January 11

If you know me at all, you know that I wasn't a big drinker in college. In fact, I still wouldn't consider myself a "big drinker," but I definitely indulge myself more now than I did then. I think the thing to do in college, when you don't have any money but you still want to buy beer, is to purchase the cheapest brand possible. This usually results in an awful tasting beer, but hey, you're in college and having a "beer" in your hand is the thing to do. According to campussqueeze.com, the following is a list composed of the top twelve beers you should only drink in college:

1. Genesee Cream Ale
2. Stroh's Beer
3. Schmidt's Beer
4. Coors Light
5. Old Milwaukee
6. Pabst Blue Ribbon
7. Milwaukee's Best Ice
8. Milwaukee's Best
9. Busch Light
10. Keystone Light
11. Natural Ice
12. Natural Light

There isn't anything scientific or groundbreaking about this generated list, but I would say it's still a pretty accurate compilation. The only beer on that list that I've actually had the displeasure of having is Coors Light. That's right! I've never had Natural Ice or Keystone Light so save your judgment for the next blog.

I'm not here to preach about what an unusual college experience I had, but rather to suggest an addition be made to this list. Apparently if you live in Texas, you are required to drink and love Lone Star. This is a shame and there should be a spot on this list reserved for this so-called beer.

I thought Texas was supposed to be a manly state with boots, cows, horses and spitting. People speak with a drawl and drive trucks. They eat steak for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and have hooks to hang their spurs from. Their idea of a good time is sitting on the front porch, whittling flutes out of fallen branches, and talking about being God-fearing men. If this were the case, shouldn't their beer taste a little better than piss?

I hate Coors Light because I feel like I'm drinking dirty water, but Lone Star makes drinking dirty water a joy. Lone Star, because it's like dirty water that has been fermented, filtered, and whatever else you do in the process of brewing beer, should be called the light version of Coors Light. (Maybe take a page from Miller's book and call it Coors Light Lite).

Lone Star is a liquid that, if consumed in high enough quantities, might get you drunk. I honestly feel that I could become intoxicated faster and more enjoyably if I were to fill a can with the window washing detergent at the local Chevron. Because I live in Texas, and a true Texan drinks Lone Star, I suppose I should check my opinion at the door and deal with it. Bottoms up, y'all!

January 10

Dear Blogger Diary,

I'm delighted I have you in my life. Having a place to escape to is so very comforting. I can recite my darkest secrets to you and no one will ever find them.

I never kept a diary when I was younger and I'm grateful I didn't. Can you imagine what kind of turmoil I would cause if I kept all of my fantasies in a book held shut with a cheap and flimsy lock and key? Someone could have found my book of private affairs and discovered everything.

Now that I have a computer and access to the Internet, I know that my secret is safe with you. For example, I can write down what I really think of my boss and not have to reap any of the repercussions.

The only way anyone will be able to read these entries is if they have my password to your site. Trust me when I say, "No one will ever figure that one out!"

I'm really looking forward to telling you everything! I think everyone should have a friend like you. Thanks again for being you, Blogger Diary.

Love,

Brandon

January 9

This morning I woke up to the newscaster claiming that the temperature was between ten and nineteen degrees across the radio's listening area. Ten degrees?! That's only one syllable! Ten. It just sounds cold. Twenty-one or thirteen I could understand, but come on!

Since moving here, people have told me that Austin is the next best thing to San Diego and its weather. Now, don't get me wrong, but it never gets this cold in San Diego. Maybe it's because I've always had the warmth of family (somewhere an entire studio audience just let out an audible "awww"), but I've never been this cold.

I could see my breath in my car all the way home from work last night and when I got inside my apartment, the thermostat said fifty-one. That's inside! Of course I turned the heat on upon entering, but fifty-one?!

If you're from another part of the country where this isn't what you would consider "cold," I don't want to hear it. This is my place of complaint and your one-ups are not welcome here. I'm cold and that's my blog.

January 8

Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. The Golden Rule. The rule in which we should all live and abide by. A society would function much more sufficiently if its members would treat each other the way that they would want to be treated. Who follows this rule? Not many, but I do.

A couple came into the restaurant I work at last night and dined in my section. I served them promptly and efficiently; just the way I like to be served. I greeted them with an enthusiastically cordial "Hello" and made a small joke bringing attention to the fact that I was aware of the unusually slow business the evening was experiencing. I like it when my waiter makes small jokes.

Upon serving them their waters (with a lime on the rim of the glass) on carefully placed beverage napkins, I asked if they had made a decision and were ready for me to take their orders. The man ordered first, but the woman was having trouble deciding between two entrees. When I can't decide on a dish, I find it comforting and helpful for the waiter to suggest something; so I did. The woman ordered the exact dish I recommended. I knew she would like it because I would.

The salads were delivered, followed promptly by the main course. I refilled their drinks when I noticed they were getting low and took away any unused items on the table. I hate a cluttered eating area.

The check was dropped off at the table, picked up, and returned with the credit card slip ready to be signed with one of my finer pens. There wasn't any wondering where the waiter had wandered off to. There wasn't any checking of the watch to see how much time had passed. The guests came, dined, enjoyed themselves, and left with a full stomach. The night was perfect; until the car wouldn't start.

I don't know about you, but when I find myself in a bind, I want someone to be there for me. I want someone to help me in a pinch and that's precisely what I did!

Upon discovering the misfortunes that my guests had encountered, I told them that it wasn't a problem and that I would be more than happy to oblige them. Because I knew they were cold, I jogged to my vehicle so they wouldn't have to wait any longer than necessary.

I maneuvered my car in such a way that the jumper cables could reach both batteries, connected said cables, gave directions on when it was safe for my new friends to start their car, and waved goodbye as they drove off. Happy, full, warm, and safe. Just the way I would have wanted to be on a cold January's evening. I am a good and righteous person. I only wish more people could be exactly like me.

January 7

Last night, the cast for the twentieth season of Survivor was revealed. The title for the milestone season is "Heroes vs. Villains" and it includes ten contestants that viewers have loved to root for and ten contestants that viewers have loved to root against.

As an avid Survivor fan, I'm excited to see the new season, which premiers on February 11, but I'm also a little disappointed. Why would a fan of the show be excited to see some of the best players throughout the years return for an all-out battle for the one million dollar prize? Because last week I sent in my application and video (click here to see my audition video) to the producers marking my eighth time applying to the show. As fun as it will be to watch these "all-star" players, it means that my last application was a waste because there weren't any new applicants accepted to the Survivor family.

As many of you probably already know, I apply after every season ends and have been for quite a while. I've gone to four open casting calls where twice I pulled an all-nighter to get a good position in line and sent in my application via the postal service another four times. For one of my auditions, I shaved my chest so producers could more clearly see my name when I took my shirt off for the camera. I wanted to take my pants off too and stand there in just my boxers, but the way the line wrapped around the audition area, the casting people wouldn't let me do it. I've brought in props and even spoken in the third person as two different characters to try and get myself some extra attention and notice. But to this day, I still haven't even gotten a single call back.

Not only am I an die-hard fan of the show and have been trying to get on it since turning 21, I've themed my residence halls after the show when I was a Resident Advisor in college. I made arrangements every Thursday to get the night off of work so I could drive to a friend's house to watch it when I didn't have cable. I don't have cable now, but I still go to extreme lengths to see the show without spoiling the end result for me. I used to have my mom go to the CBS website, load the video on her screen, and email a copy of the link to me so I wouldn't have to see who was kicked off upon opening the CBS homepage.

I've seen every episode except, ironically, the first season. I did, however, read the book that executive producer Mark Burnett wrote upon completion of that first year in Borneo and the season is in my Netflix queue. Every year, my mom purchases a Christmas ornament for my sister and me and this year she gave me an awesome Survivor ornament that plays the theme song. At one point, my sister had the song play on her phone as my personal ringtone when I called her. During the last "All-Stars" edition of the show, I actually teared up during the opening credits and I'm sure this season will be no exception.

People always tell me how great I would be on the show, but I honestly don't think I would last very long at all. I think my only redeeming quality would be good television. On every application, one of the questions asks which previous castaway could I relate to the most. I have a few things in common with a few different ones, but overall, I believe I stand alone. I don't think there are any players that would be as zany and physically entertaining as I would be. I've never seen anyone break into a random song for the pure enjoyment of the other castaways. I think that being with someone like myself for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week could really wear on someone's patience which is why I don't think I would last very long.

I don't want to be on the show for the prize money. Don't get me wrong, I would LOVE to be in possession of that sum, but it's not my prime objective for wanting to be on the show. I want to see everything that isn't shown to the audience by the producers. Do the castaways just sit there for hours on end with nothing to do? Are they really stripped from any type of luxury like toothbrushes and a place to make a bowel movement? I want to see what kind of mental toll the show would take on me. I'm already a skinny guy, but what would I look like after being out there for thirty days on a diet of rice and mangoes? And the challenges! The challenges look like so much fun. Is it really that hard to run across a rope platform?

On February 11, I will be as giddy as a school girl for the new season, but seeing some of these contestants for a third time on a show that I've been trying to get on for over five years is frustrating. All I can do is hope that the producers will keep coming up with fresh ideas to keep the show from repeating itself so the audience doesn't lose interest. As long as the show keeps going, I will keep applying.

January 6

"Sometimes I wish I could just get up and go." How many times have we heard this or said it ourselves? "I just want to drop everything and move to a new city. I'll make new friends and just start over." Not many people do it and they always wonder what would have been. I, on the other hand, did it three months ago and I'm really starting to regret my decision.

On December 26, 2008, I received an email offering me a position as video scout intern with a baseball statistics company located on the other side of the country. At the time, I was waiting tables and I was miserable. I thought a career in the baseball industry was what I wanted, so I put everything I had in storage and drove across the country to watch baseball every day for the 2009 season.

I had the time of my life this past summer, but I also realized that it wasn't necessarily the direction in life that I wanted to take. Some would look at this recognition as a good thing. I suppose now I could turn my attention in a new direction, but baseball was the only thing that I thought I wanted to do. Now I was back to square one without a clue as to what to do.

The internship was over, all of my belongings were in storage and I had the freedom to go wherever I wanted. I chose Austin, Texas. Why Austin? I didn't know anyone there and I had never even been there! The only reason that the idea of Austin arose in my mind was because I had heard on a radio program a while back that it was one of the best places in the country to live if you were single. "Great," I thought. "I'm single, getting older, and I would love to meet someone. What better place than Austin?"

The problem was that I'm not very good at being single. Even though I've been single for twenty-four of my twenty-six years of living, I really suck at it. I'm not the type of person to go out and just hook up with girls. I can't even approach a girl when I'm out because all I can think of is how unoriginal it would be for me to talk to her. That's what guys do. They approach women they are interested in and girls know it. I can't imagine how my approach would be any better than the last guy's, so I rarely do it.

Now I'm in Austin and I'm waiting tables. I'm doing the same thing I could be doing in California where I have friends and family. I've met a few people while here, but it's not the same. It just feels temporary. I'm from California. A part of me keeps telling me that anyone I meet here is just someone that I will be saying goodbye to down the line which is a depressing and lonely thought in itself.

Today is my dad's birthday and he and my mom are in the mountains with my dog. This is a trip that we've gone on every January for as long as I can remember and it's one more tradition that I've had to throw away in the last year because of my absence.

I congratulate and applaud anyone with the bravery to go to a new city on a whim. It's a risk that not many people ever take. It was exciting for me to go through with it, but I'm too close with my family to have done it. I need to see my parents, my sister, and even my dog more than once a year.

January 5

One of the things I hate spending a lot of money on is a haircut. I can't get around the idea of allotting any more than twenty dollars at most every month and a half on getting my hair cut when it's just going to grow right back again.

Because of this cheap and immature attitude, I've had bad haircuts for most of my life. I usually go to Supercuts where I try to explain what I think I want my hair to look like. When I lived in California, not only did I have to try clarify how I wanted to look, but I had to try and work around an English/Spanish language barrier. "I want it short around the sides and the back and a little bit longer up top so I can spike it or give it a 'messy' look...I don't know what number I want on the clippers - four? I don't want it too short. Do you understand? No, I said I don't want it real short." Usually at this point I would just give up and hope for the best.

I always felt like my hair looked its best about three weeks after getting it cut. I would have about a week of good looking hair and then I felt like it was time for a trim and I was back at square one where I couldn't remember what number I wanted.

After having my own thoughts about how bad my hair has been looking lately indirectly reaffirmed by a friend last night, I decided it was time for a step away from Supercuts. I made the decision to bite the bullet go into a place that I thought looked nice from the street and go from there. What was the worst that could happen? I would have a haircut that I didn't like? I was going to have that anyway!

The new place was Floyd's Barbershop. I had never heard of it, but liked the name and the logo on the side of the building. Upon entering, I expected to find three chairs at most in front of a mirror with a few older men waiting for their turn while reading the morning paper. If I was lucky, a sporting event would be broadcast on an old television set hanging in the corner. I would walk in to the sound of a pleasant jingle on the door caused by my entrance. A balding man with glasses and dressed in white would look towards the door mid-cut, smile and say, "Hello, young man. It will be just a few minutes. Feel free to have a seat."

What I got instead, was a huge room with about fifteen chairs along one side of the wall; a wall plastered with pictures of popular culture icons ranging from Elvis to Michael Jackson to Rage Against the Machine. Behind a central desk facing the front door sat a girl in her late twenties with dark, pixie-cut hair, a nose piercing, and tattoos reaching out of her collar and up her neck.

After being escorted to an empty chair by one of the stylists (also punk-esque), I tried to explain what I wanted done to my hair. She sat there with a blank look on her face and didn't really give me any sign that she had any clue what I wanted. Finally, she nodded and started clipping, snipping, and trimming away. Here we go again, I thought.

Just when I thought I was done, she turned around and produced a large white towel with steam coming off of it. She folded it once and wrapped it around the back of my head and tied it across my face. I have to admit, it felt pretty good, but I was concerned that I had stumbled into a pretty expensive routine. The stylist then removed the towel, applied shaving cream to the back of my neck and actually gave me an old fashioned shave and a back massage!

I haven't actually styled my hair myself yet after this adventure, but I'm anxious to see how it turns out. The experience ended up costing me more than I'm used to paying, but I didn't have that usual immediate regret I receive when I looked at myself in my rear-view mirror on the drive home, so maybe it was worth it.