The Adventure Never Ends!!!

I start classes again in two weeks. Sitting here thinking about it I've realized that this is both a blessing and curse for me. The only real upside of this situation is this is my final year at Columbia, and it's mostly fleshed out with electives like Nutrition and Spanish so the actual academic substance and challenge should be near to none. The downsides of this are few but rather large, chief among them being time management.

Most every class I have starts at say 3pm and ends at 7pm. My work day starts at 5 am, going until 1:15pm. So, without this feeling too similar to a word problem in high-school algebra, I'm left with time to get to Chicago from Elgin, though not much else. After class, I have some free time that I plan on spending with Traveler and then the process will repeat for 15 weeks.

During those weeks, I'm expecting I'll assume the attitude of turn on, tune in, drop out (i.e think, interact and ignore) like I usually do, all while watching the ever-widening age gap increase between myself and the student body at large. Being 28 in the midst of 18 and 19 year olds has it's downsides, mainly in the form of listening to the english language get butchered or seeing fashion trends that leave me scratching my head and muttering something that basically equates "get a haircut", though all the while I'm a grown man with hair well past my shoulders. Shows you what I know. Mainly though, I'm happy to be around the "youngins". I often find myself laughing after hearing some kids story about a party or helping classmates with coursework and loan advice, as I've been jumping through those hoops for almost 4 years now. This leads me into ranting about the person that I can't stand in my classes.....the "Older Student".

The OS, as we'll call them, can be identified right from the start of classes. They sit away from everyone, they're too cool for small talk, and will critique every last person in the room-often times glaring at groups of students who are having too much fun. They love to point out that they can buy booze and other adult things. When they find out that I'm older as well, they instantly try to form some kind of bond with me, telling me how they don't need to be there; they've got a great job and just came back to "keep things fresh".

Interesting. I like to keep things fresh too, maybe I should take Soviet History in standard GPA form!

This guy (always a guy) will sit on his lofty throne of douchebaggery throughout the year, being mocked by nearly everyone, and making me glad I didn't turn out like he did. All in all, I'm taking the two above mentioned electives, Pilates again, and Deaf Culture, to learn some sign language and well, about deaf culture.

I can't wait to start swearing at people with my hands in new ways.

I'm going to be the prettiest butterfly!

My dress code is changing. This might seem like nothing to most of you, but to me this fact is rocking the very foundations of my being.

Anyone that knows me can attest to the fact that I wear 3 things near constantly; jeans, T-shirt (usually with a band logo or offensive, yet funny slogans) and boots.

For those of you not in the loop, this is the standard uniform of the metalhead. you can tell our ranks by the amount of accessories...






















Observer #1-"Whoa, that guy has a leather vest AND a bullet-belt!"
Observer #2- "Yeah, he must be a general* or something"


*Observer #2 is correct. He's a 2 star Maiden General, serving in the Infernal army of his Liege Lord, King Diamond.







but I digress...

Last Saturday, I attended the Taste of Lincoln Park in Chicago with Traveler and her roomies. About 2 hours before we were to leave, I decided that I needed new clothes to wear as I'd been wearing the same ensemble for close to 2 days and was stinky

Out of nowhere, the thought of buying shorts bursts into my head and actually seemed like a great idea. This is an anomaly as I've owned maybe 3 pairs of shorts in the 28 years that I've been running around on this floating mudball, and I didn't like wearing a single pair of them. Now though, I'm pumped at the idea. So off to the store we went but which store to choose from?

"How about Old Navy?" queries Traveler

Now in the past the suggestion of Old Navy would have made me laugh out loud and question the suggester's intelligence and or upbringing in a crude manner but....



A) It's my girlfriend suggesting it and she would probably deliver a blow to my crotch that I would surely deserve but more importantly
B)...it felt....right.




Here follows an epic Braveheart-esque battle of thoughts in my brain-melon directly after this suggestion is made.

New Dan: "Hmm, Old Navy. That stuff is pretty affordable and nice looking."
Old Dan: " Do they have anything with skulls? No? Fuck."
ND: "Yeah, we'll go there. I think I remember them having those nifty cargo shorts!"
OD: "Why in the hell would we want cargo shor...wait..did you just say Nifty? What the fuck is going on here?!"
ND: "Ooh, you know what? I'm getting some flip flops too!"
OD: " NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! "


Just imagine the clanging of axes and the smell of sweaty horses behind that....


Told you; Epic.


So all in all, I ended up buying those cargo shorts and flip flops. I shut the Old Me up for a bit by buying a camo shirt, which can be metal as all hell if used properly. Truth is, this has been happening for a bit now. I routinely go through my clothes and, when deciding what to wear, will skip stuff that I used to love.

I've got this one shirt that says "Jesus Slaves" on it that I used to love wearing out and about. No, see it's really clever. They took the saying "Jesus Saves" and then...Oh, nevermind. I don't even get excited talking about it anymore.

I guess this is me growing up finally. While I should be happier, as I know I look better in more "stylish" clothing, I feel a tinge of sadness when I look at what I can only describe as a familiar skin with so many fond memories attached and realize that it doesn't quite fit me anymore.




I'd sit here and cry more, but there's a sale at H&M.

I Really Should Do Something About This Mess...

It's been some time since I've updated this thing. So much has changed, I really don't know where to begin so I guess I'll start with the new job. I previously worked at a local machine shop, doing odds and ends. Basic labor really. It would have been a job that I, had I put in any hours, would have come home tired and dirty from.

Alas, I'm lazy.

There really wasn't anything to do there except clean. Now, I'm a fan of clean working environments. It was always made sure that bathrooms, work-areas, and some storage areas were tidy 90% of the time. Where my logic told me to rethink my current state is when I would be told to clean up something there that hadn't been touched in 20 years and, with the exception of my hands, would remain so with no problems. I saw this as a waste of my employers money, and my time.


So I looked around and sent out some resumes, to the end result of being hired by a lighting division as Head of "QA and Auditing". This is a nifty churched up title for "Head of Walking Around With A Clipboard and Checking to Make Sure None of Our Pickers Have Messed Up the Order"

No, it doesn't come with a name-tag. Though if it did, I'd prefer the latter title to the former.

Thus far, I really enjoy it. The shift starts a bit early, at 5 am, though I get out at 1:15 pm to an open day that is mine to spend how I see fit. I work with mostly ex-cons and alcoholics, so there is never a shortage of stories to hear or live, and I get a guaranteed full time week which is more than a lot of people in America today can say for themselves.

I'm currently dating a wonderful girl, dubbed Traveler by a fellow blogger. Traveler is just that and has seen more of the world than I think I'll ever get to see and is wise beyond her years. She's smart, sweet, kind, hot, supportive, sexy, beautiful, funny, and a whole slew of other positive adjectives.

In other words; she's pretty keen and she says "cannae" a lot from living in Scotland for 4 years, which I find all sorts of adorable.

With 4th of July just passing, I'm led to wonder how one gets the job of blowing off professional fireworks. I would guess there would be liscensing involved but of what kind and, more importantly, where would I go about getting one. Just watching the displays yesterday made me think. I looked around and saw people of all colors and ages watching as the night lit up in a myriad of colors, smiles on their faces, awe in their eyes. I think we all connected on this most cherished of American holidays, with the same thought running through our heads. Nay, before you jump to any conclusions about it being something so cliche as "I'm proud to be an American!, or God Bless America! I have to say it's something deeper than that, something like....

"Man, I want to blow shit up."

If you were looking for some patriotic nonsense, I guess we could throw in "Screw England!" but really, I'm guessing a majority of young Americans don't even know why this is a holiday anymore.

Metra; The Way To Really Fly

I came to the sudden realization tonight that Metra is absolutely the bane of my very existence. Looking back at the last, oh, 6 years of commuting into the city for various reasons it became obvious to me that taking it has led me directly into events that make up at least 40% of the most annoying events of my life.

Let's just take the last year alone.

(yes, another list. I like lists, shut up)

1) Random drunk lectures me on how his life is terrible and he's a bad person, pukes on my shoes in the vestibule.

2) Random Lady spills coke on my jacket. Not a can, mind you, but gigantic 378 oz stein of coke.

3) Get Boston Creme donut at Dunkin' Donuts...had no creme in it at all.

4) Random drunk questions my sexuality after being denied a cigarette, proceeds to try and fight me, ends up losing some teeth and his consciousness in the process.

5) Morbidly obese woman sits next to me on train, sits on my bag as she doesn't give me the chance to move my gear. Turns out she's sick and spends the next hour and half wheezing and coughing on me. Also tries to read my text messages.

6) This one starts out nice and heart-warming...While riding the train to school, a woman with 2 toddlers flipped the seat and sat in front of me. Now for some reason, kids always take to me. Probably because they sense that I have the mind of a toddler or something which is fine as I like kids. Throughout the train ride the mother talks on the phone and completely ignores her children, one of which is sleeping while the other raises hell in the aisles. Not having much choice but to sit and hear her conversation as she talks on the phone like she was giving a state address in Ebonics, I prepare myself for another long trip. Suddenly, I notice that the hell raiser keeps running past my seat and then cranes his neck back to see if I'm looking. Next thing I know...

I'm in the middle of a white knuckle staring contest.

It was intense, and this kid had the heart of a champion, but I'm not about to be punked out and lose my title to a munchkin, not no way, not no how. Eventually he yields, but before I can enjoy my victory it seems the game has now changed into "peek-a-boo".

Game on kid, game on.

This goes on for about 3 minutes and we're both laughing along with most of the nearby riders who by now have turned to see what all the ruckus is about, only to see a giant metal-head playing a game with a kid that barely breaks the 2 feet tall mark. Then the other shoe drops. The mother gets off the phone and quickly corrals her child back to their seats, glaring at me the entire time like I'm some sort of pederast or gypsy who's looking to steal her child. Then she tells her kid that he can't go around doing that because while she was on the phone, I could have kidnapped him and she wouldn't have known until it was too late. She then spends the rest of the ride making short phone calls and forcing her kid back into his seat and glaring at me while he tries for a staring contest rematch.

Here is, in my humble opinion, a sound piece of advice for when you're out in public with your kids that you shouldn't have had;

Stay off your f**king phone and pay attention to your kids, you can catch up on all the latest trivial gossip later.

Sorry, 6 was a bit long-winded and self-righteous but that drove me nuts, but this brings me to tonight's event...

7) A reasonably attractive girl in probably her mid-twenties gets on and takes the seat in front of me, at this point my iPod dies. With an hour left, I sit there and listen to her laugh, nay, shriek like she's watching the uncut version of The Forty-Year Old Virgin. Curiosity finally gets the better of me and I try and see what she's finding so hilarious...

She's got a travel DVD player and in the reflection of the train window, I see something that takes me back in time. A time where I lived with my grandmother, who watches all sorts of terrible TV.

She's watching The Golden Girls.

I spend the rest of the time trying to listen to music in my head and figure out how someone can find Bea Arthur and that lady that does the Pet-Med info-mercials as comical as a redneck finds Jeff Foxworthy. Thank god for her earphones, otherwise I probably would have snapped.

I hate The Golden Girls.

Actually taken from my Myspace blog, but still full of craziness.

Last night I went to a job "interview" and ended up driving past the apartment of a girl I dated when I was 19 years old and going to Harper. I hadn't really thought about this girl in years but after seeing her place a whole flood of memories came back that made me laugh and actually say out loud, "God, she was bonkers", while driving alone.

Today after work I was rummaging around on the Internet and came across a random site filled with stories of guy's crazy ex's and why they were classified as such and so of course I again remembered her.

Zenya.

What a nut-job.

1 of 2 goth girls that I've dated.
The 2 only goth girls I'll ever have dated as both of them proved something very important to me.

Being goth is dumb.
Looking it, not so bad as long as you look cool. But don't act goth, it doesn't work. Giving yourself a name like Baron Nocturnus or Mistress Gala-whatsis-whatever and whining about how life is painful only makes people around you wish you'd just go up the street and don't cross the tracks.

and don't get me started on Bauhaus. Don't.

quick goth joke;

Q) What's the difference between a goth girl and a goth guy?
A) About 300 pounds


I met this girl after an anatomy class while outside smoking a cigarette. Flame red hair, petite figure, rocking a corset. Me being the shy semi-retarded man boy that I am just stared at the ground. She asked for my lighter and when I noticed her accent I couldn't help but reply to her "thank you" in Russian.

"Pashalsta" I replied, and her eyes went insanely huge and this giant I-have-a-knife-with-your-name-on-it smile crept over her face. I was also wearing a Type O Negative t-shirt at the time which turned out to be her favorite band. She seemed cool though and so we decided to hang out.

My first visit to her apartment should have been enough to tell me to not come back. During the grand tour I was shown a figurine of "Bastet, The Cat Goddess". Here's the conversation in it's entirety.

Her- "This is Bastet, She's highly revered in Egyptian lore and represents the most sacred force or renewal and life in my religion."
Me- "That's a Josie and the Pussycats Doll."
Her- "No, it's Bastet"
Me- (Picking it up and looking at the bottom of the foot) "Hasbro makes pagan idols?"
Her- GASP!! "PUT THAT DOWN, IT'S SACRED!"

Yeah, flash forward a couple of days.

There was a small section that I guess you could call a quad near the exit of one of the buildings. I was eating my lunch with her and we noticed a baby squirrel had fallen out of a tree so me, being the animal lover that I am, decided to help it back in the tree and hope the mom would still take care of it.

When we approached it the baby squirrel ran up my pant leg and onto my chest and just froze. Zenya thought it was the sweetest thing,

Until it launched off my leg

Onto her face

There, it went completely ape-shit on her, leaving some minor cuts and one good one where the squirrel hooked it's little unholy talons into her nostril. It then launched off her face and onto my shoulder where it just chilled out and actually snuggled against my neck. I made sure she was alright and walked over to the tree, leaning in to it, and the squirrel ran up and joined it's mother, who'd been making really pissed off momma squirrel noises the entire time.

Even cute baby animals hated her.

A couple of days later I was asked to meet her by the lake near the math building. She had a present for me. At this point, we'd been dating for almost a week, so presents are common really. A little knick-nack or memento that reminds you of something about that other person and all. Whatever it was, it was probably sweet, right?

No.

It was a leaf.

It was dead.

A dead fucking leaf.

"It reminds me of you" she said as she smoked her Djarum Black (the choice clove cigarette for the up and coming goth)

I asked how and she went on some long and deluded rant explaining how the leaf "held secrets that couldn't be seen anymore since the life had left it but anyone that had seen it before knew the true beauty that it held inside." She then asked me if I'd want to come with her to Russia to meet her parents and while there look for housing as her mom would want us to live out there.

Somewhere right around there is when I broke up with her.

At the time, I probably weighed about 300 pounds, sort of the goth joke in reverse without me being goth in any way. I had hair that wasn't long but wasn't short either, it was in between, that stage where it looks bad no matter what you did with it and was sure that Zenya was going to be the hottest girl I could possible attract while looking like that and I also felt kind of bad, I mean, she never did anything mean. Just spouted crap about goddesses and leaves and passion in dramatic goth ways that made my skin crawl. I started to regret my decision.

I knew I made the right choice though around the time the phone calls started coming in telling me that she was going to cast spells to curse me and "get the revenge she deserved for that shit I did to her with the squirrel". She actually thought I had control over the baby squirrel and commanded it to attack her!


I wish

You know what I could do with that power?! An army of small, furry, tornados with teeth and claws and an endless reservoir of cuteness? The possibilities are frightening AND near-endless really.

You'd be surprised at the sound an angry squirrel makes, I mean, it's pretty fierce.

It's like a high-frequency war-cry.

Dan's Health Corner

Yeah people. I'm going to talk about Pilates. You might want to leave now though, lest it get too real for you to handle...

We'll start with a bit of history...
Pilates takes it's namesake after it's creator, Joseph Pilates. Born in Germany in 1887 to a swarthy greek gymnast and a german Naturapath, Joseph was a sickly child with rickets, asthma, rheumatic fever (and in my opinion, the vestigial remnants of horns, cloven feet, and a bifurcated tail).

All in all, not very healthy, with the local Fraulein having little interest in (insert your favorite sexual euphemism involving German culture here) with him. Not to be deterred by this, Joseph decided he was going to get healthy, as long as he believed he could. After years of tough training, studying bodybuilding, yoga, and selling his soul, he was competing in body competitions by the age of 14, which is freaky.

In 1912, he moved to England where he was a boxer, circus performer, and trainer. Described by neighbor Bartlby Cottington, young Joseph was a "pretty mellow guy, always carrying around those weights in his uni-tard though". With the onset of WWI, Joseph was taken and interned on the Isle of Man with all other German citizens in what was certainly NOT a prison camp (cheeky English bastards). Here, he began crafting his system and helped the other inmates train to stay healthy. Upon release he moved to the states, where he and his wife began to market the system that would become well known to college students and bored housewives everywhere.

This is Joseph Pilates four years before his death.



















He's basically the buffest octogenarian that has ever walked the Earth. It's been said that on his death bed, he executed one last side leg kick and accidentally kicked the live-in nurse so hard that her 40 year old son who lived five states over pissed blood for a week.

(okay, that last part is total fiction)

Anyways, so why did I go on that terrible rant? Because I'm currently doing pilates at Columbia. At the age of 27, I felt that I needed to do something healthy and opted for this and yoga. Thinking it to be nothing serious, I went to my first class on Tuesday and found out a couple of things;

1) I'm the only boy in the class.
2)I'm not flexible in any way, shape, or form.
3)I'm terribly out of shape.

After an hour and a half, my spine and abs were screaming at me for mercy that I was thankfully able to give them, but not before being absolutely humbled by the experience. I will never make fun of pilates again. Hopefully I'll get better with it and, when combined with yoga, get all sexified. That would be pretty keen.