Anyway you slice it, I’m a pretty big dork. So the creator, in his infinite wisdom, granted me Mitch. Mitch is a big guy, bigger than me (in more ways than one, ladies). I met Mitch the summer before my junior year. Actually, I’d met him long before when he and I went to elementary school together, but people change a lot, so I didn’t meet Mitch as he is until we were sixteen.

Mitch is a sports nut. He knows it all, he watches it all. He’s currently majoring in sports communication in Ohio. He’s also a pretty big hippy, what with the corduroy patchwork pants and the long, sometimes dready hair. Plus there’s the Soundtribe and Lotus he introduced me too and the Summercamp festival I’ve gone to with him the last two years (number three, coming up).

I met Mitch at an interesting point in our lives. Mitch had just stopped smoking pot after a short career as a connoisseur, and I had just had my heart broken for the first (and only) time. So I needed someone who could prove that you can come back from the cliff in life, and Mitch needed someone to prove that you could be a huge dick and get whatever you want. I joke because I sincerely would never presume to say what Mitch needed from me that first summer.

Oftentimes with great friends we forget what initially attracted us to each other, because we become so entwined. I will try to explain how our friendship was formed, but to me it is like asking, “How’d you get that left hand of yours?”

We had very different upbringings. Mitch’s mother is like a counter-culture saint. Mitch grew up with two house rules: 1) You can not say “cunt.” 2) You can not take ecstasy

Mitch was an open and honest man from the start. He immediately made me feel comfortable telling him anything about myself, and didn’t hesitate to reciprocate. Like many great friendships formed by men, we started by talking a lot about women. It turned out we both had been hurt, and that was not something I could find in a lot of my other friends. Once we had talked about women, we set about the real work of adolescent friendship, breaking the law.

Mitch was one of the reasons that I drank in high school, and he had a serious head start on me (still does, to be honest). And when we weren’t doing that, we were smoking underage, and committing petty theft. It seems to me now that these things weren’t so much Mitch’s influence, as my thirst for a little badassery.

Then something strange happened during our senior year of high school. Mitch and I started to realize that the people we were friends with in high school *gasp* Wouldn’t Always Be Friends With Us! So we, like many others, started to look around and wonder who would still be in the picture a year later. There was no question in either of our minds that the other was a friend for life, and like an exponential growth model (I told you I was a dork) we became ever tighter once we had accepted this fact.

Mitch is a simpler man than I, and I think that’s what I envy about him. Friendship is often about a kind of narcissism, we’re attracted to people who have qualities we like about ourselves, or that we hope to somehow learn from our friends. And Mitch was just plain decent, and I wanted to be that. He did more than anyone else to help me overcome the intellectual elitism taught to me, because when I was saying something really pedantic, Mitch would silence me with irrefutable logic, e.g. “Quit bullshitting.”

Today, Mitch and I have successfully maintained our relationship across two sets of state lines, and I don’t know a lot of people who have done that. But it doesn’t seem hard to me to keep up the friendship. When you get that close to someone, they become a part of you, and how can you disconnect from yourself?

My father still has two of his college friends, after nearly forty years together. Through all the bullshit, the moves, changing jobs, wives, interests. 55 years old and they still sit around and talk with people they trust. I’m looking forward to the day when I’m 50, and I get a call from Mitch (who will be the GM of the Cubs), hang up the phone, and turn to my kids (Michael, Robert, Patrick, and Sophia) and say:

“Uncle Mitch is coming for dinner.”

For those of you who don’t know the Flaming Lips song mentioned above, stop what you are doing and acquaint yourself at http://youtube.com/watch?v=6tRXO9Q8LkY You should probably have it playing while you read this.

Part of the lyrics go:

Do you realize that everyone you know, someday, will die?
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes, let them know you realize that life goes fast
It’s hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun don’t go down, it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning round.

So all week I will be blogging about the people who need to know I realize. These posts will be very personal, with a little bit of humor to use as a self-defense mechanism. But I don’t want to just tell you about Mitch, Nick, Michael, and Woody. I want to encourage you to do the same. If you come to my blog this week, and you read what I have to say about these people, who each day shaped and shape who I am for the better, I hope it reminds you of the people in your life. The people who need to know you realize, need to know you appreciate them, need to know how you feel.

Too often, we let things go unsaid. And like in statistics, there are two kinds of errors. We can say things we can’t take back, and wish we’d never said.
Or we can be silent, when we wish we could tell someone how important they are to us.

In my opinion, that silence is worse than all the terrible things I’ve ever said in my entire life. And breaking it is better than taking back all the things I wish I’d never heard.

So I hope you enjoy this week, and I hope you read and comment and stuff (I appreciate everyone who has gone out of their way to do both, and to even bring it up in real conversations). But if you are all silent, I hope that it’s because you’re too busy taking the time to call an old friend and tell them that you still need them, that you’re sorry for everything you didn’t say, and that you’ll never forget to say those things again.

I’m all for public transportation, it’s efficient and eco-friendly. But I can’t think of any more perfect example for human disconnect than riding on a public bus.

First, there’s the experience of getting on a bus with one or more people you know. This experience is weird because you go ahead with whatever conversation you were already going to have, and basically pretend that no one else can hear you. You treat the other people on the bus as if they’re the people you don’t know in a dream you have about a party (they ARE!). It gets real weird, real fast if in the middle of a conversation about say, your recent sexual exploits, and you suddenly remember that the people across the aisle, are not only real, but listening in.

The only exception to this is when you’re on the way to a show at the Canopy. I can say from experience that the best way to promote a stronger bus culture in this type of situation is to walk the entire length of the full bus with your friends repeating the name of the band you’re on the way to see, in the style of the seagulls from Finding Nemo:

“Tribe? Tribe? Sound Tribe? Tribe?”

If you’re not with people you know, you can also get on the bus alone and then see someone you know. This is super awkward, because there are two bus environments. One is a relatively empty bus, where when you see someone you know you have to sit next to them and pretend like you give a shit about why they’re on the bus too. If the bus is crowded this experience sucks because all you can do is get on the bus, do a quick scan, make eye contact, and then turn away from that person. You can’t have a conversation through the packed bus but you feel like you can’t just make an unspoken agreement that it would be ridiculous to try to.

The least awkward situation on a bus is when you are alone, don’t run into people you knew from the dorms, and you’re listening to your iPod. In this situation, I recommend two things. First, full volume. Second, any song that features a harmonica. I use Bob Dylan. Because what happens is that the people who don’t know you can hear your music, but only a little bit of it. And a harmonica really stands out, I could explain why if I still understood physics. Now you can turn the awkardness of public transportation to your amusement, because the people who hear Dylan’s harmonica want to look around and see where it’s coming from, but their distaste for the awkward eye contact such a search promises, will STOP THEM FROM LOOKING AROUND. This is awesome, because it’s funny to watch people deal with this dilemma.

Of course, the weather’s getting better, so you can skip a lot of this by walking. But don’t get me started on how awkward it is to run into people on the quad.

I started acting when I was eight. Then, when I was 13 decided I wouldn’t pursue it as a career. I enjoyed doing it, but it wasn’t really that important to me at the time. But at that same time something new became very important to me, women.

In the average high school drama club, there’s like a 3:1 ratio of female to male. This kind of scenario is what I call, The Happy Hunting Ground. So I did theater all through high school, and when I graduated, thought, “Well, that acting thing was neat, but that’s enough of that.”

I came to college with no real intention of ever being on stage again, but I found a group here called the Penny Dreadful Players. They were kind of cool, and so I auditioned for a show, didn’t get cast, went on with my life, auditioned for a second, and got cast in a significant part. That part was Alan Strang in Equus. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, that means I had to be buck-naked on stage.

Now, like the average human, I have been naked before. This was the first time that I did it in front of more than say, two people at a time. Three hundred people saw me naked in that play. And not like, tastefully, a little naked. Like, you could see my testicles bounce up and down as my character blinds six horses with a metal spike.

I found this to be very cool. Not because I think I look good naked (Too bony, no pun intended) but because it was the first time that I’ve ever really acted. All the other times I was just saying the words. And that time I actually felt like I created a character and all that kind of creative good stuff.

And women seem to have generally been impressed at my having the balls to be naked (not at the sight of them). So, double good.

So I kept acting, I’m working on a play right now, Come See Our Shorts, which is an ensemble piece where we write a bunch of short scripts ourselves and then you pay to see us do it. (More Pimping to follow).

I still never describe myself as an actor. And people think it’s hard to do, it’s not. If you can both read and speak, you have all the qualifications to act. The only other thing that might be necessary is, well, balls.

A sincere thank you to Abby and Beverly for their work towards getting a women’s center on this campus, and being displeased with me for saying that drinking coffee is a better way to change the world (I am given to hyperbole and insensitivity). I would like to express that I am not opposed to a women’s center, whatever that is.

Also, I’d like to remind all of my readers once again, that a good, derogative replacement for
“Warrior Poet”
is
“Wordy Pussy.”

I also want to say, to whomever this anonymous commenter on my blog is:

COME OUT FROM THE SHADOWS BEFORE I COME LOOKING FOR YOU.

Seriously, I can understand commenting anonymously if you wanted to say something really negative (e.g., “Carl, you are the king of all douchebags. All lesser douchebags bow before your magnificent douchery). But your comments are so benign, Anonymous. Why hide?

Also, I think you’re male and in my age group. Correct me if I’m wrong.

I am not the athletic type (understatement). But there is one sport that I love, and I think I invented it myself. When you love something, you should always share it, and so I invite you to sit at the foot of the master as I tell you about the fine art of eating a Chipotle Burrito.

I know what you’re thinking. “It’s just a burrito. How could this be complicated?”

You Fool!

The sport of Chipotle, or Burrympics as I call it, is one of precision. You can’t just eat the burrito and then use a fork to scoop up some of the casualties in your haphazard culinary disaster. I will explain in technical terms how to be a contender in Burrympics, but I can not promise you that even these will put you on my burrito eating level. I can promise though, that with determination and practice, these skills will improve your burrito experience.

Obviously, you know not to unwrap your burrito, but rather tear the foil in rows as you work your way down. Anyone who unwraps their burrito completely is not fit to eat at Chipotle in my presence.

Then you start to “mow the grass.” This is the technical term for taking a bite from one side of the burrito, then another bite next it, all the way across, so that after every three bites, you have a flat, even end of the burrito in front of you. This technique seems intuitive, but you would not believe how many times I have seen people take two bites in a row from the same side (called “favoritism”) and spill all their shit.

Worse is when people bite in the middle of the burrito and the outside edges of the tortilla fold in and spill rice and beans. This is called “The house of cards.”

Now, and this is the hardest part and requires diligence to master, to be a true contender in burrympics, you need to be able to eat an entire burrito without using a napkin, and without spilling anything. These two things are related.

When you take a bite, there are two ways to “discharge” (spill rice and beans). One is that the bite damages the structural integrity of the burrito and thus, discharge is the only way to restore burrito equilibrium (burrlibrium). Or, you take a bite and do not fully capture everything you bite, and you discharge not from the burrito, but from your own mouth. To avoid both, you must take a bite and DO NOT MOVE THE BURRITO FURTHER AWAY. By keeping the burrito close and contained you maintain structural integrity and create a safe landing pad for any potential discharge from you.

Go now, grasshopper. Get those hot beans and rice, steak or chicken cut up into grilled bite-sized pieces, that salsa with sour cream and cheese in a warm, soft tortilla. But remember what you’ve learned.

Using what I learned about contract law from Professor John Kindt, I will explain the objective theory of music snobbery (this joke will be lost on all of you, because I doubt many of my business classmates are big fans of the Warrior Poet):

If it looks like good music, it sounds like good music, but it went platinum, you can’t like it.

If your tastes fit this pattern, you are a music snob. Stop reading Pitchfork. Seriously.

Conversely, I look like a music snob, sound like a music snob, and perhaps reek of music snobbery, but I’m not actually.

It’s easy to get confused by my Eels and Tom Waits t-shirts.

Wear This And Get Laid By Any Of The Six People Who Know Who They Are!

Or my collection of The Mountain Goats albums (it’s too expensive to buy them all, and I refuse to steal them). And yes, I play the Arcade Fire at my house and due to the fragile state of my sanity, can never go to Kam’s on country night. But I just put my iTunes library in order of most recently played, and Buckcherry was in the top twenty most recent. So was “Pass the courvoisier.”

Don’t ThisHit MakeMyPeopleWanna JUMP! JUMP!

Sure I like to sit around and talk about what music is and what it’s supposed to do to the listener ideally. It’d be great if every song was like a lens that you could look through at your whole life (For this, I recommend Brett Dennen, and if you think that he’s “too poppy” or “feminine” or whatever clever bullshit you come up with, I feel sorry for you that you can’t listen to the line, “Blessed is this life” and not identify). And I love complicated structure, and experimentation, and concept albums. But I also genuinely enjoy listening to Jet, Dashboard Confessionals, and especially, My Chemical Romance.

Seriously. I love My Chemical Romance. I will not apologize for this.

Wear This Shirt And Probably Get The Shit Kicked Out Of You!

“If life is just a joke, why aren’t we laughing?”

Damn Straight, My Chem.

It’s cool to find someone like Devin Davis and lover every song he makes even though nobody knows who he is (do you?). But at some point, I gave up the joys of having “heard of them first” as Cake would call it. Instead I just listen to songs that fit what I want when I want it. And sometimes I want something that is worthless, but fun to hear.

Now, where are my Smash Mouth records?

I finally found the right kind of attitude this spring break and it took all the awkward out of being in my hometown. I accepted that when I head north to Barrington, I’m not actually going “home” anymore. I’m going on the most boring vacation ever.

Boring vacations are great, if they’re not too long and you enjoy your company. So this break was perfect for me. I read two books, wrote a little, got a little work done, sat around with a few friends and talked, saw my family, and played with my dog, Huckleberry. What more could I ask for?

But really the best part about this kind of vacation is that it puts a little distance between you and your life. Everything pauses for nine days and you can stop and take a good look around. Which is good, and I’m all for heavy doses of self-reflection. Unfortunately, this usually takes the form of “Oh GOD! What is wrong with me?”

I believe Wild Bill Hickok said it best on Deadwood:
Some goddamn point a man’s due to stop arguing with his-self and feeling twice the goddamn fool he knows he is ’cause he can’t be something he tries to be every goddamn day without once getting to dinnertime and fucking it up.

So this kind of reflection lends itself to making resolutions to change myself. These are some of the ones I made over spring break:

1) Quit smoking (eventually).
2) Start running again (possible)
3) Write more (Which I am doing, due to this blog. Thank you again Elle “Pay attention to her or you’ll miss everything cool and die angry” Destree (the quote is a suggestion from Patton Oswalt, not something Elle ever actually said)).
4) Be nicer (Toss up).

Of course the problem with such resolutions is that they were formed when I had the distance, the perspective, the boring vacation atmosphere to look around and see what needs changing and then decide to do something about it. Then I have to come back to my life and try to make these changes. And that, my friends, is a bitch.

Before dinnertime on my first day back, I had already fucked three of those up. But at least I’m writing more.

Spring is coming and that means one thing: Gentlemen, Ladies, it’s time to remove your pants.

I of course, will not be joining you, because I don’t like wearing shorts. I hate wearing them in fact. This is totally irrational, but such is Man.

Warmer weather means many things to me. First, Frisbee. Which, if it is a sport, is the only sport that I enjoy participating in.

The thing I like best about Frisbee is the audio. Because when you make a good catch or throw, the Law of Frisbee states that you can not make a big deal about it. On the opposite end though, a drop or throw that slices really bad, you must make an expression of disappointment. So if you were just listening to a game of Frisbee without seeing it, all you would hear is people saying, “Oh, SHIT!” “That Sucked!” “I Can’t Believe I Just Did That!” This aspect of Frisbee amuses me greatly.

Spring also means that, like a dog, I get to shed my winter coat, meaning I can stop wearing wife beaters. Which is cool, except I like wearing them.

This time of year in the Midwest is also fun if you like the unexpected. It snows, it rains, it’s hot, it’s windy, it’s awesome. And then all of a sudden (in about two weeks) it’s seventy degrees. Like a meteorological Jack-in-the-box.

Also, Summer Ale comes back on the market.

Today being Easter, I got to thinking about my religion, and I wrote this today after 1) attending a Baptist church this morning and 2) Finishing The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut.

Note: It’s a bad idea to say anything controversial religion, but I’ve done far stupider things.

I used to be an atheist because I thought only stupid people believed in God.

Luckily, I came to this opinion at about the same age that I started confirmation classes. I didn’t take religion very seriously at the age of thirteen, but I never thought to object to taking confirmation classes because I wouldn’t consider upsetting my grandparents.

On the first day of confirmation classes, my pastor (who was a very different kind of man of God) asked us to read the first three pages of Genesis. Then he asked us how many gods there were in the first three pages. After a pause someone said, “Uh…one?”

“Well, there’s the God who is the supreme being, God who is a member of the heavenly court, and God who makes Adam out of the mud with his bare hands. So there’s three Gods in the first three pages.”

The skeptical spiritual lesson for me was twofold: It’s okay to question when it comes to God and don’t trust the Bible blindly.

I am sure that if someone had tried to indoctrinate me with any formal dogma, I would’ve rebelled and joined the ranks of my many atheist friends, but instead I was allowed to pick and choose and question what I could not accept, which made religion a whole lot more palatable for me.

So what I ended up with was a mélange of Protestantism, Vonnegut, my father, and a few things that I think might really be my own ideas (those are hard to come by, and I might be mistaken about their origin).

These are my precepts, I will try to include where they came from [like this]:

1) Someone (who I call, “God”) made everything (at least everything at some point in time) for some reason (which I doubt I am capable of comprehending). [Vonnegut, except what’s in parenthesis]

2) I exist and have free will [Descartes, mostly]

3) God can effect our lives, but mostly lets us do our thing [Deism]

4) Whether God cares to listen or not, praying usually makes you feel good [Me, with a dose of utilitarianism]

5) God created us special, because we have partial control over our destiny, and as a result, are the only things God made with the potential to disappoint him. [Not sure where I got this]

6) There are things that humans do that God likes, and things he is not so keen on. I am incapable of knowing for certain what falls into which category, but I am reasonably sure about the following:

God Likes:____________________________________God is not so keen on:
Most Art, especially Music and Dancing______________Slot Machines
Hard work____________________________________Heroin
Sports________________________________________Athletes who think they’re God’s favorite
Humor_______________________________________War(not funny enough)
Love_________________________________________Hatred

(The automatic editor won’t let me do columns, hence underscores. I don’t know how to do anything right)

7) I think there is a heaven, but I can’t possibly imagine what it’s like. Our souls are eternal. If there is a hell, it’s a very small one.

8 ) Whatever you believe, it’s worthwhile by any measure to be good and to do good.

Enough of my sermon. I’m going to go drink underage and put on 90’s pop songs (see: Humor).