The Best Part of Waking Up: is.... is...

Picture this: It's early on a Monday morning. The sun is just starting to peak up over the eastward horizon. Your alarm clock slowly and gradualy fades into your favorite radio station. Ahh, time to get up. Life's not so bad, you grab a bowl of your favorite cereal (Cinnamon Toast Crunch), get cleaned up, and head to to work knowing that today is the day that you get to leave early. This week might not be so bad after all.

If only I could find a magical bridge to this dreamword. Actually, I was clip-clopping accross that lollypop bridge, happy as a pig in a blanket at 6:59 this morning, when my phone rang.

When I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing, I am instantly thrown into a panic, because lets be honest here people, nobody in their right mind makes a casual phone call before 7AM. So when I see my caller ID bleeping 'Bank', the sun is already up, and I notice my alarm was not turned on last night, I drop about thirty thousand f-bombs and scramble to work in eight minutes (no joke). A wonderful way to start a week. The fact that I have to stay late today to make up hours for tomorrows scheduled root canal just makes this peachy situation even peachier. Hell, Im practically drowning in a metaphorical can of Dole peaches right now.

Luckily, I do have the foresight to to know that these things will happen. This isn't the foresight that sets two alarms just in case. No, that would be illogical. It's the foresight that prepurchased two boxes of breakfast Hot Pockets and stored them in the break room freezer for when I missed breakfast. So now, to top it all off, I feel sick.

Polygamy Ranch Kids Adjusting To New, Better Life

San Angelo, TX - Children taken from the Polygamy ranch in San Angelo, Texas, are now being given a chance at a better life. Completely withdrawn from mainstream American culture, most of the preteens who have never watched TV, or had fast food, are now being given the chance to lead the privileged life of an average American orphan.

"She, like, has never even heard of Hot Pockets before" Comments, 12 year old Stephen Thompson, in the El Paso Home for Children. Being denied contact to the outside world, the children in the sect compound were forced to eat fresh grown vegetables and bread from grain they harvested themselves. "I mean what kind of person has never been to McDonalds?" adds Thompson.

The education of these formally imprisoned children will be a very difficult task, as they have never attended a formal class, relying on home schooling since the age of four. "The [kids] who came in the from the ranch just don't quite fit in yet." Says fourth grade math teacher Gene Davis, who took three of the children into his class this semester. "They are trying very hard, but the home schooling they received just does not mesh well with our curriculum." After learning geometry and pre-calculus at the age of eight, former sect child Peter Goodhue politely states that the transition is a challenging one, "It's just been so long since I have had to think about simple integers, and the pace of the class is also... very accommodating" commented Goodhue at a ninth grade vocabulary level.

Another barrier that Goodhue and his contemporaries have faced is fashion. "[Peter] has never even seen MTV, so, that sucks" offers Thompson, who has noticed his new bunkmates classic attire. Wearing button up shirts, dress pants and full length dresses, the sheltered children have yet to learn how to 'sag' their jeans, wear chains on their wallets, and wear a baseball cap backwards. In more than one instance, this has led to the bullying of the underprivileged children, exposing their inability to conform and redact their simple and dated customs. Goodhue's older brother Walter has suffered a broken nose twice for "looking like a [narf]", but insists on 'turning the other cheek'.

After being imprisoned for so long in the 1900 acre secluded ranch. The children, accustomed to green, pristine laws, and safe travel at night, find it hard to adjust to the new way of life. "This one little girl just walked outside at ten o'clock at night. I mean, [darn] that's dumb, you gonna get shot" Thompson, as he tries to impart some of his wisdom to the younger new ones.

It is apparent that the learning curve will be long one for these children, but sociologist Vergil McDougal at the University of Texas, Houston believes that they will soon be on par with the average American student. "It is such a relief to see these students free from the terrible and horrifying lifestyle they lead in the compound. I am sure, with years of education and assimilation, they may on day find themselves with a 9-5 job, pursuing the American dream like the rest of the orphans out there."

ohh Carl...

In accordance with my ever changing, multidirectional personality, I have changed the blog color scheme, as you might be able to tell. It was done for the same reason that I re-arrange my room every five months. Im not sure what that reason is, draw your own Freudian conclusions, but the fact of the matter is that... its.... lay off me! I dont need to explain all my actions!

Sorry. The decision was actually a pragmatic one, stemming from the fact that I would see black lines accross my vision for five minutes after proofreading the entries. If I kept that up, I would need Urkell-thick glasses in five years. Only I wouldn't have a 'cool machine' that would retransform me from Stephen to Stephan. The 'a' makes it cooler. Anyway, you see the dilemna I was facing.

Speaking of my transformation into the science nerd next door, I just got my new computer. Sadly, installing programs and customizing the new Vista settings to my delicate likings till the wee hours of the morning was the most fun I have had in a long time. Nothing gets me going like a fresh CPU with gigabytes upon gigabytes of open hard drive to fill. I'm not even sure where to start, really. I just know that with a brand new supercomuter, the world* is your playground, and anything** is possible.


*"cyber" world
** except human contact or outdoor activity

Norton Anti-Buy (One-Day Deal!!)

So if steepandcheap.com wasn't insidious enough, now I have another impulse-buy, Satan run website to part me from my over-earned money. Woot.com. Don't go there. Seriously.

I just went there during my lunch break and franticly purchased a $650 computer. Most expensive lunch EVER. It runs on the one-deal-per-day principal, which is good for them because it allows the customers to get really nervous that they might miss a great deal. Or save for retirement, or in my case, rent. The best part about this alluring meta-mall, is that it exclusively sells electronics. Which means: you don't need any of it. There is absolutely nothing on the foray of past sold items, ranging from bluetooth headsets to Onkyo home entertainment systems, that I, or anyone else actually needs. $645 I probably need. A super-fast new computer for video editing? I doubt it.

Maybe I won't eat for a couple of weeks, maybe I won't use electricity, who knows? I just know that I have to cut back on something to pay for this damn supercomputer. That's what makes it exciting! It is a game that, as a ski coach, I have become alarmingly good at.

Screw having anti-virus software, I need anti-purchase software. So whenever I try to buy something online, it sends it to my savings account instead. And then sends an admonishing electronic jolt through the mouse that knocks my off my swivel chair. Maybe I could sell this program. For a great price of $600. Email me if you are interested.

Event of the day

So Juno comes out today. Which is good. It is my 'event of the day'. Daily events are something that I really appreciate because they break up what can otherwise easily become a mundane and forgetful week or, God forbid, month. I like these events so much that somtimes I will even break out my daily planner and scratch them in. Here are some other daily events that liken my lifestyle to the ever-bustling day traders on Wall Street, or the ER Doctors in Cook County.

1) Do taxes. I actually got pretty far on this one, but never actually finished them on this date. I had all the papers out and was doing them myself in my room. I felt like the Macguyver of CPAs, the Magellan of accounting, only the waters I was exploring were very charted, and very very specific. I really hope I don't get audited.

2) Go to grocery store. This one is pretty self explanatory. Just the 'ol milk 'n cereal run. I go through a lot of that.

3) Apply to jobs. Unfortunately this was about as specific as my task was for the day, and it ended inducing an introspective wall-staring funk that eventually upgraded to a coma. I am learning that my tasks need to be very specific, or I will overwhelm myself with extraneous details and options. Where do I want to work? What do I want to do? Who do I want to live with? What is the meaning of life...ad nauseum. I woke up just in time for work the next morning with a killer headache, unaware of what just happened.

4) Download Kings of Leon songs. Great band. Sorry excuse for the planned activities of a whole day.

5) Buy Juno.

And here we go, full swinging back to today. You have just taken part in a circle narrative, I hope you had fun. It ate away about twenty minutes of my 10 hour day here at the bank, so I did.

Protaxination

There's nothing funny about taxes, really. They are, in fact, the epitome of boredom and obligation. They require close attention to detail, accuracy and the ability to follow directions exactly. Therefore it takes me until about April 10th, maybe the 13th before I send mine in. Until then I have the pile of booklets, W2's and rent slips in an ominous pile on my desk, just waiting to be processed and incur a level five migraine. On some subconscious plane, I am certain that those papers on my desk effects my mood, weighing down on my spirits. Probably not unlike Abraham after he was given his commandment from God*. You know he meant to get it done in a timely fashion, but it's such a pain in the ass to drag a kid all the way up Mount Moriah to sacrifice him. Plus the field wasn't plowed yet, and it's a bitch to get the mule to stand still while you harness him with only one person.

So like Abraham, I have taken my time with taxes this year. And while I am not 'technically' sacrificing my child only because an ominous voice told me to, it sure feels like it. Maybe, if I'm lucky, right before I am about to send in the check, and IRS angel (agent) will stop me, and say "No, my son, this was merely a test of your will and devotion towards the state and federal laws. Hold on to that cash, because someone in your income bracket will just end up seeing that money back in governmental support programs anyway". Or something like that at least.

So maybe I'll get started on them tonight, maybe not. I try not to hog-tie myself with commitments like that, just so I can keep my options open. Maybe there is something really cool going on that I won't hear about until later tonight, something I've never even heard of before. Or maybe the government will say 'Ok, we've got enough money this year, thanks, the rest of you don't have to pay." Just as long as my dad doesn't call and ask if I want to go for a hike with him.


Abraham and Isaac

Boycott

I am going on the record to say that I am not protesting the Olympics in China. I was just invited to a facebook group asking me to join in their boycott of the games. I can't begin to understand the sophomoric and arrogant logic behind that. Support or ignore the US in the Olympic games if you want, but as a spectator, and a non-olympian, or even a government, you aren't in the position to boycott the games.

The decision should be left completely to the athletes. The athletes who have worked their whole lives for a chance at this competition. People who have sacrificed more than you or I have for a passion and a chance at greatness. I would be incredibly moved if Michael Phelps got up on the stand after Olympic Qualifiers and said that he would be obstaining from the games, and would disregard his chances for each his gold medals to show his support of Tibet and his distaste for the China's policies. I would be even more impressed if a no-name (poor) athlete did the same thing. But if Phelps did it, it would catch on, and soon other athletes from different countries would follow. It would be one of the biggest sports announcements ever.

Keep in mind that by boycotting the games, you are leveraging a symbol of international cooperation and togetherness for a polical statement. A statement that may be valid, or just in intention, but misplaced in reality. Only those effected by the boycott should be allowed to make that decision.

That's what I think, at least.

Beachwood Bassist

I saw Seawolf open for Nada Surf last night at the great First Avenue. First of all, Seawolf is a great band. I'm not sure who they remind me of, if anyone, but the vocals and songwriting are fantastic. Their stage presence, however, was terrible. The only movement on stage was the Dave Matthews-esque leg pumping of their lead singer. Besides that, it looked like we were sneaking a peak at a recording session. With the visual aspect kind of sucking, the audio was great, with the small exception of the bass drum mic. They had that thing mic'ed so loud that it had it's own pitch. I kept looking over at the bass player to see where the D# was coming from.

If Seawolf was an audio treat, then Nada Surf delivered on the visual front. The main singer, besides the mandatory rocker tight jeans, was very non-descript. Of the three man band, he was the sensible one I assumed. Button-up shirt, a haircut that wouldn't piss off the inlaws. The drummer is where their image started to get more interesting. The man, lanky as all getup, had a pair of bad-ass sideburns trailing down from his poofy hair, running right by his moustache. As he pounded on the skins, there were at least three or four times when I saw him go solo with his left hand, and thrust his right stick into the air like the hair-metal bands that he must have idolized as a kid. This, of course, was done with eyes closed and a slight head-bang to the beat. He was paying his homage to all the moustaches, sideburns, and Peter Criss' out there. He would have been the show-stealer if it weren't for the bassist.


Before the show started, all I could see through the curtain was an old bass. One that was either sanded by industrial equipment, or has been rocked so hard that the paint itself just said 'fuck it' and flaked off. Beachwood has come back looking less weathered than this instrument. And when the curtain lifted, the image of the man picking it up answered that question. He had rocked the crap out of that thing. He was short, just like his guitarist counterpart, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in sheer attitude. Attitude by way of a leather jacket, dreadlocks down to his midriff covered by a dark rasta hat, and a cigarette poised aloof-ily between his lips. The dude was ready to rock. And rock he did. While smoking.

I've never seen someone smoke while singing before, but this guy made it through the whole first song, while singing backup vocals, puffing like a chimney. Every once in a while, probably when he had a lyric that involved an 'O', or and 'E', he had to dump the cigarette and stomp it out on the stage. And then between songs he would go back and grab another one, light it up quickly, and slap his hand back down on the strings. In addition to the Fonze-like aura surrounding this guy, the smoke also swirled around him, creating an effect like a dry ice machine hidden somewhere in that black leather jacket.

As the rocking got heavier, his motions became more animated, until the beat took over and he flung his cap to the floor with big sweeping motion of his neck. As the guitar melee burned through the amp, the bassist dove into his instrument, face now exposed to the light and showing the crackled truth of drugs and smoke and late nights. The smoke rose from each dred of his existence to create a halo, like and obsidian golem rising from the ashes of a volcano.

And my favorite moment, the most surprising quote of the night, came at the end when the band was leaving the stage. The bassist walked up to the mic, beer in one hand and instrument of auditory destruction in the other. I was expecting him to scream 'rock on!', or maybe 'fuck-something' and then we would all cheer, and feel cooler for doing so. But he just spoke in a very soft and sincere voice "You guys are really sweet, thank you." and then walked off the stage. Fonze? What?

You're welcome?

Island Effect

So before I left for Catalina Island, I was bragging that I would be able to stand up on the first wave I tried to surf. What happened in reality was that the first wave tumbled me underwater, slammed me into the sand, and tore my wetsuit open at the knee. So I tried drinking beer on the beach, it seemed safer.

If you are from the midwest, or the northwest and are trying to picture an island off the coast of L.A., don't. It's too far removed from our reality. Apparently, I was there during the 'wet' season, where the island was green, albeit still very dusty. Green is a relative California term meaning 'green from over thirty feet away'. Up close the ground cover is not tight, but sparse with rough grass chutes, sage brush and cacti. What makes the island beautiful though, is it's dramatic elevation, launching up from the ocean, rocky by the kelpy coves, and steeply climbing to the precipices across the skyline. That, coupled with the tri-daily meal bell that calls in all the camp staff like the Ingall children to their little house on the prairie. That bell was a conversation stopper. In fact, you could have two grown men about to kill each other for sleeping with each other's wives, and then 'ding! ding! ding!', they drop their broken glass beer bottles, clap with giddy delight, hold hands and prance down to the mess hall laughing 'tee-hee-hee' with the unbridled hope of chalupas for dinner.

Oh and the ocean. The ocean is pretty nice too. Only if you like things like sailing, snorkeling, scuba, fishing, kayaking, swimming, paddleboarding, surfing, (breath of air), wake boarding, whale watching, great white sharks, etc...

My only problem was that I had one and a half days on the island to pack as much activity in as possible. Which means that by the end of the day, when people were getting ready to head out to 'the bar', I was lying in a comatose state on the bed, trying not to vomit. My night was saved, however, by red bull and a local drink called buffalo milk. Delicious.

Coming back to MN was somewhat of downer inasmuch as we just got 7" of snow last night. But it will melt, my tan will unfortunately fade, but I still drool like Pavlov's dog when I hear a bell ring. Tee hee hee!