What's on Your Mind?

"I blacked out, and when I woke up... I could hear what every woman around me was... thinking. Talking personal, private stuff. The stuff that nobody is supposed to hear, I hear that stuff."

As most of you have already deduced, that is a quote from the charming, perfect-for-TBS movie, What Women Want. This came across my viewing list last night as I was trying, and failing, to get tired. What follows in this writing will incidentally analyze the movie in addition to the reason for starting this. So read on, mind readers.

If you could have the ability to hear the thoughts of those whom you are attracted to, would you? Not 'just for a day,' not 'sometimes,' not 'only when I really need it.' Full blown, can't turn off, everyone around you, at all times. Yes or No.

Instead of exploring both sides and being all diplomatic like my astrological sign tells me I'm supposed to be, I'm just going to flat out tell you no, I would not like this 'talent.' Now here's why.

My biggest problem is the lost excitement that vanishes without the presence of mystery. Secrets keep us wanting. If you get the answer before you even ask the question, then relationships would be fast forwarded. There would be no more guessing. With no guessing, there would be no chances. No risks. Everything you did would be calculated. Programmed. Fake. Insincere. And while you may have the strongest feelings in the world for whomever you are talking to, your intentions are immediately compromised when you already know the answer. So what's the fun in that? If there's never any risk, there's never any reason to 'jump, and hope to God you can fly.' That vulnerability is everything. Vulnerability is a good thing. It's what keeps us human. And keeps us alive. That's why I live.

The other main issue is related, but now delves into the movie a bit more. So to spoiler the movie for you, Mel Gibson falls for Helen Hunt because he gets to see the real her by listening to thoughts that no one else gets to hear. And she falls for him because he 'learns' how much of an asshole he was and becomes a new man. All sounds good right? Well what a sham that relationship is based on. He wooed her because he could read her mind. And she wooed him because she showed a side of herself that no one would have ever seen. What kind of crock of shit is that? THAT is what a relationship needs to be based on? That is true love?? Soul mates??

People get to see what you show. You get to see what people show. The rest is a game. The right game pulls on cords of passion, joy, frustration, determination, sacrifice, and ultimate success. That's what living does. And this is one game where I don't want the cheat codes.

Saying Goodbye

It appears I didn't find my way to posting last night, so like a good writer, I am sacrificing my lunch hour to write. That is my penance...

Saying goodbye can be hard. [Insert lengthy rambling description of what kind of goodbyes there are and what makes them hard or sad or relieving] But you already know that.

Whether unfair or unexpected or unwelcome, goodbyes get a bad rap. rep? rap. So I'm here to clear their records. All of em. The lot of em. They're all getting pardoned. By me.

You know that old phrase about if you close one door you open another? The exact same analogy can be applied to goodbyes. The formulas are I-Dentical.

Not to sound too harsh to the departed, but their exit announces an new opening. don't call it a void. or a gap. call it new real estate. This will help spin your mind around to the positive.

Not that any of our lives are full right now, to the point where we can't add anyone else... and whoever is reading this, don't you say 'oh but mine is. i have everyone i need and there's no room for new people.' Bull. You can always add more. but sometimes it's nice to keep those numbers where there are, subbing in someone new. someone else that gets to positively impact your life. Isn't that what living is all about? I say it is. Positively impacting other people's lives.

In addition! Stop looking at goodbyes as a sad occurrence. They should make you remember the times you shared and brighten your mood. There are plenty of people I have said goodbye to who no longer occupy rooms in the hotel that is my life. But goodbyes have an innate ability to let you forget about the sub-par. Those little pesky memories that muddle all the good stuff, they gone! When it comes time for someone to leave your life, whether it for five minutes or forever, it allows you to focus on the things worth remembering. And isn't that what counts?

So this light-spirited post was an attempt to lessen the negativeness that is associated with saying goodbye. But honestly, saying goodbye sucks. It's only until later that you realize the good that can come. So for now, do your best to appreciate the moment for everything it is and hope that saying goodbye isn't the last thing you say.

Goodbye.

Food Critic

So Chicago has some pretty lofty credentials in the food world. I know this because I watch Anthony Bourdain. We have some legitimate pull. Our chefs rank high on the charts, and we are close to New York for the best food city in the country. I live in this city. I reside here. I spend my night life on the streets that boast this fine honor.

So where am I going for dinner tonight? The C.O.'s of Chicago. The trash-fancy bar that has sparkly leather seats and a padded (thing underneath the bar the your knees hit when you sit there). Sorry, there was no official way to say that. But, I am going to this guilty pleasure of a bar tonight for their Wednesday night deal: $3 flat bread pizzas and $1 Miller Lite bottles.

I have been there for this deal several times. Almost double digits. I've had every kind of flat bread pizza they have. I have never been disappointed. I always leave full. I always enjoy the meal. It's everything I need. And I would recommend it to anyone. Seriously.

Now I've been to some nice places and eaten some pricey and tasty food. It's nice to get out sometime and splurge on food I normally wouldn't eat. I like it. I don't love it, I like it.

This has all got me thinking... obviously. As it goes with most things, the more you get a feel for the higher level, the more the bottom of the chain looks worthless. So the more you get a taste of the top of the food chain, the more the average food looks inedible. So the more caviar you eat, the less you enjoy a hearty dish of easy mac. The more foi gras you dabble in, you spend a little less time in the frozen food section. The more mountain oysters you slurp down, the less you can tolerate hot pockets. Scratch that, no one should enjoy hot pockets. But you get my drift.

I am extremely pleased that cheap and filling makes me just as happy as any meal I can imagine. I don't mind that I don't have elite taste buds. Who the hell really wants to eat snail eggs? Seriously. Seriously. Tell me if you do. Leave a comment. Send a note. by all means.

My Perspective

We all know that we all 'perceive' things differently. I see things in a different way than anyone else, and same goes for you. No one else feels the exact same way about anything. Even if you love something so much that you can't live without it, there are an infinite amount of ways that love can be expressed. It's not repeated. It is 100% unique, every time.

But that's not really what I'm talking about.

So I have a friend that is color blind. I have more than one friend that is color blind. In fact, over 10% of all males can't see colors. Females, a lot less. We asked how can he tell which street light is which when he's driving. He knows that the white looking light, is actually the green one. So to him, white and green are pretty much the same color. That means that he has no idea what green is. His mind cannot comprehend it. There is nothing in his existence that can ever prove to him what the color green looks like. The color green will never survive in his world. And that color is just one of many.

So that got me thinking. (hence the post). What if nobody sees anything the same way? Run with me for a while. And now you think about that. What if nobody sees anything the same way? If my color blind friend can't see the difference between green and white, then maybe there's more than just colors, and more than just for color blind folk. He struggles with elements of the rainbow, but what if I have trouble with seeing cars. or people. or faces. or hair styles. or animals. or environments. or a-ny-thing. So it's not just a few things here or there. Not just the weight of someone's personality overshadowing their exterior. Not just outside influences or preconceived notions or the way we were raised, but what if our eyes saw people in a different focus than anyone else, if our ears heard music at a different tone, if we felt textures with different hands.

There's some proof to back either side of this argument, but I don't really care to find the science behind it. So if you went into every situation believing that the person you are talking to does not see the same thing in the same way, you might be a little more cautious.

I'm sorry, this idea is kind of blowing my mind and I'm struggling to find my thoughts.

If no one sees things like you, then opinions would become rather trivial. How can you argue that julia roberts is better looking than natalie portman in Closer if we are looking at different people? Maybe when I see natalie portman, I see intriguing perfection, while you see awkward homelyness. I know we all have different opinions on the same things, which would imply we 'see things differently,' but I'm trying really hard to distinguish between having different opinions, and physically seeing different things. My friend doesn't think green is an ugly color to wear because he doesn't think it accents his eyes, he thinks it's an ugly color because it looks bland and emotionless.

So maybe we shouldn't put so much stock into what we see and hear and feel and taste. We all have different physical bodies. Our senses all differ. None of us know by how much. But what you can trust is how people treat you. If you get to the point where trust is established, whether through convesation or physical comfort, then put your confidence in that. Use that to fall asleep to. To come out of hiding for. To live for.

What if nobody sees anything the same way? What does that say about our world?

My Return

So after my four day hiatus for the tournament, I am back to writing form. Kinda. The past four days have provided me a slew of topics and ideas and perspectives and stories. There's been some drama, some ridiculousness, some things to take comfort in, and some things that still continue to confuse me. There were missed opportunities, and opportunities that were taken. There was extensive conversation, excessive basketball, and impressive nights with impressive people. I have so much to think about and so much to say. So many people to talk to and so many questions to ask. I have more on my plate than I am accustomed to. And for right now, after getting my monday fix of dramatic television, I don't have the words to convey what I need to. And maybe this isn't the medium I need to use. So while I am looking forward to finding my stroke tomorrow, tonight has left me with more questions than answers, more problems than solutions, and more thoughts than actions. Should make for an interesting night's rest. Hope the train's a quiet one tonight, I need the rest..

Tournament Time

On the eve of the kickoff of the greatest sports event in America, I thought I would share some of my sports intellect. The commonly debated topic in regards to this event is trying to identify what we are truly drawn to. What entices us. What gets us checking scores every five minutes for back to back to back to back 12 hour spans. What disrupts our work flow to intersperse conversation between coworkers. What inspires us to find a reason to watch. And I think I know my reason.

Obviously, if Illinois is in the tourney, I'm routing for them, and watching every game they play. But, like last year, there are times when my alma mater doesn't fit into the field of 65, so there has to be something. And I think there is.

Some people like to watch for upsets. They like to see the possibility of a 14 or 15 seed playing the Cinderella roll of spoiler for a fan favorite to win it all. And who doesn't?

Some people like to see the general idea of a 65 team, single elimination, win and stay, lose and go home tournament. There is drama in every game. Every possession. Every shot.

Some people like to see if their picks will prevail, offering bragging rights to anyone they come in contact with. Bragging matters.

And while these things all matter to me, and I enjoy them with the rest of the world, that is not where I find my tournament attraction. Want to know why I'm drawn to the best event in American sports?

It's the passion. Over 700 players and coaches leave everything they have on the courts in hopes of glory. It's a cool feeling. Single elimination is part of it, but a single elimination tournament at the beginning of the season wouldn't be as enticing. Upsets happen throughout the year. Everyone is just guessing at their tourney picks anyway. But the passion is the fire that heats this postseason masterpiece. And as my astrological symbol explained, when I find something that I deem the truth, no one can convince me otherwise. So have fun with that.

I am Libra, Hear Me.... Balance

Bear with me for a bit as I copy some quotes from a very reputable website in regards to my astrological sign, with my italics highlighting interesting notes:

• They have good critical faculty and are able to stand back and look impartially at matters which call for an impartial judgment to be made on them.
• They do not tolerate argument from anyone who challenges their opinions, for once they have reached a conclusion, its truth seems to them self-evident.
• Their characters are on the whole balanced, diplomatic and even tempered.
• Librans are sensitive to the needs of others.
• They loathe cruelty, viciousness and vulgarity and detest conflict between people, so they do their best to cooperate and compromise with everyone around them, and their ideal for their own circle and for society as a whole is unity.
• They have good perception and observation and their critical ability, with which they are able to view their own efforts as well as those of others, gives their work integrity.
• In their personal relationships they show understanding of the other person's point of view, trying to resolve any differences by compromise, and are often willing to allow claims against themselves to be settled to their own disadvantage rather than spoil a relationship.
• They can be changeable and indecisive, impatient of routine, colorlessly conventional and timid, easygoing to the point of inertia, seldom angry when circumstances demand a show of annoyance at least; and yet Librans can shock everyone around them with sudden storms of rage.
• With their dislike of extremes they make good diplomats.

So should I put a little more stock in astrology? This is about half of the passage I was reading, but really, there are some pretty spot on descriptions of who I am and the way I live my life. And it's starting to make a little sense.

I mean, the symbol for Libra, the least cool of all the astrological signs, is a scale representing balance. How has no one pointed out the correlation between the scales of Libra, and everything I write in this damn thing. I can't get away from seeing balance, and the 'other' point of view, and maybe it's because the stars won't let me. Maybe the constellations are the ones that are force feeding thoughts through my mind. Or maybe the gravitational pull that the universe creates is what controls my mind to shove in thoughts that I didn't think I was thinking. Or something.

Maybe after all these years believing I was the navigator of my own accord, I was actually following a path that was laid out for me zillions of years ago. Is it possible that astrology can be responsible for who I am, who I've become, and how I've gotten here? I didn't read any of the bull when I was younger, so it's not like I ended up shaping myself to become the words that I read so long ago, proving it to be right. So what's the explanation?

This might finally be my solution, my guiding light, my mentor that I always needed... I may be on the verge of something big here. After all, completely rejecting something based on principal alone isn't part of my personality tool box. Just ask my old friend carrying that scale. He knows what's up.

And who cares if I don't have a cool lion or scorpion to metaphorical represent my astrological identity. The balance scale is almost perfect enough for me to ignore my detestation of extremes and revel in my own starry image. How have I not noticed this before? This could be the breakthrough.

Or maybe I don't need to listen to incinerating masses of gas, most of which don't currently exist based on how long it takes for their light to reach us, that can supposedly determine who I should end up with, how I should feel, and how I should react to situations based on the month I was born.

"Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I've ever known."

Not the combined effort of 35 stars hovering in the night sky.

Thought Stampede

So last night was an interesting night. Got to bed at a pretty reasonable hour. At my count, I was pretty tired. Didn't really feel I would have any problems. Imagined I would be refreshed and raring to go on a Monday, something I don't always get to experience.

I was wrong.

In bed for 7.5 hours. Asleep for barely more than an hour. I was caught somewhere between unable to get comfortable and unable to stop my thoughts from trucking through my brain. This is the excuse I am using for writing a shortened post. But let's see where this goes.

So the inability to get comfortable is hard to pinpoint. I can't explain it. I was tired. I was looking forward to laying down in bed. But nothing I did, no matter how or where I laid, nothing felt good. And so I never seemed to fall asleep.

The second part of the equation is what I'm more interested in. The whole thoughts thing. The whole constant stream of mind-buzzing thoughts. Some of them were by choice, I can admit. Some things were worth mulling over while I slumbered. Yeah I just wrote slumbered. I was sick of writing the same words over and over again, deal with it. So while some of the ideas and people and conversations and movies that crossed my mind were intentional, there was a slew of hectic mess than swirled my slightly unconscious mind. Are we able to control our own thoughts? I understand when we're dreaming that we don't have control of our thoughts. That kinda makes sense to me. But when we're awake, or at least not asleep, shouldn't we have a stronger ability to filter the things that plague us?

Is there part of our mind that can overtake preference? Would it let thoughts get through that could ultimately be damaging? Can this explain why sometimes, you can't sleep at night? Can the uncontrolled masses get past our own forced thoughts to keep our mind as restless as our body appears? Was there any way I didn't end this post with a question?

[Just a thought tangent, no picture of inspiration]

Who's Watching the Watchmen?

This weekend I sat through the 2 hours and 45 minutes of The Watchmen. There won't be any spoilers in this, so if you really want to see it, and haven't yet, I won't be ruining anything for you. As if I was worried about that.

So I had limited expectations going into this movie. This is usually a good thing. I have made claim that going to the movies usually doesn't turn out well, since you end up going to see a movie you want to see, thereby holding the movie in a higher light with higher expectations, ultimately giving the movie a lesser chance of impressing you. The movies that I have walked into with zero expectations have continued to impress me. See also: Pirates of the Caribbean, Little Miss Sunshine, Love Actually. The movies that I was excited to see and hoped for the greatest movie ever, disappointed me. See also: Happy Feet, The Last Kiss, Wicker Park (i didn't see it in the theaters, but still relevant for me). Only exception: The Dark Knight. All of that being said, this movie didn't have very high expectations to live up to. And it still didn't quite make it...

There were some things that I enjoyed. The movie takes place in an alternate history United States where a group of 'superheroes' emerges in the 1940s and again in the 1960s, helping the U.S. win the Vietnam War. This interests me. It was cool seeing how the writers think the world would have played out if certain events went differently in history. It was interesting to see what events changed, and what events are considered inevitable.

The whole basis of the movie also interests me. It was meant to deconstruct the superhero concept. I like the idea of deconstructing something idealistic. Exploring 'the other side of the equation' in this case means showing the dark side of a publicly idolized figured. This was also famously done in The Dark Knight Returns graphic novel, as I have come to learn, but the Watchmen was another take on this idea. It follows a group that was not always accepted by the people. I like that.

Finally, it appears in my post-viewing reading, the movie followed the original graphic novel to a tee. There is some controversy involving the original creators and the movie creators, but as far as plot, imagery, tone, character depictions, and any other aspect of what I have come to know, this movie is pretty spot on.

So those broad ideas impressed me. Not much else did. It was overly gruesome. Unnecessary male nudity, including the ever-present glowing blue member. A brutal attempted rape scene. An unstructured plot with a jumbled feeling. Interesting choices of soundtrack that sometimes brought a comical feel to something far from a comedy. And the thing was 162 minutes long.

So overall, this movie did not strike a very fond cord with me, and will not get any recommendations from me. But for those of us that watch Entourage, and know who Sloan's friend Tori is, well then you might want to rent this sometime.

Continuations

I want to keep exploring this, so I've picked it back up. I was just watching Rock Star. They play the song "We All Die Young." This has added a new wrinkle, a reason enough to dive into another cliche. This will be punctuated, so if you have somewhere to go, don't worry, you won't be late.

So I just spent my last post talking about how the length of life shouldn't matter, its all about experiencing the things that fill your life with happiness. 20, 40, 120 years... a full life is up to you.

But Steel Dragon says we all die young. So who's right? If we all die young, then that would mean we never have enough time to fill our lives with enough happiness to die without regret.

I happen to think I'm smarter than a cliche, so I'm going to say I'm right. But I know as well as anyone that this isn't about who's right or wrong, or who has figured out the answer. The point is that there are so many different ways to look at something, especially something as fluid as life. This is not a new idea for me, but I'm excited to be able to bring so many different topics back to the same general idea. When something is on your mind too much, you start to see it everywhere. It affects your daily thought process. It can piss you off, or bring you peace. So make sure your obsessive thought is a good one, you never know when it's your last.

[I am ruining this 1 picture a post thing]

Living a Full Life

So, everyone loves modern medicine, right? Life-saving, life-altering, life-lengthening medicine that uses all of these advances in science and technology, studies and research, testing and experiments, to preserve the constantly abused human body and mind. Tablets of miracle and injections of phenomenon get lined up and put down faster than keystone light in college. So what's the result of all of this?

People always talk about 'living a full life.' But I think that living a full life is a.) a relative term and b.) subject to interpretation.

a.) What was the definition of living a full life in the 1700s? The 1400s? They considered 45 years+ living a full life. That was what they were used to. As time has passed on, and we keep thinking and inventing, obviously we live quite a bit longer now. Life expectancy is up at 70 these days. And its up closer to 80 for those kids born yesterday. Who's to say it won't be even longer in the future? What if someone invents the immortality pill. What's the 'full life' then? People argue that everyone deserves to live a full life, but with a constantly changing number, shouldn't it be up to the human body to determine how long you should live?

b.) 'A full life.' I keep coming back to this term. My thoughts aren't completely formulated on it, but my gut feeling is that it's what you do during your life that makes it full, not how long you lived. Many people want to live to see their kids grow old, but plenty of people never had kids and still lived a full life. Some people think that you need to travel to different countries, experience different cultures, meet as many people as you can, fall in love, whatever, and they believe that thing is what will make your life full and complete. It could be more simple than that. Is my life full right now, since I've established loving relationships with people that I truly care about, I've enjoyed so much of my time here, and experienced, what I feel, is a lot... does that mean my life is full? Well for 23 years, I'd say yeah. And it may not be a tragedy if I died tomorrow.

The point of a.) and b.) has gotten off topic. My initial thought was a sort of brash and harsh thought of the general idea, 'survival of the fittest.' I was thinking about the emotionless way of living, of not helping others, of letting your own instincts and your own decisions guide you through your life. And if you're not smart enough or strong enough to figure it out, then guess what? You're not gonna get very far.

And while there is logic there that I believe in, there's no way that I can contradict my general way of life. My length of fuse varies so much throughout the day, but deep down, I have a pretty innate desire to help people. I believe strongly in compassion. In honesty. In generosity. And in doing whatever I can to make others happy, maybe one day leaving a little of that happiness for myself.

So chalk it up to another batch of my dichotomous self. (I really hope that's a word) Put this last rant somewhere between I have no idea what I'm talking about and I have two strong opinions that are complete opposites. But that wouldn't be me if it wasn't. Writing often tells the truth. My fingertips know more about me than my mind. Sometimes it just takes the medium to figure that out. This one definitely started in lane 1 and crossed in lane 8, but I'm strangely okay with that. At least it was real. At least it was honest. Is that all that matters?

[No Picture Necessary]

Out of Focus

I can see clearly now the... old contacts are gone. After two and a half years with the same prescription, I finally have the contacts I need. For the last year, I have been living my life in a slightly blurred world, getting worse and worse as time passed. The last month, obviously, was the worst. While focused on something up close, lifting my head to see something in the distance was near impossible. I was struggling to recognize faces. Street signs were a nightmare. This wasn't healthy.

But alas, a week ago I got examined, and yesterday was my first day with a new set of lenses. 80% stronger than my previous pair. Think about that.

So now I can see. But what does that mean?

It means that the forgotten details of life are all of a sudden back in the picture, which means more than you think. Let's take my drive home. A week ago, my drive was focused on the big things, the main things, the things that directly impacted my trip: street lights, moving vehicles, stopped vehicles, break lights, etc. With a strong boost in my vision, seeing closer to a hawk than my previous self, I am able to glance between license plates, store signs, building materials. The point is not that my drive is filled with more distractions because I can finally see and read them. The point is the attention to detail.

The same way that searching for the little details in your life can be the inspiration for writing, or thinking, or doing, the little details that you can see also spawn a new spool of thought. Some writers only write about what they know. Some what they see. Some can imagine both and produce writing that makes you believe they know it, and have seen it. But for the average, run-of-the-mill kid that wants to get the most out of his surroundings, picking up on the little stuff is important. This became difficult with blurry vision.

This jump has not been huge for me. I'm more just happy that I get to relax my eyes from the squint position when I'm watching TV. But even if we're not taking notes on the definition we're seeing, we are once again giving the ability to see the details, and can begin to appreciate them.

Spring Forward

So over the weekend, some of our clocks automatically skipped 60 minutes and landed an hour later. Some of our clocks were lazy and just waited for us to do their work for them. Some were forgotten until people were late for work on Monday.

What did this mean?

It meant that instead of waking up to an increasingly blue sky, showing glimpses of what the rest of the day might hold in store and forcing my sunglasses over my eyes on my morning commute, I was thrust back into rolling out of bed with the shades of night still depressed over the city.

It meant that instead of putting together some lacking substitute for a home-cooked meal beneath the chilling bite of the night air, I was given the joy of preparing food while still hearing birds chirping.

And it meant I was a little more tired on Sunday than usual.

But what it means now is a change of pschye that is so important around this time of year. After a long, cold, bitter, sweeping late fall and winter, it's nice to shed the burly jacket for a light one, to skip warming up my car just to get that temperature gage off of pinned down, and to smell the mixing scents of spring parade through the air. 2009 has welcomed me with a pleasant trend of better than usual circumstances that I can't help but to be grateful for. But the pressure of winter, not forcing to act under stress, but the general weight of the weather, the pressure has a way of making a walk a trudge, making a flight a fall. So even when things are falling better than usual, better than bad is still not that great.

Springing forward was always depressing for me since I only looked at it as a loss of an hour of sleep. And now, while my sleep is cascaded along intermittent segments of non-REM naps, sleep should seem more important than ever. But given my current state, the better mood that comes with lengthening hours of daylight and brighter afternoon drives home gives me a feeling warm enough to carry me through the inconsistent perils of March weather in Chicago and land me in the summer. So for now, springing forward is the forced light at the end of the cold tunnel. The warm beacon of hope. And the beginning of the end of winter. Even if it will only be 31 degrees tomorrow. And 28 on Thursday. There's still hope.

Programmed Morals

Television. Dramas. Comedies. Actors and actresses. Writers and producers. Production assistants and stage hands. The people that get coffee. These things, and many others, all add up to what we see and what we watch and what we are consistently entertained by. What we are moved by.

While TV can offer a release from our daily lives and allow us a sort of mental vacation from reality, there appears to be much more that it can offer.

I started writing this after the conclusion of an episode of Heroes. The episode ended with a gorgeously scripted and narrated inquisition about generational living, parental guidance, and the choices we make. While I had an initial desire to explore this idea further, I realized that Mohinder (from Heroes) said everything I wanted to say. And he did it in a manner that I would have done it. He proposed questions as opposed to finding answers. He summed up everything I wanted to say in 40 seconds of well thought out dialogue. This surprises me. Not because a writer of a very popular show did something better than me, but because a writer of a very popular show thinks like me.

So when I explore the topic of 'what has TV actually taught me,' I usually settle on the idea of fictional characters on a set as a whole, the grand scheme of TV, and say something like 'never take life too seriously,' or 'don't ever believe what you see on TV,' stuff like that. But in reality, the fictional characters are based in something so true, that paired with talented, or insightful writers, life changing, or life affirming ideas can seep out stronger than nerve gas. Sometimes these ideas are caught in convoluted dialogue. Sometimes they are meant to be inferred from action. Sometimes they are spelled out in narration.

But some of my most important life theologies have roots in the TV shows and movies that I have come across in my life. I once wrote that they should have told us as kids that some of the Disney movies that we grew up loving would be such fine teachers of character down the road, like the Lion King teaching about accepting change, learning from your past, and gaining the courage to move forward. Well as time moved on, and I grew from Simba and Scar to Jack Bauer, I have started a collection of the closest thing I have to a set of morals.

Balance.
Listening.
Questions Over Answers.
Trust.
Compassion.
Friendship.

Things that are not hard to find. Not hard to hear. Things that come up in daily conversation, in nightly reading, in religion and in politics (haha). Things that are everywhere we turn. But sometimes, it takes a talented writer and a talented actor or actress to convey the meaning behind the truth. Even if it's something that I attach to and someone else ignores, it's still there. And if you're open enough, and pay close enough attention, the fictional programming that consumes our free time can offer the compliment we need to the way we were raised.

Ha, I ended up writing about the choices we make based on how we're raised after all. Maybe Chip Douglas didn't have it so bad... and I love everyone who gets that reference.

Big Town

So I went to see Little Big Town last night with my brother at Joe's on Weed St. We got there pretty early, around 7, after a cold walk, a short L ride, and a longer, colder walk to the bar. We found the band room floor pretty sparse, so grabbed a beer and headed to the main bar and relaxed for a bit, throwing in a few app orders to get some food in us. It took a while for the food to come, so we plowed through a pitcher of green coors light, which we didn't get charged for, and when the food finally came, we wasted little to no time. Seriously we went through chicken tenders, fries, and a quesadilla in less than five minutes. The band room was filling up, We had to get over there.

The opening band started around 845. The room got crowded, not quite shoulder to shoulder yet, but definitely an effort to get anywhere productive. We nestled in a spot near a beer vendor and the only bathroom and watched a bunch of guys play songs we didn't know and could barely hear above the disproportionate sound levels.

About halfway through the set, in talks of obstructed views, challenging heights, and unfortunate standing locations, my brother and I struck up conversation with two sisters standing in front of us. These two were our company the rest of the night.

Meeting them made the rest of the wait go by rather quickly, so before we knew it, Little Big Town was taking the stage. They came out to a raucous crowd that loved and sang every word, living up to everything I thought it might be. For my brother and I, this experience was a new one. Usually people are piling in and in to the middle of the floor, being almost mindlessly attracted to the central mosh pit. In general, the concert goers are sweaty. The music is so loud you can't carry on a conversation with yourself, nevertheless someone next to you. The lights are low on the stage, and the band is high energy. Lots of running. Lots of screaming. An ensuing total body soreness.

This show wasn't quite the same. But I sit here to tell you that while it was different, there was nothing lost as far as a concert experience goes. LBT owned the crowd from first sight, and the packed band room responded. I would have to imagine that Chicago holds its own as far as places to perform. So while they sifted through The Boondocks, The Chain, and Life in a Northern town, they brought a show that was as memorable as anything I've ever seen, and I am so glad that I decided to go country.

S&MML

The newest phenomenon to the internet. The overnight success of a French creation. The overly simplistic approach to daily whining about our lives. A place to vent. A place to laugh. But for many people, FML.com shows its readers enough to make them feel a little better about their current situation.

For those of you who don't know, and there are some out there, FML stands for a more vulgar version of 'Fudge My Life.' The general theme of the website is that anyone in the world can leave a short sentence or two about some unfortunate course of action that seems to scream either really bad decision, or a really bad case of bad luck. Posts that begin with a 'Today' and end with a 'FML' for pages. And pages. And pages. And I have read them all. Every line. Every page. Every FML.

I am a sadist.

What other possible explanation could I have? What other form of logic could be applied when I read and read and reread pages and pages and more pages of people's misfortunes, shortcomings, and struggling efforts, and I enjoy it? I mean, people losing jobs via text message. People getting cheated on for sisters and brothers and best friends. People vomiting at inopportune times. People insulting the blind. The handicapped. People who really need to reconsider some of their life decisions. Some guy was divorced by his wife. On his 39th birthday. She gave him a gift. It was a subscription to match.com. This is the kind of pain that apparently I enjoy.

Yet every single life-hater out there, posting all their run-ins with the back half of the crap stick, they're all masochists. Yeah I said it. The lot of them. While they're not intentionally injecting their lives with this embarrassment and pain, they are advertising it. And I'm not saying it's a bad thing. It can be very healthy to turn obvious blunder into humor and take a far enough step back to be able to laugh at your miscues. But these people's desire to be seen falling into the depths of bad luck and bad decisions only provide me a medium to laugh from my ivory tower of living a, at the moment, better life.

I mean, no one has ever mistaken me for a woman and told me how ugly I am. I don't think.

But if you really think about it, this website, along with many others, revolve around this display case mentality, either providing a space to affirm your triumphs or tribulations, or by providing a mechanism for others to observe it. No matter what side you're on, we're all partaking in this Sado-Masochistic exchange of bits and parts of our lives.

Who saw a post about FML turn into S&M?

BDubs

So I'm breaking my promise. My goal is caput. I wanted to set aside an hour of 'free time' a night to write in this thing. Well I just got home from work. I ran around our lake at UL. It was windy. But warm. And it felt awesome. Then I went to Jewel. I bought some delicious things.

Then I listened to the Drew Walker drive at 5 in hopes of winning tickets for Rascal Flatts and Darius Rucker at Wrigley Field. I didn't win.

And tonight, the Newport Kids are getting together for a boys night of boneless wings, illinois basketball, and birthday celebrations. I am dedicating as much time as I can.

But Buffalo Wild Wings has become a staple in the lives of my close friends. It is one of the closest thing we have to a tradition among us. Besides Mills' lakehouse, Christmas at RJ's, and partying with parents, BDubs got us out of the house on a Thursday night to enjoy 23 OZ drafts and 60 cent boneless bits of heaven. We have not lost this. We still find time to get together and have a little family dinner. I enjoy this.

As my generation, specifically my friends, age, it is up to us to begin new traditions, to take over the reigns that we once followed, and keep our strings attached. As kids that all went to the same high school, it is inevitable that branches will be broken. Kids will move on. Kids will move out. And while we're not all living in the same city, or state, or world sometimes, we have found something trivial enough to hold on to. It made it hard to sit through work today, knowing I had 15 pieces of Caribbean Jerk, Spicy Garlic, and Asian Zing to go with a tall, bubbly draft of Budweiser.

So while I have lost the promise of dedicating a full 60 minutes to my blog, I am keeping the ties that bind me to the friends I depend on. Sometimes, breaking a goal is done in order to perserve a different one

That, Detective, is the Right Question

When faced with an obstacle, a wall, a new fold in our lives, so commonly we scour over hours of conversation, slews of past memories, and, well, the internet, trying to find what we claim are answers. When pitted against a new challenge, an answer is the solution, right?

We all seem to be so caught up on an answer that we accept shreds of full ideas as perfectly viable options. We attach ourselves onto anything that resembles a successful solution, hoping to use someone else's gain as our own. These answers that we pull down don't always make sense. They don't always follow with our individual life strategies. They don't even have to be well thought out. When you're sinking in quick sand, any rope will do.

But sometimes, instead of just swerving around an obstacle in order to get past it, you have to figure out what you're dealing with before you can solve it. And sometimes, the best way to find out about something is to ask questions, rather than find answers.

I tend to overpopulate my writing with repetitive rhetorical questions. Maybe it's my way of making a point without standing so strong behind my conviction. I have a small fear of feeling like I'm preaching when I'm writing these things, since all I'm doing is guessing. My questions only encourage readers to ask some questions of their own, and consider my thoughts as some building blocks to their own. And who didn't think of Entourage when you read the word encourage? Can't wait for summer. But I am off topic. My point is that asking questions about broad topics, large strokes, and difficult situations allows you to see more of the picture.

The tricky part is finding the right question to ask.

Unfortunately, most of my inspiration for this post comes from iRobot (even if its something I think about frequently), since that's when I first heard this idea.

I would be foolish to honestly believe that answers, aren't the right answer... but some of the fundamental stepping stones often end in question marks. or questions written with poor grammar and periods. But by questioning everything first, by wondering how things would play out, by figuring out what your theories actually explain, you might discover something new and worthwhile.

Not to be confused with my 'question everything' mentality since nothing is what it seems, questions, when the right one is asked, can be more powerful than the next answer that the internet has to offer. Google can't figure out your heart, as much as I want to believe it can.

Pack Your Bags

Vacations are more than adventures. I have gone on some pretty decent vacations in my lifetime, even if I have never left the country. I've spread my travels around from Yellowstone to Miami Beach to the Badlands to the mountains of North Carolina. I've touched both oceans and the gulf. And I'm not complaining. But vacations have morphed since my childhood days.

For my younger days, there was such a mystique about going away. Got all our bags packed the night before - left out the clothes we wanted to wear in the car - woke up well before the sun - slept another 4 hours once we got in the car - and continued the vacation chalk full of time passing car ride games, cheesy tourist detours, and sights that could never be found within Illinois state boundaries.

Vacations meant experiencing something new. Something that my undeveloped mind didn't even know existed.

These days, the idea of a vacation pulls on a much different set of strings. I don't eagerly pack my bags the night before, planning outfit after outfit for each day of a lengthy journey. Now I kinda throw my best pair of jeans in a bag and throw together 3 or 4 shirts I can wear.

To an extent, a vacation is a getaway from my life as opposed to just seeing new scenery. A vacation becomes a chance to reconnect with old friends, bridge previously unreachable gaps, forget about the bowels of your workload, and ultimately do what it takes to stay above water. It gives us something to look forward to when we can't remember what day of the week it is until we hit the weekend. It allows us to find some of that childhood mistique that although forgotten, still seems to seep into our vacation-eve minds and makes us sleep like kids on christmas eve. Forgive me for the bland analogy, but vacations turn adults into kids, even if for different reasons. When we can take over the reigns of our own plans. Vacations allow us to be independent. They keep us alive. And I am excited for my next one.

When I Grow Up...

So, over the last year, either getting to know someone, or simply passing the time, I have been asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. This seems like a simple question. A question commonly proposed to us throughout our childhood. A question that we were all expected to have an answer to. A question that produces some ever-changing answers along with dead-on balls-accurate guesses. But somewhere along the line, I forgot what I used to say.

My standard answer is to say that I wanted to be a Major League baseball player. But honestly, what 7 year old didn't want to be a star of some sort. We didn't know what kinds of professions were out there to choose from. If it wasn't a doctor, a teacher, a secretary, a movie star, an astronaut, or an athlete, we were stumped. The world was only populated by professions that either directly influenced our lives, or what we saw on TV. But I realize now that TVs depiction of some of these professions grossly miss-prepared us for what to expect.

Everything that is going on in baseball right now seems to have me questioning even that dream. Sure, I had lofty enough goals to want to be the best at every level in order to give myself a chance at stardom, and I had some pretty impressive moments on a baseball diamond, but who knows who I would have become.

Our professions are not what define us.

Nor were our college majors, class choices, GPAs, or report cards.

I realize now that while the question, 'what do you want to be when you grow up?' refers quite directly to a profession, my answer now would simply dodge the question, since I still don't know. I would say that I want to be someone grounded in values that reinforce an effort to maintain love and balance among the people I come in contact with. I want to be someone that falls asleep at night with an empty conscience, knowing I am leading a life that I am comfortable with. I want to be someone that can be trusted. I want to be someone that people look up to for guidance, look over to for advice, and look behind at for confirmation. I wanted to be painted as sincere. I want to be remembered as caring. I want to do what I can to make a difference, at some level, in the world that I live in, and the one I will pass down to future generations. I want my family to always come first, and to always come first to them. I want my friends to believe in me when I don't.

And I don't want to fall victim to the shackles of a job title to label me, conveying to the world what I'm supposed to be, even if it was something I wanted all along.