But I digress.  There was the actual birthday night, which entailed aforementioned $4 pitchers of beer at a really dive-y bar and then a trip to a karaoke bar that had an amazing selection, so I got to sing a bunch of songs I’ve always wanted to perform.  And on Saturday night was the huge houseparty, and TBF is world-famous for her houseparties.  This party’s theme was “Crazy Hair,” so I let my hair grow out way beyond where I’d normally get it cut so I’d have the Jewfro, and I didn’t wash it the morning of the party so I was rocking bedhead like you wouldn’t believe.  Photographic evidence, as usual, is available here.

I like being there, but I like coming home.  The actual process of traveling is not my favorite thing to do (especially when your flight is cancelled and you have to downgrade from nonstop to one-stop and take a freakin’ puddle-jumper), and after a while, I start to get antsy about being away from life in general and not having my… you know, my stuff.  It just gets to the point where if you’re away for long enough, you start to feel unplugged from yourself.  While being away and getting out of your routine is nice, there’s something to be said for the comforts and regularity that is home.

In other news, it was 83 friggin’ degrees at 9am this morning.  In Los Angeles, where it’s supposed to be temperate, and in the cooler section of town, since we’re supposed to be climate-controlled by the ocean breeze.  I invite whoever claimed global warming was a myth to spend a night in my living room.

I haven’t been back since I moved out to Los Angeles.  It’s been six years, so I had the mental snapshot in my head of how things used to be, and while I rationally knew it wouldn’t all stay frozen, I kind of emotionally thought things still might be like they were back in 2002.  I got the rude awakening literally the moment I got off the highway, when I found myself staring at a Starbucks that didn’t use to be there.  And it wasn’t just that there was a brand new huge Super Stop & Shop where the local motel used to be and that there were new businesses all over the place, it was that some of the stuff that I was used to wasn’t even where it was supposed to be.  Like the video store I used to work at — I pulled into the parking lot, only to find the place closed and a sign on the door saying they’d moved a mile up the street to a brand new building.

My next stop was the bakery where I used to get these things called chocolate logs — they took chocolate chips and made a log out of them with frosting, baked it, then surrounded it in phyllo dough, put more frosting on top and baked it again.  It was sheer decadence, and I wanted one.  So imagine my surprise when I walked in at 10:30am, only to be told that they were sold out.  I plaintively blurted out, “But I’ve been waiting six years for one!” and then asked about shipping… they don’t ship.  As I walked out of the bakery, I heard the woman behind the counter say, “Great, I’ve apparently ruined someone’s childhood… and it’s only 10:30am.” After that, things continued to go downhill when I visited my old high school, only to find that they’d built a new addition that dwarfed the original building and connected the two by knocking down walls, so I didn’t even recognize some parts of the school I used to walk through every weekday.

Finally, some stability when I met up with an old friend and his parents (they used to be our neighbors) at my old pizza place for a gorgonzola pizza, which they thankfully still made and had some around.  But on the way back, we saw the current residents of my old house standing around in the driveway… so I went over and asked if I could take a look around.  Big mistake.  You know how everyone says that the house looks smaller when you come back to it as an adult?  They aren’t kidding.  The place looked tiny.  In my mind’s eye, I could still see where all the furniture was and how things looked when they were set up when my parents and I lived there, and it was depressing to see it changed… and small.  But what really freaked me out was when we went downstairs to my old room — despite the fact that the house has turned over twice in the past five years since my folks sold it, the curtains my mother made are still hanging in my old room, and the wallpaper my parents put up in my old bathroom is still there.  Seeing those remnants still there tied me to that house a little, and it almost prevented me from getting the closure/emotional divorce I needed. 

But most of the effect I needed came a little later, when I was walking around downtown and the beach with another old friend… That town is no place for me, I realized.  While it was a great little place to grow up, I spent most of the time with that friend talking about my life out in Los Angeles and how I enjoy what I’m doing and the kind of life I’d built for myself out here.  There may be things I hate about L.A., but there are also things about it I really like, and I’m okay with that balance, since it would probably exist anywhere.  And I’m comfortable here. 

In Garden State, Zach Braff’s character talks about how between the time you move out of your parents’ house and the time you get married and start your own home, you feel homeless.  I identify completely with that, especially since I’m in that in-between phase.  But Los Angeles is suiting me at the moment, and it feels like the best home I can make for myself right now.

First of all, Virgin America:  Eff yeah.  The flight was great, the airline was amazing, and I will recommend it to everyone.  There’s a TV screen at every seat with satellite TV, pay-per-view movies, it’s a touchscreen so you can play games on it, they have an impressive collection of MP3s onboard that you can use to build a personal playlist, and there’s a seat-to-seat instant messenger chat system that my co-worker and I were using to talk to each other 15 rows away from each other.  And my co-worker also said that she ordered food using the touchscreen and swiped her card through the reader below the screen, which arrived at her seat before she even had a chance to put her credit card away.  The best part was the power plugs at every seat, and they are actual two-prong plugs like the ones in your wall at home, so I watched two movies off my laptop, which I kept running and fully-charged for the entire 5 1/2-hour flight.

Then the comedy of errors ensued.  We checked into the Crowne Plaza in Times Square, only to be told that their computers were down and it would be a little bit while they got rooms for us.  While we were waiting, I overheard the woman standing at the counter next to me checking out and mentioning something about the water, so I asked one of the employees about it — had I not asked, they might not have told us outright that due to renovations at the hotel, they were shutting off the water to all rooms every day between 9am-4pm.  Oh great.  Then my co-worker finally got her room, and I was told I’d have to wait another hour until something freed up for me.  Ugh.  So I ran out and got a quick bite to eat, and when I got back, I was finally given a room with 10 minutes to clean up before my first meeting.  I ran up to the room to dash through the shower, only to find that the HVAC unit was making such loud noises that it sounded like someone was standing in the wall playing a washboard.  Needless to say, when we returned from our meetings and dinner, I went over to the Doubletree down the street, told them our difficulties and asked if they could match the rate we were paying at the Crowne Plaza, which was $40 less a night than the Doubletree’s.  They did, and I checked us both out of the Crowne Plaza and into the Doubletree.  It’s all good here, with the warm freshly baked chocolate chip cookies they gave us every night and the fact that we’re in friggin’ suites — I’m stretched out on the couch in the living room watching TV here, with the remains of my dinner in the fridge so I can tackle them tomorrow.  I made my requisite trip up to the Carnegie Deli to pay homage to my people and enjoy some Jewish soul food, and now I’m waiting for my friend to call to put in some drinking time.  It couldn’t get any better.

Tomorrow, I commandeer a car and make the pilgrimage up to Connecticut to see my old hometown — and my old house.  One of our neighbors, who’s still living two doors up, asked the current residents if they’d mind if I stopped by and they gave me a quick tour.  To say it’s going to be a little strange is an understatement, but the call of my past was too strong.  The last time I was in Connecticut, I didn’t have time to go, and the fact that I was 45 minutes away from my old hometown and couldn’t go felt very, very strange and was a little depressing.

But Saturday… Saturday, I have off, and I’m staying the extra day.  I haven’t been back to my old hometown up in Connecticut in six years — not since I moved out to Los Angeles.  So I’m renting a car and making the drive I’ve made so many times in the past up I-95 to see the town again, see what changes have been made (and I’m told there have been a lot), see my old high school (which has a huge addition on it that wasn’t there when I went) and see my old neighborhood.  Tom Wolfe was right — you really can’t go home again, since 5 years ago, my parents sold the house I spent 14 years in, and I won’t even be able to go inside the house that I was raised in.  I’ll just be able to look at it from the street longingly.  (Honestly, how creepy would it be for me to ring some stranger’s doorbell and ask for a tour of their house?)

One of the things I plan to do is the food tour.  There are two places that I absolutely need to go to, since I’ve been craving their food for the last six years.  The first is my old favorite pizza joint, since they have this amazing gorgonzola pizza that is to die for.  I haven’t been able to find anything like it anywhere.  And the other… well, the other is a bakery downtown that makes these pastries called “chocolate logs.” Simply put, they’re one of the most decadent things I’ve ever had.  First, they take chocolate chips and bake them together with a little frosting inside to hold them in place.  Then they surround that with phyllo dough, slather more frosting on top and bake it again.  Seriously, it’s like heaven on a plate.  And it’s no wonder I’m still thinking about it after six years.

Me: Did you just drop something in the urinal?
Co-worker: Yes!  My sunglasses dropped in!  Dammit!
Me: [laughing hysterically]
Co-worker: You know, we probably go to the bathroom together too often.  How else would you know that I’d done that?
Me: Because I know how things sound from my own personal experiences of when I drop stuff in the toilet… you know, like, a load.

1. What prompted you to start blogging?
I was bored.  I was working in a menial job to pay the bills while I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life after I’d been laid off and was thinking about not going back to that career field, and I spent way too much time surfing the Internet and commenting on other people’s blogs because — surprise! — I had something to say!  A couple of them then suggested I start my own blog to spew my thoughts… I think the “so you stop doing it on my blog” was implied.  So I did.

2. Have you ever been the victim of a crime?
Yes, when I was 13.  My parents drove me to New Rochelle, NY for a summer camp friend’s bar mitzvah, then they continued the drive into New York City.  While they were in the city, someone broke into the trunk of the car and stole a bunch of things, including my high-end Aiwa Walkman-style portable radio/tape player that had been a present from a couple of friends at my own bar mitzvah.

3. Have you ever witnessed someone else being the victim of a crime?
Directly?  No. 

4. What is your favorite color? Why?
Like Lori, for clothes, black.  It looks good on me with my coloring.  For most others, blue, because my favorite car was blue (as was one of my other ones).

5. What talent or skill would you most like to have that you feel you don’t have?
One of these days, I will learn how to play that damn guitar I bought over Christmas break, even though I’ve had three people promise to teach me and then disappear.  Other than that… speaking Spanish, but I took an immersion course last summer, and since I took 6 years of French, I can also understand it halfway decently if people speak slowly enough or if I can read it.  I’d love to be able to run, but I seem physically incapable of doing it — I get 50 yards and then fall down in a heap.  I can walk forever though, and I can also run on the elliptical trainer without a problem.  I think it’s genetic, my mom has the same problem.

6. If you could go back and do one thing over in your life, what would it be? Would you make a change, or do everything exactly the same?
There’s a relationship that lasted way too long and did a little too much damage for comfort.  It’s since been repaired (as have I) especially since it was a long time ago, and it was a learning experience, but if I had the opportunity to not do it at all…

7. What do you consider your most attractive asset? (Hair, legs, smile, etc.)
I’ve been told my eyes and smile. 

8. When do you feel the most vulnerable?
When I’m on the defensive about something I’ve done.  Which usually means when I’m called on the carpet by my boss or my parents.

9. If you were a rap star, what would your stage name be?
There’s already a DJ Kool Keith… Two of my friends are highly amused when they call me “K-Balls” (which I don’t mind), and the name “K-Dub” has been tossed around as well.

10. What is your favorite curse word?
Chickenfucker.  Thank you, Super Troopers!

In 1991, Jim wrote a semi-autobiography called Radio Waves: Life and Revolution on the FM Dial, which I happened to stumble across 3,000 miles away in my local library.  I took it out of the library so many times, I bought myself a first-edition copy.  If there was a fire inside me to get into the radio industry, this book poured gallons upon gallons of gasoline on it, and it’s one of the few books that I’ve kept over the years; it even made the journey out to Los Angeles with me six years ago when I finally got a chance to listen to Jim himself on the air.

Last month, I interviewed Jim and his boss for a feature article for the magazine I work for, and after all these years, I finally got to thank Jim.  There is definite truth to the revelation that he is part of the reason why I am where I am today and why I had the drive to get there.  Being able to tell him that was like thanking one of your idols for helping you achieve your own success… no, it was exactly like that.  The interview went well, and I even pushed my bosses for an extra page of content because I had so much material to work with.  The article appeared in my magazine a couple of weeks ago, and I got a few compliments from people around the office.  Cool.

Late this afternoon, as I was finishing up for the day and was already in my usual Friday afternoon goof-off mode, my phone rang.  Laughing, I answered it — only to hear Jim Ladd on the other end.  Over the next 10 minutes, Jim proceeded to tell me how wonderful he thought my article was, how thankful he was to me for writing it, how grateful he was that I’d been accurate in the way that I quoted him in it, how impressed he was with it and how he’d actually read an entire section of it on the air last night to his listeners both in Los Angeles and those streaming his show worldwide.  I was floored.  To have one of my own idols come back to me this way… it was something that will stay with me for a long time.  And today turned out to be one of those days when I really felt like I lucked out — that I have one of the best jobs in the world.

Recruiter: Have you thought about becoming a part of the U.S. Army?
Me: Yes, mostly about how much I don’t want to be a part of the Army.
Recruiter: Can I ask why?  We have great benefits, you could get money for school--
Me: Let me stop you there.  I’m opposed to the war in Iraq.  I think Bush is an effing self-righteous stupid moron.  I openly question authority, and I have no problems fighting with my boss if I feel a stupid decision has been made or sounding the alarm if someone’s done something stupid.  I have an extremely low tolerance for incompetence.  I’m the kind of person who thinks that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself, and there’s relatively few people I trust to get things done right.  Plus, I like my health benefits just fine, and I don’t have to get blown up or shot at to get them, and I’ve gotten my four-year degree and I’m done with school.  Still want me for the Army?
Recruiter: ... Uhh ... no, I think you’re probably right, you wouldn’t be a good fit for us.