The Stan's Blog

The Dark Before The Dawn

2008-07-23T15:04:00.001-07:00

A quick word of warning... this is a pretty raw post. I'm feeling the frustration right now and I need to express it.

Starting your own business can be one HELL of a roller coaster ride. In the course of a day you can go from excitement to despair to hope to excitement to exhilaration back to despair.

Anything and everything is possible. And one thing is for SURE: it is HARD... AS... HELL.

Not that I'm complaining. I chose to do this. I'm committed to making it happen. It's been 7 months, and although things are looking up, I have yet to get caught up on the mountain of bills, which keep growing.

I feel I'm always just behind on everything critical and WAY behind on everything else.

This is one of the most difficult things I've ever done.

Alba and I constantly fight about money. There's always bills coming in. It seems like I'm always waiting for a check to arrive. I'm constantly paying overdraft charges on my bank account.

Frankly, the money situation sucks. Certainly not what I'd hoped for by now.

But again... I'm not complaining. I chose to do this. I'm committed to making it happen.

I know I will be successful. I feel it. I have the knowledge. I'm taking the actions. I'm (slowly) changing my mindset.

It's just that sometimes success seems like it's just beyond my reach. It's like I can see it. I can feel it. I know it's right there. I can even taste it. But I just can't quite reach it.

You can imagine the frustration I feel sometimes.

I've been pursuing success for the last two and a half years... although I suppose it's only been since I took the plunge and started my own business that I can really count that as progress.

Before then, I was just learning and wishing. Now I'm actually taking action.

But it's not a linear progress. It's like taking two steps forward, then two steps back, then a full step forward and a half step back. You get the idea.

Progress... but at a snail's pace.

But God knows I will never give up until I reach my goal of $50,000 per month in income.

That's almost 50 times what I made last month. But I know it's possible. Others are doing it. And that's all the encouragement I need.

I will persevere... I will continue plowing ahead... I will do whatever it takes... to break through this invisible wall.

Because just beyond is the fulfillment of all my dreams. And how can I give up when I'm so damn close?

They say it's always darkest just before the dawn.

And I can see the day breaking already...

The Stan

Caught Red-Handed

2008-07-20T00:02:00.000-07:00

Once when I was a kid, I meandered into the living room where my Dad was sitting in his favorite recliner watching TV.

Something immediately caught my eye. I noticed Dad had white powder sprinkled all over the front of his shirt. I recognized it immediately. And I wanted some.

"Oh! I want some powdered donuts!"

"We don't have any powdered donuts," he replied dismissively. Apparently, he was oblivious to the half kilo of evidence clinging to his chest.

"But you have powdered sugar all over your shirt!" His brows furrowed and he frowned as he looked down at the incriminating dust.

He quickly brushed it off, leaving faint white streaks in the cotton fibers of his T-shirt. "We don't have any powdered donuts," he repeated.

I continued my protest as he tried to go back to watching television. But I wouldn't have it. I wanted some powdered donuts, and the evidence of their existence was right there in front of me.

Finally, he relented. "I ate all of them. There ain't none left."

Disappointed, I went back to my room.

Fun While It Lasted...

2008-07-16T13:39:00.001-07:00

I slammed my face into a tree today.

There I was, sitting on the ground wondering where my glasses went to, when I noticed my bike broken clean in two.

I found my glasses. They must have taken the brunt of the blow, because they were bent all out of shape.

And my face hurt.

I checked my nose. A little blood, but not too painful. I felt a dull, numb ache across my brow, on the bridge of my nose, and around my eyes. But everything was still in place.

I was lucky. All my body parts were intact. Couldn't say that about my bike.

I stood up and looked back up the steep hill I had been enjoying just moments earlier.

It sure was fun while it lasted. Unfortunately, I was going the wrong way down a one-way street when a minivan turned onto the street just ahead of me.

That's when I decided I should take the sidewalk.

But I was going way too fast. I lost control, and ended up getting up close and personal with a tree trunk. At least it had soft bark.

I'll be alright. I just may look like a raccoon for a few days.

My bike faired a lot worse than I did. I had to partially carry it, partially wheel it as best I can the mile and a half back home. I don't know if it will survive.

Take a look:

The Stan

An Age Old Question Answered

2008-07-15T19:28:00.000-07:00

About a month ago, my life completely changed.

I made a monumental decision that will affect me for the rest of my life.

And it’s the sort of life-changing event that rarely happens in the life of men. Most men pretty much have their mind made up in this area long before casting their first vote... or even drinking their first beer.

In fact, most men go their entire lives without even giving such a change the fair consideration it deserves.

I’m talking about the age-old question of boxers vs. briefs.

Up until about a month ago, I was a brief man. I was firmly in the brief camp, and for good reason: the “package” stays all in one place. You always know where it is. No “adjustment” necessary.

It also makes it easier to hide erections. It’s much harder to “pitch a tent” when things are tucked away nice and tight.

But now I’m living the free and easy life. And I finally understand why so many men find it necessary to constantly “adjust” themselves.

Yes... I’ve decided to let the guys hang loose for a change.

Now, at first you may wonder why in the world I’d make such bold move at the ripe old age of 33.

Well, let me tell you.

Turns out that wearing briefs not only reduces your sperm count (something I’ve known a long time and never worried one iota about), but it reduces your testosterone level, too.

And low testosterone can be a root cause of weight gain, reduced libido, penile shrinkage, muscle atrophy... and man boobs.

DOH!!

So now that I know all this (and knowing is half the battle), I decided it was time to hang loose and easy for while.

No more testosterone-squelching briefs for me!

I’m liberating the guys and embracing my manhood.

Hello, world!

The Stan

The Stan's "Before" Picture

2008-07-12T12:18:00.000-07:00

Well... since my last post was all about my quest to lose those parts of me that jiggle, I figured I should publish my "before" picture so there will be something to compare with later on.

You know... when I'm showing off my bulging, rippling muscles with my shirt off in the classic body-builder pose.

There has to be the obligatory before and after picture to prove that my amazing new exercise plan I call "The Stan's Sand Dune Hustle" actually works!

Without the proof element, who is going to buy my exciting new exercise program?

So here it is. You can see how shockingly inflated I had become. Fortunately, I'm a bit slimmer than that at the moment. But this photo was taken before I started my exciting, revolutionary, fast-acting exercise program. (See previous post for details. Videos and workbook to be released soon.)

As you can see below, Alba has become quite inflated, too!

Until next time...

The Stan

The Stan's Sand Dune Hustle

2008-07-10T23:25:00.000-07:00

A little over two months ago, I decided enough was enough.

I was no longer going to allow myself to balloon out of control. I mean, when little kids start saying "daaaaaamn!" as I'm walking by, then I know it's time to get my weight back under control.

I don't know what I got up to because my bathroom scale is broken. (Because the batteries are dead. Just thought I would clarify that.) But I'm betting I was brushing up against 300 lbs.

So I decided to cut all sugar from my diet, cut back on most high-glycemic foods, and focus on eating more quality protein. In addition, I would start getting my fat, jiggly ass outside and moving it around as fast as I could.

That's when I discovered a wonderful, nearly heart-attack provoking exercise regimen perfect for shedding off the pounds like yesterday's underwear.

I like to call it "The Stan's Sand Dune Hustle."

Here's the simple two step plan to implementing this amazing new exercise program...

Step One: Go to Sand Dune Park in Manhattan Beach, CA.
Step Two: Hustle your fat, lazy ass up that 45 degree slope as fast as you can.

If it takes you 30 minutes to get to the top the first time out, and you nearly have a heart-attack, just be patient. You'll soon be breezing your way up in just 10 minutes flat. Don't worry about those well-oiled shirtless slabs of meat rushing all the way to the top in less than two minutes.

This is a competition with yourself.

And believe it or not it works! I've finally worked my way up to going all the way up and down two whole times! And I've lost a solid three inches off my spare tire in the process.

I'll keep you updated on my quest to become a hunk once again. I'm tired of jiggling all over the place, and pouring myself into my desk chair. I prefer being thin and sexy.

Until next time.

The Stan

The Story of How I Got Turned On To Copywriting

2008-06-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

Yes... I'm the worst blogger ever. I know.

So I'll make it up to you by posting my personal story about how I got into marketing and copywriting....

In 2005, I was flat-broke and punching time as a bookkeeper. I was sick of it. All I knew was I wanted to get out of this stinkin’ rat race... and for good.

Then, one day as I was surfing the net, I came across a promotion for an investment newsletter. It told me I could rake in a fortune from the oil boom... that these were halcyon days for the oil industry and I could catch a piece of the action if I just responded before it was too late!

As I read the promotion, I kept edging closer and closer to the computer screen. My eyes dilated as adrenaline surged through my veins.

I read faster... and faster... and faster... until I clicked on the “order now” button to stake my claim to my share of all those oil profits!

And that proved to be a life-changing moment for me. Not because I got rich in oil profits—I didn’t even make a dime—but because I was on “the list” to receive promotions from every financial newsletter known to man.

They came in my inbox... and through the mail. I was a prime prospect—except for not having any money!

But I read most of them, anyway. And after a while I started wising up to their methods. I remember thinking to myself...

“Damn, these guys are good!”

They know exactly what emotional hot buttons to press to get me drooling all over myself, convinced I’m about to get rich tomorrow!

Then somehow, AWAI, the American Writers & Artists Institute, decided I was a prime prospect for their Six Figure Copywriting Course. To this day, I have no idea what made them decide I was a prospect.

But their promotion worked. They knew what emotional hot buttons to press, too!

That’s when it all clicked for me. That’s when I realized I wanted to learn how to be a direct response copywriter... and have the almost magical skill of persuading through the written word.

So for the next two years, I gobbled up everything I could get my hands on related to copywriting. I spent every last dime I had on books and information products. I studied successful promotions and practiced my skills in secret...

Until it was time to test them in the real world. My first sales letter—a customer acquisition letter for my girlfriend’s makeup business—generated a 2.25% response to a cold, compiled list.

Not bad, huh? Especially when many mailers report precisely a 0.00% response rate!

Later, I wrote a sales letter for an ebook that boosted conversion rates by 812%... and through testing it exploded to 1,526%!

Now, we’re talkin’!

These and other successes—plus some failures along the way—have encouraged me to continue to study, practice, and hone my skills to keep them razor-sharp. Because I’m absolutely committed to becoming a top-notch, A-level copywriter.

One day, I want my name to be uttered in the same sentence with legends such as John Carlton, Clayton Makepeace, and Gary Bencivenga.

But in the meantime, I’m helping info-marketers, seminar promoters, and brick-and-mortar businesses get more out of their marketing dollars.

[Check out my website at www.LeveragePointsMarketing.com]

--
The Stan

P.S. There's my story. This is a personal blog--not a business blog--so I'll be back to reporting juicy details of my life soon!

Back In Action

2008-06-09T19:55:00.001-07:00

I'm the worst blogger ever, I know. Here it is months after my last post. I've had quite an "adventure" over the last few months--plenty of fodder for entertaining blog posts.

But I was too stressed out to do much blogging.

Today's post is pretty boring, though. Maybe 'cause I'm feeling lazy right now. I've got to drive up to the Sacramento area tomorrow and will be there for the rest of the week to learn how to make up to $500 per hour as a coach.

My business is s-l-o-w-l-y getting off the ground. My strategy to start out with was all wrong. So I initially gave up to go back and get a job. But my heart just wasn't in it... the sales jobs I tried sucked big nasty hairy cojones.

And I wasn't about to subject myself to 9-5 indentured servitude again.

So I went back to building my business, and after a re-structuring and making some good contacts things are now on the up and up.

I have a better strategy now--a more long-term strategy in place and I'm confident things will continue to get better.

It feels good being self employed. But the next step is to turn this freelance operation into a real business. I've got my work cut out for me, for sure.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Well, my laziness dictates I sign off now. Stay tuned for more entertaining posts in the future.

The Stan...

Two Weeks Notice

2007-12-19T14:52:00.000-08:00

I submitted my two weeks notice today. I was expecting a shit-storm, but my immediate boss took it quite well. The owner took it well enough.

The fact of the matter is, I'm not an ideal employee and I'm an awful manager. I just have no interest in managing someone else's business.

But I'm really great at generating creative ideas, at writing, and at creating marketing systems (just not at managing them). And that means my skill set is more suited to be the occasional "hired gun" NOT a full-time staff member.

So starting January 1, I'll officially be unemployed...and LOVIN' IT! Not the unemployed part...the part about being an entrepreneur starting my own business.

It's the only way to true wealth.

And the great part about being a marketing consultant is that I know exactly how to market my services! It won't be long before I've landed my first client. I've got my plan all laid out.

Anyway, now that I've actually given notice, I'm relieved. Talk about a big load off. I can't tell you how nervous I was anticipating the "shit-storm," and it didn't even happen!

I think they realize it's best for the company, anyway. (I really not the ideal employee.)

The Stan

Coming Soon...FREEEEEEDOOOOMMMM!!!

2007-12-12T14:59:00.000-08:00

Okay, time to clear out the cobwebs on my blog. Been awhile...and during that time I've endured stress, triumph, depression, more stress, hope, horror, disappointment, more triumph, more stress...you know, life as usual.

But my life is about to change dramatically REALLY soon because of a promise I made myself more than a year ago: that 2007 would be the year I start my own business. Yet here it is with December half way over and where's my business?

I've felt trapped in my job. Trapped because I felt like I needed to achieve a certain minimum level of results before moving on. Yet my boss is such a perfectionist and miser that it takes forever to get anything done. Things that needed to be done MONTHS ago. Things that have held me up from finishing important projects.

Like when he decided to save money on implementing the new software system by configuring it himself. Took 5 months to get just the first half done. We STILL haven't implemented the web store. Testing data that I needed in February was done just a month ago. Last week was the final photo shoot for photos that I needed back in March. The only reason we hired a photographer (instead of John doing it himself) is because he finally realized he didn't have the time to do it.

But I don't care anymore. Come January 1, I'm outta there. I've held up my dreams for too long waiting for things to get done. It sounds pathetic...like I'm passing blame on someone else, but I really had no control over those things that needed to be done. It was my boss's responsibility. I can't order my boss around. If he wants to do something himself, but doesn't have time to do it, what can I do?

I can decide when it's time for me to move on and start my own business once and for all. So come January 1, come hell or high water, I'll be the president of Multiplicity Marketing (web site currently in development.)

Before I leave, I'll finish up the catalog/special report at the very least. As for the rest, I don't really give a damn. My damn has already been given. I've no more damns to give.

I'm really looking forward to my freedom. I know it will come with more responsibility and an even greater need to manage my time well. But at least I'll sink or swim based on the decisions I alone make.

This is the last job I will ever have. I swore that to myself one year ago and I'm keeping it. Whatever happens, I'm an entrepreneur. I'll figure something out.

Here's to freedom!

The Stan

Barbarians at the Gate

2007-10-24T18:42:00.001-07:00

Enjoy, my friends....

New Video of the L.A. Metropolitan Brass Band

2007-10-21T21:49:00.000-07:00

This just in...a trombone feature from the Mother's Day 2006 concert. The video quality is poor--this wasn't a professional video. But it's the music that really counts, isn't it?

Once I find out the actual title and arranger of this piece, I'll post those details. In the meantime...enjoy

Back By Popular Demand!

2007-10-17T22:03:00.000-07:00

Okay, not really. I've been on hiatus from blogging for quite awhile, though. Been busy as a one-armed paper hanger in a hurricane. In fact, I'm so far behind I've got to walk backwards just to catch up. I've got more work cut out for me than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest. I've got a few more, but I digress.

The 21 Day Experiment was a success! Changed my life. Though I've gotten lazy lately ever since the power went out last week and the alarm didn't go off! Next day, I set the alarm right, and it STILL didn't go off. It was then that I realized Alba had set the time 12 hours off. So the third day, the alarm goes off, but in my half-daze I hit the snooze button and sleep in until 8:00 am.

I suppose there is daylight savings time coming up in a couple of weeks to help set me straight, but I'll have to repeat the 21 Day Experiment sooner than that.

Moving on...

The brass band is slowly coming together. November 11 should be a great concert and I expect lots of people to be there. In case you haven't heard the band, here's a "secret" video that recently came to light. Enjoy...

The Stan Gets Political

2007-09-17T19:41:00.000-07:00

A man walked into a very high-tech restaurant in a fancy hotel. As he waited to be seated, he noticed that the Maitre D' was a robot.

The robot clicked to attention and said, "Sir, there is a one hour wait. And I am programmed to converse with you until a table is ready, If you please."

Intrigued, the man said, "OK."

The robot clicked a couple more times and then asked, "Sir, what is your IQ?"

The man answered, "Oh, about 164."

The robot then proceeded to discuss the theory of relativity, interstellar space travel, the latest medical breakthroughs, etc.

The man was most impressed. The next day he returned, But thought he would try a different tack.

The robot again asked, "What is your IQ, sir?"

This time the man answered, "Oh, about 100".

So the robot started discussing NASCAR racing, the latest basketball scores, and what to expect the Red Sox to do this weekend.

The guy had to try it one more time. So the next day he returned.

Again the robot asked the question, "What is your IQ?"

This time the man drawled out,....'bout 50."

The robot clicked, then leaned close and very slowly asked,

"A-r-e

y-o-u-r

p-e-o-p-l-e

g-o-i-n-g t-o

n-o-m-i-n-a-t-e

H-i-l-l-a-r-y?"

The Stan ;)

P.S. Wasn't that "Hillaryous?"

Little Jimmy's Letter From Camp

2007-09-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom & Dad:

Our Scoutmaster told us to write to our parents in case you saw the flood on TV and are worried. We are okay. Only one of our tents and 2 sleeping bags got washed
away.

Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Adam when it happened. Oh yes, please call Adam's mother and tell her he is okay. He can't write because of the cast.

I got to ride in one of the search and rescue jeeps. It was neat. We never would have found Adam in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning.

Scoutmaster Keith got mad at Adam for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Adam said he did tell him, but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him.

Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas will blow up? The wet wood didn't burn, but one of the tents did and also some of our clothes. Matthew is going to look weird until his hair grows back.

We will be home on Saturday if Scoutmaster Keith gets the bus fixed. It wasn't his fault about the wreck. The brakes worked okay when we left.

Scoutmaster Keith said that with a bus that old you have to expect something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance.

We think it's a neat bus. He doesn't care if we get it dirty and if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the fenders. It gets pretty hot with 45 people in a bus made for 24.

He let us take turns riding in the trailer until the highway patrol man stopped and talked to us.

Scoutmaster Keith is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is a good driver. In fact, he is teaching Jessie how to drive on the mountain roads where there isn't any cops. All we ever see up there are logging trucks.

This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out to the rapids. Scoutmaster Keith wouldn't let me because I can't swim, and Adam was afraid he would sink because of his cast, it's concrete because we didn't have any plaster, so he let us take the canoe out. It was great.

You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood. Scoutmaster Keith isn't crabby like some scoutmasters. He didn't even get mad about the life jackets.

He has to spend a lot of time working on the bus so we are trying not to cause him any trouble. Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Andrew dived into the lake and cut his arm, we got to see just how a tourniquet works.

Steven and I threw up, but Scoutmaster Keith said it probably was just food poisoning from the leftover chicken. He said they got sick that way with food they ate in prison.

I'm so glad he got out and became our scoutmaster. He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was doing his time. By the way, what is a pedal-file?

I have to go now. We are going to town to mail our letters and buy some more beer and ammo.

Don't worry about anything.

Love,

Jimmy

(The Stan's Note: I got this in my inbox from my Dad and thought it was hilarious!)

I Stand Corrected!

2007-09-13T10:33:00.000-07:00

I've been helping Alba write up her marketing materials for her new business as a makeup artist, hair stylist, and threading artist. (For some of the guys out there, threading is a hair removal technique that pulls hair out by the roots.)

Alba assured me that her technique of threading, unlike at Ziba and other places that do the same thing, would ensure that the person would not experience pain, nor redness, irritation, soreness, nor infection. She's very careful about disinfecting and using a topical numbing agent.

So...using my writing and marketing skills, I created a headline for her website that read...

My Unique Threading Technique
(Of Hair Removal) Results in
NO Pain...NO Redness...NO Irritation...
NO Soreness...and NO Infection...
GUARANTEED!

Skeptical? Discover it Yourself
Completely RISK FREE!

There. I was proud of myself. I thought I was done.

But then Alba says to me, "Why don't you try the threading yourself. That way you'll know what you're talking about when you write about it."

Well...I suppose that sounds like a reasonable proposition to me. (Thoughts of Mel Gibson in pantyhose come to mind.) I reluctantly agree.

Five minutes later:

OOOOWWWWWW!!!!! WHAT THE HELL!!!!!!! Why do women put themselves through this????? (Images of Steve Carell having his chest waxed come to mind.)

It was definitely NOT pain-free, even with the local anesthetic. So reluctantly, I was forced to change the headline to the somewhat weaker, but more accurate

My Unique Threading Technique
(Of Hair Removal) Results in
Very Little Redness, Irritation, or Soreness and
LESS Pain Than Ziba or Other Places,
GUARANTEED!

Skeptical? Discover it Yourself
Completely RISK FREE!

Well...Life of a marketer, I suppose. Her websites and corresponding sales letters are works in progress and continually evolving. But take a look, and let me know your comments...

www.ThreadingByAlba.com
www.MakeupByAlba.com
www.HairDesignByAlba.com

The Stan

The 21 Day Experiment

2007-09-07T13:30:00.001-07:00

In order to fully understand what I'm doing here, allow me to elaborate on my thoughts about the nature of humans.

We, as humans, are more than animals. Evolutionists would disagree, and say we're nothing more than smart monkeys. We may be smart monkeys--we're certainly a type of animal. But we're more than just smart monkeys. We're human.

And as humans, we're multi-dimensional. We're made up of different "dimensions" if you will...

There's the emotional aspect. The mental aspect. The physical aspect. The spiritual aspect...and the relational aspect.

Modern scientists may argue that at the heart of all these areas is nothing more than chemical reactions or electrical impulses in the brain.

I can't argue with that.

At a micro (or nano or pico) level, there may be nothing more than chemical reactions and electrical impulses going on. But just as our bodies are more than bags of dust and water, we're more than the sum of all the chemical reactions and electrical impulses in our bodies. It's the classic case of the sum being greater than all the component parts.

So forgive me if these dimensions are unscientific. They're not scientific descriptions, but philosophical ones, designed to help explain the various aspects of what it means to be human.

So to be a well-balanced person means to be healthy and fit in all these areas:

1. To be physically fit and healthy.
2. To be mentally engaged, alert, and aware of your surroundings.
3. To be emotionally intelligent, well-adjusted, not hindered by past failures or disappointments.
4. To be spiritually healthy (I'm still learning and exploring what exactly that means).
5. To have healthy, positive relationships with those around us.

So how do you achieve the proper balance in all those areas? In my experience, I'd find that I would be working on one to the detriment of another. And no matter how hard I tried, I failed to keep all of these areas in proper balance.

So what to do?

Time. More specifically, the management of it. I believe the classic principles of time management can help us here. To work on each of these areas takes time. And everyone is allotted 24 hours in each day, eight of which are spent sleeping (if you know what's good for you)...which means you've got 16 hours to do everything else.

That's 16 hours to take care of business (hygiene, chores, work, etc.), and work on these areas. So what if we defined particular goals in each area, and scheduled time to work on each one. Just like you were scheduling classes, or practice time (as a musician or athlete), or work schedules.

That's what I spent a great deal of time with last Sunday. I identified goals in each area and came up with a daily schedule that would help me achieve those goals by working on each of them on a daily basis.

They're part of my schedule now. Just as I used to have a regular time that I practiced my trumpet everyday, now I have a regular time that I get up for exercise; a regular time for prayer, meditation, and bible study; regular time for studying other subjects that interest me; regular time for meals; regular time to go to bed so I can get up at that regular time the next day; etc., etc.

It's not easy. Especially for a musician used to getting up anytime I damn well feel like it. In fact, I believe the only way to succeed long term is to combine all my desire, will-power, and the creation of a new self-image as the kind of person who is disciplined enough to keep all my dimensions in balance...and focus it on this 21 Day Experiment.

Just 21 Days. I'm not telling myself I'll change forever. I'm telling myself "just 21 consecutive days without interruption until it becomes habit."

In other words, for the next 21 days, I'm going to be a well-balanced person and work on being fit and healthy in every dimension of human experience. What changes will I notice? Is 21 days long enough to see much change? Will I feel adapted enough to my new life that it will become a natural habit from then on forward? Will I feel any different? Will I begin to notice myself actually becoming this new person that I imagine myself to be?

Those are some of the questions I hope to answer within the next 21 Days. Today is the fifth day of my experiment and so far so good, though last night I wound up going to bed a bit early because I was really tired.

But I do feel better. The exercise certainly feels good. I feel productive in a way. I'm exploring what it means to have a relationship with God, and I notice certain changes in my demeanor and character. I feel more patient...and confident...and at peace. I haven't had trouble getting to sleep at night, though it's butt-hard to get my ass out of bed at 6:45 am!

I'll keep you posted as this experiment unfolds...

The Stan

The Importance of Self-Image

2007-09-06T10:17:00.001-07:00

More than a desire is needed to master not just a subject or skill, but yourself. Yes...I believe that by being a master of all those things I mentioned in my last post means you have to master yourself. To take control.

But not forceful control.

Let me explain. Often when people decide to loose weight they "force" themselves to diet or exercise. They rely on willpower alone to get the job done. This works for awhile, but eventually, we tire of forcing ourselves to do something we don't naturally want to do. I've had it happen in my life numerous times. Not just with loosing extra flab, but with other things, too.

So the answer is not merely being disciplined to the point of being able to forcefully control yourself by the power of your will. Willpower alone does not result in longterm change. Admit it to yourself. How many times have you tried to change solely on the basis of willpower? How long did it work for you?

Something more is needed for permanent change. More than mere desire. More than strong willpower.

Maxwell Maltz, author of Psycho-Cybernetics (a book I HIGHLY recommend), explains that the root of the problem is not a lack of willpower, or a lack of desire to change, but a lack of a self-image that naturally incorporates the desired behavior.

For example, if you imagine yourself as someone who has no time to exercise, you're convinced that exercise is not fun, you have better things to do with your time, that exercise is to be avoided, or that it's a necessary evil, etc. Or if you appear in your mind's eye as an overweight person and are convinced that's what you naturally look like, then you'll BE overweight.

In other words, your self image is what determines your behavior. Your behavior determines who you are. Like I said in my post about that ridiculous book, "The Secret" (didn't see the film), you are who you think you are. Maxwell Maltz illustrates this beautifully in Psycho-Cybernetics.

On the other hand, say that you view yourself as an active, involved person. The kind of person who takes care of him(her)self, who eats right, who enjoys physical activity, who is naturally thin and fit...then you'll start naturally exhibiting the kind of behavior to support that self image. No "willpower" required. You just do it because those actions are congruent with who you believe yourself to be.

So the real root of change, then, is to change your self image. I always imagined that someday I'd master all those areas I mentioned in my last post. That has been my problem all along. I hadn't created a self-image that included mastery in those areas today. Right now. Not 10 years from now. It may be too late, then.

So I've decided to try an experiment. A 21-Day experiment. Maxwell Maltz says it takes 21 consecutive days to form a habit. After 21 consecutive days of doing anything, it will suddenly feel strange not to do it.

In the past, I've pretty much focused on one goal at a time. I felt this was the only way to get things done. But I believe I've been doing myself a disservice by thinking this way. We're all multi-dimensional beings. In order to be effective and well-balanced, it's important to have multiple goals we're simultaneously working toward and be able to effectively manage them.

I'll be discussing this 21-Day experiment in my next post.

The Stan

P.S. The image above is a self portrait by the famous Mexican artist, Frida Kahlo, who was considerably more attractive than this painting suggests. (She didn't have such a pronounced "unibrow" either.) But apparently, this is how Frida viewed herself. Many people have unhealthy self-images that make them to be less beautiful, less talented, less intelligent, less emotionally stable, less wealthy, less successful (I could go on) then they should be and have a right to be.

What Does It Mean To Be Great?

2007-09-05T09:08:00.000-07:00

Continuing from my last post:

If you were to ask me that question before last Sunday, I would have likely answered (like many would, I suppose) that being great means to be extraordinary at something.

We talk about "great actors," "great musicians," "great salesmen," "great business leaders," "great writers." I could on and on.

To be great means to be great at something. Or to stress it differently, to be great at some thing.

But I no longer believe this to be the case. And here's why...

Often, in the pursuit of "greatness" at some thing, we wind up living massively unbalanced lives. I've seen it in my life. If I'm interested in a particular topic, I'll spend months, hours every day, reading everything I can get a hold of. On the one hand, this behavior is admirable. But on the other, it leads to an imbalanced life.

I wind up neglecting my body. Not exercising. Not eating healthy. I ignore the chores around the house. I don't balance my checkbook. In fact, I'll often not even want to think about anything else but what I'm studying, or practicing, or whatever. Clearly, that's not greatness.

It must be about more than just being great at some thing.

Consider all the "great" actors, or "great" musicians, or "great" artists that have (or had) massively screwed up lives because of sex, drugs, alcohol, or some other weakness or addiction. A few examples: Robert Downey, Jr.; Chris Farley; Judy Garland; Jimi Hendrix; John Coltrane; Elvis Presley; Charlie Parker...the list goes on and on.

Consider the "great" leaders who harbored a secret life. Bill Clinton; Richard Nixon (much vilified now, but was responsible for opening China to the West); Jim Baker (former televangelist); Ken Lay (of Enron fame)...again, there are many examples.

Clearly to be great at some thing, to be recognized by others for your accomplishments, to be a business, political, or spiritual leader, to be a public figure...those things in themselves do not make one "great" in the absolute sense of the word.

So what, then, does it mean to be great?

The conclusion I came to is that greatness includes someone who has not only mastered a skill or particular subject, but has a positive and lasting influence on those around him because...

He has his life in proper balance.
Has a healthy sense of himself and his place in the world.
Is emotionally intelligent and stable.
Maintains his physical health and appearance.
Doesn't allow himself to be a slave to weaknesses or addictions.
Is ethical in all his dealings.
Doesn't neglect his spiritual side.
Improves himself in some way on a daily basis.
Is financially stable and independent.
Is capable of influencing and persuading others without unethical manipulation in order to achieve great things.

How, then, does one manage to succeed in all those areas? How many people are there that actually fit all these criteria? Is it even possible? I can only imagine how effective someone who managed to succeed in all those areas would be!

Imagine, for example, if John Coltrane, rather than being a troubled soul, had been all of those things I just mentioned. Think of what he could have done for the world of jazz! For music as a whole! Think of the lives that could have been positively influenced and inspired! This is a whole new level of greatness. Above and beyond merely being great at some thing.

I want to be all those things. But wanting alone won't get me there. I've wanted to be all those things my whole life, yet at 32, my life is as unbalanced as it ever was!

Clearly, more is needed. The desire to be better, in itself, will get you nowhere. But "forcing" yourself to "try to do better" in those areas, doesn't work, either. I'll talk more about this in the next post...

The Stan

A Lesson in Personal Change

2007-09-04T09:30:00.000-07:00

I went absolutely nowhere this last weekend. I didn't really do much of anything, either. But it was a fantastically productive weekend because of a few hours I spent in private thought on Sunday afternoon.

What I was thinking about, and the conclusions I came to, will be the subject of the next few posts.

When I was in college, my trumpet professor had a small piece of paper tacked on the bulletin board just outside his office that read, "Without change, there can be no improvement."

I don't remember who this quote was attributed to, but it has stuck with me all these years and I'll never forget it. Without any further elaboration, it's a powerful lesson.

So simple. Yet so profound.

I believe this phrase, which I think about nearly everyday, is part of the inspiration for me to try new and different things. As Matt Bingham told me recently, "The Stan, you're a man of ventures. Everyone else, when I ask them what they've been up to, say 'Oh...you know...same 'ole, same 'ole.' But you...you're always up to something!"

I can't help it. Without change, there is no improvement. My greatest fear is stagnation. Or worse, degeneration. Only the willingness to change, to try new things, to push yourself can you hope to become a better person.

The other day, I was reading the words of Igor Ledochowski, a well-known hypnotist and corporate consultant, when I came across a sentence that immediately struck me and will be with me for years to come:

"Great people become great because they got pushed--either by circumstances or by themselves--to keep growing on a daily basis."

Wow.

Did that ever hit home! "To keep growing on a daily basis." Not only is it important to change. It's important to change on a daily basis. Otherwise, it's too easy to become stagnant. Too easy to become lazy and complacent.

So what does it mean to be a "great person?" And how, exactly, do you become one?

This is what we'll discuss in the next few posts.

The Stan

The Total Perspective Vortex

2007-08-28T10:55:00.000-07:00

The "Total Perspective Vortex" is the creation of Douglas Adams, author of "The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy."

Here's how it works: you're placed inside of this machine (called the "Total Perspective Vortex"), which forces upon you a complete and total perspective of the entire universe. It is designed as a punishment for the arrogant because they realize in a traumatic way how insignificant they are in relation to the entire universe. Everyone who enters the Total Perspective Vortex goes completely bonkers.

Here's a sample of what one small part of the Total Perspective Vortex might look like:

The rest can be found here: The Scale of the Universe.

Influence and Mind Control

2007-08-27T14:18:00.001-07:00

Damn. It's been almost a week since my last post.

Not much has changed in the last week. Still trying to get these brass band auditions together, and hoping we get a good turnout.

Other than that, I started reading Robert Cialdini's classic book "Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion." Fascinating stuff. I've been particularly interested in influence and persuasion lately. I'll give a report later.

In the meantime, check out this clip from Darren Brown. He has a show on the Sci-Fi Channel. This guy is an expert at reading people and using subliminal messages to subconsciously communicate with, control, or fool people. Fascinating. In some cases, I can see what he's doing. In others...just bazaar (like the phantom limb experiments where the person closes their eyes and can actually "feel" and correctly guess objects placed in the phantom hand.)

Can you see what he's doing here?

Building a Brass Band

2007-08-22T13:06:00.000-07:00

Putting a brass band together is a HELL of a lot of work! What was I thinking? What did I think I was getting myself into?

It's like a regular part-time job. Getting 30 members together is only a small fraction of the work involved. And fortunately, I have people to help with that.

But still, it's up to me to organize the auditions, promote them online (I have people spreading the word in all the area university music departments), schedule audition times, post the information on the website, etc., etc.

I'm the webmaster, the President, the marketer and promoter, the encourager, the man with the whip when things don't get done (not that I'm heavy-handed, but I like to keep things moving.)

I'm having to find and secure the facilities for rehearsals and performances, and we're still not done. We may have to find a new facility for the Christmas concert. We'll definitely need a new rehearsal facility soon, because we need access to decent percussion equipment, and that's sadly lacking at the Torrance Salvation Army corps.

I need to find a place for percussion auditions and successfully recruit at least three percussionists to the band, which is difficult to do because percussionists whine more than anyone about wanting to get paid. Don't blame them, but still...

Our budget is roughly equivalent to a 10-year-old's piggy bank. I supplement whatever I can, but I don't make a lot of money. This is a bootstrap operation, so we have to be careful about how money gets spent. That means all marketing and promotion has to be done for free, or some other arrangement worked out.

Speaking of marketing and promotion, it's now on my shoulders to fill up a 1,481 seat hall with as many asses as will fit in there...And hopefully there are wallets with cash between those asses and the 1,481 seats. That remains to be seen.

Not that it's hopeless. Just a hell of a lot of work. And it's work that will never pay me a dime. So sometimes I ask myself why the hell am I spending all this time and effort for this?

I can only say for the sheer love of brass bands. I want to see a regular kick-ass brass band here in the L.A. area if I have to be the one to see to it. If it's me that has to be relentlessly recruiting, promoting, marketing, spieling, whatever...then so be it. There WILL be a kick-ass brass band here in the L.A. area, and it WILL be a permanent fixture here.

People will speak of the L.A. Phil, the Long Beach Municipal Band (a professional kick-ass wind ensemble), and the L.A. Metropolitan Brass Band all in the same breath.

I told myself I wouldn't get involved in any "volunteer" work until I made my fortune. But I just can't help myself. I just love music too much, and this particular dream is too dear to just let it fade away.

There are glory days ahead for the L.A. Metro Brass!

The Stan

Look What I Found!

2007-08-20T17:13:00.000-07:00

Snagged this off an old post from Matt & Shelley's Blog. Shelley game nights used to be so much fun!
I'll never forget some of those hilarious Balderdash moments. None of us cared about points. All we wanted was to hear the next ridiculous movie plot...or people's suggestions at what certain acronyms stood for...or "interesting" definitions of unusual words.

But Shelley game nights aren't the same without Shell C. and Matt B. And most of the rest of the gang have moved out of town, too. All except me and Michelle and Mateo.

From left to right starting with Shelley in yellow: Shelley, Myev, Michelle & Mateo, Heidi, Your's Truly, and Geoff and Emily (who have been very negligent in updating their blog).

Maybe I should renew the tradition with a new generation of Balderdash nights! That would be a hell of a lot of fun!

Relating to an Invisible God, Part II

2007-08-20T10:08:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about this issue of relating to an invisible God for the last week or so. This whole thought process was spawned a week ago yesterday, as I sat at a round table in a meeting to discuss forming small groups at church.

I'm mildly interested in participating in a small church group of other people around my age, but I was mostly there for the pizza. At one point, we had an "exercise" with the other people at the table, and one of the questions was "How has your relationship with God grown over the years."

Well, I couldn't answer that question. I can't say it's "grown" at all. I'm still confused about how this is supposed to be a "relationship" as I understand the term. I'm honest in my reply. I've got nothing to hide.

As I think about this issue more, it occurs to me that I may have missed something here. (Stay with me as I work this out.)

Because God is infinite, he is not bound by a physical form...he's entirely "not physical." I'm avoiding the use of the word "spiritual" here, because my mind can't wrap itself around what exactly that means. The word "spiritual" has taken on many connotations. Maybe "not physical" is the simplest and best definition of the word "spiritual" and we should just leave it at that.

So because God is not in physical form, then if we were to have a relationship with Him, it would have to be fundamentally different from the kind of relationships we're used to having with physical people.

There would be no audible voice. No physical manifestation. It would be entirely "not physical."

I'm not saying God is not capable of producing an audible voice, or some kind of avatar, but it would certainly be out of the norm, as our experiences tell us--although the Bible does relate certain instances where this happened. But if I were to hear of a particular occurrence, I would be extremely skeptical...

Ockham's razor: a simpler explanation is that someone is making it up, imagining it, is mentally ill, or suffering a hallucination or wishful thinking. All such reports would have to be taken with a grain of salt because they are unprovable and unverifiable.

Therefore, I must immediately reject any claim of "God spoke to me, and...blah, blah, blah," unless the statement contained information that the speaker could not possibly know and that information was verifiable.

So...without an audible voice, or a physical manifestation, how would you know if God were trying to speak to you? (Does God even need to speak to us? Do we necessarily need God to speak to us--other than what's already in the Bible?)

So accepting that a relationship with God would be fundamentally different from anything we've known based on our physical experience, then I imagine it would be a pretty difficult and nebulous thing to define what exactly that relationship would be like.

Our experience is purely physical. God is "not physical." What does "not physical" mean? How can I relate to someone that is "not physical," since I am a physical being and all of my experiences are in the physical world?"

So again, I've circled back to the original problem: how do you relate to a "not physical" God? Certainly God would not be God if he were bound by a physical form. Yet because he is God, there is an immense gap between our experiences and His...between what we know and what He knows...between our senses and His.

In fact, in order to communicate with a "not physical" being, we would need an extra sense. Our five senses are tuned into the physical world. We would need a "sixth sense" that is tuned to a "not physical" world.

Even if God were to attempt to speak to us using the physical world, I would imagine that we would still need the "sixth sense" to recognize that it is, in fact, God trying to speak to us. Otherwise, we may not even recognize it--or we may attribute it to something else.

In any case, I've been reminded that prayer is certainly biblical. Jesus even gave us a blueprint for it in the form of the Lord's prayer. So that means we should pray, even if there is no "return message."

You Gotta Love Cats!

2007-08-18T17:06:00.000-07:00

I'm a dog person, but cats do have their uses from time to time...

Jehovah's Witnesses Come A Callin'

2007-08-18T13:27:00.000-07:00

I was lying on the couch this morning, about to have my neck cracked by Alba (which feels awesome, by the way), when I heard a knock on the screen door. I thought it was my next door neighbor, Jenny, but when I turned to look toward the door, there was no one there.

Whoever it was, I was sure they didn't know us, because instead of peaking through the screen door like Jenny would have done, or remaining conspicuously in front of it, they stood off to the side so I couldn't see who was there.

Annoyed, I got up to answer the door and two men were standing there, impeccably dressed and groomed like a couple of young congressional interns.

"Does anyone here speak Spanish?" one of them asked.

Yep...they're promoting some political agenda, I thought.

"Well...Alba does--" and I turn around hoping to pawn them off on Alba so I wouldn't have to be the rude one and shoo them away.

But Alba was quick on the uptake: "I'll be in the shower," she said, and hurried to the bathroom.

Unfazed, the man on the left continued: "Well, we're here with the Jehovah's Witnesses...." and he continued into his spiel about cars and engineers and how engineers are the best people to tell you about the cars, and blah, blah, blah.

Dammit, I should have known. Their blue shirts fooled me. They were in disguise. Not the usual arm-length, button-up white shirts and ties. These were blue. I could see now the black Bibles in their left hands, and a few tracts sticking out of one of the outside pockets.

For a moment, I was worried he would pull one out and start talking about a cartoon drawing with lions laying in fields and people building a house in the background, while others were harvesting a crop. "Doesn't that look idealic?" he would say. And "Wouldn't you like to live like this?"

Then I would be forced to say "Hell, no! That looks like too much work to me! Who wants to spend eternity tilling the fields and building log cabins?" But he didn't pull out a tract. He went on talking about how if God was the engineer of us, then wouldn't he be the best person to tell us everything we need to know about ourselves?

Meanwhile, I'm holding the screen door open, and several flies were taking full advantage of the situation and making a bee line for the kitchen counter and the remains of my breakfast salad, and the only thing I can think of is how the hell can I get rid of these guys without being overly rude?

Why am I so damn polite? They interrupted my day, not the other way around!

Well, I couldn't let this go on long, and by this time, the guy was trying to indoctrinate me about how God told us we would live forever right here on this earth. Don't know how that would happen, but the last thing I wanted to do was have a philosophical argument with an indoctrinated Jehovah's Witness.

So I simply said, "Well, I've read the Bible and I know what it says, and I'm not really interested in anything you have to offer."

They were polite. One was the talker, the other the listener. Maybe he was a trainee, and the talker was showing him the ropes. But they left and proceeded to try and convert Jenny next door.

When Alba got out of the shower, she told me the story of Adriana upstairs, who's from Columbia and bi-lingual. When the Jehovah's Witnesses knocked on her door one time, she tried to fake them out:

"Lo siento, pero no hablo Engles! Yo no hablo Engles!"

Well, the Jehovah's Gringo was prepared: "Oh, okay. Soy de Jehovah's Witness y...."

Man, they're prepared for everything these days. Maybe I'll make up some language next time to fool them:

"Blo hopper be dop dang row. Be bop yo bam. He-n-do-bop." And I'll just keep talking in scat, looking confused, until they give up and walk away!

The New FireFox

2007-08-17T16:02:00.000-07:00

I hear FireFox is thinking about changing their logo...

So THAT's what that fox was up to!

Damn Cell Phones...

2007-08-16T19:58:00.000-07:00

I think cell phones are ruining a whole generation of Americans. Can't anyone concentrate on anything these day? Can't you have conversation, or hold a meeting, or watch a damn movie for Christ's sake without someone feeling compelled to answer their damn phone? It's times like those I wish I were Darth Vader...

Relating to an Invisible God

2007-08-13T18:19:00.000-07:00

This will be the very first post I've ever written about my spiritual life. I'm gonna be completely honest here, even though I know I'll probably be getting all kinds of "attempted conversion" comments on here.

The thing is, I'm not really a spiritual person. I guess I don't really understand exactly what it means to be spiritual. I grew up in church. My dad's a pastor now. I've read the bible, and still read it occasionally. But what exactly does it mean to be spiritual, or to have a relationship with God?

I used to pray and read the bible often. I used to feel that God talked to me. But then I realized that God wasn't actually talking to me at all. It was my own imagination and wishful thinking.

Then I figured if I, as a reasonably intelligent person, can be fooled into thinking God talks to me, can't just about anyone be fooled into the same?

It strikes me that prayer is pretty much a one-way conversation. How is that a relationship? All the relationships--the real relationships--I've had have been with real people. People I can see, feel, hear, interact with. That's what having a relationship is all about. Interaction.

I'm not doubting God's existence here. I have no doubt that God exists. My doubts have to do with whether we can actually have a real relationship with him the way modern Christians believe.

How do you have a relationship with an invisible God? Of course, I see God in everything around me. Nature itself is a virtuosic display of the power and creativity of an ultra-powerful God. But it's like seeing a painting by Picasso. Of course I can see his work. I can marvel at it. I can appreciate it. It can be all the proof I need that Picasso did (or does) indeed exist. I can even, perhaps, draw conclusions about some of Picasso's personality traits. But does that mean I actually know Picasso?

God is not only invisible, his voice is silent.

Well..."spiritual" people will talk about the still, small voice and brag about how God speaks to them all the time. But usually people who are so sure God speaks to them are in dire need of a visit to some men in white coats.

It's been my experience that people who talk that way are people who just like to sound spiritual and have probably never heard God's voice any clearer than I have.

I know people who fret about "God's will" for their life. And they pray and fast and read the bible searching for the answer as to whether they should buy the Honda Civic or the Toyota Corolla.

I just don't understand it. As my creator, didn't God give me free will to decide things for myself? Didn't he give me a brain and arms and legs so I can think up a plan and execute it on my own?

I marvel about people who "seek God's will." How the hell can you possibly know if God wants you to move to such and such a place or choose such and such a career if he doesn't have a voice to tell you? People often rely on "signs" or "confirmations." I think people just read too much into coincidences.

Or what about "relying on God?" What does that mean? When I hear people talking about "relying on God," I always think of this old joke...

A man sits on the roof of his house as the flood waters rage around him. A man in a boat shows up and yells "Jump in! I'll get you outta here!"

"No, it's okay!" The man on the roof replies. "God told me he was going to save me!" So he refuses to get in the boat and stays on his roof while the waters continue to rise.

Then another boat comes along, but the man once again refuses saying, "God told me he was going to save me!" The waters continue to rise, and the man is at the very peak of his rooftop, the water lapping at his ankles.

Then a helicopter materializes overhead. The rescue guard is lowering down the basket to snag the man from the roof. But again, the man refuses: "God will save me!"

Finally, the waters cover the entire house, and the man is washed away. He drowns in the raging waters and his last thought is a bitter one: "Why didn't God save me?"

So as the man's spirit appears before God, he questions Him: "Lord, why didn't you save me. I though you told me you'd save me from the flood?"

And God answers: "Well, my child. I sent you two boats and a helicopter, what more did you want?"

This is the image I get in my mind every time someone talks about "relying on God." God gave me a brain. And arms and legs. God wants me to use them, I think. If I were the man on the roof, I'd hope for a boat or helicopter, but I'd be tearing up the damn roof trying to build a raft, just in case none came.

The most successful people in the world are people of action. They don't sit around waiting for God to do something. They take action themselves and make something happen. That's me. I'm a "doer," I think.

I don't pray very often. It's not that I don't believe God hears me. It's just that I can't hear what he's saying to me. How is that fulfilling? How does that make me into a better person? How is that a relationship?

There's one thing that strikes me about the bible: the central theme of love. Jesus said the greatest commandment was to "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength." The second one is like it: "Love your neighbor as yourself."

When Jesus asked Peter, "Peter, do you love me?" And Peter said yes, then Jesus responded "Then take care of my sheep." Taking care of God's people is love. Loving God is loving others. Loving others is loving God. Maybe that's what having a relationship with God is all about.

Simply loving those that God loves. But loving in a real, practical way that enriches others' lives. Since a real relationship can only happen with real people...and the bible tells us God lives in those who love him, and that "they will know you're my disciples because of your love for one another," then doesn't it stand to reason that maybe a relationship with God is not really about locking yourself in a room and having a one-way conversation every morning, but about simply having relationships with those who profess to love him?

I'm curious, my friends, what your thoughts are on this.

The Stan

My Weekend Adventure Complete with UFOs...

2007-08-13T14:46:00.000-07:00

Where shall I start?

Matt & Shelley, my good friends who decided to skip town a year ago, are back for a 10 day visit. So Alba & I went over to Shelley's Auntie Anne's house--which happens to be where my blog photo was taken somewhere around 12:00 am January 1, 2006.

It was a great party. Heidi was also back, fresh from Spain with her Spanish boyfriend "Lolo," and her nice Mediterranean surfer's tan! (Damn, Heidi!)

God, I've missed Matt B. & Shell C. L.A. is just not the same without them. But at least we can pretend it's just like old times for a few days.

I believe a congratulations are in order for Matt B., a new uncle as of Sunday morning...and the rest of the Bingham clan who've just added one to their number.

Sunday, I was back at the Salvation Army. Again, just like old times. I think I'll start going back more often.

Sunday afternoon, Steve, Abel & I headed over to Ruben's posh house over in Yorba Linda to talk brass band business.

Then, it was off to the top of a parking garage in Santa Monica to watch the Perseus meteor shower with Alba, Steve, & Abel until 4:00 am. A bit of a disappointment after that spectacular Leonid shower back in 2001, I believe it was. Damn, I froze my ass off for that one, but it was worth it!

Last night wasn't too bad, though. We didn't see much because we were only maybe a hundred feet above sea level and still in the L.A. basin. You can only get semi-dark skies directly overhead, so you could only see the brighter ones. I didn't feel like driving the two hours to Mt. Pinos.

But we took a look at the Andromeda Galaxy, the Orion Nebula, and the Pleiades Star Cluster through my trusty 10X50 binoculars. Plus, there were a flew flyovers from some extremely fast-moving and completely silent military aircraft.

At least I assume they were military. They looked sort of like planes. They were kind of a brownish-red, vaguely shaped like an airplane, flying low enough to see them without lights and make out a shape, made no noise whatsoever, and were extremely fast. Kind of weird.

Then, while I was off taking a piss in the commercial landscaping next door, Alba, Steve, & Abel reported seeing a UFO that suddenly changed direction at a 90 degree angle twice. Apparently, it was too high to make out a shape--only a dim light. I think it must of been meteors that happened to coincide in such a way as to appear like it was one object, as unlikely as that would be.

But remember Ockham's razor: The simplest and most likely explanation rules. Either we have some pretty freaky technology that's being tested out in the skies above Southern California, we have otherworldly visitors performing the alien equivalent of "the streak" just to freak us out, or it was some natural phenomenon. Natural phenomenon is the simplest and most likely explanation...if not as exciting.

So as I write this, middle of the afternoon on Monday, I'm pumped up on a bottle of Frappucino from 7-11. Still feel tired, though. But when do you ever end an adventure feeling rested and raring to go? If that were the case, it would disqualify as an "adventure!"

The Stan

Drum Corps International...

2007-08-10T08:51:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I think I should allow my blog entries to "age" a day or so before I post them. Yesterday's seems just a little bit pathetic in retrospect.

I certainly had no right to feel anything about hearing of Marci getting married and having a baby. But we have no control our gut reactions. We have limited control over our emotions. It's the choices we make, however, that we have complete control over.

I'm reasonably happy with all the decisions that have led me to where I am today. I've lived my life--for the most part--with a clear conscience. And although I have a few lingering regrets, it's not in my nature to dwell on them or allow myself to become embittered by them.

Life's too short. And life does move on.

I'm happy to report that the "knot in my stomach" is no longer bothering me. Maybe it was because I talked to my friend Sal about this yesterday. Sal is a year older than I am and has probably dated more women than I've ever even met in my entire life!

As the dating expert--certainly no relationship expert--he informs me that I committed one of the cardinal sins of dating: never get back in contact with an ex.

Silly me...I didn't know that rule.

But then I can't even claim Marci as an ex. It's a special case. We merely had an unclassifiable long distance..."thing"...that never really developed into a real relationship. My decision to "end" it was the right one, I'm sure. Which makes yesterday's post and my gut reactions all the more silly in retrospect.

Whatever. Time for me to stop being a girl about this thing.

Anyway, in other news...

I went to the DCI (Drum Corps International) Quarterfinals at the Rose Bowl yesterday. I've never seen a drum & bugle corps perform live so I was looking forward to seeing some of the best corps in the world perform. It was a LONG show and at first I was disappointed. But then I noticed that each corps seemed to outperform the one before it. They kept getting better and better so that by the time the last third of the 8 hour show rolled around, each band was spectacular.

The most memorable were the Vanguard from Santa Clarita, CA (just up the 5 freeway from L.A.), Caroline Crown, and of course, the Blue Devils from Concord, CA (which is up in the bay area.) One band--can't remember which--did a great show based on Stravinsky's Firebird. Another did Shostokovich's Scherzo, from one of his symphonies (can't remember which).

The better bands could really produce the sound and fill up the stadium with just 50-60 brass musicians. Amazing. Of course, actually being in tune really helps you out with that. You don't have to work as hard.

All in all a great show.

Then it was off to Hooters under the presumption that we were there for beer and appetizers.

Fortunes and Old Friends

2007-08-09T10:22:00.000-07:00

Okay...time to post again. I've written up a "travel log" of my day trip last Sunday, but I'm not going to post that just yet.

I'm in kind of a strange mood today.

Two weeks ago, I opened a fortune cookie that read "you will reconnect with someone from your past." I never take stock in fast-food fortunes, and I usually forget them shortly afterward. But for some reason this one stuck in my mind.

Perhaps it was a real fortune this time, unlike all those other times where I was promised wealth, and success, and far away travels, and prestige, and great honors, etc. I guess they're allowed to get it right every now and then...

Because as it turns out, in the last two weeks, I've reconnected with several people I haven't seen or heard from in years. Partly because of MySpace. And partly just...who knows....Just out the blue, people calling me or emailing me.

For example, just the other day, my long lost cousin Michelle "You talkin' to me" Baker calls me on my cell phone. I was convinced it was my sister and I was surprised to actually have my sister call me. But I was even more surprised when I realized it was Michelle! It's uncanny how much they sound alike.

Michelle lives in San Antonio, has a dog, works in a bank as a fraud detector, owns her own house, has blond hair now instead of brown, and is still single but seriously dating a guy named Dave.

On MySpace, during my year and a half hiatus, I had been contacted by several "long lost" friends and acquaintances, including a good friend of mine who goes all the way back to our dorky high school days.

Andy is married now, to a woman 13 years his senior (though quite attractive), still into martial arts, and...I don't know much else because he hasn't replied to my reply yet. This is the guy who taught me scuba diving.

Then there is the friend from "back home"--I suppose there are several "back homes" for me, but this one happens to be Springfarm, MO. Can I say "Springfarm?" For some reason I feel I can't call it that if I don't live there any more. Like it somehow becomes less "affectionate," and more "derogatory," even though I used to say that all the time, my tone dripping with derogatoriness. (I love making up words!) Perhaps by moving away, I've given up the right to insult Springfield.

Anyway, I get this email out of the blue from a friend I haven't heard from in years, who happens to be the mother of a girl I used to be crazy about. Almost literally crazy. And after talking to her over the phone I find out that this girl I used to be crazy about is married and about to have a little girl.

I try very hard to take the news nonchalantly. "Really? Good for her." But at the same time, there's this knot in my stomach and I feel...Jealous?...Broken hearted?...Betrayed?...I don't know. I have no idea what I'm feeling, I've just got this knot in my stomach. (Maybe it was just gas?)

Anyway, life moves on.

Then yesterday, I found out about this cool feature on MySpace that will read your Gmail address book to search for friends who have a MySpace page registered. There was a whole slew of names, including Rita--the mother of the girl I was crazy about--who had just emailed me last week.

So I check out her MySpace page, and right there in her top eight is Mrs. Sherman, a.k.a. "The girl I used to be crazy about." Click Mrs. Sherman, check out her photos...knot comes back. Damn.

I thought I got rid of that knot over three frickin' years ago. Anyway, I didn't want to be a cyber stalker, so I figured I should at least send her quick note to congratulate her on her wedding and upcoming child.

So I go home, sit down for dinner with Alba. Bam--phone rings. Mrs. Sherman. Awkward moment.

Not sure what to say...Alba's sitting right there...I'm wondering how she got my number, though I suppose it's no great secret...more awkwardness--I can't even remember what I said, but it was a short conversation.

But that damned knot is right there! It was there all last night. This morning. And as I write this post this very moment.

But...life moves on.

The Stan

My MySpace Space

2007-08-03T16:36:00.000-07:00

Well, I've been locked out of my MySpace account for ages. Like a year and a half.

And true to my usual form, I've just lately gotten around to contacting MySpace about getting back in. Here's what happened...

My good friends Matt & Shelley decided to create a "fake" MySpace account in my name and pretend to be me for a few weeks. Wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't made me say some really gay and dumb things, then add a whole bunch of people I knew as friends.

Anyway, so M&S signed me up with a fake email address (thestan@yahoo.com), which I've never owned, but somebody does. I imagine it would have been theoretically possible for this person to assume my identity, but fortunately it never happened.

Then they made up a password which I've long since forgotten. This was like three years ago. And my computer had my login saved in its memory. But...like computers so often do...my computer bit the dust. Choked on it. Perhaps shorted itself out on it.

Whatever happened, that was the end of my MySpace days for about a year and a half.

Until today.

The other day, I contacted MySpace about getting access to my account. But to be honest, I wasn't all that hopeful. No email address. No password. No entre.

But they told me that if I took a photo of myself holding up a sign with my MySpace friend ID, they would let me in.

So I go over to Abel's house to have him take my photo. And it just so happens that Sal and Steve happen to be hanging around, too. (Possibly invited by Abel for the special occasion.) They were quite amused by my plight, and you can see a snapshot of their antics on my MySpace photo album. (Yes, MySpace let me back in):

www.myspace.com/jaarons

I take it you know how to get to the photo section. Everybody and their dog and their dog's chew toy is on MySpace these days.

So I suppose it's about time I get back on, myself. I'm afraid I have a few long-neglected MySpace friends waiting for me...

Famous Tuba Players

2007-07-23T10:21:00.000-07:00

I love tuba players. They're usually the dorks of the band, and that's saying something. Tuba players usually have sense of humor and don't take themselves as seriously as the rest of the brass players.

That's why I like them so much. Maybe I should have been a tuba player, myself. I never really got the hang of the whole trumpet player ego thing.

But anyway, I was relaxing with a few beers the other day with my friend Abel, my tuba playing friend, when he saw fit to inform me of famous tuba players past and present. He even gave me the photo evidence to prove it.

I was impressed. In fact, I believe many of you will recognize some of these closet tubists:

In other news, the L.A. Metropolitan Brass Band had their first concert in over a year yesterday. As usual, it was a big hit with the crowd, and it was a decent one, too. We expect to have two more concerts this year: a fall concert and a Christmas concert.

I didn't play this time around. Too little time to practice and get in shape. So I worked the audience collecting names and email addresses. I don't want any repeats of our first concert where the band was bigger than the audience!

The Stan

H2ommmm Water: Vibration Hydration!

2007-07-16T10:40:00.000-07:00

I've been studying marketing for over a year now, and as my die-hard readers know, I work as a marketing director for a small company in Torrance. So when I see a site like www.h2omwater.com, there are two sides of myself looking at this.

The first side is the educated, skeptical side who has more than a layman's understanding of science. The side that thinks crystal-hugging, magnet-loving, new-age hippies are full of sh*t.

But then there's the marketer in me who appreciates good marketing.

So let's consider H2om water. For the uninitiated, that's pronounced "H 2 Ommmm." Here's a bit of copy straight from their website:

Intention is Everything

H2Om Water with Intention is the world’s first interactive natural spring water. Infused with the power of positive energy through words, music, colors, symbols and you.

Our vision for H2Om is to spread positive energy, inspire people to visualize amazing possibilities in their lives, and carry those vibrations throughout the world.

But wait! There's more...

As an added bonus, once our water is in the bottle, we play a restorative compositions [sic] of music, frequencies, and spoken word to the water.

Isn't that nice? I get to pay $1.50 per 16 ounce bottle (if I buy it in a 24-bottle case, that is)--plus shipping--so I can get water that's been sung at.

You see, that's important because, as H2Om tells me, "Recent scientific studies have proven that water is receptive. It retains and reflects the vibratory energy it is exposed to." (Don't ask me what that means.) "Whether it be words, thoughts, or music, water receives these vibrations and illustrates them under magnification." (Don't ask me what that means, either.) "Based on these principles, H2Om water was created." (There. Clear as mud.)

Check out their taglines:
"A positive affirmation in every bottle. Think it while you drink it!"

When I read something this hilarious, I can't even adequately comment on it because it carries its own humor. Nothing I can possibly say would make it any funnier and more ridiculous than it already is. (For a good laugh, read through their copy.)

So let's talk about the marketing aspect.

There is a certain segment of the population that eats (drinks) this stuff up. Those very same crystal-hugging neo-hippies I mentioned earlier. (I think I just coined a word: "neo-hippies.")

And because of this segment, this is terrific marketing! They're creating a solid unique selling proposition (USP) that sets itself apart from every other commodity water-bottler out there. And because of that, they can charge a premium to gullible morons.

They've picked their target market. They're certainly not all things to all people. They've chosen a message and their market and have perfectly matched that message to their market.

It's genius. It's the ultimate snake-oil sales pitch. And I LOVE IT!

Pure genius. Go buy some H2Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The Stan

The Resident Peach Hog

2007-07-12T16:41:00.000-07:00

Alba is a peach hog! I bought 5-pounds of peaches from the Farmer's Market--maybe 20 peaches, or so, of which I've had MAYBE five.

I came home for lunch today hoping to have a nice juicy peach, because I knew there were at least four left, but no. Not a single one left. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Zerooooo.

WTF!!

I bought those Tuesday morning to last all week! Less than two days later they are ALL GONE!

Dammit! And I thought I went overboard buying this huge bag of peaches.

Why am I all pissed off about peaches?

I don't know. Maybe it's because they're one of my favorite fruits. But when it comes to fruit of any kind, Alba is like a vacuum hose, sucking up everything in sight.

The only fruit that lasts awhile are apples, and I'm not overly fond of apples. For me, it's peaches, strawberries, watermelon, and grapefruit--precisely what disappears faster than a strip of bacon down a dog's gullet.

Next time, I'm going to buy a frickin' truckload of those damn peaches. That way I can still have a frickin' peach two days later when Alba's wolfing them down 10 at a time!

The Stan

You Know You're Going Bald When...

2007-07-11T12:50:00.000-07:00

You know you're going bald when you're standing outside at the Farmer's Market waiting for your Loma Saltado from the Happy Inka stand, and you notice the unusual warmth--searing heat, more like it--of the sun beaming down on the top of your head, and you just know your scalp is getting sunburned.

...when you have to comb your hair forward to help cover up the "M" of your receding hairline.

...when you visit your family for the first time in three years and the first thing out of their mouths is "What happened to your hair?"

...when your dad, your dad's dad, your mom's dad, and all her brothers are BALD!!!

...when you avoid putting any kind of product in your hair because every time you do, your hands come out looking like monkey palms.

...when you start to wonder if Rogaine would work for you.

...when you start seriously considering Rogaine.

...when you start actively looking for ways to reverse hair loss.

...when you discover that cayenne pepper soaked in vodka for two months is a natural remedy for reversing hair growth.

...when you actually go to the store to buy cayenne pepper (not as a seasoning) and vodka (not to drink).

...when you actually put the cayenne pepper into a jar of vodka and place it on your kitchen counter.

...when you have a countdown calendar for when the vodka-cayenne pepper solution is ready.

...when you watch its progress day by day as the vodka gradually turns pink and the excess cayenne pepper settles to the bottom.

...when you daydream of visiting your family again, and how the first thing out of their fat mouths will be "My, what big hair you have!"

...when you actually blog about losing hair.

Well...some of these are true (like the Farmer's Market Moment of Revelation). Vodka and cayenne pepper is actually supposed to work because it cleans out your pores, or something. (Ole Jay Kordich, the juice man, told me about that one.)

It's hopeless, I'm sure. I'll be Dr. Baldstan before too long.

Dr. Soon-to-be-Baldstan

The New & Improved Griffith Observatory.

2007-07-09T10:26:00.001-07:00

It's been since before the renovation that I've gone to visit the Griffith Observatory. I remember not being very impressed with it. It was small. Not much to see except the planetarium show, which was its showpiece. That and the awesome view of downtown, the Wilshire corridor, and if the air is clear, Palos Verdes (among other sites).

But the renovation did the Observatory good. It's not a real observatory in the sense that astronomers do serious work there--it sits above the bright skies of L.A., after all. But it was built for the public and not astronomers, anyway.

It's really more of a museum of astronomy, especially now that they have the expanded basement under the front lawn.

Alba and I reserved a visit for yesterday and spent most of the day there taking in the new exhibits and the still-spectacular view (even if there was a bit of the typical mid-summer haze hanging in the air).

I love the new exhibits.

The Big Picture is the world's largest photographic image of the night sky, made up of 105 4' X 8' panels stretched three high (24' feet high) by 35 long (140' long). (It's HUGE!) And in it are hundreds, possibly thousands of far off galaxies that lie in a stretch of sky in the constellation Virgo that you could cover up with your index finger held at arm's length.

How's that for a visual demonstration of the expansiveness of the universe! Awe inspiring, it is.

Then there are the gigantic scale models of the solar system with a Saturn that dominates the ceiling area with its massive ring system, and a Pluto (no longer considered a planet), which is nothing but a small brass ball.

Then there are the gigantic, rotating full-relief globes of the Earth and Moon showing all the mountain ranges, deep-see trenches, moon craters, etc.

Then there are the meteorite exhibits, live images of the sun, time-lapse videos of solar activity, a visual model of the periodic table complete with actual samples of each element, even uranium. (But not many of the really heavy or man-made elements.) And other exhibits to keep you entertained for a few hours.

There's even a cafe and gift shop now.

I had read about a hike from the Observatory down to Fern Dell Park in a guide book to L.A. area hikes. So around 4:00 pm, Alba and I hiked down to Fern Dell Park, a shady park that follows a creek with charming little wooden bridges that cross it every so often. Then we hiked back up to the Observatory.

I think what I learn more than anything else that day was that reading about a 500-foot elevation gain is a hell of a lot different than actually hiking a 500-foot elevation gain! (Talk about my buns burning!)

After the hike, Alba and I took the shuttle back to the parking area and had dinner in a nice shady area of Griffith Park.

I love Griffith Park. It's HUGE! It's one of the largest municipal parks in the world. (The "Hollywood" sign sits below just one of the several peaks in the park.) And it's still quite nice, even after the fires. Nothing really important was lost in the fires. Just a few hiking trails, bench areas, and maybe the bird sanctuary, but don't quote me on it.

That still leaves the Zoo, the Gene Autry Museum, the Observatory, Greek Theater, Hollywood Sign, Equestrian Center, Golf Course, Merry-Go-Round, Visitor Center, Travel Town, several picnic areas, many miles of trails, baseball diamond, basketball and tennis courts, pool, etc. In other words, plenty to keep you busy.

Camping On Mt. Pinos

2007-07-06T16:24:00.000-07:00

Well, I spent my Fourth of July camping in the Los Padres National Forest about two hours north of L.A. There is a campground near the summit of Mt. Pinos (elevation 8831 ft.) at elevation 8300 called Chula Vista, and it lies right on the border between Ventura and Kern Counties.

Chula Vista has a large parking lot, which marks the very end of Mt. Pinos Rd., and many amateur astronomers congregate there all year round (unless the road is closed due to snow.) The parking lot and adjacent meadow allow a break in the Pines which affords a spectacular view of most of the night sky.

But during the summer, the skies never get really dark. The edge of the horizon looks like it's constantly dusk. But if you look carefully, you could still make out a fuzzy patch where the Milky Way should be. It's a great spot for stargazing, and I took full advantage of it, searching out all the visible constellations and planets. Venus, Saturn, and Jupiter are all visible in the early evening right now. Venus shines bright in the west, with Saturn close by. Jupiter is obvious in the East.

But there weren't any astronomers there on the Fourth of July, though. In fact, it was deserted. The campground has 12 camp sites, and Alba and I were the only ones there. During the day, there were the occasional hikers, but come nightfall, we might as well have been in the Old West, except for the sound of an occasional commercial airplane far overhead.

The campsite was over 1000 feet from the edge of the parking lot, which made it a lot of work packing everything to and from the campsite. But it was worth it. You couldn't even see the parking lot from our camp.

The weather was mild, but extremely dry. The ground was nothing but dust, which crusted up our mucous membranes, and got in our eyes when our foreheads began to sweat.

Here were the amenities: picnic table, fire ring, and a bathroom which was just a hole in the ground. That's it. No running water whatsoever.

It's an interesting experience to live without running water. Try going to the bathroom, then realizing that you can't wash your hands. Or eat a peach, then have no way to wash off the stickiness. Or a layer of dust all over your body and especially your feet and between your toes, with no way to wash yourself. By the next day, Alba and I were nasty, sweaty, and stinking to high heaven.

But it was a hell of a lot of fun, and I can't wait to go again!

The best part was at night, when no one else was around. It's strange how a wooded landscape, which during the day is so beautiful and tranquil, can appear sinister and spooky at night. Alba was scared walking down the dark moonless path from the parking lot back to the campground after our stargazing session.

There was this one spot where the trail dipped down a bit, and cut through a rotting, fallen log. A section of it was cut out to allow for the path, and on one end of this huge log was a jumble of branches forming a dark, twisting shadow looming over the trail. At the same time, the temperature had dropped suddenly by at least 15 degrees.

Yep...pretty spooky.

And the woods were dead quiet all night. Not a sound, but the occasional breeze through the trees and the far off sound of commercial planes soaring overhead just to the south.

I've been camping enough to know that the forest is supposed to make noise at night. Crickets, insects, birds, animals, etc. In the Midwest, the woods can be downright LOUD. But these woods were dead silent. Not a sound until the early dawn when the birds start their song.

Just before dusk on the evening of the Fourth, I lit a fire, which started with surprising ease, and roasted some marshmellows, and assembled the obligatory s'mores. (Camping isn't really camping without a fire, roasted marshmellows, and s'mores!)

All in all, despite some painful and uncomfortable moments and fitful sleep, it was a great trip. I'm hooked on camping and hiking now, and like I said: I can't wait to go again!

Happy Independence Day!

2007-07-03T10:17:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a few days, so let me bring my readers up to date: not much happening here.

My laptop finally bit the dust, and seeing that it was my only home computer, that means I've got to use my work computer to make posts. But at the same time, I've been swamped at work because things are finally reaching the home stretch before implementation. (I'll be more specific about this once things get rolling.)

On another front, I've been reading tons. I breezed through the six Harry Potter books in about three weeks, and I'm dying to have that Book Seven in my hands RIGHT NOW!!

It's interesting how a writer can pull you into a fantasy world, and leave you begging for more, dying to find out what happens to characters who only exist in fantasy.

Fascinating.

I've decided I want to do that.

So I piled up some paperbacks I'll be working through over the course of the summer: some Stephen King, some Tom Clancy, some Dean Koontz, some Orson Scott Card (who many of you may not have heard of, but who has written tons of interesting and well-written sci-fi books).

But I'm reading for more than just pleasure--I want to analyze what these writers do to capture the reader's attention and keep them hooked throughout an entire 600-700 page book. I love a good a story. And I think I could tell a good one, myself.

On yet another front, Alba and I are going camping over the fourth. It's been AGES since I've been camping. In fact, I bought a tent 'way back in 2000 and have never used it. So I figured it's time to break that baby out and put it through its paces.

Of course, one overnight stay up on a high and dry Mt. Pinos in the Los Padres National Forest probably won't be putting it through its paces, but it will be fun, anyway. There are hiking trails, camping spots....well, that's about it. But there will be trails and camping spots, and I suppose that's all you need except for a john, and fortunately there is one of those close by, as well.

But what I'm most looking forward to, and I'm hoping dearly to find, are the amateur astronomers who like to congregate at the Chula Vista parking lot close to where we'll be camping. If there are star nerds with their humongous telescopes out, you can bet I'll be making friends with some of them in the hope of getting a peak through their telescope!

(It just occurred to me that some of you may consider these humongous telescopes to be phallic symbols--which I suppose they are--and may find my wish to gawk at them quite amusing. Particularly since in the astronomy world, bigger is definitely better, and certainly gets the owner a lot of attention. But I assure you that phallis is not on my mind...just a desire to see some cool astronomical--NOT asstronomical nor gastronomical--phenomenon.)

I'll tell you about my trip when I get back. So, until then...

The Stan

The Opening...

2007-06-25T18:30:00.000-07:00

Sorry for my delay, folks. My computer finally bit the dust, so I've got to steal a few minutes from work in order to post.

But to continue...

As I was saying, Shelley bungalow nights are always full of fun and merryment. She was living in her Aunt's back yard in Torrance before she married Matt. And as a bit of trivia, the photo you see at the top right (with me wearing my bug-eye glasses) was taken at her Aunt's house in Shelley's "front yard" on New Year's Eve one year.

On the night in question, Shelley had assembled the usual suspects: Matt & Shelley, of course; Michelle & Mateo, who were "just friends" at the time; Geoff & Emily, who hadn't been married long; Matt & Raven, his mail-order wife from the Phillipines...and me and Alba.

(By the way, you ever notice how you always put the name of the person you've known longest first? For instance, I knew Michelle long before I met Mateo, so naturally it's "Michelle & Mateo," and not the other way around. But I only met Raven after she came back from her and Matt's Phillipino "shotgun wedding" with Matt wearing a scottish kilt with the photos to prove it (even though he's not Scottish), so it's "Matt & Raven." Do you do the same thing?)

I don't exactly remember how Shelly got away with insisting that everyone be present for "the opening," but somehow it happened. We're all sitting in our pow-wow circle in Shelley's tiny, hot-as-hell living room when it's finally time to open my present from Ms. [grotesquely fat woman].

Naturally, I'm curious to know what Ms. [grotesquely fat woman] would get me for my birthday and how the hell she knew it was, in fact, my birthday. But I'm also not as gullible as you might think, and I knew Shelley must have been up to something. But who am I to stop the fun?

So the gift is presented amid the hushed crowd, as everyone looks on expectantly. Excitedly, I tear off the wrapping, and open the box inside it...and pull out...wait for it...and big, black dildo dubbed the "Jr. Dong," with a note in lovely, flowery writing that says:

Happy Birthday, Aaron.

I hope you get as much enjoyment from this as I did!

-Ms. [grotesquely fat woman]

Obviously, I must show the crowd my lovely new gift, so out comes the wobbly "Jr. Dong" for all to see--including the incredibly scandalized Raven, who was a bit more conservative than we realized, I think.

So everyone's howling except for the scandalized Raven, when Alba pulls out Mr. Jr. Dong and starts waving it around herself, and making favorable comparisons between its 7" length and my own personal dong, which I don't discourage.

So anyway, it was all a riot. Even Raven finally relaxed, and after about a million "Oh, my God's" and had to admit is was pretty damn funny.

So after that, the Jr. Dong started making the rounds as it became tradition to pass it on to someone else at the next birthday. I happen to remember another scene in a nice restaurant, when out came the Jr. Dong at Heather's birthday. (I think it was Heather's birthday, but don't quote me on it.)

But with time, the Jr. Dong has passed into legend, and no one is sure what its fate was. Maybe it's still out there...waiting for the day it will rise again.

The Stan

It's My Birthday!

2007-06-21T10:34:00.000-07:00

It's my birthday today. And Alba has been saying "Happy Birthday" to me for a week, "just in case she forgets." In fact, she was in such a hurry, that we celebrated on Sunday with some Chinese takeout from the Emerald Garden. (Alba has to work late all this week, so Sunday it was.)

Anyway, every year my parents usually get me an Amazon gift certificate, which is definitely the best present anyone could ever give me. I probably tithe my income to Amazon.com.

But the most memorable gift I ever received was from none other than Matt and Shelley...although they led me to believe it was from Ms. [grotesquely fat woman]...

One day, I'm hanging out with Matt and Shelley, when Shelley informs me, "Hey, The Stan, I have something for you from Ms. [grotesquely fat woman]!"

"Ms. [grotesquely fat woman]?" I ask.

"Yeah, she tried to catch you after church the other day, but you had already left. So she wanted me to give it to you."

"What is it?"

"I don't know," said Shelley, "It's a present."

"A present?"

"Yeah, it's your birthday this week, right?"

"Yeah...but how would Ms. [grotesquely fat woman] know?"

"I don't know, but she must have known because she gave me a present to give you."

"Have you been spending a lot of time with Ms. [grotesqely fat woman], Stan?" Matt asks.

"No!" I quickly deny. "Well...I guess I talk to her every now and then...It's hard to avoid her." Matt and Shelley chuckle. "But I wouldn't say I spend a lot of time with her."

"Well, you must have made quite an impression," Shelley says as Matt tries to conceal a smile, "because she got a present for you."

"Okaaay?" I say somewhat skeptically.

"But I forgot to bring it," Shelley says, slumping her shoulders and acting disappointed. Then, she brightens and says, "But we're having a little get together at my bungalo next weekend, why don't you come?"

Well, I can't refuse an invitation like that...Shelley bungalow nights are always full of fun and merryment!

Tomorrow...the rest of the story.

The Stan

What's Really On My Mind

2007-06-15T15:39:00.000-07:00

I changed my mind about blogging about farts again today. So if you were really looking forward to me expounding on SBDs (silent but deadlies), then I'm sorry to disappoint you.

I'd rather my blog not descend into the realms of toilet humor (any more than it already has)...and I certainly don't walk around thinking about farts all day, the way I do about sex.

I mean seriously.

They say guys think about sex about every six seconds or so...and I'm beginning to think that's probably true. I can be deep in thought about the most serious issue...when here comes this random thought about...

...nice supple breasts...

...a pair of shapely legs...

...a lovely round ass...

or...

...

What is it about sex, anyway?

In fact, here I am, right at this very moment, writing up my blog, thinking about sex...

Give me a second, here...

...

...

Okay, I'm back...oh wait, hold on...

...

...

Now...what were we talking about, again?

Oh, yeah!

...

...

Niiiiiice!

...

...

The Stan

An Introduction To Flatology

2007-06-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

I think farts are hilarious.

Now before you start accusing me of being an unsophisticated, uncouth, crass, blue-collar yokel consider this: I didn't invent the things. God did.

And God had to have had a sense of humor when he invented them. Imagine creating a race of beings who walk around blowing hot, smelly gas out their ass, and often very LOUDLY.

Everyone has gas at one time or another (even the President). Its just a matter of how bad, how often, and whether it happens in public. I have a friend who is so flatulently repressed he says he has never farted...ever. And if he has to, he holds it in.

Now I don't know about you, but if I've got a lot of air pressure pushing against my sphincter, I'm going to let it out! It's where it's supposed to go...it's the natural order of things. Holding it in just postpones the inevitable, and makes it a whole lot worse. Like procrastinating on paying your bills...there WILL be a reckoning day!

Now, the degree of humor in any given fart situation is a function of how loud it is, how raunchy it is, how many people are in the "kill zone," and how embarrassed the flatulator is.

So what is flatology? It's the scientific study of flatulence. According to flatologists, flatulations are classified according to their three primary characteristics, known as the "Three 'S's": sound, smell, and spread.

1. Sound: The sound is made up of a combination of various measurable elements: volume (decibel level), length, timbre, pitch, repetition, etc., including their change over time. This is expressed in a series of graphs, mapping these sound characteristics over time.

2. Smell: Anywhere from "diffuse" to "deadly." It also takes into account the "delay factor," which is calculated as a function of the air density differential, the temperature differential, and wind speed/direction.

3. Spread: The precise dimensions of the "kill zone" and its change over time. This is represented by a series of graphs showing concentric rings of decreasing intensity from the source and the precise degree of exposure within each radius. Since the "delay factor" is directly related to spread, spread is also dependent on the air density differential, the temperature differential, and wind speed/direction.

Therefore, it stands to reason that the worse fart possible would max out in all three categories...while the most innocuous would barely register in any category.

However, there is a special subcategory, popularly known as the "silent but deadly" which barely registers on sound meters, but maxes out the other two. It can be argued that this is, in fact, the worst possible flatulation because bystanders have no early warning sign, and are, therefore, caught in the "kill zone" unawares until it's too late.

It is this special subcategory that is the subject of my next post...

The Stan

1989 Cheap Jerokee

2007-06-12T09:40:00.001-07:00

I picked up another vehicle over the weekend. Finally...Alba and I each have our own car. She'll drive the 1996 Toyota Corolla, and I'll drive the 1989 Cheap Jerokee. I call it my "Cheap Jerokee" because I got such a great deal on it.

Consider this:

One owner, a lady, who bought it new and took it in for maintenance every 3000 miles. Good cosmetic condition, clean inside, no mechanical problems, no accidents reported (I checked the carfax record). $1450.

Even if you consider it in overall fair condition, that's still over $400 below blue book trade in value. I just couldn't pass it up. (By the way, the photo isn't an actual photo of my Jeep. Too lazy to break out the camara. But it does look very similar to mine. Same color.)

I like driving my Cheap Jerokee. It's certainly more "manly" than the little Toyota Corolla.

And there's a lot more room in the back seat, if you catch my drift. (In fact, I'll definitely be testing out that back seat sometime this week. It DOES happen to be Alba's birthday this week, so....)

The Stan

Tales From the College Years, No. 1

2007-06-07T17:19:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time during my college years, I was roaming the halls of the music building when I noticed I was being noticed.

It felt a bit cooler than usual in Ellis Hall that morning. Probably because I was wearing my thin, tan kackis that day as opposed to my usual jeans, since I had to teach that afternoon.

Anyway, lots of looks and smiles were coming my way from some very attractive women and I suddenly felt like a stud. I stood up straighter, smiled back, and said "How's it going?" as I continued down the hall.

All morning this was happening, and I was having a such a great day.

Later, around lunch time, I walked out to my car and as I was sitting down into the driver's seat, I heard a rip. I knew what happened immediately. I could feel the rip in my pants just as I sat down.

So I reached down to survey the damage, and to my horror I realized there was no way that little rip caused my pants tear in half all the way up the butt crack.

Suddenly, understanding dawned.

The whole morning flashed before my eyes like a film in fast forward. All the "flirting" ladies weren't flirting at all...they were laughing at my butt-flap flying like a tan kacki flag in the wind, while my tighty whities mooned all of Ellis Hall.

No wonder it was so cold that morning.

Relating this story, it occurs to me that every single pair of pants I have ever owned in my entire lifetime has bitten the dust the same way: a rip in the crotch. It's as predictable as the sunrise.

I know with 100% certainty that when I buy a new pair of pants, they will go in the garbage within two years from a rip in the crotch. It's only a matter of time...and whether it happens in public or not.

Am I cursed, or something? Why does this happen to me?

It's a good thing I have a sense of humor about it, because it's just the sort of thing to cause a complex!

But I am relieved about one thing, though: I'm glad I found out about my loose butt-flap when I was safely in the car. I can only imagine the "walk of shame" all the way to my car, knowing people were staring and sniggering all the way.

The Stan

Love That Chickin'!

2007-06-05T10:39:00.001-07:00

I haven't eaten at Popeyes in at least a year! So yesterday, I decided I needed to get my Popeyes fix.

I remember eating at this place as a kid in San Antonio. But then, when my family moved to Springfield, MO (home of the Simpsons) the closest Popeyes was in St. Louis.

But THEN, I moved to blessed L.A., where there are Popeyes located anywhere the demographics support it. Thank God for black people. If it weren't for them, I'd never get my Popeyes.

Now, I hope no one out there construes this comment as in any way racist, because the fact is, I love black people! I'm fascinated, for example, by the fact that every single black person on the face of the planet knows how to dance...and I don't.

But more than that, I LOVE soul food. (Which is really just good 'ole Southern cookin'.) And there's nothing that will get me feeling all warm and fuzzy about a particular ethnic group like the quality of their food.

Take the Japanese, for instance. I love the Japanese! Fresh sushi is one of earth's heavenly delights! Or the Chinese. I know they didn't invent Cashew Chicken, but they were at least the inspiration for it, so I love the Chinese!

Now the Vietnamese, on the other hand, I've never developed particularly fond feelings for...probably because the slightest whiff of anything they cook makes me want to wretch.

Anyway, back to Popeyes. If you've never eaten there, you're missing a real treat. Their buttermilk biscuits with a bit of honey are delicious. The spicy fried chicken is awesome. But the best thing they've ever had is the fried crawfish basket. (Or "crayfish" or "crawdad" or whatever you want to call it. I always called them "crawdads," but it's impossible to say that word without it dripping with "Southern charm.")

Speaking of "crawdads," it's getting about that time to make my twice-yearly pot of gumbo. You can bet I'll be blogging about it, because this is always a special time for me. There is no other dish like gumbo!

The Stan

The Natural History Museum

2007-06-04T15:13:00.000-07:00

I love the L.A. County Natural History Museum. It's kind of small...not nearly the size of Chicago, New York, or the Smithsonian. But there is one area of the museum that's world class: The Hall of Gems & Minerals.

I must admit: I love rocks and minerals. Call me a nerd if you want to, but I just think they're so cool. I even have a little collection of my own. (And I belong to the Mineral of the Month Club!)

But the museum has some SPECTACULAR specimens. And the exhibit is HUGE!

I went there with a friend of mine last Saturday and most of the day was spent in the mineral hall. Sure, they have those cool dinosaur skeletons from the Mesozoic and skeletons of extinct mammals from the Cenozoic, and those cool diaramas of North American and African mammals. And the Latin American History wing, the History of California exhibit where they have a gigantic model of what L.A. looked like in the 30s. Then they have the insect zoo (which isn't quite as cool as it sounds). And some other rotating exhibits.

But the Gem & Mineral Hall is the crown jewel (pun definitely intended) of the museum. The photo you see is only part of one wall and displays specimens arranged according to systematic mineralogy.

Another wall shows minerals and crystals of California. Then there is the gold exhibit. The meteorite exhibit. The classic specimens (some of which are extraordinarily spectacular). Fluorescent specimens. The "Gem Vault" where you literally walk into a vault containing hundreds of precious cut gemstones. Plus interactive stations showing how crystals are formed, etc. (Oh, and they have one of the largest crystal balls in the world and its flawless.)

I can't wait to go again. I never get tired of that Hall. There's just something about these crystals...all those different colors and shapes...it's remarkable to think of them as natural phenomenon. They're just so beautiful!

But there's nothing at all really complicated about them. They're just regularly arranged structures of basic elements.

Take stibnite, for example. It has a distinctively metallic hue and forms in groups of long, thin crystals. I have a stibnite sample at home. It's beautiful. But it's just Antimony Sulfide arranged in a regular pattern. Galena is Lead Sulfide, also arranged in a regular pattern, but the crystals are much larger and can form in gigantic cubes.

So...simple compounds...regular patterns...beautiful crystals.

Dr. Nerdstan

Epilogue: A Shitty Day in Mexico

2007-06-01T13:28:00.000-07:00

I occurs to me after re-reading my posts about my shitty day in Mexico, that perhaps I was too hard on "M." After all, I could have said no from the very beginning to taking someone else along on my and Alba's day trip.

That was my first mistake, and mine alone. I do remember Alba asking me about it, and I obviously didn't think through all the ramifications of taking along someone else. (Particularly the part about leaving much later than expected and getting up the next day much earlier than expected.)

What really bothered me the most about this trip was not the pothole from hell, not the fact that "M" didn't pay for anything, not the fact that I spent the day with two extra people, one of whom I'd never met and didn't really feel comfortable with when I'd imagined a trip with just me and Alba...it was the fact that of the 16 hours the trip entailed...from 8:30 am Monday morning (from the hotel in San Diego) to 12:30 am Teusday morning (when we got back home), about 13 of those hours were spent in the damn car...and getting sick as a dog.

THAT is what really sucked.

As far as the pothole goes...shit happens. I can deal with it. In fact, I wasn't even terribly bothered with it at the time. Just surprised that there was a gigantic pothole on the highway.

What I do hate is that the whole f**king day (forgive my language, folks) was spent in the car, and not actually doing anything. (Except getting carsick.)

I'm a pretty impulsive person. The fact is, I kind of wanted to go to Ensenada. I wanted to go to La Bufadora. I'd never been to those places and the fact they weren't on our original agenda kind of made it more exciting. But I didn't have all the facts, either.

Ensenada was NOT 40 minutes away, it was two hours. And when I was told that La Bufadora was 30 minutes away, I should have made the logical conclusion that if 40 minutes equals two hours, then 30 minutes (by logical extension) must equal an hour and a half.

But I didn't come to that conclusion. I gave the benefit of the doubt when it had already been spent. So I can't place the blame on any one person. When I trace back all the events, the mistake happened when I reluctantly agreed to let "M" come along. So it was really my own damn fault.

But like I said in my last post...never again.

The Stan

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part IV

2007-06-01T10:31:00.000-07:00

FOUR HOURS to get back to Tijuana. In other words, my and Alba's day off together was spent with "C" and "M," mostly in the car driving, and me getting more and more sick. I was nauseated, sunburnt, had a HUGE headache and constantly felt like throwing up.

We arrive in Tijuana around 7:00 pm or so, but spend an hour at "M"s friend's house because she needed to pick up her stuff. Then, "C" took us to the line to cross back into the states, at which point we said our goodbyes, borrowed $40 from "M" to give him for his trouble (which "M" criticized Alba for), and waited in line for nearly two hours.

I hear the line on foot is equally gruelling these days, so given the alternative, I'd prefer waiting two hours sitting in the car behind the wheel, than standing in line carrying a bunch of shit, feeling like shit.

Since I had a HUGE headache, I needed to be drinking water. But there is no restroom during that two hour wait. (Someone should start a business with roadside bathrooms along the highway back into the U.S. You'd make tons of money, I'm sure.) The last half an hour was particularly rough. I almost stepped out the car and pissed off the side of the road. But I didn't want to get arrested by a Federale.

Finally, we got through, and I took the first exit on the American side so I could take a piss. But also, by this time I was feeling worse than shit. So I asked Alba to drive.

I hate riding with Alba. She's too timid a driver. And she always acts too scared to change lanes when I ask her to. But today I have no choice.

She tells me "You're going to have to direct me back to the freeway."

"Okay," I said.

So we're heading up to an intersection and well-beforehand I tell her "turn left up here at the light."

We get closer to the light. Alba's not moving into the turning lane. I say again: "Turn left here."

Alba stays right on course.

"You need to turn left here."

"Turn left. Turn left. Turn left. Turn left." Nothing. I'm pointing to the left.

"Turn left. TURN LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT. LEFT." I'm pointing frantically to the left, but still Alba doesn't change lanes. She just acts too timid. But there is NO ONE around! (INFURIATING! She does stuff like this ALL THE TIME! That's why I always have to drive if we're together.)

So she never gets into the turning lane, but stays in the lane to go straight. But now, there is traffic coming and she can't back up to get into the other lane. Fortunately as the light turns green, the driver in the other lane lets her go ahead.

I successfully get her onto the freeway, and I lean back to try to get some rest...for about an hour.

But Alba gets off the freeway about 20 minutes south of Irvine, and asks me to drive again because she's too tired and having a hard time staying awake. So, feeling like shit, I have to drive the last hour back home.

But we've got to drop "M" off first and let her get her stuff out the car. Then...we finally get home around 12:30 am and I have to work the next day.

At this point, I couldn't give a rat's ass about unloading the car, or putting anything away. I just go inside, undress, and go straight to bed.

Well...lesson learned. I will never take "M" on a trip with us again. She's nice enough. But I felt awkward the whole time with "C." I felt a little taken advantage of (by "M"). "M" didn't pay for anything. Alba and I didn't really get to spend quality time together. And the trip certainly wasn't my agenda.

Never again.

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part III

2007-05-31T10:43:00.000-07:00

After two hours of car-sickness, we finally arrive in Ensenada, which has a harbor and a HUGE Mexican flag which, according to "C," takes eight people to raise.

"C" knows some people with a little restaurant in Ensenada (and I mean little), which is right next to the fish market.

There are also four other little restaurants, all serving the same menu, right next to the fish market, and any time someone walks by, they are simultaneously accosted by five waitresses begging them to come to their little restaurant for some fish tacos (instead of any of the other four.) I was accosted at least eight times even after I'd eaten.

We went to the fifth restaurant, which had a unique selling proposition the others didn't: They were friends of "C." But the fried fish, the holy grail we were seaking, was awesome. Very tasty. And so was the shrimp a la diablo. And the siete mares ("seven seas") soup Alba ordered. Arguably, it was worth the trouble, but I wonder if we couldn't have gotten the same thing in Tijuana, or any of the coastal towns close by.

We (Alba and I) bought lunch for everyone (the least we could do for "C," who we felt kind of sorry for, him taking the day off work, spending his day driving around people he doesn't know--except "M").

While we were in Ensenada, we took a 45 minute boat ride into the harbor (which we also paid for.) It was fun, though. We fed the seals (and a few crafty seagulls). We looked around at the fish market. I can't believe how cheap the seafood was. But it's illegal to take uncooked seafood back in the states, and we didn't come prepared with an ice chest, anyway. We did get some smoked marlin, though.

Next, we went to a place called La Bufadora, which was supposedly just half an hour away. At this point, I'm getting concerned, because I didn't expect to be traipsing all over Mexico. I was just planning on a quick trip into Tijuana. I didn't bring a lot of cash, and neither did Alba...and it's not like there are ATM machines on every corner. But "M" says she will lend us cash if we need it, and since La Bufadora was just half an hour away, I figured what the hell. Might as well, since we're already down here.

But La Bufadora isn't a half hour away.

Try an hour and a half further south. Through curving, winding roads. Meanwhile, getting even more carsick, with a headache creeping on.

La Bufadora is beautiful. It's on a cliff on the edge of the ocean in the middle of nowhere. There is a crevice in the rocks where a cave blows out air at high pressure. When the water rises into the cave and starts to plug the hole, it acts like a crimped water hose, shooting the water high up into the air several dozen feet, sounding like some giant blowhole of the largest whale you could imagine. It's thunderous.

The observation platform is right above the cave, so a particularly high "geyser" will saturate the platform and anyone on it.

This moment and the time in Ensenada were the highlights of an otherwise shitty trip. But both the time here, and the time in Ensenada were short-lived. It was mostly a lot of driving for just a few minutes of fun. After La Bufadora, we started heading back to Tijuana.

And this is where the trip starts getting shitty again.

To be continued...

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part II

2007-05-30T13:47:00.000-07:00

So I'm stuck on the freeway, having missed the last exit before Mexico. I HAVE to drive into Mexico. Right as we were crossing the border, we're "lucky" enough to spot "M," and she hopped the freeway barrier to get in the car. Well at this point, I was committed. I would just have to drive my car in Mexico instead of renting cabs, or walking, or whatever.

But neither Alba, nor "M" know how to get around in Tijuana. And I didn't have a map because I wasn't expecting to be driving there.

So "M" directs me to get off at a certain exit, which she is hoping will take us to where "C" is supposed to meet us. But it's not an exit...it's an exchange to another highway. And there's no exit for miles.

Finally, we spot an exit, and I turn around to head back the way we came.

Then, out of nowhere, materialized this HUGE pothole! On the highway! It's over three feet in diameter and almost a foot deep. I can't believe how big it is. I still...can't...believe there is such a GIGANTIC pothole right on the highway.

I didn't have time to react. I didn't have time to brake. There is a car right behind me. I can't swerve because there is a car right next to me in the other lane. On the other side of the pothole is no shoulder whatsoever. So I have no choice but to run over it.

WHACK WHACK!!!!! WSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I could hear the air rushing out of the tire. But with no shoulder, I couldn't pull over.

Finally, after about a mile, a spot a place to pull over and check the tires. Sure enough, the right rear tire was flat.

Luckily, there happened to be a mechanic close by and he helped us change the tire. And it's lucky, because the car jack in the trunk didn't go high enough to change the tire. AND...I've broken those cheap little tire irons before, when I tried to loosen up lug nuts. (A few years ago, I completely broke the head off the lug-nut wrench that came with my car because the lug nuts were so tight. Had to wait a couple of hours for a tow truck.)

Meanwhile, "M" finds a pay phone and calls "C," who gets a taxi to meet us.

When we got the tire off, you could see that the tire AND the rim were ruined. The rim had a big dent in it. (And the car is now badly out of alignment.)

Unfortunately, the spare is almost worn bald in places, so we had to drive around to three different tire places (which are surprisingly abundant in Tijuana...actually not so surprising anymore) looking for a tire to fit the rim.

Finally, we're ready to go to Ensenada, which is where "M" said the good fried fish was. Supposedly, Ensenada is not far. So I hand the keys to "C" who is to be our local guide.

Let me tell you about "C:" "C" is cool. Humble, personable, friendly, willing to help. But somehow, "M" coaxed him into being our guide that day. But "C" had been up all night at a cock-fight (popular in Mexico). And he was supposed to work that day. But he took the day off to drive us around. No idea how he got talked into that--maybe how Alba and I got "talked into" taking "M" along with us.

Anyway, "C" used to be a taxi driver. A taxi driver in Mexico is ten times more aggressive than those LAX taxi drivers in L.A. I'm usually pretty calm when I'm riding with someone, but there were a few moments where I was getting kind of nervous.

But what the hell.

I didn't say anything...mostly because I was getting carsick.

I hate riding in cars. I have to be driving. When I'm driving, I enjoy it. But when I'm riding, I get carsick and can't enjoy the scenery as much as I'd like to. I certainly don't want to be holding any conversations. So, not only was "C" roped into ferrying us around Mexico, I couldn't even keep him entertained with a good conversation. It was definitely awkward. But "C" was cool.

As it turns out, Ensenada is NOT the 40-45 minutes away it was supposed to be. Try two hours.

Two hours of swerving roads with spectacular ocean views I was trying really hard to enjoy.

To be continued...

A Shitty Day in Mexico, Part I

2007-05-29T16:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Memorial Day. Alba managed to get a day off yesterday, so for the first time in almost two months we'd have a day off together. She always works during the weekend, when I have off. And her "weekend" is during the week when I have to work. Consequently, we rarely get to actually do anything together.

So, here was the plan:

I rented a night at the Hilton in San Diego (a 5-Star resort), so we could drive down on Sunday as soon as she got off work and got cleaned up. We'd spend a relaxing evening there, perhaps heading to downtown San Diego to walk along the waterfront, go shopping, or whatever (if time). Then, we'd have a lazy morning before heading down to Tijuana to maybe eat some delicious Mexican food, browse the little shops, whatever. Then come back home early Monday evening. In other words, just a nice little overnight trip before going back to work on Teusday.

That's what was SUPPOSED to happen. Here's what ACTUALLY happened:

On Saturday night, Alba called her sister "M," (name has been changed to protect the not-so-innocent) to ask her where is the best place is to eat fried fish in Tijuana. "M" goes there all the time and should know. Well...turns out "M" was planning on going to Tijuana on Monday, too! (That's a sarcastic "!") So guess what?

Yep...we pick up a third wheel.

Suddenly, it becomes "M"s little trip. I don't want "M" to stay with us in the hotel...I'd already reserved a room...it was expensive...and I had other things in mind. So we drop her off at the border, where she is to meet and stay with a friend of her's in Tijuana. We're supposed to meet up with her the next morning at 9:00 am. (Not the lazy morning I had planned.)

Nor, did we get to the hotel early evening either. I had to wait forever for Alba to get ready. Then, we had to eat dinner at "M"s house, instead of someplace nice in San Diego. Then we had to wait for "M" to get ready. Then we had to drive her an extra half an hour down to the border, then the half an hour back to the hotel. Consequently, it wasn't the "relaxing evening" I had planned, either. We didn't get to the hotel until around 10:00 pm.

So...expensive hotel. Quick, overnight stay. Let me tell you about it: I had managed to secure a room with Priceline for $125. With taxes, it came to $150. Starting to stretch my budget a little, but what the hell. I'd rather pay a few bucks more for someplace nice than $90 for a shitty hotel. (Hotel prices have skyrocketed lately!)

But...where other hotels will nickle and dime you for everything, this hotel 10 and 20 dollared me for everything! Overnight parking in their parking lot? $20. Connection to the internet? $12. Breakfast in the morning for ONE person? $22. That sick-to-my-stomach feeling, knowing it's just a place to sleep for a night and nothing else? Priceless.

Now, it's Monday morning. "M" calls and says this guy who is supposed to meet us and be our "guide" (who I don't know and had no idea we were supposed to meet) has been waiting for us since 6:30 am! So instead of being there at 9:00 am, we need to hurry it up and get going. We get to the border at 8:30.

And I happen to miss the last exit off the 5 freeway before Mexico. I'm committed...I must drive into Mexico.

To be continued...

It's Towel Day!!

2007-05-25T10:10:00.000-07:00

For those who haven't heard, it's Towel Day. Here's what you do: you get a big towel, fling it over your shoulder. And you just walk around with it all day long just like that.

And if anyone asks you why you've got a big towel flung over your shoulder, just tell 'em it's Towel Day!

Actually, it's an homage to the "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," one of the greatest sci-fi books ever written. (If you judge "greatest" to mean "most hilarious," that is.) In this universe, a towel is one of the most important and useful things to carry with you when you're hitchhiking it.

On another note (or perhaps the same one), I've really been descending into Geek-dom lately. And I mean seriously.

For the record, though:

1. I've never played a role-playing game in my life.
2. I've never really been into video games.
3. I've never been to a Star Trek convention.
4. I've never dressed up as a Star Trek character.
5. I've never worn a cape, or cloak, or robe, or anything of the sort. (Except once. One year I dressed up as a monk for Halloween.)
6. I've never discussed the intricacies of any fictional universe.
7. And finally, I've never created my own universe.

Until now.

For some reason, I've been really getting off on creating a fantasy universe with the intention of writing a book (eventually a series of books) based on it. Think of Lord of the Rings, or Star Wars, or whatever. It's a collaborative effort with a good friend of mine and we've both been having the time of our lives. It's more fun than I've had in years.

So that can only mean one thing:

I'm really a geek after all. But that probably comes as no surprise to any of you. All you gotta do is see my glasses, which are so strong, I look like I'm perpetually impersonating the monster from the 1958 Classic "The Crawling Eye."

The Stan

Buzz Cut

2007-05-23T17:04:00.001-07:00

I got a buzz cut today. My hair was beginning to look like Albert Einstein's bed hair. My hair seriously starts fro-ing (how the heck do you spell that?) when it gets long. The slightest wind and I look like a fat Einstein.

So Alba ran the razor through my hair this morning.

And now I look like an out of shape marine sergeant. At least I don't have to worry about my hair and concentrate on more important things...like my blog!

(Be patient, dear readers. The Big Move Saga will commence this weekend!)

The Stan

Finger Lengthen Good!

2007-05-22T19:36:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I'm good at math and science because my ring finger is longer than my index finger and the ratio of their lengths is greater than normal.

Weird, huh?

That's what it says in this article at Live Science. It has to do with exposure to testosterone levels in the womb.

Interesting.

I took the ACT, not the SAT, but my math score was perfect. My science score was near perfect. But my reading and English scores were lower. (Which could have been predicted by measuring my finger lengths!)

I just want to know one thing: what does the length of the middle finger tell you?

The Stan

A Culinary Adventure

2007-05-20T19:48:00.000-07:00

What you see to the left is a Tlayuda. (The "T" and "L" are pronounced very quickly, almost like saying "Clayuda" but with a "T." In fact, for a long time, that's what I thought it was.)

It's a traditional food from the natives of Oaxaca, Mexico, which is where Alba, my fiancee, is from.

Oaxaca is known for its cuisine. It's nothing like what you'd eat in Texas or California. It's true Mexican food, often dating back to the days before Spanish colonization.

The tlayuda is kind of like a big chalupa…sort of. It's over a foot in diameter and made of white corn, then baked to a crisp. Over this, you put black bean paste, which is AMAZING, especially when flavored with toasted avocado leaves. Then you add meat such as carne asada, salchichon (a very tasty type of sausage) or chicken. Then add shredded cabbage, avocado, and queso de patate (a type of cheese).

Pure heaven.

Each element has a unique flavor. The tortilla. The black bean paste. The meat. The cheese. It's become one of my favorite dishes.

Here are some other foods Alba has introduced me to (or introduced me to a different variant):

Queso de Patate: Or “cheese of basket.” A crumbly type of cheese that’s cured in a weaved basket. It’s very good and has a unique flavor.

Quesillo: Like a string cheese, but much more tasty than American string cheese. It’s wound up in a ball.

Frijoles sabor Avocate: toasted avocado leaves which are ground up and mixed with refried black beans. Very unique and wonderful flavor. Excellent with queso de patate. This is the black bean paste I was referring to earlier.

Salchichon: a type of sausage that is very tasty.

Chorizo: much different than the store-bought variety here in the states. This stuff is hard, like other sausage, spicy, and very tasty.

Wonderful salsas and salads…with plenty of cilantro.

Tortas: Like a sandwich…made from a bolillo (a piece of bread). You can put beans, cheese, whatever on it.

Tapatío and Cholula. I’ve really developed a taste for these sauces since being with Alba. She uses them on EVERYTHING!

Teas made from all kinds of strange herbs and spices.

The most wonderfully tasty black beans cooked with onion, cilantro, and ham.

Homemade tamales! Awesome!!

Papas rellenos: stuffed mashed potatoes (with meat), flattened, then fried.

Chile rellenos: very different from the typical Mexican restaurant. These were large chiles stuffed with vegetables, or meat, or fish. Then baked. Very tasty.

But not everything was a hit...

Salsa de Gusanito: Or, “worm salsa.” Literally made from worms. I thought it was quite good until I found out what “gusanito” meant.

Salsa de Chapulín: Or, “locust salsa.” Literally made from locusts. I thought it wasn’t that great both before and after I found out what “chapulín” meant.

Other than those two notable exceptions, the last three years has been VERY good to my stomach!

(Actually, a little too good, but not because of Alba. Most of her food is very healthy, or she prefers a more healthy variant. Like baking instead of frying those chile rellenos. Plus, she's practically a vegetarian. So I can't blame her for my spare tire!)

The Stan

Battlestar Galactica

2007-05-19T11:20:00.001-07:00

Battlestar Galactica is the best show I've ever seen. That's not to say it's the best show ever created. I never did watch a lot of TV. But as far as what I've seen (and I've seen at least a few episodes of a lot of sci-fi shows), it's by far the best.

I just watched the last episode of season 3 last night. (I didn't get to bed until 2:00 am because I HAD to watch the rest of the third season.) It got a little wierd in that last episode, but I MUST KNOW what happens in the upcoming season 4. Some very surprising plot developments there.

Here's why I think this show is deserving of "Best Sci-Fi Show of All Time."

1. The actors are terrific. This is some of the best acting ever to appear in the sci-fi genre.
2. Some of the actors are really hot like Boomer/Athena, Caprica 6, and Number 3 (Lucy Lawless) and you get plenty of gratuitous lingerie shots.
3. The scripts are awesome. Every character is a real person--with flaws and everything. So you actually care about these characters. They're real--not some one-dimensional cardboard character. Contrast that with Star Trek.
4. The action is nonstop. Every episode is full of drama, excitement, and action. Contrast THAT with Star Trek. As much as I used to like Star Trek, many episodes were downright boring.
5. It presents a realistic portrayal of humans in the future. They're not a more "evolved" noble race. They're every bit as flawed as we are today, and deal with many of the same issues.
6. It deals with contemporary philosophical issues and moral dilemmas. What morals and values would you hold on to if our entire civilation were destoyed and you were relentlessly pursued by an enemy with overwhelming forces? Would that change your ideas about freedom, due process, rules of war?
7. The story line is unpredictable. You never know when a major character is going to die off, or change roles, or undergo life-changing events. Good stuff.

In short, it's just damn good story-telling and damn good TV. I love it! And if you haven't seen it, go out and rent the miniseries and seasons 1 & 2. Season 3 comes out on DVD in August, I think. (I happened to catch a sci-fi channel marathon.)

The only downside is, I've got to wait a few months to find out what happens!

The Stan

Good Times

2007-05-18T20:35:00.001-07:00

I was looking over some of Matt & Shelley's old blog posts when I found this picture of me:

I think this was a New Years Eve party from the dawn of 2006. I'm showing off my ultra-powerful mega-micro lenses. As you can see, I'm blind as a bat...particularly in my left eye!

Anyway, feeling nolstalgic, I discovered that I had NOT, if fact, deleted my old blog (as I had thought) and I still have some posts which might be worthy of updating and reposting...particularly the story of my move to California.

So....to those who are familiar with the Big Move Saga, look for a re-telling sometime soon. I know you're dying for it.

The Stan

The Miracle Drug

2007-05-18T12:46:00.001-07:00

I get these terrible headaches sometimes. And today was one of those sometimes. By 10:00 am, I already had a headache worthy of Zeus.

If I get a little dehydrated, or I eat too much sugar, or too much salt, I suffer for it.

I have to stay very-well hydrated, so I drink LOTS of water everyday. In fact, that's about all I drink. Rarely do I drink soda, or milk, or juice, or anything other than water. Because even a little dehydration brings the predictable headache.

Fortunately, for those times when it feels like Athena is poking around in my skull, there's Excedrin Migraine.

Usually, all it takes is one pill. Today was a two-pill day.

But since I rarely drink soda or coffee, I'm pretty sensitive to the caffeine. So here I am, eyes dilated, wired on caffeine just like I've drunk three cups of coffee on an empty stomach.

I hate drugs. I don't trust drug companies. But this drug is awesome. Two pills and I'm back to work--even if a little "twitchy"--when otherwise I'd be in bed in pain for the rest of the day.

So in this case, it's totally worth it. Thank God for the Miracle Drug, Excedrin Migraine.

(Side effects may vary. If you consume 3 or more alcoholic drinks every day, ask your doctor whether you should take acetaminophen and aspirin or other pain relievers/fever reducers. Acetaminophen and aspirin may cause liver damage and stomach bleeding. The recommended dose of this product contains about as much caffeine as a cup of coffee. Limit the use of caffeine-containing medications, foods, or beverages while taking this product because too much caffeine may cause nervousness, irritability, sleeplessness, and, occasionally, rapid heartbeat. Do not use if you have ever had an allergic reaction to any other pain reliever/fever reducer, with any other products containing acetaminophen. Taking more than directed may cause liver damage. Ask a doctor before use if you have never had migraines diagnosed by a health professional, a headache that is different from your usual migraines, the worst headache of your life, fever and stiff neck, headaches beginning after or caused by head injury, exertion, coughing or bending, experienced your first headache after the age of 50, daily headaches, a migraine so severe as to require bed rest, asthma, bleeding problems, ulcers, stomach problems such as heartburn, upset stomach, or stomach pain that do not go away or recur, problems or serious side effects from taking pain relievers or fever reducers, vomiting with your migraine headache, taking a prescription drug for anticoagulation (thinning of the blood), diabetes, gout, arthritis; under a doctor's care for any serious condition, taking any other drug, taking any other product that contains aspirin, acetaminophen, or any other pain reliever/fever reducer. Stop use and ask your doctor if an allergic reaction occurs (seek medical help right away), your migraine is not relieved or worsens after first dose, new or unexpected symptoms occur, stomach pain or upset gets worse or lasts, ringing in the ears or loss of hearing occurs. If pregnant or breast-feeding, ask a health professional before use. It is especially important not to use aspirin during the last 3 months of pregnancy unless definitely directed to do so by a doctor because it may cause problems in the unborn child or complications during delivery. Taking more than the recommended dose can cause serious health problems. In case of overdose, get medical help or contact a Poison Control Center right away. Quick medical attention is critical for adults as well as for children even if you do not notice any signs or symptoms.)

The Big "Secret"

2007-05-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

Everyone's talking about "The Secret," the movie and companion book about "manifesting" just about anything with your mind.

I'll be the first to admit that the human brain is a very powerful and mysterious thing. I believe it is capable of much more than is generally given credit for. And I believe that we are manifestations of our thoughts. In other words, we are what we think...and we are what we think we are.

The "Secret," the book teaches, is about manifesting anything you desire with the power of your mind. That your thinking "attracts" good and bad things depending on whether your thoughts are good or bad.

On the one hand, I think this touches on a profound truth. But on the other, I think it's a load of horseshit.

Here's the thing: our mind is a powerful thing, yes. What we think determines just about everything in our lives, because we are what we think and we are who we think we are.

But to attribute all success (whether in wealth, status, health, wisdom, talent, learning, relationships, etc.) to the thinking of "positive thoughts" ignores one very powerful element to achieving success in anything:

Action.

I don't give a rat's ass how much "positive energy" you've been conjuring up for that big physics exam. If you haven't taken action and actually studied for it, you just ain't gonna pass!

You can think all the positive thoughts and generate all the manifestation energy you can drum up to conjure up wads of cash...but if you don't actually do something to earn that money (say, by starting a business that meets a need and marketing it successfully), then you're still gonna be a poor broke SOB.

Thoughts are important, yes. I believe it is the foundation to achieving anything. But that's not the end of it. New action and behavior must spring forth from your thoughts.

For example, the book teaches that people are fat because they think of themselves as fat. And that all they've got to do is start thinking themselves as thin and they'll magically start becoming thin. After all, there are thin people who can eat anything they want and still stay thin. (Matt Bingham comes to mind.)

But for anyone with an inkling of respect for science, this is hogwash. Thoughts are important. But they're important because they determine behavior. If you truly want to be thin, start thinking of yourself as thin and fit...and it will change your behavior to reflect your new self-image. If you think of yourself as thin and fit, you're going to start exercising more, you'll start eating healthier. You'll start paying more attention to your body.

But it's the behavior, the action, that gets it done.

But just as thoughts alone don't make things happen, behavior cannot change independent of thoughts.

So in the end, everything starts with the mind. And that's the truth of the secret. I just wish they hadn't dressed it up in a bunch of bullshit.

For a better book on this subject, I recommend "Psycho Cybernetics" by Maxwell Malz. I think it has particular relevance to musicians (but to anyone, really)...and actually was the inspiration for the "Inner Game" series of books, including "Inner Game of Music."

If you want to cut through the bullshit and get to the real meat of the matter, Maxwell Malz is the guy to read.

The Stan

The Stan Plays Marketing Director

2007-05-16T18:14:00.000-07:00

Not much to write about today. I hit the "New Post" button before I even knew what I was going to write about. I still have my "Culinary Adventure" post I promised but haven't gotten around to posting yet. But it's on my computer at home, and I'm sitting in my office at work, so...

What to write about?

The only thing I'm looking forward to at the moment is the Battlestar Gallactica Season 3 Marathon on the Sci-Fi channel this week. I'm recording in on my DVR (Time Warner's pathetic version of the Tivo), so I can watch it when I'm actually at home--and not sitting in my office at work.

Speaking of work, things are finally starting to move along. I started as marketing director way back in October. Developed a new marketing plan. Recommended new software. Picked out the software. Bought the software (finally) in late December.

And here we are in May finally about to implement the new software. Not much marketing stuff will happen until we get into the new software, so my salary is still an anemic 40,000 a year or so before taxes. (I get a small percentage of sales, so naturally I've been really eager to keep things moving along, but NOTHING happens fast around here.)

Soon, I'll be starting a new business. I'll talk more about it later. Actually, I have two businesses I want to start. Part of my overall plan for world domination. (Actually, my plan is to just gain economic freedom.)

I know I can't really afford the time to watch Battlestar Gallactica, but I need a reprieve. For almost a year, I've been studying marketing and copywriting nonstop. Everyday. Several hours a day. No movies. Very little TV. No books but marketing books and newsletters. I really wanted to master the subject.

But you can only become a master by doing. Not reading. And FINALLY, I'm about to do.

Marketing as a career is an odd choice for me. For someone who started out in college to be a nuclear engineer, marketing is about as different as you can get. But I have a history of pursuing wildly different career paths. Keeps things interesting.

But it also means I've never become financially successful because I never stuck with one thing long enough to make the big bucks. A Chinese proverb goes "Man who chases two rabbits catches neither." Well, I've chased at least a dozen.

I've just been interested in too many things. Everything sounds interesting. I wish I could clone myself and command each clone to pursue a different career. Maybe then, I could accomplish great things.

But who knows? The only thing I know for sure right now is I'm starving and it's time to go home.

Sayonara.

The Stan

Nostalgic About Composing

2007-05-15T13:41:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling nostalgic about composing today. I haven't written a damn note for almost a year and a half. And I miss it.

I've had some of my most cathartic moments writing music. There's nothing like the feeling of creating a great theme with a perfect countertheme, then combining them in one grand finale! Or creating an interesting atmospheric effect. Or combining two or more sounds for an interesting orchestral effect.

I love it. I love writing music, especially orchestral music. What can I say?

But writing music right now would violate two of my new Philosophies About Composing:

1. Don't write anything unless it's actually going to get played. (I have enough "bottom drawer" compositions already.)

2. Don't write anything unless you're getting paid...OR you're already independently wealthy. It occurs to me that I'll be 32 years old next month and I have nothing to my name: no house, no decent car...not even a video ipod. Therefore, I just can't afford to spend countless hours writing music that I will never be compensated for. It might as well be a time-sucking hobby.

But I'm not giving up on music forever. In my "Philosophy About Composing #2," I mentioned that I can't spend time writing unless I'm getting paid or am independently wealthy.

So there's my new goal: become independently wealthy so I can write again. AND...being independently wealthy means I'll be able to hire an orchestra to record anything I write!

Interaction with a live orchestra is crucial to mastering orchestration. You need feedback in order to experiment. Studying scores can only go so far. (And it's so damn tedious!) Without feedback, you can't have experimentation. Only mimicry...or speculation. But not experimentation.

So, alas. Just like the longing for a lost lover I pine for the day to write music again. But not yet...not just yet. I've got work to do.

The Stan

An Encounter With Molesto-Man

2007-05-15T10:13:00.000-07:00

Inquiring reader wants to know about my encounter with molesto-man, so here goes.

It was a dark and stormy night...

Actually, it was a hot and sunny day in Houston, TX where my good friend Seth now lives.

But at the time, he was a PK (Pastor's Kid) in Springfield, MO and I was a 14-year-old freshman at Taft High School in San Antonio. I played Tenor Saxophone in the high school band and it was because of a band trip that I was in Houston.

One of our stops (besides Six Flags, where I would later loose my glasses on the Raptor ride) was this ginormous (see def. 4 in the Urban Dictionary) mall complete with a built-in hotel, ice rink, the works.

Even the bathrooms were huge. We're talking well over a dozen stalls.

But there was one thing about those bathrooms I will never understand: the stalls only had walls about 4 ft. high...and there was no door. So you could look down toward the back of the bathroom and see a row of a dozen men sitting on the john, taking a dump.

Well, I had to take a dump, too. And I couldn't wait for a more private opportunity. So despite my ambivalence, I joined the row of shitters.

So there I was taking care of some private business when this dude (I don't know, maybe he was about 30ish) stands RIGHT in front of me and just stares at me while I'm busy. (Keep in mind I'm 14 years old at the time.)

Well, I don't want this guy staring at me while I wipe myself, so I wait. And while I'm waiting, the stalls on either side of me become available. But this guy doesn't move in to take one of those stalls, he just keeps standing there, staring at me.

Finally, I decided to just get it over with and get the hell out of there because the place is suddenly starting to look a lot less populated than when I walked in and I sure as hell didn't want to be in there alone with this guy.

So I finish up my business and before I'm even out of the stall completely, this guy starts toward the toilet. I just keep walking past him and up to the sink to wash my hands. As I'm drying my hands, I look back down the row of stalls when I see this man looking straight at me.

Then he gives me this nod that says "Come over here." But I jet out of there and try my best to get lost in the crowded mall.

Fortunately, I never saw the guy again. And fortunately, I was never molested. But in my opinion, men who molest boys (or very young girls, for that matter) are the worst kind of sicko sexual offenders.

Those kind of offenders should never be allowed to roam free in society. Imagine what this man could have been capable of in a different setting. If he was so bold in a crowded restroom, what would have happened in a more private setting? Think God I never had to find out.

So the moral of the story is, my ass is still a virgin and I intend to keep it that way.

The Stan

Why "The Stan," The Stan?

2007-05-11T13:11:00.000-07:00

Those who don't know me may think I made up "The Stan" to sound cool...sort of like "The Shermanator" in American Pie.

But actually, I've been called "The Stan" all my life. I guess with a last name like Stanley, you just can't avoid it.

I'm glad my parents didn't name me "Stanley." Some parents with first names as last names actually get a kick out of naming their kid the same as their last name. But fate was kind to me and I avoided being called "The Stan The Stan" and possibly getting beat up after school three times as often as I did.

Actually, I never got beat up in school. I got in fights. But I never got beat up. It's a benefit of being big. Even most bullies would leave me alone. It was usually the little ones who would run up and hit me, or flick my ear, or something. And then run away before I could do anything about it.

That lasted until I caught one of them and threw him against the lockers. I got in big trouble for that, but it was worth it. Nobody messed with me after that for a long time. At least until eighth grade when another "hit and run" kid sat behind me in history class. He was actually about my size and was kind of a dork.

Every day, he would flick my ears, poke me in the back with a pencil, or otherwise harrass me. Usually I'm a pretty amicable fellow. But after weeks of enduring his torments, I'd finally had enough. So I turned around, flipped this kid's desk over with him still sitting in it, and was on top of him at once, pounding his face in.

To the teacher, I just suddenly "exploded" for no reason and obviously needed counseling. For "no reason" I just started kicking this poor innocent kid's ass right in front of everyone.

Well, my parents knew what was going on and my dad was furious at the suggestion I go into counseling. So I never had to.

But no one ever messed with me after that.

Anyway, "The Stan" has always been a nickname no matter where I go or who I meet. I guess it's part of the cultural phenomenon, or something. Sort of like every William is called Bill. Or anyone from Texas with an obviously Texan accent is called "Tex."

(I happen to be from Texas, but for some reason I never picked up a strong accent. Maybe I'd be called "Tex" if I had. Or maybe I'd be called "Stan Tex," or something. And that's fortunate because "Stan Tex" sounds like a tampon. Yep...I'd have been beat up for that one, for sure.)

But although I've been called "The Stan" for most of my life, I never met anyone who insisted on using the definite article like Matt Bingham. For example, instead of saying "Hi, Stan," dropping the article like everyone else, Matt insists on using it. So for Matt, it's "Hi, The Stan."

It does put an original twist on an otherwise unoriginal moniker. And it stuck. It caught on with everyone I know in California. And so I became not just "Stan," but "THE Stan." And always "THE Stan."

And that's how The Stan became The Stan.

The Stan

Ode To Turkey Jerky

2007-05-11T13:05:00.000-07:00

Turkey Jerky may be murky.
Turkey Jerky may taste quirky.
But Turkey Jerky makes me perky!

Hmmmm...What do you know! I'm a poet and don't knows it. But my "D" sure shows it...cause it's a Loooongfellow.

I know, I know. IME SOFA KING WE TALL DID.

The Stan

Updates

2007-05-10T10:07:00.000-07:00

I'm in a much better mood today. All is well that ends well. (In other words, we've had our make-up sex and are no longer arguing at the moment.)

In other news, I bought a green 1996 Toyota Corolla that's in fair shape cosmetically, but excellent shape mechanically. In fact, it was owned by a mechanic who kept up the maintenance and even rebuilt the engine. The rebuilt engine has less than 10,000 miles. The car as a whole, 144,000.

It runs very smooth, too. (I know it's supposed to be "smoothly" but that form just sounds too stilted to me.) He went on and on about how he aligned the valves and such. And you can feel it. Very smooth running engine. The mechanic assured me I should have no major maintenance issues for the next 50,000 miles.

All in all, $2700. Great value...even better than blue book. Car fax report showed a couple of minor accidents--nothing major. I couldn't pass it up, even though it didn't fit our original criteria.

Meanwhile, I've been taking Alba to the chiropractor. She'd been pretty sore since the accident and he's been snapping her back into place. It sounds just like stepping on a bunch of packing bubbles when he straightens her out.

Every time we go, Alba complains she has to fart. (Lying flat on your stomach is a great way to alleviate gas, by the way.) But I tell her that if she just times it for when he's cracking her back, he'll just think her back is really out of place! (Won't account for the smell, though.)

On another front, I'm organizing the brass band again. We'll be doing a concert on July 29. Further details to come.

And on yet another front, I can't wait to get the last disk from season 2 of Battlestar Galactica in the mail from Blockbuster. I think that is the best sci-fi show ever to air on television period. To Star Trek or SG1 fans, it might be sacrilege to say that. But there's a very good reason why I feel that way and I'll talk about it in a future post.

In the meantime, sayonara my friends.

The Stan

Henpecked

2007-05-07T16:34:00.000-07:00

I'm not really in a mood to write today, and I haven't been for the last few days. I consider myself a positive person. I like to keep in good humor. That's why when I feel down, I'd rather not dwell on it by writing about it...even if that mood pervades all my thoughts.

But on the other hand, if I'm any kind of writer, I should write everyday. So here I am writing even though I don't really feel like it.

Ever since Alba got in the accident last week, she's been EXTREMELY irritable and argumentative. I hate arguing. I hate getting in verbal fights.

So when I'm forced into it, it makes me very irritable and frustrated and a lot more argumentative than I otherwise am.

Well, that only escalates the issue.

It sort of came to a head yesterday when unlike my ordinary behavior, I yelled at her in anger to just shut up, I don't want to hear another word.

I don't want to justify what I did. Even if I was extremely angry and frustrated. I should be more understanding. She's obviously traumatized from the accident and suffering some kind of depression, maybe PTSD.

But I'm only human. So when I should be patient and understanding, I'm impatient and self-centered.

I admit it.

But she's still irritable and I'm still very frustrated. I don't even feel like going home tonight. I just want to hang out with some guy friends and have a couple of beers. Guys don't yell at each other and say things like "if you really cared about me, you'd..."

But then if she found out I drank a couple of beers, she'd start riding my ass about how I shouldn't be wasting money on alcohol, that it's bad for me, that I smell like a homeless man, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

And then I'd get even more frustrated because she'd STILL be irritable and I'd probably yell at her again to shut her trap that I don't want to hear another word.

I don't know any other way to describe it, I feel henpecked! To be honest, it didn't just start last week. It's just that it suddenly got a lot WORSE.

It's the sort of thing a guy can only take so much of. So I'm hoping she starts getting in a better disposition sometime soon. It's already enough to make me seriously reconsider this relationship thing.

I really care about Alba. But there's a limit to my patience.

The Stan

Used Car Shopping Sucks!

2007-05-03T23:43:00.000-07:00

What a pain in the ass! I hate looking for cars. I’ve just spent the whole day searching for a decent sedan for $5000 or less. If a car looked like a good deal, it was either already sold…or involved in an accident.

I even took the day off work to look for a car, and we came up with nothing.

I suppose I can only blame our narrow search criteria: a Honda, Toyota, or Nissan sedan with no cosmetic issues, a clean carfax report, 150K miles or less, and nothing white, red, blue, green, yellow, or any color other than silver, black, grey, tan or gold…and preferably from a private seller rather than a dealer. (I just chafe at the idea of paying a premium to a used car salesman.)

There were actually quite a few possibilities that came up. But without exception, the best deals were already taken. And on the two occasions when I found what at first appeared to be a good deal, I took time to drive to see the cars and they were in awful shape.

So…back to square one. And the clock is ticking on the rental car.

Today was a busy day, but that culinary adventure post I promised is coming soon. Also, I’ve been requested to write about my encounter with molesto-man, so look for that sometime within the next few days or so.

Oh! I just remembered! I’ve actually had two molesto-man encounters, but the second was when I was much older and in college, so it was less traumatic. Just disgusting.

The Stan

A Scrape With Death

2007-05-02T17:09:00.000-07:00

Alba totaled the Honda today. She's okay and so are the people who hit her. Thank God for that.

It was Alba's faught...mostly. She was driving west into the late afternoon sun. As she was approaching the intersection, she saw the light was green. But because of the sun, she couldn't see the light as she got closer to the intersection. She assumed that it would stay green...but as lights are wont to do, it switched to yellow...then red...then Alba flies into the intersection not realizing it had changed.

Unfortunately, the cross traffic was already moving through the intersection and she got hit on the driver's side. Both doors were severely smashed in. The back tire's flat. The car's a total loss.

But fortunately, Alba's okay. Unharmed. A bit shaken up, though. I think I would be, too. Imagine looking out your left window at a car fast approaching you. It's like looking into the face of death.

I almost died once. (Well, more than once, but I'm telling about this one incident.) I was in college in Springfield, MO at the time. I lived in a neighborhood with a railroad crossing, and I'd always cross over it on my way to school. There were no lights at this particular crossing--it was a small neighborhood street--and there was almost never a train that passed through there.

Except one day there was a train.

And it just so happened to be crossing my road the moment I was planning to cross its tracks. I usually slowed down to check that all was clear, but on this particular morning, I was late...and in a hurry. There was a building that obscured the view to the south. You had to get real close to the tracks to see around it.

Well I did get close to the tracks that day...going almost 40 mph on a residential street. And just as I cleared the building and could see to the south, there was a train RIGHT THERE!!

I slammed on my brakes and skidded about 20 feet or so and stopped about 20 feet or so in front of the tracks...just as the train passed right in front of me.

I looked into the face of death that day. I also looked into the face of the train engineer who was shaking his head and wagging his finger at me.

I don't know what it is with me and close calls. But every time they happen...once the initial moment of absolute terror has coursed through my veins...I think it's funny! I was cracking up all the way to the music store where I was scheduled to give a lesson. I almost died so I could trim five minutes off my trip to a lesson...and I was busting a gut!

This has happened several times. I won't go into all the close calls on L.A.'s freeways. There's just too many of them, and most of them are forgotten. When I was working as a computer tech, it was almost a daily occurance. I had to drive so much, there was always a car changing lanes, clipping me off. Or the traffic unexpectedly stopped. Or the big piece of debris in the road. One time this bucket few out of the back of a truck, bounced on the road in front of me, and headed straight for my windsheild. I swerved to miss it without even checking the other lane. Fortunately, no one was there.

After a while, it stopped being funny. But then I stopped getting the shots of adrenaline, too. Just like it was a daily automatic reaction to whatever potentially deadly thing the road threw at me. I didn't even react emotionally, I just reacted.

And over the course of four years driving the L.A. freeways, I never got into an accident...accept once...and it wasn't my faught...and ironically, I was at a dead stop on the freeway. I had been stopped for almost a minute when this truck plows into my rear bumper. I didn't even know what happened. Suddenly I'm thrust forward, my head rolls back and I'm looking straight up at the ceiling of my car wondering why I'm doing that, then I'm looking straight down at my crotch, then straight ahead again--all in less than a second.

I won't go into all the details of this story. I'll just point out that the bastard took off and I was stuck with a totaled car I had to replace. And a sore neck for the next few days.

One more story before I sign off: (This one I remember because I definitely had an emotional reaction!)

I was driving on the 210 in Pasadena, during the late afternoon a few years ago. I was cruising about 80 when suddenly, the whole freeway started slowing to a craw. The 18 wheeler in the lane next to me slams on his brakes and he starts skidding down the freeway. His trailer starts jackknifing--and moving into my lane! So I slam on my brakes harder to get behind this guy. He has a lot more momentum than I do.

Meanwhile, black acrid smoke is screaching off his tires right into my windshield and obscuring the whole scene. Fortunately, he doesn't hit anyone...and I stay well behind. Apparently, an accident has just happened up ahead, and that's why the traffic slowed down so suddenly. I don't don't know for sure because I couldn't see it. But I move over and get off at the next exit to bypass whatever stopped the traffic.

All it takes is a split second to separate your spirit from your body. Everyday, people are killed on L.A.'s freeways. But I'm still here because of the grace of God. I almost died at birth because the umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. I almost died as a child from a severe allergic reaction to a red wasp sting--another few minutes getting to the hospital and I'd have been a goner. And as an adult, I've had more close calls than I care to remember.

But I'm still here.

And thank God Alba is, too.

Let's hope we're both around for a long time to come!

The Stan

P.S. I'll post my culinary adventure tomorrow!

How To Get a Hard-On From a Spider

2007-05-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

Lurking in the Brazilian rainforests...

awaits a terrifying eight-legged creature...

a spider with such terrible venom...

it gives you a massive hard-on that lasts for hours!

http://www.livescience.com/humanbiology/070501_spider_venom.html

What if Spiderman would have been bitten by this guy. I suppose he'd have an entirely different set of powers...

Seriously, though. I'm sure there are many men impatiently awaiting the commercial development of this discovery. I hear the new drug will be given the scientific name "mycoxafailin."

Dr. Hardstan

How To Destroy The Earth

2007-05-01T18:11:00.000-07:00

I found this interesting article on Live Science today, featuring the top ten ways to destroy the Earth. Check it out:

http://www.livescience.com/technology/destroy_earth_mp.html

My favorite, and the most intriquing method, is the light bulb one. I'm going to have to look into that.

Mwahahahahaaaaaaaa.....

Dr. Evilstan

The Stan and His Wo-man...

2007-05-01T12:42:00.000-07:00

Well, that’s me. And that’s my fiancée. This photo was taken, oh, almost three years and 60 pounds ago. We’re standing at the kitchen bar in our apartment.

Alba is a Oaxacan native and descended from the Mayans. Ever since watching Apocalypto, I’ve been living in fear that she may be harboring some long-dormant head-lopping genes that could express themselves at any moment…particularly during certain periods of the lunar cycle.

Now is one of those times.

Since Alba doesn’t like taking medications of any kind, she just suffers through it…and I along with her.

Still…I always forgive her for her grouchiness. Who can’t forgive such a beautiful face?

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Alba’s appearance (besides being short) are her eyes. They can’t be called brown…they’re almost solid black. You have to get really close to distinguish the iris from the pupil…which means you have no idea if her eyes are dilating or contracting.

So to judge her frame of mind, you must look for other clues…like the furrow in her brow, or the shape of her mouth.

That may be a bit disconcerting for some people, but to me it makes her even more beautiful and alluring.

In a lot of ways, we really are an odd couple. I’m much taller than she is. I weigh well over twice as much as she. Even once I get back to my lean-mean-sexy machine self (I believe I was around 220 at the time this photo was taken), I’ll still weigh twice as much as she.

I suppose you don’t really appreciate the cultural difference until you live with someone for a while. Since English is Alba’s second language, communication can be maddening at times.

But also humorous.

For example, she occasionally says, “See you later agulator!”

To which I can only respond, “After while, crodocile!”

She often gets “he” and “she” confused and it makes it almost impossible to follow a story if more than one person and one gender is involved.

And on one occasion, she said, “Let’s finish watching this tomaña,” a mix between the English “tomorrow” and the Spanish “mañana.”

Being the occasionally quick-witted person I am, I said “Okay, but I’m really in need of a glass of aguater!” (Spanish “agua” and English “water.” I guess you had to have been there.)

Anyway, you never know what Alba’s going to say…and when she says it, it often makes little sense.

But I still love her.

She’s also introduced me to some very tasty foods I’d never heard of and would likely have gone my whole life never eating were it not for her. I’ll talk more about those tomorrow...

That is, of course, if my head is still firmly attached to my shoulders! Let’s hope it stays there for a very long time…

The Stan

Next Trip To Vegas, Zero G for $3,500!

2007-04-30T15:01:00.000-07:00

A company called Zero G is selling virtually the same experience NASA astronauts get in training for weightless conditions. For just $3,500, you can reserve your seat in G-Force One, a specially outfitted Boeing 727, which flies in parabolic arcs, mimicking zero-gravity on the downturns.

Stephen Hawking recently took his turn…

For the $3,500 you get a 90 minute flight and 15 30-second intervals of zero gravity.

They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas…let’s hope it’s not your lunch!

The Stan

The Critical Difference Between Sci-Fi and Fantasy

2007-04-30T14:16:00.000-07:00

Due to the request of my reader, I’ve decided to make a post on the important distinction between science fiction and fantasy.

So at the extremely high risk of sounding like a complete and total nerd (which I suppose I am), I’m going to tackle this subject.

In general, sci-fi deals with possibilities based on what we know or can speculate about science and technology. Fantasy is based on medieval superstitions.

That being said, there are many examples of hybrid stories. Take Star Wars, for instance. To a die-hard sci-fi fan, it's not strictly hard science fiction because of the "magic" of using the force. That element is fantasy. Star Trek, on the other hand, while occasionally metaphysical, is more hard science fiction.

It's the difference between science...or speculative science...and superstition or the metaphysical.

Lord of the Rings, then, is pure fantasy. Star Trek is hard sci-fi (for the most part). And Star Wars is mostly sci-fi, with some fantasy elements thrown in.

To dismiss all sci-fi as fantasy is to dismiss the possibility of it ever happening. But that's the whole point of sci-fi...to extrapolate what could be.

Think of all the technological developments of recent decades…personal computers…personal communication devices (cell phones)…cloning…finding planets around other stars…genetic engineering…nanotechnology…advances in robotics…etc.

All of these things were imagined before they were created (or discovered). Indeed, before anything can be invented it must first be imagined. Is this mere fantasy?

Sci-fi writers wrote about submarines before they were invented (Jules Verne). Or about robots decades before they were created (Asimov, Karel Capek who coined the term). Or about trips to Mars and the Moon (Jules Verne, Ray Bradbury, etc.)

Science fiction writers have traditionally been the inspiration for much of our technology and development. Since nerds tend to read science fiction…and those same nerds tend to go into fields such as research science, engineering, medicine, mathematics, etc…(except for this nerd who went into music)…you can see how much science fiction becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy in terms of speculative technology.

Sci-fi writers are the dreamers, the engineers the makers.

But there’s also more to it than that. You see, sci-fi deals with possibilities. Not just technological possibilities, but future history. Extrapolating possible futures based on what is happening now and what has happened in the past.

In this regard, sci-fi can serve as a warning…or a morality play…showing a world that could be if certain trends continue. Think of the classic novel 1984 by George Orwell. It’s a warning. I believe we’re still headed for 1984, but that’s a different story.

Fantasy, on the other hand reaches into the superstitious past…to some type of medieval world devoid of technology but full of magic. Lord of the Rings is a classic example.

I’ve typically preferred sci-fi over fantasy, but with Lord of the Rings being one big notable exception. I also really like the Harry Potter series.

But consider the difference between the two genres. Fantasy is just that. Pure fantasy. Sci-fi, on the other hand engages your mind in possibilities.

Now, keep in mind these are generalizations and aren’t meant to classify every book or movie firmly into one camp or the other. There are many hybrids, and many stories with elements of both.

But for the sci-fi fan, we call books devoid of all fantasy elements as “hard science fiction.” A speculation on what could be…

Dr. Nerdstan

P.S. “Hitchhiker’s Guide,” though a delightful read, can only be considered a sci-fi parody, since there’s very little real science in it.

The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy

2007-04-29T18:59:00.000-07:00

Not much happening today. I bought a trash can.

I’ve also been reading The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: Five Novels In One Outrageous Volume” by Douglas Adams. I don’t get around to reading fiction (or in this case, sci-fi) all that often—not nearly as often as I’d like to.

Don’t get me wrong, I read constantly. At the moment, I’ve got a pile of marketing and business books that are currently on my to-read list. But every now and then you need some vacuous time. That is, time filled with pretty much nothing.

Not to discount the literary qualities of “Hitchiker’s Guide.” There aren’t many. But it’s a wildly entertaining read. Adams is full of satirical wit poking fun at…well…life, the universe, and everything!

For example, here’s a quote that reminds me of some of my own past experiences. I reprint it here with the express permission of the publishers…which I hope they will give me after the fact…and without me asking…

“Bistromathics itself is simply a revolutionary new way of understanding the behavior of numbers. Just as Einstein observed that space was not an absolute but depended on the observer’s movement in space, and that time was not an absolute, but depended on the observer’s movement in time, so it is now realized that numbers are not absolute, but depend on the observer’s movement in restaurants.

“The first nonabsolute number is the number of people for whom the table is reserved…[etc.]

“The second nonabsolute number is the given time of arrival, which is now known to be one of those most bizarre of mathematical concepts, a recipriversexclusion, a number whose existence can only be defined as being anything other than itself…[etc.]

“The third and most mysterious piece of nonabsoluteness of all lies in the relationship between the number of items on the check, the cost of each item, the number of people at the table and what they are each prepared to pay for. (The number of people who have actually brought any money is only a subphenomenon in this field.)

“Numbers written on restaurant checks within the confines of restaurants do not follow the same mathematical laws as numbers written on any other pieces of paper in any other parts of the Universe.”

I read all of Adams books in high school. But that was maybe 15 years ago. I was an avid sci-fi fan and read many books by Asimov, Heinlein, Niven, all the classic sci-fi greats.

And so I reveal my complete nerdness for all to see.

But I haven’t read a sci-fi book since high school. “Lord of the Rings” doesn’t count because it’s fantasy. Fantasy is a completely separate genre, a fact many fail to distinguish…much to my constant annoyance.

And so I reveal yet another layer of nerdness.

But oddly, a couple of weeks ago I suddenly became nostalgic for a classic sci-fi read. I fear I may be descending back into nerdhood…and after all my hard work to escape from it! Whether I was ever successful at it is up for debate.

And so I re-read Adams. Next on my list is the Mars Trilogy by Ken Stanley Robinson. Man, this is becoming habit-forming!

But like all good habits, it’s enjoyable…of arguable merit…and wastes time and money.

On another note: my legs are not nearly as sore today as yesterday. Which means I was able to walk today.

In fact, I was in so much pain yesterday, I felt…looked…and walked like an old man. A fact Alba was happy to point out every chance she got…

“Hey old man!”

“What’s taking so long?”

“Need a cain?”

Not to mention the sadistic giggles every time I groaned while shifting position on the couch!

What ever happened to tender-loving-care?

So anyway, I bought one of the most expensive trash cans ever today. Cost me $80. Stainless steel with a foot-lever and everything. It’s not one of those automatic infra-red models that cost $200. (How can anyone spend $200 on a trash can?)

Of course, before I hobbled into Bed Bath & Beyond I couldn’t imagine why anyone should spend $80 on a trash can…But when I saw the $200 one, suddenly $80 didn’t seem all that bad.

I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me until just after I left the store…but I began wondering if it was some kind of conspiracy.

“Hey,” says a Bed Bath & Beyond executive, “let’s make a trash can that will sell for $80.”

“Eighty Dollars!” exclaims the CEO. “How can we possibly justify that?”

“Well…let’s see…How about we make a $200 trash can so that $80 looks cheap!”

“Brilliant!” says the CEO.

And so it was.

The Stan

Crashing a Quinceanera

2007-04-28T13:50:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, Alba insisted I go with her to this quinceanera. A quinceanera is a Mexican tradition celebrating a girl’s 15th birthday. It’s supposed to be a big fiesta.

I’d never been to one. And oddly enough, neither had Alba. She’s Mexican…but not Catholic. And apparently the quinceanera is more of a Mexican Catholic tradition.

So Alba wanted to go.

Now, here’s the thing: Neither Alba, nor I, knew the girl, or any of the family, or anyone who was to go there.

It turns out this family had invited Alba’s sister, X (name has been changed to protect the innocent), who does tailoring work for them. So basically, they are a casual acquaintance, a customer, of X…and X decided she couldn’t go (a diplomatic way of saying she didn’t want to), so she gave the tickets to Alba.

Alba wanted to go…out of curiosity. And she insisted I go with her.

Now, X told us it was a formal occasion. Formal to me means “tuxedo.” So I don my tuxedo (a relic of my performing days) to go to a quinceanera for a girl I don’t know, for a family I’ve never met, for an event where I will be a complete stranger to everyone…and they’re all Latinos.

I just happen to be white (with medium brown hair and green eyes)…and tall…and weigh 280 lbs.

I point all this out to Alba, whereupon she insists “It will be fine, you’ll blend right in.” I’m dubious, but off we go.

For a white guy it’s a somewhat disconcerting experience being the ONLY gringo in a room of 400 Latinos…Moreover if you’re the tallest person in the room. Mexicans…especially native ones…aren’t known for their height. Just ask Alba.

And of course, due to the misunderstanding of what “formal” means, I’m the ONLY guy wearing a tuxedo.

So considering the fact that I’m the only white guy, I’m the tallest guy in the room, and I’m the only one wearing a tuxedo, there ain’t no way ANYONE missed me, and possibly wondered what the hell this gringo was doing crashing their party.

Fortunately, Latino’s are a friendly race. At least this bunch were.

But once I got over the fact that I stuck out like a big white guy in a tuxedo in a room full of short, dark-skinned Hispanics, I began to relax and enjoy myself.

We were seated at a circular table in a large ballroom, with a Mexican band from Yucatan as the main feature. We were even treated to a performance of the traditional village dance of whatever village this family was from.

There’s something very charming about native traditional dances…the native clothing…the Latin ladies...

I have a weakness for Latin ladies…hence my engagement to a Oaxacan native. But to see beautiful young Latinas in the traditional garb doing the traditional dance. I must say it was a pleasurable experience. Not really erotic, mind you. Just pleasurable.

Apart from the fact that I was in a restaurant ballroom in El Segundo, CA, I felt I could have been in Mexico proper. If you close your eyes, you could easily imagine yourself in a small village square, having a grand old fiesta.

The food was awesome. I love Mexican food anyway, (another reason to be with a Mexican woman), and this stuff was particularly good.

But I couldn’t get over just how expensive this party must have been…and for a 15th birthday! You can’t really equate it with the “Sweet 16” tradition in America. I mean, these people went all out. This was no simple house party. The only thing I can equate it to is a wedding reception…complete with "groomsmen," a "groom," "bridesmaids," and the "dress."

Which is why I felt like a wedding crasher.

Of course, I did the polite thing and congratulated the new 15-year-old. I even met her Mother. And I had some pleasurable conversation with the other guests at our table.

All in all it was an enjoyable experience. Alba was wearing this striped, frilled skirt that showed off her beautiful brown legs. It just so happens I love a pair of beautiful brown legs. Especially hers. And that skirt…man! Get’s me excited thinking about it.

Yes…all in all in was a VERY pleasurable evening!

The Stan

Of Ice Cream...and Six Packs

2007-04-27T18:47:00.000-07:00

Since this is my first day back in the Blogosphere, I decided to make it a double feature. Actually, I just felt like writing another post.

I decided this week that I've had enough. I haven't worked out regularly in over three years. I guess love makes you lazy...as opposed to lust, which makes you work hard. I suppose it's the difference between having and wanting. Desire is the mother of all hard work.

But anyway, I've seen my future if I don't change my ways and it looks like this...(see photo) No, that's not me. At least, not yet anyways.

So this morning I started working out with a couple of filled 5-gallon containers of water. (Don't have a gym membership just yet.) They have these convenient little handles on the side which make them look like giant dumbbells.

So I started out with a few lunges and squats with these water-bells...well...

It's amazing how much you use your legs. Walking...standing up...bending down to pick up something...wiping your ass...(that is, if you wipe in a croutched position as I do. I never could understand how any man can do it sitting down.)

Anyway, I'm walking on a wobbly pair of legs today. I mean, even standing up from my chair is like doing another set of squats! I have to keep telling myself: "Come on! You can do it! Just one more rep! Just one!"

I suppose I haven't gone entirely without exercise over the last three years. I do one full situp every day...I do the first half when I wake up in the morning and the other half before I go to sleep.

But I've made my mid-year resolution: I'm going to lose these 80 or so extra pounds of lard I've been cultivating through long hard work...sitting at my desk job.

80 pounds!! In three years!! How did I let myself go so far? I'm as big as I was during my last year in college! And after I'd worked so hard to become a lean mean sexy machine so I could meet someone like Alba!

Well, the late night bowls of ice cream end here, my friends. Bummer...summer's the best season for it! No....must....resist....temptation...

Like my friend Seth, who's finally come to believe Chick-fil-A is evil because of their sumptuously delicious cookies-n-cream shake...I must see my favorite snack (and biggest weakness) for what it is: a concealer of six-packs.

Yep. I've got a six pack. Somewhere underneath all that lard. Just can't see it at the moment...too many bowls of ice cream concealing it. But it's gotta be there...After all, I've done 1,095 sit ups since I've met Alba!

The Stan

Here's To Good Food...And GREAT Sex!

2007-04-27T16:27:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back in the Blogosphere, boys and girls. Not that too many of either will notice. Perhaps one or two of my old friends...perhaps. It doesn't really matter.

I can't really say for sure why I decided to start posting again...Oh, yeah. It was fun. I've realized I like to write. Enough to perhaps call myself some sort of a writer, I suppose. But also enough to make it a somewhat time consuming process to post something. Being a writer means I like to write too much.

So instead of just two sentences about how I ate the Evil Jungle Thai Steak Salad at Houston's (it was awesome), I like to renumerate on it's qualities, speculate endlessly on the complete list of ingredients, describe the jucy bits of steak that were so rare I felt like I was eating steak sushi, etc. But I'll spare you most of the details.

Rare steak used to make me gag. But I suppose since I started liking sushi, rare steak is actually enjoyable now. And when I say rare, I mean RARE. I think they just waved the steak in the direction of the grill before they cut it up and put in my salad. It certainly put me in touch with my inner carnivore.

But the real story that night was not the food...immensely pleasurable though it was. I took Alba out for our three year anniversary.

Three years.

Gone in a flash. And yet, on the other hand it's like we've been together forever.

Not to sound grotesquely romantic and sentimental. It's just strange what a paradox time is. How can time fly, and yet seem like forever? Three years is a long time, and yet it flashes by with barely a notice.

Alba and I have gone from non-stop sex to the more normal 2-3 times a week. Except on certain occasions--perhaps when I eat more rare meat than usual--when it feels like my sexual drive goes into hyperdrive and it's just like old times for a few days.

This week was one of those times. Is it a cyclical thing? Was it just a coincidence that I happened to get horny as a Gila monster during our anniversary week? (Actually, I don't think Gila monsters are all that horny...but it certainly rolls off the toungue better than "horny as a Texas horned lizard.")

So what I'm wondering is...what's the secret to continuous sexual energy? Can I learn to control my appetite such that I can turn it on or off on a whim? Could I just decide that everyday I'd like to have a morning wake-up romp, a lunch-time quickie, and an after-dinner delight?

Hmmm.

Well, at the moment, I don't know. Maybe it's really just a matter of diet and exercise. But I think I'll keep my eyes and ears peeled for more information on this subject.

Siyonara, boys and girls.

The Stan