"There's no such thing as free enterprise anymore!"

My grandparents are in town this weekend:

Upon observance, the whole of my Grandpa's typical day amounts to, from what I can tell, a morning coffee session at the kitchen table (done in conjuction with a dismissive perusing of the morning paper, and therefore followed by a woeful reflection on the liberal and decadent state of modern America), followed by a crusading, daylong rampage on any and all unsuspecting crossword puzzles in sight. Any break from this schedule is for time spent staring out at the mountains with sage-like authority, dozing off in an upright position, or eating homemade cooking. Jackpot.

Bare in mind, this was presented to me in light of recent introspective queries in which I've found my self to be without any conceivable life goals or ambitions...

.... And then it occurred to me (with stoic realization) that apparently what I really want to be when I grow up is an old man.


It just makes sense. My favorite cereal is Honey Bunches of Oats, my favorite pattern is plaid, I sleep more more than I'm awake, and 90% of my comments are based more on the anticipated reaction than their actuall content. I'd rather look at the Grand Canyon than walk through it, exercizing makes me weez, and if I was smart enough I'd conquer a whole slew of crossword puzzles in my day (and cheat when no one is looking).


So basically, I have about 50 years until I'm truly in my element...give it some time. Unfortunately, in all honesty, this can probably account for only half of my awkard disposition. The other fifty percent remains lost in the cosmic void of things unknown. However, I count this as progress nonetheless in my ongoing psychoanalytical venture through my neurosis.

Matchbox 20 was right.

Today I offer you the latest token of city life to take root in good ol' State College, joining a class of forerunners including displaced hipsters, and nostalgic indie-rock Strokes fans.....behold, a little gem I like to call H1N1.


...that's right. We got the swine flu- fresh outa Queens, by way of Mexico, three cases have turned up at my middle school alma mater.


More notable however, is that it happened on the same day the World Health Organization declared a global pandemic...(which is pretty much the exact opposite of telling people "there's no need to panic"). Now personally, the severity of this outbreak is not what concerns me. I'm already well reconcilled with understanding that the world is coming to an end-- old news. What gets my goat is that by declaring a pandemic, the W.H.O., in the event that I were to catch the swine flu, has officially stripped me of the possibility of feeling special...because now apparently we're all going to get it...cheers. No longer could I then say, "Yeah dude, I totally survived that crazy swine flu epidemic everyone was freaking out about,"and feel like I especially cheated death, because now the response will be either, "Oh word, me too," or, "hey I'm dead."

...and the livin's easy.

Getting serious for a moment: Tonight, I'm sittin at work, well into my tenth hour of the first of five double shifts I have this week, when a dear lady who I've come to recognize as a regular, hands me a bag of cookies....and not even a single batch, mind you, but two different kinds of cookies. Not only did she consider that if by chance I didn't like chocolate chip, toffee would certainly do instead, but she also showed consideration for the fact that everyone enjoys variety, even within a random act of kindness.... Holy crap. Yes, I cried a little.

Now before I go on, I suppose I should provide some context as to the weight this situation holds for a simpleton like my self. Over the last academic school year, due to a college budget and an opportunity cost analysis that repeatedly left me picking sleep over time that could otherwise have been spent cooking, I slowly weened myself off of every food category on the pyramid save for sugar and caffeine. Over time this limited diet left me with two physiological conditions: a nervous system fully dependent on caffeine in order to function, and blood sugar levels teetering on the brink of diabetic collapse. Ultimately, I fell into a process of using coffee to stay awake and sugar as a way of tricking my body into thinking it actually had calories to burn for the day. The end result, and what I'm getting at, is that although since coming home I've got back on the wagon of normal food consumption (coffee however, still remains an important part of my life), surprising me with a large parcel of cookies, as what took place tonight, is tantamount to watching a recovering alcoholic do a keg stand. woot!

Soon after my experiental moment of grace, however, I was left with having to process what exactly took place and what I was supposed to take away from it. A few nights ago that same woman came through the garage without her pass, which she had forgot at home. Technically, I was supposed to charge her but I didn't. She was very appreciative, and so I've understood what took place tonight to be a disproportianate response of thanks for my helping her out. And therein lies my problem: on the one hand we have an example of kindness being met with kindness, "reap what you so", respect karma, ect. On the other hand we have an example of, and I quote Michael Doud, "No JC, you didn't do your job and you got paid in cookies for it. You bucked the system, halfassed a job that already takes almost no skillset, and came out on top. Kudos. Penn State's out five bucks while you get paid you hourly wage (my tuition dollars at work) on top of a mound of cookies." Two competing theories, both with valid points, and yet a greater example as to why I struggle to interpret the times.

I can feel increasing amounts of my brain cells committing suicide the more I write here.

When you work till midnight in a 4x6 booth at a parking garage for a campus in summer session, you grow accustomed to spending time in solitude. Slowly, and in a way that slips beneath the radar of self-awareness, your legs fold pretszel-shaped atop the office chair, your arms open wide in a bear hug stance, and your index fingers and thumbs pinch the air Rafiki style. Iron and Wine soothes the airwaves, incense burns from an unknown source, and levitation becomes a goal to work towards, not a dream. Such has been my case in recent weeks, and although I typically welcome the quiet and stimulating ambiance of my work quarters, there are times I am forced to admit that the seclusion takes a toll on my psyche. I realized this in retrospect tonight, after having successfully thwarted the terroristic efforts of one deviant housefly, attempting to upend the tranquility I so highly cherish as having cultivated within said booth through my steadfast commitment to mediocre work. Ten minutes into a strategic operation to smite the winged vexation from the air, I was finally victorious after landing a devestating blow via duel combo visitor's map/notepad. Instantly commemorating the moment with a hearty fist pump, a swagger-heavy Irish jigg, and a resounding "woot!", I was then interrupted with an "eh hmm...?" from the perplexed old lady who had pulled up amidst my bout of rapture. Turning around to face the window, I was met with a "you shouldn't smoke pot at work" eyebrow raise, and the realization that I really need to find an outlet for my testosterone.

I've decided a good way this could be done is by making my currently banal circumstances more challenging. The reigning idea so far is tying the fingers on my right hand together to make it harder to push the button that lifts the gate. I can almost feel the adrenaline rush already.