2/24, technically 2/25

I’m in San Francisco right now at Tim’s house. It’s a nice place up on the opposite end of downtown Market Street. I like the house a lot. It’s kind of a bummer knowing that Tim sleeps behind a curtain in exchange for 500 dollars a month, but I guess that’s life here in the big city. Another bummer about it here is the fact that it took me over an hour to find parking earlier. I got lost well over ten times and the only spots that I DID find wer red zones. I was in no hurry, which made things less stressful - but it still sucked. Lori dropped Dylan off where he and she met me in some random dark alleyway next to a sleeping homeless man. Dylan got in with me to help me navigate my way to Tim’s work where we picked him up and continued on to meet Brandon and Tamara at Zachary’s Pizza in Berkeley.

It’s funny how I learned about Zachary’s: I read about it in the NY Times a number of weeks ago. Then when I mentioned to an old coworker that I was going to be in San Francisco this week, his response was “dude, you really need to check out Zachary’s Pizza in Berkeley.” So basically, I’ve had this pizza on my mind for the last three days and we finally made it there tonight. It super did not disappoint. It was amazing beyond pizza belief. I loved it. It was Chicago style deep dish. The thing that made it most different, I think was that while it had a really deep crust, the sauce was on top of all the cheese and toppings. It was neat. It was saucy on top and gooey underneath. Quite the concept. When I open Borgey’s Pizza, I’m definitely going to keep that in mind.

Tomorrow’s the big day at the Irish Consulate. Tim is taking me downtown and showing me where the place is. I don’t quite know what I’m expecting. I’m pretty much going to walk in and ask “how do I get a work visa?” I doubt they’re just going to write me up one there, but I really don’t know what is supposed to happen. Hopefully you don’t need an appointment. The way I’m looking at it is this: if I CAN get a work visa - then I’m going to move there and get a job and an apartment. Stay for a while and just say I lived in Ireland for a part of my life. If I CAN’T get a work visa, then I’m just going to fly to Ireland and hop around Europe with Fei Fei until my money runs out and I’ve got to come hoome. Either way, I can’t lose. It’s gonna be an adventure.

2/23

I made it to California. I’m at my grandparent’s house in Gilroy right now. It’s raining and pretty outside. I miss the rain. They say that if you spend time in the Pacific Northwest, it’s going to be one of the wettest times of your life. Granted, I spent only the summer and fall months there - it was never anything like a late February/early March in Northern California.

I’m not going to be able to meet with the Irish Consulate in San Francisco until Monday when they reopen. I volunteered to help St. Mary’s Catholic Church here in Gilroy tonight with their annual Crab Feed. I’m gonna be working as a host/bouncer for homeless people without a ticket (apparently it was $35 for a ticket into the dinner. yikes!) I’m getting free dinner out of the deal and I’m helping a church - that’s always a just cause, right? I’m not quite sure how I feel about crab on account that I’ve only ever had it in sushi, and in my opinion all seafood tastes exactly the way that the Monterey Bay smells (reminds me of seagull poop and mossy salt water) only with more texture. But, nevertheless, I was told there would also be french bread and pasta for those too picky to enjoy their $35 main course.  I’m just praying they have Pepsi.

Leaving

I thought it would take me a lot longer to pack all of my stuff, but it went surprisingly quick. I’m not bringing a whole lot of stuff other than clothes, some books, Arrested Development/The Office DVD’s, and my new journal (thanks Jessica.) I imagine I probably forgot something, bu at the moment I think I’m pretty well set.

I had a dream last night about doing laundry in Ireland. I dreamt that it cost me 20 euros to use the laundromat and I was too poor to do it. So I had to figure out how to do my laundry in the sink…in which case all my clothes shrunk down to leprechaun proportions and I was left with only the clothes I had. Stupid dream, I know…but  it made me start to think about stuff like that. What happens if I hate Irish food? Am I just not going to eat or do I hope they happen to have Top Ramen and go back to my old Oregon diet of english muffins and ranch dip?

Just some things I’m gonna have to figure out, I suppose.

I’m driving to Gilroy tonight to stay with my Grandparents. I’m excited about being in California for the next week. I’m really looking forward to seeing Tim, Brandon, David Torrence, Dylan, and maybe even Nick if he answers his phone. Hopefully all goes well with the Irish Consulate. That’s pretty much going to be the make or break point  deciding on how long I’m going to be staying. If they grant me a work visa, there’s a good chance I’ll be there for a while. If they don’t, however, I’m pretty much just going to be winging it as long as my money will last me. Either way I’m going to be enjoying myself. It’s a win-win situation. Either stay and work in ireland, or go on a month long vacation touring Europe. I can’t lose.

Wish me luck. I hope it’s not snowing in Truckee when I cross into California. I don’t want to have to turn back.  Not yet at least.

The Beginning of a New Blog

I think that now is the time that this blog is going to start becoming what it was supposed to have been in the first place. Up until now, I’ve pretty much been using this the same way I used to use my livejournal - to complain, rant, or otherwise daydream out loud. Tomorrow is my last day in Nevada (again) before I head to California to spend time with my friends and family along the coast before I depart for Ireland on the 27th.

It’s really, really weird knowing that I no longer am employed and for an indefinite amount of time.  This blog was originally supposed to be a travel blog, and I think I’m finally going to start using it as such. I’ve been very busy as of late and haven’t gotten around to writing as much as I would like. From this monumental point onward, I plan on keeping this a happenin’ place to be. A place for both lovers and lurkers alike to come review what is going on in the life and travels of Justin.

I hope you’ll continue to read. Good things to come.

Love,

Justin

Another College Rant

I realize that this is the second post that I’ve had about my feelings for college – and reasonably so. It is something that seems to be on my mind a lot lately and is apparently a rather sensitive subject. A girl who unknowingly insulted me recently rekindled my inner frustrations tonight. In the midst of a totally unrelated conversation, she proceeded to ask me “so what classes are you taking this semester?” It was then that I explained to her that I dropped out of college just over a year ago. Usually when I have this conversation with people, a typical response that I can expect is something along the lines of “oh yeah? You just didn’t like it or what?” and that is fine by me – no, I didn’t like it. I justify this by saying “well, yeah. You only live once and I wasn’t about to waste my time doing something that made me unhappy” and that’s about as good as the conversation is going to get. Upon telling this girl, we’ll call her Karen for now, her quick response of “oh my God, why? What’re you doing with your life?” both startled me and immediately frustrated me as it quickly brought to the front of my mind images of an old, Catholic nun-mother scolding her burnout, pot-smoking son akin to the actors in Detroit Rock City. She said this not in interest, but rather in a scolding, almost offended tone as if the idea of me voluntarily opting for the life of a garbage man was the most gruesome thing she had heard in years. 

I think the reason that I’m so sensitive about this subject in particular is because while I really, truly believe that college is not the answer for success – I have absolutely nothing to show for this other than perhaps a negative conversation piece. It would be different had I a high paying job or something to show for my dropping out so as to prove that I’m actually making use of my newfound free time instead of just working at Starbucks and the Levi’s store. Sure, I’ve moved a couple times. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy I’ve gotten to experience all that, it’s just that telling somebody that you chose the life of a vagabond instead of doing what most well-guided 20 year olds are doing just doesn’t fly well in the minds of my peers. Am I screwing myself over in the long run? I hope not. I trust that I’ll be just fine, but I’ve really got nothing more than hope at this point in my life.

Now here’s my beef. Brace yourself for some harsh, opinionated criticisms: 

I heard recently that somewhere along the lines of 3% of the richest people in the world possess 99% of the available money. That’s ridiculous. You know what most, if not all of those 3% have in common? No, it’s not a college degree – they’re all into business in one way or another. Most opened successful businesses, sold ideas, or invested super wisely at one point in their lives. Truthfully, this doesn’t sound all that difficult to me. This sounds a lot easier than working my ass off for a degree in law school, that’s for sure. Try looking at it this way: Even the MOST successful college graduates from the most promising medical programs or law schools will turn around and use their degree to work all the way up until retirement. The most successful people with degrees will probably earn somewhere in the $200,000 dollar range a year. Which, don’t get me wrong, is great money. But compared to the millions and billions of dollars that successful business owners have the potential of making, it’s bullshit how hard you have to work to accept mediocrity. There, I said it. College breeds mediocrity. You’re still going to have a boss breathing down your neck for most of your life. You’re still going to be pressured to work your God-given ass off. You’re still going to stress over stupid shit. You’re still going to neglect your family. You’re still going to end up a rich, old prude who spent his whole life in an office while those other 3% were out living the best possible lifestyle full of financial stability and spending time with their families. If the life of a stressed out, office-liver is what you want – shit, go ahead and lessen the competition. 

(That being said, I think I ought to clarify that I’m not opposed to going to school strictly because you want to. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to learn. Do it for your own good. Not because you had nothing better to do out of high school. You can party without spending thousands a semester.) 

All it takes is an idea and a lot of hard work. I have every intention of doing my absolute best to becoming part of that 3% and doing all I can to make this world a better place because of it.  (see: The Justin Borge Scholarship or ask me about my idea to fund the research of transforming tasty, fatty foods into tasty, healthy foods – I think it’s totally possible.) 

As a result of too much pride, I’ve never been one to embrace authority. I don’t respond well to orders and despise being expected to behave a certain way. Those who have worked with me, I hope can vouch for this. It’s because of this hatred for authority that myself and another good friend of mine promised each other that, when we’re all grown up, there’s no way in hell we’re ever going to work for someone. No way in hell we’re going to respond to a boss, say yes to anything we don’t want to do, or bend over and let them stick their corporate cocks in our asses ever again. This is the kind of mentality you need in the back of your mind at all times when planning for your future. This is the kind of thing that keeps me dreaming up new business ideas. This is the kind of thing that keeps me waking up in the morning. 

Author’s note: I think college is a great way to broaden your horizon and something that should be experienced by all who value “getting smart.” I am frustrated by the popular impression that once you graduate; you make money. I’m even more frustrated that, despite my beliefs, I still question why I dropped out. 

-Justin

SF

I’ve changed my opinion on San Francisco and have officially added it to the list of places that I want to live.

On a whim, I went there today with my family for no real good reason. Just had lunch in Santa Rosa at a brewery my dad wanted to see then went exploring. I forgot how much I love California. It’s been a long time since I’ve been back and I’m really glad I did. The Northwest kicks ass, sure. But California is something totally different. Now if only I could find a way to afford it…hmm

Ireland

Jesus - less than two weeks.

I’m not even excited anymore. I’m just flat out scared. What the hell am I going to do once I get there. I’m gonna land…and then what? Walk around the airport, look for a bus and ask if it’s gonna happen to take me near a hostel? Then walk into said hostel, ask for a room and go to sleep? Wake up the next day and then what?…walk around and look for an apartment while dragging around my luggage?

Then what?

God help me.

Sundays

I love Sundays. No matter what happens throughout the week, I’ve always got a big grin on my face every Sunday and here is why:

I’m in LOVE with this magazine. It comes as a part of the New York Times Sunday paper. It’s always full of neat, lengthy articles that take a good amount of time to read. It becomes my bathroom reading material and I’m always sure to have gone through the entire thing by the time next Sunday rolls around.

On top of having this to look forward to. Sunday is also the day of the hardest level of Sudoku puzzle in the Reno Gazette Journal (last week’s took me over two hours, but I kicked it’s ass.) This American Life airs on NPR at 11pm every Sunday and I specifically go out of my way to be sitting around near a radio for that hour of greatness with Ira Glass. I don’t go to church, but I like to imagine that sometime in the not-too-distant future it is going to be a regular thing for me. I guess that’s something else to add to the joy of Sundays. It’s just such a great way to start the week off for me. I love Sundays.

I’ve done it all week

Let it be known - I am the Sudoku KING!

The Reno Gazette Journal prints off a daily Sudoku puzzle in their Living section of the daily paper here. I’ve recently become quite fond of them and now find myself thinking about doing them when going about day-to-day life. What I think is cool about these puzzles is that they get progressively harder throughout the week. The easiest puzzle comes on Monday and the hardest on Sunday, each one getting slightly worse than the day before. It’s Saturday now and I’ve gone out of my way to do each and every one this week has been able to offer me. Mondays and Tuesdays were cake. I finished those in a matter of less than 12 minutes. Wednesday’s took me somewhere near an hour. Thursday was challenging, but by then I had figured out the new strategy of keeping tabs of my thoughts on a separate piece of paper and have been able to encorporate this new game plan into my processing and have become quite amazing at them.

Just letting you know - I’m really looking forward to tomorrow’s.

White hot

Here’s a neat little fact about Justin that you may not know: I don’t like white girls. American white girls even less. I think they’re boring, uninteresting, and all the same. I think its really some underlying way of saying that I dislike America in general, and this is my underlying way of proving it.

True story. They just don’t do it for me.

Case in point was proven tonight. I’ve known this for a long while now and while I’ve said it before, I’ve never been as proud as I was tonight about it. While at a nifty little place my friends and I like to eat called “Johnny Rockets”, we had a cute waitress. She had a pretty face, nice body, and seemed to be the type that any guy would hit on while ordering their meals…yeah, well I’m not like most guys.  My friend Jacob who sat with me at our table made mention of how he thought she was “a cutie” and even seemed to find the fact that she had decorated my side plate of ketchup in the fashion of a sloppy, red happy face a means of flirting with me.  Most days I’d be flattered, probably even agree that she was hitting on me (in hindsight, i’m starting to think that’s what it was), but instead I opted to complain about how little ketchup there was on the plate. I probably sound like a dick…but what I’m trying to convey here is that there was genuinely no connection between myself and this cute, albeit white girl.

There is a very, very, super extremely gorgeous Latina girl who has been coming in to my work recently. I’m not joking when I say this, and I’ve got a girl that I work with to back me up here, but I literally go into a little fit when she walks in. My face turns red and my heart jumps to my throat and beats out my adam’s apple. I become short breathed and physically unable to say a single thing, let alone anything smoothe. I’ve made a vow to find out her name the next time she comes in. We’ll see if I can muster the courage.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Give me a moderately attractive foreign girl who speaks little English any day over the tan, blonde, flat bellied American with big fake breasts. That shit just doesn’t fly with me.