Urban Meyer to Step Down as UF Head Coach

urban meyer, head coach, university of florida, health reasons

A Nice Buzz Brings Clarity

I enjoy drinking sometimes. There's something to it, possibly something much more scientific than I care to research to back me up, that brings out a conciseness to my thinking. Drinking brings out a simple and clear picture. Maybe, it's just a gift to the ADD-children in this country.

Nonetheless, I enjoy it. Sometimes when I drink to a certain point (not of complete drunkenness but of an OK buzz), I begin to tire. Maybe, it's the fatigue and not the direct alcohol I like? Because there is something to fatigue that shines that light of clarity in the brain. Instead of fog, there is line of direct waves connecting and firing, resulting in brutally honest verbiage. And sometimes, I love every second of it.

It's the fine line of drunkenness and buzzing we must walk (in various facets). Drunkenness leaves us stupid and slurring. A solid buzz can lay sharp, poignant remarks which would have never been uttered in a sober state. Unless of course you're Robin Williams (and lets face it, when was he ever sober?). Liquid courage is not a bad thing when it's somewhat controlled. Our thoughts and emotions are combined and evoked most brilliantly when a line, the line between control and freedom, are tiptoed on.

Or so my 3 1/2 glass of cheap Chardonnay say.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tK3Ce9md96g: The Decemberists, Sixteen Military Wives -- Somehow this represents what I'm trying to say.

A Native American's Take On Thanksgiving

If I were a Native American, I might have this to say about Thanksgiving:

Dear White People (and all other people who give thanks to those who stole my land by eating Turkey):

My name is Dale, and I'm 1/8 Native American. I know 1/8 may not seem like a lot, but if my people were allowed the necessary means to raise a family in some other place besides a remote desert, I may have slightly thicker blood lines. You see, my grandparents and parents had to marry outside of their inner-circle because they had dreams of working at an establishment beyond the local reservation Radio Shack. Oh, and just to clear something up, I'm a Native American. Not an Indian, or an Engine as you rednecks like to call us. And you may think it's cute to call us "Indians: Feathers, not Dots." It's not.

I'm not trying to sound too bitter. I'm really not. You just have to understand folks: YOU STOLE OUR LAND! It's kind of difficult to see around that (especially around this time of year). You guys walk around with so much pride as you cook up those turkeys. OK, no big deal. Except you cease to remember that we were the ones who taught you how to kill those things in the first place! And the maize. Don't even get me goin' on the maize. Or as you call it, corn. Which brings me to another point.

Just because you rename something, doesn't make it yours. For example, you think all Native American names are so hard to figure out just because we don't have a vowel after every consonant. However, unlike your names, our names actually mean something more than some insecure, desperate attempt by our parents to a) live vicariously through us by attaching the same name or b) attach some trite name like Michael, in order for them to seem hip among their friends who are having children also named Michael. In your language, Pat means Pat. In ours, Pat means "fish" (something we must kill and eat in order to survive, instead of a sport we sell to ESPN as a Sunday morning TV show). "Shiye" means son. Not "Cal Weatherington III." By the way, my name is Dale which is shocking to a lot of my white friends. They all think I should have a name like "Squanto." That's fine. I say that makes a whole lot of sense, and if they had a Native American name, it would be something like "Pussytalk."

Again, I'm not writing this to sound resentful or bitter. It's just that you people, I don't know, STOLE OUR LAND! I know, I know. I shouldn't complain that much. In fairness, you've given us retribution such as arguably moderate strides in affirmative action. I mean, really, you stole our land, but now that my kids will get a small leg up on the SAT and a first-round bye to the Ivy Leagues, we should all be square. I'll make sure to remind them of their advantages when my future teenage daughter is hooking, and my 12-year old son is working security at the casino I manage. Hopefully, if we're lucky though, my son will gravitate to the steady income of hack road comedy. Undoubtedly, he'll get a steady dose of it on the weekends at the casino. If he's lucky, maybe a big comedian like Pauly Shore or Bob Saget will drop in and take him to the cocaine infested Motel 8s they reside in along their route through Tulsa.

Sorry, I'm not trying to ruin your fun. Have a great time with your families, really. Have fun watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. In fact, my family will probably watch the Parade that's sponsored by a major department store seeing as that's as close as we get to one. Wait, nevermind, we don't have a TV. I'll be happy as long as you can find a way to turn this day into a huge marketing ploy. I mean, you've sure done a helluva job with Columbus. That dude has his own holiday. Seriously, what the fuck did that guy do? Discover America my ass! First, it was the Vikings, then us, then Columbus. Besides, Columbus wasn't searching for anything. Columbus was like my drunk uncle: he just stumbled around, killing people in the process, until he "discovered" a place he could get a decent meal and not have to show ID.

Anywho, back to the reservation I go and the moonshine I brew openly and without federal regulation. Thanks White People (and all other people who give thanks to those who stole my land by eating Turkey).

-Dale

"The Black Taco"

Taco Bell has risen the stake on value, and sexual innuendo. Recently, the new "black taco" was introduced. Who's satisfied? Every drunk slug in America, by God.

And...sexual humorists across the continent. Taco Bell is glamorizing and making a killing off of one of the greatest frat boy jokes since the term "sorostitute" or, the black taco's rival, "the pink taco."

In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, "What's the deal with the black taco?" I could understand the already promoted red taco...representing fiery spiciness. But the black taco? What the hell does that represent? Maybe the answer lies in the full name, "The Black Jack Taco." But it isn't a 21 cent taco. It's an 89 cent taco. I guess the reference is to the fact that the BJ Taco is a "jackpot of a deal." Really...

So, guess what? I'm suspicious of the Black Jack. So, I'm going to do some research. Tomorrow, I'm going to talk with some folks who've had a BJ.

I'll ask them how it felt. I'll see if it's something worth getting sometime. If they felt guilty for it, or if they felt a bit of pride. At least in private. Did it feel warm? Was it gooey? Kind of dry? Possibly crunchy? A little crunchy can be good...if you're into that sort of thing. As long as the outside was hard. Real hard. Should I have it at home or right there in the parking lot? Did it last very long, or was it, as expected, quick and easy? How was the sauce? Did it make you spit or swallow? Did some slop on your face? As long as it was cleaned up. Was there bumpy stuff on the outside? I mean bumpy isn't necessarily bad...as long as it doesn't stay with you. Either way, it's a great source of protein. And remember to check for hairs. I can't tell you how many times I've received things like a BJ and gotten hairs mixed in. Remember, this is America, not Germany.

So maybe the BJ Taco is something of value. Or maybe some crude, childish sexual reference in order to get attention.

The Guy From Five For Fighting Has a Higher Pitched Voice Than James Blunt

I did my own pitch off in my apartment earlier today. Alone. Well, not completely alone. My dog and a handle of Kettle One were within an arm's length at all times while this ground-breaking experiment was taking place.

F.F.F.'s hit "Superman" vs. J.B.'s hit, "You're Beautiful." A steel cage match of effeminate male vocal cords. The result was a slight victory by F.F.F., and me wailing into a recently used and still moist hand towel. Why'd I put this experiment on you may ask? Because I have homoerotic tendencies? No.

Because, by God, I was bored as shit. Sometimes this happens, and you can't be scared to try things. It sure as Hell beat probing around on Facebook all day, or blogging.

Just Saying Hi

Because that's really what we do, for the most part.

We say hi. We do it in different languages. We do it in different ways. Sometimes we smile. Sometimes we scowl. Sometimes we look at the ground. Sometimes we look away. Sometimes we smile, scowl, look away, and then wonder why.

We sometimes care when we say hi. We sometimes mean it. We want to be genuine, but how can we? Some people plan their days around hi. Some people talk shit about hi. Some people write blogs about hi.

Occasionally though, hi can get you places. Hi can get you high. It can mean more than you expected, and it in that respect, take on a meaning which is more powerful than the words you spoke. Sometimes you meet a girl or a guy. Sometimes, the door to stardom or power opens...just because you said hi.

Hi is powerful.

But the results of hi don't matter. Hi, should be hi because it's hi. It's about being in that moment. Smiling when you meet someone. Hi can be played with or left alone. But it should be said.

So say hi. Who knows where it goes beyond that moment, beyond a smile, but a hi is a hi is a hi. And that's all that matters.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LanCLS_hIo4

How To Write Your Own Self-Help Book & Save The World!

You gotta love the generation we grow up in, huh? It’s pretty amazing. Everyone is an expert. Thanks to the advent of Myspace and Facebook, Ipods and Iphones, Youtube and Youporn...just me?

We now have 156,000 ways to express ourselves through scandalous pictures and emoticons.

In fact, I think we should all write self-help books. We should. And don’t think writing a book is that difficult. Each of us can just compile all the information of our various online profiles into one tight manuscript, something just a little thinner than War and Peace or Bill Clinton’s, My Life.

And then, after we write it, just before it goes off to print…we do the world a favor. We say, “Fuck it.” And we don’t print it. Instead we go buy 19 kitchen magnets and post it right next to that crappy picture your 1st grader drew. Because just like that crappy picture your 1st grader drew, while you might think it’s a loving piece of inspiration, everyone else just thinks it’s a piece.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJtbEZThWag (a special dedication to the la lifestyle)

A Comedy Called Dying: Part I

When I think about it, I pause. And I lose myself. In the train of thought that accompanies something unattached, distant, abstract and yet, absolute.

Death scares me. But more so, it makes me wonder. I wonder about the crazy events that lead up to now, and the fact that I can walk and talk and think. I wonder if I've lived another life or if I'm going to live another one -- if so, I'd prefer something near the Hamptons. I hear the Autumn there is to die for!

I think about this a lot. Usually, I'm alone in my boxers drinking a cold Coors Light. I know my Coors is cold because it is Cold Activated. When the mountains are blue, it means my beer is as cold as the Rockies. Thanks subversive marketing campaign...now I want to drink and possibly live out my golden years in the great state of Colorado.

It's amazing what we have here. And maybe it's more amazing on the other side? Or the next side? Or maybe there is nothing on the other side? Or...who created sides? Is there a God? Why does He watch me all the time? I do weird things.

But do these questions ever end? Who knows the answer? Should I just not think about it? Should I think about it? Should I go to Church? Because if the crazy dude with the megaphone and hat yelling on the Promenade is right then at least I'll be in the clear! I wonder what an acid trip would do for me? Maybe that crazy dude isn't so crazy after all? Can I even grow a crazy man's beard? Probably not, my facial hair is currently blonde and grows at the rate of a New Jersey lawn.

Though I know these questions don't ever seem to have a period, the one thing I'm quite confident in is the fact that I am sure as hell not the only one to ponder them. Way back when, now and 200 years from now, the same questions have, are and will be asked. 200 years from now, I may know a little more as to the answers.

I hear the phrase frequently, "live as today is your last" or "live in the moment" or variations of these. Is that possible to do? I mean, if I lived as if today was my last, I probably wouldn't wear pants. Anywhere. Just nude. At the grocery store, on my front porch. Not at the dog park. I see bad things happening there.

Really, though. You can't possibly live in the moment all the time, or most of the time. I mean, maybe. But you wouldn't be the most productive person. In fact, you'd have to be like my old roommate. Where the parents buttress your finances and weed and reality tv suction you to a dirty, torn up couch, so much so, that you can see the ass grooves in the middle cushion. True story.

So, I'm left with questions. But I have to have some resolution. Something, I can say, 'ok this is what I think and now I can go to sleep. Now, I can go run. Now, I can read the paper (or now, internet aggregators).' Now, I can go function in society because this little game I'm playing with life and death and living and dying, well, it is fickle and fragile and logic only gets me so far.

So, I resolve that questions are all I have.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eejRZaL9-LQ This song makes me want to dance awkwardly.

When There's Nothing Left

2 arms,
each in the 90 degree position,
in the 90 degree heat,
ranging of motion,
and in motion.

Faster and faster and faster.

Sweat droplets peddle from the back of shoulders toward one another,
progressing like a flip book they join and race down the spine together.

The heart's appetite starves for blood,
wanting it more and more,
slowly and quickly,
struggling,
stealing it using those powerful engines attached to the hips
from that

damned, neurotic bobble head,
that rabbid barking dog that won't turn itself off,
that won't shut up or shut off,
that despises boredom and the duldrums of nothingness,
that hates itself for holding the other parts of the machine back,
that won't stop worrying and planning and thinking and stifling action.
Creating dreams and restraining the physical body of making those dreams actuality.
Where do the subconscious and the conscious marry? Where do they divorce? Why can't they just be friends?

And round and round and round the questions spin around
the mind's kinetic race track.

Just be placid.
Like the nothingness of an evening lake in those Georgia summers.

As the lungs expand and contract and pulse and yearn.
Faster and Faster.

The blood drains away,
withering,
from the top,
to the bottom.

The body teams together with all its parts.
Functioning in complete harmony,
like a perfect wave, rising steadily,
until eventually,
it collapses.

The fire is out.
Just the white flag of smoke.

And when there's nothing left
you sit there,
you lay there,
on the ground,
the green grass,
the blue sky,
the black sky,
the clouds,
the stars,
the sun,
the moon.
You sit there.
With that 'been-there, done-that' smirk,
eye lids lazy,
red-face and flush,
shoulders and legs that moved so intensely, so aggravated, with purpose,
now slouch and droop and fall in line with gravity,
because the light has finally been shut off for a few minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QtNSJLkurk -- and you are in the moment.

Turf Wars at Bars: THE Pressing Issue of Our Time

I just came back from 90 West, a bar approximately 450 feet from my apartment. Why do I live 450 feet from a bar you may ask? Exactly.

But I did hear something that astounded me when I was at the bar a few minutes ago. First off, this bar is small and quaint, but has a very loyal following. It's kind of like the Moe's from The Simpsons. Same 8 people there. Same smell of skunked beer and arm pit. Oh, and this one dude, Chris (complete Type A personality, firm handshake, loud, probably obnoxious, my guess works in sales or retails douche bags as a side project) goes, "this beer tastes like ass." Ha Ha...how does that dude know what ass tastes like?* Probably the same guy who says, "lick my balls, faggot!" Contradiction of terms, possibly?

Anywho, so the female bartender (who'd I'd definitely bone) starts talking about why they don't serve hard liquor. Her theory was that they don't serve hard alcohol because it would start turf wars between bars. Basically, liquor gets you sicker. And if someone such as myself who is new to the bar shows up after a rowdy 90 West crowd is 8 shots-a-patron deep, I'd get my ass kicked.

Apparently, territory and turf isn't specific to just gangs out here. I don't get that. If the bartender's theory has any truth to it, I think it speaks to a greater truth about ourselves. A truth that is full of individualism. A truth that leads to ego, and eventually, to comments like, "this beer tastes like ass."

But there is another truth out there I think. A truth about our desire to help. A desire to see the parts work together for a greater whole. Just as negative begets negative, I believe the opposite is certainly true. I know the opposite is true in fact. Everytime somebody tells me they read this thing, I'm inspired more and more. We're designed to work and live and play and yes, fornicate, together.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6J3OD4Z0UQ

*it tastes like maple syrup

My Dog Got Offered Sex This Morning

Seriously. The time was 7:14am. I was by the mulched area with the plants that enter the storage place next to my apartment. Seconds later, an Asian man appeared with 2 dogs. My dog pulled from me with strength, a habit she doesn't break when greeted by other animals. I pulled back in defiance. Or was it jealousy?

My daughter is Minna Cross. My pit bull mix. A 2-year-old renegade of a dog. She has energy, can be a hellion, but is sweet as can be. A truly beautiful animal. The 2 dogs walking by...also quite beautiful. The 1 animal was a brindle, just like mine. Kind of like the Cincinnati Bengals' Mascot.

The man and I exchanged kind, semi-awkward conversation, and after about 20 seconds of broken, unassertive Asian-accented conversation, the gentlemen asked if my dog was spade. I guess I said she was a she at some point during our brief encounter, or he had been eyeing up my animal for a while, watching me walk her on a regular schedule, following Minna during her daily routes to relieve herself, standing outside my shower. Who knows, really? Nonetheless, he jumped on it, and posed the statement, "I'm looking to breed my dog."

I awkwardly chuckled, and said something equally on-point, "Oh ok." Good work, comedian.

It took me a few seconds as I walked back to my apartment gate with animal feces wrapped in the LA Times newspaper until I realized this dude had just propositioned my Minna Cross for sex. I guess he didn't proposition her for himself. That'd just be way too Alabama. But he propositioned me - for Minna - for his dog. I wondered if somehow, with only 3 more degrees to go, we could connect this audacious proposition to Kevin Bacon.

Thinking back, I feel quite honored. I mean, Minna Cross is my kin. I did birth her. Or paid $100 from a kennel. Because, to own a good looking animal is a true feeling of pride.

PS- If this article didn't make you laugh, just take a brief look at the tag words I used.

Pop Music With Teeth

I saw this line in a blog I frequent. And sometimes when you read or hear or say a great line, a line that captures complex, ambiguous thoughts in a precise and succinct way, you're only left repeating it.

"Pop Music With Teeth."

"Dissection. Exploration."


And Layers.


Pop is a layer. A sometimes simple, yet necessary and seemingly complex layer to pull off well. A fun layer. A happy layer. A layer meant solely for entertainment. A layer to get caught up in and lose your brain for a few minutes when it starts running in circles.

Music With Teeth. A smart layer. A thoughtful layer. Deeper meaning. Thoughtful, insightfulness. Saying something that matters because pop and culture have a long ways to go before they meet in a harmonious and productive place.

This doesn't go just for music. This goes for everything. Especially art.

And I'm starting to fall in love with art. Music, comedy, even acting (the real acting--not the shit Vin Diesel does). Before, I liked art. I'd take it to a Chili's. Have a couple drinks. Maybe take it back to my place and see where things go. Now, I love it. Meaning now, I'd take it to The Olive Garden. Possibly caress its hair and pour it cheap Merlot before attempting an 11th grade-style finger bang.

But I love art. Above all, it truly is an exploration. An exploration that starts with the mind and flows through all the senses. It baffles me and fascinates me. It's like, that's what humans -- with all our grand and limited capacity -- were meant to do.

"The Strenuous Life"

I've been skimming the news lately and there seems to be quite a fire raging over the various healthcare proposals looking to make significant changes to our current system and grant access to many more folks across the nation. Actually, not so much the actual proposals, but more uninformed rage over the possibility of significant change and progress.

SO, to uninformed rage and eratic, angered dialogue, I'm sorry, but I'm going to go take a piss and forget about you.

Ok, now I'm back. Feeling a bit lighter after excreting the bile of Coors Light in my bladder, I think I'm ready to turn my thoughts towards a term made popular by a Teddy Roosevelt speech entitled, "The Stenuous Life."

Roosevelt says, among other things in the speech:

"I wish to preach, not the doctrine of ignoble ease, but the doctrine of the strenuous life, the life of toil and effort, of labor and strife; to preach that highest form of success which comes, not to the man who desires mere easy peace, but to the man who does not shrink from danger, from hardship, or from bitter toil, and who out of these wins the splendid ultimate triumph."

Furthermore, so fascinating to me is that this comes out of a Darwinistic belief that death lumes around the turn of any corner of our lives.

Personally, this hits home so to speak. Since, I was little (which was quite little seeing as I'm now only 5'8") I've always had a distinct concept of my own mortality. I remember the first Gulf War. Seeing the news on tv and fearing that I was going to get attacked in my own home by the Iraqies. I was 5.

As absurd as that sounds, this is exactly what 5 year olds in Iraq say. And unfortunately, it is a very real fear. Then and now. This is why "the strenuous life" matters. This is why knowledge is important. This is why every major and minor concept to our lives has to be looked at with a moral and ethical conscience. Not concepts derived solely or primarily from self-interest. Sometimes it isn't easy. But if we don't, we slowly decay. Ourselves and our future inhabitants. Our lives are by happenstance, no matter what you may or may not believe. We're completely random and probably quite lucky when compared to other organisms. It seems to be quite a disservice to the randomness of life, that spawned us which spawned, among other things, Nintendo DS and Ipods, to pollute, pollute, pollute.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amwVyRH2B8A

The Best Marketing is to Not Produce Crap

I don't claim to be an expert on anything. I'm decent at hitting a punchline, probably better than the average hack comedian. I can run fairly fast, again faster than the average jogger pushing a twin stroller with a dalmation by his side. There are a couple things I can say with confidence I just know that others don't quite understand. Kind of like the Time Warner guy who comes and installs your internet. He does this within minutes with unfettered success and now you check your email and include crass remarks within your blog without having an idea where the hell the dude drilled or what cords connect to what. He knows what to do and how to do it, leaving you flabberghasted and yet, extremely satisfied. Are you listening ladies? I'm referring to oral sex.

Nonetheless, the proclamation of expertise is a blurred one to say the least. It's like every other book at the front of a Borders is either from some politician or a self-help 'expert.' Books about making money, picking up women, losing weight, and marketing are, themselves, a beautiful example of the double-edged sword that is capitalism. Producing a product. Marketing that product. Having people buy that product. But do the people get something out of it?

My answer: it depends. I've read several of these books (for free from the pubic library--and yes, my library ironically had the "l" stolen from the front of its building) that seem, at least to the simpleton I may very well be, convoluted information on bringing in complex and unrealistic systems of organization and structure into my daily life. Given I'm sure the reality of implementing this type of advice depends on the person, situation, goals, etc., I can't get around one major main idea that seems to at least be hinted at but rarely called out in many of these books. This main idea: Don't Produce Crap.

Find something you like and get good at it. Work hard and try to work smart. The systems of organization don't make sense to a lot of the people who buy it and/or offer practical implementation techniques. Even if they do, it has to be simpler. Much simpler. They don't need an expert's manual. They need a beginner's manual. We all need beginner's manuals for the things we do most of the time. When we have some talent or are considered at least decent at something, that's when we turn to reference manuals. Not books in pretty hard covers that overpromise, oversell and overmarket (and will often times tell us to do the same thing).

So to all who follow a passion, it is very easy to get caught in the trap of compensating for a lack of skill by overly marketing. In some cases, for the business men and women and comedians, you may make some money and/or become as famous as Bob Saget. But believe it or not, I suspect from a truly outsider's point-of-view, those have there slight downsides. The way to overcome is to produce work that people truly value. That's it. When the product you produce finds value in the hands or heart of others, then reach for that reference book at your local pubic library.

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." Leonardo DaVinci

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcDCvQbOdig

You Drive an Over-Sized or Over-Priced Car to Compensate for Your Under-Sized Penis or Fake Breasts

I've lived in the south and now Los Angeles. Maybe an F-350, maybe a Lambo. It's stupid. Your car is stupid. You're really stupid.

I'm guessing you're 4. Maybe 4 1/2 inches on a good day. If you remembered to take your Extenze tablet. I know you saw the ads at 3 am. You were probably rubbing it out to one of the commercials. (I won't fault you for that, I probably did, too.)

People think the 'My child is an Honor Student' bumper stickers are dumb. At least the attention is on your offspring. Be grateful to be alive and the opportunity to afford good meals with good people. Don't piss away money on your own vanity.

However, if you do piss away money on your own vanity, make sure to sell out hard and to the right. The way it goes on a 4 1/2 day. Be the best d-bag you can be.

The Fake Dog Feces Pick-Up

It's like the boner tuck. All guys know it. Sitting in some lame survey course with an endless stream of power point presentations in front of you. The mind drifts. The pants buldge. If you're to stand-up, somebody might as well go sleep in the tent you've just pitched.

Similar to the penis tuck, I pulled an almost parallel maneuver when walking my dog to the car this past weekend. Without a grocery bag, paper towel, or New York Post in-hand, I had nothing else to do when I noticed my dog about to lay cable in the lawn of the apartment complex nearby. I looked around. The coast was clear. Quickly and calmly, I removed my running shoe (this has to tie into running somehow). I pulled off my black sock. I scowered the area once more. Two bikers and some passing cars at about 35 mph. I reached down. Fake scoop. Fake scoop. Fake scoop that almost touched.

I know. Judge me how you will. However, if you haven't already, you'll be in my shoes, too. And when you are, you'll remove those shoes, reach for your sock and start fake scooping. Just don't make contact.

Personal Triumph at the Playboy Club

The answer is yes. I had an eight-some. Myself, Hugh Hefner, and then 3 sets of hot blond twin ho's. H.H. was the conductor. Me at the caboose. Cigars. Patron. And low-brow sexual activity.

This is how I spent my Saturday night. Except without everything I just said.

I did, however, get to the top floor of the Playboy Club in Vegas. How? Well, being white and middle class helps. But of course, a friend of a friend who is a hot girl.

Amidst the bunnies, absurdly priced drinks, intimidating body guards and badass view, I realized something. A year ago, to the day, I was driving out to California in my Jeep Liberty (I race soccer moms on weekends). To LA. With about 8 grand in my pocket, no job, no idea of where I was going to live, a dog in my car, and a close friend whom, at the least, would have a drink before my suicidal realization set in.

Now, I proudly sit here with a somewhat regular income, the same Jeep, the same dog, the same favorite "I ran into a wall" haircut, and the same dream with a more defined path. A little further along. A lot further along.

I still wait for my burnout. A demise where the harsh realities of society kick in, and I decide to grow a gut and attend bowling nights on a regular basis. I'm not the Vegas type either. Throw change at my feet, and I'll pick it up and run fast. Somewhere between college football and song-and-dance.

I'm not always entised, I'm not always stable, but I've got my legs under me at the moment.

What I'm most proud of though...even in the depths of hedonism, I haven't wasted many moments.

I guess that's my goal right now...just don't waste many moments.

Me and Julio (and a line somewhere in there I keep coming back to): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqtX4qZBdRs

Dumb Sorority Bitch!

SO here's the story...


This weekend I was at a party. I was talking to this girl, and she had a friend. Before I met the friend, I was prefaced with the fact that this girl was visiting from Maine. Ok, so drinks
are flowing. That always helps.

So, I meet this friend. I shake her hand and say, "Hi, my name's Justin, nice to meet you." She says, "Hi, nice to meet you." I then say, "I heard you're from Maine." She says, "Yes." I say, "Well, it was nice of you to shave your legs for tonight's party."

Ok, funny, yes...come on you know it. Offensive...well, no. I'm smiling and saying, 'just kidding.'

A minute or two later, she says, "I just graduated college." I say, "Cool." She says, "I was in a sorority." I say, "What sorority?" She says, "Phi Mu." I say, "Oh, cool...Phi MOOO."

Ok, funny, eh...offensive, well, no. I haven't met any of her sorority "sisters." But again, smile, 'just kidding.' Not this time...she goes off.

"Phi Mu has been around longer than this country, since 1831! You can't say that! You don't even know us. That's so rude!" I say, "Wait, wait, Sir Isaac, I'm no history buff, but (and this is just some random fact I picked up in 4th grade), but I'm pretty sure this country was founded a few years before 1831. And furthermore, maybe I should poke fun at your college and not your sorority for not having any idea when this country was called a country." She went on to tell me how I wasn't funny and was just mean, and I had no right to say any of that.

I went on to argue with her for a few minutes with something resembling what I'm writing below:

So, here's the breakdown. I offended her for the Phi MOOO comment because, according to the person who told me this (a good friend of mine who was in the sorority), Phi MOOO is a common nickname given to them by other fraternities and sororities because of the reputation of having rather robust women. At the time, I just said it and didn't think about what it meant. Upon further examination though, I decided she still should not be offended.

First, she was not fat. Second, I don't know a single person in her sorority! If I attacked her personally, that's wrong. If I attacked her friends, that's another thing. I didn't do either. This is all the reason to not be offended. Oh, and her legs were shaved and I have never been to Maine (and I mentioned this, along with the fact that I've heard it is a very pretty state).

And lets get one more thing straight. Frats and sororities are fine I suppose. Drinking urine as a hazing and ritualistic chest shavings are odd, but whatever. The people in sororities and fraternities are not 'sisters' and 'brothers.' That may be what they call each other. There is tradition there, ok. But they're not kin. At best, a few of them will remain truly good friends. And that's great. But the whole brother-sister thing (or, to be more exact, that some take it to heart)...that's just a way of rationalizing the fact that these are people you initially don't know and decide to pay money to drink the same beer with.

Like I said, later, some may become close friends. And I'm all for close friends!

Some folks need to get off their high horse and stop taking themselves so seriously. Just because you don't have a funny comeback to what I say doesn't mean you should be offended. Laugh or don't laugh. That's your choice, but don't get bitchy. It's a goddamn joke. I make fun of myself way more than I make fun of anyone else. It's called humility, and for $1 you can make a collect call and go get some.

One other thing. I have friends who, on occasion, will say, your mom jokes and sometimes they get directed at me. This happens occasionally, and sometimes they double-take to see if I'm offended. Why? Because my mom is no longer alive. I'm not offended at all, though. Because it is a joke. Just a joke, and if it's funny, I laugh. Or at least I fake laugh, if it was a decent effort.

A very wise philosopher once said, "If we couldn't laugh, then we'd all go insane..."

...like this bitch.

What Does Memorial Day Mean?

Memorial Day! Remember to remember. That's not as easy as it sounds for a lot of us.

In a world of facebook, twitter, templated blogs and such, memorial day takes on a different tone in my opinion. On the face, it is suppose to be a time to remember ones who have been lost and who may still be fighting in war. But how much can it really mean for someone who hasn't been there, and lets be honest, for many of us who have never taken the time to at least try to figure it out?


Interesting article:
http://ac360.blogs.cnn.com/2009/05/25/the-decline-of-veterans-in-washington/

On top of that, war is a complex thing. It involves an imminent loss of life. It involves the ultimate cost, and at the same time, the act of it has been beaten into the ground so many times in our country's (not to mention our world's) history.

So, instead of remembering to remember. Maybe lets try to remember to try to understand. Try to put our shoes in someone else's. You don't have to agree with past wars fought, but you can always better understand the constructs of them, the effectiveness or ineffectiveness of them, and most importantly, the human face behind them.

Below are easy-to-read wikipedia links on a few of our most recent wars. Feel free to take a gander...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_II

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Korean_War

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Vietnam_War

It is Time to Do the Little & Annoying

I hate admitting this. I talk on a grandiose scale a lot. For good reason. In our day-to-day, we often get lost in little things. Annoying things. We let these things own us, and we don't see out of it very often.

What I have missed, however, in these blogs, is a lot of the little stuff. And it is so necessary. For all the big things, with big purposes, can't be arrived at if you don't do the little things. How can you get from Point A to Point C without going through Point B? I don't think you can.

Lets use running as a tangible example. If a certain runner wants to run 16 minutes flat for the 5K then what does he or she need to do it? First, the desire (aka the big picture). He or she has to have the dream and the passion to drive him or her to put in the work to hit the time. Second, the work. Or the workouts. This takes time. It can be quite mundane, and it can cut into outside projects...like binge drinking or skating off to The Keys -- to binge drink. But the first can't be actualized if the second part isn't in place. Finally, performance. This is letting A and B mesh together. The only other element to be factored in to Part C...FUN. Generally, you don't do something if it isn't rewarding or fun. Usually, it can and is both. Part A (The Dream) + Part B (The Work) + Having Fun = Part C (Performance).

I tend to miss Part B. Mentally, Part B is not the most challenging. But it is absolutely necessary to get to Part C. Oh, and there is one more thing to Part B. While you're doing Part B, you can't worry about Part C. In other words, you can't worry about the result. You can't worry about success or failure. Success and failure aren't real things anyway. Just a figment of some bygone, black and white frame-of-mind. Worrying about Part C clouds Part B. There is a reason why Part C comes after.

Now, I'm confused over my parts. Which one is the one you take if the condom breaks? Oh, that's Plan B.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKkffzm6L7o

Idiot America? Maybe, but Maybe Not.

Just read this article about a new book entitled, Idiot America. Go ahead and give it a read (it's quick). Following, read a few of the comments below the article.

http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/2009/05/idiot_america_new_and_expanded.php

Ok, if you decided to not read the article, then you're probably a good example of what the article is speaking to. To give a brief summary: the article discusses the book with the popularized Green Day lyric as its title. Throughout, the book highlights examples and the reasoning behind the act of the dumbing down of our society, often times reducing complex topics to very black and white terms. Aided by the ease of the internet and milestone advances in technology, now more than ever, anyone can be an expert. "If anyone can be an expert, then no one can be an expert!"

This brings something to mind something I've yet to address, and that is, the purpose of this blog. In short, I'm doing this for myself. It is an exercise in thinking, articulating, and then transposing that into something that, in turn, piques the interest of you, the reader. I'm not trying to make money or characterize myself as an expert. I'm certainly not an expert. And I may not even pique your interest.

I have goals, but if someone were to ask me what I do or what I want to do, I could not provide a clear or definitive thing. In fact, there are many things that interest me, and I'm OK with pursuing those things until it feels time to focus more energy in another direction. This blog helps me along in that pursuit. My purpose is for self-improvement, and thus far, I'm achieving that.

As far as Idiot America goes...well, I have a feeling in Whitman's time there were some greedy assholes, too. Some self-proclaimed whatevers. He dealt with it, though. People are pretty decent.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GDU6ns2mRM -- Billy Bragg & Wilco

Republicans, Dems Agree on Something; Kumbaya

Employers want to offer incentives for employees who keep it healthy, and lawmakers on both sides of the aisle want to make it happen. Holy shit!!! They agree on something! I think I have an erection.

Seriously, though. Read this article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/10/health/policy/10health.html (This Man Has Been Lifting Weights and Doing Cocaine All Day)

If there is a backlash, it's coming from critics who say that it shouldn't be the role of government or business to pry into the personal health of its employees. Fair enough, Bob Barr. It makes sense that Big Bro doesn't need to know about my morning sugar intake, nor about the Tuesday Happy Hour gone awry. However, adding on-site gym facilities or offering incentives for taking part in company health programs can only help.

If you want to argue it a different way just think of the well-balanced person as a more productive person. Personal health breeds personal well-being which breeds productivity in the work place. And I'd be willing to bet there are a wealth of studies that exemplify this. One auxillary, yet profound benefit is the effect on others. There is personal production, and there is group production. One's mood and actions effect others whether one likes it or not.

So, my thoughts? This is worth corporate tax benefits. This is worth throwing money after because if implemented and managed well, it will save lots of money in the long-term. However, like anything government or the individual spends good money on, it is completely necessary to be smart about the implementation policies. One size does not fit all and policy needs to reflect that. Not more governing or less governing, lets go with smarter governing.

Happy Mom's Day!

http://jumpcut.com/view/?id=90C87DD4783511DCB237000423CF381C

SOAK

Sometimes thinking can hurt,
the basis of neurosis,
Forest was onto something.

Tomorrow is 24
and,
no Jack Bauer I am.
Maybe,
there's a connection though,
after all, he's 42.

Just
go.

Away
brain.

Take a nap.
Your job isn't to win,
not even most of the time.

You have to sleep, too.
And let the ignorant ones handle the grave yard shift.

The Marathon Didn't Make Me Pee Blood

It was difficult. But I made it. Over a week out from my first marathon in Big Sur, CA, I'm here and for the first time reporting on the matter. How'd I get through it?

Michelob Ultra at the finish line. Ran and had casual conversation with a hot blonde for several miles -- whom finished only 3 minutes behind me. An ass slap from a female race volunteer, Monterey dentist and self-professed "horn ball" with 300 meters to go. And copious amounts of performance enhancing drugs.

My time: 3 hours and 4 minutes. That's about 7:02 pace per mile. 30th out of over 3,000 marathon finishers. I'll take it. https://www.runraceresults.com/Secure/RaceResults.cfm?ID=RCLJ2009

The course was amazingly brutal and amazingly beautiful at the same time. The tag line on the website, "Run Big Sur for the Worst Time of Your Life. And the Best." Not having run a marathon before I didn't have to worry about the former implication. The course was extremely hilly and the wind was blowing hard from the ocean. In the early miles, I chose to run it with others like a bike race. Drafting and trading the lead with other competitors. If someone cut me off or chose to go for a while without taking the wind and pace, I'd spit to the side, letting the wind carem my saliva onto the other person's face. I'm a douche bag.

Ok, not really. That happened once though. By accident. And I apologized and awkwardly offered to wipe it off.

The race was fantastic for the most part. It's the type of race suited for a guy like me -- great scenery, a bit of ADD, and a penchant for the type of vanity you feel with supportive fans greeting you at the mile marks. Although, this one lacked huge fan fair since it was on a somewhat isolated Central California Coast. I ignored the lack of fan fair and imagined I was at the Tour de France about to take the Yellow Jersey just to later have it taken away due to my aforementioned drug use.

In the end, finishing the race was one of the best feelings of my life. I actually gave a huge high five to a volunteer pulling race tag numbers. I've never been so proud to 'just finish' a race. But it was awesome. I'm just pissed there weren't groupies.

If I Die In My 1st Marathon...

1. I should back track. If I'm to survive my 1st marathon, please note that I promise to purchase a watch in preparation for my 2nd. I will also study a pace chart, thoroughly get to know the course and do long runs that span longer than 7 miles.

2. Big Sur to Monterrey isn't a bad location to keel over. Amongst the redwoods and with an ocean view.

3. I want to be cremated, my ashes tossed in the Pacific. I want a memorial service with many friends and family, a post-party with Marty doing something stupid (probably a female), and a picture of me shirtless and a caption reading, "The Incredible Hul-labaloo"

4. A picture of me doing stand-up with a caption reading, "please don't laugh."

5. For some of the meaningful things I've tried to say to take on some sort of meaning, and furthermore, application in others' lives.

6. To know that jokes and goofing around have a meaning far beyond the exultation a punchline exudes.

7. If you want something, do it now. Don't wait. Don't rationalize it until later. Do it now. Hence 26.2.

8. The Simpsons is a great education.

9. Why I could die happy at 23 and why I'm running a marathon:

"...Hans felt...at peace with himself and what he was doing. He had always been terrified of plane turbulence, as if he might die with the best inside of him, but now he could fly through a violent storm sleeping like a baby. Strange indeed." - The 4-Hour Workweek, page 39.

and... "you don't need to prove nothin' to nobody except yourself." - guess the apropo movie title

Yellow: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qI8I6qcxWyU

Prosecuting Torture...and Surprise from Fox's Shep Smith

I've been waiting to talk about this as it continues to develop. However, it seems a few things are quite clear on the subject of what we've done to suspected terrorists. Memos have been released. We knew it before but now it is a bit more official.

People at the highest level of the Bush administration (including Bush himself) authorized tactics such as water boarding. Who took the heat? Ground-level people -- soldiers, sergeants -- pawns in a classic government game. Some were jailed, careers were ruined, embarrassed, one went as far as committing suicide.

Some still argue, including the former Vice President Dick Cheney, that the methods were effective in obtaining information that prevented further terror attacks. So, even if it is immoral and illegal, if it is effective, should we do it? Do the ends justify the means? Do we have principles, or do we just say that we do until times get tough? Does America torture? Is it wrong if we do?

And so is the same with going forward to prosecute Bush officials who committed these acts. Logically, it'd make sense to hold those who made an illegal call accountable. But what a bind to be in when those people are the opposition party in the highest government office in the most powerful nation in the world? Serious conundrum for the Obama administration.

Lets be clear. Torture is an ineffective long-term strategy. At the most, if Dick Cheney is right, torture is a band-aide and that's it. On the flip side, terrorists who have been innocently tortured have gone back to attack America after their release. There is a much larger systemic problem having to due how we deal with terror organizations and enemy countries. This is an answer for smart, sophisticated, and policy-driven people.

So should we prosecute Don Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney, and Condoleeza Rice? Legally, if it looks like they did what it looks like they did, yes. Morally, is it right to go after people at the top (even if those people are the very top level elected officials), yes. No one is above anyone else, right? Politically, should we? Maybe not. This is Obama's conudrum.

Here's one offered solution that I don't know if I agree with, but I'll offer it: Free up the ones who paid the price down the line, acknowledge the mistake on the part of the country, make known big time throughout the world who signed off on it, and then make clear that this administration won't do the same.

This was surprising as hell, but am pleased to see it:

Shep Smith, Fox News Host, "We are America, We Do Not Fucking Torture": http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/04/22/shepard-smith-torture_n_190350.html

Hot as Hell in LA

3 triple digits days in a row, the dogs are panting, and small colonies are cloning in my nether region. It is hot as hell in LA. Even by the beach, balmy weather. My regards go out to those in the Valley...any valley. Florida is suffocating with the humidity. Same with Louisiana and the bayou. Out here, it seems to cook instead of engulf you. A sauna vs. an oven, is how my friend referred to the comparison.

Running wise, I have to say the oven is better. I like not having to ring out my shorts, or for the frat boy in me, lose eyesight over the burning hair gel that floods into my vision. Either way, I've figured out why people live in Colorado and/or have working AC. Of course, my slum lord has yet to get around to fixing the AC just like the lack of heat from December-February. But he's such a nice guy because he "lets me have a dog."

As I write this, sweat forms in the crevices of the back of my knees and my dog lays on the hardwood floor, a resourceful pup she is. Outside isn't as bad. But this house traps heat. I remember last summer the house I lived in trapped heat as well. And it was in the Valley! And AC was not in use either! And I lived in an upstairs bedroom! We're talking about a hotbox of 110+ degree temps!

I don't quite know what the moral to this rant is. Maybe, get AC or live near the beach for the sea breeze or summer in Colorado or the northeast. Fortunately, I'm moving next week into a living room in Marina Del Rey. That's right, a living room. For 700 a month including utilities and Internet. That's LA. But I'll be very close to the Venice Beach bars and literally on a Marina. For 3 months...I can swing it. I've had worse.

Ok, here's a moral that may apply. When things get a bit "stressed," remember the toughest circumstance you've ever been in. For me, it was losing my mom. 2nd, the Canton, GA cops. Think about how hard life was. Or, if your life's been a breeze to this point, flip on the news. Maybe NPR. Listen to what others in countries not so well off have to go through. Try hard to not take your circumstance for granted. Realize how lucky you are. Even if you're not the luckiest. Life doesn't have to be hard. If you're in a stuffy house w/ no AC, an extremely messy roommate and an irresponsible landlord, get out of it. Now. Same with the job. Need to lose weight? Get fit? Go. Now. Come on. Stop surfing Facebook/looking up porn. You have it in you.

The Luckiest: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZ-y-bbbwKw

Traveling

Whenever I check out somebody's online profile, one of the most popular "hobbies" or "interests" I see is traveling. If it is not on your list, suffice it to say, it should. I've done a bit of traveling. Not nearly as much as a lot of people. But it's a priority, and it'll continue to happen.

Eagle Rock in Topanga
(where I ran today)

I'm motivated to write this because I ran a bit further today on a trail I've talked about before: Topanga Canyon in LA. The reason why this canyon trail is so cool to me is because it is geographically

centered between Malibu/Santa Monica and the Pacific Ocean and what's often referred to as "the Valley." Topanga has a personality all its own, though. It's like a small Carolina mountain town. But if you run long enough and high enough you get to enjoy the Pacific and Valley view. It is amazing.

Now, I didn't have to travel too far to see this. At least not today. Last May, when I moved cross country from Florida, I did however. People who know me assume I came here for comedy, but I didn't. I came because there's opportunity I didn't have where I was. Yes, opportunity to strike it big in entertainment. But what's so much more appealing was and still is the opportuntiy I had to meet knew people and see some of the most amazing landscapes in North America and the world.

Next week, I'll be running my first marathon in Big Sur, CA. I chose this race, not for time, but for location. I may not even register for the race, because its expensive and I'm a baller on a budget. I'll probably camp Saturday night or even find a cozy spot to car sleep. Again, not running this for a killer time.

Sometimes finances and time can strap you, but we can still pick our best spots and go for them. Kill two birds with one stone...meet a friend half-way and visit a city you've never seen.

I'm not so self-assured to say that traveling is the ultimate learning experience, but if it is not, it has to be pretty high up on the board. Today on my run, I considered advice I've heard and advice I've given. The greatest words don't match actually experiencing something. Sitting in class is static. Experiencing provides retention and offers a truly unique translation of events that happened. Think back to a time when you visited somewhere cool. Now think back to a time when someone told you about some place you had never been to. Which do you remember better? Which one holds more meaning? Conjures up more vivid feelings?

I have a friend from Australia. An Aussie through and through. This guy is tough. When it comes to work, when it comes to partying. One time, after making a crass sexual remark in which I lol'd to, he went on to make an extremely profound statement. "My goal is to travel every inch of this Earth before I die."

I often repeat that statement in my head randomly. It sticks out. It is a simple, yet bold statement. And I often think, "why is it so bold? It's so simple." Because, the word "travel" has so many levels. A word that can rearrange itself from verb to noun. And instead of explaining what I mean, travel for yourself. Keep doing it.

Gomez, See the World: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKJJRnuCwF4

The Android's Conundrum

Part I:

Often times, we -humans - find ourselves wrapped up in a puzzle. The puzzle begins somewhere around age 5 and seems, initially, fairly easy to figure out. At least at my elementary school, they provided motivational speakers who always told us to never say we can't do anything. Somehow, at almost 24, I find myself writing, my friends posting quotes, and my elders buying books about the same thing. Rarely do we live it out. Rarely do we act as if we can do anything.

Instead, we get married young, sometimes producing kids even younger. We resign to life in a cube. We search for a 401K and a healthcare plan, so we can put off dying. In the mean time, what we really put off is living. We give up. But we do it gradually, and we don't like to admit it. Our sense of wonder wains and is replaced by an easy chair and a sporting event. Ironically, the sporting event contains the type of people many of us are not.

But maybe we were once. Maybe we weren't at all. If we weren't at all, no harm, no foul. But if we were...just for a bit...why'd we give up?

This isn't meant to be a castigation, but an honest realization.

Part II:

3 Situations:

1. The middle-aged guy who sits home and watches the college team. Works the 9-5 and lives for the weekend. Has a wife, some kids. His daily office greeting is just about as predictable as his morning and evening shits, respectively.

2. The connected one. Apparently, in business, it is popular to have a "mentor." What makes a great mentor? I don't really know. But, I'd guess that number 1, you can't be a great mentor if you're not connected or well-off.

3. The Mexican immigrant aunt whose niece I tutor. Her dream is to learn how to use a computer. She's taking classes to learn and when I visit to tutor I've started working with her for a few minutes each time to show her how to use google.

I wonder how often these types think about each other? Put themselves in each other's shoes? Even cross-paths in a typical day? When we vote we presume to have firm stances on taxes, immigration, abortion, war. But do we know the soldier from the ghetto? Are we the well-connected business man with a solid upbringing and good education? Do we know what it is like to live in a really, really corrupt and poor nation? Do we know our advantages and disadvantages, our strengths and our weaknesses as opposed to our fellow humans? Do we care? Do we question? What's wrong with questioning? Have beers, have fun, but is there more to us?

Call it thinking outside of the box, but I think it is much more about thinking outside of ourselves. Thinking outside of what we think we know. Yes, it takes effort. Mental effort. But do it enough, action may even arise. The simplicity of a 5-year-old may even come out.

Le Shins: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHTSxw6zN1E&feature=related

I Tea Bagged Ann Coulter

For many a rational American male, it has been a long-time goal to tea bag Ann Coulter. Her controversial and often times hate mongering statements have made her a best-seller on book shelves, on TV and radio, through public speaking, in op-ed pieces in major newspapers, and in the dirty thoughts that often linger in my head.

God, just for one time, could I get with a tall, pretentious blond whom pawns off narrow-minded viewpoints as erudition of the world. I can't put this any other way. Sorry if I offend you. But damn it, I want to have angry sex with Ann Coulter. Just once. In the morning, we'll swing by the Hardees for an Egg and Bacon sandwich and some Minute Maid OJ. And never again will I call her back.

Yesterday, on April 15Th Tax Day, completely unintended by the inner workings of my head...I got one step closer to my dream. Among the hype of the truly grassroots campaign that was the 4/15/09 Tea Party, during my mid-day nap, I tea-bagged Ann Coulter!

While laying in my queen-sized bed I got from two gay guys for free and with CNN playing at a low-to-moderate volume in the background, the word "tea bag" kept creeping into my dreams as they reported on protestors protesting. Something. I think. Another word --because CNN was actually reporting on various FOX News personalities and camera crews to cover the events throughout the country -- "conservative commentators" also crept into my mind.

For some odd reason, the translation that was processed in my cerebral cortex was not of a Lipton tea bag, but of my balls. And instead of imagining various conservative commentators such as Sean Hannity or Bill O'Reilly, Ann Coulter appeared. And for some reason, in black lingerie.

When my balls and Ann Coulter met, no conversation of any sort ensued. No hot button gay marriage-type issues to argue over. No condemnation on my end for a communication and marketing method of hyping people up by playing into their weaknesses and ignorances simply to make a buck. None of that.

Simply my balls on Ann Coulter. In my dreams, and this is absolutely true, I tea bagged Ann Coulter.

My apologies to Yellowcard for the song follow-up to an Ann Coulter blog...the setting of this song (and the title) are in my hometown, Jax, FL:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFmdjvR1bYI

Rick Warren: In Hot Water with the Christian Right? Politics vs. Policy

Rick Warren, the pastor who presides over the massive Saddleback Church in Orange County, California, is now taking heat by many who share many of his same view points on social issues. Last week, Warren was on Larry King denying that he ever campaigned and supported Proposition 8, the amendment to ban gay marriage in California. Prior to this week, Warren and President Obama were protested from the left when Warren gave the invocation at Obama's Inauguration.

A good point made by Chris Matthews today...Warren is a pastor, exclusive to some degree to those who follow the same belief system about God. Not rocket science, and hardly controversial is this statement. So why is he so immersed in the political scene?

The answer: Us.

Church vs. State. And the separation, or not, of the two. Religion is something so ingratiated in the fabric of our culture and at the same time, a fine line that his constantly been walked and interpreted by many a political animal.

My argument: Politics is one thing. Policy is another. Politics contains bargaining, negotiating, protesters, people with signs, shenanigans, pursuasive techniques based on ends and not means. Policy is drama-free, a bit unexciting, powerful, meaningful, substantive, and most of all, rational. Policy can be arrived at through the politics of smart and well-intentioned people.

What Do I Mean By This? Marriage is a lawful contract that legally binds two people, allowing for, among other things, the benefit of joint health insurance and tax breaks. Marriage doesn't have to be done at a Church or any other religious institution. The Church is a ceremonial place, bent on tradition and dogma. Fine. I find the same tradition and dogma at the beach. But marriage, the legal contract it is, has just as much to do with a Church as does a beach. Meaning, it doesn't. A separation of Church and State that's already built into our system.

So why is this an issue to literally rewrite the rules to ban gay marriage, or how the Christian Right says, define it as a binding contract between a man and a woman? Politics. Not Policy.

John Mayer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPOBMzMTP4U

No Need To Beat Around The Bush

No, the headline wasn't intended to be a dirty joke for once. Although, sexual innuendos are usually peppered throughout my prose.

The best part to come out of the economic crisis is watching people self-actualize. Screw comfort...take risk. Screw cudgels...be straight up.

I'm a big fan of those people who wear shirts that say, "Hire Me." I hate to admit it, but in some ways, that person deserves a job over me. It takes some balls I suppose to wear that, and at least based on that, he or she wants it more.

I have this problem. I'm apprehensive a lot of times. I like to handle things and deal with people in a nice way. I also don't like to be sure of myself. Because I'm worried that by being so sure of myself, I close off questioning. And questioning can be very valuable.

So there's got to be a middle ground I think. Or at least, times to be sure and times to question. Oh, a time...

Maybe the best answer or at least the most logical one lies in the depths of honesty. How do I feel? And why do I feel it? If I can interpret and understand this, maybe I can make the wisest decision.

The other part to it is balls. And maybe this isn't as rational. Guts. Fortitude. Whatever. It's the ability to not give in to impending embarrassment.

Last week, I did a comedy show where the comedian before went up and trashed a bunch of the other comedians for not listening to each other's set. They stood outside and chatted it up. They left after their own set. This comedian also made sure to have the emcee announce that he was performing at the Improv the following Thursday, as if the 8 people left in the room (including myself) really cared.

Now, did the comedian have a point? Maybe. But why trash everybody in an open mic night that has 25 comedians on the bill in a room that is only comedians. Many had heard each other's sets. Also, no one gets paid for these open mics. People have to pay rent. Point or no point, this guy was harsh.

So, what did I do? Maybe not making the most conscious decision, but not being scared to fight back a little, the first thing I said was, "that guy was kind of a dick." Now, that may have not been the best decision for me. I made a small room feel a little more awkward. I also probably made enemies with this guy. But guess what? The guy was being a dick. It wasn't pretty. But I said my peace. Better than holding back. Next time, I'll be more articulate maybe. I'll address it in a different way. But at least I didn't beat around the bush.

Man Crush on Tiger Woods

Since he won the '97 Masters, I, like many, have been a huge fan of the guy. This Easter weekend, I'm looking forward to being entertained and enthralled when I watch another Masters.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kotQfs6VpXQ&feature=PlayList&p=B0880AE4005D248A&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=13
(Tiger Masters Chip)

For all the press, praise, and adulation he receives by announcers and commentators, his performance continues to outpace the former. In his last outing two weeks ago in Orlando, Tiger showed that the knee was back. Deja vue from '08 came when he sank another long putt on the 18th to win Arnold Palmer's tournament.

How does he do it? Anyone who isn't him can only speculate. Maybe Jordan or Nicklaus or a cardiac surgeon could give us some insight, but my journalistic integrity isn't so high as to perform much research. I do hear Malcolm Gladwell, in his book Outliers, may be able to shine a light on it.

Some things I pick up from being a huge fan, though:

1. Focus

Not just a slogan on a Tiger Gatorade bottle. He has a way of not giving a flip what the large galleries, tv cameras, media, other players are doing. How is he not caught up in the spectacle? Lots of practice. Having been in that moment over and over. Oh, and maybe there's something in his head that doesn't allow him to give in to all the crap because he realizes the second his focus drifts is the second he loses ground. He won't hit the shot he wants to hit. Living in the present.

2. Balance

Not talking about swing technique here. His life seems to be relatively in balance for someone of his fame. A wife, two kids, age 32. Apparently, he's pretty funny. Gotta be pretty smart...Stanford doesn't just accept any great athlete. He only plays so many tournaments a year. Of course, he's in a position to pick and choose, but still his focus is on peaking. That can't happen if you're burning the candle on both ends.

3. Articulation

He's given just about as many interviews as drives hit, but somehow he seems to provide answers that interest. Sometimes it is what he says. And sometimes it is how he says it. There's a personable nature he has. Something that comes from him that sounds frank, sincere, honest, and yet, pretty optimistic. As a result, his answers also exude confidence. Confidence that no matter if the round was a 68 or a 78, the moment is fleeting. Tomorow will come and the questions will be slightly different.

Yes, I do have a man crush on Tiger Woods.

60 minutes interview w/ the late, great Ed Bradley:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kotQfs6VpXQ&feature=PlayList&p=B0880AE4005D248A&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=13

Running and News Converge

I was scanning PBS.com today and found an article on their home page about "environmentally conscious kids." A major point within the article, written by Alan Fortescue -- the Director of Education for the Earthwatch Institute, was how parents educate their children on the environment. The answer: "...one thing does more to foster environmental consciousness than anything else; this is simply the act of getting children outdoors." (to read the whole article: http://www.pbs.org/parents/experts/)

Experiential learning or learning by doing.

Good for PBS, but visit any classroom and I'll bet you'll find a solid percentage of students who are bored from sitting in a classroom. My last year of college I worked at a non-profit organization called Florida Campus Compact. Our job was to serve, enhance and promote service-learning in colleges and universities in Florida. What is service-learning? Basically, its getting a grade based on actually going out in the community and performing service for an organization affiliated with the subject you're learning about.

I'm a solid believer in this type of learning. When you get out of school, there's no road map. No course schedule. No block scheduling. Its all an elective. Inventors and innovators don't sit back and follow every instruction. They get to know the rules and they try to break them to see if they can make the system better.

(Picture of where my first marathon will be in Big Sur, CA)

On a personal level, running has brought me closer to the environment. My love for trails, for the smell of freshly mowed grass, for fields and pines, all comes from my experience running. Some find this same love through cycling, through hiking, through science and discovery. Thus this proves one more point. Health, science and the environment are all related. When we throw money at these things, creating jobs and drawing many more to the outdoors, the economy becomes deeply ingratiated, too.

Admittingly, I stopped reading the whole article as I've written to this point. Before publishing the post, however, I went back one more time to look over the PBS article. Turns out, there's a pretty interesting fact that sort of relates to my prior points.

"A recent study of 300 of the world's most innovative thinkers and leaders showed clear links between childhood immersion in nature and an out-of-the-box creativity and tireless commitment to society."

Matt Costa: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgSHVf_DftU

Just Dick Jokes

Doctors save lives. Judges make decisions that effect whether people spend their lives behind bars or not. Soldiers go to war.

And yet, the #1 major fear in this country is public speaking. All those other jobs I just listed involve life or death decision-making. What is the risk in public speaking? Embarrassment?

I've been doing stand-up now for about 4 years. Since I started, people always say, "Wow! That's awesome. I couldn't ever do anything like that. I'd be too scared." In a certain respect, I feel proud. Maybe its a compliment I think to myself. But for the same reason I have the "courage" to get up in front of people is the same reason I can almost disregard that comment completely. Moreover, I feel bad sometimes for the person making the comment. Why? Because I'm a complete dick. Ok, maybe not completely.

I feel bad because a) I understand people have talents and b) can only be good at so many things but c) feel that the reason why people say they can't do anything is because they're insecure. It bothers me that people say this. If somebody had a gun to your head to do it you would. Its not about comedy. Its not about public speaking. Its about the idea of an individual holding back on something that rationally makes sense because their ego is so goddamn fragile.

When it comes to public speaking, as a tip you often hear, "picture the audience in their underwear." Or if you're constantly horny, "picture the audience naked." I'm the latter. But in the words of Apple CEO Steve Jobs, we're already naked.

Again, it goes back to not being scared to fail. The point is that we already have nothing to lose. We're all going to die. Some of us sudden and without warning. Not trying to be dramatic, but its true.

So Man or Woman Up. I'm committing to 4 days per week of performance. Because for all my words, I still fight that fear of failure even after performing for 4 years. But I need to get over myself. So I am.

OK Go: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pv5zWaTEVkI (awesome video)

ps- I'm trying to spice up the blog w/ some pictures. Why not throw Clay in there? And no, that's me when my hair gets long.

A Short Entry

If you're reading today, I appreciate it.

Its Saturday, and in So Cal its 100% sunny. I've been out and about so not much time to write but wanted to drop in. Tomorrow, I think I want to write about this debate over gun control. It seems to come up often when terrible events like the recent shootings we've seen arise. Unfortunately, these debates seem to be ripples in a current that contains much more. Hopefully, I can arrive at something a little deeper. I'll certainly attempt to.

For today and tonight (on the east coast) and if you read this Sunday morning, hope all is well where you're at. Hope you're enjoying the weekend. Just remember that enjoying life doesn't end on Monday morning. That's my philosophy.

Going to, as the very white men at the country club say, "induldge myself with an adult beverage." Damn, they're white.

White Boy Music or Punk Rock for Sissies: Ben Folds http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKcuHaZlFiY&feature=related