Montana Stories: Part One

Enough time has passed that I feel comfortable talking about my former life as a transplant in Montana.  What inspired this was my former boss posting pics of me from 2002-2004 (seems like a lifetime ago!) from various work-related functions.

A young crew of online advertisers were we.  Our job was based out  of some guy’s spare bedroom,. Later we moved into an actual office, which led to the downstairs neighbors (a mortgage firm) complaining about our loud music and horseplay.  For the record, the horses weren’t my idea.

Despite the oddities and personalities, the job truly was a great gig. Hell, I was in grad school, could set my own hours, and it paid more than anything else in town. We had XM radio, plenty of free Starbucks, and could come & go as we pleased.  Besides the chubby, angry retard running the show, it was splendid.

So, please allow me to regale you with stories from Montana Stories: Part One.

Julie was the sole girl of our rowdy office bunch. No worries; the only girl in a sizable family of boys, Julie hailed from a flyspeck of a town called Malta. She worked with us part-time and ran her own personal chef/bakery service.

When we worked together, we’d talk about food. Julie and I would create the perfect pairing of fruits and sweets, which she’d then turn into scones and bring to work.  To this day, when I smell scones and coffee, I think of Julie.  [Oddly, another female friend of mine created all of the baked goods for the local coffee shop, Leaf & Bean.]

Nothing got to Julie, she laughed everything off and was always smiling. She was also a feisty, tomboyish redhead with a wicked sense of humor. Of course, the constant lament of all women, Julie’s love life was nonexistent. This perplexed all of us because, well, Julie was so freaking cool and quite pretty.

Tonight, I learned that Julie met a guy, got married and moved away from Montana. Im happy for her, and jealous of the guy that she’s going to fatten up with those delicious scones.

Next time on Montana Stories: My Own Personal Asian.

Hubris Disarmed by Truth.

I have to work today.

Hopefully our Nation’s incoming Administration will spark a remarkably positive transformation within our Nation’s political and social tenor to such a degree that Damon’s monologue will cause us to reflect upon the knowledge that there was a time when such a scenario was not entirely implausible.

My Friend, Bryan. Someone You Should Know.

***I continue to shamelessly pimp out my dear friends…

During my second year of college, I was a Resident Assistant, an RA.   In fact, I was Bryan’s RA.  Anyone who knew me during that period can attest that I was ill suited for any position of authority or leadership involving young and impressionable minds.  Nevertheless, out of money, nearly homeless, and lacking alternatives, I bullshitted my way into an RA position at Powell, WY’s Northwest College.

How I came to know Bryan has everything to do with fortune cookies.  Our little school’s cafeteria, which — quality wise — was several notches below your worst sober Waffle House/Huddle House experience, believed that adding an Asian foods bar would do much to improve student complaints.  A better idea would have been to ensure that, and I could not be kidding less, the food contained no rocks.  Personally, I lost two teeth to that cafeteria.

One afternoon, the Dean of Student Life called me to complain that a student had pilfered a bag of fortune cookies from the Asian foods bar.  The student’s name, the Dean told me, was Bryan.  He also told me where to find this menace.  However, I already knew this, as Bryan was one assigned to my floor.  When I knock on his dorm room door, Bryan calls for me to come in.  This is where I find him, sitting on the floor in only his underwear, a pile of empty cellophane wrappers on one side and a stack of fortunes on the other.  He just looked up at me and smiled this smile that, well, to know Bryan is to know that smile.

It was the beginning of a beautiful, if odd, friendship.  Although it was challenged when Bryan dated my ex-girlfriend, something expressly outside of the boundaries of the Guy Code.  However, we have learned to forgive each other quickly, as he did when I accidentally stepped on his penis, or when my ex-wife forbade us from hanging out after Bryan decided to let loose a tremendous fart amongst holiday shoppers at Barnes & Noble.  Alternately, I forgave him for mocking me after I threw up from drinking too much coffee.

Over the years, our paths took us in decidedly different directions.  I headed East for more college and eventually my career.  At some point, when I thought I was in love, Bryan was there as one of my groomsmen.  He was the only one to tell me not to marry my now ex-wife.  He was the only one there for me when we split up five years later.

Over the years, Bryan and I have had many adventures, like Xmas 2005, The Drunken Elephant Xmas Party …

Or Xmas 2006, at the Buffalo Trace Bourbon Distillery …

Alternately, Bryan –at my insistence and much to his mother’s dismay– volunteered for the US Army’s Special Forces, eventually becoming a medic.  The field of medicine is something for which Bryan has always demonstrated great passion.  It was his positive attitude and courage, his insatiable lust for challenge and knowledge that allowed him to conquer training that washed out 90+% of his fellow soldiers.  That’s how Bryan changes the world, simply by being himself.  Some adventures he had to endure on his own; still, no matter where his travels take him, Bryan finds a way to have fun and make others laugh:

At SF training (Red Hot Chili Pepper style + machine gun)…

In Iraq (which is apparently a lot like Wyoming)…

Thailand (yar! we’re  searchin’ fer booty)…

North Carolina (yes, that’s a strap on & a tip jar) …

The Philippines (drunk karaoke in Tagalog )…

Or Someone’s wedding (hey, he cleans up well, right?)…

One adventure Bryan has not had is the adventure of love.  Let me rephrase: requited love (this does not count his hand(s) or his mother).  This Korean-speaking, world-traveling soldier who reads Ayn Rand, studies Kinesiology (in hopes of becoming a Physician’s Assistant), writes existential poetry, loves his family, and can make bin Laden laugh is without a soul mate.  He is not, however, without love.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.

This is my friend Bryan, and I hope you get to meet him some day.

Why I Love My Cameraphone, Pt. 3

At the risk of beating this whole “Why I love My Cameraphone” thing to death, I offer my third installment.  Mind you, I never intended to write a series of these posts.  However, as we saw in [links open in new window] WILMC, Pt 1 and WILMC, Pt 2, it just so happens that I’ve been blessed (cursed?) with so many delicious oddities to share with you, my readers.  So, without further ado, I give you the third latest installment of WILMC:

Seriously? How is this book even possible?

It’s stuff like this that keeps me gainfully employed as a writer/editor.

Wow. That’s just cruel. Thievery AND mockery in one fell swoop.

Passive Aggressive meets Gone Postal. This was taken on a Friday @ 910am.

Tate vs. Palin

I wish I’d know about these during the campaign. Hilarious!

Watch Katie’s reaction/facial expression at 36 seconds. Classic!

Let’s be honest, we all wish this would happen. *

*In this instance, “we” means people capable of discerning utter off-the-cuff, “I’m helplessly scrambling for an answer to this simple redirect” bullshit from the simple truth, as well as those NOT enamored by a nasally WASP dumber than your average fart OR an unlicensed, unskilled, tax-owing dolt who goes by a AOL screen name like, Joe the {insert any blue collar job here].

Why I Love My Cameraphone, Pt. 2

Some time back I blogged about Why I Love My Camera Phone, the love affair continues.  Let’s explore why, shall we?

Well, there’s the drive-up ATM at my local Chevy Chase Bank, which offers both voice guided and braille instructions. WTF?

There’s catching my girlfriend impersonating Cindy Lou Who. Awwww, what a cutie! ; )

There’s finding disturbing puzzles, like this one (above) that illustrates Santa killing a puppy while the carcasses of other puppies lay at his feet.

And this puzzle (above), depicting savage puppies feasting on an innocent, unsuspecting kitteh.

There’s finding my female kitteh, Taxi, practicing sexy poses on my bed.Hey, big boy, come here often? Meow.

And there’s stealing pictures of my lovelorn friend, *Sierra*, who is smart, funny, attractive, and mostly well-balanced…and in need of a good man. Anyone interested can contact me.

Same As It Ever Was…

Except it wasn’t. No. Not at all.

Have you ever accidentally stapled your tongue to something?  Remember how afterward you swore you’d never let that happen again – that’s how I felt about Kentucky.  Admittedly, it’s also how I felt about marriage and rest area bathroom sex.  Still, we all make -and repeat- mistakes.

However, the last last time I left Kentucky, I promised myself I wouldn’t return. But then I started dating a girl from Kentucky, and having no family of my own (sadly, they were killed by rapid, Muslim extremist orangutans during a bizarre three-way hijacking disguised as a feud between the Medellin drug cartel and the guy who holds the patent to the Fudgie the Whale ice cream cake), I accompanied her home for Thanksgiving.

When Hollywood scripts a holiday scene featuring a bizarre turn of events with a sardonic but  comical twist,  they cast Robert Downey, Jr.  When Robert needs to study his character’s motivation, he calls me.  It seems that weird just follows me.

As previously reported, it had been exactly one year and one day since I was last in Kentucky.  Which is not too long.  I mean, I’ve had girls under the effects of roofies for longer.  But what did I see upon my arrival?   Things had changed.  Oh, mind you, not in the Obama sense of the word (Kentucky was the first state to produce election results: Red), but things had changed.  It was like an angel had swooped down and breathed the 19th century into the place.  Okay, not so dramatic.  It was like someone had moved my car keys; it was a slight but nonetheless noticeable change.

But more than that, I had changed.  Enough to realize that I was no longer repulsed by The Bluegrass State.  To be fair, I still loathe University of Kentucky fans.  And I am dumbfounded by the Blue Laws (dry counties, and no alcohol sales -anywhere- on Sunday), which are especially puzzling since Kentucky is synonymous with inbreeding toothlessness snakehandling Bourbon.  On the other hand, it is Kentucky, where fishing in the Kentucky portion of the Ohio River requires an Indiana fishing license.  Regardless, I was in a new place mentally.  I was ready to accept Kentucky’s oddities as peccadillo’s and idiosyncrasies that provided character rather than marred my expectations.

Don’t get me wrong, I won’t be moving there any time soon.  In fact, I’ve designated 2009 as the year of travel.  Whether it be for work, relationship, or other, I have long put off my love for travel.  So, during 2009 I will embark on my “Where in the world is Corey King” tour.  The itinerary thus far: Seattle, Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, Huntsville, New York, Denver, and San Francisco.  Plus there’s my trip to the UK (Hi, Emma!).  I want to spread my disease wings a bit.  I want to discover life beneath the surface of things.  I want yet another new career.  I want to meet the people behind the blogs I read.  I want to understand what David Byrne meant when he sang, Once in a lifetime.

I want someone to pay me to do this… The Atlantic?  Slate? Wired? Rolling Stone? Esquire? Hello?

What I learned is this: some ‘things’ can change and other ‘things’ are -by definition or design- simply unchangeable.  The trick is knowing which is which.  I’m fond of saying, “You have to know what the variable is; more importantly, you have to know when the variable is you.”  Yes, it’s about as deep as a tea saucer, but its meaning is what has led me away from who I was and towards who I will someday be:  Not everything remains a constant and sometimes what has to bend, is you [me].

As for Kentucky, minus a fresh coat of paint, it’s the same as it ever was.  And me?  Oh, most days I’m the variable.  So, as you plan to make resolutions that you’ll undoubtedly break, take it from me: When you get to that fork in the road and wonder, “What next? What do I do here?”  The answer is the question: What do you want to come of this? If the answer is “More of the same,” just do what you’ve always done.  But if that voice inside you says, “It’s time for change,” then perhaps it’s time for you to be the variable and bend.  Or maybe you should go to a shrink for those voice you’re hearing.

Oddly enough, that is what came about during my Thanksgiving in Kentucky.  Entirely fitting for a Robert Downey, Jr. role, I think.

So, with that out of the way, please enjoy the newest additions to my blogroll:

• Bern This
  
• DC Foodies
• The Stephford Diaries
  

*I’ll be on the road for a few days, so no new posts after this.  Sorry.  I would LOVE some guest posts.

Any takers?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Bueller?