It's interesting the names that come attached to spam.  Today, I got one that said it was from Valve T. Meaningful.  It makes you wonder if Mr. and Mrs Meaningful would have actually named their child "Valve".  I know it's a way to get spam past the filters in e-mail, but I thought it might be an interesting exercise to try to take some of these ridiculous names and try to create their back story.  Hopefully, that will help me create characters not only for stories, but for improv as well.

 

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Just so you'll know.  The grass is all installed.  The patio is just about done.  It's all looking really, really good.

 

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He didn't hate his name, though he wasn't quite sure why.  Valve.  At least it was interesting. Something to start a conversation.  "Isn't that an interesting name", he or she would say, "Is it your real name?"  Valve would say "yes, it's my real name", often having to produce his drivers licence to prove it, and launch into an well-worn story as to how it came to be.

 

His parents were excrutiatingly ordinary.  Middle class, house in the suburbs, mini-van in the driveway and the sedan in the one-car garage.  And they hated it.  He was a Democrat, she, a Republican, they tended to cancel each other out on more than just election day.  They had started life together in a funky loft in an old warehouse - turned - artists' enclave in an area of town where they could only be called urban pioneers.  Neither of the Meaningfuls was particularly artistic, but they loved being in the middle of that yeasty creative existence that made them feel bohemian, hip, maybe just a little on the edge.  There were occasional pot parties where they would sit on overstuffed beanbags in the loft of one artist or another who seemed to regularly come and go from the studios on the first floor of the warehouse.  They'd smoke and get the munchies and solve all the problems of the planet ... only to wake in the morning a little fuzzy-headed and wondering why it all had made such sense the night before.  Life for the Meaningfuls was something less than meaningful.

 

Life changed when they moved from the loft to the 'burbs.  "Buy a house" his father had advised ... "It's the best investment you can make".  And of course, he was right.  But Anthony hated it.  And so did Jean.  The sameness of the subdivision, four different floor plans re-created over and over again so that, even after having lived there for two years, Anthony still had to count the driveways and look at the house number to find his own.

 

So when Jean got pregnant, they decided to try to re-capture their almost hippie days in the loft.  Perfectly stone cold sober, they devised a plan.  They would open a dictionary, blindfolded, and holding hands, point to a random word on a random page, and that would be the name of their child.  There would be no bias for gender, no agonizing over who's name would be carried down through the ages, just a random act that would lift, or burden, their child through his or her entire life ... or at least until the name could be legally changed.

 

 

 

 

It's election day ... again ... in Duval County.  So, I'm at work, waiting for my first break to bring the results of the three races to the WJCT listeners.  Hopefully there will be more than the 6 percent turnout that has already been reported.

 

The grass went in today.  It looks outstanding.  I'll post pictures later.  The patio is coming along, and the deck is next. It's suburban life at the beach.

 

I haven't posted to this blog as regularly as I'd like to, and I don't know why that is. 

 

I'd like to be a writer, because I think I have something to say. I think that's why I wanted to establish this blog ... to give me a place to put down random thoughts, and to eventually write stories here.  I hope that whoever finds this will find them compelling. 

 

The election is up over 10% turnout.

 

More later.

 

 

 

 

I consider myslef a news junkie.  I'm not sure where that came from.  I remember when my dad wanted to watch the news on television, and my sisters and I all moaned.  "Not the news, Dad".  But he watched it, and if we wanted to watch TV, so did we. 

 

But somewhere along the line, it became a need.  To know what was going on.  To try to understand and try to make sense of issues in the world.  But more recently, I've kind of fallen off the news wagon.

 

Don't get me wrong.  I'll still read two or three papers ... albiet online ... every day.  At least scan them, and read the articles I think are interesting.  Usually our local paper, The Times Union ... and The Washington Post are my sources of choice.  Sometimes the NY Times or a smattering of others from around the country.  I'll follow the links from Google News or Yahoo news, often finding stories from AP or Reuters.  But there's more to it as well.

 

You see, I live local news.  I have tons of stuff come through my e-mail box every day.  Releases and updates and offers for interviews and so much of it is just garbage that it becomes a buzz in the background.  But I do find compelling things to assign to my reporters ... usually finding that they've found them on their own.  They see the same barrage of bits through their e-mail boxes, and often by the time I forward them a story idea, they've already started the calls.

 

But recently, something's happened.  I don't know if it's just the sameness, the steady drumbeat of negativeness that has become so much of the news.  It's one of the reasons I love working for public broadcasting.  We can still look at things in a positive light, not have to constantly seek out the negative angles on things.  Just real, straight-ahead objective reporting.  And not the sensational crap and puff stuff that has become so much of particularly local TV news.  I had one anchor comment to me once that he had gotten into the news business, but he'd retire from the promotions business. 

 

I've gotten innured to the rhetoric that seems to be so common from both sides.  I've watched so much of it, that I can answer the questions before the person who is asked opens their mouth.  I can't recall the last time I heard any politician or "expert" say anything that surprised me.  I have to try harder and harder to learn.  Not that I know everything, but nobody seems to want to teach any more.

 

I'm feeling very cynical. 

 

Grass Update.  Irrigation should go in tomorrow.  A day ahead of schedule.  Then the actual sod will be put down Monday.  By Tuesday, we should have a lush, green lawn that will need pretty constant care to make sure it takes and then there will be the constant mowing.

 

In any event ... what passes for local news is mostly pretty lame.  The weather is usually at least interesting, as long as it's not the lead with "Live Team Coverage" because it hailed today.  If you want to learn something about what's going on in the world, tune in your local public radio news station.  Listen critically.  You won't agree with everything you hear.  But you also won't be spoon fed the pablum that passes for local news, and you likely won't be subjected to every fire, and robbery, and sensational trial that comes along. 

 

As I get bolder about blogging, I'll let you know what I think of Michael Jackson, the Terri Schiavo situation, and other issues on which I have an opinion.  The Blog is the ultimate vanity press.  I just have to determine how to do it objectively. 

 

Cheers ...

I love trying a new restaurant.  And tonight's was darn good.  SoBu in Ponte Vedra Beach.  A joint venture between two of the area's best known chefs ... Pom and Matthew Madure. I hope I spelled Matthew's name correctly.  Food was good, but service was kind of slow.  Only to be expected on the first night they're officialy open and cooking.  Fun to be there on day one.

 

Nothing new on the grass ... still like it was yesterday.  Irrigation is supposed to go in on Saturday, and sod on Monday. 

 

So back to SoBu ... I had the rib eye, Andie had a pork roast with broccoli and spinach dish that looked really good.  The steak was a little tough but done just right, and the spinach and mushrooms with the spicy reduction made it very good.  Fairly extensive wine list, and not terribly expensive.  It's definately on the "go back and try something else" list. 

 

I'm enjoying my mp3 player even more than I though I would.  It currently has about 500 songs in it, which is about a 10th of it's capacity.  Just putting it on to play songs at random.  It's a Rio Karma, and many of the people who have bought one have complained that the hard drive has a tendency to crash.  I haven't had that problem yet, but I've only had the box for a couple of weeks.  I hope that mine isn't as fragile as some have apparently been.

 

So, another slow day in paradise.  I think I'll call it a night, and post again when I haven't had a couple of glasses of wine and can concentrate a little better.

 

 

 

 

The weekend has passed, and it's back to work.  However, most days, work is good.  In fact, most of the work day is passed, and it'll soon be time to head east toward the Atlantic Ocean ... the far side of the Intracoastal Waterway.

 

Living on that side of the ditch is amazing.  When I first moved to Jacksonville, and was looking for a place to live, I was told that there was a palpable feeling you get as you cross the bridge to the beach.  Kind of and extended "ahhhhhh".  And most days, that's very true.  There was the bimbo in the BMW that was tailgating me on the bridge last night.  As she went by, passing on the right, she communicated her displeasure non-verbally.  I won't say by how much I was exceeding the speed limit on the bridge, but it was enough that I didn't feel compelled to get out of her way.  So she communicated non-verbally, and I returned the compliment.  Childish, perhaps, but I'm pretty impatient with impatience.

 

Still, it's been a long-time dream to live on that side of the Intracoastal.  I love living in proximity of the beach, though we'll never be able to live directly on the beach.  Andie, my fiance, grew up in a house that was about 50 feet from the dunes ... and says we don't want to live there anyway.  The views are offset by the non-stop maintenence.  Apparently, when you live that near the ocean, nothing metal lasts more than about 15 minutes.  That's pretty understandable.

 

Grass update ... getting browner.  If nothing else, this blog can serve as a chronical in the search for the perfect lawn ... a mile and a half from the Atlantic Ocean. 

 

Had an interesting interview today with NY Times Columnist David Brooks.  His latest book concerns the suburbs, and how they've become so crucial to American life.  The interview was set up in a hurry over the last couple of days, and his lecture tonight is not about the book, so I haven't had a chance to read it yet, but it seems like it would be interesting.  Brooks wrote "Bobos in Paradise", and this most recent work takes the Paradise concept into the suburbs.  Might be worth a trip to Amazon.

 

My most recent Amazon purchase is a how-to on creating improv songs.  More on that later.

 

And that, to paraphrase Garrison Keilor, is the news from Lake Woebegone By-The-Sea. 

Another day ... and the grass, or I should say the weeds, are starting to go. 

 

Sitting at lunch today watching the countdown to Michael Jackson's potential arrest for not showing up in court on CNN.  They were literally showing the minutes remaining until he could potentially be arrested in the graphics.  It was pathetic, and laughable, that that was what CNN thought we were all interested in today.  Judy Woodruff and all the other CNN-amotons jabbering breathlessly about Michael Jackson.  The sound was off and I know what they were saying.  Would he make it on time, would he be arrested ... endless speculation about where he was and why he was late to court.  It made me very happy to be in public broadcasting.  And proud.  Every time I see such things, I'm thrilled that my livelyhood doesn't depend on my acting interested in the travails of Michael Jackson.

 

And, as a comedy writer (of a sort), I can't write stuff that funny or absurd.  In the immortal words of the King of Siam .... it just gets curiouser and curiouser. 

 

Three shows tomorrow.  One for work, two for Improv.  Then another Saturday night late.  And now I have this as a way to call more attention to myself.