Smelling The Fresh Air...Of My Apartment

The school semester has been over for a couple of weeks now, and I have been enjoying my free time. "Jacob" and I will play video games on a typical morning until it's time for me to go to work, then when I come home we might go get something very unhealthy to eat and settle in with some late baseball thanks to the DirecTV MLB Extra Innings package. When I'm not working, like today (I still have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, which I hate), I'll make myself useful by cleaning up or doing the dishes or laundry, and in the evening I'll cook the only thing I know how to cook, pre-prepared chicken breasts, and veggies and pasta or Rice-A-Roni. I'm not worried at all about my grades because I definitely got at least a B in physical science, and maybe even an A, and I'm fairly sure I got an A in psychology and media. The psychology class came to a very curious end. From the beginning, we knew we would have a ten-page paper due at the end of the semester, and the syllabus says, verbatim: "The topic is to write a paper describing exactly how you will apply learnings from this class to your own life objectives." There's nothing in there about it being specifically a research paper, but during the last class before the paper was due, I decided to ask the teacher if I was on the right track doing a paper on major depressive episode (basically a recounting of what "Karen" did to me). She expressed to me an expectation that the paper would be more of a research paper, with medical explanations of what depression was, citings from the book of diagnoses, etc. So I had to turn around and put together a ten-page research paper in two days. However, I didn't do much research. I only used two sources, and all those were good for were listing symptoms of depression and major depressive episode. The rest of the paper was a little of my childhood as background, then what happened with Karen. I hope it was good enough to keep the A that I had earned through the tests. The psych teacher pulled a typical psych job for the final exam, too. After telling us that the test would be 100 questions, no essay, she told us the morning of the final that something went wrong with making the copies of the test, so she made up an "impromptu" final consisting of seven essay questions that she scribbled on the board. I was not ready for an essay test that day, especially since I had been up until 1 the previous night rewriting her damn research essay. I think I did okay, though. Besides my girlfriend coming up for the Sick-A-Cell Walk-A-Thon weekend in June, the other interesting event coming for me is some sort of catered dinner with the new boss at my job. Everyone who works there will eventually be invited, from what I understand, but we have to do it in clusters because otherwise it would be impossible. My cluster goes on June 12. I'm debating what I should bring up with him. Do I complain about the methods by which I am determined to be working at less than 100% productivity, even though I am consistently near the top of actual documents processed per month? Would that sound like I'm whining? What else do I talk about? I'm not very good at brownnosing. It's not my personality. I'm either reserved and introverted or confrontational and irritated, but I'm no good at submissive and eager-to-please. Unless I'm trying to get laid. I have a couple of weeks to figure out a strategy to get in the boss's ear, and if that doesn't work, I may not have long after that to find a new gig.

(GRADES UPDATE, 5/22/08, 10:50A--It's an A for media and physical science, and only a B for psychology. Guess Mme. Daramus didn't like my paper.)

Finals Week! Run Screaming!!

Ah, the excitement and pandemonium of Finals Week. The syllabus for my psychology class wasn't very clear about the 10-page paper due at the end of the semester, so I thought that my final project would be a detailed analysis of my bouts of depression over the years. The teacher informed me that, no no, she expects this to be a research paper, with sources and shit. So I have to spin that gold out of yarn today, as well as prepare for the 100-question final exam. Then Thursday is the finals for media class and physical science class. Because I got an A on my last physical science test and I've done all the homework, there's a chance I can sneak an A out of that class if I perform on the final. The other two classes are virtual guaranteed As. Wow, it's all coming together. With only one more class left until I get my A.A., I can actually see a finish line. But in typical self-deprecating fashion, my gut reaction is to dismiss it all and claim that I haven't done anything yet, lest I start to feel satisfied. I still insist that I'm not walking across the stage for my A.A. I feel that's like taking public bows for finishing my sophomore year of high school. I won't do it. But I am proud of what I've done thus far. Psych class didn't quite teach me why I feel the need to shit all over things that I do, but hey, that's part of my "charm." Well, off to work. Wish me luck.

That's It, I'm Moving To Brazil

What if I were to tell you that all three of the remaining presidential candidates would speak on a pro wrestling show? And not to denounce pro wrestling, but to actually speak to wrestling fans, as if they've suddenly become an important constituency? If you don't believe that they would do something like that, then click on this Youtube posting of all three speeches this past Monday on WWE Raw. Then, join me in dry-heaving and mourning the death of decency in this country. I mean, seriously. Remember the uproar when Slick Willie Clinton blew his, um, own horn on Arsenio? Isn't this a billion times worse? There are so many things wrong with courting the wrestling industry, as if they're the bastion of goodness, and then all three go and do it, not just one. An abbreviated list of things that each candidate should question about WWE is here in this excellent blog post by former WWE writer Seth Mates. And believe me, that's just the beginning. But that's where America has collapsed to, where the candidates will fish for votes anywhere they can find them. There has never been a candidate before that spoke to wrestling fans, and there's a reason for that. I really find it in its own way disgusting and filthy. It reminds me of a saying that describes what I felt like after discovering that "Karen" was a dirty whore and I was screwing her: Don't roll in the mud with pigs, you both get dirty, and the pig likes it. Vince McMahon and the WWE are the pigs, and they were creaming their pants at the sight of the next President of the United States rolling in the mud with them. What's next, the Adult Video Awards convention?

Man, am I glad I'm not registered to vote.

Some Random Thoughts On Music

I noticed that music was coming up in a lot of things I was doing lately, so I decided to make this post all about a few of my thoughts on the thing that all of us have in our lives in some form but tend to take for granted, music.

As those who know me well are already aware of, I don't go anywhere without my headphones and either old-school cassette-playing personal radio or my iPod, or sometimes both. And if I feel like really zoning out on a given day, then those sitting on the same train or bus as me will have to be serenaded by whatever I'm in the mood to listen to. I'm a very considerate person in most other situations, but for some reason I'm not willing to listen to anyone who tries to tell me to turn down my headphones. My deal is, honestly, what could the decibel level possibly be for those sitting near me as I listen to headphones? It's not that much of a disturbance. Do I get annoyed when I have my headphones off and someone else is listening to a song so loudly that I can hear it? Only if I don't like the song. And I would never ask someone to turn their personal headphones down just because I don't like the song. I think that's unbelievably rude. And if I like the song, I'd never think of asking the person to turn it down. So I think it's all about my choice of music and the people who don't like my choice of music. In my life, I can remember 3 definite (and maybe a few more) times where I've been asked to turn down my headphones. The music was always hip-hop. The people were always older white people. And the next time, I have a good mind to respond to that request with a middle finger.

A running theme between me and my roommate "Jacob" is how many horrible songs he can guess is on my iPod, because it's basically filled with songs that hardly anyone else liked or heard of when they were out. I'm up to 217 songs on my iPod now, and I swear all except maybe 30 are from before 1990. I didn't mean to yell out one of the songs for him, but I was feeling good Saturday night walking home from the train, and before I got to my front door I let out a yell while rocking out to "Welcome To The Jungle" that would have made Axl Rose proud...I mean barf. Would've made Axl Rose barf. Anywho, Jacob was sitting in the living room as he usually is, and my yell came right outside the window, so when I got in he let me know that he could hear me. Honestly, I didn't know I was quite that loud. So now he knows that I have Guns & Roses on my iPod. That's not nearly as embarrassing as some of the other shit on there, but it's still pretty bad.

Talking about Guns & Roses reminds me of a story from grade school. (REAL NAME ALERT #1) In 7th grade, at Ogden Elementary in downtown Chicago, where a lot of rich, white kids went to school, I was having a lot of trouble fitting in, as usual. There was a fat white chick named Kathy Vajda who was assigned to sit next to me, and she and her friends were so into Guns & Roses that it was almost scary, but we found a way over several days to have conversations about other things and kinda entertain each other. Then I made the fatal mistake of thinking that we may actually be friends, and I casually asked her one day, "So, what are you doing for lunch?" The look on her face was absolutely priceless. She turned completely pale, her eyes bugged out, and she turned away from me without answering the question. It's funny now how freaked out she was over the concept of going to lunch with me, but at the time it really hurt, not because I wanted her or anything, but because I thought we were friendly enough that she wouldn't be ashamed to step out in public with me and grab a burger. Boy, was I dead wrong. I never spoke to her again.

Hey, I like dropping real names. Maybe Kathy will Google herself and my blog will come up, and she can read about what a cunt she used to be. So I'll do it again. (REAL NAME ALERT #2) So another song on my iPod is "Let The Music Play" by Shannon, a radio and club hit from the early 80s, and I have an early and intimate history with that song. In 2nd grade at Skinner Classical School, the strongest crush I had in my life up to that point was on a black, fair-skinned, Jheri-curled 6th-grader named Margaret Stallworth, but of course, I'm just a short, annoying 2nd-grader, so she wanted nothing to do with me. It's not like I was really trying any moves at that age, but I just wanted to be near her. Somehow, I was able to find out that she really loved the song "Let The Music Play," so I went home and camped out on the radio station most likely to play the song, then I used my portable $20 mini-boombox to tape the song (or at least part of it) for her. I had to Scotch-tape the back of my cassette player closed in order to hold the batteries in, because I had lost the piece that holds down the batteries, and I had to be careful not to tilt it forward because I had lost the front piece that holds the cassette in. But I managed to get the poor tattered thing on the school bus and play the song for Margaret, and she was so touched by the effort that she kissed me on the cheek. Proudest. Day. Of. My. Life. At least at that point in my life. And still to this day, every time I hear that song, I think of Margaret and how sweet I was on her and whether she turned out as hot as I imagine she did. So, if you've read this blog from its infancy and you know about all the silly shit I've done trying to please women who don't deserve me, there's the moment that the desire to make a woman happy was instilled inside me.

It really is amazing how a song can take you back to something that you normally wouldn't think of. I haven't been to the strip club with "Drew" and his brother and friends in years, but I recently downloaded a couple of songs that reminded me of those trips: "The Thong Song" by Sisqo and "It Feels So Good" by Sonique. Both were prominently featured during certain sets at the Admiral Theatre back in the day, and both songs conjure up the dimly lit club with its personality-deprived, soulless dancers charging $10 for air dances where you can't make contact with them. And yet, those were fun times. Just hanging out with the guys all night was fun, and just sitting in a place with dozens of naked women walking around was, of course, a blast. Some of those dancers found a way to distinguish themselves and work hard to give the paying customer a great experience, so it's not fair for me to call them all soulless and personality-deprived. I'm sure those few dancers and those songs are the only reasons that I miss the strip club, because I don't miss spending money that I didn't have and still not having any pussy at the end of the night.

My media class has been having spirited debates about music, specifically hip-hop and the messages sent by the music. One guy, who never shuts up and can't be older than 19 or 20, had the nerve to blame his bad behavior on hip-hop, saying that when he calls a woman out of her name it's because that's the only way he knows how to relate to them. I've heard some ignorant statements before, but that one's near the top. I had to gently argue with my teacher one day when he insisted that the old white men who run all the companies that distribute media (TV, movies, music, etc.) would not publish music that disrupts the status quo, such as if hip-hop decided to put out messages empowering black people to get out of the ghetto and educate themselves instead of the usual "pimps up, hoes down, shoot everybody" mentality. I don't think those old white people give a damn what message is put out there, so long as it moves units out of the warehouses. All two people that read this blog, you can debate this if my memory is serving me wrong, but this is the point I made: In 1990, the #1 rap albums were by M.C. Hammer and Vanilla Ice, and there's absolutely nothing hardcore and gangsta about that. The gangsta rap theme as a pop culture phenomenon, in my opinion, began in 1991, when, without ANY advertising or commercial endorsement (because of the language and violent imagery), the #1 album of that summer was N.W.A.'s "Efil4zaggin." They had to print "Niggaz4life" in reverse so as to try to avoid getting banned from all the record stores, and yet still it was flying off the shelves. "Nuttin' But A G Thang" came from Snoop and Dre about a year later, and the rest is history. But it's not that white people wanted to publish gangsta rap in order to dumb down the black race. It's that gangsta rap started selling like hotcakes (and, famously, not just to black folks, but white suburbia as well), and all the record companies had to follow the trend or else risk being left with their dicks in the dust, so to speak. Then we had to debate whether to ban rap lyrics or not in class, and that was easy--you can't take certain words and pronounce them evil and ban them. Words don't mean shit unless you want to make them mean something. And words don't make people shoot other people, bad parenting and/or mental illness make people shoot other people.

Finally, I was excited to read that Mariah Carey has another #1 hit on her hands, with a song called "Touch My Body." Anyone who knows me is aware how I feel about Mariah Carey. Not only is she smoking hot, especially with that 40 pounds she's put on since her debut in 1990, but I love her voice, even with all the verbal acrobatics that don't necessarily add to her songs. The thing is, I've never heard her new song. I don't listen to music on the radio anymore. That's how bad it's gotten. It started with my general avoidance of the radio after the "Karen" episode four years ago, because of all the songs out back then that reminded me of her, and my desire to listen to today's music continued to erode from there. The breaking point was when I had the chance to listen to American Top 40 on a lazy Sunday morning two summers ago and was hit with the fact that one of the top 10 songs in this country was being "sung" by Hulk Hogan's daughter, and another by Paris Hilton. In that moment, mentally I turned around and walked out of the pop music room, shaking my head and wondering if I would ever come back. So far, the answer is a resounding no.

To Memphis And Back, Eventually

Whew! What a whirlwind last few weeks it's been for me, so much that I'm exhausted despite having a week off work. Of course, I wasn't planning a full week off, but thanks to the airlines, that's what I wound up having. Here's what I've been up to:

I did take the time to relax during spring break, not doing much besides hanging with "Jacob" and doing several online baseball fantasy drafts. I had to write a paper for media class, though, and have it ready when class started back. I was taking it easy so much that I had to scramble and write the paper at the last second. My superior writing skills saved the day, however. Not only did I get a perfect score, but the teacher copied the paper, cut my name off, and handed it out to the entire class as an example of the way a paper should be written. As if my head needed to be made bigger.

With my grades in order, I flew to Memphis to see my girlfriend last weekend, and also to watch the 2nd annual Civil Rights Game, which happened to include my White Sox this year in an exhibition baseball game against the Mets. (The Sox lost.) This is about when my feet started giving me problems. My right foot felt a little strained before I left, then my left toe felt strained while I was in Memphis. Feet were not the body part in the spotlight during this visit. No, that would be the clitoris. See, I'm of the impression that I'm not that good at giving head to women because I've never made anyone scream and juice all over my face like on the pornos, so I had not tried to eat out my girlfriend yet even though she has given me several blow jobs since Thanksgiving. Also, the humidity makes my nose run, causing me to stop usually after about two minutes. This visit was only three days; I arrived Friday, and was supposed to leave Sunday. We had fun between the sheets Friday night, then after the rainy game and dinner, we were knocked out Saturday night. So while cuddling Sunday morning, hours before I was to leave, I asked her if she was satisfied with the amount of physical intimacy we had, and without hesitation, she softly asked, "What do I have to do to get you to go down on me?" This was something in my head the entire time I was there--I knew she was going to want this soon because we had discussed doing it before and I kept saying I was tired, or otherwise avoiding it. She reached in my pants and initiated more hanky-panky, and I returned the favor, eventually pushing the coffee table out of the way and getting on my knees and orally pleasing her for a few minutes before the angle started affecting my neck. She said she was happy with the little bit of clit teasing, but I think she was just happy to get any head from me at all. She suggested that she was starting to feel used, and I don't blame her. She's probably sucked me off more than five times now with no reciprocation. I have to up my game if I'm going to keep claiming that I have a happy relationship.

The travel adventures began after we fooled around on her couch. I checked the United Airlines website for my flight status since the weather in Memphis had been dreadful and Chicago wasn't much better, and for the first time since I started flying around a few years ago, I had a flight canceled. It was a stroke of luck that I even checked the website and found this out, because I had never done that before. Normally, my girlfriend would have driven me out to the airport, which is a half-hour from her home, and we would have wasted that gas and had to turn around. We were able to hang out Sunday night and watch baseball on TV, which I know is just her most favoritist thing on Earth, then I had a 2:15 flight the next day. Now, this screwed me up already because I had a psych test Monday morning that I was going to miss, and I had to call in to work and use an unscheduled day off. But it would get more screwy. United.com would inform me that the flight was pushed back to 5P, then later it displayed a 7P expected departure. This is a 2:15 flight we're talking here, and that's after my flight the day before was canceled. My girlfriend was going to come home from work on her lunch break and take me to the airport for that 2:15 flight, but I had to e-mail her and tell her don't bother. She wound up coming home from work early and taking me to the airport in plenty of time for this now 7P flight. So they shove us onto the plane at about 6:30, as if we're moments from departure, then the attendant grabs the mike and actually says the following: "Okay, I have an invisible shield, so anything that gets thrown at me will not hit me." You can't imagine the heart-sinking feeling that rises from hearing that. She then announced that they had been informed by the TSA that we weren't going up in the air until 9P. I had to take out my iPod and listen to nothing but smooth jazz music the entire time that we sat there just to keep myself calm, or as my girlfriend described it later, "You had to go to your happy place." People were calling airline agencies scrambling to rearrange connecting flights, although someone seemed more concerned with whether her family taped Deal Or No Deal for her. Finally, we took off at about 9, and landed at about 10:30. Jacob was kind enough to run me out to the airport when I left, and he picked me up as well, so things could have been much worse. If I had to navigate public transportation that late, I wouldn't have made it home until after midnight.

The foot problems this past week have been killer since I came back home. Between my toe joints being swollen and my ankles being twisted and tendons being inflamed, both my feet have been giving me lots of trouble. The worst was after Thursday. Knowing that I had a very long day with two classes in the morning, plus making up my psych test, plus meeting Jacob and participating in the live baseball fantasy draft for our money league that night, I wound up ingesting quite an impressive amount of caffeine on the day. I had like 3 Pepsis during lunch, then after we got to the building for the draft, I had two cups of coffee and about 4 more cans of Diet Pepsi. Caffeine is one of the no-nos for people who have gout, but I haven't had a flare-up since the Great Steroid Shot of 2004. However, I hadn't had this much caffeine at one time either, plus we did a LOT of walking around before the draft. Friday morning, I woke up with severe swelling in the joint of my right big toe, so severe that it felt like the gout pains that I had a few years ago. All I could do was avoid caffeine and red meat all day and hope that the swelling would decrease. Well, it did yesterday, but now my ankle hurts from overcompensating all day Friday. I just took an Aleve Gelcap as I prepare to go to work, so hopefully that will help me get through the day.

I'm counting down the five weeks of school that I have left now, and I feel really good about the grades that I will earn. The most interesting thing on the horizon for me is a Sick-A-Cell bowling benefit in two weeks. I attended this last year but couldn't bowl because my knee was killing me. Now, I have endless foot problems. I'm hoping that I will be okay when it comes time to bowl, because I really want to this time. I hated standing around last year feeling useless. My girlfriend is still scheduled to visit during the Sick-A-Cell walk-a thon weekend in June. As I kissed her goodbye at the airport, I assumed that she would be giving Megabus.com a try when she came to Chicago. "No, I'm gonna fly," she said. After all the crap I went through, I would have thought she would avoid the airport from now on with the much cheaper bus option now available. But I think we both have heard so many horror stories about long bus rides that we're wary of going that route. But if we're going to spend more time together, then one of us is going to have to test it out and see if it's any good. I have a feeling that I shall be the guinea pig for that project.

Oh, and Kansas has to beat Memphis in the college basketball final Monday night, or else the girlfriend wins our bracket challenge again. And I won't reveal what the bet was, but let's just say, the stakes are very very high.

The Real Key To Pop Culture

Rubbed The Wrong Way

Thursday was one of those days where I'm amazed that I don't turn to coffee or endless amounts of caffeine to get by. I had two midterm exams, the first one starting at 9:30A, so my day started when I woke up about 7:30A. I had a two-hour class that my supervisor enrolled me in once I got to work (and what do you think that was about--yup, increasing speed of production), and I got off at 10:30P like I do every night. I then came home and played a video game before crashing into my bed about 2A. Now, that's not to say that I went caffeine-free the whole day. Several people, including my girlfriend, have had to convince me that harmless, heavily-sugared iced tea actually contains some caffeine too, and I had a 44-oz. cup of that at 1P with my chicken-strip lunch. I don't know if it really affects me, though. At least I don't think I'm more wired than usual. I just like the taste of heavily-sugared raspberry iced tea. I think I did well on both midterms, though. Now we have spring break, and after that's over, there's seven weeks left in this semester. I don't believe that I will be able to go to Columbia College this fall, however, because I've been too lax in starting the application process, as well as searching for scholarships, and I think I would be too late if I started now. That's okay. I still have one more class to take in order to graduate from Harold Washington College, and I'd have to shove that in this summer if I were to go to Columbia in the fall. It's probably for the best if I chill and try Columbia next spring.

I wanted to talk about the New York governor, Eliot Spitzer, who had to resign this week after his predilection to pay upwards of $4,500 for call girls was revealed. I don't think I've ever had reason to reveal my stance on prostitution in America, but I'm about to get on my soapbox now. Why the fuck is hooking illegal? If I want to pay my money for a grown human being to do something that's in no way illegal if money didn't transfer, I should be able to. I will never understand why I can pay for someone to massage my feet, my legs, my shoulders, my temples, my glutes, my hands, and my biceps, but not my cock. What's the difference? And don't say it's because you can orgasm from a dick massage, because I can introduce you to some ex-girlfriends who could cum very easily from a good neck rub. And, truthfully, everyone has a set of erogenous zones on their bodies, so there's some people getting off from shoulder rubs and leg rubs every damn day. I'm too lazy to research the countries where prostitution is legal, but I'm sure that their STD and HIV rates are lower because their workers, being legally governed, have to be medically cleared to work. But I've always had a problem with anyone telling me what I can and cannot hire someone to do to my body. And the funniest part is how the governor had to be forced out of his job for this. How many politicians have women on the side, paid for or not? But Spitzer is evil and must go? Please. Someone didn't get paid enough or had a vendetta against him, that's all. And at this moment, the other call girls are raising their fees because they have leverage, and their clientele knows that if they don't keep the ladies happy, the whistle can be blown. I tell you, there's just no accounting for what we accept and don't accept in America. I'm off my soapbox now.

So Close, Yet So Far

Well, "Jacob" is back in the house, sleeping on my couch, but he brought an offering of gratitude with him--a new(er) computer for me. And boy howdy, does this thing run better than my 8-year-old Dell. I'm amazed at how fast everything comes up when I request it. It's the same damn internet that I've had with the old computer, just much, much faster processing. I wish that I had more time to play around with it, but I hooked it up Sunday morning and promptly went to work, and I'm on here briefly right now before I go to class and then to work. Go, go, go.

The only thing interesting to happen in the last few weeks is that my girlfriend and I had very informal chats concerning marriage and living together. She is ready to leave the company she's worked for because of incompetence and corruption (her bosses, not hers). But to pick up her life and move here to Chicago with me, she's insisting that we first be married, lest we live in sin, or else she would move here and get her own place. At some point she posed the very direct question of whether I felt like it was the right time for us to get married. To my surprise, I hemmed and hawed before stammering out a very unconvincing "yes." Why the hesitation? I've been thinking a lot about that, and I think that I'm very scared of what I feel for her, what we have, and how I've felt in the past about other women I dated. Basically, I'm afraid that if I feel good enough about our relationship to marry her, at that moment I'll panic and feel like I have to find another lover to hedge my bet, or I'll panic worrying about whether I'm being stupid fully committing to a woman 1,000 miles away who could be doing anyone and anything she wants, even though she's given me zero reason to believe she's unfaithful. It's all about my past and my feelings whenever I've felt like I'm exposing myself or putting myself in a vulnerable position. Marriage is the ultimate vulnerable position, letting the world know before God that you are completely off the market and that you're going to hell if you can't resist the normal temptations that most humans encounter daily. And I guess I'm wondering, if I'm always, for the rest of my days, going to be a little afraid of temptation, then when do I get to the point where I'm still secure enough to get married? If we wait until I'm to the point where I don't want to look at other women, we'll be waiting forever, because I'm always going to have my head turned by a hottie. That doesn't mean I don't love my girlfriend and want her in my life permanently. But what the hell does it mean? Am I still at risk of one day cheating, despite having cheated on two girlfriends and not being able to sleep while doing so? Am I really that big of a turd? I'd like to answer that there's no way I'd hurt my girlfriend like that, but cheating isn't so much about hurting others as it is a measure of how secure you are in yourself, and I've never had a lot of self-respect in reserve. See, if you think you're all that, you can look at a hot woman and say, "I've got a good woman at home, and she would never stray from me because I'm all that, and I'm not going to stray from her because I don't have to take advantage of every single sexual opportunity." But I've been keyed in to trying to take advantage of every sexual opportunity since I was 13 because I didn't know how many I'd ever get, you know, being fat and ugly and weird. It's a lot more difficult to shut that off than I ever thought it would be. Am I more confident in myself in general than at any other point in my life? Yep--performing relatively well in my job, kicking ass in school, paying my bills and my rent on time, and being a generally good person. Am I so confident that a thin Filipina with full lips and a great rack (I work with one of these, and she's a flirt, too) could come on strong, theoretically slipping her hand down my pants in the break room, and I could flat shoot her down despite my carnal desires? I think I would, but I'm not 100% sure, and it scares the shit out of me. I suppose until I can answer that with no hesitation, I shouldn't be getting married, but that's my concern: Will I ever answer that with no hesitation, and if not, where's the threshold where I should be committing to someone in an act of marriage?

At least it's a lot cheaper to see my girlfriend now. Megabus.com has been running discount bus service between various Midwestern cities for a few years now, and after the end of March, they will start a Chicago to Memphis line. How discount, you say? If you pre-order a ticket early enough, you can get it for $1. It's a 10-hour ride, so neither of us will be popping in unexpectedly, but if we can get our schedules in sync, we should see each other a lot more than usual this year. That can only be a good thing, because for better or for worse, the more time we spend with each other, the closer we can get to deciding if we really want to commit to each other as man and wife.

Love On A Budget

This is something that will sound like complaining, but it's not. I'm genuinely amused and touched at the thoughtfulness of my girlfriend's Valentine's present, even if the postage had to have cost way more than the actual gift. The gift was a box with two cans of Piroulines, which are creme-filled wafers that she knows I love, and a card. My gift to her was a dozen roses, chocolates, and a stuffed teddy bear. Slightly more expensive. But like I said, I'm not complaining, I know she's struggling with her three jobs and many bills and car and house payments. Plus, she is taking me to a spring training game in Memphis between the White Sox and Mets at the end of March, and those tickets were $50 each, so that certainly evens things out. If you ask her, maybe that even balances on her side, since she paid for the tickets and has to sit through a whole baseball game as well. She may punish me after the game for putting her through such torture. But hey, sometimes I like being punished.

Things are calm right now on Planetdre. "Jacob" decided that he had more things to clean up at his Montana residence, so he's staying there an extra week at least. He's on schedule to be back rooming with me and looking for work next week. I've readjusted to having my own space, but I miss him too, so I'm actually looking forward to him coming back. Our paths had led us to making less and less time to chat since we left high school, so we've certainly talked more this year already than we had most other years. Living together for a few weeks would ruin a lot of friendships because they were built on drunken socializing and not real companionship. But we've known each other so long that the bond only strengthened. As for class, everything's moving along smoothly. I did very well on the first tests of all three of my classes. I'm especially enjoying the media class, because every theme and lecture is so familiar to me. The material is basically a primer on the messages we receive every day from the TV, radio, newspapers, internet, etc. And I've always railed against some of those messages and how ignorant they are. I'm more confident than ever that my next step after getting my associates degree is to go on to pursue a broadcasting degree, because media seems to be a natural fit for me. Endless yapping and rambling--that's the ticket! As for my job, people are getting canned around me at an alarming rate, making me think that I need to refresh my resume and find a way out before I'm escorted out the door. And as for my family, my aunt is recovering from a hysterectomy, so keep her in your thoughts and prayers, if you're so inclined.

Deep Freeze

The weather here in Chicago and my friend "Jacob's" job prospects are both under a sheet of ice right now. He left in frustration this past weekend to go back home for a week, tend to his personal business there, and bring back some more clothes and other items, including a new computer for me as thanks for my generosity. But I can't help but wonder what he thought was going to happen when he decided that he was going to come down to Chicago, find a managerial job, and start over at the snap of a finger. The man has lots of experience, finding his way up the ladder to a manager's job at Best Buy straight out of high school, but he's got zero education. He's very bright, brighter than me by a mile; he was able to amass enough credits so that he needed one class to graduate high school his senior year. But he took college classes briefly after that, and he's always said that he quit because it was just too easy and boring. And here he is, never expecting to have to prove himself in life, thinking that he would always have things go his way, from helping his mother move to Wisconsin and open an internet cafe, to buying a house in Montana with his girlfriend and opening a restaurant. I would dare say that Jacob has never had to struggle like this ever. I'm not just talking about the job search, which has resulted in one interview in the last month, but the emotional toll of the whole sad mess concerning the skank he was living with. He hasn't opened up much to me about what he's going through, but I know when he first got here, that first week he stayed with me, he was hardly eating and he was sleeping maybe three or four hours each night. He caught up in both areas by the time he left (and boy, did we eat well every night, whether it was pizza, gyros, nachos, or humongoid burritos), but he was a bit of a mess, and his plan--ignore any interview requests he gets in the next week since he's not here in Chicago, come back, stay here until he gets a job and finds an apartment--seems a little strange. I'm not sure what he should do. I don't know what the hell I would do in his situation, besides crack up and commit to a psych ward and mumble about white trash for the rest of my pathetic existence. All I can do is offer any help I can, which right now means letting him crash on the couch and occasionally buying him groceries. I still remember something he said about me when we were in fourth grade. I had a personality book with favorite likes and dislikes that I filled out, and there was a page for my best friend to fill out about me. One question he had to answer about me was what he admired most about me, and he said that he thought I was gutsy and went after what I wanted (which at the time was a Puerto Rican girl). I've carried that with me throughout the years, and it's a small part of why I'm so outspoken today. And I think when Jacob comes back, I'm going to talk to him about that and how we can maybe figure out a way to both be gutsy and take the world by storm and give a big middle finger to all those who have screwed us over.

So my house is empty once again, and I'm kinda amused at the various things I had to adjust to having a roommate. I had to take the phone into my bedroom any time my girlfriend called, which I'm not used to doing. But I wouldn't have wanted Jacob to hear us cooing and getting all mushy. Hell, I never lived down kissing "Giselle" in front of him at the lunch table our junior year. I had to put on my robe after every shower instead of running out of the bathroom naked and getting dressed piece by piece. I had to pick up my clothes after taking them off for the shower instead of letting them lay on the floor. I had to keep my computer on after using it so that he could check his e-mail. And, his last night here, after he had pork nachos, I had to learn the next morning to keep a can of air freshener nearby at all times. I'm sure my girlfriend is happy that I'm getting some of these lessons of cohabitation out of the way before she moves here. But all of it was worth it for that one Friday night a couple of weeks ago. A woman Jacob went out with several nights prior texted him, warning him that he was going to receive a drunk dial in a half-hour. He looked at me perplexed and asked, "What is a drunk dial?" Amazingly, in all his years, Jacob had never been the victim of a drunk dial. Even I've been drunk dialed. Sure enough, a half-hour later, around midnight, the girl called him and spent the next hour detailing to him her frustrations about her job, her attempts to get home on public transportation after a night of boozing, and her fears that he shared too much information about her to his roommate ("What did you tell him? What did you tell him??"). She even wanted to speak to me at one point. Then, after he talked her into bed, she asked if he was going to come over and "take advantage of me." I don't think he realized that was an invitation, and he ended the call soon thereafter. Predictably, she called back. But she was so out of it, she was telling him about the "snow monsters" outside her window. They haven't spoken since her apology call the next day. But the inconvenience of having him stay here was worth it just to see him squirm through that drunk dial. He never experienced that before, and he was wondering why she chose him to receive it, repeating to me over and over, "We went on one date!" Obviously, I told him, he was the closest thing she had to a man right now. It was another scenario that pointed out to me how lucky I am to have my girlfriend, the sweet, sober angel that she is, and how much I do not miss dating.

Super Bowl XLII

New York Giants vs. New England (-12.5)

Well, the two weeks of endless hype is finally over, and I have to somehow justify this bullshit pick. Actually, I don't have to, since no one is reading this. But anyway, after bouncing back and forth about how I would pick this, here's my analysis: I can't go against the Patriots to win the game because they're clearly the better team. They set records, they didn't lose, they had a season for the ages. However, they seem to carry themselves as if they believe they have already won the Super Bowl. From the arrogance over the nature of QB Tom Brady's foot injury, to the smugness about the Spygate situation, to the fact that they didn't bother to have a walk-through last night, the Patriots seem to think that they have every right to win this game. The Giants didn't even expect to be here, so they carry themselves very loosely. All the pressure appears to be on New England. As a result, I will predict the Giants to take a first-half lead as the Pats play tightly and a little afraid to fail. But I see Giants QB Eli Manning letting the moment and his inexperience get to him, and a few second-half turnovers turning the game the Pats' way. On top of that, the Pats won their previous three Super Bowls by three points each, so that 12.5 points look a little large to me. I'll take the Pats to make history, and the Giants to cover the spread.

My Pick: New England 33-27

Unfair Card Sharks

This is really old considering it was on the sports blog Deadspin in October, but those of us who play online poker should be even more wary of shenanigans than usual. I know I've gotten some bad beats before that made me scream in frustration, "Is this faggot seeing the cards that I can't see or what?!?"

A Moment Alone

I never thought that getting a second in my house by myself would be something I'd have to treasure, but that is the case now that "Jacob" is about to start his 3rd week sleeping on my couch. The only update is that he is currently on a job interview that he set up last week, so he's been looking forward to this for a while, and he seems very confident that he will get the position. He's been keeping himself busy in the meantime dating and hanging out; in fact, I slept by myself in the house last night because a woman called him at about 6P asking to see him, and when he expressed concern about going out with bad weather in the evening forecast, she assured him that he didn't have to go home in the cold and snow. He is Romeo right now, for sure, and as jealous as I may be, I hope he's enjoying himself. I actually will miss him when he leaves because it's been one big slumber party, playing video games, laughing and joking and carrying on loudly. My girlfriend has suggested that this is good practice for a married life, having to share my space with someone. It's not really the same, however, because at no time can I take my fantasies about my girlfriend that I have in the course of a day and store them up and bring them home and release them on her. But one great thing about all this is that Jacob has decided to pay me back for my good deed by giving me a used computer from the internet cafe that he and his family own up in Wisconsin, instead of selling it to me as he originally intended. He knew that my computer was old and needed replacing, and now he's had two weeks of dealing with it personally to know just how shitty it is. But with the new computer added to my recent purchase of a DVD recorder with VCR component so I can transfer my porn--er, uh, I mean sports tapes--to disc, I am finally flying towards the 21st century. Maybe I should learn how to drive and really move towards becoming modern...

This Week On "The Odd Couple..."

"Jacob" is still here at my apartment, and it's Wednesday morning. Thank goodness we get along so great. Thank goodness he has good hygiene.

Jacob has had trouble finding work because after he got a rental car Monday, he found that many places that he drives to looking for work refer him back to a website and encourage him to apply online. That kinda defeats the purpose, no? He's amazed at how difficult it is to talk to someone face to face. Welcome to the 21st century. It appears that he's staying here at least until this weekend. What he wants to do is secure work, go back to Montana, pack up his shit, and come back to Chicago with employment, which will allow him to get an apartment, which is infinitely easier to find than work. He doesn't want to go back to Montana until he has a gig lined up here, but it's not easy finding work, as my thirteen months unemployed can tell you, and he's getting frustrated. What he's also getting is lucky. He's found time to line up a date with some woman he met online, so I'll actually have the place to myself this evening. See, anyone can hook up with a chick except me. I couldn't get dates when I was looking, and I had a place of my own! But before he does that, I'm putting that SUV he rented to use by going to get some furniture and groceries. And the adventure continues...

NFL Conference Finals '08

Here are my playoff predictions for today, in much less detail since I'm here with "Jacob" playing video games:

San Diego @ New England (-14)

Basically, that line is large and disrespectful to what the Chargers have accomplished this postseason. Despite injuries to QB Philip Rivers and RB LaDanian Tomlinson, the Chargers seem to have the swagger to go into New England and give them a good game. Plus, the Patriots can only have pressure building as they get closer to a perfect season. We'll see if they can put together a good enough performance to move into the Super Bowl.

My Prediction: New England 31-20

New York Giants @ Green Bay (-7.5)

I can't see Green Bay losing this game the way they're playing. RB Ryan Grant is a beast, and QB Brett Favre is playing smart and focused football. This team is scary because no one expected them to gel like this when the season began. However, this point spread to me is also ignoring what the opponent has done. The Giants continue to steamroll over anyone in their path in road games this year, and I'll take them to stay close in a fun cold game.

My Prediction: Green Bay 34-29

2008 Is Off To A Crazy Start

When I woke up yesterday morning, I didn't expect to have a roommate that day. Hey, unusual things happen at unusual times.

"Jacob" is sitting in my living room as I type this, and he just woke up. He had moved last year up to Montana with his girlfriend to open a restaurant, and things seemed like they were going well. Last month, he called to inform me that his girlfriend had stolen $2,000 in cash as well as one of their dogs and flown back to Chicago, where she grew up (and coincidentally where Jacob and I grew up, although we didn't know her at all--he met her online when they lived in Wisconsin four years ago). Why? Well, she left a note calling him all sorts of bad things, but she really didn't explain anything. However, a few days after she left, Jacob received e-mails and chat logs from...wait for it...the wife of the guy Jacob's girlfriend left him for! Apparently, she and this moron were writing love letters to each other and plotting this whole thing. They used to date before she met Jacob, and I guess it was a situation where she came from the gutter and got homesick. She also used to be a druggie, and Jacob found out later that she had recently started that shit again, courtesy of the boyfriend of a worker at the restaurant. So she just totally fell off the wagon and lost her fucking mind, and now Jacob's in deep doo-doo because he can't keep up his house payments and business payments thanks to the stolen money. He exercised some bad judgment. coming to Chicago to look for work and plan a move back here, and oh yeah, to screw the wife of the guy his girlfriend left him for. (They started talking on the phone about stuff and wound up forming some kind of connection, which I thought was a bad idea from the get-go.) Well, the wife announced after a few days that she's moving to Detroit with family, and he decided to get out now since there obviously was no immediate future for them. Did I mention that the girl just had this moron's baby??? Can you say Springer? Thankfully he had a friend whose house he could crash at for a while. He's my best friend since 1st grade, so I couldn't turn him down when he asked to stay with me until next week. Plus, there's some karma at work. Someone was a Good Samaritan to me on Thursday night, so it was my turn to pay it forward. Some guy gets off the train every night at 11:00, the same time as me, and Thursday night was under 10 degrees. So his wife was there waiting to pick him up. I've never spoken to the guy or anything, so I just watched him get into his wife's car, wished I had someone picking me up, and started my usual three-block walk home. Suddenly, the guy rolled down his window and yelled out to me, "Want a ride?" I guess he always noticed that we walked in the same direction every night, so he thought it would be a good idea to take me home since we were all going that way. Turns out they live like two blocks from me. I was very thankful for their good deed. And now I'm doing my own good deed for my buddy. I'm not even going to talk to him much about his fucked-up situation, because I think he needs to clear his head for a while. We'll just laugh and catch up on shit, and of course watch football on Sunday. Speaking of which, my horrible picks for Sunday's games will come up tomorrow morning, so if you want to know which teams to pick against, stay tuned.

NFL Conference Semis '08

I'm so excited for some playoff football (and thrilled that I went 8-0 last week against the spread and over/under) that I'm going to open myself to ridicule and post my predictions for this weekend's games. They feature the four best teams in the NFL by far coming off byes last week, so that will give you some insight as to where my picks are leaning.

Seattle @ Green Bay (-9)

I like to check the road record of the visiting team versus the home record of the home team as a way to slant my pick one way or the other before I even dive into the stats. The Seahawks were 3-5 on the road this season, and the Packers were 7-1 at home. I don't care what the numbers say, I can't possibly take the Seahawks to win a playoff game on the road with that kind of record. As for the actual in-game analysis, I like the Seahawks to actually hang in and keep it close. Four years ago, in another Seattle-Green Bay playoff game at Lambeau Field in Wisconsin, QB Matt Hasselbeck excitedly yelled upon winning the coin toss to start overtime, "We're gonna take the ball, and we're gonna score!" He promptly threw a touchdown pass...to Green Bay defender Al Harris. The point is, they got to OT with the Pack at their home field. The running games should cancel each other out because Hasselbeck and Packers QB Brett Favre are so in love with their arms that they won't hand off very often. WR D.J. Hackett was used as a deep threat last week in Seattle's win over Washington, but he's questionable this week, and that will hurt. But with the Pack missing a defensive back, Will Blackmon, I expect a shootout between these two passing games, with coach Mike Holmgren's old squad coming out on top over his current one.

My Pick: Green Bay 27-20

Jacksonville @ New England (-13.5)

The war of words has been thick between these two teams. Earlier in the season, when Patriots coach Bill Belichick and his staff was caught videotaping signals, Paul Spicer and the Jaguars were one of a few teams publicly saying that the Patriots have a tarnish on their accomplishments because they were cheating. The Jags' web site even had an asterisk next to the Pats' record with the footnote "Cheated in one game," but that's been since removed. So this game should be emotionally charged unlike any other, especially when you throw in the undefeated record itself. How much pressure do you think the Pats will be under, knowing that if they lose in the playoffs that 16-0 record will be one of sports' biggest jokes? The Jags' 6-3 road record this year also scares me. But in the end, what scares me more than anything is the Pats' passing attack, with QB Tom Brady and the real MVP, WR Randy Moss, as well as those other receivers who seem to get open when needed. Oh, and the Jaguars' passing attack, which, like Santa Claus, doesn't exist. I expect Jacksonville to run the ball a little better because they're much more committed to the ground game than New England. But it won't matter when the Patriot missiles take the field and light up the sky with their aerial attack.

My Pick: New England 34-14

San Diego @ Indianapolis (-9.5)

My pick to repeat as Super Bowl champions, the Colts open their playoff push with the return of Future Hall of Famer Marvin Harrison at WR. He was missing the last two months of the season with an injury, and he was missing when the Chargers beat the Colts in Week 10, a game in which Peyton Manning threw an unprecedented (for him) six interceptions. The Chargers still have the DBs who caught those picks, including stud Antonio Cromartie, who had three of them, but the Colts now have the aforementioned Harrison, a clean field (they're playing in a dome in Indy, not in the muddy, rainy conditions that they played in Week 10 in San Diego), and the focus and determination that QB Peyton Manning summons when he needs to. Manning used to be one of the biggest choke artists in big games, dating back to college at Tennessee, but he seems to have turned it around and become a lot closer to clutch than choke. As for the Chargers, their win last week over the Titans cost them TE Antonio Gates, who won't play this game because of a sprained toe. Gates is the Chargers' most consistent receiver, and QB Philip Rivers should struggle even more than he did in last week's ugly victory. DT Raheem Brock is back for the Colts, and defensive MVP Bob Sanders is healthy, adding more help to the effort to stop RB LaDanian Tomlinson, who would appear to be San Diego's only hope. He won't be enough.

My Pick: Indianapolis 24-10

New York Giants @ Dallas (-9)

That stat I had last week about how QB Eli Manning and the Giants seem to have much more success on the road may not apply for this game, because the last time the Giants lost on the road, it was Week 1, at Dallas, and they gave up 45 points. Only one team had more yards per pass attempt than the Cowboys all season, and that was the record-setting Patriots, so it's not like Dallas fell off after the Giants game. No, they're still pretty damn good, despite a couple of bad games to end the regular season. I think the whole team should have spent their bye week in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, to rest up for the playoffs. (BTW, there's one really simple reason why Cowboys QB Tony Romo has been catching hell for taking a trip to Cabo during his bye week, and that's jealousy. Every man and some women in the media wish they were fucking Jessica Simpson. They're not. Romo is. So they ignore what everyone else on all four teams who had byes last week did during their week off, and they focus on what Romo did, because they're totally jealous. It's a complete joke.) Manning and the Giants got off to a very slow start in beating the Buccaneers last week, but because the Bucs didn't have the offensive weaponry to take advantage, the Giants had plenty of opportunity to mount a comeback. They shouldn't have that chance against Dallas. Terrell Owens will see the spotlight shining and a national TV audience, and suddenly, the ankle pain that kept him out of the last game the Cowboys played will magically disappear, and he'll catch his usual two touchdowns and do his usual silly celebrations. The man legally patented the phrase, "I love me some me!" for Chrissakes. He won't resist the chance to perform. And Romo wants to throw every ball 99 yards for a TD just to prove that fucking Jessica Simpson is not a career detriment. He should have WR Terry Glenn, who hasn't played this season, as an extra weapon. The Giants have a couple of defensive backs missing who played in that 45-35 loss at Dallas. If they gave up 45, what will their backups do? I expect lots of blitzing from the athletic Dallas defense, forcing Manning to get rid of the football way quicker than he wants, resulting in mistakes and turnovers galore. And no more Yoko Romo references suggesting Jessica is destroying the Cowboys.

My Pick: Dallas 38-20

"Lynch Him In A Back Alley"

Boy, is there a lot of discussion surrounding golf analyst Kelly Tilghman's joke about what other golfers should do to Tiger Woods. Naturally, I couldn't resist adding my two cents.

I find something wrong with the actions of absolutely everyone involved, as well as most of the people commenting on sports talk shows the last few days. The analyst herself was wrong for saying something so stupid, but ESPN midday radio hosts Mike Tirico and Scott Van Pelt were wrong yesterday for saying that they knew Tilghman personally and can vouch that she didn't really mean anything by saying it. What? When did they become her PR reps? Mike Wilbon, a host on ESPN TV show Pardon The Interruption, is wrong for saying virtually the same thing, that he knew her and knew that she didn't mean anything by it. Dan Patrick on his radio show is wrong for adding this whopper--by saying that Tiger should be lynched in a back alley, where most lynchings historically have not taken place, Tilghman showed that she didn't realize the significance of what she was saying and therefore is only guilty of ignorance. Being retarded is not an excuse. Everyone in the KKK is retarded, and no one gives them a pass. However, Al Sharpton is wrong for demanding her job without knowing anything about the context of the comment. He didn't even know that Kelly was a woman. She certainly should have been censured and penalized by her employer, but I don't think she should have been canned. And speaking of her employer, Golf Channel, they're wrong for suspending her two weeks only after Sharpton got on CNN and started bitching and moaning. They were standing behind her, acknowledging her horrible judgment yet supporting her, before Rev. Al threatened boycotts of sponsors and the like.

But I reserve my harshest judgment for Tiger himself and everyone who took the angle that everything should be okay because Tiger said he didn't have a problem, and if the target said "no harm no foul," then it's all good, right? Hell no! See, this is why people like Sharpton and Jesse Jackson exist, because if left up to the individuals slapped by racism, so many of them would rather avoid conflict and back off than challenge the oppressor. Put it another way: How many Uncle Toms have said in the past, "Oh no, massa ain't mean no harm! He's a jus' whoopin' me and my old lady 'cause we deserve it! I ain't got no beef with massa! He treat me good most of the time! Even let me eat my suppa in the kitchen sometime instead a in the back yard!" Of course Tiger is going to say he has no problem with the comment, because he wants to be the mainstream superstar loved by white folks as much (or more) than blacks, and he can't be that if he starts having problems with innocent little "jokes." Hell, he says he's not black anyway, so maybe he thinks the joke isn't racial at all. I heard the point brought up that Tiger can show his disapproval when he is really upset with someone's words, like when he didn't comment immediately after Fuzzy Zoeller's moronic jokes years ago. To me, that proves that he doesn't have a problem with black jokes against him. Where I grew up, the words Fuzzy said would have been followed by an assault and battery, not by silence. Or at least a confrontation along the lines of, "Are you crazy?!?" But that's not Tiger's style. Might lose a few sales of some golf shirts or caps if he shows displeasure with the massa's harmless jokes. But imagine our world if King, Abernathy, et al., would have accepted put-downs and insults as just "misspeaks" in the 1960s and decided to let it go, like Gandhi Tiger. We'd still be drinking from dirty water fountains and pissing in filthy bathrooms.

Finally, with all these people making wrong assumptions and statements, I'd like to get off my soapbox and be wrong for a second as well. I heard three different black men yesterday alone defend Tilghman as a friend who didn't mean any harm--Tirico, Wilbon, and Charles Barkley, as a guest on Dan Patrick's show. That's not counting Tiger's defense of her as a friend when this first happened. When I saw pictures of her just now while I was searching for information, I assumed that her being thin, blonde, and white and having all these black guys being her "friends" meant that she was one of those chicks that couldn't get enough of the dark meat. It's Kim Kardashian without the ass! But actually, something else interesting kept coming up in my search engine--"lesbian." Apparently, she's been long rumored to be either bisexual or all-the-way gay. And that makes just as much sense, when you think about it. What would black men love and defend as much or more than a blonde white chick who plays golf? Why, a blonde white chick who plays golf and brings her girlfriends into bed with them, of course!

Wrong of me? Yep, very wrong. True? Absolutely.

Hmmm...

From my blog post "End Of The CEDA Era," at the end of 2005: "...I am not going to ever forget my time at CEDA. What a perfect impetus to push me through school and urge me to keep going and make education a priority. Cause if I don't, I face a future of jobs in which my diligence and perfectionist nature cause me to be fired perpetually because I didn't produce enough mistake-filled, hurried work to satisfy the assholes in charge."

From my blog post "32 Years Of Anonymity," a few weeks ago: "My supervisor Lucy...has been on my ass virtually every day for the past two months because my items per hour was below 90. But when she thrust the November numbers in my face showing me how many other people in my workgroup have better IPH rates than me, I noticed something in the total items column: Only one person in my workgroup nailed more than 10,000 items total last month, and that was yours truly. Then I remembered that I was on vacation for a week in November because I spent several days in Memphis after Thanksgiving! You'd think Lucy would be thrilled to see that bit of information when I pointed it out to her. Her response: 'It doesn't matter how much work you do.' I never thought there existed a job where someone could be told that it didn't matter that they produced more work than anyone else."

Yeah, guess I haven't figured it out yet. Quality work, bad. Fast, crappy work, good. Note to self--make that my new mantra...

Wild Card Weekend '08

I'm so excited for some playoff football that I'm going to open myself to ridicule and post my predictions. (For the record, I'm sticking by my preseason prediction of Colts over Cowboys in the Super Bowl.)

Washington @ Seattle (-3.5)

The Sean Taylor Tribute Train should stop here. The Seahawks have a passing game led by Matt Hasselbeck that spreads the ball around to whomever happens to be open, and the go-for-broke Redskins secondary will get frustrated trying to cover everyone. Shaun Alexander and Maurice Morris should provide enough running to keep the Skins off-balance. Plus, I can't possibly go with Todd Collins. That's like taking the hot pitcher in baseball who won his last four starts despite not having pitched in the majors in eight years. That would be crazy.

My Pick: Seattle 24-17

Jacksonville (-2.5) @ Pittsburgh

This smells like a trap. The Steelers suffered some huge injuries recently, such as their leading rusher, Willie Parker, breaking his leg, and their left tackle and return man ruled out for this game. Add to that the Jaguars walking into snowy Pittsburgh a few weeks ago and stuffing their nuts down the Steelers' throats, and that places the Steelers, 7-1 at home this year, as underdogs. David Garrard's playoff inexperience may lead to him making mistakes at QB for the Jags that he hasn't made all year. I actually will pick Jacksonville to play their style and win the game, but Ben Roethlisberger and the Steelers' underrated passing game can stay in the game and put them in position to steal it late.

My Pick: Jacksonville 30-28

New York Giants @ Tampa Bay (-3)

My friend "Jacob" can swear that I've been preaching one simple observation about QB Eli Manning and the Giants for two years now: They play much better on the road because he's so fragile that he doesn't do well in front of his home crowd. And the numbers bear it out--3-5 at home this season, as opposed to 7-1 on the road. This ain't the same Tampa Bay defense; they're older and not nearly as dominant. Yes, they're #1 in pass defense, but they used to back that up with hard run defense as well. Not anymore. Brandon Jacobs and the Giants running game will handle the line of scrimmage just enough to allow Manning to hit Plaxico Burress for a few long bombs, and that will be enough to scoot past Jeff Garcia and the predictable Bucs offense.

My Pick: Giants 17-16

Tennessee @ San Diego (-10)

The bettors are in love with the Chargers, and I can see why. One of the preseason favorites, the Bolts are finally playing like it, especially on the defensive side, where it took three-fourths of the season to figure out that maybe Shawne Merriman blitzing and wreaking havoc instead of being passive and playing back on his heels is the way to go. Meanwhile, the Titans are hurting. QB Vince Young had a sore quad, their only deep threat, Roydell Williams, is out for the playoffs, and their stud RB and defensive tackle, LenDale White and Albert Haynesworth, are both dinged up. And this may be the most fiery and personal matchup. Merriman was injured during a game between these two teams earlier in the season on what he thought was a dirty play in retaliation for Young being hurt. The Chargers will be geared up, and I don't think the Titans are healthy enough to do anything about it.

My Pick: San Diego 27-6

The Most, Uh, Unique Christmas Gift Ever

My dad had been calling me and leaving messages almost every day back in September when I started going back to school, and I didn't have time to call him back, so he took it personally and began to do weird things trying to make me jealous like calling my aunt daily and sending money to her oldest son, who attends the U. of Illinois. He was used to me eventually calling him back so he could resume browbeating me about not keeping up with him more, but this time, I wasn't in the mood. So I had not talked to him since this past summer when Christmas rolled around. But he told my aunt that he would make a special trip out to my uncle's, where the family gathers for Christmas, and he would have a Christmas gift for me whether I wanted to see him or not. And oh, did he have a memorable gift for me, or make that clear plastic bag of gifts:

1. A bottle of British Sterling, quite possibly the rankest dollar-store cologne I have ever smelled
   
2. A disposable camera
   
3. A 4-pack of AA batteries
   
4. A Southwest Airlines napkin
   
5. A picture of his mother, and not a glossy picture, a Xerox copy
   
6. A Xerox copy pic of his brother
   
7. A couple of handmade fliers for his band and/or his various other hustles
   
8. $40 cash (complete with totally useless deposit slip, like I'm a fucking bank)
   
9. And finally, an empty manila folder

I couldn't do anything while taking each gift out and displaying it for everyone except say, "Tonight, all of you thank your God that your dad is not my dad."

My girlfriend is here for the next couple of days to ring in the new year with me. There's no better way to get the taste of that Christmas out of my mouth. (Although out of curiosity, she sprayed that cologne in the air, and now that taste and scent may linger well into the new year after all.)

Happy 2008 to everyone.

32 Years Of Anonymity

That's two years in a row now that someone wondered why I didn't make a big deal of my upcoming birthday upon finding out about it. This time, it was my team lead at work, Tasha, who doesn't know a thing about me and never expressed a desire to. "You gotta tell us about things like that," she cooed. "We're like a big family!" Yeah, right. All In The Family, maybe. When I told the people I used to work with on 1st shift that it was my birthday, the reactions ranged from surprise, of course, to pity that I was spending my birthday working. But it's all good. I wouldn't have done anything today but clean the house anyway. What am I gonna do, go out clubbing?

The fact that no one knew my birthday was coming is but a small piece of my daily routine. I'm Mr. Anonymity. I'm the modern-day Mr. Cellophane, for you fans of the musical Chicago. Every day I trudge to work or school or both, and I trudge home, and I barely say a word or have a word said to me. Really, I might be known by some as That Weird Guy With The Headphones, because for almost 20 years now I've hardly been out in public without my headphones on, usually big ear-covering ones too, "kickerboxes on your head," as a former co-worker once called them. The bigger the headphones, the less I have to hear, plus they double as great earmuffs for those Chicago winters that my girlfriend will get to experience when she moves here in the next few years. I could be some cult figure like the loudmouth preacher downtown with the portable loudspeaker or those guys that dress in silver and gold bodypaint and do mime performances on the corner. There might be some punk band in Wicker Park whose members dress in baseball caps and huge headphones and nothing else, as some odd homage to that eccentric fat guy who always looks like he could kick the world's ass. But I would never know. And that's how I've always wanted it. Speaking up and making my presence known is not something I like doing most of the time. After I got to know my co-workers at my jobs, I wound up loosening up and being the class clown, so to speak. But my demeanor is the same for most of the day--head down, no smile, walking with a purpose, going where I gotta go, doing what I gotta do. Sealing off the whole world in a way for various reasons, be it shyness or lack of social skills or lack of confidence or, in those really special moments, hatred of the entire human race. (If you've ever wondered why I refer to myself as Planet Dre...)

My latest problem at work may not be directly tied to my attempts to be anonymous, but it's loosely connected. See, my job is rather simple when you break it down: Type in P.O. box number, scan a header ticket to start a batch, open all the mail sent to that box, enter the check amounts, run the check through a check reader, scan a separator ticket between each check, end batch, move on. Boring, I know. But apparently, the way I do my job is not satisfying this items-per-hour ratio that's been established by people above me who don't do this job and therefore don't know how impossible it would be to keep up that ratio for all 7 or 8 or however many hours you're working. The ratio is 133 items per hour. That means that in addition to checks, you can staple the material inside an envelope that has no check inside (we've been getting a lot of Christmas cards lately, for instance) and add that to your batch at the end when you close it, and you can also add the unprocessable items for those checks that may have something wrong with it, like a missing signature or it was sent to the wrong P.O. box, so it's not just 133 checks per hour, it's 133 items. But seriously, if you sit down and start working on a bundle of mail, like I do, you run into missorted envelopes in the wrong bundle, you run into a large amount of material that has to be taped together because the automatic mail opener sliced the pages up, you may have to photocopy an envelope because if it's cardboard (FedEx, DHL, etc.) it's too big to fit into the image machine...you run into a lot of shit that takes up too much of your time to process 133 items per hour. It's impossible. The way that co-workers are getting around this number is that they're pre-staging their work, meaning they're opening the envelopes and taping letters and making copies and all that good stuff before they ever start to type in boxes and check amounts. That saves time from their items per hour, but it doesn't get as much work done because they're spending hours pre-staging and not working, whereas I just sit down and work because that's how I prefer to do it. My supervisor Lucy, this ogre of a woman who obviously got off the first boat from Russia years ago hoping to wrestle bears in America for money or something, has been on my ass virtually every day for the past two months because my items per hour was below 90. But when she thrust the November numbers in my face showing me how many other people in my workgroup have better IPH rates than me, I noticed something in the total items column: Only one person in my workgroup nailed more than 10,000 items total last month, and that was yours truly. Then I remembered that I was on vacation for a week in November because I spent several days in Memphis after Thanksgiving! You'd think Lucy would be thrilled to see that bit of information when I pointed it out to her. Her response: "It doesn't matter how much work you do." I never thought there existed a job where someone could be told that it didn't matter that they produced more work than anyone else. Did I mention that I haven't made an error in my mail extraction job duties all year? I tie this to anonymity because when you're just a number in a humongoid company like J.P. Morgan Chase, no one has time to listen to individual issues. Something like this should be handled on a case-by-case basis, and someone should have the common sense to back off the most productive worker in the workgroup instead of smothering him daily just because his items-per-hour number is low. Since I produce more than workers who work more hours than me, it seems that the items per hour isn't that damn important. Oh, and Lucy showed me the numbers for December 1-15 just to bitch at me more about how my IPH hasn't improved since she started yapping at me. Guess who's done more items than anyone the first 2 weeks of December as well? But of course, how much work you do doesn't matter. How retarded.

So in this, my 32nd year on Planet Dre, I vow to work even harder in college and continue my push towards (hopefully) Columbia College and a degree in radio. Anonymity has worked well for me for the most part, but I'm starting to get a little tired of it. I can see a time where I shed my cloak and reach for the spotlight and let the world see and hear what my warped mind is creating. The right time, the right place, it all has to come together in a perfect mix of my guts, someone's need to smell-la-la-la-la what I'm cookin', and a whole hell of a lot of luck. But every day that I am told that my hard work doesn't matter because it doesn't fit the mold, I get closer and closer to being ready to leave behind my carefully constructed wall of anonymity and go for what I want.

And If You Thought That Last Post Was Full Of It...

...I'll be taking psych class as part of my load next semester at the esteemed Harold Washington College, where I sit four mere classes away from my associates degree. So get ready for more armchair mental games from moi. Hey, maybe I'll finally find out why "Karen" did what she did to me, since she never got the guts to tell me herself, or as she put it in a letter once, "I don't have to explain myself to anybody." This semester that just ended last week was difficult for one reason--biology class. Not only was this a topic that I had no interest in, but the teacher insisted on making her students tie bits and pieces of information together with cognitive thinking, and after dealing with the jackasses at my job for forty hours a week, I wasn't always up for that. Okay, I was never up for that. I had to walk out of a couple of her classes because I just didn't have the desire to sit through another hour of her voice pushing me closer and closer to sleep. I had a B at midterm for that class, but I did so bad on the cumulative final that I bet I got a C as a final grade. Oh well. One science requirement is dead, and the second and final science requirement will be on the schedule for next semester--Public Issues in Physical Science. Hey, it's not a lab at least. The computer class was a breeze, and the speech teacher was open-minded enough to disagree with nearly everything I talked about, yet still gave me nearly perfect scores on all three of my speeches. She was fun. I wanted to take a TV/radio class she's giving next semester that would seem perfect for what I want to do after I get out of Harold Washington, but she's only offering one time frame, Monday nights, and I have to work Monday nights. So instead I'm taking a mass media class someone else is teaching that she says is very similar, in addition to the psych and the physical science. That will leave me one elective that I'll gobble up in the summer, then I'm done with the associates classes. I already visited the Columbia College website and asked for information to be sent to my house, so I'm sure I'll have plenty of contact with them as I try to arrange my records to facilitate a smooth transition there. As for the next few weeks before the spring semester, I have to clean house and get ready for my girlfriend, who will visit for New Year's. It would be nice if I got Christmas presents before next week. And there's laundry and grocery shopping as well. But I'm actually glad that I'm keeping busy like this--less time to sit around and let my brain ruminate about dark things or, worse, get bored and gamble. Or think about my 32nd birthday, coming up Saturday. Where does the time go. I'll be spending it working, which is actually fitting because that's what I've been doing seemingly nonstop the past two years. And the world keeps turning...

"He Took It In The Butt"

That was the headline in the Trentonian newspaper last week when Roger Clemens had his pristine name dragged into the steroids circus surrounding Major League Baseball. I just thought that was funny. I had one small thing to add to this, then I'll crawl back in my hole. I just watched Mike & Mike In The Morning, a sports talk show that also airs on TV, and they had callers commenting on whether they believe Clemens, who vehemently denies using steroids or HGH, or think he's lying like so many other ballplayers have when confronted with evidence. The very first guy who called said he was giving Clemens the benefit of the doubt, and so did the last guy who called, and I think the segment that I watched only had three callers. Mike and Mike wondered why they didn't hear this kind of benefit when Barry Bonds denied his intentional steroid use under oath before a grand jury a few years ago ("I thought it was flaxseed oil"). I have an answer--he did receive the benefit of the doubt, from a large number of black people. I remember all the polls that came out back then charting the racial divide among people who believe that Bonds was innocent. It was like 50 or 60% of all blacks polled, as opposed to something in the teens for whites. But hardly any of those blacks were taken seriously. Those polls were trotted out by sports talk people as some sign of the apocalypse, or worse, a sign of the bad role models those poor black people were choosing. But they didn't actually speak to those black people to find out why they felt that way. And here's Mike & Mike wondering why Clemens is being trusted and believed while Bonds wasn't. Um, I don't recall them taking calls from Bonds supporters, and neither did any other sports talk show I listened to. They didn't want to. He was a dirty black guy breaking the all-time home run record, and he didn't deserve supporters. But here's a bunch of white darlings loved by the media, like Clemens and Andy Pettitte and some little scrappy guys who would have never put up the numbers they did if not for juicing, and the media in general seem to be falling over themselves trying to cushion the blow and accept their word as bond. Makes me shake my head. And for the record, yeah, I believe they're all guilty, Bonds and Clemens and all the other idiots writing personal checks to clubhouse guys and putting "STEROIDS" in the memo line. I don't think they're conjuring up evidence to get back at any of them. I just think that some athletes are so addicted to winning at all costs and so used to getting anything they want any time they want that they believe that if they keep saying they're innocent, the whole thing will eventually go away. And for that, I think they're all floating turds, black, white, Latino, or green alien.

Cursing And Blow Jobs--The Planet Dre Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving went very well for me. It was my first outside of my own family, with people I had never met, so as past posts will tell you, I was very nervous. But they knew how to treat a man well, because no more than two minutes after I entered the house of my girlfriend's uncle, he handed me the television remote. Now THAT is how you welcome someone to your home! Yes, football was on from that moment until I left. Now, my girlfriend had explained that she didn't recall football being part of the family's past Thanksgivings, but as it turned out, the men of the house were just like most other men--get the ball rolling on a sport and they fall right in line. The first NFL game was already playing, but they didn't know it, so when I found the channel, all of a sudden here goes the football talk. Who's my favorite team, what about that Terrell Owens, etc. Turns out there's even a daughter in the family who's a Cowboys cheerleader, and they spotted her during the Kelly Clarkson halftime show. See, how did these folks get along before me???

The meal itself was outstanding as far as the quality of the food. There were some cheese products missing that I had become accustomed to at my uncle's house, like macaroni and his wife's spaghetti bake. That helps to break up all the seasoning that you get in the turkey and dressing, which starts to taste the same after a while. And speaking of the turkey, they bought a special kind this year just to piss me off--it was Cajun-flavored, which meant that it was infused with jalapenos before they even stuffed it and put it in the stove. Gross. I needed a lot of dressing to make it palatable. But it was very well-cooked, and everything else was just fine. My girlfriend created a sweet potato casserole with mini-marshmallows on top, and that was better than I thought it would be. Me and yams usually don't get along.

My girlfriend's mother was a very sweet lady, even more quiet and introverted than my girlfriend. I didn't know what to expect, but she couldn't have been kinder. She was going to meet us for dinner Saturday night after Thanksgiving, just the three of us, but unfortunately she fell ill. So I'm still waiting to be grilled. But she doesn't seem like the judgmental type, so as long as she never reads this blog, I believe she's not going to drill me with questions about who I am and what my intentions are with her little girl. So that bullet was dodged. Really, that was my biggest worry--I didn't want to underwhelm her mother because I know that no matter what she says, my girlfriend would take her mother's intuition about me very seriously, and I wanted to make a great first impression. (My girlfriend would later go on to tell me that her mother informed her of her impression of me over the phone--"Very, very, very bright!" Can't get much better than that.)

After going to the next-door house of a family member and taking a tour as a way of walking off the meal, we settled in for a game of Taboo. There were four team members on each side, and my girlfriend was on the opposite team, but her mother was on my team. I was told that these games got so loud and outrageous that sometimes they would videotape them and watch them afterwards, and I thought that this was a good sign because I have lots of experience with loud and outrageous board games thanks to my family. However, I forgot that my girlfriend's family, while loud and outrageous, was also religious. So when I accidentally said some of the Taboo words and exclaimed "Dammit!" or "Aw hell!", I didn't think one second of it. After we lost, one of my team members went around the table pointing out various funny things each player said or did during the game, and when he got to me, he said, "And homey here, with all the cursing!" I turned to my girlfriend and asked, "Did I curse?" She said that I may have said dammit or something like that. I was shocked that they saw that as cursing. It's not like I was at the bowling alley or something. If they want to see me curse, they should come there. They'll hear me make up new words, tell God to fornicate with his son, and many other colorful phrases. But when I thought about the game afterwards, it dawned on me that no matter how loud and crazy it got, indeed, no one was cursing. That's amazing and noble and very frightening all at the same time.

My girlfriend and I made out on her couch that night after driving back home, and she initiated giving me oral sex for the first time. It came out of nowhere, and I didn't expect it because, despite getting the results from the free clinic, she indicated that she didn't know when she would be ready to take that next step with me. I surely didn't want to shove it in her face and say, "I'm clean, bitch, now suck it!" I've been very patient with her thus far, knowing that she had never been with a man before me, and I was willing to wait as long as it took for her to get comfortable. Well, she got comfortable quickly, and I haven't stopped smiling since. Really, oral sex to me is the 2nd most intimate thing a couple can do next to only intercourse. And to do it with someone I love and respect and don't have to worry about how many other dudes she's done this to is such an awesome feeling. Now, the last time I got either oral or vaginal sex was two years ago with "Grace," the one night stand, so this was also a big deal because now when I fantasized or daydreamed about receiving head, I didn't have to try to force my girlfriend into the picture. I had my own mental picture now of her looking into my eyes while swallowing me. That's a very big deal to me. I hate having memories of meaningless physical encounters as my only concrete thoughts about the sex I've had. I'm so ready to write new thoughts into my memory, with the woman I love. That's as descriptive as I can get when I explain why it meant to much to have her give me head. I want her face and her body to be what I think of when I think of physical intimacy, and that's why this was so big. Now, I couldn't return the favor because Aunt Flo was in town, but I'm determined to become good at giving my woman oral sex since I was so bad at it all the times before. Plain and simple, I didn't have the patience to keep at it and learn how to do it right. I just took out my cock after a few minutes and fucked whoever I was trying to eat. But since that's not an option with my virgin girlfriend, I will have to stay down there and figure out how to get 'er done, so to speak. Maybe when she visits me for New Year's, she'll leave her aunt at home...

Full Plate

My plate has been full lately, and it will continue to be for at least a few weeks. On the horizon right now is a flight to Memphis to spend Thanksgiving with my girlfriend and her family. I depart this afternoon after speech class. I think I'm masking my nervousness about meeting her mother for the very first time by being very horny and thinking about my girlfriend constantly the last few days. But I do miss her and I will be glad to see her and spend some quality time with her. The proverbial full plate should be literal on Thanksgiving, if they eat like a Southern family should. Just hope they're ready for some football. When I come back to Chicago next week, I'll walk right into some kind of competition at work to find the person who best knows the standard operating procedures. They gave me a cheat sheet to study last night, as if I don't have enough homework with three classes this semester. I'm probably leaving that at home and not taking it to Memphis. As for the classes, there's a presentation we're supposed to be giving in biology next week, but I don't have the contact information for my partners in this group project, the class didn't meet yesterday because the teacher wasn't there, and I won't be there for the Wednesday class because I won't be in the state. Don't know how we're gonna work that out. I'll have my final speech to do next week, a nine-minute rant about alcohol (yes I chose that subject on purpose). And there will be final exams in two weeks for biology and computer class, the biology one being cumulative. Somewhere in there I will have to wash my clothes and shop for groceries, and in the two weeks that I have free between classes ending and Christmas I have to shop for gifts before my girlfriend comes here for New Year's. Whew. But here's one good thing about keeping very busy: Two different people came up to me at work last week and asked if I was losing weight. I'm certainly not trying to, but it's hard to sit and overeat with three college classes and a full-time job. I just don't have the time. I know my cookies and chips miss me, but I'll have to get reacquainted after I finish accomplishing the things in my life that I want to accomplish.

Happy Thanksgiving to anyone reading this. Whether we know it or not, we all have much to be thankful for.

Planet Dre's Trip To The Free Clinic! (Pt. 2)

I walked in to the clinic and was surprised to see five other people in there. The place was like a vacated saloon last time I was there. I had to wait for a guy to figure out what he wanted from the receptionist before I was able to approach her and tell her that I was there for my test results. After taking my ID and the blue card the doctor told me to bring back with me, the receptionist told me, "You're 76. We'll call your number." She then proceeded to call number 77 thirty seconds later, and some Hispanic guy who had been there when I arrived went through the heavy door to the back. Wha?? The guy came back out almost as soon as he went in and relayed the news to someone on his cell phone, ignoring the fliers that say cell phone use is prohibited. The security guard, however, tried for a full minute to wave at the guy and get his attention in order to tell him not to use the phone. Guess he felt that walking over to him and stopping him for some reason wasn't an option. A few minutes later, my number was called by an attractive black woman in a business suit, and I followed her to the back and into an office with the word "Counselor" on the door. Here we go, I thought to myself.

She smiled the whole time as she quickly told me that everything came up negative--the chlamydia test, the gonorrhea test, the syphilis test. She placed the HIV test results in front of me and pointed to the part that said "FINAL RESULT NEGATIVE--No antibodies to HIV-1 detected." She happily informed me that I was totally clean and explained that these results do not necessarily indicate that I don't have HIV since it takes three to six months for HIV to show up on a test. "So if you've had recent contact with a possible source of HIV, you should come back for another test in April next year." She asked why I had testing done, and I explained that it wasn't a recent exposure but rather the desire to give my girlfriend peace of mind by letting her know I was clean. "And to let yourself know, right?" the counselor said. "Oh, I already knew I was clean," I replied as memories of bareback sex with "Karen," "Giselle," "Sarah," "Grace," and The Co-Worker Who Shall Remain Nameless flashed through my mind.

I asked for a copy of the STD results before I left, and after five minutes, I was on my way home. I texted my girlfriend after I left and told her "YOUR BABY IS TOTALLY CLEAN!!!" Her response was simply "YES!" Nothing more needed to be said.