Yeah, I tried it.
After being bombarded by all these ads on Myspace featuring photos of attractive women being manipulated by Flash into doing strange dance moves while bending and stretching in unnatural ways, I finally gave in and just created a profile. Just to see what happens, you know. My profile name was even "notreallytrying". (Which is better than Littlekidlover, right?*)

Apparently I'm way awesome because I immediately got a couple emails and a bunch of electronic "Winks". Of course if I want to read those emails, or respond to those Winks, I have to subscribe. Which is 35 dollars a month.

This immediately begs the question--what kind of people are willing to pay 35$ a month for a "dating service" that is essentially Myspace with a personality search engine? Considering that every girl I've ever been attracted to in my life would puke if I even told them about this, I'm guessing not the kind of people I want to be dating.

This is basically going to be a filter to collect all the Rich and/or Desperate people in the world, and I am neither rich nor desperate. I can say at least half of that statement with absolute certainty.

My apologies if any readers are subscribers. But seriously. Thirty-five dollars? True love isn't worth a penny over 29.99$.

* The Office

On Aging!

I turned 62 today. Some observations.

I can begin receiving social security benefits if I so choose.
Waitresses and store clerks frequently greet me as "darl'n" and "honey" and "sweetie".
I now qualify for senior discounts at almost all restaurants and movie theatres.

The hair in my ears, nose, and eyebrows seem to be growing three times as fast as the hair on my head.
I have to tilt my head at an extreme angle in order to read the basketball score on the TV.
"Deal or No Deal" has become "my program" that I watch with regularity.
I can remember when my grandmother had to get home in time to see "her program".

The first task of each day is to take my medications.
Kaylyn, my teenage granddaughter, has taken to calling me "Pops".
My heart leaps for joy whenever any of the five grandchildren look at me.

When I enter a restaurant, entertainment venue, or church for the first time; my first thought is: "Where is the bathroom located?"
I announce in the evening that I am "getting ready to go to bed".
Mary, my spouse of 40 years, and I spend entirely to much time discussing the temperature in the house.

I no longer like "driving at night".
Having a cup of tea in the evening gives me great pleasure.
We are excited about buying a new coffee pot.

The grandchildren helped me blow out the candles on my birthday cake.
Many small things make me truly happy; my wife's smile, spring sunshine, reading the Sunday comics, holding a grandchild, lactose free vanilla ice cream on my birthday cake, sleeping under a quilt made by my spouse, etc.
I get great joy in anticipating future activities; fishing with a friend, a family meal, etc.
I remember the past with gratitude.


"Divers Do It Deeper"

"Firemen Do It Hotter."

"Carpenters Do It On the Table"

"Triathletes Do it Three Different Ways"

"Germans Do it More Efficiently"

"Chinese Do It With Reproductive Restrictions"

"Iraqi Insurgents Do It Violently"

"Koreans Do It In a Culture That Values Family"

"Polacks Do It in a Way That's No Longer Acceptable To Joke About"

"Dentists Do It In the Mouth"

"Optometrists Do It For All to See"

"Pediatricians Do It With Children"

"Medieval Catholics Do It Strictly For Procreation"

"Armored Knights Do It With Protection"

"Commercial Fishermen Do It in Alaska Most of the Year"

"Rapists Do It Non-Consensually"

"Rock Musicians Do It Louder"

"Artists Do It More Starvingly"

"Writers Do It With Rich Characterization"

"Librarians Do It By the Book"

"Veterinarians Do It With Animals"

"Gynecologists Do It With Complete Professionalism"

Sunshine and Music

Sunshine and music are the themes of this Florida vacation. Check out the above photo taken at Rainbow Springs State Park on a typical early March We also visited Silver Springs this past Saturday where we enjoyed a Beach boys concert. Last week we experienced the music of New Odyssey, a group of 3 guys playing 30 instruments. The drummer was a musical chameleon as he morphed into Elvis, The Blues Brothers, and Tina Turner. What an entertaining and fun show. Almost every evening we have attended a concert or free music and dancing at Spanish Springs or Lake Sumter downtown squares. It is going to be difficult to leave these 80 degree days and head back north this weekend. However, we have missed our family and friends and look forward to seeing everyone again.


So, friends, it has been a long time since I wrote anything here, mainly because I haven't had a spare moment whatsoever. There is a theory that says the more "real life" you have, the more lame and desolate your online life looks, and this is very true. I've been moving. I've been sick. I've been gaining, losing, regaining, re-losing, and re-re-gaining a ladyfriend. If you see my online presence in full bloom, with new photos appearing and bulletins flying and blogs flourishing, it means my life has withered into a small, sad husk of itself. So rejoice in my apparent lameness.

Now, seeing as the move has been a big part of my life lately, let me tell you a little about where I live now! It's called Ballard. It's one of Seattle's silly little neighborhoods with separate names, and it's a much different place than my old stomping grounds, Belltown, which is essentially Downtown, only yuppier. I have given up my dream of metropolitan gloss and glamour, and left behind my swanky studio surrounded by expensive condos and swarms of tube-topped clubgoers. Yuck. I have returned to my roots--the gross, smelly, late-seventies home that was every home of my youth.

So, let's say I invite you to my house. I will tell you, "It's on the corner of 65th and 24th!". When you arrive at the corner of 65th and 24th, you will see a lovely three-story apartment building, clean stucco walls painted in two shades of tan and deep red, white vinyl windows, clean glass, cute little decks with black wrought-iron railings. What a nice apartment building!
This is not my apartment building.

Please direct your attention to the building next door. Not quite on the corner of 65th and 24th, but close. This building has a slightly different style. The entire building is covered in what appears to be jagged quartz gravel, glommed onto the walls in some kind of mortar adhesive, like rock sprinkles on a scoop of apartment-flavored ice cream.

As you walk into the parking garage, you may experience the joy of having your scalp removed by the low ceilings, which are equally coated in this razor sharp stony mess. They even had the foresight to coat the center pillars with it, so that the slightest contact with your car will completely shred your paint job, kind of like how if Mega Man even slightly grazed those deadly spikes that were always lining pits or ceilings in the under-water levels, he would explode just like that.

Once you're parked and you get inside the building, you get the privilege--and valuable exercise opportunity--to climb 3 long flights of stairs, because there weren't elevators in the late seventies. At each floor's landing, you can examine your hairstyle in a creepy ornate oval-shaped mirror exactly like the one the witch queen from Snow White used to find out who was the most beautiful of them all. Was that mirror like, her life partner or something? Did she also ask it if her robe made her look fat? Was it always as bluntly honest as it was with the first question? Was Snow White really the most beautiful of them all or did the mirror just have a crush on her? Were Snow White and the mirror having an affair? Is that why the witch queen was so upset? Do you think she ever did coke off the mirror? Do you think the mirror ever did coke off itself? Is the whole Snow White story like some kind of like drug parable or something? Are the seven dwarves symbols for the seven stages that an addict goes through before getting on the road to recovery? The first stage is Dopey, then Grumpy, then…

Sorry I got distracted. Back to the apartment. So after you have climbed the 3 long flights of stairs, you reach the apartment and knock on the door. I am on the toilet at the moment so I just yell "Come in!". You open the door and are immediately greeted by a dank, musty odor from the carpet, which is colored to look like a dirty carpet. The logic is clear: Eliminate the problem of having a dirty carpet by making the carpet ALWAYS look dirty, kind of like bypassing the danger of getting shot by shooting yourself.

So now here you are in my apartment. I have modernized it as much as possible by my furniture and decorative choices, but there is still a clear subtext of late seventies mildewyness. If you complain of this, I will tell you you should have seen it before I moved in. You see, I am sub-renting this apartment from a distant relative of mine. My mom's cousin. She is 50 years old, and decorated her apartment as if she was 100. All the furniture, all the wall art, all the kitchenware, it all looks lifted straight out of a thrift store or a centenarian's garage sale. The vacuum cleaner is a retro steel dinosaur that looks like a Danelectro guitar pedal. The kitchen cupboards are filled with all those obscure utensils that you have no idea what they are or what they do… Like that metal device with "petals" that open and close like a flower, like some kind of perforated steel flower-UFO…no idea what that thing is…and weird spices like Tarragon, and baking powder….who uses this stuff? Anyway, I have cleared this stuff aside as much as possible. This place will never be as hiply modern as my Beltown studio, but here are some advantages!

Observe that this apartment is:

Much bigger!

A large one bedroom VS:
My former tiny studio.

Full size bathroom VS:
Urination Cubicle.

Washer and dryer VS:
No washer and dryer.

Balcony for surveying my Ballardian suburban domain and allowing my smoker friends to smoke comfortably VS:
Leaning out my window to drop junk on the rabid homeless population below, and having to dangle my smoker friends out the window by their ankles while they smoke.

Balcony also for sunbathing and BBQing in the summertime VS:
Laying nude in the sunny street, and death by smoke inhalation during indoor BBQ.

Designated parking space VS:
Constant battle with the rest of
Seattle for the precious privilege of paying 3$ an hour just to exist.

So there you have it, friends. Pros and cons. Maybe sometime soon I will invite all of you guys over for a party. In keeping with the era of the apartment, we could do fondue, play some Twister, or maybe fight in World War I…