vulnerability. And suddenly, despite your extreme desire to protect them and make everything right for them, you realize that this whole world is completely open-ended. There's no promises, there's no guarantees, there's no storylines and last minute poetic saves, there's no greater meaning built upon givens that states that if you understand the abstract themes of any hardship, you're rewarded with safe passage. There is no safety net, despite what anyone tells you. Only that anything can happen at anytime, and there's nothing you can do about it. I think that drowning is like that. There's a very specific moment as you struggle when you realize that the only thing you can do is just give in, and let the greater force take you, and this is the greatest relief of all. You relax and concede to ultimate inevitability. I think reaching the ultimate zen state is probably the same feeling.

I wonder if those who are artistic are the ones that refuse to give in to a world that is all incidents and accidents. We deny the facts by insisting that there is more under the surface that will provide clues of meaning, and we build our cases like obsessive blind, deaf and mute scientists...using shapes, forms and colors to create incontrovertible proof of possibility in a malleable world. Sometimes I hope that collectively, we can will the universe into aligning itself out of its violent chaos to finally reward our exhausting efforts by showing us a glimpse of a bigger, sensible picture, that there really is a safety net, and for all our efforts, that there is overwhelming value in idealism.

The good news. Rie is moving to California. The bad news. She's moving to Stockton, aka the Armpit of California. I'm very excited though. I always said that I would end up splitting my time in the bay area, but I'm starting to think I'm closer and closer to that time. I would like to be able to afford a small place up there, so I can stay there and write when I'm there. Preferably some place by the water. It would be great to be closer to my family. It seems like communication in that house breaks down a lot.

I took Michael to the Warriors game on Monday and sat behind the bench. This was my first time sitting in those seats with Michael, since we had previously been too nervous about Michael's irritability with crowds to risk having him sit so close to the team and all of the surrounding security. He was great! He was into the game and smiling a lot, even told me that Biedrins was his favorite player. He was particularly mesmerized by the players' tattoos, while I was particularly worried about the fact that every food item he got (outside of his bottle of water), was fried. One of the players is awkward but always smiling and flirting with me. At one point, he winked but immediately got embarrassed, so he tried to pretend he wasn't winking, but had something in his eye. I didn't want to laugh outloud because he was so awkward, but I did giggle to myself.

I miss Michael a lot. He's working at my parents' place now and he's very committed to working there, so he doesn't want to come to LA if he's going to miss work. He's doing fairly well but I don't think he's ready to join a workforce that doesn't have someone close to him protecting him. His self-esteem has come a long way, and I would like to see him become more confident and mature before I would feel comfortable having him in an unpredictable environment. In the meantime, he'll probably stay up there and work at my parents' until he's ready for the next stage of his independence. I wish he lived closer.

This week we had orders totaling over 240 bottles of lemonade. Our weekly average is between 100 to 200. We need a larger commercial location since we're maxed out in terms of storage. I think a part of me is scared about the responsibility of renting a place and buying all that equipment, then failing. Starting a business in unfamiliar territory is overwhelming. I would have never thought, 2 years ago, that at this time, I would be involved with a beverage company that is growing exponentially faster than we can handle.

On the other (stress) front, our remodeling project is out of control. Some days I think that I'm starting to look at money as water, some days I think, this isn't so hard...it'd be really cool to own an apartment building and fix it up. Then I remember how hard it is to make money, and how it takes a shitload of money to own things.

Our film is in the Boston Film Festival in June so I'll be heading out there right around my birthday. Rest assured, there will be no cancelling of Spankfest '07.

I think I want to go back to working on comedy. I think we're focusing on horror etc. now because it's the best genre to get work distributed, but I'm really not into it. The thing about horror or the thriller genre, is that you can't miss a beat. You mess one thing up--the monster looks too fake, you don't explain WHY the old lady hates hitchhikers, the twist is too predictable--and the whole movie sucks. People aren't into it, or all they remember is that moment where they were taken out of the movie. The only way to make a solid horror is really to make it so emotionally engaging, that it grabs a viewer and doesn't let go. Otherwise, you just hope that people find it campy in a good way, rather than just a piece of crap. The thing about comedy is that if you write 50 jokes and funny scenes, and 2 of them are absolutely hilarious, people will say, yeah, that was a funny movie. If 30 out of 50 things were funny, then people say it's a great movie. You don't worry if some things don't work as well as you had hoped, because the comedy genre is more forgiving. For example, I went out and bought Corky Romano on DVD, just because I liked that one scene where he's coked up and giving that talk to little kids and thinks he should buy a boat. There's only 1 thing funny in that movie and that's it, yet that one scene was funny enough to get me to shell out money for it. Twice. Maybe I'm a big coward. Maybe I don't have what it takes to make an utterly engaging movie. But I enjoy writing comedy more, because unlike horror, I don't sit at home outlining, then get scared that any tiny noise means some apparition is stalking me in my home.

So I want this:

https://secure.officeorganix.com/

I read that this one screenwriter has a set-up like this, so she basically sits in an anti-gravity chair and writes lying down in a dark room. Since I solve most of my script problems by falling asleep with my script pages splayed on my chest, this would be the perfect solution to my creative workflow.

I took the red eye out on Friday night, arriving in Ft. Lauderdale just before 5am. It was hard waking up on the plane, and my heavy head felt disoriented the entire walk to the baggage claim. I took a cab driven by a silent driver to the Mar Lago, a beachside spa resort. It did worry me a bit while he took dark, twisted roads to the hotel, that this stranger could be taking me anywhere. We put a lot of blind faith in public transportation providers if you really think about it. I arrived at the Mar Lago just as dawn was breaking. I had asked my mom to leave the room key with the front desk because I didn't want to wake her, but I ended up having to knock because she'd locked the door from the inside. We were up three hours later to go to the Liz Arden Spa. The company who organized the trip had planned a day in the spa, so everyone could choose two things between a massage, a facial, a pedicure or a manicure. I chose a massage and a facial. The decor of the spa was very zen, with well-landscaped natural fountains and a little meditative garden. Inside, it felt like enlightenment with an edge--you would walk through this low-light, lavendar-scented hall, but if you opened any one of the heavy sound-proof door marked "Fitness," you'd be blasted with the music and clangs of a weight room or a spinning instructor barking at riders. It was a very disorienting sensation.

The massage and facial were good and I met my mom outside on the patio for lunch. We talked about Michael, her family and her company, all secretly sources of great sadness in her, but she has yet to admit this or realize it. The best that I can do is be compassionate and supportive to her, but secretly, it makes me sad a lot, too.

We rode a limo back to the hotel with some other people in the group, and the limo is completely packed. I tried to imagine who these people were. The thing was that they all seemed to be politely trying to figure out where the boundaries were of the business/personal relationship, like, is it okay to drink beer in a limo in the afternoon, should I talk about my kids or make joking sexual innuendo, etc. Some I felt like, had already decided this was a trip out of duty, but secretly, they despised most of the people in the group. I made a mental note of who I thought all these people were, so I could come back and compare what I learned about them over the next few days with what I had thought. I don't want to reveal too much about the people I met since I know that blogging can get you into all kinds of trouble in the business world, but one of the most amazing ways to find a lot of different types of people is to go to a business activity that brings together people from different regions that have nothing more in common than their industry or type of work. You'll get a glimpse into a lot of different human perspectives, some better, some worse.

We went to an event at the convention center called Taste of the NFL. For every NFL team, that city had a booth that featured a past or present football player signing autographs, a chef from one of that city's famous restaraunts presenting a sample of a tasty dish, and a wine steward pouring a wine specially picked to be paired with the dish. There was also a DJ and a dance floor, and all the open bars you could stumble into. The concept was ingenius. I kind of wish the NFL players hadn't been there, because I felt responsible to carry around a football and get it signed by all these players, yet I was more interested in the food and the wine. The food was amazing and the selected wines were all very good. I just noticed that even though the food was supposed to be representative of each particular region, I think cuisine in general in the U.S. is turning into a master cuisine of fusion-everything. Even though there are still clear examples of regional dishes, there was nothing distinctive about any of the dishes that would tie them to the region, except Chicago maybe, and its lamb pierogi's. Later Styx played, with all the band members looking embarrassingly too old to have long teased hair and tight pants, but I didn't know who they were at first because I was playing Madden at the Xbox 360 area. I learned that guys either love it that a girl is good at video games, or get very, very angry. I won both games I played in. The first guy was cool, but the second guy started getting really irritated and snarky. By the time I left and found out that the band was Styx, I had already accidentally drowned my digital camera in a pool of water (a bottle that the attendant slightly uncapped without letting me know). So I sat there watching people, glad Styx only did a short encore. I ran into my uncle at the end of the evening and he keeped saying this was so fun, over and over like a little kid. Sometimes I think when you surround yourself with people who are angry, down or cynical, you forget how much fun things in life can be.

We went to the hotel bar after the event, which had an open bar. It was all these business people getting drunk, and I spent an hour talking about fantasy basketball just because my mom told then I was a former champion. Again, guys will either love or hate the fact you know a lot about something that is in their guy territory, and I have serious (in my mind, educated) beliefs about teams and players. It wasn't my favorite subject to talk about in a bar, but it beat having to small talk with a bunch of business people I didn't know. I got cornered by this really sloppy drunk old guy who looked like what you would find in the encyclopedia (or wikipedia at least) as a color illustration of a sloppy drunk old guy. He was tall, with a messy mop of dark hair (a la Greg Brady), a craggly, baboon-red face, and a very generous red nose that looked like a mound of raw clay slapped onto his face. His eyes looked like two glass eyes. I had seen him smiling and looking at me earlier, like he was trying to get my attention, but I wouldn't make eye contact. He overheard me talking about basketball and he sits down and starts talking to my breasts about the sport. He says something about how he's not hitting on me, but that I remind him of his daughters. The fact that he's telling my breasts this makes that statement more disturbing. I'm trying to get away with him and the next thing I know, some random white guy was yelling that I had to go. He was standing next to my mom so I assumed that she had asked him to pull me away. He kept yelling at me while this guy followed me up and blocked me, wanting to tell me "one more thing" and then the guy comes over and pulls me away. I thank him and he said that my mom was trying to go back to the room and wanted to help get me away from that drunk guy. In the room, as we got ready for bed, my mom mentioned that that guy had said that all Chinese people are liars, and that he had said to her, "C'mon, you know what I'm talking about." She said it so casually in passing, that I didn't think it was anything more than an unfortunately in appropriate joke, until later.

We got up early on Super Bowl Sunday. We met in the lobby to go to a yacht club, where the group had arranged for us to have a champagne lunch, and where some NFL players would be available to sign autographs. We showed up at a waterfront bar, with our room facing the water. There was an open bar, as always, and a buffet of Cuban fair, Cajun fish and amazing key lime pie. Shawne Merriman, James Lofton, and a guy from the Packers came to hang out. The Fridge and Javon Walker had been scheduled to appear but they never showed. We piled onto our bus at about 2pm to head to the stadium, and while there were rumors that we would be getting a police escort to the stadium, I had no idea what it would really be like. The police cars and motorcycles had their lights flashing. They started in front of us, but then spaced out, so that cars in front could stop in intersections to hold cross sections while another car would usher us through. Many times the cops blared their horns at anyone who wasn't moving to the side, or even got out of their cars and waved specific cars to get off the street. Once we got on the freeway, it was like a presidential motorcade, with the cars flanking us and the motorcycles riding ahead. It was pretty unreal. I mean, it felt really excessive, like, it was wrong to misuse authority this, but it was the most grossly mesmerizing thing to see all those police cars clearing a path for us. I had mixed feelings about it.

The energy at the Super Bowl was amazing. The rain had been on and off and the parking lots were all mud. People had been tailgating for a while, so there were lots of drunken taunting between Colts fans and Bears fans. I will say that Bears fans are more passionate. And scary. Our seats were in section 116, row 17, very close to the field. I couldn't believe how close they were. This was my first NFL game, and this must be the most ridiculous way to pop your NFL cherry. They had a Cirque du Soleil pregame show with Gloria Estafan, and Billy Joel singing the national anthem, with Marlee Matlin doing the sign language interpretation. Hester ran the opening kickoff back for a touchdown and it was utter disbelief in the stadium for the next few minutes. The rain started pouring down and we had to don our plastic ponchos, which may be the most uncomfortable pieces of clothing, second only to metal mesh thongs. The rain never stopped coming down hard, and it put it's own twist on the game, with the ball being slippery and the fumbles aplenty. By halftime, most of us were soaked, the rain having gotten through our ponchos. Prince was solid but my favorite was the marching band. They had passed out these lights to people in certain seats, and I think that combined, it was supposed to make a bigger design. I have a feeling it didn't work though, since most of the people in our section had left their seats, so no one there was wearing the light. The 2nd half was exciting, and the Colts stepped it up. The rain kept coming down and by then, my pants were completely wet and my underwear soaked through. I needed the Colts to beat the spread because I had bet on the Colts. They pull away, and the Chicago fans are silent. Later, I heard one guy mutter, "If I ran into Rex Grossman, I would choke him to death." It's a very scary thing to hear.

At the end of the game, I left my seat to call my mom to tell her where to meet us (she was in a different section). I was in the main concourse area when the guy from the night before followed me out. He said that he heard that I was good at fantasy basketball. He said he was really into "fantasy." I said I'm only good at fantasy basketball, and he said he likes "all fantasy." The way he says it is creepy to me, like it means more. I say, I can't talk about all fantasies, just basketball and, he said he doesn't "like basketball...do you know why?" I ask him why and he said, "I hate basketball. They're all Negros who want to mess around and smoke weed. They're complete pieces of shit." I have to take a second to think about what he just said because it was so offensive, surely he must be joking. I say that while the NBA does have an image of being thuggish, there are smart players, like Michael Curry who has a master's degree, and all of the players who are entrepreneurs and community spokespeople. He repeated again that they're just pot smoking pieces of shit. I got angry and I started ripping on him about generalizations. He again stood by the fact that the NBA is all blah blah blah, and that he wasn't making a generalization. I said all is an all-inclusive statement, and considering a large percentage of players are international players (which he exclaimed, I like them. I have no problem with them), that therefore not ALL NBA players could be black thugs. He tried to get me to admit that they were all drugheads and I said that my boyfriend is black and this conversation really offends me. Then I called him ignorant and a racist. Long story short, he followed me the rest of the way into the parking lot as I looked for my mom and uncle. We were with the entire group, but at one point, I thought they were behind us and he swore they were way in front of us, so he hurried me up. We never found the group. He was telling me that it was hot that I was beautiful and smart, and that I was like my mom. He said something about me being mad at him for what he said, and that he bailed me out the night before so didn't I owe him something? I deflected him for the most part, but he was definitely creepy. I found my mom and suddenly, he went missing. We got to the bus and everyone was there already except him. They sent out a search party, but they came back and said the guy had caught a ride with another bus and would see them back at the hotel. I told my mom about him and she brought up what he said about Chinese people the night before. She said she thought he just didn't like minorities. I told her that I thought he was a predator and to be careful around him.

We got home and my pants were still soaked through to the underwear. I have to admit though, for as miserable as the weather made me, I knew the hot shower would probably be the best one of my life. We got cleaned up and went down to the bar, where they had made sandwiches for us and of course, had an open bar. That creepy guy didn't show up, but there were plenty of other drunk businessmen, so we ate quickly and went to bed.

My mom and I had both extended our trip by one day to see Miami. We went to South Beach but while it was cool, it was a Monday night so I felt like we were only getting a hint of it. I walked into a street sign while I had my head down and was texting, cutting up my fingers. My mom laughed but kept talking on the phone and walking, not realizing until she was a block and a half away that I was still kneeling on the ground. I'm kind of glad though. I was very embarrassed. We headed to Coconut Grove where we had dinner at this cute french bistro, Le Buchon, where the waiter was so cute (I asked him how much was a glass of chablis and he waved me off saying, Don't worry. I'll bring it to you and you'll drink it. At the end of the meal, you say you don't like it and I'll take it away.). I had this chicken that was stewed on top of mushroom risotto that was rich and delicate, and my mom and the roasted duck legs with potatoes. I learned from a framed newspaper article on their wall that this was Brian Grant's favorite restaurant in Miami.

The drive home was long and I got kind of grumpy when I got lost. We got home safely, and my mom woke me up at 7:30am this morning to kiss me goodbye and tell me she was on the way to the airport. I think we will never get so old that it doesn't hurt your heart to some degree to say goodbye to your mother.

It was raining again so I decided to go to the airport for the day, even though my flight wasn't until 5pm. I managed to lose my ID and find it again, which relieved me because I feel like I'm always losing things. I finishedThe Devil and the White City before nodding off.

I arrived at Atlanta and waited at baggage claim next to a team of college basketball players. I wanted to ask them who they were, even to the coach who kept staring at me, but I didn't. All I know is that they have a close to 7 footer who looks European.

So now I'm in Atlanta now for a trade show, in this huge hotel room that could be a posh apartment (minus the kitchen). Reggie keeps telling me to be careful here, and when I look outside of my balcony, I see these boarded up houses that would be perfect locations for a horror movie. I asked my coworker if he would go into one of those houses if he and his friends were drunk and they dared him. They looked like scary, abandoned houses. He said he wouldn't because he has no interest in what goes on in them. I asked him if he was more scared of meeting violent people or ghosts and he just said he wouldn't go in them. I think I'm more afraid of ghosts. I looked at the house and the firt threat I saw were ghosts; didn't think of the possibility it could be crack fiends in there. But also, there's something old and dark about this city. Even though there aren't that many people out and about, you always feel like there's a lot out there, or that there are many invisible things around you.

How is it possible I could potentially be involved with two lawsuits? All I want is my roof that's been leaking for over 3 years fixed, yet I don't understand why certain people would rather drag these things out and not deal with them in a proper, professional manner. I think some people demand that things get escalated because they have no professional integrity. As for people who rear-end others in traffic, ignore calls from their insurance company for weeks and then come back with a lie that the accident was caused by the victim, that's just bullshit. So now, instead of sitting in the slow lane in rush hour traffic and getting rear-ended, apparently I cut someone off and hit THEM. I personally would never lie about these types of things because I'm afraid of karma, but I see some people have no problem with dragging their integrity through karmic manure.

On the positive, I made a really kick-ass pot of minestrone last night.

I just switched over to this new blogger, and for a few hours, I got really scared that I'd erased my blog, since I know my template isn't an official blogger template so it always has problems with it. In fact, it's been so long that I've had this template that I chose as a joke (what the hell happened to my little kitten that shit paw prints), that I guess people know me by my super gay peach-tones. The new blogger does have some new features that I have yet to explore, one of them being a label function for your posts, with the suggested label, "scooters, vacation, fall." I felt obligated to comply.

5 more days before I leave for Miami for the Super Bowl. My mom has requested that I not wear anything low cut because her work associates will be there. I argue that I MUST wear all things low cut because professional athletes will be there.

I was at a mall this week and I turned around and thought this guy standing behind me was Shawn Marion of the Suns. My legs went weak. It turned out it wasn't him but it really surprised me that should I ever meet Shawn Marion, that my legs would go weak. I always thought I was an Amare kind of girl. I love the Suns.

I just finished up my Final Cut Pro class so I have my Sundays back. I do need to go through all the lessons at my own pace to feel like I have a handle on the basic things, but at least the whole process isn't as daunting. I'm hoping this is my first step to becoming more technical. I'm also simultaneously learning Dreamweaver, which could mean trouble.

I'll tell you, remodeling is a process. I got a quote of $45K to remodel two bathrooms and a kitchen of a two-bedroom condo, and I just about fainted, because we didn't even want that much done. Needless to say, it was laughably over my budget. I did some research on the internet and the average cost to remodel a master bathroom with decent material in LA is between 21K and 24K alone, which is disgusting. I'm learning that contractors are as bad as lawyers in that they can basically charge you whatever they want, and you have to be ready to give up your first born. The good news is Reggie knows someone who can do it for much less, and there are certain things we can do ourselves. Like paint. I like to paint. I can't say this process isn't fun though. I can't wait to see my little ex-crack den transformed into something nice.

In other news, still need to find that restaurant space. We need a larger kitchen for the lemonade production stat.

There are days when I feel like letting my job know that it's time for me to go, because I can't stand living above water anymore, that it's killing me. I think about those whales in captivity with their fins all limp and that's how I feel inside most days. I haven't visited those dark places that scare me in so long, that I barely believe in their existence anymore, like monsters under your childhood bed that you've driven away with adult reason. But maybe they aren't so much as dark, as they are a murky unknown. They serve a purpose, and if you're brave enough to delve in, you get to walk a different path, embark on a different journey. I haven't been able to look at life askew, and without it, it makes me feel like I can't see things the way I used to, where there was a top side, and a deeper truthful underbelly. I think at some point you have to go to the edge and decide if you want to stay with your feet safely planted on the ground, or if you're going to jump and trust that whatever rushes up to meet you, is what was meant to be. And maybe, despite all your doubts, you could fly after all. The dark side terrifies me. But I think I need it, because I don't think this is the right path that I'm on.

No amount of money is going to make me feel safe. Responsibilities will always be there. My brother's life will be his no matter if I'm there to catch his every fall, and I have to accept that. And I know full well I can't deal with regret when it's inevitable. So then, what's holding me back?

Sometimes I think that people look towards other people to display that passion for something, that true belief in something that is beyond this world. I look at people who fervently create art, even fucked up, psychopathic terrible art, and I think, despite what I may think about it, despite all the people who laugh at it, that person has an indescribable drive that demands they create or else...Or else. And that's something that I imagine to be akin to when our species first discovered fire...something that was so miraculous, so dangerous yet so beautiful, that you were just as terrified of it as you were terrified to be without it. What happened to all the underground bloggers? The ones that were tiny points of light on this darkened highway, bleeding out their truths? They've abandoned their faces, but they're still out there. The poets, the bleeders, the optimists, the ones just tearing at their tired masks. I wonder if they've found anonymous venues when the intimidation of attention sent them looking for safer corners. Or if they refused to abandon ground, but found their voices stifled. What happened to all the bare naked truth that used to float around here? I hope you guys are still out there. We are all still very, very human, each and every one of us, and all delusions aside, we have no idea what the fuck is going on. And I think every person deep down craves that reassurance that it's not just them, that it's all of us.

I am a coward. If I weren't, I would quit my job. If I weren't, I wouldn't be pushing other people to get their lives in order and I would get my own, or define the life I want regardless of external pressure. I would stop giving other people advice that I'm too scared to live by. I once drove all the way to Vegas, dropped $100 on a blackjack table in 5 minutes, then turned around and drove home, just because I was sad and didn't know what else to do. And in hindsight, I don't know why I did it, but at least I did it. That existence is so much better than one where you're numb. I went a whole year without background music (I still have the same CD's in my car changer from 2002), and it shocks me that I didn't notice. How can you live without music to guide your subconscious spaces? I didn't realize until Whit made a comment one day, that one of the things that helped our creativity when we lived together was that we always had music on, rather than the TV. And then I realized, wait, what happened to the music? Because the TV is ALWAYS on now. The internet is always there. And there's always time to waste.

Fuck this over-domestication crap. If this world goes to shit, I'll never survive in the wild. I propose a psychic revolution, a emergency alert for awareness. Look around at all the ways your life has numbed you, and decide what purpose does it serve--is it helping you or hurting you? Use your psychic antennaes, reach out to your world, your people, your life path. Get reconnected and start evaluating the why's and the how come's in your life. Because if you notice that things just haven't been right lately, that there's been this overwhelming feeling of dread that you can't put your finger on...you have to ask yourself, is it out there? Or is it in here? Because I have a feeling that I'm not the only one that's feeling like the world is off kilter but we've all been getting too sedated and numb to pay close attention.

http://msn.foxsports.com/nba/story/6380092?FSO1&ATT=HMA

Stephen Jackson? The man is locker room cancer. He's a bad influence on any team with a plethora of young players. He's Allen Iverson without the skills. He's got legal issues right now related to a shooting in Indiana. No one would trade with the Pacers up until now, because every deal required that the other team take Jackson as well. That's just great.

Glad to get rid of Dun-nothing, but this is all we can do? A headcase and an overrated sidekick (Harrington)?

Actually, it's a good trade for the Warriors, all things considering. We didn't have to give up the players we like (Ellis, Biedrins), and we still have JRich as trade bait for something else. Harrington and Jackson will fit well (at least better than our two Great White Hopes) in Nellie's system, and we'll at the very least have an exciting run and gun team. Do I still secretly prefer watching the Suns? Of course. But at least we got rid of two of Mullin's biggest contract mistakes without giving up anything devastating. Now if we can find some way to move Foyle...

We've got tickets for the Clippers/Warriors game tonight. Since the trade went down today, that means GS won't have Dunleavy, Murphy, Diogu, McLeod, Harrington, Jackson, or Sarunas J. tonight, so with injuries included, their bench will be skimpy. I hope it's at least a close game. I hate it when GS gets blown out by either LA team.

http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2007-01/12/content_5600294.htm

"Oopsies."

Today I discovered that dropping Mentos into a 2-liter bottle of Diet Coke causes a glorious soda geyser.

Today I remembered how much pyro-fun can be had with lighting non-dairy creamer with a cigarette lighter.

Today I had a loud-volume conversation with my mom about prenuptial agreements.

Today I realized that the cost of remodeling is very expensive.

Today I learned that changing to a new cellphone number because Sprint screwed up your plan but not telling anyone means getting left out while your friends go ice-skating downtown.

Today I indulged in a beautifully luxurious afternoon nap.

Today I watched a French movie about futuristic cannabilism, but I spent most of my time looking at the actors and wondering what constitutes "good-looking" in France.

Today I tried to play NBA 2K7 on xbox, then quit, blaming my poor performance on a faulty controller.

Today I feared that my brain may be at its limit of capacity.

Today I wondered when extraterrestrials would finally make contact again, and if us humans could manage to behave in a calm and civilized manner when they do.

Today I vowed to be in bed by midnight, but lost ground when I spent half an hour looking up photos of Britney's new man on the internet.

I think one of the beauties of having a 9-5 is knowing that you've entered into an implied agreement with your employer that 2 days a week belong strictly to you, when you aren't owned by anyone else. My only regret today was not being able to make it to Costco in time to get econo-sized packages of Mentos and non-dairy creamer. And getting the message about ice skating a day too late.

When I was in my early-20's, my aunt once told me, don't dick around while you're young because once you turn 25, time goes by fast and the next thing you know, you're already 30. I know, right? I can't tell the difference between 2005 and 2006. I used to identify the years and seasons within by who I was dating at the time, but since being in a stable relationship, the years just run together.

I just finished Suspect Zero which dealt with two of my favorite subjects -- serial killers and parapsychology (in this case, remote viewing). Ben Kingsley plays an ex-FBI agent seriously disturbed by his stint as an agency remote-viewer used to track down serial killers via psychic empathy. First of all, Ben Kingsley is brilliant and probably nuts. You have to be to be able to get that deep into a character, and he has my full respect and admiration. His commitment as an actor is beyond words. The movie was shot very artistically and had some great dialogue (check out Kingsley's monologue when he's got the movie's protagonist tied up). The DVD has a really interesting featurette about remote viewing and its scientific background, though since it's a featurette to promote the movie, it doesn't go as in depth as I had hoped for.

I got rear-ended on the freeway on Friday on the way to the gym, which sent me right back home. Woke up this morning feeling like I'd played 6 hours straight of basketball, which led me to the doctor's as a precaution. Having been rear-ended before (in my car, I mean), I expected that I would probably have a sore back and shoulders this morning, but I've got these back spasms that have me predicting another round of chiropractic visits and physical therapy. I was really irritated about the accident...we're in stop and go traffic in the slow lane of the freeway, and this guy still manages to hit me hard enough to bash up the left back side of my car. He got out and suggested we not report this to insurance and he would give me $200 for the damages. I didn't feel like telling him that $200 would only pay for the taillight that was completely shattered. Hell, my sideview mirror that this lady tore off while trying to park her car had cost $600. I hate dealing with the logistics of a car accident. The bonus was that I was prescribed Vicodin, but I'm not really big on pills so the score of this is lost on me.

Shik Do Rak is my favorite restaurant right now. It's Korean BBQ, except you wrap the meat with some grilled onions & mushrooms, lettuce, kim chi and chili sauce in this wrapper that's like a wonton wrapper, but made with rice and with the consistency of a large panel of pho noodle. If you bring more than 2 people and get the larger combo meals, it comes with a bottle of Soju. The food is incredibly messy, but for about $20 a person, you get a really unique and filling twist on Korean BBQ. The host (owner?) Roger, is the cutest little guy who will make you feel like you're a guest in his home. I saw countless guests thank him with a hug when they left. I can't say I wasn't tempted.

Why aren't more people watching 30 Rock? Alec Baldwin is genius (on being sold a pager by Tina Fey's loser boyfriend: "Excuse me, I'm expecting a call from 1984") and the show is really quirky and hilarious. I love the writing. I'm hoping the show stays on for a while so it makes it worthwhile for me to write a spec, as I would prefer not to go through another Andy Richter Controls the Universe disaster.

The use of cellphones while driving is now a ticketable offense. Don't know if that includes bluetooth use, but watch that cellphone use when you're behind a wheel, and if you see someone else doing it, feel free to call 911.

People gravitate towards anger because it's the most accessible and instant means of verifying that one can still feel, with fear/anxiety following as a close 2nd. Other feelings are more abstract and subject to interpretation, and can not help you verify whether or not you're operating on auto-pilot.

People are either pushed or propelled through life. Some let external forces push them, some let inner forces chase them. Either way, you can experience both while being completely numb.

There's something very unsettling to me about being still.

I am afraid of the dark, particularly in any room that features a mirror or open doors. I tried to confront that fear last night by turning off the lights of my bathroom. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, trying to focus on the fact I was in a safe place and that there were people in the house who would protect me, and that it's rare for an entity to manifest itself in a physical enough form to hurt me. I panicked anyway.

When I was young, I would sleepwalk. Sometimes I would be in mid-conversation with someone, and slowly realize that I was sitting in the dark on the couch in front of the TV, and that there was no one there. Yet, I would feel like there was someone there. I would go to sleep every night with the covers over my head, even if it was hard to breathe, and be scared that I would wake up in the living room talking to people I could feel but couldn't see. I finally stopped doing that in high school, though I would still sleepwalk out the front door sometimes, which was always so much less scary than those times I would wake up in the living room. It's terrifying to wake up to find you're not in the place you're supposed to be, and you swear there's someone else there in the dark with you.

Once when we were little, my brother and I were playing and I accidentally knocked him on the side of the head. He had been really bouncy and happy, but all of a sudden, his eyes just dulled and he slowly crawled into bed and went to sleep. I was scared because what happened with his eyes was weird. He had a seizure later that night, and I called 911 because my parents had gone out to dinner with friends. The paramedics came and asked me if his head had struck anything recently and I told them he had a history of seizures (which was true), but I knew I caused it. They carried him out of the room. I don't remember how I got to the hospital. They put him in this bin and hooked him up to IV's, and he was really pale and weak but he still laughed when I played with him, until the nurse came over and told us to be quiet. My parents came and they looked so scared. I told them I didn't know what happened.

Do ever think back about something that happened in the past, and your heart beats faster, you start to sweat and you get terrified even though you know that at the end of the scene, things turn out okay, but when you're reliving it, there's a part of you that doesn't believe it? Thinking about that night still scares me. It happened at the hotel by Disneyland. I hate Disneyland now, and I've never told anybody the reason why.

Reggie saw a ghost when he was younger, walking up the stairs of an old house in which a man had died. It scared him so much that he had trouble going to sleep in the dark, well into adulthood.

My baby cousin has been seeing things in their house, in the corners and high in the air. He gets scared and cries, and it's disturbing his parents because they don't see anything, yet my cousin will point and cower. He calls them "Bugs" and says they're very large. They have taken him to eye specialists, neurologists, priests and spiritual gurus, etc., but no one can tell them anything. The priests just said that we share this world with things that are both good and very bad, so it is very important that we pray and stay connected and aligned to positive forces.

People don't have to believe in ghosts, but the phenomenon of being haunted is indisputable. Whether it's something you've seen, experienced, believed, done, thought...we carry these things with us the way we carry our shadows, and these are the things that visit us when our minds and beings are still. I wonder what else we would see, if we weren't working so hard to stay numb, to focus on only the things that are in front of us or that we put in front of ourselves to keep us looking forward. I always look at people and wonder, what are the things that haunt you?

New Year's Goals (in no particular order)

1. Finish a feature script by March
2. Finish said script's outline by December
3. Complain less at work.
4. Yell at boss less at work.
5. Remember to close office door when yelling at work.
6. Learn to be vicious without raising my voice like Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada.
7. Afford Prada.
8. Make six-figures and not spend it all on bubble wrap for de-stressing.
9. Go to gym more.
10. Go to gym for more than 20 minutes more.
11. Have the guts to take dance-oriented aerobics class and not feel like that fat girl in junior high who split her pants in PE.
12. Strengthen my knees so I can drive to the basket more.
13. Dribble better with my left.
14. Dunk
15. Windmill dunk
16. 360 windmill dunk
17. Stop using the same water bottle for 3 months.
18. Think of clever name for a restaurant.
19. Open said restaurant.
20. Quit job to sit in corner of said restaurant with laptop, thinking about wanting to write as I sip my own overpriced cappucino.
21. Expand J&R's Lemonade.
22. Learn web design to aid expansion.
23. Buy a manufacturing plant.
24. Enforce a hair net rule.
25. Find a doctor who can help Michael with his weird allergy symptoms
26. Find Michael a job.
27. Buy a Treo and get organized.
28. Learn to back up files.
29. Learn Adobe Photoshop.
30. Make animated penguin movie where they all have my face.
31. Set aside time every week for fun reading.
32. Stay in touch with people better.
33. Figure out what I want to do with my life.
34. Buy another condo.
35. Learn more about property management.
36. Shoot something on HD.
37. Eat a gallon of ice cream in one sitting.
38. Throw it all up.
39. Ponder how hard/easy life must be for Nicole Richie.
40. Direct another comedy show.
41. Be nicer to Reggie.
42. Spend less time surfing the net.
43. Find a direction that I'm comfortable with.
44. Be okay with not doing anything.
45. Be more focused and limit multi-tasking to only when it's efficient.
46. Update He Looks Like at least once a month.
47. Blog more.
48. Limit snoozing to less than 4 times each morning.
49. Get up earlier so I can sleep longer in the shower.
50. Don't be so afraid of people.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=6063982

Are you kidding me?

The night before Christmas Eve, Michael threw a tantrum in the parking lot of a grocery store in Fremont because he was hungry. Anyone who knows someone with autism, they know that they have occasional tantrums that include irrational screaming, cursing, and sometimes aggressive behavior (hitting, throwing objects). These tantrums can be very rare in high functioning people like Michael, but given the right circumstances, if the autistic person's mind gets "locked," they will feel backed in a corner mentally and the ensuing episode can be likened to that of a trapped animal -- they are fighting for their lives, rationally or not. The tantrums usually last for a few minutes, with the beginning being the most intense when you're not sure of the level of aggression the tantrum will feature, whether he will be screaming/cussing only, or if he will swing at you. The major things that need to be controlled to mollify the tantrum are 1. Noice Level (people talking, loud noises, and 2. Eye contact. You can not make eye contact or the tantrum will escalate. You have to pretend you don't notice him. The cycle of a tantrum begins with him yelling and cussing, daring people to look at him. But if you do look at him or say anything to him, it escalates the tantrum even more so it's a really wicked cycle. The hardest thing to control are strangers. Crowds will look, which will escalate the tantrum and draw it out longer. It's much easier to handle for us in private than in public, where the circumstances usually cause the tantrum to escalate, and we can't give him his space to cool down because we are trying to shorten the scene.

In this instance, the parking lot was fairly empty, though cars would come and go for last minute shopping. My mom went to talk to Michael while Reggie and I took each side, blocking his eyeline so he couldn't make eye contact with other people. If he sees them, he'll usually flip them off and ask them what they're looking at, and with the wrong person, you have a confrontation (a young punk at a movie theater trying to prove something to his hoochie girlfriend once stepped up and tried to pick a fight, and that resulted in the police coming out). Anyone who drove up and tried to look, we intercepted and explained that Michael was autistic and to please not look at him. I talked to the manager of the store who had come out and I explained that this was a tantrum cycle--it starts with cussing, etc., and usually ends up with him crying because he's embarrassed and doesn't understand what happened and why he couldn't control himself. At that moment, a car alarm nearby went off and Michael yelled, "Shut up!" The manager laughed and said, "Did he just tell the car alarm to shut up?" I said, yeah, people with autism don't like loud noises. The guy was cool and said Merry Christmas and walked back into the store and most people were understanding and just walked away. There was one old lady who drove up, and by then, Michael had calmed down and was just talking heatedly with my mom. She got on her cellphone and Reggie thought she might be calling the police, but when we got close to her, she dropped her voice and started talking about "dinner."
My mom finally talked Michael down and we got back in the car.

Usually after a tantrum, we don't speak and we wait for him to talk about it. He usually needs time and space to gather his understanding of what happened. We got home, took the groceries upstairs and started dinner, while Michael gathered himself in the car.

Michael finally came upstairs, super contrite, and I went to change. I heard a loud thump which I didn't think anything of, but when I came out about two minutes later, there were a couple of cops standing in our entryway. Apparently, that old lady had been calling the cops, and thinking that it was a domestic dispute, they traced our license plate and showed up at our house.

I missed the bulk of what happened--the cops had rang our doorbell, Michael had answered it and when he saw they were cops, he had tried to slam the door on them. The cop blocked the door (thus the THUMP) and yelled, "You can't close the door on the police!" Michael ran away. Luckily, Reggie and my mom had run in and blocked the police as they tried to chase after him, yelling that Michael's autistic and afraid of policemen. The police stopped in their tracks and said they had gotten a call about a man threatening his wife. Reggie explained that it was Michael throwing a tantrum and my mom was calming him down. My mom said they were welcome to talk to Michael to show him that the cops are his friends, but when he yelled, "Michael? You wanna come talk to us?" Michael screamed, "Nooo! Go away!" Reggie and I kind of laughed about it like, "haha...well...this is what we deal with" to make it seem like this was routine and no big deal. They were nice about it, saying how hard our house was to find and how they had gotten lost going down the wrong street. As they walked out the door, they yelled, "Merry Christmas Michael!" and Michael yelled, "FUCK YOU." We all laughed, wished them a Merry Christmas, and closed the door.

We were scared shitless.

The tantrums are hard to explain, and can be scary if you've never seen one and don't know they are short-lived and non-violent with the right type of handling. If he does hit anyone, it's usually one of us, because he's a coward and knows we won't hit back in public. Michael is also a big guy, and when he throws one, most people don't understand and can get scared. This has been a great burden on our family, and something that keeps me up a lot of nights. I don't understand why Michael has never thrown a tantrum when he's in LA with us, but he's like an emotional landmine when he's with my parents. My greatest fear in life is those confrontations with the police. The first thing we do when he has a tantrum is surround him, and we explain to people that he's autistic, and he's just throwing a tantrum. A handful of times, a security guard has come over or the police have arrived, but they have been mostly understanding, and Michael usually runs away from them, apologizing later. But I worry about the wrong police officer showing up, the one that's trigger-happy. Michael's tantrum behavior is completely irrational and verbally aggressive. Michael is always carrying something in his hand, be it his keys, his toy cars or his toy airplanes. All it takes is for him to have something in his hand to justify a police shooting, and for them to say that they thought he had a gun.

The scariest thing about that night was that we had left Michael alone in the car to cool off and think. I didn't go change until he had finally come upstairs, and I heard that THUMP about two minutes later. If those officers hadn't gotten lost trying to find our house, they would have probably arrived while Michael was still alone in the car and confronted him there. No one would have been there to explain to him that he's autistic and unarmed, outside of toys in his hands. Who knows what would have happened, because Michael would have freaked out, being trapped in the car with nowhere to run, and acted irrationally. I still stay up late, wondering if I would have heard pops instead of a thump that night while I was changing. It really, really terrifies me.

My mom says each time gets closer and closer. I really don't know what to do. I'm trying to move him to LA, not knowing if I can handle having him here, or what he's going to do to fill his days--all I know is he's NEVER thrown a tantrum here without his parents around and that's the only hope I have. But what if he throws a tantrum down here? What will that mean? And what will happen, knowing that LAPD is so much more reactive than the police back home? We know that if he's in the middle of a tantrum and the police come, we have to take him down and pin him just to show that he's subdued, which is so fucked up but the only thing we can think of to make sure that the police don't do anything stupid. But what if we're not there?

I spend so much of my time looking up specialists, researching his medications and trying to figure out the best way to work with him to allow him to bypass the impulse to throw a tantrum. Every time he comes down here and does so well, I hear about him throwing at tantrum at home. I don't want him to get killed by the police. Knowing my parents, they'll jump in the way and get killed, too. Will moving him away from home, away from his past and his emotional scars be the answer? Do his medications help or hurt? Where is the answer for this so I can sleep at night?