Cheers, then
Self-confidence, what'reyou doing 'iding in the bushes? Come on out, then. Bring your lil' mate personal responsibility too. It's right nice to see you both.

City sludge
When it snows the whiteness never lasts. The streets quickly turn an icky brownish gray.

When I made snow ice cream, I ran out of white sugar and had to substitute brown, which quickly turned my snow ice cream an icky brownish gray-- in the most delicious way.

Perhaps I'm using the wrong search engine?
I don't think what I'm searching for can be googled. Not that it stops me from trying.

Mind closing
I had two epiphanies on the Metro today, but I forgot them both.

But it's ok to crush?
foot speed is not a reason to fall in love
foot speed is not a good reason to fall in love
foot speed alone is not a good reason to fall in love
foot speed alone is not a good reason to fall in love
foot speed alone is not a good reason to fall in love


It's so hard being this deep.

In a sea of human children
I don’t get to see a lot of children these days. We just don’t hang out in the same places anymore. We don’t run in the same circles. (No fair pulling this post out someday when I write about everyone around me making babies.)

The office was flooded with children today. In my day-to-day existence one hallway containing four children constitutes flooding. It’s not like children were crowd surfing over my cube or leaping from the cabinets. Then again, it’s not like my office is the home of kiddie death metal either. What’s that? Oh. Right. Back on track. Four kids can seem like a lot since I usually see, hear, and think about none. In this instance there were four little girls- one mildly bored twelve-year old and possibly the three cutest six-year olds on the planet. We are talking fist-flying, ninja-kicks-to-the-shin adorable. Sugar and spice? That’s so 1950s. It’s dancing Cheetah Girl time and also punch David time. It’s possible the surprise attack duck, duck, GOOSE got them riled up, but it’s not like I ran full tilt down the hall. I even let them catch me. From that moment forward I seemed to be the number one target for little girl aggression. I’m not a large man by many means, but I can hold my own against six-year olds, most of the time. It’s fun to have half-sized humans around even when they insist on the flailing and the kicking. Several times today I found myself enjoying their company quite a bit. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t allowed to do the Cheetah girl dance with a girl doll. I could bust a move with a boy doll. He was boy band-esque, big head and all. I did worry that I might cause some squeals or get the dreaded dirty look from a parent, but kids are fun. I wonder if men reach a certain age where they decide the best way to have serious play time again is to have a kid of their own. Or is that just me? (And really, how much more serious can my play time get?)

"Plastics"
It may still be the future, but I sure like when it's flying through my present.

FURNITURE metaphor SALE!

The desk I had in high school is catty corner to the chest of drawers I’ve had all my life. The mattress is on the floor and the stackable black boxes are stacked in the corner. This is comfortable. This is thrifty. This is me. Isn’t it? I could get new furniture. It could have Swedish names and Swedish lines. It could be all grown up and wonderful. It could be the new me. Maybe the Swedes are too much pressure. I could have some good sturdy furniture, my own box springs for instance. That could be the new me. None of these scenarios are impossible to imagine, even difficult to imagine really, but I want to decide. I want to feel like I’ve made a furniture choice even if that choice is thrifty. The path of least resistance is fine so long as that’s the path I want to be on.

By the way, the Naugahyde stays for a while longer. There’s personal style redefinition and then there’s core furniture values.

Some more things I miss about college
or I get this way when I play Disc golf with college kids on a campus

*I miss being able to watch the mating rituals of students. The mating rituals post-college are sometimes observable, but they seem generally sleazier, more jaded, and/or more secretive. There's a far more innocent quality to the pre-collegiate hook-up. Or so I've come to convince myself.

*I miss the outside. Outside used to be ok. It was a place to go away and get some peace. Now it seems like it's the space to go through between buildings. It occurs to me that this is partly my fault. I'll work on that.

*I miss "random." Everything takes planning now. Where are the organic disc games? (those are disc games that just happened rather than games with discs made from earthy materials) Where are the impromptu wall-climbers, the impromptu most anything-ers?

*I miss missing. (I've found other ways and other things to miss, so this isn't entirely true, but wasn't it neat the way the seperations seemed so imposed and then the reunions so glorious?)

*I miss the lack of a degree. I knew what I was shooting for and it didn't change for 4 whole years, let alone every day.

So they ask me, "What are the advantages to being out of college?"

One word: Freedom.

So much that most of the time I still haven't figured out how to harness it, but I know it's there and I know it's potential is awesome and scary. A lot of scary, but I don't tell them that.

Working from home without the work
Sick days are for sickness. Let me tell you how my dictionary defines sick.
1. physically or mentally unwell. Check
2. likely to vomit not unchecked
3. distressed or disgusted. I would've been had I done #2.
4. bored with something through having already had or done too much of it. Check. Check. Check please.
5. finding amusement in misfortune or in morbid subjects. America's funniest home videos was good for a while...

I'd say I qualify. Good, now if I can just get over the guilt. The hacking cough helps.

Hickeys will not be addressed here today
I'm sitting here in my VD best- lips tie, used car salesman sport jacket, black pants that don't seem to fit quite right anymore, and black socks, trying to come up with some sticky gooey confection of love that can shake some people right out of their blahvalentine'sday tree. I'm not doing too well.

Love without hickeys. Burgers without fries.
The farther away I get the more perfect it becomes. There have been moments, sure, but none like those. I'm not sure I even know anymore if what I remember is real. I can no longer separate fantasy from the memory. It was the perfect size, shape, taste. If I concentrate, I do recall moments of imperfection- things got too hot, or I got too full. Now, several years later all that has blurred. Now, I only remember the good times. The fun times, the way things were going to be. The smiles. The laughs. A love so savory it needed nothing else. It's almost legend now. My heart beats for it almost daily. I miss it. I crave it. I can live it without it of course, but is that what I really want? Life always seems to be missing something. At the the time, I paid a price, sure. But I'd pay it again, twice even to have that back, to once again share in the joy of a Booches burger.

I went to 5 Guys today. They have a lovely burger of their own. One of the area's best, I'm told. It was piled high with toppings and condiments. It was a fine burger in its own right, but when my friend turned to me and asked "Is it the best you've ever had?" I had to answer with a heavy heart, "No. That spot is reserved for another. My first. The greatest love I have ever known. The burger with soul. The burger that made me want to be a better man. The burger that I cannot seem to forget." And she said, "You're strange."

"Love will do that to you."

Still no hickeys
I find it fascinating that in a time that "we" are so obsessed with reality, we don't believe anything. Is it really so hard to believe That Pepsi Girl could inspire her own following. Some people are asking if they've stumbled onto a corporate site. We're so desperate for real that we won't believe a thing.

Once more with context
I want to talk about the context of experience-- how what you know and what you've done affects every experience that you have. I read somewhere recently that the reason years seem shorter as you get older is because the days become difficult to differentiate. The days don't feel shorter, we just don't try new things and so upon reflection less seems to have happened. Didn't someone say to try something new every day?

Back to the experience- If the experience is affected by context, then isn't every experience different for every person? It kind of makes me feel guilty for screeching, "What!? You don't like ______!" But is experience always affected by context? Here's the unfortunate example that has me thinking along these lines: The whole Buffy musical excitement was roaring when I moved to town. They (they being my friends) made me watch and I couldn't help agree that it was creative and kind of funny and ok, but not something to be so excited about. Until today when I watched it again. This time I watched it having seen all of (most of) the stuff leading up to it. I understood, liked even, the characters involved and it was something to be excited about. I'm not gonzo crazy over it, but again, my experiences with the show are compressed compared to theirs. How often is this occurring? And how many opportunities do we get to have catch-up experiences? Score one for DVDs?

Let's be honest, I'm just glad the tube has me thinking at all.

And,
She reminded me that pancakes can be a key ingredient to seizing the day. I need more reminders like that.

Pedaling on the edge of perfection
With day-old disc soreness from here down, I stretched and primped. I was preparing for a bike ride. The first since October? Somewhere during that hour of spinning through the streets, soreness slipped out and a smile slipped in. It wasn't the temporary kind brought on by singing dancing Indians or Buffy characters cut from that cloth, but the kind from somewhere deeper. The kind that says life isn't standing still; I'm not standing still. I'm pedaling just on the edge of perfection. Heart beats. Lungs gasp. Legs churn. Wind blows. Smile grows. Pedaling on the edge of perfection.

My superpowers: not so fully charged
I haven't really sprinted since August. Turns out it hurts way more than I remember. I'd say there is some work to be done between now and whenever. Let's hope endurance is one of those qualities that roars in pre-March lion.

It's time for some plunging
I'm not talking about squishy bathroom appliances here. I'm talking about grabbing on as life whizzes by. This wishy-washy stuff has got to stop. I don't want my twenties to be remembered as the decade life stood still. It's time for some serious button mashing. I'm in Mortal Kombat and I'm {this close} to pulling out the finishing move and grabbing life by the still throbbing heart.

I have no idea what that meant, 'cept "seize the mother-effing day suckah! And while yuze at it, you might as well take the night."

Also time for singing and dancing
Bride & Prejudice. I went in with low expectations and left happy. That's all we can really ask in these situations. We can also ask for good-looking people on screen. This movie delivers. If you are expecting a cat fight in the rain between Miss World and Miss India, however, this movie will let you down. The silly sweetness of the singing and dancing nearly make up for the lack of a good cat fight, but not entirely. My recommendation: Sing and dance your way to the matinee, ya cheapskate.

be vewy vewy quiet
It's a necessity when stalking Valentines...er...wabbits.

Egghead Dave and the Magazine
Tonight I ate at a joint called Eggspectations. I'm serious. They bill themselves as an all day eggsperience. They look chain-y, so you might have been to one and basked in "Le Cirque des oeufs." I am not making this up. I just found out that you haven't been to one, because they seem to have two locations in the world and they are both near me. The point I'm trying to make is that you don't go to a place called Eggspectations and order the Mango burger. It just isn't done. At least not on the first visit. So, I ignored my desire and went with the "Eggswhat?" Eggs-actly. The problem with every egg dish, save the 12 eggs benedict dishes, was that each dish came with eggs cooked to my liking. I knew I could get the eggs scrambled, but after that I start to get fuzzy on what eggs-actly my egg options might be. (You think this post is bad, you should see the menu.) Then in a fit of panic I have a Runaway Bride moment and become very concerned that not only do I not know my egg options, but that I don't in fact even know how I like my eggs. Such strong movie recall led me to believe that I should not order the scrambled eggs. Choosing sunny side up both because I knew the name and because I admire the optimism, I steadied my inner Julia Roberts. The sun was kind of runny and gross, which is why I prefer scrambled eggs, even if the whites actually went pretty well with the corned beef hash, honeydew melon, and potatoes. It was a strange meal and in the end I think it left me with foul breath, a funny feeling in my stomach and a number of less than eggsistential questions.

Black and white
In non-egg related news, I have a magazine whose cover asks in white type "Are dating services really worth the money?" Directly next to that in black type is "Trace your family tree."

It's all about the beverages
Napoleon Dynamite is a beer movie. Maybe not a whole beer, just 3/4. Laugh while the chilled glass bottle rests on slouched, now-horizontal hips. Toss back a swig or two and consider the dork within.

Slurpee is the new February walking drink. Walk through the suburbs where the houses and the trees both seem taller. Walk past the homes that seem to house the hippies who haven't quite turned yuppie despite the Audi in the driveway. Slurp. Slurp. Try not to stare at the thin pale woman cleaning her Mercedes to the twanging country groove. When was the last time I heard country? Slurp. Slurp. Flags and multi-colored shudders, snow remains separate from the abandoned sleds and "War is not the answer." The houses are closer, maybe older, and yet somehow more stylish. The porches are open, welcoming, but empty. Slurp. Slurp. "Hi" she announces with the confidence that comes from being 4. "Hi" I return, my cheeriness tainted by not talking to strangers. That rule was for the children, not for the bearded man walking up the street. Tell that to the mother who notices me, but seems to sweep her child inside. Slurp. Slurp. Over a grate it smells like oatmeal on a camping trip, which smells far different from oatmeal at home. The sounds of children playing fade to cars and the purposeful wander of the urban student. A move-in special, first month free, no thanks I think I've got a home and Slurp. Slurp. Slurpee.

It's time for some ads
My degree allows me to enjoy a whoopee cushion and some monkeys on so many levels.

I also found a new crush. She is the brunette in the Pepsi ads. Reuben says she might be 18. Sir Paul would understand. Or he would've before he had grandkids.

The Mustang commercial sucked. Twice. This fine ad parody, however, almost makes me want a "new" car.

Depending on who you ask, America either liked the Bud light commercial with the guy jumping out of the plane or didn't. For my money, more ads should have abandoned their chutes. I'm counting on my old roommate to fix that next year.

I nearly forgot to give a nod to the cell phone hold-up. The shotgun really touched me. In my mind, it went off.

Dear Bank of Mine,
I want to state for the record that I hate your guts. While I appreciate that you keep my money in a safe place thus enabling me to maintain the already delicate control of my mattress stability, that still does not excuse all of your other annoying mailings. Why do you insist on offering me everything under the sun? I do not want your credit cards or your special accounts. Most of all I do not want to convince my friends that banking with you would be a good idea for a $25 plastic gift card. Let's be honest, I bet I couldn't even convince your employees to bank with you for $25. You are so freaking annoying. I wish I had a mailbox that would chew up anything with your logo on it. That would be swell. It could have a little basket underneath to catch all of the little pieces of paper. I'd empty the little basket into an envelope and send the pieces back to you, or maybe I should take all the scraps of paper and spell out DIE! on my kitchen floor. I could take a picture of that and send it to you. Would that work out for you? 'Cause I'm thinking it might be pretty satisfying for me.

Turn blog drivel into silky schizzle
Don't believe me? Ask Snoop.

Just call me Great-Aunt David
"Hi David" I heard from somewhere behind my cube. It was a child's high-pitched voice, but when I turned around I found a much larger version of the little girl I'd expected to see. My coworker's daughter had grown almost two feet taller and the first thing to pop out of my mouth was, "My gosh you've grown."

I might as well have just pinched her cheeks, thrown my shawl over my shoulder and cried out, "Mortie. Have you seen Christina? She's so tall!"

Watch out Abdul!
I'm choreographing a dance to the Alias season 3 DVD menu music. I can't tell you much, but I promise there will be some shimmies and some great hand movements. The problem is going to be the big finale since the music is on a loop.

Application for my weekend
After two consecutive quite wonderful weekends with two quite wonderful people, I now find myself in the position of having a weekend vacancy. If you would like to fill this vacancy or a future vacancy, please fill out the following application. Thank you.

Name:
Supercool Nickname I can holler if needed:
Three items you will bring with you on this weekend:
Where do you see our weekend taking place?
Stated purpose of our weekend (think big):
Actual purpose of our weekend (give it to me straight):
Two activities you would like to undertake with me:
Please rank your preferred method of transport starting with your favorite: A. car B. public C. walking D. running E. sliding F. magic carpet
What is your favorite card game? A. Go Fish B. Poker C. Spades D. Canasta E. Break the Bucket
Do you see yourself as A. Fiscally responsible B. Rich and looking to treat C. Hoping for a free ride D. hungry ?
Complete this sentence Snow makes me .
Complete this analogy David is to pants as I am to .
Fill in the blanks A weekend is not complete without blank, blank, and blank.

Optional Bonus question: What is the likelihood that we're going to make out?



Due to the competitive nature of my weekends, you will only hear from me if you meet my needs at this time. Thank you for applying and good luck with your weekends. We do not discriminate based on anything that might offend anyone including but not limited to age, race, sexual orientation, favorite color, ability to make cookies, and/or english/metric system preference.