Friday, March 23, 2007

How come you think? I used to really like Ramses. I wanted to become him! But it turns out, he's a real douche.

It's been about a week since my last post. I'm venturing to say that no one really noticed. Believe me, I thought about my "next post" throughout the week, but I've been near my death bed (note: I wasn't actually on my deathbed, but I could see it from where I was throwing up) all week with the flu, an ear infection, and a sinus infection for the ages. Today marks five days of straight agony for my face. I felt like every tooth in my mouth was about to fall out, someone was taking a plunger to my eyeballs, suctioning them out of my sockets and away from my skull. I'm starting to charge admission for those who'd like to witness the Great Falls in the back of my throat. All in all, on the health scale of 1-10, I'd give it a solid minus 19.

Please keep Ramses in your thoughts and prayers. He was struck by a Mercury mountaineer on his way to watch and cheer for his North Carolina Tar Heels tonight. So sad.

Interested in joining facebook ? Or if you're already a part, do you love the stalkerish features just as much as I do? This e-harmony style video about the social network made me laugh today. Confirm confirm confirm confirm!

Big fashion news out of Japan. Who's idea was it to make these people think that this was a good idea? What kind of girl wears a faux-see through skirt? I guess I always knew that girls use Halloween as an excuse to dress like hookers, but I'm not so sure I want to see this become a daily occurrence. I'm sure the people that buy this stuff are the people who absolutely don't need to be wearing them, and it'll be nothing but a bunch of false advertising. Kind of like a guy who drives an H2 or breeds Pitt Bulls...if you get my drift.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Tranq Darts

I've made everyone aware that from now (March 15) to the middle of June, I need to be relieved of any responsibilities I might have. This is because I will be watching basketball playoffs. I'm in about 49 March Madness pools. As of right now at 9:11 EST, my brackets are 100% correct. This doesn't say much, because from what I can tell, I'm not in 1st place in any of the pools. So obviously, everyone copied my brackets before tip off this afternoon.

Indiana is playing right now. I feel like they play Gonzaga every year in the tournament. I'm an IU fan, and in any other situation, I probably would have picked them to win. But they lose to teams like Gonzaga every year. They lose to Gonzaga every year! So I picked against them. But I hope they win. Make sense?

I want this job. This guy is "caretaker" of the state of Pennsylvania's bear population. He wanders around bear caves, shoots bears with tranq darts, to gauge the health of the bruin population. How do you find a job like this? Are there people that do this with other things? Are there people that travel around Indiana, meandering around peoples' homes, maintaining the health of say...attractive women? Can I have that job? Would I go to jail? That's probably considered creepy or something. Whatever.

I realize I may be late on this bandwagon, but I've been watching videos like the one below for the past few hours. I'm hooked on Ask a Ninja. This guy is a pseudo-celebrity because he dresses in black, sits in his basement, makes a lot of camera cuts, and says funny things. How often do you think he does these filmings? I picture him being a married guy with kids, a full time job, and NO ONE in his life knows that he's the ninja. He probably puts the kids to bed, slips out to the garage like in "A Beautiful Mind" or "Batman" and becomes Ninja, who is full of insight and knowledge goodies. Again, where do these people come from? Check it out:

The past week I've been trying to email people close to me to ask them "what makes me who I am?" Our company meets together once a month for an entire work day and we talk about things like our "unique abilities." MediaSauce wants to put their employees in a position where they will flourish because they are doing something they love, and they are doing something natural and unique to them. Anyways, I've gotten some pretty nice responses. I've gotten honest responses. Some things were definitely hard to hear, but probably necessary. But my favorite response came from my roommate Jordan.

I need to preface this by saying that he's been battling severe allergies the past few days. He apparently woke up this morning thinking that he had pink eye in both of his eyes. So our meeting is tomorrow (Friday) and today (Thursday) at 4:45, he sends me his response. I won't go into the things he said, but he listed about three or four qualities that represent me. He ends his evaluation by saying: "Those are a few. If you run out of ideas, call me in the meeting, Ill go on record. I just cant think because my eyes are swelling shut and getting in the way of my brain." I think I'm going to read that quote in the meeting tomorrow. This is the same guy that ordered a Papa John's pizza tonight when there are about 16 frozen pizzas in our freezer. And he had pizza last night. He's also the guy that sleeps with contacts in his eyes for about 7 months at a time. And he thinks he has an allergy problem. Good times all around.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

I'm officially linkedIN. But if you're on my contacts list, you already knew that

Today I got an account through LinkedIn. It's a professional networking website that keeps you connected with all types of people who are too good for myspace. Everything was all well and good until I accidentally sent LinkedIn membership invitations to EVERYONE in my Outlook contacts. This wouldn't be that bad of a thing, however, there are definitely people in my Outlook contacts that probably don't know who I am. They're the clients/customers that I've never met, they're just CC'd on emails from time to time. So that's kind of embarrassing.

I listened to the new Arcade Fire album called "Neon Bible" today at work. Before I go any further, I feel the need to mention something about myself - I am a person that likes to discover things on my own. I don't like when people tell me I need to like something. This applies to movies, music, and TV shows mainly. I almost refuse to watch things or listen to things if I have a dozen people telling me I should. A good example of this is watching/not watching Fox's 24. I realize that the show has been on for a few years now. I also realize that everyone loves this show. People have been telling me that I NEED to watch this show ever since it was introduced on network television. I have seen probably half of one episode. It's not that I'm not interested, I just want to experience it in my own time! I will watch 24 when I'm good and ready, until then, quit bossing me around! I really wish people would quit telling me how awesome of a show it is and how Jack Bauer could find Osama Bin Laden if George Bush would just let him!...I say all of this because Arcade Fire is another example.

I was introduced to them a few years ago by my friend Olivia Keaggy. She told me about how listening to Arcade Fire is like listening to a chorus of angels and that if you're not listening to them right now, you obviously don't have any business breathing air and you might as well shove toothpicks into your ears and pray for the apocalypse. Before I knew it, people at Samford were doing the typical "I want to prove to you that I know more about music than you because I like this indie band" routine and they were saying things like "yeah, Arcade Fire is amazing...but I like their older stuff."

(Side note: You know a person doesn't really care about a band and they're just trying to make you believe their some kind of a music expert or artistic themselves if they describe their "favorite band" to you by saying things like "this band is so good. But I like their older stuff when they were independent and grass roots. Their new stuff is too produced and big label." On that end...I hate it when people refer to music as "stuff." Since when do we refer to music, an art form full of different forms of expression, the same way we refer to the contents underneath our beds or in our attic?? Why don't we give doctors referrals by saying things like "you know, he really did wonders when he helped cure my cancer last month, and he was named the number one brain surgeon in the country last week, but I can't help but like his old stuff better. I was a lot happier when he would write prescriptions and put the Popsicle stick down my throat. His new stuff is too big time and doctory for me. His old stuff was so much better." It makes me want to ram my head through a wall.)

Needless to say, I didn't listen to Arcade Fire for about 2-3 years. Then I saw them on Saturday Night Live a few weeks ago and they KILLED IT. They were the best thing I had seen since seeing Fergalicious for the first time. There were so many people on stage, the string players (both women) were mildly attractive (note: I'm still learning about this band, and if these women are in fact very unattractive, and I was just delusional because A: they were playing instruments and B: they were on TV, I apologize and take back the previously stated comment), the guitar player was using a megaphone as a microphone, the music was solid and tight, and I felt like I was listening to a full blown orchestra at a Broadway show. I couldn't understand a word the guy was singing, but that didn't matter. I'm a huge lyrics guy, and the fact that I couldn't make out one single lyric (part of this reason is because the vocals seemed to be turned down) is a significant deal.

So I listened to them today, and was equally impressed. I didn't think I would be because sometimes you see a live performance, and then buy the album, and it's just not the same. This can go the other way too (this is the case most times). You buy an album and it rocks, and then you go to the show, and it's like the band met each other and picked up an instrument for the first time in their lives. Listening to this album on repeat all day long, made my day. It made me so happy. When music makes me happy, it has to be good because I typically like music that makes you want to take a bath with a hairdryer.

So, you HAVE to listen to Arcade Fire's Neon Bible! You HAVE to! If you don't listen to Arcade Fire, you have no business breathing the breath in your lungs. Arcade Fire could find Osama Bin Laden at this point if we'd let them. They are THAT good. Although...I gotta say... I like a lot of their older stuff a lot better.

Sunday, March 11, 2007


I was looking for my luggage after I got off the bus. They told me that my belongings could be found next to the bus I was riding, and I waited until got off until everyone else stepped out, so that by default and process of elimination, it'd be fairly simple to find my bag; not that it'd be difficult to pick out a blood red and white duffel bag with "Budweiser" embroidered on both sides in a sea of brown corduroy suitcases. It was the only one. It was mine.

The group of nearly 300 people disbursed accordingly into different cabins. Skis and boards downstairs, and six people to a room upstairs. It was somewhat unusual to not see snow in a place we went to go snow skiing. Mountains in the distance had caps on them, but they seemed unreachable, and surely unskiable. We were staying in a village establishment where there were 10 cabins circling a "quad" like field. The premises were surrounded by four walls of forest and by the looks of things, we were the only humans for miles.

People immediately went outside to throw Frisbees, start a friendly softball competition, or pluck around on guitars. I didn't see my bag. I thought they told me it'd be right here: next to the bus. The undercarriage latches were open and I could see through to the other side. Nothing. Someone surely had taken it to my room. But where was my room? The cabins looked the same.

I began to wander around the quad asking some of the people if they had seen it. Everyone said no. "What did it look like?" they said. "Red and White with Budweiser on the side," I'd reply. "No, I haven't seen it. You should check the other buses." I already checked the other buses. They were empty.

I had my suspicions of who might have taken it. But I checked those rooms, and there were only brown corduroy bags. Brown bags in a brown carpeted rooms of brown oak bunk beds lining brown log cabin walls. What other color would a log cabin wall be? Regardless, no red. No white. No Budweiser. Who would have taken my bag? Who could do this? We were going to be at the establishment for five days. It wasn't like I had money in the bag. I just had my clothes. ALL of my clothes were in the bag.

I knew I shouldn't have brought the Budweiser bag. It's one of those things where the little girl in the red coat shows up in a crowd of shoulder to shoulder gray people. Someone had taken my little girl; my Budweiser.

I started checking trash cans. I looked inside of every trash can. I looked in every room of every cabin. I couldn't find my little girl. Someone had stolen all of my clothes. I didn't have any money in the bag, so whoever it was that is holding my bag ransom, would soon be disappointed because all they were getting was my thrift store fashion and my greasy hair product. Who wants that? Out of this group of Polo's, khaki shorts, flip flops, and sun tans, who would want my clothes? Who would choose my bag over their sturdy corduroy?

I saw my mom watching the softball game. "Mom," I said. "Where the hell is my bag? I paid $100 to go skiing and now someone stole my #@!*%$& clothes!" She didn't know where the bag was. I was losing my mind. I was ready to go back home. The sun was beating down on all of us. There wasn't any snow. I had no clothes. My only suitcase was missing. People were ignoring me and telling me to check the buses.

I was standing on what I thought to be my cabin's porch. I was sweating. I was on a ski trip, sweating in the sun. As the buses pulled away I saw a brown bag in the tall grass. I went over to check the tags. It was a brown bag, so I don't know why I would imagine that it belonged to me. My intuition told me to unzip the suitcase and check it's inner contents. So I did.

My clothes were in this bag. My jeans, my undershirts, my sweaters, my belt and my bathroom tote. They were all in this alien bag. This was not my little girl, but it was the red coat._____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I couldn't forget about this dream. It rattled me for hours. Why would someone take my suitcase? Why was my suitcase different than everyone Else's? Why did it have "Budweiser" on the sides? Why was I on a ski trip in a place with no snow? Why was I cursing at my mother?

The conclusion: The past few weeks, I've had a series of conversations about how I'm a person that doesn't really "reveal" my emotions. I go with the flow and choose not to be dramatic about situations. This apparently bothers people. Like I said, people have told me "I don't understand you," "I think you're mean," "I think you should let people know how you feel instead of just being 'honest' and hurting peoples' feelings." I started to think that I was doing something wrong by being honest with people. I started to believe that my laid back attitude was a hindrance to me getting to know people and investing in the lives of people who were important to me.

When it comes to people (women especially), I feel like I am very upfront with who I am and who I expect to be. I have learned to not make excuses for reasons of why I do things. I say things like "obviously, I have chosen not to do this because it wasn't high enough priority to me," or "I'm not going to make excuses. I made the decision to do this, the reasons don't matter because it was my desire to do it this way, and if you have a problem with it, I'm sorry." I feel like saying these things help people understand that I'm trying to be honest and NOT make excuses for things I do. People claim to appreciate honesty, but recently, I've been criticized for it.

My identity is in my honesty (my clothes inside of my bag). I feel like a foreigner when I talk to people about this, because so many people like to say what they think people want to hear rather than what people need to hear. Maybe this dream represents this battle. Maybe my confidence in my identity is so different and poignant that it seems like everyone else is different than me, but the same as each other (my Budweiser bag to their corduroy bags). When someone stole my bag, it was brought to my attention that people have made me feel like I need to conform to living a different way. When my identity showed up in a different casing, it was clear to me that this dream was deeper than originally thought. Or maybe I just like Budweiser...and so do other people, and they wanted my bag. I'm starting to feel like I just wrote too much.