Road Trip B

So, I received absolutely zero donations since I last wrote.  Some of you would much prefer dragons and are still willing to give me money.  In which case, I will re-release this, with said more exciting elements.

So here we all are, in two cars on our way to public transportation.  Because, after you drive for a great deal of time any alternative becomes attractive to you.  Above ground subways, whatever it is they're called, are an endearing and appealing novelty.  Just so long as you're not the one who has to turn the stupid wheel on the car, or yell obscenities at people who cut you off.  Perhaps a helpful passenger could perform those chores for you, but passengers are often frightened of the prospect.

The way my friend's neighborhood is set up is quite ingenius.  That is to say, not geniusly.  There are more speedbumps, inopportune hills, and stop signs per square mile than follicles of grass.  Maybe there's a word besides follicle.  I don't care.  The few daring cars that make their way onto these "roads" always come to a complete stop, and then gun their way through any intersection they find, and hope no cars were coming on the cross roads.  That's because there are also ingeniously a great deal of bushes and trees that make it so you can't see anything at all.

Have you ever noticed that when you're following someone vehicularly that their accelerator seems a bit more snappy, and traffic laws seem to be more of a nuisance than something that could get you fined?  I've always been of the mind that if I just explain the situation to the officer they will kindly track down my friend, who sped off through the next stop sign and hit a pedestrian family or two no doubt, and ticket them, and probably scold them for being inconsiderate.

After running a marathon of yellow lights, we arrived at the station where we would be able to board another form of transportation.

As I so discreetly aluded to last time, we were traveling on Labor day.  Labor day in Washington D.C. is a lot like the only day I've really spent in Washington D.C., so I cannot say whether traffic was particularly heavy or not.  I can say we got on the trains, and followed my friend and his wife at alternating intervals through the labrynth of public transport.  They seemed to disagree, at times, as to which way was out.  But only, I think, because out seems more like a subjective hopeful sort of thing down there, rather than an infallible compass or mappable direction.  Eventually we got to "the mall."

I say that, because when you get to The National Mall, you're oddly stricken by a lack of ear piercing stands, cellphone case kiosks, and people who offer to do funny weaving sort of things with your eyebrows.  Because in Washington they don't know about our modern lexicon.  So while regular people understand "mall" as a place to shop, in D.C. they're under the impression it's more a "promenade" or generally cozy place for people to walk.  Also, it's about 100 degrees in the mall.  Or out at the mall.  Either way, it is quite a hot day, and they have utterly failed to air condition the whole of the outside.

As we walked around, thinking of where to visit first, we saw a large number of people waiting around holding rifles, instruments, and wearing heavy wool uniforms right next to their very sporty fancy cars.  Though I suppose if you're going to wear a funny sort of uniform and a hat with feathers, you'll probably want a sporty car, so your self respect doesn't beat you senseless and run off with some cute girl.

After some consideration we decided where to go next.  Again, I'm expecting donations here!  If you don't donate this week, "some" consideration could turn into a vertiable ent moot of consideration, with a timely break for tea and crumpets about halfway through.  If we get above $10, we can cut through all the consideration and get right to the place we went to.  I won't even describe walking to the place, we'll just be there!  Instantly!  See you then.

((The first post in this road trip series can be found, here))
((The third post in this series can be found, here))
((The fourth post in this series can be found, here))

Projections

Recently I've been doing a lot of personal projects and looking into self-motivation and what really inspires people to work.  But every now and again, I'll log off of facebook.

Pretty much all of my free time is spent working.  It's free time, because even though I'm working there isn't anyone to give me money for it.  So, it's very important that I have something solid and widely graspable to show when it's time to call it quits, project finished or not.  Though recently, I just haven't gotten the same sense of accomplishment from exposing myself in public.

I figure the next logical option is to actually finish a project.  Which is arguably the hardest part of any project.  If I could get paid just for starting projects, why, you'd see blueprints coming out my wazoo!((Apologies to those who didn't need the mental image.  To those who did need it: Ew.))

Obviously then, I've started taking on projects that will help me finish other projects.  Also, I've been just trying to accomplish little things that I know I can do.  Such as; reading a book all the way through, sending an email to a friend, and challenging bears in hand-to-hand combat.((Haha!  They don't have hands, they have paws!))  Finishing each of those tasks fills me with the confidence I need to take a break.  I've found out a lot about my motivation and work habits.

If you're curious about your own motivation, there's a test you can give yourself.  First, be a child.  Second, have someone offer you either; one marshmallow now, or two marshmallows an indeterminate length of time later.  Third, no matter how long they make you wait, go for the two.  That will indicate you're a strongly self motivated and capable individual.  Probably you'll be more attractive too.  If you already took one, welcome to humanity.

A Poem for Rent

Today I sing such a sad, sad song.
I think, "What have I done wrong?"
It appears that without my consent
the terrible time arrived, due is my rent!
Money doesn't with land-people belong...

"RENT" is screamed and wrung is the gong,
the ringing in my head goes BONG!  BONG!
Here in my bank account is now a large dent,
Who is there to save me?  Where is Clark Kent?

So I drive to the ATM at a nearby bank,
Pull out my plastic and yell, "I'm sank!"
I place the card into its slot
And hope it gives it back, I need it a lot.
Treacherous and vile, who invented rent?! skank!

I'm paranoid that some mugger's now at my flank
Pulling the classicest of all known prank
That's funny cosmically, to those un-shot,
But much lacking comically, to my current plot.

Safe I appear, though who knows for sure?
I aim back for "home" not really mine!  And what's more!
Loaded and weighted I enter the abode,
I say, "Want my rent money?" ((I'm not one for code...))
She takes it in her hands, and holds twenties galore.

Calmly and casually she retreats behind her door
Coming back with a receipt.  That's all I have in store.
The trade is complete, my roof agrees to not leave me for
anything, in the next month.  "I'll stay too" agrees the floor.

Road Trip A

Quick disclaimer: Somewhere between fact and fiction in a fun way.  You decide what's true and what's not!

How does one begin writing about one's travels?  Possibly, one could converse with two or three and together they could dissect the many facets of moving from place to place.  But, perhaps, even better, would be to just, as it were, start, immediately and without hesitation, getting right to the point and heart of things, writing...

So this adventure began in May.  Not the early part of may, right after my birthday, when I'm still convinced people owe me presents and expensive dinners, no no.  The later May.  The time, most closely related to my brother's birthday.  That is to say, his birthday.

We had a party for him.  I left directly after the party.  Well.  I left at 4:00am.  The party probably ended at 10:00pm, afterwards we played Risk, and generally talked about how silly it was that I would be leaving in a matter of hours for an indeterminate length of time.  ((That length of time is the duration of summer employment at Stanford, plus however long it takes me to find a job and become wildly successful, or run out of money and kindly ask for transport home.  Currently, still indeterminate.))

This adventure began with four people into a standard Mazda 3.  For those of you who are unaware, "standard" means "possesses a stick shift."  It is probably not the standard way that car comes.  A Mazda 3, the model I got, is a happy constantly smiling sort of car.  She's always pleased to see you, even if you haven't gotten her oil changed, taken her out to a car wash as often as you'd have liked to, and so on.  She'd still be smiling if you had a hooker and cocaine game of hide and seek involving crowbars and police in the backseat.

Everyone backed about half a days worth of clothes, or whatever they could fit into a space about the size of their pockets, whichever was smaller.  To say, the smallest version of a Mazda 3 possible, gets a little cramped with four gents, and bags and boxes galore, is a lot like saying incontinence is shitty and unpleasant.  That is to say, a gross understatement.

So anyways, it's four am.  Maybe 2:30am, but definitely early.  And there's four of us in a car, wondering if caffeine can really help in pretending you're not tired.  By the way, Irish Cream Java Monsters are ideal for road trips, the Loco Moca or Mean Bean will do in a pinch.  If you're desperate grab one of the Starbucks Doubleshot Energy drinks.  Get a regular Monster, or Red Bull if drinking Anti-Freeze is appealing to you.

The lot of us are driving from Upstate New York to Stanford, California.  Our first locational goal is Washington DC.  Takoma park area.  Not to be confused with the post-trip temporary destination of Puyallup, which is not far from Tacoma, Washington.  You may, or may not be well versed with America's geography, but I'll have you know, Washington is absolutely not on the way to Stanford.  We chose that location, because we had a friend we thought we should see.

We got to Washington sometime in the morning.  If you start driving at 3:30am you're bound to get somewhere by morning.  We found a nice parking spot in the middle of the sidewalk outside our friends place, and went in for some nice peanut buttery somethings.  Maybe it was a sandwich.  Perhaps, it was a sandwich with zero peanut butter employed.  It's honestly tough to say what kind of sandwich I had at roughly 11:00 in the morning after having tiredly driven for some eight to ten hours.  But, there was in fact some sort of refreshing something, that was, if I know my friend's hospitality inclinations, potentially edible.  He has a wife you see, and I always trust wives to know what is and isn't edible, and instruct me if I seem to be making some terrible mistake.

Oh, the other people in this story?  You want to know names?  Well, instead, how about I tell you about their fathers?  That's always a popular kind of story thing.  You talk about one man's father's father's father and how he was probably a blacksmith of great regard.  Well, I can't go that far back, but let's see.

There's me.  My father's a lawyer.  He works for the law.  There's another person, his father is an auto mechanic.  For cars, not like an automatic mechanic.  But whatever an automatic mechanic is, that sounds great.  Another, his father.  Well his father has been on the roof of a school where I lost my hackey sack.  I'm not positive that he's paid to do that sort of thing, but I can say for certainty he has done that sort of thing.  The final of the in-car story members' father is the owner of a gym.  He also acts, quite convincingly, as a personal trainer.

So, again, us four with a friend and a wife, the wife is the friend's only and we did not all pick one up during our travels, have all come together through hours of driving and edible goodness, and we're about to set out on more adventuring.  Tune in next week to find out what!  Donate money and I'll embellish the story to be much more exciting.  If we get up to twenty dollars I'm beginning to remember a fight with a dragon at the mall.  For zero dollars, we probably watched a parade, because it was Labor Day.


Money for me, gets you dragons.  No money for me gets you parades.  Maybe just people standing around before parades, depending on how much no money has been donated.



*A note to friends who are referenced in this story:

Namely John, Adam, Bill, Scott, Jim, and Jill((Names have been changed to obscure identities)) if you would like me to further obscure yourself, or your father as I have described him, please send me a personal note, and I'll add vagueness.

((The second post in this road trip series can be found, here))
((The third post in this series can be found, here))
((The fourth post in this series can be found, here))

Condiment of the Gods

I'm particularly a fan of food. I've been eating it for a good portion of my life, and I've become acquainted with its niceties. Not just any food mind you, any food with Frank's Redhot on it. Now that's not a euphemism for Frank the Bull's excitement or anything. It’s just a hot sauce, that Frank happens to be the owner of. How it is this "Frank" came to own every single bottle of the Redhot is beyond me, but I buy it from the store and have yet to run into a Frank that complained about it. I never did understand why people would keep their own personal stock of something in all the grocery stores across the country.  Beck does the same thing with his beer.  Silly twits.

Anyways, what food, you ask, does this hot sauce make better? The following list is by no means exhaustive but it is a start; brown rice, white rice, fried rice, grilled cheese, plain cheese, sandwiches of any make, subs, bananas if you're crazy, eggs, toast, omelets, pork, steak, chicken, chicken fried steak, anything you would also put Sriracha on, anything you've already put Sriracha on, meat loaf(the singer), meatloaf(the food), in soups, and many other places.

Now, don't mistake me, I don't think Frank's Redhot is more worthwhile than say, the miracle of birth. But perhaps, the whole birthing process would be a bit more amusing if some Redhot was administered during the process. How and why is up to your imagination, but I'm sure great joy will follow. Why, I wonder now if that’s where all baby Franks come from? A sort of rite of passage, if you want to be called Frank, you need an understanding, and non-grudge holding mother.

If you can think of any other time when hot sauces could be indiscreetly applied, please feel free to send pictures!

Weight Loss Via Wallet Fasting

As a speaker here I don't want to put anyone to sleep, but euthanasia is gaining popularity at a lot of conferences, as opposed to listening to the spea... what?  Sorry, I nodded off for a second.

But! I'm here to talk to you about being professionally broke.  Sometimes I have to get two to three jobs to maintain being broke.  I've got so many student loan payments, car payments, and my rent is due. I can't even afford to eat more than once a day.  My girlfriend gets real angry when she sees me having breakfast.

So here's the lowdown, after this you'll know how to get into debt, have questionable job prospects, and feel bad whenever you have fun.  People say if you're broke you should get fixed.  Dogs don't like it, and neither do we!  Here's how to get and stay broke!

Alright, first things first.  We need some debt.  You're thinking car payments, electrical bills, hospital payments, and that's all great.  But first things first, you gotta start young.  We're going to college!  Slack off in high school, so you don't get any scholarships for college.  If while you're in college you want to drunkenly knock a girl up that'll be a great addition to your debt.  ((Drunkenly knocking a girl down will get you potential jail time.  So really any knocking you want to drunkenly do is cool.))  Also, since you're in school, credit card companies like to take you out on to a nice dinner, movies, and finish off with some expensive wine, then a few weeks later tell you that you owe them for that.  So sign up for two to three of those.  Use them anti-judiciously.

Alright, now we've got you into debt, and that's great.  We've just got to keep you there.  So here you have two options, graduate college, or drop out of college.  Dropouts have to lie on their resumes to get good jobs, and graduates have to lie on their resumes to secure fast food employment.  So it's up to you and whether you like lying to sound more successful, or lying yourself humble.  Note: good jobs don't hire you, they just interview you.  It's a game they play, HR workers get bored too!

Now we're good and broke.  We've achieved a job that nets us anywhere from $7.25hr on the low end to $7.50hr at the tip top.  All we need now is to stay in at night and "work on getting a better job" or, "feel depressed" as it were.  If that's not working for you, call up your successful friend, the one who magicked their way into Google's loving arms, and convince them to buy you some pity drinks.  That way you'll inevitably hear a story about how hard working at Google full time is, if that doesn't make you feel bad, you can go outside and kick puppy dog, or have a baby start crying when you hold them.

After following those three easy steps you've got yourself a good decade of being broke, no problem.  If your student loans ever get in danger of running out, there's always grad school!

Back to Reality

A nice vacation.  A way to relieve yourself from the stresses of work.  A way to forget about what the phrase "work ethic" means, and what anyone would do with such a thing.  A way to remind yourself why you can't stand trying to set up an orgy at the zoo with your flaky friends.  And, a way to thoroughly depress yourself when you have to go back to ghost writing that blog for work. "OooooohhooOooooOOOOoooo" is a good day and a half of writing for a job like that.

You spend all of the night before your last night of vacation thinking about how tomorrow is your last night of fun, and the day after that you'll have to get back to facing reality.  This puts you into a state which psychiatrists refer to as, "A shitty mood, with a bad attitude."  The only way to cope is to drink a lot, and talk to your friends about how you really don't want to deal with the day after tomorrow.  It doesn't make you feel any better, but man has yet to invent any other solution.((NaCl dissolved in water, poured in the eyes was hypothesized to be superior, but the data remains unclear.))

Then, right at the last minute you get a tiny bit excited about the possibilities of the future.  You're going to hit the ground running and really make a difference.  You're not just going to be a ghost writer, you're going to be a spirit novelist!  Brimming with excitement you think of how great it's going to be and write down all of your plans and thoughts.  You then pass out contentedly.

Wake up the next morning, realize you have to snap back to reality tomorrow, and throw out all your ideas, because they interfere too much with your moping.  Work begins again.

Then, before you know it, you can't wait until your next vacation.