Let me premise this entry by saying that I am the biggest mama's boy in the world. I love my mom with all my heart and would do anything for her (except laundry, but we'll get to that). While I am pretty domesticated in the kitchen, I am completely and utterly lost when it comes to clothing. If it was up to me, all my shirts would have dinosaurs with hilarious onomatopoeia on them. I still call my mom almost nightly for her to tell me what to wear to work the next day (wearing suits is awesome, but hard work).
Over the course of my life, I've learned to heed my mother's advice on almost every subject. Whenever I did not, some ironic twist of fate would have me coming home at the end of the day, telling her my story, and receiving something along the lines of: "I told you that would happen this morning! Why don't you ever believe me? How many times do you have to (insert: break something, hurt yourself, lose something, etc) before you learn to listen to me? Well, I'm glad you're alright. But I told you so."
Despite the hundreds of debates/discussions/battles I've had with my mom over the past 21 years, I've only been victorious in one instance: laundry.
When I was in 9th grade, my mom tried to get me to do my own laundry for the first time. "You're going to have to learn how to do it in college, so you might as well start now" was the rationale of choice. I said that I had plenty of time before college and would learn later. This worked until senior year of high school.
It started with baby steps - requests for me to carry my laundry down the stairs, holding fake conversations with me in the laundry room while subtly feeding me instructions on how to use the washer, asking me to separate my whites from my colors, having me hang up and fold everything, etc. I played along for the most part, always with the intention that I would not ever actually put my clothes in the washer and then transfer them to the dryer. This type of "laundering debate" lasted for a couple of weeks - I would get creative and think of ways out of doing laundry time and time again. Finally, my mom refused to do my laundry anymore.
"You will have to learn how to do it yourself now because I'm not doing it anymore. You're going to be the smelly kid at school."
My response? "Ok, I'll be the smelly kid at school. And you will be the mom of the smelly kid at school. What will the other moms think?"
(Looking back on this from an Industrial and Labor Relations major's perspective, I can totally see how she was labor and I was management)
The laundry strike lasted somewhere between 4 and 5 weeks. I rewore and reused everything: towels, boxers, shirts, socks, pants - you name it, I recycled it. The continual cycle of dirty, stained clothing and the idea that people were talking about me to their parents eventually forced my mom to crack and wash my clothes (after I brought them down to the laundry room, which I still consider a fair compromise). Victory never smelled so sweet.
Now, I do, in fact, do laundry on my own at school, but I wait until the last possible article of clothing has been worn before I finally concede. Why do I do this? Because there is the chance, albeit a slim one, that before I NEED to do laundry, I'll go home for a weekend and bring with me two massive duffel bags filled with dirty clothes to remind myself of my singular win in a sea of Greek, motherly defeat.
So, thank you, Mom, for everything you've taught me over these past 21 years, everything you'll teach me from now on, and for letting me have this small victory. Remember that while I love you with all my heart and will forever listen to your words of wisdom, you will never have a son that does his own laundry at home. This is not out of inability or laziness, bitterness or anger, but rather the sense of pride that I get when I bring home 150 pounds of dirty clothes and leave home with 135 pounds of clean ones (15 pounds of funk washed out). Take heart in knowing that I am one of the few people I know that still calls home every single day, be it for advice on what to wear the next day or just for the friendly words and unconditional love. Also, know that you will always have a little boy to take care of, and part of that is doing his laundry.
Will someone buy me this shirt?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
On "This Week in Techno Music"
Whenever I meet anyone from Long Island, one of the first things I always say is "You guys have great radio stations." They always inquire as to which channels I tune into and almost always assume it is 106.1 BLI. While that station is preset 5 on my dial, my station of choice is always Party 105.3.
Unfortunately, few Long Islanders (at least the ones I've met) know about this station. But for those that I've crossed that do listen to it, we instantly have something in common: an absurd and irrational obsession with techno, trance, and house music. I'm not sure where my fascination with this type of music came from, but my hard drive is loaded with it. Anyway, since I've been home these past couple days, I've been listening and I found some great music during my long, aimless drives to nowhere (which are a big part of my life, as my hometown friends will attest, and will be explained in my next entry).
Anyway, some of my favorite new songs are listed here. Take a listen, even if you aren't into techno music. Also, a bunch of the videos are GREAT to watch, so if you can't stand the music, hit mute and enjoy the visuals.
M'Black - Heartbreak
*No video, but a great song.
Blake Lewis - Heartbreak on Vinyl
*I very much recommend watching this video because it is just a compilation of 80s and 90s movie clips. It is awesome. Put it on mute if you must.
Tiesto featuring Sneaky Sound System - I Will Be Here
*Amazing music video, amazing song. It is that simple.
Edward Maya & Vika Jigulina - Stereo Love
*This music video takes place in Greece - which is awesome - and no woman ever looked as good as Vika Jigulina while wearing rain boots. The lyrics are really great, too.
La Roux - Bulletproof
*Hilarious music video and pretty catchy song. I am 90% sure this artist is a woman.
Anyway, hope you enjoy these songs at least as much as I do. Philosophical post with depth maybe later tonight or tomorrow.
Unfortunately, few Long Islanders (at least the ones I've met) know about this station. But for those that I've crossed that do listen to it, we instantly have something in common: an absurd and irrational obsession with techno, trance, and house music. I'm not sure where my fascination with this type of music came from, but my hard drive is loaded with it. Anyway, since I've been home these past couple days, I've been listening and I found some great music during my long, aimless drives to nowhere (which are a big part of my life, as my hometown friends will attest, and will be explained in my next entry).
Anyway, some of my favorite new songs are listed here. Take a listen, even if you aren't into techno music. Also, a bunch of the videos are GREAT to watch, so if you can't stand the music, hit mute and enjoy the visuals.
M'Black - Heartbreak
*No video, but a great song.
Blake Lewis - Heartbreak on Vinyl
*I very much recommend watching this video because it is just a compilation of 80s and 90s movie clips. It is awesome. Put it on mute if you must.
Tiesto featuring Sneaky Sound System - I Will Be Here
*Amazing music video, amazing song. It is that simple.
Edward Maya & Vika Jigulina - Stereo Love
*This music video takes place in Greece - which is awesome - and no woman ever looked as good as Vika Jigulina while wearing rain boots. The lyrics are really great, too.
La Roux - Bulletproof
*Hilarious music video and pretty catchy song. I am 90% sure this artist is a woman.
Anyway, hope you enjoy these songs at least as much as I do. Philosophical post with depth maybe later tonight or tomorrow.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
On Where I Got My Sense of Humor
For those of you that have met my parents, namely my father, you can kind of see where I came from. This post begins with TWO stories about my dad's adventures, not mine. Both of these stories are true - I promise - but I was not present for either of them. Some background information: my parents own a restaurant and my dad works there every day. He is about 6' 2" and not thin, for lack of a better term.
Story 1: Delivery on Presidents' Day Elevator Hilarity.
My dad was delivering an order to an accounting firm located on the 14th floor of a building. After dropping the food off, he got back into the elevator and began his descent. The way he described it to me, very rarely do people ever get on the elevator in this building - at least when he is delivering - so he usually rides it down alone. Anyway, the elevator stopped at floor 12 and two people got on. Then, it stopped on floor 11 and a couple more people got on. The same at floors 10, 9, and 7. After the door closed at 7, the elevator was packed with people. My dad, from the back corner, says out loud "Ok everyone, if someone gets on at the 5th floor, we should all yell SURPRISE as soon as the door opens up." The elevator skips the 6th floor and sure enough, the door opens on the 5th floor. On the other side of the door is a 60-something year old woman wearing a bright yellow rain slicker and hat. The door opens fully. My dad yells "SURPRISE!!!" and jumps into the air in his corner of the elevator. No one else does anything. The poor little woman that had taken two steps into the elevator promptly backs out. The door shuts 5 awkward seconds later and continues to the ground floor. On the way, my dad says to the people in the elevator: "Thanks a lot, guys."
Story 2: The Rainy Day Debacle
Now, New Haven is not known for having especially heavy rain, but from time to time it can really pour. On one of these occasions, my dad was returning from a delivery. The rain had started while he was dropping the food off inside a building and he did not bring an umbrella. He stood in the lobby of the building where he had delivered the food and gazed out into the downpour, wondering how he would be able to get back. Waiting the storm out was not an option because the delivery was right before lunch, which is when the restaurant is the busiest. He looked outside and saw his escape plan - a man with a very large golf umbrella walking down the street. My dad ran outside, through the rain, and joined the gentleman underneath his umbrella. The man was shocked. My dad said "Hey, goin' my way?" The man with the umbrella looked at my dad and then promptly ran away down the street. My dad, upset that he was caught in the rain, ran back to the restaurant.
Those are two stories (two of the many) that I feel really show my roots. You see, my dad has always been someone that does things like this and I thus learned from him how to interact with people. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing is really for you all to decide.
We watched the Cornell basketball game tonight together. He was excited that, finally, his son cared enough about a sport to yell at the screen when something bad happened. He was also excited that his son could finally drink a beer with him and not have his wife (my mom) yell at him about it. A bittersweet moment, I guess.
Story 1: Delivery on Presidents' Day Elevator Hilarity.
My dad was delivering an order to an accounting firm located on the 14th floor of a building. After dropping the food off, he got back into the elevator and began his descent. The way he described it to me, very rarely do people ever get on the elevator in this building - at least when he is delivering - so he usually rides it down alone. Anyway, the elevator stopped at floor 12 and two people got on. Then, it stopped on floor 11 and a couple more people got on. The same at floors 10, 9, and 7. After the door closed at 7, the elevator was packed with people. My dad, from the back corner, says out loud "Ok everyone, if someone gets on at the 5th floor, we should all yell SURPRISE as soon as the door opens up." The elevator skips the 6th floor and sure enough, the door opens on the 5th floor. On the other side of the door is a 60-something year old woman wearing a bright yellow rain slicker and hat. The door opens fully. My dad yells "SURPRISE!!!" and jumps into the air in his corner of the elevator. No one else does anything. The poor little woman that had taken two steps into the elevator promptly backs out. The door shuts 5 awkward seconds later and continues to the ground floor. On the way, my dad says to the people in the elevator: "Thanks a lot, guys."
Story 2: The Rainy Day Debacle
Now, New Haven is not known for having especially heavy rain, but from time to time it can really pour. On one of these occasions, my dad was returning from a delivery. The rain had started while he was dropping the food off inside a building and he did not bring an umbrella. He stood in the lobby of the building where he had delivered the food and gazed out into the downpour, wondering how he would be able to get back. Waiting the storm out was not an option because the delivery was right before lunch, which is when the restaurant is the busiest. He looked outside and saw his escape plan - a man with a very large golf umbrella walking down the street. My dad ran outside, through the rain, and joined the gentleman underneath his umbrella. The man was shocked. My dad said "Hey, goin' my way?" The man with the umbrella looked at my dad and then promptly ran away down the street. My dad, upset that he was caught in the rain, ran back to the restaurant.
Those are two stories (two of the many) that I feel really show my roots. You see, my dad has always been someone that does things like this and I thus learned from him how to interact with people. Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing is really for you all to decide.
We watched the Cornell basketball game tonight together. He was excited that, finally, his son cared enough about a sport to yell at the screen when something bad happened. He was also excited that his son could finally drink a beer with him and not have his wife (my mom) yell at him about it. A bittersweet moment, I guess.
Monday, March 22, 2010
On Cross-Cultural Tendencies
This post begins with a short conversation between myself and my longtime friend, Ivica Pavisic. (In case it isn't clear, I'm GeorgetheGreek)
Vitz8989: i have a story
georgethegreek89: ..
Vitz8989: so my mom was telling me that she was with my dad somewhere
georgethegreek89: ok
Vitz8989: and some lady started talking to them
Vitz8989: and the lady turned to my dad and was like "don't you remember me?"
Vitz8989: and he was like "not really"
Vitz8989: so she told him about how this one time she was driving by our house
Vitz8989: with her kids in the car
georgethegreek89: HOLD ON
georgethegreek89: brb
Vitz8989: ok
Vitz8989: lol
georgethegreek89: ok
georgethegreek89: back
georgethegreek89: driving by the house and
Vitz8989: ok
Vitz8989: so
Vitz8989: my dad was making goat or lamb or something that day
Vitz8989: so he had it hanging up in the tree out front while he was making the fire
Vitz8989: and the lady's kids saw this
Vitz8989: and were like "mom, is that guy cooking a dog"
Vitz8989: and she was like "don't be ridiculous"
Vitz8989: and drove by again
Vitz8989: and she saw it
Vitz8989: and her kids saw it again
Vitz8989: and they were convinced he was cooking a dog
Vitz8989: so her kids started crying
georgethegreek89: lmao
georgethegreek89: hahahahahhaha
Vitz8989: so they drove around one more time
Vitz8989: and then she stopped and asked
Vitz8989: and he told them it was just a lamb
Vitz8989: but like
Vitz8989: what if they never stopped and asked
georgethegreek89: hahhahahahahaha
Vitz8989: what if they just went on assuming that he was actually cooking a dog
Vitz8989: we would have been That family
georgethegreek89: and i would have loved it.
Ivica and I both come from old world families - Ivica is Croatian and I am Greek. Our families carry certain traditions from our countries of origin, some more socially acceptable in the United States than others. One of the more major of these traditions is the roasting of an entire animal.
Let's start with some history behind the tradition (I did a report on this Junior year of high school so I am qualified to write on the subject). In ancient times - in Rome and more importantly, Greece - meat was very rarely eaten. Fish was prevalent in the diet, but breads and other starches made up the majority of the meals. Vegetables that grew in the Mediterranean area (spinach, olives, tomatoes, etc) were also part of the daily diet. Meat was not a day to day, or even a weekly food; it was usually consumed on holidays.
Part of these celebrations was the roasting of the animal. People from the entire village would gather around for the event Sacrificial animals would be slain, certain parts would be burnt as offerings, and the rest would be consumed by those all around. The roasting of the animal as part of a celebration remained a part of the culture.
Today, the roastings are a little bit different. Now, my family only does a roast lamb on Easter. My uncle sets up the rotating spit and the charcoal pit early in the morning and the entire family gathers around all day, mouths watering, and watches the meal of day turn and turn. I've always thought the lamb was smiling at me whilst it rotated over the 400 degree heat. My grandfather used to eat the eyes and the brains (after chasing us around the yard with the entire head on a fork) - apparently, they are very good for you.
To my knowledge, Ivica's father roasts animals for no apparent reason in their backyard, but that's not to say it has any less meaning. In fact, an animal roast has become an event enough for having people over - no other holiday or celebration is required. The promise of rotisserie meat is enough to have friends and family from all over gather around.
Last fourth of July, Ivica and I (along with a few friends) tried to capture the feelings of such moments with our now infamous "Fourth of Jufry" party, in which we fried a turkey, twinkies, oreos, different cheeses, shrimp, popsicles, and almost anything else under the sun. While not exactly the same (and certainly not as healthy) as a lamb on the spit, people still gathered around the pot of frying oil - some of us in worship - and watched as the deep fried goodness emerged from the 375 degree cauldron and went straight to our hearts (literally and figuratively speaking).
And while it is easy to be caught up in all the deliciousness of these moments - be them deep fried of roasted over coals - it is important to note that the entire process is to bring people together and celebrate each others' company. While you may be disgusted by an entire animal, face and all, slowly spinning in the front yard, or by the decades sawed off someone who eats fried everything for a day for the sake of eating fried everything for a day, you cannot deny the potential either of these actions has for bringing everyone together. What used to be an occasion to pay tribute to the Gods, to either curb their wrath or thank them for their blessings, has become simply a gathering occasion for friends.
So, I leave you with this advice. No matter your feelings toward food-fueled engagements or your stupidly formed, PETA-esque beliefs, make sure that if you are ever invited to a ridiculous and other the top cookout, you attend.
Sorry this took so long to post - lots of shenanigans going on recently. Another one tomorrow.
Vitz8989: i have a story
georgethegreek89: ..
Vitz8989: so my mom was telling me that she was with my dad somewhere
georgethegreek89: ok
Vitz8989: and some lady started talking to them
Vitz8989: and the lady turned to my dad and was like "don't you remember me?"
Vitz8989: and he was like "not really"
Vitz8989: so she told him about how this one time she was driving by our house
Vitz8989: with her kids in the car
georgethegreek89: HOLD ON
georgethegreek89: brb
Vitz8989: ok
Vitz8989: lol
georgethegreek89: ok
georgethegreek89: back
georgethegreek89: driving by the house and
Vitz8989: ok
Vitz8989: so
Vitz8989: my dad was making goat or lamb or something that day
Vitz8989: so he had it hanging up in the tree out front while he was making the fire
Vitz8989: and the lady's kids saw this
Vitz8989: and were like "mom, is that guy cooking a dog"
Vitz8989: and she was like "don't be ridiculous"
Vitz8989: and drove by again
Vitz8989: and she saw it
Vitz8989: and her kids saw it again
Vitz8989: and they were convinced he was cooking a dog
Vitz8989: so her kids started crying
georgethegreek89: lmao
georgethegreek89: hahahahahhaha
Vitz8989: so they drove around one more time
Vitz8989: and then she stopped and asked
Vitz8989: and he told them it was just a lamb
Vitz8989: but like
Vitz8989: what if they never stopped and asked
georgethegreek89: hahhahahahahaha
Vitz8989: what if they just went on assuming that he was actually cooking a dog
Vitz8989: we would have been That family
georgethegreek89: and i would have loved it.
Ivica and I both come from old world families - Ivica is Croatian and I am Greek. Our families carry certain traditions from our countries of origin, some more socially acceptable in the United States than others. One of the more major of these traditions is the roasting of an entire animal.
Let's start with some history behind the tradition (I did a report on this Junior year of high school so I am qualified to write on the subject). In ancient times - in Rome and more importantly, Greece - meat was very rarely eaten. Fish was prevalent in the diet, but breads and other starches made up the majority of the meals. Vegetables that grew in the Mediterranean area (spinach, olives, tomatoes, etc) were also part of the daily diet. Meat was not a day to day, or even a weekly food; it was usually consumed on holidays.
Part of these celebrations was the roasting of the animal. People from the entire village would gather around for the event Sacrificial animals would be slain, certain parts would be burnt as offerings, and the rest would be consumed by those all around. The roasting of the animal as part of a celebration remained a part of the culture.
Today, the roastings are a little bit different. Now, my family only does a roast lamb on Easter. My uncle sets up the rotating spit and the charcoal pit early in the morning and the entire family gathers around all day, mouths watering, and watches the meal of day turn and turn. I've always thought the lamb was smiling at me whilst it rotated over the 400 degree heat. My grandfather used to eat the eyes and the brains (after chasing us around the yard with the entire head on a fork) - apparently, they are very good for you.
To my knowledge, Ivica's father roasts animals for no apparent reason in their backyard, but that's not to say it has any less meaning. In fact, an animal roast has become an event enough for having people over - no other holiday or celebration is required. The promise of rotisserie meat is enough to have friends and family from all over gather around.
Last fourth of July, Ivica and I (along with a few friends) tried to capture the feelings of such moments with our now infamous "Fourth of Jufry" party, in which we fried a turkey, twinkies, oreos, different cheeses, shrimp, popsicles, and almost anything else under the sun. While not exactly the same (and certainly not as healthy) as a lamb on the spit, people still gathered around the pot of frying oil - some of us in worship - and watched as the deep fried goodness emerged from the 375 degree cauldron and went straight to our hearts (literally and figuratively speaking).
And while it is easy to be caught up in all the deliciousness of these moments - be them deep fried of roasted over coals - it is important to note that the entire process is to bring people together and celebrate each others' company. While you may be disgusted by an entire animal, face and all, slowly spinning in the front yard, or by the decades sawed off someone who eats fried everything for a day for the sake of eating fried everything for a day, you cannot deny the potential either of these actions has for bringing everyone together. What used to be an occasion to pay tribute to the Gods, to either curb their wrath or thank them for their blessings, has become simply a gathering occasion for friends.
So, I leave you with this advice. No matter your feelings toward food-fueled engagements or your stupidly formed, PETA-esque beliefs, make sure that if you are ever invited to a ridiculous and other the top cookout, you attend.
Sorry this took so long to post - lots of shenanigans going on recently. Another one tomorrow.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Apologies
I'm sorry I have not been updating very much recently. I promise to update TWICE this weekend as soon as I finish my paper due tomorrow.
In the meantime, if you watch this I promise it will make you a better person. You have to listen to the music and watch it fullscreen and watch the whole thing, though.
Anyway, enjoy.
In the meantime, if you watch this I promise it will make you a better person. You have to listen to the music and watch it fullscreen and watch the whole thing, though.
Anyway, enjoy.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
On Nikhil
This just happened:
Nikhil: hmm ok
im reevaluating my life right now
idk if i really want law school
i dont think my mind works like a lawyers
why fit a square peg into a round hole
me: because thats how babies are made, nikhil.
You're welcome, Tom.
Nikhil: hmm ok
im reevaluating my life right now
idk if i really want law school
i dont think my mind works like a lawyers
why fit a square peg into a round hole
me: because thats how babies are made, nikhil.
You're welcome, Tom.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
On How I Wanted to Spend My 21st Birthday / On How I Spent My 21st Birthday
For those of you that spoke to me in the weeks leading up to my departure from Connecticut for my semester in DC, this will be repetitive. I had a poetic plan for how I wanted to spend my 21st birthday. It went something like this....
"My plan is to wear my new suit, look extra nice, and ruin the image by wearing my light up shoes. I want to go out to a bar and dance to Lady Gaga and just let loose. I want this to last for the entire night and somehow make my way to the Lincoln Memorial. Once I'm at the Lincoln memorial, I want to undo my tie and top button and sit on the steps looking at the Washington monument. I want to sit there, drink red wine from a bottle in a paper bag, and watch the sun rise over Washington."
That was my original plan and I thought it was beautiful.
Here is what really happened:
On the night of March 1, at approximately 11:35, a troupe of 18 women from the CIW program (and my roommate Mike) paraded into my room. At the head of the procession (keep that wording in mind because a pun is coming up [keep that wording in mind, too]) was a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting. In the shape of a penis. With cream filling in the middle. I ate the tip. Seriously.
Once the cake was consumed (I almost used swallowed there), a small contingent of the cake brigade and I set out to The BrickSkeller, a beer bar with over 1000 different type of beer. We were seated by a man with dreadlocks who gave us our menus. There were a ton of different type of beers and I was overwhelmed by the choices. Following some advice from a Rubel-friend, I ordered a Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA. Our dreadlocked beertender complement on my choice.
When he returned with the bottle, he placed it down, poured it into my glass, and said "This is a Beer Drinker's beer." I felt extremely manly. After one beer, the troupe returned home, knowing full well that we had to wake up in 5 hours and go to work.
I arose at 6 am, got dressed, and headed out to work. I got to sit in on oral arguments at the court and saw a historical case - McDonald v. Chicago. The justices absolutely destroyed main counsel on both sides of the case. The only lawyer that withstood the blows was the NRA lawyer, who performed admirably, almost beautifully, in front of the Justices.
After that, I was complement by a real-life woman about my suit. The secretary of the clerk said that she liked me shirt-tie-suit combination. Having dressed myself that day without calling my mom the night before, I felt great.
The Boy Scouts of America presented me with a medal today because I helped give them a great tour.
I attended happy hour at a bar for the first time. Alcohol is expensive.
I returned how, was treated to a dinner with the CIW program by a visiting Cornell group, was sung to by the CIW group, and received a free cupcake.
I have, in my room, a full tray of brownies, an angel food cake, the remnants of the penis cake (now stale and hard), 100 hershey kisses, home baked cookies, Trader Joe's cookies, and Korean ramen noodles (thanks, Lena).
And that was my 21st birthday.
"My plan is to wear my new suit, look extra nice, and ruin the image by wearing my light up shoes. I want to go out to a bar and dance to Lady Gaga and just let loose. I want this to last for the entire night and somehow make my way to the Lincoln Memorial. Once I'm at the Lincoln memorial, I want to undo my tie and top button and sit on the steps looking at the Washington monument. I want to sit there, drink red wine from a bottle in a paper bag, and watch the sun rise over Washington."
That was my original plan and I thought it was beautiful.
Here is what really happened:
On the night of March 1, at approximately 11:35, a troupe of 18 women from the CIW program (and my roommate Mike) paraded into my room. At the head of the procession (keep that wording in mind because a pun is coming up [keep that wording in mind, too]) was a vanilla cake with chocolate frosting. In the shape of a penis. With cream filling in the middle. I ate the tip. Seriously.
Once the cake was consumed (I almost used swallowed there), a small contingent of the cake brigade and I set out to The BrickSkeller, a beer bar with over 1000 different type of beer. We were seated by a man with dreadlocks who gave us our menus. There were a ton of different type of beers and I was overwhelmed by the choices. Following some advice from a Rubel-friend, I ordered a Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA. Our dreadlocked beertender complement on my choice.
When he returned with the bottle, he placed it down, poured it into my glass, and said "This is a Beer Drinker's beer." I felt extremely manly. After one beer, the troupe returned home, knowing full well that we had to wake up in 5 hours and go to work.
I arose at 6 am, got dressed, and headed out to work. I got to sit in on oral arguments at the court and saw a historical case - McDonald v. Chicago. The justices absolutely destroyed main counsel on both sides of the case. The only lawyer that withstood the blows was the NRA lawyer, who performed admirably, almost beautifully, in front of the Justices.
After that, I was complement by a real-life woman about my suit. The secretary of the clerk said that she liked me shirt-tie-suit combination. Having dressed myself that day without calling my mom the night before, I felt great.
The Boy Scouts of America presented me with a medal today because I helped give them a great tour.
I attended happy hour at a bar for the first time. Alcohol is expensive.
I returned how, was treated to a dinner with the CIW program by a visiting Cornell group, was sung to by the CIW group, and received a free cupcake.
I have, in my room, a full tray of brownies, an angel food cake, the remnants of the penis cake (now stale and hard), 100 hershey kisses, home baked cookies, Trader Joe's cookies, and Korean ramen noodles (thanks, Lena).
And that was my 21st birthday.
Monday, March 1, 2010
On the Meaninglessness of Saying "Happy Birthday! How are you?!" on Someone's Facebook Wall on Their Birthday
This post is dedicated to Allison Koehler, whose presence in my life I miss more and more each day and whose laughter still echoes in my head, be it due to its charm or its sheer volume, despite the ocean currently between us (and who was also the first person to wish me "Happy Birthday" on Facebook). Giraffe.
And this post is especially not dedicated at all to Tim Wingerter, who I could live pretty indifferently with or without.
With my birthday coming up tomorrow, I feel inclined to say something about the facebook posts one receives on one's birthday from the random assortment of accumulated acquaintances that compile the "Friends" list of any given individual.
There exists no manner of wishing a person "Happy Birthday" more impersonal than the facebook post. In fact, I would rather not receive anything than receive just a facebook post.
The lack of caring emerges from the fact that Facebook removes all thought and responsibility from the act of wishing someone a happy birthday. There are two parts to wishing someone a happy birthday:
1. Remembering the date.
2. Exerting some effort to wish someone a happy birthday.
Facebook eliminates both of these processes. The reminders on the side of the screen, combined with simple links to someone's page and the stroke of 14 keys hardly bring about any exertion on the actor. Thinking of the other person is therefore eliminated; there is a hollow shell left of best wishes founded on no meaningful thought. You're giving someone a gift with no batteries.
Now, facebook posts are acceptable in addition to some sort of phone call, online conversation, e-mail, e-card, letter, package, present. There needs to be some sort of thought about the person you are wishing a happy birthday to for it to have any meaning.
Now, I cite Alli up top as the first person to wish me a happy birthday on Facebook. Don't get confused - Alli is a true friend. She posted on my wall in addition to messaging me, wishing me a happy birthday, and being genuinely interested in how I am doing. High five for Alli.
In an attempt to overcome my bitterness of facebook posts, I implore all the readers of this blog to call those they care about when their birthdays come around. It shows not only that you care about the person, but that you are making an active effort to contact them and wish them well; it shows someone that they mean more to you than three clicks, 13 letters, and one strike of the spacebar.
I'm pretty sure whoever reads this will call me anyway and those that don't read this will not have called me. Ah, beautiful beautiful equilibrium.
And this post is especially not dedicated at all to Tim Wingerter, who I could live pretty indifferently with or without.
With my birthday coming up tomorrow, I feel inclined to say something about the facebook posts one receives on one's birthday from the random assortment of accumulated acquaintances that compile the "Friends" list of any given individual.
There exists no manner of wishing a person "Happy Birthday" more impersonal than the facebook post. In fact, I would rather not receive anything than receive just a facebook post.
The lack of caring emerges from the fact that Facebook removes all thought and responsibility from the act of wishing someone a happy birthday. There are two parts to wishing someone a happy birthday:
1. Remembering the date.
2. Exerting some effort to wish someone a happy birthday.
Facebook eliminates both of these processes. The reminders on the side of the screen, combined with simple links to someone's page and the stroke of 14 keys hardly bring about any exertion on the actor. Thinking of the other person is therefore eliminated; there is a hollow shell left of best wishes founded on no meaningful thought. You're giving someone a gift with no batteries.
Now, facebook posts are acceptable in addition to some sort of phone call, online conversation, e-mail, e-card, letter, package, present. There needs to be some sort of thought about the person you are wishing a happy birthday to for it to have any meaning.
Now, I cite Alli up top as the first person to wish me a happy birthday on Facebook. Don't get confused - Alli is a true friend. She posted on my wall in addition to messaging me, wishing me a happy birthday, and being genuinely interested in how I am doing. High five for Alli.
In an attempt to overcome my bitterness of facebook posts, I implore all the readers of this blog to call those they care about when their birthdays come around. It shows not only that you care about the person, but that you are making an active effort to contact them and wish them well; it shows someone that they mean more to you than three clicks, 13 letters, and one strike of the spacebar.
I'm pretty sure whoever reads this will call me anyway and those that don't read this will not have called me. Ah, beautiful beautiful equilibrium.
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