d u d e r n e t

That's going to help the home-life

Good lord almighty.

An astute observation

In case you missed it, this gem comes from a feature in this week's New Yorker on the 26-year-old composer Nico Muhly.

"People five years older than me are always deeply confused about what MySpace actually is, and people five years younger are deeply into it, but people my age are, like, 'Yes, this is essentially where pedophiles are, and there is also music there,' " he says.

(Meanwhile, in addition to being crazily talented, Mr. Muhly's writing on a wide-ranging bunch of topics is deeply entertaining. A great way to spend a half hour or more, as I just did [and continue to].)

Odds and ends

Oh, I've been neglecting this space, I know. Nothing earth-shattering to report, to be sure, but a few notes of interest:

- Watching the snow fall outside here, I can't help but think about how much I'd rather be in Silver Lake tonight, watching a killer trio of sets from Castledoor, the Deadly Syndrome and the Airborne Toxic Event, as the latter finishes out its monthlong residency there. Amazingly (and deservedly), the Airborne Toxic Event's "Sometime Around Midnight" is now the No. 2 most-requested song on L.A.'s KROQ. They're unsigned. That's outstanding. Listen, if you haven't.

- Speaking of exciting music, this'll be the first time in six years I will pass on the desert party that is Coachella. I'll miss the sunsets and the scene, and the midnight pool parties, but I won't miss this year's headliners. I think it's a good year to make my first visit to South by Southwest, don't you? Won't you come join me?

- Camel is encouraging me to quit smoking, by discontinuing my beloved Turkish Jades. Boo. Boo, Camel!

- No hard news yet on the job front, but some things are cooking, and in all likelihood, I'll be relocating from these Northern California parts sooner rather than later. Stay tuned.

Now entering Year No. 29

Spent the birthday at Yosemite (overnight trip was a Christmas present from mom). The first day was surely not ideal picture-taking weather, but Day Two didn't disappoint. Little sun, but a fresh coat of powder and some neat low clouds.

Off to the South Bay tomorrow for some long overdue catchup with good old friends. Cake concert Sunday night; Winter Cocktail Monday. Doesn't get much better than that, no matter the year.

Tweeting the day away

I'm finding that the occasional Twitter update of randomness seems to be taking the place of the occasional blog update of randomness (and also, incidentally, the occasional Facebook status update), so I've added a feed of my last few tweets over to the right, and reordered some things.

Marginally interesting at best, but probably as involved as posts are going to get over the next several days.

Hey, can you believe it's Christmas in two days? I can't. Discuss.

What's my age again?

So, I'm less than two weeks from turning 28, and all of a sudden, I'm feeling like I'm 18 again.

Why? Well, not the living-at-home bit; that ended when I was 16. It's more the random help-wanted ads I'm responding to. Nothing en masse, certainly, but there have been a few jobs here and there that sound, well, interesting, but are also probably wildly outside the realm of possibility for someone who has done nothing but work for newspapers the last decade.

It brings back old instincts - like, when the phone rings: Is that someone calling about a job?!

Don't get me wrong; I'm, by and large, enjoying this bout of unemployment (or, "retirement," as my buddy Tribble tweeted today). And I'm in no big rush to return from it. It's just funny how familiar it feels, even if it's been quite a while since things were so uncertain.

A show about nothing

PLACERVILLE, Calif. - Right. Well.

It seems blogging seems to cease when interesting things stop happening.

I'm home, and I'm enjoying it, from the company of my mom and the dog and cat to the wintry weather outside. And I'm not working, and I'm not living in some exotic locale, and so any sense of drama has pretty much ceased. Which is a nice refreshing change, let me tell you.

So, I'll keep you posted, gentle reader, as things are likely to pick up a bit as the holiday season draws nearer. But figured you didn't need to hear about my trip to Costco, or the first time I drove a car in four months. Carry on.

The road curves back to familiar territory

SACRAMENTO - On the ground, now, finally, almost 24 hours since I first left for the airport in London. Delays there, too tight a connection at LAX, but I've never been so happy to be on the ground, ever.

This is home. I love it.

Scavengers don't just live in San Jose

So, when I was moving out of my house in San Jose, I rented a Dumpster. Like, a big one. I had a lot of stuff, and the purging process was healthy and actually enjoyable. Why I thought I'd need five clips of every story I ever wrote for the local paper when I was 16, I'll never know. But, off they went. Along with much, much more. (The Dumpster was full, by the end.)

Anyway, once the sun went down, out came the Dumpster divers. Several times over, I had to shoo people out of my Dumpster. Even once, a guy on a bike, who couldn't be bothered to actually get off his bike to sift through the stuff at the top. It was annoying, not because I was afraid of identity theft or that sort of thing (those papers didn't get tossed), but because there was plenty of personal stuff in there I was tossing.

So, here, there's a big central room on each floor of my building with cans for 'wet garbage' and 'dry garbage.' The past couple nights, I've filled the dry can with DVD cases, books and magazines, and then put the dry spillover next to it. The trash/incinerator chute is right next door, so I don't feel too bad about making the cleaning crew move it all.

Tonight, though, was the time to move clothes to the trash room. Piles and piles and piles of clothes. The first load went out at 11 p.m., and was a mighty mountain of my treasured fashions. Had to be at least 50 pieces, from polos to t-shirts, to jeans and shorts. By the time I moved the second load out there, a little over an hour later, all that remained were a couple old undershirts and a pair of boxers. Just saying: Somebody's got a shit-ton of my old clothes in their condo. More power to 'em. Makes me feel less bad about leaving them there.

In case you're hard of hearing

So, I have this recurring problem with DVDs and subtitles. I used to think it was just the crap DVD player I had, but then I bought a new one in the U.S. and had the same problem; and then I bought a new one here, and had the same problem. So, unless that's a long string of coincidences, there's got to be something wrong with the actual DVDs.

The thing is, the subtitles come on automatically, no matter what's selected in the options menu on the DVD. On most DVDs, I can just keep hitting the "subtitle" button on my remote to shift them from English to French to Spanish to, finally, OFF. But, on Simpsons DVDs in particular, this doesn't work. And they remain on. And for someone like me, no matter how hard I try, I end up reading the damn things instead of just listening to what's going on. Doesn't make for a terribly relaxing viewing experience.

Anyway. Finally, last night, I was rewarded for this recurring problem. While it's always funny to listen to Chief Wiggum breathe hard on the Simpsons (like, say, when he's taken at least five steps; or run up the stairs in a Farley-esque manner), no actual sound effect is as funny as what the subtitles read during this moment:

"[Snorts}  [Brays]"