my most recent grand accomplishment

I am approaching the end of a day in which I have not: stepped outside once, finished any chores, bonded with my child, had a meaningful conversation with my wife, discovered anything new, or pursued any creative endeavor. In a fit of very mild desperation I struggle to think, "What is it that has made this day at all worthwhile?"

And I just remembered... I finally looked up that song that was stuck in my head from a TV commercial: "We Turn It Up" by Oh Land.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ebqr_0vPc4

Not too shabby.

do i have a blog in me?

A long time ago I thought I had a book in me. Now, what I actually have in me is mostly beer and junk food, and my grand ambition is to simply push out a few blog posts every week. I'm in an endeavor which only requires - at a bare minimum - that I dump out whatever crap is in my head, and I'm still not sure I can keep it up. I'm ever so lazy...

the shmentor recommends: guacamole for dinner

Tonight we had fresh guacamole for dinner - AGAIN! Only guacamole, chips, and beer. For anyone not too sure about the wisdom of eating only guacamole for dinner, I offer this rationalization: a bowl of guacamole is really no different than eating a bowl of really thick, healthy soup. Corn is somewhere in the family tree of the average tortilla chip,  and beer is made from hops, which are some form of vegetable or plant or something. Thus spake the shmentor.

an ostentatious display of pride

Not long after we moved to the DC metro I stuck this on my bumper as a display of state pride for our ex home state. One of my co-workers saw it one afternoon and said, "What's that mean? I love sandwiches?"

"No! Only the coolest state EVER!!"

BLANK STARE

"It's Oregon. It means I love Oregon."

"Ohhhh....."

Note to the Oregon State Tourism Board: Nobody knows what the state of Oregon looks like on a map.

Note to self: Sandwiches are awesome. Keep the bumper sticker and from now on loudly proclaim my love for sandwiches.

sincerely yours

Allow me to introduce myself. I’m your new shmentor – or not. Who cares? You weren’t looking for a mentor? That’s okay. In fact, it’s better, because I’m not a mentor. I’m a shmentor. I dress poorly. I eat too much. I don’t invest. I don’t care about my career. I suspect I don’t know much about anything. Above all, I give bad advice.

How does that saying go? Something about a riddle wrapped in an enigma surrounded by mystery? Well, I’m not that. I’m more of a magic eight ball wrapped in a paper towel, or maybe a little sausage wrapped in a piece of bacon, smothered with barbeque sauce, and held together with a toothpick.

As a shmentor, I promise I will not:

- lend you any money

- get a tan or lose weight

- share my Doritos

- withhold my last beer