Thoughts

Everyone among us has done this at some point in their life; I am confident of that. The specifics will differ person to person and situation to situation, but the broad idea remains universal. There are sometimes that either due to sleepiness, or being preoccupied, that we do something we would normally only due when alone...in public. Sometimes being seen is trivial, other times it can be highly embarrassing.

I am not one to embarrass easily, but I can say that it was at least a little awkward yesterday as I was accidentally swept off my feet by some song on the internet radio. To the disappointment of a reader or two, I did not come out of my chair, but I will qualify the little head bob I did as "dancing" as I lip sync'd? lip sanc? lip synched? sang along volumelessly. Lost in song I did not notice the coworker walking towards the GIANT WINDOW of my office. He just watched as he went past and smiled a "you are truly a putz" smile and went on his way. No skin off my back really, but as I said it was at least a little awkward.

Another instance, today I spent my lunch hour at the barbershop getting my ears lowered. While in "the chair", there was one waiting and he had a copy of today's newspaper. Left page in left hand. Right page in right hand. Having held a newspaper open, you are familiar with how fickle the crease in the paper can be. This gentleman managed, with little effort, to upset the crease. Remember, left hand...right hand... This guy pulled the paper closer and stuck his neck out and helped fix the crease in the paper with his face! I'VE DONE THAT!! I cannot tell you how much better I feel for having witnessed another human being employ this move to fold his newspaper. You have been there, if you release one hand or the other, pages will fall. There is no table in front of you on which to place the newspaper so you are left to improvise. Like a hatchling poking through his egg, you use your face to fix your newspaper. I imagined the most high powered CEO or a world leader, someone who commands respect, fixing his newspaper this same way and all was right with the world.

It is as if he brought validation to my existence. Obviously I imposed upon this man each and every idiosyncrasy of mine and made them ours so if just for a minute I was a little less...different. Then I had to take them back, they're what make me me, right?

It is amazing. A man could walk into your office and tell you a tale of how his morning has been. A true horror story, three simultaneous flat tires in the rain on a highway with a closed shoulder, spilt coffee in his lap, difficulty sitting down after his alien abduction, you name it. All you have to say is "At least it's Friday," and he will instantly perk up. How has medical science not spent millions of dollars researching this phenomenon?

Where does the therapeutic nature of this phrase gather such strength? I bet even if the stock market crashed on a Friday, they wouldn't even call it a "Depression" until Tuesday (What? Too soon?).

Try it. Today being Friday, you could probably walk up to a stranger you pass on the street and punch him in the stomach. "Sorry, pal. Hey, at least it's Friday." And boom, no repercussions. I am unable to figure it out. Maybe the harmonic nature of the syllables as they are strung together creates some euphoric state in the brain of anyone within earshot.

I will warn you, though, "At least it's Friday" does NOT carry the same weight unless it really is Friday. I tried it on a Tuesday not too long ago and rather than cheering up said coworker, I received puzzled looks. "It's not Friday," was all I got from her as she walked away.

Lesson learned.

What a way to start off the week. Making myself breakfast this morning I came across The Mystery Egg. If you have never encountered one of your own, please allow me a moment to explain. In my carton of eggs I noticed one was a bit larger than the rest; oversized if you will. Not only do I enjoy eating, but eggs are on the list of things I like. A bigger egg in my carton pleased me to no end. You can imagine my sudden guilt as I felt that I was cheating the system. I had paid for 12 normal eggs, and not 11 normal eggs plus 1 behemoth egg. I was originally leaning towards it being an ostrich egg, but women's intuition tells me maybe it is not an ostrich, but rather a Tyranasaurus Rex egg! Wait, women's intuition? Ignore that.

It was one egg to rule them all, and I here it was in my carton...rather, stuck to my carton. Disappointment set in as, in the realm of eggs, one stuck to the carton means that it is a broken one. When chipped and/or cracked, spilt contents will adhere rather strongly to the carton. If common sense does not tell you this already, please disregard this egg. Attempting to consume such an egg would not produce healthy results.

After some careful massaging and caressing of my gargantuan egg, I finally was able to sever the carton's grip and my egg was free at last. Disappointment became elation when after my ordinary and prudent review, the egg shell was solid and completely intact.

I am no egg connoisseur, but I do purchase them from time to time for various purposes, or purpi if it pleases you. Cooking, baking, decorating your favorite teacher's house, whatever. One thing that I have never come across in my short time on Earth is an egg such as this. Not only was it a bit bigger than usual, but it also has some...issue...with its contents. An exercise for us to do together is this: go to your refrigerator and pull an egg out of the carton. Now, hold it near your ear and shake it gently. You should not hear anything, nor should you feel anything as the contents dance inside the shell. My mystery egg failed one, not both of those criteria.

Something was definitely moving inside my egg. Not on its own, but moving none the less. After careful deliberation, I have decided not to eat the mystery egg, but this chapter of my life will not close so easily. There is one piece of my puzzle missing. The way I see it, there are two options before me.

1. Defy the burning curiosity and dispose of the mystery egg, never to hear from it again.

This option may be the safest for mankind if the mystery egg may contain the apocalypse. How guilty would I feel if I unleash the end of the world? Tell me you would like that on your conscience. Not me, no thanks.

2. Take ownership of the curiosity and crack the egg.

I would not eat the mystery egg, that ship has sailed. However, I feel that I may contribute something to the state of modern science with my examining the contents of the mystery egg. You never know, it may contain the cure for cancer; or maybe even herpes. Imagine NOT getting your picture on the cover of Time Magazine for curing herpes all because you didn't crack open the mystery egg. Sounds glamorous, but it is not without danger. The risk here is that I may develop such a debilitating phobia of eggs that I am unable to even hear a chicken cluck. The contents may be so absolutely disgusting that I cannot go near another egg, mystery or not. I am not sure that is a wager that I can afford to make.

No one ever explains to you the hard choices you will have to make in life, when you are a child. I am not sure I am adequately prepared for this. I do not consider my parents entirely at fault, but I do vow to you that my child(ren) will be equipped with the tale of the mystery egg. The next generation will be ready...

Wil and Katie came over the other night for "movie night" and we, after a simple process of elimination, decided upon Requiem For A Dream. Great movie, don't get me wrong. I have seen it multiple times, and though it will never be easy to accept the events of the movie as real, they don't bother me anymore. Or at least I thought not.

I slept through the night well enough, the only sign that something was a bit...off, was the song in my head as I awoke. If you remember, this is not the first time I have considered my own sanity based upon early morning song choice. This time was only slightly different. Instead of Mark Hamill singing Luke Be A Jedi Tonight, it was Baloo from Jungle Book doing his rendition of "The Bare Necessities".

Granted I do not know the words to this song beyond "It's the...bare...necessities...". How one could wake up with a song in their head though only knowing 4.5 words is beyond me.

The more I have thought about it though, those words alone relate rather well two fold to "Requiem". Either in the approach that Requiem shows the horrors of drug use and you should avoid them and stick to the Bare Necessities, or in that for junkies being able to "push off" is the Bare Necessity. Makes you think. Or well, makes me think.

Don't tell me you have never (over)analyzed anything!

Well, I should be able to sleep easier. It is something I have not done well for about as long as I can remember; sleep that is. Maybe what was bothering me is now less heavy on my mind.

Why am I perpetually single? Here I thought I had commitment issues. Turns out I was way off. In fact, it is much much worse; though the two are somewhat related.

What have been nagging at the back of my mind are...are you ready?
... Minivans.

Minivans have a reputation for poor maneuverability and performance in comparison with other types of vehicles. They are also the vehicle of choice for large suburban families. Minivans have been mocked for those attributes by the media. -Wikipedia

I am 24 years old. I can't drive a minivan yet! I understand that not everyone, when they have children, opts for the minivan as mode of transportation, but what if I do?

Many might tell me that I am over-reacting, but have you ever sat down and thought about it? I know some grown men with families, SUV men, roomy sedan men, when in fact they are now minivan men. Not only will I never forget the look on one family friend's face as he was legitimately excited about hearing something about a new feature in sliding side door technology, but I believe it is burned into my retinas.

Ok, so minivans aren't for everyone. Not all families need them, not all men grow up to own and drive them. I am certain that there is a particular pedigree of males who will at some point in their life become excited by the latest and greatest features available in a minivan. There is nothing wrong with that. You don't need me to tell you that, car companies wouldn't manufacture them if they weren't able to sell them.

The question becomes What if I fit the profile? What if it is in my DNA, my very genetic fibers, that I am going to drive a minivan when I have children? It must be considered a huge milestone in one man's life when he finally thinks having a minivan of his very own is a good idea. It is THAT to which I cannot commit.

"A mini-van is not the car of a warrior." - Marysia (A/K/A "some random site thanks to Google.") You hear that? Not the car of a warrior. You got that right! How can I drive a car not fit for a warrior? Ok maybe, just maybe, I am reaching a little bit with the warrior thing.

Anyway, I am glad that I was able to locate the source of my fear. I believe I have had my closure and am now able to move forward. The journey will be an arduous one, there is no doubt of that. I will take it one day at a time. The important thing is that I have the support of family and friends, right?

What's that? Neither family nor friends support me in my plight against the minivan?

Maybe I am doomed...

The idea for Grand Lux Cafe came to life when The Venetian Resort, Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas asked David Overton, Founder of The Cheesecake Factory Restaurants, to create an upscale casual restaurant concept for their property.

Located right in the casino at The Venetian, Grand Lux Cafe is easy to find. There are even signs posted directing you to the door. Once you are there, seating options are inside the restaurant or at one of the tables that is out in the casino.

My only complaint from the trip was what I imagine to be the only complaint I would ever have with the Grand Lux, the iced tea was not very good. My dissatisfaction goes no further. In fact, from there my satisfaction actually grows rapidly.

I believe on the menu it is listed as Creamy Spinach and Cheese Dip...though more commonly Spinach and Artichoke dip...and it just might be the best I have ever had. The dip is served with plenty of tortilla chips, so you never have to worry about running out of things to dip, a problem I frequently encounter at other restaurants.

If you are familiar with the menus at The Cheesecake Factory, then you understand how overwhelmed you can feel at Grand Lux Cafe as well. So many items on the menu and they all sound good. There just aren't enough hours in the day for a menu like that, but you have to start somewhere.

I ordered the Fried Chicken. The meal I anticipated, a breast/thigh/leg with a side of mashed potatoes, would have been right for how hungry I was. The meal I got, a veritable mountain of chicken strips with a side of mashed potatoes, was a bit more than I could handle. I think the chicken was like $13-14. You cannot beat that.

Grand Lux has locations in Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Dallas, Houston and Chicago with two future locations of Garden City, NY and Sunrise, FL. At least in the cities where there are currently locations, there are so many restaurants and I always try to not go to the same place twice when I travel since there are so many options. I will have to fight to stick to that when I have the option to go back to Grand Lux Cafe. The place is even open 24 hours (in Las Vegas)!

Avenue Q is the hit show that received seemingly endless praise on Broadway and is now playing on the Broadway Theatre at Wynn Las Vegas in...Las Vegas.

Not an easy show to describe, but the best way apparently is as a "grown up Sesame Street". A small cast of very talented puppeteers play the host of characters that live on Avenue Q. The characters come to Avenue Q ready to meet the challenges of the real world head on, but learn quickly that life is harder than they anticipated.

Seeing a puppet struggle to find his way in New York City, facing issues such as unemployment, one night stands, racism, relationships (both homosexual and heterosexual), even internet pornography, is not something I had ever expected. Ask me before we started planning this trip to Las Vegas if I thought I would ever see two puppets have sex live on stage...well we were in Vegas.

Kudos to the creators of Avenue Q for giving us such a treat. The show was very good; high energy and very funny. If you are looking for a show that is a little less ordinary, try a different Avenue. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

When you see people running in the hallway, let's face it, they are almost positively running to the restroom. Where else could they be heading in the middle of the afternoon (or morning)? I understand that if it were maybe, say, noon or thereabouts, maybe they are running to catch their ride to lunch. However, most of the time I would wager that this person was just too caught up in their day to day responsibilities to make it to the restroom in a reasonably timely fashion.

So now here they are, running towards the restroom with nothing between them and pay dirt but YOU. You cannot tell me that you have never once thought about striking up a conversation with this person. Subject matter at this point is irrelevant. Play it off as if you did not notice the pace by which they were covering distance in the hall. I am sure you would find at least one person that might find it rude to shrug you off in light of a more pressing engagement, right?

But I guess at this point the more meaningless the conversation the better. Small talk would work best. If you tried to catch them on what the latest sales figures were or what budget projections would be for the third quarter of 2014 I think the humor would be lost. Idle chit chat is by far the Privatjokr endorsed method for trying to stop someone dead in their tracks as they hightail it for a pit stop.

I just hope this is not in any way related to Haley's comet. How can I try this out if I don't see someone running to the restroom again for another 75 years?

You know you've done it.

For some, there is nothing that can turn a day sour faster than an itch. One particular itch, placed so precisely out of your reach. There is a drop zone in the middle of your back that will vary from person to person based upon many factors (height, weight, flexibility, knowledge of the 50 state capitals). The simple fact of the matter is, try all you like and your autonomy is thrown in your face. You are forced to seek outside help to alleviate the nagging itch on your back.

How long do you struggle with it before you realize it is beyond your reach? Will you actually spend the time? I could imagine some people who get that itch on their back and then try to stretch out their shoulder because maybe that will help. What would impress me is anyone who actually has a rigorous daily calisthenics program that is designed to allow access to this trouble zone on your back. Maybe I could develop that... Imagine sales from the VHS tapes alone... Uhhhh Pantent pending!

Sit and reflect for a moment. Just how many inanimate objects have you employed for thwarting that itch? Oh my...how many animate objects?! If you have ever been standing at the aquarium and thought that Goldy was just long enough to reach the itch, you are a sick individual. But seriously, pens, pencils, a ruler maybe, car keys, careful with the scissors, we have all done it. And many of you, I am sure, have tried what I have found to be the single most effective method. The door frame.

That's right. The door frame. You stand up, stand in the doorway and rub yourself against the door frame. No, turn around. Yes, like that (sicko). Nothing. I repeat. Nothing works as well as the door frame. They make back scratchers, which are nice, don't get me wrong. I find they are more therapeutic in a massage capacity than they are good for the back itch; at least when compared to the door frame.

Stand there, in all your glory, and rub your back against the corner. You look like a bear doing the same against a tree. A big lazy bear. You think he's doing that because he is a lesser being? Or because his short stubby arms won't reach? Don't give me that elitist science crap. He does it because it is EFFECTIVE.

Many studies have been conducted throughout the bear community on various other methods, but at the end of the day the tree always has the best results. I recommend a door frame as opposed to a tree, as they are more readily available in most places. Except at Christmas time. But be very careful of the ornaments, some of them hurt. And "But I had an itch" is not the best excuse for why you stepped on your sister's present from Auntie Phyllis.

I think I am even going to start using the door frame as my solution to most if not all itch problems. It might look a little awkward when I am standing half in and half out of my office trying to satisfy the itch on the bottom of my foot, but I expect most people already take my actions with a grain of salt.