Body Aches and Pains

I've been away from my chiropractor for far too long. My neck is causing tension headaches on a seemingly constant basis, my feet hurt, my hips are uncomfortable, my back is achy and tense and my shoulder is screaming from stress too.

I'm beat up.

I took 1200 mg. of Motrin about an hour ago and so far, nothing. I think I might need something a wee bit stronger as I re-align my spine and mind. 

Either that or just start taking my Motrin with Vodka. That might do it too. . .

Long Time Coming

My time has come.

"Time for what?" I hear you ask. Well, I'll tell you my friend, and I'll tell you with much joy and glee.

After nine excruciatingly long years of battle, I am finally going to kick my basement's ass!

A kindly warrior from Permaseal spent two hours in my basement poking and prodding the walls of my concrete Grendel to ascertain it's weakness. That being established, I am making arrangements with the "Basement Beowulf" to solve my problem.

Finally, there will be peace in my kingdom.

I've found out where Hell is.

To the casual observer, 332 S. Michigan avenue in Chicago, Illinois looks much like other Chicago buildings. It architecturally fits in amongst the other buildings surrounding it, has businesses located on the street level and offices and homes on the upper levels. However, it does contain one thing that these other buildings do not. As far as I am concerned, 332 S. Michigan avenue - floor 2 - is the gateway to hell.

Enter the mens room.

If you've ever heard Dane Cook's rant about mens rooms, you know that the typical mens room is dripping wet. Yes, a St. Bernard shook himself dry in there. The walls are wet and there is obscene graffiti on the walls, often of the erotic variety. The toilet seats are urine coated and often have butt crust left on the top of the curvature of the seat. This is just one of the legacies that men leave other men throughout our lives.

The mens room on the 2nd floor of 332 S. Michigan avenue is vastly different than the stereotypical mens room. It is infinitely worse. This is the kind of place you would never ever willingly visit if you could help it. If there was a tipped over port-o-let open in the hallway and was leaking out septic waste onto the floor, that would be preferable to the enclosed and private mens room. 

I would even go so far as to say I would rather pee with my pants down in front of a crowd of jeering elderly people than to use the mens room there.

This loathsome, godless room is the kind of place you would use as a penalty for losing a bet. Say you bet your friend that you can bed a pretty girl and you lose, you may end up doing bare chested push-ups in the large handicapped stall in this room. 

The handicapped stall is one of the dirtiest places to drop waste. People have wiped their arses and deposited the paper on the floor next to the toilet. Not just once or twice, but enough to create a moderately large pile. The toilet paper dispenser itself is constantly riddled with homo-erotic and racist quotes, song lyrics, all of which are misspelled. 

Boogers, some bloody, are picked or blown directly from the nose onto the wall in a Jackson Pollack-esque manner. The floor is not worth walking on - think Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom insect carpet scene. The urinals eerily ooze fluid of some kind, the ceiling weeps blood, the art on the back of the door is bad, but admirably, the best part of the bathroom experience (which is bad no matter how you look at it). The sink is always dripping and is usually covered with some sticky waste or alien life form that is seemingly bent on conquering every square inch of the countertop.

So, next time you brazenly tell someone to got to hell, let them know it is located a 332 S. Michigan Avenue in Chicago.

Oh, you can also tell them that it is expecting them.

Woo-Hoo!

Well people, it's bout that time!

"What time is that, Caleb?" you may find yourself asking. "Battlestar Galactica time?" 

Nay. Well, yes - but no - well. Hold on.

Battlestar Galactica? Yes it's on. Unfortunately, I don't pay for Sci-Fi so I end up watching the internet versions a few days later. That's almost criminal. I have a 50" plasma HD TV and I get to watch BG on my laptop. BG? More like BS!

Anyway, that's not why I am excited (although it is enough to make me wanna crap my pants with anticipation). I am excited for a much more pragmatic reason. 

Tax return? Nope.

Spring time? Nope.

School lets out in less than three weeks. 

Booya!

I have so much planned in terms of paintings. I am hopefully traveling out to my uncle's place in Colorado to exhibit some of my paintings in his gallery. I am attending Wizard World Chicago as an exhibitor for the first time in my career, and my band's new CD will be out in a month or so. 

I'm think I'll go drink a beer!

Wha . . . ?

It's Tuesday.

It's the day of my Tues-daily ritual, sitting in Caribou Coffee for an hour and a half before my Marketing class. Here I am serene and contemplative. Maybe it's the soothing Beatles music they're playing today. Maybe it's my foo-foo drink I'm sipping; an Orange Zest Cooler (think frappuccino for those uneducated. . .). Maybe it's the incredibly racist graffiti I read carved into the wall of the mens room.

Now that I think about it, it's not for that reason. 

So, I enter the Caribou establishment with "tasty refreshment" on my mind and "get to the toilet!" in my bladder. I attempt to open the door to the mens room only to find it locked. Practically pinching myself to contain the near flash flood of man pee about to spew forth from my nethers, I kill the few minutes by actually ordering my beverage. By the time the occupant of the mens room exits I already have my drink in hand. My teeth are now floating in a sea of orange zestiness and my bladder is the size of a small child. 

I enter the room and proceed to doff my backpack, jacket and hoodie. The moment has arrived. Salvation is here! As I begin my "activities", I naturally glance anywhere except there. As I visually record the artwork on the wall, the well crafted porcelain of the toilet, the finely made plywood cabinets, I notice a phrase carved not delicately into the wooden trim of the room.

"All Hail Danny Glover, Prince of the Underworld."

I nearly began wetting the floor with my own special cleaner. Someone had then, post-carving, added the phrase "Black Panther" to the sentence. Now it read:

"All Hail Danny Glover, Black Panther, Prince of the Underworld."

I finished my business and found a seat to enjoy the rest of my orangey treat. Now all I can think about is how this graffiti will now color the way I see Lethal Weapon 3 from now on. . .

Addicted to Warcraft

I know what you're thinking. . . "Warcraft?". Yep, Ive been playing Warcraft in my spare time. The good news is, I have finished it all up. 

What is Warcraft? If you don't know, I'm not telling you. 

Ok.

It's a strategy game made just for people like me who are truly geeks at heart. You can play as Orcs, Humans, Night Elves, BLood Elves, and even the Undead known as the Scourge.

Fun, huh?

I am addicted to it. Think of it as a cross between "Sim City" and "Lord of the Rings".  I should be ashamed of myself. A grown man spending his spare time on the computer playing video games. I must tell you, that is not ALL I do. Why, just today I:

*Did the dishes

*Socialized with a friend of mine (yes, in person. Not online. . .)

*Went to Starbucks, twice.

*Took out the garbage

*Cleaned my basement

On the list of things I could have done are:

*Worked on my storyboarding project

*Worked on either of the papers I have due in a week and a half

*Actually led a productive day

All I have to say to defend myself is this: It is a holiday weekend and I needed a break. I will say that I have finished my game in its entirety and a m planning on working all this next week on all of my projects.

I hope Starcraft II comes out soon. . .

Ten 'Till Midnight

Judd Apatow. 

The name is synonymous  with vulgar, sexist and raunchy humor. The producer of such films as "The 40 Year Old Virgin", "Knocked Up" and "Superbad" as well as the upcoming films "The Pineapple Express" and "Forgetting Sarah Marshall". These films were funny, but I thought that they were just vulgar, "idiot" humor that appealed to the lowest common comedic denominator. Suffice it to say that I wasn't a fan before, but the planets re-aligned or I drank some kind of mystery potion and now I am. Here's why. 

My wife was interested in this television show that aired for a single season back in 2000 called "Freaks and Geeks". She added the show to our Blockbuster Online cue and told me we'd be getting it soon. She mentioned the Apatow connection to me and I was immediately skeptical. Now, don;t get me wrong, I am a male in my early thirties. I grew up with Kevin Smith films that I would watch over and over to the point where I had "Mallrats" memorized. THere was something about the Apatow films that seemed to push me away as opposed to drawing me in. I figured I'd give my wife the benefit of the doubt and trust her judgement. Besides, she would be more likely to put the kibosh on the viewing based on content before I would.

When the DVDs arrived in the mail and we sat down to watch them, I was immediately drawn into the lives of these teenagers and felt their struggles through high school. Their stories were strikingly similar to my own and the main character and his friends were like a carbon copy of my group of friends in school.  Watching these characters stumble their way around dating, friends, classes and even fighting endeared them to me. I was sad to see the series end.

After that series, we looked up the actors on IMDB to see what some of them were doing now, eight years later. Some of them ended up on another Apatow show (again, only lasting one season) called "Undeclared" about a bunch of college students finding their way through the college experience. This show was definitely more laugh out loud funny than "Freaks" was but not as endearing. 

The point of all of this is that after seeing how Apatow deals with the juxtaposition of real life humor and situations (albeit a bit over dramatized and spruced up for tv's sake) and the real heart for relational unity has made me a fan. I don't necessarily love all of the graphic sex jokes, but I am willing to look past some of that to see the redemptive qualities of his stories.

Thanks, Judd