Weekend Recap

My deepest apologies for the scarcity of blog entries. Besides my own overactive guilt complex, I know that all three of you were upset for an entire 2.8 seconds every morning after checking my page to see the same old stuff.

Our weekend was an interesting one, complete with a broken-down refrigerator (“Quick! Someone needs to eat all this ice cream because it’ll be melted by morning!”), an invasion of ants (“Um, Honey, I know you didn’t want me to wake you this early, but there are ants swarming in the breakfast cereal”), and a trip out to Palm Springs to see the fam.

So The Philosophress and I, being over the legal drinking age and wanting to get out of the vacation house, went out for a drink with another one of my cousins. Family time is nice, but some culture and experiencing some desert night life and triple digit temperatures sounded like a good idea.

The first potential hotspot that we stumbled across was called the “Blue Guitar,” which billed itself as live music and no cover charge, so that immediately piqued my interest. We ended up spending our entire evening there (all 2 hours of it), and it brought about a few good stories, which of course I will share.

First, the band was pretty money. Good blues sound, four-piece band, with a black bass player with long dreds playing a 5-string bass, a black guitarist, some Hispanic/Italian drummer, and an overweight white guy with glasses and a ponytail on the organ. Apparently it was the drummer’s first time with the rest of the band, but they were taking one another’s cues quite nicely. The drummer was a pretty capable backup singer, and all of the other three guys sang various songs. My favorite was the organ guy was introducing a song, and someone bought him a shot, so right in the middle of talking about his song, he stops, says, "This just in!" holds up the shot glass...and down the hatch.

Of course, the sign of a good jazz/blues band is improvisation, which these guys had in spades. Nothing too crazy, just the audience yelling out requests between songs, one band member knowing the words/chords, telling the other guys to follow his lead, and off they go. The guitarist was doing the cool call-and-response thing, where the lead singer would scat sing, and would replay the notes on his guitar.

The audience was a pretty sweet mix as well...black/white, young/old, and our personal favorite, the token lesbian couple. Oh yes, this was like a train wreck...we knew it was tragic and wrong to stare, but we couldn’t help glancing over every few seconds. Well, that and the fact that they “happened” to be sitting at the table in the very front row, in the very middle. You know, not wanting to stand out or anything. When my cousin noted that one of them was ordering her beers four at a time, The Philosophress noted, “Maybe she needs some liquid courage to help her be a better lesbian!” They tried to steal the spotlight by conspicuously making out on the dance floor to “Georgia on My Mind” (just like the overly affectionate couple at your high school dances), but then other people started dancing around them, and their fifteen minutes was up.

By the way, grrrreat music selection by the band. Some Sly and the Family Stone, some Ray Charles, some instrumentals, some Aretha Franklin. Oh yes, apparently the wives of the band sing too...they came up and carried a couple songs and the dudes played along. Very sweet. Just a bunch of people (band and audience) coming together to enjoy some good music, dance with one another, and ignore racial, age (and even gender!) boundaries.

Oh yes, and my new favorite drink is a Sex on the Beach. Just picture me at the backyard barbeque, working the grill, applying some BBQ sauce to the burgers, meat fork in one hand......and a fruity drink with an umbrella in the other. Good times.

I Know What I Don't Know

Here are my belated quarter-century thoughts. They won’t be coherent, and they may not make any sense at all. (For sensible birthday thoughts, ask Amelia).

I know that I’m not good enough to be the “golden child” that all youngsters must aspire towards. I need to be free to make mistakes, to not know what I’m doing, and to be ok with taking it easy.

I wish I knew how to forgive myself and other people. I certainly don’t know how to move on in life or look ahead when I feel like so much of myself is defined by who I used to be…

Shouldn’t the skills of letting go and self-transformation come with age and wisdom? Why do I see so many people who should know better entrenched in shallow and comfortable existences? And why must they look at me with confusion and bewilderment when I reject this worldview?

I’ve tried shallow, and I’ve tried well-behaved. Passive and passionless doesn’t work. Good behavior and surface interaction is merely a placeholder for those who can’t assimilate and process a deeper sense of self.

This isn’t to say that I have everything figured out. Goodness knows that struggling and discovering on one’s own takes more work and energy than some are willing to put forth. If it were easy, I guess I’d see more real-life examples.

So right now I get to learn how to fight complacency and exhaustion. I explore the limits of mortality (and physical exhaustion) on a daily basis. But unlike the past, exhaustion and sleep deprivation are not products of surface interaction and meaningless existence.

Every week, and nearly every day, I try something new, become totally overwhelmed, crash and burn, and somehow scrape the pieces together and collapse in bed.

But the next day, there’s a certain victory in finding life more conquerable. And where I am now certainly won’t be satisfactory in 6 months, or 5 years, or 30 years.

The best part about it: not only is The Philosophress understanding and helping, but she’s remembering how to do this herself. I’m all for that, especially since she’s better at this than I am.

The World Cup & Soap Operas

Yes, I’m writing about the World Cup (can I list this under the “football” category? Yes, I think I can). And while I admit that soccer, with all of its players flopping worse than Vlade Divac whenever a defender approaches, bears a striking resemblance to soap operas (complete with weeping and hugging, and that’s after goals are scored), there’s more to this story (than just multiple parenthetical statements).

We have a small, yet vocal contingent at work who enjoy watching the soaps in the break room from 1p-2p, taking the later lunch hour. In an unrelated development, I’ve also found that taking a later lunch makes the afternoon go faster.

With the World Cup, I get to become a two-week soccer fan. We have a couple Hispanics in the office who are following all the Central and South American teams. Another girl is dating a British guy, so she’s pulling for England. There is the requisite USA contingent, and then there’s a Persian guy who’s rooting for his Iranian “brothers.” (Insert Zoolander quote here: “And when I say brother, I don't mean, like, an actual brother, but I mean it like the way black people use it. Which is more meaningful I think.”).

So I think that I’m pulling for Italy, for obvious reasons. Well, more than likely they’re not obvious, so I’ll elaborate. First, I’ve been to Italy, so that counts for something. Second, rooting for the US of A sure as shootin’ isn’t going to do much good after today’s performance. And although the Italians probably won’t win it all, they’ll be looking good before and after matches in their Italian fashion, and they’ll have lots of fun living life and celebrating.

Anyhoo, back to the soap opera. So the Soap Opera Stalwart notifies everyone this morning that the “World Cup better be finished by one o’clock because I’m not missing my show!” Of course, Italy v. Ghana is just finishing up, but rather than miss 20 minutes of her beloved show, we get relegated to soccer during commercials. Not to be misogynistic, but I have *big* issues with the type of women who demand the remote on a regular basis...that indicates a degree of control that I think is a little out of hand. The Philosophress chooses plenty of the programming in our casita, and I’m totally cool with that (hey, someone has to stay on the couch/bed while I manipulate the rabbit ears!) but it’s not a power struggle. I just take a small issue with telling two dudes (with food) to go find another TV she sits alone and watches what The Philosophress terms “potato chips for the brain.” Potato chips are fine if you’re alone and nothing else is available, but if you’re in a room full of people and other (majority) opinions prevail, it’s time to back off.

So tomorrow Brazil is playing during the Soap Opera Hour. There’s going to be two weeks of these clashes. Good times!

Happy Boxing Day

No, December 26 didn't come early this year. I just have a boxing theme going on today. Yes, you heard that right.

First of all, The Philosophress got me a George Foreman Grill in honor of my joining the Quarter-Century Club. We used it for the first time today, and it is freaking awesome (for those who don’t know, “freaking awesome” is better than “unbelievably awesome” but not quite as good as “oh snap!”).

I know this is not new to the world at large, but keep in mind I’ve always had the mindset something along the lines of “Taco Bell is cheap and quick” and “In-N-Out is pretty darn healthy!” However, with the whole gluten-free thing going here (still in conference with the doctor to get the details nailed down, but my days as a Cookie Monster are definitely numbered), I’m having to find ways to actually cook quickly and healthily.

Enter good ol’ George. The Next Grilleration (I know, brilliant marketing) has removable plates for easy cleaning. Although you simply must check out the version that The Philosophress overlooked: The George Foreman USB iGrill. High Comedy.

So The Philosophress finds such a sweet gift so’s I don’t get discouraged whilst cooking, and tonight’s chicken definitely tasted good at a fraction of the time. I managed to dirty just a handful of dishes, instead of the entire kitchen (as is my usual custom). Good times all around.

And why else is this Boxing Day, you ask? Well, because my (totally heterosexual) man-crush on Brady Quinn’s biceps (so 2004!) has given way to anticipating Tom Zbikowski fighting his first pro bout at Madison Square Garden on Saturday. Can you watch a pay-per-view boxing match in a bar? Because The Philosophress and I are woefully lacking in the cable TV department. But his opponent plans to wear an Ohio State jersey into the ring. He should just skip the festivities and start whimpering in the corner, because that’s where he’s going to be after the opening bell.

In All Fairness to Myself

(Philosophress here) I just wanted to add one small editorial related to G's birthday story, in my self-defense. Whilst the young birthday boy was finishing his dinner, I was slaving away at the kitchen sink washing dishes of others who had completed their meals. A quick layout of our house is in order: once you walk into the front door, you are in the living/family room; as you walk towards the back of the house, you turn left and it opens up into the dining area, which is connected to the kitchen. So, since I was doing dishes, this means I was around the corner from the front door, and also had my back to the entire room (kitchen/dining area). With all the noise from a house full of relatives chatting it up, I didn't even realize anything was amiss until our visitor went upstairs and I heard G's cries for help. :) At that point I walked to the front door and invited in the father of the child, but (this was a bit odd) he just shook his head in embarrassment and apologized. I felt really bad for him because it was pretty clear he was used to that sort of situation but didn't know how to fix it. Anyway, so we left the door open and I went up to try to help G convince our guest to come back downstairs to his dad; the poor kid really had no clue what was going on, he was happily oblivious, didn't really respond to people talking and was definitely in his own world. It made me sad because even though G was upset, I could tell the little boy wasn't being ornery or mischievous, but rather he was quite disconnected from reality and I highly suspect he had some sort of mental disability. Anyway, as G said, we did manage to get him back to his dad, so all is well that ends well, but I just felt like I needed to throw in my two cents to let you know that when G complained about no one in his family helping, he meant the extended family, not his lovely wife :)

Birthday Happenings

So we celebrated my birthday over the weekend, and as usual there is a story to tell. I'm now a part of the Quarter-Century Club, which The Philosophress says is a good group to be a part of, but some skepticism remains. I guess I've already experienced the crises that come along with this age, so I'll take the official distinction.

Anyhoo, so we're doing a little BBQ out in the backyard, grilling up some burgers and chicken. The parents and grandparents are over, just chilling, and as I'm finishing up my baked beans, at the dinner table, a young boy bumps into me on his way into the kitchen.
For those of you with younger cousins (or who know my younger cousins, or just boys in general), this is not a disturbing fact, but after a full second of thought, I realized that we had no young cousins in the house.

I turn around in my chair to see the front door wide open with a strange man standing outside. Yes, some boy just opened our door and walked in unannounced! In fairness, The Philosophress says he was mentally or developmentally disabled...but the fact remained that we still have some strange dude strolling about our house who is unresponsive to my questions. So now my little sister wisely picks up the cat (since the front door is standing wide open), and I tell her to take the put the cat upstairs to remove further distractions from our newest guest. So he makes a beeline for the man standing outside our front door...and then charges up the stairs after my sister.

So now I'm getting a little concerned and confused (which probably peaked when he decided it would be a good idea to climb on our bed). After showing him the rest of our house (including the downstairs and kitchen again), he finally made it to the front door, which I made sure to close and *LOCK* this time.

Then I return to the rest of my family and try out my best "Kevin McGirr response after finding a drunk French(?) woman in his bed on the overnight train in Europe" impression with my family.

Apparently my family found this amusing enough to stand idly by and watch the proceedings without guiding our young adventurer gently toward familiar faces, leaving me to follow the wandering wayfarer around our house, not exactly sure how to act. I guess the rest of my family figured he wasn't a threat and sat back to watch the show.

Movie Doubleheader

So The Philosophress and I decide to hit the dollar theatre…and we turn out making a night of it. Two movies @ $1.50/ticket, plus we get one ticket free...well, I’m not good with math and numbers, but it’s pretty cheap.


Pelicula Uno: Failure to Launch

I didn’t even realize this was supposed to be a chick flick until about 2/3 of the way through the movie. Basically, it’s just like How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, only with more testosterone for the dudes. It even includes Matthew McConaughey, who is one fine piece of man. Of course, I can admit to watching chick flicks due to the marital status (and let the record show that I saved myself for marriage...I abstained from snuggling up with the chick flick on those cold and lonely nights during college because I was saving myself. Although I can’t say the same for my freshman roommates…one in particular was a big fan of Titanic, the Backstreet Boys, and Tom Cruise. But that’s another discussion for another time).

Despite the overplayed “I have my selfish reasons for dating you, but then I get upset/shocked/offended when I find out you’ve been lying and have been dating me for all the wrong reasons” plotline, this has several appropriate dude moments. (Of course, since I can’t figure out how to do numbers/bullet points, you readers get to read the “dude moments” juxtaposed with a flower icon. How’s that for high comedy?)

• The main character still lives in his parents house, and hangs with his 2 friends, one who’s a world adventurer, and one nicknamed “Ace,” who reveals, during an intimate moment with a female, garnered the moniker because of an undescended testicle. (Especially humorous since I knew a guy nicknamed “Tri-bal” in high school…due to a somewhat related problem)
• Chick flicks don’t usually involve a paintball scene with guys (and gals) getting hit in the face (conjures up Matt McGowen stories)
• A chick trying to buy various guns (paintball, BB, shotgun) to kill the mockingbird outside her window that won’t shut up
• And then there’s Terry Bradshaw, who plays Matthew McConaughey’s dad in the movie. After McConaughey moves out of his parents’ house, Bradshaw turns the former bedroom into his “Nekkid Room,” and we get see/hear various dialogues on how this is now a “safe refuge” and how much it bothers him to wear clothes.

In all, an enjoyable time. The Philosophress enjoyed it, and it’s a solid mixed-company movie, so long as the chicas won’t be offended with the dudes yukking it up during the dude moments.


Pelicula Dos: Inside Man

One of those movies that keeps you guessing until the end, lots of hints throughout, some flashbacks, some flashforwards, and you never know what the motivations of the characters are. Pretty sweet cast, with Denzel Washington, Clive Owen, and Jodie Foster. I was hoping Christopher Plummer would do some of his Sound of Music songs at the end, but alas, twas not to be. It was a thinking man’s movie, and one (like Ocean’s Eleven) that needs to be watched more than once, but the movie does have a dark tone, and the movie ends somewhat unresolved (The Philosophress thinks they left room for a sequel).

Good Work Stories on a Friday

So I’m chatting with the receptionist (and I must remind The Philosophress that she’s in her 50s or something so she doesn’t get jealous…like I’d know how to flirt or something!), and she asks if I’ve received my business cards yet. Of course I haven’t, but I pretend it’s because they’re still checking my criminal records and my shady past. She plays along, even laughing at the part where I tell her that my business cards should have my name, and then underneath “AKA Guido Lasagne, AKA Guapo Sanchez” and then follow it with the coup de grâce: “AKA Betsy,” followed by us both making the Jim Lee Face.

Although, this wasn’t half as bad as my boss, coming up to me on my third day on the job, with an HR email in hand that read something to the effect of, “We just received the results of the background check, and he has two outstanding warrants. Consider him armed and dangerous.” I was spooked, not because I thought it was true (I had separately received the background check results), but because I thought my boss believed it. Turns out he was the one who had doctored the email.

Good times all around.