I'm exceptionally artistic!

Find your soul type at kelly.moranweb.com.


Right, like this is totally surprising.

'Cos No One Listens To Techno

OK, the title isn't apropos of anything. My buddy just bought the new Eminem album and he blasted "Without Me" in his Corvette from Westwood to Santa Monica.

Anyway, sheesh, yes I've been lax on the blog of late, but I've gone out two nights in a row, taking a breather tonight because tomorrow I head down to OC for more socializing.

Sooooooooo, there's part of me that's happy I had a decent date on Wednesday night (drinks and dinner down in Santa Monica--she laughed at almost everything I said, no smoochie boochie but I did get her cell number), and there's part of me that feels a bit like a putz for being happy I had a decent date. The mass of men lead lives with plenty o' decent dates so decent dates are no biggie, probably about as fulfilling as finding a dime on the street. Thus, me feeling rather good about one single date makes me feel like the Corky of dating. "I tog doo a gul, yay!" (I know, I'm going to hell for that comment, but at least all my friends will be there.)

Last night, I caught the sneak preview of The Bourne Identity (man it's good to be back in Westwood) with a buddy of mine. Afterwards, we met up with another pal at Maloney's--better than average college sports bar. The twenty-two-year old sweetie of a brunette server commented that I looked younger than thirty, and not in an "I better get more than a buck a drink tip" kiss ass of a way. My pals and I got in a rather serious short (and very atypical of L.A.) conversation with her about what it was like turning thirty and relationships when you hit thirty. She was worried about not being married by the time she was thirty (no chance of that happening, not with those looks and that personality). Then we headed over to Santa Monica to meet some more pals. I paid $10 to enter into a bar that, although had women which is light years ahead of Silicon Valley bars, was heavily weighted toward men. We blew that pop stand. Unfortunately, having not gone out a whole lot up north, I was till building up my party legs. I cut out early from the Circle Bar, which was too bad because two attractive women (more Gap wholesome college quality as opposed to Girls Gone Wild skank on one end or Victoria Secrets gloss quality on the other) were all over each other on the dance floor. I just was flat out beat.

So, more fun and excitement in the past two nights than a whole month in Silicon Valley. I'm bushed.

Feng Shui: The Movie

How's this for a weird dream: I was nominated to be a feng shui master, but if I accepted, I would have to stay in the feng shui palace for the rest of my life. The palace was at the edge of a lake surrounded by tall, jagged mountains. The guide gave me a tour of the palace, which was done in a contemporary Frank Lloyd Wright style with lots of meeting and meditation rooms. I thought it wouldn't be too bad living here. Then the guide gave me a tour of the surrounding area to remind me what I'd miss if I accepted the position. We travelled via motorboat along the lake, then onto the river rapids that flowed into the lake. I was struck by how high and how beautiful the mountains were.

Golden Lights

In the last two weeks I've been in Lalaland, I've gone out and/or hung out with friends more than I did in a month period up in Silicon Valley. I've talked to two additional legal recruiting services. I've had one dream totally collapse but another one potentially begin. Shoot, I've kinda been a busy little bugger, haven't I?

Anyway, I don't really have much to write today, but I figure I need to blog to keep in shape. I've been rather (and by "rather," I mean abso-fucking-lutely) lax about writing. Shame on me! Here goes another random stream of conscience sequence of text.

More evidence that the universe is conspiring to remind me how much of a chork (Chinese Dork) I am: Back as a first year law student, I had a huge friggin' crush on a woman in my section--petite and slender, black hair and huge anime eyes. Not a smart thing, having a crush on someone in your section of only 20 students, but of course these things aren't guided by intellect. There was much awkwardness which eventually blew over. So, my pal tells me he's temping at the firm 1L Crush is working at (stupid dangling participle). Oh yeah, 1L Crush is a friend of Mutual L.A. Chick friend. And my pal plans on asking 1L Crush if she knows L.A. Chick (1L Crush used to work at L.A. Chick's firm).

More evidence that maybe I'm not the unluckiest guy in the world: So to say the legal market is tough these days is just like saying the Battle of the Somme was a minor skirmish. Getting all these rejections is tough on the ego. But there are hundreds of lawyers looking for a job--and they don't have an excuse of writing a novel nor do they have some nice stash to keep them going for a year and a half.

More evidence that I'm friggin' nuts: Last night's dream included a huge earthquake, a cross country trip with my parents, a graphic prison riot, and the girl I love falling for another guy.

You're ENVY! You want everything that everyone else has. Nothing's good enough for you, and sometimes even YOU aren't good enough. You're represented by the color green.

Hallelujah

So I buy my favorite brand of scotch, Oban, because hell, I might as well do something that makes me happy. I read on one of my favorite blogs that the blogger is headed to Oban General Hospital to visit the sick and unwell while I'm sipping my scotch. I was listening to Jeff Buckley's Grace earlier this afternoon, and Jeff Buckley's cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" plays on the background of C.J.'s bodyguard getting shot to death on West Wing. More noise.

You Just Haven't Earned It Yet Baby

...Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand Scenario 4 is the winner!!! Well that was quick and painful. "Um, I'm not sure if this is supposed to be a romantic thing, but I have a boyfriend." "Oh, well I'll let you get back to work then." Hey, at least there were no awkward pauses (and it was via the phone, local call, no toll charges).

I'm reminded of one of Homer Simpson's more inspired outbursts--"Why must everything I do end in failure!"

Replicant

I received an invoice from Sprint PCS for cell phone service addressed to my old digs. So here's the thing--I don't own a cell phone. Dun dun dah!!! And Sprint PCS's service line is a Catch-22. In order to talk to a customer service representative, you have to enter that last 4 digits of your social security number. And lo and behold, the dude who set up service under my name didn't use my social (which I certainly a blessing in the larger scheme of things). So I had to go through 5 rounds of "Please enter the last four digits of your social security number--that is an invalid number" before I was finally shunted off to an actual person. The representative was actually a friendly guy and typed in a fraud report ("You need to call back seven to ten business days"), but then he said "Thank you for using Sprint PCS." I know it's simply a knee-jerk reaction on his part, but I nearly said, "Dude, but I don't use Sprint PCS."

Shudder

One item did get messed up during the move--my computer monitor. There are ghostly horizontal flickerings that move from the top of the monitor to the bottom. They're the type of flickerings that would seem pregnant with sinister meaning to schizophrenics and conspiracy theorists.

Rez/Cowgirl

OK, so I've been busy unpacking boxes--that's my excuse for not blogging in the last 3 days and I'm sticking with it.

So I did call L.A. Chick on Wednesday, and either 1) a scenario I didn't envision occurred or 2) a version of scenario 1 occurred. Kinda too early to tell right now. Since I didn't have her home number, I gave her a call at her office during the late afternoon. She didn't remember who the hell I was--I felt like I was living a song by the Smiths. Anyhow, I reminded her where we met, told her I was living in L.A. and wondering if she wanted to get together sometime. She said sure, but she had a friend coming into town so this weekend was no good. There was no pause or hesitation so I don't think it was a lie (that pesky pessimistic part of me though thinks maybe that's her standard blow off line). This is where my recollection gets fuzzy (stupid influx of adrenalin)--I can't remember if she told me to call later or if I said I would. In any event, I asked if I could get her home number (I didn't want to bother her at work again, but I forgot to mention that's why I wanted it) and she said to try her at work because in all likelihood that's where she'd be. So, that's what I meant about either a scenario I didn't envision occurred (she has a friend coming into town) or a version of scenario 1 occurred ("Um, I have plans"). And once again suggestions from friends are all around the map--from "Don't call her again 'cuz she's definitely not interested" to "Give her a call next week--there's still hope yet."

In the meantime, I'm also in limbo with match.com chick since it doesn't look like our schedules mesh until after Memorial Day weekend--even more waiting. At some point, I have to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. That pesky whiney "My luck sucks/I'm a victim" part of me starts thinking "Why can't anything good happen to me?" at this point (I get that from Mama Stark, thanks mom!). Anyway, I know that good things have happened, like selling my condo for mucho profit and having the opportunity to continue writing. I'm back down in L.A. where women exist, and if match.com chick is indicative of L.A. women, more approachable (bucking the stereotype). I now have a krewe to go out with on Thursday nights.

Since I hung out Wednesday night and went out Thursday night and spent Friday night unpacking the rest of the boxes, I think I'll just chill and nerd out tonight all by my lonesome. Some things change, some things remain the same.

Some Kittens Can Fly!

God, I always dreaded turning into one of those bloggers who sit there and talk about how Mitzy the Cat did something adorable, what a ragamuffin. Bleah! Karma is a funny thing I guess. So my cat is not the brightest of animals. I was typing away about an hour ago, and I saw my cat jump onto the loft ledge. She went back and forth and back and forth in the slinky feline way. "Well," I thought, "she can't be stupid enough to jump down the twenty or so feet." A minute later, she faced the part of the ledge overlooking the living room, put her two front paws against the side of the ledge, and jumped. I heard a thud, then a meow, then a hiss. Cripes. She was healthy enough for her to hobble up the stairs back to me. I decided to take her to an emergency animal clinic anyways, shelled out $195 for emergency consulting and x-rays. Turns out she's fine except for an accelerated heart rate and some tartar on her back teeth. 1) I'm amazed she didn't suffer any broken bones from that fall--nature at its finest. 2) I love my cat, but she certainly isn't a rocket scientist.

Torn

Conversation with Friend One Today:
"Your planning on giving her a call at work?"
"Well, yeah, I don't have her home phone number. So, it'd be kinda freaky if I called her at home."
"Hmmm, I don't know about giving her a call at the office."
"I know, I got pissed when people called me at work with personal shit, but it's not like I have a lot of options."
"Do whatever feels right to you then, I guess."

Conversation with Friend Two Today:
"Well, I'd wait a week."
"Why?"
"C'mon, you just moved down. That'd seem pushy. Maybe you should just e-mail her."
"No, I don't want to e-mail her. Look, I have an AOL account, she'd probably delete it."
"Well, you e-mailed her before. You think she deleted those e-mails?"
"I was 350 miles away at the time."
After the conversation, I thought, "Hey, how is L.A. Chick going to know I just moved here unless I tell her?"

Conversation with Friend Three Several Weeks Ago:
"No, see, I think that was a trick."
"Whuday mean?"
"She just moved down here. She was looking to meet new people, not start a relationship."

"Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste death but once." William Shakespeare. I guess put up or shut up time is coming soon.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

OK, so I've been a wee remiss on the whole scenario project, but hey, I've been getting ready to move/been moving, so phhht on you! I will post up some more scenarios 1) once my furniture arrives and 2) if it doesn't become moot. I'm in the new digs right now, split level with the bedroom as a loft. Very artsy fartsy. Since I'm without lamps in the bedroom, I'm writing this in the dark on the second level listening to Zero 7. Ahhhhhh.

I might as well get this bit of negativity out of the way--F GTE/Verizon! There are three phone jacks, two on the first level (with the lights) and one on the second. The tenant before me decided to have two phone lines. The wiseguys at GTE assigned my number to--you guessed it--the phone jack on the top floor sans lights. I have to pay GTE $85 to switch the two first floor phone jacks, and, oh yeah, they can't give me a time certain for when it's going to be done.

But even with that bit of hassle, I do like the new digs. While I was laying on the first floor, I realized that with the whole tall ceiling effect the kitchen is heavily reminiscent of Michael Whelan's painting The Red Step. How cool is that? So I'm kinda excited about getting everything settled and moving forward.

If The Devil Six Then God Is Seven

Scenario 7:

I arrive to the new pad on Tuesday afternoon. After getting my keys and letting my cat out of the carrier, I give a couple of friends a call to let them know I'm finally in L.A. I'd rather not spend the evening in an apartment without furniture, so my pals and I decided to meet down in Westwood for a couple of drinks. Mutual friend of L.A. Chick and me shows up. I've already decided not to ask mutual friend about L.A. Chick--I acted as go-between for a couple back in high school and boy was that annoying. My plan is to give L.A. Chick a call when my stuff finally arrives and I'm somewhat settled. But L.A. chick makes that all moot.

When L.A. Chick walks in, she seems genuinely happy to see me. The smile, the touching, the talking about Sheryl Crow's latest album, and suddenly I don't mind the four months that have passed. But as everyone is about to leave the bar, L.A. Chick becomes morose. I ask L.A. Chick if I can give her a call some time, and she tells me she's too busy for a relationship--work is taking up too much of her time, and she just can't devote any effort to dating at this time.

I'll return to an apartment that's empty save for my cat and me, feeling tired and unhappy.

Six Feet Under

Scenario 6:
I arrive to the new pad on Tuesday afternoon. After getting my keys and letting my cat out of the carrier, I give a couple of friends a call to let them know I'm finally in L.A. I'd rather not spend the evening in an apartment without furniture, so my pals and I decided to meet down in Westwood for a couple of drinks. Mutual friend of L.A. Chick and me shows up. I've already decided not to ask mutual friend about L.A. Chick--I acted as go-between for a couple back in high school and boy was that annoying. My plan is to give L.A. Chick a call when my stuff finally arrives and I'm somewhat settled. Unfortunately, mutual friend makes that all moot.

L.A. Chick also shows up, gives mutual friend a kiss, and they hold hands. I guess mutual friend is no longer just a friend of L.A. Chick. I head to the bar and order three shots of J.D. and down those suckers in less than 10 seconds. I say hi and make nice with mutual friend and L.A. Chick. I make some small talk with L.A. Chick about the new Sheryl Crow album and Liz Phair's backup vocals for "Soak Up The Sun." I do a decent job of not seeming uncomfortable (at least I hope I do). Mutual friend talks to me later in the night, sort of apologizing about being with L.A. Chick, but it has been four months after all. I act all affable and pull a Clark Kent on Smallville.

But, I'll return to an apartment that's empty save for my cat and me, feeling somewhat betrayed.

Pizzicato Five

Scenario 5:
I arrive to the new pad on Tuesday afternoon. After getting my keys and letting my cat out of the carrier, I give a couple of friends a call to let them know I'm finally in L.A. I'd rather not spend the evening in an apartment without furniture, so my pals and I decided to meet down in Westwood for a couple of drinks. Mutual friend of L.A. Chick and me shows up. I've already decided not to ask mutual friend about L.A. Chick--I acted as go-between for a couple back in high school and boy was that annoying. My plan is to give L.A. Chick a call when my stuff finally arrives and I'm somewhat settled. Unfortunately, mutual friend makes that all moot.

The first words that come out of his mouth are, "Hey Marty. Sorry to tell you that L.A. Chick is seeing someone."

I put on a good face and say something to the effect of "Yeah, I figured she would be. It's been, like, four months." After a couple of drinks, everyone heads home since it is a work evening. I'll return to an apartment that's empty save for my cat and me.

Whoo-hoo!

The Gunners secure a Double! Heh heh, everything's coming up Milhouse.

Group Four

Scenario 4 (or Scenario 2 - Mad Professor Mix):
After making some headway on opening boxes, arranging my CD collection, setting up the entertainment system, I'll pick up my nifty Bang and Olufson phone and dial her digits. The phone will ring, I'll hear the click of the phone being picked up.

"Hi L.A. Chick. It's Marty Stark. We met earlier this year. I'm living in L.A. now. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime this weekend."
"Um, actually, I'm seeing someone."
"Oh. OK, well, uh . . ."
"I have to get back to work."
"Sure, um, sorry to . . ."
[Click]

Crash

OK, I guess I should put down some happy thoughts. I bought the remastered discs of Peter Gabriel's Passion and So albums. I can't believe it's been thirteen and eighteen years respectively since they came out, back when they had a AAD, ADD and DDD standard. I'm listening to Passion right now, which takes me back to studying in my single air-conditioned room in the Arts Theme House, either working on a story for the creative writing program or cramming for some Public Policy final that will be of absolutely no use to me in the real world. Good times, good times.

OK, enough of the yippee skippee crap. So my insurance won't cover my deductible for damages caused by uninsured jagoffs unless they can locate the guy who hit me. Fat chance of that occuring. I managed to find his car at the local 7-11, and canvased the strip mall to find Juan Carlos--fuckhead illegal alien and damager of cars. I talked to the Indian shopkeepers of the mall (Juan Carlos' buddy had kept saying after the accident that his Indian boss will pay for the damage). They said they didn't recognize the name, but they recognized the description (good ol' Juan Carlos no doubt gave 'em a fake name). One helpful owner told me that I should go talk to another Indian store owner by K-Mart because there are "six crazy Mexicans who are drunk all the time" who hang out there, and Juan Carlos is probably one of them. Yeah, talking to six crazy drunk Mexicans is not my idea of fun. The one Mexican who was hanging out (lazy eye, hair net, to say he looked shady is to say the Pacific Ocean is a pond) said he had no idea where this Juan Carlos was, but he had this stupid smirk which showed that he was lying outta his ass.

Anyway, I'm out $560 (deductible plus rental car fees) in all likelihood. My insurance agent told me I shouldn't follow up on the six drunken crazy Mexican guys because $560 is not worth getting my ass jumped over. But I have a feeling that he won't follow up on the lead either. Sigh. At least the close of escrow on Casa de Stark has been moved up, and I should be getting a check for $98K by Saturday if all goes well.

Trinity Dub

That's right, buddy, I'm writing out a horrible new scenario for each day until the call. Think of it as a commercial literary exorcism for a nebbishy rapidly approaching 30 Asian with little to do and a lot of excess dopamine floating through his nigral striatum.

Scenario 3:
After making some headway on opening boxes, arranging my CD collection, setting up the entertainment system, I'll pick up my nifty Bang and Olufson phone and dial her digits. The phone will ring, I'll hear the click of the phone being picked up.

"Hi, this is L.A. Chick at Big Law. I can't take your call right now, so please leave a message, or dial 0 and ask for Random Woman, my secretary. Thanks."
"Hi L.A. Chick. This is Marty Stark. We met earlier this year, I was the Asian guy with the overcoat and encyclopedic knowledge of music. Anyway, I'm living in L.A. now, and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime this weekend. My number is Westwood Digits. Catch ya later."
[Click]
I don't hear from her, and me being me, a small spark of hope still exists despite x months going by making me miserable.

Version 2.0

I was at Borders today trying to kill time as well as procrastinating on gettin' my ass in gear to work on the next novel. Unfortunately, I was also at Borders on Saturday and Thursday doing the same exact thing. My mind rebelled at thinking "How To Be Good is already paperback? Phwar, I remember buying it when it came out in hardback as if it were yesterday" for the 3rd time this week. Instead, it treated me to a bit of insanity.

I went to the magazine section to read the latest Rolling Stone, and Pete Yorn was on the cover of some other music rag. "Hmmm," I thought, "I remember L.A. Chick mentioning she liked Pete Yorn. L.A. Chick used to be a singer, and now she's an entertainment lawyer. Pete Yorn dumped Winona Ryder shortly after Winona was arrested for shoplifting. And in Silicon Valley, clients date their transactional lawyers all the time. And L.A. Chick appeared to be a sucker for a guy who's musically inclined. Oh my God, what if L.A. Chick is dating Pete Yorn? I can't compete with that! Oh wait, I think it was John Frusciante she said she liked." I was so frazzled after that I bought Fever Pitch even though I had already owned it at one point (lent it to a friend who never read it, now languishing in some box in Orange County).

So even though I'm trying to take the "worrying won't change anything attitude," I say fuggit for now, I'm going to worry and run all the horrible permutations of the call through my head.

Scenario 2:
After making some headway on opening boxes, arranging my CD collection, setting up the entertainment system, I'll pick up my nifty Bang and Olufson phone and dial her digits. The phone will ring, I'll hear the click of the phone being picked up.

"Hi L.A. Chick. It's Marty Stark. We met earlier this year. I'm living in L.A. now. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime this weekend."
"Oh hey! Marty, how are you doing? Hold on." I hear a small click, and her voice is less distorted by background noise. "Had to get you off speaker. It's good to hear from you. Look, I'm busy this weekend. My boyfriend and I are spending the long Memorial Day weekend at Nice Coastal Resort By the Pacific."
"Oh. Ok."
"But hey, let's do lunch sometime. Seriously."
"Sure, yeah, lunch."
"How about Random Day Next Week."
"Sounds, uh, sure, yeah."
"Great! See ya then."
"Yeah."
[Click]

Fever Pitch

Juventus clinched the Serie A title, leapfrogging over Inter Milan and overcoming a rather meh beginning to the season. Arsenal clinched the FA Cup, and will hopefully clinch the Premiership title as well. Now if only there were a direct correlation between how my football teams are doing and my social life.

She Will Have Her Way

You know how when you're returning home from a long road trip, and your bladder starts getting full from the biggie size Dr. Pepper you unwisely bought at the McDonald's twenty miles back on the interstate, and you've already passed the last rest stop before you hit home, and home is like fifty miles over roads winding through undulating hills? You know how with each mile that passes, that pressure in the bladder rises exponentially, and within five miles, you start seeping, and within a mile, it's really touch and go in terms of bursting and having your car smell like ammonia with a slight undertone of Dr. Pepper, and strangely, asparagus, or making it into the driveway, fumbling with the keys and releasing into porcelain goodness?

So yeah, I have a week and a half before I'm fully moved down to Lalaland. And sure, L.A. Chick has been on my mind a lot in the last four months. But within ten days, all those probabilty waves will collapse. I'm trying to gird myself for the "Ummm, well, I'm seeing someone right now" or the "sorry, I'm just not interested" or even "You? [Click]." I mean, it'll be a little less than four friggin' months since I met her. Attractive blonde in L.A., you do the math (on the other hand, she is working for a sweat shop of a law firm--working 12 hours a day seven days a week tends to put a crimp on your plans of socializing outside the firm). Sigh, hope springs eternal.

OK, so why the hang up on L.A. Chick? I've already mentioned her music geek knowledge and her young Annette O'Toole looks, her pal telling us to get a room, her quirky dancing, and oh yeah, she called me "her hero" for leaving the law. And as the move to Lalaland approaches, I keep thinking of more things--she turns red with alcohol just like me (but she's a round eye), she's already cynical about the law after just a couple of months, she not only understood but also laughed at my self-deprecating humor (Her: "You know, I took you for a creative type since you didn't take the overcoat off at all." Me: "Yeah, just call me John Keats. Gotta keep it on cuz of the consumption and all." Her: Nice smile and a chuckle).

So May 15th, the movers will bring my furniture to the loft in Westwood. After making some headway on opening boxes, arranging my CD collection, setting up the entertainment system, I'll pick up my nifty Bang and Olufson phone and dial her digits. The phone will ring, I'll hear the click of the phone being picked up.

"Hi L.A. Chick. It's Marty Stark. We met earlier this year. I'm living in L.A. now. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime this weekend."
"Oh. Hi. Umm, I have plans this weekend."
"Oh. Ok."
"Look, I need to get back to work."
"Sure."
[Click]

Yeah, I know, more fish in the sea and all that. Doesn't mean I'm going to be too happy with the aforementioned outcome though.

Here's hoping that I'm as accurate with this prediction as I was with my April 1st prediction. Damnit, I should've gotten more beer.

Inertia Creeps

Malaise . . . just thinking about that word leaves a sticky sheen on my tongue. Maybe it's because it ends in "aise" like mayonaise or bernaise. Malaise is an overly heavy word. I think part of the malaise is a reaction to a sense of creeping panic induced by the fact that it has been over a year since I left Big Law. Then there's the fact that April had the highest U.S. unemployment rate in the last seven years. And despite efforts at having a can do attitude about writing, the Willy Loman scenario keeps playing through my head. Oh, and I discovered the works of Adrian Tomine--Morrissey meets Raymond Carver, only in comic book form, not exactly uplifting reading but great reading nonetheless. After the nervous adrenaline wears off, I'm still left feeling a bit blue but too tired to do anything about it.

Anyway, I'll be moving to Lalaland in a week and a half. Out of five friends from law school who moved up to the Bay Area, I'm that last one still up here. It would be rather cliche to say I feel like the prodigal son returning to the fold since I couldn't wait to leave L.A. after I graduated. But it would be rather true as well.

Ugh, remind me not to have the double cheeseburgers over at St. John's Bar & Grill.