Happy Happy Joy Joy

My bro Dave said that I need to start posting some happier thoughts on this blog.

He's right.

I apologize to those readers who've perused these paragraphs and come away with the impression that I'm ready to slit my wrists. If I seem perennially angry or depressed, it's because I choose to release my negativity here rather than in other venues of my life. So thanks for bearing with me.

That being said, I plan to put up our Christmas decorations this weekend. I like Christmas. Not for the gifts; in fact, Robin and I made a pact in recent years to limit our holiday spending to gifts for Keeley and a small gift for each other. Rather, I like the lights, the music, the decorations, and the general festive feeling in the air...the acknowledgement that the usual rules of work, diet, exercise and moderation will be suspended for the next few weeks. I even like going to work in the week between Christmas and New Year's, mainly because the workload and traffic are lighter.


Most of all, I like Christmas because I get to see it through Keeley's eyes...the whole Santa thing, the gifts, the wonder of it all, baby. That's exciting.

OK, Dave...I hope this was happy enough for ya.

What's Really Important

This morning, as I was deep in the gladiatorial match that is my morning commute, I found myself thinking about all the little worries in my life, and all the petty squabbles I engage in at work and on the road, and how truly unimportant they all are.

I found myself thinking about how unfortunate and put-upon I usually feel because I don't own a home, and only make $60,000 a year, and don't have this and don't have that and so on and so on.

And then I thought about Alaina Kilibarda.


Alaina was born in late 2006 in Minnesota (in Minneapolis, I think) to James and Jill Kilibarda. She was also born with Trisomy 18, a genetic condition that has a very, very low survival rate. Half of all babies born with this condition die within the first 2 months of life, and only 5-10% live past age 1. Alaina died at 6 months of age this past April. You can read her and her family's story here (copy and paste the link into your browser; I haven't figured out how to get the link feature to work yet):

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/13/health/13hospice.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

Because I'm a dad, I thought about James. Here I was bitchin' and moanin' about my blessed life, and there's a guy who will have to go through Christmas without his baby girl. A guy who probably bought her some clothes and toys last Christmas, all the while knowing it was going to be the only one she'd ever see. And I felt (and still feel) ashamed of my sorry-ass self. It makes me want to live a better life, let go of the small stuff, and spend every precious moment I can with my daughter. It makes me thank God for all the blessings He's given me and my family, and ask Him for His help in removing all my pettiness and stupid character defects. It makes me want to do some good in this world, instead of just taking up space.

God bless the Kilibardas and those who've shared their experience. And all you selfish motherfuckers out there like me, wake the fuck up and thank the Man upstairs for what you have.

OK, apologies for all the profanity, I told you before my emotions were on 11.

(BTW, after reading Alaina's story, you can send donations to the Alaina Kilibarda Memorial Fund, Affinity Plus FCU, 2520 University Ave SE, Minneapolis, MN 55414. This will be used to support memorial services and Children's Hospitals and Clinics Hospice Programs.) Be generous, y'all.

The Post Turkey Day Wrap-Up

I'm back from Atlanta, and am happy to report that Keeley did MUCH better than expected on her first plane trip. Everything went smoothly - no missed connections, she and Robin and I all got to sit together, no one hassled us (OK, one guy in front of us raised his eyebrows when Miss K had one of her two mini-meltdowns, but I countered with my "You got a PROB-lem?" stare), and we all got there and back again without injury, divorce, or other humiliation. And may I take this opportunity to say God bless the people who invented Portable DVD Technology. In fact, Keeley's meltdowns were only because I had to shut off the DVD player per FAA regulations while we landed.

(Note: To all you fools whose whines of "Not FAIR!" convinced the powers-that-be at Southwest Airlines to do away with pre-boarding for families with little ones...guess what? Now, instead of all of us moms and dads sitting up front, we're scattered throughout the cabin. No longer can you be sure that you've escaped having a screaming child within 2 seats of your ass. LOL! I suggest you e-mail Southwest CEO Gary Kelly and beg him to reinstate pre-boarding for families).

Our visit with Robin's brother Scott also went well, although I was pretty wiped out the entire time. For starters, I couldn't adjust to the 3-hour time difference. Neither did Robin or Keeley, for that matter. In fact, the first night Keeley screamed in protest at being put to bed at 10:00 pm because her body clock (still on Pacific Std Time) told her it was only 7:00 pm. She ended up staying up until past midnight. Arg.

Then there was the matter of Scott's two little boys Jack, 7, and Anthony, 5. They're good kids, but like all younguns have bottomless reserves of energy, and were bouncing off the walls constantly. I couldn't sit down without one of them clamping onto my back like the Face-Hugger in ALIEN and demanding a pony ride. Plus my ears were under constant assault by their darling little glass-shattering voices. Double Arg. It was during our visit that Robin and I realized that we're definitely happy with just one offspring, thank you very much.

It's funny...I thought that becoming a parent would magically make me enjoy the company of ALL children, but you know what? It hasn't.

Passenger 57

Today the Swift family will be flying to Atlanta to spend Thanksgiving with Robin's family. It will be Keeley's first airplane trip ever, and Daddy is worried. You'd think he was preparing to ship out to Iraq. I'm worried that Keeley will have one continuous meltdown on the entire 5-hour flight that will earn Robin and me the enmity of every passenger and crew member on the aircraft. I'm worried that we'll miss our connecting flight in Phoenix or somehow not be able to sit together so that one of us is left managing Keeley all alone.

We've prepared as well as we can. We have new little toys, books, flashcards and snacks that all conform to TSA regulations. I even bought a portable DVD player so Keeley can watch a couple of her favorite Dora the Explorer DVDs. All the same, I will feel much better once we are safely at Robin's brother's home. Actually, I will feel much better once we are back safely at OUR home on Saturday afternoon.

And here's my pet peeve for today. Am I just imagining this, or do minivan drivers seem like the most aggressive, rude, and clueless individuals on the freeways of America? I had some asswipe in a Quest come up behind me doing about 85 mph; I executed my signature Slowdown to the Speed Limit move and kept him back for a few minutes, but once he got an opening to pass, he made the jump to lightspeed and blazed by me. The last I saw of him, he was zigzagging up the Ventura Freeway like Steve McQueen in BULLITT.

I don't know, maybe this dude and others like him are so pissed off and resentful that they have to drive minivans that they take their aggressions out on the road. However, last time I looked there are many fine vehicles to choose from. You can get a decent SUV for the same price (if not less) than some minivans. And you won't look like a dork.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

House Lust

I'm having one of my po' moments. That's "po'", as in POOR.

It started yesterday when I overheard my boss talking about the fact that he bought his first house 13 years ago at age 25, for what was, at the time, a reasonable price. He and his wife sold it a few years later for a profit and bought another house closer to her job. They didn't make as much as they could have had they waited a few years more, but they made out OK just the same.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm 43 and I still rent. My family lives outside of Los Angeles in a tiny 2 BR house that was probably built during the WPA program. The neighborhood is working-class but relatively safe, mostly families and senior citizens. For this we pay the princely sum of $1,350 a month, which I'm told is very good for what we're getting. Our landlord is a hands-off kinda guy who hasn't raised our rent in the 18 months we've been there (knock on wood).

I should be grateful for what we have. I AM grateful.

But sometimes it seems like Robin and I are the only ones who missed the boat and didn't buy a home just before the real estate boom sent prices into the ionosphere. It seems like everyone around us owns a home. Or their second home. And they have mortgages of $300/month. And they amassed their down payment not by scrimping and saving, but because their parents gave it to them. And their yearly household income is $400K/year. Or it's $30K/year. And somehow they seem to have all this disposable income so they can have satellite and plasma screens and take vacations to Hawaii every 3 months.

The last time I checked, the median home price in LA County was $500,000. 20% of that (the down payment amount needed to avoid PMI) is $100,000. Who the FUCK has that kind of money just sitting around in their savings account? Besides Eva Longoria, I mean. (Actually, she prob. has a lot more.)

I am currently our family's sole source of income. I make just enough for us to pay our bills and eat like normal humans. We have enough for incidentals, and by that I mean necessities, not frills. Other than Robin's car lease ($350/month), we have zero debt. My nondescript car is paid for. We even have enough for a 3-DVDs-at-a-time Netflix subscription and can also contribute about $30/week to our church. Somehow I manage to put away $100/month into Keeley's 529 account. We have some savings, both liquid and long-term. You're probably reading this and wondering what the hell I'm bitching about...my life is blessed.

And you're right. But every so often I feel like a total loser because I'm past 40 and there are working class Joes and Janes out there half my age who make and have so much more. True, Robin and I weren't as frugal as we could have been in past years, but we weren't out of control, either. And the fact of the matter is we could've stretched and bought a house about 7 years ago, but we were scared and naïve and blew what was probably our only opportunity in this lifetime to own property.

I have to tell myself that owning a home is not my raison d'être. I have to remind myself that my wife and I are healthy, have a healthy, happy child who doesn't want for anything, and that we have more than a lot of people in this world do. I have to remind myself that Keeley doesn't have to be in day care because I make enough so Robin doesn't have to work. I have to tell myself that all I can do is save where I can and trust that God will put us in a house of our own if He wills it. I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed.

But I still shouldn't forget to get my lottery ticket at lunchtime. You never know...

I'm Gettin' a Little Misty Here...

Is it just me, or do other guys suddenly find their emotional thresholds drastically lowered once they become parents? I've noticed that ever since Keeley's birth, I'm highly prone to tearing up (as in crying) whenever I hear certain songs, read certain news stories, or watch certain movies or TV shows. For instance, I like country music, but find the old waterworks starting to go when I hear songs about children, God, children and God, or the human condition. (And no, "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" isn't one of them).

Martina McBride almost had me sending my car off the road one evening coming home from work when I heard her song "In My Daughter's Eyes". And her song "Concrete Angel" is the SADDEST MOTHERFUCKING SONG ever written (it's about a little girl who dies as a result of child abuse).

But boo-hooin' ain't my only thing. When I read about children, esp. toddlers or babies, dying or suffering because of asshole adults who abuse, neglect or abandon them, I get so fucking angry I wanna kill the asshole adults.

I think the fury in me comes right to the top because when I read about these unfortunate children, I see my daughter. And the thought of her suffering in any way tears me apart. It scares me. And being a guy, I counter my fear with rage. It makes me feel like I'm somewhat in control of a world that she's just beginning to experience. On the other end of the spectrum, I tear up when I hear more positive, yet heart-string plucking songs because it's like someone's tapping into the boundless, boundless love I have for my child. It's so big I sometimes think my heart will burst.

OK, I need to get re-grounded here. Someone please fire up "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" for me.

There Will Be Only One

Before I start today's ramblings, I want to give a shout-out. You might have noticed a brief comment exchange between me and a blogger whose nom de cursor is June Cutoff Cash. Fact is, June is a lady I had the all-too-brief privilege of working with who recently relocated from L.A. to North Carolina. She and her husband have taken a vow of frugality, choosing not to purchase or otherwise spend money on any non-essentials for a year. You can read June's excellent blog of her experiences at byebyebuy.blogspot.com. Check it out. As the procurer of my family's single income, I totally feel her pain, frustration, and occasional exhilaration at battling the consumerism monster.

Over the weekend, my wife Robin and I spent the rest of the day collecting stuff for our upcoming yard sale next Saturday. Most of it is clothes, toys, and accoutrements that Keeley (our daughter) has outgrown or never used. We'd been holding onto them with the notion of having a second child in the next year, a notion that seems to be losing steam.

We actually started trying to get pregnant a few months ago. Nothing took at the time and we just chalked it up to God's will, figuring that if if didn't happen after a year, we'd stop (trying for a kid, not having sex, fools). However, this was apparently a good thing, because lately the thought of caring for a newborn while also managing Keeley leaves us both beyond exhausted. So we started to think...maybe we should just stick with one.

This has been a difficult decision to make, and I think both Robin and I still feel pangs of doubt. It doesn't help that many of Robin's friends in her mommy group already have their second scone in the oven, or that other well-meaning mamas question her decision to stop with Keeley. But most of these women are 8-10 years younger than Robin and me.

It didn't help that, while we were watching TV last night, the program we were on featured a newborn baby, as did the two commercials following it.

If we were 10 years younger, we would go for it, the torpedoes be damned. But we're not. I admit that a lot of my earlier desire to have another child sprung from my feeling that, although I've always done my share of caring for Keeley, I was so whacked out from lack of sleep and the sheer newness of fatherhood that I didn't fully appreciate the first few months. Kind of like getting up early to watch the sunrise.

But I did appreciate it, didn't I?

I also can't even wrap my head around dividing my attention between Keeley and a new baby. These days, whenever Keeley asks me to read or play with her, I drop whatever I'm doing (as long as such a pause won't result in combustion, flooding, or other dire consquence) and do what she wants. I can't imagine having to decline spending time with her because her new sibling needs care or attention. And I also can't imagine not giving a new baby my full attention because Keeley needs quality time.

I know other people do it, and do it well. And their kids turn out fine. But that's other people. Not me. So it looks like we'll have that yard sale, and stick with one child we can spoil and shower with our undivided attention. Everyone I know who's an only child said they loved the experience.

OK, my manager just got out of his Monday meeting. I guess I better get to work now.

Where to Go, What to Do...(Part 2)

I am currently operating on about 3 hrs (not consecutive) sleep. My daughter kept waking up every hour on the hour last night for some reason and wailing away. Finally, around 2:00, my wife got up and took her out of the crib. They slept together on the couch for the remainder of the night. I think I finally dropped off around 3:00 after forcing myself to stop fantasizing about various female coworkers I'd like to have hot animal sex with. (I'm married, not dead, remember.)

Anyhoo, as I said on Wednesday, I'd like to leave L.A. Now that I no longer harbor dreams of HOLLYWOOD STARDOM, I don't see much reason for being here. There's too many people, traffic sucks, air quality is for shit, and real estate prices are through the roof, even with the current 'downturn'.

But where to go? Well, my wife and I have kicked around some possibilities. Here they are:

1) PISMO BEACH, CA. We've gone here for years on vacations. It's a totally chill place. Unfortunately, housing prices (rentals and sales) are almost as high as L.A. and the Bay Area. And there's very little work for graphic designers there; the jobs that are there pay half of what I make now.

2) S.F. BAY AREA, CA. For a long time after we moved to L.A., my wife pined away for the B.A. And I do miss many things about the place. It would be very easy to move back. We know the terrain, we know many people up there. There are many graphic design jobs up there that would pay me my current salary. So why not return? Mainly because my mother-in-law AND sister-in-law (my wife's brother's wife) live there, and I do NOT want to be within easy driving distance of either of them. I will elaborate and discuss later.

3) THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST (meaning SEATTLE and PORTLAND). I could get work. Salaries seem to be somewhat respectable. Real estate prices are (last time I checked) high, but not ungodly so. More investigation needed. Plus, we've visited Seattle but not Portland, so maybe a recon is in order.

4) AUSTIN, TX. We've heard nice things about it, even if it is in a red state. Real estate prices very good for what you get. Not sure about work. Again, more investigation needed.

5) LOUISVILLE, KY. We have two friends that live there. He is on permanent disability and she works in a library. And they own a home. WTF? Any area that makes that possible deserves exploration.

6) RALEIGH, NC. See Austin, TX.

7) SACRAMENTO, CA. We do have some family up there (my wife's aunt and uncle, plus a few cousins). It may be sufficient distance from my mom-in-law and sis-in-law to prevent them being in our shit all the time. I think the real estate is do-able. Not sure about the work. Again, MIN (more investigation needed).

As you've probably guessed, the pivotal issues are housing and work (duh). I need to make enough in order to enable my wife to continue to be a stay-at-home mom, at least until my daughter starts preschool in a couple of yrs. And it would be nice to buy a home one day (even at 43, I still rent; more on this issue later).

I am a firm believer in following God's plan. And I believe if He wants us to move somewhere else, he'll make it easy for us. But I also believe he won't send a job and residence my way if I don't make myself avaiilable, i.e. do the footwork. In other words, MIN.

Yes, More Investigation Needed.

Where to Go, What to Do... (Part 1)

I'm really confused about what to do with my life in the next 5 years. For starters, I would like to leave L.A. I talked my wife into moving down here from the San Francisco Bay Area almost 3 years ago because at the time I dreamt of becoming a Great American Screenwriter and was convinced that by being down here it would facilitate my making contacts in The Industry and consequently selling a script for many many dollars.

Over the past 2 years I've lost interest in screenwriting and Hollywood in general. No, I didn't get burned by an agent or plagiarized by some established show. In fact, I barely tried to market myself. I started a screenwriting group, met some nice people who all aspired to the same goal I did, and after a year found myself feeling completely disenchanted with the whole process. Why was I spending 2 hours every other Tuesday evening trying to make my scripts PERFECT when so much IMperfect stuff (okay, pure crap) was getting bought and made into movies? I turned the helm of my screenwriting group over to another writer and dropped out.

I would still like to write, however. I have been farting around with one of my scripts with the notion of turning it into a novel. Maybe it'll be Book One of a Trilogy. Hey, there's an original idea. Stay tuned.

OK, I'm Back...

I think the hardest thing about being a parent is finding time for myself. As I write this, my daughter is down for the night and my wife is at the airport picking up her mom for a weekend visit. So I'll actually have the house to myself until she returns in about 30 minutes or so.

I don't get a lot of time to myself, unless you count my commute time and my lunch-hour workouts at a gym next to my office. I get up every weekday morning at 6:00, drive about 75-80 minutes one-way to work (it's actually only 25 miles away but that's L.A. traffic for ya), put in a full day as a production artist in the in-house creative dept. of a medium-size company that shall remain nameless, then drive that commute home again.

Once I'm home, I eat dinner with my wife and daughter, then get my daughter's room ready for night-night while my wife bathes her. After putting my daughter in her pjs, reading her stories and singing a lullaby, I put her down in her crib for the night. Then my wife and I watch TV for an hour or two (usually in the form of something we've rented from Netflix...currently it's the final season of THE SOPRANOS. After that, I turn in around 10:30 and pass out until it's time to do it again the next morning.

But what about weekends, you ask? Well, weekends mean activities with the wife and kid. And church on Sunday. So, once again, I don't get any time for myself.

I sometimes fantasize about running off to Reno or Vegas for 2-3 days during the work week. I'd buy a PS3 and hole up in a room and do nothing but play videogames and watch movies. And sleep. When I got hungry, I'd schlep on down to the buffet and stuff myself, then schlep on back up to my room.

I am envious of other dads that seem to have time to rehearse with their bands, go fishing, work on their cars, build shit, or whatever. I want to spend time with my child, but sometimes it'd be nice to have an afternoon or even 2 frickin' hours to do something I want to do.