Sundayches

I suffer from the Sunday Headache. Right now I have a headache. It has always been a little bit of a joke and I haven't given it much thought until recently. While visiting my family over the break I confessed to my mom one rainy Sunday afternoon that I had an epic head splitting Sundayche. She shot back, "What! Your dad has a headache every Sunday too." "No!" I shrieked. Total truth. This, along with an allergy to the beach, is my all-time favorite genetic inheritance (disorder).

Today I am in Phoenix defrosting and delaying my homework, and finally Googled "I have a headache every sunday". Though I could not find an official medical response I discovered that the Sundayche is not so uncommon. The answer? Precisely what my dear friend Kimmybot hypothesized, weekly shock to my biological clock. I am busy, not overwhelmingly so, but my plate is considerably full Monday through Saturday and when I finally settle down for a day and sleep later than is probably healthy, my mind and body panic.

I like this answer and I'm sticking with it, but a few gaps remain; why did I have a Sundayche while visiting my family in Oregon and far from busy? Am I crazy? Did I expect the pain and bring it upon myself? Do I have any brain doctor friends who might provide me a logical answer? Preferably one living in Reykjavik who also has connections to national tourism councils? Thanks.

2010

I have a busy year ahead of me. School is set to challenge me even more than it has the last few months, I hope to find a museum internship, and I've decided that I will go to Antarctica.

I am absolutely in love with the beach and I've seen my fair share of them, but my trip to the desert last March gave me a taste of something new. It is well known that Iceland needs me and will eventually come beckoning, but until then I'm taking matters into my own hands and proving that I can handle some cold air.

In other news I have been at my parent's home in Oregon for the last two and a half weeks and weighed in tonight at a staggering 193, exactly 14 pounds heavier than when I arrived. And I can't get my mind off of the seared ahi burger from Bricktops restaurant in Nashville. Salivating at 2:15 in the morning.

Greatest Job in the World II

I'm still waiting for Iceland to contact me...

It's a Sign!

I have been obsessed with visiting Iceland for decades (well half of one, at least) and even more so in the last few months. Today I realized that I got my first hit from Reykjavik(!), a possible coincidence but complete sign. Do you remember a year ago when the Queensland, Australia tourism bureau created such a worldwide frenzy that its "Greatest Job in the World" website and videos went viral and literally shutdown for a while?

Iceland, do you remember? If you don't I'm happy to remind you.

In early 2009 Tourism Queensland, in an effort to promote tourism of the islands in the Great Barrier Reef, had an open call for their the newly created "Island Caretaker" position. Candidates were required to submit 60-second videos about their qualifications and interests. 34,000 videos were submitted but it came down to one fella from England who landed the job that required daily blogging, surfing, diving, snorkeling, "testing" resorts, island hopping, and eating. I can't say I followed his blog regularly, but every now and then over the last year I enviously skimmed through some writings and photos. The result? People around the globe realize that those islands exist; I'd call it a success.

Now, Iceland, I can't imagine your tourism is as bumpin' as it could be or you'd like it to be, despite frequent surprisingly affordable flights from the U.S. You have lots to share with the world, imagine the impact that a "contest" using borrowed ideas from the "Greatest Job in the World" would have. It would excite me, at least. In my humble opinion rigging the gig wouldn't be a terrible idea (I would be honored, thanks!) Also, if you you're not too keen on the contest idea but somewhat interested in increasing visits from the U.S. I am quite willing to negotiate a deal. I would love to spend time in Iceland and blog my heart out about your amazing-ness. Capiche?

Call me.

a farewell

Goodbye cruel world. I find myself, without friends in Flagstaff, much too reliant on Facebook. Not a terrible thing to stay connected, right? Well it is during finals week when I find myself looking at friend's photos every time I'm stumped coming up with the next sentence. For at least the next few days, with the help of Kimmy, I will be locked out of my profile.

Looks like I'm just gonna have to turn to Youtube...

$3

My siblings love being cheap this year for Christmas. Normally we draw names and buy one semi-pricey (my poor mans idea of semi-pricey) gift, and something less expensive for everyone else. Well this year the rules have changed. The sisters have decided that we will each buy a gift for everyone with a $3.00 limit. THREE DOLLARS! I know, right. What can a person get for three measly bucks these days? Am I going to have to go the homemade route? Ugh.

The purpose for my blogging today is more an S.O.S. message than anything. To anyone who might read this, wherever you are: what might I buy for four sisters and a brother in-law at $3.00 each? Any suggestion will be considered.

Maybe I'll just shoot for sibling points and secretly stick with the old Christmas gift model.

A Wal-Mart State of Mind

I found this unposted post begging to finally make it on the blog. It was written in Nashville- rest assured that I'm no longer there, but that doesn't mean my transformation has stopped.

A childhood in Troutdale, Oregon isn't exactly the foreshadow of a classy adulthood. Understand that my parents are in no way trailer folk, however, I've often assumed the town that assisted in my rearing heavily attributed to my own future as a sort of potential bumpkin. It's true, Troutdale is a beautiful place near breathtaking scenery and minutes away from downtown Portland, however, it's known fact that any small American town on a river that boasts first class cabbage and strawberry crops isn't quite the recipe for prestige.

I suppose what I'm getting at is my sudden realization that I've actually become what I always feared. Being a Troutdalian was, I believe, just a seed. A small but potentially powerful seed that sat idle for a time but suddenly sprouted wildly out of control upon my arrival in the South. At this time I'm all too conscious and unable to deny my societal role. I am a little bit white trash.

Phase I: In the mid-1980s an unusual circumstance occurred in the very town I have already introduced. I was born. "Say Matt, that's not such an unusual thing, is it?" you're probably thinking. Right, you are. Birth, though a miracle, is far from unusual. Just keep in mind that Troutdale, though complete with an outlet mall and a Dairy Queen (icons of luxury, right?) today, lacked one very important city element back then, a hospital. "Hospital Shmoshpital" say I. Who needs one when you have a kitchen floor perfectly suitable for giving birth?

Phase II: By the mid-90s I was attending Reynolds Middle School, which would be fine if it were not located in Fairview, OR. Period. Enough said. Look it up and you'll quickly sympathize. I can't say much more about those years, they are a bit fuzzy, a side effect most certainly related to the amount of asbestos I inhaled. I probably shouldn't even mention my baggy pipe leg jeans coupled with a too-tight undershirt (worn as a regular shirt. Everyday.) and topped off with a slick pair of white Fila sneakers.

Phase III: High school came and went. I went to the river often. And I landed my first real job. "Where?" you ask? Why, at the Bugle Boy Outlet, just one of many fine shops at the Troutdale outlet mall. I was fired four days later. After high school the dough really started to pour in from my full-time gig at the old folks home. It was there that I developed a deep and abiding love for Bingo. Do you need more than that?

Phase IV: College rolled around and so did my affinity for not wearing deodorant. Or underwear. I went on a mission to the Dominican Republic and that, if anything, worsened the situation; infrequent showers and permissible wearing the same thing everyday. A total dream come true. After college- jobless, poor, and desperate- I returned to where this whole vicious downward spiral began and sought refuge at my parents home. 24 and living at home. Fortunately it didn't last too long and I hit to road for Phoenix. Along the way however, I stopped at Arches National Park and for the first time pulled a Jewel; I slept in my car. And I loved it. I eventually arrived in Phoenix with the plan to start afresh, meaning that I was still jobless and penniless. Selling my plasma became a career and the other donors my family and confidants. In time it seemed a ray of sunshine shone down on my desperation and I landed some work. Lots of it. During a six-month period I managed to begin and end the following jobs: sales rep at Ralph Lauren Polo OUTLET, sales rep at 24-Hour Fitness, "ramp" crew at Sky Harbor Airport- loading/unloading baggage and tugging/towing the billion-dollar aircraft, and finally as a promotional rep for Wrigley's gum, the NBA, the Army, Lucky Brand Jeans, Camel tobacco, and several others.
The promo gigs were my favorite by far. The Army one in particular tickled my fancy as it was held at drag racing events and Camel sent me to NASCAR. Today I love both.

Phase V: Realizing what I am wasn't an overnight epiphany. Naturally, I gradually allowed new ideas and activities into my life but kept those that I was able to recognize as potentially trashy to what I considered, a minimum. for over two decades I practically shunned country music, refused to even acknowledge televised fighting/wrestling events, tried to avoid shopping at Wal-Mart, and most importantly stayed good and far from the South. It's now mid-2009 and what happened next I suppose, was inevitable. I agreed to work in Washington DC for the summer, and as fate would have it the best route from Phoenix passed straight through the southern epicenter: Texas, Oklahoma ARKANSAS and Tennessee. Like a bug is drawn toward a light in the dark, it is nearly impossible for white trash to stay away from the South. I stopped in Tennessee. I loved Tennessee. I stayed in Tennessee. Now I live in Tennessee and I work in Tennessee. Country music enlivens my soul, I look forward to UFC fights, and just the slightest smell of BBQ numbs all other senses and sends my mind down a one-lane highway.

There you have it. I've recognized, dealt, and accepted who I am and what norms I'm to live by from this point on. And you? Who are you?

(But lets be real. I never, ever tried to avoid Wal-Mart.)

Inna Illa Rabbikar Rujaa

My 2009 Halloween costume has been added to the archives. I believe it went swimmingly.

Tis the season. Happy Halloween!
سعيد عيد القديسين! أتمنى لكم اليوم كان ممتعا
بقدر الألغام. يحب والقبلات.

Songbird

Introduced to me just this afternoon by my good friend, Mandie Jean Reichmann, I feel it's high the time rest of the world met the internet's latest and most soulful songbird, Nichole. Nichole will be performing "Should've Said No" by Taylor Swift. Experience the same nostalgia I did and please don't turn her off until she has finished; like a fine wine, she only gets better with time.

A quick blurb from her youtube channel: "So I'm 19. My favorite animal is a lobster. I like hanging out having fun going to concerts listening to music and singing. I sing for a hobby NOT a career."

Beaver

I spent last weekend in Salt Lake City. The eight hour drive took me through Beaver, Utah, a town that welcomes you with a large billboard that reads, "Beaver, Mountains of Fun". This was great but even more exciting to me was what was written below, "Best Tasting Water in the U.S." Could it be?

The mountainous fun claims were enticing but I didn't exactly encounter anything particularly fun on my drive-through, call me a skeptic, I know. But as for the water, supposedly it is true and Beaver residents are taking this honor quite seriously. I Googled "Beaver, Utah water" and apparently Beaver, eternally proud of their blessed water supply, entered the National Rural Water Nationwide Taste Test (yes, there is such a thing) in Washington D.C. and took top honors. This is real. This happened and will probably continue to happen forever. Our great nation, the land of the free and home of the brave is so free and so brave and quite obviously so bored that it established said National Rural Water Nationwide Taste Test.

Anyhow, the almighty Google led me to a great article from the Salt Lake Tribune. It's so great that I will include the link but for those of you who still need a little convincing, here's a quick snippet:

"Patricia Baker, who grew up in Beaver, heard about the news of Beaver's water win on television.

'I was shocked,' she said. 'My husband was in Salt Lake City and I called him and said, "'Guess what we have in Beaver? The best water.'"

Baker, who lived in Pittsburgh, Pa., for three years before returning to reside in Beaver, knows what water in other areas tastes like.
'I think the water [in Beaver] is good,' she said. '...It's just clear water that you don't feel like you're getting chemicals. And it's cold.'"

We thank you Patty Baker. For your insights and your wisdom and your knowledge of what water in those dreaded "other areas" tastes like. As for you Pittsburgh, you should be ashamed.

In short, today I'm kicking myself for not stopping in Beaver. Does anyone have a Beaver connection that could send me sample (a la National Rural Water Nationwide Taste Test) OR do you think I could maybe buy a bottle of Beaver water online?