The Jog Blog

Going out for a jog always makes me feel invincible. I still look left and right for cars, but feeling the sun on my easily tanned skin, hearing my shoes make unnoticeable impressions on the pavement, and smelling the scent of trees on every block is a one of a kind sensation.

Just today, I caught a whiff of the woods, possibly from a chimney, a silent barbecue, or maybe it was just my phantosmia being generous.

Every time I pass by a house with a dog, it barks at me until its owner tells it to stifle. I don't know why they even bark. I run past them, not to them. But what do they know? They're oversized weepuls.

Every time I pass by a house with a cat, it freaks out and just stares at me, wide-eyed. Why? Man up and face your fears, pussy.

Often times, I pass by a house right as the owner is coming home. I don't know how to explain this phenomenon. It's really weird because they're always returning home with grocery bags, or a tent, or a t.v., so they were clearly busy to some extent throughout the day.

And as I'm going by, we'll usually make eye contact. The only difference between them is that some of these strangers say unimportant stuff like "hey, how are ya?" which means nothing because there's no real way to answer that in the second it takes to jog by. I could say "I'm good", but what do they care? I might as well just say "I'm awful" and be on my merry way.

Others just stare wearily. You can't even tie your shoes on their sidewalk without them stopping what they're doing to gaze in question. They're curious, it's understandable. But if I walked up their lawns and knocked on their doors, then I'd understand their level of concern.

Still, if you knock on my door and I don't know you, I probably wouldn't answer it. Why should I? How can the pros possibly outweigh the cons? I didn't wake up today anticipating a new lifestyle at my doorstep. I'm not craving door-to-door tea, pest control, or a new t.v. provider. If I want something, I'll seek it out.

Unless you're the best negotiator in the world... maybe then I'll let you change my religion in minutes.

A Prior Engagement

I've recently decided to pull a prank on FaceBook. My account is privatized, but if I added you to the list, you're a guest at my non-stop digital party.

The hoax was unbelievably simple: Pose as an engaged young man. All I had to do was "claim" I was engaged in the relationship box, and within days, I got people I haven't talked to in ages commenting in response with "Congrats!" and "Congratulations!" and "Congrats, Phil!"

Do you see a pattern?

While I'm flattered that the people who gave me their blessings gave me even that much, only two or three people out of over two dozen actually sent me messages asking who I was marrying, and if it was even true. The vast majority of everyone who saw (and responded to) this update just believed it at face value.

But let's get back to reality-- does the world really think I'm ready for marriage? Have they forgotten how ridiculous I am? I can barely take care of a Venus flytrap. I spend my time hiking, writing, and telling jokes at bars. I'm a good enough guy, I guess. I treat girls better than they expect. But marriage material? Not yet.

I was madly in love at one point. This was years ago, of course. And if we stayed together long enough, that girl and I might have gotten married. But who's to say that would have been a good idea?

The strangest thing about the reaction is the lack of research so many did before congratulating me. Not to sound cynical, but what if I was dating the wrong girl? Marriage can be good, but you know it can also be a train wreck. I'm not rich, so this 'dream girl' everyone assumed said "yes" to me clearly wouldn't have been in it for my money (unless she really wants to inherit my last 20 bucks).

So what if she was just a crazy girl? They exist, you know.

Or maybe a lot of my friends thought I was being foolish and naive and kept it to themselves. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. Months from now, people in my extended social circles are still going to ask me what happened to my fiance because they won't read this blog. People will mistakenly spread rumors about me being married for years to come because they didn't take the few seconds to follow up, to ask when the wedding will be, when it was, how long I knew the girl, where we met, what color her eyes are. And that's my beef with social media. It's the main reason I did this prank in the first place. I was genuinely curious to see how far people would go to find out if what they read was true. It's not hard. It literally takes three seconds. I didn't go through the trouble of making prediction charts or any of that, but the results were pretty much what I'd expected: some likes, some virtual pats on the back, and a few private asides of "uhhh... Phil, is this a joke?"

Of the few that asked me, I told them immediately about the engagements' falsity and thanked them for expressing their interest. I didn't make more statuses to fuel the fire, or call people asking for their blessings. I commented in response on the status a few times, and jokingly in an attempt to see if more will catch on to its falsehood. But nope.

By the way, this was a prank, not a lie. It's an important distinction. I never lie, and I rarely prank.

But I joke all the time.

Cheers.

Backwash

I should probably introduce myself.

The name's Philip. Now, you should know I intend for this to be a meaningful, long-lasting relationship, despite the fact that my first blog is a seemingly biased movie review of Toy Story.

Philip 101: Let's see, I enjoy good movies, classic novels, self-destruction, and the color blue. I was raised in Van Nuys, California. If you haven't been there, it's this place on the outskirts of Los Angeles, surrounded by richer, greener areas in every cardinal direction.

I've spent a lot of my childhood in virtual worlds. I've spent a lot of my adult life in my own head (I'm a writer, significantly poorer than J.K. Rowling). I'll ideally spend my elderly days in a robot's body, but we'll see how that goes.

In college, I decided to intern at Disneyland (which was great), and later Walt Disney World. After returning from Florida, I worked briefly at Warner Brothers Studios as a tour guide, where I was given an over-sized golf cart to drive a dozen strangers through multi-million dollar premises three times a day.

As a child, I drank juice. I don't know when the transition into rum became a thing, but it's in case you haven't realized, rum is delicious. And, like juice, it gives me a funny feeling inside. I really don't drink it enough... then again, I don't go boating enough.

I'm writing this blog as a means of communicating to myself, only publicly. I don't intend to hold back, so if you have any questions, comments, obsessive thoughts, make them known. I've learned only this year that life's too short for repressing one's opinions Opinions are ultimately what separate us from each other... as well as our individual consciousnesses... also gravel... and fences... outdoor pools...

Stay tuned.