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One of My Favorite Days of the Year

2006-06-21T23:10:00.000-04:00

is today, the first day of summer, the longest day of the year. To me, it symbolizes the opening to another chapter in the year, when everyone is outside and the world teems w/ life. The sun rose over Boston at 4:08am today, which is unbelievably early, yet the sunrise each year is worth a night of little sleep. There is something magical in watching dawn on the longest day of the year, as if I'm witnessing history, like going to the ballpark and watching a no-hitter unfold into the ninth inning. The magnitude of the moment is not lost, but instead sits densely in the atmosphere, oozing through each onlooker indiscriminately.

June 21 also marks a sad day on the calendar, because for the next six months each day will be shorter than its predecessor, each gasp of sunlight will be more faint than the morning before, until eventually winter rolls in once again. This bittersweet day brings w/ it bittersweet memories, places I've never visited, people to whom I've never explained my love. This date has always held special meaning for me, serving as a sign to open bedroom windows and let the world in, sunlight and all. I'll worry about the shortening days some other time. Right now, I'm going to enjoy the last moments of this year's longest day before falling asleep. Maybe I'll dream of longer days, longer years where I'll find the time to do everything I'd like. Maybe someday.

I'm Rubber, You're Glue...

2006-06-20T18:26:00.000-04:00

While discussing Ani Difranco w/ my friend last week, he shared w/ me the content of an email he once sent to his ex-g/f. Quoting Gravel, he simply wrote to her, "You were never a good lay, and you were never a good friend." My response? "Awesome." So tell us, what's the meanest thing you've ever said/done to an ex? Let the entertainment begin!

To-Do List (Before Death)

2006-06-19T23:16:00.000-04:00

My friend Steve recently shared w/ me his list of 100 things he hopes to do in his life. Not a bad idea. So I gave it a shot late the other night as I fought off sleep while laying in bed. Think you're up to it? Give it a shot. You may learn something about yourself, which is always a treat. Here's the first tenth of my list, in no particular order. Let me know if you wanna hear more, submit your own in our "comments" section, or just respond w/, "J-Mazz, this is your worst post yet." I can take it.

1. Learn to play guitar well

2. Drive cross-country w/ a friend

3. Be best man in a wedding

4. Try out for Saturday Night Live

5. Live in a European city w/ a friend (Rome/Barcelona/London, etc.)

6. Learn to make crepes

7. Work at a ropes course

8. Be someone’s mentor

9. Visit the Grand Canyon

10. Dunk in a game

Had To Go See About A Girl

2006-05-23T23:03:00.000-04:00

Two weeks ago, I made a bold move. I’ve been told I’m not much of a gambler, which may be why my most recent adventure continues to roll around inside me. Since most of you have no idea who I’m talking about or what led to my actions, I won’t bore you with details. You’ll have to call/visit me for the real scoop. All you have to know is I rented a car (Snowflake was still in the shop after her wreck) and drove 90 minutes through the rainy evening to “go see about a girl.” And for those of you who’ve seen Good Will Hunting, the parallels don’t end there. I drove out of Boston to say goodbye to someone who’s impacted my life so much in the past few months that I can honestly say she’s changed me. I forgot to mention I listened to Elliott Smith much of the ride, adding to the cinematic similarities.

So basically I showed up at her door, completely unexpected, and just winged it. She was leaving two days later, so I guess I really didn’t have anything to lose. After chatting w/ her family for a good 45 min. (her mom loved me), we went upstairs and talked about her looming departure, her mixed emotions, etc. The conversation somehow found an opportune time for me to tell her how I feel, feelings I’d decided I had to share with her only days earlier, after a little wisdom from friends Charlie and Sherri gave me the “fire under my butt” I needed (that was for you, T-Rock).

Sitting on her bed, words began cascading from my lips. Again, I won’t go into details here on the blog, but I have no problem discussing it without a computer. Let's just say I emptied my brain and heart in that room, and actually felt good about it afterward.

Who the hell cares, you may be wondering. Well, the reason for this post is not to touch on my latest escapades in love (or something like it). Instead, I want to share with you the importance of seizing every opportunity in life to follow your heart. For fear of sounding cheesy, don’t be afraid to gamble. Go all in, if the situation so moves you. If I, until recently withered and floating in limbo, can throw myself out there, so can you! As the great Dr. Seuss said:

Do you dare to go out? Do you dare to stay in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

Keep those words fresh in your mind the next time you’re faced with fear. In a lot of ways, life is just like the lottery: You can’t win if you don’t play. And most of us, much like Will Hunting, just need a kick in the ass to get started. “You're sitting on a winning lottery ticket and you're too big of a pussy to cash it in.” Getting your portion of the reward is just a step out of your comfort zone. Give it a try. Good or bad, you’ll be glad you joined the risk-taking club. Not only am I the club president, but I’m also a client.

Forget Umbrellas

2006-05-14T18:26:00.000-04:00

Searching eBay for an arc. Seriously, if this week's forecast holds true, Boston will be halfway to Biblical proportions. I'm just glad I no longer live on the first floor. I'm also glad I'm not homeless, although living rent-free would be nice for a while. Speaking of arcs, did you know the original name for Garden State was "Large's Arc?" I think Zach Braff made the right move in changing the name, mainly because Garden State has several meanings. The obvious one is it's the nickname for the state where the film takes place. But dig a bit deeper and you'll realize "garden state" also sums up the main character's mindset as the movie progresses, as if he's shedding the drugs that've dictated his thoughts for so many years and planting seeds for a healthier, truer "garden," one that involves the delicious Natalie Portman. And I can finally say I've used "delicious" to describe something other than food.

So back to the rain thing. The best things about rainy weekends include saving money by not going out and accomplishing household chores and other tasks that keep getting put off. For instance, I spent last night reading Travels With Charley before hittin' the hay. I filled this morning by updating my iPod and rediscovering the waffles and frozen berries in the back of my freezer. The afternoon has taken me to Trader Joe's before returning me to my room, where I've been writing the past several hours. Oh, and I called home to wish Catherine a happy Mother's Day. I really don't know where I'm going w/ this, other than rainy days are sometimes a good thing. Rainy weeks, on the other hand, are challenging. Wish me luck as I head into my second in a row.

Another Typical Saturday

2006-05-10T02:51:00.000-04:00

My Saturday was not too different from yours. My best friend Charlie (from AmeriCorps) came to town Friday evening, so we felt less than 100 percent Sat. morning. Nonetheless, we grabbed lunch and immediately headed to the liquor store, where we opted to purchase a very adult-like six-pack of Harpoon Summer and a very college-like case of Busch Light. All together now... Mmmmmmmmmmm. So we spent the afternoon on my deck, drinking Busch Light and listening to Radiohead's Kid A on two diff. stereos (w/ a 17-sec. pause between the two). The undecided sky opted to rain midway through the afternoon, leaving our scenario even stranger as we guzzled cheap beer amidst random raindrops. Around dinnertime, we headed to Sunset Grille w/ my roomie Mark, who I'd never hung out w/ before. K-Man met up w/ us there, and we proceeded to enjoy a delicious, affordable meal sandwiched between world-reknown beers. Once we finished, Mark pulled out a $100 bill and paid for us all. Awesome. Then again, he's older (29) and more established than the rest of us.

After dinner, we headed to The Paradise for the Pinback show, which was awesome. The opening act, Pleasiasaur, was not. In fact, I'd say he was the worst life performance I've ever seen. Seriously, I felt so nauseaus I needed to head outside and make phone calls until his act was done. Ugh. Pinback started strong, but I quickly found myself passing out standing up, never a good thing when you're 6'4". I said goodbye to my buddies and walked outside, deciding to scope out the back alleys of the venue. I found a nice spot on a ledge behind a minivan and quickly passed out, although I was twice awakened by bouncers asking if I was OK. An hour later, I returned to the show in time to catch the last few songs and encore. It was fantastic, and Charlie and Mark were absolutely shit-faced by then. After the show, K-Man peaced out and we remaining three headed to The Silhouette for beers and darts. Upon closing the place down at 2am, Charlie decided it'd be a good idea to throw darts everywhere but at the dartboard. Smooooooth. As we walked back to my place, we passed an extremely loud house party on Brighton Ave. After a brief discussion, we decided to enter and see what happens. Leading the way, I followed a couple girls inside and immediately introduced myself to one of the apt.'s inhabitants. Mark and Charlie soon followed, and we found ourselves drinking tequila and jungle juice w/ 30+ college sophomores. While chatting up a friendly gal, she asked me what school I attend. Thinking quickly, I said, "I'm a recent graduate." I guess "recent" can mean "four yeårs ago," right? An hour or two later, we tired of the ridiculous antics that are college underclassmen (pounding a tequila bottle, rockin' out to Journey, etc.) and took off, just in time for Mark to become belligerent and yell at everyone he saw (and even some people he didn't see). Needless to say, it was just your average Saturday in Boston.

Workin' For the Weekend

2006-05-05T15:48:00.000-04:00

Most people are gearin' up for Cinco de Mayo celebrations right about now....
Me? I just got a 15 page newsletter article to edit. The subject? Incontinence.....Folks, there is a newsletter for EVERYTHING...Happy Cinco de Mayo.

Question of the Day

2006-05-03T03:14:00.000-04:00

Would you rather go a month w/out showering or a year w/out kissing anyone?

First Time for Everything

2006-05-01T22:39:00.000-04:00

Last Monday, as I was driving to work on after an exhausting weekend of training in upstate New York, some genius in a black Infiniti elected to crash into my car, resulting in my first head-on collision. Ya know when you're driving and a car heading in the other direction is stopped, waiting to turn left across your lane? If you're a normal person (which is yet to be determined), you quickly glance at the stopped car before cruising by. I followed protocol, but apparently Razmig Panohdio;day7dnb missed the memo and opted to fire up his car's rocket thrusters and sneak by me as I continued my 30-mph clip. Unfortunately for me, Razmig's rocket thrusters failed to fire, resulting in his Infiniti basically devouring my Toyota Corolla.

As I slammed on the brakes and veered to the right, my brain kept repeating, “Are you effin kidding me?” His sheer stupidity was baffling, leaving me at the mercy of our cars. It was one of those unsettling feelings you get when you know something bad is happening and you can do nothing to stop it, like taking home a friend who’s had a crush on you forever You know you’re gonna hook up w/ her, but you shouldn’t because you don’t want to date her. At this point, however, the booze and your balls have combined to overpower common sense, leaving you helpless to a night of fun followed by weeks (or months) of awkwardness.

So anyway, I’ve spent the past 10 days dealing w/ his insurance company, making sure I get enough money to fix my car. I know my first head-on collision is a poor excuse for not blogging, but that’s what I’m going with. Just be happy I'm alive.

It's marketing, people

2006-04-28T15:12:00.000-04:00

And it's everywhere. Today I got my birth control refilled. (That's right...I do it......AND I shack up!) and inside my lil' pack of pleasure I found an offer to join the "Lo-Down" club (the name of the pill has "Lo" in it). Clever right? If you join the Lo-Down club, it reads, you can recieve a free pill dispenser. There is quite a variety or pill dispensers- one has jewels encrusted in it, another has red high heels and lipstick on it, a third has a variety of words such as "Passionate, Free, Confident, Independent, Ambitious," etc.
SO let's break this down...what kinda lady carries each of these?
The jewels? You like youre birth control extravagant, fabulous. You want those pills to make your vagina sparkle.
The red high heels? Do I need to even go there? Red heels= lady of the night.
And the one with the words? I have no comment for that one. No comment.
Well, the marketing maniac in me had to sign on and see what the deal was with the Lo-Down club and these free pill packs, so I did. I signed up for the club, and I was THIS CLOSE to getting my free pill pack (I was going for the one with the jewels, to be frank) and then BAM! I hit submit, and the next page could not be found...there was an error.
So basically, I was lured into the Lo-Down club, promised a be-dazzled pill pack, forced to sell my soul to the marketing Gods who now have my name, address and email, and I have nothing to show for it.
Oh well, at least I'm not pregnant.

"Oh baby you. You got what I neeeeeeed."

2006-04-21T10:58:00.000-04:00

“But you say he’s just a friend. You say he’s just a friend…”

Bizmarkee was lightyears ahead when he wrote this song. As a child I didn’t really understand the concept of being in multiple relationships at once, but through time I have observed many instances where men and women somehow figure out how to justify and partake in the practice of infedelity, in a much nicer, cushiony context. It doesn’t make it right in my mind, but it’s certainly worth observing. Think about it- our culture is ripe with it. Cheating. Plainly stated, it’s when you’re with one person, and you start doing someone else. Whether it’s a mind screw or a back-room-of-a-party screw, who is to say which one is worse? Below are a few of my “favorite” offenses:

“He’s just a friend.” (see Biz Markee song above). I work with a lady who has a husband of 25 years that she was recently separated from. They called a time-out and moved into separate homes, shared custody of their daughter and started doing their own thing several years ago. Through it all, they never actually got divorced. She is thinking about getting back together with him, but is also seeing another man that she claims she will continue to see. She calls him her “friend”. They go on dates, they do their thing, but they are just friends…would her husband see it way?

Someone to pay for your nails and someone to pay for your gas. When I was in college I spent summers working for my dad’s company. You cant beat being the bosses daughter because you get paid well and people leave you the hell alone when you want a day off, to take a long lunch break, to wear open toed shoes. But I worked with some pretty interesting ladies who spent the day answering the phone, barking at already pissy customers, and gossiping. Keisha was my favorite, because she was 250 pounds of classy, lovely, ghetto lady. She always smelled great, looked put together, and told it like it was. Keisha, upon seeing my nail polish chipping away, told me that I needed to find a man to get my nails done. I explained to her that my boyfriend at the time was a lowly college student, playing ball in the summer, not making a dime. I was the breadwinner in that situation. She shook her head and told me, that’s not what she meant. “I didn’t say you need to ask your boyfriend for money, I said you need a man to pay for your nails. And get one to pay for your gas, too.” To Keisha, there was her baby’s daddy (who will always have a place in her heart, but will never be able to take care of her or her child) her current boyfriend (who took her on dates and played with her daughter) and the two men who paid for her nails and for the gas in her car (no explanation is needed here). How did she keep track of them all? Two had her pager number, two had her cell phone. All had different ring tones. Apparently modern invention was the key to her discretion.

The Booty Call. This can often be intertwined with the above situations, but one factor differentiates it- it's all about the sex. Getting it on when you want it, not dealing with it when you don't. Text messaging and instant messenger have increased the likelihood and ease of this popular phenomenon. Interestingly enough, the booty call is not racist or sexist, and lends itself to a variety of subcultures. While it is still common for the female (or one of the females) in the situation to be seen as the “slut”, it is a socially acceptable practice and commonly heard phrase in the American culture. Most evidence of the booty call can be easily erased and covered up so that the co-conspirators can lead normal lives and carry on outside relationships.

A Marriage of convenience. This is simply a label for the practice, which does not always include the actual vow of marriage, but does include a commitment between two people, who in turn, see other people. The catch is that they do it without trying to hide it, they just do it politely and out of their partners view. Is there really a place for this in our society? Apparently so. People carry on meaningful relationships outside the bedroom, often being seen as exemplary couples. Inside the bedroom, however, they couple up with others. Late nights at work, business trips, unexplained phone calls. He’s still paying his half of the mortgage and she is still getting the kids to school on time. Everybody wins.

It's Funny Because It's True

2006-04-18T16:46:00.000-04:00

Everyone in New England has known this for a long time, but for those who had no idea, prepare to be informed. Make sure the sound is turned up for this.

Little Big Things

2006-04-17T13:17:00.000-04:00

I was thinking about J-Mazz’s entry about loving the little things in life. I am reminded of the little things that I love every time I am around my grandparents. Most people are particularly fond of one set, or just one grandparent, having forged some bond or spent some extended period of time during their lives together. Maybe a vacation, maybe they moved in for the latter years of their life before passing away. Maybe they were a favorite babysitter.
But my love, adoration, observation and great appreciation for my mother’s parents is founded in years and years of closeness. Sleepovers, long talks, letters, hugs, kisses and milkshakes can’t begin to explain the time we spent getting to know each other, learning how to love life together. I could write for hours today and only touch the surface of the great ocean of experience we have shared. Instead, as I am at work and will probably be busted for writing this, I will touch on a few of my favorites- the little things I remember that somehow amount to so much in my heart.
My name. My grandfather named me…have I written about this before? I got my name from a Portuguese woman my grandfather met while he was serving in the Navy. He fell in love, or maybe lust with her and her beautiful name, and so it is mine.
Banana splits and the Golden Girls. I found a great appreciation for “old people tv”, as my siblings and I have referred to it over the years, from the many nights I spent at my grandparents house. Sometimes they were babysitting, other times I just couldn’t stand the idea of being away from them for the night. I’d sit in my grandmother’s lap and she’d tie my hair in rags, hoping to recapture, in the morning, the curls I had as a baby. I’d sit and feel her fingers run through long, straight brown hair, the shiny kind untouched by heat and styling, the kind of hair that we had when we were kids. Golden, no matter the color. I’d laugh at Blanche and Rose, I’d lick hot fudge off a spoon and wince at the pain in my head, always trying to eat ice cream as quick as I could before it melted all over my footie pajamas. My grandmother was this perfect mix of the beautiful Blanche and the care-free Rose, the wit of Sophia and the height of Dorothy. She is in her late seventies now, and still as tall and beautiful. My grandfather, it is obvious, takes great pride in that.
Commitment. That feeling of always knowing I could count on a ride, a place to stay, a hug, a smile, a person to keep a secret. Cheese fries. Chocolate milk. A Halloween costume, a bathing suit that I forgot to bring to school the day of a trip to the YMCA. The day my grandfather went to a department store, bought the most pink, most adorable, most expensive bathing suit he could find and rushed it to my classroom in plenty of time for me to make it on the bus to the Y with the rest of the kids.
Nail polish. They way I feel when I wear it. The way I felt when my grandmother, and on occasion, grandfather applied it to my tiny nails. Regal. I learned that a lady should never leave the house without her nails done, and to this day, it is one of the first things I think about when I have anywhere to go- will I have time to do my nails? I started out wearing the same frosted pink that my grandmother wore, a little ritual between the two of us. Pretty ladies in pink polish. I wear clear today, or sometimes brown, but on summer days my toes yearn for frosted pink, and feel pretty when I give in to them.
The importance of tenderness and touch. My fiancé likes to watch my grandmother and I in church. We always sit side by side. We always hold hands, I put my arm around her sometimes, and we share secrets. We do this other places, but I think he finds it most evident and most entertaining in church. It is mere tiny proof of our love for each other, of our understanding that love manifests itself in many ways and that touch is one of them. I see it when my grandparents kiss, hold hands, help each other out of chairs. I know it when I long to hug my grandfather, dance with my fiancé, laugh with my grandmother. It’s that sweet, caring love that you can spend a lifetime trying to find and another trying to keep. You could even spend time trying to figure it out. But I’d rather just cherish it.
Sunrise. Most people find their love or need for coffee in college or shortly after, as they find themselves in the real world, waking up early by force, spending their days at work. I found my love for coffee as a four year old.
Some kids want to be old and wise beyond their years, and there isn’t a saying that could better describe me as a child. Anything adults did, I wanted to be a part of, specifically, anything my grandparents did. So in the summer, when it was my turn to spend a week at the beach alone with them, I mimicked their every move. This included waking up around 5 am every morning to watch the hummingbirds. My grandfather, an avid lover of all things natural and beautiful, fed every creature that came across his path. The hummingbirds were among his favorite animals, and he fed them a mixture of sugar water each morning from a variety of feeders. If we were very quiet and didn’t move too much, we could watch them as they drank nectar from feeders posing as flowers. And as they sucked sugar from those faux flowers, I sucked sugar from a coffee cup, just like my grandfather. That taste of warm, milky-sweet coffee and the feeling I got after I drank it quickly became a favorite drink. I log for the days of ritual; of waking early, watching the sun rise and the hummingbirds eat over easy conversation and coffee with my grandfather.
So, when I started writing an hour ago, I meant for this to be about little things, but as I read over it now, I find that it really is about the biggest things in life. Things that may seem small in size, but are in fact, huge in my memory, sustaining in my heart.

Little Things

2006-04-13T22:20:00.000-04:00

I’ve always taken pleasure in “the little things” in life, things most people ignore or take for granted. For example, one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received was a going-away cake from two Ameri-gals I was never really close to. Why was it so special? Well, they constructed a dessert shaped in a “J” and decorated it as a highway (complete w/ Hot Wheels car), signifying my departure from DC to Boston. For once in my life, I was speechless.

Life’s little treasures are abundant throughout our days. The hard part is noticing them. Here’s a few I look forward to every week, just in case you’re curious.

Sundays- Trivia at the Thirsty Scholar w/ K-Man and others! We always field a competitive team, and I’m money on any question involving French. The fact a bunch of MIT nerds frequent the watering hole only increases my competitive juices. Making fun of the computer geeks is always a fun way to kill time between questions. I told you I’m not a nice guy.

Mondays- The billing coordinator at work is hilarious. I love stopping by her office and shootin’ the breeze. Our running joke around the office is she and I have a crush on each other (she’s married w/ kids, I’m at least 10 years her junior). Her office is right next to my supervisor’s, so every time I call her, she loudly exclaims, “Oh, hi, __________ (insert my name)!” And in the background I hear my boss laugh. The funniest part is her 8th-grade daughter really does have a crush on me. I’m caught in the center of an imaginary family feud love triangle.

Tuesdays- The pre-school kids have swimming lessons every Tues/Thurs, so I always keep an eye out for them walking past my window. Watching them parade up the hill from the Childcare Building is a hoot, and I love their reactions when I ask them if they’re going to play tennis/golf/horseshoes/squash. One of ‘em eventually shouts, “We’re going swimming!” I still contend, however, the best form of birth control is working w/ kids.

Wednesdays- The basketball class I teach for kindergartners and first-graders always makes me happy. Watching their improvement over eight weeks is staggering., as they’ve progressed from being unable to dribble to throwing each other outlet passes and making lay-ups. I’m so proud of my kids! The best part is their favorite drill, which consists of me rolling a ball and calling out one of their names. They have to sprint and slide across the floor to stop the ball before it crosses the black line. It’s hilarious.

Thursdays- The O.C. I love the witty dialogue, Summer’s gorgeousness (is that a word?) and the ridiculousness of each plot twist. But more than anything, I look forward to the opening song (courtesy of Phantom Planet). I’ve actually caught myself jumping out of my seat and dancing, doing some sort of landing strip flag-waving maneuvers. Yes, I’m single.

Fridays- Who doesn’t like Fridays?

Saturdays- Nothing beats lounging on the banks of The Charles with my journal, iPod and a good book. It’s the perfect way to prep for a late night and catch up on phone calls. Falling asleep for an hour or two in the grass is a nice bonus. Aside from waking up next to someone you love, I can’t think of a better place to return from a nap. Wiping grass and drool from my face makes it infinitely better.

New Music

2006-04-11T22:43:00.000-04:00

The next time you're in need of new music, check out the folks below. I've included the person who introduced them to me, as well. It's always nice to be recognized for good deeds, and turning someone on to new music is definitely a good deed.

Sufjan Stevens-
OK, so he's no longer a secret after releasing one of 2005's best albums in "Illinois." But if you're looking for an all-around magnificent album, Stevens' second installment in his attempt to release an album for each state (only 48 to go!) is a perfect choice. For anyone who's visited/lived in Illinois, the album should be even better. Lookin forward to his tribute to NH/NC/CA/AZ/MA/DC. Introduced by K-Man.

Pinback-
I don't know much about this band, to be honest. Just check 'em out. They sound a bit like Modest Mouse, but w/ much better vocals. Worst case scenario, you don't like 'em and will never get those five min. of your life back. Then again, you're reading this blog, so chances are you don't view each minute of breath as a precious gift that should never be "wasted." Introduced by Charlie.

Citizen Cope-
A girl I know turned me on to this guy, and he's very listenable. He floats styles together in a unique mixture of sound, one that makes you pause from your bowl of cereal and think, "Oooh, I like." His eclectic song library keeps listeners on their toes, giving his music the ability to stand out and fade to the background at the same time. Introduced by Karen.

Today's Realization

2006-04-10T22:29:00.000-04:00

I really like navel oranges.

Peaks And Valleys

2006-04-06T22:20:00.000-04:00

Anyone who works w/ kids will know what I'm talkin about. In a 24-hour span last week, I had one 1st-grader tell me he hates me and another say, "You're the best (basketball) coach a guy could have." Granted, it may've had something to do w/ me teaching science to a group of 7-year-olds, a subject of which I have very little knowledge. I know how to spell "photosynthesis," however. Lookin forward to camp. Bam!

Actually, We're Alive

2006-04-04T21:30:00.000-04:00

Contrary to nasty rumors around the World Wide Web, T-Rock and I are both alive and well, soaking up the early days of spring as we hunker down for the craziness that is May and June. OK, I don't really know what her schedule's like since she just started a new job (sounds like a good blog post!), but I'm entering the busiest time of my year. Buckle up.

Alas, I'm not crazy about work-talk, so instead I'll share w/ you a quick story about last weekend, in which I returned to DC for another round of drinking and debauchery. I also found time to have dinner w/ T-Rock and Gregg (and others) at a lovely restaurant w/ outdoor seating (of which we took full advantage). Holy shit, this post had better get more exciting or else you'll think you're reading People Magazine.

So I'll get right to the latest Top-4 List, this one being the four most important things I learned on my weekend adventure to DC (and a nite in NYC).

4. The Power of Accents
Having grown up in a household featuring a dad from Long Island and a mom from France, I've lived most of my life in the presence of accents. That may be one reason I went to college far from home. The strange thing is, once my family moved to NH (I was seven), my dad somehow dropped the NY accent altogether and quickly adopted a New England accent (to some extent). My mother, however, continues to showcase her French accent. In middle school, whenever friends (no girls, of course) would call my house for the first time, they'd have trouble understanding my mom over the phone. One buddy even asked me, once I was handed the phone, if my mother was from Puerto Rico. Um... no. My current friends always crack up whenever I break into impersonations of my mom. I'd type it, but trying to convey an accent through typing is like trying to explain the stench of fresh vomit through a drawing. So anyway, our waitress at dinner spent the entire night asking us what next we'd like to drink, always in the most knee-weakening Argentinian accent. The fact she was easy on the eyes made the meal even better. The pitcher of margaritas I swallowed also added to the atmosphere. I digress.

3. Rules of Adams-Morgan
If you've read past blogs, esp. from when I lived in the District, you may be under the assumption (and rightfully so) that Adams-Morgan, a section of bars in DC, has no rules whatsoever. On most nights, you'd be correct. Fridays at Millie & Al's, however, one rule is in effect: Patrons cannot pour their own drinks. After a long day of driving (NYC to DC) and a long evening of drinking, my partner in crime (Charlie) and I found ourselves as the last two standing from our original entourage. We, of course, were sitting at the bar drinking cheap pitcher beer out of plastic cups, the kind college students use after all the red and blue party cups have been used. Think of every cup you've drank out of at elementary-school barbecues. That's what was in our hands around 230am Friday. Realizing the night was short on stories (I'd only been kicked out of one bar so far), I remembered my new motto, which is, "I don't care anymore." Falling back on this thinking, I waited for the three bartenders to turn their backs before reaching over and filling up my cup. I still think I was extremely sly in this maneuver, although Charlie remembers it differently. We're both in agreement, however, that I turned to him while pouring and said, "Charlie, check it out!" Then the bartenders turned around and the bouncer walked over as my friend said, "Dood, you're about to get kicked out." Apparently it wasn't serve-your-own-drink night at Millie & Al's. Maybe that's Wednesdays.

2. Not Everyone is Fun
At the aforementioned dinner, conversation was plentiful and laughter was infectious. That is, most people added to the fun atmosphere of young professionals livin it up in the city. One couple, however, contributed nothing. You've heard the phrase "like pulling teeth." Talking to them was like pulling an elephant's teeth by climbing through its ass and yanking on them while crouched in its mouth. Luckily, the fun people outnumbered the opposition, and afterward we all wondered why the couple showed up. They could've stayed home, ordered take-out from a burrito place and not spoken to each other. They could've saved some money and watched the Final Four w/out the aid of closed captioning.

1. I Miss DC
I really like Boston, esp. the summers. Summers in DC, on the other hand, are a brutal three months of humid misery. Walking two blocks results in a sweaty back and pits. Aside from that, however, I miss my previous city. Granted, had I not needed food stamps while living down there, I probably would've enjoyed the District even more. Nonetheless, the mix of friends, happy hours and the Metro are things I will not soon forget. The fact I had a 9-5 job I didn't think about once I walked out the door also had an effect on my state of my mind, back when I had plenty of time and very little money. I doubt I'll ever move back to DC, but the memories I have of our nation's capital will always be dear to me. I'm sure if Boston legalized happy hour drink specials, I'd view it in the same light as DC. Apparently residents were drinking too much, which should come as no surprise if you've ever experienced a New England winter (all five months of it). They're just like DC summers, only to the other extreme.

Quarter-Life Crisis

2006-03-28T22:25:00.000-05:00

I recently emailed all my friends about their possible interest in an opening at my YMCA. Since 99 percent of my friends don't live in Boston, taking the job would require them to pack their belongings and move to a new city. As I watch 25 grow smaller in the rearview, it hurts me to think how few of my friends would drop everything and start a new life. I, personally, can think of numerous scenarios that would entice me to begin the next chapter. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy working for the Y, and have begun to establish a good reputation throughout the Association. But if you gave me a couple months' notice, I could easily leave it all behind for, say, three months of all-expenses-paid backpacking through Europe or a job working for the Conservency on Catalina Island.

While walking to my car after work today, I wondered how many of my friends, at this point in our lives, would be willing to do the same. So many have committed themselves, whether it be to relationships, mortgages, grad school or careers. Almost everyone is at a different stage of life than I, leaving me to wonder if one way is better than the other. If life were a race, who would be winning?

Multi-Tasking

2006-03-24T21:23:00.000-05:00

The next time someone accuses me of being unable to multi-task, I'm gonna show them this pic, taken in DC last month while spending a week w/ a group of teens on a church mission trip. As you can see, I'm playing harmonica and guitar at the same time, all while serving as a role model for teens!

Dear Abby

2006-03-24T20:28:00.000-05:00

At the Leaders Club (HS club for which I'm the advisor) meeting last nite, one of the teens began a values session by reading the following Dear Abby letter:

A young man from a famous family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in that affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate an automobile. "Bill" and his father had spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation, they found the perfect car.

On the eve of his graduation, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible.

Bill was so angry that he threw the Bible down and stormed out of the house.

He and his father never saw each other again.

It was the news of his father's death that brought Bill home again.

At this point, the teen asked each of us to write down what we thought the young man found upon returning home. Here's what I wrote:

The young man discovers his parents adopted a boy to be their new son. The adopted son is often seen cruising through town in the car the young man had picked out years before. There's a Jesus fish on the back of the car.

I'm supposed to be a role model for these teens, but I just couldn't resist on that one.

The iPod Has Landed

2006-03-23T21:04:00.000-05:00

My life may never be the same. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta get back to loading movies onto my new best friend.

eBay

2006-03-22T21:24:00.000-05:00

I made my first purchase via eBay today. For $49.99, I bought a child mannequin. Seriously. Let the comments begin.

I'm Old

2006-03-21T17:52:00.000-05:00

Saturday marks my 26th birthday. Despite holding down a career for more than a year and the constant questions from friends/relatives about when I'm going to "meet someone," I've done a pretty good job feeling young. That is, until I received a letter today from my grandmother. I opened the card and immediately felt strange, as if something was wrong. I then realized there was no check included, a wake-up call to the fact I am old. The grey hair and arthritis should kick in any day now.

E-Memory (Part Two)

2006-03-19T09:57:00.000-05:00

Although the emails from my Ameri-girlfriend are much shorter, they’re also more entertaining. Reading through them this morning reminded me how much I loved her and all her quirks. And for those who know me, perhaps the excerpts below will help explain why I never really recovered from that relationship. Instead, I changed, adapted, grew legs and walked out of the ocean and onto dry land. Or maybe I’ve devolved and returned to the sea. Either way, below is an email she sent a month before we broke up, living in Pittsburgh while I treaded water in NH.

dinner was fine and it was just like college again as me and prithi watched two hours of mtv after dinner very close together. we had this huge couch in our apartment that fit four or five people and katie or kerry would come home and always ask prith and i what we were doing bc wed always be on one cushion together intently watching somethign stupid. also she reminded me of the day i spent roller skating around the house. the interesting part is that i video taped this. i had routines and i made everyone in my house watch it. it had no sound though. just he noise of me banging the skate against the floor at the end if each lap. i think this house is killing me i think i had a fever yesterday as i kept feeling very hot even though all the windows were open. i shall check my temperature today. prithi was pissed i brought no photo of you with me. and she was unsatisfied with my description of you. long carrot head.

Reading these emails helps me remember the little pleasures of my life, aspects that would have otherwise washed away after yet another night of closing down the bars. These e-memories provide insight to that other world in which I once lived, the world of love, companionship, familiar kisses and a familiar face each morning. I doubt I’ll live in this ocean forever, but for now, it’s become quite comfortable. These emails, however, serve as a lifeboat back to who I once was. I’m sure I’ll climb in someday and paddle back to land. Maybe my legs will have returned by then.

E-Memory (Part One)

2006-03-18T09:47:00.000-05:00

Before gmail came along w/ its fancy archiving feature, people deleted their email after reading it. I save emails. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hang on to every email I’ve ever received, but I tend to store important messages or messages from important people. It’s like a time capsule, as I can jump back almost 10 years to remember what I was like, remember things I said, remember the people in my life and things they said. Once I became serious in my poetry writing, I saved every email from girls I’ve dated, perhaps knowing one day it would end and I’d be left with sharp memories of what I once had.

I was awakened this morning before 7am in a 100-degree (Celsius) room cuz my roomie turned the heat up last nite upon returning from the bars. Since my room lacks curtains (I have one curtain, one sheet covering two windows, and an American Flag covering the fourth), I knew I would not be falling back asleep.

After reading for more than an hour (Through Painted Deserts), I pulled out my laptop and started looking through archived emails. I first read through stuff saved from my g/f in college. I actually smiled through many of her messages, wondering how we ever coexisted as she’s clearly not a good match for me. But wait, the person she was in 2001 may not be someone I want now, but what about when I was 21? Have I changed that much in five years, or have I simply figured out what I want in a woman? And if our paths crossed tomorrow, would there still be something between us? As I ponder such questions, I think back to Elon homecoming 2004 when I saw her in the parking lot before the football game. I was walking w/ two of her college roomies, and she ran up to them and gave them hugs w/out even acknowledging my presence. It was slightly awkward, but whatever. Being materialistic, she may have detected the presence of food stamps in my wallet and simply discarded me from memory, embarrassed she’d ever dated a guy who would commit two years to AmeriCorps. So to answer my question, no, there’d probably be nothing left between us if we were ever to meet again.

Quick excerpts from one of the emails she sent me while visiting her dad in California in May 2001:

i'm over at alethia's which is where i'm spending these first two
nights. it's a really nice condo, nicer than my house which kinda pisses me off. I am so glad that she has the internet. i really hate being cut off from it. i'm such a product of technology it's scary.

then my dad's other friend allen took us for a ride in his new chrysler 300M. it was nice, but i'm so not a Chrysler fan. if it had been a mercedes i would have been impressed. of course those cars are common place here so they lose some of their appeal.

i gave myself a french manicure and i kind of like it so i may start doing it more often.

So yea, if you know me, you’re now scratching your head wondering what I was doing w/ her. And although we had good times together, I feel the same way. Tomorrow I’ll talk about my last girlfriend. Stay tuned.

St. Patrick's Day

2006-03-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

So it's 1015pm on the day everyone's Irish, and I'm sitting at home watchin the tourney. Why, you ask? Well, I worked till 8pm tonite, actually leaving work earlier than usual on a Friday nite. Then again, I'm not a huge St. Patty's fan.

The fact my birthday is a week away may contribute to the fact I've never gotten pumped for this pseudo-holiday. The fact I'm not Irish may also have something to do w/ it. This year had the potential to be the best St. Patrick's Day ever. Instead, it's just another Friday nite pounding beers before (possibly) hittin the bars. This is nowhere near my worst March 17, however. That title goes to St. Patrick's Day 2003.

While in AmeriCorps, I began dating a girl several months earlier. Still in the early phase of the relationship, where you only show your good side, we went to the Ameri-bar w/ all the other Corps Members (as usual). I showed up later than she, but when I arrived, I found her out back smoking w/ my buddy Charlie. No, I wasn't upset she was outside w/ my buddy. I was upset she was smoking. Most of my life, I've been extremely anti-smoking. I think it's disgusting, which is why I refuse to date someone who smokes. This may sound ridiculous, but what if I fall in love w/ her? I don't wanna be around a smoker all my life. Does this make sense?

Anyway, I apparently got upset she was smoking, esp. since I knew she'd been a smoker before AmeriCorps. Again, this is not something I do on purpose, it's just something that throws me into a tizzy. And after 25+ years, I've finally found a way to use "tizzy" in a sentence. To make a short story long, my sour mood eventually put her in a sour mood, and by the time I realized I was being an idiot, she was in a bad mood, and the night was chock full o' drama. We obviously made nice the next day (or maybe that nite, I don't remember), but it was def. a very stressful nite.

To make matters worse, we all witnessed two unattractive girls making out on the pool table that nite. And that, my friends, is a brief summation of AmeriCorps, the best year of my life.

Chicken or the Egg?

2006-03-16T19:13:00.000-05:00

Do I have few friends in Boston cuz I work so many hours? Or do I work 13-hour days because I have very few friends in town?

Trains, Planes, and Automobiles (Quick Comments)

2006-03-12T11:28:00.000-05:00

Have you ever seen Trains, Planes, and Automobiles? It’s one of those movies I’d always assumed I’d seen, but this morning I caught the tail end on TBS and realized I’ve definitely never watched the entire film. Director John Hughes wants me to believe Steve Martin’s character decides to basically adopt the guy he met less than a week earlier (John Candy’s character)?

If you haven’t seen the movie, I highly recommend it for its intentional and unintentional comedy. For starters, John Candy’s mustache is hilarious. Also, the scene in which the two chums are driving on the wrong side of the highway is legendary, so much in fact that my friend JB and I quote it on a regular basis. Candy’s character thinks the driver next to him wants to race, when in fact the man and his wife are screaming, “You’re going the wrong way!”

Finally, the closing scene is ridiculous. Martin’s character arrives home to greet his family (including in-laws), introducing to them his newly adopted son/brother. Then his wife walks down the stairs, breathtaking beauty magnified each step down. When her eyes meet w/ Martin’s, the love and attraction is evident. In case the viewer misses it, Hughes decides to focus on Candy’s hands holding his hat over his crotch, as if he’s hiding something. Cue the closing credits, w/ me looking around in bafflement. Movies like this make me glad I was born in the ‘80s.

perfect pair

2006-03-10T14:40:00.000-05:00

First, if anyone dare tell J-Mazz (per his last entry) that he is ugly or smelly, I will throw up on you.
Second- this idea of missing out on life when you find your soulmate and settle down is plain silly, J-Mazz. Life still throws a lot of things at you, drops bombs on you, presents well-manicured paths, shows hope and promise. You just get to do it with someone by your side. Or someone shoving your ass up the hill.
I chose having my ass shoved up a hill.

Safe Love

2006-03-10T10:53:00.000-05:00

My friend Andre, a teen director at another YMCA, recently mentioned an event he helped plan for area teens, entitled Safe Love. It was obviously geared toward safe sex, but it got me thinking. Is there such a thing as safe love? Being in love requires the deconstruction of one’s walls, basically taking a chance by letting someone “behind the curtain.” This is very dangerous.

Economists often discuss risk/reward correlations. Explorers cannot discover new land w/out first losing sight of the shore. Love echoes these philosophies, as no relationship achieves greatness until both people fully trust each other. And with that trust comes excitement, intimacy, comfort and all the other wonderful things love brings. Of course, this also leaves people extremely vulnerable.

In Vegas, you can’t win big unless you bet big, and you can’t lose big unless you gamble a hefty sum. The same holds true for love. You can either place small wagers and enjoy the minor gains/losses, or you can go all in and ride the excitement. Just remember, love can enrich your life beyond monetary value. It can also fuck you up and leave you walking the streets wondering what happened to all your chips.

Safe love? It’s just another oxymoron in our everyday lives.

Words of Wisdom

2006-03-09T23:05:00.000-05:00

In a conversation w/ my friend Liz: "I know she likes me. No one makes out w/ someone while sober unless they like that person or thinks they're really hot."

High School Cafeteria

2006-03-09T21:57:00.000-05:00

I sat through a couple high school lunches today, hoping to attract teens to this weekend's teen forum, which I've spent a year planning. On a side note, if no one shows up to this thing, I will readily admit I don't understand teens. We're giving away a YMCA membership, Celtics tickets, and a video iPod. Free food and live music are also part of the event, plus a cool guest speaker and a chance for them to discuss sex/drugs/alcohol/self-esteem w/ college students in a parent-free environment. What more do teens want? As great as it'd be, the forum can't feature Ashton Kutcher or strippers. Anyway...

Watching the students inhale their lunches made me realize I'm really glad I'm no longer in high school. Witnessing the awkwardness and insecurities reminded me of how tough those four years can be, how hopeless life can seem sitting at the lunch table w/ people you don't really like, having the cool kids throw pencils at you while you bite into a lukewarm crater burger.

No, the aforementioned never happened to me, at least not all of it, but I remember how frustrating high school can be. I don't claim my life to be perfect, but I'm glad I'm no longer an angry, lanky kid w/ dyed black hair. I'm glad I've overcome my insecurities to become a confident twentysomething w/ (albeit small) muscles and my natural blond hair. I'm glad the best years of my life weren't in high school. After all, what doesn't kill you...

Question of the Day

2006-03-09T21:34:00.000-05:00

Why is KFC, formerly KENTUCKY Fried Chicken, playing Sweet Home Alabama on its commercials?

A Single Story

2006-03-08T21:21:00.000-05:00

Is this what it’s come to? Is this what I’ve become? I came into my office Mon. morning to discover a lawn display ad (think “For Sale” signs in front of houses) propped against my chair. The ad read, “Single? WalthamSingles.com” Yes, I laughed aloud, though I’ve yet to find out who left me the sign, which now stands next to my desk for all to see.

A lot’s happened since my year in AmeriCorps*NCCC. An admitted steroid user became California’s governor, an entire sport finally admitted it has a steroid problem, and Boston became the city of champions. My musical taste expanded beyond DMB and I started experimenting w/ my sideburns. Somewhere along the way, I changed from the guy most people assumed would be married at 25 to the guy most doubt will ever settle down.

How did this happen? I don’t have the answer, and I don’t need one. I’ve made some great friends since graduating AmeriCorps, and I’ve lived in some great cities, people and places I may have never known had I been in a relationship. You may think I’m antisocial, ugly and/or smelly―I’m not. I am, however, afraid of falling into a relationship.

Trading secrets and kisses doesn't scare me, nor does the potential for extreme pain and sadness. I’m weary of relationships for fear of what I could miss, all the hors d’oeuvres life presents, the characters and settings of my future history. To my friends who’ve already found a fellow protagonist, I congratulate you and offer my love and support. As for me, I’m content with my current plot. I’ve always loved choose-your-own-adventure books, anyway.

Today

2006-03-07T22:26:00.000-05:00

Today was one of my favorite days of the year. No, the date has no significance. This was the first day of the year where I felt warm getting into my car, that toasty feeling of sitting in the driver's seat and feeling the sun licking my face, reminding me that winter is taking its last breaths.

No Different From You

2006-02-28T22:06:00.000-05:00

I lost a part of myself last nite, a slice of who I am vanished. I am just like you now. My apartment has heat.

It was a good run, surviving half of January and almost all of February w/ an empty oil tank. I made the mistake of trusting my roommate to order more oil, which obviously did not happen. Upon returning from DC Sunday night, I opened the apt. door fully expecting a blast of hot air. Alas, I was greeted w/ a stairwell no more than 10 degrees warmer than the street.

Sunday night was a fitful sleep, awakening each hour to pull my winter hat tighter and fumble around for another layer to don beneath my three blankets. Feeling the effects the next morning, I ordered oil, which was delivered w/in the hour. Unfortunately, since my roommates and I rode our last supply of oil straight to the bottom, we needed our piped primed, as well. This required another visit from the oil company.

Scheduled for a 645pm visit, the guy didn't show up till 1030pm. He was shocked to discover we'd ordered 266 gallons of oil that day, but later claimed we'd been completely w/out oil. Apparently the smartest kids in school always go on to work for heating oil companies. His exact words were, "Holy moly!" He went on to ask us how we got by and, my favorite, "What the hell were you thinkin???" My roomie Big House and I looked at each other and offered smartass remarks such as, "It really brought us closer together" and "It was a Zen-like experience."

I can't fully explain what the last six weeks were like. Imagine riding a bike downhill knowing it has no brakes, or think of a relationship into which you kept falling deeper even though you knew it would end bad. That's how we lived the last six weeks, knowing a frigid, sub-zero night was lurking, waiting to chill us in our unheated apt. You'll know exactly what I mean if you've ever seen the Seinfeld episode when Kramer and the car dealer drive on "E" for hours, only to finally come to a halt on the side of the highway.

Imagine the adrenaline, the fear and the innocence of pushing oneself to the limit. That's how my roomies and I spent the first weeks of 2006, wearing sweaters and hats as we ate dinner, leaving the oven open after baking to help heat the rooms. And so the adventure ends, we return to everyday people who heat their homes in the New England winter. Sigh.

Return of the Rock

2006-02-16T11:28:00.000-05:00

In case anyone is wondering, us engaged kids spent out night at a recently opened restaurant on U Street called Crème. Let me assure you, this place rises to the top of my list for that area and all of DC!
Though the building is small, the tastes are big and the service is personable. A down-home, southern selection of shrimp and grits, chicken and rice, andouille sausage and as much bread as you can possibly dip in a variety of sauces that accompany these selections. If you like Georgia Brown’s southern flair but yearn for a more authentic, gritty, spicy taste, go to Crème.
So there is my plug for a new U street Gem.
And here is my plug for love- don’t be so cynical. Everyone falls in love, sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes its great and then life falls apart. But you get back up and you get back out there, and you either learn to love someone else or love yourself even more, or both. And whatever you do, is just fine. But it doesn’t mean what other people are doing is wrong.
After reading about Helga and Mulva (rhymes with Vulva) and the rest, I pose this question to you, J-Mazz, and our loyal readers- why girls with boyfriends? Is it an attempt to save the world or to save them? Is it a safeguard….falling for girls who are unavailable? Is it just an attempt to make our blog more humorous?

364 Days Till Valentine's Day!

2006-02-15T21:51:00.000-05:00

So start making calls now. Start working out on a regular basis, rediscover the art of flossing and remember how to eat w/ your mouth closed. Then again, I already do the aforementioned and still found myself treating Feb. 14 like any other Tuesday. What does it mean when Valentine's Day has lost all meaning? Is it sad that such a romantic holiday has been written off by what was once a hopeless romantic? Or is it refreshing that a holiday invented by Hallmark doesn't affect the guy who used to plan weeks in advance for Feb. 14?

My philosophy's always been you should be romantic because you want to, not because Walmart replaces its Christmas candy and cards w/ red and white gifts. Then again, I'm sure if I had a g/f I'd go all out for the phony-baloney holiday. I wonder what T-Rock and Greggster did to celebrate their first Valentine’s Day engaged. It’s strange to look ahead to Valentine’s Day 2007. Who of my friends will be engaged? Who of my friends currently in relationships will be single? Will Love Monkey still be on the air?

Let’s take a look at all the girls I’ve found myself out w/ (or wanting to take out) since last Valentine’s Day, and what I liked about them. I’ll also list why things didn’t work out. Names will not be used, for their own protection (and mine).

Helga
Laughs at my tasteless pick-up lines (good)
Able to carry an intelligent conversation (very good)
Enjoys happy hour as much as I do (awesome)
Lives in another city (Strike One)
Has a b/f (Strike Two)
I need to find a dictionary every time she emails me (Strike Three)

Mulva
Likes working w/ youth (good)
Loves the outdoors (very good)
Played soccer in college (awesome)
Worked for me (Strike One)
Lives w/ her b/f (Strike Two)
LIVES WITH HER BOYFRIEND (Strike Three)

Rosita
Works with teens (good)
Drives a stick (very good)
One of the few people who really “gets” me (awesome)
Lives in another city (Strike One)
Lived w/ her (now ex-) b/f (Strike Two)
STILL LIVES WITH HIM (Strike Three)

Ethel
Ditched her blind date at the bar to talk to me (good)
Texted me before I got home the first night I met her (very good, I think)
Loved my story about the necklace I got on Catalina (awesome)
Is an only child (Strike One)
Owns a cat (Strike Two)
Visits a psychic on a regular basis (Strike Three)

Daria
Wears a bathing suit at work (good)
Enjoys working w/ kids (very good)
Gave me incentive to wake up early and work out three days/week (awesome)
Doesn’t date people she works with (Strike One)
Adores country music (Strike Two)
Admitted she recently felt depressed (Strike Three)

Corrinne
Can beat me at pool (good)
Loves kids (very good)
Orders a Jamieson on the rocks to start the night (awesome)
Lives in another city (Strike One)
Wakes up really early (Strike Two)
I’ll find the third strike after spending a week w/ her later this month

Wish I Had Gas

2006-02-09T22:35:00.000-05:00

My new way of letting the ladies down gently: "I'd suggest going back to my place, but we don't have heat." Yes, my roomies and I ran out of oil two weeks ago. I think we might be able to make it through these last five weeks of winter, but ya never know.

Robbing Society

2006-02-06T21:18:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since my last relationship, more than two years, to be honest. Now before you start rolling your eyes and say goodbye to your good mood, understand I don't look at this as a negative. If anything, it's a good thing. Relationships change people, no doubt, as they adopt each others quirks, laugh at each others stupid jokes and realize they've always got someone in their corner, someone who'll be there to listen to rants about a shitty day at work or jubilation over a promotion.

But maybe that comfort level is a bad thing. Is any level of comfort good, or does it breed complacency? Think about it. When you're in a relationship, you work out less often. You practice guitar a bit less, you drink a lot less and you don't see your friends as often. Sure, the regular sex and cuddling is nice, but at what cost? Imagine all you could accomplish if you didn't have to lend part of your focus on a significant other. We'd have a cure for AIDS if some schmuck hadn't gotten married after graduating med school. Astronauts would've visited Mars by now had a woman not wed her high school sweetheart after graduating MIT. Is that fair to the world?

Going Postal

2006-02-01T20:27:00.000-05:00

Just in case you'd forgotten the origin of "going postal," some lady in California decided to remind us.

Being An Adult

2006-01-31T22:20:00.000-05:00

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my time as a YMCA programs director. It's hard to imagine I've had a "career" for 365 days. This is the longest consecutive job I've had since my paper route in elementary school. As I lie in bed thinking of all that's happened the past year, I can't stop thinking of how much I've grown up. Granted, I still drink too much when I go out, and I'm still single w/ nothing holding me to Boston, but I definitely feel older. Is this a good thing?

In the past year, I've supervised at least 50 people, having hired more than half. I somehow created a top-notch day camp that proved to be the most successful in my YMCA's history. I also managed to visit my parents multiple times w/out once pissing all over their bedroom door. Those are all shocking accomplishments, at least to me.

I've lost touch w/ many friends, but become closer w/ others. I've made friends at work and watched some of them move on, somehow always finding another colleague to fill their void. I've watched one friend get married and another engaged (you may or may not have read about that on this blog). Is this how adulthood feels? It's as if we're all sprockets on wheels, turning each other nonstop, but only meeting every so often, and always at different times. Is there a moment when everyone is alligned?

If I'd written about my year's accomplishments at this time last year, my stories would've been filled w/ drunken debauchery and Pizza Mart gluttony. I would've mentioned new friends, a new city, an old love; Working as an AmeriCorps VISTA was a wasted year, and I doubt I'll ever praise the program or my assignments from that time. Things are better now.

In Boston, my bedroom is too big to touch all four walls while laying down. My food stamps are but a memory and my neighborhood is enjoyable. But although I love my career (I feel so old saying that), a part of me misses the innocence of past years, the simplicity of leaving work at 5pm and not thinking about it until the next morning. And although I've lived in Boston more than a year, the support group I left behind in DC has yet to be replicated. I'm still looking for a delicious late-nite jumbo-slice pizza joint, too.

My Drugs

2006-01-30T22:39:00.000-05:00

I've been hooked on many things in my life, whether it's exercise (the year in DC), writing poetry (see senior year of college) or water (still going). My latest obsession, however, may be dangerous. I'm actually struggling w/ emotions as I type, unsure if I should thank my roommate, or resent him for turning me into a newborn junkie. Over the weekend, my roomie (Big House) pointed out our other roomie's sandwich maker. No, the machine doesn't resemble two hands. It's actually a panini maker, if that's such a thing, and it's amazing.

My addiction began Friday nite after returning from work, my mind a mush after a long week at work topped w/ the weekly Teen Nite (imagine 90 kids running around a YMCA as members avoid being trampled). After cracking open a beer, I shook hands w/ the fridge and peered inside, only to realize I had zero leftovers. Of course, I always have whole wheat bread in stock, so I pulled out the bag along w/ some ham and swiss. After turning on the toaster oven, I began slicing cheese. That's when Big House walked into the kitchen and suggested using the sandwich maker.

I heard the toaster oven fighting back tears as I turned it off and pulled the new appliance from its perch. I felt like Pandora as I opened the lid to discover beautiful black teflon, begging me to turn up the heat. I did. The bread slices were young siblings tucked warmly into bed, the cheese placed on top like a farmer seeding his field. The ham followed, just before the lid closed down, as if biting my sandwich before I had the chance. Five minutes later, the green light was aglow and I was rewarded w/ a restaurant-quality panini to sit next to my green beans, beside my chocolate milk.

I've now eaten five paninis in the last three days, wondering what all the cheese will do to my digestive system. Cold sandwiches have lost their allure, like coming home from your first semester of college and realizing the hot girls from HS aren't so hot after all. I raced home from work today (actually, I always race home) and immediately pulled out the turkey and cheese, scampering around the kitchen to prepare dinner. And now I lay in bed, unable to sleep, excited for tomorrow when I can get my next panini fix.

My Life On CD

2006-01-28T17:17:00.000-05:00

We’ve all heard stories from our parents about albums that changed their lives, whether it was Sgt. Pepper’s, Dark Side of the Moon, Blood on the Tracks or some other legendary record. We sometimes discover the greatness ourselves, either by listening to the music w/ our parents or stumbling across the album long after we’ve slipped into adulthood.

Even though I can’t even fathom being married, let alone having kids, several albums stand out as those I’ll pass on to my children, albums linked to a point in my life that have created an inseparable bond between time and music. I discovered one such album last month when I got my hands on Ryan Adams’ 29. The night before its release, I wrote about my excitement right here on the greatest blog ever created by Elon alumni. Now that I’ve had a month to listen to the nine songs over and over again, it’s clear my anticipation was well-founded.

Having only discovered Ryan Adams a couple years ago, he was a two-face to me before May: Some albums were great (Heartbreaker, Love is Hell) while others were a mush of effort and circles (Demolition). His first two releases in 2005, however (Cold Roses, Jacksonville City Nights), were extremely impressive, which left me giddy for his third and final album of the year. His country swagger found on JCN and his Dead echoes from Cold Roses can both be found on 29, along w/ his folksy sounds from the early days. The eclecticism of 29 makes it a perfect story for us twentysomethings as we struggle to discover our purpose in life, if such a thing exists.

I judge songs on how well I can relate to the lyrics, and how many times I hear a note that makes me stop what I’m doing. The aforementioned are plentiful on this album, beginning w/ the title track and ending w/ the last lines of Voices, as Adams sings falsetto, “Run away from the light, little ones.” The transitions from song to song are striking. The first song, 29, is a blatant tribute to the Dead, and details Adams’ struggles while being "a poor little kid in the lungs of New York.” Strawberry Wine is a smooth eight-minute tale of intertwined lives grappling suicide and prison and wine, urging the listener to “break out of it” before it’s too late. Nightbirds summons the sounds of ‘70s folk, a ditty that complicates at the end, as if everything comes crashing down upon the song, the singer, everything.

The middle of the album is less catchy, but more rewarding once its elegance is discovered. The water themes continue w/ Blue Sky Blues and Carolina Rain before giving way to Starlite Diner, disguised as a simple daydream while awaiting a woman, laments about dead love buried beneath the obvious.

The Sadness sounds more like the Zorro soundtrack than anything Adams has released, but its heavy images of death and depression are evident on many levels. Schools of thought conflict on Elizabeth, You Were Born to Play That Part. Some say it’s a sad letter to a former love, while others claim it was written for a baby never born, victim of a miscarriage. Then again, it could be both as Adams’ vagueness adds strength to his songs. The album ends w/ Voices, littered w/ biblical references and serving as a warning to anyone that life is hard, and sometimes death seems like a better alternative.

Whether or not you like Ryan Adams, I urge you to try this album on. In fact, try it on several times, listen to it straight through, listen to it on random, listen to it in the car, listen to it in your room. Whether you like it at first listen or after 100 listens, the bottom line is you will like it. It may even grab a shovel and dig a hole in your life, buried for your children to unearth.

Question of the Day

2006-01-27T09:27:00.000-05:00

Would you rather spend the rest of your life stranded on a desert island w/ no one but your best friend, or never see that best friend again?

Question of the Day

2006-01-26T19:18:00.000-05:00

Is it still considered picking your nose if you have a tissue on your finger?

Question of the Day

2006-01-21T21:21:00.000-05:00

"Is it possible to love someone too much?" -- Ryan Adams

Question of the Day

2006-01-20T14:25:00.000-05:00

If an ambulance (w/ sirens on) collides w/ your car while driving through an intersection, would the EMTs stop to help you, or continue on to their destination? I almost found out yesterday on my way to work.

Question of the Day

2006-01-19T17:38:00.000-05:00

If you're married, what song was playing when your wedding party entered the reception? What song played during your first dance as spouse/spouse (tryin to be PC here). If you're not yet married, what songs do you want?

Question of the Day

2006-01-18T16:35:00.000-05:00

What's the greatest place you've ever lived, and what made it so memorable?

Things I Suck At

2006-01-18T14:07:00.000-05:00

Around Thanksgiving, I fell into a reflective mindset and blogged about what I do well. Now that it's a windy, rainy mid-winter day in Boston, I'm ready to discuss what I do poorly.

Multi-tasking- My boss said I have the opposite of ADD, in that I focus solely on one project and totally neglect everything else. This has occurred since I was a child, when I'd refuse to eat dinner until I'd finished constructing my latest lego spaceship. I don't think being focused on one task is always a bad thing, unless you're hooking up w/ two girls at the same time.

Snapping My Fingers- I can't do it, OK? Next!

Bagging Groceries- While at Trader Joe's the other day, I realized my bagging skills are atrocious. I always put too much in one bag, forget to double bag, or put eggs on the bottom. I tend to get very disoriented whenever I'm in a large store or different country. I'm really good at keeping raw meat separate from other groceries, though. E. Coli can be a bitch.

Reading Signals- No, I'm not talking about air traffic control. Seriously, I need a girl to flat-out tell me, "No, I'm not interested in you" or "You're too tall and I think you smell funny." Ladies, please understand most men would much prefer you to say, "I'm just not into you."

A basement? Who knows?

2006-01-16T15:02:00.000-05:00

I spent five days in San Antonio and I never even attempted to see the Alamo. I saw the riverwalk, the convention center and Market Square, but no Alamo. I can’t say that I really care. I think.
Last night I thought about what I would tell people who asked, “Did you see the Alamo?” Inevitably someone would (and several have). While it doesn’t bother me that I didn’t see it, I do wonder if I will ever be given the chance to see it again. Will I ever go back to San Antonio? Do I care if I ever go back to San Antonio? Not really.
But do you ever wonder, as you stand in a certain place in a certain time, will I ever be here again? It doesn’t matter if it’s a good place or a bad place, or whether it envokes a good feeling or bad one. It's all the same. Our experiences in life are all so short, so finite.
There’s my deep thought for the day. That’s what happens when you eat much Mexican food.

Could Even See the Lights From the Goodyear Blimp...

2006-01-12T17:42:00.000-05:00

And it said J-Mazz is a pimp.

Yesterday was a good day. I had to deliver a 10-minute presentation before the city council (including the mayor) yesterday. Intense. For the occasion, I wore a shirt and tie to work and immediately turned heads. Pat, the sixtysomething woman who works behind the front desk every morning, didn't recognize me. Twice (she's not THAT old).

One of the members pointed me out to two others, commenting on my purple tie. Apparently my everyday outfit of YMCA tshirt and cargo pants doesn't turn heads quite the same. Bonus points to the Unicel guy who came in early to fix the phones, including one by the pool. I had to escort him to the phone, and I swear every swimmer AND the hot lifeguard did double-takes.

Oh, and I apparently gave an amazing performance for the city council, receiving emails from numerous members afterward commending me for a great speech. Granted, I came prepared w/ multi-colored packets of information detailing teen health risks and the YMCA Youth Forum designed to curtail recent statistics.

The perfect ending to a perfect day came last nite when I stumbled upon Chapelle's Show on Comedy Central, the Mad Real World episode. "Correction: Lysol had sex w/ Katie. I only filmed it."

Weekend Getaway

2006-01-11T22:20:00.000-05:00

So I might be going to Denver next weekend, just a relaxing weekend getaway to the beautiful Rocky Mountains w/ one of my Ameri-friends. Did I mention we’d be driving there? To quote Andy Dufresne, “Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’.” More details to come.

Speaking of Denver, I can’t wait for the Patriots to knock the beard off Jake Plummer this weekend.

Staff holiday party tomorrow nite. I wonder if the girl I asked out will show up, and if she does, I wonder if she’ll get really drunk and start hitting on me. I'll keep you posted.

Question of the Day

2006-01-10T15:47:00.000-05:00

If your boss insults your ears, should you punch them in the face?

Top-4 Current TV Shows

2006-01-06T16:55:00.000-05:00

As I'm slowly realizing, ya gotta live for today and not wallow in the past. So w/ apologies to Seinfeld and Ed, two of the smartest, funniest and best written shows of my generation, I reveal to the world my four favorite TV shows that haven't ended or been canceled.

4) The O.C.
Chappelle's Show didn't make this cut because its future is very much in doubt since Dave's recent drug rehab somewhere in Zimbabwe. The O.C. takes its place on this monumental list. Why does a twentysomething heterosexual male such as myself enjoy this show? Good question. After listening to a colleague (L-Beezy) rave about it at work a couple years ago, I figured I'd check it out to see what the hype was about. Plus, I needed something to talk about w/ my colleagues since they all hated me my first couple months of work. I first experienced The O.C. midway through its inaugural season and was immediately hooked. The acting was awful and the writing was even worse. The clincher featured Ryan and Marissa, who were dating, standing on a boardwalk.

Ryan: You know what we haven't done in a while?
Marissa: No, what?

CUE THE MAKE-OUT SCENE! Even Saved by the Bell didn't deliver lines this cheesy. The unintentional comedy was priceless, and I found myself rushing home to catch it every Wed. nite. Two-and-a-half years into the show, the writing has drastically improved and the acting has gotten much better (except for Marissa, played by Mischa Barton). The fact every female (esp. Summer) is hot only makes the hour better.

3) Maximum Extreme Challenge (MXC)
Maybe I love it so much because I discovered it after a heavy nite of drinking in DC, or maybe I enjoy it because contestants endure severe amounts of pain throughout the half hour. This ingenious program combines American Gladiators w/ The Iron Chef. I won't divulge any more info, but be sure to check it out, esp. if you've been drinking.

2) MTV's The Gauntlet/The Inferno
It's ridiculous how addictive these shows are. If I'm flipping channels and come across a past Real World star wearing yellow feathers and vomiting after stuffing his/her face w/ worms, I will not change the channel. If it's a girl and she's wearing something very revealing, it makes the deal even sweeter. And if Kendall happens to be part of the cast, I always cancel my appointments, turn off my phone and just focus. Ahhhhhhhh, sweet Kendall.

1) Rescue Me
The stuff this show gets away w/ is ridiculous. When did the bigwigs at F/X decide to push the envelope every week w/ every show? One week after Denis Leary's character has his g/f's legs around his head, another character on the show gets ridden like a 10-speed bicycle by a girl double his weight. Lesbian fights, vicious custody battles and alcohol-withdrawal Jesus hallucinations help make this show unforgettable. The tightly written, multi-story plots mixed w/ Leary's blunt humor create the greatest show on TV.

Question of the Day

2006-01-05T18:07:00.000-05:00

If a girl tells a guy she doesn't date people she works with, is it true? Or is it just another rejection to add to the stories? I should mention we work in different departments, and she's only in three days/week.

I've been telling people I asked out a girl yesterday. After a pause, I say, "She said no." Then people laugh. "Love: It's a motherf*cker." -- the waiter in Old School.

Question of the Day

2006-01-04T22:18:00.000-05:00

What's the nicest thing you've ever done? What's the meanest?

Question of the Day

2005-12-30T11:00:00.000-05:00

Do people forced into the sex trade ever enjoy themselves? I mean, after years of working, wouldn't they eventually relax every once in a while and derive some pleasure from their job?

Does Paul Schaeffer Know?

2005-12-28T09:46:00.000-05:00

Just when you thought there couldn't be any more reasons to watch Letterman instead of Leno, some lady comes out with these claims. The whole story sounds very similar to the way Natalie Portman has been secretly communicating w/ me through her films. For example, when she asks Zack Braff's character in Garden State if he'd like to see her tap dance, she's really saying, "J-Mazz, would you like to elope w/ me?" More proof coming soon.

Question of the Day

2005-12-27T22:26:00.000-05:00

What do blind people see in their dreams? Do they see anything at all, or are dreams filled w/ sounds? Thoughts?

To Everyone Who Threatened to Move to Canada if Bush was Re-Elected...

2005-12-21T21:48:00.000-05:00

Here's even more incentive to take up residence w/ our northern neighbor.

You Don't Want Us? We Don't Want You!

2005-12-21T17:29:00.000-05:00

Leaving a bad taste in New Englanders' mouths was Johnny Damon turning his back on the fans who made him a celebrity. Even worse was the fact he signed for only a few extra dollars to play for the team most Sox fans hate more than gas prices. It's like having your g/f dump you a guy you absolutely hate, and her only reasoning is he drives a '99 Corolla while you've got a '98.

Less than a year ago, Damon was quoted on mlb.com as saying:

"I want to stay here, but I may walk and go home. I might shut it down in a couple of years.

"There's no way I can go play for the Yankees, but I know they are going to come after me hard. It's definitely not the most important thing to go out there for the top dollar, which the Yankees are going to offer me. It's not what I need.

"I'd like to finish my career here [Boston]. I'm not sure they'll let me do it, if they offer me [only] two or three years [on a contract]. I want at least four or five."

The fact he sold his soul for a measly $12M (which really isn't a lot in pro baseball) is disgusting. Not even allowing the Sox to counter-offer makes it even more despicable.

If Theo returns to the Sox, he will undoubtedly feel like a mother who leaves the kitchen for five minutes and returns to discover her kids have knocked over the fridge, broken all the dishes and stuffed the cat in the microwave. Is this the winter we will describe to our grandchildren as the downfall of the franchise? Are we destined for another 86 years of misery?

Regardless, there will be few cheers for Damon when he returns to Fenway as a hated Yankee. Here's hoping his career spirals into an underachieving abyss, without even sniffing another postseason.

Top-4 Christmas Movies

2005-12-21T17:28:00.000-05:00

4) Scrooged -- Like Coming to America and Shawshank Redemption, this is one of those movies I always watch if I catch it on TBS/TNT/USA while flipping channels. Aside from Sean William Scott (Stifler), Bill Murray is my favorite actor. I can really empathize w/ his sarcastic humor and damn-the-man attitude. On a side note: Is it just me, or are edited-for-TV movies better than the original versions? Nothing proves this more than the Samuel L. Jackson scene in Coming to America. The dubbed-over profanity is priceless.

3) Die Hard -- Yes, it's a Christmas movie. The conflict begins at an office Christmas party, not to mention the scene when John McClain dresses up one of the dead terrorists in a Santa costume and sends him up the elevator w/ a sign that reads "Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho." This movie gets bonus points for featuring Reggie Vel Johnson, aka Carl Winslow from Family Matters.

2) A Charlie Brown Christmas -- Something about Charlie Brown's depressing, failure-filled adventures really strikes a chord w/ me. I find myself always rooting for the bald child even though I know he won't succeed. Is this what it's like to be a Cubs fan?

1) It's a Wonderful Life -- There are certain characters in entertainment history I try to emulate. Ed Stevens, Jerry Seinfeld and Peter Chiara (Rudi's fat little friend) are just a few that come to mind. But before any of them were even born, George Bailey touched the lives of Americans in this cinematic classic. I always get a little misty-eyed during some scenes, such as George running through the streets yelling Merry Christmas to everyone and every landmark. I also get some sand in my eyes at the very end, after the entire town saves him from financial ruin and his brother raises a glass and says, "A toast to my big brother George: The richest man in town." What better message than toasting a wealth of friends? Keep that in mind as we approach the new year. "Remember, George: No man is a failure who has friends." -- Clarence

Keep your vagina, I don’t want it.

2005-12-21T13:17:00.000-05:00

It’s a hard word to say, an even harder word to write. That’s part of the reason why I auditioned for the Vagina Monologues. Why should we call it other names? Why should we be embarrassed about our own? And why shouldn’t I use my very outdated acting skills to win a part in a play that exposes it’s audiences to this most important movement?
A local organization was producing the Vagina Monologues, and put out a call for volunteers to act and help with publicity. So all last week I reviewed the script. I picked a part to audition with, I mostly memorized it (though we would be reading off cards at the audition) and I tried to really understand what the writer meant, while also really giving it my own meaning and flair.
On Saturday morning I woke up and put on some “audition clothes” (obligatory black sweater and jeans….very twisted soul, artsy-artist kinda look) and headed to the public library where I would meet the competition. I stopped at Starbucks on the way and thought it a “sign” when they were brewing my favorite coffee- Sumatra. I meant to order a grande, but ordered a venti by mistake….or is that vice versa? Anyway, I ended up with a giant cup. I headed over to the library I sat down next to a girl I have met before and we chatted a little before the auditions started.
I drank some of my giant coffee and when I started to sweat (anxiety? Nerves? Heavy black sweater?) I put the cup down by my feet and listened to the other women read. Each one gave a piece of themselves to the part, each one recited monologues slightly different. I think that’s the meaning of the show- every woman, every voice. All stories we can relate to and appreciate.
So the girl next to me was called. She got up, and as she walked down the aisle, she kicked my giant coffee over and it spilled all over the feet of one of our aisle mates. Unfortunately for her, she was wearing very open high heels and her feet got drenched with scalding hot coffee. The three of us jumped up, ran to get towels, and wiped down the feet and the floor. The woman running the auditions did not looked amused at a) the coffee b) the spill or c) me trying to joke to lighten up the situation.
So after we got the coffee cleaned up and my neighbor read her part, it was my turn. I felt like I did a very nice job. I solicited a few laughs out of the audience and I felt very comfortable up there. I felt I read it like rehearsed and from the heart. When I finished up, the women running the auditions (who was earlier giving a scowl at the coffee mishap) said thank you everyone, I will contact you tonight to let you know if you got a part or not.
I waited, and I waited, and here it is, 5 days later, and I STILL haven’t heard from her. I am assuming this means I did not get a part. I emailed her Monday to find out the status, volunteer to help with production or publicity and to just say thanks for letting me audition…..and NOTHING.
All I can figure is that I’m just not cool enough. Maybe I didn’t read well and I am okay with that (I would never claim to be a professional) but I’m pretty sure the coolness factor had something to do with it, too.
How sad- you try to get involved in a good cause, and the cause doesn’t even want your lousy vagina.

Christmas Eve Excitement

2005-12-19T22:40:00.000-05:00

And it's still days away. Tomorrow marks the release date of Ryan Adams' third album in 2005, and I find myself extremely excited. For those unfamiliar w/ his work, check out his first solo album, Heartbreaker. It's been hailed as one of the greatest breakup albums of our generation (we twentysomethings), what Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks did decades before.

Before this year, I was lukewarm on Ryan Adams. I'm a huge fan of Love is Hell and Heartbreaker, but never warmed up to his other albums. Then Cold Roses arrived midway through my return trip to California back in May. Whether it was the surreal landscapes of SoCal and Western Arizona or the gradual release of the past, the album found an empty space inside me and took up residence. There is something beautiful in every song on the album, each track unlocking its elegance at different times. Some jump out as immediate greats, while others drip away mediocrity to reveal elegant melancholy.

The much-anticipated Jacksonville City Nights arrived the end of Sept. Its honky-tonk flavor threw me for a loop, and barely resembles the Dead-inspired album that preceded it. However, Adams' smooth transition from drugged-out blues to country twang make JCN another gem, albeit one more difficult to uncover. As I gradually get a feel for the album, his third and (presumably) final album of the year sits in boxes at record stores across America, waiting patiently to go home w/ the first cute girl who grabs it.

A little background on the album known as 29. Of 2005's three releases, it was the first one written and the only one not written and recorded w/ Adams' new band, The Cardinals (who give his music a much fuller sound). The album's concept is simple: After turning 30 years old, Adams reflects upon the past 10 years and realizes his 20s, like many others', were unbelievably difficult. Like most, drugs, drunken days and dragging hearts are littered throughout his 20s. The new album features nine tracks, and each song represents one year of his 20s. Granted, I've only heard 30-sec. samples from the album, but I've got the feeling this album, perhaps more than any other, will really blow me away. This CD has the makings of one of those albums that's never forgotten, that carries w/ it far too much pain and hope to fit on an 80-min. disc.

And if the music echoes even a fraction of the darkness found on the album cover, it should instantly become one of my all-time favorite albums.

High School Reunion, Sorta

2005-12-16T17:14:00.000-05:00

A girl I graduated HS w/ recently emailed me photos from her September wedding. It was strange looking at pictures of the "popular crowd" more than seven years after we threw our tassled caps in the air and said goodbye to high school. There was a level of discomfort looking at the photos, as if I were intruding on others' lives, spying on them during a celebratory moment none of them will forget, one to which I was not (rightfully so) invited. Even more surreal was seeing my HS crush in her bridesmaid dress, smiling and seemingly happy w/ the life she's chosen long after I've dismissed her from daily thoughts.

As I skimmed through the photos, I couldn't help but wonder how different these people were from the ones I knew in HS. Being popular in HS, were their dreams greater than mine? Or do they seek to rediscover the happiness they enjoyed as the kings and queens of homecoming and prom? If they've changed, has it been for the better? What would they think if we ran into each other at a bar? Would they see a guy they wished they'd gotten to know better in HS? Would they be jealous of my travels across America while they settled down close to home? Or would they simply see a guy they sat next to in chemistry class, the funny kid who was always a bit weird, the one who played on the basketball team and worked on the yearbook staff, the one who pursued the "popular girls" because he felt he had a chance?

It's amazing what thoughts enter the mind after having the past return to memory, like an old man watching a boy throw rocks into the same pond he grew up near almost a century before. Only from our pasts can we see how we've grown or deteriorated. It's an experience both impressive and sobering.

Exploring Other Possibilites

2005-12-13T14:33:00.000-05:00

In J-Mazz’s last entry, he wrote: “it's never too late to give up on dreams, no matter how old you are. Fear, for the most part, is the only thing preventing a change in job, relationship or address. What would you do if you weren't afraid?”

I believe this was, in part, a response to a previous entry I wrote where I discussed careers I would like to try. I believe he was trying to tell me that it’s never too late to try any of these things.

I think he is right. I think it’s never too late to try any of the things we think about, want, or feel passionately about. That day I felt like writing about career paths. But I think it is important to remember that people can strive to live dreams that don’t relate to their career. I think that’s where I am at right now.

For those who knew me in college, you would probably all agree that I was making a huge mistake, trying to live out a relationship that was too much like a car crash or a bad movie or a really, really depressing love song. I was sacrificing my life in terms of it all- my friendships, my heart, my intuition, my self respect…and then a friend came along and helped me realize that I did have dreams way beyond that. So I didn’t give up on my dream- I got over the fear of being alone, of having wasted 3 years, of making a mistake. So that’s what I did when I wasn’t afraid anymore. I moved on.

Maybe this isn’t the kind of change J-Mazz is talking about, but it was a life-altering change for me. And maybe when we dream, we dream in different terms, but I do still dream, and I do still try to live those dreams.

Driving to Montana to write for six months isn’t something I want to do. Neither is teaching tennis to kids in Europe. Maybe being a hair dresser or a Journalism teacher is, but just because I am not pursuing those things right now, doesn’t mean they don’t have a place in the future. It might mean that there are other things I want to do right now- do first.

Right now, (and if talking it makes you stop reading this blog- then bite me) I am pursuing another dream- having a real, solid, purposeful, healthy relationship with a good man. I am learning how to love someone for their faults, be loved for my own nuances, to communicate without worrying about sounding smart, to listen objectively, to accept reality, to take care of myself and someone else. I’m learning how to be the kind of person I want someone else to love.

This is a dream to me. And it might seem insignificant to some people, or wishy washy or unimportant, but J-Mazz said it best: we are all dying. And this kind of love is one I am not willing to live, or die without trying.

This doesn’t make me “better” or bigger or worse or silly, and it doesn’t make me less of a woman for needing this man. It just makes me, me.

I could die tomorrow without ever being a Journalism teacher. I could die never knowing what it is to be a press secretary. But I would die knowing I was in love and that it was good, and that I was loved in return, the way I always knew I should be. I could die knowing that I balanced a full time job, friends, making dinner, laughing with family and that I was truly happy being me.

Is that better than being a hairdresser? That’s a question we have to ask ourselves. I can’t answer it for anyone except me.

The Power of Possibility

2005-12-12T17:43:00.000-05:00

A while back (August), T-Rock wrote about different professions she wishes she'd pursued. The heading was In Another Life, Maybe. It was very well-written (she does have an Elon diploma), but something struck a nerve w/ me. Only now am I getting a chance to reply.

No one should close the door on any dreams, esp. at the age of 25. It's never too late to throw out the map and drive down a side street. Unless your goals involve becoming an Olympic athlete or swimming across the world, anything is possible, at any age.

I didn't land a "real job" until December, and it's what I've wanted to do since college. I love the variety of working at the YMCA, overseeing many departments that keep me on my toes year-round. Whether it's camp, teen programs, pre-school sports or any other hats I wear, I always find challenges to keep me focused and happy.

With that being said, there're still many career paths I hope to pursue, and many non-career paths I plan to explore, as well. With no lease and no car payment, and with student loans almost paid off (thanks, AmeriCorps), there's nothing stopping me from quitting my job and moving to Montana for six months of writing. I could sell my car and hop a plane to Europe and teach children tennis. I could go back to fighting fires in California, wait tables on Catalina or work at a camp anywhere in the world. I could wake up tomorrow, get into my car and drive for as long as there's road ahead.

My point is it's never too late to give up on dreams, no matter how old you are. Fear, for the most part, is the only thing preventing a change in job, relationship or address. What would you do if you weren't afraid? Think about that the next time you catch yourself thinking, "If only I..."

Whenever someone asks me what's wrong, I tell them I'm dying. The funny thing is, we all are, day by day. Isn't that reason enough to throw out your current map and re-discover the one you charted when you were younger? Be sure to rip out the rearview mirror, too. You won't need to look back.

One Year Later...

2005-12-06T15:04:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow marks the first birthday for this blog. A lot's happened in the past 365 days for both T-Rock and myself. Aside from her engagement, I'll let her fill you in on the rest. As for me, I've changed cities, changed jobs and changed hairstyles. I'm still the same height, however.

Let me take this time to thank you, the reader, for letting me into your daily life. Whether you read No Sales Tax at work or at home, during a lunch break or after the kids are in bed, I hope to continue serving your needs, whatever they may be.

A month before New Year's resolutions, I vow to continue making you smile. If I've sparked some introspection, I hope to continue that, as well. I guess my two goals for this blog are to make people think and to make people laugh. If I accomplish that, I'm satisfied.

In exchange, I ask that you post comments when you feel appropriate. My partner and I wanna hear what you have to say. Also, please recommend No Sales Tax to others. If you enjoy what you read, chances are your friends and family will, too (unless you're Scott Peterson). Think of it as a cost-free Christmas gift. This holiday season, send someone you love an email w/ the link to this blog. Act now and you'll receive a free autographed photo of T-Rock and myself (autograph not included).

Clumsier Than T-Rock

2005-12-04T23:03:00.000-05:00

I almost fell off the treadmill today while watching the Pats game. Instead, I merely made a loud noise as I fumbled to regain my balance after accidentally stepping to the right of the tread (or whatever the hell you call the moving part). My shin now boasts a large bump and scrape, but I avoided embarassment, mainly because I'm immune to the feeling.

Traveling

2005-11-30T12:39:00.000-05:00

Like many other Americans, I spent some time traveling last week. In my case, it was a short drive to Cranford, NJ, a suburb of Newark. Is it just me, or does the NJ Turnpike get more and more lovely each year? When the arctic ice caps have melted and humans are forced to dwell deep beneath the earth’s surface, long after the North Korean nuclear wars and the government’s near collapse under the reigns of Hillary Clinton, the NJ Turnpike will look exactly as it does today. Concrete has a half-life of 2,000 years, meaning the entire roadway should outlive Red Auerbach.

Don’t get me wrong, I love traveling. After all, you’re reading the words of someone who made a habit of driving all night to and from college to avoid east coast traffic. I drove cross-country with no one but sports radio to talk to. I find flying relaxing, or at least I did until my legs decided to keep growing. I’ve thought about prosthetics for long flights, just fold ‘em up and throw them in the overhead compartment. Here’re some more things I enjoy about traveling:

Driving – I would much rather drive than be a passenger. Maybe I’m a
control freak, but I’m confident I can drive faster than anyone else while maintaining safety. My Ameri-siblings will tell you I’m a bit horn-happy, but why else was it invented? If someone’s being an idiot behind the wheel, I will gladly perk his ears w/ a toot of the horn. It was even better when I was driving a 15-passenger government vehicle on a regular basis. Seriously, all I want for Christmas are government license plates. Next to Kevlar, nothing makes you feel more invincible. Of course, I doubt I’d enjoy driving so much if I couldn’t listen to
CDs while in the car. That’s right, I’ve yet to join the iPod clan. I’m still working on getting my own ‘puter so I can post on the blog more frequently (instead of attempting to be witty and covert at the same time in my not-so-private office).

Local Commercials – No matter how bad you think your neighborhood pizza joint’s marketing campaign is, I guarantee you there’s another local cable commercial somewhere else in the country that’s even worse. Living in Boston, I’ve been robbed of the sheer ridiculousness of smaller community commercials, but I still try to find humor in them. For instance, there’s a commercial for “PC Healthstop” airing in Boston that features two “employees.” One guy’s white, the other’s Hispanic. That’s right, Boston is a diverse city! The men alternate lines
throughout the first half, before the Hispanic guy delivers a 10-sec. spiel in a language that appears to be a mix between English, Spanish and auctioneer. Think Speedy Gonzalez crossed w/ the Micro Machines guy (also a teacher on Saved by the Bell, the episode when students are taking notes so fervently, smoke rises from the pencil).

Toothpaste – I’m always enamored by how many different kinds of toothpaste exist. Gone are the days of Crest vs. Colgate. Now there’re 20 different kinds of Colgate, 20 different kinds of Crest, Aim, Sensodyne, Mentodent and a supposedly natural toothpaste made by some Maineiac named Tom. And don’t even get me started on visiting relatives in France. I think their toothpaste, soap and shampoo all come in one tube.

Free Food – This tends to apply only when visiting relatives or family friends. Rarely does it occur when I visit my friends, many of whom aren’t much further than I in the race to adulthood. I visited my buddy Charlie over July 4 weekend. In his fridge were beers, peanut butter and a box of leftover pizza. If that’s not a meal, I don’t know what is.

Hotels – Why is it the first thing people do when they arrive in their room is drop everything and crash on a bed? Is it to make sure no one’s hiding under the covers? Or do they just wanna rub against all the unspoken germs that live in the blankets, which get washed every time Haley’s Comet graces us w/ its presence? I also love leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor. It’s a freedom I never enjoyed growing up in a household w/ my mom, a neat freak who makes Seinfeld’s O.C.D. seem tame. Maybe that’s where I get it from. I also enjoy the tiny soap in the shower. I like to pretend it’s a normal soap and my muscles are huge. Yes, I stole that from Seinfeld.

New and Strange Women – I’ve yet to fully tap this phenomenon, though my roommate Big House has many a story to tell. He apparently hooks up every time he’s out in a diff. city. Why he can’t parlay that success into Boston booty is beyond me. I can’t believe I just wrote “booty.”

Airports – These are much better people-watching venues than the actual airplane, when everyone’s facing forward. I like to arrive early at the airport, get through security and just sit back and watch thousands of strangers carry on w/ their lives. I create stories for them, imagine what their lives are like. Maybe this guy’s a plumber who’s always dreamed of opening a sushi restaurant, but his wife thinks his idea’s crazy. Plus, she’s allergic to seafood and hasn’t worked since the operation on her feet to remove bunions. I’ll see a seemingly happy
family of four: a mom and dad followed by a teenage girl and a 8-year-old boy. What no one else sees is a woman who’s in love w/ her daughter’s best friend’s single dad. Her husband hasn’t noticed the affair, however, because he’s too caught up in work, embezzling money from the company to give his family a better lifestyle. Would his wife be cheating on him if he’d spend more time at home, or is she cheating on him because the other man is just that—another man? Meanwhile, the son keeps getting beaten up at school, so much so that he has to visit w/ the guidance counselor twice a week, but the guidance counselor is really a sicko who likes molesting little boys, a habit he picked up when he was bouncing around foster homes growing up. The daughter is a decent-looking girl who aspires to be popular, so she’s slept w/ the
entire basketball team and does lines in the bathroom w/ the more popular girls. With all their baggage, it’s amazing that this seemingly perfect family can carry their suitcases through the airport terminal. I also like the moving walkways in airports, and I love elbowing people in the way as I pass them.

Adventures – It seems like something crazy happens anytime I take a
vacation. I spent a week w/ Charlie six months ago. We drove all over California and Arizona, reliving our AmeriCorps year and trying to remember why we ever moved back east. Needless to say, we flew back to New England with several classic stories after driving 2,200 miles in a week. For instance, I tried peeing in his friend’s dresser at 3am after she was kind enough to let us crash at her San Francisco apt. for the night. Luckily, I heeded her pleas and instead sprinted back into the
living room, looked around frantically (according to Charlie, I looked like Speedy Gonzalez) before running to the bathroom. At this point, her boyfriend was awake and laughing hysterically, though Charlie was not pleased. He yelled at me as I grabbed a towel from the linen closet and draped it around my waste. My only words to him were, “I’m going long-school, Charlie. If you wanna go short-school, that’s fine, but
I’m goin’ long-school.” A normal human being might’ve been embarrassed the next morning. Lucky for me, I’m clearly not normal.

Toon Into Your Inner Self

2005-11-26T12:08:00.000-05:00

Ever wonder which cartoon character most resembles you? Um, yeah, me neither. But let’s say for the sake of this blog that people do think of such things. I’m curious to hear your answers, and don’t take the easy way out and find a character who looks like you (sorry, T-Rock, you’ll have to pick someone other than Smurfette). I’ll start you out w/ my answer.

If this survey were based on looks, I’d clearly be best compared to He-Man. But since it’s a personality test of sorts, I will offer up someone known for wit, humor, and a knack for having fun. Someone who knows when to be serious and when to be silly. Someone who’s not afraid to speak out against wrongdoings, a character who possesses unassuming intelligence and an array of sarcastic remarks. Someone who forces others to think. The truest cartoon example of my personality would be none other than...

Tryptophan Thinking (Part One)

2005-11-24T23:58:00.000-05:00

While watching Good Will Hunting tonight, I realized that I, just like Matt Damon’s character, have no idea what I want to do with my life. I had it all figured out a couple years ago, knew exactly what lay ahead. Now, closer to age 30 than 20, I’m absolutely clueless. I realize what my life won’t be like, who won’t be included and where I won’t live. Is this how it works? Do I just keep crossing people, places and jobs off a list of possible futures until I end up w/ a final product, like a children’s game involving folded paper and possible endings (Mash)?

As I sit here digesting turkey and stuffing, thoughts on life, past and future, weigh on me like a turkey stuck on my head. OK, so I saw it on Friends tonight, but I imagine it would weigh a lot. On the preceding Friends episode, Rachel tells Tag (her staff member she’s obsessed with) that she assumes everything in life will just work out. Her reasoning? Because it will. Although I share that philosophy, my definition is probably quite different. Some people are meant to find their perfect job, marry the perfect person, buy a house and start a family. I have friends like this. Others are destined to bounce around from career to career, occasionally date and live commitment-free in an apt. w/ no lease. Is there any evidence that one scenario is better than the other?

It’s taken me 25 years to figure out some of the things at which I excel, things I know I do better than others. Unfortunately, many of these attributes don’t parlay into paying jobs. For instance, there’re very few paychecks for someone who remembers everything. People aren’t lining up to learn how to hack (aka “play hackeysack”). And no one wants to hire someone because he’s mastered the art of peeing in the most inopportune locations while sleepwalking drunk.

So what else am I good at? Well, I’m definitely not good at identifying emotions. Seriously, I’m virtually hollow inside, often oblivious to other people’s feelings. As Modest Mouse sings, “I don’t feel and it feels great.” I can also be too laid back sometimes, a far cry from the person I was in high school, when I relished conflict. If conflict were a drug, I would’ve been doing lines of it off a hooker’s chest. Did I mention I suck at time management? But enough about the bad, here’re some things I do really, really well.

Lying – I don’t know why I’m so good at being dishonest (storytelling, as I like to call it), but it’s a talent I’m happy to have in my repertoire. As George Costanza once said, “It’s not a lie if you truly believe it.” The secret is knowing in your mind that what you’re saying is the truth. My vivid imagination also aids me in concocting some cockamamie story when in a bind. When my team got busted for drinking in AmeriCorps, we had a face-to-face meeting w/ Cecil, our unit leader (the position just below the head of our campus). I distinctly remember sitting on the dirt “field” w/ my teammates, listening to our team leader prep us for the possibility of being kicked out of the program. A lot was riding on this meeting. Finally, she made it clear we needed to designate one person and only one person to tell “the story” to Cecil. Everyone’s eyes immediately focused on me, and that’s when I knew I’d been chosen to take the game-winning shot. Our immediate futures were in my hands, and I had to deliver. And like any crucial David Ortiz at-bat, I succeeded. I convinced Cecil we hadn’t been drinking in our apartment, thus saving the year for my Ameri-friends and myself. Clutch.

Writing – Wow, you're thinking, what an arrogant bastard. This may be true to some degree, but it’s extremely important for people to know their strengths and weaknesses. Throughout college and even afterward, friends have told me I need to find a job writing. That’s a great idea, though I’m not sure how much money these blog posts and my notebooks of poetry could rake in. Then again, I have spent a year living on food stamps, so I’m definitely capable of living po’ once mo’. Know wut ahm sayin’, foo?

Scroll down for the second half of this post.

Tryptophan Thinking (Part Two)

2005-11-24T23:50:00.000-05:00

Scroll up to read the first half of this post.

Working w/ Kids – I love working outdoors. I love working w/ kids. Working at a camp is a no-brainer, right? Aside from being a writer, working with children is the profession my friends most often recommend. Again, the monetary limitations of teaching young people while wearing shorts and a tshirt burst the find-a-career bubble. It’s too bad, cuz I love camp songs/cheers, know a slew of games and I look damn sexy wearing mesh shorts and my famous blue sunglasses.

Pickup Lines – The best way to practice them is w/ friends of the opposite sex. Unless you’re gay, in which case I assume it’d be better to try the lines on your same-sex friends before testing them in battle. I spent a half hour last night swapping lines w/ a coed acquaintance in a crowded bar. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun talking to a girl while sober (hooray for the designated driver). Unfortunately, I can’t divulge anything in my arsenal until I receive the patents. Then again, I’ll never actually use ‘em, so who cares? Hint: The more ridiculous, the better.

Cracking Jokes – Is Mystery Science Theatre 3000 looking for a new voice? Is it even on TV anymore? Aside from chiming in w/ sarcastic remarks at social gatherings, my wit is pretty much useless. Sigh.

Creating Nicknames – Whether it’s Charlie, Amber, Frat Adam or Ace and Gary (all Ameri-nicknames), I have a knack for discovering wonderful, long-lasting nicknames for others. I even created my own in AmeriCorps, which is totally against nickname rules (think Costanza as T-Bone). But for some reason, J$ stuck, which was fine w/ me. In fact, I’ll prove to you (or die tryin’) I’m a nickname wiz. Just email me someone for whom you seek a nickname, and I’ll try my darndest to please you. At least I’ll be sure to think it’s great. After all, life’s all about making yourself happy. Once that occurs, everything else will fall into place. To quote Rob in Swingers, “You gotta let go of the past, Mike, and when you do, I’m telling you, the future is beautiful.” Sadly, it takes some people longer than others to follow that advice. But, like drinking and the planets, everyone moves at a different pace.

A Star is Born

2005-11-22T10:52:00.000-05:00

It happened once a year for at least 5 years; it was the stuff grownup stories are made of, the ones we tell our significant others in bed or coworkers at happy hour. Or sometimes we tell our sibling’s friends in at attempt to embarrass them…but surprisingly, many relate, some even have parallel tales.
Maybe it’s because deep down, everyone wants to be a star.
Our Thanksgiving skits started as an attempt on my part to recreate an in-school production of the first thanksgiving. Of course, all tales involving Native Americans become slightly skewed by us white folk, so not only did we have a Pocahontas, we had a John Smith, a Sacagawea, a variety of rivaling chiefs and their helpers. And they all managed to come together for dinner, transcending time and lifelong feuds.
I remember seeing my parents and grandparents in the audience during the first skit I participated in with my kindergarten class. It’s my first memory of trying to be cool- trying to get rid of my family after our performance. I remember being embarrassed that they came to watch, shrugging off their hugs and rushing them out the door as they left. Trying to look independent like other kids. Then, as I watched them walk away, I was very, very sad. My first memory of guilt.
So in an attempt to recreate that skit at home, I enlisted my younger siblings. My baby sister was used as a baby Jesus…obviously not present at the first Thanksgiving, but it somehow made sense at the time. As years passed, we created costumes, props, musical accompaniment. Each year we would start practicing the night before, and by 10 am the next day, we had a 2-act play. My parents were good sports and took time out of turkey preparation to watch us butcher the story, perform dance numbers and spread dried corn gourds all over their carpet. We even had a bow and arrow, constructed out of sticks and ancient arrowheads passed down from my grandfather. I remember one year creating a tree with a hundred leaves, made from construction paper and straws.
At the time, I felt lucky to have my brother and sister because it meant that my vision as a director could be fulfilled. It was never a one man show, we were always 3 strong. I now realize that 3 strong isn’t only applicable to Thanksgiving skits, but to everything in my life. I will never be alone.

Practice makes perfect

2005-11-18T16:05:00.000-05:00

Time flies when you are spending it with a 9 year old. Maybe it’s because you have to think about their well being, their happiness, their safety every moment you spend with them. Last weekend we had “duty” of the Greggster’s nine-year-old cousin. We did everything from seeing a movie (Zaratha or Zanthura or Zantac, I’m not sure what it was called) to eating conveyor belt sushi, to visiting the monuments to an NBA game (actually that was just the boys. They had “guy time”.)

This isn’t just any 9 year old. Sadly, this sweet little boy lost his daddy last year to a massive heart attack. Since that time he has been the man of the house, helping to raise his younger sister, console his mother, and cater to his grandmother. We visited him last summer and he told us that he missed “guy time”. He missed having a dad to watch sports with, someone to play catch with, a person to videotape his football games. So we decided to take a more active role in his life, the culmination of which was this weekend’s trip.

I think it was good practice for when we have children of our own…that is when Greggster forces me to pop out half a dozen of the little critters. But I thought I’d post today some of my favorite quotes from the weekend….a la nine year old…

“You know, this is one of those times that I like to use the saying, nothing lost, nothing gained.” (That’s right, he is nine.)

“I am a good investor. I bet I’m better at investing than you.” (Conversation with his 55-year old aunt.)

“If we get my sister a hat that says CIA on it, it could stand for Crazy, Idiot Asshole.”

“We just decided to go somewhere else so the lady wouldn’t give us more shit.” (Referring to a hostess at the ESPN Zone)

“Some Bozo.” (his response to my question, “Who is that a statue of?”)

And my favorite conversation of the weekend…
9 year old: Gregg, stop being such a pussy.
Me: Um, where did you hear that?
9YO: on the radio
Me: Do you know what it means?
9YO: No. Well, maybe, yeah. It’s a cat.
Me: Ok, well, its one of those words that means one thing to some people, and something really upsetting to other people. SO DON”T SAY IT.
9YO: Ok.

Kids. They keep you on your toes.

This Link Says it All

2005-11-09T13:29:00.000-05:00

Beer Money

2005-10-28T19:27:00.000-04:00

Before I begin, understand that I’m sitting at my boss’ desk at 7pm on a Friday, wearing black coveralls and a long black wig. No, I don’t have a date tonight. I’m actually the star attraction of the haunted hallway at the annual YMCA Halloween Extravaganza. Every 10 min., my boss comes by w/ the latest tour group and opens the door. I flip on some scary Pink Floyd song and turn in the swivel chair to face the kids, the computer screen’s glow the only light in the room, illuminating my face. Then I stand up and scream, throwing my hands up and begin walking toward them w/ outstretched hands. Granted, it’s no gorilla suit running through T-Rock’s party, but I’ve definitely made a few kids cry tonight. Yes, I am the camp director.

So I made 75 bucks on Wed. just by telling people what I think. I’ve always known my opinions are worth something, but I never thought it was $50/hr. K-Man forwarded me an email looking for men ages 23-29 to take part in a focus group. Other than age, the only prerequisite was a love for beer. Holy smokes, that’s me!

For an hour and a half, I sat w/ seven other guys and discussed Sam Adams beer as a very cute woman prompted us with questions. Behind her was a mirror that spanned the wall. She was sure to inform us before we began that her colleagues would be watching us from behind the double-sided glass. We were also being videotaped. I thought about picking my nose and listening for laughter from behind the glass, but worried I wouldn’t get my money if I did.

I instead offered my opinions on radio ads and packaging for six-packs. The other guys were somewhat creative, but I definitely got some looks when I went off on tangents about redesigning the entire box. The marketing girl was definitely turned on when I suggested keeping the basement scene for Sam Adams Light, but illuminating “Sam Adams Light” with a basement light.

At the end, she asked me for my email address, to which I obliged. OK, so she asked everyone for their email address, but I think she was just being nice to the rest. I also made $75 for eating free sandwiches and sharing my thoughts on beer. Not too shabby for a Wed. afternoon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go scare some more kids.

Night of the Living Dad

2005-10-26T14:07:00.000-04:00

As a kid I dreamed about having a party to celebrate the two best days October has to offer- my birthday and Halloween. My parents made this dream come true in 1991. My friends received invitations to my haunted birthday party and were asked to wear costumes. I believe this was the same year as my two headed lady catastrophe, so my costume only stayed on for half the party…but not to worry, I had a glow in the dark skeleton shirt on underneath. It matched my skeleton earrings and went well with my dark blue jams. (That’s right, JAMS! I said it! There! I’m a nerd!)

The festivities began at 7 with cake shaped like a spider and a stern warning from my mom that a convict had escaped a local prison. The news of the convict scared a few of my friends, but not enough to ruin bobbing for apples or the pumpkin decorating contest.
The news did, however, make us a little uneasy about the scavenger hunt my parents had planned for us in our backyard. But when 15 girls get hopped up on candy corn and spider cake, sugar shock makes them a little bold. So we decided we’d scavange through the 2 acres, looking for clues and various hidden items in the grass. With a prize like Bonne Bell lip smackers at stake, you take your chances, know what I mean?

What happened that night is now a blur of memories. But I think the real fun started when my dad, unbeknownst to the rest of us, set off a series of fire crackers from behind a tree deep into the yard. It sounded like missiles. Our screams and flailing bodies were enough to keep us distracted while he got the tractor started, which he then sent screeching up the yard with a bloody head lit up on it’s seat. Fifteen girls, fireworks, screaming, detached heads. Total Chaos.

None of this prepared us for what happened next.

As we ran towards the house, I think it was Suzy who first noticed the sound coming from the bushes. We stopped dead in our tracks, as we had almost reached the back door- our safety from whatever the hell was happening in the backyard. When we turned to see where the noise was coming from, we saw what can only be described as a giant hairy “It”, running through the yard, in all black, with a chain saw roaring in the night.

I’m not an athletic girl. I mean, I was on the swim team for years and took dance lessons all my life, but I throw like a sissy and the only time I was ever described as “fast” was not in the context of running (but seriously, that “fast” was just a rumor.) But I can assure you that day, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I clamored over my friends, pulling shirts and hair and whatever else would get me ahead of them and into the house the quickest. As we made our way into the den, slamming and locking the back door behind us, Kati started to cry. Then Jessica started to cry.

My mom acted like she had no idea what was really going on. Over the next half an hour, she convinced us that, not only had we just had a run in with an escape convict, but that my dad was missing. Probably the criminal’s latest victim. Was it dad’s head on the tractor?

We would never know. As the night came to an end, and mothers came to our door to retrieve their daughters, most of which had probably pissed their pants, my brother, sister and I stuck close to our own mother. There were a lot of smirks going on amongst the adults, but my worry and fear kept me oblivious to their meaning. When everyone left for the night, we looked at my mom in terror, wondering why the police had not been called, why dad was missing, and what we were going to do about it.

But in the time it took me to get out the words, “This was the worst birthday ever”, my daddy had materialized, coming down from the roof, dressed in a gorilla costume.

His first words to me? Not, surprise! Or, happy birthday! Or, sorry I made your friends piss their pants, but rather, “The gorilla suit was last minute. I wanted to wear something else, but your mom thought this would really scare you guys. It was really hot in there.”

Some of those girls never came back to my house.

From Cartoons to Vegetables

2005-10-25T18:43:00.000-04:00

Some folks don’t take Halloween quite as seriously as T-Rock. I’ve survived just as many last days of October as my blogmate, but I cannot go into quite as much detail as she. With that, I leave you w/ my top five Halloween costumes (in descending order).

5) Go-Bot, 1985 – Don’t get me wrong, this costume was awful. I think of that year every time I listen to the Seinfeld bit on Halloween, when he mentions the plastic mask w/ the cheap rubber band holding it on, and it keeps breaking and the mask keeps getting tighter until you can’t breathe. I just remember panicking that night as trick-or-treating hours loomed (in New York City, you do not exceed the set hours for fear of gunshot wounds). My mom and I were desperately trying to make a robot costume out of a cardboard box. The box was too wide, however, and resulted in me walking around the room w/ my arms out like a muscle-bound frat guy looking for freshman girls. Then my dad came home w/ a yellow Go-Bot costume he bought on his way home from work. And that, my friends, is how my dad saved Halloween.

4) Roger Rabbit, 1989 – My mom made the entire costume from scratch, and it was awesome. If I still had the rabbit ears, and a girlfriend, I’d give them to her for a Playboy bunny costume. Luckily, I don’t have to worry about either.

3) Kobe Bryant, 2003 – Just before the NBA season tipped off, I decided to finally take the easy way out and dress as a pro athlete. After his tumultuous summer, Kobe was an easy target. I constructed my own Lakers jersey and wore it w/ matching shorts. I then found some leaves and women’s clothes and made a scarecrow, its head a balloon w/ an “expressive” face. I sewed the back of the dummy’s waist to the front of mine and met my fellow party-goers, being sure to keep one hand around the dummy’s neck. Much like my personality, everyone either hated it or loved it as I received high-fives and disgusted looks throughout the night.

2b) Superman, 1999 – Less than two months into my Elon career, some friends were headed to Chapel Hill for the famous Franklin Street Halloween festivities. Needless to say, I needed an affordable, creative costume. I ended up wearing a girl’s Superman t-shirt (waaaaay too tight on me), blue windpants, long red socks, red Filas, red boxer briefs (over the windpants), and a shiny nylon cape w/ a beautiful “S” on the back. Looking back on it, the costume wasn’t that great. Then again, neither were those friends.

2a) Superman, 1983 – Again my mom made the entire costume by hand, and it was dead-on. I have a picture of myself that night, for some reason, and the resemblance is uncanny. If Superman had white-blond hair and an ‘80s haircut, Lois Lane wouldn’t be able to tell us apart.

1) Eggplant Man, 2001-2002 – Easily my most famous creation, Eggplant Man was born at summer camp 2001. During a counselor skit, I fished out a full-body purple spandex suit from the drama closet and immediately became Britney Spears (check out her Oops, I Did It Again video, over and over and over…). So two months later, when my friends and I decided to hit up Franklin St. our senior year, I racked my brain for a costume that involves purple spandex. I luckily found a green beehive wig at Walmart, and instantly became Eggplant Man. The logo on my chest said it all, and may very well be the only eggplant I ever draw. I wore it again the next year during the AmeriCorps Halloween bowling party. Days later I nabbed the best g/f ever. Coincidence, or power of the giant vegetable? We may never know.

And my mime costume didn't even make the list...

2005-10-24T12:52:00.000-04:00

We carved a pumpkin and it rotted…I toasted pumpkin seeds and it gave the Greggster a stomach ache….and now the idea of nothing to do on Halloween is making me sad….so today I will reminisce about great costumes from the past.
1. Lady Smurf
Talk about great parents…I had blue makeup and an adorable little white dress. The perfect costume for me because yes, I am a lady. A classy lady. A smurf lady.
2. Two headed lady
One year I told my parents I wanted to make my own costume without their help, so I used this fake head my mom brought home from her art studio and attached it to a pole and a harness, which I slung over my shoulder and carried for an excruciating 3 hours. Towards the end of the night I took the head and the harness off, and walked around in what was leftover- a black shirt and pants. I can’t really remember what I said I was at that point. Maybe I should have exposed the giant bruise the fake head and harness made on my shoulder. At least them I would’ve looked like a battered woman or crash test dummy.
3. Morticia Adams.
I’d repeat this one given the option. A few friends of mine wanted a theme, so we picked the Adams Family…we had a Pugsley, Flora and Fauna, Morticia, Cousin It and Grandma. My dad wasn’t too keen on the idea of letting us roam around the neighborhood by ourselves, so he dressed up as Lurch. He was a good sport. He even did the groaning noises all night. I’m lucky to have this kind of a dad.
4. Red m&m
My mom used a hoola hoop to construct a giant red m&m. I wore a red mask and painted my hair red and looked absolutely adorable. I think I won a prize that year.
5. Heidi Fleiss
Two years ago my roomie and I racked our brain to come up with flirty, funny costumes. We raided our neighbor’s closets, toyed with the idea on naughty schoolgirls, but couldn’t settle into one thing. Then we remember- I had a hot black suit and she had a horrible fur coat….So we were Heidi and a hooker. This was a serious crowd pleaser.
6. Dirty Girl Scout
In another attempt to be sexy, I decided I’d be everyone’s favorite alcoholic beverage. I used my sister’s old Girl Scout costume, a short tight skirt and knee high boots. Unfortunately I saw about 10 other girl scouts that night….but they were just slutty girl scouts. I had an edge because mine was actually the name of a shot. You see how much smarter I am than other people? I really have that going for me.
7. Miss North Carolina
Remember the scandal a few years ago that involved a certain Miss Carolina, certain ex boyfriend and certain naughty pictures that were taken “without her knowledge”? I was working at a bar that year and the other hostess and I both dressed up as Miss North Carolina…the naughty one and the one who took over her crown…We told people if they could guess which was which, they could see the nude pictures that were taken. No one answered correctly. Can you imagine?
8. Snow White
In an attempt to not be sexy, but rather stay warm and not embarrass myself, seven college friends and I painted t shirts and quite easily became Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. We even had little dwarf hats for them, and I wore a red ribbon. We got a lot of compliments that year, mostly from drunk girls who were freezing cold in their mini skirts and tank tops. Losers.
9. Lydia from the movie Beetle juice
Totally obscure but great costume…by the end of the night I told people I was a witch, just so I didn’t have to explain it anymore. Some people have no imagination.
10. Supportive Girlfriend
Last year, the Marine Corps Marathon was on Halloween, so instead of wearing a costume, I wore a water bottle, a fanny pack and a camera, and trudged along the marathon course with my future mother in law, cheering on our men, taking pictures, and drinking free samples of Michelob Light. Oh, and gagging about all the bloody nipples we saw. I’m not kidding.
11. A Princess
Most girls have been princesses at some point in their lives, right? My mom was working at a costume and art studio at the time, and got a hold of this incredible white and gold medieval princess costume for me. It was beaded and totally over the top, a dress fit for a real princess. I however, felt like it needed something….so I wore a green metallic wig, just to really drive home the point that my childhood and imagination were really out of the ordinary. I think my brother was a bull matador that year. Who ARE we????

Letter to a Professional Athlete

2005-10-20T14:14:00.000-04:00

Dear Ricky Davis,

Stop wearing my mutton chops. I rock 'em way better than you ever will.

Sincerely,
J-Mazz

My First Marathon

2005-10-19T15:23:00.000-04:00

So I ran my first marathon on Sunday. Well, not the entire marathon. It was actually a little less than a full marathon. It was more like the last two miles of the 26.2-mile course. Did I mention it was really windy?

One of my Ameri-friends, K-Man, ran the entire Bay State Marathon. He finished in an impressive 3:20:40 (that’s three hours, not three days). I waited for him at Mile 24, watching runners and cars cut through the ugly landscape known as Lowell, Mass. Seriously, Lowell is a hole.

By now you’re probably wondering the significance of running the final two miles of a marathon with a friend. I failed to mention I ran those two miles holding a boombox, blasting motivational tunes for my tired friend. As soon as I saw him approach, I pushed the play button and started running, remembering I hadn’t stretched after sleeping on the floor the night before (no, I’m not married).

I assumed K-Man would be thrilled to see me. After he failed to show much emotion, I remembered he’d been running for three hours and decided to let it slide. Our conversation was a struggle, too, considering I really have no idea what to say to someone who’s just run 24 miles and still hasn’t finished. Plus, I was hungover.

J-Mazz: How’s it goin?
K-Man: All right.
J-Mazz (two min. later): So, is this your first marathon?
K-Man: (shakes his head and holds up two fingers)

Luckily, we could find common ground in the mix tape I’d made the night before. Yes, I’ve heard of CD burners, but mix tapes don’t skip when they’re jostled. Plus, I wanted to relive my romantic days of high school, back before I had more baggage than a 747.

I immediately noticed his pace picked up during the first tune, the Rocky theme song. Fans along the course cheered extra hard for us, hearing the music long before we passed them. The inspirational melodies quickly transitioned to Pearl Jam’s “Rearview Mirror,” which got K-Man going even faster. I think my pace pulled him along, as well. As we approached one runner, he turned around and said, “Yeah!” That’s the extent of excitement from runners near the end of a marathon. I appreciated it.

The quick pace continued with “Welcome to the Jungle.” This got everyone pumped as we passed a water table. Down the victory stretch, Outkast’s “B.O.B.” chimed in as we rounded the corner and headed for the minor league baseball stadium, signaling the end of our arduous journey was near. Just as we entered the stadium, Outkast ended and “Eye of the Tiger” began. I held the boombox over my head and ran behind K-Man as we followed the course along the warning track, crossing the finish line at home plate together, instant legends of the Bay State Marathon.

I'm now training for my next 1/13 marathon.

My Hometown Newspaper

2005-10-12T18:44:00.000-04:00

After last weekend's flooding in my hometown of Keene, NH, I thought I'd check out the Keene Sentinel's webpage for some local news. I was treated to a hearty laugh after reading this week's online poll and choices. Enjoy...

On Wednesday night, 150 residents gathered to discuss future improvements to Keene's downtown. Sentinel staffers have come up with a list of six improvements they'd like to see in the next 20 years but we need your input to help us pick three. We'll publish your top three choices in a coming issue of The Sentinel.

___ Cheesecake Factory

___ River Walk

___ Monorail

___ Space Needle

___ Teen Center

___ More Pizza Joints

Side note: Keep in mind Keene boasts 20,000 residents (25k when college is in session). How anyone can lump pizza and The Cheesecake Factory w/ a Monorail and Space Needle is beyond me. That's like asking a high school junior if he'd rather have sex with the cute girl in his math class or Jessica Simpson.

Not a snowball's chance...

2005-10-12T11:58:00.000-04:00

Today I realized I am probably too old to be cast on the Real World. I am officially an old fart. However, I am not too old to be cast on Big Brother, or Survivor. So there's that.
I am probably too heavy to be cast on America's Top Model.
I am too thin to be on The Biggest Loser.
I am too grossed out to be cast on Fear Factor.
I am too bad with following directions to be cast on The Amazing Race.
I'm not good enough at taking direction, so I won't be cast on Martha's Apprentice
I laugh too much at Trump's hair to be cast on his Apprentice.
I am engaged, so I can't be on The Bachelor or The Bachelorette (or I guess I could, but that would be scandalous and I'd probably get dumped and/or punched)
I am not a B or C or D celebrity, so I won't get cast on Surreal Life or Celebrity Mole, or Celebrity Boxing.
I am not hot enough for Are You Hot?
I am not repulsive or odd enough for Extreme Makeover
My house has not been hit by a tornado or extreme poverty and I'm not missing a mother or father or limb, so I probably will never be suprised by Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
I don't live in the Los Angeles or New York area, so despite trying, The Greggster will never get help from the Fab Five on Queer Eye.
I REFUSE to apply for Temptation Island
I'm not funny enough for Last Comic Standing
I'm not talented enough for American Idol
I'm not desperate enough to apply for The 70's House

I think the only chance I have, here, is to show up on a really bad hair day at Jonathan Salon, willing to shell out about a thousand dollars and hope to God that I show up on Blow Out. Maybe like a nice before and after shot?

When the Shit Hits the Blow-dryer

2005-10-11T17:12:00.000-04:00

I knew everything would go awry yesterday as soon as I learned I'd be the only director on-duty here at the Y. All the other directors were probably recovering from their respective Columbus Day parties. I, on the other, was just recovering from a cold.

A number of incidents occurred yesterday, but nothing can compete w/ the guy who got electrocuted in the men's locker room. He filled out an incident report and everything. How, you may be wondering, did he electrocute himself??? He was blow-drying his ass. I have the incident report to prove it.

Just another day at the YMCA.

Mating

2005-10-10T15:05:00.000-04:00

How's that for a heading? So anyway, I was looking through my wallet over the weekend (it rained a lot) and discovered a list I created my sophomore year of college. The topic? Characteristics of an ideal girlfriend/wife. Granted, those things have changed somewhat, but some still ring true. Here are 10 traits I now need in a woman. She must:

1. not be an only child
2. be physically active (the exercise kind, though the other kind is great, too)
3. not have a cat
4. be able to make me laugh, and not laugh at everything I say
5. appreciate poetry
6. be self-confident
7. enjoy live music (anything w/out actual instruments doesn't count)
8. take less than an hour to get ready to go out
9. genuinely like the taste of beer
10. be smart (I don't need an aeronautical engineer, but I don't want an airhead)

This is a Long Drive for Someone w/ Nothing to Think About

2005-09-27T01:02:00.000-04:00

It took me 45 minutes to realize the scattering of white pieces all over tonight’s rain-slicked road was actually frog guts. I remember no more than 20 minutes of my drive home tonight, leaving work at 9:45pm and getting to my parents’ house in NH at 11:15pm. It’s amazing how easily a mind can wander when fatigue mixes w/ iced hazelnut coffee, all beneath a wet foggy night. I’m not a coffee drinker, unless I need to stay awake, so I may be way out of line here when I say the taste of iced hazelnut falls somewhere between prune juice and navel lint on the edibility ladder. I digress.

As I drove past nodding trees and high-hopping frogs (seriously, they get a few feet of air w/ each jump), I began to think back to where I was on this date years ago. Last year I was enjoying the last few days of my paid month vacation (after being fired) in AmeriCorps*VISTA, fully believing I’d have to work at Maggie Moo’s if I didn’t find another VISTA position by Oct. 1.

Two years ago I was backpacking through Europe w/ my (now ex-) girlfriend, trying to capture the beauty of the landscape and the beauty of her and bottle it up as a souvenir of our month overseas. Despite the happiness, it was difficult for me to enjoy knowing she would be starting another year of AmeriCorps a few months later, traveling all over, leaving me behind. Those four weeks abroad felt like an October afternoon, warm and colorful, checkered leaves throwing color ahead of approaching clouds that will soon carry snow.

I was driving cross-country at the end of September 2002, hoping Larry (my Acura Legend w/ 210k miles) would survive the looming Rockies. Fresh out of college, I felt invincible, confident I’d thrive out west during my 10 months of AmeriCorps*NCCC, hoping to make some lifelong friends. A new beginning awaited me on the left coast, the setting sun swallowing me each evening as I pressed onward for California, leaving behind everything I knew. A person can do a lot of thinking while driving 3,500 miles by themselves. I didn’t waste the opportunity.

I found myself again thinking behind the wheel tonight, feeling an occasional chill as I watched New England flash its first autumn poses. The cars sharing the road made me wonder where they were going, to whom their drivers were returning or escaping. I thought of all the weight I’ve dragged in recent years, seemingly always hurting more as fall closes the door on summer.

On a side note, my dad just came downstairs wearing nothing but teal briefs. No wonder I’m so screwed up. He’s peeing now, as I can hear every drop through the Lohan-thin walls of this old house.

So anyway, I was sitting on my deck w/ my friend KCDC the other night when she asked me where I saw myself in five years. The question’s simplicity threw me for a minute, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I didn’t even know how to answer. All these grey years of looking three cars ahead have brought my gaze closer to the pavement before me, the potholes and passing lanes that now fill my life. These days I don’t drive so fast.

What a Crock.

2005-09-20T16:00:00.000-04:00

I had a peaceful weekend. I used my crock pot for the very first time, and if that doesn’t mean you’re a grownup I don’t know what does. I didn’t cook from a recipe, but rather memory, and I think it always turns out better that way, doesn’t it?

I’m not the only person who cooks that way. My Great Uncle Lou made it his mission a few years ago to teach me the family "secret recipe" for spaghetti and crabs. It starts with simmering garlic in olive oil, includes cans of the cheapest tomatoes you can find, and is best eaten with a loaf of very crusty yet doughy in the middle Italian bread. If you can smother that bread in garlic you roasted in the oven, even better. Anyway it was perfect the first time we made it together. When I went for a pen to write it all down he smiled and said, “The best recipes are the ones we remember because they are so good that we can’t forget them. Don’t write it down, just remember it.” If you knew my Uncle Lou, you’d be surprised that he was sober enough to come up with something that profound, but it’s true.

I didn’t write the recipe down that day or any other day, and I have made spaghetti and crabs many times. I usually make it when we have leftover crabs from the day before- a day where we woke up way too early, caught too many crabs and couldn’t get enough of their sweet buttery taste. So the next day my dad will say, “What if you make spaghetti today?” And I always do. I also make it when we have company. I remember a few summers ago my great grandmother and several other relatives were visiting from Pennsylvania, and my dad asked me to cook. I spent most of the day in the kitchen, figuring out how to stretch the recipe out a little bit, stirring simmering garlic, basil, parsley. My great grandmother was one of the early influences in my passion and obsession for the kitchen. When I was young my dad would drop me off at her house and I’d marvel at the way she could make Italian ribbon cookies and meatballs, sweep a floor and cuss at the tenants upstairs in Italian, all at once. She was invincible, the strongest, coolest 85 year old woman I knew. So when she told me the spaghetti was wonderful, it was the best compliment in the world from my biggest critic.

Now I am convinced that the best meals are prepared by memory, taste and feel. Add dinner to the list of things in life that we cannot script, handle the same every time, or prepare for with a book.

Top Ten things I thought I would Outgrow

2005-09-06T15:51:00.000-04:00

But (unfortunately) Have Not:

1. Eating till I feel sick
2. Snorting when I laugh
3. Binge Drinking
4. Saying the F-word
5. Opening my big, fat mouth
6. Peanut butter and chocolate
7. Not being able to keep a secret
8. Pet names
9. My ears
10. Daytime TV

What are yours?

A man in chef's clothes

2005-08-31T14:45:00.000-04:00

This morning I saw a man in chef’s clothes- the white shirt with buttons and mock collar. It looked like his name, or maybe a restaurant’s name was on the lapel. He was wearing black and white pants and those great rubber clogs. On his back, he carried a bag that held, as I can only imagine, special knives or other instruments that make meals incredible. It was like a bag of magic tricks, I felt.
There is a building we walk by on occasion, on a corner near Adams Morgan, that is half-demolished, half waiting for someone to own it and love it. It’s huge and stands out, it’s gutted and something about it is waiting to become a restaurant. We have walked by it and talked about it and dreamt up plans for it. What if we bought it? What if we made it a restaurant? What if we made it a great bar? Or a sushi place?
I wonder- at what point in life, can you ever be truly satisfied with what you have? Is this a kind of yearning that will always make me want to do something different, or do I really only feel this way because I'm not following some dream i have or once had? Am I unsatisfied by nature, or because I'm supposed to be someone else?
I have an office with a huge window that brings great sunlight in the mornings. I have a nice desk and a comfortable chair and a job that lets me work hard, and also write for this blog, and occasionally shop online….I have coffee in the morning and friends at work and sometimes we even take walks.
But this morning, when I saw that chef, I could hardly imagine what it would be like to have a life so different than mine. And even though I could hardly imagine it, I think I wanted it. I wanted the clogs.

The Running of the Brides

2005-08-22T15:09:00.000-04:00

I know, I know, my wedding is the subject of too many entries (Bite me, J-Mazz) But this is a story that has to be told….and so it is.

Filene’s Basement holds an annual, traveling sale that is most affectionately referred to as, “The Running of the Brides”. They buy a huge selection of designer wedding gowns and bring them from store to store, slashing prices and bringing incredible gowns to giddy brides for a fraction of their original cost.

I have been waiting for this year’s sale since last year’s sale….when I was not engaged. My mom and I stumbled upon the sale one drunken afternoon. Two pina coladas and a few bloody mary’s deep we went shopping in Friendship Heights, and you can imagine our surprise when we went down Filene’s escalator and found wedding gowns in place of discounted Coach bags and Franco Sardo slingbacks. We did what any half-cocked, mother-daughter pair would do- danced around in wedding gowns. I found my dream dress that day for $250. I vowed to come back and claim her once I was engaged.

So, as the picture shows, my mom, sister and I spent the early hours of the morning camped out in front of Filene’s on August 5. We arrived at 3:30 am and found a line had already started forming…a line that included brides, bridesmaids, and a group of 4 men holding a spot for one of their fiancés and 14 other of her closest friends/church group….remember that they were a church group, it’ll come back into the story a little later, I promise you. Ohhh, do I promise you.

Around 6:30 am I left to pick up Abby. When we returned, the sun was out and the brides were ready to rock and roll. At 7 they let us into the mall, where we would stand outside until 8 am when they opened the doors. My group was the 5th group in line, behind a few people who had been there since the night before, the church group and a relatively normal girl and her mother.

It was about this time that the church group decided we didn’t none have enough Jesus in our lives, and that Jesus also needed to focus all of his attention that day on getting their friend a dress (you know, as opposed to like, helping find peace in Iraq, fix the ozone layer, helping the BackStreet Boys have a better comeback album. Those sorts of things.) Soooo, they started praying, singing, clapping hands, jumping up and down, preaching, yelling, and crying. The crying was the best, or the worst. All the while it made for a very uncomfortable situation for me and all others involved. Only one thing could remedy the situation of the Jesus freaks…and that was free food.

Towards the front of the line was a huge table with complimentary baked goods and a chocolate fountain with strawberries. When my sister, Abby and I spotted the strawberries we headed up to take a look and get a sample. It was then that some dumb, crazy, crazy bitch put her hand out in front of me and every so manically pushed my shoulder.

“No! No! You can’t come up here! This is a line! You have to get in line! I have been here all night!” she whined. Her eyes were crazy, did I mention that? Big, crazy eyes.

I tried to reason with her, explain that I. too, was in line, but just wanted a strawberry.

Her mom then started yelling in this half frenetic, half really really sad and maybe sorta tired and on crack voice, “We’ve been here since 8 pm!! You can’t do this to us!!!”

Sadly, this is all very very true and I wouldn’t even have the creativity to make it up. This went on for about 1-2 minutes, whereupon my sassy 19-year-old sister told the girl to take a chill pill, get out of our way, we were having a strawberry. She sorta did….
…but took that defeat as a reason to start fighting with the even sassier black girl coming up for strawberries behind us. Not only did she put her hand on this girl’s shoulder, she pushed her. It was the WRONG MOVE. It turned into a scene from a very bad movie, where two girls fought (“Oh, no you didn’t!!! Oh no you didn’t? Who you think you are? I’m gonna kick yo little ass!!!!”) the cops came, and FOX was there to catch it all on TV.

It would not be the only fight caught by cops and FOX that day; later on an argument between two women who grabbed the same dress was diffused by two officers, two TV cameras and two daughters who were so pissed at their moms for fighting that they probably left the store without any dress at all.

But I got a dress….did I ever. When they opened the doors at 8 am, my sister and I took off like greased owl shit (National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation). We were two of the first people to get through the doors, despite the extremely crazy bitch in the front of the line, and the police, and the other brides in line in front of us. I felt adrenaline pumping through my veins and all of a sudden it became a very, very desperate situation…which might have been due to the fact that I got very excited about finding the perfect dress, or the fact that not too far behind me there were at least 200 crazy, sleep deprived women and their crazy sleep deprived mothers and their crazy, sleep deprived fiancés.

I grabbed at the first rack of dresses I saw. Employees of the store lined the racks, bracing them so when we came in and grabbed dresses, they wouldn’t topple people….But people managed to get toppled anyway. My mom was toppled by someone who broke the strap on her leather Ferragamo bag (Heinous.). My sister was tackled by a bride who elbowed her in the shoulder blade and left a bruise (my sister is a SOLDIER). And poor, poor defenseless Abby got trampled by several people with dresses in hand…when I found her; she was walking around by herself, clutching one dress. “I got so sacred,” she said. “People were like ramming into me. I could only grab one dress. I think I’m going to cry.”

I comforted Abby and brought her over to “homebase”- the little area I had scoped out a few weeks before by a huge mirror towards the front of the store. Sure, it meant anyone coming down the escalator had a front row seat to view my ta-ta’s but who was I to complain? Filene was bringing me a designer dress at a premium price, the least I could do was through her other customers a little boobie action.

I took the one dress Abby managed to grab and laid it on the pile of 25 or so dresses my sister, mom and I had grabbed. I tried on 2 dresses, and then got to Abby’s lone pickup, a lovely cream colored gown. I took the dress out of its bag and I looked inside, checking for the size. If it was too big or really too small, I would put it back in the bag and back on the rack, where another bride or member of her posse would snatch it up quicker than I can say “Holy Matrimony”. I looked inside the dress and I saw the label of all labels- the designer of all wedding dress designers….Our sweet, dear Abby had only grabbed one gown, but she sure as hell grabbed the right one.

“It’s a Vera!! Abby grabbed a Vera Wang! I got a Vera Wang gown!” I laughed and yelled and probably jumped up and down (energy from chocolate covered strawberries) and smiled at my faithful group. We couldn’t believe it, and neither could anyone else…anyone including other customers, Filene’s employees, fiancés, and TV cameramen. I slid the dress on and up over my hips. It felt like it was made for me. The satin of the underskirt felt good against my legs and I think I smiled when Abby and my mom zipped up the back.

It wasn’t what I thought I wanted…but ended up being exactly what I wanted and exactly what I got. At least 10 people stood around me in my Vera and told me how beautiful it was. All that hand stitching. All those beads. And who was I kidding? A ridiculously low price. When I took the gown off, girls circled around me, wanting to try it on, wanting any number of other gowns I still had in a pile. I tried a few more on, but I knew what I wanted. I gladly gave up my giant pile of gowns to those girls, hoping they’d put one on and feel the same way I did when I slid into Vera- like a princess.

It seems like a long story, I know, but I left out a lot- the 15 minute rental of the honeymoon suite (advertised on a flyer distributed throughout the crowd) The guy who showed up in biker shorts with a stereo who tried to get us all to warm up and exercise before we went in, more intimate details about the crazy bitch in the front of the line, the visors my mom made us to wear into the store…

We waited in line for 4.5 hours that morning. My mom and I got into 1.5 fights. My hypoglycemic sister ate 3 granola bars. Combined we used the bathroom 5 times. And it took us less than 1 hour to find the dress of my dreams. I can only hope that in a few shorts years I’ll get to do it all over again with my sister, or Abby, or anyone else who is willing to brave the storm that is the Running of the Brides.

One of Those Days

2005-08-09T18:04:00.000-04:00

Ever have one of those days where everything is just crazy? I dunno if it was the weather or the tide or what, but today was just ridiculous. One of my counselors ended today w/ gauze wrapped around his head. Why, you ask? A 5-year-old threw a rock that hit him in the forehead. It drew blood! Another boy just started crying after a lifeguard asked him if he planned on swimming. To top off the day, I got a call from a parent who was upset about "an incident" that happened at camp today. She'd spoken w/ my asst. director this afternoon and wanted to return to the Y to discuss it further after dropping her kids off at home w/ the father. I went outside to talk w/ my asst. director to find out what was going on. Apparently the 6-year-old boy and his 5-year-old sister won't stop making out. Their counselor found 'em in the playground playhouse this afternoon sucking face. It was not the first time, either. And when I say making out, I mean "french kissing," as my onsite director so adamantly told me two hours ago. Truth is stranger than fiction.

A Weekend in DC (Part Two)

2005-08-04T15:10:00.000-04:00

I awoke Friday and realized I had nothing to do; everyone was already at work. I’d planned to have lunch w/ Tiller down in my old ‘hood (he works at 7th and K), so I gave him a call. It was around 1030am and he sounded in pretty rough shape. He said he wouldn’t be able to meet me for lunch cuz there was a “situation” at work. Before I continue, he works for a nonprofit that mentors HS students in an attempt to prep them for college. So anyway, he couldn’t meet me cuz he instead needed to meet w/ one of the students he oversees. Interning for the summer, she’d tried to break into the safe at her internship the night before. Whoops.

I spent the afternoon walking around DC, including a stop at my old employer, Experience Corps. My former supervisor, Lois, is a 69-year-old sparkplug who remains grateful for the hours I spent teaching her the convenience of creating files on the computer rather than paper. The director, Ann, was also thrilled to see me. She is still hot, but now very pregnant. Everyone in the office said they miss my sense of humor, fun personality and incredible good looks. OK, I made up that last one.

My friend Kern picked me up at 7pm, just before my stomach started eating the surrounding organs. We ended up killing a pizza and a case of beer w/ a lil help from a few Ameri-friends, including her roomie Crazy Jen. Aside from climbing a tree outside the girls’ apt., nothing really stands out. I’ll just say we all got plenty drunk before stopping at Pizza MAAAAAAART on the way home.

I was up at 9am the next morning to catch the 945am Metro. I wasn’t hungover. I was still drunk. My friend Joe and his wife (scary, I know) picked me up at Shady Grove, the end of the Red Line, up in MD. After a brief stop at their friends’, 10 of us headed to the wine fest., the main reason I flew to DC for the weekend. The year before, back in the foods stamps days, I’d achieved legendary status amongst Joe’s and Erin’s friends (when you’re married, you share everything, even friends) by passing out three times over the course of the day. I ended that day passed out on the grass as Joe poured beer on me, yelling, “You’re a disgrace!” We’re very good friends. I’m proud to say there were no embarrassments at Wine Fest. 2005.

My frustrations w/ flying continued the next day as my flight was delayed. The reason? The pilot was late. I’m not kidding. Don’t pilots have a phone tree of other pilots so they can find someone to cover a shift? So anyway, I didn’t get on the plane till 4pm and, just as we were ready to take off (only three planes ahead of us in line), the pilot announced tstorms in the northeast would keep us grounded for a while. After and hour and a half, we returned to the gate. Then the pilot left, telling us his shift was over, he’d flown the max amt. of hours that day, so he was going home. Seriously. Keep in mind the plane’s engines had been shut off a while back, leaving the cabin a lovely 100 degrees Celsius, or so it seemed. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the two guys next to me started talking about fantasy sports, their crowning draft picks and monumental trades, both of them oblivious to me tightly wrapping the headphones cord around my neck.

Around 630pm the new pilot allowed us to get off the plane, enabling passengers to buy dinner, poop in a real toilet or just start walking to Boston. We were warned before leaving the plane, however, to stay near the gate in case he got the go-ahead to depart. I assumed he meant depart for Boston, but he may have meant depart for his house and leave us w/ a third pilot. I quickly grabbed a couple Snickers bars (pronounced “sneakers” by my French mom) and returned to the gate. For some reason the employee at the gate wouldn’t let anyone back on-board until the pilot was cleared to take off. Needless to say, the gate-check person was unable to re-board 150+ passengers in a timely manner, resulting in everyone getting back on the plane just in time for the captain to say we’d again been delayed and would have an update in a half hour. The 340pm flight eventually left at 845pm. How’s that for an Independence Air commercial???

Where have all the Snoop Doggs gone?

2005-08-03T15:33:00.000-04:00

Where is rap music GOING?!?!?!

song heard on my lunch break:
You like it more than I like it,
I'll put it all up in your face,
But don't bite it.

Just One More..

2005-08-03T13:28:00.000-04:00

I realized last night that dancer didn't make my list yesterday. Maybe "Vegas Showgirl". Or maybe "Ballet Teacher".

In another life, maybe

2005-08-02T16:34:00.000-04:00

I was thinking about spending a few hours alone tonight in front of the TV, and I blurted out that I could only hope and pray that I could find re-runs of “Blow Out”…possibly even a “Blow Out” marathon. (In case you have no idea what I’m talking about: http://www.bravotv.com/Blow_Out/)
And Greggster said to me, “Why didn’t you go to school to be a hairdresser? You’d love it.”
In fact, I would. Doing hair, doing other people’s hair, seeing a look and trying it, the feeling of accomplishing perfectly straight hair, none of it is lost on me. I LOVE doing hair. I love painting my nails, I love making myself look better and making other people feel good about themselves.
My answer to the Greggster: “Being a hair dresser has a negative stigma. It means you’re not smart. And I was always very concerned with being smart and having a really smart job, like being a research lawyer.”Coincidentally, I do neither research nor law. I picked communications, that trade off, in-between sort of field, where people aren’t known for being super smart, nor super dumb. It’s better than saying PR (Because I’m like, a people person!) and cooler than saying “I’m an actuary.”
My dirty pleasure, my secret life fantasy revolves around opening a salon, wearing hip clothes to work and making people feel comfortable, beautiful and fabulous. I could have my own product line like Jonathan and maybe even do hair for fashion week in New York.
In case you are wondering, here are my top 5 “Careers I kinda wish I could have”:
-Hair stylist/goddess
-Food critic
-Press Secretary for an extremely liberal association, dealing mainly with civil rights and all the stuff that pisses republicans off the most.
-Journalism teacher...or maybe even an art teacher...
-Purse Designer

Get it out of your system

2005-08-01T14:11:00.000-04:00

What is more important, I keep telling my friends, is that I am making a commitment to spend the rest of my life with someone. Sure, right now the decisions concerning red or gold or roses or steak seem intense and immediate, but I assure them there is something much deeper going on here. I am, after all, getting married.
J-Mazz likes to tease, doesn’t he? Last night he said, after talking on the phone for a few minutes, “I’ll let you get back to married people things now, like spooning.”
Interestingly enough, "married people things" include much more. This weekend we hung a pot rack, bought shelves, took friends to a baseball game, made arrangements for out of town guests, cooked, ate, talked and fought.
Maybe the last item seems trivial or shitty, even, but right now it almost seems important. Not because we disagree, not to hurt each other, but to release some of the stress built up from moving in, throwing away, making changes and making them rather quick.
I haven’t shared a room since I was 11. So yes, it’s going to cause some friction. Sometimes we don’t understand each other, sometimes it’s hard to grasp what it is that is so important to one of us, yet so inconsequential to the other.
I say it’s better to get it all out now, than to wait until we are old and have trouble hearing. If you think things don’t come out too clearly at 24, imagine what it’ll be like when were 75.
Me: “For the love of God, take your god damned wet towels off the bed! It’s going to mildew!
Greggster: “What? Bowels? I didn’t shit on the bed! You’re the one who’s incontinent!”
Me: “How dare you call me incompetent! I have a Master’s degree!”
Greggster: “Yeah well, you’ll be masturbating a lot more often now! I want separate beds.”