Dating Taylor Swift

Monday, November 24, 2014 | 0 Comment(s)

I love Taylor Swift.  How could I not?  I'm sure if I were a younger man, say like, 14 or so, I'd be standing neck-high behind a velvet rope somewhere screaming at the top of my lungs how I would slaughter my little brother for the chance to touch Taylor's arm.  Thankfully, my more ancient Swiftiness manifests as a hidden shame and then peaks right where the motivation for this SNL gem of a fake commercial came from:

My Taylor love exposed, I still am sick to death of hearing Shake It Off getting overplayed on the radio.  Just like Pharrell's Happy and Gotye's Thatsongoftheirs before it, Shake It Off is the drill bit in a jackhammer being repeatedly pounded into the national consciousness without even buying us dinner first.  Taylor, I'd be happy to go to dinner with you, just ask!  Then you can gladly pound me into oblivion with your vocal abilities.

I get it.  A catchy pop song with a message of upbeat joy only comes around . . . every month or so . . . and everybody feels better when they are bopping along on their merry way.  If only the music machine could come out with all their #happyhappyjoyjoy songs at the same time, then perhaps DJ's could concoct a more palatable long term rotation. Until that time, I will patiently await Ariana Grande's future single, Jubilation! (the punctuation mark being part of the title of course), and it's predictable three months of overexposure on 92.7 FM.

On Loss

Wednesday, November 19, 2014 | 0 Comment(s)

I lose so many things. 

Two years ago I found the perfect winter jacket.  It was quilted without being bulky and incredibly well insulated.  I wore that coat both as my "get around town" everyday jacket, as well as my waterproof option for snow frolicking.  Best coat I'd had since high school. 

The following winter, as my wife and I searched through the gigantic Tupperware bins that hold our winter clothes, the coat was nowhere to be found.  We figured it must be somewhere around the house, in the attic or basement most likely.   But with our recent move it became official, the blue winter jacket that, for a brief period fulfilled my every core-warming desire, was gone.

My first nose wasn't as bulbous as the current version, granted this one is Version 4.0.  I lost my first nose at 7 years old when a teammate threw his baseball bat after swatting a grown ball off a coach's underhanded pitch.  The more solid contact came after the batter released his aluminum club, and it came frisbeeing toward me before being stopped by the bridge of my nose. 

Money can't make you Pappy: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Bourbon

Thursday, November 13, 2014 | 0 Comment(s)

I'm a bourbon guy.  I'm big into bourbon.  If you were to check out my Facebook feed at any given time, chances are there would be a picture of some sort of bourbon bottle scrolling on my screen.  I believe they call this a hobby, and it's a delicious one.

As I dipped my toe into the online world of trading and selling bourbon, it has been impossible to ignore the uncomfortable dichotomy between two types of bourbon enthusiasts.  On the one hand, there  is the group of white guys, and I'm generalizing here, that search out rare and old bottles of bourbon to enjoy and drink and trade according to taste and monetary funds.  Sure these guys sell some of their rarer bottles to pay for the next release, but the goal of the hobby is firmly planted in the acquisition and consumption of the very best versions of this American spirit.

The other group of white guys, and this time I am not generalizing save for maybe one or two women, may consume whiskey but that's not their passion.    First and foremost this group pours all of its time and resources into buying out all of the hard to find bottles of whiskey in any given area, in order to immediately resell those bottles online for a profit. They don't just stick to one area either, but will actually fly all over the country to get the jump on the competition.

"These are not the Pappy Van Winkle's you are looking for . . .  Ok, never mind, these are them"
A wonderful example of this "flipping bottles" mentality is currently playing out in Kentucky, simultaneous to the release of this year's much sought after Pappy Van Winkle bourbon.  It starts with people lining up all night in front of liquor stores.  All night they wait to get their hands on as many bottles as possible -- Grown men queuing like teenaged girls for a Taylor Swift concert.  When the doors finally open, these guys grab the most expensive bottles and run to the check out line. While waiting in line to purchase their $250 bottle of Pappy 23 year, they snap a quick picture of the bottle in their sweaty meat mitt.   Before they've even made it to their cars, they've resold the bottle on Facebook or Craiglist or wherever for a cool $1150.  That fast.  These guys may drink bourbon, but what they love is money.

TBRARUMUD All-Stars: The 30 Minute Rule

Tuesday, November 4, 2014 | 1 Comment(s)

(originally post 6/3/10)

Pull up a seat kiddies cause im's a bout to preach a bit--and help ya'lls relationships.

I give you: "the 30 minute rule."

I'm not gonna lie folks, and I'm not gonna front--I believe I actually saw something to this effect on a Sex and the City Episode. No, i will not see the movies. Ever.

When you get home from whatever you do during the day, may it be school or work or some combination of those things or no combination of those things, but when you come home, you are utterly and unchangeably unable to focus on any new problems. Home is where we retreat, it's our safe space.

Interestingly, part of what makes home our safe space is that our significant others (may) live there with us. This is almost always wonderful. The pesky thing about living with other humans, however, is that they have needs. And because of these "needs," when they see the person they care about most walk through the door, they want to share all the day's hopes and dreams and frustrations and anger and questions and stories with that loved one. Unfortunately, when you come home, you are utterly and unchangeably unable to focus on any new problems (or hopes or dreams or frustrations or angers or questions) other than your own. You need to retreat first. Power down. Relax.

This often creates conflict, as the partner that has been home vies to connect with their partner at the end of the day while the partner just coming home vies to get some space to decompress from their own day.

All it takes is 30 minutes.