Another Monday

And I've got Traspassers William cranked in the office. They're like Mazzy Star on Quaaludes. Good waking up music when you're not quite sure how to approach the day.

Yesterday began as most Sundays do: with a great coffee chat at the Westwood Barnes & Noble with photographer buddy (and former business partner twice over) Ron. We usually cover movies & other media first, then get into the meaty topics of politics & religion. On the political front, Ron is the moderate conservative to my moderate liberal, the Adams to my Jefferson. Every week is an amazing conversation filled with witty banter and earnest debate, and it never devolves into name-calling or poo-flinging. It's like the 21st Century version of the old pre-Revolution pub debates. Interestingly, maybe 8 times out of 10 we come to a consensus, and have repeatedly solved the world's problems over coffee and a bagel. Alas, nobody from the federal government has called to consult with us. More's the pity; we'd be out of the Middle East and driving electric cars by now if they did.

That's right. I just used a semicolon.

Got home in time to say hi to Mike Berg (the bass player on the Requiem CD) as he arrived to pick up his daughter. Found my guitar tuner, which had gone missing for several weeks. Maybe on holiday in Aruba. Looked for my capo, but now that's gone missing. I think maybe the capo and the tuner are in cahoots. I don't know what cahoots are, but I think they are in them. Or they are in fact the same piece of equipment and morph at will. That's pretty disturbing. Played guitar for half an hour until Trish and Dan showed up. Trish cooked a seafood stew with Kayleigh while Dan and I went up to Northgate for a very long but productive Duo budget meeting. Outside. With beer.

Came home and Made sure Miles got picked up, chatted with his mom for a minute. Talked with RM on the phone, then called my stepdad to wish him a happy birthday. Nobody home. Sang off-key and left a lovely voicemail. Cooked up pasta and Caesar salad with the kids.

When the kids were in bed and all was quiet (and I should have retired to my own room), instead I opened Photoshop and started working on the new Duo poster. The original file died on one of the melted hard drives in the fire, so I have to completely reconstruct it from visual reference of the old version. Next weekend, Ron is coming over to shoot stills of Eric Riedmann and Devielle Johnson, which I will insert in place of the real Steve & JD.

Collapsed in bed about midnight, wide awake at 6.

Dammit.

And now Tyler's back to fighting about school. Sigh.

Prolific AND Handy

What's up with the multiple posts?? My friends will have a hell of a time catching up. Well, at least it's better than too few posts, and that will happen when Duo goes into production. For the time being, I can afford to be a bit prolific in my blogging, especially since so much seems to be happening.

While Tyler and his buds were playing videogames on the big screen, I finished the job I started yesterday by attacking the yard with the mower. West Seattle is really the only neighborhood left with these big lots, a selling point when we originally bought the house. But as I've found, you pay for a large yard in sweat. There was a time when I hated to do yardwork. Now I don't mind so much. Gets me outdoors for a bit, works up an honest sweat, and greatly improves the look and functionality of my property.

Our lot is about 9200sf, and the house footprint only takes up 1100sf of that. Most of the rest, dear readers, is yard. Front, back, side. Muchas grassy-ass. Fortunately, I had the testosterone-laden soundtrack of the workout playlist on my phone, which sure as hell beats the drone of the mower. Kayleigh also came outside with her mp3 device, so we were at least somewhat present in the same space, if not on the same aural bandwidth.

When I was done, I grabbed a mandatory shower and did cake with the birthday boy (good Lord, I'm now the father of a 14 year old), his friends Miles & Philip, and Kayleigh. I should really say they did cake and I was present for it. I haven't been eating much the past few days, and what I have eaten has found a way to rebel against my GI tract. I don't think it's a bug. Might be stress induced.

Anyway, the party disbanded and I was able to grab a quick nap (after being awakened at 4:30 AM by another dream and killing time until I had to take Gavin & Michelle to the airport at 6:30). Got up, played some guitar. Kayleigh wants to record some more, and has requested to do a cover of "Forest of Dreams", our first ATF single. While that's all very well and good, the song was originally composed on the piano, and I'd never really arranged a guitar version. So once that was sorted out, it sounded smooth. When she was done practicing "Forest of Dreams", I strummed out a few covers of euro-folk favorites, including this, and this. Which reminds me, I need to replace this CD which died a horrible fiery death back in February 2006, and is in fact one of my Desert Island Discs. The arrangement of "Forbidden Colours" on this album is far more emotionally intense than the original, composed as the theme for the film Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence.

Sent a ping out to a couple local musicians to gauge interest in composing some original music for the Duo soundtrack. Both responded very favorably. I love the stuff Brian Chase has already composed, and will definitely use it, but I want to replace some of the older, non-Brian tracks with some new stuff specifically written for the film. That way, most everything will be Duo-specific (which is this close to being an oxymoron). One of the two musicians approached was the one and only Kyle Stevens, who much impressed me during his live acoustic set with Gigi Edgley at ECC.

* * *

Just got back from Tyler's birthday dinner at Elliott Bay Brew Pub. I managed a salad and half a chicken gyro, but barely touched the fries (and even that is making me a bit crampy). Tyler and Miles went nuts with the seafood, and Kayleigh stuck with her old standby, chicken tenders. Came home to find a seedless watermelon from Darlene & James, and Mike Berg called in a childcare favor, so I'm gonna have four kids here tonight. I have meetings all day tomorrow. I think a screening of Tombstone is in order. Only one of the best American films ever made. But then I really don't have an opinion or anything.

A Toucan? Really?

See, this is what it's come to.

I don't often remember my dreams, so when I do, it's usually for a reason, and the subject matter is usually pretty relevant in my life.

So a couple nights ago, I dreamed I was in my kitchen, cutting fresh strawberries for the kids. The front door was open, but the screen was closed. Suddenly I caught a flutter of movement out of the corner of my eye and looked toward the screen to see a toucan hopping around the front porch, trying to get at the door handle.

Now, of all the things I've dreamed about in my entire life, I have honestly never once dreamed of a toucan (at least that I recall). Seems pretty random at first blush, so I filed it away for future reference. I've seen toucans live and up close before, and this one was a beautiful specimen. Deep black body with a white breast and green around the eyes (which I've seen on parrots, but never toucans). The bill was a bit faded - not the vibrant orange, lemon, cherry and other natural flavors (ugh - curse you, Fruit Loops!). I mean, the normally orange and yellow bill was a bit faded with age or malnourishment. And man, this little thing wanted IN.

So I opened the door, and it hopped in, looking very much like it owned the place. I'm all, "Uh, hello... come on in, won't you?" Because apparently even in my dreams I'm a sarcastic ass. I tossed a strawberry, which it caught in midair, and immediately its bill flushed with color. More strawberries, more color. Then it hopped up onto my shoulder, and I went back into the kitchen to finish puttering like it was the most natural thing in the world. With my toucan. Let me repeat, for effect. With. My. Toucan. I gotta say, it's a bit bizarre for me to be saying that, as aside from giving my dad his Amazon bluefront parrot, Admiral Nelson, I'm not a real bird guy. And certainly not avid enough to be a tropical bird guy on top of that.

The vibe of the dream was extremely positive. Like more positive than I've had in recent memory. It was a mood of happy discovery, of letting in the new. And the best part is when I was poking around the dream analysis sites and actually found a reference to toucans! And I quote:

"To dream of a toucan foretells a period of good luck. If the dream focused on the toucan's beak, you may soon have a change of residence."

And while I wouldn't say the dream focused on the beak, it was certainly a factor. The overriding sensation was definitely happy, fun, positive and new.

Pretty wacky, huh?

Stand or Fall

I wanna thank my high school broadbuddy (that's a "girlfriend" like chicks have "girlfriends", literally a platonic friend who is a girl) Beth for the wonderful guffaw that is the icanhascheezburger pic right here. Probably only history geeks like me get the humor in that, but I don't care. That is teh funneh, as the kids say...

True to my word, I've been playing my massive '80s music collection at work this morning. And when this came up in the playlist, I decided to go check out the music video on YouTube, as I'd never seen it back in the day (which, as Dane Cook is quick to point out, was a Wednesday).

Well bugger me with a fish fork. It's a perfect specimen of early '80s MTV concept videos, complete with Cy Curnin sporting the same hairstyle I had in about '83, wearing the white pants (oh GAWD, the white pants), featuring a white peace flag, a white horse, and a tank.

'Cause you know, if I ever went into combat, the first guys I'd call for backup would be an '80s new wave band.

/snark

My Face is Crimson

[embarrassed chuckle]

After all the whining I did last night, I got to sleep as my head hit the pillow at 11:15, and I slept like a teenager until 6:40AM. That's more than 7 hours, almost twice what I've been getting. I guess the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

I feel great.

Plus, the sun is out, and it's supposed to hit the 80s today. Maybe I should celebrate with '80s music while I work. That's clever. I was hoping to join a friend down at Alki for lunch, but that's not going to happen today, so I'll just open the blinds, crack all the windows for a nice crossbreeze, and check off the to-do list. Maybe even mow the BACK yard.

Whoa there, cowboy. You still have to get the kids to school and take the garbage to the curb. If you're not all tuckered out after that, well then go nuts with the mower.

Movies tonight - huzzah!

A Purely Mundane Blog Post

I'm exhausted.

My days consist of trying to get Deep7 products released and preproduction done on the major film projects on my radar, taxi service for my kids, truant officer for my son, while trying to maintain a semblance of social order here at home (I can hear those of you with adolescents laughing at me). Yesterday it included opening up the panel on the washer to drain and dismantle the water pump, removing half a chewed up pencil and a kid's paintbrush.

By the time I've driven all over town, paid bills, edited manuscripts, designed ads, burned DVDs, posted the mail, washed dishes and cycled laundry, and picked up those little messes that seem to appear all over my house, there's precious little time or energy for me. It's getting just a little old.

Today is a perfect example. While my posts on Emerald City Comicon may have sounded glamorous, it's really just a case of 12 straight hours of face-to-face marketing. You aren't there to relax, you're there to sell. It's fun enough that I don't want to shoot myself afterward, but it's not a cushy job. It's draining. One of the old arguments Sam & I used to have was over her assumption that I was having the time of my life working in the videogame biz. Yes, I was making a good living doing art, but it wasn't my art - it was someone else's. It was soul-sucking, technical, tedious, and once again, draining work, being "creative" on a 9 to 5 schedule (and it was far more than 9 to 5, as most folks in the videogame biz are salaried, aka "exempt", aka 60+ hours on a regular basis with no OT). And of course the whole reason we started a traditional game publishing company was so that we could be drained and exhausted working on our own products.

So today was all about getting the RADZ virtual product up for sale and scheduling done for the next couple weeks. Add in some financial/retirement planning for added chuckles. Then the sun broke, and revealed that my yard once again resembled the Mekong Delta. So I hauled out the lawnmower and got to work on the front. Tyler had mowed the back yard over a two-day span a couple weeks ago for extra cash, but the funny thing about grass is that it tends to grow in rainy conditions.

Stepmom came over with a watering timer for the garden and some chicken to grill, and so after I was done mowing and edging in front, I hauled out my big table and set up the new 'q'. Tyler didn't like either the chicken or the fish stepmom had brought, and he started campaigning for me to give him money so that he could go buy hamburger to grill. I told him this is what was for dinner, and if he didn't want it, he didn't have to eat it. He went off to sulk. We ate outside - it was nice. Then I cleaned up after dinner. Meanwhile the kids were starting to campaign for letting them run around with the hose. For some reason, that little thing was the straw that broke the camel's back. I denied them access to the hose for what would have ended up in muddy puddles throughout the house, much to their bewilderment and indignation. And then I called a family meeting.

It was more of a Come-to-Jesus meeting. We've all had those at work, when a project is in trouble. Where you totally strip the issues down to their bare components. I told them how exhausted I was, constantly cleaning up after their little messes and piles and projects left half-done around the house. I praised Kayleigh for her assistance in setting up for dinner, but overall had to reassert the rules. The basic message I kept hammering home was a very simple premise: If you help out, Dad won't get exhausted and cranky cleaning up after you, and is more likely to reward you with more flexibility and privileges. If you don't help out, Dad is cranky and tired, and puts the kibosh on fun. They seemed to get it, but I don't expect it will have been a useful exercise in a week when I'm collecting glasses of moldy orange juice from Tyler's room.

And to put the perfect cap on the evening, Tyler just came upstairs, holding his broken alarm clock. The alarm clock he broke by severing the power cord (or pulling it apart). And he spent a whopping 15 minutes trying to talk me into replacing his alarm clock. Now. This very minute. At quarter to eleven at night. The same boy who either forgets to set his alarm or ignores it outright. Sigh.

I know this reads like a vent, and I guess it basically is. Sometimes it feels really rewarding, single-handedly raising a couple of terrifically bright and talented kids. Other times, I just feel tired. This is one of those times.

And now, to bed.

FOUR??

Kayleigh has never been subtle about coming into my room at night when she's had a nightmare. This morning it went something like this:

BOOM! [sound of Kayleigh bursting through the door like Kramer]

Dad: (sitting bolt upright, heart racing) WHAT! Penguins! Who's on fire? Call the Air Force!

K: I had a bad dream.

Dad: (remembering what planet he's on) I'm sorry you had a bad dream, sweetie. Can you NOT come bursting into my room like some crazed ROOM-BURSTER?

K: Sorry.

Dad: In the future, can you please knock?

K: OK (goes out into the hallway, closes door)

[knock knock]

Dad: (at this point, barely stifling a laugh) Come in.

K: I had a bad dream.

Dad: Have you gone to the bathroom?

K: No.

Dad: Go use my potty. I'll bet you have to go.

K: I don't have to go.

Dad: I'll bet you do. Go try.

[sound of Kayleigh lifting the toilet lid and sitting down, followed by a tinkly, watery sound for about thirty seconds]

Dad: So, remember when I said you should go potty before I tucked you in? And you said you didn't have to go?

K: Yes.

Dad: What are you going to do next time?

K: Go potty.

Dad: Good. Gimme hugs and get back to bed, OK?

K: OK.

[enter Tyler]

T: What's going on?

Dad: Hi Tyler. Join us. We're having a convention for Kayleigh's trip to the bathroom.

T: I'm going back to bed.

Dad: Thanks for letting me know. Carry on.

[exit both kids to their respective rooms]

Dad: (looking at bedside clock) FOUR?? Four in the bloody morning?

I love my children. I love my children. I love my children. I love my children...

Brilliant Kids and Exes

I swear, one day a month, my kids conspire to give me a heart attack by getting up on time and being fully ready to go to school. Tyler even packed a lunch. Of course his reason for going to school on time today is that he wants his game console cords back. But hey, if it gets him in school...

While standing at the bus stop with Kayleigh this morning, it began to piddle a bit. She immediately coined a new word: rainyish. I think we need to add that to the Seattle lexicon.

Went to a meeting with Tyler's new school counselor. She's really good and on the ball, and he seems to respond to her. We need to figure out what needs to happen to get him to pass 8th grade. He's got an A in Literature and is near failing everything else, which sure as heck points to a deeper issue and not lack of ability.

Had a nice visit from Jamie last night. Just a friendly sit-down, catch-up over a mug o' tea kind of thing. It was nice to see how we're each doing (i.e really well). As little as I felt I needed closure on that relationship (having ended back in August last year), it was really great to get the blessing and validation of an ex. And really, "ex" carries a certain negative connotation. I don't think of Jamie as an ex so much as a friend with whom I was once romantically involved. Semantics, I know. But there's a remnant of some spiritual love there, an inherent goodwill for each other that I hope will never go away.

Come to think of it, after the initial damage of my parents' divorce and their respective remarriages, the four developed and maintained a really miraculous relationship that surpassed "civil". To the point that my stepdad acted as MC at my dad's memorial service and delivered an amazing eulogy to the man who had sired children he counted as his own. Beautiful. Somewhere there's a photograph of my dad and stepdad playing chess. No politics, no bitching, just a couple guys lost in the game. And out of a whopping four relationships in the last three years (the longest of which lasted all of three months), I'm still on good terms with two of the women. Not a bad average. Anyone who says you can't be friends with an ex is clearly lacking the skill to do so (or at least the desire to try).

I feel really free now. After this amazing show last weekend, new professional avenues and associates popping up all over, I feel for the first time in over three years like I can truly spread my wings and soar into the future. A lot of it has been fulfilling commitments and checking off old projects, putting the past to bed.

And to that end, I'm excited about going out to dinner with my new friend RM tonight.

Regardless of the school issues and the kid issues and the state of one's house, what makes it worthwhile is the connections one makes and the focus one puts on the positive. Hear that, Universe? Bring me some positive.

YES!

My bro Steve sent me the original, uncut 1-minute version of the old Tootsie Pop commercial. Wow...

5:30 AGAIN??

I don't know what it is about five-friggin'-thirty in the A-M, but once again, I found myself awakened a full two hours before the alarm. Could have been the earlier sunlight. Could have been the fact that at some point during the night Kayleigh and a stuffed buddy had crawled into bed with me (not sure when, exactly) and was breathing away in that sleeping-kid mode that makes it impossible to sleep next to after, say, 5:30AM.

There was a time when I would have just put K back in her bed and crawled into mine to eke out another hour or two. But now all I can think about is a poem by Jalaluddin Rumi, the Sufi poet:

The breeze at dawn has things to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.

So I head upstairs, grab a bowl of cereal (I choose Life... get it?), catch up on some email, make a pot of green tea, open the shade in the family room and watch my little corner of West Seattle come to life.

And I think. I ponder. It's the only time when the whole house is completely quiet and still. I muse about how vastly different life was, three years ago, or one year ago, or even a month ago. I'm amazed at the way the universe works.

And that's my deep thought for the day.

K and I went out for Mother's Day dinner last night (she gives me props on M-Day, which I've never asked for, but sincerely appreciate). Tyler decided to stay home. I could have forced the issue, but being alone on M-Day is one way of grieving, and he has done so little of that. I called my grandmother in Bellingham, talked to my mom and left a voicemail for my stepmom. Didn't get a chance to talk to my sister, but I'll take care of that when we go up to Bellingham for May Birthdays on the 31st. Got an invite from the aforementioned Kris Straub to join him for dinner, but I wasn't about to go back downtown.

Oh and the best part: When K and I were getting back into the car to go home, she let out the biggest, longest belch I've ever heard come out of a 10yo girl. We were both shocked. We just sat there staring at each other with raised eyebrows. Then we cracked up in giggles. Well, giggles and chortles. There may have been a guffaw or two. And an "excuse me". And a high five.

Had a hard time keeping up on the housework this week. As if being a single guy didn't doom me to begin with (I'm not a slob, but neither am I a neat freak), having two adolescents and a full "away-game" schedule this last weekend didn't help. I have, however, figured out a terrific trick that keeps my sanity in check: I have chosen two small things I can have a lot of control over, and keep clean - which gives me a set of little victories each day.

Trick #1: I always (and I mean always) make my bed the moment I slide out of it in the morning. Nevermind the fact that I still have a few stacks of fire salvage boxes in the corners - having the centerpiece of the room neat and tidy eliminates a bunch of potential stress right there. It also gives me a flat surface on which to fold laundry.

Trick #2: The kitchen. I cruise through my galley kitchen several times a day, and with each pass I do a small amount of cleaning - wiping down countertops, throwing away trash, rinsing dishes for the big dishwasher load, putting away pots... it goes back to a very primal thing. Hearth area clean = less stress, cleaner food prep area, less chance of getting sick. Plus, it's the first thing visitors see after they walk into the front room.

I should probably think about getting my spawn to school. It's been a nice, peaceful morning. I may even get in a nap today to make up for five-friggin'-thirty in the A-M.