Something's missing

I've been reminiscing a lot lately. Obviously it was the trip to the old desert stomping grounds. That place, those people, have a profound effect on me.

I spent my 30s in the deserts of Southern California. In many ways, I came of age there. I learned and grew a lot professionally, achieve some successes and endured some setbacks. It was a bit of a mixed bag socially. I made some great friends, and strengthened some key friendships, but the dating life was disappointing, except for a couple of adventures and one romance spectacular in its emotional highs and lows.

I am not deluding myself. It was not all sunshine and roses. But there was a lot of sunshine and I love the sunshine.

Fortunately the sun was shining today and spring is in the air, at least for a few days. But I miss the friendships built over the California decade. I miss working in a big office filled with people and energy, excitement, enthusiasm and ideas. I miss nights spent dining out or talking under the stars.

I miss the me I was there. I miss the me I could see myself becoming.

Fortunately, I'll be spending Easter with my daughter and her family. I'll take unconditional love and acceptance where I can get it.

OK, maybe I made a play to buy a little of that love with my daughter's birthday present, an inscribed silver bracelet that came in a distinctive blue box. Better to be bankrupt than disappoint my one and only child on her Sweet 16!

I'm gonna soak up the sun

OK, so my last couple of posts have been a little gloomy in tone, but by the end of the week I plan to be soaking up some sun and seeing some old friends in sunny Southern California.

I am optimistic that the warmth of a desert spring and close friends will be the perfect remedy for my spirits.

So in honor of my sunnier disposition and my Coachella Valley amigos, I'm offering a quick list of 5 Southern California/Coachella Valley/Palm Springs-inspired songs from the ol' iPod.

"Route 66" -- Depeche Mode
"Palm Springs Jump" -- The Frankie Capp Orchestra
"Hotel California" -- The Eagles
"California Dreamin'" -- The Mammas & The Pappas
"Back to California" -- The Wallflowers

And, as a bonus cut, another take on the Mother Road.
"Route 66" -- The Brian Setzer Orchestra

And, as a tribute to one friend who I won't be able to see.
"L.A. Freeway" -- Jerry Jeff Walker
Henry, thanks for the Jerry Jeff CD, my friend. You are, and will continue to be, missed.
R.I.P.

It's just about time to...
"Soak Up the Sun" -- Sheryl Crow

Tropical morning

I admit, I have been somewhat obsessed with comparing my current home in Salem to my former home in Southern California. In particular, I get in a rut making references to the weather, bemoaning the cold and wet fall and winter weather here in the Pacific Northwest.

For the record, this morning it is warmer in Salem than it is in Palm Springs ( 54 degrees at 7 a.m. in Salem compared to 47 in Palm Springs). Of course we got almost 2 inches of rain here yesterday, and the temperature is expected to be 74 in Palm Springs today.

BUT, for right now, it is WARMER here than in the land reputed for its winter warmth. I will try to remember that as the rains continue and rivers in the region threaten to overflow their banks today.

Weather

Unwelcome birthday card

I opened the mailbox yesterday expected a larger than normal volume of mail since Monday was Columbus Day and a federal holiday so there was no mail delivery. What I was most hoping to see in the mailbox was my ticket to the Sheryl Crow concert, which is now less than a week away. What I found instead was junk mail, advertisements and a postcard with a yellow sticker on it, indicating that it was mail forwarded form my old Palm Springs address.

The postcard was from one of the city council members of Palm Springs. It had a simple message. "Happy Birthday from your Councilmember Ginny Foat" with a handwritten note with my first name saying "Happy Birthday, Ginny."

I think I've mentioned I'm not a big fan of birthdays, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't appreciate a birthday card as much as the next person. But this card annoyed me. Why the hell is a city council member, particularly one in a city where I no longer live, sending me a card for my birthday?

There is small type on the card making it clear that the card is "not produced printed or mailed at government expense." It goes on to say it was "printed and produced on (a) home computer."

Well, at least Foat isn't using taxpayer funds for her little folly. However, she was quite obviously using public records, most likely voter registration records, for her little card mailing campaign.

It's silly stunts like this that lead people to privacy concerns about what information about this is part of the public record. Personally, I'm a vigorous defender of public records. I think the public's right to access public records is very important. We need to know what information government holds about us and our neighbors.

I don't mind that people knew I was a registered voter in Palm Springs. There are legitimate reasons for that to be known. However, a council member using that database of information to send a personal birthday card for obviously political purposes of keeping her name out there for reelection is an inappropriate use of public records.

But there is some small comfort. Ms. Foat wasted her 23 cents postage on me, because I don't live in her city any more.

Public records
Palm Spring
Politics

Rumor control

Some of you may have heard that actress Lisa Kudrow has been in Palm Springs filming an episode for her new HBO series "The Comeback."

And some of you made note in my earlier Surreal World posts that I used Kudrow's character name from the show "Friends" along with Jennifer Aniston's character name of Rachel.

So I thought it best to say that it was not Kudrow who was hitting on me at a local bar, nor was it Aniston who was passed out in a bar bathroom, in case someone started drawing conclusions from these two totally unrelated coincidences.

And I'm not just saying that because of threats from attorneys for Kudrow and Aniston either.

Really.

I'm not.

Celebrities
Palm Springs

Getting the Coldplay shoulder

I just got home after a night on the town and it's 4 a.m. That's a bit unusual in California, where the bars close at 2 a.m., and it was definitely an unusual night.

I met up with 4 friends for dinner. It was something of a going away dinner for a friend and colleague who is moving to Northern California.

The five of us were going to meet at the restaurant, but our guest of honor and her driver were late. So the other three of us check in for our reservation and are seated. All was going well and we were chatting, but there was a glitch.

We were dining at a Japanese teppan yaki restaurant, where the chef's cook in front of you. If you've ever been to one of these places, you may know that if you have a small party, you end up sitting that this table, which surrounds a grill, with other people. And the chef comes and cooks at the teppan grill for everyone at once. Well, two of our party were not there, but we had been seated, and a family of 4 was at the other end of the table.

Eventually, the staff comes and tells us that if our whole party is not there, we will have to surrender our table to other customers. So, we do our walk of shame back to the lobby, and eventually go wait outside. Our other dining companions show up a few minutes later and we are reseated at another table. We have a nice meal and pleasant conversation and decide after dinner to go out for a drink.

One of the people in our party checks her cell phone and there is a message from one of her coworkers saying she should come to this bar in the neighboring city because she has a tip that the band Coldplay may show up there. The tip sounds implausible to us, but not impossible, because after all Coldplay is in town (or in our area any way) to play at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival. We figure we were going to go out for a drink anyway, and it's a bar that we like, so what the hell. So we go. Or four of us go. One of our party also got a call on his cell during dinner and has a hookup planned, so he bails on us. Whatever.

So we go to this bar and meet up with a couple of our friend's coworkers there. The rumor is that the band will be coming by after their set at the Coachella. Their ETA: about 12:30 a.m. So, we hang out for a while, but the bar is pretty dead, so we decide to move over to the Yard House. And the friend who's coworkers we met's boyfriend meets us there. So we drink and chat there, and about midnight the one friend and her boyfriend decide to leave. And about 12:30, I decide that as unlikely as it may be that Coldplay will show up at this other bar, I will be kicking myself if they do and I wasn't there, so I head back to the other bar, where I meet up with my friend's two coworkers who are still hanging out waiting for Coldplay to show. So we wait, and we drink, and we chat. And we wait. And wait. And about 1:30 a.m., the bar's phone rings with word. They are on their way.

So a buzz goes through the small crowd. So the owner of the place, who's table I was hanging out beside on the patio with my friend's friends, says at 2 he has to close the place. But he has a plan. Everyone can go inside, and they'll close the doors and dim the lights, but people can still hang around.

So, at 2 a.m., the owner, Eddie, movies everyone inside. And sometime thereafter there is another call. Part of the entourage is close. They'll be there in 5 minutes. It's more like 15, but a group of 6 to 8 people shows up. What their connection is to the band, or the bar owner, I don't really know, but these people show up. So we hang out some more. And as the evening wears on, one of the guys, who seems to be the key connection to Coldplay, sends a text message to find out where the band is. It seems the band got lost somewhere in the La Quinta/Indio area, but they were supposedly coming.

But after a while, even many of the hardcore crowd start trickling out, including one of my friend's coworkers.

So, there I sit, at 3 a.m., talking to this bar owner that I just met and a friend of a friend who I had just met as well who seemed convinced that my name is something other than what it is. Now, I have to work today. So, finally, at about 3:40 a.m., I decide, Coldplay or no Coldplay, I need to go home, so I make my exit and head for home.

If I find out later they showed up, I may still kick myself. But shit, I figure I put in my time based on a flakey rumor. I didn't need to see Gwyneth Paltrow's husband that bad. Hell, I'll just listed to him on CD.

But I do need to figure out who Coldplay's managers are and send them my bar bill for reimbursement. With an added charge for sleep deprivation of course.

Palm Springs
Coachella Music Festival
Coldplay
Celebrities
Rumors

Under a blood red moon

Here it is, a little after 10 p.m. and I'm home. From work. Already. I don't know what to do with myself. The earth is not spinning on its correct axis apparently. Something is out of kilter. The universe is akimbo.

Cruising south on Gene Autry Trail toward hearth and home I was transfixed by a spectacular orange moon rising to the southeast. The lunar orb was nearly full and ominous, yet inviting, looming large just above the horizon. It was so large it seemed nearly close enough to touch. As I pulled up to the southeast end of Palm Springs International Airport, two jets, landing lights all aglow, were on final approach to the runway, staggered one ahead of the other. The moon hung behind them like a picture postcard backdrop of a perfect desert twilight with the outline of the Santa Rosa Mountains still visible against the deepening royal blue sky.

The warm glow of the moon washed over me. That was until I got home and couldn't turn down my street, because the turn lane was blocked by a police car, wreckers and mangled cars that had collided violently in front of my apartment complex. Maybe a driver had also been transfixed by the rising moon and ran the light. Three smashed cars, two wreckers, two TV trucks and two police cars had turned the intersection into an obstacle course. One car was up on the sidewalk, smashed into a light pole, which was now stood like a lazy drunk on the corner, upright, but not quite vertical.

Someone, or several someone's, were definitely having a bad night. But not me. I'm home early on a warm spring evening. The patio and cooling evening air are calling my name to enjoy them whilst I can.

Moon
Palm Springs
Twilight

Daylight Savings Time

Before we get too far into this whole April thing, and time has passed, I want to take the time to talk about time and go on record as saying I love daylight savings time.

Two of my favorite non-traditional "holidays" on the calendar are the first day of winter (because the days start getting longer) and daylight savings time. Long days, with daylight into the evening hours, is bliss!

I think my passion for daylight savings time has to do with the fact that I am a weird combination of night owl who loves evening light. I could sleep until noon every day of the week. My day doesn't get started until at least noon. Lunch is my breakfast. I usually say I don't eat breakfast, which is true, in that I normally do not eat a meal in the early morning hours. My stomach does not wake up until noon. But if my body doesn't wake up until noon, they are suddenly in synch, and I can have my breakfast over lunch, and my lunch over dinner. Then, I can skip dinner (which would probably be sometime around midnight, or later, in my day, although I'm not opposed to a midnight snack now and then).

I think our friends in Arizona have the right idea, only backwards. Arizona doesn't do daylight savings time. They refuse to change their clocks when most of the rest of the country does. So, from now until October when standard time resumes, Arizona, which is in the mountain time zone, and California and Nevada (and Washington and most of Oregon for that matter are on the same time. It's now a little after midnight in Palm Springs. What time is it in Phoenix? Same time! I admire Arizona's pluck!

I want to take that same stubborn spunk and individualism and refuse to return to standard time. Think I can get the rest of the Coachella Valley to go along? California even?

But think about it! It makes sense, especially here in the Palm Springs area. If you've ever been here, you would know that we have this big mountain range to the west, which means we lose the afternoon sun about an hour or so before the sun actually sets. So during standard time, our mountain sunset would be at roughly the same time as the sun would be setting in the rest of Southern California (well not literally the same time, but the same time on the clock).

OK, so I concede that the rest of the valley or the county or the state, let alone the nation, probably won't sign off on my idea. Maybe I'll have to go it alone. Start my own time zone, which can travel with me when I go on the road to Oregon or Illinois or Timbuktu for that matter. I'll call it (when here in Palm Springs and on the West Coast) PGT, or Pacific G-man Time. If I travel to Arizona, it will be Mountain G-man Time (or MGT). A trek to the East Coast would be a voyage into Eastern G-man Time or EGT.

It's an idea whose time has come.

Time
Spring
Daylight savings time
Palm Springs

Living in a safer world and a teenager high on Red Bull

In the post 9/11 world, airline passengers practically have to disrobe to get on a commercial airplane anymore. The latest things the federal watchers have banned from possessing in the cabin of an airliner is cigarette lighters. And all sharp objects, like a fingernail file, are expressly forbidden.

So consequently I was surprise and amused several hours ago when flying on an Alaska Airlines MD-80 from Palm Springs to Portland when I saw this little gem in the lavatory of the aircraft. They had a little slot in there marked specifically for the purpose of disposing razor blades.

Maybe it for those panicked folks who realized they had inadvertently gone past the TSA checkpoint with a "weapon" and go into the in-flight john to quell their panic attack. Maybe the slot is an attempt at last-minute amnesty for people who mistakenly violate federal safety procedures.

Or perhaps it is intended for perspective hijackers who get cold feet prior to attempting to take over the plane.

Nervous hijacker: If only there was a way I could back out of this fiendish plan to hijack this plane. But I've gone to all this trouble to smuggle an old-fashion double sided razor blade on board. Which was no small trick. I mean I have to find a pickle just the right size and firmness so when I inserted the blade in there the sharp edges didn't stick out. And then there was the added stress and discomfort of inserting the pickle shank up my rectum. It's not easy to walk with a pickle up the pooper! And then, there was the whole removal process in the can. But, I don't want to hurt these nice people. If only I could get rid of my weapon somehow... Oh, look, a sharps disposal slot for blades. Now, isn't that handy.

So, I went back to my seat in the nearly empty plane and had a little quiet chuckle about the razor disposal slot. But by the time the plane touched down at PDX I was wishing I had a razor blade. I'd rather slit my wrists than go through another landing like that.

Portland, which has shipped all of its rain and storm weather south to Palm Springs most of the winter, was in the midst of a squall. The wind was obviously kicking up pretty good, because that MD-80 was tossed around like a vibrator during multiple orgasms. We were bucking and bouncing and slipping and banging all the way through the final approach.

The passengers seemed to handle it pretty well, but you know the turbulence is bad when you are sitting in the back of the plane and you can see the front of the cabin bouncing and gyrating around.

After we reached the terminal, when everyone was in the rush to hurry up and wait in the aisle, I asked one of the flight attendants one of those stupid "Here's your sign" sort of questions.

Me: So, is it windy here?

Blonde flight attendant: Yea, there's quite a storm out there. It's been like that all day.

Me: I thought that landing seemed a little rougher than normal.

Flight attendant: Yea, it thought I was going to get sick there for a minute.

It does not bode well when your flight attendant admits queasiness on landing.

But, obviously, my fellow passengers and I made it, safe and sound, and fortunately no one left their lunch on the cabin upholstery. Although, I was seriously questioning the wisdom of the two beers I had at the airport bar in Palm Springs. The 11 o'clock news was reporting wind gusts on the nearby Oregon Coast ranging from 50-plus to nearly 80 mph. I think they were all aimed at our plane. But we got here, and life goes on.

After getting to Portland and picking up a rental car, I met up with my daughter's mom, and we went together to pick up our daughter from a party she was attending with some of her friends from school. Apparently that party was designed to end at 10 p.m., because as we got there, a parade of cars started pulling up at the same house. They were sure a punctual bunch of parents, I'll give them that.

Apparently the drink of choice at this party was the energy drink Red Bull. My daughter admitted to having two of them. And a Coke. Apparently caffeine getter her motor revving and she gets quite chatty. I've been told I can be the same way when I've had a few beers. I don't, however, thing those two things are related, nor do I think there is an inherited connection. And I choose not to believe the Red Bull was a chaser for something else. Anyway, the last visit when I was here, I felt light an inquisitor trying to get her to say anything in a complete sentence. Tonight she was rambling on about her boyfriend, and her friends hooking up with each other, and freak dancing at Catholic school dances, and, on and on. And yes, I had to have her define freak dancing, and GOD I hope I never witness her doing such a thing.

I'm not sure which is worse, having a teenage daughter who doesn't talk, or one that tells you about all the drama of 8th grade in a metropolitan city. I guess it is cool that she felt comfortable enough to say those things to me and fill me in on her life, but it was verging on too much information for my aging ticker.

I'm leaning toward the silence is golden thing at the moment.

Flying
Vacation
Teenagers
Parenthood

We interrupt this program...

Rain is in the forecast again.

Unbelievable.

This is supposed to be a desert.

Well, the weather here isn't of much concern, unless it gets so bad they close the airport, because I'm getting out of Dodge for a bit.

Something must be in the air right now, beyond the clouds I mean. It seems that several of the blogs I read are on some sort of hiatus because the blog writers are taking a break or traveling. What? Is it spring break or something? Oh, yea, I guess it is. If I stumble across any girls going wild, I'll let you know. It's unlikely, but a guy can dream can't he?

I may try to make a post or two from the road, but I'm making no guarantees. I've added a few more blogs to the Blogroll list so you can amuse yourselves while I'm away.

In the meantime, enjoy yourselves and try to stay out of trouble. And if you can't stay out of trouble, write about it in a blog and point me there so I have some interesting reading on my return.

The G-Man

Weather
Palm Springs
Vacation
Blogging

Spring Fever

OK, maybe it was hanging out with alums from my former university last night that has me reminiscing about college days, but I can't escape the feeling today that I really want to skip class. Um, I mean work.

I just got back from voting in Palm Springs' special election and then grabbed some lunch. I called the office to find out that my normal Tuesday afternoon staff meeting has been canceled, so I have a short reprieve before having to report to work. But more than anything else, I really don't want to go to work at all.

Call it spring fever. The clouds and rain have cleared, and it's really starting to warm up. It's already in the mid to high 80s. No long sleeved-shirt and tie today, no sir. I was reading another of my regular blog reads today from someone who live in New York, and read that they are being hit by snow. It honor of the East Coasters suffering winter weather, it seems only right to have a skip day.

I remember back in college on those nice spring days, after a winter of rainy dreary days, it was just so hard to waste the precious sunshine by sitting in class. And there were really no consequences to skipping class, at least none that matter now all these years later, but the memories of those few days soaking up the sunshine and breathing the warm air still bring back a smile.

If only skipping work were as easy as skipping class in a large lecture hall.

Spring
College
Work
Palm Springs

Are you sleeping Brother John?

Something is wrong.

It's barely 11 p.m. and I am tired. Ready to go to bed and crash tired. OK, maybe that's because I was up at an ungodly early hour from me and at work by about 9 a.m., when I normally don't go to work until 2 p.m.

My body is a bit out of wack. I tried going to bed early last night. My mind knew I had to be up early today. But my body was having none of it?

Body: Hey, what's this going to bed at midnight stuff? We never go to bed at midnight. Sure, lie down if you want to but we aren't sleepy.

(an hour later)

Body: Yep, it's 1 a.m, but still not tired. Don't tell us you have to be up in 7 hours. It's not bedtime yet. Bedtime is later. Much later

(another hour later)

Body: Neener, neener, neener, we're not tired. It's the shank of the evening. It's time to be doing something. Just to show you, see us toss, see us turn. Fluff the pillows, flip the TV channels. See, there is stuff to do. This is not sleep time asshole, so you might as well get up.

(2 hours later)

Ah, now this is more like it. Now maybe we will go to sleep. Maybe. We aren't convinced we are tired yet, but hey, give it a short.

When the alarm went off at 8 a.m. it felt like I had just closed my eyes. God I hate that. But fortunately it was a beautiful morning and I was up and going before my body could convince my head that it wasn't quite awake yet.

The reason for the early shift was so I could attend a dinner reception for my alma mater. They do these alumni gatherings once a year to try to tap into all the money from my home state in the Pacific Northwest that has fled to sunnier and warmer Southern California. Apparently, the alumni association hasn't realized that just because I have a Palm Springs address doesn't mean I have money to give them. Well, I gave them a few buck to have dinner and drinks and hang out with some people from my home state for a few hours.

My friend M went with me and we had fun, or she said she did, and I know I did. I sat next to a professor who was one of the guest speakers. He teaches creative writing. I resisted the urge to mention that I have a blog. I'm not sure this counts as creative writing. I'm not even sure it qualifies as writing.

Bad typing maybe.

It's like that old question/joke: Would an infinite number of monkeys typing at random eventually produce the entire works of Shakespeare?

I don't know, but this monkey manages to string a few word together from time to time.

Well, enough monkeying around for now. Tomorrow another sunny spring day is forecast for the Coachella Valley. And if my body is as tired as it thinks it is, I may even be able to fall asleep early enough to get out and play a little before work tomorrow.

Blogging
Insomnia
Weather
Palm Springs

A good good morning

I am not a morning person. But here I am, up and almost awake, and getting ready for work early on a Monday morning. Yuck. But at least I get to work a day shift today, and will be getting off early to attend an event this evening. So I am telling myself it will be worth it.

And, I suppose it will. After all the sun is shining, and the forecast calls for a high of 82 degrees today.

Oh yes, and it's March people!

It almost makes the morning worthwhile, even though I couldn't fall asleep at a decent hour last night to save my life.

Oh well, the warm sunlight heals all.

Morning
Weather
Palm Springs

Mysterious visitors

I have this little counter that measures how many visitors come to this site. I like to joke that I have 5 readers, which isn't too far from the truth. On average somewhere between 20 and 30 people visit this page per day. A few days have been higher, reaching into the 40s, but the weirdest thing happened Friday.

Friday was the highest traffic day ever on this humble little blog with 80 visitors. With a little more research, I learned that many of those visitors were coming from a site called Doc Searls Weblog.

So, for all of you stumbling in here from Doc Searls' site, welcome. Doc's site features a lot of photos of landscapes and such, and he makes mention of the picture at the top of this page. So for Doc's readers' information, the photo is of the San Bernardino Mountains, which have been covered with snow for several months now as Southern California has been getting most of the moisture that normally goes to the Pacific Northwest in the winter. The photos shows the mountain range, which is north of Palm Springs, and runs east to west. The picture is taken from the south looking north from Palm Springs.

So, that's what the photo is all about. And thanks to Doc for the mention, but I don't think this blog is turning out to be his readers' cup of tea. So, maybe the info about the photo will fit their interests more.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled nonsense.

Blogging
Pictures
Mountains
Snow
Palm Springs

Maybe I've just got the song wrong

A change is coming.

I can feel it.

Like an arthritic knee can forecast a coming storm long before the clouds appear on the horizon. The question is, is this a benevolent storm or a the kind that gets you to tied in knots you'd swear your testicles were on backwards?

I can't tell. But I'm looking forward to it. Chasing it even. Maybe I'm like those crazy fuckers that look for tornadoes to watch them, measure them. Tempt the fury. Tempt fate.

Is there such a thing as fate? I've always sort of thought there is, but I've never found a map to mine. I just sort of stumble into things. The grand plan never seems to work. Or maybe I can't see it for the seemingly randomness of the moment. The patterns only emerge with some time and distance and perspective.

I never had a plan to become a writer or an editor. I never planned to become a father (or perhaps failed to plan in that case). I never planned to move to California, or Palm Springs for that matter. I had never even been to Palm Springs before I came here to visit a friend who was trying to convince me to apply for a job. And it was hot as fuck the first time I came here in August 1999, the streets were all torn up in downtown Palm Springs. There were no outward signs this valley would worm its way into my soul and become my home.

No plan, just seizing an opportunity. What the fuck, I had nothing better to do than take that first job as a temporary reporter. Nothing else was on the agenda when an editing job opened up and I thought "I can do that." I had no better place to be (and no condoms) that Fourth of July I ended up in the bed of the woman who would become my daughter's mother. I had no reason to stay on the cold, damp Oregon Coast when I got a call from a paper in California about I job I had forgotten I had even applied for months before. I had no compelling reason to stay in the little farming town when a friend called from Palm Springs.

And I have no regrets about any of it. It has all shaped and changed and molded my life and made me who I am and radically altered the things and people and places who have become important in my life.

But I feel another life-altering change coming on the wind. I don't know what it is or why or how it will manifest itself. But I'm drawn to stand, chin into the gale and walk toward it. Whether I am seeking it or it is seeking me, I know not. But I crave it, with a hunger known only to those who have been starved of their addiction (which reminds me, my tobacco stash is dangerously thin).

I recently applied for a job some distance from here. I may, or may not, still be in the running. But just the process of applying has changed me. It's made me less complacent. Less willing to accept the unacceptable in my daily life. It's helped me to realize I'm no longer content to watch life pass by, I want to race it to the finish. Oh sure, I know I'll probably coast for some stretches along the way, but I'm peddling now. Feeling the burn. It's time for some new challenges, whether I change jobs or addresses or toothpaste matters less than the fact that things need to be shaken up a bit.

It reminds me of an episode of the short-lived ABC series "Sports Night" by writer/producer Aaron Sorkin. The series starred Felicity Huffman (now of "Desperate Housewives" fame. One of the characters, Dan, played by Josh Charles, has this feeling that something is about to happen. In his case, unlike mine, he senses something ominous. He shares his feeling with his co-sports anchor, Casey, played by Peter Krause, now on HBO's "Six Feet Under."

The exchange goes like this:

Dan: There's a strangeness about this day.

Dan: "Eli's coming."

Casey: "Eli?"

Dan: "From the Three Dog Night song.

Case: "Yes."

Dan: "Eli's something bad. A darkness."

Casey: "'Eli's coming, hide your heart girl.' Eli's an inveterate womanizer. I think you're getting the song wrong."

Dan: "I know I'm getting the song wrong, but when I first heard it, that's what I always thought it meant. Things stick with you that way."

-- From Sports Night, Season 1, Episode 19: "Eli's Coming"

Eli's coming, ladies and gentlemen. It's either going to be major crash, or maybe someone will get laid. I'm hoping it's me.

Getting laid that is.

Not the crashing.

That would be bad.

Change
Eli's Coming
Fate

Rain, rain, go the fuck away

It rained again Monday in the Coachella Valley. Not just rain, but a full-on torrential downpour. It's fucking ridiculous. In and area that is lucky if it gets nine inches of rain a year, we got nine-tenths of and inch just Monday. We've had more than an inch of rain since about 2 p.m. Sunday.

Crazy.

There are rivers of brown water flowing everywhere, the streets themselves looked like rivers. I had a lunch appointment today during the heart of the deluge. We got .61 of rain between 11 a.m. and 6 p.m. today.

Enough already. Bring on the sun.

But what's the forecast? Rain or a chance of rain through Wednesday. I hope the fucking wildflowers are happy, because desert dwellers are starting to get a bit cranky.

Weather
Palm Springs

Dinner with a friend

I had dinner Saturday night with an old friend from home. M and I were a couple of years apart in high school. Her step-brother was my best friend from second grade through college, so after M's mom and A's dad got married, A and M and their siblings and I ended up spending a lot of time together.

But I had forgotten most of the details of those days until a few months ago, when M and I got back in touch after many years without any contact. In fact the last time I saw her was probably at her wedding. Now M and I live far from the little town where we grew up, but we find ourselves only about 60 miles apart here. Thanks to her twin sister, we got back in touch over the summer, and have tried to make a point of getting together every couple of months or so, as our schedules permit.

M's husband is an officer in the Marine Corps and currently deployed in Iraq. But he is due to come home soon, which is great. He is being promoted to a higher rank and being reassigned to another base after his return. So our opportunities to get together may be nearing an end in a few months.

We had a nice dinner and listened to a Latin jazz quintet at this little place in downtown Palm Springs called The Deck.

The band leader, Bob DeSena, was a trip. DeSena is an accomplished and talented musician, playing the vibes, trumpet and flugelhorn. Watching him perform was also part of the show. He would sing and dance around the room, flashing his diamond-encrusted pinky ring, when he wasn't pounding away on the vibraphone or blowing one of his horns. It was like a parody of a Vegas lounge act. His flamboyant antics were contrasted by the other 4 musicians he played with, who were inexpressive, like they had all taken a dip in the Quaalude pool before the show.

Our dinner table was right in front of the left edge of the little stage, so DeSena made several trips to our table. I thought a couple of times DeSena would trip during his dance spin and sprawl out over our table. Either that or DeSena would take M by the hand and try to get her to dance with him. She had a similar fear, plotting an escape route if DeSena got too friendly.

But the music and the food were good. The Deck is one of my favorite restaurant/bars in the area, with lots of charm. Although the waiter seemed to want to make sure we didn't have too much to drink, because once we finished our meal, we never saw him at our table again. I guess that's one way to keep patrons from being too drunk to drive.

In between the music sets, M and I got lots of opportunities to talk and had a very nice chat on the way back to our respective cars. It's very special to rediscover a friendship suspended for 15 years. I haven't laughed so much in a long time, and I've been reminded of things and people long lost to the cluttered cobwebs of time.

Palm Springs
Dining
Music
Friends

Liquid guilt

It's raining.

Again.

In Palm Springs.

This is definitely the wettest winter I've spent here, and this is the sixth one in the Coachella Valley for me. Although it does remind me of another wet El Niño year I spent up in the high desert.

But I'm tired of the rain this year, in spite of how green the hills and mountains are and the explosion of wildflowers that is beginning here.

The rain makes me feel guilty.

My roof leaks when it rains. Right near one of the fire sprinkler outlets in the hall outside my bedroom. I need to tell the landlord about the leak, but (and here is where the guilt comes in) my apartment is, um, well, it's a mess. And I would be embarrassed for the manager or maintenance guy or whomever to see that. So I need to clean before I call the manager.

I'm a terrible housekeeper. I have a high tolerance for clutter and a lack of skills, and interest, in household chores. Every time I start to clean I get distracted. I stop part way through. My attention wanes. I find something else to occupy my time and my mind. I procrastinate.

It might explain why I'm still single. Can't invite hot chicks over to the swinging bachelor pad with piles of newspapers scattered about. Stacks of mail cluttering the counters.

Yuck.

OK, maybe I'll tidy up a bit before bed. But I feel a cold coming on. Maybe it's best to rest now and clean in the morning. Yea, that's the ticket. And I'll have more energy too.

Unless I'm sicker tomorrow.

Weather
Palm Springs
Housework

Star gazing in the desert

It was a star-studded day, and evening, here in the desert. My friend, B, and I were on a mission today to do a little celebrity spotting at the Bob Hope Chrysler Classic. Neither of us are big golf fans, but we wanted to go out to the tournament and check it out, just because we could.

We ventured to PGA West in La Quinta to hobnob with the elite set. OK, mostly we went to people watch, including the characters in the gallery as well as the pros, amateurs and celebrities on the Arnold Palmer Private Course at PGA West.

Most of our time was spent along the 16th, 17th and 18th holes. Among the celebs gawked at were: Comedian George Lopez, actor Kurt Russell, former football player turned broadcaster Ahmad Rashad, current KISS guitarist Tommy Thayer, actor Joe Pesci, Houston Astros pitcher Roger Clemens and TV talk show host Carson Daly.

Afterward, B and I ran a few errands and sat around his apartment BSing before realizing we were both hungry. So we decided to have dinner. At B's suggestion we dined at a Mexican restaurant called El Mirasol on the edge of downtown Palm Springs. The food and conversation were good (and the margarita wasn't bad either), but the restaurant was crowded and loud. A sign of the popularity of the place, belying the somewhat ramshackle appearance of the place from the outside. It's really just a dive place serving good food at a good price. Can't go wrong with that.

We had thought our celebrity sightings were over for the day, but as we were walking through the outdoor patio on our way to the car, a familiar face was spotted at one of the outdoor tables. The face was familiar, because it belonged to former Bette Midler piano player, turned jingle-writer, turned soft-rock crooner Barry Manilow.

OK, yes, I was a Barry Manilow fan back in the day. My junior high cassette collection was dominated by make-up metal band KISS, and Barry Manilow. So, there is some irony to seeing a member of the band KISS and Manilow in the same day in my community (even if I didn't know Thayer was the name of KISS' guitarist. Ace Frehley I know. Thayer? Saw him in concert last year, but didn't know him from Joe Pesci's caddy).

B had to call his mom as we were walking to the car to tell her we had an encounter with Barry Manilow. The pressing question on B's mom's mind: What was Manilow eating? Sorry mom, that's intelligence we did not gather. We'll remember to check next time.

Excuse me Barry, is that the carne asada? And would you hum a few bars of "Mandy"? "Copa Cabana"? "Weekend in New England"? I used to be a big fan, well, way back before I, you know, grew some hair on my nuts. Enjoy your dinner. See ya around neighbor!

Celebrities
Entertainment
Palm Springs
Golf

Palm Springs myth

There is a commonly held belief that Palm Springs has a lot of golf courses.

And while it is true that there is golf in Palm Springs and a lot of people fly in to Palm Springs International Airport with their golf clubs in tow, the image of Palm Springs itself as a golf capital is factually wrong.

It is only correct in the way people say they are going to Los Angeles to go to Disneyland. Disneyland is in a city called Anaheim in Orange County. There is a lot of shit in Los Angeles and L.A. County, but Disneyland floats in a different bowl.

Maybe that's why Southern Californians are going batty over the professional baseball team based in Anaheim, which is changing its name to the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. But then again the University of California, Los Angeles football team plays in Pasadena. For that matter the New York Giants football team plays in East Rutherford, N.J.

Most of what the outside world knows as Palm Springs isn't Palm Springs. There are nine cities and some unincorporated communities in this greater community generally known as the Coachella Valley. Palm Springs has about 42,000 people living in it. The greater valley has more like 350,000 people, and swells to about a half million during the winter months. Palm Springs may have the name that people know, but it's a small part of the valley. Palm Springs is just a suburb really.

But there are a lot of golf courses in the Coachella Valley -- 116 at present, with five more under construction. That's a lot of golf courses.

And yes, a lot of people play golf. But not everyone who lives on the beach surfs, and not everyone who lives here golfs. And not everyone who visits here golfs. If the truth were told, there probably is not enough demand to keep more than 120 golf courses buys with play here. Most golf courses really aren't about playing golf here at all. They are just very expensive landscaped parks for all the people who want to own homes on golf courses. That's why there are so many golf courses here. Very few of those 120-plus golf courses do not have housing lining the fairways.

The biggest golf event of the year here is currently going on, the Bob Hope Chrysler Classic, which is played on 4 different courses, none of which are in Palm Springs. In fact it is played on courses that are about as far away from Palm Springs as you can get and still be in the Coachella Valley.

This is the 6th Hope Classic I've been here for, but I've never actually gone to the event. That may change this weekend. A friend asked me to go with him to watch some of the tournament on Saturday. Neither of us care much about the golfers. Tiger isn't even here. But, we do want to go to do some celebrity watching. Maybe we'll get to see Samuel L. Jackson or Joe Pesci. Or maybe George Lopez or Roger Clemens or Cheech Marin.

It's either that or clean my apartment. Contrary to another popular Palm Springs myth, not everyone here has a maid. Some of us are the maids, or the busboys or the myriad other working stiff jobs that those people who live on golf courses think make their lives more convenient. Oh well, it's a living. And it's Palm Springs, unless it's Indio or Coachella or La Quinta or Palm Desert or....

Palm Springs
Golf
Celebrities