DirecTV: Sometimes It's Good

I don't watch as much TV anymore. As much. Notice that those two words are there. I could never be one who boasts about not watching TV. That's a choice, not an accomplishment.

In the living room, we have an ancient Tivo that requires resetting sometimes once a week, mostly every two or three weeks. We're not going to switch it out for a new model because it's a bitch to get DirecTV to do anything, and also it's useless to get a new model when we're not going to use it anyway, being so close to summer and potentially moving.

The ancient Tivo, however, is useful for things like the free preview DirecTV gave of their Choice Extra channels, which includes Boomerang (It's Hanna-Barbera heavy, but it is nice to see Popeye on there, too) and the Documentary Channel. Also free Showtime channels, and this has been going on from last Sunday. It'll cease after Saturday, but what a buffet to be a pig in! Better that than the buffets in Vegas, which I have no complaints about, being that they present actual food which is hard to find in this valley, but I don't do anymore what I used to do before, which was try to eat the entire buffet. I have that option with this free preview, except that I found that I get tired of The Flintstones and The Jetsons after about three episodes. I had set up the Tivo to record the entire week's worth of both shows, but that didn't last. Besides, it's not so much that The Jetsons lied to us about the cool futuristic stuff we were supposed to have, but I'm still waiting for the bad canned laugh track that's supposed to follow every single freaking thing I do. I had hoped that maybe Boomerang would air The Jetsons Meet the Flintstones before this free preview ends, but no luck, and I've wanted to see that again for years (I last saw it on videotape when I was 8 or 9). I guess seeing the Banana Splits again will have to do.

The Documentary Channel has been a boon for me. Yesterday, I saw a relatively short documentary called High Score, about an electronics repairman who's trying to achieve a record score on Missile Command. He owns the machine and films himself attempting the world record. It's one definition of unintrusive filmmaking, because with a guy like him, who needs graphics and overbearing music?

I'm psyched about seeing For the Love of Movies: The Story of American Film Criticism, which is a history of American movie reviewing. That's on Thursday afternoon. Late Friday afternoon brings Special When Lit, about the history of pinball. And then there's F..k (that's the title), about usage of that one special word that I only use on special occasions, which means not nearly every day.

The Nicktoons channel has only been useful for late-night marathons, usually four episodes, of Rocko's Modern Life, Rugrats, and Ren and Stimpy. I was hoping for Doug, but I haven't seen Rocko's Modern Life in years, and ever since Nickelodeon moved its airings of Rugrats to 6 a.m., Meridith hasn't seen that in a long time.

Showtime is where I've been the happiest pig. They've got uncut, uncensored comedy specials. Last night, I finished Jon Lovitz Presents, which has him doing stand-up, as well as featuring other comedians he likes, pretty much unknown names that should be known more, but more on a middle ground. Not complete fame. I think they'd lose much of what makes them good if they had it.

There was also a special featuring Aries Spears, which I've watched most of, and even though Martin Lawrence: Runteldat isn't a special, since it was released in movie theaters, uncensored is still good for me.

Movies have been Showtime's greatest contribution to making sure that the Tivo has at least 2% free space again, since 31% is an anomaly. The other day, I saw that Flix was showing My Dinner with Andre. In widescreen. I don't get to my DVDs at all during the week, so I watched the end of it and set it up for when it airs next, thankfully before the free preview is over.

On Showtime 3 today, The Joneses is on. I thought this satire of suburban consumer culture was brilliant (I miss Demi Moore like that. She needs to keep this up), but another DVD I cannot add to my collection. I already have to get rid of others again so I don't move with too much, but it won't be so hard to eliminate them this time since I know exactly what I want to keep, and unlike last time, it isn't everything. Besides, The Joneses isn't one I felt like I needed in my collection. It is a once-in-a-while-bask-in-greatness kind of thing and now's the time again.

On Monday, May 16 (I'm usually not that exacting, but I want to get this down for my own reference too), I Tivo'd The Las Vegas Story off of Turner Classic Movies, having waited at least a year and a half to see it again. It was released in 1952 and stars Jane Russell and Vincent Price as a newlywed couple, and Victor Mature as her former lover from a few years back. This is the Las Vegas of 1952, since it was filmed in Las Vegas. I had no idea though that it would become part of my intent to reacquaint myself with all that I had ignored about Las Vegas in recent times, since there was no movement on a move. That carried over to this past Monday, which had Saint John of Las Vegas, starring Steve Buscemi, on Showtime 2. That opening shot of the gas station near the Strip, that is the Las Vegas I know. I am as comfortable on the Strip as I am on the outskirts, though at times, the outskirts tend to be more fascinating to me because if you drive those outlying areas, you can continually see the Stratosphere tower. It's a permanent reference point for driving. You use the tower to figure out how to get to wherever you're going nearby. All this also ties in to recently when I began to get an inkling that a move may happen in the coming months, and I bought from abebooks.com Sun, Sin and Suburbia: An Essential History of Modern Las Vegas by Geoff Schumacher, who lived in Las Vegas for at least two decades, and In the Desert of Desire: Las Vegas and The Culture of Spectacle by William L. Fox.

Las Vegas has all kinds of spectacle, there's no doubt about that, but I read the opening pages of Fox's book and his description of Primm, which is just over the start of the Nevada state line, is exactly what Primm is, and that it's 35 more miles north before you reach Las Vegas. Our first time driving to Las Vegas, after we crossed the state line, Mom thought that Las Vegas was coming up when she saw the lights of Primm up ahead in the dark. But at least this time it's an evolution of thought and feeling in learning more and more about Las Vegas, and not a jarring get-used-to-this-because-this-is-all-we-have feeling that comes from the Santa Clarita Valley.

I found a wonderful surprise on the east coast feed of Showtime this past Tuesday. Fool for Love, starring Sam Shepard and Kim Basinger. I haven't read any of Shepard's plays yet, but I haven't seen Shepard in anything since Voyager, co-starring Julie Delpy, many years ago on videotape (I was probably 16 or 17 then), and I want to see him in this, particularly since it's an adaptation of his play. His western United States settings suit me, since that's where I am and I know them so well. Not quite his Arizona or his New Mexico, but just that spread-out feeling.

Besides those, I've also hit upon Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai on Showtime Extreme, Life During Wartime (I'm immediately curious about anything directed by Todd Solondz) on Showtime's east coast feed, Those Daring Young Men in Their Jaunty Jalopies on Flix, and The Village Barbershop on Showtime 2 (John Ratzenberger as a Reno barber who has to hire a woman after his business partner dies, or lose the business. I've seen a few minutes of it, and the setting reminds me of San Juan Capistrano, but that's not my reason for wanting to see it. Reno is my reason. I want to know everything about my future state, and this is the way to see Reno for now).

Coming up, I'm Tivoing Funny About Love starring Gene Wilder, Christine Lahti, and Mary Stuart Masterson (Flix), Gone Fishin' starring Danny Glover and Joe Pesci (Showtime 2. I've always liked Joe Pesci and this is one of the few films of his that I haven't seen), Ride the Divide on the Documentary Channel (about a race on "the longest mountain-bike route in the world"), Brief Interviews with Hideous Men (directed by John Krasinski and based on the David Foster Wallace book. Plus, Julianne Nicholson is always very nice to look at) on the Sundance Channel, Flamenco at 5:15 (about Spanish flamenco dancers instructing ballet students), also on the Documentary Channel; The Big Kahuna, again because I don't get to my DVD collection during the week, and there's no DVD player in the living room; and Little Children, since I remember so well the devastating dramatic impact when I first saw it, and just like The Joneses, it's time again.

Whenever there's a free preview of Starz! or Showtime or HBO, I always go overboard. I find so many movies I want to Tivo and I end up deleting many of them without watching them. This is that one instance where nothing I Tivo will go to waste. And I'm fortunate to have that for once.

Orson Welles at His Tiniest

Meridith called me yesterday after work, finding a box in the school library marked "Free Books." Did I want any?

Well, what's in it?

Mostly teen books. A few vampires, things you're not likely to ever read. But there is Me and Orson Welles.

Bring that one home.

The conversation went on for a lot longer than that, since she read me every title that was there, but I'll spare you all that.

She brought it home and it's a Penguin edition, a movie cover, with Claire Danes, Zac Efron, and Christian McKay on the front, all within the enormous back shadow of Orson Welles. Its size reminds me of the promise of books, not that I needed to be reminded. It's 7 x 5 x 0.5 inches, small enough for any interested middle school student to easily carry in a pocket in their backpack and still have room in that pocket for spare change (If there ever is such a thing anymore), Nintendo DS games, and that math test with a bad grade that they so desperately need to hide. It'll easily fit behind this book if it's folded over many times.

I compared the size of it to Mousetrapped: A Year and a Bit in Orlando, Florida by Catherine Ryan Howard which I have on one of many stacks to the left of my bed, and when marveling at how small this book is, it was the first title I spotted for comparison. Just briefly, Mousetrapped is Howard's story about working at a hotel on Walt Disney World property. Give me any book that takes place in Florida and especially at Walt Disney World. I'll read it.

Placing Me and Orson Welles on top of Mousetrapped, the tagline of Mousetrapped is still visible, along with the blowing leaves of one palm tree, Howard's learner license, a "United States Space Program" badge, the bottom of the American flag, and the bottom tip of Florida on a map. Amazon has the dimensions of this book as 8.5 x 5.5 x 0.6 inches. 12.8 ounces, compared to Welles's 5.6 ounces.

I love small books. I don't mind paperbacks that are near to bursting, such as Oliver Twist, because there's so much promise that you can store so easily and not be worried that you'll pull something trying to carry it. A majority of the books in my collection are paperback. Hardcover is only when it's absolutely necessary such as Finishing the Hat, volume 1 of Stephen Sondheim's life and lyrics, Lyrics by Sting, and a few books of Charles Bukowski's poetry.

Also, smaller paperbacks invite you in more readily. I had heard of Me and Orson Welles because of the movie, knew minorly that it was a book, and upon seeing the book in this form, I want to go in. I want to see what kind of Orson Welles is in store here. I want to know what gave Zac Efron his first shot at getting out from under High School Musical. I especially like how Claire Danes is on the cover with a sunny smile, and soon Showtime will start airing a dark drama called Homeland, in which she stars as a CIA analyst convinced that an American soldier who had gone missing for so many years and has now been brought home is actually a pawn of terrorists. Now that's acting.

At Wal-Mart, at Target, it's why I always look at all the paperbacks being offered. Maybe there's a story there that reaches out to me, and what an attractive package to contain it!

I Wonder, and Yet It's Futile Anyway

I've been thinking about this all day, but am first reminded of what Bill Murray's Don Johnston said to the kid who may have been his son in Broken Flowers:

"Well, the past is gone, I know that. The future isn't here yet, whatever it's going to be. So, all there is, is this. The present. That's it."

This morning, I sent a long e-mail to Sara, a good friend in Florida this morning about plans possibly afoot to move to Las Vegas. It's been going on for at least four years now, but the rumblings are stronger than before.

I told her about my love for Las Vegas, the history, that the Las Vegas we know was started by the Jewish mafia (Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel), and though I don't condone how they worked, it's a point of personal pride for me. I love that the history is still there, and that you can feel it all around you. Boulder City was begun by the federal government to house workers building the Hoover Dam. No drinking was allowed and neither was gambling. That's still in the city charter, still active today. There are no bars in Boulder City, no gambling establishments.

The Santa Clarita Valley closes every night towards 9 p.m. It gets emptier and emptier, and is the same for parts of Los Angeles if you're not into the party scene. Las Vegas just keeps going, 24 hours a day, and you can step off and back on whenever you want. I love that I have that option and though I'll never adopt a nocturnal lifestyle ever again, that the choice is there makes me even more enamored of the city.

But throughout the day, I wondered: If we hadn't moved throughout Florida so many times, if I had had roots somewhere there, would I love Las Vegas as much as I do now? Would I have even known about Las Vegas? Would I have had a snap opinion about it like most people do without ever having been there? Vegas is wildest indoors, never outdoors. Amidst all the lights, the Bellagio waterworks, the famous volcano, there is a silence of sorts, the kind that encourages you to find whatever you'd like to do, to make the night yours. It does not move as fast as people think it does. You move fast throughout it. The city doesn't. It does provide that sense of reckless abandon with all the options available, but ultimately, it's your choice.

I don't really know. I came up with possible futures for dead actors in What If They Lived?, but I can't figure out who I would have been if I had continued living in Florida. It's not a lamentation, just an observation.

In that e-mail to Sara, I said:

"Living in Florida for all those years [19 years, from my birth to a year in at Broward Community College], I was fine. I loved it. I loved going to Walt Disney World every weekend when I lived in Casselberry [I was a tyke, mostly in a stroller at the parks], and I surely didn't mind Coral Springs and Pembroke Pines, because they still contained what I love about Florida, that even in condos and gated communities, the spirit of the state still exists in little crevices, such as the small waterway near the condo in Coral Springs that had tangles of tree branches, and sticks all around, and at Grand Palms in Pembroke Pines, you could just stand out on that golf course as the night took over, and enjoy such a vast panorama of stars with very few lights around you, so you could get the entire view."

History classes in school had Ponce de Leon, the Fountain of Youth, and what's referenced and striven for in Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides is actually my state's history. Have you ever been to St. Augustine and seen the Fort Matanzas National Monument? Did you know that Andrew Jackson was the military governor of Florida for nine months?

I want roots somewhere, finally. I feel like Nevada is where I belong. But I know that because of Florida, because of everything I saw, because of those history classes at Walt Disney World, I was imbued with a sense of exploration that has served me well, that gave me an insatiable curiosity. Every time I go to a casino in Las Vegas, on the Strip, I am impressed with the designs I see. I look around everywhere, in every corner, up at the ceiling, at all the details that were put into these places.

I think if I still lived in Florida, I wouldn't have known anything about Las Vegas. In 11th grade, an acquaintance was moving there and I thought to myself, "Las Vegas....isn't that in the middle of nowhere?" I thought it was a desolate outpost. Dad had been courted by the Clark County School District years ago, but he and Mom had the same concern, about round-the-clock schooling which would mean Dad wouldn't have gotten home from work until 10 p.m. Now, seven years in Santa Clarita, Mom wishes we had taken that chance. We could have worked out the logistics.

However, you can't change what has already been cemented. And I realize that I won't know what might have been had we remained in Florida. That's ok. I do know that I gained a sense of intellectual freedom in Florida. I was given so much, not only with Walt Disney World and St. Augustine and those history classes, but also my 11th grade English teacher, Roberta Little, who gave me Julius Caesar, A Raisin in the Sun, A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner, and The Glass Menagerie, which became my favorite play. Because of all this, when my family and I first went to Las Vegas, I went without any assumptions, without any beliefs of what it might be based on what I had heard. My only worry was when we pulled into the parking space in front of our room at the America's Best Value Inn on Tropicana Avenue, and the atmosphere felt immediately lonely, that I wondered what in the hell we were doing here. But after a few moments in the room to get settled and to put Tigger into his cage (We brought him with us because there was no one reliable at the time in Santa Clarita, and the Best Value Inn allowed pets) and turn on the TV for him, we went to the Strip and I felt better. Yes, this was for me. This freedom to do whatever you wanted, whatever you could find that appealed to you. I liked this a lot. There is no social fear here, no worry about what your neighbors might think, which isn't what life should be. I don't have it, but I can imagine other tourists shocked at the same thing that I love.

Wherever you live at the start of your life should begin to prep you for the rest of your life, to teach you things that can carry you through whatever might happen. Florida did that for me, and it's because of everything I learned and everything I experienced there that keeps me psyched about Las Vegas, that'll keep me excited when I live there. I'll handle the summer heat. Florida taught me that, too.

Smart Thinking

Tourism publications in Los Angeles aren't known for writing that makes you want to visit every attraction in the area before going back home to Ohio, Japan, Pennsylvania, or wherever you might be from. I suppose they do what's expected of them. Those who look inside each magazine find attractions that may interest them and they pursue them. Of course, there are also sturdy paper advertisements lining the wall to the right of the entrance to the Kodak Theatre shops on the ground floor which serve the same purpose.

I wish the writing was better, though. This stuff is copywriting at its most basic. You have to get people to want to visit these different places. You can't guarantee that their experience will be everything they could have ever dreamed it to be, but you have to set them off on that course, the one that puts money into the Starline Movie Stars' Homes Tour, for example, or the guided tour of the Kodak Theatre. Considering that Los Angeles is home to countless writers, so many with scripts in a drawer, waiting to become famous and with a power close to God, shouldn't there be more writers for these publications? Aren't there people who can put a few excited words together who love these places every single day, people who can go just enough below the surface to attract tourists? That's what Hollywood & Highland and other tourist-centered areas thrive on, so they should do better. I know that when people come here, they're not here to read, but a few words to get the gist of a place and to promote it well enough should always be present. These areas don't have the visual advantage of Las Vegas, so they do have to work harder at it, and that should include writing.

There is one publication I picked up yesterday at the Visitors' Center near the Kodak Theatre entrance, called L.A. The Place: Los Angeles County's Visitor Guide. There's coupons and information on attractions, shopping, and where to eat, but there is one thing included that is indicative of the area, that this city does sleep for the most part: TV listings.

It's listed on the front cover, and this is very smart. This is a monthly guide, and considering that a majority of the hotels and motels to stay at probably don't have DirecTV or any satellite service, they have TV listings for 6:30 p.m. to 12 a.m. each day in May. You won't find this in Las Vegas because that's a 24-hour culture. You pick your time to step off for a while, but that city keeps moving. TV is necessary for the tourists that stay somewhere at night. Those streets are truly empty. The Santa Clarita Valley, my area, starts closing up close to 9 p.m. each night, no matter what day it is.

Thinking about it more, maybe these tourism publications have it right, since there's also a majority of photos in each one. Maybe that's all they need. It works for their purpose and whoever wants to go to Legoland and Universal Studios and Disneyland and Six Flags Magic Mountain will get there. And then these magazines have done their job.

The Older Years

Facing away from the handprints and footprints at Grauman's Chinese Theatre, I see a billboard atop a building to my left across the street, a huge poster for Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas. I am awed by this place, the history that I perceive to be here, the concentrated roar of Hollywood tour buses, touting glimpses of the stars' homes, the people dressed up as various movie characters on the sidewalk, taking photos, taking tips.

That was April 2003. It's now May 2011. If we're still here in late August, we'll have lived in Southern California for eight years. But we have changed. And I have changed. Those handprints and footprints were fascinating back then. All those people were there, those silent film stars, those abrasive wits like Bette Davis, and I think Buster Keaton is somewhere there, too. Charlie Chaplin, if not.

Meridith and I went to see them again today, the first time since that first time. We're more mild toward it now. It's there, but for us, it's just there. It's a part of this landscape that has been with us for all these years. But there is a markedly interesting difference: Meridith took a few photos of the stars that had been installed in the years after we saw this. That first time, she took photos with a disposable camera. This time, a cell phone camera. I asked her if we had had cell phones back then, and she told me that only Mom and Dad had them.

The billboard atop that building this time was of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow for, of course, Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. Back then, the El Capitan Theatre was just a glimpse on the way to where we could board a van for one of those stars' homes tours. Today, we went to see On Stranger Tides at El Capitan, and while the organist played what sounded like every single song in Disney's history, Meridith figured out how many times she and I had been here, both together and separately. There was the Little Mermaid sing-a-long, the same for Mary Poppins, and there was The Jungle Book, and now this. That was four for me. Meridith reminded me of a fifth for her: Ratatouille. She had gone to that with Mom. So five for her. If we're still here in September, it may be a fifth time for me and a sixth time for her, since they're showing The Lion King in 3D.

That day in 2003, I think we also went to the Hollywood & Highland Center, to see the Hollywood sign from a distance on the fourth floor. This time on the fourth floor, our purpose was Soul Daddy, the restaurant concept on America's Next Great Restaurant, which became the winner of the show and opened three locations: One in Manhattan, one at Mall of America in Minneapolis, and one at the Hollywood & Highland Center, on the fourth floor. Meridith watched that show religiously, since Bobby Flay was the host and one of the judges, and he's her favorite chef. Over those weeks the show aired, she thought that the grilled cheese concept, Meltworks, might win, but then figured, after Meltworks was eliminated, that Soul Daddy would probably make it, and she was right.

It is good. Really good. The focus is on healthier southern food, and I'm sure because of the startup costs, most of the sides are cold, except for the cheese grits, and the braised kale. Mom had roasted pork, with sweet potato salad and green bean salad. Meridith and I had the same thing, baked herb chicken, but she had wild rice salad and green salad, while I had sweet potato salad and cheese grits. I love grits, probably on an equal par with books. I subsist partly on Quaker Instant Grits. There's not a real prominent taste of corn in there. There's corn grit, as you'd expect, but a taste that would be close to cornbread, no. This had that taste. This was truly a different kind for me. The cheese taste offered itself up meekly, but never shouted. I was fascinated at that near-cornbread taste, though. Meridith thought I should have gotten two side orders of grits (since the meal comes with two sides), but I wanted to try the sweet potato salad, too, which was also excellent. Dad had the country style ribs with cabbage slaw, but I don't remember his second side. It might also have been cabbage slaw, since he's big on cole slaw.

Amidst our joint reflection on all those years, looking back at our younger selves, remembering what rubes we were when we came to Hollywood too and were taken by everything around us (It's not so much that it's a sham, because in some aspects it is, but just that when you live relatively nearby (as nearby as you can get via various freeways), it becomes more and more surreal. A lot of it is a Dali painting come to life, and forgive me, because that's the only kind of surrealism that comes to mind right now), I also got a look at my possible future. Not a flash forward where I see exactly what I will become, but something to consider.

Toward the end of eating at Soul Daddy, I looked out the floor-to-ceiling window across from our table in the back and saw a blonde-haired, bright-eyed woman (late 20s, maybe) with her baby at a table just outside that window. There was a stroller, she had in front of her what she was eating, there were things on the table for the baby, and that was it. Single mother. That's what it looked like to me, anyway. A husband or boyfriend might have been along later, but I go by what I saw at that moment.

She didn't look worn down by the baby. It seemed like this baby had strengthened her, given her a strong resolve to make life worth living in so many ways.

I feel like I've tangled myself up in my words. I don't mean that she didn't have that resolve before the baby. I don't know. But there was an energy I felt from her, even with that window separating us.

The baby looked at me, the mother looked down at the baby and then at me, and she smiled at me. I thought it was because the baby had looked at me, but when the mother looked back again and smiled, the baby wasn't looking at me.

I'm definitely not ready for a baby. I know that for sure. But over the past year, after getting out of, and far, far away from, my anxiety brought on by all that weight, I've thought that I'm most happy among my books. I'm excited each day by what I choose to read. I'm continually enthused by my research for my next three books. What else would I need?

It turns out that I wouldn't mind a smile like that often coming from someone like that woman. It didn't look like there was any doubt in her eyes, and it certainly didn't look like a polite smile designed to deflect me from looking at her further. It's the kind of feeling that can carry you aloft for a long time.

I didn't feel an urge to talk to her, but as we walked away, back to the elevator to head down to the cupcake place on the ground floor of the Kodak Theatre area, I kept sneaking glances at her. And I thought, and I thought, and I thought.

I keep thinking that pursuing this might be a lot of work, that I'd have less time to read, less time to do what makes me everything that I am. Seems like an idiot notion, though. To connect with someone with the same interests, who's as equally passionate about their life as I am about mine? Why wouldn't I want to have that balloon feeling all the time?

I'm going to do this. I haven't been serious about this before, but I want to find someone. I'm 27, and I've only dated in 7th grade. Never through the rest of middle school, never in high school, and never during most of my 20s. There wasn't anything that stopped me; I just never went for it.

I don't know if it's some part of human nature that's spurring me on, but I don't care. I want to explore. I know it can be difficult, frustrating, whatever, but I'm the only one of me that I have, the only one in this body. I want to see for myself. If anything, that kind of smile would be nice to see every day.

Plans for The Rapture

Reading The Last Campaign: How Harry Truman Won the 1948 Election by Zachary Karabell yesterday, I began planning my Saturday. I suddenly had a yen to watch Swing Vote for the probably 5,007th time. Then would come the usual stop at the newsstand for The Wall Street Journal Weekend and then the library, as usual.

I went to the Fandango website last night to see what the status was of the showings of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides at Edwards Valencia 12. Meridith and I want to see it, but we figured on waiting until its second weekend in theaters for the crowds to thin out a bit.

I woke up a little before 8 this morning, and found Mom on the El Capitan Theatre website, the theater owned by Disney in Hollywood, which had just had a marathon of all four Pirates of the Caribbean movies. And I remembered that Dad had had a desire to go to the Diabetes Expo being held at the Los Angeles Convention Center on Saturday. When I first heard about it, I didn't mind going. Gets me out of the valley and all I need with me is a book and I'm good.

Mom had the right idea, though. Of course, she would go with Dad, but why should Meridith and I wait to see Pirates? And at the 1 p.m. showing tomorrow, the day of The Rapture, in which I hope to suddenly become the proud owner of a Mercedes wherever I can find one after the believers have ascended, there were two available seats at the right side of the ground level of the theater at the ends of rows J and K, one behind the other. That works for me and Meridith.

And since general admission seats are in the balcony, these seats include popcorn and a drink, but hopefully a themed popcorn bucket rather than the standard El Capitan one.

And last night, Meridith finished the now-only season of "America's Next Great Restaurant" and found that not only are one of the three locations of Soul Daddy, the winner of the show, in Los Angeles, but it's inside the Hollywood & Highland Center, right across the street from El Capitan. So we'll go next door before or after the movie to see the generally overpriced souvenirs and then to Hollywood & Highland. She told me they have cheese grits as a side, and it would be a nice break from the Quaker Instant kind I always have.

I don't think the end of the world would affect Hollywood much, though. It's pretty much a godless place, but I say that because the Big Bang Theory t-shirts offered at the souvenir shops in the area are too expensive. I want another Sheldon shirt, but not for $25. I was a rube when I visited the area in April 2003, but I wasn't that much of a rube.

A Universal Beauty

It's 1994. Bill Clinton has passed a year in the White House. I keep playing Sheryl Crow's "Tuesday Night Music Club" over and over, and it becomes my favorite album ever. In that summer, I become fascinated by the concept of a double feature, when the South Florida Sun-Sentinel has an ad in the Lifestyle section that says, "Come for Angels in the Outfield, stay for The Lion King." I've never seen restrooms so crowded in between films at the GCC Coral Square Cinema 8 in Coral Springs.

Somewhere in that year, April or May, I'm at Universal Studios Orlando with my family; a one-day visit. It's the day after my part in a bowling tournament, the reason we're in Orlando from Coral Springs, 4 hours south. I didn't rank high enough for the next round, so here I am, at a better deal, since the most fun I got out of that tournament was the big arcade at that alley, causing me to nearly miss my turn twice. I love bowling, but that was one instance of boredom.

We traverse pretty much the entire park. E.T.: The Ride. The Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera. Kongfrontation. Nickelodeon Studios, where we sit down to watch them tape three opening challenges on "Legends of the Hidden Temple" for separate episodes.

At one point during the day, someone comes up to us and asks if we want to take part in a survey, what turns out to be a taste test of juices with the labels covered up. I notice that one of them is Ocean Spray, but that matters nothing to me, not with what I've seen.

An apparition.

A temporary vision.

A brunette about my age (10) who knows just what I like, even though she doesn't know me.

Mature. Even at that age, I like 'em that way, and it must stem from reading since I was 2. Nothing that I read in those books brought on this preference, but considering that my 3rd grade teacher once called my parents in for a conference because I was reading on a level far above my classmates with some John Grisham novels I brought to class to read, I expect a bit more.

I wish I remembered our conversation. I wish I remembered exactly what she looked like, beyond the long hair and those brown eyes that seemed curious but didn't want to ask the questions outright. I know, it sounds a little silly, but you come upon something like this in a theme park, just like that, and you wonder how on earth it managed to happen on that day, in that spot.

Of course, the severe disadvantage for me was not prying a bit more, like trying to extract a phone number or something to keep in touch. Saw her briefly, talked a bit, and that was it. Of course, this was at a time when I thought every girl I was attracted to would be unforgettable, like years later my memories of them would still haunt me. And then, you get older, and those preconceived notions become disposable notions.

But right then, wow. I don't remember if I asked her where she came from, to compare the distance between that and Coral Springs, but I wanted her with me for the rest of the day. No chance, though, since it was time to go.

I do recall that in line for Kongfrontation, there was a girl named Bridget in line behind me, and we had a longer conversation than the one I had with that taste test goddess. Bridget was a little more bubbly, excitable, but that didn't work for me. Like that brunette, I prefer mystery, time to explore in conversation what a person is, what they like, what they don't like, what they want in life. Now that stems from books and also having written my own, which required exploring facets of the lives of so many actors from nothing. I had to start from nothing and find the books and read them and get out of them what I needed. That works for me with women, too. I don't want to know everything right away, but just some trait, some manner of speaking that makes me want more.