The Money Pit

I'm sure you've all received some sort of charitable donation solicitation in the mail at some point in time. You know, they send you address labels with a request for a small donation to their cause. Like most people, I used to just take the labels and throw the request away, but when Guy and I first moved into our apartment, I don't know if it was the thrill of adulthood or if they just caught me on a particularly charitable day, but I decided to send a small token of my appreciation to the VFW. I have many relatives that are veterans, and I thought just sending $15 would be appropriate to outweigh the cost of the labels. After all, they always say that no donation is too small.

Well, all was well and good until we began being flooded with VFW mailings. We now have more address labels than we could use in ten years, some nice notecards, and even a patriotic tote bag. I can't help but thinking that they're taking the well-intentioned $15 I gave and "donating" it right back to me in the form of red-white-and-blue junk!

I'd like to see figures detailing what type of return these junk mail solicitations actually bring in, but until then, I think my charitable donations will be spent elsewhere.

A Big Plug for My Little Bro

This is the story of the time my little brother grew his hair into a fro, went to college, and joined a band. He plays bass in a group called Cloverleaf at Penn State, and they are now trying to win some kind of contest for mtvU's best band on campus. I'm not entirely sure of all the ins and outs of this deal, but if you're interested, I recommend that you click the link below, check out a few of their songs, and if you like them, give them a five and submit your vote. If you don't like them, don't bother voting, because we wouldn't want this contest to be skewed by the votes of naysayers, would we?

Here's Cloverleaf.

Ridiculousness

There is one thing in life that I will never understand. That thing is alcohol. Sure, I had my phase in life where I was curious and wanted to know what things tasted like, but I have never been drunk, or even buzzed (which I consider the same thing as drunk), and I can guarantee you that I never will be.

Confusion #1: "Alcohol is an acquired taste." -- Why would you want to purposefully drink something that tastes like burning in order to acquire a taste? What is the point? Not only is it an addiction waiting to happen, but you are spending money on something that is gross just so you can grow to like it.

Confusion #2: "Drink it. It doesn't even taste like alcohol at all!" Okay, well most of the times I've heard that, it has been false. Wine coolers do not taste like fruit juice, no matter what you say. And furthermore, if it doesn't taste like alcohol, why not get the nonalcoholic equivalent? Unless, of course, you're trying to get drunk, which brings me to...

Confusion #3: Some people say I can't criticize this since I haven't ever been drunk and don't know "how fun it is," but seriously, why do you need a substance to alter your personality in order to have fun? If that's the case, then you're probably a pretty lame or insecure person to begin with. Why risk all the health problems and various other drunken mistakes you will probably make just for a little bit of fun?

Confusion #4: People who purposefully make it known that they drink and love getting drunk. Why is it that in pictures of people at parties, they always have to hold their red plastic cups or bottles up and include them in the picture, like it's some sort of symbol of their coolness or the fun they're having? I also dislike when people make it seem like even having a single drink is some sort of sophisticated or high-class thing to do. Telling a story like "Yeah, I just took a nice long bath and had a glass of wine," like you're from 'Sex and the City' or something. It just sounds ridiculous to me.

If it were up to me, we'd have prohibition again, because I really can't see any good in alcohol at all. I know that 99.9% of the people reading this will disagree with me on one or all of my confusions, but I stand by my feelings. Out of all of my friends, I know of only one person who sees it the same way I do. There used to be more, but then college hit, and people changed. I guess it's just a lonely world in the alcohol-free zone.

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

So, I know that I mentioned in an earlier post that I would think twice before buying into the bird flu hype, but when even respected talk radio hosts like Sean Hannity start to say we should prepare for it, I start being a hypocrite.

I just think it is beyond fathomable to even consider what the world would be like if a flu pandemic hit like they're saying it will. Could we go to work? Go shopping? Go anywhere? And what if one out of every three people you knew just died. That's pretty crazy, if you ask me. (And I bet if you asked someone else, they'd think it's pretty crazy, too).

However, my purpose for this post is not to intensify the fear or support the media's take on the avian flu. My intention is to actually bring a little comfort to those of you worrywarts out there, who, like me, think about the bird flu before lying down to sleep each night. I came across this opinion article today from the Christian Science Monitor, which I think may be a more liberal source, I'm not really sure. But the article just takes a perspective on the pandemic that I haven't heard, and it eased my mind a little bit. So, if you find yourself avoiding your usual chicken nuggets for lunch or the sound of birds chirping outside your window is more like the screeching Psycho theme than a pleasant reminder of springtime, I suggest you take a looksie at this here link.

Read me.

My Dream

I started out this one intending to post some of my favorite quotes from days of yore, but while I was looking for what I wanted to put on here, I came across one of my most favorite stories of all time, so I decided to post it instead. This was on a piece of paper that my brother found on the street by his fraternity house in college, which was close to an elementary school. So, without further ado, here is the work entitled "My Dream." Enjoy.

I dream that I everday eat Hot dog. I have $9,000,000,000. I have 2,000 houses. 200 VCR's. I have a plane, two cars, and a truck. I have a small dog. I have world. I have 90,000 toy cars, toy tank, toy jet. I have planet. My father and I play a game. I have a computer. I have a zoo (has dinosaurs). I everday drink milk and tea a BOEing 747 plane. brings I all world fly. I have 2,000 gold. I'm Immortal.

And that's it. A young child's dream that floated down the street and into the hands of a person who thankfully passed it on to me. The End.

Universal Talent

One thing I've realized from the pervasiveness of blogs, live journals, and sites like itube or ifilm is the large amount of talented and creative people that exist in the world, most of which are undiscovered talents. How does anyone ever get famous if there are so many other people out there with equivalent or better skills? I guess maybe it just takes an extreme passion for what you want to do, a bit of talent, and a smidge of luck. I've always thought it would be cool to just be one of those people that was "discovered" on the street. Like on the newest cycle of "America's Next Top Model," one of the girls didn't even try out. They just saw her in a mall and asked her to come on the show. Granted, I've also heard stories of girls getting "discovered" in shopping malls and then getting sucked into underground prostitution rings, but still. You have to admit that you'd feel pretty special if someone just came up to you and wanted you to do something that other people work their whole lives towards and can't achieve.

But I digress...

As far as blogs go, I always enjoy clicking on blogs of people I don't know and just seeing their writing styles. I have to say that I kind of dislike the blogs that are written with a real smoothness and flow and use lots of eloquent language and sound like poetry. I enjoy the more rough, natural style of writing where it sounds like somebody just put their thoughts down on internet paper and happened to end up with few great lines while they were at it.

And as for "viral videos," even though most of the best ones I've seen are spoofs, it still takes a creative mind and some skill to get them out there. Some of my favorites I've seen so far are:

Lazy Sunday
Brokeback to the Future
Real Life Simpsons
Super Mario on 2 Guitars
and of course, I can't forget the Numa Numa guy.
He will always give me a good laugh.

So, if you're having a boredom spell or just want to be entertained for 1-5 minutes, check out itube.com or ifilm.com and search for any of the above clips.

Symbiosis

There are two things I like. One is stationery, and the other is using things up. I am always attracted to stationery of various sorts, and I have a drawer full of different papers and cards for many kinds of occassions. As far as using things up goes, I'm not sure why, but I just really enjoy when I have a lot of something, and I see it diminishing, and then when I finally get to the end of it. For instance, when I buy a book of stamps, I just love when I make it the whole way through and I get to go pick out new stamps. It's too bad the last time I went to buy them, they only had Lady Libertys, so I'm stuck with her for a while. But regardless, the combination of my two likes turns into a desire to write letters to people. I'm not sure if I actually enjoy writing the letter, but I really like using up the stationery and decorating the envelope with stickers. The sad part of this story is that since I'm not in college anymore, I don't have a lot of people to write to. So, if you'd like to bring a little joy to my life and yours, give me your address. I'll get to satisfy my urges, and you will get to receive some exciting mail, other than bills or junk. You don't even have to write back! (Although I do think it's nice when people acknowledge that they received the letter. I don't trust the USPS sometimes.) So, if the prospect of getting non-junk mail interests you, just leave a comment with your address, or find some other way of getting it to me, and then all you've got to do is watch for a letter in the mail!

P.S. -- remember chain letters? It's hard to believe people actually typed up multiple copies of a letter and actually went to the trouble of mailing them, just hoping for a bit of good luck (or lack of bad luck). I highly doubt a chain letter would make it very far in this day and age.

So long, sucker.

Goodbye, Randle El. I will not miss your continual loss of potential yardage by running sideways instead of forward. I will miss your touchdown passes, but we can easily find another player to run the occassional gadget play. The Redskins may have seduced you with cash, but even 31 million dollars won't buy you another Super Bowl ring. Check ya later, buddy.

All the World's a Stage

The new season of Sopranos starts tonight on HBO. It's been so long in coming that I almost forget where we left off with Tony and the gang, but I'm looking forward to an entertaining premiere.

When I got to thinking about The Sopranos and various other well-made television shows, my thoughts turned to the topic of acting in general. I am always impressed when I can watch a show and feel totally undistracted by poor acting or unconvincing character portrayals. The best test of an actor's ability, in my eyes, is when I watch them and think, "I could do that." Now, at first, that might not make sense, since I have virtually no acting experience, but what I mean is that when I see a good acting job, I am so totally convinced that the lines are natural and heartfelt that it just looks easy. My first experience with this feeling was at the ripe age of four when I attended "Sesame Street Live" and was completely convinced that I could easily take on the role of Prairie Dawn. Little did I know that she was not nearly as small as she appeared from the peanut gallery of the Civic Arena, and there was no way a four-year-old could fill out that costume.

Since that time, I've experienced multiple instances of the Prairie Dawn syndrome. Sometimes I think I can handle the role because, frankly, it seems like anyone could. We can't deny that sometimes characters are cast for looks, rather than talent (ahem -- Kelly Kapowski,
Kate on LOST, or any soap opera character), but others have struck that same chord with me because of the sheer relatability of the characters. When I can watch a show and believe I'm watching real people in admittedly exaggerated life situations, that's what I enjoy. Whether it's pure skills, great writing, or a combination of both, I truly appreciate the TV characters that make it so easy for me to believe.

Time wounds every heel

It’s been a year now since my stepdad died. Even though he was in a coma for a few weeks and didn’t technically take his ticket to paradise until later, the day he died to me was the day he had his heart attack, my 22^nd birthday. Sometimes I still can’t believe he’s gone. I think about all the things he’s missed – my brother’s high school graduation, my wedding, the Steelers winning the super bowl…I just wish he could have stuck around for one more year.

I’ve lost people that I love before, but it’s never been as sudden as it was that day. I think when someone leaves and it’s so unexpected, you spend the first few months just grappling with the fact that they’re not there anymore. You have to get used to not seeing them in their usual places, not hearing their voice. It just doesn’t make any sense. But eventually, the awkwardness of their absence fades, and you start building a new life without them. You move on to a sort of remembrance stage, I guess you could call it. We always talk about what Dave would have said in a certain situation or reminisce about the funny things he did. It’s like you can somehow get past the denying that they’re gone by turning them into a figment of your imagination, telling stories about them like they’re a favorite character from a movie or a book.

But then there are his shoes. When I go to my mom’s house, I see his shoes still sitting underneath his desk where he last slipped them off. Those all white, orthopedic-looking Reeboks that he always wore. And that’s when it hits me. He was real. He was there at that desk the night before he died, sending me a birthday email, and not knowing how much things were going to change. He was there, and now he is gone forever. His shoes are a painful reminder of the living, breathing person that is now reduced to a few ashes in an urn. Sometimes I don’t want to look at the shoes when I go, but I have to. Because deep down, I don’t want to forget. Remembering is pain, but maybe it’s the only way to really keep someone alive.

Little Things

Maybe birthdays don't matter to some people, but they always have to me. They kind of bring about that same feeling of excited expectation that I get around Christmas, except a birthday is all about me, not Jesus or Santa. And it's not like birthdays are just a scorecard to keep track of who sends a gift or a happy birthday message, but sometimes it's just painfully obvious which people either don't care or don't know, even though they probably should.

Maybe I feel this way because I've always tried hard to keep track of my friends' special days, and when mine comes and goes without the slighest mention from people I see every week, it feels a little painful, I guess. I don't blame forgetful/careless people, but I just think that if you truly know someone, you know their birthday. And if you don't truly know someone, but you know their birthday anyway, that makes you extra special.

So, if you wished me a happy birthday in some form or another yesterday, just know that it was appreciated, and it made my day a good one. If you forgot...well, there's always next year!

Build a Bridge & Get Over It

Sometimes I can't wait until George W. is out of office. But not because I dislike the man or have huge issues with what he's done in his one and a half terms so far. I just can't stand hearing people whine about him all the time!

Whether I'm at work, sitting at the TV in the morning, or at my cousin's birthday party, I can't escape the constant criticisms of the supposed horror that is the Bush administration. For someone who has never cared much for politics in the first place, it's even more of a nuisance. No matter how you try to link it back to him, George W. Bush did not cause your ingrown toenail. Maybe tax cuts for the rich left you without enough money to buy a toenail clipper, but that's no excuse. Borrow one from a friend or something. That may sound absurd, but that's really how people who constantly whine about the Bush administration sound to me. When anything goes wrong, immediately it's the "incompetent" president's fault. Instead of trying to find a scape goat, why don't people quit immobilizing themselves and work towards a solution? Like it or not, W. is in office for a few more years, so as a somewhat rational human being, I just think it makes more sense to stop laying the blame and start doing something about it.

And for those of you who would rather just sit on your couch and criticize, well, you can just cry me a river and then see above for further instructions.