November 30: Rigor Mortis Curiosity

It's normal for a child to stare at a grotesquely disfigured man. A little boy has no qualms about asking his embarrassed mother why the lady they're quickly passing is so fat. A child's curiosity is expected and sometimes laughed at. They are scolded for asking their questions, but it's this natural inquisitiveness that shapes who they will become.

Of the many lectures I sat through during the week of college orientation, I remember a professor addressing a crowded auditorium and pondering what point in life we as human beings let go of the innocence to ask such questions. He explained that most disabled people don't mind being asked why they can't walk by children. The speaker mentioned that the embarrassment doesn't reside in the person in the wheelchair, but rather within the person asking (or avoiding) the question.

The professor's point was that in college (and in life), we shouldn't hesitate to ask questions. If we want to know something, we shouldn't be embarrassed by the simplicity of that which we seek. I really took that particular message to heart and I have always asked the pressing questions. I don't think my curiosity is a result of the lecture, but more of who I have always been; I must get it from my dad.

When my grandfather (his dad) passed, for example, instead of simply retrieving the remains from the crematorium on the way to the funeral services, he had to arrive a half an hour early to get a guided tour through the ovens; and I was all too eager to accompany him. Death is normally a sad affair for family members. The day of letting go is usually reserved for just that; consoling and being consoled by friends and family. Who thinks of asking to see the climate-controlled crypts? Who wants to see the grate that catches the gold and silver fillings of the charred deceased's teeth?

I will never forget that particular tour, either. It's not every day you're greeted by a naked, frozen corpse forced to sit up in a six-foot, cardboard casket by the magical wonderment of rigor mortis. It was as though he had an invisible string pulling him up from the sternum and he was staring straight ahead with his mouth ajar. Classic. Also, who would have guessed that the proper temperature to grill a body is 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit?

See, without my father's unbridled curiosity and my willingness to follow, I never would have had that experience at the local crematorium. I may ask the couple that met while playing World of Warcraft the uncomfortable questions and my dad may ask the father why he let's his son continue living at home without contributing anything, but neither of us ask these things to ridicule or patronize. We ask because we are legitimately interested. We don't point at the fat lady and laugh and we are a little more cautious when approaching the guy missing his leg, but we're definitely not afraid to ask. I don't see the problem.

November 29: My How You've Grown!

"You're getting so big!" Nowadays, the only thing people think of when they hear this line is, "That's what she said." When you're a little kid, though, it means something completely different.

When I was growing up, the only time my family went to church was once a year on Christmas Eve. We would always arrive an hour before the service began to assure a decent seat in the pews and to visit with the friends of my grandparents whom we hadn't seen since the previous year. It was during these little interactions that I would inevitably receive the "You're getting so big" line or some other variation of the same meaning.

These were people that my father knew growing up. You see, my grandparents were very social people and were always throwing or attending little gatherings for their group of friends. Because of this, my father grew to know his parents' friends quite well. When he grew up, met my mom, and had my sister and me, it was these people that were on hand to watch our family grow.

When I was much younger, my parents were more active in the social scene and they attended church on a more regular basis. But as the years progressed and they became busier with their own routines, they set church aside and turned it from a weekly tradition to an annual one. Because of the alterations to our weekly visits, the people that first met my sister and me as babies now saw us much more seldom; and that was if they happen to attend the same service we did. Sometimes, we wouldn't see these people for five years or more!

Anyway, with each annual visit, I would be reminded how big I was getting from people that I didn't remember meeting as a stroller-rider. Old people that stank of coffee and peppermints would lean down with their saggy, gray skin, smile their yellow teeth at me and deliver the line that I had no response to. Each year I became more and more cynical of social conventions and norms and this line simply resonated itself into my mind as one more thing to complain about when running into old "friends."

Here's the problem. A young couple give birth to a child. They are ecstatic that they have created life and added to their family and all of that nonsense. As soon as they come home from the hospital, they start showing the kid off to everyone they know. They take it to company picnics and Christmas parties. They bring it to Mass and social get togethers. Everywhere they go where they have the opportunity to display this sleeping bundle of joy, they bring it.

When a friend shows you his or her baby, you are forced by the unwritten rules of society to drool over it. You're supposed to croon on and on about how adorable and perfect the blob is. No matter how ugly you truly feel the kid is, you are supposed to use the word, "cute."

The kid, on the other hand, has absolutely no idea who you are; nor does he care. He may look at you with big, shining eyes and you may even get a smile from him, but he does not remember your face or the context in which you were first introduced. The next time you see the little bugger may be a month later or a year later. Heck, it might even be five years down the road when the kid is running around with muddy hands and chocolate on the front of his shirt.

You remember the first time you met. You remember how small he was and how he was nestled into his parents arms, but he doesn't have a clue who you are. He doesn't remember looking up at you. He doesn't remember anything about you, yet he has to hear about how big he has gotten. The first time he hears it is weird enough, but to have to hear it again every year after that from not one, but every stranger that knows his parents is too much. Think about it. A total stranger comes up to you and tells you how much you've grown. Isn't that a bit strange?

I guess the solution to the issue is to not tell the kid how different he looks. Tell him it's nice to see him again. Ask him about school. Comment on his shirt or the toy he's carrying. Don't tell him how much bigger he is. Think of something original to say.

November 28: Bragging Rights

Mondays and Fridays: Bench (Five sets of eight repetitions), Incline Bench (3 of 8), Flies (3 of 8), Squats (5 of 8), Leg Press (3 of 8), Leg Extensions (3 of 8), Toe Raises (3 of 8), and fifty Ab Wheels.

Tuesdays and Thursdays: Shoulder Press in front of the head (3 of 8), Shoulder Press behind the head (3 of 8), Arm Extensions in front of body (3 of 8), Arm Extensions to the side of the body (3 of 8), Chin-Ups (3 of 8), Lat Pull Downs in front of the head (3 of 8), Lat Pull Downs behind the head (3 of 8), Stand-Up Arm Curls with a bar (3 of 8), Stand-Up Individual Curls with dumbbells (3 of 8 for each arm), and Sit-Down Concentration Curls with dumbbells (3 of 8 for each arm).

Wednesdays: Deadlifts (5 of 8), Close-Grip Bench (5 of 8), Wide-Grip Bench (5 of 8), Sit-Down Rows (3 of 8), three sets of twenty-ones with a forty-five pound bar, and fifty Ab Wheels.

From about March of 2001 until June of the same year, my good friend and I would follow this routine. After school, we would drive to his house, open the garage door to get some air circulation and go to work. It was exhausting and cumbersome, but after a few weeks, it just became second-nature. It's what we did after school every day. No ifs, ands, or buts. By the time I graduated, I was in (what I thought would be) the best shape of my life even though I didn't actually play any organized sports at the time.

Almost ten years later, and I still have my slim figure, but the tone and overall shape has virtually disappeared. I remain active by riding my bicycle as much as I can and when I'm feeling particularly motivated, I'll attempt to begin another round of the Perfect Pushup workout program. Of course without the inspirational stimulation from a peer, this rarely makes it past week two or three. For a while, I maintained a consistent Ab Wheel workout which I still give credit for my overall flexibility and core strength, but even that has absconded from my daily routine.

People are always absolutely flummoxed when I reveal that I don't have a gym membership or that I don't work out on a regular basis. I'm not a health nut by any means so it is always surprising when I reveal that I don't maintain any daily exercise regime. Like I stated above, I will occasionally begin a push up routine or the rare dumbbell work out, but those moments of ambition are so far between each other, that I can't possibly justify calling it "working out."

I tell you all of this tonight, because it really bothers me when I overhear people talking about how they recently went to the gym for the first time in months and how sore they now are. I look at these people and I know instantly that they will maintain the routine for maybe a week and that will be the end of it. Why does that bother me? Because I don't see the point in starting a program for a week and calling it quits. Working out for seven days isn't going to do anything at all for your health. The only thing these people are accomplishing is tiring their muscles and feeling successful.

It's for this exact reason that I never get back into my own routine. I know myself all too well to know that I won't maintain the routine and therefor I won't be achieving any of the benefits of working out. I've never had a gym membership for this reason, either, and I am fairly confident that I never will. If you want to work out and maintain a healthy lifestyle, I'm all for it. Telling yourself on January 1 that you're going to start working out more and then giving up on January 7 is not commendable at all; neither is merely mentioning, "p90x" in conjunction with your so-called physical activity. If you really want to impress us with your new program, do it for a few months and establish a solid routine. Then come and brag about it.

November 27: Right-Handed

There has always been a part of me that has been fascinated with the human brain. Biology as a whole has always intrigued me, but it's the brain that I am the most interested in. With that being said, I don't really know anything about it. I know it's basically divided into a right hemisphere and a left hemisphere and each side of the brain is responsible for controlling the opposite side of the body. And that about sums up my overall knowledge on the human brain. I will now take questions and/comments.

Seriously, though, how cool is that? When I dribble a basketball with my right hand, it's actually the left side of my brain that is giving the command to do so. It's the left side of my brain that receives the message from my right ring finger that it was awkwardly jammed into the side of my opponent's head when going for the rebound and it's this same side of the brain that sends the message, "Ouch!"

Another thing that I find intriguing about the way our brains work is that one side is for a more linear way of thinking and the other is more non-sequential. It's the left side of the brain where our verbal, logical, and analytical skills stem from while the right hemisphere is responsible for the complexity of our imagination and creativity.

For as long as I can remember, it is this last little fact that has really bothered me. How could I let something so foolish bother me, you ask? Well, if you know me at all, I go through every day of my life trying to make people laugh. The only thing I care about in life is that people think of me as the funny one. In order to be universally entertaining, though, one must be a creative individual and I am definitely not creative. I'm right-handed. I'm more analytical and linear in my ways of thinking.

Sure, I have my moments (as some of the posts in this blog can attest to), but on the whole, creativity is just something that I'm not. I can't paint, sing, or draw. I could never build anything original out of Legos without the step-by-step instructions or draw a picture with my Etch A Sketch. Once my Lite Brite guides were all punched through, the toy was completely useless. Learning Photoshop wouldn't do me any good because I just can't think of original ways to enhance or change images.

I discovered the fact about creative people being left-handed a long time ago, but it's one of those little thoughts that has stayed with me. Every time I watch a movie and watch the actors write a note, I notice that the majority of them are left-handed. Whenever a friend lets slip that he or she is left-handed, I remember all of the times their creativity was on display. The fact that the girl who did the majority of the cooking on Thursday once attended culinary school to satisfy her creative "need" made perfect sense when I found out what her dominant hand was.

In the sixth grade, I learned that about twelve percent of the population is left-handed and a part of me has always been a bit envious of that group. For every one hundred people, only twelve of them have strong right hemispheres. My life goal is to make everyone I pass curl over with laughter. Some are trickier than others and for those individuals, I need creativity and artistry. I need to use the right side of my brain and I just can't. I'm right-handed.

November 26: Panic

I've got my clean, flannel sheets on my bed and I have the covers drawn tightly over my bare shoulders. The heavy quilt that lies on my bedspread keeps the warm in and the early-morning cold out. My head rests peacefully on my down pillow and I'm lost within my tranquil dreams when everything is torn apart by the obnoxious interruption of the car in the parking lot just outside of my window.

I'm visiting with an old friend at a neighborhood eatery. The sun is at its maximum height for the day and there isn't a cloud in the sky. A gentle breeze is the perfect balance of the hot sunshine on my face as we take our orders to a unoccupied table on the patio. The sounds of other patrons and their soft conversation can be heard as we set our things down and collapse into our respected chairs. For a moment, we marvel at the perfect weather before beginning our meals. Just as I'm about to make my rebuttal to a point he is trying to make, we are violently interrupted by the deafening reverberation of a nearby car alarm.

There are quite a few things in life that annoy and irritate me, but the car alarm has got to be near the top. I understand the point of having one; my truck has one installed, but I feel like there are some major renovations that need to be looked into by the manufactures. A car alarm isn't exactly a new technology, so why are they still so unoriginal and sensitive?

Who came up with that cliched tone that belongs to nearly every alarm? Honking, siren, slower-siren, high-pitch honking, repeat; I used to have an electric toy gun that made the exact sound! What came first? The toy or the alarm? I know I had the toy before I heard a car mimicking its sound, but is that really the order of the sound's existence? If that's the case, who wants the alarm that is protecting their cars from thieves sounding like a cheap toy?

A car alarm is supposed to go off when someone attempts to break in; not drive by. Living right next to a six-story parking garage in college was really irritating every time someone drove through with their bass pounding or their exhaust growling. Are thieves actually scared off by the sound or are they more deterred by the silent, blinking red light just below the steering wheel? If it's the latter, can't we just disconnect the sound part?

More times than not, a person will set his or her own alarm off by attempting to open the door while the alarm is still activated. These people are never prepared for this to happen because it always seems to take a good two to three minutes of their car wailing at them before they find the remote to turn the sound off. I have a car alarm and I have never accidentally set it off so why do so many other people set theirs off so early in the morning in my complex's parking lot?

Something has to be done in the vehicle security department. The same tone on every car? Being set off by passing cars and unloading grocery baskets? We're figuring out ways to video chat on our cell phones, so why can't we figure out a way to protect our cars without being so damn irritating?

November 25: Mean Girls

I grew up with a sister six years my minor and I never really thought twice about the stories she brought home from the schoolyard. I just assumed that when she came home ranting and raving about a good friend of hers turning into a b*tch from out of nowhere, it was what really happened. I was surprised at how one minute two girls that spent so much time together could hate each other's guts the next. If that surprised me, imagine how I felt when a few years later, they were hanging out again as if nothing had changed!

It wasn't until I got my first job that I was able to truly grasp how mean-spirited girls are in general. Guys are always getting a bad rap because of the way they talk to each other, but no one seems to realize that it's all in fun when they do so. Girls, on the other hand, are just plain brutal to each other; behind each other's backs.

I can't tell you how many times I've talked with girls about how annoying or stupid or egotistical a good looking girl is. It seems as though every time I have my eye on an attractive young female and I go to a mutual "friend" to get information about the girl, I'm always told how selfish and snotty the girl is. The thing of it is, though, is that these things aren't being said because I'm being recommended to avoid the girl. Anytime you give one female the opportunity to truly express how she feels toward another female, you will hear some pretty bold accusations.

Good looking girls get the worst of it, too. Average looking girls hate good looking girls because of how threatened they feel by their looks. The things they say about each other could be true, but because one of them is attractive and the other is not, it just highlights all of their faults and it's clear as day as an outside listener. I've had multiple conversations with Plain-Janes about how a cute girl thinks she can get away with anything based strictly on her looks.

Don't get me wrong here, though. I'm not taking the good looking girls' side. They're just as bad as the rest. They hate ugly chicks for being ugly! It's almost as though the ugly girls want to be ugly and the pretty ones want to be ugly. It's nothing but a gab fest directed at the other group. I hate you for being beautiful and I hate you for not being as beautiful as me.

If you ever get the opportunity to sit and listen to the genuine opinions of one girl about another, I highly recommend it. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll feel bad for the person being talked about and then you'll laugh to yourself at the girl doing the talking. Then you can go to the talk-ee and ask her about the talk-er. It's great.

November 24: The Double Dip

This is an age-old subject. People have been talking about it for years and TV sitcoms have done scenes all about it. Comedians have done bits on it and I'm sure investigative reporters have done stories on it. I'm talking about the double dip.

In an episode of Seinfeld, a character named Timmy explains the definition of a double dip to George after witnessing him break the social rule. "You dipped the chip, you took a bite, and you dipped again. It's like putting your whole mouth right in the dip. From now on, when you take a chip, just take one dip and end it!" I couldn't have explained it any better.

Today I was out with some friends. We were at a restaurant enjoying the complimentary chips and salsa that preceded the main entree. I had never been out with one of these "friends," but after today, I can guarantee you that I will never go out with him again. After he broke the cardinal rule of dipping twice into any sort of dip around me, I sat and observed him as he literally shoveled chip after chip into his continuously chomping mouth.

Watching someone eat large chips is, without a doubt, one of the most disgusting and vile things to put yourself through. Like everything else, there are exceptions, but most of the time, when you take a bite, the entire chip cracks apart in your hand. This, in turn, causes most people to shove the rest of the chip into their mouths before it completely crumbles apart and lands in the lap. By eating chips in this manner, it is virtually impossible not to send tiny crumbs flying everywhere.

I was so turned off by the way this idiot was attacking these chips, that I almost lost my appetite. He was eating as though he hadn't had anything to eat in days. He would grab a chip, dip it into the salsa, take a bite and shove the rest of the chip (except for the largest shard) into his mouth before dipping once more with the remaining chip; and chew with his mouth open.

People have told me they're convinced I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and that I'm a "germ-iphobe" but I can assure you that I don't and, am not, either of these things. But when you double dip your chip in the same dip I'm using, I will refuse to use that dip again. I will make a scene, do my best to insult your intelligence and to offend you, and basically go over the top with my reaction. I don't care if you're my mother, my girlfriend, my best friend, or a complete stranger. I'm with Timmy. "It's like putting your whole mouth right in the dip." The same goes for anyone that drinks out of my cup or eats off my plate. It's just one of those things that really irritates me.

Because of the industry that I'm in, I have the pleasure (sarcastically speaking) of watching people shove chips in their mouths every day. I get pissed off when people come in and eat the free chips and salsa, don't pay for anything, and then have the nerve to run me around for refills. This lunatic I was at lunch with today did all of these things and I had to sit there and be associated with him. If you ever get the opportunity to go out with me, do me a favor. "When you take a chip, just take one dip and end it!"

November 23: Movie Reviews

Red - Four former CIA agents labeled as "Retired and Extremely Dangerous" fight an agency trying to kill them. That's about all I could figure out. I've never been any good at following espionage thrillers and this movie was no different. I loved the action, though. It was so over the top that it was entertaining. It was also fun watching Bruce Willis, Helen Mirren, and John Malkovich complain about being old while welding firearms.

Megamind - Another all-star cast for another ho-hum Dreamworks Animation flick. Will Ferrell, Brad Pitt, Tina Fey, and Jonah Hill all lend their voices to this film about an evil mastermind that successfully overthrows the city's superhero only to find that being the one in charge isn't as cool as he had imagined. I saw this one in "eye-popping 3D" and just like any other non-Pixar 3D animated film, it possessed scenes to take advantage of an audience wearing glasses just to show off the technology but not to add to the story. There were some funny bits, but I felt like it was an hour and thirty-six minutes of being yelled at by Ferrell.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 - I thoroughly enjoyed the last film in the Harry Potter series. I had never been a fan of the movies because I am so familiar with the books, but for some reason the sixth movie was quite good. When I went home for six weeks, I re-read the seventh and final book in the series in preparation of the new film and after sitting through it today, I now realize why I liked the sixth movie so much. I wasn't as familiar with it and I couldn't pinpoint the omissions and changes the filmmakers had made. With that being said, I was a bit disappointed in this film. Adapting the book into a decent movie would be extremely difficult so I suppose I can exercise some forgiveness, but at times I felt like they rushed parts and dragged others out. I felt like there were way too many scenes of just sitting around and the action scenes were over in the blink of an eye. I do, however, like the way they ended this one and left the audience on edge for the next one in July.

Due Date - Two opposites journey across the United States with each other and must do so in time for the arrival of one's newborn child. This was the first film from director Todd Philips since 2009's hugely successful The Hangover and in a way, it almost felt as though he had run out of ideas. Does anyone remember Road Trip? This was that movie, but with a different story. The film definitely had its moments of hilarity and Robert Downey Jr. and Zach Galifianakis were great together, but there were also other parts that were so unbelievable that they jerked the audience right out of it. A marijuana pipe is found in a guy's luggage and the only thing that happens is the security guard drops a few expletives and let's him go? C'mon!

Hereafter - I didn't originally have any desire to see this one, but because it started right after Due Date, I thought I would give it a go and it ended up being my favorite of the day. Three stories revolving around death are told through the eyes of legendary actor/filmmaker Clint Eastwood in a very emotional and moving film starring Matt Damon. If you can get past the quick dialogue and rapid subtitles of the French scenes, then I highly recommend it.

November 22: Terry Schlitz

His name was Terry Schlitz and he was as average as they come. In high school, he was never at the top of class, yet he wasn't at the bottom either. He never played any sports or joined any clubs, but he always did his homework and did what he was told. He had a small group of friends, but for the most part he kept to himself and did his own thing. As average as he was, it was Terry Schlitz that came up with the idea for one of the most underrated objects of our generation.

After high school, Terry got a job working for a telemarketing company that offered ways to refinance home loans. He put in his time each day and made the calls he was supposed to make. He consistently clocked in at exactly 8:00 am, clocked out at exactly 5:00 pm, never came back from his hour lunch tardy, and didn't even come in on the weekends when overtime was available to those who wanted some extra cash. Terry was simply average.

When Terry was hired, he attempted to pack his lunch each day to one, save money and two, to maintain a balanced diet. The first week of employment, his lunches consisted of a sandwich, a sliced apple, a small baggy of crackers, some carrot and celery sticks, and one individually wrapped package of string cheese to go along with a bottle of water. As the first week progressed into his first few months on the job, however, he began replacing the baggy of crackers with prepackaged Doritos. The sliced apple became a whole apple and the water was replaced by a can of soda. Before his first anniversary, he was taking five minutes of his hour to drive to the local drive-thru and another five to return.

Calling randomly selected strangers throughout the day and being hung up on on a consistent basis can wear on a person. It can cause severe bitterness toward humanity and send a person into exile from the outside world. When constantly being interrupted and yelled at by these people, one's self-esteem and confidence can quickly diminish and this is exactly what happened to Terry Schlitz.

To abscond the pressures of a demanding society, Terry escaped to the confines and comforts of his own studio apartment each night. As the years passed, he became so much of a recluse that he refused to go anywhere there was a crowd; including the grocery store. Before long, the only people he had to deal with outside of work were those on the intercom and window shifts at each drive thru he frequented on a daily basis.

Similar to the lunches he made for himself each morning out of high school, his every meal now came in a brown, paper sack with a colorful fast food restaurant logo printed on the outside. Mondays was McDonald's. Tuesdays were Taco Bell. Wednesdays: Wendy's and Thursdays: Burger King. Fridays marked the end of the week which meant the end of having to persuade unwilling strangers how to manage their money so he splurged on Sonic Burger. It was a little more interaction than he preferred, but he could park his car and eat without feeling rushed to keep the line moving.

As Terry became more and more familiar with the drive-thru process, one thing stood out as a real annoyance for him. The window attendant always handed him his drink and wrapped straw before serving his bagged meal and while waiting for his breakfast, lunch, or dinner to follow, Terry continually found himself holding the straw's wrapper after placing it through the slotted lid.

As average as Terry was, he was exceptionally clean. Everything had its place in his home and in his car. He took out the trash each morning and kept his apartment spotless at all times. He drove his car through a car wash every third Tuesday of each month and vacuumed the interior with each visit so being in possession of a small amount of trash before starting each meal wore heavy on Terry's nerves. Something had to be done.

Who would have guessed that a remarkably clean, average guy working for a telemarketing company sent into recluse would come up with something as useful and universally underrated as the top of a trashcan at the end of the drive-thru? Sturdy enough to remain securely set on top in the strongest of winds and shaped perfectly for a passing driver. What kind of person would think of something that made so much sense? That annoying telemarketer, that's who; Terry Schlitz.

November 21: The Power Trip

According to Laura Joffe Numeroff, amazing things have the possibility of occurring with the smallest gesture. It was her 1985 children's picture book, entitled If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, that makes the suggestion of one favor leading to another. The book starts off with, "If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk. When you give him the milk, he'll probably ask you for a straw." The Domino Effect continues through a series of requested favors until the mouse asks for another cookie.

I enjoyed the book as a child, but I now find it to be the perfect allegory for so many experiences within this game we're all playing called Life. For example, if you give an average Joe the slightest bit of power or responsibilities, more times than not, he or she will turn into a complete jerk and do things for the sole purpose of showing off that given power.

It's called a power trip. There is something about the human psyche that is triggered when given a slight edge on anyone in the general area. It could be something as small as being designated as the leader of the line of children headed for recess or it could be as big as being elected the President of the United States. Very few people have the ability to resist behaving differently and (on some level) condescending.

We all do it. When I was hired as a Resident Advisor, I couldn't help but feel slightly more entitled than the residents. I did my very best not to act on these feelings or treat others with disrespect, but the feeling was still there. When I was promoted to bartender, I was no longer just another server. I felt like people were watching the way I behaved and I probably over compensated by trying not to look like I was better than anyone else. It just happens.

What is absolutely unbelievable, however, is when a person is clearly taking advantage of their position. When he/she refuses to look at a situation through unbiased eyes and act on pure logic and instead behaves so irrational that an outsider can only come to the power trip conclusion, it baffles the mind. The answer can be so blatantly obvious, but because this person wants to flex his/her hierarchic might, anyone beneath must suffer the consequences.

A fascinating aspect of the power trip is that you can't reason with someone that is so blinded by his/her own amount of responsibility. There might be the rare occasion where an open line of communication would be beneficial to all parties involved, but for the majority of the time, these people cannot be reasoned with. As an insubordinate, you have to take your licks with a smile and hope you don't endure the wrath the next time around.

If you give a mouse a cookie, he's going to ask for a glass of milk. If you give a human being a few extra responsibilities, he or she might want to show off the anointed power. Like my days in college or with my promotion a few years ago, it's easy to let the new responsibilities control the way you behave. Letting those responsibilities take over who you are and allowing yourself to talk down on your peers is just really annoying and sad. It's normal to be proud, but making decisions to display your ranking is absolutely uncalled for.

November 20: Crazy

Today's post is a bit of a piggy back to yesterday's. An interesting theory was brought to my attention yesterday when discussing friends of friends. I don't remember the context of the conversation, but the topic of a mutual friend surfaced. From there, we found ourselves talking about the people we had met through our acquaintance and how each of these people were completely and utterly crazy. The guy I was talking to about all of this then asked if I thought that our mutual friend would come across as being as crazy as the third party if we had met him/her in the same context.

By trying to keep everyone's identity a secret, I'm beginning to realize this may be getting a bit confusing. I'm talking to Joe. Joe and I are friends with Gary. Gary is friends with Sally and Mary. Joe and I have only met Sally and Mary while downtown with Gary when everyone was a bit intoxicated. Because these are the only circumstances in which we've spent time with Sally and Mary, Joe and I have come to the conclusion that they are crazy. Now Joe is asking if we would make the same judgment on Gary if we only hung out with him once or twice downtown while intoxicated. Get it?

It's an interesting theory. Joe is probably right. I would probably think a lot less of Gary if I had met him the same way I met Sally and Mary. People act differently when under the influence of alcohol and it probably isn't fair to judge their sober character on one or two outings. On the other hand, alcohol can really shed light on a person's true self. I could be really attracted to a girl when she's sober, but when she gets drunk and sleeps around, I immediately disregard her. You can't blame alcohol on a person's sluttiness.

Maybe Sally and Mary really are crazy and so is Gary. After all, people tend to hang out with people they are similar to. If that's the case, does that mean Joe and I are crazy too? We're hanging out with Gary. He's hanging out with Sally and Mary. One way of defining the word "crazy" is to say unique or out of the ordinary. To be different means that you would not be similar to anyone in any one vicinity. With that being said, maybe no one is crazy. We all may be unique in our own ways, but crazy?

The reason this post can piggy back yesterday's is because I'm noticing things about people that they may not know about themselves or their friends for that matter. Sally and Mary probably wouldn't label themselves as crazy and neither would Gary. But as an outsider to their group of friends, I'm able to look past their blind spots of each other. It is an interesting thing to think about, however. Is Gary just as crazy as Sally and Mary? Am I? Now I'm just confusing myself.

November 19: Faking It

I have a hard time believing some of the people on American Idol honestly believe they are good enough to be superstars. When audiences watch the first few weeks of the reality program, the following day is filled with conversations about the terrible contestants and how tragic it is that no one told them how bad they really were before they made fools of themselves on national television. I don't share that opinion. There is no way those "singers" are so delusional to think the noises escaping from their lips is that of a beautiful song.

Take it from the source. I am a horrific singer. I always have been. If someone held a gun to my head, pulled back the hammer and told me to carry a tune, someone would have quite the mess to clean up. I'm honestly that bad. The funny thing is that I love to sing the most random songs at any given moment of the day. I do it so often that people tell me I should be on American Idol. Now, I know for a fact that I'm no Ruben Studdard. The only reason I would ever go on the show is to get my fifteen minutes of fame.

If I made it past the thousands and thousands of waiting people hoping to get a chance to sing in front of the judges, I would be one of those singers that they would let go on and on just so they could get a shot of each judge's appalled expressions. Finally, one of them would cut me off and tell me how bad I sounded and the audience at home would feel bad that the judges were so cruel to me. I would know all of this going in, but I would be a one-day star and people would remember how terrible I was. It's no different for any of the people that actually make it on camera. They know they're bad. They just want to be on TV.

There are some people, however, that are completely clueless as how they are perceived. There's the girl that simply will not shut up. She talks and talks and fails to see that her listeners aren't as into the story as they were when she started. There's the office manager that is oblivious that no one likes him. There's the girl that sleeps around but is convinced she's keeping a low profile amongst her friends. The list could go on and on. Everyone probably has something that they are unaware of about themselves. He thinks he's funny but no one's laughing. She is a complete idiot, but is too stupid to see it.

I believe there are certain things in life that a person simply cannot know about him or herself. There are other things, like singing really badly, that can be noticed about one's self. Don't get me wrong here. There's a fine line when it comes to believing in yourself and being plain dumb. I was in a lot of plays where people thought they were decent actors, but they weren't. The really bad American Idol singers have to know how bad they are. William Hung didn't make money because of how bad he was at singing. He made a ton of money on his ability to poke fun at himself and trick people into thinking that he was unaware they were laughing at him instead of with him.

November 18: Flaxseed

One of the best ways to get your daily fiber and protein is through that of milled flaxseed. Flax comes in two different varieties: brown and yellow (or golden) and they both have very similar nutritional characteristics. They both have been consumed for thousands of years, but brown flax is used more often to give cattle their fiber, but they each have the same amount of Omega-3 fatty acids. I had always heard of the health benefits associated with flaxseed, but it wasn't until last year when I took a trip to Washington DC that I became a believer.

My aunt from my mother's side of the family has always been somewhat of a black sheep in our family. Just like my mother, she was raised in Indiana by a farmer. Their father grew tobacco, corn, soybeans, and other various vegetables in addition to raising his own cattle to eventually turn into beef. He fed his family the fruits of his labor which meant there was rarely a night that some sort of meat wasn't served for dinner.

According to my aunt, she had mistakenly walked through the wrong door on a trip with her father to the local butcher's place when she saw the look of horror in a cow's eye just as it was about to get slaughtered. She continued to eat what was placed in front of her at home, but when she moved out, she vowed to never eat meat again.

As a little boy that grew up eating meat and dairy, I always thought my aunt was a bid odd for her choices in diet. Whenever she would visit, she would make a trip to the grocery store and buy vegetables I had never heard of to prepare her meals each night. Her trips to see my family were always followed by leftovers of unusual nuts and seeds in the freezer and fresh produce on the counters and in the refrigerator.

When it was my turn to visit her last year, she introduced me to flaxseed. I was intrigued to see what all the fuss was about and this was the perfect opportunity for me to give it a go. She told me that it was recommended to take two tablespoons a day with juice, milk, cereal, fruit, muffins, etc., but I only took one for my first time (I wanted to take it slow so the entire glass of orange juice wouldn't be wasted if I couldn't stand the stuff). To my surprise, I actually kind of liked it. It had a nutty taste to it that almost enhanced the texture of the juice.

Since that morning, I have been hooked on it. Not only are the Omega-3 fatty acids that it provides great for my heart, but they have also done wonders for my skin. I wear sandals a lot so my heels can get a bit chapped and dried out, but since taking my two tablespoons of golden flax a day, my feet (and my elbows) are nice and soft! If you're looking for an easy addition to your diet that has a lot of benefits, I strongly recommend learning more about flaxseed.

November 17: Credit

I know very little about credit scores. I know good credit is hard to achieve and incredibly easy to lose. I know that it's impossible to have a perfect credit score and I don't have a clue why that is. Because my mom worked at a credit reporting agency for so long, I was always taught to pay off all of my bills in full each month. I've never paid the minimum amount on a credit card bill and I freak out when the Internet company loses my statement which causes me to miss the bill's due date. It's because of these things that I can't understand why people don't take their credit more seriously.

I was having a conversation with a friend I work with today and he was telling me that he had to catch the bus after his shift. Now, I knew he had a car, so I assumed it broke down or that he was loaning it to a friend in need. He then informed me that it wasn't either case; his car had been repossessed. Upon further questioning I discovered that he had simply given up making car payments because he had a suspended license and (in his opinion) it didn't make sense to continue making car payments when he couldn't drive the car he was paying for. When he received the call from his bank telling him they hadn't received a payment in a while, he told them to come and get the car because he was done with it.

I was floored. I couldn't believe someone could be so naive to think that this was the best solution to his problem. I told him that was the absolute worst thing he could have done and he said, "Oh, it's under my mom's name." I stand corrected. That was the worst thing he could have done. How could he do that to his own mother? Apparently, though, she already has terrible credit so it wasn't that big of a deal. Those were his exact words. "She already has terrible credit so it wasn't that big of a deal." Well, buddy, I hope she doesn't plan on buying anything any time soon.

What people don't seem to realize is that the government that spent billions upon billions of dollars to bail these banks out of debt is monitoring the every move these banks are making. This in turn causes the banks less likely to approve loans to people without the credibility or credit to pay the loans off. People that have "terrible credit" aren't getting the loans they used to and I don't think they understand this. Sure, you don't need a new car or a new house right now, but if you move to an apartment, you may have a hard time getting electricity sent your way if the electric company can't trust you'll pay your bills.

Normally, I wouldn't care about these people. It's their credit and it doesn't affect me. I know I have outstanding credit and I won't have a problem getting that loan when I need it, but when people in my neighborhood get this attitude about their mortgage, then it gets really annoying. You see, if you're my neighbor and you discover that you're paying more for your house than what it's actually worth and you decide to foreclose, that not only hurts your credit, but it diminishes the value of my house. It doesn't matter if I pay my mortgage each month and I have a flawless yard. If there is a house in my neighborhood that has been foreclosed upon, the value of all the houses around it decreases.

It's simple for some people to take the easy way out and just give up. I would like to say, "Do what you want," but when your actions affect me than it's really irritating. Not paying for your car is one thing. You're the only one that will have to live with the consequences of your actions. But not paying for the house because it's easier for you to get up and move away is such a weaselly move because you leave nothing but a pissed off neighborhood. I love that the banks are finally cracking down on people, but I hate how easy it is for someone to screw up something for someone else.

November 16: Ham and Rice Casserole

It seems as though every time I decide to branch out and attempt to cook something that I've never cooked before, I end up writing about it. I've been eating ham and rice casserole for as long as I can remember. My mom used to cook it all the time for my family and I even got a taste of the good old days when I recently went home to visit. About a year ago, she sent me a copy of the recipe and told me it was an easy dish to make. The recipe had been sitting on the shelf this whole time, but today I decided to give it a go.

I made a list of all the items I needed before heading to the local grocery store and it seemed pretty straightforward. Some of the ingredients were actually spelled out for me; "10 1/2 oz can of beef broth" and "9 oz package of cut frozen green beans." I wasn't anticipating any difficulties at all; which was my first mistake.

I'm the kind of guy that needs clarification on the simplest directions. If someone tells me to take two steps forward, my instinct is to ask exactly how big those steps should be. When the recipe called for 10 1/2 oz and all I saw were cans of 10 3/4 oz, I started to hyperventilate. When I saw the smallest bag of frozen green beans was a 40 oz, I knew my dinner was doomed. I literally stood in front of the rice for five minutes wondering if white long-grain rice was really what I wanted.

After I had decided that what I had was the best I was going to do, it was time to combine everything together. Now, I had never watched my mom prepare the casserole longer than it took for me to come into the kitchen and grab a cube of ham so I had no idea if I was supposed to cook the rice before mixing the ingredients. The recipe told me to stir in the rice with hot cooking oil, but did that mean cooked rice or straight from the box? I figured that since I would be add all of the other ingredients shortly, it had to mean uncooked, but I was never really sure. When I put the concoction in the oven, it didn't look anything like the dish I had as recently as two weeks ago. I had no idea what it would look like forty-five minutes later, but I pressed on.

The casserole ended up looking pretty close to what it was supposed to, but it still tasted awful. It was way too mushy and my estimation of 9 oz must have been pretty far off because the taste of green beans was overpowering. My mom sent me this recipe because it was an easy one. I don't think I'll be making it again any time soon because of how "easy" it really was. What exactly was the point of this entry, you may ask? One to prove exactly how inept I am in the kitchen, and two because I couldn't think of anything better to write about. Now I can get back to my video game.

November 15: Priorities

Earlier in the year I had a subscription to Netflix. Two DVDs at a time, no late fees, unlimited instant streaming on my computer, $14.99 a month. At first, it was great. I was watching all sorts of movies that I had never gotten around to seeing. Old movies like Annie Hall and Kramer vs. Kramer. I wanted to get the most for my money, so I would watch a movie the day I received it in the mail, drive to the post office right after so it would be picked up on the same day it was delivered. Doing this for a two-movie cycle can become quite exhausting.

I wasn't getting anything accomplished because I was so busy watching movies. If I worked during the day and couldn't get to the movie until the night, I would get dressed and walk to the mail slot in my complex at two in the morning so I wouldn't have to worry about sleeping past the time the postman came. Tack on having to write a semi-decent entry for my blog and my day was completely shot. Who had time for friends? Who had time for exercise?

Eight months after canceling my subscription, I find myself in a similar quandary. A week ago, a friend let me borrow the last two books of the Twilight series (If you need my justification as to why I'm reading the books in the first place, I wrote an entry a few weeks ago) and last night a different friend let me borrow a video game that I had recently discovered. I want to finish the books so I can return them, but I need to finish the game so I can return it. What's a twenty-seven-year-old straight man supposed to do?!

On the one hand, I need to know what happens after the marriage of one Ms. Isabella Swan and Edward Cullen. Does he go through with immortalizing her? Is the temptation to kill her too great when he sinks his teeth into her neck? Does Rosalie ever warm up to her? What about Jacob? Does he ever come back? I keep hearing about this sex scene involved between Bella and Edward too. I have to read that!

On the other hand, I need to collect all the stickers, decorations, point bubbles, and other various objects as I can so I can spice up my little sackperson's world! I'm really hoping to pimp my pod in some kind of baseball theme if it's available. I can't accomplish this if my friend is waiting for me to return the game! I can't accomplish this is if I'm completely immersed in the world of vampires and werewolves!

The pressure is unbelievable. I need to sort my priorities out. If only there was a way I could have another surgery to limit my time at work. Then I could get all sorts of things done. Oh, wait! I am having another surgery!

November 14: Keep Austin Weird

Red Wassenich didn't mean anything by his remark; nor did he have any idea how quickly his quote would gain popularity amongst the locals. He was nothing more than a librarian at a community college when he found himself on the phone with a local radio station. When asked about the multiple small businesses in the area, Red simply replied, "Keep Austin weird" and the phrase immediately took off.

Wassenich was referring to the many small businesses in the Lone Star State's capital, but too many people have taken the phrase literally. I can think of at least two posts that I've written that involve Thundercloud Subs on South Lamar and after not visiting the local sandwich shop in quite some time, today I realized why. I have nothing against the business at all; in fact, I love it and writing (at least) my third entry about the goings on there is difficult for me to do because I love its product so much. I can't help it though. It's an absolute freak show in there!

The sandwiches are so good. Everything is made fresh and they don't have the processed meat that Subway has. Their bacon is thick and crispy. Their rolls are soft and delicious. They have sprouts! Unfortunately in order to get to the deliciousness of the sandwich, the customer has to get by the Emo kids working the counter.

Today I was helped by a girl with a shaved head of blue and bleached-blonde checkers. She wore a low cut shirt that displayed star tattoos on either clavicle in addition to the tattoos that spread down the length of her chest. Her arms were covered in even more tattoos and she had her septum pierced to go along with the many piercings she had in her ears, brows, lips and who knows where else. She was nice enough, but how am I supposed to feel comfortable ordering something to put in my mouth with someone like that piecing it together?

She's not even the worst of the bunch! There is another girl who works there that is just too much. She looks a little more conservative (by conservative, I mean fewer tattoos and piercings and a more "normal" hair style), but the way she talks is absolutely cringe-worthy. (It's going to be difficult to write for you to really gain an accurate idea of how annoying she sounds.) She's one of those people that places her emphases on words that people don't normally emphasize and then she'll tack on things like, "Great" and "No problem" to your answer with a bit too much enthusiasm. Now, if you have the cadence correct, imagine someone using a voice that's abnormally girly and over-the-top. "Do you want any mayonnaise or mustard today?" Spicy mustard, please. "Great! How about some chips?" Not today, thanks. "Nooo problem!" Ugh. Trust me, it's sickening.

I remember writing about how much I hate when people ask what I've been doing all day while they prepare my food instead of simply providing the common "Hey, how's it going?" greeting upon my entering the establishment. The latter girl is notorious for this crap. She's constantly in my business and I never have anything interesting worth saying and I know that even if I did, I would just have to hear that phony voice acting as though she was interested.

My sandwich was fantastic, but I don't know how many more times I can put up with that crowd. I want to keep Austin weird by supporting Thundercloud Subs, but it really is painful to go in there. No, I don't want to talk to you. No, I don't want to drop my spare change in your decorated tip jar because you're doing what you're being paid to do in the first place. Please just make my sandwich and leave me alone. Thank you.

November 13: Magical Toes

For Christmas last year, my parents gave me a removable link for my bike chain. I had asked for this so I could periodically remove the chain and clean it from the debris and gunk that had built up. For almost twelve months now, I've avoided installing it and like so many other things, I just made up excuse after excuse as to why I couldn't go outside and put it together. The link is two tiny pieces of metal that basically clip together to complete the chain, but today I discovered how difficult it actually was to install.

If I pulled the chain in one direction, the cogs on the wheel would lock which would allow me some slack on the other end but if I pulled too tightly on the loose end of the chain, it would pull the other end further over the sharp teeth of the cogs. I only had so much time before I had to take the chain off and try again. Lucky for me, I have magic toes.

Around about the third time of starting over, I discovered that if I used my two biggest toes on my right foot, I could hold the petal from spinning around when I pulled the loose end of the chain. It was great. It was almost as though I had someone right there helping me. I literally had an extra hand for the job.

I first realized my talent in college when I bought my first pair of Rainbow sandals. I would wear my flip flops everywhere; classes, meetings, all three meals, skateboarding, sporting events, and camping. I would unconsciously flick them off under the desk in school and use my toes to twirl and maneuver them around my foot. When walking back from lunch, my friends and I often had sandal kicking contests where we attempted to hit various objects and street signs with our flying leather.

Before I knew it, I was using my toes to pick up pens that fell off the desks and tables in my classes. A dropped fork in the cafeteria was retrieved with all of my pedal phalanges working collectively together placing its handle between my two largest toes and then gripping it there while my leg brought it to me. Often times, I would drop a small object while standing and spend more time trying to pick it up with my foot than it would have taken me to simply reach down and grab it.

At one point during my trip home, I was helping my dad build a box to protect his sprinkler valves and it was my responsibility to screw the pieces of wood together. After working on the project for few hours it was time to pick up our tools and call it a day, but instead of gathering the objects like a normal human being, I used my foot. As I tried to lift the drill bit using just my toes, my dad just stood and watched. When I successfully had the item in my hand, I looked to my dad for approval and he simply shook his head and commented on my "magic toes."

I know what you're thinking. "Anyone can pick things up with their toes." I suppose that's right, but the question is, "Do they?" Do they go out of their way to waste time by picking up that pencil or that quarter. The answer is usually no. I do, though. That's all that matters. All I need is a opposable thumb down there and I would be able to accomplish even more. Until then, however, I will stick with one item at a time.

November 12: Playground Love

Everyone loves a good trampoline, right? I'm not talking about those miniature trampolines for toddlers. I'm talking about the fourteen footers; the big ones. The bounce pads that are commonly good for flips, aerials, and broken necks. I'm talking about the trampolines that are used for one year at most before they sit in the sun abandoned to rot and fall apart. Everyone loves a good trampoline, right?

The first day of the third grade introduced me to the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had a big, bright smile and long, blond hair. She had an infectious laugh and a sunny disposition that made you forget about all of your worries. I was absolutely mesmerized by her beauty and as the years went by, she only became more and more stunning.

Unfortunately, I never grew the balls to actually talk to her and really get to know her. I don't know if this was because she found out I liked her which turned into the whole school knowing my secret, but the only way I could get her attention was to be the class clown and watch out of the corner of my eye to see if she laughed at my antics. Her friends teased me about liking her. My friends teased me for liking her. It was miserable.

One year in grade school, I somehow worked up the nerve to invite her to my Alf-themed bowling birthday party. This, of course, included absolutely no talking on my part. All I had to do was arrive to class a bit early and place an addressed invitation on her desk. Because I wanted her to show up so badly, I also invited one of her best friends; who just happened to be the crush of one of my good friends. I thought the only way my love would show up was if her friend attended which would mean my friend would attend. Cunning, don't you think?

You know mothers. My mom was the organizer of the party which meant she received the phone call from my crush's mother only to find herself having a merry old time by talking about playground love. This new friendship resulted in my crush's attendance at my party and an invitation to her Easter party. The latter, I'm sure was the mother's doing, but I attended anyway.

Although we had attended each other's parties, I still could not work up the nerve to have a real conversation with her. As much as it irritated my teachers, I continued my comedy shtick in attempts to get her to like me for the remainder of our elementary school years.

It was at the end of the final year that a rather wealthy classmate threw an extravagant pool party to celebrate graduating the fifth grade. He invited what seemed to be the entire class, which of course included my love and myself. Kids were encouraged to bring their brothers and sisters to enjoy the festivities and even their parents would be welcomed guests.

The party was great. Everyone was there. There was music, swimming, pizza, and so much more. I can still see the group of fifth grade graduates bouncing on the trampoline. I can still picture her bouncing to the edge of the ring and hopping down to go play with her friends. I can still hear the always-odd, younger brother of a friend from my class making a remark about her being his. I don't remember, however, if I was joking or legitimately upset, but I do remember using both of my arms to push him off of the trampoline and watching the blood pour from his mouth.

The party was one of those many moments for me that I look back on and hate myself for acting the way I did. Everyone was having a great time until I had to ruin it. Suffice it to say, I didn't win over her heart that day. The only thing I accomplished was embarrassing my mother for bringing the troublemaker and forcing her to leave the party in a state of humiliation. I have no idea what that poor kid is up to these days, but I can guarantee you he thinks of me every time he sees a trampoline. Everyone loves a good trampoline, right?

November 11: Disgusting Duggar

James Robert is a conservative Christian. He's a hard working citizen of Springdale, Arkansas where he's a real estate agent and owns several commercial properties. From 1999 to 2002, Jim served in the Arkansas House of Representatives as a state legislator. To say he's a family man would be a radical understatement. He and his wife of twenty-six years, Michelle are adamant believers in homeschooling and limiting the amount of time their children are allowed to watch TV and surf the Internet. A strong marriage. A healthy family. "Jim Bob" and Michelle Duggar disgust me.

The television show based on their family first aired on TLC on September 29, 2008. It was originally entitled 17 Kids and Counting. The following year, it was called 18 Kids and Counting. Two years later, the title has been changed again to 19 Kids and Counting. Cute, right? I've never actually watched a single episode of the reality program and I didn't even know about the family until a year ago. Since I was introduced to the group, however, there seem to be articles and snippets about them wherever I turn. In fact, today's MSN homepage features an article about a second grandchild being added to the family that already has nineteen children.

There is so much wrong about this family that I don't even know where to begin. I guess I should start with the obvious. Nineteen children?! Are you kidding me? It's one thing to adopt nineteen children and raise them in a loving home. I would be able to applaud that act of grace, but to push nineteen miniature versions of yourself out from between your legs is selfish, egotistical, obnoxious, and just plain disgusting. Not that I'm terribly interested, but Michelle's vagina must be nothing more than a black void of loose flaps of sagging, tired skin. Repulsive.

If they wanted to experience the magic of childbirth, I don't have a problem with reproduction, but goodness gracious! Think about all of the kids that don't have a home. Think about the over-populated planet. Think about the lines at Disneyland! Have a child of your own and then adopt eighteen kids if you have to have that many people in your house. If you really want to only provide 1/19 of your attention to your son/daughter, at least teach him/her the importance of being accepting of other cultures and welcoming them into your home and then don't try to strive the importance of not watching TV while cameras are rolling!

How does that work? "No, Billy. You can't watch TV. You should go read a book. Now, don't trip over that cameraman's cables!" Their lives are on display for the world to watch; on TV! They are television. They are Internet. Heck, they're blogs for crying out loud!

Look, I understand the power of Christ and the miracle of reproduction, but these two disgusting human beings have pushed the envelope. I don't care how much money you have. I don't care how much love you want to spread. Having this many children is not the answer. Allowing your exploits to land on the boob tube just encourages people like the Octomom to seek fame and fortune as well. There are too many people on this planet to begin with so we don't need your help. Thank you.

November 10: NaOnka

One of the things that really bothers me about reality television is not knowing if the people/contestants/performers/castaways really behave in real life the way they do on the show they're on. I don't see how they can. I haven't been on any reality shows and I've never had a conversation with someone that has, so I don't know for certain.

I do know, however, that when I was in grade school and someone would tell me that a girl liked me, I immediately started acting differently around the girl. How does this relate to people behaving differently on reality shows? Think about it. These people have cameras filming them twenty-four hours a day. They know they're being watched when they have that conversation in the bushes. They know every action of theirs is at the disposal of the editing room. Like a child on a playground, it has to be natural to act differently.

Here's another example for you. Breathing is completely involuntary. Your body does it on its own and you don't have to think about doing it. Once you consciously think about the act of inhaling and exhaling, the rhythm is thrown off until you think of something else. Go ahead! Try it. See. Now that I have you thinking about breathing, you're probably taking longer inhales and exhaling a tad slower than you would normally.

My point here is that if you subconsciously know someone is watching you, you're going to act differently; even when you've been eating small portions of flavorless rice for thirty days and not getting an adequate amount of sleep. Even when paranoia runs thick, I don't know how these people could really behave the same way as they do in real life.

With that being said, why do the producers of Survivor find NaOnka entertaining in the least? She's obviously running her mouth to extend and exaggerate her fifteen minutes of fame. "Look at me! Look what a bitch I can be for no reason at all!" There are some castaways from the show that are universally disliked, but they make for great TV. NaOnka is just an obnoxious waste of a space on the show when true entertainers like myself are overlooked.

November 9: Where's The Pulp?

Today was the first time in six weeks that I woke up in my own bed. I'm back in Austin which means I'm back to my diet of Raisin Bran Crunch and Minute Maid Country Style orange juice. For six weeks it was Honey Nut Cheerios with fresh raspberries during the week and homemade breakfast entrees on the weekends. Cinnamon rolls, waffles, eggs and bacon, fresh fruit, etcetera. Now that I'm back on my own with a complete lack of interest in learning how to cook, I'm back to the basics.

While I sat alone at my kitchen table this morning lost in morning-groggy thought, I took a sip from my orange juice and I nearly spit it out. The Raisin Bran Crunch tasted normal. The milk residing in the bowl alongside the cereal tasted fine. The orange juice, however, was terrible. It wasn't terrible in a "rotten oranges" kind of way, though. It was terrible in a "not freshly picked from my backyard" kind of way.

When my family moved into our house, one of the first things my dad did was plant orange trees. Because they were just young trees when he planted them, they didn't provide much fruit for the first few years. Beyond that, though, I never had to eat or drink another store-bought orange until I moved out. Every weekend, we had an unlimited supply of freshly-squeezed juice that was rich in pulp (and Vitamin C) for breakfast and I had forgotten how nice it was to have it each morning.

I don't know what I was expecting when I opened the jug this morning. I had been drinking homegrown orange juice for a month and a half now. Why hadn't I realized how much I missed it? The orange liquid that I found myself drinking this morning was just that; Orange liquid. Dave Chappelle would call it "Orange Drink." It's not orange juice; it's orange drink. And where's the pulp? I like a lot of pulp so I buy the juice with the most. Minute Maid Country Style comes in three ways: No Pulp, Low Pulp, and Medium Pulp. That's it. No, Low, and Medium. Where's the High?

Now, I haven't looked that hard, but I have never found a Minute Maid Country Style High Pulp juice. There isn't even a place for it on the refrigerated shelf! I don't think they make it. That, of course, is ridiculous. That's like going to McDonald's and wanting a Large Coke but being told they have a, "No Coke, Small Coke, or Medium Coke." It's like reading a book's beginning, middle, and then flipping the page only to find the "About the Author" section. Where's the High Pulp?!

While getting myself reacquainted with the every day life in Austin, I anticipate finding other things that I took advantage of having while at home. I'm not looking forward to these moments, but I'm sure they're coming. For now, I'll have to play make-believe with my orange juice until I grow re-accustomed to its flavorless, pulpless consistency.

November 8: Travel Tips

The next time you're in the terminal at your local airport, take a look around. Look at all of the sitting people waiting to board the plane. Take a long, hard look and remember as much as you can. Try to notice everything about everyone. Watch how delicately the old man in the tweed jacket is handling his iPhone. Notice the author the Asian girl is reading. How many kids does that single mom with the brown hair have?

Instead of trying to remember faces and guess whom you'll be sitting with throughout the flight, try to find out what kind of people these are. Who would be good at what in different scenarios? Who would be a good leader? Who would whine the most? Which of these people would you not get along well with? Instead of simply watching the people, imagine this group of strangers in a different setting. Imagine them on top of a snowy mountain. Imagine the group in the middle of the dessert. Imagine them on a secluded island. No matter where you choose to place them within your imagination, be sure to have a burning fuselage in the background.

I admit, it's dark, but to kill time today at an airport I did the exercise. If the plane that I was about to get on went down, what kind of relationships would I form with these strangers minding their own business? Would the guy across the room that's not reading anything make a good leader? Is there enough meat on those kids' bones to share with everyone in this room? Would I think the Asian girl would mind if we burned her book to stay warm?

I'm not saying it's going to be easy. I just want to be prepared for whatever happens once the seat belt light starts blinking and the oxygen masks descend. I know that if we do crash, I'll be the only one who knows what to do. I looked around during the safety demonstration and no one was paying attention. Maybe I'll be the leader everyone turns to. First item on my agenda? Roasting up some children!

November 7: Denny's On A Friday

Denny's is open twenty-four hours a day and it's cheap. These two factors alone make it the perfect place for a group of rowdy teenagers to gather on Friday and Saturday nights; and that's exactly what we did.

When I was in high school, I did a lot of theatre. Drama kids are rambunctious enough on their own, but when you get a group of them together after a performance, their energy levels shoot through the roof. When you're really hyper and you hang out with a bunch of goody goodies, you don't just go home for the night. You don't go and get wasted, so you go to the local Denny's.

We would go to Denny's after every Friday and Saturday night performance. It would be about ten o'clock and the diner would be pretty vacant. Without warning, twenty to thirty kids would fill every booth and expect to be served right away.

It was on one of these fateful nights that a group of us that was only there for the camaraderie thought it would be a good idea to run around the building and pound on the glass windows where our friends were sitting. It would be hilarious because it would scare everyone inside. Doesn't that sound like a great idea?

We waited until everyone was settled down into the booths before running in a single-file line past the windows that overlooked the parking lot. The idea was to pound the glass, but by the time I got to the windows, there was shattered glass all over the bushes and grass between the building and the asphalt.

Of course, it wasn't any of the people that were running around. Why would it be one of us? (I don't know if these last sentences will be read with sarcasm, but they should be.) After standing around with dumbfounded looks spread on our faces, one person decided to take up a collection from all the runners to help pay for the window. I was pissed off that I had to pay anything at all because I didn't have any money; that's why I wasn't inside with everyone else!

We never did find out who the culprit was, but I think of that night every time I'm in San Diego and I pass the Denny's off of Main St. Tonight, I passed the Denny's on Main St. and I thought of that night. Another blog is finished.

November 6: Lazy Lights

It's a bit early in the year for this topic, but because it's 11:39 on the night of turning the clocks back, I'm running out of time to come up with a better idea. I don't know if Blogger will give me the extra hour, so I'm not risking it.

Christmas lights. What's the deal with Christmas lights? I mean, really!

When I was growing up, my dad marked the day after Thanksgiving as the day to string the lights from the eaves. While all of the lunatics were up at five in morning fighting over Furbies and Tamagotchis, my family was sleeping in. Mom and Dad would be up at nine and while Mom was in the attic handing down the Christmas decorations, my sister and I would be slowly rising from our turkey slumbers. We would then spend the better part of the morning hanging the lights around the house where they would stay until the first weekend after Christmas.

It's a tradition. It was a tradition to hang the lights and it was always a tradition to drive around the different neighborhoods and admire the hard work and high energy bills of all of the Christmas lovers. Every Christmas while driving home from dinner with our friends and family, it was always a nice way to end the holiday season too. The one star on top of the distant hill. The tall pole with strings of lights reaching from the ground to the top at the local park. Everything tied together so nicely.

Except now it's July. It's July and there's that one house at the end of the street that feels it's absolutely necessary to keep those white icicle lights up. It's a hundred and fifty degrees outside except on the eaves of this jackass' home. The Christmas spirit is still alive here!

Back in the day, they didn't have hanging icicle lights. It was a string of lights that hung up close to the eaves. It was just one light bulb every four to six inches. The advantage of these lights was that a lazy person could get away with not taking them down each year. If he unplugged them, a person could easily drive by without ever realizing that such a negligent person lived there. Icicle lights, however, are plain as day. Look over here! The occupant of this house doesn't give a damn!

Okay. If your Clark Griswold, taking down your lights each year is going to be difficult. Putting them up each year is going to be difficult. If you want the best looking house each Christmas, you have to work for it. You have to put in the time and effort to install and remove them each year. It comes with the honor of being that house. If you don't want to climb on the roof each year to take the lights down, don't put them up!

As Christmas gets closer and closer, more and more houses will display their lights. People actually offer their services to hang lights for some extra cash. These people are also around after the holidays to remove the lights so you don't see strands of lights in July as often, but keep a look out. People that are too lazy to take their lights down could also be too cheap to hire someone to do it for them. Whatever the case, it makes me sick.

Don't forget to turn your clocks back!

November 5: Rum Tum Tugger

Let's be honest here. I was born a freak. I grew up in the dark alleys of New York City where I was shielded from curious and staring eyes. I was forced to live under the protection of night and I dared not venture out in the light of day. Standing over six feet tall with a wild mane of hair framing my feline face, a long tail, and a black chest of leopard spots, I didn't exactly fit in with other people.

My mother was a beautiful Maine Coon cat raised in a home of wealthy Pine Tree State politicians. She was the poster child for success amongst the Main Coon population. She was where every feline of the breed strove to be. She was cared for and loved. She made public appearances at state fairs and political rallies. It was because of this degree of success and fame that she came across my father.

By making promises of breeding more beautiful cats like my mother, my father was able to convince my mother's owners to let him run some blood tests. He ran tests, alright, but breeding prestigious cats was the furthest thing from his mind. Throughout his life, my father was obsessed with breeding different species, but he saved my mother for his most grandiose and grotesque project of all. By successfully fertilizing my mother's egg with his seed, I was born.

Upon escaping the clutches of the laboratory I knew as my birthplace, I spent years traveling at night until I found myself on the streets of New York. For twenty-five years I ate from the trash and talked to myself. I literally had no human interaction. My only friends were the other homeless tom cats that didn't scoff at my appearance. On the contrary, they looked up to me as a leader. When people screamed and ran, my feline friends purred and followed my orders.

After a quarter of a century of living in solitude, I had become quite used to my life. Then, like a long lost and forgotten prayer, my life turned completely around. He called himself Mr. Mistoffolees and oh! Well, I never was there ever a cat so clever as magical Mr. Mistoffolees. He approached my alley as if he knew exactly what he would find. When I first saw him and his band of misfits, I felt an instant connection. All five of them were exactly like me. The hair, the tails, the grotesque feline facial features. I had found my family.

For eighteen years and 7,485 performances, I was on top of the world. It was with Mr. Mistoffolees that I discovered fame and fortune beyond my wildest dreams. We amazed and delighted millions with our talents. People that were very recently terrified by our appearances were now spending millions of dollars annually to hear our story. We threw extravagant parties and purchased expensive cars and houses.

Although we were at one time the longest running Broadway show, we were convinced we would spend many more years together. We had hopes of raising our children to take over our roles, but on September 10, 2000 we gave our final performance in New York. If it weren't for that wretched Demeter and her contractual disputes, we may still be going strong, but that's neither here nor there. Some of us continued sharing our story around the globe while others, like myself, were content with enjoying our retirement.

After spending twenty-five years in the streets, I couldn't be more thankful for my time spent with my friends on Broadway. I would have liked to have kept going, but all good things must come to an end and retirement has been very kind to me. I have officially turned the tables on those humans that treated me with such disdain. I have four butlers and three maids. I have chauffeurs, chefs and financial advisors. I am no longer on the bottom of society. I'm at the very precipice of the top; for I am the Rum Tum Tugger.