Dear God, These Blogs Can Be Pretentious.

Wow. I just returned from visiting some of my neighbors and boy, let me tell you, some of them people really must think a lot of themselves. I mean, spewing your guts is one thing but doing so in Shakespearian prose borders on disturbing. All I know is if any of these people speak the way they write, I'll wager they have a lot of mirrors hanging in their house.

Monosylabics unite!

It Pays To Change Your Perspective.

Let this be a lesson to you. Change your perspective and things will look a lot better.

In Praise Of Amy.

Meet Amy Sedaris.

Amy is someone that, if you haven't done so by now, you should really make an honest effort to watch out for. When I say "watch out for", I don't mean in the sense that she is dangerous and unstable and should be avoided at all cost (despite what the above pictures might imply). No, I mean that she is a person of indescriable talent and humor and would enhance your life with joy heretofore undiscovered. In short, she is hilarious.

Some of you may have first been introduced to Amy via her character, Jerri Blank on the short-lived TV show, Strangers With Candy. Or maybe you have seen her in one of her appearances on David Letterman's show or being interviewed by Conan O'Brien. If this is the case, then you've witnessed her hyper-manic style which is offset by her inate sexiness. Quite a combination if I may say so.

Dear Amy is on my short-list of "people to meet" and if possible, sit down to a cup of coffee with. Yes, that would be quite nice. Maybe she would bring me one of her delicious homemade cupcakes. I like cupcakes.

Next week: My love and admiration for her brother, David Sedaris.

A special day.

Today, January 27th, is a very special day for me. You see, it was 38 years ago today that I, as a young boy of 9 years old, was walking through the train station in Denver, Colorado. Even at that early age, I was somewhat of a loner. As such, I was by myself when, what would turn out to be a monumental event took place.

I had just stepped off the westbound Santa Fe. My younger sister and I had been staying with my Aunt Rosetta back in St.Louis for a couple of weeks while my mom was out in Los Angeles setting up the newest in a long string of rental homes that we would inhabit throughout the course of my childhood. She had wired my Aunt telling her to chaperone my sister and I on out to L.A. via the next available train. Rosetta jumped at the chance. Not only would the trip afford her a chance to see her sister again, but it provided a well-deserve respite from her drunk of a husband who was known to us kids as "Bottle Bob". Rosetta always had unexplained bruises on her chunky body which were always written off as "kitchen accidents".

As I walked around the echoing train station, I paid a much needed visit to the restroom. To this day, I recall the sharp acoustics of the granite walls and what looked like marble floors. Sounds bounced around inside the station like ricocheting bullets. One could sit still and hear babies crying and shoes squeeking from 200 feet away. It made you feel like you had super-powers.

Notable too was the high-gloss finish to the marble floors. It was not unlike walking on water as the reflections of the windows and the passing foot traffic reflected back up into your vision. It was this hypnotic illusion that captured my attention as I walked towards the men's room. I dared myself to navigate my way from the train platform to the bathroom using only the floor's reflection as my guide. Looking up would mean that I was weak and would, in my mind, only postpone my entrance into manhood. I always pushed myself with such tortuous mental exercises thinking that each victory, no matter how small, would steel my personality into the manly man I had always envisioned my nomadic father to be.

As I neared the restroom, eyes still locked to the cold stone floor, all I noticed at first were the feet. It was hard to focus on the angled reflection of the greenish glow of the neon letters that spelled out MEN above the open doorway to the bathroom. This was my beacon and my periphery strained to shut out the scores of rapidly moving feet of people heading here and there.

I walked forward in a somewhat determined manner, fighting both the urge to look up at the light to verify my sense of direction and the growing desire to pee my pants. "Be a man...you can do this.", I said over and over as if each step would cause a chest hair to sprout unexpectedly. I neared the door and this I knew by the sight of men's feet walking quickly ahead of me. Like me, they were answering nature's call but unlike me, they were doing so in a normal, more orthodox manner.

And then I saw it.

Laying on the floor not 2 feet in front of me was what I thought to be a twenty dollar bill. It just sat there, quietly minding it's own business and the hurried train passengers darted in and around it. Granted, there was quite a bit of rubbish scattered here and there on the station floor. Hot dog wrappers, torn tickets, crumpled cigarette packs and more could be seen everywhere. There they'd wait for the janitor's 10:00pm push broom. But this was money! It's familiar green color stood out from the surrounding trash and contrasted nicely with the pinkish hue of the floor.

Trying to be as composed as a 9 year old can, I nonchalantly slid my left foot over the bill and stood there. Thinking quickly, I raised my left wrist into my field of vision and checked my watch for the time. Clicking my tongue in mock disgust, I shook my head as if I had suddenly realized that I was late for yet another business meeting. In retrospect, I realize how ludicrous this must have looked. For one thing, I didn't have a business meeting to attend, but I also didn't have a watch. But the plan was draw attention away from my feet and in my mind, it worked.

I bent down and retrieved the folded bill from under my foot. In one smooth motion, I palmed it and slid it into my pants pocket. I entered the men's room.

...to be continued.

Still alive.

Yes, after my terrible dirigible accident and months of re-constructive surgery, I am indeed still alive. Thank you for all the cards and dirty socks.