Care for a spot of intercourse, Ms. Moneypenny?

Pictured at the right is my new license plate for my new car.

No, I'm not making this up. No, it's not a vanity. It really does seem to say "Sex-007." If there were ever a guy in the history of guys who should NOT have a "Sex-007" plate, it's me. I'm sure I'll get chuckles on the freeway from those who think I somehow planned this out. ("Wait, THAT'S the guy driving the 'Sex-007-mobile'? Thanks for playing, Mr. Bond, but I don't think so.")

At least it'll be easy to remember.
...

In Hell, they're playing a non-stop Trading Spaces marathon.

GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!

It's all we've watched for days. Trading Spaces. Trading Spaces: Family. Trading Spaces' Greatest Moments. Trading Spaces $100,000 Special. And of course, the Trading Spaces-esque makeover shows that seem to take a cue from the Trading Spaces franchise: Clean Sweep, While You Were Out, What Not To Wear...

TLC has moved into our lives, taken over our home, brainwashed my wife, and I believe it's currently rummaging around in our fridge, hoping to score some leftover pizza.

The madness has to end.

Somewhere, I just know it, there's a Coalition of Husbands Against Trading Spaces. If I'm wrong, well, I'm starting it right now... so join me, men! Register for your C.H.A.T.S. badge today! It's time to say NO to themed rooms, accent walls, faux leather barstool covers, and decorative art prints made from embarrassing photos in our garages! No more Frank or Doug or Vern or Genevieve or Hilda or Ty-the-stud-horse-carpenter! NO MORE Paige-freaking-Davis! It's time to take back our ceiling fans, for God's sake!

Who's with me?!
...

Um, nothing exciting planned for a New Year's Eve bash. Carey has to work tonight anyhow. Another relaxing holiday at home and, man, that suits me fine.

See you in '04.

Christmas Wrap-up (giggle!)

Okay!

Since there's much to report (and much that I'm sure I'll neglect anyhow), I'll do this in quick hits.
...


As if the Christmas card wasn't self-serving enough...

People have been really complimentary about the Flash-animated card. I've recently discovered, though, that some folks who received it didn't realize that certain items could be clicked on several times with different results. I thought about making it more clear, but I think I've bugged everyone enough.

Anyhow, yeah, I started working on that little ditty about a month ago and, yeah, each candle, sound-byte, candy-cane, and snow-flake in it is an original illustration/animation/production by me (okay, maybe not the Charlie Brown background music).

There. Any more ego and I'll probably explode. Thanks for your indulgence and Merry Christmas.
...


Recent Coversations I've Had, Pt. 1

...with the obviously homosexual fellow in line at the drug-store.

GUY: Can you believe how long this line is?

JER: Yeah, I know. I'm just here to buy batteries.

GUY: Oop, there's a new register opening. You want to...?

JER: No, go ahead, I'm not in a huge hurry.

GUY: Thanks, you're sweet.

JER: Mm.

GUY: It's my job to decorate the shop this year, so I had to make a run to Rite-Aid.

JER: Yeah, decorating's a big job. That's what my wife's doing for her company this year. It's harder than it looks.

GUY: Well, I guess you could say I'm 'the wife!' Ha ha ha!

JER: ...Ah...

GUY: Sorry. Too much information?

JER: No, no sweat, man.

GUY: Well, I'll say one thing for you: you certainly blush well! Ha ha ha ha!

JER: Mmh...

...


A Company Man, All the Way!

So, I finally had my annual performance review (a couple of months late, but who's counting?) at the ad agency where I part-time, Binary Pulse. It went really well, and I even received a tidy little raise, which helps a lot.

The CEO of our company happens to be a germ-o-phobe and, wouldn't you just know it, I drew his name for Secret Santa. Since there's no substitute for a smart-alecky designer, I filled his stocking with rubber gloves, anti-bacterial soap, peroxide, handi-wipes, fungus cream... and you get the idea. Man, I'm clever.

Fortunately, he thought it was pretty funny and didn't Gray Davis my glowing review. Shew!
...


Health problems to drive your wife Loopy

At long last, an update on Carey's health situation. In a nutshell, Gail Lawrence (Carey's Primary Care Physician, whom I don't really hate) botched her referrals to the rhumatologist so severely and so often that Carey's had to apply and reapply many times over, simply for a liitle health care. The office of Dr. Lawrence (who I really hope doesn't burn in Hell) kept screwing the date around on the referral and telling us that it wasn't technically their fault. The hope was that we'd get so frustrated that we'd say "screw this, we'll pay for it ourselves." This is the desired response of any HMO, particularly PCP that work for HMOs, such as Gail Lawrence (whose teeth I'd never even consider breaking with a rusty lead pipe).

Anyhow, the HR fellow at Carey's company kicked up a holy ruckus and threatened Pacificare with litigation. Now, it seems, our HMO is our greatest friend. Carey's at the top of the "get this woman proper care immediately" list, so that's good. The downside: we need to start the referral process over again. It should be complete by next week, though, and we're still considering a lawsuit. Hopefully, it won't be much longer, but, should we pursue a thing with a lawyer, the first name on our shitlist will probably be Gail Lawrence (whom I hope is never violated by a gang of SARS-carrying chimpanzees).

The main thing is Carey's health though. It seems to be swinging around in the right direction, but, needless to say, I'm very worried that undoable damage has been done.
...


Recent Coversations I've Had, Pt. 2

...with Carey while driving along the beach.

JER: Ough, cripes, look at that old guy! A guy in that kind of body has no business prancing around in a Speedo.

CAREY: Ew! He doesn't even care who sees him!

JER: Look at that gut... blubahblubbah...

CAREY: Ha ha ha...!

JER: ...

CAREY: ...

JER: Hey, babe?

CAREY: Mm?

JER: Do... I look like that guy? As far as body-type goes?

CAREY: Uh. Well. Yeah. Pretty much.

JER: !!!

CAREY: Just the body, though. Not the face or anything.

JER: Are you serious?!

CAREY: Well... ah, I take it back. Not really.

JER: 'Not really?'

CAREY: Yeah, you're much paler than he is.

...


Three drink minimum, three drink maximum

I recently made an interesting discovery about myself: I'm a three-drink man. And, yes, I'm talking about alcohol, here.

Listen, anyone who tells you that "you don't need booze to have a good party" is only half-right. Let's just say it: liquor is a valuable social lube and it's a shame that it's too often abused. I was reared in a very conservative/fundamentalist environment where the only effects of alcohol ever discussed were the negative: abuse, addiction, violence, illness, heartache, weight gain, social derision. No benefits. No exceptions. Sure, Christ's first miracle was turning water into wine, but that doesn't mean he actually drank the stuff (besides, the wine in Bible times was more like "grape juice"... and, if you believe that, I've got the deed to a bridge in Brooklyn that can be yours for a modest fee).

I will come out right now and say it: I'm a friendlier, wittier, more enjoyable individual to be around if I've had a beer or two. I don't drink a lot. In fact, I doubt I have any alcohol more than once a month or so. I don't really get drunk and I've never had a hangover. However, there's no denying the fact that there is a definitive point where alcohol does more harm than good.

For me, that point is drink #4.

I discovered this at the company Christmas party and, the following evening, at a friend's surprise birthday party:
Beer #1: No effect. I like a good irish stout or other import, but I'm a big enough guy that one beer will not even register in my system. At best, I'll want to go to bed slightly earlier.
Beer #2: I can feel myself relaxing. My witty banter becomes quicker and less monitored. My A.D.D. is supressed a bit more, so I'm less distracted when listening to others.
Beer #3: Here's where I peak. I make it a point to seek out people I've never met or barely met and introduce myself. My comedy has everyone in stitches. I'm calm-but-excited, relaxed-but-engaged, focused, intelligent... I'm past worrying about what everyone in the room thinks of my defective personality and I'm just happy to be alive. Usually, I begin to have moments of brilliance where I think of terrific ideas for paintings and screenplays and I curse myself for not being in front of a canvas or computer.

*** And here's where it breaks down. Philosophy of the alcoholic: "If I'm relaxed after two drinks and I turn fun and likeable after three... why, then, I'll be Tom-friggin-Cruise after four drinks!" ***

Beer #4: Still having fun, but I start to lose the clever edge. My humor becomes slightly too abstract for most audiences and leaves some scratching their heads. I start to laugh at stuff that's only barely humorous. Not drunk, but the intellectual inhibition has begun.

And it goes on from there. I don't like the feel of alcohol in my system. I can't imagine drinking until I'm sick... why would anyone want to do that? In the end, I think I make some pretty responisible choices. It helps to catalogue one's tolerance.
...


The U.S. Postal System: and the hits just keep on comin'

Dad was kind enough to get us the Mother of All Christmas Gifts, a new digital camera. It's great. It takes movies, it has a 10X zoom, a USB charger/dock, 4 megapixels... 'tis a foin, foin piece o' machinery. I'll post some pics soon enough.

My dear sister, Lauren, went along with the theme and dropped a terrific amount of cash on a memory card for the camera. Unfortunately, she sent it in a regular envelope and regular postage.

Urk.

When we received the envelope, there was a neat little tear on the side, just big enough for a memory card to fall out. We were horrified. After all, this really is a valuable item. Anyhow, at the time we suspected some U.S. Postal-style foul play. When I went down to the post office to get it straightened out, the guy behind the desk has some bad news: the memory card was probably ripped out when the envelope was sent through one of the machines (apparently, this happens all the time). Also, since the package wasn't insured, there was nothing they could do, short of filling out a report. Which we did.

So, that really sucks. I guess the lesson learned is "don't send expensive stuff in the regular post with a standard envelope. Always pad and always insure."
...


Santa Claus and Ho-ho-ho and mistletoe and presents for pretty girls

Christmas Day. These days, I rarely view a day where I didn't go anywhere or accomplish anything as a waste... mostly, because there are so few of them. It's nice to lay around once in awhile and that was our Christmas. Got to talk to each member of my family, which was nice, and, hoy, whatta great lotta loot came my way this Christmas. My loved ones were far too generous. (And, for my part, I was far too... er... late. I promise... Christmas gifts are on their way... really!)

We slept in a bit, woke up, straightened the house, and opened gifts at around 11:30. One of Carey's gifts was a DVD of the Charlie Brown Christmas special. We've all seen it about 100 times, but it had been awhile for me. It's surreal to watch this thing as a cynical adult.

CHARLIE BROWN: Everything I touch turns into a disaster! Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is really about?!

LINUS: Sure, Charlie Brown. It's about Baby Jesus. To prove it, here are some Bible verses from the book of Luke.

CHARLIE BROWN: But, everything's gone commercial! Even my dog has gone commercial! He had the nerve to win a Christmas decorating contest, which proves that our culture is in the toilet!

LINUS: Try not to think about it. Enjoy some Dolly Madison snack cakes instead!

...


Wait, didn't you write a Christmas musical?

Yes, I did. Carey and I bought the tickets and went to a Saturday performance a week ago. It was... it... ah.

Okay, I won't mince words, here: it was awful. It takes quite a lot to make me walk out on a show I've paid money to see, but Carey and I left at intermission. Yes, it really was that putrid. In fact, I've seen better high school productions. I won't waste time getting into specifics because it's accurate enough to say that everything that could possibly have been bad about it... was bad.

Well, at least I've learned a lesson. Onward and upward.
...


Recent Coversations I've Had, Pt. 3

...with the cashier at KFC.

CASHIER: Normally, we have an ATM inside the store, sir, but now we don't. Sorry.

JER: Ah. Well, that's okay. What happened to your ATM? Did it break?

CASHIER: No, it was stolen.

JER: You mean someone broke into it and stole the money?

CASHIER: No, I mean someone ripped the whole ATM out of the wall and walked out with it.

JER: The whole ATM machine?!

CASHIER: Well, this is the ghetto.

JER: Er... yeah, I live about three blocks from here.

CASHIER: Oh, then you know what I'm talking about.

...


Somewhere in the back of my brain, a seventeen-year-old aspiring artist is doing back-flips

I'm in the middle of one of the coolest projects I think I've ever worked on: I'm illustrating the cover to a Sony Playstation 2 game.

I know. I can't believe it either.

Jobs like this are the reason I started drawing. I can't get into too many specifics before the game is released in the spring, but I'm using a comic-book style to illustrate a group of futuristic, post-apocalyptic adventurers. Guns. Explosions. Heroes. Monsters. Way, way cool. (And the best part is, I had to spend a few days playing the game to get a feel/reference for how it works. How sweet is my life?)

Oh, and they also asked me for a couple of logo concepts, which I sent off right before Christmas. So, even the friggin' logo may be my work.

Hah.
...


One Kitten to Rule Them All

You haven't seen Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (movie of the year, as far as I'm concerned), until you've seen it in an IMAX theater, baby. That's how Carey and I spent our evening last night. And... wow.

The highlight of the night, though, occurred in the parking lot. What happened next is more Carey's story than my own, so I'll let her tell it.

Take it away, Care...

Last night Jer and I were walking through the parking lot of the Irvine Spectrum Center on our way to 2 hours of standing in line to see “Lord of the Rings.” We passed by a Silver Honda and I heard a screaming kitten. I immediately stopped to listen. Carey: Jer! Do you hear that?! Jer: Hear what? We gotta keep moving here. Kitten: MEOWWW!!!! Carey: ! That! It’s a kitten screaming! It’s trapped under this car! Jer: It is a kitten! Both lay heads on car hood and talk to kitten Kitten: Yow! Yow! Meow!!! Yow! Carey: Oh my gosh, we can’t just leave it here. We have to do something! Jer and Carey find a pen write down the license plate number and begin to walk toward the mall to report it. Carey: I don’t want to leave it alone! Jer: Carey, c’mon. There’s nothing we can do but report it to the mall and they’ll take it from there. Carey: I’m calling the Humane Society or Animal Control. A few minutes later… Carey: The police are on their way with animal control. Jer: Yeah well the mall security know about it and are looking for the owners of the car. Carey: !...That’s all they’re doing? They’ve known about it and they didn’t call Animal Control themselves?! That’s unbelievable. Jer: Care, we have to get going, they’ll take it from here. Carey: Jer, I have to stay with it. It’s already moved down 3 cars and I still haven’t seen it. I have to be here to tell the police where to go. You go wait in line and I’ll meet you when we’re finished here. Jer: Okay. So, the police woman came and I directed her to the truck the kitten was now up inside. I told her how it kept running from vehicle to vehicle and then screaming for help but that I had yet to see the little thing. She had a flashlight so we were able to see this itty bitty black kitten with a little white on its face and tummy. The policewoman called Animal Control and within 15 minutes she arrived. At first, the Animal Control lady tried to use the wire noose to get the kitten out. The kitten was too little for the noose and kept inching farther and farther back in the bumper of the truck for it to work so the Animal Control lady had to get out the gloves. She was on her back under the truck with both hands now on the kitten and the cop was on her stomach under the truck with a flashlight shinning on the kitten. They needed more light and the cage at the ready, so they asked me to steady a second flashlight while holding the door of the cage open with my other hand. After about 20 minutes the little kitten was safely in the cage. We couldn’t believe how small she actually was once she was out in view. She looked to be maybe 2 or 3 weeks old. So small it was unbelievable to think that someone just dropped her off there. It was so sad. I asked what would happen to her and they said she would go to their shelter in Irvine which was a “no kill” shelter so I needn’t worry. She would be safe. I joined Jer back in line in plenty of time and felt so overjoyed that the kitten was rescued and would have shelter and food that night. It was a good feeling to be a part of that.

Man, I knew there was a born blogger waiting somewhere deep within my dear wife. With Jer-style dialogue reproduction and everything!

Thanks, Care.
...


That's it for now. My fingers are ready to fall off, so later, potater.

(And if I don't manage to post in the next few days, have a Happy New Year.)

P-put down the knife, Santa. Nice and slow...

God! I friggin' love Christmas!

They say, "what a shame, it's all turned commercial." I say, "thank heaven." The December spending-blitz keeps our economy afloat, no use denying it. Hooray for traditional obligation!

Anyhow, if you haven't already noticed, my big, flaming christmas card is finished (on Dec. 24th, no less. Sheesh), so go to the homepage and check it out. I spent far too much time on it.

Also, recent noteworthy events have been legion and blogger posts nil, so expect a biggie soon enough. Lots and lots of outrageous things to report.

But, in the meantime, treat yourself to some figgy pudding, whatever that is.

What's with those blessed Irish?

Rrrrr! Keep neglecting Blogger! Must resist urge to be lazy! Must... resist...!
...

Crazy story, Daddy, CRAZY...

Dear high school chum Matthew Dwight Brainard dropped in on his way back from New Zealand. What an adventure this fellow had. Stories galore. Here's one:

To better facilitate blowing around the islands, Matt and his pal Cooper purchased a wee junker of a car for just over $300 American. By the end of the trip, only 3rd gear worked and they managed to set the thing alight, leaving only the charred, cinder memory of a Plymouth Laser in an abandoned New Zealand parking lot. But that's another story.

After Matt's journey was in full swing, he happened upon a lanky Dubliner named Mark (aka - The Irishman). The Irishman swore and drank up a storm and it wasn't long before he accompanied Matt and Cooper in their travels. They ripped all over the islands in their Laser (which is fairly dangerous - a lot of steep, mountainous curves over there and no guard rails). Eventually, The Irishman asked if he could drive and the boys grudgingly conceded.

Well, it wasn't long before The Irishman was skidding and gliding pell mell through the mountains, over-correcting and under-estimating every turn. Finally, at the climax of his tomfoolery, the car slid out of control, through the mud, and OVER A CLIFF. The boys' eyes bulged and hearts skipped as the car teetered on the edge of a deadly drop. After much careful tiptoeing, they maneuvered their way out of the car to safety, but the problem remained: the Laser was still teetering over the edge of a cliff. Finally, they managed to contact a towing service to haul their car back to the road. A close call and they dumped The Irishman (who didn't fork over any tow truck money) soon after, cursing his name and swearing that if they never saw his face again it would be too soon.

And how.

So I picked Matt up at the airport on Friday. He spent several days with us, mostly recuperating from his overseas antics. A good guy, that Matt. While he was here, he even helped us pick out some paint for the living room and other Home Depot-related treats.

On Saturday, though, Matt decided that he wanted to see L.A., stipulating that he didn't give a flying fart about the Walk of Fame or the Chinese Theater or Rodeo Drive or the Hollywood Sign or Brad Pitt's Beverly Hills Home. No DisneyLand. No Staples Center. No Everyboyd Loves Raymond tapings.

"Fair Enough," I told him, "let's go hang out in Santa Monica."

I'd never been to Santa Monica, but it's famous for its big pier (the place that, sadly, became nationally famous when several folks were injured and/or killed earlier this year because of some incompetent driver). We'd only been walking around for about ten minutes, looking for a place to get a decent corn dog, when Matt stopped and said, "No way. NO! WAY!" He approached some lanky bystander and yelled in his face, "you've got to be kidding me!"

It was The Irishman.

Needless to say, the odds were positively astronomical that we'd happened to run into this crazy whacker at that exact moment on the L.A. leg of his around-the-world journey. Since I'm fascinated with European culture, I spent the rest of the night grilling the poor mick about life in Ireland (and he was more than happy to fill me in. And then some). Very interesting bloke, that Mark whats-his-head.

Matt still hasn't been paid for the tow-truck, though.
...

What can I say about Thanksgiving? Um.

It was nice. We had Kelly Larned over, along with Steve Groff and his sister Rebecca. A medium-sized turkey and some good conversation. No, it doesn't replace family, but it really was the next best thing.

Also nice was having an honest-to-goodness excuse to get our wreck-of-a-condo looking presentable. I can't lie: Carey and I put a couple of good, solid days into the endeavor. By the end, though, it was clean. For the first time since we moved in, we were able to look at each other and admit, "this really is a cool little pad we've bought for ourselves." We knew it all along, but it's nice to have it confirmed.
...

Last night, because we're just so damned on-the-ball, we picked out our Christmas tree. There's something really peaceful about having a tree, isn't there? Something homey and adult. Anh, I don't know. It's Carey's and my fourth Christmas as married people and it's interesting to see how many traditions we already have.

But, of course, it's this time of the year that makes me miss my family the most. Maybe next year a Christmas visit will be in the cards, but for now we're still too poorly.
...

So, I hesitate to post this, but screw it, it's on my mind.

I'm concerned for the wife. For those who don't know, she was diagnosed with Lupus about six years ago. Insurance coverage has been a continual battle and it looks like she's experiencing a flare-up. Unfortunately, our insurance is a piss-poor HMO, so they're giving her the runaround. She's had to go back and forth with referrals and approvals for a single friggin' visit to a rhumetolog-- a reumotologi-- a roomo-- hhh... a Lupus doctor.

It's maddening because she's losing her strength and ability to function as a human being more and more each day and all we keep hearing is "just two more weeks for approval! Hang in there!"

Yeah, two more weeks, you unfathomable horrors of humanity. I swear it makes me want to choke somebody. Competent medical care is a service these shits have been paid for and they're hanging us out to dry, even though Lupus, unchecked, can be lethal.

So there. Rant over. We're considering just pooling our savings and paying for it ourselves, but who knows if that would drive us into further debt.