Music. Wait, wha??

So you're probably bored with all the "whine whine whine" and "OMG WHERE AM I GOING IN LIFE??" Yeah, I am too. Soooo, instead, I'll give you a little musical tour of my "finds" on youtube. You know, because while I wait for SOMEONE to take this damn apartment off my hands, I've got no life. And that's where youtube swoops in and solves all my problems! While also ensuring that the only light I see is through my window.

Without further ado - and before you start thinking I'm some sad, saaaad excuse for a human being (which I am, but you don't need to know that) - here are a few of my favorite songs/artists from the Tube.

First off, my most recent find. Part of me just wishes they would do all of Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek" because their harmony is SO GOOD.

Next, this girl has one of my favorite voices. Ever. And part of me is sad she's not signed somewhere. Actually, it's most of me, and I'm really just a blithering mess of "Someone pleeeaaaasse get this girl a contract!!"

Then - from what I understand - we have one of the first "internet bands". These guys started collaborating together online, and they're awesomesauce. I've got no idea where they are now, but they should be in my apartment. Singing for me.

Next, this girl is LOUD. And very good. She's got one of those incredible, soaring voices. Just watch the guy that's playing the guitar.

And concerning two of the people that Kat Badar referenced in the previous video (in the beginning), Cathy Nguyen and Andrew Garcia (who I knew of before American Idol. ME. I KNEW OF HIM BEFORE THAT) do a mean duet. They're all connected in some bizarre way (aka friendship. Psh, who does that?) and like to sing together. WHATEVS.

As for this guy, I have no idea who he is and I'll probably never know. Whoever was filming this, though, I'm going to find them and kiss them on the forehead. It's funny how such a simple folk song can sound so pure and haunting.

I like this one because it reminds me of the joys of everyday life. And that we're all our most beautiful when we're happy. (And that sometimes I get really corny).

Lastly (at least for now), here's a little Disney. If anyone out there can sing and play like this, you're giving me a private concert. Or you could just get AJ Rafael for me and save yourself. Also, I WANT THAT PIANO.

So basically, I should be a youtube talent scout. That's really what I'm telling you. And you should hire me and pay me MILLIONS of dollars because I'm SO GOOD AT THIS. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Time to move on...but to where?

So, it's more or less official: I'm moving back to Maryland. Sitting in my apartment in Los Angeles, waiting for the phone to ring about an interview or to receive an email inquiring about one thing or another...none of that ever came. Honestly, I wasn't sure about what to expect out here as I tried to find a job. I'm no genius, nor aerospace engineering superstar. I never expected to be batting-off the big companies as they scrambled to offer me high-paying positions. Then again, I wasn't expecting to hear absolutely nothing. It's a bit of a humbling experience, knowing you're not even worth a minute's consideration. But all that - all that searching for and (hopefully, eventually) finding a good, steady job in California - is now in the past. Our quiet failures, along with our outrageously loud successes, all amount to the great bundle called life experience. This venture to California was no different, and now it's time for me to learn from that experience and move on.

So what did I learn? I've got no idea. Perhaps that California's economy sucks, and everything in Los Angeles is way overpriced. Or maybe that it's next to impossible to be seen in a job market flooded with struggling, desperate, unemployed individuals. People who probably have a better understanding of what they want in life than I do, and therefore pursue it with greater vigor. As much as I had wanted a job in Los Angeles, I was never certain about which particular direction to take. And unfortunately, upon leaving Los Angeles, I'm just as confused.

Life lessons or not, I'm spending these days trying to figure out how to turn my move home from two steps back to three steps forward. Which is interesting if you don't know which way to walk. I've got a few general options though - the same options that seem to haunt every decision we make in life:

A.) To be comfortable. For me, this means coming home, finding a job locally, and waiting for something to inspire me. The comfort comes from having my family and friends around, along with (if this path is successful) a decent engineering job. I could work until that one thing finally came along and slapped me. It would all be a matter of waiting and recognizing that opportunity when it arrived.

B.) Be proactive and do something completely different. I've whittled this option down to one direction - joining the Air Force. It's a big decision, though, and will probably guarantee to be nothing like I'm expecting (which could be a good or bad thing). It also forgoes the many perks of the comfortable path - being around my family and my friends, the ability to choose exactly I want to do at any given time. My life would have structure, yes, although I may not play as big a role in shaping it.

Given the choice of the two, you'd think the answer might be obvious - to choose the life where you get to make the choices, decide where you want to go. Lately, though, it seems like those choices are a burden. I don't know where I want to go, and I don't know what I want to do. So maybe it's best if I take the guess work out of the picture. But where does that leave me in 4+ years? Am I happy with how I spent my time? Do I finally have a direction? And did I give up something truly good when I left the comfortable path?

I'll being weighing those two options for the next week or so (HOPEFULLY by which time I'll have finally gotten someone to rent my apartment and can move home), and I'd appreciate all the input I can get. There are some that tell me a change would be good, that the military life would be a great direction for me. And there are others who advocate more that I stay the comfortable path. Is there a right answer? I don't think so. I don't think it will come down to what is right, but rather what is best. And finding what is best will probably prove to be just as complicated as the road that lies beyond it.

A story with no endings

Lately, it seems like I've been preparing for the wrong things my entire life. Throughout school, I prepared to become an engineer - learning calculus and physics and technical writing. I prepared to start a family and settle down with 2.5 kids - learning about dating and marriage and children...and even retirement. I observed and I learned. I prepared, and I thought I understood. And then I stepped out of school...stepped out of the observing and preparing. And I learned that I knew nothing about reality. The problems I faced weren't 2-dimensional, with choices A, B, and C. They were excruciatingly complex, full of dynamic variables and unforeseen consequences.

And yet - were I to complain about this fact - I would no doubt be met by a chorus of I-told-you-so's. Because I was warned. "You'll get a nice jolt in the real world - it's nothing like college." "Be prepared for a brutal awakening." "The working world is a whole new place." But what did I do when I was warned? I prepared. Prepared for the wrong things. I prepared to be shocked by the paying of bills, the 9-5 schedule. The grind of unending traffic, no time for meals, God I wish I had gotten to bed earlier, So boss what about a raise? That's what I had heard about the real world, and that's what I prepared for. And now those things are the least of my worries.

But that's life then, isn't it? The biggest curveball it'll throw at you will be from a direction you're not expecting. To be successful, you've at least got to bunt and sprint for first. Is that a crowd-pleasing choice? No. Will the team love you for that single base? Maybe not. But you got there, and you'll have the chance to move on to second. You've made a move in a positive direction.

So what happens (bear with me again with the baseball analogy) when you're sitting on first, and you've got 2 choices for where to go - base 2* or base 2^. Base 2* is your safe bet - it'll take you around to third, and then to home. You'll be successful, and you won't have to think about where you're going. You're not exactly adventurous, but you've made a smart move and taken the safe route. The crowd loves you for it, because you're home. Base 2^, and on the other hand, is a little more out there - the path leading away from 2^ gets lost in a spontaneous fog that's sitting between infield and outfield. But you've always wanted to know what it felt like to run over base 2^ and jump into that fog cloud, full of possibilities, with nothing that's definite.

Ultimately, it's an even tougher choice because you'll most likely be on first again if you take the safe route, and you'll have that same opportunity. Sure, you're a little bit older, a little bit wiser...and you know what? Maybe the maturity that came with your age says to take the safe route again. It's comfortable. And you'll always come back home to the ones you love, and that love you.

That's where I find myself at the moment - at first base (minus the baseball cleats). I bunted my way into Los Angeles, hoping to find success in grad school. Unfortunately, the success was minor and short-lived, now leaving me with the choice of pursuing a career in some city I've fantasized about living in and doing it all on my own, or returning home to my family, my friends, and especially my beloved. Taking the safe route for a while.

The layers of complexity don't stop at the turf, though. Given the state of the economy, simply exploring the country and finding a job in my city of choice is an almost unreachable luxury. Yet the opportunity for a job - any job - goes up as I move closer to home, and closer to friends with connections. And perhaps the heaviest layer, the one so tangled in my heart-strings that it's hard to tell where one starts and another begins (cliché), is that of my beloved. Developing and sustaining a relationship across 2000 miles is incredibly difficult, especially when there's no "we'll be together here" marker in the timeline. I may follow my dream to explore, but in following it I make having a relationship exponentially harder. I may take the safe route to be with the one I love, but I alter and reshape my dreams to explore.

And yet, isn't that how love goes? You meet someone you love, someone you find irresistibly adorable when you watch them sleep, someone who's always on your mind, and you find a way to be together. Dreams get tweaked, plans get shifted, and you compromise. It may not be exactly what you wanted, but it's enough and you're with the love of your life (however short thus far). The compromise is worth it.

So at what point is that sort of compromise supposed to occur in life? Is it when you're madly in love? Is it when you've matured? At 22, I am mature in some areas, incredibly ignorant in others, and overall very confused. There's almost no way I want to give up the tremendous thing I've got going with my beloved, but I'm still markedly attached to my dream to discover and explore the world. Pile on the entire baseball analogy, and a vision of Atlas straining against the weight of the earth starts to form. Mind you, my problems lie a little less heavily on the shoulders, and my right hand isn't slipping into the Indian Ocean (ugh, AGAIN), but I still start to see the similarities.

Over and over, swimming in and out of the complexities, attempting to predict every eddy in the wind caused by the tiny butterfly of my choices, one questions floats to the surface - what should I do? The answer I've heard the most, and one that I'm sure to hear again, is the ol' "fountain of *blank*" response: Hey, don't worry so much, you're young! You've got plenty of time to fly twenty times around the world and get back for tea with the President. That's what your twenties are for!

Everyone who gives me that response, though, always seems to forget they spend half their time looking over their shoulder at a fading youth. Early twenties? God, I miss my college years! Thirties? Man, remember when we used to head the pub after work? Forties and fifties? Look at this picture of Timmy! Life was so good then. We may love our life in the present, but more often than not we still look to our past for some of the good-ol' days, sometimes with regret. And I DO NOT want to look back with regret at my early 20's because I spent that time in some miserable search for the right choice. I may just be impatient, but I want to live out those crazy, amazing, late-night-filled, happy-go-lucky years without the lurking despair that I didn't compromise soon enough or that maybe it wasn't the time to compromise.

In the staggering timeline of life, this problem could be a tiny blink in the complexities yet to come, or it could be a major turning-point. But to me, now - it's real, it's difficult, and it's painful. And goddammit, I didn't prepare for it.

Good weeks start with simple days

Alright, so given my current predicament, pretty much every day is a "simple" day. Regardless, this week started off on a high note because today (Monday) was a good, simple day. It was a good day because I managed to accomplish all the simple things on my schedule, with the addition of several surprises.

Being a jobless Los Angeles resident with a severely ravaged bank account means you basically have nothing to do. In Los Angeles, it's all about spending money. Bored during the morning? Go grab breakfast and a mimosa. Afternoon? Go buy something. Preferably lots of somethings. Bored in the evening? Pop over to that trendy bar and grab a few drinks with your exceedingly-expensive-yet-disappointingly-portioned dinner. At night? Take your Range Rover over to that club where everyone is dancing as if perpetually posing, trying to look good at any angle. So when you don't have the cash to do all of the above, an exciting day comes from getting things done and successfully keeping your hands from strangling your neck. This Monday was no exception.

My "to do" list slowly materialized in my groggy mind soon after rolling out of bed, and was fairly short. So short, in fact, that you couldn't really call it a "list" so much as a single chore: Go grocery shopping. But, lucky for me (and my sanity), this single activity required a few prerequisite steps. First off - clean the kitchen. If my mom stumbled upon post this she'd probably say something along the lines of "shouldn't it *always* be clean??", to which I would shrug half-heartedly and mumble something inaudible. And if she had actually seen the kitchen before step 1 took place, then I'd probably also be dodging her glares and shuffling off to some dark corner. Fortunately for me, no one else had to deal with the putrid disaster that was my kitchen, and so with a shirt covering my nose I set to work (...you don't even want to know). After thoroughly cleaning the rather threatening pile of crusty dishes sitting in my sink, I sterilized every visible surface with clorox and tried not to pass-out from the fumes. Two hours later, my eyes teared with the sight of a gleaming kitchen (and waning bleach vapors).

Step 2 - clean myself and go. This proved to be a bit of a challenge considering I 1.) ran out of shampoo, and 2.) had almost no clean laundry, and no laundry detergent. So, I made do with what I had available (nothing like re-wearing old underwear, I promise), and finally set off to the grocery store. An hour and a half later, I was stumbling into the building with 4 grossly overloaded cloth bags (eco-friendly!), and attempting to drag myself into an elevator before one or both of my arms detached. And there, sitting in front of the elevators, was Surprise #1 - a bedroom side-table. In the chaos of moving, residents of my beloved DuBarry are want to leave their unneeded possessions in front of the elevators rather than dragging them to a thrift store or throwing them out. Once they're there, it becomes finder's keepers for the other residents. My eyes lit up upon seeing this particular beauty (the top covered in some gunk, but nothing a little cleaner couldn't handle), because I was lacking in the side-table department. After a minute of weighting shifting and teeter-tottering, though, I realized that it would be impossible to carry groceries + side-table all up to the apartment at once. So, with the fear of some other resident discovering my perfectly visible buried treasure, I sprinted up five flights of stairs, threw my bags haphazardly through the door, and sprinted back down. Upon leaping down the last flight into the lobby, I realized I was still in luck. I had a side-table.

After hauling the table into the apartment and cleaning it off, I set out to put away my various groceries. The last item left was a box of new light-bulbs, which had been more of an afterthought at the store than anything else. On my first day in the apartment, I had discovered a light-switch by the front door that did absolutely nothing. And - totally unrelated - there was an overhead light in my little foyer-area that never turned on. Given the excitement of moving into my very own apartment, though, the light and switch drifted to some far-off place in the back of my mind...until about 6 months later. Now, standing on a stool, I unscrewed the glass lamp covering, replaced the bulb, and hopped down to flip the switch.

*click* Surprise #2.

It was as if someone has just turned on the sun in my apartment. Not only was the light-bulb brighter than any other light in my apartment, but it was probably using a quarter of the energy (one of those new-fangled swirly bulbs they done have now). I don't think I've ever been more excited about a light-bulb in my life. But the excitement wasn't over just yet - I had yet another new bulb, and the possibilities were endless (i.e. 5 other lights). In a burst of enthusiastic energy, I skipped into my bathroom and replaced the light over my sink. Hallelujah! For once, I could actually make out all of the features of the face staring back at me from the mirror. And I was finally relieved to find out that my nose was still in the same place (I kid...it had meandered behind my left ear).

Overall, the things that made my day a good one weren't too exciting compared to the staggering excitement-spectrum of life: a clean kitchen, more food, a new table, and light-bulbs. It was enough, though, to make me feel like I was productive and started the week right. And in the unemployed world, that's about as much as you can ask for.

The cure to cancer is OH LOOK A KITTEN

I would like to officially announce my membership into the prestigious ranks of the IIEPFN Society (Interested-In-Everything-Patience-For-Nothing Soc., established halfway in 1984 and then the other half in 1997). Needless to say, it's been a prodigiously difficult task to join this elite organization - considering the application alone is some 300 pages, including 297 devoted to real estate law essay questions - but I am truly excited to attend my one mandatory meeting before deciding that I'd instead like to take up knitting. In preparation for this momentous event, I've energetically Google-mapped directions to the meeting site and twice reconsidered whether I'd even like to drive that far.

As funny (or maybe not-so, depending on how humorous you really think I am, which could understandably be not-so-much) as the above situation may be, it sums up rather well my current mental state. Given that I now have an exigent amount of free time on my hands (if you're unemployed and not in school, you'll know what I mean), I've got every opportunity in the world to ponder which career path to choose or even what to do *with* my free time. And of course, as part of the IIEPFN Society, my mind races so fast through the possibilities that a counselor would have no problem diagnosing me with Career ADD. Here's an example from tonight, after watching President Obama's State of the Union (had I verbalized my thoughts and numerically organized them):

1. "Finally, Obama talked about repealing the DADT policy! It wasn't much though...and I'm doubtful that any action will follow. I feel like if I were to argue for the repeal, I wouldn't know enough, and honestly, the whole "feel compassion for the people" argument doesn't seem too effective. Maybe I should do some research."
2. "This wikipedia article is a good start, but if I'm going to look informed in the matter then it'd probably be best to read the actual policy and the arguments made for and against so far by people who aren't morons."
3. "Ugh, the policy is 4 pages...I doubt I could even make it through the first 2 without getting distracted. I wish I knew more legalese so this wouldn't be so difficult."
4. "I wonder how long it takes to study for and pass the bar exam in California....or even how much is costs. Holy crap that's expensive. What's with all these rules for taking it? You can't just study from a book and pay for the exam?"
5. "I don't think I could handle law school or 4 years of studying under a lawyer, not financially anyway. It'd be so crazy to just learn about law and take the exam, and then be officially knowledgeable about it. Maybe I should check some books out from the library."
6. "You know, I wonder if you could get the government to pay for law school if you joined the military. What's the good-ol' internet got to say about this...meh, looks like you have to serve a few years before they would consider sending you and paying for it. I feel like I'd want to just hop into it."
7. "Does the military pay for grad school? I could get a master's in some engineering, I guess. Heh, there's an Air Force Institute of Technology. Do I even know what I would want to study? Astronautical engineering? Nuclear, maybe? Bleh, I don't want this to be a repeat of my attempt at USC, half-heartedly studying for some degree that I'm not to sure about."
8. "GOD, I just want to figure out what to do with my life!! What if I did just join the military and try to become an officer? I wonder if they'd pay for my loans. Oooo, I could be a pilot. Wonder how long that training takes...probably a while. And what about my commitment? Ehh, I dunno about whether I'd still be happy with my decision 4 years down the road. I mean, at least I'd have a job that would probably be fulfilling. Not much in the ways of freedom, though...and I'm sure Nick would freak a little, per usual. "
9. "What if I went as a reservist, like I had planned before? I mean, I could still get a full-time job doing something else, and it'd give me some sort of direction. Jesus, the amount of time I spend debating the military. Yes, no, yes, no, yes yes yes, no no no. Would they even pay for my loans? From all I've heard about recruiters, they'd tell me they would and then 6 months down the road I'd be sitting with mounting debt and nada coming in."
10. "AHHHH WHY CAN'T I DECIDE ON ANYTHING."

Two hours later, I'm staring blankly at my computer screen with a slight twitch and having gotten nowhere in any of the little "projects" I had brainstormed. As odd as it sounds, my main fear in trying to decide on a career is that I'll be stuck in one field. Which, interestingly enough, essentially defines what a career is: utilizing your knowledge and skills in a particular area to complete work in that field. This wouldn't be so bad were I not interested in EVERYTHING and couldn't choose which field was worth pursuing. Not only that, unless I'm practically forced to do something, I've got no patience to settle down and learn about the field enough to make it a career. And what happens if I get bored with my career? Didn't I just waste so many years of my life doing something I didn't want to do?

So, there you've got my long-overdue complain-a-thon, which I'm sure you were dying to read. If anyone reading this (all 2 or 3 of you) has any suggestions or advice, please share. I'm a blithering mess of indecisiveness and would appreciate some feedback. Something constructive, preferably?

P.S. If you hadn't guessed from this post, I've decided to stop attending graduate school because I was studying for a degree I wasn't particularly sure about and that was sinking me into phenomenal debt. Currently, I'm still living in Los Angeles and in search of a job (having applied to 40+ aerospace positions in and out of the city and hearing nothing back. Woo recession!).

P.P.S My apologies for the color and formatting of the post - something is seriously afoul with the html coding and I don't feel like searching for the problem.

(Un)comfortably Close Project

In what I'm sure will be a riveting and true nail-biter of a year, I've decided to officially kick-off one of my New Year's resolutions (#12,614 to be exact) with a new website, called the "(Un)comfortably Close Project". My goal for the project is to snap and post a new picture of the things I find about my person everyday, but reaaaaallly zoomed in. So, go explore the website (click on the Archive for some of my old stuff - you have to click the picture to get to the gallery) and enjoy!

My final Finals Week (at least for now)

Students during Finals Week are a classic example of what happens to humans under extreme and stressful situations. Think Lord of the Flies, except replace all the child characters with 18 to 22-year-olds and set the scene in a library instead of a deserted island (side note: I LOATHED that book. Never has anything made me want to punch random small children in the face than that little number). Tribes form, someone starts hallucinating, and an accidental homicide or two occurs (either computer or human). People really do go bananas. B...A-N-A-N-A-S.

Of course, working the graveyard shift at the library ends up becoming the most entertaining job in the world. People slowly pull out their hair as they struggle to read another 7 chapters for their 8am final while shiftily glancing at the clock. Some give up reading and stare blankly at walls. Others make serious attempts at osmosis. Those on computers are typing so furiously they end up typing several paragraphs of gibberish whenever their brain finishes a thought, requiring a good deal of irritable backspacing. Computers in turn become mutinous, and decide that, no, they really didn't feel like saving that document. Was it important? All this and more quickly unravels before my eyes.

Finally, dawn peeks in through the windows, and it's time to print out that 50-something page paper. Ironically, this becomes the hardest part of the entire project. Most of these students have forgone sleep in the past 48 hours, and now they have to deal with a library printer, which involves pushing several buttons (and saying a little prayer, as I've seen in some cases).

During this particular shift, I watched as a guy - let's call him Bob - stood in front of the printer for a little over 20 minutes, obviously waiting for something to happen. The printer wasn't printing, so I began to think that maybe he was expecting it to dance. Unfortunately for Bob (and me, as that would've been rather exciting), the printer staunchly refused to give so much as a wiggle. At this point, I was starting to feel sorry for him, so I walked over and inquired if there was a problem. A few minutes of struggling silence later, Bob groggily turned toward me and mumbled something along the lines of "professor...angels...30 pages...staple". Four years living of in Undergradia had left me remarkably fluent in Sleepdeprivedese, and I was able to translate: "Well, kind sir, I'd really love to print and staple this 30-page paper I've got due to Professor Grueleski on the historical inaccuracies of Angels and Demons." After another 10 minutes of questioning and button-pushing on my part, Bob realized that maybe it would help if he hit print on his computer. I agreed, noting that USC had decidedly nixed the mind-reader Xerox due to budget cuts. Bob trudged back to his computer, stared blankly at it for a few moments before realizing that Microsoft ESP was not installed, and clicked print.

Overall, the panic, exhaustion, and general chaos of Finals Week is like a beautiful orchestra unfolding in the wee hours of the morning. The percussion section becomes the rapid, erratic sound of typing; the violins burst forth from the cries of computer failure. A trumpet sounds as ink cartridge #3 runs out of ink and the printer alert goes off. The twitching and sleepy swaying of students becomes the flurry of bow movements amongst the strings. And then, after 8 hours continuous music, the orchestra goes still as the last student trickles out of the library - her eyes glassy...

Anyway, if anyone is interested in tickets for Monday morning's performance, I'll be selling them for $35 a piece. First come, first serve!