Saw The Italian Job last night with Wendy and Fran and enjoyed it muchly. Seth Green and Jason Statham kicked ass, and Charlize Theron... mmmmmmm... Charlize Theron... [insert Homer Simpson drooling noise here] Okay, so here's my thing with napping. Don't get me wrong -- I loooooove sleep. Not getting enough of it is enough to put me in a bad mood. And those of you who know me well enough know that (a) waking me up early will be reciprocated by the Wrath of Keith and (b) after waking up, it takes me a while to boot up and get up to full processing speed. We're talking like an hour or so, at least. My friends and roommates (past and present) think it's damn hilarious to see me stumble around and attempt coherent thought and/or conversation right after waking up. But napping throws all that off for me. Not only does it not make me feel better because of my extended boot-up period, but waking up at a time when I have not slept many many hours just accentuates that. Plus, I get that odd feeling that everything that happened previously that day before I fell asleep for the nap was just a dream. I remember it taking place, but, through the haze, it's almost like it didn't really happen. I much prefer just sleeping the requisite 8-10 hours I need per night and be done with it, but that never happens because I can't seem to get to sleep until 1am these days, so I have to suffice with 7. I'm too much of a night person to go to sleep early. So, for my Most Listened-To Song of the Week, I was going to just post the lyrics, but every single lyrics site that I found on the 'Net had the damn lyrics wrong. You'd think it would be easy for these morons considering the real lyrics are in the CD inlay, and the lyrics they made up sound nothing like the actual words! I swear, The Refreshments had it dead on when they said, "Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people." So for those of you who want to know what the real lyrics are, just hit more. Audioslave - "Show Me How to Live" And with the early dawn Moving right along I couldn't buy an eyeful of sleep And in the aching night under satellites I was not received Built with stolen parts A telephone in my heart Someone get me a priest To put my mind to bed This ringing in my head Is this a cure, or is this a disease? Nail in my hand From my creator You gave me life Now show me how to live And in the after birth On the quiet earth Let the stains remind you You thought you made a man You better think again Before my role defines you Nail in my hand From my creator You gave me life Now show me how to live And in your waiting hands, I will land And roll out of my skin And in your final hours, I will stand Ready to begin Nail in my hand From my creator You gave me life Now show me how to live Show me how to live...

Ever get the feeling that the song "I'm a Little Teapot" is all about the male side of sex? I mean, it could be one of those things to educate kids subconsciously about sex early on in life. Seriously! I'm a little teapot, short and stout Here is my handle, here is my spout When I get all steamed up, hear me shout Just tip me over and pour me out!

I usually like to believe in the inherent good nature of people and all that jazz -- you know, the Golden Rule, treat people how you'd want to be treated, be excellent to each other, etc. I subscribe to the daily paper (in this case, the L.A. Times) and I try to read it every day because I like knowing what's going on in the world and in my area. I've been reading the newspaper every day since about the fifth grade, so it's a long-standing habit. As it is with most apartments, the paper is delivered to our front door and it sits outside until one of us snags it and brings it inside. So this morning, I spy the paper on the doorstep as I'm on my way out the door and I grab the bag it's in to pull out the classifieds section and dump them in the trash as I usually do every morning. And then I think, This feels a little light, especially for the Thursday edition that has the weekend section that I like reading. And then I dump the contents of the bag out and I see why it felt strange -- someone's already read my paper. It's not like they just kind of glanced through it, the pages are out of order and they're folded awkwardly and the different sections are all folded separately instead of grouped together as they always are. And half the paper, including the weekend section, is gone. For cryin' out loud, if you're going to steal my paper, at least steal the whole damn thing so it's not so completely obvious that you went through it. And moreover -- the paper costs 50 cents! If you're so desperate to read it, there's a number of convenience stores and coffee shops within walking distance where you can get it. Don't screw me over just because you feel like it, because that kind of rudeness just gets under my skin. But on the way to work, I saw a DeLorean sitting at a stoplight. That makes up for most of it.

Have you ever wanted to be interviewed for a major publication read coast-to-coast by music industry professionals? Here's your chance! One of my editors is going to be writing a story about this new campaign by the RIAA to sue people who make their music collections available online. Except she wants to interview a couple of people who are active in not just the downloading of music but also the uploading of music -- meaning people who allow others to download from their computers. And I don't know anyone who's that into the downloading/uploading scene. Here's where you guys come in. If you download and upload music and are interested in being interviewed either via phone or e-mail, I can promise you anonymity -- we will not turn you over to the RIAA once we speak to you. I promise. We just want to hear from you and hear what you've got to say as to why you do it and what you think of this campaign and the consequences the RIAA is threatening. Drop me an e-mail if you're interested in talking to us. Like I said -- major music publication read coast-to-coast by people in the industry, complete anonymity, we'll even send you a copy so you can show your friends your fake name in print.

Today brought a much-awaited raise and a promotion at work. I'm ditching some duties that had basically embroiled me in several hours of data entry every day -- important data entry, but data entry nonetheless -- and taking on some more interesting, more fun responsibilities that will also have me probably taking a more visible role in the company and working more closely with someone I'm already working well with here. Please join me for a round of celebratory bundt cake.

For the first time in God-knows-how-long, I'm awake on a workday before my alarm went off. And quite frankly, I shouldn't be, considering that I was up pretty late last night -- couldn't sleep, so I ended up watching episodes of Family Guy from the DVD set. 8am actually seems like a respectable time in Los Angeles. It's almost like the only time of day when the sheen comes off the city and it seems just like any normal city out there. Everyone, regardless of who they are and what they did last night, is dragging themselves out of bed and getting ready for work, be they rich and powerful corporate executives or lowly Starbucks employees. The city is quiet with the only sounds coming from car engines -- nothing really else going on except businesses getting ready to open... or those early morning places already open with customers silently milling around inside as they get their breakfasts or caffeinated beverages. Me? I'm content to sit back and watch the pandemonium unfold. I've never been a morning person, so trying to interact with me just after I've woken up is relatively futile. At my last job, someone hung a sign outside my cube that said, "Do not attempt to engage Keith in conversation before 10:30am" (this was despite the fact that I had to be at work somewhere in the neighborhood of 8:30 every day, so I'm very thankful the job I have now allows me to get in closer to 10:30 -- makes me more productive... and coherent). There's something going down at work. One of the big guys in the company is leaving -- technically, Friday's his last day but he's moving out to New York and leaving on a redeye flight tonight after work. I've been told that the repercussions of his departure will involve me, but I haven't been told how it will all play out yet. I guess I just have to sit on edge for a few days while they work stuff out upstairs. I hate waiting. I'm completely the kind of person who hates surprises. I just want to know. I guess that's why I can't sleep.

Eve railroaded me into going to the JDate event I went to tonight. Admittedly, she made a convincing argument: The place where they were holding it was within walking distance of my apartment, I might meet someone there, and she would wreak HTML havoc upon me if I didn't go. So I went. And man, was it a disaster. I completely crashed and burned. Not only did I walk in there at a disadvantage because I went alone (although a couple of women did tell me I was brave when I said I came alone), but I just completely didn't have any luck. All the women I approached were in groups, so I'd walk up to the group and introduce myself and start talking, and after a little bit, the group would start talking amongst themselves again or they'd all decide to move somewhere else or I'd just completely get the feeling they didn't want me to be there so I'd leave. My only luck -- and I use that word sparingly -- was with a 61-year-old woman who came up to me and -- I kid you not, because I couldn't even make this kind of stuff up if I tried -- said, "You have such a beautiful face, and you look like your inside is as beautiful as your outside. Could I get your number for my 22-year-old daughter? She's attractive and blonde and lives in the Valley but couldn't be here tonight." This is just the kind of stuff I need after one of the longest weeks I've had in a while. Could my life be any more pathetic right now? And now, Sunday's Most Listened to Song o' the Week: Sugar Ray - "Falls Apart" She falls apart by herself No one's there to talk or understand Feels the sting, dries her eyes Finds herself, opens the door and sighs People see right through you Everyone who knew you well Falls apart, might as well Day is long and nothing is wasted Run away, run away Want to hold you but you're going away Run away, run away Want you tomorrow but you're leaving today You walk along by yourself There's no sound, nothing is changing Been gone away, left you there Emptiness is nothing you can't share All those words that hurt you More than you would let it show Comes apart, by itself All is well and everything is wasted Run away, run away Want to hold you but you're going away Run away, run away Want you tomorrow but you're leaving today Sometimes I'll feel around It scares me some, I can't be down All this time to be on my own In and out to be again This time will waste another friend I know where they'll know where, know where they'll run away She falls apart, no one there Hold her hand, it seems to disappear Falls apart, might as well Day is long and nothing is wasted Run away, run away Want to hold you but you're going away Run away, run away Want you tomorrow but you're leaving today Run away, run away Want to hold you but you're going away But you're leaving today, but you're leaving today...

You remember 3rd Bass? The kickass early '90s hip-hop group who did "Pop Goes the Weasel"? I met MC Serch today. One of co-workers is close friends with him. He autographed my Derelicts of Dialect CD. Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet...

One of the great things about having a laptop with wireless Internet access is that I can be online from any room in the apartment. Any room. 'Nuff said. Yes, it's 4am, and yes, I'm just stumbling in the door after a really full day at my company's convention, and yes, I have another full full day of it again tomorrow. The #1 Complaint among conventioneers this year: "It's fuckin' cloudy out all day! I let the rental car company talk me into a convertible, but it's useless because there's no damn sun!" Yes, folks, the annual June Gloom is in full effect, and I have not seen the sun in a week and a half. On the other hand, I've met a number of very cool people who I wanted to meet, I fulfilled my promise to buy a round of tequila shots for me and two guys from the coolest rock station on the planet, I was paid a very nice compliment that means a lot to me (but he could've just been blowing sunshine up my ass, I'm not quite sure), and I also got to meet the person responsible for one of the coolest alternative stations on the planet (who also had some really good news about her station and I hope she remembers talking to me when she wakes up sober tomorrow morning). I must get to sleep, for my alarm goes off in only 5 hours, and the quicker I get to sleep, the less time my mind will have to dwell on the fact that I'm pretty sure I'm being blown off for a date tomorrow night with someone I was really looking forward to going out with.

Every year at my company's convention, we have a cocktail party by the pool at the hotel where the convention is held. It's kind of a big thing so everyone attending shows up, and the area is always crowded. Plus, combine that with alcohol, and there's bound to be trouble. Alas, there was no trouble last night at this year's cocktail party, despite the fact that I had tried to foment some -- I was offering $20 to my co-workers if they'd push someone in the pool. No one took me up on the offer. They were all too busy trying to get a look at Hilary Duff, who is very cute and I'm sure will eventually be the target of desire for men everywhere as she slowly departs her "jailbait" era. Kato Kaelin showed up as well, but he hadn't registered for the convention so they wouldn't let him in. It was hysterical watching him stand right outside the doorway to the pool area and try to schmooze with people as they entered and left the party. And now, back to work today. More people to meet, lots more work to do.

I went to see Hoobastank play last night at a record label's showcase/concert thing. Personally, I wasn't the biggest fan of theirs when I went into the concert, but they put on a great show. They had energy and they sounded good and the crowd was really into them. But what got me was the fact that their first show ever was also in the venue where we were last night -- 8 years ago. It took them 8 years to build up that kind of a following where they could pack a house (or a major concert venue), and when they played their hit songs, practically everyone in the place was singing along. Literally, the lead singer just kind of stood up on stage during parts of those songs and just held his microphone out to the crowd. Hell, there were even a good number of people there who knew all the words to their songs that they didn't play on the radio. And that's just got to be the coolest feeling in the world for a band. The thing, though, is that it took them 8 years to get here. 8 long hard years of performing their own music by touring constantly and living in a van and driving themselves around the country and not seeing their friends or relatives except when they come play in their hometown for a night and hauling their own equipment as their own roadies and staying in cheap motels (if they're not sleeping in the van). And yet, some guy gets on American Idol and, within a couple of months, the entire country knows his name and what he looks like because he's gotten up on stage a couple of times and sang other people's songs, then he's gotten a record contract and his song is being played on the radio all the time and he's an instant celebrity. American Idol is not real music, American Idol is manufactured pop dribble. A band like Hoobastank has paid their dues, they put in the work and they worked hard to establish their fanbase and they deserve to be where they're at right now. All Ruben Studdard and Clay Aiken had to do was face down Simon Cowell a handful of times and look and sound good enough on TV to make people choose them over their opponents. They know nothing about the music industry.

So, Hell Week goes on and I have just dragged myself home from 14 hours of work-related stuff that included a concert. And to think, I have three more days of this, wooooooooooo! Anyways, since I'm exhausted and just used up all my remaining creativity on an e-mail to a girl I'm interested in, please enjoy this joke that was forwarded to me earlier today (yes, some of you have already seen this -- if I personally sent it to you, it means you're special, but it also means you don't have to read on): At Heathrow Airport today, an individual, later discovered to be a public school teacher, was arrested trying to board a flight while in possession of a compass, a protractor, and a slide ruler. Authorities believe he is a member of the notorious Al-Gebra movement. He is being charged with carrying weapons of math instruction.

Will someone please explain to me why porn films have plots? 1. The acting is so bad, it makes Leonardo DiCaprio look like Lawrence Olivier. 2. The dialogue is so bad and stilted, it makes daytime soap operas look believable. 3. The plots are so transparent, you can see clear through to China through them. 4. Does anyone actually watch the scenes where the plot is played out and the dialogue is spoken? I thought everyone just fast-forwarded through those scenes to get to the sex anyways. Why put in the time and effort to write a stupid script when all the people want and watch is the parts where people have sex?

On our way out to the Evil Empire of Caffeine, a couple of co-workers and I accidentally nearly ran over Terry Farrell and her husband, the Sprint PCS commercial guy (he actually has a name... it's Brian Baker), in the lobby of our building. Damn, she's tall. And cute. But I didn't recognize her without all her spots from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and I didn't recognize him without his trenchcoat on.

So beginneth my Hell Week. In addition to the usual mayhem at work, this week is my company's annual convention -- and add on to this the fact that it's our 30th year of existence, so we're doing a big 30th annual convention thing. Rudy Giuliani is coming to speak. Mind you, this is the same convention that in years past has been described as "when all the radio and record label people in the country descend on Los Angeles for a three-day frat party." However, things have gotten pretty tame in recent years, so I think a more fitting analogy would be a wine-and-cheese soirée... thrown by the boys of Delta House in Animal House. Unfortunately, we had the Big Meeting a few days ago in which we were all cautioned to be on our Best Behavior. Either way, don't expect to see too much of me over the next few days... I'll be running around Merv Griffin's Beverly Hilton like a crazed maniac -- well, more so than I usually do. One of the unfortunate side effects of stress for me is that I turn into a klutz. Over the past two weeks at home, we've suffered the loss of two glasses and a plate at my hands. And the worst part is that my spatial alignment goes offline as well -- I've been walking into doors, doorways, walls and stationary objects with increasing regularity. A couple of my co-workers remarked to me today that they don't need to hear my computer starting up anymore to know I've arrived in the office, because instead they now hear me walk down the hall, turn into my cube area, then they'll hear a THUD and a plaintive "Owwwww..." coming from my cube.