Virginia Madsen's Boobs

I have just decided to write a song titled “Virginia Madsen’s Boobs”. It will be a country-flavored ditty, kind of like the type of material often heard on The Bob and Tom Show on radio. Several songwriter/comedians frequent their show...in person and via CD...many of which are pretty funny, in a twisted sort of way. More on Bob and Tom at another time...Loretta and I have loved listening to their syndicated program for years, (originally) out of Indianapolis I think.

Anyway...here’s the not-so-short version of my Virginia Madsen Obsession Story.

Virginia Madsen is one of the stars in one of our favorite movies, Sideways. It also starred Paul Giamatti (another favorite), Thomas Haden Church, and Sandra Oh (now featured in Grey’s Anatomy). More V.M. biography forthcoming.

Virginia Madsen isn’t particularly gorgeous, per say...but she is extremely appealing. When I say extremely appealing, please realize that this referrence elevates the person beyond being simply gorgeous. For instance, Pamela Andersen is gorgeous, but not very appealing. Sharon Stone is gorgeous, but not very appealing. You see? Another actress who is not especially gorgeous but is very appealing is Scarlet Johanssen. My lovely wife Loretta...not gorgeous, but extremely appealing. Both lists can go on and on...another blog, another time (soon). Hopefully, you get the picture.

These very appealing but not necessarily gorgeous women just seem to possess a special something that, as a somewhat healthy, red-blooded American male, I am attracted to. I am mesmerized by these women, especially Virginia Madsen.

After googling her and gathering some info from imbd.com...I was a little surpirsed at what I found. First...I was shocked to find that I am not the only person who feels this way about Virginia Madsen! I say this with tongue in cheek, and it deserves some explaination I suppose.

Let’s explore a little V.M. info, maybe I can make sense of this...

She will be 45 years old on September 11th of this year. Great age for an attractive (and appealing) woman. She is blonde (real or not real is irrelevant)...I’m a sucker for blondes. She has big, puppy dog eyes...one of which is part brown and part green, the other is all green (true). She is half Danish...as am I. She is the sister of Michael Madsen...another of my favorite actors (Reservoir Dogs, Species, Kill Bill, Muholland Falls). She has great, natural acting talents...never appears phony. She played Maya in Sideways...one of my All Time Top 10 movies. And...not the least of which...she has beautiful, ample breasts! Pretty breasts...big breasts, though not too big...natural breasts (I’m only pretty sure about that last line). Again...real or not real...irrelevant. If they are not real, what a talented plastic surgeon she must have had.

So why the song “Virginia Madsen’s Boobs”? Well, despite all the other accolades about her, including her being “one of Hollywood’s most talented actresses” and being “voted one of the most beautiful actresses in 1986” (according to imdb.com), she has a nice rack! Two recent events sparked my interest in V.M.’s top section again. One...she was a presenter on The Emmys Sunday night (a program, by the way, I haven’t watched in a least 10 years). Her glamourous, evening gown was perfectly splayed open almost to her navel...displaying her more-than-adequate top section...all tanned, oiled up, and glistening with, well...glitter I guess! She (and they) were magnificent. Even that Joan Rivers person (and homely, untalented child she drags with her) commented on Virginia Madsen’s attire being one of the highlights of the Emmy evening. And two...last night on one of the cable stations they played Candyman. Candyman? What’s Candyman you ask? Well...Candyman is a 1992 Clive Barker (Hellraiser) horror film. Virginia Madsen is the “star” of the flick. Briefly... she plays the reincarnation of a woman from the mid-1800’s (unknowing to her of course). She is pursued by the ghost of a murdered slave with whom she was involved way back when. His nickname is the Candyman (didn’t pay attention as to the reason for his name), he has a hook on one hand, resides in a condemned highrise in some large metrpolitan city, bees come out of his mouth at various times (bees were instrumental in how is was killed apparently), and he disembowels various characters in the movie with said hook....waiting to find his long, lost love, played by our girl Virginia.

Back to the Madsen mammaries. They are revealed once in a bathtub scene...sans suds by the way. And again at the hospital while putting on her patient smock thingy. They’re just plain nice...”just right” to coin an oft-used country expression.

Unfortunately, I noticed Candyman showing on cable a few minutes too late...those two scenes occur early in the movie. I lamented. So, after attempting to locate Candyman “on demand” (with no success)...I guess I’ll just have to buy it! I’m quite confident I can locate it in the $9.99 rack at Best Buy, it’s not what you call a blockbuster movie. Then (and only then), can I show it to Loretta (a big Sideways fan as well)...for what reason I do not know at this point. Maybe guilt?

Virginia Madsen is just so damn appealing. And she does work very regularly, for over 20 years or so now. She recently played Harrison Ford’s wife in the movie Firewall. Not a huge part...but a huge co-star, right? She was also mostly recently seen in Prairie Home Companion.

I thought about trying to drag a shot of her from Candyman out of some celebrity skin website. But with all due respect...not this time. I think she is great...boobs or no boobs. Besides, she just may be reading this. And monkeys are going to fly out of my ass!

I will get to work on that song, “Virginia Madsen’s Boobs”. And, find time today for a short trip to the video section of Best Buy. I will, afterall, need some visual inspiration...right?

P.S. After having taken a quick peek at a celebrity skin website (just google Virginia Madsens boobs)...it looks like she isn't shy about displaying those units in several other flicks as well. If you get a chance to see them...you'll know why. Would you be...shy that is?

My baby girl is now buying a house!

I guess you could insert any number of descriptive actions after the words "My baby girl is...".

Afterall...Jenifer is soon to be 27 years old, married, living in another state, has been to Europe on her own (with other friends), graduated from college, and now...buying a house. So, that list of things she has done since she was a baby just keeps getting longer...naturally. That list of adult things...most of which I am very proud. The majority of which I am very proud. Some adult things, like doing 21 shots of various hard liquor on the night of her 21st birthday, an unnecessary but popular rite of passage, not as proud as I am extremely relieved (that she survived the ordeal!).

But now, my little girl whom we named Jenifer Leigh Hansen (now Jenifer Leigh Gonzales...or is it Jenifer Hansen Gonzales?) and her husband Roth are smack dab in the middle of a All-Time Top 10 Stress List thing. They are in escrow to buy a home in Seattle.

A few of the other All-Time Top 10 Stress List things include a heart attack, marriage problems, job problems, moving, redecorating one's house, and a death in the family. Back in 1986...I managed to experience 9 out of that top 10...within about 6 months. I survived. I am confident that Jenifer will survive this escrow ordeal as well.

You see, Jenifer is stressing out quite a bit during this house-buying process. Her saving grace is that husband Roth remains calm. He is a very low-key guy who has consistently remained a very rational influence on her when things get a little...well, tense.

Buying a home, especially your first home, is not fun! Shopping for a home is fun. Dreaming about buying a home is fun. Specifically...dealing with the teams of idiots you find inhabiting the world of real estate and mortgage loans is a daunting task. Fortunately, they are doing this home-buying thing by dealing directly with the owner...no real estate agent. I am a real estate agent, though not working in or practicing in that field of endeavor at this time. The reasons why I am not are irrelevant at this juncture...but let me say this. I just found it a very tough and unsatifying way to earn a living, especially when the bottom falls out of the market. 'Nuff said for now...although the teams of idiots I ran into did influence my decision to get out...for now. Jenifer has now been exposed to this same team...welcome to the world of real estate.

Having been on both of ends of this escrow process many times before, I can comisserate with her feelings. I have done nothing but encourage her and Roth to go ahead and get into home ownership as soon as possible. Knowing that they are both very intelligent and analytical (to a point), I was confident they would use care in choosing which house to buy. Afterall, it is a very emotional purchase...decisions must be made with rational and logical thought. They are buying the house in which they have been living for over a year. Good job!

With all the professional and personal advice I could give them (solicited and unsolicited), they are taking the next big step life. The next huge move in their lives together as a couple. Escrow is set to close in a couple of days. Congratulations Jen and Roth! Right on!

They are well aware of the challenges involved with property ownership...not the least of which is a higher expense. The higher expense not only in the monthly payment (versus rent), but in maintenance. They know they can't call their rental landlord when the toilet doesn't flush right, or the water heater is not heating water, or the fence falls down. They are ready for all of that.

And I am ready to console my baby girl when the next things happen. Like when the toilet needs replacing, the water heater needs replacing, or the fence needs repair. I don't live near them right now...or I would be over there to physically help with circumstances such as these. Jen will surely stress out when these things happen. Roth will surely be there to calm her down...as will I via the phone and internet.

My little girl is all grows'd up! But...she is still my little girl. And she still calls her Dad when she needs him.

American Beauty - blog II

From someone who spent the majority of his “stupid little life” making lists...shopping lists, To Do lists, client lists, “punch” lists, and Pro’s and Con’s lists...I'll admit, I’m a list maker.

I seemed to have passed that on to my daughter. I believe I got it from my father, he was great at making lists...especially for camping trips. He would jot down on blue lined graph paper from work, every meal we were going to have, every item of food to buy for those meals, every piece of equipment we needed to bring, the time frames for packing, leaving, and arriving, getting gas and fuel for the lanterns...everything.

Like I said, one of my often written lists over the years has been Pro and Con lists. These were done to visualize the good and bad about some aspect of my life, mostly about big decisions to be made. Mostly about changing jobs. I guess it really didn’t matter which side of that Pro and Con page was longer...one Pro could overcome many Cons I suppose. And I suppose that is the way it should be. There always seemed to be more Cons than Pros anyway. Since I would most often make that Pro decision anyway, the list was academic...an exercise in what is called rationalization. We all do it, every day.

Well, it’s time for another list from me. This one is simple...it is a Pro list. Here it is...completing this sentence, There is so much beauty in the (my) world...like the way I felt...

...the first time I drove a car all by myself, on my sixteenth birthday, the day I got my driver’s license.

...when my family and I would pile in the car and drive to Disneyland.

...the night my daughter was born.

...the morning my son was born.

...on Christmas mornings, waking up and walking into the living room to see what Santa had brought me (I always got what I wanted).

...this morning, when I woke up to see Loretta lying next to me.

...the last time I looked through my camera lens and composed a photo.

...knowing that I’ve made it this far in my life.

...a few minutes ago when our dog Sammy put his muzzle on my lap and looked up at me for some attention.

...seeing the joyful look on 102 year old Sara’s face when I took some photos of her, 20 minutes before she died.

It’s not a definitive list. It’s something I need to do continually, like my daughter Jenifer does on her blog. She posts lists of songs that give her chills, reasons she loves her husband, reasons she loves living in Seattle, and reasons she loves her Dad. She’s got the list gene too!

I know many people who make lists about what is screwed up in their lives. They may not write them down, but they take note of them on a regular basis. A few of these people are very close to me, and it saddens me to know they are carrying around this horrible burden...and it’s eating away at their souls. I know how it feels because I still do it at times. I’ve always been a negative person...but I’m working on it!

But, I can still remember the way I felt the exact moment I saw my Dad driving down our little tree-lined street and into our driveway in a green 1961 MGA convertible...I was sixteen at the time. It was my high school graduation present, the exact car I wanted. I can remember it like it was yesterday.

The more I work at culling the bad things out of my memory, and savoring the good things...the better I feel about myself...and about others.

You might try it sometime (if you don’t already). Make a list...check it twice...and add to it on a regular basis. Then go back to it once in a while and read about some things and times in your life you may have forgotten about...some good things.

It couldn’t hurt!

(Note: the ending monologue from the film American Beauty concerns a similar list from the lead character who has just died. He is taking note of all the beautiful things in his life...postumously). The last few lines from the film are posted on my previous blog.

American Beauty...a beauty of a film

This is an excerpt from the script of one of my favorite movies...American Beauty (1999).

It was written by Alan Ball, who is also the writer and creator of HBO’s Six Feet Under.

This part of the script comes just before the ending credits, and is a voice-over by Kevin Spacy’s character, Lester Burnham...just after after he dies.

I guess I could be pretty pissed about what happened to me...but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst...

And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life...

You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure...but don’t worry...

You will someday.

It's one of my favorite monologues from a movie. There are things that have happened to me in my life that I continue to carry with me...things that I should let go of. Why? Because there are too many beautful things in this world, in my life now...and yet to come...that I simply need to be patient, and they will appear.

American Beauty is a quirky (for lack of better term) movie, and not for everyone I suppose. When Loretta and I saw it in the theatre seven years ago, several people walked out shortly before the end. I just wasn't what they had expected.

Just for the record...it won Oscars for Best Actor (Kevin Spacey), Best Cinematography (Conrad Hall), Best Director (Sam Mendes), Best Screenplay (Alan Ball)...oh, and Best Picture of 1999. Annette Benning was nominated for Best Actress, but didn't win for this role. American Beauty had many other awards bestowed upon it, both foreign and domestic.

If you haven't seen it...rent it or buy it. If you have seen it...watch it again, it's worth the 90 minutes of your time!

James Dean (1931-1955)

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to take the drive from Modesto to Pismo Beach. This particular trip was to visit my son Jimmy as well as my mom and my sisters. I also planned to take advantage of this jaunt for the purpose of photographing the Central Coast beach area, Morro Bay, and Highway One. I did all that.

My usual route to the Central Coast takes me down Highway 5 to Highway 41...then 46 to 101 to Pismo. It’s the quickest way, though not the most scenic...it’s just convenient.

Highway 41 south from Highway 5 meets up with 46 to Paso Robes, the road out of Bakersfield and 99. This is also the road that James Dean took out of L.A. on September 30th, 1955.

Dean was testing out his brand new Porsche 550 Spyder racer (named Little Bastard, Dean’s own nickname)...on his way to a race in Salinas with his mechanic, Rolf Wuetherich. At 5:00 pm, a 1950 Ford Tudor was making the turn from Highway 46 onto Highway 41...it crossed into the path of the Porsche and they collided almost head on. Wuetheric was thrown from the car and survived with relatively minor injuries. Dean was taken to a hospital in nearby Paso Robles (about 35 miles way), and was pronounced dead at 5:59 pm. James Dean was 24 years old.

There have been many questions raised over the years concerning the speed at which the Porsche was driving, the late afternoon sun in his eyes, even if it was indeed Dean driving at the time. A National Geographic special recently aired concerning this. Two gentlemen attempted to reconstruct all the events of that day...utilizing police reports, interviews with Wuetherich and the highway patrol officers who arrived at the scene. They even used GPS equipment and sophisticated computer programs to precisely locate exactly where the accident occurred. That intersection has since been reconstructed and the actual location changed a bit.

James Dean’s memorial was constructed in 1977 approximately 300 yards southwest of the scene of the accident, just off Highway 46 near Cholame, California. It was built in Japan by a Japanese benefactor and is made of stainless steel and concrete. Located directly under and around a California oak tree, it sits in the dirt parking lot of a roadside diner called Jack Ranch Cafe. The date and time of his death are etched into the stainless steel along with some favorite prose from the late actor. Over the years it had been vandalized then repaired...it was in pretty good shape when I was there a couple weeks ago.

I have stopped there on several occasions, even taken some photographs. Most of the time I just drive by it, glancing over as I pass by at 60 miles per hour. We’ve never patronized the Jack Ranch Cafe there. There is a big sign over the door that reads, “Restrooms are for customers only”...that’s a shitty attitude to have....I assume they food is shitty as well...so do most others apparently since I rarely see any patrons parked in front of the cafe. It doesn't look like any place I would care to try. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the memorial.

So, I decided to stop this time...take some pictures...read the memorial. Sometimes there a lot of cars parked around it, making it more difficult to get a clean shot of the thing. This time, there was just a lone Harley rider...standing there, paying tribute to this long gone icon of the tough guy image. The biker and I exchanged greetings. He said, "Vandals have really messed it up over the years...prying off the letters in his name...stealing parts off it. It looks pretty good now though. They must have fixed it up recently". It sounded as if he had stopped there before, probably many times. We both just stood there a few moments looking at the structure wrapped around the oak tree. The Harley rider mounted up, put on his helmet, knodded a goodbye to me, and fired up his motorcycle. I returned the knod and told him to ride safe...he took off in a blaze of noise and dust down Highway 46 towards Paso Robles. I continued to shoot a few more pictures until another car stopped in front of it. This time it was two ladies, who looked like mother and daughter. They stood out of the way until a finished another shot or two. I smiled at them and backed away, heading for the car. They stepped up closer to the memorial and started taking pictures and reading the inscriptions.

So why is James Dean such an icon? Why did this James Dean Memorial out in the middle of nowhere evoke some emotion in me on that particular day? Why did I stop? I can't tell you. I was never that big of a fan...I was five years old when he died. He only made three movies (East of Eden, Rebel Without A Cause, and Giant...plus a couple TV dramas). Maybe it was because of the NG special I saw a few months back...I don't know.
As I hit the road again, I couldn't get it out of my mind. I kind of started writing this blog entry in my mind during the next hour of driving. I guess it's because James Dean changed the way we think about ourselves as well as establishing a type of screen character that has been emulated many times since. Even George Lucas admits that his young Annakin Skywalker (who became Darth Vader for the uninitiated) was modeled after James Dean's personna, both on screen and off. The rebel, the chance-taker, the tough guy with a heart. Hell...Fonzi was an incarnation of Dean...albeit a parody.James Dean was 24 years old when he died in 1955...yet his estate still earns over $5 million a year. There are other memorials to him all around the world. There are James Dean film festivals, get-togethers, and other remembrances every year. Whatever he had...he still has it.

I just get a kick out of the people who think that he's the guy who makes the sausage!

The Descent - it was decent, for its kind

Loretta and I saw The Descent the other day. Go see it if you like this sort of thing in general, ie, monster in a cave with six women ending with a gore fest. Don’t go see it if you are susceptible to claustrophobia. This review will be a quicky...so stay with me for a moment or two.

So, six (or was it seven?) early-thirty-something women start out on one of their extreme adventures...this time a descent into a hole in the ground located in a remote area of the Appalachin Mountains (sp?). Evidently, they, as a group, do these sort of things on a semi-regular basis.

The movie begins with them rubber-rafting a treacherous looking whitewater river in Scotland...for some reason, half of this group of friends is from that part of the world. On the way back to where they are staying, one of women gets in a terrible car accident...her husband was driving...their 7 year old daughter in the backseat. This scene, by the way, treats us to the first of much gratuitous blood and gore as the husband’s head is impailed by some copper pipe flying off the other car and through the windshield in the headon crash...cool so far! Our female heroin wakes up in the hospital, a little battered but still alive...finding out her daughter, as well as her hubby perished in the crash. The hubby’s demise (with the copper pipe sticking out of the back of his head) was obviious, the daughter’s demise revealed in the hospital.

Fast forward one year later. All the girls are meeting up once again for another extreme adventure, this time for some spelunking in the wilderness. The lead character (our car crash mom) must get back into the "fray", have some fun, and prove to herself that she still has what it takes following her personal tragedy...I think!

Here is the short take. They head down into the cave. They get lost. They find out that their leader friend lied to them about which cave they were going to...one that was never explored before! Ooooo! “I just thought it would be exciting to go somewhere where no one else had gone”, she explains. “We can even name it after you, Sarah...” Or whatever her name was. The other girls are pissed off at their friend's deception, but they trudge on, trying to find a way out. Shortly thereafter is when the body count begins....predictable since there were way too many cast members...time to start culling the less famous “friends”.

Yes...there are monsters in the cave. Apparently some sort of human tribe living underground...blind, albino types with no clothes. This, suprisingly enough, was the only nudity in this flick. I anticipated at least a topless shot from one of the girls, all of which were somewhat attractive. Afterall, that usually shows up somewhere in every R-rated splatter movie...right? None.

The bad guys (and gals...yes, there are female monster cave people as well) start attacking. Their actions at this point are akin to most zombie movies, ie, snarling, throbbering, drooling, tearing off pieces of the unfortunate girls, and...well, eating them. The cave monster people are pretty quick on their feet, climbing the walls and ceilings, running on their hands and feets at times. But soon, the girls find out that the pasty looking humanoids are kind of soft and mushy...a swift kick here and there sends blood splattering on the cave walls...followed by a stomp to the head...and they’re toast!

The girl’s numbers dwindle to four, then three, then two...I won’t spoil the end for you! The cave people’s numbers are, of course, endless....despite many of them being dispatched in a variety of gorey ways. The climbing picks worked well on several of them...in the head, in the eye, in the back, etc....it just seemed to piss the rest of them off.

So, on the Skipster Gore-o-Meter...a solid 7 out of 10. Was it scary? Yes, at times. There were plenty of jumping-out-of-the-shadows scenes...flashlight reveals...even the usual bats-flying-out-of-a-hole thing.

The last 20 minutes or so gets pretty intense, I gotta hand it to the director. Even I was gripping the seat arm. Lots of blood, lots of graphic gore, lots of revengeful splatterings...that is the type of flick The Descent strives to be. It is suspenseful and intensity-driven. Both Loretta and I found ourselves saying out loud, “Alright...that girl can kick some ass! Holy shit! Kill them suckers!” So, yes...The Descent was decent for this genre...better than The Cave (2005).

There will probably be a The Descent II. They will need a whole new cast though, ‘cept one. Whoops...I spoiled it for you...sorry!

Failure to Launch - failure to entertain

We Netflixed Failure to Launch the other day.

This is one of those chick-flicks that, despite my usual reluctance, I either rent or go the theatre to see for the benefit of Loretta. I realize it’s just not right to only see action/adventure/sci-fi/gore movies...afterall, I live with a woman! And she, Loretta, is so indulgent of me and my guy-flick ways.

First, Matthew McConnaghy can not act his way out of a paper bag. Whether it be light romantic comedy, action adventure, or serious drama...he’s just not believable. He continually appears to be looking in the mirror at himself and admiring what he sees. His attempts at making little faces, gestures, head cocks, and displaying so-called emotion is laughable. Yes...what a hunk! I always try to consider the hunkiness factor. And, yes, herein lies his appeal...to females. He’s damn cute. Maybe if he is cast in some sort of special effects, complete body and face makeup film (Planet of the Apes Revisited?), I could look past his narcissism and appreciate some acting skills...if indeed there are any...(remember Paul Giamatti in the remake of Planet of the Apes?).

I’ve always had somewhat of a crush on Sarah Jessica Parker...we used to watch Sex in the City every week. She is very attractive, intelligent, and appealing (in a neurotic girl-next-door way). But just like Jennifer Anniston...how many times can she pass that personna off in a movie? How many times can you fall back on three or four little facial quirks, a squealy giggle, and a pretty little set of slightly pendulous yah-bows (always a plus on a scrawny frame) ? I think that’s how you spell yah-bows. Beyond all that, she’s starting to look a little ragged guys (and gals). “I’m not ready for my closeup Mr. DeMille...don’t even think about it!” And yes, too skinny is not warm and fuzzy. I happen to prefer women built for comfort, not for speed...I digress. Now, I know we all get crows feet as well. But hers are more like condor feet now. Plus...and here is another one of my Seinfeld-esque rationalizations...she has freaking man-hands!!! Jessica’s bony, veined, and now liver-spotted hands need to remain in her pockets...or just out of the frame. Her grasping a guy's face during an impromptu kiss is the worst use of these mind-of-their-own appendages. They're just gross!

The movie itself is just not funny. That’s what it all comes down to as usual, despite all the hype from the writers and director about chemistry and a great script. I think the script and the premise was good. A story about a 35 year old guy...a hunky guy (not the usual geek) living at home with his mommy and daddy. Connaghy’s character, Tripp (his name another dumb choice in this flick), lives the dream bachelor life...driving a Porsche, playing with his two best friends (rock climbing, paintball, watching football, and playing video games), and dating very attractive women. All along, not revealing his homelife to any of them...until it’s time to break up (usually from the girl getting too serious, of course)...by bringing them to his “home”. Only at this time does he reveal to them that he indeed still lives with his parents...thus causing the poor, unsuspecting maven to dump him.

At the onset of this dumb attempt at a movie, Sarah Jessica Parker appears to randomly show up at a furniture store where Connaghy is. They strike up a conversation, initiated by her. She goads him into asking her out...he (and the audience at this point) not aware that his parents hired her to get him out of the house. Evidently there is a market for that sort of thing, similar to the story in Hitch. That’s what she does for a living. Apparently, paying a woman to do this is not considered prostitution since one of rules states she never has sex with a client...which, by the way, happens later in the movie...she still under the employ of his parents. So, yes...she is technically a prostitute...since his mother encourages her to “turn up the heat” in order to complete her contracted, pre-paid assignment...insinuating that sex may be needed when all else was failing.

Some fun and frolick ensues with the couple until he finds out her intentions...blah, blah, blah. Fast forward to the exciting and heartwarming climax...

By the way, a couple of high points in the movie...Kathy Bates and Terry Bradshaw as the parents. They are mildly entertaining as the distraught parents trying to figure out how to get the freeloading S.O.B. out of the house. Beyond that...the whole story is just a contrived, phoney mess masquerading as a romantic comedy.

Of course, the two principals end up together and, presumebly, live happily ever after...this, after the obligatory “reveal” of the intentions, an obligatory break up, and obligatory arranged get-back-together by the friends (replete with applause and romantic, lush Hollywood string music score). Again, all too predictable. And, with absolutely no on-screen chemistry between the guy and the girl (mostly because of Connaghy’s lack of sincerity and presence of any acting skills whatsoever). An empty shell of a flick...with good intentions. Another squirm in your seat movie experience...it's embarassing to watch.

Too bad, it could have been good. One of the sidekicks, (Justin Bartha, he was in National Treasure), is kind of funny at times...as is Sarah Jessica Parker’s roomate (Zooey Deschanel), who, by the way, is a total babe (playing a worse neurotic mess than Parker).

My advice? Don’t rent this. Don’t buy this. Don’t borrow this. Don’t bother watching this...it stinks. Rent Some Like It Hot and watch it (for the 50th time)...a much better use of 90 minutes of filmdom. Now that’s what a romantic comedy is all about. Hell...I’d even submit to watching When Harry Met Sally a dozen times in a row before I would sit in front of this contrived B.S again....even with Meg Ryan’s phoney mannerisms and feigned sincerity! She's another faux movie enginue in this genre that has already had her fifteen minutes of fame I suppose.

My advice to McConnaghy? Don't lose your hair, your "six pack, or your current agent...'cause it will be infomercials for you for sure!

BTW...we saw The Descent at the theatre today...actionadventuregoregalore...review forthcoming.

Central California Coast

I had the opportunity (again) to drive Highway One from Morro Bay to Monterey. This on my way back home from one of many jaunts I take every year to the Pismo Beach area of the Central California Coast. In most times past, I would usually wimp out and decide to simply "highball" it back on the usual route...101 to 46 to 41 to 5 to Modesto where we currently live. I say currently because I still believe our Modesto (Salida) existence is temporary.

We had just returned from our little one-night-stand in Monterey the previous weekend...I had planned to make the Pismo drive the following weekend to visit my son, my mom, and my sisters... of course, to visit the Central Coast...where I resided for almost 25 years until ten years ago. The Highway One drive adds about fifty miles and three hours to the journey back...hence my wimping out and opting for the quicker way back to the couch! But this time I made that left turn off Highway 101 at San Luis Obispo, transistioned to Highway One, and headed toward Morro Bay, Cayucos, Cambria, Big Sur, Carmel, and Monterey. Before leaving though, I managed to snap a few hundred shots of Pismo Beach, Shell Beach, Oceano Beach, and Montana de Oro Beach. Afterall, the Central Coast does have beaches! That's what this whole thing is about.

It was 9:00 am when I left Pismo, only two hours later than I had planned! This in itself was a good enough excuse to exclude the long Highway One plan home. I figured it would take me about seven hours versus the usual four and a half...I'd still arrive back on my couch around 4:00 or 5:00, just in time for the evening news. So, with camera stuff in tow, a small cooler with a few Diet Pepsis, a couple apples, and some yogurt...I left my old stomping ground for points north.
The weather was perfect (sans fog)...I had a full tank of gas, a whole day to drive home in a leisurely fashion, and I was by myself. Loretta had to work and couldn't come on this trip. I was bound and determined to get some nice photos of the one of the most beautful places in California...Highway One. Even though I had made this drive on many occasions over the years, it was still somewhat of an enigma to me. Yes, this drive takes you past some beautiful vistas of the ocean. But it is also, at times, quite scary...especially when driving solo! The elevation of the highway goes from zero to over a thousand feet above sea level and back again several times. Those thousand foot drops just inches from the roadbed evoke a lot of anxiety from someone who has...well, vertigo!Keeping in mind that the inside track (the northerly drive) on Highway One is less imposing, it's still a bit freaky at times...especially driving by yourself. You ain't gonna be able to sightsee from behind the wheel! The road goes from long, sixty mile per hour straightaways to twenty mile per hour switchbacks in no time at all...and some of those windy sections are literally in the clouds.

Scary sections notwithstanding, I found myself well past Morro Bay in a short amount of time...I had committed making the drive. Besides, the Highway 46 turnoff back to Paso Robles and Highway 101 I had long since past by...there was no escaping now! I pushed on past Cambria and San Simeon.

Now, there are many places to turn off the road...vista points. Some of these are convenient, most are set up with a left hand turn lane and plenty of vision up and down the highway. I managed to hit most of them I think...including some improvised turnouts where at least I was fairly confident that I wouldn't get smacked by some over zealous tourist from Austria in a rented Cobalt. After a half dozen or so photo stops, I realized that one day does not a Highway One photo safari make. At this rate, I might get home by Tuesday night (it was Monday morning at the time). But, it's hard not to stop at every opportunity considering the scenery at hand...it is simply incredible. I knew I must pick and choose how many times I got waylaid. Plus, I had relagated myself to the fact that I was only going to be getting typical touristy shots, since I didn't have the time or the knowledge of off-the-beaten-path locales. The slow pace coupled with the perpetual road construction on Highway One...it's not the quick way home.

Being summer, even on a weekday, this area is ripe with travelers. They are everywhere on the Central Coast. People drive and fly from all over the U.S. and the world to come here. All in all, it really wasn't too bad. Traffic was relatively light, despite the ocassional Flagman Ahead obstruction. I only had to stop and wait once, and just for a minute or so...enough time to snap the photo above while waiting in line.

Since one day is not enough time, I will return shortly...probably in a few weeks...and do it again with Loretta in tow. We'll most likely zip over to Morro Bay, visit my son, and spend the night there...leaving early the next morning for the drive north on Highway One. We also plan to spend the night in Monterey, so we'll have a more leisurely time of it on the way.And, one blog's worth of writing and photos doesn't do this justice. There are more photos on my flickr site, and I will be adding more from time to time. I took upwards of 500 shots on this Pismo/Morro Bay/Highway One trip. I could have easily shot 1000 or more...just not enough time.

That's what it all comes down to...enough time. So...I make time now...doing the things that I enjoy most and, hopefully, do best.

Does making more money make it easier to be unhappy?

This question goes well with the Billy Crystal aka Fernando Lamas line, “It’s better to look good than to feel good”.

It seems most rich people tout that “money doesn’t make you happy”...only poor people think that, right? Although Micheal Ovitz has been known to say, “...you only say that if you don’t have money”.

So, does having a lot of money just make it easier to be unhappy?

Let’s go one step further. Does having a lot of money by working at a profession you enjoy make you happier? More likely than the title of this blog implies...wouldn’t you assume so? But...happier than what?

I can truly say that I do not personally know of anyone in my immediate peer group that enjoys his so-called job or profession. Period. Even some acquaintances and close relatives of mine are in the same boat. They hate what they are doing!

So you say now, “If you hate what you’re doing...do something else”. Of course that is easier said than done from a pragmatic standpoint. I happened to have done just that in the last two years. Hell, I did it several months ago. So am I happier than before. The answer to that question is “yes”...and “no”.

I truly enjoy...no...I truly love what I am doing now: photography. Every time I set out on a photographic endeavor I feel like I did as a kid on my way to Disneyland. I feel elated...fullfilled...excited...anticipatory...a little anxious, but happy. But just like going to Disneyland...I get somewhat depressed “on the way home”, or when it is over.

The other side of my coin involves the money angle. Yes, I enjoy photography. But I don’t enjoy being a “starving artist”. Heck, there have been many great artists who died pennyless and miserable. The cash has not begun to flow as yet. The business aspect is still in the fledgling stage. And I am somewhat mired down in that quagmire of self-doubt.

This self-doubt comes about when I’m not feeling the self-reliance it takes to push on, ply my trade, market my skills, and take the next step. Maybe I’m not good enough to make a living at this thing? Maybe I am good enough but don’t possess the savvy to make it a successful business? It will take both of those characteristics to make me happy. And, thus, successful...in my mind.

Is looking good better than feeling good? That, just like everything else, is an individual thing. It’s all relative.

Speaking of relative...I don’t have any rich ones. So, I guess I should just push on with the “plan”...gotta do what I gotta do...I ‘yam what I ‘yam.

Maybe eating more spinach will help!

And, no, I don't plan on cutting off an ear yet. I may climb a flagpole naked for attention...watch for that in the local news.

Twenty hours on Foam Street - Monterey

Loretta and I visited one of our favorite places this past weekend. Well, I suppose it really wasn't technically a weekend since we got there late Sunday morning and left to come home late Monday morning. It was all too short as always.

I am not alone in my thoughts that Monterey is a special place. Why? I guess I could just say, "It just is", but that wouldn't do it justice. The word ambience comes to mind. The words by the ocean seem appropriate. In fact, I made this comment to Loretta and our friends while we were there, "Why would anyone NOT want to live by the ocean...specifically, Monterey Bay?" We have been very lucky with the weather...it has always been prefect. We've been there in November. We've been there in April. And now in August. It has always been clear, sunny, and mild...it was "perfect", as all of us stated to one another several times. I'm quite sure it gets nasty in Monterey at times! We've just been very fortunate. But, it wouldn't matter to me.

Loretta and I have been there by ourselves a few times. This last little trip included our friends Sue and Gene...the third time in two years with them.

This photo was taken in one of our favorite spots for lunch, we usually end up there soon after arriving. It's called Isabella's...a very pleasant, mid-sized restaurant on Old Fisherman's Wharf. The menu is simple and relatively affordable (for lunch). The $3.00 margarita specials (all the wharf bistros do it on Sunday) are just right. The decor is somewhat nautical, but not campy or obnoxious. There is always Frank Sinatra music playing. And we just like it! We always seem to sit at the same table, right around the corner from the front door, so we can watch the Sunday crowd stroll by on the pier. The remainer of the restaurant toward the back affords harbor and marina views. I believe it is owned by an Italian family that runs a few other places in and around Monterey...they've been there for a while and seem to know what they're doing.

After a little lunch, we'll wander the wharf for a while checking out the seafood shops, sampling the chowder hawked in little plastic cups to passersby. Slowly making our way back, we pass the huge wharf plaza and into that end of town. There are a few shops there that Sue and Gene like to frequent...mostly touristy, curio places. The plaza had some sort of Turkish festival going on while we were there. It was noisy, smokey, and nothing appealed to us to stop. A mainstay of that section of Monterey on weekends was not there...an organ grinder with his monkey. Yes, there are still people who perpetuate that old tradition. The monkey has the little hat and outfit that includes a red vest, he runs out into the crowd at the end of his little leash collecting coins...and, of course, tipping his little hat each time! Once in while, a small child will attempt to pet him and he'll let out a short screech of surprise until the organ grinder guy disciplines him a bit. Then the monkey will reluctantly sit there for one small tactile moment by all the children in the crowd...scampering back to his owner, sometimes jumping up on the little organ box perched on a monopod.

The walk back to our motel on Foam Street from the wharf is about 1/4 mile or so...seems longer after all the $3.00 margaritas, clam chowder, and sourdough bread. We pass by another part of the marina and a park on the way. It's a nice walk on a wide, Monterey-pine-shaded bike/walk path.
BTW...Be sure to obey the usual traffic laws (right and left lanes, slower traffic keep to right, etc)... because one of the locals whizzing by on his bicycle will surely scold you if you don't! Or, run into you, causing great bodily harm I'm sure. Sometimes foreign tourists just don't get it!

You'll see little harbor seals basking on the rocks and marina structures. Some of them hang out unseen under the wharf squawking (I assume at one another) in a beligerent tone. Boats come and go...some sportfishing boats as well as whale-watching excursions. There's even a glass-bottom boat or two that we have yet to try. And a lot of people, especially on weekends. Even weekdays are somewhat busy during the summer...though never really what I call crowded. This ain't Disneyland!

Our stroll back toward Cannery Row and our motel passes by the Monterey Plaza Hotel. It's very nice, but quite pricey...maybe we'll stay there someday. We always seem to end up at the Plaza Bar at the end of our day for an after-dinner cocktail. Only one though, as the drinks there run about $8.00+ each!

Our Monterey Sunday afternoon then includes checking into the motel...2:00 or so. Loretta and I generally break out the portable bar and mix a bloody mary or two for us, Sue, and Gene.
Then, a leisurely stroll through Cannery Row. This means, Sue and Loretta go shopping...Gene and I hit one of several restaurant bars! They don't have the $3.00 margaritas that the wharf offers, so we'll generally pound a few beers on one of the outside patios. And just sit...and relax. That's one of the things about going with Sue and Gene that make it enjoyable for us...the girls like to shop, and Gene and I are content to plant our asses in a chair and do nothing.

Later, back at the motel...we retire to our rooms for an hour or so. Gene takes a nap...Loretta and I sit in the spa for a while...then dinner.

The next morning, very early (6:00), I usually get up, grab a cup of coffee, and head down to Cannery Row by myself with camera in hand. There is something quite soothing about strolling the daytime-busy thoroughfare as the sun comes up that makes me feel detached from the rest of the world. The tourists are gone. The shops are closed. But the restaurants are already busy with early morning activity...putting out the trash, receiving the morning produce and seafood deliveries, hosing down the sidewalks. I headed down to McAbee Beach, a small sandy area in front of the Spindrift Inn. The weather was calm and mild...t-shirt and shorts. And this is where the incident occurred.

I was having a great time, snapping photos of the pre-dawn tidepools and bay...no wind, the water was calm, the seabirds jockeying for position amongst the exposed rocks, the lanquid tide surging in and out. I had almost filled up my digital memory card and decided it was time to head back. And then...being a little too confident, I made an ill-advised move. I attempted to make a long step from one wet, barnacle-covered rock to another...and went down! Hard! Pretty much head first. The $3500 Canon EOS 20D (and equally costly lens) went flying ( I can still hear the clippity clap of it bouncing across the rocks). My right foot had slipped out from under me, raking my shin across the barnacles. My left shoulder and elbow hit another rock and settled in the wet sand, my head hit another rock (a glancing blow, fortunately)...and I found myself almost standing on my head, wedged between barnacle and seaweed covered boulders, feet still up on the rock I was once standing. My first thoughts just micro seconds later? Geeze, I hope no one was watching this (there wasn't another soul around)! My second thought? Holy shit...I can't afford another expensive digital camera right now.

Yes...all 235, 56 year old pounds went down like a stack of jenga tiles at a drunken frat party.

After a second or two of analyzing my predicament...let's see...I'm face down in the sand, feet in the air, in a lot of pain...but I'm conscious...alone, blocks from the motel...I hauled myself up to a standing position. I quickly surveyed the situation...sheepishly picking up the camera. It seemed to be OK...the lens was clear, avoiding any rocky contact...only a couple of small nicks on the edges. Myself...not so lucky.

Although nothing truly serious transpired, I was beat up. There was sticky blood everywhere...on my hands, my knuckles, my elbow...and my right leg. Chunks of barnacle and skin were hanging off of my kneecap, sand coated my left elbow and the side of my head. I was a mess. But, I had to trudge back to the motel. I headed up the beach...blood dripping from a dozen areas...chunks of skin...and holes. The lower shin abrasion swelling up to the size of an ostrich egg. I needed bactine and ice...fast.



Yes...the camera survived. I survived...with fodder in tow for a blathering blog entry about Monterey. We had a nice time in one of our favorite places...despite my studpity.

I got my clam chowder and bay shrimp cocktail. We ate some crab sandwiches. Drank some $3.00 margaritas (too many in my case). Breathed some fresh, Monterey Bay sea air. And I took 150 photos.

We had a great Twenty hours on Foam Street...and I got to walk in the footsteps of one of my mentors once again: John Steinbeck. His image is everywhere on Cannery Row.

I just hope they will let me back in that restaurant bar where one of the other incidents occurred...another time, another blog for that story!

aquaria update

After a little more than two weeks, my saltwater aquarium leap of faith is is proving to be a successful venture.

Only one unfortunate demise stains my salty aquaria tenure. A little, black Three Spot Damselfish didn't make it, falling victum to his twin from stress and harrassment. One of the characteristics of many salter species: they gravitate toward attempted elimination of others of the same clan. Damselfish, especially, are very territorial...moreso than many other fish. You win some...you lose some...that's part of this game.

The two Tangs (a Yellow and a Scobas) are still settling in to cohabitation, as they tend to behave in a similarly agressive manner toward one another. The Yellow Tang has been pushing around the Scobas since we introduced the newcomer into the tank. The harrassment antics have subsided quite a bit, as they will both strive to establish some sort of territory for themselves.

The key behavior to keep an eye on: that each tenant readily eats when food is offered. The poor Scobas is eating heartily, even while being chased by the Yellow one!

So far...so good.

It's not the destination...

Where are you going?

Where am I going?

Where are we all going?



For years and years I have continued to ask myself Where am I going? I'm not talking about the grocery store, school, Monterey for the weekend, or the premier of Nacho Libre. I'm not really even talking about career paths either. I'm referring to a destination of your state of mind.

One answer oftened heard from yours truly to that question: I'm going crazy! That was a cute retort of mine when I was in radio, ie, when my job was being paid to regurgitate cute retorts for a living.

Twenty five years ago I could have honestly answered that destination question without any trouble. Hell...I could have honestly answered that destination question five years ago without too much hesitation. It was relatively obvious to me where I wanted to go. I wanted to go to the next place in my career, in money, in stature, in business. I wanted a bigger, better house...a bigger, better car...bigger, better vacations. Hell...I even daydreamed about having a bigger, better johnson! I had a clear picture of my next step(s) in life. In fact, I even had a good idea of what my semi-final destination should be. I say "semi-final" because everyone's final destination is death...right? That is where it all ends...that is where the final stop sign is...the last hurrah...the last busstop...the ultimate pink slip. We won't go into so-called after-life horseshit here because I believe it is just that...happy horseshit! This, naturally, is fodder for other blogs. My wish for a semi-final destination was that I be a self-actualized individual. My take on what self-actualized means? Getting to a point in one's life in which you are exactly where you want to be and where you should be. That should part is where much internal debate arises. A college psychology professor introduced me to the saying (during some informal therapy for me), "Never should on yourself". In other words, you have arrived at a point in your life where you are truly happy with yourself, what you are doing, and what you have done...don't concern yourself with the world's preception of what you should be. Is this making any sense yet? Be patient...it will.

Believe me when I say this. I am not a fanatic on any one type of religion or ancient Asian philosophy. But there is a way of life that seems to make more sense than most of the others. It is the teachings of Tao.

Tao is not a person. Tao is not a religion per say. Tao is a way of life. Simply put (and I emphasize the word simply), if you know the Way, then you know the goal, because the goal is not at the very end of the Way, the goal is all along the Way - each moment and each step it is there. Very simple is the message: You have to find the Way! The Way is everything. The Journey is everything. The Journey is the goal. It's not the destination...it's the journey.

Sure, I know what you are saying, "Well...if you are a Taoist monk, and can sit in a temple in saffron robes with all your constituents bringing you food and gifts every day, this would appear to make more sense". But who can do that? I know I can't. We poor slobs with mortages, bills, and college funds need to work and make money. No argument here. But remember this. It's not the destination, it's the journey. Along the Way, one must make the attempt to enjoy the Way! That's as simple as I can put in writing in several paragraphs.

I thought about a few contemporary lines that may pertain to and exemplify this Way of life.

Jeff Spiccoli (Sean Penn) in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, "Hey dude...let's party!"

Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark, "Honey, it ain't the years...it's the mileage!"

Del Griffith in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, "Oh...that'll buff right out."

(unknown, although a song was featured in Easy Rider), "Don't bogart that joint!"

Does it make more sense now?

common courtesy and manners resurface?

Could be.

A couple of my concerns with the so-called youth of today are grammar (verbal and prose) and manners... or total lack thereof. The bad grammar thing I must be careful with here...for yours truly doth transgress at times. More on that at a later date. In both cases, it is a function of education in general. The grammar: our school system is failing. The manners: the parents fell way short in this area. Here's my take on common courtesy and manners.

First, let me say this. Bad manners by the public at large is much, much too common today. Whether it be youngsters, foreigners, locals, Christians, heathens, store clerks, or the man on the street...where did common courtesy go? Please note...I have excluded oldsters in the generalization. Oldster being a person older than I (I'm 56). Of course, this is all relative. I'm quite sure I am considered an oldster by my kids (who are in their mid twenties). Senior citizens, for the most part, still practice and truly appreciate manners and courtesy from others. Again, a generalization, since I contiually run into crotchety old farts (and fartettes) who do not now (and may never do) find it necessary to acknowledge the presence of other people in their immediate vicinity. These people, unfortunately, are already dead and gone and don't know it anyway...moot point for now. Besides, this behavior is evident in folks of any age.

The other day while shopping in our local grocery store, I was quite impressed by a simple little passing. I was perusing the juice section. I turned around to look for Loretta (she tends to lag behind, and then gets a little upset with me for walking too fast). At this time, a group of three early-20s type guys were attempting to squeeze by me in the aisle. Please note: they consisted of three different ethnic groups and appeared to be friends. The tall blonde kid actually said to me in a very polite (not condescending) manner, "Excuse me" as he passed by! Wow! I was so impressed. Why was I impressed you may ask? Maybe because I have become such a grumpy, cynical old man...partly from years of enduring discourteous, uncaring, unsymapthetic people in the service industry...that this small moment of common courtesy brightened my day just a bit. To top it off...as I moved past them a few seconds later, I said, "Excuse me guys". The tall blonde kid said, "No problem". I had actually received an unsolicited splay of good manners, doled some back, and then received a response to my act of courtesy. That's it! That is what this is all about. This little scene happens all the time, mostly without the manners. For instance, how many times have you been standing at the video store (let's say Best Buy) looking for a movie? When someone disgusting, rude, smelly thing will move between you and the video rack without uttering a word. They will pass close enough to you that you will be able to discern details of their personal hygience. They will intrude into and through your personal comfort zone. If you're lucky, this neandrathal will continue moving by. Once in a while, they will actually stop in front of you and the videos and look at the same items that you are looking at! This where the the personal comfort zone buffer (and parameters for such) come into play, ie, the amount of space you must stake out to avoid such brazen intrusions. Another blog...another time for that.

You must understand something about me. I really make an attempt to be friendly, courteous, and pleasant to people in public. From my training in the service industry, I try to make eye contact with people. If the eye contact is reciprocated...I flash a modesto smile...and even an occassional, "Hello". These pleasantries are afforded to man or woman. It's not exclusive to attractive, well-groomed, middle-aged females...well, maybe just a little.

My point is this. Quite possibly if all of us make a blantant attempt to put these courtesies and manners into practice on a daily basis...they may rub off on someone. No, you can't change the world in a day. But maybe, just maybe, your little efforts may have a small, positive impact on some poor, unsuspecting, discourteous, ill-mannered slob. It just might (or is it, just may). My attempts to upgrade my grammar skills are not a secret. I just keep trying.

My next personal improvement project: getting pissed in traffic at really bad drivers. I know I can't retrain them...but I can stop swearing at them at the top of my lungs. The middle finger salute ended for me many years ago. A minor in-car, in-traffic incident involving a 357 magnum nipped that behavior in the bud!

Thanks for reading this.