Still not much for the words at the moment. It may have something to do with the mood, which is dark like engine oil. Here are a thousand of them anyway in elaboration:

After hanging out on Commonwealth Avenue on Sunday with Sara, Noah and their mates, I snap this pic, which also does well to describe my mood:

All self-involved dramatics aside, I do love that photo.

I work at two today. Boss hasn’t paid me yet, so while the day heats up I’m settling in to tackle a rewrite of Strange Angels.

The one day you really need a nap is the one day someone sets up a power saw in the courtyard.

This is just an announcement to say that yet another Rocket star has crossed over into the Amoeba galaxy. After a recommendation by Randy, Ariel and me that is the good-vibes equivalent of a millennium fireworks display, Team Amoeba has taken on Sara. She calls me today after a three-hour tour and orientation. Her head hurts, she’s starving, and her mind spins from the sheer overload of information she’s taken on today. I can sympathize. It wasn’t long ago that I was in the same boat.

Okay, so it’s true. I’m another year older. My birthday has come and gone. It falls on a Saturday this year. This means I’m able to throw a party. I’d intended to go all out and throw a big bash. I decide, after all the computer nonsense of last week and the fact that I was very late in getting out invitations, that I would scale things back and make it simply a “gathering.” It has a more dramatic sound to it. It feels more intimate. I invite only the people I really want to see. I mean, this is the reason I didn’t quit Rocket Video outright back in March when it all went haywire. I wanted to stick around long enough to gather everyone over at my house for a…uh, a gathering.

Not everyone on my wish list comes. But everyone who comes is definitely on my wish list. Some people (Ryan, Jules, Kirk…) tell me later that there was much gnashing of teeth and rending of clothing over the fact they had to miss it.

And I’m not one for the showing off of gifts, but people bring me some interesting stuff this year. Check this out:

Strangest among them, therefore the most discussed, is this, which Jennie gives me. Do you know this woman?

Jennie discovers it in a thrift store. Apparently this woman is dead. Her belongings have ended up in a thrift shop. Jennie finds it to be such an odd, funny thing, that she buys it for me. I can’t tell you how amused I am…

She also gives me what looks like a peculiar wine carafe. When Sara stops by the party later she immediately identifies it. “It’s a wine bong!” says Sara, whose friend Ruth owns one and brings it out for special occasions. It’s like a beer bong, but perhaps a bit more glassy.

Sara drops off a couple of really cool items for me when she stops in. The invader kit is my favorite. If you know us, then you know of our obsession with space invaders, and you’ll understand how perfect this is. She also gives me two tiny objects, both of which I love:

Yeah, of course that’s us. And yeah, it’s those damned space invaders on our eyes. And continuing in the hyper-hip artist vein, she also gives me this:

That’s Robert Smith from the Cure, in case you were wondering. I would be remiss if I neglected to post a photo of these, which come by FedEx on Saturday morning:

They’re from Parley. They’re still going strong, two days later, although one of them has sagged, flaccid, and now points to the floor.

I don’t let a birthday go by without picking up a little something for myself. This year it’s a book from Wacko in Los Feliz (my fave LA store):

It’s just a book on Francois Truffaut. I love this image. I’ve only seen about a third of Truffaut’s films, including the Antoine Doinel cycle, which begins with 400 Blows and ends with Love On The Run. This next image is from the former. Just look at the expression on Jean-Pierre Leaud’s face…

Happy birthday to me.

This explains the scarcity of posts. I’ve just been getting ready. I’m not hiding. I tried that when I turned thirty. I fled into the wilderness for a few days, trying to hide. But it was there, sqatting down outside the tent at midnight, a smoky phantom.

jee-ZUS!

It’s Friday. I post that innocuous thing about Dungeons & Dragons, I do a little web de-zine for Boss. I talk to Manager about the current draft of Blood & Mist and about how it’s too big and I need to scale back one more time. I prepare to sit down and do a little writing. And at some point, I plan to post an online invite to my birthday party on Saturday.

But somewhere in there I get the crazy idea to open my computer up and do a little tinkering. You see, I have a new computer case I want to use and a new, massive hard drive I want to put in it. So I crack open the ol’ computer case, yank all the cards, disconnect everything and transfer the whole kit and kaboodle into the new case. I turn it on. The fans spin for a moment. Then stop. Nothing.

Bad power supply, maybe? I transfer it all back into the old case, piece by piece, drive by drive. Connect everything. Hit the power button.

Nothing.

This is bad. I have lots to do over the weekend. Ain’t no way I can spend the entire time figgering out what’s wrong with my motherboard. So I head off to Fry’s in Burbank. I get a new motherboard and CPU and return. I install it into the new case. Attach all the cards and cables and arrange all the requisite clumps of dust in their proper places and with trepidation, reach for the power button.

oops. Forgot the memory.

So I reach for the memory cards instead and discover that I’ve got the wrong kind. I’ll have to go back to Fry’s. But not now. I’ve agreed to go see Exorcist: The Beginning with Mark. Perhaps I’ll blog more on that later and write a few paragraphs on the staggering mundanity with which it slithered across the screen. Perhaps not. It’s uplifting, though in a way. It’s nice to see the occasional bad movie in the theater. Gives one hope.

Anyway, back to my boring ordeal, (my “bordeal,” as one might coin.) I return to Fry’s, mill about in front of the memory case with all the other people trying, like me, to attract the attention of the guy with the computer access without appearing obnoxious or pushy, and leave. I’m 512 megs richer in the memory department and about a hundred fifty bucks poorer in the “I need food” department.

This is what my desk looks like by now:

I install the memory, say a prayer to the Egyptian god Bast (because she’s kinda cool) and hit the power button. Nothing spins, nothing whirs, nothing clicks. The only thing that engages is a little alarm speaker that shrieks like a banshee. That can’t possibly be good.

By now I’ve had a couple beers. Tipsy is not the best way to install a brand new motherboard. One more beer and I’ll have equal luck trying to install a plate of vermicelli. But I gamely pull everything one last time and switch it all back to the old case, convinced by now that Pazuzu has set up shop in the new one. I connect the various noodles wires and press the ol’ power button.

Everything springs to life. Within moments, I’m happily up to my eyeballs in a brand spankin’ new installation of Windows 2000. It’s now Monday. I’m still rebuilding my system. And I’m only now able to gain access to this blog.

So anyway, sorry about that silent stretch. At least now you know what was up.

I’m ludicrously busy this week. Thanks to vacationing coworkers, today is the fifth Ameoba day in a row. I’m exhausted. I mean, seriously. Who works five days in a row? That’s just stupid.

Yeah, except I’m doing a bunch of stuff for Boss regarding this Herbalife website he wants to put together, which is funny because just last week he wants full court press on richfromhome.com (if that doesn’t sound like an herbalife-ready domain, I don’t know what does.) Boss’s whims are nothing if not mercurial.

Other bits before I head off to work:

This past Tuesday Amoeba plays host to its biggest in-store performance ever. The culprits responsible? These four unassuming cats:

Rilo Kiley takes the stage at seven and plays through about eight tracks off their current album. They’re new eneough that most people out of music circles haven’t heard of them. But they’ve been around long enough to have amassed a dedicated following. I think every one of their fans shows up that day, crowding the aisles and hanging on to Jenny Lewis’s every word. I just wish I’d taken a picture.

I haven’t had a moment to work on Blood & Mist in four days and it’s driving me crazy. I’m so close to finishing it, but what it needs is a few hours of undivided attention. Where am I gonna find those hours? I have tomorrow off. When I’m done running around for Boss, I’ll have to clear a wide swath of time and get the thing done. This forced abstinence is making me cranky.

Quick news bites:

MARK has hit upon the idea to be a personal trainer. He’s hit the books full-time in order to beef up his brain in time for the November exam. I think it’s a remarkably good idea. He’s make a good trainer.

RYAN is grinding through a temp job at a talent agency in Santa Monica. They have a job opening. He interviewed for it, but because it’s rife with pettiness and inanity, he’s now convinced he wants nothing to do with the place.

SARA had to wake up at five this morning to shoot a commercial for SBC with director Tony Kaye. She griped at me last night that they were going to make her (gasp!) wear a dress.

KEIR is working his penultimate day at Firestone Vineyards. Congrats on the three year run! (So much for that wine connection.)

Gotta go.