You know how when life gets busy, you sometimes wait until the last minute to do some time-specific thing which is really, really important? You know you shouldn’t procrastinate, but you do, so there is very little margin for error, right? And then something screws up your well-laid plans.

My Juilliard application was ready to go, and it had to be postmarked by December 1st. No problem. I got all the stuff together and placed a call to Mail Boxes, Etc. (that should have been my first clue) to inquire about their hours. I was told they close at 7:30 p.m. Great. So I sauntered down around 6:45 p.m. and the lights were on, but the doors didn’t want to open. A cursory investigation (elementary, Mr. Watson) revealed that they were locked. Shit. The hours posted on the door said they close at 7:00 p.m. Yes, that’s right. To recap: the posted hours, the time they actually closed, and the time they said they closed are all different.

Idiots.

I instantly started calling every place I could think of that might be open at 7:00 p.m. on a weeknight to postmark a piece of mail. Mind you, I didn’t need an official U.S. Postal Service postmark, and I didn’t care when it actually got there. So I called other Mail Boxes, Etc. I tried every U.S. Post Office, even some as far away as Los Angeles and San Diego counties. I called courier services, scoured the Web, pleaded with FedEx and UPS. No dice.

By this point, I’m muttering to myself in my best Dana-Carvey-impersonating-Ross-Perot voice, “Okay fine; is that how you wanna play the game? Is that how we’re gonna do it, Cracker Boy?” Time to pull out the heavy guns. I call my good friend Bryan–after all, he has no compunction about breaking a law or three. Unfortunately, he quit his day job, and with it went my access to the Pitney Bowes box.

But I’m not dead yet. My pal Judi is the office manager of a small company in Tustin–they must have a Pitney Bowes machine. No? Crap. But she makes a few well-placed phone calls, and soon the seething Orange County underworld (I can’t even type that without laughing) is working on my behalf. She finds someone who can break us into a local Catholic high school where they have a Pitney Bowes machine, so my problem seems to be solved.

Well, not quite. They get there before I do and quickly realize that they don’t know how to turn back the date on the machine. It’s so modern that it’s actually more complex than your average PC. By the time I arrive, they’ve enlisted the help of a Catholic priest (“Bond. James Bond.”) who has no problem engaging in some minor mail fraud. But he can’t figure the thing out either. It was really very comical: six highly intelligent, resourceful, computer-savvy people versus one measly Pitney Bowes postage meter. Guess who won?

But the war wasn’t over yet. Eventually, the Catholic priest suggested weighing the Juilliard application envelope, finding a comparably sized piece of outgoing mail postmarked December 1st, and stealing the postage from it. And I think to myself, “What a wonderful world”. Five minutes later I’m walking away with a graduate school application postmarked on time and a whole new appreciation for the Catholic Church.

The House of Rapp is proud to present the Martha Stewart BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS® recipe for the perfect guys-only weekend:

• 1 bachelor - skinny, tall, able to eat 274.98 cubic meters of food in one sitting

• 7 friends - overworked and ready to get the hell outta Dodge
• 1 large van - Ford - operated at maximum velocity at night on black ice without chains or snow tires
• 1 friendly lakeside town - elevation 6,500 feet, on California/Nevada border
• 1 ski resort (largest on the west coast)
• 1 stack - $20 bills
• 2 casinos - Caesar’s and Harrah’s brand
• 2 roulette tables - minimum wager of only $0.50 per spin
• 200 dollars - winnings
• 3 days - containing no more than 10 hours of sleep
• 1 snow storm - containing 20″ of fresh powder and 40 mph winds
• 1 shoulder - dislocated

Beginning at midnight, mix bachelor and friends in large van for nine hours on essentially no sleep. Gamble the whole next day. Mix with choice of beer and other libations. Carefully place roulette chips onto table until hitting 36-to-1 odds over and over again. Do not strain. Return to casino. Once profit reaches $200, cash out. Sleep five hours, then proceed to Heavenly Resort. Chill to approximately -10º F for six hours in 40 mph wind and driving snow at 10,000 foot summit. Remove snowboarding friend from mountain just before collapse. Add snowstorm and 20″ fresh powder. Place six friends and bachelor in boiling, highly chlorinated water. Add beer until bachelor vomits. After first friend dislocates shoulder, hide all alcohol and call 911. After two hours, remove friend from hospital. Next morning, bachelor/friends mixture should be rubbery. Replace into van and mix for nine more hours. Makes one memorable serving.

Usually the holidays are the busiest time of year. For everyone, yes–but for me especially. Choral music concerts are a lot of it. The Messiah, the Pacific Chorale’s annual Christmas concert, the annual Candlelight concert at the Performing Arts Center, caroling, opera rehearsals, etc. It all adds up.

But this year was going to be different. I skipped all the concerts, despite the fact that it’s just not Christmas for me unless I’m singing. This year I was going to cut way back and take time to enjoy the season. Do the Norman Rockwell thing, hang out with friends, call all the people I’ve callously ignored throughout the year, write personal Christmas cards to everyone. You get the sickeningly syrupy picture.

Well, Christmas is eight days away I just realized that my well-laid plans haven’t amounted to “jack squat”, as Chris Farley might say. In fact, I’m busier than I’ve ever been. And holiday shopping? Haven’t even started yet. I know a lot of other people feel this way. The holidays come and go, and by the time January arrives you’re exhausted and left with a scorching case of the flu, laid up in bed and wondering where all the time went.

Is there no way around it?

Maybe not. Perhaps the problem is that the holidays start earlier and earlier every year. I do believe that I actually saw Christmas decorations in some stores as early as mid-August.

I’m not going to give up, though. Some close friends are coming over next week for dinner and a casual evening; perhaps that will get me into the spirit.

So it’s come down to the wire again. Surprise, surprise: it’s four days before Christmas, and I haven’t done any shopping yet. To be fair, I don’t need to shop for many people. And thankfully, I can put off shopping for my family because I’ll be seeing them in person at the new year and can give them their gifts then. They won’t know the difference.

I’m so sly.

It’s a guy thing, isn’t it? Testosterone has some mystical property (as yet unbeknownst to modern science) which makes it impossible for the human male to enter a shopping mall of his own volition before said malls reach their maximum occupancy level. Most of my male friends are probably at the mall right now, standing in line even as I type. I think it’s a guy thing. With cars, we strive for maximum velocity. With malls, we hold out for maximum occupancy. Yes, I think that’s it. From now on, this’ll be the official House of Rapp Holiday Shopping Theorem.

One of the things I’m searching for is a CD with the music from the Bellagio commercials. You know the one. The one that looks nothing like an actual Las Vegas mega-hotel, but rather like the set from a commercial about a new Las Vegas mega-hotel. In reality it’s probably a beautiful but overly crowded place filled with pot-bellied tourists and the incessant sound of slot machines clanging away. Funny how they never show that in the advertisement.

Las Vegas has become such a funny place. Didja know I lived there? Yep, for five years. And in those five years, the city made the transition from a place of character and moderate mob influence to a sanitary Disneyland of wholesome fun for the entire family. Well, except for the seedy looking guys who hang out on the street corners and peddle flyers for strip clubs and live, private porn.

I have no idea who the artist is who sang it for the commercial, or even what opera or other piece it’s from. Somehow it irks me that even with a copy of the Da Capo Opera Manual sitting on the shelf behind me as I write this, I still don’t know–yet because it’s so popular, there’s a pimply 13 year-old kid working at Tower Records who undoubtedly does. That’s just wrong. I’m kind of embarrassed about having to ask, because I feel like I should know these things. Nonetheless, I’m sure eventually I’ll have to fall back upon the superior knowledge of a 13 year-old walking acne advertisement. That’s why being 13 is so great–you have nowhere to go but up. On the other hand, of course, there is junior high. Not exactly a fair trade.

Actually, I’d like to visit the Bellagio. I’m sure it’s an amazing feat of architecture, and the fine art gallery sounds fabulous–originals of famous American and European 19th and 20th century sculptures and oils. It’s always amazing what you can do with a few billion dollars. I just wish there was some way to avoid the crush of people. Most places in Vegas don’t even try to mask the fact that you’re treated like a lemming. Kind of like a shopping mall at Christmas.

And on that brilliant segue, I’m off to shop. If I’m not back in six hours, send for help.

Have you ever given a Christmas present to yourself? I think you should. Life is too short not to indulge once in a while. For example: I gave myself a present today. I worked for it, mind you. But that made all the more satisfying. Today I took the FAA checkride for my pilot’s license. And I passed! It was a long road getting here, but now I’m on cloud nine and there ain’t nobody who can rain on my parade.

Last night I was cursing myself for scheduling the checkride for Christmas Eve. I had to plan a cross country flight to the San Francisco area, and in a small general aviation aircraft operating under VFR with lots of visual checkpoints, it can get to be an extensive thing. My flight plan was four pages long. Plus I had to be ready for the two hour oral exam and 3+ hours in the plane. If you’ve never seen the Federal Aviation Regulations, it’s a 1,000 page book of rules for pilots, and anything in them is fair game. I had to be able to give a coherent answer to questions on aircraft systems, airspace, regulations, aeromedical factors, aerodynamics, cross country planning, emergency procedures, traffic patterns, weather theory, and demonstrate all those (and more) in the air.

It doesn’t take much to fail. So the night before, you can imagine what a basket case I was. Especially since the examiner, Lyn Carlson, had a reputation for being fair but tough. I’m sure it helped that I trained with one of her CFI’s (flight instructors), but I don’t think that carried much weight once the checkride started. I was waaaay behind on my Christmas shopping, nothing was wrapped yet, and a big web site I’m designing is behind schedule for it’s January 1 launch. I got to bed by about three a.m., and was up again by seven.

Once the Big Day arrived, I was quite thankful that I scheduled it when I did. First of all, the weather was absolutely perfect. Not a cloud in the sky, minimal wind, and because it was Christmas Eve there were few other GA planes in the air. I think everyone was at the mall shopping (see my last entry). Lyn was in a great mood, very casual and friendly. She immediately put me at ease and things remained so for the duration of the test, which turned out to be much easier than I had anticipated. Part of the test is a “lost and diversion” procedure, and she diverted me to Compton. Ironic, because yesterday while on a test run for the checkride, Brandon had diverted me to Compton as well. And so it went. The only thing I had trouble with was the soft field landing at John Wayne. I flared a bit too high and didn’t land quite softly enough. But it was good enough for her, and I wasn’t about to complain.

After we landed, she went inside to get the paperwork started for my Temporary Airman’s Certificate while I took care of the plane. After completing the last checklist item and gathering up all my stuff, I sat down next to the plane for a while to just savor the moment. Making no effort to wipe the grin off my face, I watched several planes land on 1R and 1L before giving N4913G a pat on the cowl and heading indoors, where I received a number of congratulatory handshakes. I swear, on my walk back to the office I was an inch or two taller than before the flight!

I also learned that since I received my rating I get an hour of aerobatics time free of charge. Sunrise has a Pitts S-2B and an Extra 300, and you can bet I’m already planning the stuff I want to do with that hour. What a great day! It’s one of those days you’ll always look back on with total happiness, and an event that will keep me smiling for months, if not years, to come.

Whatever happens, they can’t take that away from me.