TA-DAAA! Publication!

Oh, wow.
I wrote a Career Mentoring review for the Association of American Geographers and it got published! It's called Quiet Desperation. Check it out!

New Prospects, Old Worries...

One year ago, I was deep into the production and composition of my thesis. Little else mattered. I churned out chapter after chapter, sending it to my adviser for review and then taking it back for revisions. It was a weird type of purgatory; for even though I was steadily whittling down the faults and cracks in my writing, it always felt like I was "busy going nowhere." The work of writing and revising was constant, but the product I made never seemed to measure up. Then it happened. My prof. emailed me an approval for my manuscript in the late Spring and I was approved to publicly defend my thesis and prepare for Summer graduation. Defending led to approval by the thesis editor which led to graduation. I still remember the day that I received my diploma in the mail; I sat and stared at my Master's degree, wondering if the time I had invested into its acquisition was worth it. It's the kind of introspection that I imagine Niccolo Machiavelli must have had after writing The Prince or Henry David Thoreau after writing Walden. A point where each author must look at its creation and ask, "OK, now what?"

For me, the answer was easy. I had applied to several jobs, PhD programs and law schools in anticipation that I was bound to get at least one of them. I have never been more wrong in all my life. All of my prospects dried up like autumn leaves. Refusals came in waves with each letter signifying another closed door. When the new academic year rolled around, things were at rock-bottom. No job offers, no PhD prospects and no way out of SLC. It was a time that I've come to call "The Summer of Fail," for lack of better words. Christ, what a dark time. I could barely look Lisa in the face and the unfaltering love and respect from my children only made me feel more wretched. If they couldn't count on me, then who?

Thankfully, all was not lost. My adviser offered me a year of funding for the U's PhD program.
It was a year of elbow-room to try again...A second chance to get on my feet.

I've since made the most of my mulligan. I've traveled to (my third) GEOINT and set wheels in motion for a shot at a job. I've been in touch with potential advisers at good, quality political geography schools in hopes that one of them will be impressed by who I am and what I can offer. I'm even in the process of trying to publish the old thesis and present my findings at next year's AAG meeting in NYC. I'd like to think that I'm better prepared for the application processes this time around, but there's a quiet nagging in the back of my mind that takes me back to the SoF and its lost opportunities. Who's to say the outcome of my last batch of apps won't be replicated? What makes this go-around different than the Summer of 2011? What if history repeats itself? Exactly how many times can I pick myself up after hitting the ground?

It makes me shudder to think about it. This type of doubt always creeps in and damages part of my resolve before I can catch it. But writing about it like this, it helps. It helps when I identify and keep these fears at arm's reach. Not necessarily so I can "understand" what's at stake. Trust me, after being a parent for twelve years, I know exactly what I've got to lose. No. Knowing the stakes allows me to prepare. It allows me to dig in and put contingencies in place. I will not be caught off guard, regardless of the outcome.

And deep down I know that, unless I'm dead, I will get up after every fall. I will recover from every setback. I will regroup and soldier on. It's a strength given to me from my family.

Now comes the tough part...Having to rely on others for my advancement.
Here goes nothing.

Willie Colon said it best:
"Si el destino me vuelve a traicionar
te juro que no puedo fracasar
estoy cansado de tanto esperar
y estoy seguro que mi suerte cambiara
pero ¿cuando será?"

Thesis Abstract and Defense Announcement

Well, the time has finally come to defend my masters thesis. I'm a bit nervous to say the least, but no more nervous than when I wonder where we'll end up after the Summer.
Anyhow, here's the abstract. I hope to see a lot of folks there.

ABSTRACT

An Investigation of the Philosophical Changes of the Abu Sayyaf Group
Using Geospatial Analysis

Thomas C. Zumbado

Political science scholars believe that the ASG’s propensity for accumulating funds through hostage ransoming and other criminal activity has caused the organization to drift away from its radical Islamic foundations and become nothing more than a gang of bandits. This research explores this claim by applying geospatial and temporal analysis to ASG terrorist activity from 1994 to 2008 to determine whether the body of ASG attack data is congruent with the political objectives put forth by the group at their inception, or more suited to criminal patterns of activity that epitomize monetary gains as the highest objective.

This is done through the pursuit of four research objectives that explore if attack data display an operational terror-to-crime shift. Objectives one, two and three compare the attack data distribution to map overlays of economic level, ethnic composition and religion to identify where the majority of attacks occur. This identifies if the ASG is prone to conducting attacks in areas predominantly populated by their constituency, which are the poor, Muslim Tausugs of the southern Philippines. The fourth objective qualitatively examines the historical timeline of the ASG by comparing it to Dishman’s (2001) theory on the ideological transformation of terrorist groups. The results of these four objectives are combined and measured in the decision rule to evaluate whether ASG attack data supports the more popular claims of a philosophical shift. Applied methods include spatio-temporal analysis and geostatistics (Getis-Ord hot spot analysis and mean center progression).

Results of analysis indicate that the majority of ASG attacks occur in the “Constituency Overlay,” a trivariate convergence area where the majority of the population are poor, Muslim Tausugs. In addition, temporal analysis displays that attacks localized and peaked around the CO in accordance with Dishman’s benchmarks for a terror-to-crime transformation. It is concluded that the majority of ASG attacks are driven towards crime due to the group’s tendency towards a high frequency of moneymaking attacks within the areas of constituency. Based on the criteria of the decision rule, the patterns of attack data indicate that ASG operations have been more inclined towards criminal goals rather than ideological goals since the death of their founder, Abdurajak Janjalani.

Thesis Acknowledgements...

My thesis is getting close to being done. Tonight, I'm sending it off to my committee for approval for defense. As my readers, I thought you might like to read the acknowledgments.

This thesis and my journey through graduate school would not have been possible without the patient wisdom of my adviser, Dr. George Hepner, and he will always have my undying gratitude. All the advice, support and encouragement he has offered have kept me on track throughout the whole process.

I’d also like to think my committee members: Dr. Richard Medina, for his perspectives on the graduate experience, friendship, and dedication to challenging me to make this the best project it could be; Dr. Benjamin Judkins, whose mentorship and friendship, not only with this research, but also in the past few years, have been inestimable to me; and Dr. Thomas Kontuly, for all the “kitchen encouragement” and for agreeing to join my adventure on such short notice. Thanks for always having my back, guys.

I wish to express my gratitude and respect to the endless list of scholars who have meticulously pieced bits of theory, science, culture and history together to build the multidisciplinary world we call Terrorism Studies. May we always remain dedicated to our cause, for there is still much to do.

Finally, I’d like to thank my loving wife, Lisa, for her patience and understanding of all the hurdles of research and grad school. She is my muse and the mortar that binds our family together. And my children, Vincent and Amelia, for their unfaltering love and admiration.

This is for you, son.

A Quiet Moment...

Grad School: Hell of a first year.

In the past, I've tried to keep a steady routine of blogging for the sake of my own sanity if not for the benefit of my 2-4 readers.

But then came grad school and the huge siphoning of time and attention it requires.
It seems like a poor excuse considering how much I used to enjoy writing.

That's right, used to.
There was a time when I'd spend countless hours of my week writing stories, letters, anecdotes; anything that would let me put an outlet to the rush of thoughts spinning around in my head.

And I thought I was pretty good at it, too. I'd write something and my closest friends would read and comment on its quality for better or for worse. Most of the time I received kudos.

Then I went to college and writing became work.
Now the quiet little outlet of a socially awkward introvert became the method by which I was evaluated. My papers returned bloodier and bloodier, with criticisms outlining how I'm too dramatic or too exaggerated. The collegiate writing experience was a trial by fire and a whole new learning experience that left some pretty deep scars. Thanks, APA.

But now that I'm alone in an airport and stuck with nothing else to do but write, I find myself eager to spill my thoughts into this journal for no other reason other than to be heard...er...read.
I mean, I could be working on my thesis or grading assignments or reading a newspaper, but I still can't fight the itch to put my simple musings onto paper.

Well, what do you know? Even after all my trials with academic composition, I guess I still like to write.The only thing that's changed is my methods.

I'll take a laptop over a pen and lined paper any day.

Tom, are you dead?....

Not really.

Sadly, I've been neglecting my blog because there isn't a grade associated with the writing I do on it. This is just a single example of the cutthroat mercenary mentality awaiting you in beautiful Grad School!!!

It goes a little like this:

The goal is to get a collection of super-educated (sometimes conflicting) individuals to all agree that you're worthy of an advanced degree. It's a monumental task, no doubt about it.
But all that fun starts AFTER you've finished your coursework.
(And I'm not there yet.)

Grad school coursework is reminiscent of the Mad Max flick, Beyond Thunderdome.
Essentially, students of a similar discipline are all thrown into a pit with various journals, surveys, databases and computing equipment and then forced to fight to the death.
OK maybe not to the death, but certainly to the "who-can-finish-first-and-curry-the-most-favor."

Thankfully when I was cast into the ring, I was lucky enough to be the only frood in there.
Sometimes it pays to be a political geographer. Yay me.

I was however, subjected to some hard truths about GS work:

1. Read nothing unless it's about your field of study. (There's not much time as it is.)



2. Write nothing unless it's towards your thesis or it gets you a grade. (B+ is just a high-level loser.)


3. All that junk about a family? Forget it. You're married to the field now, boy and you WILL be faithful! Your children are the analyses that you produce, so try to make yourself a big ol family! (Coochie-coo!)


4. Your office is your new home! Ain't it nice and roomy? Your apartment is just where you store all your crap....including what's-her-face and the anklebiters.


5. Don't try to explain what you do to your extended family. It'll just confuse them and make them think you don't know what the hell you're doing. (Which may be true, but they don't need to know that, do they?)


6. There are no gods other than the pantheon of professors you must appease. Believing in anything else is heresy! (I suggest naming them and fitting them into other famous mythological pantheons. You'd be surprised how close everyone fits!)



7. Traveling through grad school with your cohort is the equivalent of storming the beaches at Normandy on D-Day. Only a handful of you will make it through the process. The rest will have been gunned down by the Nazis.


It's a tough road to hoe, to be sure. But for me, the worst part of it all is feeling one step behind everyone. I've got to admit, I've felt pretty dumb in grad school so far.
Now one result of that is an initiative to power through my obstacles and become a better scholar.
But there are times when I'm reminded of my age and how other people I know have already bought a house, have a career and have otherwise "settled down."

At worst, it makes me want to quit. Or at least stop after an MS.
Thankfully, those days are few and far between.
For now, I'll just keep dragging my can into work every morning until I come to the next fork in my life. Then I'll look back at everything I've done and decide what to do next.

Sounds like a plan.

She came out of nowhere...

...and sat right down next to me.

I was returning from GEOINT 2009, having boarded a plane in San Antonio destined for a two and a half hour layover in Phoenix. I sat in my cramped seat doing my best to pour over the writings of Sayyid Qutb, when I heard a bubbly female voice with an English accent ask me what I was reading.

I looked up to spot an eccentrically-stylish older woman with a big smile on her face craning her head to see. I'm often pretty eager to talk about my schoolwork as it allows me to assess whether or not I understand what I'm reading, but it's usually not a good idea to fess up to mature Caucasian ladies that you're reading the "feel-good" handbook for Islamic fundamentalists.

But she seemed so lovely and sincere that my eagerness to meet her request overran my usual discretion. I mumbled some broken explanation about the "Milestones" text and my study focus on terrorism and SE Asia. What happened next still makes me chuckle...

"Oh, REALLY? I'm sitting next to YOU!"
Plop. She fell into the middle seat right next to me and crammed her big bag of crazy (something that always seems to accompany eccentric gals) under her seat. She immediately started to chat me up. Who I was, where I lived, what my degrees were; anything and everything about my life.

I don’t mind a little conversation now and then, so I answered her as best as I could. I told her about my near misses in the Army, my family and my return to school. Inevitably, our conversation turned to topics about her and that’s when she wowed me.

Ms. Helen’s mother had fled the Nazis early in her life and then the whole family fled the rise of communism in Czechoslovakia in the 50s. This path led her them to England where she would then receive her calling to travel around the world in missionary/humanitarian service. A hard life to be sure, but somehow this lady took a bowl full of lemons and made herself one tasty glass of lemonade:
She’s visited 108 countries.
She’s written two books and is working on a third.
She travels all around the world, giving lectures on religious, social and economic issues.
Best of all, she and her husband are aiding a family of Pakistanis in securing a home in the US.

This brief bio does this woman little credit.
By far, the most valuable part of our conversation came from our discussion about the nuances and context of Muslims and their view of the western world.

In a nutshell, Ms. Helen and I discussed how the constant stream of media from the US into the rest of the world defined their perceptions of Americans.
We talked about how fundamentalist Islam isolates many Muslims into believing that Americans are violent, uncaring and oversexed heathens out to contaminate the rest of the world with our corruption. We also discussed how this same religion debases the value of women and becomes more and more orthodox and hard-lined the closer you get to Mecca. It was very enlightening.

But her greatest lesson to me was how I should endeavor to understand Islam and its practices before I judge the actions of extremists. Certainly, their violent actions and extreme views are unbecoming of a supposedly peaceful faith. But when I understand the motives, fears and reasons for their actions, I can think on their causes and analysis with a bit more academic clarity.

As an explanation, she offered this anecdote.

In a very remote village, there lived these two female Christian missionaries who served the community by providing some minor medical care. Each morning, these gals would wake up and mosey over to the local well to wash up and brush their teeth. The gals noticed that they always had a captive audience for their morning routine, so they took pride in the fact that they were demonstrating good hygiene to the villagers and a friendly demeanor by answering questions about who they were, where they were from, what they did, etc.

Helen explained to me that the villagers had a very different idea of these missionaries.

Every morning, these two pale foreign women walked to the village well to partake of their morning water rituals. The first ritual required them to pour water over their hands and faces. Afterwards, they enacted a second ritual where they would apply some cotton to the ends of sticks and then stab their faces until they frothed at the mouth and spat out.
Once they were done with their strange rituals, the village chief asked them about their origins. They lived together, but they weren’t mother & daughter, sisters or even relatives. Naturally, the villagers thought they were lesbians. But since they passed out the occasional band-aid and mostly kept to themselves, they were allowed to stay.

Context is everything.

She cautioned me to understand the factors that added up to the sum of their fears.
What is it that makes them so hostile? Would you be just as hostile if you were in their place?

It was a sobering epiphany. As a political scientist and geographer, I tend to think on a more strategic and empirical level of analysis. But this quirky little wordsmith reminded me to remember what it is that makes these people human.

Sadly, we arrived in Phoenix all too soon. We exchanged a quick farewell and she gave me a business card. And just like that, she vanished into the throng of the airport crowd.

What an experience. In just two short hours, this lady taught me to never forget that everyone has a human side and follows their own logical path. In her own witty way, she made me a better scientist.

I know a lot of smart people. But it is a rare occasion that I meet anyone who is genuinely wise.

Thank you, Helen.

San Antonio and GEOINT 2009...

I had the good fortune of winning a fellowship in the US Geospatial Intelligence Foundation.
One of the perks to this scholarship (other than the $$$) was free admission to their annual symposium, otherwise known as GEOINT.

Wow. What a spread.
Advertisers and defense contractors come from all around the world to schmooze gov't officials into dropping tons o' cash into their intelligence products. It's mind-blowing how much money goes into just networking.

More on that later.

This was my first experience with the City of San Antonio and I've got to say...it's absolutely beautiful. My Adviser and I are staying at the Marriott Riverwalk Hotel right across from the convention center. Best of all, it's right along the riverwalk, which I eagerly explored before our first GEOINT function.

Check it out:

The view straight down from our balcony.
Awesome.









These little barges are everywhere.
I'm going to try to hop a ride on one of these before I leave...if they aren't too expensive.









Once on the riverwalk, I was blown away by how pretty and clean it was.

Baby, we've got to come here at least once before we die.






The architecture encompassing the riverwalk is beautiful.









Not to mention the beautiful statuary.












After checking out the Tower of the Americas, I took a long walk down the riverwalk proper.








Apparently, San Antone is a big missionary town. There are several large catholic missions all throughout the city. (Makes me wonder why they decided to hole up in the Alamo.)










Best of all, the sidewalk runs right alongside the river in true "imperial" fashion...no handrails.








And the sidewalks are crowded, too.
I wonder how many folks have ended up in the drink?











Still, it's beauty cannot be denied.

Mighty Little Man...

Kids have a way of changing your life.
For better or for worse, they take everything you know and turn it on its ear, forcing you to rethink your entire existence, step outside of your comfort zone and make life-decisions on the fly.

They change everything...
And yet their innocence, wonder and unquestionable love for you fill your heart with pride and confidence in the hope that you can make a positive difference in this one little life.

My son turned ten years old today.

He has endured 10 years of life with a mind-crippling disease that has narrowed the potential of his fruition and defined his victory in life as simple survival.
10 years of living in a fog.

He has no friends his age and certainly no comrades who'll spend time with him for the want of his company.
10 years of solitude.

In this long decade, my boy has cried nearly once per day.
That's 10 years of tears.

My son has had an army of doctors, therapists, social workers and teachers try to slowly decode his mental condition in hopes of piercing the fog of his mind and finding that one thing that helps him advance cognitively...All to little avail.
10 years of trying.

And what about me?
This threshold in his life has served as a point of reflection in mine.
I look at him now and think about all the times I've been angry or frustrated with him.
Every moment that I've yelled at him or been forceful with him erupts into my mind's eye and I experience once more the guilt and self-loathing that came in its aftermath.
It reminds me of how wretched and imperfect I am.
It reminds me of how undeserving I am of his love.

And yet, he gives it anyway.
Regardless of how I've acted in the past, my boy still seeks me out for comfort and companionship. He still seeks me out for horseplay and hijinks. And whenever he's down and wants kisses and cuddles, he still looks for Daddy.

And I give it to him. Whenever he wants it and whenever I can, I hug that little man every chance I get. Can you blame me? I'd get on my knees and beg his forgiveness if I thought it would work. But instead I think he'd just climb on my back to play horsey.

I'll never be able to tell, but I want to believe that's his way of forgiving me for my faults.
His love and affection shows me that I still have worth in his eyes.
"Apology accepted, Dad. Now giddyap!"

As hard as Vincent's Autism has been for him, I think that it's been harder for Lisa and I. I mean, we're not the ones suffering the fate. But ours is a sad existence because we know just how hard the world can be for someone like him. I think that's why it hurts so much.

But through it all, my child has been unconditionally loved by a lot of people. Myself, Lisa, his grandparents, family and friends. The people who get to know him become strengthened and uplifted by his perseverance and good humor.

He makes people better.
What more could a father want from his son?

So let me just say thank you.
Thank you Vincent, for all the playing, dreams and laughter.
Thank you for being a shining star in your mother's eyes and for touching the lives of all you meet.
Thank you for being good to your sister and for being someone she looks up to.
Thank you for being a good boy at home and for working hard at school.
But most of all, thank you for constantly forgiving me of my foibles and making me a better man.

I love you so much, my Mighty Little Man.
Regardless of your cognitive state, you've given me an abundance of warmth, nurturing and care.
10 years of love.

Happy Birthday, Vincent.

A Matter of Geographic Perspective

I was recently tasked with reading and writing about chapter 20 of a book called "All Possible Worlds," by Martin. It was pretty interesting as far as academic reading goes. But it really did drive home some rather harrowing realizations about my chosen field.

Here's what I wrote:

When I first chose to become a geography graduate student, I shamefully admit that I had only a rudimentary idea as to how geographic research was conducted. I believed that a problem or interrelation of variables was postulated by hypotheses and afterwards tested by a collection of data and subsequent analysis. In a way, my rough “crayon drawing” of scientific inquiry was somewhat correct. But it was not until I completed my reading of Chapter 20 of All Possible Worlds that I truly understood the scope that is geographic research.

Geography as an academic discipline is as enormous as the planet that it studies. Its cardinal traditions are stippled together by countless sub-fields. These sub-fields are governed by the previous work of scholars through methods ranging from abstract theories and philosophies to hardened empirical mathematics. During my whole undergraduate career, I never realized how my chosen field blended all the hard and soft sciences into one distinct focus of study.

Unable to resist the temptation, I sought to match my undergraduate works my with the scholarly traditions and methods that best fit my study foci. As expected, much of my senior essays depicted me as Political Geographer and Area Studies Traditionalist who performed his analysis through the use of socio-political theory and a little empirical examination. This is of course, a generous categorization as my study processes were never as detailed as those described in the text. Nonetheless, I was somewhat proud to see that the methods I had utilized for an “A” class grade were those utilized to build scholarly knowledge. As such, it appears that I am on the right track.

I was also grateful to draw some pearls of wisdom from this reading as well. The section regarding the use of dichotomies and abstractions made me realize that not everything that I have read for geography may be true. The fact that the reading itself encourages students to question the age-old precepts of geographic thought really shed light on how scientific thought progresses. As an accent to the point, Haggett’s statement on how progress is marked “by the sound of plummeting hypotheses” drove this notion into my mind like an intellectual spike.

The other counsels and cautions that I gleaned from this reading stemmed from the “CONCEPTUAL STRUCTURE OF GEOGRAPHY” section starting on page 516. Percepts and Concepts, Patterns and Processes, Descriptions and Explanations; the meanings of these words were finally made clear to me along with the careful steps leading to the creation, measurement and implementation of geographic research. So vast were the concepts, methodologies and theories of geography that my initial sentiment at the completion of this reading was one of overwhelmed bewilderment.

Thankfully, this feeling would not last. After some time thinking on what I had just read, the information that I had synthesized from Chapter 20 of All Possible Worlds left me feeling encouraged and calm at the thought of pursuing a geographic career. I say this because after all the reading about disciplines, methods, fields and scopes, I became aware that the academic world of geography still had room for whatever I chose to write about. Thus whether my work is of ground-breaking importance or simply adds to the building of a body of literature, I too can contribute to the honored field that I have chosen to follow.

OH! About the move...

The move went off without a hitch.
We were loaded up, moved and unloaded in less than 2.5 hours! (Special thanks to all my friends and neighbors who helped!)

Now the worst part is all the unpacking and cleaning up.
Lis' ain't worried. This we can pursue pretty slowly.

Now comes Grad School.

Prelude to the Move

Yeah, I'm moving.

The current housing area that I live in is slowly strong-arming families into moving out so they can fill every apartment with single grad students.
More bodies = more money.

The last straw for us was the unannounced rent hike that put us within $12 of a three BR in the older family housing areas.


$12 for an extra bedroom in a family-friendly community? I'll buy it.

So we bought it.
On Saturday, the Fam & I will be moving.
As usual, the biggest pain in the ass is the packing and sorting.
Thankfully, the Mrs and I have been at it for about a month now.
Not bad, eh?

Now it's renting the U-haul, onloading, offloading and unpacking just to do it all over again in two years. Ah, the academic life.

I'll be sure to comment on how the move went later on.

Thanks to the army of folks who are coming out to help us move.
We couldn't do this without y'all.

Los Angeles: Monday, June 22

I wanted to do something special today for my last day in LA.

My Mom, the kids and I all loaded into the car and motored out to Marina Del Rey.

It’s just a quiet little beach that most folks know little about. But for me, it is a page torn right out of my childhood. You see…Back in the day, my Ma used to bring me to this beach (via bus) so I could splash and play at little risk from high surf due to the breakwater. We were frequent visitors to this spot up until my teenage years, when I foolishly became “too cool” to go to the beach with my Mom.

God, I was such a dumb-ass.

For my Mom, she had related to me an anecdote about dreaming herself onto our special beach to take her away from the pains of cancer treatment and chemotherapy. It was a small solace to her that was nearly crushed by her frail constitution. At her worst, Mom thought she would never see our little patch of seashore again.

This was true…until today.

We went.

We went and my children splashed and played.

We went and Mom got her feet wet again.

And while Amelia was somewhat distraught by the vastness of the ocean, she was able to conquer her initial fear of the waves with my Mom at her side.

It was a magical moment and easily the highlight of the trip.

At around 2pm, the lot of us went to the Fisherman’s Village to gnosh on some authentic fish ‘n chips and enjoy a cold beer. It was the perfect cap to the perfect day.

Or so I thought.

When we got home, my sister called up and told us she would be able to visit tonight along with my niece and her beau. That was great fun, considering my kids got along with her so well. Best of all, Vince got a free haircut thanks to the shearing prowess of his cousin!

Sadly, I was in a bit of a sour mood because I was trying to pack my suitcases to save time tomorrow.

But my sister’s visit was just like my brother’s in regards to the quiet gloom of inevitable separation.

Theirs too was a teary departure.

Now all that’s left is saying goodbye to my folks and making the “goodbye” trip to the airport with my bro.

Then it’s good ol’ SLC again and back to work. Yay.

Los Angeles: Sunday, June 21 (Father's Day)

Visits occurring close to departure dates tend to be pretty weird. There always seems to be this aura of quiet desperation where everyone is making that final attempt to be close to loved ones and make memorable moments. I usually find this to be pretty depressing, yet I always end up participating in the activities.

We spent Father’s Day in this manner. My nieces and nephew played as hard as they could with Vincent and Amelia in order to engrain themselves into their psyche. I played around and cracked jokes in hopes of covering up the quiet depression that wells up inside of me at the thought of saying goodbye. My parents, my brother and my sister-in-law view this all from behind eyes that are accepting of life’s jabs and shortcomings. Such is their wisdom.

What’s to say about Father’s Day? I received a great gift from my generous brother and ate more than my fill of my Mom’s shrimp ceviche. The rest of the time was spent laughing, playing, talking and listening as we all waited for that final moment when we would have to say goodbye.

And come it did…all too quickly.

The memory is still vivid in my mind.

The black beast is pulling away with some of the most loving people I know inside. My daughter waves shiningly at her cousins, oblivious of the hiatus to come but genuine in her projection of affection.

And Vince? Well, Vince watches his extended family leave with the usual wretched, but quiet resignation that comes from watching the people he loves fade away once more into conceptual distance and photographs. Any other child would be in tears at this moment, but not my son.

It’s no matter. I cry for him.

Tomorrow will be my last full day in Los Angeles.

I shall endeavor to make it a memorable one.

Los Angeles: Saturday, June 20

We were big homebodies today and decided to hang out at the house in order to greet my sister, who was traveling in from Pasadena. When she arrived the two of us chatted the time away, catching up on work, children and all the little things that make life interesting. Best of all, both Amy and Vince were very affectionate in my sister’s company and were even comfortable enough to give big goodbye kisses and hugs to their Tia. My kids can be real champs sometimes.

After giving my sis a lift to the bus stop, I motored around my little burg to find a wifi hot spot I could use to check e-mail and post tweets. My first step was to check the local Starbucks. (You know, there just aren’t enough of those places!) Can you believe those knuckleheads CHARGE for the privilege of using their wifi?!? It’s like $25 for a year’s worth of use or something. Preposterous!!!

Thankfully, there was a Staples nearby that offered free wifi and I was eager to accept their generosity!

Tweets posted and e-mails checked!

As I was wrapping up, my sister-in-law (Eddie’s wife) phoned me up and told me that all the Palmdale Z’s had come to my parents’ house to visit and play with the children. What a pleasant surprise!!! I hurried back to my old place and spent the next four hours playing hacky-sack, ball bump, tag and wrestling with my kids, brother, nieces and nephew. It was rejuvenating! Best of all, my babies were treated to an LA summer staple…a visit to the Ice Cream Truck!!! (Ice cream sandwich for Squirt. Tweetie-bird fruit cream for Pooka. ;-)

As with all good things, the time finally came for the kids to go home. But instead of heading back to the High Desert, they informed me that they’d be staying in town and would be coming to visit tomorrow for Father’s Day! Extra time for playing and fellowship?!? Gimme, gimme!!!

It’s almost time for me to leave, LA. :-(

Be home soon, Love.

Most of these photos are covered in my LA Misc set. Enjoy!

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Los Angeles: Friday, June 19

I had to drop the “nah” to my brother for visiting his place in Palmdale. Sadly, I wasn’t proud of my resolve due to Eddie’s dutiful diligence in picking me up from LAX every trip and his children’s absolute affection for my wilas. Truth be told, I felt terribly guilty.

However, I was consoled of this decision when I saw my kids playing around my old backyard and chasing after my parents. Slowly but surely, Amy is starting to warm up to my P’s. She plays ball with her Grandma and frequently exchanges laughs with my Dad. As usual, Vince keeps to himself. But now he’s starting to seek out my parents for anything he might want and even snuggle up to them when he’s feeling blue. It’s all incredibly heartwarming.

Once we were ready, Mom, the kids and I paid a visit to one of Mom’s closest buddies so she could show the kids off. It was a very cordial and friendly visit. But the highlight for me was when Amy and Vince (once again) switched up their gifts from this lady…and Vince played with the cuddly teddy bear while Amy had her power ranger spin-off figures fight evil and boogie down. I’ve dubbed them “Drilltor” and “Blackhawk.” Amy absolutely loves them. (That’s it! I’m buying Amy some Transformers!)

For our trip, we motored out to beautiful Palos Verdes and the tide pool park near old Ft. Macarthur. It was a perfect day, the sun was hidden behind the clouds and the water was cool and pleasant. Vince and Amy took in the view and waded around the ankle-deep water, tossing stones and chasing hermit crabs. After a while the incoming tide chased the four of us away to the “park” part of the cliffside beach, where we changed the kids’ diapers and clothes, talked about how much we loved traveling and fed the seagulls.

When we returned to the house, it was time for dinner. Mom saw that I was starting to run out of steam and coerced me to take a nap while she and my dad watched and fed the kids. I must’ve been tired because I agreed to do it. That was around five. At about seven-thirty, I awoke to hear Amy and Mom playing ball in the backyard while Vince was playing with the Wiggles. They had behaved the whole time I had slept and met me with smiles and hugs when I woke up. It was such a great feeling that I rewarded them with a nice long flick (Ice Age) and a cool bath before bedtime.

Tomorrow I get to see my sister. I’ve got to make sure I can get to a free wi-fi zone so I can post all my current blog messages, tweets and pics.

We’re enjoying ourselves immensely.

But this would be much nicer if Lisa was here too. :-(

G’night, LA.

Miss you, Baby.

Los Angeles: Thursday, June 18 (Part 2)

Today Mom, the kids and I took a trip to the Page Museum at the La Brea Tar Pits.

It is in West LA on Wilshire Blvd; an area known as The Miracle Mile. The architecture for the area is campy and beautiful. The radiant khaki “art-deco” structures crowned with palm trees reminded me of a sort of 1950s magical Los Angeles where the city gleamed of possibility and progress and anybody could make it big in show biz if they tried. A real Hollywood shine!

As for the museum, just pulling into the parking lot sparked a trip down memory lane. It was full of old elementary school field trips and the (now extinct) La Brea Halloween Festival where I had rolled down the grassy hills so much that I became nauseous and puked…..much to my Ma’s dismay.

Boy, what a bunch of laughs.

Our tour of the museum made new memories. Amy just had to explore every exhibit, but she chose the animatronic mammoth and the dire wolf displays as her favorites. (AH-WOOOOO!!!)

As for Vince, he’s never been big into museums. But he did enjoy the fact that Grandma wasn’t a big museum mover either, so the two would find a bench to cuddle up on in every new area while I chased after Amy. Good times.

After the tour, we ambled over to La Brea Park to look at some of the ongoing digs and take in a shady resting place. Can you believe that there was a tree in that park that I had climbed when I was ten? Now it’s twenty five years later and my children are climbing that very same tree. (And me too, for old time’s sake.)

The tree climbing was a perfect end to our La Brea experience.

We hopped into the car and drove past the LA Farmer’s Market, The Grove mall and all the frou-frou country clubs of West LA. We even saw a movie shoot in progress!

What a busy and wonderful day.

Good night, LA.

Miss you, Baby.

Los Angeles: Thursday, June 18

My Mom has an incredible green thumb. No foolin’, she could get a toothpick to sprout. This morning, I took a walk around her austere, yet beautiful garden to admire the love and effort she puts into her gardening. It is simply stunning. It’s like Huntington Park has an arboretum and an aviary especially for our family.

See for yourself.

Best of all is that my Dad has become an unofficial helper of my mother’s gardening endeavors. Thanks to an early retirement and his continuing impetus to work, he has landscaped much of the backyard and worked on several bird-keeping and decoration projects that have added to the “urban beauty” of the space.

Sure, it’s not the Huntington Library. It’s so much more than that. It’s been a foreign planet for my Star Wars figs, the jungles of South America for my GI Joes and a quiet hangout for my buddies and me while growing up.

Best of all, it’s now a backyard arboreal playground for my two beautiful children.

Man, I love my Mom’s garden.

Los Angeles: Wednesday, June 17

The trip from SLC to LA went very smoothly considering the plane was slammed full and my children and I were seated away from a window (with Amy on my lap). Sadly, this fact had little to do with my baby-girl’s behavior and was more due to the portable DVD player that I fired up as soon as we were airborne. Nonetheless, the minutes breezed on by in tune with the lyrical masterpieces of The Wiggles.

Once off the plane at LAX, we trooped on down to the baggage claim and met up with my brother, Eddie, and his family. Christ, it felt so wonderful to see them. After that, the kids and I were treated to some genuine rush hour traffic and a cruise down Central Blvd…aka “Cripville.” Ah, it was sooo nostalgic. I love LA.

When we finally arrived at my old home (about an hour and a half after we landed), the family reunion began. It was completely inspiring to see my parents laughing, joking and ogling over my little girl. Mom was thrilled to be recognized by Amy and Vince. And Dad….well…Dad was just happy to meet his brand new granddaughter. The stove fired up, the food came out and the catching up began. The occasion was doubly improved with the arrival of my sister, my niece and her beau. Yes, yes…hugs and kisses all around.

Unfortunately, there were some hang-ups that reminded me that I was a solo parent visiting LA with two children. Towards the end of the day, Vince broke down into tears and could only be consoled by some quiet time with me. I surmised that it was the sudden change in venue and Lisa’s absence that may have caused the outburst. I expected to see this during the trip. I really did. What struck me was that I had not expected to see this stuff until later on after the excitement and newness wore off. It was a bad sign. Bad enough that my instinct warned me not to break up Vince’s routine by visiting my brother’s house in the high desert for a couple of days. Needless to say, I was apologetic and remorseful. But my brother’s no dope. He knows that this trip is mostly for the benefit of my parents and graciously accepted my decline with the understanding and dignity that I have come to admire in him. As usual, he is all that is best in men.

The last hurdle for the night was getting the kids to bed. I gave them both a bath and some milk and put them to bed in my parent’s old bedroom. They were both ready to pass out, but Amy let loose with a litany of curses, cries and screams that curdled her grandparents’ blood and nearly worried me to death about Vince’s comfort. Then after five minutes, she crashed into a deep slumber. KO, just like that.

Now I’m writing this….waiting for the midnight hour to take Squirt to the bathroom so he won’t wet the bed. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be able to secure some internet access to post this message. But if not, I’ll hang on to this journal on a word file and just post it when I get back. Here’s to hoping.

Good night, Los Angeles.

Miss you, Lisa.