Rules of the Rec

Over my time at the Rec, (I don't mean to brag [I do] but it's a lot) I've noticed so many things that shouldn't be allowed or should be required. Whether it's the new freshmen who have no concept of gym etiquette or veteran douchebags who don't care, all users of our fine facility at MU should follow a few basic rules in order to be allowed in and/or back. There is a strike policy for some rules and a no-tolerance rule for others.

Let me explain:

1. If you're lifting anything under your body-weight, grunting is not allowed.

This is annoying to everyone and embarrassing to the perpetrators. If you weigh 120 pounds and you're curling a 15 while you grunt and grit your teeth like you're passing a kidney stone, then everybody pities you. (I had the part of my brain that produces pity removed and replaced with an additional "rage gland.") For the love of god, just keep quiet and be neither seen nor heard.

Strike rule: 5 strikes and you're out. This is a warning system because it's a new rule for many kids who are new to the gym and is a hard habit to break.

2. If you feel compelled to grunt, keep it to random noises of labor and not curse words or exclamations of pain. Also, don't drop weights on the floor. It's loud, annoying, and damages the floor and the weight.

Almost every time I go to the gym, I hear, without fail, a man yell "OH MOTHERFUCKER"when he fails to complete an exercise. Also common are "GODDAMN" and "JEEEEESUSSS." How about just a normal sound? And keep it quiet.

Strike rule: 3 strikes. This gets annoying too quickly to have any more tolerance.

3. All tribal tattoos must be covered at the door.

Do I really need to explain the rationale for this?

One warning and then you're banned.

4. Don't take your breaks while sitting on the equipment you're using.

This is just inefficient and annoying for everyone.

Strike rule: 3 strikes.

5. No air guitar. No pretending to play the drums. No singing along loudly.

This is really easy. Just don't do it. You're not Axel Rose or that one armed drummer from Def Leppard and you're really not 50 Cent. I wasn't planning on hearing an impromptu rendition of Disco Inferno today.

Rule: One offense and you have a week-long ban. Do not test the limits of my judiciousness.

6. No loud encouragement to yourself or others.

I've heard all of the following:

"COULD IT BE....A 405 DAY???"

"YEAH PUSH IT"

"GIVE IT ALL YOU GOT"

"OH FUCK YEAH"

You don't do this in any area of your life besides this (OH YEAH THIS ANSWER IS B) so why do it in the gym, one of the most public and enclosed spaces you can visit.

Rule: Two offenses and you are banned for the semester.

7. Don't visit the bathroom to flex.

Why isn't this just a rule of humanity? The only place it is appropriate to flex is in front of your own, private mirror or in a beach picture. (The latter is acceptable only because it's sort of a hobby of mine.)

Rule: One offense and you have a lifelong ban.

8. There is an application for cutoff t-shirts.

I see such tiny people that feel some absurd need to show off their tiny arms and backs. (IT'S FOR FLEXIBILITY!) Just like thongs, this is a piece of clothing that one should apply for before you are able to wear it. (I am the sole judge of each approval committee.)

Rule: Quit it. See my posted application (at the bottom), print it out, fill it out and submit it with a photo. You will hear back in 3 business days.

We don't have enough time and you don't have enough patience, so I'll stop for now.

Make sure you keep your manners about you.

-Max

Application for Cut-Off Shirts

1. Can you bench more than your body weight? Y/N

2. Can you fit your index finger and thumb around any point of your forearm or upper arm, besides the wrist? Y/N

3. Do you wear cut-offs at a place besides the gym? Y/N

4. Does your cutoff have A) An ironic slogan or B) A superhero logo? Y/N

5. On a scale of zero to five, how many tribal tattoos do you have? (Circle One) 0-1-2-3-4-5

6. Do you exceed 250 pounds? Y/N

6b: Are you less than 6 foot? Y/N

7. Do you exceed 115 pounds? Y/N

Spoiler: A "no" to questions 1 or 7. or =disqualification. A yes to 2, 3, 4, and 6b if 6 is yes=disqualification. Anything over a 1 on number 5=disqualification.

Application for thongs:

1. Are you male? Y/N

2. Are you over 200 lbs? Y/N

3. Are you over 6'7"? Y/N

4. Is your waist over a 52? Y/N

Spoiler: Any yes answer=disqualification.

So...Where's the Change I Was Promised?

Trick question. I didn't vote in the 2008 presidential election because I wasn't eighteen.

However, had I been able to, I would have voted a straight Republican ticket. I've been a staunch anti-Democrat since my young days and this past week has been more kindle to my considerable, fiscally conservative ire.

I'll preface this by noting that I am not a harsh Republican by any means. I vote Republican out of a lack of options...I certainly don't want the Democrats to win, and the only way to help that is by backing the opposite candidate. I'll hear none of that third-party shouting, because that's not even realistic.

Obama, in his last contrived, dramatic address to the American voters, continued his presentation of a smoke-and-mirrors defense to further a vague, convoluted idea of "justice" to the quickly-shrinking minority of people who approve of his performance.

Obama repeated the phrase "a balanced approach" seven times in a speech that was just under 15 minutes long. It didn't present any new ideas or context to listeners-it just repeated the mysticisms that got him elected in the first place.

Harry Reid and John Boehner have now put two similar budget presentations onto the table for consideration. Both include no new taxes on the wealthy (something Obama is all for) and the raising of the debt ceiling by increasing spending cuts. They also include no major dilution of government programs, so they are seen as an acceptable compromise by both parties.

Obama's refusal to acknowledge either of these proposals in a very important speech has effectively taken him out of his leadership role in this issue. He now plays some awkwardthird-party observer, instructing parties who aren't listening with ideas that they have dismissed.

Why have they dismissed these ideas? Because they are faulty.

Obama's quotation of Reagan was taken out of context. He painted a great Republican leader and a great president as a support for his nigh-socialistic plans. A sector of Americans "isn't doing [its] part." What sector, and why?

The sector to which he is referring is the top 10% of tax payers, of course. People who move and shape industry and the economy, who innovate and produce new technologies and products and who control the state of the country through their incredible control over the economy. This is a menacing-sounding situation, but, in reality, it is how every world works, and how it should work. The highest-earning sections of American society rightfully take their place due to ability. The top 10% are the top 10% because we, as American consumers, have allowed them to be.

The people who make the most money in this country are those who provide the best service to the most people. Whether that's Bill Gates and Microsoft, hedge fund managers, or Katy Perry, American consumers justify their lives' works by paying for them, over and over again.

A new tax on the wealthy is nothing more than a tax on ability and productivity. It's, in a way, a punishment for success. There is no other way to slate this idea--the fact is, if you think the wealthy deserve to be taxed more on the basis of wealth, then you are saying their wealth is the fair game of the American taxpayer who raised them to the spotlight in the first place. A tax on productivity is like spanking a child who makes exceptional grades. Standards are provided in the ideals of society and those who meet or exceed them are "taken down to a more reasonable level. They take more, so they should contribute more."

Obama continues to preach this absurd ideology because it appeals to a disturbingly large portion of Americans who have an odd sense of "justice." I won't classify or stereotype this section of voters--they are rich and poor alike. The former are filled with self-loathing and self-pity. "I should give more to society. I'm so lucky to have gotten all of this." The latter are filled with jealousy and more self-pity. "This is a situation I was born in to. I deserve the spoils of productivity as much as the producers."

As much as this may sound insane to some people, it sounds just as reasonable to others. People who earn more should give more. And if they don't give more, society has a right, even a duty, to take it from them. Their profit and success is the property of the American people, and the American people (through their elected representatives) decide every so often exactly how much of their wealth belongs to them come that April.

Self-pity is the ugliest emotion in the universe. It takes the most incredible facet of humanity--the individual mind and will-and turns it on itself. Humans are not meant to hate or pity themselves, nor are they entitled to.

That takes an oddly philosophical turn at the end, but it's still topical. I am stuck in an odd world between humor and politics/philosophy on this blog. Eventually they may separate, but for now I'll consider this all a study in me.

-Max

Books to Cry Over

Note: There will be a depressing lack of my usual biting humor in this post. I like to be serious once in awhile; hopefully this will be up to my usual standard, just in a different vein.

Books Worth Crying Over

When I was 8 years old, I cried for the first time after reading a book. That wonderful novel is called "Where the Red Fern Grows" and should be a required reading for any human on Earth. To give a paltry summary, a poor boy in the Ozarks saves for three years fifty dollars to buy a pair of redbone coon hounds in order to hunt for raccoons in the woods near his house. Big Dan and Little Ann, male and female respectively, turn out to be a pair of fiercely loyal and incredibly effective hunters who catch many coons and other small game animals for the boy to skin and sell, and the boy develops a connection with his dogs that is so well described near the end. Big Dan and Little Ann also develop a brother-to-sister like affection towards each other--defending each other in fights, eating at the same time, and caring for each other after a tussle with a mean animal.

At the climax of the book, Billy, the protagonist, is attacked by a mountain lion while hunting. After a vicious fight, he kills the lion with his axe, but not before he is almost killed by the lion. He is saved only by the incredible loyalty of his dogs and their willingness to put themselves between their owner of 4 years and a mountain lion.

Old Dan is severely wounded from the encounter and a heartbreaking scene in which the boy untangles the dog's entrails from a bush occurs. This is where my eyes got wet.

Old Dan, the larger and hardier dog, dies later that night in his doghouse, despite the efforts of the family to save him. Over the next several days, the will to live leaves Little Ann and she refuses food, eventually crawling at night to Old Dan's grave, lying alongside it, and dies. The passage that got me was:

"The next morning I made another box. It was smaller than the first one--built for a smaller dog. Each nail I drove into the rough pine boards caused the knot in my throat to grow bigger and bigger.

My sisters came to help. They stood watching for awhile, then, with tears screaming, they rain for the house.

I buried Little Ann by the side of Old Dan. I knew that where she wanted to be. I buried a part of my life along with my dogs."

I was heartbroken. This was a story of triumph--the dogs being raised and trained with their young master and then the ultimate sacrifice of the dogs who fell protecting their master, for which they paid with their lives.

8-year-old Max was moved to tears. Just finishing the book (in its original paperback) tonight, I conjured up similar emotions as Billy cared for the mortally wounded Old Dan and then slowly watched Little Ann waste away and die alongside her brother. When he buries his dogs side-by-side in the Ozark foothills, I am not ashamed to say I felt my eyes water.

We the Living

I, of course, cannot get through any post without mentioning Ayn Rand. Her novel We the Living, set in 1920's post-revolution Soviet Russia, tells a story of family betrayal, hard economic depression and hardship, and love split by cruel Soviet law. Argue as you wish about the merits of capitalism vs. communism or the ideals of socialism being misinterpreted, but We the Living remains an amazing story.

The passage that always gets me is the following: A young counter-revolutionary, Sasha, is being sent to Siberia for 10 years. Due to the conditions, it is certainly a death sentence. His young fiancee Irina is given an identical sentence for harboring the "political criminal" in her house as he hides from the police. They will both die in a Siberian prison.

Irina's father calls in all his favors in order to have them married before they are left, so they may live as husband and wife as they go through the harsh conditions of Soviet prison camps, never to return to their families. He is successful and a small ceremony is held in the prison. The father is informed, however, that they are bound for separate prisons that are 250 miles away and will never see each other again. Though he attempts to have it changed, the government rejects his claims and Irina and Sasha board the same train towards different destinations.

As they ride towards the place where Irina disembarks for their separate train, they know they will never see each other again.

"Sasha held Irina's hands. She was smiling, her chin buried in an old woolen scarf. Her hands were cold and a white vapor fluttered at her lips as she whispered: "We must not think of it as ten years. It sounds so long, doesn't it? But it really isn't. You know, some philosopher said that time is only an illusion or something like that. We'll still be young when we'll...when well be free. So let's promise each other to not think of anything else.

"Yes," he whispered, looking at her hands. "Irina, if only I hadn't..."

"And that's something you've already promised me not to mention again, not even to yourself. Darling, don't you see that it's really easier for me-this way-than to have remained at home, with you sent here alone? This way, I'll feel that we have something in common, that we're sharing something. Aren't we?"

He buried his face in her hands and say nothing.

"When you feel the worst, just smile, and think that you're doing something for me. And I'll do the same. That will keep us together, it's very important to remain cheerful...we'll last longer."

"What for?" he asked. "We won't last long enough anyway."

"Sasha, what nonsense!" She pulled his head up, looking straight into his eyes. "Nothing is ever as bad as it's painted."

The wheels grated under the floor, slowing the train.

"Oh God!" Sasha moaned. "Is that the station?"

The car jerked forward and resumed its speed.

"No, Irina whispered breathlessly, "not yet."

There was a long silence as they held hands across the aisle.

A lantern swam past the window. Then there was nothing but the silent snowflakes splattering against the glass.

Irina whispered: "I think we're approaching."

Sasha sat up, erect, his face the color of brass, and his voice changed, firm. "If they let us write to each other, Irina, will you....every day?"

"Of course," she answered slowly. "And I'll draw things in my letters too."

"Here. I'll draw something for you now."

She picked a small splinter of coal from the window ledge and, sure as a surgeon's scalpel, sketched a face on the back of her seat, an imp's face that grinned at them with a wide crescent mouth, with eyebrows flung up, with one eye winging mischievously, a silly, infectious, irresistible grin.

"Here," Irina said," he'll keep you company...after the station."

At the station, another train was waiting on a parallel track. Guards with bayonets escorted some of the prisoners out. Sasha held Irina, and her bones creaked in his huge arms, and he kissed her lips, her chin, her hair, her neck, and he made a sound that was not quite a moan and not quite a growl. He whispered hoarsely, furiously, into her scarf, blushing, choking, words he had always been reluctant to utter. "I...I...I love you..."

A guard touched her elbow, and she tore herself away from Sasha and followed the guard down the aisle. At the door, Sasha pushed the guard aside, savagely, insanely, and seized Irina again and held her, not kissing her, looking at her stupidly, his long hands crushing the body of the wife he had never truly possessed.

The train roared away, the silver window glowing back at him. He did not look at the snow any longer, his glance clung instead to a tiny yellow square with a black dot that was a human figure, far away.

Across an endless waste of snow, two long caterpillars spread apart, two thin, silvery streads preceded each, the threads led, disappearing into a black void, and Sasha was left alone.

That was a long reference. Thank you all for reading it. I'm a sap for romance stories and coming-of-age tales. There's no story as satisfying as a young boy rising up to meet an incredible challenge and suceeding, or two people finding the values they treasure in another and bonding over mutual respect and connection, showing what they truly value and recognizing it in another.

/being a big old wuss.

Thank you everybody for reading. It's passed 4:00 A.M here, but, luckily, I am no longer employed, so I guess I'll sleep late. Hopefully some people stop by and read my sappiness-I planned to include Harry Potter and a few other choice selections but will have to save those for another time.

Yours,

-Max

P.S. Without the aid of sleeping pills, none of this could have been possible.

The 5 Most Frustrating Things People Do in Online Gaming

I was reading a little article written by cracked.com on the "7 Biggest Dick Moves in Online Gaming" that featured 7 ridiculous moments in MMORPG history. Having never been an MMORPG player (World of Warcraft, EVE online, Second Life, all things that people with 0 lives do) I decided to make a similar list to chronicle the five most controller-chucking, heart-stopping, keyboard-pounding moments experienced while playing games online.

If you don't play video games, there ain't nothing for you here. (Besides amazing writing and hilarity.)

5. The Zergling Rush

Many people who have never played Starcraft/Starcraft 2 use the verb "zerg" to mean "ultimately destroy." (I promise you this happens. I've heard it about...7 times.) This comes from a pesky strategy some players use while playing the race of Zerg in Starcraft, which are basically these evil little bug aliens that want to consume all life in the galaxy.

He looks like a douchebag, doesn't he?

Allow me to set the scene. You're working away in your tiny base. It's early in the game and you're feeling good. No defenses are up, because early defense is for pussies. You're tooling away at building your buildings and gathering minerals and feel hopeful and positive that you're going to win.

Suddenly, TINY BUGS RAMPAGE EVERYWHERE.

Remember that time you were having fun?

This strategy is the equivalent of, when playing chess, all your opponents pawns suddenly destroy all your pieces. Or it's like 12 3 ft. tall douchers punching a struggling man to death, or 200 toddlers attacking you as you walk down the street. It's a quick end to your fun for that game.


4. Being Yelled at by 7 year Olds

It can happen to anyone. You can be playing Halo, or Call of Duty, or anything you like. All of a sudden, a high pierced shriek cuts through your speakers and tells you he's going to do your mom after he kills you and burns down your house.

You may not know it, but this little chubby guy is the devil.

This can only happen online. People who have not entered puberty do not often threaten adult strangers with death and sexual violence in the real world. If this happened, I would definitely not be afraid to curb stomp his baby fat into the gutter. When it happens online, you're helpless. Thankfully, these kids usually suck and you can yell obscenities at them post-game.


3. Spawn Camping

For those who don't know, when you die in Call of Duty or Halo, you respawn .(Note: real life does not work like this.) You get a chance to take your revenge upon your murderers with your virtual bullets. Spawn camping is where people who hate all living things wait right outside your respawn area and riddle your fresh clone with bullets before you have a chance to move.

Allow me to murder your hopes of redemption.

Besides being unfair, this kills any hope of game justice. How can you expect to redeem your mistakes when you cant move any longer in the game? For people who have lives, imagine a grown person walking into the delivery room 3 seconds after your wife gives birth and punching your newborn baby in the face. That's basically what this is.

2. People who speak in acronyms.

This is disturbingly common. You can be having a nice time and still have faith in humanity, when, out of nowhere, someone screams "ROFL GG YOU R SOOOO DEAD NEXT TIME NOOB"

There's a reason keyboards like this don't exist.

It's true that people are this stupid, unfortunately.


1. Corpse Humping

You die in video games. It happens. Then, suddenly, your murderer (or just a bystander) crouches his little virtual character on your dead body as you wait to respawn. Is there no dignity for the dead?

Sometimes, death isn't enough.

This is like saying "If I killed you in real life I'd probably dangle my balls in your face right after just so you'd know who won here."


/nerdiness.

That's enough for now. I hope this was funny for people regardless of their taste in hobbies.

-Max

I Believe That:

Preface: This is perhaps my most interesting post to date, and possible the most interesting thing I will ever write. It will likely be disjointed and follow lines of logic that only I can understand. For once in my life, grammar and syntax will come second to explanation of my points. This was inspired by a 2:30-3:00 a.m. drive through Kansas City and a too-deep conversation with Matt Cox after a typical night at the Camarata Cigar Porch. Perhaps it's just the excessive nicotine in my system after burning down a 7'' cigar down to a nub, but I appear to have reached some sort of philosophical revelation which will be explained now. You have been warned.

These are facts that I know:
3/10 of the country's richest families live in Kansas City.
My father is the smartest person I have ever met. The smartest person in history is Ayn Rand, followed by Aristotle.
I am dropping a German double major and a Psychology minor to pursue a double major in Strategic Communications and Philosophy with a German minor.
Post college, I do not know my plans. I may go to law school or may pursue a career as a writer, depending on the economic viability of the latter.

I am confident, chauvinistic, and driven. I am selfish, dedicated, and single-minded. I believe firmly in my ideals and don’t believe in a life without them.

The societal, economic, and civil decline of the world is now more prominent than ever. Africa has collapsed, if it were ever standing upright. The Middle East, mired in centuries of radical religion and dictatorship, is quickly folding. Europe is declining. We all know that North America is declining quickly. Though East Asia is growing at an incredible rate, the pace of technology and consumption in the world cannot be sustained forever.

They say humans only use 10% of their brain power. I believe that this is the only time in my life I have exceeded this "limit." I don't know by how much, but I think that, if I ever will, this is the point.

The Earth's society is now entering a state where we do not see beyond our own homes, much less our class, much less our country, much less our planet, much less other planets, and not at all The Universe.

Eventually, everything on Earth will be destroyed. Whether it is in 12 billion years when the Sun goes into a Red Giant stage and everything is consumed or in 6 months when the nuclear option is realized, the state of life we have now will not be maintained forever.

We are not a blip on the Universe's radar, and I am not a blip on the Earth’s. If the Earth’s society is destroyed, the worst event possible (to me) is my death. If I die, I will have no concept of the state of the world or how I died. It shall be the end of myself and the end of my control on my life.

The images of stars we look up to every night are merely portraits of the stars hundreds or thousands of years ago and their light just now reaching the Earth. If we ever discover life beyond the world, we will never meet it without faster-than-light travel Besides that. I, certainly, will not see it.

If Earth were to be wiped off the face of the galaxy and the universe, A) none of us would ever know and B) the Universe would not change in any way. It does not matter to me if existence is expanding or contracting in size or if bacteria and amino acids are slowly coalescing into life somewhere else, for I will never witness it. If alien civilizations like ours are looking at our stars and wondering the same things, none of us are privy to their thoughts we likely will never be.

I am not a man of faith, so I don’t believe in an afterlife. I would only like to think of one in the sense that I could observe the events of time after my demise.

There is so much (an infinite amount, even) to see, and I will never see it. There are things on Earth I will never see, and there are things in the solar system I will never see, and there are things in our galaxy and beyond that none of us will ever see. I cannot perceive 99.999 to the infinite digit of the events of time and there is no hope for further progress in that number.

That being said:

The thoughts above are depressing and true, but, in a sense, heartening. Humanity is granted significance through our insignificance. Our control over our world is just that—our control over our world. We each have a small bit of it and we alone determine the future of our species. Because we are not a blip on the radar of the Universe, then the radar of the Universe is meaningless to us. The limits of our horizons only make the things within the boundaries that much more powerful.

The events in my life are acted upon by forces outside my control, but, ultimately, I have the control over everything that happens to me, and, therefore, so does everyone.

My life is the limit of my means, and I am my own end. The same goes for everyone and everything in existence. Our time on Earth or wherever we may be is all we can ask for and expect, and the quality of our lives is the only thing about which we may be concerned. I will go to law school if I am happy there. I believe in the upholding of law and its principles. I will be a writer if I am happy. I believe in the force of sharing my views with others and the impact I can have through that medium.

That is the ultimate point of this post—we all must do what we can to be happy. Whether that is marriage and love, wealth and foreign cars, or heroin is up to the respective person. My own life is the only thing I am given, and what I can do with it is the limit of my existence.

I believe firmly in the ideals of productivity, selfishness, and internal motivation and focus for these reasons. I was not put on Earth to make other people happy.

“The man who speaks of to you of sacrifice speaks of slaves and masters. And he intends to be the master.”

That is another point entirely. My main point to communicate is: do what you can to be happy and satisfied with the time you are given. That is not justification to hurt others or worship your small whims. What you do to further your life is your own concern and only yours, but it is not reason to step over a mound of bodies to achieve it.

Again, rambling. I am going to sound completely unlike myself, but do what you love. What you love makes you happy, and happiness and satisfaction should be your ultimate goal.

Whether you confess your love over Facebook in gut-wrenching, sickening displays of affection (you know who you are) or keep it private between the people involved, though it may be just as serious and devoted, is the choice of the respective people. One is not superior to another, and whatever makes you happy is the right choice.

/ramble.

That was perhaps intense. I’m definitely having a surreal night, and hope I can actually stick to these beliefs. I also hope people may read this and care about it, but, then again, if they don’t, it made me feel better to write, and, sticking to the above principles, that’s the important thing.

I wish I could expand this further, but I wanted to get my thoughts out as soon as possible. Also, it’s quite late, and I have simulated galactic battlefields to conquer before bed. Expect returns to normal posts after this—my insistence on seriousness is blessedly limited.

Thank you,

-Max

P.S. If anybody has any opinion on the above, feel free to share it. My logic makes sense to me, but may not to most.

P.P.S. Florence + The Machine is my soundtrack to my deep thoughts and is one of my favorite bands. Check it out.

P.P.P.S. That's some heavy dope.

I've Got the Blues

This blog post is incredibly personal. It's not something I share with just anyone, so count yourselves among the blessed to deserve such a glimpse into my private life. Anyone who doesn't want to delve into the darkest places of my mind, leave now and forever hold your peace.

This post is about my favorite article of clothing ever. It is not a Ralph Lauren shirt or my sky blue Vineyard Vines shorts. It is not even my Croakies or my very fetching Sperry Authentic Originals.

This post is dedicated to my true favorite article of clothing-a 16-year old pair of blue Adidas sweatpants, also known as "My Blues."

I cut quite a dashing figure in my Blues.

Somebody in my family had the bright idea of giving this pair of sweatpants to 3-year old Max. Not several things about these pants:

1. They are now a dull purple do to over-washing.

2. They fit me almost perfectly NOW. Imagine these pants on three-year-old Max. I rolled up the cuffs five or six times and tightened the elastic all the way and still I couldn't wear them out of the house.

3. "Blues" is always capitalized.


My Blues are not just an absurdly comfortable, unbelievably fashionable, and ludicrously attractive piece of clothing. They have been worn on many a special occasion.

I wore them to Wal-Mart when I was 4, (and just a tad bigger, so they didn't fall off my waist completely.) and bought (with 13 dollars that I had saved and a generous donation from my parents.) my first Gameboy Color. Since it was the mid-90's and I was 4, I also bought Pokemon Blue version. (Though Charizard is superior to Blastoise in every way, the Blue version is easier to play as the red tone of the Red version is harsh on a young boy's eyes.)

I wore them to sleep for many years. I wore them when I woke up and lounged around in the summer. (Most of my summer activities in grade school start with an "S" and rhyme with BarCraft.)

I have, all joking aside, worn them every Christmas morning since I was 3.

I wore them under my jeans when Mizzou beat the Jayhawks in Arrowhead Stadium in 2007 to take the #1 place in the BCS.

I wore my Blues to every day of lacrosse conditioning I attended. (All six, I think.)

There are many more instances, but on to more important things.

Rules of the Blues:

1. Do not EVER leave the house with the Blues on unless it is a special event.

2. The Blues must never be worn twice in one washing cycle.

3. The Blues can only be worn to bed when I have clean sheets. (As in, never slept in.)

4. If the Blues are worn post-shower (they always are) then they are never donned while wet. 5-10 minutes of air-drying is vital.

5. The Blues cannot go with me to Mizzou. (They will next year, but I wouldn't dare to subject something so close to my heart to the washers and dryers of Mark Twain.)

6. The Blues can never travel outside of Kansas City. (Soon this area will include Columbia. They may never go on vacation for fear a jealous bottomfeeder may steal them.)

7. Anyone who attempts to touch the Blues with anything besides a freshly washed hand will draw back a bloody stump.

8. The Blues will never be used as shacker pajamas for any reason. When I am eventually married, my wife is not allowed to wear my Blues. (If she is lucky she may look at me while I wear them.) When my body returns to the loam and the cities are but dust, my Blues shall survive, unworn by any other person.

/rules.

I am quite serious about all of this. (No I'm actually not. But a little I am. Nah....but I am a little.)

Anyone who is privy to the glory of my Blues next year should consider themselves lucky. I believe it is time to paraphrase the poet Shelley:

"Look upon my Blues, ye mighty, and despair!" (I said paraphrase which means, in journalism, I can change whatever I want.)

Thank you all for sticking through to the end of this extremely personal confession. If you're thinking about commenting, please do. (And if you read that sentence, you automatically are thinking about it.)

-Max

P.S. Next on A Study in Max: I defend frattiness.

Finally being positive?-Part 3: Starcraft and Mark Twain Memz

Each time I have finished an article in this continued series, I tell myself: "Well, you've about exhausted that line of reasoning."

Not true, apparently. Beneath my layers of sardonic mannerisms and general cynicism, I am actually a positive person. Lots of things make me happy; beaches and quality seafood are two things that quickly come to mind, and who knows how many more exist! I even enjoy writing about them, most of the time. (Unless the plebians at work kindle my considerable ire.)

I am slow to anger but furious when it happens. Now that I've substituted punching and kicking for writing angry blog posts, everything seems to be a little brighter. (Bright enough for Croakies, even.)

But that's enough about me. Let's get on to more me. Don't read a blog titled "A Study in Max" unless you want to hear about Max.

1. The Demon Inside of Me

I refer, of course, to my insatiable love for Starcraft. This all started when I was a young lad of 6. During the summer, my cousin Sam (who lived in Wichita and is two years older) would wake up at 9 a.m. and rush to our respective computers. We'd get on the phone and then start a heavy day of Starcraft. Pausing at midday to eat a Lunchable (I was quite fond of the Taco or Cracker sandwich varieties) we would resume our intergalactic domination until the early afternoon. Then I would start reading. I was quite the party animal back then.

Starcraft, like all things, lost my attention after a year or two. I moved on to bigger and better things--namely Halo, The Lord of the Rings, and why my voice started to crack uncontrollably. (Unbelievable as it may seem, I was not always the perfect specimen of the male form that I am today.)

That all changed, however, when Starcraft II, a sequel long in the making, was released in early August of last year.

I, being the social butterfly I was, had eagerly followed the development of my favorite series throughout the decade-long debacle before it was sprung fully formed from Blizzard's loins. (I am ashamed to admit that I support the company responsible for World of Warcraft.) When the game emerged, I was in Mexico. I returned and barely allowed myself time to carry in my bags before the Manbrid and I shot off into the night to the nearest Wal-Mart (at about midnight) to fulfill my life's dream.

I eagerly sat down to play in my room. Chris Camarata, one of my good friends from home, played a game with me online. Installation included, it was about 2 a.m.

At 2:45 I was admitted to the hospital. Amazingly, the incident in question was not excitement-related. It was actually E. Coli. Turns out Mexico is not only filthy economically, but also hygienically.

You bet your ass I brought my laptop with me. The hospital's meager WiFi could not support the ever-hungry bandwith monster that is my addiction, but I played single player to my heart's content. (That is, when I wasn't passing into pain-medication induced comas and wishing for death in my unclean hospital bed.)

It may not be fratty, or even cool in the slightest sense of the word, but nobody can take Starcraft away from me. There is a certain satisfaction you hold when vast armies respond to your very click and you see your forces hold against wave after wave....

You know what? Next section!

2. Shitty Residence Hall Filled with Awesome People

Despite the unforgiving linoleum floors (The interior designer of Mark Twain specialized in industrial bathrooms before his first big [And, God willing, his final] project) the crumbling, pockmarked, and scuffed cinderblock walls, the random pipes that ran across the ceiling, and the eternal filthiness of the floor (dirt was actually ingrained chemically into the aforementioned linoleum), Twain had a certain quaintness about it, much like a Dark Ages British mud harvester.

Besides the room quality itself, which, if I were an English nanny, would dub "simply dreadful," Mark Twain contained a large proportion of pretty amazing people. Shout-outs will be given individually, if you aren't included then please submit your concerns here: they will be taken by my receptionist.

In no particular order:

Natalie "Natty" Cheng: AKA Ping: What can I say? She's completely crazy. Whether she's wearing puffy sweaters or artsy hats or cleaning her eternally messy room, she's a delight. She also balances out our group ethnically, as we appear to be almost exclusively white.

Steven "STEEEEVEEE" Scheller: AKA The Mechanic: He fixes stuff. He drives a cool car. He's always chill. He's always there to get things off a high shelf. What else needs to be said?

Dylan "Catty" Chapman: Always there to provide us with cutting humor and stereotypical love of America's Next Top Model--two crucial things.

Laura "Ice Queen" Willenbring: If Laura didn't exist, I would seem like the biggest douchebag in the world. (I don't already....right guys?) She balances out my cold exterior with her even colder exterior. There's a reason Minnesota is the way it is.

Bethany "Methany" Christo: She is clinically insane and also a hobbit. Hobbies include sleeping on floors and doing homework in the perfect times to make me feel like a worthless turd.

Theresa "Bro" Beno: What can I even say? She knows how to eat a chicken wing properly. She will, on occasion, punch things without warning. She will never take any of my shit and I love her for that.

Katarina "What are you, like Russian or something?" Sostaric: I wonder if clinical insanity is a trend in our group, because we have another example. Couldn't pick a better roommate and shares my love of Jersey Shore, chill music, and Asian Zing Buffalo Wild Wings.

Jessica "Artsy as Shit" Smith: Though she may appear to be insane as well, she is actually more stable than I can imagine. She kept our entire group fed and alive during Spring Break and is the most sensible person out of a group of people who, on occasion, make poor decisions.


Garrett "Garolly" Richie: The true King of the Jeeds. Always helpful, always kind, always cargo-short clad. Outdoorsy enough to make me jealous. Unfortunately he is already married, ladies. (Wait, he isn't yet? What are they waiting for?)

Jimmy "Homos should be Homeless" Hibsch: One of the most talented writers I've ever met. Obsessed with powerful minority women. Also, this one movie was totally filmed at his high school.

Winn "This isn't even a thing" Duvall: If I elaborate on this, she'll wring my throat with her tiny hands or crush me to death with her gigantic...force of will, but, suffice to say, I'm a fan. Charming, delightfully weird, and perfectly Southern. Her body is powered exclusively by McNuggets and Sweet Tea and she has a tendency to slap things I enjoy out of my hands to fall on the pavement and then laugh in my face. Maniacal? Perhaps. However, if we don't interact viciously in public, we may fall into a pit of public affection that will wrench the sanity from either of us. She's also my girlfriend, I guess.


That's all for now. I hope everybody enjoys this. More to come. My cleverness knows no bounds!

-Max

P.S. I am legitimately sorry if I forgot anyone from the list. It is approaching 1 a.m. and I have to dedicate 9 hours of my time tomorrow to giving boat rides to the serfs of Kansas City. We must act quickly, before they discover movable printed type, circulate fliers, and rise up against the landed gentry.

100 Things to Do Before I Die

Considering the unlikely event of my death (with recent scientific advances and my upper class income, it could be possible that I will become immortal) I have made a list of 100 things I should do before I die. A few things about this list:

It is not universal. Though everyone should want to do these things, they are not feasible for absolutely every person. (Some of them are quite unfeasible for me, even. Hard as it is to believe, I cannot do everything as perfectly as I do some things.)

It is not complete. There are, of course, things that don't appear on this list that I would also want to do before I die. For example, "eat chocolate cake" is not on this list, but I would sure like to repeat those experiences.

It is not entirely serious. I know some of these things are not possible for humans. I know that some of these things are mutually exclusive. That doesn't matter. In a perfect world, I could do all these things.

Carats that point up indicate related items.
Here we go:

1. Pistol whip someone
2. Menace someone with a broken bottle in a bar fight.
3. Be in a bar fight.
4. Be in a bar fight and beat multiple opponents singe-handedly.
5. See the great wall of China
6. Go into space
7. Fly a jumbo jet
8. Visit Syria (land of my grandfather!)
9. Go to Oktoberfest
10. Skydive
11. Be hit on by a supermodel
11. Hit on a supermodel
12. Be hit on by a midget, but reject him/her.
13. Play basketball and not embarrass myself.
14. Dance onstage and not embarrass myself.
15. Dribble between my legs and not look like a foo'.
16. Survive my 21st birthday.
17. Never take another shot of cinnamon.
18. Punch a random stranger with no provocation.
19. Get a puppy, raise to maturity.
20. Climb Mt. Everest.
21. Run with a pack of wolves.
22. Run with the bulls.
23. Go to the Superbowl.
24. Get elected to exec board.
25. Meet Ben Roethilsberger.
26. Do a power 2-hours.
27. Make my own jerky.
28. See the Hobbit movies at midnight.
29. Get tapped for an MU secret society.
30. Shoot a dangerous animal while it is charging me.
Say the following phrases to someone (in complete seriousness):
31. "I wish I knew how to quit you!"
32. "I am not the father."
33. "Are you kidding? This is an eight thousand dollar suit."
34. "What seems to be the officer, problem?"
35. "I've made a huge mistake."
36: "Of course I'm being serious. This is my serious face."
37. Go to Duke University School of Law.
38. Move to the south. (Like the nice south, not like Mississippi)
39. Tame a predatory animal. (Wolf, killer whale, etc.)
40. Wear colors so pastel-bright that it is actually painful to look at me.
41. Be charged with a felony, but be found not guilty in a dramatic case.
42. Get the words "Not all those who wander are lost" tattooed on my back.
43. Get this painting tattooed on my opposite shoulder blade: http://www.imagekind.com/Ryu-sho-ten-Dragon-Rising-to-the-Heavens_art?IMID=0afb0cc6-90d6-4769-84fe-b603a8c4275a
44. Bench 285.
45. Squat 250.
46. Learn to throw a football correctly.
47. Learn to throw a baseball correctly.
48. Play a game of strip poker.
49. Join a co-ed recreational softball league and take it way too seriously.
50. Visit Dubai.
51. Ski in the indoor mountain in Dubai.
52. Work in a corner office with some sort of huge window and a city scape view.
53. Be able to drink single-malt scotch or fine whiskey and enjoy it, not just pretend to. (Not shots)
54. Call another professor out on being racist in a huge lecture class.
55. Use the integrated toilet that comes in a space suit.
56. Prosecute a major, dramatic case where the defendant is found guilty.
57. Be held in contempt of court for a dramatic yet justified outbreak of rage while at trial.
58. Read the Lord of the rings books 50 times in my life.
59. See the last Harry Potter movie at midnight, in costume.
60. Cry at the ending of a movie. Like for real.
61. Make a professor cry in class. This can happen in any way.
62. Be able to pay for a BMW in full, in cash. (and not something lame like a 1 series. Like an M3)
63. Investigate a crime scene.
64. Investigate a crime scene when I'm not a cop and there aren't cops present.
65. ^^^ enact some vigilante justice.
66. Survive some kind of apocalypse. (Disease, nuclear, whatever happens.)
67. ^^Rebuild society, declare myself King of something not usually ruled by Monarchy. (ex: "King of Oregon")
68. Ride a horse across the plains, at full gallop.
69. Hunt with a bow and arrow from horseback. Not like a rabbit either, like a buffalo.
70. See Florence and the Machine in concert.
71. See Kanye in concert.
72. See Eminem in concert.
73. Shoot a flamethrower.
74. Be offered crack cocaine but politely decline.
75. Learn to speak 4 languages. (Not including Elvish)
76. Visit the south coast of Spain. It's supposed to be nice in summer.
77. Visit Moscow but not enjoy it.
78. Use the phrase "irony" correctly.
79. Never use quotation fingers again.
80. Drive through Detroit and survive.
81. Draw a picture of people without stick figures being involved.
82. Drop a bomb on something from a plane.
83. Get married.
84. Have some kids of an indeterminate number.
85. Be told that "I am the worst person (another person) has ever met."
86. Throw out the first pitch of the K.C. Royals' season.
87. Meet Angelina Jolie, get her phone number, but never call her because she's crazy.
88. Swim with a dolphin.
89. Delicately clean oil spill residue off an endangered species.
90. Drive a car 200 mph.
91. Be in a drag race.
92. Act in an action movie, even has an extra who just gets blown up.
93. Punch through a wall.
94. Have my wife bear me a male heir.
95. Live to see my great-grandchildren.
96. Stab somebody in the sternum with an epinephrine pen in order to save their life.
97. Free some prisoners from wrongful incarceration. (POW's or a jail. Doesn't matter.)
98. Start a riot.
99.^^ Light a car on fire.
100. ^^^Fight some looters for the last TV in a Best Buy or something.

Bonus round:

101. Kill a vampire with a stake.
102. Own a motorcycle.
103. Jump my motorcycle over a river.
104. Draw some blueprints.
105. Never play World of Warcraft.
106: Be applauded with great vigor.
107. Pound my fist on a table to make a point. (During a speech.)
108. Disrespect a stranger (female) so much that she slaps me in the face.
109. Disrespect a stranger (male) so much that he tries to punch me. I of course block the punch and disable him however I see fit.
110: Throw a knife and have it hit my intended target.
111: Throw an Axe Bomb at someone. (Where you duct tape a can of Axe body spray to the "spray" position and throw it into someone's room.)
112: Shoot a big sniper rifle.
113: Kick someone in the chest and have them fall through a giant pane of glass behind them. (Not necessarily a window. It can be any kind of large glass.)
114: See every episode of The Office to its completion, no matter how much it may suck.
115: Make someone leave me alone with just an angry glare.
116: Captain an aircraft carrier.
117: ^^^Be referred to as "Admiral."
118: Never shave any part of my body besides my face.
119: Resist the urge to clothesline children as they run about.
120: Burn down a building. (Not with anybody inside. That's awful)
121: ^^^Be a successful arsonist.
122: Videotape something that gets on the news.
123: Start a company.
124: Run without an odd loping stride.
125: Punch a Disney executive in the face. They deserve it for so many things, but primarily The Cheetah Girls, parts 1 and 2.

/list.

I hope everyone enjoyed it. If you did, comment below. If you didn't also comment below. I love feedback more than I love most people.

-Max

P.S. Everybody read the blogs belonging to Brandon Foster, Dylan Chapman, Garrett Richie, Katarina Sostaric, Rob Langellier and his cult, Jimmy Hibsch, and Allison Pohle. They are superior to mine in so many ways.

The Eternal Question-Why do People Suck?

I'm on a blogging rampage lately. The added time in the summer really opens up my creativity by making me so bored during the day that writing words that nobody reads seems like a productive use of my time.

The topic for today is one that has hounded my thoughts like Gollum hounded Frodo and Sam through the lands of Mordor and eventually led them into the caves near Cirith Ungol to be hunted by the spider Shelob.

Oh dammit I've done it again.

Anyway, the topic for today is "why people suck." In my work during the summer, I come into contact with literal thousands of creatures spawned from the seedy underbelly of Kansas City. (Mainly the middle bit. We don't care for the middle bit.) These come in the form of small hoodlums (I am not a racist. These are multicultural hoodlums.) terrible parents ("Get down off that gorilla statue Danny before I whoop your ass in front'a all of these people.") and people who come from miles away (like Montana) to demand services like "Why can't you just air condition the outside?"

Note: Every quote in this blog post is 100% factual.

Now the Kansas City Zoo is a fine organization, but it just seems to attract people that suck. And not EVERYBODY who comes to the Zoo sucks. Just the ones I encounter, it seems. I see perfectly happy families trundling their wheeled coolers filled with Sunny D and tuna salad through the exhibits all the time. Unfortunately, those people don't cause problems, and therefore I don't notice them.

1. Those little backpack things for kids that are actually leashes.

Who do parents think they are fooling with this? It may look like a monkey is giving your toddler a big friendly hug, but one look at the fabric looped around your wrist (can't have them kids running off. They could use their tiny fists to break into the gorilla exhibit) and the little child-safe locks on their tiny sternums reveals what you have put on your child--the equivalent of a softer and more cartoonish dog collar.

2. The little Sacagawea child holders

I don't know who invented these (the phrase I have dubbed them with leads me to believe American Indians) but I'm sure they were useful at the time, when mothers were busy with their hands picking grains or sewing together pieces of buffalo hide for houses or digging birthing trenches and couldn't leave their child in the teepee or he may die of the rickets or be carried off by wolves. (Sidenote, if a wolf carried him off he may be alright, as he may be raised as one of their kind. I can't imagine a greater life for any teenager than running with a wolf pack. No Hangover references, please.)

However, they are not as useful now. They now free mother's hands to text or phone their friends, hold their purse(s), hold a 62 oz. Diet Coke, (another bone I have with society, but that is neither here nor there) or use their credit card for minor food purchases.

It's a child, not a fanny pack. Touch that varmint once in awhile; it may be the difference between him growing up into a sociopath or a normal human.

3. People who don't say please or thank you.

This is self explanatory. Every time I'm performing a service for people, I say please and thank you. (Thank you for the money you owe me for this service. Please enter the ride at this time) and am rarely shown the same courtesy. Was anyone not taught this?

4. Parents who let their kids run wild! This may turn them into little multicultural hoodlums.

When I see young Cody or William running pell-mell around my work station, I start to get a little tense, as in: "If I hit him with a vehicle I'm operating there's likely to be some sort of liability."

Keep your kids near you. They should know how to do this on their own. Toddler's minds rarely think "FAST MOVING VEHICLE! ESCAPE FROM GUARDIANS AND RUN TO IT!" without some prior conditioning. (or lack thereof.)

I mean, if it just comes down to it, buy them a backpack leash disguised as a hugging monkey.

5. People who ask dumb questions.

"There are no stupid questions, just stupid people."

I am asked a variety of questions each week that give me pause. (Not at the time, or else the customer in question would look at me blankly, and then who would be the stupid one?)

"Why don't you air condition the outside?" Cause if we could do that, there would be no more exposure deaths. Also I'm pretty sure it would kill all the animals.

"Do the sea otters get to find their own food and eat it?" The sea otter exhibit is almost exclusively populated by sea otters, who are not known specifically for their cannibalistic traits.

"Has anyone ever fallen in the lion pit?" If this had happened, A) you probably would not be next to the lion pit, which is actually not a pit, and B) would probably have heard about it.

"Which way to the pandas?" What makes you think we would have pandas? You're referring to the deceptively named red pandas, which we do have, but are more like tiny raccoons.

"Okay, if we only have one hour to walk through the Zoo, where should we go?" Home. It's like 6 miles if you do the whole thing.

"Isn't this zoo free?" No it's not free! It's never been free. We don't have Anheuser-Busch to fund the entire operation (STL, number one in murders and beer).

"How much is the Zoo normally?" First of all, phrasing. Second of all, I'm working in the stroller rental stand, so you already have paid for a ticket.

(Not said to me) "Man, I can't decide if I wanna go visit my kids after school, or go get a new tattoo!" I don't know what this woman eventually did, but one option leaves me no faith with humanity.

(Not said to me) "I swear to God grandma, if you embarrass us like that one more time, we're driving you straight back to the nursing home." Well at least she's having fun in the 90 degree weather in the meantime. Wonder if those walker handles get hot?



That's all for now.

I hope you enjoyed reading this more than I enjoyed writing it! Because I enjoyed it a lot.

Please comment if you feel the need!

-Max

P.S. Look for my famous list of "100 things I'd like to do before I die", coming soon to this very blog.


For legal purposes: The opinions offered in this writing do not reflect the opinions of the Kansas City Zoo, FOTZ, or any city employee besides the writer. This is not an official statement by any KC Zoo staff member, director, or docent and cannot be seen as associated with the organization. If offense is taken at the content of the article, it must be directed at the writer. FOTZ and the Kansas City Zoo disavow any association with this article or the opinions contained herein.

Finally being positive?-Part 2: Mizzou, Plans for the Future, and Dixie

In keeping with the more positive feedback I received from my last post, which focused less on sardonic cruelty and more on things I don't hate, I present Part 2 of my continued series of happy things:

1. Mizzou

"Every true son..."

How can I describe my devotion to this school? I'm the fourth member in two generations of Congers to go through the J-School program. I was at my first Mizzou football game when I was two years old. I remember gaining reproachful looks from my mother when I shouted "Colorado ain't shit!" at the tender age of 5. (I heard a person in the bathroom say it.) I've been in a half dozen states for Missouri football, following my team fearlessly to Dallas, San Antonio, Tempe, Kansas City, and...Lawrence. (May it burn once again.)

I remember Brad Smith. (Remember Blaine Gabbert? Well before him we had Chase Daniel. [now 2nd string for the Saints.]) Before both of them we had Brad Smith, a man who led our football team from seasons where I and my father glumly accepted a 7-6 season as "not too bad" to consistent bowl game appearances. One of my most vivid memories from my childhood was October 11, 2003 on Faurot Field vs Nebraska. Our first victory over the Cornhuskers (may their heads be stricken from their shoulders) since 1979, the game took place in the pouring rain. We were behind until the third quarter, when a fake-field-goal turned into a huge touchdown run by our former quarterback, who now plays special teams and WR for the Jets.

God I love this school. Besides sports, besides always knowing, in some place of me, that I would someday graduate from Mizzou, the people that I've met in my first year only have convinced me of the school's worth. Special thanks to the Delta Chi Fraternity, the men and women of Mark Twain, and the instant-constipation food of Mark Twain Market for those experiences.


2. Plans for the Future

I imagine a group....harem...concubine of women following me in a dozen identical silver Mercedes roadsters. Leading the pack in a black Lamborghini (The car I generally drive on alternate Tuesdays, when I can fit it in with my other sports cars' schedules.) I rocket down the Autobahn at speeds exceeding 180 mph. (I refuse to use kilometers, even in Europe.) The police won't dare stop me in the restricted parts of the highway-I pay most of their salaries. Also, my night-time hobby of vigilante justice as a masked crime fighter makes their lives easier. (I don't have any super powers, but I do have a black belt in almost everything except Taekwondo, the Dane Cook of martial arts. My costume is actually sponsored by Underarmour and Vineyard Vines. Everybody knows my identity, but my mercenaries (hired through a company that I own) will protect me.

Where am I going? Oh, just to my fifth home. (this one is technically a castle. The German government was trying to dissuade me from buying it, but I won them over with my perfect teeth and 60 million dollars in a dramatic briefcase.) I'm just driving from Paris, where my third home is. Thankfully, I've had all the French people exported and replaced by Americans. (I know French, it is my 10th language, but I refuse to speak it.) I usually take a jet fighter over the Ardennes to lessen travel time.

I'll probably just go to my castle to do a bit of charity work. Set up a soup kitchen for underprivileged and disabled youth, who I have to have shipped in because I've set up so many wonderful schools in the area. It will be outside the castle gates, because it would be a shame if their tiny crutches were to damage my careful landscaping.

This is the life I can imagine in my wildest dreams. (I know this will not happen to anyone.) Instead, I'm in a Midwestern city. My family is in a high enough tax bracket (Look at that whale on my shirt. That speaks volumes, considering I paid a 300% upmark for it.) but none of us are driving Lamborghinis and we don't have enough cars to have weekly rotation schedules.

Question is-What do I do with my life? How do I attain my major goal, which will be revealed in just a moment? (This is where I will reveal a terrible thing about me; actually it's wonderful, but that's another discussion.)

I love money and wealth. Say what you want about it not being able to buy happiness (those people who say that just don't know where to shop.) or it being the root of all evil (which in fact is Socialism) but I see it as a sign of success and a measurable value of productivity.

I am willing to do anything for the right price. You know those appalling "truth.com" commercials where they ask: "Would you accept 60 million a year to be a tobacco lobbyist, knowing you are helping companies kill thousands each year?"

Yes. I would. I would probably accept a mere 15 million for that position. Likewise, I could be an illegal arms merchant. (As long as I only sell guns to American people. I consider my countrymen trustworthy. My private army, at least, ensures that no personal harm will come to me.) I could also be a lawyer who worked his damndest to defend white collar corporate embezzlers. As long as that paycheck has 7 digits, I'll do just about anything for it. If it has six, the odds go down a lot, but I'll still be more than happy with that. I'm looking for more than 5. No offense to any income bracket of my readers, but I've grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort and ease in my childhood. I want to replicate what I consider a fantastic experience for my children one day. I'm not saying my children will be better than yours (though genetically the odds are on my side, I mean....) but they will not want for anything. (Except nice cars when they turn 16, that's bullshit.)

I'm not saying give children whatever they want. My true goal in life is never to have to say no to my children because I am unable to provide. "Dad, can I have Jay-Z perform for my 18th birthday?" "Hell no you can't. I could get you him, by god, but I won't on principle."

I can sum up this section in a TFM I saw today:

"If I were to be killed, they would call it an assassination. TFM."

3.

Cue banjos:

Oh, I wish I were in the land of cotton,
Old times there were not forgotten,
Look away! Look away! Look away,
Dixieland!

I have only visited the South a few times in my life. The first was to Texas. I will say right now that I wasn't impressed. Come on guys, you aren't a separate country, as much as we might prefer it. We only keep you because you balance out our flag.

The second was a road trip through Kentucky, West Virginia, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. Since I was in a car for about 6 days total in 2 weeks and I was maybe 12 years old, I couldn't have given a care less about what was outside the window.

My REAL visit was to Mobile, Alabama. First off, this city is straight underrated. Even if their skyline is three buildings, (two of which are the exact same, but one is smaller.) or they cut down trees to find leprechaun gold underneath, it's a beautiful place. There are trees everywhere, the grass is green, it's always at least a bit warm, and everybody drives trucks.

Sure, there are a lot of cut offs, dip cans, and giant boosted suspension trucks with American eagle (not the brand, don't get your hopes up GDIS) decals on the back windows, but I still love it. Everybody I met was more polite. Overall, people were better dressers. Croakies were looked on with acceptance instead of scorn. (Side note about those-they are both comfortable, convenient, and show people you have money by placing a nice brand on the back of your neck like a tattoo. If anybody says, "but I don't care about people knowing I have money" then shame on you. If that were true, everybody would drive Kias and wear clothes from the Gap. (Sorry Gap. It had to come out eventually. You and I had a good run, but I'd like you to quit calling late in the night and begging me to take you back. I have a new significant other now, and he has a tiny horse and a mallet. You can't offer me that.)

Since my frat-aside is now complete, let me get back to things that make me happy.

I love the South now. Even Mississippi (Or Missippi for Winn) was fun to drive through. (More fun than Arkansas. But so is catheter insertion.) I loved being around Southern people, who had courtesy and friendliness you don't find in the North, and, though the Midwest is better, it's just not as good. I loved the food, which was generally fried and served in larger portions than the ones to which I am accustomed. I liked that people can hang out on the beach all day, any day. I liked that people would just say "Roll Tide" to each other when they were clearly strangers. I even love the smell. It smells like greasy food, the ocean, and secession. (THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!)

/rant

In Dixieland, I'll make my stand,
To live and die,
IN DIXIE!

I can only hope. Thank you for reading this far, if you did. If you skipped to the last line, shame on you, but like the link anyway. It'll make me feel miles better, and we all know I have a problem with self esteem.

-Max

P.S. This series is likely ended. On the next "Study in Max:"

Max finds himself in a predicament! Nothing good is on TV and my workout schedule is moving from dedicated to self-abusive.

Finally being positive? My Bed, LOTR, and Freshman year.

In an effort to make this blog not a black-background-ed pissing contest where I list things that make me angry, I'm going to try a different approach that will be less of me writing for the purpose of it and now writing to entertain and enlighten my readers. (All four of you.)

So, here's the first part of a series of positive things, where I will attempt to be less of a catty, depressing, and uninteresting little turdburglar. (Oxford comma usage will continue as I believe it should.)

1. Striving for a clean bed.

Anybody who has spent time in my room or company knows of my famous (perhaps infamous?) bed tic. Rules are as follows:

1. Anyone who enters the bed shall shower first. This includes me and also includes pre-naps.

2. Homework shall never be done in bed. Similarly avoid facebooking, movie watching, or Starcrafting. (A verb I have made up and determined is valid.)

3. Anyone who eats in my bed or attempts to is banished from my life. (This is a serious punishment.)

4. If you spill anything more serious than water on my bed, you must buy me new sheets. (This includes all bodily fluids and 99% of beverages.) Crumbs are okay, but that assumes you are eating in my bed. See rule number 3.

5. If you are freshly showered, great. Don't change into dirty clothes or the clothes you were in pre-shower. This invalidates your shower. Likewise, do not allow your post-shower clothing to touch the floor before donning it.

6. Wear slippers to and from the bed. (This one is the only rule not set in stone. I am guilty of breaking it a few times.)

7. Don't shower, then go do stuff, then get in bed. If you shower and have a snack, that is maybe alright if you don't get dirty.

Those are all the rules. I will explain my rationale for them:

I don't like sleeping in filth.

Think about this! Sleeping is 1/3rd of your life (Or 1/100th of your time in college, it seems.) Why would you spend that 1/3rd of your life, (which is more time than you will spend doing any other single activity!) dirty? Now only dirty, but...simmering in the dirt of the day you have just left? Isn't it nicer to get home, shower, and get into a nice, clean, warm bed that is free of your woes and sweat from the day? Yes, it is. I find that the only appropriate verbs for sleeping in a dirty bed are "Simmer" and "Wallow."

Now, you're asking me "Hey Max, what about naps, it's inconvenient to shower before each one!" I shall first chastise you for improper comma usage. Then I shall respond:

"Yes it is. That's why you should have a couch, futon, or comfortable chair to nap on."

That's all on my bed tic. It makes sense. If my future wife doesn't accept that, then I guess I'll be buying 2 twins. (Or a king for me and a twin for her. That'll show her.)



2. Why the Lord of the Rings is the best thing ever.

I mean that with no exaggeration. It is my favorite series, favorite book, and favorite movie(s). It is the greatest story ever told ever in my opinion.

Why? Many reasons! It is a classic story of good versus evil. Evil outnumbers, outmatches, and outeverythings good, but good prevails. A monumental, almost impossible task falls to a small, unassuming, and unheroic member of a community. He is aided along by his former employee (gardener Sam Gamgee in this case) who becomes his most trusted friend and ally. It has magic, which is kinda cool. It has swords and trolls and horses and catapults and giant dragon things ridden by cloaked ghosts with swords, which are all really cool. (By the way, all of these things have proper names that I won't use here to embarrass myself.)

Nevermind that. For nerds, it has Swords (Glamdring, Narsil, Anduril, Orcrist, Sting, etc.), trolls (Mountain, Forest, and Frost) horses (Shadowfax, Snowmane, Asfaloth, Hasufel) catapults (exactly like they sound) and giant dragon things ridden by cloaked ghosts with swords. (Fellbeasts, ridden on by Nazgul. In Tolkein's words "it was a winged creature: if bird, then greater than all other birds, and it was naked, and neither quill nor feather did it bear, and its vast pinions were as webs of hide between horned fingers;")

The story itself is long, but not long enough to be boring or annoying. It is filled with beautiful, meaningful writing. (Meaningful enough for me to strongly consider getting some tattooed on my body.) Consider this:

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

Fantastic rhythm, perfect meter, and incredible word choice. The second line will be inked, eventually, onto my right shoulder blade. (I hope.)

I could go on forever. In the interest of you continuing to read to the best part, I'll move on.

3. Freshman year-A Wrap-up

I won't go on about particular events, especially potentially incriminating ones. I will sum up my experience of freshman year with a few quotes.

"Well she'll be doing it alone, and that's called alcoholism."

"You can't facetime in a coverup."

"Look at this guy, Mr. Big Headphones."

"Who paid for that floor? I ain't never paid for a floor in my life. Not once, not NEVA."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!? GET OUT OF OUR LINE?!"

And so many more. By the numbers:

I was single for 1 month and 1 week.
I painted up for 3 football games.
I was present for one Homecoming victory and one record-breaking College Gameday.
I drove over a full day in the car to Gulf Shores, AL and back. I only wish it could have lasted longer.
I spent a week in Mobile, AL. I hope to go back as soon as I can, as I found it amazing.

The other numbers are perhaps incriminating, and so that section is shorter.

To end on a good note, thank you to all of my friends who made my first year at Mizzou so great. There are far too many to list, but a few deserve special recognition:

The 15 people who went on Spring Break to Gulf Shores. It was an amazing time.
Laura Willenbring and Katarina Sostaric. Couldn't be happier with any future roommates.
Garrett Richie, who at times disgusted me with his facebook statuses, blew me away with his frankness about his girlfriend, and impressed me (even inspired me?) with his writing.
My second-semester roommate Steven Scheller. I ain't even mad.
Winn Duvall. She will kill me if I elaborate further.


Until next time, I hope I stay as positive,

-Max

P.S. Ron Paul/Donald Trump 2012. This is our time.

Companion post to below: please use this picture for reference.

Courtesy of theoatmeal.com.

Rants, Ravings, Things that piss me off, and things I find delightful

SPOILER ALERT

The first part of this is not going to be a happy post. Since I post on the blog approximately 3 times a year, it generally comes at moments of intense emotion. Unfortunately, the only emotions that send me into literary rages are…literal rages. Literal literary rages. Pray that my ire does not find you in its sights, or you may try to jump me in an alley with a shiv made out of a broken microwave turntable or the oddly sharp towel hooks in the Mark Twain bathrooms.

The second part will be so happy! They will be things that I have found delightful in the past several weeks. Bear with the anger, and find yourself rewarded with positive things about which you literally could not care less.

Jumping off the last sentence of the paragraph:

The misuse of the word literally.

I am guilty of this on occasion. Yesterday in chapter I used the phrase “I’ve seen this fraternity literally explode with growth.” Thankfully, I caught myself before too much embarrassment occurred.

However, too many people do this. Literally LITERALLY means that something is happening tangibly, exactly as it is described, with no exaggeration. When Jerry Falwell said “the homosexual steamroller will literally crush every decent man, woman, and child…” he was implying this: (See above)

On an E! channel (my sister watches this please don’t shun me) a commentator said, “Britney Spears is literally on a rollercoaster to hell.” What?

Saleem Alhabash, Doctoral Candidate and 1/10 of a professor.

Many of the people who will read this (so all 4 of you) will recognize my use of the 6-letter curse word “Saleem.” We all have a Saleem story of our own. Maybe he failed to take action in your group? Maybe he threatened to re-grade your test for a lower grade if you came to him to contest a point he took off. Maybe he just shut down a class discussion where you called out a racist guest lecturer. (Present!) Or maybe he just, in DEFIANCE OF ALL FINANCIAL JUSTICE, continued to draw a paycheck (of Missouri’s tax dollars, no less) for the return of his services, that usually consist of a wonderfully designed powerpoint and a 1 minute introduction of a niche guest lecturer.

Maybe he gave your group a prompt that consisted of “Make up a music festival. Please apply it and market it to a market that doesn’t exist. Please interview the non-existent market (in this case, Mid-Missouri Arab-Americans who like rap music) to see if they are offended.”

Saleem continues to astound me by moving from a likeable, young doctoral candidate (“This class will be mostly discussion! We want you all to participate) to only slightly strict (“Your test will be re-graded if you come to me with mistakes you thought I have made.”) to having a vendetta against his students. (“I am disappointed by this test. It was easy. Remembering the readings [Generally 30+ pages of barely-related articles per week, for 4 weeks a test] plus the guest lecturers [ranging from people who think ads featuring black women involving food are automatically racist to mentally disabled people giving us lectures on why we should use the preposition “with” when describing them, as if it changes a thing] plus my completely random clips and trying to generate and regurgitate MY OPINIONS on the test shouldn’t be hard, I mean come on.”)

P.S. If you followed the parenthetical insanity of that, power to you.

Cross-Cultural Journalism

This course could be renamed “Why aren’t you offended?!” If you aren’t offended by the guest lecturer’s “lecture’s”—I use the term lightly, as only 30% of them are mentally stimulating or even factual—and don’t regurgitate your offense (which you’d better have) on the test, then you are failed. Questions like “What should the media do to fix the underrepresentation of female athletes on television” cannot be answered with “make women’s sports interesting.” (As I believe it should be.) (Side note: Softball could be made much more profitable at the national level if it were played on a much smaller field and became full-contact. Not full-contact like football, but full-contact like boxing.)

If this course is the model for all courses on racial thought at Missouri, then I am quite afraid for future generations who are forced to go through the class.

People who take the elevator from the first to the second or third floors.

This is self explanatory and it comes down to basic human laziness. Unless you’re carting luggage then don’t do it.

People who wear cut-off shirts and are skinny, people who wear thongs and are overweight, flat-brimmed hats and leave the size tag on.

The first two should require applications that would have to go to vote to a board that would consist of reasonable people.

The latter shouldn’t happen. I am not impressed by your head size, whether big or small. (Does this even affect how you look, unless it is absurdly big or ridiculously small? In either case, don’t advertise it. Also, how are hats sized? Is 40…40 cm? 40 inches of circumference? Is 40 big, or small?) It doesn’t change the hat fashion-wise. It literally makes no sense. It is not even sensical enough to be stupid, it’s just…worthless.

People who insist on using the metric system in daily speech or whatever the case may be.

This isn’t England. I wish I had an English accent as much as any man, but that doesn’t mean I know how much a “stone” is or how fast 100 kmph is. I would never sacrifice my American selfishness, economic freedom, or general attitude of superiority to drink tea in the middle of the day and have my children have “headmasters” in schools or be caned for general tomfoolery.

Small people who are evil.

You are like imps. If you are small, please be adorable. As I once quoted famously, “she is too small for evil. She only makes mischief.”

People who work out while wearing hats

I don’t know why so many of my annoyances are hat-related, but I can’t help it. Working out in a hat makes you look like you happened to wander into a weight room and decided to pick something up.

On to part two: Things I find delightful!

Bouncy Balls

Shout-out to Garrett Richie, but I’m going to pull a hipster move and say I was into bouncy balls like 3 weeks ago. I bought one over spring break and never looked back. It’s literally like circular, automatic satisfaction.

Old-Timey Words

Chimneysweep. Haberdashery. Apothecary.

Sunny Weather coupled with bright, pastel shorts

For obvious reasons these are great.

Reading Near Water

It is scientifically proven that reading near water increases reading satisfaction by 200%.

The New Harry Potter trailer

It’s going to be awesome.

People who grunt in the Rec while they work out.

You’re not even annoying any more, it’s just funny. However, I do not like it when people curse loudly after they fail at something weight-lifting related. Did you really think you were going to be able to? If not, why declare to the entire room that you have failed?

People who cockily cross the street in front of cars.

I don’t make a habit of this myself, and I hate it while driving, but if I’m walking and I see a jay walker almost get hit, I love it. I’m waiting for the one time….

That’s all.

I will have further ire soon. I promise.