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