Random memories

I cherish memories of my youth, but there are some that are so far back in my cobweb filled brain, that it takes one helluva trigger to bring them forward. This morning I was at Einstein Bagels and one such trigger hit me like a ton of bricks...they're advertising their new pizza bagels, and you'll see where this is going in a minute.

I had a very close relationship with my paternal grandfather. Being the youngest of all the grandchildren, I was the most energetic and willing to learn from his wisdom. He also lived 3/4 of a mile away, so his house was an easy getaway from my regular family, and I was always welcome...whether it was to help him cut the grass, tend to the garden, build something out of wood, play some baseball, climb trees, or even just sit, watch tv and listen to stories. Peter, from which my middle name is derived, was born in 1908, and as a history buff you can imagine how I was awe-stuck by some of the things he had to say. As I lived somewhat of a reclusive adolescence, due to my inner gay conflict, he was at times one of my best friends. Though being 70 years my senior, Pete only saw the first 17 years of his favorite grandson's life.

Now Pete was an old fashioned patriarch...he was the provider and counselor. Mary, his wife, stayed at home to cook, clean, raise the children. She didn't even know how to drive a car. Being the stereotypical Depression Era male, Pete didn't really know how to cook--at all. He could make two things: soft boiled eggs and pizza on an English muffin. I still remember standing on a chair, watching as he taught me to use the toaster oven, spread pizza sauce, cheese, and pepperoni on a split Thomas English Muffin, and bake it til golden brown. The amazing thing is, for someone clueless about cooking, he even taught me how to properly spice it with oregano. This is quite possibly the first thing I ever learned to cook...which snowballed into my current culinary prowess.

IT'S ON!!

I'm nervous. Nine years ago this September I broke up with one and only girlfriend (you may begin your mockery now). I haven't seen her since, though we've reconnected over the past few years by chatting online--how she found me is a story I'll address later. But in brief, Nicole was the only girl I was ever really attracted to...no wonder it was because, back then, her arms and shoulders were the size of mine now, though her abs were more ripped. I, however, was a 120lb twig. Nicole got this body from hardcore swimming, lifting, running--a level that would even impress GCC. At one point, I believe she was ranked #4 in the country in the 100 breastroke and her time was about a 1:02...insane for a girl.

Fast forward a decade. Next Sunday is the annual DCRP swim meet, and my source of nervousness and apprehension. Normally, a casual meet like this would be of no real consequence, except for the fact that Nicole will be attending just so that we can race. We actually entered the same seed time, so we will theoretically be in neighboring lanes for the 100 breast. Based on my time at IGLA (when I was in better swim shape), and hers from the UMD meet a few weeeks ago (when she was in less shape than now), I should beat her by a few seconds--gotta love the gay fountain of youth! However, besides the current level of training, there are several variables that could lead to an upset: I've never raced in long course meters before; she is a mentally tough competitor from years of high level racing; I'll probably be hungover from the night before; she wont have any events prior to the 100br to cause fatigue, I'll have the 200IM and relays.

Your job: keep me psyched up for this battle. If you're a fellow DCAC'er, don't let me pussy-out at practice. You better believe I'm going ever day this week (skipping Saturday to recover).

Also, if youre single: Nicole loves giving and getting anal. So if you're desperate, you might give in like I did back in 1997.

I'd Rather Hurt Than Look Bad

...is one of my favorite quotes from Jon Bon Jovi. So many of us can relate to that one. In my previous blog I mentioned my $75 haircut for a job interview. I thought I'd elaborate, as it is an example of an ongoing motif in my life: porn.

As I mentioned, I was in FL and interviewing in DC. I had a Monday flight, Tuesday interview, on Sunday I realized I needed a haircut. Oooops. Now to many of you, a simple trip to Hair Cuttery might suffice. Not for the ConsummateAries. As a perfectionist, a beauty school drop out will never touch his shears to my hair. I never skimp on those things I use on a daily basis. My mattress is very comfy, my bike is a quality build, dress shoes are very walkable, and my hair (though sometimes longer than I'd like it) is always cut well. So when it came to needing a last minute haircut, I freaked. No reputible salon is open on Monday. Why that arbitrary day was chosen by all stylists as the trade's day off, I'll never know. But nonetheless, I had to deal with it. After frantic calls to just about everyone I could think of, I found a friend that could help. I met "Jaime" on MySpace--we both were living in Ft Lauderdale but grew up in the same town: connection. I knew he was an accountant--I never need to ask more than that about money/business occupation or I'll fall asleep mid-explanation. But he gave me the cell phone numbers of two freelance stylists that his company uses. And he knew that one just got back in town from a trip to Las Vegas with his company.

It is at this point that I joked with him about being in Las Vegas for the annual porn convention. He chuckled, I laughed. Oh the foreshadowing.

So I get the appointment for Monday after work. "Michael" sits me down in his private salon in some resort, gives me a choice of wines, and starts at it. I tell him the concept: young, modern, conservative. I never trusts stylists I don't know to do something different, but I was desperate. You know, like when you're horned up and lower your standards cause ya cant find anything else better online? That was me. Luckily he gave me exactly what I wanted. (I wont bore you with details). But during the chit-chat, he was discussing doing hair for "actors". Yup...you got it, the "actors" he referred to were the ones that Chi Chi LaRue hires. Funny, I can never remember what their hair looks like, but everything else is great! When it was all said and done, I was expecting a $200 bill. Private consultation, incredible cut, wine, etc. Just like at My Big Fat Wedding, I was shocked, but pleasantly surprised with the damage. $75 is not bad considering. So many things are worth paying for, especially to alleviate stress.

So in my life thus far, I've lived with porn "stars" (they got fan mail), dated two guys that turned out to have done porn, been wrongfully accused of being a porn star, and had my hair cut by a porn stylist. Too late for a career change? Seems like I'm destined for it.

Why DC?

In response to my solicitations for topics of discussion, my esteemed swimming wife, The Arian-Mexican Offspring wondered, "why [I] moved to DC?", specifically relating to career changes in research and education. Good question.

As I was a kid growing up in Philly, I always dreamed of becoming a marine biologist--I never had any other career aspiration that I can remember. That ambition is what drove me through high school science (which I hated) and undergraduate courses that seemed so useless to what I wanted to do. Finally I was an upperclassmen and took a position in a research lab with a professor I have for Marine Invertebrate Zoology. He made the survey/taxonomy class really interesting with his heavy sarcasm and humor. Who would've guessed he was gay. I got a B+ in Joe's class but he loved my spirit--I always sat in the front and knew all his little useless bits of trivia. After working in his lab for a few months doing marine natural products drug discovery research I approached him with a thesis idea. He was impressed--apparently no other undergrad had done that before; traditionally they're given assignments. No one tells the Consummate Aries what to do! So the world of ascidian chemical defenses became my life.

It was this intrigue and creativity that I showed early-on that got me into Georgia Tech for my PhD. At 22, I was the youngest in the department, and very green. But I still came up with the interesting research questions (or hypotheses) that allowed me to excel. Eventually I realized that academia wasn't for me and left with a M.S. Along the road, I learned that I had a gift for teaching--I was regularly rated as the best T.A. in the department, and because of that, was hired by the Athletic Association to keep our football retards eligible. That's fine, I loved to teach. So when I was confronted with the self-revelation that I didn't want to become a professor, I considered just teaching high school. I figured it cant hurt to give it a shot. So I taught 1 year at a private high school. Only problem was that I felt my brain disintegrating the whole time I was there. The thought of repeating the same thing year after year scared me--I had invested so much in my brain over the last 8 years in college and grad school. I decided to leave, go back to research, and moved to FL and life in the Everglades.

FL was not what I had expected it to be. I figured I'd be happy amongst the hot beach boys, going diving, fishing, and boating every weekend, making good money (or what I thought was good money). Turned out I hated my job and life. I started lookin for a new job about 3months into it--mostly in FL, ATL, or DC. I always had an attraction to DC--its known as very educated, clean, and diverse. Just the characteristics I like in a town. At the 9 month mark I found the perfect job ad: Environmental Visualization Program Manager. What the fuck is that?! Turned out it was a blend of research, management, and education/outreach. Unfortunately, I found the job around the holidays, so the interview process got dragged out. Four phone interviews later, and I was in DC for a formal job interview. With my best suit and $75 hair cut (that's a story in itself), I nailed the interview, was offered the job, and moved to DC two weeks later.

So here I am--17 months later, and enjoying DC more and more every month. I must admit, I do attribute a lot of that to my new found gaggle of gays on the swim team. Sure I don't have the beach, but aren't good friends, a great job, and a dynamic life more important?