January 2005 Archives

Last Friday, I meant to post more pictures from Frog Lake, but was distracted by a good read about "Music With Rocks In It" and never got around to uploading them. I did, however, manage to upload this shot, which I'm now posting three days later. I'm not exactly what one would call focused (or quick).

I don't often post photos of myself and thought it would be good to chronicle my latest look. As you can see, I've changed some. I've grown blurrier and more distorted. I've also developed a funny way of holding the camera. This was taken at Disneyland, in front of the giant Christmas tree standing at the beginning of Main Street.

An amusing bit of dialogue from the book:

Crash: What is it, Jimbo?
Jimbo: One of my guitar strings has broke.
Crash: Well, you've got five more, ain't you?
Jimbo: Yur. But I doesn't know how to play them, like.
Crash: You didn't know how to play six, right? So now you're a bit less ignorant.

Song on my mind... "Sleeping In" by The Postal Service

Again last night I had that strange dream
Where everything was exactly how it seemed
No concerns about the world getting warmer
People thought that they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they'd like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in November

Don't wake me I plan on sleeping in

I love Benjamin Gibbard's vocals on the whole album (the backing vocals rock, too). His voice is strong, but soothing, a quality I can appreciate after watching two nights of American Idol (auditions in New Orleans and Las Vegas). I still wish some of the contestants would show more respect and talent and less attitude.

Last Monday, on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, we went to Henry Coe Park, my third visit in three years, and hiked to Frog Lake.

I'm sure there are many stories and mysteries surrounding a body of water with a name like that. Fortunately, for those of you reading this, I don't know any of them. Of course, the obvious questions do arise. Who named it Frog Lake? Why not Tadpole Pool? Is frog an acronym? Did whoever name the lake have a frog fetish?

I pondered these questions as the helpful park ranger highlighted a photocopied trail map in orange to indicate the best route to and from the lake. I then paid him five dollars for parking and gave him a description of my vehicle since I couldn’t remember the license plate number. He wrote down tan ford torris. I smiled and thanked him kindly.

It’s easy to reach Frog Lake. We took the Manzanita Point Road to Monument Trail to Hobbs Road to Frog Lake Trail, a sequence less than two miles long. Monument Trail has a gradual climb and Hobbs Road has a steep, but manageable, descent. We crossed the Little Fork Coyote Creek, climbed a short ridge and arrived at the lake. Here is an excerpt from what I wrote while sitting there:

It's only in the mid to upper fifties, but feels warmer than that in the sunlight. Wisps of white clouds float across one of the bluest skies I've seen in a long while. With the exception of the birds squawking from high in the trees and the occasional buzzing of a nearby fly, it's completely quiet out here. Every so often, I feel a mild breeze. The day is lovely for sitting by a lake.

We’re alone now. There were only a few other folks here earlier. They left about thirty minutes ago. First, there was an older group of four: two men and two women. They talked and laughed loudly while resting in the shade of a tree across the lake. Next, there was a father and his three sons hiking through. They stopped to skip stones across the brown water, causing ripples in the mesmerizing reflection of green hills and leafless trees reaching out of the lake. Finally, a pair of riders paused briefly to give their horses a drink before riding on.

I can hear a woodpecker in some unseen tree and a frog from somewhere out on the lake. At least one exists, likely the token frog voted to stay behind and represent the others that left for greener lily pads. It's so relaxing out here. I could stay for hours, but we must be going.

We returned to Coe Headquarters via Flat Frog Trail and Corral Trail, trading steepness for distance and a different view. The entire loop was approximately 4.5 miles long. Looking back a week after the experience, I would say Frog Lake ranks as one of my favorite short hikes of all time.

He finished the California roll, making sure to completely submerge it in the bowl of wasabi and soy sauce before consuming it whole. His nose was still stinging and he was on the verge of tears as he drank the last of the hot tea. He held the cup and sat completely still, waiting for the nasal sensations to pass, putting on a brave face for the petite waitress slowly circling him, her lone customer, like a vulture.

He tried to ignore her, letting his eyes wander around the room, the walls of which were painted bright red. White speakers hung in the corners from the ceiling. Jazz music played throughout the little Japanese restaurant. After a moment, he set the cup down on the yellow table, gathered his belongings and stood to leave. He barely escaped unharmed as the waitress swooped in and cleared the table with blinding speed.

Once outside, he took a deep breath. It was the first Friday of November and a beautiful day. The blue sky and warm temperature betrayed any sense of autumn. He daydreamed about finding a peaceful park bench where he could write away the afternoon, be a few words closer to finishing his novel, a simple story by a simple engineer.

What a perfect way to spend the day, he thought, as he walked back to work. It was tempting, so tempting that he promised not to look at any of the benches he passed along the way. He doubted he could resist their calls to sit and stay awhile.

So, he returned to work with his head down, hands jammed in his jacket pockets, despite the warmth, and eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of him. Yet, as fate would have it, there was a noise as he passed the last bench of the last park. Curiosity got the better of him. He looked.

Whatever caused the sound was gone. All he saw was an old, homeless man sitting on the bench, a grocery cart full of possessions parked next to him. He wore torn black jeans, old black boots and a heavy, dark blue ski jacket with a rip in the left shoulder. A dark green skullcap covered his head. His beard was full and gray and his skin was shades of pink with brown smudges.

He sat hunched over a dilapidated notebook, furiously scribbling with a generic black pen. A stack of worn notebooks sat next to him. They were warped and muddied, the pages discolored, their edges frayed.

He wondered what the old man was writing. Was he doodling? Was he recording his daily observations? Or was he, perhaps, finishing the last pages of the next great American novel?

That would be something, he thought, as he neared the corner, the man almost out of sight. Waiting for the light to change, he shook his head and laughed at himself. He was always coming up with the most cliched and ridiculous notions. It could never happen in real life. Only in fairy tales could the ugly beast become the handsome prince or the simple engineer become the brilliant writer.

Before crossing, he took one last glimpse back. In a quiet park, on a wooden bench, sat an old, homeless man pouring his thoughts onto pages the same color as the leaves at his feet. Wouldn't that be something, though, if beyond all appearances, the man was the next great American author? He let the fantasy tickle his brain all the way to the office.

This morning I woke up excited to go to work. It's sad, I know, but true. This isn't to say I'm not excited about coming to work every day, but today I happened to be doubly excited.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon (and better part of the evening) moving into a new cubicle. Typically, that type of thing wouldn't emotionally move me one way or the other. Once one becomes accustomed to changing cubicles every six months, the whole business of boxing up belongings becomes rather boring. I've been a human ping-pong ball that has been bounced between two floors of the same building for the last five years.

Yesterday's move (a ping, if I'm not mistaken) was entirely different. Unlike previous moves, my new cubicle is 1.5 miles away from my old one. Moving required more than a hand truck. It required two trips using a personal vehicle and parking in a green unloading zone (thirteen boxes, one CPU and one monitor's worth of unloading).

I'm excited about this move for a number of reasons. Five of them to be exact. Can you hear a list coming? The top 5 reasons why I find this move exciting:

1. I'll be working with people closer to my age, not my parents' age.
2. I'll have a shorter commute, four light rail stations shorter.
3. I'm closer to a wider assortment of restaurants.
4. I'm within easy walking distance of green, open spaces. It means I can escape to a park during lunch and read or get fresh air
5. Most importantly, there are at least six cafes within a quarter-mile radius, half of them bearing the Starbucks logo.

This excitement is, of course, tempered by a dose of sadness. I'll miss the old building that I called home for five years. Okay, I didn't really call it home. I called it the office, but let's not quibble about names and simply focus on the sentiment. I'll miss the day-to-day interaction with the cool people there. I'll miss the free parking. I'll miss the corner market where I bought Skittles regularly. And lastly, I'll miss Japantown, which was right down the street. Sushi (Kazoo, Minato) and Hawaiian food (Hukilau) were only a five-minute walk away.

Well, this is the stop for the new office. The time has come to see what the day brings and for the excitement to begin.

As Charlie Brown often said, "AUGH!"

I can't seem to write anything without immediately deleting it or editing it into gooey gibberish. I keep forgetting that this journal isn't a five-star restaurant requiring delicacies presented on the finest china. It's simply a food stand where people expect hot dogs wrapped in silver paper. What I'm trying to say is I don't need to use ten-dollar words to express two-cent thoughts. I need to stop being a blockhead and write already.

On a writing-related note, I recently came across the following excerpt from George Orwell's "Politics and the English Language" that I wanted to quote for future reference:

"A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus:

1. What am I trying to say?
2. What words will express it?
3. What image or idiom will make it clearer?
4. Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?

And he will probably ask himself two more:

1. Could I put it more shortly?
2. Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly?"

Hiya Journal,

It's Friday again. You'll be glad to know that I didn't have to rush to catch the train this morning. No, instead, I stood on the platform and froze quietly, hands in gloves, sipping hot coffee from a tumbler while waiting for the train to appear through the fog. It was nice, actually. Well, except for the part where I was freezing.

I must admit, I've been rather negligent about keeping you updated on my weekends and whereabouts. I'm sorry that I haven't even posted any photos taken in 2005. That's just wrong. I promise to get my act together and share some soon.

You should know that I've been reading quite a bit this month, trying to stay true to one of my resolutions. I just finished a book called Rain Storm by Barry Eisler. The story is about John Rain, a "natural causes" assassin hired by the CIA to take out an arms dealer in Macau. He's Japanese-American and a judo master with a knack for breaking necks. He also likes single malt whiskey and jazz. You two would probably hit it off if he weren't imaginary and you weren't so, you know, electronic. The book isn't my favorite in the series (it's the third of three so far), but I like it.

You should also know that I've made a commitment to refrain from purchasing any new CDs or books until I've finished all of the unread novels still stacked on the floor at home. I'm telling you this to so you can help keep me in line should I come close to slipping up while cruising the local book and music stores.

Because I know how much you like music, I'll leave you with a verse and chorus of "Look What You've Done" by Jet. The song has been on my mind for the last few days and you'll probably dig it.

Give me back my point of view
'Cause I just can't think for you
I can hardly hear you say
What should I do, well you choose

Oh, look what you've done
You've made a fool of everyone
Oh well, it seems likes such fun
Until you lose what you had won

Well, Journal, the train is pulling into the station. It's time for me to go and earn a living (or a close approximation of one). I'll write more later. More what, I don't know, but it'll be written later.

Until then,
David

This week's Photo Friday challenge of Crowded. The final approach to Yosemite's Half Dome. One look at the crowded cables and one wonders if they're in a national park or in line for a ride at Disneyland.

Boarding a train shouldn’t be stressful, but I somehow manage to make it exciting. Here’s how it all went down.

I reached the station two minutes before the printed departure time. I got out of the car thinking I had time to make it to the platform at a brisk walk. I had just put on my backpack and was strapping the duffel bag over my shoulder when I heard the horn. Pulling into the station, on a track some hundred yards away, was the last southbound baby bullet train of the morning. If I caught it, I would be in San Jose by 08:10 and at work on time. If I missed it, I wouldn’t reach the office until after nine. That wasn’t an option. I had to make the train.

If it had been a simple 100-yard dash to the doors, there wouldn’t be a problem or much of a story to tell. Luckily (at least for the story), there was a raised platform, two chain-linked fences and three sets of tracks separating me from the baby bullet. The only way to reach it was by crossing over the very elevated concourse connecting the bus depot and parking areas with the train platforms.

I bypassed the slow escalator and tackled the deserted staircase at full speed, left hand gripping the duffel bag to prevent it from bouncing around, taking two steps at a time. My momentum began to wane by the third flight of stairs, but I pushed on, willing my legs to keep climbing. I sprinted across the concourse, but slowed some as I passed by the center group of ticket machines and kiosks, not wanting to accidentally plow into anyone else rushing from a different direction to catch the train.

As I ran, I yanked the ten-ride ticket from my back pocket, tugged it out of its transparent plastic sleeve and, with hurried determination, jammed it into the validating machine. It stamped my ticket with the familiar ding of validation. I didn't bother returning anything to its proper place as I charged down the stairs to the platform. I could hear dings coming from above and rapid footsteps following behind me. When I reached the bottom, I couldn’t believe it. The train was still there and I was only fifteen feet away. I'm going to make it, I thought. Relief and joy washed over me.

That’s when the doors chimed. They were about to close. Panic returned as I realized I only had mere seconds to cover the last remaining feet. Wonderful, I thought, wouldn’t it be the funniest thing if I made it all this way just to have the doors shut in my face?

I wasn’t exactly eager to find out, so I burst across the platform and onto the train with Superman speed. The doors hissed shut and the train began moving as I tried to catch my breath. I turned to find a place to sit, but turned instead to discover every seat occupied. Most of the passengers were looking at me, likely amused by the sight of a guy loaded down with baggage, slightly red in the face and panting. Superman was having a Clark Kent moment.

In the end, the mad dash was worth it. The ride itself was relaxing and I got to the office early. I only hope it’s a while before I have to chase down another baby bullet. I can be fast, but not that fast.

Let's say you start reading a book. It could be any type of book: fiction, non-fiction or even the dictionary. It doesn't matter. And let's say you reach that point in the book (usually somewhere in the Fs, around the word fructose) where you realize you don't like it much, but have read too many pages, invested too much of your life, to put the book down. You refuse to let bad writing defeat you. How do you motivate yourself to finish when the author has seemingly strived to suck the joy out of reading?

I recommend using bookmark treats. They don't have to be real bookmarks and probably shouldn't be real treats. Placing a Hot & Spicy Cheez-It a hundred pages ahead may seem like a tasty idea, but it isn't, unless you plan on reading all one hundred pages of that hardcover in one sitting.

The concept is simple. Rewards are written on scraps of paper or Post-it Notes, which are then inserted into the troublesome tome. The goal is to reach the given bookmark treat to collect the reward. The incentive doesn't have to be extravagant. It could be as simple as treating yourself to hot chocolate, finally seeing that movie you've been secretly wanting to see or giving yourself permission to take a guilt-free nap (at a non-cubicle location).

Bookmark placement is crucial. You don't want to set your treat too far away, making it seem unobtainable. At the same time, you don't want it so close that it's practically useless. The key is to place it deep enough so by the time you reach it, you've covered considerable ground and have been hopefully drawn back into the book enough to finish the rest on your own. For the typical novel, one or two bookmarks are sufficient.

To better illustrate what I'm talking about, here's an example. I'm currently reading Elmore Leonard's Mr. Paradise. I'm about eighty-seven pages in and finding Elmore's latest effort less than enjoyable, but I want to complete it so I can criticize it with credibility. To help me get through the remaining two hundred pages, I've inserted a bookmark for a cup of coffee from Caffee Kaffee Vin. The promise of drinking slow roasted Tres Americas (a combination of three French roasts: dark, full body and smooth) will be incentive enough to mow through the next hundred pages or so.

For exceptionally long novels, you might find it necessary to up the ante with what I call progressive bookmark treats. If you're finding it difficult sailing through, say, Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, you might plan out your progressive bookmarks thusly...

• Page 250: One chocolate croissant
• Page 500: One visit to a French bakery for a chocolate eclair and coffee
• Page 750: One dinner at a French restaurant like Left Bank
• Page 1000: One viewing of Les Mis in the city of your choice
• Page 1250: One weekend at the Paris Las Vegas
• Finish the book: One week vacationing in the real deal - Paris, France

If that isn't enough and you're still unwillingly to close the book once and for all, then challenge a friend to a read off. The last one to reach the strategically placed incentives must treat the other to the bookmarked treats. There's nothing like a little competition to get the pages flipping.

Reading, of course, really should be a reward in itself, requiring nothing more for our imaginations to want to delve into the worlds writers create for us. Unfortunately, not every book is a page-turner and in those rare cases, bookmarked treats can come in handy. So, give them a try, you might like them, plus they're calorie-free.

Now, I'm off to get a few pages closer to that slow roasted coffee. I can smell it already.

In one alternate universe, I was frolicking in the snow, near Squaw Valley, on Saturday. Frolicking is a pretty accurate description of what I do during those unusual instances when snow and I happen to be in the same place at the same time.

I like the snow, but I'm not a serious enthusiast. I don't monitor ski conditions and head for the Sierras at the first sign of powder. Skiing and snowboarding don't really appeal to me. Rather, I'm one of those who delights in taking the occasional icy snowball to the face or tobogganing down a steep slope with the unintentional mission of plowing into an unsuspecting tree or inattentive snowman.

On less adventurous days, I enjoy observing the blinding whiteness covering the landscape and admiring how the ordinary outdoors can be magically transformed into a winter wonderland.

If anything, I'd like to give snowshoeing a go. It's more my speed. Slow, approaching stationary.

In an opposite alternate universe, I spent Saturday skiing with Bode Miller-esque skill.

In one uneventful universe, I awoke at noon, stared at the ceiling, fluffed the pillows and went back to sleep.

In alternate universe 103B, the Golden Globes were held Saturday and I won for Best Performance by a Male Extra in a Television Series - Drama for my work as Passenger 47 on Lost.

In this alternate universe, I was at the dentist's on Saturday for my regular six-month cleaning. The family dentist had postponed the appointment by a week on account of bad weather. He didn't want us driving over Highway 17 in the heavy rain. Between San Jose and Santa Cruz, it's a winding road that can be dangerous on the sunniest of days. Include a storm and low visibility, and accidents are almost guaranteed.

I might have been tempted to postpone the appointment another week for a romp in the snow if not for my grandparents, who live in Santa Cruz. We hadn't seen them since Thanksgiving and they wanted us to stop by for dinner. Visits have grown more rare over the years as certain health-related issues have reduced their availability and ability to travel. Since we didn't know if we would see them for Chinese New Year (February 9th), we couldn't turn them down. Besides, it would've been highly disrespectful. We ate at their usual restaurant before heading back and calling it a night.

Thanks to a tip from a kind commenter, I took a short lunch yesterday to leave the office early and stop by the nearest Starbucks for the new Chantico drink. For one hour, sixty entire minutes, they were offering customers free six-ounce samples of what they call drinking chocolate. I call it a little cup of heaven. As I was trying it, I looked at the menu board for the price. I gaped in astonishment, drops of divinity nearly spilling from my mouth, as it slowly registered that the next six-ounce cup of chocolate goodness I ordered would cost $2.65. Apparently, heaven in a cup doesn't come cheap. (Yet, the temptation remains.)

This week's Photo Friday challenge is Signs. This was taken in It's a Small World at Disneyland just two days after Christmas. The entire ride was transformed for the holidays. The animatronic children of the world not only sang the song that sticks in heads the way gum sticks in hair, but they interspersed it with choruses from "Jingle Bells" and "Deck the Halls".

Some plans just don't pan out. Yesterday morning's plan was to finish a book on the train, but I couldn't negotiate the words quick enough and had five pages left by the time we reached the station. My brain had been flooring the accelerator, but my eyes couldn't go any faster.

Books are like roads. Some are nicely paved with gentle grades, providing a smooth, safe ride for the reader. Yesterday's novel was such a road, but my eyes lacked the horsepower to pick up the pace. Other books are littered with potholes that make the literary journey bumpy and somewhat difficult. Still others simply have a massive boulder sitting in the middle of them, in which case, it's probably best to backtrack and choose an alternate route, since packing a book with explosive charges and blowing it up isn't really an option.

While on the train, I noticed an inordinate number of people snoozing. The entire lower level was out cold. It was just bizarre and felt like something out of The Outer Limits.

I'm accustomed to taking the late train where people are awake and avoid social contact by absorbing themselves in books or newspapers. I'm not used to the early train where people apparently catch up on the sleep they lost in order to avoid the late train. It then occurred to me that I might be the only person not sleeping. I suddenly felt like the chump who everybody volunteers to stand watch at night and raise the alarm if any bears or wild squirrels enter camp.

To wrap this up, I'll end with a quote I quite liked from Guards! Guards!, the book I finally finished during my brief lunch break yesterday.

"I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are the good people and the bad people. You're wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides."
- Lord Vetinari to Captain Vimes, page 337.

This morning, Penelope Illustration posted a list of ten things for which she is grateful and prefaced it with this description:

"I started doing this a long time ago, now. When you need
a pick-me-up, you write down 10 things you are grateful for
right off the top of your head. Don't think too much about
it. Just write them."

Being Tuesday and a bit on the gloomy side, I could use a solid pick-me-up, so here is my list. I'm grateful for...

1. bus shelters that don't leak on rainy days
2. warm parkas with big pockets
3. my new moleskine pocket planner
4. programmable coffee makers and Beethoven's Blend
5. the music of Randy Newman ("I Think it's Going to Rain Today" is apropos)
6. a book that makes me laugh
7. text messages that make me smile
8. movies like Finding Neverland
9. the word perspicacity
10. chipmunks (because someone ought to be grateful for them)

The weekend felt a lot shorter than two days (and some odd hours). I got off work on Friday, blinked three times and suddenly it was Monday again. Note to self: no more blinking.

On Friday, I visited the folks for dinner. When I arrived, my mom held up a rent-one-get-one-free coupon from Hollywood Video and asked, "Why don't you go with your father and pick out a funny movie for us to watch?" I went through my entire mental catalog of movies, applied the clean-family-fun filter and could only come up with Garden State (Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle didn't quite make the cut). This was my second viewing and I still found it quirky, likable and full of good music. The parents thought the film was mildly amusing, but too vulgar. Apparently, my filter overlooked the considerable quantity of cussing.

On Saturday, we went to Just Breakfast for breakfast. Upon opening the newly designed menu, I was disappointed to discover that Just Breakfast now serves lunch on the weekdays. What's up with that? If you're going to name your business after the only meal you serve, shouldn't you only serve that meal? As it stands, they should call themselves Just Not Dinner. Despite offering a new selection of sandwiches to please the noontime crowd, their pancakes are still some of the best I've tasted.

Later that evening, M and I tried Izakaya Sushi, one of a handful of Japanese restaurants in Morgan Hill. The restaurant is on the second floor of the same two-story office building as Booksmart (the local bookstore) and Just Breakfast. I had the sashimi dinner, which was decent. The best thing about Izakaya is the view from the front table. From there, one can see most of the downtown district that lines Monterey Road, including Caffee Kaffee Vin and the old Granada Theatre.

Afterwards, we watched Rat Race, which had a few laugh-out-loud moments, but wasn't as funny as the first time I saw it however many years ago.

Sunday was spent knocking domestic items off the to do list. The washing machine and vacuum cleaner were heavily used, as were a number of cleaning supplies. To reward myself for successfully pretending to be an adult for more than an hour, I finished reading The Art of Discworld, a Christmas gift from my sister. Admittedly, it wasn't as much "reading" as it was "looking at the pictures", but how rewarding would an art book be with only words? Paul Kidby's artistic ability amazes me. I love his interpretation of various characters found in Terry Pratchett's hilarious series of books, especially Sam Vimes.

To finish the day, we watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The film is nearly sixteen years old, but is still one of my all-time favorites.

With this entry, I'm currently three posts behind my entry-a-day resolution. Perhaps, if I can keep myself awake on the homeward bound train, I'll punch out one more for laughs. No promises though. The light rail is still a bed-on-wheels.

Technically, this is Monday, but it took me a while to track down a photo that fit this past week's Photo Friday challenge of Silhouette (one of my favorite words, by the way). This was taken at the San Francisco International Airport last fall.

I don't usually drink hot chocolate, but ever since somebody brought in a container of Nestle hot cocoa mix to make the office coffee more bearable, I've been having a cup every afternoon. It's sad how the quality of the coffee has deteriorated over the last few months. Anyway, besides avoiding bad coffee, part of my motivation to drink it drew from the fact that I recently acquired a bottle of Starbucks peppermint flavored syrup (clearance priced!). Nothing keeps the holiday spirit alive like a fresh cup of peppermint hot chocolate in January.

Today is the first Friday of 2005. It's a little hard to believe that a week of the new year is now in the history books (or electronic archives). That seems awfully quick, as though whoever is in charge of spinning the world put something extra on the first few revolutions.

This post wasn't intended to be about hot chocolate or marveling at how fast time passes. It was supposed to be about my resolutions, but I was at a loss and couldn't think of a single one, not because I couldn't find any areas for improvement, but because I found too many. For guidance and a starting point, I looked at what others resolved to do in the new year, which is my way of explaining why a few of these might look familiar to some of you.

In 2005, I resolve to:

1. eat healthier and drink more water
2. learn to cook edible dishes
3. set and keep an exercise routine
4. volunteer more
5. read and write daily
6. clean, cleanse and organize my place
7. update this journal every day (or at least 365 times this year)
8. continue to step outside of my comfort zone
9. be more patient, mature and considerate
10. save money for long-term dreams (travel, art, a cabin)

Without Rich, I would have forgotten about the Mayfly Project. For the last two years, I've joined a few other folks in summarizing my year using exactly twenty words. Here is the 2004 edition...

skydived, bowled, new piano, worked,
injured ankle, blogged less, hiked,
Yosemite, fell in love, played,
turned thirty, Salzburg, facing future

For the last two weeks, I've been trying to get through a certain movie on DVD. Considered by most critics a classic (or as one reviewer described it: a "cinematic archetype"), I'd rather not name it because of what I'm about to admit.

I fell asleep during a cinematic archetype.

Four times.

Part of the reason I rented the film was because of the critical acclaim. I had also seen some of the director's other work and liked those movies. Yet, every time I sat down with this one and pressed play, I couldn't watch it for more than five minutes before dozing off.

There wasn't anything particularly sleep-inducing about it. It had plenty of action and suspense. It wasn't a quiet film either. One would think with all of the noise coming from the speakers, I would have stayed awake, but no amount of jarring music, hysterical laughter, disturbing voices or women screaming could do the trick. I was pathetic.

Until last night.

On my fifth attempt, I was finally able to watch the movie all the way through. To celebrate and prove that I could remain conscious for an entire film, I then watched Croupier. I found the Clive Owen movie quite compelling and much easier to view in a single sleepless sitting.

Before I forget, I should note that this online journal is now powered by Movable Type 3.14 (upgraded from 2.661). It took about an hour to upload and install the new version using my speedy modem. What the upgrade means on my end is obvious. The whole interface looks quite different. What the upgrade means for readers isn't as apparent. As far as I can tell, upgrading didn't make any of my entries smarter, funnier, taller or better looking. Maybe the next installment will fix that.

First, I wanted to send out a belated happy holidays and happy new year to those of you checking in to see if this place has been updated recently. For those hoping there wouldn't be an update, my apologies. I hope everybody had a wonderful time with loved ones, celebrated safely and received everything they asked for on their Amazon wish lists and more.

Eleven days away from the computer is a long time in blog terms (both in writing and reading). My absence coincided with the company's winter furlough, which happens every year and is the adult equivalent of winter break. During the furlough, the office shuts down and employees are required to take time off. To ensure no one comes to work, the company locks the doors and turns off the heat. Okay, that's not true, but those who want to dwell in their cubicles during the holidays must have written permission from their supervisor.

I was trying to think of the best way to recap the last week and a half and after several seconds of deep thought, I settled on using bullet points. In the past eleven days (and not necessarily in this order), I...

• celebrated Christmas with family
• had Chinese dinners on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day
• received very thoughtful gifts, including dress socks from Fluffy, the family dog (who knew he had disposable income?)
• drove down to Anaheim for a short road trip
• visited Hearst Castle in San Simeon
• visited Disneyland and California Adventure for a second time in one year
• gawked at Christmas decorations in the castle and parks
• got soaked in Southern California
• rode a roller coaster in the rain
• drove back to the Bay Area in the rain
• came down sick
• drove up to Sacramento a day after the road trip
• picked a person out of a police photo line up
• got a call from the auto body shop saying the repairs were finished
• medicated myself and slept
• went to dim sum with the family on New Years Eve
• medicated myself and slept some more
• watched The Rocketeer and Jay Leno on a (thankfully) quiet New Years Eve
• drank more soup and jok in a four-day period than ever before
• watched parts of a Monk marathon while recovering
• didn't drink coffee for three days (three whole days)
• failed to write my 2005 resolutions (but will soon)
• watched Dodgeball (for the third time) and The Terminal
• slept like it was going out of style

There are photos to share and bullet points to expand on, but I'm out of writing time. I'm off to find a hot cup of coffee.