Get the Fuck Out 2017! Please come in 2018.

Wow. 2017 was a year. And it was by far one of my least favorite years. Never before have I been challenged to the end of my wits and patience. It was a long, long shitty year where there were only a handful of bright spots. It was a giant blur. School encompassed the majority of my year. Not in a good way either. It took over. When I look back, all I see is school and a couple of events that were nice and a lot more that were unpleasant. It was sort of a rough year. A year ago, I hoped for stability. It was stable in that I reliably had a schedule and something to do. But that was it. Otherwise, this was a year of bad news, bad breaks and some bad luck. I said goodbye to too many people I said goodbye to too many aspects of my life. I said goodbye to things that I thought helped make me, me. Of course, it wasn't awful. I'm sure if I told you the story, it would just be met with a giant eye roll.

Loneliness.

That's probably the best way to describe this year. Lots of feeling isolated. Lots of being scared, panicked or anxious. Lots of stress. Lots of shit I didn't want or need.

But at the end of it all, I got through it. I'm done with the more difficult aspect of school. Now it's time to start building a career this late in my life. Which I should feel accomplished but instead feel shame and embarrassment for having got to this point so late. All I can do is move forward and make 2018 my own. I'm hoping I'll have more time. More control. More money. More of my life to deal with. It won't feel dominated or wasted by outside sources. This year will still be a big step forward and so much is unknown. But perhaps that's what will make this year so grand. The unknown. Not knowing what's going to happen next. I'm looking forward to that.

For once, I have a year that feels like I can mold it.

A Button-Up Shirt

I've recently taken a a new step towards adulthood. A couple of days ago I used a significant portion of my personal funds to purchase casual button up shirts. Not shirts I'd wear for an interview, funeral, wedding, or possibly a Bar Mitzvah. But shirts I'd wear in a casual setting with close friends, acquaintances and possibly around HR personnel. Who knows. I purchased them thinking "I could stand to look a little nicer sometimes." Boy was I wrong. I looked like a bigger tool than usual. I'm a huge fan of my plain black shirts. But I've taken a step with generic plaid and long sleeves. I thought I looked nice at first until I looked around. Just about everyone and their mom was wearing plaid long sleeves. Seriously. Everyone!

While I do appreciate being a nameless face that just blends into the fabric of society, this felt like a step too far. I wasn't just blending in, I was submitting. I raised my white flag to the world and said "I can't look like a cheap 20-something-year-old-asshat forever. Now it's time for me to upgrade to cheap 30-something-year-old-toolbag who want to looks nice for his corporate superiors."

Three shirts. I bought three shirts. I got compliments each day I have worn them. It's either a sign that I look good when I try harder than being a disgruntled crumbum or that there is a chemical signal ingrained in men to turn them from dumpy young guy to average older chump.

Either way, I'm not happy about it. But I guess I'll keep wearing the shirts until I stain them with BBQ sauce or coffee.

Bad Hat Choices

So there I was in a parking lot getting out of my car. The sun was beating down on me at 97 degrees of pure melanoma-inducing hate. My plain black hat kept the sun out of my eyes so I could survey my surroundings before crossing the street to my destination. A large accumulation of sweat had pooled in the small of my back after driving 45 minutes in this arid, hellish landscape of a standard Utah summer. I couldn't wait to get indoors to enjoy the air conditioning awaiting me a mere 30 yards away.

Just as I was about to cross the street, an old car pulls up next me to park. Emerging from the vehicle was possibly the most insane human being I could picture at that time. A long haired kid (Kid = asshole in his early twenties) wearing a beanie and tight pants squeezes past me to cross the street. Listen, I remember what it was like to be in my early 20's. I wanted to look and be cool. But holy shit fucking crap! Tight pants and a beanie when the temperature is rapidly approaching triple digits is insanity! I was sweating my balls off in shorts, thin black t-shirt and sandals in a car that has great AC. This kid was driving in a car that was built while Gerald Ford ran the nation whilst wearing late fall clothing. I'm not even sure if AC existed in cars back then. The balls on this guy! I love the heat, but not enough to invite heat stroke. I could forgive the pants decision. Some people just don't like wearing shorts. As I sit in this coffee shop, I realize that I might actually be the only person in shorts here. But a beanie? A fucking beanie?! The sole purpose of a beanie is to keep your ears and head warm in the event the temperature drops below 50 degrees. The temperature was double that! Not to mention the long black hair this ass was sporting. That's a double whammy! Brain cells were possibly melting and leaking out of his ears. My hat is thin and made to cover up matted down unhygienic hair. It would be better not to have it, but it's not my first choice for cold-ish weather.

This hat decision blew me away. I thought I had seen it all. Believe me, I've seen some shit in my day. But a beanie in late summer is unfathomable. It just screams "Help me! I'm trying to look cool while actually being physically overheated by my own dumbass decision! If I was in any other country, I would have died of dehydration and heat stroke by now!"

Bad hat decisions are bad decisions that affect us all as a society. Stop the madness now!

Inspirational Posing

This might be the dumbest thing that has popped into my head in recent memory.......

But why can't I have good quotes to be remembered by? If I died tomorrow, no one would have inspirational stories of how I would often say something inspirational or say this one line that everyone adored. Maybe something along the lines of "Don't worry about it, el tigre. Keep your chin up and give em' hell." (Nonsensical nicknames seem to make motivational phrases more endearing) I need some sort of amazing phrase that is normally reserved for wise dads, grandpas, influential uncles or sagely neighbors. Ideally, this sort of phrase would be on a banner or tombstone next to an equally inspiring picture of me. Memorial pictures shouldn't look like audition headshots. Good memorial photos are of someone confidently standing in front of a jet/car/heavy machinery, or someone holding a shovel, or maybe even casually tucking a helmet or ball under their armpit in one arm and a strong thumbs up with the other. You have to look like it was taken in the midst of hard work and then in the throes of photographic passion, you make the perfect pose for future generations to admire.

(Other acceptable poses include: leaning up against a fence/wall, confident arm fold with smug smile, shirtless with sunglasses in sunshine)

I can only hope to achieve such inspirational greatness via confident photographic posing or broad and empty inspirational rhetoric.

This picture from the 90's cartoon "Red Planet" perfectly embodies the inspirational pose I so desperately want to achieve in my life. Note the ideal tame but slightly long hair and hyper-macho stance. Some day........Some day.

Perfection is Stupid: My Thoughts from the Shower

As a society, our culture is obsessed with perfection. Living the perfect lifestyle. Having the perfect items. Having the perfect people in your life. To complicate this unrealistic goal further, we use social media outlets to display that never ending chase.

What really pisses me off is how we perceive others as "perfect." We compare ourselves to others and anoint them as "perfect." Anyone who claims or comes off as perfect is lying. Perfection is a giant lie. Do you know what's easier than being perfect? Pretending to be perfect. It's so much easier to go online and post pictures of your brand new car, home, jewelry, always smiling kids and family, and all the good news that happens in your life. It's easier to present being perfect than being perfect. Even in small samples of time with people face to face, you can continue that facade. Long enough to perpetuate the myth, but not long enough that people can see the cracks in the dam. More often than not, we don't get to see the struggles of these people. They don't talk or advertise their fears, insecurities, and failures outwardly. When behind closed doors, away from the spotlight, away from the image they sell to others, this concept of perfection does not exist. This world of make believe that people create for others viewing and judgement is the farce we often suspect it to be. It's too good to be true. But we go along with it, perhaps convincing ourselves "what if it were true? What if perfection does exist?" Don't we all just feel a little inadequate in that thinking?

Online quotes are a tricky thing. There have been a lot of great sentences uttered in the world from a lot of great people. There have also been a lot of less than great sentences uttered from nobodies but attributed to great people. However, the quote "Comparison is the thief of joy" is widely attributed to President Theodore Roosevelt. Whether he said it or not is debatable, but the truth of it is not. Perfection is unattainable, happiness is attainable. There's a big difference. Comparing ourselves to others is a rather sad way to live life. Going through life with the intention of making others compare themselves to you is a hellish life far more depressing than I could possibly ever concoct.

There are far better things to do with our finite time on Earth than pretending to be perfect. We should be spending our time finding those things instead.

I Wore Pants!

This is not a drill! My dry spell with denim has finally come to an uneventful close and also simultaneously started back up again. It's a suspensful story of love, family, drama and even hatred.......Hatred for comfort!

I'm sure you as the reader are thinking, "Quit the charming banter and bullshit filler and give me the god damn details about your denim pants adventure!"

Settle down there, eager beaver! You'll have your story. And it will in no way waste one second of your time.  Because if you're here reading on this site, you're definitely not killing time that you could be spending more wisely elsewhere. This story is so full of passion and thrilling enigmas that you might actually crap your pants. You could completely evacuate your bowels upon finishing this post. I probably should have warned you to have a fresh pair of pants nearby in the event this extremely likely scenario takes place. Hopefully you stopped reading at this point and are now near a fresh pair of pants, a shower, and nobody you love enough to not want to embarrass yourself in front of them. Or if you're really smart, you're just sitting on the toilet while reading this. Work smarter. Not harder.

Anyway, I wore pants to my family's Super Bowl party.

Because wearing scrub pants in front of them would have been more trouble than it was worth. So I wore regular pants. I can't say that I missed them. The whole time I was left wondering what my scrub pants were doing back at home. Were they ok? Were they happy in my absence? Would they still be there when I returned? The answer to all 3 of those questions was a resounding yes. But that's not the point. The point is, I wore pants to appease my family. I regret every second of that decision. I should have gone for comfort, not style. Upon returning home, I found my denim pants to be quite restrictive. The amount of salty foods I had ingested increased my waistline. Things were getting tight. Uncomfortably tight. Unflatteringly snug. My denim pants appeared to mock me as they clung tightly to my thighs like an obsessed lover. Judging me over my poor nutritional choices. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I broke up with my denim pants. I dropped them like it was hot and immediately went back to my nonjudgemental scrub pants. Scrub pants understand me. They fit with the light tug of a compliant drawstring. And just like that, I was back to normal and happy.

True story.

You may now change your pants.


Also this story was worthless and only partially true.

The Last Time I Wore Pants

Jeans. Levi's. Denim over-garments. Whatever you prefer to call your pants. That's what I'm talking about when I refer to pants. Not just a broad spectrum of long-legged clothing in general. This isn't a post about how I've been waddling around in my underwear or worse, in the nude for several weeks. No, this post is about the fact that I can't remember the last time I actually put on a pair of jeans. I think it's been about 19 days. Possibly 20-21. I'm not sure.

Why does this matter? Well if you're a normal productive member of society, you typically put on pants to go out and about. However, if you work full time, go to nursing school full time and fill precious moments in between with going to the gym and homework, pants/jeans become an irrelevant piece of your daily wardrobe. I'm in scrubs for school 3 days a week and work 3 days a week. On my day off, I'm usually at home studying. When I'm not at one of those places, I'm at the gym in baggy gym pants (not jeans because I'm not a tool and don't wear denim whilst participating in athletic activity). And if I'm not there, I'm at home in old green scrub pants or pajama bottoms studying. And on the slim chance I'm not home, I'm at a coffee shop in scrub pants studying. Scrub pants allow for maximum comfort when sitting. Breathable cotton makes sure I'm not too hot but certainly cold enough if a draft catches me just right. Baggy enough that it's not restricting my ability to contort my legs in a variety of positions to read boring textbooks from. But not too baggy that someone doesn't assume I stole the wrong size of scrubs while at my last unnecessary visit to the hospital. It's the perfect combination of comfort.

This may not be a big deal to most people. But jeans signify that at some point that I was out in public doing something else that wasn't homework related or possibly even enjoying social interactions with people whom I don't strongly dislike. In fact, now that I think about it, I was literally at Walmart the other day in scrub pants and a hoodie. My give-a-fuck-o-meter was running on the rather empty side that day. No denim to be found upon my person.

How long will this streak last? It's certainly not a streak that I'm going to be breaking today. Even now I'm sitting in old green scrub pants, sipping coffee and watching the X-Files. Shortly, I'll change into gym pants and return to change back into my green scrub pants and study. I have no intention nor desire to put on jeans and go out and about. What business do I have doing something so absurd? Should I go to the mall and endure the annoyance of modern youths and the general public? Fuck that. I could go to a nice outdoorsy store but I have no money to spend on things I don't really need so no use in torturing myself there. I have plenty of groceries to last me at least another week. There is literally nothing I need that would require me to put on regular social pants and go out beyond the premise of my home.


I've had a good relationship with denim jeans most of my life. But I think our relationship is starting to fade. People change. My needs have changed. I just don't see the need for jeans. Maybe in a few weeks I'll catch up with my old denim friends. We'll go out, maybe see some friends, make some jokes, see the streets.

Or maybe I'll blow them off and stick to my trusty comfy scrub pants and not move for a while.

Why Keep This Going?

There are very few positives of writing in a blog for 12 years. Aside from having a large back catalogue of my truly dreadful attempts at writing, I'm really writing for no one. No one writes in blogs anymore. Only a handful seem to do so anymore. Even I fade in my posts with each passing year. So why am I writing? Who is honestly reading? In some regards, this is an open journal that I occasionally write in about generally useless things. Nothing of importance about my life. I suppose a more private journal I write in daily has taken over the function of this blog. Though this blog tends to be written with a bit more intentional comedy.

At this point, this blog is written in when I'm bored or I feel compelled to write in here so it's not so bare. I'm on the cusp of having 500 posts. I suppose that's a lot more than I ever thought this page would get. I'll keep this open for whenever I feel like writing general musings.

This page just ain't what it used to be.

A Fond Farewell to 2016 and a Welcoming Hand to 2017

2016 was an exceptional year. At least for me it was. I know the collective world is groaning due to the insane list of beloved celebrities that passed on and the joke of a presidential election that took place. However, this year was personally gratifying.

This year started out rough in that I had to say goodbye to people whom I worked with and admired for years. Some died, others moved on to different jobs. I've had to say goodbye to friends, some cherished, others background characters. Some moved on to job opportunities while others moved on to much deserved brighter horizons. I've said goodbye to family members whom I just assumed would always be around. I've had to say goodbye to some aspects of my youth and aspects of my personality that no longer serve their purpose. I've said goodbye to old habits and hello to new ones. There were more goodbyes than I can ever remember having before.

The one event that sticks with me this year is starting nursing school. Despite how busy and stressful it is, I feel.....full. Full of purpose. Full of meaning and strength. Although it was not my intended goal, this is where I am now. I'm glad this is where I am. For once I feel like I'm driven by something real and tangible. Something I can really achieve and see through. Something meaningful. Something I love. I turned 30 this year and I can't say I handled it super well. Though it was an event surrounded by good company and good times, I struggled with saying goodbye to my 20's and a decade that symbolizes youth and energy. Both events seemed to tie into each other. They both made me feel like an adult. The adult I should be and not some lost, disappointing man-child. I also got in shape and stayed in shape for the majority of the year (Except December. It's never nice to my fat ass) This year also marked a dedication to health. Being healthy. Feeling healthy. Living healthy. I know, it sounds all terribly pretentious. But few things feel as good as feeling fit.

For once, I feel like I'm being propelled towards being the man I want to be. I feel like I've gained meaningful ground on being somebody. Although I feel like I've lost more friends and gained few in return I feel not so alone anymore. This is life. People change. Dynamics change in relationships. Shit happens. Shit gets broken. Shit gets fixed. The only thing you can do is roll with the punches because there is no going backward.

I can only unrealistically hope that 2017 is a year of similar prosperity and consistency. I'm not holding my breath. I'm not stupid. But hope is all I have when I can only control so little. I will strive to make this a good year and continue on with what I have and hopefully build towards what I don't.

This year was about growth. Perhaps this next year can be about stability.


Ok 2017, let's make the next 365 days worth recounting.

A Hat Too Far

Kids these days, am I right?!

Today I stepped out to the vast emptiness of holiday shopping to witness the bone chilling hollowness of commercialism gone awry. Christmas doesn't make sense to me. Today's youth doesn't make sense to me. Put them both together and I'm as confused as a lobotomized kitten in a sea of warm milk.

Anywho, today I saw not one but two members of today's youth sporting 2 hats. One hat resting comfortably upon their skull where it belongs and another fastened to a belt loop as if it where an open-carry pistol. A back-up hat? For what fucking reason would you ever need a back up hat readily available on your person? In case one hat didn't look "as fly" as you originally thought and changed to the one you thought might potentially be "dope as fuck" instead? Or perhaps you encounter a cute girl and get the feeling the Chicago Cubs hat just isn't her thing. Instead you slowly reach to your side and unholster your trusty Boston Red Sox hat to turn the tide, leaving nothing to chance in your strong hat game.

As a lover of all things hats, I agree with this trend in principle. In practice, this is dumb as shit. Perhaps if I were born in the far off year of 1998 or 99 I would be a valued subscribe of this back-up hat trend. I would never leave home thinking I wore the wrong hat again. But I grew up in a time where you chose the hat you were going to wear for the day and just dealt with the consequences of that choice, for better or worse. I'm an antiquated product of my time. Sure, I'd love to live in a world where I could just change hats in a pinch, on the go, in public, in an emergency fashion crisis.

But you can't teach an old dog new tricks..............or trends.

Time

Time.

It's our most precious commodity. It is ours to use and to waste however we please. It is finite. Whatever we use it for, we cannot get it back. Whoever we use it on, we cannot take it back.

We often worry about how much money we are spending, how we are spending it and where. Similarly, we don't worry that much about our time and how we spend it.

Like money, we sometimes spend our time foolishly. Perhaps with people who don't deserve a second more of our precious time. Unlike time, we can recover money by working harder or getting another job. Nothing in the universe allows us to gain back time, youth or moments wasted. Time is entropic. It keeps on being dispensed without our consent and leaves it up to us to keep up.

One of humanities most egregious flaws is how poorly we spend our time. We sometimes don't spend enough time with those closest to us. We don't always spend it with those whom we cherish the most and likewise cherish your time together. We don't always spend it on matters of the most importance personally, professionally nor globally. We don't usually spend it with those who would kill to have some of our time if only to enhance theirs. We are time killers. We use our time staring into our phones, staring into tv and computer screens, watching shows we have probably already seen......alone. We find silly games to play in the middle of "downtime" not realizing for a second that these seconds will never come again. That once these seconds happen, they are gone and and gone for good. We rarely take into account that one day, we ourselves will become old and will have wished for something better. We might have wished to have done something differently or to have paid better attention to someone/something else. We will never fondly remember the times we played a mobile app game while in line at the grocery store instead of calling a friend from out of state or a family member you've lost touch with. We will never fondly remember binge-watching a tv show for hours/days on end at the prime of our youth when we could have spent that time outdoors, falling in love, trying new foods, or being with family or friends. It seems we are doomed to not realize that all of the things we know and love are also finite and that their existence on this earth is just as limited as our own. Not everything and everyone will be here tomorrow.

Yet here we are. A race lost in screens. Lost in our own worlds of technology and denial. This isn't a call to live every day like it's your last as I have never subscribed to such an unrealistic and horrifically selfish philosophy. This is the call from someone who is akin to a financial advisor. Spend your time more wisely. While it is impossible to spend every second like it counts for something greater than yourself and the world at large; it is very much possible to spend our time knowing that we won't be here tomorrow with no guarantees of an afterlife where we see each other again like it's a high school reunion. We are all guilty of spending our time poorly.


Maybe tomorrow we can change that.

Almost Lost a Hat

At this point, my blog should be called "Hat's and Things: My Head Fashion Accessory Odyssey." But it won't be. I've had a few ideas to write in here that I simply neglect to write about. So instead, I bring you another hat post. Another glorious hat post. Enjoy, simple reader.

Last week, I almost lost my "special teams hat." If you've been reading my blog then you'll know that my "special teams" hat is strictly used for exercise, manual labor and fishing. I left it at the boxing gym I was at. By the time I realize it, it was too late. The place was closed. Could this be the end of a hat that I created? It used to be a such a dark shade of black. Now it's sweat and sun stained to the point of no return. I worked on that hat for years. I needed that special hat for special things. I thought it could be gone for good. Forever. My hat with a special purpose, lost in the blink of an eye because I let it loose in an unfamiliar gym. What was I thinking? I don't want to start over creating another one. Years of work went into that hat. Years! But I got lucky. My hat was in the lost and found, waiting for me. It almost got thrown out too but the owner decided to keep it since it was a recent addition. He knew which one it was too. My hat was safe along with my mental health.


And that is the story of how I almost lost the world's grossest hat.

Moment Pie

Moment pie is an idea I've been kicking around my head the last year or so. Everyone wants a part of a special moment. People like being apart of unique and novel moments which they can talk about with others for years to come. To share and be a apart of something. To be apart of the story. Everyone wants a slice of that sweet moment pie. I see it all the time. Maybe someone just announced they got pregnant and everyone in ear shot immediately floods that person. Now they too can reminisce about "the day it all began" many years from now with that person. Did you get engaged? How many people tried to figuratively crawl up your butt and wear you as a suit to be as close to the news as possible? Probably a few. Did some tragic news befall you in public? Which people tried to shoehorn their way into your shit during that time?

Moment pie. That sweet moment pie. Everyone wants a slice. Everyone wants to be apart of that moment. We humans are social creatures for the most part. Perhaps we have evolved to crave that moment pie to help us build community and camaraderie. To ensure teamwork and ultimately our survival.


Well stop it.


Get your own slice of moment pie you mooching bastards. I'll share it with who I choose or keep it all for myself.

Another Hipster Philosophy I Hate

I can't definitively confirm hipsters are responsible for a vast majority of bad quotes that float around the interwebs. But I can say that I'm 97% sure they are actually responsible for these terrorist attacks on the English language. I don't appreciate quotes that are meant to sound deep but lack in realistic grounding. And the deeper they sound, the bigger the name people try to attach to them. Ghandi and Lincoln are the most popular choices of the Internet to attach lame quotes to. It's all utter nonsense. No one attaches their own name to these bad attempts at deep-sounding rhetoric. Many fear sounding like pretentious douchebags. Others fear that no one would give them real credit because they are nobody. They are right on both accounts. 

But I digress. I'm getting way too far away from the subject I wanted to really write about. Yesterday I saw this quote and simultaneously shit my pants and threw up in my mouth a little. It's so fucking stupid that it literally assaults my eyeballs every time I begrudgingly read it. 

"What others think of you is none of your business."

Shut.

The. 

Fuck.

Up.

This advice is well-meaning in a way. It wants to tell you to not care so much all the time about what others think about you. Which is fine. But just say that. Not this sentence that sounds like it's commanding you to not make it your business. 

So I feel like I'm talking in a circle. But that's ok because I'm about to drop some truth bombs all over your shit. My biggest problem with this quote is that it's not realistic. As a human being that lives on planet Earth, it is necessary to care about what others think about you at least a little bit. You have to care a little about what others think about you. For instance, you have to care about what your boss thinks if you want to remain gainfully employed. If your boss thinks you're a lazy piece of shit with a 5th grade education. Wider than that, you probably care a little about what your coworkers think about you. If your coworkers label you as "the crazy one" or "the lazy one" you're screwed. Get ready for a career full of burnout and drinking rubbing alcohol in an abandoned swimming pool. The people you work with have a big potential to make your life hell. If you've ever had a shitty job because your coworkers sucked, you know what I'm talking about. What about your friends? Of course you care about what your friends think. You want to keep them as friends, right? If they think you're a monumental bitch whose company does not enhance the quality of their lives, you don't get to have friends anymore. Even wider than that, you have to care a little about what strangers think. Not to a huge degree because that's just silly. But you don't want to trip in a huge restaurant and look clumsy or yell at your spouse at the grocery store. You don't want to read porn magazines on a bus, or smell like tuna in a crowded mall. You have to care a little because that's how other humans get along with each other. It's how our race has evolved. We have to care a little and cooperate to survive/cope with our crazy world. If that means caring a little what strangers think, fine. I'll take that. 

Of course this quote is designed for our anxiety, over-analytical friends who care what everyone thinks and tries to please everyone in a 10 mile radius. You don't have to care deeply what people think. Just enough to not be the most hated douchebag on the planet. 

Goodbye 2015, Hello 2016..... and Stuff

Every year I have done this end of year recap. And every year I don't really care for it. So this year I'm not going to do it. 2015 wasn't like any other year. 2015 was a year of radical change and growth. And to top it off, this year will be the first time in years where I don't celebrate New Year at Joe and Randi's. The tradition has been broken. So I will break tradition by not writing the recap. I will write this short post about not writing the recap and call it good. So much has happened this year that writing a summary recap would be insulting. 

So there you have it. 

I'm not doing a recap. 

But I did manage to write on New Years Eve in here. That's at least one tradition I didn't break. 

Hair Like Joe Namath

It's that one time a year where I let my hair grow out a little. This year, it's driving me fucking crazy. It's uneven and I feel like a child. I feel like I should have a hat with a propeller on it at this point. For years, I've always thought of my long curly hair as a good sign of youth. As if it somehow made me look cool and free, when I'm actually kind of lame and boring. It was a good disguise. In my mind, my hair is the cool and rebellious hair of Joe Namath of the 60's and 70's. Long flowing hairy that commands a sense of awe and begrudging respect. Hair that reminds you of youth and fun.

Instead, if the wind catches my hair, I look like a dog that just got out of the bath on a windy day.

Which makes me feel grungy and stupid. Lately I feel like a lot of the patients and people I see treat me as if I'm at least 15 years younger. For most people that's a good thing. It's not as great at work. It's only a matter of time before I start wearing the propeller hat at work. 

If I'm ever caught wearing one, I am asking/begging someone to hit me in the nuts so hard that reproduction would become virtually impossible or too painful to attempt. It's really for the good of the human race that I don't reproduce if I'm wearing this. 

Anywho, it's not important. Joe Namath was sort of a douche anyway and not that great of a quarterback. But that hair was legendary. 

Mine is turning into a dried up quilt of lint from an abandoned dryer. 

(I know what you're thinking: Did I really just read another post about hair and hats and other pointless shit? Yep. You sure did. This blog has hit new lows.)

Hat and Hoodie Update

I'm sure many of you were wondering about the current hat and hoodie situation that was going on since I haven't update the public in a few days. So here's the juicy scoop. 

I have successfully worn a hat every day since October 6th. It's possibly the happiest I've ever been. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. My streak of wearing a hat will stop at 55 days when I return to work. I'm most upset about it. 

The hoodie situation has progressed substantially. I've gone from just one black U of U hoodie that I've worn 16 out of 30 days, to now owning 2 black hoodies to rotate. I don't want to work my hoodies too hard. That leads to hoodie fatigue and hoodie burnout. Both are top causes for Hoodie Spontaneous Combustion Disease. It's always fatal. 

Now that you know what I'm wearing lately, you can go back to sleeping comfortably. 

Non-Zip-Up Hoodie

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a huge proponent of zip up hoodies. They make up about 80% of my Fall/Winter/Spring clothing choices. From the dark grey hoodie to the dark black hoodie, I have a plethora of choices to compliment my poor choices to combat seasonal coldness. Recently, I have rediscovered my love for the original pull over hoodie. No zippers. No mercy. Just protective layering from the elements. It's been the best 26 dollars I've spent recently. This hoodie functions on just about every level possible. It satiates my desire for the utmost laziness that I'm known for. Just put it over my shirt and I'm out the door! It practically doesn't matter what I wear underneath. I could be wearing a bra or a shirt that says "I Love Anime Girls." No one would know because I never take off my hoodies unless I'm extremely hot. Which is rare. I embrace the heat and soak it up like a sponge and/or desert reptile. But I feel there is a strange stigma with pull over hoodies. With the zip up ones, it seems to create the illusion that I carefully picked it out of my closet to match whatever I'm wearing, even if I wear the same one for many days in a row. With the pull over kind, it seems that people think that I'm some sad sack of shit who just recently gave up on life. Something about pullover hoodies seems to signal to the rest of the world that I am no longer taking care of myself and might also possibly be hiding food within its deep pockets. If I wear the same one every day, people just assume I'm dirty as fuck. And they wouldn't be wrong but how is it different from the zip up hoodie?

No one has an answer for that.

But suffice to say, I don't care. I have worn this hoodie as a pajama hoodie on my days off. A social hoodie when I'm out and about and a centerfold piece of my daily fashion choice. I haven't worn a hoodie like this since I was 16. And that one got stolen by a girl who didn't like me anyway. I don't think I've gone back to the pullover ones since. I believe it might stem from my general awkwardness of having to sometimes take it off in public. I risk having it pull up my shirt and blinding everyone in sight with my obscene paleness and currently unflattering physique. I don't want to see that. No one does. I don't blame them. But at this point in my life, I am embracing this next step in my lazy evolution. Victims be damned if I have to take this thing off in front of them.

They could never understand the convenient love I have for this sweater.

Age Appropriate Skateboarding

I walk my dog near a skate park a few days a week. It's fun to sometimes stop and watch people do tricks and practice. It reminds me of my time being a preteen/teenager skateboard wannabe punk. Those were fun times wandering to skate parks and other buildings that had some sweet stairs and rails. However, I would like to you remind you that I didn't make it big with skateboarding and do not do it as a lucrative living. Skateboarding is a lot like music, sports, and other forms of art or athletics in which only elite handfuls can make a successful living of it. Only handfuls of bands make it to the rockstar heights of AC/DC or the ideal thug rapper lifestyle. Major league sports may have thousands of players but many are lost to injury or do not have sustainable talent to progress in a certain league (Stay with me here, I'm going somewhere with this. I promise). Big name journalists, photographers and writers are the biggest grains of salt in bottomless salt shaker. Many wield a camera or a pen with hopes of being the biggest name. Yet only handfuls are household names or big names in their specific niche.

Skateboarding is the exact same way. Like various sports, writing, photography and other art forms, it's fun to do as a hobby. Some are lifelong hobbies and some are passing hobbies that come and go with age. Skateboarding is definitely transient. There are few professional skateboarders over 50. There are notable exceptions but they are EXCEPTIONS. It was the cool thing when I was young and all the young girls thought that careless grungy skateboarders were awesome. I was never one of those people. For I was rarely careless. I was the most up tight of all my friends, I attempted to be grungy but it wasn't the "hot" kind of grungy. I just looked like a misfit human in grunge attire. Some people carry out and live that dream of skateboarding professionally. And that's cool. I respect that. However, I feel there is a certain age where you can probably drop the idea of skateboarding professionally. Any age over 25 is probably an ideal age to stop trying and get a real job. If you've already made it by that point (and most professional skateboarders make it before that age and continue with it as a career) then good for you. You're the exception. For everyone one Tony Hawk or Bam Margera there is thousands of deadbeats chasing the skateboarding dream well into their late 20's and 30's .

So this is where I was going with all of this. Back to the skate park where I walk my dog. Once or twice a week there is a guy there who is easily my age if not older who skateboards there and hangs out with people at least 5-10 years younger. This in itself isn't egregious but it's a little weird. But on top of that, he brings his daughter with him who is definitely under 2 years of age. She sits there restless and confused as to why her dad doesn't pay attention to her while he hangs out with guys who look like they may not be able to legally drink. She cries and asks for him and he keeps telling her to hold on while he attempts trick after trick with no success. He wasn't very good at all. He had the look of a novice. He would skate back to his buddies and begrudgingly console his daughter while commenting about her "bitch mom" who couldn't even watch her for the day so he could skateboard. The most baffling are his remarks about when he "some day" makes it big skateboarding and he won't have to worry about anything anymore and he can pay for a babysitter so he can hang out and skate all day.

Dude, seriously? Are you fucking 10 years old? Are you still humming the "I don't want to grow up" song by Toys R Us in your head? Are you possibly retarded or just lazy? Probably just lazy but I'm not willing to exclude both as possibilities. I understand parents need hobbies and can't sacrifice everything. But the one thing you hold on to is skateboarding? You're almost fucking 30. Easily. How about you put down the board and pick up a job application. It's a little late to cling to your youth now. And what about that poor girl who somehow decided it was a good idea to sleep with you? Is she 18 and still thinks skaters are so hot? What a mistake for all parties involved. For the daughter who can't get her fathers attention so he can skateboard and live in Neverland. For the dad who may never grow up or give up on childish dreams. For the mother who carried a baby from a man that is incapable of facing reality. Now they are all inseparably intertwined. There is no winning situation here. In the movies, the dad would realize the foolishness and error of his ways. Get a job, go back to school maybe. The mother would be supportive but firm for the dad to do something besides skateboard, but still support the dream until it was harshly apparent that this wasn't the way. The daughter likes her dad's passion and picks up his mannerisms throughout childhood but realizes the reality of what her dad was and doesn't follow in his footsteps in chasing the stars.

But it's not the movies. This is the real world and the odds are always against us. That family is fucked and never had a chance because some 30 year old dude is chasing a preteens dream.



Remember kids. Safe sex.

Irritation Issues

If you're looking for a juicy blog about my dry skin or dry eyes, or there minor medical problems having to do with mild irritation you'll have to look elsewhere. Instead, you'll get a thrilling post about my general frustrations over a couple of stupid things. Additionally, I just want to call it irritation and not something about anger. I feel that "anger issues" and "anger management" are severely overused words and concepts. I'm not angry. Just annoyed at really dumb things. However, this will all sound coincidentally angry.

So I'm walking through a few stores in search of a heavy jacket for the winter. In this particular store everything is about 4 sizes too big. I know I've written about this before. The plight for fashion of the short and skinny white guy (This plight is indeed real). But this is getting ridiculous. There were plenty of sweatshirts, jackets, hoodies and such that were quite appealing to me. Unfortunately the smallest size they had as a medium. But even so, the mediums were huge. To be fair, I've never seen a small size in this store ever so I shouldn't complain too much. And it's not because they are sold out. (And no this wasn't a store for "plus-sized gentleman") They just simply don't sell them. Their key demographic is for tall, fat guys apparently. Every article of clothing in there was generally large to triple extra large. The crazy thing is, employees were restocking those sizes heavily because they run out of them in a week. You could argue that I shouldn't shop there knowing they don't carry my size and seem to exclusively cater to their planetary sized clients. You could also suggest something equally horrible such as "order the small online." I'm going to politely shoot down those suggestions with a mad scientist-sized ray gun of destruction. True, I shouldn't shop there knowing that, but would it kill them to stock something that doesn't drown even an average man? And also why order it online? I'm just not a wild child who can order something online without having trying it on first. (Side argument: you could also say I could return it if it doesn't fit. Fuck that. Once I have it, I'm too lazy to send it back. What a hassle for a lazy piece of crap like myself)

I was going to write about something else that annoys me, but I've decided to save that for another day because I'm lazy and tired of writing.

I bid you a good day sir or madam!

Dumb Quotes and Choices

I cannot put this out there enough. I'm really old. I am rarely not annoyed by today's disingenous crop of youngsters. I've been blown away by a quote that's been making the rounds on the interwebs lately. It goes as follows:

"Don't judge people for the choices they make when you don't know the options they had to choose from."

First off: Shut the fuck up.

Secondly: See first point. 

I hate quotes like this because they are meant to sound deep and also make us reflect on how we judge others in our day to day lives. However, this quote doesn't reflect real life. Granted, we are all sometimes faced with difficult choices. Sometimes all the choices we have to choose from are all bad, but we still have to choose. But often, we choose the least awful of these choices and we usually carry on just fine. These types of choices are rare but they happen. However, I feel there are MANY situations by which this quote does not apply. This quote gives sympathetic readers a scapegoat. A way out. An excuse. That the choices we make are not without consequences or responsibility. There is always a better option or a better choice; even if the "better choice" is a slightly less shitty option. In a black and white scenario, lets choose drug addicts. You can either do heroine or NOT do heroine. Rarely are there real scenarios where you have a gun to your head and you have to either die or inject yourself with heroine. Peer pressure sucks but it's not life and death. You can either do addicting drugs or not. There's no in between. Which still, I understand these are murky waters. People often turn to these drugs to escape a not so bright reality. But there is still a clear cut choice. Your option is to either do the drugs or not. There is an option to not start doing the drugs. In other scenarios that are just as murky, there is always the option to not have unprotected sex. There is always the option to not get into that fight. There is always that option to not abuse a person or living thing. Sometimes we know the options people had and they chose poorly. And we have to acknowledge that. That bad decisions are actually bad decisions. Instead we are afraid of holding people accountable. We just say "We don't understand." While that may be we don't understand it doesn't undercut what a bad decision looks like. 

I'm probably talking in circles and this isn't a cohesive argument. I just get bothered by this entitled bullshit. There are bad decisions. We are not all tortured artists on stage. Others are not trying to understand you in particular as if you are culturally significant. We all make bad decisions. We all fail to choose a better option sometimes. But when we choose poorly, we cannot look away and tell ourselves and others that we had no other choice and shirk the responsibility of what we did. It's up to us to learn from those mistakes. Unfortunately and often tragically, most people don't.

20 Days of Hat Rotations

My dad recently got his kidney transplant so suffice to say I've been incredibly busy..........

But not busy enough to not write about hats again.


Since the transplant I have gone nearly 3 full weeks of wearing a hat. I haven't once styled my hair. I've even forgotten what hair product is and what it's used for. Every day, I wake up, shower, put on clothes and put on a hat. My biggest fashion decision used to be "which black shirt to wear" but now I find I've added another complex decision to my daily fashion choices. Now it's "which hat do I wear?" This might seem stupid to you but it's been a real struggle for me. I currently have 4 hats in my daily rotation. Four! I have a 25% chance of being happy with my daily hat-related decision. Do I wear my plain black hat? (Most popular choice lately) Or do I go with one of my Green Bay Packers hats, and if so the black one or the green one? (Depends on the day) Or finally do I go with my black University of Utah hat? I have one more hat in the mix but I call that one "the special teams" hat. It's a black hat that's stained with sun and sweat. It only comes off the bench for a few things. 1. The gym. 2. Manual labor. 3. Fishing. So it's not really a hard decision to know when to use it. I don't want to ruin the good ones with my sweat. Special teams hat knows its place. It's not a social hat.

But now I've come to worry about the well-being of my hair. It's now perpetually flat and bowl-shaped. I don't know much about hair but I'm almost certain that my hair is adapting to my hat marathon. It's growing in ways that are conducive to hat-wearing. It is quite possibly growing to accommodate my hats. It's not spilling out the sides. Rather it's just growing in a sphere-like way to fit the mold of a hat. Do I have to worry? What happens when I have to reappear in normal society again? Will my hair only be capable of being an oblong pseudo-afro? I can't go to work in a hat and scrubs. I actually have to style my hair for work to maintain the facade of professionalism. My hair won' t know what to do with being exposed to the environment for hours on end. Sure, I can try to style it, but it will resist and beg for a cover. Maybe I can start wearing surgical caps at work? Or I can just have the personality of jaded scientist and wipe it out. Shave my head and start anew. Let the this new crop of hair come into its own.


Do you see what I'm dealing with here? The struggle is real.

Hats and Indecision

I stood disappointed looking into the mirror as I attempted to style my hair. No matter what I did it would not cooperate.

"Fuck it. I'll deal with it later," I said to myself. 

I was in a rush to be out the door and at school before noon. As I got to my car, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of my window. My hair was parted goofy. It was not the way I left it just a few minutes ago. 

I should have worn a hat. 

Driving to the coffee shop didn't help my indecision either. In my rear-view mirror I could see a few rogue hairs standing straight up. How did they get there? I didn't leave it like that, did I? At a stop light I inspected my hair further like some 16 year old diva queen. The hair situation had quickly deteriorated. I didn't do this! I most certainly had not left one side flat and another side bristling like a mutant pineapple. 

I should have worn a hat. 

By the time I left my usual coffee stop, the rain had come pouring in. No big deal, right? It wasn't a big deal until I had to park unreasonably far away at school. The rain was cold on my freshly cut hair. My scalp was more exposed than I've been used to in recent weeks. 

I definitely should have worn a hat. 

Luckily I was wearing a hoodie and was able to pull the hood over my head. Problem solved. No big deal. As I walked towards the main building I noticed some guy playing his music very loud from a stereo built into his backpack. This isn't 1984, jackass. We now live in a world where nice headphones are a coveted item. Headphones killed the boombox and buried them deep into the Earth's hot magma core in hopes they would never resurrect again. What a great inconvenience it is for everyone to have to listen to your objectively shitty taste in music. It's bad enough we have to hear it aloud in people's cars, but now we are bringing it back just so...........

A large raindrop fell on my forehead breaking my train of thought. The rain was coming down harder and nearly horizontal with the wind. Now my face I was getting soaked and there as nothing I could do about it. 

I definitely should have fucking worn a hat. 

This would have never happened if the bill of my hat was there to protect my fragile face. Wait. I'm not going to be negative about this. Just move on. I went to the restroom once I made it to the library so I could make room for more coffee and study-enhancing junk foods. As I washed my hands I looked up in the mirror only to discover my hair was now completely flat. Much flatter in the back where my hood was resting. It looks like I just woke up with exceptionally greasy hair and decided that was good enough to go out in public. It's not enough that I dress like Wal-Mart's poster boy for cheap plain clothes. But now I look the part of a Wal-Mart customer that came from the bowels of the nearest trailer park. The only thing missing at this point is barbecue stains on my clothes and a thick cigarette cologne. 

I really definitely should have worn that fucking hat.

As I sit here putting the finishing touches on this post, I realize how soaked my thin hoodie was for this sort of weather. 

I should have worn a thicker jacket.

In a World Where Errors Shouldn't Occur [Often]

I find it odd that people can misspell anything in today's world. Anything remotely electronic has a spell check program. It wouldn't surprise me if calculators had that function now. There is now always something to keep us from making heinous spelling mistakes. Yet, somehow people manage to misspell words. And I'm not talking about text slang that all the young people use nowadays (U R gr8!, LOL :)). I'm talking about words where the program calls you out on your mistakes. Words that are misspelled in a blog or word document program have the dreaded red underlining. On your phones and tablets, they actually take over and correct your mistake for you. How is any human being or hyper-intelligent chimpanzee misspelling words?! You literally have to tell the program you think it's wrong and spell it your own way. What kind of arrogant douche does that? Is it some sort of patriotic stand? Example: "I don't need no computer telling me how to spell disappointment. I'll spell it with two S's and one P if I want to. It's my right as an American to have freedom of speech!" Or are you somehow so confident in your spelling skills that you might have convinced yourselves that the computer programmers made a mistake and you can't be wrong? Example: "I took 3rd place in my 4th grade and 9th grade spellings bees. I think I know how to spell "rediculous." (Barf)

You literally have to go over the programs head and proclaim your righteousness on how right you are. Because that program tries to stop you multiple times before eventually just giving up and letting you spell it like a quasi-illiterate dumbass.

Now, I imagine you'll want to point out my numerous spelling errors in this blog. You would be right to. I do absolutely no editing other than obvious spelling mistakes. Otherwise, writing programs can't correct me when I leave off a letter that would make it plural, singular or show possession. In fact, my most egregious mistakes come from missing ENTIRE words! Words that are vital to a sentences composition and flow. In my mind, I wrote it. But my fingers did not type them. Or I spelled a word right but it was not the word I meant but spell programs can't correct for words that make a sentence cogent. Or I edited a sentence with a different word but didn't correct the other words to make the sentence flows. Everything I post here is basically a rough draft written and corrected by a lazy 11th grader with a penchant for criticizing everyone else on their writing.

Yes, I know the irony and hubris is both delicious and aggravating. In fact, I'm sure there is a minimum of 3 mistakes in this post alone that I won't bother correcting. It's not as though I have a reputation at stake. If I don't correct it, my vast readership might lose interest? I have a total of 3 people reading this blog anymore and that's a generous assessment. If I lose all 3, that just means I get to write completely judgment free!

You see, there is a silver lining to everything if you look for it.

Another First Day of School Stall

I know I write about this time of year every year. It's as reliable as time itself. But I can't help but find how funny it is to return to school during the fall semester. Grown-ass adults of all ages come fully dressed in their best clothes as if it were the first day of high school. 18-19 year olds barely qualify as adults. The only people who see these people as adults are the law and other 18-19 year olds. They are otherwise incompetent human beings and therefore I'm not counting them in this discussion. I'm talking about your mid 20's and older type of people dressing up to go to the first week of school. People old enough to know better. People old enough to not give a shit about dressing up to impress on the first day of school. Your 18-21 year olds can get away with it. They are still close enough to high school age that it's a habit. Beyond that, it's just sort of sad because who could possibly care at this age? Your 30-40 something year old mom going back to school is dressing up to relive her days of youth. Your 25-30 something is dressing up for a rather depressing source of attention.

Oh yes, people are out in their best clothes. Men and women alike are in their finest, pressed, button up plaid hipster shirt. Women are inexplicably sporting almost-too-revealing leggings despite the fact it's 92 fucking degrees outside. Men are wearing their douchiest color combination of "bro tank tops" to show off their slightly toned arms and pasty farmer tans. Skin is show everywhere to both pleasant and unpleasant degrees. I don't disagree with it necessarily. I just think it's funny how much people care about the opinion of other strangers. Strangers whom they avoid eye contact with. Strangers whom they don't acknowledge while their face is pressed into their phones. Strangers whom they are trying to impress without acknowledging any of them.

Am I just really old or does this make sense to anyone else?


Actually don' answer that. I already know that answer.

Gray Hair

Long ago, I reached a point in my life where I could openly criticize the stupid trends of today's youth. It's a part of my 20's I have not looked forward to but got to very early in my 20's (Which just confirms my suspicions that I'm really just some sort interdimensional grandpa capable of transcending time and space).  If you have read this blog at all the last few years, you'll find that it is indeed ripe with complaints about the problems of the savagely inept generations that have proceeded mine. 

So without further ado, let's jump into it. What the fuck is with all these chicks changing their hair color to gray? That's like looking directly at the concept of youth and spitting in it's face. Sure you could argue that this fights our youth obsessed culture's values. It's hip to look gray and young. 

Um, why? You have literally the 2nd half of your life to look forward to all the gray you want. You'll have so much gray hair, you won't even know what to do with it. I can't say that I personally dig this look. There is something vaguely Freudian about finding a gray haired woman attractive, as if anyone might have thought "I would totally jump on a grandma if only they looked younger in the face." What about all these young puberty stricken guys out there? For the rest of their lives they will have several confusion-based boners. They will growing thinking women with gray hair are hot. They will be walking around in their 20's/30's/40's and see a skinny gray haired lady from the distance from the back. Only to find it's an elderly lady who is as wrinkled as time itself. They will perhaps question themselves "Am I attracted to women in gray hair or do I really have a thing for old ladies?" (Also insert other stereotypical males are dumb/vaguely sexist/inderscernibly offensive jokes) 

There are millions of old people who are dying their hair the original color their hair actually was because gray hair sucks. You're literally spitting in the face of the elderly. As if to say "Yeah, we know have energy, strength, tight skin, white teeth and vibrant hair. But fuck it. We don't want it. Let's just skip to the end and dye my hair gray." I'm sure that's what these hot rogues are thinking. So like today's generation. Don't want to work for that sweet gray hair and loose bowels. Gotta have it now. 

To be honest this is probably one fad that won't last long anyway. When we look back on this time in the future for satire and spoofing by obnoxious washed up celebrities, the gray hair trend will shine bright again. Followed by the usually comments of "What were they thinking?!" I'm sure there is some sort of explanation for this that I'm way too out of tune with the young people to get. I'm happy living in my bubble of ignorance so I can remark how my generation was cool. My generation was all about dudes wearing girl pants, emo haircuts, skateboard products, and pretending to be a stoner.  

Yeah. 

That was the real ticket to cool right there.

5 Posts

Well hello again valued citizens of the interweb,


I have posted barely 4 times this year; this post now making 5 (For all you people incapable of counting). I have heard murmurings of people missing my "no-talent hack" brand of writing (No one has said that). So I decided to come back. For you. My loving readers who have no doubt missed my sense of humor and grammatically correct literature. That's right, I called my work "literature." You'll just have to deal with it.

Anyway, as I was saying; My literary genius has been away from the internet for far too long. I suspect, it will still be brilliantly talentless in posts to com. Shining as bright as a talc stone and as uncomfortable to read as Dora the Explorer fan fiction. You won't like it. I'l love to write it. You'll love to ignore it soon.


Actually I'm kind of figuring my posts will probably stay sporadic. It's not that I've had nothing to write. I've had a lot to write that I've regretted not writing. But time has not been on my side. Nor the motivation to make time for it. I'll write when I can....... or want. Don't count on it consistently.


So with all that said, I'll end this pointless post with an empty lie.


I love you.

Games and Puzzles

Maybe I'm just a product of my braindead, wifi-powered generation but I've never cared much for board games, card games or puzzles. On occasion, I can play them and have fun. But playing such games more than 5 times a year is more than enough for me.

Let's start with puzzles, crosswords, and sudoku. Puzzles are ok. Putting together a picture has never been my idea of fun. More than that, I hate taking them apart after I'm finished. It seems like such a waste of work and time if I'm just going to take it apart once I'm finished. And don't you dare suggest that I glue the puzzle together so I can frame it. What am I? A serial killer? I don't care for crosswords or sudoku either. Both games breed pretentiousness virulently. Any person who openly admits to playing these games without being asked or prompted inevitably follows that up with sentences like "It help keeps my mind sharp," or worse "It helps increase my illustrious vocabulary....... I learned the word illustrious yesterday thanks to the crosswords." Or the worst offense of them all is "It makes me feel super smart. I notice a big difference in my intelligence when I do them." While studies do show that puzzles of these kinds do help keep your mind sharp and also help stave off dementia and Alzheimers, the risk of developing into a heinous douchebag as a result is simply too great of a risk for me to ignore. I'll take my chances with debilitating brain plaque, thank you very much.

Board games just foster contempt, especially if you're competitive like most people claim to be. Want to know a person's true colors? Have them play Monopoly with you. You will truly see someone's cut throat nature when competing for fake currency and land. People will not hesitate to run you into bankruptcy and rape your self-esteem in this strategic family game of hate. Although the stakes are technically low since winning or losing money and property don't affect the course of your real life, the mental effects stay with you for a lifetime. I'm betting you can think of at least one game of Monopoly that got a little too heated for your comfort as you read this. If you haven't had a game like that yet, just wait. Your time is coming.

Card games bore the holy shit out of me. Sure there is just about equal parts strategy and luck involved. But when I find myself holding cards in my hand for more than 45 minutes, I begin to wonder "Why do I even care about this again?" Card games often take both time and a pinch of talent to learn. I lack both in vast amounts. I've tried giving all variations of card games a try with some success. But most of the time I just shrug my shoulders and find something else to do. Something that doesn't require me to be frustrated and pissed off for the rest of the day.

What I Thought I'd be When I Grew Up

When I was a kid, I had always wondered what it would be like to be a "grown up." I predicted quite inaccurately what I'd look like and how I would act. I still remember this image of what I embodied my adulthood to be.

I remember as a kid, I had thought I would be tall, skinny, a pony tail, a scraggly goatee, with a backwards black hat and black shirt with a skull on it. Oh and did I mention I thought I would be blonde? Unfortunately, my parents didn't explain to me the concepts and laws of genetics. Which is a shame. Maybe I would have been less disappointed later on when I figured out that I wouldn't grow up to be the white trash scumbag I had envisioned. I had always envisioned myself in a cigarette smoke filled room, hanging out with scuzzy looking dudes, being loud and making jokes that would make everyone else boisterously laugh.

How in the hell did I ever come up with this vision? It's not like my parents were taking me to sleazy bars full of these people. I can't even remember meeting someone like that as a kid. But for as long as I can remember, I was certain this is the man I would grow up to be. My best guess is that I learned this from Star Trek: The Next Generation. My dad made it a point to raise me properly and made sure that I was well acquainted with the Star Trek universe. I theorize that I must have watched an episode with Klingons being involved. That was their type of behavior.

(I was trying to find a still shot of Klingons drinking on an episode to illustrate my point. Unfortunately, my image searches only yielded pictures of nerds dressed as Klingons drinking beer. Don't get me wrong, I'm seriously a huge, fucked up nerd. But come on, Google. I don't even want to see that. You know what I want! Give me pictures of Klingons interacting and being shady!)


Anywho, maybe it's just me who has these weird images still stuck in my head for whatever reason. But I've always wondered if other people had similar predictions about themselves that turned out to be very wrong.

I guess I did get one thing right. My affinity for black clothes is still going strong.

Laboratory

As I was walking through some school buildings the other day, I realized how overused the words "lab" and "laboratory" were. Now when you think of those words, what do you immediately think of? For the majority of people, it seems that people think of a science lab. You know, a place where science and scientific research takes place. You might even go as far as to imagine test tubes, lab coats, protective goggles, computers, complex machinery and math. All of which are completely reasonable (and factual).

But I've recently noticed that schools and universities, academic institutions that are often obsessed with having the most accurate and factual information, are overusing the words "lab" and "laboratory." But how, you might ask? How can you possibly overuse a word with such a specific connotation and association. I'll tell you how:

By using the word as loosely as possibly to describe a place where things are made.

Does that sound vague? That's because it is.

I walked by a long hallway full of all kinds of "labs." Labs that are not particularly scientific such as the "fashion design lab," or the "haircut lab" or the "kitchen lab" or even my personal favorite, the "sewing lab."

Are you fucking kidding me? If you are using the broadest and most ambiguous definition of lab, some half-brained asshole might be able to convince you that a lab is where experimentation and creation takes place. Ok fine. Let's just say that is the case. Then why isn't there a cereal lab where the creation and experimentation of cereal takes place? Or how about a shoelace lab? Why the fuck not? We've already come this far. Or how about the wood carving lab or the pottery lab?

Now, don't try and bullshit me with technicalities such as "Well there is actually a lot of science in cooking/pottery/cereal making." Fuck that. Unless you have a masters or Ph.D in chemistry or physics to explain those things, great. I'm sure there is a cereal lab at a corporation where chemists quite literally get together, use chemicals to concoct and test new cereals. I know for a fact there is a cooking/kitchen lab out there. Cooks with Ph.D's who study why chemicals react to heat or cold the way they do in attempts to test the safety of cooking certain foods. That makes sense. But unless you're applying advanced physics and chemistry down to the molecular and atomic level for the purposes of cooking, don't call it a fucking laboratory or lab. Why can't it just be "A kitchen" or even "kitchen simulator."

And don't get me started on the "fashion design lab." The hard sciences consist of physics, chemistry, and biology. Plus the sub-sections of those hard sciences such as astronomy and geology. You know what those have in common? They are all intertwined and make up the components of the known universe. Additionally they are testable by the scientific method. Even our soft sciences such as psychology, sociology, and anthropology are bound by the scientific method even if they aren't always easily measured. Now did you notice anywhere in those categories of science that I mentioned fashion science? If you answered no then that's no coincidence and that's largely because fashion isn't a fucking science.

Surprise!

In what world do you somehow convince yourself that you need to call it a fashion lab? Why cant it just be the "fashion design room"? It doesn't make fashion design any less prestigious or serious. I don't have anything against it. People make their livings off of it. But I would say it's more of an art than a science. There are no studies on fashion. And don't bother bringing up that stupid dress that went viral or marketing studies about what people would wear. The dress debate is a matter of medical science studying the cone receptors in your eyes, not the undiscovered properties of fashion design. And marketing falls more into social science based on the constructs of interpreting human wants, needs and behavior.

In conclusion, let's leave the words "lab" and "laboratory" to the sciences and not use it interchangeably to merely convey a place where things are created. Otherwise we might some day be excusing ourselves from the table to go visit the "restroom lab." Because that's where feces and urine are created and excreted, you see.

Noises

The ER can be a busy and noisy place to work in. That seems like a pretty obvious assertion. Yet, as a lifelong hermit/introvert I still find that I am easily overstimulated by too much noise. Much more so in the morning. There were conversations happening all around me. Some of them were important. Others less important. But it was too much. Too much for my mind to handle this morning. Too much stimulation.

It's no secret that I'm not a good morning person. Which doesn't mean that I hate working mornings, it just means I don't adjust to them easily or readily at first. This is the time that I'm most easily overstimulated. When I'm tired. When my mind isn't ready for it. I couldn't take it. I had only been here for an hour and it was already too much to handle. I decided to go for a walk. Just for 5 minutes. That was all. Something to clear my head from all the loud static noise happening all around me.

Instantly the rest of the hospital was more quiet than where I was. Yet, I was still hyper-aware of all the noises around me. Subtle and not subtle. I walked through a long stretch of hallway, my favorite hallway. It was quiet here. Though it was a major thoroughfare for foot traffic, it wasn't busy for this time of the morning. I could hear the air of the heating system blow past me as if it were a wind tunnel. It masked a lot of other small noises happening around me. I took my time as a walked down this hallway. No one was in front of me. No faces to greet me. No strangers to acknowledge. Just me, theair tunnel and the light hum of fluorescent lighting. Behind me, a lady loudly rummaged through her plastic sack. Normally that wouldn't have bothered me in a normal state. But right then, it felt like she was ruffling the sack right next to my ears. I tried to ignore it and press forward. I was mostly alone in a building that contained easily hundreds of people. No one in that entire building could have appreciated that fact more than me. I passed by old lights where the hum was high pitched. I could feel it pierce my eardrums. The 10 seconds of complete uninterupted silence I had in that long hallway was bliss and I sorely missed it already.

I reached the end of the hallway where it was quiet, isolating and yet weird to be here. No one comes back here. But what if someone did? What the hell was I doing there. There was no logical explanation that could make sense to them. I couldn't explain to them that I needed to get away from the noise of the job I willingly signed up for. I turned around and started walking back, again at my own pace. That long hallway stretch came again. It was quieter this time. No ruffling bags, the high pitched hum of the lighting had suddenly went away. No people or faces to acknowledge. Just me and the relative silence. The most silent a hospital can get. I relished this fleeting moment. From the time I stepped into that long silent hallway to the very second the silence ended, I savored it. I savored it like a well made chocolate, or a well aged wine. I had to take it all in for what it is worth. What I was going back to would be the exact opposite. Loud conversation. Loud footsteps. Small talk. Important information. Noise just to be noise. People competing for the attention of others. It was too much. I wasn't ready to go back.

I'm not always like this. But when I am, I would give almost anything to be isolated and alone. Right now, no price seems too high for the simple luxury of silence.

Goodbye 2014 and Hello to 2015.....I Guess

Blah blah blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

It's just about the new year so you should know the drill by now. Every December 31st I write a new one year recap. So rather than muse about it with an unnecessary paragraph, I'll just jump right into it.

A year ago today, I was at Joe and Randi's for the usual party. I got there in time to meet everyone while they were sober and talk for a bit. But before I knew, Jeff had bought us all beer from Epic, which we consumed quickly. That beer alone got me very drunk. Beer pong was played, many of us stumbled about. Brennon, brought a stranger, Matt was the only one not in attendance, Kevin stayed conscious and everyone else was in a good mood. We brought in the New Year as we always do; in good company.

January 2014. Nothing too fun or eventful was taking place. I searched for a new car while battling acne again. My dad was inching towards dialysis and once again I resolutioned to get into shape.

February was interesting. I injured my knee running. My first sports injury. I decided to ignore it and keep going with exercising. I finally bought a new car after my old Nissan bit the dust. Dad finally got into dialysis. I started Accutane to get rid of my acne again. I got my dog Leela during this month.

March I got into the worst car accident I've ever been in, in someone else's car. Luckily no one was injured but it made me a lot more passive driving.

April I just dug my heels into the ground and just concentrated on school. Joe convinced me to run the Tough Mudder by the end of the month in September. It forced me to have to train harder.

May nothing too different from any other May. I started training for the Tough Mudder, despite my injured knee. Memorial weekend in Idaho was perhaps one of the best ones I ever had. The weather was perfect. Although the fishing was bad, it provided for fun the rest of the weekend. Getting a little drunk in the trailer with Hailee and her friend while playing Cards for Humanity. Running the show on my own. It was fun.

June and July were the same. I didn't get out much. I spent most of my time training and going to school. I started physical therapy for my knee injury hoping to be better by September. There were hardly any fishing or hiking adventures. I was in stellar shape preparing the Tough Mudder.

August I fell of the exercise wagon a bit and quit training for a few weeks. I remember going to Beer Festival and Oktoberfest with my friends. I remember enjoying the nice weather as much as I could, though I still had little hiking or fishing done.

September I ran the Tough Mudder with great success than I had hoped. I proved to myself that I had more grit than I thought. Afterwards, we all stayed in Snowbird, ate food, drank, got up the next morning for breakfast and Oktoberfest. It was one of the best days of the year.

October was an interesting month. Dad didn't get his transplant on a whim. I still had 2 weeks off of work anyway which provided for much needed time away.

November proved to be a difficult time of year with both my parents in the hospital for different things. My birthday was celebrated in the hospital. I took a lot of care responsibilities on myself to take care of them. My aunt was there to help which was a great relief.

December still proved to be difficult. With finals, my parents still recovering, and getting ready for the holidays, I was the most stressed I had been all year.



It's a brief recap and I'm sure I'm missing a lot. But that's just what I remember off the top of my head. 2014 was a stressful year. It seems as I get older the years seem to pile on more, but I suppose that's adulthood. When I was reading past recaps, It seemed I complained a lot about the years gone by. I want to do my best to not do that despite the overall hardship I endured. I'm hoping that I can take 2014 as a learning experience. A time where I learned to be a better, caring person. I feel that I've gained strength this year. I feel like a stronger more capable person than I ever have. Though I wish this year would have yielded better memories, I'm happy with how it turned out. In the long run, everything still came together. I still have my health, my family and my friends. I gained a greater perspective on life and how to deal with it and feel like I have a better purpose.

As always, I hope that 2015 will be a better year. I'm hoping I can still be a better man, exercise right, eat healthy, and be a positive influence on those I come into contact with. I'm hoping I can create better memories and good times. I'm hoping that whatever challenges come my way, that I can overcome them as I'm sure there will be many.


So here's to you 2014. You weren't bad. You weren't great. But you did a lot for me.


Here's looking to you 2015. Let's make this a good year.


Now I'm off to Joe and Randi's to bring in the New Year with my best friends.



See you in a year, starting with the party that happens today.

To the Santas in Family Pictures

It's no small secret that I'm not a fan of the holidays in any way, shape, or form. It's my least favorite time of year. There is so much pressure and stress surrounding the final 2 months of the year. But none of this is the point of where I'm getting at. (So why did I bother writing any of it? Who knows?)

While looking through old family photos at my grandparents house, I noticed several old photos of my dad and his brother with Santa Claus. I have several of these types of pictures as do millions of Americans. Everyone gets a picture with Santa at some point, right? Well usually anyway. But when I started thinking about it, who was this Santa Claus? Obviously not really Jolly old St. Nick. But a real man, who had a real life. He is in hundreds and thousands of family photos. Few people probably knew his real name or what he did in life or who his family was. Yet, here he was, adorned in a family photo we'll have for years. A man in a costume as a fictional character. It's weird when you think about it. There's thousands of mall Santas and millions of photos taken with children. Millions have the pictures stashed away as family memories. Our family photo with a nameless man who donated his time to thanklessly bring us that memory. No one knew his name or what his story was. I doubt he gets thanked often and probably deals with a lot of shit. But this nameless (and likely long dead) man lives on in our family calendar every year.

What better way to be immortalized than to be apart of thousands of memories, even if you don't get all the personal credit that you probably deserved.

Warm November

Earlier in October, I had begged for a warmer Fall season so that I could milk being in a t shirt and jeans for as long as possible. I got my wish and it has lasted well into November. Temps have been in the 60's and I have been nothing but happy.

Today, the cold has reared it's ugly ass head. As I sit comfortably in this coffee shop, sipping coffee and people watching, the back of my mind is a flash of hatred for cold weather. 42 degrees isn't freezing. But it's still 42 fucking degrees and I therefore must hate it as much as my psyche will allow.

In a fit of rebellion, I still put on a light hoodie instead of putting on something heavier to protect my fragile skin from the relatively frigid conditions. I wasn't about to let mother nature win this one. Nature can suck it. I'll put on a light hoodie and complain about how cold it is the whole time. I'm not above being petty and whiney. Everyone in earshot will hear my warriors cry against this foul weather. I'll implore everyone to let their cars idle while throwing out non-biodegradable plastics into nature. Lets warm this earth to dangerous levels and bring back Summer a few weeks early and perhaps bring it back for the rest of our foreseeable lives. Lets warm this earth until the temperature cooks our brains like oatmeal in a microwave.

Maybe that's a little drastic........maybe.

But still, I protest and there is nothing you can do about it except not read this post.

Wallet Pictures

The bread and butter of today's "witty" observations usually pivot on how cell phones have changed our lives. Most observations usually talk about the death of the landline, the payphone, and not knowing where people are at all times. Today, I realized yet another victim that has been murdered by the modern cell phone: Wallet pictures. 

For so long, the picture in the wallet was a staple in hack 90's comedy. Men would draw out their huge George Costanza wallets (see below) to show off pictures of their children or loved ones and it would essentially bond them to the viewer. But that is no more. Wallets have been streamlined to thinner pieces of leather as it is.  There are no more big wallets that could keep condoms, cards, receipts, and photos in one inconvenient piece of baggage.

Gone are the days of men pulling out their wallets to show off hard copies of photos..........come to think of it, most hard copies of photos are gone.............but that's a different story anyway. Instead, we no longer reach into our back pocket, but our front one. We reach for our cell phone to show photos of people. 

I'm not against this. Big wallets were a pain in the ass (literally). Cell phones can do so much for us now. We are now to the point where we can buy things on our cell phone or use our phones as credit cards at participating vendors. It's only a matter of time before our license ID's will be in there. We won't have to carry pieces of thin plastic to prove who we are. Or maybe we will. Who knows. I'm terrible at predicting things. 

Anyway, I think we should all have a moment of silence for the wallet photo and giant wallets everywhere. Cell phones have taken your place, fallen soldier. 

Gone but not forgotten. 

Bad Artists

There are a lot of "artists" out there who don't realize that being a self-proclaimed artist (or as some people call it "artsy") doesn't automatically qualify you as being good. Sure, some pretentious prick could argue that art is subjective and that good is just a matter of personal perception. They are partially right, and probably trying to validate their artistic worth. But mostly, they are wrong. So very wrong.

I don't think I need to bother pointing out that great works of art have been called "great" for a reason. Great paintings, great literature, great music, great sculptures...........I'm sure you thought of a few great works just by reading that. Now think of how many of those great things were made by friends, acquaintances, or regular jackoffs who fancy themselves "artists." I'm going to take a crazy guess and say that none of them were made by people you knew.

I can already imagine another pretentious asshole already trying to fight with the argument that art doesn't have to be validated to be good. Someone might even be tempted to talk about Fridah Kahlo or Vincent Van Gogh, whose works of art went unappreciated for years after they died. There are exceptions of course. But exceptions imply rarity, not commonality. If validity wasn't important, why do so many artists make their work public and so easily accessible? Because they relish criticism so much. Hell no. Artists make their work public for the same reason anyone does any sort of work. Peer validity is important, no matter who you talk to. They want to hear and know their work is good and not wasted.

But have any these artists really come to think they aren't any good at being an artist? I mean seriously not good at all? Being more inclined to be artsy doesn't automatically predisposition you to be being good at at. I know quite a few people who fancy themselves this way. But the sad truth is, they aren't any good at any of it. They dabble in all of it and call themselves "eclectic" or "well-rounded." Barf. Bad writing, bad photography, bad paintings, bad everything. I'm by no means an art critic, or an artist for that matter, and certainly have no room to talk. I don't enjoy paintings or art galleries. I don't care about photography. I do love good writing, film and strong classical music. But it doesn't take someone with a useless art degree to know when someone is so objectively (not subjectively) bad at the craft they pursue. It's sad really. You know a bad painting when you see it. You might try to rationalize that it's "new age" or "artist perception" or that it's simply not your cup of tea. But deep down, you know it sucks. You know when someone really has no talent at photography. These days, any two-bit dumbass has a fancy camera or smartphone equivalent and fancy themselves as a  "photographer." But taking pictures all the time, applying preset filters,  and call it it "art" is a bit of a stretch.  I think we all know a "writer" whose writing is a creative miscarriage. Everyone thinks they can be a writer just because they can put together a sentence without grammatical error or todays shorthand text slang. Writing is so much more than just words being put on a page.

But likely at the encouragement of well-meaning friends and family, these people continue on with producing their version of art. The only justification I can make on their behalf is that they can't do anything else. Their work means something to them, good or bad. Or provides an outlet that they need. I can't talk down to that. I understand that not everyone is an astronaut, a doctor, or businessman. The world needs artists. Without art, our world would be hopelessly boring and perhaps worse off than it is today.

But the world could probably stand to have a few less shitty artists anyway.

A Good Day with Football Analogies

Do you ever have a day so good that anything seems possible? It happens sometimes. To me, those sort of days are rare to come by. A day where I feel like I can do anything. A day where the things I thought impossible are seemingly more possible than I originally thought. In the case of my good day, it was feeling smart with everything I was doing. 

It started off slow with an outright lack of motivation to care or to wake up. I was training that morning, which I was in no mood to do. But as I imbibed several caffeinated beverages in conjunction with eating delicious foods throughout the day, I became a powerhouse of information. I was reciting everything I knew about my job and relevant aspects about medicine to my poor trainee. Now this doesn't seem like a big deal since that's what I'm supposed to do. However, I had trained 3 other people with relative difficulty in saying anything correctly. But today was different. I was on my game. I had the answers to the questions. I could explain everything with precise detail. There wasn't an IV I couldn't hit. There wasn't a patient with a diagnosis I couldn't figure out. It was all coming together. After I had to take two tests. Both of which I aced. I had problems at home to fix. I had problems with family I had to fix...........All a success. Nothing stopped me. 

It seems stupid, but I was on fire. I was the pitcher at the mound throwing a no hitter.............

Wait a second.......... I hate baseball.

I was the quarterback throwing everything I had. There wasn't an end-zone I couldn't reach. There wasn't a pass too far or too difficult for me to make. No defense I couldn't read and work around. Every success was an impossible touchdown. It was a record scoring game. I was nimble. I avoided mistakes and turnovers. It was a career best, sure to go down in the history books. 

Anything was possible. I could do anything. My goals didn't seem so stupid. I didn't feel so stupid and unaccomplished. 

For the first time in a long time, I had a day where everything went right.

How Star Wars Broke my Heart

It's little secret that I'm a huge nerd. My passion for sci-fi and other types of cosmic fiction is boundless. Star Trek and Star Wars tend to be my favorites. But I remember Star Wars as my introduction into this realm of nerdiness.

Whether or not you're familiar with the original holy trilogy is not that concerning for this post. But it will probably help your understanding of my feelings a little bit.

The first Star Wars, A New Hope (episode 4, technically) was my introduction to the franchise. As a kid, it wasn't my favorite of the movies but I certainly did love it. I fell in love with the whole universe of Star Wars. The plot. The weapons. The legendary music track by John Williams. I wanted to know everything about the movie. The Empire Strikes Back, the second of the original series was my least favorite. It was too dark and scary for my little child brain to grasp. The heroes weren't supposed to lose or get hurt. All the stories I had ever known up until that point had never ended without a "happily ever after" sort of feel. Empire never provided that. The best you got was that nobody died but got horribly beat up. Return of the Jedi was my favorite as a child. It seemed to have all the action I ever wanted in a Star Wars movie. All the ship battles I could handle. All the lightsaber dueling I could absorb. All the blaster-fire I could process. It seemed like everything I ever wanted.

For years, I maintained that Return of the Jedi was my favorite of the franchise. I maintained that stance well into my adulthood. That's a lot longer than I should have let that slip. I was a fool. Now, I'm not saying that Return of the Jedi is the worst movie of the lot. But it's an inferior movie to the previous movies in the series. A couple of years ago, I watched Return of the Jedi and my mind was blown. I started noticing things I never paid attention to before. Why are the Ewoks suddenly so fucking annoying? Why does the dialogue seem so clunky? Why does it seem like it's giving me all the action I want and yet I feel nothing for the plot? Why are there suddenly so many new ships and devices we haven't seen before?


Oh fuck..........

This movie was trying to sell toys.

Lots of them.............

It became clear to me why all of this existed. It was all a big marketing ploy. The movie mattered less. I could see it in the way it was thrown together. I researched it on the internet to try to calm my paranoia. Instead, I just confirmed my fears. George Lucas and several of the producers and actors went on record stating that the purpose of the movie was to sell it more to kids. And god damnit, it worked like a charm. Clunky dialogue that requires very little understanding for a child. Teddy bears/mini-Chewbaccas being cute and fighting the Empire as comic relief. New ships. Cool weapons. More toys to sell. Sure, Darth Vader dies. But everyone else lives. No real plot points that make you turn your head. Everything happens the way my child brain wants it to. Lots of action. More understanding. Less plot. More shit that I want in toy form. The worst part is, it all worked. I was seriously heartbroken. Empire Strikes Back was the superior movie all along. Excellent plot. Intriguing character development. High stakes. Personal investment into the characters. Empire had it all. I would always scoff at people who would tell me Empire was their favorite movie and couldn't understand why that would be. The truth is, they were smarter than me. They saw that way before I did. They understood Return of the Jedi's failings. I could not. I was a product of marketing and childhood nostalgia. Star Wars felt cheapened and ruined. I can't watch Return of the Jedi the same way I did when I was a kid. I can't look at it the same. It hurts too much to remember how my mind was raped by marketing schemes.


If you think that hurts me, imagine how I felt when I truly figured out the newer Star Wars movies when they came out........