Shouldn't Have Come to This

Mental stability is something that I've always taken for granted. I've been blessed to heretofore have always been able to claim control of my mental faculties, so I've always been quick to dismiss claims of mental instability as "just an excuse." That's no longer the case.

Whenever there's a big national tragedy, especially those involving guns, I hear people say "It's not guns that are the problem - we're just not doing enough to combat mental health issues," and I roll my eyes because it sounds like a copout. It's no secret that I'm no big fan of guns, and I'll always believe that better gun control laws would do more help than harm. But a couple of recent events have made me stop long enough to lend an ear to the mental health argument. Twice in the last year, I've had my eyes opened to the true fragility of mental health, and consequently, life itself. Two friends from my young adulthood - one from high school, the other from my prolonged college years - lost their struggles against mental instability. Both times left me absolutely floored by the news because they were of the "Well if it can happen to them, what chance do the rest of us have?" variety. Maybe it's a testament to how well they were able to put on a happy face for the rest of us. Maybe it speaks to how neglectful I had been as a friend that I had no idea that either had secret personal demons. But it should never have come to this for me to wake up.

It's a shame that it takes death to make some issues hit home for some of us, but that's how it is sometimes. Having grown up never knowing anyone with a diagnosed mental disorder, it was simply never something I faced. Absence often begets ignorance, and while I can't claim that my ignorance towards it was exactly blissful, I just didn't always take claims of mental instability very seriously. I wrongly and carelessly assumed that official diagnosis was reserved for those with mental defects so obvious that they needed watching, a la patients in an insane asylum. It's shameful that I could have been so nonchalant and dismissive of issues that are very real and more than likely in far closer proximity to me than I thought. The tragedies that have befallen two good friends in the past year tells me that mental health issues are tangible every day.

Fortunately for my previous ignorance, someone with whom I've grown close in the past year has told me about her own struggles with mental health. Having, at different times, been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder, she's been my constant (albeit unofficial) source of information about mental health issues. The most common one - i.e. the one that likely claimed the lives of both of my fallen friends - is bipolar disorder, one that she says is characterized by dizzying highs and soul-crushing lows. Oscillating between states of mania and depression, a person with bipolar disorder can often become a danger to themselves when alone, especially if said disorder goes undiagnosed or untreated. But as of this year, it's no longer a foreign threat to me; it's right here, right now. It should have never come to this.

Never again will I hear someone say "I'm depressed" without it giving me pause. Never again will I so callously say that "It's too easy to just claim to have mental issues to excuse one's problems." It's an embarrassingly obtuse viewpoint for me to have carried for so long, and all along, I should have known that it isn't just that black and white. Now admittedly, neither friend ever came to me about their personal demons, so there wasn't much I could do from afar. But at the very least, I want to be more aware now. If writing this means that one more person is able to go to their friends and talk about their problems, then I'm happy. My hope is that we can all do something to learn more about the signs of mental unrest. All I know is that I don't want to have to face this situation again because I took mental stability for granted. I don't want to lose someone again because of my own ignorance. I can't. I won't.

Religion in Sports

Hola, blogosphere! Sir Marcus back here with what is hopefully a thought-provoking topic. Let's get the ball rolling, yes?

Last night, millions of people around the world tuned in to watch the Super Bowl, which saw the Baltimore Ravens knock off the San Francisco in an epic battle of will and dueling shifts of momentum, the fulcrum of which was a puzzling 34 minute stretch in the 3rd quarter when half of the stadium lost power. Given that the location for last night's game was New Orleans, this occurrence gave rise to many a Mardi Gras/Hurricane Katrina joke: 

Go home, Louisiana Super Dome, you're drunk.
— Marcus Williams (@SirRantAndRave) February 4, 2013

Last night's game featured no shortage of storylines, from the brothers Harbaugh coaching against one another to the rise of 49ers' young phenom quarterback Colin Kaepernick. But the story that got perhaps the most press in the two weeks leading up to the big game was that of Ray Lewis, the ferociously passionate star middle linebacker of the Baltimore Ravens. A Baltimore win stood to be the culmination of not only a storybook season, but of a career for the embattled Lewis, a man who may-or-may-not have been involved in a murder around the time of Baltimore's last super Bowl win in 2001. Always a well-respected but fiery competitor, Lewis has worn his emotion and his religion on his sleeve for years. Given what was believed to have been a career-ending torn triceps during the regular season, the fact that he was able to play in the postseason at all was somewhat miraculous, a fact not lost on Lewis, as Baltimore's improbable playoff run gave him just the podium he needed to essentially provide sermons for the American public anytime a camera or a microphone were within earshot of him. This all begs the question: what place should religion hold in sports?

Religion is one of those topics in our society that, while very pervasive, often gets the hush-hush treatment. When you go on a first date, it's one of the topics that one is often advised to steer clear of. Why is that, though? Most likely because it's an incredibly polarizing topic that has driven millions of people to war. Or something like that. 

I love sports. As someone who has been raised a Christian, I have no qualms with someone professing their faith, whatever it is. I do, however, recognize that the line between tasteful mention and overkill is razor thin, and in a public media forum such as sports, that line can be easily trampled. Over the month or so that led to last night's win, many sports fans would argue that Ray Lewis played jump rope with that line. His uncanny ability to have a scripture and some tears ready whenever a camera were around made many people roll their eyes, especially in lieu of his status as an "alleged" murderer who had managed to circumvent any criminal punishment. 

Another athlete who's been subject to much criticism for his evangelical usage of his faith is Tim Tebow, though his proselytizing is juxtaposed against his unorthodox and widely-believed-to-be-questionable skillset, especially for someone who gets paid to play quarterback. The more that Tim Tebow succeeded against all convention for how a quarterback was supposed to play, the more opportunity he had to spread his faith, and the more he did that, the more people turned on him. And even as a fellow Christian, there are admittedly times when athletes who can't open their mouths without a scripture cocked and loaded make even me roll my eyes. Obviously, I say that without knowing these guys personally, and in the case of Lewis and Tebow, I even believe that they are genuine. But the eye-rolling comes because it just seems too convenient at times. Much like when actors win some sort of award and begin their acceptance with "I'd like to thank God...", it's a contrivance that can often come off as opportunistic and exploitative, as if it's apart of their contracts. It's a cheap pop, tantamount to a pro wrestler shouting out the city hosting the event, or interviewing child survivors during the WORST MASS SHOOTING IN U.S. HISTORY. Oh, wait a minute...  

My guess? Athletes and other celebrities know what some of the easiest ways to generate good will are, and while whether they are saying things out of sincerity or not is purely speculative, they know that they are working in a profession that makes them spokesmen and women, one way or another. So the question is, can religion cross over into mainstream media (sports, entertainment, etc) without becoming cumbersome and polarizing? I believe that it can. For every Ray Lewis and Tim Tebow, there are guys like A.C. Green, a longtime journeyman NBA player in the late-80s and 90s who never hid his Christian beliefs, but also didn't allow them ever become something that defined him negatively. It's wrong to say that someone should stifle their personal beliefs, but it is also incorrect to say that there aren't less divisive ways to spread the word (no pun intended). 

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Well, that wraps up today's offering. Hope it got you guys thinking a little bit. As always, find a brotha on The Tweeter or by email (Gsuswalks88@gmail.com) for any thoughts, questions, suggestions, or feedback. Or just on here. Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off...

You crazy kids take care and stay classy out there. 

Don't Be THAT Guy

How it does, blogosphere? Sir Marcus here once again to do some brain purging with you all, since I'm sure you've been waiting on it. No need to grovel and beg, kiddos; you're embarrassing me with all of the fanfare.

Anyways, today's lesson is on the dangers of being "THAT" guy (or girl - no misogyny here!). We all know what I mean. In every office, store, bathroom, Plasma Center, friend group, family, or orgy, there's one naive soul who violates basic tenets of common decency with absolutely NO hint of irony or awareness. It'd be cute if it weren't so damn sad. And even then, nothing cute about a grown man that insists on sharing the same stall as me in the bathroom. Not again, anyways.

So here are THOSE guys that you're most likely to run into on a regular basis. Here's to hoping that none of them are currently reading this.

1). The Self-Invitee
These are the people who mistake their proximity to a particular place or conversation as reason enough to interject their presence into the proceedings. Any fans of The Office can remember the episode where Jim hosts a party for everyone in the office except Michael. As in that case, you don't hate or even dislike someone per se, you just DON'T like them. Unfortunately, this person often, one way or another, gets wind of a particular event, and if they don't find a way to beat an invitation out of one of the attendees, they might just show up anyways, just like Michael did, and the dismay of his employees meant that he was second-scariest Michael to ever show up to a party uninvited only because "Myers" comes before "Scott" alphabetically.

But for my money, the worst kind of self-invitee is he or she of the conversational persuasion. Killing as much time as a Textbook Temp as I have over these past few years has, unfortunately, lent itself to dealing with MANY a coworker who had no idea how stay out of a conversation. Like, they didn't know how a regular human being could conceivably pull off such wizardry. I shit you not, I once spent an entire work shift starting convos with coworkers around this particular one guy, just to see if he'd take the bait if given the chance. You ever have someone let you down specifically because they DIDN'T let you down? Yeah, well the next day, I went out of my way NOT to strike up convo with him around, and he still found a way into them all. Different toilet, same shit.

2) Mr. SUPER Bass
No one enjoys listening to music throughout his day to day life more than me. I often complain about how difficult it's been to enjoy that activity to its full potential because my iPod's headphone jack shorted out awhile ago. While I can still use the speaker on it if necessary, it's not the same as having headphones to contain the music to yourself. I REFUSE to not see this tragic fact as anything but a forfeiture of my right to play music as loud as I normally would. Those are the breaks, and I've accepted them. Headphones exist specifically to keep everyone else from hearing your music. I get it - who amongst us WOULDN'T enjoy some famous drink called a "Cleveland Steamer?" - but you still need to turn your music down. This applies doubly to those that listen to said music using the speaker on their cellphones. That's just barbarism, folks.

3. The Over-sharer
This is also a trait that I often run into while working at the bookstore. There's a particular coworker of mine who has an issue knowing where to draw the line when it comes to sharing behind-the-scenes info. Suddenly, an otherwise-innocuous comment about her scarf turns into this horrific mental image of the hickey she claims to be hiding under said scarf. A discussion on why she's late turns into a litany of anecdotes about her family's history of poor health. A thank you for the cookies she baked for everyone begets the oral history of her waking up at 3 the previous morning when the house with its unfortunate AC problems would be the coolest. Cool story, bro, but no one MADE you make the cookies. Leave the God complex at home, sister; we all appreciate the cookies, but we'd rather you served them with a side of milk rather than guilt.

4. Mr. "Me Too" / "Plus One"
These two are brothers (and also first cousins of the Over-sharer and Self-Invitee). They are slightly different, yet resemble each other enough that you can tell they're related.

Mr. Me-Too is the youngest brother, a representation of the imperfect qualities that are there before said qualities have grown and developed into, for better or worse, what they will be later. This is that guy that can't stand to hear someone mention something they've done or owned without deciding that he wants it too. Naturally, this is often most present in children, as they rarely want something until they see you with it. I know this because not only did I grow up in one, but I now also work at an after-school community center with children. Nothing ever reminds kids how much they LOVED "Flaming Hot" Cheetos or sunflower seeds until another kid came in with them. Not only were you soon subjected to 8 pairs of grubby hands asking you for yours, but you could bet they'd soon go get their own, when they'd just as soon forget your previous generosity. Sometimes, Mr. Me Too strikes in intangible ways, such as doing whatever he has to do to get the attention off of someone and onto themselves. Don't ever let this person catch you playing a game or joking around with their sibling or close friend, because generally, they will NOT recognize this as a hint for them to cool down, and they WILL get that much more desperate. You've been warned.

Mr. Plus One is perhaps the most famous "THAT guy" of all time - the one-upper. A manifestation of an older, more mature (yet immature) version of Mr. Me Too, this guy can't be stopped. Most kids don't have the capacity to be this guy yet, but in high school or college and as the stakes in life get higher, you'll bump into this guy every 3rd step. No feat of anyone else's is ever as good as it gets as long as he's around; if you've ever been to Europe, he's been to the moon. If you've ever caught a 100-pound fish, he caught Moby Dick. They have no sense of scale or decorum; whatever it takes to have the best story is what they'll say.

5. Mr. Vulgarity
I'll preface this by saying that I'm admittedly fairly modest in terms of garnering public attention, so maybe I'm biased. But somehow, some way, guys have gotten the idea throughout the years that girls get off on publicly hearing them say childish, vulgar things just for the shock value. While I am not a girl and can't speak 100% to their sensibilities, I'm fairly certain that this isn't the case, at least not for mature women. I'm not saying mature women are all uptight and prude, but guys, there's still good value in a filter for the dark matter roaming around your minds. Example: I once ran into a guy downtown wearing a shirt that said "Higher than a Giraffe's Pussy," with a picture of the back underside of a giraffe on the shirt. This, my friends, is why we can't have nice things. I could just see that guy smirking to himself as he pulled the shirt on that morning - "I'm gonna KILL 'em with this one!" The part about being high is immaterial to the argument here (though again, perhaps my ideologies towards drug usage probably betray my bias), but why is that shirt a thing that is happening? I'd have a hard time ordering that sumbitch online with a straight face, so I couldn't imagine wearing it in good conscience. There's no need to use the word "pussy" without context unless you're trying to prove something. It's self-consciously naughty, and at that point, you're just trying too hard.

6. The Over-eater
A rogue over-eating spree is something that we've all seen, experienced, and lived to tell of. This guy is normally the guy that dives, face-first, into the food line for seconds or thirds before his first plate has been fully swallowed. This also usually happens before all of the other guests have arrived or even bothered to eat themselves. Hey, we've all been here. You don't want to be the person in the group eating the most, but part of the appeal, at least while in college, of getting involved in different groups with different people is the promise of free food. You're likely to show up starving, just watching the clock bleed minutes away until you can get into that pizza, and you can't help it that everyone else lives on this inane, liberal three-meals-a-day agenda. Still, gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins, and you're staring it right in it's pudgy, greasy, ketchup-stained face.

Sadly, this guy can often end up morphing into his alter-ego, the Toilet-stopper. For unrelated reasons though, I'm sure, but nothing derails a food festivity quicker than a turd in the punchbowl.

7. Debbie Downer 
Also known as a "Bitter Betty," "Sad Susan," or "Tragic Tracy," this guy or gal has never met a mood or story that could escape her personal touch of melancholia. That's nice that you went out on a nice date the previous weekend; did you know that Ms. Downer doesn't date because she's been set up on a blind date with an ACTUAL blind person on more than one occasion? Did you know that she inherited the baldness gene from her grandfather while her brother got her grandmother's trust fund? Or that when everyone had chickenpox in kindergarten, Debbie managed to avoid it, only to end up repeating because she missed two months with smallpox?

8. The Grammar Nazi

 Look, we all have a friend that can be an unbelievably pretentious know-it-all. Unknowingly pompous and condescending, this guy has a hard time hiding his disappointment in others. Perhaps this guy carries around a pocket thesaurus. Perhaps this guy uses it to "aggrandize" his vocabulary instead of improving it. This guy will never miss an opportunity to wax poetic about the witty stylings of Oscar Wilde or point out the signs of her reclusive nature in Emily Dickinson's work. Sadly, this poor schlub will never realize that he should probably abandon his crusade for better grammar throughout his society. Your heart may be in the right place, but you're wasting your time. Just accept the "universally-lowered standards to which everyone else seems to hold themselves," you insufferable douche. NO ONE CARES.

*******

Whew, that was fun. This is just a short list of "THAT" guys that pervade our society. I'm sure there are some that I left out, as there are far too many people around with disagreeable tendencies. If you can think of some (or any other ideas or comments, for that matter, hit a brotha on the Tweeter or via email at @Gsuswalks88@gmail.com. Until then, this is Sir Marcus signing off...

You crazy kids take care and stay classy out there. 

Black to the Future

Greetings, blogosphere! How's it hanging? Low and slightly skewed towards the left, one would hope. Guess who's black in the saddle after an 8 month hiatus?

But on an unrelated note, I, your favorite absentee blogger, am back with a small sampling of the witticisms, rants, and raves that you had come to expect with varying levels of frequency in the past. To the couples and couples of people out there who've been clamoring for this return - you're welcome. Strap in, kidlets - this ride's gonna get bumpy.

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- First and foremost today is that last night, America re-elected President Obama for his second term in office, granting him 4 more years to come through and deliver on the tidal wave of hope and change that carried him into office the first time four years ago. I'll be the first to tell people that I really don't care about politics too much, but I'm proud to say that for the first time in my life, I did vote. Credit goes to a few of my more political-savvy friends for pushing me to do it. I didn't do it necessarily to pacify them, but because it was something I wanted to do, provided the process didn't call for me to go out of my way to do so. Not that I take the process for granted, but I had never felt a strong compulsion to do so until this year.

Anyone with even a passing familiarity with my twitter account can tell you which candidate I favored, and I imagine those who voted for Romney either shut down their social media outlets for the night or just unfollowed me altogether. I personally think he's a decent guy, but the pro-Obama force was strong in my twitterverse last night. It's fine with me if some folks decided to detach themselves from my storm of retweets; I don't apologize for my opinions or tweeting tendencies, and neither should they. I am happy to report that I observed less vitriolic reaction via social media to Obama's re-election than there was when he first came into office. So whether celebrating that or the fact that America has gotten to a point where it can even stomach A BLACK PRESIDENT, let's have a toast to progress, folks.

Totally caught her slippin...

- A very close second on the news front is that I can very happily say that a little over 6 months ago, I was fortunate enough to find someone who can (mostly) not only tolerate and accept my imperfections and eccentricities, but grow to love them. I call her my Honey Dip, and she's a self-proclaimed "whole 'lotta woman," something that I can personally vouch for, at least in terms of personality. She's caring, affectionate, and outgoing like any Honey Dip should be, plus so much more - impulsive, deeply opinionated and outspoken, plus, much like myself, a card-carrying member of Team Jungle Fever. We are FAR from immune to the ups and downs of a relationship between young people, but everyday I can stand next to her as a friend and significant other, I'm that much prouder than the day before. We're both a bit stubborn and dramatic, which leaves rarely a dull moment when things get dicey, but at the end of the day, there's no one I'd rather go to sleep next to every night, and there's no one I'd rather see upon awakening the next morning. 

- I have recently become a proud inductee into America's bald society, and it feels good to be liberated from the hairline struggle. I fought it for a long time, but once your hairline starts betraying you, it's either bald or be balded. Score one for the home team.

- I'm still fighting the good fight as a textbook temp at the MU bookstore. That's the punchline.

**NERD-OUT ALERT; PLEASE QUIETLY EXIT THE KITCHEN IF UNABLE TO STAND THE HEAT**

My audition as "Blacktain America" didn't amuse them.

- In May of this year, the movie event of my lifetime - check that, OUR lifetimes - occurred, and my answer to your question is "4 times, and then the DVD finally came out." Of course I'm talking about the theatrical release of Marvel's "The Avengers," the culmination of years and years of patient superhero movie fandom. And by "patient," I mean "was constantly reminding any poor soul within earshot of the movie's release date as soon as it was announced."My diligence and fervor was then rewarded when the movie dominated its competition to the tune of over 1.5 BILLION dollars and a current spot as the 3rd highest-grossing movie of all time, behind only "Waterworld" and "Gigli." Just kidding: "Gigli" didn't make that much money.


Okay, full disclosure: neither did "Waterworld."

But "The Avengers" was wildly successful, and is actually 3rd on the all-time list, giving credence to the theory that if you let comic book nerds build up enough testosterone and make sure they don't waste it on frivolous things like sex, women, or sexy women, then they can marshall all of that enthusiasm in a way that can truly make things happen. Virginity, I CHOOSE YOU!

Non-comic book movie fans should take solace in that this seemingly once in a lifetime event.... DOES in fact have a sequel that is tentatively scheduled (for a definitive date of May 1st, 2015). And if that doesn't do it for those of you that know me, consider yourselves lucky; I know more about comics than the average person, but I don't REALLY know comic book stuff in the sense that I'm not a comic book reader. Had the opportunity to get into a hypothetical "Who's the best avenger/superhero?" debate with a guy a few weeks ago and even I came away scared by how into it others can be. I shit you not, I think the kid with whom I spoke  ACTUALLY believes in Batman.

- Speaking of Heat, my beloved-yet-beleaguered Miami Heatles exorcised all of the hateful demons that plagued them since the summer of 2010 in winning the NBA championship this past June. Along the course of their playoff run, Lebron James put all of the ridiculous "choke artist"/"no rings = not great" arguments to bed with one of the most mesmerizing displays of athletic prowess and consistency any player has ever recorded. Now the undisputed best player alive (when intelligent basketball fans hadn't doubted it for quite some time now), he has seemingly unlocked the "STUNTIN ON YOU HEAUXS" merit badge and focused that tantalizing potential with which he's been teasing us since he was in high school. Here's to hoping they can win a few more.

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Well folks, let's wrap it up there. Hope it was enough to whet that appetite a bit, because I missed you guys. It feels good to be back in the flow a little bit; let's not wait another 8 months to get together again, mmmmkay? As always, any feedback in the way of comments, suggestions, or constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated around these parts. Hit me on twitter or facebook or myspace or xanga or pony express or carrier pigeon. 

Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off....... y'all stay classy out there and take care. 

The S.A.D.(ness)

Welcome back, blogomaniacs? Where the hell have y'all been? I know, I've dropped the ball recently, but here's my excuse: ................................................................................................ okay? Glad y'all can be so understanding.

I've been looking for reasons to bring you all back into the fold for awhile now, and today seemed like as good a day as any. Why today, you ask? Well if any day lends itself to one of my rants and raves, it was a "holiday" that recently occurred. This day was Valentine's Day, a.k.a. the irrational, overbearing aunt that you rarely see of all corporate holidays (the mother ('s day) of said holidays, of course, is on the 2nd Sunday of May).

For those of us who find ourselves perpetually stuck in the friend zone, it may be known as Palentine's Day. Some have it worse than others; your SUPER platonic female friends lean on you hardest around this time so that they aren't left out of the festivities, so you find yourself assuming some of the gifting responsibilities of a normal boyfriend, only without that pesky sex and/or other affection getting you dirty from all of that platonic love you're spilling everywhere. But don't you dare fret, palentines of the world, because before the night is out, you'll get your opportunity to cop a feel or two of her ............... hair as you're pulling it out of the way while she's puking up all of that wine and chocolate that you bought for her. Unless, of course, she bought it for herself in a misguided act of defiance meant to hide the fact that she clearly really DOES resent not having a valentine that year, that is. If you're good enough friends with her, ask her if she remembers that time from THE ENTIRE PRECEDING MONTH when she told anyone within earshot that she didn't need someone to buy her Valentine's Day gifts because her love of herself was good enough. As you duck behind the shoes she throws at you, quietly applaud yourself for seeing this night coming, because she can't sell you bullshit - you know the prices all too well. After you're done congratulating yourself for your foresight, kick yourself for still managing to not find an excuse to be anywhere else.

But, for those of us who recognize that this day is really only as significant as you make it, you refer to it as Singles' Awareness Day, because no day is better at reminding you of this fact.

Let me preface this: I say "Singles' Awareness Day" without even a hint of bitterness or despair. Being single and recognizing it should, in no way, be seen as an indictment on yourself. If you consistently yearn for someone to be with and even MORE consistently strike out, then yeah, this day might make you a little sore in the rectum, but if you're a dollar bill and don't care who knows it, then this is just another day to you. Being single and openly calling it S.A.D. generally connotes that you are bitter and jaded in some way about it, but that really is not always the case.

Make no mistake - there's a huge disparity between being alone and being lonely. As someone who enjoys having an inordinate amount of time to himself, I long ago embraced and adopted this mantra. But for those that see S.A.D. as an indictment on their own lack of romantic appeal, solace can be taken in the fact that while you may be lonely, you certainly aren't alone. Singleness is our default setting, and while some are completely comfortable - nay, thrilled - about this, there are always going to be other people who spend every February 14th lamenting the fact that a nice, clean $2 bill is rare.

Hear me out though, couples of the world - I get it. If you're the female half of a decent heterosexual couple, you love yourself some Valentine's Day, and why wouldn't you? There are flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, special lingerie, screaming/weeping in joy, and then whatever gifts you get from him and your resultant behavior too. Now, while most of us single folk could live without the constant reminders and all of your hysteria, you need not be ashamed of your fortunate lot in life. Clearly, you have been doing something right for long enough that not only will someone tolerate you, but they choose to spend time with you in an intimate manner. If this preference for your presence over that of others compels someone to shower you with gifts and other affection, then by all means, allow yourself some time to revel in that shit.

But even those happy, mutually-beneficial couples can not possibly deny that this day only matters for you and the countless sheeple that delude themselves into thinking this day matters to non-couples. The pervasive sentiment of synthetic "romance" that can enrapture some people is truly impressive. You know how I know this? Well besides the fact that my eyes work, I used to be one of those people.

General rule of thumb, kidlets: if you're struggling to get any romantic momentum going, Valentine's Day is decidedly NOT the day to get it started. If a girl sees you as just a friend, then making any sort of unprovoked romantic overtures towards her on that day is a great way to get her to admit as much.

As a self-proclaimed romantic soul, I have, on at least three separate occasions since I started college, tried to spontaneously generate a courtship with this girl or that on or around Feb. 14th. Let's just say that I was incredibly aware of my singleness by the end of these endeavors. How many strikes is one allowed in baseball until he is out, again?

I've since realized the error of those ways. Even if there are mutual romantic feelings between you and someone, if you haven't yet taken the step towards a relationship - i.e. you're not exclusively dating or haven't been physically involved yet - then a misstep on S.A.D. can become a litmus test for how much someone REALLY likes you. It's an immense pressure cooker, and it can - for better or worse - expedite whatever process that lies ahead. Most of the time, as I've learned countless times, you don't want to do that. Too much early pressure means that it generally isn't going to work out. As much as it would pain old me to admit, if you're crushing on someone and they have no idea about it, it might be best to leave S.A.D. alone. I know it sounds sweet and romantic to surprise her with chocolates and flowers, but the whips and assless chaps were a little much. Also, people only call them "kissing cousins" as a joke. Now you owe your aunt an apology.

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This seems like a good place to wrap it up. Had a good time catching up with you crazy kids - let's do it again some time really soon. As always, any feedback in the way of comments, constructive critiscism or suggestions is strongly encouraged and can be doled out via my email or my Twitter account. Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off....

Y'all stay classy out there and take care.

Don't You Hate It When...

Good morrow, fair gentles! It's been a few weeks, but what can I say? I'm busy - a brotha's got a whole lot of nothing to do, and it sure as hell isn't going to do itself. I've had trouble thinking of what to share with you blogomaniacs next, but then this morning, I found that my cup ranneth over with new ideas. Take THAT, writer's block!

So anyways, recently, I've found myself noticing and hoarding a boatload of everyday occurrences around me that quietly drive me up a wall. What are some of these things? I'm glad you asked! Here's a series of observational questions that I have for you all:

Don't you hate it when...
- You and your merry band of cronies are sitting around the university student center, shooting the breeze, when various reporters from the local news station and newspaper come to you asking questions about your feelings on the head football coach's DWI arrest the previous night? Actually, that part isn't so annoying - here's your opportunity to shine in front of a TV audience! The annoyance comes from seeing your quotes bastardized on TV and in print to not even include your best quotes. They keep the boring stuff - "It's unfortunate, you don't want to see this happen to your coach, etc"- but your "at least he didn't cover up a sex......... abuse......... scandal. Oh wait, is that too soon?" comment doesn't see the light of day. Hard for you to become a viral sensation when the local media is cutting your legs out from underneath you. How is the outside world going to gain access to your patented, delightfully sarcastic brand of whimsy when your best material is back on the station's cutting room floor? Lighten up, media.

Don't you hate it when...
- The earphone jack on your iPod completely craps out on you for no reason one day? If you're like me, you're used to your everyday life having a running soundtrack, and when it suddenly doesn't, the adjustment is not a simple one. Now you find yourself balls deep in a sea of people, most of which have this unbelievably irritating habit of talking to you. Sure, your iPod has speakers on it, but having a functional headphone jack allows you to circumvent that embarrassing question of "Who's the McAsshole blasting his music so loudly?" without having to out yourself and your deep-abiding love for Aaron Carter. And by "Aaron Carter," you meant Nickelback.

Don't you hate it when...
- The only times that Travel Channel plays "Man vs Food" marathons are when you're lying in your bed, dying of starvation? You want to swat away the flies and shoo away the vultures conversing outside of your room in order to get to the kitchen, but you just know you're going to be met with that same grave disappointment from lack of food that you always are. You've never seen cabinets so bereft of nourishment. "Man vs Food" has this sneaky way of making every kind of food on the planet seem appetizing while you're watching it. Last night, you probably found yourself having to stave off the advances of a sudden urge for a vegetable medley. On an unrelated note, you've always hated vegetables. But hell, you'd be willing to bet that even a vegetarian farmer would take out one of his sheep execution-style for a shot at a nice lamp chop after watching that show for hours on end...


Don't you hate it when...
- You're at home, feeling super DUPER parched, and yak urine just won't do the trick. (You're also out of oxen piss, as in your days on the frontier of the Oregon Trail, you tried to ford the river and your damn oxen died). So you go into the kitchen, open the cabinet, and immediately meeting your eyes is that package of kool-aid that you've been saving for just such an occasion. Your dump the packets into the pitcher and then return to the cabinets to find that - GASP! - you're FRESH out of sugar. Your house couldn't contain any less sugar. This issue has been coming up for years, but you always seem to forget to buy enough sugar to last through the packets of kool-aid that you buy. You've hit the point of no return because you sure as hell aren't drinking non-sweet kool-aid, and brown sugar isn't a suitable alternative. Congratulations you clown, you're now throwing the kool-aid mix away because you certainly learned your lesson after that one ill-fated adventure from your childhood when you finally found out that salt & sugar just LOOK the same...

Don't you hate it when...
- Your girlfriend sleeps with ANOTHER guy? SO WHAT if it's her husband? Has she NO respect for the sanctity and integrity of the adulterous booty call relationship? Is NOTHING sacred?

Don't you hate it when...
- You can't have your cake and eat it too? What is that about? It's YOUR fucking cake! We live in a day and age when it's somehow encouraged AND frowned upon to be out there, sewing your wild oats somewhat indiscriminately. On the one hand, they're your oats with which to do what and whomever you please. On the other hand, sewing oats requires being outside, and you're not crazy about being outside. Also, from a distance, sewing oats and picking cotton look vaguely similar, and your darker-skinned ancestry swore that nonsense off in the mid-1800s. Around 1865, to be specific.

Don't you hate it when...
- Your favorite pro football team thinks that the best way to ascend back to national relevance is to start the season 0-7? The average NFL season includes 16 games, and they've won 2 in a row since that glorious run of futility to kick off this season's campaign, but the odds of making the playoffs from here are slim to none. For those first seven losses, you watched your squad deftly dodge wins week in and week out, each new game bringing a new opportunity to see just how they might snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Things have turned around somewhat, but you'll never forget the magic of those first 7 games. You ignore these last two wins and hone in on the positive: while it's not IMPOSSIBLE that your team goes to the playoffs at this point, your team certainly isn't going to the playoffs at this point.

Don't you hate it when...
- The NBA locks out its players and a month after the season should have started, it's looking more and more like there will be no basketball this season at all? You don't even have any sorta follow-up joke for this, you're just bitter.

Don't you hate it when...
- You have no milk for your cereal? Or no cereal for your milk? Having milk without cereal can be doubly disastrous sometimes, because in anticipation of eventually getting new cereal, you'll just let that milk sit in the fridge for much longer than you should. That next week, when you crack open that gallon of milk to use in your Hamburger Helper, you realize that it's spoiled. Unfortunately, you don't realize this until after you pour the custardy, yogurt-like milk into the pan full of ground beef. Congratulations, you're about to have sleep for dinner.

If you have a roommate, they'll jokingly help you replace the wasted Hamburger Helper with an off-brand version from a local grocery store, something called a "Panburger Partner." You comb the aisles of the store looking for the mythical "panburger" ingredient for this exotic dish, but it's nowhere to be found. What part of the cow does that even come from? Eventually, you realize that the joke is on you, because "panburger" is just Spanish for "cow feces."

Don't you hate it when...
- You have a friend that you think you'd like to get to know better, but then you spend more time with them and realize that you may or may not like this person that much? Are they too opinionated? Too quick to correct people? Too hypocritical? Too self-absorbed? Too much of a cock-block? A jersey-chaser? Asian? Black? Blind? Joe Paterno? You guys smell what I'm cooking. Sometimes, it's best when someone is just your friend in theory instead of reality.

*******

Well kids, let's call it a night. I've enjoyed our time together here today. If anyone has any questions, comments, or suggestions, I'd love to hear them. Catch me on twitter at @MrWilliams88 or email at Gsuswalks88@gmail.com. Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams, signing off...

Y'all stay classy out there and take care. 

Sex Cymbals

Aloha, blogoshpere! Sir Marcus here with the latest in my series of rants, and this one is very near and dear to my heart.

Lollipops haven't been innocent since.

In that spirit, today's offering is called "Sex Cymbals," a topic and title that is predicated upon the homonymic relationship between "symbols," the things that are used to physically-yet-quietly represent something, and "cymbals," the very loud instruments generally used to garner attention. For instance, Marilyn Monroe would have been a regular "sex symbol" back in the 40's and 50's because her sexuality was understated and silently implied, while our day and age is saturated with overtly sexual beings like Pam Anderson and Madonna. Their sexuality is as subtle as a shotgun, making them "sex cymbals." It's brilliant wordplay, really, but y'all already knew that though.

Sex is obviously one of the more pervasive subjects in our society, something that guys reportedly think about every 7 seconds, on average. The contrarian in me thinks that this can't be true, but then the contrarian in him watches a porno, and we're back at square one. Well-played, libido. Anyways, my larger point here is that sex is, for the most part, inescapable for people of our age, especially when you're in and around a college setting. The obvious exceptions to that rule are Amish teenagers, but my guess is they just do their work in the dark more than we do; I'm hip to their jive.

Jorge Pedro says that she believes that girls think about sex at least as much as guys do. I think most of us have always suspected this, but it's hard to take what she says at face value, because word on the street is that she's a nympho. Don't tell her I told y'all that.

However, due to my own burgeoning identity as a presumably sex-driven skeezeball, I've recently found myself subject to criticism and to questioning from a group of my more conservative friends. Let me explain.

I'm certainly not the most sexually experienced person, but I'm also not apologetic about my thoughts and my liberal attitude towards it. As adults, I feel that sex is a perfectly acceptable thing to participate in and talk about within moderation and good judgment. Because of this, I'm apt to say things that suggest a free-swinging lifestyle. Anyone who really knows me knows that I'm not really a sex fiend, but I do have a sexually-suggestive sense of humor. I realize that everyone isn't quite as comfortable discussing such things, and that's fine, so if my mentioning in passing that I wouldn't mind sexing someone up rubs you the wrong way, then color me bad(d).

She might have been talking about this movie though...

However, my point of view about sex shouldn't be taken by my friends as indicative of a sleeping sex-driven deviant. As a point of reference, my homegirl Killa Cam has just as open a philosophy on sex as I do - probably even more so than I do, actually. In fact, she would openly admit that her attitude towards sex is closer to that of guys than of girls - "I think Friends with Benefits is a GLORIOUS thing," she says - so I take solace in the fact that I'm not alone on this issue. She has no qualms whatsoever with telling someone - with or without provocation - that, take it or leave it, all she's looking for is just a hookup. While I can't say I'm quite that bold upon first speaking to someone, I can certainly identify with her candor and open communication.

That being said, just because I'm not as conservative about the subject doesn't mean I'm the villain. I sometimes feel like they see me as some sort of sexmonger because I do admittedly have a perfectly normal-sized adult libido. On multiple occasions, I have gotten involved with someone who was more or less a member of their large circle, and both times, I've come away feeling at least somewhat unfairly villainized. I love these kids to death, and it's definitely no one's fault in particular, but I certainly don't think it's fair to me to only be able to hang with the group under the condition that I fully suppress my bachelorhood. Granted, it would be easier if I just learned not to shit where I eat, but that extra trip to the restroom takes too much time, ya know?

But I get it - one of the tenets of our religion is that sex should be reserved for marriage. Some of their concerns are based on that, which is valid. It's something that I was taught growing up, and those who make it that far by their own choice certainly should be proud of that fact. As it was, I would have had no problem waiting for marriage, but on that fateful night that I lost my V-card, the girl was freaked out when my grand finale was a proposal. Needless to say, we broke up soon thereafter. On the one hand, the surprise resulted in a hell of an "Oh" face. On the other hand, her startling lack of romantic sensibility for the moment is why we can't have nice things, folks.

I say all of that to say this, though: I feel I've become a living, breathing embodiment of a sex cymbal because of my openness to discussing my feelings about it. The irony is that I was a late bloomer when it came to sex - it was so far beyond my scope when I was in high school that my life then might as well have been someone else's life. I've recently experienced a noticeable upswing of luck in that regard, but anything seems like a lot compared to zero. That's not to say that I'm out here participating in or advocating serial fornication, but it's just not realistic to expect young adults to completely abstain from sex. As long as we're being responsible and somewhat discriminatory with our partners in terms of frequency and variety, then R. Kelly and I don't see nothin' wrong with a little bump-n-grind. When I'm before God at the pearly gates, I like to think that He'll forgive me a few indulgences. After all, what better way to show appreciation for the beauty of the female form than to...

Well, that seems like a good place to wrap it up, fellas. Your tool, that is. If y'all think that the precious time wasted putting on a condom is a pain, it'll seem like child's play compared to trying to keep your woman turned on while you change a diaper.

Nothing spoils a sexy party faster than a baby's eyes penetrating your very soul. 

*******

There it is, folks. Watch your steps, 'cuz I just dropped some knowledge all around y'all. As always, it was fun - let's not wait so long before we get together again. If anyone has any topic suggestions, questions or comments, I thrive on feedback, so please feel free to let me know, either in the comments section or by emailing me at Gsuswalks88@gmail.com. 

Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams, signing off.... Y'all take care and stay classy out there.