Man. I just kill myself with these titles. Anyway, as I've discussed at some length in the previous post, I just had a birthday. Go, me. But this afternoon, after the birthday glory and the sickness haze had both passed, I got my Mom's present--a 3-day woodworking workshop at the appropriately named Woodworker Academy (hence the "Wood"). I swear--you gestate inside someone for 9 months then hang around the house for a couple of decades and they really do get to know you--go figure.

You see, ever since Mr. Makowski's shop class in 7th grade and two summers of unsupervised fun with a wood lathe and a table saw at camp, I've had a thing for woodworking. But where the hell does one perform such a thing when one lives in garageless towns like LA, New York, or SF? Alameda, apparently. The Academy is in Alameda, so that's where I'm headed, once I can clear my oh-so-busy schedule (that's the "Waiting" part).

One last birthday shout-out before I return you to my regularly-scheduled life. In addition to the cupcakes she laid on me two days earlier, The Doc gave me a navy Guayabera and an almost-matching (but not so matching it looks like I'm trying) summer-weight Kangol cap, so I can be Big Havana Pimpin' without getting a sunburn on my pasty noggin. I'm thinking the look makes me a total lock for the next Carlos Santana video. I mean, if it worked for this dweeb, why not me?