The Collegiate

There was a time when looking like a college kid was the most admirable thing in the world. I think it was around 10th grade. I'm finally realizing that such a time has passed for me. As my friend JaySun recently pointed out on his blog, we hung out a week or so ago and had a discussion on the pressures to "dress your age" and to "look your age" in general. It wasn't until this year that I finally felt the adult world begin to scratch its nasty claws against my skin in a beckoning motion.
"Come on Nathan," it says with raspy voice, "It's time to grow up - you know all the cool kid...err...adults are doing it!"
I am succumbing, mentally, to the need for an updated wardrobe and a more authentic, clean-cut look. Soon it will be time to say goodbye to my beloved band t-shirts. The graphic T's that I proudly purchased as a college sophomore no longer have a place upon my marginally harrier chest. Wearing trendy Converses and jeans with ragged cuffs is endearing to 17 year-olds, but there is a better way to go now.

The problem is that I can't afford that way yet. I want a new suit - that's WAY out of my price range. When I walk into stores like Banana Republic my head nearly explodes - but alas, the sale items are never in my size. To be able to flip the pages of J. Crew and deck myself out in 3 or 4 new outfits that say, "Hey, I'm a 20-something casual," would make me gleefully happy - but it's just not in the cards right now. So what's a boy-err, man-err, man-thing-ish, to do?

I suppose I could take care of the hair issue. Longer hair does have a tendency to make you look like a high school senior - principally one who is far too into Magic:The Gathering and will endlessly assert the immortality of certain moments in Led Zepplin's 1977 tour. The simple step of lowering the old ears and adopting a 1960s fatherly 'do will make me look a lot more mature. I can also endeavor to shave more often than once a week. Maybe even every day! All of this adds up to a guy who looks more like a real-world professional than a class-skipping buffoon. Of course, with all of this said, I'm wouldn't be ready to toss out the hoodies and T's even if I did have the cash. There will always be a dark spot in my closet, (and my heart) where the awkward college boy will be given his time.

Gingerbread houses are a rip-off in real estate investment.

Nothing to Say for Myself

These days are spent in rigid adherence to my calendar and daily planners. The new semester has begun and thus the last 5 months before I am, once again, jobless. 2009 has a nice ring to it already. Sure, it stinks in a lot of ways to not know where I'll be or what I'll be doing by the time the clock strikes midnight for the first time in 2010, but in a lot of other ways it's liberating. I'm not pinned down. I'm still in that in-between phase. A floater. A literal world of choices in front of me. I hope I don't read this in 20 years with remorse for having chosen the wrong path but, then again, if God stays a firm fixture in my life I can't imagine Him not making the most of whatever situation I find myself in.

It would seem that 2009 could be the "big" year.

Looking Snazzy, as Always.

Yes, I could have written a 4,000 word end-of-the-year extravaganza post about all that 2008 has meant to me and all that I've seen and observed in the lives of others but seriously, who has time for that? I have a party to get to and you probably do too, so lets get down to the good stuff: resolutions.

I only have one big one and thats to read 35 books in 2009. This may not seem like a big number, I know, but considering I've only read around 30-40 books since I graduated high school (four and a half years), it is kind of a big deal. I'll be doubling my reading material from that period in less than a quarter of the time. Who said you do your best learning in college? I was just warming up.

Rules:
Book means it is a REAL book, not a booklet, children's book, etc.
If it's a guide book (Discover Sweden, How to Chew Custard) I have to read 2/3 of the book and skim the rest before I consider it "finished."

If you can think of anything else, post it in a comment.

I'm sure I have some other little resolutions lying around but they mostly deal with personal hygene and aren't very interesting anyway.

Bring it in with style, you know Yogi Bear would.

Jefes de Jefes

I decided to do a picture-stravaganza post to show off the cookies I baked for my family this christmas. As a disclaimer, the "creepy klan greeting" cookie comes in response to a rolled up holiday greeting from the KKK that we got in our yard on 24th. Apparently the Klan is alive and well (and still creepy) - gotta love Johnston County. I don't know what's creepier, their racist freaky hood wearing antics or the fact that they knew we were white. How did they know that? A very un-merry christmas greeting, indeed.

Took a Little More of What I Take for Granted.

After a nice productive streak, it's always a little disheartening to realize you haven't written, not just in a day or two, but in days. I don't know what I'd do without a place like this to write. I remember this summer before I'd stared this blog and after I called it quits back at WilmingSloan, I would find myself itching to punch keys and publish something but I had nowhere to do it. Every so often I just feel the need to write and I guess with all the hustle and bustle of the season, that urge just hasn't hit me lately.

Excuses aside, I had a wonderful Christmas here with the family. Tomorrow I'm going to spend time with dad's side of the family and they're always an entertaining bunch.

But all of that isn't what I'm here to write about.

My mom asked that I clean my room instead of buying her anything for Christmas. Now, I'm still living at home so cleaning my room would be of benefit to me as well and you may be thinking, "Aw, Nathan's mom is trying to help him save money at the holidays." That may be partially true, but I assure you that money played little into her request. You see, my room hasn't received the attention it deserves for, oh, probably four years. In that time I've piled junk from everywhere else I've lived (a dorm, two apartments, and 4 summers at Caswell) into the floor until there was barely room to walk or, (how does one say it?), live in dignity.

Over the course of four grueling days I have finally cleared and rearranged it into a very cool and livable space. In the process of cleaning I hooked up my old and miraculously still working NES, mostly out of nostalgia. Surprisingly, I found the first Super Mario Bros. to be quite entertaining all these years later. Now I know what must be done.

Let me explain to you something: I played this game religiously for hours upon hours though most of my childhood. Starting in Christmas of 1989 when we first lucked out by getting one from Santa, my sisters and I put that system through the truest test of operability. In all that time, I'm sad to report that I have never - never - beaten the original Super Mario Bros. That is about to change.

I hereby declare, on this day, that I, Nathan Sloan, shall conquer the ultimate challenge of my childhood armed only with a rectangular grey controller and a pink book titled, "How to Win at Super Mario Bros. Games," (which I believe was published in '93 or '94). I will beat the original Super Mario Bros. and when I'm done, I'll be sure to share the glorious victory with all of you in a triumphant blog post.

Until next time, remember to push vigorously with the plunger handle and release suction every 4-6 seconds until the clog has cleared.

Yes, it Looks Absolutely Horrible

Mall-ventures

We took our family trip to the mall today and absolutely killed it. I'm so tired right now I could collapse into a heap, (and I think shall as soon and I'm done writing this).

At some point during our adventure we passed an Orange Julius, and being keen on their "Strawberry Sensation" smoothie, I asked my parents to wait while I got one. Before I could get in line I heard a weak, strangly accented voice call out to me from some unknown direction.
"Excuse me, sir. Can I ask ju something?"
I looked around. This encouraged her and she spoke again, in a more confident tone.
"Excuse me, sir. Can I ask ju something?"
"Huh?" I mumble, finally locking eyes with a short, dark-skinned girl at a kiosk next to the O.J., "What?"
"Can I ask ju something?"
I walk up to her.
"Are ju shopping for a gift?" she asks, pulling me in closer to the kiosk.
"No ma'am. I'm actually looking for a smoothie, I'm not shopping for anyone right now so I'm afraid I won't..."
"Can I just ask you something?" she interrupts.
"Sure."
"Let me see jour thumb," she says, putting down a tray of lotion samples and picking up a strange, multi-colored block.
"Um, ok."
I give her my thumb without thinking, (it's funny the things you'll do when asked by a stranger with an overly happy expression on their face). For the next minute or so she takes to buffing the crap out of my right thumbnail, yapping incessantly and pausing only to show me the different colored sides before explaining what they do. I nervously look over my shoulder from time to time and catch glimpses of my family waiting in a huddle with annoyed looks of their faces. I try to keep my cool. In my mind I have picked out a polite but firm declining statement which I will use as soon as she releases my hand.
"Are ju ready for dis?" she asks, still buffing.
"Oh, am I ready?" I ask, "This is going to amaze me, then?"
"Um, jes," she says, laughing.
"Should I be sitting down for this?" I ask.
She stares at me for a moment, obviously completely confused.
"Ha, jes. If we had a place here, you sit on it."
Finally she stops buffing and reveals my nail. In silent horror, I observe its new, absolutely glasslike sheen.
"An ju know how long this gonna last?" she asks.
Please say a few hours. Please say a few hours...
"This gonna last three weeks," she continues, "and dis is our cuticle lotions, it makes jour cuticles more healthy and better looking like dis."
She applies the oil to my thumb and picks up the package containing all of the products.
"Now," she continues, "I want ju to look at both tumbs side-by-side. Everything I just use come in dis package. You know someone you could buy dis for?"
Still in a mild state of shock, I'm looking back and forth at my normal thumbnail and the reflection of neon lights from kiosk signs in the other.

Eventually I pried my way out of her shiny grip and procured a smoothie for myself, but not before giving my parents a good laugh at the site of my nail. I sipped and walked on, wondering how awkward the whole situation would have been if I were missing a thumb.

Why isn't the word palindrome a palindrome?

Bandages and Brillo Pads

Illistration of McKinley's Assassination. Check out the guy behind the president. If I could caption him according to his expression he would be saying, "Sweet Gravy and Potatoes!"

Ain't Gettin' Any Younger

Today is the birthday of one of my dear Caswell friends, (who shall remain nameless so as to protect her anonymity), and it's a very special birthday at that, because it's her 18th. I asked her if she planned to buy any smokes - then I realized that on my 18th birthday I did not, myself, go and purchase any smokes. This disappointed me.
My next thought naturally went to birthday anniversary #21, during which I did not celebrate by purchasing alcohol. I am left with only two age/legality milestones ahead of me and I don't foresee either of them going down the day of, now that I think about it. At 25 I can rent a car, (talk about a killer way to celebrate), and at age 35 I can be president.
To date, the youngest president to have served is the great Teddy Roosevelt at the ripe age of 42 - a feat accomplished only because old Will McKinley got a couple of caps popped in him that September. Looks like I missed out on one of the little joys in life.

Kangadoo: The poo of a Kangaroo.