And it's about that time again. New blog! I love this template, I like the colors, but it's time to move on. Meanwhile, the decade of hyperwest has been collected in handy dandy archive format. Because, well, why not?

The tip of the day is to export and save a copy of your blog. You wouldn't want your long running blog to just disappear and be lost forever would you? I certainly wouldn't. Preservation is next to godliness, it's true.

I might lose a tooth. Not from stress or anything. That would at least be a good reason. Instead my reason was that a little cyst developed two weeks ago above my left incisor. Painless, unobtrusive, nothing particularly harmful or dangerous about it. Or so I thought. Instead of the check up and quick puncture I was expecting, I walked out six shots of local anesthetic later, mouth throbbing from dental surgery. They cut way deep into my gums and cleaned around the tooth. It was a bloody mess. And I watched the whole thing by holding up a hand mirror. Ugh. It turns out that the bone around my crown/root had disappeared and there's a good chance the tooth won't be able to heal or something like that. We'll see in three weeks. Keep your fingers crossed for me. It's times like that, stuck in the dentist chair, when I realize how lucky I am to never really be bothered by physical pain or sickness. I guess all that good health karma upends itself when it comes to my teeth.

I have some plans to eat healthier, consume less candy, and to slow down on the coffee and cigarettes. After my first draft of the next book is over, I'm going to start figuring out what leads to my constant ups and downs in energy. Is it as simple as "I'm a night person?" Does my energy only rise as the sun sets? (My current theory) Or does my consistent inconsistent intake of one meal a day, candy at will, coffee whenever I'm awake, and all the weird eating habits I've acquired through the years actually make a difference?

It would be nice to believe that my body is just some sort of fantastic machine where I throw crap in and good things come out. But lately I've started to come around to the idea that maybe my post-thirty body isn't quite as resistant as before. Or maybe I'm only a fast healer because I can afford to sleep twelve hours a day. Some experiments and trial-and-error are in order. As soon as I'm back from the East Coast.

When they say, "It's all downhill from here," they ain't kidding.

It's weird to have the next two months planned. I already know how September and October will shake out. Which is settling/unsettling I guess. I've gotten used to not having anything planned. For example, the rest of this month will be spent finishing the first draft for the semi-sequel. It's definitely cramming time. There's a lot I still want to do up here in the Bay but this is focus number one. Finish the draft, turn it in, and then I'm free and clear of writing for a bit. I'm also trying to set up some publicity things for the book and that'll be the next thing to turn my attention toward, but this draft must be done!

This volunteer thing I've been dedicating some time to, an Asian American arts festival, is kicking off this weekend. Our night is on Saturday and we've got eight poets and writers lined up. The overall experience has been a bit of a disappointment actually. Had I not taken the comedy class, I don't think I would have felt any sense of having met new people or interacting with fellow artists. Generally the meetings have been spotty and it's been difficult to get any sense of group cohesiveness. Most of the real work has been conducted via email. I really like the organization and the people involved but I don't think I've gotten too much out of it. Or maybe I haven't put myself out there enough. We'll see how the festival goes though. Sometimes these things don't shake out well until after the event is accomplished and a success.

Then in October it's off to Michigan for another wedding, my last in Michigan, hopefully for the forseeable future. I love me some Jimmy John's but tickets to Detroit are a bitch. In good news though, I just bought my tickets to New York. It's rejuvenation time! I'm slated to be there for the last two weeks and maybe I'll extend it but right now that seems like the perfect length of time. It's a bit later in the year than I'd prefer to go but I hope the weather is warm enough to wander around the streets at night. I'm already lining up people and things to do and I'm super excited.

A friend wrote me the other day and had this to say:

"It worries me that you get restless and tire quickly and that you can't stay anywhere for more than a few months. I know you've definitely become accustomed to moving from place to place and job to job, but I agree with your comment about getting tired of yourself. It's not healthy, for anyone -- even if that's who you are. Honestly, I think that's what's getting you down -- not knowing what you want. I think it would be good for you to establish some stability and direction in your life -- stay in one place for awhile, work in one place for awhile."

I've been mulling that over. Not because it's not anything I haven't heard before, but because it came from someone whom I rarely see but honestly communicate with. If she can point out and sense my instability from afar, it must mean something. Anyway, after New York I think I'll be back in San Diego for awhile. Maybe find a job. Maybe take some classes. Maybe get that degree. Maybe find some new direction to go in. Real life's been on pause for two years or so now, even as it's slowly trucked along and taken me on multiple detours. Time to start living in reality again, right?

Or not, if I can avoid it.

Originally I'd been numbering these posts by days I'd been thirty. So the day after last year's birthday was Day 1 and so on. Somehow I've managed to get up to 366 and there's still a few days to go until I turn thirty-one. Which means somewhere along the way I couldn't count right. Which sort of sums up the way the year's gone I suppose. Someone asked me if I didn't feel like celebrating this year because it felt like a lost year. I said that wasn't the reason. I'm not big into birthdays anyway. Last year was big, because we were entering another decade, but after that, eh.

And it would be unfair to say this has been a lost year. It's been really good. Trips to North Carolina, DC, and Seattle. Living in San Francisco for a few months. Paying rent (that wasn't so hot). My first bachelorette party. Attending five really important weddings, with another one still to come. We had a great Tahoe trip in February. My book released in May. I've met some new friends and one in particular that has been indispensable, even if we haven't been able to talk as much recently. Most of the year has been drama free and all of it has been job free. So yeah, it's been good.

But I feel a sense of having not accomplished much. After giving it some thought, what it came down to is that I feel pretty much exactly the same as I did last year. I'm only jokingly naive enough to think that turning thirty magically signifies some change but in my mind I thought I would use the opportunity to advance myself. To grow, to alter, to bloom. So far, no dice. It's not a New Year so unmet resolutions could still happen but if I'm measuring based on another flip of my personal calendar, then I feel really unfulfilled.

It's a feeling I'm not very familiar with or comfortable with. Like I'm antsy, but only in spare moments. I guess usually I'm very happy being somewhere in-between half empty and half full. But this year has been different. I feel malaise. I feel wasteful. I feel...different.

I also feel extremely fortunate to have been able to hang out in San Francisco for so long, with no muss and no fuss, and to kind of know the city -- as long as it's somewhere in a direct line between the Mission and the Marina. But I've not fallen in love with it and there's no sense of attachment aside from the friend family here. I guess the past two years I've had New York in the summer to catapult me into the rest of the year. This year I've not gone to New York yet so anything could still happen. However, it's safe to say that location isn't necessarily the solution.

The problem is within. As are the answers I guess. I kind of feel like I flipped my house but the furniture is all still the same. Or maybe it's the other way around. Anyway, happy thirty-first.

I can't decide if this blog is necessary or not. Plans to use it as a daily recording of things, as an experimental space, all have failed spectacularly. I'm trying to transition more of my normal blogging to the public blog, because really, who cares? And this can't serve as a journal so it mainly falls into third priority. And third priority means abandonment. But I owe this blog something because I like the design so much.

Suffice to say, I'm out of San Diego and back to San Francisco. I don't want to be here. Not because I'm not having a good time, but because I'm just over it. I thought I was just missing the beach back home but I suspected it was something more. While I miss the people and the SF family, and have another month of squeezing in quality time, it's not where I want to be for the winter. A few weeks ago, after a long night of talking by the beach in La Jolla, I was all fired up to blast whatever remaining money I had and move to New York. A few big purchases, a few wedding tickets bought, and a few reminders of how much I hate the cold have tempered that enthusiasm.

So where to next? Who knows. I have a month up here to figure it out and by October my obligations in SF will be over. I came up because friends were visiting, I had a book panel to do, and my KSW volunteer obligations had to be completed. I'm delighted came up because it's been the perfect time to hang out with some new friends but at the same time I definitely don't feel settled or that attached to remaining here.

When I've been talking to people, some have mentioned that I sound sad. I'm not sure if it's sadness I feel but it's definitely something missing. There's some things brewing that could take me a few steps here and there (backwards or forwards I dunno) but even those are uncertain. The good thing is that writing is going well. I'm excited to try out my new writing chops and to see what I'm capable of the second time around. After attending aforementioned book panel, I'm all fired up to be a real author! It's fun and rewarding and I need to get my promotion game on and get out there.

If you had all the money you needed for the rest of your life (not super gazillion rich, but a guaranteed steady source of income), what would be different? I've been thinking about that a lot recently. The answers are forthcoming, unlike the money. Please extend me again Mr. Obama, please.

Whoosh, and there goes the summer. It's only mid-July, summer weather has finally arrived to San Diego, and I've yet to actually get on a surfboard. Sadly, I already see the sun setting on Summer 2009. This month it's writing by mid-day, hang out by night, hitting the beach whenever I can, and then a return to San Francisco by early August. There's quite a few visitors slated for SF in August, led off by Des and Andri, and then Greg and Caroline. My biggest dilemma right now is whether or not to go to New York in August, before Palak's wedding. While New York in the summer is my favorite, half my reasons for going won't be there. Still, when has a New York trip ever been bad? That's it, I'm committing. I'm going. If I don't go anywhere with my summer, I'll feel like it's been wasted.

I've lately been feeling like if I don't go somewhere out of the country soon, my entire year will have been wasted. I've been asking around to figure out what sorts of programs allow you to go overseas and they pay for your room and board. I guess I could teach English, I mean, I speak it. But I'm not sure that's a good solution to what I'm looking for. For two seconds I even thought about the Peace Corps. But I hate the Peace Corps, and I couldn't commit for longer than three days anyway. Pretty much, I just want out somewhere.

So what else? Well, not much really. The first draft of my next book is due in August, and this time I hope it'll be two hundred times better than the first book. People have been asking me how EC is doing and to be honest, I don't know. The publisher doesn't tell me and it's hard to gauge sales otherwise. I feel like I'm not putting enough effort into doing the promotional and marketing bit, seeing as this is such a commercial work, but I'm also not quite entirely sure what I'm slacking on. I think I'll work on a book signing somewhere, just to have the experience. Maybe I can do one in New York! That's an idea. What I really need is someone who knows someone famous to give them a copy of EC and then they can be seen carrying it around. Quick, someone tell me who they know that's a celebrity. Go.

The other day, I had lunch with a family friend, call him Uncle Dragon, which is a too literal translation of his name. It was the type of talk that I probably need more of, and in the past I'd normally balk at, but I don't mind it nowadays. The "how are you" and "let me give you some advice" talk. You know, fatherly talk. I realized recently that it seems like most people have advisors to whom they ask about life decisions. Not minor ones but big ones. Maybe it's a parent, or a close friend, or a sibling, or something. When you find yourself at a crossroads, or even if you're not, these advice people tell you what they think of how you're doing.

I don't have these people. My life decisions aren't really bounced off of anybody. Not that my life decisions are all that serious or necessarily hard to solve, but I generally think about something, figure out what I want, and then announce it. This may not be the best way about things. While I certainly don't like being told what to do (I mean, isn't that what my Mom is for?), I'm beginning to suspect that it's somewhat abnormal to not seek counsel from anyone.

Uncle Dragon gave me some good advice, and some personality analysis. We mostly talked about jobs and career, and what it means to have self-respect. He made some excellent points, about me lacking patience and unwillingness to go through the lows to achieve the highs. I don't think he was necessarily very on target all the time but it's good to hear things from "the wiser" once in awhile.

I really wanted to ask him something, but I wasn't sure he would get where I was coming from. I wanted to ask, "What's the point (of all this)?" But I didn't want to get into a tangent about religion, or having a family, or being happy, or any of that. I just wanted to thank him for his time and to make him feel like he helped.

When I'm older, I wonder what sorts of advice I'll be giving, and how it'll be received.

"Young people don't know anything -- especially that they're young."
-Mad Men-

Strangely, I don't have much to say post-Lynn's wedding. It was a great time, it was almost exactly as expected, and there were some really memorable small and big moments. Recently I feel like there's been a lot of events and I've been trying to furiously scribble them down in my journal but it's a losing battle. The more you try to write down and remember, the more you're likely to forget.

We talked late on Saturday night, after the wedding, about having some sort of telepathy machine to allow us to experience things from someone else's perspective. I think I'd settle for just having a machine that allows me to experience things (again) from my own perspective. Like that Ralph Fiennes and Angela Bassett movie, "Strange Days." They had a technology that allowed you to record your memories and emotions, and then play them back via a CD player thing. I need one of those. Actually, technology is far enough along to strap a pinhole camera to your body at all times, so you could kind of approximate it, but that would just be weird. Right?

Things can happen so fast that you don't really reflect on them enough, or allow the impact to sink it. That's the tragedy, I think, of a busy life. Not that I have one. I just have an extensive journal awaiting updates, which keeps me seemingly busy.

The most touching moment for me? When Ed sang Nat King Cole's "L is for the way you look at me / O is for the only one I see / V is very very extra-ordinary / E is even more than anyone that you adore can." He held the mic in one hand while holding her and dancing with the other. It was romantic in a very real way, it was public yet private, and it was incredibly sweet. Bravo Ed.

The place they had the wedding was gorgeous. Entirely outdoors, acres and acres of beautiful trees and foliage. It was reminiscent of PZ and Amy's wedding actually, the way different events were held at different locations. And the pre-hype was no lie, there really were white tigers on the premises, even if I didn't see them for more than one fleeting moment as we drove by. I'm not sure what kind of venue I expected but it wasn't this. Like wow.

Lynn and Ed exchanged their vows via haiku, which was irreverent, different, and apparently, ultimately, them. Like Babbs said, "I didn't know why I didn't expect something like that from Lynn. I should have known, I just didn't guess." That sums up my thoughts about the whole wedding. Of course this was going to be an impeccably planned and beautiful wedding, with class and taste and fun involved throughout. And of course she planned this totally stress free and had everything turn out perfectly. This was a Lynnchen affair after all wasn't it?

I kept an orange and brown napkin from the wedding. It somehow mysteriously stayed with Dann through dinner and then transitioned to his back pocket while he was dancing, and it made it all the way back to the hotel room. He left it there but I nabbed it because I thought it would be nice to have something tangible to remember the weekend by, aside from just pictures and memories.

There is some sort of karmic shift in the world actually, now that Lynn is officially married. I have a tough time pinpointing it. I've tried to speak to some people about it but I'm not sure everyone understands. It's not like this is just someone else who got married, another in the long string of celebrations. This is like Lynn getting married. It means something. It's not as quaint as people having crushes on her or liking her and now she's taken. It's not about Lynn representing this ideal partner for many, in group discussions. It's not about Lynn being a different person or leading a different life now that she's married. It's about something else/more... and I can't quite put my finger on it, or articulate it, and it probably only feels this way to a handful of people. I need to find those people and have a conversation about this.

I wait outside on the curb for my cab, the second one I've called tonight, feeling warm and buzzed but ready to go home. Mona canceled my first cab because she demanded that I needed to stay longer. I didn't argue. Hong had a big headache all night and was definitely not committed to having fun. He was already mentally tapped out of the wedding festivities the previous night, during the sangeet. His main goal was to get home and play poker. I swear nothing excites Hong anymore except gambling.

I wasn't ready to stop the experience yet though. After missing the ceremony part of the wedding, after standing in the wrong place afterwards (Mandisa: "You guys look adorable." Us: "Crap, we just missed your vows"), and after an off-and-on reception, the night was just gearing up. No way was I leaving yet. So at midnight, Hong and I parted ways. I to more Patron shots and champagne, Hong to home.

Three hours later, I was definitely feeling the burn but had jammed in some additional fun, and was now headed back to Eric and Anna's. As I leapt into my taxi, my skinny cabby asked where to. "Sterling Heights," I said. The girl in the passenger seat groaned. She had just been picked up too, and wanted to head home first. It was on the way, sort of. Being the gentleman that I am, I offered, "You can take her home first, no problem." She thanked me and offered cigarettes -- the perfect payment -- and we cruised around the streets of Michigan smoking with the windows down. I felt great.

Twenty minutes of staring at my GPS dot later, I was feeling a little worn down. Tired from the lack of sleep, stomach woozy from the alcohol, I was afraid I wasn't going to make it. I wondered what would be worse? Puking in the cab or puking in the Agustins, home of three wonderful babies? Thankfully, my double shot of Pepcid AC from earlier in the night held through and I arrived home to Hong and Eric playing chess.

Did I mention the cab cost $100? I couldn't decide if I had just tipped him generously or if I'd been swindled. Either way, it was worth it. Things that are always worth a few extra bucks: good times extended and basketball in a gym.

My phone rings at eleven, right in the middle of my zombie hours. It's Victor and he's asking if I want to get lunch. "I'm already near the Marina, I can get you in fifteen minutes." Struggling to get up and thinking about how toasted I'll be the rest of the day, I muttered, "Sure."

The lure of Halo and a ride around town was enough to motivate me to get up and out. I packed my bag for a possible slumber party. An extra t-shirt, socks, and contact case. Plus my laptop and assorted chargers of course. I'd been over earlier in the week so a toothbrush, towel, and pair of shorts were already waiting for me. His Anne is gone to Taiwan for two weeks on vacation, my (by default) George is in London, working her accounting magic. This has left both Victor and I apartments to ourselves. Our answer to all this alone time? Hang out a lot together.

I'd stayed up the previous night watching "Quiet City," two-and-a-half times in a row. It's a walky and talky movie, my favorite mini-genre. Just two strangers meeting in a city and then wandering and exploring (each other), almost in real time. The list of movies that previously fit this category probably numbered less than five. Then I read about mumblecore a few weeks ago, after watching Medicine for Melancholy at the Roxie, and decided I needed to know more.

Shot gorgeously with consumer cameras, on limited budgets, and focusing on the lives of twenty-something hipsters, this was the movie movement I wanted to belong to. But if I was too young for Before Sunrise/Sunset, I've suddenly become too old for melancholy and dance party usa. What the hell happened? How had the intervening decade managed to go by without me doing anything? It made me feel pathetic.

Then it made me feel inspired. After watching the movie once through, and then staying fully awake for the actor's commentary, and some of the director/cinematographer/sound design guy's commentaries, I knew what I had to do. I had to make my own mumblecore movie -- okay, short -- with D.I.Y. rigs, improvised dialogue, and whatever else I had to patch together.

I wanted to do it even if I had to get in front of the camera, something I loathe, just to have some material to work with. Once I hopped into the car, I started babbling to Victor about all this stuff. I think I did a terrible job explaining why I was so impressed by "Quiet City." But in the ten minutes it took for us to drive out to meet Ameer for lunch, he had agreed to watch it. I didn't mention that it was a little long and boring in parts.

Tentative working title for our tentative to be done project: "Dumbledore." Just kidding. Or maybe not.

Life is good you know? If there is indeed some sort of karmic wave for past lives, whoever was the me right before me had a shitty ass life. And I feel fucking terrible for the next Jon that's surely slated for a downturn. The axiom, "Good things happen to good people," can't be true can it? I mean, I know lots of good people and tons of terrible things happen to them. I tend to think that sometimes some people are just luckier than others. I'm definitely one of the lucky ones. Some people tell me that they admire my carefree attitude, my general nonchalance, and my "whatever happens, happens" attitude. I'm not sure if it's necessarily a trait to be admired, since it does come with certain downsides, but I do concede that it can certainly make life easier. And really, it's hard to not be carefree when things just seem to fall into place.

For example. I was in the very beginning stages of sweating where my next paycheck would come from. Unemployment was running out, I hadn't really started looking for jobs, and there was still a whole summer ahead. Then I get a letter telling me that my unemployment got extended again. For another five months. Sweet right? And then a week ago I heard back from a random Craigslist job posting. I only submitted one resume, wrote a cheeky ass email, and figured it would never work anyway. As it turns out, the company is a tiny start up, needs the only marketable skills I really possess, and could possibly offer me a job soon.

So my biggest dilemma is figuring out if I should glide along for a few more months or get off my ass do something. To be honest, I don't have anything going on this summer, aside from hanging out, and I could probably use some structure to my day. I feel semi-ready to work again. Plus, working in a start up would allow me to throw a hundred and ten percent in, something that would make me work much harder, and much more motivated.

But oh that getting up pre-noon thing. It could be a kicker. I may leave it up to them. If they say "we want you," it'll be pretty stupid to turn it down, considering how easy it was to get the job. If they say "you suck," then my decision will be made. Let's go fates, tell me how my summer's going to be.

One thing I do know about my summer is that any time spent in San Francisco will be on George's couch. I've officially moved out of my studio in the Mission. The grand experiment of living alone lasted ten weeks, cost me three thousand dollars, and didn't really illuminate anything. Can I live by myself? I don't know, because I was hardly ever there. Now that I'm moved back into George's living room, I asked her, "Does it feel like I left?" Her answer was a joking, and honest, "No."

This past weekend, we took a much needed trip to Target and Costco, buying shoe racks, stackable boxes, and cubbies to put my things in. I don't think I'll move out again until I have a job. And even then, our living arrangement seems to be okay. It's senseless to throw $1200 down the tubes every month when I could just be subsidizing George's shopping habits -- which is what I'll be doing.

The thing is, as of maybe two weeks ago, I decided that I was unafraid of the Mission. I got totally comfortable walking around, I have meetings there all through the week, and I might really miss my go-to Mexican and Chinese restaurants down there. So I guess, in a way, I got something for my two and a half months of living "alone," even if it wasn't that much. I learned to ride the bus, I learned to like the Mission, and I learned that home ain't where you pay rent, but where you're most comfortable. Back to the Marina!

Just finished watching "Igby Goes Down," a movie about a rich overprivileged know-it-all who can't love, hates most everyone, and likes to ruin everything. It's like the second coming of Catcher in the Rye, a book I've re-read a few times just to see if I was missing something. I mean, everyone's always talking about Holden as this great such and such. An inspiration, an example, a window into a certain angst. I never got it. But watching Igby, I sort of understood what Catcher in the Rye was driving at.

It was about finding your niche, despite your issues, your dramas, your goods and your bads. I guess it's really about growing up, or figuring how to grow up, something people still haven't done really. What is most shocking about being a full fledged adult (age wise) is how people are, incredibly, still hung up on issues that they could/should have seemingly solved eons ago.

As a child, I used to think that adults all had their shit together. What was neuroticism, what was jealousy, what was insecurity (in an adult) to a kid? I thought maturity and age came hand in hand. That's so not true is it? People calcify as they get older and have to fight to change. It's an uphill battle the entire way and oftentimes it's not even a fight people bother with.

When people talk about being afraid of "settling" in a relationships, how come it never comes around into being afraid of settling as yourself? Of being the you that will remain for the next thirty years or whatever. I think that's the thing that scares me more nowadays. It feels like 80% of myself is mapped out, and the other 20% I've basically given up on learning about.

It's like I've lost interest in the "why's" of me. I don't care why I do things anymore. Like why does the sun make flowers grow? I don't care, I just need to figure out what to do with the damn flowers. There's some sort of weak parallel to the creation versus evolution debate, but I'll pass on that since it's hackneyed.

I'm AIMing a friend in Darfur about her restlessness right now. It's existential season -- particularly for her, and she goes through this every few years, if not months -- and she's right now saying that even though she's always in crazy experiences and situations, she's "OD'd on sensory experiences in other worlds." So rarely is the answer somewhere out there too. Eventually, anything gets stale.

The answer is really in you, isn't it? All paths lead back to zero?

I just started taking this class the past week. It's a comedy slash writing class. It's an eight week workshop designed to explore and create a piece of comedic work. At the end of those eight weeks there will be a public performance. One of my resolutions from Jan-Mar was to take an acting class. This isn't exactly it but it'll have to do as a substitute.

Ideally we'll be exploring comedic forms, analyzing what makes something funny, and working through some of my fears of performance. I don't know why I have this issue with being in front of people since I've done speeches, performances, talks, training, etc. But each time it's in a context where people aren't really judging you maybe. When you do something creative, people generally ask one thing afterward: "What is good?" I think I'll aim for "so-so." Actually, I'll pray for "so-so."

There's also this pressure to be funny. I mean, I think I'm funny but apparently I'm not all that funny. So I'm going to have to write or perform a story that is not only so-so good but also funny. This should be interesting.

One of the in-class exercises was to think of a painful moment or event in your life and write the external and internal memories of it. External encompassed details and setting. Internal covered feelings and emotions. I'm notoriously horrible at saying how I feel about something. I'm possibly even worse describing details and setting. It's ridiculous since writing is about communicating one or the other isn't it?

Anyway, in trying to think of something painful or traumatic (not embarrassing, but actually painful), it took me awhile. As in I just made one up. I dramatized a recent moment and blew it up to the point it was actually painful. Everyone was supposed to say "ding" when they had a painful moment in mind. I was the last one to "ding," and I just kind of did it to go with the program.

In the end, my haiku from the exercise looked like this:

The lunch crowd is gone
Secret, then counter-secret
Interrogation!

I could explain the story behind it but there's not really that much going on. What I got out of this exercise was that I'm wholly unable to parse out the stuff that people seem so ready to define as painful. My pain tends to trickle away quickly. I mean, aside from deaths or the occasional relationship pain, what else do I have to complain about?

I'm worried that a lack of real experiences (defined by highs and lows, happiness and sadness) will hamper my ability to be funny. Or a story teller. Or you know, involved.

Based on my daily schedule, my calorie intact is probably way below average. I've heard that 2500 calories a day is required to maintain weight. A few hundred more calories and you gain weight. A few hundred less and you lose weight. I've been the same one hundred forty-ish pounds since the beginning of college. George has been keeping a food diary recently and she gets real detailed. Six fries, a bite of salad. One binge burger.

My food diary for today would look like:

Half a Starbucks frappuccino. Eight Nutter Butters. Blueberry bagel. Thirty gummy bears. One mini-pack of Nerds. Three cups of coffee. One-fourth of a giant slice of chocolate cake. Half a tuna melt. A third each of pork chops and chicken fried steak. One-fourth of an egg. Some potato salad. A bite of coleslaw.

Everything from the three cups of coffee on was from dinner, my meal of the day. I don't eat breakfast or lunch really. I just snack away until evening time. I'm starting to suspect that my complete inability to function during the day might be tied to my lack of calories/fuel. Then again, eating tends to make me sleepy. Or maybe it's being up before two in the afternoon that makes me a zombie.

Part of growing up and maturing is recognizing what your body needs and responds to. My whole eating philosophy has generally been eat when there's food around, don't eat when it's not. I don't get hungry as much as my mouth craves certain flavors. Given the choice, I'd take a nutrition pill daily instead of taking the time out for sustenance eating. Then actual eating could be reserved for great food, leisurely dining, or special occasions. The only eating rule I've devised for myself in recent years is the 80% rule. Don't eat to your max. Eat to eighty percent and quit, thus making you not feel like an overstuffed slug.

I'm curious at what point my body will reject this "regimen" and I'll start getting unhealthy, gain weight, or whatever physical hardships most adults start having to face as they approach middle age. Stopping to think about it, I'm like the only person I know who doesn't engage in any physical activities whatsoever. Most of my peers go to the gym, yoga, lift weights, rock climb, run, or do something that keeps them in shape. At best I play basketball once a week or so. I maintain that I can still run and exert myself semi-decently, but that's pretty untested. And oh, did I mention I'm a smoker?

I wonder if I'm deluding myself into thinking that my body just takes all this shit and somehow churns on without any major problems. I like to joke that I'm like a machine that requires little to no maintenance. I rarely get sick, I generally have good energy reserves, and I'm not a slave to my hunger. But what if underneath all that my heart is getting clogged up? Or my lungs are atrophying? Or my metabolism is slowing down? It's hard to tell if I should just keep rolling like this or attempt to make some changes.

Your body's your temple right? In that case, my temple is devoid of worshippers and filled with refuse.

Listening to: Basia Bulat, "Before I Knew." How silly of me to think that nothing could beat whistling and an ukelele. The obvious topper is hand claps and ukelele. Maybe we'll call it a tie.

I'm starting to suspect that April will come to a close having passed right by. While it was certainly filled with plenty of activities and things, I feel like it was uneventful. I know, it wasn't. Lots of things happened in April that will live on in the memory banks. People came to town for B.O.B., Bay Area visits, and birthdays. Warm afternoons and nights in the park were nice -- and something new.

So I guess what I mean about April being uneventful is that there wasn't much going on on my side of things. Nothing's really changed the past month. Friendships remain steady, life is steady, habits, routine, all of that. Inside I feel the exact same as I did in March. Which isn't that strange I guess. But maybe I'd gotten used to things shifting around every few weeks. The shifting makes you feel alive more I think.

I started the month off in San Diego and I'll end it back in San Diego. I'm heading down this weekend because my tooth fell out. Yeah, like my tooth. It's just a crown and it doesn't hurt or anything but I've been living in fear the past few days that I'll lose it when I swish water and a thousand dollars will literally go down the drain. I got me some dental cement so hopefully that won't happen.

The few remaining days of April will be spent finishing a few sample chapters and a new synopsis due next week. I've somehow worked my way into an idea (or two) that I'm excited about so even if the writing itself isn't that great, I definitely have the motivation and vision to finish what I need to finish. And then it's on with the job hunt. I've set May as my start date for job hunting. People are telling me the average time span for finding a job is six weeks. Maybe more. I'm not sure I have that kind of time. My goal is to find a job by June, or somewhere in there.

Have I mentioned that I'm thinking of giving up my apartment? Short story short, I'm never there. I spend half my week at someone else's apartment and dropping $1200 a month for storage seems stupid. Plus money will run out soon. It seems a bit like defeat because I really haven't been living by myself at all even if technically I am, but finances and logic dictate a cheaper option. Unless I get a job soon, of course. Then the experiment can continue unabated. I swear I'll spend a whole week sleeping in my own bed, I swear it.

Ameer turned thirty this past weekend. There was a surprise, a BBQ, a few days off. Hong came up, which was nice since he never goes anywhere (well, with us). He hasn't really been up here since 2004 or something stupid like that. We were up here for Nancy's wedding a few years ago but that was a really rushed weekend and we weren't really in the city. The last time Hong was actually here, it was for Victor's birthday. That was five whole years ago. Look at some of the pictures. We look the same but things have changed for everyone. I could do a list of the changes but that would be kind of a lot.

Oh whatever, what else do I have to do but reminisce? In the group picture, there's three marriages, one engagement, three sets of future exes, one kid on the way, two relationships soon to happen, one least likely candidate to move to Taiwan, two people who moved overseas and back again, three future co-workers (one CEO), five mortgage payers, and about six sets of roommates past and present. Oh and one dog, I believe someone got a dog. Something named Pika, Pita, Pira, whatever.

Another five years down the line, the changes will probably all be confined to the following: married, mortgage, and/or meandering. Can't wait.

Listening to: Lenka, "The Show." I'm just a little bit caught in the middle / Life is a maze and love is a riddle / I don't know where to go / I can't do it alone (I've tried) / and I don't know why

So it's Thursday night, Jas and George decide they need to go out, to blow off some weekday steam, to get a few drinks, to have some fun. We head off to the Redwood Room, which is located in a hotel and definitely nicer than the normal bars/lounges we frequent. I'm underdressed as usual but feel fine about it. There are lots of tall gents and ladies lounging and standing around. George gets carded by the bartender because she looks like she was born "in 1986." That was the bartender's direct quote and she also commented on how young the rest of us looked.

Drinks in hand, we decide to sit ourselves down at one of the nice tables despite the Reserved sign. A few minutes in, a hostess tells us we'll have to move when a VIP party comes in. We say "cool, no problem." Half an hour later, this tall guy comes over to move us off the table, sees JonG's Michigan t-shirt and says "You went to Michigan? I'm Michigan born and bred. And an alumni." We immediately respond, "We all went to Michigan!" (George lied but she practically did go to Michigan) It's like you can't escape the gravitational pull of Michigan, invariably everyone I meet is somehow related to Michigan, sometimes uncomfortably close. So this Umich host guy tells us to go sit down at the next lounge area over.

The VIP people take our old seats. It's a group of (good looking) young-ish people, all dressed casual stylish and not looking much different than any other trendy folk you might find in a swanky SF bar. The nice host guy comes over, chats us up in loud engaging tones, and then drops the information that the cast of Wicked is sitting "right over there." At that point my eyes widen and I geek out. I'm sitting with my back to the group of them but keep glancing over to take a look and to try to figure out who's who.

The music in the bar is cranked up and dancey and JonG starts doing the JonG dance at our table. A few of the Wicked people get up off their seats and start dancing too. They have rhythm, they have sashays, they have fluidity. They might be randomly stretching their toes to the air. JonG then challenges George to go over and talk to them for "one hundred dollars and a cupcake." George downs her drink, crosses the five feet distance separating us, and starts talking to two of the guys sitting closest. I overhear her say, while pointing in my direction, "That's my brother, he's a bigger Wicked fan than I am!" Great, thanks a lot. But it's okay because when George comes back, she points out the girl who plays Elphaba and my inner Dorothy screams in delight. Elphaba is right there!

We kind of coolly ignore them over the course of the night but really I'm studying them from afar. I felt like I was in the presence of celebrities. We kept drinking, kept dancing, kept having a good time . JonG and Jas made me feel good about their excellent sense of rhythm, George and I bopped around. I hoped for a dance off, an impromptu singalong, anything. I wanted to ask them all to go karaoke with us this weekend. We clinked glasses with a few of them but in reality I figured this was as close as we'd get. However, near the end of the night, we're suddenly talking to one of the cast members. I think it was JonG who started it. We were in!

I got to ask a few stupid questions about the show and basically reveled in fanboydom. As their group is getting ready to go, we meet a few other members of the cast. I tell this one guy that he's a great dancer. He says "Oh, I like you" and walks over to ask for my name. A few seconds later he asks George (jokingly?) if I'm gay or straight. Here's George's answer: "I don't know." They laugh. She adds, "he can be anything you want him to be." Basically she sold me out but to be honest, it was for a good cause.

George ends up getting one of the super friendly guy's phone number. He lives in the Haight. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll be eating brunch with him -- and his friends?! -- one of these days. Maybe when I go home I Google the shit out of the cast to find out who we met. Maybe I find them. Maybe we had a really fantastic random night. Maybe we had a time. Maybe dreams do come true...

Listening to: Bishop Allen. From Brooklyn by way of Boston. I'm DLing their albums now. Here's two tracks I'm digging: "Butterfly Nets" and "Rain."

Two years ago, at almost exactly around this time, I was filled with an intense sea of enthusiasm, creativity, hope, purpose, and single minded focus/craziness. While I can't say it was a good time in my life, it was definitely useful because words were pouring out of me, I couldn't shut up, and I was excited about everything in life. I wonder if I could induce the same state by depriving myself of sleep again (if that was indeed the cause).

I think it would be tremendously useful, to kick things into overdrive for awhile, to have energy bursting out of me. I felt tremendously alive for the weeks following the incident and I kind of want to feel that again. Given the choice, if there was a drug that could get me there again, I'd highly consider taking it.

I find it odd that the recreational drugs of choice for most people are alcohol and marijuana. They're downers right? They take your energy away? Make you numb? If I were ever to take drugs, I'd only consider hallucinogens or stuff that makes you feel amazing. I guess all drugs are about escapism to an extent but I'd be a lot more interested in drugs that made me more excited and productive, versus ones that drive you into a state of exhaustion and then collapse.

Basically I'd have no qualms about popping some pills to wake up alert and excited and then another pill to drop off into restful sleep. The only drugs I'm on now are Girl Scout cookies and nicotine and neither one of them make me want to touch my computer because my hands are invariably dirty afterwards.

We went to a wedding banquet this weekend. An absurdly typical one, aside from an excellent wedding DJ. The program of events went like this: greet and meet, wait for dinner, small talk once with people around the table, introduction of wedding party, speeches by best man/maiden, parental dance, slide show, tossing of bouquet and garter, wedding cake, and sporadic dancing while looking for a quick exit. It was kind of a yawner. Not a ton of personality all around.

I swear at my wedding (or George's, since I'm nominating myself as her coordinator), nothing will be done just for the sake of doing it. I wonder if everyone has that mentality about their wedding going in. "I want it to be special and different and reflective of our personalities!" And then they end up with this totally normal one that hits all the marks but with no real emotion or specialness anywhere.

The by the books formality of most weddings seems pretty ridiculous to me. I waited around and paid forty grand for this? But to be honest, I don't really have any better ideas at the moment so I shouldn't complain too much. My ideal wedding would be a glorified sleepover and I doubt that would satisfy the ceremonial aspect fully.

In moments when I'm not thinking about much, the thing my mind drifts to is often "What's the point of all this again?" The parallels between the recent wedding and funeral I attended had me thinking that there wasn't much to look forward to. I'd hate to spin the same old song but if there's no future with a lovely wife and spectacular children in the cards, I can't imagine what people are living for. It all ends up as amusement and entertainment doesn't it? Unless you have a Purpose, one that gives you the feeling that you're making a difference. Short of either family or a purpose, what's the point?

Listening to: Enchanted, "True Love's Kiss." There's a reason why, really. See below.

I'm completely jewelry-less. Well, except the earrings of course. But I don't have any rings, necklaces, or bracelets on. The only piece I've been wearing the last couple of weeks fell down the shower drain yesterday. I gave a half hearted attempt to rescue the thumb ring after it went swirling away but decided that it wasn't worth more than an "aw shucks." Plus, I had just watched the Caves episode of Planet Earth and there was no way I was sticking any unprotected fingers down dark holes. Planet Earth is pretty ridiculous on Blu-Ray and Caves might be the sleeper best episode of the lot. The beginning is just insane. It takes a lot to make me un-favorite ocean and big cat episodes but Caves showed me things I'd never seen before.

Our week in SD has been spent mainly at the Hotel, camped out and watching DVDs. Hong has no cable, which means we've rewatched quite a few movies. For example, today we watched Enchanted roughly three times. Ameer watched it early in the morning since he's always up before anyone else. I insisted we watch the beginning when I woke up around noon. And then Des came over and she just had to watch it right? Amy Adams is high on my list of favorite actresses and she's pitch perfect as a fairy tale princess in the real world. And James Marsden is kind of amazing too. It's kind of terrible how much he's underused in the X-Men movies. But in Enchanted he's both over the top hilarious and doing a great subtle performance. "Thank you for taking care of my bride, peasants!"

Nowadays, whenever I watch any well done teen/romantic kind of movie, I feel this need to rewatch it over and over to study it. And the more I do that the more I'm like "this shit is amazing!" It is not easy to take the classic beginning-middle-happy ending arc and do something entertaining and even slightly original with it. And especially with Enchanted, it's doing the double duty of paying homage and poking fun at all of Disney's princess movies. Not an easy task.

After our final showing, I made Des do promo videos for the book. If I could send Des out on interviews and signings, the book would go huge, I'm sure of it. Who would you rather have your daughter go visit at the bookstore? Me or Des? Exactly. Des would be the perfect Chloe-Grace too. I gave her some vague instructions like, "Say something about the book, say it's out the fourteenth of May, and be excited and cute." I sucked as a director; luckily she's great.

We ended up having her give mini-performances as a few of the side characters, as well as a few straight "EC is coming out soon!" spots. I'm thinking maybe I should be coercing more of my friends to do promos. Here's a preview of her as "Henry/Hong." There's a few more I need to edit and piece together. Should be fun.

I spent the better part of Friday night answering comments and emails. I'm trying to leap into the YA book blogosphere and it's teeming with writers and readers. I feel like I don't have much time and everyone else has been doing their online publicity for awhile now so I have to pound the virtual pavement. I went to everyone's websites to scout them out before leaving perfect two sentence comments/replies that would indicate I'd looked at more than just their front page. I read the bios, I looked for things we had in common, I tried to be approachable and interested. Twenty of these in and my eyes were bugging out. It's good to know that my Internet stalking skills could be used for good though.

Over the course of the week, we got to see Gene's daughter a few times. She's quickly moving up the list of my favorite children. Fine, whatever, she's number one. I'll play me some favorites. Sage is not only quite cute but she's an unbelievable mimic. Helen and Gene have her trained super well and she's got tons of tricks -- this sounds vaguely circus-like but I assure you it's not. And when you put on something with a beat she starts bopping up and down immediately. She's also so well behaved that she takes verbal commands. What a delight this child is.

Not to speak for them but it seems like Gene and Helen's child rearing philosophy is centered around letting Sage just be who she is. She's a little neat freak, she's got some OCD, she's by nature this way or that way and the two of them just roll with it. It's a very laissez faire attitude but it's produced amazing results. Sage is just delightful. Oh wait, did I say that already?

I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. I don't have enough time. Don't laugh. I'm like the one person in the world with all the time in the world. I have few obligations, I have no responsibilities, and I have the same twenty four hours everybody with a job has but they still manage to out do me. Here's what I'm feeling a bit whelmed by.

The book is coming out in two months. If I want to do this right, publicity needs to be kicked in. I'm not entirely sure what that involves but I know I need to concentrate all my energy on it. Build a website, social network, think up fun contests and events. Do the dew. All these things need to happen in order to have a successful launch. I should be doing all the motivation and push for the publicity, instead of having my wonderful agent people prod me. I don't want to be that donkey. I'm gonna try not to be that donkey. There's a few more writing related things I need to get on, which include trying to jump into the YA blogosphere, doing a book proposal, writing some stuff in general, and maybe taking a class.

And suddenly I'm panicking about the amount of time I'll have up here. I mean, two to three months isn't that long. A month here and I haven't even seen or hung out with half the people I really wanted to hang out with. Heck, I haven't even gotten that much quality time in with certain people period. How am I going to make new friends when I can't even manage old friends?

I'm also a tad worried about finding a job, even though I haven't started looking yet. I'll leave that worry behind actually. Money makes the world go round but I'm not gonna worry about it.

Actually I guess I just feel rushed all the time. I don't have much to do every day but somehow they fill up really quick. One event a day demands so much forethought about how to get there, when to eat, what I need to prep. And that doesn't even include the mundane things I've yet to do. Like laundry. Like buying things to put in my mini-fridge. Like taking long walks and exploring my neighborhood.

Wait, did I just spend this post complaining? Shit. I don't have anything to complain about. I just need to refocus and finish at least a few things on this list.

The other day, I was tooling around in George's car when I stopped at an intersection near her apartment. A bum, a dog, and a cat walked by. The cat was riding the dog and hopped off once to walk a few feet and then hopped back on. Craziest shit I've ever seen. If I was in a cartoon my eyes would have bugged out and I would have rubbed them outrageously. I was so sure I had the unbelievable story of the year. The first person I told thought I was making it up and said, "Get out!"

Then I tell George and I'm so ready for her to be flabbergasted but instead she goes "And a mouse right?" What the hell? What mouse? I felt like my entire punchline was getting stolen. But it turns out that this guy and his bizarre trio are famous around San Francisco. Just google "dog cat rat SF" and it's everywhere. If you still don't believe me, here's a video.

I've realized that what seems exciting about living in an urban city is that things happen to you. You feel like you're really alive because at any time, something wild or wacky could happen. It could be frightening, it could be beautiful, it could be once in a lifetime or super mundane. But because you never know which, the unpredictability of it makes you feel alive. It's like being out in nature. You could get caught in a snow storm, you could get attacked by wild animals, you could lose your way, or you might come upon the most perfect little tree in all the world.

Living in the suburbs, your stories might always be some variation of "Guess what I saw at Target today?" Living in a San Francisco, I'd imagine my daily happenings, and little stories I could tell, would be more interesting. Which do I prefer though? The jury's definitely still out. Not every experience is going to be an amusing dog/cat/rat one. There's bound to be some crappy tales around the corner.

But that's living right? That's the realness right?

I'm just keeping my eyes on the ground for dog poop. Seriously, it's like my priority one when walking around. I may get mugged, jumped, or run face-first into a pole, but damn it my shoes will remain feces free.

Fill in the blank. The last time I lived alone was. Answer: never. Lots of people are so past roommates. I need them. I hate coming home to an empty space. I've been working for a few years now on hanging out by myself. I used to go bonkers if I was alone for a day or so. There's been some serious progress, even if much of that is probably aided by technology (which keeps me arguably constantly connected), but I'm still not entirely comfortable with big expanses of time to myself.

Now I have my own place, albeit one I've not really settled into yet, and it's like this mini-experiment for how I'll do alone. As pathetic as it sounds to compare it like this, it'll be like my Walden. I picture myself holed up for a few days at a time, conjuring up magical turns of phrase, cranking out books and writing, and lapping up the juice of solitary freedom.

The last time I was relatively alone, for a few months in England, I was boarding with a very nice family but basically had my own space and company. In my somewhat loneliness, I read the Bible for kicks, just about kissed Jimmy when he came to visit once from Belgium, and maybe wrote some bad poetry. Like really bad. The first line or two was "abeyance of breath / succeeds where the emptiness / of time and space collide." I couldn't tell you what "abeyance" even means now -- maybe I couldn't back then either.

So I guess I'm semi-excited to try to live alone, even if in reality I'm not alone at all and have plenty of people and spaces to visit. It's the idea of being alone that both frightens and excites. Like I'll be symbolically going outdoors, even as I'll probably be cooped up indoors. Come visit!

Bring cookies.

Listening to: Sixpence None the Richer, "Kiss Me."

There's been this smear of dog poop hanging outside George's building steps for a few days now. I don't know whose job it is to clean it up but it's definitely my job to call it out and make sure visitors avoid it. Should anyone step in it, they'll have to throw their shoes away -- which I would unhesitatingly do, no matter the shoe -- and that would just be terrible. So I keep my eyes on the poop and warn others. If I were a nobler citizen, I would put on some gloves, scrape that stuff off, and really change the world. But these gloves were made for smoking, not scooping.

Earlier today, George's communal garage door was jammed, leaving it unable to open more then a quarter of the way up. One guy couldn't back his car out because it was positioned too close to the door. As I exited through the other entrance, I was thinking about what a horrible week this entryway was having. The 3000 block of Fillmore needed some happy thoughts.

Eight hours later, I returned after retrieving George's car from the impound lot and pulled into the still busted, but now open, garage, startling a couple furiously making out, bodies tucked inside to avoid the pouring rain. The girl was wearing a short pleated skirt and the guy wore a power suit and a huge chin. They scurried away to continue making out elsewhere. Ah, Wednesday night love. It's so romantical.

A few hours earlier, at approximately four fifteen (according to the police dispatcher), George's car was being towed away from right outside Victor's apartment. I was inside, on the phone with a tough sounding employee of South Bay Express, settling the bill for totally not my fault toll violations. I'd been fighting them for months but I finally waved the white flag of surrender after factoring in that I'd have to fly back home to contest the charges. I'm chalking the whole thing up to a friendship tax, because driving up and down that road to hang out was well worth the price. I think.

The other $250 spent for the tow and retrieve fee? Well, that's the price of having spent a great afternoon editing the Tahoe snowboarding video with Victor, getting some free laundry done, and a nice plate of ribs. By the time I was wandering up and down the block trying to figure out where the car had gone, I was too high from the video editing to be brought down by anything short of being run over.

After retrieving the car and arriving safely home a bit wiser and a lot poorer, I walked out to the corner donut store. One maple donut, a small coffee, and an apple later, I felt even better. So good that I gave five dollars to the bum on the corner -- something I'm normally morally opposed to doing -- just to keep my karma high.

I guess I had a bad day but it sure doesn't feel like it. And now Brown Sugar is on TV so no complaints here.

"The anticipation arose as time froze
I stared off the stage with my eyes closed and dove
into the deep cosmos
The impact pushed back, the first five rows
But before the raw live shows
I remember I'se a little snot-nosed
Rockin Gazelle, goggles and Izod clothes
Learnin the ropes of ghetto survival
Peepin out the situation I had to slide through
Had to watch my back my front plus my sides too
When it came to gettin mine I ain't tryin, to argue
Sometimes I wouldn'ta made it if it wasn't for you
Hip-Hop, you the love of my life and that's true"
-Roots, Act Too (The Love of My Life)-