wat u up tew? (part tew)

I figured after my conversation a few days ago with little Chelsea, she would have approached the real Matt and discovered she had been talking to an impostor. However, she started IMing me again two nights ago, meaning she still did not know the truth:

Chels1212 (11:01:27 PM): Heyy ryan (11:01:46 PM): wat u up tew Chels1212 (11:02:16 PM): nuthing tew much ryan (11:02:28 PM): kool Chels1212 (11:02:39 PM): wha about u ryan (11:03:39 PM): practicing soccer Chels1212 (11:04:55 PM): while on the comp/ ryan (11:05:00 PM): yah ryan (11:05:19 PM): i can type and kick at the same time Chels1212 (11:05:44 PM): lol Chels1212 (11:05:47 PM): funny ryan (11:06:05 PM): ow ryan (11:06:12 PM): i just kicked the computer Chels1212 (11:07:46 PM): lol ryan (11:08:10 PM): wat is lol? does that mean little orange lions? Chels1212 (11:08:41 PM): laugh out loud. Chels1212 (11:08:41 PM): duh ryan (11:09:24 PM): LOL! Chels1212 (11:09:39 PM): haha. ryan (11:09:59 PM): LMFAO! Chels1212 (11:10:18 PM): ROtFLMAO ryan (11:10:39 PM): Who is Rot Flmao? Chels1212 (11:11:06 PM): rolling on the floor laughing my a off Chels1212 (11:11:13 PM): laughing my ass off ryan (11:14:34 PM): i like to dance around ryan (11:14:38 PM): do you like to dance around? ryan (11:14:47 PM): i like it more than soccer. Chels1212 (11:18:32 PM): sure i love to dance its hecka fun. ryan (11:19:14 PM): *dancing* ryan (11:19:33 PM): i wish i was pretty ryan (11:19:44 PM): i would be the prettiest dancer Chels1212 (11:19:50 PM): you are b e a utiful Chels1212 (11:19:57 PM): am i a pretty dancer ryan (11:20:04 PM): i've never seen you dance Chels1212 (11:20:08 PM): lol Chels1212 (11:20:16 PM): thats cuz i really dont dance lol

At this point, I was once again getting bored with the conversation. Since I was reading cnn.com at the time, I thought it would be fun to throw in some news headlines.

ryan (11:21:07 PM): hurricane response spotlights political patronage Chels1212 (11:21:20 PM): sayy whaa ' ryan (11:21:37 PM): international coke ring allegedly run from U.S. prison Chels1212 (11:22:04 PM): ohkayy ryan (11:22:18 PM): defiant delay blasts prosecutors Chels1212 (11:22:34 PM): sure ryan (11:22:54 PM): ground zero 'freedom center' quashed Chels1212 (11:23:11 PM): ohkay i filppen get it Chels1212 (11:23:26 PM): yeaa ryan (11:23:54 PM): Kid's food pyramid launched! ryan (11:24:13 PM): Scientists photograph giant squid. Chels1212 (11:24:15 PM): sounds like fun

Now it was time to partake in some 8th grade gossip. Hmmm, what do 8th graders gossip about? Let's pick a generic name, event, and class...

ryan (11:25:24 PM): wanna know a secret? Chels1212 (11:25:39 PM): sure ryan (11:26:01 PM): john likes a girl in gym class Chels1212 (11:26:09 PM): awsom Chels1212 (11:26:52 PM): and i like somone in our school lol

Uh oh. I sensed an inpending confession of love from one 8th grader to another, ( actually, to a person pretending to be an 8th grader). I decided to change the subject.

ryan (11:32:23 PM): so how was 8th grade today? Chels1212 (11:32:47 PM): awsome and your 8th grade dayy ryan (11:33:11 PM): actually, i'm not really in 8th grade Chels1212 (11:33:37 PM): ohkay Chels1212 (11:33:39 PM): well gtg Chels1212 signed off at 11:33:40 PM.

Judging by the abrupt signoff, I think she now knows the truth. Hopefully, in the future, she will know better than to randomly IM people without confirming their identity beforehand. She's learned an important life lesson, and I'm glad I could be a part of that.

Helping others is what I do best.

wat u up tew ?

So I got an IM last night from a screenname that I had never seen before, (screennames changed below to protect the innocent). She thought my name was Matt. She was wrong, but since I always jump at an opportunity to play pretend, I didn't let her know her mistake.

Chels2121: Heyy Matt ryan: hey Chels2121: wat u up tew ? ryan: chillin Chels2121: sounds like funn ryan: wat u up tew? Chels2121: im looken for softball cheers cuz we dont know if we won or lost Chels2121: :'( ryan: i know one ryan: who got the soft balls ryan: we do we do ryan: who got the soft balls ryan: we got the soft balls! ryan: we sung that one last week Chels2121: i was first to score a homerun and i scored 2 homeruns yay me ryan: cool Chels2121: ii noe Chels2121: yu and taylor hav to atleast miss one pratctice of soccer and come to one of our home games ryan: but soccer practice is the most important thing ever Chels2121: i got a cheer Chels2121: but u ppl have to come pweeaze :( Chels2121: heres one of my cheers Chels2121: Brick wall, waterfall, (opposing team name) think they got it all, but they dont, WE DO SO, boom with that attitude peace punch captin crunch we got somthing you cant touch Bang, Bang, choo-choo train wind us up we'll do our thing No reesee piecee, seven up you mess with us we'll mess you up

I was getting bored by this point. I thought it would be fun to start saying random stuff...

ryan: alsj;sjfdlkjasfd Chels2121: :) Chels2121: like it ryan: chocolate pony tree Chels2121: saii whaa ryan: glue stick underpants Chels2121: r u 0k ryan: tiny dinosaur babies Chels2121: *freaked out* ryan: TINY DINOSAUR BABIES EVERYWHERE!!!! Chels2121: ahh ur freaken me ou t ryan: OH NO! Chels2121: 0H yES ryan: UH OH! Chels2121: *FREAKED OUT* :O ryan: TINY DINOSAUR BABIES EVERYWHERE Chels2121: SCARED ryan: antibacterial soap ryan: but mostly Chels2121: ohkayy ryan: TINY DINOSAURE BABIES Chels2121: I GET IT ryan: :'( Chels2121: :( Chels2121: im sad cuz i dont want to sayy ryan: say what Chels2121: why im sad ryan: why u sad Chels2121: lyk i would tell mathew l. ryan: don't be sad. hey you should get to sleep, it's late. Chels2121: what about you ryan: i'm tired, i'm gonna rest up so I can be awake in 5th grade tomorrow ryan: wait, I forget what grade i'm in Chels2121: 8th grade ryan: i meant that ryan: i was in 5th grade 3 years ago Chels2121: lol funny Chels2121: duh. Chels2121: lo. Chels2121: ohkay ryan: alrighty, have a nice night ryan: see you tomorrow in 8th grade. Chels2121: have a nice nite matt Chels2121: wait is other ppl there ryan: nope Chels2121: o well have a great day in 5th grade lol ryan: i will Chels2121: lol :P

I'm pretty sure that if she didn't have a crush on Matt before, she does now. That Matt sure is a charmer.

The Shame in a Name

As RCASNW comes to a close, many may be wondering, “What is Ryan’s problem? From where is all of this animosity toward other teams and their namesakes coming?” These are valid questions that deserve honest answers. After some much-needed introspection, I have realized that perhaps my attacks on others are simply an attempt by me to project my hatred of my own sports names history on to others. I think…and it pains me to say this…I have long suffered from mascot envy. Bear with me as we review my troubled past:

Unicorns: crippling normal development in boys since 1963

I spent my early years at an elementary school whose mascot was a unicorn. Yes, a unicorn, prized by little girls everywhere, and a masculinity destroyer in little boys, grades K-6. I think this was around the time when I started wearing dresses. Pretty dresses. With unicorns on them.


Moving on to junior high, I was lucky enough to attend a school where the “Lions” instilled a sense of pride (pun, anyone?) that the Unicorns never could. I dropped the dresses, started donning a loin cloth, and felt good about myself.

A whippet: Note the tail between between the legs, (at least, I think that's a tail).

Unfortunately, my time as a Lion was much too brief, and I made my way to high school, where I became a “Whippet”. For those who are unfamiliar with the whippet, imagine that kid in high school who was way too tall and skinny, never spoke, and never cut his finger nails. Now imagine him in dog form. That’s a whippet. Don’t get me wrong; whippets are wonderful animals. But as mascots, they don’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of their opponents.

Rival School: “We’re playing the whippets. What’s a Whippet?”
My School: “A really fast, skinny dog.”
Rival School: “We’re the Bears. Bears eat Whippets.”

Our next stop on this tour of crappy sports names takes us to the University of Pennsylvania, home of the Penn Quakers. In real life, the Quakers are actually members of the Religious Society of Friends, who happened to be pacifists and had a penchant for working through their problems without conflict. Associate such imagery with our sports team, and you probably won’t be very intimidated:

Other school student A: “We’re playing the Quakers?”
Other school student B: “It’s time to crush some peace-loving nerds.”

The Penn Quaker Mascot = Creepy

Unless of course the other school was a member of the Ivy League or a local junior high school, and then it was most likely a pretty even match.

I want to end by saying that, while the names above were lousy, the teams themselves were not. Both my junior high and high school were often state champions in a variety of sports, and Penn teams often achieved the status of Ivy League Champions, (although I feel this is on par with being crowned “Coolest person” at a Star Trek convention). In any case, that sums up my troubled past, bringing us to today, where I am now resigned to rooting for Philly pro-sports teams, comprised of three teams with terrible names and the Eagles. Well, once again, their names might be bad, but they often win championships. Wait, no they don’t. Philly sports teams are perennial losers, and while I hope that they win a championship this year, their luck seems about as likely to change as their team names.

I think I’m going to cry myself to sleep tonight.

Redskins, Pigskins and Wheat Thins

For those of you who thought my blog yesterday (depicting my experience at the Penn recruiting fair) signified the end of “Ryan Complains About Sports Names Week”, you are sadly mistaken. Yesterday’s entry was merely a brief pause in the excitement that is RCASNW, and today we resume our exploration of the unexciting world that is professional sports names. Fasten your seat belt; it’s gonna be a wild ride! Oh, you don’t wear a seatbelt while you sit at your computer? Fine, unfasten your seat belts!

Today’s topic: “The white man took my land, and all I got was this lousy team name.”

In an increasingly politically correct world, it’s pretty crazy that professional sports have teams like the Cleveland Indians, the Atlanta Braves, the Kansas City Chiefs, the Washington Redskins and The Chicago Blackhawks. I mean, its one thing to take the Native Americans’ land, and wipe out 95% of their population, but I think plastering derogatory caricatures of them on sports helmets and mocking their culture with the “Tomahawk Chop” is going a bit too far.

I currently live in Washington, DC, home of the Washington Redskins. Redskins! This name is not very culturally sensitive; in fact, I would even go as far as saying it is culturally insensitive. Yep, I typed it. Insensitive. Not cool.

Some may insist that, although its derogatory meaning might warrant a change, the sports history associated with the name prevents such alterations. However, Washington’s own “Bullets” basketball franchise changed its name in 1997 to the Wizards because the owner didn’t want to be associated with violence. So team names that mock a repeatedly mistreated people are ok, but ones that are associated with violence need to be changed? I guess that makes sense; after all, I’m sure that watching the Washington Bullets play made people want to shoot guns just as much as watching the Portland Trailblazers has made people want to go hiking, or watching the Red Sox or the White Sox has made people want to separate their laundry. For those who didn’t pick up on my sarcasm, I shall be a bit more blunt: seeing a team that is called the Bullets won’t hurt anyone, but using a name that perpetuates stereotypes will. Not physically, but socially. And once again, that’s not cool.

How would Jews feel if instead of the Washington Redskins, it were the Washington Bignoses, with a banner depicting an accountant wearing a yarmulke, (a little Jewish hat, for those of you not in the know). Well, I’d probably laugh about it, but I’m guessing most Jews would throw a fit and send a million-Rabbi march down Pennsylvania Avenue.

I once asked my friend Billy, who is both a Washington Native, and part Native American, how he could root for a team whose name mocks part of his past. He responded, “Well, I can cheer for them. But YOU”, (pointing to the whiteness that is my skin) “cannot.” And he’s right. I would never cheer for the Washington Redskins.

After all, I’m an Eagles fan, and Eagles fans would never dream of cheering for the Redskins. They suck.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Who's the career fair-est, of them all?

Today, I had the privilege of attending the 2005 Penn Recruiting fair. This meant getting up at an ungodly hour, (meaning even Jesus was still sleeping), dressing up nicely, and lugging 30 pounds of materials to Philadelphia. After standing at my company’s booth and talking nonstop for five hours, it became very apparent that I was dealing with two very distinct groups of people:

• Those who care.
• Those who stare.

“Those who care” came up to me, full of energy, eyes bright and ready to ask a lot of solid, pointed questions. They knew what they were saying, to whom they were speaking, and why they were there. Basically, a good group of students.

“Those who stare” came up and said things like: “Hey, I see your poster says you do stuff. Stuff is pretty cool.” They would then stare at me, waiting for me to fill the awkward silence with something, and no matter what it was I said, they would inevitably nod their head in agreement. I put up with this at the beginning, but after one guy started rubbing my arm and drooling on my shoe, I got frustrated with this less-than-stellar pool of candidates. One guy asked some ridiculous question, so I told him that our primary focus was on helping circus performers live up to their potential. He did one of those half smiles, which said, “I think your kidding, but I’m not quite sure.” I returned his expression with a pity smile that said, “I think you are mentally deficient, but I’m not quite sure.” Just kidding, I gave him a hug and told him he was special.

However, overall, the negative incidents were relatively few and far between, as the number of good candidates definitely exceeded the number of bad ones, thus making the day an overall success. Furthermore, as anyone who has ever attended a career fair or convention knows, while the people that you meet are important, the free giveaways are just as crucial, (at least, to me). After all, I take to free stuff like…well, Jews take to free stuff, (in case you haven’t heard, I come from a very frugal people).

Generally, there is an unspoken understanding among participants that, in order to take free things, you must first stop for a moment, examine the materials at the booth and feign interest in what they are pitching before being entitled to the desired goods. However, some rogue career fair participants totally bypassed this convention and went from booth to booth, unabashedly grabbing the best prizes before moving on to the next. One such guy, who was either an old bearded professor in a ragged suit, or an old bearded homeless guy in his Sunday best, not only went around grabbing everything, but he did it with a scowl on his face that said, “If you call me out, I’ll bite you”. He took one of our free pens, and paused to stare at me. I didn’t say anything.

While I too wanted free stuff, I didn’t have his audacity, and thus I decided against following in his footsteps and grabbing all the free stuff I could find. That’s why I made my coworker do it for me. She brought me back silly putty, a boomerang, jelly beans, hair gel, a white board and marker, and a couple of other items that I’m sure I’m forgetting.

Overall, a good set of prizes, and a good day.

And now, a good night.

Repetition in Competition

I came to a realization yesterday: While I have little to say about sports, I have lots to say about sport team names. It’s sad, but true. Yesterday’s entry was only a fraction of all of the crap I wanted to write; therefore, I have decided to dole out the remaining nonsense the rest of this week, which I dub, “Ryan Complains About Sports Names Week”. Yes, it is a sad week, but probably better than “Give Your Neighbor a Colonoscopy Week”, (which, incidentally, begins next Tuesday. Get your rubber gloves ready; it’s good, awkward fun for the whole family!)

Today, I will try to keep it relatively short, (and bitter): Repetition in the names of professional sports teams should not be permissible. Nature has blessed us with a plethora of creatures from which to choose our sports teams' names, and there are certainly more species of animals indigenous to the US than there are professional sports teams to name. So why is it that we have two “Cardinals” and two “Giants”? If you were to say to me, “Hey, let’s go see the Cardinals play the Giants!” I’d probably say, “Hey, could you be any more ambiguous, you big jerk?!” Of course, even after you clarified which two of the four you meant, I’m sure I’d still turn you down, (unless of course you meant the Arizona Cardinals versus the San Francisco Giants, because a lousy football team versus Barry Bonds’ baseball team would be pretty exciting).

My suggestion is that the New York Giants keep their name, while the San Francisco Giants should change their name to the San Fran Ogres. However, I think St. Louis and Arizona should BOTH change their names, because anyone who has seen a cardinal knows that those things are too darn cute to be taken seriously, (both the birds, and those guys in red dresses who hang out with the pope).

Cute	Adorable

What's the dilly, Philly?

Yesterday, the Eagles routed the 49ers. You could point to a lot of reasons why Philadelphia achieved such a lopsided victory:

• The Eagles had home field advantage
• The Eagles had one of the premier
  quarterbacks in the league, versus an untested rookie on the 49ers.
• The Eagles had TO, one of the best wide receivers in the NFL, who surely pissed off his former team, (and probably anyone who isn’t an Eagles fan).

However, while the above reasons likely contributed something to the overall annihilation of the 49ers, if you were to ask me, I like to think that real reason Philly won was due to its superior team name. Granted, I know very little about sports, (and especially little about football), but I’m fairly confident that I’m correct. Let’s review:

An eagle - this name invokes an image of the most majestic of all birds; one who balances grace and beauty with the ability to instill the greatest of fear in its prey, (if mice wore pants, I bet they’d crap them.).

A 49er: a person who went searching for gold during the California gold rush. I’m sorry, but to name your team after a prospector is silly. Just plain silly.

Eagle	49er

In the game of names- Eagles: 1000, 49ers: 3.

It was at this point that I was going to continue to mock San Francisco’s football team for being named after a year, but then I realized, as a Philadelphia native, I root for a whole bunch of poorly named teams. Let’s see.

The Philadelphia 76ers-A team named for the year the US achieved its independence. This is just as silly as being a “49er”. As a year, it’s important. As a name, it’s stupid.

The Philadelphia Flyers-What is a flyer? Dictionary.com says:

1. One, such as an insect or bird, that flies with wings. [“The Eagles” was already taken, so I guess Philly decided to use the more generic term of “flyer”] OR
2. The pilot of an aircraft. [Oooh, a bunch of pilots. We can fly planes. Watch out, or we’ll crash our planes into your structures of importance!] OR
3. A passenger in an aircraft [Now, we RIDE in planes. Beware our ability to annoy the pilot, who could crash his plane into your structures of importance!] OR
4. A pamphlet or circular for mass distribution. [“We’ll give you paper cuts! And we’re not environmentally friendly!”] OR
5. A step in a straight stairway. [Have a nice trip. See you next fall?] OR
6. A daring venture. [Not bad, but not good either.] OR
7. An exceptionally swift kangaroo. [The best of the seven. I’ll pretend that this is what Philadelphia intended by the name “Flyers”]

The Philadelphia Phillies-This has to be the worst of the four team names. It’s like Philadelphia didn’t even try. Did the committee in charge of deciding on the name wait until the last minute, only to be pressured into saying the first thing that came to mind? The city is already named Philly; couldn’t they think of something else? Alas, they didn’t, giving Philadelphia’s baseball team perhaps the most unimaginative name in sports. Since I don’t stand for the unimaginative, I will pretend that what they really meant was “Fillies:”

• Young female horses. OR
• Lively, high-spirited girls or young women.

Yeah, that’s better. Much better. Isn’t using your imagination fun?

Stupid name.	Pretty horse

Donovan McNuggets

The Philadelphia Eagles have Terrell Owens, (or TO, as the cool kids call him). Towens, (as I call him), has been known for doing and saying some unusual things. Philly fans, and the larger sporting community, have come to expect it.

“I wanted a NBA basketball gym at my house and that's what I worked hard for and I was able to achieve that.” - TO

So the guy plays professional football so that he could build a basketball court at his home. Mildly crazy, but hey, that’s a superstars right. But normally, when you hear something crazy from Mr. Owens, you can always count on Donovan McNabb, the fearless leader of the Eagles, to show the saner side of pro football.

Except for now. Last weekend, Atlanta’s Chad Lavalais hit him a bit too hard, injuring him and I think jarring his brain. McNabb’s comments on getting hit:

"I'm not a fine guy, I don't go back and try to point fingers on what people did," McNabb said. "If it didn't happen, it's not going to stop my preparation for San Francisco. It's nothing that's going to make me go out and buy a Wendy's triple-stacked cheeseburger. I'm not going to buy them any flowers or take somebody from the league out to eat."

What? Triple cheeseburgers and flowers? What's next McNabb, taking somebody from the league out to eat? Oh, you did say that. Donovan, have you had too much Campbell’s Chunky soup, or are you secretly taking some of TO’s crazy pills? Either way, I’m fine with it. Nonsensical sports stars are so much more interesting than articulate ones.

Donovan McNabb: selling soup like crazy

Donovan McNabb: just being crazy

A Meal That's Fit For a (Burger) King

In terms of size, my kitchen is great. Plenty of room to maneuver, cook, and clean, with ample cabinet space and a decent size kitchen table. In terms of appliances, my kitchen is also probably better than that of the average bachelor pad; I have a new microwave, oven, range, and refrigerator, as well as a toaster and blender that still work very well. In terms of dishware and utensils, my kitchen certainly has room to improve. Basically, immediately prior to moving, I raided Wal-Mart and bought a cheap set of plates, glasses and utensils. As recent visitors have noted, the sharpest knife I own is a glorified butter-knife, (which also serves as a wine bottle opener, a back-scratcher, and protection from burglars).

However, upon my recent return from the latest trip, I took a look in my underutilized fridge and noticed that, without question, my food selection leaves the most to be desired. Which is a nice way of saying my food selection sucks (and by extension, so do I). Basically, over the last four months, I have been traveling fairly extensively for both business and pleasure, so that I decided I wouldn’t buy any perishable food until I knew I would be back in my apartment for longer than a few days at a time. Well, that time is now. Let’s assess the situation together:

11 bottles of Miller Light

19 cans of Natural Ice, expired in March (brought by others, drank by others, untouched by me)

1 empty Brita water pitcher

1 can of Dr. Extreme, (which is like Dr. Pepper, only more extreme. I think there might be drugs in it.)

1 loaf of bread: Sell by date of May 11, 2005

1 mega jar of Skippy peanut butter, (I choose to ignore those choosy moms, who choose Jif)

1 jar of strawberry jelly

1 carton of eggs, with an expiration date of May 20, 2005

2.5 sticks of butter

11 slices of American cheese, (yellow now, but might have started off as the white variety)

1 jar of Kraft parmesan cheese, (which smells, but I think that’s just the parmesan doing its thing)

1 bottle of Ken’s Raspberry Walnut Vinaigrette salad dressing

1 bottle of Ken’s Bleu Cheese salad dressing, (who is this Ken, and why does he have a monopoly on the dressings of my fridge?!)

1 bottle of Gulden’s spicy brown mustard

1 bottle of Texas Pete’s hot sauce

1 jar of that crazy chili garlic sauce with the rooster on it, (not sure the brand)

And in the freezer:

1 ice cube tray

Another ice cube tray

That’s it. That’s all there is. The only thing sadder than the contents of my fridge is my hungry stomach. Basically, I’m trying to decide between a moldy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a rotten cheese omelet for dinner. Kinda leaning toward the omelet, because I have so many sauces to dip it in. Yum.

Ok, I’m kidding. When it comes to food, I’d rather throw out then throw up. So first, I will do some necessary purging of my fridge, and then, I will commence with the long overdue grocery shopping. And please Mom, don’t blame yourself; you did the best you could trying to bring me up right and teaching me the value of a fully stocked kitchen. But years of television, video games and narcotics have turned me into a bad apple, with a fridge full of bad food. Damn you, MTV, Nintendo and crack cocaine. Damn you for what you’ve done to me!

Fight for your Wright

Back in high school, I remember learning about that fateful day when Orville and Wilbur Wright made the first heavier-than-air flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. What a momentous day. Changed the world. And NC is proud that they hosted this event; you’ll notice they make it clear to everyone of this grand accomplishment by plastering it all over their…cars. This is slightly ironic; adorning vehicles with reminders that there are better modes of transportation out there. To me, this would be like Ashlee Simpson wearing a shirt that says, “Jessica Simpson’s Sister”. Hmm, mentioning the Simpson sisters made me feel really dirty. I’ll try not to reference them again.

Anyway, North Carolina is entitled to brag a bit. Sure, it’s great two guys chose their state to fly the first plane. But earlier today, on my way to the Columbus airport, I noticed that the license plate on my rental car said, “Ohio bicentennial. Birthplace of aviation.” Oh, really? I thought that was North Carolina’s claim to fame? Well, using the power of the internet, I found out that the Wright Brothers grew up in Dayton, Ohio.

Oh.
Grand.

So, Ohio, are you telling me that after 200 years of being a state, the best thing you can put on your license plates is a reminder that two famous guys grew up in your state, only to leave when they wanted to do the cool stuff that made them famous? That’s weak. Why don’t you just let NC keep their slogan, and pick something better? Here are a couple of facts you could use:

Akron is the rubber capital of the world. (insert condom joke here)

Ohio is the birthplace of President Taft, the fattest president

Ohio is the birthplace of Arsenio Hall. He was neat.

Dresden, Ohio is the home of the world's largest basket. So large, you can fill it with a lot of rubber. And Arsenio. But not Taft. He’s way too fat.

So there you go, Ohio. That’s plenty to work with. But if you insist on touting the fact that the Wright brothers lived in your state, I suppose I can’t blame you. In fact, I thank you. I appreciate the fact that you raised the Wright Brothers, who would one day invent the airplane, a mode of transportation that I used today to follow in their footsteps and leave your state, so that I may go do cooler things in cooler places. Like, writing about Ohio while not being there.

Ryan: the epitome of cool.

Double, Double, Travel and Trouble

So my mother recently pointed out that I bring death and destruction wherever I go. Ok, she didn't quite use those terms, but she did bring to my attention the fact that I had traveled to NY, (and to the WTC) a week before 9/11/01:

Me, Jim and Bryan, in early Sept 01.

and had been to New Orleans for this year's Mardi Gras:

Me, a NO police officer, and a horse. (While this picture might not strike you as representative of typical Mardi Gras, it was of the few pictures I had that was appropriate for general audiences. It also illustrates the fact that you can drink in the streets of NO and the police do not care. Which is not true in other locations. Trust me. I found this out the hard, er... expensive, way. But I digress.)

So, could the two most tragic events in recent US history be somehow tied to me?

Nope. Just a coincidence, (sorry to disappoint those of you who thought I had mystical powers). And, despite some who may feel that I should lock myself in a room in order to prevent any more catastrophic events, I believe this realization only encourages me to travel more, not less. For me, it really drives home the fact that everything, whether it be buildings, cities, or our own lives, will not be around forever. Time is fleeting. I know it sounds cliche, but it's true. We need to live life to the fullest and see the world, because you never know what tomorrow will bring.

Unless of course, you're expecting a package from Fedex. They are pretty reliable.

Reflections on September 11th

It’s hard to sit in an airplane on the four year anniversary of 9-11 and not spend at least a few moments reflecting on the worst terrorist attack in our country’s history. So here I am, flying to Columbus, Ohio and thinking about how exactly four years ago tonight, no one was flying anywhere, and everyone was thinking about what would happen next and how the world would change.

Well, four years later, it’s pretty safe to say many things have changed since September 11th. The transportation industry, and especially air travel, has clearly been affected. Airport security has become much more rigorous and thorough in their screening process. Laptop computers, (like the one I’m typing on now) must be removed from their bags. Shoes, (like the ones that I’m currently not wearing) must be removed. Pocketknives, (like the ones that have repeatedly been taken from me because I don’t always remember to leave them at home) are no longer permitted, as are matches and lighters, (like the ones that I use to start house fires). Electronic equipment, (like the mp3 player thats currently playing me 80's pop) cannot be used during take off or landing, and for some reason still unknown to me, window shades must be open during this time as well, (if you know the logic behind this, please clue me in). No more gun or bomb jokes at the airport, (which I find hard, because those are my favorite jokes to tell). No more going into the airplane cockpit to chat with the pilot and ask him or her for a try at flying the plane. Yes, things have changed in air travel, and to a lesser extent, all other travel as well.

However, the ramifications from September 11th extend far beyond the travel industry. We have fought, (and are still fighting) two wars which probably would not have happened had the events of four years ago never transpired. While the Taliban and Saddam certainly presided over oppressive regimes, we never would have attacked as soon as we did, in the manner we did, (if at all) had it not been for 9-11. The US’s relationships with other countries are more strained now than before, whether it be between the US and countries we’ve recently attacked, are currently attacking, thinking about attacking, or with countries that are mad at us for attacking, (or not attacking) other countries. For example, US-Djibouti tensions have never been higher. Ok, I made that last one up, (I just wanted a reason to mention the country Djibouti; it’s just so fun to spell and say).

International relationships aren’t the only ones affected, either. Within the US itself, prejudices against people from the Middle East, or whoo practice Islam, or who just look foreign, (i.e. not white) have certainly increased. Because of the actions of a few extremists, countless others must suffer the undeserved consequences. I find it funny, (not poop-joke funny, but strange-funny) that after the Oklahoma City bombing, no one was eyeing really, really white people suspiciously, (trust me, I would have noticed, because I’m really, really white). I suppose when members of a group other than the majority commit the crime, society reacts differently, and that’s a shame.

So yes, things are different now. The events that transpired four years ago forever changed the world, and even resulted in me writing a (mostly) serious composition. But not completely serious; because once my writing becomes completely serious, that’s when the terrorists have won. They may have stolen my right to make it through airline security without a full cavity search, but my right to be silly? No sir, they’ll never take that from me.

Fast Times at Ryanmont High

As some may know, I have been spending a lot of my time consulting with a (the?) major bath and body products company over the past few months. The project on which my company and I have been working is nearing its end, and therefore we have scheduled several final meetings to sum up our findings and present our deliverables. One such meeting was scheduled yesterday, all day, with around 12 people: me, another consultant, a principal (the consulting kind, not the school kind), and the president of my company, as well as several of the client’s employees, some VPs and the CFO of the entire multi-billion dollar company. You might say this meeting was important.

My day started as follows:

I arrived early and was waiting for the meeting to start when the principal entered the room, and asked me to step outside to speak with him privately.

Principal: “ [president of our company] " (name withheld to protect the innocent) " is not here.”
Ryan: “I see. Isn’t he presenting first?”
Principal: “Yes. He’s across town, without a car. You’ll need to go get him. Now.”

So out the door I ran, down three flights of stairs, through the corporate lobby, out the door, across the side walk, and through the parking lot to my rental car. As I was weaving in and out of employees who were coming at me head on, I recieved many angry stares, and an occasional, “Jesus, he almost knocked me over”. Yeah, I’m a reckless runner.

I made it to my car, and the clock read 9 am. I did some quick mental math: 9 am now + 15 minutes (without traffic) to where the president is + 15 minutes back = Not Good. Needless to say, I broke some laws. After doing 90+ on the freeway, careening dangerously around the exit ramps, using turn lanes as passing lanes, and taking out a few elderly jaywalkers, I made it to the pickup point only to see a cab leaving with the president.

Damn it. Time for a high speed U-turn.

Next, I found myself sitting at a traffic light behind the cab holding my rightful passenger, when suddenly I saw him pop out of the cab, throw some money at the driver, and hop in my car. Once again, I entered crazy taxi mode, and did the same trip in reverse, except this time with the president of my company in my car. While speed was a necessity, I had to remind myself: Must not kill the president. Bad for career development.

On the way back, I repeated many of the driving infractions committed on the first leg of the trip, and in addition, I ran several red lights, including a red arrow in the turn lane. Running that one was particular fun because not only did my car tires screech as we raced around the turn, but my passenger actually commented, “Whoah, we’re not going to make it!” But we did. Shows what he knows.

We made it back at around 9:20, and after dropping off the president at the front of the building, I had to park in the farthest spot in the farthest parking lot. I ran the entire way back, including through the building and up the stairs, (to the consternation of several security guards), and finally made it back to the conference room, with the meeting fully under way. I took the only seat left, which was right behind the CFO. Thanks to my unanticipated morning jog, I sat there, completely out of breath, trying to calm down my racing heart. I didn’t realize that my smoker-esque wheezing was right in the ear of the CFO, who turned around to see who had the emphysema, and found me, sweaty and red in the face. He gave me a confused look, and I smiled sheepishly. Great first impression.

Second impression: A while later, he was raising an issue regarding program costs and gross margin impact, and I decided that I would refute his point. In mid comment, I realized that arguing with the Chief Financial Officer about finances was not such a good idea. If he controls the finances of one of the largest retailers in the country, he probably knew what he was talking about.

I blame all that morning excitement for clouding my judgment.

Hurricane Ryan

When I was younger, I always hated the fact that both my first and last initial were near the end of the alphabet. Having such a name meant I was consistently at the back of the line, the last to be announced during roll call, etc. When I found out that hurricanes were named alphabetically, I was further irritated, because as a kid, I thought nothing would be cooler than a Hurricane Ryan wreaking havoc on parts of the country and have my name plastered all over the news. But alas, being alphabetically challenged, it seemed highly unlikely that there would be 17 named storms in one season, and thus there would never be a Hurricane Ryan.

But thanks to our good friend global warming, it seems that not only might we hit “R” this season, we might actually go beyond and run out of names, (see Hurricane Story for details…there might be a hurricane Alpha in our future). So, it seems that having a hurricane Ryan is now completely feasible. However, unlike the simplistic Ryan of yesteryear who would have loved having his name tied to a massive superstorm, the Ryan of today does not want his name associated with such death and destruction. After all, I have a friend Katrina, and while I personally know it wasn’t her that battered Louisiana and Mississippi, I sometimes wonder if she wasn’t somehow responsible, (kidding, Kat!).

Basically, I’ve reversed my previous thinking and am now hoping they don’t ever pick Ryan for the “R” named storm. If they do happen to pick Ryan, then I’m hoping it’s a mild season so that they never get to use my name. But, if everything comes together such that a storm named Ryan spawns out in the Atlantic, I hope I’m a very mild storm, (a tropical storm as opposed to a hurricane). Instead of gaining a lot of strength and taking it out on the coastal regions, I’d prefer to lazily drift up to an unsuspecting state, like Maine, and soak them for a bit before heading over to Canada, and then maybe travel down the Dakotas and then hover over the Great Plains. While I don’t want to have “Deadly Hurricane Ryan Ravages Miami” plastered all over the news, I think it would be acceptable to have “Mild Tropical Storm Ryan Continues to Annoy Thousands In Lincoln, Nebraska.” Because now that I think about it, the people of Nebraska could use a little excitement, (I mean, it IS Nebraska).

Heil, Lotion!

Lotion	Nazis

So for the past few weeks, I have been traveling to Ohio for a few days a week to work with a company that specializes in bath and body products. They have perfected the art of selling very expensive lotions and beauty products that women can't seem to live without. I admire their ability to convince people that they need these lotions, scrubs and candles, and then charge them an arm and a leg for it, (which are both silky and smooth....thank you cucumber melon body scrub!).

So week in and week out, I have been venturing to their headquarters, which looks very professional, but reeks of lotion and candles. They are constantly rubbing on lotions and lighting candles, which at first smell OK, but after a while the odors blend together into some horrible stench that makes you want to throw blunt objects at random employees. Vanilla Bean mixed with Cinnamon mixed with Floral Essence suddenly makes you think there are wet dogs running around the complex. Cherry Blossom candles and Honey Extract lotion had me thinking a homeless person died under my desk. And then there are these testers, who walk around in little lab coats. I see them only once in a while, but I swear this one old man keeps giving me this very strange look as he holds a bottle of lotion in his hand.

The look says, "I'll get you. With my lotion."

I'm still waiting for the day when he'll sneak up behind me and squirt some on my neck. That will be a sad event, for on that day, I will no longer be a man, but a emasculated boy who has been befowled by random acts of lotion.

But anyways, I've quietly put up with the smells and the creepy lotion testers these past few weeks, and done my job loyally. But today, I'm pissed. I cannot access gmail. I cannot use IM. I cannot check several websites. It seems that this company has decided that employees should no longer be able to use these technologies, which I consider to be essential to my daily routine. I equate such actions with the burning of books by the Nazis. That's right, I said it. This company is comprised of a bunch of Nazis...lotion Nazis. Strong words, you say? Perhaps. But hey, fill a guy up with stinky chemicals all day and then take away his ability to communicate via the computer, and he's liable to say some pretty crazy things.

I've got my ducks in a row.

I am a vegetarian, and yet I still find this picture funny:

You so nasty

In a weekend where the eating never ends, we had to get up today to go a large Sunday brunch. Today, the seating was not assigned, so as I made my way to through the buffet line, I thought that I would surely end up at the adult table. However, on my way to the seating area, my two little cousins called out my name and pointed to a seat in between them. Apparently, they had saved me a spot at the “cool kid” table. How could I say no to such an offer? Deciding to join the “cool kids”, (which I soon found out was not a universally recognized name, but rather a self-designated title), I sandwiched myself between Kinsey and Lillie.

As I was enjoying my food, I found myself casually itching my side, and in doing so, I accidently moved my shirt to the side, allowing Lillie to catch a glimpse of my boxers. Suddenly, she was telling everyone that she could see my boxers.

Lillie: “I can see Ryan’s boxers! He’s nasty!”
Kinsey: “He’s not nasty…”

Thanks Kinsey for sticking up for me.

Kinsey: “Just his personality is.”

Ouch.

Later, Kinsey started petting my shirt and telling me how soft it was, which sounds like a compliment until you realize that her real motive was that she had no napkin. However, little kid dirty hands is decidedly better than little kid dessert in the hair, (Lillie had decided that putting chocolate cake in my hair would be funny.) To be perfectly honest, I’m a messy enough eater as it is, and don’t really need the extra stains. Oh well, at least today I had an excuse.

Despite all the brunch table excitement, the highlight of the day had to be my mom, who was wearing a tight-fitting tank top that she recently bought. In big letters, the shirt read “Maraca Cantina”, which sounded innocent enough. However, on the way over to the restaurant, my sister pointed out to my mom than below the large text was written, “Shake em’ if you got em”. Oh mom, unknowingly parading around in a trashy, tight-fitting shirt to a family reunion. Maybe my day dream of the Jerry Springer show from yesterday wasn't as far off as I had initially thought…

Jerry's Final Thoughts

I haven’t been in a synagogue in years, but this weekend that would change as my cousin Jared had his Bar Mitzvah. This morning, I had to get up early, put on a suit, and go to a three hour marathon of sitting and standing and singing and listening and napping, (sorry family, I was tired).

Certain parts of the ceremony were very nice: I enjoyed the speeches, and parts involving family and tradition. My cousin did a great job, as did everyone else involved in the ceremony. However, I think the combination of being up early in the morning coupled with the fact that I understand little to nothing of what is going on made my mind wander.

The rabbi reminded me of Jerry Springer, and so I found that, what started off as an innocent celebration of a Jewish boy’s entrance into manhood transformed into a white trash frenzy. Allegations of cheating were flying, as were shoes and chairs and other things that members in the congregation were throwing. My aunt was grabbing another woman’s hairweave, while my great aunt was beating an old Jewish guy with her purse. Then my great grandmother got up in the Rabbi’s face and accused him of being the father of her baby. I started laughing at this ridiculous thought, which brought my Jerry Springer daydream to a close. Unfortunately, I had started laughing during a time which the real rabbi was talking about Hurricane Katrina, and several people sitting in close proximity were eyeing me with disgust. Apparently, chuckling during a discussion of a national tragedy is frowned upon, but don’t blame me, blame that damned Jerry Springer!

At the conclusion of the ceremony, everyone made their way to a country club where there was lots of drinking and dancing and eating and other festivities. I stuffed myself with appetizers and long island iced teas, and was good for the day. On a related note: I later woke up naked in a retirement community’s swimming pool having no idea how I got there. I blame the fact that I have a low tolerance for kosher foods, and really ingested more than I could handle.

Got Milk?

I have a full time job and make money and pay taxes. I live on my own. I have voted in two elections. I can drink and gamble and die in a war. Generally speaking, I feel like an adult. And yet tonight, at a family dinner of about 50 people (in honor of my cousin's Bar Mitzvah), I was told to sit at the children’s table. Goodbye, perception of maturity. Hello, little children.

I must admit, while I was first perturbed by such a seating arrangement, eventually I found that sitting at the children’s table had its perks. For example, my 7 year old cousin to my left generously offered me many of the French Fries from her plate, and even dipped them in ketchup for me before stuffing them, (sometimes, without warning) into my mouth. To my right was my little sister Faryn, who amused me by stinking ice cubes down my brother Kyle’s shirt. He, of course, made a big scene and started shaking his shirt to get it out. The table thought this was hilarious, and Kyle was a big hit. In fact, one little boy, (not sure if, or how, he is related to me), thought it was so funny, he wanted to see it again. However, because his chocolate milk did not have any ice cubes in it, his four year old mind told him that the next best thing to do would be to dunk his power rangers, (he had a complete set), in the chocolate milk and rub them on my brother’s nice button down shirt. I, of course, found this to be hysterical. I found it less hysterical when he later came up to me with a smile on his face and a green power ranger grasped tightly in his four year old little paw, and told me, “I’m going to stick an arrow in your butt.” I’m guessing he meant the power ranger, but I didn’t ask follow up questions.

Dinner was followed by a Friday night Sabbath service, which was then followed by a dessert reception. Lots of Jews, lots of desserts. Few drinks. Thirsty Ryan ventures over to a pitcher of milk sitting by itself on a table. Ryan picks up pitcher and turns to old Jewish man:

Ryan: What is this?
Old man: Milk.
Ryan: This is milk?
Old man: Yes.
Ryan pours milk. Ryan drinks milk. It is not milk. Ryan gags.
Ryan then takes the warm, thick chemical paste over to his father.
Ryan: “All that chocolate cake, and no milk? Aren’t you thirsty?”
Dad: “Yeah, I am.”
Ryan: “Here, have some milk.”
Dad: “Thanks”
Dad grasps cub and takes a large sip. Dad gags, white liquid dribbling down his chin. Dad slowly pulls down cup and stares at his son. Ryan laughs. Dad walks over to a corner with a hand to his mouth, trying hard not to vomit all over the floor. Ryan laughs some more. Eventually, Dad returns.
Dad: “I am never trusting you again.”
Ryan: “Where is Kyle?”
Ryan spots Kyle and walks over to him.
Ryan: “Can’t believe they are allowed to have milk at this dessert reception. That’s not kosher.”
Kyle: “There is no milk here.”
Ryan: “Oh yeah, what is this then?”
Kyle (incredulously): “Where did you get that?”
Ryan: “I don’t even want it. I’m going to throw it out. Unless of course…YOU want it.”
Kyle: “Yeah”
Kyle drinks. His face contorts. He spits it back into the cup. He yells at me. I laugh.

I might be a lousy son and brother, but I certainly know how to amuse myself. Milk, it does a body good.