Beck!

I'm not celebrity-mad by any stretch, but there are a few people that... well, I can't help it. I'm a hopeless, slobbering fanboy when it comes right down to it because I'm simply in awe of the talents and abilities of the individual in question. To save both myself and you, dear reader, piles of embarrassement, I'll warn you to skip this entry, because what follows ain't pretty.

Friday night was Beck at the Verizon Amphitheater in Irvine.

The show was an absolute blast. The opening act was The Black Keys (mediocre two-man rock band from Akron, Ohio as it happens). Not awful, but nothing special either. Finally, though, it was time for Beck.

Beck!

I've never seen the man in concert before, but I'd heard good things. Beck is fantastic. Never taking himself completely seriously, yet never too aloof to hop around like a true rock star, his show was absolutely inspired. Jeremy Blake (who seems to be the video artist of the moment... if you've seen the hallucinogenic sequences in the film "Punch Drunk Love", you know what I mean) produced the big-screen background visuals, which provided a colorful and moody ambiance to the evening.

BECK!!

Beck, for his part, couldn't have picked a better set list. Opening with Novacane and working his way through many of my personal favorites like Hotwax, Get Real Paid, Hollywood Freaks, Beercan, and my obscure-Beck-song-of-the-moment... Thunder Peel. Of course, he also made time to dazzle everyone with the hits that everybody with a radio knows: Lost Cause, Where It's At and, of course, Loser. He covered a sweet little Flaming Lips tune called Do You Realize??? and even let his guard down long enough treat the crowd to a rendition of Nelly's Hot In Herre. He left, he encored, he left again, and he returned for a second encore with his band clad in suits of glowing white neon to finish off the evening with Devil's Haircut.

It's fairly standard concert behavior for an artist to mix up his or her hits for the sake of live performance (ex. an accoustic or piano version of an old favorite), but Beck took many of his tunes and completely re-mixed them for his tour, in ways that often had little to do with making it easier to perform live and much more to do with giving his audience something special. So many of the songs I've loved for years were done in an entirely new way... new instruments, new variations on melody and baseline and miscellaneous electronica... all terrific stuff.

By the end, Carey (who's never thought much of him) considered herself a fan.

Man, I don't know. It's the most entertaining thing I've attended in a long, long time. Big, big thank-you to my wife for hooking up tickets for my birthday.

Well, last night it finally happened: we were robbed.

I'm still so pissed off about it that it's difficult to blog. Gnnnaaagh. Who does that? Who looks at someone else's hard-earned assets and decides that they deserve it far more. We don't have much, you son of a bitch! What's the matter with you?!

The story: I pulled up to our garage last night to find it wide open and our neighbor washing his truck outside it. I knew that Carey was working a late night, so this was disconcerting. The neighbor moved his truck graciously and I asked him, "why is my garage door open?"

"I don't know. It was like that when I came out here. I assumed your wife was getting something out of it and hadn't closed it yet."

"Have you seen her?"

"No. She's not home?"

I shrugged nervously and looked in the garage. Everything seemed in order... except for Carey's new bike. The one we bought for her birthday several months ago? The one that's only been ridden twice? The one that we scrimped to purchase, even when our bank account was dismally low? Well, the bike was gone.

I went into the apartment and, sure enough, no Carey. I called her cell.

"Hello?"

"Care, where are you?"

"I'm on my way home. What's wrong?"

"Why was the garage door open?"

"..."

"Carey."

"Oh, God. What do you mean?"

"I got home about a minute ago and the garage door was wide open. Did you leave it up?"

"No, I... well, I don't know. I was in a hurry this morning. I ran back in for my purse... So, maybe... is anything missing?"

"Your bike is gone."

"OH NO. It's gone?! It's STOLEN?!"

"Where are you? When are you going to be home?"

"I'm five minutes away. Oh, God."

"I'll talk to you when you get here."

She got home and it all came out. She was running late and had neglected to close the garage door. Some clown had wandered in after she'd left, broad daylight, and swiped the bike (possibly some other stuff as well, but we're not sure yet). Hundreds of dollars gone in a blink.

So, we panicked a bit. We tried to find people around our building who might have seen anything go down, but no luck. (We even rang Snake Guy's doorbell. Desperate, I tell you.) I had a hair appointment at Atlantic Studios (which was an adventure in its own right, let me tell you), so I had to go, but Carey called the police. Unfortunately, the police told her there's nothing they can do about stolen bikes, but she was welcome to give them a statement.

And that's it. I'm very, very annoyed. I don't really blame Carey. Mistakes happen. I've certainly done my share of blunders. I blame the bastards who stole our stuff, though, let me just tell you. In the end, I suppose it's a good security lesson about Long Beach. Nothing goes unlocked ever again.

Ever again.

Pricks.

...

The hair salon was a remarkable experience. First of all, I've never been to a "salon" before. It's all too fancy and... okay, yeah, I'll say it: it's all too fruity for me. Nonetheless, Carey advised that, if I'm going to have long hair, it needs to have a "style" and BestClips simply doesn't have the talent to make it work. The days of the $8 haircut are long gone if I'm going to have free-flowing locks.

So, I sat down and my "stylist" came over. Her name is Blu. (Short for, believe it or not, SilveryBlu. Yes, it is the name her parents gave her and, yes, they were hippies. No middle name, just SilveryBlu. After all, who needs a middle name when you've already got a masterpiece like that to start things off?)

She asked what kind of cut I was looking for and I told her that I really didn't know and, sorry, I'm a bit distracted because we were just robbed. She was sympathetic and asked if a glass of wine would calm my nerves. I declined, but, yow... wine in a hair-cutting place? I guess this really isn't BestClips.

In the end, I told her that I'm still trying to decide whether long hair works for me and I'd be open to suggestions. She had a few and went to work. Nice girl, this Blu, and she seemed to know what she was doing. She was very forgiving about my main hair priority: as little effort as I can get away with in the morning.

When she finished, it... well, I'll admit it: I didn't see much difference, which was a surprise because there was loads of my hair on the ground all around me. It was obvious that regular joes that know little to nil about hair styles were a rarity at Atlantic Studios. But, I was never really made to feel bad about it. Instead, I felt like family. Cheesy, yeah, but it's the truth.

Upon arriving back home, Carey was cheered from her bicycle woes slightly by the sight of my newly-salonned pate. "It just looks so good... so styled!" Well, thanks, I guess. I'm glad SOMEbody sees it.

Interesting little outing, though. Actually, kind of nice to have someone do your hair without it being like an assembly-line-haircut-in-a-can experience. And, I'll admit it: I did enjoy getting to know Blu.

Jeez. Maybe I'll go back.

...

Finally, a gi-gundous JeremyBear.com THANK YOU to my very favorite Chinaman in the world, Mr. Jerry Liu. Jerry was kind enough to send me the appropriate bits of .asp code for my homepage and scripts page. It's true: no one need fear the Suggest-A-Script form any more... it works like a charm. Give it a try! Send me a script. (If you're in doubt about whether or not an old script suggestion ever got to me... I hate to say this, but those doubts may well be grounded. I'm sorry. The form used to break all the time. But, it's all better now. So, please! Send and/or re-send!)

A rant. Brace yourself.

Censorship is an issue that's troubled me for years. Frankly, I hate the arguments for it and I hate the arguments against it. There's quite a buzz right now concerning the Supreme Court's ruling on installing internet filters to block pornography in public libraries. The 'Family Values' camp regards it as a triumph, while the 'Free Speech' camp regards it as a defeat. But is it a triumph? Is it a defeat?

I like the fact that I can publish whatever the (**expletive deleted**) I want on JeremyBear.com without fear of consequence, but... let's be honest... that's not entirely accurate. I have an agreement with my hosting company that I won't use my corner of cyberspace as a download center for pornographic pictures and/or movies. I'm also not allowed to use my website to teach kids how to blow up their algebra teachers' cars using rust shavings and orange juice concentrate. I can talk about how much I love and/or hate the United States government, but I can't use my website as a collaboration board for individuals who plan on taking out the President with a sniper rifle.

Not that I'd ever want to do any of these things. (Please don't flag my site, CIA. It's all harmless.)

But, is that censorship? Well, I think so. Sure, to a certain degree. Am I for censorship? Well, maybe, to a certain degree. I don't know.

I can envision a day when the exclusivity of my faith is considered "dangerous" and even "criminal", though. It's certainly happened before, so why not? It's not completely ridiculous to suppose that the same laws that protect pornographers from going to jail for their smut also protect me from going to jail for my Christian propaganda.

And, in that sense, I'm against censorship. If I do have a complaint with the whole censorship debate, it has mostly to do with the whole "you're either for it or against it" mentality. I like the fact that I can say what I believe right out loud. I'm permitted to vocally express love or hatred of anyone, however much of an ass I may look like. I can draw or paint or sculpt or write any type of story I can imagine. (A few months ago, some folks got on my case for my one-page script that portrayed God as a punisher of fat women. Others have objected to my portrayal of a gay character and still others have taken issue with the amount of swearing in both my scripts and in this Blogger... by the secular world's standards I think I'm pretty tame, but probably not so much by conservative Christian standards. Really, all I can say is I'm glad that I not only have the freedom to use the "F" word on my website... I'm also glad that others have the freedom to complain to me about it. In a warped way, it makes me happy because it makes me think a little about what's coming out of my keyboard and, at the very least, it's a good reminder that my words do indeed have an impact and that I do have a certain responsibility.)

But, back to the library thing. A lot of folks seem to feel that content filters in public libraries are a violation of the first amendment. (It should be pointed out that, if an individual wants the filters to be lifted at the console they're using, they need only ask a librarian and it's done... however, that's sparked a whole "people shouldn't have to ask to enjoy free speech" debate... oy.) I will admit that I've used the internet at consoles with content filters and... yeah, I hate it. A lot of very valuable material that isn't remotely pornographic is blocked and there's really nothing one can do about it... in fact, I tried to access JeremyBear.com at a filtered console several weeks ago and... you betcha... blocked!

Obviously, the problems with censoring material are legion and they're all dependent on establishing some sort of objective moral standard in a society that places little value on objective moral standards. I know I certainly don't have the answer. I just don't like the idea of having to choose sides in the Censorship War.

So what about it? Censorship? For or against? Good or bad? Yes or no? What's the verdict?

Er... how about... "kinda"?

The Escrow forms keep coming. I've scribbled my John Hancock so many times in the past couple of weeks, I'm beginning to feel like a celebrity. It's unreal. There's no way on God's earth anyone has ever sat down and read through all the home-owning forms. I asked our realtor rather pointedly if he had ever read them and he admitted that, while he knew the gist, he'd never really bothered to go through it all.

Garsh, I really hope our loan doesn't get screwed.
...

By the way, if you ever find yourself sitting on top of one-year-plus of Blogger entries, do yourself a favor and don't bother running a massive spellcheck on all of them "out of curiosity". I don't pretend to be the most intellectual or perfectionistic chap on the planet, but I was utterly horrified to discover everything I'd spelled incorrectly. I must look an utter fool. If you're reading this, please don't judge me by my imbecile-grade spelling. REALLY embarrassing. I did manage to correct the last couple of entries, but screw it for the rest of them. The world already knows I'm stupid and, unfortunately, opinions aren't retroactive.

As a point of pride, I refuse to spellcheck this entry, BTW.
...

Bit of irony I forgot to mention: apparently, 2003 is the year of home-buying for the Bear family. In this calendar year (assuming everything goes to plan with our place)... I and my wife, my dad, my mom, my sister Erin and her husband, and my other sister Lauren and her fiancee are all buying homes this year (a first-time experience for both Lauren and me). 5 properties, 5 Bears (or, former Bears in Mom's case). Both Erin and Mom are building, though, so it's double the roller-coaster for them. Weird.
...

I'm refining my thoughts on my new website and JeremyBear.com. I think the new one will purely be my design and illustration business, while JeremyBear.com will be devoted to writing. Seems to make sense. I've never really been comfortable lumping the two practices together anyhow. One tends to cheapen the other and I'd sort of like to be seen as competent in both areas.

Well, maybe competent is a bit much to hope for. "Coherent" maybe?
...

Finally, I recently discovered a website called Rob's Amazing Poem Generator. It's a fun little page that will take any webpage and generate a poem from it using text that it finds on the page in question. I gave it the URL of my Blogger, and here's the poem it wrote for me:

Jeremy Bear 10:years from the original
fake confession had
to say:
what impressed me as probably
the Brick
Testament. Apparently,
and the even a mad dash of years
to be as chuckling or somthing. But,
we d planned, but… most
important to get used to put
the head JAY: Really.
was nothing else
left. Yellows are
troubled...

Breathtaking, really. And much better than anything I came up with in high school.

Good grief, it seems our DVD troubles are back again. On the fritz! Time to send for a replacement. You know, it's things like this... the little things that drive you batty. There are so many outrageously big things going on lately and I find I'm distracted by our broken DVD player. How pathetic is that?
...

Kind of lied in my last post. When the muse strikes, she strikes. The latest script is up and this one is from my very tallest brother-in-law. Hooray for Franco Ferducci and his timely-at-the-time-he-sent-it-but-now-not-so-much title, Sniper Got You Down?. Give a read and ponder just how very silly we all are. I mean really!

It's a very, very special day here at JeremyBear.com. Today, June 21, 2003 marks the official one-year anniversary of this Blogger. (For the ultra-nostalgic, you can read my very first entry by clicking here). Frankly, I'm surprised that I've yet to run out of stuff to say. For those of you who've faithfully read my ramblings, though... thanks. I'll try to be more consistent.

On with the chaos...


Part 1: Mea Maxima Culpa

Sure. Go ahead. Laugh. Point. All the comments that come to mind, say them right out loud:
"Oh, look who's come crawling back."
"Jeremy Who? OH, yes, sorry, I'd forgotten you were alive."
"Why post to the Blogger, buddy? The last one was really starting to grow on me..."

Well, sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. There's been so much that's happened in recent weeks, not that anyone visiting this page would know it. I've been neglectful. I know that.

So, sorry. But, big news on the home front for the wife and I...

--

Part 2: Out with the Smeller

We all remember Susan, right? Smelly, creepy realtor-sans-hygiene? Well, the coda to that whole story: we dumped her. Goodbye, Century Twenty-One.

Here was the trouble: the woman was unable to get it through her greasy head that we simply could not involve ourselves with a one-bedroom place. Always the same thing, whenever she'd show us her latest discovery:

SUSAN: Well, this is it! I'm warning you, it's a real charmer!

US: It looks... nice...

SUSAN: It's in the upper reaches of your price range, but I think you'll see it's worth it. How 'bout that curb appeal?

US: Very cute. Um, so, how many bedrooms?

SUSAN: This one? Just one.

US: Ah. You do remember that I've got a business. I need an office. We can't have less than two bedrooms. That's, you know, that's the deal.

SUSAN: Well, sometimes it's worth it to sacrifice for awhile to get what you really want later on.

US: Hhh... it's not a 'want', it's... how many bathrooms?

SUSAN: One.

US: Uh-huh. Parking?

SUSAN: I'll have to check. I don't think there's any parking.

US: Uh-huh. And, so, what would be the advantage of moving here? Currently we've got two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a garage and we're paying less money than we would be here.

SUSAN: Well, you're building equity for one thing!

US: Equity. Right.

SUSAN: It's like money in the bank!

US: So's the ability to run my own business.

Really, she just couldn't understand the idea of base-level living needs and if she couldn't find a place that met them, well, there really was nothing left to talk about. At one point she even had me half-convinced that an extra-sized coat closet near the front door might just make for a jim-dandy office area.

A coat closet.

No, Smeller. No way.

So we bailed. We resigned ourselves to simply being too poor to be homeowners in So-Cal for the time being. Maybe in a year or two, if we could get our butts in gear, savings-wise. Maybe.

--

Part 3: Meanwhile... -or- Don't F*ck with the Happiest Place on Earth

Carey and me at the Aquarium of the Pacific. For the sake of ambiance, we decided to pay the extra cash to have our picture taken at the bottom of the sea with a whale flying over our heads. I think it adds something, don't you? Click to enlarge.

Carey and me at DisneyLand. I asked them if it was okay to post this on my website and they said it was fine, but I have to mention that The Lion King - Special Edition is coming this October to Disney DVD. Catch the feeling! Click to enlarge.

Weeks passed, as did our 3rd wedding anniversary. 3 big years equals 3 big days of revelry in the Bear household, so we spent a day at Long Beach's Aquarium of the Pacific (refer to the right), another day at DisneyLand (refer to the right) and on the third day (our actual anniversary) we exchanged gifts and went out for a rather nice dinner at Bono's (you'll have to take my word for it).

The Aquarium was very interesting, albeit slightly stressful. It may have been the Memorial Day crowds that set our teeth on edge, but I have to say: there were more than a few sights to behold. Our favorites were the sea lion and jellyfish exhibits . Aside from annoyances like a 5-bucks-a-head 3-D presentation film that failed to work (not that that stopped them from taking our money) and puzzlers like seafood concession stands in the midst of all the fish exhibits and "preserve our oceans" propaganda... we had a very nice time. I'd recommend the place to anyone.

DisneyLand. "The Happiest Place on Earth" to quote the literature. This place was a marvel. Truly a triumph of modern ingenuity. From the second you pull onto the lot and into the massive parking structure, your experience is managed by nearly a century of theme-park know-how. The thing that impressed me most about the DisneyLand experience was the near-lack of waiting. Now, maybe we just went on a light day, but it seemed that Michael Eisner and his think tank had spent a few sleepless nights devising ways to get visitors in and out of attractions with utmost efficiency.

One of the cleverest DisneyLand ideas had to be the FastPass. The FastPass is a little console at the start of the line on the major rides and attractions... slide your ticket through the console et voila! Your place is saved in line and a printout tells you when to come back to jump in the game. Smart, I tell ya! Smart!

Carey's favorite was the Dumbo ride. Granted, it's not much: sit in one of about 15 big, plastic Dumbos and spin around, carousel style, with a little joystick up/down control on a panel in front of you. Make no mistake, though: there is indeed some stern competition when it comes to the Dumbo ride... for when the gates open, there's a mad dash of greedy children, all after their coveted favorite color of Dumbo. It's an unspoken pecking order: purple and pink Dumbos are your premium picks. Blues follow close behind. Greens and Oranges are fine if there's nothing else left. Yellows are for the chumps. The handicapped kids with slow parents end up with the yellows. It's not pretty. Carey had her eye on a very specific pink one, so when our turn came up, the race was on. I've never seen anything like it.

ME: Go! Go! Go!

CAREY: The pink one on the far right! We'll never get there in time! The little girl in the unicorn sunglasses is all over it!

ME: No way, we're faster! Come on!

CAREY: Here's a purple. It's a dead lock. Let's cut our losses and--

ME: Forget it, we're getting pink. Look, she's hesitating! Move!

CAREY: What if she--

ME: What, do you want to end up with a yellow?! Move! MOVE!

And, fortunately, we did get a pink. It's all about keeping your eye on the prize at DisneyLand.

But, woof, the cleanliness of this place! That might have been what impressed me the most. Not one piece of trash anywhere. Not one stain. Not one sidewalk crack. The life advertising has always promised us can really be yours at DisneyLand. I considered spitting my gum out onto the ground, but hesitated. I asked Carey what she thought and she shook her head: uh-uh, buddy. You want 50 trained Disney cast members descending on you like Greek Furies? Mind your Ps and Qs.

A really great day. And our tickets were free, courtesy of our fine friend Michael DePuy. Much thanks, sir.

Oh, and the following day was May 28. Our official anniversary. Dinner at Bono's (of Sonny and Cher fame... their daughter, specifically) was delicious. Carey got me a DVD I'd been wanting and a very, very cool money clip (so, now, I'm not only chain-less... I'm also wallet-less. Hah.)

--

Part 4: House-Hunting Slick-Willy-Style

Realty is a shady racket, it really is. Let's say you're living in Southern California, paying about $1000 in rent for a two bedroom, 1.5 bath place. (Actually a pretty phenomenal deal for these parts). So, one day you open up the newspaper and you're assaulted with realty ads:

"Only $1,500 down and $800 a month to own your own 2 bed, 2 bath condo! Call now!"
"No money down and $1100 a month for your very own house near the beach! Take advantage of these interest rates while they last!"

So, of course, you think "huh! I could be owning something better than I'm renting now for basically the same amount of money! Sign me up!" Then, of course, you call and the realtor tells you "whoops, those are all gone, but come on in and I'll show you some terrific one-bedroom places for just under $1900 a month." By the time you get the truth out of them (these deals never DID exist in the first place... or, at least, not the way they're represented in the ads), you've already invested hours and sometimes days listening to their schpiel and you're ready to start compromising all the decisions you'd originally made for the sake of owning instead of renting.

It sucks. It's dishonest.

I'd become jaded, at this point, to the realty ads. Carey, however, had not. She was sure that there must be SOMEbody who was representing themselves authentically in these ads, which is how she came to call Choice Real Estate. She came to me a couple of weeks ago and said, "Jer, I've made an appointment with a guy to look at some condos."

"Care, come on. We've been 'round this a dozen times. We can't afford to own right now. That's it."

"No, I talked to the guy. He's nothing like the Smeller. He can help us out."

"Help us out with what? We can't afford anything in Long Beach that has more than one bedroom."

"This guy says he thinks we can. He's gonna show us some stuff."

"Who guy?"

"His name's Keston. Listen, it's just a meeting. Who knows?"

"Hhh... Keston, huh?"

"Yeah, but... well, I should warn you. He's slick. Like, with his words. He's the kind of guy who could talk you into anything if you let him. You know those kinds of guys?"

"Carey."

"But I have a really good feeling!"

"CAREY."

So we went and met Keston. As it turns out, he was completely odorless. Well-dressed fellow. Groomed. Nothing greasy at all, which was a good sign.

Now I can't lie about old Keston: Carey was right about the 'slick factor.' We told him our respective incomes and he asked us why on earth we were only looking in the 175k range. We told him that was as good as we could do, especially since we didn't qualify for the FHA loan (a government loan for young, first-time professionals looking to eventually haul big money into the urban areas if they can just manage to get on their feet. Great interest rates with easy payment options). "I can get you that loan," he said, "no problem."

So, boom-boom-boom, we were pre-approved and Keston penciled us in to look at 3 places downtown on a Tuesday evening. Before we left to go meet him, he gave us a call to confirm we were coming. Before hanging up, he said five words to Carey that made us panic a bit:

"Oh, and bring your checkbook."

--


Part 5: A Dream Come True or a Nightmare on Elm Street?

The first place Keston showed us was exactly what we'd imagined when we began thinking about owning a condo: very spacious living room and two bedrooms (certainly more than what we've got currently), a secure garage with two spots (!), nice 4th floor view of the city, two full baths, good-sized balcony, full-sized washer-dryer, dishwasher, etc. etc. The place was simply nice. We loved it from the start. It was right at the edge of all the new areas being developed downtown, too, which made it a very sensible investment. It was on Elm St. and asking price was slightly above 200k (a bit below market for the property and the area).

After we'd looked around, Keston asked, "do you like this place?"

"Yeah, it's great."

"Could you see yourself living here?"

"Well, sure, you know. Of course. If we can afford it."

"Okay. Good. Let's move on."

The second place was also good and was asking less than 180k. Two stories, three bathrooms, and all the usual goodies. Not quite as pristine as place #1, though. Cool nonetheless.

"Do you like this place?"

"Yeah."

"Could you see yourself living here?"

"I think so. If the price was right, sure."

"Okay. Good. Let's move on."

Place #3. Asking around 215k. Easily the highest-end of all the places. Beautiful decor (tight living space, though). In a unit containing an indoor pool and a gym. Glass elevators. Lovely garden areas. Kind of like a tropical resort. Very, very nice. Almost too nice. And, Carey's dream-within-a-dream: hardwood floors.

"Do you like this place?"

"Oh, yeah. It's terrific."

"Could you see yourself living here?"

"Man, I don't know. It's pretty nice, especially for us. But if the cash makes sense... sure. Why not?"

"Okay. Good. Let's move on."

We headed back to Keston's office. He confirmed our feelings about all three places and asked our order of preference. After some deliberation, we told him: Best-#1. Next best-#3. Least-#2. But, of course, we loved all of them.

KESTON: That sounds good to me. I think your order of preference makes sense, especially considering the things that are most important to you. So, are we ready to write an offer?

JER: Wh--! Tonight?!

KESTON: Sure. You liked each place, right?

JER: Well, yeah, but...

KESTON: You can see yourselves living there.

JER: I guess so... uh--

KESTON: And the financials seem to make sense, right?

JER: Yeah, I guess I just... look, can you give us tonight to talk it over and we'll call you in the morning or something? It's just so fast.

KESTON: Sure. Talk it over. In the meantime, we need to write an offer, though.

JER: Er, isn't that backwards? Shouldn't you talk-then-offer?

KESTON: Not in Southern California real estate. All three of those properties could be gone in the morning and they were all listed in the last couple of days. If you need to back out, I can take care of that for you. But if you're even considering, you need to make an offer. It's how the game is played.

JER: Man, I don't know.

CAREY: Let's do it.

JER: Care...

So, in the end, we held our breath and jumped in. At Keston's counsel, we wrote offers on all three places and (good lord), we even wrote a $3,000 "good faith" check in the event that any of the offers were accepted. It was precisely what I'd planned not to do, and there we were... doing it.

We went home. We waited.

A couple of days later, Keston called: we were sorely out-bid on places #2 and #3. Not even a chance. But, good news... #1 (the Elm property) read our offer and thought it sounded like a good deal. They accepted.

"Congratulations," he told us, "you're going to be homeowners."

--

Part 6: Making Sense out of Dollars -or- Lost in Escrow

Needless to say, our lives have been thrown into overdrive. I started calling in all debts and working my tukus off. Carey, fortunately, was just promoted to the position of Floor Manager, which came complete with a nice little raise. (And that's its own story. More later.)

On Wednesday, we went in to sign a friggin' mountain of papers and to fill out our official FHA application. We've been given more information in the past two weeks than any person of moderate intelligence and/or sanity could possibly expect to organize and catalogue, much less remember.

We've officially begun the Escrow process, which is 45 days. That means that IF both parties continue to feel good about the whole thing and IF the government doesn't find anything fishy with our loan applications and IF we can manage to stay on track with our current finances and IF the city of Long Beach can avoid some sort of natural disaster... well, then, we're in business come the first weekend in August. (The weekend in between my sister's wedding and my dad's wedding, as it happens. Cripes.)

We're feeling good. A few things have made me uneasy, I'll admit. For one thing, Keston called his wife in to do our loan processing (which seemed, accountability-wise, to a be a slight conflict of interest for us. I dunno). I'm still unclear on how the tax-break works out for us and how we can manage to snag it on a monthly basis, rather than a yearly basis (without the tax break, we truly can't afford this whole endeavor).

Mathew, the seller, agreed to include the fridge and washer-dryer and everything in the deal, thank goodness. We've written a few more checks since then to cover costs like official inspections and appraisals, etc. Make no mistake: first-time buying is an expensive proposition.

Fortunately, the FHA loan (fingers crossed) will be giving us an utterly incredible 4% interest rate (adjustable), which is the lowest interest rates have been in nearly 50 years. Every person I've talked to about our home-buying situation has agreed: yes, this is the time to get in. We have a lot of friends here in So-Cal that rent and the comment I hear most often, by far, is "wow, congratulations. That's great... damn, I really need to do that."

So, when all is said and done, the outlook is good but we're not out of the woods by any means. Probably the biggest risk right now is the FHA loan. From what we understand, it's very easy for the government to wrinkle its nose at your financials and give you the wave-off, even if the process is well underway. Nothing is 100% and anything could go wrong. But, we're hoping and praying. Thanks for doing the same.

It's a really grown-up thing and, frankly, no, I don't feel ready. But, this may be as ready as I'll ever feel. So, out with renting baby! It's dead to us! Time for the idea of rent to hit the karmic wheel and let escape velocity take care of the rest. Heave ho!

--

Part 7: A Few 'By the Ways'

Other things have been going on in our lives. Stuff that I'd usually report on, but most of it seems to pale a bit in light of our current big news. But, just for giggles...

- I'm co-writing a musical. It'll be produced this December in Huntington Beach.

- I've switched hosting companies. Seanic is officially history and my life has improved leaps and bounds. Enter CrystalTech, who's service is astoundingly good and astoundingly inexpensive.

- A lot of interesting art projects lately. Not to mention several websites of mine that are completed and live. I really will post them/link to them. Really.

- I've named my own business and have begun to concept my new business identity and website. Very soon, JeremyBear.com will simply be a personal spot for me to romp and play around, rather than a place to hawk my wares. My new business? Eh... I'll save that one for later. Keep checking.

- If it's not already obvious, I'm taking a minor respite from the 1-page suggest-a-script bit. Life is far too insane at the moment. I may do the odd one here and there, but don't expect much for the next couple of months. I'll get back to it, but I really need a breather.

- Another screenplay in the works and it looks as though this one could most certainly happen. Ben Bays is attached. More later.

- My hair has reached personal-record length and scraggliness. It's getting out of control and I'll soon need to rectify matters. A few days ago, the wife pony-tailed it. Sheesh.

- Thanks to anyone (if, indeed, there was anyone) who heeded the message on my homepage concerning Fantagraphics Books. I'm told they are indeed out of the woods, financially speaking and I'm certainly enjoying the books I ordered from them to help out. It's not to late to order some great stuff, though. Just so you know.

- Andy Jewett (not only a friend from the college days, but one of my few fellow art majors who's company I genuinely enjoyed and who's talent I genuinely respected) has redesigned his website, so I thought I'd give him a plug, even though the nervy git's homepage outshines my own in every way. Feh! He does link to me, though, so I guess I can't complain. Nice stuff indeed, Andy! Go visit.

- Next weekend, I'm going to see my very favorite performer for the last 5 years or so live in concert for the first time, thanks to my wife's generosity. I'm dizzy with anticipation: it's Beck at the Verizon Amphitheater. Yahoo!

- Next month, another little dream comes true: I'll be attending the world's largest comic convention in history... San Diego's Comicon 2003. I've wanted to go since... zounds... middle school. It'll be a hoot, I'm sure.

That's all for now. (Whew!) Here's to another year of quality Blogging.