I took my baby to the first Tulare Sci Fi Con and it was everything I hoped for and more...

If you thought a baby would be scared of meeting a Dark Lord, I have news for you. He's more scared of my scraggly facial hair. As are most people who see me.

Shiloh, at the ripe age of ten weeks, tagged along with his mom and dad to the first Tulare Sci-Fi Con at the International Ag Center. Technically, it's not actually the first local sci-fi con, but it is the first to officially take place in the area in the last 15 years.

Was it crowded? Yes, and no. It's hard to gage how crowded a convention is when it's held in a warehouse that's usually crammed with massive tractors, but I saw a steady stream of Siths, Jedi's, Starship Enterprise crew members, caped crusaiders, and notorious villians. It was a veritable who's Dr. Who's of sci-fi and comic book icons.

As for us, we decided that now with Shiloh out in the open, a bursting "Alien" themed costume would've only been relevant ten weeks ago. Instead we went with the classic E.T., an idea that was thankfully simple for Shiloh and myself since I only needed to wear a red hoodie, and he just needed to be draped in one of his baby blankets.

Beth assumed the role she's best known for playing: an inanimate object. Her previous roles include the chocolate river from "Willy Wonka."

As I fanagled a way to strap the baby carrier through a milk crate, she worked her magic to paint a moon. Just so you know, painting a moon is surprisingly difficult, even for an art student like her.

Considering all the white and black paint she used, maybe she should have gone as fifty shades of grey (zing!)...sorry.

With our costumes ready we set off to explore the great unknown in the far reaches of the galaxy about 20 minutes away. Upon landing we first questioned if we were in the right place after being passed by a group of people in pirate constumes, but luckily all of our fears were put to ease immediately upon meeting...

Worf.

Yes, only mere minutes after stepping out of my car, I was able to check off an item I didn't even know existed on my bucket list: Talk to a guy dressed as Worf from "Star Trek." Let me tell you, right then, at that moment, I knew that this trip was worth all the effort.

I was there on assignment, of course. So don't miss seeing video of us on the scene:

Hey Starbucks, I'm just going to drop off this homeless guy...

Along this long and crazy road called life I've learned that there are two places that the homeless love to congregate: A.) Starbucks, and B.) Wherever I happen to be when they see me walk by.

It runs in the family. I recall my father was regularly greeted by a homeless woman along his daily commute who would fondly reffer to him by wacky off-the-cuff nicknames like "kidnapper," "government spy," or "the devil."

So it wasn't much of a surprise when I approached the front door of my local Starbucks to hear a gruffled voice behind me yell, "Excuse me, son!"

I turned around full prepared to pat my pockets and give a slow shrug of the shoulders that said, "Sorry dude, no change today." But my plans were interrupted once I was met by the sight of an old man in a wheelchair donning a large gardening hat. His wrinkled fingers gripped the wheels at his sides as he attempted to push himself forward.

The process was painfully slow, and to make matters worse, he had only made it into the middle of the intersection.

"Could you help push me up there?" He asked quite simply.

The scene turned oddly dramatic as a light rain started to fall, something unheard of lately for Visalia, CA. Somewhere, in the distance, I could have sworn a violin was playing.

I said sure and and quickly rushed out to grab the back of his chair before the next wave of approaching cars. Luckily this was at 6:30 in the morning, so the risk of danger was relatively small. I then pushed him up the concrete slope onto the sidewalk and asked, "Is here good?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, "I want to go in."

Made sense, considering the rain, but I stopped in my tracks when I noticed that the recently remodeled Starbucks hadn't updated their entrance to allow for a large wheelchair draped in homeless accessories (bags, bottles, cat scraps... etc.). Nevertheless, I wasn't about to leave this man out to face the harsh element of a light drizzle, so I pushed onward.

That was when I, and everyone else inside of the Starbucks, discovered that the front door is indeed capable of fitting a wheelchair, except only barely. The metal rims of the wheels immediately scraped loudly against the metal door frame, releasing a sound I imagine is similar to a hundred angry cats being released into a chalkboard factory. For fifteen long seconds I pushed the squealing chair inside, until I finally succeeded in placing him in a comfortable place by the window.

And it was then that I realized... no one else is going to push this guy out of here. In fact, he might still be there, inside of that Starbucks, or what now I suppose I can just call his new home. And it's been over a day.

I was going to ask if he needed anything else, but then simply nodded and said, "There you go!" with a pat on his backseat.

I then procceeded to complete my original goal of ordering my coffee. The barista gave me a strange look as he then filled my coffee cup, one that asked, "are they related or something?"

No. No we were not. But I did wonder what it would be like if I yelled, "See ya later, Dad!" before waltzing on out of the place. It probably would've been better than simply leaving without another word after bringing a homeless man inside, which is what I did. Sure, I did one of them a favor, but I'm not so sure if management approved of my good gesture. Then again, maybe it was just a push on my part to better society. Or not. I don't know. I kind of just wanted a cup of coffee.

In any case, you have a nice homeless man to take care of now Starbucks. Somebody give that guy a latte or something.

Maybe they should move the handicap space just a tad to the right...

If only I had decided to go to Starbucks after I went to purchase baby wipes. Then maybe I would've been able to see the Walgreens at the corner of Walnut and Court in Visalia instantly transform itself from a standard pharmacy into a drive-thru.

Instead, I arrived five minutes too late, and was greeted by this sight:

The entire front door of the shop had been broken inwards, leaving a pile of broken glass inside and a heap of forlorn Valentines Day daffodils crushed on the sidewalk outside.

It wasn't hard to figure out what had just happened. A car had clearly rammed into the front of the building only moments prior. The mystery was how, exactly, the car managed to ram itself directly into the door, which was fairly concealed behind a bike rack, a concrete barrier, two columns, and of course, the handicapped parking sign.

Somehow, an elderly driver had angled their vehicle perfectly to subside all of these obstructions and crash headfirst through the doorway, in a manner that I imagine looked just like something out of a "Die Hard" movie.

"Did anyone scream?" I asked the cashier as she scanned the baby wipes.

"No, we were all just in shock," she said. "But someone ended up crying. She was standing right by the door when it happened."

"Thank god no one was hurt," the customer behind me said. Her words were echoed by several other customers and employees across the the store.

After my purchase, I was instructed to walk backwards through the checkout isle to avoid stepping on the broken glass, which again, if this was "Die Hard," I would be doing in my bare feet. Thankfully, my laces were tied.

Meanwhile, the employee sweeping up the mess was interrupted by one of the passengers of the vehicled that claimed the entrance.

"Could we borrow that broom for a sec?" The woman asked. "The front of the car is covered in glass too..."

They must have cleaned up fast, because by the time I exited the building the car was long gone.

I did however get to see the manager on my way out as he was busy roaming back-and-forth checking on employees and customers.

"I could even feel it in the back of the store," He said.

As he looked at the shattered entrance he set his arms on his waist and huffed in disbelief, "Thank goodness we're open 24 hours..."

All I'm saying is, maybe the handicapped parking space should be moved a bit. I mean, just a tad further from the entrance. Sure, it's a slight inconvenience, but I can see it being a big help if it should, say, keep a new dad like me from getting flattened while picking up baby supplies.

Waiting for Shiloh -- Our Home Birth Story

I had never checked my phone more times than when I was waiting for Shiloh to arrive. Out of anxiety I would answer each call yelling, "Has your water broken yet?!"

In retrospect I assume that's a confusing and slightly scary way to start a conversation with one of my many student loan collectors, but then again, my many student loans are also confusing and slightly scary.

While I kept my eye on my cell phone at work, Beth was at home rolling around the living room on her exercise ball. It's not something she does everyday by the way, it was all in the effort to get the little boy in her belly to roll on his own into the best position for a speedy delivery.

It was unclear whether the ball had much of any effect, which isn't all too surprising considering that the only exercise I ever seemed to get out of it was ineffectively trying to sit down on the slippery sphere as it rolled out from under meI still had my fingers crossed that it would do the trick to ease make labor for Beth and Shiloh.

She began having contractions on Wednesday, but by that point they were mostly intermittent spasms that made me question whether she would give birth soon or had simply had too many bean and cheese burritos. Boy, they are delicious.

By Thursday however, my suspicions of a botched burritos had subsided, when it became clear that Beth was definitely in the process of delivering our little bundle of pooping joy.

We decided early on in the pregnancy to have a home birth, because a baby is a lot like a pizza. If you want it delivered, why in the world would you send it to a hospital and not to your own house? More importantly, home is where we feel the most comfortable. Beth felt free to move around, listen to any music she wanted, and eat bean burritos to her hearts content.

It all seemed to be progressing slowly. Nevertheless, our doula Avira graciously arrived early to provide support, and I mean that rather literally. As far as back support goes, Shiloh didn't make things easy for Beth and despite all of her efforts to get him in the right position, he really seemed to want to cram his body into a position that made Beth's lower spine writhe in agony.

Having someone in labor in the same room with you isn't all that fun when you realize that there's not much you can really do for them. Apart from giving back-rubs, all I could do was just be there which, in fact, was the best support possible. Beth's mother Margaret also arrived by this point, and simply having her there was a great comfort.

In between the moments of calm conversation, our doula would step in to ensure Beth was as comfortable as possible during contractions. As the hours stretched on the four of us walked around the backyard in an attempt to speed up Shiloh's progress. We were even joined by our cat Wolfie, who seemed to enjoy weaving between Beth's feet as she slowly waddled back and forth in the grass.

We were surprised by Beth's calm demeanor and were left unsure as to whether her ability to casually converse was a sign that her labor wasn't intensifying, or if she really was just that much of a trooper despite her discomfort.

To be sure, we call our midwife Alex. On her arrival she seemed to be equally uncertain as to how far Shiloh had trekked over the hours, but after doing a double-take during her examination, she said with certainty that Beth was between 8-9 centimeters dilated.

Yes, Beth really was that much of a trooper. She had apparently breezed through the "transition" phase of labor, the phase in which apparently every wife expresses her innermost resentment for her husband.

I was quite pleased to hear the news.

In an instant we got to work filling the birthing pool. Filling a pool indoors is no easy feat by the way. If you don't believe me, just do what I did and hold up a hose to your kitchen faucet. It doesn't fit. Even with adapters I found at Home Depot, I couldn't quite make the connection. So I performed my first fatherly duty and wrapped it with duct tape. It seemed to do the trick just fine.

Beth transferred into the pool as the assistant midwives arrived and was shortly given the go ahead to start pushing, even though she clearly didn't need much approval. Shiloh was definitely on his way, but seemed to be slow in gathering his things before heading out the door.

Despite the sad groans, Beth continued to stay strong and cheerful. She took time inbetween big pushes to take sips of soup, water, and the occasional popsicle, but as the time continued to pass and progress seemed to level out, Alex encouraged a change from the birthing pool to our bed.

Beth was not a fan of this idea. I can only relate because I hate stepping out of the shower on a cold morning, but that's of no comparison in the case of someone who's also delivering a human being at the same time.

Again though, Beth is a trooper. She stood up slowly and grabbed onto my shoulders for support as I gradually began to guide us down the hallway.

Beth often complained of the sheer weight of carrying a baby, and as she stopped in the hallway for a contraction, I completely got to experience it. With all her might I could feel her press downwards towards the floor. Her fingers dug in tightly to my collar bone and then moved lower as she moved into a squat.

It was there that another contraction hit, and suddenly we all realized that the bed was no longer as enticing as a location as that hallway for childbirth.

As I struggled dearly to hold back my wincing from holding up Beth, she again held onto me, this time specifically onto my leg hair through my jeans. Clearly, she was the one in the most discomfort at the moment, so I cried especially quietly as she plucked out handfuls of follicles with a loud groan.

She took another breath, the last big one in 32 hours, and pushed.

"There you are little boy!" Beth exclaimed as she pulled Shiloh up and held him close in her arms.

In between our midwife, our doula, Beth's mom, and three assistants, all crowded in a hallway, Shiloh greeted us for the first time at 1:21 a.m. on January 17th, 2014.

It was surreal seeing him out in the open, realizing that this little guy was real, alive, and ours for the rest of our lives. No words can properly describe what it was like at that moment, to actually see him blink and feel his hands and toes that had teased us from beneath the surface of Beth's growing belly over the previous months.

Beth passed him into my arms before she finally completed the long journey to our bed.

Birth stories always glance over the messiness of the after-birth, but I think it's worth mentioning since I really had no idea how much of a process laid ahead of us.

While I was gazing slack-jawed in wonder at our new baby boy, Beth was in bed getting stitches for a few tears. Our midwife was concerned over the amount of blood Beth had lost, but Beth was cheery as usual, if not incredibly tired. I briefly went to the kitchen to get some water, and while I attempted to remove the wad of duct-tape I used to attach the hose for the birthing pool, I noticed a sudden burst of activity.

Suddenly midwives were scattering in and out of the house from all directions.

"I've got the oxygen tank," one said as she lugged in a large metal canister wrapped with plastic tubing.

I wandered back to the bedroom in a confused and exhausted stupor to find Beth lying on her back in the middle of the bathroom floor.

It was a sight that immediately had me worried, but I was surprised to find Beth perfectly relaxed and still conversing with Alex who was standing above her.

I was informed that while Beth was transferring to the bathroom the blood-loss caught up to her and sent her crashing to the floor. She had woken up immediately, but Alex informed us that if Beth continued to lose any blood a trip to the emergency room would be in order.

Much like the birthing pool, Beth felt perfectly fine where she was laying, but nevertheless our team of midwives managed to roll her onto a blanket and carry her back to the bed.

Thankfully the bleeding seemed to mostly subside, but Beth was still in for a long recovery. For the next couple days she remained frustratingly confined to our bed as she downed bottles of iron supplements to make up for the pints of blood she lost.

While we waited for color to gradually return to Beth's cheeks, we spent the time in bed cuddling with our son. In the early mornings I would wake up and sway him back and forth in the living room, wandering from corner to corner to find the most comforting spot.

And his favorite activity these days? Bouncing on the exercise ball. Go figure...

Buy my new berk!

If you haven't noticed, this Awkward Unicorn has been grazing about in other pastures as of late, which is to say I've been pretty busy watching Netflix, not mowing the backyard, and attempting to keep the rear plush of my corgi well groomed (he hates brushing). On the positive side it's given me the chance to finish and self-publish my novel: Haven. It's a sci-fi fantasy book for young adults that involves lots of time travel, space travel, regular travel, and staying put travel. It's a real wham-dingus of a journey through time and space and the most rockin good time you'll have this side of the mississippi. Seriously though, I think it's pretty cool. Be sure to buy a copy of it through paypal so I don't have to give Amazon any of my hard-earned monies (and so I can sign it too!).

Thanks to everyone for your support! Best, Zack (The Awkward Unicorn)

Alright Boys, Let's Roll

Lately I've been trying to reach my full potential, so I made a gif this week.

Check out the t-shirt too on Threadless

25 Years of Movie Magic

It's been quite a journey, but as of June 30th I've arrived to see the 25th year of my life. As my birthday gift to the world I've unearthed these gems that Nick and I made back in our golden days of living in DC. I considered posting Nick's nature documentary "Call of the Wild," a five second epic chronicling our cats behavior in the litter box, but the world might have to wait. In the meantime let's enjoy these glimpses into the past.

Back On The Stand Up Scene

Wow. I just realized I really failed to deliver on my resolution to post more on this site. If it helps though I decided to get back into stand up after a very long hiatus, so you might be able to at least catch me on stage.

Last night I performed at All Pro Pizza, a little pizza joint here in Visalia California. Check out my short set below:



I'm still working out the rust that's built up over time and have some kinks to get through, but I'm glad for the experience and am excited to dive right into it. Look close and you might notice that at some point in the video above I reached into my pocket for my little paper with notes and realized it was gone. Kind of threw me for a loop, but having it was more of a comfort thing than something I really wanted to read off of. Thanks for the support and stay tuned for more!

New Years Resolution

I decided my resolution this year is to actually write on this blog more. Seeing that it's already January 6th, it's about time I finally made due.

Last night Beth was trying to figure out how to have her hair cut, and being as technically savvy as she is, she found a "virtual makeover" program on Elle Magazine's Website. Considering that my other resolution is to be more active with my wife's interests I decided to support her in doing it myself.

Hence this little doozy featuring myself with Sarah Jessica Parker's hair:

Not unlike Fabio actually. Except with less eye-liner.

Shortly after showing this to Beth she was kind enough to inform me that I take enough of an interest as it is, probably too much of an interest, and she recommended I delete any evidence of this lest it would appear on the internet, specifically this blog where I'm posting it now. Happy New Year Everybody.

Felicity and Time Travel

Well, it finally happened. Beth and I finished watching the entire series of Felicity. Now before you silently judge us, in Beth's defense and my shameful, shameful, guilt, it was actually my second time through. What can I say? I was a freshman in college and had a lot of things to figure out, and I also liked to have a reason to skip class. Any reason.

"It's lunchtime and Yo Momma's on again? ...Who needs Theology anyways."

If you don't know what Felicity is about, it's basically a girl who goes to college for four years, works at Dean and Deluca, and repeatedly breaks up and gets back together with the same two people over and over again. If you're wondering how a group of guys I knew in college were watching this show, one possible reason is that I knew a lot of closeted gay people back then, the other reason is that J.J. Abrams helped create it. That's not to say the show is filled with smoke monsters and polar bears, but there is a lot of drama and at some point somebody gets hit by a bus.

I should also mention that Matt Reeves, the maker of one of the best movies ever made, also worked on the show.

The problem with Felicity, I realized, is that the show apparently kept going way longer than I actually thought it did. Whereas whatever I watched took up about two weeks of classes, Felicity on Netflix can take up to a month. Each episode is an hour long, with twenty four episodes to each season, and each season spanning a year in Felicity's life. Essentially, I felt like I was at college all over again, and it was still a long, excruciatingly dramatic experience, with a few exciting moments thrown in where somebody gets hit by a bus.

I was surprised to discover that at some point towards the end of the series the show still had four episodes left after every single loose thread was already tied up. At this point I assume J.J. Abrams took back the helm and did what he only knows best, which of course was add time travel. So spoiler alert people: Felicity travels through time. Just like Urkel did at some point in Family Matters, with the the obvious exception being that Urkel did all sorts of crazy crap and Felicity was based in the real world where people went to school and worked all day at Dean and Deluca to pay off student loans.

Now anyone who knows me can say that I'm a huge fan of anything related to time travel, and am certainly willing to fit it into any show, especially if it involves robots of some sort. But here I had a problem. As opposed to doing something important in the past, like make tons of money and actually go to classes instead of watching reruns of Yo Momma on MTV, Felicity instead chooses to do exactly what she did before and repeatedly break up and get back together with the same two people over and over again until she screws with the space-time continuum enough to start killing people on accident. This could have been cool, but instead is just confusing because, again, the show wasn't Family Matters and Felicity isn't able to drink a potion and become Cool Urkel Stefan.

"Yo Mamma's a cool Urkel -OOOOH! You just won cash moneee!"

Not that it ruined the show or anything. I still have fond memories of watching Felicity in a dorm that reeked of mildewed ramen noodles, and enjoyed seeing it a second time in my new room which pretty much smells the same sometimes. Now that it's over, it's time to move on and see what else Netflix has in store, which I really hope isn't Family Matters. I guess moving on is really what Felicity was all about.

Melancholia - Movie Review

Melancholia
*****

Split Melancholia in half and you have the beginning of a rather slow chick flick and the conclusion of the best science-fiction guy-movie you'll ever see. As one who would kind of like to see if Mr. Darcy is about to be consumed by a giant planet, such a premise fascinates me.

"M'Lady, I do believe we're screwed... Shall we retire to the rumpus room?"

Part one begins with the wedding of Justine to Michael (played by Kirsten Dunst and Alexander Skarsgård, respectively, otherwise there would be a man in the bridal gown which belongs in a different kind of art film altogether). It's unsure to say how much of their relationship was based upon mutual feelings or economical factors, even though everyone appears to be wealthy. Although they do seem to have their fun beforehand, things soon turn sour once they reach the mansion. Amidst Justine's quarreling parents who were previously divorced, Justine's anxious sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), and obscure business dealings, the marriage itself becomes background noise. The relationships are rather complex, and they're not made easy to define. It's a kind of confusion that works though. Justine wonders how she got there herself, and her subsequent choices define the darkness that she enters. Meanwhile, far above them, a distant star is giving it's last breath.

Part two takes place some time later in the future, when the wedding is a faint memory obscured by Justine's profound sadness. She mopes around the mansion as her sister Claire attempts to care for her, despite distinct distain from the both of them. They are brought together by an approaching blue planet named Melancholia, which is expected to graze Earth's path and then wander off. It's expected to because who would imagine that it wouldn't? Claire's husband (Keifer Sutherland) is sure it won't, which comes as a comfort to Claire, at least for a little while.

Depression is something that we see as a weakness, something to be cured. The film is in two parts to show us a perspective from the other end of the spectrum. Happiness can come with overbearing weights of expectation, while depression can offer that freedom that comes when there is nothing left to lose. In one part, one is strong, in the other, one is weak. It's strange how in the face of the ending of the world neither of them change all that much, but it's interesting in how they come to understand that. This is one of the most beautiful films I've seen, both in the way it is composed, and in the way it makes you feel. You're left with that feeling for a long time, and even if you don't necessarily like it I guarantee that you'll be thinking about it for a long time to come. See it.

Say Meow Again - A Journal Entry From Little Zack

When I was little my family did a lot of traveling. One year in particular we had journeyed to France, England, and (what some may consider to be less exciting) the mid northeast of the United States. Fortunately much of this was chronicled through daily journal entries. I seemed to enjoy writing mostly about what I ate each day, which appears to be numerous meals at Mc Donald's. It was a magical time.

This entry I found is particularly amusing and involves my cat Furball, who liked to make a dramatic display whenever we were about to leave. I should note, it has the best ending line ever. I think I might use it more often.






Here is the entry nicely typed (typos included):

"Columbus, Ohio

11/18/1996

A few days ago I went to Maryland, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Ohio. We got a late start because my cat was up a tree. My whole family was going crazy! First my dad tryed to get her down by a hose of water. It shot up like a bullet except the cat went higher. Then my mom tide a string to the cats muffy mouse. My mom started saying see see mouse yea. But it didn't work. Then my sister started meowing. She went Meowwww. Then the cat came one step down. Meow again said my mom. My sister went meow. It didint work. No it was Meoww said my mom. Evry one went in side because it was the first snow of the season. Then the cat got lonely. evrybody was looking at the top of the tree throug the window. No whan could see the cat up the tree. But evry one thoght that the Cat was hideing behind the branches. I looked at the ground then I saw a cat hiding in the snow on the ground. evry one else was looking at the top of the tree. I said to them look the cat is on the grouned then evry one bursted out of the house. when they got the cat they fed her balone."

How To Make A Costume For Free And Go To A Weird Party

There are years when you'll spent countless hours perfecting your Halloween costume to elaborately capture your style, sense of humor, and vast knowledge of internet memes. And then there are years where you end up looking like this:



Most of what we have here are remnants of old costumes Beth's parents had stacked in the garage. Some I suspect for their animals.

Our dear friend Trevor was visiting from LA and decided to stop by after kicking back a few brooskies with his old man. Did I spell brooskies right? In any case, he was in the mood to find some authentic Visalia Halloween parties to go to, and realizing that we're never invited to any said Halloween parties, we decided to crash one that our friend was invited to while wearing disguises.



I'm fairly certain Trevor's costume is just an alternate reality version of Trevor, with some homeless/rockstar/Hagrid from Harry Potter thrown in there too. I meanwhile am a little bit more of a mystery, but Trevor and Beth noted that I'd fit in pretty well in some of the weirder scenes of the movie Eyes Wide Shut.

I think Beth stole the show though as a rebellious cross-dressing Amish person.



The party we attended turned out to be somewhat more disturbing than our costumes. Upon arrival we were met with blazing music, and I have no memory what the house looked like from the outside due to the fact that the lion mask I was wearing is carved from wood and has extremely small eye holes.

Once I had removed it I realized Trevor was missing, which was odd because we had literally been inside for no more than five seconds.

Stranded in the foyer we could only stand awkwardly silent while people asked who we were.

Luckily we found our friends who were waiting in the backyard. Their Dr. Who costumes showed a certain amount of time and effort our costumes clearly lacked, and yet, I'm still proud of us.

Eventually we were reunited with Trevor who admitted to making a straight b-line towards wherever he could find alcohol. His reasoning was that he was going to get a free drink or two before anyone kicked us out. And if that doesn't describe Trevor then maybe this picture will:


It's kind of why we love him.

Abandoning Trevor to his punchbowl of orange-flavored liquor, we left with our friends to a quieter porch in a different part of town, where we could make chit-chat without having to stare at a random guy who passed out on a lawn chair. Overall, I would say it was a success.

And so I leave you with a festive pumpkin I modeled after our cat who keeps peeing in the shower.



Happy Fall Everyone!

A Little Bit Of Spray Paint Art

One day while I was over at Max's he showed me his ways of making spray-paint stencils. Although I still didn't really know what I was doing, I did manage to make what I have below. Beth thought that her resemblance to Cleopatra was a bit unsettling, and I think that's why I like it best.

Dinah: Defender of the Cat Door

YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

Adventures In Portland

My trip to Portland began with the purpose of a job interview and gradually evolved into making Halloween decorations with my brother-in-law John. One thing I know about the guy is that he's a very accomplished conversationalist and is capable of speaking on an expansive range of topics covering anything between the film "Dude Where's My Car?", the social life of lumberjacks, and even the sordid history of a local restaurant-turned-porno-shop.

"You know why it's called the One-Eyed Cobra, right??" He said laughing, as he drove me from the train station, along with his mother in the front seat next to him.

After a 17 hour train ride and a case of overwhelming allergies, I wondered if anything I was experiencing was real. When I found myself stuffing a clown suit with plastic bags, I accepted the random nature of this strange new universe.

John has always makes a personal goal to top whatever seasonal decorations he had on his front lawn the previous year, much in the same way he monthly tops his voicemail message with a new theme. When I first approached the house it was guarded by a group of ominous black shrouded creatures creatively fashioned out of trash bags and wire. There were at least two disembodied hands and feet within eye-sight at all times, either laying on a grave or hanging in a tree.

"The goal is to literally scare the piss out all the little kids in the neighborhood," he told me.

The clown suit I was stuffing was a costume John had purchased on sale but realized was one size too small. Being resourceful, John makes use of whatever materials he has around. Even christmas lights came in handy for turning his shrub into a giant jack-o-lantern. His plan for the clown was to have it hanging from a noose over his driveway.

I traced an old pair of John's boots on a large piece of foam he had refused to recycle for this specific purpose. Surprisingly I didn't need to exaggerate much, and he cut them out and spray-painted them green for the clown's feet. Then we got to work on the head, which was a repurposed plastic skull we covered in painted duct-tape to imitate flesh.

While we did this he told me stories of "Uncle Sam," a Special Forces Marine who lived before there was such a thing as a "Special Forces Marine." His accomplishments included diving into a frozen lake to retrieve a dead body, locking a drunken wife-beater in the trunk of his car, and again locking a bartender in his own freezer so that his underage boys could have a drink. Such a legacy.

My job interview hadn't gone great, mostly because it wasn't much of an interview. Despite my attempts to arrange a meeting in advance there was no one for me to really meet with and I was told they wouldn't be hiring a new batch of employees until the next month, or possibly next year. I did, on the other hand, get a few free cups of coffee, which was a nice consolation prize.

Feeling the need to accomplish something on the trip, I applied to a Good Will store for a shift supervisor position, which I didn't expect to do but found myself feeling good about.

Before my trip back I spent the morning watching John tie a rope to a bottle and repeatedly attempt to throw it over a tree branch without damaging any of the cars in the driveway, which proved to be quite a challenge. He lovingly named the clown "Herpes" and hoisted it up into the air, it's decrepit face grinning to all who pass it, or look out their second floor window.

Whether he's telling you about his old foul-mouthed co-workers by the docks, biker gangs in Montana, or Elvira: Mistress of the Dark, John always seems to have a topic to wear the hours the away. I felt as though I was quiet for most of the trip, but with John around not much needs to be said. Uncle Sam has his own stories, but it's a guy like John who people want to talk about. Now I have some stories of my own.

Boxcar Children

If there's one thing I've learned from taking the train it's that I never need to talk to anyone ever again. If I'm there, people will talk to me. Take for instance my seat companion Tumbleweed, a very nice self-identified hippie from California who hopes she'll be reincarnated as a house cat someday.

"You know what raccoons really like to eat," She said, "corn. They love the munchies."

This, for once, was a conversation I was actually very much interested in.

Tumbleweed was traveling from Eugene and Portland after visiting friends and family. I'm not really sure who was friends and who was family because everyone was referred to as brothers and sisters. Knowing that this in turn made me a brother was kind of cool. I once tried calling people this for a week in college after watching a bunch of LOST episodes with that Australian guy, but sadly could never pull it off.

"I just got back from my sister's place." Tumbleweed told me, speaking very quickly. "Man, I couldn't get out of there faster, you know she ditched me at the bar last night? Yeah, just hopped in a car with a bunch of guys. Her fiance's gonna be pissed. I was pissed too, some girl bought a nugget from me last night for 20 dollars and this morning I realized it was a one dollar bill."

As the conversation turned to this I began to realize that people are really very complicated. Or at least their lives are complicated. They themselves are just happy if you listen about how complicated their lives are. Take for instance the sweet elderly man who told me about his extended family.

"My son, I just don't know what his problem is. He has all sorts of issues." He told me. "And he's a psychologist so you'd figure he'd be able to fix it himself."

Then other things are just downright scary. I was exiting the train in Sacramento and watched a young black girl run screaming out the doors. She and her apparent boyfriend were running in circles, and I wasn't sure it was some sort of weird game until he outright punched her onto the curb. Once the security guards swarmed I was told by another passenger that it was an argument over a cellphone. I spent the rest of the time waiting for the next train in the brightest lit area possible. Had I still had my car keys they would've been poised and ready in case I needed to defend myself. Somewhere deep within me I hoped I had absorbed some knowledge from the self-defense segments on Nate Berkus.

For the most part though people just want to get along. I was sitting in the lounge car when a woman started praising the Bloody Mary's Amtrack serves in the cafe.

"The forest is so pretty!' She said, "It's a real shame those people out there are spoiling it with their above-ground pools."

In a way, I had to agree.

"I'm not a hippie," She sang, "I'm just trying to adjust."

I'm not really sure what that one meant, but it sounded interesting.

"I can't wait to get off this train and self-medicate." She continued.

I smiled, nodded, and put on my headphones although my ipod had run out of battery long ago.

Once she had enough she retired to her seat, but meanwhile, outside the window, rolling fog revealed trees, rivers, mountains, through tunnels and over bridges, against cliff walls and under boulders, and just kept moving until someone else took my place. I'm sure whoever it was had something else to say as well.

Travels With Furball

The first airport security guard to stop us was a friendly older gentleman who wanted to make sure we weren't trying to take too many carry-on bags with us to the gate. I pointed out that our extra bag was actually carrying my cat.

"Oh my!" He said happily, "and what's it's name?"

"This is Furball."

"Herb-all! Well it's a pleasure to meet you Herball!"

"...Right."

He bent down to look Furball in the eyes but she was too busy quickly whipping her head from side to side to see the crowd of people walking through massive x-ray machines and putting bags onto small conveyor belts.

"Now I do notice that Herball here isn't asleep." He said.

"Yeah, she's pretty old so we weren't sure if it would be a good idea to drug her up." Furball has been my cat since the 3rd or 4th grade. I'm 24 now and am unfortunately too lazy to figure out how old that actually makes her, but her papers say 13. How exactly veterinarians figure out cat ages is a mystery to me, but my wife thinks it probably has something to do with rings around the tail.

"Well good luck Herball!" The old man said.

We continued through the line until we got to the next security checkpoint, at which the man checking our tickets immediately started to sneeze.

"We have a cat with us," I said. "How exactly does this work?"

The man continued sneezing and said, "Well that explains it." Blowing his nose he continued, "You'll have to take her out of the carrier and walk through."

This terrified me.

Furball has become notorious throughout my family as the cat that likes to scratch everything, especially faces, mostly children's faces actually. How exactly this ancient cat would react to a strange world of loud noises, x-ray machines, and massive flying machines was something I wasn't eager to discover.

We walked up to the next line. I was stopped by another security guard and I leveled with him.

"So the Turkey hasn't really kicked in yet," I said, "And honestly, this cat has really sharp claws. Can I just send her through the x-ray machine anyways?" Secretly I just really wanted to see the image of a deranged cat skeleton show up on the tv screen.

"You could, but I'm not sure if it would come out the other side." The man replied. "That said, I ain't chasing after no cat."

I sighed, shook my head, and after taking off my shoes and belt, I started to unzip the cat carrier.

She definitely didn't want to come out, and immediately upon being released she dug all of her claws deep into my shirt.

"Yeeeesh!" The security guard said, suddenly backing away.

Furball has over the years lost small patches of hair leaving her at times looking like a wild animal. I imagine walking through security in bare feet, sagging pants, wearing a ragged shirt, while carrying a very scared animal, that I looked somewhat like a refugee. How nobody threw spare change at me is a mystery.

Luckily, despite a few minor scratches, we made it through, and Furball was more than happy to hop back into the carrier once again.

The entire flight went without any major incidents, mostly because the sounds of a baby crying and a scared cat are oddly similar. The Indian man next to me didn't even realize he was sitting next to an animal until we were about to land.

Now Furball is officially a California cat, and no matter what, has lived to see both coasts of America (which I consider to be a major achievement for a feline). Who knows where her adventures will take her next, especially considering she has already ventured underneath a pile of firewood in the backyard where I had to struggle to get her out. It's nice having her around, and I wonder what she must think of grown-up Zachary and his strange world of airplanes and dogs and other cats, but I think she likes it. She definitely likes it better than being called Herball.

One of those faces

Beth and I had spent the long weekend dog-sitting in Los Angeles and decided that we should take a short break to visit our friend Jehoaddan. She, along with her husband, had just purchased a quaint house in Highland Park and was in the process of moving. After a quick tour the three us began to walk back to her apartment. It was then that a car pulled up behind us and someone from the front seat yelled “Hey!”

My initial reaction when someone does this in Los Angeles is to curl up in the fetal position, in the same manner you would during a grizzly attack, a tornado, or a marathon of What Not To Wear. In this instance the "Hey" was so friendly that we turned around and smiled. We discovered that the greeting came from a young man wearing glasses sitting in the passenger seat of a car, with a girl next to him as the driver.

Immediately I recognized him as my friend Thatcher, who I once shared a bathroom with during my freshman year in college and had since never really had a meaningful conversation with. Probably because of said bathroom. The fact that we both had to hear each other doing our business while studying kind of put a damper on things. Still, knowing he had recognized me made me feel somewhat special, so I responded enthusiastically “HEY!! How’s it going?!”

“Hey,” he replied, "um, it's going good."

Oh Thatcher, I thought fondly, always so awkward. That guy is high-larious.

“Good to see ya!!!!” I said back, waving enthusiastically.

“Hi!” Beth chimed in, also recognizing him as her friend from Visalia.

Then Jehoaddan, with a slightly perplexed look, came forward and said, “These are my friends Zack and Beth.”

Suddenly I realized that this guy wasn’t in fact my friend Thatcher, but actually somebody who I had never met before in my entire life and now was probably trying to figure out, at that same moment, how he could have possibly known me. Did we run into each other once at a bar? Were we in the same homeroom in high school? A neighbor perhaps? Good thing I didn't mention we shared a bathroom.

The guy smiled, nodded, and sat quietly for a moment while deeply in thought, before slightly shrugging and following it up with, “Well I'll see you later!”

The girl in the drivers seat promptly drove off.

Jehoaddan turned to me and asked, “Did you meet him at our wedding?”

For a moment I considered saying yes, just to spare us all the embarrassment, but realizing that I didn't actually go to their wedding, I bit my lower lip and admitted, “No. I have no idea who that guy is."

"Really?" She said. "But you seemed so friendly."

Beth too gave me a perplexed look.

Suddenly I realized that in the moment that I said hi, every single person on that street was trying to figure out how exactly anyone knew anybody else, to the point of making up entire false memories. To everyone there, that guy and I already went way back.

"Well, if it makes you feel better," Beth later told me, "He probably thought you were on crack."

Somehow it actually did make me feel better.

I think the next stranger I'm running into is getting a hug.

Song Cover of the Day

Eef Barzelay, you win every time.



Beth and I actually e-mailed him to attend our wedding. And He actually responded. Our cat Georgie Fruit, in some sort of drunken stupor, almost emailed him back with "BBBBQBNZ," or, barbecue beans for short. Well here he is with a cover of Neutral Milk Hotel's In An Airplane Over the Sea. (via: torre)
Yes.