the ocean

In keeping with the recent trend towards yelling "supply chain" about everything, we recently had to wait five months for a couch we ordered. And then a month and a half for a coffee table. Since we are used to having Amazon essentially time travel to deliver things to us before we even know we want them, that felt pretty strange. But I have to say, it has made having furniture in our living room feel somehow luxurious. As I recline on the giant couch the appearance of which I literally forgot in the time it took to arrive, I feel truly fortunate to have such a soft and comfortable resting spot. Also I wonder what the hell I did to my back, but I think that's just being in my forties. The point is, I think the delay makes me appreciate things more. Notice that I say "things" and not money. If I've got any of that coming my way they can just drop it off with me right now.

Good news! (I mean, everything being relative. Not as good as, say, a cure for cancer, but better than finding out they're making additional sequels to Avatar.) I've finally gotten my shit together to do another show here in Chicago. Allow me to debut my first poster, photo credit to Ian, who also helped me stack suitcases on top of myself. This is what marriage is all about.

And, as it turns out, ticket details are following right now. You can reserve your spot at https://www.eventbrite.com/e/road-show-jay-schleppenbach-tickets-556045586317. It's going to be amazing, or at least adequate. We'll 100% hit Countess Luann levels, I can guarantee.

Ian and I have a cute Valentine's Day tradition where, approximately a week before, we say to each other, "Oh, fuck. We're not doing anything for Valentine's Day, right?" 

And to be fair, it's not that we don't do anything, per se, it's just that the days of giant teddy bears and elaborate floral deliveries are long behind us. I mean, we don't need that shit cluttering up the house, usually one of us is on some kind of diet so candy is out, and the idea of being at a crowded restaurant is horrifying to both of us. So we generally order some food (early, to beat the rush, like the AARP crowd), exchange cards, and just have a quiet evening at home. It's kind of great, frankly.

No offense, of course, to people who do more. I can definitely understand the appeal of seeing your perfect love memorialized with skywriting or a Jumbotron or a Cameo from Countess Luann or something, but for me less is more. I'm like the Marie Kondo of romance. Also, I live in fear of asymmetrical warfare in this area, like showing up with a single rose and being greeted with a private chef and violinist. 

Anyway, happy Valentine's Day, to those who celebrate. It's also Statehood Day for Arizona and Oregon, per Wikipedia, so please spare a thought for your fellow Americans.

I turned 45 yesterday. In case there was any doubt on the matter, Ian hired two women to come and set up giant balloons that said "45" in our house. It took them half an hour and they argued vigorously in Spanish the entire time. So that was definitely a good value.

We had a few people over last night to commemorate the occasion. Ian made all the appetizers I like and we ordered an excessive amount of Taco Bell. I still can't drink, so that was different, but it turns out that a lot of what I thought was being drunk was just drawing on other people's energies like a vampire. Not a sexy teen vampire, unfortunately, but that's an unfortunately rare breed.

There was a bit of excitement when flaming logs fell out of our fireplace into the living room not once but twice during the evening. It turns out the previous owners had put the wood rack into the fireplace backwards, so the its burning contents were being propelled outward rather than held back securely. Sort of a design flaw, I think. But we returned the flames to their proper home and I managed to make it through the whole evening without getting down on my hands and knees to clean up the black marks, as I was dying to do. 

So that, I'd say, was a successful birthday. Here's to continuing to be alive.