Bed Knobs and Retirement Plans

Buying the first house, first full time job, perhaps the first time you think really think about insurance, or turn down a night out on the town to secretly stay in and watch TV instead. Something buried in these events sets off a small signal to us that the inevitable is happening: we're becoming adults. I write tonight because I had a moment like that tonight.

No, it wasn't a house, a 401K, a baby (yikes) or anything like that, no for me it was a headboard. Yes, you read that right, a headboard.

For the past 10 years I have lived a perfectly fulfilled life without a headboard - a piece of furnture that to me serves no purpose yet you find on all "grown-up" beds. Suddenly it's not okay to have your mattress pushed up against the bare wall anymore, you instead need a large piece of furniture to prevent you from spontaneously flying through the wall. (Get your mind out of the gutter Flom) Pulling your bed out of the corner of the room makes sense as if you're hopefully lucky that there is now a 2nd person having to get out of your bed (whether or not it's always the same person is a whole seperate conversation) but a head board really is only something that is put into bed rooms to make them seem - well more grown up. When we're young, if you're lucky you had a fun bed that head a firetruck headboard or doll house head board who's purpose was to play with - but then it goes away and we go headboard-less only to have it come back later in life much like so many other things.

Well this weekend, while surfing the internet sometime after 4am on Saturday night in search of a cheap dresser I found a "bed room set" on Craigslist that included a big dresser, two side tables and...gulp, a headboard. The price was too good to pass up and now two days later I find all the items in my bed room. The side tables serve a purpose, currently filled with junk and socks, the dresser rescued me from the wire mesh stackable crates I bought for my college dorm room some 7 odd years ago, but then there was the headboard, currently in place and beginning to collect dust and make it more difficult to change sheets.

Now I know what you're thinking, this really isn't a big deal - but for a kid who still fights back whenever anyone uses the term "settle down" and who gets itchy if he stays in any city for much longer than a month, this was a big hit. I used to try and keep my belongings so I could pack my life in two suitcases and two boxes, granted that was before the piano. Sigh, and now I have a headboard. I do wish I could call my mother and tell her of my purchase, and hear her tell me how it's good for me. And like everything else she'd probably be right, however I still fear that this kid will sleep uneasy tonight with that big wooden symbol of adulthood hanging over my head - literally!

The Crap Game of Life....

After a two beer discussion with an old friend tonight at a Boston bar just off the Pacific, I sent out the following text message (a favorite movie quote) to a select few male friends and these were the replies:

Text: In the crap game of life, women are the fu*king rake, what are you?

- Im ten the hard ay. At least in my shorts.
- Pass Line
- Girl Problems?
- I'm the padded elbow rest
- Don't Come
- Boxcars I don't hit often but when I do it pays big.

Happy Friday.

Piano Lessons

Over the previous 2 month I haven't stopped moving. Every weekend, was going one way or another, completely disregarding the fact that my new job was wearing me down and I think my liver was near giving out.

It was a great run but now, things have calmed down and tonight I finally did something I've been meaning to do for a while now - I started looking for a new piano teacher. Over 10 years ago I stopped because my life had gotten too busy, and now I want to start playing again for the very reason that my life seems so busy. Taking lessons, and setting aside several hours a week to do nothing but play music sounds perfect right now and it's time I got back on that horse.

So now begins the hunt, which in this city of lost dreamers and wanta be rock stars could be long and tumulchuous (sp? - seriously, I tired to figure out it but gave up after 5 minutes of looking - it's a blog, and Steve Eddy's blog, what do you expect) but if nothing else that will be another story in and of itself.

Everything but the $9 cake

Tonight was a little different night, instead of the usual bad television and hang-over fighting water pounding ritual, I went to see a musical...in Los Angeles. A friend called me (or rather IM'ed) and asked if I wanted to go with a group of people to see "Wicked" at the Pantages. With an extra ticket left in the wings, I took her up on the offer and met everyone at the theatre for the show.

I arrived a bit early and ducked into the bar next door for a pre-show Bud. Standing solo at the bar, caught in the dilemma of tipping $.75 or throwing the extra dollar and making it a tip that is too large but not having to deal with change, I surrendered the full five for my three and a quarter beer. At the end of the bar, a group of three were doing flaming shots, and behind them a man was talking to his dog, who was allowed in because he was near the door. It was a mix of theater goers dressed up with the people who you would normally find in a bar on a Sunday night on the shady part of Hollywood Blvd.

The show was outstanding - having forgot how much I enjoy the big production value of a Broadway show, I sat and enjoyed the music, the story and the beautiful theatre. A little under three hours after it began we all headed for the street, to slowly break off in our separate directions. I said my good nights and headed for my car, and eventually across town back home. It was a great way to finish my weekend but the only thing missing was the $9 cake. For some reason, it always seems to me that after a night at the theatre, I would end up in some cafe, in which ever city I was currently in trying to prolong the cultured feeling that I was reveling in, and would end up having a big piece of $9 cake to finish the night. It was always too rich, and of course I shouldn't finish it all but I always would. It was the way you ended an evening like that - with a big piece of cake.

So that was my Sunday evening, it was a great evening but I miss the $9 cake.

Any one still here?

It's been months since I last posted, months when I've traveled several thousand miles back and forth in and out of LA, seen the bottom of far too many bottles, woken up on many mornings wishing I had gone to sleep a few hours earlier, all of this and attempted to maintain a full time job and some kind of a social life.

...but I'm still here, I just haven't been writing that much. I plan on changing that though, and will be writing more here again soon. So come round and see me...I'm back without having gone anywhere at all.