Saturday, December 03, 2005

False Alarm

Today turned into a weird day. After sleeping in and enjoying a leisurely late morning and early afternoon, I got a call from the security company that manages my brother and sister-in-law's house. The alarm had triggered, the police were dispatched, and since no one was able to get in touch with my brother or sister-in-law (they were at the USC/UCLA game), I was next on the contact list. The police requested that I go to the house, asking for the make and color of my car. Needless to say, my adrenaline started pumping as I envisioned yellow warning tape around the property and dead bodies inside. I quickly threw on some shoes and was out the door, still wearing the sweats I had slept in the night before. They live about 30 minutes away, but luckily, traffic was light. On the way up there, my brother got in touch with me. Apparently reception inside the Colesium is pretty weak, but they had just received the message from Brinks and were naturally concerned about the house and the animals inside (pictured).

So I arrive and ... nothing. No yellow tape. No police cars. Not even a single mounted deputy. One odd thing, though, was that a French door on the second level of the house was wide open. I went to the front door and found a note - a fucking note! - from the police department saying they thought the wind had blown open the balcony door and here's a number to call if I needed assistance. Jesus Christ! I let myself in, secured the wayward door, and hung out for awhile to calm the kitties who were pretty agitated from all the alarm noise.

The rest of the day was a waste, which is exactly how I had intended it to be, save the false emergencies.

The book I'm reading right now is Conversations with Tom Petty. It's a softball interview by someone named Paul Zollo whose pandering to his subject is nothing short of pure sickness. The Amazon reviews are pretty much what I expected... a bunch of Petty fans extolling the tome's alleged virtues. The review I agree with reads "this book would have been a much more interesting had Mr. Zollo removed his lips from Mr. Petty's posterior long enough to ask at least one or two valid questions that established (the author) as a legitimate journalist." My thoughts exactly. While I wouldn't exactly call myself a Petty fan, I was interested enough to see what he had to say about his career, his songwriting and recording process, and his life. Zollo never once asked a critical question and let Petty basically spin pretty tales about some controversial events in his life (drug use, the demise of his first marriage and how it relates to his second marriage to a groupie, Howie Epstein's overdose and the Heartbreakers' role in Epstein's addiction, etc.).

Next up on my reading list is Two Sweaters for my Father. You never know with knitting books... some are pure drivel and some are unexpected delights. I'm hoping for the latter.

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