For some reason or another, I’ve been doing a lot of research on beer lately. Perhaps I’m developing a problem. It feels oh so good, though. Actually, I’ve done a lot more reading than I have drinking. And most of my reading has focused on how our ancestors viewed beer, so I don’t think my liver has much to worry about. For now.
To tell the truth, what I’ve found is that no matter how much drinking you or I take up, no matter what lengths we go to to acquire beer, no matter how much money we spend or how many barrels we start brewing in our basements, beer won’t mean nearly as much to us as it did to our great-great- great-great-great grandfathers.
Now you might be saying to yourself, “Hmmm… I don’t know. I saw last year’s fourth quarter earnings for the world’s largest brewer – AB InBev – and they sell a crapload of beer.” I saw those too. And you’re right, that is a lot of money, especially just for one quarter. Don’t forget too that they’re not the only brewer by any stretch, and lots of beer companies, despite all their profits, still feel compelled to spend huge sums on advertising. Apparently all that profit still makes the corporate suits ask themselves, “Do you think people will remember that they like beer next year?” So they dole out $2.5 million for a 30 second ad during the Super Bowl, just to remind us that beer is pretty cool.
But nevertheless, all that spending doesn’t necessarily equate to people feeling passionately about beer. For passion, you might look to all the Oktoberfests (original and knock off versions) held around the world. Or the fact that so many young people try to secure it illegally. You might even say that the fact that people pour it into bags and tape those bags to dark places of their body in attempts to smuggle it into sporting events speaks volumes about our passion for beer. But all those asses full of beer are nothing compared to how people felt about beer thousands of years ago.
Consider the following…
In the game of love, Modern Man tries to use beer to achieve any number of goals. The ultimate one being to get a woman to agree to come back to his house or apartment and… “organize his music collection,” if you catch my drift. He hopes the “organizing” takes place over a single night or maybe even up to a week if it’s Spring Break. But anything more than that and he begins to not appreciate her criticism of his Scorpions phase.
On many other occasions, however, Modern Man is happy to exchange a beer for a phone number, even if it turns out to be fake, just so he can show his friends that he can in fact ply a number from a member of the opposite sex. Then there are times when Modern Man is happy to buy bottles and bottles of beer for a lady even if it only means she’ll talk to him for five more minutes.
But not Ancient Egyptian Man. His standards were much higher. If Ancient Egyptian Man gave even a sip of beer to a woman, it meant she’d have to do a whole lot more than just “organize his…” ok, you know what? Sex. I’m obviously talking about having sex. And offering beer to a woman meant that he hoped for a lot more than just getting her into bed. It meant she would become Mrs. Ancient Egyptian Man. And you know what came next: in-laws, kids, Pictionary parties, weekends antiquing. Of course back then there weren’t any antiques. All of the quilts and tea sets were the latest, state-of-the art productions, so people went… now-ing, presumably. At any rate, an offering of beer was not made lightly.
The Babylonians didn’t have this same practice, but beer did play a role in marriage for them as well. Babylonian fathers of Babylonian brides sent beer to their new Babylonian sons-in-law for a month after the wedding. So beer may not have been viewed quite as highly by the Babylonians as it was by the Egyptians, given how much of it they were willing to part with, or maybe it was and fathers were just ecstatic to get their daughters married off to whomever would take them. Either way, husbands fared well no matter what their wives looked like (at least for as long as the beer lasted).
I didn’t find much on the changing alcohol content of beer through the ages, but I think it can be presumed that beer has always been fairly potent because the ingredients, for the most part, haven’t changed, and the taste isn’t really the selling point. So given that alcohol has certainly always been a reason to enjoy beer, it was interesting to read that George Washington gave daily rations of it to his troops during the Revolutionary War. Seems counterintuitive to winning a war in which you’re outmanned and outgunned (which I guess goes without saying if you’re outmanned). Then again, keeping morale high is an important factor in fighting a war, and what better way to do that than with some suds?
Going back to the Egyptians, they didn’t let diminished capacities interfere with their love of brewski either. Earlier, I only scratched the surface of the passion the Egyptians had for beer, given that they also used to brew batches of it to bury with their dead so it would travel with them to the afterlife. The only problem is that this passion for brew may have impacted their passion for rewards in the afterlife, since part of their beliefs about receiving rewards in the afterlife (other than beer, of course) involved “the ability to recite spells, passwords and formulae of the Book of the Dead.” So there’s a good chance that your buddy in college who always thought he did better on tests after he had a few beers in him is at least ¼ Egyptian.
But the Egyptians weren’t the only early civilization that tied beer into its religious beliefs. The Sumerians are believed to be the first to brew beer (even though it was most likely by accident) and, appreciating what a glorious thing they discovered, they had a goddess of brewing. When is the last time you heard of anyone praying to a god of beer? The “shrine” of empty beer cans your drunk test-taking friend built in his dorm room? Please. It may have been shaped like a pyramid (I told you that guy had Egyptian in him), but beer-can pyramid building was only the first step toward admittance into preschool back in the days of his ancestors.
And you’ve probably heard a thing or two about Catholics being particularly fond of beer. This is true, but much like their Egyptian counterparts, their fondness has waned. Used to be that Catholics would canonize people for beer. Nowadays you have to do things like “minister to the poor, sick, orphaned and dying.” And even that only gets you ¾’s of the way there.
But to be fair, passion for beer has waned among all religious groups and ethnicities. How could it not? Shortly after beer was discovered, people’s passion for it could only go down. Consider the fact that upon learning of the process for making beer, early man pretty much changed his entire way of life. He didn’t merely spend his nights and weekends drinking it, he didn’t suddenly have something cool to give his friends for their birthdays and hut-warming parties, and he didn’t just have something besides his own urine to drink. Well, he did. But he had so much more than that. As this quote from anthropologist Alan Eames points out, courtesy of Beer100.com, "beer was the driving force that led nomadic mankind into village life...It was this appetite for beer-making material that led to crop cultivation, permanent settlement and agriculture."
The Discovery Channel even devoted a documentary to that very topic. And not only did beer farming prompt man to stop gathering berries and hunting more advanced species, but the documentary goes into how his passion for beer pretty much led to reading, writing and arithmetic. No joke. (You’ll have to watch for a few minutes, but it’s worth it.) Today, when people change their way of life for beer, they usually end up flunking out of school or losing their job, their relationships and everything in their savings account. Yay alcoholism!
But the most telling evidence that we’re not so gung ho over beer anymore is that we don’t do morally abhorrent things in the name of it. Not like we used to, anyway. Oh sure, people may steal it from time to time, and they may do terrible things after drinking beer, but we rarely see others killed over beer. If you long for the days when you could have seen people killed for stealing beer or even the crops used to make beer, you would have enjoyed living under King Wenceslaus (around 900 A.D.), who had people killed for stealing hops. Were theses maniacal orders of a king who became drunk (pun intended) with power and no longer cared for those he ruled for? Probably not. I imagine he was always a fan favorite, given that he would go on to be canonized.
Then there was the Code of Hammurabi. Hammurabi was the King of Babylon during the 18th century B.C. Remember how I wrote earlier that the Babylonians may not have valued beer as much as the Egyptians? Well if you wanted to disagree, you could certainly point to Hammurabi’s Code, part of which stated that owners of beer parlors would be drowned for overcharging. The SOB didn’t order death just to those who stole the shit, he ordered death to those who charged too much! I’m looking at you, every pro sports owner in America.
And I’m sure we’ve all had the misfortune of being around beer that’s gone bad. It’s usually due to negligent behavior of another person (or maybe yourself). Have you then felt obligated to give that person crap for leaving beer out for too long and thereby causing its skunkiness? That’s what you do, right? You give that person crap. Not literally, I hope. You tease them, you belittle them, you shame them for letting good beer go bad. You let them know they’ve ruined everybody’s evening, but all in good fun. You ultimately, unless it happens a second time, remain friends with that person.
Well, if that person lived in the 1500s, and was a woman, they would have been tied to a stake and used for kindling. Actually, if that woman had nothing to do with the beer going bad, but was simply close by when the bad beer was discovered, she would be sent up in flames. ACTUALLY, even when no one was at fault, which was most likely all the time, mob mentality would still find someone, nay, a woman, nay, a “beer witch” to blame.
You see, beer went bad constantly back then because all the processes we know today to keep beer fresh – dark storage, refrigeration, pasteurization – either weren’t as well known or as widely practiced. And when the skunky beer was discovered, the villagers hunted down the beer witch, yelled “Bonfire!” and got out their S’mores. You might be saying, “Yeah, but back then a woman was believed to be a witch if she produced an inaudible fart. They burned so-called ‘witches’ for everything.” True, but that’s still some serious hatin’ for a bad batch of brew.
Thankfully we don’t act so violently today when beer goes bad, but it’s possible we’ve gone too far in the other direction when it comes to impure beer. Everyone knows that criminals, or in this case heroes, bootlegged beer during Prohibition. Now that’s an example of some serious passion for beer during the last century. However, bootlegged beer was “often watered down to increase profits,” (did I say heroes? I meant assholes) and this watered down, tampered with, “light” version is what Americans came to prefer. That’s right. All that light beer we consume, that we choose over the real thing, started because of what we became accustomed to back when hoodlums were ripping us off. Not only did we tolerate it, but we enjoyed it and continue to enjoy it today. Granted, there weren’t many options during Prohibition, but there certainly are today.
So save your stories about the number of consecutive St. Patrick’s Days you’ve passed out in the gutter for your nieces and nephews. Kill a beer witch and then I’ll believe that you know how to enjoy a cold one.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
This Is Kentucky
Kentucky became a state in 1792, making us the 15th oldest state in the country (and currently 220 years of age). Our nickname is the “Bluegrass State,” even though, technically, we’re a Commonwealth. Our state bird is the cardinal, our state motto is “United We Stand, Divided We Fall,” and the tagline for our state brand (yes we have one) is “Unbridled Spirit,” which is admittedly more classy and subtle than our old brand tagline, “Teen Pregnancy Gets a Bad Rap.”
Kentucky is considered a member of the southeast region of the United States, even though only one state separates us from Lake Erie and 2-3 states separate us from the Gulf of Mexico (depending on the route you take). We were a divided state (or Commonwealth) during the Civil War. Speaking of…
Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, was born here. Politically he was known to be from Illinois because he was elected to the House of Representatives as a citizen of that state, which followed his waking up in Illinois with a bunch of his college buddies during a weekend bender. He never came back to Kentucky. Who can blame him, really? Chicago is a pretty cool town.
Kentucky borders seven states, and the vast majority of our residents are incredibly grateful to not be living in four of them – Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia and Tennessee. We enjoy mocking and trading barbs with residents of Indiana, Ohio and Tennessee, but rarely is West Virginia discussed or even acknowledged. Many fear that the federal government will eliminate the recognized border between Kentucky and West Virginia, spilling thousands of “Mountaineers,” as they’re known, onto our Bluegrass and into our schools. It is because of this fear that we try not to think about West Virginia. We prefer that you don’t either.
We have two cities that you’ve probably heard of (Louisville and Lexington), one that you may have (Bowling Green) and a capitol that you probably haven’t (Frankfort). Our largest city, Louisville, is a lovely place. Despite being our most prosperous, most vibrant and most visible city, Louisville unfortunately has a bit of an inferiority complex that does not permeate the less prosperous, less vibrant and less visible areas of the state. This complex has led Louisville’s community leaders to spearhead a successful, albeit suspect, campaign to climb higher on the list of largest U.S. cities. It is also positioning itself, marketing-wise, as “Possibility City” in an attempt to attract residents of other states to move here. It’s not a bad idea, and there are certainly possibilities in Louisville, but with that comes the chance of attracting people from the four states previously mentioned.
A large portion of Kentucky exudes a sort of confidence that tends to make Louisville residents… nervous. But the rest of the state has no reason to not be confident. Sure, our overall standing in the dental community is less than stellar and our test scores aren’t great, but they’re improving. Hey, we’re not West Virginia.
Kentucky is the headquarters for UPS Air, KFC and seasonal allergies. Technically, KFC is owned by another corporate brand – Yum! Brands, Inc. – that is headquartered here and owns other fast food chains under its corporate umbrella, but the other chains aren’t worth mentioning. Don’t believe me? Long John Silver’s. There, see? Totally not worth it.
We are actually the headquarters for a number of companies and institutions, but none make us more proud than the allergy thing. Kentucky is smack in the middle of what’s known as the Ohio River Valley, which wreaks havoc on allergy and sinus-infection sufferers. And we wear our allergies like a badge of honor. For some reason we are not home to any of the largest pharmaceutical manufacturers, but our citizens don’t have to venture far for relief, as our drug stores outnumber our roads 3:1.
We also make bourbon. A lot of it. And we grow tobacco, though the use of it is prohibited virtually everywhere, including outdoors. The same cannot be said for bourbon. It is enjoyed in our restaurants, at our sporting events and in our hospitals alike. Two other substances we produce that most doctors agree should be ingested in limited quantities are coal and moonshine. One is not produced in near the same volumes that it used to be, though. Or so we would have you believe.
Two things we can’t seem to make last, despite repeated attempts, are amusement parks and minor league hockey teams. The lack of staying power amongst our hockey teams is not surprising, but the disappearance of amusement parks is. After all, we produce a hugely popular state fair. The Kentucky State Fair, as a matter of fact, is the largest indoor fair in the country. Granted, the whole fair doesn’t take place indoors. The rides are outside. Most of the concerts are outside. And don’t forget about the racing pigs, those are outside as well. But the Kentucky State Fair utilizes the largest amount of indoor space of any other fair in the U.S. And apparently that’s reason enough to charge the public an arm and a leg to get in. To park, enter the gates, ride a couple of rides and eat, the average family of four can expect to pay approximately $3,000. Oddly enough, the fair is attended largely by members of the populace who look as if they could benefit greatly by putting $3,000 toward improving their dental situation. But then again, the fried Snickers bars are really good.
The first-ever hand transplant was performed here. We’re pretty sure the recipient was someone who lost their original hand while “enjoying” one of our many state fair rides, but don’t quote us on that.
Hall of Fame baseball player and U.S. Senator Jim Bunning was born here. Super Bowl-winning quarterback Phil Simms was born here AND went to college here. Oscar-winning actor George Clooney was born here, Golden Globe-winning actor Johnny Depp was born here, and Golden Globe-winning actor Tom Cruise went to high school here, though we don’t advertise that last one as much as we used to. Non-anything-winning actress Ashley Judd went to college here and she tends to advertise that herself.
In terms of sports, we are a college sports-loving state. Actually, around here football is a little like the middle child – it has its flashes of greatness, but it’s largely overlooked for the one we love most: basketball. The problem is that our largest school (the University of Kentucky [UK]) plays in the Southeastern Conference and usually fields a team that’s only capable of competing in the NFC West, at best. Then there’s our second largest school (the University of Louisville [UofL]), which changes conferences the way our beloved George Clooney changes girlfriends, and the football team has been known to operate as a bachelor (or independent of a conference) for long periods of time. Football just isn’t basketball. And basketball is our pageant-winning, spelling bee champ.
A lot of drama has surrounded our basketball teams lately. UK went for a long stretch of not winning any NCAA championships, until it hired a young upstart from New York as its coach. This young upstart took the school to two title games, winning one of them, in the mid to late ‘90s and then left for a more lucrative career in the NBA. After aging quickly in a job where he didn’t fare so well, the more established and not-so-young-anymore coach returned to the college ranks to lead UK’s cross-town (and biggest) rival – UofL. He soon followed that up by sharing a fettuccini-clad table top with a woman who wasn’t his wife and creating, as we’re sure Billy Joel would agree, quite the “Scene from an Italian Restaurant.” The woman later went on to try to extort money from the coach, exposing the evening to the public at large, and generating an enormous amount of amusement for those who root for UK.
To this day, both teams perform well during the college basketball season and both hope to one day win a championship. Even UK, which may or may not have to “vacate” any titles it might win in the near future.
Well, that about covers it for Kentucky. Oh, one other thing – horses. We should probably mention those.
So come and visit if you can. Heck, even stay a while as long as you’re not from… well, you know.
Kentucky is considered a member of the southeast region of the United States, even though only one state separates us from Lake Erie and 2-3 states separate us from the Gulf of Mexico (depending on the route you take). We were a divided state (or Commonwealth) during the Civil War. Speaking of…
Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, was born here. Politically he was known to be from Illinois because he was elected to the House of Representatives as a citizen of that state, which followed his waking up in Illinois with a bunch of his college buddies during a weekend bender. He never came back to Kentucky. Who can blame him, really? Chicago is a pretty cool town.
Kentucky borders seven states, and the vast majority of our residents are incredibly grateful to not be living in four of them – Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia and Tennessee. We enjoy mocking and trading barbs with residents of Indiana, Ohio and Tennessee, but rarely is West Virginia discussed or even acknowledged. Many fear that the federal government will eliminate the recognized border between Kentucky and West Virginia, spilling thousands of “Mountaineers,” as they’re known, onto our Bluegrass and into our schools. It is because of this fear that we try not to think about West Virginia. We prefer that you don’t either.
We have two cities that you’ve probably heard of (Louisville and Lexington), one that you may have (Bowling Green) and a capitol that you probably haven’t (Frankfort). Our largest city, Louisville, is a lovely place. Despite being our most prosperous, most vibrant and most visible city, Louisville unfortunately has a bit of an inferiority complex that does not permeate the less prosperous, less vibrant and less visible areas of the state. This complex has led Louisville’s community leaders to spearhead a successful, albeit suspect, campaign to climb higher on the list of largest U.S. cities. It is also positioning itself, marketing-wise, as “Possibility City” in an attempt to attract residents of other states to move here. It’s not a bad idea, and there are certainly possibilities in Louisville, but with that comes the chance of attracting people from the four states previously mentioned.
A large portion of Kentucky exudes a sort of confidence that tends to make Louisville residents… nervous. But the rest of the state has no reason to not be confident. Sure, our overall standing in the dental community is less than stellar and our test scores aren’t great, but they’re improving. Hey, we’re not West Virginia.
Kentucky is the headquarters for UPS Air, KFC and seasonal allergies. Technically, KFC is owned by another corporate brand – Yum! Brands, Inc. – that is headquartered here and owns other fast food chains under its corporate umbrella, but the other chains aren’t worth mentioning. Don’t believe me? Long John Silver’s. There, see? Totally not worth it.
We are actually the headquarters for a number of companies and institutions, but none make us more proud than the allergy thing. Kentucky is smack in the middle of what’s known as the Ohio River Valley, which wreaks havoc on allergy and sinus-infection sufferers. And we wear our allergies like a badge of honor. For some reason we are not home to any of the largest pharmaceutical manufacturers, but our citizens don’t have to venture far for relief, as our drug stores outnumber our roads 3:1.
We also make bourbon. A lot of it. And we grow tobacco, though the use of it is prohibited virtually everywhere, including outdoors. The same cannot be said for bourbon. It is enjoyed in our restaurants, at our sporting events and in our hospitals alike. Two other substances we produce that most doctors agree should be ingested in limited quantities are coal and moonshine. One is not produced in near the same volumes that it used to be, though. Or so we would have you believe.
Two things we can’t seem to make last, despite repeated attempts, are amusement parks and minor league hockey teams. The lack of staying power amongst our hockey teams is not surprising, but the disappearance of amusement parks is. After all, we produce a hugely popular state fair. The Kentucky State Fair, as a matter of fact, is the largest indoor fair in the country. Granted, the whole fair doesn’t take place indoors. The rides are outside. Most of the concerts are outside. And don’t forget about the racing pigs, those are outside as well. But the Kentucky State Fair utilizes the largest amount of indoor space of any other fair in the U.S. And apparently that’s reason enough to charge the public an arm and a leg to get in. To park, enter the gates, ride a couple of rides and eat, the average family of four can expect to pay approximately $3,000. Oddly enough, the fair is attended largely by members of the populace who look as if they could benefit greatly by putting $3,000 toward improving their dental situation. But then again, the fried Snickers bars are really good.
The first-ever hand transplant was performed here. We’re pretty sure the recipient was someone who lost their original hand while “enjoying” one of our many state fair rides, but don’t quote us on that.
Hall of Fame baseball player and U.S. Senator Jim Bunning was born here. Super Bowl-winning quarterback Phil Simms was born here AND went to college here. Oscar-winning actor George Clooney was born here, Golden Globe-winning actor Johnny Depp was born here, and Golden Globe-winning actor Tom Cruise went to high school here, though we don’t advertise that last one as much as we used to. Non-anything-winning actress Ashley Judd went to college here and she tends to advertise that herself.
In terms of sports, we are a college sports-loving state. Actually, around here football is a little like the middle child – it has its flashes of greatness, but it’s largely overlooked for the one we love most: basketball. The problem is that our largest school (the University of Kentucky [UK]) plays in the Southeastern Conference and usually fields a team that’s only capable of competing in the NFC West, at best. Then there’s our second largest school (the University of Louisville [UofL]), which changes conferences the way our beloved George Clooney changes girlfriends, and the football team has been known to operate as a bachelor (or independent of a conference) for long periods of time. Football just isn’t basketball. And basketball is our pageant-winning, spelling bee champ.
A lot of drama has surrounded our basketball teams lately. UK went for a long stretch of not winning any NCAA championships, until it hired a young upstart from New York as its coach. This young upstart took the school to two title games, winning one of them, in the mid to late ‘90s and then left for a more lucrative career in the NBA. After aging quickly in a job where he didn’t fare so well, the more established and not-so-young-anymore coach returned to the college ranks to lead UK’s cross-town (and biggest) rival – UofL. He soon followed that up by sharing a fettuccini-clad table top with a woman who wasn’t his wife and creating, as we’re sure Billy Joel would agree, quite the “Scene from an Italian Restaurant.” The woman later went on to try to extort money from the coach, exposing the evening to the public at large, and generating an enormous amount of amusement for those who root for UK.
To this day, both teams perform well during the college basketball season and both hope to one day win a championship. Even UK, which may or may not have to “vacate” any titles it might win in the near future.
Well, that about covers it for Kentucky. Oh, one other thing – horses. We should probably mention those.
So come and visit if you can. Heck, even stay a while as long as you’re not from… well, you know.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Introvert or Extrovert?
Like so many of the personality quizzes you have seen in publications, taken in school or taken online while killing time at work, the quiz below provides insight into whether the subject is an introvert or an extrovert. But unlike so many of them, the quiz below offers more than just two options per section, allowing the subject to make choices more befitting of their true nature.
Choose the one option from each section that most accurately describes you.
1) I am always the first to answer questions that are asked in a large social setting.
2) I usually let other people in large social settings answer questions, even if I know the answers.
3) If everyone in the group is contributing answers, then I’ll answer too so I don’t look like an idiot, but if one guy is answering everything, I’ll remain quiet and then ridicule him later with the rest of the group.
1) I work well by myself.
2) I work well in small groups or on a team.
3) I work well in small groups or on a team as long as there isn’t someone who skips out on all the meetings and then tries to take credit for a share of the work like a total douche bag.
1) If someone cuts in line, I usually bite my tongue.
2) If someone cuts in line, I usually say something to them.
3) If someone cuts in line, I usually ask my wife/girlfriend to say something to them.
1) I like to read.
2) I like to go to movies.
3) I like to read and go to movies. I don’t particularly like to read at movies, so I prefer there not be subtitles, but I’m okay with them as long as the whole movie isn’t in subtitles, like those foreign films that only come out at the end of the year. Of course sometimes those have nudity, but it’s hard to tell going in which ones will and which ones won’t. If I know for sure there won’t be nudity, then I prefer to read. Books, I mean. Or see a movie with Will Smith in it. He’s great.
1) I prefer a quiet evening at home.
2) I prefer a night on the town with friends.
3) I prefer a quiet evening at home if my friends’ plans include seeing a foreign film with subtitles that obviously won’t have nudity, and then eating at a tiny restaurant that serves what can only be described as “eclectic” food.
1) I have a lot of friends that I’m somewhat close with.
2) I have few friends, but I’m very close with all of them.
3) I’m closer to the ones that don’t always insist on eating at tiny eclectic restaurants.
1) During conversations, I usually speak the most.
2) During conversations, I prefer to listen.
3) During conversations, I’m happy not saying a word as long as the other person is telling me how impressed they are with my love-making abilities.
1) On airplanes, I like to bury my nose in a book.
2) On airplanes, I like to talk to the person next to me.
3) On airplanes, I only talk to the person next to me if they agree to recite lines from the movie Airplane.
1) I love going to parties.
2) I’m not a big fan of parties.
3) I’ll go to parties if I know that other cool people will be there.
1) At parties, I’m usually the center of attention.
2) At parties, I usually stay off to the side and watch others.
3) At parties, I hang out at the bar and drink until I say something inappropriate about or to the hosts’ wife.
4) I don’t get invited to parties.
1) I don’t mind being alone.
2) I get bored quickly when I’m alone.
3) I only get bored when I’m alone at work.
4) Actually, being alone at work is preferable to being in another self-righteous HR seminar about what constitutes appropriate behavior at the office Christmas party.
1) I am comfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
2) I am uncomfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
3) If the stranger and I are not on an airplane reciting lines from the movie Airplane, then I am only comfortable engaging in small talk if the bulk of our conversation consists of reciting lines from the movie Caddyshack. Otherwise, I am uncomfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
1) I don’t mind public speaking.
2) Public speaking is my worst nightmare.
3) My worst nightmare involved my pet bunny mutating during a nuclear accident and savagely turning against me.
1) I prefer to be direct with people, even if I think I might offend them.
2) I try to avoid offending others at all costs.
3) Who wrote this ridiculous test, some pathetic psych major who’s overpaying for a useless graduate degree from a public university?
1) I have a cat.
2) I have a dog.
3) I have a cat and a dog.
4) I have appeared on the television show Hoarders because my house is so overrun with cats and dogs that I can no longer distinguish my furniture from their excrement.
5) I don’t have any pets.
Correct answers (yes, there are correct answers): 3; 1 (3 is unattainable); 3; 1; 2 (don’t be afraid to introduce some culture into your life); 2; 2 (3 is unattainable); 1 (even reciting lines from Airplane is no excuse for talking on an airplane); 3; 2; 4; 3; 3; 2 (the author has never been enrolled in graduate school); 4 is a bit worrisome, but the only unacceptable answer is 5
Choose the one option from each section that most accurately describes you.
1) I am always the first to answer questions that are asked in a large social setting.
2) I usually let other people in large social settings answer questions, even if I know the answers.
3) If everyone in the group is contributing answers, then I’ll answer too so I don’t look like an idiot, but if one guy is answering everything, I’ll remain quiet and then ridicule him later with the rest of the group.
1) I work well by myself.
2) I work well in small groups or on a team.
3) I work well in small groups or on a team as long as there isn’t someone who skips out on all the meetings and then tries to take credit for a share of the work like a total douche bag.
1) If someone cuts in line, I usually bite my tongue.
2) If someone cuts in line, I usually say something to them.
3) If someone cuts in line, I usually ask my wife/girlfriend to say something to them.
1) I like to read.
2) I like to go to movies.
3) I like to read and go to movies. I don’t particularly like to read at movies, so I prefer there not be subtitles, but I’m okay with them as long as the whole movie isn’t in subtitles, like those foreign films that only come out at the end of the year. Of course sometimes those have nudity, but it’s hard to tell going in which ones will and which ones won’t. If I know for sure there won’t be nudity, then I prefer to read. Books, I mean. Or see a movie with Will Smith in it. He’s great.
1) I prefer a quiet evening at home.
2) I prefer a night on the town with friends.
3) I prefer a quiet evening at home if my friends’ plans include seeing a foreign film with subtitles that obviously won’t have nudity, and then eating at a tiny restaurant that serves what can only be described as “eclectic” food.
1) I have a lot of friends that I’m somewhat close with.
2) I have few friends, but I’m very close with all of them.
3) I’m closer to the ones that don’t always insist on eating at tiny eclectic restaurants.
1) During conversations, I usually speak the most.
2) During conversations, I prefer to listen.
3) During conversations, I’m happy not saying a word as long as the other person is telling me how impressed they are with my love-making abilities.
1) On airplanes, I like to bury my nose in a book.
2) On airplanes, I like to talk to the person next to me.
3) On airplanes, I only talk to the person next to me if they agree to recite lines from the movie Airplane.
1) I love going to parties.
2) I’m not a big fan of parties.
3) I’ll go to parties if I know that other cool people will be there.
1) At parties, I’m usually the center of attention.
2) At parties, I usually stay off to the side and watch others.
3) At parties, I hang out at the bar and drink until I say something inappropriate about or to the hosts’ wife.
4) I don’t get invited to parties.
1) I don’t mind being alone.
2) I get bored quickly when I’m alone.
3) I only get bored when I’m alone at work.
4) Actually, being alone at work is preferable to being in another self-righteous HR seminar about what constitutes appropriate behavior at the office Christmas party.
1) I am comfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
2) I am uncomfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
3) If the stranger and I are not on an airplane reciting lines from the movie Airplane, then I am only comfortable engaging in small talk if the bulk of our conversation consists of reciting lines from the movie Caddyshack. Otherwise, I am uncomfortable engaging in small talk with strangers.
1) I don’t mind public speaking.
2) Public speaking is my worst nightmare.
3) My worst nightmare involved my pet bunny mutating during a nuclear accident and savagely turning against me.
1) I prefer to be direct with people, even if I think I might offend them.
2) I try to avoid offending others at all costs.
3) Who wrote this ridiculous test, some pathetic psych major who’s overpaying for a useless graduate degree from a public university?
1) I have a cat.
2) I have a dog.
3) I have a cat and a dog.
4) I have appeared on the television show Hoarders because my house is so overrun with cats and dogs that I can no longer distinguish my furniture from their excrement.
5) I don’t have any pets.
Correct answers (yes, there are correct answers): 3; 1 (3 is unattainable); 3; 1; 2 (don’t be afraid to introduce some culture into your life); 2; 2 (3 is unattainable); 1 (even reciting lines from Airplane is no excuse for talking on an airplane); 3; 2; 4; 3; 3; 2 (the author has never been enrolled in graduate school); 4 is a bit worrisome, but the only unacceptable answer is 5
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Where Does the Time Go? Nowhere, Now
So it’s the end of January and you know what that means… Christmas is just around the corner. Sad, but true. And yes, I hate celebrating Christmas before Halloween just as much as the next guy, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be here in a matter of weeks. That’s how it will feel, anyway.
Let’s face it, not just Christmas, but middle age is right around the corner too. And grandkids. Then retirement. Why does it take 21 years to turn 21, but going from 21 to 30 takes like six months? If only life moved as slowly when you’re an adult as it does when you’re a kid.
The problem is there are so many ages we want to be when we’re a kid – 16, 18, 21 – that our days seem to drag on endlessly, ensuring we’ll never reach the age we actually want to be. Then once we reach adulthood, there are so many ages we don’t want to be – 30, 40, 50 – that all we can do is watch as Father Time slingshots us through space while pissing himself from laughing so hard.
That’s why we need to celebrate some of those less-heralded ages a little more. We need to look forward to turning… well, you know… old. That’s the only way to slow things down. So what will make us look forward to the less enjoyable milestones? How about the following:
At 30, everyone grows gills so that we can stay underwater as long as we want. And the gills are not visible when we’re on land because that would be gross. Now, this doesn’t mean we can swim faster than sharks or talk to fish or any other outrageous power that you’ve seen comic-book heroes possess. I’m not trying to create some wonderful, magical utopia here. Let’s keep this somewhat realistic/attainable. Also, we won’t be able to generate webbed feet either underwater or on land because I don’t want anything to potentially screw up what everyone will enjoy upon turning 35. Which is…
At 35, you can buy bowling shoes for half price, regardless of the seller. Almost makes renting bowling shoes sound pretty stupid, huh? Now I know you can already run for president when you’re 35, but I’m not sure that this makes any normal, well-adjusted person look forward to turning 35, so I went with something that the sane and insane alike will appreciate.
Once you turn 40 you can get free Girl Scout cookies. All you have to do is find a station outside your local drug store, show your ID to one of the girls who is undoubtedly regretting every minute she’s spent in Girl Scouts, and you can take as many boxes as your chubby arms can carry. And maybe this will cut down on the number of times you’re hassled at work about how many boxes of Samoa’s you want.
At 50, you can have teenagers removed from any place you happen to be at – the mall, the movie theater, a homecoming dance, etc… The young adults won’t be as affected as you might initially think, given the likelihood that someone 50 or over would frequent the same locations as teenagers. (But if they did… kazaam!)
At 60, you’re allowed to drive in the “60 and over” lane on the highway, much like the HOV lane today. Only it won’t be so much allowable as it is mandated by law.
At 70, you’re allowed to kill somebody. We’re all allowed one. That’s it. So you have to choose wisely. You know what? Let’s change this one to 75. At 70, you’re allowed to steal from fast food restaurants.
At 80, you can pee in the street. Now, you might ask why you’re legally permitted to kill someone when you’re 75, but you have to wait until you’re 80 before peeing in the street. It’s the same as having to wait until you’re 21 to drink even though you can fight in a war when you’re 18. That’s just the way it is.
At 85, if you’re physically capable of doing whatever you want, go for it.
Ahhh… I’m looking forward to getting old(er) already.
Let’s face it, not just Christmas, but middle age is right around the corner too. And grandkids. Then retirement. Why does it take 21 years to turn 21, but going from 21 to 30 takes like six months? If only life moved as slowly when you’re an adult as it does when you’re a kid.
The problem is there are so many ages we want to be when we’re a kid – 16, 18, 21 – that our days seem to drag on endlessly, ensuring we’ll never reach the age we actually want to be. Then once we reach adulthood, there are so many ages we don’t want to be – 30, 40, 50 – that all we can do is watch as Father Time slingshots us through space while pissing himself from laughing so hard.
That’s why we need to celebrate some of those less-heralded ages a little more. We need to look forward to turning… well, you know… old. That’s the only way to slow things down. So what will make us look forward to the less enjoyable milestones? How about the following:
At 30, everyone grows gills so that we can stay underwater as long as we want. And the gills are not visible when we’re on land because that would be gross. Now, this doesn’t mean we can swim faster than sharks or talk to fish or any other outrageous power that you’ve seen comic-book heroes possess. I’m not trying to create some wonderful, magical utopia here. Let’s keep this somewhat realistic/attainable. Also, we won’t be able to generate webbed feet either underwater or on land because I don’t want anything to potentially screw up what everyone will enjoy upon turning 35. Which is…
At 35, you can buy bowling shoes for half price, regardless of the seller. Almost makes renting bowling shoes sound pretty stupid, huh? Now I know you can already run for president when you’re 35, but I’m not sure that this makes any normal, well-adjusted person look forward to turning 35, so I went with something that the sane and insane alike will appreciate.
Once you turn 40 you can get free Girl Scout cookies. All you have to do is find a station outside your local drug store, show your ID to one of the girls who is undoubtedly regretting every minute she’s spent in Girl Scouts, and you can take as many boxes as your chubby arms can carry. And maybe this will cut down on the number of times you’re hassled at work about how many boxes of Samoa’s you want.
At 50, you can have teenagers removed from any place you happen to be at – the mall, the movie theater, a homecoming dance, etc… The young adults won’t be as affected as you might initially think, given the likelihood that someone 50 or over would frequent the same locations as teenagers. (But if they did… kazaam!)
At 60, you’re allowed to drive in the “60 and over” lane on the highway, much like the HOV lane today. Only it won’t be so much allowable as it is mandated by law.
At 70, you’re allowed to kill somebody. We’re all allowed one. That’s it. So you have to choose wisely. You know what? Let’s change this one to 75. At 70, you’re allowed to steal from fast food restaurants.
At 80, you can pee in the street. Now, you might ask why you’re legally permitted to kill someone when you’re 75, but you have to wait until you’re 80 before peeing in the street. It’s the same as having to wait until you’re 21 to drink even though you can fight in a war when you’re 18. That’s just the way it is.
At 85, if you’re physically capable of doing whatever you want, go for it.
Ahhh… I’m looking forward to getting old(er) already.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
The 12 Days of Christmas As Seen Through the Eyes of a Bad Boyfriend
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a double CD of all my "favorite" Christmas songs, which of course includes "The 12 Days of Christmas." I hate that song.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… She knows I don't have a CD player any more. Not even in my car. What am I going to do with a double CD? At least I have an excuse not to listen to that song.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… I mean, how do we even get to the third day of Christmas anyway? Christmas is one f*#king day a year. One. If you want to count Christmas Eve, I guess I’ll let that slide, but that’s only two days at the most. This isn’t Hanukah we’re talking about, and even if it were, Hanukah is eight days. And believe me, Hanukah fans aren’t going to be excited about something that advertises 12 days, but only delivers eight.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… if she gives me four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge, she also better give me that signed pre-nup I’ve been asking her for.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… and how many novelty versions of this song can we hear? The writers of these songs all think that theirs is absolutely hilarious; that we gladly listen to their kooky take on the classic Christmas hymn all the way through. But the “funny” versions are even worse than the original. Come to think of it, I bet I haven’t heard the original version in 15 years. But there’s certainly another uproarious knockoff coming up right after this commercial break.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a night on the town, and I am getting HAMMERED.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… it is New Year’s Day and I am hungover. How about a bottle of Advil and a trashcan next to the bed because there’s no way I’m stumbling to the toilet every time something comes back up today.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… eight maids a-milking? You actually got me eight maids a-milking? Wow. That’s pretty remarkable. And they didn’t come with any cows, which makes them, like, way better. I don’t really know what to say. Thanks, babe!
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… nine ladies dancing?! Are you serious?! You’re incredible! I can’t believe you’re ok with this. Come again? Yeah, no you’re right – the song’s not so bad after all. I mean, it’s long and kind of annoying and most of the gifts are pretty awful if you think about… you know what, you know what… you’re right, you’re right. It’s a great song. It’s a fantastic song. Could you move a little to the left? Thanks.
On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love… that’s ok, I’m gonna stop you right there. You really shouldn’t invest any more in this relationship. After the last two days, there’s no going back to “us.” You won’t be able to recover from what’s gone on, and I don’t have it in me to try to cover it up, so let’s just go our separate ways before you get hurt.
On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a threatening text message. But I can’t worry about that now. I need to get a hold of a real maid. Like an actual cleaning lady. Preferably an undocumented one because this place needs to be hosed down by someone who knows what they’re doing.
On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a puppy. Which is totally her way of getting back at me because I asked for a food processor.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… She knows I don't have a CD player any more. Not even in my car. What am I going to do with a double CD? At least I have an excuse not to listen to that song.
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… I mean, how do we even get to the third day of Christmas anyway? Christmas is one f*#king day a year. One. If you want to count Christmas Eve, I guess I’ll let that slide, but that’s only two days at the most. This isn’t Hanukah we’re talking about, and even if it were, Hanukah is eight days. And believe me, Hanukah fans aren’t going to be excited about something that advertises 12 days, but only delivers eight.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… if she gives me four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge, she also better give me that signed pre-nup I’ve been asking her for.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… and how many novelty versions of this song can we hear? The writers of these songs all think that theirs is absolutely hilarious; that we gladly listen to their kooky take on the classic Christmas hymn all the way through. But the “funny” versions are even worse than the original. Come to think of it, I bet I haven’t heard the original version in 15 years. But there’s certainly another uproarious knockoff coming up right after this commercial break.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a night on the town, and I am getting HAMMERED.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… it is New Year’s Day and I am hungover. How about a bottle of Advil and a trashcan next to the bed because there’s no way I’m stumbling to the toilet every time something comes back up today.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… eight maids a-milking? You actually got me eight maids a-milking? Wow. That’s pretty remarkable. And they didn’t come with any cows, which makes them, like, way better. I don’t really know what to say. Thanks, babe!
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… nine ladies dancing?! Are you serious?! You’re incredible! I can’t believe you’re ok with this. Come again? Yeah, no you’re right – the song’s not so bad after all. I mean, it’s long and kind of annoying and most of the gifts are pretty awful if you think about… you know what, you know what… you’re right, you’re right. It’s a great song. It’s a fantastic song. Could you move a little to the left? Thanks.
On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love… that’s ok, I’m gonna stop you right there. You really shouldn’t invest any more in this relationship. After the last two days, there’s no going back to “us.” You won’t be able to recover from what’s gone on, and I don’t have it in me to try to cover it up, so let’s just go our separate ways before you get hurt.
On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a threatening text message. But I can’t worry about that now. I need to get a hold of a real maid. Like an actual cleaning lady. Preferably an undocumented one because this place needs to be hosed down by someone who knows what they’re doing.
On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me… a puppy. Which is totally her way of getting back at me because I asked for a food processor.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The Out-of-Touch, Not to Mention Gossipy, Christmas Letter
Merry Christmas from the Conroys!
Can you believe it’s already the holiday season?! Where does the time go? We know that a lot of you, like us, are struggling through tumultuous financial situations, but we hope you had a year filled with as many blessings as we had. There is so much news it’s hard to know where to begin.
Some of you may have heard me talk this year about the progress I made in my conditioning regime. My personal trainer was quite proud of the two and a half minutes I shaved off my marathon time in the fall compared to my marathon time in the spring. Given what we’re all going through, it’s hard sometimes to justify having a personal trainer, but Clay has obviously helped me make great strides (Oops! No pun intended!). Of course I could have done without making my television debut on the Channel 6 news immediately after the race. How about a few minutes to shower and put on some make up, fellas? LOL! But at least I looked presentable on Channel 10 a few weeks later when their on-the-spot reporter asked questions about the domestic incident at our neighbors’ house. The police arrived when Burt was throwing Connie’s wardrobe out the front door and Channel 10 showed up shortly thereafter. Poor Connie. Her plus-sized clothing was strewn all over the lawn. She’s put on a lot of weight this past year, no doubt due to the stress caused by the rough patch that she and Burt are going through.
Thanks to the unseasonably mild temperatures, we enjoyed many afternoons on the boat this summer. With the economy impacting all of us the way it has, we thought about downgrading to a 40ft. model, but with the girls going off to college in a few years, we realized that we only have a limited number of “family boat days” left. It’s important to make the most of the time we have because you never know what lies ahead. Our family excursions used to include Tom’s good friend, Hank Donaldson, and his wife, but the Donaldsons didn’t join us this year because Hank’s health was in flux. We think he’s had erectile issues the last few months, so our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family.
On a happier note, our younger daughter, Carla, was the hit of her middle school’s piano recital last month. All of her hard work really paid off as she wowed the audience with her rendition of Bach’s “Minuet in D Minor.” Tom and I were concerned at first about splurging on a new baby grand for Carla to practice on, especially since we’ve all had to cut back lately and our other one is just three years old. But she’s proving that it was a great investment! If you’re thinking of signing your child up for piano lessons, we highly recommend Carla’s teacher, Judy Wanstaff. She is outstanding and impeccably credentialed. Carla’s performance alone was a testament to Judy’s knowledge and overall philosophy. We think she might be a lesbian, but nevertheless she’s a very lovely person.
That convertible Mercedes SL Roadster that we’re all sitting on in the enclosed photo is Taylor’s Christmas gift for her high school track team making nationals. It might seem garish, particularly given the economic hardship that so many of us are going through, but if you knew of all the obstacles her team had to overcome, I think you’d agree she deserves every inch of the leather interior. Taylor’s squad had to go nearly the entire season without their captain, Cindy Cinderbaum, who left the team at the beginning of the season. The rumor going around the school was that Cindy had to quit after she contracted a sexually transmitted disease. I’m not sure which one it was, but even if I knew, that’s not the type of thing you disclose in a Christmas letter. At any rate, I’m sure you’re as inspired as we are by Taylor’s resolve. Now if we can just get her to use those darn turn signals!
We hope to see you all this holiday season. We’ll be doing our typical Christmas ski trip to Aspen, but the rest of December will be pretty quiet for the Conroys. Thanks to all the economic uncertainty, we decided to cancel our New Year’s plans in Hawaii. Too bad we can’t all be part of the “1 percent,” right?
If we don’t get a chance to see you before January, here’s wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year!
Sincerely,
Roxanne, Tom, Taylor and Carla
XOXOXO
Can you believe it’s already the holiday season?! Where does the time go? We know that a lot of you, like us, are struggling through tumultuous financial situations, but we hope you had a year filled with as many blessings as we had. There is so much news it’s hard to know where to begin.
Some of you may have heard me talk this year about the progress I made in my conditioning regime. My personal trainer was quite proud of the two and a half minutes I shaved off my marathon time in the fall compared to my marathon time in the spring. Given what we’re all going through, it’s hard sometimes to justify having a personal trainer, but Clay has obviously helped me make great strides (Oops! No pun intended!). Of course I could have done without making my television debut on the Channel 6 news immediately after the race. How about a few minutes to shower and put on some make up, fellas? LOL! But at least I looked presentable on Channel 10 a few weeks later when their on-the-spot reporter asked questions about the domestic incident at our neighbors’ house. The police arrived when Burt was throwing Connie’s wardrobe out the front door and Channel 10 showed up shortly thereafter. Poor Connie. Her plus-sized clothing was strewn all over the lawn. She’s put on a lot of weight this past year, no doubt due to the stress caused by the rough patch that she and Burt are going through.
Thanks to the unseasonably mild temperatures, we enjoyed many afternoons on the boat this summer. With the economy impacting all of us the way it has, we thought about downgrading to a 40ft. model, but with the girls going off to college in a few years, we realized that we only have a limited number of “family boat days” left. It’s important to make the most of the time we have because you never know what lies ahead. Our family excursions used to include Tom’s good friend, Hank Donaldson, and his wife, but the Donaldsons didn’t join us this year because Hank’s health was in flux. We think he’s had erectile issues the last few months, so our thoughts and prayers go out to him and his family.
On a happier note, our younger daughter, Carla, was the hit of her middle school’s piano recital last month. All of her hard work really paid off as she wowed the audience with her rendition of Bach’s “Minuet in D Minor.” Tom and I were concerned at first about splurging on a new baby grand for Carla to practice on, especially since we’ve all had to cut back lately and our other one is just three years old. But she’s proving that it was a great investment! If you’re thinking of signing your child up for piano lessons, we highly recommend Carla’s teacher, Judy Wanstaff. She is outstanding and impeccably credentialed. Carla’s performance alone was a testament to Judy’s knowledge and overall philosophy. We think she might be a lesbian, but nevertheless she’s a very lovely person.
That convertible Mercedes SL Roadster that we’re all sitting on in the enclosed photo is Taylor’s Christmas gift for her high school track team making nationals. It might seem garish, particularly given the economic hardship that so many of us are going through, but if you knew of all the obstacles her team had to overcome, I think you’d agree she deserves every inch of the leather interior. Taylor’s squad had to go nearly the entire season without their captain, Cindy Cinderbaum, who left the team at the beginning of the season. The rumor going around the school was that Cindy had to quit after she contracted a sexually transmitted disease. I’m not sure which one it was, but even if I knew, that’s not the type of thing you disclose in a Christmas letter. At any rate, I’m sure you’re as inspired as we are by Taylor’s resolve. Now if we can just get her to use those darn turn signals!
We hope to see you all this holiday season. We’ll be doing our typical Christmas ski trip to Aspen, but the rest of December will be pretty quiet for the Conroys. Thanks to all the economic uncertainty, we decided to cancel our New Year’s plans in Hawaii. Too bad we can’t all be part of the “1 percent,” right?
If we don’t get a chance to see you before January, here’s wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas and a prosperous New Year!
Sincerely,
Roxanne, Tom, Taylor and Carla
XOXOXO
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Letters Home from "Occupy Wall Street"
Sep. 21 – Dear Mom and Dad, “Occupy Wall Street” is fantastic. The energy here is absolutely amazing. I haven’t felt a part of something this big since Phish played that free concert at our campus’ “Make Clothes from Hemp” rally. Everyone here can sense that we’re on the verge of real change and it’s inspiring to see how effective non-violent political movements can be. It does kind of suck sleeping on the ground, but what are ya gonna do?
Love,
Trent
Sep. 28 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a while since I had a decent meal, but my enthusiasm remains high. It’s been a little disheartening to see and hear about altercations that some of my fellow protesters have had with the police, but hearing about other “Occupy” movements in other cities around the country, and even the world, only strengthens our resolve.
You might wonder what it is we do here all day, but believe me, the time flies. There’s lots to choose from. On most days, someone shouts things at a big group of us and then we repeat in unison what that person just shouted. During other parts of the day, those of us who can drum, do so. Those of us who can’t drum, do so as well. And my hands are beginning to cramp from all the finger waving, but the unity that it generates makes it all worthwhile.
Don’t forget to feed Mr. Glub Glub and try to change his water every week.
Love,
Trent
P.S. The matter of our “plumbing problems” is totally getting overblown in the media.
Oct. 1 – Dear Mom and Dad, the plumbing problems are no longer overblown. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they’re now being underblown. Wow, what a difference a couple of days can make. It’s actually the b.o. that’s overwhelming everything. You’d think that a few days of rain would help the problem, but it’s only added a mildewey smell to our group.
But at least we’re not getting tear-gassed.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 4 – Dear Mom and Dad, good news! My hygiene concerns have been alleviated, at least for the short term. Shane came to the park and agreed to watch my tent so I could use his apartment to shower. It created a bit of stir, though, as some of those within earshot didn’t approve of me leaving. One guy was fine with it as long as he could use the shower too. Shane was not up for that, so the guy jammed his finger into my chest and shouted, “You’re not a true occupier! Share the wealth, man!” Oddly enough, I think he’s the one that isn’t a true occupier. I’m pretty sure he was living in the park long before the protest started.
At any rate, I smell a whole lot better.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 9 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a rough couple of days. Cliques are starting to form between those who can make clever signs and those who can’t. Even though I lack cardboard and the ability to come up with brief, biting quips about Wall Street employees, I had hoped that my large supply of Sharpies would be seen as valuable. Apparently, though, yellow was a bad color choice.
This of course follows on the heels of getting ostracized from my group for leaving to take a shower, and Dad admitting that he flushed Mr. Glub Glub. Needless to say, my mood has somewhat diminished.
By the way, if I get any mail from the student loan office that has “Third Notification” stamped on the envelope, just toss it. They don’t get serious until the fifth notice anyway.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 29 – Dear Mom and Dad, sorry I haven’t written in a while. I keep waiting for something significant to tell you about. I’m not sure if there’s some kind of collective event or tangible concessions that we’re all waiting to see before we go home. I keep hearing messages that emphasize “empowerment” and “change” and “the 99%,” but it seems that most people are focused on the hacky sack elimination tournament at this point.
Judging from recent progress, it’s pretty clear that I’m going to miss Ted’s Halloween party. That is always the party of the year. Surely we’ll be done, though, by Thanksgiving (if not, say “hi” to Grandma for me). Even more than that, I hope all of this has wrapped by Black Friday. I’m really hoping to get the latest Call of Duty when it goes on sale.
Sorry I’m not texting or even just calling more, but I’d hate for these Sharpies to go to waste.
Love,
Trent
Nov. 5 – Dear Mom and Dad, it looks like I may have to give up my post down here at the park. Craig has threatened to fire me if I don’t show up to work on Monday. I can’t believe he doesn’t appreciate our efforts to improve the plight of the average citizen, and to convince Washington to stop cowing to, and start taxing, giant corporations. Not to mention trying to get our leaders to focus on putting Americans back to work. He’s such a douche.
At least I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.
Love,
Trent
Love,
Trent
Sep. 28 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a while since I had a decent meal, but my enthusiasm remains high. It’s been a little disheartening to see and hear about altercations that some of my fellow protesters have had with the police, but hearing about other “Occupy” movements in other cities around the country, and even the world, only strengthens our resolve.
You might wonder what it is we do here all day, but believe me, the time flies. There’s lots to choose from. On most days, someone shouts things at a big group of us and then we repeat in unison what that person just shouted. During other parts of the day, those of us who can drum, do so. Those of us who can’t drum, do so as well. And my hands are beginning to cramp from all the finger waving, but the unity that it generates makes it all worthwhile.
Don’t forget to feed Mr. Glub Glub and try to change his water every week.
Love,
Trent
P.S. The matter of our “plumbing problems” is totally getting overblown in the media.
Oct. 1 – Dear Mom and Dad, the plumbing problems are no longer overblown. In fact, I think it’s fair to say they’re now being underblown. Wow, what a difference a couple of days can make. It’s actually the b.o. that’s overwhelming everything. You’d think that a few days of rain would help the problem, but it’s only added a mildewey smell to our group.
But at least we’re not getting tear-gassed.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 4 – Dear Mom and Dad, good news! My hygiene concerns have been alleviated, at least for the short term. Shane came to the park and agreed to watch my tent so I could use his apartment to shower. It created a bit of stir, though, as some of those within earshot didn’t approve of me leaving. One guy was fine with it as long as he could use the shower too. Shane was not up for that, so the guy jammed his finger into my chest and shouted, “You’re not a true occupier! Share the wealth, man!” Oddly enough, I think he’s the one that isn’t a true occupier. I’m pretty sure he was living in the park long before the protest started.
At any rate, I smell a whole lot better.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 9 – Dear Mom and Dad, it’s been a rough couple of days. Cliques are starting to form between those who can make clever signs and those who can’t. Even though I lack cardboard and the ability to come up with brief, biting quips about Wall Street employees, I had hoped that my large supply of Sharpies would be seen as valuable. Apparently, though, yellow was a bad color choice.
This of course follows on the heels of getting ostracized from my group for leaving to take a shower, and Dad admitting that he flushed Mr. Glub Glub. Needless to say, my mood has somewhat diminished.
By the way, if I get any mail from the student loan office that has “Third Notification” stamped on the envelope, just toss it. They don’t get serious until the fifth notice anyway.
Love,
Trent
Oct. 29 – Dear Mom and Dad, sorry I haven’t written in a while. I keep waiting for something significant to tell you about. I’m not sure if there’s some kind of collective event or tangible concessions that we’re all waiting to see before we go home. I keep hearing messages that emphasize “empowerment” and “change” and “the 99%,” but it seems that most people are focused on the hacky sack elimination tournament at this point.
Judging from recent progress, it’s pretty clear that I’m going to miss Ted’s Halloween party. That is always the party of the year. Surely we’ll be done, though, by Thanksgiving (if not, say “hi” to Grandma for me). Even more than that, I hope all of this has wrapped by Black Friday. I’m really hoping to get the latest Call of Duty when it goes on sale.
Sorry I’m not texting or even just calling more, but I’d hate for these Sharpies to go to waste.
Love,
Trent
Nov. 5 – Dear Mom and Dad, it looks like I may have to give up my post down here at the park. Craig has threatened to fire me if I don’t show up to work on Monday. I can’t believe he doesn’t appreciate our efforts to improve the plight of the average citizen, and to convince Washington to stop cowing to, and start taxing, giant corporations. Not to mention trying to get our leaders to focus on putting Americans back to work. He’s such a douche.
At least I’ll be home for Thanksgiving.
Love,
Trent
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