Love Juice.

Yo, yo, yo.
Positive Drew eatin’ Thanksgiving stew
And barfin’ it up like the ancient Romans do.
Sorry y’all, I don’t mean to be gross
But vomitorium style you can eat the most!

It’s Positive, Positive, Positive Sonya!

That sucks. Puking up some of the best food you’ll probably eat all year. Will you forever think of vomit on the last Thursday in November?

I dig Positive Drew. He’s pretty much a lyrical mastermind.

Thank you for cheering me up. I know what you say is true. Although I do like to do things on my own because of the ease in choice it provides, things do start to feel pretty heavy when you’re alone nonstop.

Working from home can compound this. It creates the feeling of very limited possibilities. I like the element of the unknown that comes along with mixing personalities, plus people are smarter together than they are apart. Did you know that? It’s a fact. If you get a group of people guessing at some number, for example, like how many seeds are in a certain pumpkin or something, the average of everyone’s guess, almost always without fail, will be closer to the correct answer than any individual guess. The moral of the story… people need people mon frère, we can’t do it all on our own, at least not very well.

So here I’ve been, with no peeps and no Positive, Positive, Positive Drew, sitting around feeling sorry for myself, dodging piles of squashed dog crap on the sidewalk, feeling as if their very existence were a personal commentary of some sort, mandated by the rulers of the cosmos, adding insult to injury, calling me a doodie head, moping around like a sad clown with a lead weight soul.

I must admit, and maybe it’s obvious (?), I’ve really been luxuriating in this mindset. Acting the martyr, sitting gloomily in the Metro station, contemplating pigeons, resolving to live my life as they do, as a renegade, reviled yet undaunted, eating bits of bread and trash from puddles of urine spilt from the unwashed organs of the homeless drunks that scoff at my existence.

In my misery, I started asking for signs. “Dear God, Lord, whatever you are, something out there, forces unknown, show me something! Show me something to make it all mean something!” To add to my martyrdom, I thought I could help myself to feel really pathetic if I took a walk in the rain. I decided to go out for a ham and cheese crêpe, and you know what? I met someone. He walked up to me on the street and started talking to me. He tried to get me talking French, and every time I said the smallest thing he laughed with such gusto and encouragement that I felt like a genius for knowing how to say “I like Paris.” He made me smile.

When I got home there was an email from the neighbor of the aunt of the woman I rent my apartment from, wanting to make some dinner plans, then later came 2 more dinner invitations from friends of friends, then by chance I had to call the sister of the woman I rent from to get a door code and she invited me out to coffee, and then I met someone in my French class who wants to take a trip to the Alps, and low and behold, suddenly I have some peeps!

Was it a sign, or a coincidence, or just a lucky sequence of events, or maybe more of a willingness on my part to be open to new people, or a combination of all these things? I dunno, I don’t, but then I went to the post office to use their bill changer so I could do some laundry. I put in my €10 bill, over and over and over, it wouldn’t accept it. There was an old man standing next to the machine adding a running commentary on my attempts. I told him twice I didn’t speak French, but I think he just wanted to talk. Over and over again the machine spit my money back at me. I think the old guy told me it wasn’t going to work, but then suddenly it took, and the machine dumped my change out. When I left I said aurivoir to the spectator and he replied with “Bon courage.”

I got home and took out my change to do the laundry, upon counting I found the machine had changed my €10 into €20! With everything else in mind, the pleading with the unseen forces of creation, the deluge of social contact, the old man’s message, I just couldn’t help but feel that this was somehow significant. I don’t know what it all means exactly, and I suppose there are a hundred conclusions you could come to, but honestly, without trying to sound too new-agey, what I think is this; The universe is listening.

I feel loved.

This is Positive Sonya and I’m here to say
That growin’ up is hard in a major way!
But just keep on truckin’, bon courage, if you will
And your cup will runneth over, you’ll get your fill!

Peace out yo, and a hug and a kiss.

PEP TALK-ISH

I apologize for not responding sooner. Life got a little hectic for me, as it does, running frantic and full speed like a shitty car trying to make it over a mountain pass. I say this with a lot of experience having driven a four speed toyota tercel with bicycle-like tires through Montana in the winter on my way from Wisconsin to Oregon. Also, my laborious commute in and out of the Valley into the City everyday probably adds to that feeling.

It started with my family flying out for Thanksgiving. They flew out the Wednesday before as did my sister Sarah from Denver. We spent the first night ordering in dinner, watching Caleb perform scenes from toddler-hood, listening to music and drinking beer. Everything was wonderful, until I woke up Thanksgiving morning with a stomach flu or food poisoning. Then everything they said made my stomach turn. I made an effort to be patient with them, but the sliver of contempt brought on by barfing my way through a day of delicious food grew into full blown annoyance as the weekend went on.

My father treats Los Angeles like a puzzle and tries to solve it every time he's here, saying things like, "If we took a left here and drove a few blocks down we'd be at the Grove right?" or more randomly, "There's a high school around here right? What's the name of the high school in this area? One time I went for a walk from our hotel to Hollywood Blvd. and I walked by what I think is a famous LA high school." This is endearing, but annoying on a clear day. Factor in holding a barf bag in a car in bumper to bumper traffic on the 405 while getting questions about where Orange County begins and LA County ends and that's me.

My stomach was destroyed for the following week, but I managed to muster strength enough to celebrate Caleb's Birthday at Travel Town Railroad Museum in Griffith park. My family left and their visit seemed like a quick snap. I was nostalgic for their company for the next day or two, feeling depressed at the Starbucks where we shared a coffee or on the 405 where we shared the misery of my stomach.

I could feel myself becoming a person I don't want to become. It's a person I've been and I don't like him. He's annoying. It's a gloomy version of me, a Bizarro Drew. Not that I'm sparkling with joy and energy, but I don't want to feel sorry for myself for no good reason. The tragedy of a weekend gone wrong is hardly something Shakespeare would consider putting into production.

I've invented a mental outlook to combat this side of me. It's another side of me, a character who lives in my head. I call him simply, Positive Drew. Positive Drew is like an old throw back hip hop motivational speaker. He's the kind of guy that would come to your middle school and rap about respecting your fellow classmates while you enjoyed your hot lunch on a rainy day. He raps overly positive rhymes in my head. He says his name a lot. He says shit like, "Driving to work like a jerk? Cheer up man, I'm Positive, Positive, Positive Drew!" That doesn't even rhyme I know, Positive Drew is that weak at rapping, but he's confident in his message and it cheers me up.

My point is this. You're living in Paris, you're an artist, everyone loves you and you're on an adventure. Do you need a house? No. Do you need a resume? No, you're a designer/ artist you need a portfolio. Should you be in the states? Maybe in New York with your love interest and some old friends? You can always move there next. "In France eating bread, Not in bed acting dead! Positive, Positive, Positive Sonya!"

Also Disneyland helps, I went there the weekend after Thanksgiving. Caleb's mind almost exploded. I think he's still having flashbacks. We went on a Winnie the Pooh Ride and he keeps saying, "Winnie da Woo House!" So great.

New York

Dearest Drewdy Drewderson,

I’m pouring myself another glass of Lillet for this one, because I’m feeling like I really wanna spill it. Let’s get it all out.

First let me start by saying, I hope you ate some turkey in the last couple of days, or got some warm feeling from something having to do with almost everyone having the day off work and things coming as close to a stand still as they can without it being apocalyptic… or Christmas.

My god. I’m feeling extremely self-centered.

I just got back from a nine-day trip to New York City. Long trips always get me contemplating myself, my place in the world, the validity or stupidity of my routines, what it means to know people, and what it means to mean something to them. I watch all the terrible romantic comedies on the flight to and from. I cry during all the terrible romantic comedies on the flight to and from. I think about all the people that I love and have said goodbye to. I feel sad and lucky all at the same time, and none of it ever seems to make any more sense the next time I do it all over again.

I’m tired. I don’t even know why. Well, we did drink a lot of beer, as Wisconsinites tend to do when reuniting with old friends, or for any reason really. I got home and slept for over 24 hours. Now it’s 6am and I’m am nowhere near to sleep.

I saw a lot of old friends. It was good. It’s nice to feel known again. I miss laughing with other voices. I’ve spent the majority of the last couple of years alone. It’s been edifying, but very lonely. Clearly there must be something to it, or I wouldn’t have moved to a place where the only other beings I know are my cats.

I hope there’s something to it.

I find myself wondering if I’m suppose to have things to show for my 30 years; a house, a résumé, a relationship. I see what other people are doing and I feel the compulsion to compare myself, but there’s no one I’d rather be. I do believe it is enough to just be, but my head won’t let my heart rest. I’m sorry, I know it’s really cliché to use the head and the heart thing together, but god damn it, it’s true!

I need a hug.
I want a hug so bad.
A long drawn out embrace.
Arms and shoulders and hair and cheeks and awkward silence.
A big hug.

I loved New York. It’s an awesome city. The last time I was there it was one night of a three-day whirlwind road trip. First from Wisconsin to a party in Indianapolis, then we drove to New York for a party in the Brooklyn Bridge, and the last night we finished with a visit to a club in Cleveland Ohio. We slept on the couches in the upstairs lounge, with stinky feet and un-brushed teeth, while my friend Kurt spun records. We weren’t very good support, too crabby for all that mess. Needless to say, it was a very different experience this time around. I had been with my parents when I was twelve, but it was cool to see it again as an adult.

Olive got fat during my absence, but no less cuddly. Both the kitties missed me, Olive and Skeeter. I can tell. We truly have a love affair going.

My rash is gone, thanks to my aunt Sue, a doctor. She saved my life.

I think I’m going to take advantage of this jet lag and go watch the sunrise over some Parisian monument, something real poetic like.

Here are some photos from the trip….

xoxo and lots of love,

Sonya

Veteran's Day

I understand what beard love can do to a woman's skin. I recently grew a 1/4 inch sports beard and it almost ruined my marriage. Not to mention, it revealed to the public that I'm not quite a man, as it was less of a beard and more of a grouping of spaced hair patches. Your skin will get used to it. Skin figures shit out and makes sacrifices for the greater good of the body. The important thing is that you got a little cheek time in.

It's veterans day here in the US and Caleb doesn't have school. As a result I don't have work. Dana has a busy work day and has to leave town tonight for a meeting tomorrow in St. Louis. I'm glad to be able to spend some alone time with him, although we'll miss Mom and It'll be sad tonight when Caleb gets sick of me and starts asking for her. Dana's a sweet patient Mother and I'm just his favorite toy.

I drove over the hill this morning to try to get him a flu shot. Traffic was light so I took Laurel Canyon. Caleb asked to listen to The Wiggles and I told him the live performance on KCRW of "Stars" was The Wiggles. That seemed to work and he settled in, playing with his hair and watching the side of the road as we wound our way towards Sunset Blvd. It had been a while since I'd been to that part of the city. Caleb's old day care was in West Hollywood so I used to make that commute through the canyon daily. I got nostalgic for those olden times. Those glorious golden times only a handful of months ago. That's the way Los Angeles is though. The city is so spread out that if you move, get a new job or stop hanging out with someone you develop a different relationship with the city. I'm currently two timing Santa Monica and Sherman Oaks while occasionally making out with Studio City. Hancock Park, Hollywood, Los Feliz, Silverlake, Echo Park, Atwater Village and Downtown Los Angeles are all old flames that still own a couple of my CDs and my favorite hooded sweatshirts. Bitches.

At the doctors office, after a hunt for the perfect parking spot, two elevators, and a lot of reassuring Caleb, the nurse spotted his never ending nose run and sent me away. I guess you can't get a flu shot when you already have flu symptoms. Caleb was pleased to leave without being poked and prodded. Since I was already in the city near third street I decided to go to Joan's On Third, or as I described to Caleb, "the cookie store". I do that with him so he understands what's going on. When I go to the gas station I tell him, The car is thirsty so we're going to "the car juice store". When we go to Starbucks it's "Daddy's coffee store".






At the cookie store, I ordered while Caleb went to town on a sample plate of bite sized bannana bread pieces, his mind trying to calculate the amount of potential sugar in the store. At a nearby table a group of women mutter, "so adorable" about Caleb and I felt proud to be his dad. I was probably Caleb's age the last time a Woman called me adorable. We took a seat outside and the french waiter ruffled Calebs hair while people on the street smiled as they walked by. It was as if I had a cuddly chimpanzee with me. If I was by myself my table would go unnoticed. Maybe someone would assume I was an out of work aspiring actor/douchbag. With Caleb, I was a dashing young father eating a cookie with his adorable son.

Itchy Woman.

Andrew! Hello, and Happy Halloween!

I love that song!!!!! hahahahaha!!!! I had it stuck in my head for 3 days after reading your letter. I then had to make it my profile song on myspace.

Damn! I wish I could have been there to see you perform it! It's times like these that I'm acutely aware of the fact that we are totally missing out on each other's presence. It makes me miss you.

The wedding sounds like it was amazingly fun. I love weddings. Collective excitement and booze is a good combination.

My concerns and activities as of late have been focused on domestic things; Bag lady grocery shopping, finding, returning, and repurchasing vacuum cleaners, vacuuming with vacuum cleaners, scrubbing things, tidying up in general, breaking out in rashes, and consequently worrying about shampoos and laundry detergents containing perfumes. Doesn't Paris sound exciting?

I don't know if you know this, but I'm a delicate flower. The slightest disruption in my carefully controlled environment can send my body chemistry into an angry uproar. This exacerbates another condition I seem to be mildly afflicted with, what I believe to be OCD, and what others may consider to be just plain craziness. It all has me considering what life would be like living in a plastic bubble (I like to decorate, I'm sure I could make it in to a comfortable bubble at the very least).

Last week I had a friend come for a visit. With this visit there was, in both of our minds, the chance for a budding romance. Kissing was a possibility. Now, I have only become aware of this correlation just a few years ago but, historically, when I get involved in a new romance I break out in a terrible rash. I never realized why, but recently it's become clear that I have a hypersensitivity to flowery or otherwise scented laundry detergents, and beards. Exposure to these two things actually sent me to the emergency room in Italy once.

This visit was no different. His beard, his detergent, my new shampoo, new detergent, and new clothing have all joined forces in an effort to turn my face in to a fiery red mess. I'm horrified. To top it all off I just started my French classes this week, so I get to meet a lot of new people while looking like a leper. Kewl.

So, feeling rather powerless to this this condition, I began exercising control over the only thing I can really control in this world, the cleanliness of my apartment. I'm a cleaning maniac. While Dan was here I was vacuuming multiple times a day, sometimes even while he was sleeping. Sucking up dust balls, rolling lint wheels, straightening rugs, putting books in order from shortest to tallest, laying blankets *just so* over chairs to give that cozy yet posed effect you see in catalogues, and essentially wigging out. I know. It's embarrassing. Will you still be my friend?

As for Paris (which doesn't seem quite as poetic to me when viewed through the mask of a painful, unrelenting rash that has me wanting to scratch my face off) I still have a ton to see. I don't know if I'll ever run out of things to do. I went to Versailles and walked around the grounds for hours. On the train trip home I met two Canadian lawyers who invited me on a trip to Normandy to see the D Day beaches. Dan and I had a picnic in one of the large forests on the outskirts of the city, Bois de Boulogne. I went to the Louvre and saw beautifully rendered and well thought out paintings. I've done some shopping in hopes of becoming stylish... but all that is really secondary to my complaining. I hope you feel sorry for me!

OK darling dearest, I still owe you a wedding gift. I'm a terrible friend, but I have a good memory, at least. Is there something special you and Dana would like from Paris? Something for the house or the baby? Let me know.

I'm sending kisses and candy.

Sonya



Versailles accommodations.



Normandy war machine.



Autumn picnic.



Slumber party at The Louvre.



Window shopping at Les Galeries Lafayette.

PALM SPRINGS WEDDING

Dear Sonya,

As you know one of the best things about living in Los Angeles is getting out of Los Angeles. Not that it's a horrible place, but some time away is the best remedy for those weeks when it becomes unbearable. I've had the good fortune to escape from Los Angeles several times recently. Dana and I flew to Arizona for her birthday this summer and spent a couple quite days reading by a pool and discovering the cultural wasteland that is the greater Phoenix area. Later in the summer I went to Chicago for my friend Eric's Bachelor party. We went to a Cubs game, took a boat out onto Lake Michigan and watched as the large black proprietor of the Weiner Circle flashed her breast for a Rod Stewart-esque crack head in the middle of the night. Amazing.

Last Thursday after work, my friend Cory and I drove out to Palm Springs for Eric's wedding. We both took off Friday so we could participate in the gentleman's golf event that included 5 foursomes from the wedding including most of the groom's wedding party. As you may or may not know I've been playing golf over the last several years and although I own shitty clubs, dress like a criminal and play like a cave man I really enjoy it. Actually I love everything about it. I love being able to drinking and drive a golf cart, I love the smell of the grass. I love that you have to estimate yardage. I love the framed picture of Major Antonio Viaragosa at all of the LA public courses. I love golf shack cuisine. I list goes on. Up until last Friday though I'd only played city run courses in Los Angeles, mostly the ones in Griffith Park. This course was several stars higher on the scale. It was called Desert Willow and it was in the lived nestled off of the main road of some neighboring Palm Springs town.

The golf cart we drove was amazing, equipped with an ice filled cooler build into the back bumper and GPS that told you your yardage from the Tee. I nicknamed it Silver after the Lone Ranger's horse. High Ho Silver, Away Beeotch! I did most of the driving, and Cory, who I was paired with, was generally scared. The round of golf although fun was difficult, and I was playing even shittier than I normally play. But the fellowship of friends, the dry 100+ degree desert air and the desert wild life made the day. I saw a number of Road Runners, a ton of jack rabbits and one time when we were waiting for the party in front of us to clear the fairway so we could tee off, we all watched as a coyote walked between the tee box and the others in front of us and took a shit in the middle of the fairway. I had to raise my canned beer to the pup. I loved the disregard for our round and the clear protest of our presence. Shine on you crazy diamond.

Afterwards we headed back to the hotel, The Horizon Hotel in Palm Springs. Everything in Palm Springs is Mid Century Modern and many of the hotels were designed as a series of private house-like bungaloos that are all centered around a pool area. This hotel was that way and all 20 something rooms were reserved for the wedding, so it was as if we had collectively rented a small modern village.




Dana left work that Friday night and drove out to meet me. Caleb had been sick with a cough but we decided to continue with our plan of letting Dana's dad watch him. I introduced her to the villagers and showed her to our residence. Our room had an indoor/outdoor shower that faced the back of the property. We were lucky, most of the room's showers faced into the pool and anyone walking around could at least see you washing your hair over the cement wall that provided some partial privacy.





Palm Springs has a history of not caring about privacy. It's an adult get away for sure. Many of the hotels don't allow children and it's not uncommon for a pair of nipples to be floating face up in a pool as nearby strangers rest the edges of newspapers on the bulges of their European style swimsuits. There are also several hotels that are noted gay hotels.



Dana and I kept all of our parts under wraps and spent most of Saturday, the day of the wedding, away from the pool and in town. It was Biker week, which meant that thousands of middle aged douche-bags and their busted significant others clogged up the streets with with their Hitler helmets, beards and noisy bikes. Have I ever told you that I hate Harleys? Biker Week should be in Phoenix, it would fit right in. Palm Springs, a city that survives off of tourism, put on it's sluttiest dress and ushered them into their establishments with signs reading, "Bikers Welcome". After giving up on finding a parking spot we headed to the outlet malls where I scored at the Levi's store's corduroy sale. Dana looked for something to keep her warm when the sun went down, but had no luck.



Back at the village the wedding was about to start and as a groomsman, I manned the scotch in Cory's room where we all primped our ties and watched the Cubs get eliminated from the playoffs. Eric was calm on the outside but I could see his eyeballs pulsing with anxiety. Finally it was time and I watched one of my best friends become a husband. The ceremony was short and sweet which I like. It's always nice to see two people in love, but if they get too crazy celebrating their love then you begin to hate them. I think that's why everyone loves a good celebrity break up. They rubbed your nose in their happiness, but in the end it was a lie.



Eric and Irena have a sincere love. It's a practical love. It didn't need a long ceremony filled with sonnets and Whitman poems. It wasn't announced by harp play. All it needed were some kind words, some rings and a kiss.

Later during the reception Cory and I played two songs in the middled of a DJed set. Cory was on the drums and I played my Rhodes electric piano and sang. The first song was, "This Will Be Our Year" by the Zombies. The second one was a stripped down version of the pop hit "Umbrella" by Rhianna. I'd like to close this post with those lyrics.



[VERSE 1]
You had my heart
and we'll never be world apart
Maybe in magazines
but you'll still be my star
Baby cause in the Dark
You can see shiny Cars
And that's when you need me there
With you I'll always share
Because

[CHORUS]
When the sun shines
We’ll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be your friend
Took an oath
I'mma stick it out 'till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we still have each other
You can stand under my Umbrella
You can stand under my Umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)



[VERSE 2]
These fancy things,
will never come in between
You're part of my entity
Here for Infinity
When the war has took it's part
When the world has dealt it's cards
If the hand is hard
[Umbrella lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]


Together we'll mend your heart
Because ...

[CHORUS]
When the sun shines
We'll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be your friend
Took an oath
I'mma stick it out 'till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we still have each other
You can stand under my Umbrella
You can stand under my Umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)

September in Paris.

Ohhhhhh! Baby Caleb! I wish I knew him better. How exciting. That's one thing that really makes me think about having kids, being able to watch them learn everything. Yes, I think it would make the things we consider a bit mundane in our maturity thrilling again. In essence that's kind of why I moved here in the first place. I feel a bit like a baby, unable to communicate and constantly feeling like I want my mommy. Everything is new again!

Yes! Pére Lachaise Cemetery! Funny you should mention it, as I visited for the first time yesterday. I'm smitten. I resolved to return every morning for a walk and photos, as soon as the gates open at 8am. Today I made good on that resolution.



It's hauntingly beautiful. It's just as you would have it be in your imagination, cobwebs everywhere, things decomposing, in disarray and breaking down, ravens cawing from the rooftops of the tombs. I feel lucky to live only four blocks from it. It's really lovely with the Autumn leaves falling all around and crunching under foot. It's so massive, I think it would be impossible to keep it up in the way you see grave yards in the US being treated. In this condition it starts to talk about time and impermanence, and obviously loss. I feel like it's an honest approach to the concept of death, but maybe I'm being a little too arty here...




A black cat crossed my path there, on both my visits. This cat was very sweet and cuddly, purring a lot and enjoying being scratched and petted. Today I sat on a bench and he crawled into my lap and snuggled up in my scarf. I felt it was an omen of good luck, meeting this cat. My first Parisian cat encounter. I'll have to give this kitty a name, as I plan on meeting him daily. I think he's excited about our visits too.



On my way to the grave yard I picked up a chocolate croissant. Yummmmm.... I was feeling very French, going for a stroll in the cemetery, in fall, wearing a scarf, with my chocolate croissant (I don't know if this is something the French would do, but it's my fantasy dammit!)... except for when I had to do the ordering, then I did not feel very French at all. The pastry guy giggled politely when I placed my order, then I explained in French that I don't speak French..."Désolé, je ne parle pas Français." I've become very adept at saying this phrase, maybe even with a perfect accent! I'm sure this is very confusing to all the Parisians I speak with, as it soon becomes very clear that it is in fact true. They always seem to want to test it though... I need to take some classes soon!



I also went to the Catacombs, Les carrières de Paris. Many, many tunnels full of bones and families and people from the past, under the streets of Paris. Spooky! I've done other, non macabre, touristy things, as well, but who hasn't! So I'll spare you the details.



Today I have to learn how to do laundry, and think about going to talk to someone about getting a bank account here. That's going to take some courage. Every time I start thinking about it I get the urge to take a nap. Ugh. Mommy!!!!!!

Has Caleb started day care yet? I think you said he had. Soon it will be all slumber parties, girlfriends, and prank calls. You ready for that? Is he out of the pants crapping stage yet? hahahahahahaha!!! Sorry, I shouldn't be so juvenile.

Well, I've yammered on long enough here. Give my love to the missus, and kisses for the baby, and tell me everything you've ever wanted to tell me as soon as you get the time!

Un bacio. Mwah!

P.S. I'm sorry to hear you are sick, and about the hair! Gross!

September In Los Angeles.

I'm home sick today. My fever keeps going up and down. I tried to eat a can of organic soup and found a hair in it. I didn't want it to be that organic. What, was the soup made without the use of chemical covered hair nets? Don't they have hemp hair nets yet?

The Los Angeles indian summer hasn't hit like it normally does with a heat wave about this time. Instead it's been rainy and brisk, a welcome change to a city that as you know is void of actual seasons. The rain clouds altered flight paths and airplanes flew over the house all weekend. Caleb was happy about that, saying, "the airplane, Da Da the airplane!" everytime we left the house. I wish he could stay excited about the small discoveries in life. I suppose it's like finding out about a new band. There's an excitement about just knowing something new. I now get excited to see airplanes again because I can point them out to Caleb and watch him smile in amazement. I'm also excited about buses, garbage trucks, dogs and bicycles for the same reason.

I google mapped your address in Paris and floated just above the surface of your new neighborhood. I noticed your near the Pére Lachaise cemetery. I went there with my brother in 94 and we saw Chopin's grave as well as Jim Morisson's grave. From above it looks like a beautiful neighborhood, with a basketball court right around the corner and a park a couple blocks away to the northwest. I can't wait to hear about it from you.