The Second Entry is the Hardest

What should a scrawny intellectually stunted 20 something write about? How does said person top the previous post of flat-out awesomeness? I do not know the answers to the above questions, but I'm going to stumble my way around until I find it.

I currently have two sharpie marks on the tops of both hands signifying that I have made it through yet another hometown youth show. It has gotten difficult for myself to get excited due to the fact that it is a completely new wave of kids putting on shows and playing a different genre, this time synth-rock. Whenever I'm in these places I hear the little 15 year old kid in me say "go make fun of someone, throw an elbow and dance like a moron." Which, don't get me wrong, is still fun but when you're an "old timer" like me it can be an inner-dual between egos that can cause a headache that rivals that of a nanny after the children she supervises finds the hidden stash of pixy sticks and rockstars.

On a somewhat related note, as I was building cardio by walking extremely slow on an out-of-date treadmill at the athletic club I read an interesting article regarding Edvard Munch's admiration for the work of Soren Kierkegaard. The magazine that I was reading inferred that Edvard Munch's scream was in fact inspired by Kierkegaard's silent inner struggle. I read that a recurring theme in Kierkegaard's journal is that he is unable to confide in anyone and that no man may never fully know his story, thus perpetuating his emotional decline until he, in Munch's eyes, can do nothing but scream unto the deaf ears of pedestrians. Keep in mind this is the "hear-say" Mike Experience version of the article.

Considering that uplifting tale of a philospher, synth rock and trying to decide whether or not to act like a moron in public isn't that bad especially when you've been able to find one to confide in.

Free Time = New Blog

Amid the multiple time consuming ventures such as, work, school and church I have found a refuge in the day of Thanksgiving. Due to this glorious holiday of food and fake football I have been able to embark on an amazing journey into the world of blogging. YEAH! That means to all you out there, who ignore all the substantial and edifying features of the internet to search blogger, are in for a real treat.

I begin my blogging career with a tale of triumph, well it's not as much a tale as it is a personal epiphany, that involves myself and various weight lifting devices. For all those who read this who aren't my "bff's" and do not know me in "r/l," I'm not gifted in the realm of athletics or physical masculinity. Some would go as far to call me "weak." When I found myself in the local athletic club the strong folks had already commandeered the free weights so I had to settle for something that was comparable to a medieval torture device. I meandered my way over to this device and sat down grasping the rubber handles with my feet facing out in front of me which were held down by a horizontal padded bar that was part of an intricate pulley system. After many failed attempts to move said padded bar without pulling the leg hair off my shins I had decided that I had had enough.

When I had slipped my way out of the padded-bar-seat-trap, my eyes had caught a glance of an adjustment device. "What a moron," were the words I said to myself after noticing this device. I then fixed this machine to my physical needs and sat down far more comfortably awaiting to completely dominate this feminine leg machine. I gripped the handles, did a little pre-strain-wiggle and then struggled to lift the padded bar once more... again, to no avail. I repeated this process of re-adjusting and struggling for a good 5 minutes, in the moments when the other patrons were busy with their workouts, until I had finally been able to conquer the 80 pounds I was trying to lift with my quads.

This experience prompted my epiphany. Gyms were created to make a fool of the tall and scrawny because not only can you not lift the weights but you have to re-adjust every machine before you realize you're a failure.