Let it snow let it snow let it snow

While I'm not a huge fan of the snow (I'm a super lousy skier and even worse snowboarder) and therefore am very happy that I live in Arizona, there are times of the year that I miss it. This is one of those times. I miss looking up from my front drive into the mountains, seeing the deer climbing down the ravines to the foothills, in search of some food. I miss waking up in the morning and going outside to shovel and build snow forts out of the 4 foot snow banks that the city plows left for us in front of our driveway. I miss driving in the snow (just a little). I miss ramming snow banks in Dave's yellow truck, spinning out on the road in our 82 honda civic. I miss the thousand plus time driving up Springville's Center Street, wondering if I would make it the whole way, or have to park somewhere below and hike the rest of the way up. I miss pulling inner tubes behind Josh's car in the high school parking lot (even though Will almost died). I miss BIZZING (I don't think I've even said that word for 10 years)!! I miss Snow Football and Snow ball fights. Sledding up left hand fork in Hobble Creek Canyon, or tubing down the Marriott Center lawn. But most of all, I miss waking up super early on Christmas morning, while it's still dark, and creeping into my living room, seeing the Christmas tree lit up and the reflection glowing in all of the large plate glass windows. Outside I can see the city sleeping, with the twinkling of lights under a blanket of fresh snow. There is something peaceful about snow. Much like watching the sunset on an ocean beach, with the crashing of the tides as your soundtrack or the roaring of a campfire beneath a star-filled night; there is a calming essence when you can look out on a fresh fallen snow from inside a warm house. Perhaps a cup of peppermint hot cocoa in your hands. These are some of the memories I am recalling as I ponder here this wonderful Christmas Eve Night. No matter where life takes us, we're never far from memories of family and friends...and home.

my Fontanini nativity story

Just for a little clarification before I begin.  One of my oldest Christmas memories is playing with the Nativity pieces in the living room of our North Sacramento home.  Those nativity pieces have been a part of Christmas up until I moved out of my parents house.  With my Mom and Dad being in Italy (where they purchased their first sets of Fontanini 24+ years ago), they decided to send the kids Fontanini pieces for Christmas.  But with my Mom, you can always count on something clever (and at times in my youth, cheesy) to go along with the gift.  You see, when you purchase Fontatnini from the store, it comes along with a story card, explaining the background of the character, complete with historically accurate facts for the time.  So my Mom, wanted us kids to choose a character and write stories about them.  Here is my first story.  It is not historically accurate.  That is my only disclaimer :)




"My Name is Reuben"

My name is Reuben. Strange things always seem to happen to me.  Once, when I was 12, my father came home fromwork with a dog.  It had been wanderingaround the streets of Bethlehem, looking for food.  My father is not what I would call adog person, so the fact that he even noticed the puppy, let alone the fact thathe brought it to me as a gift, is very strange indeed.  “It will teach you responsibility” he said tome.  I named my new pet Nero.  My parents asked why I chose a name of Romandescent for my dog, to which I had no real reply.  I just liked the name Nero.  Nero, did in fact, teach me responsibility,but not in the normal way one might expect.

My father was a tax collector in Bethlehem.  And while, he didn’t like Roman rule in ourcountry, he didn’t mind the paycheck and certain perks from being anattaché.  He always thought I would growup to be a civil servant as well, but it just didn’t seem that interesting tome.  My mother came from a family offarmers out in the country about Bethlehem. Thinking I needed an outlet to learn responsibility and hard work, myfather and mother sent me to shepherd apprentice with my mother’s brother.  Since I now had a herding dog, my father saidit was fate.  I think my father justwanted me and Nero out of the house, as this was his busiest time of theyear.  Thousands were coming intoBethlehem in the next few months to pay their taxes, and my father didn’t needan inattentive son and his mangy dog bothering him when he came home.

I had only been in the hills for a few nights when the“visitation” happened.  Some of the othershepherds hated being in the hills.  Theywould much rather be back on their farms with their families and a roof overtheir heads, but they said it was necessary to go and get the sheep to bringthem in for shearing.  I actuallypreferred the hills.  It was much lessengaging work.  Back on the farm, therewere so many chores to do, but out here, my main goal is to keep the sheeptogether and make sure they don’t wander off. Occasionally a coyote or two would have to be scared off, but generally,Nero took care of that and I spent my time laying down looking up at thestars.  It was on one such night, wheremy life changed forever.  I had justfallen asleep, when Nero woke me with repeated nudges to the back of myhead.  I sat up and looked around.  The sky was no longer dark, but instead atremendous light had taken its place. 

Fear shot through my body as the other Men in the camp alsoawakened to the alarming sight.  The fearwas soon replaced with pure astonishment as the Heavenly Being spoke to us,announcing the birth of a Savior.  As ifone Messenger wasn’t enough to get our attention, a multitude of beingsappeared, singing and praising God.  Asthe messengers disappeared and the light faded back into darkness, we were leftalone…(that last sentence reminds me of a song my forefather Joseph sang abouthis multi-colored coat.  He was verytalented).

There was little discussion over what to do next, as none inthe group were of a mind to ignore a heavenly visitation.  But, knowing that we all couldn’t go intoBethlehem to see this Savior and leave our flocks unattended, we decided toplay “nose goes” to decide who should stay behind.  The game is simple.  The last person to touch their nose in thegroup had to stay behind.  Jonathon wasthe unlucky one.  Figured thought, Healways lost “nose goes”.  Having decidedthe caretaker of the sheep, the rest of us went into town.

On the way into town, I recalled the things which themessenger said, wondering to myself why they would send us to a Manger to findthe Savior of the World.  I would’vethought the King of Kings would be born under more extravagantcircumstances.  After some searching, wefinally found the right stable. 

Upon entering the stable, those thoughts vanished.  In an everyday setting, a stable is loud,smelly, and dirty.  But this sceneprovided the complete opposite.  EvenNero stood at quiet attention, as if he was soaking in all around him.  I was doing the same thing.  I had seen many babies in my day, but nonethat captivated the room like this one did. I knew instantly that the stories I had been told all my life regardingthe prophecies to come, were going to be fulfilled by this tiny infant.  I stood for what must have been hours.   Upon leaving, none of us could contain ourastonishment.  We told everyone we met onthe way back to the countryside.  We weretelling everyone how grateful we were to witness such a miraculous event, allthe while Glorifying God.

In all my years, I’ve been counseled to be responsible inpreparation of becoming a man.  I’venever been excited for that time, and have often shied away from suchpreparations.  But seeing that infant inthe manger, and knowing the tremendous responsibilities that awaited him, Icould no longer avoid my own duties, as I had an acute and solidifyingknowledge that he would not avoid his.

 

16For behold, I, God, have ^asuffered these things for all, that they might not ^bsuffer if they would ^crepent;

17But if they would not repent they must ^asuffer even as I;

18Which ^asuffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremblebecause of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body andspirit—and would that I might ^bnot drink the bitter cup, and shrink—

19 Nevertheless,glory be to the Father, and I partook and ^afinished my preparations unto the children of men.

Doctrine and Covenants 19:16-19

Merry Christmas to all my Family and Friends! May this holiday season bring us all perspective on true meaning of the season.  As my Stake President said today in Conference "may we spend less this year and give more of ourselves".

 

Cheers!

A story about aging.

Gather 'round children, and let me recite a tale of when I thought i was still young...
Not too long ago, in fact, it was yesterday, I stopped by the Great Clips by my house on the way home from work for a haircut (as I've often done). The girl begins cutting my hair and starts making small talk (I've blogged before about the concept of barbershop gab, or salon prattle and the like and confessed then that I wasn't a great conversationalist during haircuts. It's like my kryptonite). The place was really busy this particular visit. It was close to an hour wait time for walk-ins. I used the great clips app to check in online as I was leaving work so I only waited 5 minutes once i got there.
She apologized for the wait and asked what I had been up to this fine day.
"Just getting off work" I answered.
"Oh really?? Do you always work Saturdays?"
"It really depends on business, but typically I work Saturdays so I can take Sunday off."
"Oh." She paused. "For church?"
"Yeah that's one of the reasons."
"Are you LDS?" She asked.
"...I am in fact." I replied.
"Oh good, I just realized that could have been awkward if you weren't. I am too."
"So do you have any kids?" She asked as she maneuvered her scissors around my scalp.
"I have a 4 year old son. That's the other reason I prefer Sundays off. I get to pick him up from his mom's on Sundays."
"Oh that's cool." She continued to artfully work around my cowlicks. A brief pause as she stepped away to check someone else in, and she returned to continue the cut. After a few minutes of back and forth about why I was divorced (yeah I know- this girl is cutting my hair and asking me for my life story at the same time-I don't know what to say), there was a brief pause. "So, are you dating anyone?" She inquired as she moved on to my neck line.
"I'm not." I answered, wondering if this conversation was sounding as strange to the others in the room as it did in my head.
"Why not? Just not interested?" She pressed on.
"No it's not that. I go to a family ward and I don't have a tremendous amount of time to devote to dating at this time, also I don't know many single LDS girls, so that combination results in being single right now." I could feel the eyes of the waiting patrons looking in our direction.
(And here is the kicker boys and girls)
"Why a family ward?" She asked. "Aren't there singles wards for older people?... I mean, not filled with 18 yr olds?" I could tell she added the last part to help sooth the zinger she inadvertently laid about the old folks.
"Yes, I believe there are." I thought about asking her how old she thought I was, but didn't want to set myself up for two wise-cracks in a row. 'Fool me once...' I thought to myself. "I'm a couple years from the 30 and over ward. So maybe ill check it out when they let me in."
I don't know if it was the shock that I was under 30 or what but I saw a concerned look on her face as she was finishing my neck line.
"I think I cut you. Sorry about that! You were right, you do have a lot of cowlicks!"
"It happens. Don't worry about it." I replied, thinking it was almost poetic justice to end the haircut and conversation on that note.

I'm not sure what happened for those 25 minutes but I did get a haircut. And also came away with the knowledge that I'm no longer 'young'. So mission accomplished I guess.

Some Pictures

It's true what they say "A Picture tells a thousand words".  In my experience, those words are typically "What is going on there??"

I was going through my pictures on my phone deciding which ones to delete (I'm trying to free up some space so I can purchase season three of Avatar: The Last Airbender.... For Blake of course)

I realized that there were several that I hadn't shared. So here's a little catch up:

Blake and I walked in the Children's Miracle Network 5k.  And when I say Blake and I walked, I actually mean Blake walked 1 block of the 5k, and I carried him the rest of the way.  I wish I had a picture of this, but when he gets tired and doesn't want to walk anymore, he bends over at the waist and lets his arms hang down in exhaustion.  It was a good time nonetheless, and despite Blake's aversion to walking, he still got a medal, which made him happy.

 

Last week, I went with some friends over to the Coyote's Ice Den for some Curling lessons.  Now, when I watched Curling during the most recent Winter Olympics, I specifically remember saying to myself "Not much of an athletic sport.  These people call themselves Olympians?"

The next day, both my quads, my hips, and my upper back were eating my words. The above left shows the furthest I can go without falling over.  But I'm nowhere near how low the veteran Curlers get.....Props to them.  We had a 45 minute lesson on the history of the game and some basic verbiage.  Then we spent an hour on the ice falling over, learning, and falling some more.  After that we concluded with an hour match.  We played "4 Ends" (basically 4 rounds).  A professional match goes 10 ends, and I'm not sure I could walk after doing 10 rounds, so I'm glad they only had us do 4.  The important thing is that we won 6-0.

The other night, I walked out of my room to go downstairs, and found Blake just laying there.  I didn't hear a loud noise, so I knew he hadn't fallen.  Plus he wasn't crying, so I was curious as to what he was doing.  When I asked him, he replied "I'm just taking a break".... well there you go.

Tis the Season... for Martinelli's!!!!

You can always tell when Fall is moving into Winter.  Days are shorter. Halloween decorations give way to Turkey's, Pilgrim's and Stalk's of multi-colored Maize.  Some select few are even playing Christmas music already.... which, I'm ok with actually.  But for me there are two things that really let me know that Winter is upon us.  College Basketball starts.  And grocery stores start displaying case upon case of Martinelli's Sparkling Cider!  (And the Multitude rejoiced)

You see, for many years, I've had an affection for Martinelli's Sparkling Cider (to be referenced as MSC for the remainder of this post).  Sparkling Apple, Apple-Cranberry, Peach, Mango, Grape, Raspberry, Wildberry, you name it.  Combine it with Apple and throw some bubbles in there and we're good to go. 

I remember celebrating my first Holiday Season in the Mission field.  I loaded up on Martinelli's.  It was comforting to me.  At night, after planning, I would sit, looking out into the cold Northern California Mountains, and sip som MSC while the Mormon Tabernacle Choir serenaded me with Christmas Hymns.

I also remember a time, not so long ago.... before I moved out of my Condo.  I had stopped by the store on my way home and picked up some Martinelli's.  Before I went to bed, I remembered I had told my sister I would record "Dear John" and put it on a dvd for her.  I came out of my room and went to the dvd player to check the disc before finalizing.  I started it at the beginning and then hit fast forward to ensure I got all of it.  while it was fast forwarding I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of MSC.  I didn't even turn the lights on in the front room-why bother, I was just going to be there a few minutes.  I just sat there, using an empty Cooler as a bench, watching a Cliff's Notes version of Dear John, while I downed a bottle of MSC.  Occasionally I would play it back at normal speeds just to make sure I got the audio... or to gain more understanding of what I was watching (It can be a confusing movie to watch in double time with no sound).  Below is a picture I just drew to help illustrate the scene.  I drew Channing Tatum in green because he was in the army, or marines or something.  The girl was blonde I think, so she's shown in yellow ( I don't know what's more sad about this story.  The fact that I knew Channing Tatum was in it, the fact I don't know the name of the girl that's in it, or the fact that I watched it in the dark, while sitting on a cooler and drinking a bottle of MSC?  Definitely not the latter.  Drinking the MSC was the best part).  the red box is the cooler.  the bottle next to me, is...well self-explanatory.  I drew squiggly black lines around to give the "dark room" feel.  my bedroom light is on, which provided the only light during this experience outside of the lights from the Screen.  In anticipation of my Oscar for set design, I'd like to thank Blake for letting me use his crayons.

So, Children, the moral of the story is this.  No matter where you are, or who you're with.  Things will always be better if you add some Martinelli's Sparkling Cider.

Time Machines aren't real

Let’s think about time travel. But less “Back to the Future” time travel, and more “Ebenezer Scrooge” time travel.  Think of yourself 10 years ago.  Imagine you are visiting an event in your life back then.  What kinds of things do you notice about your personality, your relationships with family, friends and loved ones?  What were the goals, and hopes, and dreams of your 10 year younger self?  Now picture yourself 10 years ago, visiting your current self.  What are the observations that the younger self makes regarding your current state?  Have goals been accomplished, have priorities changed at all, or are they mostly the same?

I venture that for some of us, both experiences may cause some slight depression (even if only upon seeing the clothing/hair styles our younger self was wearing 10 years ago). On the other hand, this self reflection, might cause us great joy. Perhaps we landed that dream job we had hoped for 10 years ago.  Perhaps our family or social relationships are exactly what we dreamed they would be. For some of us, we may be doing exactly what we thought we would be doing 10 years ago.  For some-maybe not. For some, life in 2012 is possibly even better than we thought it would be 10 years ago.   Regardless of our perception of what we thought the world would be like in 2012way back in 2002-and regardless of how much our 2012 self has lived up to what the 2002 self thought we would be-the reality is, there is a certain clarity that comes from examining how our goals and hopes and dreams change throughout the years.

Now you may be asking yourself, to what honor we owe this dimensionally diluted discourse. Has Ben started drinking? Has he come across an old bottle of percocets that may have expired back in 2005? The answer is no to both. Maybe it’s because it is the middle of October, and I feel like this year has gone by faster than years previous for some reason.  Maybe it’s because it is an election year.  Maybe it’s because the author has a four year old son that seems to grow up more and more every week, and his father just isn’t ready for it.  In the mission field, it’s common to have “companion inventory” in an effort to resolve issues, build a more efficient partnership, and ultimately a more successful companionship.  Often it becomes necessary to conduct a companionship inventory when the two missionaries no longer seem to be working in unison.  Perhaps distractions, or discouragement, or even misperceptions have caused them to lose focus on their shared goal. 

I think the philosophy of an “inventory” is quite sound.  Whether it is an inventory with your spouse or roommates, or friends, or even yourself, it is nice to occasionally recalibrate your compass, check your bearings , and identify areas that could use more of your focus. 

I encourage all of you to take inventory.  If you are having a hard time getting started, think of these questions:

“If my 2002 self could see my 2012 self, what is the first thing they would notice?”

“What does my 2012 self-want to see out of my 2022 self, ten years from now?”

Admittedly, this post is a little out of character for me.  If you were attracted to the catchy title, only to be let down by the lack of humorous quips you've no doubt come to expect from me, I apologize.  I assure you my soul searching, thought provoking posts are few and far between.  Mostly I leave that up to some of my friends, who are much better at it than I. 

4th of July festivities in So Cal

The following story really happened.  The names have not been changed to protect the innocent, but some names have been made up for characters in the story for which formal acquaintance was not made prior to the telling of said story.

Before I tell this story of Patriotic Courage, I need to fill you in on a little back story.  Some would say there is something wrong with me.  There is one thing I tend to do sometimes that some people find annoying.  I regularly give money to homeless people/vagrants/transients/ you name it. Along the same vein, I tend to pick up hitch hikers and will sometimes watch a strange man's bag at the airport if he asks me to, even though he is running really fast away from the bag as he's asking (ok, that last part hasn't actually happened, but I hope it doesn't because I will probably say 'yes').

I don't know what it is, and I've had these conversations with many friends, most of whom share the opinion that I'm crazy, and that I'm either a)being swindled b)putting my life in danger c)enabling a bad and possibly illegal habit, or all of the above.  (side note to "the back story" of the proceeding story that actually happened: I'm listening to iTunes right now and Total Eclipse of the Heart is playing.  Bonnie Tyler really nailed this one.  But it reminded me of a great YouTube clip titled "Total Eclipse of the Heart-Literal Version"  check it out, it's fantastic).

So, again, I'm not really sure why, but if someone, who appears less fortunate asks for a few dollars, something inside me can't say no.  And I can't lie and say I don't have any money.  Not because I'm against lying, which I am, but I also believe a white lie is sometimes better than the truth, and often employ this rule in my job, when speaking to guests, so it's not that I'm George Washington and the apple tree honest, but it's more of a self preservation kind of thing.  Lets say a homeless guy asks for some money, and I say "I'm sorry, I don't have any cash on me" and then this guy pulls a shiv of some sort and robs me.... well, if it turns out I didn't have cash, I'd like to think the guy is just going to take my wallet and leave.  But if I did happen to have cash, after I told him i didn't? well, then I imagine he's going to be so upset that I would have the nerve to be dishonest during a mugging that he would probably murder me.  So instead of lying, I just try to carry a few small bills and then I can give them a dollar or two and feel like I helped out in some small way, and ended up living thru the night.  Then I justify that if, this gentleman is indeed going to use my donation for some illegal, or immoral purpose, I just tell myself that it was only a couple bucks, and he's not going to get a lot of whatever illegal material he was hoping to procure. 

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm made of disposable cash, or that I run purposefully thru neighborhoods with high "Transient" population, making it rain dollar bills.  I'm not that generous.  It's just that if someone asks me, I have to do it.  And I have a really hard time ignoring them if they start to speak to me.... and believe me I try, but I can't do it.  I think it goes back to 10th grade when J.R. Savageau asked me if I would buy a Vicodin off of him for $5.  I had no need for the pill, I'm not exactly sure it was actually a Vicodin or not, but I couldn't say no, so I gave him five bucks, he gave me a pill (I've since been prescribed Vicodin for different injuries, and the pill he gave me looked nothing like the ones from the Pharmacy) and in turn, I walked to the nearest trash can and threw it away.  Weird I know.  I guess I could have just given him $5 and told him to keep his giant, supplement-like looking, Vicodin, so that he could sell it and make twice as much on that one pill, but again, I'm not an enabler.

Having established that there is apparently something wrong with me, lets move on to the story at hand:

I went to Ventura Beach over 4th of July weekend to visit my friend Amanda.  We spend the 3rd in Santa Barbara.  I was looking for the cast of PSYCH, hoping to be an extra in one of the scenes, since the show takes place in SB, but after some searching around and consulting with my friend GOOGLE, found out that PSYCH may "take place" in SB, but it's filmed in Vancouver.  I was disappointed with this, but it was still a great day trip.  We got some pretty sweet "patriotic gear" to wear on the 4th.

We drove down to LA Live the night of the 4th.  We could see some fireworks from the hotel, which was pretty awesome.  Even more so, since Amanda had a few pair of 3D glasses, that totally make the fireworks seem like they are coming right at you.  They provide all the exhilaration of being right next to the firework, without the downside of 2nd degree burns and smoke inhalation....

after the fireworks we decided to go hit the town in our sweet outfits.  I went downstairs and asked the concierge where we should go.  He gave a few options up in the financial district.  Before he got to me, I overheard him telling a nice couple from the UK to stay away from the east part of LA.  "if you get to Main street, you're too far east, and it's a little shady over there" he said to them.

After giving me a map, he sent us on our way.  We walked outside to get a cab and the Bellman asked where we were headed.  We said the "financial district" he looked a little puzzled at our destination choice but didn't say anything.  He hailed a cab and told the driver to take us to "Pershing square".

The cab driver was speaking angrily on the phone the duration of our ride (to be fair, he might not have been angry, it just sounded like that...does that give you a little idea of what our cab driver was like? I hope so, because if I go into further detail, it may come off as politically incorrect or racist).

The cab driver turns on 7th street and I see a few of the restaurants the concierge mentioned to us.  We pass those and the cab driver keeps driving east...(wait for it).  He's still talking on the phone and suddenly makes a right turn on a one way street.  Then he pulls over and asks us to get out.  Confused, we ask if this is Pershing Square? "no, Spring st.  the guy told me Spring street." 
"no, he told you Pershing Square.  Are we near Pershing Square?"
"yes, of course, it's back behind us, but this is a one way street"
"so if we walk up Spring, we'll find Pershing Square?"
"yes.  $7.50 please"
So we pay him, and step out onto the street.  Now I'm sure Spring (which is one block from Main street, just for the record) is a very nice street....during the day.  But at 9:30 at night, it was as if it had changed from a bustling street to "Spring Street Motel, minus the rooms.  Grab some sidewalk everyone, make yourselves comfortable!"

there were homeless people everywhere! I mean, to the point you had to watch where you stepped! So we started making a quick walk up Spring, towards what we thought was Pershing Square.  the homeless crowd got a little more dense, and a little more awake as we got further north.  During our walk, I'm looking at Google Maps on my phone and realize we're 2 blocks east of Pershing square and we're not exactly heading the right direction.  We decided to make a left at the next street.  We pass through several groups of people standing outside of various liquor stores, a few of the crowds talking to some ladies who were in the street and walking... street-walkers perhaps.... not really sure.

Keep in mind, this whole time we're wearing these outfits:

Not exactly Conspicuous.

As we're walking, I try to  look up the closest restaurant that the concierge recommended.  I see that Perch (a french bistro with a rooftop patio that the concierge said we could see fireworks from) is not too far, maybe 3 more blocks.  So we head there as quickly as we could, without appearing totally obvious that we were running possibly for our lives..  We get to where the google map says the restaurant should be, but can't find a sign or even a building that looks like it's been inhabited in the past 4 years...  At this moment a fairly large gentleman starts coming down the sidewalk toward us, at a fairly deliberate pace.  This is somewhat disconcerting, so Amanda makes a quick decision to cross the street.  We didn't have a little green man telling us it was ok to walk, but apparently Amanda had no regard for the jay walking laws in California, so we crossed.  Which eluded the large man, who, as he got closer, seemed to be talking to himself, only it was more like a lowered voice yell.  You know that voice when you are trying to get your kid to behave in a public setting and you don't want to speak too loudly to draw attention, but you want to make sure the kid gets the sense of urgency in your voice?  yeah, that's what this guy was doing, but to himself.

We crossed safely, and without any sort of ticket (mainly because, although we saw many police cruisers go up and down each of the streets we were on, not one of them seemed the slightest bit interested in stopping in that neighborhood unless it was an absolute emergency.

We decided the safest bet would be to walk back down to 7th street which seemed to have more people walking around, and more people means more witnesses, and I'm always a fan of that.  On our way down to 7th what do we find? you guessed it 'Pershing Square'! it was no where near where the cab driver said it was, but now that I think of it, he must have got confused and upon realizing where he was, decided to "cut bait" and get out of there as soon as possible.  So I can't really blame him I guess... at least, that's what I tell myself to keep the rage of his abandoning us from creeping up.  Pershing Square seems like it would be pretty cool...during the day (This daytime appeal seems to be popular with this part of town).  there was a small stage set up in the middle of the square with rows of chairs still set as well.  but whatever event/concert they held there had been concluded several hours before, because several transients had already moved into the square for the night.  we cut through on our way to 7th and upon reaching our designated street, made a right (heading west....like the setting sun, we too, were looking for some refuge along the western shores of safety and security).  because there were more tourists still up and moving on 7th street, more of the transients were also awake.  as we walked down the sidewalk we came up on a lady that (and this is a source of disagreement between Amanda and myself) had a terrible limp.  Now, Amanda maintains that this lady started limping the moment she saw us coming up behind her, but I think she was limping the whole time.  Either way it was very convincing.  Amanda passes her on the right, and as I go to follow, I hear the woman cry out "can you help me out? anything would help!"... She got me.  up to this point no one else had actually called out for help.  So I stopped and reached in my pocket.  Suddenly I got a sick feeling.  I remembered that I got some cash out of the ATM at the hotel, but I didn't get smaller change from the desk, so I only had a couple $20's in cash.  Typically when I travel, I keep some cash in one pocket, my main credit and debit cards along with my drivers license in another pocket, and my wallet in yet another pocket.  This way, if I'm robbed, I can give them my wallet, and not worry about losing the important stuff...  (I have a problem I know, but this is the stuff I think about...how to get through a mugging with the least amount of collateral damage).

Since I had already reached into my pocket, there was no turning back.  It's not like I could pull my hand back out and give the lady...a high five?  that wouldn't do.  that would just make her mad, and though I'm sure I could outrun her with that terrible limp she had, it just felt wrong, so I handed her the $20 and turned to catch up to Amanda (who had conveniently just kept walking as if nothing had happened.  She's well adjusted to "ignoring peddlers and the like".  I could not believe I gave that lady $20!? I felt kind of sick about it, but she was super grateful.  I could hear her muttering some sort of thank you as I hurried to catch up, but I kind of wanted to yell out to all the other vagrants, that "the old lady with the limp had all my money, so ask her if you want anything..." but I thought that may cause some in-fighting amongst the 'street people' (I'm just trying to think of different ways to describe them, as I'm not sure exactly what the PC term is, and to keep calling them homeless, may sound a bit harsh...The next time I see one of them, I'll have to ask what they prefer to be referred to as).

at this point, we have been walking for roughly 14 blocks, and we were hungry.  So we just chose the next restaurant we saw and went in.  It was a Japanese place.  Sushi on the 4th of July? what could be more American than that?  just in case you forgot, we walked into the Sushi place wearing this:

After Sushi, we decided to just walk back to the hotel.  Amanda was fairly certain the direction we needed to go, so we started walking again.  As we walked south toward the hotel, we came across two men and a lady sitting at a bus stop.  The two guys asked us if we knew where The Mayan was.  we said no.  The guys were from Sydney and this was their last night in LA and they were looking to go dancing.  They said some other guy that had walked past a few minutes earlier had recommended they go to The Mayan.  The girl was from San Diego, and was wearing heels.  From the looks of things, she had had a long night.  After consulting google maps again, we saw that The Mayan wasn't terribly far, although it was back toward the east part of town and we weren't thrilled about that.  The guys from Sydney asked if we wanted to go with them, and we said yes of course, because anytime you can walk to a shady part of town to a dance club that some stranger recommended to two foreign guys and a girl from San Diego that you just met, you gotta do it right? Right.  So we started the walk.  Just for a visual reference, the red pin is The Mayan and the purple pin is where we were.

you can barely see it, but beneath the red pin are the words "The Mayan" and a picture of a martini glass, which one would assume meant a bar, and, specifically for these Travelers from Down Under, a dance floor of some sort.  I only point this out as a foreshadowing of sorts, we'll get back to it.

So, we walk down Flower and turn left on Olympic.  the San Diego chick is having a hard time with the heels, so she slows down a bit and one of the Aussie's stays behind with her.  In my mind, I'm thinking this could be a trap and I'm immediately thinking of our exit strategy, should things go south.  We start talking with the other guy, and exchange pleasantries of why we're all in LA that night.  We tell him what we've heard about going past Main Street, and he agrees we shouldn't do it because, as he puts it "when Americans tell you not to go somewhere because it's shady, you better not do it...because you guys have guns and stuff."  I thought it was a very interesting comment he made.  To me, Sydney would seem just as scary in parts as LA is (that statement is based entirely off of TV and speculation, being that I've never been to make my own assessment).  However, this gentleman (I'm going to call him Scott from now on, mainly because it's easier, and I don't remember ever getting his actual name).  So Scott, told us a little about Sydney, and how, over a week or two, you could visit most every part of town and then you'd be bored after that.  After that glowing description, I've crossed Sydney off of my bucket list.
We get down to Hill street and we look down the street toward where the map says The Mayan is, and we see a giant building with "The Mayan Theater" written on it. If this building has been occupied in the last 5 years, it doesn't look like it.  At least not in the dark, and not from the outside.  by this time we were half a block ahead of San Diego and Aussie #2.  Aussie 2 yells up to Scott (I don't know why I named one and distinguished the other with a number, just go with it) "is it up there mate? (he really said mate, I'm not making it up.  turns out they really call each other that, and it's not something Hollywood thought up for the Crocodile Dundee Series).  Scott yelled back that we found it, sort of. then Amanda yelled back that it doesn't seem like a dance club and out of no where a semi drunk guy who had been walking past us, turns around and says "That Place isn't open! Haha!" Which I thought was sort of uncalled for on his part.  we cross the street to get a closer look at what I could only imagine was a theater in some Stephen King novel.  San Diego sits down on a bus stop bench and pulls out her phone.  She's calling a cab to take them to Sunset Blvd.  Scott still thinks this is the right place, because, after all, a random stranger told them this was a great place (Are all Aussies this trusting? I kind of like their childlike gullibility....and their accent).  Amanda and I volunteer to walk down to the end of the block to see if anything else is down that way.  We worked out a signal system with Scott.  If there was something promising down at the end of the block, we would waive our hands above our heads (as if we were landing an airplane).  if there was nothing down there we would wave our hands down by our waste, like a referee signaling a missed field goal.  we walk down to the end of the block, and not only is there no promising dancing to be had at that end of the block, it was perhaps one of the scariest looking neighborhoods I've ever seen at night.  It was one of those streets that you look at, and get a chill down your neck just thinking about the self-wetting reaction you would have if you had to walk down that street by yourself.  as we turn toward the other three up the block and vehemently waived our hands in the failed field goal manner, we noticed a man coming up on us, so we started to briskly walk back toward the group.  Still in my mind, I wasn't sure if these guys were planning on killing us, but I thought I'd rather die at the hands of someone with a cool accent than the nefarious looking character following us up the street.  he had a chain attached to his wallet, and it made an ominous sound as he walked behind us.  I recalled how  all the kids with chains on their wallets back in Jr. High School, and how I didn't remember this noise coming from any of them when they walked.  Then I figured that this guy must really have need of this chain wallet as opposed to a fashion statement, and so the sound is much more purposeful...

When we got back to the group they had ordered the cab and were waiting.  They asked if we wanted to go to Sunset with them, but at this point, we decided to head back to the hotel.  We parted ways with a hearty good luck, and made our way back to LA Live.

On the way back we passed no less than 2 different clubs that could have fulfilled the purpose our out of town friends were looking to fulfill, which we thought was both ironic and pretty sad (mainly because that girl from San Diego's feet must have been killing her by this time).

The next morning we decided to go to Venice Beach.  We drove down and parked, and started walking down the boardwalk.  We saw some 5 "weed doctor" tents.  I commented at how different it must be to walk the boardwalk now, as opposed to a few years ago before Marijuana was legalized.  I mean, I'm sure there were still people smoking weed on the boardwalk before, but they had to be much more discreet, since there are a fair amount of police officers on bikes down there.  Now, though, some guys were smoking right in front of a pair of policmen without so much as a second thought... very interesting.  The boarwalk was everything I had hoped it would be...in terms of people watching anyway.  So many great photo opportunities, but I was too nervous to take my video camera out from my pocket to film some of the freak shows there were out there.  we walked thru a group of guys who were blasting hip hop on a boombox, and one of them stopped me.  "bro, you want to listen to some music? I'm an up and coming rapper, and this CD has 15 of my tracks.  It's free.  I just ask for a small donation."
"oh ya? this is you on this cd?"
"Yeah man, 15 tracks i've laid down.  I hope you enjoy, here let me sign this cd"
I had broken down some smaller bills before we checked out of the hotel, so I was prepared this time.  I pulled a $5 bill out of my pocket.
"Here you go man"
"Aah, thanks man, but we're asking for $10 if you can spare it, help a 'G' out..."
"sorry, $5 is all I've allotted myself for new cd's today"
That's really what I said.... I didn't want to say that was all I had (the reasons we've gone over previously), so that's what I came up with on the spot.

He was ok with the $5, but I could tell he was regretting signing the cd for such a pitiful donation.  right when I finished with him, another guy tried to get me to donate for his cd, but I stayed firm and told him I could only buy one up and coming album today...  Looking around, I found Amanda had made a bee line for a vendor cart and was perusing some hand bags in order to look busy so no one would approach her.  Once I caught up, we kept moving, only after Amanda told me that I was a sucker and should have said no.

I made it down the rest of the boardwalk without giving any more money away, which I counted as a positive.  Towards the end of the boardwalk we saw the guy in roller skates that is seen on tons of movies (Fletch comes to mind right away).  It was awesome.

The rest of the day was spent driving down Rodeo Drive, up into Beverly Hills and then over to Hollywood.

All in all, our 4th of July didn't go as planned, but it did provide some fantastic memories.  I can say they're fantastic now, because we didn't die, or contract any communicable diseases from any transients, which made it a successful trip!
Can't wait for next year's Independence Day!

Out of commission

So, p90x will have to be put on the back burner for a little while. I had a mishap during basketball. Because of that, I'm now sporting some shiny new crutches. After I got home from urgent care I looked through the p90x manual to see if there were any crutch assisted exercises, but alas, there weren't. Even though it's been almost 7 years since another basketball related injury relegated me to crutches for 6 weeks, 7 years was not long enough. I hate crutches! I think for this go around, I'll rent a rascal scooter instead

The thing is....

ok, so the weirdest thing happened... I put in the plyometrics dvd, and was once again warming up.  and in the middle of the warm up, Tony says "oh by the way, you don't want to do plyometrics within at least an hour of eating".... well, I just happened to have had dinner about 30 minutes prior to putting in the dvd.  And who am I to tell Tony he's wrong?? So, I had no choice but to  delay my plyometrics session until another day.... maybe tomorrow.
Plus, Anchorman was on, and I love that show.  What? did you think this was going to be all about progress and shedding unwanted pounds while at the same time developing a rock hard self esteem, and coming to realize that who I am is acceptable and I shouldn't worry about what society thinks? If so, you really don't know me that well.  For those that do know me, they expect to see a few of these types of posts along the way.  plus, where's the humor in reading a blog about how awesome I am at everything I do, and P90x is no exception?  exactly.

Day 1: shoulders and back...and throw up

You know you're in trouble when you get winded during the warm up to the actual exercise... But that's precisely what happened on day one. After I took a 30 second break prior to beginning any of the actual work, I was ready to roll. Tony kept saying to set goals for each set. All of the people on the video were doing sets of 25 or 30. I set goals a little further down the scale. Mine were goals like: 5 or 8 or "just do as many as u can without dying". I made it all the way thru the first round of exercises and half way thru the second when suddenly, all the water that I had consumed during the workout seemed to immediately want to exit my body thru my mouth... After the water exited as planned, I decided that was enough for day one... I texted Dave Walker to ask how many times I should expect to puke after a p90x workout. He said something to the affect of "for you, 5 or 6". So at least I have a measuring stick to go by. Tonight is plyometrics... I hear it's "intense". Why am I surprised? Well, here we go.

New thing called P90x

So, I don't know if you've heard gang, but there's this new exercise program out called P90x. What's that? It's been out for quite some time now?? Everyone's heard of it? Oh.... Well I guess I'll skip the back story then. If, for some reason, you are unfamiliar, you can look it up on Wikipedia. Anyway, so I've recently decided to give it a try. And I thought, 'hey, why not blog about my P90x journey?'. So that's just what I'm going to do. I got my hands on the DVDs a couple days ago. I was told it would be helpful to get a pull up bar, so I picked up one of those tonight. This was the original plan: come home, put together the pull up bar, watch the intro video and then do the first exercise. This is how it played out: came home, listened to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack while i watched Conan with subtitles. Then I put together the pull up bar while I watched some Roadhouse. After completion of the pull up bar, I went to "test it". Quick side note: senior year of high school and the summer after graduation, I was in the best shape of my life and still could only do 7 or 8 pull ups....I don't know what it is but I'm horrible at them. I think its due to one of two reasons. Either my arms are just too long or I'm just incredibly weak...neither is outside the realm of possibility. Anyway, I just wanted to get that story out there before I continue with the events of the evening. So I proceed to the door jam and mount the bar. I grip the bar and start to slowly apply all my weight. I hear a slight creak in the door molding, which doesn't lift my spirits in the slightest. Once I'm assured I'm not going to break the doorway or the bar, I start to pound out 5 or 6 pull ups...just for a warm up I tell myself... The only problem is, I'm struggling just to get one. I did eventually get my chin above the bar, but it seemed to take all my remaining energy just to get that one. So I dropped down and returned to the couch to look over the instruction guide that came with the bar. There are diagrams and written steps, but no "trouble shooting guide for fat guys". That must be in the online catalog...oh well, that was enough for one evening and I haven't even started the actual P90x. This could end up being P205x. Before retiring to my room I did do 2 sets of curls with the 15lb dumbells I bought along with the bar- thinking that would make me feel a little better about myself, but alas...it didn't work. My spirits are dampened but not broken...tomorrow is another day and when, as the saying goes, 'the real work begins'....

Where was I?....

Occasionally, when I have to drop Blake off in the West Valley, we'll stay out on that side of town the night before to avoid traffic. We will stay in the Residence Inn, or the Springhill Suites out by the football stadium (at which time, Blake will mention that he wants me to play a game in that stadium... ah, son, that ship has sailed :).

He loves staying in hotels. He always refers to those two properties as "his hotel". He also likes it when I take him to my work or "daddy's hotel". He loves showing off in front of my co-workers. The other day he asked for me to take him to "my hotel" and I obliged. On my desk, there is a cup with several fake mustaches (upon typing this last sentence, it sounds very strange out of context...). Blake immediately grabbed one and put it up to his face. He then ran into the office where the phone operators are, and modeled his new mustache for them. We walked up toward the pool to get a smoothie (Yes, I sometimes bribe my son to behave with refreshing ice cool treats, so sue me). We stopped by the waterfall for a photo op.

On the walk back from the pool to the lobby, we would stop intermittently so I could give him a drink of the smoothie. He was busy telling me a story about the water features that run through the gardens behind the lobby when I tried to offer him another sip.

"Daddy, lets not drink right now, I'm telling you a story".

Not many things will keep my son from taking full advantage of consuming a nice treat, so this was a little shocking to me, but he was determined to let me know what was going on in his mind with these streams running down the hill.

I have to hand it to him though. He definitely inherited the gift of gab.