Amuse Bouche

These past months have been busier than I could have imagined. Errands upon errands. Work assignments piling up. And that toilet still hasn’t been fixed. Somewhere around the beginning of the year, I apparently turned 45.

To catch you up (and to relieve my irrational guilt for not writing), this is my abridged, Christmas-letter version of the past three months:

Learned that a valet ran my car into the side of a passing car

Met and had dinner with Cal Ripken, Jr.

Was accosted by the police, who came to my house, thinking I was a burglar

Had my jacket stolen, along with my keys, cash and new phone

Spent the past month underwater at work

Became surreptitiously addicted to American Idol

Learned the Korean alphabet (apparently, there’s a “k” and a “kk”)

There are hundreds of stories packed into the past few months. Stories about getting used to marriage, and about marriage getting used to me. Enough stories to make me understand how Bill Cosby can go on stage and perform a 3-hour monologue on the virtues and vices of marriage. I think I could do a stand-up routine right now.

With that said, I’m hoping to get on a more regular schedule of writing. And so I'd consider this an appetizer. Or actually, the chef’s pre-appetizer. You know, the tiny crouton topped with caviar and some sort of goat-cheese blend that the waiter brings out “compliments of the chef”. It’s the thing that’s so small, that you wonder why someone would go to all that trouble to make it.

Good things are coming. I guarantee it.

Ummmm...American Idol is Addictive

Okay. I admit it. It’s been a while since I’ve written. And I could rightfully attribute it to the increasing workload and responsibilities of my job, the fact that I have a ridiculous number of errands to run, or that I am spending time with my new wife. That’s all true. But I fear the real reason is much more sinister. Somehow, after several years of ignoring the call of the inevitable, it’s happened. I have finally succumbed to the pop-culture juggernaut that is American Idol. I’m not sure how it happened, except to say that it did. One glimpse became a look. A look grew into curiosity. Curiosity into fascination. And fascination turned into me sitting in front of the TV every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night cheering for Chris Daughtry, my favorite from the beginning.

Now it isn’t to say that I like all the performers. I mean, Kevin Covais is a train wreck. A nervous, 12-year old train wreck. And Paula Abdul has to be drunk half the time. What is it she said? "What did you tell me Simon? What did you tell me? Simon gave me advice and said on 'The X Factor' he always refers to a fortune cookie and says the moth who finds the melon - (laughter) - finds the corn flake always finds the melon and one of you didn’t pick the right fortune.” Now I have no idea what that means, but she said it. Honest.

Don't worry. I haven’t gotten into calling the phone lines to “vote” for the contestants, mostly because I think when you’ve crossed the line from passive enjoyment to active participant, you’re just one step away from plastering up Clay Aiken posters all over your bedroom walls. And I’m pretty sure Teresa wouldn’t be to excited about that.