Some Christmas Day advice: if you’re hungry, Sonic is open. However, they will forget your $4 popcorn chicken. And your fries. And you’ll be too distracted by holiday cheer to check the bag before driving home. And it’s a bit too nasty out to go back for it. And you’ll be left with mediocre burgers (but tasty tater tots…). So maybe don’t do that.

And may God/Goddess/Xenu/Flying Spaghetti Monster bless us, every one.

Remember these? Yuck.

While out shopping with a female friend, we stop to examine a kiosk selling trendy purses and belts made entirely of big, dangly sequins in bold, fluorescent colors. I fear someone has accosted a figure skater and stolen their outfit for raw materials.

“I should get one of those,” my friend says, her face a canvas for disco-ball refractions cast by sparkling handbags. I raise an eyebrow. This young woman, characterized by her classy, subdued taste, must be in thrall, mesmerized by the magnificent gaudiness.

“Why?” I’m genuinely curious, and a little concerned.

“They’re so hot right now,” she replies. Her gaze doesn’t leave the display. “Everybody has one.”

“So? They’re popular, so what? You don’t even like pink. Or magenta. Or whatever that is,” I say, pointing to a belt roughly the shade of Liberace’s soul.

She finally looks at me, and her expression is blank. Yet, is it my imagination, or can I see hot pink sequins dancing in her irises? “They’re so hot right now,” she says again, flat, atonal.

“But you hate trend-driven consumerism!” I cry. “You oppose Paris Hilton and all she stands for. Why give in to this?”

She stares at me and points at my wrist, adorned with three thick, mono-hued rubber ringlets sporting unrelated slogans. I haven’t worn a bracelet since junior high. Why did I start again now? I’m struck by the realization that no one else has worn these things in months. Why am I?

Her finger raises to indicate my pseudo-vintage, process faded graphic T-shirt. It depicts a questionably-named business establishment that has likely never existed, in a state I’ve never visited.

The accusatory finger aims higher to my short cropped hair, cut in imitation of Lost star Matthew Fox.

I am overcome by my hypocrisy. My will to fight the system evaporates. I look from my friend’s face to the gleaming, serpentine scales of yellow, aqua and copper satchels. I revel in their gaudy hipness. They are to me as jewels in a treasure chest of fashion.
My friend buys one. I applaud her on how the fuschia complements her pea coat and brings out her hazel eyes. “You’re so in,” I tell her.

A week later, I’m at the mall with my wife. I’m drawn to a display of enormous belt-buckles, some with sharp, protruding edges, others with bright red LED lights scrolling popular catch phrases and rap lyrics. I have never liked such unnecessary belt attire. I imagine how stylishly ironic it would be to wear one now.

I gesture to a buckle resembling a hubcap, a dollar sign spinning in its center. “I like that one,” I hear myself say.

“You’re kidding, right?” my wife asks, incredulous. When I shake my head, her eyes go wide. “Seriously? Why?”

I stare at the spinning buckle bling and mentally compare it to a shiny, sequined pocketbook.

“They’re so hot right now.”

It’s been some time since I’ve written here. As you may or may not know, I lost my mother at the end of October. It was very unexpected, and the single most difficult and damaging experience of my life. You expect a trauma like that to affect you, but I think ‘how’ is always the big surprise. My family and I are healing, and I appreciate all the help we received during this trying time – particularly from The Armada who, as always, stood by me and propped me up when the weight of it all threatened to overwhelm. I love you all. And no words can describe the unimaginable support provided by my wife and best friend, Wendy. She understands what I’m going through all too well, and it has been her unenviable task of picking up my pieces and gluing them back together when I am struck by the need to fall apart. I hope you all can be so fortunate to have somebody in your life with the capacity to love and give that she possesses.

As for my mom – I love her and miss her, always. Sometimes the ache of it all sets in without warning, waves of sadness and surreality crashing against my weary mind. If you discover me to be a bit odd now and then, please excuse – the carrier pigeons that pass for my neural impulses are slow to deliver to all the dusty corners of my brain. When they finally arrive, I get to experience it all again anew, and apparently each uncharted faction of the mind requires its own slightly personalized method of dealing.

However, this is not a blog about all of that.

I’d like this to be the beginning of a weekly entry – I’m not so thick as to think I’ll always been consistent, but I imagine it’s a worthy goal – especially because I wish no structure on it at all. Just a random collection of my thoughts on the things I encounter day to day. So, that said…

I WATCHED “WAITRESS” TONIGHT. It’s a little film about little people with complex, tangled relationships and one woman’s effort to escape a dead end life. It features Keri Russell (remember “Felicity”?) in an impressive, nuanced performance, and Nathan Fillian (Captain Mal in our beloved “Firefly”) as her awkward, sweet OBGYN and extra-marital love interest. Also contains a splendid turn from Andy Griffith. Sadly, the quirky, talented writer/director (and supporting cast member) Adrienne Shelly never got to see her film debut – she fell victim to an absolutely irrational act of violence, murdered by a construction worker in the building where she kept her office. “Waitress” is a testament to her filmmaking vision, a unique understanding of personal drama, friendship and the gravity of our decisions. It’s funny, sad and insightful, and you should go rent it.

I READ “THE BLADE ITSELF” BY JOE ABERCROMBIE. This is a hard book to describe succinctly, because it doesn’t have an obvious plot. Instead, it follows three very different characters as the threads of their lives are woven together against the backdrop of vivid and brutal fantasy world. Abercrombie’s startlingly good debut novel is packed in turns with exceptional characterizations and visceral, engaging action scenes. He finds a voice quite apart from most fantasy fair, in turns frank and funny and vulgar. Inspector Glokta and Logen Nine-Fingers are two of the most fascinating fantasy characters I’ve encountered in years, and I most eagerly await the sequel (set to land on American shores in February, I think). Get thee to a bookstore.

I MET WRITER/DIRECTOR JAMES GUNN. First, outside of the radio station, where I quickly introduced myself (with the obligatory “I’m a big fan” AND “we’re friends on MySpace”). Later, Cory, Big T and I spoke with him after a Q&A session at the St. Louis Movie Festival. Both times he was very gracious and easy to speak with. And he was hella funny during the Q&A – the man is a silly bitch. Not surprising from the fellow who wrote/directed “Slither” (starring the aforementioned Nathan Fillian as ‘Bill Pardy’).

I SAW “THE MIST” IN THE THEATER. 95% awesome, but that last 5% was such a kick in the privates that it made me hate the film. The director and I will have words some day, oh yes. Skip the last 3 minutes and it’s a pretty good flick.

ALSO SAW “BEOWULF” AT THE CINE, IN 3D. I felt bad that I missed Neil Gaiman’s “Stardust” in theaters, so I hastened to “Beowulf”. It’s impressively animated, but at times poorly directed or edited – it loses its flow frequently, with long, boring moments creating an awkward canter between some really thrilling action sequences. The dragon battle near the end is particularly badass. Angelina Jolie’s digital presence in the film is distracting, and the fact that her computer-rendered face looks absolutely identical to the real life version and yet is still sort of disturbing only suggests that she borders on inhuman. If you love CGI or sword-n-sorcery tales, give it a go. But it can wait for dvd – the 3d is neat, but I don’t think it will lose much without it.

THE UNRATED, UNCUT OF “TALLEDEGA NIGHTS” SUCKS. Seriously, get the theatrical version – the director’s cut ruins the comedic timing of the entire movie. They say 13 minutes were put back in, but it feels like an extra 2 hours. “The Ballad of Ricky Bobby” works as a concise piece of pop silliness, but fails when the editor becomes indulgent. And you’ll hear the phrase ‘Shake and Bake’ way more than is really tolerable.

THE FIRST EPISODE OF THE “TERMINATOR” TV SERIES ROCKS. I was fortunate enough to land a screener of the upcoming “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles” pilot from Fox. I didn’t have high hopes for this, but Summer Glau (River on “Firefly”) co-stars as a new take on the protective Terminator, and that was enough to get me in the door. The show follows roughly after T2, with some time lapse. And it rocked – totally captured the feel of T2’s ominous paranoia and machine-blunt action. T, Cory and I re-entered this world with severe doubts and left genuinely jazzed up. Debuts in January, and I think a fair amount of it was finished before the writer’s strike, so yay for non-rerun TV!

I JOINED A COMIC BOOK CREATOR CLUB. My new dorky haunt, Twilight Comics in Shiloh (in the Green Mount shopping plaza near Target) is hosting a bi-weekly gathering of writers, artists and assorted other creative types interested in making comics. Despite the crappy weather, the first meeting was well attended and tons of fun. It was compelling to converse with a handful of other guys entrenched in the craft of sequential art storytelling. The group was heavy on writers in this first go ‘round, but there was an artist there whose portfolio and work ethic were extremely impressive. The second meeting is this coming Thursday. We’ve been charged with creating something new for each week, pages of script or art, at least a little something creative to share with the group. I’ve not had a very productive couple of weeks, but I’m hoping to complete a six page rough draft of a script for one of my comic properties.

A HANDFUL OF OTHER THINGS:

I’m reading “Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Joss Whedon’s Season 8”, DC’s “Booster Gold” and My Chemical Romance frontman Gerard Way’s “Umbrella Academy” comics. Good stuff all around. After 7 years, though, I’m losing interesting Brian Michael Bendis’ “Powers”. I think I’m only still getting it out of habit.

I received the “His Dark Materials” trilogy as an early Christmas present, which I’m excited about. Also got the first volume of “Preacher”, which I read on the job at Fantasy Shop years ago. It was a fun re-read – a little rough around the edges, but sets up the inspired insanity of the rest of the series.

I’m 3/5 of the way through “The Spiderwick Chronicles”. It’s pretty decent kid’s fare, really one book split into a 5 volume serial – presumably to make more money by releasing them as $10 mini-hardcovers. The reading leans a bit thin as it often relies on the accompanying illustrations to describe the people, creatures and locales. My favorite element so far is, of the three sibling protagonists, one is singled out as our main touch point, while his twin takes a backseat. I think that’s a fairly unique way to portray twins in fiction.

My friend Roi’s band, The Material, made it all the way to second place in a big MTV2 contest. They performed at the competition finale in Times Square. It’s a big deal for these guys, a real break that is creating some exciting opportunities. Roi’s been pursuing music as a career for the better part of 15 years, so I’m really excited for him. (Some of you may remember him as the guitarist from Cory’s old band, Cope.) The Material has a nice hard melodic rock sound with a female vocalist. Strangely, I’d been following the band for almost a year on MySpace before Roi moved west and eventually joined up with them. Find them and show them some love.

Jimmy Eat World’s new record is pretty awesome, especially the first single “Big Casino”.

Another band to check out is In This Moment – met them the other day. Nice folks, solid performers, and the lead guitarist is sorta like a dreadlocked, metal version of Seth Rogen.

It’s now 12:30 and I have physical therapy in the morning. Yay for cracking and stretching and putting my body back into some semblance of alignment.

All my love,
adron

My “underground” month continues, though the last two weeks without the benefit of being on vacation. I’ve learned an important lesson in these 14 days: I am not one of those “write my best stuff at 2:00am” nocturnal writers. I am way more productive in the typical 9-to-5, probably as a side effect of working that for years.

Now that I’m back in my daily work routine, I’ve generally been fitting an hour or two in a night, between 8:00pm and midnight. My productivity has gone way down, which was to be expected, but I’ve been rather caught off guard by my penchant for falling asleep at the keyboard around 10:45. (Cory and Amy will have a laugh at that because, as they know, if casual conversation around the house goes that late, I tend to fall asleep on the couch or, sometimes, the floor.)

Despite all that, I’ve gotten some work done. “Pitch” has progressed a little, but I spent a couple of nights scrapping a big chunk of it, removing a character and rewriting a page. It’s starting to feel right, but I think this one is going to see a lot of action on the redraft frontlines.

Late last week, a casual observation on the Metrolink kicked my brain into momentary overdrive. In the three minutes between stepping off the train and Wendy arriving at the station to pick me up, I had a whole new story, beginning, middle, end. I’m never at a loss for ideas, but I don’t often get the whole package delivered at once.

Since I was feeling some strain with “Pitch”, I decided to step aside a bit and explore this new short story. It’s tentatively titled “Mercury People”; I’m 8 pages in, about 4000 words. Which is a lot wordier than I expected it to be (cue snickers from the in-the-know crowd), because I initially envisioned the language and action in a kind of clipped, matter-of-fact fashion. I’m at the end of the second act (of sorts), and the language and situation has become, well, dense. Right now, my plan is to finish it in its present style, redraft it in the same, and then go to town on it with the methaphorical red pen, maybe cut it by half. Perhaps I’ll send different versions to my creative-crit friends, and see how they react to each.

This past Friday, another “train of thought” on the Metro (how it hurts me to pun it that way) stuck with me into my morning Starbucks ritual. I sat to jot down a few notes and turns of phrase. The second stanza was just beginning when I realized I was constructing a poem. Again with the freaking poetry. Perhaps since I’ve not done much in the way of songwriting lately, that part of me manifests in the poetic structure. In any event, this new thing is called “The Kind Man Looks Death”, and it’s not at all like the last one I wrote. Its tone seems fitting for a publication like “Dark Wisdom”. If I don’t have a polished short ready during their next submission period, a sharpened version of “Kind Man” might be worth a shot.

OTHER STUFF

. Friday night, a small handful of Armadians ended up in little, out of the way Trenton, Illinois, at a bar called The Jailhouse Rock. I was highly skeptical of the locale and venue in question, but it turned into a really fun time. The place is really quite large, with a decent bar area, and a whole other section with a big stage, dance floor and game room. The motif is very Elvis, obviously. I imagine it was once a schoolhouse or church, or maybe even one of those tiny concert halls that used to litter the country fifty odd years ago. They had karaoke that night and, as you may know, Armadians are black belts in Karaoke-Fu. The guy running it was really nice and respectful (all too often not the case) and the song selection reasonable. And the Boulevard on tap was dynamite.

. I felt like crap all weekend, something like food poisoning without the vomiting. Might have been my recent flu shot just catching up with me. Watched a bunch of mediocre movies to distract me from whining: Idiocracy, the lost Mike Judge picture with Luke Wilson. Futurama without the sci-fi (and most of the biting wit). Extremely funny at times, with some poignant observations, but overall not a good film; Crank, an all-out actionfest that would have rocked at 30 minutes but lost its edge at 90. Sorta fun, if you’re feeling ADD; and Beerfest, from the Broken Lizard comedy troupe. Actually pretty funny, in that Saturday Night Live spin off movie way, it’ll entertain when you’re holed up on the couch and don’t feel like doing shit.

. I parted ways with my Xbox. The console and all my games made the trip to Slackers today. I picked up the first Clone Wars animated dvd and ordered the first four seasons of Batman: The Animated Series. I’ve been loving the Justice League collections, and feel its time to catch up on the series that got it all going.

. Finally took all the Christmas decorations down. Woo-hoo!

. One of my favorite high school teachers, Connie Brubaker, just published a book of poetry. Connie was always a big proponent of my writing, and shared her work with me as well. She’s doing a sale/signing at a cafe in my hometown which I’m hoping to attend. It is, incidentally, the coffee joint my old friend Jessi runs that I’ve been meaning to visit. Economical use of a stone, that.

. Just finished reading Tim Pratt’s short story collection, Little Gods, a Christmas gift from my wife. This is a wonderful little gathering of fantastical-stories of many flavors and tones. I haven’t enjoyed a new author find like this since I discovered Kate Atkinson. There’s plenty of material to dig into, here, but my two favorite stories from the collection are “Bleeding West”, a gritty piece of mythology in the spaghetti western tradition, and “Behemoth”, a tale of forsaken friendships, unrequited love and the creatures of the apocalypse that left me weeping in a corner at Starbucks.

Here’s a few random-ish observations – a bloggin’ catch-all.

. Heroes – I was super excited to see the premiere of Heroes on NBC this past Monday. Advance word was really positive, and the premise sounded like a cousin to J. Michael Straczynski’s turbulent but often brilliant comic maxi-series Rising Stars. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very thrilled with the pilot. There’s some intriguing ideas happening in it, but it struck me as NBC’s attempt at a Lost styled fanta-drama (that’s a new word, folks, feel free to use it, but credit me).

The show kicked off with a cheeseball text scroll giving an outline for the series, and proceeded along a bumpy path of neat moments and heavy-handed attempts at faux-enigmatic cliff hangers.

Points for ballsy displays of temporary disfigurement with the angsty-teen-cum-Wolverine girl, and dork banter in Japanese. Deductions for the poorly executed flying sequence and soap opera-like melodramatic scenes between the girlfriend and her future-painting, drug-addicted, emotionally-distraught artist guy. It’s a pilot, though, and it takes most shows a bit to get their rhythm, so I’ll give it some time yet.

. Vellum – Started reading Hal Duncan’s Vellum: The Book of All Hours and gave up after about 100 pages. I rarely cast a book aside, but I just couldn’t give this one more of my time. An ambitious, genre-blending-and-breaking novel about sort-of-angels, folding time and space, twisting mythologies, the first twenty pages really got me interested. But from there on out, I hated almost every word of it.

Vellum is high on concept, and crap on characters with any real depth. Duncan is too busy illustrating the fact that each person has been born and reborn a myriad of times, living as gods and angels and mortals in every possible mythology and civilization, that he never gives you more than a few scraps of who they are in the real space of the story. The book is a nightmare of unnecessary paragraph breaks and spacing, often in the middle of conversations, many with entirely superfulous subheadings. Passages taking place in other times and sub-realities intercut scenes with abandon, indicated by changes in font, color (shades of gray/black), and sometimes in italics – it’s a terrible eyesore. Rambling descriptions of fantastic realms and abstract objects share space with repetitive, generic imagery for contemporary settings, both sprawling across pages, while true character moments and clear plot points are fragmented and sprinkled distainfully over the mix.

Worst of all, the narrative voice is so inconsistant that I often wondered if I was reading the same author, or even the same book. One sub-chapter insisted on the use of the “f-bomb” in every line of description, the narrator’s voice inflected with the nuances of the last referenced character. Many other authors have used this technique, but Hal Duncan knows no restraint with it. Narration in a later section is voiced in the Irish-accented expletives of a would-not-be-angel, oh so cleverly using “fookin’” to give us that lilting flavor of dialect. So clever that it almost made me throw the book in the trash after reading it.

I first thought this would be a challenging novel that would be worth fighting to the end, kin to M. John Harrison’s Light, a hard sci-fi affair that I struggled through but which proved very rewarding. If there is a gem to be found by the end of Vellum, I doubt the ends justifies the means. In 100 pages, I did run across a few stunning lines and brilliant thoughts, but the dreadful entirety of it has swept those bright moments from my memory. It has a pretty cover, I’ll give it that. I’d refer people to the excellent American Gods as a proper alternative to this mangled mess.

. Lost – Just finished watching the second season of Lost on dvd. I am so tangled in its convolutions, I may have to follow the third season as it actually airs (I hardly ever watch shows as they broadcast, these days – I’m much more fond of tv on dvd). If you picked this season up, you must watch the blooper reel on the bonus disk. Trust me.

. Josh – My friend Josh Hagler was selected as one of 10 artists whose work will be shown in a prestigious gallery in London in late October. I sent a MySpace bulletin soliciting help in the voting process. Thanks so much for anyone who helped out. It’s a big thing for him, I think. He’s been working hard for his art since we knew eachother in middle school, and it’s really been paying off the last couple of years. I’m not always the biggest fan of his style, but I’m proud of his growth as a person and artist and try to support him as I can.

. Hoodie – I got a new hoodie from Old Navy, with this awesome, deep, Jedi-esque hood. It’s mighty comfortable and warm, and has been my constant companion the last few days, like Mister Rogers’ sweater. Scored fresh new kicks, too, replacing last year’s Skechers that failed me. Yup, I’m big pimpin’.

5:00pm, Saturday, September 2nd: Sitting in the hotel restaurant, I realized my glasses were no longer in my tuxedo jacket pocket. I had taken them off for the wedding party pictures and had been very deliberate about keeping them in my coat pocket. Yet they had vanished, and it threw me into a freak out.

As Amy astutely pointed out, I’m kind of OCD about what I do with my personal effects. My glasses, cellphone, keys and wallet are either on my person, or in their designated space at all times. I’m not prone to misplacing these things. I’m totally cluttered otherwise, so this is a defense mechanism for my sanity.

In my state of aggrevation, I managed to be rude to wife and friends as they tried to help me track down my other two eyes. I walked all over the hotel, the restaurant, parking garage, the last car I’d been in, all with no luck. And with the reception starting in just a few minutes, there was no time to backtrack the twenty minutes to the church, where I last remembered having them.

But enough about those silly things for now. Let’s Tarantino things, and back it up…

Friday afternoon found many Armadians on the road to Peoria, IL, for the wedding of our fabulous friends Gene Kelly and Mary McKenzie. Arrival at the hotel lobby put us directly in the arms of Gene, where many hugs and exclamations of happiness were had. Swiftly afterwards friends from various parts of the country appeared and the Holiday Inn became Armada reunion ground zero. The suite Wendy and I shared with Cory and Amy (and Vicki on Saturday night) developed into an impromptu headquarters, being larger than most and right next to the pool. Intense amounts of socializing took place, with many embraces, laughs and general sillyness.

We found the bride at the rehearsal, along with members of the Gene’s family (such as his much beloved sister, parents and world’s-sweetest-grandma). The rehearsal went smoothly, despite our general ri-donk-ulous behaviour, and my constant – and effective – attempts to make Matt crack up in the ceremony line-up. My groomsman spot had me right below a statue of Jesus bearing the Stigmata. I mused on its placement in the middle of his palms, and thanked the big guy again for that time he scored me pizza at the Fantasy Shop.

The rehearsal dinner took place at Mary’s dad and step-mom’s large, beautiful house. The eats were might tasty. The Armadians fought – in vain – to subdue their zaniness around the family folk. Gene presented his “League of Extraordinary Groomsmen” with the single coolest groomsmen gift I’ve ever received – a litho-print of a Gene’s comicy depiction of all of us “League” members. The lot of us were clutching our picture frames and gushing, comparing our likenesses and demonstrating our comic book poses. So. Bad. Ass.

That night, our room played host to lots of friends drinking, playing cards, being boisterous, and generally hanging out until about 3am. It went on a bit longer than I could handle, as I slept through a lot of it. I did get to swim, for a little while, which was really quit nice. The pool was closed for repairs (and because somebody puked in it) the rest of the weekend.

Saturday morning, the guys tuxed up and headed to the church early for pictures. We Armadian men may be a ragtag bunch, but we clean up rather spectacularly. (For one wedding a few years back, we all wore kilts, and if that sounds silly, you are seriously mistaken.) The wedding was abbreviated Catholic style, pretty and fairly simple. Mary was gorgeous (but then again, she always is), and Gene’s smile was even sunnier than usual. Our bridesmaids looked beautiful, and the whole thing went off really smoothly.

Afterwards, more pictures, this time with the ladies. We had fun watching Gene’s face make the rapid morphs between smiling-picture-expression to gosh-I’m-already-tired. After the camera went off, his smile would drop like a drawbridge. Observing the phenom created much chuckling amongst the League. I don’t know if Gene ever caught on. We did photos outside, including pics on a hill doing some of those “everybody’s jumping and looking excited” shots.

Jumping, huh? In a tux? Wonder if that could make something in a coat pocket fly out?

The reception featured tasty full service dinner, emotional toasts from the best man and maid of honor, and frenzied dancing spurred by our friend Brandon’s DJing. I danced for pretty much four hours straight. My feet hurt like hell. Wen can still barely walk. By the end, everyone was exhausted, a bit tipsy and very happy. Gene and Mary stuck it out until the end – tired as can be and just has happy.

Calmer afterhours hanging in the room. Much time spent with Steve and Sarah, Gene and Mary’s closest friends in New York (their currently place of residence). Sarah is an acquaintance of some 8 years, back in my college theatre days, but this was my first time really getting to know her, which is sad, cause she’s pretty fantastic (and an incredible dancer – I’ve never seen such abandon). It was my first time meeting her boyfriend, Steve, who’s as nice a guy as you’ll find, so much fun to hang with and hopefully someone I’ll get many more opportunities to share company with. They very easily fell in with the lot of us and our time was richer for it. I’m very happy that the Kelly’s have such people to hang with in NYC.

Sunday morning, and our room filled up again with Armadians, including Mary and Gene, with whom we made our “love-you-see-you-laters”. A minor complaint knocked 75 bucks off the bill and we were out the door. Joined up with about 15 of our folks (including Big T’s lovely mother, whose company is always welcome) at Pizzaria Uno in a nearby hotel for lunch and last minute comradery. When we finally had to pay the tab and depart, we made a scene in the restaurant by having a fifteen minute lovey-dovey session. Folks who don’t know our group too well are often surprised at what a huggy bunch we are. Every time we see each we share embraces, and a mass-parting (with many friends going to different points on the map) is something to see. Some people don’t know how to handle it at first, but you never leave feeling unloved.

Then Wendy, Doug, the Professor and I trekked back out to the church in search of my glasses. In a few minutes, Doug’s keen gaze found them out in the field where we had taken the jumping photos, thankfully unharmed. With my four eyes intact, we about-faced and headed south to home, with a layover to see my mom and some family.

It was a pretty fantastic weekend. To recover, Wen and I took Monday as our “sit at home and do nothing but watch movies and eat pizza day”. We watched Before Sunset, Wedding Crashers, The Matador and The Punisher. Good times.

And now, even with my glasses, my eyes are blurry from staring at MySpace too long. But, once more, to Gene and Mary – all the happiness two can stand. I love you guys! Cheers!

So, as coincidences go, I check my email this evening, and I’ve got a message from a Liz Lunk, which totally looks like a spam email to me, a name I don’t know. But the subject line was ‘class of 96 reunion coming soon’, and I realize it’s my old classmate Liz Hoffman (apparently now Lunk).

I open it, expecting the full rundown on the reunion. Instead, the first part of the email, in rather casual verbage, informed me that my classmate John Law passed away this weekend, after losing a battle with leukemia. I never even knew he had this ailment until today.

I’d known John since the third grade. We lived a few blocks apart, hung out on the playground sometimes. The first drummer in my very first band bought his drumset from John. He was a short fellow, maybe all of 5’3″, with sandy blond hair and big eyes. He had a somewhat defensive attitude at times, probably as a consequence of his small stature, but was otherwise a nice, pretty good guy.

I doubt I’ve had more than a handful of conversations with him since junior high. Haven’t seen him since graduation. Probably haven’t really thought about him much since. It’s such a shame that the first thing I hear of him in ten years is that he’s gone.

The email went on to say that we’ll have details on a reunion sometime soon, that the class doesn’t have much money but hopefully they’ll scrounge up enough to throw a good party.

I hope they leave an extra place setting.

And now that his pain is over, I hope that, wherever John is on his journey, it’s better than what he had here.

* * *

A week after I wrote the above entry, I received John’s obituary in the mail from my mother. It gave a few details about his life since high school. Talked about the east coast-based donor who had been paired with John some years back and helped him survive some very tough times. How they had stayed in contact and become friends. How the donor and his wife had traveled to the midwest to be there with John as he left this world. About the wife of only a year that survived him, how they’d been together thoughout his illness, how she had married him, knowing his days were likely to be limited.

I read this, and I cried and cried. Like I hadn’t since Stacy lost the twins. For John, and for the strong and incredibly loving people who stood by him. And I remembered to feel lucky, and to be grateful.

A groomsman again. The new writing gig.

Over the weekend, my friends Gene and Mary got engaged. They’ve been together for over a year and a half, and live together in New York. Gene was the bass player in my old band, Kessel Run. I met Mary in the theatre department at SIUE, but didn’t really get to know her until Carrie inducted her into the Armada. When my wife’s father died unexpectedly, Mary proved herself an invaluable support, having experienced a similar loss. Gene and Mary had both moved into the Chicago area around the same time, but didn’t actually meet eachother until they were both visiting the E-ville crowd on Oscar Night. We had gathered together to witness LOTR: Return of the King destroy the Oscar competition, and they shared some coy flirting. A couple of months later, Wendy & I and Travis & Carrie (then still together) visited Mary in Chi-town, and Gene joined us. We left the two of them in a room together long enough and sparks flew. They were ridiculously cute together before even being official and swiftly proved to be the coupling that should have painfully obvious to any of us who had bothered to consider it. They are both independent, creatively-driven folks, unconcerned with material possessions. Their quality of life is based on the realization of their career objectives, and the amount of time they can spend together. Theirs is a lovely union, and example of what a relationships should be like.

Sooner after their announcement, I was asked to be part of Gene’s “League of Extraordinary Groomsmen”. I was surprised and flattered. Geno and I have been good friends for about six years, and creative partners in the band and in some comic and web projects. Yet, we weren’t terribly close back in the band days. It’s been in the past couple of years, with him living first out of the area and then out of state, that we’ve gotten tighter. As we’ve gotten older, our ambitions have aligned more and more often, our creative fires focused in similar ways. Our conversations now are decidedly adult (even when discussing silly things), the talk of peers fighting their ways down similar paths. (Quite similar, in fact, to my chats with my pal Josh, now a professional artist in San Francisco, making quite the name for himself.) The maturation of our friendship has been a very rewarding experience, and I’m pleased as can be to have a spot in his line-up.

The Gene/Mary wedding will be my second appearance as a groomsman this year. I’m also in Big T (a Travis, not the recently divorced) and Amanda’s nuptials, to be held in April. I met Big T and Gene on the same evening years back, and they have been constants in my life ever since. T is, surprise surprise, another arty type, a graphic designer of ample skill and creative flair. His fiance, Amanda, was at first my coworker at Emmis, and eventually my good pal, co-conspirator, and Chai buddy. They hooked up on the second visit to see Mary and Gene in Chicago and, again, were an obvious match. (I saw this one coming. In the early days at Emmis, I would often lament “it’s too bad Amanda has a boyfriend – she would be perfect for Big T. I purty smart sumtimes.) Along with Cory and Amy, they are Wendy and I’s closest “couple friends”, that great combination of folks that we can spend couple time with, or break apart into various combinations for socializing. They’re just as silly and obsessive as we are, too.

A note: Wendy is a bridesmaid in both of these weddings, too.

In other going’s ons, I’ll be doing a lifestyle/humor/social commentary column in On The Edge, a weekend insert paper in the Edwardsville Intelligencer. The first one is supposed to go out this week. The first article is titled “Carts Gone Wild”. It’s a trial basis thing, unpaid and testing the waters, but it’s a chance for me to get something some kind of published. And it’s fun. The column is basically a way for me to bitch about things that irritate me in a funny, good-natured fashion. It also gives me a regular writing assignment with a deadline. That’s good experience for me, being as I want to pursue writing as at least an additional career to the nine-million other things I do…

The ups and downs of finding a new domicile. Running on empty.

Last night, Wen (my wife) and I were up till 4:30am talking with my friend Travis (the recent divorcee). Fortunately, it wasn’t bitter talk of love lost and trust broken, but instead an indepth look back on our group of friends (the affectionately termed Armada) and our years together. It was one of those conversations you hate to cut off, but when you have to be up at 6:00am, you’ve gotta shut down sometime.

So I was very, very tired today.

While taking my lunchbreak at Starbucks and enjoying a Chai (my drink of choice, no water, no fat, 130 degrees cause my mouth burns easy), I was reading the fast and fun If Chins Could Kill…. This is an autobiographical account of the life of a B-movie actor, by none other than Bruce Campbell, he of boomsticks, classy one-liners and cult classic films. I’m a big fan of Bruce, and the book has only made me appreciate this humble and entertaining actor all the more. But in the new addition to the trade paperback I have, Bruce mentions that part of his pre-flight ritual when traveling is to grab a “Chai steamer from Starbucks”. I know it’s silly, but it’s cool to have that little thing in common with someone I respect. Hail to the “Corporate Whore”. And hail to you, Bruce. Your book is such an insiteful, enjoyable read.

Late in my sleep-deprevation mired workday, I found out that we had been turned down for the duplex we liked in Glen Carbon. I was pretty bummed. The location wasn’t perfect, but the house had so much room, and was laid out so well. But it was on a tiny cul-de-sac, and a weird, sloping driveway, and looked a little cruddy outside, though it was immaculate within. Damn.

But later in the evening, while sitting at my Mac and working on a freelance project (for a radio station in Kansas City), the landlord for the house we liked in O’Fallon called. He liked us and we’re in. I’m very excited. We’re going to work on all the details later, but it looks like we should be moving around July 25th. The house is cute and very well maintained, and the neighborhood is fantastic. It’s right next to a huge city park that is patrolled day and night and kept very clean. The house has character, with very old school appliances mixing with newer stuff, skeleton key closets and a fancy new shower stall. And, if everything works out right, we might be able to have a dog!

I’m stoked.

Re-acquainting with old friends. The new divorcee.

Last night was the wedding of my friend Becky Gehling. I met Becky back when I was an assistant youth director for Nameoki United Methodist Church in Granite City, IL. This would have been around 1996-1998, during my freshman and sophomore years of college. Becky was a senior the year I started, so she was more of a peer, not one of my “kids”. Eventually she met Travis (a couple of years my junior in high school, but one of my best friends) and they dated for awhile. Their brief relationship turned into a solid friendship. His continued contact with her kept me in touch as well, long after I left the church and dropped any intention at youth ministry.

The ceremony was held in that same church, that I hadn’t stepped inside of in six years. The pastor of my time had since been transferred, but his son Joe was among the guests. Joe was a high school freshman when I started my tenure at Nameoki. He was bright, funny, charming, and musically talented. We immediately became friends, and he was one of my favorite aspects about that whole experience. I hadn’t seen him in years, and was delighted to run into him again. He was there with wife, Katie, who had been his high school sweetheart (they got together about the time I was leaving the church). We ended up sharing a table at the reception, and he was just as entertaining as ever. Our wives hit it off quite well, too.

Also at our table was my old pal Dale, who I met at Nameoki as well. Dale and I have hung out sporatically over the years, as whatever bands we were in crossed paths, or we ended up at the same parties. I got to meet his fiancee for the first time. Travis rounded out the table with the 3 couples. It was odd to share the evening with that group of guys, a flashback to associations from years ago. Funny how weddings do that.

Over the past four years, my mid-twenties friendbase has lined up and fallen into marriage like so many dominoes. The shock of another pal getting hitched has definately worn off. I’ve been married for almost two years, and am happy as pie to call my best friend Wendy my wife. I think it may been a little more difficult on Travis, though.

Trav is the first member of our group to get divorced, hopefully the last. He just signed the papers a day or so ago. (He and Carrie, one of the first couples to tie the knot, were also our “most likely to end in legal hearings” superlative.) Being newly single, the wedding reception was his chance to get some bridesmaid booty, or the attentions of another single female wedding-goer. Alas, Trav is currently asleep on my couch after rolling in late, so I’ll assume his night wasn’t so eventful. Unless he managed to hit it before coming home. He’s certainly capable.

Ever since he and the wife split up, his weekends have been filled with nothing but weddings. Never been divorced? Remember that high school dance, watching your ex dance with johnny football hero / susie homecoming queen / harold the av nerd? Remember what that felt like? Quadruple it. Then punch yourself in the face and give yourself a wedgie. That’s probably a solid example of the overall pain and discomfort. Now add alcohol. Cue moodswings. Happy drunk one minute, misty-eyed bleeding heart the next, Travis got a front-row seat at his (now fantastic looking) former-girlfriend’s wedding bliss. I know he’s happy for her – she’s a wonderful person and she deserves it. But it was also a long day of reminders of his own failed relationship.

I’d say that’s the textbook definition of “bittersweet”.