2009 Year in Review? No Thanks

The last week of December is generally a very special time of the year. It's a week of shopping with gift cards, eating holiday left-overs, making lofty weightloss goals, and my personal favorite - reading the Year in Reviews. Unfortunately, this year sucked. Even Dave Barry, who specializes in taking less than favorable situations and making them hilarious, wrote his Year in Review with a slightly heavy hand that, frankly, left me bored and tired of 2009. However, at the risk of sounding like a complete narcissist, I had a wonderful 2009! I spent the first half of the year finishing up my airline extravaganza, then proceeded to move to a town where I've had the opportunity to do some acting, re-connect with old friends, and I've found a place in a community that I love. To be honest, I'm a little torn. I feel like I should write some lengthy diatribe on the social climate of America. It would read something like: We've inaugurated the first quasi-black president, America continues its cultural decline as illustrated by John and Kate and a balloon boy, and we've started yet another 'war on terrorism,' only this time it's in Afghanistan. That's my Year in Review in a nutshell. So here's my question: Why does America insist on continually punishing itself? We can't have an 'All-American' celebration without a guilt-complex resonating in the background. For such a young country, we certainly have a lot of baggage. Just for one night, let's put our differences aside, break open the champagne and toast the coming of a new year! Maybe it's not that simple. Our country was founded on the tennents of conflict, seperation, and partisanship. With our resounding HAPPY NEW YEAR comes another, not so celebratory exclamation. Hopefully in the coming year everyone will receive equal rights, hopefully we can finally bring the troops home, hopefully the unemployment rate will go down, hopefully we'll all have affordable healthcare. But it's not likely . . . so let's raise a glass to our lips and hope instead that our hangover isn't too debilitating, that our day jobs stay intact, that we can hold on to the simple joys of merely being together during the holidays. It isn't world peace, but it's something. Happy New Year.

Check out Dave Barry's Year in Review for yourself:
http://www.miamiherald.com/living/columnists/dave-barry/story/1397654.html

I'm a Closet Christmas Fanatic

I'm a grinch, a Scrooge, a big humbug. I grumble about Christmas music, I never say Happy Holidays (much less Merry Christmas), and I don't give two hoots about Jesus' birthday. That's what I portray on the outside, anyway. You can find me on any given December day walking around in my grinch pajama pants and glow-in-the-dark grinch t-shirt and if you tell me you're going Christmas shopping? You can count me out of it. But it's time to let the cat out of the bag . . . I'm secretly a Christmas junkie. The news shouldn't really come as a surprise. Afer all, Christmas embodies many of the qualities I fervently believe in. For instance: peace on Earth, joy filling the hearts and minds of all worldly creatures, larger-than-life decorations that would be considered gaudy as sin any other time of the year, and let's not forget the cast of strange and macabre characters that make up the Christmas mythology. What's not to like? Of course, with all the holiday trappings it's important to remember the true meaning of Christmas: PRESENTS! Just kidding. I'm actually referring to the birth of Jesus. That's right, I refuse to let Christians have the monopoly on celebrating teen pregnancy. Especially for those of us on the margins of society, there is something empowering about a 14 year old girl wandering the streets of Bethlehem looking for a place to birth her bastard child. Coupled by a supporting cast of a few Pagan priests with a penchant for astrology and a dead-beat dad who fades into the background, the Christmas story is easily one of the greatest narratives ever told. And then there are the parties! Endless amounts of food and wine, chocolates, candies, cookies, tender meats, creamy beverages. For those of us without children or extreme sentimentality, December becomes a month packed with gluttony and drunkenness. We hop from one holiday party to another bearing a white elephant gift in one hand and a side dish in the other, smiling hazily at old friends we haven't seen in years, sharing a certain awkwardness that is the hallmark of mainstream Christmas culture.

So there it is, I've come out of the Christmas closet. Mere moments ago I waited on a customer wearing a 'Keep Christ in Christmas' button. Outwardly I kept a stoic face, looked at the button with mild disgust, and told the woman to have "a very pleasant holiday," but inwardly, even she couldn't crush my holiday spirit! While I'm at it, I suppose I should make a confession. The other night, after one of many holiday parties ended and my roomate was asleep in her bed, I crept out to the living room, turned on the television and watched the HGTV Celebrity Holiday Home Special. It featured three designers decorating the homes of Kathie Lee Gifford, Jewel, and Holly Robinson Peete (I have no clue who she is) and it was the chintziest and most wonderful special ever aired on a cable network (Kathie Lee's home was decorated like a hunting lodge). Perhaps I'm exaggerating, but nonetheless, I'm trying to make a point. I'm sick and tired of these old conservatives creating an intentional show of their 'Merry Christmas,' their spittle flying onto my face. They are such rebels! Such pioneers! They laugh in the face of political correctness, they are champions for Jesus, who is the true savior and bringer of Christmas! All other cultures, religions, hell, all other holidays be damned! THIS IS CHRISTMAS! I'm here to burst the proverbial bubble. Christians and retailers don't get to keep Christmas to themselves anymore. If a gay atheist can celebrate Christmas, anyone can. Now, when someone spouts 'Merry Christmas' at me in an attempt to offend, instead, I smile, and while I usually utter a friendly 'Happy Holidays' back, I know they can see the Christmas Spirit burning inside of me. MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The Week 2 Blues

It's week two of my healthy living campaign and I think it's safe to say that I am in a slump. It's not that I lack the motivation to work out or I'm upset because it takes such a long time to see results . . . it's something deeper than that, something primal. I find that anytime I engage in a potentially life-changing activity, around the second week I bump into an existential crisis. I start questioning my motives, thinking things like "why does this even matter?" or "what are you trying to accomplish" and of course there's "you don't have to prove anything to anyone." It's that last statement that gets me. I end up taking on a 'me against the world, so fuck off' kind of attitude. I scoff at the media - throwing images of beautiful men and women in my face and thank God I'm so above that, thank God I'm unlike everyone else - acquiring chronic low self-esteem and buying into the false promises of consumerism . . . except that I'm not. I'm just as susceptible to the subliminal and not-so-subliminal messages that have resulted in our current cultural malaise. But this, too, is a cop-out. I can't blame all of my problems on society, the media, or the economy. At some point I have to take responsibility. And that's when I realize that I do have something to prove . . . to myself (cheesy, I know). Go to CNN.com and look at the Top Video Picks of the Day. It doesn't matter what day of the week, they will probably look something like this: 'Don't Forget About the Deficit,' 'Junk Food to Haute Cuisine,' 'Depression Meds Forever?' 'The Obesity Epidemic,' and so on. Every now and again it's nice to turn these things off and focus on the self. That's the funny thing about Generation Me. To be self-centered we all have to stay so incredibly in tune to what's going on - it's a losing battle. That's why I have to follow through with this one thing (whatever that may be). I need to know that I have what it takes to accomplish something, no matter how small the undertaking. If I say I'm going to the gym today, I need to do it. If I preach organic, healthy foods, I need to eat that way. When did trends become our reality? Actions don't speak louder than words anymore. But I'm veering from the point: I've got the week 2 blues. Let's face it, what I really want to is to be fit, attractive, and healthy (an added bonus). I want to get work as an actor, I want to find a life partner (someday), I want people to take me seriously. Unfortunately, these things are easier if I'm in-shape. Thin is definitely in - that's evolution. That's also reality. So whether I like it or not, whether anyone agrees with it or not, going to the gym is something that must be done. No worries, I'll get through my second week blues. All I need is a personal mantra, perhaps something from an iconic marketing campaign. When in doubt? Just Do It.

A Celebration of Snow / The Snow Queen

Currently, the midwest is in the midst of a blizzard. For those of us in the heartland, that means non-stop shoveling, hazardous road conditions, and eternal layers of clothing. Despite the drawbacks of heavy snow and unbearable cold, there is something magical about a Wisconsin winter. It means more time at home huddled up with friends. We drink hot coacoa and spiced wine, light candles, play games, and watch the snow fall. It's no secret that many regions of Wisconsin and Minnesota were colonized by Scandinavians and Germans: peoples who had an intimate knowledge of the harshness of winter. Speaking of which, the other night as the cold winds roared I began talking to my friends about the story 'The Snow Queen' by Hans Christian Andersen (a Danish writer). Much to my surprise (and chagrin) my friends had no idea what I was blabbing on about. Well, in devotion to all things winter, I've decided to share the fairy tale. It's considered by some to be the greatest Hans Christian Andersen story of all time. To read this and other Andersen tales, please check out http://www.online-literature.com/hans_christian_andersen/

Culture Shock

When I hear the words 'culture shock,' many images and personal experiences come to mind. For instance, my brief stay in the Philippines where there is intense poverty combined with startling beauty, going to Europe for the first time and taking in the incredible history and architecture, or my trip to Narita where I attended a Buddhist prayer ceremony at the second largest Buddhist temple in Japan. Being a flight attendant, I had the great privilege of experiencing a vast array of cultures in a very short period of time. This being the case, perhaps my view of 'culture shock' differs from that of others . . . but why don't you be the judge. Let's rewind a few days. A co-worker of mine is studying abroad in Germany next semester and he's required to complete a culture shock project. From what I gather, the purpose of this project is to take the individual out of their cultural 'comfort zone' and give him/her an experience that will prepare him/her for the shock of living in a foreign country (however brief the stay may be). I thought this sounded like a great assignment with a lot of potential. Immediately I started thinking of the possibilities. Two hours north is the largest Hindu temple in the Midwest, a four hour drive south and you're in the last existing fully-functional German village in the country, and four and a half hours driving southeast and you arrive in Chicago, which boasts an impressive Chinatown amongst other cultural delights. With so much 'culture shock' available locally, you can imagine my surprise when I heard what my co-worker had finally decided on. He was going to go to the local gay bar. Now don't get me wrong, I don't expect everyone to have the same experience of gay bars that I've had, and there are definitely some cities where the gay bars would most certainly cause culture shock (I don't think I can legally tell you what goes on in the gay bars in Amsterdam). But in a town of 55,000 people, the local gay bar is little more than a townie dive that plays Cher. He might as well go to a Mexican Restaurant, the result would probably be about the same. Perhaps I'm too harsh and should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, maybe he's had little to no experience with gay culture, in which case this will be a borderline eye-opening occurrence for him. What actually upsets me about the whole situation is this: the supposition that gay culture is still on the fringe of mainstream society. People, particularly Americans, still hold the view that homosexuals are deviants (disregard the Amsterdam comment), and that our culture consists of sex, disease, trashy music, extreme narcissism, and a dose of good interior decorating/fashion advice. Well, guess what, it's not the 80's anymore. The rest of the developed world welcomes gays with open arms, a cultural move that America would do well to follow. South American and European countries want gay men and women to live within their borders, enjoy the benefits of marriage, and pump their 'pink money' into the economy. Unfortunately, equality has never been at the forefront of this great country of ours . . . quite the contrary in fact. In America, you have to prove you can live a middle-class, picket fence life - only then will you be accepted as part of mainstream society. So there's my beef. On the flip side, this project gives me a good excuse to go out on a weeknight and drink with my co-workers, so maybe I shouldn't be complaining at all.

Resolution Revolution

New Year's is only a month away, which means we have one month to look forward to excessive drinking, the making of resolutions that will inevitably crumble, and ultimately the disappointment that accompanies laying in bed with a hangover, ordering Chinese takeout, and cancelling the gym membership. Sound familiar? But maybe this year will be different. This is the year we lose those 15 lbs that have been plaguing our wasteline! This is the year we quit smoking for good, finish that project that's been nagging us for for the past two years (whatever that may be), and train for that half-marathon that's been on the distant horizon for too long. What's the problem? Start! Go for a run! Put down those cigarettes! Pinch those pennies! Count carbs AND calories, but don't take it too far. Everything in moderation - do it the 'right way.' Eat square meals, cut up that credit card, get to the gym, think positive, etc etc etc etc . . . and there I am, laying in the fetal position on the couch, staring at the tv. It's too much for one person to handle. Fuck it, I'll try again next year.

Proactivechange.com reports that 46% of people who make New Year's resolutions maintain them for more than 6 months. Tracked via phone interview, I have a hunch that this statistic is highly optimistic. But, being New Year's Day is still a month away, you're probably wondering why I'm getting all worked up. Over the past couple of weeks I've fallen into a rut. Despite having the best intentions in regard to healthy eating, daily exercise, and giving up nicotine, there has been little in the way of results. The rut isn't restricted to healthy living habits, either. Somehow it finds its way into my finances, my intellectual endeavors, and let's not forget my emotional stability. Two days ago I tried to write an extensive and scathing review of the film Paranormal Activity and found myself running into nothing but dead ends. I lacked the articulation needed to create basic, well-informed arguments and left the project unfinished with nothing but frustration to show for it. The bottom line is this: I simply don't feel like setting myself up for another slew of disappointments. That's why I'm starting a month early this year. I just need a little headstart, a couple blocks on which to build my empire. It seems silly, trying to navigate through the holidays with weight-loss and financial goals, but it's better than the alternative. I'm not getting any younger, my metabolism isn't getting any faster, and lord knows my mind isn't becoming any sharper. When I asked my personal guru (aka my mom) about this predicament, she gave me a simple rule of thumb. Start with your health, everything else will fall into place. Get more sleep, go for a walk, eat more fruits and vegetables, quit making lofty and unrealistic fitness goals. Already today I neglected to wake up early and go to the gym AND I had a cigarette over my lunch break. I'm not off to a very good start. That brings me to my next point . . .

As I rapidly approach my 25th birthday (January 19th) it is becoming increasingly evident that I belong to Generation ME (also known as GenY, IGen, I, Gen1, Millenials, and GenY2K). Classifying the new generation is easy: anyone born after 1981 and before 1999. We were raised on technology, we reject cultural norms, and most of all, we're known for our self-obsession and narcissism. Unfortunately, it's all true. Most of us are spoiled, bored, overeducated, underpaid, we lack longterm goals yet have an abundance of opinions and ideals. We are the fast food generation. We all have laptops, Ipods, and Netflix, our accessibility to information being limitless. With all of this technology at our fingertips and the numbers in our favor, what do we do? We waste. We waste our time, our energy, and the world's resources. Welcome to the 21st century. Actions speak louder than words, but our words tell the story of our apathy. Catch the next installment anywhere in cyberspace. Gay marriage, abortion, recession - to us these are just terms . . . terms we were born with that hold no controversy or moral ambiguity. America the beautiful, land of the free market and home of consumerism. And my New Year's resolution? Let's just say greed and vanity are in this year. So we put the cultural revolution on hold, and hopefully by the time we're 30 we'll start giving a shit.

A Generation Apart

I spent a lot of time yesterday thinking about what I was going to write about today. I dissected a number of themes including: the role capitalism plays in our holiday traditions (boring), the real and sordid history of Thanksgiving (been done), and finally, things in my own life that I'm thankful for (sentimental rubbish). In the end, I decided to discard all of these ideas and write instead about the gaping hole that exists between my generation and all those that precede it. This is the story of my Thanksgiving. Due to my work schedule, I decided to stay in the town I'm currently living and celebrate Turkey Day with a few friends. Thanksgiving is a strange holiday because, realistically, it's all about food. The underlying events of the said holiday have been either forgotten or drastically altered enough to the point where they cease to hold any sort of significance. How many families do you know tell the story of the one day our ancestors decided not to screw over the Indians and they all shared a meal together? At any rate, we had big plans for our Thanksgiving celebration. There was to be hors d'oeuvres, ham, mashed potatoes, pies, etc. My donation, per usual, was to bring the wine and baked goods (for those who are not from the midwest, baked goods consist of brownies, bars, scotcheroos, and danishes). I never actually learned how to cook, so my meal contribution usually takes the form of sitting in the kitchen and entertaining the cooks while I consume vast amounts of red wine. This year was to be no exception. The gang woke up around 11:30am. We had crashed the night before around one in the morning, so we all looked bright-eyed and refreshed. We decided, in an effort to reject societal norms, that we would start cooking later in the afternoon and have a nice mid-evening supper . . . so we went about our day the same way we would any other. We watched three episodes of 'Lost,' my friend Harry played a couple games of Madden 10 on the PS3, and we had cracked a bottle of wine. Finally, around 3:00pm we decided it was probably time to look at the recipe for the ham and start cooking. You can imagine our surprise when we realized the ham would have to be cooked for over FIVE HOURS! Who knew it took so long to cook a ham, much less a 12lb ham. After the ham went in the oven, we had some time to kill. I finished the first season of 'Lost' (brilliant) and we decided to play a card game. Since we had so many bottles of wine and it was gong to be about 2.5 hours until the ham was done, someone got the bright idea that we should turn UNO into a drinking game. After going through three bottles of wine and a quarter of a bottle of tequila (not to mention some rousing rounds of UNO) we were all well on our way to being half in the bag. The next two hours were a blur (probably because I was drunk . . . ). People were running in and out of the kitchen, there was yelling and fighting, and finally, around 10:15pm, the meal was done. I must say the food was very good. Unfortunately, I passed out before the pies had cooled . . .

Now - let's rewind the clock back to noon. I called my family and my mom tells me that her and my dad had been up since 4:00am preparing the food and the house for company. The whole while I'm thinking to myself, "I'm so glad we don't have to follow the dictates of a timeline that other people have thrust on us" and "good for us for having such an outside the box Thanksgiving." But the truth is, making such a momentous meal was stressful (and I easily did the least amount of work). You're probably asking yourself, "what's the point? So what? You guys are unorganized shmucks, what does that say about your generation?" I happen to think it says a lot. It reflects a new perspective on responsibility and efficiency. When our parents were our age (early to mid-twenties), many of them were already married, had children, and had started the job that they would consider their 'career.' These days, there are very few of us in that boat. This changes the way we regard responsibility. When I seriously ask the question: who am I responsible for? The answer is short and simple, I'm responsible for myself. Hence, I have no interest in taking on the societal baggage that comes with hosting 'traditional' seasonal gatherings. Hell, I can hardly arrange my own breakfast! But this shift in responsibility has brought other changes as well. It has birthed a new era of efficiency. Efficiency can be defined as an 'effective operation as measured by a comparison of production with cost' (Merriam-Webster). I don't mean this strictly in terms of how we view holidays, marriage, or cooking, but rather it effects the lens through which we view all things. We, as a generation, are in a unique position to dispel the traditions and ideals that our predecessors have been clinging to for so long. Perhaps the world needs a cultural makeover . . . or perhaps we're all so stuck in our ways that change is a faraway fantasy. I found out last night that a Thanksgiving dinner takes a lot of hard work, time, and money. So what am I going to do next year if faced with a similar predicament? I'll probably try to convince my friends that we should hit up a restaurant instead.

Gone Baby Gone

Eleanor Roosevelt was wrong. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. Memories blur with time and the sentimental staying power of photographs is vastly overrated. Basically, it sucks when someone we love departs, dissapears, or simply cuts us out of their lives. It leaves a gaping hole that is all the more painful when you realize the inevitable: life will go on. But the going on will change. You will no longer feel the excitement of a dinner date, the intimacy of a late-night walk, or merely the good company of an afternoon grocery run. Not with that old friend anyway. There may be the occasion phone call, or if you're really diligent a letter or email, but your relationship will be forever changed. I should add here (before my inner defeatist takes over) that I do think it's possible to have a healthy, fulfilling long-distance friendship, but it takes a lot of work. I'm writing this because I've got old friends (and one recently departed friend) on my mind. Eddie left for California early Monday morning and I haven't heard from him since. I'm sure he's taking time to turn his situation over in his mind, but all my psyche registers is nothingness. All that remains here of his being and personality is a vacancy, an empty room waiting to be filled.

I have yet to deal with the grief that accompanies the death of a loved one. I have, however, felt grief. Mostly my grieving manifests in the form of regret. I regret pushing so and so away, I regret treating him or her like that. As I get older and progress into my mid-twenties, friendship is becoming an increasingly important part of my life. With no spouse or 'partner' to help me carry my emotional, physical, and financial burdens, my reliance falls mostly upon a tighnit circle of people I have come to love and trust as my own family. I don't mean to sound overly sentimental, rather I find this to be a relevant issue for the new generation. I am a vocal proponent of communal/alternative living arrangements. As young people make the decision to hold off on marriage and dedicate themselves to a career or alternative life path, I think the existence of a support system is imperative. A family is not made up of one man and one woman, two children and a dog, but of people who encourage each other to fulfill their potential. Needless to say, it's a difficult loss. We miss you Eddie.

Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend. -Albert Camus

Everybody's Got a Gripe

All morning I have been looking at quotes about anger. There are some really good ones by the likes of Winston Churchill, Benjamin Franklin, and (of course) Confucius. But the one that sticks out the most is a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. He says, "Anger is an uncontrollable feeling that betrays what you are when you are not yourself. Anger is that powerful internal force that blows out the light of reason. Know this to be the enemy: it is anger, born of desire." My mind and spirit wholeheartedly agree with Emerson. Anger is the enemy, right? So why are we as a species so apt toward the 'emotion' (if that's truly what it is) of anger? I'm not sure, but what I am sure of is that I'm pissed off today. I woke up this morning with a big 'Fuck You' stamped on my forehead and everyone seems intent on agitating my delicate condition. I keep asking myself the same question again and again: Why are you angry? The only reply I get is the echo of another crabby customer griping in my ear or a phone call about something I personally took the initiative to mess up. In an effort to take control of my madness I have decided to contact the one person I think may have some insight into this conundrum: my mother.

Lunch starts at 12:30, so I go out to my car and make the most important phone call of the day. I tell my mom that I'm angry for no apparent reason. Little things are getting on my nerves. Everyone is bitching and moaning and I don't really want to hear it. I'm one coffee spill away from snapping like a firecracker . . . and she (per usual) puts the whole thing in perspective. You see, what I didn't think about was the fact that for the past two weeks I've been fighting off some sort of respiratory ailment. Since I came down with my nasty affliction, I've begun each morning with a nice large dose of cold medicine. And it's not just any old cold medicine, it's one of the more popular over-the-counter drugs that contains pseudoephedrine, a decongestant that has a reputation for causing side effects such as mood swings, loss of appetite, anxiety, etc. Now, you may be wondering, what's mom's miracle remedy for cold medicine withdrawal? Drink more coffee. The caffeine is a stimulant and, if anything, will keep your mind from the groggy depths of sleepy despair.

The question of the hour remains, what does it all mean? Emerson, anger, cold-medicine, motherly wisdom. Where does my mild irritation fit in a world marred with violence? The answer: I have no idea. Anger seems to be a driving force for so many actions in our world. Whether it be war or advocacy, everyone is so damn irate. What my own experience with anger re-affirms is what researchers, dieticians, and doctors have been saying for years. The substances we put into our bodies (whatever they may be) have a direct effect on our physical and emotional well-being. So I can do one of two things. Either I can start listening to my body, creating an impeccable record of all the things I ingest throughout the day and the various ways they affect me, or . . . I can lighten up and realize that my problem, along with everyone elses, is that we take everything too damn seriously.

Note: Nothing I write should EVER be confused with actual medical advice and I apologize for making two or more vast and sweeping generalizations about the human condition.

Searching for a Voice

Today is my re-birthday. This is the day I leave behind my concrete, earthly soap-box in favor of something a little more metaphysical (or perhaps techno-centric is a better word). Yes ladies and gentleman, this is my first blog ever. Not quite sure of how to flex my newfound bionic vocal chords, I suppose I will describe the events that have led up to this memorable moment. Recently, I have been searching for my voice. It all starts with an opinion. Throughout the day I read a myriad of articles on all sorts of topics, from the repeal of the so-called Defense of Marriage Act to the kooky schemes of Scientology, and I yearn for a place in which to explore ideologies and examine the vast scope of human polarities. Lately, these rogue (curse you Sarah Palin) thoughts have fallen on deaf ears (mostly due to the fact that my friends are tired of listening to my second-hand social commentary and are jealous that their workplaces are without the luxury of high-speed internet access). Hence, my journey into the world of technology begins.

Here's a little bit about me. I'm a bi-racial transgender republican. Just kidding. But sometimes I wish I was that diverse and interesting. I'm actually a white gay male in my mid-twenties with a background in: Surprise! Theatre performance and English literature. My true passions lie somewhere between the existential stoicism of British Literature post-1900 and the Avant-garde and seemingly nihilistic plays of one Sarah Kane. But perhaps those subjects are better explored later, when there's more time . . . and that leads me to the real reason for starting this blog. This blog is a shout-out to a generation 'left behind' by a counrty in the midst of economic and cultural crisis. Or perhaps it's a direct representation of my restlessness as a middle-class white male feeling the weight of mediocrity upon my twenty-something shoulders. I spent the past two years as a flight attendant herding rude people around the globe in glorified fruit crates and have given that up to re-join the art world and do some theatre in a quaint Mississippi town in Wisconsin. Oh yeah, and I have a day job. So without further ado, I introduce to you R.M.B.-Speak, a blog that will explore all things that enter the vast (and perhaps hollow) realm of my psyche. Stay tuned.