Van Goal

I could be eating glue....

I have a confession to make. I huff paint. I'm sorry mom - but you knew this was coming. Remember the Van Gogh exhibit when I was 11? Do you remember the security guard dragging me from Van Gogh's sunflowers because my nose nearly inhaled the painting, frame and all? Of course you do. This should hardly come as a shock. So as I stood in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, gazing at Van Gogh's "Vase of Roses" you undoubtedly can imagine the look on my face. It was look of bliss I reserve only for impressionist paintings and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles...I really like Michelangelo, teenage ninja and Renaissance painter/sculptor.

It's hard for most people to realize how I adore art. I doubt you will understand fully after reading this, but perhaps you may gain a sliver of insight into my soul. When you immerse yourself in paintings, and the artists who render them, you are investing yourself in an array of expressionism. If you study well a fine piece of art, you will discover fine literature, engrossing theater, political dissertation, and social commentary. All art also tells the story of it's creator. The artist's give you insight into their lives that cannot be found in any book or journal.

Those stories, and the accompanying psychological messages command my eyes and my mind.
They are the reason I spend hours just staring, awestruck and enamored of the images before my eyes. This love affair of mine is not reserved for a certain genre either. Whether, Matisse or Monet. Renoir or Rembrandt, I embrace them all with equal jubilation.

Now, perhaps you're skeptical. C'mon Mike, you can't tell me that this (below) tells a story.
Well, believe it or not - and you best believe it, this painting is extraordinary. With the help of a chemist the artist created a unique color red, which he believed conveyed the angst of society today. The white line symbolizes hope, the hope that we can change.
Don't leave! Don't commit me! Perhaps I'm asking to much of you to accept that one white line against a permeating red background is exquisite art. But you cannot, CANNOT argue that this is not one of the greatest paintings rendered:
I could have stood before Jackson Pollock's "Full Fathom Five" for an unfathomable amount of time. You can feel Pollock's angst, anger, and aggression. We have all felt the emotion expressed in Pollock's work. Perhaps not so vividly in blacks, grays, and yellows but nevertheless we've all been so conflicted.

That day, I walked from the MET to the Museum of Modern Art, back to the MET, in a time that spanned over nine hours. Nine of hours savoring a slice of art pie. Give me a slice of Monet, sprinkled with a pinch of Cezanne, some Titian and Goya on the side, washed down with a thick glass of Rembrandt. Delicious.

Eat Your Heart Out Letterman

15 reasons to love New York:
1. The birds

2. The music

3. The games

4. The hair

5. The library

6. The picnics

7. The trees

8. The jay-walkers (and rollers)

9. The vendors

10. The taxis

11. The streets

12. The train

13. The tourists

14. The lights

15. The end

Does God Have Call Waiting?

Some days I can't for the life of me find something worth while to write about. I stare at the ceiling blankly, throwing a tennis ball up and down. The result? A freshly painted ceiling. Today, in the heat of my writer's block I decided to seek intervention from above. As I sat in line for confession I began negotiating with God.

Please God, just give me something funny today. I'm not looking for trouble, I'm playing by your rules. Give me a flash of ingenuity.

As I negotiated, I couldn't help but notice my surroundings. The confession line is one of the most neurotic places ever. It's absolutely fantastic. Fidgeting and sighing and mass scratching of heads. People feel so uncomfortable there. I embrace it. I try and have conversations, ask people questions l like, "What're you here for?" or speculate, "That guy looks like he did something reeeeal bad."

When you enjoy yourself as much as I do, the wait is nothing. There were two confessionals on either side of the priest. When one person confesses, the other is left only to guess what is happening on the other side. At least, that's the idea. But that wasn't the case for me. The woman on the other side of Fr. Weymes made her presence known when her cell phone rang loudly.

Then, a miracle happened. She actually began a conversation on the phone. Praise tha' Lord! In a radiant Irish brogue, Fr. Weymes begged the question that was on both our minds.
"Excuse me ma'am, but is God on that telephone?" He asked.
"Umm, no." She replied.
"Ah," said Fr. Weymes, "Then hang up, or get out."

The Lord will always provide.

Like Noah, God saw it fit that my miracles came in pairs. In the afternoon, I was entrusted to find Christian a blue blazer. This may sound easy. It might sound like a 20 minute errand. 25 minutes tops. Two hours later, we were leaving Macy's, the sixth store we'd been to, without the damned blazer. In front of us, was a man, wearing a skintight black v-neck, with matching skintight black pants. He was organizing a Chanel perfume display with five equally skintight vested trainees. I glanced at Christian and said, "$100 this guy says fabulous." Three seconds later:
"And we'll bring in the pink sash against the black wall and it will just be FABULOUS!"

Indeed, it was fabulous. There was no hope of containing my glee. As we passed Elton John and Darth Vader's 30 year-old son we broke down in tear-laced, hysterical glee.

God bless us, everyone.

Flying The Friendly Skies

This is an ode to the brilliance of technology. I’m sitting on a Canada Regional Jet, blogging, organizing the pictures I took this morning (see below), and listening to iTunes. I can tell you right now that we are over South Carolina in only three clicks of my mouse (which is wireless). To think that cell phones were a new technology only 12 years ago is remarkable in my mind. In truth, I take for granted laptops, WiFi, and anything with an “i” in front of it. But the friendly skies have hit me with a gigabyte of enlightenment as to just how plugged in I am.

Writing 37,000 feet in the air is a new experience for me. And I must say that so far I’ve really enjoyed it. Whenever I’m in a plane, I get extremely restless. I think it is a combination of recycled air, horrible seats, and having seen Die Hard 2 a few times too many. I’m sitting in an exit row – the three other people sitting in my row (including the guy next to me… reading every word I write…yeah, you bud…Howzit going?) are supposed to help assist the crew in the event of an emergency. If there is an emergency, we’re screwed. The lady in the other window seat is at least 65 and doesn’t speak English. The guy next to her is asleep, and creepy reader guy might weigh 50LBS. Luckily, we have all read the safety manual, otherwise I’d be concerned.

There are a few things you should be aware of the next time you decide to fly on a plane. Transistor radios and VCRs are prohibited. When wearing your oxygen mask, don’t smoke. If you are planning on bringing a stick of dynamite, a biohazard sticker, plutonium, or a sword – you may have to check them. In the event of a water landing, open the emergency exit. If you cannot open the exit, there are five other exits, If they had let that stick of dynamite on board the door wouldn’t even be an issue though. Donkeys….I just saw the captain leave the cockpit and use the bathroom. I guess this flight is making a brief pit stop at the Cosby kid’s pool. I also beg the question of who is flying the plane?

I finished my complimentary beverage – all 2 ounces of it, over ten minutes ago. Now the stewardess has given me deliciously salty pretzels. What kind of operation is this? They know I have no fluid to sate my inevitable thirst post pretzel enjoyment. This leaves me in an incredible predicament. Truly, the greatest quandary since boxers or briefs. I’m spinning into a dizzying fit of anxiety now. Should I eat the pretzels? They are so delicious, yet deadly without proper hydration. But the anxiety is heightened by the fact that the pilot is still in the bathroom.

However, what trumps both of these issues is that Napoleon Dynamite’s 50LB Albino brother is reading over me again. Dude, you are not sly at all. Turn your attention back to Sky Mall. Alright, I think I’m going to check on the pilot. Hopefully he didn’t fall in. Peace and Albino grease.

Son of a Beach!

After a 12 hour road trip we have finally arrived in the Sunshine State, on the coast of Ponte Vedra. Since my mom is such a strong proponent of hands-on education, I seized the opportunity to learn my brothers and sisters in all things...yes, all things. Here are some highlights:

1. Wal-Mart is the capitol of Georgia.
2. When driving on I-95, if the speed limit is 65, you are required to drive at least 80.
3. Saltwater is delicious, be sure to drink some as soon as you get to the beach.
4. When going to Church in Florida, one only needs to read the name of the Church to fulfill one's obligation (this is what happens when you think mass is at 9 but is really at 11.) Called, "The Surfing Clause", it was inserted post Vatican II.
5. You can never have enough SPF 80.
6. After you reach age eight, it is no longer cute to get caught staring at girls in bikinis.
7. No matter how far away we drive, the Nationals are still bad.
8. There are alligators in Florida. This one is true. Michael was actually telling the truth this time.
9. A Ben Folds/Frank Sinatra/Tim McGraw triple threat cures all car sicknesses, world hunger, and most debilitating diseases.
10. If you feel something brush against your leg in the ocean, it is almost certainly a shark or an octopus hunting.

How does that make you feel?

I've begun making it a habit to browse my stats to see how people find my little corner of the internet. My favorite referrer has to be Google. You can throw just about anything into Google search and find just about anything else. Yesterday, at 3:41 a.m., someone Googled, "conservatives against singlism" and they found me. I guess probably because of this post. I try to avoid the conservative label because I've found it carries negative connotations.

The whole liberal/conservative, vegetarian/gun owner labeling system is extremely crippling. I'll never get into political journalism if only because I'll automatically lose half of the audience once I am affiliated with a certain brand of thinking. So it does bug me when people Google "conservative" and my name comes up. But whatever, I took a career generator quiz once and it said I should be an NRA lobbyist so you never know.

Now, I've already shared my thoughts on the singlism "issue." But the Google search did conjure up some other thoughts on relationships I've had this past week. On my drive home in the late hours of the night, I happened upon a local radio show called, Unzipped. You can probably guess by the name that it isn't a gardening program. The two, single, hosts offer their advice to listeners with questions about love, life, and above all sex. Every subject is based upon one simple question: Are you gettin' any?

I know a lot of people would take offense to this show. Obviously, Unzipped discusses very intimate and sensitive topics in a usually blunt and irreverent manner. But I found their entire discussion hilarious. Their concept of relationships, their concept of people  in general, is so outrageous and over the top I couldn't help but laugh. They were talking about the "first date" and the female host said, to paraphrase, that she saw nothing wrong with having sex on the first date, "if you feel a connection." And I wondered what that connection could possibly be. Apparently, her co-host wondered as well, and when he asked my question she answered that she couldn't describe it, but she just knew. There was a connection and she felt this euphoric high. How many times has she felt the connection? "Five or six" times. It seems that love is not only blind, but deaf, dumb, and utterly moronic. 

Now, as I'm listening to this conversation, I'm really not offended because it's just too outrageous for me to be offended. Even the most liberal of people would be blushing at the outlandishness. And then the calls came. Listeners, obviously furious with how impious this woman was. Jane from Chevy Chase was the first caller, "I completely agree with you." What!? The conversation went from comedic to tragic in the span of seven callers all agreeing with the host.

I don't profess to be a relationship expert. I'm not Dr. Phil, Dr. Laura, or even Dr. Ruth. But I do drink Dr. Pepper from time to time so I think I'm pretty qualified on the subject. You don't have to have corresponding politics or religion to have corresponding morals and common sense. We all know the difference between right and wrong for the most part. Emotions are chemical, and that makes them dangerous and if you base judgments on emotions you're very foolish. It's perplexing to hear someone that is willing to commit themselves based on a chemical reaction. Is it surprising to find that the reaction wears off after time? Of course not. And in the morning, you feel the same way as if you'd had a night of one too many - hungover.

People yearn for the chemical high. And so once it dissipates they go elsewhere looking for it. But no matter how many times you achieve the high, you will always start back at zero in the morning. Does that make sense? I'm I the one who is out in rightfield blowing dandelions? It doesn't seem like that earth-shattering of a principle. Yet, between 7 and 11 each night the principle is forgotten or misunderstood or something.

I realize I'm pretty young and I have a lot to learn. But I have learned a thing or two, and one truth that is universal is that people are stupid. Bottom line. People are stupid. There is an overall lack of common sense in the world, and even the most intelligent people sometimes possess very little common sense.

If I am counting correctly, this post is over 8,000 words long

I've spent near sleepless nights trying to get Van Goal set up on it's own, and I've nearly succeeded as you can see. But, I still can't get the bugs completely fixed. So, if any of you know a thing or two about domains, and using the Fetch .ftp system shoot me an email PLEASE!

A picture paints a thousand words, so enjoy what I've prepared while I get back to the grind:

Movin' On Up

I bought the Van Goal domain name and I couldn't resist publishing a page so it is up: Van Goal. Typepad is way easier to deal with so this blog isn't going anywhere. Just look for www.van-goal.com to gradually get better, and eventually - as in a billion years from now - phase out typepad.

Thou Art Diver

If you have ever watched a soccer game, whether in person or on TV, you always see someone on the field faking a foul. Called diving, this process usually includes flailing, a blood-curdling scream, and usually five minutes of everyone else on the field standing around while the medical staff "heals" the poor soul who has fallen.

As a defender, I usually have to deal with divers. Just by the nature of the game, the forwards try and draw fouls close to the opposing goal. I'm playing with 23 year-old guys now, so it really does perplex me why a fully grown man who usually outweighs me by 20+ pounds would feel the need to keel over at my slightest touch. Whenever they fall over and get the call I'm usually at a loss for words. Well, that's not entirely true. I know three or four words that are sometimes directed at the ref and always odious. It isn't something I'm proud of. But both of my grandfathers were in the Navy so having the mouth of a sailor is in the bloodline. I've just never had the pretty words come to mind in the middle of a game.

The problem is no longer, thanks in great part to iGoogle. iGoogle is the homepage for those who use Gmail and it can be customized per your request. My iGoogle page gives me the weather, news, sports, a game of hangman, a quote from Jon Stewart AND Einstein, and now an insult from Shakespeare daily. So forever more, when someone decides to feign injury after I poke them in the shoulder I will say:

[Thou] shall stand in fire up to the navel and in ice up to th'heart, and there th'offending part burns and the deceiving part freezes.
   -Taken from: The Two Noble Kinsmen

Okay, I probably won't. I'll probably condemn several people to a fiery demise that involves some form of castration. But now I have a second option.