My First Tattoo

I grew up in a family full of bikers.  No, not granola-eating road cyclists.  Real bikers.  My aunt could kick your dad's ass.  I've seen her kick many.  Hell, my cousin (a girl) could kick your dad's ass.  My grandma could drink you under the table (at least she could until recent medical complications).  Everyone had a 'get drunk and fight' attitude.  Everyone had tattoos.

I was always morally opposed to tattoos.  Somewhere in my childhood I decided I wanted to be nothing like my family (when I gave up drinking and smoking and turned toward the books).  But something strange happened a year or two ago.  I came across a symbol that so thoroughly described me that I suddenly had the urge to get a tattoo of it.  This was that symbol:

This was a symbol that was trademarked for Michigan's hosting of the annual American Nuclear Society Student Conference.  Everything about it appeals to me: the block M, the nuclear aspect, and Michigan being the center of the universe.

When I returned to L.A., I was still infatuated with it.  On June 22nd, 2010, I applied to be on L.A. Ink.  I wanted to get it done on a reality show.  I thought that the story of a thoroughly educated nuclear engineer getting his first tattoo was unique enough that they might be interested.  How many people have master's degrees in engineering and tattoos?  I had stolen the symbol from the conference website, and I had updated it to make it even cooler (to me).

I never got casted.  I never got it done.  It got put on the back burner, but I never completely disregarded it.  Something lately got me really interested in it again.  I made a new friend at a Michigan bar a few weeks ago, and she even recommended one of the tattoo parlours in Ann Arbor for getting my tattoo.  I think that was the last thing that set me.  I was heading to Michigan for over a week.  I would get my damn tattoo.

And I did.  On October 1st, 2011 by Finn at Lucky Monkey Tattoo in Ann Arbor, Michigan, after we shut out Minnesota.

It wasn't too painful.  I guess I had planned for it to be bad.  I went in knowing that I'd sit through it regardless of how bad it was.  Don't get me wrong, there's a person carving into your leg.  However, your body gets used to it after a few minutes.  At no point was it completely painless (the bottom right corner of the tattoo was the worst part), but at no point was it painful enough that I was wincing or uncontrollably pulling away.  The sound of the needle got in my head more than the pain got to my nerves.  I found myself tilting my head to minimize the sound of the needle(s).

It was over really quickly, much faster than I expected.  And it looked awesome.  It cost me a little over $100, which is 1/3 of what I was expecting to pay (compared to L.A.).  I finally accomplished my first item on my 30 by 30 list.  I thought it would be bloody (I drank a fair bit that morning, and I have high blood pressure).  He kept dabbing it while he was drilling, and I assumed it was the blood, but that's apparently how they apply the ink.  Not bloody at all.  I feel like I want to watch how it is done now.  I took off the bandage after two hours, and it looked awesome for the first few days.

For the first couple of days, you're supposed to wash it with light soap and water 3 times a day.  That was easy.  It felt a little like road rash at the beginning, and it felt more like a bruise after a few days.  After that, you're supposed to put lotion on it 3 times a day.  By now the scab is forming, and the tattoo has a scaly texture.  I used some fancy fragrance free face lotion that Annie had, but ink started to come out of the tattoo after a few days.  It was turning everything down there blue, and I was worried that the maize lines around the M would never show up again.  I didn't know if this was strange or not.  I freaked out a little (or a lot), went and bought different hand lotion, and things seemed to have calmed down.

My family kept asking me why I wasn't using A&D ointment.  That's what they all used.  I told them that the artist/parlour said I didn't need to.  I was hell-bent on sticking to the directions given to me by one of the best tattoo parlours in Michigan, as opposed to advice from people who drunkenly got their tattoos in a kitchen from a high friend of theirs.

At one point a mosquito landed on my tattoo and started feasting.  I squashed it, and blood stained the upper left corner of the block M.  Much like the blue that's smeared everywhere, I expect it to disappear after a week or so, and I'll be left with a perfect design.  It's not really that itchy any more, so I'm guessing we're rounding the end of the whole healing stage.  Now, I just have to hope that the scabs don't fall off early and leave dull patches in the coloring.  By this weekend, I suspect it'll feel like the rest of my leg, and I'll be officially tattoo'd for the rest of my life.

Your turn to get some ink, Annie,
~RoB

Go Blue

Annie and I had the opportunity to help a close friend paint obstacles in the playground for a preschool that she runs.  Can you find the one that we painted?

I'll give you a hint:

I don't know if I've mentioned it, but Annie's kind of a psycho when it comes to football.  I mean, I'm a huge Michigan fan, but she is insane.  It's like dating a boy.  The other day at the gym, I came out of the men's locker room to see her sitting in the lobby talking football with the guys.  Anyway, it's a big day today for the boys in blue, so I hope they crush the Irish.  After all, it is a historic night for the Big House!

At least she made the best thing that she's ever cooked in the over 8 years that I've known her last night.  It was a peach tart made from fresh peaches from the farmers' market.  Once again, you should follow that link, make it (it's simple), and thank me later.

It was her first excuse to use our fancy tart pan.

Go Blue,

~RoB

Royal Wedding - Day 2

If you haven't already, you should catch up with us so far by reading about Day 1.

I woke up with a little bit of a hangover.  For me, that means I'm super, duper hungry and I have to poop.  I don't throw up, I'm not out for the count, I may need a nap, but in general it's just that I need protein and some bathroom time.  However, the after effects lasted longer than I'm used to (into the early afternoon), which makes me feel like I'm getting old.  I've been told (by this girl) that we have harder and harder times rebounding as we get older, and I'm starting to believe it.

So, that first Jack&Coke at around 1:50pm didn't go down so well.  Why was I drinking at 2pm?  Well, we were at a Nebraska fan sports bar watching football.  In full Michigan garb.  Our game was about to begin.  Wait, weren't we in NE for a wedding today?  Yeah, but people keep scheduling their damn weddings on football Saturdays, so you have to work in some football whenever possible.  Anyway, the double Jack&Coke (it was only $1 more) didn't taste very good.  However, all of the shitty bar food that we devoured did, so it worked.  Though we were the clear minority, everyone was really nice, and most of the football on the TVs was going our way, so we just enjoyed.

Skip ahead to a trolley that was taking us from the Hilton to the church.  The church was cute and tucked into downtown.  Overall, the wedding felt super fancy schmance (word?).  It made me remember how different people dress between the two coasts.  A tie is pretty formal for a Northern Californian, and it was the extent of my outfit.  Yet, I was the only man not in a suit at the church.  (Heck, I had sneakers on.  There was dancing to be done later.)  It was the fastest ceremony that I can remember, and the preacher/minister/pastor/deacon? was pretty entertaining.  It was over, we were standing in the courtyard ready to throw petals, the bride and groom came out and loaded the party bus, and then the progression to the wedding needed to be figured out.

This was the most awkward part of the weekend.  The whole wedding party loaded the bus.  Then all the hip, young kids loaded it.  Everyone that Annie and I knew was on the bus.  Yet, there was a substantial group of people still loitering outside of the church, mostly the bride's family.  So, we just waited around for some sort of group motion toward the reception, by some mode of transportation.  I was positive that the reception was just a block away.  I kept pointing at the building I thought it was.  Eventually, we reloaded the trolley and made it to the reception without any problems (I was wrong and glad I didn't drag Annie to the wrong place).  However, there were a good 10-15 minutes of Annie and Rob standing around awkwardly and alone.

The beginning of the reception was a cocktail hour with, yet again, another open bar.  We met up with a friend from MI and proceeded to 'try' all of the appetizers that we're being served.  Some were 'tried' more than once.  Shit didn't get real until we walked into the ballroom though.  It was like walking into the new Aria in Vegas.  A huge chandelier winds down from the ceiling with the 6?-tiered cake centered beneath it.  It was beautiful and impressive.  There were so many money signs floating through my head.  (I'd be lying if I didn't say that I kept thinking about all of the money going by at every step of the process.  It didn't make me any more excited to get married one day.)

S&N initials were found everywhere.  It was a lesson in advertising.

Eating, drinking, first dances, cake cutting...  Finally, it was time.  I had told some of the locals about my dancing experience and how I was a Zumba instructor.  It was time to show off.  So I did.  I danced a ton for the rest of the night.  Whenever in similar situations, I have to take regular breaks for water and to wipe down my sweaty body.  (It's always a fun game hiding water glasses and napkins from the wait staff so that I can continue to use them... while they're told to pick them up.)  The Cupid Shuffle came on 2nd or 3rd, and I got called out by the DJ.  "I'd follow the guy in the tie."  I'm the guy in the tie.  There was one other guy there I saw swing dancing with his mother... or something, but he was my only competition.  It was all about ->this guy<-.

I danced with the bride's mother, an aunt, the groom's mom, heck... everyone.  Some dudes, too.  At one point I was starting to wind down (and the music wasn't helping), when a middle-aged woman approached me.  "I just wanted to let you know that you have quite an audience; you need to keep going.  You've been winding down a little, and I thought I'd let you know we're all watching you now."  Then she returned to her group along one of the walls.  This was right on par with the group of white guys standing by my table that fist-pounded me at one point when I was returning to my table for the water/napkin routine.

I've never Soul Trained.  There was talk, but it never got pulled off.  I was also told that I should try a back flip off of the main table.  I considered it, but Annie called me stupid and brought me back down to Earth.  At one point, a girl grabbed the mic and thought it was drunken karaoke time.  (This same girl had an epic moment where she fell in front of the bride and groom later that night in the hotel, was picked up by the groom, and started to be escorted back to her room before one of her friends found her and yelled at her for being dealt with by the bride and groom on their wedding night.  When the bride was telling the story the next morning, it sounded like a dream... but it wasn't.  It was hilarious.)

The reception ended at midnight.  We all lit sparklers to escort the bride and groom out.  Then, the cool, hip kids progressed to a late-night pizza parlor and sports bar.  Nothing significant happened after that, and we progressed back to the hotel without hitting any bars, and we went to bed at a reasonable hour.  Oh, we did have to walk by a mural twice during this portion of the night.  There was a creepy girl painted that stared into your soul, no matter where you were standing.  It still kind of haunts me.

The girl under the arrow.  I picked a weird angle so that she doesn't invade your dreams.

I woke up feeling spectacular.  That didn't appear to be the case for most of the other participants.  They apparently didn't burn the alcohol off by dancing like the rest of us.  There was one last group brunch before we all split to head home.

So, that was the wedding.  I really don't know if I could handle the attention that a bride and groom get for a whole day.  I'm happy enough blogging for attention, where I don't have to make eye contact or small talk or "practice hugging short people".  This was, hands down, the fanciest wedding I'll ever attend.  I'm very happy that I was able to be there for the bride and groom, and they seemed very happy to have us travel so far to share it with them.  I'm also happy that I met a bunch of new people that I very much enjoyed, and I've already started my Facebook pursuit of all of their friendships... for stalking at a later date.

Yet another wedding this weekend in Oakland!
~RoB

The last day in Omaha is summarized here.

Royal Wedding - Day 1

Annie and I took off to Omaha, NE, to participate in the wedding of one of my favorite people ever.  He's the groom in the pic below (not to say that his new wife isn't just as amazing as he is).

All of these fancy cartoons are taken from the groom's blog.

The trip started with an invitation to the rehearsal dinner.  (Technically, I guess it started at 3:45am when the taxi picked us up to drive us to SFO.  After all, we had 2 cities to touch down in before we would eventually make it to Omaha [though we were on the same plane throughout].)  I guess checking into the hotel happened before the rehearsal dinner, as well.  We took a shuttle from the airport to the wrong Hilton.  Why the fuck are there two different Hiltons in downtown Omaha?  We also received a gift bag when we checked in, which excited Annie so much that she hasn't stopped talking about it.  Seriously.

Moving on.  I had never heard of general riff-raff being invited to the rehearsal dinner (or anybody outside of the actual rehearsal), but I'm glad they did it.  It was the first opportunity to meet people and family, and it was a good introduction to the high taste and classiness that the wedding would be.  We discovered that there were only a handful of people that we knew, and only 1 or 2 that I knew well (the groom was a friend of mine from U of M).  So, I had to come out of my shell a little and try to be social.

There was way more food than I expected, and it was really good.  (I ate just before going so that I wouldn't be a ravenous monster.)  The red wine was Flowing, with a capital 'F'.  Anytime somebody walked by, your glass was filled.  I probably drank something like 10 glasses.  After a slide show, we all congregated to the bar, and the Jack&Cokes started to make their appearances.  Then there was talk of progressing onto the next bar.  Which led to more and more bars, until we closed the bar at our hotel and I finally returned to the room with an already sleeping Annie.

Notable moments were:

Giving the bartender at some dive a $10 tip after keeping a tab open.  Alcohol was cheap, and we drank alot, so it was a fair tip.  However, he walked out from behind the bar to approach me as I was walking out, shake my hand, and thank me for the tip.  This is why I tell Californians that they have no fucking clue how nice we are in the Midwest.

A fight broke out at one bar right next to us.  The crowd splitting the multiple guys apart ended up pushing us into the bar.  We pushed back, and one of the groomsmen jumped in front of the groom in an attempt to shield him.  (Way smarter than my "punch him, pussy" cat calls.)  It was just this side of ridiculous, but the craziest part was the drunken redneck yelling "I'll fucking kill you, faggot!"  Who the fuck says the word 'faggot' anymore?  In my head I pictured him spelling it 'faget' or 'faggit'.  We were also surprised that they let him sit back down and continue drinking.  I guess it makes sense not to kick everyone out so that they can kill each other in the street.  Or maybe that's just how things roll 'round here.

Great Facebook statuses when I woke up:  "Alcohol is so cheap!" In Nebraska, True.  "What bar number is tjis?"  Fair question, but asking the same thing 12 minutes later is a bit obnoxious... and a sign that things are going downhill.  "Crazy dex happening in rhe 5040s. Come lisson!"  This was the last thing I communicated before passing out around 2am.  I thought I could hear some wild sex going on in my hallway.  I apparently thought we should all congregate outside of the participants' door and enjoy it together.  Note:  drunken texts are funny and between two people.  Drunken facebook statuses are funny and between 1,000 people.  Try to keep that math in perspective next time, drunken ~RoB.

Magically, a hotel shuttle arrived outside of one of the bars as we were all about to stagger home.  I have no clue who was in a right enough mind by that time of the night to make it happen, but kudos to them.  There were way more of us than the shuttle should transport, so the Super Groomsman (who shielded the groom) and I were going to walk back.  It would be an opportune time to start burning off the alcohol before taking off to nappy, nappy land.  They ended up shoving our whole party onto this little shuttle, which probably wasn't smart by any means.  I stood the whole way back.

My attempt at taking a pic turned into a fairly accurate representation.

Those people still going strong made our way to the hotel bar just before last call.  We ushered out a bride and groom, still in full wedding reception garb, cuz everybody within 4 states was getting married at our hotel in Omaha over Labor Day weekend.  Anyway, by this time there was a half dozen of us, including a girl that had fallen out of the shuttle onto the pavement at the Hilton, only to return in sweatpants and a renewed enthusiasm for drinking.  I had promised the Super Groomsman that I would still walk around with him before hitting the sack, but whiny messages from drunken Annie sent me up to my room with the groom when he finally decided to call it a night.  I found out the next day that the Super Groomsman managed to stay out an hour past that point, and he eventually returned to his room "smelling like a homeless person".

It had been a while since I've hit the hard alcohol, and Day 1 in Omaha was way more fun than I had prepared for!
~RoB

(Day 2 to come.  Day 3 is summarized in my last post.)

Power Ballad Key Changes

It was a late night after my closest friends and I finished Annie's performance of Les Mis and headed to Rudy's Can't Fail Cafe in downtown Oakland.

We started to have a discussion about how the 25th Anniversary Concert of Les Mis had the best 'Bring Him Home' ever.  (Well, that's my opinion, at least.)  I said Alfie took it up like a 4th or a 5th when he came in, and Annie called me stupid and said he probably only went up a step.  Then I went on to agree that she was probably right, since that is the way things are done in power ballads.  (If you don't know anything about Les Miserables, then you should find a way to see it performed on stage.  If there was only one musical that you were to ever see, make this one be it.  Fuck Phantom.)  Amazing quartet of Jean Valjeans follows [old guy is the original, guys on the outside are the current, English JVJs, and Alfie comes in last]:

We were with two friends that, though very intelligent, don't have minors in music from Michigan like Annie and I, so they didn't quite grasp our discussion.  We went on to try and name examples.  My first guess would be that there's a Whitney Houston song with a big dramatic key change, but I couldn't think of it in 'I'll Always Love You'.  Annie, and I look at each other, obviously singing it in our heads, and we both smiled at the same time.  Yeah, it's probably the most notable key change of a power ballad ever.  About 3:10 into it, after the brilliant grand pause and a single drum beat, she returns to the chorus in a different key.  It's easiest to tell by listening at 1:57 and immediately scrolling to 3:20.  Play with the song here:

Since then, I've decided to go through some of my music and find more examples.  I listen to the cheesiest collection of music from all of those soul sisters you're picturing in your head right now:  Celine, Mariah, Christina, Groban, Clarkson, Underwood, Wonder, and a plethora of American Idol rejects.  I was actually surprised at how many of the songs I assumed change keys about 2/3 of the way through didn't.  Anyway, one that's really easy to hear is found at 3:24 of Bon Jovi's 'Livin on a Prayer' (let me be the first to apologize for '80s hair):

If none of this post made any sense to you, then don't worry about it.  This was just a chance for a few bandos to geek out.  There's another one in MJ's 'Man in the Mirror', but I'm finally bored with this.

What other songs can you find?
~RoB

Remembering Joe

[I apologize beforehand.  This wasn't supposed to be so long.  It turned into a stream of consciousness, so I just let it keep bringing more and more memories to the forefront of my mind.  It was thoroughly therapeutic.]

10 years ago, today, I was a 16-year-old boy.  I had been driving around with my fresh license for 6 months.  I pushed carts at Walmart (I just got my first job on June 26th of that summer), and I worked full time since it was summer break.  At that time in my life, I was thoroughly devoted to band and the Red Cross.  And though I wasn't very popular any more (like I had been in middle school), I had a few circles of very close friends.

I started writing this post to detail a few of the specific moments that I remembered centering around this day, August 4th, 10 years ago.  All it made me realize is how fuzzy the whole time is in my mind.

I don't remember how I found out.  I do remember hearing that a fire in Detroit Beach had made the news, and that it was on 5th Street.  I lived on 4th Street for years, so I wondered if I knew anybody.  I remember hearing that one of my closest friends had shown up on scene just before emergency responders, and that she was trying to help get people out of the house.  I remember hearing that not everybody made it out of the house.  I remember finding out it was David's house, and that alone was devastating.


David lived a few hundred feet from where I had lived.  We shared the same bus stop from 3rd grade to 8th grade, until I moved (though he was a year ahead of me in school).  One of the most epic childhood fights I can remember happened in his yard, though strangely, he didn't have any part in it.  David had a cute little sister, and I remember wondering how old she must be now.  My first instinct was to call Joe and ask him if he knew anything about David and his family, since they were cousins.


I don't remember if I tried to call Joe, but if I did the line to his house was busy.  I remember hearing details about how the fire had something to do with the boiler, and that David's mom's oxygen tank blew up and made it even worse.  Again, it's fuzzy, but I do remember finding out that Joe may have been staying the night at David's last night.


Then there are huge gaps missing.


I remember speeding around turns on the long road leading from my house in the huge, red conversion van I drove at the time.

I remember breaking down crying while pushing carts at Walmart when it hit me that Joe had severe brain damage, and if he recovered it was likely that he would no longer be the Joe that I knew.  It was so awkward, and kind of embarrassing, as I ran through the store bawling.  I ran straight to the manager's office and told him that I was leaving for the day.  I tried to explain, but it was obvious I was distressed.  Though I was scheduled to work, I didn't show up again for over a week.

I remember hearing that everyone was at the hospital, and having mixed feelings on rather or not I felt like I should be there.  I remember his parents asking if I would be a pall bearer.  I was so honored, yet I felt like I didn't deserve to be.

I remember begging my girlfriend (who I was thoroughly in love with at the time) to hang out with me, alone, but all she wanted to do was hang out with friends.  Years later, I can kind of understand that, since I wouldn't have wanted to be alone with me at the time, either.  It's not like I lost a brother, but something about our relationship and the timing and my age at the time really left lasting effects.

I remember staying with my close group of friends every minute for days.  We switched houses every once in a while, but we all slept in the same room and stayed in constant sight of each other.

I remember watching porn in the basement of a friend's house, while we were all still together.  More friends showed up and found it awkward that we were watching elderly porn when we were supposed to be in mourning.  We agreed that it was strange, but life was fucked up, and we were enjoying making noises and narrating.  We were enjoying ourselves, and we were all at our wit's end, so it was nice to be doing something else.

I remember that I had snagged a picture of him on my cheesy little polaroid camera just a few days before.  The camera where you pulled out the thin strip and you were left with a mini one-square-inch picture.  I'm still convinced that it was the last picture of Joe before the fire.

I remember snagging his quads from the band room and bringing them to the funeral.  I remember driving all of the pall bearers around.  We had decided to wear Hawaiian shirts.  It seemed fitting that we shouldn't be dressed like stuffy penguins when Joe was always so light hearted.  I remember the casket being so heavy.  I was worried that it might slip, or that I might drop it.  How could it be that heavy with 8 of us carrying it?  I still wonder if it was really that heavy, or if there's some psychology associated with pall bearers that makes the casket so much heavier than it is.

I remember the line of cars in the procession was the most massive thing I had ever seen until moving to Los Angeles.  The traffic that we must have caused probably resides somewhere in Monroe record books.

I remember hearing his father crying out in the church.  I remember thinking that it must have been his mom, until I looked over.  It only happened once, but that shriek still haunts me.  I remember thinking that the whole family must be on ridiculous doses of antidepressants to even be sitting here going through this without going absolutely insane.

I remember not crying.  At the viewing, my best friend read something aloud that he had written in his bus ride back from Texas (where he had been spending time during the summer break).  Everyone cried.  I didn't.  It made me feel heartless, but I didn't cry.

I remember crying.  It is some sort of law that there has to be witnesses when the casket is lowered and the first few piles of dirt are thrown on.  That's where I lost it.  That's where most of us lost it.  Some guys had to walk away.  I remember not being the only one brought to their knees in tears at that particular moment.  The only other moment that came close to this, was when they handed the pall bearers the items from Joe's casket as they were closing it... for good.

I remember dedicating everything I did that year to Joe, and David, and David's brother, who were all lost in that fire.


I'm not sure how Joe and I became friends.  It's likely that it happened through band, but we had an interesting bond through computers.  We chatted on ICQ, hacked, and passed around cheesy video games before it was cool.  We were rock stars in our middle school computer class.  I stayed the night at his house once or twice (I wasn't one for sleepovers, so that's kind of a big deal.)  I remember that one time his mom made meatloaf, with green peppers throughout it.  I hate green peppers, but I smothered it with a ton of ketchup and choked it down, because that's the respectful thing to do.

The last time I saw Joe was at a bonfire.  He showed up with one of our friends; the two of them had been hanging out a lot at the time.  Hanging out so much, that I was kind of jealous.  When they left, I remember calling Joe our friend's bitch.  Those words still haunt me.  The last thing that I said about one of my close friends while he was still alive was awful.  It really put into perspective alot of the words that I choose in my life now, forcing me to avoid 'love' as much as I do the word 'hate'.  Be careful when you are talking about people.  Words can be so powerful and so everlasting.

I have this great picture of the two of us in our high school marching band uniforms after we performed at the University of Michigan Crisler Concert the fall before.  We were both going to go to Michigan for college and be in band.  He was going to be in the drum line, and I was going to play trumpet.  Easy enough.  Now the picture that sits on my wall is one of the few concrete objects that just the two of us shared.  It'd be a great picture to include here, but I never scanned it.  It just sits on my wall.  I did live up to my part of the deal, though.  I only applied to one college, and when I considered dropping out of the marching band before my senior year, he was one of the reasons I didn't.

Though I always feel like I'm discrediting those closer to him, like his family, whenever I express my feelings on the whole situation, it feels good to finally lay down everything that I remember.

Rest in peace, Joe.  10 years feels like yesterday, and I will always remember you,
~RoB

My First Concert

I've been to a few orchestra concerts and several operas.  I've been to numerous musicals and one play.  Yet, I've only gone to two concerts in my life, and I only paid for one of them.  This is kind of ridiculous if you consider how much I enjoy music, and how obsessed I am with some artists:  Boyz II Men, Gloria Estefan, Whitney, etc.  Concerts just always cost a lot of money; money that I don't have.  I've also always been into sleeping.  Late nights rarely sound worthwhile.  So, I never went.

My first concert (though I don't count it) was actually a Ludacris concert.  It really was ludicrous!  My roommate designed the posters for the concert when Luda came to play at Hill Auditorium, on campus at Michigan.  As a musician (though not super talented) growing up in Michigan, Hill Auditorium had long been considered an altar to me.  Well known for its amazing acoustics, and graced by the music of greats like Yo-Yo Ma, Itzhak Perlman, and Wynton Marsalis.  Then, all these homies busted in and yelled, "Throw your middle fingers in the air if you like hip hop!!!!"

It was immediately apparent that I did not fit in there.  Let's be real.  My roommate and I, both awkward, pasty white guys, were sitting in the center of the 5th row of a Ludacris concert.  I don't know the most appropriate way to tell you how African American it was up in there.  We survived, and I found out that I knew like every Ludacris song there ever was, and I actually kind of had fun, but it was random and I went for free.

Last night was what I'm going to consider my first real concert.  Why?  I had legitimate interest in the artist(s), I paid to see them, and one of my friends is the rock star drummer.  Those around Ann Arbor while I was there are probably familiar with Tally Hall.  They gained some local fame, started selling albums, went on tour, and the drummer (whom I met through marching band, and he dated another friend of mine) eventually dropped out to try out the whole rock star thing.  Annie had a bunch of their music from purchasing their old CDs, and one of our mutual friends is Tally Hall's #1 crazy, insane fans.  Anyway, their most recent tour brought them to San Francisco last night.  I'd never really been to a concert, especially one that felt so indie, so I agreed to go.

As it turns out, I was really impressed by Tally Hall.  The venue made me feel a little old, though.  The concert was 'all ages', and the number of black Xs on minor hands were uncountable.  I felt like I was straight out of a scene from Nick & Nora's Infinite Playlist.  There were references to Chelsea Clinton, a cover of Biz Markie, and a cover of another 80s euro rock song that I can't think of right now.  All I kept thinking is, these kids don't even know that these are references/covers to things before they were born or at least before they were paying attention.  Anyway, Tally Hall music was really interesting (no, not cynical interesting, but for realz).  I see no reason why I shouldn't add all their music to my playlists.

Tally Hall in San Francisco

Afterward, our friend came out and talked to us.  He had to keep interrupting his stories to turn around and take pictures and sign autographs and accept gifts.  (How fucking ridiculous is it to get gifts from fans?!  Nobody brings my ass gifts while I'm working.  It was almost as crazy as Halloween with El Chavo del Ocho.)  We were out really late at a bar/concert on a Monday night, and there must be pictures somewhere to prove it.  I feel like the rock star.

In the middle of his autograph signing, I jokingly asked him to sign my tits while I pretended to start unbuttoning my shirt.  No less than 2 minutes later, another Michigan person walked up and used the same line.  It made me upset at the stunted creativity of our generation.  It also made me think of David Sedaris pointing out the same thing when he read a sign in a joke shop not to hold the fake eyeballs up to your face (after thinking to himself that it would be funny).  Humans are so pathetically predictable.

Regardless, I'm such a rock star,
~RoB

There's NO Mind Eraser

There are 2 online videos that have stuck with me since the day that I first viewed them.  Here are those stories.  Neither of these videos are directly embedded (or embed-able), so I just provide their internet links.

I was in a computer lab at Michigan when one of my friends said, "Do you wanna see the most fucked up video you've ever seen in your life?"  I was happy to take that challenge.  Come on... I watch crazy porn, I giggled through 2 girls 1 cup, I've watched all kinds of horror flicks like Faces of Death, what could you possibly have on your little ol' computer that is so screwed up?!  Then, my life was forever changed.

BME Pain Olympics (probably the only time that I'll warn you that something on my blog is NSFW). Save it and watch it at home tonight:
http://www.painolympics.info/

The other video is notably less fucked up, yet still gross (and never-ending).  I don't remember how I came across it.  I think it went around Facebook a while ago.  Now I can only find references to Tosh.0, but I like to think that I knew about it before that show...

Giant Pimple Pop:
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/81033219/

"You've gotta be kidding me. You've gotta be kidding me."

I warned you,
~RoB

Awkward Palm Tree

I can't stand awkward moments in TV or movies.  Which is kind of funny, because I take pleasure in making people feel awkward in real life.

I also like to exaggerate real-life awkward situations and try to make them more awkward by highlighting them and throwing up the Awkward Palm Tree.  I was surprised to find out that one of my Michigan friends just learned about the Awkward Turtle.  That's so yesterday.  All the west coast kids throw up the Awkward Palm Tree:

[I think the symbol originates from In-N-Out.]  (Yes, you can see my purple nipples through my undershirt.)

See.  Doesn't that face and those arms just make things feel awkward, even though nothing has happened yet?

I can't stand awkward moments on TV.  I primarily gave up The Office because it started to suck, but feeling pain when people are awkward was a little part of it.  If I'm laying in bed watching some cheesy teen movie or show where the nerdy guy is about to ask the cute girl out, I'm probably covering my face.  I wanted to walk out of Bridesmaids during the engagement party scene, even though it was funny.  When people start breaking down on TV (Gaga and Marko last night on SYTYCD), I'll usually find some reason to leave the room.  I was very excited to find out that my college roommate is the exact same way.  Maybe it is us awkward guys that are so sensitive to it.

Now that you know, learn how to protect yourself.  Start practicing the awkward palm tree.
~RoB

Jealousy

I'm not a jealous boyfriend.  I've never been that kind of a guy.  However, I am growing jealous of a couple of goals that my close friends have accomplished lately.

A guy that I graduated undergrad with at Michigan just finished his PhD at Florida.  It's the most mixed my feelings about grad school have been lately.  I'm really happy for him, and I'm excited that he made it.  Simultaneously, I'm pissed off that he's completely done, yet I gave up just months ago.  I did just as well as him in undergrad, so why do I suck?  I know a few more peeps that are struggling to be done with their PhDs by the end of the next school year.  I feel like each one that finishes will deserve a night of well-deserved alcoholism on my part, with or without their company.

I've long wanted to write a book, also.  I've started several of them, and I weekly come up with another short story idea that I should jot down.  I even had these dreams of publishing a book to help support living in L.A. so I could worry less about money and more about school.  The fruit of all of this interest in writing?  This blog.  It was my only way to vent, and I hope that it helps hone in on my point of view and writing style.  (Yet it still feels chaotic and point-less each time I'm writing a post.)

Combine those together, and I have to admit how furiously jealous I am of Aimee Hubble.  (Yes, that's the first full name [other than myself] that I've used on this blog.  I prefer the victims of my stories remain relatively anonymous in the large scope of the interwebz.)  While being a graduate student at Michigan (she was a year behind me, but is due to be Dr. Aimee in the next year or so), she managed to publish a book: The Last High Priest.

I can't attest to the quality of it, but I'm excited to read it.  I just ordered my copy, and you can find out how to get your copies at her blog.  It looks right up my alley, and I'm happy to watch her make her first million off of it.  You should snag a copy, so I can live vicariously through her.

Cheers, Aimee!!  Damn you.
~RoB

First Date w/ Annie

Today is the 20th Wedding Anniversary of my aunt and uncle.  I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to give you an unedited [though name-censored] look at my digital journal documenting my first date with Annie.  I wrote it exactly like this, the night it happened.  Don't worry, it doesn't go very well.  Crazy how things happen.  This whole incident happened the first weekend of November, in 2003 (yeah, 8 years ago).  Technically, that's the only date we can trace our relationship back to, since we never claimed we were dating until years later.  Enjoy my stream of consciousness, in all of its awkwardness:

Ok, so maybe I did like her.  Of course I am not going to admit it.  She’s cute, and she obviously has a taste in guys that’s a little out of my spectrum.  Well, I helped her with her homework… for every assignment in engin101.  We hung out almost every day.  It came down to just talking and playing cards.  One time I just sat with her while she studied and tried coloring.  I didn’t really need to color, and I suck at it, but it was a reason to ‘chill’ with her.  We started the stereotypical picking on each other.  It was like we were in middle school, but it was fun.  Still, I didn’t do anything.  I thought of her like Jill, a sister, and that I should keep it professional… hands off.  I tried so hard not to have feelings for her; I was not going to get burned again.  Last night when we were working on her assignment, she was chatting with her friend on AIM and she let me read everything.  I found out that she had already dated one of the drummers while being up here.  He is extremely good looking and she said that he turned out to be a real asshole.  Then she started talking about all of these other guys that would be nice to date.  At this point I am a platonic friend, so I listened, I even agreed and joked about it.  Actually, I was hurt.  I just wanted to leave.  I usually stayed with her studying until like 2, even though my regular bedtime is midnight.  Last night, I left at midnight.  I don’t even think that her homework was right.  Then comes tonight.
            Earlier in the week when we were hanging out, I invited her to trumpet progressive.  It’s this big trumpet section party.  I figured it would be fun to hang out with her, I knew she liked to drink.  I don’t drink, but if she wants to that’s cool.  Not that I would try and take advantage of her, but I might be able to find out if she likes me once she gets a little loose.  After all, her friends made it sound like she liked me.  I was walking up to her at dinner and Michelle whispered out of the side of her mouth “Here comes Rob” and smiled.  I am pretty sure that I shouldn’t know that, but I catch on to things like that.  Also, Terran knew the whole story about trumpet Prog before I even mentioned it.  Annie had already told everyone.  So we go to Prog.  Everyone keeps referring to her as my date.  I really didn’t mind, but being the gentleman that I am, I corrected everyone to make sure that it was clear that we were just friends and I was just her ticket to a good party.  So we make it to the final huge party.  Huge dance floor, and I know I can dance.  This was my chance, I knew I could get her to start dancing and have a blast.  Well, I knew she could dance since we swung dance together for like 2 hours a little less than a month ago.  However, she doesn’t really dance.  I was all over the floor; I love to dance.  She claims that she couldn’t dance.  One time she was out on the floor and I snuck up behind her and started freaking her.  It was all in fun, but she pulled away and kind of quit.  Ok, so she wasn’t comfortable, I gave up.  So we hung out every once in a while when she wasn’t drinking or hanging out with other people, but she stopped coming around more and more, and started hanging with Dave.  Dave Tenerelli the Italian Stallion, he is the amazing trumpet player and hot guy that got picked up by a junior girl in the first 2 weeks.  Ok, so they are hanging out, maybe they know each other outside of her.
            Next thing I remember, Annie and Dave freaking and necking out on the floor.  Too good for me, huh?  Must not be too good to dance, she hasn’t drank anything since she was out on the dance floor with me, but she seems to be fine freaking him.  Ok, I need to just stop watching.  It’s just one dance I’m overreacting.  So I tried having fun.  Didn’t happen, they disappeared.  I went outside to get some fresh air; I figured that would help.  Nope, they were out there with a group of people.  She walked back inside without saying anything.  I met up with some friends and headed off to go get some subs.  I asked her if she wanted to go or if she wanted anything.  She said no to both.  That’s cool, I was gone for like a half hour and came back.  The party had kind of cleared out, but they were sure out there on the dance floor freaking.  We waited around for like 10 minutes and decided that a bunch of us were going to leave.  Now, the terms of her coming were that she had to promise to leave with me.  I knew she was going to be drinking and I did not want feel responsible for leaving drunken Annie in the hands of a bunch of drunken trumpets.  So I went up and asked her if she wanted to leave with us.
She told me to hold on a second and stuck her first finger up in the air.  She walked away for a minute.  She came back into the room freaking Dave right in front of me… she managed to mouth “I’m staying” to me from where she was.  Obviously, she just got all too caught up in what was going on to walk over to me and talk to me.  What a bitch.

Retrospectively, I'm an 11-yr-old girl.

So Happy 20th Anniversary, aunt and uncle!  And Annie, way to be an ass from the beginning.
~RoB

~RoB Rides Ann Arbor

At one point in Ann Arbor, I had this dream of taking pictures of me 'riding' all of the statues I could find.  I was even planning on including fountains (though I was going to climb on them after they were turned off for the season, and combine it with a picture of them running to make it look like I rode them while they were going).  Anyway, in my head, the series of photos were called "Rob Rides Ann Arbor".  In my laziness, I never got around to doing it, but I still think it was a great idea.  So, picture me on top off all of these, in all of my glory:

It all started because I really wanted to get on this one!

This lil' guy was #2 on my to-ride list.

Even you, puma.  Even you.

Anybody not ride the cube while in Ann Arbor?

Though I failed, Angel managed to pull off a photo sequence of his own, entitled Angel In The City.

Clockwise starting on the left, Angel gets his picture with the Golden Gate Bridge, Coit Tower, the Bay Bridge, the Ferry Building & Financial District, and from the top of Twin Peaks.

Isn't he cute? 

He did most of the trip with his mother while I was getting my hair cut.  I usually don't support the awkwardness of being crazy dog parents.  However, does this make up for him biting people at family gatherings?  Did I even tell you about how he bites people at family functions?
~RoB

Fu¢k Me.

I had a great time yesterday.  I came home to a fixed sink.  The plumber left the keys and we were able to find them.  We went to a Michigan Alumni Association Happy Hour in San Francisco at a swanky wine bar.  We met some really cool people, including a fairly recent grad who owns a sushi restaurant in the city, and he invited us to come check it out.  We are really excited to do just that!  (Everybody loves Annie and I.)  Fittingly, the person who was in charge of cheese at the wine bar was also a UM grad, and a good friend of one of the people at the Happy Hour, but he didn't know the event was happening, and they didn't know that they lived in the same city.  Long story short, we got a free, really cool cheese plate and he answered questions about everything.

We got home without getting rained on too hard.  We picked up Angel from Doggy Day Care late, but they didn't charge us extra.  We snagged a few slices from a delicious, local pizza place, watched gLee, and hit the sack.  Then, the alarm rang this morning.

I knew when Annie's alarm went off that today was going to be rough.  Something told me not to get out of bed (and it wasn't Annie, cuz she was damn near pushing me out).  It was my day to take Angel out and feed him breakfast.  This happens at 5:45am every morning, so we switch off like good parents.  We then, usually, go back to bed for 30 minutes or so (cuz it's the best puppy snuggling time of the day).

Well, I locked myself out.  Our roommate just returned from a trip to NYC to see her sister graduate from Columbia, and her mom was staying the night, and they got in really late, and she had to leave fairly early, so I felt bad ringing the doorbell to get Annie to come let me in.  So, I walked out in the road, picked up some stones, and started chucking them at our bedroom window.  It is impossible to throw stones at a girl's window without either of these going through your head: 1) "But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?  It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." or 2) any random scene from the John Hughes/Brat Pack movies of the mid-80s.

She came down to let me in.  Things were running smoothly (except the bathroom got all clogged up by the number of people in the apartment, as everyone was waking up).  I ended up having to skip a much-needed shower.  The real 'Fu¢k Me!' moment came when I went down to my car to drive Annie to work.  It didn't start.  My 2007 Dodge Caliber didn't fu¢king start.  Grrrr.

Two weeks ago or so, it started making funny noises, right around the time that I got a huge crack in my windshield.  I figured I'd just get all the fluids topped when I went to get my oil changed sometime soon.  I also figured I'd let the windshield go until it started to look dangerous.  I've been doing dramatically better with my money, but I just invested a fair bit into a super-secret self-improvement project.  I'm trying to hold off on investing money into my car, which is still fairly new and a trooper.

I guess that changes now.  I absolutely need my car by Saturday, for a fairly long trip.  This means I'll have to find money to have it towed, and have it fixed, and they'll probably want to replace my windshield, and we might as well do the tires/oil/everything else now.  Awesome.

I can't wait until we run out of oil, and I can bike to work every day,
~RoB

My Two Regrets

I've gone through life thoroughly considering decisions and accepting whatever choices I've made.  Consciously deciding that you are going to stick to your decisions, no matter how they turn out, is one of my suggestions for staying sane.  Too many 'what if..'s add complications to your life that are unnecessary.  That being said, there are two big regrets I have so far, and I think one will surprise you.

1. Not attending U-Wisconsin for graduate school.
I interviewed at U-W, and I had an absolutely amazing time.  The research was interesting, and the grad students were both active and social.  It was spring break when I visited, and I got quite drunk with a big group of them.  The guy whom I immediately wanted to be my best friend was a big Chicago Bears fan, and he went to a few games a year at Soldier Field.  They showed me the desk they had waiting for me, and they were confident that I would succeed there.  I've seen several of them at national conferences, so I'm more than aware of their department's productivity.  Instead of going to another school in the BigTen, and having to root for a team that I rooted so boisterously against, I accepted a research position at UCLA.

UCLA was a chance to do something drastically different from Michigan, and it was in the same time zone as the amazing job offer Annie had accepted.  Originally, the plan was to go to UC-Berkeley, but a strong argument with one of the interviewing professors both turned me off to the department and turned them off from me.  I burned that bridge, making it impossible for Annie and I to live together with her new career, so I figured UCLA would be the next-best option.  Plus, who doesn't want to live in L.A. for a few years just to say you did?

I made amazing friends down in L.A., and strengthened some old friendships, but I just never really felt comfortable with the students or lifestyle or traffic or cost of living.  I didn't really fit in at UCLA, and my lab ended up being a big hoax.  It was the worst grad student experience I can imagine.  I remember regularly waking up and thinking, "Had I just gone to Wisconsin, my life would be dramatically better."  Maybe it was this regret that held me back from fulling involving myself in my research or in the student life at UCLA, but I really think that it was just an honest realization.

2. Quitting high school football.
I love football.  I'm intelligent.  I have huge shoulders and a fair amount of weight to throw around.  I think it is fair to say that I was a good offensive guard leading into high school, and I had all the qualities to be great in high school.  I was in the starting line throughout 8th grade, and later in my high school career, the freshman football coach (who doubled [though clearly not his strong suit] as a U.S. History teacher) told me that I was in line to be moved up to J.V. by the end of summer practice.  That would have made me one of about 5 kids (2 of which got moved to Varsity for our State Championship run that ended with a 1-yd fumble in the semi-finals).

However, I let two things get to me, and I quit before school started.  First of all, my shoulders were much wider than they were thick.  So, pads fit me awkwardly, and if I was in any position other than standing, they would rotate back and start choking me.  I had to wear a 'toilet seat' to keep them in place.  This was continuously frustrating.  Secondly, one guy was a complete ass to me.  I dyed my hair throughout middle school.  It was all types of colors and patterns, from Ronald McDonald's red hair to a calico cat.  (Hey, I was a Chicago Bulls fan in the Dennis Rodman era, and I guess it left an impression!)  Anyway, I had dyed my hair red again before football practices began.  While sweating through the first week of practices, the hair dye ended up running into my helmet and down my shirt.  I looked a hot mess.  I pretty much put a ginger curse on myself.

One guy went out of his way to make fun of it.  He was a year older, and redneck neanderthals tend to do things like that.  I can't remember names or anything, the only thing that I haven't repressed was one break where he was punting balls in my direction.  Retrospectively, I should have just fought him.  Win or lose, it would have put me higher on the pecking order for all things, including play time on the team.  Instead, I let him get to me, and I walked off one day.  At that point, I was too embarrassed to ever return.  I truly believe that football would have changed my lifestyle if I had kept up with it.  Instead of being scared of weight rooms and being completely uninformed about nutrition (both things that I still continue to struggle with), I would have continued working out as I had done coming into high school.

Yep, this was our uniform.

Every other decision I've made, good or bad, doesn't haunt me nearly as much as those two do.  That's the thing with regrets, I guess.  I suppose I should be happy in that these are the only mistakes that haunt me.

Happy with 99.9% of where life has taken me,
~RoB

Anonymous Fellatio

This was a great find during some down time on my old PC yesterday!  Here's the background.  I'm Mr. A.  A friend and I created this document in order to take it to our government/street law teacher.  We wanted to know if it was slander to spread malicious rumors, even if they were true.  We were also interested in any implications that threats or sexual harassment or libel (after we had printed this off) had in the legal realm.  We weren't interested in actually pursuing anything, we were just excited to have something interesting to examine in our otherwise boring class.

This incident did happen.  I still stand by it.  All names were removed when it was typed, since we were going to make it a hypothetical situation for our teacher.  The only alteration I've done is censoring the full name of my high school.

The teacher immediately turned the scenario into the school liaison officer, and Mr.'s A, B, & D had to all meet in his office to come to a resolution.  I just used big words and we all walked out.  Nothing ever came of it, which is really boring.  I clearly described where/when the incident happened.  We have cameras in the parking lot.  Either they weren't actually recording, or nobody had any interest in finding out if the story was indeed true, or the liaison officer beat off to the video.  Anyway, here's the scenario:

Mr. A, Mr. B and Mr. C witnessed Mr. D and Miss. E aggressively displaying public affection and in the act of fellatio on Thursday, February 14, 2002.  Between the times of 2:25-2:40.  After the act had taken place Mr. A, Mr. B and Mr. C had witnessed Miss E salivating with her car door open onto the asphalt.  The location of the incident that took place, was in Miss E’s car in the second row, fifth parking spot from the cross walk in the Jefferson High School Recreation Center parking lot, in which all students are required to park in.  At approximately 3:30 Mr. A and Mr. B returned to pick up Mr. B’s younger sister, Miss F.  Upon returning to the Jefferson High School parking lot Mr. A and Mr. B went to the approximate location of the happening and looked to see if indeed Miss E had salivated upon the asphalt with traces of Mr. D’s semen.  After a short examination Mr. B had found the salivation.  Without a doubt the saliva had contained traces of semen, perhaps Mr. D’s semen.     

Approximately half of the Jefferson High School Robotics Team and most of the Jefferson High School Jazz Band were told that on the day of or the day after, by Mr. A or Mr. B, of the incident.  The people belonging to there organizations were told that Mr. D and Miss E had been aggressively displaying public affection and in the act of fellatio.  In slang terms of course.
On February 21, 2002 at approximately 2:45 Mr. D met Mr. A and Mr. B in the math hallway in the Jefferson High School. At this time, Mr. D began to question Mr. A and Mr. B about spreading false allegations of him and his girlfriend, Miss. E, in the act of sexual intercourse in the school parking lot.  At this time they, Mr. A and Mr. B, denied all of the allegations that they were accused of.  Mr. D then stated that if he ever found out that they were spreading vicious rumors he would then beat the hell out of them. Accompanying Mr. D was Mr. G and Mr. H, who are believed to be in very close with Mr. D.

I didn't know I was such a gossip-y, little bitch.  I'm not that surprised to find out, though.  I am appalled at my grammar and lack of units on the times given.  I also can't really defend what we were thinking, other than trying to further legitimize that the incident did take place.

It's also fun to think that I was technically bullied, I guess.  I'm not very small.  Mr. B is a giant Hispanic, who I believe laughed at the threat to Mr. D's face.  Mr. D was some champion wrestler, or something.  He wasn't very smart, so we didn't talk much.  I never really considered it a legitimate threat, nor did I feel bullied.  Fun to think about though.

I guess what we learned today is: don't blow somebody in a high school parking lot, or maybe don't spread stories no matter how true they are, or maybe don't be a dumb jock in high school.  You can choose your lesson,
~RoB

Is This Ironic, Alanis?

On Saturday, Annie, myself, my college roommate, and his girlfriend all went to a wine tasting event in Alameda (a little island next to Oakland).  If Annie doesn't write about this event in her blog, I'll try and talk about it later this week (Holla to my new friends from the back room... you know who you are!).  Annie 'went to bed a little early' after the event, which meant she got up an hour or two before me on Sunday morning.

She had plans to travel with one of her friends to the Alameda Flea Market.  I had no interest, since flea markets are dirty.  I know, I've heard several times that this one is fancy.  All I can think of is Gibraltar Trade Center, though (only Michigan natives might know what I'm talking about).  Maybe one day I'll scrounge up a picture of young ~RoB in a t-shirt with his name airbrushed across the front.  Nothing like some good ol' redneck flea market merch!

Anyway, I woke up and made plans to play tennis.  When I got down to my car, I realized Annie was parked behind me.  Problem: Annie took her keys to get back in the apartment later.  So I called her, and her phone was off.  I had to cancel tennis (Annie's spare car key is currently at her grandfather's).  Finally, I got a hold of her and she said that she had thoughtfully removed her car keys from her oversized keychain and left them on the table.  They should have been on the key hooks, avoiding the whole situation, but I'm not going to complain when she obviously thought this through before leaving.

So, I called and rescheduled tennis.  I drove Annie's car to take Angel to a dog park near the courts, met my friend, and played tennis.  We played for 2 hours or so.  When we were finally worn out, and I was pulling all of my stuff out of my tennis bag, I saw that my phone had 24 missed calls, 5 voicemails, and a plethora of text messages.  Here's how those texts went:

It is amazing how much of her increasing frustration you can feel as the anger crescendos and eventually peaks, jumps off a cliff, and leaves a defeated, raving psychopath with nothing left but soft-spoken hatred.

It turns out that when I drove away in her car, I did to her what I had accused her of doing to me merely minutes before.  I had her car, and my apartment keys have my car key on them.  (Our apartment has collectively lost my spare car key.)  Her soccer match started at 1pm.  She was supposed to be the 3rd girl, otherwise her team would have to forfeit.  She wasn't very happy to see me, even though I raced home to pick her up and drive her to her match.

When I told this story to our roommate, I said that it was 'ironic that I did to Annie what I accused her of doing to me'.  Is that ironic, though?  At least cosmic irony?  Alanis Morissette seriously screwed up my definition of the word ironic, after it was once explained to me that not a single incident in her song (titled the same) is technically ironic.

Isn't the fact that a whole songs was written about a word, yet the word was inappropriately used... well isn't that ironic?
~RoB

2-hour Delay

Growing up in Michigan, we sporadically had 2-hour school delays.

Today, Annie and I woke up late.  We decided we would go to work late (as opposed to completely skipping, which we call a 'snow day').  I immediately felt like I had a 2-hour delay.  It made me laugh.  When I told Annie, she had no clue what I was talking about.

Apparently, 2-hour delays aren't universal.  In Tahoe, if the weather isn't good enough for school when it is supposed to start, then it's just not good enough.  Classes canceled.  In Michigan, we have fog, or ice, or sub-zero temperatures that can go away fast enough that 2 hours does make a big difference.  Plus, who doesn't want an extra 2 hours in the morning?

This obviously doesn't apply to UofM.  TMD.

Tip: don't go back to sleep.  It's always the first impulse.  Let's be honest, though.  You're up, your circadian rhythm has finished its cycle, and the rest of your day's schedule didn't change, so you were ready to wake up and deal with a full day.  Enjoy 2 hours of nothing.  (This morning, I caught up on dishes.)  The rest of your day is going to feel super quick anyway, so don't dread!

I do remember the one time in high school where I didn't hear about the delay.  I showed up to school, pretty much by myself.  I sat in Senior Hall and read a book for two hours.  It was geek wonderland.  (I probably got bonus points from the English department... somebody had to have noticed me... very few of you will understand my relationship with the English department in my high school.)

Here's to 2-hour delays, even though we're big kids now!
~RoB

Easter Games

It's an annual tradition (started long before I came around) that Annie's family celebrates Zombie Jesus Day by getting together and playing games.  There is usually a theme to the weekend (Deal or No Deal, Olympics, etc.). There's usually some tennis (sometimes a tourney).  The weekend usually ends with an easter egg hunt for the kids (and like Xmas, 'kid' is loosely defined as anyone without a child, so I'm still thrown in with middle-schoolers).

I've made references to the manliness of working with my hands over the past few weeks.  Well, these are the secret project I was working on:

Cornhole!  Complete with maize & blue cornbags.

Collapsed Beer Pong (L) & Flip Cup (R) Tabletops.

Unfolded Collapsible Beer Pong (T) & Flip Cup (B) Tabletops.

Ladder Golf!

Somehow, Annie and I got put in charge of the games this year.  So, she came up with a tailgate theme (bringing the best of the Midwest to her granola-y, hippie, Californian family).  I commenced to getting all of those games built and painted.  Don't get me wrong, Annie helped a little (she half spray painted the tops of the bases of the ladder golf... and some of the yellow on ladder golf... and the big M's on beer pong and cornhole [which I outlined for her]).  I also had some help from her uncle and his powertools.  In general, though, most of this was done by me with really simple tools and a fair amount of time!

We split the 20 people into 10 randomly-assigned teams and randomly assigned each team a color.  We asked teams to wear their colors and made everyone play each other until there was an overall winner.  Yes, some people ended up playing beer pong with their grandparents.  Yes, children were screaming at parents to flip cups faster.  (People were allowed to drink whatever they wanted, so the 12 year old wasn't throwin' back brewskies.)

Judging by the volume of the festivities (and my slight drunkenness after adding Jack to my Coke for the drinking games), much fun was had by all!

We needed to build these for our epic Michigan Football Tailgating plans this Fall anyway,
~RoB