If it kills me...

I'd tell you from the start...

Well here we are. To many, the end. To others, the beginning. What are the arbitrary values we place upon these insignificant events? What is the point? That smell you smell? That Italian restaurant you went to, had a great time, and later recalled a much worse time? Don't assign values. We don't have time to reassign.
Enough with the "emotional", we move in to much more important things.

Football is here. Yes, it's been here all along, but with a scope upon the ever present man-drama created by media sources prying private lives and less about the mid-season failures, departures, and emergences. Matt Ryan, fucking right. Brett: fucking wrong. I don't care about your dick, your team sucks dick. LT: way to come back. Brady, still a robot. (La Riv house ref). Chiefs? My auto-correct had to spell that. Manning stuggling? The other, not a playoff contender? Hmm. NFC west making a mockery of the playoff system? Shit. Hockey?
My predictions: NO plays the 'Hawks in the NFC championship and falters, Ravens fall to Patriots- 'Hawks fall to Patriots. I would make the same prediction against the Giants of 08 again and again.
On another note, what do I do?

Safe Bet

Stafford: get it together. We know that you would love to show the world your full potential. We get it. You’re good. The problem is you aren’t good at staying healthy. When you recently decided to forego surgery on your paper bag shoulder, you rained on the Lions’ future. I understand that you want to play, you want to win. Fuck, so do I my friend. I want you to shit on everyone. I want to hear “Stafford drops back, finds Megatron, touchdown!” every Sunday. But we all know how much beating a wet paper bag can take. Make Bulldog fans and Lions fan proud, opt for surgery.
In other news that falls on deaf ears, a recent CNN poll shows that an overwhelming amount of people have no idea the GOP controls the house. Couple with the recent statistic that sheds new light on the nation’s concern (or lack thereof) in politics, we have a situation. Have we really lost our hope? The turnout for the ’08 presidential election was the highest in had been in years, yet now it’s “well, we tried” and “I can’t remember what side I’m voting on”. To the former: No, you didn’t. The United States in an overwhelming majority elected a leader that put a shovel in our hands and said “help me dig it out” and we said “this isn’t what I signed up for”. To the GOP- this is what your platform stands on. Support your president or replace him with one of your own that says the SAME FUCKING THING. And to the latter: You’re voting on the side. You vote for your kids. What are we giving them? Pick up a shovel and stop groveling about your current situation. It’s getting worse everywhere. Many things are true, I have bad luck, people have worse luck, and Jameson is good luck. In a recent poll of my memories, Jameson is 90% of them. The other 10% consists of babbling, static, driving, and work. Will it carry me through? I realize that as the season is upon us and me, I need to figure out a way around the impending dark time of my year. As most of you know I have a questionable tie to seasonal depression. This season. Some say it is a combination of darker nights, shorter days, cold weather and rain. To them I say “I’m from Humboldt County”. So what is it? I will tell you this: another study shows that most breakups occur around the holiday season. Whether it is because we are too cheap to buy, invest in, or create gifts for our loved ones, or that we fear commitment of any form, I know that I have been the worst kind of person during this time. I count 6 straight breakups, avoidances, fights, no-shows, and stand-ups. I also count some of the best times with my friends and family. Mostly because I am single around this time. I enter the season somewhat together, somewhat composed, and somewhat committed. Only as I have always had a reliable form of structure entering this season, I lack that support, that boundary. The man in me, the man created during my unemployment, the man who has in some ways become calmer, quieter, calculating, and somewhat non-committal mostly in fear of that which is temporary, has something. I’m not sure what it is, but the reality of it has become a question instead of an answer. It has gone from “it is what it is” to the “what is it?” I know what the situation is because I define it. I am the one who is up front. I want you- for now. Don’t ask about later. And when later comes? Later. I haven’t been able to place my trust in anyone because the last one that had it didn’t return the favor.
But I’m doing it. And I have become someone’s safe bet. The safe bet is familiar more to me than most because in seconds I can identify it with a series of statistics, trends, and breaks. With this Sunday’s games ahead, it’s a safe bet that between the Lions and Cowboys not only will there end a better team, but someone will be injured. In all the games this year, both teams have lost a player to an injury in every game. Not indefinitely, but a starter nonetheless.
I know that in the end my thirst for reciprocation will either be quenched or elongated, and I know that I am not one to be lead on. I’m not complacent.

... and if my past is any sign of our future...

::Tech Geek::

It's become apparent that most of my blogs revolve around the miseries of the current situations either I or someone in my life are going through. This isn't an "emo" blog. I just wanted to pass on stories of my debauchery and latter consequences. However I find myself straying into areas that many people would consider depressing. I am not that man

I love hockey. Most of us have heard or seen of hockey, but the mystery of it lies in our geographical and historical nature. I would enlighten you on both but the reality is we don't have a lot of snow on the west coast. The Red Wings are destroying it right now, and as I find myself meticulously following a dynasty similar to that of the Yankees, I reflect: is this what a Yankees fan feels like? Not the same I cry! Our city is poor, our heroes rise from the dirt, our legends made of Michigan blood. What's your favorite team?
We have hobbies, us all. They occupy the time, give us purpose, and provide a bridge to our participants in said hobby. Most of us that normally would not interact find a strange bond that rivals friendship and camaraderie through hardship. Why must we belong? Humans by nature are social, therefore common likenesses must be established. My hobby is technology. Simple: I like change. I have always liked change; taking trips, new foods, engaging in mischief. But to like change is to like deviance. And yet I like the iPhone. A walking contradiction I find myself scouring the Earth for the unique only to find I am similar to others in my plight alone. The desire for change and difference is shared by many and therefore is a paradox: how can we define unique? Is it something that is different from the day-to-day but is easily replicated? Or is it the snowflake? Fuck snowflakes.
A friend quoted once: "to break up with someone is to gain confidence, to have them break it off with you is to lose confidence. So begin and break up as many relationships as possible and you will always have high self confidence". Is that what I've been doing? I don't think it makes sense. I honestly search for what is good for me. Is that selfish? Fuck ya, but why settle for less when you get one shot at life. Why is selfish bad? Why do I hear people complaining about their life and not doing anything about it? They're selfless. They don't want to hurt the roommates, co-workers, boyfriend girlfriend, friend, family, or the guy in the grocery line who has 20 items in the 10 items line's feelings. Fuck that get yours. Life is too short, don't be the death bed regret. And with that being said, I started something I intend to follow through on. Something that is good, and it feels damn good too. All those who nay-said and criticized can suck it. The reality was you couldn't pull out of your dying relationships fast enough. You couldn't end it after it already ended. My heart goes out to you. And you :)

The weekend awaits

Ah the hardships and joys of weekend days off... oh the structure. We all have seen me in action. My OCD takes over faster than Nationalism in South America. I love having set plans, but mostly for the efficiency. My life revolves around the idea that I can do more in 2 days than what you do in a week. As I type I've already been up for 3 hours, seen a World Cup match, ate breakfast, showered, and am awaiting a trip to the Sierra Nevada brewery and a baseball game @ 7. Tomorrow includes a gym trip, float down the river, BBQ and horseshoe match (Alicia who wears the crown? That's right.)
People confuse my structural prowess with neurosis Don't hate, consolidate. I should be a planner of some sort... hmmm. And don't say weddings. If it was up to me it would be a field, an open bar, and the Dan Band. Thanks mom!
Oh adoption.
I realize more and more the joys of rising early and sleeping early. Here begins the laundry list of symptoms leading readers to believe that I am going down the path of old age. Many people are up early, enjoying the not too hot weather in Sacramento. Why not? Why jump out of the shower to get into a sauna? Why have to shower twice in one day? And the nightlife here is great, but day drinking is too fun to deny it's convenience. Small crowds, cheaper drinks, less cops to drive past! See also gyms, shopping, laundromats, naps and weekday baseball. Businesses are open. What a thought. Another reason I need a big boy job.
On the subject of politics...
Just kidding! And that about sums up what politicians are thinking.
My guilty pleasure, Disneyland, can only come too soon. I've planned it for the first week in September, dates previously reserved for a visit to Seattle (sorry, Dave, Gower) and I plan on doing it SOCD style. Showing up Friday afternoon. Disneyland. Then Saturday, California Adventure, followed by Disneyland until my flight on Sunday night. I work Monday morning, would I have it any other way? If you really want to experience Disneyland, you have to go SOCD style. I can make it through any line, coordinate FastPass times, get free food, and make sure we have front row seats for any show without having to camp out for 2 hours. The trick is to... nope, you'll have to see. It also helps that I can get really cheap tickets for airfare, DLand, and hotels, that I can weave through traffic (see Europe blogs), have patience, and am always prepared for a bathroom break in line. Trust me, I'm a doctor. Signups are starting now. Dates are 10th-12th of September.


SamObssessiveCompulsiveDisorder style.

Quote of the day: "You a stewardess good ma I fly too"

Down and Out

Free thinking.

I've decided that juggling has left me quite emotionless and rather cold. I don't fully take the time to enjoy what I have in my life... oh the instant gratification! Our society is so bent on getting what it wants when it wants- I need to step back. There's a lot of events, people, and decisions to be made. I am ignoring all of them for now. Not soon. My lack of self-discipline has hindered my ability to commit to one plan, woman, or favorite cheese.
No longer.
I applied to SF State, SDSU, and Long Beach for grad school in psychology last year, and gave in lieu of a trip to Europe.
That wasn't a mistake, the mistake was not starting my life when I returned.
So I've starting looking again. Hopefully I can reapply, reconnect, and reassert myself. I've broken down over the last few months and gone with what I do best. Socialize. My friends would be ashamed. I'm the only one the spent the money, time, and more money graduating, and now I'm a bartender/ auditor at a golf course. Fuck that, I hide my embarrassment with booze and laughter. It's been real and fun, but it's done.
Let it be known, my empty promises of getting big boy jobs and moving away are over. By spring next year I will either be working or learning again.
Don't let my candor fool you, this is the last summer. Aunt Gail, look in Chi for me. Hannah? New Orleans can do. Kristin? San Diego CAN be more than a 3-day weekend. Gower? Let's find me a job now so I can get residency. I'll know more ins and outs of Craigslist than anyone. How did I let myself go this far?
Down: bars, weekend trips to... well... whoring. Whoring is stretching yourself thin for a little satisfaction.
Out: Day boozing, tech purchases, TV, and video games.
I yield. I've let this go on long enough.

Wow. The World Cup is going quite as planned. As mentioned to many of my peers, I believe Germany will win. In fact, I tossed $100 after hearing that Steiger would replace Ballack as midfielder, and the odds went to 13-1. I still believe that Uruguay is my sleeper, with Argentina as my dark horse. Sorry America, what happened to our ODP? We're still raggedy. How can we really be proud of a team that had one win and two ties, and with our midfielders scoring all our goals? We need to get better, quickly. All you bandwagon futbol viewers, doesn't Donovan deserve better? Mostly MLS players that have and will play for us opt out to continue the season for money. WHAT MONEY? Gooooooooooooal!

Is anyone else a little worried about the state of our entertainment? Nothing really new has come out in the past few months. Remixes of movies and music are littering my inbox, iTunes, and TV commercials. I gotta give it to Old Spice, your swagger campaign might still be the funniest set of commercials out there. And you've started a following of commercials that mimic your brash and forward sense of sales.

Sadly... your man isn't me.

Down and Out

A Wal-Mart Experience

Wal-Mart, creator of all thing wrong and cheap. We all know the tear- to us Wal-Mart poses a specific morality conundrum. On one hand, the company is consistently under fire for labor practices and for putting smaller practices and businesses on bankruptcy. On the other, I choose my words carefully, they produce cheap shit. I, however, find a nervous tinge tying into my stomach from neither former nor latter: I get uncomfortable observing society in the some of the worst conditions. For example, as Michelle and I were in there the other day, we had specific goals. I needed new work shoes, and she needed to fill a prescription. We both failed- they didn't have the shoes I needed and the line wasn't moving in the pharmacy. Fail.
Michelle decides to grab some things and get in line. We're sandwiched between an older black lady and an older White lady. The lady in front has around 30 things, and is in the 10 items or less line. Go ahead, imagine.
As tensions flair, the grumbling behind us elevates to "will you tell her the this is the 10 items or less line". We both just nervously smile and turn back around. We can't leave. This is going down. Banter is exchanged, the lady in front is having payment troubles and is clearly frustrated. The lady behind is voicing her opinion. Now the lady in front, rather than move forward, is in an all out war, and ends up calling her to the parking lot. Security is called. I get on the phone, and as I start talking, the lady behind me says, "this is why they need to go back to the jungle".
I can't explain exactly what I was feeling. I wanted to leave, I wanted to stay and yell. I didn't tell Michelle until we finally left. She was pissed, I understand why, I just feared for the both of us had we stayed. I'm serious...

Red Wings, Movies, Light-hearted Racism

Do you love sports? Is it just mindless movement centered in social collusion? Sports have always been an interesting topic for me, sociologist extraordinaire, because like all social events, the lines dividing class are blurred. In the beginning I believed that devotion to sports was confined to the likes of Joe the Plumber
and auto-workers. My father, and his before, were die hard Red Wings, Tigers, and Lions fans. For those who don't know, they're the professional sports teams that reside in Detroit. And using most models of stratification, one could decree that Detroit's teams are subject to "blue-collar" or "lower class" fans. Which, from what I could tell, was true. As you, the observer, attends more and more sporting events, you begin to notice things like the "boxes" or private rooms that essentially block out the sounds of the crowd, and allow for conversation. These are usually reserved for the rich, or friends of the rich. So they must love sports, too? My theory is this- the upper class needs the lower class (citing the "forces of production" theory of Marx) and therefore in order to subdue them, is to grant them certain luxuries, and imbue in them the false sense of meritocratic success. And the fan support also dictates the condition of said stadiums, seats, and therefore boxes. Trust me, box seats in San Francisco, Oakland, Chicago, and Los Angeles differ greatly. The best way to experience the difference in fan support class is to go to a San Francisco Giants baseball game, and then to an Oakland A's game. Chew on that.


I've decided that Lucky Number S7evin is a great movie. It's mostly a updated version of Hitchcock's "North by Northwest"- in fact, having not seen the original, they make quite a good reference to it in this movie. There are turns, flashbacks, violence, culturally relevant humor, and Bruce Willis. Materialism takes a backseat to the focus on dialogue. Unfortunately it's so well edited that almost 10 minutes at the end is devoted to unraveling the mystery and mystique- a crying shame. Hartnett's conversational fluidity is somewhat astonishing and surprising, really, raising the question: flawless acting or great direction? Hartnett brings a good poker face, and Ben Kingsley, Sir, is quite a believable kingpin Rabbi. How delightful to have the writer kosherly weave a legend of a Hebrew boss of New York. Morgan Freeman, quite possibly the greatest narrator of our time, plays an opposite boss, yet downplays his character strongly in order to seem composed and inwardly reflective after the loss of his son. Try it sometime. The dialogue is quite short and quipping.


That was just for your entertainment...

Like most racially-charged blogs, opinion columns, and stories, stuffwhitepeoplelike.com has many followers- and many light-hearted racists up in arms against the now widely-published articles. It's now a publication- and both sides of the argument are still battling on its so-called racial implications. The blog every so often releases another event, object, or social connection that white people apparently are keen to. From coffee to hybrids, scarves to "The Wire", the author makes comparisons "white-guilt", racial sympathy, and historical racism. Read it. Get back to me, I want to see all sides of my cohort comprehension.

For now, it's beer, sun, and maybe some chicken later.

Down and Out.

Sunday FUNDAY

Do you have one? Everyone has one, one that makes your Monday so enjoyable that you feel like re-enacting every scene from Office Space? Woke up around 10, laid around feeling sorry for myself after the night previous had left me hungry, blurry, and not ashamed. It's my party, I'll cry if I want to, regardless of the source of tears. And in that case, it was from puking out Cheladas and cake!
I moan and groan at the thought of traveling anywhere than to and from the couch while Dave devises a plan for us to drink off our hangovers. Not feeling it, especially after Becki tosses in a plan for bottomless mimosas at the newly relocated Sweetwater Restaurant... nope. No way.

So I throw on some classy ass shirt, some Paper Denim jeans, and my $5 glasses and do my best Colin Farrel impression and we bounce out the door headed to Sweetwater, but not without the "Princess" balloon and tiara I received from my "friends" on my birthday. What can I say, I'm a sucker for peer pressure. And everyone has that friend, you know, that gets you to do pretty much anything... resulting in arrests, hangovers, and midgets. EFFING DAVE.
We arrive at the brunch to find we're the 1st, meeting with Meg and Ann, sisters, and Becki's best friends. They take to the mimosas, and brunch becomes a "build your own bloody mary" contest with Dave and an isolation move by me as I watch the 'Wings handle the Coyotes to even the series. I can't help it, I'm broke and I love hockey- so no breakfast for now. Dave, content on making my birthday weekend the best around, continues to feed me marys.
With a couple texts from Leah, I realize that the Sharks game is also later, and we pencil in a meeting later for a pre-drink margarita session with the Don Julio from the previous night. Sara, this week's April baby, and the host of the brunch, moves that we relocate to Zebra to continue on Sunday FUNday, which, by the way, just happens to be the best weather in Sacramento to this point- 80s, slight breeze, no clouds. Ridiculous.
At Zebra, we quickly make friends with John Jameson and finish watching the Dodgers Giants game...





Have you ever felt the push and pull of owning a fantasy sports team? You know, you have that player you hate to love, the one that continues your fantasy dominance week after week, by usually playing against your ACTUAL favorite team? This story ends with the Giants leading a 1-0 game into the 8th inning before Manny Ramirez hits a big one into the stands...
I cheer wildly, being a Tigers fan- not caring, of course, for either team- and get booed by 10 or so odd Giants fan. So I did what I love to do: antagonize. I turn around, throw up my hands and say, "awwww c'mon, he's on my fantasy team! get over it!". The shrugs I receive validate my above claim about loyalty and where it lie... People are getting hungry and restless, and I start to wonder how many people are going to be coming over to Leah's with us, considering the crew we've amassed. The hunger works to our advantage as we decide on Vito's for a slice and relaxation. After some pitchers or beer and sangria, the crew chooses R15 for another drink. At this point, our friend Jenna has an improv to perform later, so Meg splits from the group amongst some dissension centering on our attendance to said improv. Our drunkedness saves us from going, but the girls bicker for a moment before agreeing to meet later.
Beers, jager bombs, and beers ensue, as the Sharks battle in a rather boring game against the Avalanche. Drunk, tired, and hungry again, we leave Leah and Nikolai and head to Safeway, grabbing to packs of chicken, 2 bags of chips, and a 30 pack. It's 8:00, and we're ready. Brian stops by, and now it's on. We prep and toss the wings in, and get cracking on the Chandeliers- have you played?
You get a rocks or tumbler glass and set it in front of you, and push it against a pint glass in the middle which has been filled with an entire beer. Each player pours a few ounces of beer in their cup, and takes their turn shooting into the glasses. If a player makes it in his/her cup or any cup besides the middle cup, the player who is behind the cup drinks. If a player makes it into the middle cup, all players must finish the beer in front of them, last one to finish drinks the middle. Everybody is a winner, no discrimination.
Wings and beer gone in 45 minutes, we elect to foolishly pop the bottle of champagne in the fridge to continue our debauchery... 'nuff said. Good night.