No one's default but your own.

Who are they?

Who are these shadowy figures, peering eyeless at me like ghosts.

Is that a stalker, back-lit and standing behind a fogged up bathroom window?

I'm so confused. There they are, mixed in with so many smiling and recognizable faces in my "friends" list.

Even more eerie is the fact that more often than not they are labeled with the names of people I know and love so much.


Some have fluffy coiffed hairdo's ... but it seems that these internet interlopers are mostly follicly challenged.



They always always look to be male, even when they have names like "Vivian" or "Susie".





Gender issues aside, I'm not even sure they're all human! Some of them are downright robo-alien in appearence. ... not that there's anything wrong with that.







One of these "people" I see more often than the others. He instills not fear so much, but rather a much more specific reaction. He makes me hungry for a soft-serve ice cream cone!




Some are obviously getting down in a cool discotheque...












While others are silently pondering the meaning of their existence as much as I am.








Well, some mysteries are meant to go unsolved...
(Where's is Nancy Drew when you need her?)


I don't know who's default it is.

I do know I have enough defaults of my own.









P.S. Brian and Nitin... Nice!

Leggo my Lego.

It's a matter of occupational hazard that over the twenty-six years of my teaching career I have amassed quite a substantial Lego collection. My new, grown-up-sized classroom has shelves lined with large Rubbermaids, filled to the brim with a zillion different pieces.

Children (and adults) around the world spend an estimated sixty-five million hours a year constructing and deconstructing countless spaceships, monsters, cars, trains. In our class... Amsterdam row-house cityscapes and Harry Potter panoramas.

There are five Lego pieces for every person on the planet... and as I have already admitted, I have more than my fair share.

I'm petrified by the thought that one day I might arrive at school one morning,
sleepily clutching my coffee, and unlock the gate to find thousands
of people lined up waiting to get their five.

Play with Legos involves all the "building blocks" (pun very much- and shamelessly- intended) of education: one-to-one correspondence, seriation, classification, and matching. Okay, okay... it doesn't have the conservation of materials, but four out of five ain't bad!

I am a person that by all accounts is afflicted with at least two mental disorders: the collecting bug, and OCD organizational skills.

I said "at least", so watch it!

It appeals to the latter of these that I get to involve the children in helping sort them by the different colors and shapes... and those cool clear plastic boxes with the dividers are filled with the little people, and all the hats, outfits and accouterments needed to populate these imaginary worlds we create.

And oh, the people.

Actually...  the accepted vernacular is "Minifigs". A hardcover book that I do not yet have, (hint, hint) just came out this past Christmas season delineating the history of the many knights, adventurers, skaters, and space critters that have come to life in the Legoscape over the years.

There is, understandably, a purist standard that has developed in our classroom's Lego kingdom.

Those doppelgangers of the play brick world: Mega Blocks, Tycos, and others of their ilk are not tolerated under any circumstances. We call them "Flegos", short for Fake-Legos. The word Flego is always said in the same manner Seinfeld characters are prone to say: "Newman".

Unfortunately, this half-joking chauvinism had unintended, and unforeseen consequences. A mother came to me after the holiday season "thanking" me for indoctrinating her son in this manner. Seems that when presented with a generous gift of a large "Pirates of the Caribbean" Mega Block set as a gift by Aunt and Uncle he threw the box down with a sneer and said' "I don't want these! They're FLEGOS!" :) 

I still deposit the occasional Flego interloper into the recycling bin... only now with the disclaimer, "but if someone should ever give you some as a gift... be sure to smile and say THANK YOU!"

Luckily for me, it seems that Legos are recession-proof.

Needing some cash for the associated costs that come with moving into our new place, I have been selling a few of my much loved Minifigs on ebay... and just a few of them have brought eye-popping final bids. This bodes well for my future, as the eventual sale of the collection in it's entirety is the whole of my retirement planning.

Being a rock and roll Childcare Teacher, while admittedly glamorous, is notoriously low paying.

Well, I guess there are a lot of reasons I give up so much of my treasured shelf space to just one kind of toy. You've heard of the giant whirlpool of bits of plastic swirling around out in the Pacific ocean? I bet almost none of them are Legos.

Don't even get me started on Bionicles.

Where do we go from here?

Rita and I have been together for twelve years.  Every day I am amazed to rediscover that a being of such beauty, intelligence, and all-around wonderfulness would once again choose to keep wading through the crazy that is life with me.

This is not to infer that, on the rare occasion, she doesn't drive me insane.

When we were first dating she would, in the course of our normal conversational banter say, "you dork!"

This would send me into a fit because I am a man of very few high ideals about my own person... but I do strive fiercely to achieve what I like to think of as "relative cool".

Hell... I sing in a rock band, teach little kids, and wear my sunglasses better than most. 

And over these many years she has conceded that the term "dork" does not, in fact, apply, (except on rare occasion), and that I am, in fact, relatively cooler than... not.

But the greatest threat to relative cool is out there waiting for me, ready to pounce should I let my guard down.

It's well documented, it's wrapped in horrifying cliche, and it is absolutely unattractive.

Mid-life Crisis.

You have a sneaking suspicion, once you turn forty, that it is out there stalking you. Snickering.

Then all the ingredients come together in a big bowl of "Oh...Shit."

Suddenly you have serious health concerns, you've been at the same job for twenty plus years, and and you need to move out of your long time home, and comfort zone, into new places and mental spaces.

I know. "That's life."

I know. "You can do it."

Still... it's deep breath, bob and weave, keep your head together time.

Luckily I have the best hedge there there is against impending Mid-life meltdown...

The "relative cool" that comes from having a young, smoking hot, much better half.

P.S. Did I mention I'm in a band?

Let's get this party started, quickly, right?

Here we go again. Another year.

We woke up New Year's morning at Rita's family's beach house in San Clemente, and as the nearly full moon set, a gorgeous sunrise started us off on the right foot. We had spent the night with her brother Karlos, his wife, our niece Kloe, and our nephews Lukas, John, and Joseph.

A little breakfast of warm aebleskiver (Danish donuts, thanks Andrea!) a dolphin sighting, and it was back up the coast to Santa Barbara.

And then a new New Year's Eve tradition in the Bobbarita household!
Our good friends Chris and Denise told us to come on down to the
Press Room. We met up with Cat and Eric, and Chateaux Brion' and counted down the New Years on London and Dublin time! Balloons, champagne, good friends and a big smootch with my sweety. Then, down to Pascucci's to see Sunny for some appetizers, a shot, and more good company with the arrival of Lisa and Tom and Dana.

Then, a yummy dinner at Zen Yai with Suzy Jacuzzi and Brion'!
(I'm digging the scene there, and their tom ka kai soup is tops).
All this, and we were home and out like a light before 10:00!

Rita and I have made the big decision of moving out of the home we've lived in for many years. I'm still trying to recover my health. New years... Blue Moons... big adventures and changes are on tap.
I think I'm ready.

Having tickets to the Eagles at the Hollywood Bowl, and the Blind Boys of Alabama at the Lobero Theater helps!

Knowing that we have good family to connect with and depend on, and good music to look forward to...

Makes me hopeful.