On Traveling- Holiday '10 PART TROIS!

Here, at last (at long, long, 3-major-cities-in-as-many-weeks long last) is the final installment of the "On Traveling- Holiday '10" series (in case you are just joining us, you might want to check out the first two- on being in a hotel and Things you Must Pack). (Also, please notice that I knew how to and did spell "trois" correctly, and thus I do know how to spell in french)

I must admit, however, this final installment has actually morphed quite a bit from it's original topic. Originally, I was going to talk about relatives- and to be honest, I still feel that relatives and the ettiquette surrounding them and how to manage/navigate amongst their broods and dwelling-spaces will make an excellent post (holiday '11????), but as I was holiday-ing, something even more important made itself painfully relevant (no, seriously, I actually felt pretty awful learning this lesson- not like 'get out of the way, Aunt Margie, I'm going to up-chuck' bad, but like 'my insides are making a sad panda face really really hard' bad).

So what, you ask, is the topic? The topic is:


'Time Management'

with a subheading of 'How I almost over-scheduled myself into trouble.'

The holidays are a time of joy and cheer and catching up with old friends. When traveling, there is hardly a more delightful experience than catching up with a dear old friend over a drink, or drinks, or dinner and drinks. You find out about their life, you get to talk about yours (and, of course, highlight the Awesome things that have happened to you since last you saw each other- don't worry, they are doing it, too) and share in giddy reminiscences of ye olden days past.

Now, as with an ever-lengthening list of things, it is of the upmost importance to remember that moderation is key. Let me say that again, as it's own paragraph for emphasis:

Moderation is key.

Now to put this in context, a bit of background: All of the traveling I did this holiday season was with The Date. He is (among many of his charming features) an excellent traveller, and more importantly, incredibly game when it comes to meeting my many friends and family members. As we were planning our holiday schedule, I asked him "The Date, is it ok if we meet up with a few of my friends while we are in ________(fill in city of choice)?" and he would say "Of course! Let's do it." and then I would get super excited about seeing said friends and even more excited for said friends to meet The Date, because, let's face it, he's Awesome and if someone is a friend of mine, they have to be Awesome too, so it will be like a whole mini-Awesome convention, what with all that Awesomeness in one place.

And it was so. We met up with quite a few of my Awesome friends. And The Date seemed to be enjoying himself. But appearances can be decieving, and at a certain point, The Date pulled me aside and reminded me that, while a short trip down memory lane was fine and to be expected, a long, multi-city voyage by horse-drawn carriage and/or on foot was not exactly a trip he would book. What could he contribute? He was feeling (entirely rightly) a touch left out.

(I would like to stress at this point that any persons who may have met The Date this holiday season should not be alarmed or concerned. He says he enjoyed everyone that he met.)

I was stunned. I was flabbergasted. How could I have been so blind? So insensitive? So Rude? Needless to say, I was appalled at my own behavior.

There is a theory that some of you (hell, all of you, being the readers of Intelligence and Taste that you are) may have heard of and it is called the Pendulum Theory. It states that if a certain cultural attitude/idea/what-have-you swings too far in one particular direction, it will inevitably swing back the other direction and counter the original attitude/idea/etc. I believe in the Pendulum Theory. Not only do I believe it, but I happen to be a fantastic case study in it. And when The Date let me know that he didn't find my 2-hour conversation about previous employments simply and exhaustively fascinating, well bet your ass, I pendulumed back.

Now, as we all know, the Pendulum Theory isn't actually that teriffic in practice. You get lots of extremes, but not much in the Center (where Moderation lives his lovely little well-balanced life). Anyone who follows politics surely knows the insanity of wildly swinging from Far Left to Far Right (or as I like to call it, the goings-on of the US Senate). And thus it was with me. Trying to correct my most egregious faux pas, I then became excessively concerned with The Date's level of enjoyment of a given activity, checking every five minutes or so that he was having a good time- and thereby irritating him by checking in constantly.

In summation, my lack of moderation lead to hot mess of insecurity for me. Had I practiced a bit more Time Management, however, and limited some of the events to shorter intervals (and my own conversation about other non-present old friends), the whole mess could have been avoided.

The Things You Must Always Pack, No Matter What

Well, dear readers, I hope you had a warm and happy Thanksgiving. And if you don't celebrate Thanksgiving, then I hope at least one meal since you last stopped by Black Tie and Bloody Marys was particularly big and delicious. And if you don't eat, I'm sorry but I can't help you and why the hell are you reading a blog about Black Ties and Bloody Marys which is actually really about Mexican Food?

In any event, the last post touched on some important thoughts about traveling. But as I got to thinking about it further, there are a few other holiday traveling tips that need to be mentioned- and today we are going to talk about What To Pack (The third installment in the "On Traveling- Holiday '10" series will be about-- wait a minute, why should I tell you? Then you might not read it. You, being clearly of above average intelligence, will think 'OOHHH, it's about that' and then you'll try to predict what I'm going to say, and some of you might actually predict right, and then it won't be nearly as funny. So no, I'm not telling. Suffice to say, there will be a third installment, so you'll definitely want to come back to read it).

Where to begin? I have a lot of things to say about what and how to pack. There are many theories about the best way to do it- Pack for comfort, Pack for style, Pack for every possibility. And I agree with them all. The trick is balancing all of the different ideas- because even if you have a LOT of matching luggage, if you try to do all the different theories, well, you're gonna need more matching luggage. Also, there are a few things that, regardless of your packing philosophy, have to be ruled out simply due to size- down comforters (comfort), exotic headdresses (style), faux Christmas trees and over sized yard gnomes (every possibility).

BUT, MY DEAR READERS, DO NOT FRET. I will guide the way. While I can't pick out your outfits and pack them for you, I can give you a few indispensable pointers which will steer you in the Right Direction.

(A word: these tips are about specifics. I'm not going to tell you to pack clothes, because, HELLO, you Have to pack clothes. And because I know you are all above-average intelligent, I'm fairly sure you know how to pick out your ensembles.)

So here is it is: The Things You Must Always Pack, No Matter What

- Nail clippers. I swear to god, if I had a nickel for every trip I've taken that I've rued myself for not having these babies, I'd be able to afford like 6 new pieces of luggage. Or a small dog. But seriously, you will *Always* need nail clippers. It doesn't matter if you cut them on the way to the airport, your nails know that you are going on a trip, and they will grow extra fast to spite you. They may also decide to snag on something so you have a hangnail that looks sort of like a shark tooth on your left middle finger and it catches on everything. The bonus of nail clippers is that if you need something sharp to cut tags off of new clothing you buy while on the trip, you can use them, thereby keeping scissors off the Must Always Pack list.

- Tweezers. These are really important. I can't exactly remember why right now, but this just illustrates my point. When you aren't traveling, you think "why on earth would I need to bring tweezers? I got my eyebrows done yesterday," that there would be no reason whatsoever to bring said object. But once you're on the trip, you find you desperately need that object. (And in the case of both tweezers and nail clippers, they're so cheap, I feel so ridiculous buying Another one, when I have it at home and if I would just remember to pack them, I wouldn't need to do that embarrassing thing). Moral of the Story: Pack your tweezers.

- A sturdy but inexpensive deck of cards. This is one thing people do generally think of as a travel staple, but not always for the right reasons. Of course it provides something for you to do when you are waiting in the airport, or while waiting for a large and delicious meal to digest, or for some other reason you are waiting. Or just even for general amusement. The non-obvious reasons you Must Pack sturdy but inexpensive playing cards are almost too many to name: you can use them to level out the Rocking Table (something that is perhaps one of the most excruciating annoyances I can think of), you can use them as coasters, you can use the number cards as a means of communicating prices with people who do not speak the same language as you. And those are just a few of their many functions. I would like to point out that you definitely want to make sure these are not your Lucky cards or Special cards, as they are going to get down and dirty, odds are, which is why inexpensive is important, should you need to replace them (removing them from under a table leg can lead to faster wear and tear, studies show).

- An extra piece of luggage. I know what you're thinking. 'Seriously Aaron? I already have like 5 bags and a dog carrier- do I really need another bag?'

And the answer is YES.

And here is why: everything you pack expands while you're traveling. So in addition to anything you buy during your trip, you have to deal with the fact that everything that fit in your suitcase on the way to where ever you are going is now just a little too much stuff to fit in the same bag it came in. It's a Rule. Sorry. So bring another bag. (You can cheat and just use a shopping bag from a store you bought stuff from on the trip, but any discriminating traveller would have a legit, matching bag.)

NOTE: These last two are tricky because they are liquid, but when something is on the Must Pack List, you do what it takes.

- Bottled water. Aside from the fact that we're 75% water and dehydration can kill you, bottled water is so obviously indispensable I almost didn't put it on the list. Things bottled water provides for you: thirst quenchment (is 'quenchment' even a word?); in some cases, a stylish (and trendy!) accessory; a projectile to throw at crazies if they are attacking you; a weapon against Hangover; something to splash on yourself if you need an emergency excuse to escape an awkward situation. The list goes on. Suffice to say, once you're passed the TSA checkpoint, invest in some.

- Wine. This is another obvious one. You will need wine- possibly because you're looking forward to the people you're seeing ('Dear old friend! Let's have a drink!'), possibly because you don't know the person you're seeing ('Hi. We've never met. I brought you a drink!'), or possibly because you do know and aren't looking forward to the people you're seeing ('Oh hi, Aunt Margie. I need a drink.'). It's sort of a universal uniter and soother. So if you're flying, pick up a bottle in Duty Free, or as soon as you get where you're going. You can also use it to cleanse a wound, should you find yourself caught in the middle of a crossfire of drug gangs (if you have bottled water like you should, use the wine first).

So that is the list of Things To Pack, No Matter What. It's a pretty short list. I know you were expecting a longer and more extravagant list including things like cast recordings, small dogs, complete hair and skin care regiments, and the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, but those are all on the list of Things I Recommend You Pack, But Understand If You Don't. I think you'll agree that everything on the Must Always Pack list is an Absolute Necessity. And I'd be willing to bet that even if you don't think so now, I know you will the next time you travel.

Hotels

So, the holiday season is approaching (as was stated in my last post which I got quite a bit of feedback on, and my dear readers, THANK YOU for your responses- you know who you are, and I have a Gold Star for each of you). And holidays mean lots of traveling in lots of people's plans. And I thought it might be a worthwhile to spend a minute on hotels.

Now, before we go any further, you should know that I love hotels. Hotels are an excuse for me to be indulgent. If I'm staying at a hotel, I take looooong showers. Instead of putting my dirty clothes in a neat little pile, I throw them where ever I damn well please. I keep the room a nice frosty 66 degrees so that I can snuggle under the covers of the much-newer-than-my-own mattress. (Actually, now that I think about it, my showers at home are pretty lengthy and my clothes pretty much are everywhere anyway, so I guess I'm indulgent most of the time :-/)

When hoteling, I pretty much pretend that I'm an Important Person. And if you haven't ever tried this, I strongly suggest you do. Because when you're staying at a hotel, nobody but the desk person who checks you in knows your name. For all those other hotel-dwellers know, you could be famous from a video you put up on Youtube. You could be famous from somewhere in Europe. And unless you make it obvious that you clearly are not Somebody famous from Somewhere, nobody will know otherwise.

Some tips for looking like an Important Person:

-Wear sunglasses. They can be real-expensive or fake-expensive, but you must have them. As soon as you hide your eyes, people will begin to wonder who you are and why you can't just make eye contact like other Normal People. And then they will start to wonder "Didn't I see that guy on a youtube video?"

-Have matching luggage. And have a lot of it. Preferably all black, or, if you must, in that brown and tan Louis Vutton print that I am *SO* over. And they don't have to actually match 100%, just enough so that when somebody is trying to seriously-but-not-obviously scope on you and your stuff, they think it's all the same. Bags with extraneous and whimsical functions will definitely help- hatboxes, dog carriers, coolers are all great ideas.

-Travel with a small dog. Life on the road for an Important Person is tough, and it can get lonely. A small dog solves that problem. Lucky for you, since you are just trying to look like an Important Person, you get twice the benefits! You get the company of a small dog of your choosing and you now have a reason to purchase and carry a bag (that matches your other luggage) that you can carry said dog around in. People will definitely want to know who you are if you have a small dog in a bag, but they'll be intimidated by your sunglasses and matching luggage, and they will DEFINITELY think you are an Important Person.

Now, I should clarify- whether or not you are Important Person-ing, there are some rules that ALL hotel-ers should follow.

If you insist on being the idiot that travels with a dog, make sure your dog will be quiet. Please. Please, for the love of God and the sweet baby Jesus and in the name of everything good and holy in this world, do not be That Guy with the dog that won't shut up. Especially small dogs. It's a Rule that small, yippy dogs have vocal chord strength that is inversely proportional to their size. So the smaller the dog, the stronger the chords. I've been in hotels where I can hear a dog barking for 20 hours straight. This is cruel and unusual and at that point, I think it's for the good of society that I might just kill that dog.

Don't leave the tongs for the sausage links IN the sausage links warmer. I feel like this is a no-brainer, but apparently, some people don't have brains. If you are getting sausage links or scrambled eggs or fig compote for your miniature apple bread pudding, put the spoon or tongs back on the plate they belong on. If you leave them in the dish, they get hot/sticky/gross, and then my continental breakfast is spoiled because of your carelessness.

Don't be fooled- room service is expensive shit. I know you know this. Half the hotels I stay in don't even have room service. But when I see it, I always get excited. Room service is for people who are so Important that they either a) don't have the time to rush out to get dinner, b) are too worn from the journey to do that or c) have to take the crazed-fan possibility into consideration. In any event, room service means Glamour. And lo, you too can have that Glamour.

For a price.

You can have the Glamour of being in your boxers and wife beater and having someone deliver a havarti and mushroom burger to your very own room for only $12.95. "A havarti and mushroom burger? To my room?!?!? And for only- HOLY CRAP THIRTEEN FREAKING DOLLARS FOR A BURGER?!??!?" Yes, 13 bucks. And thats not including the tax, 25% service charge, and tip. So in the end, you get a good $10 burger for $20. Yikes.


I guess the major point I want to make is, staying in a hotel is kind of a Big Deal. So if you are fortunate enough to stay in one this season, take your responsibility seriously. You don't have to be an Important Person (or even pretend that you are one), but you ARE staying in a hotel. And if there's one thing you remember, let this be it- KEEP YOUR DOG QUIET.

Christmas and Birthday (because while the dates are close, they are not the Same Thing.)

Well, ladies and gentlemen, that time of year is coming round. You know what I'm talking about. The signs are just too obvious to miss.

Halloween has come and gone. We dressed up and acted fools (actually, no more foolish than we might any other Saturday, we just did it this time with a fake scar and wand) (some of us even dressed up our animals, which, by the way, I'm TOTALLY against, except for one particular dog because he is just too cute for words). We've all eaten more candy in one week than we will for the rest of the year (with a small spike somewhere in April for Easter). Thanksgiving is right around the corner. It's getting cooler (finally down to 75- pull out the scarves and mittens!), and every retail store is aggressively pushing holiday music and marketing on us even though Christmas is still over a month and a half away.

The time has come to begin the annual and entirely futile attempt to convince people that, while having a birthday two weeks before Christmas does indeed mean they are close together, they are two entirely separate events and should be treated as such.

Let me say that again: Christmas and my birthday are two separate events.

I know they are close. I know. Had I any say in when my birthday was, I would have picked July. July birthdays get all the fun. School is out, so everybody can come to your party at the Zoo or the water park, or even in your back yard. You can have your party outside. You get all kinds of fun outside gifts like hoola hoops, roller blades, slip -n-slides. You can play silly, fun, summer music at your party- I'm thinking Beach Boys, Miley Cyrus, Will Smith. Summer birthdays are a GOOD TIME.

Contrast with a December birthday. Everyone is busy finishing up the semester, so if they can make it to your party, it's only for an hour between the final showcase for "Acting for Wee Ones" and your sister's piano recital. Plus, it's December. Water parks are out of the question, the zoo would be a touch chilly. So what are your options? The skating rink, with six thousand other aught-somethings trying to find some way to expend their energy, your house (and let's be honest, you're there EVERY DAY- clearly not the place for a party) and the Library. And your music options? Mannheim Steamroller or Bing Crosby singing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" AKA SADDEST. SONG. EVER.

But the worst part is: presents.

Now I understand, no one (save parents, siblings and aunts) HAS to give you gifts for either your birthday or Christmas. And I know we should be thankful for any present we get (unless it's from your dog, and it's on that rug you just bought or the shower curtain that you've washed several "gifts" from before), but the truth is, the quality of one of the gifts will be signifcantly lower than the other. Because they are buying Christmas gifts for everyone (including you), they don't have the time/money/energy to spend on what they percieve to bea second Christmas gift for you. Even though, if you were born in May or August, you would be getting something awesome.

For instance:
Person 1, born in May
Birthday present from friend:



Holy Moly! A new blender!











Christmas present from same friend



STAR TREK!!!!!!!!!!!!












An awesome gifting experience.




Now, compare:
Person 2, born shortly before Christmas
Birthday present from friend:



An record player! Awesome!!











Christmas present from same friend:


Orange peel. Huh. Thanks.










Friend: I'm sorry man, I just didn't know what else to get you and plus I'm strapped for cash cuz I had to by Star Trek for my other friend and I didn't have much time because I had to get to my sister's recital.

While I understand the friend's predicament, I would challenge him to plan ahead next time.

In the end, it really isn't that big a deal. As I've gotten older, I have learned that it's less about the gifts you get and more about the time you get to spend with friends (the trick is to spend the time with friends in bars and then they buy you drinks for your birthday, which are TOTALLY acceptable presents).

I would say, however, as my final thought on the subject; friends, if you're born in a non-December month, remember that your December-born friends like birthday love and Christmas love (separately) as much as you do, so gift accordingly.

Mondays: GET 'ER DONE!

So there's that song Manic Monday, and I have to say, I just don't understand it. A sort of sad, droopy sounding music plays and the Bangles lament that it's "just another manic Monday" and how they wish it was Sunday because it's a "funday." I hear that song and it just depresses me. It sounds like the saddest parts of the 80s all rolled into one- crimped hair, boots and shorts, elastic waisted jeans- but then add rain and bad traffic. So essentially, what I imagine Portland to be. And what's more, there's a lot of passive aggressive anger at Monday in that song, which I don't think is healthy at all.

I think we need to have a re-examination of our relationship with Monday. We need to understand what Monday is- it's weaknesses and it's strengths. You could look at Monday as the end of the weekend, OR you could look at it as the start of a brand new week. You can't have a great week on Saturday only. You have to start on Monday.

Also, a lot of commerce is reduced or stopped completely on Sunday. Awesome job standing in the way of economic recovery, Sunday. Monday gets things up and going again. Mondays are the stimulus of weekdays- unpopular, but necessary. History will remember the good you've done, Monday.

And while we're on the topic of the day the precedes Monday, I know that it has it's strengths (brunch is pretty much one of the most awesomest things ever in the history of all time), but it's not all mimosas and lounging. Anybody who has ever had to finish an arts and craft project over the weekend and run out of blue pipe cleaners at 6 pm on Sunday evening knows how sweet it is that closing time at Hobby Lobby on Monday is 8 o'clock and not 6. And any day that Chik-fil-a isn't open definitely has some explaining to do.

But before this turns into a rant against the other weekdays, let's focus on the day at hand: Monday. It's the newness of it, the possibility of success that give Monday it's value. The week you win the lottery starts with a Monday. So does the week when somebody proposes to you. If we stopped looking at Monday as a douchebag for ruining the weekend (and while I love weekending as much as anybody else, lest we forget, most things are best in moderation- and weekends would grow intolerable if there weren't something to make them special), we could appreciate Monday- because, quite frankly, Monday is a kick-off party for a full week of getting things done.

If you have a list of things to do, Monday is your man. Monday says 'give me your list' and then it allows you to totaly pwn it. If you work with Monday, and not against it, you will be happier, more accomplished, and the weekends will be that much more awesome.

So Manic Monday? I don't think so. I've decided that the NEW Monday song is Beyonce's Upgrade U. She says that "this won't be easy" but "trust me, you need me." And if you trust her, you can "build up your accounts." That means get rich. You need Monday to get rich. Six star suites, Hermes briefcases, Cartier tie clips- hello?!? I mean, I don't even wear tie clips, but it's the principle of the thing. Plus it's sung by Beyonce AND Jay-Z makes a cameo. I don't know about you, but my day is made a little bit more spectacular by the presence of those two. And if you could pick, who wouldn't want a spectacular Monday?

Has it Really been a Month?!??!

I mean, really?

I can't believe it's been an entire month. Not a couple of weeks. Not even almost a month. A whole, start-to-finish, pay-the-bills-on-the-first-and-the-fifteenth kind of month.

That's so much time! A month is 1/12th of the year. 30 whole, gigantic, enormous days. And if I'm not mistaken, somewhere around that many nights.

This is a little ridiculous, I must admit, even for me.

But now that I think about it, I've been busy with one or two things. In fact, I've been busy with quite a few things. I dare say that I might have had 30 major events happen during this month, which totally excuses my lack of blogging. At least 30. Probably closer to 87 or so.

And just to prove it, I'm going to list them.

-I got a job. (HUZZAH!) (the most important thing that happened, also the thing that has taken up the majority of my time- if anyone has a recommendation of a job that pays well that I can do in about 20 minutes, email me please and thank you)
-I joined a gym. (which, due to my job, I use very infrequently, but I still did it.)
-I drove a white, 15 passenger van from Brownsville to Austin in 4.5 hours to make it to a Gorillaz concert. ( this is usually a 5+ hour trip, and some might marvel at my time. It may have been whispered that I drive dangerously- I would argue that I drive safely, but with a sense of urgency.)
-I saw Gorillaz (pretty awesome, I just wish I knew the music better beforehand so I could have sang along)
-I have become obsessed with Star Trek.
-I may or may not have found a Star Trek encyclopedia on the interwebs to find out about all the stuff I don't yet know about the history/races featured in the story ( for instance, I may have read all about the Earth-Romulan War, the Delta quadrant, and a handful of other subjects. Maybe.)
-I made a number of new friends (among them, Andrea, Hannah, Whitney, Angela, and Evan). They're pretty spectacular.
-I voted.
-I bought (and drank) wine that I am embarrassed to admit to having bought and drank.
-I picked out some delicious red wine that I'm thrilled and proud of myself for having picked out.
-I watched Princess and the Frog at least 6 times.
-I watched "Goin' down the Bayou" and "Dig a Little Deeper" from Princess and the Frog an additional 43 or so times.
-I managed to convince Jeffrey that I am trustworthy, and he now lets me pet him. I'm in love.
-I discovered (along with the date) the spectacular 24Diner in Austin. Highly recommended.
-I started a third twitter account. (They are: aaroncglover, tipsyginger, and travelingginger, from oldest to newest, respectively. Follow 'em all!)
-I saw the border fence.
-Did I mention I'm obsessed with Star Trek? Because I am.
-I forgot to get my jacket for three separate trips. (I'm pretty embarrassed about that)
-I tried to gift some music on iTunes, but it wouldn't work, and I was pretty pissed about it. (bastards)
-I apparently have somehow caused my face to return to it's early adolescent stage and have had at least one mountain sized zit somewhere on my face at all times for the past 3 weeks. Not. A. Fan.
-I watched Little Shop of Horrors projected on a hotel wall.
-I went to a book fair and didn't look at any of the books, but had a fabulous time.
>>>>>>>>Ok, I would just like to point out that coming up with 30 entirely separate things that happened to me over 30 days is HARD. I am giving myself a Gold Star for effort<<<<<<
-I am *almost* caught up on Glee.
-I drank a beer while I waited to get my hair cut.
-Star Trek Star Trek Star Trek!!!
-I bought my sister's Christmas present.
-I took the dogs to a kennel.
-I wore a 7 foot tall duck costume.
-I got a pumpkin shake at the snazziest Braum's I've ever seen or been in.

BAM!

Confessions

Let's be honest, shall we? This is a blog called "Black Tie and Bloody Marys." Imagining this were not my blog, I'd have some expectations.

I would expect, had I not been authoring it all along, this blog to be about drinking and fabulous parties and celebrity chums and wealth in amounts that are just downright FILTHY.

If I had no idea about the author's (my) obsession with Mexican food, or his (my) epic battle with the french language (I'm not going to lie, I still think that's one of the better posts I've written) or any of it, I'd expect a picture of the author and Meryl Streep, or at least Lindsay Lohan, in some posh club. Probably in New York. Or Ibiza. (Meryl in Ibiza, pleasepleaseplease can this happen?)

And I mean, as of yet, I haven't seen a picture of any black tie events. Not even an iPhone photo of me in a tux. Or even JUST a tux.

I have come to the realization that my own expectations have yet to be met. Because, as the author of a blog titled "Black Tie and Bloody Marys," I expected to be blogging about drinking and parties and all those things. But a couple things have gotten in my way, namely, not having an income. It's hard to be filthy rich when you aren't even rich, well off, or even just making it. I've found a few tasks here and there to keep above absolute zero, but definitely nothing that's going to be getting me into the hot spots with Meryl and Lindsay. I'm not whining here, I'm just setting the scenario.

(as an aside, through fabulous connections and a keen sense for smashing company, I have managed a number of inexplicably good times since moving to Austin, so thanks to those who have contributed)

Upon realization of this, I felt let down. I mean, not only did I let you, my faithful readers, down through a lack of glamour and excitement, but I didn't even get to do the glamourous and exciting things.

And I wondered how to remedy the situation.

And then it hit me. I decided: time to come clean.

There are a few other unglamourous things you should know about me. I'd rather get them out on the table now. It's best to share them here, up front, so you know the Real Deal. And if, god forbid, my rough spots are too rough for your tastes, I will cry one single tear down my left cheek in a a perfect line without blinking, wipe it away, and somehow manage to go on with my now-meaningless and dull existence.

But if

you choose to forgive me these minor lapses in absolute style, I will be forever thankful and adoring. (I would give Gold Stars, but I can't get them on loan from China, so I'm in a Gold Star freeze, unless it's something super spectacular like a job offer, or first class tickets to Tokyo, or creme burlee)

So, here are some confessions I must make.

-I love scratch off lotto tickets. LURVE them. Addicted is too strong a word, but they are a source of delight in my life. The 30 seconds or 2 minutes it takes me to lose the dollar or two I spent on it is TOTALLY worth it.

-I really like old people. In order not to make this very serious and talk about how they remind me of my own impending mortality (woops), I'll just say I like them. They're stories are hilarious, and when they get excited, you can tell. (which I totally understand: see next confession).

-I get really, really, really excited when I watch movies/tv/plays. A lot of people can watch a movie or TV and remain relatively passive during the experience. They can sit, and let the story wash over them, stirring only to go to the bathroom or get more popcorn. Not so with me. I am most likely on the edge of my seat, sometimes (ok, most times) cheering or discouraging quietly (ok, not usually very quietly) a character to make a certain choice. When they make the wrong one, I feel very personally involved in the bad choice. Frankly, it's kind of exhausting.

-I don't believe in expensive sunglasses. I know they're glam. I know they make a statement. I know. I just cannot fathom paying so much for something that will probably get lost or sat on stolen.

-I love board games and card games. I would actually even go so far as to say, the less technology involved, the better. I think that due to my parents efforts, I have a real enthusiasm for non-electronic passtimes. Favorites include Gin (Rummy, not the drink- well, let's be honest, I love gin the drink probably more than I love Gin the card game), Risk, Candyland, dominoes, and of course, Monopoly. Obviously.

-I know I've said it before, but I really love having a box fan around.

-I am anti-sock. I don't like wearing them, I don't think they're attractive.

-I love that song "See You Again" by Miley Cyrus. Also "The Climb." They are just *too* catchy and I can just listen to them, well, more times than I care to identify.

And I think that's going to end it.

Now, before you turn your back on me, consider:
I still do own a tux. I DO drink bloody marys. This is not a concession that I am giving up on the pursuit of all things luxurious and decadent and fabulous, merely an admission that not everything can be glitter and wit and gin-soaked (though I do make a concerted effort on that last bit).

And just because I love you, one parting picture:

Move Over Mr. Clean

Since I am currently looking for work and no one wants to hire me to put my contacts in, I've had to find other things to keep me from pulling my hair out, rocking in a corner, etc. This is harder than it sounds. As much as I love to play Sudoku on my phone, more than an hour a day actually reverses the desired effect- instead of more logical and aware, I become less logical, and suddenly I'm living for those little boxes and the feeling of completion and total fullfillment that comes only with 9 little sets of 9 numbers, arranged so every row and column contains no repeated numbers. Even now, just typing that, I am tempted to stop typing... but I digress...

I've tried to watch the entire series of Ab Fab, but for anyone who doubts that excess can be excessive, I dare you to watch Ab Fab for more than 3 hours. I double dog dare you. By 2.5, you'll be so tired of hearing "sweety darling" and quite frankly, watching 2 drunk british women, your disgust will force you to turn it off. Perhaps it's hard for me to watch simply because I want to be working but don't have a job, and they have a job but desperately do not want to be working. In any case, I couldn't make it all the way through.

I've tried exercise, but lack of gym membership really puts a damper on my enthusiasm to work out. One can only do the plyometrics DVD from p90x so many times before one loses hope. And until today, it's been bloody hot out.

Of course, I'm still job hunting as well, but that hardly takes my mind off of not having a job.

No, I needed something else. Something like...

Housework.

At first, I was skeptical. I did a little bit of yard work because this yard needed a little bit of attention (actually, what it needed was a LOT of attention, a chainsaw and a weed whacker). I cleaned up a bit because we were having visitors over, and those visitors happened to be my parents, and my mom believes in maintaining a certain level of cleanliness (right beneath hospital sterile) for good living. (A note: this house hardly was/is dirty- but mothers being mothers, effort must be made)

And then suddenly, almost without warning, it was upon me.

Was that ME waking up and making the bed immediately? Only to be followed by loading the dishwasher and starting a load of laundry? What was happening?

Who knew keeping house could be so satisfying? I clean up the kitchen, keep the laundry some kind of caught up, make the bed, vacuum when the dog hair becomes a fine coat on the stairs. It's like the chores you had to do as a kid, only instead of them being chores you didn't want to do, now when you do them, it's like you have a job.

Let's be clear- it's not a job. It doesn't pay, there's no discount. But I don't have to go any where, I don't have to get dressed to do it, and I get immediate gratification for a) doing it and b) knowing that I'm the one who benefits from the fruits of my labor. So until there's something else to divert my attention, just call me Mr. Domestic.

Damn-Good Day

I'm in a super good mood right now. In a matter of about 30 minutes, the day has gone from 'meh' to 'damn-good.' It almost feels like it could be on the 'best days ever' list, but I think that's just because the days recently have been sort of stressful. I'm pretty sure there are quite a few other days that have been waaaay better and (hopefully) a lot more days ahead that are gonna be even better than those. BUT this is not to diminish the damn-goodness of today.

In honor of the damn-goodness of today, I am writing letters to some of the things that have contributed to it being a damn-good day.

Dear box fan,
Quite simply, I love you. You hum along and make a nice noise that sort of sounds a little bit like if I were on an old time airplane. I find this quite comforting for some reason. In addition to your nice humming noise, you put out a very pleasant breeze. It keeps my legs nice and cool. I realize that you can't rotate or move up and down or side to side like some other, fancier fans, but that's ok. I love you just the way you are. The only thing that concerns me is when I put you on either setting '2' or '3,' you start shaking kind of violently and I think you're going to explode. The fact that the nice airplane hum becomes and angry bee-swarming sound does not make me feel any better. Consequently, I usually keep you on setting '1' because I love you, box fan, and I don't need you blowing up or making angry noises at me. Thanks for all that you do, and please don't stop anytime soon.
Love, Aaron



Dear AngelSoft toilet paper,
I've been a long time fan of yours. You're the brand I always buy. But lo, when we ran out of toilet paper, someone went and just bought some OTHER brand. And that other brand was SINGLE PLY. And that other brand didn't have any designs or softness at all. It pretty much felt kind of like office paper, only not as smooth. Yesterday, when we were at Target, I confronted someone about that purchase and we remedied things very quickly. I'm glad you're back in my life, Angel Soft.
Sincerely, Aaron



Dear Robyn,
You're pretty much one of my favorite pop musicians. Ever. Your last two albums were amazing and when I heard that Body Talk Pt 2 was coming out last week, I was pretty stoked. It showed up and I've been listening to it since last Tuesday. It's so. good. Especially recently, when I've been a little bit stressed trying to find work, it's been a positive force in my ears, particularly "In my eyes" and "Include me out." I was more than content to have it on my itunes. BUT THEN, today, someone showed up with a copy for me. And you had signed it. Omgomgomg Yes, you had actually touched the paper that I now own. And I have your CD as an actual cd, and not just music on my computer. I am pretty stoked. You rock. 5 gold stars just for being you.
Rock On (and bring the tour to Austin!)
Aaron



Glee Season 1 Volume 2,
I'm obsessed with you. Ob. Sessed. When I watched the first volume, I literally had to force myself to go to work. I even contemplated calling in sick just so I could watch more Glee. I didn't, but I sure thought long and hard about it. And I was beginning to get nervous because the new season starts NEXT WEEK. I was concerned because I want to be able to watch with everyone else, but I didn't know what else had happened in the second half of season one. You came through for me, though. You showed up a day earlier than you were supposed to. And there are 9 whole episodes of over the top goodness.
Gleek 4 life, Aaron

The Enemy Sits In Plain Sight

This is a post from the battlefield.

I am sitting, at this very moment, 2 feet away from the enemy. MIA plays quietly (well, as quietly as MIA can be- essentially it sounds like an alien is attacking a pickle-bottling factory and somebody left BET playing in the breakroom but it's broadcasting on the PA system as the alien is gleefully wreaking havoc- so actually, not very quietly at all) (wow, there were alot of acronyms in that last parenthetical) from my laptop. Only my fingers and the raindrops outside the window move. We've come to a stand off. After a number of engagements yesterday and a small skirmish this morning, we're both holding our ground.
















That's right. Those unassuming key-lime iced cupcakes are just sitting there, taunting me. I know I shouldn't eat them. They aren't that good. 'Key Lime' is actually good marketing for 'just like the green skittle flavor.' I don't even like the green skittles.


And yet.
















They sit there, staunchly, beckoning me to eat them. I know I don't need them. I'm not hungry. Just because there is food sitting there doesn't mean I have to put that food in my mouth. Especially sweet, unsatisfying food. That tastes like green skittles.





















I see you, cupcakes. And let me just say: you don't own me.

The Tire Rebellion: How I Almost Didn't Make It To Austin

Well the gigantic upheaval happened. Essentially, we threw all of my stuff up in the air, and somehow it all sort of landed at one address in Austin (sort of). I wish this were as fun as it sounds- lofting furniture and boxes into the stratosphere like ballistic bombs or pianos only for them to return nicely, softly, unharmed to the ground. Articles of clothing arcing in a steady stream across the Texas landscape in an array of colors (I'm imagining I sorted them by color, so they make a nice spectrum as they go through the air). My CDs raining down in the front yard of my current address like a prize give-away that I ALWAYS wanted to be apart of (and of course, none of them hurting anyone with their sharp edges, and no one stealing them once they're there).

The reality of the move was a lot of sweat, grunting, a storage unit and two vehicles making the two hour trek. And the whole trip was really pretty normal and boring, save for one particular thing: my tires.

Let me update you. You see, the tires on my cute and sassy little Mariah--

Yes, I name my cars. Yes, I named the current car Mariah. Yes, please sing the line from the song now. "They call the wind Mariah." Do it right now.

Done? Ok good. Now you've done it and we can be done with that. I named her Mariah because if you've seen her, she looks like a Mariah, not because of the song (or the singer, in case you were about to make THAT joke). All cars names are based solely on the personality of the vehicle and have nothing to do with people with the same names (sometime I will tell you about the absolutely fabulous Eleanor, may she rest in peace).

ANYWAY. The tires on Mariah. Apparently, sometime during the summer, the four troublesome tires of Mariah were tired of being attached to her. I'm not quite sure why they didn't like the arrangement. I mean, they had seen some pretty awesome country, only one time had I run over the curb with them, and only very infrequently did I skid to stops. I'm pretty nice to tires. And at the base of it, they were tires. What else did they think they were gonna do- get feature roles (pun intended) in an allstar, all-tire adaptation of The Wizard of Oz that would flop massively but live on to become a cult classic? Yeah, good try guys. You're tires.

Well, little did I know, my tires were gonna make a break for it. Hollywood or bust (again, please enjoy the awful pun), I imagine they said.

Only they had a small little problem. Being tires, they had no thumbs. And in case no one has ever pointed it out, it's a reeeeeeeaaaal good idea to have thumbs when taking a tire off of a car. Never mind that they were the ones attached to the car in the first place, there was the whole no thumb issue. Which meant they were stuck on my car until I decided they were freed.

Naturally, the tires began to resent me. They began to make my car wobble when I drove it over 50 mph. Needless to say, I was concerned but being the poor performer that I am, shaking car was still a running car, so it wasn't that bad. Yet.

We continued on in this antagonistic manner for a bit. I was England and they were the colonies. I would tell them (in Standard British) "I do wish you would cease with that frightful shaking."

And they would taunt me back (a la Sarah Palin) "We'll keep shakin if we wanna. We're Ameri-Cans, you betcha!"

The mavericks. The rebels.

I was unhappy with the situation, but I held the upper hand: thumbs. And I think things would have been fine, but then the unexpected happened: a friend of mine had a blow out. Like any friend would, I went to help her deal with it.

And thats when the tires decided that if I wasn't going to take them off because I wanted to, they would force me to take them off because I had to.

I was oblivious. After seeing my friends tire savagely destroyed, I thought "goodness, I don't want to see that happen to my tires" so I decided to take them to get looked at so they would stop shaking. Only, by the time I got them to guy to look at them, there dasterdly work was already done.

They had shed almost all their rubber. The front ones were better than the back at it- there was steel coming out of the front two.

My choices were grim- continue driving and have them explode like my friends or buy new ones.

I thought of the driving I had ahead of me and I chose to replace the front two. I could almost hear them laughing haughtily as I paid the man at the tire place, knowing they had won and I had suffered. The tire man assured me that the back ones would probably last a few more months and that it was better to have replaced them now then having to deal with them on the open road. I agreed, but in my heart, all I could think about was the pitiful state that my bank account was then in.

On the drive home, the shaking was gone. I felt a little better about my purchase. And my back tires were behaving. Or so I thought.

A few days later, after a long show in the canyon, I was backing out of my spot and a colleague of mine stopped me. "Dude, your tire is flat." I got out of my car and looked at the back tire and he was right. I was pretty sure I heard those tires sniggering at me. It was 11:30 in a canyon with no cell reception and no light to speak of. They had scored again. Aaron: 0 Tires:2.

Two mornings later (because they timed it so no one would be out in the canyon the next day, so I couldn't get a ride out to put the spare on, those bastards) I got a ride out to the canyon and put the spare on and drove it along at 55 mph for about an hour to the tire place. I thought I was going to have to buy new tires then and there. Lord, spare my wallet.

I was wrong. It was just a nail. The tire guys patched it and sent me on my way. For free. I felt like I'd won the lottery. I talked to my back tires. I said to them "Listen guys. I know we've had our troubles in the past, but let's just start over. I've got a big bit of driving coming up and I'd be really really grateful if you'd just not go flat or explode or anything during the trip. Ok?"

And I really thought they were agreed. I did.

The trip to Kansas and then to Houston went so well. They were wonderful. I couldn't ask for better tires. I guess the front two were putting on a good example and the back two were inspired to good behavior. Life was as it should be.

BUT THEN

(this feels like the longest post of my life, but this story is a little bit epic, and we're at the final twist!)
Picture it: we've packed up and driven all of the stuff that's going into the storage unit. I've locked the door and stopped to get my smoothie for the road. Both Mariah and the other vehicle are stuffed with my belongings. Off we go.

Fast forward about an hour and a quarter. After much hemming and hawing, I'm finally beginning to get excited about the move to Austin. We're about 45 minutes from our goal. I'm driving down a stretch of road that appears clear.

All of a sudden, the car makes some crazy pseudo-birthing noise, and behind me I see black tire rubber fading into the distance. But the car is still running smoothly. No noises, no listing. With a sinking heart, I pull over and get out of the car.

That tire. That blasted effing tire. The back right tire literally peeled the rubber off of itself and threw it away. The tire is still inflated, but it has no rubber. My car is *stuffed* with things. I feel like I'll never make it to Austin. I suddenly know that was there plan all along- to keep me from getting where I wanted to go. I hear it's triumphant laugh. I know it's over now- they won.

Almost 2 hours later, I rolled into Austin on a spare tire. Two days later, I replaced the back two tires. It was a sad day, and as a result, my bank account might have a grande mal seizure if I make purchases of that size any time soon.

The good news is, all of the old tires are gone. I have 4 new tires that are performing quite nicely and happily. And I'm getting settled into Austin.

I'll not forget, however, the rebellious tires that tried valiantly to keep me from arriving here. And next time, I'll be ready for their crafty work. You may have won this time, tires. But justice always triumphs in the end.

Exodus

Faithful readers, I am in the midst of a small/gigantic upheaval period. This is the last day at my job and I have a guest and so between the packing and the drinking and the show and more drinking, I have been a bit busy.
Tomorrow we embark on what will be the beginning of what is a weeklong sojourn to my new home. I am hoping to get to post sometime mid week. I haven't forgotten you all or this blog, I promise.

In fact, I'm not even putting this on facebook or twitter, so if you read this, you must be doing it because you actually check my blog of your own desire, and not my constant self promotion. In which case, you must actually love me, or at least think i'm mildly amusing, and for that, you deserve a gold star.

More soon.

To the Artists In My Life

Serious-ish post. Still funny, and definitely positive (I think), but it's from the heart.

Right now, I work at a theatre. This theatre is in a canyon in the panhandle of Texas. The panhandle is very flat. I think, and often I feel a bit alone in this, the flatness is beautiful in it's way. It is however, in the panhandle of the state, and if you have looked at a map any time recently, you'll notice a lack of pretty much everything in that area. And that's because, there IS a lack of pretty much everything. Amarillo is the nearest city, and it's small as far as cities go.

The canyon itself is quite beautiful, but I confess, after having done the show the entire summer, I'm a little tired of it. What I once saw as an exquisite place of natural beauty has become rote, routine and non-discript. Sometimes, even, a place I resent because it's miles from town, even further from drinking establishments and hours away from any cities of size. When I go down into the canyon, I am a commuter going away from the places I want to commute to. I'm going to my job.

Most of the time, it's a pretty good job. There are the occasional occupational hazards- beetles the size of credit cards, tarantulas, getting kicked by horses, stepping in horse poop, 100+ degree heat- but then, who doesn't have a few pitfalls to be avoided in the workplace? And I'll be honest, the view of the stars is unmatched.

The show itself is simple. The plot's not hard to follow, the music is easy to grasp. The dancing is (for us, the singing ensemble) essentially step touching with a Texas flavor. After months of doing it 6 nights a week, I have it down pat. In fact, it's gotten to be something that I can do on autopilot. One could even say that it has become boring to perform.

The real deal is- I'm ready to end this job that I am very over. I'm ready to be away from this place that I don't love. In two sentences I've summed it up. Simple.

Unfortunately, it's not so simple. I'm moving to a new city when this show is over. I'm terrified. I'm excited. I don't have a job. I know two people there. I'm in love with the man I'm moving to be close to. I'm scared shitless that I will mess that up. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life. I want to do everything.

Suffice to say, my insides are doing triple sow cows.

I'm usually pretty good at projecting a calm exterior. I keep telling myself that it will all be okay and it will all work out, and for the most part I can pass it off that I believe it.

And then, art happens to me.

The cast of this show that I'm in is doing a side project, a talent show of sorts. I know I know. A talent show. Commence the eye rolling. I'll lead you. I imagined the worst memories of the high school talent show- awkward pauses, flat pitches, sad little tap numbers. In spite of that, I submitted (along with 3 others) a quartet number for the show. We got in. We pieced the number together. A quaint couple of songs to go in the (as I envisioned it) high school drama club annual revue.

Today we had the final dress rehearsal.

Wow. I cannot believe the scope and richness of the talent of the people that I work with. Words fail me. I was choked up more than once during the run through. I'm getting choked up now thinking about it. I am so proud to be on the same stage as these people.

And I'm amazed because suddenly all this change that is happening in my life and the anxiety it is causing me- it makes sense. Or it fits. Or somehow, I fit in it. And it's messy and beautiful and unfinished and then, in an instant, a moment takes my breath away. And this show we are doing- the show We are doing because we are artists and its all we have; because we have gifts that we must share, sometimes in spite of our own selves, and things that we must say because saying them is what makes us alive- this show is as much for us as it is for those smart enough, aware enough, privledged enough to be there to share those moments with us.

I am an artist. I will laugh and hurt and cry and sing and dance and laugh more because I have to and there is nothing else to do in the face of death. The chaos and harmony we create is how we fit into the universe. I count myself most honored to be surrounded by so many people with talent that runs so deep. Thank you thank you thank you, everyone.

The Food That Saved Me From Eternal Despair

Alright it's been a bit since I posted about food. And let's be honest, I really really love food. In fact, after I finished my last post, I realized that "eating" could also be something I got paid to do. (I also considered adding "drinking" to that list, but really, "drinking" professionally REALLY means you're A) a deadbeat B) an alkie or C) a writer, and while I had no problems identifying as the latter two, I didn't want to confuse the issue or the public by possibly being grouped with the former) I digress...

H'omigod. I had found the perfect job for me- Food Critic. How amazing would that be? I could eat food at restaurants (awesome), write about it (also awesome) and most importantly GET PAID (holy crap, awesome FTW!). For about 37 seconds I was pretty much not only going to have a job, but I was also going to award myself the Most Geniusest Genius EVER medal and about at least 50 Gold Stars.

And then, disaster struck.

Reality, that solidly built she-hulk in a faded floral print dress with runs in her hose, laid her massive clammy hand on my shoulder. Her large, fishlike lips moved. At first I thought she was hyperventilating, and then I thought the world was in slo-mo and I was dreaming and then I realized she was laughing at me.

And like 2-pack-a-day smoker, her voice crawled out of that mouth and into my head.

"Food critic? That's a laugh. There's only like seven of them alive and five of them live in the UK and Europe. Think again, bub."

Sigh.

I knew she was right. My shoulders slumped in despair as she lugged her way Lurch-ily into the background of my mind. Food critic jobs were hard to come by, and there might actually even be training or stuff you have to do before you can be one (I thought about researching this, but then decided it was better not to hurt my heart further). So, sadly I decided not to amend the list to include "eating." I didn't know what I was going to do with myself. Ever. Why was I even here? What was the point of living anymore?!?!

(This is pretty much my face at that moment.)







In my state of deep melancholy, I walked into the kitchen to get something to munch on. You see, there are people out there in the world who, when faced with stress or sadness, do not eat. They waste away, often tragically, to skin and bones. Sometimes, movies get made about them. Sometimes, they make the movies themselves. In any event, depression = thin.

I am not one of those sorts of people.

Faced with bad news, I go immediately to the loving support and comfort that only a drive thru window can provide. Carbs are my solace. Cheese is my joy. Despair, I banish thee in the name of all things good and true and sugary!

So, faced with reality's awful rebuke of my Genius idea (and aside from not even getting to be a Food Critic, I wasn't going to get the Geniusest Genius Award OR the Gold Stars- ugh, my life was clearly an #epicfail), the kitchen was the only logical place to go. I opened up the cabinet (oh dubbs, if you've been following since the beginning, one of my slothy roomies finally moved out- HUZZAH!) and looked bleakly at my options. 3 cans of beans, 2 cans of tuna, assorted spices and herbs, and a cup of applesauce. F.M.L. I was beginning to wonder how I could pull the blades out of my Mach 3 shaving razor and end it all.

I turned to the refrigerator. It was similarly bleak- pickles, cottage cheese, carrots, bologna. And then, just when I thought all hope was lost, I spied something small and red towards the back of the bottom shelf. It was a plastic lid on a round container. I reached in. Could it be? Was it? It WAS.



Hummus.

Hummus from above (or in this case, the back of the fridge).

Hummus, with it's smooth creamy texture and its delicious chickpea and garlicy taste. Easily a ranking food on the Greatest Foods of All Time Ever list, this treat from the gods (specifically the ones hanging out around the Mediterranean) suddenly made my day much brighter. I grasped the hummus and the carrots, tried to hold back my tears of joy, and dashed back into my bedroom. And even though I STILL didn't know what I was doing for a job, I had hummus.

My plate ranneth over.

Some things I do Awesomely! (Things You Could Pay Me For!)

The job search is ON! As my current contract is slowly (achingly, glacially) coming to an end, I have started up the search for employment in the area I'm moving to. So far, this isn't going so well- aside from the fact that I'm not actually there yet (and won't be for another 3 weeks or so), there a little thing called The Great Recession that just happened and, oh, p.s. getting a job right now is HARD. As I'm sure you all know for yourselves, getting a job anytime requires a certain amount of extra energy. But in typical Aaron fashion, I have heaped on the possibly-unfavorable factors- new city that I've never been to that has a lot of technical jobs and also a major university that will have *just* started before I get there, all the while unemployment hovers just under 10%.

Clearly, any employer should see that I enjoy a challenge.

After quite a bit of thought, I've come up with the a few things that I feel I could be awesome at. Like, you could hire me to do them today, right now. No orientation, no training, I just show up and start doing them awesomely.

Laying on a bed.

Aside from the fact that I do this for an average of at least 8 hours every day (and more if I have the chance), I feel I'm pretty darn qualified for this job. I can lay in a variety of positions and orientations- facing either direction, on my back or stomach, I'm open. I'm pillow flexible (one pillow/two pillow/pillowless). More than just qualified, I actually like doing laying on a bed. In fact, I've only laid on a few beds that I've had problems with (and in those few select cases, there were usually bugs/small rabid animals/crazies attempting to share the bed with me). Clearly, I could earn a living laying on a bed.

Walking.

Again, I already do this quite a bit, so I'm definitely qualified. I am a rare individual who can engage in the famed 'walking and talking at the same time' sort of walking. In fact, I can can even sing while walking. I can handle stairs, different tempos, and different gaits. But it's not all work and no play- I've been known to engage in a number of silly walks from time to time. I'm especially good at walking with my iPod playing- it's definitely a performance enhancer for me. (Note: running would have to be negotiated- while I'm not opposed to it, I feel the demand of my running skills is another skill set entirely)

Facebooking.

This is where my technical prowess can really shine. Facebook allows me to stay absolutely current on the most cutting edge as far as the interwebs go. I can friend, unfriend, invite, like and comment with ease. Facebooking for a living might even be place to use my leadership skills- I tag people in notes quite frequently, as well as create events from scratch! I've also had to block a person or two- I know that it's a difficult thing to do, but with greater skills come greater responsibilities, and I feel confident that I could hit that block button if it becomes necessary.

Putting in and taking out my contacts.

As you can see, I'm so good at this, eye don't even need to make it clearer for you.






Using the microwave.

This one is definitely the area that I have the most growth potential in. I can do hot pockets and popcorn no problem. I am, however, still mastering warming up things like chili or a casserole so that the middle gets warm but the outer edges don't get too hot in the process. Nevertheless, I do have an amount of passion for microwaving- I love the droning noise it makes, and watching the little plate turn in circles is something I really enjoy. I think with a little practice, I could even cook meat in one.


So those are my skills. If you or anyone you know is looking for someone to do any of these things full time, get in touch with me. I can provide a resume and references on request. Oh, and there are definitely Gold Stars available for those who help me find work. If that's not an incentive, I don't know what is.

A Cover Letter to the Gods of Rain

Dear Rain Gods;
Greetings! My name is Aaron Glover and I'm interested in getting you to rain heavily, specifically around the Palo Duro canyon between 6 and 9PM any night of the week except Monday. A number of my friends have spoken of you (complete list of references on request, but there's about 70 of us total) and I am writing to personally advocate your intervention. Currently, I am slaving away during the afore mentioned hours, and with your help, I think both you and I will benefit.

I am sure you're well aware, in outdoor drama when it rains significantly, we can't do the show. A sad but true fact. Now please do not misunderstand- I enjoy doing the show. It's great fun, the audience (usually) loves it, and most of the time, the canyon is a tolerable place to be. However, every so often, doing the show becomes almost unbearable. It could be the sweltering heat of a clay canyon that has been baking all day in the west Texas sun to temperatures in excess of 100 degrees. It could be the 5 inch long beetles that have descended upon the stage, making every moment spent not moving a moment of terror, just knowing that you could be dive-bombed at any second- and even when you are moving, they can attack. This also happens with mutant grasshoppers that sometimes think they can just keep hopping at you and maybe you'll disappear (bug gods, if you're reading this, you've turned away my letters requesting you vacate the theatre while we're doing the show numerous times. If at some point you change your mind and would like to discuss things further, I'm more than willing. Just so long as I don't have to look at, feel, smell, or hear you). It could be an audience of 200 people. Or it could just be the plain and simple fact that we've been doing the show 6 days a week since the beginning of June and I just don't want to do it that particular evening.

In any event, sometimes, the show, as they say, needs to not go on. And here is where you come in. If you could perhaps send us a small deluge (somewhere between say, a light shower and the Noah flood), we won't have to do the show. If the show got cancelled, the opportunities of what I could do with the evening are practically endless. I could go eat dinner in a restaurant at a normal time. I could go see a movie. I could go to a bar and start drinking before midnight (this would be particularly delightful). As you can see, an evening spent away from the canyon would be a most treasured time. And all you'd have to do is what you do- namely, make it rain.

As you'll see on my resume, I'm a multi-disciplined artist. I've been a part of many different kinds of performances. I've sung, acted, danced, even mimed. I feel that my skills in these areas particularly equip me to undertake the task of summoning you. Perhaps a rain dance, complete with blue Lycra unitard and paper mache streamers attached to my arms and head, would entice you? If not, I know a number of extremely moving poems and speeches that I can perform about rain- and depending on your particular tastes, I can do these highly stylized (for instance, I could smite the sun for being a non-rain-god, or howl like an animal dying of heat exhaustion- it's really up to you) or more in the vein of realism- such as a made for TV movie about farmers in a drought in the 1890's (hello, I play one in the show!). I also have a wide repertoire of songs I could sing involving rain- among them, "Purple Rain" by Prince, "Come Clean" by Hilary Duff, and "Umbrella" by Rihanna. I could even 'make it rain' like Weezy (pardon me, that was just a little "rain making" humor).

Clearly, this arrangement profits both of us. You get to make rain happen, I get an evening to myself. I hope you won't find my analysis of the facts too forward- I merely feel a hypothetical look at the situation best presents the benefits we both receive. I'd love to discuss the possibilities further at your earliest convenience. Feel free to contact me with any questions about anything in this letter or on my resume. I'll be in touch with you in the next week to make sure you have all the information you may need in making your decision. I look forward to hearing from you.
Thank you for your time and consideration-
Aaron

Futher thoughts on the Divinity of Mexican food

This is too brilliant not to share.

For those of you unaware, I have a brother. He does not facebook or twitter, and he's sometimes a little hard to get ahold of. HOWEVER he may, in fact, be one of the smartest men I know and also, perhaps, one of the wittiest.

Apparently, he was forwarded my recent Proof of God's existence. He apparently tried to comment, only to find his comment was too long. He then emailed them to me. I am reproducing it here because I haven't laughed this hard since, well about 45 minutes ago when I saw this video.. Before that, however, it's been a good long time.

Without further ado-

"Dear Persuasive Blogger,



Although you present a rather valid argument regarding the connection between God and the culinary expertise of the Hispanic culture I must indulge in the greater exploration of your analysis. As you seem to point out over all it isn’t necessarily the actual food that serves as the gateway to God, but rather the locations in which said foods are served. Your points include the cheese covered indulgences, the mariachi inspired interiors that resemble the stomach of a muppet, the high profile food items that are by today’s standards iconic, and the sophisticated green ancestor of the Sonic slushy. In many more ways do the elements of Mexican food match up with common beliefs of Trinity based faiths. Take for instance the fact that Mexican food in its own is a variety of assortments of the same ingredients. Tacos are meat, cheese, and vegetables on a tortilla, burritos are meat, beans, and cheese on flour tortillas, enchiladas are meat, cheese, and vegetables rolled up in a tortilla and topped with more cheese, nachos are meat cheese and vegetables on a bunch of small tortillas. This could follow common Christian belief that all individuals are composed of the same moral and soulful building blocks but are different and unique. Another parallel would be the fact that in Christian Faith humans are naturally sinful, though they have the ability to rise above this and work towards God’s grace. Many Mexican restaurants can have bad food and thus serve as a shame towards the glory of the Mexican Restaurant Ideal. Other restaurants serve extremely delicious food things that rectify them saints among restaurants. Finally most Mexican restaurants have a mix of both good and bad, but mostly good, much in the way human existence is seen through the eyes of God. My curiosities arises in the idea that if Mexican food can prove the existence of God, can other outlets of other culinary venues prove the existence of other deities or idols?



Take Greek food for example. Since most Hispanic cultures follow Christian based faith, let’s assume that Greek food would point towards the existence of ancient Greek Gods of Olympus. The foods often found with Greek dinning are comprised of ingredients susceptible very much too fluctuating quality. This can link a similarity with the mood swings of old gods and goddesses. Depending on the season some foods are better than others. Additionally the gods of old were known to play tricks on those praising them for amusement. In many a Greek restaurant I have entered (such as the Mad Greek from Lawrence KS) I have found menu items that actually belong more towards a different culture such as ravioli. This confuses me greatly as I thought I was in a Greek restaurant and I am torn between ordering something Greek or something Italian. In a way similar to how Zeus’s wrath would be if a peasant changed devotions, horrible stomach pains would arise from my Ravioli meal. The restaurant has in a way tricked me in food poisoning via their offering of something different.



If one idol is not good enough let us look at the existence of Buddha in Asian Restaurants. One of the largest components of Buddhism is the search for enlightenment and meditation. The atmosphere of most West World dining facilities is tranquil with soft melodic music and soothing dark lighting. You feel at peace in these locations as long as there is not an obnoxious American child demanding chicken fingers. Buddha was also a idol from the people and much of menu options found are those from the common people. Nothing too terribly fancy and if it is, it has its roots founded on an old house wife’s recipe. One last parallel to be found is the insistence of humility. Many, many dishes humble even the proudest of indulgers with their horribly spicy peppers that remain unnamed and ambiguous on the list of things poisonous to humans. Please also note that Mexican food also has spicy food that humbles the stomachs of many similar to the teachings of humility by God.



As an overall point I include one of your own arguments that perhaps there can indeed be multiple Gods based and the status quo in culture. For instance you stated that Mexican Tacos, Burritos, and Nachos are iconic and the most well know. Well God is considered the most prominent spiritual leader of this planet. The lesser iconic foods with their gods hold a less of a hold on the beliefs on humanity. In this regard I do agree with your ascertain that Mexican Food is indeed evidence towards the existence of God, but I question if others might exist as well. As one once said to Luke, “you are a Tru man of God” by his gospels and teaching, but most prominently for his journey into understanding the teachings. Without exploration or questions one will not find enlightenment or delicious foods, and with this I say to you good day…

-A Mysterious Man"





50 gold stars for my brother.

(P.S. I've ended up talking about mexican food way more than I originally planned on in this blog. I should have named it "Mexican Food and Bloody Marys" maybe)

America: Champions Need Not Apply

Let's talk about champions.

A champion is (thanks dictionary.com) "a person who has defeated all opponents in a competition or a series of competitions, so as to hold first place."

We are a nation built by champions. Our economy is founded on the idea that, competing in an open market, the company with the best combination of superior services and competitive price will eventually become the most successful. Our athletes compete against each other and against others from around the world, always vying to claim (or defend) the title of 'champion' for America. Our artists enjoy unparalleled freedom to express themselves- essentially 'champions' of self-expression.

Say the word "champion" and the first thing that most people think of is- high school sports. In high school, the Championship was all. Legacies were carved and history cemented with a win. Losses were crushing. Young men and women train tirelessly to be the best. Because who should win the Championship? The best. And because of their hard work, that's what Champions are- the best.

I think the quote at the base of the Statue of Liberty is 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses longing to breathe free.' Something to that effect. Thinking about that quote, I can't help but remember that a champion can also be defined as "a person who fights for or defends any cause or person."

Americans are defenders. We defend the tired, the poor, the old, the destitute. The American Spirit is one of hard work and self reliance, but it is also one of generosity. From the first pilgrims in New England who helped each other because if they hadn't, they would have literally died; to the obscenely wealthy Andrew Carnegie who put libraries throughout the developing country in the late 19th and early 20th centuries; to marches and rallies of the civil rights movement reminding us that the Declaration of Independence claims all men are created equal; each of us, as Americans, has a right and a duty to help, and to be helped. We are a great nation, indivisible- and that means everybody, from the richest to the poorest, the newborn to eldest amongst us, from Hawaii to Maine. We teach our children to stand up for what is right- to make choices not because they are easy, but because they are the right thing to do. The wars we are fighting, for better or worse, were on some level waged because we saw people that needed help, and thought that we could and should do the helping.

At the base of it, a champion is "a fighter or warrior." We love fighters. Americans are addicted to the contest. We root for the reigning winner because he is who we want to be, we root for the underdog because he is who we are. We hold up as national heroes the men and women who every day risk their lives for us- troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, firefighters, policemen. 'Fight for what you believe in' is a national theme that has appeared in thousands of books, movies, songs, television shows through the years. And why shouldn't we fight? We are Americans. We can do anything. We are champions.

At least, we were.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, we stopped concerning ourselves with actually being Champions. Some have been and continue to rest contentedly on our laurels, coasting on the comfort resulting from victories won over half a century ago. We haven't won anything recently. We made messes and then managed to extricate ourselves from them, thanks to the enormous amount of wealth and influence we wielded. And for a while, that worked.

But recently, our wealth is all but imaginary, and our influence has lost both it's luster and it's weight. We are just another country on the face of the globe, torn from within by pettiness and bickering, fatigued from without by commitments made to feed our own hubris. How are we champions?

When the men and women of this nation, this indivisible nation, are so selfish they are unwilling to lend a hand or dollar to help another in need, how are we champions? That public officials can condone- and let's be real honest here, when you don't stop something, you are condoning it- racial slurs being hurled at congressmen and presidents is not just sad and disrespectful, it's hardly the behavior of a nation that saw itself as the shining city upon a hill, the example for all to see. When we stop working to create the best, most diverse nation in existence- and stop not because we are exhausted from our efforts but because, for one reason or another, 'all men' suddenly means 'all men but this man'- we cannot claim to be champions.



We cannot be champions if we will not fight, and we have most seriously lost our desire to fight. We are fat on cheap fast foods and we are entertained by the flat screens that we bought on credit. "Ask not what your country can do for you, but rather what you can do for your country" as a national attitude has been replaced with "What have you done for me lately?" Never mind that young people are not voting, they don't know what's going on in the first place. Even in the wake of the recent economic downturn, with employment near 10%, how have we responded? Complacently, as foreclosure notices and pink slips litter the countryside. How can we, who fought, sacrificed, died for and finally won our own independence, sit in our Lazyboys and simply change the channel when faced with challenges that lie before us?

A champion would not sit idly by.

A champion would fight and struggle and defend this nation. If America is the greatest country on the earth- and I know many who would say that- then it is time to remind ourselves and the world just why we should have the privilege of claiming that. We must continue to advance. We must continue to unite. We must defend the title.

The responsibility is all ours. The longer we sit and succumb to reality TV and subscribe to a vigilant neglect of what is going on in the world around us, the harder and harder it becomes to get back to being the best. We are now the underdogs in a struggle against ourselves. It's a position we're used to and one we've done well from in the past, but underdogs can't sit back and wait for the next show. The time is now. The game has already started. The question is- where are the champions?