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The Ash Wednesday service was cool. I got the sign of the cross rubbed on my forehead in ashes to represent that we are made of dust and we return to dust. Neat. And the lady in the front row and her daughter liked my nose piercing.

Today’s quote from HTPG: “Men, by nature, are unconsciously governed by the familiar. …our lifestyle becomes a chain of bondage.” Dude, I feel that.

I feel very tethered to the things I have committed my time to. If I didn’t enjoy them or think they have merit, I wouldn’t do them. But sometimes I feel very over-extended or, as Bilbo says, like butter spread too thinly over too much bread. And yet, many of them I don’t break away from because they are so familiar.

Case in point: I go to my grandmother’s house for dinner every week. I have done this as far back as I can recall, so we’ll just say my whole life. 25 years. And as I drive home from her place on Tuesday, I pass Nathan’s place. I usually cast an eye over to see who’s at D&D. Sometimes, it’s a mournful eye, cause I know my friends are there. I could be there, too. But if I turn down that street, I am also turning down the chance to sit at home, just me and the cat and watch the Gilmore Girls.

Maybe you ask “You consider choosing TV over people a dilemma?” No, silly. I rarely (see? I don’t lie and say never) choose TV over real live things. That is what VCRs are for. (And, yes, Tivo, too, but I am not so lucky.) And even if the VCR fails and I miss something, like, oh, say Alyson Hannigan on That 70s Show cause I choose to go to, oh, say the Lutheran Ash Wednesday service, I still feel I have made the right choice. So what I’m talking about here isn’t choosing Lorelei and Rory over Nathan and Jaimie and Jimmy and Liz and West and Cookie and Alex.

What I’m choosing is the chance to sit when I don’t have to be anywhere and I don’t have to do anything and colored light flickers and entertains me, and since One Tree Hill follows Gilmore Girls, I don’t even have to think. But I resent having to make that choice, which then equals resenting that I “have” to go to my grandmother’s.

But, seriously, to her food is love and to say I’m not coming over to eat translates to “I hate you.” To not go means, for me, trading the resentment of having to go with guilt for not going. At least the resentment comes with mashed potatoes and pie.

I had so many things I wanted to write about today, and then work went and took up the whole day. Eh. I still have time to address some thoughts from Cowboy Zydeco:

Have you ever considered adding a comments section to your weblog page?

Why, yes. I don’t know how to do so on my own mad skillz, and I don’t know of a viable third party offhand. I thought about asking Jaimie/Jimmy sweetly if they would make me a portion of the derfleeganforum (Pointless Drivel, The Weekly and Laura’s Blog - can’t you see the neon now?). I figure the only people who would want to discuss what they read here already read there (and if they don’t - they should! the sites are like sisters). But I haven’t asked yet. Jaimie, dahling, you reading? Mother, may I?

My first concert was also Amy Grant. Kind of a coincidence. We saw her when she was exclusively Christian Pop, way back when I was a wee lad. (Didn’t she go secular a few years back? I confess I haven’t really followed her career.)

Cowboy, we are cousins! I confess I haven’t really followed her career, either. But, if I remember right, her “secular” debut was Heart in Motion and I was floored to find out that some of her fans thought she sold out. I couldn’t believe the album was even considered secular. I mean, when the following lyrics are on an album, how can it be secular? Anything good that happens in life is from Jesus. - “Hope Set High”

The Cowboy has had the pleasure of seeing They Might Be Giants in concert. He says it:

rocked like nobody’s business, because it was in a little warehouse club, and I managed to command a spot like 10 feet from the stage, about 45 degrees off stage-right. (It was standing room only, no seating anywhere near the floor.) At the time, I was glad of my surplus mass, because nobody was successfully able to nudge/mosh/push me out of the way. Hitherto unrealized benefits of the inertially abled.

See now, if I had a comments section, I would open the floor by asking what everyone’s favorite concert experience has been. Mine would be a tie between Fleming & John at CityStages and 100 Portraits at {insert java-pun coffeehouse name here} in Auburn.

(Oh, and CZ also sent a cool font link.)

I asked my bank for a loan application. The response was super-enthusiastic until I explained the situation. Then the response was “well, not to discorage you, but we don’t have any duplexes or apartments on the books.” Frankly, that discourages me.

The dentist called today. I was supposed to go for a cleaning next week, but the dentist will be out of town and could I maybe come in today at 3:00? (I got the call at 2:30.) Yeah, sure, I can make it today.

And then the old swell of panic comes. I don’t know why; it seems silly. I think it’s a hold-over from my younger days. Every time I went to the dentist as a kid, I had a cavity. I don’t even know how many fillings I have. They wanted to put braces on me at age 5. And, dear God, the flouride torture. And the “polishing.” Yech.

I never got braces, it’s been over a decade since I had a cavity, they stop the dread fluoride torture when you turn 18 and I even had them put in my file to skip the gag-inducing polishing routine. Dentist-wise, it has been smooth-sailing for years. But I never managed to convince my psyche that there is no need for internal flutters when I hear I have a dentist appointment. Silly psyche.

Or smart psyche. Smart aleck psyche, anyway.

“You have a small cavity forming up here,” the dentist informed me, poking at one of my teeth. I could feel the tell-tale sticking. Not present yet is the taste. (My dad and I can tell by taste when we have cavities.)

And, apparently, I’m a “clencher.” Wha? Not even talking to me, he’s pointing out stuff to the hygienist “see these scallops along the tongue?” and “see the dulling of the enamel here?” Then he asks me if I knew I was a clencher. Um, no. And what does this mean? Okay, well, that I clench. But, like, what are the ramifications here, doc?

“Your teeth look good!” he says and sends me on my way.

I guess being a clencher isn’t a big deal. But damn, a cavity.

Shades in the bedroom are up. Awesome. Neighbors have already moved in to our old place. Less awesome. I just wasn’t ready for that yet. If it’s all dark over there, that’s fine. But with all the lights on, it looks so homey. That, for some reason, makes me sad.

Something I also wasn’t ready for: they’re cancelling Angel.

I finished reading Fray today. Joss Whedon rocks my socks.

Went to see 50 First Dates last night, and, lo, it was good. Adam Sandler + Drew Barrymore = the antithesis of Tom Hanks + Meg Ryan. The same formula, really, except totally not. Instead of a romantic comedy, it’s a comantic romedy. It could have helped that I sat between Jaimie and Kris, both suckers for a good visual gag (and I’m the sucker that when they laugh, I do, too).

In Her Shoes is ready to go back to the library.

Must take the Eternal Angel soundtrack out the cd player as wake-up tunes - the last 2 songs are skipping and causing it to shift to the actual alarm sound. We hates that sound.

I suck at surprises. It’s this thing with me. Any good surprise for me never goes smoothly and I end up feeling dumb. I am much better at being the one doing the surprising.

Except these days, I am getting lax. Kris loves surprises, and I had the perfect surprise planned for Valentine’s day. I was gonna call Jeremy Crawford, the tattoo artist I interviewed last year, and set up an appointment to get Kris’ big honking black & white tattoo on his back colored in. But Jeremy’s real popular, so I’d have needed to call during the maelstrom that was January, and I just never got around to it.

So for Valentine’s, Kris got a sweet card and 2 print-outs of a digital pic of his tattoo, so he can color in ideas to take to the appointment he’ll have to make for himself. Yeah, without the surprise, it really is a sucky gift, huh?

I gave him his “present” last night, cause he’d had a bum day. So, this morning, he gave me mine: an indie mag with Ani DiFranco and Margaret Cho on the cover and the Joss Whedon comic Fray. I was so excited. Indie mags and comic books - geeker bliss. Oh, yeah, baby, talk nerdy to me.