Thoughts on Style or I Wear Sweats to Work

At some point in all of us non-glasses- wearers' lives, we wished we needed glasses. Just cause it'd be cool to get to wear them like, once a week for fun. However, something about the social stigma of showing up at school with glasses that everyone knew we didn't reeeeeally need kept us sane. Unfortunately, at some point in the last 3 years, we collectively gave up on this as a society and now not only do people wear glasses they don't need, but the bigger more hideous looking the better.

Nobody looks back at high school yearbook pictures of cats in the 80's and thinks, "Damn those glasses looked good... My dad's old pair are around here somewhere, now if only I could just pop a set of fake plastic lenses in, I'm set!"
They are a scandal waiting to happen AGAIN. Except this time we can't even blame it on an era, or more importantly fallback on necessity, it's just mass lameness.

The confusion here has been percolating for about 3 years on this one but when I don't have anything else to talk about, these things come out. Maybe the usual influx of hours upon hours of free time in Europe brought it on - I have insane amounts of time to peruse style blogs and feel intermittently inspired, but also about 99% more inclined to want to buy things, and at least 50% uglier.

Style blogs are the new black. I mean, they're the new fashion magazines. Except now regular people have no excuse that these are just models whose job it is to look good. Instead, style bloggers are regular people who just look that good everyday. Or don't look that good... or are just really vain but we won't talk about that. (Although, I guess to post pictures of what you look like everyday for people to comment on - aka tell you how good you look - has to involve vanity on some level. Kinda like the whole "If a tree falls in a forest and there's nobody there to hear it..." thing, does a style blog really exist if there's nobody there to comment on the outfit to tell you how good you look?)

Regardless, at the end of the day these people aren't wearing mismatched socks, an ASU volleyball alumni t-shirt and basketball shorts so I can't really hate. Even though I sound like I am.
For a second there I contemplated starting a 2nd blog called "I Wear Sweats To Work" inspired by that lifestyle. It would contain features along the lines of "Today I wasn't feeling very inspired about my outfit for practice but then I realized nobody gives a crap. I threw on a headband, changed my shoelace and I'm loving the unexpected pops of color".
Ultimately, I decided even I wouldn't want to waste minutes of my life looking at that, so it's been killed.

Also, having read that I'm contemplating killing this blog... thoughts?

I Got the Game Spittin "At Last" Like Etta James

You might be surprised to know Mike Tyson cares about animals. You also might be surprised to know Mike Tyson cares about nuclear war.

While flipping through Sports Illi the other day, I came upon an ad for Mike Tyson's new show on Animal Planet... I guess the ad's purpose was to inform me of the "human" side of Mike Tyson that I might be surprised by.
First off, Mike Tyson has a show on Animal Planet. About pigeon racing. If this isn't a sign of the apocalypse I don't know what is. Second, I should probably watch the show at least once before spittin more hate.
But actually, all I could think while reading about all the other things I might be surprised Mike Tyson cares about is that I wasn't surprised at all. Doesn't everyone care about nuclear war on some level? Don't most people at least sort of pretend to care about animals? I really wish I could remember what the other 3 things he cared about are.

I might've been surprised if it said Mike Tyson cares about the feel of crushed velvet against his right bicep, or Mike Tyson cares about groundwater pollution or Mike Tyson cares about keeping his toenails trimmed. Something. But not nuclear war. Or puppies. I wasted 30 seconds of my life thinking about it, and the last 30 seconds of yours by your having read that... So I'm not too sure where I was going with that but I just felt like somebody needed to know. We all lose.

Speaking of nuclear issues though, the whole tsunami fiasco in Japan has been crazy scary both because 1) You might be surprised to know I care about natural disasters, and 2) You might be surprised to know I live in the same town as Hungary's only nuclear power plant. Real talk.
Now obviously no rogue waves are hitting this place anytime soon/ever but the other day I was sitting chillin in my living room when this crazy WWII-era air raid siren starts going off outside (seriously, YouTube air raid siren and prepare to have the crap scared out of you).
After narrowly avoiding peeing my pants I managed to pull myself together to look outside and seriously expected to see people frantically running through the streets tryin to get the eff outta Dodge (all of these people would be on foot because this is like in the movies where everyone runs out of gas 200m into the exodus).
 
Instead, the streets were empty and the siren just kept going off all high and eerie for like, 5 minutes before stopping like nothing happened. No announcement in unintelligible Hungarian that I wouldn't have been able to understand anyway. Nothing. Like they were just dusting off the ol' siren for old times' sake. I may or may not have been absolutely effing terrified.
So that's where that story ends unless I notice a 3rd arm sprouting any day now.

What does this have to do with anything and where is this going...? Maybe these are questions you might be surprised to find yourself thinking right now.

I know. Reading any of these rambling incoherent responses to the world around me never evokes that response...
But the people have spoken. They tell me they want more posts.
Unfortunately, seeing as how I can only pretend my life is somewhat exciting approx. 2 times per month, we're now forced to buckle down to look at the nitty gritty of my day-to-day. This isn't gonna be good for anyone, but in an effort to avoid turning this site into some kind of emo blog nonsense, Mike Tyson Sports Illustrated ad analyses it is.  I'm sorry & you're welcome.

Styles Manifest From Key West to Budapest

After a long and seemingly arbitrary 3 week break between the regular season and the playoffs, my team finally began quarter final play this week. After a disastrous showing against the 2nd (3rd?) place team on Tuesday, we redeemed ourselves tonight to win in 4 and send the series to a decisive 3rd game on Saturday.

As I mentioned, Tuesday's game was an abomination so midway through our getting smashed like an Idaho potato, I decided to just go for style points and take myself back to a happier time and place. Forget volleyball. My mom will bear witness- my first love was hoops. More specifically, Jordan. It may not be a way to earn friends/decent blocking stats/a fruitful career in this sport but forget all that. Sometimes you just wanna be like Mike. Somebody photoshop some ill early 90s attire on me  and we're practically the same person. 

 

Anyways.

Word on the street is my club hasn't upset this team since 1985– aka the year before I was even born. Also, apparently if we don't finish at least top 4 in the league we have no sponsor for next year... so no pressure there either. Fortunately, as mentioned, I managed to stay in character as a supposed player of this sport for more than 15 minutes today and we pulled off the dub. So throw some prayers up for us to take care of bidnass in 48 hours.


And seriously, where can I get me some of those pants?

OH NO YOU DI'NT

One of the things I've always thought was a perk of living in Europe is the fact that it's a massive no-tip zone. Sort of. Sure I might be selling my firstborn child for a nice steak and potatoes but at least, at the end of the day, nobody's tacking on an extra 15%.

Until now. Anyone who's ever been to Europe (especially eastern Euro) doesn't really need this explained, but in a nutshell, customer service here is... generally terrible. Hungary is no exception. And I'm not trying to get all bitter McGee here but lest we forget, is a tip not generally given in exchange for decent service? Heck, passable service will even earn you, at a  minimum, a cool 10%. Here it seems, people have decided to expect tipping while delivering service along the lines of a look that says I just ruined their day/year/life for wanting a table...

In the immortal prose of Billy Madison, "So sorry to interruuuuupt". All I wanted was some lunch. I'll give you a tip provided I get a drink refill and maybe a smile? One time! Screw it, I don't even want a smile, just no more angry looks! That's all I ask! Why can't we all just pretend to be friends!
When did Hungary decide to jump on this tip bandwagon without doing anything in return?! Maybe a better question is: why hasn't somebody kick them back off the wagon?!
It's just a garbage situation all the way around. Basically, I'm Cleveland and while being given the permanent LeBron treatment, I'm expected to cough up more of my cash on to thank you. 

Whatever. Moving on because that was possibly the most poorly worded rant ever written.

I probably should've said something about this back when it still confused me, but I'm amused by how Hungarians say 'hello' for either hello or good-bye. They have like 384 different ways to say hi/bye but I've gathered 'hello' is treated kinda like ciao... Use it whenever you want! Hello for good-bye still throws me off a little every time because to make it even more fun, a common informal Hungarian hi/bye is 'szia' (which is pronounced "see ya"). This is often said in conjuction with hello. So I walk into practice and I hear "Hello see ya"... And when I leave it's the same drill. I kind of love it.
Speaking of greetings, I'm kind of amused/confused by the habit guys at the gym I work out in have of coming in and before doing anything else, walking around the whole gym to shake hands with every person there. Except any of the women. This isn't just my gym because it's happened at a couple other Hungarian gyms I've worked out at, even in a different city. Obviously it's a politeness thing to acknowledge every person there, whether you know them or not, by shaking hands but where's the love? I'm intermittently glad I don't have to shake hands with 438493 different people over the hour I'm there, and pissed I don't get any acknowledgement. Any Hungarians out there who can clarify this one that'd be great.

Welcome to the Family

After only 6 months of thought, I finally got a dog. Sort of.

Although she's not technically "mine", I'm currently looking after a little wiener dog from a rescue organization in Budapest for the next 3 months. So it's the same thing for now... I finally have a pooch to call my own.The critter's original name was Noemi but since that's a) awkward to say/sounds like a grandma name and b) sounds like we're saying no all the time, we changed it to Nelly. My dad thinks it's a terrible dog name but don't hate.

Obviously I am loving every minute of taking care of the little friend but there are a few bits of information that would've been useful before agreeing to take care of her.
First off, I live on the 3rd floor of my apartment building so taking her out is a delight. Yes, obviously, I knew this before. What I did NOT know what that wiener dogs aren't supposed to walk up or down stairs since it's bad for their backs... So approximately 58 times per day I can be seen carrying this 15 lb. dog up and down multiple flights of stairs. A little bit ridiculous. She also isn't supposed to jump on or off of anything, which is also a bit difficult seeing as how dogs jump on stuff. Again, I knew this. What I didn't know is this dog shows absolutely no remorse whatsoever when reprimanded. Obviously I don't hit her or anything but a stern 'no' does absolutely nothing to dissuade her. She's the only dog I've ever seen whose tail wags harder while being scolded. Good thing she's cute.

I truly believe pet stories are second only to people describing last night's dream in detail on the How-Little-The-Listener-Cares scale so I'll stop soon. But I gotta say, as much as I love Nelly, sometimes find it hard to believe I sort of own a wiener dog. I've always thought they were a bit of a joke of a creature. Like God got bored and threw a rat snout on a badger body, added some floppy ears and called it a dachshund. Every time I look at her I think of that old Simpsons episode with Poochie. Finally, this is neither here nor there, but I was also feeding her a piece of hot dog the other day and just had to take a moment to laugh. I mean it was a wiener dog eating a - ah, forget it.

Behold:

Blue Steel

I'll Bet You Think This Song Is About You, Don't You? Don't You?

Some thoughts:

Sometimes I think I'll remember this period of my life in Hungary as 'The Ugly Year'. My future children will look at pictures of me during this unfortunate time and notice I look like one of the Beatles, only ganglier, paler and about 50 years late on the look. They'll also probably feel sorry for me given that I turned to looking like a little boy sometime around the time I returned to Europe.

Anyway, assuming I can get this Beatles 'do under control before I get back to North America, The Ugly Year can theoretically end before:
1) I see people I know on a regular basis, and 2) it becomes The Ugly ERA.

If the latter comes true, it's only the beginning of me squandering my 20's - supposedly the pinnacle of youth & beauty. From what I'm told it's just a steady downhill from here to wrinkles and eventually turning into a leather wallet. This is only that much more depressing when, from the looks of things lately, I'm already starting the descent from half-way down the hill. And it's a steep hill.

Speaking of eras, I've officially entered phase 3 in my life. Phase 1 was Childhood, phase 2 was Everyone I know is Getting Married, and phase 3 is BABIES! BABIES! BABIES!
It seems I'm a little behind on the latter two, which is juuuuust fine with me, but at least I'm moonlighting like I'm part of the club by having Mom Hair. I'm ahead of my time.

I also sound ridiculously vain.

Fortunately sometimes I see things that make me feel a little better. And why I love Hungary. For example, yesterday my Canadian heart was warmed I saw a man wearing an outfit that (to my knowledge) has never been done before: The Canadian Three-Piece.This is technically a variation on the Canadian Tuxedo but it's like the C-Tux with tails. This is accomplished when the wearer takes it to a new level by sporting a denim button-up under the jean jacket. Jean on jean on jean. As far as the eye can see. So I guess things could always be worse. I could be that guy.

And crap, it HAS been done?!

 From The Canadian Tuxedo.com