No Funny Title Required

Warning: ***the sole purpose of today's post is to rant. the following should NOT be construed as an attempt to entertain. if you are entertained by any of it, you are experiencing schadenfreude, and i will hereforth hate you.****

random thoughts floating about my head and partial conversations partaken in while enduring a horrific day at work.
-cold and tired is no way to go through a work day
-why did it snow when it was just 75 degrees on monday?
-note to maintenance man: heat in the winter, a/c in the summer. not the other way around. asshole.
-why must you talk so loudly? you have a fucking headset on!
-$8.01 is "eight dollars and one/a cent," NOT "eight dollars and one cents." it's basic fucking english. retard.
-read the script. seriously, you're too stupid to adlib. please don't try. i'll fire you. i can and i will. try me.
-why does my server only crash when i'm in the middle of generating a report?
-no, i can't interview anyone at the moment. i'm kinda busy keeping our clients happy and, therefore, keeping you employed.
-good god you're ugly.
-albert pujols is just an average hitter? are you being funny or are you actually stupid? don't answer that.
-um, of course i wanted it. i've only been asking to have it done for the PAST 3 WEEKS, you lazy fucktard.
-okay, fine, i'll interview them. "do you have a pulse? yes? congratulations, you're hired."
-is it friday yet? oh, right, who cares i'm leaving on thursday night anyway!
-yes, i'm aware that we still need to create a report. wait, by WHEN?
-yes, other mr. client, i can get you that figure. when do you want it. great, no problem. only 2 weeks' worth of work by 2pm. awesome. btw, don't you already have this information from the last time i sent it to you.....yesterday!?!?!?!
-i'm hungry. no i can't interview anyone. i need to eat so i don't die. what do you mean i'm the only manager here?
-well, if you'd ever brief me on the projects, maybe i'd actually have a clue as to what needs to be done, schleprock.
-yes, i know how to do my job.
-"we're not leaving the office till we get this to the client." translation: "i hope you have a cot and no plans for the evening. you're screwed. btw, i'm going home for the day. enjoy!"
-FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! how many reports can one human being do in one day? oh, apparently this many.
-no, i haven't found any new clients yet.
-yes, i'd like a coordinator. no, i 'm not paying for him/her.
-hooray! we won 4 out of the last 5 days. good news.
-i'm underpaid. who isn't?
-i miss smoking. very bad for you, but perfect in this situation.
-no, i don't actually want one. asshole. i want a drink.
-no, that email wasn't intended for you. sorry.
-who hired these people? and on what section of colfax (read: most ghetto part of 5280) did you find them?
-pull up your fucking pants, gangsta!
-someone please IM or call me. please.
-fuck this. i'm leaving. anyone got a problem with that?
-today sucks balls. if i have more days like this, i'm quitting and joining the circus.

and 100 Approaches

red sox, white sox and tigers. oh my! in the past 5 years, some of baseball's most tortured franchises have broken through their various respective "curses" to earn a birth in, and eventually win the world series. the 2004 boston red sox won after having not won since 1918. the chicago white sox last year won after waiting since 1919. and this year, the detroit tigers have earned their spot in the fall classic after a 22 year absence.

only 3 seasons ago, the tigers were 1 skinny "L" short of setting an all-time mark for futility. now, they're on the verge of winning one of, if not the most, prestigious title in team sports. the 22 year drought since their last title sure enough must have seemed like a century. and while my fandom lies elsewhere within the MLB, my hatred of the st. louis cardinals and the new york mets are enough to compel me to root on the tigers to a championship, since "the d" was my home for 5 years.

but while 22 years pales in comparison to the 80+ year struggles of the others, all three fail to record a blip on the radar of my beloved chicago cubs, whose world series title drought will enter it's 99th year when spring training breaks in march of 2007.

each spring brings renewed hope and excitement that "this is the year." each fall ends in utter disappointment as my team turns in another lackluster, uninspired effort. i resort to the practice sports polygamy, the legal loophole to real polygamy, where i foresake my undying love for my cubs and adopt a "b" team for whom to root. as 2006 ended with another gallactically unsuccessful cubs effort, i went against conventional wisdom and the rules of beinga a fan and actually adopted 3 "b" teams. and against my better judgement and purist view of the game, i picked 3 american league teams: the A's, the Twins, and the Tigers--collectively known as "anyone but the yankees."

more importantly, having chosen 3 out of the 4 teams in the AL as my "b" team, i stood a 75% chance that my new team would make it to--and win--the world series, so i could experience the thrill of being a winner, since my real team doesn't seem much inclined to gift me that sensation themselves.

as i sat in the (smoke-free) bar this afternoon with my die-hard tigers fan friend watching magglio ordonez belt a walk off, series-winning home run, my enthusiasm and excitement for the win were tempered by the eternal knowledge that my beloveds were watching it too....from their couches.

i'm looking past 2007 and into 2008, which will mark the 100th anniversary of the cubs' last world series. it would be a magical and memorable moment if, for once in my and others' lifetimes, i didn't have to root for someone else. in the interim, i'll be watching the fall classic as i do each year, living vicariously through another fan base, and cheering with 50% of my heart for the motor city kitties to bring home the crown. go tigers.

Sack of Shit - Editorial

boulder, co is known for being an odd place. the home of the university of colorado (and my good buddy CJ) is a beautiful locale often referred to as "27 square miles surrounded by reality." the city is extremely liberal, very progress, and a bit off-beat. here you'll find a mix of trustafarians, techies, an abundance of recreational athletes...and a criminal hacky sacker.

the very city that in the 90's attempted to pass a referendum legalizing marijuana while simulateneously banning public smoking (yes, on the SAME ballot measure) feels that while a little weed may be harmless, a friendly game of hacky sack is a public nuisance and a threat.

a 17 year-old boulder high school student was hanging out with some friends on the pearl street mall, enjoying a little sack. er, hacky sack (hey, it is boulder, so you never really know). after mistakenly kicking the little bean bag past a friend, the kid was approached by a cop and issued a, get this, $250 ticket for public nuisance! worse, this "offense" requires a court date for the boy to answer the charges against him. so, of course, he'll have to miss some school to tend to his newfound legal troubles.

for a society that constantly bitches about overcrowded jails, overworked courts and understaffed police forces, we sure do find new and creative ways to exacerbate these problems by creating ridiculous scenarios like this one.

the stated purpose of virtually all police forces is to "protect and serve." but theoretically, shouldn't we be protected from things we actually need protection from? you know, like robbery, rape, murder and other crimes actually worthy of police attention and public outcry? boulder residents were shocked, annoyed and a bit disgusted with this publicized incident. and rightfully so. sure, boulder is wrought with pretentious rich people who are the only ones that can afford to live comfortably in an overpriced housing market. but even they deserve to have their tax dollars used wisely and appropriately.

the kid is going to fight the citation and, sadly, he will lose because the ordinance governing the pearl street mall prohibits throwing, launching, or forcefully maneuvering objects while on the mall property. the tragedy in this is that we're constantly harping on our young people to stay away from drugs, alcohol and other unhealthy or illegal activities, yet once they do find a benign, safe alternative we punish them with disproportionate force. ain't that a kick?

I'm SAD

it happens every year. fall comes after summer just like the calendar says it will. i love the fall. i love the cool, crisp weather, the changing colors of the leaves and how they cover the moist grass once they've fallen from their perch on the tree branches.

of course, fall also means more humidity (welcome in this part of the country), shorter days, clouds. lots of clouds. lots of gray, gloomy, blanketing clouds that block the sun and leave it only a memory in the minds of those that bask in its glow nearly year round.

today is the first truly gray day of autumn in 5280 and i'm suffering tremendously. my chief complaint when i lived in the midwest was how cold, gray and dank the climate was. so, i packed up and moved to sunnier climes of the rockies. certainly, california and arizona would have been wise choices as well, but denver receives 320 days of predominant sun per year (technically more than both san diego and miami. trailing only phoenix and tucson); perfect for someone, even your resident genius, at the mercy of seasonal affectional disorder (note: this disorder was a "disorder" way before erectile dysfunction and restless leg syndrome. those are euphemisms for old guys with no sex drive and for crazy people that can't control their legs. they're not real disorders. they're the psychosomatic issues of the clinically insane).

so i'm sitting in my office on one of the 6 gray, gloomy days we experience a year, struggling to get to the end of the day so i can go home, light some candles and experience bright light. i've completed the minimum of my workload and am battling the constant urge to rest my head on the desk and take a nap--or to just leave for the day.

it's great to know that this will all be over by thursday, but just getting TO thursday will be a chore. send me some warm thoughts to break my funk.

Smoker's Cough in Amish Country

i have a wicked bad case of insomnia, hence the double post today. 2 points of randomness before i hit the hay and make a real attempt at sleep:

random point #1: who the fuck shoots amish people? the rash of school shootings in recent years has left most of us a little more desensitized to such mindless violence than we would like. but the most recent shooting somewhere in lancaster county, PA (i've been there, but couldn't even tell you what part of the god-forsaken state it's in. actually, since so many amish live there, can it really be "god-forsaken?" what's the opposite of god-forsaken anyway? god-blessed? god-inhabited? i don't know.) really caught me by surprise. amish people make furniture. and butter. and jelly. and they pray. alot. so who the fuck would shoot them? i don't get it. there are plenty of subhuman citizens trolling about the public school system throughout the country. why not shoot them? is it because they'll shoot back? probably. weird

random point #2: a much happier and much more random point. the "thank you for smoking" dvd is out. hallelujah. it might just be the best movie of my lifetime. except maybe for anything jon favreau has done. or christopher walken. what's with that guy anyway? he's weird, but i love imitating him. kevin pollack is better at it than i am. but that's 'cause he gets paid to do it. i don't. anyway, buy the dvd.

i'm off to slumber. hopefully i don't have any weird nightmares about being killed by a bunch of mutated serial killers and some random blogger setting up dolby digital surround sound in my room.

Me Chinese, Me Play Joke

"me chinese. me play joke. me go pee pee in your coke." those are the words to a never-unfunny children's chant. well, it was never unfunny when i was a kid anyway. it seems, however, that as we get older, our sense of humor changes quite a bit, though the lyrics adjust only slightly. try "me post worker, me play joke. me go pee pee in your....coffee?"

in the lovely town of akron, ohio, a 50-year old man was sentenced to six months jail-work release for pouring, you guessed it, urine into the coffee pot at work.

for months, a disgruntled postal worker (SHOCK!), thomas shaheen, sneakily poured urine into the office coffee pot and stood by idly as his co-workers ingested the scrumptious concoction (or is it concocktion?). the workers soon realized that their morning cup o' joe had an extra jolt to it, and reported the activities to their supervisors, who promptly ordered an investigation. naturally, as with all government agencies, the investigation resulted in no action being taken. so the workers installed a hidden video camera and caught shaheen in the act.

after being sentenced and ordered to pay $1200 to each of the victims (you'd have to pay me much more than $1200 to drink piss in my coffee), shaheen's lawyer indicated that his client was frustrated with his work, hence the vile act. when was the last time a postie wasn't frustrated with his work?

now, i've hated virtually every job i've had. in fact, i've actually disliked most of the people i've worked with, for one reason or another. but no matter how strongly i disliked someone, nor how much i hated my job, i'd never resort to relieving myself and then pouring it the morning coffee pot. "accidentally" cancelling someone else's print job right ahead of an important meeting to make them look bad? yeah, i'd do that. but i couldn't imagine going so far with my dissatisfaction as to dumping my mellow yellow in a pot of black. why is it always the posties that do the crazy shit? what's the worst thing you've done at work?

I've atoned

hooray for yom kippur! day of atonement for jewdom (a.k.a. judaism) and day of no food or water....for those who choose to fast. i, however, don't. i'm above it. i've already been grandfathered in, so what's the point really? i mean, by virtue of being born as one of the chosen ones, i get a free pass to heaven regardless of whether or not i practice, right? hope so. otherwise, i'm kinda screwed.

some backstory about why i turned my back on my religion, in bullet points:

-the stories from the bible are unbelievable. case in point--why on earth would moses walk all the way up a damn mountain to carry down a stone tablet when god just as easily could have thrown it down? it's not as if god would break it. he's infallable, remember? keeping with moses, why is HE the only guy in the history of time to be able to split an entire sea by simply sticking a staff in the ground? david blaine can levitate, yet he's not worshipped as a great historical figure or prophet.

-our holidays suck. seriously. christians got this one right. eat, drink and be merry. give gifts, sing and get fat around a fire. jews? yeah, we effed this one up pretty badly. passover we give up all leavening agents (i.e. bread, bagels, cereal and anything else with taste) and we're forced to eat shitty symbolic foods like charoset (that's yiddish for mix of sweet, salty and crappy stuff). yom kippur? yeah, well, we just give up all food and water for that one. at least on yom kippur we're not permitted to work. strike one against me. chanukkah is just silly. a bunch of jewish parents felt badly that their kids didn't get all the cool presents the christian kids did, so they started giving gifts too...one on each of the 8 crrraaazzzzy nights. woo hoo! oh, and there's no such thing as a chanukkah bush. just to let you know.

-kosher. who was the genius to come up with this one? oh, right. god and his prophets. damn. kosher means no shellfish (fine with me. i'm anti seafood), no pork, no mixing meat and milk (say goodbye cheesburger), and having everything in your house blessed by a rabbi. c'mon, do pickles really need to be blessed?

-friday night sabbath. so, why is the jewish god the only one that took his rest day a day and a half early? smart or lazy? you decide.

-language. granted, the christian religions (all 657 of them) originated in either latin or german. but each of those languages is easily learned/understood by anyone currently speaking a romance or germanic language. we and the muslims both goofed on this one. hebrew and arabic. different alphabets (ours doesn't even have VOWELS) and you read right to left. no wonder everyone converted to something else.

-calendar. i don't even know what year it is on the jewish calendar. they started it way, way, way before the christian calendar (for obvious reasons) and never reset the damn thing from zero. so, 2006 is something like 5767. that's too many years to keep track of. but, on a lighter note, it does make me feel younger.

so, my religion is nutty. it's kinda silly, actually. hence the reason i don't practice or pretend to do so. but, i'll bet yours is pretty funny too....which is why i don't believe in it either. l'chaim!

When the Saints Go Marching In

hyperbole runs rampant in sports. every game or match is a battle (with kellen winslow, jr. of the cleveland browns the main "soldja!"), the final seconds are always "do or die," there's "tremendous sacrifice" among players, and teammates trust the guys they "go to war" with. now, i'm a die-hard sports junkie but even to me, on most nights, the overstating of importance on a sports game by the announcers (have they really gotten THAT much worse over the past 10 years?!) and by the players in post-game interviews is not only aggravating, but often insulting to soldiers or heroes from other walks of life.

tonight, however, the importance and impact of a football game could not be overstated. after we all witnessed the sheer destruction of one of america's most renowned cities a little more than a year ago, the new orleans saints returned home to the superdome, site of some of the more embarrassing and saddening scenes during the katrina fiasco, for the first time in nearly 2 years.

everyone knew it'd be a big deal. i, for one, figured that somehow the network (ESPN) would make a complete circus of it and ruin the nostalgia and poignancy of the event. all week, the hype was built through all modern media. websites previewed the game and offered slideshows of the devastation juxtaposed with images of proud, rowdy fans gearing up for the game. highlights and analysis shows on all stations, not just ESPN, had wall-to-wall-blow-out-the-budget coverage, and radio dj's (even the ones on FM) were getting geeked for the showdown.

the run-up was tremendous....and we were all poised for a HUGE letdown. media contingencies, non-football fans, and celebrities alike descended upon the completely rebuilt superdome in the "big easy" for the welcome home celebration. kickoff was set for 8:30ET, but a delay was inevitable.

the opening montage was touching, recapping the utter annihilation of the crescent city. the schools, churches, clubs and virtually every free-standing building was destroyed by either the winds or the flooding. rhapsody, the music service, is sponsoring the "music rising" program,which is funding the replacement of instruments and studios destroyed by the hurricane, offered its own lowlights of new orleans' famous music scene affected by the disaster. it was all very sad, disheartening...especially knowing how little the government did to help anyone.

the mood shifted from sadness to pride and hope, as U2 and Green Day--2 bands neither of which i'm a huge fan--took to the stage setup at midfield. they sung some of their more recognizable hits, but changed the lyrics (predictably) to include mentions of new orleans and the surrounding areas. as cheesy as some of it may have been, it set off a string of emotions in me that i didn't know i had. music has a funny way of eliciting memories and thoughts one may otherwise supress. i felt the hair on the back of my neck raise a bit, followed by a wave of goose bumps as Bono and Billy Jo and the Edge chanted "here come the saints." for the first time, the phrase "this puts everything into perspective" that commentators are so fond of was ACTUALLY true.

the perspective here is that in the face of unspeakable tragedy, much like 9/11, sports offer a diversion, if only for 3 hours. they are an escape from the harsh realities we live. as importantly, the rebuilding and refurbishing of the superdome was a symbol of a city on the rebound. sure, the $185 million spent to fix the cornerstone of new orleans' convention and toursim industry could very well have been better spent on more police, firefighters, teachers, and other rebuilding efforts. but the value the rebuilding effort holds is completely immeasurable. new orleanians had, for the first time in 15 months, a safe place to gather and enjoy themselves.

the superdome is an icon, recognized by millions around the world as an architectural marvel. renovating and rebuilding it first was the smartest thing gov. blanco and mayor nagin could have done, as it put a familiar face on the city and kept the national spotlight on new orleans, where it should be. it will take years, maybe decades, for the remainder of the city and the region to be restored as closely to its original self as possible. in the interim, incremental steps, even symbolic ones like the superdome project, will make the remaining work a bit more tolerable and a bit less ardous.

my NFL allegiance resides in cincinnati. but tonight, even the most ardent homers were saints fans, and it was a bittersweet sight to see them go marching in.

Love and Sex - A Brief Review

it may be a bit effeminate for a straight guy to watch a chick flick. but every once in a while, one may stumble upon a movie that can transcend its atomic estrogen rating and reach new heights: a damn good film. earlier this week, this happened to me.

though it was actually the second time i'd seen it (stumbled upon it 2 years ago while channel surfing), "love and sex" (2000) is a great script disguised as a chick flick. ordinarily, i'd not give watching it a second thought, but a movie starring one of my favorite actors, jon favreau (before he began looking like he ate the old jon favreau) and the dutch uber milf goddess famke janssen is worth a try.

the film is a refreshing and honest look at the intracacies and psychological games of, well, love and sex. it follows a struggling journalist as she attempts to produce a piece on loving relationships. sadly, as she recounts her many failed trials in love, she questions whether she's even qualified to write on such a topic. any human worth the air he breathes can relate to at least one part of the film, whether it be the doting (yes, doting. look it up), the cheating, the make up sex or the essence of "timing," to name a few.

certainly those that enjoy the typical romantic comedy will like it, but even those that frequently watch dramas, action or artsy foreign films will appreciate a story wrought with sarcastic, clever humor and wit...which just may be why it appeals so strongly to this jeen yes.

1+1= 3

the time has come for me to fulfill my academic potential. i decide a few weeks back, along with my good friend cj, that it was time, finally, to head back to campus and pursue the ever-so-valuable MBA.

over the past couple of weeks, i've been haphazardly studying the sample materials that typically appear on the GMAT, perhaps the worst test ever invented by man, by dedicating exactly half my attention to said samples. naturally, the remaining 50% has been dedicated to people watching while i'm "studying" at my local bookstore/cafe. this week, however, my studies kicked into high gear as i spent the better part of 2 hours per night for 4 nights reading through monotonous lessons and attempting to solve sample problems--with a mere 15% of my attention dedicated elsewhere. not bad for an ADD-head.

while i've been adequately balancing my new job, my addiction to the gym, and my nightly study sessions, i've realized a few things:

realization #1: this college go-around is far more important than my first. this time it actually DOES matter where i go and how i do. there won't be any fraternity parties, though there will surely be plenty of young, tanned and toned coeds. there won't be any "weekends start on thursdays" mentality and, to a lesser degree, there won't be nearly the level of identification with my institution (point of order here, i went to EMU, a school with which i was too embarrassed to truly identify myself. instead, michigan was my identity, as it's a superior school with superior athletics to boot).

reality #2, i suck at math. i mean i REALLLLLLLLY suck. actually, i don't suck. i'm below "sucking" on the math chart of suckiness. i was terrible at math in both high school and in college. now, i've forgotten all the stuff i was so terrible at. so, basically, i have to work my way back to sucking just so i can potentially move beyond that and into the "mediocre" category. fun times.

observation #3: no matter how hard the coursework may be, school is infinitely more entertaining/satisfying than working. i've never been excited about a job. ever. in fact, even the jobs i didn't hate, i still hated simply because i hate working. i'm aware that an MBA will simply lead me to a higher level of job that i may hate, but hell, at least it'll be a nice 2-3 year break from waking up at 6am every morning, heading to an office, and having to fulfill obligations that really hold no interest to me. on the other hand, even knowing how effin hard a graduate program in business will be, i couldn't possibly be more excited about it. aside from pondering how on god's green earth W managed a degree from an ivy league school, my own post-secondary education occupies my mind the most. and chicks. man, how i love chicks. especially the ones with the.....ok, another time.

new fact #4: i'm an ego-maniac and a narcissist. i never really thought much about it before, but it's become increasingly clear to me lately that one of the true leading factors in my decision to go to grad school is that i have a big ego and that i want recognition above and beyond that of others. before, an MBA was just something "i've always wanted to do for myself." now, it's something i kinda need to do to satisfy the craving to have 3 letters after my name and to compete with my friends who possess post-secondary degrees (though only a handful claim MBA's). i also like to be seen with my GMAT book in public. it makes me feel important knowing that the other schlubs in my locale aren't trying to better themselves which, in the end, means i'm better than them. i'm not saying it's a good reason to go (it's not the primary one, so don't worry), but i'm okay with it. anything that furthers my love for myself is fine by me.

pensamiento final (final thought): money really DOES make everything better. i've worked a lot of jobs. i've never made a lot of money. hell, most of the time i'm making just enough to get by. and i grew to hate and/or resent each job over time. now, while an MBA is no guarantee of a high-paying job, it does increase the likelihood of receiving a nice offer over another candidate with a simple bachelor's degree, which means that even though i'm certain to eventually loathe that job too, at least i'll have the financial means to buy a slice of happiness. or a slice of pizza. mmmm, pizza.

so, in the coming year, i plan to leave the undergraduate world a bitter, job-loathing, poverty-stricken individual and emerge in MBA land an egotistical narcissist with money, 3 letters after my name, and i'll be better than 85% of you. can someone cosine on my loan?

Hut, Hut, Hike!

i could write a really lengthy post on just how much i love the end of summer/beginning of fall. i could reminisce about all the wonderful memories i had experiencing the midwest autumn (it's the ONLY time of the year i wasn't miserable there). and i could carry on and on about how the cooler temperatures are a welcome break from the oppressive summer heat. but i won't. know why? 'cause college football season is officially under way and kicks into high gear in a mere 9 hours. so fuck the long-winded memoirs. GO BLUE!

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!

after a 4-year hiatus, yours truly made his triumphant return to the pitch today and shared with the world the futbol gifts bestowed upon him by the almighty. in the pantheon of soccer (football, futbol) greats, there are men who require only one name: pele, beckenbauer, ronaldo, and maradona. add to that list, jeen--as in jeen yes.

ok, so there's some hyperbole at play here, but today was my first "regular season" soccer game since graduating college and let me tell you, damn was it fun. it was nice to get out there and run around, kicking a ball and chasing after it, and yelling at my less-talented, less knowledgeable teammates to do what i tell them. far greater was the satisfaction in knowing that not only had my knowledge of tactics (strategy), on field placement, and of the rules not faded in the years of my absence, but my skills (primarily passing) have not waned either.

like many all-time performances, mine was not without adversity. as many of the greats have and continue to do, i played injured, suffering through the pain in my foot due to some unknown cause (a trip to the podiatric specialist is all but certain at this point). the injury, i suspect, was sustained last weekend either while climbing a 14,000ft mountain, or in my participation in a scrimmage soccer match. in either case, i'd been hobbled all week by the malady, walking with a noticeable limp and often wincing--subconsciously--in agony as the pain shot through my extremity.

the match was a classic and i, having timed several well-placed passes and having made numerous runs on goal, was a marked man...by a kid that had obviously played in college (not intramurals like me. i mean actual college ball). the kid was good. very good. and very big. and very physical. i'd managed to avoid his charges for much of the first half, but in a freak instance during a challenge for a loose ball, his cleat connected with my foot--directly at the site of my injury.

unlike the players you've all seen in the world cup competition, i didn't fall down, writhing in pain, only to get up and sprint full speed down the field moments later. i took the jolt in stride, picked myself up from off the ground, and got back into the flow. until halftime.

injuries have a nasty habit of stiffening up during periods of non-activity and no movement. halftime, naturally, is both of these. so when the teams took the field for the 2nd half, i drug myself out there, but my foot didn't want to come.

i "gimped" my way through 35 more minutes of the pain before i'd decided i'd had enough. unfortunately, even my prowess on the pitch was not enough to single-handedly overcome a superiorly talented squad. the match was all but final (we were down 4-1), and i'd had enough.

i now have 2 weeks to heal or find out what's keeping me from demonstrating my true greatness and continuing my legacy. in the meantime, i will be practicing in my head, visualizing the next time i can show the world what a true footballer looks like: short, fat and jewish.

Pikes Peak

as promised, here are some photos from our almost triumphant climb up pikes peak. it's kind of a shame that the weather was so shitty, since the pictures would have come out much more clearly and would have given a better feeling of the awe-inspiring beauty of a 14,000 ft. mountain. but i think they came out well enough and are a collectively vibrant reminder of what a great time we had.

Pikes "peek"

PS. to view these without any written commentary, you can play this as a slideshow.

Mountain of a Man

i've driven through them, i've ridden my bike over a few of them as well. why, then, have i never climbed a mountain? good question. as of saturday, this question no longer applies to me.

flashback to wednesday evening: instant messenger pops up (note: conversation has been paraphrased to eliminate needless back-and-forth. also, i can't remember verbatim the conversation and don't really feel like copying and pasting the whole thing after looking it up).

sister: "what are you doing on saturday?"

me: "nothing really. spin class and lifting. then nothing. why?"

sister: "my friend will be in colorado and wants to know if you'd go hiking with her."

me: "sure. where does she want to go?"

sister: "pikes peak, i think."

me: "christ! she wants to hike a 14er when she's coming from the 1,000-above-sea-level midwest?

sister: "well, she's in great shape. she hikes alot around here and runs all the time."

me: "ok, have her call me and we'll talk about it."

sister: " ok. btw, she's really cute, so at least you'll have some eye candy as you climb a mountain."

me: "sweet. i hope you're right." end of conversation.

sister's friend and i talked on the phone for a bit, making plans and exchanging some personal background. she seemed cool enough and i was excited about hiking my first 14er. i didn't know what to expect regarding how we'd get along, but i was happy, nevertheless, to meet someone new and experience something i hadn't previously.

there are two distinct storylines of this tale: the interpersonal aspect, wherein i had the pleasure of meeting one of the most fascinating, sweet, and intelligent girls i'd ever met; and the physical facet of climbing a huge ass mountain.

i picked her up on saturday morning around 6am, with the expectation of arriving at pikes by 7am. unfortunately, we hadn't done our due diligence on the weather, events and other critical information and thus, hadn't realized that the pikes peak marathon was being held the day we wanted to climb and that most of the city of manitou springs was closed off to traffic, which cost us about an hour and a half just driving around looking for the trailhead. we finally hit the trail just before 9am.

if you're not familiar with mountain weather, here's a clue: during the summer, storms roll in by 2pm daily and subside sometime around 5 (foreshadowing). we'd planned for a 6 hour ascent to the summit, which sits at 14,100 or so feet. our ETA, due to our delayed start, was somewhere around or before 3pm.

we began our ascent, which was grueling from the start. i read, after the fact, that pikes is the steepest vertical climb of any of the 14,000+ foot mountains in colorado (a 7,400 foot vertical climb)...a great choice for a 1st hike. we paced ourselves wisely, stopping each 1/2 mile or so for water and to catch our breath, enjoying a "get-to-know-you" conversation along the way and during each pitstop. we stopped to eat every hour and a half, sharing the 9 energy bars we packed between the two of us, and took many pictures of the scenery (or what you could see of it - was horribly foggy) and of each other.

each mile seemed like 5 and was more physically taxing than the last. there isn't a whole lot of exciting detail to be had when telling as story about trudging uphill for 12.5 miles, other than the relationship building that occurs between climbing partners.

we shared stories about personal experiences, goals, etc., during which time i found out she's the female einstein -- a prodigy, of sorts, in analytical chemistry. and since i'd have loved an opportunity to hang out with her more, it's only natural that as my luck would have it, she also lives in ann arbor, where she's on full scholarship to complete her masters and her doctorate in chemistry at U of M. typically, people of her intellectual capacity are a bit lacking in the social skills common to more gregarious people like me. but, i was pleasantly surprised to find that she had a remarkably well-developed and well-rounded personality, complete with a great sense of humor and an ease about her when meeting someone new.

we reached barr camp, a cabin with some outhouses 6.5 miles from the summit, in decent time. a few hours later, we neared the treeline, which sits at about 12,000 feet. along the way, search and rescue volunteers warned us of a storm located about an hour and a half away, and advised against going to the summit. but since she'd come all the way from michigan and had her heart set on summiting, we carried on. we reached the treeline and headed up to 13,000 feet. finally, after imploring her for hours to turn around, the thunder rumbled, she realized that it was unsafe for us to go higher, and we began our descent. once we got back to the treeline, the skies opened, though, it wasn't rain that was coming down...it was bb-sized hail. we were 6 miles away from the nearest shelter, but thought it best to continue our trip down the mountain. we finally made it to barr camp 3 hours later, completely drenched. she apologized profusely for not listening and for putting me in danger and leading to my drenching. unbelievably, it was all i could do to smile and tell her it was okay. i wasn't in any rush and was enjoying her company.

the rain/hail finally subsided and we made our way back to the car, pushing the pace so that we were finished in just under 3 hours. all told, we spent roughly 12 hours on pikes peak....and it was one of the great experiences of my life.

for many reasons, i think i've become increasingly appreciative over the past several months of the occurrences and opportunities in my life. from this trip i left with 3 "takeaways," or lessons: i actually can do incredibly difficult things with the right motivation, i found a new friend in the world, and i learned never to fuck with mother nature, 'cause she's a bitch and she'll kick your ass.

(note: pictures will be forthcoming in the next couple of days).

Jesus did what tastes right

ah, wendy's. doing what tastes right was never so wrong. a product of my homestate, this buckeye establishment has grown to be one of the largest fast food joints in the world, supported by their traditional greasy, fattening and cholesterol-ridden food. and their music?

i was short on time and ducked into the red-headed step child's restaurant for a quick bite. given my condition, i wisely chose the grilled chicken without mayonnaise, a water, and a side salad for my meal. though it is "fast food," i certainly wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere, since all i had planned for the evening after running a few errands was relaxation. i got my order and chose the most isolated of the vacant tables.

taking my first bite into a leaf of crunchy (bagged) lettuce in my "salad," i heard a noise not common to food. it was a human voice that i hadn't noticed upon entering the restaurant. maybe my medications were causing some sort of hallucination of the audial variety? nah. i took another bite and heard the noise again. this time, however, it didn't stop. between bites i concentrated my energies on listening to what i was hearing. it really didn't take much concentration or energy, since it was now as loud as the music you hear while standing in the doorway of a nightclub.

"for you, oh lord, i lay my life down. jesuuuuuuuuuuus, save me and show me your love...." (paraphrasing, of course). at first i thought it was a fluke. maybe someone was tuning through the station dial or maybe it was just one of those "cross-over" songs we hear so much about. i continued to eat. for the next 20 minutes (i eat slowly, as it aids in portion control) the message that jesus loves me and everyone else in the restaurant poured through the speaker system at an amplitude not suited for something accustomed to playing muzak. appetite. gone.

for those who know me best, it is obvious that i found this galling and inappropriate. not only was i raised jewish, but i've developed over the years a severe disdain for all religion, the reasons for which could occupy the blogosphere in full on their own. adding to the irony was the fact that the restaurant is located just blocks from west gaza, er, the heart of denver's jewish and muslim populations (see, they can live peacefully next to one another after all. who knew?).

i've been known to raise a fuss, a mini tantrum you may say, when i feel i've been done unjustly. as annoying as the music was and as much as i can't stand religious messaging forced upon me, it just didn't merit expending energy to go talk to the manager to ask him to change it or turn it off. obviously, others had drunk their red bull today and thought differently.

2 middle-aged people, a man and a woman and presumably jewish, approached the counter and requested of the assistant manager just that. they were told that it was the manager's choice on what to play in the dining area and this manager, in particular, was fond of jehova-friendly tunes. a mini-fuss ensued and the couple stomped out angrily. i soon finished my, ahem, food and followed suit, glancing disapprovingly at the manager as i exited.

there's a time and a place for religious-based music--it's called church or in the comfort of your own car or home. where i don't have to hear it. granted, it's one thing if i have to listen to it briefly as you pull alongside me at a stoplight with your windows rolled down. sure, i'll make fun of you for being a sheep and needing constant reassurance that you're not going to hell (you won't, cuz it doesn't. fucking. exist), but nevertheless, it's your car, your space, and your choice. it's something completely different, however, to be blasting the music at death metal decibels in a restaurant where patrons have only 2 options to escape it: leave or be blessed to be deaf.

it's a great virtue of our society that people can hold their own beliefs and value what they choose. but to openly display such beliefs in public and to outwardly refuse paying customers who have expressly asked not to listen to it when they ask to have it changed or off is just poor manners. the restaurant that "does what tastes right" certainly left a bad taste in my mouth today.

Generation gap.

when i was a kid, my friends and i would run around our yards barefoot in the summertime throwing snap pops at one another because it was fun. it used to be that kids understood to play with their toys, not eat them. it used to be that the only safety measures kids really needed were a seatbelt and a few words from mom and dad.

we're now, apparently, regressing in our intellectual development. i saw tonite on the news that a group of researchers released a study showing that shopping carts are dangerous to children. amazingly, some 24,000 kids are injured throught the US annually in horrific, even tragic, shopping cart accidents. there have been similar warnings, usually around christmas, that the hottest toys of the year are dangerous to your child because there is potential that your kid could swallow a piece of said toy. amazingly, people were unaware prior to such reports.

i've watched, as many of you undoutedly have, as our society has been slowly (but not subtly) pussified over the last generation or two. shopping carts, escalators, and even toothpaste now have warning lables detailing the potential horrors of misuse. every thing, everywhere now comes with the message that you're potentially too stupid to use this item. i suppose it's not all that shocking, since we all witnessed some mental midget win millions of dollars in a lawsuit against mcdonalds for spilled coffee. regardless, it's sad that we're now so afraid of injury that even innocuous items like a set of bed sheets (pillowcase = suffocation) require detailed warnings about the numerous ways you can manage to hurt yourself.

further fueling the fear are the "reporters" bringing this "news" to us on a daily basis. it's disappointing enough to turn on the local newscast and see that a 5 year old boy was killed by his father in a police standoff (s. denver, 8/7/06) or that the people in the middle east can't quell the itch in their trigger finger with ointment. but to see such ridiculousness presented as news is, well, ridiculous. and while human interest stories are inevitably part of a newscast, a study finding that keds sneakers may have caused debilitating arthritic conditions in kids that may or may not have worn keds is not worthy of a place in the 30 minutes of airtime.

the debate about teaching evolution, intelligent design, or creation in our schools has been raging on for some time as well. but it's now a moot point, since it's obvious that evolution is the correct answer, as evidenced by the deevolution of human cognitive development. in fewer than 3 generations, we've morphed from visionaries and inventors who were making leaps and bounds in developments for all aspects of life to a bunch of mere imbeciles incapable of wiping our own asses without gashing the hole--and blaming the toilet paper manufacturer.

somewhere, charles darwin is both smiling and sobbing knowing he was right, but not foreseeing that his theory could work in reverse. of course, he'd have been here to experience all this if it weren't for that freak accident with the telegraph. if only it'd had a warning lable.

Sit back and enjoy the show...eventually

movie-going in the US has hit rock bottom. it used to be that you purchased your $3 tickets from the counter, walk into the theater, sit down, watch 3 brief previews, and watch your selected movie as it starts....on time.

eventually, corporate advertisers recognized the captive audience scenario and began creative ways of infiltrating the hallowed grounds of the cinema. brief reruns of old ads for coke, pepsi, and other confectionaries soon gave way to product placements in the films themselves. and now the advertisments have mutated, growing larger, stronger--and longer. ad space has been granted mini-movie status at some of the larger theater complexes and has brought the movie experience to an all-time low.

last evening, CJ and i headed to downtown 5280 to catch "you, me and dupree." every once in a while, even intellectuals need a mindless laugh or 10 (and what red-blooded american male doesn't want to see the new and improved kate hudson prance around in little undies? rave for another day...). we had it all planned out. we'd grab a quick bite at paramount cafe across from the theater, catch the 5:30 show, and still be back to my place in time for the first run of this week's entourage. we finished our average-to-above-average food and people watching at 5:20 and headed across the street.

by my time keeper (phone, i don't wear a watch), we bought our tickets at 5:30 and headed into the theater, fully expecting to walk in at the beginning of the previews. dead. wrong.

we headed to our seats and sat down staring at the blank silver screen. the lights were still on full blare, as if we'd arrived 20 minutes early, when in fact, we were almost 10 minutes late (CJ has a walking cast and walks slower than mr. magoo). the reel started, um, reeling and away we went....or so i thought.

it was 5:40, ten minutes after the scheduled showing of our movie, and only 2 hours and 20 minutes to entourage. "coke is refreshing." "if you're tired of dropped calls, drop your network and get cingular." "coke is refreshing." "toyota--moving forward." i fucking get it! coke is refreshing. now can i please have a pepsi?! "turn off your cell phones serviced by cingular." "regal cinemas thanks you for coming. enjoy your coke." the only thing that would have made this remotely entertaining would have been a genital herpes commercial. seeing 30 people in a theater all grow silent and stiff would have been priceless. no dice.

the previews, mercifully, started after 25 minutes of being an ad critic against my will. the movie guy voice filled the theater and introduced us to 5, not 3, 5 upcoming films. none of them enticing, by the way. i mentioned aloud how ridiculous this whole thing was, and had half a mind to find the theater manager and just start screaming. not that it would have done any good, but it would have made me feel better.

25 minutes of ads, 15 minutes of previews and 5 minutes of the compulsory "no talking, turn off your cell phones, enjoy our refreshments" messaging, the featured presentation finally started--about 45 minutes late.

this whole "experience" reminded me again of exactly why i hate going out to see a movie. sure, the film was, mindlessly funny, and kate hudson looked more amazing than anything i could have dreamed up (an image that will remain in my fantasies till my dying day), but i'm sure it would have been just as funny and she would have been just as unbelievably sexy if i waited a few months and rented the dvd, which can be controlled by a remote...with a fast forward button.

for a society controlled by the clock (read: NOT europe), it comes as a great surprise to me that a venue so regimented by time could so blatently disregard it. coke's money has now grown to even greater importance than patrons' time, which gives new meaning to the term "sold-out show."

one night in paris

paris hilton has been restored to her original splendor and beauty. this must be the most extensive, expensive of the "re-virgining" procedures i've been hearing so much about on the news. according to sources, it took about 2 years and $25 million to reverse the years of neglect she had endured. among some of her more, um, telling problems were leaking within her plumbing, her entrances (both front and rear) were no longer able to sustain the high volume of people coming in, and various issues resulting in a foul stench.

the project manager in charge of restoring hilton's grandeur acknowledged that though the extensive work had made significant improvements, there was still work to be done.

"the old paris hilton's star had faded and people were being driven away from her in droves by the sight and smell of her," said jacques baudrillard. "paris hilton is far from complete. so far we have only tackled her exterior and internal problematic areas. the next phase will be to add some sophistication and class to the old girl." good luck with that.

read more here: http://www.avantnews.com/modules/news/article.php?storyid=251

Old friends, good times, and an evil gnome

having been shit-canned by my employer of 2 years on monday, it was a welcome distraction when an old friend rolled into town on his way to the west coast. hollywood dropped by for the evening on his way to LA to fulfill his destiny: being rich eisen's bitch at NFL network.

it's been well over 2 years since we last saw each other (dates are fuzzy, but i think i was last in michigan about 2 years ago), and it was great to see a face from my past. he cruised in to 5280 around dinner time, took a much needed shower and we headed out to grub. he introduced me to his travel companion (no, not the talking GPS lady, though she sounded kinda hot), evil bob, who is a gnome dressed as david lee roth. he explained to me (as seen on the jet blach jabber) that evil bob is lawn gnome that he'd picked up a while back, brought on the trip with him to take pictures in random places, and someone whom he'd ultimately leave on his own somewhere between denver and LA to find his own journey.

as host, i took hollywood and bob on a mini tour of the city, as neither had been here before. i thought it fitting to go over to invesco at mile high, home of the broncos, for bob's cameo in denver. we hit a few other sites in the city and then crashed out for the nite.

the journey was to continue the next morning. we hit up starbucks for some breakfast before h-wood hit the road. we had some final moments of catching up, including conversation about who's doing what, with whom and where. it occurred to me that neither of us had really kept up with the entire circle of friends we had in college, but still managed to keep tabs on those really close to us. for the first time since i left SE michigan and all my friends, i realized one of the great truisms about life: when one moves on to bigger and better things, in the back of his mind, the world stands still for everyone he's left behind.

as i've been bouncing around from michigan to chicago to denver and who knows where next, i never gave a second thought that those i left behind had been living in the real world and developing their own lives as well. for some odd reason, i still picture them all hanging around our little ghetto college town, drinking at the same old establishments, and working shitty jobs just to make ends meet till the next best thing comes along.

i'm amazed that it's been 4 years since i left school, and more taken aback by the number of my old friends and acquaintances have moved out and on as well. most are married, many have moved to more impressive locales (i.e. chicago, new york, california, et al),and have incredibly successful and fulfilling careers. and some will never outgrow the college days. but who really wants to?

hollywood left to hit the highway, while i headed home from starbucks to piece together today's random act. the 5 minute drive provided ample time for me to reflect on all the memories that come with seeing an old friend. the 4 years since i left EMU have gone nearly as quickly as the 4.5 i spent there. and this is one of the few times when i really miss the old days and all of my friends.

i'm happy for shaun to have this opportunity and am actually a bit jealous of his cross-country trek. and though i obviously can't go back in time to re-live the "greatest years of your life" (seriously, did you ever think your parents would be right about anything, let alone which part of your life you'd enjoy most?), i can hold on to the memories that made those times so great while still living my life in the present. it helps to have an evil gnome to show you how.

So sue me

i'm a little late in reporting the week's most ridiculous item. as i'm sure you've undoubtedly already heard, this is the epitome of the frivolous lawsuit. some guy in oregon is suing both michael jordan and nike founder, phil knight, for a total of $832 million. more on the amount in a minute.

so, this guy, this allen heckerd, says he's tired of being mistaken for a basketball legend and feels he needs to be compensated, presumably, for the "mental anguish" it must cause him to be misidentified. he's also suing knight, i suppose, for continuing the jordan legacy thru his nike brand and, thus, perpetuating the hurt. so, let's list the similarities between his airness and his airheadness to really understand hecker's pain: bald, black, over 6' tall and wears and earring in the left ear. there you have it folks, a perfect clone of the greatest basketball player in history.

of course, it's not all bad. heckerd claims to be mistaken for jordan when he's ballin' at the gym, as he apparently has the game equal to the jumpman. despite the adulation and admiration of his basketball prowess, heckerd is pursuing his lawsuit to the tune of $832 mill. now, if i were to sue someone for a reason this assinine, i suppose it's natural to come up with a ludicrous number. but arriving at this ridiculous amount should at least be thought out, logical, and designed to actually make me look like a victim, not a complete dope. heckerd arrived at his figure in a manner that defies each of those parameters. his reason? "Well, you figure with my age and you multiply that times seven and then I turn around and I figure that's what it all boils down to." right.

i could launch into a diatribe about frivolous lawsuits and the litigation-hungry society we've become, but i have a friend that looks and sounds remarkably like dave chappelle. he's 27, times 7, carry the one...we'll be suing for $189 million. anyone know a good lawyer?

http://msn.foxsports.com/nba/story/5766288?FSO1&ATT=HMA

Kenny boy, Danny boy

enron chief mastermind, kenneth lay, took the easy way out and avoided serving his life sentence in prison by having a heart attack and dying (christ, i survived mine--and i'm only a thousandaire). this medical maladity was a bit convenient, i feel, but may as well be the justice "kenny boy's" victims craved. the man bankrupted thousands, even millions, of people with his elaborate scheme of corporate greed. now he is dead. somewhere, dubya is crying like a little girl that scraped her knee after falling while playing hopscotch.

to his passing, i've composed the following ode, dedicated to the villain that was kenny boy. he'll be sorely missed (by the other criminal cronies).

(adapted from the irish song "danny boy.")

Oh kenny boy, the prison bars were calling
From cell to cell, and all around the outside
the crime's been done, and all your followers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when the bulls set the tempo
Or when the dow's up and awash with dough
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh kenny boy, oh kenny boy, I hate your wretched soul

And if you come, when all the pitters are a-buying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and take a dime from me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will dark and haunting be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you 've too stolen from me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me. 

rest in eternal damnation, you son of a bitch.

Up in smoke

a double post for this friday nite (yes, i'm bored). in a scant 15 minutes, the smoking ban in the state of colorado goes into effect. of course the bars are open till 2am, so the ban will actually be en force in 2 hours and 15 minutes. music to my ears and to my lungs. and to my clothes. and hair. and taste buds.

yes, i was a smoker. oddly enough, even when i did smoke i never cared much for secondhand smoke. and now, as a non-smoker, i don't have to. partisan politics aside, our state legislature and governor (republican) actually deserve credit for all they've done to put this into effect. sure, they made concessions such as allowing smoking in cigar bars (of which there are approximately .5 in the state), in casinos, and smoking lounges at DIA, but seeing as how i don't venture to any of those three locales, i'm cool with it.

the measure was, as expected, met with great resistance from the bar lobby, but it has proven to be such a popular decision that even apartment complexes, as is their right as a private business under this act, have banned smoking. curiously, smoking tenants in these complexes have chosen to move out rather than quit.

my decision to quit wasn't really a hard one (harder to quit than to want to quit though). the thin air at mile high altitude was the first impetus, followed by a heart attack. easy decision from that point on, i suppose. but, if i were still a smoker, it occurs to me that when my state outlaws the act in virtually every venue i may possibly visit, i'd probably view that as an opportune time to quit. oh well. not my problem anymore.

smoke free colorado in t-minus 2 hours, 2 minutes. 2hours, 1 minute.........

Bartender, a beer for my kid!

....continuing with the theme from my last post about customer service after my, ahem, "experience" at the 'you can do it, we can help' store. i stopped back in to target tonite on my way to the gym to pick up some new headphones. i found what i needed and zoomed to the front of the line in the express lane. as i was completing my transaction, i heard a ruckus in the lane next to me.

almost as ridiculous as airport security personnel strip searching an 80 year-old white woman in a wheelchair on suspicion of terrorist activities is the policies retailers employ to regarding alcohol purchases to "comply" with the government's mandate a few years back to card anyone that doesn't look 30. in today's american society, however, it really is difficult to peg an exact age to people of the younger generation. after all, "i thought she was 18" is an excuse used in court. i digress.

the scene: target, express lane 2. an attractive woman, probably between 30-33 stands in line purchasing some cookies, bread, tylenol and a six pack of fat tire (mmmm) beer. with her stands her husband (yes, they are married. i could tell by the boulder on her ring finger), who is undoubtedly over 30, and quite possibly pushing 40. his face is weathered and starting to wrinkle. his hair is jet black with traces of gray around the sideburn area. oh, and they happen to have their kid with them that is probably around 5 (he can form a complete sentence in english. so, he's either a prodigy 2 year old, or he's of the age when verbal communication is the norm--i.e. 5.).

the clerk, who had the unbelievably annoying habit of talking with her eyes closed and was quite possibly, um, "special," asked the woman for her id. the woman obliged. the clerk, eyes wide shut, turned to the husband and asked for his. he didn't have it on him, and the SPED, er, cashier quickly grabbed the beer back and told them she couldn't sell unless the mid-30's man could prove his age. arguing ensued. the lady customer exclaimed that she had her id, was of age (like her husband) and wanted to speak with a "manager" (i love the gratuitous use of "" when talking about supervisors and others in leadership positions in retail environments. really gives the due respect to the position, i feel). the manager waddled over, yes waddled, took in the situation, and calmly gave the couple the same lame evasion-in-the-form-of-company-policy as the clerk. he did, however, offer the man the opportunity to run out to his car to grab his ID and come back in to prove he was over 21. naturally, he declined and they cancelled the entire transaction and left.

now, i certainly understand why the "over 30" law was written. i remember my underage days where folks like shaun and the wolfe twins and others would walk with me to the store and buy some "beer" (ok, in this instance the "" are in reference to the laughable quality of the alcoholic piss-water we drank in college. but surely you could figure that out....if you're over 30, of course). but in the legal system, there is something called "the spirit of the law," which is to say that yes, the law is in place, but can and should be interpreted and applied in a fair and logical manner--such as when a 20 something comes in with a teenager and tries to buy alcohol. but when a married couple, obviously of legal age of consumption, arrives WITH THEIR 5 YR OLD KID and tries to buy an adult beverage (and when it's 10pm on a friday night and no one else is in the store), what really is the harm in not making the man run out to his car to prove his age?


retailers in general are smart. they're smart about logistics, smart about pricing, smart about supply and demand and other business-related concepts. they make money hand over fist and funnel some of those funds back into training programs to teach their employees about said business principles. somehow common sense is too precious a commodity to spread the wealth.

You can't do it, and we won't help

if there was ever a moment when i have been truly embarrassed to be a part of the marketing/advertising industry, tonite was it. we've all long known that customer service in our country as eroded in a not-so-subtle manner over the past generation. it's also been understood that during the slide of customer attentiveness, advertisers and marketers have become less messengers and more spin doctors, aiming to shed positive light on the increasingly negative feeling consumers have when entering their local stores.

the spin-meister marketers are employed to create slogans, tag lines, and messaging to ingratiate themselves with potential buyers; to create a warm and fuzzy feeling deep within the consumer, as it were. take, for instance, home depot. surely everyone has heard the "you can do it, we can help" campaign the big box retailer has been espousing the past couple of years. tonite i found out that it is truly all about the spin.

this past weekend i went looking for a grill for my patio. i had little luck finding something adequate and in my price range, and i ended up settling on a little number from target of all places. unfortunately, in my haste to get a-bar-b-queing, i paid virtually no attention to the fact i'd just plunked down some dough for a charcoal grill--a no no in dry-ass, "we've got forest fires all over the damn place" colorado. more unfortunate still was the fact that i hadn't noticed any of this until i'd gotten the grill home, which, incidentally, was after i'd shelled out $47 for a tank of propane (and you thought regular unleaded was expensive? that's $3.13 a gallon!).

thankfully, the people at target were understanding and glad to refund my money on the grill, for which i'd thrown out the box and the receipt. i figured a 15-gallon tank of propane gas wouldn't be an issue. wrong.

i walked into the "we can help" store with my unopened, fully stocked tank of gas and waited patiently in line at the returns counter. upon seeing my tank of gas, the foreign girl at the counter freaked out, as if i were threatening to blow up her store with my highly flammable liquid fuel. she and her manager rushed my tank outside the store and placed it with the 50 other tanks.....10 feet from the entrance of the store. much safer i'm sure. nevertheless, i walked up to the counter with credit card and license in hand eager to get my much-needed money back. before i could even open my mouth to explain what i needed, the girl looked at me and flatly said, "no." i replied that she didn't know what i was going to say, to which her response was some barely-audible version of "we don't accept returns on propane."

i tore the return policy notice next to her counter off the pole it was taped to, put it on the counter, and asked her to point to where it says they can't accept this type of return. and before she could mention that i didn't have a receipt, i read aloud the section that clearly states that if a purchase was made on a credit or debit card, the purchase would be looked up in the system in the instance that the customer does not have a receipt present.

apparently stunned by my super-human abilities to read, write, and speak english, the clerk called for her manager with nary a word nor hesitation. her redneck supervisor, one of 3 on duty "managers," showed up about 5 minutes later and asked for a briefing. he agreed to refund my money and asked for the card with which i made the purchase. again, without hesitation, the "manager"looked at my card and gave me a half-assed "nope."

"nope? what do you mean, 'nope?'" i asked.
"i can't do it. i'm sorry. have a good nite." he replied.
"you didn't even run my card."
"i don't need to. i just know i can't do it. i'm sorry. BUT, i will give you store credit if you want."
"uh, no. thanks. i won't be coming back here again after tonite."

realizing that a complete meltdown could result in the cops being called, i calmly (but sternly) told both of them to wait where they were (yeah, right) for 10 minutes...i was going home to get my receipt.

i stormed back in roughly 10 minutes later--the store is only a mile and half from my apartment--and cut in front of about 10 people to the front of the line, placing the receipt politely in front of the clerk and her manager. without a word, he swiped my card, pushed a pen in front of me to sign the new receipt, and turned his back and walked away.

i'm not much of a handyman, but even i need the occasional trip to a hardware store. but, now that i've crossed home depot off my list of acceptable vendors, i'm left with few other options. and since the "you can do it, we can help" people won't, i'm hesitant to put my trust in "the helpful place" (ace) or the store that wants to "build something together" (lowes). my life may now be in permanent disrepair. damn the advertising man.

the white d-wade

it's been a while since i last wrote, and much has happened (all good...or for the most part at least). i'll write about some of those things later. but more importantly, a thought hit me when i was at the gym tonight.

i was getting some run on the court (that's "playing basketball" for the laymen), when i realized that i'm the white version of dwayne wade of the nba champion miami heat. really, there are only a few differences between the man they call "flash" and me: he's black, i'm white. he's tall, i'm short. he can dunk, dribble, pass, shoot, run, block shots, defend, buy cars, houses and fancy toys. i can't.

so there you have it. if you're ever out in the 'hood and happen by a pickup game of hoops, you'll know it's me the ballers are talkin' about when they mention the "white d-wade" or "white flash." now, where's my ring?

Welcome to the Real World

18 years ago mtv launched a novel idea. put 7 complete strangers in a pimped-out super house, give them a completely unattainable job, and see what happens. the drama, hilarity, and utter ridiculousness makes for great tv. er, made for great tv.

the first couple of seasons were fun. the people were "real," though their surroundings and circumstances were not. it was most certainly entertaining, at the very least, to live a rock star, silver spoon lifestyle vicariously. but, like all good things, too much is bad for you.

over the years, mtv recruited increasingly less sophisticated individuals. sure, you can argue that the backwoods kentuckian (i think that's what they're called. we simply called them hillbillies in ohio) from season 2 - los angeles was anything but a sophisticate, but i'd counter with the notion that he was a good guy that simply led a sheltered life somewhere in the bluegrass state. his intentions, as i see them, of being on the show were merely for the experience of it all--to meet new people, see new places, and learn from the whole thing. he was a respectable and respectful person, and for the intents and purposes of my point, he was a sophisticate.

fast forward to season 8 - hawaii. it is immediately evident, given teck's and ruthie's nude romp in the pool in the first moments of the premiere, that mtv wanted slightly less "nice" people, and substantially more edge. as therapists would warn, this is the proverbial slippery slope.

in the ensuing seasons, mtv has systematically ruined 9 cities by transforming its once novel experiment into a launching pad for instant celebrity (no water needed). now, they have decended upon my fair mile high city.

every city has its "it" place. you know, the hot spot where all the beautiful people come to drink insanely overpriced drinks for the privilege to hang out in the trendy bars and clubs; to see and be seen. detroit has royal oak, chicago has lincoln park, new york has the village, and la, well, all of la is like that from what i can gather. some of us despise the type of people that infest these areas. some of us actually are these people. regardless, it is common belief and concensus that these areas have enough of the stereotypical chads and trixies to survive a long, long time. so, why, mtv, why the overkill with adding more of "that'" type of person, especially when they're transplanted and likely to draw the ire of the locals, rather than going back to your roots and casting "real" people with good intentions that accentuate the personalities of the cities you've invaded?

though the added drama and hijinx these 20-something actors/waiters/jocks/drunks bring to the areas they infest (witness the dude from the san diego show getting his face crushed in a street fight 'cause the simpleton couldn't keep his drunken mouth shut) is often infuriating, i've come to realize that it's the lack of credit the show gives to the hosting town that really pisses me off.

i've never been to new orleans, honolulu, or even la (thank god for small favors), but i'm fairly certain there must be more to these places than just the bars. ok, maybe not la, but new orleans had (pre-katrina) much more to offer than rue bourbon...from what i'm told. hawaii has a fascinating ancient culture and, as importantly, a prominent place in american history (something about pearl harbor being bombed or something comes immediately to mind). god forbid mtv actually illustrate some real culture, or worse, show its subjects interacting with that culture rather than the club one.

as surely as i can paint with a broad brush the archetypes of the "real world" characters (the token gay guy, the token black guy, the hillbilly with an abusive father, the skater kid that drinks too much, the innocent virgin from an elite east coast family, the normal college kid that left his girlfriend behind to tape the show, and the 19 year-old pouty pants that whines and broods over every decision made), mtv has similarly painted each town it visits with the same strokes. new orleans is rue bourbon and nothing more. chicago has little more to offer than (my beloved) the cubs and rush street, and seattle only contributes coffee and grunge rock to society.

thankfully, denver isn't really known for much aside from its altitude, the mountains, and the fine, fine looking people that have moved here. as expected, friends and i have spotted the real worlders trapsing about LoDo (lower downtown for those of you outside 5280) followed by camera crews. i'm certain now that upon airing, those that don't live here will know little more about denver than its thin air and the abundant microbrews. i guess reality is perception, and this is the real world.

The Babe Didn't Wear Pink

it is called our national pastime. a game played in hallowed stadium, in timeless uniforms. it has long represented the pysche and persona of america. a game invented by americans (allegedly), for americans (but only 50%, the other half are latinos). and as of the last 15 years, it's a game played by steroid-riddled, egomaniacal, multi-millionaire asshats. this is baseball.

for all the scandal of steroids, the storylines of barry bonds' chase of babe ruth and hank aaron, broken curses (and those that continue....thanks cubs. you suck), baseball has finally done something worthy and right--though it will hardly get the media attention it deserves.

sunday, may 14th is mother's day. according to MLB, it's also the opportune time to help raise awareness and money for the susan g. komen breast cancer foundation. as a lifelong baseball fan and a newly initiated member of the society of people that donate things, this is a very proud moment for me. however, it's not mlb i'm proud of, it's the very same "me" guys that play the game that are allowing this to happen.

starting sunday, some of the biggest names and brightest stars of the game such as david ortiz, jim edmonds, derek jeter, and adam dunn among others, will be sporting pink wristbands and swinging pink bats for a week. home plate and each of the bases will be emblazoned with a pink ribbon emblem and all items will be auctioned off at week's end, with all the proceeds donated to the foundation.

for all the negative attention the game and its players have gotten in recent years and for all the ways the selfishness and egos of these overpaid athletes manifests itself (e.g. steroids, contract disputes, union grievances, throwing bats at umpires...i could go on), it takes a humble man, a big man to stand in front of 40,000 people--often on national television--sporting a pink bat and a near-pink uniform.

the sport's greatest symbol, its icon, babe ruth, was many things: a womanizer, a drunk, a smoker, an adulterer. he was, and to many still is, the greatest player to ever live. baseball is a game whose players are defined by their statistics and no one was more statistically dominant than babe ruth. but for all his accomplishments--the world series titles, 714 home runs, most walks and strikeouts in history, and single-handedly bringing misery to the boston red sox for nearly a century-- the larger-than-life babe ruth never wore pink.


if you'd like to make a donation this mother's day to the susan g. komen breast cancer foundation, visit www.komen.org

or, if you prefer to donate to another worthy cause, the denver heart walk sponsored by the american heart association (of which i am a proud participant), please click the link below to visit my personal donation page.

https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=122700&lis=1&kntae122700=7866AEE7097F4D6AA068B9FB0C131A47&supId=129111124

Heartwalk Fundraising Begins

to part with the normal theme of my posts, i write today to inform all readers (and by all, i mean exactly 3) that i have officially registered a team today to participate in the denver heartwalk 2006, put on by the american heart association (www.americanheart.org). the event is scheduled for saturday, june 3 at 8:30 am. for many of you, participation isn't likely, as you're not colorado residents (but hey, if you want to come out for a visit....). however, if you'd like to support the cause in absentia, feel free to follow the link below to make a donation on behalf of my team. any amount is helpful and greatly appreciated.

i'm ordinarily not much one for charity or philanthropic efforts, and in this case my motives are purely selfish. i have a personal vested interest in helping fund the education, prevention and treatment of heart disease so that others won't endure what i went through (december 22, 2005). i hope my friends, family and anyone else reading this can empathize and will support this worthy cause.

happy heart, happy life.

http://heartwalk.kintera.org/faf/home/default.asp?ievent=122700&lis=1&kntae122700=6AF3DBE6742A48D680690A05837FE2E4&login=o

(click on sponsor participant, search participant name: scott stransky. the rest is intuitive)>

Could ya sleep?

saturday was a boring day. the baseball games were shitty, the weather was ok at best, and my pecs and abs were absolutely on fire from the previous night's and that day's workouts. so, by night time i'd had enough and called up some friends to go out. these people are ordinarily the club scene kids, longing to shake their asses on crowded dance floors, to shitty music, with watered-down drinks. saturday night, however, was "dive night."

i ventured over to meet the crew at kazmos (yes, the bar is about as retarded as the name), and after 15 long minutes, we bolted. place was dead and too much of a dive for even the most ardent dive-bar goers. we mosied (is that seriously a word?) over to hoffbrau, a little less dive-y place around the block. the music was okay, there were actually people in there, and the beer specials were utterly ridiculous.

roger (10-4 good buddy) and jess made their way to the pool table, where they met johnny, a 50-something greased up guido (package included black leather jacket, tight black t-shirt, gaudy silver cross pendant, and of course, paulie walnuts-like slicked-back greasy hair). johnny seemed friendly enough at first, in an irritating type of way. thankfully, i had some friends sitting in a bo0th, so i was able to split my time between playing pool next to johnny and drinking disgusting (but well priced) beer with some friends across the room.

the 2 friends in the booth (we'll call them jordo and wilson to protect their anonymity) slipped out and presumably hit the strip club. roger was so completely tanked by the time he arrived at the bar that i'm amazed he could stand up straight enough to play pool. jess walked him home just before he passed out. that left greg and me......and johhny.

greg and i took over the booth and the 2 pitchers of (free) beer left behind by our compatriots. the waitress, anne (a cutie little asian) joined us since the traffic was slow. johnny saw me, came over, and against all prayers, sat down right. next. to. me. i played nice, hoping he'd not say a word and just go somewhere else and bother other people--preferably the ginormous mountain of a man at the table across the aisle (with the fine little blondie). my wishes were not granted and johnny began to talk.

it is a widely known fact (i use the terms "widely" and "known" very liberally) that the usual suspects is one of my all time favorite films. and why not? what, with its twisty plot lines, amaaaaaazing acting (thank god for kevin spacey) and the dreamboat that is gabriel byrne, how could anyone not love this movie? anyway, it's one thing to love a movie. it's completely another to meet a character--especially one as, um, "odd" as benicio del toro's fred fenster. johnny, i'm convinced, was fenster.

after reminding us (literally) 32 times that he's 44 years old, and complimenting me for being "good people" (maybe it was paulie's cousin?), things turned a bit more, how shall i say, scary. looking straight at greg, johnny asked repeatedly, "if you killed a man, could ya sleep at night? could ya sleep? could ya sleep?" with johnny mere inches from his face, greg let out a wimpering "uhhhh, no. i don't think so." johnny continued to profess that if the money is right, he'd kill. but only for his brother. and only, gulp, for me. i thought surely he was joking. but after comparing me to john belushi (seriously, i couldn't even make that up), his attention turned back to killing people without remorse. i think i may have even heard him use the term "shank."

at any rate, i was at this point scared shitless. now, back in college i used to be a pretty good drinker. so when greg gave me the "chug whatever's left so we have an excuse to get you out from the booth and leave" look, i harkened back to my swilling days. we downed a full pitcher in mere seconds, told johnny guido we needed another drink from the bar, and sprinted out the front door and into oncoming traffic. it was the safest i'd felt all night. fugetaboudit.

Bill me later

once in a great moon, some of the more fortunate people in the world get to come face to face with their idol, their hero, their mouthpiece, so to speak(ha! funny pun). i'm not one of those fortunate few, but tonight i did get to watch my idol from a distance.

since his comedy central days with PI, i've admired bill maher from a distance. a long distance, and with a television firmly planted between us. tonight was different. bill graced our fair city of denver with his presence at the paramount theater.

chad and i bought our tickets nearly 2 months ago in anticipation of this glorious night. we stopped at the espn zone for a quick bite and to take in the day's sports highlights. then it was down the 16th street mall we went to see billy boy.

we had some witty banter with others going to the show, namely an older couple who managed to make mention that they don't get enough, um, "lovin" (trust me, you had to be there). we entered the building and took our seats. well, i took my seat. chad had to wedge himself in his, since i strategically positioned myself two chairs from the albatross seated in the adjacent seat. uncomfortable as chad was, the show finally began....20 minutes late. typically los angelan.

the "real time with bill maher" intro music blared and bill came out to a roar, a standing ovation in some parts of the venue. chad could not stand, as the friction between his body and the rolls of lard seeping into his seat from the mammoth next to him was far too great for one man to bear.


bill started into his routine, much to my delight--delight that turned a bit toward disappoinment about 20 minutes into his 1:15 routine. you see, the reason i love bill is because he expresses nearly my every thought and opinion on politics, religion, sex, scandal, and other topics covered by media outlets such as fox "news," msnbc, and your local newscasts. naturally, i expected this to be the crux of his show. what we could not have anticipated, though, was actually seeing this routine before it was even performed.

there is a saying that good artists borrow and great artists steal. bill is a thief. he stole, nearly verbatim, many of the jokes and one liners used on his HBO series. and thus, my dissatisfaction. the point of live entertainment is to be entertained with fresh perspectives told in a joking manner and with a recognition of the performer's surroundings, not to be able to recite the performer's set for him. lewis black and dave chappelle each tailored their respective sets to the denver crowd, often cracking wise about the mentality of the city or blasting its politicians (or commending them...like for the whole marijuana legalization thing). bill didn't do this. in fact, up until the 30th minute of his set, i wasn't certain he knew where he was. then he dropped the name denver and i knew he was among us.

still, there were many laughs, mostly on jokes or rants i'd not yet heard. but the overall impression i got is that bill didn't or doesn't care enough about his stand-up routine to refresh it or talk to the inhabitants of the city he's in. make no mistake, i enjoyed myself. there are few better ways, in my opinion, to spend a sunday evening than listening to my mouthpiece rant and rave and preach on about the issues of the day. laughter is good for the soul. sadly, my greatest laugh came when the monstrous, sweaty beast sitting next to chad stood up after the finale and chad rejoiced at the ability to once again move his extremities.

so, bill, i know you make fun of people with blogs, claiming they're egocentric (we are), but if you're reading this, next time you come to denver or i go to see you perform, can you make me laugh with stuff i haven't heard? i really hate paying $45 to be entertained by the hippo sitting next to my friend, wedging him into a cramped seat with her rolls of fat. gross.

1-800-DIPSHIT

in the weeks following my last visit, i grew tired of waiting for the doctors (primary doctor and 2nd opinion guy) to get their collective shit together and make a decision on what i'm supposed to do with myself. so, i made the decision for them and hopped back on my bike.

the last time i rode any significant mileage was back in october, just before it got cold, after i came down with a 3 week cold, and 2.5 months before my, er, heart issue. it's been a while. last week i set out on the cherry creek trail intent on riding about 5 miles to see how i felt. 5 miles turned to 15, which turned to 17 by this past weekend.

after an off-day, i saddled up again today and set out for my above-leisurely-paced-and-below-frenetic-sprint ride. everything was going smoothly on the way out. i rode with some nice people, including a few female riders who i wouldn't mind becoming very friendly with. that point aside, the return trip was an adventure...as adventurous as a road bike ride can be.

it's not uncommon for people to not pay attention when they're on a leisurely stroll on a path. it's also not strange to see both cyclists and drivers not on high alert and not sharing the road. what is strange, however, is when all the crazies and idiots come out at once when there isn't even a full moon.

on my way back, i noticed for the first time the amount of bums living under the bridges along the bike path. i only noticed this time because, to my surprise, i had to make a concerted effort to avoid the trash they'd strewn about on my way. some would ask for change as i whizzed by at 20 mph, others would just yell at me inaudibly. pedestrians today were especially ornery, not willing to move out of the middle of the 8 feet wide path till the last second and walking 4 across. with only 4 miles left to home, the military obstacle course began.

riding along on the path, next to one of the busiest streets in the city, i encountered a middle-aged lady wearing a fedora who was waiting for the bus. she saw me coming from at least 100 yards away. rather than pick a side and move, she squared her shoulders to me as if she were going to tackle me football style. i slowed as i approached her and she began the dance you do when you and another person can't decide which direction each should go (remember kids, it's the same rules as there are on the road--oncoming traffic to the left). i slowed to a crawl, nearly falling off my bike--not something i'd recommend if you're clipped into your pedals. she and i exchanged some words, and a very large, intimidating man passing at nearly the same time and wearing a 10 gallon hat chimed in. needless to say, my words were much more carefully chosen than his.

anyway, i avoided a vehicular homicide charge, crediting my manners and vigilance. my luck would continue....but barely. continuing along the same busy stretch, i caught up to a group of nice riders with whom i'd had a pleasant conversation earlier. in the distance i could vaguely make out the figures of a mom riding with her 2 kids trailing. the masses of humanity were rapidly approaching a very narrow stretch and would meet in front of the country club.

i put my head down for a moment to really dig in, since i was pedaling uphill, and just as i was about to look up--BAM! mom, kids, and big group of cyclists right in front of me are all on the ground. a cell phone came flying at me and hit my handlebars. i stopped, completely astonished at the situation. i got off my bike walked over to see if everyone was okay, and brought the phone along with me. i asked aloud whose phone it was and then i heard a voice coming from the receiver. the mother reached out her hand and told me it was hers. i handed it over to her and she put it up to ear to tell her husband she was okay. unfuckingbelievable! this mother of the year was talking on her cell phone while riding a bike with her 2 kids behind her along one of the busiest streets in the city!

the carelessness and stupidity of some people is mindboggling and flabbergasting at the same time. much like the DUI hotline, i think the cycling community should come up with one of its own to report people who are potentially putting me in grave danger. if you see someone in your community acting irresponsibly while operating a human-powered vehicle (bikes are considered vehicles in colorado), call 1-800-DIPSHIT to report them. just make sure you get off your bike first.

Stick a Fork In Him, He's Dead

quick post tonight...i'm tired.

this story is odd. it's bizarre. and it's probably not true, or there's more that the 5.0 aren't telling, but i'm not certain which is worse: to be (allegedly) killed by getting stabbed with a salad fork as you wrestle drunk in your front yard, or that your parents thought so little of you when you were born to name you Timber John Wolfe. poor guy.

http://www.thedenverchannel.com/news/8183962/detail.html

It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

it used to be that my birthday, any birthday really, was a huge event. when i was young there were parties...but i didn't have clowns. i hate clowns. that clown from "it" scared me shitless and....oh, tangent. back to the point. i had birthday parties. my friends had them too. high school was mostly just hanging out with friends, having dinner with the parents, or whatever i felt like doing that particular day.

college was a completely different story, at least from what i can remember of it. my 21st was epic, like most would claim theirs to be as well. i actually had my first cavity filled the morning of my 21st, and spent the rest of the night in a complete drunken stupor. fantastic is how i'd describe it. the 2 or 3 years following graduation were fun too. usually spent at a bar in chicago, i'd go out till all hours of the night and end up calling into work the next day.

today is my birthday. i'm not sure if it's the sobering experiences i've had in the last 3 or 4 months, the fact that the weather is shitty on my "special" day for the first time in my memory, or the fact that i have so fewer friends here than i ever imagined i would, but today doesn't feel special. it feels like a monday. any monday.

i went to work today, to a job i hate incidentally, and went through the motions of what i perceive to be doing a good job. there were the obligatory "happy birthday"s from people that don't really care, and phone calls and emails from those that do. i got some money, as is the custom on march 20th, because for some reason i hate receiving gifts. but when i got home, i found only my dogs waiting to be taken out and an empty calendar, devoid of the watering hole activities i've grown accustomed to.

it's odd to think, but there's a battle going on in my head about what today really means. on one hand, it's very depressing to me that i don't have enough friends or enough knowledge of the area to go out and have a good time. and i've become an old fart, since i no longer care to go out till even 11pm on a weeknight, knowing i'll have to be up early for work. and it's equally saddening to think back to the days when my birthday was such a blast and the stark contrast in which they stand compared to today.

on the other hand, birthdays are just like any other day. or so i tell myself. today is monday. tomorrow is tuesday. same thing with a different spelling. i got up, went to work, came home. tomorrow i'll get up, go to work, and come home. really the only difference is that tomorrow i won't have anyone wishing me a happy anniversary of my birth, which i'm totally fine with.

what irks me is that the transformation from day of drunken fun and irresponsibility to day of regularity and mundane tasks came and went without so much as a hint that it was coming. at what point does your birthday become just another day? is there a standard number of years on earth where when you reach it you just stop caring?

it could be that i'll celebrate this weekend with some friends and have the time then i thought i'd have tonight. or, it could be that i won't do anything at all but sit back and reflect on how shitty the past 4 months have been and how i'm just grateful to even have another chance to celebrate the fact that i'm alive. for the past 26 years, 364 days of my life, i never cared, never even thought of expressing gratitude on a day supposedly dedicated to receiving attention.

today is different. i received a card each from my parents and from my grandmother. i've never been one to read the cards, but rather rip open the envelope and see how much money i got. today i read them. and then i broke down in tears. this birthday, though not nearly as entertaining as the others, is certainly more memorable. i guess this is growing up.