Levels of Tiredness, Religious Crazies, and Fleetwood Mac Melting Your Face

It's Friday night, almost 8:00pm, and I'm sitting in a room full of overeager high school students simulating members of the Defense Department getting way too excited about the prospect of dropping an imaginary nuclear weapon on North Korea, then sending in so many troops and weapons that I'm quite certain Afghanistan and Iraq would have to be emptied faster than the gravy bowl at Al Roker's table. Meanwhile, I'm sitting on my laptop, relaxing to Bob Dylan and ignoring every single thing that is being said to me. Why? Even though this bedroom-sized box is currently holding 24 people, 24 chairs, and enough testosterone to kill a large mammal or Ron Jeremy, I am taking this opportunity to smile and find a bit of peace.

I am so tired, I fall asleep in awkward positions on the half hour bus rides. I'm getting sicker and sicker as the week progresses. I've run through a box of Kleenex and four shirt sleeves. I'm coughing like the Bubble Boy in a smokehouse and find myself having to overdose on caffeine in order to deliver my usual cracks over the bus intercom about what Lady GaGa and I have in common with the same enthusiasm. But, I'm two days away from being done with this adventure, and without delving too deep into it, I have really enjoyed it a lot. A whole lot. As much as a high-class prostitute at a Tiger Woods party.

A few funny moments from the last week:

• Two kids were on the bus behind me, discussing their favorite hard rock music (Metallica, Pantera, etc.) I asked them if they had heard of the hard rock band Fleetwood Mac. They both looked at each other and said no. I told them it was the most thrash, hardcore band I had ever heard, so much so they make me ears bleed. They bought it, hook, line, and sinker. They asked for some of their best songs. I told them "Landslide. Think about it. What happens in a landslide? Destruction." They both wrote the song and band down. Nice.

• So, we're behind the Capitol building, trying to brief the kids on where they go and what they can do while they are there. Next to us is a kid, no older than eight or nine, screaming at the top of his lungs about abortion and Obama being a devil and how Jesus is going to return and slay all sinners. Then, his piece of shit, ignorant, jackass father (who pimps an eight-year-old kid, on a SCHOOL DAY, to random strangers at the Nation's Capitol when the damn kid probably doesn't understand a God damn thing he is screaming) began screaming such classic phrases as, "Obama is sending us to hell in a handbasket" (so cliche), as well as the classic, "Pre-marital sex and fornication is for sinners and you will all go to hell who engage in such acts! (Oops! There goes half the Catholics...and their priests.) He began beating the ground and dancing around as he yelled. In between his gasped screams, I retorted. Below is a transcript...

(SETTING: US Captiol Building. TIME: Late morning. CHARACTERS: me and crazy religious man)
 MAN: (screaming) Jesus...hates...sinners! (breath)
ME: (screaming) The food...at the Supreme Court...is delicious! 
MAN: And those...who follow...that devil Obama...like sheep...will certainly...end up...in hell!
ME: And the Library...of Congress...is really neat!
MAN: Voices...of Christ...Use your mouths...as a trumpet!
ME: (puckers lips and makes a loud trumpet sound...man looks angrily at me)

I'm all about freedom of speech, and in no way am I belittling religion, but using your kid as a mouth piece for your psycho babel (and I couldn't remember half of what he said, but it would qualify as psycho babel) is one step below prick and one step above swift kick in the groin. All my kids were laughing and saying, "I want to get a video of the crazy guy!" Oh, and by the by, most of these kids are conservative and religious. So it's not just me.

• Last night, I listened to a man named Col. Christopher Hughes, member of the 101st Airborne in Iraq. His story is amazing and he is an amazing person, as well as speaker. I was really, really motivated by what he said. You can Google his name and read his story, as well as his book, which I will link here. I already have ordered a copy. I suggest you do, too. Truly, truly amazing person that we often take for granted.

• Finally, I'm finished Sunday, and I'll be back home around mid-week and I'm on the hunt for my next adventure. Do you have any ideas? I am open to any and all suggestions. I will travel anywhere and do almost anything, as long as it is crazy and fun. Education programs, weird jobs, etc. You can e-mail me, Facebook me, or leave a suggestion here. Maybe you'll see me in a city near you!

National Security and the DC Crazies Who Challenge It

Session 2 is over halfway completed, and I'm sitting in a large conference room, monitoring members of the "media" in the student's role playing simulation on North Korea and their threatening the United States with nuclear weapons. Very cool for them. Very boring for I. Three hours of sitting here, giving the students fake "TOP SECRET" documents every fifteen minutes, listening to kids verbally abusing each other over fake documents and made up roles. Most excellent. So, I decided to use this time to add more photos and fill all two and a half of you that read this thing in on the latest in this capital adventure.

This session has been a blast as well. The kids I worked with session one were fantastic, and their diversity and backgrounds made them such an incredible group to work with. This group...umm, I like them. There are definitely some characters. I have one scholar who has discussed such wide ranging topics as broom handles and splinters, Amazon women, and the fact that he skipped part of his experience at NCIS to eat chocolate pudding with a special agent using a knife. Special people, really.

Speaking of NCIS - each Thursday, the students go on a site visit that they choose, and we faculty advisers are divided up and sent to different places. Yesterday, I went to the FBI Academy at Quantico Marine Base (think Silence of the Lambs). Really fantastic. We saw the training facilities, including a ground fighting session (the same moves I already know from MMA training in Mexico - what what!) and the pool and weight room facilities. The experience was fantastic. It was made even stranger by the fact that while we were at the FBI, the plane in Austin crashed. The initial report was that it hit an FBI building in Austin. Weird, weird moment.

We then went to NCIS at Bollinger Air Force base. It's only slightly like the television show (a point that was hammered home about 2,567 1/2 times). But, they set up an actual crime scene with real blood (well, sheep's blood) and clues, fingerprints and cyber information and the like. The kids went into the actual labs to analyze blood splatter, learn to fingerprint, how to find information on hard drives, and they held actual guns and used empty casings to figure out the "murder" weapon. The people at NCIS were really great. I didn't participate, but still had a good time. Especially because there were a few hot lady agents working there, even though their work space reminded my partner and I of The Office.

Alright, so Washington DC must have high security everywhere but their insane asylums, because there are some people here who seem to be a few screws short of not being mental. There you go. For example, there are groups who stop people at street corners to discuss how Barack Obama and Adolf Hitler have identical policies. They even have large pictures to go with their explanations. You know, even though one of them strongly disliked African-Americans and all and killed 6,000,000 Jews. Kinda the same as not liking a health care policy. Just saying. Idiots.

Today, at the Lincoln Memorial, a man wearing blue jeans with shorts over top of them, a bandanna, and crazy assorted accessories began throwing coins on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, followed by his covering up of a picture of MLK, saying, "This is top secret and no one can see it! Go away!" Oh, by the by - he was African-American. After confronting several mounted officers and National Parks workers, he was escorted away. I was too surprised even to go pick up the damn change.

Finally, I finished reading the latest novel I decided to tackle, Love In the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Fantastic, but not as great as One Hundred Years of Solitude. Although he is wordy and extensive with his descriptions of seemingly mundane details, the picture he paints leaves you with a vivid mental picture of every person, building, and moment in the novel. I highly recommend it if you enjoy Latin American literature at all. It reads very nearly like a much better, more drawn out version of The Notebook, with the theme of young love lost and found again later in life. Super, super novel.

A Valentine's Day Message For Everyone

I’m sitting in a Starbucks, writing on my computer, looking like another wanna-be writer who thinks a 3.25 Mocha and a faux oak table are their key to being the next John Steinbeck, where under cheap track lighting they say via their open computer, pensive look-offs into the distance between frantic typing, and their intent, brow-bending stare at their computers, “Look at me! I’m a real writer!” But, alas, I am not doing such today. I come to you today in as a cheery mood as the next man with his testicles strapped to a car battery.

Alright, so that isn’t true. I don’t let Valentine’s Day affect me like most people. While others throw around their philosophical droplets of wisdom (“It’s just a holiday invented by Hallmark to make money. It’s intended to make single people miserable.”), I do not fall into those ranks. Sure, watching couples fawn over each other in public like mother gorillas picking bugs out of their children’s fur stands about two rungs above a nasty gangrene infection on the Vomit Scale. But, I realize two things. One, most of these couples act like this towards each other about three times a year and most are internally just as miserable as any single person feels. I walked around downtown for an hour today and saw exactly five shouting matches, one of which the police were watching because they and I were quite certain that was going to end in fist-a-cuffs.

Second, and most importantly, it’s just another day. Sure, it dredges up memories and feelings, but so do sad movies, floppy eared puppies, and venereal disease flare-ups long after the gift giver has gone. You can easily let one day affect your outlook on life, but that feeling is fleeting, as are most feelings, and tomorrow the red balloons and cheesy slogans in restaurant windows will be gone and half of those couples will be well on their way to a nasty break-up three months from now. It’s the nature of the beast.

So why write about this? Well, I’m bored. I’ve never wished so intently for two days with absolutely nothing to do and no responsibilities to pass by so quickly. Also, it’s an inside joke to myself that I’ll share with you, but I like to secretly laugh at people without anyone else knowing why I’m laughing or smiling like an idiot, and there’s one of those guys, absorbedly pounding away on his computer, sitting behind me, and the stack of books he has piled up next to him and his yellow legal pad notes includes two of the Harry Potter books. So I figured that I would do the same as him, even though only I know I’m writing ridiculous statements about a made-up holiday and he’s probably actually trying.

I spent today getting a hair cut from a nice gentleman who said, “Your hair naturally flows towards the center of your head and gives you a fantastic faux hawk. You have a great head shape.” So to all you hatas out there, I told you I be reppin’ the most bad ass faux hawk eva’. And now a real hairstylist at a SuperCuts told me so.

Snow Days Suck...

I used to think snow days, in the order of Divine Miracles, rated somewhere between walking on water and making a blind man see (but NOT turning water into wine, because I don't like wine that much, and definitely better than the whole fish thing, because, you ever been around a whole shit load of fish? That stuff starts to stink pretty quickly.) So that was my thought process until this week. Initially, when they announced that they were canceling session two of the forum because of weather, I was elated. As much as I loved working with the students, a long break was very welcome. Well, here were are five days later, and things have gotten so bad, that our staff quickly resorted to "If this became a really bad horror movie, which member of the staff would most likely be the one to snap and kill everyone?" And guess who was voted most likely to be that person? ME! What?!

Alright, so let me take this opportunity to refute that claim. First of all, never in my life have I had a desire to murder someone. I mean, straight up. Never. And, besides the fact that I match some of the descriptive traits listed on the "serial killer" Wikipedia page, I never wet my bed beyond the age of 12 and I don't think torturing small animals is right. At all. I didn't even like dissecting the frog in biology! And I am proud of my high IQ and do not think it is indicative of anything other than I have a lot of knowledge. I mean, you don't see Stephen Hawkings out there, going all Buffalo Bill on some wheelchair bound women, right? Of course not! So, yeah, that argument is done. Plus, I'm too nice. Really. I give to charity. I ask elderly women how their days are. I don't cross the street to avoid homeless people. I walk right by them! Who else can say that? Seriously.

Let's talk a look, hypothetically, of where I think I rank if we were to really look for serial killers:

5. Tom Cruise - that's too obvious
13. My next door neighbor when I was a kid - I think that guy had a few bodies in his garden
75. Mr. Rogers - you know that guy was a Green Beret, right? Don't let the sweater fool you
76. Mr. McFeely - he would be a quite obvious accomplice
165. Ron Artest - too easy to see, so there's no way he could be
1,345. Michael J. Fox - Marty McFly? Teen Wolf? No way. Plus he couldn't hold the weapon steady (crickets)
1,456. Ryan Barton
1,458. Mother Theresa - sneaky; a wild-card entry, but in the end, no way

So, you see, the empirical proof is overwhelming - I could not nor will I ever be a serial killer. So sorry to disappoint. And just because I've been twitchy this week whenever I see a butter knife doesn't mean anything. IT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING!

So this week really has been rough. It's cold, there's nothing that's closer than a 20 minute walk besides homes, and they serve dinner at 5pm. By nine, I feel like Rosie O'Donnell staring at an all-you-can-eat buffet through Plexi-glass. It's just uncomfortable. A few of the kids have been stuck here all week because nothing is flying out of Washington D.C. besides Congress' sanity. They've tried a few escapes, and who can blame them, but they're about as stealthy as a fat woman in a Twinkie factory. But they're really cool and we've had some great times, like a few days ago at the zoo.

So, I figured the zoo in winter would be like going to the opera: boring. There's really no joke there. Opera sucks. So, anyways, we went to the National Zoo with the remaining scholars because it's free and it's close and what the hell, there's sure to be a few exhibits, right? Well, not exactly. Every other path was "Under Construction," the elephants were locked up like they were on death row, and half the exhibits were closed. So, we checked out the small mammal house, with the monkeys and meerkats, and that was cool. And we checked out the reptile house, with the crocodiles and snakes and frogs and stuff, and that was neat. But then, we went into the most amazing place I have ever been save...well, save nothing, it was that amazing - The Primate House.

Look, seeing gorillas and orangutans up close is cool enough, especially when there are baby gorillas involved...


And you can always bet that they'll be doing something interesting. I mean, they are our living ancestors and all, right? They're smart and intelligent, right? I mean, some of the primates work on computers at the zoo, matching designs and showing forms of intelligence, right? Oh, did I mention they like to stick their own shit in their mouths and smear it on the viewing glass for all to see -


Or they choose to whittle the time away by doing a little something I call EATING THEIR OWN VOMIT! Oh yeah, not once, not twice, not even five times, but like twenty freaking times! Seriously! And this ain't no cow-chewin'-its-cud type of deal. This is full on, out of body, back into body kind of shit. This orangutan in question particularly liked to show of its vomit eating prowess by doing so off the viewing glass. And to silence any critics, I went ahead and captured the moment with a sort of evolutionary linkage type of photo.


Ignore the fact that that thing looks like half of my family. We clearly have evolutionary links, but have become separated in our thought processes. Orangutans can't talk, and I haven't eaten my own vomit since I was in college, and that's like two years ago, and that was just because of a dare and I really wanted to impress this girl, but the plan kinda backfired because she thought it was gross, but at least I wasn't doing it for fun like this orangutan, and at least my shame was only in front of like six people and not at a country's zoo where everyone could watch me. So, that's how I proved evolution this week.

I went out last night, had a nice time, got in a cab to head home with some friends. Cab driver (who we later found out was Punjabi) was talking on his cell phone in a language we couldn't understand to a person we assumed was, you know, far enough away to necessitate a cell phone. Upon stopping at a red light, the cell phone hung up, the trunk popped open, and a human crawled out of the trunk. Seriously. The cab driver was talking to a man who was stuffed in his trunk. The whole time. No truth to the rumor that the man in the trunk was this guy.

Anyways, that's about all the fun for this week. I'm still trying to figure out what's next. I have no idea. I feel as clueless as Joaquin Phoenix in trying to decide where to go from here, except I don't have a beard like Happy Gilmore's caddy. But, if anyone has any idea or would like to coax me into coming their direction, let me know. I'm open for just about anything at this point. Just something that can pay the student loans and leave me enough money to buy useless crap that I'll never use.

Two Weeks Deep, Don't Think Twice, 'Cause There's No Second One, Only Second Chances

In true Sesame Street fashion, this weeks blog is brought to you by the number two. In the pantheon of numerical order, I think the number two is often forgotten. It falls behind the first number of the alphabet, comes before three (third times a charm, lucky number three, etc.), and generally has an awkward form when being written (do I make the loop at the bottom/do I not/does it matter/will my first grade teacher Mrs. Duddy slap my hand with the metal edge of a ruler again for number two writing insubordination?). But, the number two has given us some of the greatest number related references in history: two birds with one stone, number 2 pencil, and of course, the greatest, taking a number two. This week has been no different for me.

First, let's address the elephant in the room. Yes, the Colts lost the Super Bowl. Shit happens. Truth is, it's all my fault. I wore my Colts t-shirt today, but it never felt like today was actually the Super Bowl. I didn't even go out to watch it and I only woke up 10 minutes before kick off. I feel like my lack of preparedness both mentally and physically were somehow related to this letdown, and for that, I'm sorry. Kudos to the Saints. If there is any team I wouldn't mind winning the Lombardi, it's the Saints. Even though Drew Brees was the inspiration for a certain Austin Powers character. Although they got there, there wasn't to be a second Super Bowl, and it's all my fault. On the other hand, Mardi Gras will be sick. You think the guys from Girls Gone Wild are already halfway to New Orleans with about 324 cameras and two garbage trucks full of beads? I think so.

Even though this was the first full week of work here, I'm now two weeks deep into my Washington D.C. experience. So let's run through week one.

Fantastic. Incredible. Amazing. How many cliche words can I dramatically list set off from the other paragraphs for dramatic purposes?

(As a side note. We started working Tuesday at 1pm. We finally finished Sunday at 3pm. Count it up. That is a total of 122 hours. How many we were on the books for? 85 hours. Yes, that's right. We averaged approximately 7 hours and 24 minutes of free time a day, and that means sleep time, too, so if I haven't kept in touch with you, I apologize. There were afternoons where I swore I was tripping on 20 Dramamine mixed with a handful of NyQuil. In other words, I spent the week looking and feeling like an extra from "Thriller".)

Twenty-one kids, from California, Texas, New York, Tennessee, Michigan, even Indiana, and everywhere in-between were in my group. Tuesday afternoon, they sat, heads down, toeing the ground hard enough to dig holes in the carpet, afraid to breathe too loud. Today, at our final meeting, they were hugging each other, crying, exchanging e-mails and phone numbers. To watch the growth of students you are responsible for over any period of time is a neat feeling. I've had that feeling so many times, and each time, it's a satisfying experience that's really unparalleled. But, for some reason this time was extremely moving for me. It could be a thousand things. Where I am in life, where this job is, who they are as people - whatever it is, this has been, as I said, an incredible experience.

Highlights:

• Wednesday, I noticed one of my students sitting alone during dinner. He's from near where I went to school in Indiana. So I went over and had dinner with him, talked about jazz and different parts of the state, how he liked school and the program so far. Shortly thereafter, two other students came by wanting to sit with me. I introduced the students, got them talking, and excused myself to get another drink and never came back. Today, I saw those same three students all hanging out, taking pictures together. I smiled a little.
• Thursday night, the students listened to different speakers from the defense, diplomatic, and intelligence sectors of our government. Afterwords, they attended a career fair with various intelligence branches, military schools, and people from related career fields. I spent more than the recommended amount of time discussing networking, talking about the various twists and turns my life has taken based on random chance and people I've met by complete accident/fate. I stressed the importance of impressions, firm handshakes, genuine interest. I watched as other students ran to tables to grab the "swag" these companies bring to lure in students and run back to their friends as if a free lanyard was a trophy of excellence. Three of my students were late getting back to the classroom. They were asked to stay after to talk with a member of one of the military schools, who gave them his personal information. All the students said they were more prepared than any other group. Was it true? Probably not. But they believed in themselves, and that's 99% of the battle.
• We had a black sheep. Every group I've ever worked with does, that one kid who stands out, says the wrong thing at the wrong time, rubs everyone the wrong way, doesn't seem to have an inner-monologue. It was hard, as respectful and courteous as the students were, to shield him at times from their barbs. Saturday, as we discussed the importance of respect to those at Arlington Cemetery, he gave one of the most thought-provoking, deep, incredibly moving statements I've ever heard. The students all cheered for him. Today, at our final meeting, he told everyone how much he appreciated them. They all had a group hug and said how much they cared for him and loved his personality and opinions. I didn't join the group hug, because it took me back to all the other students who I watched in the same way, with the same admiration, names that I still remember to this day and always will.
• At our final meeting today, my students reiterated what they had said all week: That they love having me as their faculty adviser, they were sad they were leaving, they wanted pictures and to know if I'd stay in touch. There were hugs, some tears (not from me), beautiful final messages. I watched a group of bright, young, talented students grow like driveway weeds, sprouting new frames of thought and confidence in only six days and realized this -

I'm sitting here at 24 years old, having felt like my life has done nothing but dramatically shift since I was a child, a decade plus of seemingly dead ends and hopeless roads that turn to dust. Then I see how these students reacted, how much they appreciated me for me and how I could help them. Coincidentally, I received a slew of messages from my students in Monterrey Friday night and had a heap full of scholars not even from my group asking to take pictures with me the last day, saying they would miss me, too.

I also have a link to pictures from this week. What, what!

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2062533&id=22102032&l=f98874ed63

Finally, each night, because the days are so hectic and a moment of peace if as hard to find as someone who thinks Sarah Palin would be a good President and doesn't believe that Mormons planted dinosaurs in the ground, I would chill out in the lobby of one of the buildings here and relax with some Bob Dylan.

And it happened. I think I've made one of the biggest decisions of my entire life.

I love Bob Dylan more than The Beatles.

Now, before you start chastising me - the Beatles are the greatest rock band ever. Without The Beatles, we'd have had Lady GaGa twenty years ago and by now hermaphrodite acts would be as popular as the Jonas Brothers. So, that's a good thing, you know? But what makes Dylan my go-to choice for listening pleasure?

First of all, I love the simplicity. Acoustic guitar, a harmonica, maybe a little drum snare here and there. Second, people always bash his voice, but that's what makes Dylan, well, Dylan. It's a voice of the people - a smoky, cracked, strained, untrained set of pipes that could come straight from a Michigan line worker or a West Virginia coal miner. It's a voice of the people telling the stories of the people. Finally, his lyrics - just, amazing. While he has some real stinkers (sorry, I think Ballad of a Thin Man is shite), the majority of his songs just hit you right where it counts, right when you need it.

I've always found it difficult for pin down a favorite song for artists I really love. Don't even ask me about one for The Beatles - how large of a list of potential candidates can I have? Thirty songs? Forty?

Dylan - I have fallen in love with Don't Think Twice, It's Alright. Never gave it a shot before. Can't get enough of it now. Amazing. And it has a deviation of the number two in it. So there you go. What a way to wrap it up.

Now on to week number two starting on TWOs-day. (That's a stretch, yes, but I don't care. Get yo' own damn blog if you got a problem with it.)

p.s. - Shameless plug. Sort of. This is a link to a student-film that my good friend Jeremy Brok made in 2006. I recently put it up on YouTube because a lot of our friends were in it, and making it was a ton of fun and now that we have to face the real world, I guess this takes us back to a time when things were as easy as being dumbasses in front of a camera. The other three parts are linked on the video somewhere. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bGztfPhy5bw