soft nonsense

My Name is Soft Nonsense, And I am a Blogger. Really.

2011-07-11T02:39:00.001-05:00

We have all had gaps in our blogging lives. Some longer than others. And once one finds him or herself in such a bind, he or she must spur him or herself into blogging action. However, this can be a long, hard process. Through my own wealth of experience, I have been able to classify the stages of blog withdrawal for your scholarly appreciation.

STEP ONE: SHOCK AND DENIAL

Thought associated: "Oh my God, I haven't blogged in a two and a half weeks."

This first step is the most frequent, and the easiest point in which to reverse the downward spiral. A moment that, on the surface, catches the blogger off-guard, though the blogger knows that the lack of posting has been gnawing at his or her brain. Note the lack of exclamation points: it is not yet a panic-driven situation. Instead, it is simply a revelatory one that will obviously be addressed with the utmost immediacy.

STEP TWO: EXCUSES

Thought associated: "Well...define immediacy. 'Cuz I have this thing..."

'Excuses' can occur anywhere from a few days after the first step to mere seconds after it. The world outside the blogosphere rears its ugly head, demanding the blogger's attention, and prohibiting the blogger from writing. These events can include anything from regular commitments (say, finals), a new job (say, being named the Editor-In-Chief of his college newspaper) to a fun event that is too massive to undertake quickly in a "get off the ground" type of post (like a 21st birthday or the Chicago Comic and Entertainment Expo). No doubt these events will blow over quickly, says the blogger, and I will be able to devote the time necessary to all of them.

STEP THREE: ANGER AND BARGAINING

Thought associated: "WHAT THE %&$#!!! HOW COULD I...well okay. I will do a blog tomorrow after I finish this paper."

The blogger begins to feel what many intellectuals in the field deem 'social networking guilt.' He becomes angry with him or herself, expressing his or her disappointment in him or herself. The blogger then tries to set benchmarks or timelines for the next post, in an attempt to force something creative. This is the stage in which 'throwaway posts' are frequent: ones promising future blogging, often assuring the blogger's 'friends' that he or she is "lol not dead, promise!"

STEP FOUR: FORGETFULNESS

Thought associated: "The Internet has other things on it than Wikipedia, Facebook, and porn?"

Whether it be because whatever event was bargained for never occurred ("I'll do it after my laundry, which I'm totally going to do tomorrow...") or because step two occurred again, continued lack of blogging is common simply due to the lack of regimentalized writing and creativity. Because it is no longer a habitual act for the blogger, it is no longer on the blogger's mental to-do list. CT-scans of the brains of bloggers who are in this stage often show sever atrophy in the parts of the cerebellum responsible for creative thinking, online socialization, and bad puns.

STEP FIVE: ACCEPTANCE

Thought associated: "I guess I'll just never write on the Internets again."

The blogger loses all hope in him or herself as a blogger. He or she tries to convince him or herself that writing was "just a phase" and that they "will just move on to different, better things." While closely tied to step one, this stage is a different, more pathetic sort of denial than stage one.

STEP SIX: THE UPWARD TURN

Thought associated: "I can do this!"

This stage is usually set up by some sort of event, whether it is the rediscovery of the blogging home page on their bookmark list or an email alert from a comment on an old post. The blogger becomes nostalgic to the point of nausea, and decides that they "have time in [their] life to be creative again."

STEP SEVEN: REALIZATION/OVERWHELMENT

Thought associated: "I can't do this!"

Months upon months of repressed creativity spill out in such a way that absolutely no creativity spills out. No post they can summon up can truly provide the "bang" their triumphant return to the Internet so obviously deserves in their silly, poo-brained minds. The blogger thinks of a fraction of the stories that they SHOULD have turned into witty, insightful, and entertaining posts long ago, and struggles to find a way to bring all of them together in one grand masterstroke. Examples include a new girlfriend, old study abroad stories, meeting celebrities like Aziz Ansari and Jesse Eisenberg, being back in Hawaii, and a witty observation about beer.

STEP EIGHT: THEY CAN'T

Thought associated: "D': jkasdfajkldjklasdkfjlergiophwejnz;vxbkhlrgqiopgjkndfknl;advijoegqrhiopegrjkndv"

Then, they can't.

STEP NINE: ACTION

Thought associated: "Fuck it, we'll do it live."

The blogger, worried that he or she will fall back into complacency after coming so close to productivity, sits down and pounds out nonsense for several hundred words in hopes that simply posting will be enough of a spur to get the so-called "blog train a-rollin'." It rarely does.

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Information from this study was based off of a real subject in a real study, neither of which involved the author of this post.

<3

OBL Made A Huge Mistake

2011-05-01T23:43:00.000-05:00

Though this was hardly the post that I was planning on happening next, I felt like the opportunity was just too good.

As I'm sure you all will have heard by the time I get this post up, Osama Bin Laden was found, killed, and taken into custody.* Needless to say, it's an important milestone for the country. It's a psychological victory for the U.S. and all those who lost someone on 9/11, and a psychological loss to Al Qaeda et al.

*Yes, in that order. Let it never be said that America doesn't know how to arrest an international terrorist.

He was the most hated and most wanted man in the United States, and in much of the world. He evaded capture for more than 10 years, and likely traveled across multiple countries to do so. His alleged presence in a country alone could cause international incident.

As I sat watching CNN like so many other Americans, it struck me.

Fact 1: Osama Bin Laden has avoided capture for 10 years, and traveled to a number of other countries.
Fact 2: He was found in a mansion outside of Islamabad, the capitol of Pakistan.
Fact 3: The Arrested Development movie is going through extensive re-writes.

If Osama Bin Laden hasn't been bopping between Bluthe family mansions across the Middle East and South Asia for the last decade, I'll say ol' Mitch Hurwitz has severely missed out on one hell of a joke.

God Bless America.

True Life: I'm Busy as S#!t

2011-03-27T16:27:00.001-05:00

When I get mind-blowingly busy during the school year, certain things tend to happen in my life, roughly in this order:

1. No sleep

In an attempt to either accomplish all that is in front of me or do enough brainless vegging to make up for my otherwise lack of life, sleep is generally the first thing to go.

2. Steep decline in fashion

Because, quite frankly, when I'm running on 3 hours of sleep, yesterday's jeans and a semi-clean hoodie is often a best-case scenario. And don't you judge me, pretty girl in my Opinion-Editorial writing class. Just because you're willing to get up at 5:30 to give yourself the "oh I just wake up beautiful!" look, doesn't mean the rest of us have to. My hair and beard grew to ridiculous proportions:

I was originally going to have a video post weaving an elaborate story of being kidnapped by a hippie lumberjack commune, but admitting it would have hurt too much. Don't worry, I look much less like a wannabe Wookie nowadays.

3. Fall behind in class, then have a massive load of catching up to do come midterms/finals/test/essays

After sleep goes, my drive to do pretty much anything - especially my responsibilities- goes right along with it. Then I end up staying indoors during most of my waking hours relaxing because I don't have the energy to do anything, then realize that I should have been studying instead of relaxing, then I scramble to do it all right at the due date, leading to even less sleep. Vicious cycle.

Scene from one of my all-nighters this midterm season:

4. More blogging

While I'm sitting around doing nothing, I like to blog. It's good way to feel productive while not doing anything that requires me to do anything that I' don't particularly want to. I entered this semester knowing that it was going to be unbelievably hectic (particularly compared to my semester abroad before it), but I also figured that would mean an increase in blogging to relax and vent and what have you.

Unfortunately, I didn't count on the insane amount of writing that my classes and rediscovered journalistic passion would require. Call me crazy, but blogging after a week including a 10-page paper, a column for class, and three articles for the newspaper isn't the most appealing way to spend my time.

So here I am, crawling back to the internets. Once again. Don't say you didn't miss me, because I actually became MORE popular while I was gone (+1 follower, what what!). I don't know how frequent this whole "consistently updating" thing will happen. I'll at least try to get back on reading blogs again (I hid from you all in shame after the first month or so of no updates). But for now, off to the newspaper office.

As per usual.

All Grown Up?

2011-01-15T21:44:00.000-06:00

Welp, I'm back safe and sound back in old Chi-town. Back in my apartment, back on campus, and back to "normal" life, or whatever the post-abroad equivalent of that could be. I've been told that I'll get Romesick at some point in the very near future, if I'm not already. So far so good on that front for me, but as things start dialing up, the chance for me to pine for the past will only become easier. Chicago winters are brutal, and when it gets cold and after I've worked for eight hours a night for three days on the newspaper and have an essay to write, I don't want to go down to pick up my Thai food, let alone go adventuring or make an effort to hang out with people. And keeping up with the fast-paced lifestyle of Rome is one thing I'm counting on to keep the Romesickness at bay.

The newspaper starts tomorrow night, and I'm now the head editor with two assistants instead of me and another co-editor for an editor-in-chief who simultaneously doubles as an ass who thinks everyone else is wrong and my roommate. School starts again Tuesday. Rent is due soon. And weirdly enough, all this isn't complaining about any of it. Instead, all this hitting me has just made me feel adult-ish. I only have a year and a half before graduation, I know a couple people who were just in college who are getting married and pregnant (in that order), and I semi should sort of come up with some sort of inkling of what to do come next May.

But by God, I won't let it get me yet.

That's part of the reason I came up with last week's list. I'm a somewhat sedentary individual by nature, but I got a glimpse of the active lifestyle while abroad, and I won't let myself forget that. So I'm going to try hard to make sure I get out and treat Chicago like a vacation - experience as much as I can, go places I haven't been, and do it with friends.

And on that note, here is this week's radio playlist. It was my first show back since early August, and it definitely showed, but all part of getting into the swing of things. I wanted this to be a longer post, but I was kind of tired after watching Steve Wiebe from "King of Kong" try to break the world record in Donkey Kong, and am running a little late to my Super Mario Bros. burlesque show.

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John Legend and the Roots - Our Generation (The Hope of the World)
BOAT - We Want It! We Want It!
The Dandy Warhols - All the Money Or The Simple Life Honey
Dogs Die in Hot Cars - Lounger
Tokyo Police Club - Your English Is Good
Presidents of the United States of America - Sharpen Up Those Fangs
Neutral Milk Hotel - Holland 1945
The Asteroids Galaxy Tour - Around the Bend
CAKE - Jolene
The Apples in Stereo - Dream About The Future
Skybox - Light
The Specials - Pressure Drop
Hollerado - Juliette
Rotary Downs - Wild Pink In Super 8
Flobots - Handlebars

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List update:

14: Learned to play "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and "Fuck You" by Cee Lo Green on the ukulele (2/10)
19: Added lots of songs after a radio show (10085/18000)

The Best Laid Plans...

2011-01-10T11:31:00.004-06:00

I thought I had it all figured out, I really did. I thought I could outsmart the internet.

No, not even something as silly as that*. I was merely trying to predict the internet.

*The internet has Wikipedia, the source for 95% of my knowledge, so auto-win there.

You see, on January 5th, I was standing upon not one, but two precipes. Precipi. Two things. Fuck you.

Anyway, I had two milestones in my sights: I was four people away from 50 followers, and the next day would be my one-year blog anniversary. And by damn, if I was going to reach one, I was going to reach the other, and have a glorious blog post about it as well. First, to push my readership up a notch, I not only dusted off a winning blog post that I had been semi-working on for more than six months, but also did the whorey POST ON EVERY SINGLE GROUP EVER ON TWENTY SOMETHING BLOGGERS thing (which, I'll be real, I've done a couple times). Then I brainstormed all sorts of different and momentous posts for my one year, and came up with some decent enough stuff.

Then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I, being in Hawaii, didn't have tons of time to write a bunch, in part because I finally bought a ukulele and was jamming on it until the wee hours of the morning, so I was kind of putting off writing it until I got magical number 50. And, though I did in fact reach it (and am at 51 at last check), it didn't happen until super early on the 7th.

I got greedy, and I paid the price.

So, to mark all of these things, I decided to take a couple days to work on a little something that I'm sure many of you bloggers have no doubt come upon before:

100 Goals in 1001 Days

The Mission: Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days.

The Criteria: Tasks must be specific (i.e. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (i.e. represent some amount of work on my part).

Why 1001 Days? Many people have created lists in the past - frequently simple goals such as New Year's resolutions. The key to beating procrastination is to set a deadline that is realistic. 1001 Days (about 2.75 years) is a better period of time than a year, because it allows you several seasons to complete the tasks, which is better for organizing and timing some tasks such as overseas trips or outdoor activities.

My first ever post was one about New Year's Resolutions, nearly all of which failed miserably. So this year I wanted to do something a little different. By giving myself a list of things that I wanted to do, a long time frame to accomplish it, and a blog with which I can record what I do, when I do it, I can take small steps improve myself without tons of pressure and a small degree of accountability. I maintain the right to change any of these, mainly because I'm in college and 20 and shit can change quickly and unpredictably. I will not, however, change any of them to be easier to accomplish.

Today is Monday, January 10, 2011, giving me until October 7, 2013 to accomplish the following 101 things:

TRAVEL

1. Go abroad again
2. Go to Mardi Gras
3. Go on a road trip
4. Go to a place in the U.S. that I had never visited before
5. Plan a dream trip somewhere, complete with research and logistics

Chicago

6. Go to Chicago Comic and Entertainment Expo
7. See all the major museums in Chicago (0/5)
8. Shedd, Science and Industry, Art Institute, Contemporary Art, Adler, Chicago History, Field
9. Be in Chinatown for the Chinese New Year
10. See a show at the Chicago Theater
11. Go to the Skydeck at the Sears (NOT WILLIS) Tower
12. Go to the Chicago Outdoor Film Festival
13. Ride the CTA holiday train

Musical

14. Learn to play 10 songs on the ukulele (0/10)
15. Learn to play 10 songs on the bass (0/10)
16. Learn to play 10 songs on the piano (0/10)
17. Set aside half an hour every day to play/practice music
18. See an orchestra perform
19. Reach 18,000 songs on my iTunes library (9,887/18,000)

Health

20. Establish a workout plan, and stick to it for 3 months straight (0/3)
21. Take a martial arts class
22. Floss every day for a month
23. Brush 3x a day for two weeks
24. Go to bed before 11pm for one week

Culture

25. See a midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show
26. Take a photography class/make an effort to learn the basics
27. Watch all of the Best Picture nominated films each year
2011 – (0/10)
2012 – (0/10)
2013 – (0/10)
28. Attend 2 live improv performances (0/2)
29. Attend 3 plays (0/3)
30. Sneak into a movie
31. Go to 10 concerts (0/10)
32. Watch every Pixar movie in the span of one month (0/11 – as of Sat, Jan. 8)

Blog

33. Finish writing about my time abroad
34. Update layout of my blog twice (0/2)
35. Blog every day for a week 3 times (0/3)
36. Have someone guest post
37. Reach 100 followers (50/100)

Food

38. Take a cooking class
39. Make a pie from scratch
40. Finally try Kansas City’s own Boulevard Beer
41. Be able to make my dad’s chili sans recipe
42. Invent 3 recipes (0/3)
43. Go out to a nice restaurant by myself
44. Eat only homemade meals for an entire week
45. Make a pitcher of sangria
46. Make sushi
47. Be a vegetarian for one week
48. Make gnocchi from scratch
49. Eat the following types of food: Italian, Thai, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Indian, Ethiopian, French, Vietnamese, Greek, Mexican, Cajun, Barbecue

Personal

50. Graduate college
51. Attend grad school OR be in a job within my preferred profession OR partake in a youthful “search for self”
52. Get a library card
53. Read at least one book a month
54. Write at least 6 articles for another newspaper section (0/6)
55. Write 5 (real, snail mail) letters to 5 people who have changed my life (0/5)
56. Plan an outing/trip (day or otherwise) with each sibling (0/2)
57. Send 5 “just because” gifts (0/5)
58. Volunteer 6 times (0/6)
59. Stand up for myself in a meaningful way
60. Finish a New York Times crossword puzzle without cheating
61. Re-read 5 books that were childhood favorites (0/5)
62. Be able to name every U.S. President in order
63. Build something (like with tools and whatnot)
64. Keep the sink dish-free for 1 week
65. Plan and/or throw a party
66. Learn how to change a tire
67. Attend a service in a Lutheran church in Chicago
68. Make out in/otherwise defile somewhere random/scandalous/unusual
69. Meditate/reflect for 15 minutes per day for a week
70. See a Blackhawks, Bulls, Bears, White Sox, Cubs, Royals, Chiefs, and Nebraska game
71. Be known by name at my local comic book store

Artsy

72. Perform something in front of a live audience (stand-up, reading, music, etc)
73. Carry a thoughts journal with me to write down ideas
74. Keep a list/book of inspirational, funny, or otherwise meaningful quotes
75. Write 4 works of fiction that I am proud of (0/4)

Outdoorsy

76. Go fishing
77. Go camping
78. Drive to the middle of nowhere to look at stars
79. Watch the sun rise and set in the same day
80. Go scuba diving
81. Hike up a mountain

Random

82. Wear a moustache for a full day
83. Make a wish at 11:11 on 11/11/11
84. Flesh out a full and comprehensive Zombie Apocalypse plan for Chicago residence
85. Make a mix CD and leave it somewhere for someone random to find
86. Play laser tag
87. Leave a huge tip for a waiter/waitress (at least 60% of the bill)
88. Sing at a karaoke bar
89. Pay for a stranger’s meal or drink

Technology

90. Do not watch TV for 24 (pre-decided) hours 5 times (0/5)
91. Do not go online for 24 (pre-decided) hours 5 times (0/5)
92. Add information to 5 Wikipedia articles (0/5)
93. Turn off cell phone for an entire 24-hour period

List
94. Get through 50% of this list
95. Get through 75% of this list
96. Donate $3 per every goal not met
97. Set aside $5 per every goal met for a future trip
98. Re-read the list every day
99. Blog about each goal reached, with progress reports
100.Write myself a letter to be opened at the end of the 1001 days
101.Make another 101 in 1001 list

I will tack little updates onto random posts here and there, and will use this original post as my "official list" until I do a full progress report in a month or three. If there is now a countdown timer thing somewhere on the right hand side of this page, then I've finally figured out how to imbed said bit of code on my page.

If anyone has any suggestions or want to help (like, say, paying for a trip somewhere...) or want to start one of your own, the comments box is always open. For now, I need to pack up to leave for Chicago/continue learning the chords of today's Nostalgia Music Monday song on my ukulele...

Why, It's About 5 O'Clock, Why Do You Ask?

2011-01-05T21:25:00.000-06:00

For millennia, facial hair has been celebrated as not only a practical face warmer, fashion statement, and distinguishing feature in police reports and romance novels alike, but also as a personal reflection of character. Sure, some males simply grow one to be "ironic" or to stand out, but those aren't the true men of the fuzz. Here on Soft Nonsense, I've decided to break down the different types of beards, mustaches, etc for not only your viewing and reading pleasure, but also for your education and (in some cases) warning. I will not be covering the generic "beard," "moustache," "goatee," or "sideburns, "as they are all too widespread and general to be truly classified. Instead, I shall hone in on a few, clearly distinguishable styles.

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The Handlebar
Also known as: The Fancypants, The Waxy 'Stache, The Curly Q, The "MMMMINDEED"

One of the more iconic styles of facial hair, generally rocked only by those over 50, college kids who think they're cool, or 1970's relief pitchers. Automatically gives wearer increased credibility on whatever they're talking about, an air of classiness as well as wealthiness (with a smidge of eccentricity), and a much higher degree of hilarity. Possible supervilliany is also approximately doubled in likelihood.

Examples: Snidely Whiplash, Rollie Fingers, Salvador Dali, Mario

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The Soul Patch
Also known as: The Douche Spot, The Beatnick Beard, Flava Sava

Originally popularized by jazz musicians, this style has been adopted near-universally by douches all over the country, if not world. Seems to make the statement "I'm too cool and hip to be bothered to shave ALL of my face." If paired with shaved head, combines powers to become the Super Douche, whose mighty douche powers include a heightened sense of self-importance, a tightening of their "Tap-Out" t-shirts, and the random appearance of unreadable tribal writing on the skin.

Examples: Howie Mandell, stereotypical beret'd poets, That One Guy (you know who I'm talking about)

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The Five O'Clock Shadow
Also known as: The Badass, The Heartthrob, The "I'm Too Damn Busy To Shave," The Shmeh

This beard is sometimes the hardest to classify. In the entertainment business, the Shadow often designates a hardcore action hero or "tough boy" romantic interest. In real life, however, it's often a tell-tale sign of someone who simply doesn't have the drive to take five minutes to shave his face (this guy). But don't kid yourselves ladies: you know that, for whatever reason, a man looking fine with some bristle is worth the tickle.

Examples: Indiana Jones (and most Harrison Ford roles), David Beckham, George Clooney, that sexy musician that you would totally have a love child with without divulging his secret publicly

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The Pencil

Also Known As: The Pedo, The Creeper

A facial configuration that has, thankfully, fallen out of vogue slowly but steadily for the last few decades in all but the most devoted NAMBLA members. He could, potentially, be a smooth operator with just enough sexual machismo to pull off even the most ridiculous of facial hair choices, or at best someone goofy enough to not care (see: The Handlebar). But for your own good, if a man approaches you sporting this 'stache variation, back away slowly. Just don't turn your back on him.

Examples: Erol Flynn, Westley from Princess Bride (sorry, 80's/90's kids), John Waters, seemingly every movie star from the 1950's, that neighbor whose waking sleep cycle seems to operate from 11pm to 10am, then again at 4pm to 4:15pm for a nude walk through his home

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The Rap Industry Standard

Also Known As: The Kanye, Poser Goat

If you've seen any music videos (those moving picture songs you find on YouTube), you've likely seen this bad boy a few dozen times. This shallow goatee/chinstrap combo is the preferred grooming style of a number of artists, actors, and douches for all races has taken popular culture by storm. Can it be to hip hop what the goatee/sideburn combo was to country music? Only time will tell (though it is at least what the Trash 'Stache is to Pedro).

Examples: The Grammy's

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The Fu Manchu

Also Known As: The Hogan, The Sensei

The common denominator of those who decide upon The Fu Man (or, conversely, the FU, Man!) is that they are - or fancy themselves to be - a Badass (capital B). As likely as it is that it is not the case, the 5% of the time that they are, in fact, as badass as their facial hair claims they are will make you rue the day you fucked with the Fu Man.

Examples: Worf, Toki Wartooth, the majority of the Hell's Angels, Ra's al Ghul, Fu Manchu, Christopher Lee (while playing Fu Manchu), that one guy from Kill Bill 2, Ming the Merciless, the 'roided out douchebag at the gym

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The Toothbrush

Also Known As: The Hitler

Maybe he's a Charlie Chaplain enthusiast. But probably not.

Examples: Hitler. And also Hitler. Probably Brad Pitt once. But mostly Hitler.

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Mutton Chops

Also Known As: The Scot, The Wild Dog, The Fan, The Van Buren

A style that can be traced back centuries was long the signifier of class and status now generally signifies drunken men from the British Isles (and I'll let you decide which is better). Legend has it that the longer the hair is and the more parallel (paralleler?) it is to the ground, the more ki power the wearer can wield. Moustache attachment optional.

Examples: Sabretooth, that one guy from your history textbook who said something about the Supreme Court or something, soccer hooligans

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The Federation Standard

Also Known As: The Spock, the Cosplay

This pointy/swoopy sideburn variation is popular to a very small demographic of facial hair enthusiasts. For you ladies, those who rock it are a special breed: namely huge nerdwads with no lives. If you see this, stay away. Or jump on his sweet, sweet nerd bod and get it on with him to the sound of the Firefly theme song stuck on repeat.

Examples: Vulcans, my next Halloween costume

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And yes, Shannon, this was the facial hair post I promised you back in, like, April.

Mmmmmassage

2011-01-03T21:00:00.000-06:00

I am currently on (yet another) family vacation to Hawaii (man - getting so old sitting in the sun on a cloudless, 80-degree day), and just came back from cashing in one of my Christmas gifts: a massage. And, because I'm, well, me, instead of appreciating the quiet calming ocean sounds and being calm and collected while a midget Hawaiian man beat his fists into me, I did what any logical human with a penis is oft to do, and thought about sex.

So here, for your reading pleasure, is

14 Reasons Why Getting a Massage is Like Having Rough, Possibly Bondage-Related Intercourse*

1. Lots of lube required, often (but not completely) in non-traditionally sexual ways.
2. Some hair and limb pulling needed to get into the best position.
3. An enduring sense that
4. Never being quite sure whether you've taken too much clothing off or not enough.
5. Special outfits to wear.
6. Light, but firm, grabbing of the neck is required.
7. Following all instructions, including laying with your head buried in a pillow, is a must. However, if things get too intense, you need to speak up, or things might go downhill quick.
8. Frankly, sometimes rougher = better.

9. Usually some kind of knot is involved.
10. Blindfolding sometimes helps set the mood.
11. A refrain of "just relax" of repeated...often.
12. Showering afterwards isn't required, but strongly encouraged.
13. Amateurs are pretty good, but sometimes you just need a professional to rub you the right way.

14. You know when you hear "deep-tissue," a jolt of exhilaration as wella s a small bit of fear should shoot up your spine.

Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling as mind-blowingly creative as usual when I came up with the title, so prize goes to whoever can come up with a better (read: more deviant) one.

*I assume. Because hey, I'm not a huge fan of leather, and a pair of handcuffs, some whipped cream, a gag, and a small Yorkshire Terrier hardly count as BDSM.

And for this week's Nostalgic Music Monday:

Memories

2011-01-03T11:56:00.002-06:00

I wasn't sure when the best time to do this post was going to be. Like I said last post, I'm back in the States now, and I've been figuring out how best to wrap it all up. It starts at Thanksgiving, but I didn't do a Thanksgiving post because I was busy and I thought it was too soon for a wrap-up post. Then I wanted to do it the last week of school, but I had a crap-ton of work, complete lack of sleep, and a final couple of days in which I was, shall we say, not at my writing peak due to certain ingested substances. Then I wanted to do it after school was out, but then a trip to Cairo happened. Then I wanted to do it when I got back to Chicago, but I had forgotten my charger in Rome. Finally, I wanted to do it in KC, but I've been sick and out of it the last few days, plus the whole Christmas thing.

It's going to be a long one, touching on little things that have happened in the last month. But hey, I figure I owe you guys the equivalent of a short novella anyway, so hope you'll bear with me.

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Like I said, I was pretty bogged down with homework around Thanksgiving, and most of my friends had already made plans for break. I had been asking around for awhile to see if anyone wanted to go to Florence/Pisa with me for a couple days, but no luck. So while it was one of the four weekends I didn't travel anywhere (no exaggeration), the few friends that remained in Rome with me had to figure out what to do on the most holy of holies. An effort, of course, spearheaded by yours truly.

We had been in Europe for going on three months, and while we were surrounded by Americans, had still been forcibly cut off from a good deal of American culture. I couldn't make it to last year's family Thanksgiving celebration, and I was sure as shit not going to be simply ignoring the fact that America's greatest feast of feasts had come up on my Italian calendar (as ringraziamento, but translates well enough for me). So, in what now seems like the easiest, most obvious decision of all time, we decided we would treat ourselves to an authentic, fancy, Italian meal.

Be jealous.

Per il antipasto: a mixed cheese plate.

I feel my friend's face really captures our rapture.

Per gli tre primi piatti:

gnocchi

Mushroom and cheese ravioli

Penne pasta

Per gli segundi piatti:

Lamb

Chicken with peppers

Eggplant parmesan

Plus, let's face it: it wouldn't be an Italian celebration without some lovely (cheap) vino:

Or two.

For America.

We were pleased.

------

Then, the rest of the semester sped by. My life was spent shuffling sleepily between the library, various end of the year gatherings for my school, and - admittedly - bars in downtown Rome. My wardrobe was alternately dressy going out stuff or pajamas (I wore slippers to class a few more times than I care to admit to. Like all of the times.). I'd blog about my (first) last night in Rome, but it mostly was made up of drinking copious amounts of drinking (highlights: doing my first (four) jagerbombs, chocolate shots, and absinthe) and drunkenly stumbling around ruins with my friends until our bus came to pick us up at our school at 6am to take us to the airport, and would make for poor story telling. Then I went to Cairo for a few days, partied on the Nile, rode camels in the Sahara to the Great Pyramids, and all that. Flew back to Rome, hugged the Colosseum and ordered pizza for the last time, stood under the Sistine Chapel, went through a gigantic Christmas market, and then spent 10 hours the next day on an airplane, reading and hearing things in Italian for the last time.

Then it was over.

Don't worry, I'm going to continue to tell some of my abroad stories, for both our benefits. But that's not what this post is about. Instead, it's just the ending of it all.

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This last semester was, in short, life changing. I was told before I left that my time there would change everything and be the time of your life. And, while it wasn't like I scoffed at the prospect, I couldn't haven't imagined how true it was. Trying to put how much of an effect studying abroad had on me into words is likely impossible, likely because I don't even know yet. I don't think it's even hit me that there's a distinct possibility that I won't wake up tomorrow back in my bed in Rome. But it's easy for me to forget that there were a good eight months before I ever left, and a lot of things happened to me in that time as well.

So here, for your reading pleasure, are my favorite memories from the last year:

Germans buying us hapless, lost American shots of sour apple schnapps.

The opportunity to be a DJ at Chicago's own Lollapalooza.

Bonding over shitty movies including, but not limited to, Troll 2, Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus, and Jolly Roger: Massacre at Pirate's Cove.

Roman pizza - they cut it with scissors and sold it by the pound. Need I say more?

Hawaiian sunsets.

2 euro gyros in Athens.

A cold pint alongside a heaping helping of fish and chips in a London pub.

Getting to celebrate a new friend's 21st birthday party on the Nile.

Dried mangos.

Shark Week cake.

Mansgiving.

Having two last nights in Rome: one to say goodbye to the people I met, one to say goodbye to the city I grew to love.

Belgium's big six: waffles, chocolate, french fries, lace, beer, and mussels.

Sharing sangria in a bar in Barcelona frequented by Hemingway, Dali, and Picasso.

Fancy sandwiches made with roommates during summer lunch breaks.

Being taught by some of the greatest professors I've ever, or will ever, have the privilege to have (Dutch papal knight? Author and Hemingway scholar? Italian Clinton administration staffer?)

Alitalia Airlines, who serve free wine on EVERY flight.

Two words: Gelato Cake.

Wine festivals in small Italian villages.

Dirindl.

Grecian nights. Because, unlike some of my companions, I could actually remember most of what happened those nights.

Ear flap hats.

The kronor - Swedish currency with a 10 to 1 conversion rate. There's just something empowering about withdrawing 1000 of something from an ATM and not really caring.

Gondolas in Venice.

My band, the TVA, for rocking as hard as it ever did.

The Secret Bakery.

Giant Nerf gun fights with my brother after the entire family got one for Christmas.

The support of my friends and family when life got hard.

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An incomplete list to be sure. But I've been semi-working on this post for roughly a week now, and it's pretty boring so I'll end it now.

Thanks for being great readers and commenters (though I had my first unsubscriber yesterday, apparently). Though I have and always will hold that I write for me, your feedback and support makes it all that much better.

Best of luck in 2011, now I have to start working on a post right now if I want to get it up by the end of January...

-_-

2010-12-20T22:52:00.001-06:00

Well, it's over.

I fell off the face of the earth due to a large-scale end of the year banquet, easily the worst finals schedule I've ever encountered (including some 40-odd pages of research papers and gigantic tests), followed by the last night at the school - a night which was defined by the simple logic train of "Well, our bus leaves at 6am...might as well stay up all night!" as well as fueled by a good amount (and wide variety of) alcohols. Then, instead of going back to Chicago with the rest of the group, me and a few friends went to Cairo.

Ya know, for funsies.

Then I lost my laptop charger my last night in Rome after Cairo, and was therefore unable to blog whilst in Chicago.

So here I am, more than a week since my return to the states and roughly three since my last post, updating you on my life.

There's obviously a lot to say, and unfortunately I'm still jet-lagged beyond belief (though the all-nighter I pulled a couple days ago probably didn't help...) and can't write for shit right now. Just wanted to update you all on the fact that there should be lots of updates in the next couple of days, and that I was not, in fact, dead.

But, in an attempt to make this not a complete waste of a post, I feel as though I should return to an old, pre-Roman tradition:

NOSTALGIA MUSIC MONDAYS!!!

(I know how you all missed it dearly)

For this week's installment, I decided to hit up a semi-real song from one of the greatest Nicktoons of all time. Enjoy, and check back again in the next day or two for something remotely significant.

The Century Mark

2010-11-27T18:36:00.001-06:00

Well ladies and gentlemen, I've finally reached a milestone here on Soft Nonsense: 100 blog posts. Not quite the year mark (which is coming up in a couple months), but I felt that not commemorating it in some fashion would be a waste of an easy...er, fun...er...blog entry.

So, for your reading pleasure:

Soft Nonsense's 100th post, as interpreted through various forms of poetry

Haiku:

The blog’s one hundred
I’m not really sure how to
Commemorate it

Stole from Pat Tillet
He writes poems pretty well
Five syllables dumb

Sonnet:

I’ve written about a lot here
Comic books, Justin Beaver, Nicktoons
My first (and fourth) Oktoberfest beer
And about five men for whom I swoon

Life in newspaper and the radio
My roommates and my Mansgiving
My trip to Barca’s estadio
Can't forget Wash not living

All about having to get tampons
Plus Nostalgic Music Mondays
(Probably) a few tales of my brawn
Even formed a some new catchphrase (s - silent pluralization)

Sorry for that last verse, I’m not exactly a bard
(God this rhyming shit is hard)

Couplet:

Zombies, Red Rangers, and Dutch knights
Hank Azaria, NPH, and my fear of heights
A rough break-up (kind of a bitch)
Can’t forget hot dog potato chips
Me finding stray cats in Hawaii
My life being rather untidy
Lollapalooza, a manly moustache
And toiling under my professors' lash

Acrostic:

But through it all, you all have kept reading
On and on, rarely ceasing
Only the best things have you said
Basically, without you all, this blog would be dead
I look at my followers, some stuff I recommend
Even a few of you, I consider a friend
Some of you: I’m glad you appreciate the immature things

Cinquain:

Followers
Funny, smart
Writing, commenting, laughing
All obviously very sexy
Followers

Limerick:

And so I think its time for me to stop,
According to my European clock
So I bid you adieu
And thank all of you
For putting up with this slop.

Greatest/Most Horrifying News Short of the Zombie Apocalypse

2010-11-26T15:35:00.002-06:00

Now, I know this is supposed to be a Greece post.

I'd say I'm sorry, but this is fucking important.

I don't know how to tell you this, and I don't relish the fact that it is me who is breaking the news to you. What you are about to hear is equal parts heart-stoppingly terrifying and pulse-quickening(ly?) exciting*. Prepare yourselves accordingly.

*Meaning, I believe, that it keeps your pulse normal. Or explodes your chest cavity. Dammit Jim, I'm a history major, not a doctor!

Fossil Found of Super T Rex in Mexico

Sweet Jesus. Okay, already, the 6 year old in all of you should be excited. Everyone knows the Tyrannosaurus Rex is easily the most badass dinosaur of all time. Saw what you will about whatever your favorite is (I'm a velociraptor man myself), but the T-Rex is still the fucking tyrant lizard. Read on:

Throw away all of your pre conceptions about the Tyrannosaurus Rex; all of those images stuck forever in your head from Jurrasic Park. Long considered the most dominant animal to ever walk the face of the earth, the fossilized remains of a predator that dwarfed the T Rex have been found in what was once tar pits in southern Mexico.

The newly discovered and remarkably preserved remains have yet to be named; ‘Super T Rex’ is simply the monniker attached at the current time.
The dimensions are nothing short of mind boggling; While Tyrannosaurus ran 40 feet in length, 15 feet in height, and 7 tons, the Super T rex nearly doubled it. The specimen is estimated to have been 62 feet long, and stood just over 20 feet above the ground.

Okay. We knew about how awesome the idea was already, all that was was give us the numbers to back up our level of excitement. 62 feet long? 20 feet above the ground??? Teeth likely the size of small minivans??!!! And found in a tar pit? That's about the sweetest way to find anything old, and you know it.

But then...it gets scary.

But the size of the specimen isn’t even the most remarkable aspect; what has scientists world wide in a frenzy is the fact that there are actual soft tissue samples that have been preserved by the unique properties of the tar in which the animal was captured.

...Ex-squeeze me?*

*Baking powder?

Not only was there the skeleton of a giant ass ultra tyrant dinosaur, bringer of pubescent wet dreams and nightmares alike, but you're saying that there was meat of this thing leftover?!

Heavy, man.

The doors this discovery opens are remarkable; it is entirely possible at this point that a Jurassic Park like scenario in which DNA is extracted could now occur.

No. No no no. No no NO NO.

And yet yes. Sweet jesus yes.

Do you realize what this means?

Not only do we get to realize the beautiful vision laid forth by Mr. Spielberg and Mr. Crichton, but we get to realize it via the biggest, hardest, most undeniably badass lizard ever known. This thing likely ate pre-historic whales for sushi and shat out Ankylosaurus(es?). After a meal, it probably roundhouse kicked a fern and used it as a toothpick.

This dinosaur looked at a normal, pathetically-sized T-Rex and called it a bitch.

The only reason the asteroid hit the Earth millions of years ago was because this obviously angry son of a lizard was taking a tar pit bath, likely romancing a pair of duck-bills*.

*They gave great head.

Get it?

Don't worry, he was probably going to eat the shit out of them immediately afterwards.

Now, science took a lot away from us 90s kids the last few years (Pluto and dinosaurs brontosaurus and possibly the triceratops). They owe us a sweet dinosaur role model or two.

But even more than a sure-fire future ruled by mega dinosaurs, think about this:

In naught but a few years, you all could finally realize your dream of meeting me, your internet hero, over an ultra T-Rex burger.

That's right: dinosaur steaks. Eggs. Rex rinds. Tyrannosaur pate.

And that's not all. For the ladies: T-Rex skin purses strike your fancy? How about some sweet shoes?

But did Jeff Goldblum teach us nothing? Or that one guy who played Newman from Seinfeld? How many times does Samuel L. Jackson need to ask us to get these %&$#*ing dinosaurs out of his %$#@ing science research facility?

We must be careful. We should be scared.

But God should we be excited.

Photos of the skeleton will come out sometime in December.

Be ready: there will be follow-ups.

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Story care of http://scienceray.com/earth-sciences/paleontology/fossil-found-of-super-t-rex-in-mexico/

Soft Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T21:21:00.004-06:00

Well, it's 3:21 AM here in Roma, and I'm faaaiiiirrrllllyyy sleepydrunk right now. My friends Matt and Sarah and I decided to stay in Rome for Thanksgiving break (mostly because we're poor and have a lot of homework to do). I'll probably blog all about it in the next couple of days when I get all the pictures for it, but can't really do so at the moment.

Sorry.

It's been very weird being in a country that doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving. We had to remind ourselves all day that the world keeps turning everywhere else, and that today was nothing special for anyone but us Americans. Obviously, we spent the entirety of today being loud, kinda drunk Americans because, well, fuck blending in in the holiest of holy feasts of the Church of Merika.

But I wanted to crank out a Thanksgiving post real quick, especially because I don't have all of my pictures together for my Greece posts (so..far...behind...). So, in a quick, sleepydrunk fashion, here are the top 15 things I am thankful for on this, the most glorious of American holidays:

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15) Online TV - Old Nicktoons, new episodes of shows like Community, How I Met Your Mother, and Walking Dead, live football games, and movies online have all helped me cling (pathetically?) to my American, semi-couch potato lifestyle.

14) Italian food - From street pizza to fancy shmancy racks of lamb, these Italians might not be able to run anything efficiently, but sweet lord can they cook.

13) Immaturity - The fact that I still think of every person in London with red hair as being a Weasley, get no end of enjoyment in talking about Pixar movies, and giggle like a little kid when someone says "dootie," makes me beam with a pride that most should be ashamed of.

12) Dirindl - See my Oktoberfest post.

11) My friends in the blog world - As much as I like to say that I write this blog to make myself a better writer, a big portion of it is to entertain people. You all really help me push through the days that I don't feel like blogging, and every e-mail notification I get saying that I have a new comment on my blog makes me feel all warm and tingly inside (like the wine I had with dinner). Can't thank you all enough for the small bit of attention that you pay me.

10) The secret bakery - Will warrant a blog write up in the near future. Short version: 24 hour bakery, donuts the size of your head, cannoli, under a euro. Epic win.

9) Old friends - While I've made a slew of new friends here in Rome (and really, in college in general), there's always something to be said for the friends from elementary school who you can still pick up the phone, call, and talk to for an hour about nothing in particular. Those are the friendships that will always be there, no matter what, and the ones that should be treasured the most.

8) Authentic American food - You don't know how much you miss a good burger, pie, or cookie until you don't have access to them anymore. First day back in the US is going to be a calorie-filled day of greatness. Greatness and sugar and protein.

7) Great professors - All of my professors this semester are phenomenal, have genuinely inspired me to find what I want to do in life, grab a hold of it, and never let go. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

6) Man Night - A holdover from my time back in Chicago, there's something to be said for going out with the boyos for a brew or two to just relax and get to know each other better. God I sound like a drunk frat boy...

5) Feeling thankful for things - As strange as it sounds, I appreciate the ability to realize how lucky I am and try to not take too much for granted. I am thankful for the ability to see how many opportunities life has given me.

4) Easyjet, Ryanair, and all the like - I've regaled you with (some) of my jetsetting stories this semester, and it, quite frankly, wouldn't be possible without the fine (and by fine, I mean cheap and shitty) services offered by these airlines.

3) Little moments in which I can speak Italian and pretend I'm not too foreign - Yes, I know that, on the rare occasions that my very limited Italian skillset (Where is the bathroom? One piece of pizza please! That's good!) will carry me through in conversation, I still speak in an American accent. But it's nice at least seeming like I fight in...

2) History boners - I've references them a number of times on this blog with a fair amount of passion, but I feel like throwing them another (heh) bone here needs to happen. For me, the sheer fact that I can be emotionally moved by anything, including seeing the inside of the Colosseum for the first time,and be genuinely excited about learning about it is something that I deeply treasure. I've looked for a long time to find something that I'm interested in enough to really turn my full passion towards, and journalism and history have filled those roles. And blogging, of course. Yeah.

1) Family - Yes, they give me a whole lot of hell for a lot of things (they didn't take well to my Oktoberfest postings...). And yes, they really get on my nerves for a whole litany of reasons that I'll not get into right now. But without the support of my parents, who told me that I could go to college wherever I wanted and go abroad wherever I wanted, I wouldn't be where I am today, having the time of my life. I certainly won't forget everything that they've done for me and my siblings over the years to make the little moments possible. Though I might need a re-assertion of that love via a direct deposit to my savings account later this week.

Hope everyone has a great Turkey Day filled with overeating, family, friends, football, and chants of "USA! USA! USA!"

Oktoberfest 2010 Day 3: The Last Prost

2010-11-15T17:52:00.002-06:00

Part 1
Part 2

On our final day in Germany, we had a later afternoon flight, so we decided that we wanted one final stint in the festival would be the best use of our time. We broke the icicles off of our bodies from the night before, cursed Toby for not texting us appropriately, and headed to the grounds.

My breakfast:

Some sort of delicious pork burger thing that was probably the best-tasting thing in the world and absolutely horrifying for my arteries. Mike grabbed another wienershnitzel, and we headed to the next beer tent:

(after passing one of the greatest sights known to man)

When we got in, it was much less crowded than the day before (translating to a beer tent with about 10 open seats, instead of negative 40):

Then, after failing to flag down a beer wench for a good half an hour...

Ja!

I forgot to time stamp that one, but I did after, well, a bit.

So I'll let you do the math.

We also learned an interest German drinking game in which one person would stand up on their table, like so:

And then chug the ENTIRETY of their stein (the equivalent 3 or so very strong German beers) while the entire tent pounded their mugs and cheered him/her* on.

*Mostly hims.

It happened five times in our 30 minutes there, and likely resulted in roughly 4 deaths.

Fact.

------

Unfortunately, we had to leave shortly thereafter. After one last longing look at the splendour* of Oktoberfest, a reminiscence of good times, and a sudden bought of guilt driven by the sheer amount of fat, calories, and alcohol streaming through our veins, we headed back to The Tent:

*With a u, because I'm fancy and European like that now.

Gathered all of our stuff, returned the four (no exaggeration) blankets they had given us, and left for our flight. We couldn't resist one last German pastry on our way out:

And to put our coldness into perspective, here is a picture of the layers that I was wearing during our time there:

That would be an undershirt, a second, heavier t-shirt, a long-sleeve thermal, a thick pullover, and a jacket.

------

And that concludes Oktoberfest. Next up Greece.

Which is, of course, 9 days long and will require a post for each of the days. Check here often, I'm going to blogging like a fiend to try and catch up.

Oktoberfest 2010 Day 2: Something German This Way Comes

2010-11-15T09:25:00.002-06:00

Part 1

A prelude to the glory that is one of the most guten tag-in, sausage-eatin, liederhosen gawkin' days in the entirety of my life, I need to describe to you what the night before that day was like.

As a reminder, I was sleeping in a giant tent, meaning that there was naught but a small bit of canvas between me and the elements. Second, I was sleeping on top of a giant concrete slab, which does not make for a great way to stave off the cold. Third, the weather was like hell, but the thermal opposite. Not only was it a horrifying level of frigid already, but it was also pouring down rain at levels that would have rivaled that of Noah's floods.

It was one of the worst nights that I've ever experienced in the entirety of my existence. After coming back to "The Tent" with Mike post-fire, I spent the next 7 hours or so in a constant state of shiver. When I woke up, I was absolutely exhausted, plus borderline bronchial.

But when I woke up, got dressed in an awkward way that minimized skin-to-air contact, and braced myself for the outside world, I knew I had to rally. Because....because I was in the Fatherland during the greatest time of the year. Because damn it, I had an obligation as a stout, blond, bearded gentleman with an affinity for women in dirindl and a last name with a hard Z-sound to get out there and embrace German culture like it was a sweet sweet human-sized sausage.

And so, I made this speech:

Now tell me you're not inspired. That's practically Braveheart, Caesar crossing the Rubicon shit.

And with that, we gathered our spirits and a couple semi-friends, rubbed our tired eyes, threw on an extra pair of socks, and began the trek to Oktoberfest.

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Now, keep in mind: we're leaving our hostel at roughly 8am to even get a spot at a beer tent. When we got there, there were already lines all over the grounds. We scrambled around, looking for the shortest one at the Hofbrauhous. After winding our way around a giant, muddy line, this is what we walked in to:

Ja.

The tent officially opened at 9, and we had to wait forever to finally get our steins....

Don't judge me. It's a cultural experience.

And because we didn't want beer to be the only course at breakfast, we decided to split a pretzel.

Which just come in that size. Like everywhere.

About this time (i.e. - once we'd had roughly half a stein), we began talking to one of our neighbors, a German man named Toby.

After we chatted in surprisingly good English, he said the words that would shape the remainder of Mike and my day:

"Ve shood get drrunk togedder."

And that is how we spent the afternoon in Oktoberfest with real, honest-to-God Germans.

They all showed us around the fair, taking us far beyond the tents and sausage stands that we had limited ourselves to. Some highlights?

That's right, a Jumanji ride. Oktoberfest is the best.

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Eventually, we all decided that we were in the mood to sit and have another stein. And so we searched a few other tents, chatting and having a grand old time. Toby somehow managed to find another stein sitting around (number three on the da, for those of you playing at home), and it seemed to go rather quickly through him.

AKA - He peed here.

On the way, as a bonding experience, they bought us some authentic German shnapps (sour apple!) and they taught us how to toast. Then after a series of ventures into various, overly crowded tents:

However, we couldn't find a seat at any of them. Leading us to realize: it's harder to get drunk at Oktoberfest than one would imagine.

But we had some adventures nonetheless.

(Some adventures are best left untold)

Soon, though, they had to come to an end. One of our German friends got a headache, and wanted to go back to their hotel to lay down and take some Tylenol. Toby gave us his number and promised to text us to meet up later that night. We reminded him that our phone couldn't send or receive phone calls or send texts, and that he had to tell us exactly when and where to meet him in his text. He said he understood, and said they'd see us later.

And so Mike and I began to explore. And eat. Mostly eat though.

First point of awesomeness for German culture: their sharpshooting games?

Use crossbows.

Yup. German biker gang.

And look at Star Trek paintings on kiddie rides.

Then we decided to take a break from the Oktoberfest vibe for a bit and wander the city. We had had a lot of beer and sausage and walking on the day, and wanted to explore Munich a bit. The fact that we were out of cash also helped out decision making process, and we didn't know where to closest ATM was.

As we wandered the streets, we saw something that intrigued us:

Don't look at my blog like that. Mike and I are sushi-holics, and hadn't had our fix in a good, long while. When we looked at the menu and saw that it was cheap, looked at our freshly refilled wallets, and looked deep into our souls and saw what we were about to do was good, we dove in:

But its fine!

We had German beer to even it out.

Then we headed back to the main grounds to Germanize ourselves again with some wienerschnitzel:

And spent a little more time in an accessible beer tent before needing to call it a night for a bit. We headed to the train station (where we found this:)

(Nerds of the world unite!)

And headed back to The Tent.

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One final story: in case you were wondering, we DID hear back from Toby, at around 12:30 in the morning. We were almost ready for bed, but told ourselves that we would go out and meet them if they talked to us before one. His text?

"Hey, where are you?"

And so the second-most repeated phrase of the weekend (behind "follow the liederhosen" and in front of "ein bratvurst, bitte") became:

"Fucking Toby."

scenes of soft nonsense

2010-11-08T17:34:00.000-06:00

In a slight break from my European updates, brought upon by my lack of time (most take a couple hours due to slow uploading times, reminiscing, and intermittent Wikipedia ventures) and desire to shake things up a bit, I decided to put up a short post tracing a few musings, presented in snippet form.

Readysetgo.

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As I sit here in the library of my school, there is a guy not but 10 feet from me working on a paper. The only things surrounding him? His laptop, a book, a pair of cappuccinos, and a plate of snacks. And a half-drunk glass of champagne.

Dio benedica Roma.

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Another library-related story: during my studies (see next blurb), I went upstairs to drop the kids off at the pool* and heard a door swing open, then saw one of the most attractive girls on campus scurry down past me back into the biblioteca. Which lead to a few of questions:

1) Can I still look at her the same way, knowing that she is a non-flusher?
2) Can I still look at her the same way, knowing what she didn't flush?
3) Can I still look at the guy she makes out with the same way, knowing that, if they go beyond college hooking up, I have foreseen something that he likely won't for another 5-10 years?

*In case that wasn't clear:
bomb the oval office
drop a deuce
drown the brown snake
bust porcelein
or an Italian flair - coronate Emperor Gluteus Maximus III
poop**

**Did I mention that I'm single?

------

I have an essay for my English class due on Wednesday over a book that I haven't finished reading yet that I just remembered about today. So far tonight I have accomplished:

4 pages read
2 episodes of Community (George Takei + zombie episode = best Halloween episode of anything ever? Also, the one and only time that the use of ABBA is to be permitted)
1 episode of How I Met Your Mother
1/2 blog post
3 hours trolled on various comic websites

How time flies when one is having fun.

The site that I spent most of my time on was (let's face it - is and will be) Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal. It's a mostly one-panel collection of cartoons, and had me awkwardly ROFL-coptering in between the stacks earlier. Put bluntly: it tickles my nerdy, 12-year old bones to the core with a nice combination of Star Wars, satire, and boobies. Some highlights to entice you to give them your web traffic:

Can't lie: have used this line, as well as a couple of variants involving Mussolini, Ghandi, and Michael Cera.

Stillllll single ladies.

If only.

I've seen the Pope - this could be a reality.

Other winners in the SN troll-a-thon?

Hipster Hitler - Hitler as, um, a hipster?
Vladimir Putin Action Comics - A behind-the-scenes look at the former Russian leader, giving us a glimpse into how truly terrifying the man is (He supports Leno!!!)
Penny Arcade - If you don't know about Penny Arcade already, then you are likely not in my target audience. Stop reading this blog (after commenting and telling all of your friends how awesome it is), click the link, and read, my pretties, READ!!!

MWAAHAAAHAAAHAAAAAHAAAAAA!

....and I wonder why people insist on using Wizard of Oz references when I say I'm from Kansas.

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For those of you who read my last post (READ IT - it has video!), you'll see that I noted a sharp incline in followers in the last few days. It then recently came to my attention that I got a shout-out from my blog friend Amber at Nostomanic which included a sweet award (the Woody Allen one to the right somewhere) and a notification of my handsomeness*. If you aren't already, you need to check out her blog, I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a better one out there if you're a twentysomething (though if you're a new follower from the shout-out, you already know that...).

She consistently blows all of my ramblings out of the water with nostalgic and nerd hypothetical galore and bomb-ass cartoons to back them up. Plus, she's generally an awesome person.

*If it's on the Internet, it must be true.
Ladies.

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Back to Oktoberfest in the next day or two, though I do have that essay due on Wednesday...and then another book to read by Thursday....then I'm going to Berlin and Stockholm and Brussels this weekend...

Patience is a virtue.

Oktoberfest 2010 Day 1: Follow the Liederhosen! (With Video!)

2010-11-07T05:46:00.001-06:00

I'm sorry bloggers and blogesses - I have failed you.

....again....

I know that your weeks are practically defined by the next time you can get updated on my life. That your one glimmer of hope each day is to come home from your dull lives to get online, frantically type my URL into your browser on the of chance that I had updated in the time it took for you to close out of Firefox at work to get home onto your personal computer, was absent for a few weeks. Then, after that, I allowed myself to fall behind a full month in events to catch you up on.

For that, I am sorry.

And, by God, I will be blogging like a fiend to catch you up on the three mind-blowing and possibly life-altering experiences that you've missed.

So I've got my work cut out for me, especially because I'm exhausted, each of these will take a gargantuan effort to put up, I might not remember everything, and I haven't written much besides terrible midterm papers for weeks.

So you have that to look forward to.

Up first: visiting the Fatherland during Oktoberfest...

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I spent the first two weeks or so of my time in Rome planning out all the places I wanted to go this semester. At one point, the list came it at something like 15 countries (not cities, mind you - countries). Never having been to Europe, I wanted to experience as much as I possibly could, and was pretty open to any and all experiences.

But when I was reminded that Oktoberfest in Germany was not only an easily-reachable destination, but also occurred during the month of October (making it fit quite nicely into a Fall semester abroad), I knew that I had to go.

For a few points of order:

1) While I don't especially like beer now (though I have developed a taste for it as of late, more on that in a bit), I absolutely HATED it going into study abroad. I viewed drinking beer as near-synonymous with drinking not only urine, but a finely crafted, bitter urine that had been fermented in a rotten barrel and likely came from a steady diet of all that is evil in the food world (brussels sprouts, papaya, liver and onions, and anything made by my elementary school cafeteria besides mini corn dogs)

2) There is a lot of beer at Oktoberfest.

Despite these two seemingly contrarian facts, I knew I had to go. I never got to embrace any sort of ethnic culture growing up aside from proud American, and I thought it would be really fun to attach myself to my (very) German genetics, even if only for a weekend. So I grew a manly Oktoberfest beard, hitched up my imaginary liederhosen, and booked a flight and crappy hostel and boarded my late September flight* with high hopes. And my friend Mike.

*Yeah, apparently Oktoberfest also happens in September. I don't understand either. But don't you dare insult my people.

And, in my enthusiasm to document the fact that, yes, I was heading to another country, I took a picture of the first thing in German I saw:

No, not the most exciting of pictures. But don't squash my enthusiasm, you bastards.

Also saw these little bumps from our window:

When we got off our flight, Mike and I continued giggling like the little schoolgirls we are at heart, repeating the phrase "OMG WE'RE IN GERMANY' and attempting to pronounce random German words a good hundred times. Soon we found our way to the train we needed to take to get to Munich, and admired all of the fine German people sitting all around us. Soon, as we approached our destination, these folks got on:

We nearly cried.

Soon, as we closed in on the promised land, we weighed our options. Our original plan had been simply to drop our stuff (consisting of a tightly-packed backpack apiece) off at our hostel and spending the rest of the night doing what we could at the festival. But, we were starving, and Oktoberfest was on the way, ssssoooo....

After randomly running into some people that someone in our group new (already fairly blasted, despite the fact that it was about 3pm at the time), we walked around in a circule with a circumference of about 100 feet, then settled upon a stand to obtain our first of many bratwurst (pronounced, according to my three-page German cheat sheet I printed out before leaving, "ber*phlegm*ATverst")

And oh, what a bratwurst it was.

NOM.

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After having a slew of mouthgasms, we headed to the tram to head to our hostel.

Now, a quick word about our hostel: Mike and I didn't quite realize the extent of unprepared we were. By that I of course mean that we didn't realize that the vast majority of people who attend Oktoberfest and don't live in Munich are, in fact, poor, young, drunk people. And, as I'm sure most of you know, such a crowd tends to not have much money, and what little they had was already set aside for beer and sausage and schnitzel consumption. Therefore, they all want to stay in the cheapest housing available: the hostel. We especially fell under this classification. However, we also fell under another classification: dumb and lazy. Therefore, we didn't start looking for a hostel of our own until two weeks beforehand.

Which is how we came to love "The Tent."

Yup. Sounds like a winner, don't it?

It was, in fact, simply a gigantic tent. Concrete floor, 60 or so bunk beds, some lockers for valuables, and a tent covering it all.

Like, that's it.

But all the workers were really great and helpful (AND SPOKE ENGLISH IN A SWEET GERMAN ACCENT). Plus they catered to pretty much every need one could have.

Fourth one down or so. They sure know their target audience.

We obviously couldn't wait to get back to the festival, so we went to grab some tickets for the tram.

Hehe.

Hehehehe.

We didn't quite remember if we were getting on the correct tram, so we went by the old adage:

Follow the Liederhosen.

When we got back and got to gaze upon the full glory of Oktoberfest. Which, apparently, also translates to giant-ass carnival full of awesome things.

:'D

Now, there will be more pictures of the fantasticness next post (spoiler alert: ROLLER COASTERS), but here, for your viewing pleasure for the second time ever on Soft Nonsense, is a video presentation that sums up (and, really, tells the story better than I ever could) our first evening at Oktoberfest after we found some of our friends:

Cheers indeed.

Then we all went out to explore Munich a bit, saw a sweet castle thing:

...like you do in Europe.

Then I ate pancake soup.

...like you do in Germany.

Then Mike and I headed back to The Tent and was greeted by a giant bonfire filled with happy, drunk Australians.

...like you do in...The Tent...I guess...

And so went Day 1 at Oktoberfest. More to come ASAP.

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Quick side note: had a sudden upswing of followers last week, greetings and thanks to all y'all. I'll take that as a hint to update less often.

Some Sort of Hilarious Zombie/Walking Pun

2010-10-27T20:29:00.001-05:00

I'm sorry for the lull in the posts the last couple of days (weeks? ugh...), but midterms are kind of a bitch and when the two things that need to be written about are Oktoberfest and a Greece trip, both things that were kind of life changing, blogging suddenly seems a bit more intimidating than usual.

....which is why I decided to write about the series premier of the Walking Dead instead.

I'll get to that stuff eventually. Probably. Forgive me as I shake off some rust off the ol' typing fingers and some of that weird green sleep stuff from the corners of my eyes.

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For those of you who don't know (shame on you), the Walking Dead is an utterly fantastic ongoing comic book series about what would really happen in the zombie apocalypse: real humans fighting not only the undead, but also each other and their inner demons. More than being fodder for zombie-obsessed dorks like myself, it gives a strangely believable look at what the world would look like if society broke down and people had to choose between their humanity and survival. It's an ongoing story about the real dynamics of relationships under stress, and really examines how far people are willing to go in order to ensure the safety of those they care about.

Plus, IT'S A FUCKING ZOMBIE COMIC BOOK.

When my friends turned me on to it, I loved it from the beginning. And when it was announced that AMC was working on adapting it into a TV show, my creamy, nerdy center was whipped into such a frenzy that I made it into a lovely key lime pie with "I <3 ZOMBIEZ" written in blood red food coloring. The subject material was so good, how could they mess it up?!*

*Off the top of my head and in no particular order:
Star Wars I-III
Kazaam: Shaq as a genie!
GI Joe
Transformers
Watchmen (kinda)
Any Batman movie that didn't involve Chris Nolan or Michael Keaton, especially the ones involved giant rubberized nipples
A live action movie of Mario and Luigi
Speed Racer
Dr. Steve Brule TV show
Sequels to: the Matrix, Garfield, Caddyshack, Dumb and Dumber, Spiderman 2, Pirates of the Caribbean, Avatar
More Indiana Jones!
A Garfield movie in general

Eventually a bit of reality set it, and I became a bit skeptical out of a general defense mechanism: things that I really love that become suddenly big or adapted to a movie or TV show or anything often disappoint. Therefore, I lower my expectations to soften the (obviously certain) blow that (always) comes with the delivery of said adaptation. I was excited, but cautious: I didn't need another heartbreak in my life.

But when my friend got a hold of the first episode yesterday, I was beside myself in joy: it delivers. It borrows a lot from the comics (in the best possible way), but tweaks things occasionally for the better. Even if you haven't read the comics it comes from (which you should, immediately), do tune in on Halloween to watch it if you aren't getting too cray cray with your slutty party costumes (lookin' at you D). You won't regret it.

Call Me Oscar

2010-10-11T17:46:00.010-05:00

In preparation for Oktoberfest, I allowed my man-beard to grow out to fully embrace my blond, Germanic roots, but also embrace the inherent manliness of a festival that involves copious amounts of beer, sausage, fried food, and women in dirndl.

But that is a story for another time (when I'm not so sleepy/leaving in another 3 hours or so for Greece).

This is the story of the aftermath of that beard.

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I, like so many young men before me, have always been curious about my Narcissian mug (apt reference?) and its ability to rock various kinds of facial hair. Therefore, I had vowed that, once I had the proper amount of manscruff, I would take my time in getting rid of it and properly explore my future options.

Being the avid blogger that I am, I documented the process.

You're welcome.

Opener (from Oktoberfest):

Trimmed full beard:

Nothing too major here, just classing it up a bit. I look a bit wiser, or as wise as I can possibly look with a dumb looking beard thing.

Next I moved on to the goatee:

I felt a little weird rocking the goatee, it seemed somewhat forced. I was quick with the trimmer/razor to get it off of my face. But don't get a desire to end the goatee with a desire to move on to the final stage of my transformation. Because what you are about to see will not only effect your opinions on my, on facial hair, and on the 1970's, but also your opinion on anyone with who even vaguely resemble the monstrosity on my face.

I'll space it out so that you can leave now if you choose.

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Yes. That is not one, but two molester-staches.

I'm sorry for those of you who stuck around.

And I feel sorrier for those who feel like they have the stomach to continue wading through the proceeding pictures.

Because I, in my infinite wisdom, decided that the mustache alone was not enough.

My shame is now palpable. I can literally taste the humiliation in my mouth, and I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with the "flavor saver" adorning my lip in the picture.

But there's more.

*SIGH*

I don't know why I did this. Maybe all the Euro-trash surrounding me finally got to my head. Maybe I had a supreme desire to look like a strange combination of Starsky and Hutch-style buddy cop and old-school star in a skin flick. Maybe the 'stache and 'burns had sent tendrils into my brain like some sort of terrible parasite and decided to make myself look like the biggest idiot imaginable.

All I know is that I no longer have nothing to hide. There is nothing lower to me than that. Except maybe for what the implications of rocking such a combo probably lead one to believe that I have improper relations with, well, pretty much everyone and everything. So please don't judge me for my moment of foolishness: instead, judge me for my willingness (even desire) to put all of this on my blog where ANYONE can see my disgust.

Depending on the internet situation in Greece, this might be my last post for the next couple of days. If not, up next: OKTOBERFEST

Vino!

2010-10-07T20:45:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry bloggers and blogesses - I have failed you. I know that your weeks are practically defined by the next time you can get updated on my life. That your one glimmer of hope each day is to come home from your dull lives to get online, frantically type my URL into your browser on the of chance that I had updated in the time it took for you to close out of Firefox at work to get home onto your personal computer, was absent for a few weeks.

For that, I am sorry.

...especially because I'm going to Greece tomorrow for the next ten days.

Oopsies!

But a bit of good news: the finest football team in the nation, the Nebraska Cornhuskers, play tonight at 1:30 AM my time. As it is currently 11:42, I have a whole bunch of time to wait until it starts (who needs sleep?!), so I'm going to be blogging nonstop to try and update you on my life, then trying to figure out how to autopost them so that they can continue updating when I'm sunning on the lovely beaches of the Mediterranean, history nerding and eating gyros and drinking ouzo with my knighted and Dutch history professor.

Don't worry: I'm sure it will make for a great blog post. And between bites of kebob, I'm sure I'll miss you all dearly.

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Couple weeks back my friends and I decided we needed a good old-fashioned Italian holiday. And what better way to get into the Italian spirit than going to a small town and drinking an excess of wine at a grape festival?

Exactly.

And so, after some interesting train riding, we finally got to Velletri, a town southeast of Roma, for the fest at about 1 in the afternoon and found that it was the perfect picture of a small Italian city:

So, remember how I said we got there at 1? Thinking we were a bunch of well-prepared and early showers, we failed to realize that, well...it didn't actually start until....well, we weren't really sure. All we knew was that it sure as hell wasn't anywhere near 1. Oopsies. That, plus the unannounced downpour of rain, quite downed our hopes for a quality weekend excursion. After a bit of wandering and time-killing we had pretty much exhausted all we thought that a quaint little town could offer, and were contemplating cutting our losses.

Then the heavens opened up and the tubas started to play.

We followed them on a procession through the city (to, somehow, places that we had yet to venture):

Then we found where the real action was:

Each of those wooden structures are separate wine tasting stations. For five euro, we got our own commemorative wine glass and 10 passes to use on nine different stations (number 10 was for your favorite). And no, these were not your California-sized wine shots: these were full-on glasses of wine.

So we had some fun.

Look at us: lookin' all classy and shit.

(My pinky is totally extended just outside the frame)

Oooohhh yeah.

Kelsey isn't a fan of wine. What a good sport.

So story time.

As I got around to station 9, I was feeling rather pleased about life. Particularly because some people (aforementioned Kelsey, for example) passed along their pleasantries on to me because said pleasantries weren't to their liking and I apparently seemed like I needed to be more pleasant. But anywho, as I got to the final station, I made eye contact with the women working at the station. Like, one of those looks where someone smiles at you with their whole face and things slow down a little bit. We talked a little in rudimentary Italian, and I caught her checking me out more than once.

I'd certainly be lying if saying that using two other 10's on Station 9 that I picked up were simply because I liked theirs the best (I did).

The last thing we saw in Velletri was a jazz/soul band named Save Your Face who were...interesting. They were really talented, and had a cool set up (the keyboard player also played the drums), and were really unique sounding.

And they wore welding masks while they played. So there's that.

Finally, once we got back to Rome, we went to a restaurant called "L'Archetto", which serves 140 different kinds of spaghetti.

No, I'm not going to try to have every single kind.

I'm too poor.

Barca Day 3: Coffee, Comics, and Wrinkle Tan Lines

2010-09-19T09:33:00.003-05:00

Day 1

Day 2

When we woke up and finally mobilized on our last day in Barcelona, we were famished (and also missing a valued team member, Mike, as he had to go back a day early to make it to class on Monday on time). But we soon came to realize that there could only be one thing to satiate our hunger: a good old-fashioned American-ish breakfast. To our credit, we didn't mean the Deluxe Ultra Mega Biscuit and sausage-egg-cheese-sausage sandwich at McEpic Burger, just some eggs and sausage, with a bit of toast. The most important meal of the day is never served at our school, and is in fact barely practiced in Rome.

So we set out on our noble fast-breaking endeavor, eager for the promise of a steaming hot plate of love and, after a decent amount of wandering time, happened upon a place who had a full breakfast menu posted on the outside, complete with the foreign/dumb American's best friend: corresponding numbers. We entered, excited to not only get our wish, but also to have to think as little as possible in our goal-fulfillment. We found it odd that they didn't have the menu inside as well, so we ran back outside to refresh our memories on what we wanted, but thought nothing of it.

As our first brave yet happy companion approached the counter, he said simply "seis" with a big smile. For perspective, this was Sean, our big, happy, Alabaman whose foreign language abilities are roughly on par with mine: near negligent. The lady at the counter looked a little confused for a moment, but then seemed to understand.

"Cafe?"

The five of us assumed she had asked whether he wanted coffee with his meal, which he most certainly did, so he nodded vigorously. We all looked around at each other, assured of our deliverance into sweet animal by-product heaven.

When we looked back at the counter, we realized that she was now pouring us six coffees. More specifically, she was pouring Sean six coffees.

Hmm.

Russel, our Spanish-fluent travel buddy, quickly talked her down to five, saying something about how he had misspoken and that there were only five people who wanted coffee. She nodded her understanding, almost certainly recognizing our American idiocy and yet taking it in stride.

And that, my friends, is the story of my first cup of coffee.

We didn't feel like going in and trying again afterwards, so we went to a cafe down the street where we could just point like cavemen to what we wanted.

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After we ate, we began wandering a little. That is when I stumbled upon what may end up being my new travel tradition: purchasing a comic book in each country I visit.

Yup, cardboard cutouts sitting overtop a comic book store. Nearly brought a tear to my eye and a song to my nerdy heart*.

*That song, of course, being the Star Trek: Voyager opening theme.

As it was Sunday and mid-siesta, the store was closed, so I couldn't begin my tradition there (guess I'll just have to go back to Spain...), but I think I'm going to try to go out of my way from now on to make it happen. Everyone can collect postcards or shot glasses or what have you from different countries: this way I can still be bringing back memories while being unique and, let's face it, myself.

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Then we headed over to the Sagrada Familia, a gigantic Catholic church that had been under construction for over 200 years with a huge amount of work to do before its completion. Pics (be sure to click for better detail - the intricacies are unbelievable):

And we were all like...

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For our final grand plan in Spain (we needed our beauty sleep - we were told that we had to be up at 3am the next day to catch our flight, which wasn't exactly welcome news), we decided to head to the beach to relax and dine while getting one last scope of Spanish architecture on our way:

Interesting crosswalk:

Finally we made it to the beach, where we found this:

Unfortunately, it was also followed swiftly by the realization that most European beaches are topless, or at least have the option of being topless.

And not particularly in the good way.

In order to avoid scarring you all as I was scarred, I have a short list of mental images for you.

Octogenarians in speedos

400 pounds, yet still more tan than I will ever be

Pancakes

Man who was very evenly tanned - all over

Large woman, rubbing tanning lotion - also all over

Tan lines around wrinkles

But aside from all that, there was all this:

Caitlin, lookin' fab:

An honest to goodness workout facility on the beach:

...Which made us all want to go eat.

Mmmm...paella...

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One last thing: on our way back, I saw a poster for this movie

Can anyone explain that to me? Are the Spanish spoofing themselves? Is some other country spoofing them? Are they spoofing us Americans who like to spoof stuff by spoofing themselves, making for a quadruple spoof*?

Perhaps we are not so different after all.

*Math is hard.

Barca! Barca! Baaaaarca!

2010-09-17T17:13:00.005-05:00

Day 1

We started off dia dos (see what I did there?) in Spain with some good old-fashioned wandering, wanting to take in as much Spanish architecture as we could while we were there before we returned to continue getting spoiled with Roman architecture.

Eventually, we stumbled upon a Spanish bluegrass band who, because the idea of a Spanish bluegrass band apparently wasn't awesome enough, was named "The New Orleans Ragamuffins." Plus, they sang in a weird Spanish creole. So, so cool.

Then, , we realized a pattern. We saw these flags:

All over the city. After some investigation, we realized that it was a yearly festival commemorating and complaining about Catalan (the province/former country Barcelona is located in) being absorbed into Spain at large. There's still a huge amount of passion about the subject...

...despite the fact that it happened almost 200 years ago. But people are still incensed enough to warrant the presence of the military police.

And yes, the Spanish version is just as intimidating as the Roman one. The event stretched for blocks, all the way to the Spanish Arc du Triumph.

They even had an apparently sweet catering service:

I could only assume they served white bread (toasted, dry, with nothin' on it) and whole fried chickens. With Coke.

After all our wandering, we moved on to the main event: the FC Barcelona soccer (calcio/futbol/football) match against Hercules.

We, of course, being hardcore spors fans, wouldn't dress anything less than to the nines for our first European soccer immersion.

(Not pictured: Caitlin and Mike. No Caitlin because she was taking the picture. No Mike because he's a loser who didn't dress or or go to the game. Hipsters...)

In order to get our shwag on, we decided to go to the Official Barca store to see how horribly overpriced the jerseys etc were (very). Before heading to a slew of knock-off stores to buy our wares through a series of barters, we noticed this small piece of merchandise:

Yes indeed, ladies and gentlemen (laaaaadies...). That would be an official FC Barcelona G-String.

And that's all I have to say about that.

The stadium, which seats 98,000 and is the biggest in Europe:

A shot of the Hercules crowd after they scored one of their two goals:

A small, but brave contingency to be sure.

Unfortunately, Barca lost (in a game they most certainly shouldn't have), so there were roughly 97,200 fans who left that stadium disappointed (myself included, fandom by proxy and all). The crowd was much more deflated than I had envisioned: the rioting was at a minimum, and when you're expecting something akin to what would happen in the event of a nuclear holocaust if 98,000 people were fighting over the final piece of bread, anything less than a dozen fights are a little meh.

But it gave us lots of time for pictures.

So, while we were disheartened, and didn't quite have the full experience that a gigantic soccer game should have brought us, it was still a great night. Because, at the end of the day, when a drunken soccer hooligan answers his show like a phone and tells your friend that its for him, you know everything's going to be alright.

Plus, as horribly tired we were by the end of the day, we absolutely lost our shit when we saw these:

Yes, we are mature college students. Which made it all the sweeter when an old, overweight, Spanish man came in and got the "extra pleasure" brand. And we wonder why no one likes America.

Jealousy.

Barcelona Day 1

2010-09-14T12:49:00.036-05:00

As much as I would have loved to go to an abroad program where I didn't know anyone going in and could truly immerse myself in the culture, my current experience does have a lot of advantages. Because most of the people here in my school also go to Loyola, it gives me a good chance to create friendships that will carry over for the next couple of years, and it lets me study subjects in history that I'm especially interested in. But most of all, we have three day weekends, meaning a quick stint in another country isn't just doable, its practically recommended. As someone who has been outside of the US roughly one and a half times, it's a major, major perk.

Like I said a few days ago, I took a semi-spur of the moment trip with some of my friends to Barcelona to kick off my travelling this semester*. We wanted to go somewhere, found cheap tickets to Barcelona, and just went.

Behold the magic of $40 plane tickets.

*My list so far:
Ostia Antica - Former major Roman seaport slash current archeological site with amazingly preserved buildings and catacombs
Oktoberfest/Munich - For embracing my German heritage. Really.
Greece - Weeklong school trip that goes around to seven locations in ten days, scratching my history itch so hard that I'll likely be scarred forever. In the best possible way.
Pompeii - Some of the best-preserved ruins of the empire thanks to a massive volcanic eruption. Small price to pay, right?
SUPER TRIP - Three countries. Three days. Berlin to Brussels to Stockholm. Not my ideal mode of travel, but I feel like everyone should have a jet-setting weekend.
London - Oh, no big here. Just going up the weekend of the Harry Potter premiere. And the 25th anniversary performance of Les Miserables. Whatever though.

Possibly more to come? Cairo perhaps?

So late Thursday night, we went to one of Rome's two airports, only to have our flight leave late. We weren't delayed per se, we just didn't get told to line up on the plane for a good hour and a half later than we were supposed to because, as I have learned, Europe simply denies that being on-time is a thing.

We ended up not landing in Barcelona until 12:30 or so, then not getting to our rooms until something like 2. Which brings me to my next point: hostels = creeptastic. Really, ours wasn't too terribly disgusting or sketch, as it was (relatively*) clean and populated more by college-age foreigners than creepy international serial killers. However, the concept of living with 13 other people in one room with the approximate dimensions of 10 meters by 10 meters** just isn't something that one naturally gravitates towards.

*On a scale of garbage dump and immaculate hospital whose head physician was Dr. Mr. Clean, it was roughly a messy dorm room.
**Look how worldly I am!

The next morning we were kicked out of our hostel at 10, as we got lucky enough to book our beds one of the two weekends out of the year that it gets fumigated, so we went out wandering, starving and looking for food. What we found simultaneously filled that urge and silenced it: an open market.

First delicious looking fruits and veggies:

Then awkward raw meat and fish...

For bonus points, identify each of the following: what animal the heads are, cow tongue, testicles, liver, and intestines, brains, and whatever the hell those pink hanging things are.

Giant creepy tuna head:

But then the market made up for itself by playing to my immaturity:

Hehe.

Sangria. Hehehe. In hats. Hehehehe.

CANDY!!!!!!

Then we went to a restaurant, only to sit for 20 minutes unsure of how exactly to order. Eventually the Spanish-fluent member of our group, Russel, garnered the courage to more or less say "Excuse me, we are stupid Americans - how does this work?" Eventually we figured it out and ate what turned out to be the first of many sandwiches in Spain (seriously, of the 10 meals I ate there, I think at least one of us had a sandwich at least six of them due to lack of options).

We then meandered about for awhile up and down a street called "La Rambla," which had a bunch of street vendors and performers all over it. Some highlights:

One of my faves: crazy pet store including...

Chipmunks

Pheasants?

And bunnies and mouses...

....sold by the bundle.

Then we decided that we hadn't eaten poorly/spent enough, so we went to a famous bakery.

Had a conversation (IN SPANISH) with a lovely waitress (with Russel's help...)

Mmmm.....

Then we wandered to the coastline:

...And promptly fell asleep.

Damn fine nap though.

Then, our first tapas of the trip:

Then we went on a quick barhop, including this place:

Where smarties such as Hemingway, Dali, and Picasso once created (and quenched thirsts).

As you can see, I kept up the tradition of class and sophistication alive and well.

We ended the night at a bar that served over 500 different kinds of shots, which was rather daunting to someone who doesn't really drink. Though I didn't partake, some highlights included the Boy Scout (set fire to the counter, roast a marshmallow, then dunk it in a shot, eat the marshmallow and take the shot), the Harry Potter (basically more and more fine, extinguished by a simple wave of the bartender's hand), the Willy Wonka (shot with whipped cream and M&Ms in it), and one that involved the drinker leaning back, having alcohol poured in his/her mouth, then having their head violently shaken for a good 30 seconds. It was basically a European dance rave club with shots, so I didn't get any pictures of worth.

Even more to come tomorrow...*twitch*...

Some Loud(er) Nonsense

2010-09-12T13:22:00.003-05:00

I'll take a short break from Euro-posting (like that? Made that up myself.*) and link you over to an interesting blog post that fellow (yet superior) blogger Shamey at Shame Lane just put up today. Admittedly, its largely interesting to you all because it is, in fact, about me.

Shamey is a very gifted writer who mostly focuses on his own sexual and emotional development as he works through issues stemming from his childhood. Its very interesting reading, especially if you're interested in junior psychology (me) and can stomach his out-there and very real style. I've been following the blog for quite awhile after I found it via the Sassy Curmudgeon/ultra-bloggess Una LaMarche, and have enjoyed the ride thoroughly. His own insight has given me a little peek into my own personal development as a person, and I enjoy commenting and probing deeper into his feeling and motivations. Very intriguing stuff.

In one of his last posts, he discussed a situation where he forced himself to overcome some of his fears issues, to fully immerse himself in what he wanted to turn away from, it really touched home. I'm one of those people who, when confronted with an emotional decision, good or bad, shuts down completely. I've been trying harder to make myself feel the bad emotions and express myself when I feel them, but the whole ex-girlfriend cheating fiasco made it hard: too much emotion all at once for my messed up brain to even try to break down and process. I said something to that effect on a blog post he did a couple months ago, and then again on the aforementioned post. He asked me if he could interview me about what happened and my childhood to see if he could offer advice.

I obliged, and his latest post is our e-mailed conversation. Don't read it if you don't want to shatter the image of me being an always positive, fantasmagraphic guy every second of every day (because I'm sure that's what you all think...lol). I got pretty caught up in everything, and was a bit harder on myself than I probably needed to be. But, on the other hand, everything I typed is completely true, at least in my mind. Worth a read I suppose, but not exactly part of the "Soft Nonsense" canon - albeit more so than the Star Wars Christmas Special. I talk a lot about what happened back in July, and touch on some of the stuff I went through as a kid.

It was actually really positive for me: I realized a lot about myself. Its not enough, and I'm still hoping that I have the will to actually continue the examination and do the work that will be required for me to understand myself. It obviously hasn't fully kicked in, as I didn't start caps-lock curse out my ex when she started added me/started talking to me on Skype (she still talks at least one of the guys she cheated on me with...what the fucking fuck? Simply hearing his name or thinking about him should make her feel like the scum of the Earth and remind her of the shit she put me through. Instead he gets smiley faces.**)

Be warned, his blog is NSFW (particularly his background). My word choice is certainly NSFW (though this post isn't exactly either). So if you get the chance in private to check it out or are interested in the least, feel free.

Link

Will resume regular posting tomorrow.

*Trademark soft nonsense Inc.
**But hey, that rant shows progress, right?

Raging History Boners

2010-09-10T21:04:00.002-05:00

Okay everybody, I'm blogging from Barcelona right now (Oops, I forgot to tell you. I'm going to Barcelona on Thursday - er - last night. Should be a good time.), but still have one more catch up to do before talking about THIS trip before blogging about random shit as per usual. I'll make this snappy, because we're going out for a night on the town tonight (have you wait until later to hear the deets, I'm afraid!).

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Remember how in my last Rome post I had a series of history major-related orgasms (and possible a pair of gelato-related ones) due to things like an ancient Roman wall and a castle and whatnot.

Well let's just say I had to up my B12 vitamin intake after last Friday.

Because...oh wait, what's that in the distance?

Let's walk a little closer.

Hmm, nope, can't quite see it yet. Let's...

Oohhh, there it is.

COLISSEUM'D.

That's right: field trip to the Colisseum/Roman Forum/downtown Rome. No big.

Yup. That's where they kept the weapons and gladiators.

Oh, and the lions and bears and whatnot.

The ones that killed people.

Weird tablet thingie:

Just chillin'. In this place:

BOOM.

Now imagine that, covered completely in marble, filled with almost 100,000 screaming Romans, with a man fighting a god damn bear in the sand.

Now imagine all that, but instead of the man and bear, imagine it filled with thousands of gallons of water with re-enactments of maritime battles, complete with full ships.

I would slap a toga on my chubby body and learn Latin in a freaking heartbeat if I could spent a day there...

More Italy looking like a painting:

First look at the Forum:

The crew, as taken by an awkward and slightly confused Italian man:

Then, some of the group (mostly the ladies) decided they'd rather *twitch* THRIFT SHOP(!!!!?????!!!!!) than explore the Forum *TWITCHSPAZTWITCH*.

Fine.

I didn't care.

(Two of the losers)

View of Coloseo from the Forum:

A temple:

Constantine's basilica:

A sweet, albeit crazy-looking, New Zealander we got to talk to in front of the basilica.

Current laptop/background: view of forum from lookout. Which was, apparently, the view that some super rich guy got every day when he rolled out of his bed. Or sack stuffed with horse hair or whatever.

Some excavated Roman houses:

The former locale of the Circus Maximus, a stadium that may have held up to 250,000 Romans watching chariot races. In fact, there apparently may still be some seating below the ground level to be excavated...

Artsy flower shot (that one's for you, Pat :) )

Roman official prison building or some such.

Giant palace built by Mussolini (now called "The Wedding Cake" by touristy types) that was apparently too expensive not to use after the whole "fascist" thing went by the wayside. Now it's something boring, like a museum/federal building, and almost certainly not the giant death palace Mussolini almost certainly planned on it being.

We then proceeded to wander around, looking for something delicious to snack on, when we stumbled upon...

Oh, hey, the Parthenon!

Square around the Parthenon:

Quick shot inside the Parthenon (they were kind of closing, so had to get in and get out).

Then after some horribly overpriced dinner (in the tourist part of Rome, big surprise), we wandered upon this lovely fountain (Trevi?):

Making a wish (if you make a wish while throwing the coin behind you, it means that not only will your wish be granted, but you shall also return to Rome. So I was sure not to wish to return to Rome).

There was then a bit of confusion as to where we should go next/how to get there...

Finally, we settled upon the Spanish Steps...

...where we were accosted by dozens of street venders with annoying little spinny tops and beer.

Ah, Rome.

"Him"

2010-09-08T09:08:00.002-05:00

Deep down, there are very few of us who are completely fearless in any and all social situations. Some are constantly afraid of accidentally insulting the others in a group. Or afraid that they don't dress well enough. Or there are some people who simply get anxious in social situation in general, or get anxious whenever they are alone.

I, luckily, am not any of those people. I'm fairly comfortable in most such areas (though I really hate when there are long silences in a conversation - I assume that I have become too uninteresting or awkward to bear), and am generally an enjoyable person to be around.

However, I do have one overriding and only barely irrational social fear: being "that asshole."

Who is "that asshole" you ask?

You know who I'm talking about. You might know one personally. And you've almost certainly come into contact with one, or worse yet, one's infuriating aftermath. In fact, you've more than likely been "that asshole."

"That asshole," also known as "that/this guy," "some idiot," and "the jerkwad" is the pain in everyone's backside that does something without thinking that inconveniences other members of a community. He is the one that changes lanes without noticing that you are there. She is the one who somehow wanders in line absent-mindedly in front of you. They're the ones who play ping pong in the common room when you're trying to study. It's the buttholes who are laughing a BIT too loudly and don't take the damn hint of your glares to shut the %&$ up.

And I swear to God, I'm Him.

Or at least I feel like I am constantly in the position of being Him.

Take last night for example:

My friends wanted to go out to celebrate our friend's birthday tomorrow early with a quick drink at a local watering hole (a disgustingly American establishment, but whatever: it was close). I had a lot of reading to do tonight before class tomorrow, so I declined ("That guy" moment 1: wet blanketry).

I was soon convinced to go through peer pressure, but made everyone wait as I took my stuff upstairs ("That asshole" moment 2: being the late friend).

When we got to the alcohol-serving establishment, we were stopped by another group of Americans, who explained that the Cabinieri (the local military police who carry very large and very automatic weapons and look like they would gladly beat the tar out of you and tell the higher ups it was for self-defense) were taking passports. I did not have mine, nor did I want them to become particularly knowledgeable about it even if i did, I instead sat around and stared at the poor souls who had gotten theirs confiscated ("Some Idiot" 3: watching the pain of others awkwardly - for them).

We eventually tore ourselves away, we made our way back to the school. I went up to go get my laundry, but had forgotten that all the dryers were broken. So I spent a good 20 minutes running crouched back and forth like a homely Solid Snake clutching wet clothing instead of, I don't know, whatever Snake carries, attempting to avoid underpants to the face while trying to find an open clothesline ("Some asshat" 4: the guy who moved my clothes around on the line and obviously took too much damn room on the line because of his apparently ginormous clothing).

Ladies and gentlemen of the Nonsense, I don't want to be "that guy." I really, really don't. But sometimes I'm just too oblivious and sheltered to know any better. So next time you get angry about someone who clearly has no idea what they are doing, think of me, and think of this post. Even the most capable, handsome, intelligent, and sexually attractive members of society have moments of idiocy or near-sightedness or self-centeredness. And we are sorry for it.

If we notice in time.

Orientation Weekend Travels (Assisi, Ravenna, San Marino)

2010-09-07T19:55:00.001-05:00

Don't worry my dear readers, I am slowly but surely creeping my way back to actually current adventures. I'm still rocking information from a week ago, but at least it's not a week and a half ago, right? That's something to be proud of.

Right?

Anywho, after our first couple of days in the city, our administrators decided that we hadn't traveled around enough that week. So, off to our orientation in Rome. Which, of course, entailed going to three places in Italy that weren't Rome. Oh wells!

(This is a long one, but it's mostly pretty pictures. Hang in there.)

First spot in our three-day excursion: the beautiful Assisi (click to enlarge).

The beautiful Basilica in a town right outside:

They have real monks there and everything! (it's from the back because I felt awkward trying to take a picture where he was looking at me. I'm a pro creeper.

View from Assisi:

Basilica of St. Frances:

I'd say that this was a shot down a historic street, but as you'll soon see, they're ALL historic...

St. Francis himself, bein' all emo and whatnot.

This, the newest building in that section of the town, was built in 1477. Cue history nerd boner:

Me, hugging a wall that had been there since the Romans in 100 AD. *awkward tingling sensation*

And what Italian day trip would be complete without some yummy gelato?

None.

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Day 2: Ravenna

Church of St. Somethingorother, Patron Saint of Ostentatiousness

Italy, doing its best "wall of an Italian restaurant" impression:

Tomb of poet Dante Alighieri.*

*Quick history nerd point: a few centuries ago, the Vatican wanted to move Dante's body to Rome. The monks at the church next door said "Hell no," stole and hid the body via a secret passage, and kept it hidden until the last 1800's. *funny quip to make that seem less lame*

Next basilica:

And that's where my camera's batteries died. Therefore, I couldn't capture the rest of that day (you're welcome, those of you still sticking around) or the next in San Marino (WHERE THEY HAD A KILL BILL SWORD), but here's a video from my friend's travel documentary that he took at the top of the castle.

(You may recognize the beyotch in the brown shirt being afraid for his life)

Trailer #1 from Mike Cabellon on Vimeo.

WOOOO

2010-09-05T17:26:00.001-05:00

Well everybody, I was going to have an epic blog post about my orientation last weekend, but I was convinced to drink a little more than I'm used to (being some alcohol), so I feel like I should blog to commemorate the occasion.

I don't really know what I should talk about here....I, like so many others before me, just kind of drunkenly assumed that whatever my first semi-drunk post would be a fantastic venture in hilarious randomness, but right now I'm just kind of rolling with it. I was hoping that all the liquid courage would allow for either some inspired comments or a whole mess of awesomeness, but apparently the gods of alcohol are allowing for neither. Still, though, I feel like you, my dear readers, should get a glimpse into my inebriated state and really be there for my first such experience.

Maybe I'll start by describing how I feel right now: I feel like I just came off of a tilt-o-whirl that I enjoyed thoroughly, but was a ride that made me slightly dizzy, but in that wholly enjoyable manner. I've never really drank before coming to Italy (not that I've had much now - I just haven't learned the valuable lesson that I need to drink such beverages slowly and not at the pace that I do with most other drinks), and I don't particularly plan on making this a regular thing, but it's kind of nice. Plus the fact that I can close my eyes and shake my head for a couple seconds and feel disorientated is quite an interesting sensation. Part of that likely has to do with the fact that it's also around 2am here, only making my lack of inner ear orientation worse.

Side note: glad that my vocabulary is still apparently intact.

Maybe I'll just use this time to, in the fashion of a true person who is under the influence, let you know how much I appreciate all of you. Don't worry, it was totally an idea that I had come up with well before just now in a mad scramble to come up with non-Rome updates/something I emotionally came up with because of my evening beverage choices.

(Takes bathroom break)

Hmmm, these Twix bars taste exactly like they do in America...though I may have to eat the other one to really be sure...

Sorry, where was I?

Oh right. A special shout-out to all you loyal readers out there, the ones who have been reading and commenting since the very beginning (you know who you are). I have done a post or two about what I intended to get out of this blog, and they've mostly been lots of very (Bah, weird, I'm hiccuping. I feel like a jokingly drunk cartoon character...) semi-self-fluffing reasons of "I'm doing this to get better as a writer" and "I write about what I want to write about." Both of those are entirely true, but I wouldn't be nearly as (barely) devoted if it weren't for those few people who I can count on reading this thing and commenting at least occasionally. The fact that 34 people at least pretend to associate themselves with my blog is absolutely baffling and flattering to me. The fact that most, if not all, of the 34 people are better and more entertaining writers than I and still count my blog as rather enjoyable is beyond description. Thanks for tuning in, everybody, you have no idea how much it means to me.

Well, I'm pretty damn sleepy now (it now being 2:30...), so hope that it was decent. back to your scheduled programming tomorrow.

Second Night in Roma

2010-09-04T09:13:00.003-05:00

I'm still very much on catch-up mode, so this might be a bit picture heavy once again (after a prolonged intro). I know that my excellent photographical (totes a word) skills are what you all come for, so that shouldn't be bad news for any of you. First a few real-time updates:

-In order to upgrade my status to "student" from "illegal American dirty immigrant," I had to go with 40 of my closest friends to a Roman post office with my passport this morning at 8:15. While I stayed up entirely too late last night blogging and Skype-ing and whatnot, I was certainly ready to sit through a long ass line and either read a book or listen to music or cough a lung up (probably all three simultaneously). I don't have the use of my cell phone over here (surprisingly liberating, by the way), so I downloaded an application for my laptop that selects and plays a song from my iTunes library as an alarm (my choice? the Batman theme song). To make a short story even shorter, I got a knock on my door at about 8:13, telling me the bus was ready and that I had to go. Ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, thought I didn't have my passport, then made it to the bus the second the turned the keys to start it. Moral of the story? As transformative as studying abroad is, some things will never change....

-While I was waiting for a bus last night, a man with a bouquet of roses came up to the group and offerend to sell some to us. It being 2:30 in the god damn morning and us being poor and not stupid, we refused. As is the case with most such vendors, we was rather persistent, and decided to pull out his other wares (Sounds dirty, but it wasn't. Yet.) From his pocket came a handfull of things that looked like lighters, which make up some pretty standard creepy street vendor fare. However, we soon realized that they were mini flashlights (when he decided it would be fine to shine it on my person), which was vaguely intriguing for novelty purposes, but still uninteresting. Until I noticed the rest of the group staring at my chest. Slowly I looked down, and what did I find? No less than three completely naked and full-frontal men whose equipment would make all but the most endowed horses whinny in shame. He tried out another couple models on my shirt pocket before we could stutter the Italian equivalent of "Hell no, go away." I struggle now to find some quip to end this story, but I think re-hashing the memory has left me more baffled than before, so I'll move on.

-American ice cream birthday cake < Italian gelato birthday cake. Just sayin' - I might have to get some imported come February 9th.

-I'm taking a full docket of history nerd classes this semester, and couldn't be happier. Behold:

Emperors, Bishops, and Barbarians (which, despite its fantastic name, might be replaced by Classical Rome because ancient Roman history is pretty much the best thing ever)
Ancient Greece to Alexander the Great
Italian Politics
Hemingway's Spain, Italy, and France
Italian 101

And while the subject matter is already spectacularly intriguing, the professors teaching them might make this one of the best semesters ever class-wise:

-My Italian Politics class is taught by a German dude complete with stereotypical circle glasses who loves NHL hockey, enjoys making puns, and was the Chief of Staff for the Speaker of the Italian Senate at age 30. Also will get me into the Italian Senate library for free.
-My English teacher is a hilarious yet oddly bitter writer who apparently has a strong distate for Italy/Rome yet has lived here for over a decade.
-Finally, my history classes, both taught by the same man. And, in the interest of fully expressing his amount of awesome win, I should give his full name and title: Sir Dr. Alexander Evers. That's right everybody, my history teacher is a Dutch knight/Oxford graduate who has the hyperactivity and attention span of an ADD-riddled 14-year-old in a video game store. So excited.

-Word to the wise: be careful in Italian bathrooms. Not necessarily because you might get pick-pocketed, but mostly because they doors are tricky. If you don't lock them, they are liable to swing open at any moment, revealing and confirming to the entirety of the world that you do, in fact, poop. However, if you do lock them, they are liable to stay locked and/or jammed, possibly forever, leading to a large-scale freakout when the door refuses to open after a good 15 seconds of calm yanking, only to look ridiculous when it finally busts open, making it appear like you just like to open doors dramatically. But just remember: the latter is always preferred to letting people you know you poop.

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Okay, that intro was actually way longer than I anticipated, so I'll abbreviate what comes next:

After our first full day in Rome, we were treated to a large, proper first Italian dinner by our school at a local restaurant.

...And boy were we excited about it. Woooo.

For future reference, the green bottles are water (which come in fizzy and non-fizzy) and the darker ones:

Are wine. Keep track in the pictures of which are which, you should be amused.

The courses:

First, tuna, zucchini, and bruschetta toast thingies.

Prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches, which I kind of forgot to take pictures of before everyone eating due to general starvation.*

*A great side-effect to no longer being with the ex: I no longer feel guilty eating pork due to her Islamishness. Mmmm...pig...

Quick halftime bottle update:

My friend Chandler is pleased.

Pasta, which apparently Italians do, in fact, eat with every single meal ever.

Dessert, a custard-type thing.

Final bottle count for you all playing at home?

Lots. Lots of bottles.

After dinner, we decided to act like stupid Americans, go out, and get lost in Rome. We just got on a bus, rode it until we didn't recognize anything anymore, rode a little farther, and just got off. And, in a true Roman fashion, we got off and found amazing buildings everywhere. We wandered around, then found a giant old courthouse:

Then wandered around until we found, no big deal, a giant castle, Sant Angelo.

Then we saw a large market, hawking things like American licence plates and whatnot, but more excitingly, there was street ping pong:

This is why we're losing the international ping pong race.

Then we walked out to a bridge to take pictures of the river (super gross, by the way).

Then, we looked the other way down the river and were all like...."OH...hey..."

".....There's Saint Peter's Basilica."

(This was after trying a MySpace pic:

...but we didn't look emo enough or have enough arm showing. Maybe next time).

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I promise all my posts won't be as long-winded or picture-heavy in the future. Love ya!

Day One in Roma...A Week Late (A Big 'Un)

2010-09-01T16:55:00.003-05:00

(That's what she said).

Don't you hate it when so much stuff happens between blog posts that you can't quite fit it all in one?

Yeah, that's pretty much my life right now.

I admittedly, was a little late starting on this whole "blogging about my adventures in Rome" thing. I waffled around for awhile as to whether I should post all this on my old blog for my own memory purposes, but after a bunch of family expressed interest in hearing about my adventures in my new home, I only waffled more. I still haven't fully decided, though I've officially created one with a sweet name, so we'll see where that goes. Until then, this is still my only blog for Soft Rome-Centric Nonsense.

So here I am. I've been here a couple days and already I've seen some amazing things. Unfortunately, I don't have the will, energy, or talent to pull off catching you all up in a way that would be compact and entertaining enough to read. So I guess I'll start from the beginning and rush through...

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The day before I decided to go to work (because my mom and sister were kind enough to help me pack earlier in the week, as everyone who has ever met me would know that I don't have the capacity to do anything before the last second - some people work best under pressure, I work only under pressure). It was swell saying goodbye to everybody, especially a couple people I had gotten really close to the last couple of months, and then frantically switch off between hanging out with the roommate and a friend and frantically throwing together what I hadn't done yet (pretty much everything that hadn't been forced upon me by my mother).

Then I headed over to my friend Matt's house with summer roomie/coworker/bestie/radio co-host/semi-token Asian buddy Mike so that we could pack and geek out and repeat "oh my god we're going to Rome oh my god we're going to Rome" "hey Matt....we're going to rome in 12 hours....5 hours....2 hours..." and spend the night. Father flew in that evening as well, so we all met up with him the next day and did some last minute shopping (including 3 packs of cough drops to try and soothe my cough. Wondering how it worked? I've made it through two and a half bags in the week I've been here). Eventually I had to make my sorrowful goodbye as I got in line for the security line.

Now, for those of you who have never traveled internationally before (such as myself), let me tell you: it is approximately 100 times scarier, particularly when you are basically moving away for four months and have had to relegate your entire life into a 50-lb suitcase, duffel bag, and overly large backpack. It's not like it's a gulag-style strip search where your various cavities are explored while being grilled over impossible trivia questions (What?! I don't know my home address!), but it's simply because you spend the entirety of the time assuming that you've forgotten something of vital importance. I had a kung fu vulcan death grip on my passport, my duffel/backpack, my iPod, my giant headphones, and my hopes and dreams and still just knew that I had left something behind. It didn't help that the security staff all seemed to have said death grip on a large stick shoved up their butts.

After lots of wide-eyed twitching, I made it through security with most of my dignity intact (despite an apparent inability to get any of my luggage onto the conveyer thing or take my belt off without my pants descending toward my ankles) and got to the gate, where I met all my compadres.

Then came the start of what is (apparently) the theme of my time abroad: a series of horrible infractions of the basic human agreement that things should run more or less on time. Rome apparently has no sense of time, and this apparently applies to every single form of transportation and every restaurant ever. More on that in the posts to come. Finally our plane came (eeep!)

OHEMGEESQUEEEEE

This is the face I made when the safety demonstration video came on in Italian...it was one of those "Holy hell I'm leaving the country for four GD months" moments that happen all so often in life.

Take-off sequence!

Up!

Up!

And AWAAAAYYYY!

And then I don't really remember anything after that, as I promptly zonked out until the food came. As I ravenously tore apart my meal, I realized that it was the first true Italian food to cross my fine palate in these four months of culinary bliss.

Underwhelming, to be sure, but it was the thought that counted.

Yup. ceiling may or may not have collapsed when we landed. No big though.

Those things are everywhere!

And by those things I of course mean Smurfs and Ikeas.

Shot of our neighborhood:

Shot of campus from my window:

And that night, in order to fully establish ourselves as Romans, we do what any good Italian would do:

Get gelato, bitches.

Mmmmmm.

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I'll be blogging like a fiend the next couple of days in an attempt to catch up, so bear with me and check back often.

In Need of Advice/Opinions

2010-08-27T10:29:00.003-05:00

So now that I have been in Roma for 24+ hours, I have a question for you all: how would you like to hear about my adventures?

Like I said last post, my content will certainly not be entirely Rome-centric over the next few months, but being in a foreign country tends to absorb one's thoughts. So, obviously there will be a multitude of posts about Roma. But if I'm going to write them, I'd like for my family/friends to be able to see the (non-scandalous versions) of my experience here. So here are my options:

I. Just post on here, but with a lack of profanity, stories of drunkenness, etc (not at all a good option)
II. Create a new blog onto my existing blogger account
a) Just expect you guys to read over there too
b) Post the cooler, more profane versions over here (slightly more work)
III. Create a new blogger account completely, expose my true identity to all of you, and do either of the "a" or "b" options above
IV. Use my school's blog site and figure stuff out

READYGO.

Fun story of the day: between last night's attempt at ordering something in Italian for the first time (yummy chocolate gelato) and an "Emergency Italian" class for rtards like myself, I've decided that my Italian is somewhere between the level of Aldo Raine/Bradd Pitt in Inglourious Basterds and just speaking in Spanish. Seriously, I can do okay until I hear the word "si", then it all goes to hell.

Ciao, Belles

2010-08-25T03:43:00.000-05:00

Well ladies and gentlemen of the nonsense, the time has finally come. After months of gestating, deciding, worrying, forgetting, (and roughly 4 hours of actual preparation), the time has come for me to pack my bags for Rome. My flight leaves at 3:35pm today (Wednesday) from O'Hare airport. Then, 9 hours later, my life will likely change forever.

I promised myself that I would try and blog long before today came. Then, as per usual, life came. I worked and worked, my sister and mom came up to Chicago to visit/help me pack, I kind of fell for a girl (four days before I leave, well done bud), tried to throw an ill-advised and last-second going away party for myself and a couple of other Rome-ing friends (while seeing mostly people I didn't who know or didn't particularly care about my leaving), and more packing*.

*packing, n.: gerund form of 'pack': to identify large piles of things that you believe should PROBABLY be packed, opening a bag at the end of the table they are sitting on, and sweeping the lot into your carry-on bag with a prayer but no second glance.

Getting to this point has been....interesting. From not originally being able to decide on a locale (originally going to Spain, complete with immersive classes and a home stay, but then I remembered that I couldn't speak Spanish above a 3rd grade reading level) to always being about 3 months behind the rest of the group in my application process to getting my visa on MONDAY*, all of two days before I left the country for a semester. I really, truly, could not have handled it worse and still been accepted to go.

*A fun story in itself. Late last week I went to the Italian consulate after a night of poring over every scrap of paper in my possession that had the word "Rome" on it, going over and over the list I was given by our study abroad office that included all of the things I would need to get my visa. As I was at a friend's place (with the aforementioned girl, but different story), I didn't have my passport or my passport photos. I spent the night there after a long and intense game of Risk, knowing where both documents were and feeling confident in my preparedness.

The next morning, I went back to my apartment, showered, got all my stuff together, and headed over to the consulate. After a 30 minutes bus ride and 15 minutes of confused waiting around despite there being no one ahead of me in line, I finally got put in the right place. In front of me was a young gentleman about my age, talking about how this was his fifth visit to the consulate because he had kept having an incomplete application and all that...only to realize that he was still missing something having to do with finances.

"Ha, what a fool," I thought to myself smugly. "If only he had prepared like me and gone over his check list seventeen times, he wouldn't be in this situation!"

*one*
*two*
*three*

HOLYFUCKINGSHITIFORGOTMYPASSPORT.

So that was fun, and really a perfect microcosm of my incompetence during the entirety of this process.

But by God, the Italians have let me into their country (so far - must not have looked into the Noodle Incident of 1999), and so I am leaving the country for the first time in my life aside from two visits to Canada for four months without knowing a lick of Italian* and couldn't be more excited/frightened/nervous/twitchy about it.

*For the record and in my defense, this was in part due to the fact that I was supposed to get Rosetta Stone from a certain ex-lady friend. %#$*er.

I don't know how the sudden change of continent will effect this blog (except for the fact that my late night blog posts will now appear normal for you all), as I won't have as many nerdy things to riff on. It may temporarily take a photoblog/personal exploration vibe to it, but I can assure you that it will continue to have the same low-quality, low-brow, and low-standard writing and humor you all know and love. Stick around for the ride, hopefully it will continue being worth it.

And tell your friends.

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To wrap up the post, here is a list of things that I will miss whilst abroad:

-Hulu and Netflix instant streaming
-New seasons of the Venture Brothers, How I Met Your Mother
-Comic books - though I've decided that it is my mission to search for a Roman comic book store, if for no other reason than for peace of mind and to know there are dozens of us. DOZENS!!!
-Beginning of 'Walking Dead' series - wow...missing comic books, new shows, AND a new comic book show? About ZOMBIES?! Screw you life
-The newspaper - I'm hopeless...
-Free music from the radio station
-All the new friends I've made this summer - Not having a girlfriend has opened up new social opportunities, and I became much, much closer friends with a lot of people. Being the type of person who is always afraid of being the instigator of hangage due to my fear of being incredibly boring, I don't want to lose what little progress I've made)
-Chicago - I mean...come on. Who doesn't love Chitown?

But I guess Rome will be cool too...and London...and Cairo...and Greece...maybe Ireland...

My New Daddies?

2010-08-17T18:09:00.005-05:00

For today's post, I'd like to offer a brief, yet heartfelt plea not for deliverance, but instead for a better life.

"What's that Softy?" I hear you ask. "You've demonstrated time and time again that your life is at its lowest usually pretty solid, and at its best mind-meltingly legen.....wait for it.....dary? What could you possibly want to change so badly?"

Well, dear concerned readers, not much.

Except for everything.

Because you see a bit of celebrity news hit me this morning. On my way to work yesterday (which was cancelled), I grabbed a free Red Eye newspaper as I walked past, intending on doing the crossword later. There, on the back of the paper with blather about Hilary Duff getting married and some nonsense about Snookie, read the story that would change what I want in life forever...

"BABY LOVE:

Neil Patrick Harris and his longtime partner, chef and actor David Burtka, are going to be parents. 'So, get this: David and I are expecting twins this fall.,' Harris tweeted Saturday. 'We're super excited/nervous/thrilled.' Eonline.com says the couple;s children are due via surrogate in October. Cutest dads ever!"

Enjoy.

Dear Neil and David,

Of all the Hollywood couples out there (the Brangelinas, the TomKats, Billary, Spederline, Tamantha - Tom Hanks and Samantha Lewes, OBVI), you two are one of my favorites (David Patrick Burtkis). When I found out about your impending adoption of twins later this fall, I was overjoyed that two of the most deserving men in showbiz would get a chance to rear children.

David, I'll start with you: you began first as a (rather unsuccessful) actor, with your major roles coming as a first-name-only intern for one episode of the West Wing in 2002 and as Scooter on How I Met Your Mother (a spot you, well, more than kind of got because you were going out with Neil). Which is still respectable: you gave it your all and did what you loved, even when that big break didn't come. But even more respectably, you found another thing you loved, cooking, and turned THAT into your life. Now you're an acclaimed chef (everyone loves a daddy who can cook!) and supporting your significant other during his own stint as a semi-successful actor. That willingness to try new things and still succeed would be a good role model for any child.

Neil, I was too young to see your greatness as Doogie Howser, MD, but fell in love with you through Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog and How I Met Your Mother (with, admittedly, a little Harold and Kumar and Starship Troopers sprinkled in). You are even my #2 on my "Man Five," a list of male celebrities that I would A) Go gay for in a heartbeat and B) Would expect any significant other of mine to understand my decision either to sleep with and/or begin a relationship with said member of the Man Five without a pause. You are hilarious, charming, and seemingly just a quality human being. Your joy for your craft and for your life (undoubtedly) inspire those who have met you (though I have not).

And so it gladdens me to see that two quality people such as yourselves (no matter what anyone says on the issue of homosexuality etc.) are taking the responsibility of caring for a pair of lives in this crazy world. But why stop there?

Laugh all you will at them, Hollywood's number one power couple right now is Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Not only are they a very talented pair of people (much like yourselves), both ridiculously good-looking (ditto on you:)

But they have also adopted children of their own, and done so with such gusto that they have become almost famous for it. Their philanthropy and caring hearts have shown that adopting is a healthy, normal, and encouragable thing to do. My own siblings were adopted, in fact (though no influence by Brangelina, just for the record), so I respect your decision more than most. So I call upon the both of you to not only set an example for the rest of the gay community, but for the rest of the world.

Now, am I suggesting that you start adopting babies teenage girls hoard Jonas Brothers paraphernalia? Of course not. But you need to make a statement. One bold, sweeping adoption that would change the way people look at homosexual adoption forever.

Neil and David, I invite you to make me your adopted gay love baby.

Now hear me out. I know the whole "wanting a piece of NPH's sexy Doogie Booty" thing I have going on might be a little awkward. But don't worry, I'm sure that as soon as I begin to look at him as a father (mother?) figure, that attraction will turn into admiration of beauty, like people who have MILFs. In addition, it would set a precedent. People always want cute, adorable, newborn babies when they are adopting, just like people want fresh-faced puppies when they go to the pet store. But by adopting a 20-year-old college student, you will say to the world, "Children of all ages need love and guidance!"

And then I'll move in with you (just for the breaks and whatnot, nothing drastic), and you'll teach me how to cook and how to suit up and the difference between a blucher and oxford shoe.

Don't get me wrong, New Daddies, I love my family. And I shall think of them fondly as you introduce me to the entire casts of How I Met Your Mother and Top Chef Masters and teach me magic tricks.

And I'd be the best son. I know that I could learn so much from you two, and I think that you could learn from me as well. I hold you both in such high regard, and can tell how deeply you two are in love. We already have so much in common (I love movies, am easily fooled by magic, and eat). I can even help raise my new baby brother and sister! I already do lots of things that might make you proud, like volunteer at my school's radio station and work for our newspaper and express myself creatively through my writing and volunteering. And with your guidance (and actor/chef salaries), you would open new doors for me that I never dreamed possible (like a pool-sized jacuzzi in my room...or a general sense of fashion beyond hoodies).

So please, do what's best for everyone. Reach out into the world and pluck a new ward like a pair of fabulous Batmen to mold into your image.

...But only if I can be your spandex-wearing Robin.

Love and Hopefully Yours (Pending the Paperwork),
Soft Nonsense

(But my Daddies can call me Softy!)

My - Epic - Life In (Mostly) Pictures (Again)

2010-08-15T04:06:00.001-05:00

Also titled: I had so much shit to do this week that I wanted to devote a blog post to that I got overwhelmed, panicked (complete with fetal position rocking) and now I have a lot of sweet I need to write about that's a little outdated but still worth mentioning because of it's epicness despite my inability to write entertainingly at the moment.

Part 1: The start of the most-viewed holiday special of all time*

It's the most...wonderfuul tiiiiime!

...of the yyyeeeaaarrr!

With the kids in terror yelling
And everyone telling you "TV's blocked by your rear"
It's the most wonderful time of the year!
It's the hap-happiest week of them all
With those seawater greetings and teeth-filled meetings
When sharks come to caaaallll!
It's the hap-happiest season of all!

In cast you missed it (loser), the week before last was shark week. Being the large nerds my friends and I are, we decided to make baked goods to commemorate the holiest of holy periods. Like Jewish people and their cracker bread.

*Yes, I count Shark Week as both one gigantic television special as well as asserts that Shark Week is, in fact, a holiday. Believe it.

Part 2: Continuation of Shark Week Festivities

I have already detailed my less than three feelings for god-awful movies on this blog, so it should surprise none of my lovely, beautiful readers that I celebrated SW2010 with such fare with my friends. May I present to you Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus:

The plot is simple enough: two giant prehistoric creatures (a Mega Shark and Giant Octopus, obvs) become unfrozen after an iceberg trapped them amid an ancient battle and begin terrorizing the globe. The finest scientists in the world (whose main skills are apparently having sex with one another and mixing test tubes filled with different colored liquids together) soon realize that only one thing can stop the terror: each other. This moment and many more like it (such as references to the creatures being horny after 100 million years).*

*Blogger's note: Someone at Unreality decided to calculate the speed, velocity, etc of the shark's jump in the above-posted video, and is worth a look just to marvel at the numbers.

There happened to be enough leftovers of the Shark Cake, but at this point it read "Happy Sh Week," and I deemed that an unenthusiastic celebration of quietness was not picture-worthy.

Part 3: War

I have a number of responses to different negative stimuli. When angrily confronted, I become defensive. When made fun of, I either say terrible things about the offender's mother/sister/general female ancestry or shut down. When I am, say, invited to my ex-girlfriend's going away shindig and (not surprisingly) semi-ignored after having the stones to attend, I generally do something immature and yet cool to remind myself how awesome I am, like not-at-all-silently lip synching along to every Queen or Tenacious D song ever made or buying a boatload of comic books.

This time around, I decided to meet up with a couple friends to throw down in the ultimate juvenile battlefield: Nerfdom. My weapon of choice? The N-Strike Recon, of course. Complete with scope, laser sight, and extra clip.

Booyah.

Also, this fight may have sprayed onto the streets, where we picked off some people we knew walking by the Chipotle we were sitting outside of. And may or may not have also been located at least in part inside of a grocery store. So there's that.

Part 4: I'm famous, bitchezzz

And now for the section that caused the load time for all of your browsers to quadruple...

As a few of you know, my partner Mike and I were two of the lucky few DJs at my college radio station that were selected to DJ at Chicago's biggest music festival, Lollapalooza, and here are a few pics of the 1.08 days I was there.

First, Gagapalooza on Friday night:

Yeah, that's pretty much as close as I got. I'm not a huge Lady Gaga fan, but seeing her live was more than worth skipping out on the Strokes for the evening (especially fo free). Particularly when she created a hairspray flamethrower onstage. Mike and I also got to simultaneously add and cross off doing the entirety of the "Bad Romance" dance live at one of her shows on or bucket lists.

The next day, Mike and I did our four hour shift (thanks for all of you who tuned in!)

Oh haiiiiii! ^_^

Mmmm banterlicious.

The Constellations, one of the nicest, most badass bands you'll ever meet, was kind enough to sit down for an interview with us. They were originally going to play a couple of songs for us, but their lead singer (left, next to the stunning, non-Asian gentleman in white) had lost his voice. Lame sauce.

The gloriously British Jamie Lidell. Kind of a combination of the Daily Show's John Olliver and Aldous Snow. The man has some serious soul to his singing, and I can't recommend enough that you give him a listen. He was so full of crazy energy, in fact, that during a "slow" song he broke the stool that he was sitting on because of how much he was shaking to the music:

Also, he soloed with an equally awesomely bearded man down in the crowd. Which was awesome.

We also got to make....

....wait for it....

Are you ready for this 90s kids?

Freaking' shrinky dinks.

And yes, I made one about the radio station. Not sucking up, just showing enthusiasm.

Spoon playing one of my favorite songs, 'The Underdog.'

Terrible picture of the fantastic Phoenix. Damn those Frenchies for putting on a swell show without me being able to get pictures.

So great success!

Part 4 Pt. 2: Laughing at protestors

Now, as I am from the state of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church (famous for their website, GodHatesFags.com and protests of pretty much everything ever) AND being around one of the bigger gay communities in America, I've seen my fair share of ridiculous protests. And, like there is at anything worthwhile here in the Midwest, there was of course protestors outside of Lolla. As Mike and I were walking to go grab some Noodles & Company after our set, we saw a group espousing fairly generic "women should stay in the kitchens and not be allowed to vote/drive*" and "gay people suck**" and the like. We weren't really phased by it, only using it as fodder to make witty comments to attractive women standing right by us ("Like...oh mai gawwwd! Can you belieeeve thiss??").

*My time at an all-guys high school is telling me that I should make a joke here, but knowing full well that most of my readership is of the female persuasion, I shall refrain.

**HA GET IT?!

Until we saw this, that is.

Originally, our (my) nerd blood boiled. How DARE this man besmirch the good name of Star Wars in such a public place. Luke was only whiney because he wanted to go to the Toshi station to pick up some power converters! Darth Vader is one of the greatest villains of all time! Most people don't even consider the prequels to be real movies, let alone part of the canon! And who hasn't wanted to have a lightsaber or have the power to force choke a beyotch when you find their lack of faith disturbing?

But then we (I) realized something important: that this person, who claims to not like Star Wars, is already too far gone as a person to waste anger upon him. Clearly, he has no soul, and therefore should only be pitied. So we (both of us this time) took our free pita chips and hummus (in sketchy sandwich bags, but we thought nothing of it) and left giggling and thinking about how Han totally shot first (or I did).

Part 5: Costume Party

Unfortunately, there are no pictures available for this event, as almost none of them are appropriate, either because of nipple exposure (male, not mine), general drunkenness (bigendered, not me), and a gross sweat sheen (everyone, but particularly me). My costume did involve a Rick Astley t-shirt, so I'll let you use your imagination.

Part 6: Home

Pt. 1: KC Barbecue

An approximation not of how much food my family ordered, but instead how much I ate. Hooray meat.

Pt. 2: Starcraft 2

I had been counting down the months for this game to finally launch, then dragged my feet on buying it until a couple days ago, in part because I didn't have 60 bucks to spare and didn't want to be obsessed with it when I got to Rome (more on that later). Then three found Target gift cards and some peer pressure later from a friend later, I was the proud owner.

Oopsies.

Pt. 3: SCOTT PILGRIM MOVIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Something I had been REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY looking forward to, Edgar Wright's Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, based off of the comic book series that basically rules my life, finally came out on Friday. Unfortunately, I got in to Kansas City late, so I couldn't partake in the midnight showing, but went to the first available the next day. Possible review coming tomorrow if I have the time/energy/don't think it's too outdated.

Baww. Awkward love.

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And so that's all for tonight/this morning folks. Hope it wasn't too rambly/giant/offensive, but it's 4am so I'm getting the hell to bed. I promise that I'll blog more ofte....

...wait, what's the date?

....WHAT?!!!

Um, so...

Apparently I leave for Rome in 10 days now. Still don't have a visa, or even all of my stuff together. Plus still have 3 more orientations the next week and a half, plus office hours every day.

Ho boy.

LIVE AT LOLLA!

2010-08-07T08:40:00.003-05:00

This week has been RIDONKULOUS in its epicness, hence the lack of posts, but I promise to all of you that once everything calms down I'll have a hell of a post for you all (sharks...Gaga...what more could you want?).

HOWEVER...

My friend Mike and I will be broadcasting live from Lollapalooza today from 11am-3pm Central. You've seen all of my setlists since January, so you should have a decent idea of what we play at our station, and if you're interested (or want to find out my real first name!), tune in at our website. We'll have live sets played by some sweet bands followed by interviews, various features, and all sorts of lovely radio goodies. Support community radio (88.7 WLUW BABAY), your favorite blogger (me), and America.

And then you can stop listening at 3 if you want, as Ex-Girlfriend goes on then. Not that I'm asking for you all to boycott her show or anything. I'm just saying, it's an option.

Who Got Hand-Selected to DJ At Lollapalooza?

2010-08-02T19:35:00.001-05:00

THIS GUUUUYYYYYY.

I was thinking of all sorts of awesome and hilarious ways to break the news...keep you on the edge of your seats, anticipating what news I could possibly be about to break....

But then I said fuck it, and wanted to get straight to to the celebration:

My radio station got an award from Toyota for being awesome in the ways of community radio, including 10 large ones, our own stage to book artists to play acoustic sets, and twelve DJs get to play live on the stage, interview bands, and the like.

Ad, oh wait, did I mention that you are familiar with one of said lucky few? One of the 12 people who were specially selected by our station manager to do all these awesome things and represent WLUW to thousands of people?

Cuz it's...

THIS GUUUUYYYYYYYYYY.

If you're planning on going, be sure to check out the WLUW Stage (brought to you by the fine folks at Toyota), particularly 11am-3pm, then stop by to solve the soft nonsense identity mystery.

So I got that goin' for me.

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Two quick bits of nerdy nonsense:

For all you Twatters out there, a new trending topic that my lovely nerd blog army might enjoy taking advantage of. In the spirit of the "Wiki Leaks" fiasco a week or two ago in which over 90,000 documents were released that revealed all sorts of terrible (and alleged) things about the war in Afghanistan. As anything serious in this world should be treated, nerds united to make a mockery of it. #wookieleaks was born, in which fake Tweets regarding leaked secrets from the Empire from Star Wars. Some favorites include "Han did not shoot first, Massive Imperial coverup revealed." and "Imperial-targeted 'insurgents' on Endor actually adorable Ewoks."

Second, there's this:

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And now, for the first time in quite awhile, a good old-fashioned Nostalgia Music Monday. A song that I can finally play now that I'm single, something that was ALL the rage way back in 4th grade (sorry older readers if that dates you horribly):

(Now 4 was a damn fine album.)

The Best Worst Movie

2010-08-02T04:05:00.002-05:00

In the seven* months I've been writing this blog, it's been a lot of things. Personal tribulations, self-exploration, occasionally news reactions, and nerdy news and culture. Okay, almost entirely nerdy stuff.

*Holy shit, seven??

I've touched on pretty much every part of my geekery, but one of the most underrepresented aspects of my nerd-dom is my intense love of bad movies. Like burns with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns love. Sometimes, I would almost watch a horrible movie that I can laugh at with my friends than an award-winning (yet often depressing) film of much high cultural value. There's just something....hilarious about seeing a movie where everything is so painstakingly wrong, despite the best intentions and legitimate effort of all those involved.

And in my years, I've seen a slew of, quite frankly, shitty movies. In fact, my coworkers and I have even organized viewing parties to such fare (almost universally coinciding with drinking games, which are always fun for sober people such as myself and stories in and of themselves). Some favorites include Leprechaun in the Hood (a Leprechaun...in the hood...killin' fools...), Jolly Roger: Massacre At Cutter's Cove (undead pirate murderballs the descendants of his old crew), Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus (giant animals murderball everything, including a god damn plane), Theodore Rex (Whoopi Goldberg in a buddy cop movie...with a T Rex....), Dead Snow (a Norwegian movie combining two of my favorite genres, Nazis and zombies...to create Nazi zombies...or zombie Nazis, your call - with lots of speed metal as background music), the meme-inspiring Silent Night, Deadly Night Part 2, and Maximum Overdrive (machines killing the hell out of people).

But through it all, no movie has been able to really capture the god-awfulness of one towering inferno of flaming doggy-do on a doorstep quite like a little film called Troll 2.

To describe Troll 2 is to do it injustice. Like so many movies of its kind, it's perfect blend of nonsensical storyline, terrible acting, confusing directing, and terrible acting reach such disparaging levels that it can hardly be put into words. The basic outline of the story is that the Waits family goes on vacation to a small town named Nilbog, only to find the inhabitants very odd. No food in Nilbog appears to be normal, and their youngest son continues to see their recently deceased grandfather, who warns them about danger in the town. Soon it is discovered that the residents therein are actually vegetarian goblins (get it! Nilbog! Yucka yucka) who poison visitors' food to turn them into plans to eat.

Now, I can't go into all the great parts to this movie in full, but here are some highlights of both the movie and the production:

-An awkward popcorn-related sex scene.
-A little kid peeing on food so that his family won't eat it.
-The language barrier between the Italian director and writer and the hickish castmembers was so great that they only rarely understood one another (yes...it shows).
-Despite its name, Troll 2 has exactly zero trolls in it. It was named to piggyback off of the (apparently) popularity of the first Troll, yet had nothing to do with the plot of the original. Same with Troll 3.
-It was originally written by the director's wife because a number of her friends had become vegetarian and it pissed her off, so she wanted to write a story in which vegetarians were evil.
-No members of the cast ever got the full script at any point in the filming process.
-It has been voted the "Worst Movie Of All Time" on multiple lists.

But still, I can't really capture it without showing you the trailer:

And if that wasn't enough, here is one of the most famous moments of the movie, highlighting, well, pretty much Troll 2 in a nutshell.

*Note: Fly on the forehead doesn't effect glory of performance in the least.

Now, as much as I love sharing things like this with you, my loyal and lovely readers, it does have some topical value: last Friday I went to a double feature movie at Chicago's Music Box Theater showing Troll 2 and a documentary the actor who played the youngest son created called "The Best Worst Movie," which showed what all the cast members did now, how crazy some of them had become, and explored how and why Troll 2 suddenly arose to cult classic status. It was an oddly poignant and deep movie, good for even those who had never seen the movie it revolved around. We were even treated to a guest appearance by a producer of the doc as well as George Hardy, the father (now a dentist). Trailer:

So moral of the story: if you enjoy camp, bad (not gory) horror movies, or have a pressing desire to get shwasty-faced (again, I don't partake, but I hear that's what these crazy kids are calling it nowadays) and need an excuse, be sure to check out Troll 2. Better yet, check it out with a bunch of friends. Or better yet, in a giant movie theater with a hundred other fans.

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Weekly playlist (a few days late...)

Wolfmother - Vagabond
Think About Life - Set You On Fire
Tokyo Police Club - Favourite Colour
Dogs Die in Hot Cars - Paul Newman's Eyes
BOAT - We Want It! We Want It!
These United States - Water & Wheat
Menomena - TAOS
The Constellations - Perfect Day*
The Henry Clay People - Your Famous Friends
Stanley Ross - Here With Me
Sia - Clap Your Hands
The Minor Leagues - Projection of a Person
Adam Green - What Makes Him Act So Bad
22-20s - Talk to Me

*Quick sidenote: I originally grabbed this CD with the intent of playing another song off of the album, 'Felicia.' However, that was before realizing that the song was definitely an ode to a woman who was skilled in the field of using one's mouth in the carnal persuasion. Knowing the FCC looks down upon such lewd acts, I decided against it.

Instead, for you non-judgemental and, let's face it, rather corrupted listening and viewing pleasure, is 'Felicia,' complete with lyrics!

And to You, Joss Whedon, I Say Go &%$#@ Yourself*

2010-07-23T18:00:00.001-05:00

*Seriously.

I was first introduced to Joss Whedon, one of the best science fiction geekoids out there. The man lives the life that most of us nerds (me especially) would kill thousands of Romulans, Cylons, Ewoks, mint-condition comics, vampires (especially those ^$#*@ing Cullens) and one Seth Green to do what he does. The man is responsible for Buffy, Dollhouse, Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog, wrote Toy Story and Titan A.E., numerous great comic book titles, and is working on both the Captain America and The Avengers movies. I've loved pretty much every single thing that he's ever been a part of. He is basically the Amun-Ra of today's geek population.

But seriously, %&$# that guy.

But softy, you say, you've gone on the record on more than one occasion expressing your deep man-crush for said piece of %&$-guzling $%$#@&ing #@$%er c%$(). What's the deal?

Well, i all started a couple days ago, as I finished up my first-ever viewing of his series Firefly.

Now I know what you're thinking. I'm too even-keeled of a person to base my hatred off of only one series. And if I hated it so much, why did I watch all of it? Well, quite frankly, I %&$#ing loved that $+@. Firefly is now right up there on my list of best %$#)ing TV shows of all $!@+ing time.

Of all @!$^&ING TIME.

And by the time I finished the 14 episodes (seriously, $%_# Fox), I couldn't wait to see the movie that followed, Serenity. I was so, so excited to see how Mr. (%&$#ing) Whedon would finish his epic sci-fi masterpiece. And the longer I watched, the more I loved.

Until, that is, this happened.

Joss Whedon....what the %*&?!?!!!

I understood when Shepherd died. He gets to keep all his mystery, big turning point for Mal to do what's right, impart some last words of wisdom, yadda yadda yadda.

But Wash?

%&^ you.

Hoban Washburne was $*& fine pilot, a classy guy, and had a lot of spunk. He and his wife Zoe (who, admittedly, came out looking even more like a badass when she took out her absent-husband filled rage on some punk-$#@ &$%@ Reavers) were a beautiful couple, and he helped keep her level. At a practical level, he still offered boatloads of comic relief and the occasional inspiration.

And you ^$#@*ing killed him.

You had succeeded in reprogramming my mind into no longer automatically calling Alan Tudyk "Steve the Pirate." DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT &%$(ING MEANS?!

And you harpooned him. Not even a death monologue. Maybe the Reavers got to him before the end of the movie, who knows? And now we're out one fine man. I hate you so mother %$#(ing much you piece of $#@ ^$% dumpster.

------

Now I need something nerdy and awesome (AND HAPPY AND NON-PIRATE-KILLING) to offset all that hate.

Hmmm. Guitar shaped like MIllenium Falcon. That's close...but need a little more.

Pixar now working with Jason Segel on a new Muppets movie? Yeah, that's getting my inner-nerd pretty hot and bothered. But Wash was so awesome, and I thought Joss Whedon was so excellent...

Yup. Okay. Better now. My faith in the nerd world has been restored.

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Radio playlist:

The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots pt. 1
The New Pornographers - Myriad Harbor
Steel Train - Bullet
The Magnetic Fields - You Must Be Out Of Your Mind
Menomena - TAOS
The Arcade Fire - Rebellion (Lies)
Wolf Parade - Palm Road
The Avett Brothers - Slight Figure of Speech
The Lost Fingers - You Shook Me All Night Long
Dan Sartain - Ruby Carol
Skybox - Slipping
The Mountain Goats - No Children
Rotary Downs - Wild Pink in Super 8
The Fruit Bats - The Ruminant Band
The Faint - Desperate Guys

I try to pick out songs that are really good to link, but apparently all of the first ones were good enough. So good set I guess. Especially love the Mountain Goats track, even through it's lyrics are rather depressing.

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SOFTY OUT!

Official soft nonsense Review of "Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour"

2010-07-22T01:08:00.000-05:00

Well, after too much money spent at the comic book store and yet another embarrassing moment therein ("Oh, it doesn't get delivered until 1.") and a pair of read-throughs, I'm finally ready to put forth a true, well-thought out, worthy review of the biggest literary release of my lifetime:

No spoilers ahead, but if you're going to read it shortly then wait until you have to listen to what I have to say.

If you are one of my newer readers...well...no, you really don't have an excuse. I've been geeking out about the release of this book and the movie next month since the second post on this blog way back in January. "Scott Pilgrim Nonsense" is number five on my most-popular blog tags. And just ask any of my friends if I ever talked/talk about it in real life.

(The answer would be a lot. Just by the way.)

And today, my prayers were finally answered. I couldn't even wait for my roommate (who owns the rest) to buy it, I just had to own it for myself and read it immediately.

I think it's only fair to say that my expectations were sky high for this one. Not only did I have a lot invested emotionally (I've read the other five books four times through), but I view Scott Pilgrim as a truly quality book series: past the jokes on slacker, indie music, and video game culture lie a story about finding oneself, struggling through relationships, friendships, and one hell of a love story. Brian Lee O'Malley perfectly captures the feelings and experiences of my generation: one that's often confused with what is right and wrong and doesn't know what life should be about.

And there were so many loose ends to tie up, so much drama still to unfold ahead, I absolutely couldn't wait to see what O'Malley had in store for us, his loyal fan base.

So, to the good part.

Unfortunately, my enthusiasm was not fully rewarded.

On the Scott Pilgrim movie poster, the tagline is:

"An epic tale of epic epicness."

Which is all fine and dandy for an Edgar Wright movie. However, I think O'Malley felt a little pressured to live up to that expectation, which didn't translate so well when smushing it all into a short comic book. It tried to finish the series with a grand flourish that tied it all together with a huge fight that explained Scott's background and why Ramona left and why people's heads glow and what the hell this douchey seventh evil ex (friggin' Gideon Graves) wants out of his League of Ramona's Evil Ex-Boyfriends.

But all that really happened was a story that was 50 pages too short. Don't get me wrong, it was a great read, and even better the second time around. But good lord, it could, and should, have been so much more. It all felt rushed. It had a great plotline and structure, but a lot of confusing things that needed explaining only got a panel or two. Key character development was simply glossed over (including a super incredible postlude twist), and the ending was too sudden to be as enveloping as it should have been.

So, to wrap it up, if you're a fan already, its worth the read, if for no other reason than the closure and a couple of real laugh out loud moments. If you're still interested, the five previous books will be some of the best things you've ever read (especially if you're in your 20's) and shouldn't be dissuaded by the not-on-par ending.

As for me? I'll swallow my slight disappointment, let you all know that I don't regret a thing, reread it another 6-7 times to see if it gets any better, and await the movie to come out.

(....AUGUST 20th!!!!)

Biggest Disappointment in My Life

2010-07-20T20:39:00.001-05:00

How can I go on like this?

Life isn't &%$*ing fair.

I go through all this @#&, and this is how life treats me?

After all the slogging through all this for so long, all that patience, all that understanding, all for this?

You've betrayed me, Bryan Lee O'Malley.

------

Dear Readers, you know how long I've been counting down the days until the release of the 6th installment of my beloved, dearest, grand Scott Pilgrim comic book series. Practically since day one of this blog for goodness sake. And what day was I counting down until?

July 20th.

And what day is it today?

...damn straight.

So, as distraught as I was to discover that I had to work from 6:45am to 6:30pm and therefore was unable to read it until late today. I had waited for months for it to come back into my life, I could wait a bit longer. My roommate even took an early lunch from his job to pick up an apartment copy the second the comic book store opened, promised me I'd get second read, and swore by his life that he wouldn't reveal anything.

And so, I waited.

I talked with all my nerdy friends at work about how awesome Scott is. I had never been more in love, and it showed. I brightened up any time he was mentioned, and dimmed a little when conversation turned elsewhere. I was completely, and utterly, in love, and couldn't wait to see him later today.

But then, I got a text.

And what did it say?

"Scott Pilgrim doesn't hit stores until tomorrow. It shipped today."

My reaction (a dramatic re-enactment):

First, stunned silence.

....siggawhuh?

Then, the gravity of the situation hit me.

*twitch*

Soon, I devolved into complete hysterics.

KKKHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNN!!!!!

After about an hour, I dipped into quiet whimpering.

:(

Then, I remembered something!

Hrrmmm...

I have tomorrow off, so I can go myself and buy it and read it IMMEDIATELY. And so, I wait.

*apparently zombified wait face*

You're worth it Scott. Just don't hurt me again. I couldn't bear it.

Playing "Nice"

2010-07-20T02:42:00.002-05:00

This is prrrroooobably the worst time in the world to be starting a heavy blog post (need to be at work at 6:45 tomorrow for a 12 hour work day, and am only just now getting home after seeing Inception - holy shit awesome by the way - and watching Mulan instead of doing laundry). But c'est la vis. Also, I promise that I have a wonderful string of nerdy/funny posts coming along the way to buffer an of this less-hilarious material.

Anywho.

All throughout this break-up, I've tried to stress being a good person through the whole thing. Not going out and blabbing to every stranger I meet about what happened, or going out of my way to tell someone that doesn't need to know. Not breaking things or pleading or prodding or telling people to go out of their way to hurt people. That sort of stuff.

But eventually, like all things I do in life, I began to question why exactly.

What were my true motivations for being a "good person?" And even more fundamentally, was I really even being a good person?

So this post (probably) won't be about the relationship itself, or even much about how I feel now about it (answer: still expectedly rough). It will be a rambling self-examination. Hope it doesn't suck too terribly.

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While I certainly didn't have a hard life growing up, my family wasn't on solid ground for a long, long time. My siblings were both adopted, and with that fact came (and still comes) a lot of issues my family had to deal with - a subject for some other post perhaps. To get through them all, I usually just took a step back from what was going on and shut down - read a book, went on the computer, thought about anything and everything but what was happening around me.

Through it all, I learned a few lessons that stick with me today (and apply to this post):

1) Everyone is deserving of love and forgiveness - From my brother and sister, who couldn't help what they were doing, to my parents, who were doing the best they could with a horrible situation.
2) If I ever did/said something wrong, I might get screamed at - Shut up, put up, or shit's going down.
3) To be noticed, you had to do something really bad or really good - Anything else, and you just fade into the background.
4) There's something wrong with everyone. - Pretty self-explanatory.

These three things (along with countless others) manifested themselves in an interesting way. For awhile in my childhood, I was always told that I was incredibly smart and gifted, that I had a bright future ahead of me. Then I kept getting knocked down a peg or two, whether it was meeting people infinitely smarter and more talented than I or terrible study habits that no one ever corrected in time caught up with me. So I turned for a little while to the bad. I did worse in school, had a lot of anger and resentment, ate myself huge, and lots of self-dislike*.

*Once, at about age 8, in a plea for attention, I told my mom after someone made fun of me for my weight and after a rather stressful point in my life that I should just kill myself. She responded with "That would be the easy way out, wouldn't it?"

My family is 1000% better now. Indescribably better. My parents became junior psychologists and learned from their mistakes, my siblings have both talked to therapists, and there's a lot more love going on than anger or confusion or hurt. From all that, I learned to try and let go, which for many is a valuable skill.

But for me, it's more of a curse. It's become so extreme that sometimes I force myself to dwell on something painful so I don't just dismiss it and so that I don't shove it down somewhere so that I can't feel anything. Usually it doesn't work though.

And with it, I've become a very carefree person. So much so that I become lazy in my relationships, let my room accumulate all sorts of shit before even contemplating cleaning up, and almost never do my homework until 2 a.m. the night before. I settle instead of strive in most things. But one thing that I always strive for is to be a "good person."

But then enters lesson #4: if there is something wrong with everyone, am I being truly genuine? Or does my desire for attention manifest itself through being recognized as a good person?

I won't lie in saying that they're two separate things. I know I've thought on many occasions that I might be doing something so that other people can perceive it as nice, or fantasized about someone saying that I'm "the nicest person" they know or some other BS like that. People say I'm a very genuine person, but am I just good at faking it? Is the fact that I'm asking that question proof that I am genuine and just suffer from a lack of confidence?

I've told a lot of people about what happened between me and my now-Ex, and I can't tell whether it's because I simply want to talk with people about it or whether it's because I need people to reassure me that I'm handling all this well and that I'm a good person deserving of love - maybe that's why I re-posted my (edited) break-up entry. Maybe it's not a problem of me being selfish or unselfish, but one of me only seeing these things in black and white.

Or maybe I just need to stop saying maybe and do what I want and need to do for myself, and not what I hope others will think of me because I do these things. Or is being a good person being someone who is always willing to put themselves last and always shut up and put up, or at least say things in a "nice" way?

Can you tell that I'm confused?

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And thus ends my nearly 3am rant. Good news coming tomorrow :)

PLUS! Though it's TECHNICALLY Tuesday, I haven't done one of these in awhile, so some good old-fashioned Nostalgia Music Monday to get you through your not-Monday. This is an ode to today and all the Disney goodness I enjoyed from my (second) favorite animated production:

(I thought about "A Girl Worth Fighting For," as it's my real favorite, but I thought that might be a little self-serving. Have a good one!)

Who Loves Orange Soda?

2010-07-14T11:14:00.001-05:00

As a college student, I'm often caught between adulthood and my childhood. While my life at the moment revolves around my work, I'm also ridiculously proud of our couch, not only because it was found out in the alleyway (we took four bottles of disinfectant to it, no worries), but also because our couch cover is, well, see for yourself.

Power Rangers, bitchezzz.

But, I mean, who wouldn't?*

*P.S. - We also have a full-sized chalkboard and a sandwich de-cruster in the shape of a dinosaur. And an oscilloscope, but that's awesome for completely different reasons.

And one of my favorite avenues in the business of nostalgia is reminiscing about old children's television shows. For all you 20-somethings out there, don't try to tell me you haven't. Our generation was practically raised on the stuff. I couldn't even begin to count the number of conversations I've had with other people about our favorite Nicktoons or Cartoon Network or Disney Channel fare from back in the day. But A couple days ago, during such a conversation, I realized how vastly underrepresented many of these shows, equal in glory to their more mentioned counterparts, are in the collective memory of my fellows.

So, being the guy that I am, decided to compile a list of just a few of the many childhood shows who just don't get the love they deserve. You won't find any Rugrats, Spongebob, Powderpuff Girls, Fresh Prince, GUTS, Hey Arnold!, The Fairly Oddparents, Rocko's Modern Life, Doug, Arthur, Power Rangers, Legends of the Hidden Temple, As Told By Ginger, Full House, etc. on this list. Now, some of these may seem obvious to you (they sure do to me), but this is simply the list that I have compiled through thorough data compilation.

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Recess

One of the ultimate cartoon kid cartoon dream teams, they had all kid stereotypes covered in the best possible way. What really made this show shine was the secondary characters like the Diggers and Ashleys. And admittedly, I'd want to be taught by Ms. Groetke, hairy hippy legs and all.

T.J.: This whomps...

The Weekenders

Another solid crew of cartoon teens (with a sweet intro song - you know you danced to it), the Weekenders made you appreciate the friends you had. Or, if you didn't have any friends, then they were a pretty cool bunch to fake fill the void. Plus, lots of fourth wall-breaking moments, which is one of my faves.

Tish: Maybe you're confusing us with your imaginary friends.
[Tino turns to the camera and addresses the audience]
Tino: She thinks I have imaginary friends. Ha!

Dave the Barbarian

A show cancelled before it really got a chance to get off the ground, this show about a wussy barbarian and his family was chock-full of glorious puns, visual gags, and the occasional funny commentary. Heck, it even had a prety solid voice cast. But then Disney started overplaying the few episodes they had and it tanked after only a season.

Dave: But I don't wanna be a barbarian!
Fang: You did when you were ten!
Dave: Yes, but I thought it meant a librarian that also cuts hair.

Pepper Ann

Admittedly, there is a pretty tried and true method to having a decently popular children's cartoon show that's goes a little something like "Our audience is a bunch of awkward middle schoolers with nothing and no one to relate to aside from the giant zit forming on their collective greasy foreheads, so let's make a middle schooler who is even more awkward than they are." And Pepper Ann, Nicky, and Milo were quite the weird trio.

Nicky Little: For the last time, Pepper Ann, Paul from the Wonder Years is not Marilyn Manson.

The Adventures of Pete and Pete

One of my friends here at college actually owns the first two seasons of this show which, admittedly, is partially why he is my friend. But that's not important right now. Despite it's surreal plot lines and characters, Pete, his younger brother Pete, Ellen, Petunia, and the rest all found a way to capture the feelings of growing up. I think this show deserves a couple quotes:

Monica: I am so sick and tired of hearing lucky this and lucky that. Why don't you take your lucky necklace stuff it down your lucky mouth before I push you down this lucky hill and make you poop in your lucky underpants.

Older Pete Wrigley: Why is it that when you miss somebody so much that your heart is ready to disintegrate, you always hear the saddest song ever on the radio?

Bus Driver Stu Benedict: Carrot-top Judas... THOU HAST FORSAKEN ME!

Figure It Out

A fairly funny game show where Nick stars tried to guess some random and amazing fact about some random kid, like they collect all their boogers in a jar or are world-champion staring contesters. But, really, it is significant because it was the adolescent generation's introduction to the lovely former Olympian Summer Sanders. Mmmm...

Summer: Here’s what you guys have figured out after two rounds: still nothing. [reading the Answer Board] “BLANK BLANK On BLANK In BLANK.” And over here on the Clue Recap Board: “Has A Tail,” “Not A Cow.” Does that help you guys much?

Dexter's Lab

One of the original awesome Cartoon Network shows that just doesn't get the recognition that it should. Just had some great moments, like the episode where Dexter tries to learn French overnight by falling asleep to a tape recording and wakes up the next morning only being able to say the phrase "omelette du fromage." Also had a few pretty awesome shorts and was staffed by some crazy writers including Genndy Tartakovsky (Samurai Jack), Craig McCracken (Powerpuff Girls, Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends), Butch Hartman (The Fairly Oddparents and Danny Phantom), Rob Renzetti (My Life as a Teenage Robot), and Seth MacFarlane himself.

Dexter: [laughing] Dee Dee, I heard this great joke! Okay, here it goes: A physics professor and his assistant are working on liberating negatively-charged hydroxyl ions, when all of a sudden, the assistant says, "Wait, professor, what if the salicylic acids do not accept the hydroxyl ions?" And the professor responds, "That's no hydroxyl ion; that's my wife!"

Bobby's World

Ahhh, the pre-crazy bald germ-crazy days of Howie Mandel. It seems like so very long ago....

Uncle Ted Genetic: Hey Bob-O. You know what time it is?
Bobby Generic: Uh, noogie time?
Uncle Ted Genetic: You're right - it's *noogie* time!

Freakazoid

I re-watched both seasons of this show last semester, and I was blown away by the number of adult pop culture references mixed in with the juvenile delightfulness. It was one of those fantastic shows written by people who just couldn't live with themselves if they reigned in their obscure referencing/dirty minds just to make it a children's show.

Freakazoid: If this were an after-school special, ooh, you'd pay a bittersweet price for your little deceit, like getting big oily zits! Or eating off the same plate as David Lee Roth!

Angry Beavers

Hands down, right up there with Hey Arnold! as not only my favorite Nicktoon of all time, but one of my favorite shows period. I need a daily quota of spaz, and Dag and Norbie filled and surpassed it every single episode.

Daggett: ...I suffered an unexpected prolapse...
Norbert: You mean relapse.
Daggett: Work with me here.

Samurai Jack

Basically Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon badassery and kung-fuey-ness meets the future. Which, to me, means an auto epic win.

Salute Your Shorts

I remember more of the lyrics to this theme song (which may or may not be on my iPod) than I do about the show, but I do remember it being pretty funny. And the camp name being hard to spell.

Budnick: [everyone is singing the opening theme song] It makes me wanna fart.
Ug: [shouts] It's "I hope that we never part". Now get it right or pay the price.

Clarissa Explains it All

Oh Melissa Joan Hart. What happened to you? You rocked Clarissa, then you rocked Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Now you're starring in such far as Holiday in Handcuffs (1 AND 2). Maybe you should just revamp this old classic and go back to teaching foreigners that the preferred form of entry into other people's houses here in America is via ladder through the window.

HONORABLE MENTION:
Magic School Bus - Right up there with Bill Nye the Science guy in educational excellence.
Where on Earth is Carmen San Diego - Seriously, that ho had more frequent flyer miles than Han Solo.
Johnny Bravo - Hooah!
Kablam - You can't tell me you didn't love Action League Now! and Angela Anaconda....
Ed, Edd, n Eddy - Random, occasionally a little gross, but filled with lots of odd laughs.

And I don't want to hear your nonsense about what shows you miss from those early childhood days of yore.

....PSYCHE!

....If you didn't laugh at that, just talk to the hand, 'cuz the face ain't listenin'.

Well, So Much For That

2010-07-10T03:16:00.000-05:00

I tend to blog late at night/early in the morning. Mostly, it's because I'm a slacker/procrastinator who apparently doesn't enjoy going to sleep at a reasonable hour. But really, blogging is a nice activity to do right before bed, as it allows for some nice daily reflection (albeit one with more typos and rambling than necessary).

Tonight is certainly no exception. Here I was, ready to drop all sorts of good vibes on the ol' blog tonight, about how I learned that I can still watch How I Met Your Mother by myself without being overwhelmed with emotion, about how I got a fortune cookie that said "Lovers come and go, but friends are always there," about how I got to vent to the now-Ex and about how it made me feel so much better, about how I finally shaved for the first time in a couple weeks (and rocked some impressive sideburns for about 30 seconds to boot). About how I had one of the best radio shows of my life today (albeit still semi inspired by Her), and was finally able to fall asleep. About how much better I'd been feeling.

But, as I've learned so many times, life keeps happening right until you go to bed.

I got invited to a party tonight, one of those semi-emotional and very sweaty going away parties for someone that I've talked to for about 15 seconds type of deals. But I knew some friends who were going, so decided that I could stave off any awkwardness for a little while. Admittedly, I wondered if She would be there, but it wasn't any kind of deciding factor. I just desperately needed to be around people.

Fortunately/unfortunately, She wasn't (one of "the guys" were however, which made things pretty awkward - mostly for him I'd imagine). So I just hung around with those that I knew for a couple hours, turned down drink after drink, then proceeded to walk a friend back to her place. On the way back, we had an interesting conversation.

Friend: Doesn't this summer seem much more stressful than last year?

SN: What do you mean?

F: I don't know, it just seems like this summer is a lot harder to deal with.

SN: Well I'm hardly one to gauge stress levels of at this point in the summer, things are a whole lot of blah for me right now.

F: Well that's just it. All the problems and drama we're having this year are much more real. It's not "So and So hit on me last night," it's way more serious shit.

SN: Yeah, I guess you're right. A lot more pressure on us this year, with the added responsibilities and 10-5 schedules.

F: Yeah. I guess we're all just growing up.

Obviously, that got me thinking about Her. I knew that, even before I dropped my friend off, that I'd take the long way back to my apartment, so that I could walk past Her place of residence.

And I did. I'm not proud to admit it, in fact I feel a lot like a pathetic piece of shit. I even did the John Cusack-esque stare depressingly into her window for a second (sans 80s power ballad). I felt like scum afterwards. Here she was, trying to move on, and here I am, saying I'm willing to respect that but not being able to stop myself (or worse, probably not willing). Wishing that she would look out the window, see me there, smile and motion me up. Fucking blog about it afterward.

So I moped the rest of the way home, imagining the things we'd be talking about had nothing happened, and once I got back I began to settle in to blog. Naturally, when I saw her get on Facebook chat, I sat back and prayed for her to talk to me again. When I heard that distinct pop, my heart jumped.

"i just saw your blog."

I sat there, stunned for a second. Was she overwrought with emotion after reading my love letter/dear diary/memories? Did all that love that she lost come flushing back? Was she upset at me?

Yup, that last one.

As you've probably noticed, I took down the post. She made the (valid) point that it did, in fact, reveal a lot of details that she was trying to move past and more. Part of me wanted to go against my good guy nature and say "fuck it, you know what happened, I know what happened, it's not like I sent it to your parents in an e-mail, and it's my blog and I can do what I want."

But I didn't want to hurt her. So it's gone now.

I'm sure She'll read this post eventually. I don't know what She'll think of it either. Probably just remember how big of an idiot I am, and want me even less than she already did. I'm probably pushing her farther away from me by writing all this, which is still the exact opposite of what I'd like to do. But this is what I'm feeling, and I need to learn that I shouldn't hide my feelings from the ones I really care about, because if they really care then they'll still love me anyway.

I think what I'm doing is just trying to reach out in any way I can. No, I know I am. Loser.

------

What's the moral of all this? Fuck if I know. Probably that I'm learning my patented overly kind and loving approach just won't work for some things. And definitely that I'm nowhere near as good with all this as I fooled myself into thinking I was. And that this is a terrible and poorly thought out post, and shouldn't see the light of day.

And that, damn it, Marshall and Lily too cute to be heartbroken by.

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Architecture in Helsinki - One Heavy February
Dogs Die in Hot Cars - Lounger
Tokyo Police Club - Boots of Danger
A.C. Newman - Prophets
Skybox - Lights
Catch 22 - Supernothing
Thao With the Get Down Stay Down - Swimming Pools
The Black keys - Tighten Up
The Heavy - How You Like Me Now?
Dan Sartain - Ruby Carol
The Heligoats - Fresh Sticks
The Moldy Peaches - Who's Got the Crack?
Mountain Goats - Going to Georgia
Nico - These Days
Owen - Amnesia and Me
The Love Language - Heart to Hell
Unicycle Loves You - Highway Robbery
Modest Mouse - Ocean Breathes Salty

Morale Booster

2010-07-06T19:49:00.004-05:00

My dear interwebs friend The Illustrious D over at Fleekin Floygin posted a fancy little picture from Wordle that counts the words used on a website, say, a certain nerdy blog, and arrange them accordingly in size. D's was pretty hilarious (including the word dildo being prominently featured, as well as apparently two types of "fuck"), so I was interested and wanted to see what mine would come up with.

Needless to say, I was disappointed:

While "love" and "miss" are featured prominently (no doubt thanks to yesterday's emo post), but as you no doubt noticed, the two biggest?

"Epic" and "Fail."

Oi vey.

------

Cool video sidenote, I found this sweet video on my daily blog trolling: a mod of a Left For Dead 2 level that recreates Disney World's (old, pre-shitty re-do) "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. Killing zombies while rehashing old memories?

Yes please.

The End

2010-07-06T02:45:00.005-05:00

I don't know how this post is going to turn out. Sad, I'd imagine. Certainly poorly written. Most likely boring. But I want to remember not only what happened tonight, but also remind myself of all the good memories I already had.

The reason I hadn't posted in a few days was because last Thursday Girlfriend told me that she had cheated on me twice in the four days prior. She said that it was with the same person (turned out once was with her friend/my acquaintance, and wanted to protect him, but in the end after the second time it was moot). Needless to say, I was a little devastated. I wanted to write everything out, everything I was feeling. Some of I'm sure was to organize my thoughts, get it out there. But even more I'd hope that maybe, just maybe, if I wrote something heartwarming and beautiful and loving and forgiving enough, that one way or another it would work itself out.

I left the next day for a conveniently timed vacation home. I talked with a lot of people while I was there, mostly to my mom and a couple friends of mine. They all gave me (good) advice, and they all helped me put together a "plan" for things I wanted to talk about and address. My mom and I decided that it was somewhat about her desire to sabotage our relationship because of her mom's abandonment when she was younger. All my friends told me that I, of all people, didn't deserve to be treated this way.

And I didn't.

So I literally wrote down a script of all the things that I wanted to say. And it was beautiful. It talked about how what she had done was terrible, and that it was going to haunt me for a long, long time. Having the only person you'd ever "been" with "be" with others in that short of a time period will mess with anyone. And about how doing that was uncharacteristic of her, and that showed that there was something wrong that would take a long, long time to fix. I would say that I couldn't do the fixing for her, but that I would be there for her to support her, even if she needed some time off to do it. It was a winner of a speech, designed for maximum tear and love output, just in time for our meeting Monday night when I got back.

I wanted nothing more in the world than to meet her at the location she had chosen and to have her run to me and hug me, tell me how sorry she was, and how much she wanted to take everything back and how she wanted to change and make it work again. To at least tell me how much she loved me. Anything.

I got the tears. And I got a couple hugs. But I also got the one response that I wasn't ready for:

"I just don't love you like I used to. I don't know if I can ever romantically love you again."

Ssssthunk. Arrow straight to the heart.

That, above all else, was what got to me. Even more than the lying and all that. I was ready for her to tell me pretty much anything else, but not that. To hear something like that tears the very foundation of everything you believe to be true down to the ground. I love her more right now than I ever have in my life, and she - the one who said I love you first, would name our children and point out houses that she wanted to share with me - told me that she didn't love me that way anymore The one who inspired me to have a plan that I was excited about told me she couldn't see a future with me anymore.

And how could I be mad about her being unfaithful? It was a horrible, terrible way to end it, but drunken mistakes involving someone you don't love as much anymore make everything so much more difficult to process. It wasn't her getting revenge, it was a case of her being taken advantage of in an emotional state (at least to a certain extent). I couldn't even blame her when she said she needed time away, that she wasn't sure we could ever be together again, and that we should cut ties for awhile.

I'm not mad anymore. I was yesterday and early today. But now I'm just broken. There's nothing either of us could have done differently to change the eventual outcome. Being dumped for the first time has really gotten to me. I've always thought I was a catch, someone everyone should love - especially the ones that I already loved. But this was a dose of reality: apparently, some people just aren't right for one another (I've seen enough movies that I should know this by now).

------

As sad or noble or whatever it is now, I can't help but look back at the amazing, life-changing memories we shared.

We started talking over Facebook about Weezer.
It moved on to late night video chats until sometimes 9 in the morning.
She said that she fell in love with me the first time we met in person, after only a few weeks of talking.
We started going out just a couple weeks into college.

I'll miss the way we'd watch entire series of shows or have movie marathons together.
I'll miss the bike rides.
I'll miss the way her body fit into mine when we'd hug.
I'll miss our baby talk, especially when begging me not to tickle her.
I'll miss going to concerts and musicals and anything new.
I'll miss having someone to hold while I cried and being able to hold her when she cried.
I'll miss her laugh, somewhere between a cackle and a giggle.
I'll miss our deep talks.
I'll miss the way she said "cuddles."
I'll miss my cooking buddy.
I'll miss the Halloween costumes
I'll miss the way we'd hold each other after after intimate moments.
I'll miss the thoughtful gifts that I never truly appreciated enough.
I'll miss watching her as she slept for the third time that day.
I'll miss picking out her songs for her radio show.
I'll miss the (well-deserved) nagging.
I'll miss caring for her when she was sick or IBS-ridden or passing a kidney stone during finals (or was it midterms?).
I'll miss her stories about her crazy family or being in Pakistan or traveling the world or what happened five minutes ago.
I'll miss the way she'd tell me how amazing I was for the boring and nerdy things I'd do (one of my biggest blog fans).
I'll miss the way she'd pretend she was interested in a football game with me.
I'll miss the late-night food cravings.
I'll miss how big and beautiful and innocent and filled with love her eyes would look every time she looked at me.
I'll miss the teasing.
I'll miss the one person in my dream about the zombie apocalypse that I spared, even though she had already turned into the undead.
I'll miss the back rubs.
I'll miss her sense of style and cool music.
I'll miss being the one that she'd turn to when she'd had a bad to and count on to make it all better.
I'll miss the one person that pushed me to be bigger and better and pushed me to dream bigger and better than I had ever dreamt before.
I'll miss the new perspective she added to my life.
I'll miss knowing that I have someone out there who loves me unconditionally that I can always, always turn to for a laugh or advice.
I'll miss the way she'd rub my earlobes.
I'll miss painting pottery and going to the zoo together.
I'll miss the most beautiful, intelligent, caring person that I've ever had the privilege to know, let alone be loved by.

To (Now Ex-)Girlfriend (if you're reading this),
Simply put, I'll miss you. I'll miss every single thing about you that I listed and more. Even now, I can't think of anything that I don't love about you, even after the cheating. I know you said we couldn't work in the future, and maybe you were right. But it sure didn't feel like that to me. I don't hold your decision against you, and I never will. And I'm not writing all this to get your attention (well, mostly not). I know that it won't get you back: not now, and maybe (probably?) not ever. That's just something I'll have to deal with. Instead, I'm writing this to vent and to have one big emotional close to tonight before I go to bed. My life will never, ever be the same now that you've touched it, and I thank God for every single day we've shared together, right to that first time you friended me on Facebook only to use me for information about freshman orientation to earlier tonight to when we hugged on the corner that last time and I saw you reach for my hand and stop yourself. I'll always, always love you and support you. I might not be able to be right there for you for a little while, but if you ever need me then I'll be there, either as a friend or more than that (I'm still hoping and praying for the latter, but you already knew that).

I could go on, but I doubt anyone (including me) wants to read this anymore. If you are reading this, I have so much more to say to you, but it would all come out "I love you don't leave I love you don't leave I love you don't leave." Instead, I'll just end it.

Goodbye, for now. Or, goodbye forever.