Almost a month has passed since last i posted. Geez, you get a couple of grants and work takes over your life. What a gyp.

Just a couple of days after my last post, V and i trekked down to La-La-Land. We'd planned to depart at our usual Friday-after-work time, but as i'd just finished a hellacious week at work, we postponed until Saturday morning. After spending a lonely Friday night without the dog (off to the kennel for the weekend), we hopped in the car at 7:30am and made good time down south, arriving in Westwood around 1:45pm. Our old friend Rudha and her boyfriend Doug were in town for the screening of Doug's short film Quincy & Althea at the L.A. Film Festival. We got to the Majestic Theater in plenty of time to rendez-vous with our crew and get seats for the showing of 8 short features. All were good, although some were better than others ... i was particularly unamused by the one-dimensional Tripe and Onions. Doug's film was excellent, as were several animated shorts. Afterwards we had a Japanese barbecue meal in Kevin's hood (although Kevin was awol), then wrapped up the night with drinks in Venice. On Sunday we resolved to hit the road relatively early so as to get home at a decent hour, but our well-laid plans were thwarted by stop-and-go traffic for 18 miles up and down the grapevine. Fan-freakin'-tastic. I hate L.A.!

Speaking of my paraphrasing of Randy Newman, Veronica and Matthew have lately taken up a campaign to convince me to relocate to SoCal. Never mind the fact that moving to any of the universities in L.A. (UCLA and USC being the two most prominent) would be at best a lateral switch, i just am not a fan of the L.A. lifestyle. Something about the entire county rubs me the wrong way. Granted, part of this comes from growing up in the Bay Area and being indoctrinated with a fierce anti-Los Angeles mentality. Nonetheless, recognition of this bias doesn't mediate the deep feeling of dread that thoughts of habitating south of Monterey instill in me. Perhaps i've taken Death Cab's vitriolic "Why You'd Want To Live Here" to heart.

One of the reasons i delayed our departure for Los Angeles was because that Friday morning i'd helped my friend and radiochemistry mentor Fred with his move into his new house. I spent the morning moving boxes from the top of his townhouse to the garage, traipsing up and down four flights of stairs for two and a half hours. In addition to completely sapping my energy for the day, the effort also adversely affected my relatively new Blackberry. After getting a bit sweaty in my pocket, the center button of the trackball stopped working. The trackball worked fine for navigating, it just wouldn't select anything when clicked. I thought i could just waltz into a T-Mobile store and get it replaced thanks to my service plan, but unfortunately i had to call customer service and spend an hour walking through their attempts to fix the problem via software. No dice, so after waiting a few days for delivery i received a spanking new one. However, knowledge that the new unit is most likely a refurbished phone descended from some other T-Mobile user who had technical problems is not making me very happy.

i can't shake this feeling i've got
my dirty hands, have i been in the wars?
the saddest thing that i'd ever seen
was smokers outside the hospital doors

Veronica and i spent our fourth of July in Fremont with my parents and a number of their old friends, most of whom i hadn't seen in, oh, fifteen years. It was an interesting jaunt down memory lane, with a bit of down-home American bbq to boot. Tara, now a regular visitor at my parents' house, was as usual thrilled to follow the guests around hoping for a handout. We made it home in time to hear the majority of our neighbors festivities, which i tried to convince myself were fireworks. Luckily they knocked it off by midnight.

Matthew and Dionne flew up for the weekend of the 14th, to accompany us and Gary to Chelsea's Bay Area encounter with Mexican side Club America at Stanford Stadium. After squeezing in dinner in downtown RC and a trip to SF for the underwhelming Club Something on Friday night and a whirlwind jaunt up to Sausalito for the ever-delightful brunch at the Lighthouse Café on Saturday afternoon, we headed over to Stanford. I threw on my oldest Blues kit, one from 1996 that barely fit anymore. As Gary remarked on our approach to the stadium, my jersey was older than most of the Chelsea fans in attendance. I'd never been to my employer's (American) football ground, which was very nice. We had splurged on seats in the fourth row near midfield, and as such were treated to a close view of my footie heroes. As the match neared initiation, the Mexican fans in the upper deck of the stadium began their festivities, which included flares, fireworks, confetti, smoke bombs, and drums. Quite the spectacle. As seems to happen when Veronica is in attendance, Chelsea "failed to impress" in the first half (to put it mildly). We went behind in the fifth minute when a good buildup from America resulted in a shot from the top of the box. Petr Cech had it covered, but the ball deflected off John Terry and into the opposite corner of the net. Despite some impressive play from the now healthy Joe Cole, Chelsea's attack floundered. We had a good view of Arjen Robben doing mostly nothing on the left wing. Andriy Shevchenko didn't do much more in his lone striker role. José Mourinho replaced almost the entire squad for the second half, giving fresh signing Florent Malouda Robben's place on the left. The French winger responded by producing the equalizing goal, turning and firing home after the Mexican keeper had parried a shot. What was odd however was that the ball rolled at a modest pace into the net, past two defenders who could've easily cleared but seemed to usher the ball into their own goal. Perhaps they thought their keeper was back in position? Who knows. If Club America can score a garbage goal, then so can we. With five minutes remaining John Terry headed the winner from a Malouda cross, giving Chelsea the not-so-sought-after "Disney Friendship Cup". I thought it should've had Mickey Mouse ears, but oh well. Although only our first preseason match, the game did not provide many good omens for the forthcoming season. Especially considering the impressive arrivals at both Old Trafford and Anfield. The only silver lining i could locate was Joe Cole's impressive turn after spending most of last season on the injury list.

Walking back to our car, our paths crossed a group of young Club America supporters. Seeing my Chelsea kit, they began chanting "Club America!". They weren't aggressive, but one diminutive member of their group strolled up alongside me. He must've been about 10 years old. Looking up at me, he nonchalantly told me "i think Chelsea's for fags". I was a bit taken aback, and asked him "really?" He nodded, and wandered away. Bizarre. We went home to see the dog, then took our party over to new favorite Tarboosh for dinner. V, Gary, and i decided to sample the restaurant's hookahs, and spent our meal smoking apples. Or something apple-flavored. It was certainly relaxing. On our way out of the restaurant, Dionne was startled by a car in which someone had placed an evil-looking marionette sitting in the passenger's seat. The demonic doll bore a disconcerting resemblance to Chucky, and had us all laughing for a few minutes.

After saying goodbye to Matthew and Dionne at the airport on Sunday afternoon, V and i had dinner and a movie with Stanford friends Frank and Jennifer. Over sushi we got to play with their new iPhones. Although i get decidedly tired of all the pro-Apple propaganda, i have to admit that their latest gadget is extremely slick. Perhaps V or i will get one, although i think we can wait until version 2.0 of the device fixes the initial bugs. Our movie selection for the evening was the newly-released Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. As is well documented in these pages, i'm more or less over the whole Potter craze. This was the first movie for which i hadn't read the book. My problem with the series is that author J.K. Rowling has taken it from a kid's book to a more adult fantasy thriller. While there's nothing wrong with that persay, it feels to me like the stories haven't really shed their prepubescent simplicity. Adult themes like betrayal and evil are mixed in with paper thin character development. However, i was pleasantly surprised with the latest flick, which focused enough on Harry's interpersonal relationships to keep me interested. Really, that's the only part of the saga that interests me now ... i could care less about good and bad wizards waving wands at each other. Which, no matter who's directing the scene, never fails to look retarded. Reservoir Dogs this is not.

The trailer for Judd Apatow's latest flick Superbad demonstrates a virtually perfect use of the Van Halen classic "Panama". Coupled with fond memories of star Michael Cera's role as Arrested Development's comically awkward George Michael Bluth, i can't wait to see the finished product.

It was our turn to drive down the 5 again this past weekend, this time to attend Saturday's Daft Punk show at the L.A. Sports Arena. We managed to hitch a ride with Phil and Naomi, who were venturing south for Naomi's mom's birthday. As Phil wanted to bring a scooter along, we were forced to take two cars, but luckily this meant we could borrow Naomi's Scion for the weekend. Dionne was celebrating a birthday on Friday evening, but as we'd missed the dinner portion of the festivities we decided to instead share a meal with Naomi's family at El Conquistador. After dinner Naomi and co. headed over to a local bookstore to secure copies of the newly-released Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, while we went to Akbar and spent the rest of the night having drinks and chatting with Dionne, Matthew, Michelle, Sean, Danny, Rey, and friends.

Over dinner we had learned that Naomi's family were attending a play by long-standing Chicano actors, comics, and playwrights Culture Clash on Saturday afternoon. V had taken me to see them in 2001 in San Francisco, and we were interested in their latest effort Zorro in Hell, so we bought tickets and joined them. Although Culture Clash's humor can be at times a bit jokey, they excel at integrating relevant themes into their fiction. Zorro in Hell dealt with the history of the Zorro legend, a Mexican folk hero invented by an Irish pulp writer. While initially intending to debunk the story as exploitative myth, the playwrights found along the way that the legend has value in its ability to inspire. Their protagonist follows a similar course of discovery. We greatly enjoyed the performance, and got a chance to chat with troupe member Richard Montoya in the lobby afterwards. From there we fulfilled Veronica's wish to sample yogurt chain and SoCal craze Pinkberry, which was quite tasty. We then joined Naomi and co. for a second dinner, at the swanky Ciudad downtown. We arrived right at the specified reservation time, as we were slightly delayed because a movie was being filmed on nearby Figueroa. Signs redirecting traffic warned the filming would involve "explosions and gunfire" ... eek! Our waitress told us it was a Will Smith flick in which he played a superhero, and that the scene being filmed at present involved the former Fresh Prince flying (via a crane) over several buildings. A quick IMDB search informed us the movie was Hancock, scheduled for release in 2008. While we didn't see any stars or explosions, it was exciting nonetheless. Dinner was equally glamorous, a spectacular Mexican/Latin American meal ranging from chorizo corndogs to jalapeño-stuffed steak to twelve layer chocolate rum cake. We were loath to end our merriment with the de la Moras, but the Daft Punk show beckoned. Despite our extreme fatigue, the eccentric Frenchmen had us raving out until 1am.

V drove me to the airport early Sunday morning for my 9am flight to Minneapolis and the annual meeting of the American Association of Physicists in Medicine. I got into the Twin Cities airport at 2:30pm, and spent an hour and a half getting my suitcase, taking a shuttle to the other terminal, and taking the light rail downtown. A very nice public transit system, but my lack of familiarity meant that after exiting the train i had a 10 block hike down Nicollet Mall to my hotel. I've never been here before, but i'm enjoying the quaint yet classy midwestern city. The downtown area is relatively compact, and boasts the Metrodome (home to the Twins and Vikings) as well as the Timberwolves' Target Center within walking distance. I've been to one upscale downtown restaurant (Mission American, for the celebration dinner for my old boss Art Boyer after his receipt of AAPM's lifetime achievement award), the English-style and appropriately named Brit's Pub for din-din and drinks, and the Irish O'Donovan's Pub for Sunday night boozing. Every place has had a nice balance between trendiness and friendliness. The only downside has been the 90 degree, 60% humidity weather.

I needed some toiletries yesterday, so i wandered down the Nicollet Mall to find a drugstore. I saw a giant red target and figured the ubiquitous megastore would meet my needs. Going inside and up the escalator, i found myself in the corporate headquarters of the retail giant. Whoops. No one looked like they'd be able to tell me where to find shaving cream.

god that was strange to see you again
introduced by a friend of a friend
smiled and said, "yes i think we've met before"
in that instant it started to pour
captured a taxi despite all the rain
we drove in silence across point champlain
and all of the time you thought i was sad
i was trying to remember your name

this scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in
now you're outside me
you see all the beauty, repent all your sin

it's nothing but time and a face that you lose
i chose to feel it and you couldn't choose
i'll write you a postcard
i'll send you the news
from a house down the road from real love

live through this, and you won't look back

there's one thing i want to say, so i'll be brave
you were what i wanted
i gave what i gave
i'm not sorry i met you
i'm not sorry it's over
i'm not sorry there's nothing to say