So there has been this thing floating around Facebook called "25 things about yourself" or some variation thereof. Well, honestly I was getting a little depressed that none of my friends had tagged me in the note. I thought, well maybe they didn't think I wanted to do it to a more depressing thought like what if nobody things there are 25 interesting things about me. I was convinced this was the case, but then my friend tagged me and now I think I convinced myself so much that there isn't much to say that I can't think of 25 things to say. So, now I'm rejecting this movement and claiming independence from the conformists. It's all about protecting my ego.

I've been thinking of memories a lot lately, what it means to have them and what it means to lose them. There has been a constant battle within myself to strive for a good memory but continually fail at achieving the goal. Many smarter people before me have consulted the idea of what we become if we have no memory, it's written in books and played out on movie screens and more than seemingly with a haunting note on what a scary world it would be without these treasures.

So, what would we be without memories? How would you know how you should act if you didn't remember the rules, how you know what kind of person you are if you could remember how you've acted in the past, how would you know right from wrong? Could you truly love something if you had no context for it's existence or would it let you love more honestly? History always defines our future whether we want it to or not.

My biggest fear growing up was the fear of being forgotten. Perhaps there are slightly narcissistic motives here in that I want my memories to live on in the hearts of my valued relationships, but I think there's more to it. If you become forgotten, the memory of you is gone and without memory there is no record and without record can you even know that what you've done in your life is worthy of attention? To me, it's a matter of value, it's a matter of significance and it's a matter of knowing that you've done something in this life worth passing on. It can be as small as a compliment or as grand as a sacrifice, but when we fade to dust, I hope there is something that we leave that's worth remembering.

It's Kevin, remember me? Just getting some thoughts/memories down.

I just got back from a recent trip to California and it was great to be away from the cold. I flew down to Orange County to see my good friend Danny and his family where I stayed and celebrated his birthday with a hillbilly theme. Listened to some Hayseed Dixie and dressed in flannel while the fake outhouse and still were being crafted by other friends. It was a great time and got to catch up with some old friends, including Nestor who came up from San Diego. Lots of fun no doubt.

Then I headed up to the San Francisco area to the town of Los Gatos where I set eyes on my newborn second cousin Kenzie. She's awesome and Greg and Dawn are learning a lot about what owning one of those little things means. I went to visit Santa Cruz, Monterey, drive the 17-mile drive and walk along the beach in Carmel with my parents. I didn't see any glimpse of Clint Eastwood though. Back at the home I was able to spend some time with my cousin, his wife and their friend Summer over some meals and drinks. It was good to see everyone again and I intend on seeing more of them.

That's it for now, more later. Thanks for encouraging me to blog more Summer.

Can you ever really know where you're headed? Just when you think you know where the path is taking you, you end up at a dead end. It becomes draining and a little discouraging realizing that you've got to backtrack and feel like you've wasted time. I suppose though had you never taken that fork would you have realized it was a dead end and it's better to have known that than to always have wondered, still though, it can be aggravating.

Even today I look for a futon cover and it would seem like a fairly easy task, what with Google and all, but to find something that isn't completely ugly or dorm roomy is a bit more of a task than I expected. It's fair enough to say though that trying to make a futon look cool and classy is sort of like celebrating any of the Spears girls as one of our nations most dignified debutantes. Nothing against them persay, but it does sort of seem like an ongoing episode of the Beverly Hillbillies.

Sure, this is a trivial example of life's dead-ends, but big or small we all have to face them. Our character is in our reactions toward those challenges and I just hope I have enough character to get through all of this...futon covers and all.