Christmas Music

I have posted a song that will aid in reading my posting.

Dear Carolers,

Stop singing on my front porch, in my house, on my radio, and in my car. I hate Christmas music. I don't mildly dislike it, but rather despise it with a passion. It's not that I hate Christmas or even Christmas cheer but I cringe when I hear those twenty five songs that are played over a million times each year. I come home to my mother who believes our family must have Christmas music in order to feel Christmas cheer. I don't know what Christmas cheer means but if it involves Christmas music I want no part of it.

If you're one of the strange beings that actually like Christmas music, you're probably asking yourself, "why such strong words for such a harmless thing." This is why.

I would be fine with Christmas music if I had a choice. Or; if I listened to Christmas music only once or twice during the holiday season. But I don't, I can't escape the thing. My mother believes that when I come home rest is not what I need, rather non-stopped Christmas music. Every day from about the 25th of November to the 24th of December I listen to Christmas songs.

When I’m back home, it starts at about 8:30 in the morning. It's not good enough that the music is just played to her self; she feels the need to spread the cheer. Absolutely anywhere you stand within the house or really anywhere on the property the cheer will be spread. Since I'm home for the holidays she feels the need to spend every waking moment with me. Which is fine. But... we go to the store or to the mall or out for lunch, and the car has to have Christmas music. Once again it's not quiet, rather so loud the cheer is spread to the entire state of Michigan. But... it doesn't stop there. She not only listens to the music but she also feels the need to sing along. Now, I love my mother, but she can't sing. Well she can, but she can't sing well. Thus inevitably we will be stuck in holiday traffic listening to those ear-piercing songs while my mother half sings half hums due to the fact she has forgotten the lyrics. Just when I think things can’t possibly get worse, they do. We finally leave the car to accomplish our shopping and immediately step into a store which also thinks Christmas music is a good option. Not only do I have to deal with it at home and in the car but also everywhere I go in public. Christmas music in small town America seems almost unavoidable.

To be honest, I technically would be fine with that, except for the fact that Christmas music is limited to a total of twenty-five songs. That’s right twenty-five. I know it seems like a lot but twelve to fourteen hours a day listening to only twenty five three minute songs can get old fast. I know your saying, "it has to be more than twenty five." And it is, but the rest are renditions of those twenty-five. Every year some musician thinks to himself or herself it might be a good idea to put out a Christmas album. So they do. But they don't actually want to spend the time writing Christmas songs, so they stick to the twenty-five predetermined song lyrics. If it not Celine Deon or Clay Aiken or even the Backstreet Boys, its Kenny G, the Rat Pack, or the East Harlem Boys Choir. They all put out Christmas albums, not because they feel like they can offer something new. Christmas albums mean cash because, people like my mother buy their rendition as a way to “spice up the holiday season”. So, every year I’m stuck listening to another mediocre musician put they're heart and soul into the Twelve Days of Christmas or Silent Night. It however doesn't stop there. Not only do crappy pop musicians come out with Christmas songs they also find people who will do renditions in different accents. Yes, this is the worst. Just tonight I listened to a Caribbean calypso choir sing White Christmas, as if they actually have seen snow.

I know I sound bitter. But I like my headspace. Frankly Christmas music doesn't give me that. I have been subjected to this torture for twenty-one years and now know all twenty-five songs by heart. For a period of about two to three weeks not a thought can pass through my head due to all the Christmas music. All I can think of is how I am having a Holly Jolly Christmas, whether I want to or not.

Merry Christmas,
Scrooge


Readers please let me know what you’re up to this holiday season, and what if anything bugs you about the holidays and or holiday cheer.

Corn Fed Freedom, and half a Christmas cookie

Dear Americans,

I grew up across from a cornfield and rode in plows at early ages. Corn and I have been attached at the hip for pretty much forever. It surprised me that this however is true for the rural farmer and city slicker alike.
I recently found myself engaged in watching the documentary King of Corn. The documentary notified me that the chemicals in hair will show how much of a particular food one eats. The tests the filmmakers took showed they consume large amounts of corn in their diets; due to processed foods and meats. It was concluded that more than 50% of their diets were corn. (King Corn) After seeing these astonishing results, I inquired about my own state of corniness. Instead of dealing with expensive tests that informed me of the given; I decided to monitor my diet for a week. It turned out as I speculated that I too am a corn fed boy. I was aware I ate corn products but still was taken back by just how much of my diet was corn. In the documentary they present a challenge to go corn free for a month. I decided to see how difficult it was for a week and then judge from there.
Before I go into my personal story it’s important to talk about the corn industry, and why it’s in all our foods. American corn is a subsidized crop, which makes the farmers money whether or not there is a demand. The result is an over surplus of corn in our system. Michael Pollan an ecological food writer, explains this leads to, “more and more highly processed food,’ ‘adding value to that commodity (corn).” (Pollan Michael, The Way We Live) It creates a perpetual growth of the corn industry, making corn a product in all our food. It’s in our bread, yogurt, chips, cakes, and sodas and it’s fed to most of our livestock. It makes us corn fed boys and girls.
But the fact that we eat so much corn is not a reason to go on a diet such as this. It would be like stating, I’m going to go on a rice free diet if I lived in china. There are underlying reasons why a corn free diet may be beneficial.
Corn production needs fertilizer to help promote growth. However the fertilizer contains nitrogen that is hurting the environment. One source explains that a, “significant portion of such fertilizer is still making its way through the soil and water to the sea. As a result, algae and other microorganisms take up the nitrogen, bloom and, after they die, suck the oxygen out of coastal waters.”( Biello, David) The oxygen sucked from the coastal waters creates dead zones that span up to 7,700 square miles. I.E. a large area where nothing can live! “Scientists warn that a boom in crops such as corn for biofuel will only make matters worse.” (Biello, David)
On top of that an article put out by the GMO Compass estimates that, “about 80 percent of the maize produced in the US is genetically modified.” (Maize) That equals out to about 72 million acres of genetically modified corn produced in 2007 alone. (Biello, David) The result is large portions of corn in our food and livestock. This is scary because GMO corn has only been in mass production since 1997 and the possible side effects are unclear.
With so much corn in our system we have found a way to give it to everything. Most livestock including farmed fish are on corn diets and as Michael Pollan explains the logic is sound, “Calories are calories, and corn is the cheapest, most convenient source of calories.” (Pollan, Michael, Power Steer) Even though it’s the cheapest, this corn is found to be harmful to the animals. Corn fattens cattle much quicker than grass but cows are still meant to eat grass; when they’re fed corn, problems arise. In cattle it can lead to cow acidosis and bloating. If a cow is kept on a corn diet for too long it will die. If a corn diet for a cow is unhealthy, what happens when the unhealthy cows are fed to us? As Pollan explains, “A growing body of research suggests that many of the health problems associated with eating beef are really problems with corn-fed beef.” (Pollan, Michael, Power Steer)
If that’s not enough to keep you from eating corn consider that most processed foods in the grocery store contain high fructose corn syrup. There are differing results on whether high fructose corn syrup is worse than other sweeteners. But tests were done in which mice were fed diets similar to the average American. The results showed, “It took only four weeks for liver enzymes to increase and for glucose intolerance - the beginning of type II diabetes - to begin." (Dixon Rachel) These tests showed there is, “evidence that suggests fructose actually suppresses your fullness, unlike fiber-rich foods, which make you feel full quickly.” (Dixon Rachel) This makes sense when you look at the ballooning rates of obesity and health problems associated within America. Mayo clinic posted a warning on sweeteners such as high fructose corn syrup stating that, “Regularly including these products in your diet has the potential to promote obesity which, in turn, promotes conditions such as type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure and coronary artery disease.” (Zeratsky Katherine)
With the votes in on corn industry, I want to turn back to my own situation. First, it’s important to present the kind of person I am. By writing this I can inform others similar to me that it’s possible to limit corn intake. My demographic is the poor college student, excited about their health with no time to cook. In my life I try to stay healthy and keep away from sodas, chips, and high fat foods. If I want a soda I buy a soda and if I want a hamburger I buy a hamburger. I don’t drink a soda everyday or even every week, and the same goes for hamburgers. I rarely eat chips and try to stick to items that are more nutritionally sound. Being on the go, I find myself eating food items such as sandwiches, and pasta. I don’t have the time to cook, nor do I have an oven that works, so I stick to the quicker meals. Navigating a world that supports the unhealthy approach is difficult but still possible.
After the first weeks monitoring I came to find out that more than half my diet had corn in it. The cereal, bread, cheese, meat, milk, and beer all had corn products in them. I did notice that even though my diet was packed full of corn it contained very little high fructose corn syrup. I highlighted the corn items in yellow and the high fructose corn syrup items in red. (See figure 1) Seeing that high fructose corn syrup is thought to be a large part of obesity, I was proud of myself. But in order to effect environmental change, support food diversity, and animal welfare I would have to cut back on the rest of the corn, even my corny jokes (drums).
After some research I realized eating out, drinking beer, and consuming animal products would be out of the question. Except for wild caught fish I was going to practically become vegan. I knew of milks, cheeses and meats labeled as 100% grass fed, but I also knew these options are more expensive. Being a college student I need to keep costs down and expensive grass fed options become non-options. A $6 dollar gallon of milk compared to a $3 gallon of milk just isn’t an option. And the room for error in grass fed labeling is too high to risk.
The day before my diet started I went to the grocery store. Trader Joes is my grocery store of choice for their healthier food and cheaper prices. I grabbed my basket and got shopping. I started with bread; I found in the past that all my bread had corn in it, so I was hoping they would have a solution for me. I label read for a good fifteen minutes before I found a corn free option. My solution was Trader Joes “Organic Bread with Flax and Fiber”. Next stop was sandwich toppings. I was determined that I was not just going to eat peanut butter and jelly all week (Natural peanut butter, Smuckers simply fruit). Besides a large array of vegetables I bought two packages of wild caught smoked Coho salmon. Even farmed fish are corn fed! I then stocked up on a healthy amount of pasta, pasta sauce, and copious amounts of dark chocolate. I was set…
Except for my bill. Fifteen dollars more than usual, and… I was still without all of my vegetables. For this week it was ok, but I was not going to be buying salmon in the future. The first few days were excellent and going well, but about half way though a week of no corn I realized failure. I was looking over my food diary and saw the problem occurred my first night. Saturday. I was at a gallery opening and somebody came up to a friend and said, “the Christmas cookies are amazing.” We immediately went to the kitchen and saw the kind my mother made. Sugar cookies with frosting… my favorite! We analyzed the situation loosely and rationalized it probably had corn in it. My friend however claimed, “no, its ok they’re homemade”. At the time it seemed like pretty good logic, so with out questioning anymore we split one. A half a week later I realized those cookies had three ingredients that are most likely side effects from corn: milk, butter, and eggs. I had failed and my failure was hinged upon half a Christmas cookie. Oh the misery.(see figure 2)
The rest of the week, I was smooth sailing. I must say however, it was pretty hard keeping away from certain ingredients. Half way through the week I started to crave $1.60 cheese pizza made right across the street from my bedroom window. As my stomach rumbled all I could think was, “I can just not put it in my diary.” They’ll never know it will be my little secret. I can sit in my closet gorging myself on all the pizza, ice cream, and corn tortilla chips I want. My closet stayed pizza free. But I can promise you the longer the week went on, the more I thought about it. The constant thought, you’ve already failed what’s the point, was a nagging sore spot. (see figure 2)
But these thoughts bring me to my conclusion. Even though I failed, corn was brought into a new light. I like corn or at least corn byproducts. I sure do like Christmas cookies, cheese pizzas, omelets, ice cream, and pork sandwiches. For the week that I ate no corn, I switched to fish, which I thought was a good alternative. I quickly found out its only an alternative every now and again. But it’s definitely not an alternative for ham and turkey sandwiches. My conclusion was to go back to corn. But, I will try to reduce my corn intake from now on. Being so strict in a diet, especially for a person who likes food, is agony. However, there are still ways I can be proactive. Switching to the bread I bought for my no corn diet and eating more vegetables is one way. I found that when I knew I would be eating no corn I bought more vegetables, which was much appreciated in my pasta and sandwiches. I also ate at restaurants less, which saved me a bunch of money. The extra fifteen dollars spent at the grocery store was still less than the few sandwiches and beers I buy weekly. But I will still go for pork sandwiches and pizza across the way. And there is no point turning down friends who want to grab a beer and fries. If I find a cheap grass fed solution, Ill buy it. But more than just avoiding the problem while everyone eats away at their corn, Ill join in. I’m a natural born follower, a conformist.
We can however push to have subsidies for corn eliminated so we can create food diversity, and lower nitrogen pollution. We can also push food companies into keeping high fructose corn syrup out of our foods. Or as the eloquent words of Michael Pollan say, “The political challenge now is to rewrite those rules, to develop a new set of agricultural policies that don't subsidize overproduction and overeating.” (Pollan Michael, The Way We Live) Corn isn’t evil and in moderation a little corn is ok for the environment and us. But getting to that moderation will be the challenge. I ask you as a reader, to record your eating habits for a week. Examine as I did what parts of your diet have corn in them, and what you can take out. If you drink soda a lot, maybe reduce your soda intake to once a week. If you eat lots of breads and grains with corn products, switch to a brand with no corn. Try drinking beers with no corn syrup in it. Even though Bells brown ale is officially connected with corn, its only prepared with corn flour. That’s much better than a PBR or a Miller High Life that contain corn syrup. In my own diet I noticed half of the corn products were cereal and bread. Cheaply and easily I can avoid this by buying a no corn alternative. By doing this alone I will reduce my corn consumption by close to half and that’s a step in the right direction.
Ill leave you with a quote from the makers of King Corn, its similar to how I felt at the end of my week. “The honest truth is that it’s hard to change the way you eat. Visiting a 100,000-cow feedlot and home-brewing corn syrup did make fast food a lot less appetizing. I can’t eat a hamburger now without hearing the nutritionist from the film, Loren Cordain: “Hamburger meat is really not meat. It’s fat disguised as meat.” But still, it’s hard to avoid the stuff. Industrial food tastes good — it’s salty and fatty and sweet — and it’s almost irresistibly convenient and cheap.” (Ellis Curt)

Yours,
Slightly less corn fed.

Winter

Dear Chicagoans,

This is a call to action. Lets stand and fight. Fight for global warming. Lets break out the aerosol cans and raise the temperatures back to livable conditions. It’s a crying shame that we should have to deal with this and so lets fight back.

Every year I put up with it and frankly I’m sick of it. Winters, ugh. Chicago winters, ugggghhhhhh. We arrive at it every year the exact same way. September will come and people start asking whether or not you’re prepared. In most places September is one of those months in which you can enjoy the end of summer. But no, for Chicagoans we live in fear. September signals the coming of six to seven of the worst months. Once October hits, the sun never shines. And what sucks is October isn’t the worst. It’s mild in comparison to the coming months.

Yes, November starts it off with day light savings time. The time of the year in which you realize the sun sets at four. I go to school in the dark, and get out of the class in the dark. If I get a chance to step out over lunch, I shouldn’t need to worry about seeing the sun, because the clouds take care of that; November through April. It’s one big gray mess. November is also the month in which the cold is the main focus of any conversation. Veterans hail their survival stories to Newcomers. Newcomers make jokes about how it can’t be that bad. But what they don’t know is that it can. November comes and goes and everyone complains how bad the weather is, but it’s nothing like December.

The only thing that makes December enjoyable is Christmas. The month of December is supposed to be cold, it’s Santa’s month. So you deal with it. But you still curse under your breath. You walk huddled up face down arms crossed from destination to destination. December is the month in which your breath becomes solid, and even your parka needs layers. Often in December I find myself dressed with four to five layers, two tee shirts, a flannel, a cardigan or sweater, a fleece jacket, and a heavy-duty winter coat. Assembled I can barely put my arms down. But at least in December you’re warm from holiday cheer.

January doesn’t have holidays, at least not important ones. There is nothing to look forward to in January. The temperatures in January are always fifteen to twenty degrees colder than December. People die in January, and I tend to feel physical pain when stepping outside. It’s one of those months in which you start to contemplate suicide because of how cold it gets. Those layers that helped in December no longer help. Nothing feels good. It’s just plain miserable. Chicago makes it all the worse because there’s nothing to do in here. It’s not like this cold is accompanied by snow or winter sports. Just cold and wind. Ah, yes the windy city. Whenever the temperature says -8 it forgets to take into account the loop is a man made wind tunnel. Chicago wind chills have been known to get as low as -82 degrees. And even though this sounds bad were forgetting one major part.

February. February is the exact same as January just colder. Last February it was -18 F without the wind chill (-27 Celcius for my European friends). No sun, ever. Nothing. In February I truly believe God hates this place. It’s the only reasonable explanation. Science hasn’t been able to prove why Chicago gets so cold. There is nothing good about February except for the slight idea that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

March, the false light at the end of the tunnel. It gets warmer but 6 is not a suitable temperature in my book. You still cant put your arms down because of all the layers, and you still feel physical pain, a slightly less amount of physical pain. By the end of March the sun actually starts to come back and you remember that hope is on its way. Soon enough your gas bill will no longer be a six digit number. March is ok not because its warm, but because its not so bad. This however, is a terrible way to think about life, I thus hate March.

So friends. Take to polluting. It’s the only solution. I hear all this about global warming and then I experience October to March. I understand how I feel generally is not a scientifically sound argument, but I dare you to live in Chicago for a winter. As far as the icecaps go, its ok, we can grow more; it sure as hell is cold enough here. If you don’t want to pollute then possibly hibernation is the answer. I would be down for not leaving my warm little abode for six months out of the year. It would be better than standing outside thinking about survival as I wait for the train.

Continually,
Sick and tired.

Readers please let me know where you live and what winter offers for you.

Tale of two cities

Dear Holiday Travelers,

If you’re like me then this holiday season you will be returning to your childhood home. You may be traveling across the world, or down road, but either way the realization of change will be drastic. I can only speak for myself but I personally enjoy the contrast both places provide.

Just before Thanksgiving I spent my time in Chicago enjoying "the smaller things". I would go on late night walks down Lasalle Avenue marveling at the tall buildings and amber glow. I would smile upon my morning commutes in which private space became public. I took the time to see the last minutes of the golden 4:30 sunlight hit some random high-rise window. It was enjoyable even to watch small commanding children lock eyes with sleepy eyed riders on the EL. It's the times in which big city life is put into small prospective that makes life so enjoyable.

But in the country it’s never the small things that make life worth it. Everything is small. Banal stories of leaf raking and dog haircuts fill the conversation. Long thoughts regarding the weather, and snowstorms fill the voids. It’s a little slower and a lot smaller out here. What makes it worth it is exactly the opposite; small town life being placed into big perspective. Hope is the name of the game. It's what gets us through when the jobs dry up or when the schools have leaky roofs. Its what I try to keep in mind when I’m home. I’m not out looking for the "smaller things", rather the best moments are when life seem so big. Its those shimmering frosty stars that are missed in the amber glow of Chicago that make it worth it.

For me I latch on to the contrast both places provide. The conversations about leaf raking, are just as good as that 4:30 Chicago sunlight. Both make life a little greater.

Yours,
Thoroughly pleased

And readers please let me know about what holiday travel presents for you.

On constructing a dream house.

Dear Architects,

The dream home seems to be stuck in a place of shimmering contradictions: I like the wilderness. I like the city. I like solitude. I like companionship. I like blue. I like red. I like brick walls. I like white walls. I like new. I like old.

It is a near impossibility to imagine a space that is complete in its relation to the creator and inhabitant. Extrapolating definitions by speaking about what the space isn’t seems just as bad as holding onto ideals of what it is or might be. At times one is struck by the shear catchiness of the act to define a capsule that would encapsulate all our hopes, dreams, wants, and desires.

But for my self, the multiple drafts of an ideal space only seem to be riddled with nonsensical marks that finalize themselves in utter failure. I am no architect, and bothering myself with dreams that seem trivial is not a game I want to play.

However, using my own framework (my current apartment) seems completely different. It latches onto the concrete, and from the concrete I can speak of the abstract without contradictions. To spare the reader I will refrain from trudging long-winded descriptions of my dwelling and instead mull over what can stay and what can go.

First and foremost the 24-year-old pot smoking, party-mongering hack of a roommate can go. He can take his clutter, his second hand highs, his glass blowing torch, and his dirty white gym socks with him. Yes, his books on Identifying the Dream, and Buddhism for Dummies can go as well. And just to make sure he can take those ugly-ass women, and that repetitive 90’s techno music. Life would be so much better with out him. No more razors left on the sinks and in the showers. No more constant smell of ego waffles, fake maple syrup and weed wafting through the house. No more cupboards packed full of Chef Boyardee, Pasta Roni, and Instant Mac & Cheese. And no more counters filled with candy corn, empty fruity pebble boxes, and plastic sporks.

I never want to see another black light poster or electric strawberry vanilla candle again. I never want to have to pick pubes from my sink, or change my socks due to maple syrup. I don’t want to be the bad guy and tell people to get the fuck out of my house at four in the morning. I don’t want to have that discussion about shared space. I don’t want to come home and find the windows open and the heat at seventy-eight. I envision the day when my space will be free of clutter and no longer considered a war zone. I envision coming home and being able to see hard wood floors and granite counter tops. I envision being happy after a long stressful day. But most of all I envision no longer dealing with the daily occurrences.

Like the other day, I came home to find glass blowing bead separator dried on the hardwood floors, the subwoofer, the desk, the laptop cord, the granite kitchen counter tops, the sink, and all the utensils. The couch was full of coats, pillows, and wet towels, the bathroom was littered with socks, my toothpaste cap, and old razor handles. And the motherfucker was missing in action.

After his return the Napoleon-esque stance he took armed only with a fork was almost laughable. Seated behind the kitchen table, he chomped on a soupy mess of fake maple syrup, globes of jam, and cold ego waffles. He then in the most eloquent way he could tried to tell me that the reason the house was such a mess was based solely on the morning after pill. I listened to him describe his condom situation in graphic detail and then tell me how this girl he got pregnant had spilt the bead separator. Seeing I wasn’t impressed the show continued. With the most extreme agony I witnessed him change directions and tell me that he’s madly in love with a girl that won’t love him. Mind you, a different girl. I was going to remind him that getting other women pregnant might be a reason someone would cease their love, but I refrained. The show somehow got better. I watched as a steady stream of tears fell into the half-inch pond of Mrs Butterworths that sat below him. I almost felt sad until I remembered that my Subwoofer was still caked in bead separator. The only thing I could muster out of my mouth was, “Well, I imagine you will get this shit cleaned up.”

It’s funny to me that someone who doesn’t go to school and is jobless can have a bad day. If I smoked $200 worth of weed a week, I would be smooth sailing.

Not even a week after the bead separator incident, I came home to witness the picture window shattered. I’ve dealt with sleepless nights where drug dealers are coming to the house at four in the morning. I’ve listened to him pass diseases on to new women and manipulate stories about free love and the hippy dream every night. I even put up with him calling me pimp-a-licous, but the picture window hit my breaking point.

All I want to do is sit and enjoy silence when silence is due. I should be able to marvel at floors that are so shiny I can see my own reflection. I should be able to study and prepare for the next day of class without hearing a constant techno beat. I should be able to sleep during normal sleeping hours, and have a night in which only the people that pay rent are in the house. I think I’m being reasonable; I’m a simple guy really. I have had many living situations and have enjoyed most of them. I like white walls. I like brick walls. I like solitude. I like companionship. But what I don’t like is motherfuckers who test my sanity every chance they get.

So, when I imagine my dream home, all I want is a clutter free existence. The more clutter brought into my life the closer I get to my breaking point. On the plus side the 24-year-old pot smoking, party-mongering hack of a roommate might be leaving, and just the mere thought of this makes me happy.

Please, let me know what the framework for your dream home looks like, and if yours is anything like mine then let me know what can go immediately.

Sincerely yours,
Almost Insane.

Slim Sandwiches

Dear fellow gluttons,

I want to make a Dagwood. Yes, a sandwich piled so high you can't see the top slice of bread. Roast beef, pastrami, and freshly cooked honey ham. Bacon, eggs, and hash-browns. Two types of peanut butter four types of jam. Three types of lettuce, and twelve types of cheese. I want tomatoes, pickles, onions, carrots, olives, and peppers. Green peppers, yellow peppers, red peppers, and orange, banana peppers, jalapeno peppers, chili peppers, and more. That's right if its a sandwich ingredient, please slap it on. I want a steak section, vegetarian section, vegan section, and glutton free section. My sandwich will be a sandwich to top all others, and I want it to be named after its height and weight. Four feet six inches twenty two pounds. Using three freshly baked loaves of bread, end pieces and all. And most of all I want to eat it without worry. No more weight gain, or money loss fears. No my sandwich will supersede that.

But... until I can make my Dagwood the way I want, success is yet to come.

As of late my sandwiches average out at 1.5 inches and 2.2 ounces. They are usually mistaken for two slices of bread smashed together. A slim sandwich.

Nobody likes a slim sandwich, but its the price you pay for being poor. Or rather, the price you don't pay for being poor. Scrounging around to set something, anything on that stale bread sucks. I'm lucky if I find chicken or turkey, but usually its just peanut butter and jelly. The worst part is the rationing. Trying to figure out how many toppings I have until my next pay check, makes me terribly depressed. Remember, I lust after that four foot six inch twenty two pounder. In reality, I end up with one slice of turkey some mustard and maybe a tomato if its not molded yet. Assembled, its barely a sandwich.

So what do I do. I dream.
Yes I too have a dream. I have a dream, that one day, this nation will rise up, and live out the true meaning of its creed. We hold these truths self evident that all sandwich toppings should be created with grade A quality and affordable price. I have a dream that the presence of the sadwich, the slimwich, the cheaply made wich will be eradicated. As ludicrous as this may sound , Im standing up for sandwich rights. I want to bring forth a day of the manwich, the megawich, the überwich, the dagwood. I envision the world having a quality sandwich pandemic. Too many sandwiches.

But how is this done? With global food prices and shortages only rising, will we ever see a day of the überwich? There are skeptics that say no. There are people that say we must limit our intake. But I disagree. Once again lets just beat science. Lets put our brains together not to deflect the inevitable but rather bypass it. Science has saved us in the past, and in the name of sandwiches Im calling on science to save us again. Yes I'm almost positive, if we can design a Dagwood that is ecologically, and environmentally friendly, with an exemplary price, healthful outlook, and wonderful taste, I can promise you we will be well on our way to solving the worlds problems. Stop sending your money to save the rain forrest and the ice caps and please start sending it to save the sandwiches. Together we can make one hell of a good sandwich.

Signed yours truly,
The most gluttonous glutton.

P.S. For some good sandwich resources please refer to a blog i wrote previously on the definition of a sandwich. And here is a great resource for scouting out sandwiches in New York.
And please let me know if you have suggestions on how to create an überwich.

Doppler Gangers and Halloween

Dear Brad Pitt,

Getting compared to you is starting to get a little annoying. In an elevator, buying clothes, or just walking down the street I am bound to be told of our similarities. It always happens in the same way, the person will step in front of me and make it impossible for me to continue through my daily activities. The phrase," Do you know who you remind me of..." is bound to follow their impediment of my life. And woe is me, the hard ships of looking like a heartthrob. It gets old after a while. Imagine the countless dates and modeling jobs I have rejected, and the people that leach off me based solely on appearance. It makes one fearful of ever stepping outside.

For the intelligent reader, you maybe have already caught my fib. In reality it’s not a comparison to Brad Pitt that I receive but rather Jim Carrey. And this is detestable. Yes, some of his films have been decent, but you never think of shear godliness when you think of Mr. Carrey. This lack of godliness is where the problem lies, because godliness is my ultimate aim. On the plus side its better than being compared to Chris Farley or Christopher Walken but common is Jim Carrey really that much better. As a civilized and thoughtful human, I don't walk up to strangers and tell them they look like a spitting image of Rossane Barr, Rosie Odonald, or George from Seinfeld. Sometimes, I have to resist because these people actually look like ugly celebrities, but I garnish myself with a quality I like to call, tact. Maybe others should think about the human condition before they open their mouths. However, I personally don't put this much faith in people. It only gets worse when they immediately follow up their comparison by saying, "but thats not a bad thing!" Like this softens the blow. It would be Ok, if I got comparisons to John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, or even Johnny Depp, but common, Jim Carrey! Please refrain!

I have to laugh, because for the last couple of years I have modeled myself after celebrities even though I hate quick comparisons. I chose from a whole range of celebrities, picking out different characteristics that I like from each. First it was Andy Warhol, then Woody Allen and John Wayne, now it might be Abraham Lincoln, or David Sedaris. But always it has been Brad Pitt. I try to figure out different aspects of my life that can be paralleled to the celebrity world, but then I feel a need to go into hiding and mask myself as Ryan Ingebritson. Thankfully I have a reprieve. Halloween. Yes, its the greatest time of the year because for one night I can actually be myself! Other people say the same thing, but then I see them dressed as little red ride me hard, or hoe white. OOh, I hope this isn't who you aspire to be. We as humans should strive to be great; mediocrity is not even a possibility. So, what does this all come to: a synthesis of greatness. When you see me wearing cowboy boots, pleated slacks, and a turtleneck, sporting a chin beard and looking devilishly handsome. You will know immediately, that I am, as a friend once called me "Woody Wayne". I believe this friend was speaking not of a mere synthesis between John Wayne and Woody Allen but rather the amalgamation, of Wayne, Allen, Sedaris, Lincoln, Pitt, Warhol, Einstein, and maybe a touch of Monroe. Marilyn Monroe. Shortened, it becomes just Woody Wayne. For the people that call me Jim Carrey, the stupidity lies with you. In reality you are only transmitting your fear of being a washed up celebrity. Look a little deeper; you will see Brad Pitt emerge before your eyes. So, I must sign this letter in the only way that I can.

Sincerely,
BW2 (Brad Woody Wayne)

P.S.
Since now you know my 'costume' for Halloween, please tell me who you really are. This means, I don't want to hear a bunch of Supermans, or Football players unless you actually believe yourself to be just that.

My Big City Paradise

Dear Chaos,

Stay away from me!

As a child, my mother claims I was relatively particular about the way my space was put together. But around the age of eight the spaces I encountered started to be treated as social experiments to test the limits of mankind. In other words, I was extremely messy. I brought chaos with me everywhere I went and gave meaning to the expression, "Bull in a china cabinet." I can only imagine the social embarrassment my parents encountered when people showed up to their house for unannounced visits. Like a tornado, I left a path of destruction everywhere I went, and containment was impossible. Traces of paint and charcoal, mud and grass left permanent stains all throughout the house. And believe it or not, this general state of being continued all the way through high school up into college, and for a while, even got worse. But at some point, I started to grow up and realized that I was nothing in comparison to most college kids.

I distinctly remember my very first roommate and the atrocities of uncleanliness he used to perform. Some of my favorites were him leaving a pot of rice in the rice cooker for over two months, and spots of visible mold growing across the entire kitchen. I thought this was bad until I visited the University of Michigan and saw a toilet with a one inch thick layer of piss and pubic hair caked to the toilet seat. I've heard even worse stories of a friend finding a soggy plate of french fries underneath the toilet , ketchup and all. I know I've committed crimes of cleanliness multiple times before, but I would like to believe Im getting better. Living situations that breed diseases, or having roommates that think I recently fought wars is no longer appealing to me. In a sense I'm growing up. And I wish you could all see me now; living alone, being poor, and paying rent has turned me into a beast of cleanliness.

My apartment which is located in downtown Pilsen, is the perfect place to come back to after a long day of work and class. I have labeled it my Big City Paradise. Four bedroom, two bath, hardwood floors, granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, and a large stained glass window make this place perfect in every sense of the word. And for the last month I have lived alone. My landlord has been to lazy to find other people to move in, and the guy that does live with me has been traveling for his job. He has not spent more than ten nights in the place. So I sit at home in the evenings at my desk and study in front of the big picture window, reflecting on how great it is to have this place I can call home...

But this last Friday the beauty and peace that had recently come into my life started to fade. I had just brought Charles home, the newest member of my two part family (a Sansevieria Trifasciata). I received a phone call as I was standing admiring Charles in his red terracotta pot, proudly displaying his three small leaves. It was a prospective roommate, and he was in the neighborhood. Five minutes later the trouble started.

Now instead of trying to retell the incredibly awkward story that ensued while he was sitting there. I will make a top 10 list of things you don't want to do when introducing your self to your new roommate.

1. Do not start off a conversation asking me if I smoke weed. This is not impressive. "I don't want to know if you smoke the best or the worst chronic."
2. Do not have predetermined ideas of how you're going to use my spotless living room and desk as your studio. And refrain from making statements such as, "Man, you know, I'm like a glass blower. So what I'm thinking is I'm going to come in here and set up my torch and my fan in the picture window and a kiln all on this table. Its going to be sweet. Man I can show you how to blow glass and shit, dude you're going to totally dig it. I can tell already were going to get along great.
3. Dont proclaim eternal friendship after three minutes of knowing someone.
4. Dont tell me your twenty four, have no job, dont go to school, and your parents pay for your rent.
5. Stop mentioning how rich your parents are.
6. When I ask if you have a lot of dishes and utensils, dont tell me you're just going to just buy paper plates because all you eat is frozen pizza, you're 24, grow up.
7. When we agree on both liking house music, do not get up and start dancing in front of me for three awkward minutes, and then follow it up by saying, "You know, I only rock that pure flow shit."
8. When I ask about your state of cleanliness dont say, "you know, whatever man", giving me a definitive answer.
9. Stop saying "you know" when I ask you questions, I don't know, that's why I asked you.
10. And when I tell you I'm an artist, do not form predetermined ideas that your glass blowing is similar to what I do. I do not want to have "Art Stations", and I do not want to teach you how to paint with watercolors.

and the kicker,

11. When you have a scraggly soul patch and pants that are awkwardly big, please, please, please, don't tell me you have to beat girls off with a stick and then claim that if I 'roll with you', we will be living the "high life". I don't want to live the high life you're associated with.

I know I sound a little angry but I have been so happy in my place and don't want to go back to living like I'm in a frat house. I have already had one mouse and don't want to attract more. The mere thought of someone bringing a torch into my house scares the shit out of me. For a rich boy whose parents have a "mega mansion in the forest" burning down an apartment building is not that big of a deal. But my entire life sits within that place, and I've read that Charles does not do well with flames.

And the worst part of it all is I have no say in the matter. My landlord does the selecting, and apparently my landlord approved this guy to move in. He moves in Thursday, and so my Big City Paradise will be no longer, more of a Big City Inferno. But on the plus side the anxiety that this guy brings will supply you, the reader, with a plethora of blogs. So stayed tuned.

And readers, please let me know if you have met potential roommates that threaten the entire infrastructure of your lives, and how you dealt with it.

And just because I love him so much, here is a picture of Charles.

Meaningful passion

Dear Lovebirds,

I am one of you. I am here today to stand on a mountain top and sing, to go to the depths of the ocean, traverse the entanglements of the jungle and the barren landscape of the desert, just to proclaim my love. Were not together yet, but, I can only imagine; I will come home after a long day of work and school and it will be sitting there like a ray of sunshine beckoning me to come close, to stroke it ever so gently, to smell its beautiful fragrance. OOOOh my love! Just the mere thought of you reveals the mysteries of the world. Woah is me, how I think about you every chance I get, your big green leafy leaves, and the fruit you bear. Your cute little red terra-cotta pot, the dark soil that nurtures your growth, and the water I should one day feed you on. For in reality folks my love goes not to a woman but rather a plant. Im thinking, maybe a cactus.

I know readers your thinking to yourself, this guy is a nut job, and maybe I am, but I like to think of myself as a romantic nut job, at least. The other day it occurred to me, that its time after three and half years of selfishness, to start caring for something else. And since the dating prospects are not forming a sensible queue, I figured a plant would be a good substitution. Something that can bask in my affection, reciprocate when i make it dinner, and bring me flowers instead of me bringing it flowers. Yes a plant is perfect for me. And all I want to do is make art, write books, create plays, sing songs, and act in feature films that glorify my plant. It is already the object of my love and desire but non the less...... a dilemma has occurred. Even though the love exist for this plant, Im not sure what kind to get.

At first I wanted to get a real leafy plant something small and intimate but with a lot of green. But then the thought occurred to me something with flowers might be nice. I've never owned a plant before, so maybe it should be low in maintenance. Something similar to the kind of women I like; smells nice, comes out when the sun is shining, low maintenance, soft to the touch, and doesn't leave after a season. And even though I dont really like thorny women, a cactus still sounds nice. Not knowing where to find cactus I recently tried the grocery store which seemed somewhat promising. Unfortunately Jewel Osco doesn't have the best plant selection, in reality they only have two types. But non the less I stood there for 20 minutes trying to decide if pet grass would look good on my window sill. I even asked the lady at the meat counter what she thought, and judging from her apathetic reaction I started to doubt the grass option. After leaving Jewel empty handed I went home to really think.

And so readers I need your help. Please give me suggestions on a plant the might be nice for my kitchen. It doesn't get a lot of natural sunlight, and sometimes I forget to water, but I think I can manage three times a week. I don't know if I want flowers, or if I just want something green, but definitely nothing bigger than a rabbit. Winter is near so a vegetable plant might not be the best option. But if you have solutions then please send them to me. Remember this is to be the sole object of my love, so it has to be good, choose well, but please choose because I am starting to get lonely.

I will leave you with a quote from my roommate in Berlin, "Oh, ryan, these plants are going die!." and indeed every last one of them died within a four week period.

Anne I dedicate this post to you.

New Roomate

Dear exterminator,

Get that thing out of my house, now!

The other day I arrived home after a long day of work and school and went straight to my kitchen to prepare dinner. Upon grabbing the bread from the refrigerator to prepare a first class meal of toast and peanut butter, I was greeted by a dark gray mouse. He was hiding behind the toaster and ran across the window sill, behind the dishes, and underneath a towel lying on the far counter. To say the least, I freaked out!!!! Now I wasn't as bad as my mother who upon seeing a mouse in her house in the mid 90s stood on the top of the couch and screamed for what seemed like 3 hours. But it definitely got my heart racing. And instead of cornering the mouse and finishing this silliness once and for all, I backed my way out of the room to calm down (I was afraid to turn my back on a 1 inch mouse in case he attacked me like a million pitbulls fighting for their last meal). After catching my breath I realized this might potentially be my end. I was the only one in the house. I went back armed with my running shoes on and the longest broom I could find. I approached the dish towel in which the mouse had ran under five minutes previous and wIth one epic blow struck the towel and sent it floating to the floor, with no mouse. The mouse had somehow escaped to a new hiding place, and I had a strange feeling he was just waiting to attack. So I ran back into the other room to call everyone I knew. Being alone I needed consoling.

After everyone on the phone laughed at my hysterics of finding a small field mouse, I decided to turn towards a real sense of comfort... the internet. I was searching for solutions on how to get rid of this vermin that was destroying the basic foundations of my emotional life. For all I knew he could be carrying the black plague, and I would lie dead in my house for weeks spurring the downfall of humanity. I needed solutions and I needed them fast.

Some of the solutions I wanted to use were not economically or environmentally feasible, like putting my entire neighborhood inside one of those tents and fumigating until all things that ever moved were dead. I started searching for homemade solutions. The best and most humane solution was a trick to place a toilet paper roll on the edge of a counter with peanut butter inside. You then place a trash can under the toilet paper roll and wait for your mouse to climb inside and topple into the trash can. After a few sleepless nights of coexisting with George (I named him George), I decide enough is enough. I put up the trap and waited to take the trash out.

I went to bed hoping all would go well and I could go upon living a normal life free of utter terror. But.... when I woke up in the morning the toilet paper roll had been pushed back onto the counter and the peanut butter that I placed within the roll was all but eaten. George had gotten the better of me. After 15 more variations similar to this I realized I was just feeding George and that if this went on he might reproduce and I would have many Georges running around creating the downfall of human existence.

After my failure to capture George the humane way, I have resorted to several different tactics. First I called my landlord who claims his solution will be poison. But I dont want poison because if George dies in some vent, he will begin to smell and attract insects, snakes, rodents, bears, and other animals that are attracted to smells. But I dont have to worry so much about this, because my landlord seems to be the kind of guy that gets to problems when he damn well feels like it. And when I called him he didnt seem as if he felt like it.

So my next solution was to rid the place of all food on the counters, lower drawers and cabinets. If I just keep my place really clean George will get the picture that the free buffet is over and he will move on to terrorize some other household. I have been doing this well for almost a week and still I see mouse dropping everywhere, which means he's feeding off some food source I know nothing about. So what do I do? Im thinking about buying actual traps but this seems expensive and unnecessary. I don't really want to kill the little guy I just want him to leave and never come back. But maybe death is his only option, he has driven me to complete paranoia. Every few minutes I hear a little rustling somewhere within the house and I go out armed with my broom that is now always at my side, and poke at everything that could be a potential hiding spot.

Everything that happens in my house is now blamed on George. My oven is reading that a "connection failure occured", the lights sometimes flicker, and the dryer didnt dry my clothes properly. All of these things are George, and he is causing me to not sleep. I dont even leave the house anymore in hopes I might catch him. I now have dark circles under my eyes and walk like a hermit everywhere I go. And yet, somehow he still evades me. Every scratch that I have on my skin and every sound that is louder than a pin drop is attributed to my furry friend. One of us has to go, and it might just be me.

Ok well in reality its going to be George, but please this insanity needs to end. I was once an intelligent dignified person, but anymore if you were to look there is no difference between me and the crazy man that sleeps outside of my house. Who knows maybe George torments him as well.

I relate my experience with the scene from Annie Hall in which Woody Allen goes to kill a spider armed with a tennis racket and copy of the national review, he comes out of the bathroom completely and utterly defenseless, complaining how its the size of a Buick.

The utter insanity, what am I to do!

Readers if you have ever experienced a mouse problem please tell me your story, and what you did to solve it.

Minimalist Pack Rats

Dear collectors of stuff,

I am secretly one of you, but I try so hard not to be. At heart all I want to be is a minimalist, but as soon as I purge myself of all the things I own I get an irresistible itch to replace the emptiness I have created in my world . This time the object that creates worth in my life is art, but in the past it has been baseball cards, lincoln logs, and native american dream catchers. Part of me feels a certain level of sophistication and joy with my new objects that I collect, but still I wonder that if at some point these art objects will be pushed aside as crap, for a new found love of fleas, coffee mugs, and rare rabbit feet from indigenous tribes.

I began wondering this as I was preparing to leave home and travel back to Chicago. The whole week I spent my time weeding through objects from my childhood and early teens. Objects like vintage army men, Briar horses, cribs I had once slept in, lincoln logs, Legos, trains, K'nexs, Beanie Babies, baseball cards, books and more books, clothes, and even boxes and bags that once housed or carried the memorable keepsakes I just mentioned. Each one of these objects at some point were placed neatly in appropriate bins in order to accrue value and dust, so they could survive the countless garage sales and trash bins in which some of the cheaper and less memorable objects had succeeded to. As I went through these bins I began to ask my self a series of questions. Mostly stemming from, "Why do I still need this crap!"

My quickest answer to this question was, "its a part of me!" But then I began to wonder how much a part of me these objects are if I dont look at them until the next large weed-out. Some of the items I keep around because I still secretly enjoy them but have no time to look at them (baseball cards and toy trains). But other items I just shake my head at why I wanted them so badly, and then why I decided to keep them around for such a long time. Such as Beanie Babies.

In the mid to late 90s I and millions of other children and adults grabbed up beanie babies like it was water before a draught. Each one of us believed that we were going to save these items and make a fortune on them after about thirty years. What everyone forgot to take in was that, with so many people saving these objects, it was going to take a hell of a lot longer than 30 years to make a stuffed wiener dog rare. But none the less I believed myself to be a true collector by going to only the finest of the hallmark stores and purchasing my princess Diana bear just as it hit the shelf at 6 in the morning. I even made sure to go to the care of putting the tags in plastic sleeves. And as any true collector would have done at the end of the day of playing with the beanie babies that I had spilt Spaghetti O's and Chef Boyardee on, I threw them into a large crate containing the other highly valued stuffed objects, and put them in a closet out of site. I could now spend my energy focusing on all the money I would make from the over night interest those over sized colored cotton balls were bound to receive. As I had once intended I never got around to paying for my college tuition with my profits as a successful investor. But I did manage in this last weed-out to put the beanie babies into a charity pile, so future investors would be able to pride themselves with the challenges of maintaining a fleet of highly prized objects.

Now that Im older I dont know if I could be so quickly drawn into a fad such as Beanie Babies. But in some way, art doesnt seem so different. Art is an object in which I enjoy looking at, spending time with, and thinking about. Hopefully, it will accrue interest and I can it give away my highly prized objects to museums so that the same objects that inspired thought in me will inspire thought in millions of others. But even with a justified answer on why I collect, there still seems to be only one real justification for collecting. Collecting gives us worth, and worth is an inescapable feeling. Wether it be art, a flea collection, baseball cards, or even books, we need something to show off or sit in front of so we can pat ourselves on the back and admire all the hard work we have done.... Ok so its not hard work but acquiring is still a job, and thus its still work.

Non the less at a certain point we have acquired too much worth and the only thing to do is a little spring cleaning. Finally we can get that crap we have collected over the years out, and make room for the real treasures we have our eyes on. But as an artist and a creator of objects I sometimes lose all hope. This idea that one day someone can switch from collecting my prized object to collecting fleas, makes me never want to make anything ever again. But believing someone will stop collecting fleas, put them away in a box to collect dust, and have my art give someone a renewed sense of worth, keeps me going for several lifetimes. I AM FINALLY BETTER THAN THE FLEAS!!!

As for now I will continue to collect art and it will be the only thing I will show on my walls because I believe it inspires thought. But if at some point Im ready to stop thinking and start living you better believe Im going to be looking for the nearest indigenous rabbit foot outlet store with my check book out.

Readers please let me know what you collect and why you collect it, and if sometimes you feel a little ridiculous looking at ancient Mayan masks and wondering how in the hell your going to pay rent this month.

Libraries

Dear fans of coffee shops,

Go there, and chat it up all you want, bring your kids to terrorize every inch of the building, and play the games on your computer with the sound all the way up, but please, please, don't come to my library.
Ok well, you can come, but be a little quieter. See folks Im just plain frustrated with going to libraries and not having the experience I could have. Libraries at one time were one of the places that I could go and read in absolute silence, and I didn't have to worry about buying anything in order to use the space or get information. I could go and write papers and do research or read books and get away from all the distractions of television, facebook and petty things such as who's dating who, or who got married most recently. It served as a relief from the coffee shops in which you go and pretend like your reading but in reality your watching and listening to everyone else's life. It was a place in which culture wasn't played out but rather taken in, and this was a wonderful thing. But as my life has become more about getting away from the distractions I get further and further upset with libraries, and more in tune with their realities.

Lately my experience with libraries has been less than perfect to say the least. And anymore I look at going into libraries and view my time there as a cultural experience. (A cultural experience is my way of saying Im dissatisfied with the people but hope to look at them in a positive way). But libraries should have standards and they aren't being kept and I would like to take this time to remind people of proper library etiquette based on bad experiences I have had.

1. The library is not a coffee house, and not a cafe, if you want to have a conversation please step outside.(This goes for cell phone users as well)
2. I am not an jerk for telling you to shut up or take your phone call outside.
3. If you are a librarian please take your personal phone calls in the back. I dont want to hear about how your third child's father wont pay child support.
4. Pick up you feet when you walk. This goes for everywhere, really.
5. The computers are not for playing games, or checking facebook, especially with the volume on.
6. Computers are not the only thing a library holds, you might be interested in the things that sit on the shelves as well.
7. Children under the age of 15 belong in the children's section, book shelfs are not jungle gyms.
8. I am not an asshole for pointing your child towards the children section. Your just a bad parent, and you shouldn't swear in front of them.
9. The library is not a dating service, stop hitting on the librarians, and holding up the checkout line... but mostly the latter (Iv been known to hit a librarian or two).
10. And for the librarians, its your job to help. My taxes pay for it. Don't act like you have something better to do when you leave. And flatter me a little bit when I flirt with you.

Also I have thought about some things libraries can do to hand back the culture that my tax dollars pay for.
Such as invest in music and movies that blockbuster or best buy dont carry. Movies from the criterion collection would be much better than big mamas house, or the family matters season 4 box set.
And wipe the dust off the two computers designated for searching for books, to at least make the appearance people still read.
Maybe we can designate the library computers be used for only 15 minutes unless for research, Its frustrating when you have to wait in line to look up a book while you watch a 49 year old homeless man play tetris.

I love the library, and I want to continue to love libraries which can be used as a haven of peace, that inspire knowledge and learning. But as of right now I might as well have my haven of peace be the grocery store outdoor furniture department. (Its nice there and no one will bother you or make you buy a coffee.)
So readers please let me know of your library problems or your worst library stories. (I like responses a lot but Im not hearing anything, give me a reason to keep writing these.)

And Kafka on the Shore is a book by Haruki Murakami it has some good things to say about libraries and how ones spiritual makeup is put together. Check it out at your local library.

Water Park Vacation????

Dear Ingebritson Family,

This Blog is addressed to them and the reasons I don't want to go to a water park. Well ok they already know, But you don't so let me take this time to describe our family dynamic. But first water parks.

Water parks are the sort of place that three types of groups go, families with young children, rednecks, and groups of dude bras that are under 35. I especially hate water parks because I have to deal with all three of these groups of people, pay exorbitant amounts of money to get in, wait in lines while I either shiver because the air is too cold, or sunburn because the air is too hot , and see people in bathing suits that were never meant for bathing suits. And if I want a meal the only kind of food that is offered is greasy hamburgers, nachos with cheese made from plastic, and elephant ears, none of which sounds appealing when on a diet. Did I mention small children. I hate small children and their antsy ways always climbing on everything and touching me with their sticky fingers, asking me if they can cut me in line because they decided to go get cotton candy. But since these children are probably also redneck children their parents are probably yelling at them from across the water park to, "Hurry the hell up, grab my cigarettes, cause were leavin" Now once again I could look at water parks like a cultural experience and go and sit with my sunglasses, read a book and work on my tan. But instead I will sulk because im not on the beach watching the pretty girls go by because pretty girls never go to water parks at least not alone, and never go to pick up guys. But no this isnt the biggest problem, the biggest problem is I can t swim at water parks. Believe it or not, water parks dont have swimming pools. How this is true, I have no idea, but you would think that if you were going to go to a water park you could at least do a few laps, or show off your diving skills. Nope!!!! They have a wave pool but here you can only sit trapped inside a inter-tube and bounce in water that has been pissed in by a million little kids with sticky cotton candy hands and get run into by 29 year old assholes that think it would be a great idea to relive their high-school football days and take out everyone else in the process.

Ok ok I know I sound a little cranky and that once I got there I would have a great time. But it brings up the other issue of my family dynamic. We will start with my brother.

Its important to explain first off that my brother and I are very different. On paper we are very similar, we are both avid readers, both big fans of good food and beer, both baseball fans, same parents, and agree on multiple political issues. But personality wise we are two completely different people. My brother is the kind of guy that believes if you dont have anything to say you just shouldnt say anything. Where Im under the belief that a void can always be filled in any conversation no matter how small the gap. My brother is also the kind of guy that likes to lay low, and really enjoy his time off. I.E. sit down and not move for extended periods of a time. Where I have places to go and people to see even when Im sleeping. Now we are usually pretty good when we see each other for short periods of time and we can both be involved in an activity, that is low stress and we both enjoy quite a bit. But putting us in long lines where there is extended voids in the conversation and a beating sun spells disaster. (I remember the family vacation to New York where he wanted to sit in the hotel room and watch the second baseball game of the day, and I wanted to get out and explore one of the greatest cities in the world. We parted ways) I cant say this for fact but I believe my brother is more of a lazy river rider or a wave pool kind of guy, where Im a fastest slide I can find guy. And I don't want to have this sort of separation divide us. I believe we should come together over our similarities, such as a cold beer and baseball game, and enjoy ourselves.

Now my father. God bless my father, He is more similar to me in the way where he can shoot the shit about pretty much anything and doesn't mind the long lines. But personality is not where my father and I differ. He has recently been battling diabetes and has started to change his diet and his way of life. I applaud him for this. But I know that for a long time his staple food was hot dogs, pizza, hamburgers, and chips. (all of which I ate today, lol) And its hard to break habit, and I can guarantee that going to a water park wold not be the best place to try to break a habit. It seems to me that one would be hard pressed to find anything at a water-park that hasn't been deep fried, battered or slathered with some goodness that would make the health gods cringe. And so I think as a family we should be supportive and maybe go to the beach and pack a lunch of fruits and salads and sandwiches filled with avocado and tomato.

And so I am left with my mother the ring leader of the family. She tries so hard to get us as a family to do things together and we sometimes succeed. But I have to say there is some things some families do together and some things other families don't. Our family isnt so much a water park family anymore. I know that at one time when I was 10 or 11 we as a family went to water parks, but I feel that we have changed. We do much better seated around a table arguing or discussing an issue that we feel pertinent, or watching a baseball game together. Even going to the beach would be nice. But a water park is a natural divider. My mom has already said she wants to spend her time in the lazy river ride, where I just feel lazy on a river in which im stuck in an inter-tube all day.

So I have thought of a solution. We can rent one long canoe, Pack a cooler full of beer, healthy food, and a radio. My brother can sit and listen to the baseball game or read a book, my mother can be tied behind us in an intertube and my father and I can roe roe roe our boat gently down the stream, merrily merrily merrily, life is like a dream.

So readers please let me know what your family cant do together and for what reasons, or if you have any thoughts on what my family could do together. (and readers the responses have been kind of silent lately.)

Public Transportation

Dear fans of luxury,

How I wish I could be you. How I wish, that when I sit down to go to chicago, I would have ample leg room, air conditioning that consistently works, and conversations that are somewhat my own. But NO NO NO, I ride the south shoreline. Now, I have rode public transportation most of my life and generally enjoyed it. There is a genuine thrill of riding the train the first couple times. Its a real melting pot of people, some of which are quiet and nice and take up as little space as possible, but mostly its full of people that are loud and rude and think that when they buy a ticket it generally means they own the entire train for the duration of their ride. And like I said the first couple of times you ride the train, one looks at these sort of people as a kind of culture that you can take in. But this quickly dies after about 3 rides, when you start to become inconvenienced.

My last time heading into chicago was one of the worst. I got on at one of the beginning stops, and so I had the whole train in order to choose a seat. This is an important decision for me because I have learned after several times riding that its important to choose a seat in which you think you will be bothered the least. When I got on I went to a seat that was a two seater facing the direction of travel towards the front of the train. It was nice because I had a window seat and directly kitty corner from me I have a cute girl facing away from the direction of travel. (So we could eye each other, and possibly I could start a conversation if things went well.) She moved immediately after I sat down, and I realize she just never gave me a chance. (im sort of like your favorite pair of socks, Im nothing special at first but the longer you have me around the more your madly in love) (call me weird but I have favorite pair of socks). Anyway... the girl moving didn't bother me, she was sort of like an added bonus, Im convinced it wasnt me anyway. So I rode in medium comfort for the next two stops, its still a little uncomfortable only having a few inches of leg room, but I can survive. A few stops later two families of 4 that know each other got on the train. They decided to sit in front of me in a four seater and across the way to me in a four seater.

At this point I feel as though I must describe the south shore line train. The seats give about 8 inches of leg room and the back of the seats can swing either direction to accommodate a family of four. This means that any one pair of seats on each side of the train can be made a four seater for a family. It still means that the amount of leg room is about 8 inches but this doesnt seem like it would be a problem for a family with kids whose feet never touch the floor.

But that wasn't the case with the two families that decided to sit near me. Their kids were about four to seven years old and walked onto the train like they were being attacked by a million invisible ants. But its fine, its public transportation, and they were not sitting in the seat next to me. At first each set of two kids, sat next to two parents. This seemed like the most sensible arrangement, and what the south shore line is intended for. But about a mile down the road the parents decided, it would be more fun for their kids if they all sat next to each other. The kids shuffle out of theyre seats and into a newly made four seater across the way from me. The set of parents that were across from me were now in a two seater, and the set of parents that were in front of me decide that I would like a four seater. Wrong!

This created a large problem for me because it was still early on in the ride and we had about an hour an a half to go. I understand that knowing my luck things were only going to get worse, and so I shoot my death stare across the way to the man who just inconvenienced my life.(I have mastered the art of passive aggressiveness.) At the next stop the train decides to get full and a guy my age sat in the seat next to me, while all of the other adults on the train were fighting not to sit in the four seater with 8 inches of leg room. Turns out that a middle aged couple that seemed to be on a blind date lost that battle and were forced to clammer over us so they can happily sit facing us. We were now sitting in such a way that each persons legs were intertwined with the person across from them. Due to this I was quickly becoming intimate with a 45 year old woman that looks like she runs the Chicago Public Library, (meaning her glasses were so far down her nose, she was always looking up to speak). At this point I have decided that my eyes if used correctly can become death rays, and so I was still staring at the guy who did this to me hoping to burn a whole in his head. His response was to lower his sunglasses and to start speaking French with his wife and children, who i was convinced were speaking solely about me. So not only was I uncomfortable I was now paranoid that other people are speaking about me. I try to pick up my book but cant read more than five sentences because of how angry I was, and when i get angry i get hot. And.... while all of this happening the guy on the blind date was trying everything he could to impress the girl I was so unwantingly intimate with, and tell her every pointless fact he knew about chicago, and the 1912 steal workers mafia. As he does this, I believe he was also trying to impress me and the rest of the train because he was almost shouting. But no one was impressed because the only one on the whole train that was laughing at his jokes was himself.

So... lets recap my symptoms. I am a uncomfortable, paranoid, angry, and hot, with the only thing to do was to listen to a cheesy forty-five year old make bad jokes and tell bad stories to a woman who everyone else on the train believes I was dating. So... I am also getting funny disapproving looks from strangers because I appear so intimate with a woman that is old enough to be my mother. Can things get worse. Yes they can. While all of this was happening I am listening to the four children who I can not see due to my lack of mobility, scream and clammer about like the circus has just arrived in town.
But after what seems like 4 hours of this complete and utter agony the train started to pull into the station. And you know that feeling when you have almost arrived somewhere by train or by plane but cant get out of your seat yet because its still moving. Its a feeling that screams through out your whole body, move now! Well I felt that.

But I finally got off and surprisingly enough my day wasn't ruined, it just started off badly. And readers I might sound bitter but you would be too if one little train ride makes you start to contemplate suicide. Please let me know about any horrible travel experiences you had, and the person that made it that way. Because lets me honest, when a good time is spoiled its never our own fault.

Birthday's

Dear fans of cake,

Please join me in my crusade to convert all the people of the world into cake fans. And ladies and gentleman I'm not talking about the 90s rock band, this is about the moist and fluffy, succulent and smooth goodness that one puts into their mouths on special occasions, being holidays, birthdays, wednesdays, saturdays, friends birthdays, baby showers, weddings, funerals, day before diet days, celebration of losing weight no matter how small the amount days, anniversaries, graduations, day after any celebration because there is leftovers, two days after any celebration because you bought and or made to much days, and sympathy days( i.e. breakups, loss of an animals, sad movies, stormy weather, cloudy skies, chance of cloudy skies, weight gain, and just plain sadness). You know the cake Im talking about. The one that you splurge on because well... your feeling rather you today. I know for myself I always feel rather me, and thus Im always in the mood for cake. And I don't have to worry because you never hear anybody blame there weight gain solely on cake. Its always hamburgers, or pizza, or candy, but not cake. Actually cake says the exact same thing a successful diet says. "You've made it, with your good attitude, hard work, and strong positive thinking you can go places." And I like this because it means I don't have to diet anymore. I can just eat cake.

This weekend is one of the best weekends for cake, Im celebrating a birthday and enjoying a family reunion all in one. Twice the cake!!!!

For me birthday's are sort of bitter sweet. On one hand you receive all that cake and presents, and its a day utterly devoted to you. Which is great because you begin to get a sense of what a king or queen might feel like on a daily bases. On the other hand birthdays say something quite terrible, your one step closer to responsibilities and death. All birthdays say after today the parties over big guy. But it's strange because for birthdays its not someone else telling you that the parties over. Its an inner feeling in which you reflect on how much you didnt accomplish within the last year, and how if you dont change now then its going to be another year of self destruction. Birthdays become the metaphorical stepping stones of life and we always judge our selves harshly based on this. Such as Im 20 and im still a virgin, Im 27 and Im not married yet, or im 35 and have no job and live with my parent. The worst being Im over 40, still a virgin, not married, have no job and live with my parents, who still make my bed. For me, early on I was rather hard on my self and was upset when I turned 14 and was still a virgin. But after a while I stopped using these stepping stones, and realized my life was going nowhere. This way I can continue to eat cake blindly, and if something good happens than it will be a pleasant surprise no matter how late it comes. Here I come virginity loss at age 86!!
And readers just because I don't want to leave you with the thought of 86 year old sex, Ill leave you with my top 5 cakes.
white bakery cake from mackenzies bakery.
my mothers texas sheet cake.
confetti cup cakes with confetti or funfetti frosting, preferably the more unatural tasting the better.
angel food cake with fresh strawberries on top.
and spice cake with 7 minute frosting
(I also enjoy grandma Beeke's cake, but have only ever tried it once) Hint! Hint!

Please let me know more reasons to eat that moist and fluffy, succulent and smooth goodness that one puts into their mouths, and your top cake choices. Let us eat cake!

Beach Hero

Dear David Hasselhoff fans, 

You have a new star to love, Me. 

I went to the beach today to have a nice day in the sun, and received exactly the opposite.  It rained and was windy the entire time, but the bad weather didnt start until after we had drove an hour to get to the beach. We decide we would stick it out because the beach is about getting wet anyway. But getting in the water or even getting wet wasnt my plan at all, I decided a walk down the beach would avoid the problem of me having to get into the water. But beach walks in which you promise yourself you wont get wet never pan out and after about 2 minutes I was soaking and complaining the whole way. My friend makes go back to the car, change into my bathing suit and get into the water. After about 10 more minutes of complaining about bad weather I finally take off my sweater and traverse the freezing cold beach to get to the water. 

Now I must tell you, Im not much of a swimmer. Actually I haven't swam for over 2 years. But oh well its only a little water and it cant kill me. After about 10 minutes of bouncing in the waves in a manageable spot, where there is no possible way I or a 2 year old child would ever die, I am approached by a beautiful girl. Im thinking to myself, well hah this is my lucky day, I can use my sexy german on her (unfortunatly german is definitely not one of those romance language, and espescially not spoken by me who can really only ask for directions and ask how someone is). But thankfully she speaks first, in english. Well maybe not thankfully. She asks me in a sort of quizzical nonchalant way if I'm a good swimmer. I feeling confident, that this is her way of seeing that Im a strong young ample buck say, "Why, Yes". Now remember I havent swam in two years. She then tells me her brother is stuck really far out in the vast sea, and he needs someone to go rescue him. 

Here I put myself in a dilemma because I just admitted Im basically Michael Phelps, and Im thinking to myself, "hey lady there is no way Im saving your brother, think about my life." But I look out and see he is in an inter-tube with two others clutching to it for their dear lives. I think to myself well I can still play the hero, and just hope to make it there, if all else fails I can cling to the inter-tube and scream for help like a 7 year old school girl. I head out and the waves are really big and at first I try swimming and get about 5 to 10 feet and realize I am already tired and would rather go back for lemonade. So..... I do, the kid drowns and I live to write another blog....

Ok just kidding. I keep going but realize I can still touch the bottom, so instead of swimming out there, I kind of bounce my way out there. This trick isnt really taught in lifegaurding 101 but for god sakes the kid was in an inter-tube, he can wait until I bounce all the way out there. But at a certain point I can no longer bounce and realize I am in for the long haul. At this point im motivated not by the distant cries of help, but by my own pride of all the newspapers that will write up on me. So I start switching between the back stroke the front stroke, and a kicking float. Ok it was more of a skilled dog paddle, but my swimming is not the point(remember Im the hero). I finally get within 10 feet from the kid and I see between my head going under water and sputtering everywhere, that he is an overweight 10 year-old in a red shirt, and only half of him fits in the inter-tube because his belly gets in the way. And in a nonchalant strong southern accent he say word for word, "Gosh mister, its mighty dangerous out here, I almost died myself ." I think to myself, thats great kid, but if I don't make it to your inter-tube its going to be me thats the dead one. But I make one more desperate attempt at life because I think to myself, that the phrase "gosh its mighty dangerous out here" is too good, not to be given to my blog readers.  I know I think of YOU first in the face of death.

So I finally get to the inter-tube and start slowly dragging the three of them back to safety. I out of any of them look the most dead, and Im thinking to myself that this is about team work, and that we all need to work for our safety. But we finally get in, and this cute sister of his says thanks and walks away. NO kiss, not even a romantic dreamy stare, just thanks. And when I get to shore there was no television or newspaper reporters. Nothing!! All I see is this fat kid with the inter-tube still around his waist waddling across the beach towards what I believe is the lemonade I could have had instead of rescuing him. I almost picked him up and dragged him back into the water, so he could drown or have someone else rescue him. I figure at least that would make headlines. BOY RESCUED TWICE, FIRST RESCUER GOES TO JAIL FOR ATTEMPTED MAN SLAUGHTER. But instead I humbly let my fame go strictly to the teatoastoj blog. 

So....  after my valiant efforts, I am thinking about hiring myself out to lifeguard for children's parties, and water parks who have a lazy river ride. Anyone that knows me and my body well knows that I would be perfect for this job.(Long limbs with little muscle and bad tan lines.) 

Readers please let me know about your heroic rescues, or if you yourself needs a life gaurd for your next party.

and well heres a little david hasselhoff

On returning home

Dear culturally shocked people,

I am one of you. I came from Berlin in which the parties don't let up until 2 in the afternoon, and the techno beat continues ringing in your ears for another 12 hours. I came from a city that is run by cafes and coffee shops that are nearly 20 steps away from each other. I came from a city in which I felt like the conversations people were having seemed important in the intellectual circles. In some way I believed I was making progress as an artist and being somewhat respected for my work. But....... I found that none of this means anything in Kalamazoo, Michigan. The conversations revolve not so much about the current state of the art world, but more about the most current neighbor to have gone to the hospital because they have foot cramps, or how my 12th cousin 70 times removed is getting a dog that somewhat resembles my dog (except its black and 3 times smaller). In Kalamazoo, you have to drive 15 miles to get to a coffee shop that serves filtered dirt water which costs $3. I once thought Germany has no clue on fashion sense, but that wasnt until i went back to the Kalamazoo grocery stores. It seems as most are over weight and dressed in spandex and cut up xxxl tshirts, while the others are over weight and dressed in cuttoff xxxxl jeans and spandex shirts. (never have I been in a place that spandex is an every day fashion choice for the people who have never run in their life.)  

But maybe im just bitter. I came from one of the most happening places in the world, to suburban america. If I want social interaction I must attend bible study. If I want to go the library I must fight to get a computer to look up books, over people who want to play tetris or check facebook with the sound on full volume. (I detest this). For entertainment I ride my bike 40 to 50 miles through cornfields and small towns filled with gas stations, churches, and applebee's.  For intellectual stimulation I turn to books, that seem to surround the topic of european coffee culture, that leaves me not in a place of thought but an ever growing longing to be back.( A moveable feast, hemingway, and when you are engulfed in flames, sedaris.) I go on 2 to 3 walks a day with my dog, who seems to share my restlessness to get away from big lawns that always need mowing, and picket fences that seem to always get in the way of mowing. I want to drink pure hefewiezens that are 75 cents per glass and speak broken deutch and spanish that always brings smiles to the blond haired german girls wearing sun dresses. I want to dance for a whole night as if to pretend that the next day legs will no longer exist. Oh Berlin bring me back. 

But.... its not all bad, Im here with my family, and even though we seem to disagree on every subject under the sun, its nice to be in their company (and get really good free food). Its good to be able to see my dog who waited at the door for 4 months while I was gone. Its nice to find the English speaking books that I want with out having to search all over town. Its good to find people who get my humor (although I seemed to to know a Bolivian and an Englishman that seemed to get my humor pretty well). Its good to come back and see the culture that I make work about in completely new eyes. Its nice to not have to worry about approaching girls who might not speak my language, or get my cheesy pick up lines. Its nice to eat a really big burrito the size of your head, and see friends who I havent seen in a few years. And god do I love riding my bike 40 to 50 miles through cornfields and small towns filled with gas stations, churches, and applebee's. These are the small reasons why ill always come back no matter how far I go, and how much I liked the place I was previously. (But two weeks is more than enough.)

And I am glad to be writing my blog again, and I will try my best to continue to write, please stay with me faithful readers. 

Asta La Vista BABY

Selfish

Dear friends and family members,

I apologize for not updating my blog regularly, I have been quite involved in my work and have been spending very little time near my computer, unless to upload pictures of my work, I go to Venice to see the Biennale this coming friday and will hopefully free up some time to post pictures and little stories about everything I have been doing. But I am having the time of my life, and would suggest Berlin to anyone who is interested in checking it out. It has everything to the really really gritty to the supper posh. My only complaint is they are 5 years behind with Technology. But I have got my self into so many fun things. Such as biking through the rhine river valley past more than 10 castles and wineries, going to art exhibitions/ tehcno clubs in abandoned bath houses, teaching baseball to cute german girls, and dressing up as the boys of sesame straße to enjoy a cool costume party. Today some friends of mine went to some abandoned GDR apartment buildings and checked out some great spaces, that are filled with really great graffiti. And I promise I have taken pictures of it all. And ill try to get some pictures up soon.  I have written some partial blogs about some of the events I have gotten into and I will get those up soon. Lately life has been busy and I am asking you all to please understand. Within the week my biggest priority will be to get images of my studio up, that have some images of some of the things i am working on. But let me tell you there is something fishy about my art here. 

Love greetings and I miss everyone back home a lot,

Ryan

Party Party Party

Dear morning people,

I am finally one of you. Well in a sense. Lately when I have been interacting with the morning commute crowd, I am returning home from a night of partying, and am going straight to my bed. But its alright because I have found my dancing shoes, and I am pretty sure they are guaranteed to get me through life. But really, I am getting a lot of work done, and have become very busy, so my blogs have slowed up.  But I would like to spend this time talking about a few topics I have been thinking about.

First my apology to the Korean students that attend SAIC. For the last year I have cracked jokes, in the most loving way possible; about your accents, and how you are very quiet, and how you run, and how you bow to everything, and everything else thats funny about you. But I have realized this is an obtuse caricature, due to lack of clear communication and a heavy language barrier. And now that I am the quiet American kid, that has a funny accent, and moves funny, and does the thumbs up to most things as a sign of reaffirmation, I realize this is not an accurate portrayal of America just as Koreans speaking in English is not an accurate portrayal of the Korean people. So when I get back I will make less jokes. Ill still make jokes, just less.

Second, Swine Flu. The day we all die of an epic flu will be the day that pigs fly. Or at least thats what I thought. And then swine's flew, and I am still living, so this is bullshit. But I am sick and tired of our world freaking out over the next big great depression, or the next great flu, or the next big terrorist organization that is going to kill us all. These are all legitimate fears, and I think they all pose and have possessed huge threats, but we worry way to much. We will die, or become poor, or all get terrible diseases one day, but in the meantime lets have a good run at things, and enjoy our selves. And there is a song that i have been enjoying lately by the Carter family,  so I posted the song. I hope you enjoy it. 

Speaking of the sunny side of life, I am going to go bask in the sun and have a nice cold Hefe-Weisen. because thats what we germans do best. Oh and I got my visa, went to Potsdam, and am going to Wiesbaden this weekend, Ill try to let you all know how this goes. Sorry I have lacked on my blogs. I would rather be a busy artist than a not so busy blog writer. Party Party Party Ill post more pictures soon.

A Meeting of the United Nations

Dear globalized world,

I became globalized in one weekend. I went to Dresden with the other international students that go to my university, and had a marvelous time seeing Dresden and hanging out with cool people from all over the world that happen to be involved in the arts in some way. But in some respects in kind of felt like a G20 summit, because of how diverse a group it was. So I am going to try and assemble some sort of list, of the nationalities represented. First and foremost their was the United States, represented solely by me(this is a scary thought). But there were people from Canada, Brazil, England, Ireland, the Faroe Islands, Sweden, Austria, France, Spain, Italy, Poland, Greece, Romania, Estonia, Israel, China, and Australia. I believe I am probably forgetting some countries, but this seems like the majority. But, it was helpful for me because they all spoke english pretty well, and thus I could continue to tell dirty jokes. But it was good all in all. I am not sure if this was the weekend to pick up learning any new German, but I sure as hell can swear in 15 different languages now. And I learned that partying is an international language(spoke most fluently by the Spanish), and that no matter what country you are from, a porcelain museum is not interesting. So maybe extreme boredom is also an international language. But either way Dresden was a lot of fun, and it was made that way by all the people that came along. I have posted a few pictures of my experience and some of the people I spent time with. 

But I want to focus on several subjects. First I must finish telling about the height of German Bureaucracy which I thought I saw when I wrote my last blog. But I was so wrong. Getting my visa proved to be the worst experience of all. I arrived to the visa place with all my paper work in hand at 1 o'clock, with a friend of mine who had the exactly same paper work. The short version of the story is that after 4 hours of waiting in 5 different lines, one of us came out with their visa and the other didn't. I was the one who did not acquire my visa. The gist of it all is that I will be spending another full day waiting in line with the exact same paper work I had previously. But its all right because they say that familiarity is a comforting thing. And I am starting to get used to angry German woman scream at me in a language I don't understand. But all is good, if anything it gives me topics to write blogs on. 

The other topic I want to focus on, is museums, and museum education. One of my favorite places in the whole entire world is museums. There is nothing better than browsing through a great art museum or a cool natural history museum. Generally I think they are pretty peaceful places that surround the viewer with objects that beg to be looked at. BUT... I hate guided tours. And maybe its that the guide is bad, but I dont like learning the history of gold tea cup sets and silver plated doll houses. But the tour guide thinks I do, and so somehow the guide can stand in front of a one tea cup for 3 hours, and talk to me, like I'm a brick wall, about every moment of this precious little tea cups life. And while this goes on my body goes from an alert ready position, to slightly slumped where I shift the weight on each foot every two minutes, to looking for the closest place to sit down and still look interested, to looking out the window and wondering what's for dinner. But things like a porcelain vases, and baroque furniture is just something you look at and kind of admire, and stroll through leisurely, and if you are still interested you buy a book at the very end. But don't make a bunch bad ass young artists, listen to the complete history of a three hundred year old plate, because they will all be looking out the window, planning their escape. So if you are ever in Dresden or in Meissen, and you plan on checking out some of the museums, I would recommend not taking the guided tours, or at least not the guided tours of 17th century dishes. You wont learn anything, or at least you wont retain any of the information. The only thing I retained was something about King Augustus the Strong, and how much stuff he owned. Mostly because I looked at all of it. 

And I dont know maybe I am just bitter right now, but these kind of museums are similar to taking everything I own and putting it in really nice display cases with fancy lighting, and being able to talk about the history of it. Boring!!! Except for the Nutella jar that now permanently sits next to my computer, that is worth putting in the Louvre. 

But let me know, what you think of museums like this and, if you think maybe museum education needs to happen in a different sort of way.

Check out the link to my pictures on the right hand side for images of Dresden