So, another year comes to an end. So much has happened for me in 2002 -- I think it's safe to say that this was a life-changing year for me. I can only hope that I made the right move, and I think I did. I won't bother with a "year in review," since that'd just take too long and would be fairly redundant since the information of what happened is all here anyways.

In a way, New Year's Eve is very anti-climactic. I don't have any plans to go out and do anything tonight, and I'm okay with that. It's just another day and, as one of my roommates noted when I said this to him, it's an ordeal to try to get plans together. I mean, if someone calls me up or comes by our apartment and invites me out, I won't say no, and I've learned that things just kind of come together anyways, but I won't be upset if nothing does come together. My head's so turned around as far as what day it is that you could probably very easily convince me it's an idle Thursday in September.

So, a happy, healthy and productive new year to all of you. I'll conclude this year with the chorus from a song that seems to sum up pretty well my life from the past 12 months (and, oddly enough, I was singing in my dream last night):

Well, I woke up in a car
I traced away the fog so I could see the Mississippi on her knees
I've never been so lost
I've never felt so much at home
Please write my folks and throw away my keys
I woke up in a car...

-- Something Corporate, "I Woke Up in a Car"

It's often been said that people in different career fields speak their own language. Here now is a simple demonstration.

The topic: What I did today

The PR person: I was domestically positively operational today. I effected a reduction in the interior domicile atmosphere allergens, I lessened the outdoor elements in the housing floor coverings and dissolved the pollutants in the cleansing environment. During this time, I was additionally productive through utilizing machinery to remove foreign materials from my apparel. Later, after a journey to a local merchant, I performed manual labor to construct housing for papers.

The normal person: I dusted and vacuumed today, then cleaned the bathroom while I did laundry. Then I went to Target, picked up a few things, came back and put a file cabinet together.

Irony
EYE'-roh-nee - i-ro-ny
An occurrence, result, or circumstance notable for such incongruity.
Example: The white Subaru Justy (which has got to be about 10-15 years old) parked outside my apartment that has multiple scratches, a dent in the front driver's side panel the size of both my fists side-by-side and another on the hatchback part and rust patches on the doors, yet the driver has seen fit to outfit the Justy with a Club, an alarm system that shows it's activated by flashing a light on the dash often enough to hypnotize someone and a big notice in the back window saying "This car is outfitted with a theft prevention system."

What I want to know is, how much drugs did this guy consume or how paranoid can he really be to think that -- on a street where there's two Lexuses, a Mercedes-Benz, three BMWs and a brand new Hummer H2 all within sight -- someone's going to steal his little P.O.S. Justy?

Maybe it's a magic Justy... yeah, that's the ticket...

On the outside, I am well-dressed, cleanshaven, hair mostly in place except for a few strands that came unglued when I got rained on tonight.

On the inside, my inner reflection is wearing jeans with holes in them and a sweatshirt, also a baseball hat because the hair underneath is all over the place, not to mention the several days' beard growth scruffyness. He is lying in bed, where he has stayed for the past few days, and the bedroom floor is covered with the wrappers from the Pop-Tarts, Mallomars and In 'n' Out Double-Doubles that have comprised his entire diet roster over the past week.

There's an ongoing debate between the various people I speak to. It's regarding pronuncation. See, the name of the street one block over from where I live is spelled "Kiowa." The problem is, I have no idea how to pronounce it. The three options are:

- KEE-oh-ah
- kee-OW-ah (which is what I thought it was, based on the Native American tribe's name)
- KEYE-oh-ah (like the state's name with a K in front of it)

I've lived in this apartment for more than 8 months now, and I still have no idea how to direct people here. "You pass Goshen, then Keeoh... Keyeoh... oh hell, just turn onto the third street after Wilshire."

I've been hit a few times with this Blogger Snowball Fight thing. It brings back pleasant memories of Calvin & Hobbes.

Here's the thing with Calvin & Hobbes though. These days, everyone keeps screaming about violence in the media and how it's affecting the kids and making them nuts and making them get into fights and shoot other kids. That's a big load of horseshite. How many of us grew up with Calvin & Hobbes? I used to read that comic strip religiously. I owned -- and still have -- all the C&H books. And if you leaf through them, how many different times did Calvin come up with a plan to hit Susie with snowballs or water balloons? How many times did Calvin come up with some way to get back at Moe, possibly by finding someone bigger to beat him up? Moreover, how many times did Calvin wish for or fantasize about getting a fighter jet with heat-seeking missiles so he could blow up his school? How many times did he imagine blowing up cities or planets?

When there was a bomb scare at my high school because a student reportedly put a bomb in his locker, no one pointed fingers at Calvin & Hobbes. When kids went into their schools and started shooting up the place, no one pointed fingers at Calvin & Hobbes. Apparently, everyone forgot about those little episodes of violence in the comic strips.

It's not that I'm blaming Calvin & Hobbes for school violence. I blame C&H about as much as I blame rap music and action films. Parents, take a good look -- because my finger's pointed right at you. Stop putting off responsibility and teach your kids what's right and wrong. Hell, my parents were taking me to see R-rated films à la Die Hard when I was 10, and I turned out pretty well-adjusted. (No comments from the Peanut Gallery.) But because my parents gave me the proper background, I was able to separate the entertainment from the violence. I can watch American Psycho when it's on, it doesn't make me want to go out and chase people down with a chainsaw.

Another Christmas draws to a close. And at the conclusion of the past two days, I've seen three movies and had my Chinese food. The tradition has been preserved. And when I was sitting in the theatre tonight waiting for the movie to start, a woman came running in and told her friends (who were sitting right in front of me) that she just stood in line at the concession stand next to Matthew Perry.

25th Hour disturbed me in a way that I can't really describe. Maybe it's because it made me miss New York -- something I never thought I'd really feel again. Hell, when I walked out of that film and came to that realization, I thought to myself, "Maybe it's because you're so far from home." Then I had to catch myself and say, "Wait a minute... you are home." It kind of shook me a little to realize that it's not an automatic reaction for me to consider L.A. as home, even though I've been here almost an entire year.

I also thought about what would happen if I had to go to jail. I'd never last. Then I remembered what my parents had said when I asked them last year what they'd do should there be a war and a draft was reinstated. My mom instantly replied, "Either have you immediately start applying to graduate schools or give you money and send you to Canada." I don't know how I'd react to having to run away to Canada or disappear somewhere in the country... To lose my freedom that way, to be running from either the law or a draft, and not be able to come back and see my parents and friends and live my life the way I wanted -- not even if one of them died, reinventing myself and not even being able to use my real name, living incognito with only my wits so as not to draw attention to myself... I can't even fathom living that way.

On a more upbeat note, my fortune tonight from dinner has positive news: "You will soon be involved in many gatherings, parties and communications"... in bed. Apparently, the guy who writes the Chinese fortune cookie fortunes now also has a job picking Powerball numbers, because the lucky numbers at the bottom of the fortune had 5 in a group, then what I assume to be the Power number separated by a comma.

If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, then Middle Earth is where we meet.

Sarah B. writes about how she thinks she got pregnant when Legolas swung himself backwards up onto the horse during the battle with the Orcs in The Two Towers. When I saw that today, I let loose with a big "Niiiiiice!" The guy sitting next me dropped a "Daaaaaamn!" Several women in the audience sighed in lust.

See, we're not all that different. We appreciate the same things... just maybe not in the same way.

There's this TV station in New York that, every Christmas morning, airs an image of a roaring fire in a fireplace and plays Christmas music. It's the highest-rated TV show in all of New York City on Christmas. It's kind of comforting to know that no matter what, people can still have a fire and Christmas music to complete the image even if they don't have a fireplace or a stereo -- as long as they have a TV, of course.

I still find it extremely odd to see palm trees decorated with Christmas lights out here in Los Angeles, and that the most decorated building I've seen is the Mormon temple.

And this afternoon, I shall go see The Two Towers.

I'm in a random state of mind. So it's time for another edition of the Midnight Madness. Here goes.

- I think there's a good possibility that I may go absolutely berserk tomorrow. I've heard enough Christmas music to last me a few years. Let's take a break from it next year, since I think we've gotten our fill for a while.
- The stress is beginning to show, apparently. One of my co-workers asked me on Friday if I was okay, because he thought I was wound tighter than a clock's springs. And people keep asking me how they can help. What I really need right now is 5 days at a beachside all-inclusive Mexican resort. I haven't had a real vacation in almost 2 1/2 years, all of my time off since then has been "working time off," meaning that I may not be at work, but I have serious things to take care of that prevent me from taking any time for myself. Also, the accent is starting to show again, which is a bad sign. I normally don't speak with an accent at all (one of the great things about growing up in Connecticut), but I have a Brooklyn accent that comes out when I'm really angry, tired or drunk. And, for some odd reason, the Canadian accent is rearing its ugly head again, and I have no idea where it came from. The combination makes it sound funny when I tawk oooot loud.
- There's only one explanation for Dick Clark's longevity: He's an android sent by another civilization to study us, then rise to power and conquer us. You got a better explanation? I'm all ears.
- I need a Trixie. This has been mutually agreed upon by myself and friends.
- I'm thoroughly convinced my mom would be a great host on Animal Planet. Every time I talk to her, she gets über-excited and begins to list off all the wildlife she's seen around their new place in Tucson. I mean, it's great and all and I'm glad she's excited about it, but it gets to that point where there's only so much I can take, and I feel like telling her to change her internal channel to HBO or Comedy Central.
- Since 9/11, my building has had this thing where we have to have key cards that we wave at an area on the elevator panel -- it clears us up to our own particular floors. We're only cleared for our own floors, no one else's. And it takes a few seconds for the elevator to detect our key cards and flash green, clearing us to our floor. So I was a little pissed today when this woman pushed me out of the way to get into the elevator -- and cleared herself up to the top floor. I, on the other hand, work on the 3rd floor, so I'm trying to get into the elevator and get myself cleared and push the button before the doors close and we go up and pass the 3rd floor and I have to ride all the way up and back down. Why did she have to be first? I hate rude and pushy people.
- Musicians get paid for having bad relationships. Ben Folds' solo CD, Rockin' the Suburbs, and Stroke 9's latest disc, 100 Girls, were thoroughly about past relationships that they had been involved in that went bad. And we pay them for the discs, so we're paying them for their therapy. Meanwhile, the rest of us have to go to our psychologists and pay more money to them to make us right in the head. If only we knew beforehand that we could just pick up a guitar or a piano and a recording contract and go on tour to cleanse ourselves of our demons, maybe we wouldn't be known as the Prozac Nation as much.
- Sleep is good. That's where I'm a pirate! (Thank you, Ralph Wiggum.)

Try the veal. Be sure to tip your waitress. Thanks, and good night.

Yeah, I might be losing it.

It seemed to be the day to be educated in the ways of the woman. Part of it was completely Hollywood-fake in that I watched What Women Want (which I watched mostly because Lisa Edelstein is in it, and I carry a small torch for her), and other part was an in-depth "I probably shouldn't be hearing this information but it doesn't bother me, I'm just wondering if it bothers you to share it" conversation with a friend who told me that she was cancelling our dinner date tonight because she was an emotional wreck, partially because it was the holidays and she was away from her family and her boyfriend (though she's leaving in less than 48 hours to see them over Christmas) and partially because she was experiencing PMS.

Personally, I must be in tune with her physically, because I've been eating anything and everything over the last few days, mostly salt-based and chocolate-based products, and I hear that's a PMS-like symptom. But I've noticed that I tend to meet up with the same guys in the bathroom at the same times throughout the day, which leads me to believe that peeing might be the male equivalent of being in cycle. Then again, it just might be the fact that I drink so much water throughout the day that I'm constantly going to the bathroom.

So. Now I have to figure out what films I'm going to see on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and I need to find a good Chinese food place that'll be open on Wednesday. The annual Jewish Christmas Day Ritual must be upheld. Bceause honestly, what the hell else is open that day for us of the Jewish persuasion to do?

So, former Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott says he fell into a trap set by his political enemies. He says there have been people gunning for his resignation for a long time, and that he's a target because he's a Christian conservative from the South.

Okay there, Trent. Yeah, people made you get up there on that podium in front of all those cameras and make your little jibes about how things would've been had Strom Thurmond been able to take his segregationist agenda to the White House in 1948. Evil forces conspired against you to take the stuff you said of your own volition and broadcast it throughout the country to bring you down, even though you knew national news organizations were there to cover the event.

Yeah, you fell into a trap all right. Except you dug it yourself. Stop whining and go home.

Oh, and thanks to everyone who left birthday wishes in the comments, sent e-cards and things of that nature, and especially to Bill for the gorgeous women. You guys made my birthday cooler. Thanks!

So, a half-hour trip down to Rancho Palos Verdes turned into an hour-and-a-half trip because the natives freaked out over the water falling from the sky. There was even a bolt of lightning here and there, and the people on the road were like horses -- I actually saw cars "flinch" right after it. So we just turned around and drove back up to my place to drop off my car, and I went to dinner with my friend & her brother. From there, we journeyed on to the Wiltern to see the Man.

When we got there, we were informed that Ticketmaster had mysteriously -- and without explanation -- cancelled our tickets and refunded the money to my friend's credit card. So we had to actually re-buy tickets, but the only ones we could get were for the upstairs loge section where there were seats (the downstairs was completely open, which is where people were dancing). We bought the tickets for the upstairs section and went up there, where we proceeded to make fun of all the poseurs on the dance floor -- and there were a lot, and there were even more people just standing around not dancing with a bewildered look on their faces. I postulated it was because they had come because they'd heard "Starry Eyed Surprise" on KIIS-FM and had thought, "Oooh, Paul Oakenfold, I'll go see him in concert" -- not realizing that Oakenfold is a world-famous DJ and his latest album is not what he's known for or what he does best, and that the evening would mostly be DJs spinning. My favorite target was the Aerobics Instructor, who was right up in front and was going absolutely crazy to the music. In my head, I could just hear him choreographing himself with aerobics moves: "O-kay, we're pogoing! We're pogoing! And left! And right! Now, we're climbing the ladder, put your hands up! And left! And right!"

Through the kindness of the woman at the ticket window, who took pity on us especially since she couldn't give us an explanation as to why Ticketmaster cancelled our tickets, we were able to get downstairs because she slipped us some tickets after we went down to ask again. So we got downstairs and started raving. The first DJ wasn't very good at all, but they kept him on for over an hour before Oakenfold took the turntables and rocked the Wiltern.

He was great during his DJ set. It's just that we were surrounded by people who didn't know rave etiquette. Even if you were coming only to hear "Starry Eyed Surprise," that's still no reason to try and ballroom-dance with your girlfriend during his spinning set. My left arm is black and blue because I was nailed so many times by the guy next to me who kept trying to twirl his girlfriend. Then there was another girl with long hair who kept swaying -- and throwing her hair right in my face and the faces of my friends. And, of course, they'd stop for a while, make out with their respective significant others, then go back to mauling us.

I was really unimpressed with Oakenfold's actual "performance." He brought a keyboard up on stage and a drummer and a guitarist. He played the keyboards and did the effects, though I thought it seemed painfully obvious that they were relying on a recording at a few times during the performance. One was when the drummer was blatantly off-beat, and the other was when they brought Shifty Shellshock out on stage to do the vocals for Oakenfold's two radio hits: "Ready, Steady, Go" and "Starry Eyed Surprise." Shifty was singing along to himself, and if he missed a word, the recording would come through, and we could still hear the vocals that had effects on them. I was really disappointed, and we left after 4 songs. Except for the fact that the crowd was giving him the best response they'd given him all night. Music for the masses, I guess.

After that, I returned home to the end of the holiday party my roommates were throwing. I was appropriately social and crashed just after 2:30 -- my eyes just couldn't stay open, though I was glad I had the opportunity to close up the night that way.

Overall, it was a good birthday, and I'm glad I was able to "celebrate" it given the many years when I haven't done much or I've had celebrations on other days simply because no one would be around on the actual day. Either way, I'm incredibly sore right now after crawling out of bed -- which gives me an excuse for not going to the gym today -- and I'm fully content to spend the day watching movies and football.

My grandmother used to say rain is good luck. Well, not if you're planning on going out, and especially not in L.A., where rain means the entire city grinds to a halt and people cower in fear in their apartments and lavishly-appointed condos. I'm expecting the trip down to Rancho Palos Verdes for my birthday dinner to take a lot longer than it's supposed to. But then, the after-dinner refreshment is a night out with the Man himself, Mr. Perfecto Presents... yes, kiddies, the God of the Turntables, Paul Oakenfold.

Apparently, my sim is celebrating by getting some action -- which is more than I can say for me in realtime, sadly -- and Bill has given me several incredible presents on her blog. Eric Cartman says, "Kiiiiiick ass!"