Scurvy and Other Tales

Conditions in Tennessee have deteriorated significantly.
My home is a sea of boxes that I have collected trip by trip from the liquor store. In my pajama bottoms.
It looks like we're having the Christmas of a lifetime, complete with a roving band of thirsty Russians.
This is not the case. Each box is filled not with Goose and Jack, but oven mitts and candles, books and serving plates. And then there's me, shoving all my clothes into them as well, listening to good ol Ke$ha all the while. And the people buying our house? They seem nice, to be honest, but they're a little ridonk. They keep asking my parents to replace lightbulbs. And they want cash for all the "home repairs." Sketchy much? I would love to tell them where they could shove their lightbulbs, but this is an all-ages blog. Also, I'm pretty sure I have scurvy. You see, the sore on my chin has passed the realm of acne, and has entered the "boil" stage. This is bad news, as it prevents me from ever wanting to go out in public again until it disappears. And I am just too dang social for that bull. Plus, I haven't eaten fruit of any kind in probably about 5 months, so that could be a problem. I am unfamiliar with the symptoms of scurvy, but I'm pretty sure "boils and lesions" is right up near the top of the list. I will Web MD it at my earliest convenience. My room is a pretty boring place. The walls have been painted, and all of my personal effects were put into storage. Apparently, potential home buyers would be put off by my extensive shot and martini glass collection, Megan Fox poster, and the framed Entertainment Weekly covers on my wall. Beats me. My armoire and my closet are empty, and I just recently got all my new Virginia clothes put away. All of these tiny distresses are augmented by the fact that I am currently #Thug-less. I miss my SVU friends so much. You guys have no idea. And I have been on exactly zero dates since I've been home. All the while, my parents are busily preparing to move into a new house, and it's sort of legit. Too bad I am pretty much the only person in my family who cares about nice things and I will never get to live there. In no time there will be sidewalk chalk all over the circular driveway, and my 13 year old brother will be trying to cook Ramen Noodles in the bidet. Mark my words. But it's all good. My family's not pretentious enough for that nonsense anyway. At least the holidays are approaching! And by holidays, I mean Christmas. Chanukah is over, people. And Kwanzaa? Meh. I'm gonna sweep that one under the rug. Sorry. I hope I get to see all my family and friends. And some awesome presents would really make my day too. I wish I could give presents to my peeps, but my ca$h money is low. My parents can't help me out either. They're too busy buying lightbulbs, and financing a trip to China for their bratty, ungrateful son just so he can sit around all day, eating up all the good cheese and pissing them off to no end by blogging about all their family business. But I promise I'll buy stuff for you fine people someday. Until then, I suppose you can consider this whiny, poorly written blog post to be your Christmas present. I promise I'll do better next year.

Reflections On Leaving Virginia

Just a week ago today, I was packing up my disaster of a dorm room. People, it was a mess. A mountain of clothes surrounded my bed, making a pretty cozy tomb for the dust-bunnies and long forgotten textbooks underneath. On top of that, mine and Daniel's humble abode was basically a bog. For one reason or the other, water gradually seeped into the room under the linoleum for probably the entire semester. Stepping on one of the tiles (aka basically WALKING anywhere in the room) meant that putrid brown water would creep on up through the cracks. How do you like that? $12,000 and I was living in a giant swamp. At least it was a National Historic Landmark swamp. Cause THAT makes everything ok... But I digress. As I pitched my clothes haphazardly into one of my various suitcases, I was obviously pretty excited to go home to Tennhoessee. TV! Food! Stores/other civilization! My car! Adequate shower pressure! A living space that wasn't submerged in water! Family and friends! But then I started to find things tangled in the jackets and jeans that made me stop and think for a second. Flipbooks describing my adventures as a ninja. Hotel key cards from Marriotts all over the DC Metro area. The business card for "Lynchburg's Only Skyscraper Lounge." Shirts and books I had bought on trips to Roanoke. A crazy thoughtful card that two of my friends had made for me months ago. Suddenly, Tennessee seemed pretty lame. What was I thinking? Most of these people were going home for a couple of weeks. They'd chug some egg nog, get some presents, hang out with some old pals, and then return to their home in the slummy but somehow lovable Buena Vista. I, on the other hand, decided to shove off for China. Yes, I am moving to China. I can't say I regret my decision. As a guy who loves traveling, it is a once in a lifetime opportunity. But try as I might, I can't control the consequences that come with it. It seems now that my friends and I have reached that age of perpetual motion. Our lives play out not according to some predetermined plan we create, but rather as a series of unforeseeable events that gradually shape us. We move from place to place, stage to stage, always having to leave great people behind. With this knowledge at the back of my mind, I set out to make my last day in Virginia count. I begged my friend Andrew for a ride to Wal-Mart. In his awesomeness, he obliged. There, I combed the aisles for cards that weren't covered in glitter. After deliberation, I found a set, bought two, and determined to let my friends know they would be missed. The rest of the night was spent engaging in various semi-legal shenanigans while also writing an individualized message to each of the 30 people that were on my "card list." I got the chance to hand out most of the cards on Wednesday morning. By the afternoon, I had packed my last bag and sold my last book. My dad called and said he was an hour away. Then 30 minutes away. Then, all too soon, he pulled up to the front drive of Thugz Mansion. My home. Some of my friends and fellow Thugz helped carry the behemoth suitcases down, and a two of my friends sprinted down in shorts and sandals to say goodbye. How could I not miss this place, these awesome people? By nature, I am a rolling stone. I hate staying still, and dying in the town in which I was born is basically my worst fear. But I also am a loyal friend, and I really am just a huge fan of people. So despite the fact that my friends and I will be tossed around all the corners of the Earth, living our crazy lives, I will fight the odds and keep in touch. Trust me, people, I can do it. Much like the bobcat peeing out his territory in the forest, I tend to leave my mark wherever I go. So I'm not afraid of being forgotten. I'm just too loud and too weird. I can't say I will ever be back to Buena Vista after I leave for China. Who on this bloody Earth would go there for any reason other than SVU? However, I do know that in the short four months I was there, my life was changed. And I won't forget it.

The ..... Spirit.

Let me begin with an excerpt from my family history.
Once upon a time, some people came over on the Mayflower. Including my ancestor.
Then some more people came from Austria and Switzerland, through Ellis Island.
Then some Irish folk decided to move over to Southwest Virginia.
The End.
I have no awesome Latin aunt, no tomato sauce recipe from Sicily, no strange foods to eat during the holidays. Needless to say, I have been deprived by my own Lily-Whiteness.
But I do love my holidays. You see, I love being loud, celebrating things, and having people purchase gifts in an attempt to honor my awesomeness.
So, this lovely season, I decided to celebrate me some Chanukah. It's about time. Unfortunately for me,
AND THROUGH NO FAULT OF MY OWN
I am also no one's bubula.
So I took it upon myself, despite my 100% Protestant roots, to have a Chanukah cookie or two, light a candle, and sing a couple of songs. Why am I telling you this? Well, first and foremost, this is my blog, and I do what I want. And secondly, my casual and secular observance of this amazing holiday was met with some controversy. I decided to have a little celebration in the cafeteria of my 750 student, predominantly Mormon college. Yes, I am that ridiculous. As each person that mattered remotely to me walked in, I'd wish him/her a Happy Chanukah, hand him/her a cookie, and send these fine people on their way.
Some typical reactions went thusly.
Me: Happy Chanukah, have a Chanukah cookie!
Tolerant Person: Thanks, Derek! Is your family Jewish?
Me: Not remotely, I have just always wanted to celebrate Chanukah.
Tolerant Person: Even better! That's really awesome!
Me: Thanks! Mazel tov! (whatever that means)
--------
Me: Happy Chanukah!
Close Friend: Haha, Derek! You are so retarded!
Me: Wow thanks! Here's a cookie, douche.
Close Friend: Ok thanks!
(And then they'd usually continue to giggle and pat my head as they walked away.)
--------
Me: Happy Chanukah!
Person in Hallway: ....Thanks....? You're not Jewish...
Me: Nope. Here, have a Chanukah cookie. They're like cookie flavored crackers.
Person in Hallway: No. I'm not Jewish. That's weird. Thanks anyway.
Me: (rapidly inhales rejected cookie)

Some people really got into the spirit with me.  They sat at that table, and we feasted on what I can only assume are the traditional goodies of Chanukah that require no culinary preparation. Cookies, some Kosher grape juice. And a candle. It was very low key. My friends Ashley and Roxy were at that table with me, listening to excerpts from Fiddler on the Roof, and really getting pumped for the season. A jolly mazel tov to them both. My friend Bradon and I lit a candle and watched Adam Sandler's Chanukah Song on his laptop. Mazel tov to him for breaking the "No Open Flames in the Dorm" rule to help me celebrate. Of course, Courtney Golden supported me all the way. She always does. The highest mazel tov of all goes to her.
So no, I am not Jewish. I do respect the Jewish faith, and they have some fascinating traditions. Including Chanukah. And I realize that while Chanukah has no spiritual significance to me, all holidays are a time for celebration. I have great friends who celebrate with me, and I realize most people just want to have a good time. As a 3 time participant of Canada Day, and a casual observer of such holidays as Australia Day, Boxing Day, Bastille Day, and others, I consider myself a celebratory person. Because honestly, there are only two ways to look at life. You can always find things to celebrate, or you can endure the days of your self-inflicted boredom. So please, stop raining on my menorah.

Tennessee Sounds Good To Me. And Apparently, Everyone Else.

For the record, I am not a fan of Tennessee. I was bumbling around for Virginia residency the second I arrived at college. That is, until I realized that while it's horrendously flawed, Tennessee is probably the coolest state in the USA to be from. Yeah, I went there. You see, I knew all about TN's bad reputation. I'd seen that TV show with the hillbillies. And people, the stereotypes are 100% true; keep on laughing. So naturally, I didn't want people asking me if I was attracted to my cousin, or listening for an accent that isn't there. So like any yella bellied coward who done went and forgot his roots, I kept silent. But gradually, I started giving myself away. I kept holding doors for people. I refused to let my lady friends pump their gas, and I kept giving up my seats for strangers. I call salespeople “sir” or “ma'am” and tell them to have a good day. And then I realized- TARNATION- I am a Southern Gentleman! My secret is out. I remember my first time I was asked where I was from in a large group setting. I stood up and said “....tennessee....” sheepishly. And waited for the blows of judgment to rain down on me. Surely people were squinting now, looking for my lazy eye or 11^th toe. Instead I heard a “YEAH THAT'S RIGHT! YEEE HAW!! WHAT PART?” I said Kingsport, and the rest is history. As it turns out, everyone has a sister or uncle or cousin of some sort down here in the Volunteer State. Plus, people seem to think we're all pretty cool. And that I can do dangerous redneck things like skin a coon and make my own moonshine still (I can't.) These days when I go home, I stick my head out of the sunroof and greet my home state properly- by bellowing YEE HAW at the top of my lungs as we cross the state line. I suppose it's my apology for being ashamed. But it's also a tribute to my recent acceptance and gradual love of my roots. We Tennesseeans have a reputation for backwardness and bad hygiene, it's true. But what people look for the most is honesty and kindness, and they'll always find it. I can't stay in the South. But it's not because I'm not Southern. My White Guilt won't let me live peacefully in the former Confederacy. Plus, I long to live in a city that Spell Check actually recognizes, with a lot of history. A city by the ocean, maybe that has an IKEA, and a cool sports stadium, and a P.F. Chang's or 4. So it's off to the North with me. But I'll be singing Rocky Top the whole way.

In closing, a short list of things that make Tennessee great:

-Coke

-chivalry

-pulled pork sandwiches

-ribs

-heck, bbq in general

-barefootedness

-mamaws (grandmothers, Southern style. Y'all Yanks don't got 'em)

-being able to say “drank” instead of “drink.” As in “Imma get a cup of BLUE DRANK.”

-the UT Vols

-potato salad

-thunderstorms

-Rocky Top

-country ham

-Knoxville

-Oprah

-y'all

-porch swings

-and no state income tax. (ha!)

DC? Again? What..... A Capitol Idea.

Well, I'm definitely a man of my word.  Once again disturbed with the lack of.... everything.... in BV, I decided to grab some friends and trot off to Washington. Yes, again. Refrain from judging me, please. Now I've been to DC a lot of times. It's almost disgusting. So, naturally, I have become something of a tour guide to all my deprived Western friends who have yet to see our nation's capitol. And as you can tell by the length of this post, I'm a pretty big fan.
You may have seen me barreling down the 495, or doing an illegal, 30 mile an hour u-turn on Constitution Ave. In a yellow Dodge Neon. As my friend Andrew pointed out, I looked like Mr. Incredible in the little 4 lb compact.
Our adventures took us to all the usual places- the monuments, Ben's Chili Bowl, and so forth. We had a nice private, small-group tour of the Capitol by my friend's sister. We messed with some drunk dudes on the train. We stayed at a great lil Residence Inn out in Falls Church. It was all nice. However, I experienced a slight departure from the norm when I had the "privilege" of sort of stumbling upon Anacostia. Basically, I took Pennsylvania Ave Southeast instead of Northwest. I saw the bridge and my stomach dropped.
Now there's a reason that in my approximately 674 trillion trips to DC, I have never been to this particular part of town. It's the ghetto. My parents warned me, the guidebooks don't even MENTION the whole neighborhood, and all of my friends from the area speak of it as if 1 in 2 people are bludgeoned to death every day.
No one was too far off the mark. I knew I was in trouble when I saw one of those sketchy "The Government Is Giving 5.3 Scrillion Dollars To Rebuild This Neighborhood" signs. Or as I read it, "Turn Around And Flee At Once, You Clueless Sheltered Boy." Of course, there was construction. Of course there was traffic, and of course my flawless sense of navigation failed me once I saw the first 6 liquor stores and Rent A Centers. People were walking in between the stopped cars, and a preacher-ish looking man tried to show me a newspaper that I did not care to see. I like to think of myself as a "city kid," but I have to admit that my experience in Tha Hood has been pretty limited. Maybe I just need to grow a pair and learn some hood skillz. Or..... I can just stay in college and live in a good neighborhood with parks and 24 hour doormen. Yeah, I'll go with that.
I'd like to thank "Metro Man," who was 100% responsible for our little glance into urban life.
You see, in His Infinite Wisdom, he chose not to honor our completely valid day passes. I wish I could sit in a little glass hexagon (which is apparently The Prism of Indisputable Decisions) and tell people "no" all day..
So instead of taking advantage of DC's thorough and simple mass transit system, we had to drive everywhere. Like Anacostia, apparently.
 Not only was Al Gore probably dry heaving at our lack of environmental awareness, but I'm pretty sure I stole a Congressional parking space. By Accident. Twice.
It's a good thing I have awesome friends who took it all quite well. They're a patient bunch. Anyone who spends time with me is.
Next time, I'll stick to the subway. And Foggy Bottom. And Georgetown. And NoVa and all of the nice lil gentrified neighborhoods that I like to think of as my second home.

My World In Decline

My plunge into poverty goes something like this.
At my recent pilgrimage to Starbucks over Thanksgiving holiday, I thoughtlessly ordered yet another random, useless hot beverage for about $4. Back home in Disposable Income Land, such practices were common.
I make demands, hand over my debit card, and the demands are satisfied with a single swipe.
Yup, it is as awesome as it sounds. So imagine my anger when this happened.
Me: One tall cup of douchey pretention. Christmas edition, please.
Lady: $3.88
Me: *presents magic card*
-swipe-
Lady:.... Let me try again.
-swipe-
Lady: Your card is declined.
Me: *hangs head in shame, bums from friend.*
This was my first decline. Keep in mind that I wasn't on some shopping rampage through Neiman's.
Nor did I stroll on down to the Lexus dealership and give the ol' card a whirl there.
I was just trying to buy a seasonal beverage. For $4. So apparently, I'm poor.
This is news to me, but I think it's all karma from my job as a bellhop/valet at the front desk of a hotel.
We always had people check in that seemed shocked when they couldn't afford the $200 room.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, there seems to be a problem with your card. Do you have another method of payment?"
One of two things would happen after the initial embarrassment subsided. They'd just whip out some more plastic. That was never any fun.
Or.... The person would respond with rage.
"That's impossible!" "This is unacceptable!"
 Or my personal favorite
 "THIS IS AN OUTRAGE."
Suddenly, the 34 year old pharmaceutical rep with the neck tattoo seemed to transform herself into a diamond heiress. There was nooooo way she was out of money. No, the highly specialized computer specifically designed to check her in was clearly at fault. The hefty sighs and trashy diatribes always kept me quaking with silent laughter. Suddenly on the other side of the coin, things are much less funny.
I miss the days when I could buy a shirt. Or spend $12 at Burger King.
Now, no one gets Christmas presents. Sorry, ya shoulda known me when I had a job.
For the moment, my once invincible and bottomless card is just a thin piece of plastic, cracked from overuse.
My card number, once gold and shiny, literally cannot be read anymore.
Good thing I have it memorized for the folks at Amazon.

Yeah, I Go To College. Suck It.

I have about 37 minutes til I can take my laundry out of the washer. Awesome.
Maybe it's time I talked about my school. I go to Southern Virginia University. It's in Buena Vista, VA.
You know where that is? Me neither. There are 11 people and a couple of dogs here. I moved from Kingsport, TN which has the following list of accomplishments:
"World Headquarters of Eastman Chemical Company!"
.....and....
"Nothing!"
to BV, which doesn't have a list. Not a lot of people read here. There are a lot of sex criminals here. It's sort of creepy. The closest Starbucks is about 30 minutes away. Don't even ask me about Chick-Fil-A, Ralph Lauren, Dick's Sporting Goods, Target, Best Buy.... Those former staples are phantoms of memory now.
But I do love my school. It's basically Hogwarts.
....Well.... With a lot less magic. And a lot more Mormons.
I live in a mansion. ThugzMansion, actually. Yes, you heard me correctly. Logic escapes me, but me, a couple basketball kids and the entire lacrosse team comprise our school's only attempt at a frat. We're all white...
We're all pretty smart, and pretty much just not thuggish at all.
What is life in ThugzMansion like? Well, you could follow us on #Twitter. We're real into that.
Or don't, dang. No need to get all defensive about it.
 But picture a hall full of lanky college freshman boys.
There are longboards, Halo tournaments, "naked darts,"(not a fan) freestyle rap contests,
and one too many ukuleles. Don't play the ukulele and not be Hawaiian
 and still expect me to like you or respect you.
At all.
Somehow, I still manage to fit in, even though I live what most medical experts would call a "chronically sedentary lifestyle." This is just a fancy doctor way of saying that I am lame. I can't play sports, I watch a lot of television, and I eat a lot of food....in bed.... (No, I'm not depressed. I just like to eat and I have no chair.) Basically I'm awesome. Truly. Ask just about anyone. Just about.
I guess I should tell you why, and let you judge accordingly.
I love traveling. More than anything. I love to eat and sleep and drive cars and watch TV. I love watching the Boston Celtics. They are so legit. (Bite me, Kobe.)
I love hanging out with my friends. I keep them entertained.
And give them pretty MapQuestish directions. Because I'm a freak like that.
And because I live in Buena Vista, VA, I go to DC pretty much errrrday.
It's either that or jump off bridges with my friends into the random Lynchburg river.
Or go to Waffle House or Wal-Mart or some other God-awful dump.
Basically you should come visit, obviously.
Don't forget your rape whistle, probably your handy dandy noose, and car with enough gas to get to Washington, D.C.

Into The Fire

Hello, would be followers!
Obviously, I created a blog. Apparently, between Facebook, Twitter, and texting bills the thickness of phonebooks, I still feel the need to express myself through yet another electronic medium.
You may wonder why I'm here. I am not an angsty 15 year old girl who wants to talk about her passionate love for Taylor Swift and Edward Cullen.
I'm not an awesome, socially aware soccer mom.
I'm actually a 19 year old boy, and I just may be the first of my demographic in the ENTIRE BLOGOSPHERE. I won't post recipes, helpful hints, coupons, or anything that would be remotely useful to you.
Also, I probably won't ever say anything inspiring or insightful.
I'm just a white male upper middle class college kid, there's not much to pity. My life pretty much rocks.
Some days- I may not even be funny... Sorry!
But rest assured, I'll keep talking. It's what I do, and it's why I'm here.
The only thing I can guarantee is randomness. If you're down with that, you've stumbled upon the right blog.
Have Fun!