Okay, so yes, I know The Matrix Revolutions supposedly sucked worse than my vacuum cleaner. Don't bother commenting here to tell me that. I've heard the opinions, I've read the reviews. I'm still going to see it at some point. Why? Because the original Matrix is my all-time favorite film, and while I'm disappointed that such a sucky product would be attached to that and try to carry on its legacy, it still is a part of the Matrix legacy, and I have to see how the story ends. And I probably will see it on the big screen, since it's just not the same on the small. But I'll wait until the theatres aren't as packed. I stayed as far away from that Jessica Lynch made-for-TV movie as I could. Even the commercials for it on the radio sounded bad ("she ended up taking a wrong turn into history" -- puh-leeze!), but I was most turned off by the fact that, according to Jessica herself, they distorted the facts and even made up some things when they filmed it -- and she didn't even know they were filming her rescue for TV, she thought they were filming it for the government's records. Jessica claims that when she was captured by the Iraqis, she didn't go out in a "blaze of glory," taking out enemy soldiers by the truckload like Rambo as she was portrayed; she says her gun jammed and she didn't even fire a single shot, and she also says that when they captured her, she was on her knees praying. Jessica's pretty pissed that the government used her as a propaganda tool, and I am too. I have enough problems trying to understand why the government is distorting facts in the news, why do they need to mess with my prime-time TV too?

[Ed. note: In case you're wondering, the title of this entry comes from an e-mail sent by Francisco. He's got new digs, go check 'em out.] Sheesh. You leave the Internet alone for one day, and 93 spam e-mails flood your inbox. Did the enlargement pills and get-rich-quick schemes miss me that much? Rather than seeing The Matrix Revolutions this weekend (you guys suck), I saw Love Actually, which was a very funny, cute and appropriately romantic film. I very much recommend it, even though it reminded me a lot of a film I love called Playing By Heart, which is not as funny (nor is it meant to be) and is a little darker. I also saw Matchbox Twenty in concert this weekend. I will say this for the group -- they are great technically in concert. It was live and not Memorexed, but the music was precise and did not sound like their albums were studio-engineered. They've got the talent. Throughout most of the show, one of my co-workers and I sat in the back (we had stellar seats, actually) and played color commentators, and Rob Thomas was the butt of most of our jokes. I shouldn't joke about him too much though -- he's obviously got talent and he's a hell of a lot more successful than I am. Did I mention I'm leaving for Vegas in two days? Vegas, baby... Vegas.

There are a few constants in the universe I used to be able to count on: death, taxes, the humor of Lewis Black, the speed of light, the propensity of people to be morons and the fact that whatever line I get in at the supermarket checkout will automatically turn into the slowest-moving one. Now, IHOP has gone and shaken the foundation of my belief structure by changing their menu. There's a nice shiny new IHOP in Los Angeles that just opened a few months ago. It's open 24 hours a day! It's even nicely decorated, has its own parking lot (which is key, considering its location) and has some of the cleanest bathrooms I've ever seen in a restaurant. I should've known something was up right there when I stepped into this kinder, gentler, thousand-points-of-light IHOP. They've changed the menu. They've changed the menu. To the point where a lot of their old favorite dishes are gone or they've been re-engineered beyond recognition. Oh sure, some of them are still there, but can you honestly see a late-20something guy saying to his waiter, "Uh, yes, I'll have the Rooty Tooty Fresh 'n' Fruity, please"? I had a tradition that was born in college where every time I went to IHOP, I'd order chocolate chip pancakes. It stemmed from the fact that whenever I went to IHOP in college, all of the people I went with inevitably ended up ordering that, so I decided to see what all the fuss was about and ended up participating in the ritual. And I'll admit that the chocolate chip pancakes were good -- warm buttermilk pancakes with chocolate chips cooked into them that were all melty and permeated the pancakes. Slather on two of the four jars of syrup on the table, and you're ready to go. Mmm mmm good. But now the chocolate chip pancakes are just regular pancakes with a handful of chocolate chips sprinkled on post-cooking. Where's the fun in that? If I wanted that, I could do it myself. But cooking the chocolate chips into the pancakes was mysterious and awesome to the point where I wanted them to do it because I wasn't sure if I could do it right. [sigh] Yet another part of my past, mowed over by so-called "progress."

I remember, when I was in college, laughing at all the Southern Californians who would break out their winter jackets and hats in September when the temperature dipped below 65. Ha ha ha, you poor schmucks... you think this is cold? Being made of hardier material, I was used to not putting on a jacket until it was around 50 degrees outside. Hell, when I was in high school, I used to go outside at 7am to pick up the morning paper from the mailbox at the end of the driveway dressed in just pajamas and a bathrobe -- even when it was only 20 degrees out. So it's November here in Los Angeles, and the temperature is getting into the 50s and 60s. And I have to admit... I'm a little cold at times. I wonder if my blood has thinned out or if I'm acclimating or if my internal calendar is just saying, "Helloooooo... it's November, time to be cold." I still haven't worn a jacket, and I will fight that until I absolutely have to put one on, but I have finally graduated to sweaters. But I'll still laugh at the natives wearing winter coats and hats when it's 60 degrees outside, even if I might be shivering a little bit along with them.

I logged in this morning to find no less than 15 spam comments littered throughout my site, and I am pissed. Not only does it not seem like MTBlacklist is doing its job, but it's also a matter of who do these people think they are? They're basically running through my digital living room and throwing flyers for raunchy strip clubs around -- scattering litter throughout my place. It's just... well, rude. Do they honestly think they'll get traffic from it? I don't know a single person who actually reads spam e-mails or clicks on links that look odd, I know I just hit delete. In other, happier news, I'm going to Las Vegas next week for the first time ever. Any suggestions on places I should see? Keep in mind that I'll only be there for three days and that I'll be with my parents, which should keep things interesting in and of itself.

So after trying to import my photos from last night, I fear I may have lost some. No worries, I don't remember taking half of them. Not that I was drunk -- because I wasn't, I barely drank last night -- but because a lot of the pics I took were just random pics. I took my predilection for taking pictures of my tongue and uvula to a new level by encouraging others to join me. And there was much drunkenness. Much. Drunkeness. So here's a taste of last night, and I was threatened with bodily harm if I posted any photos that portrayed anyone unattractively (which, of course, others disregarded since I've seen a few pictures of me already where I look freakin' huge), so I've only posted a smattering. And away we go! Here's the glorious margarita fountain from Casa de Bandini, where we ate dinner. If only margaritas flowed from it instead of water... Here's me and a pre-drunk Wendy, somewhere in Old Town before the urge to go shopping took her over. Francisco has a strange fetish for taking tilted pictures. I have no idea why. Becky joining me in the uvula-showing! An eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeevil karaoke bar? Does Joelle even know what's going on? She told us after the pic was taken, she didn't even realize we were taking a picture -- she thought we were just coming in for a spontaneous hug. Sometimes, it's almost more fun to be one of the only sober people around -- you can view just how silly everyone else is getting. Wendy and Mikey are funny when they're plastered.

Too many reminders of old worlds and new ones. In my mildly alcohol-induced haze last night, I dreamed that I was still in school and I had forgotten the books that we were allowed to use on the final exam, so the professor allowed me to drive home to get them. I drove through the streets of Los Angeles near my apartment to get home, but when I got home, it was the house in Connecticut I grew up in. I spent some time in my dream desperately searching around my old bedroom looking for these books -- to the point where when I woke up, I was disoriented because I wasn't in my old bedroom in the house I grew up in. This is mildly disturbing in that I moved out of that house in 1994 and haven't really considered it "home" since, and I'm a little tweaked out by the fact that my brain could regress so readily to the point where I wouldn't remember a bedroom I've lived in for almost 2 years now and realize it's mine. Last night's rain turned into an absolutely gorgeous day today, but I'm spending the morning inside taking care of housework -- cleaning, doing laundry, etc. I'm heading down to San Diego in a few hours for Joelle's birthday, which should be a blast involving more drunken revelry.

It's raining here in Southern California. It never rains in Southern California. But hopefully, it will put out some of the wildfires. And it makes me think of -- I was about to say "home," but Boston and New England aren't really my home anymore, are they? I have nothing to tie me there except friends and memories. I think it's safe to say that I'm at least a little bit inebriated and that I had a great time out with some co-workers and friends of co-workers who have been around the music industry for a long time. While tonight was "making contacts," it was also quite enjoyable. I'm not so shallow that I don't enjoy meeting cool new people. I'm feeling so alive, feeling so real On a stormy night, the rain is coming down Rain like never before I've got some records on, some bottles of wine On a stormy night, the rain is lashing down And I'm waiting for her... --Ash, "Goldfinger"