sweet jane

Yes, I know...

No, I don't have Writer's Block in the classic sense-- I'm not frustrated as I sit at this desk, furrowing my brow trying to drum up some verbiage for what few readers I have left. But if you define Writer's Block as being any event or situation or activity that takes up the time you would normally spend on writing, then yes-- I'm blocked up in a mighty way.

I've been busy furnishing a nest for me and my wife. It's a temporary domicile, to be sure-- basically, she's moving in with me and my current place was never more than a rest stop until either I saved up enough cash or the prices on rentals dropped. But now that I am married, who knows-- maybe my wife and I can scoop up some poor bastard's foreclosure and get ourselves a real home, complete with a mortgage and neighbors and a front lawn and a garage and property tax and the whole nine.

All we'd have to do after that is have some kids, and then that's it: we officially become old.

Knowing this, she and I agree that we need to spend a lot of time being a couple before we decide to have kids. We should enjoy being married for a while, because once we have kids it's close to two decades (at the least!) before we get that much alone time ever again.

Besides, talking about kids is getting way ahead of ourselves. Shit, we still haven't finished making the announcement!


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And speaking of making the announcement...

My wife has an older sister-- 14 years older, in fact. They had different fathers but share the same mother. Since I am a full ten years my wife's senior, it now makes sense to me how she shares so many of my interests such as music groups and movies: she followed in her big sister's footsteps, influenced by her tastes and shaped by her mentality. My wife is her own person nonetheless, but her sister (whom I will name "Jane" here in this blog) had an enormous impact on my wife, to say the least.

Jane and my wife had a typical sister relationship when they were growing up, filled with your average rivalries and various ups and downs. Jane was something of a wild child, and my wife followed in her wake. However, because of the age difference and the different father figures raising each girl, it's safe to say that there were marked contrasts in their respective upbringings.

Being the youngest, my wife was a tad more spoiled than Jane. Owing also to this was their mother's accumulated maternal experience: when Jane was born, their mother was learning the ropes; when my wife was born, their mother had some background on what to do and what not to do, tempered by the wisdom that such undertakings bequeaths upon a woman who desires to decently rear a child.

In short, Jane and my wife were treated differently, even though each was equally loved by their mother.

When Jane grew up and moved out and got married and settled down with kids, she underwent a transformation. In addition to giving up on her hard-living ways and partying ethic, she began to feel pangs of guilt about what kind of role model she was to her baby sister. This is a normal phenomenon for older siblings to undergo-- my older brother, for example, often felt that he had failed me as an example to follow; it wasn't until we talked one day that I informed him that he was, in reality, the best example I could have had, despite (or lieu of) his own adolescent indulgences.

My wife and her older sister hadn't spoken to each other much in recent years, so it was definitely an issue for her to consider when it came time to tell her family what we had gone and done in Las Vegas.

The last time my wife saw her sister was when she flew out to visit my wife only a year after she'd moved to Los Angeles. Jane got off the plane, drove over to my wife's apartment, and stayed for less than three hours before they had gotten into such a row that Jane packed her bags and got on the next plane back to Indianapolis, which is where she moved when she left her home in D.C.


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My wife managed to talk Jane into flying out here again without letting the cat out of the bag. Out of a misplaced semi-maternal guilt, Jane agreed to come out and see if her little sis was doing OK or if the big bad world of L.A. was eating her up alive.

As older siblings are wont to do, Jane expected to see her sister living in abject poverty, in need of guidance and way in over her head.

Meanwhile, the plan was as follows: I was to pick Jane up from LAX and bring her back to the apartment so that I could get a chance to meet her. As far as Jane knew, I was just the boyfriend-- I was not to let on that we had gotten married at all. My wife reasoned that she wanted Jane to get to know me as a person first.

As fucked up as it sounds, I had to agree with my wife: just springing the news on your family can be a horrible mistake if there are hard feelings or past grievances still being harbored. In my case, my family handled the news just fine because they were convinced that I would never marry and yet they held out hope for some sort of "miracle" to occur; it goes without saying that their prayers were answered.

Anyway, after the visit was over, when Jane was safely back at home in Indiana, my wife was going to tell her the truth... this was the part of her plan that I was skeptical about, but I understood her logic. My wife, unlike me, is not one for confrontations. She hates them, and would feel safer if she could have as much distance as possible between Jane and her, so as not to get too upset when the inevitable blow-out happened.

I drove my wife's car and parked in a spot near Jane's arriving terminal. My wife called and described Jane to me. I figured she would look something like my wife, but to my surprise Jane looked nothing like her sister: dark brown hair instead of my wife's lighter shade (my wife dyes it red so I am referring to the root color), tall and leggy, attractive but in a totally separate category than my wife's attractiveness. It was clear that, in her prime, Jane was a heartbreaker.

I met her, helped her with her bags, and drove her out to meet up with her sister. I talked with Jane along the way and found her to be engaging, smart, and witty. When we spoke of her sister there was an apparent love and care, but also present in her tone was that annoying and patronizing manner in which most older siblings refer to their younger charges, as if they and only they knew what their younger brothers or sisters were truly like and that if only they would follow the advice of Big Bro or Big Sis (because they're older, and therefore they know better, right?) then their lives would be stable and fulfilling.

I could immediately see why my wife had to do it this way, and yet I could also see Jane's point of view. I'd only known my wife for less than six months by that time but already I surmised that she could be stubborn, spiteful, hypersensitive and judgmental (just like me-- no wonder we got married!) and that it didn't mesh well with Jane's in-your-face sensibilities.

Jane was only in town for four days, from Thursday to Sunday. By Saturday night, she would find out about us prematurely.


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Jane didn't flip out at first. When my wife ended up spilling the beans during an excursion to the beach to bury my wife's roommate Mitch's belated chinchilla (aptly named Mr. Chin) it was because she knew she could no longer continue the ruse and felt that Jane should know the truth about us.

Without a doubt, Jane was surprised. Shocked? I don't know, I wasn't there. All I know is that while I was working on my web comic strip at home, I got a call from my wife. I picked it up, and my wife explained to me that she told Jane about us.

"You did? How'd she take it?"

"She wants to talk to you," she said, smiling as she talked.

Jane got on the line. The three of them had been drinking, and I could tell by Jane's delivery that she was (at the very least) somewhat tipsy.

"Hey, you. What's the big deal, marrying my baby sister without getting my permission first?"

I laughed nervously. "So she told you, eh?"

"Yeah. You lied to me. Both of you did."

"She asked me to, and I do whatever she asks me to do. I didn't agree with it, but I respected her reasoning, and she's my wife so..."

"I've got a mind to knock you flat on your ass, you know." I could tell that she was half-serious, half-joking, and 100% inebriated.

"And I wouldn't blame you. I will gladly accept whatever treatment you see fit." I meant what I'd said to her-- as much as I wanted Jane to give us her blessing, she had every right to be upset.

"I'm serious," she said. "I'm still in shock. This is no way to spring it on me."

"I know, Jane. But your sister felt that it would be worse if she told you first thing off the plane. That's why she sent me by myself to pick you up. She wanted you to get to know me as a person first." I didn't mention that my wife's original plan was to wait until Jane had made it back to Indiana.

"Look, it's not that I don't like you. I do, James. I think you're a nice guy. So far throughout this trip you've been nothing but great, both to me and my sister. But this has nothing to do with you. It's a family thing. I hope you know that."

"I do. I honestly do. I am not offended in the least."

"Good. But I'm still in shock. I don't know whether to be happy or pissed."

After a few more exchanges similar to those last lines, my wife got back on the phone and asked me to meet the three of them at Barney's Beanery later on in the evening for drinks and dinner. I agreed, and hung up the phone.

I finished my web comic work and jumped in the shower. After that, as I got dressed to meet them, I wondered what the night would evolve into, because I knew even though the cat was out of the bag there was still the rest of the evening to go.

Next Week: The Second Part

wheels go 'round and 'round

Today is John Lennon's 67th birthday.

Yes, he's dead... but it's still his birthday.

Here's a You Tube clip of the song "Watching The Wheels", with home videos of the man with his wife Yoko spliced against what has to be one of the loveliest Lennon compositions he ever recorded.



You'll probably hear 5 million plays of "Imagine" today, so I figured I'd do one of the lesser requested ones. "Watching The Wheels" has its share of fans, to be sure, but when you think of how many solo hits Lennon had (plus all the stuff he did with that one group... you know, the one that starts with B) it all tends to get lost in the shuffle.

Personally, my all-time favorite from John's solo output is "#9 Dream" because it is so weird and mystical and surreal and happens to be one of the few pop songs with the word "dream" in the title that actually does sound like a dream. But "Wheels" has gotten me lately because... well, because I relate to the lyrics more now than I did when I was younger.

Settling down and getting married has done more than just mellow me out: it has practically caused me to change my outlook on life. There's a lot in my outlook that doesn't need changing, however, so I guess I am really just accepting the things I need to accept and discarding the things that I never needed.

I'm modifying my behavior rather than mellowing. I say that because I am still a crazy loon with the mind of a dirty old man and the heart of a reckless child. But I'm also more focused.

The blog has suffered, but my writing continues... this time in private, the way it used to be when I was a teenager scribbling into personal notebooks that no one ever read unless I allowed them the privilege. The novel is coming along slowly but surely. My patience for it is larger and wider, thanks to my wife's inspiration and input.

The music always bodes well. It has evened out for me-- staying with one (and only one) band makes it easier for me to do what needs to be done, and also makes it more enjoyable. I still collaborate here and there but not with the urgent desperation of other endeavors. And in a few weeks I might be ready to start setting up for my third solo acoustic set this year, which is exciting and fun for me.

My forays into graphic art are limited to the "Studio Reader Stan" web comic, but that's just fine. I am creating an animated version of the strip, so I cannot complain about anything.

Certainly, this has been a most productive and radically transitional season for me. It has also been a relatively sober period in my life, similar to my teen years when I was straight-edge and didn't need drugs to make me weird and creative. I won't lie, however: I do them when they're around... but the cool thing is that they really aren't around that much anymore. I can't remember the last time I smoked pot, and saving money to get a new place for me and the wife has all but eliminated cocaine from my everyday existence.

The Mrs. and I did take mushrooms a while back, when we went camping with my family up in Carpenteria. That was a fine weekend, because our trip was pleasant (big caps on the shrooms = less visuals, more of a body high) and we drank it in tea instead of eating the foul-tasting fungi.

I wouldn't count that as a drug experience, though. It was too nice and gentle to be considered a "trip". It was more like a vacation that turned inward for the both of us. We laughed our asses off and made love in our tent to the sounds of waves lapping against the shore.

I have many stories to tell, but for the time being they have to go into the novel. I will keep blogging but right now I need to get this book done, and I'm on a roll. I just wanted to check in and let you all know I haven't fallen off the face of the planet.

Or, to paraphrase the birthday boy, I wanted to let you all know that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall.

PEACE