I’m going to bastardize this entire post. I can already tell. From here it is just a downward slide, so consider this your warning dear reader.

I slipped out of bed this morning, disdainfully rolling my sleep-filled eyes at the alarm clock. Routinely shuffling imaginary dotted paths…coffee maker…’fridge…bathroom…closet…on autopilot the entire way and certainly not cognizant of any of it. Some would say just another Monday. I say indeed, and just another day at all. This is how they all seem to be lately.

There is no need to alert the media, as it is no real news that my search for it is ongoing (and tragically unsuccessful). Nonetheless, I still find myself wrestling with what it means to feel, to be alive. Fighting the novocain of routines, elusively trying to out-wit the feeling of being dead inside. But this search has become so commonplace in my life that even it has turned routine and predictable.

I hate feeling dead inside. But worse, I hate feeling lost in my search for a cure. But for one brief shining week and a half in October, it disappeared. Like a fog slowly lifting, I was totally unaware of it’s recession at the time.

As we drove the countryside of Ireland, I felt so oddly at peace that I fail to think of any other time that I’ve been comparably calm. I do not doubt that being freshly married, having a total holiday from work, and generally being disconnected from the world all played a part. But the country itself was, perfect. Rarely, if ever, have I felt such an overwhelming sense of belonging, of peace in myself.

Since then, I’ve romanticized it all, balking at it and thinking that I made it up because I feel faux-connected due to my Irish ancestry. But in all honesty, I didn’t want to feel such a strong connection to the country and it’s people. I went in with no real notion other than to see the sights and relax with my wife. But now being home, I feel a pull towards it. As if everything in Ireland fit perfectly. Whether it was the landscape, the culture, my heritage, I am not sure. Perhaps it was just being away from stress here. Or not being connected 24-7.

All I know is that for a glorious ten days, I was able to breathe with no labor, smile without force and sleep with peaceful abandon. And now that I know what that feels like, I want it back.

The big one-oh. That’s right kids, we’ve reached the milestone of FTILFF #10. Now we can righteously declare this series in numerals instead of spelling them out per APA or MLA style. Oh, wait. I wasn’t doing that before? Mrs. Studer would kill me. And for the fact that I never mastered writing without split infinitives. “To boldly go or to go boldly…”

1. Audi Roadjet - The older I get, the more fascinated I am by car design. I’m sure this one will either not be released or will come out entirely differently than the designers intended. But a beautiful creation as is.
2. I’m Your Biggest Fan - A website written by a dad who fictitiously writes letters to Star Jones of The View. Funny, witty and surely entertaining. Too bad the guy didn’t get hired as a teacher because ignorant overly-paranoid parents thought he was a real stalker.
3. Transparent walls - The future will be here soon enough. But the logistics of this one make me feel all itchy.
4. This jacket from Structure Express - Stupid Flash website, can’t link directly to it. But that jacket in black=great. Too bad it’s $70. No thanks you behemoth hobag.
5. Digable Planets - Most people remember them for their one hit “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat).” I have both of their major releases (and may I add still on cassette too). They were true pioneers of jazzrap fusion. Ahead of their time and severly underappreciated. Finding a friend w/ a vinyl copy of their new compilation made my weekend.

Until next time kiddies. Remember not to split your infinitives though, or you might have to unfortunately go to the doctor. Crap, I did it again. Sorry Mrs. Studer!

I hate money. I really, truly, honest-to-God hate money. And the one thing that makes me cringe just a little more than money itself, is the thought that I am required by the Cannon of Adult Code to deal with it. Routinely. Bah.

I think it’s no secret to those that know me that I’m a worrier (insert joke about premature grey hair here). I always have been. But the king of the hill, numero uno on the list of stress factors for me is The Dough. It’s safe to assume this is why I loathe financial issues so much.

Babysitting for my niece last night, I sat down to read the latest issues of Money and Fortune magazines. What I should have done, instead, is run out into the street to find a dirty needle to stick myself with. At least that would be something tangible for me to be paranoid, anxious and upset about.

Granted, I’ve read both of these magazines on plenty of occasions before (though each time I still feel like a four year old dressing up in dad’s clothes—minus the cuteness). But each time, the articles leave a bad taste in my mouth. It’s as if once you enter the working world, the marathon of your career is treated more like an all-out sprint. Everyone else around you is frantically running, bug-eyed and possessed, towards the retirement finish line. Everyone has his or her own secrets, shortcuts and training tips. But anyone who’s ever run a real, competitive race knows the fleeting and instantaneous feeling of, “oh sh*t, everyone else is going to beat the living snot out of me!” Visions of walking the last 23.5 miles alone in the dark when everyone else has gone home can be almost paralyzing. And when it comes to money, that’s how I feel.

The Wife™ says I shouldn’t worry so much about retirement, salary, career paths, etc. But again, once I hit the invisible line of adulthood, I assumed the prototypical male identify of protector. And I can’t shake it. If I don’t make as much money as I possibly can, as early on as I can, padding bank accounts and Roth IRAs with as many evil dollars possible, I lose. That’s how my puny monkey brain works. And that is sad. I fear future setbacks. I’m afraid of tragic and unforeseen expenses. I live in fear of the thought that one of us may get laid off or seriously injured. All of these fuel the thought expectation that I need to somehow make more money than I am now. If it were simply a case of envy, that I only cared (and thought) that everyone else around us had more money, than I would just ask The Wife™ to close my head in the car door a few times to clear things up.

But instead, I’m worried for my future children. I’m scared to death that I will not be able to give them what they need, as successfully as my parents did. They pulled off the greatest magic trick in the world. And I’m afraid that the magic doesn’t run in the family.

So now I’m off to see if there are any classes that I can enroll in that will learn my ignorant ass. And to pull out my hair. Which is already grey.

What’s that? You say I neglected to post last Friday? Yea well, I was too busy laughing at that Florida orange juice commercial with the sneezing monkey. Anyhow, this week I’m thankful for…

1. Jay Dee aka J. Dilla - May he rest in peace. The same week I discovered his Donuts album (the song “Anti-American Graffiti” is genius), I found out he passed away from a disease. A true visonary producer, his work with Common, Tribe Called Quest, etc will stand the test of time to be sure. To hell with Kanye, this is where the heart was at.
2. Dewalt power tools - After spending some serious cash on a good set of 18v powertools I was worried. Not now. Every time I (find an excuse to) use them, I’m reminded of just how great they are. I haven’t found a con to them yet.
3. Dave Chappelle - No, not because of his show (yes, it’s funny). Rather, this week I saw both his interview on Oprah and the trailer for his block party documentary/movie. I rarely see a dude keep it so down-to-earth in Hollywood, despite claims of him being nuts. Thanks, Dave.
4. Black raspberry tea from Teavana - Yes I’ve written about my love of tea before. This new flavor though is incredible. Next time I’m ordering 2 lbs of it.
5. Steak. Just steak. After having a great dinner last weekend at StoneyRiver steakhouse for Hallmark Valentine’s Day, I forgot how much I love red meat. I eat it *very* rarely, but eating steak reminds me of how good it is to be a carnivore.

CNN, blazing the trails with hard-hitting journalism that really gets down to the important issues facing today’s world.

Or something like that.

As I stepped out the double doors, the cold rush of fresh air reminded me that it was indeed February. I coughed briefly, adjusting to the temperature. Now with my iPod in hand, I had the task of picking today’s album for the soundtrack to my (somewhat routine) afternoon walk. At somewhere between 45-50 blocks, I needed something with duration, something with legs.

Scrolling through the menus, I saw nothing that jumped out at me, so I simply chose the last album that I had put onto my shiny black gadget of gluttony: Talib Kweli’s “Right About Now” album. Having not heard it all the way through yet, I hit play and started on my way.

As I wandered the streets of downtown Louisville, I hit a stride. I was enjoying the melding of the gritty music, the frosty air and the concrete surroundings. It felt scripted. With Talib’s lyrics passing through my ears, I stared at the architecture, the people going about their day. Everything was routine, syncopated. And beautiful.

Like a cat fascinated with a simple string, I began mentally batting at this idea of beauty. After all, I had little else to do or think about during the hour. Letting my mind wander, I was immediately reminded of the visual map that I had seen earlier in the day, of one designer’s representation of music history by means of the London Underground map. Even more specifically, what stuck out to me was the inclusion of DJ Shadow and RZA as their own separate line. Among entire genres (represented as train lines), Shadow and the Wu-Tang’s RZA had their own entire transfer route. It makes sense intitially, as both work effortlessly to push the boundaries of hip hop…at least well beyond the radio norm. But again, pulling the string a bit more, I wondered why exactly, of two musical equals, I strongly pick one over the other.

Passing the courthouse, I began to sort it out. I think that I see music as a struggle to display the beautiful. Actually, I’m sure deep down I view all art that way. But musically, I’m more drawn to artists and albums that highlight, emphasize and generally dwell upon the mystery of beauty. Shadow’s work, to me, is just that. It’s the perfect marriage of grimey, raw reality with ethereal beauty. Like standing in a misty fog late at night—but surrounded by abanoned buildings as opposed to idyllic pastures or rolling hills. RZAs work, on the other hand leaves me feeling slightly anxious or bitter somehow. I cannot begin to explain why, but the emotions that are manipulated by RZAs art do not leave me feeling bettered. In fact they tend to leave me more negative than contemplative.

Consciously, I know that there is a distinct difference between the works of both artists, as RZA is surely not trying to do what Shadow does (or vice versa). Two different men articulating different things. But the oddity of my fascination with one and passivity to the other (especially when so closely linked stylistically) leaves me comfortably curious. Are we naturally drawn to beauty? Is it a cultural thing? Are other cultures naturally drawn to pain instead?

Perhaps something for me to noodle about on today’s walk. Sometimes it’s good to think about simple things.

I’ll admit. I’ll ‘fess up, I’ll cave, I’ll spill it all: There are days that I’m not sure if I’m the one going cuckoo, or the rest of the world. Today my bets are on the latter.

Two things spur this mildly adolescent (and trite?) rant: American Idol and Big Money. The first is simple and harmless, but a barometer of something nonetheless, though I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.

Being married has afforded me many things, and one of them that I would rather do without is TV time. If I had my druthers, the TV would serve as a host to a monthly DVD or at the most, a host vessel for two shows a month pumped in over archaic airwaves in so-so clarity. I hate television. But The Wife™ loves it. So it stays.

Because of this, I’m subject to crap on the television, radiating my way as I meander the web at night. The Wife™ watches stuff that I could care less about, included in such is American Idol. And while I have lots to say about the show, I’ll shorthand it to this: When in the hell did the American public begin to think so damned much of themselves? I mean I know we get a bad reputation around the world for that very fact, but I thought it was the collective public!? Clowns on a bike…

Every epsiode (at least during the beginning of the season?) is filled with countless numbers of chowderheads trying to sing terrible songs in wretchedly horrible keys, tones and styles. The worst part is, there is a direct correlation between the the suck-factor of the singer and the size of the ego. People who have no business singing, even to an audience of turkeys, are repeatedly, 100% convinced that they are *true* superstars, and the judges are simply wrong for thinking otherwise. Complete, utter, unabashed denial. Showcasing hour after hour of drivel, under the pretense of “discovering the next true talent,” this flippin’ show instead feeds the American Idle a steady diet of bloated egotism and blind narcissism. And we’re supposed to think it both entertaining and enviable?

I was totally unaware that the majority of (young?) people in this country were missing the critical Self Awareness gene.

Secondly, and far more frightening, is the tale of a CEO who is blatantly lobbying to extort the average home internet user. If you don’t care to read the short article, I’ll sum it up for you: CEO of AT&T thinks it’s cool to convince Verizon and other telcos to not only charge an arm and a leg for internet service, but then charge the web companies (i.e. Google) to let users access their sites. His reason? “No free ride,” and Google, etc. can simply pass the cost to the user, thus we pay twice for something that should already be a cheaper utility, all while fattening his already bloated pockets.

Apparently the Midwest breeds ignorant fools, because this type of behavior not only seems unfathomably wrong, but almost inconceivable. How one can conciously convince themselves of something so counter-intuitive, so opposite of common sense, is beyond me.

So for all the TV enthusiasts and CEOs of the world, I humbly submit my apologies. I didn’t realize that all it took to be right in action was to think that you’re right. The rest of the world can go to hell, I guess.

Therefore, I think that this post should be over. If you think otherwise, too f****ing bad. Okay?