Jun 27, 2006

The Blog Goes On Vacation...

...I know, I know--Bloggie just returned. But that was from a bad virus, now Blog gets a vacation. So, this is the last post until "Return Of The Blog 2" (I'll have to cast the sequel with a bunch of B actors like, Corey Feldman) around July 10th. But the whole vacation thing got me wondering, vacation from what?

I mean, if say, Blog is doing what it enjoys most--blogging, then why would it need a break? Guess that's as close to rhetorical as I can get without s-p-e-l-l-i-n-g it out. And yes, in this instance Blog is a metaphor for you-know-who. But let's pretend the Blog is a real, animated entity then if this little spiel goes sideways I can flame away on Blog and not feel too bad about myself.

Okay, look I'm a hardworking guy. Uh, I mean Blog is a hardworking blog. It has a wife, daughter, has aspirations, hopes and dreams. Is currently not exactly in its dream job (hmmm, the blog metaphor is crumbling, I mean if a blog's dream job isn't to blog, what is it? Waiter at a hip Tapas bar?).

Here's the point I'm not getting to--if a vacation for me is a chance to spend more time with my wife and daughter, great. If there's hidden undertones of needing to escape from certain elements of my life--than really, how long can anyone live like that?

I mean, just do the math. Two or three weeks a year to decompress can't be a healthy formula for living. What's going on the other fifty weeks of the year? And I guess to leapfrog over any BS I might try and fill space with, how long will I wait before doing the kind of work, really meaningful to me work that I want to do?

And does it, this transition require some kind of superhuman effort of will? Or just more caffeine? Dare I order a Vente anything? Have you seen a Vente, I mean up close? Really stopped and just filled your eyes with just how much caffeniated anything can fit in a cup that size?

Urban Tale digression: At Starbucks the other day, guy's standing there, undecided. The barista's this interesting black guy--like, 6'3", glasses--very articulate, very sharp. So, our unable-to-decide patron's trapped in the oncoming headlights of the drink menu when my guy (amiably, but with much gusto) jumps in to save him. "Hey, you need some help?". Well, patron's not quite up to speed yet right? I mean, that's why he's at Starbucks.

And believe me, he does not know what's about to hit him. He half nods like, "Uh, you're my barista, you know what I need--right?". Wrong. Don't misunderstand. This particular barista is one of the better I've seen, but that a.m., he was clearly on a mission. He just picked the wrong soldier to send to war.

Barista says, "You want something cold?! And chocolate?! Something that'll wake you up!!". Now, I've seen this barista whip up custom stuff on the spot, seen him sell a new concoction like it was the latest Manolo Blanik--but in this case, he was grossly underestimating his customer's tolerance for the Evil Bean--nothing good was going to come from this little dance with the Devil and all I could do was stand there and wait for the caffeine to hit the fan. Actually, I could've stepped up and said "He knows not what you offer, Mighty One. Give him a latte, grande extra hot--and let him be on his way". But what fun would that be?

By now, patron has no idea what he's in for. Far as he's concerned nicest Starbucks guy on the planet's 'bout to whip up something special, just for him. Just like Dr. Jekyll whipped up a little "something special" for Mr. Hyde. And guess what our barista makes him? I know, because he couldn't contain his excitement and shouted out the order, to himself--ready? "Quad Vente, Iced White Mocha". You get that? Quad. Four shots. That's enough to drop a charging rhino mid-stride, leave it on its back legs kicking air ready to be turned in to a nice handbag.

That was last week. I have no doubt poor ba*tard is sitting on a curb somewhere in the city, empty Starbucks cup at his feet, mumbling to himself "Mocha...vente...quad...". .

So here's my point--yes the "Man" is keeping me down but guess what? Turns out, I am the Man. I'm keeping me down. That sucks. No one to blame. If I never, ever actualize what I want? It's cuz I didn't man up and get 'er done. Dammit. Its on me. That's why I hate/love/watch/avoid those stupid Movies Of The Week, the ones with titles like "The Man-Boy Who Wanted To Be A Writer--But Held Himself Back Until He Just Couldn't Stand The Voices In His Head Anymore--And Then Realized It Was Up To Him. And Him Alone". You know, those MOW's?

So there you have it, my new years resolution. For my summer vacation. Like that segue? And what's the resolution again? To not blame the Man, including myself but to work at what I want. To aid me in this endeavor I can utilize as much a. Caffeine b. Family/friends support c. Caffeine, as necessary. But I cannot make any more excuses. And I cannot have any Starbucks drink that contains more than two shots of Espresso in it or that comes in a size larger than an industrial toxic waste drum.

See you after vacation.

Blog and friend of Blog.