My 4 Week Vacation

It's been almost a month since I've updated. Summer usually extends me beyond my means, and this year isn't far off. Winters in Chicago make summers in Chicago feel like the greatest time of our lives every year, and so my workout schedule dwindles, my weekends fill up, Mondays are spent recovering from the weekend, Wednesday has been spent playing softball, Tuesdays and Thursdays are spent either doing laundry or making more plans. I've never had this much on my plate at work. I've been starting later and leaving later. Sunset around 8pm means I don't feel like I'm losing a day if I leave work at 6. Short story short, it's been a challenge to harvest ideas and explore them with the depth that I require. Solution: Well, I'm just going to touch on a bunch of things that have happened and I've thought about over the last 4 weeks, limiting my response length, but maximizing my reach.

Chicago Fire vs Man U

Some friends and I tailgated outside Soldier Field before wholeheartedly cheering on our beloved Chicago Fire playing a 'friendly' against the epically talented Manchester United. The day was suspect, wavering between overcast and rainy for most of the afternoon, but it’s hard for weather to impact the fun of diehard soccer fans, of which I am not. The backdrop of Chicago is always amazing. I took an extra hour to traverse to the stadium, meandering through parts of the loop, Millennium Park, and south through the museum campus to take pictures and take my time. It's amazing how different my opinion of traveling when the time frame is relaxed. Next time you have to use public transit to get somewhere, in the city or in the burbs, try leaving an hour early, stopping short, and treating yourself to a walking tour of town. Unless the weather sucks, you'd be surprised how nice non-rushed commuting feels. As for the game, Man U fans dominated, but that was to be expected. The match was entertaining. The goals were as to be expected, and so was the outcome. Conclusion: Doing something different and being with friends at an event that doesn't happen too often makes you appreciate the circumstances. Definitely worth the price of admission.

My Brother Turns 30

Only four years separate my brother and I, but he's the closest person I know to cross the bridge into the abyss of the 30s. I feel like the 30s have such a negative connotation, but I also feel like this line of thinking originated years ago when the average age of marriage was 23 for males, 20 for females (1960). Now it's 28 for males, 26 for females, and that 5-6 year jump is significant. The number thirty has three different immediate questions. If you're married: kids? If you're in a relationship: marriage? If you're single: are you going to be a crazy cat-person? It's the nature of the beast. But as more and more of my generation turns 30, the less and less this number will scare us. I've never thought of age as something tangible, and overreacting to someone finally entering a new decade of their life is useless. I'm pretty sure my brother doesn't feel a whole lot different now as opposed to a month ago, besides having to tell people his age. Based on our shenanigans in the 3 weeks since he's turned, I'm pretty sure it means nothing. If you're single, stop freaking out about growing up. I swear, every movie/TV show I see has some reasonably successful 30-something falling in love. And if I've learned anything from movies, they're 100% true. Conclusion: Age is just a number, live your life the way you want and nothing should bring you down.

Bachelor Party

One of my best guy friends became the first to take the wedding plunge, but we got to celebrate his last weekend of bachelorhood before that happened. First of all, if you haven't had a chance to do a trolley in Chicago, do yourself a favor. More fun than I've had on a Friday night in as long as I can remember. We only made two stops, but that's the point. In Chicago, when you see a group of people on a trolley, you yell at them, and they yell at you. It's a celebration, and it's worth it. Were we obnoxious, 100%. But my god, being with 15 or so of my closest guy friends, celebrating on a trolley, driving around the city like we owned it, it doesn't get a whole lot better. Three of the best spent hours of recent memory. Getting out of the city to 'camp' the next night probably could have been subbed out for something a little more... unorganized, but I consider the weekend a success and I'm glad we had a chance to celebrate as a group. It won't be the last time, but the first to fall was definitely a time to cherish. Conclusion: Can't wait for more of my friends to walk down the aisle if it means we get to party like we did, as a group, for a truly positive reason.

Mayhem Fest

Most people reading this don't listen to heavy metal, but this fest is taking over the void that Ozzfest left. The bands, the stages, the people, the environment, all of it is amazing. My brother and I got there around 1:00 on a Friday and didn't leave until almost 10. It's hard for outsiders to understand the solidarity of a subculture at an event like this. A sea of people that, at some point, have dealt with the social judgments of listening to a genre of music so completely misunderstood by the general public. This has to be the largest crowd of like-minded metal heads that convene every year, and it feels pretty special to be a part of it. From getting bounced around in the pit to screaming my lungs out to my favorite songs, from barely audible two man bands to grossly popular radio artists, from lead singers doing double duty (Jamey Jasta fronting both Hatebreed and Kingdom of Sorrow) to female lead singers out-metaling the men, the show had everything a withering heavy metal listener such as myself would enjoy. If you picked through my most recent downloads and purchases, if you took out the CDs from my car, and if you heard the songs that get stuck in my head, you would know that my musical focus has shifted over the last few years, but there will always be a place in my life for the music that defined such a large portion of it. Conclusion: Small concerts are fun, intimate, and charming, but large scale shows make you feel like one of thousands, and sometimes, that's the best feeling of all.

Weddings

In case you were worried that the bachelor party didn't lead to an actual wedding, it did. The ceremony was short and beautiful, the cocktail hour was a great idea, the dinner was surprisingly delicious (and I wasn't drunk yet), the reception was as fun as I've been to, and the Sunday festivities at Arlington Park racetrack were a great way to end the weekend. For the same reason that the bachelor party was so memorable, this was the first of many weddings in which my entire close group of friends were in attendance. Aside from some limited drama, the wedding went off without a hitch, which, if you know my group of friends, deserves a pat on the back. I can't help but to get a little emotional at weddings, but for varying reasons. This time, the best man and the maid of honor were both siblings. This made the speeches tough to sit through. Not because they were bad, but because I am going to be a wreck if I ever have to stand up and give a speech at my brother's wedding. I joked with my date, who feels the same way, that we'll have to give speeches at our sibling's weddings because we won't be able to keep it together. The whole wedding screamed of family; welcoming, dancing, drinking, everything. It was a pleasure to be a part of, and for the first of many among this group of friends, it went as well as expected. Conclusion: I know I'll probably get sick of them, but I still get crazy excited for weddings, to be a part of the celebration, which, despite the flippant nature of young adults, is something important.

Fox Lake Boating

I've managed to make it to my parents' lake house three times this season, with a possible fourth coming soon. Usually we hope for a bright sky, a high sun, boiling temps, and flowing drinks. This past weekend was not that. After the first hour of fun, successful sandbar partying, tied up to about a dozen boats, the pending doom of high wind storms loomed just out of sight. As we hunkered under canopies and grabbed an extra drink or two, the winds and the rains came, and were not to be trifled with. The first wave (pun intended) was manageable, with only a few people required to weather the rain to reset an anchor. But when the nasty stuff hit, when the swirling winds and hail like rain pelted our backs and thrusted our boats toward each other, bodies were flying into the water like they hadn't peed in days. There's a sort of bond that lake-goers share. When someone's boat is in danger, it's all hands on deck to save it. You might not care for the people on the other side of the line, or even the ones tied up right next to you, but when the situation turns dire, favoritism and elitism should fly out the window. The whole ordeal lasted about 30 minutes, no boat damage was incurred, and the drinks were definitely flowing for the 'survivors' of the storm. The rest of the day and night went on with only minor damage (knee is still bruised), but for a weekend that was looking like early signs of the apocalypse, sometimes it turns out to be just what the doctor ordered. Conclusion: When shit hits the fan, take care of each other, you'll never know what the result might be, or when the same will happen to you.

Inspiration

There's a website that I check relatively frequently, and recently they've posted two galleries that have internet-y pictures related to inspiration. The same way that it seems silly to pull life lessons from movie quotes or fictional plots, it seems silly to do the same from some photoshopped picture or graffitied wall, but it happens. I find myself scrolling through these galleries and actually letting a few sink in. "You do what you love and fuck the rest." "If you do not go after what you want, you'll never have it." "We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public." It is a risk to love. What if it doesn't work out? Ah, but what if it does?" "Without money, we'd all be rich." "Don't make decisions when you're angry. Don't make promises when you're happy." It's that last one that sticks with me. Something so simple, but something so true. Just a picture of chalk written out on a sidewalk. It nearly incomprehensible how small something can be to change you way you live. I honestly hope that some of these famous or anonymous quotes in varying degrees of real life or photoshop will stick with me in the future, because in a very small sample size, they've already made my life a slightly better place to be. It's no wonder the name of the gallery is "A Little Inspiration Goes a Long Way." Conclusion: It takes nothing to be inspired, start looking for it, and when you find it, embrace it.

Communication in 2011

My best friend's phone number didn't have any even digits. It's hard to conceive how many times I dialed it during my childhood. And when a voice connected at the other end, my response was identical, unchanging for the years before I moved. 'Hi, is Justin there?' Then his mom, his sister, one of his brothers, rarely his dad, would barely drop the phone before screaming his name. In reality, we lived so close, I'm surprised I couldn't hear the yell. He didn't have the option of ducking the call. Truth is, he never would have. Our social circle was the size of a thimble compared to the blimps we see today. The only frustration that amassed was during busy signals. Five, six, seven in a row, you become less and less patient. How long do you wait in-between? His sister would talk for hours. Walking six houses seemed like miles, so we stayed consistent, persistently redialing until we got our answer. 'Want to ride our bikes?' 'Sure. Where?'

In many ways, I've loved writing for a long time. I tried my hand at poetry several times throughout my learning days. Wrote one in 5th grade called 'the game.' I rejected a lot of the assigned, expository or persuasive type essays, but in high school I fell in love with the art of written communication. The days of AIM had already flared up, but there was something nostalgic and meaningful to pass notes back and forth. I don't mean little half pieces of paper when the teacher's back is turned. I'm talking like, 1, 2 page notes. Ones that you start in second period and don't finish til after lunch. Ones that get folded in ways that were more challenging to deconstruct than to read. Ones that included different color pens. Here, the delay was expected. You might get started during eighth period, but then finish when you're supposed to be doing your homework. If you got a note back the next day, that was impressive. Same day? Well, clearly not enough effort was put in to make it pretty and entertaining, but the fast response was appreciated. Especially when you might have 3 to finish before geography. The lines of the notes might be laced with drama, but the means were treasured.

High school was my last time spent in the dark ages. I got a cell phone before college. Had Facebook just after my 19th birthday. I'm still scared of Twitter. The amount of communication lines continue to expand unnecessarily, and the reaction time is decreasing. More news is spread through Facebook and Twitter than on the news. The lines between friendship, networking, and stalking have never been so blurred. The Venn Diagram cross-section too much resembles one circle. And while I didn't have enough friends to fill up my hands and feet, now I can barely keep track of last name changes. It can be overwhelming. The accelerated and accessible communication has made it nearly impossible to go 'dark.' Even if you drop your cell phone in a cup of beer, you're expected to have it replaced by the weekend. Your house loses power? Your cell phone still works. You're flying to Germany? Planes have wi-fi. You're just checking your email? Well, I sent you a gchat. You're just updating some pictures? I sent you a FB chat. You are driving across the country? I texted you, dammit. You’re camping in Montana? Well, why?

The excessive avenues to reach someone has added a pressure that barely anyone before 2000 has felt. You have to respond. And when you don't, people get annoyed. Sometimes justifiably, most of the time irrationally. The double-edged sword gets us all into trouble. You may not have time to respond, but instead of saying 'can't talk, will call you later,' you just push the phone back into your pocket and continue your night. The act seems harmless, but some day you might be on the other end of that text. It's hard for people to comprehend that you can be unreachable. Last weekend I was on my parents' boat for about 7 straight hours with my phone off. Sometimes, you can go dark. But there are other times, normal times of communication, normal responsibilities, times that were planned, times where your lack of availability is causing problems. 'We have a softball game tonight, can you play?' -nothing 'We still on for dinner tonight?' -nothing 'I'll be home on the 28th, will you be around.' -nothing

Everyone has different tolerances, expectations, and tendencies when it comes to communication in the 21st century. I don't know what's right and wrong. I've neglected messages, forgotten about texts, ignored phone calls, and shut my computer down plenty of times. I've also responded to all of the above as fast as it took to reach out to me in the first place. But there are fewer and fewer places to hide. Your responsibility to keep up with a social circle is growing, whether you like it or not. And you're going to disappoint people no matter how you respond. But it beats the hell out of ‘Hi is Justin there?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘Oh…’

This Song Brings Me Back!

It amazes me how a song or an album can take me back to such a distinct and vivid moment of my life. For me, unlike smells, or tastes, or images, sound, specifically music, makes me see and smell and feel a memory with so much detail. It can happen by accident, like hearing a song on the radio, or by design, purposefully throwing a CD in because you *want* to feel like you did 15 years ago. Either way, here’s some of the list of songs or albums that leave me momentarily caught in dreams of the past, in no particular order. What are some of yours?

Live (Anything off Mental Jewelry or Throwing Copper): I am brought back to my brother’s room in our old house on Comfort St., the house I was raised in. I am sitting on his bed, feeling cool because my older brother was letting me listen to music with him. I am brought back to the details of his room, the fighter jets he drew, taped to the wall below his window; the sombrero hanging over his bed post; the Lamborghini (Countach) and MJ posters. Everything about growing up in that house with my brother is brought back by any song from those two albums. In addition, the song ‘Shit Towne’ brings me back to sitting in my room with my childhood best friend, Justin, playing with some Nickelodeon-inspired orange foam that was so pungent, the smell lingers every time I hear that song (which we only listened to because of the ‘cuss words’).

No Doubt – Spiderwebs: I am brought back to the summer of 1996, sitting on my couch at my new house with nothing to do. I had just moved in May, so I was slightly detached (across town) from my closest friends. So when I wasn’t riding my bike back to where things were familiar, I was sitting on my couch, eating cereal, watching music videos on MTV.

Nothingface – Violence (Album): I am brought back to senior year of high school, when I was still angsty and whatnot. I asked someone to homecoming, someone whom I had completely fallen for, and had been for several years, only to be politely turned down as she already had a date (a freshman in college). I asked her on a Friday, and didn’t have much motivation to leave my room that weekend. In fact, in between the rare moments of eating and using the bathroom, I spent every waking hour, which was many, sitting in my plus-sized window sill, listening to the angriest album I had… on repeat.

Coolio – Gangsta’s Paradise: I am brought back to sitting in my room for hours on end, listening to the radio, hoping to have that song come on. See, my family was going on a vacation soon, and I needed that song on tape for the long car ride. I had my tape all cued up and ready to go, only to never hear the song before we left, and thus kicking off our trip to Yellowstone on a sour note.

Edwin Starr – I’ll Be: Senior Prom song.

KoRn (Anything off Korn or Life is Peachy): I am brought back to playing Mario Kart in my living room with my brother. The big entertainment center from my old house was set up here, and we would plop down in front of it to play for hours on end, listening to those two CDs as frequently as possible. We stopped ‘racing’ because I had far surpassed him in that, but we were equals when it came to Battles. Preferred level: Skyscraper.

Aerosmith – I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing: After this past 4^th of July weekend, it’s taken on a new monster, but until then, I am brought back to 8^th grade, specifically the first dance of the year. We had just gone from losers of the school to rulers of the school in our 2-year Jr. High, and so the whole world seemed easier. Armageddon was the hit movie of the summer, and this was the slow dance monster at the dance. There was one girl in particular that I wanted to dance with, that I had a crush on for about 23 of the 24 months of Jr. High., and that I got to dance with during this song. This, for a 13 year old, is very significant. This, for a 25 year old, is also significant. And so, this song, while terrible, still strikes a strong chord.

There are so many more, and I will add on an addendum when I think of them. Feel free to leave comments with yours!

 

Source or Content?

What’s more important; the source, or the content?

As a lover of pop culture things (but not necessarily pop culture), I tend to engross myself in the arts. Well, kind of. But for the sake of this, I’m saying that, like most of you, I have a strong affinity toward music and movies, literature and quotes, and to an extent, paintings and photography. When it comes to the importance, the meaning, the beauty, the magic, the stand-the-test-of-time brilliance of a piece of that mess of things that I’ll refer to as ‘pop art,’ at what point can we separate the act from the actor, the quote from the author, the painting from the artist?

Movies: Hundreds of people go into the production of a movie, the notables being the credited cast, director, producer, and writer. Is it possible to shake the history of these names in order to enjoy the movie as a singular object in the history of film? I think it’s crap that A-list and top-grossing movie stars get a free pass when it comes to making these mind-numbing money-suckers. Actors I enjoy, actresses that I choose to stick on when paging through my guide, make sub-par movies that generally get accepted because of who they are and what they’ve accomplished. Directors and writers too. How long did M. Night get a free pass after The Sixth Sense? Is there a length of time or quality of production threshold that limits the amount of success you can glean from your previous accomplishments? Nicholas Cage, I’m looking your way. Even my beloved Will Smith could stand to reinvent himself.

Music: Ever heard a song that you’ve never heard before and thought, ‘hey this is kind of good,’ then someone tells you that it’s the new Limp Bizkit and you feel nauseous? Happened to my brother. Contrary, ever purchased the new CD by one of your favorite bands, popped it your car on the drive home, and for the next week literally had to convince yourself that this was good music and that you made the right decision? Any band that I listen to based on my discovery of said band is instantly better, which is why people hate when their bands go pop. Anything that no one else knows about: sweet as hell. Anything that everyone else loves: overplayed dog shit. Is it possible to listen to a previously unreleased song without any influence of the past, be it trying to figure out who it is, or, who it sounds like? A metal band (Trivium) came out with a fantastic first album (Ascendancy), a complete dud with their second release (The Crusade), causing me to lose hope, only to revive my interest with a stellar third disc (Shogun). Rarely can a band turn you off with a CD so much without completely jading your impression of them, then come back and redeem themselves (see: Slipknot).

Quotes: Is the content of a quote more important than who said it? I recently referenced a new, mythological, fantastic, head-chopping and dragon-breeding show on HBO (Game of Thrones) with a quote I found appropriate. Did the quote, about the only god being the god of death, and the only thing you say to it is ‘not today,’ did that no longer relate because it was said by a show based in unrealistic circumstances? I happen to think that the great minds of our time probably spit out some hogwash over their years. Now, if you truly have a great mind, there’s a good chance that much of what you choose to have your name dashed afterword is going to be worth considering, but the inverse? Is it possible for the words of the wise to come from somewhere other than the wise? A quote, like most art, is only what you make of it. They are free for interpretation. Even if the writer is standing next to you, telling you what it means, how you use it is void of their influence. An impressive, eye-opening, chill-spawning, lavishly laid out quote is just that, regardless of the source.

This discussion continues for literature, paintings, photography, fashion (don’t even get me started), athletics, lawyers, politicians, universities, brand names; the list is nearly endless. We overlook the details and see the name attached. We let past experiences, critics’ responses, pop culture ebb and flow, and dozens of other outside influences pollute what should be a clear palate. We use these shortcuts to save time and maintain face. The reality of it is, a bad song, and bad movie, a stupid quote, they shouldn’t get a free pass. Try to take in the content void of its source and see what else is out there for you to enjoy, explore, and share.

Looking Back at Death

Does the way that someone dies change how you view them? Short answer: Yes and no. Long answer: Keep reading.

A.) No

Chris Henry (NFL WR) was honored during Week 15 of the 2009 NFL season by beginning each game with a moment of silence before kickoff. He died relatively tragically, falling out of the back of a moving pickup truck driven by his fiancé and mother of three of his children. His former teammates, coaches, and current family were noticeably shaken by the event, lamented at the progress he had made, and, as his former coach said, they ‘watched a guy mature as a young man.’

Sounds good in theory, until you realize that the man, over the course of the three years before his death, and all while playing in the NFL, he:

• Got a speeding ticket without a valid driver’s license and with marijuana found in his shoes (Dec 2005)
• Was arrested for multiple gun charges including concealment and aggravated assault with a firearm (Jan 2006)
• Allowed three underage females (15, 16, and 18) to consume alcohol in a hotel in KY, one of which accused him of sexual assault (Apr 2006)
• Was arrested for drunk driving in Ohio (Jun 2006)
• Was suspended (1 game) by the NFL for two games for violating the league’s personal conduct and substance abuse policies (Oct 2006)
• Was suspended again (8 games) by the NFL for violations of the NFL’s personal conduct policy (Apr 2007)
• Allegedly assaulted a valet attendant in KY (Nov 2007)
• Was arrested a second time for violating his probation from the Jan 2006 arrest (Dec 2007)
• Punched a man and threw a beer bottle through the window of his car (Mar 2008)
  (Source: Wikipedia)

The circumstances of your death do not interest me if you were a bad person and lead a shitty life. It might be unfair to judge someone based on a three year span in which a man came into more money than he could ever imagine, but the track record alone is enough to not miss this man when he died. For his family and friends and teammates, it might seem tragic, and they might try to glorify his attempts at correcting his lifestyle, but when you break it down and look at what he did, aside from literally putting his life in danger to protect another, it’s hard for me to imagine a situation in which the way in which he died would make up for the abysmal way in which he lived his last few years on earth.

B.) Yes

Former Jackass and CKY star Ryan Dunn recently died in a car accident. ‘Preliminary investigations suggested that the car has been traveling between 132-140 mph in a 55 mph zone,’ and ‘a toxicology report showed Dunn had a blood alcohol level of .196, more than twice the legal limit’ (Wikipedia).

From everything I know, Ryan Dunn was a good guy. As a group of friends that made their money by filming themselves doing stupid stunts, they were down to earth and connected with fans. There didn’t seem to be a level of elitism that young and rich tends to bring out. His participation in the Jackass franchise involved putting his body in harm’s way, giving up his body for crazy stunts, and occasionally risking his life, all in the face of entertainment and pleasing his fans. From everything I ever saw or heard of Ryan Dunn, I have no reason to believe that he lead anything but a decent life with good friends and family.

So what was my first thought when I heard the circumstances of his death? Fine. Not included in the Wikipedia article is how the passenger of his Porsche also died. You want to get hammered and drive 130mph, endangering your passenger, and god forbid, any stranger that may have been on that road at that specific time, completely void of concern? Fine. But I won’t shed a tear when the situation turns ‘tragic.’ The way I look at it, the world is a safer place without him. That’s evolution, baby. Survival of the fittest, or in this case, the not heinously stupid. Stupidity was his career, and danger walked hand in hand with his fame and success. But there’s place when entertainment ends and reality begins: when you start endangering the life of others.

I no doubt sympathize with Ryan’s friends and family that he leaves behind. The void in their lives cannot be filled, and in no way do I understand what he meant to them. But the over-pronounced lack of judgment in this case cannot be overlooked. Roger Ebert was lambasted for his initial tweet the day of Dunn’s accident, posting “Friends don’t let jackasses drink and drive,” and maybe his timing was too soon (less than 12 hours after the announced death), but I can’t help but to agree with him.

Life, above all things, should be cherished. Those who don’t take care of their own are one thing, those that don’t take care of others’ is different. I recently heard a fantastic quote during the brilliant first season of Game of Thrones regarding death:

“There is only one god and his name is Death. There’s only one thing we say to Death – ‘Not today.’”

132mph and .196 BAC don’t say ‘not today.’ They say, ‘why not, I’ve had a good run.’ Well the person who says that does not get a glimmer of my respect, nor my compassion in passing. Save the ones that care about life. Is it any surprise that his emergence to stardom began with videos entitled ‘Camp Kill Yourself?’ Mission accomplished.

What was left of his Porsche

Slut Walk - 6/4/2011

About 10 days ago, I had the opportunity to spend some time with one of my best friends while taking place in a rather historic event in the streets of Chicago, and, despite wearing shorts and short sleeved tops, we were on the overdressed side of the occasion. The name of the even was Slut Walk, and it reminded me a few things.

The event spawned out of response to the now infamous representative from the Toronto Police Service who, in January, was quoted saying "Women should avoid dressing like sluts in order to not be victimized." The mission of the event, as quoted from their website, was 'to enforce the truth that those who experience sexual assault are never at fault-- no exceptions. We seek to combat a culture that teaches "don't get raped," as opposed to "don't rape."' As a topic that lives near to my heart, along with the chance to spend a few hours with the one of the few responsible for me caring so much about this in the first place, I set out on a warm and sunny Saturday in the city to go be a part of something that I believed in. Aside from missing about 75% of the march and never popping my shirt off, there were some interesting things to note.

First, and seemingly obvious, it's amazing what happens in this city. As someone who is usually somewhere between recovering and day drinking on a Saturday afternoon, it seriously amazes me how much activity is existing outside of my world, and makes me anxious to be more aware of the possibilities. Between catching the end of a breast cancer walk, passing by the edge of millennium park, and joining the march that we sought after, there was more activity within a six block radius that I had seen in months. I know this isn't what people necessarily mean when they refer to 'getting out and exploring in the city, trying new things, and going on adventures' (the most cliche aspect to most Chicago-based dating profiles), but just being awake, outside, in the loop, under the sun, and not drinking (despite it sounding like a good idea), it was an awesome change of pace.

Second, and actually related to the event, it's a special feeling to be a part of something that's bigger than you. Whatever the cause, the whole is definitely greater than the sum of the parts, as in, each of the hundreds of participants and organizers might be able to influence the world in which they live in small doses, but not until we all came together at one event was that message loud enough to be heard. As someone who barely fits the description of an activist, I can get lost in the day to day monotony of culture that at times seems too overbearing to influence. Being removed from the environment that inspired me in the first place definitely had its affect, and the greater the distance between me and my original platform, the harder it is to continue the spirited attempt to change those around me, but the rekindled emotion that I felt while listening to the speakers and observing the crowd of those passionately in support of the same cause, it was uplifting, it struck some heartstrings, and it made me remember why I ever got started down this path.

Third, and most importantly, there are varying degrees of support and activism you can choose to show, but everything is important. I am resigned to the idea that I am not a vocal leader. I do not like to confront people. I can be a pretty lazy person. And for the most part, have a thick skin and a slippery back (ya know, because I let stuff slide off it so easily). So in all fairness, I am not the ideal candidate for activism. A quiet, passive, and unmotivated go-with-the-flow probably won't rival the loud-speaker toting, in-your-face type in regard to making a statement, but like I said, there are more ways to be involved. My presence alone, and the presence of my friend, our inclusion with this group and for this cause bolstered the unity of a group of strangers with the same goal. My blank face, Chicago Fire baseball hat, blue shirt, and cargo shorts were nothing to note, but to those around me, those who care, my actions stood as loud as my words. I might not have yelled when the rest of the crowd cheered in support (but I clapped!), and I didn't make a sign as clever as 'PEACE, LOVE, SLUTS!,' and I didn't even bust out my lingerie in a proclamation of 'it doesn't matter how I dress!,' but I'll continue to be a body included in the head count, a silent role model, a lead by example, not by screaming leader, and be content with my role, knowing that everything I do to help is, in fact, help, and to never lose sight of that, no matter how small it might be.

Real Reality Dating

So, Monday night, I watched the second installment of The Bachelorette, the hit ABC show. To be fair, I missed the first hour, but like a fist pump from fate, it airs in two hour segments for its entire run. Count your blessed stars now, it’s nearly a miracle (not to mention the indescribable gift of full length episodes appearing online). So in my abbreviated viewing, I saw our feaurette, Ashley, legitimately make out with three of the suitors. Now, I’m sure there are some time lapses, so it’s hard to get a firm grip on the exact progression, but I had to stop at this one.

Besides my overwhelming desire to yell out certain descriptive words toward her behavior, I couldn’t help but to explore the structure of this show. You have 25 guys vying for one girl. So throughout the show, there is backstabbing, foul play, broken bonds, and about every style of ‘game’ you could imagine, including mask wearing and wine making. So they load a bunch of seemingly diverse candidates into limos and deliver them to the door of Ashley. While only getting a few minutes of camera time with about half of the guys, she’s already required to give out roses and whittle the group down by 7 (I think?). So almost solely on first impression, some guys are never even given the chance at wooing. So long, drunk, passed out guy. Adios humble New York meat chopper. Good luck frosted tips and lacking a tie, maybe next time. And the crowd is down to 18.

Move to the most current episode, where a group date (that I admittedly haven’t watched yet) and two one-on-one dates took place. With some guys easily in the pole position, and others already a lap down, still spinning wheels in first gear, the gap between first and last is at its greatest. The dates were pretty memorable, including a trip to Vegas, dinner in the Bellagio fountain, dancing and kissing, ankle deep in water, in front of a live band, while being the only people in the audience, and a slew of other fancy drinks and tasty food. Would I have loved to schedule one of those, cameras or not? You bet your ass. But, as the setting and the format of the show allows, Ashley finds herself alone with a few of her favorites, gives out a bunch of kisses, a little tongue, three early roses (even though, through the magic of TV, we all know Bentley is just a douche bag with major game), and an aura of uncertainty about the remaining 15, still including the masked marauder (who gets stymied moments before removing his disguise). Barely able to sift through the weeds to find the flowers (pun intended), she cans three more dudes, who, while disappointed, I’m sure knew they weren’t running with the same horsepower under the hood.

While I only plan on watching this show until my buddy is no longer coming up roses (or so I say), I can forecast a little. Ashley will continue to date the guys, with the ones she likes more and more getting the most amount of face time. A few story lines will be fabricated to create drama. But the constant theme throughout will be each guy vying for Ashley’s attention, trying to stay in the game, to stay ahead of the pack, to find every little inside turn, every fast track, and to ultimately survive a concentrated and brutal attempt at dating.

Hey, um, doesn’t that sound a lot like dating, minus the fabricated drama. Actually, lies belong in there too ('oh, sorry, I have a thing tomorrow night. I’ll call you next week'). The only thing missing from the real world of dating are the directors. Otherwise, going on multiple dates with different people at the same time? Completely normal. Overlapping passionate kisses between two or even three possible lifetime mates? Completely normal. Doing everything you can to stand out against the pack and flash your beautiful peacock feathers? Completely normal. 100% eliminating seemingly normal candidates based on taste alone, without even trying to get to know them? Completely normal. Having to decide between two people that you honestly care about, but happen to be in your life at the exact same moment? Completely normal.

I don’t think the numbers on successful marriages after The Bachelor or The Bachelorette are too high, but, could they be so much worse than the national average? Probably not. Just saying, there are worse ways of finding someone to spend your life with. I hope, for Ashley’s sake, she picks JP. Not that I’m going to watch and find out or anything.

Love and Reality TV

Last night, I watched the two hour premiere of The Bachelorette on ABC. Normally, I would not subject myself (or anyone else, for that matter) to this programming, but a friend and former teammate in college was making his television debut, and based on what we all know about him, watching was a necessity (he's usually a beacon of entertainment, even when cameras aren't present). While the personal highlights were scattered, they were amazing, and I am thankful he received a rose after the first night, ensuring at least one more episode of spontaneous uproarious laughter every time he appears on screen. But, I am also thankful that he was not successful in this journey, as could be clearly identified by his lack of exposure in the series preview, since, simply reinforcing my preconceived notions, the vast majority of reality television is at least partially scripted, planned, choreographed, story boarded, and set up, resulting in a group of non-professional actors and actresses attempting to feign reality, conning millions of viewers and joining together to lower the IQ of the world.

In the first two hours, you had:

- A man in a mask claim he wanted love to grow from the inside out. A bold act, and one that isn't unthinkable, but immediately caused the alcohol inspired and culturally shallow contestants, err, suitors to start a conflict, antagonize, name call, and dramatize the phantom of the opera type stalking the masked man performed. There was no way that his actions weren't at least a little bit influenced by the faces off camera. Because, when I wear a mask to stand out and make an impression, I make sure to lurk in the shadows while dark movie music plays.

- A man, while one-on-one with the prize of the show, pulls his cell phone out and calls his mom. So, while none of the other contestants carry a cell phone (an assumption, based on they're required to deactivate facebook for a while, not to mention you never see a phone during the rest of the show), this man gets to follow through with his plan by calling home so his mom can tell Ashley that once they start sharing a bedroom, to always use protection. Because the first thing most moms would tell a strange women whom their son is trying to court is to wear a condom when they have sex.

- A man walks into the main room with a guitar, trumping my boy's main chance at getting the bachelorette alone, only to walk her out onto the patio and hurl his guitar into the pool. He claimed he didn't know how to play guitar, and showing up with one was just a way to get her alone. Because, when I'm packing for an undisclosed amount of time in tight quarters, you can bet the first thing on my mind is 'better save room for that guitar I can't play.'

- The highlight of the night: A man, consumed with the jitters, unable to utter one word of intelligence, including the main contributor to team 'Anti-masks,' becomes so alarmingly drunk that he loses the ability to form words, and falls asleep on the bench, snoring away, unable to be awoken for several minutes until he's carried away by some fellow competitors and ushered into his limo ride home. This 35 year-old worked as a liquor distributor, but apparently, despite being surrounded by it as a career, never distributes any into his own system, and somehow managed to get so drunk he forgets how to speak. Because, when I stumble into my 15 minutes of fame, with the goal a beautiful if not terribly smart wife, my first instinct is to drink my face off, reducing me to the intellect of a 3 year old, and hope that goes over well.

And among all of this, the bachelorette has the audacity to stand in a room of 25 men she's never met and foreshadow aloud, 'I think my husband is standing in this room.' So amidst the production lights, invasive cameras, scripted dates, over-exaggerated traditions (like pausing 15 seconds before handing out each of the first 18 roses), and the over-whelming sensation that these candidates are literally competing, from scheming, backstabbing, bad-mouthing, and any other form of getting ahead, to end up as the final man with a rose, just to force a marriage with someone who already failed once (she was on The Bachelor a few years ago), Ashely is confident that this is the best medium for finding true love.

I don't know a lot about love. I haven't had many successful relationships. Of my closest friends, I'm the one still single. I'm saying my track record leads me as far away as a love expert as you could imagine (besides being a romantic at heart with a passion for sappy quotes and Shakespearean plots). So forgive me for saying, but somewhere between the failed reality of reality a television show and the over-bearing production of a relationship, chalk full of the same woman going on dozens of dates around the world with several guys at the same time, I just find it hard to believe that this is where love is born, grows, and survives. Reality TV screams scripted, fake, deceiving, staged, and controlled; couldn't be a better way to describe love, right?

Recipe for One and Done: A Guide to Unsuccessful First Dates

Ingredients:

One well-rounded individual (WRI)

One potential mate/interested party (PM/IP)

One restaurant (small)

4 cups Alcohol

Scoop of Emotions

Pinch of Awkwardness

Money (credit card fine)

Handful of Hope

2 Follow-up Texts

Steps:

1. Start with the one well-rounded individual. Smart, reasonably successful, cute but not hot, fluctuating levels of confidence. Rinse and scrub, coat with dressing of your choice (keep it classy, nothing too extreme). Set aside for now, we will need this soon.
2. Bring in the potential mate/interested party. The background isn’t important, but make sure it pairs well with our main ingredient. Use lean meat, aged, but not moldy. Strong enough to be a main dish, but here, works well as a pairing. Once upon a time this was important to really pin down and get it perfect, but as time has gone on and this recipe has had time to mature, there is more liberty here than ever before.
3. In the small restaurant, combine WRI and PM/IP. Lightly mix, letting the fringes overlap, but keeping the cores separate. This consists of job descriptions, one-sided conversations, nostalgic/go-to stories, college experiences, family life, or currently living situations. Keep the topics high level, but if interest is shown, delve as far as necessary to rope in.
4. Slowly mix in the 4 cups of alcohol. It’s going to feel pretty thick and tense the more you stir, so keep adding if necessary until it loosens up. The alcohol type isn’t important. It could be beer, individually coupled with each main dish, or a white wine, split evenly between the two. The more alcohol you mix in will definitely affect the WRI more than anything else. When it’s all said and done, more alcohol now will mean more fun later, so you have nothing to lose.
5. The scoop of emotions (use a wide variety here; anything from overly content to down on your luck) and pinch of awkwardness should be added together. It’s hard to use one without the other. Emotional depth is imperative to show, as it displays the ability to connect and care more than just any old dish. Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is anything you’ve ever had before. There is more going on behind the eyes than you could imagine. Simply coat the entire dish with these. Your ingredients should now start to resemble the desired result.
6. It’s about this time that you’ll need the money. Go ahead and use it like you normally would, making sure the entire dish is taken care of. Nothing out of the ordinary here, but do make a mental note: If you plan on making this a lot, you’ll probably have to replenish your supply sooner than you think.
7. Hope is a tricky ingredient. If used incorrectly, it can take many other forms. Layered on too thick, and it reeks of desperation. Sprinkled sparsely and it feels more like depression. For what we’re making here, a healthy coat is what we’re looking for. Don’t be scared of the transformation, it’s essential for this recipe.
8. Often included with a hearty layer of hope are the two follow-up texts. These should be sweet, as they are the final touches, and the lasting memory you will leave. Use names, for recognition factor. These should get everyone thinking about the future, when you’ll be preparing this dish again. Reaching is essential here. Relive the moment that just transpired, allude to the next time it will be made, and make sure to reiterate how much fun you had. After all, you wouldn’t keep pulling out this recipe unless you were having fun, right?