Saving the world. Sort of.

I blame the sardines

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 18:19:00 +0000

I remember watching Discovery Channel in middle school and learning, for the first time, that tuna fish are massive creatures, and not a ton of tiny little fish. Completely altered my perception of those little tins.

The last weekend of July

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 08:49:00 +0000

Driving west through LA on a Saturday morning, everyone is still asleep or already at the beach. They're installing new palm trees on Wilshire, and in Beverly Hills there are roaming herds of Segways.

By the time I return, everyone has left the sand for Hollywood, and there's not a single sane street north of Santa Monica.

19 Pages and 3 inches

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 05:56:00 +0000

Once I got used to the air, it's refreshing to breath a project.

The hero dies in this scene.

Double-show Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 21:26:00 +0000

Salami dipped in humus is:
A. A delicious abomination.
B. Immune to an entire tin of Altoids.
C. A PA's lunch.

-----

I don't know how my new jeans fit, because I forgot a belt. So I made one out of gaffer tape.

Interviews

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 22:41:00 +0000

I believe we're over-medicating ourselves to the point it's detrimental to our health, especially considering antibiotic everything. I usually don't use the antibiotic soap that one sees in dispensers everywhere except in extenuating circumstances: after the dog park, before handling small children, when encountering an open wound, or before I go to the bathroom in a government building.

The cafeteria at the Van Nuys State Building has a Public Health Department rating of "B."

Las Vegas, NV

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 23:55:00 +0000

I understand "what" now but I understand "why" so much less than I did 48 hours ago.

Bourbon Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 20:52:00 +0000

I did not know what "saddlebags" were on a woman until a KCAL9 billboard informed both of their existence and that they are running a special on "trimming" them. That's 2 levels of disappointing. 1.) How am I just now learning this term. 2.) If they are, in fact, what the billboard illustrates, why is there a trend for their removal? I love that part!

Sometimes, old thoughts sneak up on me for inexplicable (read: forgotten) reasons. For example, I (and every one of my peers) thought that children should be able to vote in elections (the president, especially) when we were 12. Obviously, I am wiser now and see how disastrous that would be (also, disastrous should have an "e" in it). But to be fair to juveniles, their opinion is important. Hopefully weighed by their voting-eligible parents. What if we encouraged actual voting at such an impressionable age, think of the good habits we'd have as citizens. Maybe if we gave them just a little voice, but not a deciding one. This is where my mind takes an unfortunately insensitive turn for a punchline. Maybe when I'm not drunk on a bus at the lunch hour, I'll tell it.

I get more reading done waiting around for a city employee to drive me around than any other time or place. Something about too much discomfort to pull out my laptop but enough time to do something besides endless Tetris or starring off (which I still manage to do). It's a joy I fear most Angelenos go without.

Dress for the ticket you want, not the ticket you have.

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 19:26:00 +0000

Sitting in the terminal in LAX for my non-stop to Tulsa, I feel as though I've already left LA. Looking out at the rain does even less to bring me back to Southern California. I look down at what I'm wearing, ready to belong in first class, then over at the men ready to board. Not even those men (yes, all 8 first class passengers are men) bothered to put on slacks.

The first time I flew since I was a baby was when I was 16. This was recently after 9/11, so there were groups of 12 men in fatigues carrying M16s (or, in my mind, a dozen death sticks) all around both the Miami and Atlanta airports. There were no armed guards in Tulsa. Even in that threatening atmosphere, though, the business men in suits carrying only a briefcase and no carry-on appealed to me. For an airport to be home, for traveling to be life's momentum was what I craved.

This was before shoe-removals, body scanners, special laptop bags, back when it didn't require a ticket to get past the gate. Friends waited with you at your terminal. This was before I fell in love and learned to sit still, for permanence to be an attractive quality.

I finally moved, like I always talked about growing up. It's not necessarily the "lucky ones" who get out, it's just the ones who have too much potential energy and lack control.

Home

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 01:12:00 +0000

Where I Live, Now

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 17:51:00 +0000

As a preface, all these pictures are taken with my cell phone. I haven't gotten my regular camera out yet, so maybe someday I'll take these same shots with some real quality.

I live in an incredibly convenient part of Hollywood. Right off the 101 (the freeway noise isn't too bad, given how our apartment is oriented), half a mile from Hollywood and Vine, secluded in a neighborhood no one knows exists, 3 miles right down the highway from school, a mile from the Hollywood Bowl. This is all the Star Wars nerds completely geeking out at the John Williams concert.

When I take Penny for a walk, we always stop at the top of this hill, because that's where the best grass is near my apartment, but also I love looking south on Vine, with the 101 in the foreground.

And if I turn just a little left, there's downtown on the horizon.

I just realized today, that when I turn around from that hill to walk home, I can see the "Hollyw" part of the Hollywood sign. See that little hill way in the distance, right next to the electrical pole?

So that's neat. Also, right around the corner from me is this Vedanta Temple. Kalen and I have yet to visit.

We're just 5 minutes from Runyon Canyon, which, after a brisk hike, gives you this amazingly smoggy view of the city. For at least 180°.

And those are all the pictures I've taken since I've been here. School starts in 6 days, and I can't even begin to explain my excitement.

I am obsessed with the American automobile, it would seem

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 06:55:00 +0000

Two weeks before I moved out of Tulsa, I realized why driving out to my parents' house felt so lonely. Not that it felt lonely once I arrived or the thought of visiting them was depressing, but the actual act of driving there was lonely.

The majority of the drive is along 2-lane country roads. There is never a time you're next to another car for more than half a second as it passes in the other direction. The closest you are to any other driver is the appropriate 2-car lengths behind them. This realization also made very clear why I enjoyed streets like Riverside, that were similar to highways, but with occasional stop lights. It was hard to feel lonely on Riverside.

This realization was only compounded by my arrival to LA, possibly the most car-oriented city in the US outside of Michigan. There are 8 lanes of highway minimum, and even on 2-lane streets, traffic is always so backed up, I'll be stopped next to someone heading the other direction.

I'm not scared of driving in LA yet. I've seen lots of close calls, but haven't had any of my own and haven't seen any turn into actual calls. Watching motorcyclists on the 101 remind me that even though the weather here is perfect for bikes every day, the traffic is quite the opposite. And when driving down 4 lanes of traffic all bumper-to-bumper and still somehow going 75 mph, changing lanes is a practice in trust and acceptance. Blinker on, check mirrors, look over my shoulder, hold breath, and move in. Just hope you would have seen any motorcyclists cutting lanes at 140 mph, other cars wanting that same lane, or finding the one inconsiderate driver who doesn't let people in.

The longer I'm here, the more I love this city and the more it has to offer. And the longer I'm here, the more ridiculous things I notice and the more it amuses me. I start school in 16 days.

Skeleton Closets

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 14:02:00 +0000

As I pack (and by pack, I mean go through cupboard I forgot this house had and put most of my findings into the "garage sale" pile), I'm coming across a lot of things I forgot I ever had or never even realized were in my possession. Some of the more interesting pieces of my past I have uncovered are:

The first draft of Personal Jesus by Meredith Turits, all marked up and a completely different novel than how it exists now.
Childhood pictures of my ex-girlfriend that I just put in a stamped envelope to send back to her mom.
All of my old notebooks and spirals with my writings in them, from class notes and journals to poetry and shorts. A good reminder to keep writing down nights as stories. Here's a 2-page story from the night after we caused a car wreck. I changed the names when I wrote this, but I'm changing them back to real names now. Everything [sic]:

Kalen humors Jon and Winston through one beer, then declares the party to be a sausage fest and picks up his phone. I never understood inviting girls you knew so they could drink your beer and then not sleep with you, but Kalen insists that we need chicks.

The room empties as Kalen, Jon, and Winston go to seperate rooms on their phones. Rick and I shuffle cards, debate the finer points of our favorite drinking games, and wait for bad news. With these three calling girls, it's always bad news.

Kalen returns first, and has surprisingly talked two girls into coming. He refuses to answer how he knows them. The only reason he beat Winston is because he stopped calling to take a shit. We won't see him for another beer or two.

Jon comes in, "Patrick, will you Katie and Beth into coming? They said no."

Not these two, please. Katie has never kissed a boy and is obsessed with Jon, and Beth is her unfortunately less attractive but richer friend. Their no means less than my mother's no. Their no means they want groveling first.

I pick up the phone and Beth milks her whine for all her 2 octaves too high voice is worth. I hate this currency. I ignore her refusals and give her directions to the house. I can tell from her pauses she's writing this down.

"I still don't think we're coming." I hit end. Bitch.

Now I'm left to reassure Jon that they would come. Luckily, in my defense, she calls back 10 minutes later to get the address. "The house with the cars in front of it."

I love being co-host to a party. I get to arrive early, but not so early I help clean. I never feel dorky about being there too early or troublesome for passing out there. I have to do minimal cleaning in the morning and can claim or deny authority as I please. The best part, though, is that we're all co-hosts, so there's always a party, even if it's just us.

Winston walks back into the dining room. "I didn't get anyone."

"We know," Kalen, Jon and I say in unison.

"Damnit, Winston. You could at least have sprayed the Lysol!" Rick yells from the back.

Kalen's cell phone, which I refer to as old faithful, starts buzzing in his pants and making some awful beeping noise. Turns out his two girls are bailing on him.

I sit down next to Winston on the couch. He has one of the 30-packs between his feet. I open one as he says, "Man, I'm hungry. Let's get some pizza."

"Beth is on her way over. See if you can get to order it. I'm all out of cash."

"That means one of us has to make out with her. Do you want me to again, or do you want to this time?"

I can't even say anything about this. This was the night before our first day of senior year at BK. Why I wrote about this and not the car wreck we caused on our way to Rick's house, I'll never know. That shows what fascinated me in high school and what made sense. I always wrote about things I was trying to figure out.

For background, here's what happened earlier that day:

Winston, Jon and I were headed out to Owasso to see Rick. I was driving, as I was the safest driver, my periwinkle blue Chrysler LeBaron. Winston is sitting shotgun, and Jon is in the back.

Jon gets bored, since we've been in the car for more than 5 minutes, and finds my roll of duct tape I keep back there to hold my car together. He tapes his mouth shut and puts his face against the window and makes a scared face. All the cars we pass point and laugh and wave.

Well, we get to our exit, and we're sitting at the stop light for literally 3 whole songs. Jon puts the tape back on his mouth, acts like his hands are tied, and pretends to escape out the open window. Winston reaches back, pulls him inside and start hitting him. Jon's arms and legs are flailing, I'm cracking up, and suddenly we hear a *THUNK*! We stop and look at the right turn lane (we're in the left), and a woman had rear-ended a car parked at the light while she was gaping at us. We all stop and stare, Winston and my jaws dropped. Jon slowly removes the tape from his mouth, and his jaw drops, too. Then I look up, and the light has turned green. I squeal out of there (the only time I think I peeled out in that car), and they were both screaming, "Go! Go! Get out of here!"

We got so turned around in our panic, we ended up driving back by the intersection while they were exchanging information. The woman was pointing to where our car had been. Winston tried to hide, but he's 300 lbs. and, frankly, I'm pretty sure she would recognize the car, even if Winston wasn't in the window. Jon, meanwhile, is on the floor of the backseat, doubled over in laughter, crying, and shouting absolute gibberish between laughs.

Do you still have the internet?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 23:14:00 +0000

I'm trying to sell my motorcycle. I currently have it listed on CL, so I get a lot of emails and texts from strangers. And every single person who writes to me about it has started the conversation with, "Do you still have that FZ6?"

I have two problems with starting the conversation this way.

About 75% of people interested message me the day I posted the ad. You can safely assume I haven't sold it 2 hours after listing it.
What purpose does this serve? If I say "yes," should I assume they're interested? What happens if they start the conversation with "I'd like to take a look at your FZ6"? If I have it, we can go from there. If I don't, I'll tell them, "sorry, already sold it." Saves both of us a whole awkward 7-word introduction.

So much of language, especially what we use on a daily basis, is terminology that has developed throughout history to make communication easier and quicker. Of course, each culture has its own daily activities, and so different verbal cues develop in each society.

While I understand the purpose of certain verbal cues and their development (like, you know, right, anyway, etc.), I feel as though most people use them more as a crutch and don't give them the proper amount of thought before use.

I know they are using that opening question to establish communication and topic of conversation. But there are so many more useful ways to do that, and I wish just at least one person would think that far.

Satan spent a little more time on me.

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 17:57:00 +0000

There are some fascinations I had as a child that I expectantly grew out of, like my interest in eating every leaf I find, or running around with a SuperSoaker and squirting then smashing all of the bees in my backyard.

Then there are those that I expected to grow out of but never did, like enjoying refrigerator boxes.

When I couldn't find a pair of scissors to cut my old credit card up with, I was halfway through my actions before I realized what I was doing: holding a lighter to it, trying to melt the magnetic strip and numbers away. The strip warped nicely, but I couldn't get the numbers to be completely unreadable.

Also, a burning credit card smells like wasp spray.

How is "fire" not one of my labels yet?

A Daunting Task

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Sat, 22 May 2010 14:00:00 +0000

My sister is attempting a... an experiment? A task? She's attempting to listen to the entire contents of her iPod in alphabetical order by song title without skipping any tracks. She's miserable, but we are amused at the randomness of her library while driving.

I decided that this would be a good idea to try myself. Having a substantially larger library than her, though, I have made a playlist of all the songs with a play count of zero in iTunes. Unfortunately, when my HD crashed a couple years ago, all my play counts were reset to zero and fortunately, I accumulated a lot of random music from friends helping me restock my library.

I knew I have a lot of music I've never heard. I just didn't realize that of my 8,000+ songs, I've heard less than half. I now have a 4,500-track playlist that will take 12.5 full days to complete. Farewell, singing along in the car this summer.

-----

I'm flying to Chicago in a week for a week. I actually have a freelance job paying me a competitive rate and covering my travel expenses. Granted, the client is a family member, but it's exactly what I need to cover my medical bills AND maybe have some left over for when school starts in a little over 3 months.

And as soon as I got that job, my old news station called ...

OK, I just went to find that link for my old news station, and I found this story about a Rib Crib employee who was shot to death at work at the very story a very good friend of mine used to be a manager. She's a GM at another store in town now. I would call her now, but if she's awake at this hour, it means she's at work. I...

I was saying that my old station called to hire me on for 4 weeks in June as a freelance editor. Isn't news great?

Tornado night. Got the chair on my front porch ready.

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 10 May 2010 23:41:00 +0000

The only two allergy medications I'm allowed to have are Claritin and Benadryl. There's no Claritin in my house and all the flowers outside are blooming, which means... I'm drowsy. Also, notice how drowsy had become a purely medical term. No medicine ever makes you tired, just "drowsy." And it's only medication, not ever lack of sleep, that makes one "drowsy." Next time, when you're telling someone you're tired, tell them you're drowsy and see if they ask what you took.

I've been a discharged man for 2 weeks now, and this is how I look.

I think the wound has finally healed up enough that the most appalling part of that picture is the tint of my skin. I'm by next Monday, that's all scar tissue. I'm tired of tearing tape off daily.

As someone who doesn't put much belief in anything not scientifically based, I really do enjoy fortune cookies. Especially after a huge meal at The Bangkok. And especially when they say something like this:

Cool.

Also, I found a lot of pictures on my phone that I don't think ever made it off while I was in the hospital. I've uploaded the best ones to my flickr account. I will warn you, some are pretty graphic, so if you can't handle a little gore, I'd recommend not looking. Click "naive Patrick" to see the rest.

What if I had 99 of these?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 10 May 2010 00:21:00 +0000

I would assemble a new kite without checking to see that tomorrow is supposed to do nothing but storm.

I'll have to buy a bottle of rum, christen her and have her maiden voyage in an Oklahoma thunderstorm.

Maybe I'll also find out who gave this to me while I was in the hospital. So I can find them and smack them for taunting me with ideas of sunshine and fresh air.

A quick phone call to my mother, who kept a list of everything I received, has informed me that it came from my dear friend, Kate. If you know Kate, you also know it's literally impossible to ever have a negative feeling towards her. I rescind the last paragraph. She also sent me a voice changer and a penguin.

Maybe instead of flying a kite in a thunderstorm and trying to negate all of the hard work the doctors did to save my life, I'll stay inside tomorrow and record something with this voice changer. After a quick test run, "Boy," "Old Man," "Robot," and "Kid" (that's not the same as Boy?) all just seem to be different pitches of Robot.

So, taking requests for a voice changer performance.

What else could cruel March and only slightly less cruel April be?

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 04 May 2010 22:42:00 +0000

What else could cruel March and only slightly less cruel April be? March and April are not spring. They're "Unlocking."

-Kurt Vonnegut

I meant to write this yesterday, because yesterday I could have started with "2 months ago, I turned 25. 1 week ago, I was discharged from the hospital." As time works, though, I'm now a day late for both of those to be accurate.

I've never really been a fan of April, so of all the months to completely skip, I think that timing worked out best.

8 days ago, I was discharged from a 32-day stay at St. John's Hospital here in Tulsa. I went into the ER the morning of March 25th with severe abdominal pains. I was informed that I had adhesions around my small intestine and probably other parts of my lower gastrointestinal tract. The doctors told me they were complications from 15 years ago, when my appendix ruptured and I had 3 surgeries in 11 days. "Sometimes they can clear themselves up, let's give you 24 hours to see," I was told. 24 hours later, I had an exploratory laparotomy (which, I would like to point out, is not laparoscopic. Oh no, it leaves a big mark). They removed "quite a bit" of scar tissue from around my intestines but did not have to actually cut into anything, just removed scar tissue from around it.

I began recovering fairly nicely. I was awake and relatively aware 4 days later, and soon after that, I was allowed Jell-O and pudding to see if my bowels would process food. Progress halted, however, and suddenly I couldn't go more than 12 hours without puking up my own stomach bile that wasn't able to go anywhere.

This takes us to April 6th, where the x-ray shows a significant blockage and I go back in for surgery. The fun really starts here. This time, scar tissue that had formed since my first surgery had actually done some damage and, according to my surgeon (who I would recommend to anyone in the Tulsa area if you ever get to choose yours), they had to remove "approximately 1/8th, or about 2-3 feet" of my small intestine.

After the surgery, I got 3 infections (2 on my incision), blood clots in my lungs (none in my legs, thank goodness), and I almost went septic. There was mention of moving me to the ICU at one point, and I was so doped up on morphine and what ever else they had me, my only reaction was, "Oh good, a quieter floor," because every so often, some patient would have a noisy night and it made sleeping more difficult than it already was.

So, now I have a 9" incision that's 1/4" wide at spots thanks to the infection. I'm also on a heart monitor and getting daily Lovenox injections (which has to be given subcutaneously) for the minor blood clots. I have a g-tube (used to drain my stomach until my intestines wake up), picc line (to feed me TPN), morphine line (which had a button allowed to deliver 2mg every 6 minutes), fluids line and catheter all going into or coming out of me. Thankfully, the catheter was the first to go (2 or 3 days). Then I lost the heart monitor about 10 days after surgery.

To be honest, there's a lot I can't remember from those 32 days. Entire conversations I not only have forgotten what was said, but that they were had at all. There are people who I'm not sure if they actually visited or if I dreamt them. Entire days, close to a week, after that 2nd surgery that exists in my mind only as markers and without any details or actual chronology.

I imagine this was a coping mechanism my body and mind volunteered for, to prevent the memory of the most traumatic parts. And I'm OK with that.

I was released from the hospital April 26th, after I was able to eat solid food for 2 days and my bowels demonstrated they could process what I was eating without the help of the g-tube. Of course, once I'm released, the tube stayed in an extra week, "just in case." I had it removed yesterday, and the process hurt, but I'm glad to be rid of the damn thing. I had to keep it taped to my side so it didn't swing around or pull on its entrance to my stomach.

So, 8 days later, I

wearing "normal" clothes. I use quotations because I'm wearing the smallest pieces of clothing I still own. I lost approximately 24 lbs. in that month. I don't break 150 yet. My surgeon wants to see me gain 5-10 of muscle in the next month, when I see him again.
have been leaving the house as often as possible to prevent boredom. When I first got out of the hospital, I had been on almost complete bed rest for the whole month and my energy level was way down. Now, it feels close to normal, though my atrophied muscles complain often.
went grocery shopping with my sister and it kicked my ass. But, Dr. Hepner said it's good to push my limits and see what my body is able to do without seriously hurting myself. He wants me actually exercising (no heavy lifting).
can finally sleep on a flat surface instead of a recliner. Which makes standing up straight in the morning that much easier. See, I still have bandages I change daily over my shark attack scar, and the taping on them can pull when I try to stand up straight. My lower back really hurts sometimes.

I think the about covers the past 40 days. I hope that answers any questions about where I've been, why I, according to Ashli Sims, look like "a Cullen," and how I'm doing. I'd like to thank everyone who visited, mailed me stuff, texted and called while I was there. It all meant a lot, even if I was too doped up on morphine at the time to realize it.

Edit: Forgot to mention that once I was released from the hospital, I was switched from Lovenox to Warfarin, which is just a pill blood thinner. I'll be on that for 3 months. While on Warfarin, I won't be drinking, smoking, shaving with a straight razor (so probably not shaving at all), getting any tattoos or piercings, or doing anything likely to cause any bruising or bleeding. So, don't touch me. I'll bleed all over you.

Brief Update

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 15:38:00 +0000

Yesterday, April 6th, I had my second surgery in two weeks. It took 2.5 hours. They removed excessive scarring that had formed since my last surgery on March 26th. They had to remove about 12 " of small intestine that had become twisted and was blocking flow. I have 6 tubes feeding and draining me.

I"d like to thank everyone for your love and support. Please pass this information along to any interested parties and absolutely no visitors until further notice. My life is not in danger; it's just a very slow healing process. I love you all.

------ dictated by Patrick, transcribed by Sarah

A Creative Persuader. Hey, you know who else was a...

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 16:43:00 +0000

Personality tests rarely impress me, because usually the questions you answer are pretty obvious indicators of what the results are likely to be. But this color-test is really throwing me off, because I'm getting the same results I get with predictable tests but with no questions directly related to the results.

Either we, as humans, are so emotionally tied to colors and my tendency to pick deep, soft colors over stark, powerful shows I'm not mentally wired to be a CEO, or sub-consciously, I know what certain colors mean in this society and prefer those when I know I'm being judged. I did my best to be honest and pick the colors to which my eyes were drawn, but I'm still skeptical of my own bias.

It would also be interesting to see how this test fares in a country other than the U.S. Either way, here are my impressively consistent results:

Best Occupational Category
You're a CREATOR

Keywords:
Nonconforming, Impulsive, Expressive, Romantic, Intuitive, Sensitive, and Emotional
These original types place a high value on aesthetic qualities and have a great need for self-expression. They enjoy working independently, being creative, using their imagination, and constantly learning something new. Fields of interest are art, drama, music, and writing or places where they can express, assemble, or implement creative ideas.
CREATOR OCCUPATIONS
Suggested careers are Advertising Executive, Architect, Web Designer, Creative Director, Public Relations, Fine or Commercial Artist, Interior Decorator, Lawyer, Librarian, Musician, Reporter, Art Teacher, Broadcaster, Technical Writer, English Teacher, Architect, Photographer, Medical Illustrator, Corporate Trainer, Author, Editor, Landscape Architect, Exhibit Builder, and Package Designer.
CREATOR WORKPLACES
Consider workplaces where you can create and improve beauty and aesthetic qualities. Unstructured, flexible organizations that allow self-expression work best with your free-spirited nature.
Suggested Creator workplaces are advertising, public relations, and interior decorating firms; artistic studios, theaters and concert halls; institutions that teach crafts, universities, music, and dance schools. Other workplaces to consider are art institutes, museums, libraries, and galleries.

2nd Best Occupational Category
You're a PERSUADER

Keywords:
Witty, Competitive, Sociable, Talkative, Ambitious, Argumentative, and Aggressive
These enterprising types sell, persuade, and lead others. Positions of leadership, power, and status are usually their ultimate goal. Persuasive people like to take financial and interpersonal risks and to participate in competitive activities. They enjoy working with others inside organizations to accomplish goals and achieve economic success.

And here's the raw link: http://www.careerpath.com/career-tests/colorcareercounselor.aspx

February So Far

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 20:45:00 +0000

Penny Lane
Originally uploaded by leprkaun33

Today marks the 4th snowfall in Tulsa this winter. The snow was coming down when I woke up around 9:00 this morning and just stopped about an hour ago. The roads are completely clear, there's not even a full half-inch on the ground, and all the people whining about snow coming down again have shut up.

But that's not the big news from this month so far. Here, let me use 1,000 words and paint you a picture:

Last month, I had a phone interview with NYFA trying to get into their MFA program in Los Angeles, CA. They said I should hear back in about 7-10 days either way, yes or no.

The 10th day was a Friday that came and went with no word. I called the next Monday, Feb. 1st. I was told they simply had more applications than they expected and I should probably hear within a week. The trainwreck of emotions in my head went something like this: OhgoodIdidn'tmissanimportantemail, Atleasttheyhaven'tsaidno, Waitmoreapplicationsmeansmorecompetition, brain aneurysm.

So I wait the whole week, trying to find a temp. job in Tulsa and just generally kind of lazy around. THAT Friday comes and, I thought, goes. By 19:00 Tulsa time, it's past 5 o'clock in LA and I accept the fact that I will spend another weekend in tense anticipation.

An hour later, I'm on the phone with my friend Anthony, trying to give him directions to my house so we can go out for his birthday. I look at my laptop one last time to see a new message from NYFA. In a blur, I open it up and read the first line:

We are excited to inform you of your acceptance to the New York Film Academy's Master of Fine Arts program. We will be sending your complete MFA acceptance package...

I didn't really read past that before I started jumping up and down, screaming into the phone, and running in circles around my house. By the time Anthony arrives, I'm literally standing in the street and run out to meet the car. The rest of the night is a blur of facebook updates, text messages, tweets, LaserQuest (where I got 5th, bitches), and then back home.

The party ended at midnight, but I was still way too wired to sleep. I stayed up making phone calls, talking to people online, and my friend Ashli stopped by on her way home to congratulate me.

Ashli, being the document queen that she is, asked what the acceptance letter said. You see, the part I read was just the body to the email. Attached were .pdf's of my official acceptance letter and a congratulations from my new adviser. It was 5 hours after receiving the notice and I still hadn't read past the second sentence in the email. They both still said I got in, so I wasn't really that concerned.

Saturday was spent sleeping, then going to JLT's Decadence thanks to my friends Liz and Katie. I also met someone's sister that made for some very amusing conversation and even more amusing reactions. Bottomless champagne glasses spelled an amazing drunk and equally horrible hangover for Super Bowl Sunday.

The Saints won a good game. I don't think SB commercials will be amazing again until people stop expecting much from them.

I spent all weekend basically hyperventilating, running around my house in circles, and on the phone with my heterosexual life-partner making plans for the move to LA. Now, I just need to find someone willing to loan me an absurd amount of money for 2 years of education. I promise to be a good investment.

I know I'm not pleasant.

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 00:33:00 +0000

When discussing a local professional organization with my former co-worker, she expressed distaste with the group. I asked why.

Ashli: Stuffy, pretentious tight wads who think they're important.

me: Yay!

Those kinds of people love me!

Ashli: What does that say about you?

me: I'm a pleasant but forgettable distraction?

Ashli: You're a suck-up.

me: Or that...

I think I'm going to have a lot of fun at their event.

Tulsa Tundra

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 17:51:00 +0000

I'm wandering my house, attempting to be productive towards anything, waiting to hear back from NYFA about whether or not I'll be moving to LA this year. Having concrete plans to leave what has always been home... Thinking about what I'll miss is an odd feeling. I've never lived more than a couple hours away for more than a summer.

Outside of the obvious things (family, friends, QT), one thing I keep hearing fellow Tulsans-who-have-escaped miss is the weather. Whether they're in London, LA, Austin or the NW, the weather any where else is just boring. I've heard from all sorts of transplants from else where that Oklahoma is the only place they've lived where the weather is not a boring topic of conversation.

And so, we had a snowstorm. Well, a mild ice storm first, and then a snowstorm.

I wanted to write about the weekend because right now, I can hear the sun melting the ice from the trees and houses, falling to the ground in giant ice chunks, giving the impression the entire world is falling apart.

There's something comforting with knowing that severe weather would be rare, instead of the seasonal norm. And yet, I do enjoy that variations, the different situations, learning to handle 55º the day before an ice storm, or 2 weeks of rain followed by a month of triple-digit highs.

I started off the storm with every intention of keeping strong photographic records through the whole thing. Of course, that fell through. But here's what I did manage to capture.

On a related note to waking up to winter temperatures in a house with single-pane windows, I want a dresser with a heated drawer on a timer that would kick on 5 minutes before my alarm. That way, whatever clothes I put in there would be fresh-out-the-drawer warm right when I wake up. I really think this is a brilliant idea, and is yet another reason why I wish I had gone into a more useful degree, like engineering. I know if I were to attempt this invention, my house would end up burned to the ground or somehow, with crossed wires, refrigerate my underwear.

31° F

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 22:13:00 +0000

me: Want to come get iced into my house with me?
Kelly: How many people are you inviting?
me: Just one.
Who ever says, "yes."

Where the wind comes whipping down the plains

noreply@blogger.com (Patrick) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 20:07:00 +0000

Right now, it's 14:00, 52 F, and sunny in Mayberry, OK. As you can see from my streeet, a perfectly typical Wednesday afternoon.

The forecast, however, is calling for temperatures to feel like the teens all day tomorrow and for us to get about about a foot of snow and an inch or so of ice. I really hope so.