You'll beg me not to leave you...

For quite a few months now, I’ve been gazing at this amazing little portal into another dimension.

You see, a few months ago, I applied and was accepted to a number of graduate programs very much NOT in my current field and in very much WARMER, PALM TREE-LINED climates. Obviously I wussed out because...well, I’m a wuss.

Fate: Hey! Try something new with your life!
Me: Nah.

Anyway, these PALM TREE-LINED campuses keep sending me reminders to register for classes, find housing, apply for funding, and even meet my new professors. I haven’t the heart to unsubscribe. In fact, I NEED these communications lately. They come with pretty images of campus and I start fantasizing about going to college to learn all over again. Actually, those fantasies more or less involve me living on the beach and having a six-pack. Wha?

With the pictures of palm trees, I start thinking about the missed opportunity I had with the aquarium fundraising offer. I mean, constant beach/sand/pool/sea turtle life would be quite welcome right now. Plus I love enchiladas and margaritas and this place was like forty paces from the Mexico border (only if you’re bring chased under the light of a new moon). The pay vs. cost of living also would have me probably owning some sort of water recreational vehicle. For sure. Oh, plus pools in every apartment complex. Makes the 5x5 backyard deck seem not so cool, huh?

Alas, portals into other dimensions are often rose-colored, at least in my sad and sardonic universe: First, my mentor for my favored grad program was killed in a motorcycle accident this summer. That means, I would have made plans and moved to Florida only to not be trained by the best. Also, everyone knows that grad school is NOT undergrad bong-filled frat parties and instead perseverance and academic competition.

Secondly, the aquarium I would have been employed at is currently witnessing the Eye of God (aka eye of Hurricane Dolly). As I say no more to Iowa, God’s wrath washes away the entire business district; I say no to Corpus Christi, Hello Dolly; I say no to graduate school and the lead professor has an accident.

.

So maybe all of these decisions (are they regrets?) were the right ones. But then again (how often do you get to quote Fight Club?): "On a long enough timeline..."

Who is cool? I am.

Sunday, I saw Dark Knight like everyone else in America who’s cool.

My opinion? It was too loud, too long, and I left the theater with the urge to jump off of a tall building. EVERYTHING a summer blockbuster should be! Action flicks should be nothing but eardrum rupturing explosions roaring away for two and half hours while instilling our male youth with a false sense of invisibility. On my deathbed, my only regret shall be that I didn’t somehow acquire superpowers.

As for all the talk about Heath, I could barely tell it was him under all that glorious insanity (will someone practice the disappearing pencil trick with me? I'll be Joker). A minor disappointment was that Batman’s fighting technique more closely resembled “barroom brawl” when compared to the stealthy HOW DID YOU COME OUT OF NOWHERE TEACH ME ninja moves from Batman Begins?

Monday, apparently the sky above Chicago—like most roads, train tracks, elevators, stairways, and sidewalks—is under construction. Covering it until repairs are complete is an ominous, misty, warm, cloud (see picture...which is also goes well with the Dark Knight convo). I call it God’s Armpit mainly cuz the city also smelled like the world’s biggest one. It's better than calling it The Mist, which would give me daymares of walking to the train. PS have you seen this movie? I recommend it if you feel like hating humanity for two straight hours then being swiftly punched in the nuts.

On my way to lunch, I nearly ran into my old boss. It was soooo obvious that she had seen me—but deliberately ignored me—because I could read her lips which were silently wording a prayer that I’d ignore her the same. Normally, I’d quash all that hope and lavish loud and awkward conversation all over her face. But I also left that job with us both agreeing I was a shit-for-brains slacker. So I played her game. Thank you, years of 9-5ing...thanks for transforming me into just a shell of who I used to be...

why not me?

You have no idea how pissed I am not to be in line for Dark Knight. Damn you, IMAX website!!!!

Obesity in America

There is something incredibly therapeutic about consuming string cheese. My guess is that it’s the only time you are encouraged to play with your food, save for peeling fruit. All of our food should be peel-able before eating.

In my 27th year of life, I’ve finally started eating better. I feel this is quite an accomplishment, considering my upbringing AND the fact that I’m doing this now and not 10/20/never years from now.

As a growing boy, my scrawny body worked really hard to absorb every last existing nutrient out of Little Debbie HoHo’s and pop. I grew up on a farm where vegetables were really only consumed 3-4 months out of the year (garden) while the rest of my meals consisted of fatty beef or pork (one time pets of mine) combined with potatoes, potatoes, and more potatoes. And soda. Averaging 2-4 a day. My dear readers, this should come as no surprise, especially when you reference the state of Nebraska on this map.

High school and college eating habits were predictable enough: whatever I could afford, meaning fast food (fear not Wendy’s, I’ll never stop loving you…from afar), noodles, or colorless cafeteria fare.

With full time employment and free evenings post-graduation, menus were (still no complaint here) alcohol and late night pizza. I’d actually hope that I’d pass out before finishing the WHOLE pie.

Then came the doctors appointment a few months ago, where I was shocked (!?) to learn I had high cholesterol. This, combined with a less than impressive midsection, led me to believe that perhaps the exercise and healthy-eating habits of others weren’t simply a fad I could continue to ignore.

So now, I run and swim and stick to a depressingly “diet-sounding” diet authored by some healthnut douchebag at Men’s Health. (I really should be getting paid for glowing endorsements like this.)

I am again shocked (!?) to see that it works. I feel betterish, more energeticish...all those things annoyingly fit people say to others. The belly will always need work of course; you can’t expect to work miracles against arteries clogged with 27-year-old high fructose corn syrup.

And let’s be honest, I’d still kill for a slice of pizza and a Mountain Dew.

So pretty...

Thanks ang for pointing me in this direction. I've played with word cloud generators before, but this one is the prettiest.

This morning I thought I saw Donald Sutherland on Michigan Avenue. Though misplaced and in error, the resulting excitement has left a residual smile on my face. Turned out to be a homeless man, to whom I gave a quarter.


Unrelated: There has been some speculative debate that the Large Hadron Collider (I mistyped one of those words on the first try, btw) will be plugged in after completion and immediately create a black hole that swallows the earth. In the name of science, build the damn thing, already. Any negative result—such as a black hole—is probably the coolest way to die ever, and I’d drag all 6.8 billion of you with me. Paradoxically (fun! cosmo-speak!), the prestige of dying as a result of being squished to singularity is pretty much lost when 6.8 billion go the same way.

Clarification: Chances it creates a black hole are apparently minimal and even if so, it would probably evaporate immediately. Yeah scientists, I’m sure you’ll be screaming that when you hit the event horizon.

Homework: Use “In the name of science!” somewhere in conversation today. Let me know how it goes.

A Necessary Weekend

It is truly amazing what an early Friday dismissal from work can do for the rest of your weekend. Between the extra time to catch up on rest and more time at the gym, Saturday and Sunday found me far more relaxed and in control of my schedule than I can remember in many moons.

Each weekend morning, I exploited the agreeable morning weather for a walk to catch up on Radio Lab podcasts. These are so incredibly entertaining; I can’t rave about them enough. One live show in particular focused on the War of the Worlds radio hoax back in the ‘30’s – I can’t imagine a more interesting way to learn about what turned out to be a neat though unintended sociological experiment. Also unknown to me was that a Mexican radio station attempted to revive the hoax a few decades later…too well perhaps. The ensuing panic resulted in six deaths. Sad, yes, but if you want to go back to being happy, be sure to listen to the Laughter episode next. Passerby's on the street will certainly think you're crazy...

My work week will stand in stark contrast to the weekend—I am managing two sponsor projects for this month’s First Fridays event. Both require lots of hands-on-ness and I’m lighting a candle each evening requesting that Mother Nature not rain on this expensive parade (both figuratively and meteorologically—forecasts predict a precipitous doom).