This is a picture of my awesome mugs. Call me a mug-a-holic, but this all stems from my addiction to coffee and tea. I would rather collect mugs than shot glasses. It’s important to respectively drink such beverages in mugs with style. Back in the day, it was humorous T-shirts that were my style, but the whole Hollister and American Eagle and Abercrombie & Fitch (hand-me-ups from my younger brother) that were the thing. Let me be clear: I have never purchased anything from A&F, and I probably never will. Actually, I stand corrected: the only purchase ever made at A&F was a gift certificate for my brother, which never covered the entire cost of a polo or a T-shirt for that matter.
The day where my future kids want to shop at that place is anticipated. I will get on one knee, look the kids in the eyes and say, “You’re going to look like a douche. You’re going to look like every other douche in school. This will be saving you from the drama of someone accusing you of stealing their style, which stems from their insecurities, because they are all jealous little shits.”
Hopefully, the kids will be old enough were that language can be used in front of them. Hopefully, that day will never have to come, because my awesome kids will prefer picking out Calvin Klein or other designer knock-downs (how/what ever that terminology is) at Marshalls. For the kids, I will allow Banana Republic or Gap, or Old Navy for that matter. I just got a sweet Monday Fooseball League T-shirt for $5 at Old Navy. H&M is allowable as well.
The Chick Magnet shirt with the picture of a chick and a magnet, the Grab Your Balls We’re Going Bowling shirt, and the #1 Dad shirt have all been retired. They are funny to a point, and they simply reside in my drawer, but I run in them or paint in them. They must be destroyed. The only way to respectable method destroy something is to burn it. These shirts need to be actually destroyed.
Like Raiders of the Lost Ark melt-your-face destroyed.
Yes, and take the American Flag for instance when foreign countries burn our flag. They are essentially respecting us. Granted there is no ceremony to burn the flag, i.e. what we do, but they are doing us a favor.
So, thank you, foreign countries!
The preference is a plain T-shirt nowadays. Simple. They go with about everything. There’s the polos and the occasional band or “creative” T-shirt. That’s about it though.
Anyways, there is a great respect for my mugs, because they not just containing preferred beverages. They’re thought provoking and inspiring: No Whining, Fly, Write Your Own Story, the ? mug, and the IBM mug with the poem that contains poor grammar (not pictured). They are better reminders than putting a sticky note on your mirrors, telling or reminding you to do something. These are the less blatant and conversation starters.
Intrigue. That’s what it’s about. It’s for yourself and for others. You should aim to inspire even as simply as you can.
Nike’s slogan, Just do it, is simply so. Sure, viewing the symbol reveals that you are aware with the slogan, but it’s more than just sports. The slogan pertains to life, to business, to opportunity. It’s to motivate. Just do it. Grab the bull by the horns. Dive into the water–it will be frigid at first, but your body will acclimate itself to the temperature.
I’ve noticed my personal anxiety going away. It’s because of the improv to my knowledge. It’s my getting out and about, meeting new people. I’ve been developing new friendships, and these specific people (who know who they are) have been motivators and inspiration.
Last night, I started another improv class, a scene work class, and this is the first time I am away from my core group. I was second guessing myself, and focusing was difficult. Although, performing with my core improv group was around the corner, there was a sense of missing them. Objectively, there was criticism on my part toward myself and the other three in the group. Watching the others bust out scenes, it was hard to believe that I was that awkward and still am that awkward while the spotlight is on my person. When it was my turn, it was easy to see the points where the other was denying my offer or their own offer.
Ron is teaching again, and I’ve learned a great deal from him during the Harold class. So, his presence helped me through the class. However, if and/or when I move, improv will undoubtedly be a part of my life–discontinuing improv would be stupid on my part–I’m going to have to work with strangers. It was a great class.
Second guessing myself is too common with me. Today, I went for a run with a couple guys on the lunch hour. One is a husband of a coworker, and the other guy was met today. Second guessing my ability, I hoped they would cancel. When I sent a text to one of the guys, he sent a text to me at the same moment, giving me a time. Not knowing what to do–there was a mental and personal debate on my not going–I sucked it up and went.
Why I second-guessed doing this is beyond me, and I cannot wait to do it again.
Moments ago, today, an old friend of mine, Sarah, a friend who I first met at Peanut Butter Nursery School and reacquainting with her through church and the Confirmation years, contacted me about a dream she had. We were both at St. Michael’s/St. Peter’s, but it was present day. This could have sprouted from a couple of things: my Instagram pic of the Cathedral in Downtown Syracuse, and/or my current blog posts. It was noted that she reads the posts, which is reassuring. We caught up quickly, and she talked about her travelling. That made me jealous a bit.
Sarah and her husband live in Chicago, which is improv Mecca. My father constantly talks about his love of travelling to Chicago, and her brings up his firsthand witnessing of the car chase scene in The Blues Brothers. Since last year, before improv, there was so much talk of Chicago. Now, Chicago is brought up at least a couple times a week. With recent developments…
I play with words and invisible objects.
A mind, a pen and a piece paper have the best relationship ever.
"Remember this--if you shut your mouth, you have your choice."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald