North on I-380

When I visit my folks, it takes me to a town called West Liberty. For those of you unfamiliar with the cornucopia of culture that is southeastern Iowa, it's about fifteen miles away from Iowa City. It's pretty much a straight shot from WL to Cedar Falls, mostly going via Interstate 80.

There's a reason why I consider this trip so special. It's mostly because once you get out of the booming metropolis of Cedar Rapids, there's not a whole lot on the road that's going to keep you occupied. I know that sometimes deer get a sense of daring and will try to cross the road, but that's not going to keep you completely focused on the road.

You see, I-380 from Cedar Rapids to Cedar Falls is a chance to catch up on your thoughts whether you want to or not. You'll often find yourself being the only car on the road for miles. What else are you going to do but take stock in your life? This can either be a curse or a blessing, depending on what you're thinking at the time. For me, it was replaying two instances over and over in my head.

The first one involved me arriving in Wet Lib early Thursday afternoon. That night I went over to a friend's house and played bowling on the Wii. This reminds me: thanks Japan. Thanks for being you. Anyway, there were a few guys there I hadn't seen in a few years who were friends of mine from high school. Time was unable to deteriorate our affability towards one another. In other words: it was like picking up right where we left off.

The second one was coming back from this friend's house. He lived on Clark Street. My parents' place was across town on Maxson. Somehow, in the midst of it all, I got lost. Mind you, I'd lived in this town of 3,000 people for pretty much 20 years, and I was lost. Can you imagine how ashamed I was? My brother put it totally in perspective.

"Jesus, dude," he said, drawing out both words in exasperation. "I can't believe you."

Yeah, that about sums it up.

I would like to remind you that I was playing my radio, but it wasn't doing a damned bit of good. I-380 is too expansive and monotonous to keep you from daydreaming. Staying in Cedar Falls has shaped me in a lot of ways, and has made some things go down lately that I have recognized as sacrifices, but hey: love me, love my long trips on I-380 and the crazy shit I come up with on said trip that defines who I am.

The Five Stages of Grief, by Ralph

For those of you who are unaware, the human mind goes through five different periods following a traumatic event. They are fairly easy to remember since they form an acronym that I'm sure you've all used in everyday conversation: "dabda." If not, you need to start hanging out with me a lot more. I tend to use nonsense syllables on a regular basis. Anyway, here they are, as I would go through them. Remember, each person experiences these for different periods of time, so you may be different.


Denial. Nothing happened, I'm okay. For you see, I am the hope to the masses. If I am to experience fallibilty, they might become disillusioned. Case in point: the minute I started to recognize that maybe I was worse off than I had hoped? BAM! Economic collapse.That's right: this was all because of me.


It's important for people to remember that things can get them down, though. That way you can deal with them in a completely rational manner. This leads me to the next stage:


Anger. That's right: motherfuck the world! It was everyone else's problem, not mine! Surely it couldn't have been anything that I did wrong! Although now I'm denial over the economic problem being my fault, now I'm in stage two of the original problem. That's okay, I know how to deal with it! I'll take out on everyone around me. That surely won't fail.

On second thought, my bad. I guess I'd better move on to the next stage.


Bargaining. I'm fairly sure that when bad stuff happens to me, this stage doesn't happen. My broke ass doesn't have anything to make deals with. Unless you count making deals with God to make it all go away. Maybe that's what they mean here...

"Oh, knock it off! It's your stupid blathering that got you in this mess in the first place!"

Well, damn it. This stage does me no good. Moving on...

Depression. That's right, woe is me. God told me to slag off, the economy is in the toilet, and I made someone cry. What to do now? Drink too much and feel bad for myself! The problem is that you are told never to drink alone, so someone has the job of making you feel like less of a blubbering wussbag. It's important as the friend here to avoid trying to offer advice. This sadsack of a creature (me) is going to just get mad at you. Then where does that leave you? You probably either feel like an asshole, you'll want to punch me, or both. I don't need that right now.

Acceptance. I'm not sure what this feels like, to be quite honest with you. Every horrible thing that has ever happened to me has been suppressed and I carry it with me. I'd like to think in a small way this has made me a better man. For example...

This is an artist's rendering of me and my troubles.

So there is a bright side.

And in conclusion, there's only one thing that can be said as far as advice goes: don't get to know anyone or do anything that may cause you grief down the road. It kind of screws you up. Need proof? Read this whole diatribe again.

25 and Working In A Kitchen

I was at work last night when some drunken idiot approached me, bitched about the price of pizza, and then had this exchange with me:

Idiot: "So how old are you?"
Me: "25."
Idiot: "That's too bad... you know, working here."

He then proceeded to smile and walk away. I wished him a thousand painful deaths, proclaimed a jihad on all of his family, and then punched the doorman's counter. Sorry, Jonathon, I didn't mean to scare you.

Let me vent for just a few minutes, if you will. I know most of you don't read my stuff, and that's fine. It made me laugh one day when someone mentioned the reason that they didn't was becasue they were "too long." Really? It takes me less than fifteen minutes to write these... really?

Anyway. Normally the idea of working in a bar's pizza kitchen selling high-quality, affordable Italian delights is a point of pride for me. I determined after some time that what really bothered me was the request for my age. It's as if someone whose aged 25 is not allowed to work in the service industry, lest he be deemed a failure. This, of course, is all predicated on the idea that man's worth is derived by what he does for a living. Are we still at this point in our society, or was this one inexplicably stupid asshole the exception? I sincerely hope its the latter.

Trust me, I've heard all the jokes. I've heard all the jokes about how I'm working on a decade's worth of schooling. I've heard all the jokes about when I was a freshman, the printing press had just been invented. I take all of these in stride, mostly because it's my friends who are doing the ribbing. If you can't laugh at yourself, you have no right to laugh at others, after all.

So I am a 25-year-old guy living in a college town, having college friends, working at a college bar. Most of my friends are significantly younger than me, and I rarely meet someone whose older than me who doesn't already have a job that supplies them with stock options. That's fine, but let me explain something to the lot of you who think that this is something I should be ashamed of... and I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

First off, I have friends that are 19 years old. That's a lot of years of separation. Let me assure you though: if I am hanging out with you, it's because I think you are a cool person and I enjoy conversing with you. It has nothing to do with me hanging onto my long-forgotten youth and trying to be young again. Hanging out with me for at least an hour will show you that I am one of the most juvenile people around, so that can't possibly be it.

Second, I'm happy doing what I do right now for a living. Rarely do I dread going into work. The vast majority of work days finds me happy and having a good time. This is all defined by (RECURRING THEME ALERT) the people I work with and how I think they are fun to be around. If you have ever teased me for this whether it be to my face or (even worse) behind my back to others, you are the worst kind of person. You are a black hole of humanity.

My age and my years spent in this town have been one of the greatest blessings of my life. I love the community of Cedar Falls and if it were up to me, I'd live here for the rest of my life. I love the people I associate with, and I love how I fit into all of it. There are sacrifices that must be made in the form of romantic relationships, perception of maturity, and other things that could easily be shook off it people allowed themselves to do so. Ah well.

Finally, the ultimate sacrifice for me is that I have a harder time than most meeting women. That comes with the territory, but I common theme I keep hearing is what people will think if word gets out that they're dating someone 3-6 years their senior. My parents are separated by five years. But that's beside the point. If you want to forsake the idea of someone having lived long enough to know how to treat a lady, and to do things the right way, that's fine. Spend some time with some punk college sophomore who has his whole life ahead of him and doesn't care whether or not you're a part of his longterm plans. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

So in conclusion, fuck that guy and his ridiculous modern-day faux alligator shirt. I am awesome, and there's not a damn thing any of you can do about it.