I love trivia. I mean, I love it a whole lot. I could regale you for hours with little tidbits of information I've picked up in the twenty-two years I have been on this planet. It's one of the reasons I'm so good at all things historical; I just remember things: names, dates, places, sequences of events. I have no idea why my brain works the way it does, but I love it. (This savant-like tendency applies to song lyrics as well, but that is slightly less handy and a lot more annoying for everyone around me.)
Still, even though I watch Jeopardy religiously and worship Alex Trebek like he is the modern-day equivalent of the golden calf, I recently had to come to terms with the fact that not everyone has the same kind of respect for useless knowledge that I do.
Case in point: pub quiz. My passion for the trivial has made me a stalwart devotee of Quiz Night at the local bar. Every Tuesday, rain or shine, win or lose, I am revved up and ready to go, but my teammates have become slightly jaded. It's understandable, naturally; I mean, I think the best we've ever done is second-to-last place (unless you count winning for "Best Team Name," which is sort of an honor but doesn't really make anyone feel less dumb). Long story short, after weeks and weeks and weeks of losing horrendously, and in the spirit of communal sacrifice (on my part, at least), it was decided that pub quiz would be forsaken in favor of something a little more appealing to the rest of the group.
With that, I was on the hunt for a bar that would satisfy all our needs (cheap beer being top among them, I'm not gonna lie). I found a few that looked promising, the reviews made the rounds via email, and last night we hit up a place called The Oasis. Sounds relaxing, right? Um...wrong. It was loud and kind of dingy with a not-so-prime strip mall location and a loyal group of middle-aged regulars in various states of inebriation -- basically everything a dive bar should be. The barkeep swore like a sailor, we were constantly harassed by one particularly stubborn drunk (he was hitting on one of us...we just never figured which one), and there may or may not have been a fight in the kitchen during our brief stay. Still, despite all this, it was one hell of a night; I mopped the floor with the opposition at pool (sorry, guys) and learned a whole lot more about some of my friends over a pitcher at the local watering hole (which, in my opinion, is really the best way to get to know someone); honestly, what could be better? Let's just hope next week can measure up.
In other news, there's still no word on the interview front. People keep telling me that they're jealous that I have this very specific idea of what I want to do with my life, but outside of working for this particular organization, I'm really pretty clueless. I mean, where do you start looking for a job when your goal is to change an entire political system? Should I try to worm my way into the bottom rung of the political food chain or should I head straight to the source? Should I accept any old job just to make some money or should I hold out for something I'll actually enjoy? There are just so many questions. Anyway, I'm giving them until Friday, and then it's open season on the job front. I'm being a bit pessimistic at the moment because being pleasantly surprised is a lot better than being bitterly disappointed in the end, so I'm just trying to keep my options open.
What else? I'm still rock climbing, and I've managed to keep myself relatively healthy somehow. (For someone as injury-prone as me, that's saying a lot.) I'm also in the throes of summer and am trying to soak up as much sun as humanly possible with camping and BBQs and trips to the park. It's working out pretty well too. Oh, and I made cupcakes! Peanut butter cup cupcakes, to be precise. If there is a more perfect combination than peanut butter and chocolate, I certainly haven't found it.
Happy July, everyone!
