Keep Your Hands Dry. Always.

Last night I was at my comedy class and during our 10 minute break I went to the bathroom. Business was taken care of and I meandered over the the sink for my post-tinkle wash-up. I use only luke warm water when I cleanse my hands/soul.

See, I'm not much of a hot water kind of guy. I prefer ice water to Earl Grey. Frappucino to Macchiato. Anchorage to Guadalajara. Cryogenics to Cremation. I luke warmly washed my money makers and searched for the paper towel dispenser. No paper towel dispenser. I frantically darted my eyes from north to south, east to west and spotted a machine against the wall that was called a "Hot Air Electric Hand Dryer." The only thing I like less than hot water is wet hands.

I went eye to eye with the hand dryer not knowing what to say. Finally I caved and said, "OK, let's get dry, esse." I cracked my neck and my knuckles and carefully slipped my hands underneath the steel air blower hole. I was not prepared for the next sequence of events. The air came shooting out, true gangster style and it hurt me so bad. It was so damn hot. So. Damn. Hot. But seriously, I couldn't leave that bathroom with wet hands and I wasn't about to dampen my new Eddie Bauer polo. I shook my hands vigorously to remove as much excess water as possible and went back for try numero deux.

This time I had a plan. I was going to dry my hands in short bursts. One explosion at a time. I went in and put my hands underneath the dragon monster. The air started and after a second of awful heat, I removed them. My hands were no more dry than they were before my bathroom laboratory experiment. This would take days, if not years, to fully dry my precious finger holders. I was, as the French say, screwed.

I looked at the time and realized I had a minute before my class started up again and if there's one thing that I would place third in my "I the only thing I like less than..." list, it's being late. I began to panic. Here I was in a public bathroom with soaking wet hands, time ticking down and no escape in sight.

A frantic man must make frantic decisions. Keep that in mind, readers. I took a drink of cold water from the sink and started blowing. If I blew hard and fast enough, my hands would be relaxed and more importantly, dry. So I blew and I blew and I blew. I blew again. It worked.

I was late for the second half of class, but I was fine with that. I had conquered the beast. Copernicus once said, "He who overcomes obstacles with great intensity and cold breath in the bathroom is a man to not be reckoned with."

12 Hours in Munster, Indiana

My favorite part of the New York Times is getting great travel advice from their "36 Hours in..." series. For a reference, check out their article on Vancouver, BC. I decided to take a hint from their wildly popular series and create my own "12 Hours in..." series. Naturally, to get my feet wet, I decided to start with a city I'm familiar with - my hometown. Munster, Indiana is located a mere 31 miles from downtown Chicago and it's truly a booming, progressive town. It's no surprise that Munster is considered one of the most livable places north of Indianapolis and south of Chicago. I visited Munster on a Wednesday. So here goes nothing.

12 Hours in Munster, Indiana

Munster is known for many things, among them a great gyros restaurant, a tiny gloriously rundown donut place and of course, Community Hospital (in case you fall down or something.) Munster features one public high school, one public middle school and three public elementary schools. For the religious, Munster offers some private, God-inspired educational institutions as well. There's an art center for those who like to take a ride down culture lane and then there's the parking lot behind Taco Bell - a popular destination for teenagers on weekend evenings.

2:30 pm
I enter Munster at Exit 1 off of I-94E and drive down Calumet Ave, passing the Hammond Clinic and Canton House Restaurant, among other gems. On the corner of Ridge and Columbia, I come across Bieker Woods. Bieker Woods is known for a scary Halloween event annually. This area of town is considered the historic district, as there's an old school house and also another building. Rumor has it that an old lady lives there and yells at kids who pass through the woods to get from Wilbur Wright Middle School to Long John Silver's on a half day of school.

3:30pm
I decide to grab a bite at The Commander (745 Ridge Rd). The Commander has been a Munster landmark for decades. My grandfather would drive his Oldsmobile there daily for his "cigarettes and coffee." The Commander is known for it's lemon rice soup and club sandwiches. Get your shmooze on in front of the pie display while locals read "The Times" and discuss politics, Purdue football, and the newest prices at Munster Car Wash, conveniently located a few blocks down on Ridge Rd. Beware of the after school rush of 14-17 year olds wanting to get their fill of that oh-so-good soup.

5:00 pm
After a filling meal, I decide to head over to my mom's house to play with Scooby the dog and do some laundry. On my way to my childhood home, as I'm heading south on Columbia Ave, I pass Munster High School, or as the students call it, "school." I see the tennis team practicing on my right and the football team practicing on my left. The Munster Mustangs athletic department has a rich history of both success and failure. The swimming and tennis teams are usually pretty good, while the football and basketball teams are mediocre at best. But I honestly have no idea how any teams have done in the past 8 or 9 years.

7:30 pm
After sitting around the house with my mom and Scooby for a couple hours, we decide to grab some dinner. There are many choices. Do we pick Giovanni's (603 Ridge Rd) for fine Italian dining or head southwest to Three Floyd's Brew Pub (750 Indiana Parkway) for unique beers and pub food? My mom also suggests going to Charlie's Ale House, but Mom, we always go to Charlie's. OK, she says. We settle on Munster Gyros, which locals will tell you is the absolute best gyro spot on the planet. I couldn't disagree. We each order a Gyro Platter with one extra pita (one just isn't enough - my ONLY complaint about this place).

8:15 pm
We were tired after dinner, but we decided to hit the town in the spirit of this article. We head to Johnny's Tap (8050 Calumet Ave), where a neon sign outside reads, "Mr. Fun is Here." This dive bar has frosted mugs for your ridiculously cheap domestics. We found locals playing bar games like darts and Golden Tee. The jukebox blasts everything from Metallica to Brad Paisley to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. We decided not to talk to the other 6 patrons at Johnny's because, well, they'd been there all day.

9:30 pm
Our next stop was Munster Donut (8314 Calumet Ave), made famous by the Facebook Group - 'People Who Love Munster Donut.' We each order the donut-on-a-stick which features a happy face frosting smile. We sit at the counter with 2 of Munster's police force. I recognize one of them from the D.A.R.E. program in 5th grade.

10 pm
We head home - it's late.

My Conversation with the Solar Energy Guy

"Hi," he said, with a big wave of his arm. "Do you have a minute for solar energy?"
"Right now?" I asked
"Yep. I'm with Solar Energy Worldwide, a non profit that helps normal people like you succeed without the hassle and expense of electric energy."
"What makes you think I'm normal?"
"Oh, I meant nothing by that comment!" he said joyfully.
"Go on," I said.
"So we are committed to making to the Earth a safer and better place by expanding knowledge and use of solar energy. Do you currently use solar power?"
"I have a calculator that does, but nothing else."
"Very good! That's a great start."
"Thanks."
"No problem! What's your name?"
"What does that have to do with solar power?" I was confused.
"Nothing, technically, but I'm just trying to build a relationship with you."
"Are you hitting on me?" I said excitedly.
"No, I'm trying to inform you about the benefits of solar energy."
"Alright. So how much for a snickers?" I was hungry.
"What? I'm not selling snickers." He was confused.
"But I thought you said you were talking about solar power."
"I am. Did you know that the average household can save over 1oo dollars a month by making one simple switch?" He asked.
"Yes. I knew that. My house is powered by solar power. So is my calculator," I said all snarky-like.
"Interesting. So you were lying earlier about using solar power?" He was confused again.
"Yep. I'm a liar and a solar power user. Me and Al Gore."
"Al Gore is a genius. Not a liar. Don't even start," He said.
"What's your name?" I replied
"Al Gore."

Facebook's Slippery Slope

There's a new trend in the interweb/cyberspace/intranet/online community. It's devastating. It's ruining my online experience, and probably yours. It's when people change their names on Facebook to their first name and middle name. Abraham Zoltan Lincoln turns into Abraham Zoltan. Susan Princess Sontag turns into Susan Princess. It's happening now and it's happening fast. Every day another FB user loses a piece of their identity.

This poses one giant, massive question: Who the hell do you think you are? What are you afraid of? Newsflash hotshot! Your friends are still your friends whether you eliminate your last name or not. They can still see your pictures, your Farmville chaos and your Perez Hilton fan page. Ok, ok, you don't want people to be able to search for you. Well then how do you expect to network? How do you expect to spy on new people? Eventually your stoner friends from high school are going to slip into oblivion. You need to expand. You need to exist. What's the next move? Changing your birth certificate? Legalizing gay marriage? It's a slippery slope, people.

Looking for a Job in Chicago

So my girlfriend and I are thinking about getting a cat. We're also thinking about getting jobs. Last night I had a few hours to do nothing. I did it well. I watched The Office wedding and I searched for cats online. There's a website - petfinder.com that lets you type in your zip code and they show all the cats/dogs/reptiles/bonsai trees that have been rescued within a 20 mile radius of your house. I spent a good two hours perusing the cats - from Aristotle to Zeus (and other ridiculous pet names).

This got me thinking - why is it easier to find an abandoned, malnourished cat in Chicago than a job? Is this economy so bad that there are more cats than jobs in a major metropolitan city? I thought cats live on farms. I was wrong. Got me again, Mayor Daley! First you let me down on the Olympics and now you flood our streets with cats, most of which have silly names.

So for all you unemployed people in the world, get a cat, not a job. It will provide you with warmth, comfort, companionship and as a bonus, it won't be hard to find one. But if you do end up wanting a job - don't look in Chicago. Try another place where there are no cats - like Farmville, Iowa or Middle of Nowhere, Kansas.

The Playlist of my Awkward Years

I'm making a playlist of all the songs I loved during my awkward years. It's really bringing back a lot of memories. Allow me to share.

1) Bush - Machinehead. I'm sitting in my bedroom getting pumped for my bar mitzvah. I have it blasting as I'm putting my new suit on. My sister walks in and yells over the music, "You're gonna be a man!"

2) Rush - Tom Sawyer. 6th grade sitting in the cafeteria listening to this song on my headphones thinking I'm so cool. I know nothing about the band, except that the drummer is awesome. This girl I had a crush on comes up to me and I act way too cool for her. I'm listening to Rush, leave me alone. She never talks to me again.

3) Third Eye Blind - Semi-Charmed Life. 7th grade social studies. I know this song by heart and I make sure everyone at Wilbur Wright Middle School knows this. I'm so freaking awesome - sitting in my desk singing the song at the top of my lungs. Mr. Colias gives me detention. I don't care, I'm singing about cocaine. Mr. Colias is so dorky, but detention sucks.

4) Dave Matthews Band - Let You Down. Trying to woo girls by singing the words "I have no lid upon my head, but if I did, you could look inside and see what's on my mind." It kind of worked. Only because everyone liked Dave Matthews. Some hot girl told me my Adidas gym pants were cool. They were cool.

5) Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - American Girl. Going into my older brother's room while he was out of the house and memorizing all the band members of the Heartbreakers and then bringing them up on the way to school the next day so he would think I was cool. He didn't think I was cool. He thought I was AWESOME.

6) Aeroplane - Red Hot Chili Peppers. Wishing I could be one of the kids singing back up on the track.

7) Sophie B. Hawkins - As I Lay Me Down. My friends thought I was lame. I guess I was.

That's what I have so far. I'm going to keep working on it. Wish me luck.

Wazzup Xerox?

Wazzup Xerox? That's what the maintenance guy at my apartment building says to me all the time. Whenever I see him, maybe 3 or 4 times a week, it's "Wazzup Xerox?" I'm a nice, considerate guy so I never talk back. I just drop my head and say, "Hi, Boris." That was until yesterday.

Boris had to come up to my apartment to fix my oven and he walked in and obviously said, "Wazzup Xerox?" Instead of saying "Hi Boris," I said, "Boris, can I ask you something? Why do you call me Xerox?" This followed...

Boris: Your name iz not Xerox?
Me: No, it's Gabe
Boris: I likez Xerox better. You look like a Xerox.
Me: Like a photocopy?
Boris: No, like my nephew Xerox. He livez in St. Petersburg.
Me: How old is he?
Boris: Seven.
Me: I look like a seven year old?
Boris: No, Xerox lookz like he'z 25.
Me: Can I make up a nickname for you?
Boris Yez, of courz.
Me: How about BrontoBoris. Like the dinosaur.
Boris: Do I look likez a dinozaur?
Me: No, it's a play on words.
Boris: I hate dinosaurz. They are scary and ugly.
Me: I didn't mean anything by it.
Boris: You aren't Xerox anymore. You are azzhole.

Now Boris says, "Wazzup azzhole?" And I say, "not much."