As a creature of habit, and like most other humans, I often bumble through daily routines without much thought. It’s a nice brain-vacation when you can zone out, walk the same routes, drive the same paths, do the same set steps that you do day in and day out each day prior and after, but without thinking.

However, I’m finding that this perhaps is not always a good thing.

As I came slowly walking back to the third level of parking garage, emerging from the stairwell, I was more enraptured with what was on my iPod than where I was going. Sure I’ve mistakenly walked to the wrong floor instead. But who hasn’t right?

But this day, as I got closer to my normal parking spot, I noticed something amiss. Terribly amiss, to be true. My car wasn’t there. In fact it was no where in sight. I tried not to panic. I tried to be level headed. But thoughts of, “OH MY GOD THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR PARKING DOWNTOWN!” kept persistently rapping on my conscience. I knew it was highly implausable that someone would steal an entire car (let alone *mine*) in broad daylight in a parking garage with hundreds of other cars, most owned by doctors and surgeons in a tax bracket far surpassing mine. But as I frantically looked around, my car honestly was no where in sight. Crap.

As I stood motionless, unsure of what my next move was going to be (be it a full-on-hands-in-the-air-crazy-person-dance or what), it hit me.

You parked in a new parking spot this morning, on purpose, in order to break this apparently confusing monotony for once.

So no, my car was not the lone victim of a tragic act of violence. My personal property was not violated.

My dignity, on the other hand…

Step 1: Get a cup of coffee

Step 2: Get a handful of roasted peanuts, placed in plastic cup

Step 3: Sit down at your desk again, and begin working

Step 4: Without looking down, while right hand is still on mouse, use left hand to reach for salty peanuts.

Step 5: Scream. Really loudly.

Step 6: Curse yourself for putting hand fully into scalding coffee, instead of peanut cup, which is to your right, not left.

Fake it ‘til you make it. Or at least, that’s how the saying goes.

One of my closest friends hates this saying, thinking it both untrue and an assault on what is good and honorable. To be honest, I never really gave it too much thought, but over the past few weeks it has crept into my head like a Kelly Clarkson song. And like a fever, I can’t shake it.

FITYMI (which I pronounce “fitty-my”) sounds as if I should hate it. In principle I do, and did actively every time my friend mentioned his loathing of it. I don’t like fake things, generally speaking. I strive for truth, authenticity and honesty in everything I do and everyone I seek out. So, needless to say, acting in a dishonest manner doesn’t sit well with me.

But the older I get, it seems the more true this phrase proves. Applying it to personal happiness, I’ve found it quite plausible to convince yourself that you’re good enough spirits to just get by. Again, until I tried this, I would have found the theoretical application of the FITYMI phrase a farce and utter rubbish.

Applying the phrase to contentment or willpower, I have yet to disprove the FITYMI model again. When enraptured in a fit of materialistic passion, if I tell myself that, “no, in fact, you are fine with what you have and you don’t need more,” then things calm down. One cannot let the follow-up retorts of the psyche get in the way, for inevitable screams of “oh, you’re just telling yourself that! you really DO need that lamp!” attempt to drown out the FITYMI methods. But in the end, what you knew to be true already (that you are just fine without another possession) holds fast. All you had to do was tell yourself (despite if you believed it at the moment) that you were ok.

Additionally, making yourself believe that you’re a better person for not stopping at that fast food restaurant, or convincing yourself that you’re happier and better off for exercising actually…in the end…proves true. You’re setting the stage each time for an eventual good goal. The FITYMI mentality just helps you steer towards it.

I want to disprove this model. I want to set it on fire and burn it in effigy for those pillars of truth and righteousness that are under attack every day in the world. The propogation of untruths and “fakeness” in our society (in theory) has degraded and undercut so much already. So how in my right mind could I endorse a model of behavior based soley around falsehood?

I think in the end that the FITYMI mindset is less about falsities and more about positive thinking. Setting a favorable frame of mind seems to be one of the most successful strategies for a person to achieve a goal they ultimately want. So, ultimately, “faking it” gets you to actually “make it.”

But as a person who grew up in the School of Cobain and Vedder (and to lift a line straight from an Offspring song), I’ve always thought that being positive is so unhip. Happy, fake people are annoying.

But what I didn’t learn as a teenager was that there apparently is a middleground, where positive thinking is different from idiotic happyfaces.

Being an adult is hard.

Let’s get right to it today:

1. Max Lyon’s photos - He’s a panorama badass. He makes me actually like shots of the west, which normally just scream, “danger! ’70s ex-hippie motif!” Being a tech nerd, I love the process behind taking them…so I bought this print for my parents for Christmas.
2. Fingathing’s album Superhero Music - Blew me away when I first heard it last friday. One of those albums that made me just say, “hell yes, THIS is exactly what I wanted to hear right now!” Fantastic blend of DJ Shadow atmospherics with funky soul breaks, without feeling like they’re trying to impress you with their vinyl collection.
3. Pandora.com - How I found Fingathing in the first place. Part of the Music Genome Project, it’s the first true music recommendation system I’ve found that works. Great suggestions, awesome interface, relatively obscure (but applicable) artists. I love it!
4. Crockpots - Yup, I’m at the bottom of the domestic well now. But crockpots/slowcookers are the best damned thing ever invented for people who want to cook, but hate having to start from scratch when you get home from a long day at work. A little prep time the night before, let it cook all day, and BAM! Ready to snarf down when you get home. Two meals in, and I’m sold…
5. Friday, itself - No, I’m not struggling to find a fifth and final item for the week to write about. Seriously, who doesn’t love Friday though? Show me a person who hates Friday, and I’ll show you…um…a swift kick in the pants. Oh, sweet Friday, how your promise of better things to come keeps me alive…

I’ve already alerted the staff that next week is a Christmas edition. So come strapped with your holiday boxers and foam reindeer antlers kids.

As I rounded the hill on I64 this morning, coffee in hand and pleading for sweet release from the unrelenting grasp of the morning cold, it took no effort to remember the date. I chuckled to myself, since most days I couldn’t even begin to tell what month it even is. Not today. The black band on my wrist a pitiful reminder to pray for, to think about, to quietly mourn the world’s losses over the past 11 years.

Friday, December 9, 1994. I’ve written about it before, an attempt to capture how I was feeling as a result of Ryan’s death. Last year on this day I wrote of Fred Beier’s death as well, doing little justice to the man’s memory with my words. Every year, every single year over the past 11 years, I’ve managed to remember. And while I’ve struggled to remember on each and every day of those 11 years, I still set aside the ninth of December as a day of rememberence for all those in my life (excluding family members) that I’ve lost.

So because I can do no honor in my writing, I will suffice it to say that today I pray for the families of Ryan, Josh, Jason, Nate, Jennifer, Derrick, Fred and Kevin.

Rest peacefully, all.

I’ve never had much of an extended family, and the holidays are always a painful reminder of that. Sure, growing up we had a set of grandparents on both sides back east. And each year we would make the trip in to see them. While I absolutely loved these journeys through the snow-covered mountains of Pennsylvania, I think I secretly longed for a bit more of a family connection. Our primary familial tradition became travel, as opposed to other ‘standard’ holiday routines involving baking or present exchanges or whatnot.

However, now that I’m an inhabitant of MarriedLand, I’m starting to inherit another family’s traditions and customs besides the handful of scarce few that I have already. Included in this is the wife’s family trip to the Enchanted Forest out past Whoville to cut down the largest trees you can find, drag them back to civilization, and drive all the way home again without them flying down the road behind you. (which sadly happened. twice.)

Last Saturday, in freezing weather, we headed out. Thirteen in tow, bundled to bejeebus (except me?) and clutching saws and marking ribbons. We brought home eight trees in all, but the day was more than the purchase. As I sat at the brother-in-laws parents’ house watching more basketball than I cared to, I couldn’t help but be lost in the strangeness of it all. All of a sudden, after 25 years of doing most holiday events with little fanfare…here I was spending an entire Saturday just getting the tree. And I won’t lie: It kinda bugged me.

So as the coming weeks get more hectic, as the social calendar fills and the list of obligations gets longer, I vow to keep my calm. No, in fact I promise to work harder than that. After all, I wished for so long for Santa to bring me a larger extended family, and now I finally have it.

I hope that I left the Grinch behind in the forest last weekend. I really could stand to embrace some holiday cheer.

After a Turkey Day hiatus last week, we continue with part [number] in our [number] part series entitled, “Five Things I Love For Friday.”

1. Scrubs - And frankly, I’m teed off that they put this season off until (at least) January. Hands-down some of the most original an humorous writing on TV. I enjoy the Season One DVD as well.
2. Garden State - Untraditional, fresh but not quite a perfect movie. Provoking questions, but not overly deep. A nice blend of creativity and realism, making for a quirky good movie. Good job, Zach.
3. Slippers. Not much else to say here except that what else gives you the dual satisfaction of being warm and mature at the same time. Ok, so maybe slippers don’t mean mature as much as they mean geezerville, but whatever. I feel like I’m walking on sheep every morning, so shove off.
4. Emotions by Mike - Beautiful website. Just beautiful.
5. Diet Ale 8 One - So a bunch of you have now see the movie Elizabethtown and think you know. But you don’t. Ale 8 is a Kentucky thing, ya’ll. And this might just be the one Kentucky thing that I won’t make fun of. Fruity gingerale in an old timey bottle: perfect for summer afternoons on the porch.

This week’s edition has been brought to you by the number 5 and sponsored in part by Zach Braff.