the graduate

Just so you know...

2010-07-05T03:08:00.001-04:00

The Tumblr app is better for my iPhone.

I have just launched a year-long journey, teaching English in Seoul, South Korea.

Follow me at jcganus.tumblr.com.

Best is yet to come...

Bring it.

2010-02-10T08:13:00.002-05:00

I am a commitaphobe. I'm not afraid to admit that - in most circumstances it comes in handy, keeps me from making plans I am not prepared to make. "Dinner next week?" - we'll see. "Cancun for Spring Break?" - talk to me closer to time. What if something goes wrong? What if I don't feel like eating a single meal all of next week? How am I supposed to explain that to someone without hurting their feelings?
The best ways to get me to commit to a task are A)pay me B)bet me. The latter explains why I am in the middle of week 3 of p90x (henceforth known as The Bitch).

For those of you who are thinking about jumping on the extreme-workout wagon, let me give you a rundown of the schedule for the first three weeks of the journey.

Day 1 - Chest and back: Just freaking shoot me. This workout is so hard all pretence of eloquence escapes me. Six types of push-ups (yes, there are actually six out there), 5 types of pull-ups, all done with max reps...twice (hence the "X").

As each workout proceeds we are encouraged to set goals per exercise. Since I am fully committed to this program, I comply. First time around I feel good. The leader, Tony, and his cronies set goals along the lines of 30 (and more annoyingly, 31). I am realistic and set a goal along the lines of 10, which I proudly announce to the television when asked. "Great," comes Tony's reply after my proclamation...sometimes I feel like I am watching Dora. These 10 I do with relative difficuty, the military push-ups come after regular push-ups, the wide-set pull-ups after reverse grip pull-ups...but I get through dammit.

The second time around, however, I have to really commit myself. I must muster all the discipline I have put on reserve for so many years and let it rush to my mind, to my biceps, to my back and chest. I must fight the fatigue and shove aside that voice in my head telling me to stop, to give up. I grunt, and breath, and groan, and scream...

This doesn't work. I fall on my face.

Over and over I fall on my face. No amount of proper breathing or focus helps. I start at the top of a push-up in beautiful form, but as soon as my elbows come out of their locked position, my joints become bendy straws and I fall to the ground.

"If you can't do it yet, just keep trying," the asshole on the screen encourages me from his 45-year-old-but-looks-maybe-20-at-the-most mouth, the sound resonating in his perfect chest, while his 45th rep looks more perfect than my first.

At this moment I make a real commitment. From this second on, I hate all people with muscles.

Counting to 100-hundred

2010-01-28T17:03:00.003-05:00

I was "Star of the Week."

This is a big deal - an entire bulletin board dedicated solely to you...in this case, me. My accomplishments and interests put on display for all to envy. Move over Jonathan DuPriest, I was about to be the most fascinating person in class (he was typically considered the most interesting because he was the only black person in the class...maybe in the whole school).

I had made my mother take a series of me in my favorite yellow shirt (the one with giraffes on it). I had painstakingly assembled my list of favorites.

Color: orange
Food: CCC and Fettucini Alfredo (I was impressed with myself for knowing CCC could stand for chocolate chip cookies and for knowing a pasta dish beyond the mundane spaghetti and meatballs).
Place I've Been: Italy (booyah! The best one so far had been the Grand Canyon)
Famous person: George Bush (Typically the question for boys was "Favorite Sports Star," but I only knew one. I would have preferred the girl's question, "Favorite Movie Star," but didn't want to answer a girl question. GB had just been elected so I thought it was a reasonable move.)
What I want to be: A doctor, artist, actor, lawyer, house-husband, switchboard operator or president. (Further explaining my very unique and intriguing interest in Bush.)

Just one more major question remained - "An Interesting Fact About Me."

Most of those were covered in the answers to previous questions. I.e., I want to be president, I know a lot about food, I have been to Italy. Luckily I had had a striking revelation earlier that morning....

We had been studying numbers. After reaching 100 my teacher explained how it works from there, "and when you get to ten-hundred it's called something different. It's called a thousand!"

My mind had been blown - more than a hundred was simply unbelievable. but with deliberate thought and careful consideration I came up with my interesting fact.

"I can count to ten-thousand!"

This was shear brilliance. No one else in class could do that, and if they could they hadn't figured it out yet. But then, as always, my teacher had to shoot me down for the heavens.

"No you can't," she said with a snicker.

"Of course I can - you taught us how this morning," I quickly replied.

"But you never have," she fired back.

"I've never done a penny-drop from the highbar, but I know I can do that. I've never run around the room with my shirt over my head, but I know I can do that."

Whether it was my simple defiance, or the teacher was still sensitive to the subject because Meredith had been sent to the office earlier in the day for running around the playground with her dress over her head - I ended up in the guidance counselor's office. A room with which I was very familiar.

After talking to Mrs. McKee for a few minutes I returned to the room.

"Now, have you come up with something?"

"Yes. I think it is interesting that no one believes I can't count to 10,000, even though I can," I said confidently. And after quick reflection added, "and I can do a penny-drop from the highbar."

From my father

2010-01-20T00:15:00.002-05:00

There is no doubt I received most of my personality from my mother. My tendency towards codependence, my resolve to do things that can't be done, my conviction of self disillusionment as a form of progress - these are characteristics that have been passed down for generations in my mitochondrial DNA. They may seem negative, but I will be the first to point out they are actually keys to understanding others. And if there is one thing my mother (therefor I) does (do) well, it's understand others.

Through the years I have blamed my father for many things: my inability to shave properly, my utter hatred of boats (especially ones headed for waterfalls), puberty, my adolescence, the fact that I can't save a dime to save my life (granted, it's because he was too good of a provider, but I still blame him). However, there are a few - 6 to be exact - things I gleaned from him that rank among my favorite personal attributes.

1. I am a musical snob. Not in the good way. Not in the way that I am always up to date on the current stuff, and turn my nose up at the Kings and Queens of Pop and Rock - whomever they may be at the time. You see, unlike my father I am able to let loose of preconceived notions regarding musicianship to accept new forms and experience a song viscerally instead of just rationally. That said: chintzy music is not an option. Cheap thrills in musicals or orchestras will not be tolerated. Do it well, or don't do it at all.

2. Driving is just like sitting. In fact, it's better because you are going somewhere. If there is somewhere to go and you have the time, you may as well drive. My dad has been known to drive 3 hours for dinner with his kids and drive back after the meal, or 16 hours to drop off a washer and dryer just to unload and head back home.

In fact, if you give me an audiobook - I feel like I am cheating the system. I am getting to sit (which is one of my favorite things to do), "read" a book (which is also a fave) and set forth with a definite purpose and achievable goal...ah, rewards.

3. Why say "hello" when you can say "good evening?" One of the most loathed memories of my life started with my beloved Pops saying "good evening" to me. But it's such a good thing to say. Why say "it was really good" when "it was wonderful" sounds superior. "She is very nice" pales in comparison to "she is delightful."

In this way you can also avoid wasting words. Which leads to number 4...

4. There is no point in arguing with an intelligent man. We were raised knowing arguing was fruitless based on this premise: "I respect your intelligence enough to know you are either right, or will come to the right conclusion in your own time." A time comes when my words will do no more to enlighten, and will only rev the defensiveness of the wrong..ahem, I mean 'opposition.'

5. It is much more rewarding to be angry with someone if they don't know you are angry with them. This way they cannot feel satisfaction at having angered you, and you run less risk of blowing up at them. Many people call this "passive aggressiveness." I call it "paternal instinct."

6. At the end of the day, nothing puts my mind at ease more than a clean kitchen. Unloading and loading the dishwasher. Scrubbing a few pots from dinner. Wrapping up the leftovers. Scrubbing out the sink, wiping down the range, sweeping the floor. Turn on the dishwasher and turn out the lights. Your hands smell like disinfecting wipes and soap, and your pleasant fatigue makes Conan just that much funnier.

Granted, I think I Dad mostly cleaned the kitchen at night so we wouldn't immediately ruin everything - but I hope he gets at least a little of the satisfaction out of it that I do.

If not - perhaps that is something I can teach him one day.

This post is boring

2009-09-13T01:11:00.002-04:00

Saturday doesn't count. It can't. I went to the lake - one cannot be held accountable for things that happen (or do not happen, for that matter) at the lake. Somewhere — in that vast pool of water that spans as far as the eye can see — there is a whirlpool that sucks all the knowledge and desire for knowledge into a deep, very intelligent, aquatic chasm. A lengthy way of saying it is nearly impossible to get anything done while sitting at the lake.

Today, however, I studied. I went to the library and made a legitimate attempt at learning. I put amino acids down on cards, pretended to do some problems (but really just let the back of the book guide me through the answers — which inevitably screws me on a test) and talked to Hamilton about the electrician's report on his new house. Trust me, that last part is very necessary in biochemistry.

Do you think people who haven't gone to, or registered for college get the "101" reference? I've seen it a lot today "church growth 101," "downtown artists 101," and I am afraid there is a large portion of the population who have know idea what 101 means. Just another case for making education more accessible.

#1 distraction today: sleep. It's so great. As a person who is deftly skilled in the art of sleep, I hone my skills whenever possible. I took an impressive nap. Some people consider napping and sleeping in to be a waste of time, but really, if I could do one thing for the rest of my life it would be sleep. So really I am just doing something I love.

To end this disjointed post: a recipe (dinner tonight).

Cream sauce

8 oz. cream cheese

3/4 cup grated parm

stick of butter

1/2 cup of milk

1/2 tsp garlic powder

dry basil (probably about 1/2 tsp)

nutmeg

Mix it in a saucepan, don't let it boil. Use your favorite pasta (bowtie, in my case).

Notes: use less cream cheese, fresh parm and just add nutmeg to individual bowls - but it really kicks off the flavor.

What I should be doing

2009-09-12T01:07:00.002-04:00

I'm in school and it's hard. I am frequently told for every 1 hour of time in class I should spend a minimum of 3 hours outside of classes in preparation.

This is simply not possible.

People might disagree, but they shouldn't. Anyone who says they actually study that much is either dreadfully boring or a much better person than I. So, obviously the former. I am much more of the mind that studying for a solid 20 or 30 hours leading right up to test time is more effective (this theory is still being tested with varying results).

So I am going to take advantage of my lack of focus. I will not feel guilt, or wallow in self-pity while my classmates (a.k.a. the people getting into medical school instead of me) bury their brown-noses in a book and try to stay afloat in the cesspool of biochemistry.

I am going to blog about it.

I am going to contribute a few weeks to noticing what it is that I am doing instead of what I should be doing. This is an exercise akin to writing down all one's purchases and identifying the trivialities of spending (yet another goal that is completely unachievable by people of reason).

I should be making out the rest of my amino acid flash cards...instead I am writing this. Day 1.

The perfect public restroom:

2009-08-11T15:23:00.002-04:00

Starts with an entry way - just somewhere to stand should a line develop. This will lead to a row of urinals (the right height, and depth as to prevent splashing) spaced far enough apart, with dividers - preferably with a ledge (to place a drink on).

The sinks are on the opposite wall, it's disgusting to be in the same line as men peeing when you are trying to clean your hands. They are positioned on a counter top that is sloped towards the sink in order to prevent a solid inch of water from leaving a nasty line on trousers should one accidentally lean against the vanity. The faucets would have sensors and one thick flow - not the kind with several thin streams. Foam soap...with a sensor.

Hand dryers in order of preference:

1. XLerator. This goes against my typical aversion to clever misspellings for marketing purposes - but this guy makes up for it. It is fast, hygienic, loud (to drown out anyone who might still be trying to talk to you in the bathroom) and entertaining (it moves all the skin around on your hand). Plus they are motion controlled, so you don't feel wasteful for walking away before it is done.

2. Motion controlled paper towel dispenser. Only if it ejects a sheet long enough to actually dry hands with. Few things are more annoying than having to wait for that dang red light to go off so you can wave your hand around like a moron attempting to get another square-inch of paper towel.

3. Lever controlled paper towel dispenser. Preferably the kind that has a big enough handle to push with my elbow. I don't like the tiny ones that you have to grip.

4. Regular paper towel dispenser. When correctly loaded these classic fixtures can allow for perfectly controlled and customizable hand drying.

The following have no place in a public restroom:

5. Regular-powered hand dryers. They are ineffective, slow and wasteful. I always end up giving in and just wiping my hands on my jeans.

6. Funneled paper towel dispensers. The kind that looks like you are pulling a Clorox wipe out of the bin. By the time the towel is flattened to full capacity it is too wet to do any good. Also difficult to pull out the right amount, they just keep coming.

7. The fabric towel swing. While this is an entertaining novelty - it is just sick. Sick.

8. "Using both hands, pull firmly on edges of towel. If no towel is present turn wheel on side of fixture." No, just give me a damn towel. This isn't a freaking Olympic sport.

All this leads to a trash can near the door, one without a lid and no overhang (to allow for an easy toss-in), and a door that you can push open. Yes, push. Why would I go through all the trouble of sanitizing my hands just to have them soiled by the neanderthal before me who wouldn't know good hygiene if it licked the underside of his shoe.

One day I will find this place and I will pee a very happy man.

Dave Ramsey has nothing

2009-08-10T18:25:00.003-04:00

I am not embarrassed to admit, my money management skills are paltry. When it comes to all things financial I am a lost cause. (Side note: I actually think it's an endearing quality of mine, this lack of interest in all things fiscal. (A side note to that would be - most other people consider this to be irresponsible and lazy, not charming. Which really leads me to another thing I find beguiling about myself: I am able to recognize my charm, even when others do not.)

Needless to say, I am acquainted with the 'overdraft.'

Today I was overdrafted. Luckily, today I also received a paycheck. However, I have learned from experience that a check does not necessarily equal money. Meaning, if I have zero dollars in an account and deposit a check - that does not mean I suddenly have check amount of dollars. It simply means I have deposited a check. For those of you who aren't following, I can't explain - ask Missy at Regions, she seems to know what she is talking about (but don't talk to Walter, he just reads you all your transactions for the past week and you can hear the judgement in his voice when he reads, "McDonald's -- $3.96," for the fifth time.) So, I decided to have my check cashed and deposit cash (which is actual money, despite what Ron Paul says.)

Being a resident of Memphis, I thought I was aware of the widespread ability to cash a check in nearly every neighborhood in the city (at least the ones who choose to exclude the prefix "neighbor"). Much to my surprise, things are not nearly as easy I thought they would be. When the big neon-balloon-letters on the window say "Cash Today" or "Checks Cashed" they do not mean the same kind of cash I mean. They actually mean "not cash."

A rundown:

Suntrust Bank - I thought a bank would be a good choice. I know they have money. The cashier was a lovely lady who used to work at the branch of Regions I use. They don't cash other bank's checks if I don't have an account with the bank...she suggested a liquor store. (I should have followed her advice more quickly.)

Kroger - The service center lists "check cashing" as one of the options - right under "money wire" and "tobacco sales." It takes 3-4 business days to get approved for this service. I needed somewhere faster, shadier. She suggests Check Advance, in the same shopping center.

Check Advance - They made promises of 'Cash Your Check for Less,' 'Up to $300 Same Day.' But they put it on an electronic debit card, which is also not real money, and I don't think I can deposit it in my account. He suggests Kroger.

Cash Advance - This one said "cash" in the title, so I figured it was a good move.

Me: "Can I cash a check here?"

CA: "We don't cash checks here."

Me: "How do I get a cash advance?"

CA: "We don't actually have any cash here."

Me: "What is it that you advance?"

CA: "Can I help you with something else?"

She suggested I try Hewitt Financial Services. She was crazy.

Memphis Cash for Checks - I knew this would a shoo-in. They had everything I wanted in the name. It was not. They did not. They did not know where I should go.

BP - I went next door to the Memphis Cash for Checks because there was a sign in the window that said "we cash checks" in both English and Spanish. After proving I am who my check says I am. Describing my job in detail. Calling the check issuer and explaining why I am not cashing this check at my bank. He handed me cash for my check (minus a 2 dollar charge)...and said next time it would be easier.

I deposited the cash and asked Missy about overdraft protection...but that is a story for another day.

For full disclosure: I went to several more similar places, but since none of them could help - I don't consider them worth mentioning. However, if you need to cash a check fast...go to the liquor store.

Teachers just don't understand.

2009-07-05T21:31:00.003-04:00

One of the menial projects we were forced to complete in kindergarten involved the creation of an "All About Me" cut out. After having your outline traced onto a piece of butcher paper (which inevitably leaves everyone in the class looking like a frumpy white blob), and drawing clothes and features on with crayon, (I was ridiculed for using orange as my skin tone, but when we are only given the 8-pack of crayola there are not a lot of options. Most people left theirs white, which is far more lame.) we were forced through a stupid series of tests that would later appear on the body-shaped poster as a pseudo merit badge. Tying shoes, buttoning shirts, knowing the alphabet - we were all individually quizzed during nap time to make sure we were developing normally.

Velcro shoes and t-shirts got me through most of my trials, unfortunately I had a difficult time determining the difference between my right and left hand. To add insult to injury, my kindergarten teacher did not apprehend the importance of logic. Typically the pattern went something like this:

Teacher: Cliffy, do you want to come over here and work on your About Me?
Cliffy: Not particularly. I'm trying to take a nap.
Teacher: Cliffy, come over here.
(I pretend to be very sleepy and stumble over to the table, accidentally tripping over Molly and Whitney along the way.)
Ok. Now, hold up your hands and tell me which hand is your right hand.
Me: You mean, my correct hand?
Teacher: No, I mean your right hand, as opposed to your left hand.
Me: Wouldn't it be easier for you to ask which hand is my left hand? That way you wouldn't have to clarify.
Teacher: You are the only student I have to clarify for.
Me: Then maybe I am the only student who should be asked for my left hand instead of my right.
(I notice my teacher is getting annoyed, but have to keep going in hopes of getting a hint.)
Teacher: Ok, Cliffy. Which hand is your left hand?
Me: That's not fair, you asked everyone else to show their right hand.
Teacher: Just wave your left hand.
(I hesitate, think really hard about the last time we went through this, upbraid myself for napping while Matt was doing his hands...he always knows his hands...and wave my left hand - and also my other hand just a little bit, in case that is the one she is looking at.)
Teacher: Oh, I'm sorry. That is your right hand. We can try again tomorrow.
Me: Well, why don't we try again right now. Ask me to wave my right hand.
Teacher: (laughing) That wouldn't be fair, would it? You have to have time to forget.
Me: (not laughing) What's not fair is that you want me to forget. Shouldn't you be trying to help me remember? I'll never really need to know this anyway.
Teacher: What about when people are trying to give you directions?
Me: Most people point. I would know which one is my left hand if you would point at it.
(Dejected, I return to my mat...again.)

Eventually Matt Morris helped me cheat. For this I will be eternally grateful. To this day, I have a difficult time quickly identifying my left from my right hand...and to be honest, I'm glad. Serves her right.

p90x

2009-06-22T16:55:00.002-04:00

Blogging is hard...for me.

Whereas I constantly have things I think are important enough for everyone to know, I rarely have the patience or attention span to write them down.

You know what else is hard? The first day of p90x. Which, for me, was today.

I should start by saying, I hate working out. I think it is stupid and typically a waste of time. However, since I first heard about p90x I have wanted to do it. I know, I know - it is very difficult and requires extreme amounts of dedication...which isn't exactly my forte. But looking amazing is...and as I was recently reminded, "sometimes we must sacrifice comfort for beauty."

As I sit here on my yoga mat, in my briefs, dripping sweat on my MacBook, I can't help but think ...this was a very stupid idea.

Stay tuned. 90 days yet to come.

My Pomade Smells.

2009-05-11T12:06:00.002-04:00

I have, for the past ~10 years, been in search of the perfect scent. One that really captures my essence. I have tried a few out, but have yet to be truly content with one that I can wear for the rest of my life. Most of the contenders are either too sweet or too fruity...neither of which are words I wish to be associated with my presence.

As I am preparing for a life in the medical profession, I realize it is more important than ever to find something that really sets me apart. My family doctor always has, and likely always will, hold the title of "Best Smelling Person I Know." Since I have known him (he delivered me) he has continued to impress me - whether it is on the football field (he was the team doctor), at Mi Ranchito (where it is difficult to distinguish many scents above the bliss) or the delivery room (I still hold to remembering the smell at birth) - he never lets me down. I want to do the same for my patients for years to come.

Currently, my deodorant is coming the closest to ideal - though I have yet to start rubbing it all over my body. And my old surf wax actually got some good compliments - when people happened to be near my head.

However, this will not do. My new pomade is sick. Sick, sick, sick. It smells like cheap rubber, burning.

Needless to say - I will be returning this crap to Walgreens.

Levya

2009-05-06T11:27:00.003-04:00

This post contains vulgar and profane language. RAYOR

This past weekend I received a text message from an unknown number...it seemed important, and I didn't want to leave the person hanging...so I responded.

What follows is a transcript of the conversation - not suitable for adults.

Unknown: you made my prom shit nasty ho you stay way from darnell he only like u cuz u weak

Me: bitch, i don’t know what u talkin about

Uk: oh u know don’t pop da cherry if you aint ready to drink ta juice

Me: i dunno. Darnell like doing both 2 me

Uk: o girl this caints be u the ho don’t blame tis on darnell

Me: girl jus cuz u like the taste of his juice don mean u should b a bitch 2 me

Uk: u want to go where you at

Me: im waitin 4 darnell 2 come pick me up when he done wit u

Uk: fur real where you at i coming

Me: i not gonna tell u cuz id feel bad for messin u up

Uk: u know who my cuzin is dont you

Me:

Uk: wait tis aint krina who is dis

Me: who dis?

Uk: levya

Me: o. oops. Wrong girl.

Uk: actually this is [a mischievous married couple I know] – we’re sitting in the airport trying to pass time. Thanks for your help

Josh Pastner...

2009-04-08T00:58:00.005-04:00

...is obviously an Affleck brother...

Ok. I'm done with these for now.

Elvis Presley...

2009-04-07T13:58:00.008-04:00

...looks like Elizabeth Taylor...

I'm just saying, if things hadn't worked out for him the legitimate music industry, he could have made a killing as an impersonator.

More words

2008-09-12T15:44:00.003-04:00

Just a small FYI. I am simply sick of having to think when I type. I am constantly caught in error concerning "a lot" and "no one."

"A lot," I am going to let go of. I am pretty good at just avoiding the phrase all together, there are much better words that can replace it.

However, "no one" is up for a remodel. When writing, I have allowed myself to combine the words, noone, but in speaking this leads to confusion. Fortunately, I have friends who find themselves in the same proverbial (or adverbial) boat. It was recently suggested to me that a slight modification could turn the silly sounding mistake, to a usefully unique word: "nooner."

I have posted this so that in any future posts it will be clear what I am referring to should I discuss, "nooner showing up for the free sai lessons," or, "my intelligence seemed to be surpassed by nooner."

I appreciate your consideration, and do not discourage your implementation.

Why Christians should vote for Obama

2008-08-27T16:19:00.002-04:00

I am a politically liberal person. I am a intellectually and socially liberal person. I am a aesthetically and entertainingly liberal person. With that said, it should not come as a surprise that I have chosen to vote for Barack Obama.

For the most part, the people I spend the majority of my time with have also chosen to vote for Senator Obama. However, there are still a few hold outs. (I state this to illustrate that I do actually associate with ignorant people, by choice even.)

I grow weary of political discourse, I find that it so often becomes a circular argument which ends by everyone leaving with their original views in tact and frequently refurbished. So I will leave "generic politics" out of this. I would like to state, for the record, why as a Christian I have chosen to lend my support...and why others should too.

1. Universal healthcare. Jesus calls us to take care of the poor, the weak, the downcast, the sinner. He requested that we minister to the prisoners and take care of the widows. As I recall, there was not a stipulation of "as long as it does not raise your taxes." In fact, the way I see it, He probably wants it to come out of our pocket. If this country truly was based on Christian principles (which I will contend at another time), then the church shouldn't be the only one doling out lettuce for those 'in need.'

2. End the war. These people are our enemies, they hurt us and hate us. When Jesus told us to love our enemies, he probably didn't mean for us to kill them. "Well, they don't listen to reason," "They are just hurting themselves," you might say. In response, I would like to quote this scripture:
"And if after you go to your brother he does not change his ways, bomb him."

3. Hope, change, together we can. These phrases are often harped upon as being vague, meaningless jingles tossed about by the campaign. Even if that is true - what's the harm in talking about hope? What is the real shame in a man who is looking to bring a country together for good...even if the plan doesn't seem feasible?
You want a man who is vague - try someone who promises a future in things we can't see, touch or taste. Try following a movement based solely on "faith," then tell me that you can't behind someone who offers hope for the future.

4. Experience. Jesus likes youth. He calls us to be like children, to approach the world with eyes full of potential and wonder. He encourages us to listen to our elders so that we can learn - but not to wait until we are elders ourselves to do things. From what I can tell, Obama has surrounded himself with people full of experience - and listens to their recommendations.

These are not the only reasons I am voting. I think Obama has solid policy, sound advice, a great wife, and an awesome brain in that head of his.

Now - someone tell me what about this is wrong.

Pizza, pizza, pizza

2008-08-11T10:13:00.003-04:00

I have always been a fan of advertising. I am the guy who watches commercials and reads billboards. In many ways, I am an ideal consumer - if 4 out of 5 doctors recommend Colgate Total over the leading brand of toothpaste, I'm in.

IMO, one of the most fascinating forms of advertisement has always involved humans acting in the place of signposts. The sandwich board, the flyer-passer-outer, and, one of my all time favorites, the Little Caesars Pizza board-boy.

Searcy, my hometown, has gone through a wide variety of pizza-board boys. From the dancing guy (who made the front page of the Daily Citizen) to the potentially-unscrupulous implementation of a quadriplegic with a sign taped to his wheelchair (who spun in circles for hours upon hours).

Last week, however, I saw the spade that trumps them all...a heavy metal air guitar playing pizza-board boy, playing a guitar-shaped (factory made) sign. The radicity of this is not in the mere fact that Ilitch Holdings, Inc. decided to mass produce the "$5" sign in the shape of a guitar...the real faculty is the man behind the (cardboard) machine.

At the NE corner of Park and Perkins a wild-haired whippersnapper wields his ax with relentless domination. Though his headphones are nearly invisible in the mop of curly locks, they are inevitably pumping power chords, which surge through the boy's body and are lavished in a flurry of windmills and high-kicks. Spectators be damned, this future-thrasher has dedicated his entirety to the task at hand...rocking out.

Due to a flat tire, I had the opportunity to watch this jamfest for a non-stop 20 minutes (through the window of the tire store on the corner). Such a spectacle should be praised not only for the commitment to the job, but for the raw force behind the commitment.

If you are driving past the board-jammer on Park and Perkins, give a little honk...though he certainly won't hear you.

Rock on Pizza Boy, rock on.

Real Men of Genius

2008-07-22T16:29:00.003-04:00

Mr. Speak Without Being Spoken To:

Sure it's the first day of classes and we are all uncomfortable and don't really know anyone, but you break all social boundaries and instigate mundane conversation with disinterested parties.
You proudly regale us with stories of how hard this teacher is and how you've already taken this class twice, so if we need help to come to you.
While society forces the rest of us to choke down our bitingly sarcastic remarks regarding your excessive passing attempts and rolling-"backpack," you don't let our fake text messaging or feigned interest in the introduction of the textbook stop you.
And if you are blatantly ignored by one person, you just keep talking and redirect your attention to the person who was enjoying listening to the first be talked to against his will.
So crack open and ice cold Bud Li...better yet, try cracking open a your book so maybe you can move on to the second semester of American history.

Flummoxed

2008-05-15T15:38:00.002-04:00

As a southern boy it is my duty to be a patron of Sonic. For the most part I am more than willing to fulfill this sweet tea heritage. It is widely known that Sonic has the best ice, their sweet tea (when on point) is the best around. They have a way of mixing the carbonation and syrup that beats the best soda jerk (or would, if I knew where to find a soda jerk). Sonic is convenient and reasonably priced for the quality of product.

When I go to Sonic I have a typical habit of pulling around to the stations opposite of the entrance. There are a few legitimate reasons for this but at this point it is primarily habit.

The reason I bring up America's Drive-In is this: today I went for lunch, something quick and easy was all I was looking for. As my companion and I rounded the corner to park on my prefered side, what did we encounter but a drive through.

Why on Earth would Sonic need a drive through? Essentially, Sonic is one large drive through. Is there a large enough market of people who do not like putting their car in reverse to constitute removing all the stations from an entire side of the establishment for the creation of a menu-board an a automatic sliding window? Is it really faster or more convenient?

I am considering stationing myself in the parking lot for the next few days questioning the drive through users about their choice. I will report my findings.

This room is not my own

2008-05-14T01:06:00.002-04:00

I am sitting on a full bed with sheets of sea-foam green. A massive headboard carved out of a light wood, but stained to a much darker color, supports my head. A matching footboard runs along the base of the mattress - preventing my feet from hanging over the edge at the bottom (which I do not like them to do anyway, for fear of monsters under the bed).

On the north wall - the four seasons are displayed on Chinese wall hangings. Long and skinny pieces of parchment painted by the skilled hands of an blind, 89 year-old Chinese woman in the Hunan Provence who has been making similar paintings since she could hold a brush. The scene has changed in real life - but what her eyes see, and what her hand creates, is the village of her childhood.

Against the opposite wall sits a vanity - complete with a round mirror. The piece matches the solid wood of the bed. My grandmother sat here, with her wedding picture tucked into the frame of the mirror, and applied her lipstick before waking up my aunts and uncles for church every Sunday morning.

The room is a pail blue, not a far cry from the color of the bed sheets. The selection was made by the occupant of this house previous to my arrival, even prior to the arrival of the current owner.

The red plastic tubs stuffed with my summer clothes bring me comfort. My jeans thrown in the corner, waiting for a more permanent placement, actually elicit a smile.

With my life as transient as it is right now - it's nice to remember that home is simple where you do your laundry.

Lazy days

2008-05-01T16:37:00.003-04:00

I do not have a job. I go to bed late, I wake up late. I watch Oprah and Yes Dear (the ultimate in afternoon syndication). My sweats are wearing thin, my hair is turning a different color. I can name that commercial in 2 notes.

I am on the final stretch of my current CBL stint. One week from today I will pack and go. Is this a new chapter? Is it a new volume?

I'm fairly confident this is still the prologue.

A list

2008-04-16T16:39:00.003-04:00

A few things I have found out about myself, that I would normally be really aggravated or embarrassed about - but am learning to deal with:

1. I fit in in the city - but I prefer the country.

I don't know if it is my disdain for "fitting in" or if it is actual the rural appeal of farmland and green grass, but I have learned that, despite my avid love of the hustle and bustle, I truly am a country boy at heart. Nothing brings that out in me more than living in a big city.

2. Running is fun.

It's hard, it's painful and it makes me sweat (which I hate) - but damn, it's worth it. I feel healthy, toned and capable. The occasional sore muscle is now a good sign, instead of an indication of needing to back off. It clears my head.
If nothing else, running makes me feel better than all those people who don't run.

3. I like awful books.

Sure - I've read 100 Years of Solitude and Anna Karenina, but at my core I will always prefer to read Sweet Valley High and Harriet the Spy. I no longer need to read to enhance my knowledge. I need to read to escape what I already know.

The world runs on dunkin

2008-04-04T07:37:00.002-04:00

A few times a week I get up entirely too early in order to get to the gym before work. I have never been a morning person (or a gym person for that matter) so it still takes a lot of work to get me out of bed. I have started using tricks such as guilt, empty promises of afternoon naps, music, notes to myself...but the one thing that really gets me going in the morning is Dunkin Donuts.

On my way from the gym to my office I pass 3 DDs (mind you, this is only 8 blocks). One morning, after my work-out, I decided to stop in for some Munchkins (donut holes) and a Coffee Coolatta (essentially a coffee milkshake)...like I said, I have never been a gym person.

Dunkins in the city are fast paced, high pressure places. They are a well oiled machine of coffee and donut producing fiends. It is important to know what you will order immediately upon entrance, as you are likely to be called upon even when you are 6-10 people back in the line. So, my first morning in the store, in my scattered flurry of options I blurted out, "A dozen Munchkins and a large Coffee Coolatta." (Ordering under pressure has never been my strong suit - which is why I grew up ordering Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers...without bacon or cheese.)

Another thing about the Dunkin Donuts on 6th and Market - they always remember your order.

For the past month+ I have been "ordering" a large Coffee Coolatta and a dozen Munchkins. I want to branch out, I want to cut back...

I think I am going to have to change venues.

Yes, the world runs on Dunkin. Perhaps, however, not by choice.

Copy and paste

2008-03-05T11:43:00.002-05:00

Everyone gets so uppity about plagiarism.

I realize the difference is quoting, referencing and plagiarizing has been discussed in many academic circles. However, it continues to elude high school students who honestly thought they were just paraphrasing the article. Why can you set off 4 pages worth in block quotes, but if something remains uncited it is plagiarism?

In my profession we consider research published more than 5 years ago to be "common knowledge." Why should that not be the case for more genres?

This subject is not particularly timely or relevant, I was just thinking back to the time when I considered becoming an english teacher. I would carefully plan out my strategy for encouraging plagiarism from my students. Using the work of others is how new work is eventually created. If the original author does not want his/her work to be used - don't publish. "But then nothing would ever get published." Exactly.

My favorite days

2008-02-29T16:30:00.002-05:00

September 24:

This day is a stand out for me. A day like no other. For many years I held "September 24" parties. Nothing special happened on this day, as far as I know. It is not my birthday (or my half birthday). I would imagine my love comes from the aesthetic appeal of the word "September" and my fondness for the number 24. Separately they are good things - together, they constitute my favorite day.

I am thoroughly jealous of anyone who has this birthday, and will likely force it to be an important day in my life somehow. (ie, demanding it as a wedding date, holding labor until this day, not pulling the plug on my dad until this day)

February 19:

This one is a bit more obvious. It is my birthday. As I have gone through life, many of the coolest people I have met have February birthdays - so I feel cosmically privileged to be predetermined for this group.

As a result of this special assignment, I have also become a bit obsessed with the number 19 (some might recall my 19th birthday party).

February 29:

This is a truly blessed day...or a completely screwed up concept - however you wish to look at it. The fact that someone along the way said "Hey, instead of making every day longer," or "Let's alter the calendar a bit" said "Every 4 years we will add a day!" is astounding to me. Even more mind-blowing is that others agreed ("Oh yes, brilliant idea!" "Here, Here!").

However, they gave the day to poor, short, slightly self-conscious February - and for that, we are thankful.

The obligatory (post) birthday post

2008-02-25T12:30:00.002-05:00

On February 19 I turned 25. In my mind this is a stellar age. The last age-related changes (excluding politics) are made this year; I can rent a car (without the outrageous underage fees), my car insurance goes down (or would if I owned a car), and I believe I can run for a house seat (though that is political).

I am not afraid of growing older. I don't dread it. I have very few regrets from my past - and everything is looking good for the future. However, after much contemplation, I have made the decision that this will be my last birthday for approximately five years.

It is not the progression of age I am hesitant to encounter - it is all the Ned Ryersons of the world that make me not want to continue my climb towards 30.

I detest the possibility of this scene:

Ned: "So, how old arya?"
Me: "27"
Ned: [elbow jab + chin chuck] "Almost 30!"
Me: "#@!*"

Grandma: "Ned said he ran into you at Wal-Mart..."

So, in order to avoid hurting my grandmother, I will continue to be 25 until I hit 30 (possibly 31, depending on how bitter I am in 5 years).

Note: This will, in no way, effect the necessity for birthday parties or gifts. I will simply continue to have 25 candles (or another arbitrary number).

So, so, so cold

2008-02-12T09:02:00.000-05:00

**This post is not suitable for any reader who might think I am still 12**

I love words. I honestly do. I am not a "word person" per say. I am not good at Scrabble, and crossword puzzles make me feel like an incompetent idiot. However, hearing and occasionally using great words can certainly ameliorate my affect. Words are elegant, they are recherché. An extensive vocabulary is not only impressive, it is worthy of envy.

The English language, for the most part, is capable of conveying an endless supply of feelings, meanings, ideas, actions, items...etc. The vast array of words provided are completely malleable and a bit ductile, more gaseous than solid - they can be manipulated to my whimsy and incorporated at my will.

Which brings me to this morning.

This morning when I left for the gym (545) it was 11 degrees Fahrenheit. I was wearing a t-shirt under a sweatshirt under a hoodie under a hooded overcoat. My face and neck were wrapped in a scarf. Under my pants I wore sweatpants and a pair of shorts. My feet and hands were appropriately encased in fabric.

A whole world of words at my disposal, but all I could say was, "Damn, it is cold. It is damn cold."

Ah. English.

Rime time

2008-01-23T14:07:00.000-05:00

I would like to add to my list of sayings I abhor, "I'm a poet, and don't even know it." (Or any variation of.)

Sure it was clever in elementary school, but "up your nose with a rubber hose" was also a popular saying at one point and we got through that.

The biggest problem with the 'poet'/'know it' rhyme is the person who typically uses it is quite far from any form of a poet. Dr. Seuss is lost on these people yet they, along with Will Ferrell and the Bros, think it is hilarious to rhyme two bisyllabic words.

I am by no means a connoisseur of poetry, I wouldn't even consider myself a fan. However, I am intellectually capable of independent thought (e.g. I'm a bard, and it's not hard).

It is particularly important to end this silly rhyme as we head in to the new year. I foresee a year packed with "clever" sayings: "Don't Wait in '08," "It's Not Too Late in 2008," etc.

If I ruled the world

2008-01-22T23:06:00.000-05:00

I have great plans for this Earth. Big ideas for the economy, clever schemes for the culture and a bit of advice for a few of the current 'world leaders.'

Fair trade and a balanced form of socialism have always had their appeal. Getting 800 bucks from the gov doesn't sound like such a bad idea (actually, it sounds like an awful idea - but I would accept it regardless). I think everyone should see Turandot and some form of Cirque du Soleil, it will just make the world a better place.

I think world leaders should count to 10 before they make big decisions.

However, these things can all be pushed aside if I can implement this one:

Everybody needs a therapist.

This world has a complete lack of understand, of itself. The general population has no idea what is going on in their own head. There is so much that could be uncovered - and likely helped - by the simple implementation of world-wide counseling.

Many people find this stigmatic. Having a therapist/shrink/psychiatrist/psychologist/counselor means they are crazy or having some to hide. Well, most people do.

Having someone who's sole purpose is to listen to you (and help you if required), with no expectation from their end (except potential payment) is the ultimate release. I don't care how much yoga or cardio you do - if you don't have a therapist you are not healthy. (And not a "friend who is really good at listening either," these people are just out to get you.)

When I rule the world (yes, "when") I will require each individual to have a therapist (and a personal stylist, but that is for a later post).

So, why not vote for me?

Youth of ages

2008-01-15T09:34:00.000-05:00

In perusing the blogs this morning I came across this Gawker article discussing the mid-life crisis. Stein doesn't do a lot to make any points concerning the Times article the post is talking about - but it got me thinking.

I am looking forward to my mid-life crisis. It's true. And I don't think I am alone in this. I consider mid-life just that - half way through my life. Assuming my MLC hits at approximately 50 (50's the new 40), think of all the things I will have done by then. Even more so, think of all the things I can do after that. In the first 40 years you are encumbered with a number of burdens: financial dependency, lack of experience, breastfeeding. Once you have put that behind you, you can skyrocket towards your next goal. The mid-life crisis is a chance at renewal, a left-turn on the road of life.

Richard Friedman drones unendingly about the MLC being the move a narcissistic man trying to "turn back the clock." Big deal. We all try to keep that clock stalled (e.g. eating healthfully, using sunblock, botox) why not go ahead and crank it back a few years. When a man, after 30 years of marriage, suddenly decides to seek a new life is anyone really shocked? Is this really the first sign the wife has seen of his dislike of the situation. (Perhaps it is, but life is life and we can't control it.)
One of the reasons I feel free to do the things I do, take the risks I take - is I know half way through I get a retry. Painful for some, but it gets me through the day.

Cocoons aren't that ugly

2007-12-27T15:54:00.000-05:00

I was caught in the pack of like-minded pedestrians headed to the nearby restaurants for their 45 minute lunch breaks. We were on auto-pilot, passing through the intersection at 4th and Market. I was wearing charcoal slacks, a gray and black coat, a gray stocking cap, black scarf and carrying a black umbrella...so was everyone else in my entourage.

Approaching from the opposite direction was a group of tourists on a guided tour with Betsy Ross (or was it Dolly Madison?) - they all stared as we passed.

I saw on their faces looks of pity and misunderstanding. These good folks from rural PA or north Delaware think we are all focused, hard, dark and cynical people that don the uniform of our brothers - dark and skin-covering.

This makes me glad. Not because I want to conform to the city around me. I don't wish to be swallowed by darkness or form a calloused heart. This makes me glad because I know something they do not...

Underneath my drab outerwear, hidden by the hood pulled to my eyes and scarf wrapped tightly to my chin, is a tangerine-orange, long-sleeved thermal shirt. Bright orange!

Much like the city I call home, all you have to do is remove one layer before uncovering things brighter than the matching name-tags identifying the judgmental tourists. Local pubs full of friends, quaint shops carrying unique finds, a bank with a teller who knows your name...all these things, and more, are the bright orange shirts of my beloved CBL.

And that's something that Betsy won't tell you!

Location, location, location

2007-12-27T10:49:00.000-05:00

Last night, after I had finally drifted off to a troubled sleep (my mind was wanting to watch another episode of Scrubs, but my body was saying no) I was awoken by the all-too-familiar sound of the Bros (our collegiately inclined neighbors who, after having their fraternity disbanded, decided to replace the Sigma Nu Kappa house with Unit 101 in the Becker Building). Normally the revelry is kept to gangsta rap, screaming at the Eagles/Owls (the teams, I don't live anywhere near a conservatory) and the infinite repeat of 300.

Last night, however, there was a new aspect to the white noise of drunken debauchery. (Some people, after moving from the city to a more rural area have a hard time adjusting to the silence - they say they miss the sound of traffic. I personally am lulled to sleep by the pleasant melodies of "chug, chug, chug" and "Smack that Bitch Up.") Last night there was angry yelling.

The Bros were being yelled at by the across-street-neighbors. It was scary. This was real city-folk getting quite mad at one another. Words and phrases that I dare not repeat were thrown about.

Since I live in the CBL I was sure there was about to be a shooting. I was noting times and exact phrases, remembering things very closely for the police report...and then it occurred to me. I am surrounded by a bunch of yupsters. I live in a neighborhood famous for its rejection of franchises, preservatives and shampoo.

By now there is certainly a law suit pending. My testimony goes to the highest bidder. (Now I must go look up whether blogs can be used as hard evidence.)

Was it a morning like this?

2007-12-18T08:51:00.000-05:00

As I understand it, we all attempt to reason with ourselves during some part of our day. At some point in a major decision we either weigh pros vs. cons or attempt to find a logical solution to an irrational problem. Reason is a key aspect separating humans from many other animals - we need not rely on instinct, in fact, we are often encouraged to ignore instinct.

Every weekday morning my alarm goes off. The time is not consistent, it is all based on when i went to bed. The consistent aspect of the morning is found in what happens internally as soon as the alarm sounds. I begin to reason with myself.

"Get out of bed."
"It's too early."
"You are the one who set the alarm this early."
"Yeah, I admit I was a bit zealous last night, but I should have the right to ignore it."
"You have the right, but that makes you weak."
"You realize you are calling yourself weak?"
"Ok, if you get up now you can take a super-long shower."
"Not good enough..."
"And, I will let you take a nap this afternoon when you get home."
"Promise?"
"Yeah."
"Because you always say that, and then you get too busy."
"Naw, I promise."

Inevitably, however, as soon as I get in the shower and the sleepiness is washed from me...

"You tricked me. You aren't going to let me take a nap...I'm not even that tired."
"Works every time."

This could explain my self loathing.

Spirit of the CBL

2007-12-17T00:01:00.000-05:00

The Company ~~Christmas~~ Holiday Party. I use the capital letters to denote this ubiquitous experience that has become an institution in itself. Where superiors and subordinates gather after work to mingle as if they were equals - all the while remembering they are not.

At 18 hundred and 30 hours the majority of employees from my place of business boarded the Spirit of Philadelphia - a big boat on the Delaware River, the Hampton Inn of cruise liners, the Chili's of the sea - once the boat set sail (does a boat set sail if it does not have sails?) we were trapped, along with Arthur's Dance Studio and the staff of the Camden River Sharks (minor league baseball team), for the next 4 hours.

The CHP is a wonderful example of so many things: why stuffed mahi should not be mass produced, that ~~Secret Santa's~~ Festively Anonymous, Non-religiously Focused Gift Giving Partners are always a bit of a let down, but most importantly - why employees and employers should not be allowed together on the dance floor when there is alcohol involved.

I think I will leave it at that.

And that was just on my break

2007-12-04T12:29:00.000-05:00

Every day, after my first round of work, I take a break. I go to the restroom to fix my cowlick (that pops up once my hair has completely dried), refill my water bottle and head downstairs to get a muffin from the little store in our lobby. It is a pretty quick break – all things considered.

Apparently my subconscious thinks the break should be lengthened.

Once it has arrive at ground floor, the elevators lay at rest with doors open until a passenger boards and punches a button. So, post muffin purchase, I walked into the elevator…

A good 4 to 5 minutes later a radio-bro (those are the shmucks on the 10th floor) got on the elevator, looked at me quizzically and asked what floor I was headed to. Not only was I absent-mindedly standing on the elevator with the doors wide open, I hadn’t even selected a floor to try to go to. Make it worse? I almost missed getting off on 7. He said “Isn’t this your floor?” as the doors were re-closing, and caught the doors with his newspaper. I gave him the finger and said, “Mind your own dang business.” … Ok, not really. I sheepishly grinned and gave that throaty groan where your lips barely part and it can mean either “thanks” or it is an acceptable response to “how are you?” – and then slipped out of the elevator.

I might start taking the stairs, to avoid ever seeing him again – but those things get really repetitive.

How am I not myself?

2007-11-29T09:43:00.000-05:00

I have fallen into someone else's routine.

I didn't realize it until today - but it is certainly true. Once again it is proven that no one is their own person, we are all mere puppets in the game of a chanceful life.

My alarm goes off at eight – and because the manufacturer of Casio’s travel clock made the decision to set a four minute snooze, I am forced to hit it twice.

The Core Reality Group decided in renovating to install water-heaters that take a while to heat up, so instead of doing the “cold-water tippy-toe” dance around the outside of the stream I brush my teeth. Because Philips set a two-minute timer on the Sonicare 9300 I am forced to do this for a full 120 seconds (occasionally I reclaim my independence by going for a second round).

The Philadelphia Enquirer – an odd paper in itself – refuses to throw the paper in front of my door. Instead they choose to make it more difficult on themselves and throw to the main entrance of the Becker Building. By someone else’s design my routine includes walking down my front steps and immediately back up the next set of steps to the lobby doors. Exception is this morning, a rare morning when they throw the paper on the complete opposite side of the building. Not only is it frustrating, but thoroughly confusing.

SEPTA (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority) somewhere along the way decided it was unnecessary to run the trolleys on an actual schedule. So they get there when they damn-well-please. Often after several minute of waiting I am forced into an alternative routine…walking. I do so according to the routine of the crossing signals and erratic drivers on Girard Avenue. SEPTA further controls my morning by running the EL every ten(ish) minutes.

Jeff – who gets to the desk at six a.m. – typically takes a smoke break just about the time I arrive. Part of my morning ritual, thanks to Jeff – and Marlboro, is to wait for him to return so I can say “good morning.” Yes, that is essential.

Once I get to work my day is controlled by doctors, managers and editors. Going home is just as bad.

I suppose it is true we are all controlled by the decisions of others to some degree. I guess the main reason I am thinking about it this morning is this:

Last night I watched the republican YouTube debates. If one of those guys gets to control my life, in any fashion more than being an Enquirer paper-boy, I might have to do more than just continually color my hair.

When the bough breaks...for real

2007-11-13T20:49:00.000-05:00

I realize I have a post entitled "When the bough breaks." I also realize if you read the post you may have no idea why.

Contrary to the proof (my blog) I have tons of post ideas popping into my head at any point during my day. Sometimes I will write them down on my hand, of course, they never actually make it to the page.

Last post, I had intended to make a double-subject post. Part one being what it turned out to be, and part 2 being what this one is.

--- *** ---

My building shakes.

I mean, it really shakes back and forth. Sways to and fro.

During our orientation Cathy mentioned that the building shakes - but even after our first half-hour we knew better than to take Cathy too seriously. I assumed when she said the building would shake, she meant the jack hammers were loud (which they are, very).

What she really meant was the first 3 days I thought the guys across the partition from my quadricle were wrestling on their desks and bumping my wall. Then I thought my desk-mate (it's a wrap-around desk) did that really annoying foot shaking thing that moves the whole table at a restaurant (the worst is when you know it is that one guy that came with your friend, but you don't really know him well enough to ask him to stop. Typically I end up subtly kicking his shin).

But no, it's the whole building.

Normally it isn't too bad. A slight headache from the shaking monitor. The occasional belch from my stomach being rumbled for me. But every once in a while I am positive the whole building is coming down...and I scream.

They are tearing down the building attached to ours. It used to be a radio station, they are building a Jewish-American museum in its place. I am fairly certain the entire art department will soon be wiped out with a stray wrecking ball. Who needs 'em anyway.

But until that day, I will just get my sea legs and continue to press on.

When the bough breaks

2007-10-28T23:52:00.000-04:00

I am pretty open about not being madly in love with my job. I do like the people I work with, and feel at least competent when it comes to my tasks - but it is not exactly what I thought I would be doing with my life at this point.

However.

I have found over the past two weeks there is something that happens to "working folk" that does not exist with the rest of the population. It is a sensation I was teased with during my years of classes and internships - but never fully appreciated even through my work as a Temp.

Affectionately and colloquially I believe it is referred to as "quittin' time."

After a long day of work, no matter how strenuous or simple, I start watching for the big hand to get back to the 12 for the 8th time. The routine of checking my email for the final time, shutting down my computer, organizing my to-do list for the next day, emptying my water bottle, packing my bag and heading out the door is a process glorious enough to outweigh any lack-of-interest in my work.

In short, going home makes it worth getting up.

The week in review

2007-10-23T20:49:00.000-04:00

See how busy my job is?

I have been employed for one week and two days. I am in the groove. I am rollin' with the punches. I am slightly bored. I am in a routine. I am in a rut.

That is not a bad thing.

I work in an office. I have an ID card.

I guess that's the gist of it.

Just another day

2007-10-12T23:01:00.001-04:00

Today begins the last weekend I am allowed to take for granted. Though I have, for the past two weeks, been temping at a clever little non-profit...the job is so menial I feel like I am expending more energy watching a fast-paced episode of Ally Mcbeal (which I have been doing a lot lately).

There has been a major plus to my temporary employment. Everyday I walk to my EL stop and hop on the Blue Line to go downtown. I typically get off at 11th street and walk the block to 1234 Market Street - the SEPTA building (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) - then I stroll onto the express elevator (floors 12-20). I greet Falicia at the front desk and start working...

I like to get off at 11th Street so I can, on my way to work, pass some of the more amusing parts of the city.

1. The older (presumably) homeless man who has a karaoke machine hooked up to his electric wheelchair. He sits in front of the Market East Station and sings some classic tunes. So far I have heard everything from Christina Aguilera to Journey being belted by this not-so-bad man of the streets. I try to give him some cash when I have it...this sometimes proves a bit...disconcerting, however. You see, whereas most people put out a guitar case or Dunkin Donuts cup for spare change - the Karaoke Cavalier uses his prosthetic leg as a cash receptacle.

2. The road-side food carts. You know, hot dogs, hamburgers...I saw a shrimp-cocktail stand yesterday and walked across the street to avoid it. I opted instead for a beef kielbasa...mostly because it rhymes with che pasa. I am looking forward to the day when I go to order and they say: "Heeey man! Che pasa?" and I respond simply "Kielbasa."

3. As you get off the subway and turn the corner onto market, there is a stunning view of City Hall (the largest masoned building in the U.S.A.) That's enough about that.

4. Probably my favorite part of the trip to and from 1234 Market Street is my return home. I take the elevator back down to the lobby, then the escalator down to the below-the-lobby...walk out the door and through the turn-stile to 13th Street station. That's right, from office to subway, without ever going outside!

So, for now, I will completely blow off my weekend as if it was just another day.

I've got no strings

2007-10-08T19:00:00.000-04:00

I have a job. Yeah, employment. A 9 to 5 (well, actually it is on flex-time, so it might be a 6:30 to 3).

A dream job, perhaps not. A paycheck, paid vacation, possible friends, work experience - definitely. I am pleased as punch (so pleased, I am willing to use the term "pleased as punch").

I will be an editorial assistant for a medical publishing group. 3 subway stops from my house, in Olde City (or Olde Towne as I like to call it). Just a short walk from all sorts of lunch stops, pre-work coffees, post-work bars.

I'm a real boy.

This one is juuuust right.

2007-09-28T17:02:00.000-04:00

**This post may be considered off-color by some readers**

Urinals are amazing. It's crudely simple, but true. I can only hope the creator of the urinal had some sort of a patent on it (though my guess is it was God, with the tree). Based on the anatomical make up of males, the urinal is overwhelmingly ergonomic.

I can get passed the awkward situations created at times by "urinal etiquette," occasionally resigning myself to take a stall (but I am not above making others uncomfortable to avoid the stall). I am willing to put up with the unnecessarily obnoxious all-the-way-to-the-floor urinals (they tend to splatter). In truth, there is only one thing that really bothers me when it comes to the men's-room-line-killer.

Those freaky-deaky, super short urinals that can be easily used by NO ONE. (For those readerettes who do not know of these unpleasant contraptions, I would compare them to walking into a stall in hopes of a toilet - merely to find a Fisher-Price Laugh and Learn toilet).

These nuisances are, I can only assume, intended for young boys - well, they can just use a stall like they learned to do at their house (unless they have a urinal at their home, in which case I can't figure out why they would ever want to leave). There has been at time I attempted to use a mini-pee, but was so afraid I would actually relieve myself on-top of the contraption - I couldn't go.

All that to say, today my life changed.

Today I went into the restroom, post job interview (which is probably the subject I should be covering right now). I was astonished. Along the urinal wall (no dividers, just FYI) there were three sizes of urinal. Daddy Bear, Baby Bear...and Perfectly-normal-why-the-heck-do-you-need-another-size Bear. Considering my grand stature (6'5") I opted for the Daddy Bear.

It was too tall.

I was up on my toes, laughing out loud, when another gentleman entered the restroom. I saw him notice me and chuckle to himself. I could basically read his thoughts: "I don't know why they even have that thing in here, there is no need to mess with something as crudely simple as a urinal."

Amen, man. Amen.

A little language lesson

2007-09-21T15:43:00.000-04:00

Q: What tyrannical trait do my father and favorite public relations professor have in common?

A: The ability to (often unknowingly) make one feel fleaish while correcting language limitations (read: flaws).

It is not an altogether undesirable trait, and it certainly keeps you on your linguistic toes while discussing communications strategies...and taking out the trash. I even like to believe a bit of the Syntax Gestapo gene has been passed on to me. I can quickly recognize error in speech, whether or not I can correct it.

Unlike my corrective counterparts - I am not very concerned with the poor grammar that grips our country like a unquenchable flame. I am more worried about the people who don't sound cool when they talk.

As I (hopefully) enter the world of mass communications, I am prepared to take on the challenge of speech alteration for the better of bored listeners around the globe (at least where English is spoken, I can't do much for the other guys). Part of this process is eradicating the "business bro" terminology. So, here is my statement:

As a future communications leader of the world (yep, the world) I hereby dedicate myself to the removal of the following language from my vocabulary and the vocabulary of those within my sphere of influence.

1. Drop me a line. (This means get in contact with me)

2. Give me a holler. (This is normally used for the phone)

3. (and this is the worst) Shoot me an email.

In addition to said terminology, I will refrain from any phrasing I deem unfavorable in the future.

Any others?

***these were submitted by a new friend via email***

1. You're good to go
2. ..take it to the next level
3. my bad
4. BFF
5. snail mail (which is a derogatory comment about our nation's postal service)
6. anything with "a-cino" at the end.

Fasting, in the name of employment

2007-09-17T16:11:00.000-04:00

Just one block from my loft is a quaint, yet classy pedestrian walkway jam-packed with restaurants, salons, boutiques and my new favorite video store (coincidentally, the video store guy and I are becoming quite the pals; I have named him Kevin).

To me, there are two real stand-outs in the Liberties Walk (you know you are in Philadelphia when...): The video store, a super-hip collection of "The"+1-word titles (The Crush, The Paper, The Lover, The Cannon) and films picked solely for their obscurity (I won't try and mention any of these, because I have never heard of any of them). The other is the candy shop(pe). Yes, an honest to goodness candy store with everything from ice cream and rock candy to truffles and chili-pepper chocolate.

One thing people should know about me, I love candy. I am a sucker (npi) for sweets. Cookies, brownies, cakes, ice cream, hard candy, chewy delights, simple sugars, pies, hydrogenated fats, over-processed glucose of many kinds...I love it. It is truly my weakness.

As a display of dedication to the job hunt, I am refraining from entering the store until I have found permanent employment. It may be the hardest thing I have ever done...and I did a 3-day solo trek in the mountains of Utah carrying nothing but a knife and an empty saucepan.

*I also have a bottle of 1999 Veremonte Cab Sav that I am not opening until I get a job - but after typing this I really just want candy...

Obligatory goosebumps

2007-09-11T18:13:00.000-04:00

We had a very specific morning routine.
I would wake up and put on the coffee he had prepped the night before. I would shower while he watched the news. He would often shout up to me the interesting things that were already happening in our world - it is always strange to realize how much goes on before I am even awake.

"You're not gonna believe this," he called up the stairs. "Some f***-up ran a plane into one of the towers in New York."

"Which tower?" I asked, assuming he meant a Cessna had clipped a radio antenna atop the Rockefeller.

"One of the world trade towers - man, good morning America."

Honestly, we thought it was funny. Sad that so many people were obviously dead or injured - but really, what kind of pilot ran into buildings.

So, we finished our morning routine.

He showered while I brushed my teeth and dressed. I turned off the TV and finished homework while he dressed and together we walked to chapel.

On the way from our apartment to campus we typically encountered two other pairs of roommates. A married couple from across the street, and two girls from the end of the road. None of them knew about the plane crash - typical.

Chapel was silent. People were solemn and, despite my arrival with five other people, I immediately felt alone in the huge room. The giant American flag, the one reserved for American Studies speakers and patriotic programs, had replaced the regular curtain.

Another plane, another building - this wasn't a screw up.

6 years later...it feels obligatory to get goose-bumps at least once during the day. Whether it is for the thousands of people who died, or the remarkable bravery shown over the next year during the site excavation...I just can't help it.

A good night's sleep

2007-09-10T13:37:00.000-04:00

For the past several nights I have had several things to impede my sleeping habits. My mind keeps waking me up in the outrageously early morning hours, and not allowing me to sleep peacefully for several more hours.

Saturday night/Sunday morning I woke up (4:53) to discover a complete inability to process thoughts in a logical manner. Random names, silly words and extreme aspects of facial features (big noses, random warts, overhanging brows) kept jumping into my brain with no warning - and certainly no explanation. I contemplated David/squishy/flat nose for quite a while. Finally I resorted to telling myself a story - forcing myself to think sequentially.

This morning it was all about organization. I made some very solid personal statements correlating my emotional wellbeing with the organization of my surroundings...and the organization of my surroundings with the amount of things I own. This in itself is not completely insane - but then I started listing the things I owned, and trying to figure out how to get rid of them.

It started at the front door, I owned the front door and it had to stay. Then the shoe pile next to the front door, I had to keep the shoes - but the pile had to go. Things got very confusing when I was self-explaining how I partially own my roommates - after all, I have time and energy invested in them. I knew practically they both needed to stay (if for no other reason than economy), but I also know it is wrong to own another person. As I lulled myself back to sleep I was determined to stop spending time with my friends, it was the right thing to do.

Aside from a stellar duet with Pavarotti (RIP) the rest of my slumber was uneventful.

This is a sure sign that I need something to occupy my mind.

Spring forward

2007-09-06T18:04:00.000-04:00

Over the course of my life I have always considered myself to have a few "fall-backs." Some options in case I find the course of my life going in an unforeseen direction. These choices include, but are not limited to: law school, authoring a book, writing a screenplay, international au pair, housekeeping, and my personal favorite... going insane.

Law school is still an option. The LSAT is out of the way...but could I really handle 3 more years of school? I will wait out my roommate's attempts at post-graduate work, see if I can get a feel for their views.

Authoring a book/screenplay are both very appealing. I have always thought if I simply had the time to sit and write I could easily whip one out...more than likely a Great American Novel. However, this past month has been nothing but - and I have done nothing of...

International au pair is out of the question until this lease is up.

Housekeeping, I think, is mostly just because I have a secret desire to harmonize with myself on "Sing Sweet Nightingale" as the bubbles reflect my elbow-greasery.

Honestly, that last-listed sounds the most appealing most of the time. It seems as if there is a certain freedom in allowing your mind to rid itself of the constraints we put on ourselves from day to day.

But for now, I will persevere. I had a follow-up phone-interview that went very well... How does one go about proving themselves the best thing to ever happen to a company?

Labor day...

2007-09-03T16:20:00.000-04:00

...a gentle slap in the face to 7.1 million Americans.

A life long journey

2007-08-28T17:48:00.000-04:00

Who could have guessed all those years of curfew in college would have prepared me for life in the big city:

Here in CBL the subway/EL is my primary mode of transportation. It is quick, easy, inexpensive - and far less stressful than driving in COWSL (City of One-Way Street Love). Unfortunately, the trains stop running at/around midnight. The SEPTA buses still run-on through the night - but seriously, who takes buses anymore?

Last night, after a lovely night out, I realized it was far too late to catch the subway. My options were either a cab, or a bus.

And then I started thinking.

I often tell people that my apartment really isn't that far from downtown - perhaps I was right. To prove it to myself, and get an accurate time/distance, I decided to walk home.

3.1 miles and oh-so-many blocks later, I was home.

My intention was never to economize, but when I returned home I was terribly impressed with myself for the money I had saved on a cab...all the trip had cost was 45 minutes of my time, a little peace-of-mind and the six dollars and fifty cents I gave out to homeless people along the way.

Friday, Saturday and Sunday

2007-08-27T00:26:00.000-04:00

Weekends do not matter to someone without a job.

All I am asking for is a reason to care about the weekend.

Does that sound desperate?

- more -

There is a chance I will never grow tired of seeing the skyline as I go throughout my day. On my way from the EL stop I have a beautiful view from the north, on the way back from the super-market I have a stunning view from the south. Riding the train back from the airport there is an overwhelmingly comforting view - welcoming home the tired and poor to the huddled mass where it is kinda hard to breathe.

Difference #464

2007-08-21T22:49:00.000-04:00

I flew home last weekend. My little brother was getting married.

I am old.

I packed my suit and two changes of clothes, threw in sandals and my dress shoes, my toothbrush and deodorant (I left behind toothpaste, shampoo, shower gel and hair product - I was not checking a bag). I trudged 5 blocks to the nearest ATM, and back 2 blocks to my EL stop. Took the Blue Line to Market East and caught the R1 to the airport. Used my credit card for self-check-in. Argued with the security guy about my deodorant being a liquid/gel (He said it was, I contended it was not. I eventually pointed out that the container actually says "Smart Solid." I won.). Worked on cover letters on my laptop on the plane, and sent in another resume from the Charlotte airport. Talked with everyone and their mother about "What I am doing these days," and "Why Philadelphia." After the weekend, I flew home.

I am a grown up.

As I arrived back in CBL I gave directions and tips to a lovely woman flying in for an extended lay-over from Paris. I told her what to see, where to eat and what trains to take to fulfill said advice.

I am from Philadelphia.

CBL

2007-08-12T14:02:00.000-04:00

I live somewhere else now. I have always known it would happen...but now that it has, the feeling has yet to sink in. Possibly things will change once I get a job (yes, that was me saying I still don't have a job).

The building I live in, however, is incredible. Our place is wonderful - high ceilings, hard wood floors, lots of space (very little storage) - just the way I like it. I have met really nice people:

Katie: works in the handcrafted-all natural-wood-furniture store (all the shops around here are hyphenated, and most of them include "natural" somewhere in the title). She was a huge help when things went a little wrong upon our arrival.

Sara: "with no H," she is quick to inform you. I suppose that is helpful in remembering her name. I am not sure if she also works in the store, but she sure spends a lot of time there.

Ken: one of the building managers. He saved our lives by letting us move in to the place, even though our broker had messed up a lot of the details (a lot=all). He is constantly checking with all the tenants to make sure we are doing well.

Ken's cronies: two larger guys that are constantly with Ken. A sort of Crabb and Goyle - minus the dark arts.

Joe: our neighbor. Joe wears Under Armour.

The job search continues. It is hard to know what to do at this point, my computer is sick of typing cover letters - but if he types the right one, I have promised to buy him the new wireless keyboard he asked for.

Alternatives to the norm

2007-07-25T02:17:00.000-04:00

In the event that the hum-drum, same-ole job searching methods do not work for me I have started compiling a list of potential alternatives. Whether or not they are valid has yet to be seen.

1. In planning to move to the CBL (City of Brotherly Love) I have been continually warned that finding an apartment in a Big City is no easy task. This advisory has always seemed silly and illogical to me. A bigger city has more apartments, therefore it should be simpler to find an apartment (I have never had trouble finding a place in a small town. With more options to choose from...well, I repeat myself). However, I heeded and sought out The Philly Apartment Company - a free service dedicated to placing newcomers in appropriate housing within the CBL (I think it is catching on).

Yesterday my roommate flew to Philadelphia to tour several of the apartments they have found for us (spacious loft living, ahh.), if he signs a lease today I am contacting the Philly Employment Company.

2. I ran for S.A. President at my university, and lost. The man who defeated me turned out to be a great friend, and a decent president...I was content to allow him to rule-the-school, but I stayed on and worked on special projects.

Yesterday he called me. One of his groomsmen cannot make it to the wedding, would I be willing to step in and be an attendant in his wedding. I am getting used to coming in second to Travis (that's his name).

Travis has a fantastic resume, and pretty good people skills - I am encouraging him to apply for jobs in the Philadelphia area and then reject them... inevitably I will be called next.

A nibble

2007-07-14T16:06:00.000-04:00

In the arena of job searching I have learned a few things.

1. You actually have to send out resumes in order for people to respond to them.

2. You actually have to have a resume to send one out.

3. Jobs don't find you, you have to find them.

4. If, by some stroke of fate, there is minor contact made about a potential job - no matter how minimal the contact - it is all you can think about until you hear otherwise.

A brave new day

2007-06-28T18:07:00.000-04:00

An ideal day for me:

8 a.m. - Stir awake. Realize how early it is and immediately go back to sleep.

9:30 a.m. - Officially wake-up. Work on laptop doing trivial things (facebook, email, read some online news, etc.)

10 a.m. - Shower, dress, make my bed.

11 a.m. - Brunch with a friend. There are few things in life that bring me the same joy as brunch, especially when it involves dishing.

12:30 p.m. - Errands. Inevitably there will be a stop by the dry cleaners, bank, grocery, drug store, florists and perhaps something completely superfluous. This is also the time when appointments (dental, medical, cosmetical) should be scheduled and attended.

3 p.m. - Lunch. Somewhere delightful. This time will be reserved for out-of-town visitors and business associates, or a chance for me to enjoy some time alone...in public.

4 p.m. - Work. A little freelance writing or design. Perhaps focus on a specific character in my new novel, really hash out their inner psyche.

4:30 p.m. - Stop working. Relax from the busy day I have had. Perhaps pick kids up from their after school program, or at least make sure the nanny has.

5 p.m. - Exercise. Make a couple rounds at the gym. Swim a few laps. Something low impact, just for toning purposes.

6 p.m. - Shower and dress for the evening. If dinner is to be at home - begin dinner.

The evening will, of course, be varied. Dinner reservations should never be made before 8 p.m., and the late movies are always less crowded. If the performance starts at 8 p.m., tapas or cocktails should be had previous - with dinner to follow.

11 p.m. - Read.

Sleep when reading allows.

Resuming my resume

2007-06-21T23:55:00.000-04:00

I never really made one.
There was the version we had to turn in to get credit for so many of those classes that want to make sure we are ready for the real world...however, none of those ever really worked. I am not prepared, I am in the real world and I don't have a resume.

My desired field of employment requires a certain level of innate creativity in all aspects, but especially upon first impression. Whether it is true or not, we have been told over and over that our resumes are tremendously important to even get a foot in the door. They must rise above the rest - from the layout to the font selection, we should meticulously scrutinize over our lives on paper.

So, here i go. Time to pool the last 4-6 years of my life and place it on a stylishly understated yet outstandingly designed single sheet of paper.

A job

2007-06-11T15:08:00.001-04:00

The lazy days of summer continue on without me. For the past 24 years, despite my employment status, I have considered summer to be an, often-overwhelming, bore. I love boredom. Every time I am in a situation and I think "I am bored," it brings me more joy than a Dasani in the desert.
This summer, however, I have hit the ground running. One thing leads to another (not the least of which is a job that could take the entire summer to figure out) and I might not see a break until I have built up vacation time with a Philadelphia employer.

I say this as a hopefully valid excuse for my writing hiatus. I understand it is not very couth to begin something and not finish, though in my case I don't think I will ever be finished.

And now, I have very official-sounding client calls to make.

the first move

2007-05-26T11:47:00.000-04:00

Today marks a fairly momentous occasion, I am moving out of my apartment.
This particular apartment I have only lived in for about ten months, but all in all, this marks the last apartment that will be supported by a monthly check from my parents.
When I first moved out of the house, and was not in school, I paid my own bills (but still occasionally relied on help from them). However, since I began school I have always relied on the generosity of mom and dad to keep me in room/board.

Today that ends.

I am first making the move to Little Rock where I will be living with a friend's family (note, not "family friend") - not exactly complete independence...but from there I head to Philadelphia. So essentially this is the pre-move, since I am not taking much more than clothes with me to Little Rock.

I took some video of the apartment last night. I am pleased of how it has become home. This is a good thing.

This is scary.

the practical things in life

2007-05-19T02:27:00.001-04:00

making the perfect resume is a bee eye tea sea aitch.

after several revisions and attempts at different fonts, colors, layouts, wording, ordination, etc. I have decided to start from scratch. reworking simply will not get the task done.

i need something fresh. something innovative. something that says, "I'm unique" but not, "I think I'm unique." maybe some inspiration will come on my road trip tomorrow.

the portfolio is an entirely different matter. it is turning out well, but also turning out to be a lot of work. not to mention, i have no idea how to actually post a website to the web. (future employers, please note: I am fully aware the proper AP use of website is actually Web site.) but as soon as i do, i will post the link so you may all marvel at my genius. or genus (interesting to realize that if you back up a bit, we are all really homos).

back to fido.

the feet of the master

2007-05-17T05:11:00.000-04:00

as i reflect on my former life as a college student i fondly remember the time spent with my mentor JS. he is, in essence, whom i wish to become.

the wednesday before graduation all the senior PR/J majors thought it would be very clever of us to "kidnap" him and drag him to eat with us, at which time we would heap praise upon him and lavish him with gifts.

as all good and true plans do, this one failed.

instead we finally tracked him down and pleadingly convinced him to meet us at the Oil. once there we did, in fact, heap praise upon him and give him our delightful gift...

and then he spoke.

we were all very used to his speaking, as his advisees we were subject to hours and hours every week...for years. but this time he did not include any clever anecdotes or trivia from the everyday lives of superstars - tonight he spoke with the precise posings of a personal ghandhi. assuring us of our success, and commanding our consecration for the upcoming battle.

never have i seen a group of restless students more focused on what a professor was saying. it was as if we had to read the words as they came out his mouth in order to fully understand them. the whistling espresso machine and boisterous conversations of others in the crowded coffee shop were merely mirrored ripples for the swan to glide upon.

Joshua 3:5

the first week

2007-05-17T04:59:00.000-04:00

i was wrong.

i was confident that after i graduated i would immediately start receiving checks in the mail - to pay for rent, clothes, food and the like.

apparently i was mistaken.

all this time i have been prepped by my professors as they speak of "the real world," and all this time i kind of assumed they really just meant "post-college."

mistaken again.

they were serious about going forth and conquering...except conquering in this sense is more like napoleon finally convincing the dog to get off his side of the bed...it's going to be a cold winter in russia.

Final stretch

2007-05-07T18:19:00.000-04:00

This story begins the week of graduation.

It's funny how my life tends work out, the harder I work the more likely it is that something goes wrong. Not to say that things don't always work out in the end, but if i really pour my sweat, blood and tears into something there is a 90% chance that something major is going to blow-up in my face right before the finish line.

side note: these days you are supposed to watch your blog/facebook/myspace for things that might turn away potential employers/grad schools - so if you are a potential employer/admissions committee, please realize I always finish with excellent results, despite bumps in the road.

All that said...my graduation seems to be extending itself. Through no fault of my own (of course) my internship situation has gone awry. But I'm still walking across that precious proscenium.

I will graduate. Victory will be mine.