My Life Amuses Me

Sometimes I think that my life has just about reached a crescendo of yawn inducing boredom, and then something like this happens along. I'll tell you right now that this story ends with a pretty stunning anti-climax, but it's a fun ride to get there.

This afternoon, I was hanging out with a couple of friends at their house, barbecuing and enjoying the weather (it was over 40, and it wasn’t snowing – we take what we can get here in Iowa). We were cooking some burgers, drinking some beers, and minding our own business, when a squad car passed by the house. I didn’t really think anything of it until he pulled a u-turn about a half a block up and drove past again. Really slowly. Which was awesome because I figured what I really wanted to do the rest of the afternoon was explain my underage friends out of a M.I.P. ticket, and explain to Officer Squarenuts about how the beer they were drinking was somehow not my fault, even though I was well aware of how old they were.

But the squad car just drove by again, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Until he flipped another u-turn and came driving back toward us again. And this time he stopped the car, rolled down the window, and motioned for my 20 year old buddy to come talk to him. Awesome. So my friend put down his beer and trotted over to the car.

This was the conversation that ensued:
Friend: hello sir.
Officer: how long have you guys been out here.
Friend: about 20 minutes.
Officer: you happen to see a car drive by here really fast?
Friend: no, why?
Officer: well, we got a report of a black Ford Taurus four door driving past here really fast, and the driver of it has a gun and is about to do something stupid.
Friend: no we haven’t seen that but we’ll keep our eyes out.
Officer: thanks.
The good officer then rolled up his window and drove away.

At which point, I said to my friend, “he said he was looking for a black Taurus 4-door right? Because one sure did just pull up right up the block, and a lady just got out of it and walked away,” to which my friend replied, “Oh yeah holy shit do you think we should call that in?” And of couse, being my normal, cavalier self, I just said, “Dude there are probably a thousand of those in Des Moines alone. It’s probably just a coincidence.” Remember that for later.

So we went back to our barbecue, and didn’t think that much more of it. Except every time a black car drove by we scanned it for guns. Then a few minutes later, another car pulled up next to the black one, and the driver got out and checked the license plate. Ok, kind of weird. And then he walked over to us and asked if we had seen where the driver went. So of course we told him, and he drove away. And then we all simultaneously realized what had just happened. “Holy shit guys, I do believe we are now accomplices to a crime.” So we called the police and reported what we had seen.

The police duly responded with two more cars. They pulled up next to the abandoned car. Then they got out and started looking at it. Then they picked one of the locks and started looking inside. Apparently they didn’t find anything, because all they did was write it a parking ticket call a tow truck to take it away. Which was funny, because it wasn’t in a tow zone, or even illegally parked from what I could tell. Apparently if the police have to come check out your vehicle, they make it worth their while.

One of the officers, the same who originally told us about the incident, came over to talk with us, and this was his take on the situation:

Officer: apparently, the lady who was driving this car got pretty drunk and then ran into some stuff. We ran the plates and she lives not too far away, so she probably just ditched the car here and walked home. The people you saw looking for her were her husband and baby son.
Me: man sounds pretty good for 5 o’clock on Sunday afternoon.
Officer: (makes a face and pretends to stumble) yeah don’t drink and drive, kids.
He then got into his car and drove away, and left the other officer to deal with the tow truck.

I imagine that job would get dull quick if you didn’t have a pretty good sense of humor.

After the tow truck left, the other officer came over to take down my friend’s information, because since he was the one who called, that made him the official witness. And just then, my friend’s next-door neighbor, who just so happens to be the director of the honors program at the institution I attend, and who also happens to be my thesis advisor, happened to walk outside with his wife and his dog. I can only imagine his thought process, as he surveyed the porch steps littered with empty beer bottles, and then drifted his gaze over to his not quite 21 year neighbor, who is the primary tenant of the house, speaking to an officer of the law. Hell yes, I’m graduating with university honors.

But the high point of the afternoon was definitively the fact that the officer gave my friend this sticker for calling in the incident:










Remember what I said about having a sense of humor? Apparently cops can be pretty funny sometimes.

Also, nobody knows whatever happened to the gun, or if there was one in the first place. Apparently that will remain a mystery…

Florida Part Dos

So remember that time I went to Florida in search of sun and surf, and instead got shafted out of my last spring break as a college student? I sure do. Here’s what happened after the almost thirty hours of travel it took to get there: it rained. A lot. We were in Florida for three of the four days it rained in the entirety of the year 2009 to date. In fact, before noon on the Wednesday we were there, rain total for the year almost tripled. Whereas it rained .25 inches before March 18, it rained .67 inches on the 18th. To put this in perspective, .25 inches averaged over 76 days comes out to 0.003289 inches per day. There was more moisture than that in the monster yawn I just yawned thinking about how boring spring break is when you have to stay in your hotel the whole time.

In Explanation

For anyone who might be confused about this blog, please refer to this email I sent to my dad last night:

From: mattpavery@gmail.com
To: ****@****************.org
03/25/09 10:56pm
Re: ask and you shall receive
here is the url for my blog (http://smarter-not-harder.blogspot.com/). read it and weep (you might actually weep). feel free to share it with friends and family, but preferably those who don't get offended. it is definitely not family friendly, and you might think twice before sending it to someone's work email who wants to keep their job. basically, it is crude, callous, irreverent, and says all the things that you want to say in real life, but say on the internet instead, where people can't punch you in the mouth. cheers!

MPA

yeah that about sums it up.

Ed. Note

This has been brought to my attention by Whitney, re: why some of us still choose to fly. It's also posted in comments under the Air Travel post, but this is good enough that everyone should take a look at it.

Air Travel

What’s up with all the plane crashes lately? I mean seriously – is there really anything inherently difficult about navigating several tons of aluminum and plastic a few miles above the earth? Come on – I’ve played Microsoft Flight Sim, I know what’s up. That shit is easy; all you have to do is push a couple buttons and then use the arrow keys to avoid crashing into a cemetery.

That may have been in poor taste.

I’m beginning to think that although my most recent scrape with air travel might not have been that bad after all. I mean, I had to pay for two hotels in one night (only one of which I stayed in, just in case you were wondering) but at least I didn’t end up in the Hudson.

Even the military is getting in on the action. It takes real skill to crash a state of the art $150 million fighter jet. That shit is intense.

When I die, there is going to be a special circle of hell reserved just for me. Knowing my luck I will die in a plane crash…karma is a fickle mistress.

***

In all seriousness though, is it that hard to get flights out with a modicum of timeliness (like all my travel happens within one calendar day) and not drive planes into stuff (like the ground)? Delta boasts a stunning 79% of flights on time*, which here in college, amounts to a big, fat C. If I only did my job right 79% of the time, I would not have a job anymore. Why is this shit tolerated?

*source: http://www.flightstats.com/go/FlightRating/flightRatingByCarrier.do;jsessionid=98CA0807218325FF183FDB75D690A19F.ned:8009?airline=(DL)+Delta+Air+Lines&x=34&y=13

New Blog

My friend Whitney has just started a blog, and since it’s mostly my fault that she did it, I feel that I should probably give it a good rep. It’s called 8 Minutes to Save the World, and you can find it here. That said, Oh my god I’ve inspired someone. Not only that, I’ve inspired someone to follow in my footsteps by filling the internet with more spite, hatred, cynicism, and filth. I couldn’t be more proud. I’m looking for great things to come out of this. And since we’re repping sweet blogs here, you should also probably check out the blog Oh My God You Guys, the authors of which are far better writers than I. Enjoy!

Bonuses

Much has been made of AIG tossing millions of dollars of taxpayer’s bailout money at some of the very same executives who got their company in trouble in the first place. To which I say, “who the fuck cares?” $165 million is chump change people. Your city government spends that much to buy toilet paper for city hall. People literally wipe their asses with $165m. If you want to bitch about wasted tax dollars, why don’t you start with the public schooling and public funding for sports venues and work your way up from there. XKCD says it best…

P.S. sorry to sully this otherwise scintillating blog with politics. I promise it won’t happen again.

I Bought a Shirt in the Little Boy's Section

So I was shopping at Macy’s in West Palm Beach (oh, how I wish more of my posts started out that way) and I found a really nice RL Polo for $37. As I was contemplating how I could have found such a great price, I noticed that I had accidentally wandered into the little boy’s section, and the shirt I was holding was a boy’s XL. I immediately felt dirty and shamed, but not enough so pass up such a great deal. I ended up buying the shirt for a grand total of $39.94, with tax. I’m wearing it right now, and I’m going to wear it out tonight to an upscale martini bar. I’m not sure whether this is ironic, perverted, or downright shameful. But I saved about $45 over buying a big people shirt, so I don’t really care.

The Odyssey

Here was what was supposed to go down. My girlfriend and I booked a vacation to West Palm Beach Florida for spring break. For less than $400 each. Not to toot my own horn, but I am pretty much of a stud at booking cheap travel, and this was good even for me: reasonable flight times, 3.5 star hotel, easy ground transportation – I was on top of the world. I couldn’t see how anything could possibly go wrong.
As a frame of reference, here is our original itinerary, as it was emailed to me by the travel agency:
Departing Flight Information - Monday, March 16, 2009 (Arrives Monday, March 16, 2009)
Delta Airlines
(operated by Skywest Airlines)

Flight 4597
2h 0m , 607mi From
Chicago - O'Hare Intl (ORD)
Chicago, IL
Departs: 1:10 P.M. To
Atlanta - Hartsfield Intl (ATL)
Atlanta, GA
Arrives: 4:10 P.M. Aircraft
Canadair Regional Jet 900 (Jet)
Economy/Coach Class
Delta Airlines

Flight 2045
1h 53m , 582mi From
Atlanta - Hartsfield Intl (ATL)
Atlanta, GA
Departs: 5:05 P.M. To
Fort Lauderdale - Hollywood Intl (FLL)
Fort Lauderdale, FL
Arrives: 6:58 P.M. Aircraft
Boeing 757 (Jet)
Economy/Coach Class

We were going to take a shuttle to the airport, and then light rail to our hotel. Perfect. Here’s what actually happened:

Our shuttle bus to ORD left early, which might seem sweet, but actually was not, because we barely made it on board. We checked in and got through security with relatively little problem (save for the fact that I left my driver’s license on the conveyor belt so it ended up falling on the ground under the x-ray scanner and I couldn’t find it until a guy who looked like Morgan Freeman picked it up and gave it back to me). Here is the time frame for what happened next. All times are approximate.

12:16pm – I go to TCBY express to purchase what turns out to be one of the most woefully unsatisfying pre-made chicken and bacon wraps I have ever eaten from the cooler in the hallway of the terminal between the restroom and gate B16 but which for some inexplicable reason I still had to pay for at TCBY.

12:25pm – I come back to my gate, sandwich in hand to find out that our 1:10pm outgoing flight to ATL has been delayed until 2:30. Which wouldn’t be a big deal except for the fact that it wasn’t slated to arrive until 5:05pm. Refer to original itinerary if you are confused as to why this is a problem.

12:27pm – I talk to gate agent, who tells me I have two options. I can either go to ATL as scheduled and take my chances flying standby the rest of the way to FLL, or I reroute on a 3:20pm through Cincinnati (CVG) and be guaranteed a seat on an 8:15pm to FLL, arriving at 10:46pm. The last light rail train leaves the FLL train station at 9:52pm. I curse the gods and choose the latter.

12:35pm – I talk to another gate agent to bumps us up to a 1:20pm departure to CVG. Whatever.

12:42pm – I call my hotel in West Palm for what will be the first of many times, and let them know that I will not be checking in until after midnight.

12:44pm – I book a cab for the 50 mile drive from FLL to the hotel in West Palm.

12:45pm – My credit card hurts.

12:52pm – I board the plane bound for CVG.

1:22pm – wheels up.

3:29pm (Local, EDT) – we arrive CVG. I do some quick calculations, realize that I have 4 hours and 45 mintues to kill in the Cincinnati airport, and proceed to get furious.

6:02pm – I eat dinner at Max & Erma’s in the airport.

Ed. Note – 3:30-6:01pm was spent engaging in pursuits that aren’t even interesting enough for this blog. Which is saying something.

6:25pm – the food immediately causes me to crap fire.

6:45pm – I proceed to the gate, minus the weight of a small child.
7:10pm – the departure time is delayed to 8:30pm.

7:10:03pm – I start getting a bad feeling about the flight.

7:15pm – I call the hotel again to confirm my late arrival.

7:35pm – still no airplane at the gate.

7:45pm – the gate agent comes on the intercom and tells us that since the plane we were supposed to take is broken, we have to wait for a plane to arrive from Syracuse. At 9:16pm.

7:45:13pm – I wonder aloud how the fuck an airport that serves as a national hub for the airline I am flying can’t have one extra airplane hanging around. Apparently the recession affects everyone.

7:55pm – the flight departure is delayed until 9:35. I immediately call bullshit, because Jesus couldn’t turn around a full flight from Syracuse in 20 minutes. I don’t even think that’s legal.

7:56pm – I wait in line to talk to gate agent.

7:58pm – I want to pistol whip the old, bitchy couple in line in front of me. They are absolutely the worst type of people. I understand where Poe got the idea for his story about the man who killed his wife and buried her in his basement.

8:05pm – I talk to the gate agent. She gives me two options. Either I can remain on the “9:35pm,” or I can rebook to a 9am flight tomorrow morning. I call the hotel again, and tell them that I am going to be delayed again. Until tomorrow afternoon. They are surprisingly cool about this. I go back up to the gate and rebook for the next morning. I don’t have the energy for any more bullshit.

8:15pm – I call the hotel on airport property, and ask them to quote me a room for one night. $179.00. I immediately hang up the phone, and break out my computer. Hotwire.com allows same day bookings until 11pm and I will be damned if I am going to get fucked over by the Cincinnati airport Sheraton.

Let me pause here to say that Hotwire is the best resource a traveler can have. They have never let me down with a hotel booking yet.

8:19pm – I book a room at the Hilton for $65.00. This not only a higher rated hotel than the Sheraton, but they also offer a free airport shuttle. Suck it Sheraton.

8:25pm – I call the cab to cancel my reservation. I casually remark to my girlfriend that we are probably spending less on our hotel than we would be on the cab from FLL to West Palm.

8:35pm – Complimentary shuttle arrives, driver offers me complimentary bottle of water. I am happy with the hotel I booked not 20 minutes ago.

8:40pm – I find out that everyone else on the shuttle whose itinerary got destroyed received compensation from the airline. I got reminded not to let the door hit me in the ass on the way out of the baggage terminal. Fuck Delta Airlines.

8:50pm – I check into my room, which I’m sure was nicer than the one I would have gotten at the Sheraton.

8:55pm – I proceed immediately to the hotel bar.

8:56pm – I order a Chopin martini, straight up, with a twist.

9:01pm – I finish my martini, close out, and go back up to my room.

I don’t remember much after this, I think I was asleep.

6:15am (next day) – my alarm goes off.

6:15:00.06 – I curse everything that is good and holy.

6:55am – I get into the shuttle back to the airport.

7:15am – I check in – flight is on time…for now. Gate A14.

7:25am – Gate is changed to B07.

7:45am – I explain to the gate agent that my girlfriend and I have been trying to get to FLL for 23.5 hours and counting, and that it would be nice if they could upgrade us to first class so we could get some sleep on the flight. She tells me that first class is booked, but blocks our whole row so we can have room to spread out. Perhaps there are some redeemable people left in the world.

8:30am – flight begins to board…on time. It’s a Christmas Miracle.

9:02am – Wheels up. Incredible.

9:05am – I fall into a comatose sleep.

9:55am – I am startled awake by beverage service. I almost crap myself from a combination of shock, and not having a clue where I am.

9:57am – I drink my stale ice water and slip back into my coma.

11:12am – Flight arrives FLL – 20 minutes early.

11:13am – I begin booking it through the airport in search of the light rail station, in hopes of catching the 11:32am train to West Palm.
11:19 – I am thoroughly confused by the signs in the baggage terminal that are right next to each other, each indication that the tri-rail station is the opposite direction from the other.

11:26 – After a full on sprint through 2.5 baggage terminals, I find out that there is, in fact, no tri-rail station at the airport as indicated by the tri-rail website, FLL airport website, Fort Lauderdale chamber of Tourism, all printed airport information, and my hotel. There is instead a small sign, located 9 feet from the ground on a street light pole, indicating a shuttle bus stop that takes people to the actual tri-rail station, which ends up being located about 10 minutes away from the airport. Nice.

11:41 – The shuttle bus arrives. It has cardboard signs that denote it as such. They look hand lettered.

11:55 – We arrive at the tri-rail station just in time to watch the train we need (which, mind you, is running approximately 25 minutes behind schedule) pull out of the station.

12:32 – Our train does not arrive as promised.

12:46 – Our train arrives. Only 14 minutes late.

1:44 – We arrive the West Palm Tri-Rail station.

1:45 – We take a cab to the hotel.

1:51 – We check in to the hotel…only 16 hours and 51 minutes late.


Stay tuned, it only gets better.

Florida

As some of you already know, I’m in Florida for my spring break “vacation” this week. So far, it has been the most stressful, least fun vacation I’ve ever had in my life. I swear to Christ I am going to need another vacation to recover from this vacation. I expected not to be posting because of how much fun I would be having, but considering as how this is not the case, abd considering as how I am sitting in my hotel room in West Palm Beach at 10:15pm on St. Patrick’s day, I figure this might be the best outlet for my frustration. I’ll start at the beginning, posting what I have so far, and and update you with further bulletins as events warrant.

Demographics

In night class this past week, I witnessed evidence of one or more of each of the following:

Chuck Taylors
Knit cap
Mac laptop
Mac laptop with gay pride stickers
Serious, heated argument about short story
Bad haircut
Bad attitude
Bad poetry
Stainless steel coffee mug
Moleskine notebook
Sense of entitlement
Angst

I should become a business major.

This Blog Is Ruining My Life

I’ve had this blog for approximately 2 days now, and it’s already becoming terrible for the actual essays I have to write. It turns out that I’d much rather write a blog post about pretty much anything, than write an paper about, say, Plato’s Republic as it relates to some obscure critical essay by G.E. Lessing. It’s hard as hell to be funny about Plato or Lessing. I mean, I guess it’s not really, but it’s hard to be funny and not fail my upper division English class that’s required for graduation…that’s what I meant. Because I’ll be damned if I’m going to stay for another semester to take another senior seminar in literary aesthetic – failure is not an option. I’ve already read enough Wordsworth to last a lifetime (that amount, in case you were counting, is somewhere in the region of 26 pages).

Not that the class isn’t sweet, because it is. But it’s turning me into a douchebag. The other day, I was that guy wearing huge sunglasses, a knit cap, and a Northface 550, carrying a cup of coffee for which I paid approximately $4.50 on my way to my lit theory class. I’m becoming what I hate…

Iowa

An Objective Analysis of Living in Iowa

Pros:

Dirt cheap housing. My roommate and I pay less than $1000 a month for a two bed flat. I know people who rent entire houses for less than $1500.

Cheap drinks. You probably couldn’t pay more than $12 for a drink if you tried.

No traffic. Rush hour lasts about 15-20 minutes

Easy to navigate. It’s impossible to get lost because there are no hills, mountains, or tall buildings, so you can almost always see where you want to be.

Corn. Yummy. Also makes gas super cheap because of all the ethanol. See below.

Cheap ass gas. This is possible because approximately ninety percent of the gas sold here is corn byproduct of some sort. See above.

Isn't in the south. This one is pretty self-explanatory.


Cons:

Terrible weather. For example, as I sit here writing, it’s just above freezing, and it’s raining and snowing at the same time.

Middle of nowhere. The neighboring states are Wisconsin, Minnesota, Nebraska, Missouri, Illinois, and a little bit of one of the Dakotas. Need I say more?

Flat. There are no distinctive geographic features. This also contributes to flooding. See below.

Always floods. See above.

Smells bad. I don’t really know why this is, but it’s a definite downfall.

Almost equidistant from each coast. Allow me to illustrate:



Little to no arts and culture. The theatre/museum/performance/gallery scene is pretty shabby.

I guess that about sums it up. I invite you to draw your own conclusions.

Introductions

I’ve finally given in. After almost a year of balking and making excuses, I finally have a blog that’s open for business. Whether or not I’ll actually stick with it and keep doing the updating and maintenance remains to be seen. But at least for the next few weeks until I get busy again, I’ll be doing my best to provide a scintillating blog that’s at least moderately worth reading. And by that I of course mean cynical, opinionated, callous, inappropriate, and wholly offensive.

I’m a twenty-something college student who, in clear punishment for horrible sins committed in a past life, was born and raised in the upper Midwest. Anyone who knows me will attest that my physical location is by no means in keeping with my personality – I like tall buildings, pavement, expressways, public transit, (to say nothing about arts and culture), along with the people around me having a combined IQ that’s above room temperature. Since I don’t live in Chicago (one of the few oases of culture and style in the arid desert of misfortune I like to call home) finding more than two of these things in any one place is a minor miracle.

I am a theatrical lighting designer and stage electrician by trade, and I go to college as a sort of self-inflicted punishment. Time was, I thought college was great. Then I turned 20. I found out that college is just as much of a rigged, politically charged bureaucracy as any other big business, and I got tired of drinking the same shitty beer out of a keg in a desperate attempt to forget the former, and at that point I kind of stopped having a fun college experience. Then I realized I go to a top tier liberal arts university that is one of the only viable artistic and cultural outlets within 200 miles and I started drinking vodka. And all that did was focus my attention on how difficult it is to get a decent bottle of vodka in the middle of Iowa and then I got sad.

For this and many other reasons, not the least of which was a steady paycheck, I started living and working summers on the east coast, in Massachusetts, and then New York. And I was in heaven. the social and cultural climate is worlds away from any other part of the country in so many ways. Like there are multiple theatres presenting outstanding work on the same night. And there are multiple art galleries, each catering to a different style and genre. Bars serve Absolut as their well, not their top shelf. Seafood comes out of the water, not out of the freezer. I could go on.

All this is to say that I am basically a walking contradiction of myself. And along with a few others, I thought that might provide suitable – or at least entertaining – blog material. I’d love to hear your feedback; especially if you like the site. If you don’t, your best recourse is probably to just not come back. You can send me an email telling me how much you hate my work, but in addition to disregarding your opinion in favor of my own huge ego, I will probably also write you off as a bad person. So here goes: ready, set, blog.