Oh Seattle, you silly silly city. You would think that being the largest city in Washington that there would be someone hired on the city staff that was a big enough pervert to work through most of the acronyms that are simply too inappropriate for general use. Still, I guess one snuck through. For those of you who have ever visited or lived in Seattle, you know that everything is horribly congested downtown (or everywhere as a matter of fact). Traffic is horrendous and you need to plan on leaving at least an hour in advance if you want to go anywhere. So along those lines, any sort of public transit would be a good thing right? Yep, unless it happens to be name the South Lake Union Trolley.
I'd ride the S.L.U.T. !
A local coffee shop in true Seattle fashion had taken it upon themselves to create T-shirts for the inaugural ride of the S.L.U.T., and rest assured you know I have one being sent to me. I began thinking though, maybe this is just the wake up call we need down here in Tucson in order to spice-up public transportation. What I mean is, everyone likes a S.L.U.T. With their fast, efficient service and reasonable prices. Plus, they can take on and accommodate many people at the same time. Jeeze, I want a S.L.U.T.! But it wouldn't work so well in Arizona. Seattle has dibs on the S.L.U.T. What could we call it here? Possible names include: 1) Street Kar And Neighborhood Krosser (S.K.A.N.K.), or 2) Working Hours Over-Road Express (W.H.O.R.E.). Either way, I know my morning commute might be more economical (and fun) if there were more S.L.U.T.s in the world.
I decided to do something recently which is very rare for a college student...clean my house. The crap had finally gotten so bad around the old place that I was simply tired of wading through dirty dishes and five week old dirty laundry just to get to the shower in the morning. What finally woke me up to the fact that I desperately needed to clean was that even my dog Ace wouldn't sleep on the floor because it was so dirty. I'd wake up and find him out on the couch in the living room with a look on his face which I could only imagine was him comparing me to some member of the swine family. The problem is finding the time. I don't enjoy being a pig, but somehow no matter how hard I try to keep everything clean, it usually ends up it eventually gets as dirty or dirtier than before. Thus, the inevitable question: what's the point?
It was when I made my way to the overflowing closet that I found a box which brought me down memory lane. Inside were all the trophies that I had won during my grade school years. Chess club, soccer, swim team...you name it, it was there. The swim trophies always made me laugh a little because they were gender specific. Us guys got a gold plated swimmer who was about ready to dive into the water. This was always amusing because the trophy seemed slightly more anatomically correct than amy trophy every should. The girls were given a female trophy which was essentially the male version with boobs. Yep, a gold plated girl with aftermarket boobs and a large bulge in the Speedo: a true San Fransisco swimmer.
Believe it or not, this is a golf trophy. Trophy-casters are the dirtiest people alive!
Trophies are a funny thing because when you get them you are usually ecstatic. A major accomplishment in your life commemorated by a large hunk of plastic and gold leaf. Then, they sit on your self where you display them proudly for a few months, but then become ashamed of them because they have decided to proudly display how dusty your room has become. Eager to hide the filth in which you live, you either shine them and the cycle continues, or you do what I did a few years ago and box them away until one ill-fated afternoon when you rediscover them. They are also tricky because once you do rediscover them you don't know what to do with them. You can't give them away: they have your name on them. And would you really want your name associated with a metallic transvestite swimmer? Therefore, since I'm stuck for now I simply pushed them to the back of the shelf and promised myself that I would deal with them when I moved again, but not one minute before that. Maybe I could melt them down and make them into something functional, like a trophy ashtray or something?
There is a force on earth which is sometimes so important to many of us Tucsonans that it may rival gravity in terms of significance. It can effect what time we leave work, what time we go to work, or if we even go to work (the most important choice of all). Some possible contenders for this honor: Sale at the TJ Maxx and the ensuing stampede of bargain-crazed women, Brittany Spears without Midol, or a Lil' Bush marathon on Comedy Central (damn I love that show). Although these forces to have to power to possibly level civilizations, Tucson weather is by far the most powerful (and unpredictable) of the lot, with Brittany's PMS a close second. Yes, what can seem like another sweltering day in hell one minute can quickly turn and a freak thunderstorm with hurricane force winds can roll in the next. Normally dry washes can fill with water and become death traps for the local idiot who is foolish enough to think that his Pinto has "enough juice" left in her to ford the quickly forming river, regardless of how many tough times they've been through together. Such was the case last night.
Without any sort of warning, in came the clouds, down came the rain, and the wind took care of the rest. Normally, clouds are a welcome change considering the "heat wave" that the western United States has been having been having. I read an article today online about people in Idaho complaining about their heat reaching 99 degrees. My response: quit complaining. Why don't you come down to Phoenix or Tucson and try things out for a change. Another article by Forbes gave us Arizona types the props we deserve. But some people can find the weather challenging. Whether you're an elderly person who got locked out of your respective Bingo parlor or Luby's Cafferteria before the early bird special, or you're an out of towner who forgot to leave with the rest of the snowbirds, Arizona heat is definitely a force to be reckoned with. Even my new dog won't go outside for very long. He looks as me as if to say, "I'm an Alaskan Malamute, not an Arizona pitbull. Double coat outside in triple digits...not a chance, fucktard!"
Maybe Wyoming has the right idea...
So as you can see, the storm yesterday evening was a welcome change, well, at least it was when it started. Then the wind came and knocked down power lines, tore limbs off trees, etc. I normally don't care a lot about that kind of stuff, but that's usually because it doesn't ever directly effect me. Last night, it did. I lost power sometime around 9 pm, and it wasn't restored until 6 am. Needless to say, even if the rain did manage to cool down the temperature to a brisk 90, there is still no substitute for air condition. I sweltered in the sauna which was my home last night, getting up every two hours to let the dogs out/drink a gallon of water/phone the power company and tell them that they were being asshats about the entire thing. RAR! Thanks Tucson Electric Power for finally restoring my service. Now, if I could only get back those precious hours of sleep I lost in the process, that would be great!
Blog neglector (n) -1. one who neglects to post in his or her blog. 2. A lazy-ass. 3. Andrew. Many apologies for the long dry spell in posts, but since life has seemingly calmed down a bit I have time to sit down, collect my thoughts, catch my breath, and finally attempt to chill for a bit (in a city who's average temperature for the past week as been 106). Yes, summer is here, and all I can say...it's good to be home. Actually, this summer it seems like I have been more busy than usual...travels in exotic locales, cutting edge scientific research, kicking ass in my class this summer (103/100 on exam 2...class average...63, yeah...) and even expanding my family (welcome to Maverick, my new Alaskan Malamute puppy). But even with all the new things that are going on, it's nice to know that there is always some underlying sense on continuity that I can rely upon.
Take for example, my friends. I still talk to my friend who moved to Massachusetts for grad school every month or so, and I'm even going to see her in a few weeks since I'm on my way to Boston (go Red Sox). Distance just doesn't seem to matter. Even the people still here in Arizona I manage to see more often than not. There are even new members of the crew who have made an appearance, and change the dynamic to make it interesting and fun (adding a dash of Brian and a sprinkle of Kevin to the mix nicely seasons the insanity soup which I call my group of friends). Change is nice, and often a good thing. Continuity however, provides me comfort.
No real deep thought behind this one (obviously), just thought it was funny
Even returning to the University has provided me with my fair share of continuity. There's my professors who I've known for at least five years, there's my friends who work there as well, there's the grounds and my uncanny ability to be able to make it from one side of campus where my lab is all the way to the other side in 10 minutes, making me only 10 minutes late for my class, and then there's of course my mumbling man. When I was an undergrad, every day as I crossed the campus between classes I would always see a large proportioned man walking and talking to himself. It was how I judged my punctuality since I saw him so often. If I met him before he got to the union bookstore I was going to be on time, but if he was at Three Cheese and a Noodle or over by old main, I was totally fucked. At first I thought that he might have a bluetooth or something like that in his ear that I simply couldn't see, but after observing him in passing numerous times I found out that this was not the case. I then simply dismissed him as one of the campus crazies, you know, like that guy dressed in army gear and spits at people when you go to the No Anchovies. But then I heard one of his conversations about sustainable land grants and grain trade with other nations after I followed him around for then minutes out of curiosity. Strike two, Andrew. He always seemed to have the most inspired conversations. After thinking about it though, a conversation with your self can only be inspiring since it is you you are talking to, and self-annoyance seems to be kept pretty well in check with most individuals. By the cut of his suit and the content of his discussions I decided that he must be a professor in some department (later it was confirmed that he was indeed a professor in Agricultural economics), and I was a little annoyed with myself for not figuring it out further (strike that earlier part about self annoyance). So yesterday I welcomed myself officially back to the University by having a slice at Zach's and No Anchovies, being late for my class, and wandering aimlessly while eavesdropping down the U of A mall listening to a mini-lecture on Agra-dollars and corn reciprocity by my mumbling man.
One important tidbit of information that I have come to find in the past few weeks: life is not static, no matter how much you would like it to be sometimes. It's more of a dynamic force that moves, flows, churns, and occasionally crashes. When the latter happens, it's up to you to pick up the pieces and move on, or you're left exactly as is: broken. I haven't crashed in a while, and I think that my pick up effort as of late has been worthy of even Waste Management. However, keeping fluidity in mind, I have recently have been trying new things and steering myself in directions which I have never thought I would find myself. And honestly, it's exciting. Doing new things and giving them the good ol' college try has really been forcing myself to re-evaluate my position on many different aspects of life in general, and I'm happy with my direction (incidentally, oftentimes my college try involves attempting to stand after too many shots of tequila).
Life is fluid...it changes at will.
Even little day to day things have changed. I read now (see previous post My Book Report) which comes as welcomed changed from my former entertainment ritual which consisted of hours of watching television, my so-called third parent. Even that is funny to me "I read now!" : I profess it as if I was a third grader informing an embarrassed aunt or uncle that I can understand what they are saying about their unsightly rash as they disguise it as a slew of letters ("I got it from the M-I-L-K-M-A-N...") I'm also trying to do more things outside, but it has been interesting because we are heading into the warmer months here in Tucson and I'm left with a souvenir sunburn every time I go out there. Recently though, with all my fluidity and changes I have even more of a focus on the long term goals ahead: some of which are concrete, and other's have also recently changed. In essence, change thus far is a good thing...we'll see how long that lasts as my OCD old self tries to change my direction.
With precious time being syphoned off in various directions during my day, it's a wonder that I have found time to sit down and attempt something new. Well, I guess reading is something that's not really new, but I'm not an expert. I was never a real bookworm growing up, thus reading was not my forte. In fact, I downright despised it. However, I'm not sure exactly what it was that turned me off to reading. It could have been the fact that I was forced by my stern 4th grade teacher Ms. Cook to cram down twenty pages a night of Maniac Magee, quite possibly the worst book ever to try to force down a bunch of 4th graders throats (kid runs away from home and achieves mythic popularity and success in a neighboring town under the pretense of many lies...awesome message to send to children who loath school), or perhaps it was the fact that throughout grade school you were constantly judged by your teachers on the number of pages you were able to turn in one summer. Come to think of it, until I was in about first grade I literally preferred to eat books from art class in papier-mache as opposed to actually reading them. I guess I was at a disadvantage from early on. Still though, recently I have found the time to force myself back into the reading habit which I never really developed in the first place (is that possible?). I've decided that in order to expand my vocabulary and grasp of the English Language, I'm going to start reading again. Right about now I'm picturing that stupid little butterfly from the Reading Rainbow television program doing a happy dance because their prodigal son has returned. Those of you who are also children of the 80's I'm sure can relate.
The real reason I hated reading: Fear. Fear my teacher would dress up like this.
Thus, I'm happy to report that these last two weeks have been somewhat of a success. In addition to getting some reading done for school, I also managed to squeeze in the rest of the book which I began almost a year ago. A year for 1 book...not to shabby. Remember, baby steps. Moby Dick is a long way off. I started it when I was in Seattle, and it got me through many bus rides. Now, almost a year later, its over. Has my vocabulary improved? doubtful. Has my brain been filled with fleeting trivial knowledge: most likely. But perhaps most importantly I have a weapon to use in conversation. Many of the people I find myself conversing with often intimidate me with their wealth of knowledge and the library that they have amassed in their heads. I often sat and wondered quietly to myself why those people had too much free time. "Oh, I read the most interesting book recently...", "If you're looking for a good read...". Now, I have my own quip that I can throw down upon the pseudo-intellectual gauntlet that is casual conversation with my co-workers. "I found that book to be horribly pretentious..." (as I sip a double shot venti caramel frappachino with no whipped cream at the local Starbucks).
I guess the whole thing finally came full circle in a way. I wasn't reading for pleasure, and I found it pleasurable. When I tried reading for pleasure, I hated it. Thus, now I'm not reading for pleasure, I'm reading for survival in everyday conversation, and I find that more pleasurable that both reading for pleasure or reading not for pleasure...fuck, I'm confused.
Ack! I hate getting behind in posts! I hate denying the five or so people who actually read this thing their five minutes of entertainment it may bring them. Baring that in mind, I will not commence with the usual excuses: my dog ate it (doesn't really work for this one), my alarm didn't go off (nope), I've just been so freaking busy that I simply don't have a life anymore and I'm seriously considering walking down to the nearest Dunkin' Doughnuts and drowning my sorrows in a vat of Boston Creme (yep, that sounds like the winner). Recently, my life has not been my own. I've focused in on work, my house, work, cleaning my house, work, sleeping...did I mention work? It seems like every time I find a free moment to call someone to do something fun, everyone it either: a) already doing something else or b) can't get in touch with them. Still, that's no one's fault but mine.
Do you? Do you really?!
Anyway, to lighten the monotony of daily work, I checked my email today. Kudos to Frank for keeping me entertained with a fun Google game. His email read as the following:
Google "[your name] needs" and look at the first thing. Mine was "Frank needs a date." Hm. Kim's was "Kim needs to take the gloves off." uh oh.
Now, not having a Monopoly board available, no deck of cards or any semblance of something I could make into a rudimentary dice, computer-aided searching of the Internet needed to suffice for entertainment. And what quality entertainment it was. Here are my top 10 results for what I need according to Google. C'mon, big money, big money, no whammies....STOP!
7. "Andrew needs to touch that bar..." I'm not quite sure what this is in reference to. What bar do I need to touch?! Figuratively it could mean that I have a goal that I need to meet (which is true) or something that I need to strive for. Literally...I don't really want to go around touching anyone's bars...eww.
6. "Andrew needs a ride back TO Kelowna..." Where the fuck is Kelowna and why do I need a ride there? According to the good folks at Wikipedia it's a city in B.C. Canada...no thanks.
5. "Andrew needs his fix..." Sure, who doesn't! Seriously, I could go for a good six pack of Coca-cola and a marathon of House and Scrubs episodes lying flat on my back in front of a ginormous television. I don't think that it's a drug fix they're taking about though...I can't do those kinds of drugs. I don't know how to cook.
4. "Andrew needs a job, 275k per year and a car" No shit! Again, who doesn't.
3. "Andrew needs all the prayers he can get..." Ok, when an inanimate computer program which runs on mathematical algorithms equates you as being in trouble spiritually, you know you're fucked. Seriously, it one of the highest search results for my name states that I need all the prayers I can get...I'm gettin' my ass to church.
2. "Andrew needs sleep, badly" Understatement of the year. As any good graduate student, I am essentially slave labor. I was once referred to as a Sherpa by a faculty member...you do the math.
1. "Andrew needs to take the pants off b/c he has a very nice asssss" WTF Google?! First you condemn me to hell but then you say I have a nice ass in the process?! Holy contradiction, Batman. You know what, fuck you! I'm not playing anymore!
