I was happy to discover that Nike is planning on continuing the Kobe and LeBron MVP Puppets campaign from last year’s NBA Playoffs.

For most of America, the Thanksgiving holiday is a 4 day weekend where people trade the stresses of the workplace for the stresses of Thanksgiving dinner and shopping malls. For me, it was not only a break from work, but a much needed break from school. Normally, we’re given a week off between 10-week quarters, but due to a scheduling quirk, we received no such break, and up until two days ago, had class for 11 straight weeks. While that might not sound that bad do you, consider that I’m in class all day Saturday and have missed out on various birthday parties and baby showers while studying finance and marketing. School is essentially a 6th day of work, and overtime for the other 5. What did I have to be thankful for this year? That I only have 9 months of school left.

The weekend started off with dinner in Studio City with Kristin and her neighbor, who may or may not have had a few screws loose, and a couple glasses of sangria. Thursday morning, I was off to Palmdale to spend the day with the family. After watching the traditional football game, I helped my dad knock out a clogged kitchen sink. Thankfully, after plunging, Liquid Plumbering (twice), taking the pipes apart, and snaking, the drain opened and water was flowing. Crisis adverted. Washing all those dishes would have been a bitch in the bathroom sink. Friday afternoon’s destination was the ‘hood, Inglewood that is, for betting the horses at Hollywood Park, which was coincidentally also the home of my high school prom. After breaking even, and rejecting Mikey’s absurd request to throw his birthday party at my house, I still prefer Santa Anita, where there aren’t 747’s flying over the track. At least one thing hasn’t changed about the race track: there are still an eclectic group of people hoping to strike it rich on a trifecta.

After leaving the track without blowing my paycheck, I headed south to Hermosa Beach for some Cajun food and spent the evening at a couple bars on the pier, which were very quiet. I think the combination of the holiday weekend and the wind kept most of the drunks at home. Though the one highlight was clowning on some Rico Suave with a half unzipped shirt trying to pick up on girls at the bar. My one free Saturday in 3 months was spent in Rancho Cucamonga, helping Matee and Kelly paint their new townhouse. It took us the better part of 8 hours, but along with Mike, we were able to finish the entire downstairs, two coats and all. Sunday was spent catching up on the homework I had been putting off all weekend and waiting for Jeanine to return from her weekend in Sacramento. Sadly, I’m back at work Monday, and wishing I was back painting Matee and Kelly’s townhouse. You could say I have a case of the Monday’s, which I believe are magnified when coming off a holiday break.

Sorry I don’t have anything more interesting, like I said the last 11 weeks of school have been a bitch, and this weekend was the only time I was really able to get out and see the world. It was amazing seeing all the yard sales and what-not going on. I had forgotten what normal people do on a Saturday morning. 27 more Saturdays…27 more…

I figured I should probably get around to posting about my trip to Oregon that I took almost two months ago. One of the downsides to grad school is that it pretty much consumes your life, and doesn’t leave much time for a social life. I find most of my social interactions have been through Facebook since I don’t have alot of free time for much other than work and homework. That being said, when Jeanine asked if I would drive up to Oregon with her to visit her family in Reedsport, I thought it would be a good opportunity to get away for awhile. At least from work, I still had to bring homework with me.

Since the drive from LA to Reedsport is about 14 hours, we decided that it would be best to plan a layover in Sacramento to break up the drive. After getting off work, packing the car and strapping my bike to the trunk, we were on our way at about 8pm on Friday and rolled into Sacramento a little after 2am. I spent most of the drive sleeping, but the highlights of the trip were stopping at In-N-Out in Merced at 11:30 to a packed crowd from the local football game (Ah, how I miss those days). I realized that playing high school football in Merced must suck ass when it came to road games. If I thought a trip to Rosamond was bad, I can’t imagine what those kids go through every Friday night. The second highlight involved me tweeting (yes, I Twitter, see sidebar) about going to Sacramento, and being promptly followed by the Sacramento Bee. Unfollow please.

After a layover in the State Capital and breakfast, we were on our way to Reedsport, which is located on the Oregon Coast along the Umpqua River. After a good 4 hours of driving after leaving Sacramento, I made the observation that California is a big fucking state. It had been about 17 years since I’ve transversed the northern regions of California and it seems like a longer ride when you’re 29 than when you’re 12. Upon entering Oregon, the obvious difference is how green it is. Trees everywhere. I think I saw more green over the course of the week than a pothead at a Bob Marley Festival. The second, and less obvious, is that the roads are so much better. Oregon Department of Transportation is kicking the shit out of CalTrans. These roads were smoother than a baby’s bottom. Also, as Jeanine’s dad explained, it is illegal in Oregon to “coast” in the left lane. It is for passing only. If only this were the law in California, but then again, Californians would be too selfish to follow the law and would probably coast along 10 mph under the speed limit in the fast lane while talking on their cell phones…wait, that already happens. Another driving thing I noticed is that Oregonians take their speed limits seriously. If the speed limit goes from 60 to 25 for a school zone, motherfuckers slow down to 25 mph, and speed back up when the sign says they can go 60 again. Amazing, and quite irritating for a California driver used to flying through school zones. Kids? What kids? Shouldn’t they be in the classroom?

Eventually, we made it to Reedsport, which is a pretty small town. It’s not as small as Drain, OR, but they only have about 3 stop lights. Jeanine’s aunt and uncle live right along the river, and the view from their backyard was beautiful. Clear skies, clean air, peace and quiet. During the week we were in town, I don’t think I heard a single barking dog, and only saw 1 black person, which was mildly disconcerting. I like to see at least a few of my people are comfortable living where I’m visiting. That being said, I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all while I was there, and everyone was very nice. It was definitely a slower way of living, with the exception of running from tsunamis or going to church in the nude. People not in a rush, they make small talk with you while you’re getting gas or coffee, or even stop you in the supermarket to comment on your jewelry. Refreshing to see compared to the me-first mentality of Los Angeles.

Since I was in the general vicinity of Portland, I decided to take a couple days during the trip to get up and visit Ron. Figured since he’s been living there for about 2 years, I should at least visit him once. It was about 3 1/2 hours to Portland, so I bunkered down, set the nav, and was on my way. If there’s one thing I love about driving, it’s driving on a windy road, which is the only way from Reedsport to I-5. Fun times. The only worrisome part was a tunnel that was just wide enough for two cars with a sign to look out for cyclists. It would take some steel cojones to ride through that tunnel. After driving through the town where I should be mayor, I arrived in Portland, where Ron immediately informed me that the night would begin with Whiskey tasting at a downtown bar. So much for pacing it. Before we got to that, Ron gave me a driving tour of the town, which is very interesting in that it is a mixture of old and new. There was a building ordinance put into place that limits new development, so you have some very new and modern buildings as well as some very old buildings. One thing I took away from Oregon is that people firmly believe if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Does the sign outside from 1956 still work? Fuck it, leave it alone. Who cares if it’s 2009. After the tour and a stop at legendary Powell’s books, which is a 4 story, single city block bookstore with a really cool rare book room, and a stop at Ron’s favorite bar, Clyde Common, we were on to the Whiskey tasting. Now, I had just recently cracked open the bottle of Crown Royal Sam had brought over at Christmas, so I was thinking I could hang. Wrong. Straight Whiskey (at least the ones they had) tasted like straight hot ass. At least Ron was in agreement. From there, we were off to another favorite of his, Beaker and Flask, which has an assortment of custom cocktails and where Ron took a ‘rum flight’ consisting of rums from Brazil, Haiti, Puerto Rico and Venezuela, of which all but one tasted like straight gasoline. I’ll have my rum mixed with Coke, please. While we caught up, I had an interesting observation of the laissez-faire attitude on gentleman’s clubs in Portland when Ron asked the waitress where she liked going, and she had her own opinion on which club was best on which night. Odd.

Just when we thought were in for the night, at 10:30 nonetheless, Ron got a call from some bartender friends who were headed out to Chinatown. Off we went. One of his friends was in desperate need of both coffee and karaoke, and after a Vietnamese iced coffee that brought her back from the dead, we were off to a bar that had karaoke on the menu. At 12am. On a Tuesday. Surprisingly, the place was jumping, and was instantly stunned when Ron’s friend got on the mic. Girl could sing. She needs a record deal, not a Chinese karaoke bar in Portland singing Norah Jones. I decided that since I was never seeing any of these people again, that I would throw out my sense of embarrassment and did a forgettable rendition of Bust A Move (apologies to Young MC) before we called it a night. It was 1:30am and Ron’s friends were still going strong. Damn bartenders.

Once back in Reedsport, Jeanine’s uncle took us down to the sand dunes, which cover about 50 miles of the coast and were covered with ATVs. He showed us around a bit and I got some night shots of a multicolored lighthouse that was on a Coast Guard base. A few more days of relaxation, and we were headed back South. After another 14 hour drive (I’ve noticed the feeling in my ass goes out at around the 3 hour mark) and a layover in Sacramento, we were back home. Being in the valley and being on the Oregon Coast are like night and day. Too bad it takes a day to get there.

Because we’re just kids with adult problems, Jeanine and I typically play the out of state plate game while we’re driving somewhere (in addition to SlugBug, and our own invention, PriusPunch). One day, I thought it would be a good idea to record all of the state plates that we’ve punched each other for, and since I’m a nerd, I started keeping a list on my cell phone. Today, I finally found a website that would allow me to save and display all of the states that I’ve seen. Surprisingly, I’ve seen the license plates of 90% of America on the road. If only I could spot that elusive Rhode Island, I’ve been there, but I haven’t seen one of their citizens traveling the roads of California. At least I’ve spotted every state west of the Mississippi and with the exception of West Virginia, everything north of the Mason-Dixon line.


visited 45 states (90%)
Create your own visited map of The United States

On the Lexus forums, there seems to be a feeling that for some reason, the 2nd Generation Lexus IS (referred to as ISX50) has some kind of curse placed upon it. Members have posted stories of door dings, rock chips, even a vandalized IS that included busted out windows, slashed tires, and keyed door panels. (The consensus on the forums is that it was done by a jilted ex-lover, or boyfriend of said ex-lover). Normally, I’m not one to believe in curses, but I am starting to think this one just might be real.

I’ve had my IS250 for just over three years now. The first year was smooth sailing. Aside from the paint swirls that I discovered are a way of life with a black car, I didn’t have any issues (save for the rock chips, where I picked up more in 1 year than I did with 3 years with my Passat). Then the curse struck. On the 1 year anniversary, almost to the day, I was backing out of my parent’s garage, when the edge of the bumper caught a box laying on the floor and ripped the left side of the bumper away from the car, bending it forward. Well shit. $750 later, I had a brand new bumper, and I was on my way. Another year passes, I’m driving on I-5, and a busted tire appears in front of me. Unable to swerve, I eat it. And it eats my bumper. Off to the body shop again for a repaint and a wallet $500 lighter. Couple months later, I’m on I-210, and while I’m trying to key in an address on the nav, I hear the familiar sound of me hitting some road debris. (Note to Caltrans, clean up the fucking freeways. After spending a week in Oregon, California highways are a disgrace). This time, I busted the fog lamp as well. Thankfully, insurance covered this one, so I was only out $250.

Fast forward to earlier this month. I tried to be a good college student and went to Starbucks to finish taking some notes for class. Upon exiting the shop, I see a security guard putting something on my windshield. I walk up to see what is going on, and he informs me that I was hit by someone backing out of their parking space. Sure enough, a nice streak of red paint and a gauge in my rear bumper. Wonderful. He goes on to explain that he and another security guard saw the whole thing happen, and were able to stop the woman from driving away and inform her that she is required to leave a note when she hits a parked car. Next morning, I visit my body shop guy again (you know shit is bad when you have a body shop guy) and get a quote for the repairs. $475. Call up the attempted hit and runner, and let her know that it will be $475 for the repairs and another $125 for me to get a rental for the three days the car will be in the shop. She offers me $300. Apparently someone failed basic math and thinks 475 + 125 = 300. After some back and forth, she tells me that she wants her husband to see the damage before she gives me any cash. Fair enough. So I meet with the woman and her daughter, and they try giving me some sob story about how the daughter is going away for college so money is tight. My first thought was: tough shit, give me some cash or I’m calling my insurance company. Thankfully, once she saw the quote and realized I wasn’t trying to screw her over, she forked over $600 cash. A couple days in the body shop, and Laquisha’s rear end was looking as good as new. (Note, my car is named Shannon for most areas, but when in the hood, she’s called Laquisha. Why? Cause she’s black and has a big ass.)

I live in Los Angeles. The city where the car is king, and public transportation sucks ass. Every day, I go through the worst freeway bottleneck in the entire United States to get to work, and again to get home. The dreaded I-405/US-101 interchange, which was clearly designed by either a complete moron, or someone who was hard of sight. So I like to think I know a little bit about traffic. While crawling through the 405/101, I often wonder about all the reasons for the traffic in Los Angeles, and what could be done to reduce it. None of these solutions would cost a dime, and would just require the very people who complain about traffic to adjust their behaviors to make it better for everyone.

#1: Stop Being an Asshole.
The merge onto the 101N from the 405S is treacherous enough. The ramp dumps you onto the exit ramp for Haskell Ave, and the window to merge into traffic is about 500 feet long (told you the designer was a moron). Problem is, LA drivers are notorious assholes. The most efficient way to change lanes is to not use your blinker. People see that blinker, and they immediately speed up to close the gap so you can’t get in front of them. What, one more car in front of you is really going to make you late to your Yoga class? Don’t be a dick, let me in. Oh, and if I let you in, would it really be so difficult for you to give a little wave to say thanks?

#2: Keep Your Eyes Forward
Like the advice for when you’re in a skid, “look where you want to go”. This means straight ahead. If you’re in the far left lane, and three lanes over, the exit ramp is backed up, this doesn’t mean that you need to slam on the brakes. If nobody is in front of you, you don’t need to slow down. Keep fucking driving. Oh, there’s an accident on the shoulder? What the fuck are you slowing down for? Are you a doctor? Are you going to hop out and perform roadside surgery on the injured party? No. Let the EMT’s do their job, and keep driving. I know we’re in Los Angeles, and the paparazzi has trained us to believe that we need to see every single thing in life, even if it is as asinine as Jessica Simpson getting a latte at the Coffee Bean. But in reality, you don’t need to see what’s going on. This also goes for slowing down to see people get a ticket, someone on the overpass taking photos, a red carpet opening at a dealership on the other side of the freeway, or someone walking along the median of the freeway. (Sadly, I’ve witnessed all of these situations causing miles of backup) Keep driving! You don’t need to slow down to look, and if you hit someone walking on the roadway at 50mph instead of 75mph, they’re not going to be less dead. You’re on the road, drive the car. Same thing goes for using your cell phone. Unless you’re skilled enough to text and drive without reducing your speed, wait until you’re at a red light. If I see another 50 year old person looking down and squinting at their phone trying to send a text message, they’re going to get a horn and a finger.

#3: There is a Road on the Other Side of the Turn
If there’s an unexplained reason for traffic, (like there isn’t a 4 car pileup or construction blocking lanes) then there’s a good chance there is a curve in the road. It’s almost as if people are afraid that on the other side of the turn, the freeway drops off and they’ll careen to the center of the earth. Like I’ve said about crowds at Disneyland, that when they walk through the gates of the Happiest Place on Earth, their IQ drops about 50 points, it’s almost as if when people drive past the Los Angeles City Limits, they are instilled with a fear of curves and a subconscious reaction to take their foot off the accelerator whenever they see a curve in the road ahead. It’s OK people, the freeway is still on the other side of the road, you can accelerate with confidence.

While it’s wishful thinking that these three simple ideas would ever come to fruition, I think we’d all be better off with automated freeways. You pull onto the road, and each car is taken over by a computer that locks in your speed and lane. If you want to exit, you tell the system where you want to get off the highway, and it clears a path for you. Think about traffic utopia the next time you’re sitting on the 405 going 2 miles an hour. At least you’ll have one thing to smile about.