When Logan Get's Real

What would happen if I disconnected from the "digital world" for a while?
I am very seriously considering it. I'm seriously considering severing all connections to the digital world...other than email and basic internet service.

You dare cry foul? Well eff you.
You ask how I might sever myself from the "digital world" whilst still maintaining internet and basic email? Come on, be serious here. Email has been around since the 1970's and has been a part of daily life for many of us for almost 20 years.
Same with the internet.
I mean I remember logging on to Prodigy, akin to AOL, back on my dad's old Apple Performa 475 using what was probably a 14.4kbit/s modem. I was probably 9.

So no, email is no longer part of the "digital world" because in my life, it's just been around way too long. I've sent THOUSANDS more emails in my lifetime than I ever have, or could ever hope to send of the paper kind. And without the internet, email doesn't work. So it's lumped in too.
So to recap...
Eff you.

No the nebula of the "digital world" is something more today. It is social. It is viral. It is twitter trends, facebook statuses and blog posts. E-commerce (which is old people speak for online shopping) now stands on level ground with brick-and-mortar Black Friday sales. The age of the newspaper is dying with our aging grandfathers. The Kindle and Nook are filling niches we never knew needed nurturing. Rather than pay $18.95 for book to read, we now pay $300 for a device that lets us buy and view a book digitally that we still pay $18.95 for.
What the hell?

We spend money to save money and aspire to things that we used to be able to afford before the economy took a nose dive. Will I ever be able to afford a house? Will I ever be able to afford even the 30% down payment on the house that I use to not be able to afford? Did my earning potential just duck below another glass ceiling?

So do I really have time to be worrying about Twitter Trends? Does anyone really care about my facebook status? Is linking my twitter feed with my facebook status updates to kill two birds with one stone really as desperately pathetic as it sounds?
If I fail to blog, will anyone miss anything because I didn't write it down and record it for the whole world to see?

Is it possible that my world could actually feel more fulfilling if I tried cramming less into it?
Would I have more time?
Would I feel more alone?
What am I really getting out of this?

So, to sever the tie, or to not sever the tie...that is the question.

Everything I know about advertising, networking, connections, socializing, relationships and inter-connectivity begs me not to do it.
Everything I know about...well, everything else, says it might just be getting in the way.

Like, Totally Gross

 Oh gosh, I am a mess today. The mask of cologne I'm wearing only serves to better distinguish how bad my murky body odors smells. My fingernails, not clipped in ages are gorgeous, healthy and chip-free, but totally inapproptiate for a heterosexual male like myself. My feet, somehow both damply stinky and yet dried out, occupy the same brown skate shoes I've slipped on nearly every day for the last month. My shirt, littered with tiny bits of dog hair and down feathers serves not one, but two purposes today: first, a simple, visual meter for how dirty I am and second, a perfect stencil for showing where all my man-boob sweat pools. My nose, crowned by an unploughed uni-brow of shame, bristles and shines with the sniffles, snots and dried hangers that plague such nasty folk as sick 3rd graders and Antarctic fisherman. 
Tomorrow is a new day.

My Life According To Twitter

Don't you hate it when you get all jazzed up to watch a rerun episode of an old show you love, like the Fresh Prince of Bell Air or Saved By The Bell, only to discover that its one of those stupid flashback episodes where everyone trips out into a dream sequence, remembering an incident that happened in a previous episode? Doesn't it just seem lazy, like they couldn't come up with fresh story line, so they just pulled the cast together for an hour and shot them reminiscing so they could just cut in old footage?
Well that's exactly what I've done here, but with a modern twist. Here are some Twitter highlights from the last couple months since I've been back from Chicago. They are in no particular order other than reverse order, so feel free to read top to bottom or bottom to top. I know it's lame, but try to enjoy.

TWEETS:

Something feels good about this morning. Something feels empowering about this morning. Something feels...oh, its already 1:30pm.

How have I waited 5 years to watch the heart-felt, bubble gum pop masterpiece 13 Going On 30? My giggling tears of joy will not cease!


I am officially retiring from peeing standing up. Too much responsibility involved.

My beard-dandruff is sending me a message: take a friggin' shower.

I'm looking forward to the small successes of the day. I even plan on getting dressed for the day in about a half hour. (It was 4:30 in the afternoon when I tweeted this.)

It's the Nyquil induced coma that keeps me going.

Oh so THIS is what they were talking about when they said having a newborn was rough.  

I was sitting here in the hospital trying to fall asleep and the urgent thought crossed my mind, "I wonder what Christopher Lloyd is up to?

Today was epic. Absolutely biblical. How can anyone fully process the act of childbirth? My mind is thoroughly and completely blown.

Ok, 10+ hours in the hospital. This baby really needs to get a move on.

I wish I could call the Hannah Montana Sunday marathon a compromise in viewing interests, but my wife isn't even in the room anymore.

If Kylie Minogue and Amy Winehouse had a baby (dont question the logistics) her name would be Lady Gaga.

Not bad New Moon, not bad. But I'm totally Team Jacob.

My friend used to hide cookies in the elevator of our apt building in Chicago. For no reason.

Somehow its Sunday. Wasn't it just Tuesday? Well it was, but not so recently I gather.

My non-facebook savvy wife just discovered her profile said "interested in women" and has been set as such since day 1.

Where The Wld Things Are is a sucky, stupid, boring way to waste a Wednesday matinee and a pack of Maverick chicken bites and honey mustard.

Google it. Its true.

Perpetual exhaustion. I miss my Swedish inflatable mattress from Chicago. I'm not cut out for real beds.

The girl sitting next to me at the airport smells let wet, sour, peeled, but uncooked potatos.             

LARPing Like My Life Depends On It

I just googled, "How to make your own wax stamp." With the results came the realization that I am painfully strange as a person.
Sure, on the outside I put my best foot forward and try to project the coolest, hippest, most in-the-know vibe I possibly can while in public. But if you've known me for very long, you've seen that facade flicker and my true awkwardness shine through.
I admit, if it were more accessible, I'd probably get into super strange, uber-nerdy things like LARPing, Dungeons and Dragons and taxidermy. What's LARPing you ask? Well literally defined it is Live Action Role Playing. But really, it is so much more.

You've heard of the MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game) fantasy game World of Warcraft right? Well imagine if that magical and enchanting world of make believe came to life!!! You gasping at the sheer prospect, I know.
Well make believe becomes reality with LARPing. It's exactly as it sounds: the real life execution of a role playing action game....LARPing.

This is what World of Warcraft game play looks like. WARNING: Some Foul Language



And this little gem of a clip is LARPing based on Warcraft. It's gloriously funny.


So long story short, I am SO not hip. I don't follow the cool trends, I don't dress cool, I don't own an Apple computer nor an iPhone. I watch Disney Channel, Travel Channel and HGTV. I shop at Ross, Target and Burlington Coat Factory. I buy my books off Amazon or from local used book stores and I love to collect computer parts "just in case."
Is it too late to be cool?
Does it matter?
Would I want to sacrifice everything I am and know to be just a little bit more hip?
Am I damning myself further by continually using the word hip since it's surely no longer en vogue?
Either way, I need to finish my research into the world of making my own wax stamp, so I best be off.
Happy LARPing.

Trapped In Hibernation

It's amazing how mesmerizing a dark, cold basement can be. It's like falling into a dark, cold lake and sinking to the bottom; the deeper and darker you sink, they less will and energy you have to claw your way out. Now imagine if that lake bottom had a computer, WIFI, XBOX360, a bed, food and a space heater. YOU'D NEVER LEAVE!

I am currently suffocating in the icy depth of my parents basement. My to-do list is as long as it is wide and I'm running out of Exedrin Tension Headache. I look up to all my smart, successful and driven friends on the internet. Friends who've accomplished fantastic feats not only in general, but in this disastrous economy of ours.
I'm proud of them.
I'm jealous.
I'm hating them just  tiny bit.

I've got a few cases of pop left and a huge stash of Crystal Light single serving packs. I certainly won't die down here, but I miss the smell of the outdoors and the warmth of the sun on my skin during a cold winters day.
Invite me to lunch.
Invite me to breakfast.
I'll hate you just a tiny bit less.

See you tomorrow.

The Game of Life

So it's December 4, 2009. No, I get it. Don't worry, I've been getting your emails alerting me to the fact that it's been a bit of a while. I'm sorry. But I spend a lot of time apologizing for myself on this blog, so we'll just assume that as a given and skip it for now. I'm sorry, I'll do better, BLA, BLA, BLA.


FORWARD
Life has been happening and moving forward whether I like it or not and independent of how hard I try to stop it or slow it down. Now more than ever I'm realizing this reality. Days fly by, weeks topple over into months and before you know it, you're in a whole different place in life and you can't sit by idly and let it happen without you.

PART 1
Chicago ended. It was phenomenal. What an amazing city and what an amazing opportunity for me. Being home in Utah and jumping in and out of the car all the time makes me miss more than ever the laborious and glorious task of walking. Living in the Gold Coast, we were only a short 30min walk from the epicenter of downtown and the walk was no yawner either. High end boutiques, electronics shops, clothing stores, malls, exotic car dealerships and fine dining lined the path to and from how every which way you walked. I miss it. I miss getting sore feet and hopping on the L-train for some podiatric relief. I miss the smell of pee in dark corners and in the under ground. I miss the literally breathtaking scent of it emanating from the drunk and homeless. I miss walking home at midnight from work, meandering the glitz and glam of the closed and gated shops that line Michigan Ave. I miss exploring new routes during my urban trekking, turning back only when streetlights became to successively dark. I miss Chicago a lot. I even miss missing my wife while I lived in Chicago. What a wonderful city.

PART 2
Home again. This is when the fairytale ended. The momentum, excitement and habits I had accrued during my time in Chicago ground to a halt like a locked up locomotive wheel. I was just happy to be back with my wife, sit on the couch and enjoy some good old fashioned TV; some things I had learned to live without in Chicago. Bad habits die hard and before long, I was back to my lazy self. I tried hard to work and keep things in motion so that my brain wouldn't atrophy and die, but I am indeed my own worst enemy. It was a losing battle.


PART 3
Not a gas bubble. Despite my suspicions, that huge stomach of my wife's was in fact a baby. A real life baby. Human even. And on Nov. 25 at 5:52pm, after 12+ of labor and 2 hours of active labor, that baby decided to show his face.
Childbirth is traumatizing. Anyone who tells you it's a miracle isn't lying, but they are omitting the fact that you may not be able to hold food down for a few days after witnessing it. Sell your stock in the stork theory, because I can attest to the fact that 8+lb babies do come out from down there. It may be a miracle, but it's something crazy to witness. You get what I'm telling you? It's like seeing someone get hit by a car. You can't pull your eyes away but its frightening and you look both ways before crossing the street for the rest of your life.


PART 3- Secton 2
Olin Tanner is here. There was a heated debate raging over whether he should be named Olin or Ohlin, with the added H. I liked the H and preferred it without question to the sans H spelling, but ultimately conceded not to my wife, but to mass public opinion. Kristen was game for whatever but in my bitterness, I let her have her Olin without the H. I'll prove my point by mocking the spelling of his name by mispronouncing it for the rest of his life.
But he's good so far. Sleeps 2-3 hours in between feeding and really doesn't cry much. Due in great part to my lack of breast milk, I've been spared having to wake up and help him drink away his problems every few hours. My wife is doll and handles this new addition to our lives like she's done this many times before. What a saint. It's great to see her fit into this role like a perfectly hewn puzzle piece. It's my new reality. It's my new life and I think I just might be OK with it. In fact, I just might love it.


AFTERWARD
So that's my life. I'm trying to break through the glass ceiling I've constructed for myself and really get going on making some good stuff happen for myself. I've got the creativity, I've got the excitement and I've got the desire to be successful, I just need to reach down deep and find the urgency. You'd think unemployment, a newborn baby and no current prospects would surround me with impending doom and conjure up that urgency, but somehow, I'm a master of distraction and keep myself aloof. I'm like a kitten with a laser pointer strapped to its paw. Ridiculous.

Woah...

Woah...I just realized I have to find a job. It hit me like a wave of nausea that spins into a vortex of fear trying to shoot out my hind parts. Yikes. I just got the shivers saying "yikes."

The Cramer Krasselt Halloween Party is about to begin and no matter how much I want to see the assortment of Balloon Boy costumes that I know are about to drift by, I somehow just don't care. I feel deflated (a pun). I want to curl up under my desk and pull a couple office chairs up and a roller file cabinet to block the entrance so I fell safe and hidden. Sigh. I just choked on that "sigh."

I'm a copywriter. I love to write. I love to come up with fun ideas. When I was a kid, I used to sit on the toilet in the bathroom for hours and pitch faux commercials to an audience of towels and toothbrushes. I'd explain how when you combined our product, symbolized by handsoap, with a square of toilet paper, magical things could happen. Stains would disappear, unsightly scars and moles would vanish and that little spot of emptiness in your soul would be filled with overflowing joy.

But those days have escaped me. I play games on my phone or iPod Touch on the toilet now. Hand soap and toilet paper are used only for their prescribed purposes. My stains, scars and moles remain and that little patch of empty inside of me is not overflowing. In fact, that little patch of empty feels rather vacuous right about now. It's consuming me slowly.

"Buckle down, put your nose to the grindstone, get to it and just do it" are phrases I throw at myself, hoping they'll stick like bologne slices to a white board. Bologne to a white board they are not though. They hit and slide down, falling to the floor to be forgotten until garbage day. I have Lou Gehrig's of the soul.

I'll Show You

Hey look! It's me Logan and I'm blogging before lunch. Awesome. Today must be a good day. You wanna know how I start my day about, oh, 75% of the week? I watch this video to get me jazzed up:

I watch that in the morning and it makes me realize what life could be like if only I could get my act together and become a hispanic pro skater or an epically famous black rapper. Even more so, this ad speaks to the perfection that is southern California. Idillic. Relaxed. Fun. Paul Rodriguez could have been shot by Ice Cube for a blunder like that, but because it was in the peacful hoods of So Cali, everything was alright; it was a good day.

So when I leave my apartment here in Chicago, deadbolt the door, walk down four flights of stairs, brush past the crazy person on the sidewalk, step over his pool of cold urine and high step all the Dunkin Donuts cups in the stairwell down to the L train where I'll wait to pack myself in next to a suit and slut on my ride downtown, I just remember that I need to move to California, buy a skateboard and get marginally famous for something that I might be good at.
But what am I good at?
I'm still trying to figure that out.

Lame Duck

"*sigh* 11 days without an update..."   --Anonymous

This is what I've reduced my friends, family and distant acquaintances to, annonymous postings on my blog, bemoaning my complete and utter inability to follow through on loosely worded promises.

Because really, that's how I operate. I always am sure to pen in a qualifier as my safety net. Not one for solid commitements made to self or fellow man, I can only succeed to impress by setting my standards low and by framing in a literary back door for me to back out of, tail between the legs, if necessary.

So here we are Anonymous, staring each other in the face; Me refusing to admit guilt because I'm too prideful for that, and you, stony faced and cocksure because...we'll, because you've got me pinned on this one. Not even the most ambiguously worded escape route could write me out of the sheer fact that yes, I cannot seem to get my blog on.

There has got to be a pill for this. Something to pop every day to get me writing and feeling inspired. Some would argue that I should see a physician if the affects lasted more than four hours, but imagine all the blogging and tweeting I could potentially whip up in 4+ hours! A blessing indeed.

So, let's get one thing perfectly clear: I'm probably going to try to put some effort into blogging on a fairly regular basis from this day forth. At least more than once a month most likely. I give you my solemn word that I won't let you down as soon as I have time to start writing regularly. Starting today, and from here on out, I will open up my computer everyday, create a new post, and do everything in my power to get it posted as soon as something comes to my head and I can get it posted up. I promise on my great grandmother's grave.

Do you trust me now? Was that unequivical enough? I mean those were some pretty explicit promises I made there. How could I possibly fall through on what basically amounts to a legally binding pact of unambiguous clarity?

A Slow And Painful Death

Have you ever neglected to check your crops for a long period of time in Farmville on facebook, only to return later and find that everything has withered and died? Or have you ever forgotten to go in and check the status of your crime racquet's in Mafia Wars and when you do finally return, they've all been busted by the cops? Well the same principle applies to blogging and from the looks of things, I've let this blog wither and die.

The picture you see above is a visual representation of visits to my blog since late September. It spans to yesterday. As you can see, in less than a month, my bloggless waste of space here on the internet saw a massive drop in readership. You see that Everest-esque peak on the left of the graphic? That represents seventy-six visits in one single day. Now follow the line to the right. See the low point? One. One visit. That's 75 less people from that spike less than a month ago. It's funny because I can totally envision visitors in my head: they check the blog a couple times on the first day, then again the second day. After three or four days, they only check once a day. After a week they finally give up, assuming I've died or floated off across rural Colorado in a silver helium balloon shaped like a UFO. I must no longer be on earth, they figure.

Well as you can imagine, I'm ashamed; tormented even as I lay in bed thinking about what really matters in life: readership. So, let's see if we can't give this blog a shot of adrenaline and get some content back up on this baby. The struggle for me the writer is coming up with original content. I could easily cover something else, copy/paste or just throw up pictures of my time here in Chicago. But who wants to see that? So I'll dig a little deep and stay up a little longer soze we might get us some more excitement up in here.

(p.s. if you want to see pictures and video of my sightseeing in Chicago, hit me up, because that I do have plenty of. I might let you peep it.)


sincerely,
Logan

Good Week To You

Living in a big city filled with a broad spectrum of race, nationality and religion, I have come to discover that there is an incredibly large assortment of religious holidays that a large portion of us are missing out on. What am I getting at?
Befriend a Jew.
Not only are these some of the kindest, friendliest people I have ever met, but they have myriad religious holidays that stand to liven up the lives of many in this boring and often empty feeling world in which we live.

Yom Kippur is the holiest day in the Jewish calendar. It falls on the 10th day of the Jewish New Year and is a day of absolute fasting and declaration of repentance. It means "Day of Covering" (i.e. sins are covered) but is usually translated as "Day of Atonement".

The "10th day of the Jewish New Year" is on the 28th of this month; that's Monday of next week. So if you missed Rosh Hashanah last Saturday then you've got the weekend to gear up for Yom Kippur. Now, admittedly the words "absolute fasting" and "declaration of repentance" are big scary words for some of us out there. But who of us couldn't use some absolution of sin?
So check it out. Jewish culture and religion goes way back and is deeply seeded in the history of this world of ours. But if somehow that's not intriguing enough for you, fire of some of these probably not-so-appropriate ecards to make you feel included in this large and exciting Jewish holiday. Or better still, check out Matisyahu's new song, One Day. If this Hasidic Jew/hip hop reggae star doesn't give you chills that chatter your teeth, then you have no soul.
So just do it. Cause really, what else have you got going this weekend?

International Speak Like A Pirate Day

International Speak Like A Pirate Day was this weekend--another one of those awesome and entertaining holidays that passes me by with nothing more than a simple wink and a nod. As a non-consumer of alcohol and one not typically associated with the plundering and ravaging of easy, drunken women, I found myself at home watching a movie to celebrate this scallywag of a holiday.

From my crows-nest perch on the 4th floor, I had a stellar "land ahoy" view of the bar scene down below and the debauchery that goes with all things pirate. Drunkenness, vomiting, getting kicked out of bars, falling in the street, falling out of a cab into the street, hugging strangers, getting groped on the butt by the stranger you are hugging, flashing some serious leg to get a cab and then some more vomiting for good-pirate measure.

It was a celebration if I ever saw one. Strangely enough though, no one was dressed up as a pirate.

Death As A Metaphor

I saw a dead pigeon today, laying on its back in the middle of Michigan Ave. in downtown Chicago. It was on the crosswalk of Michigan Avenue's major intersection with Lake Street. Hundreds, nay thousands, must have walked by that dying bird wondering what happened.
As I briskly walked past, trying to keep up with Olympic-caliber walking speed of my fellow Chicagoans, I saw his one protruding leg kick out a few times in essence saying, "FML, why me?"
I wanted to kick him to safety but quickly decided against it, figuring others would misinterpret my actions as some kind of belated abuse for some deep, painful hatred I have toward birds. There are people like that out there. Sick people. So rather than doing the right thing, the seemingly humane thing of clearing his body off of a 6 lane highway intersection, I just walked by. I walked on with the pathetic memory of his one, probably unbroken leg, kicking in vain as he slipped into birdy hell.

Hell you ask? Why sure, it's a pigeon. Pigeons are Satan's birthed step-children here on earth. If Satan roamed the earth, surely he too would eat garbage and crap on people. Both a friend and an enemy to human kind, his pigeons play charismatically in Marry Poppins and as the puppets of sick destruction in Hitchcock's The Birds. It's that duality that makes pigeons so beautiful and yet so terribly disgusting.

So Mr. Pigeon, if I meet you in hell, I beg ye forgive me. The consideration was there and I did want to help you. But because you eat garbage and I didn't want to be jailed on gross animal cruelty charges, I left you were you lied. I hope the next taxi that hit you, who surely ran you over and crushed you after the light turned green, was going fast and made the job quick and dirty. Farewell my friend and good luck.

Blame It On The Cheese

I was invited to a private short film screening last night, followed by an offering of some of the finest snack foods I have ever laid my mouth on. From what I understand, it was a short film shot in conjunction with a campaign that Leo Burnett is doing. The fact that the fifteen-minute film is about a boy who [DELETED FOR POTENTIALLY NEGATIVE LEGAL REPROCUSSIONS I CERTAINLY CANNOT AFFORD] (long story, and not as twisted as you think) is irrelevant. What is relevant is the consortium of fine cheeses, meats, crackers, hummus and fresh fruit I dashed out of the theatre for.

Do you remember back in grade school when the lunch bell would ring and everyone would come flying out of their classrooms and make a mad dash for the lunchroom in hopes of beating the long lines and getting first dibs on the selection of items that tended to run out fast? Yeah well this was nothing like that. If you haven't noticed, I'm an adult now. A big, big adult. With a grownup style beard. So I mozied my way in there, pretending not to care about how beautiful and delicious the food looked. I must have looked like a lion in a meat locker though. You just cant hide the primal hunger of a fat person. It's our nature. But no one got hurt. There was plenty of food to go around. And besides, everyone who was anyone that was thin enough and cool enough to walk around in skinny jeans (male or female) was hitting up the wellspring of free wine and beer. And it was all classy-like, meaning the servers poured your wine for you and everything was on ice. Tres chic mon frere. Tres chic.

So that was pretty hip for me. I felt like I was on an episode of The Hills. Very hip indeed. After the short, snack-filled evening of rubbing shoulders with fellow advertising socialites of greater importance than me, there was really only one thing left to do: go home and watch over three hours of Flight of The Conchords while laying in bed before falling asleep for an hour at 11 and then waking up to realize you've missed three calls from your pregnant and recently unemployed wife who lives in your parents basement back in Utah.
And in that strangerly awkward wrap up to my evening...I wrapped up my evening. I walked out in the hall to chat with the Mrs. who was just leaving work at 11pm Utah time and told her how much I love and miss her. You never quite realize how good of a team you make until you're forced to be away for a bit. Kristen, you're the bomb (you kids still say that right? The bomb?)

If You Don't Have Friends, Pretend

My first project at my internship is complete. I toiled and pondered and scratched heads with the best of them here at Cramer Krasselt, and in the end, our efforts ended up looking pretty dang sexy if you ask me.
Thanks to Lauren Fontinel for channeling Warhol in this eye catching colorfest and tolerating my constant and unwelcomed cubicle pop-ins to ask questions.
Props to Emily Sander for steering use in the right direction with design and copy. I was feeling pretty good about my copy until I remembered it had been your idea all along. That was a sad moment. But you are the pro.
And one final shout out to Ari who kindly chose not to respond when I asked rhetorically if we were friends.
Today, it was a good day.

Me And The Chicago

The "corn cob" apartment buildings.

View from Leo Burnett offices down the river.

Michigan Ave. walking back to the train.

My office and red-canopy entrance.

So you're probably like, "Man, I come into work/school/my office every single day and wonder what is going on with Logan M. Tanner, but he never blogs anymore. This is what the world must have felt like when Shakespeare died; empty and alone."

I get it. I really do. I'm like that corner shop you used to go to every day to get a donut/coffee/candy bar/penny candy; you can live without me, but you're used to me. You might not like it, but I'm convenient. Like the store, I was the only thing around when the day got long, a meeting ran short, or you had wireless on your phone in the bathroom and a bad case of post-Thai diarrhea. Sometimes, when there was nothing else around, you directed your browser to me.

Well things have changed. Me wife is pregs. 6+ months in fact. I'm hundreds of miles away living in Chicago with a couple of Mexicans (their words not mine.) We have almost no wireless connectivity, for SURE no A/C and a splendid fourth floor view of the Walgreen's rooftop and a stereophonic soundtrack of the street activity below.

I'm hot. I'm sweaty. I'm not sleeping well. I miss my wife and I'm in a foreign city. My CTA travel card is the most valuable possession I own; my iPod Nano and Touch are my new best friends (sorry Mexicans) and my feet have corns on them so big, I refer to them as "cobs".

But its not all doom an gloom. In fact, not at all. When I'm not outside or in my apartment or talking to a senior employee, I'm not sweating... as much. That's a plus. I'm in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, living with two great guys in a posh part of town just over a mile from work. My work is downtown-charlie-brown if there ever was; right on Michigan Ave. by Millennium Park and a couple blocks from the lake front. My job is awesome. The people are really cool and friendly. And when I'm not getting lost looking for the bathroom or the exit, I'm actually having a really great time! I'm drinking lots of water, watching no TV and eating about half as much food as I ever have in my whole life. Being manorexic has never been so easy.

Tonight, I'll walk home down the Magnificent Mile until I get to the lake, cut down past Oprah's house, cruise into the CVS or Walgreen's for some deodorant and then hit the inflatable sack...my air mattress.

Life is good in Chicago. Life is good.

Goodbye Labor Party

My last blog post was on July 27th huh? Wow, nothing like showing your writing prowess, timeliness and stick-to-it-iveness by not blogging for over a month. But it's ok, we'll get back on the horse here really soon.
Today feels like a blogging day. Probably because its my last official day of work at the job I have plugged away at for the last 4 years and 9 months. I've changed offices, I've changed chairs and the iMacs have grown up a bit since day one, but it's always been a good job. The fanfare on behalf of my departure has been unprecedented this afternoon. With all of this pomp and circumstance, I really don't know how I'm going to get anything done...

Mexican Abduction

I know. You've been wondering where I've been and I don't blame you. I've spent hours concocting a long winded, detailed explanation about how I was abducted by gorillas in Mexico and held captive since (...let's see, when was the last time I blogged...) July 13th of this year. The craziest part of the whole story was trying to explain how the hell gorillas got into northern Mexico since they are only indigenous to the African continent. I figured I could pretend that the gorillas weren't actually gorillas of the animal sort, but instead guerrillas of the militaristic variety. But what half-intelligent human would believe that there are militaristic guerrillas in northern Mexico abducting seemingly affluent and attractive college-aged Americans? I mean that is really absurd.

So I scrapped that story and decided to just admit that my life has been a racquetball-sweat-fest of stress lately and I haven't found the mental faculties required to sit down and tell the world in more than 140 characters what is going on in my life and why they should care (if you follow me on twitter, you're up to speed.)

But...

First off, you don't need to care. You come here because you want to and the mundane nature of your equally "compelling" lives leads you to read the news online, check what's going on with celebs, plan your evening, do some work and then when you feel you've navigated the depths of the internet, you reluctantly come crawling my way. It's a last resort and I get that. I'm just glad you're here.

Second, you probably don't even come crawling here. Let's be honest. You are interweb savvy and have one of those fancy RSS feeds set up so you can ROFL and LOL your way through the day with ease. And I think that is great of you IMHO. I just hope you don't at any time feel the need to STFU and instead leave copious comments for me. That's how bloggers feel the love. It's like a blood transfusion of pure, wrinkle-busting Restylane right into our hearts.

And lastly, come back. My Google Analytics indicates that I actually have to write frequently to keep high levels of readership. Not sure how I didn't catch that relationship earlier on, but apparently, new content does in fact equal increased web traffic. Who knows, maybe I'll sell out and Google AdSense the snot out of my blog and trick you all into clicking on hyperlinks that make me tons of money. That would keep you coming back right?

Expecting To Have A Girl Only To Find Out You're Not

It's a boy. There, I cut the suspense. It was hanging there like cold nacho cheese just being all suspensy and difficult. So there you have it, the proverbial nacho cheese is cut and now you, like us, know the sex of our baby.
Sure we only were thinking of girl names. And sure, all the voodoo magic and mother's intuition was all for naught as it turned out to all be wrong. But like I told my wife today, ovulation cycles, spinning needles over the belly button and all the visions, dreams and impressions in the world can't deter the hand of God. This is creation we are talking about here, not weather patterns or pie recipes. If God says he wants a boy in that stomach, I'll be damned if a baby girl pops out just because of some stupid hoo-haw you heard from some nurse whose a friend of your aunts sister in law in New Jersey.
And here you have it, our baby boy (as yet unnamed as he is in fact not a girl):

Man, I am feeling majorly suck-tastic today. The worst part about feeling the way I feel, is that I feel guilty complaining about it. I've created a new complex for myself: I feel nervous complaining about the stuff I complain about because I hear people judging me for my wussy-ness.

I know, I know, its hard to believe that I, Logan, would have any difficulty whatsoever when it comes to complaining about anything and everything. But what I have come to discover (or at least accept in part) is that I am a total baby. That's right. The things I complain about are trivial to the normal human. They are commonplace and routine to about everyone but me. But these are the things I can't seem to handle; the simple things. Responsibility, hard work, stick-to-it-iveness and patience are all words that bring me to my knees. But you do them everyday. You deal with the realities of life, livery and the pursuit of a paycheck on a daily basis and with relative ease. Sure they are hard and more often that not, not a bucket of fun. But you do them, move on and start again tomorrow. So why do I always feel overwhelmed? Why do I feel like the Octomom with an 8x case of Postpartum Depression? Why can't I grow up, stand up straight and take it like a man? Didn't becoming and Eagle Scout teach me anything?

So to the employers in the real world (with money to pay a n00b):

I just want to write. Set me up a cubicle with a monitor, computer and adult sized keyboard (fat fingers) and I'll write myriad creative stuff for you (this sounds like a plea and I think it is.) Put me in the office kitchen. Put me next to the office bathroom with the backed up toilets that never seem to flush right, but that everyone insists on using because its secluded and private. I'll sit there. I'll type for you. I'll write.

But please, for the sake of the gods, don't make me be in college anymore! Don't make me finish American Heritage online (yes I waited to take it this long; stuff it), don't make me finish my last 4 obligatory English classes. Just put me in the corner, hand me the creative brief and insist that I leave the other employees alone. I'll do it. I'll leave them alone. I seriously will. I just need a paycheck bi-monthly and a poster of that kitten hanging onto the rope (the one with the frog in the storks mouth works too.)

So this is my plea: let me complain and then help me escape the tyranny that is the American higher education system. I need work and I need it now.


Much love,
Logan "Tough As Al Dente Pasta" Tanner

having to be responsibe blows...

im all laid out in bed right now, 10mg of ambien and a bowls worth of bean and bacon soup coursing though my viens as i try to tap out the kind of quality blog post that weve all grown use to. but im only on man; im only 2 thumbs and as god is my witness, whoever designed the keyboard on my new phone should be shot.
where where we going with this? based on the way my day has gone, id presume i was about to bemoan responsibility, symbolized for me in the form of: 30+hrs a week for income, 5 online class, the desire for weight loss and the impending doom which is the birth of my first child...which leads me to another responsibility i forgot...graduation and internship/job search.
long story short, today wasnt fantastic for me. ill try to blog proper-like tomorrow.

My Kids Will Need Counseling

Remember that one time when I made a vow to blog everyday (except weekends) and then almost immediately after making that promise, broke it? Yeah, that was last week. If I keep this promise-breaking up, I'll need to start a fund to pay for my childrens' counseling. They'll be heart-broken every time I promise to play catch with them or have a tea party and then renege to go play golf or shoot up some Nazis on my XBOX.
But seriously, I have a good excuse. If you remember, or if you follow me on twitter, you'll know I spent the past week up in Park City at the Silver King Hotel at the Aanderud family reunion.
My wife is a former Aanderud, stolen away by the Tanners to make babies that carry our last name. To exact their revenge, the Aanderuds frequently show me a really good time to try and convince me to change sides and become one of them. They pay for me to take trips, stay in nice hotels and participate in fun activities that I admitedly wouldn't do or couldn't afford on my own. This past week was one of those exciting extravaganzas.
Let me sum it up in 10 simple words and one important form of punctuation: WE HAD A HOT TUB IN OUR HOTEL LIVING ROOM!
It was fun.
Lots of food. Lots of kids and a 7-11 one block away. Awesome.
In fact, I had so much fun, I didn't even bother to take on single picture. Seriously, not even on my phone. Sorry.
And if that excuse wasn't good enough for not blogging here is one final one for you to chew on:
I thought I didn't have wifi in my room because I had accidently turned off my wifi on my laptop to save battery power. I kept trying to find networks, but couldn't obviously. I claim incompitence, but you can call it what you will.
I'll get back to regular blogging ASAP.

Oh Man...

I'm having a mental burn out. I'm regularly going to bed at 2am. I'm over eating. Not exercising. Practicing retail therapy and not getting much homework done. I'm in a bad place.

And like my last post said, I keep having that wacky, daytime dream going in my head where my eyeball gets detached from my head and then rolled up in a car window. Like, the eyeball is outside the window and I'm sitting in the car and the window starts rolling up. How messed up is that? The driver side window in our Buick stopped working recently and I've spent days ripping apart the door and the switch box mechanism trying to pin point the problem before I dropped $26 on ebay to get one shipped to me from Canada. The biggest annoyance isn't even the work I've put into troubleshooting and fixing it. I get more peeved and embarrassed over the whole situation every time I pull up to an ATM or drive-thru window. That's the real pain. I'm guessing this is where the day dream is coming from.

I think I really need to get paid to tweet and blog. Those are the two things I love doing most. I actually love tweeting the most. No commitment there. The limitation of 140 characters keeps things simple yet creative since I have to compress my usual over-wordiness into a small blurb. I like it. Problem is, who's gonna pay me to tweet about myself? Lame.

Oops...

Oops, its almost 1am and I didn't blog. Remind me to tell you about the day dream I keep having where my eye ball gets partially detatched from my head and then rolled up in a car window. Its messed up. I know.

Moving On

So about going back and filling in that last blog post, not gonna do it. No, yesterday's post is so twenty-four hours ago. I'm over it.
So, rather than fleshing out yesterday's post, I'm going to go ahead and blog for today, talking about things that may or may not have happened yesterday. Ok, they happened yesterday, and the first of the scintillating events I wanted to talk about is how I need to sue Wendy's.
Wendy's tried to kill my unborn child yesterday. As Kristen was rushing into the square-patty eatery to use the bathroom, she pulled open the door and it slammed right into her uterus! The first question that arises is what did my wife and unborn baby ever do to you? And secondly, why don't you pick on someone your own size.
I've checked our life savings, the funds we have meticulously compiled over the last 4 years, and apparently $37 and twelve Canadian Loon coins isn't enough to bring a class action lawsuit against a major fast-food chain. So we're moving on.

In other news, I'm almost 50% through my English 220 Independent Study class. I don't know why I give it the dignity of capitalization. It's not that I hate the class or that grammatically it doesn't deserve it, it just brings me no joy and for that I think it should be relegated to lower case. But I'll get over it.

Also, I think the lactic acid that's been coursing through my veins (i before e except after c and in the stupid word vein?) since last week has dissipated enough that I might give bike riding another go soon. I also went to a bike shop with the question, "I need a seat that doesn't crush my junk. You have one?" And came away with the advice that if I would simply lower the angle of my seat, it wouldn't feel like straddling a broomstick in the back of a covered wagon on a cobblestone street. Problem solved. Moving forward.

Computer wizardry has been afoot in our Muggle filled household. Somehow I tricked lovingly convinced the wife to let me buy some new computer components. But like a slippery slope, one part led to another and before long, I had a dual core, 2gb, Geforce 8600 gts rig built up that now plows through Call of Duty 4 and the Adobe Suite without breaking a sweat. This is life changing as I've always lived with crappy, Frankenstein-esque computers I cobbled together with whatever free or near free parts I could sew together. Now, following the same concept, I've spent a touch more, kindly had some great parts donated from my generous sponsors (thanks Jeremy!) and come out with a computer worthy of purchasing a new, more comfortable office chair for...which I did, last night, for $10 off craigslist.
Faux-leather, foreign butt-sweated office chair here I come!

Better Late Than Never

I promised to blog everyday, then I modified that promise at my own discretion and made Saturday and Sunday "free days" where I could blog if I wanted to, but not a requirement. Today, I just didn't. And even though I am 20 minutes late for this to count for Monday, June 8, 2009, I'm going to go ahead and count it. And not only am I going to count it for Monday, I'm going to go ahead and go to sleep and finish writing here tomorrow. Forgive me for playing God, but that's what I'm going to do.
See you tomorrow. I have to film someones Electrical Engineering class at 8am. Apparently, if you run track, its ok to ask someone in another department to film your classes in another department so that you don't have to miss them. I guess the good old days of getting a school excused absence and working with your teacher so you don't get behind are long gone. Annoying, but whatever.
Cheers.

Give Me The Bird...Every Day

So every morning afternoon when I arrive at work and sit down at my computer to clock in on our university's fancy login system, I see the image you are seeing above: a login and password followed by a teensy weensy blue box that I have to click on to proceed. Within that teensy weensy blue box is a little symbol that perplexed and incensed me since its inception.
Go ahead and click on the image above and tell me what you think that looks like. Do it now.

I'm not sure what I did to deserve a gesture like that but it must have been egregious. I don't feel bad, but you better believe I'll be cheating on my time sheets to make myself feel better.
So there.

The Burning of The Eyes, The Bloating of The Stomach

I nearly killed myself last night.
We went to Outback Steakhouse for my cousin's birthday (the day after mine) and after a half rack and a double serving of fries, I was ready to pound my obligatory birthday ice cream, so thoughtfully delivered by our decidedly butchy waitress.
I tried to share, but no one was having it. Jen, my cousin, was struggling to even start eating hers as I was scrapping the last drippings of chocolate drizzle of the sizes of my saucer. It was delicious. Australian ice cream is leaps and bounds better than our ice cream and I had no trouble finishing it off before my stomach realized it was full.
Then after a good half our of chatting and laughing, the smile was wiped from my face as I felt a rumble from down under.
My lactose intolerance is generally treated as a third wheel when I go out to eat; not necessarily forgotten, but not enough of a nuisance to be part of the group. But tonight, it was in fervent protest, wailing and gnashing as I sat sweating; gluteus maximus a flexin' to try and keep me from ruining the party.
But let's not go there right? I made it out alive (and full) and seriously enjoyed my time. All of these birthday celebrations are making it difficult to trying and be healthy this week. Lots of cake and eating out has compounded with my prolonged soreness from a 20 minute bike ride on Monday. I've not been toO successful this week. Failure, as I said yesterday, isn't yet imminent, but if I'm not careful, this wave of self-will is going to pass and I'll be floating helplessly until the next one comes along.
Eh, its alright. I can procrastinate the day of my success a little bit longer...right?

Failure Is Imminent

Wow, just one, single, solitary day after promising to blog everyday on my new kick to break through the glass ceiling and revamp my life...I forgot to blog. Yes, yesterday, on my birthday, I forgot to blog. I think you can forgive me since it was my birthday and I was a little preoccupied. I also partially blame it on twitter because I was live updating delectable goodies about my day as they happened. Plus, I got a little over excited about buying some stuff online as the day was winding down and all sense of responsibility and duty flew out the door before I had a chance to blog as promised.
But yes, thanks for asking, the birthday went well. Kristen (the missus) never ceases to amaze me when it comes to making me feel special. From breakfast in the morning to gifts in the evening, she found time to squeeze me in and make me feel remembered despite being horrifically busy all the day long. She's my hero. And if that wasn't enough, I was so shocked and thankful at all the people who wished me a happy birthday. In a digital age where facebook/myspace and others remind us of birthdays, I still am thankful for all those people who went to the minimal effort to just say, "Hey, happy birthday." It seems insignificant, but it counts and I'm thankful.
So yeah, it was good. I was really happy and grateful for all the friends and family who made it feel like a special day. Thanks.
Cheers.

Break A Leg

Alright, I gotta pound this post out while its still fresh in my noggin and I'm feeling brave.
I woke up late today, around 9:30, when I was supposed to be walking into the library to study. I had softly committed to my wife that I would get up early all this week so that I can complete the online courses I am enrolled in before our first baby arrives in less than 6 months. In short, I have 5 classes to finish before the end of the summer, but at the pace I am going, I should have them done by early 2011 at the soonest. Panic.
So I meandered out of bed and got in the shower. The shower, if you read my blog, is a place of deep reflection. A temple, a shrine, a holy of holies as it were, where all the physical and mental clutter in my life gets washed down the drain for but a moment while I stand naked, vulnerable and safe in the confines of its cheap, plastic, opaque curtain. For 3o minutes two times a week (you read right), I feel like I can do anything while I am in that shower. Anything is possible if I put my mind to it. I want to attack life with a furor reserved only for the christian crusaders and the craziest of Taliban. I am unstoppable. I am motivated. I am excited and I am prepared to act.
Then I turn the water off, watch the dirty water swirl slowly down the half clogged drain and remember that I am weak. I am unfulfilled and I cannot do the grandiose things I set forth in my head. For every ounce of strength my wet nakedness brings, the cold drying of my towel sponges it away.
But today was different.
The glass ceiling saw its first crack.
The baby is coming soon and tomorrow I turn 26.
More than three and a half years of marriage has left me happily married, but woefully out of shape and over weight. I let my passions for life die slowly as I packed on the pounds, got busy with school and realized my paycheck actually meant more than new climbing gear and video games. My hours added up to paying rent and buying gas. My school work equated to a secure future for my family and better times to look forward to. And with that, I stopped taking responsibility for my own happiness and got sucked into a vortex of responsibility, waisting the precious few hours a day I actually could spend for myself.
But that's over. Today is a day of change. I am going to take accountability for myself and get this dusty old Logan back in gear.
To start, I'm going to post SOMETHING everyday on the blog. It may be a picture or something small, but the blog has to start picking up steam.
So stay posted. If I do actually stick to this new life decision, the biggest change will hopefully be weight. If it happens, I'll start posting pictures. You guys can make fun of my, cheer me on or point and laugh at my epic failure.
-When I was playing football as a 16 year old junior in HS, I weighed 209lbs.
-After football, my healthy, static weight was 230lbs.
-When I got home from my mission, I weighed a fairly active 250lbs.
-Today (this is kinda embarrassing to say), 5 years after getting home from my mission and after almost 4 years of marriage, I'm rocking 300lbs worth of man-boob swaying mass.
I miss mountain biking. I miss rock climbing (who wants to belay a 300lbs rope snapper?). I miss hiking and camping on a whim.
So that's it. Time to change. Time to get in shape and time to get my head above water and start enjoying life again. Weight loss, burning through school work and finding time to work enough to pay for rent. It's really not too hard. I just have to do it.
Cheers.

Spill Those Beans

It's time to come clean. Kristen, my wife, we'll she's pregnant. Twelve weeks to be exact. We've kept it on the down-low, leaking to select individuals and family here and there as necessary (and when called out), but overall, today's the day. Today is the announcement and you're invited. To what? I'm not sure. You sure as heck won't be in the delivery room, so you're not invited to that. So let's just say you're invited into the fold of the knowing. We want you all to know. Crazy blog-stalker guy from the Midwest: we want you to know. Curmudgeonly old man from Sudan who is learning to use the internet and just happened to stumble across my blog via a google image search: we want you to know too friend.
It's like a weight was lifted off my shoulders today when I announced in the classiest way I knew how (via facebook and twitter) that my wife was pregnant.
Somehow, someway, my logic denied the obvious signs, the evidence of science. It partially denied the existence of this child until it (my logic) heard the heartbeat this morning. My logic had said, "hey, those three sticks you peed on a few months back, well they could've been wrong." And when we went to the OB/GYN and I had to sit through that awkward initial "check-up" my logic again denied the facts.
"Pregnant?" My logic scoffed. "That swollen stomach, rotated pelvis and morning sickness could just be something she ate."
But when you think about it, it really is sensicle that I wouldn't let this truth enter my life before I could blog/facebook/tweet about it. I mean when a person describes their latest meal, opinion on a movie that just ended or secret obsession with CSI: MIAMI to the digital world 24/7, how can one expect that person to cope with reality in a real, normal way? How is one expected to cope without the use of their hyper-realtime information outlets?
Well the time came and the time was today. It feels so good. The heartbeat was healthy, strong and...er, baby-like. I went into that office annoyed at how long it took waiting in the tiny waiting room (made extra tiny as it was filled with near bursting moms-to-be and their gaggles of young ones.) Then I sat in the doctors office feeling apprehensively jealous at the surprisingly handsome doctor manhandling my wife. But once he put jelly to belly and held up the ultra sound speaker, I was rather in awe. I passed up the opportunity to have my own surging waistline listening to and simply congratulated my wife on what apparently is a healthy baby growing inside of her.
The stork theory is a myth. Babies come from bellies and as beautiful as this might be, I hear its going to get ugly. So, as we bring this (un)fortunate young Tanner into our family and the world, I will do my best to keep you posted. I'll try not to berate you with cheesy pictures and such, but as my crusty, sarcastic shell melts into the gelatinous softness of fatherhood, I really can't make any promises.