Some Break

So I could be teaching again in as little as two weeks, and while that's fantatic (cuz I won't still be unemployed and running low [super low] on funds), I'm absolutely terrified. My anxiety levels are so through the roof whenever I must do anything new. I bet medication would help. Anyway, reputation and doing good work really does pay off sometimes. The only reason I have this opportunity is because an English department thought enough of me to recommend me for a job. Not only that, but they called me, e-mailed me and had the principal call. I was actually considering trying to get out of this. It seems like too much too soon, but I have to confront my swimming upstream fears at some point, so why not do it sooner rather than later?

That's about it guys. I have been sticking to my workout schedule--alternating days of Winsor Pilates and cardio, and I've been commited to not eating after 7 p.m., but I'm not at all sure I can keep it up with a hectic teaching schedule as well. I know me. When I'm stressed, I eat. That is my way. I guess we'll see.

Aldi Rules!

So you all know that I've recently made this commitment to working out. Just a few posts ago, I had done extensive (?) research and had chosen my elliptical. Well, let me tell ya. I got a tip from a friend of a friend that Aldi had ellipticals, so, skeptically of course, I went, just to be judicious in my quest for health. So we (my colleague and I) get there, we see the elliptical. "Looks okay," we think. We hop on, just to get a "feel" for its effectiveness; "Feels okay," we think. Twenty minutes later we're loading a Jamz Fitness elliptical into the minivan care of Aldi, and get this...it was only $179.99.

I know what you're all thinking. A one-hundred eighty dollar elliptical from Aldi can't be worth a damn. Hell, I was worried myself (I remember my completely Aldi-themed parties from childhood and feel a spot of shame that I was pissed that my mom didn't even bother to get "real" Twinkies, but I digress...), but after one increasingly frustrating night and one easy morning of putting the damned thing together (81 parts people, 81!) I feel more confident. Plus, the damned thing (what's with this 'damned'? am i a gruff caucasian man?) has a one year warranty; that's pretty good. Usually, shitty products that are doomed to fall to pieces have half-assed warranties somewhere along the 30 to 90 day mark. Even if it does miraculously stop working on the 366th day, I still will have paid way less than any gym membership anywhere. My friends, I came what they call the fuck up.

So in the spirit revering Aldi, I'm going to take some time to show you some of the great deals available from my German friends at locations around the globe. On the domestic tip, please know that you can get hella deals every day of the week. Though I'm disappointed in their recent price hike in eggs (now $1.09 a dozen), I got $8.00 easy to assemble book shelves that still hold the hell out of my crap to this day. Don't be fooled by the low prices, yo!

Check out Aldi UK. Aldi France is a delight as well. And Aldi Australia is the bomb! As of January 6, $15 shoes and computer desk/chair sets for $99; you've got to be kidding me.

Yep, good ole Aldi. You gotta love it. Soy milks, perhaps the best dry packaged cocoa mix, and ever present wine coolers, they have something for everyone--carnivores, vegans and everyone in between. Next week, Aldi US will have all sorts of bathroom fixtures and decoration on sale. If you're looking for a new faucet or shower head or maybe just a few decorative rugs, Aldi is your place. Oh, and for those who don't know, Trader Joe's and Aldi are owned by the same brothers; perhaps this will help remove some embarrassment (if you're snooty enough to have any) of shopping at Aldi.

*special thanks to my colleague for making all of this happen

do you like being single c) EBTG

i'm s.o.-less. that's generally the natural state of things, and it's not a huge deal. i am, however, beginning to become annoyed that the entire world invests so much stock in pairing (or tripling) up, but hey, let them eat cake (and no that's not meant to be derisive or condescending, though it totally sounds like it). no, *random person*, i'm not 'seeing' anybody. no, *random person*, that doesn't fill me with all-consuming fear. if people could do two things for me, 1) stop trying to fix me up because they think i'm pathetic and 2) stop championing the cause of couplehood as the superior state of being, i could stop being annoyed. anyone taking notes? good.

traditionally, i have an annual fling with some guy i've met somewhere and he sticks around for a pretty predetermined amount of time then the whole thing implodes. that is the process. last year, there must have been something wrong with the chemistry because the entire thing went kaput right in the beginning. it doesn't matter though; it (last year's near fling) served its purpose anyway. you see, i'm not a long hauler. i figure that people come into your life, you learn a lesson (and have some fun if you're lucky), and then they disappear into the void. it's very simple. there is no planning for marriage or moving in with folks, "lovin' is really my game" (all my disco heads will get that). i was lying in bed this morning thinking about the totally awful dream i had wednesday night (and boy was it awful. i woke up with a start at 6 a.m. even though i had gone to bed totally too late and needed at least three more hours of sleep. the moment i was conscious a parade of failures marched through my mind causing me to repeatedly yell expletives at the dark room. i actually had to stop myself from turning on the waterworks. what's weird is that i have had possibly THE most gruesome dreams of anyone i know since i can remember. every night, i'd wake up with some new series of gory and disturbing horror stories to tell--one of my best involving newborn babies crashing to the ground--and i was never really bothered by these. i just accepted them as part of my repressed and twisted state of mind, no big whoop. but the night before last i had a dream that really screwed me up. i had to sedate myself to fall asleep last night. anyway...) and i had to snap myself out of it. my perceived failures were starting to feel insurmountable simply because i was moving toward "the bad place" (sounds like an unnaturally precocious and creepy kid in a b horror movie, nice).

the fact is i'm not doing so bad, and the mere coincidence that everyone my age (and younger) are getting married and/or shacking up is nice for them, but that is not me. i surveyed my past flings, and i've learned some pretty valuable lessons that one shouldn't shake a stick at (don't you just love all these folksy witticisms): ambrose* taught me that being a total slut in the right context is okay; cecil* taught me that craziness can be functional; squelch* taught me that i've got to be more aggressive; and farouk* taught me that i'm not as honest and straight forward as i think i am. (there were some other people sandwiched in there, but they either reinforced lessons or i can't remember their names well enough to disguise them.) i think that's some good stuff; now i just have to internalize all of it. what is my point here since this is just starting to sound like a crazy single person's justification for being alone? well...i'm not quite sure. i just felt the need to type all that.

* names have clearly been changed simply because former interests stumbling upon your website and seeing their names is potentially uncomfortable. i mean i'm weird, but i'd try my damndest not to date someone named cecil.

Thank God That's Over

happy holidays and shit. i can't express how happy i am that the seasonal feigned interest in goodwill, joy and caring is over. i can say that i'm quite happy with the seasonal sales; i've come up on some coveted items at ridiculous prices, yay me.

anyway, i've decided to do a few things in the coming year. (these decisions have nothing to do with new year's resolutions. i just happen to be making changes at this time.) in the interest of the new me, i've decided to 1. grow my hair out and 2. purchase an elliptical to work some fat off my deceptively fat ass (and to perhaps stop these unexplainable chest pains). the first may be tough. as soon as my hair gets any longer than a half an inch, i quickly call my barber for an appointment; however, i'm kinda sick of this look, the whole mature and bald thing. it's time to take it to the "next level." the second thing, the working out, i need to do and have been needing to do for a while. some of you may know that i joined the y(mca) last january. i have not seen the inside of said 'y' since april. even worse, i was exactly across the street from said 'y' yesterday, but couldn't be bothered to go in because i had over four pounds of filet mignon, several quarts of juicy juice, five pounds of chocolate chips, 12 buttery croissants (cwah-SOWH, say it with me), and other such delights to truck home. priorities, man, priorities.

when i got home, i filled up on a medium rare, two-inch thick steak smothered in blue cheese and sour cream and chive mashed potatoes. clearly i need this elliptical in my life. the problem with leaving the house to exercise is the whole leaving the house part. i am a lazy, insular hermit. i do not like leaving the house or carousing with the locals, even it is distanced interaction and does not involve speaking; it will not do. i came to the conclusion that the only way i'll ever exercise on a regular basis is by bringing the gym to myself; hence, the home elliptical. i've found the perfect machine--sturdy, economical and hardworking. it has garnered universal praise from fitness experts, and is made by sole, who presumably makes good stuff. i look at it this way: when i was going to the 'y,' i only used the elliptical and the treadmill anyway; this thing is the price equivalent of a year's gym membership anyway (or two, depending on where you go), so i'd rather run the risk of actually using the equipment at home than paying the 'y,' bally or whomever free money. i'm probably going to need some help on this, so all of you out there who would like to see me live rather than dying an instantaneous death over a plate of artery-clogging goodies might just want to start chipping in. also, for any of you who are looking to buy home gym equipment, go here. this guy, who calls himself the Treadmill Sensei, knows his stuff.

during the christmas holiday, i found myself surprisingly unable to leave my mother's house. usually, i'm itching to get back home, but this year i really enjoyed kicking it with the fam. i suppose this is indicative of my inevitable transformation into a human. we watched movies, we went to the movies, we ate, we laughed, we cried. we also went shopping. while shopping, i forced my brother to take some blackmail-worthy photos that appear below. i don't know. i just thought the idea of the UMJ in silly hats was hilarious. so, people, for your viewing pleasure, i present....Hats on Parade. (i do acknowledge that by putting him on blast and on the internet, i run the risk of attracting the attention of some sick, smutty pedophile. i don't really provide any salient details about the UMJ, though, so i think he'll be safe. plus, he'll kick your ass.)


get a load of the look on his face...hilarious.



dude, he's rocking a church hat.


trying to look hard in a pink, textured hat...and WILDLY SUCCEEDING! touche, young man, touche!


and finally, the crown jewel of the collection. like something from dre's early career (think world class wreckin cru, but better).

Death Becomes Her

I was watching September today, one of Woody Allen's more somber films. True to form it featured Dianne Wiest, and while watching I couldn't help but remark inwardly on how well she looked. I looked at the channel guide and noticed that the film was made in 1987. "1987 wasn't so long ago," I thought. Then I remembered that my little brother, who drives and has already graduated high school, who is bigger, stronger, and taller than me, who's almost 20, was born in 1987. 1987 was 20 years ago, jesus. I wondered what I'd look like in 20 years. Would I still be thin? Would my face be a roadway of lines and saggy depots? Would I even still be alive? I have these thoughts often and they don't amount to much. It's not like I resolve myself to drastically changing the course of my life after these little reveries, and that's sort of pathetic and pusillanimous.

See, I have this philosophy that life is short and you don't get another. That's pretty basic and prosaic, but I really, really believe that. I don't have faith in a God or gods who will take care of me and offer me rebirth; I don't believe in a heaven or hell or purgatory. When you die, you're dead--that's it. I'm an agnostic, would-be atheist; however, I have a friend who believes that branding oneself an atheist is too arrogant. It is like, she says, pretending to know all there is about the universe. I disagree, of course. It just means you're sure and refuse to be wishy-washy about your beliefs. Anyway, yeah. Knowing that I'll be dead soon, I should be doing a lot more than refusing to leave the house and refusing to speak to people and refusing to answer the phone, and other insular practices, but I just don't feel like it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed. I just feel that maybe I should be out there shaking it up; you know, catching venereal diseases, racing stock cars and having abortions. Oh well.

I'm so sad; I miss my children, especially 5th period. I knew I would be a little put out at the prospect of suddenly up and leaving the first group of children I've taught taught (double taught intended), but who knew I'd get home and become a blubbering mess. I was fine during the actual act of leaving. We laughed, we lived, we loved. My children whined and gave me hugs, made me promise to come back and visit. Amy (my cooperating teacher) and I ate Thai from our favorite restaurant for the last time and drove to Cold Stone Creamery for ice cream (to be extra gluttonous); I was completely and totally fine. Then I take the walk from the school library (the English department's home) to the Harrison doors for the last time. I cross the street from the school for the last time and all of a sudden I'm completely rapt with this paroxysm of emotion. I was supposed to go out for food and drink with my ex-coworkers, but I was way too sad, so now I'm at home. I miss my children. I've never hugged so many people in one day ever, not even at family reunions. Student teaching is cruel business.

At least Pride & Prejudice is on. Though it's the inferiorly shitty version with Keira Knightly ruining the role of Elizabeth Bennet, it's enough to distract me for the time being. On Monday, though, I'll have nowhere to go and will feel completely useless as I'm now both unemployed and idle. Anyway, this MacFadyen guy makes the second crappiest Mr. Darcy I've seen, the first being that suspiciously fey Mr. Darcy from the 1940's production. (The women were decked out in historically inaccurate garb and the acting was too over the top, absolutely intolerable.) His acting is so wooden and he delivers his lines as if he's only just been able to memorize them. And that haircut! It's hideous. It's the early 18th century version of the shag. And the pacing of the film is all wrong. Yeah, this version is so not deserving of four stars or accolades, but people have bad taste. Nothing, in my opinion, will ever trump the magnificently accurate and gorgeous 1995 BBC miniseries. Long live Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth.

I'm still sad, though.

Well Damn

Have you noticed that I'm getting lazy? Just what is this post your random internet quiz results shit anyway? This description is inaccurate as hell by the way. I do find it funny, though.

My score on The Brutally Honest Personality Test:


Loser- INTP
(13% Extraversion, 73% Intuition, 66% Thinking, 33% Judging)

Talked to another human being lately? I'm serious. You value knowledge above ALL else. You love new ideas, and become very excited over abstractions and theories. The fact that nobody else cares still hasn't become apparent to you...

Nerd's a great word to describe you, and I seriously couldn't care less about the different definitions of the word and why you're actually more of a geek than a nerd. Don't pretend you weren't thinking that. You want every single miniscule fact and theory to be presented correctly.

Critical? Sarcastic? Cynical? Pessimistic? Just a few words to describe you when you're at your very best...*cough* Sorry, I mean worst. Picking up the dudes or dudettes isn't something you find easy, but don't worry too much about it. You can blame it on your personality type now.

On top of all this, you're shy. Nice one, wench. No wonder you're on OKCupid! Now, quickly go and delete everything about "theoretical questions" from your profile page. As long as nobody tries to start a conversation with you, just MAYBE you'll now have a chance of picking up a date. But don't get your hopes up.

I am interested though. If a tree fell over in a forest, would it really make a sound?

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If you want to learn more about your personality type in a slightly less negative way, &check out this.

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Tomorrow's my last day with my babies. We'll see if I can hold it together. If not feel free to mock me mercilessly.

In other news, specifically of the "Dude! You're fat. I hear a heart attack coming" variety, I've finally bitten the bullet; I mail ordered food. For those of you with not enough butter, fat or sugary pastries in your life, try Tennessee T-Cakes; they're pretty good. Oh, gotta go. The Office is on.