Moby-Phobia (or Cetaphobia)

The other day I was at my parents' house for the weekend and I was snoozing on the couch. My father turns on the TV and flips to a nature channel show, which I start watching out of the corner of my eye. It starts out harmless enough, a mama mountain goat has a kid and they have to cross a river and the kid almost drowns. Cute, fun.

Then we switch to some bears, which is also fine. The bears are looking for food and then what comes along? A gray whale. A gray whale and her calf. And I start to get antsy.

You see, I "suffer" from a totally irrational fear of whales. I live in an area far from the ocean, and I always will. I have probably seen less than 10 whales in person in my life (I'm sure I went to zoos as a kid or something). But I'm terrified of these creatures.

Now there's a term for this called "Cetaphobia" which I think was invented by people on Tumblr. It is not a phobia you'll find in a real dictionary, it's something like-minded people seem to have come up with on the internet. You can argue about "is it real or isn't it" but the fact is, I'm afraid of whales and it looks like I'm not alone.

"What's wrong with you? Whales are beautiful, majestic creatures and we should appreciate them." Well to me, whales are the closest thing we have to sea monsters. I'm fairly confident that during my life we'll never have to deal with a Godzilla-esque situation (knock wood). So instead I worry about the giant animals that live in the giant ocean. [Side bar, I once had a dream where giant whales were flying over my neighborhood. It was terrifying.]

Ah, the ocean. Perhaps that's what I'm actually afraid of. It's so deep, like infinitely deep and who knows what kind of horrible shit lurks underneath it. What if the big blue whales we're used to are just the babies? What if there's like a deep sea diver that thinks he found the ocean floor but it's actually just the eyelid of a giant beast? And who knows when they'll turn on us?

Yeah, this is this stuff I'm afraid of. Monstro in Disney's Pinocchio? Horrifying. The Kraken in the Pirates of the Caribbean films? Get out of here. If I ever go to Scotland, I will go nowhere near Loch Ness because I believe that freaking monster is real. Is it just a tree branch? How can you be sure? What if it's literally a dinosaur that's survived for thousands of years and reproduces asexually?

Sorry, back to the whales. Going back to the nature program my father was watching: the gray whale was a mama and it was migrating alongside its calf. Which is fine, they're whales but there's just two of them and they're migrating. I thought they were gross but I could handle watching them.

And then shit got real.

A pack of killer whales (or orca, if you will) approach the mama Gray and her calf. The ominous narrator informs me that the pack is hunting and will not go after the mama because she is too large. They're going after the calf. They seperate the calf from its mama, attack it, and then pull it underwater where it drowns. The corpse sinks to the bottom of the sea, where the killer whales will feed off of it for days.

Yeah, your beautiful creatures just killed a baby. How majestic.

I know they're called killer whales for a reason so I'm just bewildered at the fact that these animals are the main attraction at Seaworld. I know, animals like lions are also predators and they're always at the circus. Well I don't care much for the circus either because I don't think the animals are enjoying themselves. I'm not a huge animal rights activist or anything but I just think if I were an elephant I'd rather be rolling around in the mud than have a bunch of strange little kids crying on my back.

But seriously, killer whales at Seaworld? Jumping through hoops and eating fish or whatever they do to entertain people? (I haven't been to Seaworld since I was a little tyke, and there's no way in hell I'm going as an adult). What's going on with this? These animals are huge predators, that's dangerous right?

I did a little searching into this, mainly on youtube. Because for some reason when something freaks me out, I get in moods where I want to freak out and force myself to watch shit that scares me. Then I learned about Tilikum, an old bull orca who's been at Sea World for years and has been involved with three deaths in his time there.

Two of those deaths were trainers; one was tag-teamed by Tilikum and two females while the other could possibly have been an accident. But the other death involved a man sneaking into the tank after the park closed. Apparently he wanted to swim with the whales. He was found dead and naked draped over Tilikum's back the next morning. I imagine Tilikum was smoking a cigar and saying "Look at this moron." in a smug voice.

To get serious, though, I should say I'm not "anti-whale". I don't think they should be hunted (who needs more blubber, am I right ladies?) or anything and I don't think the ones stuck in Sea World should be trapped there their whole lives.  I'm just saying I don't see the beauty and the grace in them. I see sea monsters. And when I hear about a beached whale all I think is "they're getting closer. Soon they'll have mastered walking on land."

But no worries. I'm dealing with living with Cetaphobia, one day at a time. Frankly, it's not a terribly crippling phobia, like agoraphobia or claustrophobia. I suppose if I were ever on a deserted island and everything I wanted was on a separate island and the sea between us was full of whales...yeah that would be an issue. Until then, feel free to roll your eyes at me.

The March of the Grammar Nazis

The early bird: get us the worm!

I'm bringing up a classic complaint. We all know what I'm talking about, we've all seen it:
You or someone you know posts a status on Facebook, something like "If you don't see The Heat, your missing out!". And someone in the comment section will correct them: "*you're".

The person who is writing the comment could be called a "Grammar Nazi". Grammar Nazis are labeled as people who live to go onto the Internet and correct their friends' grammar. People who constantly have their friends correcting them think the Nazis are annoying. The Nazis think their friends who can't spell are annoying. Who's in the right here?

A bit of bus graffiti I found, with proper grammar to boot.

I am aware that I tend to make the occasional typo. I'll probably reread this post 20 times to make sure I didn't miss anything, and I might anyway. Feel free to say "you used the wrong 'their' in this paragraph" and I'll accept it and fix it, you troll.

But let's get into it: people have been using bad grammar on the Internet ever since the Internet was born. Is it really that big a deal? Technically no; if someone misspells something on Facebook nobody gets hurt or dies, someone just looks the fool. The audience will hopefully know what they mean and mentally correct their friend.



 So do grammar Nazis have sticks up their asses? Some of them do, they are just bossy and live to correct others. It's not fun or cute, but it's who they are. Do I think they should correct people who misspell things?

Yes. Yes I do.

For the most part, anyway. Again, I'm guilty of it too. Sometimes you just type too fast or don't think and get your "their/there/they're" or "you're/your" mixed up. It happens, I GET IT. But there's a difference between people who are in a hurry and people who just don't know what they're doing.

It's not like I'm making fun of people who misspell tricky words. We aren't talking about forgetting the extra "u" in "vacuum" or having a bitch of a time with "definitely" (I always put an A instead of an E). I'm making fun of people who have a hard time grasping basic grammar.  It's like not knowing basic math. If someone put on Facebook "hey guys, 2+3=9" you'd probably make fun of them. Of course if someone's putting math problems on Facebook you should rethink your "friendship" anyway.

But again, why does it matter? Well...you look dumb and you actually might not be dumb. Blatantly misspelling words makes you look unintelligent, and since spell check is everywhere it also makes you look lazy and uncaring. This is a language we ALL speak and read, so why is it so difficult to master the writing of it?

A note at my workplace. I corrected the grammar. I'm that guy.

Admittedly a lot of people don't need to read these days. There are lots of jobs that require minimum to no reading skills, and many people will choose not to read a book or newspaper if they're given the option. Thus, when these people get on Facebook they confuse "are" and "our" simply because they sound the same.  

 I don't mean to come off that misspelling words makes you a bad person. I also don't want to mock people with dyslexia or learning disabilities because I understand some people have trouble with this stuff. But as a population I think we should be doing better.

It's a small thing when you see someone misspell on Facebook. But suppose they don't get corrected and then they believe that they're writing proper English. Then they go write a cover letter for a job application and wonder why no one is taking them seriously. They can't find work at a job in their field so they end up working a dead end job they can't escape. Eventually they fall into a sick depression all because they think "it's" is possessive. Rough, right?

So stop defending yourself as if it's the Grammar Nazis' fault you write like a child. Just admit that you're wrong and the next time you post something, give it a second read through and see if it looks right. If you're still wrong, pick up a book or something and read. Just read. It's fun! There's so much to read and there's no good reason not to. You'll find something you like, I promise.

I'm sure I've managed to come off as a tight ass or a snob. But I don't care. It gives me a sick sense of satisfaction when I see people with master's degrees that can't write a third-grade sentence. I'm sure they can do lots of things I can't...but they'd have to tell me about it in person, because they sure as hell can't write it down.

 
So I say lay off of the Grammar Nazis, they just want you to look like the intelligent person you probably are. The best way to avoid one is simply to learn how to form sentences. It's very simple. I should clarify that I am not a Grammar Nazi. When I see someone with horrid grammar I think what a dumbass and go on with life. So prove me wrong, Internet! Go update your life and use an apostrophe correctly! I believe in you!

Some Love for Lake Street Dive

Well, well, well what to talk about this week? Last week I tackled some current events and went on a tangent about racism. I enjoyed it quite a bit, but I'm craving something a little lighter this weekend. I could talk about the recent Supreme Court ruling but I fear I don't have much more to contribute that hasn't been said by everyone else on the internet (but don't get me wrong, I'm very happy about it).

So I've decided to talk to you about one of my favorite music groups: Lake Street Dive.

Lake Street Dive is a quirky quartet that I first saw a while ago on The Mountain Stage in Morgantown, WV. Usually when I see a Mountain Stage show there is one act whose CD I have to buy after the show, and shortly after Lake Street came on I knew it was going to be them. A few months ago (March, I think) they came to Pittsburgh and I went to see them for a second time at Club Cafe. Let me just say that they never disappoint. [Inside joke to my friend, Jodi, who went with me: "Wow".]

I'm not the best at defining music by genre so I'm going to say that Lake Street is a fun mix of jazz, rock, and pop and leave it at that. Drummer Mike Calabrese keeps the group steady with an amazing energy; he's very fun to watch live. Bridget Kearney plays a mean bass while Mike "McDuck" Olson effortlessly plays guitar and trumpet, depending on the song. Rachael Price is the group vocalist who has a powerful voice that is suited perfectly to the songs.

The band's self-titled album isn't their first, they actually had some beforehand when they were still trying to figure out their sound. But Lake Street Dive is the definitive of who they are now and it was well worth the work they put into it. The songs are all sorts of fun, all of them penned by the band members. My personal favorites on that CD includes the fast-paced "Elijah", the cool "Hello? Goodbye!", and the sort-of ballad "Neighbor Song" (penned by bass player Bridget, which also features her sick bass skills).


Their latest album is an EP called Fun Machine which features six cover songs. I love a good cover and thankfully, Lake Street does some awesome covers. My favorites are George Micahel's "Faith", Hall and Oates' "Rich Girl" and Paul McCartney's "Let Me Roll It".

Their recordings are great, but nothing beats seeing them live. They just have such a fun, positive energy surrounding them. The love and friendship between the group is infectious, quickly making an entire room full of strangers feel like they're among old friends. Their songs are fun and clever without seeming stupid or cheesy. They don't get overly political or preachy with their tunes; it's simply great music.

Another awesome thing I can't quit is their youtube videos. Most of them feature the group in very intimate settings. There's a video of them singing "Elijah" on a front porch, while the above "Faith" video was filmed on a sidewalk. They have no problem performing with the bare minimum: a bass, a drum, and a trumpet is all the more they need to blow your mind. It's a refreshing change (at least for me) from music that features a lot of synthesizers and hullabaloo, like the musical guests you see on Saturday Night Live. I'd rather have ten Lake Street Dives than one Kanye West any day.

So what's next for LSD? And do you think their band name is a subtle drug reference? I guess it's possible, I don't know their lives. They don't seem like the kind of people that would be doing LSD but I guess you never know. I digress. At their Pittsburgh show they mentioned working on a third album and played a few songs from it (which, of course, sound great). In the meantime I keep looking for new videos of them breathing life into songs by ABBA or Fleetwood Mac. Such a terrific group.

I'll leave you the same way Lake Street Dive left Pittsburgh: with a balls-to-the-wall playing of their song "Got Me Fooled" that they like to use as an encore. Thanks for reading, I hope you guys will check out the fabulousness that is Lake Street Dive. And no, I don't work for them or anything. I'm just trying to spread some love.

One More Thing to Hate About Paula Deen

It's currently Wednesday evening. I just got home from my 2nd job of the day, and it's been a long one. For one thing, James Gandolfini died today. I've never watched The Sopranos, but from what little I've seen of him I know that he was a great actor and his death at such a young age (51) is truly tragic.

Also is the news today? Paula Deen is a racist.

I'll walk you through it.

Celebrity chef, restaurant owner, and butter enthusiast Paula Deen is currently involved in a lawsuit with a former manager from her restaurant. The plaintiff claims that Ms. Deen and her brother Bubba have used racial slurs numerous times while running the restaurant, along with some other really terrible offenses. Most of the claims go against Bubba (by the way, if your name is Bubba you're probably going to be involved in at least one lawsuit in your lifetime) but some other allegations towards Paula are her desire to dress her black servers in clean white jackets and shorts and have them dance around for a "true Southern wedding". (A summarized transcript of the case can be found here, which also includes a link to the full transcript).

Now I should explain: before today I had no real problem with Paula Deen. I was actually quite the fan. I know a lot of people hated her before all this stuff came out. She has a ridiculous accent, a fake-like cheeriness, and she makes really unnecessarily bad health choices.

But I was a fan; I found her charming in an old Southern way (apparently I was right). I've made my share of her recipes and even have a cookbook of hers (a gift from my Nana, who cannot stand Paula Deen). [Correction: book was gift from my aunt not my nana. Credit where credit is due.] But what I've always known about Paula is that you can't eat her food everyday because it's horribly bad for you. That's what comfort food is: food you make once in a while when you want to sacrifice health for taste. We're supposed to try to find a balance between health, taste, and time in our meal. But occasionally it's okay to sacrifice one for the other**. Just not all the time.

**I'm clearly not a doctor. This is just my view on eating. If you want to know how to eat right I suggest you google something from a professional. Or hit up Pinterest.

My reaction to Paula Deen being racist was the same as mine to Paula Deen having diabetes: "Yep, I believe that." I mean of course she's racist: she's an old white woman from Georgia. The odds were kind of in her favor, weren't they? But I don't condone it: racism is disgusting and anyone who uses slurs is also disgusting. Even if they do make a mean apple pie.

I actually kind of hope some of these claims are false. A little piece of me hopes that this cheery persona Deen has worked so hard to create has some tiny shred of honesty in it. But this is a celebrity chef we're talking about, so anything is possible. Paula Deen could be a huge racist asshole and Gordon Ramsay could actually be the sweetest man on the planet. It's hard to say what's real these days.
 
Reaction to all of this has been terrific, at least as far as comedy goes. As soon as this case was made aware to the public, people went nuts on Twitter. The hashtag #Paulasbestdishes instantly became a punchline for people to create "racist" food dishes, like Okra Winfrey or Trayvon Martinis. If you have a Twitter, I suggest you check out that tag. Because things like that are one of the best reasons to have a Twitter. Also, you should follow me. I'm fun. 

I grew up in West Virginia (recently celebrating it's 150th year) and throughout my school years I saw a ton of racist attitudes. I do not use the n-word in my own home (or any other time) because I don't want to associate myself with some of the kids I went to high school with. I remember one horrible redneck kid in my homeroom in high school who told his friends that "being gay was about as bad as being black." He was trying to sound tough in front of his buds, I'm sure, but damn that's always stuck with me. How terrifying that some kids are still brought up with this mindset.

But if you happen to be like Paula Deen (racist) just try this out: keep it inside. I mean seriously. I get that "it's your opinion" but let's be honest: your opinion is the wrong one. It is a backwoods opinion and a thing of the past. If you have an issue with someone for being a different race, it's on you. You are the one who has to get over it. The world is trying to become a progressive, friendly place and if you like to throw the n-word around, then you aren't helping anything.

Also, racists? Stop with this whole "why can't I say it if they can say it?" argument. It's stupid and makes you look ignorant. I won't go into a huge rant about it, but I went to an open mic night this week and another comedian (I forget his name, damn) summed it up perfectly:

"Gay people can say f****t, black people can say n****r, everyone's got a word. Except white people. Sorry white people. That's just the cost of privilege." Yep, he nailed it. White people get everything else, just accept that there are a few words you're actually not allowed to have.

Alright I didn't quite mean to get on a tangent about racism. Perhaps I'm just upset that someone I was fond of is probably going to screw up her career by saying things like "of course I use the n-word". But Independence Day is coming up and I just want to remind all the bigots that it's for everybody. But I'm sure my lovely readers aren't bigots. If you were, you probably wouldn't have made it this far down the page.

And if the baked beans you serve at the July 4th picnic happen to be Paula Deen's recipe, don't bring it up. Just make it with lots of love and offer it to anybody who wants some. That's the sign of a good cook/human being.

Job Hunting, and the Dread That Follows

Well it's the time of year again. Summer! Waterslides and picnics, right?

Wrong. It's Summer. One of your part-time jobs is ending for 3 months. You need to replace it. Actually you need to replace both of your part-time jobs. Actually you need a career, not just a job, aren't you listening to your mother? How are you going to afford things?

It's job hunting time.

Looking for a new job has always been something that gives me a great feeling of dread. I have two jobs currently, and I like them both well enough, but I know I could be doing better. So how does one go about that?

For starters, it'd be easier if I had any sense of direction. I'm not using my Theater degree so I'm literally looking for any new path. In my own little game of Life, I'll pick up any career card that comes my way. I'm also working on inventing a new ice cream flavor.

You'd think that would make it easier for me when I search for work; I literally have all options available to me. Well that's not totally true. I have to siphon through jobs that are too far away, ones I don't have enough experience for, ones that only offer 12 hours a week, etc. It's a frustrating process finding jobs I could consider doing and would still be able to do. Perhaps I'm too picky/neurotic, but right now I can kind of afford to be (this is what I tell myself).

So I look for jobs asking myself two questions: "What can I do?" and "What do I want to do?". The two rarely have the same answer. Because the things I want to do tend to be silly. I want to make people laugh, either in person or through a popular Twitter page, but seriously shut up Isaac. What do you want to do for real.

Well I'm not sure yet. I'm just looking for something to do in the meantime. 

And I'll say I'm thankful that I'm still not looking for theater work. If one of my friends who are looking would like to write a piece about looking for theater work, I'll happily post it. But I am far too neurotic to look for work all over the country that pays $100 a week for maybe 3 months and then having NO IDEA what to do when that's over. And also, you know, I wouldn't enjoy the work and aren't terribly good at it (that's how I started my theater cover letters).

But on those rare instances I find something and the people actually bother to answer me back, we create a whole new level of awkwardness: the interview.

I have had a fair share of bad interviews. In one, I completely forgot how to talk. In another, my interviewer said goodbye by saying "Good luck to you." which of course means I won't be hearing from them. What does one say back to that? "Thanks. Good luck to you too. Sorry neither of us will get that 15 minutes back."

The last interview I had was quite a doozy. For one thing, I was in no way qualified for it and couldn't imagine being a good fit. But whatever, I need experience in interviews so I went. It was winter so I bundled up in my gigantic coat because I had to take two buses to get there. I arrived at the building where I was one of probably at least 30 people they were seeing that day. The waiting room was full of youngish guys in nice suits and pea coats. Pea coats, by the way, are what you where when you have a car during the winter.

These guys also had those leather binder things that looked full of papers. And I kept thinking "what's in those? I have one piece of paper that represents who I am, and it basically says "RETAIL" in bold red letters.". If I had one of those leather binders it would be full of Spartacus fan fiction and blog posts like this one.

I should mention that at this interview I did forget to bring my resume. Stupid mistake on my part, I know. But give me a break, this was my first interview for a job that didn't involve wearing a t-shirt or a name tag in a long time.

So I give my name to the receptionist who is not much older than me. I sit down and fill out their little paper. One of the last questions was "who do you look to as a leader?" and DAMN do I wish I'd written something funny like "The Red Power Ranger" or "Cyclops". It's a stupid question right? What's the point of asking that?

Anyway while I'm filling out this form the receptionist is making small-talk with the other candidates, "where are you from" and the like. She then starts talking to me. I forget what she first asked because she pronounced my name wrong. She said at least 3 times "I-zack." If you've ever met anyone named Isaac before in your life, you know that that's weird and wrong.

So she asked "I-zack" where I was from. And I said (because I'm an asshole): "It's Isaac (pronounced right)". She said "What?" and I repeated myself. "I-zack?" she tried again. "No," I said, "Isaac. You don't have to hit the second part quite so hard."

This took literally thirty seconds and at the end of it, she looked like an idiot and I looked like a dick. At least one other person was sniggering in the waiting room. I thought "well if the decision is up to her, you probably won't get the job."

So the guy who's going to interview me comes out. And he goes to the receptionist "I wanna make this next one quick, I wanna be out of here by 10:30." It was 10:20 at the time. And I thought "Great. Taco Bell opens at 10:30 so this should work out well for everyone."

So we interview. To his credit, this man was very nice for someone who wanted to get out of there. I'll spare you the details of the job (ok, I forgot them) but it went fine. I'm much more comfortable when I know I'm not going to get the job. At the end he said "alright so part 2 of the interview is a group work shadow, where we bring a lot of candidates in and they see the job for a day. If we were to call you would you be free for [this weekend]?"

I said I would, which was kind of a lie. I wanted to say, "Sure. But you won't call me. I look like hell, I don't have a resume, and I embarrassed your receptionist. I wouldn't call myself right now, that's how badly I think this went."

But we just shook hands and both left. And I got a Doritos Locos Taco that day. They didn't call me back.

So I just had to share that story, in the middle of all my job searching and freaking out. Hopefully I'm not alone in this. If I have any advice it's this: 1) Bring a resume. 2) Buy a pea coat. 3) If the receptionist pronounces your name wrong, just let it slide. 4) The Doritos Locos Taco is kind of overrated.

......And we're off.

This last weekend I was fortunate enough to go to the Kentucky Derby. Sounds like fun, right? Something you can cross off your bucket list and tell your kids about years from now. Well that's half right; at the very least, I have a story to tell.

This trip was a Christmas gift from my cousins to my sister and me. We all hopped in a truck on Friday and drove towards Kentucky. Friday night we stayed in a nice hotel in Cincinnati and had a lovely time there.

Then Derby day came. We awoke around 6 and took turns showering. I woke up at 5, little insomniac that I am, and began researching our upcoming day. We had tickets in the infield. Now, when you think of the Kentucky Derby you think big hats and clean bleachers and beautiful people with loads of money. Well, the infield is not like that. The infield is like Mardi Gras or Jamboree in the Hills: a drunken mess.

Now I don't mind a drunken mess. But I originally had brought nice dress pants and a shirt to wear to said derby. After viewing pictures of mud wrestling in the infield and reading stories about people dancing on port-a-potties, I opted for a pair of jeans.

So we left Cincinnati for Louisville. As we approached, it started to rain. I brought nothing for the rain (you can't take umbrellas in with you). We stopped at a gas station nearby and I bought a poncho. It was easily the smartest decision I made the whole day.

So we parked the truck and started to head towards the field. It was a decent walk, and it started to rain. This was maybe a little before 11 AM. We got in, got scanned by metal detectors, and entered the infield. It wasn't as packed and we found a place near the first turn to put our chairs down. It continued to rain.

I can't state that enough: it RAINED. It rained for 4 consecutive hours without ever pausing once. We were quickly soaked clear through and shivering because it was also cold in addition to raining.

But we had high hopes: this was the Kentucky Derby, damn it. Let's do some stuff! So we bought a mint julep. If you've never had one before, it's bourbon. And there's some mint. But it's bourbon. I didn't love it, but everyone else HATED it so I drank it.

My friends Nick and Nate (both of whom are fantastic) did a drawing of me enjoying a mint julep when I told them I was going. This is it:

And here's the reality:

Then I decided I wanted to place a bet. Not on the derby, not yet. We had all day for that. I took a bet on the 6th race. I bet on horse #8, Icon Ike. I figured since we share a name somewhat ("Ike" being a nickname my family uses) this was one of those "go for it!" signs. So, not checking any stats, I placed a bid on Icon Ike to win his race.

Icon Ike up on the scoreboard.

After waiting a hour or so (it's a long process) race 6 happened. From the infield we saw roughly 3 seconds of horses running past.

Turns out Icon Ike runs about as fast as this Ike, and he came in 7th. Gambling sucks. I will never have a gambling problem, because I hate losing much more than I like winning. Also our racing program quickly turned into a sponge, so we had to make up our minds quickly.

Our program, near the end.

After that race we decided to have a look around (it hadn't stopped raining). So we walked under the track through a tunnel to enter the area under the "rich seats". Everyone and their mother was there, to stay out of the rain. It was pretty heinous: thousands of people in a small enclosed space. I had a slight claustrophobia fit as we pushed deeper and deeper into the hoard of people.

What a mess. The hat in the front left belongs to my sister.

As we walked around, it was clear that everywhere was essentially the same: there were places to bet, eat, and buy mint juleps. And that's pretty much it. Your options were: A) to stand out in the rain, freeze, and see a glimpse of a horse race, or B) stand inside where it's warm, not see a horse race, and be crushed by a mass of people.

It was roughly 3 o'clock and we were in our fourth hour of rain. The actual Derby race started at 6:30. At this point I realized there was no way I was staying for that. A text conversation with my mother went something like this:

ME: It hasn't stopped raining. I think we all want to leave.
MA: If you leave you can't get back in.
ME: Yeah. Why would we want to?
MA: To see the parade of roses!
ME: ......I don't think you quite understand what's happening here.

My cousin's coworkers collected money and had her place a large bet on a horse to win the Derby. She did, so we were worried we'd have to stay and watch the damn thing in case they won. But, lo and behold, we learned that if you leave you can mail your winning slip to collect the prize money. Upon learning this, my shivering sister and I cheered and we took a vote: "Who wants to leave?"

It was pretty much unanimous.

So we left. As we sloshed our way out we walked by a drunken gentleman who had laid down a tarp on a small hill and was yelling "SLIP N SLIDE! SLIP N SLIDE! SLIP N SLIDE!". I was too tired to yell "We're ALL wet, asshole! The point of a slip n slide is to cool down in the sun! You may as well be yelling FALL DOWN! FALL DOWN! FALL DOWN! because that's what we'd be doing, ya jagoff."

It was a long walk back to the truck. And we kept passing people going in as we were going out. The drunk college kids I hated when I was in college were still around, just as annoying and stupid as ever. Large masses of people just aren't my thing.

We retreated to our hotel in Lexington. I took a bath, my cousins went to the hotel hot tub. Afterwards we went out to eat at Billy's BBQ. It was delicious: meat that came right off the bone, and it came with a huge slice of cornbread and I tried cheese grits and liked them (so there!).

My meal. Not pictured: the green beans.

I should say that although this sounds like a terrible time, we still kept our spirits about us. My cousin who'd bought the tickets would often break our soaked silences with a hearty "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" and I would laugh every time. Next year she said she was going to chain us to a sturdy tree during a hurricane.

So that was my trip. I got to experience the Kentucky Derby, which involved getting drenched for four hours and watching the actual Derby on TV at the hotel. Congratulations to Orb, the horse that won, although he probably didn't know he was racing. Because he's a horse.

 I'm not terribly upset, I got a decently funny story out of the whole thing. Had it not been raining, I'm sure we would've had a blast but that's the way it goes sometimes.

I should mention it kept raining as we left Kentucky THE NEXT DAY. I don't think I'll ever return to Kentucky, since apparently it likes to rain as long as I'm there. But oh well, there are 49 other states where the weather may be more welcoming. I'll stick to trying those.

Take a Chance on Missed Connections

At the risk of sounding incredibly shallow, let me just say this: I would love to see myself appear on the “missed connections” page of Craigslist.

Hear me out.

Nothing would make me happier than clicking through those links and seeing a description of me. I just want to know that there’s someone out there willing to put the effort in going online, writing an anonymous description of me, and then sending it for all the world to see in the hopes that I’ll stumble across it. I mean, seriously, it seems like a huge compliment.

I know 98% of those ads are just people cruising for sex, and well done for them for being so bold. I can’t say I’m someone who would ever write the words, “You were a really good waiter, Doug from Olive Garden. Would love to get together sometime and see what else you serve up.” What can I say? I play hard to get.

But some of those people have got to be looking for love. Someone saw me taking a nap on the bus or spilling pizza sauce on my shirt and thought “Wow. That’s the one.” I don’t know why you’d need anything else to go on. You can pretty much guess how a person’s going to be just by watching them. “Oh, he seems cool, he has stains on his clothes and doesn’t give a damn!”

And what a great story to tell your friends when they ask, “how did you guys meet?” You can say “well, I was using the port-a-potty at the street fair and he saw me from across the street. He didn’t say anything, but that night he went on Craigslist and wrote about me in the “missed connections.” Luckily I was on the verge of suicide so I was on Craigslist looking for some fast action. I saw his post and thought “what the hell?” and we agreed to meet in a very public location.”

Then there are the ones that have loved already, and they go to Craigslist as a final plea for their loved one’s heart. “Oh Kyle, (name changed for this story) I miss our long text talks together. The few weeks we’ve known each other have been the best of my life. I wish you’d return my calls, I can’t imagine life without you. We have so much to learn about each other: Our dreams, our biggest fears, our last names. Please call. –XOXO You know who”

Damn it, Kyle, just do it!! DO IT!

Granted, some missed connections seem a bit lazy on behalf of the posters. Like “I sucked you off in the park, you seem like a cool guy, would love to get together some time.” Really? Couldn’t have asked that in person? You’re sucking him in the park, THE ICE HAS BEEN BROKEN. Take a chance on love!

Buy anyway; perhaps I’m just desperate for the attention. But once, just ONCE, I would like to go on Craigslist any random day and discover that I’m reading about myself. I’m not saying I’ll respond; in fact I may change the locks to my house. But it would give a great spring in my step to know that someone cared enough to make a useless gesture on the Internet.

In fact, I may make a posting of my own. Something like this:

“You were reading my blog the other day. You probably found it by accident, or perhaps you’re just a virus going around. Anyway, I seem like a cool guy and you’d like to get to know me better, but you’re too shy. Or maybe you read the rest of my postings and thought, “he’s a lunatic”. Either way I encourage you to take the first step. Send me a reply with your name, age, and stats (height, weight, level of attractiveness).”

What? I’m not that desperate.