I wish the Beckett estate would lift the embargo so the first (and only) season of this could be released on DVD or streaming.

Well, I guess ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

For Valentine’s Day, my wife Valorie and I exchanged cards and chocolates. I got her a medium-sized box of chocolates and a pricey card. She got me a tiny little heart-shaped box of chocolates containing only four chocolates (completely fair, because I don’t care for sweets) and a cheap card (because she’s cheap).

Then we decided to take our two sons and our aged but rambunctious dog for a hike. Our 16-year-old daughter had been promised a multi-phase excursion by her boyfriend, so we were looking for something for the rest of us to do together. Valorie suggested the Franklin Canyon reservoir hiking trail because it’s bucolic, we hadn’t been there in a while, and there weren’t too many hills to trouble the dog. I thought that an excellent idea, so off we went.

On the drive over, Valorie’s iPhone dinged, indicating an incoming text message. She was busy driving, because I was loaded up on Benadryl. (No, we don’t have snow or ice, but unlike the northeast, we do have plenty of pollen right now.) I helpfully took the phone in order to see who had texted. It was our daughter.

“I hate amc!” her text reported.

We all wanted to know why. (Except for her little brother, who doesn’t want to know anything about her, unless it’s something that will get her into trouble.) So I texted back, using my wife’s phone, “Why?” Then, still in helpful mode, I took the opportunity to add, “Your father is such a dreamboat.”

There was no immediate reply. So I texted again, this time stating, “He’s the best.”

Still nothing. Which surprised me, given the categorical nature of the statement. Maybe she wasn’t getting these. Or maybe — maybe — she was nodding in silent agreement. But I wanted to know for sure. So I added, “I’m lucky to have him.” Surely, this should elicit a reply, because it applied to her as well.

Finally, she texted back. “Amc mom the movie theater.”

Coupled with the heavy-duty antihistamines in my system, her poor use of capitalization and spelling made my head swim. Plus, she was overlooking the main point! I responded, “I know. Why do you hate it?” And then, trying to steer her back to the primary topic, I added in a separate text, “Your dad is also so funny! Makes me laugh.”

That certainly should have prompted her to comment. But instead we got a detailed report about how her 16-year-old self had been barred from entering an R-rated movie. I said nothing, but did momentarily flash back to my being ushered in to see “Caligula” (!!!) at the age of 16, and my naively believing it would be a historical epic and not, well, hard-core porn, replete with scenes that made me clutch myself in protection while watching it. How times had changed. It used to be that you could pay your money and see your porn in the movie theatre along with everyone else as long as you looked to be reasonably close to 18. (Or, in my case, even while still looking 13.) Now I guess teenagers have to watch it in secret on the internet.

The bigger question I had, though, was at what point do teens truly transition into adulthood, with an interest in others? My daughter had been presented with numerous openings to weigh in on her father’s positive qualities. But instead she was relentlessly focused on the inanities of movie-theatre policies, which will become utterly moot for her within 18 months. Mistaken priorities, for sure.

I don’t think there’s any holiday I resent so much as Presidents Day. In fact, I don’t think there’s any other holiday I resent; just this one, for two reasons:

1. Taking a day to honor the presidents seems antithetical to the founding notion of the country. It’s a little too close to royalism.
2. That even if we were to honor presidents, some of them don’t merit the honor. Warren G. Harding? Calvin Coolidge? George W. Bush? Herbert Hoover? Andrew Johnson? I can’t participate in any holiday that honors them.

I’m posting this today because today is Abraham Lincoln’s birthday. There was a time when we had two holidays — Lincoln’s birthday and George Washington’s birthday — and that seemed more fitting. One was indispensable to founding the country, and the other indispensable to saving it. Those two were worth honoring.

I’m sorry to hear about the death of veteran CBS newsman Bob Simon in a car crash tonight. It’s a great loss for CBS.

But I do hear that Brian Williams is available….

Actually, this just in: Brian Williams says he was actually in that car crash too.

(And this sort of thing is why I don’t foresee Brian Williams returning to his previous post.)

Just now, on LinkedIn, I saw this:

“Ronald is celebrating 3 years at [company name].”

To which I posted:

“No, Ronald is not celebrating today. Ronald died a few years ago, unfortunately.” (That’s because Ronald committed suicide.)

I knew Ronald a bit. But what must this status update be like for those who were close to him? I’ll bet there are no celebrations there either.

In order, they are: 1. be an heir; 2. marry well.

And either way, just admit it.

If you were going to name Los Angeles’ most highly regarded and famous writers, Ray Bradbury would be near or on the top of that list.

When you go to Baltimore, you can visit Edgar Allan Poe’s house. The same with the homes of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Walt Whitman and others. (In fact, Whitman has a bridge named after him.)

But, this being LA, now that Bradbury’s dead, the new owners have torn down his house. Because, well, it was just a house. Right?

Here are the photos.

Here’s something I won’t be watching: Every Marvel movie stitched together into chronological order.

Which would still be shorter than something else I won’t be watching: every Peter Jackson Rings/Hobbit movie put together.

OK, the sun has gone down and it’s now in the low 50’s — akin to a blizzard in Burbank, CA! — and, given this chill, my fingers aren’t quite able to type as felicitously as usual, so I guess I’m moving inside to write now, once this cigar is finished.

I’m sitting in my back yard drinking a glass of pinot noir and writing. Here’s the blog post I just put up at Counterintuity. Then my intention is to move on to my book.

In the meantime, I can’t help noticing how either indecisive or unsatisfied my dog is. She’s a 16-and-a-half-year-old mix (three quarters Australian Shepherd and one quarter Black Labrador), and judging solely from the past 30 minutes, she can’t decide if she’d rather be outside with me (pluses: near me and outside; minus: somewhat chilly) or inside with my kids who are playing Minecraft (pluses: near them and warm; minus: they’re so thoroughly engrossed in their game that the likelihood of their opening the refrigerator door is nil). I think overall this dog is now part of another breed I have known: indecisive / neurotic / fidgety elders.

Someone in one of the houses nearby is playing scales on a clarinet. A Christmas present, perhaps. I’m glad to hear it. But then, it’s 3:24 p.m. Good to hear now — but I don’t want to hear it at 7 a.m.

I’ve been struck today by how many of my Facebook friends have eagerly welcomed 2015 because, they say, 2014 was such a horrible year for them. (An annus horibilis.) All experiences are particular — just as all existence is individual — so there can’t be any debating their response. But I can say that I had a terrific year. I had a fine time skiing with my family (and hope to do that again in February), took my daughter to New York City and skeet shooting in New Jersey, had a glorious time in Nashville, successfully completed my board presidency with one non-profit, ascended in leadership with another that I care deeply about, and watched with appreciation and pride as new management succeeded with my theatre company. Business was robust, health was good, I had lots of enjoyable time with friends and family, I wrote a short play or two and made good progress on a longer one and am well into writing a book. I share all this not as a way to lord it over those who are glad 2014 is gone — I have had years like that myself, of course — but to document it because, of course, the screw always turns. I just feel grateful. Every single day.

The future arrives anew every day. Welcome to 2015. It’s going to last only a year. We should do our best to make the most of it.