A New Direction for Diary of a Brendan

It's been over a month since I last wrote a blog post. Actually, that's too limiting. It's been over a month since I've engaged in any marginally creative or self-expressive activity. This doesn't end now. My current job is more time consuming than I could have expected, and I am no longer surrounded by a group of my peers, many of whom are more creative and talented than I could hope to be. The ultimate result is I do not have the time or the inspiration to write posts like the ones I wrote when I was less gainfully (this adverb is subject for debate) employed.

But I rebel!

A man (similarly) in revolt

I may not have the time to compose my thoughts as thoroughly as I did before, but I refuse to let that stop me from having interesting thoughts. When I do, I will attempt to share them.  They may be shorter than I would want, but hopefully they will exist. Just like leprechauns!

Special Edition: Shark Week!

Today, one of my friends asked me why I'm afraid of sharks.* In honor of Shark Week, and to prevent anyone from ever asking me this question again**, I've compiled a list of the most compelling reasons I am  afraid of sharks.
*I know, I know. Seriously?
**It makes me think of sharks, which frightens me. 


REASONS TO FEAR SHARKS
1 - ~3,000: Each tooth in a shark's mouth, any of which is, at any given moment, probably sharper than what I shave with.

3,001: Sharks always win at pool. Always. And most of the time, they win because you pocket the 8-ball before you should have.

3,002:  If you gaze into a shark's ink-black, demon eyes, your soul will freeze instantly.

3,003: In addition to being able to smell a drop of blood from 3 miles away, sharks can smell a half-second spray of Axe or any amount of Old Spice from any ocean in the world. They consider these scents to be fine marinades.

3,004: If you ever kill a shark (directly or indirectly by using a product that includes shark-anything), their ghost will follow you forever, alerting other sharks to your whereabouts with an annoying whistle they do through their ghostly teeth.

3,005: Having been around for over 400 million years, sharks are masters of trivia, and will always defeat you at trivia night. They are also graceless winners, and will mock you for your poor performance in the 80s  pop-music category long after the contest is over. True story.

3,006: Shark skin is so tough that it walks through West Philadelphia at night without a weapon.

3,007: In late-night feeding frenzies, Sharks can consume over 6,000 twinkies, which is the equivalent of approximately 4 people.

3,008: Sharks have been known to eat their young, even without condiments and often without utensils.

3,009: When driving, sharks tailgate at high speeds and pass on the right unexpectedly.

3,010:  Sharks kill approximately one person in the United States per year in unprovoked attacks. IT COULD BE YOU!

So many reasons...
Image taken from Something Awful's Photoshop Phriday series.

There are more, but these are the top reasons. I would love to know why you're frightened of sharks; I know you have your reasons.

 Remember, live every week as if it were shark week. 

Kansas, My As! Or, KISS MY kansAS)

Those of you who have spoken to me recently may have heard that I just got back from a cross (most of the) country trip. It was a great time; I got to spend quality time with a bunch of friends, met some great people and all in all got to pretend that I was an adventurer (which is easier for me when I'm travelling than when the greatest danger I face is that I might go hungry because my natural indecisiveness makes it impossible for me to decide where I want to get food). At the end of the trip, I had a new respect for America, a few new friends, several favors owed and peace of mind. That's not to say the whole trip was wonderful; there were about seven hours of misery that coincided with when my friend and I drove through Kansas.

I don't want to sound like a hater. Honestly, I came into the trip with high expectations for Kansas. The first presentiment I had that it could be less than I had hoped came in Missouri. We were camping in a National Forest and met two Missourians (more on them later, perhaps). As we explained our plans for the next day, one of them interrupted, "Oh, man, you're going through Kansas? That sucks, I only drive through Kansas during night because I don't have to look at it. I feel sorry for whoever's driving that stretch." The next fifteen minutes of the conversation consisted of them explaining the many reasons they hated going through Kansas.

Still, the next day we drove off and after an intimidating storm that forced us to pull over (conveniently near a Waffle House*, I might add), left Missouri. Then we entered Kansas. The first 30 miles were actually beautiful: rolling green hills, pastures, horsies, you know, the usual. Then we passed one turn, at which point almost everything green dropped behind us and slowly disappeared through the rear window as I clawed at the seat and asked desperately to turn around, to no avail. We continued into Kansas, and for the next seven hours, almost everything was the same grey, dusty scenery.
*Actually, a disappointment. Turns out they used aluminum and wood, like most other diners I've seen.

The most exciting portion of Kansas (see? There's a train!)

The strange thing was that it changed as soon as we crossed the border into Colorado. It wasn't a mental thing; it was actually prettier. It was as if whoever made the border decided to bound in a lot of ugly into one state and just get it over with (no offense to any beautiful Kansas folks out there!*)
*Ha.


That being said, I came out of the trip with a new understanding of two things. First, I realized that when Dorothy turns to Toto and says, "Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore," she's issuing a sigh of relief. I wonder what it was that told her; probably a tree, a lake, a river, or anything remotely beautiful. Secondly, I understood the joke one of the Missourians told us at the campsite, which I will recount for you.

The night before Little Bighorn, General Custer sent out a scout to assess the situation. When the scout returned, he told Custer that he had good news and bad news, and asked the general which he'd like to here first.
"I'll take the bad news first," the General said.
"Sir, I've looked around, and we're not going to make out of here alive," the scout told him dismally.
"Ok," the stoic General replied. "Now what's the good news?"
"Well, Sir," the scout said, brightening up, "we're not going to have to march back across Kansas again!"

I made it out alive, but only thanks to a cheap one-way flight. Thank God.

So, I'm back now, and everything's going well. There are more stories that may get posted as time goes on, but I've also started working, so who knows what quality or length will follow from here on out. Hope that everything is going well with you!

Appropriate Warnings

So first off, I'd like to thank everyone who has congratulated me on graduating. It certainly wasn't always a given that I was going to escape Columbia in the good graces of the administration or with a diploma; the fact that I accomplished both of those is as pleasantly surprising to me as it may be to you.

That being said, a lot of the comments that follow "Congratulations on graduating!" have made me uncomfortable. For example, I've been told things like, "Congratulations on graduating! Now you get to work until you die!" and "Congratulations on graduating! It'll never get any better!" I appreciate that you're taking the time to wish me well, but please keep in mind that graduation is traumatic enough as is; the last thing I need is to be reminded how much more unpleasant everything that follows could be. For your benefit, I've compiled a list of acceptable corrections to oft-heard advice that will still convey the appropriate, intended warning.

Instead of: Congratulations! You'll never have so much freedom to do whatever you want ever again!
Try: Congratulations! You're going to have such an easy time coming up with schedules in the future!

Instead of: Congratulations! Soon you'll realize how good and easy you had it!

Try: Congratulations! You're nostalgic feelings are going to be so much better!

Instead of: Congratulations! Now you get to work until you die!

Try: Congratulations! If you work long enough, you'll get a super long vacation and be able to relax all you want!

Instead of: Congratulations! Welcome to the real world where you need to work for everything you want!

Try: Congratulations! You chose the red pill!

So, let me get this straight. Before taking the blue pill, I need to intentionally fail at least two classes? That doesn't sound too difficult...

In other news, my good friend Neil (another recent, but more productive, graduate) is well on his way to becoming a professional musician. One of his current projects is a fusion band that draws from Scottish, jazz and Latin influences. You can read about them and listen to a track here; check them out, I've seen them live a couple of times and the music is fantastic.

But in all honesty, thanks for all the well wishes; I really appreciate them. I'll be sure to keep you posted on life post-graduation.

An Accounting of Time

I know many of you have been wondering where I've been for the past few months. I don't blame you; I've been wondering that myself. It's been a while since I've let anyone know what I've been up to. I'm not a mysterious person, I just haven't had the time. So, I'd like to take this opportunity to let you know how I've been keeping busy these past few months.

First off, you should know that I'll be graduating soon, so I've been busy preparing for the professional world.

You can never practice office skills too much.

 I've also been working on one of my long term goals, learning how to cook. This has been going fairly well, judging by the fact that I have not set fire to everything in my room.

Frijol à la Jorgé is my most successful recipe to date.

Most surprising is the family of bears that's moved in with me. I have no idea where they came from, but they are sweet, so I've tended for them as well as I can.

Victor and Margaret, my most recent companions.

 Really though, I've had a lot of things come up this year. I've been pulled a lot of different ways, and it really taxed my time management skills and problem solving abilities. I think it was really beneficial for me in the long term, though. I learned a lot about how much I can handle and how I cope with such a full schedule.

How I face the challenges of everyday life.

I hope that explains why you haven't heard from me recently. As you can see, my days have been packed. Expect more updates from me soon, because I'm about to have more free time than I'll know what to do with. And oh, if you have any jobs lying around, please let me know.

Hope all is well!

Dealing with Celebrities: The Sasha Baron Cohen Edition

So I was hanging out in my local dive this past Saturday night trying to hit on my favorite bartender for what was probably the millionth time. She dismissed my usual advances, then leaned in a bit closer.

"Brendan, do you know Sasha Baron Cohen?" she asked me.

"You mean, Borat?" I replied.

"Yeah. Look to your right."

So I peeked furtively to my good side, and there, 20 feet away, was Sasha Baron Cohen himself. All 6'4'' of him (or some stupid number of meters, as he would probably say). He was dressed in a tweed jacket with a vest and a paperboy cap, as inconspicuous as a tall, goofy looking guy who looks exactly like SBC can look. From the looks of it, there was some sort of small party going on. He and his friends had brought a few boxes of pizza with them, and they were all casually standing around eating some slices, drinking some beers and chatting normally with each other. I'm not great at picking up subtle clues, but that's an invitation to be interrupted if I've ever seen one... right?

But really, I thought about it. Every time someone would put on a goofy accent and say "Hi-five!" I would have a story. "I saw Sasha Baron Cohen! He was in the same bar as I was!" I mean, that's cool, but it's not much of a story. What is this, catch-and-release fishing? "Yeah, Sasha Baron Cohen was there! He was like, this big *stretches arms out*" If it was going to be a good story, I knew I was going to have to talk to him. Or mount him on my wall, but one seemed more feasible and less likely to get me in arrested.

So no shit, there we were. Me and SBC. He was talking to his friend, I was creepily looking over his shoulder. I tugged his sleeve discreetly, and he turned towards me, pulling off a mask that covered his face to reveal that he was actually an alien.* I looked at him, and bashfully started to speak.

*this last bit about him being an alien is not true. Just making sure you're actually paying attention.

"Excuse me, I don't want to make a big deal of this," I started.

He interrupted me to say, "No, don't make a big deal of it, it's fine" (in writing, that makes him sound like a jerk, but he really said it in a nice, encouraging way).

"But, do people ever tell you you look like..." I paused a second. "You look like a dick in that cap?"

He looked at me with a straight face for a second.

"Actually, my father tells me that all the time. That's actually why I'm growing out my beard; I want to make my chin look like hairy balls," he continued, scratching at the scraggly growth on his face.

"It's working," I replied. "If you really want to make it better, I can give you the name of a plastic surgeon, and he can give you a great cleft chin."

Neither of us seemed to be a novice at bullshitting.

So we shot the shit for a a bit more, just talking about how he could look like a dick. My friend joined us, and we got into a two minute conversation about who we were. I really didn't want to overstay my welcome, so we left a few minutes later.

Now, I had just insulted a complete stranger. He took it well, but he didn't know me, so thought an apology was in order. On my way out, I decided I really should tell him I was sorry. Fortunately, some more people had come into the bar. A group of them was wearing dumb hats. Like, really dumb hats. Straw farmer's hats and pirates hats and whatnot. I pushed my way to the back of the bar again, found him and tapped him on the shoulder again.

"Listen, you know, I'm really sorry. I said you look like a dick earlier, and I was wrong. You don't look like a dick. Those guys look like dicks," I said, gesturing towards the pirate fAARRRRRmers (heh heh) in the front of the bar. He thanked me for apologizing and told me not to worry about it.

"I never caught your name, by the way. I'm Brendan."

"Sorry, I'm Mohammed."

Damnit, and I thought I had a story about talking to Sasha Baron Cohen!

About the Nude

A month ago, I hosted an event in my capacity as an RA. People who live on my floor had complained about the lack of decoration in the hallways (apparently, cinder block is not an appealing pattern. You learn something every day!), so I told them I would buy some art supplies and we could all decorate the hallways together (awww). The resulting event was wildly successful; everyone had fun, someone painted a portrait of me, and the halls looked pretty darn cool. I congratulated myself heartily, submitted an evaluation telling my bosses how wonderful I am, and assumed I had heard the last of the event.

Time passed. My portrait was ripped down :( . Life continued. Weeks later, I received an email from my boss.

Hey, Brendan -

Can you tell me a little about the nude that's in one of your murals? I'm not quite sure what to make of it. When you get a chance, can you fill me in?

Thanks,

(your boss)*

*This is not the actual signature.

In case you were wondering, this is the offending mural:

Carman 12, by Auntie Lay Zee*
*This is an anagram of the artists name for privacy's sake

Here, unedited, is my response.

Hey (Boss)*

*not actual name
Your prompt was a little vague, but I answered to the best of my ability.

Carman 12 is a relatively new work from upcoming artist Auntie Lay Zee (*see above). The painting is done in acrylic paint on butcher paper, a medium that showcases Zee's versatility and skill. The materials are of poor quality, indicating that Zee probably received them from an RA working on a limited budget with no knowledge of good artistry supplies. The work was begun and finished in her studio, Carman 12, during a floor arts and crafts event.

Carman 12 creates a frantic, nightmarish feeling using a few, relatively simple elements. The painting has two separate spaces. Zee uses the boundaries of the paper to frame the foreground upon which the woman runs across the space; the background is determined by the dark red stripe of ground upon which the snail crawls, and out of which the horrifying plant/monster grows. The painting is united by the warm palate of colors and the smooth, flowing lines that characterize much of Zee's work.

The painting speaks to the themes of sexuality and drug use that so occupy the minds of freshmen. The nude is both sexual and abhorrent. She has over-exaggerated womanly curves and soft-toned skin; the only clothing she is wearing are the high heels, footwear commonly associated with the sexual nature of women. At the same time, she has features often derided in popular discourse on sexuality of women; her flaming “ginger” hair, unshaven armpits and her bold unibrow make her not only unappealing, but terrifying.

At the same time, her genitalia are covered with what appears to be a marijuana leaf. The marijuana leaf is not the only appearance of mind altering substances; in the background, one sees a snail munching happily away on a magical mushroom. The swirl of colors surrounding him are evocative of a halucination. The effects of the trip are most clearly seen on the flower to the right of the painting; these drugs have the ability to turn mundane, perhaps beautiful things into frightening monsters. The continuum of possible effects is showcased in the background. On the left, there are abstract, non representational forms that seem to emit happiness like a ray gun emits lasers; it is only as one’s eyes move to the right does one comprehend the abject dread of a trip gone bad.

In this light, one possible interpretation of the marijuana leaf covering her genitalia becomes clear: what should be sexual is replaced with drugs. Zee brilliantly relates the darker undertones of sexual awakening so many first-years go through with the dangers of drug use that many are exposed to for the first time. The painting juxtaposes sex with drugs, but glorifies neither. Alternatively, it is possible that Zu'is RA was uncomfortable with a depiction of female genitalia in a public space and asked Zee to cover it up. X-Ray analysis would be a good way to determine the history of this portion of the painting.

According to Zee herself, the painting deals with several issues, ranging from the ‘dehumanization of gingers’ to “the extreme dearth of palatable males at Columbia and excess of ugly and pretty girls alike desperate to ‘get some.’ ” For Zee, this is what makes women a frightening subject: the uninhibited desire of the female libido. Zee writes, “She's savage and a reason to be afraid because girls are vicious and savage in pursuing their desire.”

As far as the value of the work, it has been lessened by contributions from Zee's understudies. As you can see, some of the brushstrokes, particularly in the area around the snail, are less masterly, and seem to have been painted by her apprentices in her studio. A reasonable estimate of the actual value of the painting would be someplace around $50-100.

Hope that helps!
-Brendan

So I know it's been a while since I've posted anything. I'd like to say it's because I've got bigger fish to fry, but that's not true. The real issue is bigger fish are trying to fry me. Yeah... But, I hope you're all doing well!

Also, (boss), if you're reading this, I meant this in good humor!