Mikohlbecker pimped me, so blame him. Yes, it’s one of those survey things. And some of you can just get over there being no Five Things I Love for Friday this week (you who has written twice in a year). ;)

Your senior year in High School is supposed to be “the best year of your life.” Let’s see how much you remember. I know for some it might be hard for you to go back that far!

Year: 1998

1. Who was your best friend? Probably Matt Kanary since we worked together all summer. But we all were close.
2. What sports did you play? I rowed in the fall. Four-seat, B-boat pride.
3. What kind of car did you drive? 2 door racing edition Reliant K car. I miss her.
4. It’s Friday night, where were you? Check two places: Maxwell’s drinking coffee or Jason’s basement.
5. Were you a party animal? Pfft. No. I went to a handful of parties that year, but I didn’t drink so…The party at Brad Golba’s house that spring was epic, however.
6. Were you in the “In Crowd”? Neither in nor out. We all kinda floated, really.
7. Ever skip school? Not dileberately.
8. Ever smoke? Not even a cigar at graduation.
9. Were you a nerd? Yes and no. If all honors and AP classes count, then yes. Socially, I can comfortably say no.
10. Did you get suspended/expelled? No, but I did get accused of cheating on an Ethics test by a priest. Despite having a 104% average in the class.
11. Can you sing the alma mater? To this day, and still pointing upward at the banner.
12. Who was your favorite teacher? Senior year? Doc.
13. Favorite class? AP Chemistry, even though I wasn’t enrolled in it.
14. What was your schools full name? St. John’s Jesuit High School.
15. School mascot? The Titan.
16. Did you go to Prom? 3 that year.
17. If you could go back and do it over, would you? Hell yes. But only if I could do it knowing what I know now.
18. What do you remember most about graduation? Wearing a tribute band for Ryan Jurski. Still wish he was there.
19. Favorite memory of your Senior Year? No way. One contender would be a night at Mandy’s with a drunk Andrea (and Mandy). Thank God Claire was sober. I felt rebellious and free. Or Appalachia with the guys. Or leading Kairos.
20. Were you ever posted up on the senior wall? WTF is that? We did knock unconscious freshman Kyle Tippton with a skittle one day, if that answers the question.
21. Did you have a job your senior year? Not during the school year. Summers I hauled steel and drywall for 15 hours a day. Yeah $5.75 an hour!
22. Who did you date? No one. Though I had a monster crush on Jen Bell.
23. Where did you go most for lunch? The table near the vending machines so that Matt could con freshmen out of money to buy fresh baked cookies. Biggest score? $5 to buy out the cookie cart.
24. Have you gained weight since then? Haha. Up 90+ lbs during college, down 120+ now. So in the end I’ve lost weight.
25. What did you do after graduation? I have no clue, sadly. A bunch of graduation parties, and a memorable one at Emily Hassen’s house (I still hate Jason and Matt for breaking in to my parent’s house, considering I cleaned up their beer mess and took it to the recycling center).

Anyone who knows me knows that I steer wide and clear of political debate. Notice I said debate here because I don’t mind level-headed conversation in the slightest. In fact, I find it refreshing and entertaining. But it takes a certain person who is able to strip emotion out of their viewpoints, and that is not easy to come by.

So, naturally since I’m not one for politics, I rarely write about it. But in this morning’s routine trip around The Internet, I happened upon this piece of ignorant crud. Allow me one brief moment of foggy weakness, friends. I have nothing good to say about this person’s writing.

I find it almost inconceivable that when discussing a cultural event such as SXSW (South by Southwest for those that don’t know) that it can be recast in a completely different light. SXSW is a yearly event that is held dear by most involved with both music and new media. It is not a counter-cultural extravaganza of epic liberal proportions, despite what The Daily Texan wants you to believe. And how anyone could perceive it as such, let alone convince others, is far beyond my ability of reason.

What startles me most when reading politically-charged “journalism” is the bubble in which these people live. Like street gang members born and raised on conspiracy theories, liberal and conservative loudmouths alike believe that every single event in life is hinged upon the “war” on the streets. Is there a war? Who’s attacking what? Did I miss something? I thought the war was overseas? Why do you assume that the world and the other party is out to ruin your life? Do you not realize that civilization did not evolve in the presence of one (very limited) bed of beliefs? The image that comes to mind, continually, when I read political editorials, is of a small child surrounding themselves in a pillow fort, defending their soft kingdom from fancied foes.

The article contains many a gem for quoting, like, “Texas, we need to learn how to identify this liberal menace.” My personal favorite is the slightly more verbose but no less fiery, “I, for one, don’t read any books or periodicals, and I’ve programmed my TiVo to automatically block out any television show that doesn’t feature Ann Coulter or Bob Novak.”

Someone please tell me how plugging one’s ears to at least 50% of the country’s views is healthy? Filtering out “real life” to contain only the parts that you agree with? I’m no shrink, but this has to do a real number on the head. And don’t get me started on the God issue.

The last time I checked, the religion to which (stereotypically speaking) the Texans and more largely the radical conservatives belong is just a smidge more tolerant than this article lets on. Oh hell, let’s be honest. If you truly do call yourself a Christian, vomiting intolerance, doubt, anger and dare I say hate might not sit too well with the Big Guy upstairs…but that’s just a guess. After all, isn’t that counter to some of the most cardinal beliefs of your faith?

Again, I know there are whackos people like this on both sides, all over the country. For the most part, I think having people on either end of the spectrum is healthy. But as someone who identifies himself as a Christian, please do not drag my God into this. Do not paint him with guns on his hips. Do not automatically choose a political party for him, and proceed to speak on his behalf. And the next time you go speaking of the fiery bowels of hell, please do so with something other than a self-appointed sense of authority.

I’m no liberal. I’m no conservative. What I am is tired of grown up children pretending that politics is a matter of life and death. If only they would put the passion and zeal that they dedicate to tearing down others into something a tad more productive. Maybe then would we have a country worth arguing about.

[cue: read in best Isaac Hayes voice] Aww shucks. It’s Friday again. You know I don’t want to have to do this, right? You know that, right? Oh baby, I’m sorry. I still love you. It’ just that I have to recap five things from the week that I’m thankful for that don’t inclue Scientology*. Baby please!

Let’s get it on like Donkey Kong then, ya dig?

1. Hello my name is shirt - Cool tshirt. Yes, I realize the ironic tshirt craze has crested, but it’s a cool design. And I think it’s funny.
2. Old friends calling - Nothing can brighten a normally blah week like reconnecting with old friends. And though I hate the phone like it’s actively giving me brain herpes, I still really enjoy talking to good friends. I miss them.
3. The term “battle royale” - Don’t ask me why, for I have no idea. I just think it’s a pretty slick term to throw into a conversation, like, “Yo, you hear Greg’s coming to the meeting this afternoon? Yea boy it’s gonna be a real battle royale! For sho’!” — Ok, perhaps not the best usage, but I would still laugh.
4. Everlong by the Foo Fighters - It’s one of those “oh snap” songs for me, as I always forget to mentally rank it as a great tune, and when iPod graciously cues it up for my undeserving arse I rejoice and remember all over again how good of a song it really is.
5. You deserve to be punched - Exceptionally creative interactive comic strip by Mike Kohlbecker. I laugh.

*The staff of FTILFF does not endorse this edition, and in no way was any of it meant as slander against the church of scientology. So any strongarmed reps from the mothership, please don’t kill my family.

If you had never known the family into which you were born, much of your life would not make sense today. Consequently, if you didn’t have a key to the house, you could not get inside to get a true feel for it’s character. At the root of both situations is context. And contextual analysis is in my opinion the most overlooked skill in the human toolbox.

Let’s face it, there’s a lot of crap in this world that is baffling, confusing and just down right mystifying. Every third person is an expert of some sort, and everyone else you know is constantly giving you opinions and advice, reviews and critiques, denouncements and praise of something. At times it feels like the only way to understand something is by listening to what someone else has to say.

When it comes to “real world” examples, we all do it. Older folks trust what the younger generations have to say about technology (how many are solicited for advice on buying a computer?). We all trust doctors for their advice and helping us understand our own bodies. We take in the wisdom and words of others because we find ourselves too uninformed (and too busy) to make a good decision on our own. But what is lost here is the process of intimate understanding. True understanding. You could equate it to the differences between “learning” a chapter or lesson and simply memorizing it. To learn it is to never forget it. To understand it, you must learn it. And context is the key to the entire process.

My point in this is that in the world of art and music (and to a much greater degree, human interaction), contextual understanding is almost totally lost on the average person. People walk through museums not sure what they’re looking at and passively critiquing works on a surface level. There is no blame here, though the same can be said about the modern music listener. With no formal training, study or substantial background, all the average listener has to go on is “what sounds good to them.” Again, no blame can be rendered.

But what is utterly tragic to me is the appreciation aspect. We live in a society that pushes consumption, but without the time to devote to appreciating what you consume. Appreciation of art, music, wine, etc are lost in aging generations and relegated to those classes with either time or money to squander. I shouldn’t be this way. What we’re doing by not learning how to appreciate is that teaching future generations to consume even more mindlessly and with a colder heart.

At the center of appreciation, in my estimation, is contextual understanding. You’ll never understand the raw chaotic emotion of Picasso’s Guernica until you learn that Pablo was in the middle of a city ripped to shreds by war and bombs. One will never fully appreciate Pearl Jam’s album Ten until you’ve listened to it gazing into the ocean and feeling the seaside breeze (as much of the album was written post-surfing). Hip hop will continue to be misunderstood by the average suburbanite until a contextual study is complete, knowing the historical relevance (crack epidemic of the early 80s) and the birth pangs of this social revolution (break dancing, graffiti, MCing, DJing).

It is a lot to ask the common person to dive deeply into study before they can appreciate art or music. Most people are not fully interested enough (until they’re dragged to a museum), and frankly don’t see the value of the pursuit. But as someone who lives and breathes both, I know that by learning to understand the context in which these creative pieces were conceived, I’ve come to learn so much more about my own life, my own perspective and how to separate the two. And more importantly, I’ve come to love and respect so much more in this world because of it. It breaks down stereotypes, misconceptions and preconceived notions and gives way to admiration and courtesy.

So the next time you find yourself ready to dismiss a person, an album, a Mark Rothko painting, do yourself a favor and take 10 minutes to research it and dive deeper than the surface. You never know, you may end up unlocking some door to a house full of things you’ll grow to love. And all you had to do is have the right key.

Uh oh. Number 13. Normally I’d ramble on about how unlucky this edition of FTILFF is, but seeing as it is St. Friggin’ Patrick’s Day, I’ve most certainly got the luck o’the Irish on my side. Right? I mean, I’ve got the Lucky Charms dude on my Myspace friends roll and sometimes my hair turns kinda redish in prolonged sunlight. And I own Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphy’s albums, so we’re good, right? Good.

1. Infusing vodka - Never tried it before, but I’m giving it a shot. Regular vodka=hydrogen peroxide to me, so I’m hoping by pumping it up with some fresh raspberries and vanilla will snazz it up a bit.
2. Pumpkin chocolate chip muffins - I made these when the ‘rents visited last weekend. Subsituted some brown sugar and wheat flour, made some other tweaks, but the real kicker is making your own pumpkin pie spice. Now if I could just get the house to smell normal again.
3. This house - I ache to have an older house, with it’s character, charm and architectural distinction. Sadly this stupid city has no houses like this outside of a bad part of downtown. God I miss Cincinnati sometimes.
4. Not being a teenager anymore - As much as I would love to relive high school years sometimes, I most certainly am thankful that I don’t have to deal with the drama and theatrics of those times. With age comes a bit more peace, I suppose.
5. The Breaffy House hotel - I had to sneek a little bit of the motherland into this edition. We stayed here on our honeymoon, as did my parents in the 70s. Located in my family’s village, it’s a breath-taking structure set back in the woods. It’s also where I became good friends with Cecil B. Horse and Baby Humphrey.

That’s it for this week kids. Enjoy some green beer tonight (preferably a Guiness or Black’n’Tan). I know the Lucky Charms dude and I will be hangin out.

I think there is at least one point in every person’s life that they feel like they messed It up. Of all the shared emotions in the collective social conscience, I think regret might just be the strongest and most evocative of them all.

Sure there are those people that allegedly never look back. Maybe they truly don’t, I dunno. But as animals outfitted with logic and memory, I find it hard to deny that our survival instincts seemingly force us to learn from the past. So for argument sake, let us just agree for now that everyone indeed is reflective and has some capacity for regret.

Inescapable and inevitable, each of us knows the feeling, the pang in your gut, from the friendship you let die, the kiss you never took, the conversation you never started and the questions you left unanswered. The seduction of the peer pressure. The words you wish never left your lips and the ease with which you gave in to it all. What if you had not chosen ‘b’ over ‘a’ – where would it all be now? To hell with hindsight because that doesn’t change the choices that you’ve made up until now. And now you have to live with it, like it or not.

Regret, basic in it’s universality, is in truth quite a binding force if you think about it. Many people’s lives are spent clouded by the overwhelming dimness of remorse, the daily torture of remembering and reliving it all over again. And not only does this mourning tie them down to their transgressions, but also to one another. We share this common connection with one another, if in silence only. Exploring the source of regret, we find that at a base level, we are motivated by both fear and necessity when we make decisions. We blindly hope (and assume?) that we’ve chosen correctly. But regret is the inevitable byproduct of simply having to choose ‘a’ over ‘b’ in the first place.

However, to me what is most intriguing is how each of us deals with our regrets. We’ve established that the emotion is inescapable, and thusly how one copes with this sentiment is the deciding factor of how we move forward in life. It is almost as if our futures are determined not by the decisions we make today, but rather how we digest what we’ve done wrong in the past.

It goes without saying that many are paralyzed by fear, by this regret. These among us simply do not move on, they just exist, persecuting themselves daily for what they’ve done. No growth, no closed chapters. Just life as a broken record of memories I suppose.

Then there are others who instead choose ignorance, as it is true that forgetting seems like an easy solution to pain. I would argue here that these among us are indeed worse off than those paralyzed by regret, as they are simply delaying the inevitable. Come hell or high water, those emotions will surface at some point.

Then there are others that are fueled by the questions of “what if?” In an ever-present quest to get things right, they try unfailingly to not let history repeat itself, to not be wrong again. In fact, their decision-making abilities can become easily colored by this infatuation with perfection of judgment.

And finally, there are those that deal with their lifetime of cumulative regret, fear and doubt by accepting the Eternal Longing. They move forward because they must, but they will always look over their shoulder. True, they wonder if they made the right choice, but moreso they long to know what it would have all felt like to be different. More paramount than perhaps the choice itself, these people simply yearn for the knowledge, the answer to the uncalculated equation. It should be noted that they are not necessarily unhappy with where their choices have gotten them thus far. Though technically I suppose this removes the regret from it all, simply leaving wonder or perhaps just doubt. Is it possible to be regretful of something without necessarily wanting the outcome to be different? I’m not sure, but all I know is that the longing is indeed intense and unrelenting.

So for those roads not taken, the “what ifs” and the ending to stories that we’ll never finish, I suppose we must all just learn to accept it…whatever your definition of acceptance really is.

Forbes, Money, Business 2.0, the entire Internet and just about any other source of home-buying advice could never have predicted this one. And even if they had, I still wouldn’t have believed that it would happen to me.

This past weekend my parents took a trip down from the badlands of Ohio. Quite possibly the easiest people in the world to entertain, we ended up not doing much as it rained excessively. We did however get a chance to go out and see a few houses in varying areas of town that The Wife™ and I might be interested in.

Now, home buying is a process wholly unfamiliar to me, as I married into my current abode. I fully admit that each step of this has been daunting, and I’m still not convinced that we’ll ever find a house we agree upon. Or that we won’t be the lone, isolated case in American real estate history where a house failed to ever sell, and that we won’t be doomed to pay two burdensome mortgages for the rest of our lives, living off Marquez burritos and Tab soda. But I’m thinking positively here, trust me.

So Friday, after we had already scheduled four or five houses to see the next day, I got my daily email update from a realtor site about a house in our price range. Ready to immediately disqualify it, I ran through the requirements:

Roof? Check.
Not leaning? Check.
No dirt driveway? Check. Hmmm….it passed round one.
Porch? Whoa, check.
Relatively charming? Check!
Nice, kinda outlying area? Check!
Basement? Double-check! It’s huge!

It was a dream come true*. 2300+ square feet, larger than a postage stamp back yard, doesn’t seem to suck, check!

However, looking at the selling description revealed that it was vacant, offered no disclosure and all bids needed to be preceded by inspections. I sent it to The Wife™, but she (like the realtor) wrote it off. I refused to give up hope, though. I had found the diamond in the proverbial rough. This was the kind of fodder for stories that they immortalize in film, on the big screen, on HGTV!

Upon hearing and seeing the pictures himself, my father took up the case for me, and pressed that we should see it. He became convinced that it was just a seller who was only interested in serious offers. His phone call to the selling agency revealed that it was indeed owned by a corporation, and that they only wanted pre-qualified offers with little price haggling (hence the realistic price tag) . Having all but moved into the house in my head, we resolved to visit on Sunday, on my parents’ way out of town.

So Saturday rolled by, rainy and uneventful. The other houses we checked out were nice, but not for us. An enjoyable dinner of curry chicken (with my first attempt and my own roasted curry powder) and a light fruit pizza for dessert capped off the day. And then the realtor phoned with a bit of news.

Long story long, we didn’t end up touring our not-really-but-fine-for-what-we-can-afford dream home. The reason? It was a meth lab. Yes, the one house that I’ve found, in three months of looking, that didn’t conjure thoughts of The Golden Girls or Deliverance was indeed an authentic meth lab.
Guess I better go stock up on those microwave burritos and Tab.

*Not entirely true. It’s still in suburbia, USA.

Aww, look! It’s a cute little baby boy. Oh, he’s so sweet. What are you going to call him? Wait, huh? I don’t get it. FTILFF? That doesn’t make sense. But…

That’s right ladies and germs, cool cats and even Randy Jackson’s dog pound, it’s time for this weeks “five things I love for Friday:”

1. V for Vendetta - A pro-terrorist/superhero movie from some of those involved with the Matrix. The high definition trailers make me giddy, so if they pull this off without sucking, I might actually go to the theaters for this one.
2. Caring for your Introvert - One of the best written pieces I’ve read lately. It’s an old article that I’ve read many times, but I recently stumbled across it when Atlantic Monthly interviewed him on the piece. To all my friends and family, I am a definite introvert with trained extrovert tendencies, got it?
3. Crate and Barrel - I’ve been whining to The Wife™ about lamps and pillows for our bedroom, because of course I have one idea in my head and can’t find it anywhere locally. Of course Crate & Barrel has them both. They’ve got some admittedly cool stuff.
4. Hard-fi - What do you get when you cross the gritty-yet-fun realism of Mike Skinner (The Streets) with a little bit of party punch? Hard-fi. Indie rock never had this much fun on the dance floor.
5. Seriously, get this sweater off me - Irreverant but hilarious short piece written from the standpoint of a small dog. Not quite G-rated due to language, but it is worth it. I laughed hardily.

Everyone always tells you (especially when dating someone who is not your clone) that “opposites attract.” It is a less-than-helpful witticism that does little to evoke anything but a forced chuckle. Since day one, I have cringed at this little declaration of pseudo-philosophy, since everyone tosses it out too freely, as if they came to this esoteric conclusion themselves. I suppose it’s akin to the usage of the term irony in it’s misapplication. Just not bastardized to the level of pop-music stardom (yet).

But as I exited the parking garage this morning, this phrase ran through my head for some unknown reason. Actually I think the coffee must have hit my bloodstream at that point, but we’ll play along all the same. And while I don’t much care about the romantic applications of the statement, the thought that “opposites are attractive” makes sense to me, at least moreso now than before.

I’ve written before about how we are too easily swept up in routines, mindsets and stereotypes. And by “we” I mean “me.” As if pre-destined for grooves and notches to fall into (I often think of the bobsled tracks with their high walls), we get comfortable knowing our boundaries, our beliefs and our limits. It makes life less scary to rely on static variables filed away under the “safe and known” category. Knowing a particular route to work, having a top five favorite artists list, securing a favorite local pub, etc. This allows us the freedom to half tune-out, simply because we’ve established some concrete anchors in our lives so that we’re not completely adrift at sea. And as we all painfully find out at some point or another through the death of a loved one or a lost job, etc, when we get shaken out of these grooves and when something rocks our world enough to even peer over the top edge of the bobsled track, everything seemingly changes. In reality, we’ve just been numb to it and haven’t seen the forrest for the trees (I’m trying to crush any credibility this post with the weight of terrible colloquialisms apparently).

But this is where the beauty in life is: on the opposite side of where you stand.

Music that takes a drastic departure from the established norm, art that deviates from the critically acclaimed, spontaneous behavior within a relationship, a product that fills a void ingeniously: it is at the edges where the action happens, not the comfortable middle.

As a creature of damnable routine myself, I am too easily blinded by the track ahead. And when all to be seen is familiar white for miles ahead, you forget the charm and attraction of the world beyond.

Sometimes all it takes is a clear blue sky on a morning preceded by 15 days of clouds. It could be a conversation with someone that extends beyond the boundaries of routine small-talk. It could even be the simultaneous smell of perfume and cigarette smoke in a darkened stairwell. But whatever form it comes in, the sobering hand slap of The Opposite that forces you to look the other way for a brief moment…that is an instant of indescribable perfection.

And as someone who’s creativity is his livelihood, and who’s life force is defined by thinking beyond boundaries, I must learn to seek out these opposite moments, to rock the boat of my routine, to startle me into paying closer attention to the world around me.

Even if it means creating my own moments.

Shhh. Quiet! I can hear spring right around the corner. I swear to God, if you scare it away and make winter come back, ooooh so help me…

But on the real, this week I’ve been thankful for and/or enjoying:

1. Mike Kohlbecker’s portfolio site - A promising designer and former classmate (and newspaper co-editor!). Once he finally gets his ass out of school, I’m anxious to see what firm or agency snatches him up. A refreshing blend of talent, humor and control.
2. Taylor Hicks - I loathe American Idol, but since The Wife™ watches every friggin’ episode, I’ve found hope in this guy. I could give a crap who wins, but this guy is holding it down for those people that love music so much you can see it take hold of their entire spirit. And he’s prematurely gray. Rock on, Taylor.
3. Heather Armstrong, aka Dooce - A part of my morning routine now for 3+ years, she has evolved into one of the few truly enjoyable bloggers out there. Witty, irreverant and always entertaining. A true bright spot in my day (be that sad or not).
4. Rocky Votolato - Happened upon his new album, “Makers” this week. A great blend of Iron & Wine’s bucolic air and Jack Johnson’s meandering spirit. Normally, laid back acoustic folk does little to move me, but this dude’s got some good songs in him.
5. Being a DINK. No, not some of the other definitions of dink. Double-income, no kids. For as much as I whine about the stress of being an adult, there is a beautiful calm about being young enough to still feel like a college kid, but having the income of an adult. Not that I’m blowing $2g’s a week on hashish or anything. It’s just like having a little extra room in your jeans. It feels good.

Until next week, the staff here at FTILFF reminds you to keep on rockin’ in the kinda-free-until-the-government-goes-too-far world. Or something like that.