Van Goal

Hello.

It has been awhile. In honor of the new and utterly horrific installment in the Indiana Jones series let me offer these Fordian excuses for neglecting my corner of the Internet.

I was fighting the dark side while dodging bounty hunters in a galaxy far, far away.

I was hunting down humanoids in 2019 Los Angeles.

I was a cop undercover in Lancaster, PA protecting an amish boy who was witness to a murder.

I fell in love with a woman who is my girlfriend's secretary.

I suffered amnesia after being shot in the head.

I was wanted by Tommy Lee Jones for my wife's murder which  I didn't commit.

I was fighting Columbian drug lords.

I was held hostage on Air Force One while the sitting President of the United States.

I crashed my plane in the South Seas and fell in love with Anne Heche

I taught Josh Harris how to be a police detective in Hollywood.

I was spending my last days of high school with Opie and Richard Dreyfuss.

I was busy ruining a legendary movie trilogy after I allegedly made contact with aliens.

Of course none of these are true. What is true is that real life came at me like Ali and down went Frasier. When the dust settled and the flashbulbs dimmed it appears that I'm in one piece and relatively unharmed from my first nine months at GMU. A lot has changed but more things have stayed the same. Things that have changed...my clothes have gotten better and my diet has gotten worse. The coffee habit has been kicked. When it costs five dollars for a small the java just doesn't taste as sweet. I watch a lot of the Discovery Channel. This comes as a result of my roommate Parker's habitual viewing of Survivorman. I also watch pro wrestling which is again under Parker's influence. Things that are the same...I'm still smarter than everyone else. But that's just a fact. I still struggle to find motivation to do laundry. Not only do I refuse to do laundry but I often I cannot even muster putting my clothes in a hamper.

I've always maintained a joy in art. That hasn't changed however my art has begun to be seen by others on a more formal basis. My final painting was on display in the annual student show which was curated by a former curator for the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

A more accidental display can be seen in George Mason's sculpture garden. In the first week of class I was asked to create a sculpture out of wire clothes hangers. I did and after I received credit I left it in the sculpture garden. It was meant more as a joke than anything else. Someone took it seriously and now "Unknown - Tree" is a permanent fixture.

Despite the Noble Sentiments, I'm Just Jonesin' for some Java

Perhaps you've heard about former New York Governor Elliot Spitzer and his high end prostitution ring? The first eight stories featured on The Drudge Report revolve around the Governor's sex, lies and videotape. Reports have revealed the name of Spitzer's hooker, where she lives, what occurred. CNNs bottom line ceaselessly runs developments in the story.

I don't really care about Elliot Spitzer or his high end prostitution ring. Perhaps if it was a low end prostitution ring I would be upset, but since his was classy it's no big deal. It's time to abandon the "Paris Hilton" stories in the media. The stories about famous people's lives spiraling into oblivion was old two Britney Spear's overdoses ago.

It isn't like there is variety either. Here are the current headlines for the New York Times, LA Times, Associated Press, and USA Today:
Penthouse to Spitzer Call Girl: Call Us
Woman in Spitzer Case Identified
4 Arrests, Then 6 Days to a Resignation
Call Girl in 'Spitzer' Identified

Okay, so it's a big story. But it isn't like the competing news is any more uplifting. They charged a suspect in the murder of the UNC student. The Iraqi Archbishop was found murdered. The fingers of western tourists were sent to US officials in Baghdad. There is not a shimmer of joy to be found anywhere. Where can you go to find solace from the high end, lowbrow headlines?

Starbucks.

Annamaries Ausnes suffered polycystic kidney disease. It is a genetic disorder the causes cysts to rapidly develop on your kidneys resulting in eventual kidney failure. Last Fall, Ausnes' condition took a turn for the worst. Her kidneys were functioning at only 15% and no one had been able to locate a suitable transplant. Ausnes was facing mortality.

So on a crisp, cold fall morning she went to Starbucks and ordered a drink. She struck up a conversation with her barista, a woman who had worked at the store for three years. The barista asked Ausens how she was. Ausnes poured out her story.

When Ausnes concluded her tale, the barista handed her the cup of coffee. The next day, the barista had a blood test. She matched Ausnes.

Yesterday, Ausnes family and the barista, Sandie Anderson, gathered around Ausnes as she came out of surgery. Ausnes is healthy and Anderson has taken customer service to another dimension. This is in the wake of Starbucks chief executive officer Howard Schultz asking his employees to make a human connection with their customers.   

Ausnes' story is fit for prime time on Lifetime. It's a little sappy, sure, but it is a welcome alternative to sex scandals, drug overdoses and high or low end prostitution rings. It's also a wonderful excuse to buy a $5 cup of joe.

New York, Parts 2 and 2 1/2

I hope you don't get the impression that I slummed it up in New York. While my Saturday night was spent conversing with hobos and art majors (gross!), my Saturday evening was downright classy. I went to a Broadway show with my great aunt whose heart is forever taken by glitz and pizazz of music, theater and their child, musical theater. I would like to reminisce for a moment. I just used four "z's" in a sentence. Reflection over.

Broadway is a funny place. Any place where the people have their own lighting and frenetically burst into song is an odd place in my mind. It's probably an odd place in most minds, it is an queer brand of folk whose mind doesn't find it relatively odd. Odd or not, Broadway is as memorable as it is musical. My aunt and I went to see Curtains, a murder mystery musical that with all alliteration aside was deceptively engaging. It starred David Hyde Pierce, the '90s version of Clay Aiken, as a singing detective.

At the intermission, two characters had already been brutally killed and the plot was in a frenzy of violence, percussional whimsy and a dance number. Only Broadway could get away with hanging a senior citizen and blowing away a stage manager with a Colt .45 while singing and dancing a la Mary Poppins. In any other setting the audience would be left in shocked silence yet here they were singing along.

Rest assured, by the end of the night the murdering fiend had been apprehended with a little tap dance and a lot of falsetto.

As I left the theater I reflected on what I'd just witnessed. All of the lyrical drama that had just occurred, all of the flamboyant lighting and colors flashed around in my head. I looked around at other theater goers in hopes of reading some of their thoughts.

Man after man had the same foolish smile on his face. It was a smile that expressed just how uncomfortable, relieved, entertained, and sober we all felt after our brush with David Hyde Pierce. In each pair of eyes flashed the anxiety felt when Hyde Pierce thrust his pelvis with gusto in the first act. And under each man's breath whispered the same phrase that hung in the cold New York air before drifting down 45th Street.

'We should have gone to Spamalot.'

New York, Part 1

Hello Spring break; so nice to make your acquaintance.

It is a very welcome few days in my life, void of paper writing, textbook reading and cafeteria food eating. My break began Thursday. In truth, there is much to tell and a week to tell it and so let Monday begin the telling.

To truly appreciate my comings and goings of this past weekend let me tell you in reverse chronological fashion. One probably could appreciate the events of my life regardless of order told however I really enjoy saying ‘reverse chronological.’

Sunday morning I strode upon the 8:05 train departing New York Penn Station for Washington D.C. at 8:07. I had awoken at what I believed to be 6 a.m. but everyone else knew it to be 7 a.m. The concept of daylight savings time is a vast mystery. I will say that I appreciated the extra hour of sleep, regardless of whatever anxiety I experienced when I arose.

Had I risen at the true 6 a.m. I would’ve been the benefactor of two hours of sleep. We all know it is that vital third hour that pushes one into a fully rested state. What was my motivation for staying awake until the deep hours of night? It was the motive of many a man. The desire to experience the yearning wanderlust and mystery that shrouds Gotham’s uinderground. Oh, to ride the Subway.

Yes, for two hours I simply rode the Subway, in all of it's grimy, gooey glory. If you can look past the mildew growing on the tiled walls, plug your nostrils of whatever toxic scents wafting through the platform and Purel your hands with obsessive compulsive zeal you just might appreciate the beauty of the Subway. If nothing else, you'll have very clean hands.

I began at the 5th Ave & 59th St station and rode all the way to Times Square 42nd St. I will go on record as the only person to make a ten minute train ride last two hours.

This is where my writing stops and my images begin. Please enjoy them, all forty shots. They are a narrative designed however crudely to tell my story. I decided that if the old adage is true, this post is nearly 45,000 words long.

I'm still writing

post over.

This is what Scientology Does to You!

Well, I've been crafting a thoughtful, inspired post for about an hour. I thought that before I begin I'd catch the first few minutes of American Idol. MISTAKE!!!!

First, my mind began to slip into the abyss of deranged wannabees, tone-deaf singers wearing tie-dye and glitter eyeliner and blush, and of course, a British accent. But I was saved from the painful auditions by the commercial break. However, it was merely a case of leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire. For I was immediately distracted (oh, by the way, does anyone know the definition of ADD?) Anyway the commercial I saw was for the lottery, I think. I can't remember (Oh, look! A shiny penny!) I can't find it (the commercial, not the penny. Has anyone found an ADD definition yet?) online so I will do my best to retell it here:

Job Applicant: Thank you for seeing me.
Interviewer: You're welcome, John. Now, tell me what qualities do you have?
Friend #1: Oh, John is a master of the video game Kung Fu Ninjas!
Friend #2: And he can fit four ping pong balls in his mouth at the same time!
Friend #3: When I think of John, I think he is like a poster in his room of an eagle. Below the eagle is the word 'Motivation'. And that's true for both John and the eagle. They are motivated by fish.

Then the narrator says something about how you shouldn't bring your friends to a job interview but you should bring your friends to play the lottery.

That commercial isn't as funny as I previously believed now that I've had to walk through the entire dramatic structure.

But what remains funny, regardless of times viewed or times retold, is the newly released Tom Cruise interview on Scientology. Below are excerpts from the interview to be read out loud while listening to 'Old Time Rock and Roll' by Bob Seger:

[B]eing a Scientologist, when you drive past an accident, it's not like anyone else. As you drive past you know you have to do something about it because you know you're the only one that can really help....It's what people don't know, but I know - but I know - you know? I have to do something. And I can't do something on my own, so I have to do something. So it's contributing something on your own on my own....And you see the spectators who say, 'Well you know what you're doing, I see what you're doing.'  And that thing, I've removed from my area....And this is the way it should be done and we are doing it this way and people are getting better so let's get it done - let's do it - do it right....I have to tell you something and it's - it's rough and tumble, but it's a blast, it's fun, it really is fun. But dammit, it's fun, every day....Get those spectators in the playing field or out of the arena....I do it the way I do everything. There is nothing *hysterical laughter* me an*mass hysteria*.

You can't make it up. See for yourself here

So can you imagine the mental state I am in at present? After two hours of Simon Cowell, Tom Cruise, a lot of glitter, and the Lottery? Take those four things and you have a dream from David Bowie's mind. Add sunglasses and a gap tooth and David Bowie becomes Elton John. Kill the hypothetical Elton John and he hypothetically becomes Liberace. Since this post exists for the sake of tangents, let me go off on another. Apple just released a new laptop, which is really cool, called MacBook Air. It is the thinnest Apple laptop ever. Yet, it is more expensive than other, larger Apple laptops. It really is a counterintuitive principle. Since the computer is smaller, that means there are fewer components, so it costs more than a bigger, component abundant laptop. Well, I'm confused, how about you? Oh look! A quarter!

So Wait, What are Their Ages?

I'm finding that as I get older, the fact that prior to college I was homeschooled is becoming more and more insignificant. People just don't care that much. However, as interest in past education has dropped, interest in my family has risen. Being the oldest of eight brings speculating stares and many a raised eyebrow. I hear, "Wow, that's a lot of kids." Often. Wow, that is a lot of kids, I guess. On an abnormal day, I often just laugh and concur with their wonder at our vastness. On the normal days, I lead them to believe that my parents operate and underground baby trade distribution ring.

I've never really reflected much on what life might have held had I been born to a small family, like five or six. Whenever the question arises of why do we have so many I always answer that with another question: Which one of us would you've gotten rid of? Actually that's an easy answer - Patrick without hesitation. Truthfully, people do have questions and concerns about our horde. Some call it irresponsible, others impossible, most believe it insane. Irresponsible is driving with your knees on the highway and impossible was Tom Cruise's mission in that movie. So I guess we're insane.

It certainly isn't an easy way of living. But how many people are there that walk around complaining about how their lives are too easy. My life isn't exceptionally hard either, though it does reach great levels of difficulty when a diaper needs changing or Christian is driving...in reverse. But they serve a purpose. To exist in this family, I've needed to be capable of certain things. Grocery shopping pops instantly to mind. I like to brag to the ladies that I can fill I grocery cart at Costco with a balanced diet for the entire seven-day week in eighteen minutes. Chicks dig grocery shoppers. This skill comes in handy when my roommate and I walk into a Giant for the first time of semester and wonder what we need.

The practical benefits are obviously more recognizable to other eyes. But the spiritual and virtuous lessons I've learned, especially from the youngest youngers dwell just below my surface. There are certain intangible qualities you acquire driving carpools through rush hour traffic. Spending a Saturday morning with a sick baby asleep on my chest is another simple, but poignant experience. Fighting with an nine-year old over whether we watch Hannah Montana or CSI is another less poetic moment,  but formative all the same.

I don't dare claim that because I've had these experiences I'm somehow better or holier than a guy who was an only child. But I will claim that the benefits and blessings I've gained from my family are indelible. As I sit here, at this very moment, trying to be eloquent and thoughtful, Nicky and Patrick are screeching at nails-on-a-chalkboard pitch not ten feet away over whether Patrick was goaltending on Nicky's last possession in basketball. And yet, the screeching, while maybe the most horrendous sound since ABBA, I know is teaching me something. Thank God for the screeching, the dirty diapers, and the driving in reverse. Above all, thank God for giving me the humility to learn from these things, and to accept a five-year old and a toddler as teachers.

Excuse me, I need to go play Guitar Hero with Stephen.

I just saw this and thought it rather interesting:

The art of letters will come to an end before the year AD 2000. I shall survive as a curiosity.

~Ezra Pound

Now, let's see how many people google Ezra Pound today.

Applause

The self-checkout at the grocery store is one my most favorite things ranking behind girls in white dresses and ahead of brown paper packages tied up in string. You never wait in line, you don't have to make awkward conversation with the cashier, and you can race the guy in the other self-checkout line if he obliges. You also don't have to read the tabloids because you're busy scanning your items. Curse ye, tabloids. I can't understand why people relish in viewing unflattering pictures of celebrities. More perplexing is the story of "batboy" which has been circulating for the better part of forty years. Isn't about time for batboy to become a batman? Holy observation, Robin!

But batboy lives, and so do Kirstie Alley's thunder thighs, and Oprah's sweatsuit. But the story that lives like the Phoenix is Britney Spears. Britney Spears is a train wreck that has been taped and looped, replaying every 15 minutes for the past two years. When she sheared off her signature blond locks, I averted my eyes and loudly hummed "Genie in a Bottle" to myself, and waited for her to just go away. But she won't and "Genie in a Bottle" cannot be sung for two years straight so it is time to break my silence.

As I watched footage of her laying strapped to stretcher, reminiscent of a death row inmate prepped for lethal injection, I felt many things, mostly pity, a little ambivalence. I think most people share these sentiments. But those immediately surrounding the situation saw an opportunity. An opportunity to exploit this clearly troubled woman's catastrophic emotional and physical plummet.

First were the paparazzi, the hordes of paparazzi. So dense were the number of flashbulbs and video that the ambulance attempting to rush Spears to the hospital was kept to a staggering crawl, thanks to the shear number of  people in the way. Perez Hilton, a web-gossiper(?) posted a thank you note to Spears the day after her admission to the hospital. Her story on Perez's website gained him 10 million hits. These people, while morally jaded are performing their jobs when they shove cameras in the face of an ambulance rushing an overdose victim to the hospital. As callous and sickening as that may be, it's a paying profession, if you don't do your job, you'll be fired. So I understand it to certain extent. It would be naive to expect anything better from that portion of the media.

I would expect a person like Dr. Phil, to show a bit more class. Instead, Dr. Phil will be interviewing the parents of Britney Spears on his talk show, and has made public intimate details about the situation, notably in an interview with Entertainment Tonight. As low and degrading as Dr. Phil's actions are, I can still see how someone might behave in such a manner. Not all people are boyscouts, and a lot of people are self-serving.

What really bothers me is how interested in this story normal people are. People with no real stake in the story. People who are acutely enjoying the pain and suffering of the situation. It is entertaining to a gross number of human beings. Ultra-reality. And it isn't a fascination reserved only for Britney Spears. When Anna Nicole died, all of the major news outlets had a pre-made video eulogy ready to go for our peeping eyes to see. This captivation is inherently wrong. These are people, not actors on the screen. Britney Spears desperately needs someone with true intentions to help her, not a million peeping-Tom's hoping she's going to die in her own vomit in the middle of the night.

It is utterly appalling and I wonder where we go from here? If Perez Hilton gets 10 million hits when Britney Spears has an overdose, imagine how many hits he would get if she died. How long will it be before we begin to market suffering to the masses? It may sound like an Oliver Stone theory, but this week has proven that it is not so dubious a thought.

Maybe I Should Just Write Next Year's Post Now

So, I just wanted to acknowledge that this is a New Year, and that's different. Every year, I swear that I'll get my New Year's post up before anyone (specifically the Black Sheep) and every year I forget...and I refuse to make any resolutions so chances are I'll probably forget again next year.

Now, I am flawed every so slightly, so I do plan on making some "adjustments" moving forward. I want the ability to hold my breath for three minutes, so when I get in a fight with anyone I can sit in a corner and hold my breath. Right now, I can't hold my breath for very long so it looks like I'm in a corner breathing deeply. I want to eat more donuts. My final hope is to boycott all clothes that are labeled "vintage fit." Everyone is wearing vintage fit, and there isn't anything vintage about it, it's just fit.

Celebrity Playlist of 2007:

Gracie - Ben Folds
Closer - Joshua Radin
All of My Days - Alexi Murdoch
The Guy Who Says Goodbye to You - Griffin House
Casimir Pulaski Day - Sufjan Stevens
Ripe - Ben Lee
Oceanstone - Chris O'Brien
Lonelily - Damien Rice
The Great Beyond - REM
Dry Your Eyes - The Streets
Fans - Kings of Leon
In a Razor Town - Jason Isbell
Diamonds on the Inside - Ben Harper
Monkey - Counting Crows
I Saw - Matt Nathanson
Dream - Priscilla Ahn
Not If You Were the Lase Junkie in the World - The Dandy Warhols
White Daisy Passing - Rocky Volato
Antonia - Motion City Soundtrack
The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson
Question - Old 97s
The World Spins Madly On - The Weepies
Lover in the Snow - Rivers Cuomo
Misunderstood - Wilco
You Can Never Publish My Love - Rogue Wave
Answering Bell - Ryan Adams

If you want a copy....go buy your own...haha no ask me, and I'll forget to send you a mixtape.