it don't move at all like a subway
A really really bad day at work on Friday (my own stupid fault, I'll spare you the stupid details) has caused me to think about some stuff.
Stuff I don't think about too often because it hurts my head. Stuff I should have thought about twenty years ago, ten years ago, yesterday at lunch. Right now.
Stuff that makes me actually scream the word "Fuck!" sometimes when I'm alone in an elevator.
Stuff that we all need to think about.
Stuff like, what do I want to do with my life? What did I fuck up along the way? Why have I chosen this particular path? How can I get off it?
Up to now, my guiding principle has been fun. I have based everything I've done, consciously and subconsciously, on squeezing all the joy out of every day like my old pal Pat "Auto" Mattek finishing off an evening by wringing out a bar rag into a shot glass. On laughing like an evil scientist as often as possible. On high fives verbal, actual, and ironic. It's worked out OK. Fun is the way to go, I'm sure of it.
The problem with my philosophy is that as time goes by, you need to do more and more work just to make your fun possible. And work itself is the opposite of fun. But shit needs to get taken care of, money needs to be made, the alarm needs to be set on weekends sometimes. That's all just to make sure you ain't broke on a street corner or selling your baby to pay the rent. All to make sure you can afford a ballgame or a new pair of Air Jordans every now and then.
Now I find myself with a real job working real hours and I'm forced to concentrate like 12 hours a day on stuff that isn't necesarily in the "fun" column. And it's making me wonder.
I turn 37 in 8 days.
It's probably too late, but if I had my choice, if I could do anything in the world to make a living, what would it be? What would it be for you?
Too often as you get older you forget that it's OK to dream. Just because you might not have the talent or the training or the intelligence to earn a living at whatever it is you'd rather be doing doesn't mean you should give up. Pursuing the dream is half the fun.
So I sit here thinking about what it is I'd do if I could do anything. I've come up with a pie-in-the-sky version, a maybe-just-maybe-if-I-gave-it-a-sincere-effort version, and a very realistic version.
I'm not going to tell you what they are. But slowly over the next few months, I will pursue them. On my own time.
Enough with the Tony Robbins crap. There's been a lot of Tony Robbins crap on here lately. What's wrong with me? I guess I've just been feeling overwhelmed and crossroaded. That's not necessarily bad. Need to stir up the old brain or it gets soft.
Now...
On to what you expect when you enter the words "Elia Rant" or "Requirements for anal examination" in your google search box: discussion of really stupid stuff.
I was thinking about moustaches again today, as I often do, and I decided that America's last sincere, effective and important moustache belonged (belongs) to Keith Hernandez.* You could make an argument for a few other dudes, but Keith Hernandez is big-time and always will be.
I decided that while I will never have a moustache as nice or meaningful as his, I can at least try. So I hereby announce the first annual Verbungle Moustache Classic. I invite all of you to join me in the quest for the perfect 'stache. It certainly won't be the first moustache-growing contest of all time, but it will probably be the best.
Just a couple notes:
-I personally won't be starting my 'stache for a couple more weeks. But I encourage you all to begin as soon as possible.
-Goatees and beards of any kind negate the moustache. It has to be a moustache and only a moustache.
-You can email me photos at bungmeister at verbungle dot com as soon as you feel your 'stache is complete.
-Spread the word to your pals!
-Sometime around the beginning of October, I will post all the photos (estimated total: 0) and pick a winner. The winner will get a pack of "Just for Men" haircolor. Unless it's expensive. I gotta look that up. More importantly, the winner will forever me known as the best and baddest man around.
Who's with me? Gentlemen, start your follicles!
I will tally up all your physical feat genius points tomorrow. Some impressive stuff. In the meantime, tell me wheredis:
* This is among caucasian men.** Moustaches still flourish in the African-American and Latino communities. Thank God.
** Keith Hernandez, a Spaniard*** by heritage, is considered a caucasian for the purposes of this argument.
*** "Spaniard" is one of my favorite words.
Stuff I don't think about too often because it hurts my head. Stuff I should have thought about twenty years ago, ten years ago, yesterday at lunch. Right now.
Stuff that makes me actually scream the word "Fuck!" sometimes when I'm alone in an elevator.
Stuff that we all need to think about.
Stuff like, what do I want to do with my life? What did I fuck up along the way? Why have I chosen this particular path? How can I get off it?
Up to now, my guiding principle has been fun. I have based everything I've done, consciously and subconsciously, on squeezing all the joy out of every day like my old pal Pat "Auto" Mattek finishing off an evening by wringing out a bar rag into a shot glass. On laughing like an evil scientist as often as possible. On high fives verbal, actual, and ironic. It's worked out OK. Fun is the way to go, I'm sure of it.
The problem with my philosophy is that as time goes by, you need to do more and more work just to make your fun possible. And work itself is the opposite of fun. But shit needs to get taken care of, money needs to be made, the alarm needs to be set on weekends sometimes. That's all just to make sure you ain't broke on a street corner or selling your baby to pay the rent. All to make sure you can afford a ballgame or a new pair of Air Jordans every now and then.
Now I find myself with a real job working real hours and I'm forced to concentrate like 12 hours a day on stuff that isn't necesarily in the "fun" column. And it's making me wonder.
I turn 37 in 8 days.
It's probably too late, but if I had my choice, if I could do anything in the world to make a living, what would it be? What would it be for you?
Too often as you get older you forget that it's OK to dream. Just because you might not have the talent or the training or the intelligence to earn a living at whatever it is you'd rather be doing doesn't mean you should give up. Pursuing the dream is half the fun.
So I sit here thinking about what it is I'd do if I could do anything. I've come up with a pie-in-the-sky version, a maybe-just-maybe-if-I-gave-it-a-sincere-effort version, and a very realistic version.
I'm not going to tell you what they are. But slowly over the next few months, I will pursue them. On my own time.
Enough with the Tony Robbins crap. There's been a lot of Tony Robbins crap on here lately. What's wrong with me? I guess I've just been feeling overwhelmed and crossroaded. That's not necessarily bad. Need to stir up the old brain or it gets soft.
Now...
On to what you expect when you enter the words "Elia Rant" or "Requirements for anal examination" in your google search box: discussion of really stupid stuff.
I was thinking about moustaches again today, as I often do, and I decided that America's last sincere, effective and important moustache belonged (belongs) to Keith Hernandez.* You could make an argument for a few other dudes, but Keith Hernandez is big-time and always will be.
I decided that while I will never have a moustache as nice or meaningful as his, I can at least try. So I hereby announce the first annual Verbungle Moustache Classic. I invite all of you to join me in the quest for the perfect 'stache. It certainly won't be the first moustache-growing contest of all time, but it will probably be the best.
Just a couple notes:
-I personally won't be starting my 'stache for a couple more weeks. But I encourage you all to begin as soon as possible.
-Goatees and beards of any kind negate the moustache. It has to be a moustache and only a moustache.
-You can email me photos at bungmeister at verbungle dot com as soon as you feel your 'stache is complete.
-Spread the word to your pals!
-Sometime around the beginning of October, I will post all the photos (estimated total: 0) and pick a winner. The winner will get a pack of "Just for Men" haircolor. Unless it's expensive. I gotta look that up. More importantly, the winner will forever me known as the best and baddest man around.
Who's with me? Gentlemen, start your follicles!
I will tally up all your physical feat genius points tomorrow. Some impressive stuff. In the meantime, tell me wheredis:
* This is among caucasian men.** Moustaches still flourish in the African-American and Latino communities. Thank God.
** Keith Hernandez, a Spaniard*** by heritage, is considered a caucasian for the purposes of this argument.
*** "Spaniard" is one of my favorite words.
posted by hans q. bungle at 00:53
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