Fiddy Had 21 Questions But I Only Needed One Answer

I’ve been back in the USA for roughly ten days now, and I’m still not sure if I’ve gotten enough sleep to catch up on what the trip to Turkey did to my sleep schedule. I can still feel the pain in my neck from falling asleep in the airport chair, and in general I’m sleeping more than I can remember. Perhaps it’s because I’m bored and don’t have any other obligations besides work at the moment, or perhaps it’s something else (Note: it’s definitely the boredom one). Either way, I’ve been waiting to hear back from the agency that organized the trip to Turkey to see what my future as a professional soccer player looks like. Now, I finally have an answer.

 

SPOILER ALERT!

 

It doesn’t exist.

 

Although it’s a disappointing result to a trip that I spent a lot of time, effort, and an ass-ton of cash preparing for, I knew that failure was a possibility if not a high probability. My quest to find a place to play professionally was a longshot to begin with, and like most longshots it failed to hit the mark. It’s not surprising to me that the trip yielded as many results as a Google search for “Jerry Sandusky babysitting service,” as I could tell over the two weeks abroad and time back in the USA that I had not done well enough to obtain my desired outcome.

It’s difficult to approach the problem of not having your best be good enough. Personally, I have not encountered this feeling too many times in my life (sorry if that sounds off-putting) as most of my failures have stemmed from my lack of effort rather than my lack of ability. When analyzing where I failed here, I can say that my biggest faults were distributed among a variety of things rather than attributing my failure to one thing (like not eating enough Wheaties before games). My preparation and execution were not up to par, and in the end that’s all that matters.

Yeah, it sucks to fail. It sucks to want something, get really close, and then not get it. Twice. I know I can play with professionals — there were times when I did so fairly well — but it’s not something I need to define me as a person or define my soccer playing career. Looking back on what I have done on the field, it really doesn’t mean a whole lot in the grand scheme of things, even though I’ve devoted a whole lot of time, energy, and my parents and my resources (my parents for the majority of that time period) to forging a large part of my identity as a person. Perhaps I have let soccer take up too much of how I identify myself as a person. In law school, I felt lost without soccer. My last semester at UVM, I felt lost without soccer. It’s a big change for many people to have life be so structured around one singular activity, only to have it end with the individual saying “now what?”

I find myself in a somewhat beneficial position because the kick in the nuts had been lurking for sometime. I didn’t feel blindsided one bit, partially because I understood my chances going in and partially because I knew what it took to make it and knew if I wasn’t at that standard. Not all of my eggs were in the pro soccer basket, and I return to solid options going forward. Had I returned from the trip to no job, no money, and no support, I don’t know where I’d be.

Failure is okay if you’re willing to learn from it. It’s my nature to dwell on things — for better or worse — and I’ll be analyzing everything that has happened over the past several years for some time. I’ll wish certain decisions had or hadn’t been made and I’ll imagine what it could have been like, but ultimately I’ll have a blueprint for not achieving a goal, using the failure as fuel and a teaching tool for my future goals. Knowing what doesn’t work can be just as valuable as knowing what does, and having this journey teach me about the world as well as dragging me around it can only be a positive going forward if I use it correctly. Failure happens, and I feel fortunate to have my failure leave me in a beneficial position going forward (if that makes any sense) as chasing a check for chasing a ball is a pretty minor tribulation in our mess that we call a world.

I failed. So what? I took a chance, it didn’t work out, and I move forward. Is it disappointing? Yes. Is it the end of the world? No. Do I wish it worked out? Yes. Am I going to wonder what would have happened instead of what did? No. And that last one is probably the most important part. I had a definitive answer for a question that burned inside me ever since I left Finland, and knowing that there isn’t a future for me as a professional soccer player through a concrete answer, I can be at peace with the end of my competitive soccer career.

I’ll probably take a break from playing for a while to explore some other parts of life and really see what else I can do. I’ve had an interest in a lot of things, and now that I have the time and resources to devote to those activities, I’ll see if I can expand my horizons and explore those other passions that I’ve been tabling for a while. I’ll always love soccer, and I’ve also told myself that I never want to be the guy who thinks men’s league is the World Cup. Mentally, I’m not sure I’d be able to make that immediate separation between expecting someone to cleanly control a 40 yard ball and accepting the fact that they’re 30 lbs overweight and doing this for the beer. I want soccer to always be fun, and not taking it too seriously for a while might be the rest and relaxation my soccer appetite needs.

As far as the blog goes, I doubt I’ll be posting anything after this. I could continue to pontificate and judge the world on here, but the purpose of the blog was to keep everyone updated on what my soccer career was (or wasn’t) doing, even though it strayed from that for a while. I’ll probably channel my writing into other avenues, but as far as bad jokes, tangential rants, and keeping everyone updated, the blog stops here.

It has been an amazing journey, and this post has easily been the most difficult to write. I’ve written on here out of happiness, out of anger, out of spite, out of sadness, and out of boredom (a lot). I’ve made jokes, posted pictures, antagonized a lot of people, and tried to give people an idea of what it’s like to chase the one passion you’ve done your entire life and turn it into a job. I’m still pleasantly surprised to see that some people actually read my stuff, and I appreciate all of the positive support and feedback from everyone (the negative ones can go suck a Ron Jeremy sized dick). Thanks to everyone again, and I’m sure you’ll hear from me again in some way, shape, or form.

My last advice before my soap box crumbles: we may not all be destined to succeed at what we want to, but we are all destined to succeed if we choose to. Chase what matters to you and enjoy the journey. I sure did.

 

Drew

Yo Gobble Gobble: A Turkey Tale

Note: This entry was written on little to no sleep while I was still in Istanbul. I’m just now posting it because I can.

It’s 4am on Saturday, and I’m surrounded by several people sleeping in painfully uncomfortable positions wearing the previous day’s clothes. No, I’m not in a holding cell in jail; I’m actually in Istanbul’s Ataturk International Airport, although with a roughly 17 hour layover and zero wifi, it might as well feel like it. At least the airport has a Starbucks, so I can pay about 8 bucks for the huge cup of coffee I’m going to need to get my ass on my 1:40 pm flight to Chicago.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been in the process of trying to end the searching phase of my soccer career, joining an agency for a series of friendlies with other aspiring professionals and out of contract players in Antalya, Turkey. As I had alluded to in previous posts, I have used this as my final hurrah in terms of that elusive professional contract, and if nothing comes to fruition from this trip, I have to try and assimilate back into the real world as a normal-but-still-devastatingly-handsome human being and work my way towards adult things like taxes and rent payments and investing my money in stocks instead of candy bars. It’s a fate I’d rather delay, but one that I’m not too afraid of should I fail.

The journey started a couple weeks ago with an extensive departing leg that consisted of a 6 hour layover in Los Angeles (and t-shirt weather) and a 12 hour, overnight layover in Istanbul (and fascinating people watching weather) before finally arriving in Antalya to be greeted by palm trees and absolutely no one. Due to my penny pinching for the trip, I had the least desirable flights and thus ended up doing lots of waiting, including the pickup to get to the resort which involved a taxi cab, two other players, and discovering that the name of the hotel on the itinerary is only the name of the chain, not the resort name since the company has 3 hotels in the area. We manage to pick correctly and make it to the resort.

The Atlantis resort (technically located in Belek about 25-30 min outside of Antalya, depending on how suicidal your bus driver is) sits along the Mediterranean coast with its own private beach, disco, all inclusive meals, pools, saunas, and variety of mannerless guests from all over Europe. During the offseason, the numerous resorts dotted along the coastline host clubs looking to get away from their normal digs, usually cold climates such as Russia and other former Soviet states, to train, play some new teams, and prepare for their upcoming seasons. For players in my position, it presents an opportunity to be seen and picked up by clubs whom I would otherwise have no clue existed. Of the 17 players the company brought on their last trip, 9 earned trials or contracts with teams.

On this occasion, there were not one but four teams that happened to be making the journey. A collection of players from South Africa, a team of players under 21, and the USL Pro team Wilmington Hammerheads joined our team of free agents in Turkey, making me worry a little bit about my prospects. On the positive, having a professional team looking for players accompany us on the trip would be a huge plus as several good performances could negate a bad half should the coach see me often enough (and considering he saw as many of our games as he could, it was very much possible). Over the 10 days or so, I practiced with the Hammerheads a couple of times and played in a half for them against Beijing IT, a team from China’s 2^nd tier of professional football.

While the trip started fairly easily with a few days of training accompanied by a single game against the South African team, it quickly turned into a trip where rest was at a premium, with 4 games in the last 5 days of the trip completely obliterating my out of shape legs to the point that I may or may not have jello for quads and calves. With extremely limited subs at centerback, I ended up playing the lion’s share of the minutes as well as the bear’s, turtle’s, and every other animal in the animal kingdom. Getting lots of minutes was nice, but considering my last real match occurred roughly a year ago, it took some time to adjust to the pace of play and I’m sure my quality suffered a little bit from my lack of fitness.

Overall, I’d say that my performance in the five and a half matches I participated in was solid. There were some good moments, but there were also some moments that had me wanting to curb stomp a puppy for my screw ups. I have already learned that solid does not always mean you will get signed, especially when you consider that most of the teams we played were already done making transfers and shaping their squad for the upcoming season (some of which even started last weekend). Over the next week or so, I will get a feel of what my soccer career landscape looks like and figure out whether it’s the Amazon rainforest teeming with life or the Sahara teeming with death, sand, and shattered dreams littered with limbs and bits of my legs along the way.

I’ve decided to do a question and answer format for the rest of the blog to go into the gory details.

Q: Drew, what’s Turkey like?

A: If you look at Turkey on a map and imagine that the Bosporus (where Europe technically meets Asia and divides Istanbul in two) is the beak of the turkey, I was staying in the giblets of Turkey in a place called Antalya. For the most part, I didn’t get to see Antalya because the resort was about half an hour outside the city in a fairly agrarian part of Turkey. Anatolian Turkey has mountains, beaches, farmland, and lots of religious intolerance, so it’s kind of like a hybrid of Oregon and Texas but not really. I took a few pictures on our bus rides (which I saved for the end of the trip, because sadly people started stealing things on the first day and made me hesitant to bring anything valuable outside the room) which you can see here. We spent most of our time either at the fields (10-15 minutes away) or cooped up in the hotel, so photo opportunities were few and far between.

The Mediterranean coastline of Turkey is a unique blend of old world agriculture and new world resorts. All-inclusive resorts litter the coastline, as do several golf courses and well maintained soccer fields if you like bumpy, sand-based pitches. Between pockets of apartment complexes, you see plenty of mini farms or undeveloped land lying fallow or just abandoned. A good portion of the smaller crops were encased in plastic canopies that looked like mini greenhouses. I’m not exactly sure why they did this, but I’m having my team of agricultural analysts look into it. The houses look fairly ubiquitous in the sense that they are multistory agglomerations that range between untidy and borderline deserted. It’s honestly difficult to tell which buildings are inhabited, although a satellite dish is usually the best indicator of whether someone lives there or not. A lot of the businesses seem to be dimly lit and sleepy as well, leading me to believe that outside of working at the resort or farming, there’s not a lot to do there.

Q: Drew, how did you know you were in Turkey? Any signs of Islamic culture on your journey?

A: I had an idea that I was heading to the Middle East when the two gentlemen insisted on perpetuating the stereotype of Middle Eastern people as being loud, rude, and wearing inordinate amounts of cologne. Stereotypes aside, the airport in Istanbul is a unique blend of East and West much like its Silk Road roots indicate. As a gateway between west and east of sorts, the airport never really sleeps as people are arriving in fairly steady clips from the Far East, inland Asia, Europe, and North America. Along with each of these destinations comes the mix of cultures, although Islamic-influenced culture would be the most prevalent one by far. The airport includes multiple prayer rooms, the crescent and star emblem of Islam is all around Turkey, usually in the form of the Turkish flag, and during games and training we could hear the prayers (or calls to prayer) over the loud speaker from a nearby mosque.

People wise, there seems to be a fairly clear schism between young and old in terms of how much influence Islam has on their day to day lives. The older generation tends to stick to traditional Islamic garb (especially the women) whereas the younger crowd definitely has a Western influence on their style, most commonly executed by wearing clothes that are way too tight and aimlessly wandering around while screaming on their cell phones. They are a few million cases of diabetes and morbid obesity away from completely embracing the American dream, though (not to say that Turks are fit people, per se. There are plenty of fat people here; they just seem to become obese out of laziness instead of the American tradition of being obese out of laziness and terrible dietary choices). Occasionally, there will be a good blend of old and new meeting, as I witnessed a sect of forty or so Muslim men (assuming they were Muslim), wearing some sort of two piece terry cloth getup that showed a fair amount of their fat guts, chant together in prayer before they went through security only to have one guy step aside afterwards to make a quick phone call on his iPhone 5.

Around the resort, there were varying levels of hospitality that ranged from extremely friendly and flirtatious (customer service people and yoga instructors) to fairly disrespectful (some of the wait staff and cleaning crew). Meals were available in a dining hall over two hour periods, and after arriving later from a game and overstaying the dinner time by ten minutes to finish up our food, we had a member of the wait staff shoo us off like we were a diseased cat that had wandered into his yard. Members of the hotel staff also had a habit of just entering our room to try and clean around us, waiting approximately .000045 seconds before entering the room. Not sure if that’s a Turkish thing or European thing, but either way it struck me as a disregard for personal space. That and the guy who swept under my feet at the urinal in the airport makes me think that personal space is at a premium here.

Q: What do the people look like here?

A: Turkish people are generally decent looking. If you’re looking for an older woman with good looks, move along because the cultural gap means that the whole notion of being “fit and ideologically independent” does not exist for Turkish people over 35 as far as I know. A weird trend for Turkish people is to bleach their hair blonde. With extremely dark hair as a whole, it looks a little bit strange to see black caterpillar eyebrows and dog piss blonde hair on the same face, although by far the best hair I’ve seen here belonged to a Chinese woman with a phenomenal bowl cut. It’s like she looked at the 90s, said “hey you, where do you think you’re going?”, and snapped it up like a model ship in a wine bottle to be preserved forever.

Having said all of that, I could absolutely take a Turkish flight attendant home to my parents. Cream of the crop seems to work for the airlines.

Q: Would you visit Turkey again? Any advice for those travelling to Turkey?

A: I would go to Istanbul because I didn’t really leave the airport, but as far as the Mediterranean goes, I thoroughly enjoyed Andalusia (southern Spain) much more for a variety of reasons. The biggest downside was the fact that there wasn’t much to do or see outside of the resort, meaning if you’re traveling there to do anything besides golf or veg out, bring lots of board games.

Q: What was the most absurd thing that happened to you or that you did during your trip?

A: Off the top of my head, it’s currently a tie between the following: taking a leak at 4am in the Istanbul airport and having a guy follow me in there to have him stand in the urinal next to me, stare at my dick and start wanking it, with me having too much stuff and too little energy to beat the crap out of him on the spot; trying to buy a visa to get into Turkey using liras (Turkish currency) but the visa office only takes dollars and euros; and having an elevator door open, turn to say something to someone, walking into the door, having it close on my head, and 30 seconds later getting a hardboiled egg sized lump on my forehead; a guy from a team in Kazakhstan flopping after I bump him and me screaming “how big of a f****** p***** do you have!?” instead of making a Borat joke (biggest trash talking misstep of the trip); having a Russian player keep stepping on my Achillies and after a few curse words being exchanged, me saying “don’t make me go Rocky IV on you and knock you the f*** out” (one of my best trash talking moments ever. In my hall of fame, really); playing primarily teams of Soviet descent, seeing how soft a lot of them were, and wondering why the hell the Cold War lasted so long; the most attractive woman I saw on the trip was from bleeping Winnipeg, Manitoba; a Turkish revolutionary party hacked my company’s website using my login info (sorry, work).

Q: What was your downtime like at the hotel?

A: After my roommate’s Xbox blew nearly every fuse in the room and basically required too much power to run, leisure time consisted of cards, sleeping, watching highlights of the champions league matches about 100 times, and eating in that order. The schedule was constantly changing, so we were rarely sitting still for really long periods of time.

Q: Thing you enjoyed the most about the trip

A: Playing soccer at a relatively high level again.

Q: Thing you enjoyed least about the trip

A: Tie between the rampant rudeness some cultures seem to display (such as waiting in line, among other things) and the fact that 90% of the people at the resort were male.

Q: Best innovation that you saw which the USA should adopt immediately

A: Counting down the time remaining on the green lights and bringing back hot flight attendants

Q: Thing done in Turkey that the USA should completely stay away from

A: Not being allowed to flush toilet paper down the toilet with your excrement (I did it anyway). The thought of piling that up in a garbage can next to the toilet is completely repulsive

Q: Thing that surprised you the most about Turkey

A: How many Germans and Russians were around. Almost everything at the resort was in Turkish, English, German, and Russian.

Q: Thing that surprised you the least about Turkey

A: How legit their mustaches were (including some of the women)

Q: One thing you missed most about America

A: Turkish government not blocking my Internet access to certain websites for no valid reason

Q: If you had to do the trip over again, would you do it?

A: Honestly, I’m not sure. Had I known more about the realities of the trip instead of what I had been told, I would have thought long and hard about the trip even with no other soccer options at my disposal. The trip provided me with some great opportunities, but at the same time I feel like it came nowhere near its potential as a tool for placing players.

 

More later.

 

Drew

Here’s My Wish List Because If Porn Stars Get To Have Them Then Why Shouldn’t I?

On Thursday I sustained a concussion when I tried to go through a tackle, didn’t get the physics right, and my momentum carried me onto my back with my head making a rather loud noise as it whip lashed off the turf. I’ve been told that the sound my head made on the turf was louder and more earth-shaking than the Incredible Hulk doing a “Hulk Smash” as my 5 year old cousin calls it. Consequently or subsequently (whichever one would be grammatically correct, read that one) I have had to sit on my rump and sleep and basically do nothing while my brain returns to its normal size and abnormal function. As a generally restless person — which, when you consider my inherent laziness, makes quite the paradox — it has been impossible to just sit around and not concentrate on something. My mind rarely stops going, as you can probably tell by the wide range of topics in my posts, and Twitter usually has enough of a steady stream to keep my mind entertained and free to check in or out depending on how my head feels.

One thing that had dawned on me recently was the proclivity of attractive women (some most nearly all of them involved in activities ranging from modeling to dancing to movie making) who post Amazon wish lists in their biography section of their Twitter profile. I follow one or two such people who have allotted a portion of their 160 characters to a wish list link so complete strangers can buy them stuff. As strange as it sounds, apparently it works since nearly all of them have wish lists.

First of all, you have to be out of your goddamned mind and/or extremely lonely to spend your resources on someone just because they are showing you pictures of the stuff we learned about in health class, ad libbed to the point that most of the Bible Belt would still have written laws prohibiting such behaviour (British spelling. Deal with it). Buying things for or spending money on strangers is relatively normal; however, most of the time the people receiving these gifts are in need of them because they lack the ability to purchase them (or anything) on their own. Usually, the purveyor does so out of the goodness of their heart or desperate need of a tax write off, not in hopes of getting some porn star to send them a picture they’ve probably seen a thousand times already, not to mention that they are paid to do that shit. I’m not buying my pizza delivery guy a pair of Vans and a dime bag as a thank you for delivering pizza; I’m ordering food from his employer and tipping him because that’s his job.

Having said that, here’s the link to my wishlist on Amazon

Look, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a shameless, money-grubbing whore who wants a bunch of free stuff. That’s not true. I’m a shameless, money-grubbing whore who needs all of this stuff. Here. Let’s go through a few of the essentials because some of you fake friends of mine need some convincing.

1. Cottonelle Big Roll, Ultra Comfort Care Toilet Paper

What do you expect me to do, use single ply toilet paper like I had back in the dorms in college? Might as well go to Home Depot and steal a roll of sandpaper. I’m not travelling enough to steal spare rolls of toilet paper from hotel rooms (Note: we did this all the time in college, because having to buy toilet paper more frequently means being able to buy beer less frequently. Gotta scrape by somehow). Do you expect me to go BUY my own 2 ply toilet paper like an adult? Yeah right.

2. Sassy Pop N Push Car

I told you I had a concussion earlier in the post. You know what that means? It means I’m not supposed to read, watch movies, do any activity that requires mental concentration. You think I have toys in my reserve for concussion days? Doubtful.

You see how much fun that would be to someone whose brain is developing? It would be infinitely more fun for someone whose brain is regressing and/or regenerating. Just get it for me and stop asking questions.

3. Plastic Slinky

I’m a humble man. You could tell if I was greedy if I asked for the steel slinky. Everyone knows that the plastic ones break within like 2 days of being opened. Steel slinkies last slightly longer, but I plan on beating this concussion so a plastic one will do for now. Sometimes I’m so selfless I can hardly stand it.

4. Salty Tavern Wench

Apparently they don’t have this on Amazon, but it still needs to be on my wish list for fairly obvious reasons. If you have to ask why this is on the list, you’re not old enough to read my blogs.

5. Apple iPhone 5 16 GB White

The big test to see how much you love me. I had a 3G S for a solid three year run until the Facebook app launched an offensive that made my iPhone crash every time an app tried to load which spawned into shutting off at random times during phone calls, taking 5 hours to fully charge, lasting for about 45 minutes if not plugged in, and forcing me into a pay-as-you-go phone for a few weeks. Now, I’m roughing it with an older 3G S that works, but it’s still not the same.

This is where you come in. You, my beloved reader, omega to my alpha, Garfunkel to my Simon, Teller to my Penn, salt and lime to my tequila shot. I can’t operate to my full effectiveness without an iPhone 5. How am I supposed to Face Time with a 3G S? Oh wait, I can’t. How can I effectively operate a forklift without an iPhone 5? I can’t. How am I supposed to play my sudoku on my phone if it’s a 3G S? I can, but it’s not as good as an iPhone 5. I need you now more than ever.

I might even throw in a naked pic as a thank you.

Drew

Yes, I’m Still A Pretend Pro Soccer Player and Soon I Will Know If I Have A Future In It Or Not

In between reflecting on how famous I have become and how hilarious I can be, I feel like my fan club (known as The Horde, remember? Currently residing at a population of 1, but an important 1 nonetheless) has forgotten the roots that lead to my meteoric rise and possible plateauing of my sort-of-real soccer career. There was a time that I was relatively close to getting a paycheck for kicking other people in a soccer game. Crazy to think how far from that I seem now, especially given that I’ve had to resort about speculating whether Disney characters were on steroids and getting in fights with fan bases over the definition of “innocent until proven guilty“. I’ve been talking about general nonsense instead of general nonsense while I’ve been in a foreign country about to brave the cold to practice inside.

Like you all, I had kind of forgotten that whole adventure happened as I entered the real world of working full days and trying to pay as few taxes as possible. Soccer had fallen on the back burner as I had to kind of grow up and face some of the music I had been avoiding, like law school (solved by dropping out), student loans (solved by aggregating payments over the rest of my life), imaginary interaction with celebrities (solved by imaginary ignoring tactics) among other things. My metabolism refuses to let me get too fat, so slipping into obscure obesity isn’t in the cards yet.

However, I’m happy to let you all know that my swan song of this adventure is finally on the horizon, as I will take what’s left of my talent to Antalya, Turkey. I wish it were a trial with Antalyaspor (Turkish Super Lig club), but it’s actually a 10 day or so trip where I’ll be going with a group of other professional hopefuls to play some exhibition games in front of scouts from all quadrants of the globe. It would be like a select team of baseball players going to Florida or Arizona during spring training to play games. There will be an ass-ton of scouts (industry term) in the area, as it’s a popular preseason/midseason destination for clubs looking for a warm place to go for a few days. I am going with an agency, AX Soccer, who did a similar trip last year and had multiple players offered contracts and/or trials (They have a full time agency in addition to organizing international tours for European clubs, among other things). For a player like myself, essentially without any options on my own, it’s a great opportunity to have multiple people see me with their own eyes to judge whether I’m good enough instead of an email with a highlight tape saying “that guy is how old?”

Either way, I’m excited for the opportunity to close the “searching” part of this phase. If things work out, I’ll see you all when I get knighted by the Queen. If they don’t work out, I’ll see you all when I get knighted by the queen. I will feel much more comfortable knowing that I have another good chance to make it work as a professional. I know that I have the ability to do it. Whether it’s the right time or not is a completely different story. By going on the trip to Turkey, it’ll close one door and open up another, allowing me to stop toiling over what could have been and allow me to look at what’s next. I will continue to work towards making the professional option become a reality, but I’m not worried in the least bit at what my future would hold without “insert club name here” on a paycheck.

This whole excursion will take place in a few weeks (mid-February-ish. I won’t tell you all the exact dates because then you’ll be able to know that I’m not home and rob my place like some asshole stole my new laptop battery off my front porch. But that’s neither here nor there). Training wise, I’m benefiting from being at altitude, and that’s about it. It’s like 15 degrees here for the 40th straight day and I haven’t seen the grass in 6 weeks, meaning that futsal, men’s league indoor games where an opposing player who (maybe) weighed 150 lbs. tells me “you’re a pussy. I’ll kill you.” and finding a wall with snowless concrete are my Spartan training methods. There are millions of kids in Africa kicking around balls of plastic who make it to the professional ranks, so — aside from the cold — you won’t hear me making any other excuses about my circumstances. I just hope my first long ball in training or a match doesn’t kill someone.

Essentially, this is me for the next few weeks. I’ll let you know before I leave whether I plan on blogging or not during the trip. Either way, I’ll do a recap after to summarize/do some internet weeping.

 

 

Drew

My 2012 In A Nutshell

Ouch. In bullet points:

• Went 0/3 in my professional trials
• Dropped out of law school
• Didn’t bang a super model
• Found out I had to actually pay off the money I borrowed from the government to go to law school
• Found dirty diaper in a bag of cans, subsequently puking my guts out
• Did not rap the theme song to Fresh Prince when I saw Will Smith
• Broke a rib ski jumping in July
• Broke my ass falling down the stairs yesterday
• Voluntarily gave up meat for 30 days
• Other things that can’t be printed on here as I could be implicated in some stuff that’s not actually kosher (Hint: I ate a lot of bacon)

Some of the positive things:

• My fur hat I got in Russia
• Going to Finland and Russia
• Winning my age group in a 5k race with a scorching time of 21:08
• Employment
• Not being Canadian
• Trip to Vancouver
• Managing to not get knocked up for the 24th straight year
• Staying relatively healthy

And of course, some goals for 2013

• Win
• Not get pregnant
• Do more push ups
• Win the lottery

Enjoy your 2013 Everyone

Undressing the Most Hotly Debated Question of Our Time

I have a little bit of free time, and I’m going to pontificate for a second because a) there’s a possibility that I know more than you do and b) you may know more than me, even after I explain myself. In these pixels coming to you from cyberspace, I can impart tom transcendent knowledge and powerful questions with some simple key strokes. I figure that I’ve dawdled enough on here with gibberish that I’m really wasting my time by doing that. So it’s time to change it up and ask some difficult questions. I’ll start with the one that has racked my brain forever.

 

Was Gaston from “Beauty and the Beast” on steroids?

Think about it. He’s the belle of ball (pun absolutely intended) and the king of the small town wherever the hell this story takes place. His physique is monstrous compared to many of his compatriots and fellow cronies. I mean, look at him:

Yup. Definitely just push ups and beer.

 

You’re supposed to tell me that his oafish, keg-for-biceps body is the result of him just making ladies swoon and drinking beer and raw eggs? Me, either. Let’s break down the obvious signs first.

1. Biceps: People go to the gym to do curls for the girls. There’s only so much space on your bicep to naturally generate muscle, and depending on the length of your arm, it can vary greatly in terms of how much muscle it takes to “fill out” your biceps. Gaston has reasonable arm length, yet his biceps look like he’s hiding bike helmets under each arm. I don’t care how many curls you do, results like that come from a needle. Plain and simple.

2. Mullet: Little known fact for all of you people not in the know: sporting a mullet makes you 10 times more likely to use a banned substance or controlled substance in excess. Doubt my facts? Who do you see in mug shots for drug possession charges? People with du-rags (the black man’s response to the mullet) and white guys in their favorite NASCAR tank top with fake Oakleys and a lengthy mane down the back. Gaston’s neglect of his hair (or perhaps his intentional styling of it) merely increases his odds that he uses steroids. It’s not hard evidence, but it’s a compass pointing us in the right direction.

3. Erratic behavior: Instead of going around town banging all the milk maids and butter churners, he’s irrationally fixated on the crazy old fat guy’s daughter. (Underrated side note: Belle isn’t even that hot for a Disney princess. Doesn’t even crack my top 5). When he finds out that Belle is shacking up with Cogsworth, Angela Tea Pot Lansbury and the Beast, he loses it and goes on a rampage of violence, vengeance, and volatility just short of Rambo. Remember the part where he’s fighting the Beast in the rain and just casually breaks off a piece of stone about twice as thick as a loaf of bread? Who in God’s name could ever do that without a little help from some flaxseed oil and Barry Bonds’ trainers? Probably not even Gaston.

One of the side effects of being on roids (besides the testicular downsizing) is having an extremely short fuse. Gaston is throwing people around the entire movie, having his way with everyone except Belle. It’s a little far-fetched to believe that someone like Gaston could be that over-the-top sensitive to every action around him. He’s wound up way too tight to be considered steroid free.

4. His stupid V-neck and lycra shirt: I don’t know if his shirt is actually made of lycra, but the town they live in must not have a tailor or access to a Big & Tall catalog. He’s wearing clothes that would look better on the 8 year olds they were intended for. The deep V, which unfortunately has become popular among my peers for some dumb reason, also shows that he’s trying to show as much skin as he possibly can. It’s pretty common for steroid users to dress like douchebags to show off their finished product. Why else would they do steroids if they didn’t want to strut around at the gym and just do bench and curls. Maybe it’d be semi-acceptable if lifting was their sport.

 

I don’t know about you, but that’s some pretty damning evidence. It’s not the same as having almost every teammate you’ve ever had say that you doped after they swapped your cancerous testicle for a hard boiled egg on the way to 7 Tour de Frances, but it’s closer than you think. Ego the size of his biceps and a fuse probably as small as his shriveled testosterone factory is now, Gaston most likely used steroids despite not appearing in the Mitchell Report or a Jose Canseco book. Although I’m sure he’d be equally douchey without the steroids, he probably would have settled for the throng of women wanting to ride the Gaston Express rather than chasing the Sally Field of Disney Princesses.

Somehow, as a culture, we have simply overlooked it because Gaston sucks so much as a person. We let his illegalities slide because he wants to sow his oats in a recluse’s captive. Are we not tacitly approving steroid use by allowing him to show that — despite being a raging butthole — you can still have tons of friends submit to you and have ladies throw themselves at you if you demonstrate results? I refuse to overlook the issue, and I’ll march on Washington if I have to in order to have the Senate investigate this crucial matter, especially since they don’t have much else to do. Sometimes doing what’s right isn’t always easy, and standing up to Gaston’s needle-marked muscles is the first way to restore morals into our youth and our nation.

 

Drew

 

PS I swear I don’t do drugs other than the ones prescribed to me.

The Sick Blog: Ignore Unless Really Bored

I’m stuck at home today because I’ve contracted the same cold that has taken down at least half of my fellow employees. Since it’s a 6 day work week for me, I’m using today as a recovery day so I’m not pushing it into next week and jeopardizing my taste buds on Thanksgiving. It’s the first time I’ve been full blown sick in about 18 months, and I’d like to thank whomever passed on the bug to me. I love being stuck at home not making money.

 

It has been — or felt like — about four score and seven years since I last blogged, and I’m sure my writing has suffered a great deal. I apologize in advance for how choppy the post will move and how bad the jokes will sound. I’m rusty. I guess I’ll start with news.

 

Not sure if the whole world watched the American Presidential election, but Obama won more handily than expected, most of which can be attributed to the electoral college setup. The system made sense early on in our country’s history (back when it took a substantial amount of time and resources to figure out which honkey was gonna lead the colonies/empire/up-and-comers/most powerful nation on earth) but seeing how it has cost 2 presidential candidates the executive branch, I think it might be time to scrap it. The biggest, most egregious flaw in the system is that the electoral college gives a disproportionate value to voters in certain states. There’s no reason why a liberal in Texas and a conservative in California should have their votes be essentially worthless, especially for a Federal election. Considering the resources and technology available, it’s probably time that the USA switches to a popular vote instead of breathlessly campaigning in swing states to make sure that Joe Republican and Tom Democrat in Virginia or Ohio have the same contribution to the direction of our country as Ed Republican in California and Harry Democrat in Kansas.

In a democracy/republic, at least for a two-party system,  there’s always a lot of bickering and borderline slandering from both sides. It’s how the game is played, and both parties will do pretty much anything to protect their interests instead of , you know, doing their job. I’m glad the election is over purely in the sense that everyone will start throwing mud internally rather than at the American people.

A quick analogy about politics in the USA: most politicians treat politics like a game. In the game of politics, there are two main theories about what role government should play. Should government be a coach or a referee? Some people believe that govt’s role is to make the rules, enforce them, and step in occasionally to keep the players safe; otherwise, the sit back and let the players do the work, play the game, and create their own success. Others believe that the players need to be looked out for by a coach, someone to have a little more control over how the players act, someone who instructs the players on what they should be doing (even though the players can still do the opposite if they truly want to), and someone who has a bigger impact on what position the players should be in in order to maximize their chance of success.

I guess inherently there’s no right or wrong answer as to whether government should be a coach or a referee. It’s a matter of personal belief or preference. Unfortunately, because the answers are all relative, it turns people into hate mongers when someone says that abortion is wrong or gay marriage is right or whatever doesn’t align with their belief system. The correct answer to many of these questions usually involves a little of both sides, but the political landscape continues to polarize instead of migrating its way towards compromise. I certainly won’t miss election season.

Soccer news: HIFK down, RoPS up, Jaro staying up thanks to last day heroics. Best of luck to all of those clubs next season. Not sure where I’ll be, but I’ll continue to follow along with the 3 clubs that gave me chances.

Personal news: my eyes are still blue and making ladies swoon. I am still employed.

Atmospheric news: A storm dumped a foot of snow in Salt Lake City over the past weekend, and it still hasn’t completely melted away. I am not a happy camper.

Celebrity news: As previously reported by a multitude of gossip blogs as well as a few reputable news outlets and MSNBC, I was not the one who drove Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez apart. Stop calling my publicist about it.

Science news: 5 hour energy linked to people with heart attacks. In other news, something else previously thought to be fine causes cancer and none of you are safe from anything ever again.

Business news: News of Monster also being linked to heart attacks dropped the company’s stock by almost 50% (80ish to like 43 I believe) over a one week period. Ouch.

Art news: Art Garfunkel still considered by the majority of people to exist to be the vastly inferior member of Simon & Garfunkel.

Educational news: MPRE exams (ethics test required by ABA to become a real life lawyer) occurred recently, making me glad that I didn’t stay in law school because I probably would have failed that test.

Geographical news: Rumblings about Puerto Rico becoming the 51st state are starting up again. In related news, most Americans forgot that Puerto Rico is an American territory.

 

My last mailbag had a couple interview questions, and I figured I’d extrapolate and do a quick “either or” type interview where my horde asks me about two things and I pick the one I prefer. Most of these are transcribed from phone calls to eliminate the “ums” and “uhs” and the general drunkeness displayed by most of those people when they left me voicemails. Here we go:

1. “Paper or plastic?” — Maya Angelou

Drew: Paper. Plastic is distinctly harder to resell.

2. “Mittens or Gloves?” — Gerald R. Ford

Drew: Gloves if an activity, mittens if sitting

3. “Hurricane Sandy or Hurricane Andrew?” — Lao Tzu

Drew: Andrew, because like me, it was expensive and memorable

4. “Pushups or pullups?” — Snoop Dogg

Drew: Pushups. Shoulder surgery made pullups about 100x harder than they used to be.

5. “Mexican food or Italian food?” — Freddie Mercury

Drew: Mexican food because I am better at making Mexican than Italian

6. “Team Edward or Team Jacob?” — George H.W. Bush

Drew: Team Euthanasia

7. “Scooby or Scrappy Doo?” — Mitt Romney

Drew: Scrappy because Scooby is the most overrated crime solver in the history of crime shows.

8. “Insipid or vapid?” — Paula Dean

Drew: Vapid. It’s more fun to say than insipid.

9. “Simile or metaphor?” — Beyonce

Drew: Simile because it’s easier to incorporate into a blog post. Metaphors are like putting square pegs in round holes when the piece is relatively short. (See what I did there? Boom.)

10. “Milk poured in bowl before or after cereal?” — Orville Reddenbacher

Drew: After cereal. Anyone who says differently is a communist and/or cyborg.

 

That’s it. Thanks for trudging through.

 

Drew

Veggie Tales and Fan Mail

I haven’t blogged in a while, and considering the possible ramifications of September’s events, I figured that it’s time to fill in the rest of the world with what’s happening in life. I’m working and stuff. That’s pretty much it.

 

Programming note: for the month of September, I’ll be trying to do the whole vegetarian thing. No meat from today until October 1, at which point I will be so starved of my carnivorous nature that I will find the nearest living being (human or other species), tear it limb from limb and dine on it bones and all. It’s going to be extremely tough, and I will probably miss chicken and bacon the most. I’m doing it for a few reasons though:

1) to see if I can have the discipline to stay away from something for 30 days. Think of it as Lent on my time.

2) to see if there are any differences in the way that I’m feeling energy wise. I’ve heard that people who have gone vegetarian say that they have more energy or some crap. Or maybe that’s vegan. I don’t know, but considering that my physical activity will be much higher in September, I want to see if I can make things easier.

3) to make better dietary choices overall. With only 30 minutes for lunch, it’s extremely easy for me to just drive to the nearest fast food joint and get lunch. I’ve been rather unhealthy with a lot of my choices out of laziness and time constraints, so doing this will ensure that I have to make smarter choices and, in a sense, wean myself off of comfort food that clogs up my arteries and wallet.

4) to be able to tell all of the full time vegetarians that I’ve done it your way, and you’re fucking insane for not wanting to eat meat. Ethical vegetarian? Even worse! I have never heard a chicken, cow, or pig state “don’t eat me,” so I consider it an open invitation to dine on their flesh the way nature intended unless they go all Animal Farm on me.

5) it was either this or eliminate sugar from my diet. The no sugar thing can be costly from a food perspective and would have driven me insane. It’s been fairly well documented that I like my candy, and I probably would have gone apeshit on day 5 of no sugar, leading to me picking up a crowbar and destroying things.

Additional note: I’m not going vegan because I need my dairy. No cheese and stuff would starve me of protein and kill any chance of me being able to do my job without taking it out on my coworkers and customers. Stand in the way of me and my cheese, and you will have no head. Possibly no arms and legs, as I would dismantle you for the hell of it since you thought it would be a good idea to stand between a man and his cheese.

So that’s the plan for the next 30 days. I have another goal of gaining 5 lbs this month (it took me 3 years to gain 20 lbs in college, so this will be pretty hard), and I want to see if I can put it on in a leaner way, if that makes sense.

 

—————————————

 

I’ve been getting an absurd amount of fan mail the past few months wondering where I’ve been. I plucked a few to give the people what they want and to assure them that I do have a pulse. I threw in a fake one, by the way. See if you can guess which one it is.

 

“Where have you been the past few months? It’s like I never hear from you anymore. Are you avoiding me? Are you pulling an Axl Rose and hiding from the world perfecting an album that will have so much hype and buildup that it’s bound to disappoint? I miss you, and if you stay away any longer, I’ll have to go make another movie with Ray-J.”

– Kim Kardashian, Los Angeles, CA

Hi Kim. I’ve been in Utah the last few months; you know, one of the states you fly over to get to New York? Anyways, I’m not avoiding you. I’m trying to stay away from you like you’re a bunch of hepatitis-filled heroin needles being shot at me like those darts they used in the opening scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark. I’m not hiding as much as I’m being rebuilt like the 6 million dollar man or Gary in Team America. I’m even growing a terrible beard too! Consider me Gary in Team America right now undergoing Valmoriphication. Just let me know when you make another movie with Ray-J and I promise I won’t send it for fear of making you even more famous for being crappy in bed.

 

“I heard you were on the rocks with your fandom regarding Arsenal FC, so I decided to throw my weight around at Fulham to force a transfer to Tottenham. You know what your club did in the transfer window? Sold its best player and brought in a couple signings to shore up 4th place. Feeling any more squeamish about who you want to support?”

– Clint Dempsey, London, UK

I am happy for you finally joining a bigger club in England, Clint. You deserve it, and you joining my club’s arch rival makes it even more difficult to support a club who has publicly stated that they are okay with finishing 4th every year to get that Champions League spot. I’m hoping to change that by getting my own pro career started early next year, thus putting my fandom on hold for a little bit.

 

“Hey asshole, look at us killing it in the Ykkonen. We didn’t lose a match until our 23rd game. Our goal difference is +37 and we have only allowed 11 goals. We’re 17 points ahead of the next team, and we’ve already clinched promotion with a month to go in the season. Hope you’re having fun being a snarky butthead without a club.”

– RoPS, their fans, and probably some other people

Well, to be fair, I did get a slight promotion to doing office work 1-2 days a week instead of having sealed units leaking all over me. So you’ve only got me on 1 of those 6 things. I’m making progress.

 

“Hey, look. 2 wins in a row. I’ve just hired a coach that everyone is really excited about (even though most people seem to have forgotten that he couldn’t qualify the u23s for the Olympics). I boast a professional soccer career and a job controlling your hometown team. I managed to get John Spencer to take most of the blame for not performing with a team that I helped assemble. The fans may not like what I’m doing, but the guy who signs my paychecks does. Where’s your snarky comeback now?”

– Gavin Wilkinson, Portland, OR

You’re still a Kiwi ginger.

 

“What is your favorite thing to do in Utah?”

– Brad Pitt, wrapped around Angelina Jolie’s finger

Excellent question. I’m guessing it would be bitching about how hot it is and how there’s nothing to do here. After that, I’d say family time is fun. It’s nice to have people nearby.

 

“You made a lot of jokes at my expense, and now that I’m locked up in the joint, as they call it around here, there’s a chance that I might get raped in the shower. Do you have any sympathy for me?”

– Jerry Sandusky, Cell Block D

None. At least Joe Paterno is in Hell already saving you a seat.

 

“If you had the opportunity to defend any player in the history of soccer, who would you want to defend? People may be in love with Neymar and Messi, but last time I checked I’m pretty badass as well.”

– Cristiano Ronaldo, Madrid, Spain

If I had to pick one, that would be way too difficult. I’ll give you five in no particular order instead while you’re busy making people look stupid: Messi, you, Maradonna, real Ronaldo before he got fat, and Joey Barton just so I could kick him repeatedly as hard as I could. I’m picking more recent players because — let’s face it — athletically the last two generations of players are superior to people who were playing 40+ years ago, and for me it’d be much more challenging to best someone playing at the peak of the sport than someone who dominated an era much different than the current one.

 

“You talk about your soccer ‘career’ as if it still has a pulse. There is a better chance of Hologram Tupac signing a professional contract than you. Are you going to hang up your boots for good and stop being a condescending troll who never was, or do you have some elaborate plan to get out of the soccer doldrums?”

– Hologram Tupac, Coachella Music Festival in Indio, California

A condescending troll? I’m too skinny to be considered a troll. I’ll take smarmy, snarky, condescending prick. But you do bring up a good point: what is my soccer “career” at this point in time? Do I talk of it in past tense? Do I mention that it never occurred? Do I chalk things up to a tried-but-didn’t-make-it approach?

Fuck no. I’m giving it one more shot because last time, I felt like I played things poorly from a few perspectives. This time, I’ll be scouring a different part of the globe to see if I have a chance (initially. Could end up back in Finland, but I highly doubt it at this point) of making it with the help of an agency. Yes, I’m 24 years old. Yes, I have zero relevant professional experience on my resume. You know who else had that same setup? Jay DeMerit, US National Team’er, former Captain of Watford FC, and current player for the Vancouver Whitecaps. His first professional deal was with a team in the 6th wealthiest league in the world — the Championship in England — and he did it by outworking everyone. Now that my writing is basically on the wall, hoping that the period hasn’t shown up to end the sentence that is my soccer career, I will put myself in a position to do something similar, saying “go poo yourself” to the odds and making it somewhere. I feel like I have demonstrated that I have the ability to do it; now it’s just putting it into action.

If I stick somewhere, I’ll probably start blogging regularly again. Until then, I’ll try to stay as focused as possible on doing the unpossible.

 

Drew

 

(Yeah I’m using my own blog name in an epic ending to my post. Shut up.)

The Storage Skirmish

Saturday is the only true weekend day in Utah, at least if you have stuff to do like shopping for new shirts for Vegas because you aren’t sure your current attire will get you into any of the clubs, getting your oil changed, or engaging in anything fun. Sunday still belongs to the Mormons in Utah, and the fact that they wield enough influence to have many “Sunday Funday” activities wiped from the dais in favor of spending time doing Joseph Smith things makes it so the weekend is the period between work ending on Friday and the bars closing on Saturday night (1 am is last call here, which is borderline ridiculous). Sunday functions in the same manner as Davy Jones’ locker from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies (crappy quality youtube video here), right down to the barren, salty wasteland surrounding you and preventing you from doing anything productive outside your own house.

After watching Arsenal put on a rather drab display in their 0-0 draw at home with Sunderland to open the EPL, my masochistic master of a football club reminded me that I had to engage in another self-deflating activity to question my personal worth: shopping for clothes. My current employment necessitates that I purchase new, crappy shirts every 6 or 7 weeks because I accrue holes in my clothes like strippers get singles. As much as I like providing snippets of my six pack to toothless vagrants and electricians, I suppose it’s my duty to the company to be able to differentiate myself from the customer with more than just a hardhat. Besides, I am going to Las Vegas next weekend — not sure whether Chippendales or Siegfried and Roy is last on my list of things to do — and my usual repertoire of a T-shirt and jeans probably won’t cut it at a Vegas nightclub since I doubt I’ll be able to convince my fellow Vegas-goers that penny slots and an all-you-can-eat buffet at Circus Circus is the way to go on Friday night.

There are quite a few outlet stores in Park City, so I decided to visit my Aunt, Uncle, and my two rapscallion cousins (just kidding, they’re both very well behaved) as my Uncle decided to try his hand at purchasing repossessed storage units. For those who have never seen Storage Wars:

 

As I’m driving up the canyon to get to the sight of my first view at the rustle and bustle between egos and wallets over someone else’s old stuff, I have about a thousand questions running through my head. How many people will be there? How many storage units will they auction off? Will there be anyone at the auction dead set on agitating everyone else? Did I remember to go to the bathroom before I left? Will my Uncle actually buy anything? Do I really have to go shopping after this? Needless to say, I’m overflowing with baseless insight at this point.

I arrive at the storage facility a little late because everyone in Utah drives like a senile senior citizen with a little too much power in their motor chair, completely unaware of the protocol on the road. I meet up with my uncle, who has told me that he plans to say “fiddy” instead of “fifty” whenever he bids on a unit at 150, 250, etc. I suggest screaming at the top of his lungs, but seeing that we’re underground in an enclosed space, I think my uncle pretends not to hear me. The first unit is rather underwhelming, and there’s a palpable electricity in the air that resembles the DMV or realizing that you have to wait 45 minutes to eat at Chili’s or a TGI Fridays. Perhaps the mood will turn once the auction starts.

Auctioneer: Okay, everybody had a chance to look at it?

(Grumbles and moans from the crowd, and possibly a fart of disapproval. The echo makes it hard to hear clearly).

Auctioneer: Alright, who wants to start?

(A few moments pass before anyone says anything)

Half-hearted person 1: 20 dollars

Slightly more enthusiastic person 2: 30 dollars

My Uncle: Fiddy

(another round of pauses)

Auctioneer: Okay, can anyone beat fifty?

(Several pauses before another bid. The auctioneer makes small talk with a bidder during the silence)

Auctioneer: Oh, what were we at? Fifty?

 

Holy balls, this is it? The guy running the auction sounds like Ben Stein taking roll in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, equal parts conscious and comatose. The 25 people in attendance seem like they should be at a wake instead of an auction. I’m contemplating  jump-kicking one of the fellow bidders to get some sort of energy back in the room but decide against it to see what the next units hold. Maybe that will get the juices going.

The auction for the first unit ends mercifully with my Uncle taking home the spoils in the same way a person takes the last bagel at a complementary breakfast with three other people fleetingly eyeing it. Everyone shuffles their way to the next unit (back upstairs above ground). My four year old cousin Rudger is the only person noticeably awake, as he has been fixated on a flashlight for the better part of the day by now. The next unit, about three times the size of the first one, has significantly more useful items (at least to the untrained eye; the first unit had decent stuff if you knew where/how to peddle it) and draws more optimistic grunts and groans than the last unit. I’ve sensed that the first battle of the Park City Storage War is about to begin as the atmosphere moves from Defcon -8 to Defcon -3. Two gentlemen seem particularly interested in the unit, with my Uncle noticing this as well. Looks like we have a Hatfield vs. McCoy bloodbath in the making.

Boring Auctioneer starts the proceedings as there are a few quick bids before the big dogs (the two gentlemen from earlier, my Uncle, and a Saint Bernard) join the action. The rest bow out to let my Uncle battle it out with Cleetus and Jimbo. You can tell that they want the unit — possibly to put the profits towards a full set of teeth — and the slight twinge at each increasing bid signals that the end is near. There’s blood in the water, and any shark worth his saltwater (shut up, that’s a fantastic play on words) knows that the time to strike is now. The second auction closes with my Uncle defeating the extras from O Brother Where Art Thou to make his second acquisition of the day.

Auctioneer: “Okay everybody, thanks for coming.”

That’s it. That’s it? THAT’S IT?! Pardon my French but sacrebleu that was dumb. The day of lap dances of intense bidding, angry glares, and boisterous personalities turned out to be a weak high-five from a fully-clothed, semi-pro stripper on her way out of work to undoubtedly get another horrible tribal tattoo around her ankle. I felt cheated. A&E built up my expectations of a buyer’s rendition of the Hundred Years War and Park City Storage delivered a 3rd grade schoolyard fracas between a fat kid and a kid with asthma. I want my money back. Yeah, I didn’t spend any, but I want my money back anyways. You cheated my dreams, storage skirmish.

All in all, another eventful Saturday in my Utah experience. I spent time with family, watched them carry my great family name into battle and crush the heathens to plunder the storage unit, and helped them carry the spoils back to the abode. I played my role well in the Great Storage Skirmish of Park City and earned a share of the loot. Unfortunately, I blew it (and then some) on shirts that very afternoon so I’ll be more socially acceptable next weekend while I balk at the price of a drink.

Until the next reality TV letdown,

 

Drew

The Salt Lake City Rant

Before I rip into Salt Lake City too much, let me first list the things I’ve enjoyed about SLC/Utah so far.

• Modern amenities
• Low cost of living
• I have a job
• Adult soccer leagues that have teams that reply to you in a timely manner (unlike all of the men’s teams in PDX)
• Family close by
• Lots of outdoorsy things to do
• Excellent opportunities for me to stay in shape/get back into shape/train

 

Now that I’ve stated the various things I enjoy about my latest stop in life, let me get into a good old fashioned rant. It’s probably whiny and petty, but here’s how many shits I give: zero.

For any international readers or fellow Americans who have minimal knowledge of the genesis of Utah, let me explain how this high desert wasteland became inhabited. I’m sure there were natives here, but the cultural roots of Salt Lake City and all of Utah begins and ends with the Mormons. By all accounts, Mormons are very nice people, but one of the biggest downsides of being LDS/Mormon is that by modern societal standards, they are the biggest bores in all the land. A short list of things that they are not allowed to do/have:

• Do non-Church related things on Sunday
• Have premarital sex or basically do anything outside of holding hands. Maybe kissing is allowed.
• Drink beer
• Smoke cigarettes
• Drink coffee, tea, or anything that has caffeine with the exception of Coke because the owner of one of the largest bottlers (or distributor. I can’t remember) is Mormon and he didn’t want to alienate his religion so the LDS people decided that Coke is okay but drinking caffeine anything else is Satanic
• Go on a mission to help spread the Word of Joseph Smith (guy who invented being LDS. Go read his Wikipedia page, and it sounds like his life is made up, but it’s true.)

I’m not completely criticizing the Mormon lifestyle because if that’s what you believe in, go for it. They’re not hurting anyone else, and if someone approaches you about becoming LDS, you can just crack off a couple jokes about sodomy or a string of curse words and problem solved. Utahans are renown for their gullibility, and I’m pretty sure the LDS roots are a huge part of that. It’s nice to know that I can walk down the street and not get mean mugged (like in the Northeast) or pestered to sign a petition (like the Northwest).

But good God do they put a damper on the way SLC functions sometimes.

In Utah, you can only have 3.2% beer (the lowest alcohol content they make) unless it’s from a Utah brewery. On Sundays, the majority of the stores are closed. Even their major mall, City Creek, that is supposed to have high end, world famous brand name stores is closed. Restaurants are closed. The energy of the city resembles a nursing home. Any events or festivals shut down on Sundays or run at extremely scaled back forces. For someone like me, who works fairly early hours and enjoys getting a full night’s sleep, my days of relaxation or fun activity days are essentially cut in half because the city shuts down. If New York is the “city that never sleeps,” then Salt Lake is the “city that never wakes.”

I’ve been told that SLC is moving away from being a really boring city, and it’s come along away from as recently as five years ago. I believe that 2010 was the first year that Mormons didn’t comprise the majority of SLC’s population. The massive LDS compound only overshadows part of downtown, and the concept of Sunday Funday might make it here eventually. For now, it’s still in a transitional phase and lacks a full week’s worth of activities in non-Winter months.

Maybe it’s what I need though. In a place that’s exceptionally boring, the only thing I can do is get in shape and play lots of soccer (by myself on Sundays, but at least I won’t have to battle anyone for park space). I have a few goals set for my time here, and with less distractions available, perhaps I’ll accomplish them for once. I guess we’ll have to see.

 

Drew

 

Word of the day: weenus: the skin on your elbow