Originally, I had wanted to do a day in which I was barefoot. But I have lived in Los Angeles long enough to know that even in the nicest neighborhoods, a walk down the sidewalk means dodging broken bottles, animal droppings, or, on a hot day, a puddle of Cher.

Besides, there is something terrifying to me about driving barefoot. Even when I drove naked, I still kept my shoes on.

So instead I decided to spend the day in my slippers. My cozy, fuzzy, plaid slippers.

I purposefully chose an outfit that they’d blend with - why call attention to them if I didn’t have to? I headed off to work, and it did feel a little odd, but the slippers had soles and my toes stayed toasty, so what the heck.

Not a single person at work noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t say a thing. Even when I went to a restaurant for lunch, I was worried that slippers might be unacceptable footwear. The policy says “No shoes, no service” and slippers aren’t really shoes. The wait staff didn’t seem to notice. One complimented me on my tie, but no mention of the slippers.

Later that night, though, at the IO West where I perform improv with my team, Trophy Wife, was a different story. Immediately four or five people said, “Hey, are those slippers?” After I said yes, nobody seemed to mind much. That either means my friends have a relaxed attitude or they’re used to my weirdness, or both.

All in all, it was a very comfy day.

We’re in the final week of All New Year, and I have some fun stuff planned, but most fun of all will be had on March 5th. My birthday, and the first time in 366 days I won’t have to worry about doing something new. Instead, I will be having a huge, fun party and I hope you’ll join us.

The talented JennieCC is putting it all together, and here’s what she has to say:

Location: Ramada 1160 Bar and Lounge
1160 N. Vermont Ave., Hollywood, CA 90029 US

When: Wednesday, March 5, 9:00PM

It’s that time of year! Time to celebrate our favorite Opus. Let’s get together at the Ramada again this year to celebrate Opus’ Birthday and the end of his All New Year!

Yes, he’s really done it. Something new everyday for the past year…it’s all been fully documented on www.AllNewYear.com. There have been many Taco Tuesdays, swimming with dolphins, mustache growing for kids, surprise trips, baking things, buying things, eating things, convention attending, a pirate faire, flying on a trapeze, visiting a psychic, a trip to Bulgaria, getting naked, a legal change of name, the hugging of a saint, the hugging of Richard Simmons, and skydiving, to name only a few of 366* awesome new things. (Damn leap day…)

Please join us at the Ramada for drinking, dancing, and celebrating our friend Opus and this amazing accomplishment. We’ll recount our favorite new things of the past year and have a rollicking good time. You absolutely do not want to miss the party of the year!

Hope to see you there, Allnewyearians!

I’ve been in pretty good spirits lately. But sometimes I get a little bummed. So I saw this product in the store and figured I’d give it a test.

It’s an herbal remedy based on Mustard Flower extract that supposedly cheers one up. Because any time you see anybody with Grey Poupon, they’re happier than a monkey in a poo-throwing contest.

The package says that it is a “natural alternative to bring back joy and cheerfulness when gloom descends for no obvious reason.” So if you have an obvious reason for gloom, sorry Charlie, there’s no help for you. Maybe bonk yourself on the head with a tire iron a few times, then you may forget the reason, and then you are allowed to use this product.

The ‘remedy’ itself is in four small bubbles, and the instructions say to mix that with water and “sip throughout the day.” Then repeat that process. For three days.

I’m sorry, but if gloom has descended for no apparent reason, three days is not the window of time I need to fix the problem. Halfway through day two I’d be jumping off a bridge and willing the remaining two bubbles of mustardy stuff to my next of kin.

I popped one in a glass of water. Smelled a little alcohol-y, but once it was in the water, it didn’t taste like much at all. Which is good, I wasn’t really into the idea of drinking Mustardade.

I gave it an hour. Yeah, I know. I’m supposed to take one a day for three days, but… i’m impatient with my gloom. I want cheeriness! I moved up to two bubbles in a glass of water.

An hour later - still nothing. No cheeriness. Time for a direct attack. I squirted the final bubble of mustard stuff right into my mouth.

Damn. Kinda tasty, actually. I wonder what’s in this stuff, besides Mustard Flower?

A little internet research reveals this wikipedia page for Bach Flower Remedies. Turns out Edward Bach came up with the idea in the 1930s, and that they contain a small amount of flower extract suspended in Brandy. Brandy! No wonder that was so tasty! No wonder it is supposed to cheer you up! Turns out I’ve been doing itsy-bitsy mini-shots at my desk at work!

I don’t think it did much of anything, to be honest. But later that night, I was not feeling so well after an argument with somebody I hold dear. But I called up a friend, who came over and hugged me. It helped quite a bit. Sorry, Edward Bach - that’s the real mood enhancer for gloom.

The Bunny Museum in Pasadena isn’t really a museum, per se. But what it lacks in museumness, it more than makes up for in bunnihood.

It’s actually a suburban home owned by Candace Frazee and her husband Steve Lubanski. Long ago, the two lovers began calling each other “Honeybunny”, which escalated to exchanging bunny-themed gifts. Now, with an appointment, Candace will let you into her home to see her more than 20,000 bunny collection. When I made my appointment, she signed off by telling me to, “have a hoppy day!”

The house looks like any house in Pasadena - except for the huge topiary bunny out front.

My friend Linda and I wandered, uncertainly, towards the front door. As we were signing in, Candace leaned her head out and greeted us. “Hop on in!” she cried gleefully, as she probably had thousands of times before, and we walked through the front door.

“Wow,” Linda and I said in unison. “Yeah, everybody says that,” replied Candace dismissively.

I took a lot of photos. So did Linda. But I don’t think any of them can really explain what it looks like inside the Bunny Museum. It is essentially a small suburban house, where Candace and her husband live. But they do so surrounded by all sides, in every room, but thousands upon thousands of bunnies. Stuffed, wooden, figurines, paintings, products, big, small… they’re just everywhere.

Candace explained that they are organized into sections - this part is wedding-themed bunnies, this one is mexican bunnies, over here is bunny puppets. But clearly organization isn’t Candace’s strong suit - the persistent and relentless collection of bunny memorabilia is. It reminded me of the shows you sometimes see on television about hoarders - old crazy uncles who insist on keeping every newspaper for the past thirty years. Except, instead of relatives frowning and shaking their heads and talking about getting Uncle Elmer some help, people wander through Candace’s house every day, beaming and taking photos.

And it is just that - a house. After Candace gave us the basic explanation, she went about her chores: folding laundry, doing dishes. I felt the polite urge to offer to help rise in me, but I set it aside to explore the bunniness of it all. In the front hall were bunnies, and more in a small room off to the side. There was a dining room with bunnies on every surface, except the dining room table, which was kept clear to display the large “Bunny Museum” logo.

The living room was full of stuffed bunnies. Not just full of stuffed bunnies - FULL of stuffed bunnies. Floor to ceiling, each wall contained a pile of stuffed bunnies, with no particular order to the chaos. And just to make clear that this was, indeed, a residence, there was a tiny futon couch and a television nestled amongst the piles and piles of bunnies.

Off of the (bunny-themed) kitchen was a small pantry containing five real live bunnies, and Candace gave us spinich to feed to them. Four of them hid behing a shelf, and one brave and brazen bunny stood his ground, gobbling up any spinach offered to him.

And of course, in the dining room was a case filled with the freeze-dried corpses of ex-bunny pets.

I felt a little guilty taking photos of something so personal (if a little creepy) as the freeze-dried remains of one’s beloved pets. But as the next group began to come through, Candace pointed them out with the same high spirits she used to point out the Elvis Parsley bunny water pitcher. “Have you seen the dead ones? They’re freeze dried. In the case behind the door.”

In the back, Candace explained, was the “Garden of Broken Dreams,” - where damaged bunnies go.

I particularly liked this part - something about the old chipped bunnies, missing ears and even heads, the wire-frame bunnies once part of some elaborate float, that spoke to the past each of these figures had. Plus the contractors next door were blaring Public Enemy’s “Fear of A Black Planet” which made for an excellent soundtrack to bunny exploration.

I honestly can’t say I understand Candace Frazzee’s bunny obsession, but she was a kind and gracious host. Charging no entry fee, she allows strangers to enter her house, and her bunny-filled world, for no other reason than because she wants to share it with them. It may seem unusual… heck, I think it’s safe to say that collecting 28,000 bunnies is a bit unusual. But it’s clearly something she’s passionate about.

Besides, how can you be judgmental when looking at all those bunnies? Nobody can hate a bunny.

There is a los angeles institution called Zankou Chicken - beloved by locals and immortalized in a Beck song. Occasionally I’ll go there for a quick and delicious dinner. And there’s a couple of guys in the too-tight parking lot who will “help” you park, mostly by motioning wildly towards an empty spot. They’re friendly and I usually try to give them some change when I come out.

Tonight, one asked me for a couple of bucks for dinner, and I stood there carrying a dinner in my hand. So I gave him a couple of bucks and my dinner. I figured I could go without dinner for one night; this guy probably does it all the time. Sure, call it liberal bleeding heart guilt, or just call it empathy, but it was an easy and rewarding new thing.

But I’m going back tomorrow for more Zankou, and you can bet your ass I’m eating it this time.

Long ago, when I first started the project, I asked my friends from far and wide to help me come up with ideas of new things to do. The less mature amongst them submitted the predictable pitches, most of which involved me fellating some celebrity figure or another. But an old friend, Therese Perkins, submitted something I found to be actually fairly intriguing. She suggested this:

Do your own rendition of the song “singin’ in the rain”. I’m talking, swirling umbrella, dancing on light poles, splashing through puddles…the works.

As I was leaving the Rite-Aid this evening, wondering what I was going to do, these words flashed in my mind. Because this particular Rite-Aid is almost across the street from the Department of Public Lighting, and so has a row of dozens of light poles, of varying design, in its parking lot. And because it happened to be pouring. And because I hadn’t done my new thing today.

So rite-aid bag in hand, I went to the lightposts, and swung around on them, singing, “I’m singing in the rain! I’m singing in the rain! What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again!” Not knowing any more of the song, I repeated this verse three or four times.

It wasn’t, honestly, a glorious feeling, and I wasn’t happy again. I was wet. And I’m sorry, Therese, I didn’t do my homework so I didn’t splash in any puddles or even have an umbrella with me. And I thought it might be a tad embarassing, but in a downpour, everybody is face-down, running to their cars, so i don’t think anybody else in that parking lot even noticed me.

So thanks, Therese. I’m pretty sure you suggested this just so you could imagine me, cranky in a downpour, swinging around light posts. I’m happy to make your dream come true.

I had been planning to watch tonight’s total lunar eclipse for a while, so my heart was heavy with bummerness when I woke up to find it raining and overcast. All throughout the day a low, dark layer of clouds hung over the city, as I periodically peered out the window to see if any glimpse of sky, or hope, remained.

My plan had been to head up to the famous Griffith Observatory, scene of the climactic finale of Rebel Without A Cause (and the Paula Abdul/Keanu Reeves music video homage). More than being a pop culture touchstone, it’s also a real observatory, and they were hosting a party for those who wanted to watch the eclipse.

I called up the observatory and spoke to one of the white-jacketed scientific experts who man the phones there.

ME: “Hi, I’m interested in coming up there to see the eclipse tonight, but I notice it’s really cloudy. Do you think I’ll still be able to see it?”
SCIENTIFIC EXPERT: “Phsssh. That’s a good question. Your guess is as good as mine.”
ME: “I see. Thank you.”

I guess science isn’t an exact science after all. I had hoped that maybe those folks would have some access to meteorological information that I did not. There is a very good chance that the phone was answered by some guy who happened to be wandering by.

So I figured it wouldn’t happen, and began driving home sullenly, fretting about what New Thing I’d have to come up with to replace watching the Lunar Eclipse. But as I drove my car east, hovering large and cloudless in front of me was a big, beautiful moon. And as my commute inched towards home, the shadow of the earth slowly ate away at it. It took longer than I expected (movies have led me wrong yet again), but it was still an amazing and impressive sight. If you took a moment to realize exactly what was happening, with the sun and the moon and earth all lined up, it’s pretty amazing.

Unfortunately it does not take a good photo, particularly with my cameraphone.

Trust me, it was beautiful.