VMA Post-Mortem

I had no intention of writing anything about tonight's Video Music Awards (aside from the squibs over at TVLatest), but the show has been over for twenty minutes and I find myself jittery, on edge, and feeling kind of angry and I have no idea why.

I think part of the problem is that my intent for watching was not coming from a positive place. Being in Detroit for the majority of the last year has left me fairly unexposed to popular music. When the radio stations play only that one Eminem song, that one Usher song, "Rolling in the Deep" and "E.T.", you're left in the boonies in terms of what other people are listening to. You used to be able to find out what those songs could be by tuning into MTV, but as the students who are arriving on-campus Tuesday will tell you, that has not been the case in their lifetimes.

I'll let that sink in before moving on.

Also, as is the case with any major event of this sort, Twitter scrolls along in the background. What I love about Twitter is getting to share in cultural moments with people who are on the same wavelength as me. Unfortunately, that wavelength includes competitive bitchery, which is in full force for the VMAs. The only moments that I think were universally enjoyed ("universally" being defined as 65% approval or better) was Adele's performance and Beyoncé's baby bump. Even the Amy Winehouse tribute (which I thought was classy given that Russell Brand was the main spokesperson) received a heavy dose of heckling from my follow list.

I guess what bothers me is that tonight's show was like watching a dream unfulfilled. When I was born my six siblings ranged in age from 5-17 and just about all of them wanted their MTV. Throughout my toddlerdom I received Chernobyl-like exposure to music presented in the video format. Now you know why I am the way I am. Anyway, I wanted to make music videos when I grew up, but when the programming model of MTV and VH1 shifted in the mid-90's there was a supply/demand issue arising. MTV2 came along and I would watch that for hours on end during my high school years. Then that programming model changed and now that dream felt all but dead.

Maybe this is a long-winded way of saying "I'm old! They don't play music on MTV anymore! GET OFF MY LAWN!" Maybe that's what's bumming me out.

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MMXI

One of the things I want to try to do more of this year is update this blog more than twice a year. There are two major obstacles that were preventing that this past year:

1) I've been doing A LOT of writing for TVLatest.com. I've been working on the site since the end of May and I am now at the point where I can generating traffic out of nothing. It's kinda awesome. We aren't the next Google or Facebook (yet), but I'm doing work that I enjoy. Unfortunately, the work is not lucrative enough to actually make it my living, so the jobhunt continues.

2) The other obstacle has been a lack of things happening in my life. I would like to report on my jobhunting, but there's been a lot of silence from places I've applied to. To draw on the dating analogy, this is where you go up to someone you fancy, look them in the eye, ask them to dance/get coffee/introduce yourself and they look at you as if you are from Mars and say nothing. We've all been there?

Instead, I am working on creating a separate blog about my jobhunting experience. I'll post a link here once I get it up and running. It's on WordPress and I'm kind of excited to learn how to work within that system.

So I guess in terms of an update, here are the bullet points:

• I'm still in Dearborn.
• I'm still unemployed (in the traditional sense of the term)
• I miss you all (I'm not in prison, I miss seeing people in person)

How are you doing?

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Anniversary

It's been a weird day. Some of the weirdness and randomness was just the universe trying to say howdy but a good chunk was self-induced, though I tried to avoid it as much as possible. Truth be told, I'm still debating whether or not to hit the "delete" button once I finish writing this, but I feel like I need to get over this obstacle.


You see, today would have been my one year anniversary with Brandon. For those who may be out of the loop or who have just noticed the past tense, it's been over for a while. Officially it happened back in September, but actually the end may have been much earlier. Sometimes the "Sell By" and Expiration Dates are a bit different, y'know? I won't go into the details, partly for discretion, partly because I still don't have a complete understanding as to what happened.

Anyway, the day started with me receiving a copy of The Origin of Species: The Kirk Cameron Approved edition. I get to add that to my collection of unsolicited free religious texts. I guess it's a hobby?

We shot most of the multicam episode today but a number of technical problems, including micromanagement (not by me, for once), is forcing us to film on Monday. It's an unfortunate snag that allowed me to start feeling bummed out -- a feeling I was trying to avoid if possible. A few of us went out for dinner and drinks after the shoot which was nice, just not enough to lift my spirits fully.

As I walked past the front of Newhouse on the way to the bus stop there was a commotion on the path between Newhouse and Schine. I thought it might have been a pep rally or something since it is basketball season, but the News10 van indicated that something else must be going on. As I reached the crosswalk I heard someone call out for me. I saw Cyp, Kelly and Tim in the crowd. A number of people were holding signs including Tim, whose sign read "BALLS". This caused the Obie in me to amble over and see what the happs were. A man with a banner advertising an Ex-Gay ministry was being interviewed by a reporter as the students cajoled drivers to honk in support of gays. Good times indeed.

So I don't know how I feel about today. It's been at least two months, but I'm still sad about the situation. However, the sadness doesn't find its source in regret. I know my coming to Syracuse was a contributing factor to the failure, but I think I would regret not having the experiences I've had here with the people I have met.

This whole grad school thing is a process in improving one's self. An evolution, if you will. I'm hoping that by writing this I can now get out of whatever has been bogging me down. Thanks.

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Threes

Whenever a tragedy happens, usually a celebrity death, there is always someone who will chime in "it always comes in threes." It always bugs me, because it really is a matter of when you start counting. For example, someone on my Twitter list grouped the three of Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and Michael Jackson. One of these things is not like the other...or the other. Really, aside from the fact that they are eligible for Ghoul Pool points, there isn't all that much that connects them.

That is not to say I'm not superstitious...


Let's discuss some of my major events in life, as punctuated by major events.

After my first week of high school, we had a three-day weekend for labor day. Nothing much happened to me that weekend because I was glued to the TV watching the coverage of Princess Diana's crash scene.

My second full week of college began on Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

A couple weeks ago I was wondering what would punctuate my start of grad school. Michael Jackson was not on my radar. I have to wonder how this impact on the world of popular culture will structure the curriculum in the coming months.

All I can say at this point is...wow.

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Drunk

Last night's league session made me extremely uncomfortable. One of the bowler's on the other team was completely plastered before the lanes were turned on. I'm sure this isn't the first time this has happened in my Thursday league, but this is the first time where I was getting ensnared by the environment as a result. The guy decided to pick me as his "buddy" which means that every time I was within 5 feet of him he felt the need to interact with me. I know that sounds really arrogant on my part, but when most of those interactions are along the lines of "I thought you were good, dude" and "did you see that? He missed the spare" (referring to one of my teammates) I think I'm entitled to a little disdain. Also, I'm not the chattiest person anyway, so when he was trying to get me to talk by instigating instead of conversing that just causes me to close off more.

By the second game, after a few more rounds of drinks, he had progressed from "tipsy/chatty/buddy buddy" to "overly aware of his surroundings/asshole". He noticed that Bukie, our anchor bowler, was the namesake of our team "Bukie & Associates" and kept on chanting "Bukie". Towards the end of the third game, after a string of open frames caused by an inability to aim, he threw a ball so hard and fast into the gutter that it bounced over the lane divider, hit the gutter on the next lane over, bounced out of that gutter and went down the lane. The machine was cycling, so the ball bounced off the rake and caromed back and managed to get back to the approach. Even his teammates were all "Dude, seriously?" I just wanted to get out of there.

I do not object to drinking. I don't even object to a light buzz where one is still giggly or perhaps chattier than usual. When you get beyond that point though, all of my defenses are at red alert. I get nervous that interactions will go awry. I get uncomfortable that I will be the only person lucid enough to act like an adult. I get anxious and feel like I'm struggling for control of a situation that has suddenly become very unpredictable.

After last night, I felt the need to unload that baggage. Thank you.

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"Reality"

Can we discuss the awesomeness in the following video? Thanks:

More Gay & Lesbian Videos At LogoOnline.com

Here are the bullet points:

Merle Ginsberg's struggle with "femininity"

Santino enacting "judge not lest ye be judged"

RuPaul's 95 Theses

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Commatose

The first step in confronting any addiction is to admit that you have a problem. Okay. Here it goes. Deep breath.

I...am addicted to commas.

This addiction has destroyed relationships between words and ideas. So many misunderstandings have occurred because I can't control my right pinky while I type. So much red ink has been spilled trying to correct the mistakes caused by this condition.

I think part of the problem is my education. Grammar was only vaguely touched on during my schooling. If it wasn't for my older siblings growing up with Schoolhouse Rock I probably wouldn't know the difference between an adjective and an adverb. Since my schooling didn't really delve into the elements of speech it would seem to follow that the elements of punctuation would not be covered either. Periods and question marks and exclamation points are self-explanatory but internal punctuation was kind of glossed over. I didn't achieve a functional understanding of colons and semi-colons until my junior year of college.

But commas seem so easy to use. I think part of the issue is that I tend to write in a conversational tone. As a result every pause in thought is highlighted by a comma. In that last sentence I would want to put a comma between "result" and "every" because if I speak the sentence out loud I would pause between those two words. The same with "loud" and "I". I think this idea was reinforced at a board meeting a couple years ago. Reading over the minutes of a prior meeting I came across a line where I was speaking and every one of my pauses had a comma. It was obvious that I was thinking as I was talking because there were 8 commas in one sentence.

I should educate myself on this subject. My fear is that the guides will be of the Eats Shoots and Leaves snobbery instead of a Punctuation for Dummies guide. But writing this post without a single comma is giving me the DTs. I am not joking.

Edit: You can see an example of my comma problems here. I am not above shameless self promotion. You should go this blog anyway because it is a fun read. Enjoy!

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Rube Goldberg Thursdays: Honda

I have google analytics set up for this blog and I get to see what sort of searches people use to get to this site. I also get to see how long they stay and various other big brother type data. The multiple "0:00" Time on Site readings seem to indicate that people do a search for "Rube Goldberg Devices", see this site and go "Oh."

There are a couple of solutions to this problem. One would be for me to change the name of the blog, but since I've started using the online name Rube Goldberg 3 years ago, I've become somewhat attached to it. I think it does a great job of describing me: Overly elaborate, sometimes needlessly complicated, but approaching solutions with a quirky and sometimes inventive sense of humor. I'm not sure if the original Rube Goldberg was a raging egomaniac. Please don't tell me.

Anyway, as a favor to those who just happen to stumble onto this site with different intentions than reading what I feel like babbling about, I'm going to try to post Rube Goldberg type videos and stories on Thursdays. If anything, they're fun to watch. Here is one that my friend Liz sent me a couple weeks ago. Enjoy!

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Itemize

*I attempted an alfredo style dish on Tuesday. Chop up some onions, garlic, green pepper, spinach, and various other tasty bits and set aside. Boil some water for pasta (I was using some rainbow colored various shaped pasta from Trader Joe's). Cut up some sausage (Sun-dried tomato chicken sausage from TJ's is a good choice). Heat up a skillet and pour some olive oil. Throw in all the veggies except the spinach and get a nice sizzle. Throw in the sausage and get the flavors to congregate. The pasta should be cooking at this point. Use one of those alfredo packets and follow the instructions, but add a little pesto to give it some personality. Once the pasta is ready, drain then add to the skillet. Throw in the spinach and cover the skillet. Once the alfredo is ready, add to the mix and really get everything to gel together.

I was disappointed at the initial serving -- the alfredo didn't quite congeal the way I had hoped it would. However, it has been delicious as microwaved leftovers. Go figure.

*I may have finally figured out how to get out of my bowling slump. I've adopted a point-and-shoot approach where I just pick where I will stand, pick where I'm targeting, and then go. It worked well Wednesday (bowled a 199 on Shark). Thursday it worked even better: I have a 178 average in that league and bowled a 643 series. It was the high series for the team. Unfortunately, if the only bowler on the team with a sub-200 average is the only bowler who bowls a 600+ series, then the team is going to have difficulty winning. We got swept.

*There was a book sale at the library today. I didn't plan on going -- I just happened to have books that were due. I peeked in and was a little disappointed. Not one copy of Lee Iacocca's autobiography to be found. Maybe it's a Michigan thing, but no book sale is worth its salt without at least 7 copies of it for sale. It becomes a game of hide-and-seek, since the book will be filed in biographies, automotive, history, popular, and often times miscategorized. I was at one book sale where I found 20 copies, none of which were located adjacently. The closest I got today was two copies of John Stossel's book, which managed to drown out the shrieking toddler at the sale with its shrillness. I did get a Christmas present out of the sale, so it wasn't a total loss.

*There is a potential follow-up to my last post, but it will have to wait until Sunday or Monday. I want the full story first.

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Eggs

"Doc, my brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken."
"Why don't you turn him in?"
"I would, but I need the eggs."

So before you hear any wild rumors, I decided to start seeing a therapist again. I've been really stressed out lately and have been acting out in irrational, socially awkward/inapprorpriate ways. So for anyone avoiding me recently because of said acting out, would you consider this an early Christmas present?

I am seeing a different therapist this time around. My old therapist isn't covered by my insurance and, in retrospect, she wasn't as productive as I would have hoped. Her meeting room was rather poorly lit which contributed to a stifled feeling I would have in my sessions. I also felt like I wasn't a real priority on her docket. I very well could have been the least crisised of her clients, but for the 55 minutes that I am paying fully out-of-pocket for, I think it would at least be a professional courtesy to fake it.

In my most recent session the subject of romantic relationships came up and it was a bit of an eye-opener. It was the first line of questioning that poked that ooey-gooey spot, causing me to pull it together before continuing. We talked about it in generalities with a few specifics thrown in, but time ran out before we could prep for the full dissection. The subject has weighed on my mind since the end of my session Wednesday afternoon.

The timing of this realization was semi-optimal. On the one hand, I feel like I'm making some progress. On the other, it did put a bit of a pall on my weekend. For starters, I think it prevented me from fully enjoying Margaret Cho when I saw her Friday night. I didn't have as many belly laughs as I would have hoped, though the potential was certainly there. However, when she was talking about Proposition 8 (which she is PISSED about, as you might imagine) she spoke about how gay people really need to get over themselves -- we have enough obstacles thrown our way without creating our own. She was talking about this in the context of her being considered a Goldilocks in the Bear community. It reminded me of how RuPaul would sign off on her short-lived VH1 talk show: "If you don't love yourself, how the hell can you love anybody else?" I am fairly certain this will be the only time I will quote RuPaul on this blog.

As I slowly picked at this food for thought as I moved it around my plate this weekend, I started evaluating my process for dating. Ummm, the process needs an overhaul. I'm not a fan of the club scene for several reasons. First, geography is currently an obstacle as Cleveland and Sandusky are both a significant drive away. I think there are places in Lorain, but just the idea of that seems sketchy and makes me feel the need to shower. I'm intimidated by the meat market mentality that pervades the clubs -- I feel like I'm ranked somewhere between prison grade meat and the stuff hot dogs are made of. The bravado and success rate of the club scene requires confidence, which that last sentence shows could use some improvement. Also, I feel weird about going by myself when I am a complete wallflower. I can stand in the corner and look at my watch repeatedly at home, thank you very much. If there were people I could go with it would be easier, but again I don't have the confidence yet to interact with complete strangers, so I would just stay with my friends and not accomplish what I set out to do in the first place.

So my only real recourse is online chat rooms. Here I have a little more control of the process. The wallflower strategy, which I implement like a pro, has mixed-to-poor results here as well. Sitting around waiting for someone, anyone, to IM is not the best way to spend an evening, let me tell you. So this weekend I've been a bit more proactive and attempted to start conversations. This is not without challenges. Sometimes, people just don't feel like chatting and trying to force a conversation just doesn't work. Other times, people are freak shows and the conversation shifts from bland pleasantries to figuring out how to permanently ignore the person. The biggest difficulty is the people who seem perfectly nice but are challenging to converse with. Against my better judgment, I'm slowly getting over the use of internet shorthand (how I loathe "how r u? kewl") and the overuse of "lol" ("I'm John...lol"), but there are a lot of people out there who haven't realized that telling me that you're bored is not conducive to a good conversation. Granted, "bored" is usually code for "me want sex", but since me no want sex at this point in our soon-to-be-truncated relationship, there's really no point in continuing to try to talk. But I have been persevering and things are going slightly better. So far I inadvertently hit on someone who might be a colleague (I didn't ask for confirmation since that would have been extra weird at that point) and have had a few decent conversations with some Clevelanders and central New Yorkers (might as well prep for next year).

I won't get into the actual dating part now, since this post is far longer than I anticipated, but I will offer a bit more clarification before I go. I TiVo'd Annie Hall last week and got around to watching it this morning. Each time I see it, I find more parallels to my own experience and identify more and more with Alvie Singer. I'm not sure if that is a positive or an inevitability for the viewer. Anyway, the movie ends with the joke that began this post and this hypothesis:

"I guess we keep going through it because most of us need the eggs."

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Deserve

I try to avoid using the word "deserve". I think part of this stems from the idea that it is often used incorrectly. Many times when someone starts a sentence with "I deserve...", it is bolstered by a misplaced sense of entitlement or, at best, self-righteousness that is so over the top that it is almost laughable. Maybe I'm a pushover, but I am hard-pressed to find a situation where I would actually attempt to appeal to someone by saying "I deserve" something to correct some perceived wrong.

This is not to say that the opposite should be avoided: "I do not deserve this." My thinking on this comes from one of the common applications I encounter with the term, that being a sort of Old Testament style punishment cast upon a sinner. My favorite is on court shows where the litigants are ex-lovers bickering over every petty item and going into almost obscene detail of every act of revenge. After about fifteen minutes of downright upsetting, filthy laundry, the judge will stop the arguing by declaring that both litigants deserve each other, which: true. I seem to recall a number of children's stories where the bad guy ended up getting what he deserved, be it getting eaten by a wolf, thrown down a well, or carted off to debtors' prison. The bad guy may scream out "I don't deserve this sort of treatment," but karma can be a harsh mistress.

But every so often I feel like I am getting some sort of cosmic raw deal and I am unsure of how to react. A story:

Ben had mentioned getting a date or two through the site OKCupid. The gimmick with this site is that the users not only fill out profiles but also surveys about their ideal match. Each question (and the importance that you enumerate) gets factored into a logarithm and results are compared to other users. The site has a sense of humor and is also a hub for a number of those goofy internet surveys, such as "Which Skittle Flavor are U?!" Anyway, I started playing around with the site and it actually is pretty nifty -- I recommend it. Last week I got an e-mail from a guy interested in my profile and we sent some e-mails back and forth. They have a chat client on the site and we talked and seemed to hit it off really well. We agreed to meet this past Saturday for dinner.

Saturday morning, before I leave for work, I get a phone call from him saying that his grandmother is in the hospital. I honestly believe his intention was to warn me about plans possibly needing to be shifted, but I couldn't help think that maybe he was trying to blow me off. However, given the timing and everything I trusted that it was genuine. That and it is customary for me to freak out for approximately 12 hours prior to any date (it keeps me chatty).

We both ended up running a little late (we were meeting in Strongsville), so that wasn't a significant issue. The dinner portion went relatively well -- the food was gross but the conversation was engrossing. We left the restaurant and started to drive around to find something to do. There's not much going on in Strongsville or the surrounding areas. We drove through a nearby Metropark and got a little lost before finally returning to the restaurant parking lot. Things ended somewhat awkwardly (I think we were both intimidated by each other) but overall things seemed positive.

I didn't hear from him on Sunday, but I still don't know the post-date protocol -- when it's two guys who is supposed to call whom? I came up with a date idea and e-mailed him Monday morning and did not get a reply. No worries, he typically responds to my e-mails at night. Anyway, I'm playing on OKCupid and he IM's me. Things start off pleasantly enough, but then he has what he calls good and bad news. I'm expecting something like "I can't make it on Saturday, but I've got tickets for something on Friday." Not quite. His ex heard about his grandmother and contacted him to find out how things were going. Apparently this rekindled some old flames. To clarify: It's not separate good news and bad news -- it is good for him and bad for me. Despite the fact that we both had a wonderful time on Saturday and we are both attracted to each other, in less than 48 hours I'm back to where I was two weeks ago, only more bitter.

This is (by my count) the third time this year where a guy makes me feel so much better about myself only to yank the rug out from under me. As far as I can tell, this has nothing to do with me, but I am the common denominator. If I am such a catch, why do I keep getting thrown back? Have I done, or not done, something to deserve this?

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Notebook

I feel like posting, but I don't have any good stories. Instead, I am just going to list items I have written in my mini notebook over the last couple of weeks.

"Don't play well with others"

"She is just a victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those being 'in his vicinity' and 'ever'."

"Guy in wheelchair = costume?"

"THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS LOSE."

"Invest in baby boomer's demise."

"All I know is 'LOL' and 'G2G'"

"Ivy, you're not in charge of the world. Shut your mouth."

"Why are you staring off into space? There aren't any cute boys over there."

"Carrots are nature's diabetic candy."

"Get the fuck out of my candy store."

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Confidence

About fifteen minutes after I woke up this morning there was a knock on my door. I thought I had heard my landlord's voice earlier so perhaps there was some emergency he was going around to warn the tenants about. I open the door and did not see my landlord. "I take it you are the king of this castle?" It was some kid who I would guess might be 16 or so. He was incredibly obnoxious. He kept bouncing around telling me I can help him get enough points to win a thousand bucks to go towards a trip to some mystery location. He wouldn't say where at first, but he gave me a hint: "You can't drink the water but you don't want to down the worm if you know what I mean." He confused my flat affect with ignorance as I told him to cut to the chase. But no, he wanted me to read the question written in the red box on the card he was carrying around. As I closed the door on him, he thanked me in a way that tried to make it seem like I was the asshole in the dialogue. That kid was lucky that I was already awake, because if he had woken me up he would be trying to avoid sucking up the worm with his straw.

What astounded me about the whole interaction was the extreme level of confidence demonstrated by this kid. I'm not envious, as this little exercise shows that there is an upper limit where too much confidence makes you really annoying, but I am aware that the highest level of confidence I have ever demonstrated has certainly paled in comparison. Yes, there have been instances where I have demonstrated cajones, but those were more in response to some sort of adrenaline rush or some other breaking point. I visualize confidence as sauntering, not barging in guns blazing.

One of my pet peeves when I talk to people about my job is the initial response that I get 90% of the time. "I'm the manager at a bowling center." "Oh, I suck at bowling." Usually this conversation takes place in singles chat rooms (shut up) and it certainly takes the flirtiness out of the situation. I realize that they might think they are being self-deprecating, but that would be like me responding to a guy saying "I'm in real estate" with "Oh, I suck at selling houses." To me, it's a confidence issue. I would be much more comfortable with a guy that said "I don't like bowling" than someone who immediately discounts their abilities.

It's a bit strange talking about this topic. I felt so confident leaving high school and Oberlin did a fantastic job of destroying any and all confidence I had built up in myself. It is only recently that I have finally felt like I have been coming into my own. I've been out of school for 3 years: that's a long time. Don't worry: at this pace I will be like that kid when I'm in my seventies. I'm fairly confident in that estimation.

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Google

I was hanging out with Sir Cucumber on Saturday and while eating dinner and watching Mr. Show he pulled up his data from Google Analytics. Basically, this site keeps track of webtraffic to and from any website that you specify, so long as the site has the special html/java code written in. This is how Ben, I mean Cucumber, found out that one of his weekly haiku entries on his gaming blog was linked by G4 (a video gaming news network) earlier in the day. Pretty nifty. As he checked again, the same entry was linked by Kotaku, a video game news blog that many gaming nerds flock to regularly (myself included).

You haven't seen "Geeking Out" until a gamer has his blog linked by another blog -- all demonstrated in line graph form.

Anyway, I decided to set up analysis for my blogs and the College Lanes site just as a curiosity. My second blog (which I haven't told anyone about yet -- be on the lookout) has yet to get any traffic, but RGD is actually getting some traffic. 5 unique hits. That's 4 people who are not me! Also, the reports tell you how people get to your site. One of the hits was from someone on Resigned Gamer. My favorite info point is what sort of web searches bring people to you.

Google the phrase "old songs kids still listen to" and see what site is at the top of the list. Awesome.

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Belt

So the always awesome Kathy has been blogging about her adventures in the realm of ritualized dieting and I think it is high time that I update about my own adventures.

It began with an epiphany of sorts during staff training last August. The first day of First Year Orientation is also the same day that the entire staff meets for the first time to go over procedures and introductions. One of the odd things about this year is that, up until February 29th, the days and dates this year matched up with my first year back in 2001 (I'm not an FTL! I'm launching, I swear!). For some reason, this bit of nostalgic trivia was bubbling on the back burner of my mind as I looked over the staff. The overly-athletic-or-at-least-otherwise-trim-staff. And then there was me. Back in 2001, I was under doctor's advisement that I needed to lose some of my 240 pounds, which, thanks to avoiding evil roommate and a co-op diet that included poorly cooked kale, I was able to do. I think the lowest I ever got was 205 by the middle of my first year - a number I gradually crept away from as the years moved on.

Although I did try going to the gym a bit more (as in, ever) during the fall, my motivation wasn't really where it needed to be. Specifically, the mantra "get thin for him" which...no. I'm sure there were tiny results, but nothing that counterbalanced the constant dining out and weekends spent with TiVo and Pepsi. It wasn't until I started getting information about this year's class reunions that I realized a major shift was needed. You see, this year's 5-year reunion is for the 02-03-04 cluster of grads. In other words, all the older cool kids when I was a bright-eyed first year. Thinking back to people who may have last seen me in 2002, I could honestly see their reaction being "wow, he really let himself go." Not really the best way to kick off reminiscing.

Oddly, I haven't treated that perception as a mantra during this process. Basically, I'm using Alumni Weekend as the end-date goal, which is so much more helpful than an open-ended process. Right now I'm just trying to get under 200 and I'm getting pretty close. I was at about 230 in December and, as of this morning, I'm down to 207. I'm less intimidated by the weight room, though I'm still befuddled by a number of the machines. Still, I'm learning, which is good. My endurance is much higher than I think it has ever been and I'm not dreading the process the way I have in the past.

There is one disadvantage I am noticing. I have this pair of pants that I call my "hot pants" (boot-cut jeans from H&M, NOT booty shorts) which I used to pull out for special occasions or when I want to create the effect of sausage casing. They have now entered my regular rotation because they are the only ones that fit me comfortably now - the rest are a bit too loose. I am also in need of new belts - partly because I am apparently too abusive to some, partly because a couple are too big and there aren't any more notches. Money is tight at the moment, so a new wardrobe isn't really an option at the moment. But I'm making progress. I just need a belt.

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Skid

For about the last week and a half, I've been feeling like I'm riding on the edge of falling into a bad patch lifewise. Things have been going okay for the most part, great even, but I just have this sense of foreboding not unlike the sighting of the Big Gray Ass Cloud on the horizon every October.

I've been making some positive changes in my life that are actually reaping benefits. I've stopped drinking pop and have been more or less off the stuff for about a month. The only exceptions were a disgusting cream soda that I tried a couple weeks ago (they did come in nice bottles) and a can of Cherry Vanilla Blue Sky, also kinda gross. I've developed tunnel vision at the grocery store, essentially avoiding the junk aisles and hanging out in the produce section and the deli. I've focused more on exercising, be it rocking out on DDR or going to the gym. I'm losing weight, if the gym scale is to be believed, and have made a surprising amount of progress. Hockey is helping too, especially this past class. We had our first scrimmage, and my first interaction as a defenseman almost broke out into a hockey fight. I've got some good bruises going on.

But there is still the foreboding. This morning I woke up early (another benefit, as my Blood/High Fructose Corn Syrup Content is much lower and not causing insomnia) so I could take my car in to have the brakes checked. As I described it to the woman at Midas when I made my appointment yesterday, the breaks are grinding and they just sound unhappy. Anyway, I turn on the computer and my cell phone. My cell phone has no service and an unregistered SIM. Great. You see, I decided to switch phone companies and get a new phone (QWERTY phone, woot!) and keep my number. The number transfer went through, but I don't actually have the new phone yet. Great. I check the UPS tracking and the phone is "out for delivery". This is good news, except for: I have to drop off my car at 9:30 and have no way of changing my appointment since I can't call Midas; the only way Midas can contact me is through my work number, so I have to stay at the lanes; if UPS doesn't have a key to get into my building, they have no way of reaching me since the doorbell phone calls my cell phone (which they are delivering). Oh, and everything is frozen over because it's Ohio. Awesome.

I got the call about my car at about 10:30. The woman was very nice, though when she broke the news about what was wrong and how much it was going to cost she delivered it the same way that a vet would tell you that your six week old puppy will have to be put down. I guess this is why I have a savings account, but geez.

I'm still skirting that edge, but one push and it's going to be a hard fall.

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Hoosier Daddy

This past weekend was the 39th annual Hoosier Classic bowling tournament in Indianapolis and the Oberlin College team was in attendance. Surprisingly, the level of drama was significantly lower than the high-water mark established in years past. I'll try to make this post interesting.

We only sent five bowlers this time around which made logistics and budgeting significantly easier. Since there were only 6 people traveling we decided to rent a minivan from the College. Advantage 1 of being the coach: I get to be a control freak when it comes to transportation. I didn't think I would like driving a minivan but I really liked our car -- a Toyota Sienna. The part I liked was that the back row of seats can fold into the floor (as they were when I picked up the van), but when they were pulled out there was a sunken in storage area that was perfect for bowling equipment. It was also a very comfortable ride and really user friendly.

The drive down was not that bad. James volunteered to navigate and took his role almost too seriously (which is actually pretty helpful when you need assistance opening a Nalgene or regulating the temperature). Brad brought a DVD player for himself, so he was pacified and out of my hair. Everyone else was quiet for the most part -- not that I demanded that but I think I was able to make better time since I wasn't overly chatty. Of course, Tom was nice enough to let me include travel time on my timecard, so I guess that worked against me in a sense.

We got to the hotel at about quarter to eleven. I was pleased with the accommodations. The first time we went to the Hoosier, we stayed in these ridiculous suites that, while very comfortable, must have cost a fortune. The second time around, we went the cheap route and stayed at the Knight's Inn (one step above paying-by-the-hour lodging). While that one was cheap, there was significant travel involved in that location. If you look at a map of Indianapolis, I-465 circumnavigates the city. I-70, the road we come in on, is at 3 o'clock, the bowling center is at 12, and the Knight's Inn is at 6. The Days Inn we stayed at was at 1 o'clock, so it was quite convenient and not all that expensive. Considering how late we made our reservations I'm surprised they still had space for us. As I checked in, there was a complicated series of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine room assignments. For some reason, Brad wanted to room with Avi and would not budge from that position. James and Max didn't seem all that invested in where they slept though Ra'Mar seemed to have a strong preference as he kept pushing more RPS matches. Once I got the keys, I took one set for my room and gave Ra'Mar the other set. This seemed to bring about a much quicker resolution than the "best 14 out of 27" situation that was developing.

The rooms were quite nice, especially considering the price. There was a mini-kitchenette (kitchenetteette?) with a sink, but there was also a sink and counter space in the bathroom. I know it's not that big a deal, but I so prefer to do all of my morning ablutions in private, not just the nudey ones. The only downside that we, well Max, found was that the beds didn't have bottom sheets -- only the top sheets just sort of laying on top of the mattress. Kind of weird, but certainly not the weirdest thing I've encountered in bowling team travels. After everyone got settled, we had a mini-powwow to go over what would be happening in the tournament, looking over printouts of the oil patterns and answering any lingering questions.

The alarm went off at 6 the next morning. I usually don't feel so good if I wake up after a reduced amount of sleep, but Saturday I felt more like I was exhibiting symptoms rather than general fatigue. We met down in the lobby for breakfast where I choked down half a bowl of raisin bran and thanked my lucky stars that I didn't have to bowl today. The team seemed to be in much better shape than me, so that was a promising sign. We headed over to the center and promptly checked in. One of the things I love about this tournament, besides its Top Notch status, is how well organized the event is. I have never felt confused about what was going on at any point and even if I did I knew I would get a quick and clear answer from the tournament staff. As I waited in the arcade for the coaches meeting, a person a few feet away looked at the lane assignment list and said "Oh, Oberlin is here." It's an awkward situation because I could say something, but the way he said it could have been followed with "It'll be nice to see them" or "What the hell?" I'll just assume that it would be the first one and smile quietly. We have arrived.

Another plus of this particular tournament: Since we had only one team going, they would get my undivided attention. With other tournaments, I would often find myself running back and forth checking in on teams and trying to address the most pressing issues but in ways that never really seemed to instill confidence in the bowler. In this situation, I could provide significantly better advice since I could watch every shot made by our team and by the other team on the pair.

Unfortunately, there were difficulties. First off, the patterns were extremely challenging. This wasn't a surprise, but I think the level of difficulty was probably at 9 when we were anticipating maybe 7 and a half. In these situations, breakpoint theory is the way to go. Basically, the breakpoint is the spot on the lane where the ball will break out of its skid and start to hook. If you find the optimal breakpoint, your ball should go into the pocket. If you don't get a strike, you have a strong chance of leaving a makable spare. Although it may sound easy in that explanation, it is incredibly challenging to execute effectively. Although a couple of the bowlers have been lightly exposed to breakpoint theory through the Bowling II class, this was a crash course in the concept for all five members of the team. I will say that I am impressed with how well they rose to the challenge in terms of executing shots and making adjustments to help play to the proper breakpoint.

Despite this, the scores for our team were quite low. The two problems that kept coming up was a lack of momentum and what I consider to be poor spare shooting. The momentum aspect really kind of baffled me. For some reason the energy was lacking for most of the day, though it didn't seem to be caused by fatigue or bad chemistry. There were sparks here and there, but we just couldn't get the fire started. Though maybe the spare shooting is to blame. Most bowling matches are won when all spares are picked up and all splits are maximized. There were far too many spares left uncovered during the first day and I think our overall score was a few hundred pins lower than it should have been. That's not to say there was no effort -- in fact there were many splits converted when all we ask in that situation is that the bowler tries to get as many pins as reasonably possible. Of course, when you as the coach realize that the spare shooting is one of the main problems, telling a bowler to pick up their spares is 1) ineffective and 2) just adding to the disappointment/frustrated feeling that the bowler is already experiencing. You just have to add it to the "Things to work on" list and move on.

At the end of Saturday we were all feeling pretty tired. However, the head of the coaches' association wanted to have a meeting after the last game and I had to stay for that. It was actually a pretty interesting meeting, though it devolved into people talking about all of the second- and third-order decisions which of course made the meeting that much longer. So long, in fact, that Avi called me during the meeting to make sure that I didn't leave the bowling center without the team. I clocked in a 7am on Saturday, clocked out at 7pm. And then we had to figure out dinner. It didn't help that everyone was extremely tired, I was feeling really gross and the only people who had real opinions on the subject were throwing out suggestions that made me feel even worse than I already did. We eventually decided on Fazoli's. When we went inside, the fluorescent-lit menus and the red trays caused a majority of us to say "can we go somewhere else?" I was experiencing Killer Fatigue at this point which is never a happy place and causes you to say things like "I just want to eat somewhere where I don't have to bus my own table." Although others agreed with me, there's really no way to say that without sounding petulant. Avi, James, Max and I ended up at this sushi restaurant while Brad and Ra'Mar went to Steak N Shake (I'll spare you the really obnoxious things I said about that). It's a shame I wasn't feeling better because it sounds like everyone had some tasty dishes. I just got soup which was good but it would have been nicer to have something more extravagant.

When we got back to the hotel, we ended up splitting into our rooms -- Max, James and me in one; Ra'Mar, Brad and Avi in the other. I don't know how they passed the time in the other room, but we spent the night talking about some heavy duty stuff. Max and I accidentally grilled James on libertarian fiscal policy, which...no. Granted, I'm in favor of the idealized impractical economic theory at the other end of the spectrum (socialism) but I'm not as passionate about it. I've accepted that my preferred theory would never work and I've moved on and perhaps someday James will do the same. Based on the conversation I've pretty much concluded that a libertarian economic system would essentially be a form of neo-feudalism which would totally suck because I would so end up being a serf. I DON'T WANT TO TOIL IN THE MUD! Eventually the topic got around to gay rights and how Dale v. BSA is the most awesome Supreme Court case ever. That's right -- we know how to party in Indianapolis on a Saturday night.

I woke up on Sunday feeling worse. First, I have a tendency to wake up in anticipation of alarm clocks because I hate being startled by loud noises. I think I went to sleep a little after 12:30 and it felt like 5:45. I look over at the clock: 2:30. Ugh. All in all, not a good night's sleep. The routine was essentially a repeat of Saturday, only instead of raisin bran I barely choked down a third of a piece of toast and we had to check out of the hotel. Apparently I missed Tony Reyes checking in. The PBA World Championship is this week and will be bowling in the same center that our tournament was at.

We eventually made our way to the center for the last three games of the tournament. My Killer Fatigue had not completely worn off yet and people were tap dancing on my nerves. The first game seemed to be a continuation of the problems from the day before. I soon realized that part of the problem involved how we practice back at Oberlin. Before tournaments, we play a game called +1/-1. On the first ball of a frame, if you get the ball in play (hitting the ballside of the head pin) you get +1. If you are out of play you get -1. If you strike you also get +1, so an in play strike is +2, an out of play strike is 0. If you leave pins, you get +1 if you make the spare or -1 if you miss it (if it is a split and you maximize, you get 0). Here is the problem: If you get an out of play strike, you get 0 but it is a wash since you have the strike helping out your score. In the current structure, If you get an in play hit that leaves a corner pin, you have +1. If you miss your spare (a bowler really shouldn't be missing a corner pin spare) that is -1, making a total of 0. However, this is not a wash since you do not get a score boost in terms of regular scoring. If anything missing a spare (that isn't a split) should be -2. So for the second game, I started keeping track of the team's +1/-2 scores and the results were eye-opening. As I explained to the individuals on the team as they saw what I was doing I was hoping to raise the standard that bowlers should be holding themselves to. I heard at least twice that "it sucks to lose 3 points in a single frame." This was not stated as a gripe but more as a realization. I think I made a breakthrough.

Game 9 started against UNLV and Oberlin was still in next-to-last place (thanks Notre Dame!). The UNLV team seemed extremely frustrated and were having slide issues that no one on the Oberlin team seemed to experience. Both teams had a somewhat rough start, though Oberlin was slightly ahead. As I stood towards the back of the settee area, I felt someone tap my shoulder. It was Chris Loschetter, the PBA bowler who practices in our center. You know, there's something truly magnificent when the 14th best bowler in the world (according to the current rankings) is not only hanging out with one of the least impressive teams at a tournament, but that he was actually looking for us so he could say hi. Even better, he could totally commiserate with the team, telling us why he dislikes sport shots and how he doesn't really like team bowling. He was only on our pair for about ten minutes, but that was enough to get our fire going. Max bowled the high game for Oberlin with a 196 and we ended up beating UNLV (who were ranked 29 prior to that match). So awesome.

The drive back was a bit of a challenge, given my fatigued state, but we made it back safe and in good time. Although there was a great deal of frustration in terms of the conditions and Oberlin's performance, I think we did a good job and I'm optimistic that we have figured out areas that we need to work on. And although it was a challenging weekend, I think I did a good job.

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Suckerpunch

I've been perusing my resume quite a bit recently and have noticed a few things. Specifically, items that are missing. I don't know how many words per minute I can type and I don't think future employers need to know that I can say "Je m'appelle poisson gateau" with a straight face. The biggest item that is currently absent is my ability to blindside people at a moment's notice. It is quite fantastic the knack I have for confounding others when I say something with absolute sincerity and conviction, causing a general feeling of panic when I say that "no, I'm not joking".

There was the time I went to visit my sister Mary to discuss colleges and other post high school plans. When I returned home from my visit and told my mom that my choices did not include Henry Ford Community College (think LCCC, without the charming "LoCo CoCo" nickname) but did include places like Oberlin and Vassar, we almost swerved off the interstate.

Or the first time I went to a gay bar, tagging along with Emily, Brad, and one of Brad's friends. Emily made a joke about how the drag queens love the straight boys, causing Brad's friend to bluntly ask "Oh, are you straight?" "No." I responded, about as bluntly. Emily and Brad were not anticipating that.

Or the time that I finally told the crush about said crushing. I'm still processing that one -- did I suckerpunch him or myself? Like with most suckerpunches, the feeling of surprise and "the hell?" lingers a lot more than any pain or injury actually caused. The pain here being that nonrequited thing I was babbling about a couple months ago (which, really, I SOOOOOO called that). I'm still surprised that I actually went through with saying anything as that is usually not my style. Like, at ALL. As with my other gobsmacks, this one really is for the best and I see nothing but good things coming about as a result. Although the surprise trumps the pain, you do feel the hurt and tingling for a little bit but eventually you will forget how it hurts. (Aside: As far as I can tell, everything is completely cool between the crush and I, so no ill feelings. Just nonrequitedness.)

At the same time, a veil has been lifted and I'm starting to see things that I need to change. Such as how to present myself with more subtlety than a sledgehammer. Or, failing that, a way to make my blindsiding ability marketable.

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Silver

Back in my day, gasoline was only 89 cents, postage was only a quarter and uh, uh, uh, oh dear, how my mind does wander. I just can't remember things like I used to.

Where was I? Oh yes, I am now 25. A quarter century. "Can you believe it?! Finally old enough to rent a car! AHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHH! Oh, it's good to laugh." (Thanks, 30 Rock). Anyway, I had the day off from work and not a lot going on (yay). The plan for dinner was to go into Cleveland, meet Sarah, and gorge ourselves on meat at this Brazilian steakhouse called Brasa.

Oh. My. GOD. Okay, so you show up and after getting seated you are invited to peruse the salad bar. You are also given instructions on how to use the red/green coaster at your table. When you are ready for meat you flip the coaster to the green side. When you need to take a breather (the maitre d' strongly insinuated that the experience is a marathon and not a sprint) you flip the coaster to the red side. As Sarah and I headed to the salad bar, a large basket with very tiny pieces of bread was placed on our table. Okay?

The salad bar had an amazing assortment of veggie and flavor combinations. I felt the need to sample as much as I could, but not too much because of the main meal to come. As we ate our veggies, we both tried the bread bits. Those things were little bombs of buttery bready deliciousness. After the salad sampling, we were ready to flip the coaster.

So the way this works is servers walk around with swords of meat, 16 different cuts in all. They will stop at your table and ask if you want a slice of whatever is on their particular blade. I'm not a real meat connoisseur; I couldn't tell you the difference between a tenderloin and prime rib and flank steak. As a result, you just have to try everything. If there is something you don't want, you can just pass and they will cycle back again eventually. My two favorites: Turkey wrapped in Bacon (!!!) and the Parmesan encrusted Filet Mignon. The whole experience was mindblowing, though it is not really a good deal for those of the vegetarian persuasion. Oh geez, I'm drooling all over the keyboard just thinking about it.

After Sarah and I rolled ourselves back to the train station, we started planning the rest of the evening. You see, I invited the friends who are in Oberlin to take part in the Silver Anniversary Soiree at the Feve. I included in the Facebook invite the following: "Optional theme: Dress as your favourite Spice Girl or UN Ambassador". Truth be told, I only included that as a joke...and to see how much influence I have over people. I wasn't even really planning on participating until Brian started asking me for my opinion on various costume ideas. Meghan also offered suggestions for any potential costume I might wear. Oh dear.

We stopped at Sarah's so she could change into a Posh type dress and to give me a track suit that belonged to her grandfather so I could channel Sporty. We eventually got to the Feve at about 10 and the place was much more hopping than I would have expected. When Brian, Meghan, Sarah, and James (all in costume) arrived, it was scandalous. First off, the huge group sitting in the center of the upstairs portion were all the Voice majors
on campus for Winter Term...a group that Meghan and James knew all too well. Although the two of them were wearing clothes more revealing than they are accustomed to (though not at all obscene or sleazy), Brian's dress certainly drew a lot of attention. Understandable.

After a couple of drinks, the group had one last thing they wanted to do and it required a performance space. Eep. The Feve was not going cooperative with their requests, and though the bandstand in Tappan was suggested it was far too cold, so we ended up going to Brian/Meghan/Sarah's place. I'm not sure how to describe this part, so I'll let this video do the work:



So yeah. Happy Birthday.

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Ghoul Pool

Dear Ann Landers,

I work in an office where at least once a week someone approaches me about joining a pool. If it isn't the Rose bowl , a professional football fame or the Kentucky Derby, it's the All-Star Game or the World Series.
Gambling is against my principles but I have never criticized those who do it. I just say "No" and let it go. Something new has come up, however, and I wonder if I should say something.
Five of my co-workers have formed a pool in which each of them has listed the names of 100 famous people who may during 1964. When one of these people dies, the ones who had his name add points to their scores by deducting the age of the deceased from 100.
Recently a well-known American died. Mr. X came bounding into the office all smiles and announced triumphantly, "He was on my list."
Under the rules it says, "If the player himself dies, 10 points should be added to his score. If at the end of the year he is the winner, the proceeds of the pool should be spent for flowers for his grave, unless the surviving players should vote to have a party."
What do you think of this?

D. F. (1964)

Dear D. F.,

What you describe is a rehashed version of the old ghoul pool.

Anyone who would make a game out of death is a tasteless clod.

Back in the early sixties there was a news report about an Irish actor or dancer or something who was hit by a car. He didn't die at the scene, but his odds were grim. My dad and a co-worker talked about the story --- and made a wager on whether the guy would make it to the end of the week. My dad, K. M. (aka "D.F.") eventually turned this into the Ghoul Pool.

I didn't know about the Ann Landers correspondence until this weekend. We had the memorial service for my dad back in Dearborn. It was essentially an Irish wake, with this game playing far more of a centerpiece than I would have expected. Despite all of the visitors, relatives, and well-wishers, it is a trifle odd that this game was such a focal point. The guy lived for 74 years, had 7 kids, but this is apparently his legacy. Whatevs, I guess.

The Ghoul Pool wasn't the only game he devised. There was the Personality Pool, which involved guessing how often a preselected list of celebs would end up in the news and for what. News items included marriages, divorces, babies, vehicle accidents, hospitalization, death, and if they appeared on the cover of Time, People, or Newsweek. Some points issues required a bit of research. Time had a cover once with 5 celebrity caricatures. The drawings weren't very good, thereby requiring a letter to the magazine to figure out who 3 of the caricatures were supposed to represent. There was also one week where Walter Cronkite needed the week off to rest his voice. Dad wrote a letter to CBS to find out if Cronkite required hospitalization that week (he did not, but thank you for your concern). Many of the players were intrigued by how they were now reading the newspaper in a completely different way. Missing a two line, space-filling squib about Liz Taylor getting hospitalized for pneumonia could mean missing out on some points.

Another game was the Predictions Pool (which I wouldn't mind trying to revive). 25 predictions for the year were offered and players had to guess whether they would come true. Each prediction was "Yes" or "No" (to avoid being subject to interpretation) and were designed to be determined every couple of weeks to keep people interested.

For example:

• "Hillary Clinton will win the New Hampshire Primary by at least 4 percentage points."
• "The combined score of both teams in the Super Bowl will be equal to or greater than 35."
• "The winner of American Idol will be male."
• "The price of oil will reach $150/barrel by September 1st."
• "Paris Hilton will announce that she is pregnant on or before October 15."

It is so weird hearing all these stories. First off, it is interesting to find out where a number of my innate interests, such as propaganda letter-writing and intricate games, come from. Also, all of these games took place before the internet. The news came from newspapers or the evening newscasts, all communication took place via snail mail. The only technological devices used were an electric typewriter and a mimeograph machine. And people from all over the country were playing.

I'm just bothered by how this was the only aspect that people talked about. It wasn't until 2 a.m., when Pat and Eileen and I were sitting in Kathy's kitchen, that the discussion of the Ken McComb we knew began. Although we have developed our own coping mechanisms, a product of trying to survive our respective childhoods, it is troubling that the first two-thirds of this sentence exist. The fact that "survive" is the word that best describes seven childhoods is insane. Stranger still, my experience was vastly different than my siblings'. They got more of the rage-filled-psychotic-break flavor while I got the improperly-medicated-fully-descended-into-depression variety. None of this came up at the party.

This whole weekend I have felt...conflicted. Perhaps the ghost of Ann Landers can offer some advice.

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