Writing

I want to write, I know I need to write and that writing somehow improves my state of being. There's a kind of zen-like quality when I write, as if I manage to separate myself from the issues I'm writing. So I need to do it, if only for myself.

But there's this weird thing that's begun happening to me. Kim the library expounded on my blogging issues in a previous post saying "you get yourself into situations just to blog about them." Of course the infamous R-dogg didn't help when he suggested I go on a date merely to blog about it. That's just weird.

Yes, I've been going out more and becoming more social, dating more and creeping out of my shell. Isn't the internet supposed to have the opposite effect? Aren't I supposed to be blogging in my pajamas right now in my parent's basement?

It'd be hard to blog from my parent's basement since they don't have a basement and they live 1300 miles away. But thanks to the blog, I have acquired surrogate parents. Check out this argument mom and dad had over my recent dating. My mother doesn't even involve herself as much as Holly does. By the way Holly and Bill, your advice is always welcome. I like reading your comments and thinking about them.

Other rants, perhaps unrelated to my life, are forthcoming. For now, I feel kind of better having blogged. The Lady, if you've found this-sorry. I'm totally crazy about you, but not in the crazy way. Did that just make sense?

I Know This is a Little Late

But talk about a great example of how the wiki phenomenon is inherently way wrong. Yeah, if you want to get a girl to fall in love with you, ignore her, beat her up, never tell her she's attractive and generally break her down. That's helpful.

Maybe the middle school/high school example of getting girls ends up being the paradigm, but man are they wrong. If you want to get a girl, be nice and sweet, tell her she's pretty and don't act like a jerk. Dude, what's the purpose of making a woman feel worse about herself so she will feel dependent on you? That's how to make a person completely and totally attached to the point where they will never grow themselves.

Maybe my man Bill can show these guys a thing or two about how to get a girl. He knows it all.

Date Anxiety II

Why is it that when I'm on a date, somehow I turn into a disaster? Not that I'm not my charming and witty self, but every single flaw seems to pop out at once. She's in the car, I'm a terrible driver. We are walking I trip over my feet. Somehow I forget to eat before the date and have to stop for a quick bite before I pass out. Plus, for the first time ever, my cell phone rang during a movie. While we were holding hands.

Ouch.

I'm fortunate that the lovely, intelligent and beautiful Lady Vader seems to pass such things off as charming, otherwise she'd have run for the hills by now. I suppose if all my weird flaws pop up in the beginning, she'll know how to easily tolerate them. But I'm looking to be myself, and for some reason I turn into the Nutty Professor (Jerry Lewis one). My mind will not allow me to relax and just have a good time. It needs to constantly be nervous and on guard. To which, I feel the need to say-screw you subconscious! You may be winning small battles, but maybe by writing all this down I will win the war.

The Finger Ballet

It's dark and the movies on. Her arm is sort of draped over the armrest. You know you should hold her hand, but maybe it's not the right time. Perhaps she'd be offended. But if you hold her hand now it might clear the tension, make the rest of the date easier. So you slowly move your arm next to hers. You gently press against her arm, and maybe she presses back. Or maybe she just adjusted because she noticed you creepily putting your arm next to hers. So you wait, and together you watch the movie.

You finally begin moving your fingers towards hers, like a spider catching its prey. Slowly, not to alarm anyone. Steady on, moving one finger at a time, hoping to be gentle. Finally, you're in position and you back off. It's a necessary setback.

So you get yourself into position again, and this time you kind of slide your hand in a little more obvious manner. She is still merely watching the movie, maybe noticing your hand, but maybe not. Your hand glides towards hers and finally, just at the perfect moment, she moves her hand and you leap grabbing hers. She smiles at you, the tension clear, your arm relaxing.

But then your arm is so in pain from all the dancing that it's too sore to hold her hand for very long.

Dad

I was aimlessly making paper airplanes today in class, folding the paper in that slick way that I do, when I remembered that my father had taught me that airplane trick. We were sitting one night at the kitchen counter, I was procrastinating on my homework and making some pretty poor airplanes. He sat down next to me, his mascuiline odor drawing me in. Dad smoothed the paper out, folded it in this amazing way I had never seen, and threw the airplane across the room. It breezed for a good ten seconds before making a near perfect landing. I was astonished. He made me do it a couple of times before I got the folding right, and finally made an excellent paper airplane. Somehow, as a child, I was always so proud my father could make these amazing flying things. So I remembered that memory of him today, and it made me smile.

Which made me realize today, November 18th, he'd been dead for exactly ten years. It's funny how I've almost lived as much of my life without him as I did with him. Everything he did still influences me and the way I live my life. Every day I think about him, and wonder what he would have thought of me. I'll always miss him.

How South Park is Still Relevant

Sitcoms tend to become cliched and boring after several years on the air. So it's refreshing to see a show like South Park, that is just as raw and honest as it was when it first began. Their latest indictment of the Church of Scientology was hilarious and biting to the point where they attached no names to the credits for fear of litigation. Scientology is famous for its lawsuits.

I took some time to explore South Park's claims about Scientology, and found them to be accurate. A wikipedia search accompanied with an old Time article suggested the depth of scariness of the Church of Scientology. If anything, South Park's criticism of the Church of Scientology was lightweight compared to what they could have done. and now I most stop for fear that my blog will be taken away from me in a long court battle.

So Long and Thanks for all the Spins

Dear Spinning Instructor,

I no longer love you. Over these past couple of months I've become stronger, faster and more agile. My cardiovascular abilities are fantastic. My blood pressure is low and my heart rate remains steady. I feel as if I'm a better person.

You haven't changed a bit.

Now don't get me wrong, you seem a little more buff and stuff, but that's not the only reason why we spin. Some of us spin for social reasons, to learn new things about each other and grow as people. You've made no attempt to get to know any of us and I'm sick of it. You never laugh at my jokes, instead giving me these strange looks as if I should be pedaling faster. Can't you see that I have feelings too?

I know this must be hard for you, but I need to move on and find a new spinning instructor. Please don't be sad, I'm sure there will always be other students willing to accept your cold, detached spinning style, but they just aren't me. I feel like a different person from when you started teaching me to spin and I just can't continue with this facade. It's over.

Of course I realize it will be a tough transition to another spinning instructor. My legs may get a little less muscular. But sometimes in life you need to make sacrifices in order to succeed and I am willing to go the distance to find another instructor. It may be a long journey, but in the end I'll hope to find my spinning boddhisatva. If the new spinning instructor just happens to be a sexy female, well that would be nice too.

I'll miss you and your beautiful spinning style (and body). You really are quite a good cyclist, but not so much on the social stuff. I suppose a part of me will always love you and your spinning, but I will bury that deep in the catacombs of my mind. Maybe someday, when times have changed, we can work out, but it is not this day.

Love for the last time,

Brett Evans

Falling Back into Old Habits

It's strange how quickly we fall back into old routines even though we've promised ourselves hundreds of times that we would never do that again. I find myself once again taking things that aren't serious way too seriously and that terrifies me. Those of you who know me generally know I'm a fun loving guy who just likes to laugh a lot.

There was like six months where I don't think I laughed once. Those were dark days where I spent most of the time worrying if my girlfriend (ex) was going to break up with me. My friends said that I no longer was fun to be around because I was so morose and concerned about her. In the end, we did break up. I can remember the exact moment when I realized how moribund I was acting. I was quietly eating lunch one day when one of my colleagues said something and out of the blue I made one of my famous amusing sarcastic comments. Everyone laughed and she looked at me and said "it's nice to have Brett back." That was the moment when I realized how damaged I'd been. It was kind of scary.

Since then I've made every attempt to not take things so seriously. There were alot of reasons why I broke up with my ex, but one of the main reasons was that I couldn't stop worrying. My mind was obsessed with the idea. So in recent relationships (which didn't work for one reason or another) I've attempted to stifle the impulse to worry, but it creeps up. So here's the deal:

I will no longer worry about stupid crap that I can't control. I will never be able to control it, and my attempts to control it only make my worrying worse. Chill.

There, I feel better.

So What if I See the Movie Alone?

At least I wont be dressing up or anything.

Terror at 15 Feet

The fire alarm blared loudly, waking me up at 11:30. I'd only been asleep for a short time, so I woke up immediately and was annoyed. Another fire alarm, some kids playing a stupid prank. Again.

Except I heard someone yelling in the hallway. My mind assumed the new neighbors hadn't been through a fire alarm yet, so I laid back down and waited for the fire trucks to come. I wanted to be out of the building and standing in the cold the least amount possible. Wendell looked at me nervously and I made sure to scratch his ears a bit to make him feel better. It was just another fire alarm, just another stupid joke.

But then I continued to hear people screaming in the hallway, so I got up. At this point it was still no big deal. I sleepily dragged some clothing on over my pajamas and moved to the door. I felt for heat, but felt none so was confident when I opened the door. A wall of smoke crashed into me.

Not knowing yet what to do, I ran to the window and opened it. At this point the cats looked frightened, so I told them everything would be fine, but in case it wasn't to jump out the window. Wendell cried and rubbed his face against mine. He would take care of his little sister if necessary.

They were still sitting at my desk when I decided I still had a chance to leave through a door properly. I hadn't seen any fire yet and there was a chance I could make it. So I wrapped a wet towel around my head and hit the floor. The smoke was thick and nasty as I crawled through the hallway. Places that were easily recognizable during the day had become confusing. Terrified, I realized that I didn't know where I was going.

Something they don't tell you about a fire is that ash collects on the floor. That ash, combined with a fire extinguisher someone had set off, created pretty large footprints. With a proper path, I made my way to the stairs. Other people on the hall were screaming, so I cried out hoping they would be able to find my voice. Several people met me at the entrance to the stairs and we walked down together. Finally I burst outside, coughing loudly. A sea of refugees from the building were standing outside, some with their animals and some with luggage.

The fire department rushed over as we all shivered out in the cold. I stood on the law looking at my window as Wendell was sitting quietly on the heater. A fireman came into my apartment and Wendell jumped over to him, demanding attention. I laughed quietly, realizing that they were out of danger. There was no need for the cats to jump out of the window.

Now I'm angry at whoever pulls the fire alarm as a prank, because they managed to dampen my response. If it wasn't for my a strange intuition, and people's screams in the hallways, I may not have left the building. Next time I'll know better when woken up by the fire alarm, but how many more false alarms will cause me to be apathetic when the alarm goes off?

Second Stab at Vlogs (Blogclass Filter I'm Bored)

I was about to punt this week, and the primary reason was that I can't get into vlogs. Our culture has been inundated with video to the point where watching more video just seems foolish to me. The reason why I read blogs is because I'm interested in reading people's thoughts. Seeing people on video isn't the same.

I've recently gotten into a blog where the last entry was the girl breaking up with her boyfriend. Before that she posted daily for almost four years. After reading the last entry, I went back to her first entry and read through all her entries. The journey was terrific. Vlogs just don't have that kind of interest level for me. Normally I skip television (except House) because I don't find videography to be an intellectual pursuit. I have the same feeling while watching vlogs, but worse because vlogs aren't as elegant.

The thing is, writing errors are easy to ignore and look past in order to get to the right content. Errors in video stick out and effect that medium. I'm just not convinced that vlogs will become anything more than a small sub-genre of blogging.

Of course, Rocketboom mentioned how Zack Braff was keeping up a vlog, and I was immediately interested. Okay, it ended up he only did it once, but it was still interesting to watch. Of course, Braff is a celebrity and a pretty funny guy. He naturally takes to the camera. Most of us don't have the kind of charisma he has though, especially considering our society is obsessed with natural views of celebrities.

This medium may end up succeeding in the movie world, where movie productions have taken marketing to a whole new level. Peter Jackson posts a vlog on King Kong every couple of weeks. Bryan Singer's Superman also has a fascinating vlog. George Lucas recently padded his bulging wallet with his own vlog during the making of Revenge of the Sith. But really, these things don't count as real vlogs primarily because they are out together by professionals. Still, candid views of filmmaking are fascinating.

So I didn't punt but well I kind of punted. My quick final word on vlogs: good for a quick laugh but not much else.

I Knew It!

My inner child is ten years old!

The adult world is pretty irrelevant to me. Whether
I'm off on my bicycle (or pony) exploring, lost
in a good book, or giggling with my best
friend, I live in a world apart, one full of
adventure and wonder and other stuff adults
don't understand.

How Old is Your Inner Child?

Why Bushs' New Rhetoric Is Stupid

Of late the president has decided that the best way to bring his sagging poll numbers back up is to go on the attack. He criticizes Democrats for trying to rewrite the beginning of the war and damaging our troops images. For some reason Bush believes his new offense will crush the negatuve feelings about the war and the way it is being run. It's clear from the stupidity of his new rhetoric that Karl Rove is no longer running the show.

First and foremost, with Iraq in such a disarray it is bad to continually bring up the war. The president is continually reminding us of the debacle he brought us into. At this point, anyone who has reservations about the "War on Terror" doesn't need to be reminded of it. The new strategy of debunking the Democrats claim only serves to enhance their argument more as the news from Iraq gets worse. Plus, Bushs' claims that the entire country was behind him during the run up to the war suggest he is misleading us, or is in the early stages of dementia. Too many of us remember the fierce fighting against the war prior to it happening.

Secondly, the new "intelligence" claims Bush is making are easy to look up and prove wrong. Bloggers jumped on him immediately after he spoke of how all the intelligence led him to his decision and how everyone else was led to the same conclusion. Bush needs to realize that obvious lies can easily be disproven in the blogosphere. Remember, bloggers have just enough time, or possibly more time than a paid reporter. Recently, more mainstream outlets have picked up the story of Bushs' misleading speech and are reporting it widely. He is only succeeding in making himself look more foolish.

Bush should go back to the "smoke and mirrors" rhetoric that was working so well for him. Drawing attention away from Iraq to more vague threats makes people forget how poor the war is being handled. The man works well with leading people away from the real problem, and he is no longer doing that. Perhaps he needs to spend more time discussing Alito, and less time discussing our failing war.

Date Anxiety

I do the strangest things on dates. The preparation for one is the strangest, because I try and make my hair do the oddest things imaginable. Blemishes get worked on until they end up looking worse, which is always a good idea. The nice shirt from the back of the closet comes out. I try and look dressed up, but not too prepared.

This method has never worked for me. Ridiculous preparation for a date always gives me extra stress. Nervousness means I don't talk, which is awkward because I like talking. So we stare at each other and try and talk, but conversations don't flow. Nothing about it works well.

Which is why my date with The Lady Vader worked so well. I didn't have time to get nervous or prepare. Instead, I asked her to a quick coffee and was out of my apartment in about thirty minutes. I was wearing the same thing I put on that morning and threw a hat over my tousled hair. Easy.

So conversation did just flow, and I think that had to do partly with the fact that I wasn't super prepared and partly because we just clicked. Also, I think it's easier when to talk when there are books around, but maybe that's just me. So it was a good date in comparison with many, many poor dates. So I've got that going for me, which is nice.

And now it's time to worry about whether she enjoyed it as well, which is equally as fun.

Words to Live By

"It is sometimes a mistake to climb; it is always a mistake to never even make the attempt. If you do not climb you will not fall. This is true. But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall? Sometimes you fail, and sometimes, yes, you fall. But there is a third alternative." -Neil Gaiman "Sandman: Fables & Reflections"

First Reaction to Vlogs (Concise)

Amateur writers are a hell of a lot better than amateur videographers. Still, I think places like Channel 101 are doing some good work.

Brett Meets The Lady Vader

and is pretty impressed by how cool she is. Dude, who knew?

Crazy Days

I pledge myself to sanity, in where I workout, eat right and don't go to bars every night of the week. This sanity includes working hard, doing well in my love live and not sleeping till 10 because I have a hangover. I was majorly sick last week and so I let myself way loose, but now I'm kind of over it, so I must face the consequences. It's time to get my life (and this blog, which has become a tract of my drinking experiences) back on some sort of relatively good path.

Regarding Last Night (Part 2)

On R-Dogg's insistence, I have to write this about last night. What terrifies me is that I will be labeled a pig or perhaps a sexist and while that label is interesting, it's also very frustration. I try and write about what happens to me and my friends in the most honest way possible. Sometimes I get labeled things, and I suppose that's okay.

For the past couple of nights, R-Dogg's been my major wingman. In fact we've traded off the role, happy to assist each other. R-Dogg's been coaxing me into having a date with the Ladyvader, which may or may not happen tomorrow. Either way, we went out this evening with the intention of talking to some fine young ladies. Just a little 21st century courting.

Our first stop was a classy Hartford pizzeria, where we ate a light snack and drank some excellent beer. I identified with the bartender immediately who seemed really nice. She laughed at all my jokes, which is a good sign. R-Dogg was put off by her for some strange reason. I insisted we have another drink at the bar, and he allowed me to, but he kept telling me we needed to back off and go meet our friends at another bar. I kept trying with the bartender, but R-Dogg pulled out the nuclear option. He said "Brett, dude, we need to fucking leave." R-Dogg doesn't swear often, so when he does it's a big deal.

We went out to other bars and continued drinking while R-Dogg became an excellent DD. The major problem with most Hartford bars is that they are too jammed with people and way too noisy. No way of meeting a nice girl in a bar in Hartford. So I drank with my friends (I somehow ended up with a Jagermeister t-shirt) while R-Dogg covered my wing. I'm pretty sure he was desperate to find a replacement for the bartender. I just wouldn't shut up about her. I kept calling her "my future wife" or conversely "my future ex-wife" depending on my blood alcohol level.

Finally, my friends agreed to go back and get pizza at 1am. So I had a shot. I galloped back to the bar with R-Dogg and strode in. She gave me a curious look, remembering me from earlier. But apparently, beer goggles work the opposite way for me. Clarity took form and I saw what my wingman was saying. I ejected quickly, ate some pizza, and we all went home. So R-Dogg and I are even now. Maybe one day we can have the glorious Big Red vs. Humpback Pizza Bartender fight. God I need to find a good girl.

Okay R-Dogg there, I wrote while I was semi-inebriated. Can I go to bed now please?

Rough Words

Last night on The O'Reilly Factor, substitute anchor John Gibson (who is substituting because of Bill's incendiary remarks) was outraged that Wal-mart employees no longer say "Merry Christmas" to customers. Instead the employees say "Happy Holidays" reaching across religions. Gibson thinks this is a slap to Christians because clearly most customers would be Christians. Folks of other religions should just take it because we live in a "Christian Country."

I'm sick of this attitude, like the majority should be outraged that they are not getting all the rewards. What's so bad about saying "Happy Holidays?" It's nice and very pluralistic because it suggests we are all living together in the same country. It's not right to suggest that we should all act like the people in charge. Wal-Mart is taking the time to suggest we are not all the same. Good for Wal-Mart, bad for John Gibson.