ASTRO ZOMBIES

Seeing as it's nearly Halloween, I think it's about time to discuss fear.

People are afraid of a lot of things. I'm a (recovering) germophobe, so I'm afraid of germs. People fear the dark, outdoors, peanut butter, the number thirteen, black cats, and a multitude of other things. I'm certain that the list is endless.

I am of the opinion that fear motivates all human actions. I think this point is intuitive, but I can provide a few examples. People go to college because they're afraid they won't be able to secure a steady job. They check the expiration dates on milk cartons because they're afraid to get sick. They wear seatbelts because they fear being seriously in a crash.

The main thing on my mind lately has been finding a female companion. I realized my behavior needs to change if this is to become a reality.

Having always been of the opinion that fear motivates our every action, it is surprising to me that I never inspected the causal relationship of my fears and my loneliness.

What is it exactly that I'm afraid of? Why can't I just put myself out there and meet women, having the knowledge that most times things won't work out the way I want them to? This knowledge should not prevent me from meeting new people, but rather encourage it. Shit happens, you just roll with it. Right?

Well, here's what I'm afraid of. It's taken me a number of years to realize it, and it's very naive while simultaneously romantic.

I'm afraid that my relationship with whomever the (unlucky) girl may be will ruin the notion of perfect romance.

I was made aware of this when I witnessed what other people may describe as a day-to-day occurrence. Before going out, a girl told her man "It's cold out, don't forget to bring a jacket," to which I would likely have replied, "Thanks sweetie, I'll go grab one," or something along those lines. Her man just said, "Yeah," and they were on with it.

I understand that after certain levels of exposure the nature of any relationship changes. I don't really know what all this adds up to, and as I'm sitting here writing this I feel I've asked more questions than I've answered.

I apologize for the abrupt ending, but...

Darren.

BADA BING

The following are my answers to Proust's personality questionnaire:

1. My favorite virtue: loyalty.

2. My favorite qualities in a man: steadfastness.

3. My favorite qualities in a woman: sincerity.

4. My chief characteristic: thoughtfulness.

5. What I appreciate the most in my friends: reflection.

6. My main fault: lack of self-confidence.

7. My favorite occupation: thinking.

8. My idea of happiness: having a woman to love.

9. My idea of misery: the last five years of my life.

10. If not myself, who would I be?: Jim Morrison.

11. Where would I like to live?: San Francisco, London, Buenos Aires.

12. My favorite color: purple.

13. The flower I like most: forget me nots.

14. My favorite bird: cockatoo.

15. My favorite prose authors: Vonnegut, Dostoyevsky, Salinger, Fitzgerald, Hemingway.

16. My favorite poets: Jim Morrison, Sean Daley, George Harrison.

17. My favorite heroes in fiction: Macbeth.

18. My favorite heroines in fiction: I haven’t read enough.

19. My heroes in real life: my father.

20. My heroines in real life: my mother, my sister, A.S.

21. My favorite food and drink: Thanksgiving dinner and brown ale.

22. My favorite names: for a man, James or Jakob (with a ‘k’ and not a ‘c’); for a woman, Julia.

23. Which characters in history I most dislike: G.W.F. Hegel.

24. My heroines in world history: Sandra Day O’Connor.

25. The military event I admire most: the United States victory at Battle of Yorktown.

26. The reform which I admire most: none; I am an apolitical entity.

27. The natural talent I’d like to be gifted with: beauty.

28. How I wish to die: soon, painlessly and tragically.

29. My present state of mind: introspective.

30. For what fault have I most toleration?: lying.

31. My favorite motto: “a severed foot is the ultimate stocking stuffer.”

CHEESEBURGER IN PARADISE

Admittedly, this is a rather depressing blog.

Having just finished Cat's Cradle yesterday and nothing to read at the moment, I decided I'd write something instead.

So, I'm writing today to review Westwood's newest restaurant, Fat Sal's and to give myself and my readers a break from my bleak views on life and love.

What I ate at Fat Sal's was not a cheeseburger. And, let's face it, Westwood is far from what anyone would consider paradise. But this blog has a theme to which I am very dedicated, so I am sticking with it. Besides, there is no song title that could aptly describe the sandwich I just ate.

A portion of the Fat Sal's menu is dedicated to the appropriately named Fat Sandwiches, most of which include your favorite fried sides (potato chips, french fries, onion rings and even mozzarella sticks or jalapeño poppers) and so much more.

When I first heard about the California burrito, I was delighted that San Diegans had included french fries in what is possibly my favorite dish. When it came to french fries in a sandwich, though, I was a bit more skeptical.

At any rate, I ordered the Fat Juanito-rib eye steak, chili, jalapeño poppers, french fries, avocado, shredded lettuce, tomato, onions, ranch and Tapatio on a hero.

It does sound like a behemoth. As I sat anticipating my sandwich, my imagination wandered and my expectations soared. Soon enough, the sandwich had grown in my mind to one of Homer Simpson-esque proportions. Disappointingly, I found the sandwich to be scarcely bigger than a Subway sandwich.

The sandwich was good, but I think that's all the credit I can really give it, aside from being well-imagined by whomever thought to put chili, jalapeño poppers and steak together on a sandwich.

I am an avid chili lover, and Fat Sal's chili-though absolutely covering the whole sandwich (which made it extraordinarily messy)-is nothing to write home about. I like hearty, flavorful chili-not just beans.

Needless to say, the sandwich's flavor came mostly from its other ingredients-the ranch was rather overpowering, especially since the steak was buried into odd pockets of the sandwich rather than occupying the entire bottom bun as I would have liked.

At the end of the day, I'd give the Fat Juanito a 6/10. That being said, Fat Sal's exhibits a lot of potential and I certainly will be back to give another sandwich on their menu a try.

IF I WERE SANTA CLAUS

"...I'd fight for the cause/Wouldn't expect nothing in return/I'd give you everything you want/I'd be everything you'd need/You could take my hand/And I could take the lead."

I searched for the Oscar Wilde quote I thought fit seamlessly in this post, but apparently I misread what he wrote in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray. Yasi, if you're reading this-I wonder if this is a weird coincidence or if your blog had that much of an impact on me. Alas, I digress (as is apt to happen-my readers are no strangers to digression). Also, I'm SO over you and your blog. (Just kidding-I really, really miss it.)

What I thought Wilde said was that the artist reveals more about herself than her subject in her work. Had he said this, I would agree. But this is, apparently, original phrasing (and perhaps an uncommon belief) as my Google query had few results.

To the point:

If I were an artist, I'd paint a portrait of you. I will allow for the possibility that you are flawed, but I am blind to your imperfections. It would be a beautiful portrait that would immortalize you in the hearts and minds of art critics, friends and family, and laymen all the same. I want everyone to see the beauty I see in you. (The Smiths' "I Won't Share You" is running in the back of my mind, but I'd like for everyone to recognize your beauty in the portrait. Most people's art is only recognized posthumously anyway.) I'd hope that it could serve to inspire them as it has inspired me. Whether they painted, wrote or sang their passion, I'd value my contribution. I'd also hope that little of myself was revealed in the portrait-the chaos, the disarray, the ugliness. What I would hope to reveal about myself is my loving nature, my admiration for your beauty, and moreover, my admiration for you.

If I were a scientist, my research would miracle cure. I'd spend hours in the lab paying attention to the smallest of details. My work would be meticulous, mundane, tedious, and soul-sucking. But if I were to find the cure to some debilitating disease (and believe me, this is very hypothetical), it would all have been for you. It will have been worth every moment if I could come home to you at night. I'd fly you to Stockholm, where you would be the focus of my acceptance speech. You'd sit in the front row, and I'd tell the world (or at least the international scientific community) just what you meant to me. I'd mention how those days during my senior year of college I'd spent missing you had not been in vain. I'd let them know that your smile and your laugh was all it ever took to make me happy. If you cried in your seat in the front row (in your gown and pearls that I'd bought you for the occasion), I'd be by your side to comfort you and to help you fix your make-up.

If I were a poet, I'd write you a sonnet that would put Shakespeare's to shame-not because I possessed any particular talent as a writer, but because you serve as such an inspiration. Generations to come would read those fourteen lines revealing the romantic feelings I have for you. As this post reveals, I am a long-winded writer. Hemingway and the Bard had their ways with words, but more importantly with brevity. This is a talent I could possess only with your inspiration. It would be an innocent and honest ode to you. It would not include any sexual innuendos, as Shakespeare's all had. Not a parent in any school district would object to their children reading the poem. I hope for the widest audience possible to express my feelings.

Sadly, though, I am merely a college student and a blogger and this is the best I can do. Whether you realize it or not, these are my feelings for you. As it stands, this post cannot change much. I am both a pessimist and a victim of circumstance. While these circumstances are disfavorable, your inspiration has shone through in this post-I have revealed the optimism you bring out in me.

That means a lot to me, and I'd suspect it might mean something to you.

Hoping for the best,

Darren.

LITTLE MAN

Dear Dad,

Every credit toward my character is a testament to you.

Everything I've learned about being a man, I learned from you and I must thank you for that because it's worth a lot.

You taught me the importance of family and the values to maintain interpersonal relationships. I'm glad I can say I'm honest, thoughtful, dedicated and caring because of your example. When I was a kid playing sports, you never missed a game. You always studied with me if I needed any help. That's a lot to ask of someone with a full-time job, but you've always made it clear that you worked for Mom and Dee Dee and me, not for anything else.

I understood when you told me I needed to be more accountable to myself. Unfortunately, I only understood. I not only need to be more accountable, but I need to take a lot more initiative. I plan everything-just like you taught me-but I never follow through. These are my failings. Having learned all my good traits from you, it's unfortunate that your work ethic is not represented on my list of personal skills.

I know you're proud of me, but I've still never been proud of myself. You and I both know I'm not there yet, but it feels to me like I'm getting there. You taught me to exercise good judgement, but it would mean a lot to me to know that you agree.

I love you, Dad. I wish I could express all of this to you, but you're not that type of person. This is my only disappointment with you, but I understand.

Thank you for giving me all the things you never had-a loving family, a home, and, most importantly, a role model.

One day, they'll put my face on the million dollar bill.

Your little man,

Darren.