First date awkwardness

There isn't anything in this world more awkward that a first date.

I believe it was Jerry Seinfeld who once said,

"What is a date, really, but a job interview that lasts all night? The only difference between a date and a job interview is that in not many job interviews is there a chance you'll end up naked at the end of it"

Good stuff.

But what you may or may not know about me, is that I take a sick pleasure in awkward moments of all kinds.

Like most people, I used to be embarrassed and weird when confronted with an awkward situation. Whether it was a couple fighting near me, or even being called out on a white lie I had told, it was awful.

But lately I have learned to absolutely savor awkwardness, and the moments when it hangs in the air so thick I can almost taste it.

I experienced the most awkward night of my life a mere two and a half months ago, which I will delve into at a later date.

Back to the topic of first dates.

I went out with a young lady recently, and things seemed to go smoothly.
We went for dinner and drinks, and I was throwing out zingers like my life depended on it.

After a pleasant meal, and a trip to a local watering hole for a few cocktails, we came to the most awkward part of the first date: the goodbye.

If the first date is the most awkward thing in the world, and the goodbye is the most awkward part of the first date, then it must hold true that the first date goodbye is the most awkward thing in the world.

And it is the one awkward moment that I take no pleasure in, because I almost always get it wrong.

I trust my instincts on many things: in my job, writing, comedy, music, but women are not one of those things.

I don't know if it is because I can't detach myself and look at it objectively (at least, until it is far too late), but it is what it is.

And that comes into play at the end of any first date.

My imagination is such that I can imagine scenarios from her wanting to take a detour to Vegas to get married before I drop her off, to her typing in '911' on her cell phone and waiting for the right moment to hit send.

So I never get it right.

We're on our way back from the bar, and since I am driving, I am wearing my glasses. An extraneous detail, you think? Well, go fuck yourself! Who's telling this story for God's sake? You or me?

Sorry, but these people....they just get my goat.

Anyways, I'm driving, and I pull up to her place, which happens to be a townhouse with several shared parking spots in front.

Being that one of them is open, I pull right in, and we are at go time.

After the obligatory, "I had a great time tonight," "Yeah, me too" (both of those said by me, sometimes I talk to myself when I'm nervous), I go for it.

I lean in, hopefully for a peck, and get the full tongue on tongue action, followed by the extended hand hold, which usually indicates that it's not over yet.

So I pull back, and unfortunately, I've still got my glasses on, and they got a little smudged. Next to me, milady is doing the thing that chicks usually do after an impromptu make-out session, she smooths her hair, and takes a deep breath.

She notices my glasses askew on face face, and mumbles a weak apology.

And that, my friends, is where it all goes south.

Because I made a grab to clean off my glasses, with these special glasses moist towelettes to clean it off, and when I grabbed the package, I told milady, "looks like I'll need one of these then."

Seems innocent enough, right?

Here's is what a glasses cleaning wipe looks like:


Look familar? Maybe like a.....


Yeah. They look similar especially at night, in the dark.

So to her, I was so satisfied with the way the kiss went, that I had immediately assumed a prophylactic was in order.

Needless to say, the date ended rather quickly. My phone calls, text messages, e-mails, and occasional visits at 3 a.m. have been met with silence and the occasional call to the police.

Oh, well. You live, you learn.

Funny epilogue:

When sending the picture of the condom to myself, I accidentally sent it to the wrong e-mail address, and it wasn't returned as and invalid e-mail.

Which means someone got a random message with a picture of a condom.

I hope it's a chick.

Grocery store awkwardness, and memory lane

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Monday Links

We're going to start a new feature on this blog. Every Monday, I will present you will several links to things I find particularly funny and/or interesting on the web to start your week off right.

I'm still trying to think of a witty title, so "Monday Links" will have to do for now.

Enjoy:

• A web browser for black people. It's about damn time the white man stopped controlling my TCP/IP settings.
  
• A Ricky Gervais skit come to life. You know those Australians, they hate themed parties.
  
• Mad Fold-ins enter the digital age. Good stuff.
  
• With Tom Cruise's Valkyrie coming to theaters soon, a reminder why we can't go back in time to kill the Furher.
• Quite a statement on British housing. It's a shame he wasn't more headstrong. He really does have a head for realty. And I'm spent.
  

Friday night faggatronics, and a hidden treasure

Tonight is (was?) Friday. How did I spent the first night of what is supposed to be two days off?

Was I out, banging hotties from ear to ear (don't try to visualize the mechanics of that)? Or pounding shots with famous people?

No. I was at Kohl's. Before you condemn me (rightfully so), I did work for 14 hours on Friday. And when I say "work," I don't mean pretending to scratch my crotch when I'm really masturbating (to pictures of chicks doing yoga) in the stealthiest manner possible, which is my usual MO.

No, I was working. I was out of the office doing shit, and in the office doing shit.

So I was tired. Plus, since my life is so awesome, I had to wake up early Saturday to cover shit.

So I finished doing my thang (not to be confused with "thing"), covering a hoops tournament, and then I decided to head over to Kohl's.

I needed a few sweaters, and possibly some bulge-enhancing slacks.

So I get to Kohl's, only to find it awash in the scum of humanity. Why are these people at Kohl's on a Friday night? I suck at life, so what's their excuse?

I'm browsing, looking for some cool stuff, and I see a rack of shirts from afar that look interesting, so I meander over.

As I get closer, I see that they are the pointy-collared, vertically striped shirts with sparkly silver stripes, the kind favored by people I despise. So, I move on, thinking to myself, "Only a faggot would wear these shirts."

"Excuse me?"

I turn around to see a smooth latin man, holding up one of the very same shirts I had just condemned, measuring to see if the sleeves would cover his slender arm.

Apparently I did that thing again. You know, that thing where you think something to yourself, but in reality you muttered it under your breath. That thing where you think you muttered it under your breath, but in reality you said it in a normal conversation voice. That thing.

"What do you mean only a faggot would wear this shirt, ese? I like this shirt? You calling me a faggot, mang?" (I might have subconsciously remembered the 'ese' and the 'mang.' Memory is a funny thing.

Me: "Uhhh....look, I didn't call you a faggot. But that's the kind of shirts that faggots or douchebags buy. And to be honest, you don't look intelligent enough to be a douchebag."

Now that he had been served with the cold, cool hand of logic, he realized that I was right, and he skulked away. Either that or spit at me, I forget these things.

Near-confrontations aside, I found a sweater or two, as well as some pants to try on, so I headed to the fitting room.

Let me tell you something about myself. I like to make things better for the little guy. In this case, the little guy was the poor fella who is stuck monitoring the fitting room cameras.

You might be thinking, "wait a minute, this guy gets to spy on chicks changing into stuff ona regular basis."

If this were Nordstrom's, Macy's, hell, even Sears, that might be true.

Have you ever been to a Kohl's? In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, "it's a leper colony down there."

I like to do my part to liven up their day.

When I try on clothes, especially pants, I like to make sure that they can handle the rigors of my daily routine.

So I'm in the dressing room, practicing my hip thrusts and other staples of my life, just to make sure the pants hold up. Lo and behold, they did. You're welcome, guys watching the dressing room on the monitor.

Oh, and I also spent a good five minutes doing naked lunges. Merry Christmas fellas, double you're welcome.

I left the dressing room, figuring that my night was over. Little did I know what destiny had in store for me.

I was headed to the checkout when It called to me.

Like a beacon of light in this cold, dark, grey world, it showed Itself to me.

In the clearance racks right near the register, I saw It, and I knew It had to be mine.

The unequivocally, undoubtedly, unquestionably: The Most Hideous Shirt In The World.

I spotted it in the middle of a rack of clothes, and once my eyes fell upon it, I knew it had to be mine.

The cost: a mere $7, a low price to pay for the gift of immortality.

Avert your gaze, mere mortal!

I picked it out, and destiny had my number: just my size.

I held the shirt up, and I savored it, the way a sommelier would a fine chianti. I decided to take a victory lap around the store, to show the other shoppers what kind of man they were dealing with.

As I walked around the store, Hideous Shirt out front for all the world to see, the look on the faces I encountered were priceless.

Revulsion, disgust, insane jealously. This was the melange of emotions I encountered from the humanity that had encountered my purchase.

I ran into the guy who had been trying on the faggy shirt from before, he took one look at the shirt, and he literally exploded in a giant ball of green flame, a la the drummer from Spinal Tap.

Victory lap complete, I proceeded to the register. I got the stink eye from the cashier, as he loaded the shirt into the bag, and wouldn't you know it, the shirt sleeve rose up and slapped him for his insolence.

I don't know where I can wear my newfound treasure. A funeral, a wedding, the birth of my first born? All seem much too trivial.

All I know is that the shirt is sitting in my closet now, waiting, watching. Encased in an onnocent looking white plastic bag it lies, dormant until mankind needs it most.

When the world is most ready to see the shirt, I know it will make its presence known.

And I, it's humble, chosen messenger, will be there to parade it around in all its glory.

Amen.

Blast From the Past: Charlottesville Job Fair trip

The other day, I was going through the archives for an old website of mine, and found some gems that I would like to share with you, the loyal reader. What follows is a tale from early 2007, when I was looking for a job after graduating from college. Enjoy.

The account that follows is fictional. Except for the events that actually happened.

Being that I am in need of a job, I happened upon a job fair. Not jut any job fair, but one located in Charlottesville, Va. Thats right, the land of the wahoos. So after carefully considering my options, I figured that I could use this opportunity to have some boozy fun, as well as get some promising job leads. I decided to keep track of my three days, two nights in Charlottesville. The words that follow are the account of my odyssey into the depths and back out again.

Wednesday, February 7, 2007.

2:00 p.m. - After being up until about five in the morning, I finally rise to greet the morning. Uh, I mean mid-afternoon. It's a hard life. A list of things to do, then its off to Charlottesville.

4:45 - Burned some CD's (Cee-Lo's Cee-Lo Green is the Soul Machine and a mix to fire me up before the job fair, including Queen's 'I Want it All', in case you were wondering), and now I am going to walk over to the the bar near my house to grab some stuff I left there yesterday.

4:49 - While at the pub, I run into a friend of mine working on a happy hour pitcher of Amber Bock. I grab my stuff and on my way out, it happens. He asks if I want a beer. After a small (read: no) moment of hesitation, I accept. Can't let him go it alone on a pitcher.

4:53 - First glass done, still beer in the pitcher. I guess another won't hurt. I still have plenty of time to get to the hotel.

5:12 - Somewhere in between pitchers, a pinball game and a couple of pool games have taken place, and another pitcher of Amber Bock gets ordered. Uh-oh, this could be trouble.

6:21 - Still at the bar, working on who knows what number pitcher. I am feeling pretty good, and not even packed.

6:48 - Feeling no pain, I finally leave the place. I grab my suit and all of its accouterments, hoping I don't forget anything expensive, and toss it into the car.

I start to leave, then stop. I pull back into my driveway and grab my black dress shoes. That was close.

7:07 - Luckily I remembered to stop and get gas, since I was close to empty. Grabbed a few Red Bulls for the trip. Something tells me that I am going to need them.

9:29 - I pull into the hotel parking lot. I realize that I picked the wrong Comfort Inn. Instead of the one that is literally two blocks from the place I need to be, I'm five exits away. Shit.

10:12 - Relaxed for a bit, no its time to go out. Something tells me that there's trouble a-brewin', and its up to me to either join in or start up

10:54 - After a brief practice run to the job fair site (who knows how many brain cells I could lose tonight), I find a local bar.

10:56 - Decide to start out slow. Order a fatty of Newcastle and sit at the bar, watching some ESPN. I slowly look around to get a sense of my surroundings.

A table in the corner has a couple sitting and minding their own business. Next.

Two guys sit at a center table, toasting and doing shots all around. They are loud, they are decked out in UVA apparel, and most importantly, none of them are over 5'10". We've got a live one.

11:14 - A few beers down, that buzz I had while driving is coming back and I'm energized again. A Red Bull and vodka makes it official, and its time for the liquor.

Jack Daniels makes its first tasty appearance upon my palate, accompanied by his longtime companion, Mr. Coca-Cola.

11:58 - I notice that two of the guys have greek letters, one with a hat, one with a T-Shirt. It's kind of funny: one has a fraternity hat with a UVA Shirt, the other a lettered shirt with a UVA hat. Did they plan this?

Thursday, February 8

12:07 a.m. - I go and bum a smoke and start some small talk. Shots and beers ensue.

12:?? - I am drunk.

1:45 - I am assuming this is when I left because this is he typical time of last call in Virginia. But then again, you know what happens when you assume.

8:45 - Some really annoying song starts coming from my phone. Good thing I set the alarm before I went out. Once I reach for the phone, I quickly realize that it is a very bad thing.

I am sleeping in all of my clothes, and since my shoes are with me in bed, I assume they were on at some point too. I stumble to the bathroom of my room, and my lack of balance tells me that I'm still pretty drunk.

I crave the nectar, ice-cold water. It cuts through the dryness that is my mouth and tastes sweeter than any candy.

8:47 - My head is pounding like a jackhammer, and I wonder why I am shivering. turns out the reason is twofold.

One: I (I hope it was me) turned off the heat last night. Also, my body is getting ready to purge itself of some toxins. I head to the toilet.

8:51 - Toxins purged. I have nothing solid inside of my body. The cold tile of the bathroom floor is the greatest thing I have ever felt. Five more minutes, then I'll shower.

9:02 - I'm out of the shower, and now recovery mode has officially begun. What is it about stubble that immediately makes you look ten times more hungover that you actually are? Since I'm hungover as shit, I look like I died about three weeks ago.

9:07 - Eye drops, aftershave, and mouthwash bring me back to the land of the living. Time to get dressed. I hope I didn't puke on anything.

9:08 - Well, I forgot something. Two things actually. Call it two and a half. I forgot under shirts, and the one I have on is a bright green Guinness shirt. That eliminates my white shirt. Also, no belt. Also, I took the wrong suit jacket. Beautiful.

9:17 - I am as together as I'm going to get. I grab my shit, and head to my car.

9:18 - My car seems to be persona non grata. I don't know if thats a good thing or a bad thing. Hopefully, I just didn't drive home. I go back to my room and search my pants.

I find a credit card receipt for a cab, printed at 2:34 in the morning. At least I tipped the guy well. I call the front desk and arrange for a cab. I now have T-minus 42 minutes to find my car and get about fifty copies of my resume printed out. Well, I love a challenge.

9:29 - Cab is here, I direct him to the bar I was at last night. On the way, I ask him if he drove me last night. He seems amused at this, but gives the negative.

I tell him that I might have to get in touch with dispatch if my car isn't at the bar. If there is any justice in this wild and crazy world of ours, it will be there.

9:42 - Found the car. Sitting in the spot I parked at. Awesome. I leave another great tip (If I do say so myself), and get in my car. Step one is complete.

Time to meander across campus to try and find a Kinko's. I think about grabbing some breakfast, but the nausea that ensues knocks that notion off of the board.

10:27 - Found a Kinko's, got the copies of my resume. Time to find the parking garage.

10:46 - Parked, and now I'm ready to find me a job. Maybe.

10:51 - Had to take the stairs three floors to the ballroom. I start coughing like a 3-pack a day smoker, and more bad news, I'm stating to get the greasy hangover sweats. The stench of sour mash is exuding out my pores as I head in.

1:14 p.m. - Despite smelling like a distillery, I manage to land a few interviews. 8:30, 9:00, 9:30 and 2:00. Just about the worst combination ever.

I have to get up really early and stay really late. Considering my checkout time is at eleven, this is not looking good. Ah, fuck it. Job fairs are a strange thing. There are tons of tables in a big room, and first you introduce yourself to an employer, and tell them why you want to work in their county. Then you go to the next one and tell them the exact same thing.

1:35 - I can finally bring myself to have something to eat. Arby's is just the ticket.

1:48 - I am now officially lost on my way home. This day is getting better and better.

2:16 - Found the hotel, I barely make it inside before all the lights go out. Screw doing research for the interviews tomorrow, I'm taking a much needed nap.

6:18 - I wake up for the second time today, and it feels much better than the first.

Jump in an incredibly hit shower, which washes the last vestiges of last night from me. Since I am feeling much better, it's time for some dinner, and of course, drinks.

6:57 - Found a good, old time Charlottesville pub called Applebee's. These local places are great.

After a delightful glass of Amber Bock (seems to be a pattern here), I order a steak and my new favorite drink, Love on the Rocks.

Jack Daniels and myself won't be meeting this evening, he has already worn out his welcome. Love on the Rocks, by the way, is tequila on the rocks. That's how I do.

7:06 - The tequila has given me a lovely warm glow. I watch some college basketball and debate whether or not I want to get into trouble tonight. It could go either way.

7:11 - Another Love on the Rocks arrives. I make it my business to polish it off before my steak comes, I'll need wine for that one.

7:14 - Done. I order a nice Shiraz for the steak.

7:18 - The steak comes, if you can call it that. Sometimes these local pubs don't get the best meat. The wine is delicious though, and another glass quickly makes the steak palatable.

7:42 - That was alright. I pay my check and make my way over to the bar to begin the night for realsies.

I cleanse the palate with a glass of Cutty Sark on the rocks.

7:56 - Pay my tab, head back to my hotel. I have no idea what I am going to do tonight, and its still way to early to go to sleep. At least there are some basketball games on.

8:49 - As I watch another basketball game that I don't really care about, and I am contemplating a hot shower and an early bedtime.

8:50 - No sooner has that thought left my mind, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. It is a friend of mine who happens to be in Richmond, the capital of this great state.

Funny thing, Richmond happens to be about an hour from my present location. The pot is sweetened when he tells me that it is his girlfriend's 21st birthday party and they are going to hit the bars.

If I had any qualms about this at all, they quickly vanish when he reminds me that his girlfriend is one of a set of triplets, and as luck would have it, they were also approaching the very same milestone.

I put my pants back on (ah, the glory of a hotel room to myself) and get ready to head down 64 to Richmond, land of opportunity.

10:03 - I arrive in Richmond and head over to my friend's place.

Upon entering, the gaggle of incredibly hot chicks that makes up our group for the evening makes my jaw literally drop.

I am one of four guys, one being my friend, the other two being the other two triplets' boyfriends. Very nice.

10:08 - We arrive at the first of what figures to be many bars. A round of tequila all around, and we are cooking with gasoline.

I set the alarm on my phone to 6:45. My first interview is at 8:30, followed by ones at 9:00 and 9:30. Then there's one at 2:00, which is fairly problematic being as I have to check out of my hotel at 11:00.

Upon arrival of the next round of shots, those thoughts get put on time-out until 6:45 tomorrow morning.

10:47 - I am feeling sound as a pound as we move on the the second bar. It's about time to see if there's any lady within our party who catches my affection (read: might look good naked), for the night is no longer young.

11:15 - The triplets are on their tenth or eleventh shots, and I am not far behind.

I've also been imbibing in some beer in between, you know, to stay hydrated and all. I start chatting it up with a good-looking chick, and soon I'm not really concerned with how everyone else is doing.

Friday, February 9th

12:16 a.m. - We head to another bar. My lady friend accompanies us, and soon I am faced with the age old question: If things start happening, do I try an go to her place (meanwhile, her two roommates are in our party, creating an 87.3% chance of a cockblock), or do I invite her back to my hotel room (which happens to be an hour away).

12:28 - Well, I don't really know what decision I came to, but I do know it worked. She is all over me in the bar, so we really need some privacy.

Before I know it, we are alone and headed for my car, promenade style. We start making out a bit before she asks if we can go to my place. Drunk as I am, I decided to go with a gradual approach. I say 'sure', and I start the car and head out.

I don't like to drink and drive, but...... I can't think of a way to end that sentence.

12:30 - I tell her that I'm right near the exit for 64 West. I figure I can make a smooth transition from my 'place' to the exit, and by the time she protests, I'll be at Zion Crossroads (a real place by the way, not some sort of new slang).

12:33 - Well, that plan worked for approximately 9 seconds. I pulled onto 64 West, and she was wise to it. Let me act this scene out for you, because a day and a half later, its pretty funny.

Her: Why did you get on 64 West?

Me: Oh, uh..we're just going to my place.

Her: Don't you live in Richmond?

Me: Uh, yeah, I, uh, live right outside Richmond actually. Practically in Richmond.

Her: Where exactly?

Me: Well, uh...., I actually live in...that is to say, I'm from...uh...(quickly)Blacksburg, but I'm staying somewhere close.

She gets that hesitant look in her eyes that to me signifies that she just sobered up a little bit, realized that she just met me tonight, and then I can see all of the headlines about women being raped and murdered in the Richmond area flash before her eyes, so it comes to no surprise that she says:

Her: Oh, okay. (chuckles nervously, like she thinks any direct refusal will set me off) Where, uh, (clears her throat)where......uh...where exactly are you staying?

I can sense exactly what is coming, but I don't really want to end up in jail tonight, so I have to come clean.

Me: I'm staying in..uh...(cough)Charlottesville(cough)

She gives a high pitched laugh that carries no hint of amusement in it, and when she talks, her voice is much more strained and high-pitched than it had been all night.

Her: Oh, uh, okay, uh, can you just, uh, bring me back to my place, I just remembered I have to go to work tomorrow. I can't really go to Charlottesville right now.

Me: Okay, no problem.

At this point I was just trying to convince her that I wasn't going to rape and murder her in a rest stop along the way so she wouldn't bolt from the car screaming at the next traffic light.

She gives me directions to her place, which, thank goodness, is only about ten minutes back don the road. As she gets out of the car, I make one last plea to save face.

Me: Just so you know, I'm, uh, not mental or anything (thought that quoting Wayne's World might soften her up a bit), I am really just visiting a friend, and I was at a job fair.

She stops her quick walk away from the car and slowly turns around. She glances up to the streetlight directly above my car, probably one thing that keeps her here.

Her: Oh, its okay, I just got really tired, you know. I really do have to work in the morning.

Bullllllllll shit.

It's okay though. At least she's not going to get me on a wanted poster in Richmond.

She keeps talking for a bit, and it's actually turning around. I think that maybe she is going to invite me up, until I utter the one line that gets the ladies every time:

Me: That's cool, I just wanted you to know that I wasn't going to make a lamp out of your skin or anything.

The look on her face is priceless.

All trace of amusement, compassion, warmth, and pity leave her face immediately. She bundles up her coat tighter to herself, and just kind of backs away slowly.

Note to self: Quoting Wayne's World: Good. Quoting The Silence of the Lambs: Bad.

I guess you learn something every day. I am in no condition to drive back to Charlottesville, and without a lady's company to inspire me, I ain't gonna do it.

I pull away from her street, and find a spot along another adjacent street.
I'm gonna sleep till my alarm rings.

If you're wondering why there are no times for the last part, its because the time wasn't my primary focus during the last few hours.

As I prepare to sleep in my running car, I look at the clock. 2:49 a.m. Nice.

6:35 - Dammit, I forgot my phone's alarm rings ten minutes before the time I set it to. I have a feeling that I really needed those extra ten minutes.

My car is running, and there is a crowd of African-Americans looking in at me with barely concealed amusement. I quickly pull away and try and find route 64.

6:53 - I am on the road and the hangover hits me. The last bit of intoxication I might have felt is gone.

I slowly begin to recall the order of events from last night. As I remember certain details, I laugh out loud. "Did I say something about a lamp made of human skin?" and "Did that chick think I was a......a serial killer?" are the questions I am pondering.

I am laughing so hard my head hurts, I better stop.

7:14 - I have to stop for some energy drink. I always laughed when I saw the 33 oz 'Big Rig' of Amped. Now I know why it was invented.

I grab two of those and a huge thing of water for the trip. Solid food isn't an option quite yet.

7:42 - I am back at my hotel, feeling a peculiar combination of nausea and energy, kind of like when you pull an all-nighter in college, and are on your way to class.

7:51 - Same old routine: hot shower, eye drops, aftershave, mouthwash.

I now have T-Minus 39 minutes to get to campus, find a spot, and be ten minutes early for my interview.

8:19 - Found a spot and even better, found the elevators. No greasy tequila sweat for this guy during his interview. It will probably be more like slimy gin sweat. So there.

9:28 - Done three out of my four interviews. Apparently I am vastly under qualified for most positions, but its good to know what to work on.

At least I didn't get any comments about my looks and/or smell. I guess I covered up.

9:30 - A new wrinkle has been added. Apparently I used all of my cash last night, and only have three dollars, which was the exact price of parking in the campus parking garage.

I only have one more interview left but its at two. I am going to go back, check out of my hotel, and then kill three hours.

9:36 - Stopped by the ATM to get some cash. Balance: $357.22.

Sounds great doesn't it? I thought so. At least until I remembered the $350 rent check that was supposed to clear by this afternoon. That, plus the fact that you can't take out less then $20 puts me in a pickle.

9:46 - Back at the hotel. Another scalding shower while I still have access to hot water. I spend the next 60 minutes alternating dozing off with staring blankly at a wall and wondering if it would have been better for my job prospects if I had spent this trip sober and doing research.

10:46 - I finally decide that no, it wouldn't have been any better. I check out, and figure that some solid food might not refunded.

11:01 - Stopped by another local Charlottesville watering hole, Ruby Tuesdays. Had a decent meal.

12:24 p.m. - Time to take a nap in my car. I put on some music (Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass- Definitive Hits, in case you are interested), and try and sleep for the next hour.

1:22 - I wake up with a thought: I don't have any cash, and I have to pay for parking.

I dig through my change container and find $0.65 worth of silver coins, and maybe another twenty cents in pennies.

At $1.70 per hour, I can afford .38 hours, or approximately 22.9 minutes. That means if my interview goes over that, I will be trapped.

So now I have a gamble to make.

Say I want to be five minutes early to my interview. It is about a seven minute walk from the parking garage. Seven plus five is twelve minutes that I have to pay for. Add another seven for the walk back. Nineteen minutes. That means I have have an interview of approximately 3.9 minutes.

And that is assuming I can find a spot right away, and previous interviews haven't gone over their time. What choice do I have? I'm going in.

1:43 - Parked. In time on the ticket: 13:42. I head to the interview.

1:54 - I get there hoping that he didn't have an interview before me. No such luck. I sit to wait.

1:58 - Alright, he calls me over. Let's make some magic.

2:14 - Good interview, poor timing. I didn't want to seem like I was anxious to get this over with, so I talked with the guy about a myriad of things, including his current electrical problems (he saw from my resume that I used to be an electrician).

2:17 - I walk out of the room past the registration tables thinking of schemes to get my car out of the garage. It's already been 32 minutes. I'm faced with a Catch-22.

I could go look for some change, but then my time is extended, increasing the amount of money I owe. What? Not a catch-22? Go fuck yourself.

Just as I decide to scrounge some change in any empty lecture hall I can find, I hear the magic word from one of the people doing registration.

This word: 'validate'. Like a fat kid on a cupcake, I am all over the table. A woman informs me that they do in fact, validate. I get the stamp, problem solved.

2:26 - I get to my car and am ready to depart, with my freshly validated ticket as my travel companion. As I pull up to the booth I wonder why there is no line to get out, as there had been one every single other time I had been to the garage.

The lady inside the booth just waves me through. The gate was malfunctioning. Apparently the universe was going to let me out of the garage anyways, it just forgot about validation. Brilliant.

2:29 - I am home free. Time to go home, take a nap, and start the weekend. Whew. No one told me how rough these job fairs can be.

Die Hard: The Greatest Christmas Movie Ever

As mentioned before, Christmas is here at last. I've taken you through some music, and today we'll examine the best Christmas movie.

Coming soon, we'll discuss Christmas tastes (egg nog) and Christmas smells (egg nog farts), before winding this up.

Die Hard is the greatest Christmas movie of all time, and one of the top five greatest sequences of light and words to ever be put to celluloid.

It boasts a great soundtrack of Christmas tunes, ranging from the previously mentioned "Christmas in Hollis" by Run DMC, to the classic version of "Let it Snow" by Vaughn Monroe.

There is the theme of redemption. Just as the world was redeemed when Christ was born on Christmas, Sgt. Al Powell was redeemed by gunning down a half dead German terrorist to save the life of John McClane and his fair lady, a true tear-jerker ending.

Unlike the path that action movies of our day have taken, this is not America vs. the middle east, with a sassy, attractive woman and a dumpy, mixed-race jerk spewing awful shtick all over the place.

No, this movie brings us back to the 80's when we didn't know Iraq existed, Saddam Hussien was one of our best buds, and most people thought Red Dawn was a documentary.

But Die Hard is not a political movie, it's just two hours of the working class American shooting, punching, and blowing up filthy Eurotrash.

Cue "My Country 'Tis of Thee."

The plot of this movie is as intricate as a fine Swiss watch. There are no extraneous details or wasted camera shots. Example:

At the beginning, a man tells McClane that the way to avoid jet lag is to take off your shoes and make fists with your toes (catchy blog name perhaps?). McClane tries this just as the terrorists attack, leaving him with no shoes throughout the movie. Hans notices this upon meeting McClane, and this leads him shooting out the glass in an office, leading to McClane becoming gravely wounded, leading to his emotional talk with Al Powell, finally leading to the aforementioned redemption.These are just two examples to show how this masterful plot is as complex and beautiful as a family quilt.

The movie is also very funny. Not the lame-ass comic relief that has infected today's action movies, but good old fashioned grisly humor. McClane utters many a one liner at the person he has just killed.

My personal favorite: "You should have heard your brother squeal when I BROKE HIS FUCKING NECK!!!"

Karl and Cleo also make a good natured bet on whether or not Hans will have to kill the CEO of Nakatomi, Mr. Takagi.

Don't believe me that it's good natured? Look at the movie. Cleo only takes one bill, which means is couldn't have been more than $100. Take into account the fact that they are trying to steal hundred of millions, and it sounds pretty light hearted to me.

Endings have been the fatal flaw of many an action movie.

Some sappy shit about the man going back to his loving wife/girlfriend/child, even though mere moments before he was slaughtering terrorists like it was his job, which it in fact, is.

Die Hard fools you into thinking the schlock is imminent.

When Powell and McClane meet for the first time, there is much to be said between them. It looks like they are about get all sappy on each other, when out of nowhere the brother of the first terrorist McClane killed comes back to life, and is blown away by Powell, the very same Powell who says that he has never drawn his gun since killing a kid by mistake.

Hold on, uhhh...I......I got something in my eye.

Let this be a lesson: sometimes gunning down someone's enemy as they are about to be killed speaks louder than words.

Let's take a look at the Characters:

John McClane - Probably the best, most human, most fully complete action hero this side of Macbeth. We know what motivates him (his wife), we know his values (he's a cop), we know how he responds to adversity (bullet-riddled corpses). He is like a hero out of the old west (yippie ki-ay) transplanted into the 80's in a skyscraper.

Hans Gruber - A cold, calculating villain. Everything that Bruce Payne in Passenger 57 wishes he could be. Gruber is the icy calm to McClane's fiery passion, and the scene where they meet is brilliant.

The subtle psychological interplay between these two is like a well-played chess match.

Advance pawn ("What did you say your name was?"), Knight to Queen's 6 ("Clay, Bill Clay"), check, ("Put down the gun cowboy, and give me my detonators"), and finally checkmate ("Whoops! No bullets. You think I'm fucking stupid Hans?").

Absolutely scrumtrilescent.

Holly - Bonnie Bedelia in her one role. She is the perfect rational foil to Willis' McClane. I'm pretty sure I'd take on a building full of terrorists to rescue her, but then again, maybe I'm just old fashioned like that.

Ellis - Where to start with the greatest ratio of gold to screen time in the history of cinema? The greatest soliloquy in film:

"Hey, business is business. You use a gun, I use a fountain pen, what's the difference. To put it in my terms, you're here on a hostile takeover and you grab us for some greenmail, but you didn't expect some poison pill was gonna be running around the building. Hans, boobie....I'm your white knight."

The ultimate in eighties, coked-out smarm Ellis is the icing on the proverbial cake.

If Die Hard had been made today, Ellis would have had three spin-offs by now, where him and The Rock would have banded together to outsmart an evil consortium of smugglers deep in the everglades, and we would have never heard of Judd Apatow.

In conclusion, Die Hard is the greatest Christmas movie of all time. I recommend a family viewing every Christmas Eve around a nice roaring fire and plenty of Evan Williams eggnog.

Always remember this: when the stinger missiles of tyranny destroy the Armored Personnel Carrier of freedom, sometimes a man must strap plastic explosives to the office chair of justice and hurl them down the elevator shaft of liberty.

Amen.

A guide to Christmas Music

Ah, Christmas. Noel. Yule time. Big.........snowy.

That time is here again, and it's time to spend time with family, enjoy the simple pleasures, and imagine what could have been if those dirty Jews hadn't killed Jesus.

But that's besides the point. The best part about Christmas is the music. So I'm here for you, the loyal reader, to show you the best of the Christmas music that is out there.

Elvis Christmas

A great compilation featuring 1957's Christmas Album and 1971's The Wonderful World of Christmas, this is a must-have for any fan of Christmas and music. The album opens with the underrated "Santa's Back in Town," a bluesy stomp of a Christmas song that makes me want to beat the shit out of the Easter Bunny. The album covers traditional Christmas standards, and gets towards the Gospel side of Elvis in the middle. That's not my favorite Elvis, but it's appropriate. If you don't weep for mankind when you hear Elvis sing "The First Noel" then you do not have a soul. It's that simple.



Christmas With the Beach Boys

If there was a single popular music group to put together a dynamite version of "Auld Lang Syne," it was the Beach Boys. Their version of the traditional New Year's song is downright heavenly.

Hopefully, Coca-cola hasn't ruined "Little Saint Nick" for you with their soul-crushing marketing, because it is literally one of the best Christmas songs ever.

Add standards such as "White Christmas," "Merry Christmas Baby," and the completely underplayed "We Three Kings of Orient Are" and you've got audio sex.



Christmas Island

This is Jimmy Buffett's Christmas Album. Jimmy Buffett is the artist that you only need one album from: his greatest hits. Play it in the summer, drink tequila, fuck some bitch that doesn't treat you right, it's all good.

Well make that two. You must own this CD. His version of "Jingle Bells" is phenomenal. He breaks it down with the soul singers and steel drums, and it sounds great.

The title song is also good, and he's got a few other originals on there that are pretty good.

A cover of John Lennon's "Happy Xmas (War is Over)" puts this one over the top.



Christmas on Death Row



Need I say more?

Bonus tracks:

"Christmas in Hollis" by Run DMC.



"Christmas With the Devil" by Spinal Tap.