Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Cause its all stuck in my subconcious, built up, from everyday...

So as of late, I've had this little, idk, just nagging feeling that something is off, something is missing, something is rotten in the state of Denmark. For the life of me, I couldn't quite place it. I mean, work, sure but thats nothing new, nothing to propel me into a mini-lull. Girls? For once, girls are not the issue. (Well, they are always an issue. I'm sure I'll be married and think, for once in my harried and frazzled life, girls are not an issue. Then I will have a little hellraiser of a daughter and it will be a whole different kind of mental anguish. Its coming, I think its karma...) Work is an issue, sure, but we have been over that before. Its kind of like getting your arm lopped off in a helicopter accident like that douche from ER. At first its like "Son of a bitch, I only have one fucking arm. This is totally awful. I hate the world, not fair." Then after awhile, you kind of deal with it, and while it would be way cooler to have to functional arms, you gotta play the hand you're dealt. So my pathetic bonus a few weeks ago was a figurative helicopter severing one of my limbs. Fun visual right?

Anyways, I digress. So I break all of these factors down, reflect on a conversation I had with a friend and realize, I am just really restless. Not the kind of restless that you can fix by going on a run or taking a vacation, but the restless deep down where you need some sort of sea change in your life. Let me tell you, its not a great feeling. Its the kind of nagging urge that makes people do stupid things like transfer colleges or move cross country only to regret it months later. Thankfully despite all my worry that I will never be satisfied, I came to realize I was just in one of life's little lulls and it would be over soon. I start grad school in a month and a half, and despite the work and time that will inevitably be involved, I can't be more excited. Sitting in this professional rut, day in and day out, knowing that even though I've only been here 9 months, if I am here in another 9 months, not much will have changed. That's enough to drive any ambitious non-apathetic young governor crazy. So 3 cheers for chasing things you want in a drive to remain sane.

So in the next chapter of "Life never goes as planned", barely 2 years after graduating college, I am going back to grad school, part-time, to get my MBA. Now for those of you who know me, I was never a stellar student. Not for lack of ability or intelligence, but rather a lack of drive and perspective. I didn't blow off classes and coursework in college, but I never really put my nose to the grindstone and strove for the best possible outcomes. I chose to learn via social interactions, musical exploration, and the ancient art of procrastination and diversion. As much as I loved college as an experience and time in my life, I couldn't wait to be finished with the academic course load and move onto a professional life where my evenings were my own and I didn't have to drag around thick textbooks like a caveman's club. So the thought of going back to school initially seemed pretty foreign, but as I examined it, got more and more intriguing. By all accounts, its incredibly different than undergrad and the course work is much more focused towards what you are really actually interested in learning and revolves more around your reasons for continuing your education at the graduate level. So that, to me, is pretty exciting.

I actually had my advisory session on Monday morning. I naturally started like a dumbass, walking into the bursar's office, completely confused, and inquired where I would go for my academic advising session. When the helpful young lady informed me I should go to the 7th floor, I briskly walked away, supremely confident that I knew exactly where to stroll to next...except that the building takes up most of a city block and the 7th floor is thus fucking huge. So I pulled the oh so classic "talking on the phone to my mom" while, I "absentmindedly" looked at a map.

"Oh yeah mom. Of course, yep, mmhmm, oh I need to go to my meeting, bye!"

All those students who gave me odd looks probably had no idea I was completely lost. Peasants...

Anyways, the session was so different than when I was 18. For one, I actually welcomed the help and knew questions to ask instead of being some punk ass freshman who knows everything and chews gum while listening to my Walkman blowing bubbles instead of listening, cause, pssh, I know everything. So that was different. I left the meeting really excited to get back into the classroom and start this next step towards being where I want to be professionally. Its interesting too, cause its like a second chance to be that academic rockstar. I never thought it would make a difference professionally, and then with my recent professional adventures that little Jimminy Cricket on my shoulder appeared "Hey Justin, maybe you should have cared a little more in Stats or Behavioral Psychology and then you would have that awesome job with a hedge fund. HAHA!" Of course I swatted the shit out of that annoying little bastard, but his message rings true. So not only am I now excited about getting a new degree, I'm hell bent on shooting for cum laude. And despite all of this, the thought of a second degree on my wall still seems both strange and funny. We'll see.

I'm off to NYC this weekend to see two of my old roommates from college as well as spend some quality time with my madre. Its really the best of both worlds. Do some shopping and eat at some baller restaurants on the parental dime but also get to hang out with 2 of my best friends in my second favorite city in the country. Its funny, I was only there for 4 months (continuously in the summer of 07, not including my 7-8 odds trips there otherwise) but I feel a sort of weird connection to it. For a city that is so dynamic and fast moving and eclectic, there is an element of stasis that makes it comfortable to go back. For example, last summer, I saw the same man walking a bulldog in front of my Dad's apartment that I used to see all the time. I mean, of course he lives there and probably has for years, but its still neat. And when I return, its not like being a tourist, I don't feel the need to consume as much New York as possible. Just enjoy the city for all its worth. It is so incredibly different that Chicago, but thats what makes it fun to go there now. The contrast is stark. Though I am sure the same roving gangs of Asian tourists perfecting their crouching camera angles and invisible platters pose will make my life a bit more frustrating per usual.

I think the next big rapper out of Atlanta is gonna be B.O.B. Kid is young, seems on his game, I love his flow, and he just seems to have his swagger up. Naturally, being on Grand Hustle Records and affiliating himself with T.I. (someone you all know how much I worship), I think will serve him well. You probably have heard Nothing on You all ready, as its pretty widespread, but it wasn't till I heard Airplane that I really thought he was something special. Hayley Williams, mi amor, from Paramore kills the hook, and there is a ridiculously sweet alternate version where Eminem delivers just a merciless verse towards the end. I mean, vintage fire Em. B.O.B's album just dropped yesterday, so check it out. Its guaranteed solid. He just has the feel of a good one...

"Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars, I could really use a wish right now..."

JW

Monday, April 12, 2010

Don't call it a comeback...

Holy mother of pearl, I haven't blogged in 2 months? Now I know, that despite my deepest wishes and self-aggrandizing desires, the world doesn't revolve around my literary musings nor do people earnestly await my next post like a bored housewife awaits the next Danielle Steel novel. But for those of you who have enjoyed my work and supported me through feedback or just informing me that you are indeed reading, I apologize for my absence and I vow to write more in the coming weeks.

The last time I started to punch the proverbial typewriter, it was the final week in March and it had just started getting nice out. Not nice in the "I can get golden brown by setting on my porch for an hour" nice, but more like "Just when I started to believe I was inflicted with that bullshit Seasonal Affective Disorder, I suddenly feel nice cause I can wear a lighter jacket" nice. And with that gentle turn of Mother Nature's thermostat, I have felt myself trending towards a, wait for it, sunnier disposition. Yeah, sometimes cheesy can be awesome.

Its kind of amazing really how a 60 degree day has saved me. How so? Lets start here. I hate my job. It has went from an occasional nuisance to a more persistent and debilitating sort of frustration that won't go away. Now I really, honestly try to avoid over the top complaints and bitchfests, not because it doesn't feel therapeutic at times (cause it totally does), but rather because it makes people uncomfortable, and the people whom I would choose to share these gripes with, are those who I truly care about and value their opinions. As such, I try to exempt them from my morose complaints as I would much rather have them fresh and attentive for a situation where I truly need their attention and empathy more so than a time I am annoyed that there is no more Diet Coke in the kitchen at work because certain gargantuan coworkers feel the need to polish off half a case per afternoon. But I digress (and I only articulate this next stanza to properly illustrate my overall point). Yes, I hate my workplace and my job. I am a vital cog in the company, but that is used and abused to a disgraceful level. I am a garbageman, cleaning up the messes of more unprofessional and selfish people. Professional selfishness is one of the more unbelieveably unfair things someone can do to their coworkers. Everyone knows someone like that. They may be competent or good at their job, but they go about their day in a way that only serves as a means to their own ends without regard for anyone else. Thus, those that work closely in conjunction have to scramble because a team members is acting like an only child? Does that make sense? Hopefully, cause 75% of my office functions in such a way. Guess who gets violated like underage drinking laws because of it? Yep, the eager young professional who still doesn't want to adapt that "I don't give a fuck attitude" quite yet.

Couple this all with the fact that I am severely and embarrassingly underpaid. Yea yea, I know everyone says they don't make enough, but I'm talking getting my paycheck and forgetting that I have a college degree when I look at it. I made more in my internship after my sophomore year of college. The secretaries at work...make more than I do. I wish I was joking. Money is not the end all be all, but when you are doing something where you have no future at the particular company and the actual work is nauseatingly simple and mundane, you slip to compensation as some sort of way to justify your time there. Anyways, the point I was making from that particular diatribe, is that it all really grates on me. As many of you know, I am absurdly driven, and beyond that, I have RIDICULOUS goals, aspirations, and ambitions for myself and what I think I should accomplish. So, this is all swirling in my head, creating the potential for melancholy that I could write an entire shitty emo album about...

But I walk out the door, its 60 degrees and I almost laugh, cause I get this wave of emotion crashing on my shoulders and I think, its almost summer, life isn't all that bad, really Justin, it could be way worse. And honestly, thats what life is all about. It took me a LONG time to realize it, but deep down, you need to find that one thing, doesn't have to be the same thing every day, but that one thing each day that you can be happy/excited/proud about, latch onto it, make out with it, hell propose marriage to it, and you'll be ok.

Well that was kind of heavy. In lighter things, I just returned today from my city of origin, the beautiful city of Milwaukee. I went up for a pair of nights to fraternize with some of my old comrades from Miami in town for our business frat's National Convention. Now I don't feel like regaling my loyal readers with stock tales of drunken conversations or hilarious moments cause frankly for so many of such events, you really needed to have been there. Thats not to say they were not hilarious, but they don't exactly stand alone. However, one such incident was to surreal not to relay.

The convention took place at the Pfister Hotel. This is, without a doubt, probably the nicest hotel in all Milwaukee. Beautiful old hotel, the lobby is ornate and extravagant with tons of tropical plants and frescoed ceilings. The rooms have thick curtains, elaborate bedspreds, and everything about this place screams quality. So naturally it seems like a grand idea to host a convention of 400-500 college shitheads all over this historic establishment. Couple this with the fact that the Pfister is also the preferred hotel of whatever professional teams are in town to play the Bucks and Brewers, and you have the potential for something interesting. The Celtics were in town on Saturday night to play the Bucks, but despite my arduous searches and patient surveys of the penthouse bar, I could find no sight of the boys from Boston. All I wanted to do was go up to Kevin Garnett and tell him that, indeed, "Anything is Possible." However, much to my chagrin, the St. Louis Cardinals were staying there as well, and were all over said bar. Now I HATE the Cardinals. I don't really hate many professional teams, but for some reason, as a Cubs fan, I loate the St. Louis Cardinals. I truly respect Albert Pujols' class and ability, but the rest of the team can suck it.

Well, as we arrived at the bar on Saturday night, 5-6 Cardinals players had posted up at a table joined by 8-10 stereotypical bar skanks. I mean, I would be completely and utterly dishonest if I said that I didn't find 2-3 of them attractive. But at the same time, I would rather set myself on fire than reveal to my family that I was dating any of them in their current state. The best part is that I am almost positive they were all girls from the convention. So as we sat nearby, we watched the intricate courtship dance and subsequent selection process take place.

*SIDE NOTE* Before I forget, Mark Mcgwire, yes the juiced up meathead who captivated the world with the HR chase 10 years ago, was in the group as he is now the hitting coach for the Cards. And despite being in the presence of such a huge member of baseball history, I was completely unenthused. Ive seen random NBA players in the airport and turned into a 5 year old child and got really pumped when I saw the Baltimore Ravens plane on the runway, but here I am 5 feet away from a, for better or worse, MLB legend, and I couldn't have cared less. It was kind of interesting. My friend on the other hand, took it upon himself to shamelessly follow Big Mac to the bathroom to chat him up and I can't help but imagine attempt to discover if his testicles did indeed exhibit trademark steroid-related shriking. Unfortunately, the Pfister puts up the privacy shields...bastards.

So these players are basically sitting there as girls attempt to audition for the opportunity to return with them to their hotel room and contract crabs that the Cardinal's RF unknowingly got from a similar strumpet in Pittsburgh last weekend. Its really quite funny, as Sarah Smith from Purdue's chapter attempts to interview for the position of Colby Rasmus' ball washer for the evening, we began to place wagers on prospective pairings. The overeager girls usually rose to the top by taking advantage of the fact that these guys aren't looking to put in any effort. They are rivaled only by girls that clearly exhude the crisp and clear DTF vibe (google it if acronyms are not your jam.) The other interesting factor is that the majority of these girls are the prototypical clubby snobbish type. Dressed to the nines, spent 3 hours getting ready, only want to be seen at the coolest spots, while the majority of these ball players they are lusting after are country boys who view class as something they avoided by playing minor league ball and who these girls would never speak to if they didn't throw a baseball 95 MPH. Its quite curious.

Anyways, there was a mild upset as one of the more, umm facially challenged girls, clearly with an assist from the smoky lighting of the bar and the heavy hand of the barkeep, left with a player, while her far cuter friend was rendered slightly confused and needed to scramble in an attempt to get her batting gloves on a Louisville Slugger before the night ended. I also liked how each "grouping" left separately. By separately, I mean 10 seconds apart, as if such a clever rouse will fool anyone observing in the 25% full bar. So basically, regular guys can't get laid if professional athletes are within a 3 block radius, because bitches be drawn to that like Kanye to an opportunity to make an ass out of himself. This event was only trumped by the time I was at a bar with the Blackhawks and found out that all 5 cute waitresses gave their number to Jonathan Toews. I mean, when its that easy, its no wonder these athletes develop ridiculous sexual deviancies, you're bound to get bored.

So Ive been getting into a lot of, for lack of a better descriptor, British electro-pop. Its new, fresh, and there is alot of different ways you can go with it. My main man at the moment is Dan Black. His style and talent is way more impressive than his mundame moniker. He did this pretty money cover of Hypnotize by Biggie and sampled his own track to create Symphonies, which he then made even sweeter by remixing it with Kid Cudi, who is rap's King Midas right now. Both are just ridiculous. Other favorite is probably U + Me. But on the real, you can't go wrong with any of it. Both chill and inspiring, its the new soundtrack to your party life. Cop it.

"Give me give me Symphonies, give me more than the life I lead..."

JW