free prize inside

In fifty-five hours I start my new job.
Consider this a farewell e-mail.

I've been trying to prepare myself by sleeping in as much as possible and trying to complete of all the tasks which require a fully-rested brain (filling out my 1040, revising screenplays, buying new clothes, etc). Because in fifty-five hours, I will enter: The Stupified Zone. I most certainly will make an effort to continue sending e-mail updates, but I'm just warning you I cannot be held responsible for their content.

Say whatever you like about, "Oh, you'll get used to working at 7 a.m." Ha! Never! Remember, I have an inner raccoon* which, besides be preoccupied with the collection of shiny objects, prefers a nocturnal lifestyle. I was always the last person asleep at slumber parties, I was the only eight-year-old I knew who watched Johnny Carson, and I worked as a projectionist for almost five years. Old habits die hard.

*Yes, there's a raccoon and a squirrel in here. Some people have one large inner animal, I have two small ones, and don't give me any flack about it or I'll throw nuts into your engine and knock over your trash.

So, this may very well be the last coherent e-mail you ever receive from me. Fifty-five hours from now, ANOTHER M.A.D. Hapa will emerge, this person that no one has seen since the days of catching the 7:10 a.m. bus to St. Mary's. Say what you will, but I have witnesses who will testify to my inability to dress myself or write in compete sentences. Max, Maggie, Gen, I know you'll back me up on this.

In other news, Barry is still looking for a job in Orange County (Plan A), but just in case, he has a Plan B lined up: which basically involves partnering with a pair of Mac guys in Torrance who are excited to have someone with a non-Indian accent to answer the phone. When he 's not looking for work, Barry has been keeping busy by participating in a "masters" swim program and showing me the Orange County sites (The Gap and Ikea (both twice this week), Banana Republic, and Target).

Today we went to Hollywood Blvd. where I finally got my first dose of L.A. weirdness when a man wearing a pink tank top and a pointy witch hat gave me the "s'up," head gesture on the way to Rosco's Chicken and Waffles. I am still totally underwhelmed. I come from a city where they make donuts in the shape of male genitalia and people live in trees. C'mon, L.A., you're behind the times!

So, in a tribute to Portland's weirdness, I offer you this: I will send a free California souvenir to whomever comes up with the best interpretation of the dream I had two nights ago.

I was at the beach with a boogie board waiting for the surf to kick up. I waited and waited, but instead of becoming more turbulent, the surf turned completely flat and then turned into a sea of pretzel sticks. Yes, the ocean developed a solid coating of pretzel sticks.

I was disappointed at the change and went to find Barry to let him know we'd have to spend the afternoon doing something else. He arrived around the same time little bunny rabbits started scampering in from out in the ocean (they eat the pretzels, you see). Barry took one look at the rabbits and began hurrying us inland, but it was too late. Very large rabbits that walked upright and wore people clothes soon crossed the shoreline. One came directly towards us and Barry rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. The rabbit wore red satin boxer shorts and talked like Mike Tyson. He ushered us in to a large warehouse where other people-sized rabbits tried to sell us kitchen appliances.

What does it mean? Your guess is as good as mine. Send me your thoughts and I might send you a prize.