Don't have kids. Okay, do. But definitely don't be fooled by their cute-and-cuddly exterior. They are work. And mind you, the work's not bad, but they are work. And if you don't work at it, they're even more work. My niece and nephew visited us last night, for the night, no more. And this is a couple of kids who are at their worst, mild-mannered. So I'm not talking about some devil's spawn.

Alicia and I took them to Dave 'n' Busters for lack of a better way of entertaining the pair and feeding them at the same time. And I find that "D&B" is actually quite an interesting socio-stratal study, because it attracts literally all people with children (and some strange people who need to find some excuse for sitting in front of the sliding quarters game waiting for coins to drop. BESIDES getting tickets, for which you "win" stuffed animals and toys worth a fraction of the cost of the actual money you've spent. But then, let's remember, there is the joy of watching coins teeter on the edge of a well-calculated ledge, and NOT falling. Oh, the joy.). The point is, I got to watch all types of parents parent. Some were much like their kids, who, when bumped into, turned around in a rage and spat fire. At their kid. Wow. How small do THOSE kids feel. And you wonder how kids learn to be bullies. Then there were the parents who were more interested in playing the games than their kids. That's nice. Then there was us. Non-parents, playing parents, and critiquing others. I'm so screwed. I hope I can do this parenting thing right when that time comes. And end up with some high-energy, well-adjusted, thoughtful, confident kids. (Oh, well, a guy can dream can't he?)

So, yeah, kids. Don't be fooled. They're work. That's all, (I heard that sigh of relief...) it's the weekend.

Still hot. Get the picture. This place is a fucking furnace. Luckily, I have friends who are not only incredibly generous, but well-endowed with a pool. In fact, one of my favorite couples has a lovely pool, and I spent almost all of yesterday in that pool, escaping the heat, and getting drunk. My brother made the merciless observation that I have not held a real job now in over a year. Yes, I have held momentary occupation here and there, but meaningful, long-term focused employment, well, no. And somehow, I have not caved in on myself in debt. That's not a good lesson to teach myself.

The good news is that I have lived a life of ease, and luxury (as much as that has ever been my lifestyle), and not suffered. The bad news is I am going to spend the next 3 years unemployed, or at best, underemployed while I learn how to be an poor artist. Oh, the future looks bright.

I don't know where I got that "socialist-leaning" thing, because I seem to be incredibly obsessed with money. In fact, it's about the only thing I've had on my mind, although I haven't done anything about it, except prod my wife to get a job so that I may continue to be a loser. I know, I know, I ask myself the same question...why is she marrying ME? She's too nice not too? I am a really good hypnotist, and have her convinced that I'm too good to be true. God bless her.

So, shit, let me initiate myself into the world of soapbox rantings by saying that this country is going down the tubes. And I'd like to be quoted as being the first person ever to claim that. Seriously, if you hear anything about that being cliche, fuck that, it's mine, okay? But seriously, think about it. It came to me today, the one-word definition of the "average American", or the "statistical mean-score American Modus Operendi" -- GREED. That's it. That's my one-word definition. When I lived in San Francisco, it was ENTITLEMENT...and I knew I was close...but now I've boiled it down to a single, deadly sin.

It seems to be most clear to me when I'm driving, and I think it's because a) I'm at my most confident because of my sense of glassed-in security and b) so is everyone else. There is no need to be on good behavior, the rules are less clear, and even if someone gives you the finger, it goes through at least one pane of thick "safety-glass" (I mean, come on "safety-glass", that says it all, non?) Think about it -- how many times does someone with their window down, come aside you with your window down, and flip you off. Not that I am getting constantly flipped the bird, but it happens, and it's always in the rearview. As they're passing you, or as you just passed them. And I think it's because we're not afraid of size and strength and wealth in our cars. They're very equalizing. They can all kill an un-carred person, Pinto or Beamer, and people usually don't want to jam on the brakes and cause a full-scale pile-up just to kick your ass. So you're pretty safe being obnoxious, or at least being yourself. Which is not to say that there aren't a large number of very thoughtful drivers, who let you in, who pause a moment when you are trying to make a turn in front of them, after waiting for 10 minutes facing an unending line of traffic, and who wave, an actual all-fingers-present salute, when you do something nice for them. But they are certainly, all-told, a minority.

And the rest of them are out there, being their greedy selves. They take whatever they can get. If you're motoring along, and want to leave a safe 3-second gap between your bumper and the next in front....BOOM, someone's in there, taking up the space. If you're driving down the road, and there's NO one behind you, and someone is waiting to pull out, BOOM, they'll jump right in. Their time is important, and yours is not. Their needs are important, and it doesn't matter that you'll have to slam on the brakes to accomodate them, they NEEDed to go now, even though waiting a split second more, would have been thoughtful.

Here's what sparked today's p&m. Alicia and I were heading into the city via the Schuykill Expy, and there was moderate traffic. And as we entered the on-ramp, it was clear that no one in the right lane of the 2-lane highway was going to move over into the left lane to allow us to merge onto the highway. They were in THEIR lane, and they were entitled to THEIR space, and no one was going to take it from them. So, needless to say, rather than slam into a car going 60 mph, I had to slow to a stop (which makes it MUCH easier to merge), but this apparently pissed off the large van behind me, because she honked a loud angry honk at me, having impeded HER progress, having slowed HER down. Somehow I got on, and the van behind me as well, and proceeded to the next exit in the exit lane, as the traffic had backed up, followed by the van, which at the last moment, dove back into the now-stopped line of traffic, ahead of everyone else in the stopped line. And she wasn't alone. She was only one of many. And that's when I realized that Americans are greedy. First and foremost.

Please, it's not just evident in cars, but that's where it became most clear. It is in every single policy of this government. It is in the $300 million dollar loans top executives give themselves out of company coffers, undetected (!) and un-repaid. It is leeching into every business transaction, and every interpersonal transaction that happens every day, that the end-goal is not beauty, happiness and even prosperity, it is greed. It is no longer a goal to have enough, but rather to have MORE. And that's greed. You'll never get to enough. That's the definition of enough. What's that number? What does one do with $300 million, or $1.2 billion (another personal loan)? What kind of person requires that kind of opulence? Hey, I'm not saying that a certain amount of affluence is bad, like I said, prosperity is not a bad thing. I'm just saying, what happened to making a nice life for yourself and your family? What happened to having sitting in a room surrounded by friends, watching a garden grow you food, and making music? Why do we need outfits that stuff a closet that are made by people who have one hand-me-down t-shirt from UNICEF? And furniture that's new, but been distressed, beaten with a chain to LOOK old? How can we value antiquity, but when something's truly old, we throw it out in disgust? What a fucked up country. I hate this place, and I wish I could see some learning going on, some introspection, some acknowledgement of our role in the world that makes us the target of hatred, and rage.

Okay?

I stand corrected -- rabbits are not rodents. They're Lagomorphs. But shit, they still have furry little faces, and die a lot. So, if I were that guy, making genus and order and species charts, I'd call them Rodentia. But I don't make charts.

And it's hot again. Fuckin' hot. Okay, by most standards it's a little muggy, but by mine, it's fuckin' hot. Somehow I had no recollection of the role that the weather had played in my original decision to leave this godforsaken hot-pot of a city. And had been lulled into thinking that I could survive for any length of time in a climate that is non-desert. When I lived in San Francisco I told myself that the payoff would be when I was sitting outside in the evening, in my shorts and t-shirt, and it was 2 am, and I was comfortable. Not cold.

Okay, 2 problems. 1) I have not stayed up past 12 am in years unless I was having trouble falling asleep (that includes the recent past because I was glued to my sheets in sweat) and 2) I do not have anywhere to do said sitting outside in the evening, because my apartment, or soon-to-be-vacated subletted apartment, has no outside seating, except for the stoop, and it's too hot anyway.

I swear, if I write another entry it's going to be about the weather sucking. And if these happen to be consistent, you can count on more moaning and groaning until about mid-to-late September. That's irrelevant, of course, because I can usually find something to moan about.

You know, this whole 'blog was going to be my little unheard soapbox for ranting and raving about the world, politics, the greater good of the individual man in a corporate world. But so far it's been a dissappointingly myopic whine-session. Hey, I warned you. That's the reality of me. Sucks. Ahhhhh, fuck it.

Catastrophe avoided. Last night, as we were preparing to leave for a BBQ (I love being back on the East Coast, for this reason. It is possible to be outside past 6 pm with shorts on) I looked out the window with the squirrel-sized hole in the screen. And there he was. The little squirrel bastard was sitting on the window sill, looking for ways to claw his way back into our trash can. Fucker.

Much as I do when driving in the protected, glassed-in confines of my car, I screamed at the little bastard in a way I could never have screamed if not separated by my transparent buttressing. "Get the fuck out of here you little dirty shit, boo, yah, scram, git, never come ye back." And such. And being 6 inches long, and confronted with a beast outweighing him by several hundred times over, he did. He jumped back on his conveniently located tree branch, and scurried away.

And I slept very well last night. Almost 10 hours. And am now in some sort of blurry slept-too-much haze. Which is fine because I have very little of importance to do. Not that there aren't pro-active things I could be doing, I'm just not doing them. Like finding temporary work, taking shitting menial labor to support my new family. Ah, yes. But that would get in the way of important business like looking in on friends' cats, and such. Nope, too busy. And I can make excuses like you never heard.

Gotta run (see).

My worst nightmare is being realized. Alicia (the wife) and I were away last night, and because of the nasty humidity and heat we've been having, left the window slightly ajar. Now, we live on the third floor of a rowhouse, so there's no security risk, or so we thought.

Background: I am terrified of mice. I don't know why. It's something between an inherited trait (my grandfather was apparently equally petrified), a learned fear (a mouse once jumped out at me at eye level when I was five, and ran under the radiator, not me, it) and a psychological cover-up (All 7 attempts of mine at raising rodents ended in horrible deaths, including a strangled rabbit, a gerbil who's tail fell off in my hand, and a 3-day period in which 3 hamsters [all named Sparky] bit the dust apparently due to some sort of hamster plague that had befallen the cage). Go figure. So either way, I really am terrified by the smaller end of the Family Rodentia. Seriously, I'm not even exaggerating. You know in Tom and Jerry cartoons when Jerry would run through the kitchen, and the big fat maid (who you only knew from her feet), would leap on the tallest stool in the kitchen and scream blood-curdling-ly murder or chase him around swinging a broom, well, I'm that fat maid. I am really terrified, the way some people are afraid of snakes or spiders. And, yes, this is relevant.

So we got home this morning, and Alicia shouts "Oh my God" from the kitchen, which she does a lot, usually when she's reading People or Newsweek, and it turns out that Madonna is pregnant again. But then she said it again, "Oh my GOD", and the empasis on God really made my skin crawl and my heart sink, especially because it came from the kitchen. So I crept around the corner, and she's staring at crumbs on the floor, and a hole in the screen of the window we left open. And instantly my alarms went off and I thought, "Please get me out of this apartment before the scary mouse, or rat or squirrel attacks me with it's huge nasty yellow teeth and bites my neck."

And Alicia, my savior, pokes all possible hiding places with a broom, and makes me believe for a moment the coast is clear.

And then, about 1/2 an hour later, we hear this horrible scratching at the kitchen window (we were sitting in the next room), and I swear I jumped up on the couch. (no lie) So, we either have an angry squirrel trying to get back into the land of plenty, or some number of other rodents desperately trying to escape, only they're trapped inside, with us, with me, and getting crazier and more rabid by the minute, and threatening to bite my or Alicia's necks OR BOTH!

So I have called the pest control guy to get advice on how to kill said pest, because rodents are pests, as we are Kings of the Earth, free to exterminate or hunt for sport all living beings (oh, so Buddhist of me), but it's Sunday, and they're all at home, pest-free, and watching Tom and Jerry reruns, while I will be up all night hearing scratching and clawing sounds, and not sleeping and wondering when the inevitable attack will be launched.

I will never sleep well in this apartment again. I hope that bastard is outside, and can't get in.

Phobias suck SOOOOOO bad(ly).