Growing Nuts

Back in December, Paul and I recorded voices for characters drawn by Tom Ruegger. Since then, Tom's been working on getting the characters animated. Shortly, I should have a sample from the storyboard of two squirrels whose argument on nuts soars into philosophic realms before descending to an earthier plane.

My Sucky Swimming

Had to meet some friends out in the San Gabriel Valley this afternoon. My health club is on the way, so I stopped for an hour of swimming. First I kickboarded 20 lengths. This was harder than it looked, at least for me.  Then I swam freestyle for awhile, but have terrible form and end up gasping for air at the end of every length. I didn't swallow water, but maybe that'll come if I swim more often.

Hurry up MRI!

Tubby Man in a Doctor's Office

That's me. I was weighed at the doctor's office yesterday and the technician giggled and asked if I had recently performed in any aquatic parks. (Later, I "accidentally" spilled urine on her shoe.) But there's no denying that in six months of injury, I've put on 20 pounds. Now I must commit to losing weight. I'm so unmotivated, but I really don't want to go back to 244 pounds with ridges of fat on my back like sand dunes. So, off to the gym today, then my wife and I will order in pizza . . . maybe not for a few weeks.

Laptop Face

A strange man obsessed with bread products relates his day.

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Peg's Wedding

Cousin Peg's Windy City nuptials. Other than not having pictures of the ceremony, groom, and bride's mom, I pretty well covered this thing.

Running and Walking the Foothills

Trails above Jet Propulsion Labs in the San Gabriel foothills. Mostly an excuse to explore the slideshow thing on iPhoto.


UPDATE: I actually ran and walked 5.3 miles, stopping to photograph now and then. Knee felt Okay, but still needs a'fixin.'

UPDATE: Visited my new doctor today. He's going to recommend an orthopedist - huzzah! But no running 'till then. MRI. Everyone think MRI.

View from a Window

What lay outside my Windy City hotel room.

Paul Recalls "Good Days"

Froynlaven remembers the Pea . . . . . . . . bodies!

Something Old, Something New

Old for regulars, new for all my old Chicago friends.

Comic-Con 2008: Freakazoid & Tiny Toons

Snow Place Like Chicago

Snow flurries last night with a few inches accumulation this morning. Temps were in the 20s as I arrived at O'Hara Airport. My flight home was delayed because hydraulic fluid spilled under the plane and they had to mop it up. Back in LA with temperatures in the 70s the way they're supposed to be in February.

A few pictures to post from my cousin's wedding, but not just now.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Vienna Againa

Scraping ice off the windshield of my rental car, driving in torrential rains, cold, snow flurries all in less than 24 hours. Ah, Chicago weather! Drove out to Lake County to see Oakner and few old friends from St. George days. Oakner was there and Head, and Steve.  Now we're pasty old men, but from age 14 to 16 we ran around Chicago's Roger's Park engaging in various fun projects. Head could imitate his father's gruff Hungarian accent and was able to order booze from the liquor store at will. The delivery man was in on the score, and accepted very large tips for keeping teenagers awash in quart bottles of Old Style and half-pints. (As a freshman, Head told me about the set-up. I didn't believe him. It seemed too impossibly good. But sometimes there is a Santa Claus. In fact, on Thursdays, Head would roam the halls of St. George taking drink orders for the weekend.)

Head reminded me of the time Oakner and I arrived at his house to find bullet holes in the front porch. The police had been there and shot Head's dog after she'd gotten out of the yard and snarled at a passing woman. (These particular Chicago cops were neither subtle nor especially keen marksmen.) Head was broken up. Oakner and I were too, since he couldn't go drinking.

Our late friend Rocco was mentioned often. Rocco's basement was the first we ever saw with surround-sound stereo speakers, rigged up from scratch. (Rocco went on to work as an electrician.) Rocco had a facility for improvisational mayhem and probably would've excelled as a political dirty trickster or internet hacker. One dawn after we had spent the night washing down Dexedrine with Bud tall boys, we were walking along Clark Street when Rocco opened the base of a stop light, hit something inside and left the light stuck on red. I didn't even know you could open stop lights.

We did many dumb, violent, laughable things together. And it doesn't seem that long ago, yet it was. Two generations. In 1969, St. George closed at the end of our sophomore year. We were no longer classmates, scattering to different high schools. I lived in suburban Skokie and ended up at Notre Dame in Niles, even further away from Roger's Park. Into the service and back to town, then out to California; there would always be time to hook up again. Luckily, Oakner realized years were zipping past faster than telephone poles seen from a speeding car. Thanks to the web, we're back in touch, Facebook classmates with no more tests or curfews. We can stay out as late as we want . . . we just don't anymore. 1969: Rocco in the chair. Oakner in center frame and myself to the right.
2009: Head, Steve, Oakner and myself.
(Photos: Oakner)