My average Thursday

8:00 – Alarm goes off
8:01 – Profanity
8:30 – I microwave my oatmeal for breakfast. It's the best packaged oatmeal I've had in my life.
9:15 – I feed my fish. It’s the highlight of his day and my morning.
10:00 – I read the last 100 pages of an assigned book. Its main point is that slavery was a bad thing. No shit.
11:00 – I make myself brunch and expand my culinary skills to cooking scrambled eggs and hash browns.
11:30 – Nap
1:00 – We meet in class to discuss the book I just finished reading. The professor says that the main point of the book was that slavery was bad and asks for our opinions. I say, “No shit”. Not the smartest move.
3:30 – Time to answer students’ e-mails.
3:34 – Student #1 can’t make it to tomorrow’s test due to a sick grandmother.
3:37 – Another sick grandmother.
3:42 – A student has a sick rabbit and also can’t make it. Hey, at least it’s a new excuse.
4:00 – Nap: the sequel
6:00 – dinner
6:30 – Staring outside the window and bitching about how cold it is
7:00 – Studying. It’s the highlight of my day (well, after the second nap)
8:00 – the couple in the apartment above me are arguing again
8:45 – The couple stops arguing. I can go back to studying.
9:30 – The couple starts having sex quite loudly. I’m not sure which I hate more.
10:00 – I watch my lone hour of TV for the day. Tonight it involves koala bears. Did you know they sleep up to 18 hours a day? Ahh, the good life.
11:00 – Some more studying as the upstairs couple is mixing arguing with sex. I pound on the ceiling with my broom.
11:45 – Finally blessed with silence I get to sleep.

I'm out of title ideas

I saw a commercial today where a lady was stressing out about her "thick" eyebrows. Suddenly someone showed up and gave her tweezers and some electric doodad and now she has scary pencil thin eyebrows and will live happily ever after. That's just silly.

Ladies, when you see your eyebrows, can you count to two? If you answered yes, then you're fine.

The Plight of a 49er Fan

On January 29, 1995 I officially became a man. That was the date that after two long years of being a San Francisco 49ers that they rewarded my allegiance with a Superbowl win. It was glorious.

When my father had first strapped me into a chair at age 7 to learn the great American game of football I thought it was stupid. What the hell were all of these downs and turnovers? And the giant yellow posts at each just freaked me out. But as the season stretched on I began to see the point. I especially liked knowing something I could explain to my mother. By the 94 season things were looking up and the West Coast Offense came to fruition on the fateful January day.

Since then, things haven’t been so great. Oh sure, we made to the playoffs in most late 90s seasons, but never again to the Big Game. Most of the time the Packers were there to stop us, but I could never bring myself to hate Brett Favre. Now my team is going through a rebuilding decade. Sure, I can root for the Packers now that I’m living in Wisconsin but I don’t have that irrational, will sacrifice my first born for a win, devotion that I have for the 49ers. Instead I’m stuck watching the 49ers while grading tests, which is a lose-lose-lose situation. Lose for the 49ers, lose for me because I get grumpy and lose for the students because grumpy Paolo means lower test grades. For everyone’s sake I’m just hoping SF makes it to an 8-8 season.

Last Call

Well, more proof that Milwaukee is crazy.

I’ve never understood the concept behind phone sex lines. It always seemed like the people who use those are the weirdos who are too scared to find a prostitute. Now I’ve also never given much thought to phone sex lines until I moved to Milwaukee. Now whenever I turn on the TV to watch Leno or Letterman I can’t go one commercial break without seeing at least two different phone sex ads. After awhile I started to notice a few things about these disturbing commercials.

First, the ladies on the commercials look like picking up the phone could be the most exciting thing that I could do. Forget about food, sleep, or anything else. All you need to do is touch that handset and bliss is yours (at $2.99 a minute). Sometimes they’ll be whole gaggles of ladies huddled around a phone having the times of their lives and that I should call too! Another thing is that there is more than one type of sex line. There are lines for guys calling for girls, girls calling for guys, guys calling for guys, and girls calling for girls. When the advertisements for different varieties it gets pretty confusing. I’ll go the bathroom and when I come back the lady in the lingerie has suddenly turned into a 250 lb shirtless man with a deep baritone voice. Now I’m not passing any moral judgments and I’m sure that all of these businesses make some people very happy. But for me I’ll take commercials advertising something that I might actually buy, like chocolate.

Time to Pack it on out of here

I already knew that most people in Milwaukee were crazy, but for proof I had to look no further than Sunday afternoon. You see, Sunday afternoon means that a Green Bay Packers game is on and that means people go insane.

My first clue was when I was at the gym during game time. I hopped on the treadmill and looked up at the bank of TVs above the bank of treadmills. Of the 8 TVs, 6 of them were set to the Packers game, 1 was set to the other football game, and the last was set to “Saving Private Ryan”. The other joggers were watching the Packers game with such intensity that they would swear with what spare breath they had. I swear that one guy almost fell off the damn treadmill when Brett Favre fumbled the ball. The guy recovered when the ref ruled it an incomplete pass.

On the way home the game ended and people began pilling out of bars and restaurants cheering like the Packers had won the Super Bowl. I get home looking for the next game to be covered on CBS but I was out of luck. The local stations had taken over and were going to give me 3 HOURS of post game coverage. How can post game coverage be longer than the actual game? However, the fans did look like they’re having a fun time rooting for their team. I don’t know whether to join them or filing a restraining order against everyone in the state.

Working Out Hard or Hardly Working Out

Today I made the dreaded trip that every male ends up taking at least once in his lifetime: I went to the gym. Now I’ve been to the gym many times, but that was at Gonzaga and always with friends. The comfort level of having someone else with me who had no idea what he was doing was absent here. But I have too much free time these days and I’ve given up drinking so I headed to out the great Land of Testosterone.

I arrived at the building and it looked like it was out of the 70s (it was) and the lady who swiped my card looked like she was in her 70s (I didn’t ask). Then I got to the locker room and I had to swipe my ID card again. Strange, but I guess they’re security conscious. Finally I get to the weight room …. and there’s a keypad. I was confused and resorted to punching random numbers until someone entered in the correct code. By now I was very excited. What could they be protecting? Would the weights be made of gold? Would the water fountains shoot out chocolate milk?

Alas, the gym was just a gym. So I got to work. There’s one thing that I’ve noticed about the gym: people working out are either total jerks or extraordinarily nice. Example: I was curling and feeling like a bad ass and that I was the strongest person in the world when a guy with forearms the size of my head walks up, snickers, and proceeds to curl twice what I’m curling. Ok, buddy that was unnecessary so I promptly kicked his ass. And by “kicked his ass” I mean “went to the treadmills”. The nice people (and thankfully their the vast majority) pretty much fall over themselves to accommodate everyone else when two people need the same machine. I’m not sure if this is because they’re searching for an excuse for a break or are secretly afraid that I’m some sort of kung fu master.

Now the final group of people at the gym are people who do not look like they belong at a gym. They’re could be wild eyed and don’t know where to start or are perhaps overweight and might feel out of place. These are my people and I respect them. We’re actual human beings trying to better ourselves, not gym junkies that have toes that can bench press my body weight. But if that gym doesn’t install the chocolate fountains, I’m so taking up beer again.

The Sober State of Things

It was shaping up to be a wonderful Thursday night. There was a small get together at a friend’s house. After a few hours of us having quite the pleasant time I noticed that my buzz was starting to wear off and I was out of beer. Knowing that there was a super market I let the group know that I was going to get some more beer and to see if anyone wanted to come along.

You know those moments in the movies where everyone stops talking at once and looks at the main character like he’s crazy? Well, that happened to me and it was about as embarrassing as it sounds. Finally someone broke the silence (and is also now the coolest person in the world) by saying that it was too late to buy beer. I glance at my cell and point out that it’s only 10:45. The silence returns and people are looking at me like I’m dumber than ever. That same person points out to me like I’m some sort of moron that beer and hard a stops being sold statewide at 9 p.m. Hearing this several thoughts quickly went through my head:

Ha ha, very funny. Nice joke
Wait, nobody’s laughing. Shouldn’t people be laughing at a joke?
Oh God, what if it’s not it a joke?
It’s not a joke, they really stop selling alcohol at 9!
If I get on a bus will I make it Washington before 2?
What’s the prison sentence for stealing a 12 pack from a convenience store?
Will a banana in my coat pocket look like good enough like a gun for the stick up?
Crap, I don’t have a banana. I’m gonna have to steal that too.

All of these thoughts made me a little faint and I had to sit down. I realized that in order to maintain my buzz I would have to go to the bars and drop 10 or 15 bucks. It was shaping up to be a crappy Thursday night.

The "Real World" ... or is it?

I haven’t spoken a single word today. My vocal chords are literally feeling stale. Why the sudden quietness? It’s simply because I’ve got nobody to talk to. I live alone and don’t know anybody beyond the first name. This is not to say that I sat around watching TV all day (that’s scheduled for tomorrow). No, today was filled with such excitement as laundry, going to the library for homework, and working out at the gym. Heck, I even read a book for fun. I feel that it was one of my more productive Saturdays, but it still feels like something’s missing.

I’ve never lived alone so that’s also an adjustment. But grad school certainly makes it tough to meet people. I only have class with history students and the bulk of them are in their late 20s or older and already have their own lives, friends and relationships. Getting buddy-buddy with undergrads that I’m teaching would just be plain weird. Bumping into them at the bars is out of the question, at least until I know their faces well enough to avoid them. That basically means that in the city of beer I have to avoid the bars. Life can suck.

Is this what the “real world" is like? Or am I somehow missing something? I certainly hope it’s the second option. If this is the “real world” I’m definitely inventing a time machine and going back to when I was 10. At least then my vocal chords would get some use.

My new goal

You know food commercials that always show food close ups looking all delicious and yummy? What happens to the food after the commercial has been filmed? Do you think there’s someone who just goes from set to set eating the food once the commercial’s done?

If so, I want to be that guy.

Welcome to the Jungle

I know, I know, I haven’t posted in awhile. But it’s been a busy week. I’ve been moving into Milwaukee and been occupied with orientation. Not very interesting stuff. We’ve all been through orientation that before so we know what it’s like: “Here’s the library, here’s the administration building, don’t play with matches etc”. When I get to classes and teaching next week I’m sure I’ll have more interesting experiences to talk about. For now I’ll just post my thoughts on the great city of Milwaukee.

Milwaukee sucks. And blows. You may think that that’s physically impossible, but Milwaukee has found a way. It’s hot, which I can take, but it’s also very very humid. Every time I walk outside it’s like walking into a wall of wet ass. Graphic description, I know, but a true one. Oh, and I don't have a/c so that adds to the enjoyment.

In addition to being the waiting room for hell, Milwaukee has got some weird quirks about it. First, nobody here obeys red lights. If someone is waiting at the line and can’t see any cross traffic they’ll just go right through no matter the color of the light. The other thing that’s crazy about this place is the there are cemeteries all over this place. There are four of them within two miles of campus and that’s no exaggeration. Somehow I think that the first weird thing causes the second. Someone gets hit by a red light running psycho and the paramedics can just roll the body off into the random cemetery that’s always right next to the accident.

The last thing about Milwaukee is that a lot of people smoke here. It also doesn’t help that restaurants and bars allow smoking all over the place. I go out to eat and take a bite of my pasta and it tastes like charcoal. Pizza tastes like charcoal. Chicken still tastes like chicken. I’ve got nothing against smokers, just the act of smoking. But if my canned fruit start tasting like cigarettes I’m gonna scream.

Too hot to handle

I know that in my last post I lamented how life can be terrifyingly boring. My current job is certainly no exception, but every once and awhile an event occurs that causes me to become so traumatized that I would do anything to return to those nostalgic days of boredom. Today one such event occurred.

I was sorting the mail, which in itself is a frustrating exercise. You spend 40 minutes carefully organizing paperwork that in itself will generate another 3 hours of paperwork. Needless to say I was looking for a distraction. That distraction came in the form of Jessica (the names have been changed to protect the innocent). Jessica is my 50ish coworker who is pretty much one of the nicest people around. She’s always helping me with my many purchasing questions and never minds doing it. Anywhoo, she asked me to turn on the air conditioning (the control is right by my desk). I turned it on and said “it sure is a warm one today, isn’t it?” Yes, I have been relegated to looking for in excitement in weather conversations. Well, that day excitement found me when Jessica replied “Nope, just going through one of my hot flashes”.

I froze. Nothing in my 21 years of life could have prepared me for this moment. We maintained the awkward eye contact and my mind screamed and writhed with revulsion. Searching for something, anything, to say I dumbly replied “Yeah, I know what you mean”. The eye contact continued. Obviously I’m the wrong gender and too young by 40 years to have any clue what Jessica meant. My mouth did the fumbling open and close motion for a few seconds and I wondered to myself if I jumped head first out the window the tension might be broken. Unfortunately, the tension was broken by something much worse.

Before Jessica could respond, Sarah (I know, another clever pseudonym) walked in and proudly began to continue hot-flashes conversation. Luckily the awkward statement of the year lay forgotten but unluckily the menopause conversation between these two ladies raged on. I’m the only male in the office and since I’m 30 years younger than anybody half the time the other employees don’t even acknowledge me. This was one of those times. I focused like I had never focused before on my paper work but phrases like “cold sweat” and “dryness down there” seeped through. I quickly cranked the a/c down to 68 degrees and thankfully the conversation shifted to something less vomit-inducing.

Now I know it seems like I’m being a tad immature. After all, menopause is a “natural part of life” and I shouldn’t be so uncomfortable about it. But people I’m sorry, there’s only one person a man should hear gripe about “the second change” and that’s his wife or girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong; many years from now I’ll be all supportive to my wife. But hearing that conversation between two co-workers made me long for the days of boredom.

Blog Post the First

Why am I writing this blog? That is the true question. Actually, there’s not much of an answer: I’m bored at work. Sure there are other things I could be doing right now such as Solitare, reading a book, actually doing my work, or falling asleep on the keyboard. But on this historic day I’ve decided to begin writing a blog.

Now I’m sure that this announcement is causing you to become filled with questions such as: will this thing actually be interesting? Or: Crap, do we have to suffer through another kid externalizing his emo feelings? Well, the answer to both questions is a resounding “NO”. I think that a man should have no emotion and should never cry, unless it’s a happy cry over some steak cooked perfectly. If by some freak of nature that the planets align, there’s a full moon, it’s Friday the 13^th and the San Francisco Giants win the pennant, all causing a man to feel emotion, then the last thing he should do is share with friends, quasi-friends who found the blog through facebook, or creepy stalkers who roam the Internet. No, if a man feels his heart quiver for whatever reason his only options are to drink heavily, play rugby, or preferably both.

So this blog will probably not cover much new ground. Thanks for tuning in I guess, but don’t expect to experience some life changing realization about life or hear one of my deep dark secrets (I once ate a worm when I was six). Instead what this blog will relate the random exciting experiences that punctuate the drudgery that is day to day life. Who knows, you might be able to relate to this blog after all.