Seriously. Don't Come Here Anymore

I started a shiny new blog on a different server. It appeals to me more strongly than blogger. It does not, however, support videos. So this one's still worth checking out once every third blue moon or so.

Finally!

New Wearable Feedbags Let Americans Eat More, Move Less

Ever Watch Kids' TV?

The Return of SNL?

So Done

New blog! Bonus points if you can find it!

Easter Weekend

On Easter Day the veil between time and eternity thins to gossamer There are very few reasons I would drive all the way home just for the weekend. Easter is one of them. So yeah, 6-hour drive down after work on Friday. 6-hour drive back in time for work on Monday. Less than fun, but worth it. I got home Friday night at about 10:00, and I watched “Enchanted” with my parents. Good wholesome family times. Plus they have a flatscreen. (And, of course, Idina) I also got my birthday presents. First off, the coolest Salvador-Dali-like clock on the planet. Some much-needed pants for work, and a new pair of Skechers, God’s perfect shoe. Most of Saturday was spent at my aunt’s house where it appears the family is growing exponentially. There were at least 10 boys under the age of 9 running around that house. Most of my cousins are married off and breeding, while the rest were knocked up. But everybody’s having boys. So, of course, I’m expected to participate in the festivities. Sorry, people. I don’t make enough money, and I still don’t like kids. Oh, and I don’t plan on getting married any time soon. We had the egg hunt, far-traveling relatives, occasional gossip, and an assortment of casseroles. All good things. Towards the evening I got a text from the beloved Leathermanzullos saying that they were passing through my home state and were thinking about me. After an inapt exclamation of, “Dude, I’M in my home state!!!” and some really poor direction-giving, we met for dinner and they ended up staying the night before completing their ridiculously long drive back to school from North Carolina. I heart them. Mom got me an Easter basket, a tradition that lives as long as I spend Saturday night at my parents’ house. And it’s always filled with very childlike things. A Peeps Play-doh set. A spring activities coloring book (with some new colored pencils). And, of course, enough sugar to get anyone excited. Church was good. I really like Mom and Dad’s church. It’s a little smaller with the “big church” feel. They’re meeting in a highschool gym, which is cool because they’re undergoing a huge building project across the street. The new music minister is very good. And I’ve always liked the pastor. I expect people in teaching positions to have gone further in their education than I have, and he holds 3 PhD’s or something ridiculous. I helped Mom in the nursery during Sunday School after running to Dixie Cream to get donuts for Dad’s class. There was one baby for each of us. And they both slept. Awesome. For lunch we went to Columbia’s Steakhouse. It took me weeks to think of somewhere to go that was strictly Kentucky, and once my brain landed here I wondered how it could have wandered anywhere else. (Seriously, I was going to go with Red Lobster…) I put up the restaurant’s link which I’m sure has a menu, but in my opinion Columbia’s has 2 items: fried banana peppers and the NightHawk Special. The appetizer is simple: batter-fried banana peppers with cocktail sauce. The NightHawk is something special: choice cut fillet, marinated and served practically floating in garlic butter, smothered in sautéed onions (or mushrooms, if you’re a freak) and served with the largest baked potato you’ve ever seen. I was home. The rest of the day saw me toted around to as many family members and friends as I could see in one day. I didn’t get to leave until almost 8:00 that night. The drive back is always longer when you know you’re just going to work, but I had a couple good friends to talk to, an iPod full of musicals to sing along with, and some junk food to keep me otherwise occupied. Before I got home, though, I dropped by Lori’s before she went to Florida to pick up a new computer!!! Well, new to me. She got a brand new one, and is ever-so-kind as to let me use her old one that’s still much better than my GCC electric paperweight. I’m very excited about it, though I’ve had very little time to use it. What with rehearsals and work and general running around. Yay Easter.

Jesus died. Can I go home?

Well I thought it was a good reason...

Spring Awakening

Listen, can you hear it? Spring's sweet cantata. The strains of grass pushing through the snow. The song of buds swelling on the vine. The tender timpani of a baby robin's heart. Spring. ~Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Wake Up Call Spring means many things for many people. For some, it’s the season they’re inspired to venture outside into the slightly warmer climes. For some, it’s the season they feel compelled to gut out their homes and rearrange everything into clean, manageable tidiness. For some, it is a time of rebirth and new beginnings. For some, it’s the season that reminds us of ultimate loving sacrifice. For the rest, it means going to Mexico, getting wasted, and later being seen late at night on Comedy Central in advertisements for soft-core pornography. We’re coming up (or already have come up) on Spring Break. Too many of my friends are in education, either as teachers or as students. If I hear one more person casually mention their upcoming 10 or more days off, I’m going to pull my hair out. Actually, I noticed yesterday that I was brushing hairs off my desk because I had literally pulled them out absent-mindedly. The idea of going to work - every day - for the rest of time - is downright depressing. We get five holidays, two personal days, and three sick days. That’s it. And I used most of it with the flu last month. Stack that up against two weeks for Christmas, two weeks for Easter, two MONTHS for summer, random long weekends, and obscure holidays… I miss those times. I miss those times hard. It almost makes me want to teach. But I have to be reminded that I hate children. And that they’re only getting worse. I’ll just have to teach at a university. So I guess what I need is my doctorate. Somebody get me my doctorate! I would also settle for a huge pile of money (it does not need to be in the form of a huge pile. A ‘briefcase full of’ or a ‘check for a large sum of’ would also suffice). So if anyone has a doctorate with my name on it or an embarrassment of wealth that they’d like to share, you know where to find me.

On Being "That Guy"

Don’t be that guy ~any good friend who notices you’re being a big douche You know the times you’ve caught yourself being “that guy.” When you don’t see someone in your blindspot and cut them off in traffic. When you find yourself stuck directly in front of the doors as people are trying to get on/off the subway. When you realize you don’t have any cash on you and give the girl at the register a credit card to pay for one item off the value menu. When you let slip a huge secret in a crowded room. You’ve been “that guy” (or girl) on occasion, but 9 times out of 10, it was purely by accident. However, there are some guys who live perpetually as “that guy.” You can usually point them out by characteristic features like the popped collar, the layered popped collar, the sideways fitted cap, the rehearsed casual smirk, and a signature walk that defies definition. There are times, though, when you have to be “that guy.” Yesterday was one of those times. Let me first say that I spend a good portion of my day on the phone with medical assistance bureaus, on hold, being transferred, explaining myself 30 times, etc. So I’m pretty patient when it comes to those kind of calls on my personal time. Time Warner, the beneficent monopolizer of North East Ohio and many other areas, jacked up my internet bill more than double this month. I called to ask them if there were any promotions I could jump on, otherwise I would cancel service. After calling, being placed on hold, being disconnected 4 times, and spending about half an hour getting nowhere near the issue, I realized I had to pull out “that guy.” “Listen. I realize you may be having issues with your phone system, but I called to solve my problem, not to put up with yours. I’ve got things to do today, so long story short: I’m not paying this bill. You have my number and mailing address. Cancel my service. Now. And contact me later with an offer that doesn’t suck.” “Oh, we do have a service for $[amount even cheaper than I had been paying]. I’m not sure why I didn’t see it before...” So though there are many downsides to being “that guy,” particularly the feeling of douchiness that follows, “that guy” has a tendency to get his way. And in the end, that’s all that really matters. Sorry, that was “that guy” talking…

St. Patrick's Day!

Here’s to a long life and a merry one A quick death and an easy one A pretty girl and an honest one A cold beer and another one! It’s St. Patrick’s Day! The day we all decide arbitrarily to celebrate for no better reason than to get trashed and sing loudly (and poorly) in public places. Well, kids, I’m Irish and damn proud of it. So I’m celebrating St. Paddy’s because I feel more entitled than most people to do so. I have rehearsal tonight (and no friends), so no green beer. But I have been promised shamrock cookies… not quite the same. So I’m spending today celebrating all the awesome Irish things that contribute to making me the most awesome person you will ever meet. I went to Ireland once. I liked it there. I saw things like the Book of Kels and the druid’s cave at Blarney Castle. Some hairs in my beard have a slightly reddish tint to them. I have a Claddagh. It’s the ring with two hands holding a heart with a crown on it. Some people confuse it with a promise ring. They are wrong. The official reason I wear my Claddagh is because I’m Irish and I purchased it in Blarney. The real reason I wear my Claddagh is because Angel is Irish and he had one. He made a huge deal about giving one to Buffy in Season 2 of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Then it played a big part in his return from the dead in season 3. So I’ve got it just in case I fall in love, turn evil, and she has to kill me. Only two people have called me on it, and that makes them cool. You know who you are. Boondock Saints is the coolest movie of all time. The Leprechaun series is also an acceptable set of movies with which to celebrate this auspicious holiday. But you have to be drinking. Neither of these things have much to do with me, but I thought I’d mention them. I have a Celtic tattoo on my left shoulder. It’s a triquetra: a geometrical figure of three intersecting ellipses with three points. It’s a great symbol for me because my name is “Trey,” being the third. I’m Irish (as previously pointed out). It’s a commonly used symbol for the Trinity, covering my religious background. And, oddly coincidental, my triquetrum is the bone in my wrist that I can crack really loudly. The only times I dislike my tattoo are when people see it and think I’m a big fan of “Charmed” or P.O.D. Guinness is and ever will be my favorite beer. It was the first beer I ever had. And I had it in Ireland. Three cheers for pretentious heritage! Last Wednesday or so, I wore my green shirt to work and to play rehearsal and thought when I got home, “this would be a great shirt for St. Paddy’s!” So instead of washing it and preparing for today, I simply dug it out of the laundry this morning. That feels Irish to me… I’ve been known to do a little jig when I receive particularly good news. And unlike some Robin Hoods, I can speak with an Irish accent.