Less Crazy Than I Though

So, I met with a counselor yesterday regarding my mental state.  It’s official… I’m not a cotton-headded ninny-muggins.  I’m just stressed.

One thing that really hit home is when I was told that you can’t be considered crazy if you’re willing to take care of your issues.  The crazy ones are the people with issues that they never address.  I think it’s true.  So honestly, if you feel like you need to get something off your chest, I hightly recommend therapy.  I mean, it can’t hurt, can it?

On a semi-related note, here is some unsolicited advice that I would like to give to any who trust me enough to listen.

-Watch this video when you are feeling down.  It will pick you up. I promise.(Thanks Lana!)

-Look at this picture when you are feeling fat.  It will make you feel not fat.  I promise.  (Thanks Eric!)

-Visit this website when you feel like nobody likes you because you’re not cool.  You’re a lot cooler than you think.  I promise.

-Don’t go longboarding at night when there is no moon.  You might almost die… a lot.

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Sadness Is…

Sadness is opening your RSS feed reader to find that all of the feeds you’ve been subscribing to for the past year and a half have been deleted.

Sometimes I hate the internets.

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Trichotillomania

I always hated my bushy eyebrows. I hated the fact that they took hours to dry after getting out of the shower every morning. I hated that girls would ask me if they could wax my face for beauty school practice. And I utterly despised the fact that they made it so that my closest celebrity look-alike was Burt from Sesame Street. I hated all those things… until today.

Trichotillomania (pronounced: trik-oh-till-oh-may-nee-ah) is the word that makes me happy that I have bushy eyebrows. People with Trichotillomania have a compulsion to pull the hair out of their bodies by the roots when they get nervous, stressed or anxious… and I am one of them!

A few weeks ago I made a comment that when work got tough, or when I got worried I noticed myself pulling out huge clumps of hair from my bushy brow. My boss overheard my comment and told me that his sister did the same thing. She has such a bad case that she no longer has eyebrows or eyelashes.

That kind of freaked me out, because I saw a kid in high school who shaved his eyebrows, and he looked like a cross between an Oompa Loompa and the Incredible Hulk. (My boss’ sister didn’t look like an Oompa Loompa… just thought I’d clarify that.)

I didn’t want to look like an Oompa Loompa. So, today I took matters into my own hands. I got a hold of some phone numbers, and tomorrow I’ll be setting up an appointment with a behaviorist who (hopefully) will be able to help me overcome this quirky mental disease that could ruin my chances of being the sexiest man in the world… with a unibrow.

So, next time you have the urge to complain about bodily hair, just stop and think, “At least I’m not like Bags who has the urge to yank all of this glorious hair that I hate so much out by the roots. I’m going to appreciate my hair now. Thanks Bags!” And on that very day, in that very moment, you can probably bet that I’ll be sitting at a desk somewhere, yanking on my beard or tugging on tufts of eyebrows while wishing you a big “You’re welcome…. you hairy beast.”

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Why I Hate Camping - Part 2 In A Series Of Parts

Ever wondered what it’s like to participate in eternal suffering? If you have, and you’re interested in a taste, there is one place I know of that will give you a perfect sampling. It’s called the Klondike Derby.

For some reason, some genius thought it would be a great idea to gather together large groups of 12 to 16-year-old boys in a huge field surrounded by mountains smack in the middle of winter. If you don’t know what the Utah mountains look like in winter, click here.

The main event of the camp-out is a huge sled-pulling competition held between scout troops. As luck would have it, my scout troop consisted of me, my friend Mark and your mom. (Actually, your mom wasn’t there… but Mark’s dad was there, and that’s close enough.) The results of the race come later in this post.

Since it was just the 3 of us, we decided against going to the trouble of seting up a tent. Instead, we unrolled our sleeping bags in the back of the mini van we drove up in. Classy. We were the envy of every troop around, all crammed into the rear of our maroon Astro van!

Half way through the night, (of course) I had to pee.

I sat there in my sleeping bag for about 30 minutes, gazing at the cloud of condensation that was forming above our heads, wondering if it was worth it to jump out of the van to do the deed. I didn’t think my bunk mates would appreciate the gust of freezing air, and I didn’t really want to put on my boots or expose my treasure of treasures to sub zero weather.

Finally, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I threw on my half-laced boots, opened the door and took a leak right outside the van.

The next morning, I was greeted by a block of lemon flavored ice right outside my door.

As we exited the car after our fitful night’s rest, our first objectives were food and fire… though not necessarily in that order. After a few matches and our fair share of scout water (kerosene), we had a fire blazing. I was wearing my boots, snow pants, sweater, coat, gloves and hat while I held my hands over the fire.

After a minute or two, I started to feel a strange sensation on my hands. As I turned them over to have a look, I realized that I had held them too close to the fire and melted clean through the fabric and insulation on my gloves and the sleeve of my coat. Wonderful.

I endured the rest of the trip while experiencing a brisk draft that penetrated to my very core.

After breakfast, we headed over to the ‘fun’ competition. By this time, I just wanted to go home… or die. My scout troop (Mark and myself) were now required to run a quarter mile together… in the snow… pulling a weighted sled. We were thrilled.

To give you an idea of how this looked/felt, I have posted a video for your viewing pleasure.

I don’t know what possessed someone to even fathom that this event would be remotely fun. If I wanted to freeze my butt off and be miserable for a weekend, I’d clean out the fridge and have someone lock me in there… or I could have moved to Canada. To be honest, I might have actually preferred that.

You ever hear those people say, “Oh, such-and-such-a-thing will happen when Hell freezes over.”? Well… it has. And it’s called Klondike.

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Thanks To A Vampire

Thanks to Vampire Weekend for helping me wake up this morning for my first day of 6:00 am workouts. “Hey, hey, hey, hey!”

Vampire Weekend - A-Punk

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The Dark Knight Movie Review

I know that one of you (or maybe all two of you) has been anxiously awaiting a review of the new Batman movie written by yours truly.

I’m going to assume that you’ve already seen the movie due to the fact that it grossed over $158,000,000.00 in its opening weekend, and a number that high implies that roughly every human on earth saw it at least once within that 3 day span. So, if you haven’t seen it, and I say something that spoils the plot (like “Heath Ledger dies.”), it’s your own fault. You should have seen it this weekend like the rest of the human race did… including my pen pal from Zambia named Beenzu.

I’ve talked to lots of people about the movie. They all had the same general reaction. Most people thought it was ‘dark,’ or ‘intense,’ or just plain ‘evil.’ But personally, if I could choose one word to describe The Dark Knight, I think it would be ‘cute.’ I mean, honestly, what’s more adorable than grown men dressing up as clowns, scarecrows and bats, running around the street at night time with one another? Where I’m from, they call that Halloween. The only thing they were missing was my killer bumblebee costume from last year. (Nothing says evil villain like a bumblebee outfit.)

Ok, but really.

Back to the topic at hand… as always, I have to give props where props are due. Heath, even though I know you’re never going to read this because you’re dead and all, “YOU DA’ MAN!”

Honestly folks, I disagree with anyone who says that Heath Ledger played a great villain. I also disagree with them if they say he played the best villain. The character he played-this Joker he created-is not a villain… he is a monster. An absolute wretch escaped from the darkest corner of H-E-double hockey sticks. And it was indeed a spectacle to watch. It was not, however, my favorite part of the flick.

What was my favorite part, you ask? Well, dear reader, my favorite part had to be every part where Maggie Gyllenhaal replaced Katie Holmes with her believable, non-upstaging, un-sucktastic acting. Ok, so I made up a few words there… but man I am so glad that Katie Holmes got nixed from this film. I think it’s payment for her participation in that fake relationship to cover up Tom’s gayness… oh, and the whole conversion to Scientology thing.

Needless to say, I’m a fan. I like movies where Christian Bale plays a crazed billionaire who likes to dress up in a spandex bat costume and whisper secrets into criminals ears with the voice of an 80-year-old chain smoker.

I like movies featuring psychotic, disfigured clowns who have no conscience or morals and delight on reaping havoc on the innocent and defenseless people of Gotham (which isn’t a real place, by the way).

I like movies with Maggie Gyllenhaal.

7 comments.

Beyond The Grave

In case any of you were wondering what lies waiting in Hell… here is a sneak preview.

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Why I Hate Camping - Part 1 In A Series Of Parts

One would think that living in Utah (the state with more National Parks than any other state in the country), and being an Eagle Scout would make me an avid camper. The reality of the matter is that I absolutely cannot tolerate it. To be honest, I’d rather crawl through a patch of poison ivy… naked… in the winter, than go camping. Oh, wait, that would be camping then, wouldn’t it?

I have good reason to have such disdain for this atrocious pastime. That reason is actually what spawned this post. Over the next week or so I have decided to relate a few of the experiences that help contribute to my absolute loathing of the casual overnighter.

Back in March of ‘96, I was an anxious young lad of 11. In roughly one week, I would become a man. I would graduate from cub scouts and move up into the ranks of the testosterone laden, hormone crazed pyromaniacs that make up the boy scouts. It was during this exciting time that I was invited by my future scout troupe to join them at the Spring Camporee.

Oh, I was excited. It was finally my turn to cut the umbilical chord and celebrate my freedom by farting and burping whenever I wanted, staying up late into the night and, most importantly, playing with fire.

My father was also obliged to come as a supervisor to the rest of the boys (I, of course, needed no supervision).

As I packed my bags with all the things a scout needs for an overnighter, (canteen, matches, mess kit, lighter fluid, hatchet, fire sticks, and a swiss army knife) my father coaxed me to bring a foam pad to put under my sleeping bag.

“No way, Jose!” I thought. “There’s no way I’ll ever need a pad. I’m a real man now, I can take a few rocks in the spine. Soldiers and cowboys and other real men do that sort of crap every day.”

Needless to say, we journeyed to our destination, played with a lot of fire and then , one by one we stumbled to our tents to turn it in for the night.

It wasn’t until about 2:00 in the morning that I learned my lesson. I woke up next to my best friend shaking uncontrollably. I could barely get the words out, my teeth were chattering so ferociously. “Mark… g-g-g-get m-m-my D-D-D-D-D-Dad.”

I heard my friend roll over, half awake. “What?” He asked groggily.

“I n-n-need help. G-g-g-get m-m-y D-D-D-Dad.”

He clumsily got out of his sleeping bag and walked over to the ‘Leader’s Tent’ and woke up my father. My Dad entered my tent, picked me up, carried me back to his sleeping bag and shoved me inside it. He then crawled in with me. Despite the awkwardness, I started to warm up.

I found out later that I was in the beginning stages of hypothermia… and it was because there was no pad to insulate me from the ground; the very ground, that as I slept, was being coated in a layer of freshly fallen snow.

I’m quite certain my Father saw this coming (whether by Father’s intuition or by watching the weather channel the night before), because he had packed an extra pad for me without my knowing. After I had warmed up sufficiently, he set up my new sleeping area in the appropriate manner, and I endured the rest of the freezing night feeling like a fool.

To summarize, my very first boy scout camping experience almost resulted in my freezing to death. I now know why Han stuck Luke in the Taun Taun… especially if the feeling he got was anything like being ‘little spoon’ to my Dad.

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Bags, The Leper

I want to take a Brillo Pad to my shins!

It’s been two weeks since I was sunburned on the beaches of California. When I walk around, it still sounds like I’m smuggling tissue paper into some little underground arts and crafts society.

When I take my clothes off, I am greeted by a whiteout of snowflakes that cover everything within a one meter radius in a fine, white residue.

I have started using the Head & Shoulders dandruff shampoo all over my body.

Okay, you get the point.  And I’ve learned my lesson.  I’ve learned it so much that I’ve even started to think that maybe this whole experience is meant to be have some sort of deeper meaning. Maybe the divine is trying to get me tod to grasp some sort of profound metaphor. That life is amazing and wonderful unless you let yourself get burned. Then, it takes time to get rid of all the rotten, injured parts. You have to peel and scratch and go through some significant pain and annoyance… and even sometimes embarrassment to get yourself back to normal.

Honestly, it’s just easier to prevent the whole thing by doing what you know you should have done in the first place. Just protect yourself and wear the sunscreen. It’s makes things so much easier.

If, however, you do choose to learn your lessons the hard way, and venture out into the sun without protection, I warn you now! Be prepared to spend a significant amount of your time shut up inside without any of your beloved sunlight. It is the price you will pay for your foolishness. Trust me.

Metaphor or not, I think it’s fairly apparent that I’m done with this whole moulting thing. I’m really excited to get that fresh set of skin that is starting to emerge from beneath all those nasty, crusty, dead cells.

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In Honor of The Dark Knight

In honor of the greatest movie of all time that I have not seen yet, I give thee Marvel vs. DC, a spoof on Microsoft vs. PC. I hope you enjoy these as much as I do.

Also, I hope the movie is better than these clips.

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