Never Would've Figured You for a NASCAR Fan!

The 2010 NASCAR season ended today, and I am sad. Not sad at the outcome of the season in any way -- it is what it is, as they say (one of my least favorite sayings). Sad at the prospect of NASCAR-less weekends until Daytona in February. I'm also an NFL fan, especially of the Broncos, so between the Super Bowl and Daytona is a real wasteland!

Nobody seems to be very surprised that I'm an NFL fan. And they understand why I'm a Bronco fan once I tell them I grew up in Denver. But I always get this: "You like NASCAR? I never would've figured you for a NASCAR fan!"

That has been as consistent when I lived in Arizona and Maryland as when I lived in New York City. It baffles me. What do people think a NASCAR fan looks like? Some people think of them as beer-guzzling, loudmouth rednecks. Well, first of all, what's wrong with that? I personally don't drink (as a public service), rarely get loud and like to think I don't blindly dislike anyone. But if you go to any live sports event, you get a bellyfull of those kinds of folks. (I consider rednecks anyone who has a blanket dislike of any group of people for the color of their skin or their political beliefs or religious beliefs or sexual orientation or any other reason that reeks of discrimination.)

Sports were always a part of my growing up. My dad watched football on Sundays and Thanksgiving. He and my mom played golf and watched golf on tv. I went to football, basketball and hockey games during high school, college and beyond.

And...when I was little, I watched auto races of all kinds on tv in our basement. All the time. In high school, I went to local races. My first NASCAR race that I attended in person was about 15 years ago when I was invited into an owner's box at the Charlotte speedway for the Nationwide (then the Busch) series race the weekend of the Coca Cola 600. I LOVED it! I wrangled an invitation to the Coca Cola 600 the next day in the same owner's box and that was it. I've been hooked ever since.

I did go to an Indy car race in Richmond, Virginia, about 3-1/2 years ago and found it to be pretty boring compared to NASCAR. There were almost no lead changes and I didn't see much to keep my interest. That made me understand why non-NASCAR fans say they think NASCAR is boring. The more I know the race rules, the car characteristics, the drivers and their families, the more interesting it is.

I have my favorite drivers and the ones I really could happily ignore or do without. I won't name them here. Because the point is, I'm a NASCAR fan. And I don't think I'm all that atypical from what I see of other NASCAR fans on Twitter.

Oh, what is that you say? You never would've figured me for a Twitterer either? Ha!

Proud to Be a Broncos Fan - Floyd Little Enters the NFL Hall of Fame

Tonight as I watch Floyd Little's induction into the NFL Hall of Fame on ESPN, his acceptance speech brings me to tears. He delivers his message -- "No one travels this road alone" -- like he played football: with passion, humility and spirituality. He is the real deal.

Little is being inducted now, in 2010, in his 30th year of eligibility. If he was so great, why did it take so long? Because the teams he played on did not win. However, he filled the stands in Denver during the late 1960s and early 1970s. "He was the only reason to really even watch the team....He filled the stadium, packed it, because of No. 44," said the ESPN commentators prior to his induction.

I grew up in Denver and I remember oh so well when the Broncos lost and lost and lost and lost. But during those years Floyd Little shattered the rushing records of Jim Brown and Ernie Davis. When he retired in 1975 after nine seasons with the Broncos, he was the Broncos' all-time rusher and touchdown-maker; both records stood until 1998, commentator Len Berman told the crowd at the induction.

What I especially remember about him during that time was that he was aptly named -- he was considered "too little" to be a football player. Of course, he dispelled anyone of that notion in no time. He hung in there even when the Broncos weren't winning. (LeBron James, take note.) He helped ensure that the Broncos stayed in Denver, and John Elway and millions of Bronco fans thank him for that.

When Elway was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2004 (his first year of eligiblity), I watched it live, as I also am tonight. He had his daughter introduce him (even though he also has a son), which was unprecedented. Tonight Little had his son Mark introduce him. I am so proud of both of these star Broncos for publicly cherishing their families. Little spent half of his allotted 10 minutes highlighting the accomplishments of and his gratitude for his family members -- parents, sisters and brothers, ex-wife ("mother of my two daughters"), wife, children. He thanked his Lord, Jesus Christ. He was a powerful man with a passionate delivery. His humility and gratitude, mixed with waiting 30 years for this honor, brought me to tears. I was so proud to be a Broncos fan.

Congratulations, Floyd Little! You did the Broncos proud 35 and 40 years ago, and you did the Broncos proud again tonight.

Hip Replacement One Year After

As we baby boomers age, we are going to be thinking and talking a lot more about things we can do to keep us young or restore mobility we may be losing. A year ago June 9 I had a total hip replacement on my left side. I wrote about it here ("Hip Hip Hooray!") shortly thereafter. Now that it's been a year and a little bit, it's time for an update.

To cut to the chase, I'm thrilled I had it done! Also, it's great, it's good, it's uncomfortable and it's a total pain.

Here's how it's great:
o It doesn't hurt! Ever.
o I can bend down and pick things up again. Without pain.
o My ability to shave my legs got less and less before the surgery. There was a line between where I could reach and where I couldn't, and it kept getting higher and higher. Now I can reach it all, and I can paint my toenails again, too!
o Standing used to be unendurable beyond a handful of minutes. Now I can stand for a long time with no discomfort or pain. Wow!

Here's how it's good:
o The scar isn't very noticeable anymore. And it never hurt past the first few weeks.
o I can almost but not quite cross my left leg over my right as much as before.

Here's how it's uncomfortable:
o Stairs are still not easy for me. My left leg just isn't strong enough for me to go up fairly steep steps without a handrail. That could be solved by doing more strength exercises, I'm sure. Meanwhile, I just avoid stars when I can.
o My left leg feels measurably shorter than my right. My surgeon says he doesn't think it is, my physical therapist says she doesn't think it is, but I've lived with this body a long time and it is, I tell you! Maybe only 1/4" but it's enough to make me feel like I'm tipping to the left when I walk and I find myself limping a bit. My primary care physician thinks I'm not crazy and he's suggested a doctor to go to who will measure and help me with how to handle it.

Here's how it's a total pain:
o The metal sets off airport security systems and I have the (un)pleasure of being hand-searched and patted down. That takes time and is a serious invasion of my personal space. Most of the patter-downers are nice but a couple of them, I swear, have had training in sadism. The good news is that the metal doesn't set it off every time, probably about 75% of the time, and I always feel like it's a gift! Also, the new machines that scan you, the ones that people are complaining about because they "show too much" to whoever is observing them, are great for people like me because they get you through without the pat-down, or the strip-search, as I uncharitably call it sometimes. (Forgive me, Lindsay Lohan, I know it's not like what you endured.)

The surgery was absolutely worth it! And...I really hope I don't have to have anything else replaced.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig!

Yesterday was Day 4 of my 2,400-mile trip from Phoenix to Columbia, Maryland. Woke up in Nashville. I had 1,733 miles behind me. Got on the road about 9:30 a.m., hit I-40 and sailed along at 70+ mph. It's pretty easy to navigate when you're on the same highway from Arizona to Virginia. It's the updated Route 66, kind of a romantic idea, but I'm glad to travel on the high-speed highway these days.

First thing I noticed were the pastel purple trees interspersed among the green trees along the highway. I kept looking to see if they were purple leaves on green trees or separate purple trees. I had to take pictures so I actually pulled over onto the side of the road, rolled down my window and took some. A huge dump truck nearly sideswiped me -- he was frighteningly close to me on the shoulder. That got my heart going! No problem staying awake after that!

I kept seeing the purple trees all the way into Virginia. I wonder why I've never seen them before.

At first I thought the purple trees must be indigenous to Tennessee but clearly that's not the case. It reminded me of when a pen pal came to visit me from Australia when I was in college. She was talking about how awful the men were where she lived and how one made her...ah...um...go down on him when he had crabs. What are crabs, I asked? She told me. For years, I thought crabs were something only found in Australia.

I ended up driving 500 miles yesterday. I passed the exit for Bristol, home of the Bristol speedway, site of a NASCAR race coming up in August. That was just before I crossed over the Virginia border. I know that in Virginia you have to have hands-free cell phone devices. My brand new Plantronics 975 bluetooth is very uncomfortable in my ear, even though its sound quality is far better than my more comfortable (but old: 2008) Jawbone, whose earpieces I kept breaking. The Plantronics has a wonderful little case that extends the battery life and protects it, which is perfect for me. I just wish it were more comfortable. I've tried all three sizes of ear pieces. All hurt. But I don't like tickets so I kept it in.

I also stayed within 4 miles of the speed limit most of the time. Sometimes, however, I got annoyed by some car or SUV that was too close for comfort and I'd roar away until they were a safe distance behind me and then calm down again.

Lunch was an Arby's on the run, which was costly because I dribbled Arby's Sauce on my prized Denver Broncos sweatshirt, and I can't get the grease spot out. I'll keep trying.

I was determined to stop before dark but still get as far as I could so my last day through D.C. traffic wouldn't be too long. After an inexplicable delay for nearly half an hour while they cleaned up some accident or spill or something, I pulled off into Staunton, Virginia, near the Shenandoah Valley.

I hit yet another Hampton Inn, this one with the tiniest toilet on earth that they passed off as for adults. My knees started killing me after the second day on the road, presumably because they disliked being in the same position for all those hours, so getting up and down from a position where my butt is lower than my knees is painful. (I should've taken a picture. Of the toilet, not of me on it. It really is teensy.) I asked for a handicapped room (you know what I mean), but it (apparently the only one they have) was already occupied, no doubt by someone else who'd gotten a glimpse of the miniature toilet. I'm going to write a letter to the Hampton Inn folks at headquarters. I just wrote a book, after all, where we (my co-author Mike Kephart and I) encouraged designers and builders to install comfort-height toilets, and here are little miniature things in a hotel chain that caters more to business people than families. Ridiculous!

I watched Kate Gosselin get voted off of "Dancing with the Stars" and then set out for a local food place. I was too late for everything except Applebee's and Chili's. Chains you can find everywhere. So much for local flavor.

Before I went to bed, I threw the little soap, shampoo, lotion, shoe mitt and shower cap into my bag to send to the troops in Afghanistan. In my five months away from home, I've collected probably 200 of those items from my various hotel stays for business and personal purposes. I would bring my own soap, shampoo and lotion and dump each day's take into my bag. In every case, the hotels replaced every one when I stayed more than one night. Thank you, hotels, for contributing to the comfort of our military personnel overseas!

After a good night's sleep (for a change), I set out this morning for my last 175 miles. It was rainy and drizzly nearly the whole way, which was minimally inconvenient until I got to I-66 not far from D.C. Despite taking my car off of cruise control, I started hydroplaning, which was pretty scary. It only happened half a dozen times for a second or two each time, and then that was it.

The I-495 Washington, D.C., beltway was running well, and I was doing great until I took the Route 29 exit about 15 miles away from home. HUGE delay. We just sat there for 25 minutes. Finally the emergency vehicles from whatever had happened let us through and I made it home mid-afternoon.

I'd gone 2,409 miles total. By myself. First time ever. It was easier and more fun than I'd anticipated, but I don't think I'd want to do it again. At least not for awhile.

My own place, my own bed, my friends, my DVR, my stuff...ah, it's so good to be home! And, it's such a gift to have my view back of those gorgeous, majestic green trees outside all of my windows. The leaves hadn't come out the last time I was home, about 3 weeks ago.

So I'm sticking around home for awhile. Well, except for going to Atlanta in two weeks to speak about social media at the Society of American Military Engineers annual conference. And then going to Denver to work with my co-author, Mike, on the next steps for getting the word out on our book, and maybe another little project....

Thanks for going on this journey with me via this blog!

Damage and Delight

Trying to find someone to diagnose a problem with a car on a Sunday is like it used to be to try to find a doctor when you were sick on a Sunday, until they came up with urgent care centers. Someone should develop an urgent care center for vehicles. I could have used one yesterday.

I knew something wasn't quite right with my car thanks to the ruts and potholes on I-40 going through Texas and the rough, uneven pavement in a construction zone on I-40 a little west of Oklahoma City. I didn't know what was wrong and didn't know where to go to find out on a Sunday. The car seemed basically okay, so I continued on my journey.

Yesterday morning I woke up in Oklahoma City. Gotta love OKC -- it's the only city where the hotel had the SPEED Channel. So I happily watched a couple of interviews with the drivers before the NASCAR Sprint Cup race (which, as it turned out, was rain-delayed until today).

Oklahoma gave me steady drizzle and light rain until mid-afternoon. One visual highlight was the roadside sign that said, "Checotah - Home of Carrie Underwood." And the sign that said that if you took that exit, you could visit a Civil War site. Huh? I'd never thought of Oklahoma as a Civil War state. But what do I know? Much of I-40, despite the gray skies, was quite pretty with the lush grass and carpet of trees lining the sides of the highway. (Pic here -- the speckles are raindrops on my windshield.)

I rolled into Arkansas mid-afternoon yesterday. It was still drizzling through most of the afternoon. I was sailing along in light traffic entertained by k.d. lang belting out the beautiful "Hallelujah," which she sang at the Vancouver Olympics. Great song. I played other songs too, of course, but I did repeat that one several times. I was tempted to stop at the Pig Out Palace for BBQ because the sign was so hilarious, but I drove on. Got to Little Rock -- 350 miles from Oklahoma City -- at 5:15. I thought I could make it another 135 miles to Memphis so I soldiered on.

Part of the game while driving cross-country has been to see if I could get the cheapest gas along the way. "Cheap" has varied from $2.64/gal. to $2.84/gal. I learned over the miles that the places that flashed their prices on huge LED signs facing the highway usually had the cheapest gas. I felt so highway-savvy whenever I'd win the game by, in fact, buying what turned out to be the lowest-priced gas in the area.

Passing the Shiloh battlefield was emotional. With the lone cannon in site and the vast, empty, rolling-hilled field all calm and grassy now, I could almost see and feel the young soldiers, the violence of face-to-face combat, and the fear and bravery of them all.

Sure enough, I did make it to Memphis before dark. When I crossed the famous Mississippi River, I felt that somehow the occasion was momentous. What tales it could tell....

As I approached Memphis, the pyramid-shaped structure on my left caught my eye. What the heck is it? (Pic here) Very cool, whatever it is.

I wove my way through the city so I'd be past the rush-hour traffic when I left for Nashville in the morning. I found a Hampton Inn, charmed my way into an upgrade, and sought a local restaurant for dinner. Coletta's, which I'd found when I got lost on the way to the hotel, was the place. Good spaghetti and meatballs, Italian music from the 1950s, and, best of all, I was seated next to an electrical outlet so was able to plug in my laptop and log on to Facebook. I have enough loquacious friends there now that it takes me nearly an hour to catch up with everybody.

The "damage" and "delight" occurred today. First, the damage: I motored the 200 miles from Memphis to Nashville. I took my car to Crown Ford, and Randy there was nice enough to take my car in for a look-see. Sure enough, the undershield, which protects the underside of the car from whatever water, mud, rocks, etc., are thrown up onto it and cuts down the noise, was damaged beyond saving. They just took it off, so I'll have to have it replaced when I get back home.

Next, the delight: My friend Michele, whom I haven't seen since she helped me move three years ago this week, drove to Nashville from Louisville, Kentucky, and we have spent the day and evening together. So good it is to reunite with a good friend. We're such good friends that it seems like we got together last week, not three years ago. A colleague once said he was such good friends with so-and-so that they didn't need to see each other. I guess that's the way it is with Michele and me.

We had lunch in downtown Nashville at Big River Grille & Brewing Works -- excellent burger, mediocre coleslaw -- and roamed around downtown a bit. Caught a quick pic out of the car window of the Country Music Hall of Fame (here) and wonder what the radio-tower-looking structure is (bad picture below). (Be kind -- I was in a moving car, folks, and it wasn't mine so I wasn't driving!) We had an excellent, reasonably priced dinner at a little place recommended by the proprietor of our Hampton Inn (4th night in a row in one), Jose's in Old Hickory. I love local, hole-in-the-wall places and always seek them out.

Now I'm only about 675 miles from home. I'm not going to drive it all tomorrow, I don't think. It's beautiful country, I'm told, and friends suggest that I take my time and be a tourist. When else am I going to drive this way? This will probably be the only time. However, you never know!

Breaking Records and Maybe Something Else

Yesterday was awesome! Well, up until the stressful ending....

I started out the day in Gallup, New Mexico. Ate my Dannon coffee yogurt and hit the road. My goal was to get to Amarillo, Texas, about 425 miles away. It would be the most miles I'd ever driven in one day. Could I stay awake that long?

New Mexico is a geologist's wet dream. The gigantic striated rock all along the north side of I-40 is spectacular. Good thing there wasn't much traffic because I was gawking like a tourist. Oh, I forgot: I am one!

I stopped for a foot-long Subway sandwich in Edgewood, New Mexico, a ways east of Albuquerque. On my way back to the highway, a parade of more than a dozen vintage Ford Thunderbirds and other Fords slowly pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant. I don't know if they were on their way somewhere and stopped for lunch or what, but it was very cool and I just had to turn around and get pictures. One's posted here.

Crossing over the Texas state line was exciting. In a good way. The potholes -- too numerous to count -- were also exciting. Not in a good way. Please don't damage my car, I kept praying.

I saw cattle grazing in pastures on both sides of the road. They looked happy if body language is any clue. Then I saw a sign identifying a beef production company. There were pens and pens of cows standing or their version of sitting but not on grass. They were on dark dirt, with nothing to graze on. I felt bad for them. But not so bad that I'm giving up eating beef.

On to Amarillo. I'd met my goal! And I'd stayed awake and alert all day! My CDs helped -- I swayed and sang along with (here goes....) Pink, The Lettermen (my very first record album back in the day, WAY back in the day...), Garth Brooks, The Moody Blues, and the soundtrack from Mamma Mia.

Amarillo along I-40 is filled with all of my old friends: Olive Garden, Pizza Hut, Applebee's, Chili's, Burger King, ad infinitum. Wow, what city am I in? Could be any!

I wasn't tired when I got to Amarillo at about 6:30 p.m. so after a quick "rest stop" at McDonald's, I and my small vanilla shake (McDonald's has the best shakes!) got back on the road. Amarillo to Oklahoma City is another 250-ish miles. Could I make it? Well, at least I'd try. I still had the second half of my Subway sandwich, so when I got hungry about 100 miles later, I ate that as I drove. Still going....

I crossed over the Oklahoma state line about 9:15 p.m. Still going....

It was raining for much of the way to Oklahoma City, and it was dark so it was hard to see. I did fine until about 20 miles away from the city limits when construction signs appeared. Most of the numerous times I've run into construction signs on this trip, no activity was going on, and disruption was minimal, usually involving going from two lanes to one for less than a mile. This time, however, the lanes were all switched around and the pavement was uneven. It was so dark with the rain and no painted lines that I had no idea where the road was. An 18-wheeler came barreling along, elbowed his way ahead of me and tore off down the road. I figured following his tail lights was better than chancing veering off the road by myself, so I sped up and followed him. I was bouncing along like a drunk on an obstacle course. When I saw a billboard for a Hampton Inn on Garth Brooks Boulevard, I went for it.

My car was making some bad sounds after I got off the highway and it felt not right somehow. I have a hard time describing it but I know that car like I know my body and I know something was loose or low or missing or something. I couldn't see any damage and my tires seemed okay, and it was still raining, so I just checked in to the hotel and called it a night. I ended my day after driving 660 miles, breaking my own previous record of about 300 miles. But did I break something else? We'll see.

Driving and Dozing

My challenge whenever I drive long distances -- for me, that's anything over two hours -- is staying awake. I think it came from going on vacations with my parents when I was young, lying in the back seat (which I could do since I had no siblings), watching the power lines waving up and down as we passed them high on the poles, and listening to the soothing sounds of my mom and dad companionably chatting in the front seat. I dozed, feeling secure and happy. Unfortunately, I still tend to doze when I drive, though I have broken the habit of lying in the back seat.

Yesterday I got on the road after just three hours of sleep after spending nearly 21 hours at my (deceased) mom's house finishing up cleaning it out, packing what I needed for my trip and loading it into my car, packing the rest of what I will have shipped to me, and getting things cleaned out so the estate sale can happen this weekend. (No, I won't be there for that. Too emotional of an experience.) I got so little sleep because I was overtired, not because I didn't take the time to sleep.

I did pretty well staying awake most of the day. I had my CDs to sing along with (which I'll only do alone, as a public service). I had a nice semi-sunny, partly-cloudy day to drive by. I had no bad traffic to contend with. And I was excited to begin this adventure.

But twice for half an hour or so each, I found myself several times jerking out of an alpha state I'd sunk into. The problem is that I am only aware of being in the alpha state when I snap out of it. Scary stuff! I think I'm okay and boom! I come out of another one.

I have various methods of coping with that, and I will try them the INSTANT I feel sluggish today. I have more than 80% of my drive ahead of me and I am committed to being awake and alert through it all. It'll keep me and everyone else around me alive.

So...I only drove 300 miles yesterday, so I'm only 350 miles into my trip. Pics here are 1) near Flagstaff, Arizona, where the snow atop the peaks made for a stunning view, and 2) on Navajo land, not the most dramatic scene, but the only one I could (semi-safely) take from my car. (I pulled over to the side of the road to take the one near Flagstaff.)

I stopped just as it was nearing sunset in Gallup, New Mexico. I'd been shooting for Albuquerque but the extra 150-ish miles just weren't doable under conditions of three hours of sleep.

I'm glad I did. I stayed in a lovely, fairly new Hampton Inn, and the desk folks recommended El Sombrero for dinner based on my criteria: no gringo food, no national chains. I had huevos rancheros with green chili and was in heaven!

After -- finally -- a good night's sleep, I'm off again this morning. Right now! I was committed to leaving at 9:00 a.m., and it's that now. I'm looking forward to a full day of driving and staying bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! Wish me luck! I'll check in tomorrow.

Inauspicious Beginning

Yesterday I had hoped to leave on my journey across country by noon. I finally made it out of the driveway of my mom's house at nearly 3:30 a.m. Whew!

After 5-1/2 months of intermittently working on my mom's house, contents, estate, etc., making Phoenix my base, I only had a few things to wrap up, pack for movers and then put whatever I could fit into my car to take on my 2,400-mile trip from Phoenix to Columbia, Maryland. Simple. Sure.

I got to her house early -- 6:30 a.m. -- and figured I'd be out of there by 10:00 a.m. if I was lucky, probably more likely noon. I kept running into papers, pictures, treasures of all kinds that I didn't know were there and had to go through one by one. Plus, I'd accumulated a lot of my own stuff, especially paper (bane of my existence, particularly in the electronic age), over 5-1/2 months! Aaargh!

About 11:00 p.m. I didn't think I could go on, but I kept going. Bleary-eyed and nearly staggering, I finally got everything wrapped up and shut the garage door at 3:21 a.m.

By then, my goal was simply to make it from south of Phoenix, where my mom lived, in Ahwatukee, north through Phoenix so I didn't have to deal with rush-hour traffic in the morning. I traveled -- carefully! -- 50 miles to a Hampton Inn at Anthem. Good choice. New, nice, clean, safe. And, best of all, it had a refrigerator!

After just a few hours of sleep and taking care of some business chores, I'm about to head out again. Hoping to make Albuquerque tonight. On not much sleep and a bit of a sore body from all of the exertion yesterday, my challenge will be to stay awake. Wish me luck! I'll check in here again tomorrow morning.

My Love Affair with Jeff Bridges

I've had an ongoing love affair with Jeff Bridges for 35 years. We are the same age; we grew up together. I've been in the dark with him for hours at a time. I've looked deep into his eyes, reached out to comfort him when he's been in emotional and physical pain, and watched him tenderly as he's slept, even sometimes when it's been the hitchy slumber of a drunk. I've kept him in my heart for all these years.

Okay, so it's been a one-sided love affair. No, I've never met him. Never written to him. Never texted him. Never e-mailed him. Never tried. When we grew up together, it was at the same time but not in the same place. When I was in the dark with him, it was in a movie theater with him up on the screen and me in my seat. When I reached out to him, it was in my mind directed toward characters he was playing, not in reality. But it's been a love affair nevertheless, because I admire, respect and adore him. And, every man I've ever been married to (one) or seriously dated (uh, more than one) has known that I'd be faithful to them but had a free pass for Jeff Bridges, just in case.

Jeff Bridges is tall and a bit beefy (my kind of man!), naturally sexy, and amazingly talented both as an actor and a musician. He can play the piano and guitar -- well, too! -- and can carry a tune with that low, gravelly voice better than a lot of so-called real singers. Plus, in every interview with him I've ever seen, he's been patient, kind, humble, and has touted his great love of his wife of several decades, Sue. How rare are those qualities all together in a celebrity?!

My love affair with Jeff Bridges started in 1975, when he starred in the movie Hearts of the West. As Lewis Tater, a naive young writer who goes West to seek his fortune and bumbles into becoming a short-lived movie star, he was hilarious and endearing, and he captured my heart immediately. The rest of the world basically ignored him. It took absolutely forever for it to go to video and to this day, Hearts of the West is not available on DVD or Blu-ray.

I have not seen all of Jeff Bridges' movies. I mean good grief, there are about 70 of them! But while other people first remember him in The Last Picture Show in 1971 with Cybill Shepherd or TRON in 1982, and I thought he was cute and sexy in Hearts of the West, his amazing acting ability first hit me like a Mack truck in 1992 in American Heart. In that, he played a just-out-of-prison ne'er do well whose teenage son (Edward Furlong) shows up for him to take care of, which is the last thing he wants. Though he has since played many great and diverse roles, I think his characterization of Bad Blake in the new film Crazy Heart was the epitome of a showcase for his talent, range and, yes, heart. Close-ups are a study in effective subtlety; he is bravely naked in his expressions and mannerisms, which give his character depth and dimension.

Jeff Bridges can play dirty, grody, out-of-it characters better than nearly anyone I know. Sometimes in those roles he gets cleaned up later, sometimes he doesn't. I like him better all showered and shaved, but I admire him more when he's playing it rough.

There are so many really good roles that he has played. What a filmography! I want to catch up to see more of them. Currently my two favorite Jeff Bridges movies are:
1) 1989's The Fabulous Baker Boys with his brother Beau and Michelle Pfeiffer. The Bridges boys portraying the Baker boys, with all of their fantastic piano playing, blew me away. They really played all of those songs, even though it was Dave Grusin on the the soundtrack. My favorite line as I remember it is when Michelle's character says to Jeff's character, "Women need a reason; men just need a place."
2) Crazy Heart, his most recent role for which he's finally getting long overdue recognition from his peers. I'm hoping he snags the Oscar for that role. I immediately ordered the soundtrack, the deluxe version with seven extra songs, and am amazed at and impressed with the songs sung and played by him, Colin Farrell (how unlikely a star country-singer!) and Ryan Bingham, who wrote the Oscar-nominated song from the movie, "The Weary Kind." I like so many of the songs -- here's one of my favorites:



I don't love him in all of the ones I've seen. I admit, his role in The Fisher King didn't do much for me, or his portrayal of "The Dude" in The Big Lebowski, even though many people consider them wonderful, quirky movies. And when he was puking his guts out in Crazy Heart with his greasy hair plastered against his head, he was downright disgusting. He's just not appealing to me like that. But you know what they say: We like someone because; we love someone although. I love ya, Jeff, and all of your personas.

Happy Tears, Rough Tears

I'm a sap. I admit it. I tear up every time I hear the National Anthem. Same with Lee Greenwood's "I'm Proud to Be an American" and about 50 other songs. When I lived in New York City, I'd go down a few blocks to applaud and cheer as the New York City Marathon runners would come off the bridge from Queens into Manhattan, and those amazing athletes would bring tears to my eyes. I sob at movies when some wonderful person dies or when two lovers or family members reunite, especially the second time I see them when I know what's going to happen. Tonight's Olympics opening ceremonies and the debut of "We Are the World" are guaranteed to launch me into what Oprah calls "the ugly cry."

Commercials from Hallmark, Kodak, McDonald's and even Budweiser (that sweet Clydesdale that didn't make it onto the team and trained for a year with the dog and finally did) get the waterworks flowing. If I'm with someone else, I try to think about anything else as I dig my fingernails into my palms. In movies when I'm with someone else, I have to really concentrate to take myself out of the movie mindset and think about traffic, taxes or dinner so I don't blubber to the point of embarrassing my movie mate. If I'm alone I stay through the credits as much to compose myself as to see who did what.

As one person put it, I'm an "ocean of emotion."

And then there's the rough cry. Like when I'm walking through my mom's house and it hits me that she is forever gone, that I'm there to dismantle 25 years of her life -- and mine, since it's been my second home for that long as well. I am good at distracting myself with constant noise -- tv, radio, CDs, etc. -- and stuffing my emotions. But once in awhile they bubble to the surface anyway, sometimes at quite inconvenient times.

I think that crying in movies or books or during songs can be therapeutic and cathartic. I often am aware that a cry that starts out to be about the characters in a movie seeps over into a cry about my mom or dad (both deceased, my mom as of just a few weeks ago) or about those suffering in Haiti or even across town. I think that a good long cry, regardless of its origin, cleans out the tension and the sadness from a body much like driving for awhile at constant relatively high speeds cleans out the junk from an automobile.

I just wish I could schedule these teary sessions when I'm alone and when I don't have anywhere I have to be until I can recover and touch up my make-up. But life doesn't work that way. In fact, life doesn't work the way I want it to in many ways, such as when people suffer or loved ones die. That's what triggers the tears in the first place. Whether they are happy tears or rough tears, the biology is the same even if the psychology isn't. As long as I'm going to look ugly, when I can, I choose the happy tears.

Today's the Day

How many weeks (months) ago did I say here that I was ready to tackle my weight and health issues? Well, today is (FINALLY!) the day.

How do I know this? Because I took drastic action: I ran very hot water over the tub of my nearly-most-favorite ice cream, Edy's/Dreyer's Peppermint, which is irreplaceable because it only comes out around Christmas. It's gone. Down the drain. THAT's how I know I'm serious.

Baskin-Robbins' Pralines 'n' Cream is my all-time favorite but I haven't bought any of that for awhile so it hasn't been a temptation. It wasn't in my freezer like the peppermint was.

Stop it! I'm making myself hungry for that sweet, creamy-crunchy Pralines 'n' Cream! Stop it!

Deep breath. Okay, I'm fine now.

So what pushed me over the edge into readiness and willingness, my two least favorite and most lacking attributes? Writing. Writing is how I work things out, how I realize what I am thinking and feeling, and how I often move from one stage to another. I wrote myself into the realization that it was time and that the reward of it was what I wanted to focus on.

It feels real right now. We'll see how I feel tonight at midnight.

Turning In the Last Page Proof Is Almost as Good as Sex

I'm giddy! I'm thrilled! I'm so frickin' relieved!

Our book Building for Boomers is AT THE PRINTER! I just sent the last page proof to Smita, our project manager at Glyph International in India. I had my doubts about working with the folks in a foreign country with our time zones upside down from each other, but it's been fine. Fun, in fact, much to my surprise. I've been working with them largely on their time, the time of their workday, which means I've been up until 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. so we could ask and answer questions and communicate pretty close to real time. Consequently, Smita and I have developed a wonderful rapport that we probably wouldn't have otherwise.

What a process this has been. So far. It's not over yet. We've gone the mile, all but the last couple of inches, but those last couple of inches make it real.

For those of you who think you want to write a book, let me tell you that it's much more involved, tedious, time-consuming and, in fact, all-consuming than I ever thought it would be. Not just the writing -- that's really the fun part. The reviewing and editing of the text in Word was a little overwhelming. At that point it's still largely in code (production codes) so you can't see what it will really look like. The pictures aren't there; it's just amorphous text. We could add and change at will, and we did! We were grateful for the chance to do that.

Then come the page proofs, the way it will actually look when it's printed. We could only make changes that did not affect the indexing, so we could add a few words here and there and correct the mistakes and typos, which we kept finding endless numbers of, but couldn't significantly change much. We did find a couple of chunks of copy that had been repeated earlier, so when we deleted them, we had to fill in the space with something about the same length to not throw off the indexing. Challenging but doable.

I rewrote the acknowledgements about 10 times. That was the last piece I just sent in a few minutes ago. I kept thinking of people I wanted to include. My co-author Mike (Kephart) had a very long acknowledgement section, so my adding didn't make it lopsided. Being able to thank people is a great joy. And, we hope they buy the book! (snicker)

Both Mike and I reviewed nearly every word of the text in Word and then in page proofs, so we hope we caught nearly all of the mistakes, typos and repeats.

Now we wait for the index. That should be fun. I rely on indexes (indices, to be technically correct) in business books so I hope this one is good. They did an impressive job on the Table of Contents (TOC). We weren't all that consistent in our structure (ROFL! Understatement!) but the TOC makes it look like we were.

I ordered one of my own books on Amazon.com and paid the same as everybody else. I want to see what everybody's getting. I only get a handful of books for free from the publisher, McGraw-Hill, so nobody better be expecting me to give 'em one. Sorry!

Okay, now I'm calmer and my afterglow is giving way to fatigue. But I've earned it. The last page proof is in and I've gotten the okay message from Smita. Yep, it's almost as good as sex. Almost.

Temper Temper!!

I am going to have a temper tantrum...right here, right now. The difference between the one I'm going to have here and the ones I used to have when I was two years old (okay, and 10 and 13 and 31 and 42) is that I'm just going to vent in writing instead of throwing something that wouldn't break but would definitely make noise and possibly scar whatever it hit.

Don't you ever just get fed up with everything, including things that either don't bother you significantly any other time or things that you just put up with and accept as part of that huge segment of life called, "I can't control that"? Well, that's the way I am tonight.

First of all, speed bumps are the soourge of the earth, so incredibly annoying! All of that frickin' bumping can't be good for the car or the tires and they certainly aggravate the people inside the car.

Okay, that's out of my system.

This temper tantrum precipiting event was a late-night trip to the grocery store to buy hair color for my "natural" red hair. I mix two colors and I was out of one. So I went to a Fry's in the neighborhood, about two miles away from my mom's house in Phoenix where I am for a few weeks. It was about 10:20 p.m. Yes, they were open but help was sparse. No big deal...until I went to check out and not even one checkout lane was open. I asked someone who was stocking something or other at one checkout if any lanes were open and she said no, that the only person there had gone on break and may or may not be back.

Great!

So I disgustedly pushed my cart over to the self-checkout. I'd never gone that route before, or at least not for more than a handful of items, and, of course, I ended up with a relatively full cart.

The ambient noise was so high that I couldn't hear what the mechanical female voice was cooing to me in the way of instructions. Some of the items would scan, others wouldn't. It took me 10 times as long to check myself out as it would have a store employee, even a neophyte employee, and I was getting more and more frustrated! The voice, which by this time was getting quite annoying, kept saying that someone had been alerted and would be over to help me. I looked around -- nobody!

Finally, a young (20s) guy with a slump and an introverted nature came into the area and I called him over. He acted like I was stupid for not knowing that you had to move your items about 3 feet away from the scanner and the shelf to the right of it or it would block the scan. Well, pardon me, but there are no instructions there, and I've not used it before, and I never wanted to scan my own items in the first place!

I got more irritated with his attitude than I had been with the moody machine!

Finally I finished and paid and then I had to bag my own groceries! Their plastic bags -- no choice of plastic or paper -- peeled off of their hanging perches just fine but just try to get one of them open to put anything into it! They are welded shut, I swear! Eventually, I got each of them open and by then was quite open about my disgust and frustration with the whole experience, rather roughly tossing anything that wasn't breakable into the cart once I got the damn things into bags.

The topper, as far as I was concerned, was when I got no receipt when I'd pushed "receipt, yes." I called the slouching, introverted kid over and asked with rather clenched teeth if there was a way to actually get a receipt. Being a bright boy, he sensed that I was about to become an ex-Fry's customer. That and the fact that I said I was tempted never to return and to start going to Safeway. He offered to get a manager to talk to me. Yes, I said, please do.

A nice lady came over to me, a bit warily, I noticed. I told her testily of my experience and exclaimed, "I never WANTED to scan my own groceries and bag them!" She said I could have asked for someone and they would have come. Gee, the point, lady, was that no one was THERE!

Finally I said to her, "This has been such a frustrating experience. What can you do for me to get me to come back, which I'm not really interested in doing after this?" She looked at me like, say whaaaa? She asked, "Like what?" "I don't know, just something, anything," I said.

She went over to the young kid and talked to him and 5 minutes later (yes, it took 5 minutes!) he handed me a Fry's gift card for...all of $5. Geez. Well, it was better than nothing and I said to her, "Thank you. I wanted the acknowledgement more than anything."

I was mollified, realizing that this wasn't a big deal in the scheme of things. I was just tired and cranky and put out that my little trip to the store didn't go quickly and smoothly. I got out to the car, put my stuff in the trunk, and as I slowly and sanely (really!) drove out of the parking lot, I realized that the one thing I hadn't picked up was hair color!

Well, no way was I going back into the store after creating such a scene, and the drug stores were closed, so I drove another 3 miles to Safeway.

On my way there, I remembered a time in my late 20s when I was equally frustrated and upset over who-remembers-what. Only this time I was drunk and it was raining. I drove from the city (Denver, it was, then) to my place in Lakewood and had to exit 6th Avenue onto Wadsworth around a sharp cloverleaf. I just basically said, "F*ck it" and drove around that curvy exit without braking much at all. It's amazing I didn't kill myself. That's one of the reasons I don't drink these days -- flawed thinking when I do.

On to Safeway for my hair color. The people in front of me in line had a big cart full of stuff, saw that I had just one item and generously said, "You go ahead." The nice guy at the checkout was cheery and exhibited a sense of humor, which I matched, and it was a delightful experience. They would probably not believe that I had been so bitchy just a few minutes before.

Okay, I feel better now that I've vented. Thank you, all two of you who have read this whole rant.

Page Proofs!

Tonight I got my first look at the page proofs for our book Building for Boomers. That first moment when I opened the file of the first chapter and saw what it will look like when it's printed was stunning. It's been such a theoretical experience for so long and now it's inches away from becoming real. It started out as a blank page and it's turning into a book!

Three of my personal friends have already ordered the book from Amazon.com. Two of them have absolutely nothing to do with design or construction so it's purely a gesture of support and friendship, period. How great is that?!

Tomorrow morning I'll start reviewing the page proofs for the first two chapters. They're due back to our project manager tomorrow night, which is the morning of the next day in India, where it's being produced. The instructions as to how to edit or comment on a .pdf are a bit overwhelming, but then so were the instructions for creating the manuscript with the exact font, size and style, and I got comfortable with that after a chapter or two. This is much simpler than that.

My mom said she wanted to buy the first copy. She passed away in October so she won't be doing that, but I think I'll order one in her honor now that we're almost there. She would like that.