Blessing in The Skies

Friends,

I will always cherish the days of recent and hope for better to come. For that, I thank the likes of North America, that country of no small wonder which has given me some of the best it has to offer. From Wisconsin, Michigan, Colorado, New York, North Carolina, California, and Illinoise! (even one from Ohio.) Oh, and CHINA!

You have sat with me through free clinics about ankle health and wealth clinics about the mental self. You've humored me as a large man wearing NOTHING but overalls broke the news that the party I found on Craigslist was, as we suspected, strictly for gay people. You have guided me through the 72 oz. mini-waterfall needed to stay hydrated on "binge day." You have helped me write rap and love songs about global warming and speeding trains. 

You have touched me on the shoulder and asked questions you knew I wouldn't answer, because I always have to be the question-asker. You have seen me hot, you have seen me sweaty. You have seen me grab collars and defend bow ties. You have seen me with your dog and you have seen me onstage laughing with a gay ghost. We have watched a #TigerBleed #TigerBlood on the sidelines of a soccer match, and never once considered this inappropriate.

You have passed me the basketball and asked me to pass the ketchup. You have watched me embarrass myself and watched me watching you, which is embarrassing. I have slept on your couch and your coupon futon and if you're a good friend I've probably shared a hotel bed or tent with you. We've danced (no exceptions) and shared family dinner. You found out I was homeschooled and still let me meet your parents (except you, Zhang it!),

You've walked with me on the streets of Chapel Hill; you've watched me talk the breath out of a taxi driver; you've paid for my dinner a time or two. You let me give you a nickname and bad relationship advice. You've seen me smile with my eyes closed. You showed me your Golden Gate city, you've laughed with one hand in the air and the other on the handlebar of a hastily-rented tandem bike.

Me + my three best friends of all time.

You've talked me down to my face and talked me up behind my back. You are as a whole more than I deserve, but individually I see how I could have done better. Joking, haha. You are a Carbamaraptor taking shots at a Pink Thang in the lime-green leafery of SoCal. I have fixed your computer with one hand and broken the license plate off your Audi with the other. We graduated together, we were new hires together. We have lived in sin in a 21st century brothel, meanwhile, we've watched the universe expand. 

No matter who you are, I've been worried about you. You can always do better, be cuter, get richer or die faster, in my opinion. I want these things for you, but I'd almost rather we put that on pause and press play on Dexter or Californication. I miss you if you're gone; I welcome you if you're just getting here.

Why the Eagle Floating Above your Doorway should be Named Wes, not Mike

So my best friend Joe lives with my other best friend Pete and last weekend they decided they were going to name their eagle after me. Well, technically they decided they were going to name it Wes or Mike, depending on whose essay was better. So here is the essay previously requested, by my best friend Pete and my other best friend, Joe (the Taxidermist):

Why the Eagle Floating Above your Doorway should be Named Wes, not Mike

I'd like to quickly get to the point. Kinda like an eagle likes to immediately tear out the heart of it's prey; let's get to the heart of the matter.

An eagle named Mike is bound to be orthodox, loose of the loins, and full of bad suggestions. An eagle named Wes, on the otherhand, is sure to inspire wild pride among partygoers, raucous trends (in the sexual sense), and be a scary judge of talent*.

Cameron Diaz has a cousin who once said, "If giving a whore a tip is a sin, then I'm the Devil's avocado." Where does this insight leave us? Naked on a friend's porch... undoubtedly. But how can we apply this to life in the 21st century - or life in the fast lane, with Facebook in our left hand and MySpace between our legs? Just like this: An avocado is ripe for the plunging, ready to be eaten and succulent to the lips. Put it in your mouth. Put Cameron Diaz' cousin in your mouth. You won't regret it.

An eagle named Mike is like Cameron Diaz' cousin. Has a voice, has a reason to live, but no reason to "soar."   An eagle named Wes gets sore every night and goes soaring every morning.

An eagle is freedom, strength, courage, good eyesight, hunting, aggressiveness, a good haircut (an always haircut), talons, wingspread, an anti-owl political stance, liberty, a "can do, will do" attitude, and a crisp respect for female eagles (often referred to a feathered Fionas!).

An eagle named Mike is apt to be a hit at your party... but will anyone remember the eagle's name when they get home? No. Sorry Mike, but no. Nobody is going to say "Do you guys remember that eagle, uh sorry, can't remember his name. Help me out?"

Will they remember an eagle named Wes? Absolutely! "Guys, I felt so focused under Wes' admiring gaze last night! I want to meet Joe and Pete again!"

Sure, Mike might be laying eaglets around the globe at an alarming rate, but is that really what you want in a house mascot? Personally, I wouldn't mind a classy feathered fella named Wes who gives hope and pomp, AND circumstance to anybitch who walks within 5 leagues of his observational range.

Make the right choice. Name the eagle Wes. You won't regret the choice, but it might just change your life for the better. Be ready to be popular.

-Wes, the Human

*Only at wet t-shirt parties.

The Rarest Heiress

I don't want you to walk unarmed into a conversation about me. Here's the down low.

Sketch from Scratch

Teaspoon and I scratched our way through the Sketch 201 class at DSIComedy in Carrboro, NC. Each week we wrote a sketch and then went to class to get yelled at for being too racist, too sexist, or just plain unattractive. Then they took a look at what we wrote. By the end of eight weeks, our class size had dwindled to Three Kings: myself, Teaspoon, and a Brian. We performed four sketches on a Friday night to a crowd that was well attended by many of our friends. Sketch topics ranged from gay raccoons to gay ghosts to uncatchable pussies. Yeah, there wasn't much range.

Social Meat Eater

In an attempt to strengthen my online prowess and influence, I've decided to become a woman and start talking more. While that shouldn't need further explanation, I'll elaborate anyway. I found out through Klout that I wasn't where I needed to be socially. I have launched an attack on Twitter to remedy. 

The Plan? To "create."  Then "engage." Then "share." I've been historically cyclical at creation, which draws from motivation, determination, and emaciation. I usually keep my mouth to myself, but I've been opening it more and sharing opinions... whatever those are. Engaging is still an area that needs improvement. Help me out and engage on me.