Sitting B!tch

Sort of.

Thumb ‘em UP!

http://www.urbandictionary.com/author.php?author=Middle+Child

This made my day on so many levels.

For the first time since I can remember, I neglected to apply any anti-perspirant after my shower last night. I’m not sure how or why it happened, but I set off for the day without my personal BO blocker. This did not bode well for the fellow morning workouters…not a real word, but let’s pretend that it isn’t…what?

Do you ever smell something foul and immediately start looking around to identify its source? Well, about 20 minutes into my routine (today was my legs day, for those that care…I was doing squats, if you want a visual) I catch a whiff of some stank. BO stank. Given that it’s a gym, you tend to let some of those aromas go, but this one wasn’t going away. I gave the once-around but only saw a girl, who wasn’t within typical BO whiff range. After a moment of confusion, it dawned on me…it must be the neck roll that I was using on the barbell. I smelled it, but all I got was the rubber/foam scent. Thoroughly confused at this point, I try to ignore it and proceed with the workout. As I reached up to grasp the bar, BAM!!! Similar to the burning after a soda/beer burp slips through your nose, such was the sensation from this particular BO. Could it be, was I the stankass? Yes, yes it could be. And I was.

BO is not a laughing matter when it’s present. It’s harmful to you and everyone that’s within the blast radius. The blast radius is determined by an elaborate formula derived of several factors–how dirty you are in general, if you have sleeves, dark/light colored shirt, what you eat/ate, etc. I was wearing a black shirt, a BO Blast Factor magnification of 4x. So please, let’s all Just say no to BO.

These BO’s are OK…

This public service announcement was brought to you by The Armadillow - taking cuddling to multiple levels (I just made this slogan up).

I heard a 30 min sermon on how the fear of shame dictates our lives, and I must admit that I am ashamed to admit that it was true. Let’s be honest, shame rules the household, the school house, the playground, the workplace, the workout, the rock out, the make out…perception trumps reality. The walk of shame typically follows a night of indiscretion, especially if the Boggle 7 you bagged the night before turns out to be a morning-after 3.

Public shaming has long been considered one of the most severe forms of punishment (think The Scarlet Letter, Salute Your Shorts, the orange vests that the highway cleanup crews wear) because it attacks our inherent desire/need to belong. People lie to avoid the shame that their actions will generate, either to them or to others. Then, when the truth comes out, they’re ashamed for lying. Lose-lose at its finest.

So, naturally, I don’t have a solution. If I did, I’d be elsewhere, ruling a small nation. What I do know is that it comes down to the perceived present value of perception. You read that right, the PPVP. We do what we feel will leave us in the most positive light in others’ eyes at the current time, and ignore what the repercussions could be in the future. It’s human error and an utter failure, but our fight-or-flight instincts seemingly want to to delay the inevitable fight until we’ve already dug ourselves too deep of a hole. Do yourself a favor and cut your losses by admitting that you fucked up today, not tomorrow or two

If you want specifics, read any of the celebrity gutter blogs or follow the various sports scandals out there (steroids, point shaving, tampering, bribery, whore indulgences). But let’s focus on the silver lining: Life itself isn’t just one big crying shame…it’s only when we decide to act like idiots.

It’s another Van Damme Friday!

Starbucks cups gone wax poetic on my ass.

Someone let their tiny dog take a dump in the hotel elevator but didn’t bother to pick it up. I must have missed the memo because it was the first time in 3 days that I made it to the 8th floor without it stopping to pick up others, proving to be one of the most traumatizing 20 seconds of my life. How could something so tiny unleash such a putrid morsel? It’s like a hot girl who rips an eye-watering fart, it just goes against nature.

{Play the theme music from the vintage Mad TV skit for full effect…}

I want to watch the movie, Up. Since I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews since it released this past summer, it’s inevitable that I’ll come away with some level of disappointment given the expectations it now has to live up to. The same thing has happened to Tropic Thunder, I Love You Man, and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants…I mean, what? Given the targeted demographic for The Hangover, I can only imagine what kind of let-down the patrons felt if they had to watched it anytime after its opening weekend. It just happens. Regardless of how great the story/movie/stunts/jokes may really be, your endorsements will prevent it from living up to expectations.

Think about just how terrible this power would be if it applied to everyday life; you recommend anything to a friend for any reason–a tailor, tutor, caterer, hair cutter (?), stripper, beer, restaurant, deoderant–but they always managed to disappoint. Life would be humorously terrible. Social interactions would be limited to empty salutations since I’m pretty sure that 90% of our conversation topics revolve around a guess-what-I-did-no-way-that-sounds-sick-just-like-when-I-did-this model. Even the most cliche of small-talk topics, the weather, would be susceptible to these limitations. We’d be screwed! Not really, but I felt like being melodramatic.

I’m currently writing this from a plane, 35k or so feet up in the air, as I cruise from SF to NYC thanks to Google and Virgin America. Let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve checked email, sent some IMs, wrote a blog, streamed Pandora while leaving it on mute, placed an online bet, AND updated your Facebook status message purely out of novelty/principle. It’s a feeling of freedom that can only be explained by experiencing it, so I highly recommend taking a flight on Virgin Airlines before January 15. Food will taste better and air will smell cleaner, the sun will be brighter, you will lose weight and befriend beautiful people, and your life will never be the same. Now, if there were more than 6 readers of this blog, I’d laugh because some readers may not know how sarcastic I am being…in which case I would have successfully ruined the internet-on-a-plane experience for them. Good thing my audience is limited to whomever I send the link to.

There’s some gnarly turbulence right now, I wish typing could show it as well as handwriting would.

Bringing it back to the old school ‘cuz I’m an old fool who’s so cool….

I’ve been on a Beatles kick lately. In actuality, it’s a Beatles kick-lite, since I’m resorting to Pandora’s Beatles radio station-so I only get ~65% Beatles songs (group + Lennon/Paul/George solo efforts). Either way, it’s some pretty good shit, both lyrically and musically. So what else have I been missing, you ask? Great question. By random happenstance, I found myself watching They Drive by Night (1940) the other night, an old-school reel co-starring (among other actors that my parents would probably recognize), Humphrey Bogart. And, just like with the Beatles, I was thoroughly entertained by the time the credits rolled.

Imagine that. Music three decades old, movies almost 70 years old…I like aged Scotch and will pay the extra $3 for a case of beer that actually tastes good. I opt for steel bicycle frames over the latest carbon fiber craze. Rusty free weights trump their cable/rubberized descendants, worn-in Levis win over my G-Stars. Reruns of Saved by the Bell/Fresh Prince/Full House/Charles in Charge never fail to entertain. I don’t own an iPod nor do I know how to use iTunes. I consider cursive a lost art, much like chivalry. I scoff at Miley (a 16 year old, mind you) as she sings about partying in Hollywood and wearing stilettos, pole-dancing and rubbing herself to the pleasure of ‘tweens and their moms across the world. Oh, and fuck the wildcat, a solid drop-back passer can always win you a football game.

I admire progressive values and open-mindedness when it comes to love, life, religion, and ice cream flavors. So when nostalgia starts kicking in, I’ve decided that finding the optimal balance is the key to happiness and a fulfilling life. How do you find that balance? I have no clue.

In other words, I’ve failed to resolve anything…Imagine that.

I’ve got nearly 25 years on this little guy, but after a few hours of Texas football-watching and trick or treating, we were one in the same:

*Love me some CWalken*

Having just devoured a bag of BBQ Pop Chips, a Quaker Chewy Chocolate Chip granola bar, a boiled egg, and a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats, I realized what a joy snacking really is. It’s instant gratification and provides a clear resolution to a problem–fatty hunger. I’m staring at a trick-or-treat sized piece of Heath Bar…such delicious toffee. I’m sure the more responsible thing would be to eat a banana or an apple, but they’re not tasty. Heath wins…and it’s decadent.

When I was a kid, the obligatory Milky Way or Rolo always hit the spot. Granted, growing up in Texas made being fat more acceptable to an extent, but I’m a witness to the trash that my generation grew up eating. Our cafeteria food was not healthy, and to this day I refuse to eat anything called Salisbury Steak. We had a candy sale every Tue/Thurs after school where the vice principal and two student volunteers got away with highway robbery, selling three (3) sour power straws for $0.25, one (1) airhead for $0.50, a BITE-size Snickers for $0.75, and the grandaddy for the rich kids - a Reese’s Pieces two-pack for $1.00. Highway robbery at its finest, but also the first thing to spark the idea light bulb in the little capitalist/opportunist brewing within me (that reads and sounds funny to think/say out loud). I decided to undercut “the man” by using my parents’ Sam’s Club membership to my advantage, convincing them to buy me a box of Sour Power straws (500 count, I believe), some “chinese candy” (dried/salted prunes for the lay man), and the kickers - a bucket of Tear-jerker gum and a box of Mega Warhead sour candy. These last two beasts are what set my product line apart from what the institution offered, and would ultimately prove to be the source of both my rise and fall as a 5th grade entrepreneur…

But I digress, more on that exploit later…in the meantime, enjoy this gem:

Today’s commute began with what CA meteorologists have dubbed The Storm 2009, characterized by heavy doses of rain and…rain. Granted, high-water areas and unusually horrendous rush hour traffic is shitty, but to be given an 8.5/10 rating on a severity scale might be pushing it.

This got me thinking, are exaggerations really necessary when things are just too damn mundane?

SF weather is great 80% of the year, with daily temperature highs and lows typically fluctuating ~10 degrees (70°F to 60°F). For residents and tourists, it’s a wonderful thing. In terms of excitement/variety, it’s like a lecture on Art History to me. Throw in a day or two of moderately heavy rains and God forbid a burp of thunder, and we’ve got not just a storm, but THE storm of 2009. It’s similar to the “snow days” that some cities in Texas have during the winter. It’s really just frost/ice that accumulated over night (hence the quotes), but when a city like Austin grows accustomed 100+°F Summers and 80°F Autumns, frozen water is a Ron Burgundy…or a big deal, for the unenlightened.

Think about the stereotype of guys embellishing sex(less) stories, or girls doing just the opposite. Job interviews are perfect forums for exaggeration on both ends — the hiring manager making the opportunity sound more appealing while the applicant struggles to appear more qualified than he/she really is. On the same note, first dates would be fun to listen in on — It’s doubtful that he could’ve almost been a semi-pro baseball player if not for a freak genetically influenced injury, and it’s highly unlikely that she has never gotten blackout drunk.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not hating on exaggerations, I use them on a daily basis to make weekdays more tolerable. For instance, I’ll tell someone that I just demolished my cereal and fruit at breakfast, or that I went beast-mode on the burrito at lunch. Sometimes I’ll say that I crushed my presentation to management, or that my coworker blew up the bathroom. I’ve told the tale of my almost-but-not-quite collision with Sergey as I sped down the street on my bicycle as he jaywalked (he had stopped on the median when he saw me pedaling by, but I’m sure I would’ve almost hit him if he had decided to keep crossing and if I had consciously swerved to hit him). Then there’s my awful commute - in a private, clean, and free shuttle that supplies WiFi connectivity.

So why do people exaggerate? Mainly to get some A’ss {I added the extra “s” to make it look like “ass” because I’m immature} - attention, approval, acknowledgment & ass to name a few.

There are definitely times where perceived exaggerations are really warranted descriptions, though. Maybe she really was a whale, or he really smelled like dog shit sautéed in BO, just proceed with caution the next time someone’s details seem a little too outrageous…they’re likely after some A’ss.

Some nice exaggerations (tipoff in 2 weeks, cue the NBA on NBC theme)…