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A couple weeks ago I celebrated my 30th birthday in San Diego. Candyce and I left Norah in the care of Grandmother and three aunts and we headed to downtown to enjoy a night in the city. We had dinner at Café Chloe, a charming French restaurant in the East Village. After exploring downtown arm-in-arm, we drove to Little Italy to have espresso. It was a cold and foggy night and we seemed like the only couple on the street. We enjoyed the solitude–the city was our own.

Shortly after Candyce and I got back into Phoenix, my mom, dad, and grandmother arrived in town. They enjoyed meeting their new grand daughter. We had a great time hanging out over the long weekend. (As usual, Dad helped me finish some odd jobs around the house: repaired tiles on the step, finished wiring hallway light switch, and patched a drywall hole in the wall.)

Now I am in the White Mountains of eastern Arizona for my “official” 30th birthday celebration. I feel like joining a new decade of life warrants a reflection on the previous decade. It would take too long to write something profound and life-changing for a reader, but I have too much going on to do something that noble. So instead I’ll just record the random thoughts spinning in my head in the two weeks since I turned 30:

1. I refuse to complain about aging because it is in poor taste.
There’s nothing more pathetic than claiming that 30 is the new 20. It sounds absurd and foolish, because trying to live in someone else’s decade is just that—absurd and foolish. It smells of insecurity. Act your own age.

Don’t misunderstand me: if you are 50 and you feel as optimistic, energetic, and passionate as when you were 20, that’s fine. Good for you. I hope to be just like you some day! But I’m not going to assemble a lifestyle so that a stranger would assume I am younger than I actually am. I’m 30 and proud of it. Afterall, someone around here have to act like a grown up.

2. Humor is a gift.
Like most gifts, humor can be misused. Don’t use your humor to tear other people down. Negative humor like sarcasm causes distrust which will make you lose friends. If you can be funny and positive at the same time, you’ll be a happier person and you’ll make more friends.

3. Fame was very good to me.
I was able to travel the world and help people. If you find yourself famous some day, I encourage you to do the same. Fame, like most things in life, is temporary. (Very few people will live and die famous.) You will have every chance to use your fame to delight in the pleasures of the world, but you soon the spotlight will pass and you’ll be left to reconcile who you were when the world was watching.

4. Diversify your investment portfolio.
No really. Do it. If you are afraid to pull your money out of market because the returns are so dazzling, then you are probably in a bubble.

5. Everyone needs compassion.
Here’s the deal: we all have flaws. That’s right, all of us. And which one of us doesn’t need more compassion? Try not to judge others. It is impossible to judge someone one and love them at the same time. I’ve tried, and believe me, it doesn’t work that way. If someone is being aggressive or spiteful towards me, I learned to first greet them with compassion. Compassion has a unique ability to disarm hostility.

6. I have no tolerance for arrogant people.
Arrogance is a tool for an insecure person to become the center of attention, surrounded by other insecure people who need their approval. There is nothing fun or life-giving in those circles of friends. What is ironic about arrogance is that anyone can be arrogant. Anyone! There are no requirements for success, charm, intelligence, or life experience. You just have to wake up one day and decide that you are better than everyone else and start to treat others poorly. If you choose to be arrogant, we won’t be hanging out together.

7. It’s good to be a fan.
Following a sports team adds richness to you life. It connects you to your city and to other people. Becoming a fan of the Phoenix Suns has given me countless good parties with good people watching a good team. What more could you want? Just be sure to “diversify” your sports portfolio so you aren’t disheartened when your one-and-only team doesn’t win the championship. Cheer for several teams and you’re guaranteed an occasion to celebrate each year.

8. Tattoos last forever.
Your taste will change over the years, and you want to have a tattoo that you can be proud of in each decade of your life. I have found little evidence that your interests in high school and college are worth commemorating in a tattoo. There’s no shame in waiting till later in life to get a tattoo. If after much thought you’re positive that you want to get a tattoo, save up a lot of money so you can hire a talented tattoo artist. This is a piece of artwork that you will keep for a lifetime, so it’s worth getting the best.

9. Very few people today seek truth.
People are very proud of their opinions and they will share them often, even if they don’t know what they are talking about. You get a high when you share an opinion. You feel important, smart, and powerful all at once. I have not met many people who have enough fortitude to slow down and learn about an issue before they form an opinion.

What makes things worse is that people often adopt opinions for no other reason than because it’s a popular opinion. Now you’re not just one person who feels important, smart, and powerful, but a member of a crowd that is important, smart, and powerful. We are a gregarious species. I can’t imagine we’re going to progress as a society if our discourse is a popularity contest and not a means by which we uncover truth.

10. I love Candyce.
I didn’t think I would wait so long before I got married, but I am glad that I was patient and waiting for the right one. Candyce is beautiful friend that I am very happy to spend my life with. What could be better than going on a date everyday? I cannot understand why people complain about their spouses. I mean, aren’t you the one that chose to marry that person?

11. I love being a father.
A guy cannot understand himself fully until he becomes a father. Males have traits that are not appreciated in the life of a single 20-something. But as you hold your newborn baby, those traits rise to the surface, and you become twice the man you were the day before. It’s an exhilarating transition.

I’m trying to get rid of as many things as possible because I’m unnerved about the number of “baby boxes” that are shipped to my house everyday. Candyce and I made a pact that we wouldn’t purchase anything unnecessary for our newborn, so I trust that these boxes contain only the essentials. But those essentials are adding up fast.

Since I cannot stand clutter, I’ve spent the last three days exploring my house with hopes of finding unnecessary possessions. If this new stuff has to stay, then this old stuff has gotta go!

I’ve already eliminated 99% of my “nostalgic stuff” from my home shortly after I got married. That means I trashed at least 150 pounds of stuff from The Real World, college, Boy Scouts, high school, and various art classes. These all were fished out of the boxes marked “keepsakes” that I dragged from house to house. I could not have been happier than the day I dragged my black trash barrel to the curb because I knew that once the trash truck flipped that barrel upside down, there was no turning back.

So honestly, there wasn’t much left to throw away. That is until I decided to see what was inside a footlocker my dad gave me two months ago from his years in the Navy. For the record, my dad brings stuff from his house in Georgia every time he comes out Arizona. My guess is that Mom wouldn’t let him throw the stuff away and muscled him into bringing it out to me. So as their house became more simple, mine became more cluttered.

Junk in the Trunk

I popped the latches open and then lifted the lid and got a waft of crypt-like air from Mom and Dad’s basement. I lifted away the layers of old T-shirts, yearbooks, photo album, CD cases, and letters from girls.

Over the next two hours, I held each item and tried to remember the moment in my life when that item meant a lot to me. Once the nostalgia evaporated away, I ceremoniously dropped each item into the metal trash can. That includes about 75 CDs.

I mean really, what do you do with old CDs? I converted most of my music to MP3s two years ago, and do you know what? I haven’t touched those MP3s since. It seems like too much of a hassle to go digging for them on my hard drive. All the music I could ever need is on Rhapsody.

I decided to sell those grunge/alternative CDs to a trendy music store in my neighborhood. He slid the stack back across the counter and flatly stated: “I can’t do anything with these.” I ended up donating them to a music store on 7th Avenue downtown because the store was cool (think High Fidelity) and I knew they needed a lot of help to keep their doors open. So here I am on my second round of music, and I didn’t even bother ripping them onto my hard drive. I just threw them away.

Welcome Freshman

The last two items in the footlocker were two yearbooks from a huge part of my life:

1. Young Harris College 1996-1997
2. Georgia Tech 1997-1998

Young Harris College had a fantastic program that allowed local high school students to attend classes like college kids. This was a big deal to me because I had too much ambition to sit around my senior year and pretend to be king. In a lot of ways, YHC was the high school that I always wanted.

First of all, I couldn’t believe that these things are 10 and 11 years old. A lot can happen in eleven years. A couple weeks ago I hosted a week at Camp Covecrest for teenagers who were toddlers at the time that yearbook was printed. That blew my mind.

I eagerly flipped through the pages of both yearbooks and saw the names and faces of classmates I’d forgotten about. This made me happy. So I went on Facebook to look up some of my favorite people and see what they are up to. I could not find anyone! What’s the deal here?

Everyone in those yearbooks are around age 30 now, and maybe they don’t waste their time with social networks. Who knows? I’m concerned that this is becoming a trend in my life. Nobody from The Real World New Orleans cast showed up for The Real World 20th Anniversary earlier this year. It was just me representing the seven of us. It seems like everyone I met between ages 18 and 21 have disappeared from the face of the earth. I care about these people and it would be nice to know how they are doing. (So if you are reading this and you were in one of those yearbooks, send me an email!)

So now my teens and twenties are reduced to a cardboard box just large enough to hold a pair of Dr. Martens.

Introduction: Losing Sucks

I am discouraged by last night’s loss against the Spurs. It’s going to be difficult for the Suns to get out of the first round of the playoffs when we’re down two games to none.

But I will say this, in the past few years, there’ve been two teams that have climbed out of a hole this deep. The Miami Heat was down 2-0 in the 2006 NBA Championship series against the Dallas Mavericks, and the Heat went on to win the next four. The Phoenix Suns were down 3-1 against the LA Lakers a few years ago in the 1st round of the play offs. The Suns went on to win the next three and move onto the next round.

Why does this matter? Both of those come-from-behind teams were lead by two future Hall of Famers: Shaq (Heat) and Nash (Suns.) Now here we are in 2008, and the MVPs are both Phoenix Suns. If anyone can do it, it’s the Suns.

Having said that, lets talk about…

My Trouble with the Police

Last fall, Candyce and I were on our way to see The Darjeeling Limited in the theaters when I decided to swing by her brother’s house to pick up her jacket. (Lesson from first year of marriage: females get cold more quickly than males, especially in air conditioned movie theaters.) While she was inside digging for her jacket, I noticed two cop cars pulled in front of a house down the street. Candyce hopped back in the car and I opted to exit out of the neighborhood through the far gate just to see what the commotion was all about. I know this is messed up, to snoop in on neighbors like that, but curiosity is a powerful thing.

I rolled by the cop cars slow enough to see what was going on, but not so slow that I looked suspicious. Both cop cars gunned onto the street and followed me through the neighborhood. Great. As I sat at the exit to the neighborhood waiting for the gates to swing open, I told Candyce that I was going to get pulled over. “But first they’re going to follow me down the street and into the intersection so they can put on a big show with their flashing lights.” She started to panic, and I told her not to worry because we hadn’t broken any laws.

Twenty seconds later, they lit me up with the swinging blue lights. The whole intersection froze. The only cars that moved was my own, followed by two cops.

A young police officer walked up to the car and put his flashlight in my face. “Do you know why we pulled you over?” I was friendly but honest. “No officer, I don’t.” With the light still in my face, he told me that my license plates expired six months ago.

I did not know this.

He asked for some paperwork and we couldn’t find any of it in the glove compartment. As I handed him my driver’s license and an expired insurance card, I offered an explanation, “We got married earlier this year, and it’s been really hectic. I lost track of time.”

He came back to my car a few minutes later. He leaned into my door and held my driver’s license two feet in front of his face, skipping his eyes from my face to the photo on my license. As I am prepared to defend the authenticity of my ID, he tells me this: “You look really familiar.”

I have heard those four words assembled in that order more time than I can remember…those words have become a part of my life. Without hesitation, I casually told the officer that I was involved in local churches…that I live in the area…that I write for the Phoenix Suns…and that I was on The Real World… (This is my verbal resume for PHX Citizen of the Year, punctuated by a claim to fame.) His stern look of disapproval melted into a smile. “No way! I thought that was you!”

He turned away from the window and looked back to the second police officer sitting in his car. He waved his hand forward with enthusiasm. The second officer was too lazy to get out of his car, or maybe he thought I was a tool and didn’t want to waste his time. No problem.

The cop, Candyce, and I spent the next 20 minutes talking about reality television and the Phoenix Suns. He finished the conversation with a gentle reprimand for having an expired tag, but then told me what I needed to do to fix the problem. I told him I would send his wife an autographed photo. We shook hands and went on with our lives.

(Officer, if you are reading this, I apologize for not sending that photo. I lost your address and I feel really bad about it. If you email me, I’ll make things right.)

Welcome to the Department of Motor Vehicles

I’ve driven around town for the past four months understanding that I could get pulled over at anytime because of my expired plates. As illogical as it sounds, dodging cops all winter seemed like a better option going to the DMV.

You see, standing in line at the DMV is a humbling rite of passage into adulthood. It’s a memorable encounter with lifeless world of tax-funded bureaucracy. At risk of sounding melodramatic, it’s a two-hour experience that makes you feel like you’ve lost all momentum in life. Smart people will experience the DMV once, and then vow to avoid that place again.

Last week my friends made fun of me for my expired plates, and I defended myself be explaining the DMV is a leper colony. Jason told me to renew my plates online and avoid the DMV. It was a dream come true. I walked back inside and renewed my tags on the Internet in less than ten minutes. Just for fun, I played Chamillionaire’s anthem “Ridin’ Dirty” while I clicked through the site.

But what do you do when the stickers don’t come in the mail? You call them and ask what’s up. And what did the person on the phone tell me to do? Go to the DMV.

Sucker Free DMV

Since my last trip to the building, they’ve added a Time-Square like news ticker. In theory, this is a clever addition. The news lights up the screen brightens our spirits by connecting us to the hyper reality outside the walls of the DMV. But since all the news was bad that day, I just got more sad. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried to get some spiritual perspective when I was jolted back to reality when they called my number.

I sat in a chair and spoke to the 20-something girl across the counter from me. I explained that I needed to renew my license plate… She nodded her head, and then spent two minutes in silence clicking around her computer. There wasn’t much for me to do in those awkward moments except to size up the gravity of the moment.

I pity the young people who work at the DMV. If you are in your 30s or 40s and you work at the DMV, somehow it doesn’t seem that bad. But if you’re in your 20s and therefore young enough to still want to be a rock star, then working at the DMV is a public admission of defeat. I know this because our entire generation was raised on The Simpsons. Marge Simpson’s repulsive twin sisters, Patty and Selma, work at the DMV by day, and chainsmoke and the lust over McGyver by night. They are the epitome of uncool.

The Springfield DMV Employees of the Year

She got angry at her computer, sighed, and then I got two more minutes of silence. I was searching for something to make the moment more exciting for both of us. So I just blurted it out: “Have you ever seen The Real World?” She nodded her head slowly, only mildly interested in my question. I bounced back, “Well, I was on that show a long time ago.” She instantly came to life.

She explained that she watched the entire season of RW New Orleans, and that she liked me then. She stopped with that statement–I liked you then. She looked at me, I suppose to figure out whether she liked me now.

I still don’t know if she likes me now, because she switched lanes. “You know, famous people come in here all the time…Mike Tyson is in here every other day. I saw Ice-T when I first started.”

Left: Mike Tyson, the boxing ear-biting psychopath.
Right: Ice-T, the aging gangster rapper/ misogynist and now tenured Law & Order star.

Here I was prepared to fill her up with stories from my own life, and she cut me off with stuff far more interesting. Why was Mike Tyson in the DMV all the time? She said it in the same way a waitress would claim to serve up drinks to Eddie Van Halen and his buddies every Tuesday night–trying to play it cool, but barely disguising the fact that she’s excited to host a celebrity.

She continued typing and I sat in silence trying to imagine these two pop culture characters from my teen years sitting in that same chair waiting for a renewed license plate. I was in scene of the Surreal Life at the DMV in Mesa, Arizona.

She slid my precious stickers across the counter with a smile. “It looks like you’re all done here. It’s been fun. You should come back and see us!”

I walked to my car utterly confused. Was she suggesting I renew my license plate more than often than required? Or was that an open invitation to swing by on my lunch break with a Subway sandwich so I could pull up next to her on the employee side of the counter? We could gossip about Mike Tyson’s dumb tattoo and his propensity for traffic violations.

Then I drove to Home Depot and returned a door threshold I purchased 18 months ago, a random object that has resided in the back of my car for just as many months. (Think about how uncool that is.) But married life has made my life hectic and things like this just don’t seem important. I’ve driven my Home Depot many times in the past 18 months, but never with enough time to wait in line. But today was that day. Who knows, I might run into Ice-T.

I was watching This Old House last year when they were rebuilding a stunning home in Carlisle, Massachusetts. I was surprised to see that they did not lay tile on the walls of the bathtub/shower. Instead, Tom Silva installed large panels of synthetic board that were etched to look like tile. It seemed like a lazy shortcut that you don’t ever see on This Old House. The host asked why he chose that material, and Tom explained, “People get tired of cleaning grout in the shower.”

A year ago, I disagreed with Tom’s decision because I am a purist. Why use fake tile when you can use real tile? But I am a different today, not because I prefer fake tile, but because I recognize that you can’t keep  stacking chores on your home maintenance to-do list because you eventually become an employee of your house. After working all day at your real job, you’ll come every evening and do more work. It’s no way to live the decades of your life.

This revelation about unending maintenance has changed the way I judge the landscape that wraps my home. A beautiful yard is unlike a beautiful mural: you can paint a mural and it will look good without any more work. But a yard needs continuous attention to be beautiful, especially if the landscape was poorly planned to begin with. Let me explain:

1. Plants need harmony with one another. Oleander bushes do not belong beneath pine trees. I imagine the dozen Oleanders looked cute when he planted them, but as the years passed by, they’ve each grown into a dozen one-trunk jungles. The spindly branches caught every dead pine needle that falls from the tree branches above. So when I looked out my window in the living room, all I see is a tangled mess.
2. Plants need room to grow. It takes a lot of discipline to design your landscape with room for each plant and tree to grow. This is a big problem around the perimeter of your yard where it is really tempting to load in the shrubs so it looks perfect right after you take off your gloves. Your satisfaction will be short lived because plants GROW GROW GROW. Within months, your plants will be choking one another. To break up the fight, you’ll be out there every Saturday with pruning sheers. After two years of this nonsense, you’ll tear out half of the plants…realizing that the guy at the nursery warned you and you ignored him. Lesson learned.

After two years of keep up with my landscape, I decided it would be wise to thin out my yard to make it beautiful and manageable. So for the past eight weeks, I’ve been busy:

1. Climbed trees with my chainsaw to cut out dead branches.
2. Cut down 10 trees that were once bushes.
3. Pulled five big fat bushes out of the ground, root and all.
4. Raked enough pine needles to fill a dump truck.

Although I am physically exhausted from all the labor, I feel a tremendous relief because now I have a yard that is both beautiful and low maintenance. Victory!

(Sometime I’d like to talk about my distaste for high maintenance relationships. Most high maintenance people aren’t that way by birth, but it’s a lifestyle/personality they’ve chosen because it makes them the center of the universe. They take advantage of generous and sensitive people around them, usually family. Think about it: who would put up with a high maintenance person but family? That discussion is for another day.)

It’s been a crazy week since I got back from San Diego on Saturday. It’s a great feeling to get my Phoenix life back together.

Last night the Oertle boys helped me move some furniture from my old house to my new house. I kept it there over the summer because it helped “stage” the home for a potential buyer. That’s the kind of thing I learned from watching too many shows on HGTV. It was kind of cool to see how much stuff I could load into my Honda Element. I fit a table on the roof, five wooden chairs along with a big leather loveseat inside. How awesome is that? I felt pretty cool because I used some Boy Scout knots to tie it all down securely. I couldn’t have done those knots had I not practiced a few weeks ago out in California.

I finished the night by watching an episode of the “A-Team”, my favorite TV show from my childhood. Well, I don’t know if it was my favorite show, but that and “MacGyver” were my favorite shoes to watch with Dad. We’d make popcorn, settle in the couch, and watch an hour of mindless adventure. This episode was hysterical because it was set in Miami Beach back when it was filmed in the 80s. All the guys had on short shorts, many of which were plaid. (Just like my dad’s back when we went on family vacations.) And the girl’s waist lines on their jeans came up almost to their bra. It was hysterical. (And there are no mountains in Miami Beach, so I’m guessing it was filmed in LA.)

Seeing stylish clothes from past decades is not new to me. I’ve worn vintage clothes for most of my life. But watching an old TV show and experiencing that era again was so much fun. This isn’t someone else’s memories, they are mine!

All of this is happening as I am finally importing all of my old CDs into iTunes, a very 2000s thing to do. Most of my friends did this years ago, but I’ve been so busy traveling, all I’ve done is pack and unpack the CD stacks as I’ve moved around the country. But I know I’ll be in this house for at least a few years, so it’s time to make ‘em all MP3s. Most of these CDs I imported into iTunes were given to me by bands that I’ve met on the road, or sent to me by record labels. So these are all CDs produced in the MP3 era. It’s just bizarre to look at a stack of CDs and know that they are worthless to most people. My case of 300 CDs in high school let everyone know so much about me. I love music! I like cool bands! I know about cool things! Now I will try to sell them to a CD store for $50.

:::::

Tomorrow is the engagement party for me and Candyce. For most of this week, her family has been fretting about the food and drinks while I’ve been straightening up the house. Although I’ve only spent a few evenings cleaning up the house, it already feels like twice as much like home than it did five days ago when I got back.

At work some exciting things are happening. We got a huge response from people who want to write reviews for the website. Most of them seem like pretty solid writers. It’s been pretty cool because a couple of them are already writing, sending me their copy. This means I have less work to do. I just make minor edits, format the images, and then post the review. But the more rewarding aspect of the project has been getting to know cool people through the website. These are people who believe in what we are doing, and they want to help. It feels great.