Puts A Lot More Pressure On That ‘Whaddya Wanna Be When You Grow Up?!’ Question, Doesn’t It?

Usually when going to work, I drive through Boston and pass by the Museum of Science until I get to the CambridgeSide Galleria. From door to door, without bad traffic, it usually takes about 30 minutes. The other day, though, I rode the train in because my friend, Kristen, needed a ride to the station. So instead of driving to work from there and paying the money to park in the mall, I rode the train in.

Before I hop on the train, I always do two things First, I set a playlist on my iPod. I usually like a mix of something upbeat and something a bit more low-key, so I put together a playlist of Feist, Radiohead, Gnarls Barkley, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!, Kanye West and a Bjork and Thom Yorke collaboration. Ecstasy.

The second thing I always do is grab the free newspaper, The Metro, to read along the way. It’s only about 20 or so pages long, but it normally has a few stories that I find interesting enough to tell people about later in the day.

Now that I have a blog? You get to hear the story.

Apparently, Jeb Bush has signed into existence a bill that will have 13 year old children declare a ‘life major’. By declaring this major, you will thereby set yourself on a path of education towards your desired life goals. Want to someday be a doctor? Then a boundless amount of science classes await you. A career as a high powered attorney? Then it looks like you’ll be living it up, poli-sci style.

As I read the article, I applauded the idea, much to my disgust. Anything Bush related is horrendously disgusting to me [and yes, that pun IS intended]. How great for children to be able to concentrate on a specific subject rather than waste their time on something they don’t find stimulating or exciting. I knew from day one that chemical reactions, algebraic formulas and scientific equations would have no place in my life, save for moments like this.

But then the article pointed out one problem. They are children.

Back when I was 13, I was going into 8th grade, played Magic: The Gathering, believed my super powers would be realized once I finished puberty, and thought my career had reached it’s height at 13 Ellerton Lane, the last house on my paper route.

How insane is it to think that the aforementioned child could determine what I would be doing with my life? If I left it up to Past Me, I’d be sitting around the house playing online poker waiting for my laser vision to kick in. Hardly the person I’d entrust with the outcome of my professional life.

Even though the current person in charge of that project has gotten me a part time job [post degree] at American Eagle making next to nothing. But that is neither here nor there.

The point it, I can’t for the life of me figure out what would be beneficial about a decision like this. We’ll put a major choice like this into the hands of a 13 year old, but won’t put a beer in their hands until 8 years later?

Is there any good in this type of thinking that I’m not seeing? Is there a benefit to letting a child decide what course their life will take? IS there a benefit to all those math and science classes I took, other than to serve as a clever allegory?!

I’m gonna give an echoing NO on that last one.

Whereas My Family Just Swears A Bunch And Employs A Lot Of Guilt

I’ll have a real post ready for later today, but I figured I should throw something up on this site just for the hell of it.

Now that I’ve given such a great introduction to what you all will probably just glaze over with your eyes until you’ve reached the next blog on your roll, I have a question for you.

Have you people visited Vanessa’s site AT ALL?!

I don’t think there’s a better way for me to get a quick laugh than to head on over to her site and just revel in the INSANITY that is her family. I’ve met them, people. It’s true. And could you even make this stuff up?! I think not.

SO head on over and say hello. I will promise you’ll become addicted.

Also, out of curiosity, who here uses a Mac and who uses a PC? This poll is for a future post, so comments are needed.

And yes, I do realize that is a cheesy way to accumulate comments. So why don’t you just go and bitch about it.

In the comments section.

Suburbia And All It’s Accoutrements Are Slowly Going To Kill Me

For about the past two months, I’ve been on a job hunt bender. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve visited Media Bistro, BizBash and Craig’s List in the hopes of finding a position entitled John, this one is definitely for you, so why don’t you just give us a call and we’ll start you off somewhere in the mid 40’s, okay?

Unfortunately, some inconsiderate buffoon NOT named John seems to be snatching up these jobs before I can even think so much as to say Don’t forget the helper monkeys.

Because I’ve only been working a part time job, my bank account is suffering from erectile dysfunction. This being said, I’ve been put into a position that forces me to make a decision. What am I going to do with the next few months of my life?

Living at home is torturous. I neither have the time nor energy to go into the schematics and history of what this household is like. Someday, maybe, but certainly not at 4 in the morning. But having moved back home has taken a large toll on my sanity, or whatever is left of it.

So as of right now, I’ve made a tentative decision. Stay at home. Make some money. Save up and move. This three step plan has a lot more minute details entailed in it’s makeup than one would first think. For example. I need to get a job that pays more money than I’m making now. But hopefully, within a few months, I’ll be living on my own. In my own apartment. With monkeys and unicorns and [I've just decided this] a variety of cats and kittens to walk around and entertain me.

Hmm. Yes. That will suffice.

First Day Back Is Always The Hardest

As you could probably tell, I took a few blogging days off for the holiday last week.

The only issue I have with my vacation is that I didn’t take the time to write down anything that happened to me, so all I can recall are a few thoughts that formed from the various b-b-ques and events I went on.

*Fireworks may, indeed, be pretty. And I do have to admit that it is fun to see them set off displays that make it look like stars and smiley faces. This was the first year, though, that it became painfully obvious to me the amount of hell one has to go through to get to a good fireworks display. Not only that, but I think I will never have kids for the sole reason I would never want something that shares a gene pool with me to act the way some of these kids do in a public setting.

I may be against capital punishment, but I am far from opposed to beating children who act the way they do. I didn’t know HALF the swear words most of these delinquents know at their age. Solution? Insert soap in mouth and a firm and painful spanking. Who ever thought an 8 year old would make me blush through vulgarity?!

*Straight people [more accurately, straight men] can’t dance. No offense to any of you, but you can’t. And if you can dance, you are either one of two things. Deluding yourself in the belief that your moves are smooth, on beat and appealing. Or you’re secretly gay. It’s one or the other. So it looks like a lot of you have some thinking to do now.

*I forgot how good popsicles and Flav-O-Ice sticks can really be. There must be some sort of program out there that operates out of a church basement or something that can help me with what is probably the heaviest addiction I’ve ever had.

*It doesn’t matter where it is, what type of boat it is, who the company is that is running it or what the weather is like. Anything that is named ‘The Booze Cruise’ can be nothing but exhilarating.

And I think that’s it. I should let you all know that today may be a bit draining for me, as I am attending a certain softball game in which a certain team [shockingly] has made it into the playoffs. Therefore, I believe it to be my sworn duty to attend said game and lend my softball knowledge to the underdogs, NeatCo.

It’s going to be a bloody game.

And he Rocket’s Red Glare, The Bombs Bursting In Air…

I got into a HUGE discussion with some friends today about how useless a day off on the 4th really is.

Right now, I’m recovering from a very active celebration of our country’s independence from a controlling force [holler at some independence from overbearing countries!!! Middle East! I CAN'T HEEEAR YOOOU!!!] and I came to the conclusion that there is no point in having the 4th off. Sure. You can bar-b-que and what not. But you know what? I know, you know, we ALL know that we are all gonna have a few beers/wine/coke mixed with Malibu Rum [Campbell's Mmm Mmm Good] that night. Then? Oh and then we have to wake up early for work.

Isn’t that a sick joke? I’m not okay with it, and I feel that if we were a SMART nation [ex: Spain has naps everyday. NAPS! Who here wants a nap?! And let's be honest, now...cuz I definitely want one].

So I propose a No Work Let’s Sit In And Recover And Enjoy The Day protest. If you’re at work, tell the boss to suck it dry and head on back home. If you haven’t left for work, call in and tell them that I told you that you have permission to stay home [if problems arise, point them to me...I happen to be in with the Polish mafia...we may not kill you, but we might annoy someone with your last name], and if you don’t work, then hell…maybe you and I should spend more time together.

Also, I think that we should have every 4th and 5th off. Because we’re celebrating the INDEPENDENCE of our NATION. If we don’t take the time off to have some beer and light some explosives every month in honor of this great fact, what type of person ARE WE?!

I leave you to answer that. You unpatriotic hooligans.

Cuz Come On…NO ONE Does That…

Did you ever have one of those nights where you decide to party hardy? You know. Go to a beer-b-que, play a few card games, decide to go out to a local bar, get wrapped up in karaoke, sign yourself and all of your friends up to sing ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’, celebrate a birthday of someone you hung out with 4-5 years ago, get drunk, go home, talk on the phone to someone you haven’t spoken to in over a year, reminisce about the good times, then listen to Ratatat for about 30 minutes before you decide to go to bed BUT WAIT you forgot to write something for your blog because the next day is MONDAY but not really SUNDAY, so you have to come up with something in order to maintain your posting regiment?

Yah. Neither have I.