After living in Arizona for a little over a month, I finally began to gain the confidence one has a local. But I had this really big problem. The local cable company wants me to pay $120 in deposits just to get cable coverage. (Nevermind there was no deposit to become a cable modem customer...) This has meant that if I want to follow my teams (excuse me, college teams) that I end up going each Saturday to a sports bar. So as you can imagine, this was a great weekend. USC in Eugene to face Oregon, while UCLA had everything to lose by going to Washington State. And then for the nightcap... Cal visiting Arizona State.

Well let's just say after sitting at a table for six hours watching Oregon snap USC and then UCLA crumble in the Palouse, I was ready to head out. And so this weekend was time for Dos Gringos.

Unlike Devil's Martini, Dos Gringos is basically a laid-back bar on a huge patio. It claims it's inspiration from Arizona's favorite spring break spot "Rocky Point". (Actually the Mexican town of Puerto Penasco.) However, it turns out they serve food there and have a room with TVs. So my first order of business was to grab a bite to eat and watch ASU come from behind to defeat California. ("Go BEARS!")

Before I finished, this old lady with a bachelorette party started chatting with me. But the group ended up moving out of the area before I had really finished my food. At first I thought the BP thing was a costume, but as it turned it not so. I then went upstairs to see if the dance floor was being used. But it wasn't and people were milling around in funny costumes of all sorts. From muppets, to Barack Obama, to Mormon missionaries. No O.J. Simpson though, which was surprising. It occurred to me that I could have worn a suit and my badge and actually made a pretty good one as a state employee

However things continued to get weird when I spoke to another guy on the veranda overlooking the main patio. He was saying how the "selection was off" and that a good place to go is Sugar Daddy's. That happens to be where I went two weeks ago. And I didn't exactly agree with the sentiment. But I decided to wander back downstairs. And then I saw her.

I was sitting at a table, and across the way she sat with her friends. And who was she? Someone who wore scrubs that read "Trust me, I'm a doctor." There was just one problem...or two...actually. These guys who wearing kilts, talking to them ad nauseam. Now this gal was pretty attractive, but I noticed that after her duds. The reason isn't because I really want to marry a person who is a physician. Don't get any ideas. Instead it's because I finally, after weeks, had a good pick up line.

I walk over and ask her if she's really a doctor. (That type of stuff is worn by medical students and residents.) Now if she says yes, then I get to ask her if she's a resident. And then if that answer is yes, I get to ask her if she wants to stay in Arizona. Now this might seem like a dreadful idea...but actually it's quite a good one. See Arizona has a "doctor shortage" and the state is trying all sorts of tactics to get more practitioners. But I know, you are saying to yourself, dude this isn't a good pick-up line. You are smoking a mind-altering substance.

But no see, naturally the gal is going to ask why I'm so interested. And that's the best part because I was wearing my  SPPD T-shirt. And that allows me to tease her about what I do for a living. But more importantly it attempts to do the most important rule of dating for me. See, it almost makes it sound like I am not hitting on her. If there's one skill that pays dividends it's that one. Let women think you aren't hitting on them, even if it's just for a moment so they let their guard down.

Naturally of course everyone is going to disagree with me. And even though doctor gal got up, went to the bathroom, and came back, I chose not to intercept her. Meanwhile her friends got tired of Braveheart and left about 1am. The woman of my dreams wafted away. And as you can imagine all my hard mental labor went up in smoke.

But wait, there's more to my life than just the wee hours of Sunday morning.

See, last Monday we learned that the Governor's chief of staff for fiscal affairs had a heart attack while hiking the Grand Canyon. So given how important this week usually is for my Office, now the atmosphere is indescribable. But most of my labors these days are in secret because of our desire to represent executive privilege. Don't get excited though, that makes it sound more titilatting than it is.

Meanwhile, I realized that I haven't posted about the 2008 campaign recently. Now I realize anyone who reads this blog doesn't care why...but I'm telling you...as a state employee...campaigns are important tools to determine the future of policy. Or if you don't have a political bent....campaigns for all elected office are about .... the future. But wouldn't you know it, the states are all fighting to stay relevant by penciling in their primaries and caucuses earlier and earlier. And so in some sense, the Iowa Straw Poll has killed any momentum. Candidates just continue to raise money. Iraq has dominated the news, and the economic downturn is also picking off face time. Moreover, New Hampshire's Secretary of State won't announce a date. But Iowa did for its caucus, January 3rd.

Now you are probably saying...what does this all mean? Why do I care about New Hampshire? Because if the primary occurs the day after Christmas...Hillary Clinton would get to run without doing poorly (or a close race) in Iowa. And that's significant because she could effectively become the Democratic nominee almost a year ahead of the election. And all that time is to raise money, not campaign on the issues. There is reason to think New Hampshire might still happen on January 8th. Keep your eyes open though, the next four years are about to be revealed...all the course of about 90 days.

So what would think if a clean-cut, short stature guy walked up to you in a club and said "Hello?". Apparently, many female friends have told me...you'd think this person was sketchy. So you can imagine that I felt the odds were against me on Saturday when I rolled into the Devil's Martini.

All I really want to do outside of work is meet people. Really. For all the talk of Cougar Country and Dirty Scottsdale, it's more for me about knowing someone other that my coworkers. I'm happy to be friends with all of them...but given my experiences in school both graduate and undergraduate...one can never have enough friends in different places.

So anyway, back to the story. I got to the lounge right after dinner fearing that there would a line and I would have to pay cover. As it turns out, there wasn't. I walked in and it was empty. So I trotted around for a little while, keeping tabs on how fast the place filled up. But wouldn't you know it, some guys see me and ask me what's up. When they find out they work for the Governor, they tell me how she's a big lesbian and how they can't stand her. But they do give me a free shot, which was nice. I then go over to the bar and the keep finding me a newcomer comps my Sprite...so I get to stand around and watch the line outside carefully to see when the place gets packed. The guys had told me that this place was good in that it was an "older crowd", which apparently means my age.

But anyway, this bachelorette party arrives and sees me standing around. So at first I think some of them are trying to get my attention...but as it is...one goes to great lengths to ask me for help giving their friends directions. So I talk to the guy on her phone but he can't hear me or something. I mean he was at 48th St and Indian School. To get to DM, you go east until Goldwater and turn left. The gal had said if I helped her she would dance with me...but then she naturally ignores me a couple seconds later.

In any event my back started to hurt from walking all the way there. So I sat down for almost an hour and met another guy, Kyle. We didn't talk long but he was pretty positive and asked me if he though the women in Scottsdale were hot. I agreed.

About this point I wander onto the dance floor. Mostly people are standing around watching other people get jiggy. But I, knowing what a guy like me has to do in a place like this, wanders close to a platform. Another bride-to-be and her friends are rocking out and going crazy. But next to them on the floor no guys are to be found. So the gal drops down and asks me for my boxers. It's not what you think though.

On her back is a scavenger hunt list posed to her on the last night of freedom. And as luck would have it, I was wearing briefs. So I plead innocent and she says...no that's okay...just go to the bathroom and give them to me. Now, I would give away my boxers...but my briefs are nothing to show in public, private or anyone in particular. So eventually the bride gives up and her friend starts messing with me by thrusting her head into her crotch area. I don't act aroused though and mess around and act goofy. Eventually the group gets tired and steps down. But ironically I stick around and I see lots of girls eyeball their friends seeing me alone. And all of them shudder when they realize I'm peering at the exchange of glances. This happened more than once. And what can I say about it? It has taken me years to figure out that what fat chicks are to guys, short men are to girls.

Eventually though I can't feel any saliva in my mouth and I hurriedly think it's dehydration time. So I get a water and I give the server a tip. (The first time I dropped any money in the club that night.) Sitting back down, who shows up but Kyle. After a couple minutes his cousin invites me into a private area with a whole new group of people. They offer me all the alcohol that has gone to waste, which was quite a bit. But it's evident to them I'm not there to make a move on someone, and the scene gets even more awkward when one of the gals vomits up her dinner. But by then it was almost last call and they all take off together somewhere. I decide I want a cab home. So I get inside and get charged a whopping $6. But by then I already realized how much I had.

Sure, I didn't bring anyone home. Sure, half the place though I was some skeezy guy on the prowl. Sure, I met no one aside from Kyle who didn't give me any contact info. And yes, as he pointed out, I had was "rollin' solo". But seriously, I've been out in Vegas, and L.A., Honolulu, DC, Minneapolis, and even Europe. And nothing was quite like this.

Lately, I have been trying to gauge how often to post stuff here. A friend recommended a while ago to post twice a week. And I planned to do just that...except this little got in the way.

So Thursday I come home and my apartment is in the dark. Nothing works. And I find out the reason is pretty simple: the "pay-by-check by phone" that supposedly would pay my deposit never cleared the bank. But if you are already confused, don't worry this episode has matured into something befitting an entire blog post.

If you live in Central Arizona, you will have one of two electric companies: the Salt River Project or Arizona Public Service or APS. By some quirk, everything around me for about ten miles is SRP yet I have APS. As it were, when I called to set up my account, I was told I had to make a deposit equal to two months worth of usage to start the account. By their calculation, that would be $180.

So on Thursday night I called them and wanted to know, "hey what gives, why is this like Baghdad?". So naturally they told me I received a notice warning that I would have to re-establish service if I did not pay the amount in question. What's weird about this is that I never received any notice in the mail. It's true that I received a card from the Postal Service asking me to identify myself before depositing mail there. I've never had this happen before, but naturally I went and put the card in after this happened, reauthorize another payment and got the word that service could not be restored until business hours the next day. I couldn't believe it.

So I went to the mall food court and then Borders and whiled away the night. My boss understood that I might be late...given that I wasn't going to have a functioning alarm clock. But when I got to work, I had a little time to investigate APS. And as it turns out, they are a pretty shystery operation. They have in one corporate entity or another gone bankrupt twice since 1980. (Excuse me, reorganized.) It turns out also they have lots of complaints hurled at them...all the time. So naturally I call them before leaving work and make sure service was restored. They claim it was.

So I get home and viola, everything is still off. I call APS and they have the nerve to tell me that when service is restored, the main circuit breaker is switched off. Then they tell me I need to have my own maintenance people flip the switch. I realize there is no maintenance number to call...so I scramble to the front desk...hoping there is someone around to help. By the luck of God, someone had to stay late and help me find my breaker switch. And so at around 7:30pm I got my power back on.

But that is far from the end of the story. The local Albertson's had a sale on Stouffer's. Earlier in the week I had bought $20 worth of frozen dinners to eat. (When things got crazy this week at work...I hadn't had a chance to eat any of them yet.) So I open the freezer and see them all nearly thawed out, despite friends telling me it would okay. I haven't touched them, but the real insult is that the sale is over so it will cost me around $50 to replace all that food, regardless of how soon I do it.

Finally, on Saturday I went to see if I had any mail arrive. There was, but not the letter in question. Instead it was the regular bill from APS for $280. This included fees for the returned check. (Which again never existed, so why does the return fee exist?) Then there was a fee for new service, a fee to have a technician come out to restore service...taxes.... So I called them again to ensure that among other things, my last payment posted. It did, but already they had added another service restoration fee that wasn't visible on my bill. Moreover, it was going to be due by the end of the month as the were the rest of my charges.

Lost in the madness was the actually charge for service itself. For the two weeks measured on the reader, I had used all of $22 in electricity. I was given a number to call during normal business hours (of course) to complain. Meanwhile I'm also going to call the Corporation Commission out here to file a formal complaint. I'm sorry but a regulated mononpoly that is public traded as a company should not act like this. But again, working where I do, this will be a delicate process. The other thing is that since I had to post about all this and not the mystery missing children in Mesa, I will have to wait and tell you about what happened on my Saturday night. But don't worry it will be worth the wait.

Looking back on my weekend, I ponderously deliberated on just what to put in a blog post. Given that I just took the keys last weekend, it was my first chance to become a local.

Naturally, there were lots of good anectodes. One was realizing that living in Cougar Country means you get to see independent films that the rest of Arizona doesn't. So when a colleague mentioned she was going to see Ang Lee's "Lust Caution"...my Friday night suddenly filled up. And wouldn't you know that I already had the cable guy coming in on Saturday afternoon...as well as a serious need to buy more stuff for the apartment.

In between this of course was my heroic rescue of a cat that appeared to be lost and dehydrated in the complex. Or my exciting sojourn to the black heart of Arizona's largest outlet mall.

But you really don't want to know about that. You don't care about what new pants I bought, or all the odd little things I found at the Dollar Tree on McDowell.

Oh no...you want to know what made me wake up 11:30am on a Sunday. And that answer is...

Arizona recently enacted a rather draconian DUI law. As a result, I don't really want to head into Old Town driving at night because of the risk of being pulled over. Moreover, there are lots of places in walking distance from where I live...but I rarely see people walk the streets at night...even though it's supposedly quite safe.

So to compromise these relevant concerns, I decided to head out after dinner on Saturday to the closest bar I had heard of...that was a good singles place: Sugar Daddy's. I shaved, I put on cologne, I even changed into new clothes. But when I got there, I was a little stunned. It seemed empty, including the dance floor. Many large groups were there, and I began to think.... "hmm what's going on here?" I even went so far as to ask a waitress if it was a slow night. SD's reputation is very swinging, so she implied it was a little slow but still a large size crowd. Coming from L.A., I realized that my days cowering a sweaty mass might be over.

But without a lot of single girls on th dance floor, I was aghast. I mean...what the hell to do? It has a very large patio with many tables and chairs. So I would sit on a vacant one, and sit there...content to check out the scene. At one point I even saw I a girl I wanted to approach, but she seemed surrounded by lots of other people, so I kept eyeing her back and forth, hoping her friends would notice and do something to help me out.

Ironically, the table I was sitting at was invaded by a group. And startling me almost was that one of them decided to talk to me. What was funny was that the girl (who's name sounded like Siri) apparently was challenged by her boyfriend (this guy named Adam) to talk to me. But Siri got more than she bargained for when I proved that I was more than able to hold a conversation with her until the place closed for the night. Siri joined a long list of people who love to give me input about why I'm not succesful meeting girls. First, I go to the wrong places, she said. (The Arizona Republic claimed Sugar Daddy's was a good singles bar...what can I say?) Then she told me to change my body language so as to look less content. Third, she said I should sit at the bar so as to interact with people more. And then she really hoped I would get rid of my glasses and do somethng about my hair...work on world peace...and on it went.

Naturally I admitted that her suggestions were valid...but she also revealed that her personality was very outgoing because she's a headhunter with a firm in Scottsdale. Most girls would never talk to me, she warned. (Although she also said prepared to be ignored by 19/20 women at the bar too!) Siri was impressed with me enough that she asked me for my phone number. I gave it to her, and she continued to find herself more and more complimentary of me as the night wore on. Last call came, and we went our separate ways.

It's all part of the fun.

When I was in elementary school, nothing excited me more than a field trip. There was just something about sitting in a rented school bus and driving for an hour or so to visit somewhere that reinforced the classroom. Nevermind the fact that your lunch was usually stored in a box in the vehicle’s hold. Or that you really never had time to see the whole thing, be it the Museum of Tolerance or the L.A. Zoo…especially with your little man stride.

So as you can imagine, as a budget analyst one of my favorite parts of the job is a site visit. It’s more or less the opportunity to see firsthand just what the taxpayer is really spending his/her money on. Yesterday was my invited tour of the State Agricultural Laboratory. Now, I know what you are thinking…I spent the day getting a whiff of compromised livestock forced to provide samples. But no, this place is not exactly a petting zoo.

It’s a much larger version of where my friend Sophia works at. I used to meet her for lunch at USC’s state of the art molecular biology lab. (We didn’t eat in the lab…usually.) But the same type of equipment, the same noises…all greeted me upon entry.

Naturally, the lab’s director prefaced the tour with what the Department of Agriculture does there. This includes chemical and biological analysis. The reason is that anything that might affect agriculture (be it made-made or not) has to be identified and controlled if possible. So everything from testing milk to dissecting insects goes on.

The quirk was that the visit was originally scheduled for my JLBC counterpart and the budget director at Ag asked if I would like to come too. (The JLBC is the Joint Legislative Budget Committee, an agency that reports to the Legislature as opposed to the Governor, but has almost the same responsibility as us.)

At one point, the Director was showing us a method by which nematodes are collected. I asked, “Those are worms, right?” The Director nodded yes, in which case I said that nematodes are roundworms, as opposed to flatworms or segmented worms.

The JLBC analyst exclaimed, “How did you know that?!?”

I was tempted to admit the fact that I am indeed the spawn of a superior alien race designed to undermine human society. But instead I said, “I took bio in high school…AP Bio”.

You know, what can I say. Am I the only person that remembers there are Five Kingdoms in biology: Monera, Protista, Fungi, Plantae, and Animalia? And that the phyla of the Animal Kingdom are Porifera, Cnidara, Plathymenithes, Nematoda, Annelida, Mollusca, Arthropoda, Echinodermata, and Chordata? Naturally, provoking such a reaction from my JLBC counterpart (even if unintentional) isn’t the best idea…especially since I am not a known quantity yet.

Luckily, the JLBC analyst had to leave before I did, so I chatted with the Director for a little while and then got lunch. I went back to work, and had a fairly productive day meeting with people from other agencies I work with.

On the way home though, I heard there was a traffic jam on the 10 East. Feeling nostalgic for Los Angeles, I got on the freeway at my normal on ramp and sat there, wondering how long it would take to get passed the incident. The radio reported the accident was the byproduct of a collision that had closed all but one lane on the eastbound side. So I waited and waited. But ultimately I took the last exit before the wreck because my gas gauge continued to oscillate. (This is something I can moan about in another entry at length.)

Of course, this being Phoenix even driving on side streets and getting on the freeway a little bit later, I was back in my new neighborhood within about 15 minutes. I then promptly lost the scent to the Church’s Chicken. But hey, after the visit to the SAL, I could rest easy that my food supply was indeed safe. Or rather, Church’s supply….

This weekend has gone smoothly, I promise.

But after spending two weeks in an almost seedy corner of Phoenix, you can imagine that my arrival in Cougar Country sort of feels like...the moon. Young people are everywhere, cavorting around with punch-drunk glances and fashion sense befitting Britney Spears when she still used underwear.

But so far I've done little to ingratiate myself because as you can imagine I couldn't exactly sleep on the floor. So I dropped off my belongings only to head to the only IKEA in 500 miles:

All I bought was a simple table, which I will use to eat on and for the laptop. (I also bought a nifty chair.) Believe it or not, this cost me very little at all, and I was off to the adjacent Wal-Mart Supercenter to buy an inflatable queen-size mattress:

And then when that was done, I headed up to the only Fry's in Arizona to buy my cable modem and some co-coaxial cable. (No lie, but my building is new enough it's already wired for cable, they just had to turn the signal on.)

Since I didn't have the means to buy a TV as well, I scurried off to a sports bar to watch UCLA host Notre Dame at the Rose Bowl. Now, if you didn't know that Notre Dame was winless this year until the Bruins choked big time on Saturday...well...just be glad I didn't go to a place walking distance where I could have blown all my dough on Southern Comfort and Jaeger bombs. Things are still very much a work in progress looking for additional furnishings. (Craigslist here I come again?)

However since the weather here has been incredible the past couple of days I went out to enjoy myself (and my very first paid holiday weekend). So for the price of a movie ticket I went to the Scottsdale Film Festival. Cannes or Sundance it's not...(or Venice or Toronto or even Ann Arbor). But it does have a reliable fount of international and independent pictures that are award winners elsewhere in a small, intimate venue:

By now you ask...okay...why are you showing all these photos from Virtual Earth and not one of your place? Is it that bad?

Yeah, um about that. I happen to be the last person in the developed world that does not own a digital camera. I have rolls of film that need to be developed from the summer...the next time I step into a Costco. (Which could be tomorrow...for that matter.) After years of dropping hints, no one has ever bought one as a gift. Meanwhile, I haven't had a free $200 in many years. I do get paid this week though, but if I were to buy a digital camera...I'd have to use the air mattress for a while longer than just this week. It's actually comfortable enough the thought did end my mind.

But this is Cougar Country...and I'm not sure I wanna take that risk. Nevertheless, the apartment remains sparse for now and not much to look at. Of course I'm sure that will change.

If you are wondering what Phoenix is like...well...have you even been to Boston? The Valley of the Sun is a big, teeming metropolis a day's drive from anything as big. It's like living in Seattle or Los Angeles, but imagine those cities with the additional clamor and clutter of being a state capital. So why do I compare it to Boston? Because while the climate and people are nothing alike, Boston is also isolated in many ways , the only major city in New England. Truth be told, Las Vegas and Tucson are only a couple hours away...but both cities are not nearly as big or self-important.

However, I've hardly been part of the organic scene here staying in an Extended-Stay owned property. Until tomorrow that is, when I move into my apartment. Given my choice to live in Cougar-ville proper, I would have thought that neighborhood to provide far more interesting stories for the blog than a nondescript motel off the I-17.

But after Steeler fans descended over the weekend, I realized that might not be true.

Last night I began to hear the faint sounds of love-making in an adjacent room. This rarely happens to me, even in hotels. Furthermore I find it doesn't bother me...since usually the parties perform in such a manner as to reassure someone no one is perfect. And then it occurred to me that one of them was large or strong enough to cause the wall to tremble. This too didn't bother me, and I continued to watch TV before trying to turn the light out.

And then I looked at the ceiling and saw a cockroach. A giant thing the size of my cell phone and almost as big as my computer mouse. I was not eager to have the critter fall onto the bed and find its way into my mouth or something. So I made sure it walked away at least. But instead, Mr. Roach decided to flutter his vestigial wings. He fell not onto me or the bed, but the nightstand. At this point, I decided to get a paper towel and escort him back to nature.

But even though he was still in reach when I had the paper towel, Mr. Roach managed to escape. He crawled underneath the bed again...but apparently he returned to whatever infernal place he crawled out of...never seeing him since. The neighbors resumed for a little while...causing me to lose track of their collective progress.

So despite the lack of furnishings...I wonder if it isn't time to move on to greener pastures...to a place of my own. I will say though that the Extended Stay has served me well. I am just hoping the new apartment serves me even more.