Last Friday Night

You have to believe that with the weekend comes a moment of relaxation. A chance to unwind and to remind yourself what you're fighting for. That doesn't happen every weekend, and sometimes when it happens you feel sad or tired on Monday or maybe just a little frustrated. Sometimes though, you remember how strong you really are. You look around and realize how strong you are, your friends are, your co-workers and random acquaintances are. It very easy to forget when we're in a pity party that others are also there, that others have tread that same path. I don't care how upset you are, what your struggles are, who you lost, there's a MeetUp group that caters to your exact needs. Why? Because we've all been there. So don't let the little things get you down, and remember, they're all little things.

Now, on to happier news. My birthday is next weekend, and I'm planning all kinds of shenanigans. I'm one of those people who loves celebrating his birthday. The older I get the more I realize I should have died many times and I didn't even get to serve in the military. We are blessed with our lives and to honor that theme we need to risk our lives on our birthdays. That doesn't make sense but I've never been into this whole "logic" thing. Logic is good for debates, unless those debates are about chocolate. Dark chocolate is obviously the best because it has the most anti-oxidants. I'm a health nut you see so I like to eat foods that are high in deliciousness. That's gotta be a Vitamin, look at all the syllables in deliciousness!

Obviously I introduced my birthday then cleverly hid what I'm doing because it's a secret even I don't know. Actually I'm going out for a nice dinner then a pub crawl, but the locations in NYC are to be determined so I can't really speak too much about it. Hopefully, someday, I'll have an agenda for it. Unfortunately it will probably be after my birthday. Such is life.

Sunday morning and I realized my absence

I hate forgetting, because if you forget you're doomed to repeat the mistake or problem or whatever it is that caused you grief or sorrow. Or joy, sometimes you forget how much you really like something until you haven't had it in a long while. Granted, this usually refers to books or food as my friend Miguel mentioned something about an old family recipe.

His mom would make him something Spanish sounding, we'll say burritos since I can't pronounce what the Hell he was saying. She made it once a week, from scratch, which also usually means its very labor intensive. And every week she did this for him and the family and eventually he got sick of it. He'd come home from college and be angry that she made that dish and he'd have a bowl of cereal or something stupid like that. Finally, after college and when his current wife came to visit he had it again. That first bite transported him back to his younger days when he loved it. Now, he orders it before his plane ever lands in Charlotte.

This is what I mean, I feel like we forget things, some that made us happy and some that made us sad. You can't forget these things, because just like those who forget their missteps are doomed to repeat them, those who forget some of the little things that made you happy, that made you you. This all leads into me wanting to let everyone know that soon I will be starting another blog surrounding food and some of the misadventures I've had in cooking and some of the things I've learned.

Quote time!

"A journey of a 1000 miles begins with a single step." Lao-tzu

Pic time!

Which one is me?

Crazy Writing Rants

So here's the thing, I like to write, I like writing a lot. And I can appreciate writers across the board. I just care about story, more or less. And yet sometimes the writing can be just that particular type of terrible that even I can't ignore it. I like nerd books, you know, the Dungeon & Dragon type that have wizards and warlocks. Yeah I know, you don't always get the best writing, but sometimes you get interesting characters or philosophical perspective. Sometimes you get third grade writing like a comic book.

I can't tell you my frustration when you pick up a book and you don't have much of an expectation yet you here lines like:

"Blah blah blah.

And the battle was joined.

Blah blah blah."

That's right, the interrupted the flow of the story to announce that battle was joined. Wow, it stirred an emotion, in my stomach. And bowels. Here's to reading a good enema. I could pick apart the book, but it pains me to admit that I finished it. And bought another one in the series done by a different author. It wasn't any better. Point in fact it took much more interesting characters with great back stories and then completely ruined them. It's like if you're on a date with someone really hot, girl or guy, and they're fulfilling every fantasy simply by sitting next to you. Then they open their mouth and you silently realize, "Oh, that's why they're single."

I take a lot of pride in my writing. Ok, I take pride in some of my writing when it's not blogging. However while writing my books and stories I've sent them to friends who either read a lot or who write a lot or both. It's these people who remind me that you can't write lines like, "...and then he took control of her body. And he was not gentle." Really? That doesn't make the character seem creepy, just you.

On to quotes, here's the one that I always liked and it has nothing to the topic of bad writing. Mark Twain said, "There are only three types of lies: lies, damn lies, and statistics." Every time I think about things in my life and percentages, I remember that the only number that matters is 1.....And sometimes 2.

For the pic I have something from my travels to Europe. When I went to the Vatican City there is a room that is a mural done by Raphael. It depicts Christianities triumph over paganism. The walls are very very busy, but the ceiling, when you look up, is very simple.

Kittens and Puppies...(take the bait)

Now there's a reason why you don't take candy from strangers. Kittens and puppies? What if I had been a serial killer? As if I have that kind of commitment. No kittens or puppies are available on this blog. However there is quick wit and witty thoughts...nevermind. Just used witty twice in one sentence.

Currently I am using the fantastic Crest 3D White Strips. I know they're fantastic because the advertising says so. I also know they're 3D because otherwise we'd be very flat and probably in a first generation video game. I'm rather amazed that I was talked into this, the strips come in a box with a pack of 30 so in just a few days I will have whiter teeth and saliva that tastes like spearmint. The latter part may be temporary. Now I know that I have to be conceited to do this, or at least baited, but you also have to wonder what kind of chemicals they're using on me to get my teeth whiter. I can only think of three off the top of my head that are chemicals: white paint, white out, and bleech. None of those sound delicious, none taste like spearmint, all have a record of turning things white. Now I'm no doctor, and that's court ordered, but shouldn't there be some long term study as to how these things make your teeth white? Soaking shirts in bleach makes them shine white, it also gives you skin cancer and makes for a very itchy shirt.

Next up on the days rants is why is it suddenly illegal to lure people with kittens and puppies? I mean, there I am by the park with my moving van and a couple of boxes filled with kittens and puppies. Cute right? Apparently not. The police showed up after a few concerned "parents" saw that I had a couple sets of chains and a shovel in the van. The chains were there to secure the boxes of kittens and puppies so they didn't slide around back there and the shovel was there to dig up some graves at the pet cemetary to see if any of the animals were buried with jewels. Which is apparently illegal thanks to some laws passed years ago. Pfft, pundits, get with the times man and give me back my shovel!

Waaaay too much time on my hands.

Todays quote comes from Wikipedia's front page: "Did you know that some species of the stick insect genus Timema have not had sex for over a million years?" Damn.

The next picture is some art from the bar I occasionally work in (and have mentioned in this blog), Bar 89. Although the bar itself it occasionally called "The Eater of Souls", the art is sometimes inspirationl.

Apparently Lost in My Childhood Because I See Smurfs

No, I will never ever watch even a full trailer of the Smurfs. Seeing them in CGI makes me have crazy nightmares like when I used to watch the old school Troll movies or whatever the else they had on TV. As Hollywood butchers my childhood I'm at the same time happy to see some of them brought to life (Transformers), however other one's not so much (Garfield, Smurfs, GI Joe-God have mercy on their souls for killing that entire series in one blow, and Transformers-they've all sucked and somehow been awesome at the same time).

Part of the blame for the butchering of my childhood is not only on Hollywood's shoulders, but also on the shows I used to watch. Imagine for a moment, if you went back and watched The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers again. Holy crap did that suck the first time around. Now if you grew up on it, you might think it's pretty cool until you watch it ten years later remade for the big screen. Now some people are talking about redoing Thundercats. Really? Watch it again and you'll never hope that someone shows such a God awful piece of crap that was probably shit out by a bum and left on the hot summer sidewalk for a week. It had a catch phrase, beyond that fuck Thundercats. Those of you who are a little older may think I'm being too harsh. Really? Go watch the cartoon version of The Hobbit and see if you don't start a fire. We've been betrayed by our own perceptions as kids. Guess what? Broccoli is delicious when cooked properly. Brussels sprouts still suck though.

Today's quote comes amidst a lot of people being angry about the budget and attacking each party. I'm all for debate just make sure to keep it civil and more importantly, keep an open mind a listen. It's from MLK Jr. Doctor King had a great idea when he said "There comes a time when silence is betrayal." Remember to speak up and be heard, you may not always know what to say, but at the very least if you speak with a clear voice and open mind people will answer you even if it's not a questions.

The next photo is from Turkey. I may not have always made the right decisions in my life. Yet even my wrong decisions led me to some amazing things, places and people. I have been fortunate in my life, and seeing the sun rise always reminds me of that so here is the sunrise seen from on of the only places that it occurs on two continents at the same time.

Head Colds and Head Kicks

Fireworks are an amazing thing, they're beautiful to look at, the sound and the memories they evoke from Fourth of July to random sporting events. We'll spend one hour per year watching them but we create a huge theme around the sparkling lights. This year I opted to watch them indoors because I'm sick and I realized that I wasted thirty minutes watching them on TV. There's no comparison to watching them live, on TV I may as well be watching a crappy Lifetime movie with poor camera angles. Although the dialogue was better for the fireworks.

I do have some sad news. I'm sick, like as in really sick for the past week. I have a Summer head cold, and no one seems to be giving me enough sympathy. Yeah, ok, my boss had the same cold and it turned into pneumonia (I've had it so many times I spell it right on the first try!). Still, I'm pretty sick, and it's Summer time. So here I go walking from my apartment, to my car, to work, probably drove there although you couldn't tell from my grammar, walked back to my car from work, drove home, and then rest in my apartment. I'm going stir crazy and it's beautiful out. I want to run sprints up the insane hills by my house. I want to do some sparring and work the bag. I want to kidney punch a few pedestrians. But nooooo, I have to rest and get better. I can't just run buck wild during Summer. I can't even have Sangria despite having an awesome recipe for it! SO yeah, whoa is me.

Speaking crushing people, here's one of my favorite quotes because it's so bad ass. Louis the XIV of France (yes France), was kind of a bad ass. And he had a favorite saying in Latin, "Ultima Ratio Regum", which translates into "The Final Argument of Kings". He had his favorite saying put on ever cannon in the kingdom. His thought was that we can talk, and negotiate, and deal. But the final argument I'm going to use will come at the end of this cannon. Gangsta. French Gangsta. Poofy shirts?

Travel pic today comes from the Palace at Versailles. I'm not sure what the artist was think but I really liked this statue. There was just a lot going on. Salute!

It's Monday? What the...

I remember weekends, they were a great time to go out with friends, have a few beers and maybe a nice meal with the little lady. Now that I've pulled my first 7 days straight of working I've realized that the week doesn't actually reset on Monday just because the week is over. That means I'm really on day 8 of all work and some play. And if I'm already whining like this now just imagine me come September! "Wa wa waaaaaa whoa is me! I missed the entire Summer working every weekend! Someone quick! Call the Waaaaambulance!" I don't think it'll go quite like that but you get the gist.

As I've gotten older I've noticed a slight change in my habits. What I really look forward to doing is cooking. Big meals, me, me and the girl, me and friends, me eating until I'm too gorged to do anything else. I want to make something fancy every Saturday night and make a big meal of it. Never mind that I'm writing this while hungry, I want to learn how to pair wines better, build a liquor and liqueur selection, and be able to put together amazing meals every night. I'm old world like that, I see food as a way to bring people together and cooking big nice meals is a great way to do that. And my arsenal is growing, I'm better at cooking meats, learning about sauces, and have a few books on wine and a lot of gourmet bartenders at my disposal.

This in turn has led to something somewhat morbid, but it's a thought with merit. When I die I hope I've lived a life that inspires people to do good things, great things that help pull our civilization to new heights. I hope I am remembered fondly, that people want to honor my passing with a celebration. I hope that it becomes a meal, where people come together, eat, celebrate friends, family, and community. People drink and be merry, like Thanksgiving but maybe in the Summer when people can grill out. It's a weird thought, I know. Yet I think it's a nice image, people toasting to a life that made a positive impact and brought people together. Here's the quote and the pic of the day!

"Americans are a funny lot. They drink whiskey to keep them warm, then they add ice to keep it cool. They put sugar in it to make sweet, then add lemon to make it sour. Then they say 'here's to you', and drink it themselves." -Former PM of India

Super Sundays!

I have recently worked out a deal for my website idea cooking show with one of NYC's hottest producers. Ok so really I'm letting my friend Simon use my camera as long as he helps me with my project. He's not even that cute, point in fact he's Canadian. However he can Zapp Brannigan with the best of em and his knowledge of Archer is growing...so maybe that's why the ladies love him. Anyways, Happy Birthday Simon, now make me look pretty on camera!

Since my undertaking of awesomeness and the decision to work 7 days straight per week, which really means I only get time off for Federal Holidays, I've found that I am confident in my decision to pull of a kamikaze move such as this. Working a lot will get to me from time to time, but there will be an increasing satisfaction in my accomplishments. One of which being my writing. Currently I am about halfway finished with my final short story. This is an addendum to what I wrote before. And after I add these two short stories my book will be so awesome they'll have to bind it in red leather just to match it's awesomeness. That's right, red leather. Now that's sexy.

So aside from my misadventures in working I've also come to realize that I've lost touch with friends and family back home...and in NYC. After some deep thinking over a five minute period I realized the genius behind Facebook's offshoot, Nabu or something like that. It limits your friends list to 50, no mas. Think about it, if you had to call or text 50 people, who would you choose? Not all family members, some friends, but the basic idea is that you can only really connect with about 50 people at one time. It makes for much more intimate conversations and when you report sad or happy things people would genuinely respond. Sadly, I can't remember the name of the sight so I can't point people in the right direction. It's funny though, what happens when someone wants to be in your circle but it's full, do you tell them to sit on the bench until they're called up? They're on the "B team"? Might backfire and make people create cliques.

Anyways, here's your quote of the day:

"There is always some madness in love. But there is always some reason in madness." Friedrich Nietzsche

Pic of the day! Never, ever, do this

Back to the grind with a big Ax

I never know what to capitalize in the beginning of a blog entry. Is it like a short story or a novel where just about everything gets capitalized? Or is it just like an expression in a sentence since a blog is somewhat of a journal. Not knowing the correct way to present the title I'm going to start capitalizing the first and last words and blame my poor grammar on "stylistic individuality". Hell, I'm lucky when my spell check can understand what I'm trying to say. I once somehow managed to sneak a silent "q" into cat. It's write if I work it into the story damnit.

Since the big move I've sacrificed my home for a neighborhood. I'd rather have the home but I've done what I can to appreciate the surrounding area. The park that my apartment over looks is massive and beautiful to walk around. I've also found myself slipping into the habit of sneaking out and walking 1 1/2 blocks to the river overlooking NYC. At night it's an amazing skyline to behold and one that does wonders for my writing. It's funny because they have those binoculars that can see about 20 feet further than you can. For 25 cents you can have your voyueristic intentions fall short when you realize there's no way you can see into the windows of the buildings across the river. Not that I've tried, I have my own binoculars that already failed me, I don't need to waste 25 cents when I've already wasted $350. Stupid impulse buys. Who the Hell sells binoculars at a bar?

My other fun task is working. A lot. Like 80 hours a week, and then I get to write. I don't have days off anymore, well that's an exaggeration. I will get about 1 Sunday off per month. This is all part of one of those great plans, the ones that will make you a better person and put you in a happier place but you'll have to work through a lot of blood(inser comma here) sweat and tears. I need to start setting people up with my whole "Dylan Relief Fund" idea. That's where people come see me at my current bartending job on the weekends and drink and be merry and tip me nicely. I'm not promising free drinks, but if I forget how much liquor I pour in you wouldn't be mad at me, would you? (Wink wink nudge nudge). This big push has a lot to do with a special someone and a lot to do with me. I'm hoping that as I retool my book and work to get that published that I can also manage to pull myself out of debt and then have happy time success. Yes I like run on sentences, deal with it.

On the work note I have to say it's pretty sad that I'm already known as long winded. Talking to my coworkers they already are asking for "the short version" of things. I know I like to talk and tell stories, I mostly blame my friend Miguel who always managed to turn a 5 minute story into an epic tale of a good guy who runs to the liquor store and sees a guy run a red light and then ponders the meaning of life and his existence at that specific moment before adding the grander details of what beer he decided to buy and why and the quick conversation he had with the clerk at the store. One, two three....twenty two....fifty...eighty six! Now THAT'S a run on sentence!

I've decided I would now start posting a quote and a favorite traveling pic at the end of every blog. So here we go!

"There are no foreign lands, it is only the traveler who is foreign." -Robert Louis Stevenson

I took this pic walking to work one day in New Jersey. Right under an overpass in what is sometimes known as a dirty area I saw an amazing sunrise.

Paris and Then Poof

I know that I promised more details of Paris, but there isn't always time for memories. There are times when I try to figure out life. How life doesn't like to be known, it likes to be experienced. And in these times when you're a little lost it's good to step back and remember what led you to the spot in the woods, because in doing that you allow yourself to find your way back out of the woods.

I'm in love with a woman, her name is Laura. There isn't a single way to describe her. I woke up to her everyday and everyday I knew I was blessed. Like all couples we fought from time to time but in the end I knew I had someone special in her. Her eyes never failed to make me smile and the Jersey Italian in her made me laugh even when I was being yelled at. She knew me, better than she knew let on at first. I always had to be better, I always had to be true to the words that came so easily. And I succeeded. It's hard to understand why this was so important to me, except that deep down inside it is what I needed and I always knew this. Always.

I can't tell you how lucky I felt the more I realized that she was the one. She pushed me to be greater. And when I thought I had succeeded she kept telling me it was just the beginning and it was time to push harder. It's not that nothing was ever good enough for her, it was that she saw so much greatness in me that she wouldn't let me settle for the little things. She wanted to be great and she knew what I was capable of and demanded that I meet the next challenge.

When things went wrong, and really it was one thing that is big and needs to be addressed by me, she held me accountable and left me. It's weird, because I hate it and yet love it at the same time. I don't like that I was always able to talk my way out of things especially because I couldn't stop myself at times. I'm not certain that Laura really broke up with me. I know it sounds delusional yet in spending time with her afterwards (we were living together), I see a lot of confusion in her eyes and heart. It is a challenge, a call to be the man I am supposed to be. If I succeed I might, MIGHT, get to be with her again. Fail and I will be fail myself, her, and us.

So here I am, deep in the woods and having trouble finding the path I need to travel. I know my way back and when I turn and look and see I feel a certain comfort in the way things were. I smile to myself and shake my head. Even though I'm having trouble with the path, I'd rather keep going deeper and find the better part of my life.

Paris- Reflecting on the City of Lights

Paris Day 1

Traveling has always been my passion. I'm curious by nature and I thrive on the challenge of finding a new path. I get lost along the way, but that only feeds into the adventurer in my heart. Laura and I had a late night flight, that way when we woke up we'd be in Paris. At least that was the plan. Of course we had some babies on the flight, in fact there was one right behind Laura who cried for about four hours straight! Naturally I did the honorable thing and I fell asleep. Granted I was getting over a cold, and that statement does not make me sound any more manly.

I did let her have the window seat and I did occasionally exchange annoyed looks with her. That's some contemporary chivalry right there.

When we final got to Paris and Charles Du Galle Airport we were privy to that stellar French security. There was a guy who gave stamps. And a sign pointing towards the exit. That is all.

Once we got past the Great Wall of....signs in French....we made our way to the real security of Paris, the subway system. I had always had an easy time using the subway system before, but there is this one station called "Chalet Les-Halles", and every time throughout the trip when we got off there we got lost. Every. Fricking. Time. "Sortie" means "Exit" in French. Or maybe mission in military terms. Either way we took it as a way to get out and go up to the street level. Too bad we never made it there.

Imagine a scenario if you will. Pretend you didn't get any sleep on the plane. Pretend there was an irritable baby behind you that the mother was ignoring. Then imagine lugging two suitcases around on no sleep. Also picture a multi level subway that doesn't have any type of escalator system for irritable Americans and you get 35 minutes of happy time success. Then you finally get out and find your way to the hotel and you remember that your room is on the Fourth (Read Fifth) floor. And the stairs are narrow. And there isn't an elevator. And you're stupid enough to try and carry both at the same time. Not my shiniest moment. Then, nap time.

After a couple of hours of glorious sleep we finally got the chance to roam the city. Laura and I walked the river and took in the sights of the City of Light. Dinner was simple Tartines, which is just an open face sandwich with cheese on it. And man was that DE-licious! Holy crap do the French know how to bake bread. It never ceases to amaze me. We also had a cheese plate which meant our dinner was really just bread with some meat on it and a whole lot of cheese. Friday ended up being an early night for us due to tiredness and so we headed back to our hotel room to sleep...

Since I didn't do this as it came I'll have to write up some blogs over the next few days. I'll be posting them as the week progresses!

7 Pounds of Lamb for two people? That's my kind of Easter!

No we didn't expect more than the two of us. Seven pounds of lamb is the right amount for a young couple. And I like a nice leg of lamb when it's all prepared and cooked medium rare. Especially when we got some garlic cheesy mashed potatoes with goat cheese and a Turkish spinach side dish. For dessert? Chocolate canolis. Yeah, it matches. Don't question that we're taking from several different cultures to make one awesome meal. And wine. Booyah on that.

I do miss my family on Easter. We were never really religious but our Easter traditions were awesome. Wake up, pick apart the Easter basket. Have a nice brunch with sparkling cider (always a must for holidays), relax a little then we'd get sent upstairs so my parents could hide 40 colored, hard boiled eggs in five different rooms. They'd spend about 1 hour doing this and had to keep a cheat sheet so no eggs were left behind (happened one year, baaaaaad smell). They put a lot of effort into it and even with five kids looking it would take us about 1 to 1 1/2 hours to find them all. Always a fun memory even when we got a little competitive.

Then we'd head off to one of my uncle's houses to have a nice dinner with the family, usually my dad's side of the family. We'd get the big ol buffet going, eat, play cards and just catch up. As you get older and set traditions of your own you wonder how much you can pull from your childhood into your adult life. I know some things you gotta let go, I mean I'd kill an Easter egg hunt now! Still, I really liked playing cards because it was so social. And the brunch in the morning with the immediate family and then dinner with the in laws or extended family. These little traditions bring out the importance of the holidays. You connect with your family, and not just those immediately around you. Whether or not you're a believer or if this is even your religions holiday, if the country you live in honors it then it becomes your own. Just like Jewish families have a tradition of going to Chinese restaurants on Christmas, we all end up celebrating the holidays that are a part of the culture of the country we live in. We celebrate either directly or indirectly, regardless the spirit is there. Because every holiday that is spiritual or patriotic in nature boils down to the simplest things: love, family, friends, community.

Happy Easter everyone!

And all the pretty flowers were white

I have always been a man whose heart has been deeply rooted in Asia. From all the samurai and ninja movies I used to watch as a kid, to my time teaching English in China, to my love affair with Muay Thai. Asia has always been a corner stone in defining who I am. It is a large part of my life so it's no wonder that when Laura suggested we make our way to DC for the Cherry Blossom Festival I was all aboard. I'm not gonna lie, from what I had seen on movies like "The Last Samurai" and all the anime I watched, I thought I would walk into a forest that rained pink petals of digitally enhanced romanticness.

So we piled into the car and made our way down towards our nations capital (capitol?) with no real traffic and only 20 different tolls to pay that amounted to about $30. That was the scary part, the number of toll booths. I mean, they must just break even with all the people they needed to man those things. What didn't scare me was going over the Delaware Bridge(?). You ever want to see something amazing, take a minute to appreciate something an engineer has done. That bridge was just massive and you can't imagine it falling because it is so soundly built. We often forget to appreciate some of the marvels we have created, they tower about and below us. They surround us and protect us and offer our lives something generations have worked to achieve all the while we can't wait to deface them, litter upon them, or urinate on them because you thought everyone on the subway platform was looking the other way but you forgot about the people on the platform across from you heading the other way.

Just sayin...

We got to DC on Friday night and quickly crashed for the evening. The next day came a quick trip from the Navy Yard to the National Mall. It's called the National Mall because it has the worlds largest obelisk dedicated to George Washington and his Egyptian heritage. Actually I really don't know why they call it the National Mall, but there are a lot of museums. More on that later. We made our way through the Mall, past an outdoor yoga service that had a lot like minded people and some voyeuristic tourists. When we got to the Cherry Blossoms I almost punched someone. They were white. Like bone white. Or egg shell white. Or ivory. Pretty flowers? Yes. But I want some flowers I can die romantically on with a sword protruding from my gut. That's the kind of flower I was looking for. And a sword, I needed a sword, but without the flowers a pretty pink the sword was worthless. No one would have understood my Japanese death scene. Still, Laura and I made the most of it and walked around, enjoying the beauty the flowers did present and the backdrop of our nations capitol made for a very romantic weekend. The scenery always seemed to inspire something poetic, even if it was never spoken.

When the weather turned bad we made our way to those famous Smithsonian museums. I got to see them, or one I should say, for the first time. The American History Museum was cool, can't remember a thing about it other than the Julia Child Exhibit. Did you know that to properly defrost meat you need to defrost it in an ice tray? That way it stays fresh. The museums in DC are all free, which is cool. All of them except the Spy Museum. Those spies have to pay for their gadgets somehow. The best part was that at the Spy Museum you could become different levels of a "member". So you could pay like $275 a year to get invited to special events, get missions- like defuse a fake nuclear bomb, and go to a cocktail party and talk with a retired spy or CIA analyst who never saw the field and spent his entire time at a desk studying graphs. Now that's my kind of party. We left DC and found that maybe, just maybe, the five and a half hour drive could be avoided by forking over the extra money for a train ticket. I think I punched about a hundred hundred people while I drove back. Don't think I'll ever get used to the traffic out here and I don't think I'll ever get over my love affair with mass transit. At least when you see a crazy person on a train they're entertaining. Road rage? Little scary.

On more somber notes, and especially because I've been great with segways lately, there have been a couple of tragedies in my life over the past week. A close family member broke a vertebrae in her back and one of my closest friends is enduring a series of tragic events that happened within a week. We always talk about appreciating the people in our lives, yet it isn't until a great tragedy or triumph that our focus becomes clear. My mom who fell knows she has a lot of family and friends there to support her. She's family and of course I'll be there to support her as family should. And my friend? He's not blood, but does that really matter? We call our family that because of the blood relationship. We say that nothing is stronger than blood. That we cannot ever let anything or anyone come above family. I've thought about this a lot lately, just as events like this force you to. And many of my friends, my buddy included, have been with me through my darkest hours. And I can say without a doubt, without my friend, without him to walk me through my darkest hour, I would not be here today. He is family, as are many others. And just like my family it runs deeper than blood. We are bonded by ties that cannot be cut, they are ethereal, of the spirit. They are bonds of a common cause born first out of simple friendship and then as life takes us, a truer bond that defies friendship and simply just is. As my friend deals as we all must, he knows without a doubt he is not alone.

Traveling

Getting prepared to go to Paris made me remember that there would be a few barriers, one being the customs and way people behave. I tend to act out regardless no matter which country I'm in but it's still at least good to know which ones you're breaking. Then there's the language barrier, which going to a place like France can make your life a little difficult. Think about it, why do people want to go to Paris? The Wine, the romance, the history and the food. The food in France is supposed to be immaculate, in fact it was the French who really taught us how to cook, just ask Williams Sonoma. Having said that you should know that nowhere else in the world, save China, will you eat such strange food if you don't know what to eat or order. Steak tartar sounds good, right? Heard about from the movies did ya? It's raw hamburger. Not bad, but weird. How about some nice cow's brains in a good hollandaise sauce? So I've worked up a few questions that everyone should ask when traveling to avoid eating or doing something that will forever scar them. "What part of the animal does this come from?" This can also be used while clothes shopping. "How many legs does this animal have?" Some places eat insects, you may as well have bragging rights if you eat a grasshopper. "Did you spit in this because I'm American or because you hate all people?" Never worked in a restaurant have ya? It's a rhetorical question. "What is tripe?" I know it's intestines, I'm still just waiting for some country or group of people to give a good reason why anyone eats it. Or better yet, why do we pay a premium to eat it? Because it's harder to prepare? IT'S WHERE OUR SHIT COMES FROM! Who thought that would be a good thing to eat? "Which sex club did the Republican Jack Ryan take his ex wife Jeri Ryan to that tanked his political career when it came out that he was trying to get her to have sex with strangers in front of him under the guise of a romantic trip to Paris?" What? I want to take a picture of the place. I'm sure there's more I need to know, but for now I'll have to learn these phrases. I'm thinking that last one will be misinterpreted. I mean, how many politicians have been busted for this? Right?

Get Your Kicks on Route 22

You gotta have your exit strategies. That's what someone told me about living in Jersey. which worries me but once you live here you realize she wasn't talking about anything malicious. My coworker was talking about the fact that Jersey will do everything it can to stop you from getting to wherever you're going. It's like a swamp, especially if you're driving. You ever try driving in a swamp? Me either, but I'm pretty sure it's a similar feeling.

You have to understand that there's two ways to live in NJ, you can take mass transit, which is a slow slow death on your way to a soul crushing train ride through an industrial park. Or you can drive, which is like playing grand theft auto in that you driver really fast, are constantly running over things (ten points for a skunk!), and you pretend people are potholes. Of course, when you drive in real life, you don't actually pretend that people are potholes as you run over them. I mean, THAT would be crazy. Yes, that would be. I've actually turned hitting potholes into a game and I am wracking up a high score. I'm so good at this game of hitting potholes that I don't even try. In fact I try to avoid them! But there's just too many! I'm not gonna say I have the high score, but that's only because I don't use Route 22 more often.

Now I talked earlier about having your exit strategies, I also titled this blog entry after Route 22, how are they related you ask? Well let me tell you. I was leaving work last week and I needed to go to the car dealership where I bought my car to get my plates. The dealership, whom shall be here fore mentioned as $%&@!!! is on Route 22. So I said to myself, "go on! Give it a try!" And away I went. At first my newest escape route seemed fine, no real problems. That was the first 30 seconds. Then it was like driving on a third world countries back roads that had recently been bombed and had trenches dug into it throughout the length of about 5 miles. Only there were more potholes. I know I've already talked enough about how confusing Jersey roads are, but trust me it only gets much worse when you're trying frantically not to ruin your car by avoiding the potholes.

However, after my terrifying pothole maze I found a paradise. Not really sure who's paradise, but I know someone must love it. On Route 22 there are a ton of little stripe mall type things. Not really strip malls...but something. There were these combination places that really didn't make much sense, or did they? There was a Brazilian Steakhouse/Sushi place, because guess what? You need that protein and it doesn't matter what animal is all you can eat. Then I saw the all encompassing all awesome 7-Eleven/Check Cashing/Hooter's Restaurant. Yes, that was real, no I have no idea who came up with that idea but...Shear. Genius. Also, I saw this one that was a Starbucks/Generic Chinese Restaurant. Both kill your appetite, both give you the runs, yet these two are polar opposites. Starbucks is $5 coffee meant for the affluent, cheap Chinese food meant for anyone who really doesn't want to spend $5. I saw other combination stores, but those were definitely the top three.

So make sure you find your exit strategies, and may they lead you on to more interesting adventures.

Lazy Sunday Night

I can see why Sunday's are seen as spiritual in Christianity. I get the one day of rest you have built into every religion. It's nice when you can just kick you legs up and relax and contemplate the week. That one day of rest does wonders for the soul, just don't let your mind wander too much when you're contemplating. Like while watching Jersey Shore on MTV I imagined seeing the cast in a bowling alley or someplace and everyone hyping them and getting all excited while I could care less. Then someone calls me out on not being star struck and they're like "this is the cast of Jersey Shore! What the fuck have you done with your life?"

Ouch, right?

How is it a bunch knuckleheads can make so much money and develop a "career", however short lived it is. While I can't seem to achieve my desired status as a published author these catch phrases have found a way to get paid as assholes. I'm not mad at them, I'd have jumped all over that situation. Damnit, even talking like them now. I also can't talk, yeah I got a college degree, but what else have I done? Written a book that hasn't been published? Lived in China? That's kind of a cool but all I really got was some cheap clothing and pretty pictures. So far I'm being outdone by trash tv. I need to get a celebrity pregnant.

So here we are, Sunday night, and it's dominated by all the trash and reality shows one could want. There's a show about wedding cakes, wedding cakes! That means that the market for watching cake shows was so great that they needed a sub category. I'd rag on it more except I love cake and they do some crazy shit with that frosting. And somehow while writing this I've gotten sucked into my own Jersey Shore marathon. Is it that we all wished we lived other lives and so we watch other people live while we wait? Or is it that it is a fatal flaw of humanity that we believe the grass is greener on the other side? Maybe we just like our bloodsports, i.e. the self destructive behavior of the idiots on our favorite reality tv shows. It may be making me dumber, but I think I'm gonna finish this marathon like a champ before it becomes a situation over here. Damn I sound like a douche.

Rambling Along

I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say here. There's an old writer's trick where all you do is write. Sounds cliche but it's about just writing what you are thinking about at that moment right then and there. By simply writing you break the creative dam in your mind and all of a sudden you've written two pages and talking about a story that has no purpose. Like that fact that right now the light in my kitchen is flickering. It's a fluorescent light and when it isn't working properly it looks like the lighting used in a movie just before someone gets killed. Which is an awesome seg way to my next topic.

I miss the wind. Not really connected, I know. And most would not get the metaphor, but I miss the wind. I'm a wanderer, that doesn't mean I have no home or that I have to move around constantly. It does however mean that I need to travel, to experience. I need to feel the wind on my face with a fresh smell that I cannot place. Some of my happiest experiences are when I've traveled and it's not because I didn't like where I lived. It was because of the excitement. The adventure. I don't think I need to tell you all that I read a lot of Dungeons & Dragons books (and I still do). I like the idea of the adventure, being able to roam and see things and places that most only read about or experience from their couches.

It is this adventure that I crave, to walk not on a beach but on a well worn path the locals use. Even if that's a main drag in Paris. When I went to Paris for the first time, it was during a time when the "anti-France" movement still carried an abnormal amount of weight in our country. And walking one of the streets I came upon Franklin Delano Roosevelt Ave. One of those stark reminders about our past that people seem to want to forget. I liked seeing that, it was a connection to my homeland on a random street in Paris, France. It's little things like that that I like when I travel. Watching the scenery, taking in the sites of the city, and the wind on my face reminds me of my ever steady desire to explore. That dream I had as a child never faded, it only grew.

Ikea Zombie Defense

I've been spending a little time trying build myself a home lately. Not literally, I mean, I buy a crate and by the time it gets home it's crooked. But in other ways, moving in with the girlfriend, bringing out some of my art, and buying a good piece of furniture that can hold my clothes. One that isn't black, plastic, and with the words "Glad" on the outside of the box. So I made my way to Ikea in New Jersey, which is in the middle of an industrial war zone, and I found myself wandering through the isles with one stark realization. Ikea would make terrible zombie defense structures.

Now mind you this is a pretty random thought, but whenever I go to Ikea I know what I want. It should take me no more than fifteen minutes to get in, buy what I want, and get out. Yet that place is a maze that rivals a casino in massive amounts of confusion. Shortcuts? Not with how we all read that freaking map. And why can't I just turn around and walk back the way I came? Why do I have to walk through EVERYTHING just to get to where I'm going to have to carry some heavy furniture by myself? So while I wandered, my mind went to very obvious places. Zombie defence.

Now Ikea is known for its cheap furniture, some of it as thick as tank plating, some of it is paper colored to look like wood. This is the first part of the problem. Because some parts of Ikea furniture are thick and sturdy, you assume you can toss it around, right? Wrong. The paper mache doors on your wardrobe monstrosity cannot handle the rage that's building while reading the instructions. You think that flimsy door panel can hold up to a zombie attack? So now you have to defend all the windows in your house and you won't get any sleep. What if they just built some zombie defense furniture? That brings me to my second point. Cause I'm making two.

After my epic journey titled "Lord of the Rings: The Get Me Out of Ikea/Mordor" occured and I somehow fit my massive armoire in my two door Civic Coupe, I headed home to put the massive beast together. Yes I know this blog is riddled with run-on sentences, eat it. When I finally got home and took out all the pieces and dug around I found the instruction manual. While I sat there and looked through the small novel of instructions I realized the other problem for zombie defense that occurs when putting together Ikea: the instructions are in ancient Egyptian. It's pictures, and they number the parts on the instructions, but they don't number the pieces. So you have this black and white picture showing you different boards that are of similar length and width and then you have to put it all together. Make sure the holes are facing the right direction on the sides! There is a help line on the instructions, but it's in Swedish and without the bikini team Sweden has nothing I want and that's including furniture. Stupid guy in the beginning of the instructions looks all happy, that's just because he doesn't have to put the furniture together. I'm on day three, three, of putting together the armoire. I know zombies move slow but I just couldn't outrun them trying to put together this barricade. Anyways that's my second point, those instructions suck balls.

Being that the moveable closet is almost finished, I'm really starting to feel at home again. Home has been an odd word for me. Really the lifestyle I've chosen makes the concept of home very fluid, because it has to be. Yet here I find myself, nestled in to a place I'd never thought I'd be. While I've taken time to bash New Jersey and the numerous things I've come to be annoyed with by it. I still find some threads falling into place that make me feel at home. Every morning I grumble about my commute, but there's this moment, every single morning, that I get to watch the sun rise over a mountain. I smile every time I see it crest. And the commute home is long, and it will wear on me from time to time. When I leave work I don't say I'm going back to my apartment, I say I'm going home. Because there is a young woman here who make me feel welcome, who has made her's mine, and of course mine her's. I've found a peace here, I am still a wanderer at heart and with my travels, but no matter how many times I put on my shoes, I know exactly where my feet will lead me. I just might take a round about way to get there. And that I'll still blame on the Jersey roads, which were of course designed by Ikea.

Ranting and Raving

Questions? You have them and I answer them. All of them. Twice a week. That's right, all the universes knowledge on random topics given to you in the form of rants. I mean, I don't actually answer anything, but I have things on my mind (plural) that need to get out!

First, I've noticed that I've been driving a lot more lately what with my job being 40 miles away. This means one thing: potholes. No, wait that's a different rant about a pothole that I have to cross over every day on my way home that's like a reverse speed bump on the highway. Who cares that it covers two lanes of traffic like it's something out of a cartoon. Not even the biggest one on that stretch.

Back to the real rant, I use a lot of gas now. I was smart, got myself a good gas mileage car. Always use regular too. Want to know why? It has nothing to do with my low performance engine (shut it), it has to do with the realization that whenever a tanker comes to refill a gas station it has one tank. ONE. And its never labeled. So.....how do they get fuel for Regular, Super, and Premium? And is that even the order they're supposed to be in? How is Super better than Regular? You telling me your Regular gas isn't Super good? And no offense, but many people compare gas to alcohol, and any time I've ever seen a bottle of alcohol with the words "Premium" on it, it wasn't premium. In fact it was probably gas. See? There's logic in this rant. So the gas companies (Sponsored by BP, Beyond Petroleum), are selling us gas a premium while they use one truck to fill up their stations. Now maybe you're thinking, "hey, maybe they use more than one truck." Pfft. That sounds like a fact to me. Then why is there only one nozzle intake? That's right, now I'm dropping some sick knowledge on ya!

I had another rant but I already forgot what I was going to say. Not sure if ninjas were involved, but they could have been. Today blog is presented in full audio by PhillipsCononco Morris, selling you gas and cigarettes because those are two products that should ALWAYS go together. Dumbasses.

Spring is here!

So far so good in Jersey. I've owned a car for almost one entire week and I've since avoided running over people/animals. That second part is lame? Running over animals? Well, you sir have never lived in New Jersey. Because if you did then you'd know how many animals get hit and are splattered on the highways. No, that isn't an oil spill.

I've also learned some of the pros and cons of living in Jersey. Pro, you can drive 75 mph and you're barely keeping with traffic. Con, I haven't seen bigger douches on the road since I was in a cab with my parents in China and he pulled an illegal U-turn to go the wrong way down a one way street just before he drove up on the sidewalk. Pro, its so easy to find good Italian food everywhere you go, and the people even talk like Italians! Con, everyone is cursing at each other ALL the time. So far that's all I got on my list about the good and bad of Jersey. I mean there's more, so much more, but I need to spare my top ten lists while I shake my writing rust off. So for now, lists of two.

I should also update everyone about my other writing. Book of short stories = universally rejected (at least by the agents I reached out to). Now, this isn't the worst thing in the world. Part of me felt like it still needed work but I wasn't sure. Now I know it certainly does! Having said that one agent did give me positive feedback, she was actually on the fence about whether or not to take me on. So, I know I have some work to do but I'll get there. New goal is to have a book published by the end of this year.

And now Spring is here and after the winter we've all had I couldn't be happier. There was that smell today as the drizzle started. That rain smell that just sparks so many memories from when you're a kid playing in the rain to more recent Summer's when you just hanging out taking it all in. Romantic, yes. Nostalgic, definitely. Yet for me, especially being from Minnesota where the Winter makes everything barren, Spring is an amazing time. Beyond the skirts that come out is that old sense of rebirth. Everyone changes, everyones mood lifts. No other seasonal change sparks the same feeling in us. We go from dreading the snow to hoping for a little rain. As everything and everyone around us blossoms we feel that renewed hope that maybe the tough times are over for the year. Maybe now we can celebrate and enjoy. Some people want to live in only warm climates so they never have to experience Winter again. I don't, I appreciate Winter for what it truly is. And the change to Spring in unparalleled in feeling and sights and sounds after a Winter that is true to it's name. So enjoy the Spring everyone! Let's see what grows this year.

Jersey Shore

It's been a while since I've been on to write something. I've followed a new path that has led me to new adventures. Currently I am living the life of a 9-5er. That's right, Dylan's gone corporate. The new job is a great mix of the things that keep me personally interested in a job: people, learning, yelling, solving problems, and not bar tending anymore. I know what you're thinking, how could he give up the life? Well, it was easy. I just realized I needed a little more mental challenge and a little less mental problems from my regulars (no offense, but you're all crazy). So now I've found myself in the suburb of New York, New Jersey. In a quaint town called Jersey City, because they thought it sounded as good as New York City. It doesn't.

Now I do have to say something about getting around Jersey. It does have mass transit, it costs you as much as owning a car, but they do have it. And their roads? It's like driving on the moon with all the craters that seem to be classified as simply "potholes". And don't get me started about navigating around New Jersey. If your state's roads confuses your GPS so badly that it tells you to stop and ask for directions then you've got problems. These are roads where you can start on the 1 & 9, which is two separate roads that link together and then eventually break off. Oh, did I mention that there's an express route too? And also a truck route? I mean, I'm no mathematician but that means there's 2 X 2 X 2 = 123349 different roads on this one road alone. Like I said, I'm no mathematician, but that's a lot of numbers I just made up.

Oh you want to take the New Jersey Turnpike? That's NJTP for those who don't know. It's also I-95, which is all they needed to call it but they're *$#@ing douches so there you go. And if you get stuck trying to drive on that one you'll be in traffic, have to pay a toll, realize you went the wrong way, have to pay a toll coming back, and then scream as you miss your exit again. Driving in Jersey is like Grand Theft Auto, except it's more vulgar and it creates a greater desire for violence. You ever seen the MTV series Jersey Shore? It's like that except more dysfunctional. And then I bought a car because that's the fun of living in Jersey.

I've got something else on my chest that I need to get off too, and I'm not talking about my pecs that have turned slightly man-boobish. I'm talking about faith, faith in every sense of the word. I tend to make a lot of big decisions, moving here or there, taking this job or that, and that brings a lot of opportunities for doubt. It's easy to second guess a decision. It's easy to question the simple things we do just as we question the larger events and choices. What we forget so often is that once the decision is made, it's made. You can't change what you did. You can learn from past mistakes or past choices that didn't work out. You have to remember that it's in the past. And you cannot predict the future. We need faith in our lives, even if it's not including the spiritual part. We need it because it is the foundation of our confidence. That swagger that has brought us so much success in the past. In the end, no matter your religious beliefs, you have faith, you carry it with you. It is the root of your happiness, because if you were to constantly doubt your past and current decisions, you could never be happy with who you are with now, what you are doing now, where you are living now, and your life now. That simple belief in yourself, that little bit of confidence, gives you everything even if you have nothing.

This week's Wandering Wizard is brought to you by Paulaner Hefe-Weizen. Paulaner drunk in authentic beer stein's, it's DE-licious.