10.19.08. In the old days Reagan speech- writer Peggy Noonan was a hero to young conservatives; now she is a miserable disappointment, and doing her best to get Obama get elected. How is the country going to benefit from more taxes and a neutered army? This doesn’t surprise me though- Noonan, surrounded by the Soviet red county constituents of New York City, has been captured by the other side.

And Colin Powell’s decision today to back Barack is another example of phony conservatism. Powell dismisses the Ayers ties as a scare tactic and irrelevant. The scum who attempted bombing the Pentagon and then later hosted Obama’s coming out party is irrelevant? Another turncoat of Americanism… Alec Baldwin is correct Sarah Palin is way hotter than Tina Fey.

10.14.08. Overkill on the job, need to take a personal furlough, recharge the batteries. That was something they taught you in track training, tapering, relaxing- give yourself some time to breathe. Figure I’ll need to buy a pair of track shoes, once a runner. Haven’t touched it for a decade, but you can’t leave it behind- it’s a part of who you are. Like biting into an apricot and recalling when you were 10 years old in Los Altos hills. I always liked that Halloween the best in Los Altos, they really got into it. The multipurpose room was decorated for the times. Each year Ms. Marley’s sixth grade class was responsible for decorating. Those were the days when you had to have something for everyone in the class. Write out their names too.

9.28.08.For three years, I took no genuine pride in my labor. I was busy complaining how it sucked and I was fed up and this was just a stepping stone to something better. This year, I’m investing more time in the career- planning, execution, follow through. Totally engrossed in the labor and I feel better, cleaner, like a man of honor. It’s a good feeling. Still the same old problems after three years but at least now I’m pulling my weight.

About Newman, I admired his ability to age gracefully best. The guy was a cucumber under fire and he never colored his hair or pumped his cheeks with botox like that prettyboy Redford.

8.28.08.I want to see a man of color in the White House but not because it would be a superficial change from the 43 presidents we’ve had in our nation’s history. I want him there because he earned it through experience and judgment and that’s why I can’t celebrate and weep tears of ecstasy after Barack, the Messiah’s, speech in Denver. If America votes on appearances and false promises alone, Barack will be our next president. He is better looking than the old white guy and he can read from a teleprompter. Barrack can raise millions of dollars by pledging “change” and “hope.” The problem is that you can’t elect a politician on his words and promises. A politician will lie to your face to get your vote; on the campaign trail he’s like the frat boy who’ll say anything to get into the cheerleader’s skirt.

You must examine the politician’s accomplishments, his associations and his record before selecting him to be your leader. Looking at Barack’s record you can tell he does not have the experience or judgment to be the 44th president. Four years in the US Senate with the most leftwing voting record in modern times, don’t qualify you. Opposing the Iraq war and defeating Saddam Hussein don’t qualify you. Being dear friends with proud terrorists like Bill Ayres and hate mongers like Reverend Wright don’t qualify you. Insulting George Bush and Dick Cheney after they protected us from another al Qaeda attack for 7 years don’t qualify you to be the 44th president. So even if Obama is our next president, I won’t celebrate. He’ll have to earn that respect by being more like McCain.

8.18.08.China, the gold medal leader, don’t look like they can be stopped. Jamaica ends America’s chances to balance the check book on the track and with the States lacking competitiveness in lifting, shooting, badminton, and other contests no one cares about, there’s a very slim chance we will beat China in the race for gold dominance in Beijing. When’s the last time China commanded the medal race? What a year, and the Chicoms have not trailed since day one competition. Meanwhile in the glamour events it’s all about the Yanks: swimming- 40 medals and human dolphin Phelps spitz shattering feat. Kobe and Lebron stomping Spain after the exposed chinkgate scandal. Gymnastic girls from Texas and the Midwest edge out the Chinese girls. And two sisters from Compton take the doubles.

All week long the spotlight has been shining on that Baltimore phenom Phelps and his big boned mom who shares a striking resemblance to another plump mother of a winning American gymnast. And it’s funny, just goes to show that your parents can be walking ads for Dunkin Donuts and you can still be a world class Olympian.

After a week of play, China has proven the media wrong, they are putting on a memorable olympic games. Aside from a few stabbings, and free tibet banners, you don’t see much in the way of a disastrous event. 20 world records were broken at the water cube on account of a fast pool and nasa designed swimsuits. Lightning bolt grabs a 9.69 hotdogging it to the finish on a fast track. Even the marathoners did not complain about the smog in the air. All signs point to an olympic games for the ages.

8.09.08. I watched the first 20 minutes of the opening ceremony from the couch and surprisingly felt a lump in my throat when the representatives of 50 regions came forward with the red flag singing the Chinese national anthem. It’s funny how pa has lived here 30 years and still roots for China every four years. The Olympics will do that to you, have you cheering for your old stomping grounds and that which forms your current identity. You look at the American team, different by its 31 flavors composition and its unrivaled prosperity. A breed of people raised on freedom, keeping what you earn and earning what you are willing to work for. In America if you’re not lazy, you can go far. That’s not true in the other 200 nations competing for Beijing medals.

Of the many competitive sports, participating in the Olympics has always been a boyhood fantasy of mine. Running through the hills of Los Altos, I envisioned wearing the jersey of the stars and bars and obtaining glory in museums and history books along with 600 other teammates of the nation’s finest physical specimens. Then afterwards, bitterness grew in my heart over spending too much free time caught up in achieving perfection as an athlete. I could have learned the guitar or been an actor or written novels was the argument and been all the more balanced. Once an athlete, the thrill of killing an opponent at a contest by mere inches or crushing him mercilessly under by thumb was an addiction I could not overcome during adolescence.

8.03.08.My internet don’t work right Sunday evenings. The roommate says because everyone in the building is using the net Sunday nights and it jams the signal which sounds like a load of crap. My last place in Santa Monica never had that problem, not in Silverlake or Hollywood either. So what’s a do- it yourselfer going to do. Well he ain't going to sit on his duff, you can count on that. At the Arclight gift depot they have a range of humorous and inspirational refrigerator magnets and there was a John Wayne one I saw I was partial to. Johnny was riding a horsy and the words said something to the effect, “ fear is never half so bad when you face it.” This is the type of fortune cookie advice you clutch when the bible is on the other side of the room. It is hot and muggy in the city of angels, at least in this room. Dripping, sticking, fan whirring blowing everything off my workshop desk.

7.22.08. Matthew was in China for a year, he greeted Brian and me at the doorway with a handshake. Pa led us in a prayer of gratitude in the den; they said it would never come to be. It did. It was only a few days together and we still managed to fight about dumb things, as is my habit, over wearing shorts to church and camping in a bookstore. You try to recall the lighter warmer moments, dining out at Mario’s by Moffet Field, and having gramma bring out a complimentary plate of pasta “for the boys.” Watching the son toss pizza dough in the air over the fire stove. I didn’t get a photograph of the five of us, left the camera behind, but who needs pictures with a memory like mine?

Ma revealed her health problems and we prayed about that, kinda sorta. There’s the roof and the holes in the ceiling. There are dentists who drill holes in your good teeth and neglect the rotten teeth. There is retirement denial.

We went to Yogurtland, and tried the kahlua and the mochi, the taro root. Made a burger at the compound, fingered a les paul at guitar center. Suppose I could have went with Brian and the parents to pick up the car in Alameda, where Edlyn has a new house... Squid and walnut shrimp at Yan Yans on Judah- we've been eating there for 25 years. God Frisco will make ice cubes of your private parts! Caught me off guard walking down Haight Street how frigid and grey it is near the Kezar Stadium. Pretty rockers in scarves and mittens in Amoeba.... And De Young museum across from the Aquarium in Golden Gate Park; ran into Brian’s friend and husband. Everyone sees wedding bells these days.

7.13.08. An old trick I learned in Silverlake- a neighborhood walk after supper with 15 minutes of daylight left over. A hint of lavender around the last puffy clouds still in the darkening sky. Walking helps you digest, and think clearly, bubbles of reflections… I’ve been living my last three years like a gypsy never at an apartment longer than a year. Cooking and cleaning is no big thing… Ward cleaver makes a much better father than Jim Anderson. June is a fox and a loving mother, but she could get a part-time job… Tom Hall and Ernest Tubb won’t ever go out of style; just wish you could still buy their records somewhere…

An interesting background on the Wayfarer- like the Telecaster and the Les paul, the wayfarer has a storied tradition in American history. They were made popular by Audrey in Breakfast at Tiffanys and Marilyn off the screen in the fifties. Brought to you by Bausch and Lomb at the request of an airforce pilot general who complained that the blinding light of the skies had ruined his eyes. Old Douglas Macarthur always had a steel-framed prototype on, and for just 150 dollars you can have your own pair of Wayfarers at American rag sold to you by one of the pretty clerks on La Brea.

6.29.08.Last Friday was similar to many Fridays before- an unsettling combination of joy and sorrow. Tearing down wallpaper and stacking personal items in boxes, stretching masking tape, shaking hands and saying goodbye to people I just met and don’t want to say farewell to. Goodbyes usually leave me with the dreaded what-if questions, I hate what-if questions. You try to live your life right and avoid the what-if questions. One day you wake up and find yourself looking down the barrel of thirty and ask yourself another question- what’s it all for?

Then on a Sunday afternoon waiting in the Trader Joe’s checkout line it hits you square on the chin. You see a snotty nosed kid with boogers running down his face and sobbing in his father’s arms. The man wipes his son’s nose and tells the boy to stop crying and be a man. That’s the goal ain’t it? A child, a family, property. When you get to be 30, it’s time to stop running around; it’s time to plant your flag in the ground and say this is mine. This is my land, this is my family and I’m going to spend the next 30 years here, cultivating my land and if need be die on this land. Will that be los angeles? Never, not as long as lunatics are in charge. I wouldn’t trust the mayor to lead me across the street. So you follow the path of the patriot, join his flock and rest assured that you go to work for the right reasons and never have to answer another what-if question.

6.13.08.This bashful kid from suncup california, calling shots being a patton. Using a baritone and a monotone. Hum. Gravel voiced... Mary is a good-hearted colleague of mine a bright sense of humor and nothing dirty or nasty throws her off. She is full of wit and optimism and constantly offers comfort to the needy. Like sunshine. I may miss her when the office goes through this downsizing process.

5.4.08. Took my Ma and Pa to Sonora Southwestern for saturday night dinner and we almost didn’t get a seat because I didn’t know it was reservations only. Eventually they sat us and as luck would have it, we’re placed directly beside Madame Benito Mussolini. Some self righteous lib broad shooting off at the mouth about how Bush is a fascist and why she gets wet over Obama. She won't shut up and I don't have the heart to stick a fork in her arm. This I need to hear while trying to enjoy my steak taco dinner? LA is getting too much for me, I can live with and appreciate the ghosts on Melrose Beverly Brea Highland Sunset Vine Cienega Fairfax Cahuenga Doheny Wilshire Olympic Monica and Pico but it’s the politics of the city. It’s becoming unliveable the daily leftist hatred and stupidity you just can’t avoid. I’ll sit at a starbucks dumbfounded by forty year olds who want to stay 14 forever with the tatoos and the piercings and the frosted hair. All that sex and no children. I give myself 2 years tops before retreating to anaheim for sanctuary from the madness.

Anthony got me a free ticket to George Strait in Anaheim last weekend. In Texas back in the eighties Strait was a living legend. It was said every man wanted to be him and every woman wanted to do him. When he walked onto a stage young country girls would toss their panties his way, suppose he just had that effect on people. Strait has a very commercial made for radio sound about him, very different from Cash, who could be very commercial but was above all an organic spontaneous showman. Incidentally, Strait honked out Folsom Prison during his 15 minute encore. He had on stage with him a bald fiddle player, a steel guitarist, two pianists, two back up sangers, a bass, a drummer and two telecaster pickers. Wore his stetson for the whole entire show, we had the nosebleed seats but I’m not complaining. It’s not every day you get to see Strait belt out Heartland and for free. The show hit its climax with “If it werent for Texas,” a catchy number about George’s love and loyalty to the Lone Star.

The low point of the night was actually between sets, some drunk redneck who couldn’t handle his liquor tripped and nosedived 8 sections before crashing into the safety bar, drenching the poor family in front of him with the cold budweiser in his hand. But plenty o’purty country girls with cowboy hats wiggling their tight blue jeans. Can’t forget the justin boots and silver belt buckles too. Strangely I felt at home, despite sticking out like a sore Oriental thumb. What can I say, songs about the working man, and American pride still get to me.