Ever since my wife got a job designing wineries (OMG AWESOME RIGHT?), the running joke has been coming up with novel ways that wine will infiltrate our lives.

It’s not funny anymore.  We’re totally serious.  Wine everywhere!

You can purchase this wine rack via Etsy user oopsmark.

“The government may try to deceive the people, and the newspapers and television may do the same, but the truth has a way of coming out. The truth has a power greater than a hundred lies. I know you have practical things to do — to get jobs and get married and have children. You may become prosperous and be considered a success in the way our society defines success, by wealth and standing and prestige. But that is not enough for a good life.”

Howard Zinn | HiLobrow

via Jason Toney

I should say, rather, comes from a long line of bootleggers.

During the era of Prohibition, many barbershops throughout San Francisco were secretly used as a front for the sale of bootlegged spirits. Honoring three generations of a perfected family tradition and microdistilled using handmade copper stills, 1512 Barbershop Rye is a true unoaked rye whiskey and the first public release by Master Distiller Salvatore Cimino

If you’re interested in a haircut from Sal, catch him at 1512 Barbershop. If you’re interested in his white rye (and you should be) you can order it here.

1001 rules for my unborn son – Got a good caption?: ”

I feel like a lot of my childhood consisted of flight. Dad had quite the throwing arm.

© Copyright 2009, Walker Lamond. All rights reserved.

Ocean Beach Ride, originally uploaded by maubrowncow.

Here’s proof that I rode to Ocean Beach and back. More about this picture in a post to come in my 90 day project section.

And all I got was this blurry picture.

me:  %55.67 of body weight x 9

I’d rather do 1 rep of %100.  Someday.

Sean of Crossfit SF demonstrates proper form

Props to Victor Schwanke for this edit.

update: you can download an mp3 of this mix here.

Lip Dub – Need You Tonight by INXS from sarahlane on Vimeo.

First Batch of MFA, originally uploaded by maubrowncow.

Alison once said that if she wasn’t an architect, she’d want to be a florist. If I wasn’t an editor, I’d be a brewer. Or kite maker, or sneaker designer, or photographer, or DJ, or…

Well the point is I go thru a lot of hobby phases. I’m the jack of all trades, and master of none. I wouldn’t want it any other way. Specialization is for ants.

I digress. Assuming all went well, I’ll have batch #1 of my Mau’s M.F.A. in 2 weeks. Oh… what’s that? M.F.A? Why, that would be an acronym for Mau’s Mother F#$*ing Ale of course.

7:30am – ignore work procedure and only open and start up 3 out of 21 editing rooms. Weekends don’t have more than 2 students at a time and the overkill is too much work and wastes electricity.

7:38am – begin documenting my day here in wordpress. Start up iTunes radio>Eclectic>KCRW Simulcast on my laptop using the only Ethernet connection at this station. My weekend co-worker says he doesn’t want to use the internet during work so he can read and play video games. We’re the ying and yang of the weekend.

7:43am – Update my Tadalist. Feeling stupid attempting to play along with Will Schwartz puzzles on KCRW radio.

7:50am – Remedy stupidness with Brain Age on my Nintendo DS. Unlocked a new game called “Time Passage” where I have to compare two analog clocks and answer how much time has passed. How appropriately inappropriate given my boredom.

8:20am – Co-worker arrives. Switch to playing RC Pro am and Excitebike on Nintendo Emulator on the Mac. Talk with co-workers about Nintendo, Japan, Japanese mail order brides, Okinawa, Karate Kid part 2, Clint Eastwood movies, movie spoilers, Massachusetts chicken farming.

8:40am – write that last entry.

8:41am – Listen to KCRW again, but this time, music stream. Simulcast was boring

8:48am – Chat with Allison Greenheck on IM. Not sure why she’s up at this hour on a Sunday. Turns out both her and John are Fantasy Football freaks now.

9:22am – Bored with Fantasy Football Videocasts. Hungry. the hunt for food begins.

9:35am – Found some.

11:56am – Finished watching “The Graduate” on VHS. My career pre-move was Benjamin’s life in college. My current job is Mrs. Robinson. Repetitive, safe, soul sucking, and trapped Mrs Robinson. Only as long as I let it shape me, rather than shape Mrs Robinson myself. Chilling.

12:11pm – Handed a vegan raw dairy free chocolate by Ben O while writing the last entry.

12:17pm – Looking up Mike Nichols career in IMDB

12:30pm – took a walking tour of the entire building, floor by floor. Realizing I have millions of dollars worth of resources at my fingertips with a staff ID. Planning out my own education here.

1:12pm – Wrapped up a long conversation about tango, general ballroom dancing, competition, martial arts competitions, that one time I got my ass kicked, Brazilian jujitsu, meditation, focus, chi, homeopathic healing, the power of suggestion, and doritos.

1:21pm – Tried to maintain 4 separate conversations on IM by using the same phrases with each response. Results here.

1:48pm – Walked to whole foods for lunch. 7 Veggie Curry Biryani, and Daal were too gross looking to post on mausmenu. Shared a refreshing beverage with co-worker.

3:03pm – Rocking the casbah with Culver City Dub Collective. Here… have a listen.

3:04pm – Look up the history of the Clash’s “Rock the Casbah” on wikipedia.

The song was inspired by the banning of rock music in Iran under Ayatollah Khomeini. The song gives a fabulist account of the ban being defied by the population, who proceed to “rock the casbah“. The King orders jet fighters to bomb any people in violation of the ban. The pilots ignore the orders, and instead play rock music on their cockpit radios.

3:12pm – Caught up on Twitters from 1/2 the quatro currently at the Austin City Limits music festival. Wrote the header to this Entry: My first week(end) of work has come to an end. It’s turned out to be mind boggling boring. When Ali would ask, “What did you do today”, I couldn’t really answer. I’ve decided to document what it means to do nothing today. But you’ve already read that.

3:30 – Complete my home schooling curriculum. Photography theory, Calculus 1 review, Java programming, Intro to Motion Graphics, Mixing and Mastering in Pro Tools, and PE. School begins tomorrow.

4:12 – Called a Tech Shaman by a faculty member cuz I helped him get sound to the monitors. My first tech support moment of the day and I’m off in 15 minutes.

4:30 – Walk downstairs and read “The World Without Us” on a bench as I wait for Alison to pick me up. Smile, noticing a Browne Berd, the mark of a Venice California Artist, here on the cabling of New Montgomery and Howard.

Hilo, Hawaii

It’s damp, it’s dirty, it’s moldy. We stayed 1 day at Uncle Billy’s Hotel, one of the most expensive depressing motels i’ve ever stayed in. The carpeted canter-levered balcony/hallways sagged dangerously in it’s sogginess. Our sliding screen door fell off with every sliding attempt. Obviously, we should have asked for a non-smoking room. We had the kind of sleep where you even cringe all night, disgusted and cold from not using the provided comforter. And I loved it.

I wanted more than anything to buy a 40 of miller high life, sweat in a wife beater, and chain smoke in front of the TV. I’ve lived a decent and clean life, and the opportunity to loosen up a bit was fantastic. Alison wanted nothing of it. The cherry on top was that our neighboring room, divided by a locked door with a towel jammed under it, barely masked the fighting straight out of Jerry Springer. Can you please translate the Hawaiian pidgin I recorded that night, playable above?

Waiting, originally uploaded by maubrowncow.

I’ve made a habit through my life to either draw or take a picture of
my feet at every job interview I’ve ever had. While waiting of course.
Initially intended to make me look busy, now, to calms the nerves.

Today, at the moment of this posting, I’m at SFAA.

2000 B.C. – Here, eat this root.
1000 A.D. – That root is heathen. Here, say this prayer.
1850 A.D. – That prayer is superstition. Here, drink this potion.
1940 A.D. – That potion is snake oil. Here, swallow this pill.
1985 A.D. – That pill is ineffective. Here, take this antibiotic.
2000 A.D. – That antibiotic is unhealthy. Here, eat this root.

Why didn’t anybody tell me that the bay area is pollen mecca? I’m getting allergies for the first time in my life and witnessing an amazing variety of stuff come out of my nose. I’m completely fascinated to the point where I stare at my tissue for a bit too long. Don’t “eww” me, you do it too.

So after I acquired my second, secondary infection, I visited my first acupuncturist. The western doctor only wanted me to take antibiotics, even though he said it was only a virus. Those who are medical savvy will recognize that antibiotics kill bacteria, not viruses.

My eastern medicine session was full of surprises. I was kinda hoping for an old white bearded Asian man smoking opium. I instead got a young Jewish(?) thick glasses wearing dude who repeatedly used the adjective “fucking” to describe mucus. I concurred.

I think acupuncture is a sick joke. He stuck needles in my forehead, thumbs, and shins, and left me there for about half an hour while he collected money from the in studio audience members watching me from hidden camera. Actually, i’m not that cynical about the whole thing. As a matter of fact, as soon as the shin needles went in, my conversation was interrupted and I had an unidentified emotion wash over me, which nearly made me cry. That must mean something, right?

When all was done he sent me home with these tree bark and leaves to boil and inhale for half an hour. After two days of treatment, my virus walked away, being too embarrassed to be in company of such of pansy hippie in the Bay Area.

Why do people move? What makes them uproot and leave everything they’ve known for a great unknown beyond the horizon? Why climb this Mount Everest of formalities that makes you feel like a beggar? Why enter this jungle of foreignness where everything is new, strange and difficult?

The answer is the same the world over: people move in the hope of a better life. – Yann Martel

There has been a disappointing aspect of moving to the Bay Area. I don’t miss LA. Not because the fog penetrated and stole my soul in the Sunset district the first three weeks of my time here. Not because I had been busy helping plan my marriage to my best friend in Oakland. And not because it’s only been 61 days.

I’m disappointed to learn, or rather, confirm, that I’m OK with missing LA, but not my LA friends. I was half hoping I’d find my homesickness remedied with In N’ Out and a daily dosage of LAist.com and Curbed LA. Instead I find comfort in the streets of San Francisco, or at least down in Lakeshore here in Oakland, quenching my rare need of gregariousness. The equivalent of turning on the friendly TV when home alone. I’m not really watching the scene, I just need a chatty noise of friends with friends.

I’ve never been the kind of guy that had a clique. Never had a buddy that I made a ceremonial blood oath with, or called everyday, and eventually his wingman in singlehood. As a child I preferred to play by myself, never joined sports teams, or any local gang. I lived in my head. I thought me strange for the longest time. I imagine this untethered life is what got me out of my home town, and into LA. This occurred to me this past weekend home with mom in Pomona. I sat in the front yard listening for familiarity and nostalgia. I heard a distant freight train, chickens and the trees. I heard a simple childhood that grounded me in reality while in reality, and allowed me to dream in dreams. I heard the comforting silence that allowed me to be the budding ADD kid who didn’t quite fit in the puzzle of Pomona. I had the isolated eccentric childhood any doctor today would be proud to prescribe Ritalin.

In LA my obtuse ends fit into the puzzle. I found friends with matching obtuse edges. I moved to San Francisco to learn. My first lesson is that it isn’t a city that brings the pieces together, it’s friends themselves. I’m just happy I married and moved up with the best fitting piece, showing a hint of a picture other puzzle pieces might want to help complete.

People move because of the wear and tear of anxiety. Because of the gnawing feeling that no matter how hard they work their efforts will yield nothing, that what they build up in one year will be torn down in one day by others. Because of the impression that the future is blocked up, that they might do all right but not their children. Because of the feeling that nothing will change, that happiness and prosperity are possible only somewhere else.

Goodbye LA, originally uploaded by maubrowncow.

Squirrel Depression, originally uploaded by maubrowncow.

Neighborhood critters and a 300mm lens makes for good porch sitting. At least until the neighbors freak out that I’m aiming a shotgun of a lens all willy nilly.

click on the photo above for missmartini’s morbid comments.

I woke up this morning before noon, and was out the door before Alison. It was then that I knew there was something fishy going on today. The LA skyline was leaning toward a red tint as I drove to Ming’s “Hard Copy” film shoot in Noho. I checked in with the blogoria and found that there is a worldwide zombie breakout of sorts. It’s difficult not to differentiate a Zombie breakout with the red smog and living dead like struts of LA suburbanites. Once on set, I walked to the corner market for a breakfast of Diet Coke and Ice Cream, much like this:

Meanwhile, I feel relatively safe here in North Hollywood. Zombies wouldn’t set foot here, for fear of having their already soul-less bodies, sucked of any spark of life. The heat in itself may make nuclear fallout feel like a snow day.

Anywho, I think I may have found the birth pods of many of these zombies, If you find any of the hives pictured below, please do not remove their coffee. It only makes them angry.