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ashes to pheonix

A small crowd... read on and you'll see.
The problem with burritos is the non-homogenized nature of the ingredients. You inevitably end up with uniform strata of the varied component parts. This effect is particularly bad when the layers are arranged vertically down the length of the tortilla-tube. Horizontal layers aren’t as bad, as you still stand a fair chance of getting a wee taste of the sum parts in a single chomp (the likelihood of which varies as an inversely proportional relation to the diameter of the burrito). Vertical layers, however, are wholly unacceptable. Taco Bell’s 7-Layer Burrito is almost always layered vertically. This means I may go several bites and taste nothing but tortilla and sour cream, or tortilla and refried beans. It’s just not good. I would like to open a burrito joint where the would-be burrito eater chooses their ingredients, all of which are then placed into a rock-tumbler for thirty seconds before being emptied back into the tortilla and rolled up for consumption. I could call it La Casa del Burrito Uniformemente Distribuida, or something equally catchy.

I’m going to talk music now, you can skip ahead four paragraphs if you’d like.

Several times over the years, I’ve read about Brian Wilson’s “lost” masterpiece – SMiLE. Conceived as a follow-up to the much-acclaimed Pet Sounds album, it was never properly released back in the day. Over time, I’ve read so much about the legendary album, the mystery and tragedy and brilliance of the whole affair. A few years back, I downloaded what was said to be the “definitive” bootleg assemblage of the album, and wasn’t terribly impressed. Then again, I really didn’t give it much of a fighting chance. See, I’ve never been a Beach Boys fan. Like any good music-lover, I can appreciate the songwriting, masterful harmonies, and clever arrangements… I guess I’m just not a “surf music” fan (unless we’re talking Ventures and Dick Dale type guitar stuff). Anyway, I shelved the Smile bootleg fairly quickly and didn’t really revisit it.

Then this year, Brian Wilson re-recorded, or re-assembled, or re0something’d the entire project. Flowery praise flowed in heaps from the critic-collective: finally the masterpiece as Mr. Wilson and Mr. Parks had intended it, as it would have been had he not had a complete breakdown back in ’67. Some even dared to compare to the unequivocal best album of all time, the more swoon-prone of the lot even going so far as to say SMiLE may in fact best said sergeant and his band.

The album was entirely “rebuilt”, largely by recreating existing bootleg versions of his original tapes (which he lost long ago), with re-recorded vocals. That alone is interesting to me, since it’s then fair to say that had not the criminal bootleggers been so diligent in stealing and preserving every snippet of the original tapes – Mr. Wilson may have not been able to complete this project. That’s another thing altogether though, but I guess we know where I stand on archival music (bootleg or no).

Anyway, the point of this what-was-to-be single-paragraph discussion of SMiLE is simply to say: now I know what all the fuss was about. Listening to this recent release, it’s clear this album is amazing. Re-recorded or not… it’s an outstanding effort, complex and lighthearted. It makes me want to bust out that old bootleg version, and hear it as it would’ve sounded back then – when Brian’s voice was still 24 years old and not all funky-slurry sounding like it is now. But still, as a mind-bendingly time-stretched effort, conceived in the halcyon days of the summer of love, and finally recorded in 2004, it manages to triumph despite the odds. Four paragraphs again where there was to be one… it’s just the topic of music… close to my heart. And if you could only hear “Surf’s Up” from this album… you’d know why. Thanks for listening.

OK, I’m done talking music. Back to the other-kinda-stuff talk.

Tonight I finished up digitizing the prank phone calls for the “box set” project. I have a few more random cassettes to encode, but for the most part it’s done. Now I have to split the 45min-long WAVs into individual tracks… which will be tedious. The participating members of the prank call collective and I hashed out details for the eventual production of the long-planned box set. We’re going all out: pro silkscreened CDs, a real “box” of slick glossy cardboard, professional graphics and production, and a collection of period-piece photos and mementos included in the extensive “liner notes.” We’ll each be contributing to a “background” writeup on the calls and music, so when the thing’s done it’ll look like it came off the shelf at Best Buy (at least, that’s the pipe dream right now). Why, you ask, when we’ll only make perhaps 5 or 10 copies? Because to us, the material is worth of the care. Dumb as it may be, I love those tapes… and have always wanted to give them a proper place in my music collection.

Also tonight, I watched bits and pieces of Control Room, a documentary that follows the Al Jazeera and their coverage of the war in Iraq. The main point of the film is to focus on the perception of the war, and the differences in the way different media organizations report things that ultimately effect that perception. From what I saw (I was running back and forth to the back room flipping cassettes over and building a new MAME hard drive for the Pac Man cabinet upgrade project, the latter being something I don’t think I’ve mentioned here yet), the movie looked really interesting. Anyway, a buddy of mine had it at work today so I borrowed it for the 30min it took to rip and burn a copy. Eventually I’ll sit down and watch the whole thing, but definitely check it out if you’re interested in the whole western/eastern viewpoint gig.

Tonight is the Dears show downtown. Glad to see Sacramento pulling a few more good shows of late, I like it a lot better than driving to the city. The last time the Dears were in town, we caught them at a very small club where the audience turnout was absolutely pathetic. A generous estimate would put the entire crowd at about 30 people… so we figured that would be the Dears’ last visit to Sac. For whatever reasons, they are trying their luck again. Hopefully the turnout will be better tonight (Friday), and hopefully they’ll play some stuff of their forthcoming new album (which hasn’t leaked yet… ahem… mp3 pirates… I’m waiting).

Wow, lotta writing today… and you know it’s gonna be a good entry when the 1st sentence is, “The problem with burritos is…” I think it’s time to hit the sack though, 11:30pm here and I’m pretty much hooked on this read-a-few-chapters before bed plan.

Dave out.

Posted on

my kingdom for a pagerank

Damn... this heart burns for you baby.
Work continues to be relentless, what a week. It’s 10ish on Wednesday night and the dirty dishes from our dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches are still sitting on the coffee table where we supped. Sharaun’s left the kitchen cabinet open again, and I keep glancing up at it, getting more disgusted each time. I can see a pile of trash (a pizza box, an empty Diet Coke “fridge pack,” and a plastic bag) on the kitchen counter, and although I haven’t actually gone in there to look – I know there’s a pot on the stove with a thin red film of dried tomato soup clinging to the inside. Who’m I to complain though, I’m just sitting here talking about it and looking at it.

Tonight I began serious work on a long outstanding project I’ve been kicking around for a couple years. I’ve talked about it before, but back in high school we (a motley group of ragtag drunks and stoners) made some recordings. Mostly we spent our time tape-recording prank phone calls, but we also managed to lay down a fair amount of “musical” material. Anyway, I’ve collected every bit of our stuff, a pile of five tapes, and I’ve been meaning to compile it all into one grand “box set” covering our recorded career. Meeting up with members of the prank-call-crew again while in Florida last week made me want to pick up the torch again. So I downloaded some great audio-editing freeware and started capturing. I’m working with Andy and Kyle to get pictures of the prank sessions, which will serve as liner art for the CDs; and we’re all gonna do a little writeup to serve as liner notes. Anyway, I got three of five tapes encoded and cleaned up just tonight… amazing what you can do when you get down to business.

Last night I was awaken in the middle of the night. Know what woke me up? Old age, that’s what. Old age by way of heartburn and indigestion. Worse than I’ve ever experienced before… bad enough to wake me from my sleep. So as I stumbled from bed at 3am and chewed four chalky generic Wal Mart Tums, I found myself cursing the bizarre combo of apple-flavored hookah smoke, beer, and the creamy shrimp pasta that was dinner. I guess I’m thinking about age lately… stands to reason.

Another curious piece to the “hairy clits” puzzle I wrote about last week… just go to Google or MSN and search for the phrase “hairy clits,” just do it. Can you believe this website is the #1 return for “hairy clits?” I don’t get it. I mean, I realize it’s the #1 return simply because of my entry about the fact that it was one of the funny search terms that had led people to my site. See, this very paragraph… the one I’m writing right now about hairy clits… will further bubble my site to the top of the search engines for said query. Strange, but increasingly hilarious.

Saw another awesome open-source app on /. the other day, who needs a Windows Media Center PC when you can have the same for free? I really have nothing more to write, and I’m surprised I got this much anyway. Time to climb wake up my wife and move her from the couch to the bed, climb under the covers and fire up the booklight for a few chapters before hitting the hay.

Goodnight y’allz. Dave out.

Posted on

on a mushroom

Wonderland.
Work’s been busy since being back. So much so that I’ve wasn’t motivated to write about anything yesterday night, or at least that’s what I’m blaming it on. Tonight’s no better, really. It’s late right now and I want to read a chapter of my new book before going to bed. Anyway, I’m only here to unload some ones and zeros from this evening, because in my head that is a suitable substitute for writing.

Evening started out going to a social dinner at one of the larger brewpub/eateries around. Within walking distance from my house, I set out around 7pm. Walking pointedly through the cold of evening, I arrived at the party-locale a couple minutes later and a few degrees colder. The evening’s festivities were to be as a fare-thee-well meal/gathering for the Suze. We would meet, talk, drink, eat, and finally part ways with have-a-safe-flights and see-you-soons. Before that though, we’d end up drinking homemade eggnog at the Cassleman estate, and burning apple tabac in the “hookah-tepee” (read: garage):




And… that’s it. Really. I have nothing more. Might be a sparse week for writing, if this goes on. Hey, there’s a $30 charge to my debit card from some gas station in Philedelphia, PA. That can’t be good, right?

Dave out.

Posted on

out of the shadows

My sinuses are still punishing me.
Saturday night was outstanding. At last pre-sleep glance, the cellphone said it was nearing 4am, and my swimming head said it was an evening to remember. The plan was to meet up with old friends at a local brewpub, enjoy some beers and company. Turns out the chosen watering hole must be a popular place in town or something, because before the evening was through, a small crowd of old friends had amassed. People I hadn’t seen in years, people I hadn’t dreamed of seeing. It was all so awesome, seeing people, talking to people, hugging people. Everyone’s a long-lost best friend when you’re standing around outside drinking. I couldn’t do it every night, but had time and beer not beat me down ‘round 3am, I’d’ve stayed longer. I really want to write more about it, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to gush on as if it were “magical” or anything, but it sure was nice to see everyone again and catch up.

And even though I don’t smoke, I found myself having a couple “social cigarettes” Saturday night. Beer-induced smoking is a vice of mine, and sometimes I indulge it freely. So happened that this time, as I was sitting, drinking beer and smoking, up walked two girls from the past. They walked up and greeted the older, fatter, balder, me, all as I sat swilling beer and puffing pussyish Marlboro Lites. What a great visual statement I must have made on my current station in life. Not that I expect I was judged, just wish I hadn’t had a cigarette pinched firmly between my fingers as I hugged my hellos. It’s OK though, the morning finds my body punishing me for my lung-blackening moments of weakness – with the stuffy head and caved-in-chest feelings of the infrequent social smoker. Look at me… smoking, drinking, and starting sentences with “and.” I am a soul damned. Here are some ones and zeros from the evening:

Old habits die hard.

Like it was yesterday, 15 years yesterday.

Changing subjects…

Because we’re driving home from Mims, FL, I’m reminded of a good story. So, sit right back and you’ll hear a tale. A tale of a fateful trip. Four passengers set sail that day, aboard a tiny ship. They were: Me, my then-girlfriend, her mother and her step-dad. I had been dating this girl for a couple weeks, or months, or something. It was the first time I really did anything with her family. We hitched up the boat, picked up some sandwiches, and launched at the local public ramp. I think the trip was mostly a pleasure cruise, I don’t really remember the intent – other than my intent, hang out with my hot new girlfriend in her bathing suit. I don’t remember a lot of the trip, but one memory sticks out in my mind.

The boat was anchored in shallows right off some island in the river, and we decided to get out and clam. Clamming involves walking around in the shallows, waist-deep in the river, and burrowing into the riverbed with bare feet, feeling for shells. It was just her and I, her folks stayed on the boat. Which meant, for us, clamming involved making out in the shallows, searching hands obscured from sight by the waist-deep river. It’s such a fun memory for me. Feeling, and being felt, up beneath the water. Adolescence, makes for good memories.

Changing subjects…

Just arrived home on a cool Sunday afternoon. Turns out there was some mix up with the housekey we left so that the cat could be fed and her litter emptied. While not that big of a deal, the combination of fatigue and travel-wear made it a sore point for me. Already pissed, I flipped on the computer only to have it tell me one of the drives in my RAID array had failed. Great. Not in the mood, I give up and emptied the cat’s shit-brimming litter box as Sharaun picked up the nuggets she left in her favorite litterbox-overflow area of the living room carpet. Having not eaten since the pre-flight 5am meal and arriving home to bare cupboards only exacerbated my agitation. As if to seal me to my gloomy mood, the fates made this the day the TV decided that the flaky video-in jack would start acting up again.

Woe is me, what I horrid life I have! Surely I must suffer like no other on Earth, right? I mean, how could anyone, anywhere, possibly have a worse day than me? The toll of flying home from a week’s vacation spent with friends and family, arriving at the house which I own and inhabit with my beautiful wife, and now the picture on the TV is so crappy that I can barely make out the “for the price of one cup of coffee a day” kid with a distended belly and fly-filled eyes… like I said, I have it so bad. Order me a pizza before I take my own life.

Changing subjects…

Wow, wow, wow. Got home from Florida and checked my e-mail. There was one e-mail that I got while on vacation, but couldn’t open the attachments. Turns out it was from my oldest friend – Shaine. After meeting in the 5th grade, he became what I consider to be my first “best” friend. We kept in touch after my family moved to Florida, but eventually lost track of each other somewhere after high school. Later on, Shaine somehow found my e-mail address, and we got back in touch. We had a few years of sporadic communication, and then I got married and moved back to California. Somehow, we managed to get in touch again – and now we talk pretty regularly. This year I saw him for the fist time in 15 years, and even attended his wedding. Anyway, the e-mail that this paragraph started out talking about came from Shaine. I guess his mom found some old letters that I sent him, dating from sometime after I’d moved to Florida. If I were to guess, these came from mid to late 6th grade for me. How rare is it to have something like this?

As, I suppose, is to be expected of a letter to an old friend – I stretched the truth a bit to make my goings-on seem a bit more exciting, but to be honest I was surprised to see how close I stuck to the facts. The part about the fire pit and gas and singed leg-hair is 100% true, as is the part about sneaking over to “Mary Jo’s” place and playing spin-the-bottle. We were what, 12, 13? Walking the streets at 3am, 4am… insane. Anyway, the only part that’s fabricated is the part about the kissing. Looking back, I exposed my own ruse. The part where I say it was “great” because there were two guys and one girl… not exactly what I call a “great” spin-the-bottle scenario. No one kissed me, I just hung out. In fact, my first kiss wouldn’t come for another year and a half. I don’t know if anyone kissed anyone, really, for the most part I remember being bored, but excited about being somewhere I shouldn’t at a time I shouldn’t.

I wish I’d saved the letters I got from Shaine. The one I remember most came in an ordinary envelope, but had a strange bulge at the bottom corner. Upon opening it, I found a small rectangular “packet” of paper, tightly wrapped and taped for transit. Inside that packet was a solitary seed. “Mexican Redhair,” promised Shaine. Although I was still a year or so away from my first experiments with marijuana, I’ll never for get that letter. If Shaine can dig up more, I’ll put ’em here… I eat this stuff up.

One good thing about getting home, I found the new dual Bright Eyes releases leaked online. Haven’t had the chance to listen to them yet, but am excited about both.

Look at all that media!! Blog-media, may I be excused from writing? Yes, yes you may. Dave out.

Posted on

thanks

Image search, I dunno.
Noon. A garlic-flavored mouth from the leftovers I just ate. I’m in one of those perfectly comfortable moods, where all the environmental factors are just right. Full belly, rested mind, nice temperature, clean skin, all things combined to make me feel just right… porridge ain’t too hot, bed’s just the right size.

Tomorrow (today, in blog-land) is Thanksgiving, and, much to my chagrin, we will not be spending the day in the way I’d ideally spend it. I love Thanksgiving because it’s unabashedly lazy, it revels in laziness. You wake up early, eat early, take a nap, eat dessert… and later on hit the leftovers for second round. Most of the day is spent with family, either around the table, watching football, or nodding off wherever is comfortable. But no, not us, not this Thanksgiving. We’re leaving almost right after the meal to drive two hours north to visit friends. As much as I want to see these friends, I really wish we could’ve found a better time/day to do it. I’m not at all looking forward to the drive or the unaccustomed “rush” of what is normally one of the more decadently loafish holidays. Whatever, at least we’re on vacation.

Fast-forward – Thanksgiving. What a unique holiday. I mean, in gradeschool you learn about the feast shared by the pilgrims and indians, the crop’s bounty and God’s grace and whatnot. So as you get older I guess it turns more into something about “what you’re thankful for.” I still like to think about the pilgrims and crap, mostly because I just like that old-timey stuff. But, I guess it is worth something to sit and reflect on the things you have and should be thankful for. Take for instance our drive to Jacksonville right now, we just passed an huge billboard on the road that said “Thank Jesus for Governor Jeb Bush and President George Bush.” Honest. A whole billboard. So in the spirit of advertising what we’re thankful for, I’ll give it a go.

I’m thankful for a sense of humor. I’m thankful for friends. I’m thankful for family. For money. For my wife. For fresh air and warm sun and blue sky. For good music played loud. For naps. For the ability to rewind and pause live TV. For my job, which is pretty much the same thing as money… it’s a means to an end. For free time. For cholesterol medicine. For baby powder. For flip-flops. For free MP3s. For time alone. For time alone with my wife. For wordy fantasy novels and my pipe. For Halloween and Christmas, you can have Flag Day. For soldiers and sailors and pilots and a superior military. For close mountains. For simple things. For sarcasm. For dandruff shampoo and contact lenses. For cold weather and clouds and rain and days inside. For ten fingers and ten toes and all five senses.

Oh, and if you think I made up that “thank Jesus for Bush” billboard as a nice segue into the meat-paragraph… you’re wrong, it was real. In fact, a few miles before that we pass one that read “Evolution: A fairy tale… for adults,” and pointed curious passers-by to www.godisthecreator.com, or something like that. Religion in the south is an awesome thing, a powerful thing, a completely ingrained thing. It’s fascinating, and somehow welcoming or comforting. Errybody here got the Spirit y’all, errybody got the Lord in they heart – and it’s kinda nice.

Happy Thanksgiving all. Dave out.

Posted on

pickin’ and grinnin’

Arms on fire, firearms, get it?
Not a particularly exciting day in Florida, but a good evening spent with friends. Used this day to play “catch up” on all the lost sleep. Rolled out of bed around 10:30am and got ready for the day by having a healthy slice of angel food cake and a diet coke. Dang, no wonder I’m fat.

The main order of the day involved heading over to the local mall to pick up some stuff to wear at this week’s wedding. I needed a white shirt, Sharaun needed some thing she kept calling a “top,” which I think means “shirt” in dude-speak. I was kind of excited about going to the mall (probably for the first time since 7th grade), because for me it’s like going back to my old place of employment. Two years service as a retail salesman at the local mom ‘n’ pop music store in the mall, the last year or so spent with the pretty meaningless title of “assistant manager.” I gotta admit though, I loved that job. Loved helping people find good music, loved getting to show off my knowledge of music, and loved selling music. Unfortunately, that mom ‘n’ pop store was forced out when the mall went “big,” letting it’s space to only the largest chain stores in efforts to homogenize the retail landscape and increase business. Now it’s a “Scrapbook City” or some such nonsense, with reams of colored paper and rolls of cute stickers. The carpet and walls are still the same though, so it’s fun to go in and walk around and remember.

I remember I used to collect music on a “family tree” kind of plan. I’d hunt down albums because I liked a track, then find out who played on those albums. Then I’d hunt down albums those players made, and so on down the line. The method worked pretty well, but also could get a little obsessive. I’d get to where I wanted to get every piece of recorded tape that an artist or group ever made. Problem is, just because most or some of someone’s work is good, doesn’t mean it all is; in fact, there’s very few acts/people who’s entire canon is good – so that method of obsessive collecting produced its fair share of stinkers. Anyway, I don’t know why I wanted to write about that – or, I guess I kinda do. We were sitting over at Bob’s place tonight, and he was plucking some great tunes on the guitar while we sat and talked. It got me thinking, it’s not so much about the “album” or “bloodline” or whatever, it’s about the song and if it’s good. Screw collecting an artist’s catalog, I just want to hear the good stuff. Man, I’m sorry, I know this relates to nothing and is not interesting.

Been listening to the new M83 each night in the earbuds when I go to bed, excellent album. Moody and at times “lost” or “homesick” sounding. Now, I guess that could be due to the fact that I’m listening to it away from home, so some of that is my own ideas and not something the music is telling me. This and the Earlimart album are great picks for the week, and I’m glad I was able to steal them both and burn them to CD before the trip. Nice and slow and quiet and hushed and feely. Go get both, as both will surely soon turn up as theme music to some Fox or WB teen drama in the near future.

Hung out tonight, as I mentioned, with Bob and his wife. Went out for a nice Italian dinner, eating shrimp and drinking red wine all refined-adult-like. Then retired back to their place for some general chit-chat and the usual stuff. Looked at some beautiful vintage firearms, busted out the guitar, etc.. I know, I’m supposed to be a “liberal,” and thereby be sworn against the evil thundersticks and the death and crime they enable… but I have an inborn attraction to guns – I think it has something to do with the engineering or design… or the fact that they can shoot bullets at things and rip shit up, not sure which. I think it actually has to do with the fact that my grandfather was a great admirer of firearms, and bought my brother and I each .22 rifles at the youngest age our parents would consent to it: 10. I still have that rifle, you think they’ll revoke my Democratic party affiliation? Anyway, the guns came out, the swords came out, and the guitar came out. A’fore too long, I found myself singing along to the chorus of meticulously-played versions of “Ripple,” “Illegal Smile,” “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die-Rag,” and others. Good time, free meal, good company.

I guess that’s all I have to write. I really like the way the pictures from today’s (yesterday’s, when you’re reading this) turned out – I think they convey “vacation” really well. I’m gonna try and post some more pictures this week, after I manage to get some snapshots of a few more interesting things. Look for it.

Dave out.

Posted on

the deep south

As the Lord sayeth, so shall my moms doeth. Hopefully...
On the road to Orlando, spent the entire hour-plus drive doing that nasty bit of outstanding work I mentioned yesterday. That’s fine really, made me feel all Jetsons, driving down the highway on a laptop; got several perplexed stares from bearded rednecks in old trucks spraypainted camo for hunting. Not really, but they probably really do think I’m from the future… or “fancy” or something. Working at Sharaun’s folks’ place was a nightmare, dialup isn’t even internet, as far as I’m concerned. I managed to check some e-mail, and decided I’d had enough. I surfed the web to look for a wireless hotspot, free or not – just needed something close. Turns out I was out of luck though, as the wireless internet apparently hasn’t come to my old home town yet. Not a hotspot for 20mi. If they passed a law to affix transmit antennas to all rebel flag back-window decals, trailer homes, and shotgun racks- they’d have the best coverage in the US. And again, I kid y’allz… Florida is rad.

Now it’s midnight and we’re driving back from Orlando, all the stoplights are late-night blinky. I’m even more dead tired than I was earlier, and just want to crawl into bed. Got my work-work done on the drive over here before dinner, and now I figured I’d get the blog done on the way back. I’ve got this tiny headache in the front of my head, I’ve had it ever since the flight out – and I’m pretty sure it’s just my brain telling me I need some sleep. 57% battery on the laptop, so this isn’t going to be a particularly long one. I will, however, spice it up with some photos to pad it out. Speaking of, here they are:




Florida beach through scrub.


Tyler commanding the expidition.



Launching before the sun.


How much better than an alarm clock?



Not a computer to be found.


The morning’s only catch.

I’m thinking tomorrow I may try and head down to snap some pictures of old haunts, which is something I really wanna do while I’m here. I also want to cruise by the old house and check it out.

My dad called me early this morning, California time, while I was trying to take a post-fishing nap on the couch. He started out with the same chat, then all of the sudden asked me if I remembered when my mom’s birthday was. “I know it’s in November,” I said. I’m bad with remembering things, dates especially. For some reason, my folks’ birthdays are something I never managed to store in non-volatile memory. Knowing that, I have “reminders” set on all my computers, and my cell phone. The reminders pop up and tell me who’s birthday it is, and that I should send them a card (they give me about a week’s lead time). The cell phone reminder goes off on the day-of, as a “last chance” reminder so I can call if I somehow missed the two computer reminders.

Well, this year, I switched e-mail clients, and the portion of Outlook that used give the reminders has been eclipsed by Thunderbird, which I hadn’t setup reminders on yet. So, I missed the computer reminders. Then, Sharaun accidentally took my cellphone instead of hers one day, and it happened to be my mom’s birthday. The reminder popped up, but she forgot to tell me about it. And, that brings me to today… where my dad tells me that both my brother and I forgot to send my mom a card for her birthday. Ugh. How crappy must that be? A card from everyone but your two sons. I even called her a few days afterward, and talked to her like any other day… making it painfully obvious I had completely forgotten.

Well mom, I’m sorry. Sorry that I have to set reminders instead of knowing, sorry that I missed the reminders, and sorry that I forgot. I love you though, even if I am bad at dates. Forgive me this once, and I promise I’ll do better next time, OK?

Dave out.