Something interesting happened a few years before my father left. My mother, who had long been devout in her spirituality, became an ordained minister and thus a missionary. By the time my father left in 2008, my mother had taken one mission trip to Africa during the holidays. During that trip, the compound where she was residing was assaulted with machine rifles in the middle of the night. Add this to the fact that she was devastated by my father's recent absence, so if there were ever a time to spend the holidays at home then it would have been that winter. To my surprise, these occurrences only strengthened her resolve as she indicated that she was more driven than ever to return to the villages of Africa. I wonder where I derive my drive and stubbornness from? I could have spoken up against her trips but a small part of me was proud of her and honestly how does one argue against God's work? "Umm...hey Big Guy. Fuck those Africans! It's Michael O time!" What was I going to say? I had to be supportive. So if you can imagine, for the past 5 holidays, we have not had our mother or father in the house and this has had an adverse effect. The holidays, the one time of the year where home is supposed to be home, has instead been one big countdown for me. As the oldest of five, the burden of making the holidays festive falls on me. But how can I? How do I "explain" away the long stares of my siblings? How do I look my 5 year old sister in the eye and console her tears, when she realizes that she is not getting any Christmas presents? How do I pretend like everything is OK when I feel as badly as they do? I'd argue that sometimes I feel worse, because each and every one of their solemn faces is burned into my mind, and there is nothing that I can do. If this was your experience, you would dread the holidays as well. So the night before Thanksgiving it had been a few weeks since I had come home. Usually. my mother is around for Thanksgiving but she had to renew a visa for her upcoming trip. This required her to spend a week in New York. I had already stored my motorcycle for the winter, so I had my mother's car keys and was restless to get out of the house.
The problem however was that I had no where to go. Save for Ray, my best friend from high school, I spoke to NO ONE from our high school on a regular basis. I never really fit in at Clarenceville High. So the truth is that I could die in a ditch somewhere and none of them would know. However, I guarantee you that as soon as I make it big then it'll be "Oh fuck Mike, he's changed." My reply, "Umm yea...tax brackets!" However Ray, who was in W. Virginia playing ball, called and told me about a birthday get together at one of the local bars. It was for our mutual friend Mike. Mike is one of the nicest guys that you will ever meet. I once quipped to my younger sister, the 2nd of us five, "How many guys would you let watch your 3 month old infant? I would let Mike do it and not even think about it!" He is that nice of a guy. So despite the fact that he was more Ray's friend than mine, I still wanted to wish him a happy birthday. At Ray's urging, I hopped into my mother's green, Toyota 4Runner and drove off into the rainy night. When I arrived at the bar I was surprised to see hoards of cars parked all around. Apparently, the night before Thanksgiving is a big, "going out" night. Thus, after hunting, I eventually found a parking spot, a few lots from the bar. I exited the car and walked hurriedly to the bar. From the sounds that were emanating into the night, you could tell that the patrons were packed like sardines into the unassuming building. I made my way to the entrance and from the girls that I saw standing outside, this was not where you met "The One." I opened the door, walked inside and the bouncer said, "$15 dollars please." Bitch Please! I'm offended when I have to pay $5 dollars at Rick's. From the looks of things, this was the kind of establishment that even Rick's wouldn't venture into, on the trashiest night. Just then Mike walked out and we began to catch up. In about 10 minutes, I had accomplished the main reason why I was at this bar. I should have left but I had one more person to see. Mike led the way as I walked past the bouncer laughing at him. He SHOULD have known better.
Moments later I was within the bar trying to acquaint myself with people that I had not seen for years. How does a blind man describe a sunset which is entirely foreign to him? This is how I felt as I "caught up" with some of these old classmates. I greeted the ones that I knew and ignored the ones that I did not, including Donnie. He was our star basketball player from high school and though he was done balling, he was still "Too cool for school." That might have bothered me in high school, but fuck him and anyone like that. It's my time. You introduce yourself to me. I just wrestled TWO gorillas in a phone booth! Who needs a new hat? I digress. Almost out of a movie, I interacted with everyone else that I could until she was remaining. I looked ahead at the table and there she was, willing me over in a skin tight, red dress, with black leggings, and knee high black boots. I took a moment to take in her in, her jet black hair, her bright doe eyes, her inviting smile, and her curvy figure. She was smiling at me now, and when she did this widely enough, a sort of double chin appeared, but it was cute.
Her name was Amanda and honestly I did not know her well in high school. The "story" on her was that though she was a cute cheerleader, she was a waste of time. She had this on again, off again, older boyfriend, who was her first love. There was no point pursuing her. One late night as I was about to log off from Facebook, when she sent me a message. I didn't think anything of it so I responded in my charming, sarcastic way. I logged off and was working on something online when I received the alert that she had sent me another message. Before I knew it, we were in an hour long relay, sending messages back and forth on Facebook; and then it dawned on me. "I have a degree. If someone wants to OBVIOUSLY talk to you, then you two should exchange phone numbers and not spend an hour on Facebook." I told her this and we exchanged numbers. However, why did she want to talk to me? I thought she was married? Apparently, so did she. Her husband, the "first love", had cheated on her in the army, got kicked out for knocking up a fellow officer, and then proceeded to move out of her parent's house, with the other woman. This is how our first conversation began. She explained that she was going through a tough time, and had to reconcile with getting a divorce. At the time, I still did not think that anything was going to happen between us, I was simply bored at home, and hell, I could gain some great material for my book, "Galfing: A Young Man's Guide." So we had this long conversation at 3 in the morning, and she vented at how she could not believe that he could hurt her so. Over the years, her husband was the guy that she had left every other guy for. NO ONE measured up. Her world was literally upside down, as she was one of those girls where he was like the sun, the moon, the planets and the stars. So for him to do what he did, with an uglier girl at that, especially when her and him had failed at conceiving their own child, was like an enormous, cosmic explosion.
From my perspective, this guy was a DOG! It was obvious from the first conversation that this was NOT his first time cheating on her. Before he got kicked out from the army, his base was over in Japan and so Amanda and him would video message over Skype. So she told me a story about how one night, she is talking with him and the other chick walks by behind him in her underwear. This would have been alright if she was on a runway. However, she was in the private room of a married man, and last I checked, the army does not endorse co-habitation. I was shocked that stories like these did not tip her off. I had this certain friend from undergrad whose name is Marquan. Anyone that knows 'Quan is aware that when he's around, hilarity ensues. One of his favorite sayings was, "If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck. Usually it's a motherfucking duck!" I could not help but remember this saying when I was listening to Amanda. Even when telling me such stories, the tone of her voice, indicated that she was at a loss. The way she would talk, it was like her husband was absent of fault, as if to say, "I don't know what happened. He just woke up and went mad!" On my end of the phone, I could have laughed at her for being so daft, but she was in obvious pain. From the much that I could gather about her, she was a sweetheart who did not deserve what was happening to her. Since high school, her father and her, had been at each others throats for her relationship with this asshole. At the time, it was mostly because he was black. She loved him so much that she was willing to disown her own family. Plus, one of her major retorts for her father was, how could her father want her to end up with some "white banker" who was going to cheat on her? Irony is a bitch and she's proud of it. So I would politely offer advice and suggest that maybe he was not this "Prince Charming" that she assumed him to be. In the beginning, I took myself out of the equation and was truly trying to see things through her eyes. I told her that she had to figure out what was best for her. If moving on was best then she should do it. If taking some time apart was best then she should do it. However, if getting back together with that man was best for her, then she should do it because her father, mother, sisters, and brothers did not stand on that alter and say "I do." She did.
She had lived for too long for this guy and it was time to live for herself. It was time to find out who Amanda really was. This is what I told her and surprisingly, she did not like it. I guess she had expected me to wag my fingers in the air, make a fit, and say, "Oh no he didn't girlfriend! Fuck that guy, He betta get the steppin'. You too good for him anyways!" However, I quickly saw in that first conversation that this was part of her problem. She was too busy listening to everything that did not matter, and ignoring the only thing that did, her heart. When that conversation ended, I never expected to hear from her again, but then she invited me out to the bar for Mike's birthday celebration. The next time I talked to Ray, I remember telling him how weird I felt about meeting a married woman. From his perspective, he knew that being at home was suffocating me. He chided me to get out for a change and so I did. So there I was standing in front of her table, with her smiling invitedly at me. The planes had flown over. The national anthem had been sung. The coaches had given their pre-game speeches, and the referee had blown the whistle. All that was left was for me to walk up to her. So I let out a sigh and walked forward...
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
"Post-Graduation: Home And Heartbreak" (Part 2)
A quick recap I had NO intention of heading home after graduation as I had a choice between a masters program at Wake Forest, or a marketing gig out in Illinois. However, my mother was starting to crack under the pressure of paying all of the bills by herself as my father was still overseas and not helping. Much of the graduation period was spent internally consumed by how I was going to help her out. She was working three, teaching shifts but was behind on the bills and house payments, PLUS all of the debt that my father had left her with. My father had missed graduation and so when he came home the next month, I was not sure how to feel when he visited 1502. It was close to two years since I had seen him so the entire scene was something out of a weird dream as he sat in the living room with the rest of my family. By that summer, I had met the rest of 1502's parents and honestly I felt a bit embarrassed that no one had met my father yet. So I remember feeling relieved that I had the house to myself that afternoon when he visited. However right before he was about to leave, Cass, Stev and Kenzo walked in the door. FUCK! I almost got away with my "secret meeting." If it were not happening to me then I could have laughed in that awkward moment. Out of guilt my father, apologized for missing graduation and PROMISED to pay my student loans until I secured a great job. I had the guilt noose right there in my hand and could have tightened it as hard as I could around his neck, but what was I going to do? I told him that it was alright. Again, I still had no intention of moving home but then I learned that my father was leaving again in a few weeks. If I moved away from Michigan as well, my mother and siblings would really be alone. Thus with absolutely no desire to, and a sense of obligation, I conceded to move back home.
A not so funny side note, the day before I was scheduled to move home, I was stopped by one of those jackass, Ann Arbor cops. Long story short he was sure that I had stolen my motorcycle because I had not renewed the registration yet. I had scheduled a meeting with the insurance company early the next morning after I arrived home, so it was a terrible coincidence that the cop happened to stop me that night. I had to secure new insurance before the state was allowed to renew my registration so if I had not been literally outside of @Hotel Arch and pleaded my case, he would have impounded my bike and taken me to jail that night. He wrote me a ticket and gave a warning not to ride my bike until I secured the insurance. The next morning I got on my bike and rode home. Fuck him! I didn't have money to hire a UHAUL so I had to do it. So I got home around late October and the dreaded job search began. I applied to a lot of banking and financial services types of positions in and around Detroit but I was open to anything so I was applying everywhere. The idea was to simply get any job then with time a better opportunity would present itself. I laugh now thinking back on this but most of those positions did not require a resume so I am sure that they felt like I was over qualified for those jobs.
Winter was fast approaching and I needed a car, so there were certain jobs that required traveling that I could not do. My employment choices were limited to jobs near my mother's house, but I kept applying. This is how my days would go. I would wake up alone in the house (mom at work,kids at school), eat, spend hours applying to this and that job, spend about 3 hours studying some LSAT material, and then apply for more jobs before I would get frustrated, retire to my room to write some songs. The weeks passed and I still did not secure a job and my mood began to suffer. My mother never stated it out loud but I believe that in her mind, she felt that I would contribute financially to the household, so me not being able to do so weighed heavily upon me. Even worse, nearing the end of November, my loan companies started to hound me daily. They would call demanding their money, I would explain my situation as best as I could, and they would end the conversation threatening that I better have a payment by so and so date. I was doing the best I could given my situation, but according to everyone it seemed that I was irresponsible, or not driven. I was really DOWN. Also, I was listening to ALOT of Kid Cudi's second album "Man On The Moon II: The Legend Of Mr. Rager" and for those that don't know, his sophomore effort is significantly darker than his debut, as he was dealing with recovering from a cocaine addiction. So me trapped at home all day listening to lyrics such as "All Along" did absolutely nothing to aid my mood.
When the days, change, so does my attitude
I'm messy at home, I ate a lot of junk food
When the nights change, so do my nightmares too
I dream reality, is my dream
All along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone
All along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone, out there on my own, yea
When the weeks change, the rumors change too
I'm addicted to highs, would you like to know why?
When the months change, so do my love point of views
I don't want what i need, what i need hates me...
What i need hates me
I know all along, all along, i know I'm meant to be alone, its crazy
But all along, all along, i knew i was meant to be alone out there on my own yeah,
Suppose somehow the lion hearted failed to win, who will be the villain?
All the strangers voted for him
suppose somehow the lion hearted failed to smile, who would be the villain?
All the strangers voted for him
All along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone
all along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone, out there on my own, yea
Kid Cudi "All Along"
I was borderline depressed as I felt that I was failing at my responsibilities, and then I met her...
A not so funny side note, the day before I was scheduled to move home, I was stopped by one of those jackass, Ann Arbor cops. Long story short he was sure that I had stolen my motorcycle because I had not renewed the registration yet. I had scheduled a meeting with the insurance company early the next morning after I arrived home, so it was a terrible coincidence that the cop happened to stop me that night. I had to secure new insurance before the state was allowed to renew my registration so if I had not been literally outside of @Hotel Arch and pleaded my case, he would have impounded my bike and taken me to jail that night. He wrote me a ticket and gave a warning not to ride my bike until I secured the insurance. The next morning I got on my bike and rode home. Fuck him! I didn't have money to hire a UHAUL so I had to do it. So I got home around late October and the dreaded job search began. I applied to a lot of banking and financial services types of positions in and around Detroit but I was open to anything so I was applying everywhere. The idea was to simply get any job then with time a better opportunity would present itself. I laugh now thinking back on this but most of those positions did not require a resume so I am sure that they felt like I was over qualified for those jobs.
Winter was fast approaching and I needed a car, so there were certain jobs that required traveling that I could not do. My employment choices were limited to jobs near my mother's house, but I kept applying. This is how my days would go. I would wake up alone in the house (mom at work,kids at school), eat, spend hours applying to this and that job, spend about 3 hours studying some LSAT material, and then apply for more jobs before I would get frustrated, retire to my room to write some songs. The weeks passed and I still did not secure a job and my mood began to suffer. My mother never stated it out loud but I believe that in her mind, she felt that I would contribute financially to the household, so me not being able to do so weighed heavily upon me. Even worse, nearing the end of November, my loan companies started to hound me daily. They would call demanding their money, I would explain my situation as best as I could, and they would end the conversation threatening that I better have a payment by so and so date. I was doing the best I could given my situation, but according to everyone it seemed that I was irresponsible, or not driven. I was really DOWN. Also, I was listening to ALOT of Kid Cudi's second album "Man On The Moon II: The Legend Of Mr. Rager" and for those that don't know, his sophomore effort is significantly darker than his debut, as he was dealing with recovering from a cocaine addiction. So me trapped at home all day listening to lyrics such as "All Along" did absolutely nothing to aid my mood.
When the days, change, so does my attitude
I'm messy at home, I ate a lot of junk food
When the nights change, so do my nightmares too
I dream reality, is my dream
All along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone
All along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone, out there on my own, yea
When the weeks change, the rumors change too
I'm addicted to highs, would you like to know why?
When the months change, so do my love point of views
I don't want what i need, what i need hates me...
What i need hates me
I know all along, all along, i know I'm meant to be alone, its crazy
But all along, all along, i knew i was meant to be alone out there on my own yeah,
Suppose somehow the lion hearted failed to win, who will be the villain?
All the strangers voted for him
suppose somehow the lion hearted failed to smile, who would be the villain?
All the strangers voted for him
All along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone
all along, all along, I guess I'm meant to be alone, out there on my own, yea
Kid Cudi "All Along"
I was borderline depressed as I felt that I was failing at my responsibilities, and then I met her...
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
"Post-Graduation: Home And Heartbreak" (Part 1)
I'm going to start this post a little differently but you know me, I aim to please. Start nodding your head!
"O's the Biggity best
They say no diggity yes
They way I hit em, and split em, with rhythm
Figgidy fresh
U gotta love me like tennis
They call me Michael the menace
Lieutenants all wanna sentence
U know I'm hip hop's apprentice
Shiggity shake, miggity make, make these sounds
Miggity make, biggity brake, break it down
Fresher than a fashion show, give em fast or slow
Let me tell you rappers yo, this is how you battle O
RUN!
I'm full of Big Puns
U know its fuck the world, so I got alotta sons
Killing emcees, I don't spare one
Even on a Sunday, I don't spare nunZZZ!"
Haha. I'm clever aren't I? In doing my writing and my music I realized that I am still getting used to the idea of referring to myself in the third person. I was downtown somewhere talking with this other musician about Das EFX. They were this mid-90's, hip hop group whose "one trick pony" style was to add "iggidy" in front of many of their words. So the above verse was my attempt at that style and quite frankly my dear, it's not bad so I might still use it. Don't bite me! I especially like the line "Run! I'm full of Big Puns" as that line is a big pun in of itself. So YES! I am virtually giving myself a pat on the back right now. The conversation shifted to my music when I began by saying "Michael O." I remember thinking how weird this sounded as it came out. In my long quest to be "cool" I always envisioned that the coolest people were those that were understated. There was no need to be braggadocios they were simply cool, like Denzel Washington. Mind you, in real life, Denzel might be an asshole but my point is well taken. However I've realized that when you attempt to do anything, people are going to be critical regardless of what you do. If you cannot accept failure then you are not ready for success. Thus, If I can't get excited about my own shit, how much more people who could careless about me. So if shameless, self promotion is part of the game then I guess "Michael O" (I hope you're smiling) has to engage in this behavior.
Michael O and the rest of 1502 graduated the University of Michigan in 2010 and not to boast, but your college graduation did not have the governor AND President Barack Obama speaking. You might have heard of him. Graduation, for me, was surreal and almost a blur. I treated it like a matter of fact as I am not certain that I really internalized it. Logically, graduation was a good thing but if I displayed any excitement then it was due to the fact that I was "supposed" to feel that way. Senior year was the best year of college and it was because of the rest of 1502. I feel like a broken record saying this but SENIOR YEAR WAS THE BEST YEAR OF COLLEGE AND MY LIFE, BECAUSE OF THE MEMBERS OF 1502. I learned something from each and every one of them and if you have ever met people that have personally touched you then you can relate to my sentiments. You could try to put 5 individuals under one roof and I don't think that you could beat the social dynamic that we had. Stev and Wheeler were on the track team, with Chin managing, Cass played volleyball for the U and I used to play soccer so together, we had a nice cross section of the groups of people that we associated with. 1502 was situated off campus, on the corner of White & E Stadium and the mere fact that we were constantly able to draw others to journey out to our house meant that there was something truly special about the 5 of us together; a fact that is still discussed in Ann Arbor. So this idea of "graduation" meant an end to all of this and I was hesitant as I was unsure as to what this would bring. What I was certain of however, was that I was NOT moving home.
Home for me is like that dreaded Friday morning, 8 AM, one hour discussion section of some class. You should probably be there, but they make it oh so hard. I am still convinced that there are some malevolent schedulers that purposely schedule those Friday morning discussion classes, for those students that embody the term "Thirsty Thursday." Assholes. Anyways I take no pride in saying this but the last time that I spent extended time at home, when I eventually left, I vowed that I was NEVER living there again. This was the summer after my sophomore year and due to finances, I was on the brink of dropping out of school. My father had been part of that 2008 economic meltdown as he was laid off from GM. Economic frustration prompted him to leave the country vowing to never live in the States again. Langston Hughes once asked, "What happens to a dream deferred?" In my experience the children suffer. My mother who had taught me to always persevere no matter how bad things seemed actually suggested that dropping out of school "might be the best thing for me." It is one of the most hurtful things that she will ever say to me. It magnified how dire things were for my family. If I left Michigan, I was done with school because I was not starting as a freshman somewhere else. Thus more out of fear than anything else, that summer was spent applying for EVERY type of financing imaginable to afford my return to school. Even a summer job around my mother's house in Farmington, a suburb just outside Detroit, was impossible to secure as students like me, who returned home from school during the summer, had been beaten to the punch by more desperate job seekers. That summer I heard so many "No's" that you would have thought that it was my name. I felt so alone and somehow responsible for the things that were happening around me. The only joy I felt that summer was spending time in Ann Arbor, every other weekend with Grant. We were supposed to hang out since freshman year and we never did so it was by chance that we ran into each other and on a whim he invited me up to crash at his house. Hanging out with him was an eye opening experience because it dawned on me that this was the "true" college experience. I will forever be grateful of him for that summer because it was his gracious act that eventually led me to meet the rest of 1502. Thus when I FINALLY secured the loan that afforded my return to school, it was a foregone conclusion that I was NEVER living at home again and at the time, I truly meant it...
"O's the Biggity best
They say no diggity yes
They way I hit em, and split em, with rhythm
Figgidy fresh
U gotta love me like tennis
They call me Michael the menace
Lieutenants all wanna sentence
U know I'm hip hop's apprentice
Shiggity shake, miggity make, make these sounds
Miggity make, biggity brake, break it down
Fresher than a fashion show, give em fast or slow
Let me tell you rappers yo, this is how you battle O
RUN!
I'm full of Big Puns
U know its fuck the world, so I got alotta sons
Killing emcees, I don't spare one
Even on a Sunday, I don't spare nunZZZ!"
Haha. I'm clever aren't I? In doing my writing and my music I realized that I am still getting used to the idea of referring to myself in the third person. I was downtown somewhere talking with this other musician about Das EFX. They were this mid-90's, hip hop group whose "one trick pony" style was to add "iggidy" in front of many of their words. So the above verse was my attempt at that style and quite frankly my dear, it's not bad so I might still use it. Don't bite me! I especially like the line "Run! I'm full of Big Puns" as that line is a big pun in of itself. So YES! I am virtually giving myself a pat on the back right now. The conversation shifted to my music when I began by saying "Michael O." I remember thinking how weird this sounded as it came out. In my long quest to be "cool" I always envisioned that the coolest people were those that were understated. There was no need to be braggadocios they were simply cool, like Denzel Washington. Mind you, in real life, Denzel might be an asshole but my point is well taken. However I've realized that when you attempt to do anything, people are going to be critical regardless of what you do. If you cannot accept failure then you are not ready for success. Thus, If I can't get excited about my own shit, how much more people who could careless about me. So if shameless, self promotion is part of the game then I guess "Michael O" (I hope you're smiling) has to engage in this behavior.
Michael O and the rest of 1502 graduated the University of Michigan in 2010 and not to boast, but your college graduation did not have the governor AND President Barack Obama speaking. You might have heard of him. Graduation, for me, was surreal and almost a blur. I treated it like a matter of fact as I am not certain that I really internalized it. Logically, graduation was a good thing but if I displayed any excitement then it was due to the fact that I was "supposed" to feel that way. Senior year was the best year of college and it was because of the rest of 1502. I feel like a broken record saying this but SENIOR YEAR WAS THE BEST YEAR OF COLLEGE AND MY LIFE, BECAUSE OF THE MEMBERS OF 1502. I learned something from each and every one of them and if you have ever met people that have personally touched you then you can relate to my sentiments. You could try to put 5 individuals under one roof and I don't think that you could beat the social dynamic that we had. Stev and Wheeler were on the track team, with Chin managing, Cass played volleyball for the U and I used to play soccer so together, we had a nice cross section of the groups of people that we associated with. 1502 was situated off campus, on the corner of White & E Stadium and the mere fact that we were constantly able to draw others to journey out to our house meant that there was something truly special about the 5 of us together; a fact that is still discussed in Ann Arbor. So this idea of "graduation" meant an end to all of this and I was hesitant as I was unsure as to what this would bring. What I was certain of however, was that I was NOT moving home.
Home for me is like that dreaded Friday morning, 8 AM, one hour discussion section of some class. You should probably be there, but they make it oh so hard. I am still convinced that there are some malevolent schedulers that purposely schedule those Friday morning discussion classes, for those students that embody the term "Thirsty Thursday." Assholes. Anyways I take no pride in saying this but the last time that I spent extended time at home, when I eventually left, I vowed that I was NEVER living there again. This was the summer after my sophomore year and due to finances, I was on the brink of dropping out of school. My father had been part of that 2008 economic meltdown as he was laid off from GM. Economic frustration prompted him to leave the country vowing to never live in the States again. Langston Hughes once asked, "What happens to a dream deferred?" In my experience the children suffer. My mother who had taught me to always persevere no matter how bad things seemed actually suggested that dropping out of school "might be the best thing for me." It is one of the most hurtful things that she will ever say to me. It magnified how dire things were for my family. If I left Michigan, I was done with school because I was not starting as a freshman somewhere else. Thus more out of fear than anything else, that summer was spent applying for EVERY type of financing imaginable to afford my return to school. Even a summer job around my mother's house in Farmington, a suburb just outside Detroit, was impossible to secure as students like me, who returned home from school during the summer, had been beaten to the punch by more desperate job seekers. That summer I heard so many "No's" that you would have thought that it was my name. I felt so alone and somehow responsible for the things that were happening around me. The only joy I felt that summer was spending time in Ann Arbor, every other weekend with Grant. We were supposed to hang out since freshman year and we never did so it was by chance that we ran into each other and on a whim he invited me up to crash at his house. Hanging out with him was an eye opening experience because it dawned on me that this was the "true" college experience. I will forever be grateful of him for that summer because it was his gracious act that eventually led me to meet the rest of 1502. Thus when I FINALLY secured the loan that afforded my return to school, it was a foregone conclusion that I was NEVER living at home again and at the time, I truly meant it...
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
"Legal...Schmegal"
In writing about these events I've found that I am a bit uneasy about writing about actual people. This was one of the first challenges of writing "Galfing: A Young Man's Guide." This is due to the fact that everyone knows that you DON'T kiss and tell. When I met Grant, the guy that eventually led me to meet the rest of 1502, somehow in a joking mode, I proposed the idea of "G-Fax.com." The idea entered my head after watching a Carfax commercial as I wondered "Hey wouldn't that be convenient for dating?" When you first met someone, before things progressed seriously, you could simply type their name into G-Fax and a report on their dating history would appear. There would be a rating system, comments from ex lovers, and interesting tidbits that one may like to know such as, whether they were an axe murderer. Did they have 3 kids? Is that bump REALLY an ingrown hair? Humor aside, you NEVER know these days and so I still contend that this is a great idea. The problem however comes with actually implementing such a site because I envisioned it being a useful reference for daters and not a campus gossip site.
How would you prevent individuals from filing false reports on their exes? For example, if a couple breaks up, as is standard when dating, but one individual does not take it too well, how would G-Fax prevent the jaded lover from writing something such as "So-and-so likes to watch kiddie porn?" G-Fax can only know what is submitted onto the site because the details of any relationship are best known to those 2 individuals (more for my polygamist enthusiasts). Can you imagine the hassle of contacting a couple to confirm some fact? You could ask them about the same situation and receive 10 different answers because believe it or not, most exes do not get together every Friday night for ice cream and a game of UNO. Even more serious, the hassle of fighting a slander lawsuit sounds about as exciting as taking a sperm shot in the eye (I hear it burns). So when I began writing my project I made the decision to implement pseudo names because I was hesitant about outing real people. For those who are unaware, "Galfing" is a dating/relationship concept that my roommates and I invented and implemented during our senior year at The University Of Michigan. The project began simply as I wanted to write the official guide to "Galfing" with rules, and examples and the such. Thus I was unsure of the legal ramifications of using real names.
However, once I began writing, the words gushed out of me like Moses striking the rock. What started as a guide quickly morphed into a novel. There was no need for fake names anymore due to the fact that when you label something as "fiction" then it is assumed that creative liberties have been taken, but because I had already started as such I kept the pseudo names. However in regards to my blog, I don't give a fuck! This is my life and these things have happened. So I don't write to hurt or embarrass anyone. I simply write what I know, what I feel. Thus if you are offended that I didn't describe you as God's gift to the human race, feel free to send your concerns to http://michaeldoesntgiveafuckaboutyou.blogspot.com/. There under the tab that's labeled "Just Pull The Trigger! No One Will Miss You" is a link where you can send your hate mail. My assistant, "Mike Rotch" will be sure to forward them to me. Besides, seemingly everyone that I know nowadays is a lawyer so "come and get me!"
How would you prevent individuals from filing false reports on their exes? For example, if a couple breaks up, as is standard when dating, but one individual does not take it too well, how would G-Fax prevent the jaded lover from writing something such as "So-and-so likes to watch kiddie porn?" G-Fax can only know what is submitted onto the site because the details of any relationship are best known to those 2 individuals (more for my polygamist enthusiasts). Can you imagine the hassle of contacting a couple to confirm some fact? You could ask them about the same situation and receive 10 different answers because believe it or not, most exes do not get together every Friday night for ice cream and a game of UNO. Even more serious, the hassle of fighting a slander lawsuit sounds about as exciting as taking a sperm shot in the eye (I hear it burns). So when I began writing my project I made the decision to implement pseudo names because I was hesitant about outing real people. For those who are unaware, "Galfing" is a dating/relationship concept that my roommates and I invented and implemented during our senior year at The University Of Michigan. The project began simply as I wanted to write the official guide to "Galfing" with rules, and examples and the such. Thus I was unsure of the legal ramifications of using real names.
However, once I began writing, the words gushed out of me like Moses striking the rock. What started as a guide quickly morphed into a novel. There was no need for fake names anymore due to the fact that when you label something as "fiction" then it is assumed that creative liberties have been taken, but because I had already started as such I kept the pseudo names. However in regards to my blog, I don't give a fuck! This is my life and these things have happened. So I don't write to hurt or embarrass anyone. I simply write what I know, what I feel. Thus if you are offended that I didn't describe you as God's gift to the human race, feel free to send your concerns to http://michaeldoesntgiveafuckaboutyou.blogspot.com/. There under the tab that's labeled "Just Pull The Trigger! No One Will Miss You" is a link where you can send your hate mail. My assistant, "Mike Rotch" will be sure to forward them to me. Besides, seemingly everyone that I know nowadays is a lawyer so "come and get me!"
Monday, April 25, 2011
"The First Blog Is The Deepest"
I am now an official blogger with the creation of "MichaelOGetEm!" and I have to give a shout out to the rest of 1502 for getting me on board. Stev with OneADay , Chin with SKOneADay, Cassie with Thoughts of a Receptionist, and Wheeler with "Bueller...Bueller...Bueller..." Haha, just kidding. Wheeler has his own blog with Wheeler. Firstly, getting to the point of actually writing this blog has been a quest in of itself. I've spent a few hours navigating through the endless list of customizable options in the design template. For example, take a look at the header. My curiosity forced me to scroll through EVERY available font option before I could make a choice. Honestly, A LOT of the options are indistinguishable from those that precede. However, I finally had a choice between the quaint and elegant, "Corsiva" or the bold with a unique flair, "Rock Salt." I had to choose the one that best reflects my personality. Which do you think I chose? After this daunting task was completed I next decided on colors, themes, backgrounds, size, layout, etc before I could settle down to actually write this first post. Thus over the ensuing weeks my blog's design might change frequently as I am particular about the things that I like. A humorous side note. I was going to add the "Google Adsense" to generate some income from this blog but the policy guidelines indicates that sites with Google ads may not include among other things, "Adult or mature content" or "Excessive profanity." Well fuck! Basically if you have ever had some fun then Adsense is not for you. So EXCUSE ME for partying Google!
This blogging thing began at the end of last summer when our lease expired @1502 and we had to move out. After a couple days @HotelArch Stev and Chin took a mini road trip through the midwest on their way back to Illinois. Against my advice, Stev had recently discovered that his "number" was in the mid forties when playing the "number game." This was a shock because it meant that he had forgotten some girls. Don't you HATE when that happens? Even funnier, if it had not been for the aid of Facebook, where he could visually see their faces, I don't think that he would have remembered some of those girls. Isn't technology great? I am sure that this is what Zuckerberg intended when he created Facebook. "Have you ever hooked up with someone and you've forgotten? Join Facebook!" I remember when I told people that I was moving in with Stev and Wheeler for senior year. One reaction that was frequent was one of surprise as Wheeler and Stev were WELL known for their exploits with the opposite sex. Thus when such people questioned me with "Really," it was as if they were trying to figure out how I would fit into the equation. When it came to girls, I had never been "The man" because before high school I had the opposite of game. During high school my best friend Ray was the man and I was just learning to walk. So during my time at 1502 it was a personal challenge to see if I could in fact measure up to these "Gladiators of the galfing arena." Excuse my rhetoric I just finished watching both seasons of Showtime's "Spartacus" and the dialogue is still fresh within me.
During the fall semester, I assumed that Wheeler was leading the house when he told us that his number was somewhere in the thirties. This lead him into the "break" that eventually morphed into his chronic monogamy stage that consumed him most of senior year. According to a Maxim magazine(And yes, I subscribed to Maxim for the articles as they are well written), couples should NOT play the "number game." This is due to the fact that someone will inevitably get insecure so the article humorously had a formula for figuring out someones real number. For example if a girl tells you that her number is 7 then on average, according to the formula she is really at 11. Likewise if a man tells you that his number is 2, then on average it is really around 7. Of course these calculations vary depending on the individual but I reasoned that if you never counted then you were safe against the number game. Besides it's immature to count, who does that?(Wink wink). However in doing the research for my book "Galfing: A Young Man's Guide" I broke my rule and actually counted. I realized that in one calender year I had nearly tripled my lifetime total by going from the single digits to the high twenties. I calculated the math and figured out that this is a 350% increase and YES! This gave me pause. After getting over the initial shock, I admittedly took pride in the fact that numerically, I managed to out galf Wheeler and Stev during my year at the house. To accomplish this feat, meant that my game had come a LONG way.
Thus after graduation, I assumed that I was only a few numbers behind Stev and Wheeler. That second semester, I recall a time when I was on fire! For example, I once went three for three during a weekend, two girls in on day, achieved the stacks, etc. One more month like that I knew I was going to catch Stev and Wheeler would be up next. So imagine MY shock when the news broke that Stev was in the mid forties. I said "Well damn!" "The champ is here!" What the fuck was I thinking? The number that I was shooting for Stev had CLEARLY passed, a long time ago. When he found out, even Wheeler sent a text message from Boston that read, "Damn Stevv!" Stev's explanation was that it was like a video game. Once you achieved the high score of running out of fingers and toes, the game reset and you started from zero again. Apparently he was in his second "reset" and this fact was hilarious. So the idea was that during the road trip he would try to get "OneADay"(Get it) so that by the time he returned to Baltimore he would settle down with number 50. You have to admire my friend in that his logic does indeed make sense. He couldn't stop at a random number like 45, he had to reach a nice, even number like 50. That first road trip was when Stev and Chin began their blogging and so I thought that it was only to document that trip. So this past weekend I was surprised to learn that not only had they continued blogging but that everyone else in 1502 had joined the "blogosphere" except me. I guess "I'm up!"
This blogging thing began at the end of last summer when our lease expired @1502 and we had to move out. After a couple days @HotelArch Stev and Chin took a mini road trip through the midwest on their way back to Illinois. Against my advice, Stev had recently discovered that his "number" was in the mid forties when playing the "number game." This was a shock because it meant that he had forgotten some girls. Don't you HATE when that happens? Even funnier, if it had not been for the aid of Facebook, where he could visually see their faces, I don't think that he would have remembered some of those girls. Isn't technology great? I am sure that this is what Zuckerberg intended when he created Facebook. "Have you ever hooked up with someone and you've forgotten? Join Facebook!" I remember when I told people that I was moving in with Stev and Wheeler for senior year. One reaction that was frequent was one of surprise as Wheeler and Stev were WELL known for their exploits with the opposite sex. Thus when such people questioned me with "Really," it was as if they were trying to figure out how I would fit into the equation. When it came to girls, I had never been "The man" because before high school I had the opposite of game. During high school my best friend Ray was the man and I was just learning to walk. So during my time at 1502 it was a personal challenge to see if I could in fact measure up to these "Gladiators of the galfing arena." Excuse my rhetoric I just finished watching both seasons of Showtime's "Spartacus" and the dialogue is still fresh within me.
During the fall semester, I assumed that Wheeler was leading the house when he told us that his number was somewhere in the thirties. This lead him into the "break" that eventually morphed into his chronic monogamy stage that consumed him most of senior year. According to a Maxim magazine(And yes, I subscribed to Maxim for the articles as they are well written), couples should NOT play the "number game." This is due to the fact that someone will inevitably get insecure so the article humorously had a formula for figuring out someones real number. For example if a girl tells you that her number is 7 then on average, according to the formula she is really at 11. Likewise if a man tells you that his number is 2, then on average it is really around 7. Of course these calculations vary depending on the individual but I reasoned that if you never counted then you were safe against the number game. Besides it's immature to count, who does that?(Wink wink). However in doing the research for my book "Galfing: A Young Man's Guide" I broke my rule and actually counted. I realized that in one calender year I had nearly tripled my lifetime total by going from the single digits to the high twenties. I calculated the math and figured out that this is a 350% increase and YES! This gave me pause. After getting over the initial shock, I admittedly took pride in the fact that numerically, I managed to out galf Wheeler and Stev during my year at the house. To accomplish this feat, meant that my game had come a LONG way.
Thus after graduation, I assumed that I was only a few numbers behind Stev and Wheeler. That second semester, I recall a time when I was on fire! For example, I once went three for three during a weekend, two girls in on day, achieved the stacks, etc. One more month like that I knew I was going to catch Stev and Wheeler would be up next. So imagine MY shock when the news broke that Stev was in the mid forties. I said "Well damn!" "The champ is here!" What the fuck was I thinking? The number that I was shooting for Stev had CLEARLY passed, a long time ago. When he found out, even Wheeler sent a text message from Boston that read, "Damn Stevv!" Stev's explanation was that it was like a video game. Once you achieved the high score of running out of fingers and toes, the game reset and you started from zero again. Apparently he was in his second "reset" and this fact was hilarious. So the idea was that during the road trip he would try to get "OneADay"(Get it) so that by the time he returned to Baltimore he would settle down with number 50. You have to admire my friend in that his logic does indeed make sense. He couldn't stop at a random number like 45, he had to reach a nice, even number like 50. That first road trip was when Stev and Chin began their blogging and so I thought that it was only to document that trip. So this past weekend I was surprised to learn that not only had they continued blogging but that everyone else in 1502 had joined the "blogosphere" except me. I guess "I'm up!"
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