For anyone who is paying attention, you've noticed something strikingly different about the title of this blog. Well lucky you.
I am declaring June the month in which I get a real fucking website up and make something awesome out of this. Today I am introducing you to one of THREE new varieties of entries. Although to be fair, one of the new categories will include some of my previous entries with a slight variation on the titles....so technically it will only be 50% new...kind of like buying a used car from Grandma.
This new section is called Would You Rather. Simple idea much akin to the past time game you might have played with your neighbor when you were five to trick them into showing you their hooha. And yes I did get this idea from spending a weekend in Vermont surrounded by close friends and filled with illicit substances. Two keys rules will set my version apart.
1.) The two must seem completely unrelated. No "would you rather give up your hands or your feet" shit. Mostly because it's no fun but also it will really makes for a more interesting discussion.
2.) Let's keep this possessive in reference to nouns....huh? I.E. have or not have some specific item or thing. Situational discussions won't have a lot of variables. The less specific we get the more crazy I can get. Really, that's what we want.
The reason I am starting this section is to create comedy in a space that will promote top down thinking. These two rules will allow for a global perspective on many subjects, and will in turn get your wheels cranking too.
So now for debate-city USA.
Would You Rather
Give up Cheese or Blow-jobs?
This specific debate was already discussed between 30 some odd people of varying intoxication levels during my Vermont get away. It was a riot and I had to have it be my first topic.
Lets put this first on a personal level. I fucking love both. Cheese gives me pizza and accessories for my bagel while blowjobs gives me a reason to break from talking to that guy....umm....whats his name. It also gives me a chance to receive flattering compliments (insert hair flip).
To give up one or the other would be a very tough decision. My initial reaction is to keep cheese. Cheese is a necessity for so many dishes. Nachos would just be crowded chips without their cheesy dresses. Pizza would be fried dough that was probably baked for too long and would have no gooey greatness to hide that fact. Cheesecake would be a graham cracker crust with a soup of milk and sugar. Bagels would be lonely. California rolls might actually be good....wait, that's not a reason to keep cheese.
Blow-jobs, while still having real sex, I could probably do without. The factor I have to add for myself is that this would also include no giving of blow-jobs either. Again....could probably do without.
The only good thing about blow-job giving is that it can often times replace sex. This would be a good thing if you were ever in a position where you liked someone but just really had bad gas a didn't feel like endangering their nasal cavities in the event you need to fart during sex. That can't be good for anyone.
No blow-jobs would also mean you would keep the caloric intake from cheese. I'm sorry to drop this bomb on everyone, but CHEESE IS REALLY FATTENING. I know how surprised most of you are, so please feel free to take this time and weep in the corner. Just thinking about all the cheesy products I eat, I could easily loose ten pounds. Plus, blow-jobs provide great cardio.
Let's push this further though. What if this choice affected everyone?
No Cheese would result in a near collapse for the Dairy Industry. Not Good.
Pizzaria's everywhere would have to close. Places like New York and Chicago that are known for their pizza would also have severe economic repercussions from the lake of mozzarella.
Top that with the fact that most Fast Food chains rely heavily on cheese additions to their meals. Places like Dunkin Donuts and McDonalds would suffer from the probable loss of business.
Anyone who works in factories that process cheese would go out of business. Dairy farms would loose support and funding because of the now limited product range i.e. milk and fucking butter, both of which have many successful alternatives.
On the good, no Cheese could also potentially help the environment. Several hundred less trucks would be driving every year due to there no longer being a need to transport those goods. Buildings that process most grocery cheeses would stop operating. At the same time, any green house gases or pollutants that they would have released into the air would also stop.
No blow-jobs would lead to more people having big boy sex. At first glance, this seems like a win win. "You mean I don't have to go down on stink dick AND I get to have sex? What more can I ask for?"
My rebuttal. 16 and Pregnant. If any of those bitches could have just given a blow-job instead, their lives would not be horribly manipulated my MTV. Just imagine hundreds of 16 year old girls across the globe with lots of babies. Now make them toothless (it gives more weight to the situation). Overpopulation would become a real problem in less then ten years. Mass cases of infanticide would occur from the mothers not being able to take care of them. Welfare would crash because many of these mothers wouldn't even be old enough to legally work. Poverty and homelessness would become the majority once things got out of control.
On the other side, let's say that the world had enough insight to see that a lack of blow-jobs would result in an over abundance of pregnancies and venereal diseases. Governments decide to ban all forms of sex unless completely necessary. Take something away from a person and they will do whatever they can to get it back. It would be just like Prohibition, but instead of hiding liquor from the police they would be hiding prostitutes. Human trafficking would become the new drug cartel...well, more so than it already is. At a very basic level, people would also be really pissy. Sex is a great way to relieve stress, even if it's an ugly troll beast who just wanted a taste of your popsicle.
My Result? If it's just me that is being affected, I would probably give up blow-jobs. Surprisingly, so much of my life is not centered around fellatio that I feel like I would be fine without it. Globally, I would say cheese has to go. Both would have really dire consequences, but I just don't feel like seeing a sea of trailer parks filled with 14 year old girls who wear Jessica Simpson hair extensions because they decided to buy those instead of diapers for their baby that chain smokes....crack.
What do you all think?
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
PS-Send me more suggestions for future "Would You Rather" posts.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Dear Pokemon - or - An Unexpected Model for Success
Before you bust out your old LiveJournal accounts and write about how big of a nerd I am because I am writing about Pokemon, ask yourself this. Why do you still have a LiveJournal account...?
First an admission. I play Pokemon. Not in the past tense but in the right fucking now tense. I play on the subway to help calm my hatred of crowds of people, I play it at home to get out of my head swimming with thoughts of how much life sucks at this very instant or sometimes even after sex....it's healthier than a post-coitus cig.
I have no shame in this declaration either. It is a fantastically well-made archetype that has been around for as long as it has because the format works. And I happen to be a master so shove that up your butt and pretend like that doesn't hurt. I know you're jealous.
But Brian, what does this have to do with success? Well hang tight and you might find out.
Pokemon, at its core, is a very simple game. Collect as many brightly colored friends as you can. Train them and make them evolve into better friends. Beat other trainers to gain street cred. Try and get really rare friends without using a master ball (because you only have one dammit!!!) Come to think of it, this sounds like a very homosexual game as well. Less wonder on why I love it?
Much like life, Pokemon never ends. There are always more to things to catch, train and beat. And if you feel like there is nothing left to do, START THE FUCK OVER AND CHOOSE A NEW ADVENTURE. That last part isn't really a good model for success unless you believe in reincarnation or the cryogenically frozen body of one Walt Disney. Let me break down the game for you by creating analogies.
THERE CAN ONLY BE SIX
Every Pokemon game has had the limit of carrying 6 different varieties at any given time. You could theoretically have them all be Pikachu's, but that would be like using a pencil to write with, drill screws with, pick your nose with, kill with and orally pleasure your favorite stuffed animals...
Not that you couldn't use a pencil for these things. It's just really hard to use it for most other things besides writing. Killing comes in a close second....always.
Let me instill unto you an idea. In my book, which will be fabulous and expensive so start saving now, I have separated life into six different categories to discover success in. Six? Why, how convenient.
They are as follows:
Career / Vocational
Spiritual
Physical
Social
Financial
Domestic
Every area of your life where you can attain success can be attributed to at least on of these categories. Obviously, there are some things, like the house that you live in, can be assessed in many of the categories. I also believe that in order to achieve the highest potential success in each area, you have to acknowledge the different aspects and people within your life to help facilitate that growth. Which option is the best to chose?
Let's go back to Pokemon. For all intensive purposes, we will use Pikachu as the example. I'd rather not because he sucks compared to most other Pokemon and the cartoon always made him out to be so much better than he would ever be in the video game. Pikachu is an electric Pokemon. This "type" or identifier tells the player a lot about that Pokemon. Everything from its strengths and weakness to what moves it might learn. Think of it like rock paper scissors with a splash of animal cruelty...
Electric is strong against Water but Weak against Ground type Pokemon. For know, let's say that the Career you want falls under the Water Category, and the Spiritual life you want falls under the Ground Category. Let's also assume that Pikachu is actually a former boss of yours who loved you and wants to give you a good reference. Having Bob (all good bosses are named Bob) write that letter for you for your dream job would yield a much higher potential for success because his type beats out the job's type. Is this making sense yet?
All right, let us also assume that you want to take a six-week fasting yoga tantric retreat in the Tibetan mountains, but you need a reference. Electric Pikachu Bob is not well equipped to help facilitate this kind of success. Not only is Electric Bob weak against ground types, but also his attacks won't have ANY effect on the Tibetan monks (if you have to ask why, please read a science book that would be issued to any fourth grader in the country...).
Essentially, once we have figured out what kind of success we want aka be the Pokemon Champion of our own lives, we can then decide which "Pokemon" to keep with us in order to balance the facilitation of success in all areas of life. BAM!
LEARNING TO PICK AND CHOOSE
Like Pokemon, life is full of choices. There are now more than 500 Pokemon available to any willing trainer. They can't all be right for you though, can they? Some of you may be thinking that I am suggesting a purge of friendships similar to "trimming the fat" on your Facebook friends page. Remember two things.
1.) A Pokemon can be a person or a thing in reference to the facilitation of your success. You define what that tool is, and only in reference to finding your goals.
2.) Even though you can only carry six with you at a time, the best trainers will have the most Pokemon saved in their boxes at the Pokemon Center and will use them all at varying points.
All this means is that you have to be a master editor when it comes to deciding what parts of your life will yield success or failure. Remember Pikachu Bob. He may help you get that dream job, but there could be other Pokemon out there who could help you find success in more than one area.
DEFEAT THE GYM LEADERS
Every game also includes at least eight major battles wherein the "Gym Leader" uses a specific type of Pokemon. Think of these are creating SMART goals for yourself.
SMART goals aren't new…but you might be, so here is a quick explanation.
They are:
Specific
Measurable
Attainable
Realistic
Timely
What this translates to be that every Gym Leader battle is great practice in understanding the concept of a SMART goal. This type of goal setting is important because the chances of finding victory with them are much higher than those big dreams we create in dreamland. They also help us keep track of where we have come from. A Pokemon trainer is much more accomplished after having beaten five of the Gym Leaders than one who has only beaten two. And because they are centered on specific types, you can focus your training and development in beating that single obstacle i.e. finding growth in a specific area of your life. Making sense now isn't it?!
THE GAME IS NEVER OVER
The simplest and yet most important correlation between Pokemon and Success. Successful people, just like Pokemon Masters, understand that there is always more to learn from, more to grow and more Pokemon to meet.
You’re Welcome!
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
PS-For those of you wondering why I made no mention of the Master Ball, ask yourself this. Is there a Master Ball in life that can catch the ultimate legendary Pokemon? And further more, doesn’t it feel better to use 30 Ultra balls over what feels like four hours knowing that you caught Lugia the “right” way?
First an admission. I play Pokemon. Not in the past tense but in the right fucking now tense. I play on the subway to help calm my hatred of crowds of people, I play it at home to get out of my head swimming with thoughts of how much life sucks at this very instant or sometimes even after sex....it's healthier than a post-coitus cig.
I have no shame in this declaration either. It is a fantastically well-made archetype that has been around for as long as it has because the format works. And I happen to be a master so shove that up your butt and pretend like that doesn't hurt. I know you're jealous.
But Brian, what does this have to do with success? Well hang tight and you might find out.
Pokemon, at its core, is a very simple game. Collect as many brightly colored friends as you can. Train them and make them evolve into better friends. Beat other trainers to gain street cred. Try and get really rare friends without using a master ball (because you only have one dammit!!!) Come to think of it, this sounds like a very homosexual game as well. Less wonder on why I love it?
Much like life, Pokemon never ends. There are always more to things to catch, train and beat. And if you feel like there is nothing left to do, START THE FUCK OVER AND CHOOSE A NEW ADVENTURE. That last part isn't really a good model for success unless you believe in reincarnation or the cryogenically frozen body of one Walt Disney. Let me break down the game for you by creating analogies.
THERE CAN ONLY BE SIX
Every Pokemon game has had the limit of carrying 6 different varieties at any given time. You could theoretically have them all be Pikachu's, but that would be like using a pencil to write with, drill screws with, pick your nose with, kill with and orally pleasure your favorite stuffed animals...
Not that you couldn't use a pencil for these things. It's just really hard to use it for most other things besides writing. Killing comes in a close second....always.
Let me instill unto you an idea. In my book, which will be fabulous and expensive so start saving now, I have separated life into six different categories to discover success in. Six? Why, how convenient.
They are as follows:
Career / Vocational
Spiritual
Physical
Social
Financial
Domestic
Every area of your life where you can attain success can be attributed to at least on of these categories. Obviously, there are some things, like the house that you live in, can be assessed in many of the categories. I also believe that in order to achieve the highest potential success in each area, you have to acknowledge the different aspects and people within your life to help facilitate that growth. Which option is the best to chose?
Let's go back to Pokemon. For all intensive purposes, we will use Pikachu as the example. I'd rather not because he sucks compared to most other Pokemon and the cartoon always made him out to be so much better than he would ever be in the video game. Pikachu is an electric Pokemon. This "type" or identifier tells the player a lot about that Pokemon. Everything from its strengths and weakness to what moves it might learn. Think of it like rock paper scissors with a splash of animal cruelty...
Electric is strong against Water but Weak against Ground type Pokemon. For know, let's say that the Career you want falls under the Water Category, and the Spiritual life you want falls under the Ground Category. Let's also assume that Pikachu is actually a former boss of yours who loved you and wants to give you a good reference. Having Bob (all good bosses are named Bob) write that letter for you for your dream job would yield a much higher potential for success because his type beats out the job's type. Is this making sense yet?
All right, let us also assume that you want to take a six-week fasting yoga tantric retreat in the Tibetan mountains, but you need a reference. Electric Pikachu Bob is not well equipped to help facilitate this kind of success. Not only is Electric Bob weak against ground types, but also his attacks won't have ANY effect on the Tibetan monks (if you have to ask why, please read a science book that would be issued to any fourth grader in the country...).
Essentially, once we have figured out what kind of success we want aka be the Pokemon Champion of our own lives, we can then decide which "Pokemon" to keep with us in order to balance the facilitation of success in all areas of life. BAM!
LEARNING TO PICK AND CHOOSE
Like Pokemon, life is full of choices. There are now more than 500 Pokemon available to any willing trainer. They can't all be right for you though, can they? Some of you may be thinking that I am suggesting a purge of friendships similar to "trimming the fat" on your Facebook friends page. Remember two things.
1.) A Pokemon can be a person or a thing in reference to the facilitation of your success. You define what that tool is, and only in reference to finding your goals.
2.) Even though you can only carry six with you at a time, the best trainers will have the most Pokemon saved in their boxes at the Pokemon Center and will use them all at varying points.
All this means is that you have to be a master editor when it comes to deciding what parts of your life will yield success or failure. Remember Pikachu Bob. He may help you get that dream job, but there could be other Pokemon out there who could help you find success in more than one area.
DEFEAT THE GYM LEADERS
Every game also includes at least eight major battles wherein the "Gym Leader" uses a specific type of Pokemon. Think of these are creating SMART goals for yourself.
SMART goals aren't new…but you might be, so here is a quick explanation.
They are:
Specific
Measurable
Attainable
Realistic
Timely
What this translates to be that every Gym Leader battle is great practice in understanding the concept of a SMART goal. This type of goal setting is important because the chances of finding victory with them are much higher than those big dreams we create in dreamland. They also help us keep track of where we have come from. A Pokemon trainer is much more accomplished after having beaten five of the Gym Leaders than one who has only beaten two. And because they are centered on specific types, you can focus your training and development in beating that single obstacle i.e. finding growth in a specific area of your life. Making sense now isn't it?!
THE GAME IS NEVER OVER
The simplest and yet most important correlation between Pokemon and Success. Successful people, just like Pokemon Masters, understand that there is always more to learn from, more to grow and more Pokemon to meet.
You’re Welcome!
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
PS-For those of you wondering why I made no mention of the Master Ball, ask yourself this. Is there a Master Ball in life that can catch the ultimate legendary Pokemon? And further more, doesn’t it feel better to use 30 Ultra balls over what feels like four hours knowing that you caught Lugia the “right” way?
Monday, May 30, 2011
Dear Ego - or - The Ingratitude of Self-Worth
“Very often we are our own worst enemy as we foolishly build stumbling blocks on the path that leads to success and happiness.”
-Louis Binstock
In a society where success is measured mostly through celebrity or notoriety, it can seem futile to have any reason to keep pushing. We formulate this idea in our heads that if we become more like someone else, our lives will instantly become better. In turn, we create stop signs for ourselves based on these others people's wants and needs, or worse, what we assume are their wants and needs.
Does anyone else think this is fucked?
First, a story. I spent the last 72 hours with a couple dozen of the most important people in my life. Noteworthy. That is not some title I'm giving for this situation, but the people. I mean that both psychically and metaphorically.
Noteworthy, an a cappella group in Boston's Emerson College (where I attended and received a unimaginably expensive piece of paper that I keep next to my wigs...) is without a doubt one of the most important facilitators in my constant evolution. It's been like viagra for my heart and soul.
We have shared more than just music: love, anger, loss, laughter, death and creation. I tell others in my life who don't know any of the members of Noteworthy about my feelings, and there is always some sense of loss in their eyes. This weekend proved to me that even I wasn't fully aware of the power a tight nit family could have. It took tears, a lot of booze, an accordion, a yoga mat and some simple words for me to articulate to myself how important these people really are.
What does this have to do with anything? Simple. I allowed these people a brief responsibility for my well-being and took ownership of the fact that I still had self-worth issues. A definition, then explanation.
Freud defines the ego as "part of the personality that mediates the demands of the id, the superego and reality. The ego prevents us from acting on our basic urges (created by the id), but also works to achieve a balance with our moral and idealistic standards (created by the superego)."
Freud's definition describes how we protect ourselves. If some bitch stole my man, the Id will want me to cut her. The Super-Ego will tell me that it is against societal standards to cut bitches. The Ego is like your own personal Judge Judy; weighing in both sides and coming up with some weird analogy to rationalize the fact that she makes boatloads of money. It's how we make decisions.
The problem with the Ego is its relationship to the Super-Ego. "Societal Standards" are an intangible waste of crap in our brains because it is primarily subjective. Somewhere along our own personal Great Expectations, we make up rules for life. These rules are based on three partials: The things we know, the things we are told and the things we assume.
The things we know are law. Going back to bitch cutting, we know that’s wrong because it would put us in jail.
The things we are told are normative. Enough people agreed on this idea that I have to assume it is right. All of my friends told me it would be wrong to cut Becky’s throat, and so it must be.
The things we assume are correlative. A new instance has arisen wherein we use prior experience and knowledge to ascertain what the right course of action is. My biffles told me it was wrong to cut Becky, so I have to assume stealing her man is also bad because she would have the same murderous thoughts that I currently have.
Having an ego allows us to be decisive, but it also allows for false standards to creep into our brain's party even though no invitations were given. By creating a majority of our decision based on other people’s ideas or what we think their reaction will be can misrepresent what options we want for ourselves. The most successful people are the ones who do it their way, like Burger King suggests. Martin Luther King Jr. didn’t base his civil rights movement on how he thought a majority of the people would react. He calculated everything on the values and standards he had created for himself.
Beyonce introduces a different ego in her song…”Ego”- "Usually I'm humble, right now I don't choose. You can leave with me or you could have the blues. Some call it arrogant, I call it confident. You decide when you find on what I'm working with"
This is what Skynet declares is the bad ego. We are taught to judge people who seem too confident and think that the rules don’t apply to them. Perhaps it is instead that they do not apply themselves to these rules. Beyonce wouldn’t be fiercing it up on stage if she hadn’t created a set of rules and standards that she applied to on a daily basis.
This is not to say that other people’s opinions of you and what you do are invalidated. On the contrary, it is paramount to hear these ideas when contemplating your own. The difference lies in looking at it objectively. Do these thoughts fall in alignment with my the ones you've created for yourself? If yes, keep these people in your life at all costs. If not, a metaphorical bitch cutting session may be necessary.
Reenter Noteworthy. We have this great big field to do with as we like and we collectively decided that it would be a great idea to play wiffleball. I preface this with having the absolute worst confidence in anything baseball-like from the years that I was forced to play in little league.
At the tender age of eight, I was “bad at sports” because I told myself I was bad at sports. I had done this because I was chubby and based my declaration on the words of other, meaner kids who decided I couldn’t be good at sports if I was overweight. I also knew, somewhere in the depths of my head, that I was gay. Both society and myself are to blame for thinking that being gay determined a falsehood of me being even worse at sports. Sports are considered masculine and being homosexual, for whatever reason, is not. I’m not sorry to say this. You have to be pretty fucking manly to have sex with dudes.
Over the years and like many others before, I had created this dichotomy for myself that tried to fall under normal manlier stereotypes so that the gay side would be put into balance. I could never be too much of one so as not to offend the other. This kept me from being me.
Back on the field. I made a comment that I was bad and that I would be picked last, which is what obviously happened. In our first game, I never struck out and I always made good contact with the ball. I had proven to myself and everyone else that I actually didn’t suck. But I had made the normative that I should be picked last because I’m bad at sports because I’m gay. Are you starting to see how crazy this is?
Second game. Not only was I picked last again, but I also played even better the second time. I scored the winning homerun.
What it comes down to is that I enabled people who love and respect me to put me in a place that I had decided I belonged based on ideas that I assumed they had made up about me and people like me because of things I had heard and seen before.
So….ego….you effectively helped me to lose all gratitude for myself and the things I have to offer with people that really matter.
This story does have a happy ending though.
We had done yoga earlier in the day. I had never down it before this, and had no idea what I was missing out on. It loosened me up a lot for the rest of the day. I'm also pretty sure it was what allowed my body to overcome the idea that I was bad at baseball.
And then there was Greg. Greg is one of the quintessential members of Noteworthy. He is more assured and confident of who he is and what he wants than any other person I’ve met. Just hours before our late night conversation, Greg performed in drag while playing the accordion and singing Katy Perry’s firework like it was a Wagnerian Opera.
I went to Greg after feeling shitty about myself for who even knows what reason and he simply said, “Brian you’re a Queen. I’m a Queen. We are part of the people who make differences. We have so much to offer”
For me, Greg wasn’t calling me a pansy or saying anything defamatory about being gay. He was calling us royalty.
Strip this down to the bare essentials. We need to be like Beyonce and affirm to ourselves that we are the most important person in our universe. Finding the people that encourage this kind of thinking for us are the people we need to cherish, to help us regain that gratitude for just how important we all are.
I’m just extra lucky because I have like 35 other people in one group that will always do this for me.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
PS - The main kid who bullied me in Elementary School was Erectile Dysfunction. Tell me Karma doesn't exist.
-Louis Binstock
In a society where success is measured mostly through celebrity or notoriety, it can seem futile to have any reason to keep pushing. We formulate this idea in our heads that if we become more like someone else, our lives will instantly become better. In turn, we create stop signs for ourselves based on these others people's wants and needs, or worse, what we assume are their wants and needs.
Does anyone else think this is fucked?
First, a story. I spent the last 72 hours with a couple dozen of the most important people in my life. Noteworthy. That is not some title I'm giving for this situation, but the people. I mean that both psychically and metaphorically.
Noteworthy, an a cappella group in Boston's Emerson College (where I attended and received a unimaginably expensive piece of paper that I keep next to my wigs...) is without a doubt one of the most important facilitators in my constant evolution. It's been like viagra for my heart and soul.
We have shared more than just music: love, anger, loss, laughter, death and creation. I tell others in my life who don't know any of the members of Noteworthy about my feelings, and there is always some sense of loss in their eyes. This weekend proved to me that even I wasn't fully aware of the power a tight nit family could have. It took tears, a lot of booze, an accordion, a yoga mat and some simple words for me to articulate to myself how important these people really are.
What does this have to do with anything? Simple. I allowed these people a brief responsibility for my well-being and took ownership of the fact that I still had self-worth issues. A definition, then explanation.
Freud defines the ego as "part of the personality that mediates the demands of the id, the superego and reality. The ego prevents us from acting on our basic urges (created by the id), but also works to achieve a balance with our moral and idealistic standards (created by the superego)."
Freud's definition describes how we protect ourselves. If some bitch stole my man, the Id will want me to cut her. The Super-Ego will tell me that it is against societal standards to cut bitches. The Ego is like your own personal Judge Judy; weighing in both sides and coming up with some weird analogy to rationalize the fact that she makes boatloads of money. It's how we make decisions.
The problem with the Ego is its relationship to the Super-Ego. "Societal Standards" are an intangible waste of crap in our brains because it is primarily subjective. Somewhere along our own personal Great Expectations, we make up rules for life. These rules are based on three partials: The things we know, the things we are told and the things we assume.
The things we know are law. Going back to bitch cutting, we know that’s wrong because it would put us in jail.
The things we are told are normative. Enough people agreed on this idea that I have to assume it is right. All of my friends told me it would be wrong to cut Becky’s throat, and so it must be.
The things we assume are correlative. A new instance has arisen wherein we use prior experience and knowledge to ascertain what the right course of action is. My biffles told me it was wrong to cut Becky, so I have to assume stealing her man is also bad because she would have the same murderous thoughts that I currently have.
Having an ego allows us to be decisive, but it also allows for false standards to creep into our brain's party even though no invitations were given. By creating a majority of our decision based on other people’s ideas or what we think their reaction will be can misrepresent what options we want for ourselves. The most successful people are the ones who do it their way, like Burger King suggests. Martin Luther King Jr. didn’t base his civil rights movement on how he thought a majority of the people would react. He calculated everything on the values and standards he had created for himself.
Beyonce introduces a different ego in her song…”Ego”- "Usually I'm humble, right now I don't choose. You can leave with me or you could have the blues. Some call it arrogant, I call it confident. You decide when you find on what I'm working with"
This is what Skynet declares is the bad ego. We are taught to judge people who seem too confident and think that the rules don’t apply to them. Perhaps it is instead that they do not apply themselves to these rules. Beyonce wouldn’t be fiercing it up on stage if she hadn’t created a set of rules and standards that she applied to on a daily basis.
This is not to say that other people’s opinions of you and what you do are invalidated. On the contrary, it is paramount to hear these ideas when contemplating your own. The difference lies in looking at it objectively. Do these thoughts fall in alignment with my the ones you've created for yourself? If yes, keep these people in your life at all costs. If not, a metaphorical bitch cutting session may be necessary.
Reenter Noteworthy. We have this great big field to do with as we like and we collectively decided that it would be a great idea to play wiffleball. I preface this with having the absolute worst confidence in anything baseball-like from the years that I was forced to play in little league.
At the tender age of eight, I was “bad at sports” because I told myself I was bad at sports. I had done this because I was chubby and based my declaration on the words of other, meaner kids who decided I couldn’t be good at sports if I was overweight. I also knew, somewhere in the depths of my head, that I was gay. Both society and myself are to blame for thinking that being gay determined a falsehood of me being even worse at sports. Sports are considered masculine and being homosexual, for whatever reason, is not. I’m not sorry to say this. You have to be pretty fucking manly to have sex with dudes.
Over the years and like many others before, I had created this dichotomy for myself that tried to fall under normal manlier stereotypes so that the gay side would be put into balance. I could never be too much of one so as not to offend the other. This kept me from being me.
Back on the field. I made a comment that I was bad and that I would be picked last, which is what obviously happened. In our first game, I never struck out and I always made good contact with the ball. I had proven to myself and everyone else that I actually didn’t suck. But I had made the normative that I should be picked last because I’m bad at sports because I’m gay. Are you starting to see how crazy this is?
Second game. Not only was I picked last again, but I also played even better the second time. I scored the winning homerun.
What it comes down to is that I enabled people who love and respect me to put me in a place that I had decided I belonged based on ideas that I assumed they had made up about me and people like me because of things I had heard and seen before.
So….ego….you effectively helped me to lose all gratitude for myself and the things I have to offer with people that really matter.
This story does have a happy ending though.
We had done yoga earlier in the day. I had never down it before this, and had no idea what I was missing out on. It loosened me up a lot for the rest of the day. I'm also pretty sure it was what allowed my body to overcome the idea that I was bad at baseball.
And then there was Greg. Greg is one of the quintessential members of Noteworthy. He is more assured and confident of who he is and what he wants than any other person I’ve met. Just hours before our late night conversation, Greg performed in drag while playing the accordion and singing Katy Perry’s firework like it was a Wagnerian Opera.
I went to Greg after feeling shitty about myself for who even knows what reason and he simply said, “Brian you’re a Queen. I’m a Queen. We are part of the people who make differences. We have so much to offer”
For me, Greg wasn’t calling me a pansy or saying anything defamatory about being gay. He was calling us royalty.
Strip this down to the bare essentials. We need to be like Beyonce and affirm to ourselves that we are the most important person in our universe. Finding the people that encourage this kind of thinking for us are the people we need to cherish, to help us regain that gratitude for just how important we all are.
I’m just extra lucky because I have like 35 other people in one group that will always do this for me.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
PS - The main kid who bullied me in Elementary School was Erectile Dysfunction. Tell me Karma doesn't exist.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Dear Veruca Salt - You Need Some Patience and Perspective Bitch
Hola readers. I'm en route to a wonderfully fucked up weekend in Vermont and I thought I might take this time to write a new post - from my PHONE!!! That's right, I'm acting like a real fucking blogger now!
As I mentioned in a previous post, New Yorkers (and more specifically my generation), have no sense of patience or perspective. I attribute these symptoms to VSS - Veruca Salt Syndrome.
Who or what is a Veruca Salt you ask?! I assume most of you know the answer, but for those with the nerve to ask the question I will answer with another. Did you have a childhood? Know what the fuck an oompa loompa is? And I'm not referring to the nickname Kathy Lee Gifford gave to her hooha. Veruca Salt was one of the selfish brats who probably died in Willy Wonka.
Before I get too far ahead, I'd like to point out how horrifying the children's death scenes are. How did NO ONE die!? Srsly. The German kid fucking drowned, the mean "fat" girl looked like she was filling up from a mixture of gang green and hypothermia, the short "not gay" cowboy kid got TAKEN OUT OF EXISTENCE, and the ever selfish Veruca was thrown into an incinerator. What the fuck are these supposed to be metaphors for? How was Willy Wonka not arrested for child endangerment or for that matter human trafficking. There is no way in hell those oompas are legal....
What this movie does teach is the importance of patience and perspective. Veruca is perhaps te best example because how blatantly disgusting she is with what she wants. Legit, she threw things. Yeah she had an awesome song to go with it, but she didn't get her stupid fucking golden egg. And if we look at the beginning of the movie, Veruca muscled her father into spending what I assume to be countless hours and manpower to find a golden ticket. When the poor Hispanic woman with bleeding fingers finally found the ticket, she was treated more like a prisoner than a hero. There isn't even a thank you from Veruca to the obvious victim of her abuse.
Charley was the only one to have enough patience and barely enough perspective to make it through alive. I don't think most people are as obviously bad with these skills, but I do think there is a serious epidemic with people my age - and I include myself in this, at least sometimes.
I put the blame on the 80's. Everyone had lots of money then, and a lot of our parents were doing the thing they wanted to do. As children, seeing this can be equivocated to all those people who audition for American idol who REALLY think they have a shot. Our parents worked hard to get where they got, and I'm sure some gave more blowjobs than they would have prefered. I'm
Sure others feel like there aren't ever enough blowjobs to hand out...
My first run in with these words was at a group interview for Apple. The manager made it very clear that full time was something earned. He assured having patience and perspective would be our keys to success.
This was followed by a morbidly an offensively ugly individual, who wore sweat pants to the interview....asked. "But what if we need full time?"
The manager responded with one of my fondest memories, "If your serious about full-time here, I would suggest not wearing sweatpants anymore."
Don't wear sweatpants and expect to become president. Don't try and steal a giant golden egg from an extremely rare and delicate bird and assume you won't be set on fire. Look at Susan Lucci. She waited 20 something years to win a Daytime Emmy...I mean yeah her show got cancelled, but bitch werked it.
In her defense, Veruca did have a pushover for a father. I have to imagine she did the spanking in that house. How's that for perspective?
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
As I mentioned in a previous post, New Yorkers (and more specifically my generation), have no sense of patience or perspective. I attribute these symptoms to VSS - Veruca Salt Syndrome.
Who or what is a Veruca Salt you ask?! I assume most of you know the answer, but for those with the nerve to ask the question I will answer with another. Did you have a childhood? Know what the fuck an oompa loompa is? And I'm not referring to the nickname Kathy Lee Gifford gave to her hooha. Veruca Salt was one of the selfish brats who probably died in Willy Wonka.
Before I get too far ahead, I'd like to point out how horrifying the children's death scenes are. How did NO ONE die!? Srsly. The German kid fucking drowned, the mean "fat" girl looked like she was filling up from a mixture of gang green and hypothermia, the short "not gay" cowboy kid got TAKEN OUT OF EXISTENCE, and the ever selfish Veruca was thrown into an incinerator. What the fuck are these supposed to be metaphors for? How was Willy Wonka not arrested for child endangerment or for that matter human trafficking. There is no way in hell those oompas are legal....
What this movie does teach is the importance of patience and perspective. Veruca is perhaps te best example because how blatantly disgusting she is with what she wants. Legit, she threw things. Yeah she had an awesome song to go with it, but she didn't get her stupid fucking golden egg. And if we look at the beginning of the movie, Veruca muscled her father into spending what I assume to be countless hours and manpower to find a golden ticket. When the poor Hispanic woman with bleeding fingers finally found the ticket, she was treated more like a prisoner than a hero. There isn't even a thank you from Veruca to the obvious victim of her abuse.
Charley was the only one to have enough patience and barely enough perspective to make it through alive. I don't think most people are as obviously bad with these skills, but I do think there is a serious epidemic with people my age - and I include myself in this, at least sometimes.
I put the blame on the 80's. Everyone had lots of money then, and a lot of our parents were doing the thing they wanted to do. As children, seeing this can be equivocated to all those people who audition for American idol who REALLY think they have a shot. Our parents worked hard to get where they got, and I'm sure some gave more blowjobs than they would have prefered. I'm
Sure others feel like there aren't ever enough blowjobs to hand out...
My first run in with these words was at a group interview for Apple. The manager made it very clear that full time was something earned. He assured having patience and perspective would be our keys to success.
This was followed by a morbidly an offensively ugly individual, who wore sweat pants to the interview....asked. "But what if we need full time?"
The manager responded with one of my fondest memories, "If your serious about full-time here, I would suggest not wearing sweatpants anymore."
Don't wear sweatpants and expect to become president. Don't try and steal a giant golden egg from an extremely rare and delicate bird and assume you won't be set on fire. Look at Susan Lucci. She waited 20 something years to win a Daytime Emmy...I mean yeah her show got cancelled, but bitch werked it.
In her defense, Veruca did have a pushover for a father. I have to imagine she did the spanking in that house. How's that for perspective?
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Dear Sunday Brunch - Why the Gays Love You
Today, I've decided to go a little bit back to my roots with this blog and write about something both frivolous and entertaining. I've been focusing on some "heavier" issues, and no one likes to have a heavy flow....
I work at this really awful restaurant. For my own sake of not wanting to get sued for slander, we'll call it the Shithole...writing this specific entry makes that name even funnier. For the most part, our clientele are usually 8 foot douche towels that work in the financial district and their brand of flirtation is telling a girl that they can "help them out"....as in be a sugar daddy. The problem with that is the women are either equally as tall and financially successful and this becomes meaningless, they are trolls from the hills of Bushwick or they are the waitresses and have an immediate inclination to hate these men because they have common sense. These are also the de-evolved ass bleeders who steal fries off my plate or tell me that we need to keep the kitchen open because they are here with some allegedly famous hockey player who I've never heard of and frankly would love to shit in their food for making me reopen the guacamole.
I think it's obvious how much I love this place.
This past Sunday, our chef (who may actually be the king of all things I consider evil), asked me to swap shifts with someone for who knows what reason. He probably needed someone to open who wasn't going to disrupt his masturbation dance that he performs to bless the food every morning. Darn it! And I was looking forward to that...
So there I am, walking into the restaurant for my first brunch shift ever (mind you I've been there for two months so how they managed to never put me on for brunch before this escapes me), and I see what I assume to be some mirage.
A Gaggle of Gays.
Literally, dozens of them scampering across our floors as the dulcet tunes of Katy Perry and Lady Gaga played above. Was this some cruel joke? I know the kitchen hates "the gay", but why would they tease me like this?
That's when I remembered. Gays love brunch. It doesn't matter where we go. Brunch is free range for us to be as sassy and fabulous as we want, with no exception. The Shithole would be no exception. I've provided scientific proof for this theory.
1. We get to drink in the morning - Every brunch place I've ever been to sells some kind of mimosa or bloody mary to start the day off right. If we are really lucky, we are still drunk from the night before and this just gives us that little extra buzz to try and evade the hangover for another couple of hours. Gays love alcohol but hate being judged for it. This is the best of both world for us because it is expected for us to drink.
2. We can wear sunglasses inside- Brunch is for people who are hungover. Lots of people will keep their sunglasses on during brunch festivities to hide the fact that the running mascara is still all over their faces...and they don't remember putting mascara on.... Brunch allows the Gays, who feel even more fabulous with stunner shades on, to keep their sunglasses on too. Even if we aren't hungover, we will keep them on.
3. We get to eat CARBS - Gays love having body dysmorphia and not eat carbohydrates. We are like those videos you watched in high school of the bulimic girls who would keep jars of her vomit in her closet....except less awkward. Sunday Brunch is what we use as our "cheat day", even if we ate a pint of Ben and Jerry's Sweet World of Fatlandia in hiding while watching old episodes of Clarissa explains it all. How did she know EVERYTHING? Blossom really could have used her advice.
4. We get to hear our favorite music - Restaurants are lazy on Sundays. The don't want to hire the DJ they normally have because the crowd who was there Saturday night came back for brunch and can't bare to hear loud noises. So they will put on whatever Top 40 station comes on first, and I guarantee you 3/4's of the songs the Gays will know and love. Partly because we are taking over the world through the vehicle of dance music.
5. We get to be sassy with the server - There are few things that waitresses will hate more than a sassy customer, except during Sunday Brunch. Everything is usually so hectic that the sass gets taken personally and adds to the stress of the environment. But on Sunday Brunch, everyone else is so tired and hungover that we can be our natural sassy selves and the waitresses use it get a breath of fresh air. And everyone wins when the sass is directed towards the most hungover person in the restaurant.
6. We get to "shop" - It's like speed dating with home fries.
7. We have the rest of our day to do other gay things - Self explanatory.
So, Sunday Brunch, thank YOU for always being their for the gays. I hope you all can make it to this year's Brunch Pride Festival.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
I work at this really awful restaurant. For my own sake of not wanting to get sued for slander, we'll call it the Shithole...writing this specific entry makes that name even funnier. For the most part, our clientele are usually 8 foot douche towels that work in the financial district and their brand of flirtation is telling a girl that they can "help them out"....as in be a sugar daddy. The problem with that is the women are either equally as tall and financially successful and this becomes meaningless, they are trolls from the hills of Bushwick or they are the waitresses and have an immediate inclination to hate these men because they have common sense. These are also the de-evolved ass bleeders who steal fries off my plate or tell me that we need to keep the kitchen open because they are here with some allegedly famous hockey player who I've never heard of and frankly would love to shit in their food for making me reopen the guacamole.
I think it's obvious how much I love this place.
This past Sunday, our chef (who may actually be the king of all things I consider evil), asked me to swap shifts with someone for who knows what reason. He probably needed someone to open who wasn't going to disrupt his masturbation dance that he performs to bless the food every morning. Darn it! And I was looking forward to that...
So there I am, walking into the restaurant for my first brunch shift ever (mind you I've been there for two months so how they managed to never put me on for brunch before this escapes me), and I see what I assume to be some mirage.
A Gaggle of Gays.
Literally, dozens of them scampering across our floors as the dulcet tunes of Katy Perry and Lady Gaga played above. Was this some cruel joke? I know the kitchen hates "the gay", but why would they tease me like this?
That's when I remembered. Gays love brunch. It doesn't matter where we go. Brunch is free range for us to be as sassy and fabulous as we want, with no exception. The Shithole would be no exception. I've provided scientific proof for this theory.
1. We get to drink in the morning - Every brunch place I've ever been to sells some kind of mimosa or bloody mary to start the day off right. If we are really lucky, we are still drunk from the night before and this just gives us that little extra buzz to try and evade the hangover for another couple of hours. Gays love alcohol but hate being judged for it. This is the best of both world for us because it is expected for us to drink.
2. We can wear sunglasses inside- Brunch is for people who are hungover. Lots of people will keep their sunglasses on during brunch festivities to hide the fact that the running mascara is still all over their faces...and they don't remember putting mascara on.... Brunch allows the Gays, who feel even more fabulous with stunner shades on, to keep their sunglasses on too. Even if we aren't hungover, we will keep them on.
3. We get to eat CARBS - Gays love having body dysmorphia and not eat carbohydrates. We are like those videos you watched in high school of the bulimic girls who would keep jars of her vomit in her closet....except less awkward. Sunday Brunch is what we use as our "cheat day", even if we ate a pint of Ben and Jerry's Sweet World of Fatlandia in hiding while watching old episodes of Clarissa explains it all. How did she know EVERYTHING? Blossom really could have used her advice.
4. We get to hear our favorite music - Restaurants are lazy on Sundays. The don't want to hire the DJ they normally have because the crowd who was there Saturday night came back for brunch and can't bare to hear loud noises. So they will put on whatever Top 40 station comes on first, and I guarantee you 3/4's of the songs the Gays will know and love. Partly because we are taking over the world through the vehicle of dance music.
5. We get to be sassy with the server - There are few things that waitresses will hate more than a sassy customer, except during Sunday Brunch. Everything is usually so hectic that the sass gets taken personally and adds to the stress of the environment. But on Sunday Brunch, everyone else is so tired and hungover that we can be our natural sassy selves and the waitresses use it get a breath of fresh air. And everyone wins when the sass is directed towards the most hungover person in the restaurant.
6. We get to "shop" - It's like speed dating with home fries.
7. We have the rest of our day to do other gay things - Self explanatory.
So, Sunday Brunch, thank YOU for always being their for the gays. I hope you all can make it to this year's Brunch Pride Festival.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
Monday, May 23, 2011
Dear New York - The Road to Getting It is Hard
Welcome back! Where have you all been? Oh, that's right....I've been crazy for the last two months and haven't written. Literally, I've been locked up in a cell taking medications for how crazy I am. That cell is called New York and that medicine is FUCKING REALITY. Struggles.
I've actually taken this time to ask myself the tough questions that needed answers but was too afraid to confront. I guess this is why car rental companies wait till you're 25 before they let you drive a Miata off the lot.
College taught me a lot of things. How to drink beer. How to get caught up in myself. How to spend money like the Rapture is coming.....
Thanks college. I'm obviously well adjusted from having those lessons.
New York City is the toughest school there is. If I want to achieve the success that I have defined for myself, than there is no better place for me to reach my highest potential. That being said, I've constructed a list of all the crazy psycho bullshit that NYC puts you through to make sure your pancake batter is worthy of a Gay Brunch (My NEXT BLOG!!!)
-A constant paradox of feeling stuck while actually moving forward. I get nausea like three times a day...not including when I react to an ugly "homeless" person on the street aka Skeletor from Williamsburg who is wearing a bag for a dress and has a genetically altered dog in her clutch YES IT FITS IN HER CLUTCH BECAUSE THE DOG IS A SCIENTIFIC ANAMOLY!
-Veruca Salt Syndrome (ANOTHER UPCOMING BLOG POST). Things move so fast in New York and some people seem to find success at that same speed. I want the world and I want it now dammit! Seeing people Get It fast boils my intestines to the point of Oregon Trail level dysentery. But I'm not the only one who suffers from this.
-Self Deception. I pretend, along with all my New York friends, that we pity those people still living in the horrifying land of "back home". Really though, I have nothing but envy for those people. Ask yourself this. Would you rather be Britney Spears circa 2008 or your friend back home who has a stable job, a fucking HOUSE and a Walmart? I think that answer is obvious.
-How to be Bipolar. One minute I'm on the edge of crying so hard I pee out of my eyes and the next I'm laughing hysterically at someone's church hat. This may seem specific, but it happens for me too often to not use the analogy.
-Hard Work? If that is defined as working 836 jobs so that you can just pay rent....and half of those jobs are restaurants that hate gays. Side note. This is fucking New York. How are there still so many people that hate gays? We have great tips to provide and are awesome at backhanded compliments. What more do you need?
-How to loose appreciation. I don't even hate Times Square anymore. I walk through like I forget it exists. So many wonderful things happen here, but they often get masked by the stressful things we dwell upon. I saw a Ninja running around Lincoln center yesterday and didn't even thank him for keeping us protected from the Rapture Zombies.
-Delirium. Not only did I read the words Dom Perignon as Doom Pigeon the other day, but it never even crossed my mind as being out of place. It still doesn't.
So there it is. All of this education and the only thing I have is a deeply distorted sense of reality and an unnerving want to start smoking/drinking/whoring/dealing/something else considered insidious and maybe illegal.
Still, I know what I want. I'm putting the pieces of development together to become a life coach, I want to keep writing and eventually publish my book, I want a family, I want lots of sex, I want even stronger relationships with the people I love, I want a nice kitchen...to have sex in, and I want happiness.
I just have to keep writing my story.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
Tune in next time for Gay Brunch.
ps-for those of you paying attention, I mentioned that I would be writing a post about the number eleven. I haven't forgotten, just re-prioitized.
I've actually taken this time to ask myself the tough questions that needed answers but was too afraid to confront. I guess this is why car rental companies wait till you're 25 before they let you drive a Miata off the lot.
College taught me a lot of things. How to drink beer. How to get caught up in myself. How to spend money like the Rapture is coming.....
Thanks college. I'm obviously well adjusted from having those lessons.
New York City is the toughest school there is. If I want to achieve the success that I have defined for myself, than there is no better place for me to reach my highest potential. That being said, I've constructed a list of all the crazy psycho bullshit that NYC puts you through to make sure your pancake batter is worthy of a Gay Brunch (My NEXT BLOG!!!)
-A constant paradox of feeling stuck while actually moving forward. I get nausea like three times a day...not including when I react to an ugly "homeless" person on the street aka Skeletor from Williamsburg who is wearing a bag for a dress and has a genetically altered dog in her clutch YES IT FITS IN HER CLUTCH BECAUSE THE DOG IS A SCIENTIFIC ANAMOLY!
-Veruca Salt Syndrome (ANOTHER UPCOMING BLOG POST). Things move so fast in New York and some people seem to find success at that same speed. I want the world and I want it now dammit! Seeing people Get It fast boils my intestines to the point of Oregon Trail level dysentery. But I'm not the only one who suffers from this.
-Self Deception. I pretend, along with all my New York friends, that we pity those people still living in the horrifying land of "back home". Really though, I have nothing but envy for those people. Ask yourself this. Would you rather be Britney Spears circa 2008 or your friend back home who has a stable job, a fucking HOUSE and a Walmart? I think that answer is obvious.
-How to be Bipolar. One minute I'm on the edge of crying so hard I pee out of my eyes and the next I'm laughing hysterically at someone's church hat. This may seem specific, but it happens for me too often to not use the analogy.
-Hard Work? If that is defined as working 836 jobs so that you can just pay rent....and half of those jobs are restaurants that hate gays. Side note. This is fucking New York. How are there still so many people that hate gays? We have great tips to provide and are awesome at backhanded compliments. What more do you need?
-How to loose appreciation. I don't even hate Times Square anymore. I walk through like I forget it exists. So many wonderful things happen here, but they often get masked by the stressful things we dwell upon. I saw a Ninja running around Lincoln center yesterday and didn't even thank him for keeping us protected from the Rapture Zombies.
-Delirium. Not only did I read the words Dom Perignon as Doom Pigeon the other day, but it never even crossed my mind as being out of place. It still doesn't.
So there it is. All of this education and the only thing I have is a deeply distorted sense of reality and an unnerving want to start smoking/drinking/whoring/dealing/something else considered insidious and maybe illegal.
Still, I know what I want. I'm putting the pieces of development together to become a life coach, I want to keep writing and eventually publish my book, I want a family, I want lots of sex, I want even stronger relationships with the people I love, I want a nice kitchen...to have sex in, and I want happiness.
I just have to keep writing my story.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
Tune in next time for Gay Brunch.
ps-for those of you paying attention, I mentioned that I would be writing a post about the number eleven. I haven't forgotten, just re-prioitized.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Dear Clubbing Gay Hipster Cloud People - I Found Your Back Door Open!
Britney gave me an epiphany today. And if you have to ask which Britney than you have no right to continue reading this blog. We'll all wait for you to leave....
Alright so I know that its been WAY too long since my last entry, and normally I would apologize for not having written for so long. It's too late to apologize.
Really, I have nothing to be sorry for. January and February were tough months for me. As many of you know, I have this little theory about people "getting it" and being successful within their own grasps. Well, I didn't feel very "getting it...y" over the last couple of weeks. I had several interviews for jobs that I never really wanted that only lead to rejection. I was creating this whirlwind of woe-is-me vibe for myself by creating these opportunities that weren't cosmically aligned with where the rest of me was going.
Cosmically aligned I say? Yes. My last entry was about how 2011 was going to be my little twinky bitch and that wasn't a lie. I could feel it in my bones that 2011 was going to be a really big year for me vocationally, spiritually and mentally. What I should have seen coming was hardship before success. Being on the precipice of something greater is actually horrifying, and the fact that I can see it makes it even more tremendous. Impatience lead me to believe that I had to grab at every opportunity in front of me so I didn't miss the right one. Thankfully, my cosmically charged body....and yes I wish that meant filled with cosmos ALL THE TIME!!!...wasn't going to allow me to just stroll past my best direction by taking the first one I saw.
I have a quote that I soon wish to have smeared across some portion of my body - "Luck is nothing more than being prepared at the right moment". After leaving my internship with an awesome Broadway management company, I assumed that my moment was here to be had. My supervisor, in one last stitch effort to rid me any bad habits, simply said, "Don't' just take the next thing. Make sure it's something you actually want". You mean, I don't have to sell soup for a living? And yes, I was actually up for a job to sell soup at a wholesale level...
Bitch, I KNOW IM AWESOME! Sorry. Too much. But I kept telling myself this, every day, with either some Celine or Gaga playing in my head, that I really am awesome. And I have plenty of friends who feed the dragon inside me real cosmos to keep it from escaping my body and burning everything down with bitter wit-branded fire, but the cosmos can only help so much.
Beginning of my Emo hipster moment.
I was walking in the rain a couple of weeks ago.....in the east village...when I came across a "dangerously cheap" urban art gallery.....with a group of dredlocked trustfunders standing outside smoking their newly rolled cigs...and telling me that I had to check out the piece made out of PBR cans, when I noticed something really fantastic.
I obviously became obsessed with this picture and made it into a skin for my iPhone because that's how I express myself OK?!
Flash forward to today. I'm walking out of the post office in Astoria, having just dropped off some really tenderoni thank you notes to the old internship, when I decide to play Britney's new song "Till the World Ends". I'm strutting my biggest strut, model walking up Steinway, stomping on bitches as I go and really taking in all the things I never noticed before.
Suddenly, and without warning, a big gay angel came crashing into me and gave me sight. Sight into something that had always been in front of me but I had assumed it was locked or something like that...maybe people were hooking up behind it and like...I don't want to interrupt because I know how much I would hate that so...
But dammit I was going to interrupt today! Looking at that photo all newly plastered on my phone and listening to the lyrics-
"Keep on dancing till the world ends
If you feel it let it happen"
-it was all very carpe diem. Seize the day Newsies shit. Christian Bale would be proud and not in a yelling way.
Perhaps all I am is on giant hallmark of cheesy to-live-by quotes. Something beautiful happened today though, and it made me recognize that through all the hardship and struggles I have great friends and a lot to be thankful for. Not many people can say they've taken pretty big steps to advance themselves career-wise or even personally. I can safely say that I've had a bumpy road to where I am now, but I'm farther than I ever imagined for myself and I know I still have a long way to go. That big queenie angel in the sky aka the "Clubbing Gay Hipster Cloud People" let me see what great things I've been missing for awhile....I just had to go through the back door is all. ;)
So I leave you with this.
No one lives forever, so keep on dancing till the world ends because luck is nothing more than being prepared at the right moment.
-With Tiger's blood because we are Vatican warlock assassins.
All hale the Sheen.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
PS-My next post will be about my new obsession with the number 11.....
Alright so I know that its been WAY too long since my last entry, and normally I would apologize for not having written for so long. It's too late to apologize.
Really, I have nothing to be sorry for. January and February were tough months for me. As many of you know, I have this little theory about people "getting it" and being successful within their own grasps. Well, I didn't feel very "getting it...y" over the last couple of weeks. I had several interviews for jobs that I never really wanted that only lead to rejection. I was creating this whirlwind of woe-is-me vibe for myself by creating these opportunities that weren't cosmically aligned with where the rest of me was going.
Cosmically aligned I say? Yes. My last entry was about how 2011 was going to be my little twinky bitch and that wasn't a lie. I could feel it in my bones that 2011 was going to be a really big year for me vocationally, spiritually and mentally. What I should have seen coming was hardship before success. Being on the precipice of something greater is actually horrifying, and the fact that I can see it makes it even more tremendous. Impatience lead me to believe that I had to grab at every opportunity in front of me so I didn't miss the right one. Thankfully, my cosmically charged body....and yes I wish that meant filled with cosmos ALL THE TIME!!!...wasn't going to allow me to just stroll past my best direction by taking the first one I saw.
I have a quote that I soon wish to have smeared across some portion of my body - "Luck is nothing more than being prepared at the right moment". After leaving my internship with an awesome Broadway management company, I assumed that my moment was here to be had. My supervisor, in one last stitch effort to rid me any bad habits, simply said, "Don't' just take the next thing. Make sure it's something you actually want". You mean, I don't have to sell soup for a living? And yes, I was actually up for a job to sell soup at a wholesale level...
Bitch, I KNOW IM AWESOME! Sorry. Too much. But I kept telling myself this, every day, with either some Celine or Gaga playing in my head, that I really am awesome. And I have plenty of friends who feed the dragon inside me real cosmos to keep it from escaping my body and burning everything down with bitter wit-branded fire, but the cosmos can only help so much.
Beginning of my Emo hipster moment.
I was walking in the rain a couple of weeks ago.....in the east village...when I came across a "dangerously cheap" urban art gallery.....with a group of dredlocked trustfunders standing outside smoking their newly rolled cigs...and telling me that I had to check out the piece made out of PBR cans, when I noticed something really fantastic.
I obviously became obsessed with this picture and made it into a skin for my iPhone because that's how I express myself OK?!
Flash forward to today. I'm walking out of the post office in Astoria, having just dropped off some really tenderoni thank you notes to the old internship, when I decide to play Britney's new song "Till the World Ends". I'm strutting my biggest strut, model walking up Steinway, stomping on bitches as I go and really taking in all the things I never noticed before.
Suddenly, and without warning, a big gay angel came crashing into me and gave me sight. Sight into something that had always been in front of me but I had assumed it was locked or something like that...maybe people were hooking up behind it and like...I don't want to interrupt because I know how much I would hate that so...
But dammit I was going to interrupt today! Looking at that photo all newly plastered on my phone and listening to the lyrics-
"Keep on dancing till the world ends
If you feel it let it happen"
-it was all very carpe diem. Seize the day Newsies shit. Christian Bale would be proud and not in a yelling way.
Perhaps all I am is on giant hallmark of cheesy to-live-by quotes. Something beautiful happened today though, and it made me recognize that through all the hardship and struggles I have great friends and a lot to be thankful for. Not many people can say they've taken pretty big steps to advance themselves career-wise or even personally. I can safely say that I've had a bumpy road to where I am now, but I'm farther than I ever imagined for myself and I know I still have a long way to go. That big queenie angel in the sky aka the "Clubbing Gay Hipster Cloud People" let me see what great things I've been missing for awhile....I just had to go through the back door is all. ;)
So I leave you with this.
No one lives forever, so keep on dancing till the world ends because luck is nothing more than being prepared at the right moment.
-With Tiger's blood because we are Vatican warlock assassins.
All hale the Sheen.
LOVE AND STRUGGS
B DANN
PS-My next post will be about my new obsession with the number 11.....
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