pieces of the puzzle

admittedly i'm a big nerd. i love learning, reading meandering biographies, and subscribe to pbs' "frontline" podcasts. that being said, it shouldn't be too big of a surprise that i like puzzles. i can't think of too many things nerdier than taking time out of a weekend to dive into a 2,000 piece representation of "where's waldo" rather than be at the bar. 

this certainly stems back from a childhood filled with summers on my grandparents porch. i suppose it's pretty cliche to spend a week with your grandparents in wisconsin mastering 1000 piece puzzles of hot air balloons while sipping lemonade, but growing up in wisconsin has an inherent set of cliches. we didn't exactly have cows in my backyard, but that doesn't mean i was clueless as to where to find them. 

if i'm being judged on this one, it's fine by me. i like crossword puzzles and DVR jeopardy too. 

proof of purchase

so we're now in a "paperless" world. or at least are aspiring to be one. i signed up for paperless statements for my monthly bank assessments, but somehow they still end up coming to me in an envelope the first week of every month. the best part of it has to be the page insert that is always in the envelope encouraging me to do paperless statements. i've signed up 3x on the website, yet it still without fail comes to my apartment. computerized billing is a little big brother for some so i can understand the hesitation of doing all banking online - and having all records of your life on there. if the government hijacks your identity a la sandra bullock in the net you're completely screwed. most of us aren't smart enough how to blackmail the government to give our identities back the way sandy did; i know i'd be screwed and probably working as a hawker who hands out menus on the corner of 42nd street in the morning. 

in the recycling movement, i still cannot grasp the point of giving customers receipts for everything. some stores around my office promise they'll give you $5 off of your meal if you're not given a receipt. unless it's a business expense, why do you need one? and if you really want one, why not just ask for one? it doesn't make sense that the whole world gets them. i guarantee 85% of the people who are given receipts - if not more - throw them out at their first chance. the only proof i need of buying that ice cream sandwich is looking down at my swollen stomach. i carry that around with me all day. i don't need a carbon copy as well. 

when i grow up

i saw 'sisterhood of the traveling pants 2' over the weekend. as a 24 year old, i should probably keep such things to myself but i'm really not ashamed. i know a lot about boy bands and crappy tv - this is not an indiscretion that i'm concerned will tarnish my reputation. the movie was ridiculous in it's simplicity, but i realized that's what i like about those type of movies. 

i was of the belief until a few years ago that there were rules you followed as an adult. i wasn't dense enough to think that adults were always right, but i really thought that as you grew older maturity was just one of those things that was granted to you by the gods. like a diploma that you earn just by having a birthday. the older i get, the more i realize that experience doesn't necessarily bring maturity. you can easily go through years without taking anything in.  this is probably the one of the reasons adults always look so fondly at the times when they had no responsibility. there is no expectation of maturity - or any sense of failure when you don't have it. plus it's a hell of a lot easier to take things in when you don't have to remember 1000 things at once. 

what i love about movies like "sisterhood" is that everyone's complicated stories can be wrapped up in 2 hours. and a pair of ugly pants can solidify friendships for life. i've always been a sucker for sappy movies. the way that life's problems can be wrapped up into a monologue at the end of the movie. you don't have to think back to what you should (er - shouldn't) have said in an argument - things are said and done and everyone lives happily ever after. coping over a major life event is complete in one meaningful montage with the characters pensively drooping over their furniture. they stare off at the distance or glance down at their phone while acoustic music weighs down the sequence. the characters seem to always find clarity in the way rarely seen in most adults. they admit when they're wrong, learn from their mistakes, and somehow have the funds to travel around the world on a whim. 

in real life, maturity is tricky to master in your teens; even trickier once it becomes intangible in adulthood. when i was a kid, i was considered mature because i did my homework without being asked to. i got points because i knew how to handle my alcohol and didn't get busted for underage drinking. i guess finishing my work on time and not making an ass of myself at happy hour are considered mature adult things to do now that i hold a job, but the line gets awfully blurry once you surpass 18. 

in real life adulthood, friendships can easily become overcomplicated. at least the ones that are based on the farce that everything can be solved in an acoustic montage. once mix tapes and trips to taco bell are replaced with jobs and happy hours, it's easy to tell who are the friends who you'll chat with beyond a facebook wall conversation. who you'll call when shit hits the fan. you don't need to see them every day, but they're the ones who will go with you to see embarrassing chick flicks (see above film referenced) and tell you when you're being ridiculous. 

i've take on plenty of responsibility in my life, but i am always looking to try to learn a better way of doing things. if i were to make this into a food analogy, i used to think i'd always be of the thought that sandwiches always taste better when someone else makes them for you. eventually i'll grow out of it and want to make my own, but at the moment i have a complex when it comes to sandwich making. no matter how many grilled cheeses or pb&j's i make, i always feel subpar to the adults who made them for me when i was little. no matter how many times i've watched someone else slice the bread or spread the jam, i don't have it down pat yet. there's always someone who can prove that it tastes better when it's cut diagonally rather than in squares. there will come a day when i think my own sandwiches are just as good as theirs, but to do that i'll have to remember that there are no rules for the perfect pb&j. 

the land of enchantment

did you know new mexico is the land of enchantment? and maine is the pine tree state? this is all information that has been locked inside of my brain for years but did not make it to the forefront until my road trip last week. 

i flew from jfk to lax, then drove to wisconsin from la. over 30 hours in the car but it felt shorter than most drives i took to college in minneapolis from madison. i was with my best friend, who besides always being up for a good time has the ingredients for a perfect road trip partner: an off-key singing voice to match my own, a knowledge of crappy 90's pop songs, and a history with me that dates back to high school. our friendship was formed over our love for food - we co-chaired the food for the national honors society's annual blood drive. in our adult road-tripping years, this means we share an excitement for spotting wendy's in new mexico - or even better - a culver's in southern wisconsin. culver's is a modern marvel in the art of fast food. when i was a swim coach, we loved culver's so much that we coaches dressed as culver's drive-thru workers as one of our costumes that we wore for our big swim meet. fast food, however, was not the highlight of my trip. 

we skipped out on the vegas route and opted for the southern route. tess' '89 buick century was only questionably up for the challenge of high altitude driving, plus we feared a backlash when the two of us would choose going to bed at 11pm after watching a movie on HBO rather than hitting the slot machines or doing body shots at pure. instead we selected what tess dubbed "vision quest". this mystical journey through the southwest took us through arizona, new mexico, texas, oklahoma, missouri, kansas, iowa, and finally the southern part of wisconsin. 

day 1, hour 7 or 8. we're moseying through arizona. i use the verb moseying because her car's speedometer only goes to 85 and we were traveling on a route with a 75 mph speed limit. apparently speedometers in '89 weren't particularly accurate. somewhere along I-40 i found myself being pulled over by officer plumb of the arizona highway patrol for going 86 mph. on one hand, i'd say it's a scientific miracle that defied the limits of physics. on the other, we should have probably been concerned that the mphs that the car projects aren't its real speeds. whatever the case, i ended up on the side of the road in arizona, explaining to the officer why i was a ny driver but only had a (valid) wisco license. (my ny license was in my wallet when it was lost/stolen a month or so back and i haven't replaced it). while laying out the situation to him, i had a flashback to the scene in 'super troopers' where the kids think they're safe, right before the squad car backs up a few thousand feet to bust the kids. tess would have to come bail me out of the only jail cell in the county - and our road trip would be delayed for a few days while tess washed dishes to scrounge up enough dollars to bail me out of the slammer. this of course was far more dramatic than what actually happened. the cop didn't even care about my license situation; he just had me walk to his squad car to tell him my correct information to fill out on my warning sheet. (which incidentally will soon be posted on my fridge). 

but this story isn't about my brush with the law. or my vast knowledge of state nicknames (virginia is the old dominion state). it's about how much i really love driving places. with gas prices the way they are, it's just not practical to drive everywhere. nor do i really have the time to hop in a car for 24 hours every time i want to go visit my family. (plus i don't even have a car to hop into). but every day i get on the subway - f train all the way to work unless i mix it up and take the 6 so i don't have to walk the mile from bryant park if it's cold out. i spend the weekends in my backyard, or in another borough. i have a few trees in my backyard and prospect park has pretty sweet greenery but i should really get out more - outside of the little bubble i've made for myself in the empire state. 

i really should thank my parents for all of the road trips as a child. besides being able to claim visiting 47 of the 50 states (washington, oregon, and alaska are the only ones i've not been to) i have a great patience in the car staring off into space and listening to music. tvs in cars are a modern convenience that i'll never understand. i get the idea to keep your toddler content in the back seat. but i'm old school - i hate the idea that all these kids are growing up having to be entertained 24-7  by dora or hannah rather than having to play the license plate game. my childhood involved trips to florida twice a year. my grandma had a winter home down in ft. myers and she insisted that her caddie was with her for the duration. we'd drive the car down to florida right after the new year, then go get it sometime around april fools. thus my childhood seasons were divided into four parts: pool opening, pool closing (aka the school year), drive down to florida, drive back to wisconsin. somehow with all of this time in the car, i get carsick when reading. i'd probably be a much more intelligent person if i could have spent all that time in the car reading sarte. instead i excel at scattergories and catch phrase - probably a product of the quick thinking games i learned on the road. 

as i sit here in brooklyn, i can't help but think that i should do a better job of traveling more. i'm far too poor to go abroad on a regular basis, but i really should take some strides to do some more serious roadtripping. we hit two big cities on our whole trip - albuquerque and dubuque. most of the time all you could see was rock formations and open space. and it was perfect. tess joked that i was pumped when we hit dubuque because i was missing the skyscrapers. honestly, i get in such a groove here sometimes that i forget that i'm surrounded by giant buildings. it's just a bunch of metal that blocks the sun. when i leave and come back though i'm happy to see them.  i love the open road but i'd end up with more than one run-in with officer plumb if i were left to such vast stretches. plus i much prefer a night out at a nice restaurant over wendy's spicy chicken. those sandwiches are amazing but i they need to stay a special treat for the good of my cholesterol. and anyone who may need to see me in a swimsuit.