Does anyone remember the movie Brazil?

Ever feel like a big fish that's gone from a small pond straight to the ocean? I used to feel pretty good about the fact that I spoke 3 foreign languages, albeit one of them much better than the others. Welcome to the ocean of the Monterey Institute of International Studies. Besides the fact that nearly half of everyone I meet is working on their third or even fourth degree, the academic environment here makes speaking three languages from the same language family seem like being able to walk and chew gum at the same time. There's two people in my department who between them speak Spanish, French, Italian, Mandarin, Greek, Hebrew and German. Geez.



On a side note, I had yet another zombie dream. This one surpasses the others in surreality, though. This time I was the zombie, and I was trying to convince everybody that I was normal. Like I actually wasn't trying to eat their brains. At the same time, my undead body was falling apart and me and my friends were desperately trying to find ways to stick me back together.

I think my dog dreams of zombies, actually. Or something really bizarre. He talks in his sleep. He wakes us up nearly every night with a succession of small yips, grunts and rapid breathing that may go on forever if we don't say his name and shake him out of it. Ever wonder about dog dreams? I mean, a lot of people theorize that dogs dream of running around with other dogs and chasing cats and things, but I don't know. I don't usually dream of the normal things that I do during a day (see above for proof). Do dogs dream crazy things, like being able to fly or going out to socialize and realizing they don't have any fur on or something like that?

This is Ash. Don't be fooled by the cutesie pose. His farts are killing me.

Congratulations to Josh. Welcome to the world, Lucie Middlename Holyoak.

I'd like to start a public forum. There are, as pictured above, chemical products in the world. Seeing how all tissues of the body are not created equal, some of these chemicals, when applied to a more sensitive place on the skin, tend to burn a little. Or a lot. I found out yesterday one more sensitive spot on my skin when I made the egregious error of applying such a product where I shouldn't in an effort to cover up the fact that I hadn't showered. Let's just say putting on a shirt this morning was a painful chore. I'd like to see some replies of people who have had similar experiences. Partly just to make myself feel less stupid, partially so we can all share some good laughs.

Example: I worked several years ago in the pits below LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City where a very unique coworker of mine often showed me his recent battle scars. One day, after either a bike wreck or a fistfight with his landlord, he came to work with a nasty raspberry all up and down his forearm.
"Ouch. Don't you want to disinfect that or something?"
"Nah, I took care of it."
"Oh really? What did you do?"
"Well I was out of Neosporin, so I just Febreezed it."
"Ah."

Do you remember in your youth making lists of things to do and using the phrase, "ride bikes?"

"Hey, Joe, what's new?"
"Nothing much. Do you wanna go play?"
"Sure. What shall we do?"
"I dunno. Wanna ride bikes?"
"Swell!"

There was no destination, pre-approved distance or route planning involved. I remember, in my own tween years, simply getting on my trusty Peugeot (I owned a french bike when I was ten?!?!) and meandering around with my friend Josh on his Winnebago, with as much plan or purpose as the most capricious zephyr. At most we would stop at Emmigration Market for as long as it took us to stuff our mouths with gumballs.

One of the benefits of being unemployed for a number of weeks in mid-coast California: the opportunity to relive youth-hood moments with your young and beautiful wife. We've recently taken to using the bike path near our house and "riding bikes" nearly every day. As a matter of fact we've managed to re-incorporate this specific general term to describe the activity. And, as shown by the picture above, we've been able to recapture some of the spirit of those days, as well.

Sigh. I'm going to hate working. I wanna be a kid forever.

Phew. After a long, drawn-out process, we're finally established here in Marina. The highlight of the journey thus far has been the constant, ongoing "tweaking" of lifestyle and lodgings that always seems to occur after a move. For example, how many and where to place the air fresheners so as best to mask the nicotine smell that wafts constantly from the apartment below? How to best contact the phantom-of-a-landlord, noted for her absence, in order to get our lease agreement signed so we can get issued a key to our mailbox? What path to take in our neighborhood to walk the dog that has the least number of panic-inducing cats on it? Is said path free of seal corpses (true story)? The list goes on and on. Luckily, both Sheri and I have very little to do besides turn the screws, take naps, walk along the pier, shop for the occasional home-improvement item, and slowly fall in love with this sleepy little seaside town.