Category - Band

For the past five years, this blog has served as my personal journal, among other things. But I've been writing in journal-like settings for longer than that. Probably starting around first or second grade, I would have to write about a certain topic each day in a "journal." The golden age of the journal seemed to be around third grade, which is when I would have to write about things like "How I'd get my cat down from a 10 ft. tree" (February 19, 1998), "My Amazing Machine" (March 30, 1998), and "I Like Being a Boy Because":

I was pretty bent on preserving those editions of "Jordon's Journal," judging by the handwritten alphabetical index of titles I added to the end of each volume. But over the years, my elementary and junior high teachers required less and less journaling. I must have found the practice interesting enough that I decided to keep a real journal for myself.

The book itself is a small notebook that, as I recall, had come pre-packaged with a larger one that I used for school. I had previously used this small notebook as a stick-figure flipbook, but I covered the front cover with paper, leaving a window for the words "The Stick Flipbook," so it would read:

In the first entry, written on the evening of Wednesday, February 24, 1999, I briefly described a few things that had happened that day, including my first encounter with the 50 State Quarters series. I wrote that I had argued with my sister and my friend Sean, and that my friend Reid was "his usual." Such is the exciting life of a nine-year-old. Other entries were equally banal. "Dear Journal," began an entry written three days later,

I wrote about everything interesting that happened, including field trips. ("Dear Journal, I went to the Seaquarium yesterday and found that Flipper is still alive.") Soon, I was writing mainly about interesting things and ignoring the boring days. I would bring my journal on every family trip and chronicle it in detail. The most significant of these was a two-week car trip to Pittsburgh that July, which remains the longest vacation I've ever been on in terms of time as well as distance traveled... probably.

For the duration of the trip, I had Pennsylvania-mania (a term that, while cheesy, cannot be found in the journal). I would write a Pennsylvania-themed trivia question at the bottom of each odd-numbered page and the answer on each even page. I would keep track of our mileage between stops and some of the places at which we ate each day, as well as all the things we did and what time we entered each new state. A typical entry:

The answer is the Pennsylvania Turnpike. At the end of the trip, I had gathered these fun facts:

• We drove 3,353 miles.
• I estimated that we used 134 gallons of gas. I wonder where I came up with the figure of 25 MPG. I probably asked my dad.
• We saw 72 deer. That's kind of a big deal since we don't have them in South Florida.
• We used 10 rolls of film. I estimated this to be 240 pictures.
• We drove through the states of Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Maryland.

In 2000, I wrote about a cruise to Cozumel in March-April and a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains in October. I also wrote about starting junior high school, mentioning my 22-year-old homeroom teacher, who was "SO HOT!!!" (I'm not going to lie. She was an attractive woman. She probably still is. And dang if I'm not almost as old now as she was then.) I also wrote about the antics of my science teacher, Mr. Tuttle:

There were more excursions to write about in 2001. I covered a trip up the east coast of Florida in April and a wedding in Charleston, South Carolina, in June. I recorded the last entry in the journal on pages 72-74 on Saturday, August 4, 2001. I described my experience at summer camp up to that point and my attempt to start a band with my friends:

Days later, almost on a whim, I would get my first guitar. It was a pivotal moment that helped shape the person I am today. And only 20 months later, I started The World of Stuff and took up journaling again, this time for the world.

And today, I am a Macho Nacho.

Progress marches on. On Thursday (I think it was), we got new USB flash drives from the school. Three years ago, they gave us 64 MB drives, which they've apparently continued to give to new students. I don't believe I'd ever encountered such an animal three years ago, so they were a pleasant jump up from floppy disks (which have since gone the way of the dinosaurs).

These new drives are a whole 512 MB -- 8 times the capacity of the old drives. Actually, that's a lie. I formatted my new flash drive so that I could change the volume label to "J KALILICH" (which may be handy in case it ever gets lost), and in the process, I discovered that the drive has a capacity of about 514,000,000 bytes. You might think that that's more than 512 MB, but since there are 1,024 bytes in a kilobyte and 1,024 kilobytes in a megabyte, it's actually less. These drives do not have a capacity of 512 MB but rather around 490 MB. Filthy liars.

As for the actual physical appearance, it's smaller than the old drives, and it's black and like an oval or a squashed sphere. The old drives were clear purple, so you could see the insides. I thought that was kind of cool, but I value capacity more than looks, even if they lie about it.

This weekend was St. Elizabeth's annual spring festival, which I've always made a point to go to. Ever since I went to school there, I've looked forward this time of year for the food, rides, games, food, live music, bingo, and food. Actually, the four-day event used to sort of coincide with the vernal equinox, but in recent years they've pushed it back by more than a month so that they won't mix merriment with the somber season of Lent.

I decided to go yesterday, and I spent most of the day there. I hung out with Nick pretty much the whole time. When we weren't covering for Nick's mom, who had to leave for about a half an hour while she was working at the soda booth, we spent a lot of time at the youth group booth, which had a putting game. Nick challenged me to a putt-off, and on and off over the course of the day, we ended up taking 100 shots each. Nick got 50, and I got 37.

Toward the end of my stay, after it had gotten dark, an oldies-type cover band went on to play, and they were good. They reminded me of our band (currently dormant), which played at the festival from 2002 to 2004. It rekindled my idea that we should get back together for a gig before we all have to go off to college and stuff. It would be a reunion of all the original members, for old times' sake. But Nick raised an objection that I hadn't considered: he and Alex have never gotten along, and Nick still resents that Sean didn't go to our last gig. (He didn't go because he didn't feel that the band was prepared -- the five of us hadn't all played together in a year.) Ah, such drama. Oh, also, Nick is also convinced that for any future gig, we have to have a keyboard player, even though this is supposed to be a sort of nostalgia thing, and we've never had a keyboard player. I'll have to get him to settle his differences at least temporarily if this is going to work out. Also on the agenda: getting a venue, deciding a set, and actually talking to the other members of the band about this whole thing to see if they want to do it.

Scary stuff on Google Video: Tickle Me Elmo on Fire.

If you somehow enjoyed that: How-to Download Videos from Websites Like Google Video, YouTube, MySpace, and Others.

Ah, another summer weekend approacheth. What's a do-nothing teenager to do? Besides nothing, I mean? The house is going to be kind of empty. My dad has left to visit my aunt for the weekend, and my sister will be leaving tomorrow for a trip with the church youth group. They're going to the Keys to snorkel. They spent last Sunday having a car wash to raise the money.

But make no mistake, I have plans. At least, I think I do. Three years ago, a guy my dad worked with gave me his amplifier in exchange for a bunch of guitar supplies. I tried out the amp for a while, and when it came time to seal the deal, my dad and I bought the paraphernalia he requested during a sale at the musician's supply store. Spend $100 and get a free 12-string acoustic guitar! So I got an amp and a guitar out of that.

Wait, keep reading. This whole thing is relevant, I promise. After getting my nice new amp, I let Alex, the bassist in our band, borrow my old one because he was renting his (supposedly, anyway), and it was really pitiful. I've only seen him in person a handful of times since then, the last of which was at my birthday dinner last year. The band had one more practice and gig after that (neither of which he could go to), and then we disbanded.

So Alex has still had my amp since then, and I've been meaning to invite him back so we can jam and catch up. Of course, I also want my amp back, especially because three years ago, during the few months when I had both amps, my dad rigged up some cables so that I could plug my guitar into both amps at the same time. Can you say awesome? I know you can!

Not only that, but I heard Alex play the guitar on the phone last year, and he's phenomenal. I still can't believe it. Alex, who always seemed to take to music like a duck takes to fire, is now rippin' it up better than I am (which, truthfully, isn't saying much). This is something that needs to be recorded for the ages -- so it's a good thing I now have a digital recorder.

So that's the plan, man. Alex is going to come over. I've also invited Sean, my good buddy who I haven't jammed with since the band broke up. Actually, maybe I have. I can't remember. But anyway, it's always good to have him, especially now that he has a Gibson SG to show off. He got it a few months ago, and I haven't seen it yet. Funny, he was always the Fender guy and I was the Gibson guy. Well, he's had his trusty Squier Strat for a million years, and I have a Les Paul knockoff and an Epiphone hollow body.

It should be fun. Hopefully they'll both be able to come. If not, I don't know what I'll do. But I do know what I won't do. See, I cleaned my room some more a few days ago. Specifically, I got everything off the floor. You may be wondering why I would put things on the floor in the first place. I got into the habit of doing that because I actually had no other place to put stuff. Since I've thrown away (and recycled) a lot of stuff, that should no longer be a problem.

Here's another idea that I wish I'd had: The Most Famous People on the Internet. Whoever came up with this has already made $161 selling nothing.

And you thought frivolous lawsuits were a recent phenomenon. In 1893, the US Supreme Court had to decide whether a tomato was a fruit or a vegetable for the purposes of taxation. Even though it's technically a fruit, the court ruled that it is legally a vegetable because it is commonly deemed as such.

One year ago: "But why don't the hot chicks go for Esperanto?"
Two years ago: "I don't know what that would make them... super-dee-dupercentenarians, maybe?"

Last night was the Ringo Starr concert that my friend Nick and I went to. Nick and I were set on getting autographs after the show. I brought my Abbey Road sleeve, and Nick brought his as well, but it looked completely different because it was from a rare box set that his late father had purchased and (of course) never played. We figured it was going to rain, so Nick brought a large plastic bag that we put our record sleeves in.

Before going into the amphitheater at Mizner Park, we cruised around behind the place to see where Ringo et al. would leave after the show. That was where we were going to go after the show. Then we got dropped off and entered. They were frisking everybody going in, and I was worried what would happen if they found my camera, but I hid it and they didn't find it. We got up to our seats, which were in the tenth row. The place was packed. Luckily, it wasn't long before the show started. Ringo sang the first few songs, and then he mostly handed it over to the others.

Included in Ringo's All-Starr Band were Richard Marx, Billy Squier, Hamish Stuart, Rod Argent, Sheila E., and Edgar Winter. The only one I had heard of besides Ringo was Rod Argent, who was the keyboardist from the '60s British rock group The Zombies ("She's Not There," "Tell Her No," "Time of the Season"). He looked like my fifth-grade math teacher. She's a bit worse for the wear. Later, though, I realized that I had heard of someone else: One time in class, my sixth-grade English teacher put on a song by Richard Marx. During the show, the name just came back to me. I don't think he played the song that I heard in class, or I would have remembered that too.

I think Edgar Winter was the only person who played more than one instrument; he excelled at the saxophone, keyboard, and drums. Richard Marx and Billy Squier were great guitarists, and Hamish Stuart, who didn't really have any of the spotlight, did a cool bass solo. Sheila E., who joined Ringo on the drums, was amazing. I've never seen anyone hit anything so fast. It's no wonder she had to leave toward the end of the show due to heat exhaustion. Nick later said that he was so inspired by Ringo and Sheila that he wanted to play the drums in our new band like he did in our old one.

Of course, the biggest pleasure was getting to see Ringo Starr with my own two eyes. Earlier that day, I had watched him in A Hard Day's Night, and now there I was in his presence. I could hardly believe it, of course, and I'm sure Nick couldn't either. Seeing a Beatle! One of the highlights, by the way, was Ringo singing "Never Without You," his own tribute to George. (I still can't believe George is dead.) Even as it started to rain, nothing could keep my spirits down. It rained and rained and rained. I was drenched but happy.

The show ended with Ringo singing "With a Little Help from My Friends," and the two and a half hours that had passed seemed like two and a half minutes. We got out of there as fast as we could, which wasn't very fast considering there were a ton of people also getting out. Then we headed out back to where Ringo would be leaving from. A security guard told us to go away ("across the street" is what he actually said), so we walked down the sidewalk back and forth until we found some bushes to hide behind.

It was definitely suspicious hiding behind bushes and watching the stage door, so I suggested we move to the median on the street, where two men had been standing. They were apparently fans also. We went to stand next to them, and sure enough, they were talking about Beatles songs. After a few minutes, a security guard (probably the same one as before) said to us that Ringo and the others (except Sheila E.) had sped away in a van a minute and a half after the show ended. Nick and I went home disappointed and wet (it was still raining) but still happy to have seen one of our musical heroes live in concert.

Like cool cars? Here are ten Cool Cars with Awesome Features.

Your tax dollars are well spent at the official site of Barney, the "First Dog." No matter your race, creed, color, or political beliefs, everyone can agree that dozens of pictures of Scottish Terriers are just what this country needs right now.

One year ago: "I hope everybody likes nonperishable foods and bottled water."

Last summer, my band, Vine Ripe Tomatoes, played its last gig, if you could call it that. Due to scheduling conflicts and personal differences, our quintet appeared as a trio; only Mark, Nick, and I were present, but we made the best of it. Though we weren't mad at Sean or Alex, we agreed that it was time for us to go our separate ways. I think Sean had an interest in starting a ska/punk band, so once we broke up, he was able to pursue that goal. Nick, Mark, and I were immediately interested in starting a new band. It was pretty much an idea that got kicked around for months and months until finally, something happened.

Yesterday I joined Nick, Mark, and Mark's sister Kim to start Improbable Mission. I had gotten the idea for the name from a game on "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" The name could be funny or it could be serious; it goes with anything, I think. It also doesn't seem to suggest a particular genre of music, which is good because I think that with our diverse tastes, we wouldn't stand up to being pigeonholed into a certain category. I had described the style of VRT as "rock variety." That label might be the best to use for the new band, if we really needed to label it. Rock has become a very general concept.

Since this band has been a long time in the making, we had already determined that we would be called Improbable Mission and that Kim would play the bass, Mark would play the drums, and Nick and I would play the guitar. So we got right down to business practicing songs. After we jammed for a little bit, I broke out my digital multitrack recorder and we started recording ourselves practicing. In particular, we stuck to a few old standbys: "Seven Nation Army," "Secret Agent Man," and "Norwegian Wood." For a change, it seems that I won't be the only vocalist in this band; Mark and Kim each took a hand at singing "Seven Nation Army," thanks to the miracle of overdubbing. I don't know how we managed to go without it.

I figured it would be important to have some photos of the whole band in case we ever have things like promotion or publicity. So between recording songs and after eating dinner, we went to the nearby park, where Mark and Kim's dad took pictures of us, including the one shown here. (Like the photo? I'm the pale, unsmiling one with the bad hair and the creepy bone structure.) We took various pictures until the sunlight (and the batteries of my camera) ran out. Later, after recording some more, Mark, Nick, and I played video games and watched a movie. By then it was late, so I left, declining an offer to spend the night. I really enjoy sleeping in my own bed.

And so, May 20, 2006, the first day of Improbable Mission, was a success. Hopefully we'll do some live shows, make a record, or at least practice a lot and have fun.

At last, the secret to pouring ketchup out of a glass bottle is revealed.

Onomatopoeas from "Batman." The site is in Spanish, but it doesn't really matter. You should know what onomatopeya means.

One year ago: "There were police cars near the ticket booths and we had to wait."
Two years ago: "And he doesn't have a care in the world, no projects due, no parties to go to, just being with his best friends in the whole wide world, very serious about his recess games."

Yesterday I was invited by my friend Andrew to go to the local drive-in for his birthday, like last year. Only a few other people went along. Luckily, the owner didn't get Tasered by the police this time, so there was little to keep us from getting there early. We had some food -- Fritos, chicken wings, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, shrimp, Bagel Bites -- and then relaxed and watched The Da Vinci Code.

I thought I would bring a small radio to add to the sound of the movie -- they broadcast it on the FM band, so you don't need to hook some box up to your car like the Flintstones did. Anyway, it seemed that the radio, which is small, cheap, and old, couldn't pick up the station no matter, though I fiddled with the dial quite a bit. I could still hear the movie (the car stereos were tuned in too) but not as well as I would have liked to. Come to think of it, I should have brought my portable CD player (with digital tuning) and headphones. Oh well.

Anyway, I don't really have much to say about the movie itself. I haven't read the book, so I can't compare it to that. The movie was pretty engaging and enjoyable. I don't think anybody should fuss over the ideas presented in the film. It's just fiction, after all. In fact, it's metafiction. If you're that insecure about your beliefs, you should probably reevaluate them. Also: I didn't like Tom Hanks's hair.

Today I'm going to my friend Mark's house so we can start that band we've been meaning to start. It's about time. I just (as I was writing this) got a call from Mark saying that we'd also be doing the whole pizza/movie thing. It should be cool. If we manage to play some music, it'd be a good opportunity to use my relatively new and now totally working digital recorder.

The Lake Peigneur disaster of 1980 wreaked environmental havoc and drastically changed the ecology of that Louisiana lake. The lesson learned: don't drill for oil in a lake that sits above a salt mine. For this item, a tip o' the hat to Damn Interesting, a blog whose name doesn't seem to lie. This probably won't be the last link of theirs that I post.

According to these atheist/agnostic statistics, nearly 27,000,000 Americans don't believe in gods. Similarly, here are a ton of maps showing the prevalence of some major religions by U.S. county.

One year ago: "I hadn't really known her before, so we sort of met for the first time."
Two years ago: "The upperclassman said to him, 'Here at Harvard, we don't end sentences with prepositions.'"

The much-anticipated AP European History exam was yesterday. I prepared by eating an uncharacteristically good breakfast (courtesy of my mom) and by do some last-minute studying on writing essays for the test. I arrived at school at 11:30 so that testing could begin at noon. It was good to see my classmates there; I figured that we could provide support to one another. We were supposed to take the test in the cramped internal suspension room (if you get suspended but they still make you go to school, that's where you have to stay). At the last minute they decided to let us use the more spacious library media center, so that was a relief.

The test consisted of two parts: a multiple choice section and an essay section. For the multiple choice, we had to answer 80 questions in 60 minutes (though I think they only gave 55; I don't know why there's a discrepancy, but no one can seem to agree on it). I'm not allowed to give specific details about the content of the questions -- ever -- but I can probably tell you about one question in vague terms. It was about science -- specifically, a scientific topic we had never read about or discussed in class. Luckily, my knowledge from a previous science class gave me the answer. Also, toward the end of the multiple choice questions, I had to erase a few answers when I realized to my horror that the pencil markings only smudged. I erased as hard as I could, but the smudges were indelible. I really hope I don't get a few questions wrong for some stupid reason like that; it really could impact my score. Overall, I think I did fairly well, but not as well as I hoped I would do.

After a short break, we had the essay section, which took a lot more time. I'll be able to discuss the content of the essay questions 48 hours after the test, but till then I have to keep quiet. (These rules are really, really stupid, I know.) You probably wouldn't be interested in specifics anyway. I had been worried about the document-based question (DBQ), the one essay that everyone has to write. Fortunately, it was very easy compared to some of the DBQs I had practiced writing. Reading examples of high-scoring DBQs helped also. In fact, I felt that I had enough time to write it without much of a rush. After the DBQ we had to choose one essay topic out of three from the Renaissance to the Napoleonic era and another topic out of three that covered the post-Napoleonic period. I tried to put effort into the two essays I chose, but I probably didn't provide enough historical evidence to back up my theses. We'll see, I guess.

So that was the AP European History test I've spent months preparing for. It was a major relief not to have to worry about it anymore (though the worry didn't pick up until a few weeks ago). I'll receive my results the third week of July. On July 1, however, the scores will by available by phone at a rate of something like $8 a minute. It's going to be a long wait till the third week of July.

Last night I went to school again to see the school play, "Alice in Wonderland." I was pretty excited by the idea of having a school play because the school has never had one as long as I've been there. The year before last, they were going to do "Peter Pan," but it was postponed to last year, when it never materialized. Anyway, I had no idea who I was going to hang out with because my sister didn't want to go. Luckily, I found Justin and Jonathan from Programming class. We enjoyed the play; well, I did, anyway. I knew some of the people in the play, but it seemed that all of them were well-suited to their parts, especially the girl who played Alice. I don't know her, but she was good at the whole "Gosh golly gee, mister" thing (and she looked good in that old-fashioned, little-girl-type dress). Of course, the play was filled with popular music and other sorts of zany things. It was a lot of fun; I'm glad I went.

Guess who foolishly scheduled his second SAT the day after his first-ever AP exam? That's right: meeee. My first SAT turned out to be pretty good, but I felt that I should improve my math score. That took my mind off the stress of the reading and writing sections because people don't look at the scores you got on each SAT you took; they look at the highest score you ever got on each section of the test. So it doesn't really matter that I wrote a really vague and unfinished essay in the 25 minutes they gave. (The topic was harder than last time, in my opinion.) Anyway, I think I did better on the math section because I probably skipped fewer questions than I did last time, so that's good. And since I don't think I guessed on any of the ones I actually answered, I should (theoretically) have gotten all of those right. But I probably didn't. We shall see.

After taking a three-hour test and a three-and-half-hour test on consecutive days, my brain has turned into a warm pudding, and I look forward to relaxing to the fullest tomorrow. I was supposed to meet up with Nick, Mark, and Kim so that we could start our band today -- today is also Nick's birthday -- but I don't think that's happening. Maybe tomorrow. Music and friends count as relaxation.

Coincidentally, here's a European-history-related link. How many Kings of France were named Louis? Well, not counting Louis XVII, who never reigned, you might think there were 17, the last being Louis XVIII. But apparently Louis XIX reigned for 20 minutes on August 2, 1830.

Airchive.com is "the Webseum of Commercial Aviation." Yeah, "webseum." I guess it's a web museum. It's probably not a web mausoleum. That would be cool, though. If a little creepy.

Tomorrow, if things go according to plan, America is going to go for a Day Without Immigrants -- well, illegal immigrants, anyway. I can't believe the level of controversy the whole issue has been causing. Well, actually, I sort of can. The tension has been building among the Latino/Hispanic community for a while, I'd imagine. I wonder what the reaction at school will be like. Will there be some sort of protest-type activity before, during, or after school? It's a scary but exciting thought. Will a lot of people simply not show up? I doubt it, as the only real support would come from the Latino/Hispanic population, and even within them, some (a minority) seem to have no sympathy for immigrants. I'm sure there will be a slightly smaller number of people there, though. We'll see.

Turns out that I didn't get together with my friends to start our new band today. Things came up for all of them (but, having no life, I had a clear schedule). That's a shame. I hope it's not a sign of things to come, but I'm afraid that it is. (Our old band, of which three of us were members, suffered the same problem -- our last lineup, which lasted over a year, only fully assembled twice.) I figure that since we'll really have a chance in the high school band scene, we might devote our energies to recording songs for our own amusement. To that end, I really wanted to show them my digital multitrack recorder, which has a lot of neat features, but I guess it'll have to wait.

Read about Kurt Steiner, Guiness World Record Stone Skipper. Also check out the video of his record-breaking throw (40 skips!).

Use SpoofCard for caller ID spoofing, voice changing, and other tricks of telephony.

Two years ago: "Today's a very special day to me. Let's let the me of three years ago explain."

Back in August, my band, VRT, played its last gig. It was a tough decision to make, and I knew I'd miss having band practices on a semi-regular basis. So, Nick (guitar), Mark (drums), and I (vocals and guitar) agreed to start a new band, possibly with Mark's sister Kim. Meanwhile, Sean (guitar) has started another band, and I don't know what Alex (bass guitar) has been doing. While Sean's group seems to be getting off the ground, ours doesn't. This weekend, hopefully, we're going to get together to determine what sort of beast will arise from the ashes of VRT. We've already picked a name that's pretty cool, but we'll probably set that back on the table as well.

Although I'd love to make music with my friends, it doesn't seem like our new band will be much different from VRT. Specifically, I don't know how we'll make it anywhere if we don't keep duct tape over the distortion buttons on our amps. Though we'd probably play some newer, heavier songs, apparently no one wants to hear a band that specializes in what you might make a stretch to call classic rock and in sleepy, cliché-filled tunes written by the lead singer.

Now's a perfect time for a segue. Since its inception last month, I've been a loyal reader of the Pompano Pulse, my school's new online equivalent of a school newspaper. This month they've been posting some poetry and poetry-related articles in honor of National Poetry Month (which is April, donchaknow). Since Luke and Michelle, who are writers for the Pulse, encouraged me to write an article, I did so a couple weeks ago, and it got published today. It's called "Songs and Poetry," and it deals with -- you guessed it -- the song as a form of poetry. Included are examples of my own poetic/musical output.

Is 55 M.P.H. too slow of a speed limit for a freeway? Some young persons thought so and decided to perform "an extraordinary act of civil obedience" to prove their point. See what they did to highlight the stupidity of such a low speed limit by watching A Meditation on the Speed Limit (Flash video with sound).

I found that this was a good way to spend some time thinking critically and watching my ass get kicked by a computer: it's flashChess.

A little while ago I was wandering around the house while the TV (which is always on) was turned to some fashion channel. They were playing a commercial for a chick flick with Cameron Diaz, when suddenly a familiar sight caught my eye: the Deerfield Beach train station.

(Note to self: I got this screen capture in HyperSnap-DX 4 by opening the Quicktime movie file in a separate window and doing a multi-region capture.)

I did some IMDb-ing around for the movie, In Her Shoes, and I found that it was indeed filmed in Deerfield, including at the city pier (where, incidentally, President Gerald Ford visited in 1976). I wonder why I didn't hear about the movie being filmed. After all, our seaside suburb isn't exactly a hot spot for moviemakers.

The train station is nearby; I used to pass it going to work. There isn't much there, really. After all, it's a train station. The national Amtrak and the local Tri-Rail stop there. I was at the station when I took the Tri-Rail when I was younger, and that's the only time I've been there.

Incidentally, Deerfield Beach used to be known as simply Deerfield, so the train station said "Deerfield Florida." When the city became Deerfeld Beach, the word "Beach" was crammed between Deerfield and Florida, where it remains to this day, as you can see in the above still from the movie trailer.

Yesterday I was supposed to meet with Mandi and Nicole about being in their band. My grandparents took me to the mall where we were supposed to meet at 1:00. I realized that we had stupidly not picked a place to meet. So we circled the mall three times and checked the food court twice, all to no avail. After 45 minutes of searching, we just left.

Try not to get us Floridians mad. Today a state law went into effect making it legal to use deadly force whenever you feel threatened. A series of ads are running in British newspapers warning potential tourists about the dangers of traveling to Florida. The ads are sponsored by the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence, which has a site at shootfirstlaw.org. The campaign is headed by James Brady, who was wounded and disabled in Ronald Reagan's 1981 assassination attempt. Will this law and the backlash against it have a significant effect on our tourism industry?