As is yearly tradition in my family, we embarked on a holiday journey to visit family once again. I arrived back in town yesterday, after having traveled 2,750 miles in the space of eight days (here to Louisiana and back again). This is a little nuts when you consider certain variables, such as how sore one’s butt becomes from sitting for so long, how boring the landscape throughout Texas and Oklahoma (we passed through there on the way back) can be, and how normal sleep ceases to be a part of your life for that brief span of time. I had a great time, to be sure, though I am thrilled to be back home. At last I can rest!

As you no doubt guessed, my adventures have left me with much to blog about. I’ll start light today, and over the next few days I’ll post more. Today, the theme is “oh the drive.” I love driving, and it’s always great to watch the landscape change. Scenery ranges from beautiful to plain, fascinating to boring. The following are some thoughts that occurred to me while driving, in varying stages of boredom or what have you.

• There are certain parts of the drive that are eye-poppingly boring. I happened to be driving various parts of Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisina, during which I passed through such areas. While Oklahoma had little to distract from the monotony, Texas and Louisiana both showcased a veritable gold mine of roadkill. I found myself trying to see if I could identify each beast I came across. Raccoons, squirrels, and deer (small ones) were among the most common (I once saw a dead armadillo in Texas, but not on this particular trip). A morbid task, indeed, but one has to stay amused somehow.
• On the way to Oklahoma, while driving through a small town in Texas, I spied a small church. Nothing out of the ordinary. But when I looked more closely, I noticed that its title read “Bible Church”. This puzzled me for some time, and I still have not figured out what exactly a “Bible Church” really is. Is it somehow different from all other churches, or is the underlying message a declaration that no other church uses the Bible? I’m miffed.
• Driving through Oklahoma, I saw a sign for a state park. While all state parks have names, I’ve never seen one like this: Roman Nose State Park. [Insert funny Roman Nose comment here].
• Throughout the drive, bridges along the interstate exhibited this message on a nearby sign: Watch for ice on bridge. I first noticed it while driving at night, and was at first amused, wondering what an ice bridge was, and why I should be watching it. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that certain parts of the sign were printed in larger font than the rest, sort of like this:
  WATCH
  FOR
  ICE
  ON
  BRIDGE

The goal of this month, for me, has apparently been the following: write only two blog entries. As of this post, I have officially not lived up to this goal, which is in all likelihood a good thing. But as seems to happen at this time of year, a dreadful combination of final exams and holidays consumes what little time I have. Whoever was the genius who decided these two occasions should happen almost simultaneously was nothing short of insane.

But I digress. The point is, I've had far more on my plate than I'd care for at this point. While I have a number of blog ideas on hand, I haven't had a chance to work them through anything resembling completion. A lot has gone on, and a lot will be going on, so rather than write about it all, I decided to put it in the form of a question to that special advice column, Yo Phil. So here you go.

Yo Phil,

You seem to have been pretty introspective as of late, posting all sorts of "milestone" stuff and various entries that are considerably more serious than what I'm used to. What's up with that?

-Phil

Well, Phil, you're absolutely right. As I got continually closer to graduating, I started working harder than ever to get through it. It seemed to me a battle of wills, between the push to get through school and graduate and a mind weary of fighting itself. As you may have gathered from my previous entry, I managed to pull through on both fronts.

While yes, I had accepted myself as a gay man, and every day have found that acceptance deepening, I had yet to address this side of me to those close to me. Last Sunday, I changed that. I came out to my family, and was delighted to learn that they all knew, and had simply been waiting for me to open up to them.

The time leading up to this point was cause for a one-track-mindedness that was more intense than I'd ever experienced. Now, though, I've been amazed to find that my mind has been able to rest at last, and the feeling is wonderful. So in a nutshell, I've graduated with more than a college degree. I've graduated to a new level of life.

So anyway, as noted in my blast, regular blogging will resume shortly, probably once Christmas has passed. To all my friends, I wish you the best and most glorious of holidays.

Yours sincerely and appreciatively,

Phil

*If you wish to ask Yo Phil a question, simply leave a comment or send him a message (be sure to write "Yo Phil" in the message). Yo Phil is a registered trademark of Phil's Blog, "All Things Phil," ©2005-2006.

In what seems to me to still be surreal, I have officially completed my first bout of college education. This morning, I headed to class at 8:30 to kick off my last day of finals, of which I had two. As of now, those tests are completed, and I am home now, with what could arguably be considered the biggest smile ever plastered on my face. Though grades will not be in for some time (a week or three, depending on how lame my university is about posting them), I know that I am done.

Despite the fact that graduate school looms ahead, and that next semester I’ll be taking two classes (I can’t decide if I’m a glutton for punishment, or what–but my classes next semester are 100% elective, and two classes will be much less trouble than the five or six I’m used to. But whatever. The point is, I’ve reached a milestone for which I’ve yearned for what seems like ages, and yet thought was completely beyond my grasp.

I don’t mean to say that I didn’t think I could do it. I knew without a doubt that I could. What I didn’t know was if I could make it through while also experiencing the inner torment of a soul crying to be set free. To give you an idea of what I’m saying, I offer this timetable:

• Freshman year: Phil is a newbie college student, and quickly discovers he likes the atmosphere and feel of college. It’s exciting, new, different, and interesting. Phil takes lots and lots of credit hours, thinking he wants to be an engineer (only later to realize that that is the last thing he wants). He spends long hours studying, and meets some cool friends too.
• Sophomore year: Phil starts this year a little nervous, but excited about the prospect of studying this new subject of speech pathology. He continues to be quite studious, and unconsciously avoids friendships that might get too deep.
• Junior year: Phil continues on, totally caught up in this fascinating path of study. He continues to take sign language classes and decides to try for a second major in interpreting. Phil’s mind suddenly rebels, telling Phil that no longer can the distractions stop it from thinking. Doing what needs doing is impossible thanks to repressed thoughts surfacing and refusing to be put down. Sleep is lost at night as Phil fights an inner battle over what he desperately wishes was not true.
• Senior year: Phil finally relents, and accepts that which is a part of him. He holds a grudge for quite some time, but this first step of acceptance suddenly eases his mind somewhat, and he can focus on both his paths of study. In addition, he starts writing to help figure out what he’s all about. He starts a Yahoo! Group in October and then starts blogging a month later. Phil learns more and more how to express himself, and meets some amazing people. Phil discovers he doesn’t hate himself after all.
• 2nd senior year: Phil has accepted himself completely, and has come out to a number of close friends. He discovers freedom and happiness, at long last. Study is balanced with life. Phil seeks to continue his path to becoming openly gay. Though Phil is still burned out from school, he presses on, and at last succeeds and finishes his degrees!

I am, for the first time in my life, happy and content with all aspects of my being. I am thrilled to have reached this milestone. I am thrilled to have grown as much as I have. I am thrilled that I have accepted who I am inside. I am thrilled that I have wonderful friends, both in real life and right here. To all those reading this, I thank you for your support, encouragement, love, and most of all, for your friendship. I don’t know where I would be without you.

I have recently alluded to the fact that it has been less than warm on my end as of late. In fact, if one were to judge by my latest N3S entry, one would think it was fucking cold. And I would be inclined to say that that someone is right. Lest someone call me on the "cold" factor, yes, I know that there are other places that are much colder. But last week we experienced a few days where the high didn't go past 30, and with a wind chill factored in, it was generally below 20 degrees Fahrenheit. So for us desert dwellers, plenty cold.

As a result of this most recent span of butt-freezing temperatures, I have discovered a fascinating aspect of New Mexican culture. We do experience winter, from time to time, but mostly snow comes and goes within matter of days. The climate is pretty mild, and that suits us fine. But introduce weather that extends beyond our zone of comfort, and all hell breaks loose.

For instance, last Thursday, it went down to about 10 degrees, we got some snow, and there was enough precipitation on the ground that, sure enough, the roads were frozen over. Instantly, alarms went off, important people began making decisions, and bam! school was delayed. I'm really not complaining here, as it got me out of my morning classes, so I had the whole day off.

And even though the day remained at arctic temperatures, the ice that had formed was clearly on its way to melting on its lonesome. You can count on New Mexicans, though, to not allow such a natural course of events take place. Within no time, people everywhere are encouraged to stay home, and not to venture forth in their giant SUVs that would no doubt lose control because no one knows how to drive in these conditions (thus, this was wise).

But rather than just let nature take its course, city employees everywhere emerge with bog-loads of salt, and suddenly its like a crowd tossing birdseed or rice at a newly married couple. Salt flies through the air simultaneously all over town, hitting the streets and sidewalks and doing its salt thing.

One might think that a little salt would do the trick, and that it would be used wisely and precisely so as to get the job done, nothing more. But whoever thinks that is clearly not New Mexican. No, the New Mexican philosophy of the art of salting is that the more salt is concentrated in any given area, the faster it works. The result is that the ice melts (as expected) at exactly the same rate were moderation employed, and lots and lots of salt is left all over the streets and sidewalks.

But Phil, what do you know about salting icy roadways, you say. To which I reply, I know enough to realize that large piles of salt, to the point that not all the salt crystals even come close to touching the ice, are probably not necessary. Instead, these piles of salt are left all over the place, so that pedestrians (such as myself) should later slip on the sidewalk thanks to the clumps of salt scattered everywhere.

So while the ice is gone, one must take care not to slip on the salt. Should you ever visit New Mexico on an occasion such as this, you may now consider yourself warned.

It's time once again for a Not-So-Secret Secret (N3S). This is #22, but really it's only my fourth one to participate in. I was inspired by this one because I was left standing outside waiting for the shuttle last night for almost 20 minutes in the cold. That's right. I was stuck away from any nearby shelter when it was dark out, snowing, and a bone-chilling 18 degrees (28 without wind chill factored). It worked out nice, though, because it snowed, and then the streets got all icy, so I got to sleep in. I may live in the desert, and it's usually fairly mild, but it's a mile high here, and being right next to the mountains, it can get pretty damn cold (keep it down, midwesterners; I know, I know). So yeah, inspiration. Oh, and not to mention getting brave with my photo working skills. But no one wants to hear about that. And so now, N3S:

Don't forget to check out all the other great N3S posts!

*Picture courtesy of cold-mountain.com.

I have noticed a trend these days among the restaurant business that has nothing to do with food. It's particularly prevalent among chain restaurants. When I go to a restaurant, I'm interested in only one thing: eating. Why on earth would I care about your little "story"? It's not going to make me like your restaurant more if the food sucks.

Last week, I decided to venture out of the known realm of my little world and go to a new pizza place by campus. That pizza place is none other than self-proclaimed world-renowned franchise RedBrick Pizza.

Upon walking in, one might notice the subtle placement of a giant sign right at the counter, proclaiming the "history" of the joint, alongside various edited "facts" about the history of pizza. And just in case you missed that, take a quick glance at the menu, it's there too. (If you want a good laugh, you can read it here.)

My favorite part about all this is the absurdity of the place's name and how they prepare their pizza. For all the pomp and circumstance about using brick ovens, they're at least honest enough to mention that they use the finest new technology for making their pizzas. That's just a way to dodge saying that their "RedBrick" oven is not actually brick, but rather is a modern oven on the inside and stucco on the outside, with brightly colored tiles placed strategically to give the appearance of bricks (insert cheesy joke here).

And despite promises that their pizza is healthier and better for you as a result of their specialness, I have to admit I just don't want healthy pizza. I want good pizza, and if it's bad for me and could cause me great harm, oh well. I'm willing to take that chance.

While the desserts look at least semi-promising, the Italian ice cream (known as Gelato!), is less than a treat. That is, unless you like your ice cream so sugary that Frosted Flakes suddenly seem bland. The taste isn't bad, but if you eat more than a sample bite of the stuff, you'll live to regret it.

So the next time you're in the mood for something new, I would recommend avoiding this spot. You'll be glad you did.

I have lately found myself immersed in books, both in the form of study as well as in the form of enjoyment. At this point, I consider the two types mutually exclusive. Nothing I read for study these days is, shall we say, likable. Informative, sure, but still dreadful. Two books are at the forefront of my current reading list, and both have been cause for different rants. Today being Monday, I think a rant is in order.

• I’m reading a book for school that is written by a “professional.” This professional is a specialist in a field, and not a writer. I have to come to notice that there is a clear difference between the two. The author is clearly knowledgeable, but her writing style is atrocious. Her book is quite readable, though it actually feels conversational. While this may seem to be a nice touch, it lends itself to being far too wordy, not to mention chatty.

  Plus, and I wish I was joking here, she includes “illustrations” throughout the text. Only instead of using actual drawings, little Microsoft PowerPoint stick figures are used. They strike various poses, replete with question marks above their heads for “surprising” information. It’s all I can do to not gag.

• Thanks to a referral from my friend Dave (note: he mentioned this quite a while ago; my to-read list just happens to be about 20 miles long), I am currently immersed in Jasper Fforde’s The Eyre Affair. This book is captivating, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it. What I’m not enjoying, however, is the previous owner’s use of the book. As I do with many books, I bought this one at the used book store. Sometimes it’s fun to find used books with notes in them. I like to see what gets underlined, as that’s what’s generally found intriguing at the time, and I especially love little notes about ideas or thoughts from a reader. It makes a read very interesting, and I myself have been known to do such things on occasion.

  However, I draw the line when someone’s only markings are critical. Whoever owned this book before I did thought himself quite the editor. Every few pages, a word is circled that is deemed to be ungrammatical or a typo. I mean, really, what’s the point? We all know what the author meant, and in the grand scheme of things, a mistyped prepositional phrase doesn’t really make all that much difference to the story. I have a mind to go and erase all the markings so that I can enjoy this great work of fiction without being shown all its mistakes. So there.

I realize that, to some, now that Thursday has come and gone, Thanksgiving is out of the picture. But as someone still in school, the holiday has not yet passed in my mind. I continue to give thanks for everything in my life, including this much-needed break from the rigors (read: annoyances) of study.

But let us cast aside the usual things for which we are all thankful. I don't mean literally (I try to not take too much in life for granted), but rather for the sake of this discussion. You'll soon understand why.

This weekend, I have been fortunate enough to get something that's been missing in my life as of late. It has eluded me, taunting me at inappropriate times, and has at times been a great distraction. At long last, the unattainable has been attained, and it feels like a breath of fresh air.

First Wednesday, then Thursday, then Friday, all too wonderful to describe in words. I tell you, there's nothing quite like filling that void, and at last being free! And so it was, that with a certain thrill of excitement, I climbed into bed Wednesday night, closed my eyes, and surrendered myself to sleep. It was glorious.

I'm a new man. Getting to sleep in every day this weekend has renewed my energy, and given a much needed boost to my spirits. It seems amazing to me that sleep can make such a difference, and suddenly anything seems possible. The huge amounts of work I have left to do before I graduate in three weeks still looms over me, but I feel I can more readily accomplish it now that the secret weapon of slumber has been deployed.

So yes, I am thankful for sleep. And to the world, I say: bring it on.

Thought I’d forgotten about it, did you? Well, I didn’t. Here is the next installment of 33 Things, my continuing blog concerning random things about me. If you missed the others, check out #1-2 and #3-5.

#6

In the grand state of New Mexico, fall is still in full swing, and getting more awesome every day, in my opinion. I have never been able to pick a favorite season, mostly because every season has some aspect(s) that I love. I love nature, and in the fall, the changing of colors forever astounds me. Coupled with a desert sunset, the colors of fall are breathtaking. Now, though, most of the leaves have fallen, and trees are barren. But lo, there are leaves everywhere! I’m convinced that there is no better therapy than crunching through a big pile of leaves. I love stepping through them, kicking them, picking them up and throwing them over my head. Troubled thoughts subside, and suddenly the only thing that matters is that I feel alive, and the leaves make me happy.

#7

In the past, I’ve alluded to the fact that I love music. My latest obsession has been a song by a group from Austin called And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead. They just came out with a new CD, and the first song I heard from it, called “Wasted State of Mind,” got me completely hooked. Something about the intense drum rhythms that start the song, and lyrics that are simple but powerful, just gets me every time: Caught in a stasis, feels like I’m wasting all this time…

#8

Last weekend I was at the grocery, and on a whim decided to buy potato bread instead of my usual wheat bread. I’ve had it before, and always enjoyed it, but for some reason had never bought it. I now know why. Potato bread is so amazing that, I kid you not, the entire loaf was gone (including the ends) in less than three days. Mind you, I was the only one eating it. What can I say? When you stumble upon bread that good, eating it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is the only viable option. It’s maddeningly delicious.

*You were no doubt wondering about the picture, and marveling at its beauty. It was taken by yours truly on a beautiful November afternoon in Albuquerque.

This week's N3S topic is a freestyle. As is often the case, I had no idea what I wanted to do for this one, so I just decided to pick the first thing that came to mind. There tends not to be much rhyme or reason for these (in my case, at least), so whatever pops into my head first wins. I'll let this N3S speak for itself. Do enjoy.

*Picture courtesy of Grenada Explorer.

Lately, it seems I have a penchant for getting myself into situations that are, shall we say, tough to escape from. It's not exactly anything serious, but it has generated a fair amount of attention, the most recent occurrence of which involved my parking skills.

What started out as a night out to the theater ended up, to some, a night of hilarity, on my behalf. My friend and I went to the theater, and despite the tiny parking lot, I managed to park between a parked car and the fence that surrounded the lot. I thought it pretty clever that I managed to maneuver my car into the space.

Of course, at the time, I hadn't really considered exactly how I would get out of there, especially considering that the fence ran alongside my car, and then turned direction so that I was in a box, if you will. As we were leaving the theater, I took note of this fact, but figured I could get out the same way I got in.

I threw it in reverse before inching closer to the car next to me. Next, I turned the wheel a bit so that I could back up at an angle and then sort of weasel my way out. Let me just say here that this is much easier said than done. It's incredibly difficult to get out of this sort of spot, especially when your friend is laughing hysterically in the seat next to you.

Those quarters were tight, I tell you, and sure enough, I hit the fence behind me in this process. My next course of action was to continue this soon-to-be record-point turn. Before long, I had managed to move the car considerably, though somehow not in my favor.

My friend's laughter continued, and as invariably happens in such situations, I started laughing too, despite the fact that it was all completely unfunny. There I was, in the middle of the parking lot, trying to escape, and that stupid fence just didn't want things to go my way.

Only after countless more points to the turn was I able to get the back tires on the fence just enough for me to get the hell out of there. Not to worry, I was very careful not to hit any innocent bystanders, who judging by their smirks and tears of laughter (no doubt they could hear some of the conversation coming from me and my friend; that is, her maniacal laughter and my outbursts between guffaws), were not innocent at all.

All I can say is, for all my trouble, I'd better get into the Guinness Book of World Records for this one.

Today I proved myself stronger than I had ever given myself credit for. Not emotionally stronger, or psychologically stronger, or any other metaphorically strong sense one can be. No. Today I discovered my guns. That's right, underneath this glossy exterior are rippling muscles.

At this point, you might be wondering how it is I so suddenly made this discovery. I'm glad you asked. The circumstances were such that I bent steel. Superman, step aside, because you now have competition. Competition that is not only incredibly buff, but who even has social skills and yet still oozes masculinity.

Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. But that doesn't mean I'm not a force not to be reckoned with.

I was putting up lights in the theater today, and I came upon a light that thought it could get the upper hand. It fought gravity and tried every trick in the book to make me drop it. But lest we forget, I am extremely competitive. And I was not about to let any two-bit light feel the satisfaction of having beaten me. No.

What had started out as a friendly interaction of me simply trying to put up the light quickly turned into a life and death struggle. I took the light by the yolk (or handle, if you will), and moved it into position. As I aimed to fit the bolt through the hole, the light swung from side to side, trying to knock me off course. I resisted, using only one arm to do so, as the other arm's hand was holding the nut. Muscle strained against metal, but with a burst of strength, I pulled the light back into place.

Suddenly, and without warning, the light dropped downwards, making a beeline for the floor, where my innocent foot lay perched for support. Fighting the urge to punch the light's lights out, I dropped the nut and grabbed hold of the yolk with my other hand. Once I had regained control, I thought, "That's right, bitch! Take that!" Whether the light was telepathic remains to be seen, but the point is, I had gotten the upper hand, and it knew it.

The light sensed it was losing, and so it changed tactics. It eased up, lulling me into believing that it had accepted defeat. Again, I repositioned it with the bolt and slid it into place. I placed the washer underneath, and then began to screw on the nut. It was then the light struck back, a surprise attack!

The light had given way to gravity on only one side! This made it very difficult for me to hold it steady, as I had lost control of one half of it. But I was not about to give up, not then, not ever. With lightning-quick reflexes, I tensed all the muscles in my arm and tightened my grip on the yolk. I strained with all my might, not about to let the light move another inch. I held it steadfast, and quickly grabbed the washer and nut and slapped them into place.

With sheer agility, strength, and speed, I secured the nut on the bolt. Before the light even knew what was happening, I was screwing the nut on tighter and tighter. I grabbed the wrench by my side and, using pliers to hold the bolt in place, continued screwing that nut tighter and tighter with a skill as yet unmatched by anyone the light had ever encountered.

I continued screwing, clenching my teeth, my face scrunched up in an expression of victory. Faster and faster, I screwed the nut into place. Adrenaline pumped threw my body, allowing me to secure the light in place that much better. At last, I stopped, knowing that I had won. Always one to have the last word, I said, "That's what you get when you mess with me, Light. You lose!"

As I slowly came down from my victorious high, I surveyed the scene. In the heat of the moment, I had tightened the light into place so well that the steel beam on which it was secured had actually bent. An unfortunate victim of circumstance, but sometimes that's just the price you have to pay. In any event, I blame the light.

At a recent outing to my favorite coffee shop, I was subjected to what I can only call a horrifyingly fantastic scene. You know, one of those things that's downright awful, yet you're unable to tear your eyes (and ears) away from it. It was one of those. First, let me set the scene:

Me, sitting at my table, happily sipping my tea and reading one of the local publications. Enter a couple who, judging by the semi-awkwardness between them, have probably not been dating for very long. He's clean-shaven, dressed nice (presumably for the evening Broadway tour production going on nearby), with dark hair. She's a sight for sore eyes: alligator-skin shoes, short and tight black dress, accentuated to reveal her latest effort(s) at beauty, too much makeup, and straight blonde hair falling the length of her shoulder blades.

Wouldn't you know it, but the odd couple came and sat at the table adjacent to mine, and lucky me, I was subjected to her obnoxious gum-chewing self-important chatter for the next thirty minutes. I could easily have gotten up to move, but I was there first. Plus, I knew I was in for something amusing. And lo and behold, I was proven correct, as evidenced by the following conversation:

She With the Alligator Shoes: I'm very flamboyant, if you haven't already noticed.
The Guy: Mmmmm.
SWTAS: I am. Really. It's just how I am, I'm very flamboyant.
TG: [nod]
SWTAS: I mean, gosh, when I think about, I am so flamboyant. I really think I would make a fabulous gay man. You know, if I would have been born a gay man--er, a gay b--a gay man, I would be great. Totally.

Word-finding difficulty aside, I found the conversation to be a fascinating one, albeit stupid. I mean, gosh, really, who talks like that? It's so, like, nothing I've ever heard before, or ever, like, want to hear ever again.

At the same time, I found myself entertaining the notion that, were she to find out that the guy at the next table was himself a gay man, she might tear into me for not being as gay as I should be, in her less than humble opinion. I'd be a total disappointment to her, no doubt, especially because I lack her sense of so-called fashion. And you know what, I'm okay with that.

Yesterday, I happened to be doing something (what it was escapes me) of some importance, but I couldn’t tell you what it was (oh wait, I already said that) because my thoughts were drifting to other things. For some reason, I started thinking about writing, and I got to thinking about how often I encounter my name in literature. I decided to do an Amazon.com search for my name just for kicks. It was kinda fun, so I figured I’d make it into a nifty little blog exercise. Seeing as I’ve never started one of these activities before, I thought it’d be fun to do, and quite appropriate considering what an avid reader I am. So if you would like to participate, let me know so I can be sure to read your entry, and here are the rules:

1. Go to www.amazon.com
2. Enter your first name into the search bar, and select books from the drop-down menu.
3. Select only the first five books that have your name. Your name can be that of the author or a part of the title. (If an author with your name has more than one work, use only the first book that comes up.)
4. Write up a short synopsis of each book.
5. Post your list and these instructions in a blog entry titled “Read [your name]!“.

Mine turned up some obvious results, as well as some different and interesting results. I’ve included links just in case you wish to learn more about these books and all that.

NOTE: Because my own list did not actually involve much in the way of actual literature, I have opted to take the books somewhat less than seriously. It is my hope that you do not encounter this same problem.

1. Love Smart: Find the One You Want–Fix the One You Got

   It comes as no surprise that this first book is one by the uninteresting and totally un-fun Dr. Phil, my arch-nemesis and competitor to Yo Phil (to find out more about Yo Phil, click here). Unfortunately, despite the cul-de-sac hair-do and poorly grammaticized title, and the fact that he leans on a heart on the cover, for crying out loud, his books seem to sell. It’s depressing.

2. Phil Gordon’s Little Blue Book: More Lessons and Hand Analysis in No Limit Texas Hold’em

   This one (here’s the link), by Phil Gordon and Chris Ferguson, lacks not only an interesting title, but also an interesting subject. I like how it’s all very direct, but at the same time I find it lacks creativity. If I was a master card player and teacher, like this guy, I probably wouldn’t be spending my time writing boring books. Maybe his card career is over and he just needs the dough. Reliving the past, I suppose, in which case I pity the guy.

3. Rule #1: The Simple Strategy for Successful Investing in Only 15 Minutes a Week!

   Phil Town is the author of this one. At this point, I’m beginning to see a trend in authors named Phil. Seems they’re all pretty nutty, and all seem to want to boss you around (or, to use their words, “teach” or “advise” you). The “15 Minutes” part of this title makes it sound more like a health/fitness program instead of being about investing.

4. You’re Lucky You’re Funny: How Life Becomes a Sitcom

   Phil Rosenthal, rather than follow the trend of the three authors above, chose instead to actually write a story, albeit a semi-autobiographical one. His book is about how he used his own funny life stories and Ray Romano’s stand-up comedy to write for Everybody Loves Raymond, the mildly amusing but not-too-memorable sitcom. The book, according to the editorial review, still has elements of insight that aspiring TV sitcom writers will find useful. Therefore, I probably will not be reading this anytime soon.

5. Kill Phil: The Fast Track to Success in No-Limit Hold’em Poker Tournaments

   While I at first loved the title for its hint at the title to Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill movies, it seems that this book (by Blair Rodman and Lee Nelson) is yet another “how to” book. How boring. What I do get a kick out of is that the title seems to be a slap in the face to aforementioned author #2, Phil Gordon. If I were to guess by the title, Phil Gordon must have made some enemies in the Texas Hold’em tournament world. I smell drama!

While I’m usually full of ideas for my blog, I have lately found my sense of creativity somewhat listless. Because everything in life needs a scapegoat, I blame it on a number of things going on for me at the moment. Much has been cluttering my mind these days, and I’m trying desperately to rectify the situation. Of course, that’s easier said than done. It’s difficult to collect one’s thoughts when they’re racing to and fro, and when only one thing seems to be at the forefront of the mind: a sense of urgency. If I play my cards right, then this, too, shall pass.

For the moment, I leave with a nicely bulleted list of random spectacles that grabbed my attention for one of two reasons: it was hilarious, or else it was pretty sad (it’s mostly the latter, minus the first bullet). I hope you enjoy.

• Riding the shuttle to campus the other day, I was subjected to a shirt that may as well have read “This is a nerd shirt.” Mind you, that’s not a bad thing. I myself even own a shirt like that, and I admit that I actually find it amusing when people just don’t get it. Anyway, this shirt was covered in equations that, when looked at closely, were all wrong. For instance, it had Einstein’s equation for the energy of all particles listed as E=mc³. The message of the shirt read: “Don’t Drink and Derive.”
• I ride a shuttle bus to and from the parking lot to campus. Generally I ride it twice a day, though if I have the time and/or daylight, I like to walk. Back to the point. Drivers seem to be unusually ballsy lately, and not in a good way. I’ve seen a number of cars cut off buses in traffic, or turn left right in front of them. This stupidity seems to be mistaken for bravery for many drivers, judging by the smug expressions on their faces, no doubt all of them thinking, “That bus is so slow, I can pull in front of it in my car that weights twenty times less.” People, people, people. Read my lips: do NOT play chicken with a bus, for if you lose (and no doubt you will), you will most likely not live to tell the tale.
• While out driving the other day, I saw a pedestrian trying to cross a driveway for a local business. There was a car waiting to turn, the driver of which thought he would be courteous to the pedestrian and allow said pedestrian more space to cross the drive. The driver threw his car into reverse and backed up for the pedestrian, and in the process nearly hit the car just behind him. Pay attention, people.
• And finally, while at a red light over the weekend, I witnessed a pedestrian crossing the street. Not out of the ordinary, you say. Well, no, but crossing through the middle of the intersection? Indeed, this woman was in the middle of the intersection. She crossed from one side of the middle to the other, and then, without looking, crossed to another corner. A few cars had to slam on their brakes to keep from hitting her. And yet she remained oblivious. She must have been crazy.

I've never had what one might call an irrational fear of heights. As an adventurous kind of guy, I've more often than not reveled in the joys of altitude. Maybe it's the sense of danger. You know, giving gravity an advantage over me should it happen to get the best of me when I'm aiming to escape its clutches.

But the point is, the rare times I do find myself afraid of heights, it's purely, 100% rational. Indeed, there are instances in which I find heights more terrifying than, say, Cher in a bald cap. This fear was thrust upon me last Friday.

It was an ordinary day in the theater, and there was work to be done. As luck would have it, I ended up having to use the Genie. If using a new and stable Genie, the experience is actually really sweet. You feel like you're on top of the world (literally), and once you get over the initial uneasiness of being so high up without a fully walk-able floor beneath you, it's actually lots of fun.

However (you knew this was coming, don't deny it), in the case that the Genie is old and of questionable sturdiness (as was the case for me), the experience is quite different. Needless to say, I bravely grabbed a wrench and hopped into the basket, then pressed the buttons that sent my soon-to-be beloved solid ground away from me. I rose steadily higher, still not expecting the vertigo that was to come (I had been up in a Genie before, but one that was considerably more stable, not to mention new; thus, the whole vertigo phenomenon was not part of that experience).

Once I arrived at the suspended lights I was to focus, I yelled down to the guy who was helping me out from below.

Me: "Okay, I'm all set."
Him: "Okay, do [technical feat]."
Me: "I'm on it."

I proceeded to do said technical feat. In the process, my intense focus on the light was disrupted by a sudden sense of circulation. Distracted, I diverted my eyes from the lights, first looking straight forward, and then slowly letting my gaze fall upon my feet. I had hoped that it was just an adrenaline rush, but was crushed to discover that the whole basket was wobbling in circles. My body swayed with the motion, my feet swaying in motion with the basket, and the rest of my body following slightly behind that rhythm.

Instinct kicked in, thankfully, and my grip tightened around the pole holding the light. Fortunately, that helped me feel more secure. Unfortunately, the wobbling only got worse, and when I looked up at the pole, it dawned on me that the damn thing was itself suspended from steel wire. This did nothing to boost my confidence. Rather, it threw into question my sanity. On the plus side, it strengthened my resolve on one very important issue: I had to get the hell out of there.

I pestered the guy below until, after a few more agonizing minutes of fiddling with lights (me thinking the whole time that I was surely about to encounter doom at any second), I at last was given the go-ahead to come back down.

I swear, the machine could not return me to earth fast enough, and once my feet were back on solid ground, I felt a sudden urge to fall forward and kiss the ground. Thanks to nerves and muscles that were all tense, I was unable to actually act upon this urge. Which is probably a good thing, considering how disgusting the newly painted stage no doubt was.

I'm happy to report that I emerged victorious, and have adjusted quite well to life on solid ground once again. With newfound appreciation for that solid ground, too. It really is lovely.

While puttering around town yesterday, I happened to drive by a construction site. A new addition to a hospital is going up, a huge wing. Rather than simply saying "New Children's Center!!", it proclaims the name of the politician who's currently governor here, and his wife. So it's going to be the "Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So Children's Center."

This got me thinking. What sort of twisted logic was used to name a medical establishment after a politician? It just seems so wrong. I guess I could understand the case of extreme emergency: "Uh, yeah, I just suffered a [enter terrifying condition here]. Since this hospital is named after me, all services are free for me, right? I mean, after all, without my name on it, it wouldn't even be here."

If this is the case, then I'm dropping everything immediately and am going to have my name put on all sorts of establishments I frequent. Satellite Coffee would become Phil's Satellite Coffee. Saggio's Pizza would become Philio's Pizza. Brickyard Pizza would be Philyard Pizza. Nothing But Noodles is now Nothing But Phil's Noodles. And just so I can corner the market, Cold Stone would be Cold Stone a la Phil.

But of course, places of sustenance are only the beginning. I'd also have to name a few chain stores (specifically book stores and electronics stores). People will see a difference in names (i.e. Phil and Noble or Philcuit City), and will immediately realize that that store is superior to all others. I'll demand a percentage of the profits for use of my name, and I'll never have to work again.

Before long, the name Phil will be associated with inventions, brilliance, and will in general be held in complete awe. Day-dream aside, that wouldn't actually be all that bad, would it? I, for one, would get a kick out of it.

This week's Not-So-Secret Secret (N3S) topic is "Questions for the Opposite Sex". After wracking my brain for ideas, I came up with what you see below. Part of what I found challenging about this was that my perspective differs from that of many men, mainly because I'm not straight. I drew on some experiences I've had in the past that I thought suited this topic nicely. I hope you like it.

*Original picture courtesy of Pure Energy.

No doubt the title to this blog entry has piqued your curiosity. What you're about to read is offered based upon experience. I highly recommend that you take this advice to heart, as it could potentially save your life. Unless you're a trained professional, don't try this at home. (I am not trained, nor am I a professional; the fact that I did this anyway should serve not as inspiration, but as a warning for you not to follow in my footsteps.) For your convenience, I have broken these instructions down into a series of steps.

How to test if your smoke detector is working properly

1. Buy cheap, really greasy breaded fish* from the store.
2. Preheat oven and place fish inside when ready.
3. When smell of smoke meets nostrils (note: this probably happens about when smoke starts getting into eyes, causing them to burn), proceed to open window to help vent area.**
4. Realize that window is not enough, so open door.
5. Try frantically to grab smoke with bare hands and push it out the door.***
6. Allow reality to sink in.
7. Slowly stop crazed activity, and prepare to hear loud fucking beeps.
8. Jump in surprise when smoke detector starts its siren song.
9. Climb on chair to stop beeping smoke detector.
10. Open oven, get blasted by smoke, and pull fish out, deciding that fish is, in all likelihood, done cooking.****

*These steps were written precisely, and only after first researching this method (albeit unintentionally). Chances are that a variety of other fantastically greasy foods would suffice.

**Opening a window before actually starting to cook will decrease the likelihood that the smoke detector will go off, thereby completely missing the point.

***Smoke, being of a gaseous nature, cannot be grabbed. It slips through the hands, thus making the grabbing of smoke a bitterly frustrating endeavor.

****This incredible procedure was devised after my recent Saturday night cooking escapade, which involved both cooking fish and setting off the smoke detector as a result. And yes, the fish was indeed done cooking, and to top it off, with the addition of tartar sauce, the fish wasn't half bad.

Today marks a birthday I had no idea I would ever be celebrating. It was one year ago that I wrote my very first blog entry! (If you like, you can read it here.) I stumbled upon Yahoo!360 after setting up my Yahoo! Group, Real Gay People. I saw a small ad for 360 and, curious, clicked on the link. I set up my basic profile that October. Then, for no reason in particular, I tried writing a blog on November 2, 2005. I had little knowledge of what a blog was, except that I had heard the word mentioned in passing on one or two occasions.

I had set up my Yahoo! Group with the intention of having a place to voice my own thoughts. One year ago, I was still struggling greatly with coming to terms with my sexuality. Starting the group was a conscious effort, whereas starting a blog was something I had never considered, and when posting that fateful first entry, I had no intention of continuing to post on the blog.

That is, until I discovered that there were other blogs to read, and that there were people who actually started to notice what I was writing. My blog attracted attention, while I was having difficulty attaining readership for my group (which is still up and running, and though small, I continue to post to it and hold discussions).

Were it not for my first friends, I wonder if I would have continued blogging. I never imagined I would become a blogger, and never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would actually meet real people on the internet and get to know them as well as I have discovered is possible. I have to thank my first friends for fueling the fire. I hadn't realized how much I enjoyed writing. And I had no idea I would make such great friends as I have. Nikki, Adrian, Kev, Stephie, Dave, Javacat, you were all among my earliest friends, and remain my friends to this day.

To those whom I met as my blog life progressed, I am so lucky to have met you. Missy, Dani, Thom, Rod, Sheldon, Sucka, Daisy, Jefe, Zusiqu, and everyone I have met (you know who you are). To all my 360 friends, you have no idea what a difference you have made in my life.

During my time here, I have seen people come and go, I have seen drama, I have seen life, I have seen love and laughter. And through my own blog, I have seen myself grow. I have grown from being a rather timid guy afraid to simply be himself for fear of how people (in real life and readers of my blog) would perceive him as a gay guy, to someone who discovered a love of writing, interacting with people, making friends, learning about life and the world, and to just be a Phil guy (I could never thank you enough, Missy).

The world of 360, though seemingly a virtual one, has been proven real to me. I have been fortunate enough to have met two very special friends from 360. First, I met fellow Albuquerquian blogger Francesca. I got to go to her graduation party, and I even got to meet all sorts of family and friends of hers. We've been for coffee as well. What amazed me was that when I met Francesca, I felt as if I already knew her. Reading her blog and interacting with her made it so easy to talk to her, because I already knew her. It was very exciting and fun to meet her in real life. (Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures to share).

The second person I had the pleasure of meeting in person was none other than the big sister I never had (I'm the little brother she never had)...Nikki! I spent the summer in Minnesota, and so of course I had to make sure I met Nikki at some point while I was out there. Though we both suffered from busy summer schedules, we managed to get together and hang out for pizza and ice cream. Like before, it was very easy to talk to Nikki (and I got to meet her husband too), since I'd known her for quite some time by that point.

And now, I end this lengthy birthday blog with some long-awaited pictures of me and Nikki. Though we met at the end of July, I own only a 35mm camera and so had to wait for the film from my camera to get developed. And then of course I had to learn how to post multiple pictures, and that required time. Finally, I have time, and how appropriate that it is on this day. So I hope you enjoyed hearing about my little blog history, and enjoy the pictures. (Oh, and don't be fooled, I'm still Nikki's little brother, the camera just made a for a weird perspective.)

Me and Nikki, saying Cheese!

Showing our tough signs. Of course, my hand was nearly immobile at that point,
as I was still stuck in my splint after my unfortunate accident.

I always enjoy dressing up for Halloween, though admittedly I'm not terribly good at it. I went to a Halloween party last Saturday, one I had had no idea I would even be going to, let alone that it was happening. Anyway, I was short on time (and clothing--I was working a show at the theater) and I needed a costume. So I threw on my green jacket and some sunglasses and went as a pilot. Not terribly original, but given the lack of notice, I figured it wasn't altogether that bad.

Anyway, since today is Halloween, I decided I wanted to do something different on my blog. I've so far enjoyed seeing different posts, everything from discussion about costumes, to pictures, to cartoons and videos. Myself, I had no inspiration, except that I wanted my blog to go "in costume". But how? How does one dress a written blog in costume? The only way I could think to do it was to write something completely out of character for me. I tell you what. Keep reading, and I'll let you decide if I succeeded in this Costume Blog endeavor.

*Note: Picture was done using The Pumpkinizer!!!

How should I dress for this special night
Adventures most surely await me
Perhaps this night is full of fright
Perchance I at last set myself free

Yonder there, the sweet candy awaits
Hovering just beyond my very grasp
Afraid that others may see my face
Life is fine hiding behind this mask

Lurking so that none can recognize
Original costume I did create
Woeful and sad may seem my cries
Elysian fields do tempt my plate

Ever does this character crave
Noble beauty and solace of that enclave

I realize I'm about a month overdue for Dave's Delicious Challenge, but that doesn't mean I forgot about it. The challenge is to create a whole menu using only one letter of the alphabet (in my case, it's the letter I). If you wish to play along, leave me a comment saying so, and I'll assign you a letter. (Note: You may want to follow Dave's example rather than mine, as his is sheer perfection.)

And now, without further adieu, I welcome you to...

Iphilio's Eclectic Kosher Ristorante!

Iphilio's Eclectic Kosher Ristorante celebrates food from the world over. Can I get you started with something to drink? We have Iced Tea with lemon, or perhaps you'd consider our specially imported Irn-Bru (pronounced Iron Brew), direct from England? This soft drink is sure to knock your socks off. If you want a happy hour beverage, we have Irish Coffee or even the Usher-influenced Incredible Hulk.

And to get started on some food, can I get you some Icelandic Snowflake Bread? I assure you, it's delicious. The bread is shaped into a unique snowflake shape, then fried, and it's chilled before it's served. I assure you, you won't even need butter, our Icelandic Snowflake Bread is so good. If you like, I can also bring out some of our famous Italian Dip for you. Italian dressing, parmesan cheese, garlic, and cayenne pepper make this dip a favorite you won't want to miss out on. The blend of cultures in food is exquisite!

Now, what can I get you today? How about the Inconnu? It's a popular whitefish, and is irresistible with our one-of-a-kind blend of pepper, onion, Italian dressing, and lemon. Add our patented tartar sauce and your mouth will be watering. Served with iceberg lettuce and the option for an iron-toasted bun (on our iron grill used exclusively for buns).

For dessert, we have ice cream of a variety of flavors. You can try our Irish Cream Cheesecake, voted Best Cheesecake Ever! by the local newspaper. Or you could enjoy our amazing Impossible Pie, the coconut and vanilla flavored wonder straight out of Great Britain, a pie so good it makes its own crust.

Thanks for stopping by Iphilio's Eclectic Kosher Ristorante! Tell your friends about us, and we'll see you soon! Have a nice day.

*A special thanks to Foodgeeks.com and Wikipedia, without whom all this would not have been possible.

Due to great response from my recent blast, I've decided to post a review of a new CD I purchased. I've only done one review ever before, early in my blog days, so if you want to check it out, read it here. Generally, I don't fancy myself much of a reviewer, and like to leave those to my friend Cameron, who writes killer reviews. So here goes.

*NOTE: I urge you to keep in mind that I do NOT own The Killers' first album, Hot Fuss. I am familiar with some of the music, but not the entire CD. Therefore, I might be biased, but oh well.

I picked up The Killers' new CD, Sam's Town, on a whim. I had heard only one song on the radio while at a local pizza spot, but didn't really hear it that well. As an adventurous guy, I picked up the CD.

From the moment the first track began, I found myself completely hooked. The sound is such that you're drawn in, and the mix of music with vocals can only be described as mesmerizing. Lyrics flow naturally with the music, and everything just seems to make sense. It didn't take long for me to get lost in the rhythms and start singing along, even though I didn't yet know any of the words.

One of the dangers of sophomore albums, and of being in the popular alternative music scene (or any popular music scene, for that matter), is the tendency to get stuck releasing the same album with new lyrics. The Killers have shown that they are not afraid to grow, and to broaden their musical horizons.

Sam's Town is without a doubt a product of its own genius. All of Hot Fuss's instruments are there, and this time there's other new instruments as well, and the album showcases a diversity of ideas, rhythms, lyrics, and music. As I have become more familiar with the album, I've found myself in awe of introductions that start out not altogether convincing, and suddenly an amazing song develops right before my very eyes. The lack of predictability throughout the album is extremely refreshing.

What is also refreshing is that, even though there are choruses to songs, there is still lyrical diversity, reminiscent of songwriting from fellow bands like The White Stripes and Lostprophets. Change within songs throughout make the CD flow more smoothly from one song to the next, and listening only one time through is never enough.

When you listen to Sam's Town, prepare yourself for a musical journey unlike any you've ever experienced. Lose yourself in the diversity of a band whose talent speaks for itself, and whose influences, while pinpointed by followers and critics alike, range from a far larger spectrum than they are given credit for. Needless to say, The Killers do not disappoint.

Today's entry is about Skeletons in Your Closet. It's N3S #19. My friend Daisy started these a while back, and they're wildly cool and fun. I'm a huge fan of them, only I've never actually done one. Recently, Daisy and a few others set up a whole blog site for them, which is where all N3S is now located. I know I'm a tad tardy posting this, but it's my first one ever and so I'm doing it anyway. I hope you like it.

Continuing on the journey of 33 Things, today's entry ventures into more random thoughts from my head. If you missed the first entry, check it out here.

#3

When I drink a cold drink, I always prefer that it have ice. Not so much to keep the drink super cold, but to have something to keep me amused once all the liquid has vanished. Indeed, I like to suck on and/or crunch ice. Don't worry, I don't crunch too much, so those of you who were about to scream "you're breaking all the enamel off your teeth!!!" needn't worry. While I generally enjoy this activity, I also find it frustrating, for two reasons:

• The last piece of ice in the cup has a nasty tendency to remain at the very bottom of the cup, and there's nothing you can do about it. It'll stay there no matter how hard you pound the bottom of the cup/glass/mug. Unless you reach in with your hand to grab it, that thing's not going away until it melts.
• If you have plenty of ice, you're bound to have some pieces stuck together. A normal sized piece of ice is fine, but the conglomerates don't fit will into your mouth, making it a pretty painful experience to try to hold it in your mouth. So you spit it back into the cup, then try raising your glass for a different piece. Only you can't get another piece, thanks to that darn chunk always managing to stay on top of the others. Talk about maddening.

#4

I've had to visit my college bookstore a few times over the last couple of weeks. I always like to browse the clearance section, as occasionally I stumble upon a great book or a book I desperately want to read for a rockin' great price (read: cheap, inexpensive, and/or fitting to someone on a college budget). Upon last said visits, I noticed a few FoxTrot calendars on clearance, going for approximately $2. What a deal! Except that it's a 2006 calendar, and we're halfway through October already. I wonder of the book store folks wonder why those darn calendars won't sell. Personally, I don't have the heart to tell them.

#5

I generally find myself fascinated (and amused) by shifts in trends. Lately, I've noticed that the sunglasses industry has a popular new style of sunglasses. It's like a cross between the classic Aviators and Star Trek. The lenses are pretty large, for one thing. But here's the kicker: they now only have one solid lens. The two oval/circular shaped lenses are connected in the middle (at the bridge of the nose). At first, I thought it was the dumbest idea, because we don't need that part over our nose. I mean, we can't even see that part of our face, and thanks to our incredible binocular vision, our visual fields overlap, eliminating the need for the lens around the bridge of the nose. While at the store, I looked at a pair for sale and found that the bridge piece still exists, and that "extended" lens is only there for the sake of coolness. Needless to say, I was disappointed.

*Image courtesy of Travelizmo.