Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Adventures in Unproductivity/Return of Radio Nonsense

One thing that I have learned about life is that, often, it is made of a series of lists. In my two decades on this planet, I've made a whole bunch of lists, everywhere from the big scary ones ("life goals," a bucket list, my Man Five) to medium ones (classes I need to take to graduate on time, blog ideas) to the little ones (grocery lists, cliff notes on my future award acceptance speech, books to read, Alton Brown recipes to try).

And though I've been fretting over the big lists lately (another depressing post for another time), I thought that I'd give my loyal followers a glimpse into my life with one of my small ones.

During work today, I got in one of my mini freakout moods where I realize how much I have to do and swear to be productive, so I made a to-do list for today. Unfortunately, my to-do lists all too often turn into "do anything but these things" lists. Here are the highlights:

#1: Finally unpack and clean my room after a month-plus of living in it.

Really, this task was long, long overdue. Obviously. But it mostly involved just putting stuff in drawers and organizing.

NNNNNNope. I wanted to get something done tonight. And then actually sleep.

#2: Finish up a couple last-minute things for my study abroad application to Rome next semester.

This one actually seemed doable. Until I looked at the 40 pages of stuff I had to fill out, etc.

Well, that can wait for another day. Or another.

#3: Do some dishes.

We literally had no clean bowls, plates, forks, spoons, etc. And while washing dishes is one of my least favorite chores, eating is one of my favorites.*

*Yes, eating is a required chore at my domicile. You know you wish you lived with me, mess and all.

Or we can just go out for dinner tonight.

#4: Take out the trash.

C'mon, I can go down to the first floor to take....all that....trash....down 14 floors....


#5: Clean out e-mail inbox.

Okay...I can...Oh God....

And that was after deleting 200 of them. Fuck THAT shit.

Silver lining: got to put it all off and put up a blog post. As I prove time and time again, I'm at my writing best when I'm writing what I'm not supposed to be writing when I'm not supposed to be writing it.


At least I have my radio playlist!

...from last Friday!

Cage the Elephant - Ain't No Rest For The Wicked
The Heavy - Coleen
Tokyo Police Club - Bambi
The Constellations - Perfect Day (though screw Vampire Diaries)
The Asteroids Galaxy Tour - The Sun Ain't Shining No More
The Apples in Stereo - Same Old Drag
BOAT - We Want It! We Want It!
Band of Horses - Blue Beard
The Dandy Warhols - The New Country
Skybox - Light
Mike - Love Today
Free Energy - Free Energy
Maps & Atlases - Solid Ground
Wintersleep - Experience the Jewel


Tune in this Friday, 8-9 am and 11-12am to hear my roommate/friend Mike and I make fools of ourselves on air. For the second straight week.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Why My Mommy is a Big Doo Doo Head

As (FINALLY) I sit down to write this post, I am reminded of a universal truth: kids pester the shit out of their parents, particularly when said child is told they can't do something. I've certainly been guilty of such behavior. Such as the near decade of Christmases when I asked my parents for ANY game system. Or the time we went to Florida and I somehow whined enough to convince the family to not eat seafood one night and have pizza instead. Or the dozen times I've literally packed a suitcase full of dirty clothes, flown home, and begged them let me do them.

Really though, at the end of the day, I was a fairly non-picky kid. Always ate my non-pea veggies, was usually respectful to my elders, blah de blah de blah.

But there was one thing that I wanted and desired more than anything in the world: a puppy.

I had always enjoyed a good dog, the more and more friends that I met who had them, the more and more I wanted one. An always happy, loyal companion who wanted nothing more than to play with and unconditionally love a certain overweight, underappreciated, and often pre-teen angsty child.

My dad grew up on a farm, and had owned somewhere upward of 1200 dogs in his life, so he was silently behind me and my siblings' desire for a quadrapedal, drooling companion. My mother, however, was a different story. I don't know what it was about the idea of injecting animal love into my family (likely a recognition of our general lack of responsibility. But wouldn't have a pet have taught us that?!). So all I ever got was a goldfish that lived for, I shit you not, seven years, despite my horrid, horrid care of it (think weekly feedings, a life mostly in the dark, etc. BUT THAT WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED WITH A PUPPY! They have built-in alarms to be fed.)

But I nearly got my wish one day thanks to a bit of adorableness from South Dakota. This is that story.


A few years back, my church youth group chose to go to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation for our semi-yearly mission trip. For those of you who don't know, reservations for Native Americans are some of the most impoverished places in the country, and Pine Ridge is one of the worst. Despite it being the eighth largest reservation in America, eighth largest reservation in the United States, it is also the poorest. Unemployment on the reservation hovers between 80% and 85%, and 49% live below the Federal poverty level (according to the ultimate source of knowledge and bringer of many sleepless nights, Wikipedia).

After a fun ride there, we saw huge amounts of poverty: everywhere we looked there were stray dogs, dilapidated houses, some houses with no running water or electricity, everything you can imagine and more. Even the mission we were staying at was run down. But it was held together by a lovely, admittedly Yoda-esque old lady named Arvella:

This is literally the only picture I have of her. She, like so many other do-gooders out there, hate getting their picture taken. I call it the Jesus effect. Don't see many photos of that guy outside of a piece of burnt toast, do you? Didn't think so.

In her care, along with a few Native American families or individuals who had nowhere else to turn, were two of the friendliest and sweetest dogs in the history of ever.

THIS IS HOW THEY FUCKING SLEPT. My heart exploded out of sheer "aww"ness, then was magically put together again by their enduring love.

As previously mentioned, I had always, always, always wanted a dog. My best friend had always had dogs, and so I was reminded of my familial inadequacy whenever I went over to his house, which was pretty much all the time.

And so, when I found out that Arvella had a third dog that she couldn't care for after her two dogs had *tear* found it, sick and alone running around, I was intrigued. Then I saw it:

And my forbidden (non-bestiality) love for Feather began.

We bonded like a grilled cheese sandwich and peanut butter.* He loved me and I loved him back. Picture Old Yeller, without the whole "shoot the dog" vibe. My dad, who was on the trip, was quietly very much the idea, but knew better than to say anything without consulting the Pukka Mahib back at home.

*A real thing, don't knock it 'till you try it.

So, one night, emboldened by Father's subtle hints that he wanted a dog hella bad as well, I called put on the pleading voice that anyone who has ever talked to, been, or raised a child knows well and tried to make a little magic happen.

SN: Moooommmm...?

SNM: I don't think so.

And that's pretty much how the conversation went. So when the time came for me to leave early (for football), I gave Feather a last loving embrace and pet, and went back to KC. And that, I thought, was that.

...Until, a couple days later, I went to meet the rest of the group when they arrived back at the church from the trip. Apparently, my friends had decided to take the dog in a cardboard box, stopped roughly a million times so that it wouldn't pee/poop in the car (it was mostly successful), all to bring me the dog.

After jumping up and down in excitement for a good 5-10 minutes, I traveled home with what I was sure to be my new puppy in my lap. I went up to my front door, held Feather up to my face and cuddled him, put on my best pout face:

and rang the doorbell.

(And yes, that is a chalkboard. In my apartment. Story for another time.)

My mom answered the door. She slowly smiled at me, taking in all of my sad, sad existence. Looked me straight in the eye, deep into my tortured, dogless soul, saw her bouncing baby boy, who had asked of her so little in his life aside from a few thousand dollars in private school tuition etc etc, and said those words that every child wants to hear:

"Sorry, but I don't think so."

*NOT. Yet likely the ones they hear the most.


And so there you have it. Why my mommy is a big doo doo head. And yes, she knows I use such language. I've even called her that to her face, and would do it a thousand times over again if it meant having a dog. No worries my lovely readers, the dog eventually found a home.

Just not my home....

*le sigh*

And this is the post I come back to. Now I need a furry hug. No creepy cavemen (or women) allowed. Or caveshemen. I really need to go to bed.

Monday, June 14, 2010

My Apparently Weekly Post of the Week

Thanks to my recent work schedule (hint: this post is going up at 6:25 in the AM), this is how I view myself as a blogger:


Next post might not be for another couple days, maybe even next weekend. Not dead, just tired, busy, and lazy. Thanks to my new subscribers for not looking a the long intervals between my last posts and clicking the "back" button, as well as thanks to the usual crew for not hatin'. Or not noticing. Or pretending not to notice.

Hmm, this post didn't turn out too well.

Side note: How the fuck is Ralph Macchio FORTY EIGHT YEARS OLD?!?!!!

But, apparently is more awesome than ever.


Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Belated Memorial Day/SP Shiz

Here I was, minding my own business, writing a serious blog post (for once - should be up sometime tomorrow), when I was struck by something unbelievably awesome.

What could be so awesome that it made me stop what I was writing, you ask?


(You didn't think that all this was over until August, did you?)

Um. Fuck yes.

Comic book and video game references? Check.
Badass fights? Indeed.
Michael Cera still being a little too wimpy for Scott Pilgrim? Double check.


I took a bit of a break whilst home from blogging, but I had a little somethin' somethin' for Memorial Day that I tried (in vain) to post earlier today.

While this is a little late, I'd like to thank all those vets out there, alive or passed, who have fought and died for the freedoms we as Americans enjoy, like the ability to vote, or say whatever we want about our government, or enjoy the spoils of a free market. A free market that brings us some of the best quality of goods available. these chips...

Here's a closer look, in case the gravity (and glory) of the situation didn't quite hit you the first time.

Mother trucking. Hot dog chips.

So, not only did someone in the fine company of Shearer's potato chips decide it would be a good idea to mix this:

With this:

In some bizarre, likely booze-driven brainstorm*...

*HEY, you know what people like? HOT DOGS. You know what else they like? POTATO CHIPS, MUTHAFUCKAH. TWO AND TWO MAKES FOUR, AND WE'RE MAKING THIS SHIT NOW.

...but my parents decided it would be a good idea to buy them for my brother's graduation.

And by God, they were delicious.

God bless America.