Ah! Well a-day! What evil looks /
Had I from old and young! /
Instead of the cross, the albatross /
About my neck was hung/

I used to have an albatross necklace that fell from my neck while I was running one night. I never found it.

Now, about my neck is an albatross I can never lose. It is tattooed on. I am pleased with it. Now maybe the gods will finally pay me some attention.

It is a bit bigger than I planned on getting, but it is fitting because albatross are huge birds. Also unexpected, when I raise my arms to the heavens the unfortunate bird's wings seem to pull in as if diving towards the earth or sea.

The beak needs to be touched up. It is curved, and albatross beaks are straighter, much like a seagull's and exactly like an albatross'.

I am pleased.

Next up I still need my labyrinth on my back and perhaps the hitchhiker's thumb. I'm not sure where I'll put that. I'm starting to run out of room.

I am pleased.

I'm thinking of getting another motorcycle. This is mainly to counteract the loss of manliness that comes with singing along with Michael Bolton.

Also, it's been a few years so I'm sure I'm well past that pesky "constantly-crashing-every-motorcycle-I've-ever-ridden-stage."

I'm settling into the idea of a Yamaha FZ6. It's a good all-around bike, not terribly expensive, reliable, and light so when it falls on me I will be okay.



Perhaps a 2004 if I can find one. We'll see.

It's secret shame time again. Again, this secret shame involves an early nineties music video.

1993 was an earth-shattering year for music video technologies because it marked the end of the international race to superimpose flames over images that had no business being superimposed upon.

This video is also a documentary, and it was filmed in real time to chronicle the attempt to introduce Michael Bolton back into the wild. It was hard at first, but he quickly learned to forage for supermodels and half-buttoned shirts.

Michael Bolton's presence with us today is also explained, as the Bolton Preservation Foundation re-captured him after he somehow managed to burn down the desert and several canyons. It was the greatest ecological disaster caused by a musician to date and remains a dire warning to future programs that may attempt to introduce musicians into an environment where there are no natural predators to keep their antics in check.



I hope I've successfully distracted you from the fact that I really like this song and was singing it in the car today. Luis can testify; he was a sullen witness to the event in question.

My new long-time career in technical lighting is going very well. I was apprehensive today because they brought in another professional spotlight operator. I remained my engaging self and deftly avoided questions about my work experience and refrained from dropping any technical jargon since I wasn't always sure if I was using it correctly.

As I sat and did my job and earned money for being something I really wasn't, I had time to reflect on why I had leaped into this charade.

I'm generally not a dishonest person unless I think the outcomes would be amusing to all concerned. In fact, I recall a time in high school when I told everyone Andrew was a German exchange student and he played along for hours. Really, I'm just now returning the favor.

In the ten seconds I had to process what was happening, I was immediately worried that some harm might befall Andrew if I admitted I was new to all this. Also, and this may be the main thing, the guy was just so damn happy to see me. I didn't want to let him down. Why should I, I thought. He has no one else. Nowhere to go but up, I say. Worst that could happen is he thinks I'm just really crappy and fires me. But the best is happening, which is I'm doing the job and doing it great. Well, adequately. Which is great to me. But the professional spotlight operator complimented me, which was pleasant.

The hardest part has been learning without seeming like I'm learning. I've gotten much better than when we first ran the show, but so far the others think it was just a communication issue.

On my first day I was told they were still having trouble with the headsets the director uses to communicate directions to the crew, myself included. Thus, whenever I got an instruction that wasn't in my limited repertoire or not completely obvious, I went dead silent and pretended I hadn't heard it. Simple really, I just had to prevent myself from laughing as the director raged at the sound people. Sorry guys.

During some of the downtime, I lay in my dimly lit booth and returned to my book of Tolstoy short stories. For some reason I don't yet fathom, I felt I understood it much better than I had a few months before. Maybe I'm growing up.

Yeah, right.

My day in two summarized exchanges:

"Hey everyone, this is Guillermo. He does theatrical lighting for a living and is here to help us. I'm glad you're here Guillermo!"

"Yes, I am Guillermo and everything you have heard is true; I am indeed an expert in this particular service or product."

Nine hours later:

"Great job today, Guillermo. Sorry about everything, it's just been crazy around here. It's so good to finally have someone who knows what they're doing."

"No problem. No problem at all."

So far. I have to play out this ruse for a few more weeks. In the meantime, I have a long list of terms and equipment I hastily scribbled down when no one was looking. I'm not too worried. Hell, by the end of the day I had already trained three people how to operate the equipment I was still learning myself.

This is why everyone should read Catch Me If You Can. Ethics of bank fraud aside, it's about doing your absolute best with whatever you have.

Now I must rest. It's another long day tomorrow, and I have found that being an expert is quite exhausting.

My nephews were baptized today. It was a pleasant experience overall. I haven't attended church in something like eight years, not since I joined the Army (in clear violation of the "no atheists in foxholes" hypothesis proposed mainly by people who have never been in a foxhole or shared their sleeping burrow with ants and giant spiders). I've missed goofing off. My mom even scolded me. Just like old times. I was entrusted with videotaping the ritual which inadvertently provided an alibi for my sacrilicious behavior and general irreverence for the goings-on. In today's Reality-Show-Reality, operating a camera brings true absolution.

In my little brain, I was only a spectator to the proceedings. I am not religious, thus I have the option to participate in any ritual because hey, who's it going to hurt (besides the goat) or to abstain if I think pretending to praise a deity or accept a world-view may be offensive to more convinced actors.

In a heavily ritualized religion like Catholicism, I don't think it really matters in a teaching where humans beings are expected to never really understand. Okay, I says, then don't expect to ever understand why I go off where nobody tells me when to sit, stand or kneel.

But I digress.

The babies enjoyed themselves. They didn't seem to mind being prayed over or dunked in holy water like a sinful donut. And they loved the candles. Ender chewed his happily until the end of the ceremony. I'm pretty sure he said "It tastes like salvation." Not a hundred percent, but pretty sure.

I love my family. They are the funniest people I know.

On the way out my little cousin and I had a quick break-dance battle in front of one of the stained-glass windows. I was winning but then one of the priests started to exorcise me and I awoke face-down in the parking lot.

Directions to the reception scribbled on a church flyer were stuffed in my breast pocket. I brushed a few bits of asphalt from my forehead and ran to my truck.

There are a few Catholic traditions that I am always happy to partake in, no matter who they may offend. Beer on a Sunday afternoon in celebration of someone staving off hellfire is one of those.

Today marks the beginning of my new regimen of discipline and self-improvement. I woke up at 7:30 am, put on my workout clothes, and stepped outside into the cool September morning. I stared blankly at my flooded backyard, made a half-hearted attempt to squish across it to the workout room, and then gave up and went back inside to make sandwiches.

I'll work out this evening after work. Perhaps the irrigation will have soaked in by then.

I've also made this drawing of the most heroic sausage ever: