Victor/ Victoria

The quarter is coming to an end. For me that means, papers, finals, projects and presentations. About 5 months ago when I would to talk to friends about how much I missed school and loved the classroom I forgot about this part. The end is the worst part. No time to process. Like a machine fulfilling requirements. I am have gone into mechanistic haze. I can no longer function like I one had.

Stick a fork in him he's done.

At this very moment I should be writing a paper on Theologies born out of Turmoil. Specifically, Liberation Theology. I have reconsidered and completely revamped the way I view things because of this paper. But, I cannot write anymore. Not on justice or freedom and its relationship to the community of faith. So I decided to blog instead.

I had lunch with a transvestite today.

He/She came into the restaurant that I work at and sat next to me. I was on my break eating lunch at the bar. Sat on the bar stool right beside me. There are in the ball park of 15 other places to sit in this bar and he/she decides to sit next to me. Am I flattered? Maybe, I'm not quite sure what to make of the situation. How did I know that this woman with flowing brown hair was a man? Adam's Apple and what looked to me as a missed spot shaving.

I was eating a burger, veggie patty, with steamed vegetables instead of fries. He/she ordered maybe the grossest burger we have. It contains two beef patties about 2 inches thick, lettuce, cheese, fried onions, bacon, chili and some other heart stopping items. Also, he/she had fries with cheese on them.

I was drinking water, one of the eight I drink a day. By the end of my meal had about 3 glasses of water. He/she was drinking a 24 oz. beer. By the end of his/her meal she had two, a grand total of 48 oz of beer.

I was reading from a newspaper that a customer left behind. He/she watched the television and discussed the RBI average of some dude with the bartender Mike.

We began talking and I realized that he/she was a city councilman and local business owner. I forgot which one or I would tell you. An intelligent man/woman. We discussed Obama's New health care plan and Oprah leaving television in 2012. As I left He/She complimented my shoes.

As I returned to work, as a host at a restaurant. I reflected on the last 20 minutes of my life and wondered who was more of a man? This dress and high heel wearing man/woman. Or the 24 year old host, who had steamed vegetables and read the Wall Street Journal.

I lead an odd life.

Weezer, as the soundtrack to my life

I may or may not be behind the ball. In the last 3 months whenever I emerge from under the mountain homework that is before me it is for two reasons:
1. Go to the bathroom.
2. Eat some lunch

My life has become extremely cyclical. But, during one of my longer lunch breaks I realized that Weezer put out a new album. I know what you are thinking. "Didn't they just put out a mediocre 'Red' album?" Yes, yes they did. But, to my joy they released, Raditude.

I really haven't the slightest who reads this glorified vomit from my mouth masquerading as a blog, but Weezer has been a mainstay for me for quite some time. I remember hearing their first release, the Blue Album, I wasn't quite sure what I discovered. I knew it was good, but could not describe why. His lyrics were so playful and weird. The music was a perfect match. No presumptions, simply a rock band.

I could write all day about each album and why I like each one in detail. But, I will spare you. I just want to talk about their newest offering. Raditude, in contrast to the Red Album, this feels more like a proper album. It has a flow and the songs are a lot more accessible.

As much I like to pretend that I am Post-modern, leaving order and embracing chaos in all things, I am a sucker for bullet points and a good thesis statement.

This new album is a solid Pop Album. If you are above pop music then, my friend, come down here with us peasants, you are missing out. Catchy lyrics, equally addicting guitar licks. I don't know anyone that can say no to that. And since our beloved King of Pop is no longer with us, we have to make due with what we have.

In closing, I simply want to leave you with this nugget:
Oh, I can't stop partying, partying I can't stop, partying, partying I gotta have the cars, I gotta have the jewels and if you was me, honey, you would do it too Monday to Sunday I hit all the clubs And everybody know me when I pull up I got the real big posse with me, yeah I'm deep And if u lookin for me I'm in vip

Also, in case you were wondering, these are the actual lyrics as they are written. I'm not sure if someone should thank Ebonics or AIM, either way it only makes it better.

Hypochondria

I have decided to run a 5k. Before your super impressed by my athletic prowess you should probably know that it is 3.1 miles. Every "runner" that I talk to about a 5k acts so casual about it. Occasionally, they are even ashamed by their participation. They say things like; "I'm doing it for charity", "This is my off year from a marathon", "I needed to something to do with my saturday morning at 7am". Regardless, my goal is to do one of these in the next year. Here's the problem.

Last week I decided I would try and run the distance of a 5k (3.1 miles) and just see how I stacked up. If I walked some of it, no big deal. I can work up to it. I'm in no hurry. There is a track near my house, conveniently enough, is 3.1 miles. Perfect!
To my delight, I ran it and did not stop. I'm a champion! What's even better is that I did not feel like I was going to die. Of course my body felt like it just ran three miles but I did not throw up on the track. Runner's don't like that.
The next day I went to work. And by work I mean hosting for a Burger and Beer restaurant. Maybe the most mindless thing I could ever do with my time. I don't want to belittle the world of hosting in general, I'm sure in some restaurants it takes skill and possibly a degree, but at Islands, if your breathing your a professional host or hostess. Without hosts and hostesses what would high school girls do when they are not babysitting? Anyway, while I was at work my right foot began to hurt. As the night progressed it went from a slight pain to, "Oh my dear God is someone stabbing my foot?!" When I was finally allowed to go home I immediately went looking for a diagnosis.Thank you WebMd. This website is the single most terrifying site I have encountered. I simply searched foot pain and I spent the next hour reading about all the possible problems with my foot. Apparently, if I am not careful, I could ruin my foot, have it removed and possibly be handicapped for life. Instead of help I developed a healthy dose of paranoia and have not run since my "diagnosis".
Today, I looked up hypochondria at dictionary.com and it defined it as; an excessive preoccupation with one's health, usually focusing on some particular symptom, as cardiac or gastric problems. Based on that definition I realized that I could be a hypochondriac. This whole week I have been obsessed with my foot. Testing it under ludicrous conditions that I would never encounter. Thinking in my head, if I walk at a brisk pace on this uneven sidewalk and there is no pain or problem I am healed. If I jump up and down violently on these steps and there is no pain than I am OK. If I drop this microwave on my ankle and I can still walk after then I'm ready for an Iron-man.
Based on my scientific tests and an inordinate amount of over the counter pain relievers, I think I'm better.
In other news I still have way to much homework for an individual to accomplish in a given week. In protest I decided to take today off and walk around the Apple Store and Barnes and Noble. That'll show them. Also, my new favorite show is The Big Bang Theory. Give it a chance, its awkward science geeks talking to pretty blondes (sp?). Who doesn't love that? I know I do.

In my mouth

I decided to start this blog when I moved to California as a way, if people were interested, updated on my life. I had dreams of clever stories and outlandish tales of the west and the wonder that is L.A..

L.A. has been great but since I started working and going to school, exploring has come to a screeching halt. So I am left with other stories to tell you.

I am now a runner. I have been running for years. Running to the Chinese buffet, Mcdonalds etc.. But recently I have made it more of a hobby and as a result I now look like Brad Pitt. Well, that is a bit of a stretch, but I no longer breath heavy when I go up a set of stairs. I try and run at 2 miles, 4 times a week. Its fun. I bought special shorts for it. Running is serious business.

Today, I was running in my neighborhood. It is a pleasant, typical suburban neighborhood. So much so it would not surprise me if I stumbled upon the home from Step by Step.

I run with my mouth open. I'm still a novice when it comes to running. I'm not sure if one is supposed to breath in through there nose out through their mouth, like I was in labor, but until I am told otherwise my mouth will remain open. Today, on my run a bee flew into my mouth. A BEE FLEW INTO MY MOUTH!! FLEW INTO MY MOUTH! It hit the hanging thing in the back of my throat. I spit it out and this feeling came over me. A feeling like I have been taken advantage of.

And there you have it. The West Coast is nuts.

Oct. 18, 1985- Oct. 18, 2009, 24.

Birthdays are not the same as they used to be. There was a time when outside of Christmas this was the high light of my year. All of my friends would come over, they would bring me presents. I would have a cake, with my current favorite superhero in the frosting, and pizza. What more could a boy want? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

As I got older birthdays became less of a production. This was mostly because of my choosing and people told me that when your 13 it's not cool to have Batman themed parties anymore. But, still it was a day of celebration. It still revolved around food and interaction. Some of my favorite birthday's have been in the last couple of years when I was in college and right out of college. I did not really have any money and neither did any of my friends but we always were able to put something together for each other. There is something still special about that day and we would try and make a point to make a person feel special.

This year I had all but forgotten the day. Between 1,000 pages of reading a week, 20 hours of Greek study and working 20 hours a week who has time to remember that trip down the birth canal?

This year I spent my birthday morning attending Bryant Temple AME Church. It is an African American church in Downtown LA. It was mandatory for one of my classes I am taking at Fuller. Initially, when I was considering my day the last thing I wanted to do was spend it in a three hour long church service. But little did I know that this place knows how to do church. It was a blast. Hooting and Hollering and enjoying one another. Real interaction as a community as well as a body of believers. I can't think of a better way to spend the beginning of my day.

After the marathon service was over, it was time to eat. My stomach was eating my back to say the least. So Sam and I went to Foo-Chow's. You may remember this restaurant from the first Rush Hour movie. Chris Tucker order Camel's hump from there. (Surprisingly, they do not serve the delicacy). We ate Curry Chicken and Mongolian Beef. Let me tell you, Chinese food has never tasted this good. If all I was able to eat for the rest of life was Foo-Chow's than I would lead a long, happy, content life.

Once we completed maybe one of my top three meals of all time, we braved China-town. Chinatown is everything I wanted it to be. Porcelain Buddha's, Chinatown Snow Globes, and weapons that no one needs but all men want. While exploring this unknown world of Knick Knacks, I stumbled upon one of the greatest discoveries this side of penicillin. A bargain bin of Wooden Japanese Practice Samurai Swords! Sam being the champion combination of roommate and friend, without even hesitating purchased these swords in celebration of my 24 years. You may be wondering what kind of bargain could I be speaking of? Does $7.99 sound like a bargain to you? That's what I thought.

It was a good thing to, because after leaving the store and continuing through Chinatown looking at Asian themed new balances and fireworks, there was something evil around the corner. Ninjas. From every corner, every nook and cranny, ninja's jumped out with only one thing to accomplish. To keep me from seeing my 25th. We fought with the spirit of the tiger and of Foo-chow. There was no way I wouldn't see a quarter century. I mean my insurance will go down and I can rent a car. These are major milestones. I will say we took our licks but we bested them this day. They fell to our swifts hands and agile minds.

So, overall my 24th was a success. And actually, I got my themed birthday celebration. From this point on I will refer to it is the year of the OX. May Foo-Chow live forever.

Saturday Morning

In the last 5 years, give or take a year, I have heard a lot of people talk about getting your hair washed while at the Salon, barbershop, Super-Cuts, where ever you go. Everyone talks about this as a phenomenon that exceeds your wildest dreams. When people begin their description of getting their hair cut they always pause..."Oh and she washed my hair, it felt incredible!" For a while I had no idea this was an option. Maybe I was going to some bush league salon but up until my freshman year of college no one had touched my scalp in that way but myself. At first I was a fan. But, slowly this desire to have someone else wash my hair faded.

First of all, I have yet to meet a woman that can keep my collar from getting wet. How hard is it really? My neck is sitting in a slot designed to keep the water in the sink.

Second, It never fails that when it is over they dry your head off with a towel. I always either feel like a young child or a dog. Today when I went to get a trim, as they say in the biz, since I shaved my beard I was beginning to look like a member of the Beatles and since I go to seminary, I did not want to give them any ammunition. I wanted to do a preemptive strike. After the wash (I tried to not have the wash but she looked at me like, "There is no way I'm cutting that rat's nest before I know it is clean") She placed the towel on my head and began to rub, not in a pleasant, ora cleansing way but more like some one cleaning the rims on your car.

At that point I decided that I do not like the wash before a haircut.

After my haircut I went to buy some bread. I have been craving some PB&J's bad. I went to the store to get the supplies. On my way in it was a gauntlet of guilt waiting on me. First, I had the boy scouts trying to get me to buy their popcorn. How did the boy scouts get stuck with popcorn? I would have bought some cookies but popcorn? How about steak? Perfect for the Boyscouts. They could even get a Merit Badge for killing the meat themselves, then selling it in front of a grocery store. The Capitalism Merit Badge.

After I avoided the boys I was blindsided by the most aggressive man I've ever met. "Sir, would you donate a dollar? I know you have money, you are going to buy food right now. The people I'm raising money for don't have that luxury!" I walked in the automatic doors ready to punch the dude in the face. Does he know who I am? I worked with Habitat for Humanity! I have bought homeless guys food before! I am giving!

I forgot about him shortly after aisle 3 when I realized they have a new version of Doritos. I think its a combo of Moutain Dew and Nutella. Super pumped. Anyway, as I was walking out, PB&J ingredients in tow, I had a dollar ready to give, as well as a piece of my mind. I was ready to tell Mr. Homeless Money Raiser Guy that you need to be a lot less offensive in your endeavor to save the homeless community on grocery store at a time.

As I walked out the doors, back into the D-Day of support raising, I gave the dollar and before I could start on my carefully crafted speech, the guy says, "Hey man, people your age don't usually give, I won't forget this." I responded, "Huh?" "Yea man, I won't forget." perplexed I responded, "Yea...No Problem".

So, in review I hate shampoo's at the barber shop and Homeless people.

Overqualified

I recently started a new job here in Pasadena. I am working at a burger joint called Islands. I've always wanted to say, "Burger Joint". I never new the right time. What constitutes the joint portion? The guy who hired me called it that and he's a general manager. You don't get to that position in life without knowing what is and what is not a Burger Joint. Anyway, I had been looking for a job for quite some time. I had two problems with myself as a candidate. I am student and I was only looking for about 15-20 hrs a week. Pasadena is a college town. There are about 4 or 5 colleges in the surrounding area and apparently everyone is looking for part time work and no one wants part timers. That is problem one. I was unaware of my second problem until I was in the middle of my interview process for the Burger Joint.

While being interviewed for this job as Host/Waiter my interviewer looked over my application and paused. When you are looking for a job and the interviewer pauses your heart sinks to your knee caps. All of a sudden you find yourself thinking back to whether or not you spelled your name correctly, that you did not check the felony box etc. After what felt like an eternity, she look at me and winced. I have never been more terrified in my life. She says;

Matthew, your a Master's Student? (in thick Australian Accent)

Yes, this is my first quarter of my Master's of Divinity program.

Oh, well...boy...um. You are seriously overqualified for this job. Wouldn't you rather be working in a more related field?

Well, like I said I am in school and my time is limited because of my class schedule. So that limits me.

Yea, I understand, but you are very much over qualified.

Yea.

I have never been more patronized over that fact that I am educated in my life. I found myself regretting my undergraduate degree. Hating the fact that I desired to have higher education. Despising the fact that I am smart. Why can't I be a below average student that is content with mediocrity!

Finally, after much convincing and mind manipulation with small words, I was offered the job.

To make things even worse. After I was offered the job I received a phone call.

Hi, is this Matt?

Yes

Hey, this is Ralph from Islands, I just wanted call and tell you orientation is at 8:30 Saturday morning.

Ok, no problem.

Also, I was told you have a beard.

Yea.

Yea, at islands we only allow sideburns and goatees, so you will need to shave.

...ok

See you Saturday!

I'll be there.

Friday night was the night. Doing something I had not done for years. Shave. Not just trim and shape up. Baby face. No longer will people confuse me for Grizzly Adams or their Rabbi. Now, they will confuse me for their twelve year old brother.

If anyone hears of any jobs in Pasadena, let me know. Only ones that allow beards.