American Idol, gonna mess your mind

When football season ends, I don't despair in the same way I used to.  Because the Premier League is still going strong, and now I have American Idol.

It's a guilty pleasure, for sure.  I don't vote during the elimination rounds--no patience for it--but I do like to handicap the horses during the auditions and try to pick out the final few.  I picked Taylor Hicks and Adam Lambert, for example, as probably top-fours in their seasons, before they even made it out of Hollywood week.

This year, I have a new favorite who will probably not even make the top 12.  Siobhan.  Why?  Check out her tattoo.  That's right, it's the Gashlycrumb Tinies artwork!  And as you all know, that particular Gorey masterpiece was the inspiration behind my Unlucky 26.  So Siobhan, I'm in your corner, babe.  Call me.  If you win it all, I'll let you tattoo Marrow Manor on your other arm.

When I was in college, I actually had a pretty good singing voice.  I sang all the time, but only when I thought no one could hear.  I had no voice training, did not come from a musical family.  My instrument of choice was drum sticks.  Then, my junior year, I took a sight singing course and had a blast.  I was one of the better students, but that wasn't saying much, to be honest.  I performed better in my ballroom dance class, where, truth be told, all the girls wanted me as their partner.

Anyway, I digress.

At the beginning of my senior year, I took a chance.  The UC Men's Octet, a phenomenally talented and amusing a cappella group, was holding auditions for all parts (alto, tenor, baritone, and bass).  I grabbed the sheet music for the audition song ("Mood Indigo"), headed to the music building where they had rooms with pianos, and practiced.  I couldn't ever quite hit the higher notes in the tenor range, so I tried the baritone part.

The day of the auditions, I was thrilled to see that only the current Octet and about ten auditioners were in a small studio room.  No public humiliation.  My humiliation would stay private.  They were nice enough to ask each of us if we ever had any music instruction, so I was able to set expectations appropriately before even singing a note.

A few went before me, and man, were they good.  A tenor and a bass.  I knew I could never be as good as they were.  But here was my one chance to sing with the Octet, albeit only three of them and in a small room.  So I gave it a go.  We sang through it once, and I knew immediately I had started in the wrong key.  I never corrected out of the wrong key, but dammit I sang the right notes in that wrong key, and they were good notes, and my voice was smooth.

They were very kind.  The head guy said, without a hint of patronization, "I'm not sure that was exactly right.  Let's try it again."  This time I hit the right key and sang quite well, in tune.  Until the last few bars, when instead of the baritone harmony I sang the progression of the tenor melody.  If I'd had any remaining chance, I knew I killed it then.  Still, the guys were super nice.  They asked if I wanted to audition as a tenor.  I knew I wouldn't hit the high range, so I declined.

Listening to the rest of the auditions, I knew I was out of my league.  But really, I knew that going in.  And unlike so many tone-deaf American Idol hopefuls, music was not my life.  It just seemed like a cool thing to do.  I almost left before they announced the results, but I'm glad I didn't.  All the guys auditioning and in the Octet were beyond nice the whole time, encouraging and not the least stomp-on-your-dreams cynical.

To this day, I am stunned I even tried out.  But that's the only way I've ever gained in life--by stepping outside my comfort zone and taking a risk.  That one didn't work out, but I am so glad I did it.

A day in Facebook Ads

I, like most people who've spent more than six minutes on the internet, have been trained to ignore anything that shows up in the far right column of a web page.  It's only ads any more.  But recently I've been intrigued by the ads that Facebook is choosing for me.  So I captured a sampling of ads that Facebook gave me today.

This is the one that got me started.  Apparently, it's telling me that if I am a father and make very little money, I can have hot, overly-made-up chicks smiling at me in provocative ways.  Presumably, this is what a scholarship will do for me.  But wait, this appears to be a correspondence or online degree.  This is the internet.  I don't need to take online classes to find hot, overly-made-up chicks smiling at me in provocative ways on the internet.  In fact, it's almost difficult to avoid that kind of thing.  (Be careful what links you click, folks.)

Aaaah!  Now they're telling me I can become the Unabomber if only I sign up for their online scholarship thing.  Is this dude a dad?  I can pretty much guarantee he doesn't bring home more than $45 grand, unless it's in the sack that he filled in the bank vault with his ski mask on.

Yeah, now that's more like it.  Forget scholarships.  Who needs school when you can have pecs and delts like that guy?  And all I have to do is drink whatever he's got in the bottle.  And I can be a UFC champion.  That's definitely worth a click.

This one definitely got my attention because I am certain that Wells Fargo did not make, buy, or approve this ad.  I'm guessing, though I'm not sure, that if you click this it will take you to the scholarships for dads site.  This one makes me a little queasy because it implies that I and my coworkers aren't already educated.  I do, however, like the gratuitous hyphen in re-imbursement.  This is a school I want to attend.  One that puts random punctuation where it's not needed, to clarify something that does not need clarification.

At least the Author's Guide is free.  At least it openly refers to self publishing and doesn't do those underhanded vanity publisher tricks, at least not at the start.  But really, does anyone believe that if you self publish your poetry, you will "get discovered by traditional publishers"?  That's like saying, "join Twitter and you'll get discovered by traditional publishers!"  I really hate products that prey on people's dreams with no actual hope of fulfilling them.

This one just has me befuddled.  There's an "average Team USA mom"?  At first I thought this was an ad for custom sports apparel.  Then I thought it was an ad for... um, something Olympic.  Then I saw it as a P&G ad.  More like a WTF ad.  What are they trying to sell me here?  Pringles?  Does P&G make Pringles?  Oh, I guess so.  I'll put this one down to a cute but ultimately stupid attempt at Olympics related nerd humor.  Moms, nerd humor, and Olympics--trying to hit a trifecta but coming in just outside of medal contention.

There were other ads, too, but these came up most often (apart from the Facebook feature ads).  I don't have any particular point in this blog post except to say that, yeah, now that I've paid attention, I fully understand how easy it was to train myself to ignore that right column on web sites.

God, guns, and the flag

Three stories that have come up in recent weeks:

• Man wants to rename a mountain
• Teacher has kid arrested for not reciting the Pledge
• Handguns flaunted in Starbucks

When people have a view to impose on others, they rarely stop at the line where reasonable discourse turns into insanity.  In fact, some of them already began on the far side of that line.

Here in Walnut Creek, there's a mountain.  It's only 3,849 feet tall, but more of the Earth's surface can be seen from its summit than from any other peak besides Kilimanjaro.  Thirty-five of California's 58 counties are visible from this mountaintop.  It is a key survey point for much of California.  And it's been called Mt. Diablo since as early as 1824, when San Francisco was little more than a Mexican military outpost of about 250 soldiers.

So of course a guy wants to rename it Mount Reagan.  Actually, he doesn't much care what the new name would be.  He just doesn't want to glorify Satan any more.  Apparently, God told him to file the petition.  Because, you know, God cares about this.

Meanwhile, in Maryland, a teacher had a 13-year-old girl removed from her classroom by school police when she refused to stand and recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  Oh, the humanity!  She must be a Communist, or a terrorist.  I am surprised she didn't end up at Guantanamo, labeled an enemy combatant.

Three things really bother me about this:  First, that this school has "school police."  Either this is a really tough school and the school police probably have something better to do already, or it's an insanely rich hoity-toity school where parents are worried about things like, you know, free speech.  I mean the exercise of free speech, and making sure it gets punished severely.  Second, that the teacher broke state law and violated school policy by trying to force the student to stand and recite the pledge.  Can we even call someone like that a teacher?  What, exactly, is she trying to teach?  And third, that some people actually think the teacher was doing the morally right thing.  That is scary.

We return now to the shadow of Mt. Diablo, where some kooks think it's really important to strap on handguns when buying coffee.  California has "open carry," which means that while it's illegal to carry a concealed handgun, it's not illegal to buckle one into your belt as long as it's not loaded.  The ammunition can be handy, just not loaded in the weapon.  For some reason, a group of people decided it was important to make everyone aware of this law by insisting on wearing their weapons when they got coffee.  Because you never know when there might be a firefight at the half-and-half pitcher.

It reminds me of a joke I heard in middle school:  Why does a dog lick its balls?  Because it can.

So, why does a man insist on flaunting deadly weapons in wealthy suburban coffee joints?  Apparently because he can't lick his balls.

We now return you to your regular programming of health care, global warming, foreclosures, the rotten economy, and Olympic medal counts.

Winter Olympics: guns, bikinis, and really cool sunglasses

I was shocked--shocked, I tell you!--last night when my younger son declared that the Biathlon was the least exciting winter Olympics sport to watch.  Considering that my two boys have more airsoft weaponry than most third world countries have actual guns, this declaration woke me up.  (I had fallen asleep, you see, because "ice dancing" was on the TV.)

I figured that anything involving shooting would keep my boys rapt.  Skiing and shooting.  Skating and shooting.  Hot dog eating and shooting.  Lawnmowing and shooting.  What could be more exciting, apart from maybe watching someone strap on skis and fling himself sixty feet skyward in a windmill tornado tumbling exhibition?  (OK, possibly if the skier were in fact doing this jump behind the biathlon shooting targets.)

So my boys eschewed the manliest of winter sports, the one involving the gun.  (By the way, I think women's biathlon should be moved to the summer games, and moved to the beach. It'd be like women's beach volleyball, only with bullets instead of a ball.  Girls, guns, and bikinis.  The IOC is missing a major ratings opportunity here.  But I digress.)

It got me thinking about other Olympic sports, though.

Curling.  OK, I kind of like it in the way I like ping pong and lawn bowling.  All three are well designed for the integration of beer.  But that whole broom thing... kinda girly, doncha think?  I mean, manly men don't do competitive sweeping.  When have you seen a Swiffer ad with a man doing the housework?  All they need is to add a guy at the end to pick up the stone, rinse it off, and put it in a dishwasher.  Emasculation complete.

Ice dancing.  Do we even need to go there?  This is the rhythmic gymnastics of winter.  This is figure skating for men who can't jump, and for women who are too big and fat to be thrown in the air like a high school cheerleader.  They should change this sport to incorporate some of the rules of the dance marathons of the 1930s.  Have all the couples on the ice at the same time.  Instead of sitting off in safety writing down random scores, judges would have to be on the ice, too, and tap the dancers on the shoulder when they've been eliminated.  And it would be a 12 hour marathon; if after 12 hours, more than one couple was still dancing, the judges could award style points to declare the winner.

Doubles luge.  WTF?  I mean, seriously?

I actually do enjoy watching some of the sports, if I've got nothing better to do like pick lint out of my navel or draw lines on the whiskey bottle to make sure the 10 year old isn't mooching.  Somehow I missed the US vs Canada hockey game, which is probably the one thing I would have sat down to watch in its entirety.  The downhill ski races are a bit like NASCAR in that there's almost certainly going to be a spectacular wipeout at some point, and that's OK because NBC in prime time tape delay won't show any actual serious injuries.  Cross country skiing is unfortunately like long distance running--truly an athletic competition, but fundamentally awful television.  I can allow figure skating because there's a manliness to tossing a petite girl into the air while zooming around on miniature swords strapped to your feet.  And speed skating--the one activity in all of humanity where a woman benefits from having enormous thighs.  Plus, as my son who is bored by the biathlon said, they get to wear really cool sunglasses.

So I guess the winter Olympics isn't all bad.  It's got guns, spectacular wipeouts, and really cool sunglasses.  The only thing it's missing is bikinis.

Random inspiration

I live in awe of those friends of mine who can post a blog post a day.  Sometimes two.  Or fourteen.  Sometimes with video.  Me, my posts have dwindled to maybe two a month (plus my weekly poem on the private blog).  That's OK.  I like my job.  I like my kids.  I don't much like housework, but it has to get done.

So tonight I turned to professional help.  The best help in the industry.  Right.  Google.  And Google pointed me to 1.4 million possibilities.  Here are a few that have potential (with a couple of suggestions from each), and which I may try using in the next few weeks.

• Imagination Prompt Generator
  What foods do you keep out of sight?
  What is in your car trunk?
  Name your boundaries.
• Random Topic Generator
  Relatives that give you the creeps
  Lying to your kids
  Poverty in Singapore
• The Brainstormer
  Letting go -- small town -- motor home
  Healing journey -- tribal -- fishing boat
  Madness -- cuban -- vineyard
• Special Projects Idea Generator
  Exclusive -- mechanized -- sport
  Pre-fab -- hand-crafted -- opera
  Artificial -- rubber -- vehicle

A little twisted, some of these, but they have potential.  What about you?  Do you have a favorite random topic generator, or a favorite place to get a prompt?

For some reason, I was put in mind of this:

SFWC Wrap-Up, or, "How I avoided the claws that catch"

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the Scottish Koala!

I'm paraphrasing, but I bring this up to say that today I made the Koala pleased.  Although she does not yet know it.  Today, I sent off query and pages to a fabulous, stupendous, wonderful, thoughtful, kind, intelligent, insightful, and very non-frumious agent that I met at the San Francisco Writers Conference over the weekend.  Another trait of hers is that there is a small but nonzero possibility that she may read this blog.  Did I mention stupendous and amazing?  I'm sure I did.

Last weekend I volunteered at the San Francisco Writers Conference for my third year in a row.  I absolutely adore (most of) the volunteers, speakers, and attendees.  Although after three years I find the content of the sessions a bit redundant, I still get a lot out of the conference.  Renewed enthusiasm, new contacts, a little new perspective and information, and most of all, fun.

I don't have much of a writeup about this conference.  I attended three of the four YA sessions I had wanted to hear, and I was assigned to Ransom Stephens' session about basic writing craft that was shockingly stupendous.  I worked the cafe and sold mediocre coffee at $3 per tiny cup (the hotel charged us $5 per cup).  I hung around with writers from Los Angeles, Salt Lake, Cincinnati, New Jersey, Florida, and--yes--even San Francisco.  I pitched two very kind and patient agents (did I mention stupendous and amazing?  oh, yes, I see I did) and waylaid a YA editor to bend her ear on some tough questions while waiting for the elevator.  And I did an awful lot of helping attendees find rooms, helping presenters remember to repeat the question, carrying boxes, etc.  Plus, since my wife also volunteered on Sunday and we had a room at the Mark Saturday night, we spent a pleasant Valentine's Eve in the city together.

All in all, a great weekend.

Today, the Day Job hauled me back in with a relentless efficiency and sucked all the life from my body before 2 p.m.  A little coffee reanimated my corpse, and by the boys' bedtime I was back in business and slapping together the query and pages.  Tomorrow:  the other wonderful, astounding, super-duper agent I met gets her query and pages.

Wish me luck.

Rabbit Hole Day

Lewis Carroll was born on January 27th.  The idea of blog Rabbit Hole Day is to stop making sense for 24 hours to honor the birthday of the guy who came up with Alice and the white rabbit and Cheshire Cat and all that.  I, however, take a different approach.  I honor the day not by being inane and insane but by penning a poem that attempts to mimic something.  You get to decide what it mimics.

Rekindling the Day

A pushoning wind bussed up my sails
and tautened all my lines.
I joped the jib and yanced the daels
and harkened to the signs.

The time was ripe!  The blow'ring sea
pulled at my empty heart,
and breathlessly it sang to me,
a most auspicious start.

My boat gachurtled forward
and the harbor fell behind,
as we swiftly slidled toward
the horizon sunburn-brined.

A fortnight and a month I sailed
the despelate, cold sea
til the day I thought my quest had failed
and death was nigh for me.

A moonless night had fallen black
and derkened deep my soul
when then, with a ferocious whack!
we foundered on a shoal.

Shakered and detothered
I was flung into the deep
where the water's weight besmothered
all my breath and made me sleep.

I wakened on a burgened beach
and heard a croftish weeping.
A little man just out of reach
was roundabantly leaping.

His frimpish arms and feeple beard
spashed wild in his hurry.
Possessed he seemed, with spirits weird,
so urgent was his fury.

Above him hanged as if divine
a rope straight from the sky.
He looked a little asinine,
this nimpish, little guy.

He jumped and jumped with howling wail
straight up to grasp the rope.
So small was he, 'twas no avail,
and so he lost all hope.

I asked him, "Why so glum, sir?"
And he skartled up and pointed,
shouting, "Ah! I see you've come, sir!"
And with that, I was anointed.

"You have restified my hope, sir,"
he cajortled, filled with glee.
"Would you pull down on that rope, sir?
It's to high for me, you see."

So I reached right up and took it,
grabbing tight cause it was slick.
When I pulled it, he said, "Lookit!"
and I heard a glibbous CLICK.

Then a wonder started growing
on the easting haunton sea--
the horizon started glowing,
and a warm hope rose in me.

"Ah!  You've done it!" barked the gnome,
and he laughed deep in his throat.
"Now let's send you off for home."
Then, nearby, appeared my boat.

I stepped inside and joped the main
and deeply breathed the salton air
and drank the liquid sunshine rain
as wind befrothed my finsom hair.

Changing my name

I've decided to stop being PJD and start being Peter Dudley on the web.  I've been Peter Dudley pretty much my whole life, and PJD sounds kinda stupid.  I always thought using initials was cool because my brother did it.  But he's got cool initials.  MED.  Yes, he's a doctor (though not a MEDical doctor).

You can still refer to me as PJD if you want.  Some people find change difficult.  I understand.  A lot of people had problems when Prince changed his name.

CAT UPDATE
Got the catalytic converter fixed today.  Mostly Honda in Concord is a top notch place.  No matter where you live, you should take your vehicle there for repairs.  They fixed it same day, and at about 60% the price I expected.

LIFE UPDATE
Off to Los Angeles in the morning for a bunch of meetings.  I don't think there will be hula hooping this time, but I've heard a rumor that we'll have a big celebrity as a keynote speaker.  Someone said Shatner.  Oh, that would be so cool.  But I don't believe it.  We'll see.

I am in danger of getting glared at by the Koala this month.  I only have two submissions (unless multiple poems count, in which case I have four in January).  I'm hoping to creep up to five or six points.  But I am very scared.

I missed 3WW last week.  I hope to participate this week.  I am lame.

It was there this morning...

I am the victim of vandalism and theft.

On Tuesday I drove to the train station and parked on the fourth floor of the parking garage, like I usually do.  I went to work.  I worked.  I returned to the train station.  I got into my truck.  I turned the key.

The truck roared like a fully packed, poorly maintained, high powered semi downshifting on the Grapevine.  It roared so loud that it set off a car's alarm several spaces away.  I had to go because I had to pick up my boys from karate, so I just drove it.  I admit I was a little proud of my 16 year old junker gurgling and roaring down suburban streets.  I felt a little like a rebel.  I figured it was the muffler.  I figured someone would yell, "Midasize it!" at me.

Today I actually looked under my car and discovered that my muffler was just fine.  But something was inserted into the exhaust system that shouldn't have been:  a cleanly sliced gap where the catalytic converter should have been.

Here's where the catalytic converter should have been, with helpful red lines to show where the slices are:

And here's a photo of the actual slice in the pipe:

I spoke with BART police on the phone tonight, and the officer said mine was the second 4Runner hit in this way, in that lot, on that day.  Fargin' eyesoles.  Bastages.  I hope they catch them, string them up, draw and quarter them, boil the pieces in Tabasco, and feed them to the hundred Clarity of Night crows that like to pick at people's eyeballs and living flesh.

OK, maybe I don't hope ALL that.  But this is gonna cost me a thousand bucks to fix.  Anyone wanna buy a used, but very good condition, 1994 4Runner with only 130,000 miles?  I'll throw in an extra gap in the exhaust pipe for free.

haiku wednesday - January 13, 2010

This week's words are
jolt
ribbon
zeal

A wacky couple of months has kept me from 3WW. And, due to the Clarity of Night contest, I will be unable to make the 3WW rounds this week; my apologies!

---

zeal of teenage boys
speed, slide, skid, crash, jolt to stop
red ribbon stains snow

---

a jolt of color
sky's ribbon arc fuels their zeal
they seek pots of gold

---

jolt my memories
long gone youthful zeal returns
scented hair ribbon

Gilbertson and Willingham were, apparently, unavailable

Lane Kiffin. USC. Is there a Pac-10 team that doesn't think this is a dream combination?

flash fiction contest -- enter now!

I have just sent in my entry to Jason Evans' flash fiction contest at his Clarity of Night blog. The rules and submission guidelines indicate prizes, formatting, and deadline. When he posts my entry to his site, I'll update with a link. I hope you all will enter--how hard is it to write a 250 word story from a photo prompt?

Although I plan on reading every entry, if you enter please comment on this post and let me know what # yours is.

Making a to-do about 2010

I'm not even sure I'll get today's to-do list completed. So, in the grand, self-centered tradition of making annual to-do lists that are not likely to get to-done, I hereby document my resolutions commitments objectives aspirations for 2010.

(I actually like my Day Job, but if you want my Day Job objectives, ya hafta go aks my boss. You won't read them here, even though they're a huge part of what my 2010 will be.)

• Finish my revision of Andie's Gold, then query in earnest. Don't stop until someone sees it for the work of brilliance it is.
  
• Post at least one new poem every week to my private blog. Mid year, figure out if it's possible to sell an anthology of light verse for kids.
  
• Shore up the Unlucky 26 and look for any small, quirky publishers who might like it.
  
• Complete my training for Scouting and become more actively involved in the troop. Make sure Sam bridges and Ethan achieves at least First Class.
  
• NOT sign up as a soccer coach again unless Sam really really really REALLY wants me to.
  
• Do something fun and different for our 20th wedding anniversary. about.com says I should do something Chinese because china is the traditional 20th anniversary gift. Huh?
• Read at least six novels.
• Attend my high school 25th reunion.
• Brew one batch of beer each quarter and try some new recipes.
  
• Random other things: Submit to Jason Evans' contests and a couple other things through the year. Volunteer at the San Francisco Writers Conference. Keep up with friends' blogs, and cultivate existing non-virtual friendships. Try to get over to EE's place more often. More consistently hit the gym. Journal more often. Take a couple of interesting vacations (possibly Hawaii?) and visit family.
  

Typical schlock, right? But hey, it's my typical schlock. You want someone else's typical schlock, go visit their blog.

Resolution Report Card

Sunday's paper was full of "year in review" and "decade in review" articles that I did not read. So in the spirit of modern journalism, I hereby present my very own year in review that you will not read.

I start with my 2009 resolutions because, well, isn't that the obvious place to start? These resolutions come straight from last year's blog post about the same thing.

1. Do something proactive with the Unlucky 26. Agents, small publishers, or self publish. Not sure yet, but something will be done.
   Define "proactive." I did get comments from the incomparable Aerin, and I did lay out the whole thing and get 10 print copies in a book form from lulu.com. And I even researched publishers and agents a bit. But it ended there; no queries. I even tried to create a sequel, but that fell flat before it even left the starting gate. Grade: C-minus.
   
2. Be more proactive with Andie's Gold. (Assuming none of the outstanding queries bear fruit.) I have faith that this book should be published, and I just need to find the right combination.
   Define "more proactive." I am about 70% finished with revision, including a lot of rewrite of the first half to improve pacing. My midyear goal was to finish the revision so I could send queries in February, 2010. Generally on track but a little behind. Grade: B-plus.
   
3. Continue to write. I did pretty well until work got crazy; work will continue to be insane throughout 2009, but I should be able to continue writing at least as much as this year, hopefully more.
   I had modest goals in 2009. Revise one chapter of Andie's Gold per month and write two new light verse poems a week. Ups & downs throughout the year, but on average I came close. Grade: solid B.
   
4. Don't skip the gym. It's so easy to say "today is too busy," but the days that I go I feel so much more energized. When I don't go, I start getting down on myself. It helps that I now have a buddy who goes to the same gym.
   Yeah, not so much. The gym buddy and I managed three workouts together. Then I got moved to a different building a half mile away. Then things got really busy. I think I've finally established a new routine, but... Grade: D-plus.
   
5. Be realistic about my time. This fall, I had too many obligations. I need to scale back something to retain my sanity.
   The thing I decided to scale back turned out to be sleep. And writing. I still coached soccer, led cub scouts, assisted (less) with boy scouts, and kept up with a number of other things. All while managing through a uniquely hectic work year. I get extra credit for retaining my sanity. That's why this isn't officially a resolutionfail. Grade: D-minus.
   
6. Reprise #4 of last year: Write and call family more often. Um, yeah. That's a resolution like for every year of my life.
   Define "more often." I actually did OK with this, for the most part. The bar was already set very low. Grade: B-plus.
   

Resolutions for 2010 will appear in a future post. Remember, this is a year in review post.

Facts about 2009, the year that is almost over:

• Professionally, I grew immensely. (Fortunately, despite missing out on lots of gym time, I did not grow immense.) The job I have today is twice as big and twice as complex--at least--as what I was doing a year ago. I don't tend to toot my own horn, but in 2009 I believe I did an outstanding job managing a turbulent, difficult, unsettled situation and turning in stellar results. I work with a terrific team, and I am profoundly proud of what we accomplished.
• Vacationally, it was a roller coaster year. Two awesome weeks in London (and Paris) along with trips to Disneyland, Tahoe (twice), San Luis Obispo, and Santa Monica. Unfortunately, work schedule (see above) kept me home from my family's visits back east and to Bend, Oregon. One of the main highlights was meeting a few of EE's minions at a Giraffe on the Thames.
• Computationally, we suffered a complete PC meltdown (boo!) and switched to Macs (yay!).
• Escritorially, my writing life wasn't as down as it appeared from my resolution report card. I had a short story published in the San Francisco Writers Conference Anthology; I won Jason Evans' flash contest in January and a readers' choice award in his July contest. (He has another coming up soon. Enter!) I had a poem accepted for publication in Caesura, and I started a new private poetry blog for my light verse which now has over 50 poems. I volunteered at the San Francisco Writers Conference. So it wasn't all tar pits and ice storms.
• Familialy, we enjoyed campouts, roller coasters, soccer, Mario Kart, skiing, and many daily trivias that make being a parent the most wonderful experience ever. (Usually.)
  

Last, but certainly not least, in 2009 we lost a dear, wonderful, exuberant, joyful friend. I do not hope you rest in peace, Trevor; rather, I hope you are enjoying the afterlife with as much flair and vigor as you enjoyed this one for your sixteen short years. We will miss you for always.

And that's my 2009 in review. For the most part. For me, 2009 will be the Year of the Day Job, in the best possible sense. I am hoping that 2010 will be remembered as the Year of the Winning Lottery Ticket. We shall see.

the obligatory virtual christmas card

Yes, our Christmas photo was taken in the spring in England. Yes, Sam is holding three chopsticks. Chopsticks because we had just eaten lunch at a very good Japanese restaurant. Why three chopsticks? You'd have to ask Sam.

Photo credit goes to the beautiful and talented super-hostess Tiffany Talbott. Thanks, Tiff!

Although I hope to reflect on 2009 in the next few posts, below is a "my year in status" from Facebook.

Disneyland

There is nothing that is truly appropriate to post after something like the previous one.

We had mixed emotions yesterday packing up and loading the car for a trip to Disneyland. Not only are we devastated by our dear friend Trevor's death, but he truly loved Disneyland.

When something like Trevor's death happens, you spend a lot of time realizing that you've been standing in front of an open closet for a minute, having forgotten why you were there. Or the open refrigerator. Or the telephone. Perhaps you weren't thinking of Trevor at that moment, or perhaps you were. It's sometimes hard to tell what you were just thinking. It's like a mental fog a lot of the time. That's sadness, I suppose.

Although we will be cutting our trip short by two days to return for the memorial service, we still will have four out of our five planned days at Disneyland. I think that Disneyland will probably prove to be the best possible therapy for all of us at this time. When you're sad, isn't it a good idea to go to the Happiest Place on Earth?

in memory of a dear, dear friend

In memory of a very dear friend who brought joy and energy to all things in this life. He died today, only a teenager.

My friend, may you find as much joy in the next life as you brought to this one. We miss you already.

But where's the analysis?

I get excited about college football season. A few years ago I wrote a weekly game preview column for a Cal football fan website. I did that for two or so years and had a great time with it. I never played football, but I'm pretty good at picking out patterns in numbers and the theory of the game. In each preview, I predicted the outcome and final score (crazy true coincidence: in every single prediction I somehow came up with the Bears winning).

Then, somewhere around 2006 I got too busy to write my weekly prediction, and scout.com decided they wanted someone else to do game previews. I read the new guy's previews for a few weeks but gave up because they said nothing that I didn't already get from my local daily newspaper.

Fast forward to the 2009 season. Cal is about to play in their seventh straight bowl game. I check out the news and have a few sports sites in my feed reader. Every now and then I skim through a game preview. But they are all the same.

The articles always mention the recent wins and losses. They print quotes provided by the teams' media departments. If there's an interesting storyline (such as Jahvid Best's injury), they mention that... also typically provided by the media department. But there's literally no analysis. Nobody digs deep into the stats to see that, for example, one team consistently loses when when they average fewer than 2.5 yards per carry, or that the other team seriously outscores their opponents in the fourth quarter because their offensive line is enormous and incredibly fit. Instead, we get vapid observations like, "the team doesn't want to end on a sour note" and "they lost big in their final game after winning three in a row against ranked teams." Blah blah blah. Anyone who cares to read your game preview already knows these things.

These days, repetition masquerades as news. Because news outlets have lost the patience to analyze and think, the only way they can differentiate themselves is through sensationalism and shiny graphics.

The only place we get in-depth analysis is in the celebrity sections of tabloids. Because that's where sensationalism and analysis intersect. It's really tragic.

watching them grow up

We are going to Disneyland! Disneyland! Yay! Next week. We already bought our super-expensive five-day park hopper passes. One of the three grandmas is coming with us. We'll be staying at a nice, big, upscale timeshare resort about 30 minutes from the park. Disneyland! Can you tell I'm excited?

The last time we went was December 2007, just three weeks before our old Subaru was totaled on I-15 heading to Las Vegas. The boys were 11 and 8, and they'd never been to Disneyland before. Sam had recently broken his arm (monkey bars) and faded early each day since it really hurt. The Disneyland first aid folks fed him lots of free Tylenol when we ran out. Just yesterday he said, "Most of the rides are for little kids. Really there's only like ten good rides, and they're all really crowded." Perhaps his memory is slightly skewed by the pain and that royally huge cast.

Ethan was still deeply into Star Wars and plastic light sabers and make-believe games that did not involve knowing the minute differences between an AK-47 and an AK-74. (Seriously, his knowledge of WWII and modern weaponry is troubling at 13 years old.) For him, Disneyland was pure magic. Thus, it became again pure magic for me, too, looking at it all through his eyes. The highlight was the Jedi Training Academy, where he got to go one-on-one in a light saber duel against Darth Vader.

Now 13, Ethan is well beyond the Jedi Training Academy. He looks, acts, and talks like a middle schooler. I know that he'll still feel the magic of Disneyland--that's the type of person he is--but it won't be the same. Sam, however, may discover a bit of the magic he missed out on with his broken arm. I hope so.

New Clarity of Night Contest

Jason Evans is at it again. I like the photo a lot this time, particularly as a writing prompt. So many ways to play off it.

His upcoming writing contest will happen in mid January. Max 250 words. Make it your new year's resolution to enter the best 250 words you possibly can. It's always a fun contest, with some truly special writing.