Analytical Tsunami Boy

Dumb.







Dumber.



























Dumberer.



August 2

There’s this picture in my office that shows the main building of the college that I work at covered in a winter wonderlandy snow. There’s these two people with hooded coats trudging through the storm, unaware that they have been immortalized in one beautiful moment. On my wall. I can swear that every time I look at this picture, I cool off just a bit. Today is August 2, 2006 and this is the time of year when summer has pushed me to my Wile E. Coyote moment of truth where it’s either falling off the cliff in the pursuit of food or dying a slow, painful death of starvation. I mean, I’m tired of the fucking heat and I guess I’d rather wake up tomorrow and there be a blizzard than sit around and wait this volcano hellbath of a season out.

I wonder if those two people are still alive. I wonder if they’re trudging through the snow having the same Wile E. Coyote moment as me…

It’s 9:31 PM and I’m typing on my work computer. In my office. At work. I’m tired of my apartment—which is funny since I spend more time in this office than I do at home. But home reminds me constantly that I’m home by myself...

So this nut job of a student submitted the following as an essay. Keep in mind that I’ve changed nothing about what he submitted:

SERIE NOTION suddenly written paragraphically message lesson category. Barcode reading and get up certified classic project science fiction romance passion. Memory celebrated skill. Socialize freestyle rhyming metal force game spell poetry reality eternity reverse psychicology information. Inmation idealize imaforlyric. Sincerely.

Reading this made my mind feel the way a person would who got raped by a retarded kid with no arms. But as I just typed Charles Manson, Jr.'s ramblings, I find that there’s a strange, cryptic beauty to it. This was logical to the illogical. But even in that, there must have been a fuel turning those big goofy wheels. The first time I read it, I thought of that INXS video. Hallucinate, desegregate, alleviate…

I am Jack’s axe-wounded medulla.

I love Chicago, Illinois. It is my new favorite place. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe, but if I was told that I could go to Europe but never go to Chicago again, I’d choose Chicago. Chicago is my new friend. Chicago and I would play hopscotch or Super Mario Bros. together if we could. If cities were women, Oklahoma City would be my wife, but Chicago would be my mistress—or maybe my 21 year old mid-life crisis girlfriend. If Chicago were in a gladiator deathmatch with other cities, it would kick every other city’s ass except for Brooklyn—and that’s only because Brooklyn has the natural Puerto Rican advantage.

My friend Kara is the best hostess ever—except that I’m one of those people she loves for reasons she can’t remember, but who I bet can think of all sorts of reasons to hate me. I love her always. She took me to some great places. I watched the Navy Pier fireworks from a thirty story rooftop overlooking Lake Michigan while drinking good strong Illinois beer. We went to this place in Lakeview and I had an omelet that momentarily made me forget that I hadn’t been laid in four months. I walked to Wrigley Field where the closing ceremony of the Gay Games was going on. The dipshit religious zealots and their picket signs couldn’t sour the gay mood of the gay men in Boystown who were gay with glee and happiness and gayness and seemed so proud of how normal they felt in their hometown. I was jealous of their happiness and proud my parents hadn’t raised me to hate the way some do. Oh, and after I saw both Budweiser and Miller Light billboards with scantily clad men that were blatantly targeting their local audience in Boystown, my confidence in the fact that capitalism trumps bigotry was restored. I went to the beach and played in a dodgeball tournament. I ate pizza from Gino’s East that had a similar effect on me as the magical mystical omelet.

I saw Millenium Park, Grant Park, and Buckingham Fountain—the same fountain from the intro to “Married With Children”. “Love and marriage, love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage…”

I bought a PS2 this past weekend. I’ve had fun playing NCAA Football 2007 and have yet to open my Stars Wars Battlefront II game. As great as the PS2 is, it is at this time a relatively poor substitute for a living breathing horny girl/woman…

My brother is my hero, if you didn’t already know so. He’s currently in the middle of a cross country road trip. He’s managed to either text or call me drunk from some of America’s greatest cities. He is moving to New York to further his artistic musical wet dream of a life. He and his friends found a great deal on an apartment. It’s in a four story building with three units. The first floor is a liquor store and the place is located on “the edge” of Harlem. I saw pictures of the inside and it looks spectacular—more so than the outside, I imagine. Sound crazy? It sounds crazy fucking brilliant to me. It’s the type of decision that makes my younger brother the coolest little bastard in the world to me. I can’t wait to go visit him…

August 5


...the eldest professor at the university I work for. After a recent presentation by a candidate who was on campus in hopes of becoming my new boss, this professor was blown away by the shitstorm of numbers, graphs, and statistical horsecrap that had eminated from this guy's mouth. When the time came to ask questions, the stodgy old professor looked straight at the guy and made the following statement after a long pause:

"You are just an absolute analytical tsunami."

Here's my life. I get up, go to work, come home, watch TV, go to bed, write about it, analyze it, tear it all apart, change my mind about how I feel about it, how I feel about others, make guesses about how they feel about me. My name is Rob. If I could be any superhero, I'd be Batman. But I think that in all actuality, I am Analytical Tsunami Boy. My cape is better than yours--on several metaphysical levels...

Therapy is where I go to contemplate, evaluate, and practice the tenants of the life I live and the life I want to live and I guess the life I think I'm supposed to want to live if I am truly to achieve mental health. If my therapist doesn't punch me in the face or kick me in the nuts for some crack she thinks I made about her family, she typically starts each session by asking me what is going on with my life.

I tell her that I get up, go to work, come home, watch TV, go to bed, write about it, analyze it, tear it all apart, change my mind about how I feel about, how I feel about others, make guesses about how the feel about me. I'm having a hard time coming up with new material lately. I'm in a rut, I say. Frustrated because I haven't gotten laid in four months. Frustrated because maybe I'd actually like to meet a nice girl. I'm 27 and this isn't how my life was supposed to turn out, blah, blah, blah. I pay this woman quite a bit of money per hour so that I can be this self-centered and self-pitying. It's no different than any of you whining to a loved one or...writing a blog.

"Why do you think you haven't met anyone lately?"

Who knows? I often find that I don't go to the kind of places that are best to meet the kind of women I want to meet. When I hang out with my guy friends, we go to the kind of bars where there isn't too much in the way of meaningful relationship-making going on or we play poker or engage in some other low sex potential activity. IF I do go to the right places, it's typically with female friends which presents a tremendous catch 22. In my life, I have to go with girls to get to the kind of places where I could theoretically meet other, more available girls. The problem that occurs can be explained by my following theory. I can't think of a good title. Any suggestions would be appreciated:

1. Many single girls, unlike men, go out and socialize in what I'll call "purposeful flocks". Why are they purposeful? Because guys just hang out for the sake of hanging out. We sit around, we drink, we bullshit, we lie, we smoke, we drink some more, and if we happen to meet a girl while we're doing these things, great. If we happen to make a connection or just get laid once, wonderful. But for the most part, men rely on random occurrence while typically women rely on direction, logic, purpose, etc. during these pursuits.

2. If women are in these "purposeful flocks", they are hoping to meet guys. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying girls don't just go out to go out. I'm just saying that girls go out with a true agenda much more often than guys do.

3. The net. Women fear, to varying degrees depending on the person, rejection just like men do--though obviously not as much--when it comes to initial meetings. If women are out in these "places" with a "purpose", they play the odds just like anyone else would, right? Which guys can they target to get the greatest net results?

Girl A sees Sweet-ass Cool Motherfucker B (Me). While I'm quite certain that she's awed at the possibilities that I so obviously present, she sees me with another girl or two. Now these are just my friends, but Girl A doesn't know this. She plays the percentages, assumes I'm taken, and moves on. She makes a key, if incorrect assumption. Shit! I've got a name for my theory now! Female Presumption Bias!

At this point, my therapist is looking at me with a great deal of disdain, more so than usual. I ask her to consider all of this and if this is true, what do I do? Rhyming questions MUST be answered, Dr. Therapist Mind Curer!

"Well, maybe it'll just, um...happen for you."

How many cartons of smokes could I buy for the cost of this analysis?

I think that even at age 27, I'm still making a sort of transition from the "college" way of thinking to the "adult" way of thinking. You see, most of my married friends met in college, the last great bastian of random "it'll just happen" venues. College wasn't a place you hoped to randomly meet people--it was a place where you couldn't HELP but meet random people. I didn't have to make an effort. I watched enough movies to know that you met the love of your life in high school or in college--randomly, with some hijinks and tomfoolery thrown in for good measure. That's how I met my ex and that line of thinking made enough sense for me to buy a ring and make plans and all that. It was easier to ignore the problems when I had faith in the random, yet divinely fated, nature of our intial encounter. I met her in college and we fell in love and the TV/Movies tell me that this is how it's done. So I'm sure it will all work out.

Well, we all know that story and TV/Movies and I are still in couples therapy to address this abuse of trust. You see, I've figured out my problem--at least one of them--when it comes to "meeting someone", if that is what I actually want to do. I'm now an adult and I now go to work and go home and watch TV and eat and go to bed, etc. in the most routine of routines.

If something is ever going to happen, I have to figure out how to give more effort--while still not trying too hard because I keep hearing from everyone who has someone that you can't try because it's when you stop trying "it'll just happen" when you least expect it! Fuck.

I have to be more proactive. Of course I can't get obsessed with it or push when there's no reason to. But I also can't spend nights at home or exclusively go to places with friends where there's no chance of meeting a nice girl or even a not so nice girl who is freaky and just wants to fuck around or...ya know, Miss Right. The last girl I dated was the result of me growing some balls and walking into her place of work and asking for her number. Things were great for a few months before she moved back to New Orleans, but I think that that was supposed to be a lesson.

Youth is to expectation as Adulthood is to action.

I've been hoping all that SAT prep I did years ago might be worth a little more. Being an adult means not waiting around for life to happen to you; it means taking chances or shutting the fuck up about it if you don't. I am Jack's newfound sense of purpose. I hope I remember it tomorrow. At least I wrote it down...

Tune in next time. Same Analytical Tsunami time. Same Analytical Tsunami channel.

Natalie Portman. Smartestestest hot smart.

Album of the Week: "Return to the Sea"

Artist: Islands

Song Highlights: "Swans (Life After Death)", "Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby", "Rough Gem", "Volcanoes"

Song of the Day: "The War Criminal Rises and Speaks"

Artist: Okkervil River

Album: "Down the River of Golden Dreams"

Lyric of Possible Relevance:

"And he’s saying “How did I climb out of a life so boring into that moment?
Please stop ignoring the heart inside, oh you readers at home!
While you gasp at my bloody crimes, please take the time to make your heart my home: where I’m forgiven by time, where I’m cushioned by hope, where I’m numbed by long drives, where I’m talked off or doped."