The Ranting Wren The Wren Forum Banner
The Glorious Wren The Movie Wren The Photo Wren Old Man Wren

Exit ArchiveArchive for November, 2005

On the plane. Wait. “We have an oil leak.” Off the plane. Wait. Nurse another sinus infection. Wait. Only three more hours. Enjoy!

Waiting, waiting, waiting for the plane...

After the fact: It was five more hours when all was said and done.

Permalink Comments Off on The Disneyland of Grocery StoresComments Off on The Disneyland of Grocery Stores By

Seen above the frozen taquitos: The Stew Leonard’s Animatronic Holiday Show, one of many shopping entertainments.

Animatronics in Stew Leonard's

Today was Drive to Connecticut to Visit Michelle, Alan, Cameron, and Garrett Day.

Michelle with Purple Hair

(The purple hair you are seeing in these pictures appears to be a handy feature of my cell phone’s camera.)

Permalink Comments Off on Big Hat, Little HeadComments Off on Big Hat, Little Head By

Jake and the trucker hat look.

Jake in a huge trucker hat

(Thanks to Steve R. for the inspiration for the title.)

Permalink Comments Off on Catherine’s On FireComments Off on Catherine’s On Fire By

This is Catherine spinning fire on her roof. Shhh! It’s illegal!

Catherine spinning fire

Permalink Comments Off on Starry NightComments Off on Starry Night By

Today was MoMA day. Yummy!

Van Gogh's The Starry Night

From the Wexler Reichert Natkins (and one Lekowicz).

Thanksgiving table

Permalink Comments Off on Happy Thanksgiving!Comments Off on Happy Thanksgiving! By

This is my new invention, Bead Air Hockey. Yes, it’s as messy as it sounds.

Bead air hockey

Say hi to some of the folks I’m spending Thanksgiving with.

Thanksgiving Chums

In the vein of things getting too serious, I offer you …


A small dog.

Permalink Comments Off on Triumph of the NerdsComments Off on Triumph of the Nerds By

I have so much to say on the recent posts, but first, something funny! Yes, the atmosphere at The Wren Forum has been getting pretty serious as of late. This is perfectly fine. But I think some humor is now in order.

Enjoy, if you will, Triumph the Insult Dog’s skewering of Star Wars nerds. It is old, but hilarious.

(I also saw an SNL “skit” on Steve Jobs and the iPod, but it was barely funny. Typical SNL waste of time. I am providing, as a time-saving service today, no link to it.)


Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief, all kill their inspiration and sing about the grief.

It seems my job has been the source of 90% of my anxieties for the past year. (The other 10% are caused by imagined physical ailments, sexual tension and concern that we have not seen Vicky from The Love Boat in far too many years.)

Three weeks ago to this very day, I received a completely unexpected phone call from a professional acquaintance who offered me a job. He did not say, “I am interested in getting you down here,” or even, “Would you be interested in talking with us?” He said, “I want you to work for me, and I want to pay you (this much). Yes or no?” Of course, the answer was not that easy, and a great deal of time in the past three weeks has been spent hearing the offer, negotiating terms for possible acceptance, and contemplating the prospects. It was a very good deal. Today, I turned it down.

My current employer has also offered me more money — replete with more responsibility — to stay here. Meanwhile, there is a third prospect that remains active, but which shall not yet be discussed here.

I have never in my life been in a position where I was being sought for a job rather than seeking one, or in the position to request considerations from my current employer. It’s unusual. It’s not as pleasant an experience as I would have imagined. When you are in one job and actively apply for another, you hope you will be chosen, but since your employer does not know what is happening, if things don’t pan out you can remain gladly in your present capacity. In my situation, everything (well, almost everything) has been done in transparency with my employer. They know there are other offers. They know I have choices. The other would-be employers know I’m in a good situation here. Essentially, I’ve found people fighting over me, and I always imagined that must be a wonderfully flattering thing to have happen.

It’s the biggest stress-inducer I’ve ever experienced.

Aside from tripping in Spanish class in 10th grade and having to endure taunts for the rest of my days in that class. Which is why I ditched it so frequently.

Permalink Comments Off on “Sir, You Have Money Stuck in Your Thermal Transfer Drum.”Comments Off on “Sir, You Have Money Stuck in Your Thermal Transfer Drum.” By

Another quick post, this time from Engadget: “Tip to Counterfeiters: Don’t Send Printer Jammed with Fake Money Out for Repair.”

I link to Engadget because they are, like usual, very witty. Click their “Read” link to read the full news item.

Here is a quick but fitting post while I run off to help Ken set up his iMac at home, and after just taking pictures of our dismantled G5 (which will be posted for your pleasure later on).

It’s some fun info about the famous “1984” commercial that introduced the Macintosh.

… I am still here.

Today, I canceled my Friendster account. It took me a little while following the spam incident in part because it was hard to delete the kind and funny testimonials people had written about me.

Well, in all the time I was on Friendster, Matt had begged me to write a testimonial for him. I just couldn’t. Our relationship was/is too complex for me to capture in any sort of sprightly, forced, or off-handed manner. I knew any testimonial for him would have to include elements that he might not like. So inspiration never came.

Of course, today, after my account is gone and I can not post something about Matt, I get my spark. I am posting this without his approval, so I hope he doesn’t get mad at me. But here it is, Matt: Your extra-Friendster testimonial.

Matt is like an unusual-tasting dish. You’re not sure at first if you get him, but you like him right away. His abrupt disavowal can leave an unpleasant taste in your mouth, until you hear him laugh and the flavor then returns. You can recognize him on the outside, but once you dig in, you realize there’s too much going on inside for you to comprehend or distill. You may devour him and shower him with praise while he remains oblivious to your hunger, and when you stop eating, he looks over with the cutest face and wonders where you went. Sometimes you can’t get enough of him, and several servings can’t satisfy you. Sometimes you’re just not in the mood for the complexity. You think you can live without him, but when you get a hint of his bouquet, you need some of him right away. And as surprising as if such an exotic dish were to become animated off the plate, if he responds and embraces you in return, you blink, curious, and then melt.

Yes, what you are seeing here was shot, written, and posted from my cell phone. Is it any wonder I’m single? 🙂

The Wren Forum phone photo

I have never seen any version of Love! Valour! Compassion!, either on the stage or on the screen. When fellow CCPT actor Colbert said the run of the version he’s in was extended, I thought I should go see it. I assure you that knowing he would be naked for part of the play had nothing to do with it. I also love seafood.

The set at The Attic Theatre was spare. The house was not quite half full. When the show began, it smacked immediately of “PLAY WRITING.” It had that cadence, that stage verbiage and shape that made it, well, sound play-y. None of these were bad beginnings, but for a night of theater in Los Angeles, you have to be prepared for the worst.

The show was going well. The characters were introduced with the sort of predictability one expects from a play, though the form of narration bleeding into action was interesting, promising. A bit into the first act, I was still uncertain what to think of the show, but was settling into it just fine.

The only person I’ve ever really truly loved in a romantic sense was Bryon Fear. I have loved others on a variety of levels, but Bryon was the kind of love you hear about, and the kind of love you think is impossible or bogus until you find it. Like all genuine, honest, reciprocal relationships, it was not perfect. One of the worst disagreements we ever had was over something so ridiculously misunderstood, it could only happen to two people who loved each other.

I had picked up Bryon from the Hollywood Hills, where he was working with a producer. I made a comment, hard to recall as I write this, but something regarding my having to pick him up. It made Bryon go quiet. He would not talk during the rest of the car ride to my apartment, where he was staying while in the States. I knew what I’d said had made him angry, but I honestly did not know why, and I did not have the courage to ask him outright.

When we got to my place, right after parking my green Honda, he walked to an art store that was many, many blocks away—which in L.A. is like walking from Miami to Poughkeepsie. He refused my offer to give him a ride. I waited in my apartment, confused and angry and sad.

When he returned from the store and the quiet became too much, we finally got into it. He told me what my comment had sounded like to him. I told him I had not meant it that way. We argued over the salient points of the misunderstanding, somehow ending up sitting in the floor of the bathroom.

The relief of the talking and the stupidity of the discord became too much. We both were crying. I can not say where his tears came from, but I know where mine came from. I was crying because I had hurt him and had inadvertently caused him pain. His pain was mine, and that was something that was kind of new to me, and that meant… something I balked at embracing.

About 30 minutes into Love! Valour! Compassion!—maybe more, maybe less—two characters, Perry and Arthur, who have been together for 14 years, get into an argument over Perry’s black, pessimistic explosion during dinner. Up until now, you wonder why these two are together, wonder how Arthur puts up with Perry’s bitter outlook. But they talk, and the writing, still with a theatrical conceit, belies honesty and reality.

Still on the bathroom floor but now past the most difficult stage of the argument, Bryon and I ended up in an awkward hug, crying into each other’s neck. He told me he loved me, and he was worried that I had not told him the same. I knew what I was feeling in the pit of my soul, but fear of it still kept me cautious. I had to tell him I did not know why I could not say it. I could not say it. I had to be sure, and could not say it yet.

Perry and Arthur, on stage, the structure of their relationship now more obvious to me, are winding down their tiff. “I love you, Arthur,” says Perry. “Don’t give up on me.” Me, clutching Bryon tight, my fingers digging into his clothes, my head filled with his sobs and his scent, can only say, “I don’t know. Don’t give up.” “On what?” Bryon asks. “On anything.” “Does that include you?”


I loved Bryon, and I knew it. I knew it then. I could not say so. I was afraid of saying so if I did not believe it would be true forever.

The remaining 2½ acts of Love! Valour! Compassion! were mesmerizing, funny, and genuine. I could not help but see myself, my life, people I knew, the companionship I had and lost and long for again. This introspection made it difficult to talk to people during the two intermissions. (I went to the show by myself, yet ran into three people I’d met before.)

I thanked the actors genuinely after the show, and Colbert and I talked for a while outside in the chilly, dense air. He asked me what I think is the best way to meet someone, but I didn’t get to answer fully. I don’t know what the answer is, really. But I wanted to tell him love can happen any way, without warning or expectation. It can happen and you won’t know it until it’s already begun. Trite but true.

With Bryon, I eventually got over the fear of semantic expression. I told him I loved him, and it was true. The honesty of love was exhilarating.

I have not had that kind of love since, but I know I will someday. When I do, I hope I will have the guts to ignore the doubts that overthinking creates and be able to say “I love you” with elated heart. And I hope I never again have to say “don’t give up” because I will know he won’t need to.