what's beef?

i'm just going to come out and make this short and simple. i am utterly annoyed at all these herbs out here interjecting "beef" into their everyday vocabulary, most of them not even knowing what the hell beef even signifies. so here it is for all the urban-vernacularly challenged folks out there.

if you and i get into an argument, a very heated argument, and afterwards we both continue on our ways, just grumbling to anyone who'll listen about how much we don't like each other. that's NOT beef. on the other hand, if after that same argument, the next time i see you, i punch you in the face and proceed to stomp you out... THAT'S beef. don't get the two confused. please.

similarly, if you and i get into an argument and fists start to fly, my boy sees and comes to jump in, and we proceed to seriously f-bomb your wold up, causing you to hold a grudge to the extent that you scheme to catch me solo while you have your crew with you so that you can retaliate... THAT'S beef. matter of fact, that's heavy beef.

if i don't like you, you don't like me, and none of our friends get along, such to the point where weapons get involved, people's parents' homes are endangered, innocent bystanders get incidentally victimized in the process of all our "resolving" of our conflict, also including intrigue, espionage and betrayal... then that's dirty beef.

summarily, this establishes that beef is not simply a friendly, or even a not so friendly disagreement, between persons who may (or may not) respect each other. beef equals violence. end of story.

gangsta rap: a non-violent death

for those of us who follow rap closely, and especially for all the extant hip-hop junkies of the world, it has recently come to my attention that several very subtle shifts in the subject matter of mainstream rap have culminated in a redirection of hip hop as we know it. as rappers such as lupe fiasco, kanye west, drake, and kid cudi are more and more successful, it's very interesting to see more traditional "gangsta" rappers such as t.i., lil wayne, and jay-z lean more heavily on their non-gangsta content of their lyrics. interesting. there have always been rappers, successful by other means besides counting the number of units moved, such as the roots and common who were generally very introspective and conciousin their raps, and it seems that is the direction that hip hop has taken today. historically, hip hop was very introspective and more biographical at its inception. looking back at rappers like big daddy kane, rakim, and biz markie, there wasn't the insipid attitude in rap where everyone was claiming to shoot your mother, rape your grandmother, beating "that bitch wit a bat." none of that. rap used to be conscious. one listen to grandmaster flash and the furious five's "the message", and one actually visualizes what it's like to come from the hood. imagine that.

rockin out to jay-z's the blueprint 3, helped me to come to the very apparent realization that gangsta rap is coming to a non-violent death. jay-z is more or less the head hauncho in the rap game, and he doesn't have one gangsta song on the entire album (DOA is probably the hardest song on that joint). this is an album that is brilliant by even jay-z standards. the production is tight, the lyrics are on point, and there is actually a message in most of the songs. be amazed. thinking along those same lines leads me to reflect on t.i.'s last album paper trail: not very gangsta. although, there is some g up in there, the album is very introspective and moves away from the pervasive shoot'em up motif characteristic of his previous albums.

with that being said, hopefully the current trend in hip hop will continue. it would be great to see more innovation in lyrical content and more diverse themes in rap. and don't just take my word for it, take a listen for yourself...

drinking myself obnoxious: highlights

so last night, i went out. i should preface that statement with, yesterday i took my psych shelf, and i what i originally thought would be akin to eating a stack of pancakes à la fork and knife with a nice glass of milk to wash them down, in terms of difficulty here, turned out to be a mental plundering of an orifice i would rather not directly refer to. thus, weighed down with the possibility of getting kicked out of med school for failing exams, i decided to drink myself into a state that i know quite well. it's an altered state of mind in which i have rendered myself (or have been rendered by my fine acquaintance, al) silly, obnoxious, and belligerent. fortunately, red eyed, sharp fanged monster of belligerence did not rear it's ugly head, if i may be so cliché. that does leave silly and obnoxious. honestly, though, i think i was neither more silly nor more obnoxious than i would have been completely sober. the following is more or less a breakdown of the evening.

1) pregame at doc and his wife's place (actual names are excluded for the protection of individuals' identities)
2) wine bar with the roomies (where i tried to convince one of my classmates to hookup with one of my roommates... yeah...)
3) p.t.'s (formerly known as lucy's)

pregaming at doc's is always fun. doc is one of the, if not the, funniest people i've ever met. plus, his wife is really cool. originally, they were supposed to come out with us, but as they had not seen each other for a while, i think they made alternate plans for the evening...

so the wine bar. $5 glasses of wine, and not just the cheap house wine either. i was instantaneously excited from the 1st sip of pinot noir, the closest thing to ambrosia man will ever know. still, i was not just excited because of the wine, no matter how much of an alcoholic many people believe me to be. it was the 1st time in a long time that unc som class of 2011 were getting together and enjoying each other's company. as much as that could happen. it is here where the 1st highlight of the night occurred. there's an attractive (cute face, nice body) classmate of mine who i made a particular effort to talk to, since she generally seems to be one of the more interesting persons in the class of 2011. we were making casual convo, little small-talk, when words happened to steer their way towards the subject of singledom. to my knowledge, she had been single for the duration of our studies thus far, and i inquired if she had any applicants at the moment. she replied no. now, i would be interested in hanging out with this particular classmate, in a more intimate setting, mainly because i had never really sat down and talked with her. as such, i informed her of my interest, invited her to brunch, all in a calm nice-guy type demeanor and vernacular. and what does she do but shut me down with an inglorious rant about how the venue i suggested was horrible. i just walked away, thinking, "no wonder she's still single..." i wasn't really suggesting that she and i date, though that's what she thought. quite frankly, she doesn't quite meet my standards. is it obnoxious that i think that? probably. but hey, that's how i roll. what get's me is that, being polite just doesn't work on women in this world, and that's why "nice guys finish last" (www.laddertheory.com). just to prove my point i went up to two other women, no polite introductions, just minimal convo to gain slight interest and intrusive suggestions that we exchange numbers, and of course, we exchanged numbers. though, i must add that i am a bit charming...

on to p.t.'s. this half of the night was probably the "silly" part. i, in my desperation to close out the night with a great moment in hookup history, tried to take home a porker. preface: i was actually going after the friend, but the original target transferred my aim to her friend (i.e. "the porker"). it was a move commonly known as "game reversal" where one intends to run game on a particular target, but target uses itself as a decoy, transfers the roles, and reverses the direction of the game (i didn't escape the trick... silly). well played, ladies... well played. it was late, and in my mind, i was like "fuck it." it's this particular roll with the punches attitude that exhibits the 2nd highlight of the night. there's a certain threshold of attractiveness over which a guy will have sex with a girl and under which he will not. this line of thought is contiguous with the 2-point (trinary for all you sluts of logic) system. a 0 point girl is one a guy won't do under any circumstances. he could be drunk, high, and a paranoid schizophrenic, still he would refuse to poke. a 1 point girl is one that a guy would readily hookup with but would not admit it to anyone, save maybe his best friend or the dog that he has had for 10 years. 1's are the girls drunken hookup stories are made of. a 2 point girl is one who a guy would bag and pridefully boast about it. it's all about discrimination. alcohol decreases one's capacity to discriminate between 1's and 2's on a conscious level, and so many a 1 are taken home, had fun with, and never spoken to or of again. clearly, the girl from last night was a 1. for reasons beyond my current understanding, i stopped drinking early. ironic, i know, but fate smiled upon me and allowed me to escape the dejection of the 1 morning after...

at the prompting of tunya

so my dear cousin (whom i love very much, by the way) responded to my jocular facebook status "planning on that reup 2nite. not them o's but them hos..." with "Rod, I really don't find this funny. Offensive language is never funny. Some words have double meanings, take for example 'nigga'. It can be used offensively or used by guys to me, 'my boy'. While I'm not advocating the use of the word, I do understand it has a positive connotation. There is no positive meaning for the word 'ho' - derived from the noun 'whore' - anywhere. I still love and respect you, cuz. And, this is a personal perspective. But use of that word has implications for the world's view of women that extend beyond me. With baby girls being murdered at birth at alarming rates in China, and girls being taken in to brothels at as young as 5 years old in south east Asia, I hope that you will reconsider the use and spread of this terminology for women. Even prostitutes should not be called 'ho'." while i don't categorically disagree with her perspective, there are several flaws in the logic of such a statement.

article 1. of course offensive language is funny. it's a scientific fact that if eddie murphy hadn't had his stellar performance in raw, and even subsequently in delirious, standup comedy of today would be quite remiss. eddie murphy has influenced such comedians as chris rock, martin lawrence, dave chappelle, george lopez, and russel peters. eddie murphy himself was influenced by the legends richard pryor and redd foxx, both of whom used notoriously offensive language.

article 2. while it is indeed true that some words have double meanings, many of us have come to accept the word "nigga" (the bigup) as a distinct entity from the word "nigger" (the slur). though phonetically distinct, the two are etymologically equal. "ho" on the other hand has one and only one meaning. ho refers to a morally lax, promiscuous person. it is not an equivocation. there is no double-entendre. there is no mistaking the intent of this word. a whore, however, is a woman who accepts money for sexual favors. whore is also synonymous with prostitute, and in this my cousin is absolutely correct. a prostitute should not be called a ho. now whether or not a ho wants to accept money for her part in partaking of decadence... that's another story altogether.

article 3. female infants being murdered in china (presumably by their parents) goes way beyond the mere use of the term ho. way beyond. so does institution of child sex slavery in SE asia. yes both the murdering of babies in china and forcing children into sex slavery portray the underlying malicious misogyny of society, but their connection with my use of the word ho is quite intangible.

that being said, irreverent comedy is some of the best comedy there is, hands down, and while there remain comedians out there who incorporate offensive language, including but not exclusive to the word "ho", into their routines, i will remain there to laugh. furthermore, by the inherent nature of a ho, the word can not be uttered without its attachment of such a negative connotation, but the word only refers to a person's loose morals and promiscuity, not to the sex of the person.

what'sup buddy?

yeah. one of weirdest encounters tonight. i was out picking up my pizza, walking out of papa john's full of the excitement that i'm exploding with when i know i'm about to crush some papa john's. out of nowhere, a 5'1" extremely drunken woman walks up to me and say's, "you got some money?" as we walk past each other.
so i respond, "nah. i left all my change at home..."
she looks back and says, "oh. nah. i said, 'what'sup, buddy'."
i think to myself, "sure. and i'm the pope's illegitimate sun." although, there's no proof to the contrary, but that's another matter altogether.
then, as i'm walking off, she cries out, "hey, hey! wait a minute," as she's holding her hand out for dap, i turn around, and we approach each other. dap. then she looks down at my arms (exposed because of my wearing the wife-beat). "damn. you play football. don't you?" (rhetorical question).
as i'm responding with a negative, she leans in a lays her head on my chest... ?!?

a little bit of cleavage goes a long way...

i've been meaning to write this post for the past couple of weeks now, so it's likely that i've forgotten half of what i want to say, but anyhows... let me address women showing titties while at work. it's a touchy subject, simply for the fact that as a man, when i see non-concealed cleavage, it just makes me think of all the fun activities i like to engage in with breasts (of the fairer sex)... but that's a whole other story altogether, although not completely. it's because of these thoughts i wonder about cleavage when i need not to be wondering about cleavage. hmmm. "why," i know you're wondering, "do i think about breasts when i'm not supposed to?" it's because they're out when i'm at work. aha, so i finally get to the point. there are lace linings of cleavages, plunging necklines, and sometimes even a sexy shadow or two, hinting of wanton areolas. i certainly don't walk around the office with half my chest exposed, and it's generally more socially acceptable for a man to show his chest than a woman. then why is it that women feel particularly obligated to walk around, as if pronouncing the grand exhibition of their decolletage? it's distracting, it's immodest, and it's unprofessional. so this goes out to all the eve's out there, teasing the adams of the work place: ladies, stop showing your titties at work.

not diverse enough

as many of you know, i'm doing my first rotation (family medicine) in burnsville, nc. it's a tiny town of about 1600 residents, quaint and comfortable. the surroundings are beautiful if not wondrous, being in the mountains and all. i meet a lot of people everyday, working at a family practice, and inevitably some of those people ask me, "are you going to come back here and practice?" now, i have a very short response in my mind, which i'll get to, but what generally comes out of my mouth is this, "[laugh] i don't know where i'll end up..." following with my remarking how i'm in the army and how i have military obligations and such. however, what really goes through my mind is, "there are way too many white people here..."

that thought makes me think now, has made me think for a while. it's the same reason, i would never go back and live in iowa, the same reason i think that i wouldn't live any where else where there wasn't an acceptable percentage of people of color. diversity. it's a word i use more when speaking to the locals in this area, particularly when i'm in asheville, when people ask me how i like the area. i tell them fine, but it's not diverse enough. so i'm wondering now, is that statement the same as saying, "there are too many white people." it also makes me wonder how would i feel, if i were white and someone told me where i lived wasn't diverse enough. being the more global-minded person that i am, i expect that i would understand where said person was coming from, that i would be perceptive of my surroundings. along the same lines, i don't ever recall having asked a white person would they live somewhere with the relevant response being, "there are too many black people." interestingly enough, it can be argued that saying "there are too many asians" or "latinos" or "blacks" are all different notions, based on the differences in culture and differences in the perceptions of the respective minority groups. still, the underlying idea is the same.

race is still a touchy topic for most people, and no matter how much i believe myself to have grown as a person, i still have my reservations about white vs color. i still feel more comfortable around people of color, and most comfortable around black people. this is despite the fact that i spent three years in iowa (3% black), going to iowa state university (6% black); despite the fact that i spent a year in switzerland with the only black people being africans who don't really consider themselves black (as we do in america, but that's another subject altogether). a lot of it has to do with growing up in a town where black children get called niggers (an insult meant to inferioritize the target) in school by the white children, where such name-calling is more or less condoned by the teachers. a town where black kids have gone on camping trips with their white friends and have "mysteriously" drowned. a town where even today black voters are turned back from the polls and told they have to go through incomprehensible procedures in order to place their ballots.

i think it's the knowledge of the aforementioned events and experiences that renders me unsettled, regardless of reality. there are many individual white people that i love. there are a couple of white families that i love like my own. i never judge and individual before i meet one, but nevertheless, the large group dynamic does anything but allow me a comfortable mind state. i would hate to think that makes me a racist, but i doubt i'll be able to outgrow the discomfort. so, i would not live here in bursnville, or asheville, and i wouldn't live in iowa, simply because it's not diverse enough...

everything short of wearing hoods and yelling "white power!"

check out this article:
http://www.heraldnet.com/article/20090614/NEWS01/706149860&news01ad=1

it's about the only article i could find on the matter of the minutemen project's massacre (incomplete) of the flores family. the mother survived the attack, and the older daughter was not home when the incident occurred. it's very surprising that there are not too many articles i could find, covering the subject. i had to go through someone else's blog to find one. also of significant remarkability is the fact that the minutemen are considered an activist group. that, to me, is completely preposterous. i ask myself, "do activists rob people at gunpoint?" "do activists break into people's homes and murder them?" i can't say that i can think of any activist group that does. i could think of an "activist group" that preys upon and terrorizes minorities (or at least they used to, now i think they just smuggle drugs and have town hall meetings to stir up anti-minority sentiment). the group of which i speak wears hoods, has leaders called grand dragons, and yells "white power!" a lot, but if i'm not mistaken, this group isn't really an activist group...

...the voice of God

not too many people know of this story because it's not one i tell too lightly, or too often for the matter (and to be more accurate). nevertheless, i once had a brush with God-like powers.

it all started back my freshman year of college, during second semester. it was a new semester, and not because of the new year. nope. that happens every 365 days. this semester was new because i had just switched from a computer science major to a biology major (can anyone say, "ahh! so here's where all the girls went..."?). needless to say, i was much appreciative of the change of scenery in the classrooms and labs. to get on to the more relevant details, i feel that i much first introduce a few key points about setting : (1) one of my best friends and i (we'll just call him a-jizzle, for reference sake and to protect his identity) were more or less inseparable that semester, (2) we were both ferocious party animals, (3) it was mid winter in the midwest, and (4) i was stuck in a frozen-over ocean of cornfields (some people may identify this particular place as one of the lesser known states--simply, iowa). being the ravenous pursuers of debauchery that we were, we never went many nights of the week without being at a party, or at least the semblance of a social function if there was alcohol involved. and this night was no different. it was a house party, typical scene for freshman year, with kegs and lots of drunk and not so drunk universitarians ready to unleash the pent up frustrations of trudging through snow and ice for a week in order to get to place of supreme bliss at which we could only arrive by the good graces our great friend al (mr. cohol that is). the party was nothing remarkable, there were a few people we know, plenty of random guys to ignore, and a several chicks whose acquaintances we didn't mind making. i set my aim on one girl in particular, and while i can't remember her name, i can remember certain details about her personality. she was nice, and sweet, and several other similar adjectives that you can use your imagination to think of. that's neither here nor there. what i noticed about her was that she was a) fairly attractive (definitely a 2 on the 2 point system), b) not sober, and c) had sizable breasts. i knew the girl but had never had any real conversation with her, so i took this opportunity to rectify the lack thereof. i went up and said hello, and she gave the ecstatic i'm-drunk-and-glad-to-see-you "hey" that people give when they're drunk and excited to see someone. i saw this as a plus. we started conversation, small talk really, before moving on to heavier issues.

"i'm tired of guys who only try to talk to me because of my body!" she exclaimed after a guy walked past and stares unabashedly at her chest.

"you're body? what are you talking about?"

"you know... what's the first thing you notice when you saw me."

i'd been waiting for an opportunity like this, and so i replied, "your eyes of course. they're blue and beautiful."

she smiled, blushed, and tilted her head a little to the side. looked me right in the eyes and said, "awww, thanks. you're so sweet." i was glowing. and with the warmth of that moment, i could have sworn i felt a little piece of her heart melt into mine.

"so sweet" is probably what many of you reading this are thinking, while contrarily others are thinking, "what bullshit, " and "what bullshit" is correct. i had very little game back then, else i would have said what was very obvious and made some clever comments to follow, making her laugh. we all know that nice guys finish last (to be oh so cliché), but that's another story all together.

so the girl and i talked a little more, and i felt like i was making good progress. progress towards what, was what any 19 college kid would've been striving for, with a certain set of intellectual skills, with his logic fueled by lust and liquor. inevitably i ran out of beer and had to go make a trip to the keg. trying to mentally wade through the interminable 10 minutes it takes to get from the back of the line at the keg to the front and refill my cup, i was running through what i could say or do to better my already assured position--so i perceived--with my quarry. i had just retanked my ambrosia and was heading back to what i knew would the be the "seal the deal" moments, when i heard a raucous cheering, wild whistling included. i walked over to see what the commotion was about, and there it was. my my-aren't-you-so-sweet girl in full on make-out session with a burly looking half-giant. the shock of that sight rendered me understandably nonplussed, as i muttered to myself, "what the fuck..." i quickly drained my cup, and headed back to the fountain of youth. fortunately there weren't but a few people standing around, in the vicinity of, the keg, and i unquestioningly assumed they weren't really in line, or if they were they didn't want to be while i was trying to make my way through. i homed straight to the tap, reached out my party flask, and demanded boisterously, to make sure i was heard over the crowd, even though the cheers had since died down, "more beer!" as liquid gold started filling my cup, i hear from my left, and slightly behind me, "OH SHIT! YOU'RE ROD, THE VOICE OF GOD!!!" i turned slowly, the crowd turned, heads poked out from around the corner of the kitchen door, all to regard, with shock and awe, my apotheosis. i had let the phrase go to my head before even critically analyzing the depth of such a statement.

"yes. i am the voice i God." i reasoned with myself. "i can just turn back the last few minutes and make everything right!" then the visage of my angel registered in the sober section of my brain, and i recognized him for what he truly was, just another random party-goer. just like me. i felt my confidence drop down through my neck, bursting through my chest, and shattering my heart into 1000 tiny red fragments. but still, who was this guy? there was an awkward moment, a very long awkward moment. as i just stare at they guy, and the not so harsh realization that nothing grand would occur fell on the surveyors of the scene. i tried to moved, but for one reason or another i could not escape the gaze of my would-be angel. i stared at him, and he at me. the tension, of what has probably become the most significant exemplification of how to freak-out one on whome you have a man-crush, was finally shattered when one of my classmates and hang-out buddies, joe appeared seemingly out of nowhere and laughed uncontrollably. it was as if someone had put the needle back on track, and the music started to play once more in the discordant symphony that was my mind. i looked confusedly at joe, and he obliged to explain. apparently someone in my biology class had jokingly made the comparison of my voice sounding like God, so a few people had started to refer to me as, none other than, "rod, the voice of God."

Psalm for my Sister

this is the poem i wrote my sister for her graduation, since i couldn't be there in person...

Psalm for my Sister

if you were a tree, to make my embrace,

i would grow the largest, doing much

as any leaf does, when bathed in the sun

gathering rays for nourishment and love.

none would absorb more warmth than me,

while you withdraw water from the ground,

vitamins and minterals, growing branches

out further and farther to hold us all down.

i’d see more than any, being your biggest leaf.

if you were stargazing, your mind reaching

out to the stars at night, pinpoints of light

seeping down through darkness and piercing

your sight to home visions behind your eyes,

i would be the largest constellation in the sky,

a glimmering armor-clad knight with buckler

swinging out, blocking away shadowy tufts

and a sword striking at the moon, turning

it’s dark side away, so you could see it shine.

or you could gaze at the sky during the day,

and i would be a cumulus and make shapes,

like so many ridiculous balloon animals with

soft fluffy edges, powdery white, waving

across the horizon, like an old snuggly blanket

slowly floating down over you from the sky.

if i were a hamster stuck in a wire cage,

i would share it, if you got stuck too,

my exercise wheel and hamster maze,

all colors and twists, loops and rounds,

running so many circles until we got out.

if i were a bird soaring, saw you in unsteady

flight, i would give you one of my wings,

sing you a song, each beat to the rhythm,

to help you reach the breeze and fly free.

if i were your brother, if you were my sister

i would tell you how very much you meant,

to the world, to your family, to your friends.

i would make you laugh when you were down,

i would hang onto words, and grab onto ideas,

glad that you would share apart of your world,

feeling the crush in my chest from your heartaches,

suffering stabs in my skull from your headaches,

smiling like i found diamonds in glittering eyes,

when happiness escapes from your glowing face.

though we were not born of the same seed or blood,

or place, we have indeed grown of the same mind,

not biologically related, but still in kind: you are my

psychological sister, of the heart, and of the soul,

my golden sister in this life, as our times unfold.

rain boots

it has come to my astute attention over the last couple of years that some members of the chapel hill community have deemed themselves above ridicule of social ineptitude and decided that wearing rain boots is a totally agreeable fashion statement. now, i know you're thinking to yourself, "why does it matter if they wear rain boots? they're just kids. right?" wrong. they are not "just kids." these are fully formed adult human beings who for an inane reason i can't wrap my head around walk around in rain boots, as if that's what's hot these days. let me clear something up. neither is wearing rain boots cute, nor is it socially acceptable among self-respecting adults. in fact, i would go so far as to say that above the age of 8, there is absolutely no reason to wear rain boots. i'm sure you could think of any number of arguments, such as fishermen wearing fishing boots. well they're fishermen. it's part of their fishing wardrobe, just as cops wear starched polyester blue shirts with shiny yellow badges. now it's not that i'm just saying this to be spiteful, but it's objectively infantile when 22 year olds walk around campus, while the sun is shining brightly, with knee high rubber boots and think that they're not committing a social misstep (tangent: some people would have used "faux-pas," the french word for misstep, but i for one am not a fan of inserting random, or not so random, foreign words into an english sentence).

case in point. a couple weeks ago, it rained early in the morning, but the forecast was sunny for the majority of the day. no reason to wear rain boots for an hour or two when the sun's going to be brilliant for the rest of the day. right? wellll, while i'm out and about, on campus of course, what do i see but a socially self-righteous member of the "i'm going to wear rain boots even though i'm a grown woman" club. it was clearly not raining, and the sun was ostensibly shining. so, in order to oblige her need to wear those rain boots, i summarily bumped into her and knocked her into a mud puddle. she had the nerve to give me an indignant look when i was obviously doing her a favor, because hey, she had to use those rubber boots for something.

response to tiffany's "reading in bed"

this is my response to tiffany's "reading in bed". preface: tiffany and i went to undergrad together, and she was (i suppose still is) a cool girl. but anyhows... here's the link http://accordingtojovan.wordpress.com/2009/05/03/sexy-equals-reading-in-bed
truth be told, i think it’s a bit different for guys on the whole physical front. and that’s not to say for all guys, but let’s make a generalization (not an over-generalization). guys have a certain, shall we say, threshold over which a girl has to be attractive, and depending on how much above that threshold she indicates how satisfied he is with her physically. that being said, looks only last so long. the more time you spend with someone you like, the better that person looks. common knowledge. right? anyhows, it’s always the conversation that gets me personally. it’s soooo hard to find someone who can make good conversation. a good conversationalist is not an urbane entity. the good conversationalist, redundancy to emphasize the point, is rare and invaluable. there are dozens of good looking people all around you (well, depending on where you are). that doesn’t mean that they can talk attractively just because they look that way…

what i discovered on my last trip to chicago

1. one doesn't necessarily get kicked out of a bar/club for only trying to go to sleep

2. storing one's jacket with those of strangers is not a good idea (i.e. use the ever-loving coat check)

3. asking a girl to be one's next baby's momma actually works as a pickup line, as long as one doesn't actually utter the phrase "baby's momma"

4. married women do things when they're out that would probably lead me to choking my wife. that is if i had a wife, and if i discovered said wife did what some of the married women did, whom i met in chicago

5. chapel hill is not quite as diverse as i would like it to be

better than crack!

today... it was awesome (in a good way) and terrible, all at the same time. many of you know that i'm on my "spring break: six pack or bust" campaign. that being said, i'm into heavy and light lifting, and i'm taking all kinds of supplements at the moment. well tonight, i came across a combination that must rival cocaine in its capacity to get you WIRED. i mean, i felt like "fuck superman flying around in a cape, i'm america's next super hero in gym shorts and a sweaty workout tee." i just knew i could lift any amount of weight (disproven summarily when i almost blew my knee out on doing my second set of leg pressing 720 lbs), i could come up with more than brilliant ideas, i could pick up any chick i saw. in short, i felt all-capable, and also slightly invincible.

being at the gym, i accordingly finished my work out, and decided to test the wonders of my new found powers. so, i step up to the first attractive girl i see. i look into her eyes. i smile. she smiles... then i quickly side-step her and continue on my merry way. my brain is running on jet fuel, so quickly are my thoughts running through my head that anything clever i think to say is too fleeting to grasp. so much for being better than superman...