Ever feel like one? 

We left Anaheim yesterday to begin our trek back up north to Stockton.

We had a detour to make in Malibu.

Our favorite fish place and the location of the daily class Greg and I used to lead during the lectures is still as good as ever.

I wonder how long it would take me to get tired of the view?

At least we don’t have to worry about such things in Stockton.

We went to see the group RAIN (a Beatles tribute band) last night and it was jolly good.

The lads could play and sing and had watched hours and hours of tape because their mannerisms, expressions and playing style resembled the original group.

It’s hard enough playing on your own.

These guys had it down – it was a fun night.

Even the drummer had copied the sweeping motion that Ringo utilizes with his right hand.

Costume changes, a journey through time all to the delight of the aging crowd.

It probably felt a bit like actually being at a Beatles concert – well except for the nudity, the drugs, the marijuana, and the draft card / bra burning (though I had one in my pocket just in case).

The quote of the night came from an "up in years" man explaining to another person that most of those later songs didn’t make much sense unless you were on acid.

I wasn’t close enough to see if he was editorializing or fondly remembering. 

Speaking of texting.

The English language is mutating. 

If you don’t believe me have a ute send you a text message. 

A certain minor in our household has a telephone. 

She’s only allowed to text us her parents. 

We just gave her this permission over the weekend and I’ve already received a flurry of messages in some language that vaguely resembles English.

I’m delighted and hopeful that this might be a viable form of communication as she enters those years of her life where her dad slowly descends the trail of stupidity.

After the 10th message I had to amend our texting agreement.  (yes, I realize the limitations of time and space when it comes to sending a text message)

She can only text in full, plain English.

After all, if it was good enough for the Apostle Paul . . .

I’m in Anaheim with la esposa, tagging along on her coattails, as she attends her companies annual meeting.

We’ve had the benefit of enjoying some top notch restaurants for the last two dinners.

Saturday night was the Cheesecake factory.

Sunday night was Morton’s, the Steakhouse.

As you might expect there are quite a few utes running around this town.

Most of these utes have telephones.

I offer the following as merely an observation and what I hope will not be a commentary on my age.

A booth full of utes having a not so cheap dinner at the Cheesecake factory spending a major portion of their time texting others – or maybe themselves? 

Perhaps that’s the new way to communicate?

A family out for dinner at Morton’s, the Steakhouse and the teenage daughter spent the entire time texting someone.

We probably would never go to Morton’s on our own – much less take the kids – but if we got hit with the crazies to spend the remaining money in our bank account after spending the bulk of it in the happiest place on earth wouldn’t it be nice to actually engage in some verbal communication?

I mean, oops, got to go – I’m getting a text message . . .

I want a keyboard that can handle being rinsed off with water to wash out the Caramel Macchiato spill.

Is that too much to ask?

If you read yesterday’s comments you heard of a dog named Otis.

Otis was a pug who epitomized man’s (and woman’s) best friend.

Otis hated to see people leave the house.

He wanted you to stay just a little bit more and feel at home.

With minimal urging you could get Otis to bark a certain way that sounded exactly like "I love you".

Pictures came and went across our refrigerator but his picture remained. 

People often bring out the worst in dogs.

Otis would bring out the best in you.

He wasn’t our dog, it wasn’t our house but whenever you were in that home you thought you were part of the family.

Mocha has completed her second week of puppy training.

Everyone says that dog training is more for the owner than it is for the dog.

Sounds like a healthy ministry philosophy.

In that class, around all those other dogs, that parental switch engages and you want your dog to be the smartest.

Yes, you even get a bumper sticker.

I’m not sure if my condition is heredity or environment.

I cannot abide a messy garage. 

And since there are times in a married man’s life that he must abide in the abode of the garage, I prefer the abode in which I abide to be organized. 

Perhaps if I drove a Corvette (sorry I blacked out for a second there) I would actually park a vehicle in the garage.

For us, it’s the workout, workshop, video game room.

So my project this extended weekend – now that the house is 99.5% done was to organize the garage.

My strategy was to divide the room into thirds and have the first third as the organized workshop (done) the second third as the workout space (done) and the third third as the video game / free space (yet to be done filled with Christmas stuff).

I feel a blog post coming on about the storing of Christmas related items. 

I’ll be playing golf today with some church members.

My two goals are interconnected.

1.  Don’t embarrass myself (with the way I play).

2.  Don’t embarrass myself (with the way I behave).

Difficult things for a competitive, driven person.