Today, my Possibly Crazy Building Manager (let's just say that when she became building manager, we changed our locks) banged on my door. I was sure that somebody had been killed, or that my downstairs neighbor had kicked the bucket.

"We have to get out of the building! There is a gas leak!"

I grabbed my computer, camera, and purse. I have been planning such an exit since I first saw the "Tsunami Zone" signs on Pacific Blvd. However, in my mind, I'm stuck in traffic on Washington Blvd. while a ten story tsunami wave chases me.

I went outside to smell the stench of gas, and wondered which house would blow up first, secretly hoping it's the expensive condos with all the movie stars.

A few minutes later, I realized I needed to take a shower. Wait for buildings to blow up or take a shower? I took my chances.

It turns out the whole coastline reeked of gas. My Crazy Building Manager told me that The Gas Company said it was the smell came from the ocean. The ocean? I've lived here for thirteen years and have smelled lots of sewage, dead fish, and sulfur...but this was the gas that comes from my stove.

So far I haven't been able to find any articles in the news.

Just for today, I don't trust The Gas Company.

I just spent this rainy afternoon watching "The Big Chill." This morning I finished "Valley Girl." (Young Nicholas Cage....romantic, fearless, reckless...still my dream man). Am I feeling nostalgic? Do I regard the future with fear and uncertainty? Do I want to climb back into the womb of 80's optimism? Is it hard to admit to myself that I will be referencing these films till the end of my days?

Hell. Yes. (...to all of the above).

Let's face it. Life is scary. And then there's this whole Titanic aspect of the economy.

There's a good reason why people, like myself, aspire to be forever young. And I'm not even talking about the nubile skin part. It's just so much more blissful to not know that sociopaths run corporations, and confused scared people much like myself run governments, and zombies and vampires pretty much make up the rest.

Just for today, I'm retreating to the 80's.

So, at what point did the Internet go from being the Wild West, to Big Brother's direct entree into our every move? Suddenly, I'm thoroughly creeped out of being online. Google, Facebook, any site I ever visited...they are following me around like a really undercover stalker. It may not help anything, but I'm going to abstain from going anywhere that has the word "Google" related to it, and I don't know what I'm going to do about Facebook. I hate to miss out on the sleeping habits of the toddlers of that distant college acquaintance.

It's one thing for me to spew out my inner-thoughts, and quite another to have people studying my spending needs without my permission. I prefer to inappropriately over-share my dirty laundry, by conscious choice, in person, or in my blog, as that ensures that I have control of this Diarrhea of The Mouth problem that II was born with. I don't want to send an email thinking it's private, and know that the FB, or the FBI could be surveilling to make sure I don't mention anything about what type of plane ticket I'm buying.

If I've learned anything from eight years of blogging it's that nobody cares about what you have to say if you want everyone to know it. It's the secrets that suck the vampires in. Even if that secret is that you have created "Journey" radio on Pandora, or harbor a mad hope that Eric from "True Blood" will walk into your life. But when you write endless drivel about all your thoughts and feelings...nobody gives a $#*& rat's.

When Luke Skywalker said, "I'm not afraid!" Yoda said, "You will be. You will be." I had nightmares about him for weeks, and months.

Yes, Creepy Yoda, I used to think the Internet was the free wild west where I could hide behind my free wheeling blog, but now...?

Just for today, I'm afraid.

Yesterday, I showed up for my hundred millionth interview for a career that I'm, apparently, no longer suited for. This is the question that I flubbed:

"What's the latest hot cool new thing?"

Dudes love "cool." I think I deleted my post about the job filled with guys whose sole creative direction was to make said work, "more cool-looking."

"I tend to start with thinking about what people need..."

I think if I had said "Atari" that would have been closer to the right answer. Did Mark Zuckerberg sit down to code "something cool?" No, the world made it cool, he just set the stage by thinking about what people want.

I went on another interview, and I won't say who the client was, but the product's name refers to a fruit that comes in the colors of green and red.

"What's your favorite banner ad campaign for [brand name]?"

"What?! They had a banner campaign? Or is that a trick question?"

Realness is not a quality sought in this job market.

I came home from the last interview and found two checks in the mail. I took it as a sign to stay the course that I'm on, and that is working to become a user experience designer.

Just for today, I am humbled by my lack of control in life.

I've been thinking a lot about writing and (the pointless) purpose of it. I've spent most of my adult life in front of a computer and, in my new line of work, I have hours, weeks, years ahead of me, all spent looking at a screen. Why would I possibly want to spend one more minute of my life staring at an empty blog post or a page, thinkgin I have to write another word? [I have heard of people writing with this tool called a "pen" on this flimsy material called "paper," but I'm not sure about that...] A person I'm related to once described creative writing as "self-masturbatory," but, if that's the case, what I want to know is, where's the orgasm?

But the truth is that while I'm a big coward when it comes to speaking my truth and weirdness (if you can ever articulate weirdness), I'm really happy to write about it. Especially the weirdness. When I look around, there are few brave souls willing to discuss or express all the #$@ issues, feelings, trauma of the human condition. I think the artist and writers inherent purpose and drive is to take all the caca doodie and put it out there in the form of something palatable (because who wants to eat caca?). And when said creative work out there, the community sort of oxygenates it and, gradually the wounds stop feeling like a cancer and more like a snake bite (I've never been bitten by a snake, but I imagine it hurts....I was going to say bee sting, or a spider sting, but those aren't really a big deal.] No when life bites, it's pretty bad. Pain, loss, hearbreak...it hurts like a mofo, it willl throw you out of commission, but the things is (and maybe this is a problem), it doesn't kill you. A snake could kill you, but how many people have been killed by a snake?

Boy, I don't know where this blog got off track.... The point is....

...Just for today, I'm still writing.