George's first editing effort from her new Macbook. She learned how to edit and created this whole thing in just half a day. Bravo!

I've got a gripe. People who don't reply to an "are you in/out" email. Yes, I'm talking about you. I know, I know, for awhile I was against Evites, but that was because I could pretty readily assumed to be going. It's not like I have much to do. But when people are trying to make plans and particular people choose to not respond until the last minute, or to not respond on at all, well, it's rude.

Case in point. For our SF trip a few weeks ago, one friend continually called the other to confirm if they were going. We needed head counts, needed to arrange tickets to Stevie Wonderfull on Saturday night, and nobody knew if he was actually coming. Emails, calls, texts, and repeat repeat over, there was still no word. When we finally got him on the line, he pretty much lied that he'd gotten his ticket. I said "fuck it" and just let him fend for himself.

The same thing tends to happen when people are in relationships or have kids. Really? You're so busy that a quick "Sorry, can't make it" email can't come out of your smartphone? I find that hard to believe. So answer or be counted out. That's all I have to say.

Having failed spectacularly at pretty much every resolution I made in 2009 (the list was supposed to only encompass Jan-Mar too), I did at least one thing. I started podcasting. Hooray for me! It turns out I didn't even need a microphone because the built in mic from my laptop is pretty decent and with that and Garage Band, I'm able to just sit down with someone and start recording.

So for the past few weeks I've been dragging people into the studio with me (meaning any empty room) and making them talk to me. The idea is that it's just a slice of conversation from my life. Actually, that was the original idea. Now I'm working on being a better host, directing a conversation, sticking on topic, and basically making your fifteen or so minutes worthwhile.

The early episodes were a little rough -- but still amusing -- and I'm far from taking my podcast game to the heights it will soon be. However, it's been amazingly fun for me to do and I like it even as a historical account of conversations with friends. So yes, if you'd like to listen in and subscribe, the information is below.

So far I've covered some very fun topics and I'm hoping to get one a week up, which will be easy because I've already got another five or six in the chamber, so to speak. Next move is to figure out how to podcast with someone who's not directly in the room with me, so I can get episodes with friends from all over.

Podcast summary:
"You, Me, Us" is a podcast dedicated to talking with friends and people I know. The idea is to get interesting people to talk about something interesting for 15-20 minutes. Bear with me here, awesomeness is around the corner.

Main site: http://youmeus.posterous.com
Blog RSS: http://youmeus.posterous.com/rss.xml
iTunes link: here
You can also find it by searching for "You, Me, Us" in iTunes.

You can't dig someone else of a bad situation. I mean, can you? When people are down in the dumps, you can try to help them out and drag them out but usually they'll come up whenever they're ready to come out. I subscribe heavily to the idea that a person knows how to self medicate. If they need some drugs and rock and roll, they'll go find it. If they need friends or television, they'll find it. But what happens when you see that the path they're headed toward is a terrible one?

People love to use the phrase, "we're all adults now." I disagree. We're totally not adults now. We're basically still children. In fact, the more I learn about adults (anyone five years older than me, I still have a high schooler's mentality of what constitutes "older") the more I'm skeptical that anyone evolves past the child stage.

If you're a shitty seventeen year old, and then a slightly better but still shitty twenty four year old, there's a good chance you'll just be an almost not as shitty forty year old.

What changes, I think, is the amount of people who can or want to feel responsible for you as you get older. If you're a real drag to be around when you're old, you'll just find yourself in pothole after pothole, with less people to lean on as the years pass.

This is a working theory.

I'm over at Alabama Street, where we used to hang out all the time two years ago. In the time since, Alabama Street has taken on a totally different significance. A block down from this house is the girl I'm dating, who was only a few hundred yards away all this time, and I've been over the plenty the past few weeks. She's baking cupcakes now and maybe I'll sneak over to snag one later. This house, with its little front yard, where we all used to smoke and conversate, was the cosmic focal point of new friendships, reconnected friendships, and finally, failed friendships. So things are plenty different now.

Tonight, Daisy is working the ukulele, dropping a medley of pop and Hawaiian hits. She's currently working a Plain White T's song, at my request. Raqstar is holed up in the "champagne room," which is partitioned off with a baby gate, to prevent the dogs and cats to run in, and to keep the studious atmosphere in. Shawn is making a video for one of his classes and through the closed door we can hear each manic and high energy take. None of these exact things have happened before but it all feels overly familiar, in a good way.

There are two groups of young adults: people who haven't stopped working since their twenties versus people who've had at least a year off. Speaking as a candidate for presidency of the latter group, I wonder at what point the former group throws up their hands and says, "I need a break!" I hope the answer isn't simply "retirement." For people who are near my age, that's almost a decade of straight work. That sounds crazy to me.

How can you go ten years without having not taken more than two weeks off (and probably not consecutively)? I guess people can break up the work monotony with school or some such thing, but there are some people I know who've never stopped. If people are worried about escaping the rat race, isn't this exactly what they've been engaged in? Where's the exit lane?

This is like having stellar attendance in school. What's the point? You get recognized with a ribbon or a special announcement at graduation but then you start to think, "Wait, what is this award for?"

If you're going to go down, why not go down slacking?

I need a little bit of snark in my life. Okay, a lot of it. Earnestness, sincerity, cringing at un-PC comments, those things don't do it for me. I like people who can step right in and start launching sarcastic salvos. And do it quickly. I like my drinks sweet but my conversations bitter. Perhaps if I switched to unsugared coffee this perspective could change. Is that possible? Or even desired?

Today at a cafe I saw two guys pull out a stack of familiar looking books. I cruised by their table on the way to bathroom and my suspicions were confirmed. They were flipping through D&D guides. Through the rest of our time I kept glancing over in order to discern if they were a random bunch of friends or perhaps meeting as newbies and strangers. I hoped for the latter so I could stroll up and introduce myself. Alas, I couldn't figure it out so as we were about to leave, I just went up to them and said, "Hi, I couldn't help noticing your books and was wondering if you accepted new players..." This was after half an hour of hyping myself up mind you. I've been less nervous approaching girls before.

The trio returned my greeting half-heartedly as I tried to sneak in some banter indicating my experience and enthusiasm, eventually forcing my email on them. I sure hope they contact me -- maybe we can Wave together. D&D, you complete me.

Yesterday I gave someone I met just hours ago a deep man hug. The occasion? We shared the same favorite science fiction author. I believe he whispered "I love him!" into my ear as we both delighted in meeting a fellow (male) reader. I think I've only ever hugged four guys like that in my life. Sometimes you drum up temporary enthusiasm with a fellow human ("high five!") because of the moment, or alcohol, but sometimes you just feel like you've known the other person for awhile and am yet still excited to find out more. So yeah, it was that kind of night.

I'm trying to challenge myself to blog in here every day. At least 100 words, but no more than 250 (and am using a Firefox extension to keep track). I've fallen out of the habit of daily blogging and want to get back into it. What I'd like to do is capture mini-moments, to get my writing down to short and pithy paragraphs. I'm terrible at that because I'm a rambler and can't control my words. Unlike her, whom I'd love to learn from and emulate.

And I read about someone who just titles their post whatever the song playing in the background is, I think I'll do that too. This feels like a breakthrough, for no good reason at all.

People have asked me how long I can conceivably go crashing on friend's couches as my friends get older and acquire families. What I discovered during the trip to New York is that my accommodations have actually gotten much better. Friends have houses now, and apartments that have extra bedrooms, or just really nice singles. No more crashing in mini apartments with acquaintance roommates and cramped spaces. One friend even gave me her bed, made up with fresh new white sheets, even though I insisted that I was very happy on the floor. Yes, as I've gotten older, I'm made the transition from "couch crasher" to "guest."

The next step is to visit cities and be able to afford hotels and stuff like that. That's truly the adult thing to do. In the past, the only reason anybody's ever rented a room is because they had a significant other accompanying them. Now people figure a couple of hundred dollars is worth the non-host hassle and I can see their point. Although I doubt I'd ever want to rent versus harass my friends. Thanks friends.

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.

I've been doing a bit of date night my last two weeks here. That means I sit on the little couch while George and Chris are on the big couch. It also means they collaboratively cook a tasty (and sometimes experimental) dinner while I'm groggy and possibly still sleeping. They get home from a long day's work, slap on some aprons, and head right into the kitchen. George has been very good about preparing her ingredients beforehand too. Defrost that chicken, buy some milk! Where they find the energy for all this I'll never know.

George has accumulated quite a few cooking devices since she's started date night. The one we're most excited about is the Slap Chop of course, and it's been used to nice effect recently. It really does work amazingly, just like the late night TV ads say. George also has a salad spinner (unused), a new chopping board and knife (unused), and a huge collection of spatulas, slotted pasta scoops, and big plastic spoons. Taking a quick head count, the number of stirring implements she owns rivals the number of shampoos and conditioners in her shower. Which is pretty strange since George doesn't cook much. Her kitchen had been fully stocked for awhile and just waiting for a cooking partner -- or a head chef -- I guess.

So since I'm neither, what exactly do I contribute to date night? Well, I have my whale ice cream spade (unused) and I'm good at verbal encouragement. When someone defined the term "third wheel," they totally had me in mind. Occasionally I do the dishes but not enough. I sometimes volunteer and then forget. Or George beats me to the punch. On Tuesday she came home from work and went straight to the kitchen.

"See I told you he didn't," she said to Chris, pointing at the sink. She was hoping I had done the dishes from the previous night. Nope. I did think about it though. Really hard.

I think part of George will be happy to be rid of me (the other part will be merely ecstatic). I'm not exactly a good domestic partner. I once thought I was, back in college, but I realized that was mainly because I was never home. My roommates never saw me so thus I was, by default, a good roommate.

I assumed that meant I was good at living with other people. Oh how wrong I was. After a few stints living with friends (and one girlfriend), I've found that I tend to repeat the same pattern over and over. I take up space on the couch, I run up the electricity bill with all night lights and computer usage, and I don't do any chores on a regular basis. Oh, and my clothes tend to be strewn all over the place. You know in Sex and the City when Charlotte has to (gently) tell Harry that he leaves teabags all over the house? I'm Harry, except my teabags can be anything from loose dollar bills to cigarettes to books and random papers to my set of smoking clothes. Of course I wear a different set of clothes outside to smoke, shouldn't everybody?

See, I'm neat and tidy but only in a certain chaotic dirty way. Like I always say, "I'm sanitary but not necessarily clean." My mom hates it. She hates the way my room is always filled with piles of stuff. She's a neat freak and can't stand messes. Especially mine. Luckily George hasn't inherited that trait, otherwise she would've kicked me out by now.

Luckily I compensate for all this by being good company. I require very little care and feeding as a person in the room. While my presence is constantly felt, it hardly ever requires attention. I entertain myself easily, I participate in television banter, and I'm either down to do something or quick to avoid doing anything. That's not an easy trait to have. I'm like a little barnacle that might be unpleasant to the eye but ultimately something just doesn't feel right when I'm not around. That's what I'd like to think anyway. Farewell Fillmore Street, farewell!

Update: And yes, I just did the dishes even though it's seven in the morning. I just guilted myself into it. You're welcome.

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.

(Movie spoilers ahead for Time Traveler's Wife, avoid if necessary. Actually, if you haven't read it, we probably shouldn't be friends anyway.)

It's not often that something can hit me emotionally for longer than five minutes. The last time I was conscious and cried? Probably something involving girls. Probably a break up or a fight or something. It was long enough ago I can't remember specifically. And it's ever rarer for me to cry in movies. I rarely emotionally connect with films to the level that I feel the urge to cry.

The number one movie I thought I was about to die from how much I wanted to cry? Whale Rider. Near the end, Paikea gets on stage to do a speech dedicated to her grandfather. He doesn't show up and she's trying to fight back tears as she does the piece. I haven't rewatched Whale Rider because I don't want to ruin the memory. I can't recall who I watched the movie with but I was literally bawling during the end. Shamelessly and uncontrollably. Before Whale Rider, I had no idea I could feel this way in movies.

After that, there's been a few movies that have hit me in similar ways but none that have actually absolutely slayed me. I think I got better at holding it in. Reach for the popcorn, take big sips of the Icee. For example, Finding Neverland was another top crying movie for me but I didn't actually cry, I was just like...teary. Weepy maybe. But inside I was the Great Lakes. After tonight, make some room and vault The Time Traveler's Wife up on the list. Hello Niagara!

I've pretty much narrowed down what makes me cry in movies. When a character is interacting with a parent who is either dead, dying, or about to die. Well, that's redundant. Dead or dying, I guess. But not just anything makes me turn on the waterworks. At the end of The Family Stone, there's sort of a sudden death but that didn't do anything for me. I wasn't emotionally attached to the movie in any way. Parental death alone doesn't do a thing. I need to be led up to it, like a horse to water.

So in Time Traveler's Wife the movie, when adult Henry is on the subway talking to his mother (who died in a car accident that coincided with the first time he time traveled), it was killer because it'd be percolating for awhile. I just sat there hoping the scene would end, but also hoping it wouldn't end. Like whoa.

The whole reason I love the story of Time Traveler's Wife so much is that it's about constant loss and longing. I can't decide if I feel more closely attuned to Clare or Henry's dilemma but the idea that two people are constantly trying to reach out for each other but can never hold on long enough, that's just terrible. And for Henry, he continually relives events. His mother's death. His death. Fights with Clare. Everything. He's a man on the move and mostly unwillingly.

But then, it might be worse for Clare. She never knows when Henry will be gone. He just *poof* disappears. And then she waits. For years at a time. And on top of that she really had no choice in deciding that this would be her life. Henry met her when she was only six. She had no chance to fall in love with anyone else. It was accidentally designed fate. She had free will to fall in love but also a heavy dose of predestination. Plus having Henry know everything that's going to happen in the future must be infuriating.

Sigh, it's so romantic, their longing and losing, their "You're the only one for me (even if you're never around)" commitment.

Awhile ago, I was talking to someone about losing a parent and if he said that he looked forward to dreaming so that he could see them again. I told him that's exactly how I felt. I unconsciously wake up crying sometimes and I won't even remember what happened but I've figured out that it's because in my dreams I've seen my dad and somewhere in there, I realized it wasn't real. So that's how I feel emotionally connected to Henry watching his past. Like he gets to go around and see things again, and you would think that's comforting, but at the same time, there's no future in it, you know?

I can't even articulate exactly what makes this book/movie affect me like this. I wish I could, and I think I'll have to try again sometime. But for now it's just interesting for me to get so emotionally wrecked post-watching/reading it. I don't feel this way often and I almost want to wallow in it and extend it.

But you know, the Real Housewives of Atlanta is on in the background. So that kind of kills the mood. Back to non-emotion land!

I took an informal poll of some of my guy friends and asked them if they share with other guy friends when they have a crush or am interested in somebody. So far my responses back are one "yes" and one "no." So entirely inconclusive. I know girls talk to girls about people they like, even in it's in the early "I saw this guy at the coffee shop!" stage. And I know that guys talk to girls about it. But do guy friends typically broach the subject to their guy friends? I dunno.

Awhile back, I was engaged in a conversation with a friend about how we're not necessarily as close emotionally as we could be because I don't tell him about girls. But to me, there's no reason to unless something's happening, it's happened, or you're caught. I don't typically turn to other people unless I'm in need of advice or venting, and I pretty much have those people already on speed dial. Everyone else just has to ask I guess, but I'm more of the don't tell unless asked camp.

Does this create an artificial barrier between friends though? Like if a friend is crushing on someone, would it better to know? I did have a friend who told me the other day that he thought someone we met was cute, and I guess that was his way of announcing his like to the world. (Because of course he knew I would then redistribute that information accordingly. I mean, I hope he knew.)

Then again, I love to know these itty bitty bits of gossip so I ask people all the time. So if you want to know, just ask I say. Then again, sometimes you ask and get a non-answer. Then you have to use your other sources and get the real truth out. That's the best. I know what you think I don't know.

We had a birthday dinner and party this weekend. It was excellent. George and I received Twitter mugs from Dann and they are fantastic. George has become an old lady in her dotage and can barely stay up till 3am anymore. I guess that's what happens when you pass thirty. Early nights in the Marina coming right up!

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.

I had an interview with a Chinese newspaper the other day. The journalist turns out to know both my mom and dad. He said something like, "Oh, you have good lineage." I'm not sure what that means but I took it as a good thing. The interview was set up by a family friend, Aunt Anna, who has taken a nice interest in my writing. She sent out some query emails to two Chinese publications and a few days later, two interviews! I'll be conducting both in my amazing Chinglish.

This particular writer actually has quite the story himself. He was in the Army for twenty years as a war correspondent. He wrote a book in 1985 about an ex-soldier who has been wounded and lost an eye, and then he moves to America but isn't sure if it's the right place for him. He said they printed 90,000 copies of the book at the time. That's a huge number. If a book sold 100,000 copies nowadays, that would be a runaway best seller. Due to a larger population and less competition for publication, it was semi-normal for a book run back then. I think nowadays if you had an initial print run of 30,000 you'd be leaping for joy.

Part of me wishes I had the ability and training to do interviews. I love learning about people and asking them all sorts of questions. I'm pretty much curious about anything. Strangely, I hate reading interviews, especially the ones with celebrities or musicians or whatnot. The format loses me for some reason, even though the words are much more direct than through a story that has the occasional quote. I'd really love to follow someone(s) around and try my hand at documenting their words/life.

I love reading the spotlights and profiles in Entertainment Weekly or Rolling Stone. It's like you find an angle, spin it out, and then get to tell the world what you think the person is like. The skill of interviewing is something I'd be interested in acquiring.

I've had thoughts about coming up with mini-profiles and articles about people I know in my life (or even strangers?) but it's difficult because sometimes in trying to tell a story, you might have to say negative or possibly offensive things. For example, what if I wrote that someone seemed "flippant, superficial, immature, or uncultured?" They'd hate me forever!

But if someone is willing to be a test subject, I'm game to try profiling them. I really admire the people who can capture a person's look or persona with just a few sentences and details. I'm wholly incapable of it so I should really practice.

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-

I wonder how many people are in love with Claire Danes, or were in love. With Angela, I guess, more accurately. I'm watching her talk to Letterman at age sixteen. It's a bit inconceivable that sixteen year olds are like this. I mean, she pretty much looks the same now, and her subsequent appearances on Late Night aren't necessarily more poised or more mature, or older, etc. I mean, compare her to the awkwardly spazzy Kristin Stewart, who was eighteen when she did her "star" turn on Letterman.

I'm trying to figure out, in watching Claire talk, if I've basically templated my dream girl out of some combination of Angela Chase, Natalie Portman (mainly Marty in Beautiful Girls), and Dorothy. All young naif-ish girls who are mature beyond their years. I'm pretty much destined to date young I've decided. Why fight it? All this and I haven't even read Lolita yet.

Recently, I've been having talks with people about the themes in their love lives. What types of people they are attracted to, who gets attracted to them, etc. For the most part, we're all old enough now where history is a big enough factor to go back and pick out some patterns and such. What I'm discovering is that I pretty much haven't moved past adolescence as far as what I'm attracted to.

What I have learned to do, is verbalize and pinpoint better exactly what I'm looking for. A new trait I think I like, for example, is neuroticism. I like people who read into all sorts of little things. Nervousness as something to talk about. If someone is super neurotic, it generally means they're really observant -- and we won't run out of things to obsess over. Now, while I know I'm attracted to this, I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Heavy neuroses might lead to terrible relationships (especially with me), but yet it's a quality I'm instantly attracted to. It's like I like that emotional and mental high maintenance, but if I were to actually date that, it would be a disaster.

I want to start a service (or write a book) about the importance of that first real relationship. I'm often of the idea "date that first one, get it out of the way, move on." But that really doesn't give enough importance to your first real significant other. Shit, that stuff will reverberate with you forever. Talk about being ruined for life. Anything bad (or good) in that first relationship and you'll be stuck figuring it out for the next fifteen years, or living in an infinite loop if you're destined for a tragic love story.

My service would provide parents and friends with the knowledge that their child will have the perfect first boy/girlfriend. We'd even do a psychological profile and figure out the best way for this perfect first person to exit their life gracefully after a year or two. Puppy love is fun and cute and all but we all know that there's no better way to scar yourself forever than through those first experiences.

This is probably a million dollar idea, but I'd only charge an hourly fee of twenty bucks or so.

Also, in talking about people recently, I've been using the term "gravity" and "attraction." Some people have attraction, some people have gravity. In short, attraction only works on certain types of people. Like magnetism, there's one pole that attracts and one pole that repels. People with romance gravity however, just suck the opposite sex right in. "She's got strong gravity, any guy who hangs around her will end up liking her." I have to refine this theory and come up with some examples, but it looks promising already.

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.