Judgement Day

Tonight I had a rather new, and definitely strange, experience. Those who know me probably understand that I have a talent for pissing people off, and then reeling them back in and creating a point where we can laugh about it and sometimes even be friends. I guess one could say I pride myself on being able to get along with most anyone and, often times our interaction, no matter how long it lasts, begins in this way. David Morley once told me that I get along with him because I can accept him and the things he does, especially when he (metaphorically) throws them in my face and basically says "deal with it." While I get along with Edward because I find common ground between the two of us and work to build upon those things we have in common. These are two very different approaches to getting along with people, but both are effective and both are necessary to build a relationship of any kind. The point I am, very poorly, trying to make is that I do my best to see what is unique and exceptional in the people I meet. This is a practice that has proved successful and has brought, perhaps in spite of itself (and myself), a lot of extraordinary people into my life and allowed me the pleasure of getting to know the best, and sometimes the worst (which never seems quite as profound to me), in them. Tonight, I was put in my place, so to speak.

The story goes like this...

Approaching the end of the shift at Lush, a couple of men (who happen to be black) came in the store and were looking to get educated on beer. I suggested that the best way to do that would be to drink a bunch of different styles of beer back to back and compare the differences. I also offered to talk them through the beers before they took them home to which they replied, "why don't we just have them here and we can talk about them as we go." I excepted their offer and we began tasting and discussing beer, which eventually turned into a very candid, frank, extremely humorous, and very informative conversation about culture, marriage, dating and how race plays a role in each of those. For me it was an enjoyable and entertaining way to end the night at work, which usually consists of me and my coworkers cleaning and closing the register, for the guys working their way from Pilsners to Stouts, it made the time in between my explanation of the development of India Pale Ales and the subtleties of Belgian Ales much more interesting. Take home message: the conversation was light hearted and profound at the same time, and I found it to be a unique experience that I could have only had while working at Lush.

After we closed the store, Erin and I headed down to the Skylark for a drink and met up with two separate groups of people. One group was with Erin's room mate celebrating her birthday (who probably thinks I'm very strange because I gave her a pomegranate as a birthday gift , the other was with Evan, Erin's boyfriend. I know Evan better so I pulled up a seat at the table with him and was introduced to his friends, one of whom I recognized from the Monday night Bike sprints at the Cobra Lounge who was sitting across from his girlfriend, who seemed quite pleasant when she introduced herself. Still giddy from my interesting conversation at the end of the shift at Lush, I found a break in the conversation where I probably used some awful transition to allow myself to bring up what I thought was a profound experience. So then, I harnessed all of my epically horrendous story-telling skills (my stories are really bad and usually go no where in case that wasn't clear enough, but often to the point of being comical-a redeeming quality) and blurted out something that ended in the group blinking in silence and me trailing off and shortly after apologizing for wasting their lives. That last part was an attempt to show that I understood that my retelling of the nights events made no sense and that the example I used to illustrate how strange, yet exciting the conversation was for me fell far from conveying that sense on to my audience. Long story short the conversation broke down and I may have, in my best awkwardly friendly way, have tried to restart it again, but to no success and the couple in front of me starts getting up to leave. This is where it gets good. As they say goodbye to Evan and his room mate, who is also at the table the girl, whose name I thought was Anne but turned out to be Lyric (wow! how did I make that leap? Although I don't feel that bad because Evan's room mate heard the same thing when she introduced herself to me), looked right at me and said, "you were really boring." I wasn't sure I heard her correctly and just kind of smiled dumbly until she said something to the effect of "screw your class loyalty" and "you offended me." To which I replied, "Wait, you're serious?" Duh! Anyway, I tried my best to graciously apologize and show that I wasn't the bigoted frat-boy douche they seemed to think I was, while also trying to explain that the examples I used from my, looking back on it now rather taboo, conversation at work were not my own views but were simply examples of how strange an interesting the conversation was. I don't think any of my last ditch efforts made a hill of beens difference in their perception of me, and I won't say I don't care. Now, I want to say that, in my own defense the rather objective parties of Evan and his room mate seemed to think that though my story royally sucked, I didn't say anything out of line (whether or not they said that to make me feel better I can't say, though I afforded them the opportunity to let me know).

I have always felt like I can get along with anyone and it was a shot to my obviously overgrown pride to have two people straight up dislike me. I don't want to sound pouty, and if I already do I'm sorry, I don't resent these people for not liking me and I am impressed with their blunt honesty about their perception of me from tonight. Had they not said anything I would not have taken a step back and looked what I said tonight and thought about how I can't just tell everyone everything because I am excited (more importantly you poor saps who read my blog and are obviously already bored would have even less to do). Tact is something I could stand to learn how to use more often. Still, I really don't think I was that out of line (I know I being vague about the details of the conversation I had at Lush, but in an effort to avoid effing up the story in some offensive way while also practicing a bit of my new tool, "tact." I will spare you the specifics).

Evan seemed to think that these two probably judged me based on a few things (my clothes, my flapping mouth which spat out pointless garbage, that goofy grin I was sporting the whole time, and perhaps a number of other things that I can't imagine) and pegged me as maybe a "little fratty." Here is what bothers me. These people get upset at me because of, what I can only imagine was something amounting to them confusing what I was quoting from my previous conversation to show how unique it was to me as my own views on gender and race, which are characteristics identifiable superficially, that also have cultural and social prejudices associated with them. Then, if Evan's suspicions are true, they attributed these views of mine, as they perceived them, to certain superficial characteristics that carry with them certain stereotypes. BAM! I just got judged, maybe.

I really don't know what happened tonight, and I may never know exactly what I did to offend these people. I am alright with them thinking of me as a complete jerk who they would care never to run into again, but I would like to take away from this experience a few lessons about myself. Learning to be tactful with new acquaintances is a big one, but another entirely is that some people are not ready to be thrown into being my friend and excepting me for who I am nor are they prepared to invest the time to find some common ground and build a friendship out of it. Some people just want to have a beer and have me shut the hell up.

What a Day

Last Tuesday I enjoyed one of the best days I've had a long time.  I began the day by getting up at 6:30 or so, which is a feat in it's own right for me these days, and headed out to LaGrange Park.  I was "doing a favor" for my aunt Chris and hanging out with her youngest, Liam, who had the whole week of school off while his older siblings had to attend Monday and Tuesday.  Chris had her clinical rotation all day and couldn't be home.  When I arrived at their house around 8:30, Liam was still sleeping and Paul was getting ready to head out.  Figuring that I had a little while before Liam was ready to get moving I sat down at the computer and wrote some emails, facebooked and read some blogs as I had a hot cup of coffee.  After about half an hour I decided that Liam was not about to keep me waiting all day, and went to go and put into practice the waking up kids technique I have learned under the supreme master of waking up kids, uncle Tom.  Now, Liam is a little like Matt in some ways, he's pretty big (I think it was in third grade when he toppled a sixth grader in the playground for picking on his, ironically very small, best friend Ricky), he has always loved showing off his body, as Edward learned first hand on the beach in Michigan (much like Mitch and Doreen learned the first time they met Matthew as a baby, walking down the street butt naked, having left a trail of clothes on the sidewalk), he can be a little slow in the morning, and they both have been arrested for underage drinking.  Okay, I lied about the last one.  All jokes aside, I used all the old tricks like, shaking, bouncing, jumping on him, tickling, nothing was moving this kid.  So I decided to grab Sean's guitar and take a page out of the Vince Gogo book of waking up people and sing a horribly out of tune and obnoxious song until he couldn't stand it anymore.  I really don't think that my singing was what actually got him up so much as he decided he was ready, but either way he finally got out of bed and, due to his rather pungent odor (another similarity to my brother), we decided it was best if he showered.  

When he got out of the shower, I was ready to get moving, Chris had left her pass to the Brookfield Zoo, and I was on a mission to see some dolphins.  I friggin' love dolphins, and apes, apes are sweet!  Anyway, Liam had other plans.  He and his friend, he explained, had invented a game which involved shooting a hockey puck at the garage door from different distances and the first to miss looses.  After beating him a few times, informing him that I was vastly superior in the game of hockey and that his sad attempts to continue were futile, I suggested that we head out for some breakfast and... DOLPHINS!!  He wasn't quite ready, and wanted to play again, we changed the rules up a little to make it more difficult and I let the game get a little closer in hopes that almost winning would be as satisfying as winning.  After going to triple over time, I finished him of (evil chuckle) and we headed to the zoo.  I cannot remember the last time I was at Brookfield Zoo, but the place hasn't changed much since then.  The buildings look a little sad and run down, the animals still don't really do much of anything, except for the Gibbons (one of the lesser apes), who were teasing some sort of otter who had to share a habitat with them.

Liam, obviously, had been to the zoo more frequently because he had a plan the minute we walked through the gate.  On his list was the 80 or so year old Cockatoo whose name I forgot, the "fragile kingdom" and the big cats.  In about two hours or so we saw the entire zoo.  Although I must admit I forced him to sit and watch the dolphins with me for at least thirty minutes.  There were a few other moments, besides seeing the dolphins that is, that were worthy of mention, both of which came from the pachyderm house.  Number one happened as we approached the first rhino and Liam informed me that I we need to be on the lookout for it turing around because his friend once got peed on by a rhino here.  The way he explained the rhino peeing was one of those priceless kid moments that I can't possibly do justice to in writing and left my cracking up.  Go figure, as soon as I walked up to the pen holding the huge specimen of African megafauna and was reading the sign which warned that Rhinos mark their territory by SPRAYING urine in ALL directions, the thing turned, faced the wall of the pen (thank god) and proceeded to pee, no sandblast, the wall behind it (I'm pretty sure I saw some paint flake off).  We had a good laugh, which probably sounded like Beavis and Butthead, and moved on toward the other side of the building, which brings me to the other notable experience I had at the zoo.  The Hippopotamus.  That's it.  The thing didn't really do anything except eat hay off the floor of its pen, but it was effing HUGE!!!  Wow!!  You could have stacked up five of me and it would not equal the girth of this enormous creature.

When we left the zoo, we were both starving.  I wanted to get the car back to my mom in case she needed to run some errands for the upcoming trip to Niagara Falls for Thanksgiving.  We arrived in Oak Park and mom suggested we go to the Depot for some lunch.  Brilliant.  I hadn't been there in way too long.  Plus, it was right up Liam's alley.  We sat at the bar and he ordered himself a tall glass of chocolate milk and a club sandwich and I, under the conviction to try something new, went for the meatloaf sandwich.  Anna, the first lady of the Depot, took our order and chatted with us when she had a free second, and in between that Liam and I talked about hockey, Blackhawks snow shovel girls, school, work, you know, man stuff.  We polished off our food in record time, scarfing down the deliciously seasoned fries, coleslaw, pickles, all that remained were Liam's tomatoes because he has convinced himself that he doesn't like them, so I ended up eating them for him.  Afterward, he informed me that what he had just experienced was "the best club sandwich I've ever had," so I made him tell Anna, which he did not seem the least bit shy about.

By the time we left it was getting to be time for me to get down town to take the kids in our after school program to the UIC Physiology lab.  I asked Liam if he wouldn't mind coming along, and, you know help me keep the high school kids in line.  He was down with it and we got on the train toward the city.

The story from here on out gets pretty boring, we go to the lab, Liam plays it cool, doesn't really seem to mind hanging in the background and my parents come to pick him up and ship him back home for the night.

Chris and Paul, you guys have great kids, I hope that whatever eventually springs from my genes is as fun and interesting and talented as Sean, Samamfra, and Liam are.  Seriously, any time you want to get rid of them for a while, send them my way.  Well, at least until I move home, then you'll have to ask my roomates if it's okay.

Carl Weathersby at Buddy Guy's

Last night, after a short nap and an amazing pasta dinner at my parents' house, I ventured to Buddy Guy's Legends with Matt, my cousin Luis, and Mike Risher for a night of blues. I figured it would be a great place to take Luis that would give him a heavy dose of Chicago. Matt, of course, suggested that going to Duffy's or McFadden's would be a better option and, in the hours leading up to us arriving at Buddy Guy's, mentioned to several people that his brother was dragging him to some blues club. Dad graciously gave us a ride and, after honking at some girls walking down Harrison street near UIC in their going out skirts ("going out" denotes sequins), dropped us off at the doorstep. After paying the $15 cover we headed toward the back bar of the already crowded club and parked ourselves near enough to poach seats at the bar and order drinks with relative ease. I started off the night with a delicious Bell's Amber compliments of Luis who had the same. The bartender was cute and nice so naturally my brother hit on her a little while she busily filled orders. The opening act was Joanna Connor who had a build like the trunchbull from Rold Dahl's Matilda, but without the scowl. She had some serious bluse chops, and could pull off sounds reminicent of anything from the Staple's Singers to the Allman Brothers. The boys were not overly impressed by Ms. Connor, and her tiny, male rhythm guitarist who could also play some serious blues but would have to work on his street cred. to make me believe he had the blues. All in all a decent opening act. Before her set was over, Damitz and her roomate came, and we were soon also joined by Magdonna. While the set was changing in preparation for Carl Weathersby, we switched to cheaper beer (cans of Schlitz or pitchers of PBR), the girls talked with the boys and we fell out of eighth grade dance formation.

Mr. Weathersby went on a little after eleven and the minute he played his first note after his rhythm guitarist warmed up the crowd with a few tasty licks on his hollow body Gibson, we knew why he was the main event. He cranked his two amps way up and played faster, bent strings higher, and sang harder than I've seen in a long time. Even Matt said "Dude, this guy rocks." The crowd would scream out and cheer in anticipation when he would turn down the volume and the band would strum quietly in the background until he would suddenly turn the knob back up and wail on the guitar again. This guy could really work the crowd, he would come down off the stage and play at the front row tables, he even channeled a little Hendrix here and there and played with his teeth.

We all had a great time and ended up staying until I could barely keep my eyes open. It's crazy that I don't go there more often, it is so close to my apartment and well worth the money. All in all the night was awesome, great dinner with great wine (Cechony '05 and '06), great music and even better company!

Magic Slim and the Teardrops are playing the New Year's Eve show there, perhaps I'll get a group together to ring in the new year with some blues.

President Barack Obama!

Yes, we can.

Well done, America.

Time to buck up and get to fixing this country!

W. T. F. ?!

Ok, now I understand that there are some pretty vast differences between Americans around the country.  But there are a few things that, despite my best efforts, I just can't understand or even justify with any kind of rational reasoning.  This morning, while I was doing some research for grad school, I heard John McCain speaking in rural Pennsylvania.  His speech included the usual attacks on Obama's tax policy and how Joe the plumber will suffer after he buys a business (HA!).  None of this bothers me to the point of anger, it's an economic strategy that he seems to truly believe in, even though I was under the impression that trickle down economics has been proven not to work over and over.  None of what I heard in his stump speech frightened me or threw me for a loop, it was all pretty standard Republican doctrine that I certainly don't agree with, but hey, America has made it through decades of this doctrine and still managed to survive (managed to survive sometimes in spite of our own policies, but hey we're still here right?).  What really got me was something I saw just behind Senator McCain, in the crowd.

There was someone in the crowd, just behind the podium, holding up a large sign that read "PA Residents for Guns & Religion."  I think I've made it clear that I do not agree with what has become of organized religion.  Spirituality, to me, is a very personal part of my life that does not require validation from an outside authority.  I do, however, feel that I have a pretty good understanding of religion (at least Catholicism), I attended CCD, I have completed the holy sacraments up to Confirmation, let's just say I have put in my time as a practicing Catholic.  No where in my Christian education was I taught that next to my rosary, I should have an H&K MP-5 .  In fact, if I'm not mistaken, they have nothing to do with each other (except that guns are used to kill people in the name of religion as long as there have been guns).  

All I can say in response to that sign is that it is a perfect example of the major problems I have with politics in America.  Where elections are not won through offering solutions to real, pressing issues, rather they get over run with things like gun control, abortion, and what creed the candidate subscribes to.  Which don't really matter when the economy, in today's case, the world economy, is going down the pipe.  I don't care how important abortion law might seem to you, if you don't have a job and can't buy food, all of a sudden it's going to take a back seat to the economy.

I'd like to post a comment made by Bill Maher on Larry King Live.  Perhaps it will stir some conversation.  I'm not sure of the validity of the statement, but I certainly get the feeling that he's on to something when I think about the past presidential elections I've witnessed and some that I have only read about.

"Look, I think what's sad is that apparently in this country, the only way we can ever elect a Democrat is if there's an absolute and utter calamity that happens.  And then people kind of get it through their heads, oh, you know what, maybe this time we don't elect a guy we want to have a beer with.  Maybe we have to get serious.  We might have to even, oh, heaven forbid, vote for the black guy."

Chicago Marathon

I wanted to mention the Chicago Marathon on my blog because I always find it to be an experience that showcases the best things about our city and its people.

I woke up early Sunday morning, well earlier than I would have liked, after a night which was best summed up by my first beverage of the evening entitled "The Behemoth."  Needless to say, I was... tired.  I, slowly, made my way out of my apartment and down to Taylor street where the faster runners were just passing by.  As I made my way down the block toward our neighborhood Starbucks for a nice, warm latte the flow of runners began to increase in density.  I walked passed the water stop where high school cross country runners, their coaches and parents, and some committed members of the running community were busy bracing for the swarm of thirsty bodies that were bearing down on the Taylor Street oasis.  I made it to Starbucks and, still not quite awake, stumbled awkwardly over my order, "medium, uhh grande? is it?, latte... ohh and uhhh no foam...please."  I think that sentence took a good 45 seconds to choke out, at which time the, very patient, woman taking my order replied, "Grande latte, no foam?"  I was able to get my act together enough to shut my mouth and start nodding my head.  Due to the forty nine or so people working at Starbucks that day, I had my order in less time than it took me to place it.

Feeling slightly more awake after a few sips from my delicious latte, I stepped outside to see the four hour pacers running by.  The sea of runners thickened a great deal since I entered the coffee shop and so had the crowds on the streets.  I picked a spot just behind the bike lane line and next to a stroller, knowing that it would be something not likely to be moved and that I could see over.  What I heard for the next hour or so was what makes me enjoy watching the marathon so much.

Nothing but smiles lined Taylor Street to greet the runners as they passed by the crowded side walks.  Several people run the marathon with their names written on their clothes, and people along the way shout out their name and yell for them to keep going and that they are doing well.  These are people who have never seen each other before and are unconditionally in support of each other on this one day of the year.

When Christmas time comes along we talk about "good will toward men," but the time of the year when this phrase is truly upheld is out in the streets during the marathon.  So inspiring was the feeling among the runners and the crowds egging them on that every time I stand by them, I feel like joining them, sometimes I even think that it might be a good idea to train and run next year, even though I really have no interest in running a marathon.  

When I was out there I heard my mother's voice in my head when I began to think "there is such a positive feeling in the air right now."  I had to laugh at myself because the voice in my head that was speaking the thoughts I, myself, was having, was more of a version of my brother's impression of my mom's voice than her voice itself.  After I had my own personal chuckle that I think I was able to hide behind the vail of my sunglasses and the smile I already had plastered on my face, I got back to watching the runners as they shuffled by along the street.

Besides the feeling of positive energy exuding from the crowd, my other favorite part of the marathon is watching all the beautiful bodies as they do what they have been training to do for the last several months, run (well sometimes shuffle, walk, stumble, and I know I saw a woman doing something that best resembled trying to walk with flippers on).  But seriously, it's not often that one stumbles to Starbucks in the morning and is greeted by tens of thousands of happy and, for the most part, good looking people parading down the street, not to mention a hearty dose of good vibs!

This week is turning out to be one best described by the old saying "it's time to put your money where your mouth is."  It seems like it happened all at once.  Mom called and informed me that, in the mail I received my acceptance letter from NIU to enroll as a Student at Large (which by the way is nothing to celebrate because it just means that I can now begin paying them money to take classes toward a degree I will have to apply and be accepted to later), my book of 501 Spanish verbs, and my GRE test prep book, and my own copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which I have still not finished.  On top of this I have finally received phone calls back from two schools that I have been trying to get in touch with for recruiting purposes for over a week now.  It seems the magic number of phone calls, with messages, to get a response is twelve, plus one unannounced visit in person.  More importantly, however, the most promising of them is UIC College Prep, a Noble Street Charter school affiliated with, you guessed it, UIC and focused on health sciences.  So what this all means is that I have some real work to do in the next few weeks if I am going to hold to my goals I stated in an earlier post.  

As a post script, I ordered all those books from thriftbooks.com and paid just under fifteen bucks with shipping.  They are used, but it's a pretty sweet deal as I found a ton of books for, literally, one penny.  Check it out.

"i've had a little too much to think tonight"

"Boom boom boom boom, gonna shoot ya right down!"

John Lee Hooker's jamming softly in the background  tonight.

I've been feeling pretty even lately, almost what one might call zen.  Not that I'm claiming any new wisdom or anything, just been feeling very relaxed and even.  Today I awoke without an alarm at 7:15 or so, something I've failed to do even with the assistance of my phone alarm for several days now.  But when I work nights and stay up late "decompressing" (watching crap late night tv) after work, I guess that's just what I get.  Today, however, I accomplished my goals for the day and then some, which is certainly motivating.  None of this is either here nor there though, the real reason for this entry is some things I was pondering during an

d after my evening at a free screening of the new movie with Michael Cera, "Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist."

This guy Michael Cera got his start, to my limited knowledge, in the Fox show "Arrested Development," and has, since then, starred in feature the feature films "Superbad" and "Juno."  He's one of those guys that people kind of like to say, "oh I of knew him when..."  or at least his last two movies, Juno and Nick and Norah..., have that kind of Indie vibe to them.  This whole "Indie" kick I'm ranting on could just be stemming from the Indie/semi-original soundtracks that accent these films.  Or it could be that Nick and Norah... is based on a night out in NYC that revolves around a bunch of, very quirky, high school kids' ill fated search for the unknown venue in which their favorite band, which most of them brag about knowing of before anyone else, is playing a show.  The gimmick is that this band announces on the radio that they are playing, but won't release the location of their performance publicly, you have to find out through a series of vague clues.  Reminds me of a song that I heard on Pandora while closing up at Lush- I promised myself I'd remember this song's name and artist and, of course have forgotten- about a band that was so grunge that they refused to play their songs, and became so popular that they were invited to come and not perform their songs at the grammys, but were eventually beat out by a band that wasn't even together.  Side note (thanks Marincic) this song was written in the Folk style.  Anyway, we now arrive at my point.

What is it that makes people dislike music once it gets "too popular" or "mainstrea

m"?  Or any kind of public media for that matter.  What made me think of this was while the credits of the movie were scribbled over the opening scene of the movie to the tune of some Shins-esque song, in the Juno-style crayon font, I thought to myself, how long until Michael Cera becomes his own genre?  Or, thinking of my classifying the font of the credits as Juno-esque, has he done it already?  How long until people stop bragging about knowing him when... while commending his ability to play that geeky, yet smartass-ie, nervous high school kid, and start sighing about how he always plays this geeky, yet smartass-ie, nervous high school kid?

Indie bands, well anything "Indie," have/has a shelf life.  You're only cool or interesti

ng until people actually find out about you, and then your, uhhh so mainstream and you, uhhh, a

lways sound, act, look, the same.  Which is funny because it seems like a person's taste, good or bad, is then removed from the equation.  However, every person that is guilty of turning up his or her nose at some band whose "first album was great, but after that their sound was so mainstream," has a guilty pleasure.  I would know, mine is Christina Aguilera, yeah she's pretty skanky, and has a tendency to over-sing everything, but I'm a sucker for girls who can sing low, and man she has got some serious pipes.

So here's the interactive part of blogging, I want to hear everyone's guilty pleasure artist.  I mean you don't have to if you're... chicken, but if you've got the balls, or ovaries, to step to the plate and admit it to me (and the world because I'm totally going to to tell the whole school) add it to the

comments section.

As for me, I guess I've kind of been avoiding the whole topic altogether and listening to the Blues non stop.  The Black Keys (oops kinda Indie) when I'm working out, John Lee Hooker when I'm drinking wine, Freddie King or Buddy Guy when I'm looking to rock out and of course a whole lot of live Otis Redding and Sam Cooke at any time at all.

"Pumpin' Up, Pumpin' Iron"

Something that has sort of slipped through the cracks of pop culture in the last decade, mostly for good reason, is the "sport" of body building.  Saturday night changed all that for me in one, ninety minute, tidal wave of borderline homoeroticism and polyester.  If you have never been lucky enough to experience the testosterone fest that is the 1970's documentary "Pumping Iron" well, I pity you, I really do.  Fear not, you poor, huddled masses, there is hope.  Netflix carries the dvd, or for you who, like me, could not wait, youtube has the film broken into nine or so parts.  For part one click here.

Before you begin your adventure into the land of body oil, bulging pecs, and fathers living vicariously through their sons (Lou Farrigno's dad), there are a few steps to take in preparation.  First, purchase a bottle of Bourbon, I recommend, from experience, the George T. Stagg from Buffalo Trace Distillery.  At just over 70% alcohol by volume, it has just enough kick to stand up to 27 year old Arnold Schwarzenegger's chiseled back.  The whiskey will put you in the appropriate state of mind (which is best described by the theme song to Matt Stone and Trey Parker's film "Orgazmo" entitled "Now You're a Man")  Once you have the proper potent potables, watch this sketch from Mad Tv.  I know what you're thinking, Mad Tv sucks, and for the most part, I agree, but there are a few things they do very well including Opera and Arnold.  Well done, now you have a good idea of Schwarzenegger in parody and you're ready to compare that with the real man.

Keep in mind that this documentary is not a joke, intentionally.  The interviews are serious, the responses are serious, the cockiness is serious, the tears are serious, the shower scene is serious!

During the course of the film you will learn that Arnold has been Mr. Olympia for the last six years and is going for number seven.  The competition this year is tough, including future Hulk Lou Ferrigno and Arnold's best friend Franco Columbo, who is shown picking up and moving a car out of a tight parking spot in his home town in Italy.  In spite of the very worthy and well prepared competition Schwarzenegger shows no sign of ever questioning himself throughout the entire film.  The filmmakers do a fantastic job of bringing his inflated ego to the forefront by cutting from clips of Ferrigno grunting and training in a basement gym in Brooklyn to Arnold on the beach in California or at a photo shoot with bikini-clad go-go dancer-looking girls groping him and giggling.  Brilliant.

Something else to note is that this movie is shot in the "golden era" of body building, just before steroids, ok well some of the guys are juicing, but for the most part, this is the real deal.  Knowing that fact made me feel a lot better about watching these guys, being a guy who doesn't even like to touch things like Muscle Milk, I have a lot of respect for people who have the discipline to simply use diet and exercise to achieve their fitness goals.  Whether or not you like how these men look, you have to respect the work it takes to get there.  Raise your glass of only slightly watered cask strength Bourbon (September is national Bourbon Heritage month by the way) and get ready to shock your mind and your gluts.

Goals...

There are a few things I want to do, and for the next couple of months it looks like I'm going to have plenty of time on my hands so I figured I'd put them out there to help remind myself.  They are as follows, in no particular order:

-Learn how to play the harmonica

-Apply to at least three grad schools

-Learn Spanish

-Frame my posters

-Finish The Incredible Lightness of Being

-Blog once a week

-Watch less TV

I'm sure there are a few more, but that's a good start.  Ok off to scour the resale shops of the earth for frames that will fit my posters.

"It's crazy that as a society that we allow this to happen to our kids."

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Like a Ton of Bricks...

I stayed at my folks house last night because I was too exhausted to make it home. When I got up and sat down to a bowl of Basic 4, one of my favorites, the Chicago Tribune was lying on the counter. I picked it up and, scanning the front page, noticed a small blurb in the bottome left corner showing a picture of a smiling girl. The text accompanying the photo read something to the account of "13 year old shot and is brain dead." Unbelievable, I thought, another kid in the hood dead from gang related gun violence. I flipped to the Metro section to see if my presumption was accurate. As I began reading, it wasn't the fact that some smiling little girl was dead that got to me as much as the realization that I actually knew her. Eternity Gaddy was one of the kids in the Summer program which I was taught at Humboldt park. I am not going to say that Eternity was my favorite student or anything, far from it, but I've always found it hard or insensitive, or at least unproductive to try to accuratly describe people who have died recently. So let's just say that I didn't know her well enough to give an accurate account of her character.

This is new territory for me. Death is something that I haven't dealt with very much in my life, but it seems that since my friend Hank died in a car accident, I've been faced with it more and more. Even more so, I see that these kids in the Humboldt Park neighborhood, and others in Chicago, who are seasoned veterans of dealing with death. Think about it, how many people do you know, personally, who have been shot and killed? I don't think I've ever known anyone up until now, and am not proud to say that now I do. If I had to guess how many of the kids I workded with this summer personally knew someone who was shot an killed, my guess is that the number would be more than fifty percent, but could certainly be much higher. Gun violence in Chicago's black neighborhoods is out of control. A quick internet search reveals numbers like 27 kids in the nine months so far of 2008, 196 Chicago school children in the last decade. According to a channel 7 news article, one demonstration occurred where participants painted signs with the number "32" repesenting the number of Chicago Public School children killed (in a certain amount of time that was not given) and by the end of the rally, the number was 33.

None of these statistics will keep me from working in the hood, nor will they keep me from bringing friends to those neighborhoods. I am not going to spend my time idly asking god to spare those kids. In fact I don't know how this will change what I do or think. I spoke with my dad about it and he pointed out that she was shot at five to two in the morning. He said that maybe if she hadn't been out past curfew, this would never have happened. His point seemed to be that if people would just obey the laws set in place for their protection, the would be protected. Obeying curfew may have saved Eternity's life this time, but is that the solution? Do we all need to be ordered around because we don't know what's good for us? I don't know, and I hope not.

When things like this happen, people come out of the wood work pointing fingers at whatever problem they think causes problems. I've heard them all, rap music, video games, MTV, lack of a good family, the list goes on. But what I see as the problem is more of a cultural thing.

I wrote about the summer Ultimate program on my family's blog and mentioned that the kids live in constant competition, unfortunetly they are competing to be cool, not smart, not better at sports, but who's cool. If you are less cool than the guy next to you, that is to say if you're wearing old jeans, shoes, jewelry, or have a less than par haircut, you get ripped on. If you can't fire back, well then you lose, and when you lose, that's it, you'll never hear the end of it. So why can't we have these kids compete to be smart and good at somthing productive? Why don't we harness that competitive spirit and put it to good use? We as a nation, glorify those who make it rich or are successful in spite of being ignorant or not being worth a damn (I was writing in response to my uncle ranting about Flava Flav and his reality show "The Flavor of Love). So, what might that have to do with the sudden increase in gun violence? It could be that these kids see the short term advantages of the life of gang bangers, it could be that they are stalked at school by gangs and are somehow coerced into joining (this was actually the case for a young man in Ed and Matt's program, although he had not given in and remained free from gang involvment). Whatever the case is, these kids have to work very hard to succeed at anything, even something as simple as staying out of trouble. Everything is harder in their lives.

I've been writing this entry while sitting at Lush and have been distracted and interrupted several times so I'm losing focus. I just thought that this was something I should write about.

Here is the link to the article:

http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-girl-shot-both-01-sep01,0,652061.story?track=rss

I guess I've been needing this

The last few weeks of my life have been a bit of a wake up call for me and to let them pass without making a few changes would be a mistake I have relsolved not to make. It's time to start figuring a few things out, namely what the next year of my life will hold for me. I'm feeling pretty stuck, and I hate that, I'm not good, I'm not bad, I'm BORED.

I'm so bored that I spent most of my day here at Lush Wine and Spirits reading other people's blogs. They all seem so much more elequent and able to organize their thoughts than I am. It occurred to me that that is most likely due to the fact that they are more elequent than I am and that they haven't let themselves slip into the level of brain atrophy that I have since I graduated college. Plus they have a blog and I don't. Thought I'd change that right here and now.