In which I'm saved at the final possible second from a thoroughly pointless post

I cannot lie: the weekend was a stresser. I managed to sleep an awful lot, but also spent a heap-load of time worrying about a very major personal issue that I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to get into on the World Wide Web. It'll certainly all come out eventually, but for the moment I'm on the fringes of a situation that's a bit too painful and sensitive to discuss with cyberspace. So I won't.

So don't ask.

Or, heck, ask, but don't be offended when I keep mum.

Yes, this post was pointless.
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Oh, wait, nevermind. Gobs of well-wishing to my Grandpa Spellman, who's going under the knife shortly. It's an aortic aneurism, I'm told, and it needs to be dealt with, like, yesterday. Good luck, Grandpa.

So I guess that is pretty important.

Whew.

Crisis temporarily rectified

All right, I'm apparently back up again. What an ordeal.

Again, apologies to those who've used the art@jeremybear.com email address in the past week and have received a very disconcerting bounce-back message. It's safe to use once more, no worries. Of course, the jeremybear@usa.com address is also just fine and dandy, so whadevah melts yeh buddah.
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Ach. It's been a strange, disturbing week. For now, I'll leave it at that.

Quick update for those who can read this

Apparently, my DNS registry's expired (nice of the hosers who registered JeremyBear.com to remind me. Cripes). So, a substantial portion of JB.com visitors are getting a "Page Not Found" right about now (and if you're not, you probably will be shortly if you visit again in the next small while), which also knocks out my ability to receive emails to the art@jeremybear.com account.

So, sorry. I'm trying to correct this, but it may be a few days. (By the way, never ever do business with Seanic.net. Bastards, all of 'em. I quit using their hosting services a year ago, but I was foolish enough to let them continue on updating my registry. Grr.) At any rate, use jeremybear@usa.com for e-mails for the time being. Sorry about the bounce-backs on art@jeremybear.com.

Hopefully I'll be back on by the end of the week.

And hopefully you can read this.

But probably not.

Ergh.

Let's hear it for 2 years of merciless bloggin'

June 21. Always a special day at JeremyBear.com (not to mention the northern hemisphere, as, according to Dad, it's the longest day of the year - Summer Solstice. Thanks, Pop!), for this marks two full years of my online journal, and showing no signs of slowing. By and large, I'm trying to manage about two updates a week and lately I've come pretty close to hitting the mark, so three cheers for me.

And because I'm such a nostalgic git, I've decided that it's time for a return to glory for the Suggest-A-Script offices here at JB Web Central. Yeah, I know, it's been eons since I've cranked out a one-pager, but that hasn't necessarily stopped many friends/loved ones/random passers-by from continuing to suggest. Much thanks.

But, as a peace-offering, here are NOT one, NOT two, but THREE new scripts! Ka-bam! Who loves ya, baby?

The first one's been sitting in my Inbox for well over a year and I was shocked and delighted to rediscover it. A title suggestion from a dear, dear buddy from the Grace College days and beyond. Straight outta Galloway, Ohio, it's Tom "Honus" Burns with That Sips!. Hope you like it, Honus.

Number two was suggested by my friend and work associate, Michael Geisen. You may think Michael is little more than a slicker-than-slick, 'please-sign-here-for-your-new-refrigerator-Mr.Eskimo' salesman extraordinaire, but you'd be sorely mistaken, buster. For Michael is a dedicated left-winger. A donkey-worshipper. A Michael Moore disciple. A Gay Pride Flag-waver. An equal opportunity, welfare-supportin', wealthy-taxin', pro-choice, anti-war LIBERAL. And, man, I can't help it, I love the guy to death. Anyhow, his title suggestion was You'll Thank Me Later and the world does indeed owe him a terrific debt of gratitude. Thanks, Michael, yeh bastid, and enjoy.

And, finally, big big ups to April Schweitzer for her suggestion, Upping the Schlep Factor. April's an old high school cohort that absolutely defies description. A genius, certainly, but it's a magical sort of genius that's normally reserved for hermitic sherpas or sentient ostriches. See what I mean? You just kinda have to know her.
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Saw Harry Potter 3 last night. Not bad, that. I like the fact that Rowling is allowing her stories to grow up with her title character, not to mention her audience. These things are getting darker as they go along, as well they should. Highly recommended, unless you have some sort of objection to the positive portrayal of children experimenting with witchcraft, you squares.

But what stuck with me the most were the previews. Since the Harry Potter franchise is still largely considered kiddie fare, the coming attractions were all kids movies... and hoofah! With the possible exception of the Lemony Snicket/Jim Carrey movie coming later this year, every single trailer demonstrated the most horrific, brain-numbing pap I've seen in some time. No wonder most children are shallow and delusional if this is what defines their entertainment. Ridiculous stereotypes; tarted-up under-agers; bubble gum special effects; cranked-out, network exec, formulaic nonsense.

Kids, please. Read a book instead. The Princess Diaries 2 might seem like a good idea at the time, but you'll never get those hours back.
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Aaaaand last but not least, it seems my website is down, so I'm really celebrating this 2 year anniversary thing in style. Guess it's time to start troubleshooting.

By the way, if you can read this, it's fixed. Er, hooray in advance.

Rrrrrrrrrumble...

It happened!

Nearly two years of West Coast living and I've finally felt my first earthquake. Not as dramatic or harrowing as I'd imagined, but... I was doing a bit of concept sketch work (for yet another PS2 game cover, no less) when I felt my chair subtly rocking. Not vibrating, really, more like some clever goose nudging me from behind, trying to throw off my drawing, even though I was trying to meet a deadline.

I turned around and no one was there, so I chalked it up to my imagination. A few seconds later, everyone started popping out of their cubes, wild-eyed: "oh, man! Did you feel that?"

Yeah, brother, I felt it!

So that's my first earthquake. Hah.
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Picked up the latest CD release from the Beastie Boys yesterday. Not bad, I suppose, but I'm not sure it's my sort of music anymore. In college especially, they were My Group, but I felt slightly foolish tooling down the road last night... me, a paunchy, late-twenties married guy with a receding hairline; listening to a trio of Jewish hip-hoppers in their mid-40s shouting things like "so believe when I say I’m no better than you, except when I rap so I guess it ain’t true".

In general, I dunno, I've been having these "act your age" panic attacks. I'm by no means old, but I'm fast approaching the point where I'm not young anymore either. I've never really had a ridiculously rebellious period in my life and part of me thinks it's a bit of a shame. What if I wanted to dye my hair pink or get a lip piercing? That's never really been my scene, but I think, these days, it's more because something like that would be seen as a desperate attempt to Reclaim a Past that I Never Lived or something.

I've never really been hardcore drunk. I've never tried pot. I've never been to a punk concert or a strip club or even a comedy club with a two-drink minimum. Mostly, I've been to church a lot.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to go trolling for strippers or smoking weed. I'm just saying is all.

Maybe I'll ask the wife what she thinks. After all, the truly hardcore rebels usually rely on spouse approval, don't they?

The Very Best in Christ-Centered, Barely-Legal Adult Entertainment

Sorry, but I had to drop everything and report this link: http://www.xxxchurch.com

Self-billed as "The #1 Christian Porn Site", it's one of the most outrageous spots on the internet. It takes a bit of clicking, but it soon becomes apparent that it's designed to be some ultra-hip, 'Say No to Porn' website for Christian men (or Christian ladies, I suppose, if nekkid pitchers happens to be their particular thorn in the flesh). It's very obviously set up to encourage those addicted to internet booty to turn from their masturbatory ways and lean on Jesus, minus the old-school, prudish finger-wagging (replaced by trendy, hardcore, way-cool finger-wagging, I guess). They've even got a 24-hour crisis line for those in need. Now, don't get me wrong, these folks seem to be providing a very helpful service, but is it just me or are they begging for prank-callers?

It all reminded me of a story that happened a few years ago:

I was complaining to Carey that I felt as if I didn't have enough male friendship in my life. "How can I have some solid Guy Time," I told her, "if Guy Time ususally centers around bars or sporting events? I don't like bars or sports! What am I supposed to do?" She helpfullly pointed me to a note in our church's bulletin: 'Come one, come all to the monthly Men's Breakfast this Saturday for some good fellowship and an enjoyable morning!'

"I dunno, Care. I'm not much of a 'Men's Breakfast' kind of guy."

"See, this is your problem. You have to just go. It'll be fine. I'll bet you'll already know some of the people there from church anyhow. What are you worried about?"

So I went to the breakfast. Everyone was sitting around one of the guys' living room eating pancakes and it was sort of enjoyable. I was definitely the New Guy in the group, which was a bit awkward, but everyone was very welcoming. Then the leader set down his plate and asked everyone, "so, are we ready to start?"

'Start?' Start what? I'd supposed it would be a short devotional or prayer request session. I was just hoping for a little guys-only hang-out time, but whattaya do. But no. HOH no.

The guys started going around the circle, confessing how many times in the past month they'd checked out internet porn. One of them asked for prayer in freeing him of his Masturbation Habit. Gah! Don't get me wrong, nothing wrong with forming a group about this stuff, but sheesh, couldn't the church bulletin have been a bit clearer? How about the 'Men's Sex Addiction Breakfast'? Anyhow, I considered speaking up and saying that this really wasn't what I'd originally thought, but I was afraid I'd embarrass some of the guys and, besides, I didn't want to get kicked out. When it came to my turn, I muttered a few non-committal things about how my wife and I tell each other everything and that was it.

The moral, I guess, is "Get the Scoop on Church Functions Beforehand."

And while we're on the subject... hhh... I don't know, I guess I'm not sure why we've clung to this idea that masturbation is sinful and perverse. Oy! the nights I lay in bed awake, guilt-wracked, throughout my teens. I was convinced that My Dirty Secret would lead to my eventual ruin. "Never again... NEVER AGAIN," I whispered into the bedsheets through clenched teeth. What a drama queen. Looking back, that Dirty Secret was probably the only thing that kept me from losing my fricken, dizzied-by-hormones mind.

You know, I really need to stop holding back so much on the ol' blogger. Cripes, Jer.
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Went to the store the other day to pick up some printer paper and boing! There it was on the shelf: Future Tactics: The Uprising. A bit strange to walk into a store to unexpectedly see your own artwork sitting on the shelf. Really satisfying, though.
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Why I Love My Parents

So I happened to be talking to my mother on the cell on the way home from work last week. Wasn't really paying attention to what I was doing when I saw the police lights in the mirror. I told my mom I had to go, but forgot to hang up the phone.

The cop starts in with the "do you know what the posted speed limit is?" and "are you involved in any terrorist activity?" and blah blah blah. I learned early on that arguing your point gets you nowhere with speed-trap cops, but pitiable self-loathing can often score some points.

"No, officer," I said, "it was terrible judgement and irresponsibility on my part. That's way too fast for this neighborhood. I typically pay much better attention to the posted speed limit, but this is certainly a lesson learned."

And blah blah blah.

He let me off with a warning and I thanked him for his leniency. As I pulled away, I noticed that the phone was still running. I picked it up.

"Hello? Mom?"

"I can't believe he let you go with a warning after that bullshit."

That's my mom!

- - -

A recent conversation with Dad...

DAD: Hey, Jer, when's the last time you checked your email? I sent you something really good a couple of days ago.

JER: Oh yeah? What was it?

DAD: It was a Forward.

JER: Ah. Yeah, I don't usually read forwards. Typically, if I see "Fwd:" in the subject line of an email, I delete it.

DAD: Yeah, I know.

JER: You do?

DAD: Sure, that's why I always delete "Fwd:" out of the subject line before I send it to you.

That's my dad!
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At this rate, we might as well just stick with this marriage business.

"Carey, I vow to love you like crazy for the next four years and beyond." "Jer, ditto."

Memorial Day will always mean "Anniversary" for Carey and me. Last year was an Anniversarial Super Gonzo Extravaganza and this year wasn't quite so bombastic, but it wasn't too shabby either. We treated ourselves to:

- Gifts: A peridot pendant necklace for her that looked much, much bigger online. For me, Carey surprised me with something I've been talking about for the last four years: a gas grill. I'm in Grilling Heaven. Not only that, but this ridiculous spouse of mine rounded up all new furniture, flooring and decor for our balcony, turning it into a paradisiacal oasis. Huzzah, wife, and very very nice work. I may post pics, I may.

- Dinner: Bono's on Friday, which I guess is becoming sort of a tradition, and Paru's Indian Vegetarian Restaurant in Hollywood on Saturday. Anniversaries and birthdays and whatnot are terrific times to do something a little upscale or quirky and these places fit the bill. It always depresses me a bit when I hear couples talking about how they went to The Olive Garden or something for their Anniversary. "It's kind of become our Special Place, so we just always go there!" Really? Olive Garden?

- Theater: Mama Mia! at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood, right in front of the Walk of Fame. Okay, I'll admit it: I'm not so hot at navigating Hollywood, so I got us a bit lost and we were ten minutes late to the show, which made me want to put a brick through someone's brain pan. We didn't miss much, though, and it was a fairly decent little show. At the very least, it made me want to visit the theater more frequently. I used to love the stage. It's a shame how little I have to do with it these days.

So that's four years done and under our belts. Carey and I were married roughly 4-1/2 years into our relationship, so we're fast approaching the point where we'll have spent the better part of our time together as marrieds, which seems peculiar to think about. I've always felt as if we were two people who dated forever before just recently making it legal, but no more.

Anyhow, for the record, she's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. Love ya, Care.
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So I was in the living room, watching the most recent DVD in our collection (Impulse!) the other day, when the wife calls from the next room, "hey, Jer, I paid all the bills online."

"Oh, thanks babe."

"Credit cards too."

"Ah. Whoa. Wait, you mean all of our credit cards are totally paid off? We're done?"

"Yeah, we had enough in the account to do it, so that's it."

It's finished. We're out of credit card debt. It's been a constant spectre of doom in our home for years and it's finally over. For those who don't know or remember, we were forced to dig into credit cards a couple of years back when Gilbert, the older cat, took violently ill and had to undergo a series of surgeries that cost us into the thousands. The credit card situation worsened when we moved to Long Beach from Columbus later that year and had to charge a lot of our moving and initial living expenses. Months turned into years, paying interest and minimums and maybe a little extra now and then whenever possible.

But, now, I guess that's it. We're free and clear. Oh, we've still got plenty of debt in the form of house payments, car payments and school loans... but no more cards.

And what a feeling.
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Big project of the weekend: the Great Bedroom Purge.

The rule: if we haven't worn it in a year, it's time to say goodbye. Five trash bags of clothing (most of it Carey's, admittedly) that we just didn't need any more... gathered it up, separated it out, and thuh-rew it out the door. Four of the five bags were dutifully delivered to Goodwill, but the last bag wasn't even fit for hobos.
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Uh. What else?

While I love receiving gift certificates and gift cards, I'm notoriously bad about actually going out and using them. Case in point, my dear mother was good enough to present me with a whopping $50 to spend at Old Navy for Christmas '02. That's about a year and a half ago and, though I hate to say it, I finally found my way to Old Navy over the weekend for some new threads.

But, oy, did I ever come home with a haul! Five shirts, four pairs of pants, not to mention sandals and a shirt for Carey. Over $200 in merchandise, all told, so it was nice to have that gift card.

From there it was on to Target to buy yet more apparel with a gift card from my sister. Spend! Spend!

And then onto Barnes & Noble to complete the gift-card-using extravaganza, taking full advantage of a present from Dad & Pat. More more more, pussycat! Reowr!

So, while the Great Bedroom Purge was indeed mighty, I managed to recupe a great deal of my losses. I'm a new-outfit-wearin' fool.

Thanks, Mom! Thanks, Erin! Thanks, Dad! Thanks Capitalism!