Musing 1

As I sit in my hotel room with an excessive amount of time to kill I have decided to write a blog. You can of course see this. I am thinking that because I spend lots of time in similar hotels looking out windows that if nothing else I can learn to type WHILE looking out the window. That is like a typing +5 skill. So let me begin.

Prelude:

I am 25. I believe Scandinavian/Anglo mutt classifies me as white though my boyfriend will likely protest and explain that white people burn and I tan. I am male and thus clearly homosexual. I live in Chicago and though I am told it is not actually called the windy city for reasons of air pressure systems we are quickly approaching the season where I will have to disagree. With all that in mind it may be better to get to know me through a series of stories.

Chapter 1:
(The Emergence of Vanity)

When I was around four maybe five my parents lived in a nice little neighborhood in Austin, Tx. We lived on one end of a cul-de-sac and on the opposite side lived a slightly older boy whose name I believe was Jeffrey. Jeffrey and I had a very straight forward friendship meaning I wanted to be his friend and play together and he wanted to see me cry. Everyday I would go over there and then during the course of playing he would say something mean to me and I would go home in tears. I think he told me once his family was moving to Alaska so I could never play with him EVER again. I am fairly certain they did not move to Alaska. Texans would not be able to drive in Alaska. Rumors of snow send Texans into a frenzy and they act like it is Armageddon. Anyway...

I was the rare child born with an extreme fear that I had ALREADY done something wrong and in order to convince me all anyone had to do was look at me funny and I would be standing in the corner in repentance. My parents loved this about me because discipline was fantastically simple to administer. Jeffrey loved this because he very often achieved his goal of basking in my tears. My parents did not understand why I continued going to Jeffery's house to play.

Then one day I came home smiling. My parents were vastly confused. This had never happened before. I had gone over to Jeffery's house to play Nintendo. I thought this was unimaginably cool since I had not yet acquired any sort of gaming system. Some while into playing Mario Jeffery decided his sharing ability had reached maximum share capacity and he took the controller back. I was used to this behavior but for some reason this day the creative problem solving juices in my head coagulated into a brand new solution:

Jeffrey does something mean.
James cries and runs home.
Nothing changes.
Repeat.

Why am I crying about this all the time? Wait... Why am I even here right now?

So I stood up and started to leave. Jeffery had not only not expected this but seemingly felt slighted. He began to get angry. I believe my response went something along the lines of, "If you are going to be bad I can play at home." Which I promptly did.

Now I love this story for two reasons. The first is because I seem like a really cool smart and well behaved child. The second is because my dad loves this story and loves to tell it to me and this is possibly the beginning of how I ended up so full of myself now. Man I was an awesome kid.