I'm restless in three distinct areas of my life. Fortunately, I have three distinct blogs, each covering (more or less) one of those three aspects. So I'm making three entries at (roughly) the same time.

I'm restless in my life, and I'm not sure exactly the source of that restlessness. It could be the stagnation in my romantic life, it could be the indifference I feel about my current job. Or, it could be that I've been here (in California) for almost eight years. That's longer than I was in Denver, and the longest I've stayed at one address since I left home after high school to live in the dorms at OU.

I used to use a variety of excuses to convince myself that I needed to stay here. I was responsible for my hobby club's website, but I've passed that along to someone new, now. I have friends that I'm close to, but some of them have already moved to further reaches of the bay area, cutting down on how often I see them. And some of them are contemplating a move of their own, almost certainly out-of-state. Yesterday, while sitting with some people, I had one of the strongest senses of yearning and melancholy for Denver I've had since I first moved here. For a few seconds, I was desperate to be back. Something someone had said, triggered a memory. It was a memory of walking off a good Thanksgiving meal with some friends, up in the mountain town of Evergreen. I had a full beard then, and I remember the feeling of my breath causing ice build-up in the beard. That made me think of just how generally crisp the air in Denver feels in the fall, before it gets seriously cold for the winter. I was surprised, really, to feel such an aching.

That isn't to say that I'm planning, or evening idly considering, a return to Denver. I don't know for certain that I really want to leave Silicon Valley. Almost anywhere else I go is going to have fewer jobs in my field to offer. I can make sure I go somewhere that has enough of a job market that I have a good chance of finding employment, but none of them will be like it is here. What's more, I really felt like, when I left Denver, that I was uprooting myself. I'd been there long-enough to feel like I had some roots starting to grow. Moving out here un-did all of that. Wouldn't moving now undo the same progress I've made out here?

The worst part is the uncertainty. I don't know with any great precision what it is that I'm looking for, which makes it fairly hard to decide where I should be looking for it. Some things are clearer than others: I want to find a partner and settle down. Some things aren't: I want to be in a different job, but I don't have anything specific in mind.

I've mused in the past about moving overseas, even if only for a few years. I wonder if it isn't just a matter of the lingering furtiveness, with the impulses taken to a greater extreme than just re-eyeing Denver, or thinking about the east coast. I really don't know where this sense of agitation is going to take me. And that only makes me all the more restless.

Yes, that Mark Furman. The same one who decided to "help along" the investigation of O.J. Simpson (which, by the way, I still believe 100% he did it, and that a large part of the blame for him getting away with it belongs to the detectives like Furman who fucked up their jobs). After running off to obscurity somewhere in Idaho (I'd guess) with other Aryan racist turds, he seems to have decided to poke his head out once again. I'm especially moved by this passage from the back of the book (also cited on Amazon.com):

In Silent Witness, former LAPD detective and New York Times bestselling author Mark Fuhrman applies his highly respected investigative skills to examine the medical evidence, legal case files, and police records.

Dude, WTF? By what bizarre measure can anyone use the phrases "Mark Furman" and "highly respected investigative skills" in the same sentence? This man helped OJ get away with a double-homicide, and you want to read his thoughts on the Terri Schiavo case? Let the woman rest in peace, already. And if you really, really want someone to argue your case, pick someone who isn't a pariah. Pick someone vaguely trustworthy, like Bill O'Reilly or Michael Savage.

Anyway, so tonight I took it out on the balcony to try and get a good view of the Deep Impact mission's big moment– the collision of the projectile against the comet Tempel 1. But I didn't plan very well. For one thing, there is just too much light pollution, even in my quiet suburb. For another, I just didn't give myself enough time to be able to locate and fix on the comet.

So, on the plus side, I got some fantasic viewing of Jupiter and three of its moons. But I didn't manage to locate the comet. Barring more pressing matters, I think I'll try again tomorrow night to view the comet. I won't get to witness the impact, but I can at least view it for a bit. I'll try to give myself time to drive a ways down 17 towards Santa Cruz, so that I can get better viewing conditions.

I'm watching The Wizard of Oz, as I tape it from my TiVo for a friend. And I gotta say this, no matter the consequences...

The Cowardly Lion is so ghey. I mean, he makes Johnny Depp's swishbuckler Jack Sparrow look butch.