Well, it's been fun, but I have to go now

Dear patrons of the Soda Fountain, our lease has expired.

And we must move.

It's been fun sharing the last year and a half with you, it really has. I've been as candid with you as possible during this time about my life and struggles and what have you.

But it's time to move on.

However, there IS good news here too.

The Soda Fountain has found a new home. Some of you have (or will be) e-mailed a link to our new location, a brighter and shinier building with a brand new soda fountain that is open and ready for you.

And it will host all of our podcasts. Past, Present, and Future.

If you would like to be directed to the new location but haven't received an e-mail with the new link, please email me here to let me know.

And so, I bid you farewell.

Advice for 18-Year-Old J

There's something about this season of graduations and commencements that makes me want to give advice.

The other day I was thinking about what wisdom I would impart, if given the opportunity, to my younger self. If I was somehow able to catch up with my 18-year-old self, what would I tell him?

So, 18-year-old J, listen up. I've got some stuff I need to share with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dude, you just turned 18 and you're starting out at college! I'm so excited for you, you have no idea!

I've got some good news and bad news for you, J. First, the bad news.

You're about to enter a very difficult and often shitty decade of your life. I'm here to help, so I'm not going to mince words. You're tougher than you think you are...you can handle it.

The good news is that you make it out a much better person than you are now. Oh, stop. You're fine now, true. You're definitely fine for an 18 year old. The problem is that you STAY 18 way longer than you should. Don't beat yourself up about it now, just be mindful of it.

At the risk of ripping the whole space-time continuum to shreds, causing the universe to collapse, I'm going to give you some much-needed advice. You might want to take notes.

1. OK, this is a biggie. Don't try to fuck every woman you meet. Yeah, yeah. Save me that crap about being in love with your high-school girlfriend and you'd never do such a thing. I'm you, remember?

You're actually kind-of a dick when it comes to women. High-school sweetheart included.

The thing is, some of these women might actually make good life-long friends. If you try to fuck them all, most of them are going to end up being your mortal enemies. Dude, that's a lonely, lonely place.

2. Try making some guy friends. They're good for you. You get much better at it much later, but why not start now?

3. You're going to join a fraternity when you go to college this year. I know you can't believe it, but it's true. And it's mostly a GOOD thing. You pick a good one. I'd recommend hanging out there much more than you're prone to do. It's not all pornos and beer, you know. Some of these guys you're about to call "brother" are really cool, really smart, really brave, really down-to-earth, and will really care about you if you let them.

4. Avoid isolating yourself, which is another thing you're prone to do. Some "alone time" is fine. But weeks of "alone time" on end? That shit'll fuck with your head something fierce.

5. Consider studying in groups. Yes, you're really smart. No, you're not going to flunk out (but you have to work at not flunking out.) There are some classes you're going to take that are going to be almost unbearable to get through. Those might be good ones to study in groups for. You'll know which ones they are pretty quickly in the semester.

6. Live life with hope, not fear. I've started doing this only recently. It's quite nice. You might want to do this before you get to be my age.

7. You're going to be lonely sometimes. After a while, you're going to get lonely a lot. Then it gets better. Maybe, when you're feeling really lonely, hanging out with someone would feel less lonely than feeling lonely all alone. Deep, I know.

8. You have a tendency to get impulsive. Sometimes it's a lot of fun. But I'd recommend getting in the habit of stopping for 60 seconds when you feel impulsive and thinking things through to their logical and likely conclusion. You make some REALLY big decisions in the next five or six years. This whole "60-second" rule would be an awesome thing to exercise. And all decisions, like "should me and her get naked and root around for a while", would benefit from the 60-second rule.

9. Some dreams take risks to realize. Some risks are manageable, or even worth it. Take 60 seconds (see rule 8) to think about the risks, and then if they are manageable refuse to let them get in the way of your dreams.

10. You get desperate and pick some lousy girlfriends. Don't.

11. Seek advice and listen to it. No one says you have to do everything on your own.

12. Your parents are kind-of critical of you and don't support you in some of your dreams. It sucks, I know. They act this way because they love you and want you to succeed. And they recognize how neurotic and insecure you are. Oh, quit pouting. You need to hear this.

Your parents are people too and they don't always do the best, most perfect things. Listen to them, look for a "deeper" message beyond the disapproval and worry, and take that to heart.

Then ignore them.

13. Stand up for yourself. You spend a LOOOONG time taking unnecessary shit from people. Tell someone to fuck off if they need to hear it. Speak your mind, if you need to. Sometimes you'll need to exercise tact, sometimes not.

14. Having said that, don't do something just to pick a fight. If it's going to result in possible physical harm, exercise tact.

15. Drive carefully. That car you call "yours" is a bit of a death trap. It wasn't built to handle 80 + MPH. Actually, it wasn't built to handle you at all. And for a while, you make it your hobby to get into car accidents. Bad idea, dude. Bad idea.

16. You know your uncles who have that problem called "addiction?" Do you think they're happy? Do you know addiction issues run in families? Be careful here. It may not be the same issue those uncles have, but whatever it is could sneak up on you and really fuck up your life.

Here, I'll make it simple. If you start "indulging" in something a lot, and you start doing things you never thought you'd do, and you have to start justifying your behavior, and you start lying to cover it all up, all the while hating yourself more and more...well, that's addiction.

17. No matter what's happening during the moment, life continues. It goes up, it goes down, and you ride along with it. Try not to be too discouraged by the "down" times and try to enjoy the ride. Things could always be worse. Hey, look at me! So far, I have all my limbs and a decent brain and can still make farting noises with my armpits.

19. Get out and do things you wouldn't normally do. If you have an opportunity to explore, do it. Go on road trips. Play in the rain. Take dancing lessons. Learn Origami.

OK, scratch the Origami lessons. But maybe "balloon animal" lessons would be cool?

20. Set goals. Then meet them. Some should be small goals, like "I'm going to finish this chapter of Biology before the end of the night, even if I fall asleep 11 times doing it." Some should be larger goals like "I'm going to be a campus leader by running for X position." Set these goals based on your other scheduling requirements. You probably shouldn't join some 4-AM streaking club if you have an 8 AM class, for example.

21. No one in the world expects you to be perfect. So maybe you shouldn't expect it of yourself.

22. Finally, have fun. Smile and laugh. People like smiles and laughter. You have a tendency to take yourself too seriously. That's a bad thing. No need to make life harder than it is by taking yourself too seriously.

I've got to go now. Honestly, I could probably give you a thousand pieces of advice to follow but I'll stop at 22. That should take you a long way.

Look. Life is hard. The end. There's this concept that you've never been taught about "suffering gracefully." I know, it sounds like bullshit. But it isn't. You're going to suffer from time to time...suffering gracefully means taking the disappointments in stride, keeping things in perspective, sharing the disappointments with friends who love you, and being thankful for the things you're not suffering through.

And don't be afraid. Remember the good news at the beginning before I started to talk? You make it through all of this just fine.

Oh, one final thing. You do get married when you're older, and she's an absolute HOTTIE! So don't worry about ending up alone, or ending up with an ugly girl, or anything like that. Trust me, it all works out.

See you in the mirror in about 14 years.

Blessed are the forgetful

"Blessed are the forgetful: for they get the better even of their blunders." - Friedrich Nietzsche

It isn't often that a movie captivates me on so many levels like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

I don't write about movies much in spite of my love of a well written show. It's hard to find a movie that can resonate inside. Machismo and explosions have their place, but there is an astounding lack of substance in movies these days. The substitution of form over substance is the order of the day.

I'm not going to tell you too much about the show. If you're a moody, emotional bitch (like me) then you'll like the show.

I admit, I was completely turned off by the title. It's just weird. But I've watched it about 10 times in the last 2 weeks.

I guess I got over the weird title.

"Tis Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

Or is it?

On the surface, that's the premise of this show. Would you erase all memories of a lost love if you could, make it so that they never existed? In the pain of a breakup, would you decide it's better to have never loved at all?

On subsequent viewings, I've noticed some deeper themes, points, and questions. Such as, if two people really are good together, if they really do enrich each other to the nth degree in spite of their dysfunctions and idiosyncracies, can that really be erased permanently?

Or if the pain of disappointment upon finding your significant other is actually NOT perfect is confronted directly, can it be overcome? Can it even actually serve to deepen a relationship?

This last question has special significance to me, and I believe it to be true. It certainly has been true in my marriage.

One of the most interesting aspects of this movie is that it focuses on five relationships in five stages of growth and destruction. During the primary viewing, I was captivated by the main relationship, the main focus of the story. Later, I started to look more at the other friendships and relationships in the story. Then I was able to watch it again and put it all into context. None of the characters are airbrushed into perfection...it is no typical Hollywood romance. It's one thing that makes it such a fascinating story.

And then there is the amazing cinemetography. It is told very well with the visuals alone.

The next time it's raining outside, and maybe a little chilly out, go out and rent this DVD. Maybe you're able to take more in at once than I am...but if you're not, watch it a couple of times. Watch it once to absorb the central story line and the cinematography. Then watch it again to check out all the other stuff that's going on.

Then sit down with a cup of tea and think about it.

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd." - Alexander Pope

Once a swimmer, always a swimmer

It's hard to believe today is the 31st of May.

Do you remember the excitement of coming to the end of May when you were in grade school? Though I'm 32, sometimes it seems that it hasn't been that long since I would giddily anticipate the end of the school year. The freedom of the summer laid out before me and my friends, the long days spent at the public pool barely out of reach.

I spent most of my summers at the local public pool in small town Illinois. We weren't a wealthy family and I didn't live in a "wealthy" town, so the idea of having a private pool seemed sort-of antisocial and elitist. Part of the fun of going to the public pool was seeing your friends (and, later in adolescence, seeing teenage girls in small swim suits). But there was always more to my love affair than friends and hormones.

I always loved pools, ever since I was old enough to drown. The smell of the chlorine, the feeling of the cool clear water on my skin...even the burn of the chemicals in my eyes was appealing. My hair would become bleached by the sun and made brittle by the chlorine. There was nothing better.

It seemed natural to me that I joined the summer swim team after 8th grade, though my parents were surprised. I was never an athletic child, so that (I'm sure) was part of the surprise. And I guess the fact that I was a really fat 8th grader also added to the shock. My mom was very concerned about me being seen in a speedo.

But I joined. Joined and, that first summer on the team, found out what consistently placing last in the heats felt like. It was discouraging...I'm not sure why I stuck with it. But I did, and I made it through that first season. Belly hanging over the tiny swim-team speedos and collecting purple 6th-place ribbons.

Then my growth spurt kicked in. The tubby kid in the purple speedos was no more.

I was a different me the next summer. Getting up at 6 am to do two hours of laps was no struggle, and often I would do a third hour of laps at 5 pm. I would sleep in my swim trunks so I could roll out of bed and onto my bike. My heart rate got to be so low (about 40 beats per minute) that my parents become concerned. I could swim 50 meters (down and back) underwater without breathing. I started having dreams that I could actually breath underwater, which rocked my world. The sixth place ribbons were replaced by first and second place ribbons, and I qualified for our divisional finals. I didn't get very far...those were some fast fuckers I was placed against. But that day at the divisional finals was one I'll never forget.

Nor could I ever forget the feeling of the ice-cold water at 6 am after a cool summer night. The dew would still be on the fields of corn and beans as I rode my bike to the pool. My skin would tingle those first couple of morning laps, and then my muscles would warm up. And soon I would find myself in the zone. I'd be swimming and swimming and lose track of time and distance. I'd just hear the sound of the water in my ears, the feeling of the water as it glided over my skin.

My last summer on the team I was 16. I was in the 16 - 18 age group now, and suddenly I was the slowest of the bunch again. I still enjoyed it...sometimes success or failure isn't measured by ribbons but by how much fun something is. But I won't lie; being unable to finish first took some of the fun out of the sport.

I can no longer swim 50 meters holding my breath. Young women with wet hair and a swim suit on still do it for me, but now I'm the creepy guy in the next lane instead of the handsome young swimmer.

But I'll always be a swimmer. I'll always love the feel of the cool water against my skin and the smell of the chlorine. And when I get in that pool, I'll always feel 15.

Jen's birthday...time for another story!

Once again, it is J's Sister's birthday. She turns...old today.

I've been trying to think of another good story to tell about her, but all the ones I think of end up incriminating her in some way, shape, or form. I mean, she has always been "her own woman". Hard headed and determined. It's why she's such a kick-ass business-woman.

Things were "Her way or the highway" ever since she was a little girl, and things haven't changed much as she's grown. Take, for instance, her penchant for running away.

It seems that Jen has always been in a power struggle with my parents, from conception through High School graduation. If she had had her way, she would have been emancipated and living in an apartment in New York City by the time she was 7. While I was the son who missed his mommy after a week at Boy Scout Camp, she was the daughter who shrugged with indifference when mom and dad showed up to pick her up from horse camp.

"Did you miss us?" they'd ask.

"Sure. Yeah. Whatever." would be the reply.

"Whatever" became a very popular word in her vocabulary.

This power struggle was fairly one sided, at least until she started driving. Driving at the ripe old age of 13, I might add. Slightly ahead of society's accepted driving age but, like I said, she's her own woman.

Jen even tried to emancipate herself several times as a young girl by threatening to run away. I didn't understand why my big sis wanted to leave our family so badly and was more threatened than my parents were, to be sure.

"If you make me, I'll run away".

You gotta admire her, she was "plucky".

One night, my parents decided to call her bluff.

"Ok." My mom said. "Dad will help you pack and I'll make you a sandwich for your trip. You want peanut butter and jelly?"

"I mean it!" My sister yelled.

"I know, honey. So...Do you want peanut butter and jelly or something else?"

My sister stood and stared, trying to figure out what was going on. I ran to the family room and hid...if I wasn't there surely this wouldn't happen. Finely my sister responded "Yes, peanut butter and jelly!" and stormed to her room.

Mom went to the kitchen and dad went to her room to help her pack her little white suitcase with red stripes.

And me? Well, my mind was blown! What in the name of God was going on? Had my parents completely lost their minds? I was really starting to get worried now. What if my parents wanted to get rid of me next? Would they just go buy me a new sister? Dad liked to build things and tinker...maybe he'd make a trip down to the local hardware store, pick up some parts, and build a new one! And I'd never see my real sister again!

Good God, had the world completely gone nuts!?!!??

I think I started crying when dad helped Jen carry her suitcase down the stairs to the front door, prompting her to make sure she got her rain coat in case the weather turned bad. I was too overwhelmed to notice the thoroughly freaked out look on Jen's face.

She meekly said "I mean it. I'm running away..." as my mom brought her a paper bag with a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches inside.
"Ok, honey. Be careful. Make sure you look both ways before crossing the street. Send us a postcard when you get to wherever you're going..."

Dad opened the door and Jen walked outside into the night.

That was it for me. I ran back to the family room, buried my face in the sofa cushions and started bawling. I was never going to see her again! My mom tried to come comfort me but there was no comfort to be had. She was the one, after all, who had sold out and given in to my sister's threats. She even made sandwiches! SANDWICHES!!! Seriously, what the HELL was going on? I was doubting everything I knew to be real!

I didn't believe mom when she said she'd be back, that she couldn't go far. I called her a liar. I told her to get the hell away from me, that she had gone completely bonkers, that she was way out of line to let my sister go. There would be damnation and hellfire awaiting her at death.

I'm paraphrasing, of course. I was only 4 or 5.

After I calmed down, I went out to the kitchen to see what was going on and found my sister there. Eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She told me, matter of factly, that it was too cold out tonight and that she'd leave in the morning when it was brighter and warmer.

She was undefeated, merely set back. And I was traumatized for life...



Happy Birthday, sis! I love you!

RWO Rocks Sydney

The lights go off at the Sydney Entertainment Centre as I stand off stage left, every nerve in my body vibrating with excitement. It's the first show of RWO's first international tour...the months of rehearsal and preparation are either going to pay off or we're going to embarrass ourselves horribly.

Either way Craig, Pip, Dale, and I are going to goof off and have fun on stage. I can't think about it too much right now...I'm solely focused on keeping Craig from passing out from excitement and nerves.

As the venue is steeped in darkness we can hear the crowd roar in anticipation and excitement. The enormous semi-transparent projection screen that serves as a stage curtain lights up with the image of StrongBad's monochromatic computer screen. StrongBad walks into the picture and sits down at his computer with his back to the audience to answer an e-mail. The crowd quiets down as he begins to type...

As StrongBad lifts his BMW lighter into the air at the end of the clip, the electronic background rhythm of "Clearly Opaque" (all but hidden on the CD) starts to loop. Pip, behind his drum kit, starts playing the jazz-influenced rhythm on top of it that starts the song, backlit with a strong spotlight that shows his silhouette on the screen as StrongBad's image fades. Dale comes in on the bass part, front lit by an orange spot in all his goateed glory. On a dare by Craig and I, he's wearing some lederhosen a German fan sent him after an offhand comment he made in an interview a couple of weeks ago. I don't think he's wearing underwear, either. We're going to have to burn those after tonight's show.

Thankfully, his image is eerily blurred by the screen in front of him. That's one goofy mother.

Craig comes in on the primary rhythm guitar part but remains dark, a shadow behind the screen. Standing a few inches behind the screen, I sing and growl the first verse. All goes dark (except this trippy image of a woman descending motionless into a watery abyss being projected on the screen) on the bridge that leads into the chorus and then...

An explosion of light as the curtain falls to the floor and we rip into the chorus with full force. The show has truly begun, for us as well as you.

I look down into third row, center, and see the woman who is ChickyBabe standing there with this enormous grin on her face. During Craig's solos I find her staring at him with what can only be described as "lust" in her eyes. She looks at me during one of his solos and raises her backstage pass (on a lanyard around her neck) toward me. With a smile, I look back and nod. It's going to be fun to read her review of the show on her blog the next day. And though I know I'll be exhausted after the show, I can't wait to meet her. I'm sure it will be a brief meeting...somehow, I know that she'll manage to get Craig alone. Still, it'll be good to meet.

To be continued backstage after the show...

Christmas '95, in Dayton

You know Emily, it's funny. I can't hear Alannis Morissette's song "Ironic" without thinking of you.

You remember it, don't you? Walking down the streets of Dayton in late December with Whitney, singing the chorus in three-part harmony? Damn, we sounded good. Sure, it was cheesy. And it's never been one of my favorite songs, you know. I wonder how many times Alannis has been confronted by someone well-educated in English to tell her that indeed, it isn't really "ironic". More of an "unfortunate coincidence" than anything else.

But in this case it had nothing to do with the lyrics. Even songs that show no understanding of "irony" sound good with three-part harmony. We sounded like a regular Peter, Paula, and Mary. Man, did it feel good.

Look, I'm not trying to be melodramatic or anything, but does that memory ever cross your mind? Or can you only think about how much of a dick I was in my early 20s? Or maybe you don't think of me at all.

No matter the answer, I sure wish we were still in touch. I wish we could make each other laugh again...

As Defined by Pet Shop Boys

This is probably going to come as a shock to those of you who only know that I'm recording a rock-oriented CD, but one of my favorite bands is Pet Shop Boys. Most people think of them as only Euro-Pop, which is certainly true. But they also write amazingly complex songs, both musically and lyrically. And they're weird and artistic in a way that shows everyone they don't take themselves too seriously. You get major points with me for being weird and silly and artistic.

I self-tagged myself on ChickyBabe's blog to answer these questions with song titles from my favorite band. So, here we go...


Favorite band: Pet Shop Boys

Are you male or female? Boy Strange

Describe yourself: Sexy Northerner

How do some people feel about you: Electricity; flamboyant; How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?; So Hard

How do you feel about yourself: Being Boring

Describe your ex boyfriend / girlfriend: I Don't Know What You Want But I Can't Give It Anymore

Describe your current significant other: It Always Comes As A Surprise; Positive Role Model

Describe where you want to be: Closer to Heaven

Describe how you live: I Get Along

Describe how you love: I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing

What would you ask for if you had just one wish: I Want A Dog

Share a few words of wisdom: We All Feel Better In The Dark; Se a Vida E; It's Alright; Happiness Is An Option

Now say goodbye: Always On My Mind, J

The Trouble With Redheads

Thanks to a post by The Dog's Name for this post idea. He's an amazing writer, and I highly recommend reading some of his posts.

Before going further, I need to tell y'all that I'm married to a redhead, and a wonderful redhead at that. Although she's not perfect, she's the closest to perfect that a guy could find. And she's only getting better, she really is.

The trouble with redheads is that they're so damn beautiful.

Part of it is the novelty factor, the fact that true redheads are few and far between. Shoot, other women think redheads are beautiful. Why else would so many women claim that they are "redheads" when clearly they are brunettes, or dirty blondes (referring to hair color of course, not sexual proclivities).

But there is a much cooler component to redheads that make them beautiful and sexy. Redheads , for the most part, have been made fun of most of their lives growing up. I've found that the "personality" factor in redheads is directly proportional to their fiery personalities and the fact that they had to be strong growing up. Simply put, redheads are not only beautiful, but very very cool. That's a dead sexy combination.

Red hair...porcelain skin...mischeivious smile...freckles...fiery personality...yes sir, the trouble with redheads is that they're so much trouble.

secret Lair

No studio time tonight after all. I spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights this week working on various projects and could use a night off, away from the computer.

Not many people know this, but I am in possession of a small volcanic island in the pacific...you know, for those times when I just have to get away from the hustle and bustle of life in and around the soda fountain.

Of course, I've also built the requisite secret underground lair. It's just the thing one has to do. I don't make the rules...

It's a combination of "pimp-a-licious" and "functional". The problem with most underground lairs is that there is only really one secret underground lair design and construction company. Which has led to a certain laziness in progressive design. That, and most evil geniuses bent on world domination don't have much time or inclination to be directly involved in their lair development.

That's not the case with me, though. Anyone who has worked with me in any capacity knows that I'm a "hands-on" kind of guy. This is no different. It's my "lair away from lair", if you will, so it was important that I be involved in it's development.

And that leads us to the crux of this post. What, exactly, is in my secret underground lair?

For starters, there is a secret resort of sorts for my guests. What good is a secret underground lair if one can't entertain? Full suites, king-sized beds, LCD tvs, free movies on demand, fresh tropical fruit delivered daily. Both a shower and a tub...sometimes visiting evil geniuses just need a good soak at the end of a long day making demands of world leaders.

Then, of course, there are the conference facilities. Boring but necessary. And a very well-stocked (and well-staffed) kitchen and wine cellar. The chefs can pretty much make anything. Their bratwurst is amazing! but they also make a great rack of lamb in mint sauce. It just depends on my mood.

But what makes a truly great secret underground lair? Whatever I want, of course! I'm thinking bigger than "sharks with lasers." There'd be an amazing virtual reality room, which can simulate any situation in any environment. It's great for torturing prisoners by making them believe they are in the bowels of hell, or for simply taking a "virtual day trip" to Italy. I'm not an evil man and don't require much of the standard fare of the traditional secret underground lair. But I also realize that no lair is impenetrable, so it's important to have some defenses at my disposal.

There's a full recording studio, a full art studio (for visiting artists), and a full auditorium which can be used for pretty much any type of performance.

I have an awesome closet there with clothes for any occaision. If I need to sneak like a ninja and blend into the shadows of night in Los Angeles, I can dress as necessary. If I need to seduce a spy at a small bistro in Paris, I have 3-piece suits and expensive shoes. And, for those days of just hanging out on the island, I have a nice selection of Hawaiian shirts and board shorts.

There is no heliport or airstrip. In fact, there is only a very small patch of land where a helicopter could land, and that's only kept that way in case an emergency evacuation requiring non-standard transportation from the island was necessary. I can't give you too many details on how to get to and from the island, but you have to be physically present at the soda fountain for the trip to begin. It's complicated, but I've been able to use current technololgy to create a fourth dimension, allowing for a non-traditional form of transportation.

Pools, top telecommunication, a full recording studio...I've got it all there.
But the best part of the island? It's invisible! It can't be seen by the naked eye, by radar, or by satellite. Unless, of course, I choose to make it visible.
Which I shall do right now, for a very brief window of time. Want to see my secret lair on my secret island?

4 degrees 30'39.26 S
172 degrees 11'00.79 W

Hurry, before it's invisible again.

Allison's Moving

In an effort to keep my one faithful reader, I've changed the formatting of the Soda Fountain back to it's previous state. Funny, but I consider this more of an eyesore than the updated one. It seems to me that if Blogger can accept HTML code, then I should be able to develop a completely unique skin for the Soda Fountain using Dreamweaver and import the code. That is, at least, my hope.

I think I told y'all early last year (in this post) about a dream I had in which Allison met me for coffee.

She's moving to LA, with her husband and new baby. She called me out of the blue about 3 weeks ago to tell me the news. I'm excited, but it's also weirding me out a little bit. It isn't that she's moving out that weirds me out, or even the dream. It isn't sexual tension, either.

Without making it overly complex, here is the issue. I always saw her as having the potential to be a great, great friend. The friendship never had the opportunity to be fully realized 10 years ago because I was quite the self-obsessed asshole, making very poor decisions, resisting maturity with an ease that defies definition.

I'd love for the friendship to have air to grow while she's out here. But the fact that we're grown and both married complicates things so much. I don't want to cause problems for either marriage in any way, shape, or form. I want to grow a friendship based on who we are now not who we were, who we thought we were, or how memories have distorted who the other was.

Patrick and Allison, welcome to LA. I hope the move went well.

No use crying over spilled mocha

I’m sitting in a funky little cafe in Santa Monica, the sun is out, my wife is writing letters and sipping her chai tea latte. I spilled half of my mocha, which is sad on so many levels. The people are weird, the food is "all natural" (which means it was harvested by some woman with hairy armpits in some roof-top garden right here in Santa Monica), and the tree-huggers are out in full force. Life is good.

It seems to be quite the weekend to go to funky places in Los Angeles. Last night I went to a bachelor party for CJ, the producer and engineer for my vocals on the RWO CD. It was at a place in downtown LA called the Cabana Club. The food was good, the atmosphere was very upscale and a little snooty, the bar was amazing, but the deserts were below par. J was very much out of place...I'm just not a very hip and trendy guy. It's kind-of fun to go watch people at these places, but I inevitably end up thinking "soooo...you're 30 and THIS is your life? Going to a bar and being pretentious with a bunch of beautiful people?"

Hey, what fun is life if you can't be quick to judge?

There is just this thing in LA where everyone tries to pretend to be someone else. Go figure, a town full of actors trying to be someone else. Who would've guessed?

A Formal Apology to Tom and Brad

I remember getting excited in seventh grade about the release of Boston's third album, "Third Stage". Yes, I know how uncool that is. What can I say...I was a little geeky nerd in seventh grade. It's an extremely wimpy album, and it hasn't exactly stood up to the test of time. It's overproduced, cheesy, wuss-rock. It especially sucks in comparison to their first two albums, which are still pretty decent. They're not records that changed the face of the world or defined a generation or anything like that, but they're not bad at all. "More Than a Feeling" is a great pop song, with a great melody and an incredibly catchy hook.

Anyway, back to the "Third Stage" album. In the liner notes of the record, there was a description of why it took four years to make the album. I remember reading it and thinking "What a crock! There's no reason an album should take four years! It just sounds like a bunch of excuses!"
Consider this my formal apology to Tom Scholz and Brad Delp. I was awfully quick to judge.I started working on RWOs next CD at the beginning of 2003. Three years later, it's still not done. And it's certainly not going to be done by March first, the self-imposed deadline. I’ve come a long way in the last 30 days, but not far enough. Thank God for Guns N Roses, who have been working on their Chinese Democracy CD for 13 years. They make me look like I'm working at the speed of light!

Oh, one more thing. While I apologize for judging so harshly while in seventh grade, I can't accept responsibility for the fact that they put out such a crappy album. Mr. Schulz, you're a very smart guy. Most graduates of MIT are. And I've heard you're a perfectionist.

Um...so, this album was your idea of "Perfection"? That makes me very sad inside. So very, very sad.

Where are you?

There's gotta be a record of you someplace
You've gotta be on somebody's books
The lowdown; picture of your face
your injured looks
the sacred and profane
pleasure and the pain
somewhere your fingerprints remain concrete
and it's your face I'm looking for
on every street

Lady killer, regulation tattoo
silver spurs on his heels
he says "what can I tell ya as I'm standing next to you?
She threw herself under my wheels."
It's a dangerous road
and a hazardous load
And the fireworks over Liberty explode in the heat
and it's your face I'm looking for
on every street

This three-chord symphony crashes into space
the moon is hanging upside down
I don't know why it is I'm still on the case;
it's a ravenous town
You still refuse to be traced
seems to me such a waste
and every victory has a taste that's bittersweet
and it's your face I'm looking for
on every street.

~Mark Knopfler
"On Every Street"