Shameless self promotion

I got a mention in one of my favorite blogs! I exist! The Brownstoner http://philly.brownstoner.com/ is a blog that gives the inside scoop on development/real estate/architectural happenings in Philly. A few days ago the blog called on local architects to submit a quick lunchtime sketch of what they would do with the new underground gallery space Frank Gehry is designing for the Philadelphia Museum of Art since no renderings have been released. So I did a quick 20 second sketch and submitted it. I appreciated the kudos and the sarcasm in their post. No, seriously, I did. I guess my submission was a little tongue in cheek too but either way I got some props and was proud of it. So check it out. http://ph.ly/8w

DJ Clue

I have no clue who DJ Clue is... but I do know that he pretty much wrecked every one of my favorite rap anthems in college. I'd be listening to my favorite JaRule song, and then 30 seconds in I'd hear CLUE! CLUE! CLUE! Nothing worse than downloading the same song ten times and every one of them ruined by clue. I guess that's what I get when I download JaRule songs.

Shoe Policy

Shoes are a tough thing for straight guys to buy these days. Maybe I'm shopping at the wrong places, but shoes are almost as hard to buy as jeans. I've needed a new pair of shoes for work for months but haven't found anything I've liked. Some are too square others too rounded, or they're so flat that it looks like you are a hobbit. Your choices are Eurotrash dbag, ultra-conservative 60 year old banker, or high school hipster. I just wanted some regular style boots for the winter. Finally, I went to DSW where they have hundreds of bad shoes to choose from, I was bound to find one pair that was acceptable. Found it.
Now I understand the no return policy. If you wear them, you can't return them. I get it. But they need to make one exception for returns. If you wear them, walk around in them for a day, and then realize that when you walk they make fart noises. It's especially noticeable in the office. And it's not an acceptable squeak either. It sounds pretty much like farts. To me, that is a defect in the shoe and can be proven to the store clerk for a refund. It'd be a good idea not to mention to the clerk that it squeaks even more if you happen to be laughing.

the gym.... again

The gym has been a constant source of entertainment for me. Who knew it could be so fun? Believe it or not I have a new found discipline. I've been going at least 3 times a week, but admittedly it's been getting harder since it's darker and colder in the mornings. I even went after work last week but I hate going after work. It's more crowded, smells bad, and I mean really bad, unbearably bad and the last thing I want to do after work is go to the gym. (one huge dude smelled so bad, I did a whole set of exercises holding my breath. I actually had to leave after 2 exercises. It was worse than a middle school locker room after a hoagie sale.) But that's not the point. I have been thinking about this for a while now and today I solidified my thoughts on this. I went to the gym at lunch (see, I told you, I'm disciplined) to see if a lunch time routine would work for me in the winter months. Plus I just needed a change of scenery. I was getting tired of seeing the same 3 ugly people every morning. Every time I see a trainer at the gym training a woman though, I get angry. These poor vulnerable women. These dudes aren't training, they're borderline raping. "Here, now do this exercise while I stand behind you and watch. Better yet, let's go on the mat where I'll flirt with and stretch your legs in ways no stranger should ever touch you." The most unfortunate part, I think most of these women are liking it.

Bastards

Over the last three or four weeks I've encountered some serious bastards in the truest sense of the word. Two to be exact. Actual bastards. I am sure you still aren't understanding. Two actual bastards, like kids born out of wedlock. I was talking to a group of friends and was talking about one of the kids and said, "yeah, he's a bastard." And then there was a long pause. "No, literally, he's a bastard." I guess it's one of those words that isn't good even when it's used correctly. I guess there are a lot of bad words that aren't good even when used correctly, but bastard shouldn't be one of them. It's not the kids fault. It must be weird knowing all your life that you really are a bastard in the truest sense of the word. It's like an original sin that baptism can't wash away.

Career choices

I was never one of those kids growing up that said they wanted to be a fireman or a police officer or a doctor. Those are your typical jobs that kids say they want to be. All of them good, respectable jobs. I don't really like fighting crime or fires or putting my life in danger, so that rules out policeman and fireman. But I don't know why I never considered being a doctor. I'm not afraid of blood, I like helping people, and I like making a lot of money. I thought about what it must be like to be a doctor at the gym this morning when I was looking at the equipment to see how to do a particular exercise. You always see those "consult your physician" before performing this exercise stickers. It got me thinking how annoying it must be if doctors actually got those phone calls. No one would ever want to be a doctor. "Hey doc. Sorry to bother you, but I am about to do this cable cross thing at the gym. You think I can handle it?" "Hey doc, yeah it's me again. No I am fine. It's just that I got this girl over and there's a good chance that we could... you know. Do it. Just making sure if it's okay for me to pop this Viagra. And uh, yeah, do I need to call you next time? It might be in the morning if I am lucky." "Hey doc. Sorry this is the last time. Bout to go on this roller coaster." No wonder no one wants to be a general practitioner anymore.

Footprints

I went out to San Diego this past weekend for a good friend of mines wedding. Everything about it was beautiful, the bride and groom were beautiful, the weather, ceremony.... all of it absolutely amazing. Unfortunately I was having one of those nights when no matter how much I had been drinking, I wasn't getting a buzz on. Naturally, it hit me all at once at the end of the evening. Not something I am proud of. But it reminded me that no matter how drunk I get, I always find my way home. And in my case, I not only find my way home, I always get undressed and in my bed, cell phone always plugged back in, wallet always on dresser. And that's when I thought about that footprints prayer. It was after I passed out that Jesus gave me a piggy back ride home. And then wrote on my face in magic marker. Psych, that part didn't happen.