Roots before Branches before Leaves before Treehouse

Recently, I really wanted to reflect on my personal growth by really thinking deeply on the subject of where I was versus where I am today. I wanted to dissect myself with a fine-tooth comb (to use a disturbing mixed metaphor) and expose the core of me to the world and muse on it with an Aesopian eye of morality.

This is not that.

Over the past few months, I have had many major life changes; some for the best and some for the worst. I could start a long woeful rant on the negative happenings of my recent existence, but instead I will start a very brief woeful rant: a rantlet.

Relationship: Over. Music Career: Over. School: Delayed. Jobs: 3 of them.

See that wasn't so bad. Now we can move to the good stuff.

The most recent of these was the introduction of a brand new, shiny second family in the form of ComedySportz Indianapolis. If you don't know, CSz is a professional, competive improv troupe. I recently became a member of CSz and I immediately  felt like I found my place in the world. These people not only accepted me, they treated me as if I had been a member of this family all along.

Stop. Terminology Time.

It's a playing field, not a stage.
It's a match, not a show.
We're players, not actors.
Skits is not a thing. If you say skits, I will be forced to time travel to when you were a baby and trip you.

My life hasn't changed an enormous amount. I'm sure my life changes are nothing compared to a Spiderman scenario, but they are still pretty important to me.

I realized through all these changes, though, that I really needed to find a concrete place that I belonged, and after that I could grow into the fully functioning tree metaphor that I am. CSz is that concrete from which my tree metaphor shall grow, and it will be mighty. Mighty.

Fight for Your Right to Beard

They have their own month. They have their own national convention. They even have their own genre of music.

That's right. I'm talking about beards.

Beards have been adorning faces since time began. Cavemen kept beards to provide protection from the elements and assist in hunting dinosaurs. The beard could hold a spear or even dole out some extra fist-shaped justice to those ruffian lizards. Beards were so important in olden days, that the worst punishment for a man was cutting his beard off. 

For a while, Alexander the Great banned the keeping of beards, because he feared enemies would pull men by their beard and feed them a heaping helping of sword to the throat. Since then, beards have fallen in and out of the common trend. Otto the Great swore by his beard and touching someone's beard in the Middle Ages was asking to get your face stomped in by a metal knight boot. The history books say that Abraham Lincoln, the greatest conglomeration of molecules to ever gather and form themselves into a human being, was a "big, dumb liar-pants" before he grew a beard. The truth is in the beard. 

But despite all of this insanely positive historical feedback, women statistically find beards unappealing. Studies have found that women find men with full beards two-thirds as attractive as clean shaven men. The same poll did find, though, that these same women and men found bearded men to appear older, more well-respected, stronger, and more likely to be a member of ZZ Top. 

The biggest concern women had with bearded men, was that they seemed less cheerful, less caring, and altogether more intimidating than those men without beards. Who said intimidation was bad? Teddy Roosevelt, Abraham Lincoln, Leonidas, Gandalf, and Kenny Rogers all have beards. They also all have put their respective boots into an impressive number of rear ends. Sure, 98 percent of the Forbes 100 richest men list is clean shaven men, but 98 percent of cool guys have beards. It's all about knowing your priorities.

Personally, I think women need to get on board with the "Dihydrotestosterone Sensation that's sweeping the Nation." 

Beards also open up worlds of career possibilities. Grow a bushy beard and you can be a lumberjack. Grow a light beard and you can be Ryan Gosling. Grow a soul patch and you could be a bass player in practically any band ever. Grow a messy, knotted beard and you can be homeless. Forget drilling for oil; Beards create jobs. 

So today, go ahead and seize the day. Grow a beard, style it ridiculously, start a revolution. Remember that Ghandi once said, " If you don't respect my beard, I will hit you so hard with this stuffed marmot, that you'll grow a beard yourself and the eternal guilt of knowing you are a hypocrite with tear you apart for years and years until you finally get a therapist and work through your issues in a healthy way, but your face will hurt so bad." 

For those who thought I was going to say "Black People" after the first sentence of this blog entry, I'm ashamed of you, and so is one of the Marx Brothers.

The Santa Theories

The question was posed to me the other day: "What would I say if a child came to me with questions about the logistics of Santa Claus?" I was perplexed and amused for a moment and then I collected my thoughts. I have since reorganized those thoughts in order to share them with you. The following is a question and answer segment created from that conversation. Enjoy.

"A child sees Santa Claus at the mall and then finds out that his cousin saw Santa at a different mall, in a different state, at the exact same time? How do you explain?"

First, it must be made clear that Santa is a magical being who is not tied to the rules of humans. This makes room to present the child with the argument that Santa defies the physics of time and space. He becomes omniscient (He sees you when you're sleeping, right?) and ever-present. This would make it possible for him to be everywhere at once.

Secondly, Santa can travel around the entire world, visiting every child, all in one night. There are only two individuals that come to mind who are able to do that, besides Santa. Superman can fly faster than the speed of light. The Flash can move around the earth at a speed so fast that it looks like he hasn't even moved. This opens up the explanation that Santa can move at a speed so great that he could move from one mall to another and be back without even appearing to have gone anywhere. That way the child and his cousin could have seen Santa at the same time and not known that he went anywhere.

"A child sees Santa at the mall and he asks the child what they want for Christmas, even though they already wrote, and mailed, a detailed letter telling Santa what they want for Christmas. The child is confused. How do you explain?"

First, the child must understand the inner workings of the postal system. The mail is picked up by the mail carrier, and then delivered to the local Post Office. This first step opens a few possibilities for the letter to be lost. It may have been dropped between the mailbox and the truck or mail bag. It could have fallen somewhere in the mail truck. It may have dropped somewhere in the post office. It could have even dropped in some other fourth way. The second part of the journey is the sorting. The letter to Santa may have been sorted incorrectly, especially if the letter was addressed to Saint Nicholas. There are many Saints, especially around France and Italy, and it is likely that some were named Nicholas. If your letter went to the wrong Saint Nicholas, you may be granted sanctuary, but you probably won't get that nifty dollhouse you wanted. The mail system falls victim to failed letter delivery all the time. This may be hard for a child to understand, but it's part of life.

Secondly, Santa has to ask the child in person to verify that the child is not a victim of identity fraud. There are a great many children around Christmas time running frantically in desperation because they might be on the naughty list. Desperation leads individuals to do things they normally would not under different circumstances. Bad kids, especially in this world of increasing technological advancement and technological literacy, could resort to stealing the identity of a child who has been good all year. Santa receives the letter under the good kid's name and delivers the present to the bad child's home, leaving the good child presentless on Christmas morning. Santa has thus enacted a "double check" system of asking children what they want for Christmas in an attempt to verify that the wishes the children verbalize match the wishes in the letters. If identity theft is proven, the good child's reputation will be reinstated and they will receive their gifts, while the bad child will be emailed some coal and a virus. Identity theft is not a joke.
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"How do you feel about the Elf on the Shelf?"

I don't like it. It reminds me of the paintings from Scooby Doo with the moving eyes. It gives me the creeps. Next question.

"There are two well-known versions of Santa. Which do you prefer?"

To be precise, Santa Claus is the only true Santa, no matter what name you call him by, but I still have a bit of a soft spot for the yin to Santa's yang, Krampus. Santa instills joy and good will in the heart of good children, which is a big part of generating and maintaining Christmas spirit. Krampus, on the other hand, wields a switch and a collection of burlap sacks and punishes bad children. Coal is so old-fashioned. Krampus stuffs bad children in burlap sacks and beats them with switches. If more children believed in Krampus, they might curb the bad behavior. Coal does nothing but disappoint and infuriate children, whereas Krampus delivers swift judgement to the vile youths. Santa and Krampus are a lot like Bruce Wayne and Batman. Everyone loves Bruce Wayne because he donates money and is delightful to look upon, but the Krampus is like the Dark Knight. He deals justice where justice is due.

I hope this short segment has been fun and insightful. I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and check back for more posts in the coming days.

Back to Bunk Beds

Remember the first time you slept in a bunk bed? There was so much wonder and excitement. You could jump from the bottom to the top like a trampoline. You could swing down from the top onto your friend. You could peek down from the top and ask your friend fifty times if he was asleep until he threatened to lock you in the attic. The world was your oyster. Unless you were allergic to shellfish, in which case the world was your non-allergenic food of choice. Do you remember the first time you slept in a bunk bed when you were twenty-two years old? It's fine. I'll wait for you to stop sobbing.

Seriously though, the only adults that still sleep in bunk beds are prison inmates. Now don't get me wrong, I am not one to complain. It's a bed. But if I can exercise freedom of speech, I will say that bunk beds bring back memories of my childhood. I was an only child so I never had bunk beds growing up, but my friends did. I always took the top bunk. It wasn't a status thing as much as it was a tactical thing. I figured that if my friend's room was overrun by some sort of danger, the top bunk would give me a more strategic location from which to attack or remain safe while screaming like a small girl.

One day when I have a job and a place of my own, I will invest in a bed that isn't part of a larger "bed ecosystem," but until then I will be happy and content to have a bed to sleep in comfortably. Sidenote: If you sleep over me on a bunk bed, I will kick you. Mercilessly. You have been warned.

Lessons from the Library

As you sit in the library look to your left, then look to your right. For most of those people around you, this is the first time they've touched a library all year. I honestly don't get it. Does the library have magic powers? Or is it more likely that it provides validation to their haze of regret from the week before?

The first thing I've noticed is that I lose knowledge from sitting in the library. When I begin working in the library I am a veritable Don Draper, but when I leave I'm more like the less popular Marx brother (the comedian, not the communist). I hear bits and pieces of Math, Econ, and Science work, all subjects I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, being done and when it's all said and done, I know less about life then I did before. I'm already at a disadvantage, seeing as my girlfriend is a physics major and therefore already better at being a collegiate human than me, but I feel even more out of my element (Donny!) when I remember that among these numbers and figures and hypotheses, there I am working on a project for Theatre. It's like Shakespeare hanging out with Einstein, Galileo, and an actual molecule (The other guys don't actually like the molecule because he is kind of rude, but he usually brings Taco Bell for everybody). The only difference is that I'm sure Shakespeare wasn't sitting in a small study table alone with chicken nuggets and an energy drink attempting to connect Sondheim and Tarantino, but the analogy stands. Lesson learned: Never let anyone actually see the content of what I'm working on, and save all files as "Science Bonanza."

I have also noticed that "Library Day" is almost the same as casual day. I saw a person in full pajamas. Remember in the Indiana Jones films when he would walk, or careen, through a library and everyone was in three piece suits and bowties? The ladies had on nice dresses and the gentlemen wore spectacles. Today the theme is sweatpants, Greek tanks, and a beautiful combination of socks with slip-on Adidas sandals for most of the fourth floor library crowd. I at least put on actual pants today, simply because I knew I was going to be in public. I guess I like to look like I didn't just get done filming an episode of "The Real World: Crap That Final Is At 4." Lessons learned: Leave the PINK sweatpants at home and claim that everything belongs in a museum.

The library can be a place of studying or a place where your hopes and aspiration go to end it all. For me it is a refuge from distraction. I have learned that my attention span goes from "Almost done with this paper" to "This is boooooooring" in a matter of seconds. I have tried curing it with music (which becomes even more distracting), food ( which becomes expensive), and just ignoring the urge to say "Forget it, I'm going to play video games" (which is usually what happens). Lesson learned: Libraries are no match for my superior ability to get nothing done.

So as you have read, these are just a few lessons that I bring to you, dear reader, as you quest toward that 4.0 and the eternal fountain of academic immortality. This is also me procrastinating doing anything productive.

Waiting For The Signal

I still cry when I drop my grilled cheese sandwich on the ground, I still prefer video games to sports, and I'm still not Batman. Though we grow older, we are still the children we were. I started this blog to track my own thoughts as I leave the safe walls of college, and schooling in general, and venture off into the world of being an adult.

I knew this day would come, but I at least expected to be in the possession of a utility belt or two before it really happened. Everyone asks me if I am ready for "The Real World," but I still have no idea what that means. The problem most likely stems from my elementary school days. I never believed in the real world. I never believed in the class systems, or arbitrary rules, or bullies giving me wedgies and pushing my face into the mud, because I my mind had some prime real estate in the clouds. I created imaginary worlds that I could twist to my every whim. I refused soccer and football for time travel and mad doctors, and refused push-ups and sit-ups for superheroes and dinosaurs.

It was a shock to my system when maturity and masculinity became requirements. Suddenly not having muscles that looked like the head of Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson was going to keep me from ever moving up the corporate ladder. In only a few years, the Brad Pitts and Tanning Chatums ruled the jungle and the Jerry Seinfelds and Will Ferrells ran for cover. I was a dying breed.

Despite these realizations that the times were changing, I made it through to where I am today. My goal through this blog is to guide everyone willing to tag along through my past, my future, and my mind. It may get a little bumpy and quite scary at times. Those with prosthetic appendages, heart conditions (irony), or babies of any size, should take caution. We are about to unravel my life and see where I went wrong, where I went right, and why I'm still not Batman.