Enough Already, I Get It!

One of the recurring themes of the past 8 months of Melissa’s pregnancy is all of the dire warnings of fatherhood from friends and family.

“Getting a good night’s sleep Alan?
Well enjoy it now because you won’t get any sleep after the baby is born!”

“Like to go out to the movies Alan?
Well, enjoy them now because the only popcorn you’ll soon be eating is Pop Secret in front of your own television while watching Bob The Builder.”

“Like to go out for fancy dinners Alan?
Well, enjoy those fillets now because the only steak you’ll soon be eating is the Salisbury variety.

Perhaps they tell me these things as a friendly gesture (or sardonic jab?), to prepare me for the inevitable life changes that are fast approaching.

But frankly, it sounds like my first two years as a father will be roughly equivalent to Martha Stewart’s stay in Federal Prison.

Certainly there’s no avoiding the inevitable changes that will overtake our lives on or around February 20th, 2007, but can I not enjoy my last couple of months in a state of ignorant bliss?

Baby Mozart

Should I be concerned that my unborn baby daughter likes to Rock out to Michael Jackson?

Melissa shared this new insight into our child’s music preference while driving to the mall a few weeks ago. It seems that the iconic MJ tune, "Billy Jean" was playing on the local “Old School” pop station when suddenly, Baby Abdine started moon walking all over Melissa’s bladder.

Am I becoming a square because I’m worried that my daughter is listening to songs about a dead beat dad’s inability to take responsibility for his children? Surely Brittany Spears can feel my pain.

But all things considered, I guess it could be worse, Baby A could have chosen Kelis’ "Milkshake" or the soon-to-be classic Black Eyed Peas diddy "My Humps" as her theme song, especially since those songs seem to fit momma-Melissa’s plight a bit better.

Personally, I would think a song like Nelly's "Hot In Herre" would be a more representative fit, but what do I know about music... I still think Weird Al Yankovich is funny.

My Dog The...

bum
clock watcher
couch potato
deadbeat
idler
laggard
layabout
lazybones
loafer
lotus eater
lounger
malingerer
moocher
shirker
slacker
sloth
sponge

This is what some pugs do in their spare time:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcKOQrz19Yg

And this is what my dog does:

Damn you internet!

I should be working... but instead i punish my little digital friend...mercilessly propelling him into 1, 2, 3.... 4 more ice walls? Who are you running from little digital friend? The ghosts of your childhood? The Korean mafia? Or do you just want to kick some ice wall ass?

Yessssss!

Helpful numbers to keep handy

These "physician" ads were sent to me by my mother who is currently working with the Peace Corps in South Africa.

Honestly, I'm kind of embarrassed even posting these. It's just another example of our medical community's inferiority compared to its foreign counterparts.

I guess its time to start planning my S. Africa trip...

This Just In...

"Yoga Baby" is no longer an it but a HER!

Bets have been lost (i owe Miss a prenatal massage at the spa of her choosing)...
Faux psychics have been exposed (sorry dad, sis & bro)...
And soon-to-be mommy and daddy have big smiles on their faces!

Here's a close-up of her profile... taking a nap?

Yoga Baby

My unborn child is doing yoga poses in the womb. But should I be surprised? Melissa has already burned through at least 5 prenatal yoga DVDs. Thank God for Netflix.

(umm, oh and by the way, for those of you who have not been previously clued in to the news, there will soon be a mini-(half)me running around)

Melissa is 19 weeks pregnant and while we theoretically should be able to determine the sex, for whatever reason, our OB/GYN does not schedule the “anatomical” ultrasound until the 21st week.

This, of course, is unacceptable to us.

My self-diagnosed, adult-onset ADHD coupled with Melissa’s genetic inability to wait for a surprise (she secretly read my travel diary while I was asleep on a train enroute to the Cinque Terra region of Italy for the sole purpose of discovering whether or not I was going to propose to her. For the record, I was, and yes, she found out) made us incapable of waiting until the scheduled visit.

Furthermore, we were going to Santa Barbara for a family wedding which gave us all the rationalization we needed to spend the extra $$ for a redundant sex determination ultra. Certainly there wouldn’t be better uses for the money once the baby was born…?

We made an appointment at one of the ubiquitous “4D ultrasound” specialty shops that seem to be popping up everywhere. I’m not sure I understand the technology completely, but according to their marketing literature, the “4D ultrasound” is 2 times better than the regular 2D fan shaped ultras that you normally see! (or so you’d think)

The machine apparently generates a three dimensional shape from a regular ultrasound image to create a creepy computerized approximation of what the baby might actually look like. I’m not sure what the 4th “D” refers to, but I imagine it’s an estimation of the # of sleepless nights per week you’ll have stressing out about the radical shift your life will take now that you’ve been forced to deal with the very real impending reality of fatherhood.

Unfortunately for us (or maybe a blessing??) the Sonographer was unwilling to show us the ultrasound in all its 4D glory due to the baby being only 19 weeks developed.

According to her, 4D ultras before 21 weeks can sometimes be disturbing due to the tendency for the baby to appear more like an emaciated, heroin junkie alien versus anything remotely humanoid.

3 more weeks doesn’t sound unreasonable now that I think of it.

It didn’t really matter anyway, because our main purpose for going was to find out the gender. The standard 2D view should work just fine.

…but that wasn’t going to work out in our favor either.

Sonographer: “Well I have some bad news.”
Abdines: “Oh no, we knew it… the baby has Alan’s ears.”
Sonographer: “Not quite…although the ears do look somewhat monkey-like. Rather, the problem we have is the baby has its legs crossed and is sitting on its rump. Unless it moves, it’s going to be difficult if not impossible to determine the sex today.”

Sure enough, baby Abdine was sitting in a relaxed, meditative Lotus position; perfectly positioned to completely cover any protruding vestiges…or lack thereof. And of course, every body part was moving; head, back, arms, fingers, mouth… every body part EXCEPT for the legs.

No luck today. The baby must still be referred to in gender neutral terms.

But wait! What’s that?? Baby Abdine just thrust (his?) hand down in between (his?) legs! Is (he?) scratching (his?) crotch??

My money is now on the table. 5-2 odds it’s a boy.

A Smite-Worthy Good Time

Ok kids, pop quiz time:

What’s funnier?

A) An obscure reference to the last scene of the movie “The 40 Year Old Virgin” to begin your good friend’s wedding ceremony.

B) The Universal Life Church and their online application for ministry.

Answer: Either A or B or both or none of the above since all answers on the ULC grading curve lead to a perfect score.

Flashback to early winter 2006: I’m enjoying a sociable evening with my newly engaged friends Kevin and Barb, picking at a Ceasar Salad at the Yardhouse at the Irvine Rectum Spectrum when they drop the bomb:

“Hey Alan, we were wondering if you’d do us a favor for the wedding.”

“Sure,” I said

“Ok, well it’s going to take a little work on your end.”

“Umm, ok. And what is it you want me to do?”

“Well we were wondering if you’d be interested in marrying us.”

My first reaction was of utter bewilderment. I wasn’t even sure I was holy enough to BE married let alone marry someone else. Would God disapprove of me playing the poser minister? Isn’t this type of behavior smite-worth? Hmm, a smiting would certainly not figure in well for my summer plans…

But after a conversation with a real reverend, Melissa and a fair amount of prayer, my theology was straightened out just enough for me to seriously consider the offer.

The problem still remained though; on what authority could I legally marry them in the state of California?

Oh! Wait a minute… Problem solved! The Universal Life Church!

The Universal Life Church is a nonsense organization that claims to be a church but has no underlying core set of beliefs. They are one of those “one size fits all” churches that preach that all beliefs are legitimate… as long as you really believe your made-up beliefs.

The main reason this “church” exists is because it’s the path of least resistance for one to become legally authorized to perform a marriage ceremony in (most of) the US.

At first, I didn’t know much about the ULC or their online ordination process. Would I need a credit card? Would I have to renounce my current faith or subscribe to some new religious code? Would I still be able to benefit from the world of psychiatry?

After 2 minutes of research this is what I found:

1. The answers to the questions above were no, no, no and yes (and probably end up needing it more than ever).
2. What you DO need is an email address….and THAT’S IT.
3. A printer would help too… so you can print out your official-looking certificate of ministry.

Not to sound glib, but…

After two additional minutes of research, I realized just what a monumental pile of ridiculousness the ULC actually is. Well maybe not as ridiculous as Scientology, but still, staring at a broken piece of pencil lead would have been a better way to spend the 30 seconds it took me to sign up for this meaningless “religious” designation.

Let me get this straight… California requires one to be a judge, boat captain or minister to conduct a wedding ceremony within its borders, yet its “minister” designation is so hollow that it allows for a minister of church who’s only belief (and corresponding motto) is “To Do That Which Is Right” to legally marry a couple within its borders?

To Do That Which Is Right?! What does that even mean? Apparantly not a whole lot since pretty much anything you dream up can be considered “right” as long as you properly rationalize it’s rightness… at least for your own benefit. (paging Ayn Rand)

Listen up everyone, after sticking his head in a hat he fashioned out of old Happy Meal bags, THE reverend Alan Abdine received a new revelation: In order “To Do That Which Is Right,” on October 3^rd, 2008, at 3:43AM (CST) you must pray to his dog Moby who, while wearing a pink tutu, will temporarily assumes the reincarnated state of the 45^th Buddha for approximately 17 and 5/8 minutes.

With the ULC church absurdity behind me, it was time to focus on something actually meaningful… namely, my friends’ wedding:

{Alan faces Kevin and Barb and begins the ceremony}

"Are you ready?

Ok, before we get started, I want you to take a quick look around at everyone gathered here today.”

{Alan points to the guests}

“Kevin & Barb, there are a lot of friends and family here that really care about you.”

{Alan addresses the guests}

“But y’know what everyone? Sometimes it’s not enough to JUST show up… so I thought we could all get out of our chairs and express our true feelings for Kevin and barb through interpretive dance."

Oh, I almost forgot the plug…

Since I submitted my application for the ULC ministry this year, I get the new-for-2006 feature of the power to forgive sins! So if you’re throwing a bachelor party or just want a guilt-free night on the town, email me now for my fall 2006 rental rates!

Pug Spotlight: Moby

As if my dog needed any more publicity... he's currently gracing the "Pug Spotlight" page at austinpugs.com

"Whattup Dawgs! I'm Moby, AKA "The Mobinator" AKA "Pooey Jr."

People often ask me: "Where ever did you get that crazy name? Are your parents obsessed with 19th century American Literature or something?" That always makes me chuckle. Literature? MY Parents?! Ha! Heaven's no! Unless you call People Magazine or drudgereport.com literature! In fact, I'm not even sure my dad can read! Actually, my folks named me after that smooth-headed, cultural and musical icon; Moby (who IS in fact actually related to Herman Melville!) Apparently, they were really into the album "Play" when I came home from the puppy farm, so with all the creative effort they could muster…Well, I guess it could be worse. At least my name isn't Radiohead.

So Here I am in Austin. Cool place to be in my opinion, as long as it's not summer. I can't stand the summers here. You can't blame me though, I was born and raised in Southern California. I can still remember chasing the sea gulls and splashing in the cool Pacific Ocean. When my folks told me we were moving to Austin, I thought they were crazy! But once I got here, it all made sense. Sure, the weather pretty much sucks in the summer, but oh man, the music here rocks! And I really can't complain about all my new buddies in the pug club. (Big shout out to Jasmine, Chom Chom, Buda, Milo, Sofi and Murphi! WHAT WHAT!)

So I've been ripping on my parents, but I should really cut them some slack. Despite their inherent dorkiness, they try their best. Plus, they let me chill all day on the couch (thus my nickname "lazy") and if that wasn't cool enough, they put a down comforter in my crate! Woo Hoo! Now if I can only get them to switch out my crappy dry food for something halfway tasty… (note to self: try sad, begging puppy routine)

I'm really a cool guy once you get to know me. Yea, I'm a bit spastic when I first meet you, and I definitely suffer from a moderate case of Pug ADD, but if you can get my attention, you will earn a friend for life.

Next time at the Pug Meetup, come and say hi. I'll be over by the golden retrievers racing after them into the creek.

submitted for Moby by Alan"

Pride And GU Packs

2 years ago I had the brilliant idea of running the Capitol 10K. It seemed like a reasonable endeavor considering my long and glorious history as a high school Junior Varsity swimmer (don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, the 100yd breast stroke is JUST LIKE running 6.2 miles). And with my recent victory over the aliens living inside my xbox, I desperately needed to direct my perpetually competitive energies elsewhere.

Normally when presented with the option of playing sports outdoors or on a television screen, I’d select the latter, but this time my lesser judgment got the best of me and I signed up for a 3 month training course to prepare for the race. …which it turns out happened to be a great idea because I ended up running the race in a respectable 52 minutes with only a post-race heart murmur or two to show for it.

Fast forward 23.5 months.

Alan: “Hey Tim, what are you doing today?”
Tim: “Probably just going for a run.”
Alan: “A run?”
Tim: “Yea, I’m going to run the Cap10K in two weeks”
Alan’s (Inner monologue): The Cap10K! I did that once…AND I did it in the respectable time of 52 minutes! If I ran it, I could certainly beat him and then…(song cues up) “We are the champions”
Tim: “We are the champions?”
Alan: “Oh you heard that?... Forget it. How about I run the race with you… y’know as a show of support!”
Tim: “Golly what a grand idea” (he didn’t really say that… I think it was just “cool”)

So armed with my Nike Air 360s and topped off with a full tank of pride, I began my 2 week crash course training regimen:

Day 1: run for 20 minutes
Day 2: look for socks with better “wicking” technology
Day 3: Think about race
Day 4: Think about race some more
Day 5,6,7: Weekend! Take a well-deserved break.
Day 8: Huh? 11 am already?..better get up now…(5 hours later) run for 20 minutes
Day 9: Create “Alan’s Ultimate Race Mix” of high energy race music. Transfer to iPod.
Day 10: Run for 20 minutes (in order to test out the first 5 songs of Alan’s Ultimate Race Mix)
Day 11: Reorganize songs on iPod to enhance motivational properties of Alan’s Ultimate Race Mix.
Day 12: Contract cold virus
Day 13: Sickness worsens
Race Day (at 3am): Realize that I shouldn’t get out of bed because I’m sick as a dog AND can’t sleep due to my unfortunate decision to take a 24 hour Claritin D (now with extra pseudoephedrine) 5 hours before.

But pride… ah yes pride. It can do quite a number on you.

So I gulped 3 GU packs, chugged a vitamin water (cause its packed with. Y’know. Vitamins) and chomped an extra Claritin for good measure before **bang** the race begins.

Pain, thy name is Cap10k. I’m not going to go into too much detail here, let’s just say it was ugly. Apparently there is a very good reason why our intelligent designer designed us to sleep once in awhile and/or heal before intense physical activity. No less than three imaginary heart attacks, 2 desperate attempts to refrain from vomiting and 62 minutes later, I crossed the finish line.

Humbly I congratulated Tim on a great race. For the record, I’m pretty sure his victory was due to him taking advantage of one of my imaginary cardiac episodes about 4.5 miles into the race… …or maybe Alan’s Ultimate Race Mix still needed some fine tuning.
…or 4 GU packs instead of 3?
...or Red Bull instead of Vitamin Water?
…or maybe because I had to pee starting .5 miles into the race which was really distracting.

But it was certainly, absolutely, positively NOT because Tim was better prepared and flat out whooped me.

Helmet Head

It's official; I'm old and lame (but well protected with toasty ears!).

It seems like just yesterday....those good ole days when life and limb were of no particular consequence. When hurtling down an ice-covered, tree speckled mountain at 40mph seemed like a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. And riding rusty, vomit-inducing carnival rides with ill-fitting "safety" latches was considered drunk sport.

But I have crossed the chasm of reckless, indestructible youth and am now resting awkwardly (and with slight lower back pain I might add) in the uncomfortable reality of early 30ish health and safety consciousness.

Yea, you guessed it. I bought a snowboarding helmet.

Now I wouldn't be caught dead Mtn. biking without a helmet. Nor would I touch a dirt bike or quad without 4 inches of foam surrounding my head. But for some reason, snow sports didn't seem to apply to these laws of logic.

Snow is soft right? Well maybe not California snow... but surely it’s softer than say... rocks or asphalt? And trees? Well, you just AVOID those. That was my mantra for 21 years of avid snow sportin'... until this year.

This year I turned 31, and although 30 is supposed to be the new 20, my back doesn't feel a day younger than 43 1/2 (probably something to do with missing "lift with the legs" day at back school). Despite the back thingy though, I probably would have fooled myself into "winging it" one more year if it wasn't for an ill-conceived trip to the local Carnival.

I used to think carnivals were amusing; a good time after "having a laugh," a fun destination to take a date or an opportune place to meet high school girls (WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL TOO OF COURSE!). So when Jabari, my little brother I'm matched up with in the Big Brothers of Austin program, suggested we go to the rodeo and carnival a few weeks back, I was totally game.

Then the horror show began:

Mistake #1: I bought unlimited ride wristbands for us
Mistake #2: I ate a greasy sausage sandwich with extra onions and mustard as soon as we entered the carnival.
Mistake #3: I bragged to Jabari that I could “outride him any day of the week” and that he could “hang out in the kiddy playland if couldn’t handle the big boy stuff with me”. Umm yea. This was a stupid thing to say to a fearless 13 year old with an iron stomach and something to prove.

Needless to say, I ended the evening with a throbbing headache, weird crackling noises in my inner ears, double-vision and a nauseous gurgling stomach slowly eating away my GE junction with heartburn.

I even faintly remember a particularly bratty little preteen girl exclaim: “Oh my god, that old guy is about to barf all over the place” while I was upside down on some “Vomitron 2000” ride.

This was my wakeup call that I was neither
a)indestructible nor
b)immune to pain as I previously thought

So before my Mammoth trip last weekend, I walked into Sport Chalet, head lowered in shame and ridicule, and purchased a large, gray snowboarding helmet that when worn, made my head look like a primer-coated watermelon (with air vents) capable of receiving deep space radio transmissions.

I was beat.

But funny how these things work out in ones favor. Not only did the soft, velvety ear flaps keep my ears toasty warm in the blizzard conditions on the mountain, but I crashed (and whacked my head good n’ hard) not once but TWICE!

What forsight I thought through the fuzzy, pre-concussion haze of the second spectacular collision of my head to the icy landing of the jump I just attempted.

I think its time for some hot cocoa.

Abdine Video Archive (Part 2)

Here's a juicy morsel of kooky awkwardness that I produced for Melissa's first grade class.

After watching a small hole in Moby's food bin slowly grow in diameter over the course of a few months, I became suspicious that a bird was pecking out a new home. One afternoon however, I caught the little culprit in action and much to my surprise, the bird happened to be furry with four paws and a bushy tail. The story of the "flying squirrel," as described by Melissa to her class, quickly became the buzz of the Windermere Primary School playground, so as a little end-of-the-school-year surprise, I cooked up this little documentary complete with squirrel voice narration.

If you choose to view this, please keep in mind that this was custom-designed for the first grade intellect (which I happen to be keenly aware of), so first downing a bottle of wine (or two) is highly recommended.

Abdine Video Archive (Part 1)

In the spirit (and giddy anticipation) of Oscar night, I felt inspired to share a small tidbit of my personal video archive with the world in hopes that it will bring hope and inspiration to the yearning masses....or possibly zing a few of my friends for no apparent reason.

Don't be fooled by the expert editing and compelling content...this was only my first foray into the exciting world of home video production!

And yes... you are correct. We ARE all horrible shots.

(Warning for the lady viewers: This will be extremely boring for you and will only reinforce your relatively accurate stereotype that guys act like 14 year old boys when out in the desert with gas/gunpowder driven toys and no supervision)

Finding Salvation, 1 Cheesesteak At A Time

The rumor is true. I’m supposed to be on a diet. Not a pansy cabbage-soup-eating diet, but a diet nonetheless.

And really… its not like I really NEED to be on a diet. If you want my honest opinion, dieting really is just an extension of pride.

And pride is evil.

So if A=B and B=C, then A must equal C…

Finally! Proof that dieting is evil!

To truly be a follower of God, one must turn from evil…so one way for ME to turn from evil would be to break my diet.

Which brings me to my short business trip to Philadelphia.

Because I did a pretty decent job so far today of following my diet, as you might expect, I was feeling especially evil.

I needed to be rescued… and quick. So it was certainly not lost on me that I just happened to be in the City Of Brotherly Love on this most evil of days.

And how, might you ask, would Philadelphia be able to deliver me of my burden?

Well, cheesesteaks of course.

You see, I reason that if I eat enough cheesesteak sandwiches while I’m here, then the act of breaking my (evil) diet will most surely cleanse me of my sins… well at least the sins brought on by my stupid diet.

So with only 36 hours to work with, I had to move quickly.

(For those of you wondering how I could possibly spend my short trip here seeking out fat-laden sandwiches instead of visiting the liberty bell and Independence Hall… well… I really have no good excuse other than I expect that it’s only a matter of time before there’ll be a casino re-creation of Philadelphia in Vegas which will probably be way more kick-ass AND have great rooms and 4 star service. “Libertyland” would be a good name… maybe with a giant 20 story neon liberty bell that shoots fireworks and plays the national anthem every 15 minutes right off the strip. They could tear down the Aladdin hotel (citing a national security risk) which would offer a great center-strip location right across from the New York New York Statue of liberty and adjacent to the Paris Hotel! Ha! Take that you socialist frogs!)

Cheesesteak #1 – Leo’s

I started here because a) it was only 3.2 miles from my hotel and b) they’ve won the “best cheesesteak” award for Delaware county the last 5 years in a row. I ordered a small but only ate half due to its lack of flavor and overall dry quality. I ordered it with Provolone, which might have been the problem… Overall, a poor start.

Cheesesteak #2 – Jim’s

My online research directed me to Jim’s as one of the top cheesesteak havens in town. Here you’re supposed to order the cheesesteak as the locals do by calling out: “Heavy on the whiz!” Yes. They use (and adore) cheese whiz here... sort of like the Hawaiians and their fascination with spam. It makes no sense… but when in Rome… Actually the whiz was great and the sandwich was quite good. Lots of grease though… but I guess that’s the mark of a truly well prepared sandwich.

Cheesesteak #3 – Ishkabibbles

Normally, I would have walked right by a place like Ishkabibbles, completely oblivious to the gastronomic delights inside but I had the dumb luck of meeting a native Pennsylvanian at a friend’s superbowl party the night before who highly recommended it. To top off my cheesesteak trilogy, I ordered a new variation: steak, white American, onions and peppers (yes I took my Zantac earlier this afternoon). And the verdict? Perfection! Each bite seemed to wash my conscience anew. I felt like a new man, delivered from the yoke of my culinary digressions.

I can now attest to the restorative powers of the most holy of dishes; the Philadelphia cheesesteak (well 3 cheeseteaks in 2 hours to be exact). Yes, I feel like a new man. Albeit a man with a newly clogged left ventricle (is it possible to actually FEEL cholesterol depositing itself to your arteries?).

Now…If only I knew what the Bible says about gluttony…

Rose Bowl 2006

I have to admit. I didn't deserve to be at the Rose Bowl. I WANTED to be at the Rose Bowl. Boy did I WANT to. But deserve? Hmm...

How can anyone deserve to be handed two beautiful, lovely, shiny rose bowl tickets? I haven't been THAT good this year. Certainly there are more deserving people than I?

But here they are... "People paid $3500 for tickets just like these." I think to myself.

Hands begins to tremble.

"Very rich donors have invested big dollars... for 35 years.... waiting for this opportunity... and couldn't get tickets."

Sweat begins to bead on forehead.

Alan.... remind yourself to thank Carol Baker for brokering this transaction...she has worked a miracle for you.

And so my day begins:

8:40 AM: I wake up. Vision of sugar plums and crystal national championship trophies dance in my head. My head is groggy and my blood sugar is all jacked up from the countless grams of poor quality carbs ingested over the last 3 weeks. I can feel my pancreas. It is cursing me.

9:02 AM: First sip of coffee. Take that pancreas…you little bastard. I eat some whole grain goody two shoes cereal that my mom has in the cupboard.... Blood sugar levels stabilize… why am I so growly this morning. It’s national championship day yo!

10:29 AM: On the road to the IE (Inland Empire for all you out-of-the-loop Texas folk) Liver now starts hurting. I wonder. “Is this because I’m turning 31 and my body is well on its way to an early death? Or did I just drink too much in Vegas on New Years?”

10:47 AM: I pick up a bottle of Champagne at Trader Joes in Redlands. Presumptuous? Maybe… but if I can get Rose Bowl tickets then ANYTHING can happen.

12:01 PM: Limo is now officially late. I’m agitated. Blood Pressure Rises.

12:03 PM: Limo arrives. Heart attack avoided. Now in good spirits again. Emery, my brother-in-law and LA sporting event compadre, and I hop in the white stretch Lincoln and depart from his house on our Grand Journey to the Rose Bowl.

12:33 PM: We take a quick detour off the hwy to one of the few L&L Hawaiian BBQ’s on the mainland. Hot Dogs and Potato Chips are for amateurs. There’s nothing like tailgating with Chicken Musubi and Raw Ahi Poke!

1:38 PM: We pick up Dax and Stacey at their burnt orange bungalow in Burbank. Yes, they’re hardcore horns fans. Surprise! They contribute home made taquitos and appetizer meatballs to the mix. The party has officially started.

2:44 PM: We are stuck in the ass that is Rose Bowl game day traffic. We are becoming agitated and some of us have to pee. I watch ants scurry along the ground faster than the car is moving. Desperate scalpers and fans meander through the cars looking for tickets.

3:31 PM: I experience the agony and the ecstasy of a Rose Bowl portable toilet. Note to self… find a bush next time.

3:55 PM: We meet up with some friends who hired a bus to shuttle them, their 25 companions and a whole slew of tailgating accoutrements to the game. We enjoy a “pre-game nerve-calming beer” with them.

4:16 PM: We fight through the crowds massed around the gates. Wow! I notice the sea of orangebloods in attendance.

6:15 PM: Game is underway… It’s surreal… very exciting/nerve-racking. A small cluster of us honrs fans gets into a shouting match with some old fart USC Alumni who are whining that we won’t sit down in front of them. Seems they forgot they were at a football game…errr, a NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP football game. Sad really… the effects of senility…

7:10 PM: Halftime. Horns are leading… good game though. Both teams came to play. Score isn’t as high as I was guessing… expected another touchdown or two in the first half, but no matter. Our team showed up. Goody. It’s marching band time… Now THAT’S entertainment!

8:54 PM: 6:42 in the fourth quarter and USC is up 38-26. Ugh. My head starts hurting. So much scoring on both sides… but USC has done it a few more times. Doesn’t look good.

9:25 PM: UT Wins!!!! Oh my gawd! The greatest game I’ve ever seen… Vince Young is amazing! UT 41. Heisman winners 38!

10:10: Finally get out of the Stadium… Post game festivities begin…and so does this entry. “The eyes of texas are upon you…”

Not moving to So Cal (just yet)

So the big decision of December 2005 is that we're not ready (just yet) to move back to So Cal. Of course, everyone thinks we're crazy. Maybe "crazy" is the wrong word. Mad! is a better adjective (in the British sense of course).

So for historical record, let me lay out the details of the legendary mistake we are about to make so that everyone has ample opportunity to help us make the correct decision before it’s too late.

1. There has been an extraordinarily generous offer made to us involving a gorgeous house at an unbelievable price.

2. There are multiple, potentially (very) lucrative, career upgrade opportunities that have been laid out in front of us… but require us to move to So Cal.

3. All of our family units have made it abundantly clear how much they would like us to be within driving distance to them.

4. We happen to agree with said family units that it would be quite cool to live within driving distance to them.

5. Melissa and I have decided that the next great adventure in our lives requires a miniaturized version of us (hopefully with Melissa’s dominant genes). This of course brings up the conventional wisdom that it is gobs easier to manage a child (i.e. dump the kid off at grandma’s house) while living in close proximity to the fam than it is to try and do it solo in some God forsaken cowtown like Austin, TX.

6. Oh, and don’t let me forget that California is chock full of fun things to do like Snowboarding, surfing, various motor sports that require dirt roads and knobby tires, Star Gazing (the Brad Pitt kind… there’s obviously too much smog in the air to see the swirling mass of hot gas variety), Disneyland and earthquakes.

7. And friends! We really really like our friends (Big ups to all our So Cal friends who are reading this).

A rational person would look at this list and say “golly Alan and Melissa” what the heck are you thinking staying in George Dubya Bushland USA? Do you really want to be known as a Red Stater? Even worse… A REPUBLICAN? (foreboding music fires up in the background).

But alas, we never claimed to be rational. I mean we’re evangelical Christians for Buddha’s sake! How could anyone ever confuse us for rational human beings. Now sarcasm? That’s another situation altogether. Sarcasm is OK. I’m fairly certain there are plenty of references to the holiness of sarcasm in the bible… at least the translation that I read…

Y’know… it really comes down to one thing.

There happens to be a place where you can get really good margaritas down on South Congress Street.

Sorry family, friends, career and house.

Drunkenness wins.