There's No Word for "Crush" in Man-Speak

As an adult male, having a crush on someone is a very confusing experience. It forces you to confront gender roles and stereotypes that are, honestly, confusing and at times hard to live up to. After all, adult men generally don't describe their emotions as 'giddy' and 'nervous but excited'.  That calls to mind the image of a six foot tall mountain man jumping up and down while giggling, a less-than-manly image. When discussing our feelings, guys are supposed to (according to stereotypes) use language like "I'm fine" and "Doing OK" and if especially emotional, "Eh, Getting Along." We are supposed to use language that describes our emotions as minor, easily ignored, and unimportant.

When you have a crush, though, your feelings and language to describe those feelings don't line up. Right now, I'm relatively confident that a 'crush' is the emotional feeling currently confusing my brain (and I realize it's not particularly rugged to admit this).  But I don't have the language available to me to describe that feeling.  So, despite how not-manly it sounds, I'm stuck describing my feelings as "somewhat giddy", and "excited", "nervous but happy", all of which are distinctly non-man-speak phrases. 

See?  Even good emotions are mostly subdued!

As a result of our masculine language limitations, having a crush can be a strange, almost alien experience for guys who have tried hard to be the stereotypical gruff archetype of masculinity. I mean, is there a masculine way to describe "butterflies" in your stomach?  Could we instead call them undead caterpillars, perhaps?  They ARE caterpillars after metamorphosis, but I don't think undead is the right word...and let's be honest, caterpillars, even those that are undead, wouldn't be terribly imposing, so 'zombie caterpillars in my stomach' is not going to work. As you can probably begin to tell, it's hard to describe a crush using man-speak because many phrases that come to mind (butterflies in stomach, anything to do with your heart, the entire concept of love or affection, etc) are profoundly distant from normal man-speak, dude-talk, or guy-language.

And if you're wondering, yes that means hugging is off-limits.

Since this is a blog, a writing format primarily dominated by embarrassing teenage confessions and overly dramatic prose about cats, I feel that my embarrassing feelings pale in comparison to what's generally written in blogs.  That means I'm at least somewhat less defensive than if I had to explain myself to someone face-to-face, or over the phone, even if this blog post is filled with embarrassing, possibly childish or effeminate phrases. Because this is a blog I'm willing to say terribly embarrassing things, like "Seeing my crush brightened my whole morning" and "I want to watch a romantic comedy right now, and I don't really know why."  I'm even willing to admit that when I see my crush, there is a distinct 'skip in my step', and a 'smile on my face' that seemingly cannot be removed (smiling is notoriously effeminate, according to most of my tough-guy companions).

Also, being giddy makes me dance like this.
(Hashtag EmbarrassingConfessions, anyone?)

But if I were, for the sake of science (the primary motivation for all my actions), to describe my feelings in a more traditionally masculine way, I would have to find very different language, and I would have to explain my feelings in a confusing, and odd new way. I'd have to find the masculine equivalent for words like 'cute' and 'sweet'. 

The problem is...those words don't exist in man-speak. For example, I might say, "She seems pretty cool, and most of the stuff she does is...pretty cool."  Guys don't have the words to describe what they're feeling, so we use random buzz words and phrases like 'pretty cool' and 'nice'. Words like 'cute' and 'adorable' aren't supposed to intrude on our emotional pallet, and so we rarely if ever know what to say. Instead we use words like 'hot' and 'awesome' and if we're really enamored, 'fun'. But even we, the most delusional and overly-masculine men, recognize that we're probably using the wrong words. 

"Hot" is not the same as "cute".   "Sexy" and "beautiful" aren't the same thing, and guys understand that, even if our language never admits it. And frankly, our catch-all word to describe a girl as "fun" is a poor excuse for the more accurate but uncomfortably honest descriptions like "sweet" or "empathetic" or "caring."  Even if we move past that, and get to the relationship stage, we're still stuck.  Instead of saying "sweetheart" we're left with words like "baby" and "my girl", which can accidentally end up sounding patronizing or possessive.

So today, I come before the collective internet to admit my embarrassing thoughts.  I choose to admit my not-super-masculine feelings.  I lay down all semblance of over-the-top manliness, and am forced to plead guilty of having....EMOTIONS. 

I've got a bit of crush.  It's minor, nothing serious, and it's not even emotional enough to really disrupt my normal day. However, the limitations of guy speak make describing even these rather minor feelings in a manly way impossible. I'm forced to use language that is less tough, less gruff, but also far more accurate. I feel...butterflies in my stomach.  I feel nervous, but excited.  I have a smile on my face, I think she's cute, and funny, and all around adorable.  And though it might not be too manly to admit these things, I believe that sometimes the joy of "feeling butterflies" is worth the risk of appearing less manly.

Now that I've managed to throw away possibly years of building up a reputation as a tough guy, I'm off to find a moose, wrestle it to the ground with my bare hands despite its thousand pound weight advantage, kill it in some incredibly over the top and unnecessarily explosive way (the "Michael Bay" method, usually involving exploding objects that don't normally explode), make jerky and steak from its meat (Jerky and Steak are more masculine than other cuts of mean, FYI), all the while concentrating very hard on growing my beard and chest hair and meditating on the concept of manhood.  You know, to win back my man-points.  And because moose-wrestling sounds like the world's greatest redneck sport idea ever.

Thanks for reading, and I hope this brightened your day. Check back often to BB+B for more updates, funny stories, and embarrassing personal confessions that make me feel like a whiny child! I always love to get new readers, and I think this summer of 2013 is going to be a great time for BB+B. I hope you all stick around, and check back often.

Thanks as always for your time,
-Brian.

Single Greatest Insult in History

A few days ago I saw a fight break out between a strange couple in the grocery store. Their exchange, though brief, was so amazingly insulting and harsh that I felt it deserved to be immortalized on the internet.  So, I present to you today:

THE GREATEST COUPLE-FIGHT IN HISTORY

The story begins as I walked through the aisles trying desperately to decide if I was actually interested in eating more Ramen for the third week in a row.  I was grocery shopping, and my head was not focused on my surroundings, which is why I managed to walk up on a fighting couple without actually realizing what was going on. When I finally noticed the fight occurring, I was standing only a few feet away, and because the people who were fighting were both EXTREMELY attractive, and EXTREMELY mean to each other, I allowed myself a moment to sit and enjoy their argument, as an unwanted observer.

When I say that they were very attractive, I mean to say that this couple was VERY attractive.  They were not just cute, they weren't 'nice together', or anything simple and cliche like that. These two individuals were human paragons of beauty.  The guy looked just over six feet tall, his chin looked like it had been carved perfectly by a master sculptor and fashioned out of diamond, and his face was a strange combination of Ryan Gosling and Bruce Willis, making him look both extremely handsome and rugged all at once.  I'm straight as an arrow and yet I noticed this guy pretty much immediately: His shoulders were wide and strong, his neck was thick and muscular, and even in ratty old jeans I couldn't help but notice that his entire body rippling with obvious muscles.

The girl was perhaps even more attractive:  Her strawberry blonde hair draped elegantly in waves around her neck and down her back. She wore it somehow both down and up, with a sort of half-bun thing that made her look like a stereotypical "sexy librarian". She wore clothing that conveyed a sense of both comfort and style, a well fitted button up shirt and a medium length skirt that somehow felt right, even with the freezing weather outside. And if I can be blunt:  She had curves in all the right places.  Her eyes were crisp, wide, and somehow remarkably noticeable underneath her long dirty-blond tresses, and when you paired her beauty with her boyfriend's looks, I immediately felt like I was on television, because there's no other explanation for how two such beautiful people could coexist in the same space.

I think I've probably spent so long describing them that you have a good idea about both what they looked like, but also how incredibly strange it was to see such attractive people sitting around grocery shopping in Fairbanks Alaska, where it's not uncommon to see men whose facial hair (long and unkempt) makes them look like they're homeless, and where women are so bundled against the cold most of the year that you can't tell what they actually look like outside of a fur-lined parka.

But this couple's beauty was especially noticeable because they were fighting with each other: They looked so pleasant, but kept saying terrible things.  At one point, he referred to her as a word that rhymes with punt, and she made reference to his lack of testicles so many times, I was beginning to wonder if she was being sarcastic or actually referring to his real possible lack of testicles.

I still don't know what the argument was about. There were far too few contextual clues to follow, but I know that after several minutes of quick-tongued bickering, the guy leaned closer to her, bringing himself the several inches down so that his and her eyes were perfectly level and locked.  Then he said, "You are acting like the bitchiest combination of your and my mothers combined. You're basically my mom, right now.  Except worse. Because you're also your mom, and she's terrible. She is just terrible. And you're worse than that. I hope you know that."

The insult landed, and for a moment I thought I'd heard the single greatest insult in history.  I mean, it was genius:  He insulted her, his family, and brought his own mom into the fight as ammunition. It was brutal. For a half moment, I was transfixed with the scene, where this guy had, somehow, crafted an insult so painfully biting that the girl couldn't even respond. She sort of mumbled a few words in response, and then looked around awkwardly, trying to see who was watching her.  She must've then thought of her genius comeback, because right in front of me, she let loose an attack even more profoundly insulting.

She planted her feet in a wide stance, placed both her hands on her wide, attractive hips, cocked her head slightly to the side, and with a look of barely withheld fury unleashed, "My mom?  Better to act like my mom than act like George Bush and Carrot Top's bastard love child, you shrivel-dicked excuse for a man. Now, apologize, before I have to permanently remove your balls and keep them stashed in my purse, you flaccid one-pump-chump of a college dropout."

There was silence.  Every inch of me was quivering because I knew that this was the opportunity of a lifetime, where I could yell, "OH SNAP" and be taken seriously.  But, sadly, I was too stunned to comment, and like her boyfriend who she'd just insulted, I was left wordless and confused for several seconds.  See, the guy had thrown out a cliche but a very unique spin on a cliche: Insulting his significant other by comparing her to her mother, or his own, is common.  Comparing her to BOTH of them, and saying she's worse?  That's a whole new level of insult.  But then, she responded with the harshest, most brutal insult I have ever heard or even imagined in my rudest thoughts. She attacked his masculinity, she brought in politics, she went politically incorrect, and managed to end by insulting his manhood yet again, in a new way.

The guy finally spoke. "Fine," he conceded, "you win.  I'm sorry. Also, I just have to say...that was, without a doubt the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me."

She turned to face him, and placed her arm through his, and playfully admitted, "I'm kind of surprised myself.  Didn't know I had it in me."  Then the couple, arms linked, walked away, the fight magically ended by their traded attacks. I was left alone in the grocery aisle, wondering how I would ever be able to trade insults again, knowing that there was such magically terrible insults out there that I would never be able to compete with.  And after a few moments to digest these thoughts, I left. And that, my dear readers, is the single harshest set of insults I have ever heard

Thanks for reading BB+B! I hope you enjoyed, and check back regularly for more updates!
Thanks again,
-Brian, the Author Guy.

I sat there for a moment, watching this poor man reel at the insult he'd just been given.

The Eyes of Brian Pt. 1: The Wicked W/Bitch of the Midwest

Today I'd like to do something very unusual for me:  Tell a story that I didn't actually experience myself.  Rather, my sister (a pretty good story teller in her own right) has filled me in on some details from her life, and I'm now going to take this information and tell the story myself.  Think of it as a very long and confusing game of 'telephone'. With my sister's permission and even suggestions, I'd like to tell you her fairy tale story. Let us begin.

* * *

The Princess and the Wicked B/Witch

My sister (my senior by two years) is a music teacher, and in my biased opinion basically the greatest teacher to have ever walked the face of the Earth. She makes Keating from "Dead Poets Society" seem stuffy and disinterested.  She's basically everything good ever. If that sounds a bit hyperbolic, well, I already admitted I'm biased, but I mean it nonetheless! She really is a great, passionate, and dedicated teacher.

While many of us struggle to find our calling in life, she's basically been on the music/teaching path since she was old enough to speak (and therefore sing). When she was age 5, she was coaching me to become a better singer (I was 3).  At age 8, she taught my brother and I how to play most sports, just for kicks.  It's as if my sister was destined from birth to be a teacher, because she's always had an innate tendency to teach, and to help whatever students she has learn. Not only does she love the actual WORK part of her job, but she also loves her school, students, and  coworkers. My sister is basically Ms. Frizzle from "The Magic School Bus", except she teaches music and spanish instead of...whatever it was Ms. Frizzle taught. And she's not a ginger. And she's not magic.  So maybe the Ms. Frizzle analogy isn't perfect, but there aren't too many great fictional teacher characters, especially female ones, to draw from.

But how AWESOME was Ms. Frizzle?

Currently at my sister's teaching job, she has to deal with some pretty unpleasant people.  Whiny parents, obstinate administrators, and all of the normal headaches of teaching seem to crop up in my sister's life far more often than they ought to.  Somehow, despite these troubles, my sister doesn't let problems get to her.  She forges ahead, and continues to work her butt off as she's always done.  But with the arrival of her own, perfectly suited Disney villain, keeping herself above the fray has been made much more difficult.

You see, my sister has found herself own evil nemesis. Due to the age difference between her and her enemy, though, I feel like being her nemesis isn't the best way to describe the villain in this case.  I mean, Harry Potter isn't really the 'nemesis' of Voldemort, right?  He's an enemy, but with such an age disparity, it's hard to be the 'nemesis' of this particular villain. That is why I believe this villain is far more like the 'evil stepmother/queen' stereotype Disney characters always seem to face. This villain is another teacher (who I like to call the Wicked Bitch of the Midwest, but we'll go with "Wicked Witch" to be nice).  The Wicked Witch acts as if she were in a life-long audition for the part of Cinderella's evil stepmother, or "101 Dalmatians" famous Cruella Deville, but instead of stealing a throne, or skinning 101 adorable dalmatian puppies, she's out for my sister's job (which sounds like "Wicked Stepmother Trying to Steal the Throne 101" to me).

The Wicked Witch concocts Machiavellian schemes to seize power all while she smiles a painfully insincere smile and pretends to be interested in her coworkers' lives. Yeah, she's 'that guy' in the office, the one nobody likes for reasons that are hard to really explain...She makes friendly chit-chat, says hello in the hallway, and is happy to share a smile with everyone she meets, but in private she insults all the people she was previously being nice to. As a result, everyone sort of assumes she's secretly out to get them (which she probably is), making it very difficult for the Witch to ever be trusted enough to seize power. The Wicked Witch is just like the evil queen from the movie Enchanted...or the evil queen from "Snow White"...or the evil queen/witch from "The Chronicles of Narnia".  (On a completely unrelated note, I feel like all the writers at Disney have a major case of Mommy Issues and are still angry about Mom and Dad's divorce). All of these evil characters worked hard to get in charge, tried even harder to keep their power, and were all eventually deposed by the well intentioned heroine or hero. 

As anyone who's seen a Disney film knows, avoiding the evil stepmother/queen is never a simple task. There's poisoned fruit, almost amusingly inept henchmen, and usually some form of long-term plan to seize control along the way to contend with.  The hero only has their stout heart and one or two traveling companions, and the odds always seem to be insurmountable.  And yet, in the end, the hero or heroine always somehow wins, which I consider proof that my sister is destined for success.  She has me (the 'fool' archetypal sidekick, like the gargoyles from "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"), she has her Husband (Prince Charming by virtue of both this analogy and his behavior), and she has her own personal strength and courage.  Somehow, I believe, that will be enough for the Princess to win.

Seriously, Evil Queen?  You thought you'd win?  Have you even SEEN a Disney movie?

Now that I've set the stage, you might begin to wonder how does the story end? How does the evilly unpleasant Wicked Witch fall?  At this point in the story, it's too hard to know.  Will the Witch eventually reveal her true form?  She can't turn into a dragon, and her true form of "A Huge and Cranky Bitch" looks like she always looks, so that might not work...Perhaps the Witch will try to attack the Heroine of our tale and simply be slain?  I could see that possibility, for certain, but I don't really think my sister is the 'slay the evil queen' type.  She's much more likely to prefer the last option for defeating the Wicked Witch:  Let the Witch destroy herself.

So let the Wicked Witch keep spitting her venom, and weaving her webs, and let the the Witch back herself into a corner, and bring about her own demise in a self-defeating attempt to steal more power. It's always hard to tell what brings about a villain's fall, but at least this time, I expect our villain is going to bring judgement down upon herself. Perhaps her gossiping ways might catch up to her.  Perhaps (as I just recently found out is actually happening) the Witch will try so hard to make her coworkers look bad that her OWN performance comes under review. Perhaps she will lie and cheat and whine so much that she loses all credibility. We can only hope. 

I don't know how the story ends quite yet, but I do know that the villain never wins.  It might get dicey, and my sister might have a bit of a struggle ahead of her because dealing with such unpleasant people as the Wicked Witch is bound to make life a little difficult. But if I've learned anything from years of watching movies (whether or not I have learned anything is definitely up for debate), I have learned that the evil Stepmother or Queen never wins.  They may pose a threat, they may make life hard, and they may seem to be unbeatable, but in the end, the Heroine and her band of helpers always win. Because in life, it's easy to get ahead by cheating and lying, but unless you've got yourself a good Fool to tell your story, and a Prince Charming to help face the dragons, there's nothing worth fighting for, and that makes all the difference.

Dear Moms, From Your Grown Up Sons

Dear Moms,

I'm writing on behalf of your sons. I'm writing because most of us are not blessed with particular eloquence, and even the few of us who are so fortunate aren't often also blessed with the wit to know when to use our eloquence.  So, I write as best as I can on behalf of sons everywhere. So, from here on out, it's not one person writing...it's all of your grown up sons, writing as one.

First, let us begin with the many apologies we really should have given you personally over the years:
Yes, it was us, the collective sons of the world, who stole your chocolate and then lied about it.  In our defense, we were probably too young at the time to know WHY you were suddenly desperate for chocolate one week a month, but that's no excuse, and we should probably apologize to dad too, because I imagine without your chocolate his life wasn't particularly fun either.  We sons are also sorry for avoiding your hugs in front of our friends when we tried to act 'tough'.  If it's any consolation, you forcing us to give you a hug anyway is what made so many of us turn out as 'nice guys'.  So, kudos to you.  And a last apology that we sons probably need to make is simple:  We are extremely sorry that we were so dirty as kids.  Now that many of us live on our own, we suddenly realize why you forced us to take off our coats right at the door, and why you seemed so angry when we didn't clean our rooms: It turns out living in a rancid pig-sty isn't half as much fun as our young selves thought it would be.

Seriously:  We're sorry.

Aside from apologies, we also want to say thanks.  Not just for the whole "giving birth" thing: By now those Mother's Day cards have covered that subject in plenty of detail. No, we want to say thanks for being there when we were kids.  When we were awkward and nerdy, or tough and rugged, or somewhere in between you were likely the voice of reason that told us it's acceptable to not ALWAYS act the same.  Dad did a great job of helping us in the Boy Scouts or whatever it is we did as kids, but more often than not it's a mom's job to teach their sons that being nice and caring isn't a bad thing. If you hadn't done it, there would be a lot more jerks in the world than there are (though, admittedly, there ARE a lot of jerks...there'd just be more). Thanks also for teaching us skills like talking about our problems, or how to apologize properly, or how to to write even somewhat legibly: Not to sound sexist, but most dads have handwriting just as bad as their kids. In any case, we, your sons, want to say thanks.

We suddenly understand why bikers all seem to have "Mom" tattoos!

Finally, we, the collective grown up sons of the world, wanted to say we love you.  Yes, it's embarrassing.  Yes, if you were to see our collective faces right now, a large proportion of us would be blushing and sheepishly looking away, but we mean it nonetheless. We love you mom, and we wanted to say so.  To every mom out there, we say thank you for all you've done, sorry for all WE'VE done, and we love you more than our emotionally childish personalities would normally willingly admit.

Happy Mother's Day from Beards, Bears, and Brian.
Thanks, and have a great day.

The Worst Pre-Med Student in History.

I've been a teaching assistant at the University of Alaska Fairbanks for the last 2 years now.  As of yesterday, I finished my fourth consecutive semester teaching one of the introductory biology courses here, and in that time I've dealt with a lot of very strange students.

I've had students that stopped showing up to class because 'I really like napping mid-afternoon'.  I've had students cheat by turning in papers from Wikipedia, and forget to even remove the links to the webpage.  I've had students who thought that pokemon was an accurate depiction of evolution, and were astonished to discover that evolution has nothing to do with 'gaining levels'.  And yet, a student that I taught my very first semester still takes the cake, even 2 full years later.  Now, I'm not allowed to give names, or be too specific about this student for legal reasons. I'm obviously not out to make anyone feel bad, but their various misdeeds and silly behaviors over the course of the semester are too good to completely not share.So, I present to you, the tale of the Worst Pre-Med Student in History:  Gloomy Gus.

The Tale of Gloomy Gus

In teaching introductory biology, you generally expect that you're going to get a few students who want to be doctors but who are probably not suited to pursue that field:  Perhaps they don't have the background education, or perhaps they don't have an appropriate set of study skills, but whatever the reason might be, there are always going to be some students who you can just tell shouldn't be pursuing a career in medicine, even though they declare they are 'pre-med' the first day of college. Gloomy Gus was the most extreme case of a 'bad idea pre-med' student that I've ever seen.

For me, it's difficult to understand where I should begin discussing why Gus should avoid the medical profession.  There are just too many reasons to fully list

• He's a creationist trying to study biology, which I think is a pretty good hint about how well thought out his medical school plans seem to be. I recognize that many successful scientists do cling to their belief in creationism, despite the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary, and some of them are fine with this contradiction.  But generally not believing a core tenant of your scientific discipline out of pure stubbornness isn't a good quality.
• Gus is also generally unfriendly to a degree that I imagine would be bad as a doctor.  He's the sort of person who would give a cancer diagnosis via text-message. When someone is too unfriendly to work with a lab partner for 3 hours a week, how is he supposed to work with a whole hospital staff and sick patients, full time?
• Gus regularly states questions in class with the phrase, "That sounds like bullshit to me, but..."  He doesn't lead with "I don't understand", or "That sounds confusing."  He calls it bullshit, because if he doesn't immediately understand something, it's clearly somehow a lie.
• Gus hates people.  Not just his teachers, not just the TAs, but ALL people. He had to be asked to leave lab once during the semester because he was so abrasive that his lab-mates were near tears. When asked why he'd been cruel with his lab-mates, Gus responded "I am not a people person.  I just really like to be mean. If they can't deal, not my problem." Not a good doctor mindset.
• He seemingly believes every conspiracy theory that has ever been, no matter how idiotic.Within a month of the class starting he explained that antibiotic resistant bacteria are probably a secret government ploy to hike up the cost of antibiotics.  He thinks global warming is a direct result of the 'sun getting bigger'.  I kid you not, this kid seems to buy any conspiracy theory there is, as long as it's hard to follow and poorly explained. 
• And finally, the biggest reason he shouldn't be a doctor, or hold any job in the medical profession:  He a mysophobe, or as most people call it, a germaphobe.  In lab we grew bacterial and fungal culture plates to see what microorganisms were present around the building, and when we saw how many plates grew bacterial colonies, Gloomy Gus spent fifteen minutes ranting to his lab partners about how he was so disgusted he wanted to puke.  Whenever someone sneezes near him in class, he washes his hands, even if they didn't sneeze towards him, and covered their faces.  It's like a future lion tamer being scared of cats. 

So what would cause someone who hates people, biology, science, and the pursuit of knowledge to want to be a doctor?  The television character House.  Sure, House was extremely hard working to get where he was, was plagued by physical pain and a lifetime of mental anguish, and earned his right to be a jackass by being an extremely successful genius.  Gus has somehow decided that even non-genius, lazy and obstinate conspiracy nuts deserve the chance to act like House, though, as long as they're doctors. And thus, he wants to be a doctor.

Fast forward to now, two years later, when I saw Gus on campus for the first time in several months.  In an attempt to be nice, I gave a polite head nod.  Gus took this as an invitation to share an endless rant with me, so he trotted over, and was quickly regaling me with stories of how miserable all of his classes have been this past semester.  He told me about how his English professor was clearly trying to be like Robin Williams in the amazing film "Dead Poets Society", which is apparently a bad thing (I disagree whole-heartedly, and wish I had more teachers with that sort of energy and drive). Gus shared the reason he was now recently single, ("She was crazy and needy and demanded I do crap like take her to dinner and go out to parties.  Total bullshit.") and he endlessly ranted about his family ("Mom's always on my case lately, just because I failed a few classes.  Like grades even matter, right?") and his friends ("I've stopped hanging out with the guys you remember me hanging out with.  They were total posers, and like, didn't get it.  You know, they just didn't, like, GET it."). In general, he spent a long walk ranting at me about how every possible aspect of his life, and how every person in his life, was terrible.  And somehow, for some reason, he decided that I must not be terrible, because he wanted to share this information with me.  After a few minutes of terribly depressing ranting, I tried to take my leave of him and walked into the nearest building, even though it wasn't my actual destination.

Gus followed me in.

And that's when the worst news of all hit me:  He had retaken the biology courses over summer school and had managed to pass, somehow, thereby solidifying his belief that he was destined to become a doctor.  Though he had a terrible GPA, had failed almost a third of all the classes he'd taken, and despite his seeming inability to learn anything from anyone, Gus had still managed to hold onto his dream of being a doctor.  As I wandered around a building I didn't know, in hopes of finding a way to escape this yeast-infection equivalent of a human being, I was told in great detail about all of the cool classes he wanted to take to become a doctor.

Just as I began to lose hope,was considering coming clean, and admitting I had walked into this building to try to escape his presence, something wonderful happened.  For the first time since I'd known him, Gus seemed to genuinely ask for my opinion.  He said, "So, you taught me and weren't totally horrible," (which from Gus is quite the compliment), "and you probably know a lot about science and stuff by now...what sort of courses would you recommend?  Like, what stuff do you think I'd want to take classes to study?"

This opportunity was a rare one, so I made sure I didn't respond too quickly.  The wrong word here might make Gus doubt me, and if I ever wanted to have a chance of affecting his life outlook, I would have to strike now.  I said, "Honestly, you don't seem like the doctor type.  You hate people, you hate science, and you don't like to work hard.  What is another ten years of college and medical school going to do for you? What would you want to learn?  I'd recommend you try something new, and maybe take a few courses in diverse classes that might show you something you're more interested in."

I waited in silence for him to respond, and was surprised when he actually seemed to consider what I'd said.  But, as is likely to happen when talking with a profound and detestable piece of human excrement, he said something that proved to me he wasn't actually interested in what I had to say. "Well, sure, but I mean, I'm going to be a doctor, even if I probably will just hate the job.  Being a doctor means you get respect, and money. That's the only reason to get a job. So, yeah, I definitely still want to be a doctor. I thought you'd get that..."  Then he patted me on the back and walked back through the maze of hallways I'd led us to.

Standing alone in the hallway, I thought for a moment about Gus.  Since that day now around a week ago, he's popped into my head several times, and it's made me sad whenever I think about it. I mean, Gloomy Gus is a terrible person, and if he ever DID hypothetically become a doctor, he would personally ruin the American healthcare system even beyond its current terrible state.  But today, as I looked at the entrance requirements of various medical schools online, one bright and wonderful thought occurred to me: 
Do I really think someone with that terrible an attitude, behavior, and beliefs system will ever actually manage to get into, much less graduate from medical school? Probably not.  After all, as so eloquently put it a thousand times before, "That sounds to me like Bullshit."

Thanks for reading, and I hope you have an awesome day.  I also hope you never have the misfortune of meeting someone like Gus in your daily lives.  So, thanks for reading BB+B, and check back frequently for more updates!  As summer starts, the updates are likely to come more frequently!
Thanks,
-Brian, the Author Guy

Oil, Coal, and Diamond: A Lesson in Perseverance

Normally I try to be more on the amusing and sarcastic side here at BB+B.  However, as it's finals week at my grad school and I've got a profoundly frightening committee meeting and annual report to present tomorrow, I find myself much more focused on the serious.  So, with your permission (and I assume I have it, otherwise I doubt you'd be coming to read my blog) I'd like to give a more motivational post, rather than amusing.

When I was a child, I was astonished to discover that coal and diamonds are essentially the same.  Chemically, at least, they're just compressed carbon, really.  At the molecular level, they're structurally similar, though the specific structure of diamond and coal vary both in physical and chemical characteristics. And lastly, another substance that is primarily made up of carbon or compressed carbon is oil:  Oil is less made up of carbon than diamonds and coal, but it is still a primarily carbon-based substance, with a few impurities and other elements tossed into the mix.

There is a similar concept in people, I believe:  When subjected to pressure, we have three options, and I believe there is an apt parallel between these carbon-based substances and human responses to pressure.
First, we can shrink away from the pressure, learning little and gaining little from our experiences. When pressure occurs, when the heat of the pressure begins to cook us, we can allow ourselves to be barraged and slammed without response, and though we don't give up completely, we also don't fight back or stand up for ourselves. This, in its own way, is how I see Coal:  Strong, in form, and relatively resistant to pressure, but always near the point of crumbling, always ready for one last ounce of pressure to shatter us down to dust.  This is not a good thing in life, though I'd daresay most people choose to be the 'coal' of people:  Stable, steady burning, but near collapse most of the time.

Second, we can collapse under pressure, and fall apart, therefore actually losing some of the strength we had to begin with.  This is what I see as the petroleum oil of people:  People who respond to pressure by withdrawing, giving up, and letting the pressure break them.  They lose a piece of themselves in this process, and are in some ways contaminated by their failure:  They're not without use, but they aren't the strong and stable people who they were before they cracked and crumbled under pressure, and now they spend most of their time hiding out under the proverbial rock, desperately seeking to escape their pressure and stresses, but always unable to do so.  These are the people who have given in to pressure, and have allowed themselves to give up.  I don't blame them, because sometimes the pressure is simply too much, and we all fall apart from time to time.  But the difference between success and failure is just how we respond to our stress and pressure.  Do we get back up and make a stand, or do we allow ourselves to be crushed beneath the weight of our burdens, broken beyond repair?  Being oil in your own life is a problem, because it means you never truly meet the resistance of life head on, and instead choose to give in or flee.  You offer little resistance, and cannot seem to hold your own when new forces arise.

The last option is to face our problems, our stresses and pressures and heat, head on.  We can struggle against pressure and heat and confusion and nervousness and overcome ourselves and our fears.  We can daily choose to meet our challenges with a stalwart mind and an unflinching gaze, and we can be forged into something greater as a result of our strength. This is the metaphorical diamond.  If we collapse and give in, we must choose to get back up.  If we are pushed by enormous stresses and pressure, we must choose to refuse the feelings of doubt and depression that overwhelm us. It may take time and many failures to succeed, but diamond does not form in a day: It takes ages of pressure, constant pushing and compression and heat and seemingly unbearable stress to make a diamond.  It isn't going to burn up when heat is applied, and it certainly won't shatter under weight, because the weight is has borne for thousands of years beforehand have helped forge it into an object of great durability and strength. Being the diamond isn't easy, and likely requires support from the outside, at times. Friends and family offer support, and help you resist the temptation to give in, and over time they help you to become a diamond, if you're willing to accept their assistance. A diamond is only forged under conditions of heat and pressure, and takes a great deal of time to fully strengthen, but once it has been strengthened it is nearly impervious to damage.  It can handle extreme heat, and more pressure. It can handle attacks to its surface and it can handle the hottest fires , and it does all of this without trouble.  It is a good thing to seek to be or become diamond, because it means you understand that life will at times be a heavy burden to bear, but you also recognize that you will, in time, overcome these struggles. You are a force of strength and power in a world that often seems overpowering.

Try to become a diamond.  Seek every day to meet your challenges without flinching, and recognize that your failures are not going to destroy you, but that they can build you up.  Remember that you are not defined by the times you fall down, but by the times that you stand back up.  Resist your own doubts, and conquer your own fears.  Give yourself thanks for your successes, and use your confidence to form a barrier around yourself. If you do all of this, then when trouble comes your way, you will be able to handle it, and overcome it. 

I hope that this post, however ranting and wordy it may be, reminds you that you are capable of great things.  I hope that this post reminds you that failure is not the same thing as being defeated.  I also hope that in time, you all forge yourselves into diamonds, and become capable of supporting those around you just as they have supported you in your own times of need. 

Hold fast, stay strong, and try to smile once in a while.
We'll return to our normal, amusing posts after this one.  Hopefully it didn't bother you over much to hear my speechifying.
Thanks for reading, and I appreciate your time reading BB+B!
-Brian, the Author guy.