This Dating Life: Rejected

I recently was blown off by a lady who preferred instead to watch an "I Love Lucy marathon." I guess it shows a good taste in classics, but isn't everyday an I Love Lucy marathon? The show's been off the air for 40 years yet every single channel shows it at least 8 times a day. I guess it's better than getting blown off so she could wash her hair...

Mike Birbiglia Accomplished!

As a birthday present to me (in the past, because that's when my birthday was, and it won't be again until the future, and I don't have a time machine*), Pris took me to see the amazing Mike Birbiglia at Union Hall performing new material entitled "60 Minutes of New Stories." It lasted for 60 minutes, and was incredible, like all of his shows. I'd previously seen "Sleepwalk With Me," thanks to the kindness of Janet. I sat right by the stage for both shows, but Union Hall was definitely a more intimate space. This was a good thing for me, but maybe not so much for Birbigs, who didn't seem entirely thrilled when I took the first photo of him on stage. Mike also told stories that carried heavier emotional weight, revealing more of his personal life. Comedy stands out better when it pokes through the seriousness of the past. It was an amazing show, and Mike solidified his place even further as my favorite comedian. So, congratulations Mr. Birbiglia!

Taunting/heckling me before the real stories begin. Sorry Mike!


*Yet

Manchester Pub Photos

Check out food and behind the scenes photos at Manchester Pub, a fine establishment owned by Lawrence Chan and Hudson Tang:
Food shots
Behind the scenes

Squirrels Have No Respect For Personal Boundaries

The following conversation occurred between me and Priskilla via text message on Memorial Day. I was in Boston Commons by the Tadpole Pond (or whatever it's called) and she was orbiting the Earth's moon, I assume.

Me: A squirrel just woke me up by stepping on my head.

Priskilla: Christ, how tall was this squirrel?

Me: It wasn't the jolly green giant of squirrels. I was laying down in the grass, attempting to nap.

Priskilla: I think it's awesome! Why walk on soft downy grass when you can traipse across a human skull?

America's Funniest Bear Videos (in Japanese)

Thanks to Brad for a link that eventually led me to this haunting look inside the mind of the Japanese. I love the Japanese version of Bob Saget commenting as a poor scared bear is forced to play with dangerous monkeys and killer lion cubs, all while goofy sound effects play to show the viewer how funny it is. Ever stop to think maybe this is why Godzilla attacked you?

Casino Knowledge

May 19th marked DJ turning as old as me minus 4 days. Puzzle that one out for a while. We went to Mohegan Sun for a boxing match, the ambiance and the extra income craps provides. Though I prefer MMA, my first live boxing card was pretty exciting and had all the glamor that an MMA match at a minor league stadium lacked. After the main event was over and everyone's favorite Rhodey, Peter Manfredo, won, we were able to get down to the second row and watch some pro debuts. Boxers punch hard. Fast too. Here are some other things I learned that night:

• Women's boxing is way less sexy than the internet led me to believe
• Cashing in chips, even if I had lost some, feels like a great deal for me. Here's plastic, here's money for that plastic. Win, win!
  
• The only thing more depressing than a casino at 4 PM on a Saturday is one in Rochester. I kid. Actually, I don't.
• The Roots are Jimmy Fallon's house band because Black Thought is locked up in his basement. Think about it. Have you seen Black Thought recently? Me neither!

Feliz Cumpleanos

Cliched as ever, yet I got to say it anyway. Turning 29 freaked me out more than just a little. Both because of what I'm leaving behind (the roaring 20s) and what I'm heading towards: 30. 30! Not the 30-30 club, which would be awesome, but the certainty of an uncertain adulthood.

To a young L-Bo, 30 represented an unfathomable age. My parents were 30 before I was even born, but that fact never quite stuck with me. So 30 always seemed to be (no offense parents) older to me then than it does now, as that was the age I imagined them for most of my childhood.. Because now, I don't feel like an adult, so I can't feel old. Thirty represented (/still does?) having all my shit together, having a good job, having a ton of fun life experience, including travel and living in other cities/countries, and being ready to settle down with a serious girlfriend. It makes me think of family starting and maybe taking myself a little more seriously. Having not accomplished much of that, I'm hesitant to leave my 20s behind me and move forward. Unfortunately, I'm not certain it's my choice.

O yea, thanks to everyone who came out to help me celebrate! It was a great time, as always. I appreciate the love.

Pretty Pretty Flower: The Prequel

Going back in time, these are my daffodils, which logically bloom before tulips (that's what daffodil means in Latin), apricot tree in blossom, yellow crocuses and some other plant growing next to me. So really, I can't take any credit for that first photo's plant being pretty.

Pretty Pretty Flowers

Last fall, my mom bought me some Dutch tulip bulbs at the Dutch Appreciation Month festival. I was nervous about planting them, because I'd never tried to grow bulbs before, I don't have a great track record with flowers for some reason, and the Dutch scare me a little. However, the results were wonderful, with beautiful purple, red and yellow blooms.







Also, wisteria.

The Chosen Supermarket

For my Super Bowl party this year, I ran out of time and had to go somewhere close decided to try out Pomegranate, a fancy pants large Kosher grocery store written up in the New York Times. People had been espousing it's large selection and tasty produce. They failed to mention how the clientele are oblivious to the concept of spatial relationships, often standing three deep in an aisle so you can't walk past. So on the negative side there was general rudeness, but on the positive, I walked away with some red bananas.

Everything seemed a wash till I got home with the chicken wings, and realized there were feathers on them. Not just one or two tiny down fluffy feathers either, but big-ass feathers, the kind Thomas Jefferson might have dipped in ink before signing...things. These were eagle wings! Why would you sell chicken wings that aren't plucked? There's NO benefit to it, as far as I can tell. And I can tell pretty far.

Then it dawned on me: this might be why the world bears animosity towards you. Try plucking the feathers off wings, chosen people!

Beardsley

I've been growing a huge beard for about 4 months now, chin-strapped on the sides and long in the goatee area. My mom and sister hate it and I'm scared they'll shave it off when I sleep. So I moved and didn't tell them where to. They told me I look like Abraham Lincoln, which I think is a great compliment. He was one of our greatest presidents, after all. Between that and my current elevated position at the Census, I'm sure I'll be able to make a strong run for US Senate next year. Or whenever they wanna let me apply for that job.

When You Get a New Car...

And you're feelin like a star
What you gonna do?
GHOST RIDE IT!

This is the mantra, the theme song, of the insanely brilliant ghost riding movement. Long languishing in the defined and dark shadow of regular driving, ghost riding has finally broken free. No longer will it be considered second rate, behind rolling down the strip in your whip. Ghost riding, like the proverbial adolescent who rejects his father to become his own man, has rejected conventional wisdom, safety concerns and common sense and can proudly say, "I'm my own man!"

A weekend in Amherst spent watching Rihanna videos* (good god!), Ghost Riding The Whip 4: Ghost Ride It! and other crap on youtube has taught me many valuable things. For one, ghost rided the whip, not ghost rode the whip as many mistakenly believed, is the past tense of ghost ride the whip. The other is that ghost riding was/is so popular because secretly, all rappers want to ride floats in a parade.

*PS Rihanna's military outfit seems quite functional.

EXTENSION! EXTENSION!

I know how this sounds (mostly because HD told me how it sounds) but I decided to go for an extension on my taxes this year since everyone at work was talking about how great extensions are and how they're easy to get. I didn't think to ask them how to get one, thinking all I'd have to do is go to the IRS' website and there'd be a link that said "want an extension? click here!" and it wouldn't lead me to some weird porn site.

Apparently, in order to get an extension you actually have to do your taxes, or at the very least estimate them, and pay them first. If you underestimate your taxes, you can be found guilty of something and lose your extension AND be charged a late payment. OF COURSE I WAS GOING TO UNDERESTIMATE THEM! I was going to put in ZERO as my tax liability and figure it out later. Also, any money you don't pay now will actually be charged interest.

Basically, in order to get an extension, you must go through the whole process of filing and paying your taxes anyway. I figured it'd be like when you want an extension on your term paper and you ask the teacher nicely and there are zero penalties or drawbacks or lengthy forms to fill out. Unfair.

FOSin'

The Census Bureau finally recognized the brilliance in front of them and gave me the long over due (read: I was there for 2 months) "promotion." However, since the Census doesn't actually promote people from within, since it makes more sense to hire an outsider who doesn't understand anything about the operation and train them to be a smart and ruggedly handsome man's boss, this was more of a selection to the position of Field Operations Supervisor. I went through a rigid interview process that lasted 2 minutes and mostly comprised of me saying yes. Then I found myself, on an early Monday morning, taking a familiar oath. One to defend the Constitution. One that Congress takes, but with added parts that make it even more oathful. I'm a supervisor now. Shit just got real, enemies of counting.

Black Guy, White Guy

HD and I are going to have a show (if James' ranting about us having a show carries any real world weight) about two friends living together and the important life lessons they learn. Picture the Odd Couple meets Psych meets cosmic awareness. It'll be pithy, fundamentally sound and the two title characters will have great rapport with each other. You can tell all this from the title, which is "Black guy, white guy live together." Look for it to replace anything on the WB, this fall.

And That's A Lot Cause I Got My Share...

Not yet 30, and I think I saw my first gray hair the other day. It was (and still is) sticking out from my head like some thin, gaudy neon warning light, letting me know that I'm either WAY too stressed out defending the constitution or I'm older than my birth certificate indicates. In either case, I've still got more rhymes than I got gray hairs...

Ignoring Me is Bliss

I recently completed teaching my first two live online SAT classes as a TA. The experience is very different from working at a center in front of the students. First off, it's obviously less personal. Secondly, there's WAY more students (40+) to contend with. Thirdly, it's an adjustment getting used to teaching with someone else. It's tough to sit back and work as a team with someone when you're used to being in charge of everything that happens. It's really tough when your teacher sings Miley Cyrus songs to the students. Lastly, pants are completely optional, and as a TA not on camera, so is a shirt.

The software used is fairly interesting. Made by Adobe, the students can all see and hear the teacher while following along with classroom slides and their books. The TA is in charge of a chat box and can send private messages to the students, who communicate their answers and ask questions. In theory, at least. The students actually find facebook a better way to spend their time and don't understand how to scroll up in a chat box, which accounts for the tremendous amount of questions. Students will repeat questions their fellow students just asked as well as questions they themselves just asked! I guess having 2 ways to communicate with students really just gives them two options on how to ignore you best.

This Dating Life: A Difference of Opinions

This pancakes-loving girl is great, and I'm really digging her, but there's one possibly irreconcilable issue that might come between us in the near future: animals! Sure, she thinks dogs are great, is in love with monkeys (and, like all women and dragons, shiny objects as well) and thinks cats are evil and stupid and poo-poo heads. However, she finds horses creepy (find me ONE OTHER WOMAN who doesn't love ponies!) and hippos terrifying, which is weird because I think she really means to say awesome. She also thinks tarantulas are cute and enjoys when they curl up in a ball on her arm and I'm worried she'll surprise me one day by throwing one at me. She also has no problem with octopi and squid, though she also has no problem eating them either. As long as her and HD continue, there will be less super-intelligent, dangerous and malevolent cephalapods to terrorize me. What's truly ludicrous is she thinks it's ridiculous to lock my door at night because squid and octopi may come visit, in camouflage or disguised as a boot or one of those creepy Chinese good fortune cats. GLOBAL WARMING, I protested. Sea levels are rising and shit, and I want to be prepared!

This Dating Life: A New Hope

"mmm...I like pancakes too," said a girl on plenty of fishes dot com.
"Well, I like composting also," said I. "That's a strong basis for AT LEAST a first date."
And it was. So we went to a wine bar, where I got to act like a connoisseur cause she didn't know anything about wine, and I ordered us two jugs and a nutella panino with vanilla gelato for her dinner. I was hooked.

Conversations with a Pot Head

A soft, repeated thumping startled me from my mission to throw out the garbage and check the mail Saturday night. It was my neighbor sitting in the passenger side of his van, trying to get my attention and lure me into his van. "Hey man, I just finished drinking this water bottle, and I had to smoke my blunt, so I figured I'd turn it into a bong. Just hangin' out and hot boxin in my dad's van." So we hung out for a while, during which time he continued to hot box. He told me how he was trying to open a 99 cent store, and when that didn't go over so well, told me he wanted to buy and open a bar. "Bro, it'll only take about 150 to raise. Me and my friend are gonna try it out. I got all the construction knowledge, I think it'd be great. People who own bars, they make a killing, just sit back and let the money pour in." I had a feeling I knew where it was going, and if there's one thing I know, it's you don't make a deal to buy a bar with your upstairs neighbor while he's hot boxin.