Oh MAI Gosh

I am now going to list my five favorite things about dancing in public:
1.) Not dancing in public.
2.) Not dancing, well, at all.
3.) Going home from a place where people have been trying unsuccessfully to get me out on the dance floor [which, I'm frankly surprised to find out is two words] the whole evening.
4.) Wondering why the hell everyone seems to be drinking Ketel One and Redbulls.
5.) A bunch of Cougars going "Wooooo!!!!"

So last night, in the interest of me being a good sport, I went to a place called MAI which claims it's in the Gulch. First of all, it's not. It's across the street from 12th and Porter and until last night I had never heard of anyone claiming that that part of town is the Gulch. It's near the Gulch. But that's like saying I live at Opry Mills because it's down the street. See how I'm not a liar, MAI?

We (the A Village of Flowers family, that is) were celebrating Dora who is moving to New York City soonishly and will be missed dearly and since she wanted to go to MAI, we went to MAI. I'm not sure if that's how it's supposed to be written or if that's just how it's stylized but I'm already one-third of the way through the blog and I'm not going to change it. I mean, if everyone came out to 3Crow for my birthday party that I don't really remember last year, the very least that I can do is reciprocate. Why? 'Cause I'm a hell of a guy, that's why.

I convinced my roommate Josiah* to come with me. He's been to MAI before and if I happened to be the only person there that I knew, I didn't want to be attacked by Cougars who are trained to pounce on young looking single prey. Come on. One dude against a pack of wild Cougars? No chance. At all. Thankfully, everyone else showed up. And when I say "everyone" I mean "EVERYONE". The place went from dead empty to tenfinity people in the span of about 20 minutes. And all tenfinity people were big fans of dressing way nicer than me and I was wearing my nice long sleeve henley shirt, too. Basically, this was my first real dance club experience. Not too shabby at the age of 30 that I had managed to avoid it for that long.

Keeping in mind my lack of dancing skills ability enjoyment, I told everyone that if I had nine more glasses of whiskey, I would get out on the dance floor. Everyone knew this wasn't going to happen so I was safe. The lack of drinks, however, did not stop Andy.

Maybe it was the sweet leather jacket? Doubtful. Maybe it was the beanie cap? Unlikely. Maybe he pregamed? That's probably it.

What's the point of this here blog entry? It's ultimately a review of MAI from the perspective of someone who doesn't like to dance or get attacked by the Pre-Post-Menopausal crowd. If you're not into either one of those things or, in the interest of full disclosure, spending $8.50 for a pour of whiskey, I can sum it up in one word:

DON'T

Then again, go for it. You might just like it. Like Andy.

*Josiah - enjoy the fame that comes with this shout out. The rewards are great, my friend. Great.

Ophiucus

A large part of my day involves me doing research on the internet. I don't mean fun research. I mean research like learning the difference between what a clinical manager does and what an administrator does [the answer is "not much"]. Luckily, thanks to the business class internet that I get at my desk, I get to download things like the Birth soundtrack by Alexandre Desplat (thanks for the recommendation, JT) at lightning speeds. Speeds? Plural? Sure.

One would think that with all the time that I do spend in front of my computer that by the end of the day the last thing that I would want to do would be to come home and sit in front of, well, my computer. Since I don't have a typewriter and, let's face it, I don't really have a place to put it and I have a desire to write pretty much all of the time, I break out the laptop and off I go. That is if I'm not remaining bitter about being told that I was 4 inches too tall to be an extra in The Hobbit and ultimately realizing that the only way I could get 4 inches shorter would be to hack off my feet or the top of my head which, unfortunately, would make me largely unfilmable. It is too a word.

Imagine my surprise when I got home this evening to find the news that Zodiac signs were changing and that a new sign called Ophiucus has suddenly entered the world. You know what I know about the Zodiac signs? Nothing. I actually had to look mine up. It's Cancer. And from what the interweb tells me (and, let's face it, I believe everything I read on the internet) it only applies to people born in 2009 or later. I bet Justin Bieber is fucking pissed that he's gonna have to get a new set custom embroidered of Osh Kosh B'Gosh overalls 'cause he's no longer a Pisces. He's like, what? 14 or 15 months old now? Can one year olds be pissed? They can release hit records and star in biopics so why not? Really, I just wrote about The Biebs so I'd get some more traffic on this here post. By the way, how does he get his hair to grow sideways like that?

Bet you didn't think that you'd read about Alexandre Desplat and The Biebs in the same blog today, did you?

This new Zodiac actually scares me for a few reasons. First: the potential return of The Zodiac Killer. You wanna talk about some scary shit? Yeah... That's some scary shit. In addition to the potential return of a mass murder, I am going to make a prediction. Yes, a major prediction. The kind of prediction that would make Harvey Weinstein take notice. He's a major film producer. I know you're not clicking on these links anyway. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the sequel to the original

Zodiac. I'm gonna call it Zodiac 2: Oh, Fyuck Us... He's Back! I wonder if Jake Swift Gyllenhaal would be up for it? I bet he would. He's done pretty well in the last few years, starring in Desert Sword Adventure Movie and a movie that I haven't yet seen but based on it's title, I'm assuming that it's about African American friends. Personally, I think he's just floating by on looks alone. Then again, what do I know?

Unless you're the psychic at Mystic Minds just down the street from my house, this news probably won't affect you. I just had nothing better to write about and I had to do something while drinking this beer.

Ted Williams

In the past few days, The Man with the Golden Voice (a guy named Ted Williams) video has started to circulate the internet. If you have no idea what I'm talking about then you need to watch this and watch it now:

And when I say "past few days" I literally mean since about Monday or so. It's a quick mover, that internet. It's even quicker for me now that I don't have to steal it from my neighbor (thank you anonymous 'linksys' user as the past year and a half were so good to me).

This man has a gift. Seriously. My voice sounds like I did when I was 14. It never really dropped after cracking for two straight years. You ladies into me yet? A blog about a homeless dude and a guy whose voice never really dropped. Yeah, I thought so. But back to the 'feel good' story...

I was listening to ESPN radio yesterday morning after having seen this video the day before and heard some fantastic news: that the much maligned Cleveland Cavaliers (they're that team that that LeBron dude used to play for)* have offered Ted Williams a job and a house. How amazing is that?! Most of the times, when it comes to homeless people, I'm a jerk. I don't give 'em money. I don't by copies of The Contributor. I respond with "Naw, dude... Lemme ask you a question." when someone starts out with "Hey, lemme ask you a question."

Oh... and today he was reunited with his mom: a 92-year old woman living in Brooklyn, NY, that he has been out of contact for several years.

I don't feel convicted very often -- largely because that word alone makes me think of my days attending Acquire the Fire youth conventions and seeing the Newsboys (remember them?) play. It's nice when the world gives something back to someone. Even if he does look like Teen Wolf Obama.

Look at what people can do.

*Major props to me for figuring out how to use the word "that" three times in one parenthetical phrase.

A Door for Humans

I was delivering flowers yesterday afternoon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Actually, I was delivering a gift basket to a doctor at Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic on Old Lebanon Road on the north east side of town but that doesn't matter. The gift basket part not the Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic part. That does matter.

Hell. Lemme try that again.

So I was delivering a gift basket to a vet's office yesterday. Not a veteran's office, a veterinarian's office. You know what? I'm just gonna start drinking right now. Maybe that'll help.

Okay... Third time's a charm. Yesterday afternoon I was delivering a gift basket to a veterinary clinic (I DID IT!). I pulled up to the front door in the behemoth that is our delivery van and parked squarely in the "NO PARKING" zone. I have special privileges, that's why. I got out of the van, walked around the back of the vehicle, and opened the side door. There was the arrangement gift basket in all its glory. I picked it up, assed the door shut, and walked in.

Upon entering, I was met with a set of two doors: one to the left that read "Dogs" and one to the right that red "Cats". Seeing as that I had a basketful of edible goodies (read: not underwear), I used my quick flower delivery man thinking and deduced that of the two doors, the one that read "Cats" would be less likely to have animals in that want to eat all of the delectables that I was carrying. I also guessed that there probably was no catnip in said gift basket. Also, I had to get into the office itself.

This is the conversation that I had with the front desk administrator lady:

Me: "Hi!"

Front desk administrator lady: "Hi! OHMYGOSHTHATISGORGEOUS!"

Me: "Awesome! Yeah, this is for Dr. Schlabach."

Front desk administrator lady: "Oh, I can take it to him."

Me: "Great, thanks. I hope it's okay."

Front desk administrator lady: "You hope what's okay?"

Me: "Well, I saw a door for 'Dogs' and a door for 'Cats' but I didn't see a door that read 'Humans'. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Front desk administrator lady: [silence]

Me: "Have a good one!"

And this was after me meeting someone at Vanderbilt Hospital named Cookie Warpool. I didn't think my day was going to get any better after that but boy was I wrong...

I got the most stuff! I won Xmas!

Every year about this time I get an email from my dad asking me what I want for Christmas. Because a large part of me is and will perpetually be eight and a half years old, I usually ask for toys. Two years ago, for example, I asked for Mario Kart Wii. My dad asked something to the effect of "What the hell is that?" I told him to simply go into Best Buy, find a dude with a blue shirt and a pair of khaki pants on, hold out your arms and pretend like your driving a steering wheel, and say "My 28 year old son wants Mario Kart Wii." Really, I just wanted the mental image of my dad doing that in a store more than anything else. By the way, Mario Kart Wii has NOT disappointed. My dad has yet to tell me whether he acted like he was driving when he asked the dude at Best Buy for help. I like to think he did.

Being a bit of a bah humbugger, I haven't cared much for Christmas for the past several years. I like getting out of town for a bit. I like cookies. I like seeing, well, some of the family. I like going downtown to The Torch and getting my annual TorchBurger and pints of Guinness for $2.75 (or whatever it is they cost now). I don't like 97.46% of Christmas music. The only two Christmas tunes that I will voluntarily listen to are "Fairytale of New York" by The Pogues (or whoever happens to be covering it) and "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carrey. Shut your damn mouth. Don't act like you don't like that song, too. I don't like the security at the airport. I don't like the great bloody wind tunnel that is the arrivals gate of Detroit Metro Airport -- it's like they said "Hell, let's figure out a way to make it even colder." If I were interested enough, I would have made the word "colder" appear in blue letters but I'm pretty lazy at the moment and this football trivia set that I have been procrastinating on all week isn't going to write itself.

This is, however, the season of wishes and with that in mind and my dad's email hitting my inbox this afternoon, I sent him my Christmas wishlist this evening. It went something exactly like this:

Dad,

Here's my Christmas wish list:

-- A gift certificate to zappos.com -- I'd like to buy a nice pair of running shoes. Link: http://www.zappos.com/gift-certificate

-- A gift certificate to black 13 tattoo parlor here in Nashville -- Let's face it, i'm going to get tattooed anyway. Link: http://black13tattoo.zamstores.com/cat/gift-cards-479.htm

-- A bottle of fine scotch. Any reputable liquor store should be able to help you out with this one. I'm partial to anything from the Speyside region of Scotland. :)

-- A jacket that falls somewhere in between the lines of "I wanna be cool" and "I really can't be because I like 'Lord of the Rings' too much." Maybe some sort of sport coat. Black or heather grey, preferably.

-- Eric to do his rendition of this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=104cdcySpEs

-- Justin Bieber to fall off a tall building. I know you probably don't know who he is but imagine a modern Canadian version of Donny Osmond and you're in the ballpark. If you can make this happen, I don't think I'd need any of the other wishes on this list.

After that, just kind of let your imagination run wild.

See ya in a few weeks,

Stephen

I will report back to you, dear readers, with the results of my haul. Hopefully, I'll post between now and then because I know how Nick gets into such a tizzy when I don't post often enough.

Now, I bet that some of you probably glossed over that list. If you did, then you missed this gem. It's funny because the aforementioned Eric is my younger, Korean brother.

Merry Christmas, you filthy animals.

Homemade Colonoscopy

Two and a half weeks ago, I embarked on an epic journey. No, I didn't get on a flight and travel several hundreds/thousands of miles to some exotic destination although I will be visiting the lovely Detroit, Michigan, area in a few weeks for Christmas. Well, that and to see how much it really resembles The Road these days. I hear it's getting there. I really do. As long as I don't resort to cannibalism or end up getting really excited about pop (NOT Coke) , I'll probably be okay. No, this was something that I had semi-entertained the idea of doing for almost five years... From back in the days when I worked at Harpeth Financial Services, most notably during tax season. That's right. An "all natural cleanse". 'Cause what goes better with tax season than running to the bathroom 9 times a day? Nothing, that's right.

I went up to Kroger and bought the usual: toothpaste, toilet paper, Ramen noodles that won't get eaten for many months, and some fresh fruit which always gets eaten way too quickly. And, as I made my way over to the health and incontinence aisle for some cough syrup, I picked up this little guy right here:

The Mega-T Total Cleanse. I know, I know, I know what you're all thinking:

1.) That's stuff has gotta be a scam!

2.) That stuff is awesome!

Basically, it's both.

Now, according to some studies that I just made up, the human body needs to be cleansed every few months. That's why old dudes get colonoscopies. Tell me I'm wrong. I dare you. I figure that since I'm a man ahead of my time, I might as well get a jump on things 20 years before I really need one. But the image of the thin, long-legged blonde on the box jumping for joy with what must be a cleaned out intestine was enough to sell me on this so I bought it and, dear Lord, did I ever pay for it for the first few days. It was a good thing I bought all that toilet paper.

So here's my final product review:

Yes, it cleans out your intestines. Yes, as a result, you lose weight. No, it does not turn you into an exuberant athletic blonde woman.

I don't plan on doing this cleanse again anytime soon. I was happier with my 11 dollars.

An Open Letter to the TSA

Dear TSA,

The thing about airports is that you're not really sure what city (and sometimes country) you're in. It gets confusing enough when you fly from Europe and land in New York at the same time that you left. Or when you fly from New Zealand and land 8 hours before you left (but still don't have enough time to go to In N Out Burger). What's even more confusing is that sometimes you you can be in the airport in Dublin, Ireland, but technically be on US soil. That one really messed with my head.

I've got to hand it to you. FINALLY, someone has taken some of the best parts of Las Vegas and put them in 68 airports across the United States

. No, I don't mean the slot machines. No, I don't mean Cirque de Soleil which is the only circus that I think I would like because there are no horses and the chances of a clown falling and getting injured are pretty high. And if you know anything about me, you know that I'm afraid of both horses and clowns. Ha! I can't believe I just wrote that... "If you know anything about me." You're probably spying on me reading my old blog entries right now. No, my dear TSA, you've essentially made public groping legal all throughout the airports in the US. Truly, way to use your hands to get a job well done.

[See what I did there?]

Don't worry. I'm not flying anywhere this week. I mean, I do pull down delivery boy man money and all but flying up to Michigan to see my sister or down to Florida to see my parents for Thanksgiving would cost me about $450 and that's just not the kind of coin I'm willing to drop... Especially considering that I just spent $272 for my flight up to Michigan for Christmas. That being said, no 'security agent' is going to get into a stink over me this week. And, yes, I use the ' marks properly. If it came down to brass tacks, and this is purely hypothetical, there's no way a 38 year old 240 lb woman wearing polyester pants, or a 61 year old man with a clip on tie is going to be able to run me down. I'm no Adonis but I'm in pretty good mediocre shape.

Bearing in mind the fact that I am not Adonis and the fact that they probably don't teach Greek mythology at DeVry Technical Security Groping school, let me just tell you that Adonis was the man. Go look him up. That being said because I'm not him, it's been a while since I've had a good grope.

What? This is my letter to you. I love you guys.

So here we are at a paradox. As you probably know from my wonderful blog entries, I am really for individual freedoms and personal responsibility... but being that my blog is named "Looking for Like", I'm also looking for some woman to fall hopelessly in love with my writing and then want to ravage me and my somewhat flabby physique. You, TSA, have put me in a very confusing place. The part of me that wants to defend my civil liberties hates you but the part of me (*wink) that wants some woman to look at me oh so lustfully doesn't. Well played, Big Brother. Well played.

As the saying goes, all is a game and honestly until just now I didn't know what side of the fence I was on. It's Team Civil Liberty for me! However, since you guys seem to get your jollies on sliding your hands up and down some hobbit's dude's legs I think I've got the perfect solution. Wait! Two perfect solutions!

Number one: The Dirk Diggler. Did you see the end of Boogie Nights? You didn't? Okay... Stop what you're doing right now and go watch it.

Done? Okay. Good. I'll put on a big ol' prostetehcincicncichj7299mdic [sp?], you'll feel good about yourself, I'll feel good about myself, and your body image scanners will feel good about themselves. Everyone wins.

Number two: The This is Spinal Tap moment. You know when Harry Shearer's character is

going through the security line and... well...

Take your pick, TSA, it's up to you. I'm basically throwing myself at you.

Now, alot of you TSAers might be reading this and thinking, "Who's this smart ass?" Hell, since I've made this an open letter and am posting it on my blog, most people who read this are probably thinking the same thing. That is a totally founded statement. I am a smart ass. I can deal with that. Most everyone seems to love this impish little scamp. Now that that's established and agreed upon, the next thing that you're probably thinking is "I bet he's just really uncomfortable with is body" this is what I look like in a bikini:

If that doesn't get your heart racing, I don't know what will.

So, TSA, I will see you at Christmas-time. I look forward to meeting you about half as much as you look forward to feeling me up. Until then, you'll just have to look at that picture up thurr and imagine.

Sincerely,

Stephen P Bohn