That brown man

Just Because

2009-11-11T16:16:00.007-06:00

Just posting some images....hoping to get your feedback. Trying this photography thing on for size.

Elusive

2009-07-09T12:48:00.003-05:00

How is it that love is all around me, but yet, is exceedingly elusive. For me, it appears in an almost dream-like state...and when I reach out to grab it, it disappears into the ether, as quickly as it arrived.

Am I dreaming that I think I will ever find love? Methinks....maybe.

My life is over

2009-04-09T12:51:00.002-05:00

Too much, and too personal to write here. My life, as I know it, is over. I've made a few mistakes in my life, a few too many. And everything I know and love has been taken away from me, which probably serves me right, but doesn't make it any easier to accept.

I'm at the middle of my projected life expectancy, and I feel like someone who won the lottery and pissed it all away, only to be in a worse state.

I'm not sure how I am going to go on.

It is going to be intensely difficult to cope.

I am numb beyond compare.

I regret. And I am sad.

I am alone.

Voting

2008-11-04T07:44:00.002-06:00

As you've probably read in my Twitter update (to the right), I voted. I was up at the crack of dawn (Romania time). Had about, oh, a gallon of coffee. Read the (online) paper -- it was so early that today's paper hadn't been updated, so I had to read yesterday's news. Now that's being up early!

I arrived at the polling place, which conveniently is across the street from my building (FTW!). I was there 10 minutes early. Huge line (as compared to four years ago, where electioneers were begging people to come in and vote....that was 10 minutes in and out). So I stand and wait. And wait. 20 minutes in, and having checked my Blackberry no less than 50 times for new messages (as if anyone is going to be sending me e-mail or texts this early in the morning), I pull out my latest edition of Crain's and read it. 10 minutes later some guy walks down to my end of the line announces that the election precinct I am in has a much shorter line towards the front. FTW! 30 minutes later (I notice that the line I previously stood in has not moved), I'm at the registration table. 10 minutes later I have my ballot in it's privacy sleeve....but, receiving that ballot came at a price listening to the "election officials" argue about who's going to write "the number" on the voting slip, and the lady who takes my ID mumbling, "I'm not a whore. You're the whore." Stay classy, Chicago!

With ballot, privacy sleeve, and acid-free, special "electronic" marker (it was a Sharpie on steroids) in hand, I am directed to the nearest voting booth. I'm in!

First vote is for the Illinois Constitution Convention. Or, the Con Con, as it's known. What?

Next vote, the big one, drum roll please, "select your choice for President and Vice President of the United States". As opposed to Mexico or Trinidad Tobago or Laos.

I reach the end of the page, and it reads "turn over to vote on next side". Next side? In front of me lay a list of no less than a hundred Illinois Circuit Court judges wishing to be retained. Seriously?

So I start "connecting the arrows". At this point, I turn the ballot on its side so I can relieve the cramp frmo connecting side to side and connect up and down. 20 minutes later, I'm done.

I place the ballot back into the privacy sleeve and bring it to the "ballot reader" and slide it in. The machine lets out an electronic yelping sound, lights are flashing, and the display reads "SPOILED". What? Spoiled? What the heck does that mean?

Apparently, I voted YES and NO for a particular Circuit Court judge. D'oh! "Can't be overridden," says the ballot reader machine election official, "You'll have to go back to table 2 and get another ballot." Which I do, and the ballot I just filled in is tattooed "SPOILED"...the official who hands me the new ballot snickers, "don't mess this one up, cuz we ain't givin' you 'nuther one! Just kiddin'!" So, I had to vote again! Chicago politics at its finest.

20 minutes later, my ballot is read correctly and I'm handed my generic "I VOTED" receipt. That's me, the guy with the spoiled ballot. * sigh *

And, now, the time has come...

2008-07-24T08:52:00.002-05:00

Have we met the Apocalypse? Have we really run out of things to study? I mean, come on, honestly? What's next, "Is pet ownership really for white people?", or something equally as absurd?

And, where are all of the "studies" on Asians and their socoiological needs?

Today is my Friday...

2008-07-02T10:01:00.001-05:00

...although it's Wednesday, and when asked earlier what day it is I answered, "it's Thursday."

I really need a break.

Today is July 1st...

2008-07-01T13:38:00.001-05:00

...that is all.

Perception

2008-06-26T09:21:00.007-05:00

If you haven't noticed, I use my Yahoo avatar as my image on this blog. I do this because I don't find myself particularly photogenic. Some may disagree, but, it is, after all, a matter of perception. [did anyone notice the number, of, commas, in, that, last, sentence?]

So, I would like to perceive myself looking like this:

However, I feel like I look like this:

It's kinda sad, I know. * sigh *

So, this is what being an asshole is like?

2008-06-26T07:46:00.004-05:00

I'm at the gym this morning (don't worry, the apocalypse is not upon us, just that my pants have staged a revolution...story for another time).

I get on the elliptical. The one on the end, because I don't like other cars to park near me and ding my doors on at least one side.

Ellipting.

Ellipting.

I notice the woman two or three machines to my left is glancing over.

[No shame,] I look directly at her (all the while I'm ellipting even faster...Chicks dig fast ellipterers).

She smiles. I smile back.

She's making eyes at me (Swingers' style, just without the baby).

I now puff my chest out like some kind of Mutual of Omaha mating moment.

I glance over again. Pretty face. Sweaty in that "I'm-sweaty-but-I'm-sexy-cuz-this-is-what-my-face-looks-like-during-sex" kind of way.

She dismounts. One big step. That's gonna be a 3/10 point deduction, but shouldn't affect her all-around score.

I notice her legs. They're funky. Funkily shaped. Skinny ankles, almost tapering to a point to her heel. But, as you look up, each leg widens to almost 10X the width of aforementioned ankle.

Her legs look like, well, table legs.

She glances back one more time. I start repeating my Spanish lesson on my iPod a little louder, glance back, and crack a Charlie Brown, squiggly line smile back.

Game over.

I'm an asshole.

What day is today?

2008-06-18T08:13:00.003-05:00

I've been in the office for about an hour and a half now. I've been furiously responding to e-mail sent to me yesterday (I left at 1500, just because), and have been furiously updating status reports.

And, thus far, every reference to today in anything I have written and subsequently sent reads "Tuesday". (if you haven't noticed, today is Wednesday....my cube neighbor just confirmed that for me)

This is gonna be a long rest of the week.

The Web 2.0 Syndrome

2008-06-17T07:43:00.005-05:00

I'm addicted to online networking. Facebook and LinkedIn in particular. I use Facebook for more "social networking", although I belong to a former company's "alumni" group here (LinkedIn became too cumbersome for this group, especially when it came to mass e-mail distribution). I use LinkedIn for "professional networking", although I'll admit I try to "connect" with media hotties (Ginger Zee and Michelle Gielan, I'm talking to you). And, I can't seem to NOT be on one of these two sites during the day -- LinkedIn whilst in the office, and Facebook when I get home.

Both have provided some critical utility to my life. LinkedIn allows me to connect with old colleagues and maintain my otherwise gargantuan professional (and pseudo-social -- Yalile and Sherry I'm talking about you two) network of contacts. The "social" side of me (my sisters would argue that I'm hardly "social" and more of an angry curmudgeon who seeks new scapegoats for my otherwise miserable life) uses Facebook to "manage" the social web that I weave (metaphor: That Brown Man is an angry curmudgeon of a spider....oh never mind).

However, I have transcended the "networking" portion of our program. I am on LinkedIn pretty much all day at work. I'm always checking to see what my connections are doing, and what updates I can leverage. Sure, I have plenty of work to do...enough, in fact, for two or three people (I say that because I have three team members, and along with my own daily work, I'm constantly correcting theirs. * sigh *). But. I. Can't. Seem. To. Stay. Off. Of. LinkedIn.

Facebook just adds to the problem It is like the morphine to my LinkedIn cocaine in my Web 2.0 speedball. It started slowly. Just a few hits, err, I mean a few friends. Then a "friend" introduced me to an online Facebook game THAT I CHECK EVERY DAY TWICE, SOMETIMES THREE TIMES A DAY. (yes, "my liege", you know who I'm talkin' 'bout) And, I continue my search of media hotties on Facebook -- * knock, knock *, Michelle and Ginger, you still there? My laptop will have to pried from my cold dead fingers.

But wait, that's not all. It gets worse. I have Facebook for my Blackberry, so I can get my Facebook hit even if I'm not in front of my computer.

What the hell is wrong with me? Is there a cure? Somebody save me!

Can I use a mulligan here?

2008-06-02T07:32:00.003-05:00

I want a do-over for this past weekend. Nicest weather we've had so far, I stayed indoors for much of it. And, I didn't have much fun whatsoever. What are the possibilities of driving my Delorean 88 mph until the flux capacitor kicks in and I am whisked back to Friday night?

The "just-friends" escape clause

2008-05-28T09:13:00.016-05:00

As I have grown and matured (read: aged, not so much like fine wine, but like old cheese in that drawer in your fridge) and as my career has progressed (read: survived three corporate bankruptcies and multiple "reductions-in-force", or, please pack your box, leave the stapler, and security will escort you to the first floor...may I have your ID, please?), I have developed an unusually sardonic outlook on dating. Please read on...and don't be hatin'.

I view dating as if it were a merger/acquisition, with a strategic planning phase (where you conduct your due diligence and exchange/obtain confidential information), a transaction structuring phase (where you evaluate deal points and potentially close the deal -- this is not what you think when I say "close the deal"...trust me on this), and the final phase of a successful integration (where the resources and assets are combined and a post-closing audit is conducted). You're thinking to yourself, "Man, the Brown Man is cynical," right?

You're damn right I'm cynical. The planning phase is a bitch -- a whole lot of uncertainty reduction, things to learn about a person (the due diligence), trying to identify or recognize chemistry, or create chemistry. Now if in this phase the merger doesn't work, then a clean break between the interested parties is easiest at this point -- the main investment is financial (primarily on the man's part), and emotionally no bond is strong enough to matter.

Now, if the planning phase goes well and you're lucky enough to transaction structuring phase, well good on ya! This is usually the fun part of the negotiation -- both parties determine what's important for both, compromise is welcome and frequent, and, most significant is the proximity to a deal being made. However, if as the negotiation progresses to a point where no deal can be closed, a clean break is probably not possible and may be downright contentious and painful.

IF (a big IF) you are fortunate enough to reach the integration phase, and make it a successful integration, then you have reach the acme, the top, the peak, the end. There is a possibility that even after you have successfully integrated, this integration may not survive the (cue "dunh-dunh-dunh" music) dreaded post-integration audit. During the audit phase even the most triumphant of integrations can suffer the wrath of the audit. The tiniest, teeniest factor can destroy your relational merger/acquisition. And, this can amount to anything. Incompatible operating structures -- read: she likes to see "girlie" movies, drink non-martini martini drinks that cost $12, have a three bite dinner, wear heels with her Sevens, see ballet and opera; he likes to fart in bed, eat meat (and, that's it), fart some more, watch golf on tv, and play wii until his vision blurs an thumbs cramp. Fiscal inconsistencies -- read: he doesn't make enough and she buys $300 a pair Manolo Blahniks or Jimmy Choos....frequently. Human resource issues -- read: her friends think he's a slob; his friends thinks she is a prissy bitch (but still want to hook up with her friends). And, this is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg; the audit process can extend so far until the far reaches of the integration fracture and ultimately sunder itself to the rolls of history.

So, you're thinking this might be a bit overly dramatic? I don't think it is. As a matter of fact, I think this a rather accurate depiction. Of course, I could provide additional analysis, but I think you get the point.

Recently, I didn't get past the planning phase. She exercised the formidable and conclusive "I don't think this is going to go farther than just friends" out clause. Thus, this latest attempt at a merger/acq...I mean dating was snuffed out in an instant once those two words were uttered..."just friends".

And, now, I return to my life as Papa Smurf.

Who's your grand-daddy? Or daddy, for that matter?

2008-04-29T09:21:00.008-05:00

How crazy is this story? A father holds his daughter -- his own flesh and blood (!) -- captive in a soundproof room in the cellar, with an electronically keyed door (like the ones at work) that weighs, oh, about 700 lbs!!!! And, he rapes her repeatedly, siring seven children WITH HIS DAUGHTER, HIS OWN FLESH AND BLOOD!!!!! If the captivity wasn't enough, Josef threw in a little incest to keep it real, yo. (My hands are shaking as I type this; I'm so angry and appalled and aghast)

Those crazy Austrians. I realize this is only the second story coming out of Austria about someone essentially abducted and held captive against their will, then escaping. However, my greater gut (and my gut is great, if not in fame or stature in just mere size alone, but I digress) tells me this is two too many.

Austrian authorities say "they do not believe that there is anything darker or more rotten here in Austria than in any other country." Really? Austria doesn't bear anything dark or more rotten or more sinister or more evil? Wasn't Hitler Austrian? I rest my case.

Sacrifice

2008-03-10T09:31:00.005-05:00

It's Lent. And, being a good Catholic (good is relative here, go figure...Catholics), it's that time of year when we are supposed to give up something as a sacrifice during this Lenten season, other than the typical red meat on Friday's. Every year, it's something different -- alcohol, swearing, candy, TV, movies, soda, pizza, going out, etc., ad nauseum. Some people give up a vice of theirs, something that will bring them closer to God.

So, to that end, I give up (on) dating.

That is all.

Happiness, thy name is Maggie

2008-02-23T14:27:00.004-06:00

As the video says, how can this NOT make you happy?

Gauley Baby!

2008-02-08T18:14:00.000-06:00

This is a short clip of the last Class V rapid we hit on the Gauley River in West Virginia. I believe that last rapid was called Sweets Falls. We got caught in Box Canyon. I blame Gabe.

I was there for Gauley Season 2007. Me. Uncle Ron. Mike. Gabe, the evil one who wanted me launched from the raft. The church dudes from Cincinnati, OH.

Gauley River:

View Larger Map

I'm in the rear of the raft, along its left-hand side. Yellow helmet. Yellow so they can identify my lifeless body floating downriver when I get dumped from the raft in the middle of a hit on a class V.

Luckily that didn't happen.

There's always next year....

Thanks to Rivermen -- we'll see you at Gauley Season later this year.

Sarah Silverman and Matt singing

2008-02-05T06:27:00.001-06:00

I don't know why I find this so funny, but I LOVE Sarah Silverman...and, her irreverence is so, well, entertaining!

Birthday Pinay...not pinata

2008-02-03T14:10:00.001-06:00

This is my little sister...and, she's wearing the "pinay" t-shirt I bought her for her birthday. Power to the people.

This is the power of brown ^TM

UPS...don't even think about it.

** Many thanks to www.taglishtees.com for making this possible **

Yes, I'll admit it, I'm a Lostie ... * sigh *

2008-02-01T14:24:00.001-06:00

Of course I'm the asian guy! How incredibly appropriate!

Find out Which Lost Character Are You at LiquidGeneration.com!

I AM a foodie...

2008-01-26T07:37:00.000-06:00

89%

What happened?

2008-01-22T20:26:00.000-06:00

I realize I haven't written anything in almost 2 or 3 years....I promise to post something in the next few weeks. Stay tuned.

If

2006-06-06T07:37:00.000-05:00

Feeling inspirational today.....

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

...that is all

White Sox win the World Series!!!!!

2005-11-01T11:40:00.000-06:00

Okay, so this post is a little late. My beloved Chicago White Sox won the World Series over a week ago. But, better late than never, right? And, we finally have a winner, ladies and gentlemen. After agonizing about the Fighting Illini's loss in the national championship. Agonizing the entire 2005 baseball season over the huge lead and eventual backslide towards the end of the year. The White Sox have won the World Series 88 years after the first time they won it and 46 years after they were last in the Series. I can hardly believe it -- as a matter of fact, I am in a hazy disbelief that it actually happened. But, I am very happy that it did, even if it is quietly so.

Fuck that hypocritical diatribist Jay Mariotti. Go suck a dick.

Especially fuck that gloryholing fucker, Corey McPherrin. Go suck a dick.

Fuck Cubs fans, the motherfuckers. All of you can suck a dick.

The White Sox are the World Series Champs!

Thank you for letting me get that off my chest. Now, if only the Bears could win the Super Bowl?

Little People

2005-06-30T13:01:00.000-05:00

As many of you now, my dating life has been consigned to the world of on-line dating. Match.com, eHarmony (which I no longer am participating in – a story for another entry), Yahoo personals (also know as “the-freaks-come-out-on-line”, dot com), Chicagoist personals, etc. I equate on-line dating to shopping in a catalogue – you look through the pages at a series of items in pictures/photos, and you decide what you like best and buy it. Of course, you don’t really “buy” anything on match.com, you just choose to contact that person, or “wink”, which is the equivalent of saying, “I’m interested in you, but, I’m either too shy to write the first time, or, I’m afraid of rejection and I want to see if you wink first, or, I’m too lazy to write you right now and I want to see if you wink or write to see if you are worth the time,” amongst a plethora of other dumb reasons to just wink without writing. Anyway, I digress.

Let’s discuss why I chose the path of on-line dating. First, it’s a matter of time, or lack of it. I just don’t have the time to go out “clubbing” or to bars on a frequent basis just for the purpose of meeting ladies. I know that a lot of men go very often for this sole purpose, but I view it as an intense waste of time, and financial resources, to do that. And, who really wants to meet someone in a bar anyway (except, if you are my best friend, Dino, who married the girl he met at Bamboo Bernie’s). Moreover, I am way past my clubbing and barhopping days. As old age slowly creeps into my life, not only can I not physically stay out late, my tolerance for that scene is virtually non-existent. Second, to use other “live” dating services is cost-prohibitive. “It’s Just Lunch” has a great premise, but at over $1,000 for something like six (6) set-ups/dates, well, I just don’t have that kind of money to squander. Of course, if I did have that kind of money, I probably wouldn’t need to use “It’s Just Lunch” now, would I? Third, meeting women just on the street is kind of weird. I have never had a problem just going up to someone and (hopefully) striking up a conversation. But, using that skill with the intention of trying to get a date is somewhat devious, wouldn’t you agree? And, I feel that most women who are just approached on the street by random strangers who “hit on them” find the whole situation to be rather creepy. Fourth, on-line dating services are just easier on the ego – a rejection from someone you winked at or just wrote is easier to digest than a face-to-face, “No, I’m just not interested in you.” There are many more reasons, but I think you get the basic gist.

Onto our hero’s story – I receive an email from a Ms. I (names have been changed to protect the innocent). Now, Ms. I doesn’t have any photos, and normally, I don’t respond to correspondence when the sender does not have photos on her profile. But, in this case, Ms. I’s email was so very nice, that, I decided to take a chance and write her back. Of course, I asked if she had any images she could share with me. She mentions that she did not put up any photos on her profile because, “[she] doesn’t want her co-workers to recognize her….blah blah blah.” So, before I do anything else, I wait for her photos, which I receive about a week later. She’s fairly cute, from what I can tell, and her emails are fun, so, I give her a chance, and we continue to email. Now, I am one that is not too terribly fond of the whole “let’s-email-each-other-and-get-to-know-each-other-that-way” type of online dater – a few emails, maybe a phone call or two, then, we typically drinks or dinner. So, Ms. I and I, after a phone call or two, decide to meet for dinner at a restaurant close to her. Keep in mind, we have only spoken on the phone a few times, and, have an idea of what she looks like, so, I’m hoping for the best. After a round of “drive-around-the-block-looking-for-parking” I find a parking garage and park there. There is no direct route to the restaurant, as the garage is on another street, so I am forced to take the circuitous route. Luckily the restaurant has a large, open glass front, so I can peer in and try to spot her so I don’t fumble my way through trying to find her in all of the commotion. As I come within range to view inside the first window, I notice a rather short woman sitting in the waiting area. Well, saying short is being nice, she is actually a “little person” – my sister informs me that she is not a midget, but, rather a dwarf because, although she is atypically short, her limbs and features are atypically proportioned or formed (amongst other reasons). And, the asshole that I am, what do you think popped into my mind? (Okay, sicko, NOT that). That damn song from the Wizard of Oz. You know the one, it goes, “…we are part of the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild, …,” or something like that. You know the song, the one the munchkins sing when Dorothy first comes upon them. Okay, so that was just downright callous to think that when I saw that short woman through the glass, but, we are all narrow-minded in some way. And, yes, it was evil, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Much to my chagrin, the short woman I just saw in the window, who approached me when I walked in (coming up to just short of mid chest to me, and keep in mind I am only five foot seven!) and said, “Are you Ray?” WAS MY DATE!!!!!!!!!! Only me, Ray, could wind up going on a date with a DWARF (or midget, I have no idea). What fitting karmic retribution for all of those times I made fun of a fat girl, or any girl for that matter, or rejected someone, or cheated on someone, or whatever evil I committed during my dating chronicles. Needless to say, we had dinner, then, as politely as possible, walked her to her car and thus ended the evening. I did tell her that we weren’t “vibing” and that “this wasn’t going to work out for either of us.” Heck, at least I was honest. Of course, I didn’t tell her about the Lollipop Guild. “Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.”

Me, myself and I

2005-06-22T15:12:00.000-05:00

So, I’m thinking about being alone. No, no, it’s nothing like that – it’s not like have someone, and I want some “alone-time”. I’m thinking about my “singleness”, the solitude that has defined and consumed the majority of my short thirty-eight years on the planet. Being alone is a choice, I suppose, as I chose to not date from some years in my late twenties, due, in part, to a failed romance with a woman I know was (is?) the love of my life (she knows who she is; she is one of my best friends). Subsequent years yielded many dates and few fruitful relationships. Of course, I dated like a fiend in college and in my early twenties – some would say that my current dry spell is karmic retribution for that crazy time. Suffice to say, now, at thirty-eight, I have no significant (or insignificant, for that matter) other, and no prospects for that coveted position. Not really sure what that is, it just is what it is. Everyone says, “It will happen when you least expect it.” Well guess what, I don’t expect anything, and I still don’t believe that anything will happen. But, that’s not the point of this piece. Lately, I have been thinking about that fact that I will probably be single for the rest of my natural life. And, astonishingly, I am okay with this. It has become a truth to me. I am fairly certain that I am destined to be alone until my Maker comes for me. And, you know, I am not sad about it at all. I used to anguish over certain break-ups when I was younger. And, when I didn’t get to marry the woman I wanted to be my bride, I shuttered myself from the female population for three years. Now, I find myself with plenty of quality time, and a sizable surplus of quality time (anyone want to buy some quality time?). Consequently, my mind goes to work, and work, and work, and work. Random, pointless thoughts. Deep, philosophical, one-sided arguments. Questions. Answers. Recipes. Lists. Wants. Needs. Desires. Dreams (really, the only time that I do this regularly….I rarely dream when I am asleep). And, then, the inevitable – girls. Sure, I think about them, but I can’t date thoughts now, can I? So, I think about being alone, alone-ness, being one, isolation, meals for one, who my emergency contact will be, to whom do I will my stuff, if my nephew will think I am a big nerd from not having a girlfriend/wife, what my nephew will think that he has no cousins, buying a single towel or the pair, wondering why food can’t be packaged in less than family size, what to claim on my W-4, getting help for projects around the house . . . these are some of the things I think about when I think about being alone. Alone is a double-edged sword. It’s nice to be able to have the freedom to do the things you want without hindrance or objection. At the same time, those occurrences when you need to have someone around (i.e., dates for weddings or other events, tasks requiring more than a pair of hands) requires more than some planning and a fair amount of consideration. Alone is expensive. I can’t explain why, it just is. Alone is challenging. You can’t just play a board game by yourself, and that also prohibits playing tennis or ping-pong (at least you can golf alone). Discussions with yourself when you are alone make you look like you are talking to yourself, which, essentially, you are, and also make you appear loony. But, if no one is around, how can you “appear” loony if no one is around to witness your lunacy? Most recipes have to be cut in half; more often than not you are eating leftovers for a while because you prepared a full recipe. Intimacy becomes quite the paradox, but, we will save that topic for a future entry.

Funny thing is, in spite of all of this, I find solace in my solitude. I’m not writing this for sympathy; I just want to let everyone know that I’m okay being alone. And, I will continue to purchase two tickets for the annual Illini Fall Football get together with my friends, just in case.

Morose

2005-04-05T07:55:00.000-05:00

That is the only word to describe how I feel this morning.

I got up at the usual time.

Had my usual three cups of coffee.

Read the paper.

But, no matter how hard I went to my usual routine to invoke my version of normal, the loss of my beloved Fighting Illini last night stills hangs in the air like a fine mist coming off of a fog rolling in to blanket my day in darkness.

I feel ill when I think about all of the naysayers coming back to the forefront. Now that the bandwagon has abruptly come to a screeching halt, time to jump off. I can hear it now, the endless “I-told-you-so’s” assaulting me like the massive raindrops of the first spring thunderstorm. Eventually this will storm will spawn a whirlwind of comments ranging from “they were good, but, not good enough” and “they didn’t have what it took down the stretch” and “good team, but the talent wasn’t good enough”, ad nauseum.

And, although I still think Jay Mariotti is a moron, and the King of all Naysayers, he does make a good point in his column today – “Sports archivists tend to remember only the champs, not the runners-up.” Forget the fact that Illinois had a 37-2 record on the season, tying only a few other clubs to reach that mark, or came back from a double-digit deficit to win a game in the Elite Eight that may be remembered as a tourney classic. Only one team can win. Unfortunately, it was a team with a bunch of punk kids with attitude and leaps, who ousted their last coach, went 8 - 20 in their first season with the new coach.

Jay Mariotti really IS an idiot

2005-03-25T08:17:00.000-06:00

The media. Grrr. The media. They are fickle. They are indecisive. They waffle. Sometimes they smell like waffles. But this guy is just killing me. Notorious for not supporting the local sports contingent, any sports team in Chicago regardless of sport or prestige, he experiences an epiphany with the Fighting Illini basketball team? His exact words, “Never, ever doubt them. They will make you look dumb.” Just three weeks before, this idiot was calling the Illini a bunch of crying babies, how they melted down, were confused, how they “wobbled,” that they were not a “perfect team.” “Hogwash,” I say. Bollocks. And, now, he’s calling the Illini “America’s Team.” and, now, he's on the Illini Nation bandwagon? That’s right, bitch, they ARE America’s Team, regardless of what you write about them. The constant criticism of their game, and all the Illini can do is post “W’s”? Well, guess what, Mr. Moron-otti, the Illini just made YOU look dumb.

Okay, I'm done now. Whew. Anyone have some beta-blockers or an AED I can borrow?

Jay Mariotti is an idiot

2005-03-07T09:08:00.000-06:00

Ok, so I relented, and bought both the Chicago Tribune and the Sun Times. I almost never buy the Sun Times because it's very much like reading the National Enquirer or the Sun, and I already subscribe to US Weekly. Of course, I only bought the papers today to read what all of the so-called "pundits" (what makes one an expert if he/she hasn't done anything in the area that he/she is supposed to be expert in? Curious) had to say about Illinois' loss. And, this brings me to my point -- Jay Mariotti is an idiot. Not just your garden variety idiot; a full-blown, blow-hard, dyed-in-the-wool (whatever that's supposed to mean), hard-boiled IDIOT. And, I quote, "But then, there never was a compelling reason to think Illinois was a perfect team." Is he kidding me here!?!?! Okay, agreed, NOTHING nor NOBODY is perfect, but, what exactly is he insinuating here? "And, now that we've seen it, the history-buster that leaves the Illini 29-1, the issue isn't why they wilted in the final minutes against Ohio State, but how they'll respond to their first blast of failure in almost a year." Again, are you kidding me?!?! They lost a critical game that is a major measure of PRIDE, not just success, not only for Illinois, but for the Big Ten overall. "I have contended all along, to the wails of players and fans, that this team was better off losing a game before the NCAA tournament so it wouldn't carry unreasonable burdens and pressures into March." I hate to tell you, Jay (read name with dripping sarcasm), but, when Illinois was ranked for longer than a week at No. 1, and EVERYONE ELSE was already calling them darlings and saying that this could be Illinois' chance at competing for a National Championship, THAT ALONE was "unreasonable burden and pressure." Moron. Further, "[t]hey needed a reminder that they aren't superior to the rest of college basketball as much as a high-quality byproduct of a wishy-washy Big Ten." I agree the Big Ten conference has been fairly lackluster this season. With one very orange exception. Okay, Jay (said tauntingly) them's fighting words. Clearly, many of Jay's contemporaries don't agree with him on this point. AND, if our so-called basketball "pundit" would do his homework, the numbers PROVE that Illinois has dominated MANY, if not ALL, other college hoops teams in many areas. Big Ten or not, Illinois is the real deal. "But, after owning the winter as The Story, they just became one of several stories entering the real season." This just proves how powerful media influence can become, and we give this power to utter jerk-offs like Mr. Mariotti. "If there is concern about an aftereffect, it would center around the way they lost....how would they fare if their three guards weren't on their shooting games?...how susceptible were they to a team with a major presence inside? ...[a]ll of which conspired to keep the game close into the final minutes, a sorely needed aberration for an Illini team living too easy a life." Who's living the easy life, you fat-assed, no-sport reporter with bad hair and no sense of style or grace? And, comparing Matt Sylvester to Larry Bird? Moronic, simply moronic. The kid got LUCKY, that's all. He's a 7th man, a junior sub, who rose to the occasion on his HOME court. Uh, duh, Jay, numskull, that's what he's SUPPOSED to do. He's no super man. He's just a kid trying to fight for a starting spot on a team with a new coach and a new system. The kid better enjoy it, because it will be his last time. "Naturally, [Sylvester] claimed to have told a teammate he would 'score 25 points and hit the game-winner against Illinois,' further proof that karma wasn't wearing orange." And, cocky, too? One game. At home. With a team that CAN'T EVEN ENTER THE TOURNAMENT. Puh-lease. Moreover, isn't Mariotti a Chicago, home-town, reporter (who is always made fun of by his fellow sports reporters because he has nothing good to say about his home town teams). Admittedly, he's supposed to be unbiased as a reporter. However, most of the local TALENT (I emphasize TALENT here, something Mariotti lacks) leans toward supporting the hometown teams without being too overtly pro-Chicago (or Illinois). Move to Indianapolis, where the fairweather fans love to listen to the inane derision of an ignoramus like Jay Mariotti. And, talking about how the Illinois players were "water[y] eye[d]" and had "eyes [that] were still damp...." Again, what is he suggesting here? That the Illini players are a bunch of crying babies? Jackass.

"10 Items Or Less"

2005-02-16T08:18:00.000-06:00

Doesn’t that mean exactly as it reads? Or am I missing something here? Don’t you people get it? T - E - N, 10, items, or less (definition: adj. A comparative of little; Consisting of a smaller number), which means 9, or 8, or 7, and so on. But, if you want to nitpick about proper word usage, the traditional rule holds that fewer should be used for things that can be counted (fewer than four players), while less should be used with mass terms for things of measurable extent (less paper; less than a gallon of paint). However, less is used in some constructions where fewer would occur if the traditional rule were being followed. Less than can be used before a plural noun that denotes a measure of time, amount, or distance: less than three weeks; less than $400; less than 50 miles. Less is sometimes used with plural nouns in the expressions no less than (as in No less than 30 of his colleagues signed the letter) and or less (as in Give your reasons in 25 words or less) – not that Americans should be concerned with proper English, which is technically a foreign language (from England) and not American. Oy. But, I digress. Here, yet again, American society rules the roost – “I want mine, I want it now, and I don’t care about what anyone else thinks or does or if I have negatively affected them, because, guess what, I got mine” (ad infinitum). And, most Americans wonder why they get such poor service in France, or why the State Department warns citizens to not travel to a list of countries that include Pakistan and Israel (which, coincidentally, are supporters and allies to the US), or why other Americans treat each other with such disdain. Regrettably, our national obsession with ‘instant gratification’ has led to a mass breach of the “10 items or less” etiquette, and yes, I use the word ‘etiquette’ here, albeit rather loosely. Actually, more of a rule than etiquette, it is more often treated like a ‘recommendation,’ much like the speed limit, which many admittedly consider as more of a suggestion of how fast one should drive their car as opposed to a rule governing how fast one should actually go. (Yes, yes, I do recognize my hypocrisy in lecturing anyone on the speed limit, or even mentioning it as a mere suggestion or even rule/law that I tend to largely ignore. I beg of you, please cease the verbal harangue about how fast I drive…I am working on it!) Nevertheless, the beloved consumer, the beloved American consumer, has misapplied the belief of the ‘pursuit of happiness’ and distorted it, creating the hideous and multi-headed ‘instant gratification’ beast, or is it a monster? Which leads us to ‘express’ (definition: adj. Of, relating to, or appropriate for rapid travel; n. A rapid, efficient system for the delivery of goods and mail and goods and mail conveyed by such a system.) lines, or lanes, at the grocery store checkout area – the "10 items or less" rule helps to facilitate the notion that express lines are exactly that, checkout areas intended for the rapid and efficient movement and delivery of, I can’t emphasize this point enough, 10 items or less. Lesson learned: Be courteous (I still have faith in the American family, which I trust is still teaching the value of good manners), which means, please, oh for the love of all that is good and right in the world, please, allow the poor guy, with the single item (flowers, to be exact), who is late for an important date, so to speak, behind you in line to check out before you place your twenty seven – yes, I counted – items, which consisted of nothing less than a superfluous amount of single serving bags of Doritos and Cheetos (get the multi-pack, equating to one item) , single serving yogurt cups (once more, think multi-pack, you will actually save yourself some money here, as well as preserve my sanity, and the sanity of others around you), tomatoes (which should be bagged together and not separated and placed as such), etc., onto the checkout lane’s conveyor belt, coupled with a further delay as you look for a pen to fill out your check – the sign at the cashier clearly said cash or credit ONLY – and present your identification, which you had to search inside of your duffle-bag sized purse, to give to the cashier as you hand over a check that you ‘accidentally’ forgot to endorse, further delaying the progress of the express line. Is that asking for too much? Or, maybe I'm just trying to satisfy my own need for instant gratification? Maybe the appearance of my own "impatience monster" has skewed and polluted my own perspective? Nah, I don't think so.

Valentine's Day Shmalentine's Day....blecch

2005-02-15T10:59:00.000-06:00

Valentine's Day has come and gone. Thank goodness. Valentine’s shmalentine’s. Why is it that when you are alone on Valentine's Day, everyone perceives you as a "loser"? I just don't understand that at all. Ironically, a great tragedy is associated with a major holiday – the St. Valentine’s Day massacre. Apparently, there was no love lost in the mafia. So, why does American society places an incredible amount of importance in the expectation that one must be with someone on Valentine's Day? Why treat someone nice only on one day....why not be like that every day when you have someone in your life? We as Americans are far to susceptible to the marketing of things and events and stuff. It's actually fairly pathetic. Of course, I don't want to sound bitter or angry, but, you, the reader, probably already think that I am. So be it. What I am most concerned with is what my children, or my nieces and nephews will be faced with as they get older – overbearing expectations of their "love" lives, over-hyped expectations of gift giving (or receiving, I don't know which is worse), predisposed notions of how they should feel, intense pressure from their peer groups, as well as all of the unintended results from all of these effects. I just don't want them to have to go through the humiliation, hurt and torment that I have endured in my short lifetime. Unfortunately, being on overwhelmed with the media blitzkrieg on how we should think, act, talk, sit, eat, dress, smell, look, taste, walk, drive, bathe, feel, emote, drink, be drunk, sleep, ail, heal, examine, be examined, and just overall live, I have been undeservedly become a fatality of our own society, and have bought into those marketing ways and wiles. The deceit is now my own. Distressing? Certainly. A quandary? Without a doubt. Correctable? Perhaps. Rectifiable? Unsure. This all points to the perpetrator who has hoodwinked us into thinking that this day is so very important, only to reveal that this is a hoax of such grand proportion – who is this “Hallmark,” how did Hallmark take over the world?

My first attempt at anything like this....

2005-02-14T15:30:00.000-06:00

Okay.....so, I admit, I had no idea what a blog is until my friend Kat turned me onto this idea (Kat, you are my inspiration, and will be the inspiration for many others!). And, this is my first attempt at anything like this....so, please bear with me during this illogical time for me (for those of you that know me, you know why this is illogical). I will try to post here as often as I can. Does everyone know who or what Boobah is? Does it scare you as much as it does me? I used to be afraid of clowns. Clowns are now my friends since Boobah came on the scene.