What The Hell Do I Know?

Recycling

2007-05-08T08:15:00.000-04:00

I don't.

Comment at will.

Golden Age of SNL

2007-04-09T20:04:00.000-04:00

I think I find this funny because the people who are doing the skit just make me laugh.
Billy Crystal, Martin Short, Christopher Guest, and Jim Belushi from 1984. A classic (if you will) from my time. I realize that Anthony and some others were...um...4 years old at the time?

I'd post it directly to the blog, but YouTube is giving me a hard time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8bytZyUNyE

Ah, youth...

2007-03-12T02:13:00.000-04:00

I don't know what made me do it, but I picked up my old diary a few days ago- one I kept when I was in junior high... What a freaking riot!

Maybe these are only funny to me because I was there the first time around, but my guess is, they're sort of universally rediculous. Anyway, I thus bear excerpts of my 13-year old soul for our mutual enjoyment:

January 11, 1992
"I used to like this boy named Timmy, who is in my Home Ec class, but now I like his friend William B. He's so cute! (2-cute-2-B-4-gotten). So now, I've decided the people I like are definitely William, Chad, Eddie, and Steve. I don't know which one I love the best, though."

June 6, 1993
"... We were watching this video and it was pitch black otherwise. Once during the night, Chris stuck out his tongue in the dark and said, 'I'm sticking out my tongue, where are you?' I think he wanted to kiss me, but he licked my nose. Argh! So close! OHMYGOSH. I (heart) him! FOREVER."

Brilliant.

Final thought: Why don't we play spin the bottle anymore? The game is sheer genius, folks...

All out of right answers

2007-02-20T18:11:00.000-05:00

After long hours of studying, sometimes you just don't know the answer. And when you're punch drunk and wiped out, sometimes you need humor so badly that it spills out onto the test. Here are some unbelievable true examples.

If you can't read or see one well, just click on it and a better resolution one should appear. My favorite one, EVER, is the essay response (the second one).

You're Neat!

2007-02-14T20:04:00.000-05:00

I was at CVS the other day, noticing row upon row of those boxes of kids' Valentines... Harry Potter "Hope you have a *magical* day!" and Pirates of the Caribbean "I choose YOU as my First Mate!" Anyway, looking back, I did get a little nostalgic for those days.

What pains I took in making those out! ...One for everybody in my class. The penmanship had to be fabulous or I'd throw it out and start over. And, whatever hokey, saccharin-soaked message was printed on the front had to be appropriate to the person I was sending it to. You know what I mean, admit it! Every box contained like 4 or 5 messages, and you had to be calculating about it-- It would be social suicide to actually send "BE MINE" to your crush, but you sure as hell couldn't very well give them "YOU'RE NEAT" either, right? What a dilemma. What really cracks me up is remembering what trouble they went to trying to make boys valentines-- Remember G.I. Joe valentines, or Transformers? What a riot.

Anyway, I'm a fan of the e-card, so this is an experiment in sharing an e-card with all of you. The grownup, internet-era answer to the whole-class V-day shout out...

http://www.hallmark.com/ECardWeb/ECV.jsp?a=1052572282861M179128031Y&product_id=

Also, it may make you squirm (as it did me) to see that Hallmark actually makes a "Will You Marry Me" E-card. Wow. Uh, buddy, I think I know how that's gonna turn out... and it doesn't look good.

The Mug.

2007-02-12T22:12:00.000-05:00

I've used this mug for almost a year now, I think. A special (she's special, alright) friend made this mug at "The Latest Glaze," a create-your-own-pottery place in Bloomington. She made it, hated it, then gave it to me. Truthfully, I actually love the mug. It is the perfect size for a morning cup of java. It is a pretty decent calorimeter in that the thick mug walls act as a decent insulator keeping the beverage within warm. I also feel good that I am not filling a landfill with daily styrofoam cups. Plus, no matter how crappy one of my projects at work turns out I can always look down at this mug and say, "Things aren't so bad." Unfortunately, I've had to defend my masculinity on an almost weekly basis by using this mug. But I can manage that. I try using the line, "Only a real secure man could drink out of a mug like this." That line gets me only so far. Whatever. And an important note, the design on the mug is NOT floral. They are starbursts, according to the original artist.

Heartfelt Apologies Going the Way of the Buffaloes.

2007-02-06T21:20:00.000-05:00

People no longer just apologize. There is no such thing as screwing up, admitting guilt, making amends and moving on. In our public society (i.e. celebrities, politicians, etc.), an apology must be accompanied by rehab, counseling and consultation with the appropriate offended group. There are too many examples to list, but here are just a few: Mel Gibson, Mayor Newsom, Mark Foley, Michael Richards, Britney Spears, Joe Biden.

In no way am I suggesting these people do not need counseling or help. Nor am I suggesting contacting group leaders is a bad thing. Both are good things. Both can lead to healing-- both personally and communally. However, my observation is that screwing up and apologizing is no longer good enough. American society demands more. The media demands more. Why? In my opinion, people are so full of shit these days that no one can believe anyone. So when someone gives a true apology, we need the "checked him/herself in" moment to actually believe. What happens when the bar keeps sliding and rehab is no longer enough? Oprah will always have job, getting these people to cry on her couch. Eww.

Super Bowl XLI Champs!

2007-02-04T22:13:00.000-05:00

CONGRATS to the INDY COLTS!

What an outstanding post-season to watch... especially from Patriot country! (neener neener!)

Richardson and Huckabee.

2007-01-28T22:01:00.000-05:00

So far, it seems like we have 482 contenders for the presidential election of 2008. Two guys stand out, so far, with me-- Richardson, Democrat governor of New Mexico, and Huckabee, Republican governor of Arkansas. This is not an endorsement (since I know my endorsement would mean so much). Just early musings.

When asked on "Meet The Press", "How do you plan on competing with Clinton and Obama?" Richardson answered, "I will out-work them both." I can not imagine a better answer. It's hard to imagine a politician pledging to... ya know... work. He's incredibly qualified. His resume includes governorship, UN Ambassador, Secretary of Energy, and a few others. It could just be posturing, but he actually does seem to have a work ethic and dedication. Novel thought for a leader.

On "This Week", Huckabee was speaking of having humble roots in Hope, Arkansas (like Bill Clinton) and his annoyance with the blue-blooded body politik. Huckabee said, "Some people were born on third base and think they hit a triple." Brilliant rhetoric. Plus, Huckabee seems sensible and thoughtful, hesitating to endorse extreme positions. The bar is set so high, right? Don't be an extremist and reckless and you have my vote.

Trump and Nietzche.

2007-01-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

So I was watching the news on webcast on MSNBC. The MSNBC video casts are pretty good, and provide a good sampling of the day's news. That one NBC dude (his name is like Rock Sampson or Brick Jennings or some made up screen name) provides the anchorman position. Anyways, in the queue is an interview with Donald Trump on Don Imus radio show. Undoubtedly, it's about Rosie O'Donnell and some other bullshit I don't care about. But I leave the video running and start doing something in my room. Well, I hear Donald Trump over the speakers and I had this HORRIBLE realization. I'm Donald Trump. No joke. I heard him say, "Oh God, this woman is just a complete disaster. She's just not a very bright person." I thought to myself, "I hate Donald Trump because he is such an absolutist. Oh my god, that's me! I hate myself!" Last week, I think I actually called the salad bar a "complete disaster" because it didn't have chickpeas. At least I don't share his hair. I used to think he was combing his eyebrows back over his head.

To make matters worse, this weekend, I was browsing the philosophy stacks at Barnes and Noble with Laura. I was browsing and talking about how I feel dumber in graduate school. That somehow undergraduate was challenging in a broad sense, and graduate school is challenging in the absolute smallest, most pinpointed way. I used to enjoy discussing philosophy, but that part of my brain is now home to a moth and cobweb festival. Anyways, as I peruse the stacks at BN, my eye catches Nietzche, so I pick up a few books, read the backs, cover notes, etc. Simultaneously, Laura and I see the book, "Why I am So Wise" by Nietzche. Laura immediately says, "That should be the title of your autobiography." Bitch. Then I thought maybe my autobiography should be titled, "Why I am So Right." Then Laura made the smart compromise, "Call it 'Why I am So Wise' and have Trump right the forward." (Sidenote: Laura and I decided to sharpen our minds on "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" by Nietzche. I read the introduction and I already suffered my first thinking-related aneuryism).

Anyways, there you have it. I take some relief in the fact that I think being an absolutist is annoying and funny because it is absurd. Big definitive statements about the mundane or trivial make me laugh. I love Seinfeld, Curb Your Enthusiasm. I'm a big picture person, but details are more fun. Black and white opinions are funny because it is obvious the world is not that simple. There's nothing worse than taking a complex issue and boiling it down so that some asshole can sort of understand. It's a soundbite world. Like those CNN headlines, "Vitamins. Good for your health. Or the cause of the largest pandemic known to man. Find out at 7!" I hate those fuckers. I want to say, "HEY! Some vitamins are good. Some probably are less helpful. And vitamins alone do not beget a healthy person. But they could be a part of a healthy lifestyle. Stop being an inflammatory jackass!" But nonetheless, I gotta tone this Colbertian persona down.

Channeling carrie bradshaw on this one

2007-01-16T02:03:00.000-05:00

Anybody see Zach Braff’s movie, “The Last Kiss”? My friend Judy and I watched it the other night, and it spurred a great conversation about the nature of romantic relationships for people our age.

First, I recommend the film. It’s a movie about relationships that doesn't go the cheap romantic comedy route (or the teeth-gnashing Othello route). It's intelligent. But also, it’s about men, written from a man’s point of view, which is really refreshing.

Anyway, a lot of my friends (myself included) seem to be wrestling with this these days: What’s it look like when we stop dating just for fun and start getting… serious?

Casual dating and flings still sound good in theory. God, it was so much fun in college. But really, whatever used to make it worthwhile just doesn’t cut it anymore.

Is partnership not fun? This baffles me. There’s this perception that dating is about laughing, talking, play, and hot sex… and serious relationships are about paying bills together and making babies. (?!?) Call me crazy, but I’d like a serious relationship to be all of the good stuff (in fact, more of the good stuff!).

I think I could get married any time. Don’t get me wrong- I’m not ready for kids, or to buy a house. I’m not ready to stop traveling, or moving, or changing jobs, or being in school or spending money a bit selfishly… But I do think I could get married. All this adventure would be more fun with somebody I’m crazy about. Here’s what I could go for: A badass relationship now, with option to add the kids and the mortgage when I’m good and ready.

The tough part? Since going with Mr. Right Now just doesn’t hold the same appeal, I’m spending a lot of time being single holding out for someone who really rings my bell. And the older I get, the more quickly I can discern whether I’m really compatible with someone, so the Mr. Maybe pool just keeps thinning. It’s hard not to get frustrated with this scenario.

But in the end, I consider the alternatives: Married too young and unhappy… Still clutching to the club scene and the little black book… Not learning from the past and dating the same wrong guy, over and over…? No sir. I’m exactly where I should be.

Pachelbel.

2007-01-14T22:02:00.000-05:00

I don't particularly enjoy Pachelbel's Canon in D. It's pretty cliche. I'm not a classical music expert. But the canon does stink of dimestore class, right? I can appreciate the simplicity. It is an incredibly accessible tune. It is even pretty. But it doesn't take much music appreciation to appreciate and therefore it is less appreciable. Follow?

The video and the guy are very funny. I never realized that this chord arrangement is so pervasive in so many genres of music. My favorite line in the video, "He's the original one hit wonder... VH1's 'I Love the 1790s.'"

The Cusp of Something Very Bad.

2007-01-05T17:53:00.000-05:00

Real quick, here's a topic that is, of course, horrible: Iraq.

"The winds of change." (Scorpions, anyone?) Ok, how about "A Mighty Wind's a-Blowin?"

No, seriously, things are about a stone's throw away from the decent-from-which-there-will-be-no-recovery. I know we hear about this every day on the news, but I think that things are about to really shift from "salvage-able" to "ripping-apart-at-the-seams, you-might-as-well-try-and-stop-an-earthquake."

You know when a building or bridge collapses, there's usually some signs that it's really about to go? Not just rocking in the high winds or bits and pieces falling off, but major things going wrong? I'm getting that vibe, here. This is no longer just in a state of bad. It seems like we're one straw away from everything falling apart.

The bipartisan Iraq Study Group which seems to be largely ignored. Tony Snow as White House Press Secretary. Bush planning a "surge." The mob-esque execution of Saddam Hussein on camera phone all over the internet.

I also base this on conversations that I have with a Company Commander in Iraq. He is almost done with his second tour. He is in the First Armored Division, and has been recently extended until February (he should have been home before Christmas). This isn't the first time it's happened to him, either. These guys have sacrificed the vast majority of the last 4 years of their lives for this fiasco, lost marriages, lost limbs, lost friends. He and the other CO's in his Battalion are now signing off on official documents with "DILLIGAFF." Points go to anyone who knows what that means.

Of course, I hope I'm wrong about all of this. Interesting times to be alive.

Get Up Offa That Thang.

2006-12-27T13:40:00.000-05:00

May 3, 1933 - December 25, 2006

Things I learned from James Brown:

1. Feelin' nice is just like sugar and spice.

2. Gettin' a brand new bag is the antidote for being a drag. It's the perfect accessory... it ain't too fancy and it's line is pretty clean.

3. The true secret to happiness is if: The way I like it is, is the way it is. (And stay on the scene, like a sex machine).

4. From sea to shining sea? I prefer Brown's description. Super highways, coast to coast. Easy to get anywhere. On that transcontinental overload, slide behind the wheel. How does it feel?

5. Everyone's favorite Christmas song... Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto.

6. You can always dance 'till you feel betta! OW!

DONE.

2006-12-19T23:28:00.000-05:00

Whew!
Yesterday at 3:09pm, I put the final period... on the final essay... on my final final... YIPPPEEEEEE!

Actually, Anthony will be VERY upset to know that the concluding punctuation on my final was an EXCLAMATION POINT. (!). What can I say? I was excited to be done. (I can sense the sighing/ eye roll from here).

Wow. Mostly I just don't know what to do with myself. I have free time! (wtf?) I actually stayed late at work today, because I simply have nothing else to do. (Okay, I'll be honest: keeping company with oh-so-handsome Andre P. might have had something to do with it too...)

And one of the truly fabulous things about the student life? Wicked long vacations! I'm now off for three weeks. (see ya on the flip side, Boston).

One down... six more semesters to go!

The Retail World

2006-12-13T11:40:00.001-05:00

This is the true story of 15 strangers picked to work in a chain retail store and have their hourly DPTs (that's "dollars-per-transaction") measured.. to find out what happens when sales associates stop being branded (er... I mean, "trained") and start hawking sweaters. The Retail World. Buffalo.

Well, friends, after a prolonged absence, I return again to rant like an idiot. I took a little break from the information super highway (it was delightful! Though I seem to have missed some good stuff-- congrats on your run, Mike, and thanks for making me wiser about bathroom crises, Ant!), but I am happy to be back in the loop again.

So let me catch you up on my riveting life. I am currently living with my parents (oh, you can already tell this is going to be a juicy paragraph!), working nights and weekends in a chain clothing store (name withheld to protect my employment status), and trying to finagle a job at my Dad's office while I wait for my orders from the foreign service (good news update: I officially have security clearance! Hurrah!). My exciting social life revolves around my church's youth group, which I have been cojolled by one of my friends from high school to help run (you can take the girl out of Bloomington, but you can't take the "churchie" out of the girl... unfortunately). You wish you were me.

Actually, I have to admit it is kind of nice to be back in the Buff. I haven't been here for more than a month at a time in probably ten years, so it is kind of nice to have a little downtime between adventures (though I am hoping, of course, that this little breather is "little"! :). And, I must admit, working in retail is, well, fascinating. And terribly instructive. Allow me, please, to share two vingettes to illustrate this truism:

#1:
Our store officially opened last week. After several intense days of scrubbing, unpacking boxes, folding and hanging, we were ready to throw our doors open to the public. On our first night in business, I was assigned to greet customers at the door and inform them of our specials ("Spend $200 and save 10%"!). Two senior citizens on a merry Christmas mission came through the door and seemed particularly tickled to see me... though, truthfully, I couldn't picked them out of a line up (don't worry, though, I put on my thousand-points-of-light toothy smile and faked it like a pro!).

"Nativity, right?", one of them asked me.

"Well, yes, ohmygosh, what a memory," I replied with shock. Nativity of our Lord was my grammar school, from which I graduated fifteen years ago.

"Oh, well, I never forget a face!"

The ladies took a stroll about the store, made some savvy purchases, and again chatted it up with me when leaving.

"You're graduated now, honey?", my friend asked. "June, right?"

"Well, I finished up in August, actually, though I still have that big paper looming ahead of me". At this point, I am feeling appropriately guilty for not having any idea who this woman that knows everything about me is.

"Well, that's just part of the experience," she replied, "Don't let it get you down. High school will be the best four years of your life".

OMG. OMG This woman thought I was 13. THIRTEEN. She thought I was THIRTEEN-EXPLETIVE-YEARS-OLD. And I asked her how old she thought I was, just to confirm it. OMFG.

So, the moral of vingette #1: Retail teaches one how others perceive her.

In this case, I learned that I look like a pre-pubescent Bobbsie-twin-reading pig-tail-wearing juvenile ("Can't wait until I get my license! Only three more years!"). Consequently, I have become an enthusiastic champion of the Wonder Bra, power suit, and cakey make-up which, when strategically clumped, offers the illusion of wrinkles.

I look like a child. Good to know.

Vingette #2:
On my third day of work, my "floor coach" (manager) offered me kind tips on how I could improve my UPTs (units per transaction). Sadly, my numbers are on the lower end of the spectrum, as I have trouble pressing upon clients that which they do not need. But that is my job... and my slack performance is beginning to garner the unhappy notice of management. Bad news.

So, while I am again working the door and futzing with the items on our feature table, in walks a man in his late forties with his two grade school daughters in tow (my classmates, according to the lovely lady from three nights prior). I am concentrating hard on my board folding, as I am also aware that my fold borders on remedial-- way to sloppy for the impeccable standards of this exclusive chain. I want to get this right, so I unfortunately fail to greet the trio (too much going on at one time). Luckily, the coach catches my faux pas and lets them know about today's promotions. Then, while my head is still bent over the camies I am meticulously stacking, he comes up behind me and offers me this golden nugget:

"See that guy over there? He is wife shopping. Get your claws into him before the other girls do".

"Ohmygod!!!", I reply with utter horror, "Do you really think I am that pathetic?! I don't know which is worse-- being perceived as Disney-channel watching 'tween', or a desperate old maid!!! The man is probably twice may age-- with kids closer in age to me than he is!! I am only 29-- there are still plenty of non-geriatric fish left in the sea"!!!

Lesson #2 taught to me by retail: The pressures of the business often unearth one's subconscious fears.

In this instance, my Freudian misinterpretation of my manager's comments ("I just meant that he is shopping for his wife" {Laugh, laugh, laugh} "For Christmas. For her". {Gaffau, gaffau, gaffau}) revealed a concern I didn't know I had: I may die a cat-lovin' spinster.

Hmm. I had no idea I was worried about this. Who knew?!! Thank God I have this job so I can learn important things about myself! Now I have lots to reflect upon during my hours of hanger straightening, when I am trying to block out our store's muzak Christmas playlist. Excellent.

Thus, friends, my take home message is this: if you want to learn more about yourself, skip the expensive therapy sessions and get paid to delve into your psyche. Work with the public! Hawk cutlerly, cars, or clothing! And learn, learn, learn!

Instincts.

2006-12-07T00:29:00.000-05:00

On the drive home from work, I saw a Toyota Prius with a "Power to the Peaceful" bumpersticker. My first reaction was that the driver of that car must be a complete space cadet. Someone who has no concept of reality. I'm pro-peace. I'm pro-environment. But I guarantee I am not pro-the-person-driving-that-car. I have instincts about these things. Am I wrong?

an amazing discovery...

2006-12-05T00:50:00.000-05:00

Today's headline in the Avoiding-My-Work Gazette:

Kraft "Thick 'n Creamy" variety Macaroni & Cheese is none other than the old recipe of Mac & Cheese, masquerading as a new thing (and for twice the price)...!

Seriously, you know how Kraft mac & cheese got weird? Just doesn't taste the same, right? Dude, you have to check this stuff out. Unless my tastebud-memory fails me, I'm telling you it's the real thing.

Mac & cheese is rockin' study food. :)

Back to work!

priests and homework

2006-11-28T17:38:00.000-05:00

Been doing a ton of research lately. Final papers and exams are here. I have TWO 15-page research papers due a week from tomorrow, also two take-home exams and two sitting exams for the following week.

Today I was at the library at St. John's Seminary. (Sometimes my life really surprises me, you know? Today I hung out at the Seminary!? wtf... two years ago I'd have died laughing at the suggestion.)

Well, I found myself in the vicinity of the youngest priest I have ever, ever seen. This kid had to have been about 23. He was baby-faced, and had this innocence, this total lack of worldliness, about him. I couldn't stop staring at him. All in black, collar and everything. At an age where most of his peers are out on a seemingly endless bender, scouting around for a piece, and skipping class, this kid is on his way to hearing confessions and presiding over the eucharist. It really floored me. At the thought of calling him "Father," I lost my mind. I crossed the room the long way to avoid having to greet him, in case I choked on the word...

There are, really, so many priests in my department. I haven't been around so many unavailable men since my days as a fag hag in college. When I said I was hoping I'd meet more guys up here, this is not what I had in mind!

Anyway, what am I up to? Research... Research and studying the Church... Surrounded by people OF the Church. Church Church Church! Aack!

For a while once, I waited tables at a Mexican restaurant. Some days, I would say to myself, Whew! If I see one more tortilla chip, I think I'll scream! Much the same, I'm ready for a bit of a break from God and the Church and the Catechism and Vatican II and ALL of it. I'm DONE. Am I gonna join a cult in rebellion? Not likely. But am I anxious to discuss the meaning of life and salvation over a cup of tea? No way. I'm taking suggestions for trivial and mindless pursuits for my vacation.

Emergency.

2006-11-19T13:07:00.000-05:00

I was in a public restroom... you know alot of good stories start with this openning, right? So in the restroom, I was drying my hands and I looked at the paper towel dispenser. There was a little red dial on the side. It said, "Emergency towel dispenser." I almost passed out. Apparently, you can swivel this little red dial and get paper towels. Great. I hate paper towel jams as much as the next guy. But the label seemed a little incendiary. Big red letters... EMERGENCY! "Quick... GET THE PAPER TOWELS! It's an EMERGENCY!!"

I'd suggest something more measured like... a little placard that states, "If paper towel dispenser jams, turn dial."

I should run the world.

Marathon and 31 years

2006-11-16T03:02:00.000-05:00

So, I ran the Marine Corps Marathon two weeks ago with my friend Jamie. He's an old Army buddy and is in the FBI. Consequently, he's in shape.

We ran a 3:49, which I'm happy with. Thing is, when we crossed the finish line, he practically danced across, pumping the crowd up. I crossed and went into shock. Seriously. I was dehydrated from the flight out (and...you know...the 26.2 miles). So I finished and went into shock for about 45 minutes. Feet elevated, wrapped in blankets, etc, in the medical tent. Good stuff! At least I know that I pushed myself.

Attached are pictures of us crossing the start line and later about mile 16 near the Washington Monument. He's the guy to my side in sunglasses with well defined shoulders. I'm the muppet.

I haven't run yet since the race. Man, that not running feels good.

It's A Good Day.

2006-11-08T09:45:00.000-05:00

How very LA...

2006-11-03T15:32:00.000-05:00

Here is part of a news release sent to all employees at UCLA regarding traffic. -Mike

Street and Freeway Closures Announced for Film Production Near Los Angeles International Airport
Monday October 30, 2:48 pm ET

LOS ANGELES, CA--(MARKET WIRE)--Oct 30, 2006 -- Airline passengers and airport workers are advised that a major motion picture production near Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) may cause delays in getting to the airport beginning this week.

The film production for the movie "Live Free or Die Hard" starring Bruce Willis received permits from the California Film Commission, Film L.A. and the City of El Segundo. No filming occurs on airport property.

...

The production company stated in its letter of intent and permit applications that it will use pyrotechnics (explosives) and "gunfire for the entire time" of the filming. One helicopter is scheduled to be used during weekend filming, and "there will be larger explosions" with accompanying smoke early morning of Sundays, Nov. 5 and 12.

Cardiologist's Dream.

2006-10-27T16:13:00.000-04:00

The Lonestar State. Innovator of all things deep-fried.

Political Ads.

2006-10-22T12:43:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday, I was watching my usual Sunday morning programs (ie. Meet The Press and This Week). Almost every commercial break included some political ad. Ya know, for County Commission or District Prosecutor or something. I have to say, I loathe these ads. What has happened to our political system? And are there people out there that are influenced by these ads? And if there are, why do we let these people vote? F' everyone's right to vote. Universal suffrage might need to be reconsidered.

What particularly ticks me off is the fact that there is no honest, reasonable dialogue. You can't possibly learn ANYTHING about a candidate from these ads. Most ads say things like (and these are real examples):
--"My opponent voted in favor of allowing our children easy access to sexually explicit and violent video games."
--"My opponent has been known to defend gang members and drug dealers, who sell drugs to our kids near their schoolyards."

Am I to believe that there are people out there voting in favor of more gang violence? More gang violence, please? Or that some parents prefer more sexually explicit video games? "Well, little Jimmy, I'd let you play this video game but there isn't enough cartoon sex." I also love personalizing the attack, as if the drug dealers are selling to YOUR kids at THEIR school.

But how do you respond to these ads? Do you actually use money and time in order to say things like, "Despite what my opponents claims, I am not in favor of more gang violence." That almost as assinine. But without the response, do people assume its truth or there is a secret to hide? A closetted, secret obsession for selling more drugs to kids?

Here is a list of things no one, in general, wants more of.
--gang violence
--SIDS
--low calorie, high crystal meth vending machines in our school cafeterias
--abortions (the GOP would love everyone to think this is the Democrat's position. I repeat, NO ONE WANTS MORE DOGGONE ABORTIONS! The method to reduce them is the real debate that no one even touches.)
--sending our jobs to Mexico (I hate cliches like this. Not even the Republicans want Americans to not work. No one wants this. Maybe the Democrats should realize a Hanes t-shirt made by a unionized, American worker would cost $32 as opposed to a 3-pack for $7).
--lies and deception
--pooping and peeing
--the terrorists, who hate freedom and liberty, to win (It is sick I need to address this. But this one is the biggest winner, I think. There are people out there that actually believe the "other" party wants the terrorists to win. NO ONE WANTS THIS! AND another thing, terrorists to do hate "freedom". They hate watching over 100,000 civilans die. They hate a foreign superpower occupying their country for 3 years. They hate not having electricity or running water or schools. They don't HATE freedom nore are they attacking OUR freedom.)
--less research for a cure for Parkinson's or MS (EVERYONE wants these cures. Again, the way to achieve is the debate.)
--babies on spikes
--and my favorite, voting in favor of not equipping or supporting our troops (what a line of bullshit. I heard Sen. Mike DeWine (R-Ohio) say this on Meet the Press. What a douchebag. Everyone supports the troops. What kind of an asshole wouldn't? Those men and women give of their time and life. But voting against a spending bill means you disagree with the way the money is being managed or spent. You are not voting to "put our troops in harm's way." If the spending bill didn't pass, the next day they would have another bill ready to vote on. It would get through... with... dare I say it... compromise!)

Ah, I love soapboxes. Had to get it out of my system. I can't handle election years. My bullshit meter just goes haywire.

Don't go there.

2006-10-17T21:00:00.000-04:00

I do *not* think of myself as a prudish person, but lately some of music, television, and movies has gotten so crass/offensive that I'm actually disturbed by it. These are NEW LEVELS of disgust.

Some specific examples include:

South Park. Normally I really like it, but now there's usually at least one moment per show that makes me really disgusted, such as animated defecation. I guess the idea is that it's so disgusting that it's funny. There might be a small portion of 3rd grader in me that thinks that is cool, but it's maybe 2%. Tops. Besides, South Park is for Mature Audiences, and I think by the time you're 17, the "what's grosser than gross?" jokes of grammer school have become...just gross.

Eminem's song "Shake That." I heard it in a club recently and got my groove on, but I couldn't quite make out the lyrics. Later I downloaded it and listened. WOW. That is really, really dirty. Normally I encounter that level of dirty in novelty shock acts (e.g. 2 Live Crew), but this seems mainstream. D/L the explicit version of the song if you are looking for a nasty (in a good way) beat and equally nasty (in a bad way) lyrics. I guess that's why parents kind of flip over this guy--he's got talent, and he's just nasty/wrong in some ways. I'm sure, out there in cyberspace, there are multiple anti-Eminem blogs being typed right now..."save our youth..."

Jackass 2 The Movie. An MTV film. I have NO DESIRE to see semi-professional stunt men deliberately drink horse ejaculate or put a leech on an eyeball. Wrestle and anaconda? Yes. Ride a rocket ship and almost get killed when it explodes? Yes. The other stuff? NONONO...NO.

http://www.apple.com/trailers/paramount/jackass2/

Saw III. I am disturbed by the PREVIEW and won't even hotlink it. Enough said.

All that being said, in reference to Bird's earlier blog about MTV: are we talking 1980's/1990's MTV, or today's MTV? Because I think (and I know I'm sounding old again) that things have really CHANGED.

You kids, get off my lawn.

a nice little chuckle before bed

2006-10-10T00:10:00.000-04:00

"Some people are like Slinkies... they're not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs."

LMAO. This was a little gem tucked inside an otherwise lame forward from a coworker.

Lotusfest.

2006-10-07T13:54:00.000-04:00

Where else can you listen to and see performed Nordic/British fusion, Iraqi maqam, Carpathian gypsy folk, Afro-cuban grooves, Cajun international folk and French gypsy jazz klezmer all in one place? Lotusfest. Should be called Hippyfest. But if Lotusfest is hippy, sign me up for the free Che Guevara t-shirt! Heck yea!

My Privilege (a la Jonathan Swift)

2006-10-05T22:25:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, I was in Florida with some friends. In order to get to Ft. Lauderdale, I had to hop an airplane. My first flight since the "No liquids, gels or aerosols" rule.

I want to know one thing. When did my privileged status as a white male disappear? Since when did society renege on the promise of unfair, preferential treatment for the white man? For years, I have enjoyed a place of undo, inappropriate yet inexplicably advantaged status simply due to my European skin and Y-chromosome. What am I to do now? What about my needs? What about my wants and desires? What about the treatment to which I have grown accustomed? What ever happened to fairness and inequality?

I used to walk right on through any security checkpoint. The officials would say, "Excuse me, sir," or "After you, sir." Whatever happen to the good ole days of profiling? One spring break, I took a trip to London with some buddies. At Heathrow, I walked right through security as Amit, my Indian friend, was stopped and searched. Thoroughly. For no reason. Now, I have TSA officials confiscating my deoderant, my toothpaste and my gel. Yes, I packed it. Yes, I ignored the signs. I'm a white male. I'm privileged. And get out of my way!

But no. And to make matters worse, Amit travels constantly, as businessmen tend to do, and he never gets searched. Now, I have become the victim. A victim of institutionalized unequal inequality. From this day forward, I carry my torch for all the downtrodden, white male majorities of the world. We will not fall to the tyranny of justice. We will not go quietly into the night as our unfair advantage is replaced with reason and common sense. No.

What next? A woman president? Sheesh.

Billboards by Nicholas Sparks

2006-10-02T00:29:00.000-04:00

Every day, on my walk to school, I pass a construction site of brand-new condominiums. They'll have a view of the resevoir (a really decent little body of water) and the park. In the forefront of the site there's a large billboard for these units. Its design is elegant-- it depicts a svelte woman with sleek hair in a tailored skirt and blouse gazing out her picture-window. And in large script across the top, it advertises these new... elegant... "Gracious" condominiums.

Spacious? no.
Graceful, even? no.
GRACIOUS.

Now, I ask you, friends... what the hell is a gracious condominium?

I suppose it thanks you for living in it when you walk in the door. It must also respond modestly and with appreciation when you compliment it. Maybe it gets you that hazelnut cream you like for your coffee?

So much for my place. I mean, it's considerate enough, but I'd never call it gracious.

Anyone have the number for Sotheby's?

2006-09-26T20:24:00.000-04:00

So, the other night, the nuns, Kirstin, and I are sitting down to a lovely homemade dinner (benefit of living in a convent: food not from a can!).

Anyway, we're chattin' it up and I make some cultural reference to the MTV "Newlyweds Show".

"What's that?" asks everyone in unison, and then I remember that these are middle-aged nuns. Forgiven. Thirty-year old Kirstin also has no idea what I am talking about, but she is a little earth-lovin', compost-diggin', natural-buildin' hippie, so I understand... and, frankly, am a little envious. I mean, wouldn't all of our lives be better if we had never heard of Jessica Simpson or Chicken of the Sea controversy of '03?

Sympathetically-- and apologetically-- I try to bring the baby boomers (and Kirstin) up-to-speed. "Oh, Newlyweds is a dumb reality television show that plays on MTV. You know, now that MTV doesn't play music videos anymore".

And then, Kirstin makes a comment that causes me to actually snort my water. Snort. My. Water.

"I don't think I have ever seen a music video".

What? WHAT?!!! A member of generation X who has never seen a video-- ever?!! That seems possible only under one of two conditions:

1. Kirstin grew up in a developing country without electricity.
- Nope. She grew up in rural Minnesota (so kind of close), but did have running water, tooth paste, and tv. (I confirmed this with her)

2. Kirstin is amish.
- She isn't.

Only logical conclusion: Kirstin is lying... or just really forgetful.

I try to jog her memory. "Oh, yes you have. Nearly-naked women gyrating their hips while sippin' on gin and juice? Men made up to look like they are not made up standing knee deep in a river lipsyncing to a cheesy love song?".

Blank stare.

Kirstin has never seen a music video.

At first, I am honestly appauled. Didn't her small town write to their cable company, informing the network leaders, "I want my MTV"?!!!

My second thought, though, is "Cha-Ching"!!! Suddenly, I am compelled to grab Kirstin by the hand and drag her to the Antiques Road Show to find out what I could get for her at auction. I mean, really, a non-amish, non-Taliban sighted thirty-year old American who has never seen a music video?!!! She must be the last one on the planet!!!!

As I am counting my dollars and determining the appropriate salary (and commission) we should ask of Barnum & Bailey, Kirstin looks at me with her innocent eyes and asks, "Will you show me a music video?".

Friends, I face a moral dilema. What is the right thing to do? Do I bring her into the millenium (the last millenium) and give her a common experience with her peers? And if I do, which videos need to be included within our tutorial? I mean, obviously, "Video Killed the Radio Star", "Thriller", and "Take on Me", but what else? Could she really handle Madonna and cone bras, NIN, and Marilyn Manson?

Or, is the better choice to leave her in her video-virginal innocence, sheltering her from the reality of boy bands, choregraphed street dance sequences, and Paula Abdul?

Friends, help me. What would Socrates do?

adventure

2006-09-22T23:03:00.000-04:00

It's been about a month now since I moved out here to Boston, and I'm glad to say things are going smoothly (and thanks to everyone for asking and well-wishing!).

All this change has given rise to lots of thought and self-exploration. Those who know me best will not be surprised at this... I tend always to look inward, to process things. But then, I think anyone would! Maybe I'm just more aware that I'm doing it than most people.

Anyway, the thing that keeps creeping back into my consciousness is this: how and when did my previous life get to be so small? By small, I don't mean boring or trite, just... routine. It's not like I'm up here hanging from every available chandelier. I just can't remember the last time I tried something new before this! Somewhere along the line, I just stopped seeking the opportunities.

I'm itching lately to keep the adventure going...! As I get more settled here and find my pace, I feel this pang, this longing-- to not let myself get into some rut (albeit a new rut) of school/work/friends/whatever; to keep things fresh. There's such power in trying new things. It doesn't even have to be some big crazy adventure thing, either-- it's just about challenging my ideas about myself and my world, about seeing things from a different angle.

So, here's my challenge to myself: For the next 30 days, my policy is to be game for anything. Provided it's affordable, legal, moral(ish), and doesn't jeopardize my job or my schoolwork, I agree to say YES to invitations, big and small. Lunch with a friend? Yes. Email about an art opening? Yep. Hiking? Yes. Checkers? Yes. High tea? Yes. I've kinda already started-- yesterday I served as acolyte for a small Mass (I *never* thought I'd do that!), and tomorrow morning I'm walking in a 5K for charity.

This could really get exciting. And if I enjoy myself this month, I may just employ this policy on a permanent basis. look out, folks...

Public Service Announcement: iTunes

2006-09-21T22:31:00.000-04:00

Ladies and Gentlemen:

About a month back, my computer crashed. All of my music went with it. 80GB. That’s a lot of music. But, salvation: my favorite music (about 6GB) was still on my iPod. The music is stored in lovingly created playlists that I have compiled over time:

The aforementioned Running Mix.
Workout Mix.
Chill Mix I and II.
Romance.
Love.
Groove.
Stupid Groove.
Army Crew Mixes I, II, and III (Vegas edition).

You’d think that I could somehow upload all of the songs on my iPod back onto my computer, but iTunes specifically prevents this to discourage stealing music. Luckily, I found a program on the web that allows you to do this called iPod Gadget. There are others like it (just do a google search). So, for $19.95, I got my favorite music back. Here’s a quick word of warning:

For those of you with iTunes, DO NOT update it. When it says that there is a new version available, don’t download it. Save a copy of the installation software for your old version in case your computer crashes and you have to reinstall iTunes. The newer versions offer almost nothing (e.g. album art), and chiefly serve to make it harder to get anything off of an iPod in an attempt to combat piracy, which also serves to screw you if your computer crashes.

This has been a public service announcement. And now back to: Star Wars, the lost scene between episodes IV and V (yes, I am a geek).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22Lx016uPSo

It has been a little over a week since I was almost destroyed in a massive fireball wreck...

2006-09-19T15:21:00.000-04:00

I know this sounds a little nuts, but I swear this is all true.

I was up in SF (San Francisco) helping a friend move into his new 1.5M house last week.

Nice guy, good heart. He's got some problems, but all of us have some problems. He's a chef. In exchange for me helping him move, he took me out to some of the restaurants where he knows the chef and sommelier, where we had great 7-course meals.

Just a note to all the faithful out there: I admire you. I've been brought up around lots of people who don't have much faith in their lives, and let me tell you, it's Hemmingway-esque crazy to not believe, especially if your family is abusive or you have no significant other. I've been picking up on a theme lately with many of my family and friends: they fill up what I feel like is a big void in their lives with something else. Too much wine. Vodka. Adrenalene. Pot. Cocaine. (quick note to everyone: I drink rarely and socially, and I don't do the other stuff with the exception of natural adrenaline e.g. being an M1 Tanker or jumping out of a perfectly good airplane).

Anyway, last Monday night, up in SF, we're in my friend's car. Here's an example of his car, the Subaru STI:

http://www.rsportscars.com/foto/07/imprezawrxsti06_01_1024.jpg

His isn't even factory any more--it's been modified further and does 0-60 mph in under 4 seconds. It's 2AM. We're on the Bay Bridge in SF. Here's what that looks like on the map:

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&q=bay+bridge,+san+francisco&ie=UTF8&om=1&z=13&ll=37.809513,-122.348557&spn=0.072422,0.137672

And then, the following takes place really fast:

We're talking. I'm a little buzzed from all the wine that was so wonderfully paired with our courses, and I'm a little tired from moving all day and it's 2AM. I realize that we're going pretty fast. We're going faster. Much faster. He says: "let's see how fast we can go." In maybe 3 seconds, we've sped up from 90 MPH to 150 MPH. I glanced at the racing speedometer. Literally, without exaggeration, 150MPH.

There's a small bump in the bridge bed on the curve. It's curving to the right, and you know where bridge plates meet, they're not always perfectly smooth on the pavement? There's a little bump there.

The car un-weights just *slightly*.

The back end comes around just a few degrees into a power slide at 150 mph on the f***ing bay bridge at 2AM. Driver's side now rotated slightly forward.

Luckily, adrenaline is just dumped into my friend's blood and his racing training makes him expertly cut into the turn as we skid in triple digit mph on a narrow bridge. We turn and slide the other way. I'm slightly in front. I'm hoping to slow down enough to not be pulped when we slam into the wall or possibly way, way over it. We tack AGAIN, back to driver. And one more time, the fourth tack, spinning 270 degrees and simply, lightly backing into the wall at 6 mph, leaving a little ding in his racing exhaust.

We scream because we CANNOT BELIEVE we're alive, high-five, and get the hell out of there.

I have a little chat with him the next morning. That might have been amazing, but that was so, so stupid, and we really should both be dead. He agrees and apologizes.

A few more degrees on that first turn and we would have easily flipped a dozen times to our deaths in a wreck on the bridge or just clear off of it. A hair off on the corrections and we would have slammed into the wall at well over 100 mph. Luckily, there was that racing foil for added ground pressure and racing tires, racing suspension, racing everything, and a racing driver. Luckily, there were almost no other cars on the bridge just then.

It makes for good stories the next night, and there's a little tiny scratch on his car that we both understand should have been our deaths, which is sickly thrilling.

Why am I saying this? Faith, folks. Good family. When you don't have too much of either, it's thrilling, shocking, sad, and amazing what good people will do to fill up that space that I don't think can really be filled by something else.

Anyway, I'm wary of hanging around people who are dear to me, but are downright dangerous. And I'm glad to be here.

Buckle up.

Well... It Is Finished

2006-09-13T22:17:00.000-04:00

So, I ran my first mini-marathon. 13.1 miles. Yea, I'm excited. It's an accomplishment for me. Before race morning, my longest run had been 10.5 miles about a week earlier. I trained pretty diligently, except for a few weeks where training consisted of overeating. But regardless, I'm please. I ran the race in 1:57, which is a hair less than a 9 minute mile. My first nine miles were about an 8.5 minute mile. My last four miles were much worse. The only part on the last stretch that I ran well was when the race route passed the sororities. What can I say? Every guy my age did the same thing. I actually laughed about it after turning the corner with another dude about my age and ability.

I definitely learned a few things:
--26 years old is not the new 21 years old. It's true. My right hip is still a little sore.
--have respect for hilly roads
--people who train for marathons are insane. (I can not imagine running for 2 more hours after my first 2 hours).
--next time, band-aid my nipples. Yep.
--U2's cover of "Mission Impossible Theme" should be on everyone's workout mix. I felt like a secret agent running mile number 5.

I know Fr. Bob has a picture or two. He's the Dominican pastor at St. Paul's... he ran the race 3 minutes faster than me. I mean, he does have God in his corner. Whatever. If I get one or two, I'll post them.

Now that I think of it. This blog needs more photos. The troops and I will start working on that.

It has been a week since I was nearly stabbed to death

2006-09-09T18:27:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, I was home alone at the convent. Well, actually, that is not true: I was the only human at the convent; in fact, I was accompanied by four dogs, two cats, and one fish—all of whom were entrusted to my care. The nuns + NIT drove our former housemate, Yessina, to Los Angeles to begin her new life, thus requiring my vigilant care of the zoo-like domestic brood.

Though we live in a country house on a quiet farm street, I was anxious about my solo condition because the Sisters had forgotten to leave me a house key; every time I left the house, I was vulnerable to intruders and other undesirables. Still, I soldiered on.

Even before my near-death experience Sunday, the weekend was difficult. On Thursday I ate a dubious burrito in Mexico and suffered its poisonous effects all weekend (use your imagination). Also, the “Sun City” has been under water; in the last week alone, more rain fell in the area than usually accumulates in a year. Floods, mudslides, and closed roads have basically sidelined the entire region. And, of course, there was the other…. issue… I faced during my home stay.

The Issue. I am ashamed to admit that under my watch, the convent has been christened… and I don’t mean in the religious way. For the first time, sex has occurred—many, many times—within the convent’s confines. Specifically, Surge “surged” all over Zoey… all weekend. (Below please find a picture of Zoey-Surge-Foreplay)

Zoey is one of the dogs in my charge. Surge is the mutt who used to squat at our neighbor’s house (now he squats on Zoey). On Friday afternoon, Surge discovered how the dog door to our house works. On Saturday, he discovered other “doors”. In every room he made this discovery. Loudly. In the kitchen, while I was making coffee. In the hallway outside my room, while I was getting dressed. In the family room- while I tried to listen to Tim Russert lay into Bob Casey- grunting, thrusting, panting. (actually, what I did hear from Mr. Casey was pretty pitiful, so the noise pollution probably did him a favor). Humpage all over our house.

What would the nuns say? In my two weeks in the house, I hadn’t yet learned their canine coitus policies, so I was left assuming they were as strict as the fornication rules governing their own lives; of the four promises these women made at Final Vows, two concerned sex! Each takes a vow of celibacy and a vow of chastity. Truthfully, I can’t even guess the difference (Aunt MB, do you know?), but what I can conclude is that these women take pureness seriously. And now, just three days under my tutelage, their house is defiled. Are there purification ceremonies for convents to counter the taint of mutt sexin’? At least I kept them out of the chapel…

Anyway, back to my near death experience… this all ties in. I left the dog door to our house open all day Sunday, to encourage Zoey and Surge to take it outside (they were bothering the other dogs, too. Bailey at one point barked out something that I am sure was the canine equivalent of “get a room”!). Thankfully, Zoey and Surge disappeared for a spell, allowing me to suffer my stomach parasite—affectionately named “Eugene”- in peace.

Then, at nightfall, I noticed an elderly gentlemen limping up our driveway. Was this Mr. Trujillo, our neighbor who has threatened to call the dog catcher if another member of our brood defecates in his fields? Quickly, I ran a dog roll call: Saga, check. Yogi, check. Bailey, check. Zoey… ZOEY!!! I ran outside to plead my case to Mr. Trujillo—I couldn’t allow a dog to be nabbed on my watch!—but he was already gone. Probably to the pound to watch Zoey’s slaying. I got into a car and did a search of the neighborhood. Twenty minutes and no Zoey. Hopeful that she had found her way home, I returned to the house; still, no bottom-biting, sexin’ pooch. Resigned to meet the Trujillos on their turf, I walked toward my room to put on a pair of jeans (I was already p.j.-rammed because of my infirmity) and a contrite countenance.

OMG. One of the five doors in the long hallway at the back of the house was closed… a door which had been open only an hour before.

OMG!

I wasn’t alone.

While I had been searching for that damned dog whom I had banished from my presence for humping all over the house, an intruder had entered… an intruder who was now hiding in Skarlee’s room, waiting for his opportunity to slaughter me. I skulked to my room, grabbed my cell phone, and called the only person who I knew would be awake at that hour (to give him my address to call into the paramedics in the event that I was stabbed while we were on the phone). Less than sympathetic to my precarious situation, Peter insisted that I open the door to my murderer’s hide out.

“I know you are here, Intruder! Jump out the window now because I have the police on the phone,” I called.

No response.

“Open the damn door!”, Peter yelled in my ear.

“He is going to kill me”, I responded.

Then, over Peter’s guffaw, I heard the sounds of a struggle from within the room. “Peter,” I whispered, “someone is in the room!”.

“OPEN THE DOOR!”, he roared. Incanting the Blessed Mother to accept my sinful soul into the warmth of heaven, I pushed the door open and ran.

THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT!

OMG, OMG, OMG!

For God knows what reason, I pressed my luck. I again flung open the door and…

OUT RAN ZOEY AND SURGE!!!!

Bitch! Bastard! Damned dogs!! They had heeded Bailey’s plea and had, indeed, gotten a room—and locked themselves in it!!! Needless to say, Surge slept outside and Zoey went to bed without a biscuit!

I was nearly killed because Surge can’t keep it to himself.

I am the best damn dog sitter who ever lived.

(...though, apparently, not the greatest fish guardian; Nemo died two days after the nuns’ return. A coincidence, I am sure…)

Newsweek's My Turn

2006-09-08T00:17:00.000-04:00

I was reading Newsweek today and ran across the section entitled "My Turn." I rarely read this section as such editorials tend to bore me and often relate to a topic in which I have little or no interest. But the past two Newseek "My Turn" sections have been thoroughly entertaining and, in some ways, downright funny.

A past My Turn was entitled "I'm Old -- and I'm Just Fine With That." It was written by a charming old lady, Mary Immel. Without paraphrasing the whole darn article, Mary mentions how a clerk in a store referring to her as "young lady" sort of ticked her off. Mary is hip enough to know she isn't young anymore, but so what? Two great lines from the article. "It must have seemed a miracle to him that I had been able to locate the store and hobble inside," and "In spite of my outward signs of aging, I manage to tie my own shoes and eat my oatmeal without assistance." The article is just great.

This week's My Turn is entitled "My Declaration of ... Well, Dependence." Written by Angelo DeVitis, the article talks about assisted living homes. His style cracks me up. The guy is sharp enough to read through words like "luxury" and "classic" and "independent living" to understand the place is a home for old folks who need some help. But again, who cares? He takes this pun to its extreme when he deadpans the name of his retirement home, "Life-Care Senior Citizen Independent Living Classic Luxury Residence." I was laughing out loud in my chair. Stringing all those false descriptors together is just funny to me. It demonstrates the extent to which people will disguise something that everyone else understands perfectly for what it is.

Hope you enjoy both articles. I had to share them.

Mimes.

2006-09-05T00:14:00.000-04:00

Last Thursday, I was sitting at my desk doing some work. I had a random thought. Have I ever laughed at a mime? I honestly don't think I ever have. I mean EVER. What is to laugh at? Mimes aren't funny. A mime is basically a clown without sound, props, gags or jokes. Come to think of it, what the hell are they? Are they supposed to be ironic? Are they poking fun at the human condition by taking away our predominant mode of communication and replacing it with that "I'm trapped in a box" thing? I honestly don't get it. I asked a few other people and they haven't laughed at mimes either.

That leads me to a recurring theme. What have the French ever contributed to society? Two things... recreation (i.e. the 32 hour work week) and mimes. And this warrants a permanent seat on the UN Security Council? Right.

How apropos...

2006-08-28T17:58:00.000-04:00

For those who don't know me, this is Anthony's friend Sarah (previously) from Bloomington. I post under the name Sachi because it's my family's longtime nickname for me. I adore it, and there are too many Sarahs out there besides. Sorry for the (months) delay in posting-- hope this stuff was worth waiting for.

How apropos... that this blog is called What the Hell Do I Know?, and (though I realize it's a rhetorical question), as I sit to write my inaugural post, I'm grappling with more uncertainties, mysteries, and unknowns than I ever EVER have before in life. What the hell do I know? Not a freaking lot, at the moment.

I've just moved to Boston (yesterday!), and let me tell you, folks, uprooting one's life like this is not for pussies (can I use that word on the blog? I suspect Anthony will freak, but don't let him fool you-- a couple drinks in that man and it's all he can talk about. HaHaHa- Hi to Mom and Aunt Mb. LMAO ...he's gonna kill me.) No, seriously, for all my weaknesses, I am not someone you'd call meek or faint of heart, and this is unequivocably kicking my butt. I'm exhausted, and it's only been ONE day.

Navigating my new life is something like being in a foreign country where no one speaks English... I constantly feel lost. I pick up a lot, but still 90% of it is a total mystery. Even at the end of the day, I go home to strangers.
Not. one. single. thing. in. my. life. is. familiar.

What the hell do I know?
I do know that I'm stubborn as hell and I won't quit till I conquer this. I know, though I feel mostly queasy, my every instinct still tells me that BC is exactly where I'm supposed to be. I know that I have a killer sense of direction and someday I'll figure out these godforsaken streets. I know that ALL the people I have met so far have been simply *lovely* and I can't wait to know them better... But I also know I'm counting the days until October when I can visit home.
I can't wait, guys.

How much is too much?

2006-08-27T17:02:00.000-04:00

After a long first week at the border, I have much to share- including funny stories about Darcy and Tonto dolls; a trying tale concerning Kirstin and my now-broken second toe; and a list of my co-workers quirks… mercifully, though, I will spare you the minutia and focus instead on a question that keeps reemerging for me: How much suffering could I survive?

Two-three days a week, I work* in a clinic in Anapra, Mexico (a small colonia of Juarez) that provides physical therapy, massage, and support to children and young adults with special needs. Our clients suffer from varying maladies, including CP, spinal bifida, autism, etc. Their incredible suffering is compounded by severe socioeconomic barriers and a culture that shuns persons with disabilities and the parents who raise them. I am overwhelmed by the challenges that these families face with so little capital and support. In their places, I don’t know how I would cope.

The hardest cases for me, though, might be the two twenty-something gunshot victims the clinic treats. Both were vital young men before gang violence left them a paraplegic and quadriplegic, respectively. In the U.S., this fate would be damning; in Anapra, it is nearly insurmountable. Imagine: obviously, these guys have no medical insurance. The only “treatment” they get is at our clinic, where “treatment” means a bath once a week, catheter change, massage, and basic leg and arm exercises. Save our clinic and a few lucky residents’ homes, there is no running water or electricity in the entire colonia—which means no showers to clean one’s bed sores or television to watch during unending hours of boredom. Worse still, they can’t go anywhere. Nothing is handicap accessible in a squatter community, and even if it were, they could never get there. Anapra lacks pavement—it is a town on a sand dune. Thus, any “road” is a hole-pocked sand track which years of crazy Mexican driving has beat down into something resembling a path. A wheelchair can’t cut it in this community. Finally, the economy is desperate at best. There are no jobs for persons with limited mobility—there is barely enough work for healthy, vibrant middle-aged men and women.

I have always thought of myself as someone who would make the best of whatever situation in which she found herself; however, spending only a week with our clients, I have begun to understand how pathetic and weak I am. I doubt I could make it. I couldn’t look at the 50+ years of life ahead of me and see myself as perpetually confined to a room in a shack, waiting for someone to come to powder my bed sores and periodically rotate me onto my side. I admire all of the families with whom we work simply because they get up day after day in a world that is desperate, take a deep breath, and try. I am not scrappy enough to be anything but a privileged little first-worlder. Yuck and double yuck.

Otherwise, life is good and I am enjoying myself (talk about non sequiturs, but I couldn’t leave this post on that sad little note). I live with very lovely people and have enjoyed catching up with old friends. And, of course, the job search is in full-swing (which I am going to get back to just as soon as I post this mini-tome). Que bueno.

*NB: by “work”, please understand that I mean the most trivial, basic tasks a person can perform—errand running, bath filling, floor cleaning, etc. As egomaniacal as some people find me (follow my eyes east to the Fields in Bloomington, IN), I don’t have delusions that I am doing anything of significance besides learning while I am here. Though, of course, I am still going to be sainted for quietly enduring 30+ killer mosquito bites while talking on the phone with Anthony last week. I probably contracted West Nile, which is going around our county. I am such a good friend. You’re all lucky to know me, really. ;)

Karlee and Zach Wedding.

2006-08-20T11:23:00.000-04:00

Last night, Karlee and Zach, two friends from Bloomington, got married. Karlee and Zach are the MPRI Softball's starting 3rd and 1st basemen, respectively. It was my second Protestant wedding... woo hoo! I was really impressed by the vows. I wish I could remember the wording. I do remember when the minister was reading the vows I said to myself, "Wow, I'm really impressed with these vows." But alas, I can't remember the phrasing. The minister also said something I thought was insightful. He said, "I want you to fight. But fight with the right weapons." That's even true with friends. (The minister is refering to love, as the right weapon, not like numchucks or something).

The reception was fun. I definitely sat at the "drinking" table. When you looked across the reception, our table was easily distinguishable by the mostly empty beer cups. The first song the whole crowd danced to was a favorite of mine. Def Leppard "Pour Some Sugar On Me". I never realized it but I definitely know all the words. Other songs that I enjoyed at the wedding:
-B-52s "Love Shack" (Courtney was rockin' out pretty hardcore to that song... uh oh)
-AC/DC "You Shook Me All Night Long" (there's definitely a picture of Amy, Courtney, Jimmy and I head-banging to this song. I was doing that pinky-forefinger sign. It was late into the night. The picture is great. If I ever get a copy, I'll post it or burn it... one of the two)
-a rap song that talks about bitches and ass and drinking and other stuff (does that narrow it down?)
-that Usher song where you say "Yea Yea Yea Yea Yea Yeaaaaaaaaaa"

I think everyone had a good time. And to Karlee and Zach, the party was good times. You both are great people and I couldn't be happier. Congratulations!

Oh yea, they probably won't read this for 8 days because they are on their way to Tahiti. Yea. Tahiti. Whatever, I'd rather be in Bloomington. I'd say, "Please take me with you," but how weird would it be for me to ask to go on someone else's honeymoon with them. The thought cracks me up.

Lovely

2006-08-14T07:25:00.001-04:00

Hi, everyone!

Finally, because my intensive Lithuanian class is over (more on that later), I am at last able to post to this snazzy blog! And thank goodness, because apparently Anthony and Mike are about five minutes from excommunicating Sarah and me for our silence! Sadly, though, they will not be a fan of this post, because it is going to be a triffle schmultzy.

I am moving on Friday. It is completely unreal to me, as I have lived in Bloomington, IN (save summers) since the Fall of 1999. Now, 1.75 degrees later, I am venturing out-- into the very unknown. For the next two months, I will be working as a full-time volunteer with the Sisters of Charity in El Paso, TX. Three days of week I will work in their medical clinic in New Mexico (writing grants, etc.) and then two days a week I will work in their clinic for disabled children in Juarez, Mexico (I think my job there will entail lots of driving about the crazy, sandy streets of Juarez picking up families and transporting them to and from the clinic). One of my good friends is already of a full-time volunteer with the SoC there, so I am very much looking forward to q-t with her and my other friends in the area (several years ago, I did an internship in El Paso).

While in "The Pass", I have a second priority: finding "for real" full time work. As I am so sick of school my eyes are starting to swim, I have decided to finish my degree in concert with full-time employment. I have a job offer with a gov't agency (pending the sucessful completion of my background check), but that "pending" is stretching into impurtitude. Consequently, I *need* to find a job (yikes!). So, my evening and weekends for the next two months will entail lots of cover letter writing and resume sending. And, after two months at the Border... well, who knows, I guess? I am a Daughter of Fortune these days-- I am hopeful that my luck will continue and something pleasant will pan out. Fingers crossed.

Okay, enough about me; please allow me to share with you about what is truly amazing: the lovely people in my life. Namely, Anthony and Laura. This past weekend, Anthony and Laura (1/2 of the "churchies" friend group-- which I am delighted to announce that I did not name!) threw the most beautiful going away party for Sarah and me (Sarah is heading to Boston College for a joint masters-- I will refrain from saying more, so that she may share the exciting details with you). I wish I could capture the enchantment of the evening in words, but it is impossible to create a complete picture of all of the warm goodness of the night. Perfect weather, grill fare, pine sprigs duct taped to oak trees, two priests and a couple of campus ministers, alcohol, dancing, Dolly Parton (not live, unfortunately-- that would have been really incredible!), the Coors lite chug, "Bye, Friends" the Cake, besties spirited from Chicago, O.P.P, copious amounts of alcohol, dancing citrinela candles (not those dastardly eye-sore tiki torches found at less enjoyable affairs), more and more alcohol, the Pennsylvannia Polka, and friends, friends, beautiful beautiful friends.

My life is lovely. I spent the night ensorcled by all the incredible that surrounds me here. "...all I could think was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful and yet again, wonderful" (Harris, L.A. Story). Leaving such awe-inspiring perfect seems unreal, because everything lovely in my life is so deep and rich.

Really, I am a little mad at Anthony and Laura. Why are they making leaving that much harder?!! Why must they be so nice and thoughtful and caring and wonderful? Those bastards!

Honestly, though, Anthony and Laura are once-in-a-lifetime friends. So much beauty crammed into two lil' people. The "churchies" have been the single most important blessing of my last two years in Bloomington. Absolutely sincerely, friends, thank you for loving me so well. I love you very much.

I better stop. If I thought that my blogship was precarious before this post, it is absolutely in question once Anthony (and probably Mike, too) reads this rambling, Kumbaya treasties of love and friendship. For those of you just meeting me with this post, trust me: I am usually not this kind. Especially about others. Though I do share nice things about myself once in awhile! ;) I am hopeful the comment section will be filled with testaments to my salitness. Future posts will likely be less pleasant, thank God. So don't discount me yet! ;)

I will post a picture from the festivies once Anthony shows me how. I am not quite twenty-first century yet (though I do own my first cell phone! Crazy!).

Another weekend. Another move.

2006-08-06T12:28:00.000-04:00

This morning, a crew (Bertie, Sarah, Jeremy, me, Laura) moved Laura's stuff from her sublet apartment to her house. And the house is quite charming. It has those nooks, hallways and little spaces so characteristic of an older house. It adds character. It reminded me of my house (i.e. my parent's house) in Cleveland.

But really, today, I was admiring what a good friend I am. Really. I impress me. I am really good at packing a van. I can maximize that space like no one else I've ever seen. Also, Mascia & Burns Moving Inc. (privately held company, co-founders Bertie and I, est. 2006) is incredibly efficient. We accomplished the move in less than two hours. Unheard of! I'm such a good person. HAHA!

I should also note this is the second moving company of which I am a part. Noodle Arms & Glory Days Moving Company Inc. (privately held company, co-founders Mike and I, est. 2004) was my first moving company. That company helped Mike move his stuff out of 1951 Selby Ave. (in LA) to his new pad in LA.

Finally, Sarah mentioned to me, "One of these days, you're gonna overstay your welcome on this planet." Today, Sarah, Bertie, Jeremy and I decided I might have already overstayed my welcome. I'm the house guest who doesn't know when to leave.

Moving.

2006-07-30T12:32:00.000-04:00

Saturday was the big move for two of my good friends, Sarah and Bertie. Truthfully, I blocked off the entire weekend for this project. Had you met Bertie and Sarah, you probably would've done the same thing. I even made two surprise inspections Friday night, mostly to be a pain the ass, but also to make sure appropriate progress, as I define it, was being made. I am proud to report more than appropriate progress was made. The bulk of packing was done before midnight. In my book, that is amazing. I'm usually a last minute packer anyhow.

On Saturday at 8am, the move commenced. Apparently, the U-haul people were being difficult with Sarah. Sarah and Bertie wanted a 14 foot truck for 24 hours. The U-haul lady said, "You will have a 10 foot truck for 4 hours." Gotta love a jerk who can make such definitive statements. I love people like that. Of course, Sarah cooked up her own response to this U-haul lady. In good taste, Sarah didn't deliver this response directly to her. She just told us what she would've or wanted to say later. "10 foot truck. Fine. 4 hours. Fine. And fuck you." No one does exasperated better than Sarah (except for me).

Regardless, I think the 4 hour time limit actually helped us. (Just to piss Sarah off, Bertie and I decided there was a 2 hour time limit. So all our countdowns would coincide with the 2 hour instead of the real 4 hour limit. I would shout, "55 minutes left!" Sarah would roll her eyes and say, "Until the 2 hour mark, right?") We finished with some time to spare. Enough time to get some of Sarah's things over to her brother's house for storage. One of my favorite moments was sitting in the car with Sarah as we follow the U-haul truck. Sarah was getting frustrated because we seemed to be taking a longer route. She kept saying, "It's 99 cents per mile!"

Amazingly, everything fit into two 6'x6' storage units. This is especially amazing for Bertie. It turned out Sarah actually didn't have that much stuff. A couple odd shapes, like a futon, an end table, etc., made the storage unit look artificially full. But Bertie's unit is full. Andy, Sarah's brother, and I moved a fully loaded filing cabinet. I tried to step-up onto the truck while holding my end of the cabinet. I felt like I was dragging a Steinway piano to the summit on Mount Kilimanjaro. The best part is to hear the defense of every piece of paper in that cabinet. I also moved a set of 10 pound dumbells that were stuck in a backpack, as if that is all the disguise these dumbells needed. Then again, judging from the size of Bertie's guns, I'd say those dumbells make great door stops. Bertie also wanted to save her childhood dresser. Apparently, this dresser was endearing because the lining of the drawers was bicentennial liner paper with patriotic images. Bertie claims, "The little 'clink' noise of the metal handles was the soundtrack to her life." O brother.

All in all, the move was a success. And I'm sure you will hear more regarding this in the comment section.

Video "Games"

2006-07-24T00:42:00.000-04:00

The speaker of the following statement is old: “Back in my day, …”

At least that’s how I take it. Kind of like Dana Carvey’s Grumpy Old Man skit on SNL.

But, oh my goodness, have you seen the freakin’ video games that are out these days? That “kids these days” have?

Context: I was born in 1974. (Holy crap). Also, despite advanced Army training, I am a geek. Hence the topic.

My first video games were on my friends’ Atari's.
"Pong," in addition to being (really) the World’s First Video Game, was one of the first games I ever played.

I suppose you’re predicting that I’ll say, in predictable old-man style, that those early ones were the best.
Nope. The vast majority of them really did suck.

But these days (oh boy, soundin' old), video games are unbelievably complex. Today’s games are so involved, they cannot be simply picked up and messed with. You have to INVEST TIME in learning about them.

And there’s often a TRAINING PROGRAM within the game which the manual says you should do before attempting the demandingly hyper-realistically complex actual game. I’m serious.

The baseball video games are so advanced that I would have to learn more about baseball than I already know in order to play them even vaguely well. AND I PLAYED BASEBALL AS A KID. Not well, mind you, but I did the whole little-league thing and several summers of my life were spent playing it.

Video baseball game of my childhood: you could pitch fast or slow. You could try to swing or bunt. Two dimensional only. (My Rating: Sucked)

Video baseball game, some time ago (6+ years?): you could pitch fast or slow in three dimensions. You could alter your swing power and steal bases and stuff. (My Rating: Great!)

Video baseball game, today: when pitching in high definition 3D graphics, you have the option of curling your little finger on release if you press R1+R1+square+triangle, but if you hold down triangle, you could over-curl it and peg the batter, but be careful if you try this after about 10 batters, because your PITCHER ACTUALLY GETS TIRED AS THE GAME GOES ON, and it really depends on who’s pitching, because the pitchers are REAL PITCHERS from MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL™, and you kind of have to know their stats in order to pitch well with them. (My Rating: …um…think I speak for all old-ish people when I say: “Holy crap.”)

A Pretty Good Apple.

2006-07-17T23:46:00.000-04:00

So I had every intention of writing about my OKC trip. (And I still will). But for now, I had to share a real short story.

I got back to work today, and it was great seeing some of my work-friends again. Pat and Mark took sheer delight in sharing a little story with me that they knew would get me going. While I was gone, Mark apparently had, "the best apple of his life." They both told me this story and just waited for me to react. I was going to hold it back, but I couldn't. The best apple of his life?! Really?! I was shocked at how easily he discarded every apple from his past. He's probably had hundreds of apples in his life. I don't think it's fair to casually toss around statements about the "best apple ever." It's not a reasonable statement, especially since, with time, the taste of any one apple fades. How careless.

OKC!

2006-07-08T00:23:00.000-04:00

I just finished packing and it is 12:20am. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I am heading to Oklahoma City with 10 high school students for a summer service project. I still can't believe I am doing this. It is not really my style. I've never led a service project like this... as an authority figure. I've been involved with service projects, mostly with peers, and I've had leadership roles. But most of the kids going on this trip were born after 1988. Half of them were born in the 1990s! This is my first experience as a chaperone. Ew.

I'm sure things will go well. I'm bringing a camera to record the madness. At the OKC site, there will be nearly 300 participants, of which two-thirds will be high school kids. I'm banking on a positive experience. We'll see.

I'm not going to get see the final World Cup game... good luck to the Italians. Beat those Frenchies! And an equally exciting sporting event, go Team MPRI, everyone's favorite Bloomington coed softball team! Beat those Baptists on Saturday! We need to secure 2nd place!

DUI: Dialing Under the Influence

2006-07-02T23:54:00.000-04:00

I was out at the clubs with some friends on Saturday night. This entails meeting people and dancing, all of which is regularly facilitated by alcohol. Somewhere between 10:30PM and 2AM I probably consumed 4 or 5 drinks (vodka-red bull, vanilla stoli and coke, and the ever-popular "whatever you're having").

The Drink and Dial: Is this ever a good idea?

I submit to you that, like most things in life, it depends on the context. If you're having a blast and you miss a friend who isn't there because of, say, a geographical impossibility, a quick shout-out voicemail can be fun. Kind of a "hey, we're having a blast, you should be here, man, peace, brother (nondescript yelling)" message MAY be acceptable. It may be, in the parlance of the evening, "completely awesome." Let's look at the deciding factors:

1. Are you coherent or will you babble? (Coherent: good. Babble: probably not good).
2. Did you leave a voicemail or did you actually wake the person up, locking yourself into an awkward 1 minute conversation where the person you called has to yell to be heard over the G-Unit throbbing in the background, which, for some reason, you really want to get your swerve on to at this point in time? (Voicemail: good. Other: varying degrees of bad).
3. You did call a friend, right? You're not calling an ex with no other agenda than somehow expressing painful emotions, right? RIGHT? (Friend: probably good. New girlfriend: possibly good. Ex-girlfriend: I have never even heard of an instance where this turned out well.)

As for the phone call I placed last night, it was all good fun. Today my friend and I concluded that I shall be known for a period of time as "Drunk Dialey, the little known 8th Dwarf."

The Wrong Blessing.

2006-06-28T22:10:00.000-04:00

So at St. Paul's, I am a Eucharist minister (EM). For those non-Catholics out there, basically, an EM helps facilitate the distribution of communion as to keep the mass under an hour and fifteen minutes so people can get a good seat at Bob Evans or mow down as many elderly people in the parking lot as possible. In Euclid, Ohio, at St. Robert church, at the 9:30am mass, Fr. Weber always presided over the 25 minute miracle. I loved that mass! Big digression. Anyways, when a person (often a child) has not officially recieved his/her First Communion Sacrament or feels at the time not in the right state to accept Communion, he/she often asks for a blessing. There are many stock blessings. For example, "May God bless you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit." That is one of MANY!

My problem is that I never grew attached to one. So every time one of these people approaches me at mass, I use a different blessing. Two Sundays ago, this cute, pious child comes up with his arms crossed against his chest. That is a sign that this child wants a blessing. I put my hand on his shoulder and, instead of saying something reverent and meaningful, I, as is my custom, spoke words clear off the top of my head. I said, "God bless you, kid." I almost fell down in laughter. Kid?! The best I could do was, "God bless you, kid?!" I have no business serving this community.

Exciting New WTHDIK Development.

2006-06-25T23:10:00.000-04:00

As you may have noticed, blog posts have become rather few and far between. I think I am averaging a sad 1.1 posts per week lately. This is due to many factors which I won't bore you with... at least not right now. The really good news is that I have found three other people, as equally as nuts as I, with whom to share this blog. What was a monarchy is now an oligarchy. So expect more posts. Turns out this is a blessing in disguise. Genuinely, these people are very good friends of mine and keep me laughing (or crying or interested or at least pleasantly annoyed) nearly all the time. Guaranteed, it will make the blog more enjoyable for all involved. You will probably recognize these new blog owners as they post comments often enough. All readers should still feel comfortable to comment. The comments are often (regrettably) better than the original posting. Plus, these people have thick-skin. That's like a requisite for friendship with me.

One sentence fragment per new blogger... ready.. go:

Mike. UCLA roomate, Lt Cpt in US Army, TP hoarder and lover of fine, aged, expensive cheeses and shalotts.

Sarah. Theist-secular humanist meets neo-pagan in a very diplomatic, get-to-know-me sort of way.

Bertie. Aspiring bureaucrat with a penchant for hypochondria and fine, American, convertible automobiles.

My New Motto.

2006-06-20T00:02:00.000-04:00

My friends had me rolling with laughter. They've decided my new motto should be, "Life's too short." How not fitting is that?! When has life ever been to short for me? When you get upset about pie filling and rice pilaf or you consider the wasteful cost of 2-ply toilet paper, life can not be too short. As a matter of fact, perhaps it's just a little too long. Could you think of a less fitting montra?

What is wrong with me?

Complete Bullshit.

2006-06-14T00:25:00.000-04:00

I'm struggling to contain myself.

The minimum wage in America apparently is at its lowest point in 50 years, indexed for inflation. And the fucknuts running our government do not see this as a travesty. Though recommended by a House committee, it is has been pledged to be removed before an actual vote. The fact is that this breaks down close to party lines, with the Republicans voting against an increase. But shame on the Democrats for only caring during this election year. Trying to balance the gay marriage thing, I guess.

And the biggest kick in the nuts is that these jackasses just raised their own salaries due to increased "cost of living" for the SEVENTH year in a row. That is the equivalent of an annual $3300 pay increase. Special shout-out to Rep. Jim Matheson (D-Utah) for being the ONLY MEMBER OF THE HOUSE to call this issue to the floor.

And to be clear, I appreciate the complexities of the minimum wage issue. But it takes balls to give yourself a raise while not giving those below the poverty line a raise as well. Congressional salary is around $180,000 depending on your role. That excludes ALL benefits (not to mention their own personal investments). Minimum wage salary is the equivalent of $10,712 (40 hours per week, 52 weeks per year) with no guarateed benefits. Wow.

Here is a new implementable plan I just made up. Seriously. I really do believe this. The "cost of living adjustment" in the Congressional and presidential salaries is to be proportional to the increase in the minimum wage in any given year. If the minimum wage is flat, then elected official salaries are flat. Likewise, if minimum wage increases by some percent, then so does the elected official salary. How is that idea not fair?

This is what happens when I live alone and read/watch the news. What good is a tyraid with no there to listen?

Big Weekend In Sports I Never Watch But Plan On Watching.

2006-06-10T16:07:00.000-04:00

Two events that never really registered on my radar before.

The French Open. When I was younger, I played tennis mildly competitively. For a few summers, I played almost every weekend with a friend. I even entered a tournament once (I lost in the first round). During those summers, I would even tune into the major tennis tournaements... US Open, Wimbleton, etc. This French Open finals (on Sunday) is going to be huge. Rafael Nadal, a young Argentine player, has a 59 match winning streak on clay courts. Roger Federer, from Switzerland, has a 7-0 record in Grand Slam finals. Plus, this is first time in a long time that the number 1 and 2 seeds will appear in a Grand Slam final-- Federer currently ranked number 1.

The World Cup. The World Cup started this Friday. The US has its first match on Monday against the Czech Republic. I will be the first to admit that I know next to nothing about soccer. (I do know I will never call it football). I get the basic idea... but as for the rules, forget it. But I plan on learning a little through observation this time around. After reading a little bit about the tournament and teams, I'm sort of getting it. Teams are broken into groups of four. You must emerge as the leader or runner-up in your group to advance to the bracket. The US has its work cut out! There are three top 12 teams in the group (i.e. Czechs 2, Americans 6, Italians 12). And apparently, Ghana is a young, athletic team. There is something about international tournaments that is exciting. Maybe it's nationalism. Maybe it's comradery. I feel the same way about the Olympics.

Mr. Nissan.

2006-06-09T22:23:00.000-04:00

I was hanging out with friends, namely Jason and Carrie and their kids Camille and Asa. We decided to walk from their house to the Encore Cafe for some dessert. Camille, their three year old daughter, ordered a huge rice krispy treat. On the way home, she was holding the "treat" as she would call it. The cellophane wrapper was becoming a nuisance, so she chucked it. Shoot, if I were sitting in that stroller with my krispy treat, I would've consider doing the same. But being considerate parents, Jason and Carrie told her to not throw waste on the ground. Before Jason could walk into the street and pick up the wrapper, a gentleman driving a new, shiny black Nissan sedan was passing through the intersection. He slowed and conspicuously steered his car around the cellophane wrapper. WTF was he doing? Talk about an overreaction. It's not nuclear waste, buddy! Whatta jackass.

Lighter.

2006-06-04T22:30:00.000-04:00

I feel so free. Today, I accomplished the twice annual gutting of the closet space. I bag all the clothes I have not worn or touched in a year and donate them to the Good Will center. Two whole bags, people! I seriously recommend this to everyone. I can't describe the feeling. I feel light as a feather. I look in that closet and get such a sense of satisfaction. Less is definitely more.

Now if my mom participated in this semi-annual event, she could share my feeling. Of course, two whole bags would be the equivalent of throwing a lawn chair off the Queen Mary. But still.

Regarding Previous Blog Entry.

2006-05-31T21:55:00.000-04:00

21 comments on dessert. And still no one understands me. [insert angsty teen comment here followed by three months of black fingerless gloves and goth makeup and yelling at my parents in vague definitive statements always followed by YOU JUST WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND and a door slam]

Intriguing Desserts.

2006-05-27T22:28:00.000-04:00

One of my good friends in town makes the most intriguing desserts. I'm actually a HUGE fan of her baking. Not because it tastes good. Because it usually doesn't. Yet at the same it doesn't not taste good. Regardless, I'm always so fascinated by the taste, texture, flavor, etc. I never know what to expect. I actually request that she bake on occasion. Just because the dessert tastes so bad, doesn't mean I can't enjoy it.

For example, no one would ever mistake this friend's chocolate cake for actual chocolate cake. But at the same time, it isn't not chocolate. It something else entirely. It's like a secret recipe that only one person has and no else wants.

Also, this friend's frosting is always gritty. It's not bad. I mean, it's not good. But no matter what recipe she uses, the frosting turns out gritty. She's made this frosting using at least three different methods since I've known her. Gritty... every last one of em. But yet I go back for a second slice.

Also, never in my life have I tasted brownies like her infamous Sahara brownies. This dessert is so named "Sahara brownies" because I have never experienced this level of drought in my mouth. I felt like a gazelle in the African brush foraging for that last puddle of water left after the rainy season disappeared. But I felt myself compelled to have a second brownie.

Above, and for my first picture post, is a photo of her Zebra Cake. In this case, a picture speaks a thousand words. If this friend ran a bakery, her cakes would look like that on the shelf. And you know what? I'd probably be a repeat customer. Any dessert can taste good, but how many desserts leave you confused yet intrigued?

Pie filling.

2006-05-19T23:36:00.001-04:00

It always ticks me off when I see pie filling cans in the food drive bins at church. I mean, who the hell is raiding their pantry and dumping their leftover Thanksgiving Day cans of pumpkin pie filling on the poor? "They'll eat anything," I'm sure they say. This is not to suggest the poor do not deserve dessert. I think the poor should have as much dessert as anyone else. But if you are down and out, I'm not sure blueberry pie filling is the number one thing on your grocery list. Pat, from work, had the audacity to defend this practice. Of course, Pat claims she would never put pie filling in a collection basket... yea right! Here is a summary of the exchange.

"There are plenty of things you can do with pie filling," Pat said.
"Are you kidding me? You mean the poor and their insatiable lust for Belgian waffles? Or maybe crepes?" I replied.
"You can mix pie filling with rice."
"Who the hell mixes pie filling with rice?!"
"Well, why not? I'm sure it tastes good."
"It's not about how good it tastes. Pie filling and rice is not a meal."
"Because you say it isn't?"
"Are you nuts? Pie filling is for pie."
"Well, the poor can make pies."
"Well, where's the crust then? If you put pie filling in a collection basket, you should also donate the proper ingredient for pie crust. And maybe disposable pie tins. And where should these pies bake? Leave them out in the sun?"
"Poor people can have ovens."
"Whatever happened to green beans? Have you ever heard of green beans?"
"What, so all poor people should just shut up and eat green beans? What about enjoying life?"
"You are out of control."
"Likewise."

The best part... during this entire conversation, Chris, a physicist friend, was sitting in the background shouting from his computer station, "Let them eat cake."

Timing.

2006-05-19T00:28:00.000-04:00

This should be read in the voice that Stewie from Family Guy uses when asking Brian about his unfinished novel.

So the House and Senate Republicans aren't doing too well, huh? Feeling astranged from their base, are they? Afraid the polls might be true, hey? Concerned the Democrats might have some momentum, yea? Searching for some issue to reignite the base? Well, I think you've found one. Click for pandering.

Milton Berle.

2006-05-17T20:50:00.000-04:00

"You can lead a man to Congress, but you can't make him think."

Sensibility and Immigration.

2006-05-16T17:26:00.000-04:00

I have always admired the British politicians for always sounding sensible. Sundays at 9pm, I used to watch the British House of Commons on CSPAN for kicks. Tony Blair is one of my political heroes. Although I disagree with some of his politics, I always appreciate that he sounds reasonable and speaks with intelligence and eloquence. David Cameron, the leader of the new British conservative movement, sounds equally level-headed. In a Newsweek article, in response to an immigration question, Cameron said, "We must have a proper system of controlled entry. We need moderate, sensible language regarding immigration, combined with firm controls." Refreshing tone.

Now yesterday, I heard... “It is neither wise nor realistic to round up millions of people, many with deep roots in the United States and send them across the border. There is a rational middle ground between granting an automatic path to citizenship for every illegal immigrant and a program of mass deportation.” Did our president actually say this? It sounds reasonable, thoughtful, articulate and sort of indicates a grasp of the nuances of a very complex situation. You can see why I am having a hard time believing ole President "Smoke 'Em Outta Thar Holes" Bush said this.

On PBS on the Lehrer Hour, I heard a commentator suggest that, "Immigration will be the Gay Marriage of the 2006 election." I really hope not. I hate pandering, base pacifying issues. I'd hate to think deploying 6000 National Guardsmen to the border was part of this pandering. However, it seems as if Bush is attempting a shade of gray solution. Importantly, all the southern border states' (CA, AZ, NM, TX) governors are in favor of National Guard assistance. Also, Bush stated, "The United States is not going to militarize the southern border." Unfortunately, this falls short of directly rejecting the border wall or fence idea. This "Rio Grande Wall" along our border with Mexico disgusts me. What a terrible site that would be. However, he outwardly rejected the complete crap idea of deporting 12 million immigrants. Now, that deportation scheme was pandering at its worst. Hey, maybe the House Republicans should offer another $100 rebate?

But, seriously, President Bush, more talk like this, please. That's all I ask. Even if I disagree, moderate, reasonable and informed dialogue makes me happy. Maybe Dean, Reid and Palosi could take the hint too.

The Beast.

2006-05-14T21:31:00.000-04:00

Wow, it has been eight days since my last post. I'm soooooooo sorry for letting everyone down. By everyone, I mean my mom and aunt who are the most avid readers of this blog because they have to be because they are family and because I pay them.

This past weekend Michael, my good friend from Fordham, graduated from Duke University School of Medicine. It's a shame he couldn't get into a prestigious school. I mean, his MCAT score of 480 billion was clearly sub-par for the more reputable schools. Regardless, congratulations!

Amit and I, being the good people that we are, flew into North Carolina for the event. I must say, it was one of the best weekends in recent memory. We went out every night, met a lot of cool new people, hung out with old friends, got a private, backstage tour of Cameron Indoor Stadium (i.e. Duke basketball home court) from Michael's family friend who coaches for Duke, had a great steak dinner, made inappropriate jokes, laughed the whole time, and saw a good friend at the culmination of several years of hard work.

There is also "The Beast." Let me explain.

Amit and I landed on Thursday night at Raleigh-Durham International Airport. (Sidenote: "International" in the same sense that Indianapolis has an 'international" airport. A twice weekly flight to Toronto does not classify your airport as international). Amit secured the hotel arrangments and I took care of the car. Now, anyone that knows Amit knows that he would want a stylin' car. Can you picture us pimping a phatty Escalade with tinted windows, spinners and heavy bass speakers? Hell yea you can! Now, anyone that knows me knows that I rented the Toyota Corolla. Hey, its practical, economical and that bitch gets 32 miles per gallon.

Well, the Hertz rental car dude made us both happy. Apparently, they were fresh out of Toyota Corollas. Must've had an Eastern European conference in town. So for $3 more per day, the Hertz man gave us a 4.0L, V6, bright yellow Ford Mustang! The way she looked. The way she sounded. The way she moved. The way she reacted. If I could've made love to this car, I would have. I sort of tried... she wasn't into me... I'm not sure why not... I'm sort of cool... right... guess I wasn't bringin' my A game... whatever... I'm over it... I hope she calls. Anyways, the whole weekend we rode (haha) "The Beast." It was hot.

So I landed at IND this afternoon and took the shuttle to the parking lot. I took one look at my '98 Toyota Camry and threw up in my mouth. That 4-door piece of emasculation purrs like a hamster and handles like a bowl of soup. No bucket seats. No leather wrapped steering wheel. A hundred less horses under the hood. And best of all, my license plate is freaking DAD3383! No, it's not personalized.

FDR and Dubya.

2006-05-06T15:09:00.000-04:00

I read an article in Newsweek comparing FDR and Dubya. (The article is actually about a book about FDR, but the article author, Jonathan Alter, goes further to toss that book into today's pot of socio-political stew, stir it up and describe the taste. HOLY CRAP... what a metaphor).

Anyways, this set my mind a-wanderin'. Their backgrounds are not too different. FDR went to Harvard; Bush went to Yale. Both went to uppity private high schools. Both overcame serious ailments, polio and alcoholism, respectively. But both presidents turned out so different.

The biggest difference, in my opinion, is how each president chose to treat the American people. FDR told us, "There is nothing to fear but fear itself." This is at the time of great depression, and Nazis, fascists, and communists (Oh My!) threatening the power balance of the entire globe with our own country not yet at absolute superpower status. Today, embroiled in war of ideology, we are not told to not fear fear. We are told to make choices based on that fear. That fear of something, be it WMD, China, immigration, health care. Condi Rice said it best, "We don't want the smoking gun to be a mushroom cloud." WTF! Fear monger and manipulate much?

Anyways, the article is interesting. Admittedly, it is left-leaning. But I'll try to drum up something right-leaning for my next great political soapbox stand.

New Word.

2006-05-05T15:21:00.000-04:00

0.05 [pronounced "point oh five"]: (v) to 0.05; to mildly, yet belligerently, prod or hassle someone while mildly intoxicated. [root: blowing a 0.05 blood alcohol level in a breathalyzer often corresponds to impaired function and mild intoxication. As reference, in Indiana, 0.08 bal is the legally intoxicated level].

Sarah has had a bit to drink and is getting a little hostile. I wish she'd stop 0.05ing me.

Credit to Bertie Burns.

LOST.

2006-05-05T00:04:00.000-04:00

HOLY SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS SACRED IN OUR WORLD AND THE NEXT! THIS SHOW IS AMAZING!

I can feel my heart beating. The whole dynamic has changed. THE WHOLE DYNAMIC. I'll miss Ana Lucia. Libby... don't let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out. What is going on? I have to process. No thoughts right now. Wednesday 9pm ABC. This summer... if you are not with the show yet... watch Season 1 and 2 (which will probably be released before 3 debuts on TV). You will not be disappointed.

As for the opening sentence, no one can blaspheme like an excited or upset Catholic.

Fibromyalgia.

2006-05-03T20:28:00.000-04:00

"I hate that disease that old ladies think they have. What is it again? Oh yea, fibromyalgia. I hate the old ladies who stop you in the grocery store and tell you about their fibromyalgia for 30 minutes. Just take an Aleve and move on!"
-- Sarah H. at Yogi's

Honestly, a disease whose diagnosis depends on fatigue, achiness and sensitivity to touch does sort of piss me off. No offense to any of those who actually have fibromyalgia. I'm sure it's terrible. My point (as if I ever have one) is to express annoyance regarding those who consider all minor aches and pains part of their deteriorating fibromyalgic condition. I know a few hypochondriacs who I'm sure are coming down with this as we speak. "Oh my God! I have that!"

TP.

2006-04-29T13:35:00.000-04:00

I just got back from the Kroger for general grocery and shopping needs. Recently, in addition to other things, I ran out of toilet paper. The most on-sale toilet paper was a 24 count, single roll Kroger brand "Nice n' Soft." (Sidenote: It is neither nice, nor soft. A more accurate, though probably less successful, advertising slogan would be "Uncomfortable n' Abrasive.") Anyways, it was 24 count! Sweet mother! My eyes bugged out due to the sheer volume. But needing the product as I do (I'm tired of using old towels.... JUST KIDDING), I loaded this obscene amount of toilet paper into my cart and started praying that the cashier not be an attractive twenty-something. Sure enough, the shortest checkout line was a friendly, attractive peer. Is it weird that I felt like telling her I was not going to use all that toilet paper at once? Buying that much TP is like a nonverbal statment equivalent to, "Excuse me, while my rearend explodes." I just get conscientious about buying that much TP all at the same time. I feel like she'll make assumptions about my diet that are simply not true. I swear I do subsist on prune juice, puddle water and chinese food buffets! Honestly.

Underpriveleged and Crap.

2006-04-27T23:23:00.000-04:00

Mark claims, as a child, he was "underpriveleged." By "underpriveleged," he means that his parents considered forcing him to sit under a hairdryer with a bowl of popcorn watching The Lawrence Welk Show a treat. Sure sounds underpriveleged to me.

On another note, Jeff and Jen got me good today. I was standing at the nurses' station and chatting with some people in passing. Jeff and Jen pointed to the ground with absolute horror. On the ground, I saw what I thought was a little turd. It really looked like that. Jen says, "Ewwww! It came out of your pants!" I was HORRIFIED. I thought to myself, "How can this be? How can this happen without me knowing?" I was dancing around the clinic floor completely out of my mind. Jeff tossed me latex gloves to clean it up. I was in a frantic state of trying to muster the courage to remove the nastiness and at the same denying it was me. I must've blamed it on a dozen people, some of whom do not even work at MPRI. Jeff rushed over and barehanded the lil feces. He put it to his nose, sniffed and ate it! OMFG! My jaw hit the freaking ground. Immediately, I look over at Jen losing her mind with laughter. My brain quickly connected the "poopy" with the half-eaten brownie on Jeff's desk. The lil crap was actually brownie. At this point, I was pissed and yet relieved. Thank God I actually had not unknowingly shat myself. John and Avril also fell for the whole thing. They probably thought I was the sickest person in the world. "How could Anthony track poop into the clinic?!"

All I have to say is payback is a bitch, folks. (Oh yea and well done. Flawless prank).

MPRI Softball. Heck yea!

2006-04-23T19:08:00.000-04:00

First off, I promised myself I wouldn't double blog (i.e. two blog posts in one day). But this is just too good to pass up.

The MPRI softball team is now 2 - 0. For our first game, the other team didn't show up. But for the game today, they showed up and we sent them home sad. Heck yea! Honestly, everyone did great. Our defense was pretty good, but we just out scored them. Every time the other team put a few runs on the board, the next at-bat we'd add a few more. We took an early 3 run lead, and the other team just couldn't catch up.

Special shout-out to Dr. Wen Hsi. We are up by 1 run late in the game, and the other team has decent offense. To come out victorious, we need a few more insurance runs. Bases loaded, 2 outs, the count at 2 and 2... Wen hits a 2 RBI single, scoring Jen and I from third and second, respectively, and advances Karlee to third. UN-FLIPPIN-BELIEVEABLE! With all that physics training, in his mind, Wen calculated the perfect bat velocity, swing angle and hit trajectory to ensure the MPRI win! In Britain, in the 60s, it was common to see walls graffitied with "Clapton is God." Well, I'm on my way to Bloomington Hardware and if you see "Wen is God" painted on the MPRI parking lot... I swear it wasn't me.

Other shoutouts to just about everyone else... I'm impressed. Several people had an on-base percentage of way over .500... and a couple with 1.000. Amazing. Several fielders came up with big plays. Go team!

I just bench pressed my car from all the adrenaline.

Governator.

2006-04-23T11:32:00.000-04:00

I just saw an interview with Arnold Swartzenneger (sp?) on This Week with George Stefanopoulos (sp?).

I had the opportunity to vote in the special referendum election in Calfornia. The two referendums were: 1) should Gov. Gray Davis be removed in accordance with the iniative proposed? 2) if removed, who should be governor in his place? I voted to keep Davis in office not because I thought he was so great but because I thought the iniative was unfair. 1.6 million people signed a referendum to remove a governor who was elected by ~14 million people. That's ridiculous. (Not too mention the $2 million referendum was funded by a Representative who had hoped to be the replacement governor candidate). However, if Gray were removed, I voted for my first (and only) Republican, Sen. McClintock. He was a pretty hard-edge conservative, but at the same, California is the place of Liberals Gone Wild. I saw it as balance. I love baby seals as much as the next guy, but not to the tune of underfunded education, no healthcare policy and labor union tyranny. (Wow, I just sounded like a Republican... "you can either save baby seals or healthcare and education... PICK ONE! You can't do both!") Not too mention, in the election, all the Democratic candidates were boobs anyhow. And Ah-nold just was not my type of candidate, and forget even addressing, the pornstars, actors and other know-nothings who decided to run.

Anyways, on This Week, I never thought I would say this, but the Governator gave off an image of sincerity and that he sort of had a clue. My bar is set pretty low, I guess. He was critical of the Bush Administration on Iraq, Katrina, immigration, healthcare and education. Would it be so bad to have a Republican candidate who is pro-choice, pro-civil union, pro-stem cell research (the bill he passed on this topic was visionary), anti-deportation of immigrants and capable of criticizing his own party when appropriate? I mean, he's certainly a Reagan Republican in the sense that he is a triumph of style over substance. But maybe that is what an executive politician should be. Leave the policy design to the think tanks.

Fordham Visitor.

2006-04-22T11:42:00.000-04:00

So one of my best friends, Amit, is visiting Bloomington this weekend. He was consulting in Chicago and decided to make a stop-over in Indiana.

Last night, Amit and I and some friends went out to the Alley Bar, a local favorite pub. The conversation was definitely all over the place-- Supreme Court Justice hook-ups, Grimace and Mayor McCheese, the Israel/Palestine conflict, pelvic exams. We won't ever post the conversation in this blog. It's needs severe censoring. Anyways, Amit had three beers (according to his own count) and I had two-and-a-half beers (the last half I nursed for at least an hour). This morning I woke with a headache. Amit complained of the same thing. After popping a couple Advil, I said, "Well, we're not undergrads anymore." Amit said, "No, that's not it. The beer must be stronger here." Right.

New Theory.

2006-04-19T11:13:00.000-04:00

This theory was triggered by the White House Press Secretary's resignation:

White House Press Secretaries are not permitted to have facial hair because it makes it look as if they are hiding something.

Sooooooooo Polite.

2006-04-18T23:41:00.000-04:00

Today, I started thinking about this incident a couple weeks back. I went out for lunch with seven or eight co-workers. As we were walking into Olive Garden, Jen (a co-worker) and I saw a group of three girls coming out. So, trying to be polite, we held the door and let the girl party walk out. One particularly special girl turns and says, "Thank you sooooooooo much."

I almost slammed the door in her face. "Sooooooooo much"?! I'm not sure I did something that warranted a "sooooooo much." A simple "thank you" would suffice in this case. A smile and head nod would be just as appropriate. It's about specific language and perspective. I'd hate to see her reaction if I actually did something meaningful, like donate the kidney, which she'll undoubtedly need to remedy her soon-to-be acute renal failure brought on by severe binge drinking at the local Eye Felta Thigh sorority. How can I take this person seriously? And more importantly, how will society ever take her seriously? Can we, as a people, honestly expect a contribution to the greater good from this yahoo, who clearly has lost all perspective on life? We all know the answer to that one.

Happy Easter.

2006-04-16T11:56:00.000-04:00

Happy Easter. (I was going to go with one of those "Spring Greetings" or some other inclusive generic bullshit salutation but I decided to just own this one).

Easter Sunday mass was rough at St. Robert Bellarmine. The church looks so small. I had to be one of the youngest people there. It made my pre-mass ritual (i.e. looking for attractive girls) more difficult. I thought I had made a wrong turn and ended up in the Cleveland Clinic Geriatric Ward. On that note, the Edith Bunker Choir was in full effect. God bless 'em. The pastor did have a quippy thing to say at the end of mass. "Before we extend the Easter joy to our community, let's extend that joy to the parking lot. Take your time." It's priest-funny. The bar is set a little lower.

I hope I'm never at a point in my life when being out of the parking lot is a high priority. "Man, if I only get out of this lot first, I'll be winning the race of life," as I flip off the older couples in their Crown Victorias. Who am I kidding... I already think this way. Speeding through yellow lights on the way home from work gives me the illusion that I'm gaining back a few wasted minutes toward my PhD. "YES! That's a three minute time saver. Here I come PhD-ville." I keep a running tally... it's true.

When Bloomington empties for the summer, I find major time savings. It's great. No kids (yikes... did I just refer to 18-22 year olds as kids?!) to get in my way to or from work. O Lord! Epiphany! I drive a 4-door Camry. My license plate has the unfortunate letters "DAD" in it. I wear a knee brace when I go jogging. I make that noise when I stand or sit... like it's an effort.

Sadness setting in. This festive, spring stream of conscious blog post just took a turn for the worse. I'm getting depressed and going to stop writing while I still have the will to live. I'll go beat my 3-year old niece, Marie, at the Easter Egg hunt at the family party. That'll make me feel better. "HA! Marie look what I found! I'm so much better than you!"

Don't Cheat. Conclusions.

2006-04-12T22:45:00.000-04:00

Cognitive Reflection and Decision Making. That's the title of Dr. Frederick's work published in the Journal of Economic Perspectives. Part I was the Cognitive Reflection Test (CRT). Frederick correlates this to decision making, specifically in economics, using questions like those in Part II. In his article, he shows the correlations.

The bad news is our study carries essentially no weight. We clearly did not sampled a population remotely close to a Gaussian distribution. The good news is this group was certainly leading the bell, not trailing. Anthony's family, friends (and friends of friends) are too damn smart and with it.

The CRT is not an IQ test. It is supposed to test the difference between an intuition-driven response and a reflection-driven response. Those people able to make quick decision while relying heavily on intuition generally score lower on the CRT. Those people who require more time to reflect before making a decision score higher on the CRT. Each CRT question has an intuitive answer that is wrong. Our average correct answers in our group's CRT is 2.45. On a whole, this score outperforms MIT, Princeton, Harvard, University of Michigan and other groups. (Of course, again, our N = 11 which means our study presents no statistically significant correlation).

In economics questions and correlation, when comparing two questions #1 and #2, directly from Frederick's paper, our results compare very well. This compares the subset group of those scoring 3 out of 3 on the CRT. For question #1, our group scored 87.5%, while Frederick observed 60%. For question #2, our group scored 50%, while Frederick observed 37%. The trend is right... perhaps the numbers would be closer with a proper sample population. Interestingly, we are slightly behind the trend for question #3. The reflective answer is (b). This is mainly because the "value" of option (b) is $150,000 (chance times payoff). But only 50% of our 3/3 CRT group chose that option, while Frederick observed 60%. This is a great study to apply to "Deal or No Deal."

Men and women correlation? Though completely inconclusive, our trend is about right. Our sample population was also skewed female. Frederick found men tend to score higher on the CRT than women. Frederick does not offer much of an explanation. Let me suggest one. Men score higher on the CRT because men are generally reasonable, rational and fact-driven decision makers. Women tend to be unreasonable, irrational, emotionally-driven decision makers. This goes back to caveman days when men had to hunt, trap and figure out how to survive while women sat on their rearends watching Oprah and eating chocolates. It's just a theory. Anyone have any better ideas? (I can't wait to hear them.) Any other thoughts on the CRT?

Thanks, group, for participating. My PhD is officially 36 minutes behind schedule due to this "study."

Oh yea, the answers.
CRT Part I: $0.05, 5 minutes, 47 days
CRT Part II: high CRT scored correlated answers are b, b, b, b, a

Don't Cheat. Part II.

2006-04-11T20:35:00.000-04:00

Here's Part II of the quiz from yesterday (see Don't Cheat. Part I.). Complete Part I first, if you haven't. Don't read the comment sections of either "Don't Cheat" posting until you yourself have posted or recorded your answers. Here are the instructions for this final section. You have no time limit. You do not need any aids except your mind in order to answer the following questions. Ready. GO!

1. Would you rather have (a) $3400 today or (b) $3800 next month?

2. (a) $100 now or (b) $140 next year?

3. Would you prefer (a) $500 for sure or (b) a 15% chance of winning $1,000,000 and an 85% of getting nothing?

4. (a) $100 for sure or (b) 75% of winning $200?

5. (a) a definite loss of $100 or (b) 75% chance of losing $200

DONE!

Record your answers. Post 'em or email 'em (aemascia@hotmail.com). Answers and explanations posted tomorrow. I can't wait to do the number crunching on this group. Maybe the local blog statistician will lend a hand. Don't make me go all p-value and chi-squared on you!

Quiz/study taken from:
Shane Frederick, PhD
Assistant Professor
Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Don't Cheat. Part I.

2006-04-10T23:27:00.000-04:00

Here's a quiz. Do not read the comment section of this posting until you have recorded your answers. Here are the instructions. You have exactly 90-seconds. You may use a pencil or pen and as much blank paper as you need. Answer the following three questions. That's all. Remember 90-seconds from the moment you read the first word of the first question below. Ready. GO!

1. A bat and a ball cost $1.10 in total. The bat costs $1 more than the ball. How much does the ball cost?

2. If it takes five machines five minutes to make five widgets, how long would it take 100 machines to make 100 widgets?

3. In a lake, there is a patch of lily pads. Every day, the patch doubles in size. If it takes 48 days for the patch to cover the entire lake, how long would it take for the patch to cover half of the lake?

DONE!

Record your answers. Post them, unadulterated and uncensored, if you dare. Part II quiz questions tomorrow. Answers and explanations to be posted the following day. Let's see if our findings match the good professor's. (If you don't want to post but want to be part of this innovative and important verification of scientific findings, email me at aemascia@hotmail.com with your answers).

Quiz/study taken from:
Shane Frederick, PhD
Assistant Professor
Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Second Last Official Friday of Lent. Right?

2006-04-07T21:01:00.000-04:00

So I have to tell this story. A couple weeks back, I was eating lunch with two of my favorite MPRIers, Pat and Av. I was grumbling about not liking the Subway tuna sandwich, and at the same time, pissing and moaning about not having any alternatives. Pat turns to me and says, "You could have a nice pilaf."

WTF! A pilaf?! I mean, I've had pilaf on the side of something. But for a main course?! And who suggests off the top her head a pilaf for Lenten Friday lunch? I was sort of hoping for suggestions. But never did I see this one coming. Plus, putting the word "nice" in front of pilaf put me over the top. As if she were trying to sell me on the idea. To this day, Pat defends this suggestion.

On the other hand, Avril, who is good and creative cook, suggested I make some sort of fish dinner... with garlic, seasoning, lemon butter or some crazy thing. She made it sound wonderful. And when she makes it, I'm sure it is. But again, I was dumbfounded. Do these people know me? I've been annoying the crap out of them for the better part of two years! If I can get through fixing a bowl of Toasty O's (i.e. Kroger brand Cheerios), I'm proud. Then again, Avril eats fish eyeballs. Yea she does.

When "blank" was young...

2006-04-06T22:03:00.000-04:00

Sadly, I am writing about dolls. But I just finished having dinner with a few friends. And for about 15 minutes the topic was... you guessed it... dolls. On the positive side, the stories were probably the funniest and most entertaining doll stories I've ever heard. Let me share a couple.

When Sarah was young, she had a propensity for cutting things. Low and behold, Sarah found her perfect toy. She thinks it's name was Polly Hair. Is that crappiest name ever for a doll? Anyways, Polly Hair's (wtf) hair had the ability to grow. So when Sarah pushed this little button on Polly's back, she would make this motor sound (ehhhhhhhhhh) and her ponytail would start growing. If you wanted to cut her hair, you couldn't because the scissors included with the toy did not have blades. So you just mashed her hair between two plastic arms and pretended. Then (my favorite) if you wanted the hair to retract, you would have to crank her arm. Definitely the "jankiest" toy ever.

When Laura was young, Cabbage Patch Kids were all the rage. While living in a small town in Iowa, the local toy store carried the only stock of these garden-variety children. Unfortunately, when Laura's parents arrived to purchase two dolls for Laura and her sister, the toy store was all out of white babygirls. Oh yea, by the way, Laura and her sister are white girls. Only two options were left-- the black babygirl or the white babyboy. And as Laura would say, "Everyone knows the boy cabbage patch dolls were second rate." Regardless, Laura's parents purchased a white boy doll and a black girl doll for their kids. When Laura unwrap her gift, she was the proud parent of a black babygirl Cabbage Patch Kid. At this very moment, she became the white Sojourner Truth of the mid-1980s doll civil rights movement. When her friends mentioned that it didn't make sense for Laura to have a black babygirl doll, Laura would vehemently defend her kid by saying, "Well, my husband is black!"

When Bertie was young, she was only allowed to play with Barbie, not Ken... you know, she's Catholic and there is no premarital sex, especially between inanimate objects with the anatomical correctness of a paper clip. That's a side note. Anyways, she had about dozen Barbies. One day her mom walks in the room and finds Bertie hanging her Barbies from ceiling with yarn. Here's a Barbie hanging from her neck. There's a Barbie hanging from her legs. Bertie's mom asks, "Bertie, what are you doing?" Bertie turns and answers, "Look mom! Circus of the Stars!"

So I lost.

2006-04-05T20:44:00.000-04:00

So UCLA lost. My (blog) prediction was wrong. My official NCAA bracket was wrecked before the Final Four even began. Cheers to Jay (alias "Your mom likes the trey" from the Home Court -- Bloomington) for picking Florida to win the whole thing. Well played. The tournament was exciting, although the final three games were arguable let-downs.

Speaking of lost, LOST tonight! It is like my favorite drug, recently replacing crystal meth.

Just a Hammer.

2006-04-02T16:16:00.000-04:00

So, I signed up to help lead a summer mission trip to Shawnee, Oklahoma. I'm not sure what possessed me to do such a thing. I don't really like.. you know... interacting with others. Anyways, I recieved an email soliciting adult leaders. Sadly, I just had my 26th birthday and at time I was mourning my lost childhood. "Yea, sure. I guess, I'm a flippin' adult. I can't go unless I chaperone 'cuz I'm too old." Something to that effect.

Anyways, so we (the team and I) are in the dead middle of organizing and planning. Things are actually going well. The team is solid. I just returned home from one of our monthly meetings.

The place in Shawnee we are working wants the team to bring tools. So Sarah, a friend who is also leading the trip, turns to the group and says, "I don't have any tools. Geez." Like a shark in an ocean of chum and tuna, I pounced at this great opportunity.

"What do you mean, Sarah, you don't have any tools? Were you born in the third world? Should I show you pictures of this thing I like to call 'a hammer?' Is this like that movie "The Gods Must Be Crazy" where the tribal people discover a Coke bottle for the first time? Wow, you are not handy at all." All this said in a very sarcastic tone. You know the one.

Without missing a beat, she gives me this look and says, "Oh, I'm sorry. So you have tools to shingle a house? Do you own a tarp?"

She's so right.

LOST and Karaoke.

2006-03-29T22:16:00.000-05:00

I just finished watching LOST. While watching LOST, I was eating a handful of Cadbury mini-eggs. Lord, those are good! Anyways, that episode was probably the best episode of the show thusfar. I've been officially addicted for almost a year now. It just keeps getting better.

Speaking of LOST, for the past five or so days, I've been thinking about what song I could do if I were to ever sing karaoke. With a subscription to Napster, pretty much any song that pops into my head is fair game. I can download it, listen to it, maybe even sing along, and then make a judgement call. My realization is that I should never sing karaoke. However, why should that stop me from considering the "if I did" scenario? Oddly, I noticed many of my selections are probably not well suited to my abilities. Just by observing my Napster download list, I can see I'm sort of drawn to Motown or Funk. (My parents always were). I'd like to believe somewhere inside this white boy is a black soul waiting to sing out! Or white folks, like me, should just never attempt to sing certain songs in public. Regardless, let me share the more ridiculous (or brilliant) ideas I had. Feel free to comment or suggest.

1. "Brickhouse" by The Commodores
2. "Let's get it on" by Marvin Gaye
3. "I heard it through the grapevine" by Marvin Gaye
4. "Signed, sealed, delivered (I'm yours)" by Stevie Wonder
5. "Get up offa that thing" by James Brown
6. "I want you back" by Jackson 5

I just made myself laugh. Can you imagine me singing "Brickhouse" or "Let's get it on" or "Get up offa that thing" ? In the name of all that's sacred! I have no soul. Goodness. Plus, those songs require the singer to be cool or chill or suave. I'm none of those. Really, this is becoming more of a mental exercise every minute.

Predictions Final Four.

2006-03-29T01:18:00.000-05:00

Statement: LSU vs. UCLA & George Mason vs. Florida

Prediction: Finals. UCLA vs. Florida

Prediction: National Champions. UCLA.

Thursday Night NCAA Basketball.

2006-03-24T20:27:00.000-05:00

Two amazing games. Texas vs. West Virginia. UCLA vs. Gonzaga. Both games went to the very end. The VERY end. Like last seconds.

WV drills a three-pointer with less than 10 seconds left to tie the game. WV, who was trailing Texas for the majority of the game, breathed a sigh of relief (along with a burst of celebration) to have a chance in overtime to move on to the Elite Eight. However, Texas inbounds the ball, moves down the court to a scrambling WV defense, and feeds the ball to a player about 6 feet from the three-point arch. The unlikely shot goes up and in. Unreal.

Having trailed Gonzaga then entire game and still being 9 points shy with under 3 minutes left, UCLA pulls it together. The 'Zags led at one point was 17 points. The 2nd half was all UCLA. Farmar brings UCLA within 1 point. As the 'Zags inbound the ball to a full court pressing UCLA defense, the whole arena must have felt the intensity. UCLA strips the ball and scores a quick 2 points to take the lead for the first time the game with about 10 seconds left! UCLA recovers a bad pass / loose ball to seal the game for UCLA. 'Zags got a quick shot off at the end, but couldn't connect.

Judging from the adrenaline rush, I felt like I was playing. I mean, my basketball career at St. Robert Bellarmine was quite amazing. I had 3-points-- 1 free throw and 1 bucket-- in four years. Hey, that's a points per game average of 0.0625. UCLA recruited me (i.e. answered my begging and pleading with an offer of admission) for my physics abilities. But I told them, "Hey, I'm not all scientist, baby." Yea, that's right.

Kids Say the Darnedest Things.

2006-03-23T00:14:00.000-05:00

It has been a while since my last entry. I am trying here.

A coworker told a great story about his son. We'll call my coworker, Jack, and his son, Henry. I'd hate to post a story about his family with the right names without his approval. There are some weird people out there in cyberspace. I can attest that some of them are probably reading this blog. You know who you are.

So Jack was on vacation with his family. He was taking his son to the resort's pool. En route to the pool, a 6-foot tall gorgeous blond strides past Jack and his son. She's absolutely physically stunning. This woman easily passes for a model-- the tall, gorgeous, statuesque type. The face. The look. The body. The whole package. And she had just left the pool. As she walks past Jack and his son, she's in a tiny little bikini. Jack observes Henry just starring at this bombshell the whole time. Henry can't take his eyes off of her! His mouth is open, eyes are bugging, completely engrossed. Somewhere inside, Jack is sort of proud of this.... a that's-my-boy sort of thing. Finally, the sexy blond makes off for her resort room. Henry immediately turns to his dad and says, "Daddy, did you see the size of her feet?!"

Saints.

2006-03-17T22:32:00.000-05:00

Pat is a lovely person with whom I work. That's all you need to know to enjoy this first of, hopefully, many "Life With Pat" installments.

This incident happened today, St. Patrick's Day, 17th March 2006.

So I turn to Pat and said, "Hey Pat. It's your feast day today."
"Oh. I guess I never thought of it that way."
"Well, there sure aren't any St. Patricias," I said, with that "duh" sound in my voice.
"Oh come on, there must be one."
"Wanna bet?"
"I'll take that bet. What do I win?" Pat replied.
"I win a free lunch at the TroHo," I retorted. No one gets the best of me. The "TroHo" is what all the cool people in Bloomington call the Trojan Horse, a Greek restaurant on the square downtown.

Of course, like all other need to know items, I googled it. Within seconds, my jaw slams on the ground. The first hit on Google reads, "St. Patricia, feast day March 2nd..."

"Oh shit. I lose. Wait. If this saint is Lutheran or Episcople, it doesn't count. She has to be a Catholic saint."
"That was never part of the bet."

Suffice it to say, St. Patricia is a Catholic saint and Pat won. St. Patricia lived in Naples in the 4th century and basically renounced men in order to live a life of holiness. Yea, that's it. You know this lady's miracles were probably card tricks. Needless to say, she's a pretty crap saint... but nonetheless, a saint. What pope canonized her and ran away?!

Later that day, Maureen, a friend, called to arrange group plans for a St. Patrick's Day pub crawl. After that phone call, Pat passed me in the hallway on her way out the door. I turned to her and said,

"I wonder if there's a St. Maureen."
"Not this again. There must be," Pat replied emboldened with her morning bet winning.
"Double or nothing?!"
"You're on!"

Googled it and, voila, no St. Maureen. Sweet victory.

Not Dolly Parton.

2006-03-14T21:54:00.000-05:00

So this past weekend, I saw Transamerica. First, I'd highly recommend the movie. The Mascia Two-Thumbs Up award. In short, it is about a guy, awaiting a transsexual surgery, who is informed of a potential son from his past. Typical Hollywood liberal bullshit, right? Wrong. The film never enters the realm of preaching. The movie stays honest. I think that is the best way to describe it. As a sidenote, the movie takes on one of my favorite qualities in all film history-- the journey. The story is told through this cross-country (or transamerican) journey with dad/mom and son from New York City to Southern California.

Now, as the credits ran, Dolly Parton sings a song called "Travelin' Thru." The song speaks directly to the soul of the movie. Plus, it is kinda catchy. Also, two weeks ago, I signed up for a subscription to Napster. I never thought this day would come. I never thought I would admit to such a thing. You guessed it... Dolly Parton now has an official spot in my daily Napster playlist. That is, of course, right after Metallica, Pantera, Megadeth and BURNING TOWER OF SATAN, FOOTBALL AND VERILIITY!

Try to contain your excitement.

2006-03-13T00:25:00.000-05:00

I've been toying with the idea for a while. It seems uncharacteristic. No way does Anthony have a blog!? He sure does. I figured the walls of my apartment have grown tired of my rantings. In an effort to rectify that situation (and at the behest of the walls), I'm broadcasting my thoughts into cyberspace. Be afraid... once you get inside this mind, there is no way out. It's a scary place. Take my word for it. I'm a little concerned this blog will resurface in 2038 during my presidential bid. But that is a risk with which I am willing to live. As for more posts or entries, don't expect many. As a matter of fact, don't expect any. There... I dropped the bar to the floor. No way can I fail your expectations. I'd like to think I will stick with this for a while. But I know me... probably better than most.