Storytime

For the past 3 1/2 years, I have been telling bedtime stories to my son. sometimes they involve things he has seen during the day, sometimes people he knows, or sometimes just pure fantastical riffing.

with the extra time, sunday is the best day for stories, and last night was a pretty good one. the tale involved a family of fish -- a rotund dad, a squeaky mom, 20 babies, and a skinny relative fish from deep in new jersey -- in essence, my family to a tee.

these fish swam around and discovered an anchor and a boat captained by my 13 year old and 8 year old nephews, who love fishing and managed to land the dad and the jersey fish onboard and then didn't quite know what to do next. so the relative started talking (in only the way a new jersey relative can) and the nephews were so taken back by the sight of the fat and skinny talking fish noodling their way back in the water that they threw them back and powered back to shore.

at the end of such stories, my son usually has a drink of milk, closes his eyes while rubbing the label of his blankie against his face, and drifts off to sleep as Gorillaz "Demon Days Live" plays in the background.

but last night -- maybe it was the juice -- or maybe he's just growing up, last night he launched into a story of his own about a monkey in a bathing suit and then another about Crazy Frog taking off his helmet and playing in a football game. it was really wonderful to watch his little mind coming up with ideas, mimicking the way i told stories and adding his own little flairs that can only come from being a totally open, developing self.

Tipping

Knowing that the US economy is heading into what will probably be a not so happy spill (thought I will be buying heavily in a while), and having Esther Dyson tell me that we may be on the tail side of global social and economic domination, I have to think about what effects this might have on our country and what can be done about it.

It's very easy to take news of stock market woes or loss of status emotionally and cry "the sky is falling." Some people I know have fled to countries like Fiji, Costa Rica, the UK and Canada, but I'm not ready to do something like that. I enjoy it here too much at the moment.

I used to like Jay Leno and Dennis Miller and some other comics who were really funny. Then they became political and Republican rah-rah boys which totally turned me off. And, no, this isn't a "I hate Bush" moment so everyone who speaks highly of him in light of what actually happened is crap -- I find Arianna Huffington equally disturbing on the other side, but maybe her unending drawl has something to do with it.

But though I might not agree with the way they attack, I do think there is some validity in their message. Basically, what Leno and Miller (now that's an act) profess, along with others, is that we are a nation of brats who sit on the sideline (or move out of the country) and complain about what is going on instead of actually doing something about it. There is a sense of entitlement and lax acceptance -- a priviliged passivity.

But how does this affect me? I am an active guy. I like to do things to change my world. I take notice.

My new morning ritual (after exercise, a moment of quiet, playing with my son and scooting to work)involves getting a cup of coffee at my new favorite hangout around the corner from my office. It is quiet before the 3rd Street Promenade crowd works in and I can catch up with some other people who have offices nearby.

Now I have been going there for 2 weeks or so, and, even though I only go in and get a cup of coffee, I always leave a nice tip in the jar at the register. And there's a sign on the jar that says "Thanks! We Really Appreciate It!"

But everyday I throw my change in there for a person who pulls a lever on an urn, I don't get any indication from the people who work there that they really do appreciate it.

And this place is not alone. It seems that the tip jar has been popping up everywhere recently, for such crazy things as dry cleaning and hardware. Now I understand that these people don't make a lot and it's natural to move the money around in a tax free way, but the idea of a "Bonus" for job well done is completely out of the window when nobody actually says thank you.

So this morning, after the woman got my coffee and gave me my change, I stood there, and without losing contact with her eyes, I dropped the change in the jar, making sure that it made a nice clank (quarters work best and pennys suck). She stood there, looking at me and then looking away, like I was some sort of werido -- which I am, but she didn't get it, She finally managed a smile, the kind of smile that goes along with a "Have a Nice Day"" nametag, and I walked away with my cup o' Joe.

Maybe Esther and Leno and Miller are right (still a good duo!). Maybe we are on the other side.

Thanks for reading.

Mixing Starchaphores

So I was making dinner the other night....

Nothing fancy, just some iron skillet Habanero and Green Chile Chicken sausage and lemon garlic braised brussels sprouts (yes, brussels actually DOES have an "s" on the end -- who knew!) and I thought that some hull-on, red rice that I picked up at the Thai market would go well with all this. And since this was supposed to be a simple meal, I thought I would forego the whole "What can I do with rice today" internal conflict/conversation that plagues my every brush with the rice cooker and, instead, opened the fridge, closed my eyes, and grabbed the first thing I laid hands on.

I picked well.

San Marzano Marinara sauce is the best jarred sauce I have tasted, and smothered on top of the rice and the sausage and sprouts on top just made this simple meal RFG.

Summer's Last Stand

I walked into a staples this morning and came face-to-face with the reality that the summer is just about over, even though, here in Los Angeles, the hot season doesn't usually get cooking until September.

Staples is a strange concept to begin with. The whole idea of a massive store dedicated to probably THE most boring things for sale in the world (office supplies) is sort of like opening a shop dedicated to lovers of enemas; I don't mean that in a crude way -- I guess everybody has their thing.

But there's also something sexy about Staples. Even though I might go in there when my toner runs low or I need a new 50 pack of purple post-it notes, I always end up walking the aisles for a few minutes to see if there's something else I might want or not need.

Oh yeah, back to my point. Today was different. I needed envelopes and some other stuff, but on my sojourn through the aisles, I saw a bunch of mothers and their depressed pre-teen kids deciding between the Spongebob and Lightning McQueen backpacks. And it hit me like a whole frozen side beef -- that almost primordial feeling of dread and general unease that I felt every August growing up when the summer was nearly over. No more dragging Greg Neuwirth behind the Honda Z50 in a shopping cart (really fun turns -- for me); no more hanging out with friends at Marineland or Pepe's Kartland; no more trips to Busch Gardens amusement park, where you could see wild parrots AND take a monorail tour of a beer factory (though I got to hand it to my mother -- when she would drop my friends and I off at the main gate, she would tell us how important it was that we be back there at 3PM, but she never told us NOT to drink beer).

No, the end of summer stationary run meant that very soon there would be haircuts and homework, and, soon after that, letters sent home about my aversion to both. Basically, the stationary run was the end of living.

So today, I stood in line behind some dour teenagers who looked like someone had sucked all the blood out of their face With my envelopes and dry erase markers in hand, I happened to look down at one of the Staples Easy Buttons, which, at $4.99 has to be one of the most upsetting side-effects of consumerism gone wild. It's a red button that replays a message, that's all it does. A red button. $4.99.

Anyway, for that moment, I went past reality to Lou's Fantasyland, where I imagined that the Easy Button might actually be a way for the good people of teendom to go back in time to the beginning of summer, when there were months of easy days, freedom and Slush Puppies.

And then, smiling, I realized that I didn't have to go back to school, and I wished Staples sold beer.

Vacation

It has been way too long since I've taken a vacation and way too long since I have posted. I suppose both are similar because they require setting aside time to stop and reflect. Anyways, the family and I have spent the last 2 weeks here in a rented house on the quiet side of Nantucket Island, swimming in the warm Atlantic, taking long walks along the sandy beaches, and getting completely lost on the 14 odd-square miles of unmarked roads. I faintly remember visiting here when I was a kid, but I am still amazed how they have somehow been able to keep the charm and beauty of this place. Unlike so many other places in the world where development has lead to a hodgepodge amalgamation of styles and ego expressions, here everything is the same -- same side-shingeled grey houses, same wooden stairways leading down to empty beaches.

The only part of the island that pisses me off a little bit is Nantucket Town. Sure, it's beautiful with cobble-stone streets and multi-generational family pharmacies like Cogndon's with soda counters where you can get chicken salad sandwiches or a root beer float while a Nantucket policeman walks Main Street with his starched shirt and black cap. It is as if though Walt Disney walked this Main Street when he was planning Disneyland. In fact, the number of families, white families, in Nantucket Center reminds me of the Magic Kingdom without Mickey.

But further out of town, there are some beautiful sites, like the Nantucket Wind/Grist mill and the 3 majestic lighthouses on the island. Food here varies from good to great. You can get pub food at the 1840's The Brotherhood of Thieves or go out to Bartlett's Farm, for some great herbs and greens straight from the fields.

But my favorite place on the island is Nantucket Seafood. The wife and I were looking for some lobster rolls on this island and walked into this shop with no seating. All you see is a display counter and a big window looking into a cutting room with huge fish being prepped. The rolls were over-priced and served on a kaiser roll instead of the normal hot-dog bun, so it took away a bit of the shine, but we had some marinated blue-fin tuna, mako, and mahi-mahi that my bro cooked on the BBQ and they were amazing.

A couple of days before, my nephew had caught a bluefish while surf-casting. I threw it on the grill with some ginger and salt, and it was good, but Nantucket Seafood makes a bluefish pate that is incredible.

So there's my update, from the center of the white world. I've got to go now and get my lime green shorts.