ON THE FMYLIFE PHENOMENON

I was at Target on Sunday morning, buying supplies for a meeting. The scent of pretzels was in the air, and I stopped by the counter, considering how delicious a cinnamon-sugar pretzel would be for breakfast. The girl in front of me ordered breadsticks. The woman working said they didn't have any, and the girl left. As she did, she said "No breadsticks? Ugh! [Frick] my life!"

Now, I know how it feels to not get the food you've been craving. But...really? You need to say that because your life is THAT bad when you don't get Pizza Hut breadsticks from a Target on a Sunday morning (very close to noon)?

The phrase [Frick] My Life, heareafter abbreviated as FML, is popularized on the website fmylife.com, where people write in little stories about things that go wrong in their life. Some of the things are serious (infidelity) and some are...less serious (assuming someone is buying a Halloween costume when it's just their clothes). Most are amusing in the "other people are in pain" kind of way (which sounds callous when it's spelled out like that). I see the value in using this site as a coping mechanism, sharing the pain with other people could lessen it, I suppose. But when the expressions finds its way into everyday life, into real life, little question marks appear above my head.

I was a big proponent of swearing while I was in college, and now I am not. While I see the value in a few choice epithets (for example, when your team's running back fumbles inside the five yard-line...on two consecutive plays), I think for "life description" things need to be a little more serious than breadsticks not being at your beck and call. For example:

"Today, Nazis discovered my family hiding from them. All that's going to remain of my legacy will be a diary. FML."

I realize that all people have problems, and that comparing hardships is an exercise in futility, but I think if one is going to [frick] their own life, things need to be worse than a lack of breadsticks. For example, there could be no cinnamon-sugar pretzels ready.

ON HOT CHOCOLATE

Obviously, I haven't blogged recently. I have been in a funk recently and didn't feel like writing every day "This is another reason why I hate everything." That's no fun. No one wants to read that. I waited for the funk to pass (as it did) and then was stuck with writer's block for another week (odd, since I haven't written anything else in two months). And now I'm stuck here, one paragraph in, and all the inspiration I felt this morning is dissipating.

I recently purchased a hundred-dollar coffeemaker. This is an out-of-character purchase, as I don't drink coffee. I bought it with the sole intention of making single-serve cups of hot chocolate. I reasoned that 77 cups of hot chocolate would save me the money I would be spending on Dunkin' Donuts Hot Chocolate. It's true. I did the math and everything.

For some reason or another, I apparently am dead-set on making that money back within the first two months, as I have been drinking hot chocolate like reindeer drink eggnog (which is to say...a lot, and often, and oddly enough, with antlers). I have been perfecting the mix of whipped cream, mug size, and temperature, but still...a lot of hot chocolate.

From a deliciousness standpoint, it's been great. From a financial standpoint, I have changed my behavior to justify this purchase. If I didn't have this appliance, I wouldn't be drinking as much of this toasty scrumptious beverage. I wouldn't drink 75 DD Hot Chocolates over the course of even three years - why am I trying to cram all this marshmallow-coated goodness in two months?

I hate justifying purchases like this, because once I start, I find it very difficult to STOP comparing price-versus-benefits. Several years ago, I analyzed the amount of time spent playing Halo 2 online, and the cost of my Xbox, the game, Xbox Live, etc. I then compared it to other games I had purchased and tried to figure out which game banged me for a buck the most.

That's how that expression goes, right?

I started reading a book on behavioral economics last night, and it's blowing my mind, so all of that is coming to the forefront of my mind again. I'll likely have a lot more to write about that subject in the future, but for now - hot chocolate. Back the matter at hand.

The fact is, this coffeemaker changed my life. If I ever have friends over who want coffee, I will be able to provide them with coffee in many different flavors and forms. I will be able to make myself 60-calorie cups of hot chocolate whenever I want, and share those with friends who don't like coffee, as I did yesterday. And really...can you put a price on the happiness of your friends? And, if so, is it cheaper than a Dunkin' Donuts Hot Chocolate?

[Not my most cohesive post, but I'm a little rusty. Bear with me.]

ON KNOWING WHEN

I've been back and forth about leaving this job. Seriously, when I moved here, I was already looking. But now...I'm ready to go. I just need to find another job and place to live, more friends, other opportunities to be creative, and some good restaurants and I will put in my notice here. Seriously.

ON A FAVORITE DAY

Last night was my fantasy football draft. During the day, I repeatedly told people it was my "fifth-favorite day of the year." (Christmas Day, Thanksgiving Day, my birthday, July 4th, and the FF draft. Arbor Day can go to hell.) As the day went on, I started to believe it, and tried to figure out why the day mattered so much.

The league has been (mostly) the same group of guys for going on eight years. We've done a live online draft for three years, allowing us to mock picks as they are made for people who are online. While I would prefer we all get together and do the draft together, the distances involved prevent it (from Massachusetts to Calgary - we're spread out).

I guess if one word had to sum up the experience, it would be potential. Immediately after the drafting is over, there's a week before anything happens. I have that whole week to think about how good my team is going to be, how everyone else's teams will be crushed by injuries or poor play, and how good it's going to feel to get the championship bobblehead. I have the whole football season to look forward to, and I spend a good half an hour trying to figure out which games will be on TV here so I can cheer my players on (as I have Tom Brady, that means I will get to see my QB play every week).

It was also entertaining to watch my own draft kind of self-destruct. I had ranked 143 players, with the idea that I would strictly follow that list throughout the draft. It didn't happen. I reached for a team defense a round or two before I should have. I didn't take the top tight end I had ranked, I skipped a few receivers...but overall, I think it came out well.

Now, to figure out my week one lineup...

ON TREADING WATER

The last few weeks have been stressful. Nothing out of the ordinary, mostly work stuff. I feel like it's a struggle to keep my head above water during times like this, and this year was busier than most.

It was, however, an exception. Not because I didn't keep up with the numerous demands work placed on my life, but because I decided to raise the bar for myself. Instead of forgetting about extracurriculars, I continued with as much improv as possible. Instead of forgetting friends, I tried to make a point to catch up with people I hadn't heard from in a while. And instead of skipping the podcast, I skipped writing a blog entry for the past three weeks. In my defense, my moldy office was "fixed" yesterday.

I don't know why I went through this stressful time without a crutch of any kind. No stress eating, no crying jags, no extra medication. Part of me wanted to prove I could get through this on my own - except that part of me was wrong. It sucked. I would have loved to have eaten Snickers bars for dinner every night for the past three weeks. That crutch would have been both supportive and delicious. But no - I wanted to be Snickerless (I only lost .4 pounds over the past two weeks - surprising, considering I had several super-low-calorie days) for reasons I'm not entirely clear on.

But I made it. My building has moved in, I am caught up on work, and I am enjoing Ultra Violet Diet Mountain Dew. My head is above water, I'm clinging to a lifevest, and trying my best to swim away from the sinking ship that is "Budget Cuts." Now, to find an island with mysterious hatches...

ON A FUN NIGHT OUT

Last night, we went to Dave and Buster's. I hadn't been in a while, and it always strikes me how seriously I take "ticket games." I really want to get those tickets to get usually-low-grade prizes, that would have been much less expensive had I just used the money directly for (for example) the pint glasses.

As I think on it more, I suppose there's something to be said for the experience. There's not much point to going to a place like D&B's by oneself, with the idea of "I'm going to get two pint glasses tonight!" The prizes are there as a bonus, something extra that makes the night a little more enjoyable. So the next time some wiseguy points out the relative value of the prizes, feel free to cite the "fun" included in the "price" of the prize.

In addition to the cheap gifts, we added a little of our own excitement to the night. I had a free T-shirt from my school's orientation program. I brought it with me and called it a trophy. The person who had it could be challenged at any game at any time throughout the night; winner of that game kept the shirt until they were challenged again. The shirt changed hands many times throughout the night, on a horse-racing skill game, DDR, trivia...but it ended up being most hotly contested in the final game of pop-a-shot. The decision was made to go best of three; the first two games were split and the last one...was a tie! In sudden death, my cheese-loving friend Casey took home the trophy. In our post-evening discussions, she said that made her in charge of the "trophy" the next time we go to Dave and Buster's. I'm really glad the trophy idea worked so well last night, and I'm even more glad that it seems to be a hit for the future as well.

ON TALENT

I saw a commercial for a new TV show yesterday, and truthfully, it looks awful. Allegedly a comedy, nothing in the trailer made anyone in the room laugh; I would say we had a broad range of senses-of-humor in the room, as well.

It's really becoming more clear to me that it isn't the most talented people who succeed. People who are thoroughly mediocre but are either a) extremely hard-working or b) extremely well-connected seem to rise to the top of their fields. There's a lesson in this somewhere. The lesson being, of course, that people who make decisions as to what airs or gets recorded are stupid.

It's a frustrating thing, to go on a website and see an eight-minute video with a ton of jokes get about 400 total views, but then a two-minute video with a moderately famous person on it gets tens of thousands of views - but has no jokes. People are conditioned to think highly of this performer, so they do. It sounds petulant and reeking of jealousy, but I would think that a website featuring funny videos would benefit be focusing on content rather than name recognition.

It's a tough thing. I need to work harder on connecting with some influential people.

ON HYPOCHONDRIA

I won't sit here and pretend that I'm often sick. Thinking back to my youth, I didn't miss a day of school other than a campus visit between seventh and twelfth grade. I didn't take any sick time for work during the four years I was at Walgreens or the two years at Arkansas. And since I've been here, I've probably missed a combined two days due to illness or just needing to sleep.

It's weird when I do get sick - I hate feeling bad, but I also hate admitting I need help, so I am loath to actually go to the doctor. However, when I get just a little sick - a headache, or my current stomach acid problem - I assume the worst. I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to tell my family how I developed the brain tumor that I am sure is causing the headache. Then I go to bed, wake up, and feel fine. (Note: I would love to send my family a singing telegram to break the news.)

As to my current deal, in which I feel like I am always full up to my throat and don't want to eat, I checked WebMD and it listed some possible awful things for me. Instead of going to a doctor for further tests, I just follow the treatment advice on there for whatever disease I self-diagnose. It's a terrible path, and certainly not the right one, but I apparently will go to great lengths to not go to the doctor (I also don't completely understand how insurance works, and what they actually pay for).

So I struggle on, a little under the weather, but unwilling to seek treatment, finding comfort instead in the weight loss that I have no doubt will accompany this all-oatmeal diet. Honestly, if it's still bad tomorrow, I'll go to the doctor, but until then - Zantac should take care of things, right? That's what their commercials would have me believe!

ON RESPECT

Last summer, my office had what we in the business call a "mold problem." As in "mold is growing everywhere because my a/c isn't functioning correctly, and that's a problem." I let the facilities staff know; they came by with a ladder, took out the ceiling tile, said "here's the problem," and then never fixed it.

They put in a short-term fix, sure, and a custodian sprayed my office with bleach (ruining several of my personal belongings), but at least the toxic mold had been dealt with.

Until, of course, this summer. After my week's vacation, I came back and noticed that it was noticeably humid in my office. In addition, I had some waterspots on the ceiling. I let facilities know. The Assistant Director looked and it. And then nothing was done. No dehumidifier was purchased, no plastic was put down, nothing. Now, my couch is ruined, the mold has spread a dangerous amount, other rooms are being affected - and nothing is being done by facilities.

My bosses have been very supportive. One is giving up her lunch today to purchase a dehumidifier to at least blunt the problem, since no one seems to be in a rush to repair it. I'll drag the couch out myself and let another department deal with it, because there's no way I'm keeping it in the office.

The point is - how did this happen? Is it because I'm entry-level, no one realizes that I might actually like to work out of my office? If this happened to another administrator, wouldn't the problem have been fixed sooner? While I don't feel it was intentional, I definitely feel disrespected by the whole process, and will cite this in any future exit interviews as one of the reasons I end up leaving.

ON SOCIALS

For both of my loyal readers, I apologize for the lapse in posting. I had vacation for a week, then a week full of meetings and updates, which led to little time for blogging. It's also nice to be able to refresh the brain, topic-wise, instead of worrying about meeting a self-imposed deadline.

I had two get-togethers over the weekend with my co-workers. Friday night's was not to my liking; despite having more time to prepare for it mentally, I went in prepared to be the spoiler, and to "party poop," if you will. Got there and was just kind of out of it and asocial, heading to the back room to watch TV as everyone else talked. Granted, the X Games were on, and it was awesome to see Travis Pastrana attempt a trick and crash horribly, but still...looking back, I feel as though I should have made more of an effort to be social.

I got called for a second get-together on Saturday night. Since I felt so negative about my attitude from Friday night, I made it a point to go on Saturday. It ended up being a really good time; we played Trivial Pursuit and my team won. [I may have said in the past about how I hate playing trivia games, because the expectations are always there for me to do well.] When I left, I felt pretty good about our time together.

Maybe it's that I spend so much time with off-campus friends, that I often forget about my on-campus friends and the opportunities they provide, and the very different aspects of my personality that come out with them. It ended up being a fun weekend; amazing, considering I was on duty for the entire time.

ON PERFECTION...AGAIN

I've heard countless times about how baseball is the perfect game to bond fathers and sons. Something about the alleged timelessness of having a catch in the yard, going to your first professional game, learning how to properly charge a bunt. I don't know the logistics of it, because I never believed it.

My dad was a basketball guy. He played at an NAIA school in college, and passed his love for the game on to my older brother and me (and, to an extent, my sister). So we never had the "Field of Dreams" moments together in the same way, instead focusing on the proper way to shoot a free throw or how to defend a pick-and-roll.

Today, however, we arrived during the eighth inning of the White Sox game. We knew they were winning, but that was about all. After a ground ball barely rolled foul, my dad commented that judging by the crowd noise, he wondered if pitcher Mark Buehrle had a no-hitter going. Not only did Buehrle have a no-hitter going, it was a perfect game - no hits, no walks, no errors - through eight innings.

While the White Sox were batting in the eighth, we flipped around. ESPN was promising to show the last inning live (CSN or whatever it's called now was carrying the game). This broke my heart, as I had seen several live feeds of the ninth innings of no-hitters ended on the first batter, and figured it was a curse to Buehrle. We flipped back to the channel and they were announcing a defensive replacement, with a new center fielder.

At this point, my dad said "New center fielder? Uh-oh, don't drop the ball!" This was very much in line with my thinking at the time. And, on a 2-2 pitch, the Rays' hitter send a shot to just left of center field. It was headed over the fence - only replacement center fielder DeWayne Wise - who had been in the game for five pitches at this point - leapt up the wall, squeezed the ball in his glove, smashed into the wall with his body, bobbled the ball, then caught it in his bare hand. My dad and I both cheered out loud, enraptured by this turn of events.

A strikeout (with resounding calls of "He gone!") followed, then the 27th batter of the game. A grounder to short, throw to first, and my dad and I were cheering joyfully. We had witnessed history, the 17th perfect game in regular season history, the 6th pitcher to throw a no-hitter (April 2007) AND a perfect game...and not only did we watch it together, but I will always remember his eerie premonition about the DeWayne Wise catch. It's not exactly "Field of Dreams," but I'll take it.

ON GOLF LESSONS

I remember reading somewhere that golf is a game of "almosts" - that even if you get a birdie on a hole, you'll spend the rest of the day thinking about the eagle you almost got, had the ball only bounced differently. Or, in my case, the par I almost got had the putt rolled a little differently. The key after the round, I suppose, is to focus on what DID go well, rather than dwell on what could have been better, had a little thing only gone more in your favor.

There are a million factors to take into account - distance from the hole, wind speed, angle of the ground, whether you have an audience...and all of them seem to matter. Honestly, I marvel that anyone anywhere has made a hole in one, because there's such a "butterfly effect" - even a slight wind gust can push your ball a different way.

It's a lesson in acceptance on a micro scale. The shot has been hit, and once it leaves the club, you have no control over it (despite my attempts at body languaging the ball so it goes where I want). So many things in life are like that, things that we can't control after a certain point. I guess it's on all of us to keep track of where things are going - even if it happens to be off two trees and into the weeds. That's a metaphor.

Dad joke: or a meta-FORE!

ON WOO-ING

We went out to a hibachi restaurant last night. As there were four of us, we ended up sharing our grill with another family of four - a father, mother, and two kids.

As the meal started, the father engaged us in a little conversation. Rather, he tried to engage us in conversation. I wasn't interested in talking with this guy - who was he? As the meal continued, my friends talked more with them, even asking him to "act disgusted" at one part of the meal. By the end of our time at the restaurant, we realized we had had a pretty interesting conversation with this family of strangers.

There's a program on leadership skills called Strengthsquest. A person takes a long quiz and then the program tells them which of 37 "strengths" are their top three. And when I initially heard about this program, I wanted to be a WOO - which stands for Winning Others Over. WOOs strike up conversations with people easily - such as at a hibachi grill table. Based on last night - I am not a WOO.

I do not meet others easily, unless I am absolutely prepared for the whole situation. Job search conferences are a situation where I know I have to be outgoing and friendly and willing to strike up a conversation, so I can WOO as necessary there. On the other hand, I am not likely to come off as very friendly if I am by myself in the grocery store checkout line. I'm a little more guarded and not WOO-y.

Meeting people is a skill I need to work on, but more than that, it's a skill I need to WANT to work on. Really, what is the worst* that could have happened if I tried to talk with these people I didn't know at the restaurant last night? They think I'm weird and have a story for their friends. Whatever. I think I was more nervous about my friends saying (when we got to the car) "Wow, Brad, you really wouldn't shut up. That poor family..." I don't want to embarrass myself OR my friends through inappropriate WOO-ing.

* - for a "worst thing," this is pretty tame.

ON BIAS

I took a few journalism classes in college; I do not profess to be an expert in the field of news reporting. But lately, I've been more and more frustrated with stories I've read and seen.

For example, a Facebook friend posted a link to an article about a recommendation made by President Obama to increase vaccination coverage. Intrigued, I clicked through to read the article and discovered a very slanted piece of writing opposed to the program. While I understand an individual's concerns about the program (sort of), the tone of the piece was absurdly biased.

To me, if an article exists as news, it should be free of bias. I understand the need for a hook to draw the audience in, but shouldn't something like that be saved for political commentary shows in which the commentary on the news is the focus, rather than the news itself?

I'll admit, it's entirely possible that because the article was slanted against Obama (opposing my personal opinion) that I noticed it. Perhaps the bias in articles slanted against President Bush (matching my personal opinion) went unnoticed by me, or simply served as "news" validation of my opinion. I have no problem admitting that. I'm just frustrated by the fact not only does America seem to allow "either-or" sides on issues and politics, that the reporting of said issues would fall so uselessly on one extreme or the other.

Plus I hate articles that compare me to comic strip characters.

ON CREATIVITY

Although my birthday was last Friday, friends and I celebrated last night, as it was the first time we could all get together. After a sterling improv rehearsal, we all went out to dinner. It wasn't perfect - they were out of rice, which left my side dish as "taboulli" - to my credit, I tried it. (Verdict: hhurrghh!)

After dinner, we headed back to Chuck's house for presents and a movie. And I can say that without exception, my friends are ridiculously creative. To wit:

* A typewritten letter accompanying the book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

* A pre-order for Bioshock 2, with an "instruction manual" card with a lot of (intentional) grammatical errors - because they know how much I love correcting grammar!

* A Transformers card that used to say "To a great Dad," only it had been changed to "To a great Brad" with a marker.

* An amusing caricature of me, including full-frontal caricatured nudity.

* A "story card," complete with different-yet-similar amusing caricatures of me, telling the story of my birth

* An unflattering picture of me set in a matte backing as a motivational poster - with the caption as "eloquence" and the explanation being my final two lines before quitting my former improv group. "I'm resigning my board position effective immediately...I'll be at Dunkin' Donuts."

* A poster-sized print of a photo of me and my justafriend Casey, photoshopped with a giant heart outlining us and some soulful Boys II Men lyrics printed on it. Chuck thinks it's hilarious to make jokes about romantic involvement between me and (Sousa's girlfriend) Casey - I don't know if she thought the poster was funny, but I did.

After the gifts, we watched a very funny movie and then all peaced out. A great birthday celebration. Now, to hang this poster...

ON OVERPLANNING

I was really struggling to figure out what to write about today. I considered finding an old email and sharing my creativity again...you know, because my other poems have gone over so well. Instead of finding something worth sharing, I found out how ridiculous I am.

Here is what happened. I was interested in a girl. She was in the Masters' cohort in front of mine; that is, she would be graduating in May 2005 (and I in May 2006). I had seen her a few times around campus but hadn't really talked with her. Sure she was cute, but what really intrigued me was that we were out with a big group of people at a bar and she prayed out loud. Yeah. One night, during a game of sand volleyball, I ALMOST asked her out, but chickened out at the last minute for reasons I'm not clear on. An unrelated note - playing sand volleyball with your mobile phone in your pocket is a mistake.

In any event, rather than simply asking her out, I decided it needed build-up. So I thought it would be a GREAT plan to get flowers for her - but didn't want to make it too obvious to everyone else that I was sweet on her (apparently I have the mind of an eighth-grader). I'm pretty sure at this point I had told her I was interested in her, if this one old email to other friends is to be believed. In any event, I decided to get flowers for her AND her two friends who worked in the same office and would send them a message that was quasi-anonymous (or quasinonymous, if you will).

I bought the flowers and found they didn't fit in the vase I bought. I opted to cut down the stems to make them a little shorter and less likely to tip over...turns out a pizza cutter isn't enough to cut through certain flower stems. After finding sharp scissors, which cut much better, I spent about an hour getting the message on the card correct - the message which ended up being 22 words long. I got an RA to take the flowers over to the office they shared with instructions to tell them whom the flowers were from only if they asked - but then to say that he wasn't supposed to say. They did not ask.

The goal was that all three would think I was sweet, and that the one I was interested in would be encouraged by the other two to date me. Sadly, the girls had trouble figuring out who sent the flowers and involved many other people in their discussion of the two clues, so my desire for quasinonymity failed.

As, of course, did my plan. The girl in this case has been happily married (probably) to some other guy for a few years, and I've gotten a new pizza cutter since then. So really, we're pretty much even.

ON DUNK TANKS

Friday afternoon found me at a block party in downtown Providence. While I was excited about seeing Senior Discount play, my attention was drawn to a dunk tank at one end of the (kind of sad) block. For a dollar (donated to some animal-type charity), one received the opportunity to try and dunk representatives from a local radio station (they claimed it was "Dunk-A-DJ," but unless radio stations hire solely young ladies in their early 20's, I would say there was some bamboozling involved in the titling).

As a firm believer in the Golden Rule, I didn't want to participate. But I was cajoled into it (it didn't take much cajoling, to be honest) and stepped up for my opportunity. My first throw went wide right. My next toss, however, found its mark, sending the girl tumbling from her perch into what I'm sure was cold water below. My third throw was uninspired and missed.

Now, I've been dunked in a dunk tank before. It sucks. The water is cold, and unless you're the first person, there are bits of debris that came from other people's feet or the air, not to mention all the effluvium in the tank. Gross. But at least those throws are honest, a test of skill.

Until, of course, little kids or cute girls get it in their heads to "press the button," dunking the shivering individual with no skill or effort involved, short of the fear of reprisal - which, now that I think on it, does not take any effort either. But I can say that it was incredibly frustrating to think that I had dodged a bullet (so to speak), only to have someone walk the twenty feet toward my cage - my only defense against the imminent dunking being splashing water in their direction. Usually accompanied by a gleeful shout, the person would slam the lever, sending me into the water.

[closing joke deleted]

ON TURNING 31

As I look at the past year of my life (since I wrote "On Turning 30," which really kicked off the "On ____" blogging thing for me, even if I didn't start doing daily updates until much later), I have a few actual highlights from the past year.

* Starting the weekly Chuck and Brad podcast has been a trip. The fact that we have listeners that aren't directly friends with either of us is alternately gratifying and terrifying.

* I have probably been less unconfident in my self over the past year, including the astounding realization that I am not as repulsive as I honestly believed for most of my life.

* Improv-ly speaking, we not only had the chutzpah to give up a standard weekly gig to strike out on our own to support our own vision of improv.

* I have watched a lot of movies and read a lot of books, and thought about them in a critical way, rather than blanket statements such as "That was bad."

* I've written something like 200 blog posts, hitting almost every weekday since the end of September. In doing so, I've started to become more comfortable writing about myself.

* I've been a happier person - not that I don't have my down moments, but on the whole, I've really been less depressed than in years past.

Thanks for everything.

ON PUNK

I was out for a walk the other day, listening to some NoFX as I tried in vain to burn off a weekend meal or two. And their song "The Separation of Church and Skate" talked about how punk rock has become kind of mainstream, kind of safe.

One of requests in the song is to "stop singing songs about girls and love." This raises the question: what makes music "punk?" Does it have to have certain elements? For example, is a band like Rage Against the Machine punk? Their songs are political, and not about girls and love. However, Tom Morello's guitar riffs for Rage are more complicated than the stereotypical punk band.

Does it have to be about relatively simple chord progressions and songs about unrest with the establishment? Is that what punk is about? Does a punk have to wear the uniform or ripped clothes, lots of black, and, if possible, a mohawk? Can someone (like me) who wears sports T-shirts and jeans ever truly be considered a fan of punk music?

For me, it's been about enjoyment of the music. As I've written earlier, I don't enjoy bands who are busy exploring the duality of tonality and atonality - I like to keep my music to a few power chords, a good bass line, and some entertaining lyrics. That's all I need. If a band can satisfy my earholes, I am okay with it, regardless of genre.

I don't really understand why a band like NoFX has "punk credibility" and bands like Good Charlotte don't, at least with hardcore fans. There's no arbiter of punk, deciding what is or isn't punk enough, and casting bands into Punk Hell.

I am trying to figure out who Punk Satan would be...a Jonas Brother? George W. Bush? Bette Midler? I can't think of a good punchline. It's been a long day...

ON TRAVEL

I have about thirty minutes before leaving for the airport, so I figured I'd put pen to paper, so to speak. I am off to West Virginia, via Cincinnati, for a job interview.

The higher ed job search process is a little ridiculous. At one large SEC school last year, I interviewed with a total of 24 people - TWENTY-FOUR!!! - throughout the course of the day. Not just bosses or co-workers - people from other departments, RA's, the whole nine yards. Taken together over the course of eight or nine hours and it adds up to a stressful day.

I have developed a strategy, though, to deal with this. I call it the "it's just a job" attitude. If things go well with the school and they offer me the position - great. If I'm not the right fit or they aren't the right fit for me - I can handle that as well. It's just a job; it doesn't define me as a person. No need to stress out about it.

This strategy has not been 100 percent, but it helps me from becoming overanxious about the day. This is the seventeenth school I've visited over the past five years, so you would think I would be used to the questions and kind of have an idea of what to expect. I don't, really, but it's okay. I'm honestly more concerned about the travel arrangements (will I make my connection in the Cincinnati airport?) than about any interview questions.

In any event, I've never been to West Virginia before, so at the very worst, I'll be in a new state tonight.