Buy Me One.

My brother, in a professionally related tirade, asked me today if I "have a gun I can borrow so I can blow my brains out?"  I love my brother and I do not want him hurt in any way, even as he's forced to localize the Mexico flood story in a journalistic act of borderline racial profiling.  So I sent him a device that would only place him in danger if he was a delicious quarter pound of ground beef.  Zing!  Boom!

Thanks, Gizmodo.

"Droid."

Last week my life changed with the arrival of my first Smartphone, a DroidX.  The touch screen, the 8.0 MP camera, the useless apps.  Swoon.  After a couple years of being behind the curve I am now beyond it, at least for a month until something new arrives.  Of course, once I went to make a phone call I was completely stumped.

My grandparents had a rotary phone.  It was tan, nailed on the wall by their bedroom and the noises it made were so distinct that I could pinpoint them to this day.  It took approximately 38 seconds to make a phone call, 54 for long-distance with adjunct area code.  In fifty four seconds I could probably search for the stupid app called "Zombie, Run!" that uses your GPS location to place fake zombies in your otherwise safe walk home.  I'm not saying that I would throw the defenseless Droid in the Chicago River and snatch up a rotary, but I believe there is a happy balance between these two scenarios.

I am still waiting for my life to really change.  True, I was able to check show times for "The Town," search for the next available bus, and check sports scores back-to-back while loving it the entire time.  However, I did receive a swift punch in the gut for yelling, "I can get an app for that!" one too many times.  Until the Droid turns into an umbrella (no umbrella app) or teaches a boy to hang up the FreakingTowelOhMyGodIt'sNotThatHard then I'll just keep living my life normally, with a little computer in my pocket.

wtf.

PIKACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

Motivation Pt. 1

I call this post Motivation part one because it's 1:14 a.m. and I don't have nearly enough motivation to finish it.  Eleven hour work days are the most unkind and more than a little exhuasting.  After tonight, I do highly recommend finishing up any work while sitting in your bed and type-type-typing away.  Other than that, there are a few blog posts handwritten but at this point, it is a matter of removing crumpled paper from the bottom of the purse I took to work last Thursday and adding them on here.

Apologies for the lack of blog posts and it is definitely something I noted.  To say I am "busy" is an understatement but looking forward to some new ideas and hopefully something fresh.  When the only free time of the night on your night is spent eating Pita Pit, watching Teen Mom, and showering then it is time to reobserve your lifestyle.  So consider "Motivation Pt. 2," on its way!

Big thanks and hugs to my wonderful roommate who, after seeing me down, suggested that we watch her most recent purchase, "Heavyweights." 

"Congratulations Mr. Sims, you are the fattest boy in camp."

I'm sure the view of heaven beats the hell out of mine here

     You won't see me write about religion on this blog and up until this point it wasn't really an option.  I am, by Christianity's classification, a Catholic.  Raised in Catholic schools, I naturally felt that religion class made me exempt from all weekend services until at least twenty years of age.  A mass piggy bank if you will.  Throughout my life I've thought of my faith in stages.  Early on, I went to mass with my family until my brother's misbehavior and Cheerio throwing put that to a halt.  At the same time, Sunday service with Grandma and her attempting singing abilities.  ("It's just that you sing, God doesn't mind if you're on tune.")  Minor relapses along the way and I still ended up at a Catholic university.  Not on purpose or by default, but the St. Louis campus had a lot of tulips.

     So now I'm sitting on an Atlanta bound flight with the sunrise shining in the windows and destroying my desire to sleep.  I'm staring over my sleeping seat buddy out the window trying to understand where the concept of heaven came from.  As humans, we love to justify our actions with the idea of immortality, almost as much as we fear the inevitability of death.  Once, I nonchalantly told a friend, "I don't believe in heaven."
      "WHY?" in a rather blasphemous tone.
      "Do you know anyone who has been there?"

      But in the end, I do. Not because, like a child who behaves for the sake of Santa's visitation, that I feel like I need to or that I should. It's because I want to and that's all anyone really needs.

Author's note: This story was written on August 10th and inspired by the death of my grandpa Clee who left us 15 years ago on that day.  I love you grandpa and I promise to scratch your back when I see you again.  Also, thank you and Grandma for showing me the only fairy tale I've ever known.