Notes From My Couch

(listening to: Handshake Drugs, Wilco)

This is going to be kind of random. I have a few different things I'd like to say, and none of them really relate to each other in any way. Buckle up.

1. R.I.P., Sub Club. If he were so inclined, this is where my friend Micah would "pour one out." It turns out that Subway has discontinued their Sub Club, their "buy 8 get one free" promotion that seemed to last for about 15 years, because too many people have been printing counterfeit Subway stamps and redeeming them for free sandwiches. Is that what our society has been reduced to?? Spending that kind of time and money only to save $6.44 on a foot long club sandwich?? Why aren't these people putting their skills to good use, like establishing an alternate mail carrier to rival, and ultimately take down, the exercise in incompetence that is the United States Postal Service?? It's a good thing this didn't happen until now, because when I was in New York and Jackson, I was logging a free foot-long about every other week. By the way, there's no way that Jared Fogle lost all that weight eating Subway every day, unless he was also throwing it up.

2. NOT the story of A.C. Green. Go see The 40 Year-Old Virgin. Go see it as soon as you finish reading this sentence. Come back and read the rest of this post later, it'll still be here, and you'll be much happier for it. I'm serious. Turn off your computer and get the hell out of here. Amanda and I saw it last night, and it was so funny that I don't even know how to describe how funny it was. That's never happened before, to my knowledge. I can't really say that it was funnier than Wedding Crashers, or Old School, or whatever else it's stacking up against, but I will say this: with Wedding Crashers and Old School, I felt like I could at least describe how funny they were. With Virgin, no chance. I was laughing way too hard throughout the movie to even try.

3. Why do the Red Sox see more unwanted overtime than Wal-Mart employees?? Man alive, just play 9 innings for once!!

4. The Anonymous Lawyer. When I first started reading this, I thought it was kind of funny, but by the time I got through about 3 or 4 posts, I realized that this douchebag is exactly the reason I hate law firms and hate being in law firms. Not just working for law firms, but actually physically being inside law firms. I have encountered way more attorneys who think and act like this guy than those who don't, and I'd have to say that this is probably what's keeping me from really being gung-ho about being one. Would you really want to be associated with people like this??

5. Quick INXS update: My pick to win it all, J.D. Fortune, is not only still alive, but tonight Dave Navarro told him that, "maybe more than anyone else in this competition, you really seem to understand what it takes to front INXS." I love it when I'm right.

That is all.

If They Don't Win, It's a Shame

Amanda got us tickets for yesterday's Red Sox/Angels game for my birthday (she is THE BEST), and although the Sox lost the game, it was awesome! We had the best seats - we were on the first row right behind the Sox bullpen.



It was hotter than all get-out, but luckily there's no humidity here, so it wasn't really so bad. I didn't get to catch my David Ortiz home run ball that I was hoping for, but we had a really great time, and I got some great pictures. If anybody wants to see the rest of them, just leave a comment here or email me, and I'll send you the ophoto album. For now, I'll just leave you with this shot of Mike Timlin and His Holiness Curt Schilling talking to some fans through the bullpen screen.

And Now for Something Completely Different

(still watching: Red Sox at Angels)

My boy Jeremy and I have decided to start a blog to air out our mindless, senseless, meaningless, random movie quotes, and what not. Mainly so we can entertain each other from 2,000 miles away. It's called A Blog About Nothing (blatant Seinfeld rip-off), and it's on the list of links at the right. Enjoy. Or don't. We don't care.

Goodnight, Hollywood Boulevard

(watching: Red Sox at Angels)

Went out in Hollywood last night. The Brian Jonestown Massacre was playing at the Vanguard. The Brian Jonestown Massacre is a band. The first time I heard their name, I thought it was some sort of death punk metal band, but they're actually quite mellow. You'd be mellow too if you were as high as these guys.

I was exposed to The Brian Jonestown Massacre for the first time earlier this summer when I watched the rock documentary "Dig", which is about them and The Dandy Warhols, both from LA. Really good movie, really good music. The singer, Anton Newcomb, is completely insane (and high), and in the movie he got into an onstage fistfight with a bandmate. Later in the movie he kicked an audience member in the mouth from the stage. Insane. Good music, though. Anyway, I found out they were playing here, and the tickets were cheap, so Amanda and I went, after some prodding by me. I love going to see live music, but with these guys, I just wanted to see if anything crazy happened. Nothing did.

Kind of a crappy show. The opening band was actually a lot better, they were The Quarter Afters. Anton and his boys took the stage about an hour late, and he seemed pretty messed up. After rambling to the audience for about 10-15 minutes, they finally started playing music, and sounded ok, but they didn't quite have it together. And they were LOUD. I listen to music all the time, pretty loud, and I've been to a lot of loud rock shows, but last night was the first time I ever felt like my eardrums were being pierced by icepicks. Amanda and I saw a bunch of people with earplugs in earlier in the the evening, and we were wondering why anyone would wear earplugs to a rock show. By the time they hit their 3rd song, I would have signed over the rights to my first born for some. Live and learn, I guess. Anyway, by the time their 4th song was coming to a close, they decided to do some extended jamming, and man, did it suck. They jammed for like 20 minutes, and it was another 5-10 after that before they started the next song. We'd had enough by that point, and took off. My ears stopped ringing around 3:00 this afternoon.

In other news, the Sox just gave up 2 in the bottom of the 8th, and they're tied with the Angels at 3. I'm going to watch the rest of the game. Maybe more later.

LA's Fine But It Ain't Home, New York's Home But It Ain't Mine No More

(listening to: Jennifer, The Brian Jonestown Massacre)

The other night Amanda and I went out for some ice cream. We walked past a building that was about 4 stories tall, and round. Amanda and I then had the following exchange:

Me: That building looks like the Guggenheim.
Amanda: Yeah, it sure does.
Me: (longingly) I miss the Guggenheim.
Amanda: (suspiciously) Did you ever go to the Guggenheim??
Me: (hanging head) No.

Neil Diamond never sang truer words.

Parking Woes and An Unfortunate Incident Concerning a Padlock

(listening to: What's Mine Is Yours, Sleater-Kinney)

So, this is just disgusting, but Brandy sent it to me and I felt like I had to pass it along to whoever was out there.

In other news, the parking situation here is out of control. Forget about finding a free spot or even a meter, I'm getting used to spending a lot of time in parking garages, trying to find my car. Most normal cities have parking garages that have hourly rates. $5/hour, $8/hour. My favorite were the ones in New York that were somehow calculated with Good Will Hunting math to come out to figures like $13.47/hour. Not LA. Here, they charge you in 20 minute increments. If you're lucky, you can find a garage that only charges you $1.50 or $2.00 every 20 minutes. Today, though, I saw what the unlucky ones have to deal with.

I went to drop off some paperwork at this staffing agency that's farming me out for the temp work starting next week, and they're located in Century City, which is not too far from my apartment. The building that houses them has an underground parking garage that the public is more than welcome to use at the astounding rate of $4.00 every 20 minutes. I know that $12/hour for parking isn't really the end of the world, but by breaking it down into 20 minute increments, it's like they're just rubbing your nose in it. It just seems like more money.

Then I noticed the garage of the building next door, a shopping center/movie theater, that gave you the first 3 hours for free. After weighing the pros and cons of each, I decided that parking in the free lot would probably be a better idea. It took me about 5 minutes to find a spot, and another 10 minutes to get up to the office, drop off the papers and get back to my car. At that point, had I parked in the first lot, I would have had about 5 minutes to get out of the lot before I was up to 8 bucks already. Instead, I had the next 2 hours and 45 minutes to do whatever I wanted before I owed anyone any money. I almost stayed there, just on principle, but instead decided to come home and watch last night's Late Night with Conan O'Brien on CNBC. If only I had a TV in my car, I could have watched it in the parking garage and still not been out of pocket.

Insanity.

Sam's Mom's Noodles

(listening to: Everything's Not Lost, Coldplay)

By popular demand: (i.e., Neola, this is for you)

This is about the easiest recipe possible, and will achieve maximum satisfaction on the part of whoever you will be serving this to. When serving, however, you must bill this as "Sam's Mom's Noodles." If I ever open a restaurant, it will be on the menu as such, mark my words.

Sam's Mom's Noodles
(feeds 8-10)

1 pound spaghetti (no angel hair)
5 tablespoons (TBS) sesame oil
2 whole carrots, grated
4-6 sliced scallions
1 box frozen peas

Marinade (mix following together in bowl)
4 TBS rice wine vinegar
6 TBS soy sauce
4 TBS sugar
2 TBS hot chile oil

1. Cook noodles, drain, put in serving bowl and while warm, toss with sesame oil.
2. While still warm, pour marinade on noodles and toss.
3. After noodles cool (about 30 min.), add grated carrots, scallions and peas, and toss.
4. Eat and enjoy.

You can let this sit out for up to 2 hours, as it is best to serve at room temperature. Any longer, refrigerate and let sit out for an hour before serving. If noodles seem dry, add soy sauce and chile oil, in equal parts, a little at a time.

Rock Star: INXS Update

Well, I missed last night's show but just read the recap on the web. Looks like I was right that Jessica would be in the Bottom 3, and I was also right that Brandon was a goner. We'll see what happens next week - they're going all acoustic. Should be interesting.

Also happy to realize that I only missed the first 3 episodes of the season. I thought it was more.

Obviously, not much to say today.

And Now, For Some Good News

(watching: Red Sox v. Rangers)

It looks as if I will be starting a temp job on Monday at a law firm downtown. I think their name is McKenzie Brackman Chaney & Kuzak. So, I've got that going for me.

In addition, today happens to be Amanda's and my 3 year anniversary. Happy anniversary to us.

Also, last night I made Sam's Mom's Noodles. We were missing the chile oil, but other than that, damn they were good. Sam, your mom makes some damn good noodles.

Later.

Every Single One of Us Is a Devil Inside

(listening to: Devil Inside, INXS)

(note, even though it's currently Wednesday afternoon, I'm posting this as of last night, since that's when I wrote it but couldn't get in front of a computer until now.)

I don't know if anyone out there is watching CBS's Rock Star: INXS show, but I just discovered it last week and it's killing me that I missed the first half of the season. Now, we all know that I'm not really one for exaggeration, but this could be one of the best reality shows of all time, behind The Real World, MTV Cribs and Nick & Jessica: Newlyweds.

Here's the premise. Most everyone knows that back in 1997, Michael Hutchence, INXS's then lead singer, died under somewhat mysterious circumstances. He either hung himself intentionally or hung himself accidentally in the middle of a little self-gratification. Anyway, the band's been dormant for 8 years, and now they're ready to get back in the game, but they're without a frontman. So, they did what any cred-obsessed rock band would do, they got their own reality show. It was my skepticism, based on this ridiculous notion, that prevented me from watching until I caught it by accident last week. Damn you, skepticism!!

Every Tuesday, each contestant performs a song with the house band (who kicks ass, by the way, but why do they need a house band when INXS is sitting comfortably not 20 feet away??), then the viewing audience gets to call in and vote for their favorite. It's like American Idol, but with a point, and more talent, and a refreshing lack of Ryan Seacrest. Instead, we get Brooke Burke. That's like getting Roger Clemens to take the mound and only having to give up Mark Grace, a career first baseman who once pitched in a game because the bullpen was depleted, and even he couldn't get through the inning without laughing. As an added bonus, last night, Brooke's skirt was so short it was practically a belt. Ouch!

So, after the votes are tallied, everyone reassembles for Wednesday's show, where instead of just sending someone back to their job at Barnes & Noble, the "Bottom 3" vote getters have one last chance at redemption by singing an INXS song that the band has chosen for them. Neat little twist, actually. Gives the show some purpose. After the 3 performances, the band arbitrarily ends someone's dreams of stardon.

It might not sound like much, but it just works. Trust me.

I can't decide who's more interesting, though, the contestants or INXS, with co-host Dave Navarro. That part's kind of random, but adds an immeasurable amount of hilarity to the show. Let's do the contestants first.

Since I missed the first half of the season, I only know about who's left. I'm not going to bore you by talking about each one. I do, however, want to say that one of them, Jessica, is smoking hot and dresses like Lucy Lawless's understudy on Xena Warrior Princess. Unfortunately, she can't sing worth a damn. Actually, she can sing ok, but she stands motionless on stage like her soul has been eaten by the shiny demon in that Tenacious D song (AND WE SAID NAY, WE ARE BUT MEN!). She's been in the Bottom 3 for 2 of the past 3 weeks, and she'll probably be there again this week. Good looks will only get you so far, and she's definitely along for the ride.

The real talents on the show are J.D. Fortune (is that a great name, or what) and Jordice (something, don't know her last name). My prediction is that it comes down to the two of them, with J.D. ultimately winning because he's a man, even though Jordice is a more talented singer. I don't say that to be sexist, I just think that INXS is going to snag a dude on this deal, that's all.

Speaking of INXS, my favorite part of the show (without taking anything away from the truly talented performances) is when the band and Reality Show Staple Dave Navarro (of 'Till Death Do Us Part: Carmen and Dave and Bravo's Celebrity Poker Showdown - look for him on VH1's The Surreal Life 17 in a couple of years, I just have a hunch on this one.) gives each contestant their post-performance critique. I like this for many reasons, not the least of which is that they are all sitting on thrones. If these guys are music royalty, they must reign over the rock and roll equivalent of France. I'm just saying. Secondly, I love that most of INXS wears their sunglasses indoors. I thought only Bono and Stevie Wonder could get away with that. The bass player's name is Garry Beers - a classic rock and roll name. And Kirk Pengilly, the band's saxophone/guitarist, has a hilarious wispy little mustache and soul patch that makes him look like one of those toys you can buy for a dollar with the iron filings that you arrange on the guy's face with the little magnet stick? Somebody's got to know what I'm talking about, right?? Anybody??

When they're critiquing each performance, they're all very careful not to be too harsh - the anti-Simon Cowells - and Dave Navarro invariably tells each girl how hot she looks and how much hotter she is looking from week to week. Maybe Carmen Electra told him to bring home a little treat for mommy. With the guys, he always ends up thanking them for some reason. It's very strange. Thank you for taking a risk with your song selection, thanks for giving it your all out there, thank you for helping me stay in the spotlight just a little bit longer.

Bottom line is this: this show has some star power (INXS, Dave Navarro-Electra, and the hottest woman on Earth in Brooke Burke), a practical purpose (finding INXS a new lead singer to save them from obscurity), and actual talent. The one reality TV show quality it doesn't have is unnecessary drama. No one's fighting with each other or trashing anyone behind their backs, and not only that, they all seem to be openly rooting for each other to win the contest, rather than mouthing off and singing their own praises. They get up and rock out during each other's performances, they hold hands and dance together, and they actually look genuinely upset when their friends get announced in the Bottom 3. All except for Brandon, who is a showman but not much of a singer, and I'm predicting that he's a goner tomorrow night.

I hate that I missed the first half of this season, but I'm worried that, since this is a reality show, they'll feel the need to beat this dead horse season after season with new bands. Next year's Rock Star will be Alice in Chains looking for Layne Staley's replacement, followed by Rock Star: Blind Melon trying to find the next ShannonHoon. As long as we don't have to suffer through Rock Star: Digital Underground so the "Humpty Dance" guy can replace Tupac Shakur and finally move out of his mother's basement, then I guess we'll be ok.

In the Locust Wind Comes the Rattle and Hum

(listening to: Bullet the Blue Sky, U2)

Joshua Tree National Park should be on everybody's "must-see" lists, just like the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, and the Paris Hilton sex tape.

As I mentioned, Jeff and I stopped there just inside California last Thursday on our way to Los Angeles. It was getting a little late in the afternoon, and the sun was going down, so because we (mostly me, because I'm a huge wimp) were a little worried about rattlesnakes and tarantulas, we didn't really venture too far into the park, and just took some pictures near the road. I'm sure we could have gotten some that were much better, but I think that two of them were pretty damn good, even though they're of the same tree (and not even a real Joshua Tree, at that). I will definitely be heading back there sometime, though, and I will make sure I get there with the sun blazing overhead, scaring away the creepy crawly things that scare the crap out of me.

While there, I made an emergency phone call to my friend Melissa (who recently informed me that she is a faithful reader of my ramblings). Melissa is what you might call a huge freak for U2. She's probably seen them in concert maybe 40 times (once with me on the floor at Madison Square Garden - by the end of the night, I'm pretty sure my vocal chords were bleeding profusely), and I kid you not when I say that might be more of an underestimation than an exaggeration. Miss, I invite you to leave a comment to lend some veracity to this claim, if you are so inclined. Needless to say, she was completely jealous that I was there, and hopefully excited about the call. Miss, these are for you...


This happens to be the coolest tree I have ever seen.


Again, the same tree, but looking exponentially cooler in black and white. Definitely going to be framed.


Jeff at Joshua Tree National Park sign.


Ben at Joshua Tree National Park sign.

Go West, Young Men

(listening to: Strutter '78, Kiss)

I must start by saying that I am an idiot. If it weren't for Jeff, I never would have made it to California, and if it weren't for Brandy and Rebekah and Mac and Sam, Jeff and I might not have ever left Jackson at all, let alone only 10 hours behind schedule. So, thanks to all.

Day One
That said, we finally did head out of Jackson a little before 10:00 p.m., CST, on Tuesday, July 26, after an astounding 14 hours of moving furniture on what not-so-ironically turned out to be the hottest day of the year for Central Mississippi. Good times. So, we picked up a nice healthy dinner at Wendy's and hit the road, whereupon Jeff asked me if I had any special "leaving town" songs I wanted to play on the way out. I immediately played "Leaving Town" by Dexter Freebish. Then I played "California" by Phantom Planet, better known as the theme song from The O.C. I then asked Jeff if he had any special "leaving town" songs he wanted to play (even though he has never lived in Jackson nor spent more than 3 days at a time there), and he immediately played a Pearl Jam song that I can't remember. Jeff loves Pearl Jam. We then got much less philosophical with our music choices for the time being and put the iPod on shuffle, letting the hands of fate attempt to satisfy our musical appetites, and, for the most part, succeed.

We got to Ross's place in Arlington around 4:30 a.m., CST, on Wednesday, July 27. Ross was, predictably, wide awake, and we were shown to our respective couches. I'm pretty sure I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. We were awakened around noon to pizza and diet cokes, and we ended up hitting the road around 1:45. The trip odometer looked like this:


Day Two
This was definitely the strangest day of driving I've ever been involved with. Most of the day was rainy and misty, not in a dangerous way, but in a way that seemed very atypical of West Texas, but thankfully knocked out the possibility of my car overheating and stranding us somewhere in the desert. Speaking of West Texas, I think we were actually in Texas for like 37 hours between Dallas and El Paso. Is that possible?? Good Lord, that is a big-ass expanse of nothingness. The iPod Gods were handling our music selection, which seemed to be fine, although I can't really remember anyof what we listened to that day at all. Also, I wasn't really feeling too sporty, as I had picked up a little of the itis somewhere along the way and spent the better part of the afternoon/evening sneezing and making really weird noises that old Jews make with their throats.

By the time we got to El Paso we decided 2 things: we needed dinner (it was close to 11:00, I think), and we needed to keep driving all the way to Tuscon. Both were doable, as we found a truck stop with a Wendy's (spicy chicken combo #2 for this trip) just outside of Las Cruces, and then we cruised through the rest of New Mexico, and by the time we got to Tuscon and found our Motel 6 (neither of us had ever stayed in a Motel 6 before, so we figured, what the hell, let's through caution to the wind), it was close to 2:00 a.m., PST, which meant that we had driven close to 14 hours, covering 1,000 miles and crossed 2 time zones.

As soon as we got to the hotel room, we took turns abusing the bathroom. Between last weekend at the Isle of Capri in Biloxi and this Motel 6 in Tuscon, I'm surprised the feds weren't after us on some sort of 5 state spree of felonious assault on hotel/restaurant bathrooms. We were like Billy Joe and Bobby Sue in Steve Miller's "Take the Money and Run," only different. I guess that's what happens when you ingest a steady diet of Wendy's, Coca-Cola products, and beef jerky.

Speaking of beef jerky - don't all good stories start that way?? - Jeff and I were at odds as to which brand of jerky to purchase, somewhere probably close to either Midland or Odessa, so we decided to each buy a different brand and have an impromptu taste test, which we spontaneously and immaturely dubbed "The Jerk-Off." We opened our respective bags and tasted our own brand first, me with my Jim Beam brand beef jerky (really, does it get any better than that?? ever??) and Jeff with his Pemmican brand. We were both initially impressed with our own choices, and then it came time for the old switcheroo. Wow, was I undermatched. Jeff's Pemmican Jerky was the clear-cut winner, hands down, but at least I still had a bag of Jim Beam Beef Jerky. And sometimes, that's all that matters.

Anyway, we crashed and slept until about 10 or so, and when we got back in the car, we realized that our trusty trip odometer only goes to 999.9 miles, and then resets to zero, so the trip odometer the next morning looked like this, but you're going to have to add 1,000 miles to the running total:

Day Three
This was a fun one. After waking up, we decided to hit Waffle House for breakfast. As this was going to be my last Waffle House experience for quite some time, I took full advantage (with little to no regard for the poor unsuspecting victim somewhere up the road). Since this was our last day of driving, we decided to make it a "by request" iPod day rather than a "shuffle up and leave it to fate to decide" day. I kicked things off with Wilco's "Hotel Arizona," for obvious reasons, then we picked up some medicine for the itis at Walgreen's and got the Hell out of Dodge. Twenty minutes later, for reasons that will go unstated here, I needed to stop. I told Jeff to keep his eyes peeled for a Cracker Barrell, because "it's the only bathroom I know I can trust." Eight miles up the road, we found one, and shortly thereafter, I was right as rain.

We drove on and hit Phoenix about 30 minutes later, and we started to argue about where the Phoenix Suns played their home games. Neither of us had any real idea, which was strange, because we're both pretty big basketball fans. Turns out it's America West Arena, but I only know that because I just Googled it. Phoenix seemed boring, and we weren't hungry, as we had just filled our bellies with eggs and hash browns about 60 miles back, so we had no real reason to stop.

We did stop for an extended lunch break at the next town we saw, which was Avondale, which was something like 15 miles past Phoenix. It's amazing what the fear of being hungry in the unknown desert will do to your ability to pack even more food in like a squirrel stocking up for the very, very hot winter. After a quick (and I mean quick) burger and lots of fries at Red Robin, we decided to rest up at Borders for a little while. If nothing else, it would give us a chance to wreak a little more havoc on some innocent porcelain. While there, I started reading Chuck Klosterman's "Killing Yourself To Live," which I have since finished and would recommend to ANYONE who likes music even a little bit, and likes to read excellent writing.

Anyway, back on the road in Arizona, and we began to notice signs that said:

Dust Storms May Exist

May exist? Have they not been proven to exist? We were pretty sure we'd seen them on this drive. Is there some sort of X-Files type of division of the FBI dedicated to proving the existence of dust storms?? Anyway, once inside California, we started seeing signs that said:

Dust Storms Blowing

I knew it! They do exist!! Someone in California should tell the folks in Arizona. The truth is out there.

The rest of the drive was pretty anticlimactic, as we were still a good couple of hours away from our destination, yet the desert scenery in Arizona was much prettier and more majestic than in California. One thing California sure does have, though, is an abundance of windmills. This must be where Miguel de Cervantes smoked his first hit of the old left-handed cigarette. It was like some sort of alien race of windmills, marching over mountains and through valleys in perfect formation. Weird, man.

Musically, Day Three was a good one. After lunch, we got back on track with our iPod selection and played a little Doors, which seemed like the right thing to listen to while cruising through the desert. Once we got into California, The Best of The Doors winded down JUST IN TIME, as we pulled off the interstate into Josuha Tree National Park. We got some great pictures that I'll post shortly. Of course, it almost goes without saying that we immediately played U2's Joshua Tree album in its entirety. Next we needed a little California attitude, so we listened to N.W.A.'s Greatest Hits (which might sound like a bit of an oxymoron), and before we knew it, we were still like 2 hours from LA. Dammit, this was a long drive.

Anyway, long story short, we made it to LA around 9:30 p.m., PST on Thursday, July 28, and because (as I mentioned before) I'm an idiot, I forgot to get a final picture of the trip odometer, but I imagine we were right around 1,900 miles on the drive.

Just to reiterate, without Jeff, none of this would have been remotely possible, and I'd probably still be somewhere in West Texas, waiting for my transmission to be replaced and trying not to get shot.

I am going to take a nap. This was almost as exhausting to write as it was to live.

Same As It Ever Was

(listening to: Hummingbird, Wilco)

You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife, and you may ask yourself... How did I get here??

So, in case anyone is wondering (and at this point, I think I've upgraded my solo audience of mom to include Neola and Jeremy, so in case the three of you are wondering), here are some pictures of our apartment in La-La-Land. Not too exciting, to be sure, but what the hell, you know? Sometimes you just gotta be boring.


The front of our building.


Our parking space.


Our courtyard (not exactly Melrose Place).


Our living room.


Our living room (2).


Our dining area.


Our kitchen.


Our wetbar.


Looking down the stairs to the front door.


Amanda's study area.


The view from our balcony (how luxurious).


Our bedroom.


Our bedroom (2).

Not too shabby. The apartment is nice; I'm not sure that really comes across in the pictures.

In other news, I went to a Kinko's today to fax something, and they had valet parking. I feel like I'm in some sort of alternate reality where the insane is somehow sane, but the sane just doesn't exist.