I can post as often as I like. It's not like anybody reads it. I had an epiphany ... last night? two nights ago? I don't remember. But the moment of enlightenment went something like this:

Thinking about how to make my life more pious, I realized the time had come to give up my wholesale love of all things pop culture. I'm obsessed with movies, music and television. Not to mention news and current events. I have three or four web sites I read every day to make sure I was up on the latest possible scrap of info or rumor coming out of the entertainment industry. Which in itself isn't such a problem. But I got to thinking about who I wanted to be, you know, the kind of man I wanted to become and then thought about the guys I admired, the pious ones I looked up to and I realized they're not tapped into pop culture, they're tapped into other things.

And so I thought, has the time come? Is this what I need to do to reach the next plane? And I realized it probably is. It's not to say I can't enjoy movies anymore or give up U2, I just needed to scale it all back, keep it moderation. I'm not going to die if I'm not the first person to hear some odd casting rumor or the news of the next Star Wars movie. Though, maybe I will. To let it go, let it fade away.

I then wondered what on earth would I do to replace the hole in my life I would have if I gave up my obsession with pop culture. I mean, on a practical level, what do I physically do?

That's when I had the epiphany. I don't need to do anything. I just need to scale it back and let the rest take care of itself. So, that's my plan. Scale back my consumption and let the rest take care of itself.

I'm not about to kid myself and believe it's that easy. I mean, movies, music, that's who I am, that's who I've been for 20 years -- yes, since I was at least 8 years old. I loved getting into my older brother's Billy Joel tapes as a kid and I can vividly remember the first handful of movies I saw in the theater as a child.

So it'll be hard, but not impossible. And the end result will be ... I guess, in a few years -- more likely a few decades -- me as a more pious person . It will be me a little more like Henry B. Eyering or Dallin H. Oaks or Jeffrey R. Holland, which is a good thing.

The refrain in U2's anthemic "Bad" goes, "Let it go/And so fade away." Bono's singing about drug addiction, but I think the idea holds true for a lot of things. Let something go and it will stop afflicting you.

A good friend of mine, Guy Wilcox, used to tell me to "sell my summer home in Babylon." He was my boss the five years I did landscaping at Lagoon Amusement Park and the two of us, as we planted flowers, trees, laid sod or just drove around the park, would often talk about the things all of us had to do to improve ourselves.

As I'm faced with that challenge like never before, his voice still rings in my ears and I can hear him tell me to "sell my summer home in Babylon," to give up those little sinful indulgences to which I cling, which in turn stops me from progressing. It's no new notion. We all have them. And because we enjoy them, they really are hard to give up. Especially because we do other good things and thus can rationalize holding onto the bad. But the time has come to let it go and let it fade away.

I need to talk more about Guy. He died last month of a rare stomach cancer and writing about him makes me think about him and that's good.

Life comes in waves. It's amazing that one week of non-events can lead to the next week of life-altering experiences.

"(I) wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today."

And I'm glad. I'm glad that its unpredictable and that it changes and that unexpected events, be they good or bad, can bring unexpected consequences both good and bad. I just want the good to out-weigh the bad. But i suppose its the bad that builds character, that makes us stronger, better people. And before this gets too cliched and metaphysical, I'm going to stop.

I will say this, though. Life would be empty, life would be hollow if it were spent alone. Thank goodnes for a spouse who knows and understands me and thank goodness for two little girls who giggle and tease and call me Mustard and Hot Dog because they think that's funny. Who are we kidding, it is funny.

I have two daughters. One's a 3-year-old blonde, Claire, who is completely nuts and the other's a 1-year-old troublemaker, Leigh. Complete troublemaker. Turn your back for three seconds and she has a fistfull of dirt already inside her mouth while sitting precarioulsy close to the edge of the counter she's just climbed.

The point. I was putting them to bed tonight and Claire was an emotional wreck. She hadn't had a nap so she was at that point of exhaustion when failing to look at her while she speaks sends her into a full-blown tantrum. Anyway. She won't just go down. She has to have her three favorite stuffed animals, her favorite books, three songs sung to her in a specific order and she has to plug in her night-light herself, turn off the room light and shut the door. It's a freaking production putting her to bed.

So tonight I'm lying her down on her bed and she's crying that she can't find her "purple" book. She has half a dozen purple books, many of which I produce. No. That's not the one she wants. She goes off for five minutes explaining to me the book between sobs, wails and gasps of breath. Keep in mind she's only 3 and doesn't speak really well to begin with. "Claire, you can't climb up there." "Yes I am!" she responds. So the whole time she's crying and describing her book, I'm trying to interpret the banter. A book about a boy. Your purple coloring book. Your purple crayon book. I have no idea what book she wants so I yell at her, tell her to stay in bed and go to sleep. I leave. She balls. I come back yell at her some more and she cries even harder. I can see that the yelling isn't doing what I want it to. Yeah. Who knew. So I finally patch things up, sing her "Twinkle Twinkle" and leave the room. She eventually falls to sleep still mad I didn't know what book she was talking about and probably frustrated out of her 3-year old mind that she can't communicate with the people around her.

Three hours later I go into my room and notice books sitting on the bed. I curiously look through them to see if any match the incoherant descriptions Claire gave me. And then I see "Harold and the Purple Crayon" and put it togehter. I felt terrible because I know had I not been fuming with her hours before and not pushing to get her to sleep, I could have easily figured out she was talking about "Harold and the Purple Crayon." I'm an idiot AND a jerk. No wonder kids have issues with their parents.

So I'm a bandwagon jumper. The idea of a blog sounded fun. So here it is. Of course, if I thought anyone was actually going to read this, I might be more hesitant. But let's be honest, it's the World Wide Web. I'll be lucky if I can talk my own wife into visiting the page.

As a reporter for a major metro daily (read: midsize, midtown publication) I thought this would be a good way to hone my column-writing skills. If it ends up just totally sucking, I and the fat, Reeses Peanutbutter Cup inhaling computer geek who trips onto my blog because the word "SundownerMan" tripped up his flamboyant Florida gay men porn search will know.