A tribute to my friend and former co-worker – Jordan. Sorry I wasn’t around to say goodbye and celebrate your last day. Now I remember how boring this place was before you arrived. I suppose we’ll always have In-N-Out… My nostrils will never be the same.

Most people bore me. They either lack character, intelligence, a proper sense of humor, or some combination thereof. I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve met who posses a sharper wit than I do, but Jordan is one of them. Balanced by a general reserve that suits him so well, the juxtaposition is harmonious.

Nobody makes me laugh like Jordan. His sense of humor has brought forth some of the most foul, rude, harsh, shocking, amazingly beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed. Seeing him lean out the window of his BMW and yell at a blonde female pedestrian, “PARIS, I SAW YOUR VIDEO!” is a treat indeed.

He likes a good discussion… debate… argument… call it what you will. But he’s got the heart of a lawyer (which explains the underlying evil) and it’s fun to watch him in action. I’m interested to see where life takes him, whether he’ll go back to school or just build from here. I know his future will include great things.

More than mere humor and talent, he’s got style. The consummate metrosexual, after whom the word was coined, I am certain. Jordan is without question the best dressed man I know. He’s also a gifted athlete, whose personal training know-how has helped me often.

Jordan is a gentleman – rare indeed. I have been surprised, and even shamed, by the depth of his character. He is kind and thoughtful, gentle and feeling, and extremely trustworthy. I’m glad to know him, and I wish him the best always.

June 30th, 2004

Unkempt eyebrows are one of my pet peeves. Being half Armenian, I’ve learned a lot about taming my own unruly brows. So when I look around and see so many people whose appearance could be so greatly improved by a little eyebrow maintenance, I just have to speak out.

Offenders tend to fall into three main categories:
The monsters, the fakers, and the almosts.

Monsters are easy to recognize. They resemble the taller of the gay Sesame Street duo – Bert. Like a giant caterpillar crawling across their forehead. Unfortunately, these people are better off with a weed whacker than a Tweezerman. Older men are especially prone to this fate.

Fakers are a fun bunch. There are those who just don’t have enough eyebrow hairs naturally, and then there are those goths and cholas who shave them off entirely. Then they all draw something back on that looks damn silly. They’re the ones with that permanently surprised look that even botox can’t fix.

The ones that really tick me off are the Almosts. They’re those normal, or even good looking folks who could kick it up a notch – BAM! – if they would just get off their lazy butts and put a pair of tweezers to some good use. I don’t know if it’s crazed indifference or a lack of beauty education, but they just don’t bother. What a shame.

It drives me nuts because although I’m sitting there really trying to listen to them, I can’t help giving them a makeover in my mind. Now I’m no authority on beauty, but I imagine how much better and more expressive these Almosts would look without all those stragglers. I’ve seen some beautiful eyes all but ruined by messy brows.

If eyes are the windows to our soul, then eyebrows are the frames. Think of how much you communicate to the world just by lifting one. Consider for a moment – What are yours saying?

June 29th, 2004

It’s the last Saturday in the month of June, and there’s no better time to make our first evening trek to the beach. Actually, we should have done it sooner. It’s tradition, after all. We often leave around 5 pm because it gives us time to play while avoiding the hustle and bustle.

I know I’ve said this before, but we’re so lucky to live where there’s so much natural beauty. It takes less than forty minutes to transport our toes from the cool green grass on the front lawn to the soft warm sand on the beach. And there’s absolutely nothing like a Southern California beach.

Beach bums know the evening is the best time to hit the sand. Pack a picnic dinner, lay out a big beach towel, enjoy your meal, then play in the water for a while, watch the sunset, and then sit back and enjoy the shimmering moonlight on the waves. That’s life at its best.

June 26th, 2004

My favorite translation of 1 Corinthians 13…

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but do not love – I am nothing more than the creaking of an old gate. If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all His mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump” and it jumps, but I don’t love – I am nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love – I didn’t accomplish anything. So no matter what I say, what I believe, or what I do – I am bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up
Love cares more for others than for self
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have
Love doesn’t strut
Doesn’t have a swelled head
Doesn’t force itself on others
Doesn’t put itself first
Doesn’t fly off the handle
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others
Doesn’t revel when others grovel
Finds joy in the revelation of truth
Puts up with anything
Trusts God at all times
Always seeks out the best
Never looks back, but
Keeps going to the end
Love never dies!

We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog; peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright. We’ll see it all then, as clearly as God sees us, knowing Him directly just as He knows us!

But for right now, and until that time, we have three things to do which will lead us triumphantly toward that great day of completion: Trust in God steadily – Hope incessantly – Love extravagantly …And of these three, the best by far is to LOVE.

June 24th, 2004

My father was kind enough to allow me check out a few titles from his classic movie collection. I’m on this Archie Leach kick and oh how sweet it is. What a hottie. And to think that he came from virtually nothing… I love it. “Everyone wants to be Cary Grant,” he said, “Even I want to be Cary Grant.”

So I’ve got quite a line-up to watch over the next week or so: To Catch A Thief, Bringing Up Baby, Charade, My Favorite Wife, An Affair to Remember, Suspicion, North By Northwest, and of course, The Philadelphia Story. That one, I watched immediately. That blessed movie almost makes my life seem normal. Thank you, Katharine Hepburn.

This is turning out to be quite a week – my mood, my work, my marriage, everything seems to be in the shitter, swirling around, refusing to flush. It makes me want to crawl into bed, pull the covers up over my head, and cry myself back to sleep. Yet each morning I somehow face the new day hoping for the best. I’m a complete fool.

Here’s a metaphor for this sick and twisted week. Enjoy.

June 23rd, 2004

Most of the time I blog about somewhat entertaining yet meaningless things, and it’s usually because there’s something else burning inside of me, just not yet ready to be released. If you scroll through my posts you’ll see they are like fireworks popping off… But then there’s the occasional bomb. Well, I’ve got one that’s ready to drop.

I’ve been thinking back on the most painful moments of my life, most of which involve some sort of abandonment by those who proclaim undying love. And I realized that there’s another level; something that bothers me even more than the loss. There’s a second denominator that eats away at me, and makes it even harder to heal… being misunderstood.

Words cannot describe the frustration of having your words, actions, and intentions misconstrued. My mind understands that the way others interpret me has more to do with who they are, and little to do with me – but my heart, my stupid heart, it aches to be understood. It hates being lied about. It screams for the truth to be known and believed.

Jesus knows what I’m talking about. He ended many lessons by saying, “For him who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Because he recognized that you can lay out the truth but some will only see lies. They will call pure love pure evil, just showing you who they are.

I can hear Blake saying, “It’s not about you, baby. Don’t take it personally.” And he’s right. I consciously agree, but deep down I’m sobbing. Because it means that nobody knows me, and that there’s nobody like me… and I feel so foreign and alone. I never had the opportunity to share because they never had ears to hear.

June 22nd, 2004

Normally I try to spare you the boring details of my daily life, but I’ll make an exception today. On Wednesday my throat wasn’t feeling so keen, and as it turns out, by mid-afternoon I was feeling just wretched. It turns out I’ve got a case of what my doctor is calling “sinusitis” – I’m calling it a gnarly fever, with accompanying joint aches, a killer sore throat, impenetrable congestion, and sinus pressure that causes lightning bolts of pain to randomly shoot across my brain.

For three straight days I enjoyed various stages of delirium. Writhing and sweating in bed, never sleeping for longer than an hour at a time. Now twenty-four hours into this series of antibiotics, it appears that I’m finally on the mend. But naturally, my life is never that easy. Today I got my period, which means time to bust out the heavy duty pain meds. Basically the aches and pains from my hundred and two degree fever have merely migrated south. Good times.

I had planned a wonderful family trip to Sea World this weekend, with complimentary VIP tickets and a special breakfast, for the premiere of their new Journey to Atlantis ride. So not only am I miserable, but I’m also missing out. So I packed up everyone’s snacks and lunches, told them to blow kisses to the dolphins, sea otters and penguins for me, and sent them on their way. Then I figured I might as well use this time alone to view some movies that only I’d want to see.

So I headed to the nearest Blockbuster and rented some truly sappy and retarded shit that only I’d watch. Thus far I’ve watched one of three, Love Actually… and I was surprised at how much it tore me up. It wasn’t that the movie was so great, some of the messages just spoke to me. Especially the one with the ten year old boy who played Liam Neeson’s son. I’ve been crying for far too long over this movie.

Must be another one of those sucks to be a girl moments… or PMS. Or maybe it’s just that I love love. Now would that be love squared? I’ll try and write more later. Time for another nap.

June 19th, 2004

Did I mention that I collect bento boxes?

I think they’re marvelous. Especially the delicate black lacquered ones with traditional asian designs. Mmm-hmm, beautiful… And difficult to track down, even in this land of plenty. My best finds often come from the famous Rafu Bussan and other shops in Little Tokyo. Sometimes I find something amazing on eBay, but it’s rare.

One of the coolest things about the bento (or obento) is the culinary tradition. There are seasonal menus; the Japanese are very into the different seasons, and they would almost never serve the same dish in spring that they would in winter. Take a look at the extremes some Japanese moms go to when creating their kids’ lunches. Unreal!

Back in the day, I was happy if my mom slapped a slice of bologna and american cheese on a slice of bread. Wow… a Capri Sun… is it my birthday? Seriously, if we weren’t eventually poor enough to qualify for free lunches at school, I think my brother and I would have starved to death. Maybe that’s why these lunch boxes warm my heart.

P.S. As tribute to a friend, I must say: If the plural of ox is oxen – shouldn’t the plural of box be boxen?

June 16th, 2004