New places, New platforms.

Hey friends!

In case you hadn't heard, I made a big move not so recently which is why my socks have been out to dry for so long. Excuses aside, I'm finally back in the game, but under some new scaffolding. Whenever I'm not in the United States you can find my thoughts overflowing on my new page: Epic Airwaves. I just published my first post. If you still love me, or at least my words...come visit!

http://epicairwaves.blogspot.com/

Elementary School

I’ve never felt this way before.

The sky lies to me. Blue. Gray. Empty by night. Colors come to mind again. Colors have been defining a lot for me lately. White. The clouds are truth. Yellow. The sun is truth. With their help I can see the world is still moving. I’m not stuck. The blacks and blues, they’ll come and go, despite how permanent I imagine them to be. Because the clouds will move whichever way they please. The sun will shine and shift then hide. I’ll feel the rain in Minnesota, the burn beneath my eyes in Arizona. And I’ll know things are changing. No matter how deep the blue in the sky, or how endless the black of night. We’re moving.

I have these moments I feel trapped by brilliance. Not my own. I’m not so conceded, so confidant rather, that my own brilliance has ever locked my hands within their own cuffs. I feel trapped by the brilliance that surrounds me. The passion beside me when the sun breaks, the talent lying disheveled on the floor when it’s been risen for hours. I feel sub-par. That doesn’t sound right. Though. Thinking. Maybe it’s not supposed to.

This is a confession.

I took a step in the desert. Dry, desolate and hot, each wandered gaze indistinguishable from the last. I made a moment. I said aloud exactly what’s been causing the bipolar weather patterns in my mind. In the passenger seat, protected only by a loosened seat belt and my own side view reflection, I admitted my weakness in this very venture to a person who already knew it. Who knew it and was advertently using it against me every chance he had. My confession was this: I was irreversibly out of my element.

Before I left New York, I didn’t think I needed a scene. Or wanted a scene. What I wanted was to be part of every scene. For at least a day, a month for some, a whole year for the ones I admired most. But always, no matter what the scene, I’d leave before I felt confined.

I runaway. It’s sort of my thing.

A scene so fabulous they even call themselves “the scene” surrounds me. ERS. But I’m also surrounded by love. And thus, my discomfort only comes in pieces, in moments. And in those moments I feel like I’m stranded on the side of a road, naked, with my thumb out like some traveling oaf in Nebraska - far from the van, farther from my element. Not to say that I’m searching for my element and that tour is symbolic in all those elaborate schemes of highways and dead-ends. I’m just realizing more about the concept of an element. That I don’t really have one. That I’m out of the one I wish I had. That I’m surrounded by people who are drenched in their own. Yet I love them. And believe in them.

They see my weakness. They rip it apart. But they never hold it against me. There’s always a spot on the floor of row four with my name on it and a tattoo with the weight of their eyes rolling in its ink. I’m a temp as they say, as I knew coming in and will know going out. And though the term has been used against me on the surface, they couldn’t have done a worse job of making it feel true on the inside. They’re family. And I have a soul for them.

I believe in more than one soul. That nothing has to share a place. That we have a handful of hearts. And when we say little lines about giving our whole heart, we can mean it.

I read Erica’s blog. Two blogs. One of which exemplified the soul of a kid who in every which way was in her element. And another, which showed me the soul of a lover. A lover who had at least one person they could say they loved so passionately, so platonically, they could write a novel based merely on a resting jaw-line.

It dawns on me that I have neither soul.

I wonder. I fear? If I’ll ever be able to identify my scene so naturally, or love someone so blatantly. Maybe one day. For now, I’m still young. The word young isn’t so relative when preceded by the word ‘still’ is it? I’m young. Back to relativity. And sometimes I think I think so much that I’m growing older just by thinking. Then I realize how naïve thousands of my thoughts are and I feel how young I really am. I’m learning.

For now.

I ride above four wheels, beside my six friends, letting my thoughts take a rest. Letting banter fill the air. Hoping that the gas runs out. Hoping I can feel this forever. Knowing that I can’t. Knowing at the very least, I’ll wake up with them tomorrow.

For now I have tomorrow.


Dear me,

These letters to the hypothetical are apparently expired, but you should know this: You think a lot. You define too much. You write well. You have friends. If you want it, you’ll get your element. And a life compared means shit. You’ll write this. Read it again and again. But it will take you time to actually believe it. Even longer to live it. Black and white. This is truth. Don’t runaway.

Perfect is not relative. Perfect is not ideal. Perfect is nothing and nothing is perfect. And the illusion of perfection kills.

Love,
TimmyEPIC.


Word Citations:
Blatantly (as a positive adverb) – pTerica
Oaf (as a silly word) – Stevie Cream

That's What You Get...

Vegas. Vegas. Vegas. It’s the sort of place that warrants being repeated three times. As if each pronunciation allows the reality of what you did sink into your mind a bit more.

I’ve had worse nights. And when I say worse, I say it in the context of inebriation. I’ve been drunker. Been caught in more embarrassment. Crossed more lines. Etc. But Vegas has a way of making everything you do or say seem even more outrageous. If you drink 20 beers, steal a street sign and pass out with your underwear in your mouth like you’ve been gagged on top of your grandmother's ’77 Cadillac, it still won’t be as shocking as the time you took shots of whiskey with Elvis Presley under the Eiffel Tower right before being kicked out of Caesar’s Palace and eventually woke up with your best friends pants on, holding a commemorative picture of yourself and Cher in front of the Statue of Liberty. In the end, Vegas supplies all the amenities to build yourself an unpredictable night, specific in neither geographical destination nor historical time-frame.

Rather than typing out my experience to you, I think I’ll stick by the old adage, ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.’ But I will say this: The sun does inevitably rise in Vegas. Flava Flav is true to legend. Bars are not bedrooms. And I’m very grateful to have friends so dedicated to my search & rescue.

Vegas. It happens.

Simple America

That's what I call it. Because for me, that's all I can honestly attribute to these repetitive corn fields, out-of-date automobiles and satisfied locals.

I wake up in the same peculiar position as usual: stuffed like a burrito between rows 3 and 4 of Ezra the red van, usually sweating, always amused. I have a selective yet telling view of the outside world, and as I filter-out the tinted effects, I make a warm prediction of the day's forecast. Without question, there's a Walmart within a few hundred yards, and before I lift my elbows against the floor, I take a wild guess at today's color. I used to think all Walmarts were blue. Such is not the case. I've come to learn that there is no true pattern to the color of a Walmart sign. Green, blue, yellow, beige. And who knows what I've yet to see. Maybe a hot pink Walmart is exactly what Roswell needs in order to attract more extraterrestrials. Anyway, in the confines of a van there's not much else to do before rows 3 and 4 decide they're ready to wake up. If I can't bust out a crossword puzzle or conquer a Japanese number game, I might as well challenge myself as far as Walmart color schemes are concerned.
…

Nate warms up his vocal chords and begins the day with a song. A rooster, if you will. Except instead of a simple do-re-mi, it's more of a 'good morning, good morning, wake the **** up' kind of song. Anthony's feet typically frighten Ricky when they collapse from the loft like a dismembered corpse. Stevie says something; anything. And Mike stays curled in his own bed, tightly squeezed between rows 2 and 3, his feet somewhere near Wisconsin.

I climb over whatever limbs I need to, sort of like hiking through a forest after a bad thunderstorm, and take one final leap onto pavement. In a stark comparison to the Midwest air, I’m reminded of the van’s unfavorable smell. Ignore it, I tell myself. Breakfast.

I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and head for the wide silver doors, automatic with a sometimes-more-than-slight delay. Betty welcomes me inside like a grandmother I never knew I had displaced in the middle of Kansas, yet no more surprised to see me than the next customer. I head for the fresh [free] produce section, grab the greenest apple I can find and successfully maintain that tour can be ‘healthy’.
…

I stare at morning’s damage in the bathroom mirror. It’s just a mirror, yet in this strange situation, there’s something far less personal about my reflection. As if the million faces before me left a smudge over my forehead or an exhaled breath below this mouth. I brush my teeth and shake my wrists until the motion sensor reacts more readily to my parched hands. I left New York with naked wrists and roundabout speculations. But now, as I scrub away the filth in my palms, I can’t help staring at the messages I have tied around my skin. Warped Tour Guest Pass, “EPIC” in a string of beads, and “WISCONSIN” on what looks like a worn-down lemon peal. Although I’m never proud of the dirt caught beneath my fingernails, I’m oddly content with this life of bare necessity.

As routinely as the parking lot, the Betty, the apple, or the mirror, I always meet one more person. Usually an older man, he asks the inevitable question: So you’re traveling cross-country, are ya? And like clockwork I say yes, waiting for their unique input on my situation. Thus far I’ve met a man who mountain-biked the route himself, and another who never understood why people like me exist (he smiled, nevertheless).
…

I see pastures, shades of green and gold that continue for miles on end. The ten year old in me sees tornados on a rampage that are worth being chased, while the twenty one year old I am can’t imagine being stuck here. I’m still moderately enthused when we pass a herd of cattle, and I have no fucking idea why except utter fascination (no pun intended). You see, everywhere we go we stand out. From the way we dress to the energy we possess in these less than exciting parts of the country, it’s clear we’re not locals. And although I stick out, I can’t help but see them as the attraction.
…

Oklahoma welcomes me.
Anthony just got excited over bathing cows and I feel like less of a loser.

I’m out here. Somewhere in Simple America.

Sitting your Ground.

On Mondays I go to Bryant Park. I've become fluent in New York City steals, and a free movie is at the top of my vocabulary. This week, I had to maintain a patch of grass for over an hour while I waited for friends. It shouldn't be so hard of a task, but when you don't have a blanket to mark your territory, things can get a bit...feisty. I placed each of my shoes across from one another, a bottle of wine perpendicular to those, and positioned myself opposite the wine. Together we formed a perfectly angled square. A plot of land. Real estate. Sold.

Unfortunately this wasn't so clear to other movie-goers. Apparently there were still lots of people on the market for a patch, and two shoes, a person, and a bottle of wine created a pretty simple fence to hop. Usually it was more than sufficient to make a few gestures and tilt my head with a smile. Without saying a word, it was actually pretty simple to get my message across this way..."yes, I am forming a hypothetical picnic area between myself, these shoes, and a bottle of red. I know it's silly, but my friend isn't here yet and she's bringing our blanket. Sorry." All that from a gesture and head tilt. Magic.

But this only worked 80% of the time. Other, less respectful folk, would deliberately stand in the middle of my campground and act as if they were considering my property an option. "Hi," I'd say, "I'm actually reserving this spot for myself and some friends." They'd look around as if they hadn't even noticed my efforts, laugh, and say something like "oh is that what this is?" The worst was one particular group who blatently tried to refer to some fictional Bryant Park constitution, claiming 'no blanket, no boundary'. I didn't buy it. I sat my ground.

I'm sure the park resembled a giant quilt, each blanket another patch. And there I was, the hole in the quilt, 'middle toward the back' with nothing to show but two shoes and a bottle of wine, struggling to imagine a blanket in between.

(2 minutes later)


Blanket spread. Wine poured. The opening cartoon is unsuitable for children yet the movie itself, humorous in its age. It's funny how the same things that make us laugh, make our friends laugh. Even if it's not supposed to be funny. I tell myself as always...friends are truly friends because they share a sense of humor. Simple as that.

More Than Coffee. Commonality.

To my left, a teenage boy and girl: middle-eastern. I won’t be foolish and even attempt to define their nationality, but I can tell you it’s far from here. Somewhere between Europe and Asia where the people live and work much differently than they do on these emptier streets. Had it not been for their dark skin and deep features, their branded shirts and denim jeans would have kept any trace of lineage to a faint whisper, meant only for those they choose to tell. In front of me, a man and woman: African American. Her head is tightly wrapped in a patterned scarf and he wears a worn baseball cap. His prickly black hair escapes from beneath, with shades of gray welcoming his age. Their bodies move slowly, calmly rather, and effortless smiles give way to content. Behind me, two women: Caucasian. I can’t see their faces, but I can hear their words. Their relationship is unfurled and I can now see an anxious young woman across from her best friend, who happens to be her mother-in-law. There’s a baby, sleeping in a stroller that enters my peripheral vision every few sways. And at this pace, a young mother learns that staying at home with her child is nothing to be ashamed of. Nearby, an Asian woman wears dark sunglasses and chatters dicey words into her Bluetooth. And here we all are in Starbucks, sipping the beverages we swear by with friends we can talk to, agendas we follow, and keyboards we guard. The beauty of New York City shines in these moments, and the routine of corporate America is shadowed in its light. Oh and I almost forgot…to my right there’s a window. A merry-go-round of life in the now, a world moving faster than the coffee pours and a street where diversity is a given. A family of Hasidic Jews makes their way across my pane. A teenage boy drags at the rear with a dim motivation. I arch my lips in a “life goes on” sort of way. He picks a hand from his pocket and offers a wave with barely an elbow’s twist. The suns out today, and I’m suddenly grateful to have grown up here.

Reason to Stay

There's a rock beneath my spine and a fallen tree branch holding my neck into place. I feel trapped in a forest of orange blankets and winking devices. It's morning, and all that I have to show are these aches and pains that bruise my everyday. It's been clear for quite some time, this worn futon is not for my body to lay. And odd as it may sound, I don't believe it wants me to lie here either. Why else these cracks? These not too subtle reminders of the comfort being sacrificed? A few moments more and I'm reminded why these knots are worth their sores. The winking devices. Friends. Messages, tweets, updates. The people I wake up for, already saying hi. A reach, a click, a 'press to unlock', and comfort is restored. If I didn't wake up right where I am, as gloomy as the sky outside, it would mean I'm somewhere else, farther away, at a much less affordable rate. My friends would not be near. So I'm willing to weather these conditions if it means being close to their sarcastic eyes and far from a world of only winks.

Julie's close. Yesterday we took a drive to places the other had never been. Julie wanted to go the park. The one where you can see the bridge, she said. What she was trying to explain was actually not a "park" but a simple jetty, a stretch of rocks that spilled out into the Little Neck Bay. I'd gone before, plenty of times. In high school we'd buy over-sized sandwiches with names like "The Beast" and drive up to the guardrail, looking out at the bits of skyline over the horizon. We'd sit on the hoods of our cars listening to the water crash underneath us. And eventually, if you listened carefully, you could almost hear the cops approaching before they'd yell at us for trespassing after dark. This time was a little different for me. It wasn't dark. It was 4:30. We didn't have creatures made of melted cheese and onion rings on a hero. We had Starbucks. And for Julie, this would be her first memory of this little spot.

It's funny how differently we notice the same places with a few years gone by. This day, the parking lot curved like a fist around our car and the jetty extended into the water like a firmly pointed finger. We climbed out over the jagged rocks. They could've been broken chairs, I thought. Lots of chairs. All the broken, crooked, and forgotten chairs of New York City, piled here in this bay. So we climbed over the legs and arms of fragemented chairs until finally we found the perfect seats, side by side and only slightly uneven.

The sun was gone, like it has been these past few days, and our company was plentiful. Fishermen. Eh. Local fishermen. Extremely local fishermen? Ah. Lot's of typical guys who come down to the bay to cast their line and shoot the shit with strangers. Okay. Fishermen. They were all up and down the jetty. And we stood out, sat out rather, like tourists in a humdrum fishing village.

With conversation rolling and fish being hunted, it didn't surprise me when Julie suggested Sushi for dinner. And in deciding where to go, I realized the obvious place I'd yet to be. Long Beach. Take the Irish out of Rockaway and the energy out of the Jersey shore and you've made considerable progress in defining Long Beach. It was Tokyo Tuesday at Minnesota's (how's that for a juxtaposition) and surprised I was when I ate some of the best sushi I'd ever had.

We walked. Bright orange life guard stands spotted the empty beach and the water crawled up to our toes, surprisingly warm. The seagulls footrints looked to me like an upside down anchor. To Julie, they were a backward mathematics symbol. Great minds think differently sometimes too, I suppose.

We started driving home the long way, the more fun way, and my phone rang. Another friend.


"...A few moments more and I'm reminded why these knots are worth their sores. The winking devices."

Feeling Belief, Typing Its Meaning, and Sharing It With The World: The Religion Of Obscure Collaboration

...by Ricky & Me

I believe in thunderstorms in the morning.
I believe an outfit can change your fate.
I believe in the moment when a plane takes off and you realize you’re off the runway. Flying.
I believe a tuna fish sandwich can cure most wounds.
I believe in the way old books smell.
I believe that the possibility for infinity lies within the dusk.
I believe in hiding behind my sunglasses, even when the sun is almost set.
I believe time can stand still for roughly 3 minutes and 12 seconds at a time.
I believe in saving worn out sneakers in case I need a bedtime story.
I believe in keys, that everyone holds a story and a secret.
I believe in the street I grew up on.
I believe in Indian summers.
I believe in Mrs. Kordowski, my sixth grade teacher. She told me she once saw God and I’ve been questioning ever since.
I believe in choice of font.
I believe in coffee and its conversations.
I believe in Stick Stickly and that popsicle sticks can and will talk under the right circumstances.
I believe in safety pins.
I believe that hope is the foundation of humanity, and that love is its realization.
I believe in words.
I believe in Nate Cyphert in a vocal booth.
I believe in a moment; in the whispers leading up to it and the morning afters that still your soul.
I believe in embrace; that there’s no safer feeling, no sturdier guard, than between a friend’s arms.

We believe in obscure things and the random evidence that proves them to be true.
What do you believe?

Juggling with Age

Do you know how to juggle?

I don't. But I still do it. I juggle the time I spend working on my "personal projects" and the time I spend browsing youtube and creating tweets. I juggle the few reasons why I like to be home and the million excuses of why I need to keep moving. I juggle my words in a mismatched way, and try to decide where the best one's fit. I juggle my next step and the one I just took. I juggle those things that I keep to myself and the many ideas I press unto this keyboard. I juggle the sun over my right shoulder and the shadow to my left. I juggle lots of things, so much so, that the word juggle seems weird and slightly innapropriate now. But if there's anything I juggle that's worth being caught, it's my friends. I love them.

That said, there's a few that really make me think. Think about concepts and beliefs I thought I had all figured out...like age.

You see, there’s a delicate coexistence between two friends divided by a few years time, experiencing the same thoughts and emotions, one after the other. So my question: Does the older play the brother; bestowing on the younger the lessons life has taught him? Or does he let his friend live, and learn them on his own, potentially allowing him to be hurt along the way? If he does decide to play the role of mentor, does that devalue their relationship as two young friends experiencing life simultaneously, or does it make them stronger? A few years seems insignificant in the longer rhyme, yet when this partition occurs on the edge of adolescence and the brink adulthood, the lessons seem important as ever. I suppose the older will always offer wisdom, and it’s the job of the younger to not believe him till he sees it for himself. Yet there’s always the chance, that very likely instance, when that younger man teaches the older a lesson he missed along the way.

It’s funny the way two friends evolve. The roles we take, the masks we wear. I’m not sure why I’m putting this thought out there, but it presented itself recently. Maybe age is as useless as a bottomless mug. There’s things we all experience, and for that we can always take advice. But there’s pages more which we don’t have in common; experiences that make us…us. And it’s those bits of life that simply defy age.

Memorial Day.

I judge the day by what I can hear without moving from my pillow. Lawnmowers are humming and kids are screaming out rules to some antique game. It must be a beautiful day. I've been judging the summer day this way since I can remember. But when I used to hear the kids outside, the rules were foreign and I rushed to join them. Now I just listen, smirk and consider sliding on my running shoes. I stretch my arm across the sheets to a laptop left hunched over, asleep. I give it life. A strong glare makes it difficult to read the messages scattered about my screen. The sun's out. I twist my body to find a resolution and sure enough I'm left awkwardly hunched over. Funny how roles are reversed.

Mornings give us a quick chance to summarize the day before and consider the day ahead. Yesterday was a good day. Mike's family has been a home to me since high school, and a barbecue at their house meant entertaining dialogue that renegotiated the met's bullpen and crushed mike's middle school glory days. Even better, I got to share those moments with a small cluster of faces I hadn't smiled back at in a while. A few conclusions:

Sean holds the same fetish with the word 'epic' as I do, which is like finding out you share the same birthday, except more epic.

Ricky had to leave early to turn coffee into starbucks.

Colin was reliable as ever, joining me in a backyard rum & coke.

Anna tried to convince us that 100 is the new 2.

Randi, as usual, exemplified her worthiness to compete on East Coast Punk Rock Jeopardy if their ever was a show.

Nate's job gave him a sweeter set up than a skittles factory. Taste the rainbow.

Colby carried Mike in beer pong.

Owen was there. That should speak for itself as he is "more talked about than God" in Poughkeepsie.

Julie didn't say much but was probably thinking a lot given these circumstances.

And Mike...well it was his graduation party.

A Lumber Yard.

An abandoned lumber yard. I found myself down by the weathered file cabinets and brick walls stained in graffiti. I wasn't alone. We don't go to these sort of places alone, now do we? I had a friend. A great friend. Who pushes every limit to meet any challenge. If you give her lemons, she won't make lemonade. She'll dig deeper, probably photograph them, and turn those lemons into the greatest fruit to have hit Times Square. Epic.

Anyway, the lumber yard. I felt like I was ten years old and passing by the house with the ferocious dog and nose-pinching scent. But even when your ten, that day eventually comes when you need to find out more; hop the neighbors fence and bring out that pair of binoculars you saved for this very moment.

We've come a long way since those days. Binoculars are now cameras, with zoom lenses nonetheless. And "sneaking in" becomes "trespassing." Bigger words, legendary concepts. It was the creepiest place I'd ever been, at least in broad daylight.

What looked like a shattered radio, rested in the dirt, it's contents strewn like a broken piece of jewelry. For some odd reason, I felt like an old jazz melody with a heavy trumpet could have been playing. Our steps were small, as if each toe were pressing one piano key after another.

The buildings settled in the precocious air, releasing echoes of creeks and undefinable cracks into the sky. They hit my ears like a long-awaited sigh, the kind of sigh you'd hear in a bedroom at the end of a nursing home corridor. We navigated the property; the warehouse, the front desk, and studied its detail. Old packaging labels lay tangled in the shrubs as torn mattresses and campfire remnants gave way to more recent life.

The silence was overwhelming.

It's incredible when a location like that can trigger your most primitive emotions. It is abandoned. That's the first thing that comes to mind. But is it sweeter to be abandoned than to be replaced? I've tried to pick a side here, but to tell you the truth I find myself struggling between the pros and cons. It's puzzling, really.

Good luck with that one.

Educated.

I'm pretty embarrassed to not have followed through with my word. Nevertheless, I'm here. Whether you take it for true or not, I'll say that time, or lack thereof, was the reason I've been so far from these wet socks. A few things that have been on my mind...

Sunday May 3rd, 2009

I ran my creativity dry with that date in mind. I stayed up all hours of the night, made 10 incredible friends, and produced material I had no idea I was capable of. I didn't wait for May 3rd, I worked for it.

When I came back from Athens last year, my priorities took a spin. I was no longer the career driven student I had defined myself as. In fact, I lacked definition of any kind. "Student" became a minor piece of this huge puzzle, and life was a whole lot more than a career. I spent the greater portion of 2008, contemplating what my future would entail. It used to be "advertising copywriter extraordinaire - go big or go home." But that title sort of lost its polish somewhere over the Atlantic.

In the last few months, I've been forced to work toward that title whether I liked it or not. I had to graduate, didn't I? And for the first time in nearly a year, I felt career driven again. Not in the over-the-top, melodramatic way I had been, but nevertheless driven. I had a goal. I wanted something. Badly. And I was having the time of my life earning it. I poured my energy into a campaign. But it was everything else...the people, the laughs, the work, the outcome...that really brought me back to an equilibrium. I still want to see the world, defy normality and save love, but now I know the reality of it - you do have to make a living somehow, and so pick a path you love with people that make you smile.

SO...May 3rd. It was competition day. It was every human emotion thrown into a martini shaker. We nailed it. It was everything we wanted to say, the way we wanted to say it. As the day progressed, we grew more and more confident, in disbelief that our campaign might actually win.

It's amazing how hard the blow feels, when all that energy falls flat.

In short, we took a risk that wasn't well received. Yet I'm glad to have lost for having taken that risk and not because we simply didn't measure up. That said, it's still hard not to let it get to you. The train tracks never seemed to reach Poughkeepsie that night...

Today was my last day of classes. I'm not really sure what to do with that little fact. Delete? Na. I'm okay with it. I have to be. I did a Shakespeare reading and later workshopped a screenplay. Two things that, in my opinion, scream college education. Pretty cool.

In my immediate line of vision I see this:
MAD magazine, deodorant, duck tape, a solo cup, a straw hat, a 1970s orange swivel chair, a cowboy lamp, a Greek postcard, a running shoe, a ticket stub, a toaster, toothbrush, suitcase, and the word "hope" scribbled on my wall.

The window is open and Christmas lights are crawling along the sill.

This is my college. This is me, educated.

Something to say.

I'm not sure why it's been so long friend.

Excuses lost their weight much too long ago. I do still have my thoughts. Too many, too fast even. But getting back into this habit was not so easy. It's been like stepping out of a long hot shower. I was more than content under a steady stream of the day to day. I'd tattle my comments and notions of the world on post it notes and the backs of books. But they just sat there, scribbled with no more than a fleeting moment's attention.

Not too long ago I turned the water off, and stepped out into the world again. It was cold. Lot's had changed. And I wasn't necessarily ready for what I realized: when you stop being yourself, the world goes on without you. So with "I'm too busy" out of the way, my excuse became "when I know what to say."

Well here I am. I still don't know what to say. But after a cleansing weekend to say the least, I do know that it doesn't matter what I say. Because as long as I'm saying something, it means I've got a voice - an emotion - a feeling. And as long as I'm feeling something, it means I'm alive. And as long as I'm alive, I should live. Really live. Isn't that what stepping out of the shower is all about? You know you'll shiver, and the tiles won't get warmer, but you're just a few more steps away from stepping out into the world, confident as ever. Clean.

So why now?

1. Well I read a book, and it came at just the right time. Most of you probably read it when you were seventeen and confused: The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Turns out, it sure as hell makes an impact even when you're 21 and confused. Read it. Or re-read it. It's worth every page.

2. I made mistakes. I learned from them.

3. I went to see an old friend with a fresh perspective in a great city.

The Not So Perfect Comeback.

I'm not sure who's still out there...but the comeback is approaching. I'm just waiting for the right time. The right words. The not so perfect moment when I know exactly what to say. It's coming. I can feel it. Can you?

Worn.

I have these few moments, these minutes I can see pass by, to tell you that I'm overwhelmed by a book. A book that I've had a heavy hand in creating and a heavier heart in finishing. I'm busied by it's pages, awed by it's design, and proud of it's message. Of course there's a team involved. Isn't there always? There should be. And my teammates have been more like an old pair of sneakers this week, tied tightly, always comfy, yet inevitably worn out. We'll make it though. We're fresh like that.

Just ahead, I see my resolution. Yeah, there's a vacation. A boat. A big boat. But there's friends and roommates and flip flop faces that I'm even more anxious to float on with.

...Some playlists never pause. In the rear view mirror I can see the scene kids. Twitter's kept them closer than they know.

Switch

Not sure what to say, except that it's Friday. It's the end of the week. Release? Perhaps. For many it's really more of a switch. A detour from life. Off the commute, onto the airwaves. Reality on the weekdays, passion come the weekend. It's all leading up to that moment, that epic day when the latter explodes, and reality is nothing but passion. Ideally. Hopefully. Tomorrow?

Rabbit Rabbit Recap.

Alright. I'm doing this. I'm a blogger aren't I?



Start where I left off? The tough part about waiting so long in between posts, is that you can never properly give credit to the moments that made your days interesting. But I'll have to try.



I think Saturday is well worth talking about. I woke up in a juice box daze. I was filled with high fructose confusion and felt no more supported than a thin paper bag. It took a two hour car ride home to suck the previous night out of my system, and yet I was still left restless and dehydrated. Band practice woke me up a bit, I guess it'd be weird if it didn't. After all, there's only so much sound Anthony's 1980s throwback basement can withold. Colby and I went hunting for bagels. We found a place. The "Bagel Boss" in fact. I got an everything, toasted, with tuna salad. It's one of my favorites, so I feel the need to advertise. When the music faded, I did too. I napped (which I never do) on the couch. Next thing I knew it was 3:45. I needed energy fast. Mike was giving up on our day's next activity, and I needed to convince him otherwise. Naturally, I did.



Roosevlet Field big freeze. Simple concept - public place, hundreds of participants, even more unsuspecting citizens. At 4:25 we would all freeze in place (preferably mid-action) and hold our pose for a full five minutes. The ordinary people, the shoppers, the eaters, still moving along, are left mesmerized and bewildered by the sudden freeze. Sounds amazing, and it really can be and has been, but on this particular day there were lots of younger participants who had trouble keeping it "real." Laughter and abandoned poses tainted the effect. Luckily there were a few of us who took the mission seriously, catching a few double glances and even a full body investigation. Even if it didn't run as smoothly as it could have, it was still pretty chilling to hear the cheers of a thousand or so participants echo through the hall at about 4:31.



From there we went to Jacob's show, who I'd never seen live before. He was unbelievable. There's only so much you can do with a stool beneath you and a keyboard at your fignertips, but he does a great job of shadowing those restrictions with an unbeatable spirit. Later, it became clear just how long it's going to take for DOB to live Room Raiders down, at least while Sean and Mike are still alive. The teasing was innocent, the laughter guilty as ever. Anyway, after the show, came the after party (thank you Jay-Z). Except instead of patron and cavier, we had bud light and frosted animal crackers. I'd say they're about equivalent. It was a very "scene" night. The kitchen served as a hub of debate- debate about nothing more important than whether or not you look at the animal you've picked out before eating the cracker. I do...though I'm still not sure why.

Sunday took me into Astoria with my asian sidekick. Frappes, gyros, and aimless reminisence filled our afternoon. Never gets old, really.

Back at Marist, Clare made soup. The soup was incredible, as usual. I don't know how to describe the evening other than...comfortable. So comfy I abandoned the work I probably should've been doing. I guess it's easy to spend 2 hours talking about vacation t-shirt slogans.

Typically I'd say it was a fantastic Sunday...because it was. But as soon as night rolled around, pictures were posted, and "you should've been there" phone calls started coming in...I felt unsure about what I had done. I missed "the best time ever" as certain people reffered to it. Now, I say that all the time, but my friends know I'm just exaggerating. But this time...it really wasn't hard to believe. I genuinely felt that I had missed out. Missed out on a family I wish I could've been there for. There's nothing I can do now, and I know it's no reflection of a love lost, but sometimes it's hard to escape a memory that isn't even yours. I will say that I'm proud of them. And by them I mean tC. And by tC I mean the whole Love Army. And by the whole Love Army, I mean my friends.

March came. Monday came. Snow came. College came. Tuesday came. Procrastination came. Wednesday came. Interning came. Lot's I want to talk about, none of which I'm "legally" permitted to.

Here I sit,

Tim. Recapped.

Baby, you can Vend whatever you like...

Vending machines are offly convenient. In an age where so many industries face the chopping block against technology, I can only foresee brighter horizons for vending machines. Instantaneous shopping for life's unexpected necessities and luxuries. We've all seen the basics...soda, snacks, candy, toys, cigarettes, etc. But many people don't realize just how trailblazing the field of automated vending actually is. It's not too unusual to find coffee, umbrellas, or even a hot dog inside a vending machine these days. Did you know that in California you can buy marijuana from a vending machine (for "medical" use only, of course)? And if those aren't surprising to you, well get ready for what's ahead. Mostly throughout Japan, vending machines are spreading faster than the plague and contain the most innovative contents. Here are some of my favorite items that one can obtain through the claw:

Hello Kitty Popcorn (served hot)
Generic Fried Foods
Pornography (Print & Video)
Eggs
Pet Supplies
Fishing Gear (including LIVE bait)
Toilet Paper
Lobsters (picture the claw game over a lobster tank)
USED panties
Hot Ramen Noodles
Rice
Flowers
Designer Condoms (i.e. United Colors of Benetton)
"Water Salad"
Rhinoceros Beetles
Dry Ice
Sex Toys
Pizza
Pregnancy Tests


It's nuts! So if you haven't already guessed, I started thinking of other "vend" opportunities. Here are just some of my suggestions:

Office supplies (I'm interning right now, give me a break)

Clothes (specifically ties, belts, graphic t's & hoodies (I feel like people would own more of these items this way, and you can never have too many)

Memorable Scents (campfire, new car, etc. - point is, if you're somewhere smelly this could be the answer)

Scooters (sometimes you just don't feel like walking anymore)

Funny Hats (sombreros, birthday cone-hats, beanies, top hats - the general public would just be happier, no?)

Pre-folded paper planes (if there's a calm wind, who wouldn't want to vicariously take flight through paper)

Balloon Animals (It's really more of a challenge to the industry...not only to have them contorted, but to vend without bust)

Grilled Cheese Sandwiches (It's just a nice treat I think the world needs more of)

Underwear, the clean and colorful kind (I know certain people, followers even, that will appreciate this)

Dare I say..Cupcakes.

Pics (because I know how often they get lost)

Live People (maybe we can set up a return policy here, and the machine would be rather large...but totally worth it if you need a friend)

Love (I know the Beatles say you can't buy it, but maybe just a hug?)

Corny Jokes (who wouldn't want to pick one up on the way to the office holiday party?)

Come-backs (You know it sucks when someone takes a stab at you and you've got nothing good to come back with. Well, just head to this machine and you'll have your sarcastic wit or tarnishing insult prepared for next time)


So now, I'd like for you to leave me with some of the items you'd love to see become vend-worthy...

The Projects

My twitter changes all the time. My mood, sometimes. But my schedule, that never changes, at least during the week. Whether you're in school or at work, Monday through Friday typically has a design set in place, a maze to work your way out of each week. The maze doesn't change, but somehow it's never as easy as it looks. Obvious traps, dead ends, detours you didn't expect to take, there's all these factors that make some weeks last forever and others seem like they never occurred. Point is, the maze itself never really changes. I was thinking about this on my commute home yesterday. I sit in a train filled with strangers, all of us just making our way out of the maze. I tend to focus on my commute a lot. I guess I'm baffled by mass monotony, but there's not much more of an explanation. So I try and look for something odd, a different angle, a new perspective, to make the everyday seem not so everyday.

I'm riding along...

Out the window I see the city, it's dark out now, and the uptown kids have hit the lights. I've always found Harlem terribly interesting. I've hardly spent more than a few moments walking through, yet every time I take this train, doors open up into a Harlem wind. My dad used to work out there, I remember. From behind a dashboard and beside his partner (my godfather actually) he patrolled the city as one of the "finest." He even coached a little league baseball team on some dusty diamond behind brick walls. He knows that place much different than I do. I know it only through the glass. From here I can see the buildings, "the projects," as they say, and the speckled lights that shine inside every room that holds a life. Across the cast iron balcony, behind that red curtain, there's a story. It's appropriate that floors of a building, are also called stories. "I'm 30 stories high," one might even say...and boy is that true. Every window is a whole new plot. Inside one you've got a family of five, in another a retired sanitation worker, and just across the hall, a bachelor's pad (why is it never bachelorette's?). And from where I sit, I get a momentary glance into that life. Exposed like a dollhouse, I can see inside their story. But only for a moment. The train is always moving. I also notice the fire escapes, these ladders that connect one story to another, those beneath it and those above it. It will always be there, the option to escape. Sometimes it takes an emergency, a fire that forces you out and takes you somewhere safe. Yet other times it's simply an escape, a tempting path out of your own story and a way into another.

Harlem is what I see today. The train keeps moving.

Frozen Minds.

This is ALL about my town. If you read past the cute reminiscence of the ice cream parlor, you'll find all the reasons I wanted to leave. It's not the developers and immigrants by any means...my issue lies with the outspoken Caucasians who think they know what being "American" is all about. It bites me when people insult a culture, for having a culture. What does "change" mean to them, I wonder?

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/22/nyregion/thecity/22froz.html?pagewanted=1&_r=2&ref=thecity

Love on the weekends.

My last two posts were super short, huh? Well today's Monday - and there's nothing short about Mondays. My weekend was...fantastic. I saw 3 of my favorite "Greeks" and 2 of my favorite bands. Every minute was a renewed sense of happy, and I'm grateful to have the friends I do to let a weekend play out as such.

Friday.

It started out exactly as a calendar would agree - Friday, with a capital F. I went into work a few hours late (they knew this before hand, don't wave any fingers) and fiddled through all my tasks as fast as I could. There was anticipation in my cubicle that no assignment could deflate. I was blowing up inside, and my sights were set on the ground below. I had the office well informed that a friend from abroad had finally made their way to New York, that at any moment past five o'clock they might look up from the subway stairwell, and that I didn't want to be more than a few lights and cameras away from them. At about 5:40 I got the call I'd been waiting for. Within two minutes I was dodging stand-up comedians and passing by offers for a tour of the city. It's a funny feeling being in Times Square with a few thousand people, and knowing that eventually one of those faces would look back at you and stop. Of course when that moment finally came we were separated by crowds and cars. Our heads swam atop the commuters' waves, struggling to keep our eyes above the surface. Suddenly the curb met my toes. There we were just standing on the edge, watching all the green lights, waiting for our red light. It came. We splashed. I was drenched in friendship.

We played the ketchup game in a ballin' hotel room while we waited for more "Greeks" to arrive. They eventually paddled downstream in an off-white minivan. Ivy and I were standing on the pavement, guarding a steal of parking spot. An hour later we were stumbling around on the 19th floor and cramming every last one of us into a bathroom, for the sake of taking a photo. Nine months apart and I felt like I'd never left these kids. Turns out we hadn't changed at all.

That night I took them to see The Unionn @ The Village Underground. No question about it. Extraordinary as usual, there wasn't a moment of doubt that my friends would love it. Live music, particularly at this level of talent, leaves you feeling experienced, like you were a part of it. And I got to be "part of it" with five faces I wish I saw more often.

Saturday

I was awoken inconveniently at about 8 in the morning. Ugh. Meter was hungry. Pocket filled with quarters, I was heading for the feed. Why are hotel lobby's always filled with people ready to conquer the sunshine in style so early in the morning? It makes the under-slept revelers stick out like a refridgerator in a haystack. Advice - walk swiftly till the coins in your pocket rattle into their parking garage ears.

We meandered into Central Park. Max grew star struck under the over-arching branches of the Literary Walk, a movie haven to say the least. We spilled out memories faster than we could soak them up, each of us bringing to light a detail someone else had left out. Time let us wander away, but our hunger never lost it's eye. By two o'clock we were headed into Astoria to let our stomachs reconnect with our past. And of course we ate our way into oblivion.

Later, we FINALLY collided with Andrea, a friend from Athens who'd just recently landed herself in Queens. We settled at a cafe that may as well have been in Greece, drank our familiar orders, and listened to Andrea tell us everything going on under the acropolis. It was one of those "where am I right now?" kind of moments. Eventually, after rummaging through a Greek supermarket for all the old essentials, we packed ourselves back into the mini-van and headed for Marist.

I drove. Most others were tired. Not Ashley though, she was awake. And talking. I responded. Love her.

That night we did the college thing. Friends from here and those from there met somewhere in between. It's nice when that can happen...to some extent. The truth is, it can be weird. It's not that you're "different" around either one, it's just that they know a different shade of you. You live through different circumstances with different people. That's your common ground, and it's unique to those clusters of friends. It's funny, I love the divide better than the mesh. There I said it.

Sunday.

Here we go. Quite the anthem to my day, I made frappes and said goodbyes. Much too quick, I kept thinking. Nine months too long, 3 days too short. I'm already waiting for the comeback.

A car and two trains later I was sitting beside Ricky in her red Pontiac. We had one of those parking lot conversations that carry the weight of our worlds. She was sipping soup and giving me those Erica eyes - those 'here's what I see, tell me what you think' glances of affection. I love that about her. She communicates a lot by saying very little. And when I read the words she writes on paper (translated onto screen), I know there's a reason for ever last letter. She shares my love for words (I'm jelous of her to be honest) and I think that's how we function - we read each other.

And of course we end up where this all began - tC. Incredible night. There's a lot more these days than just 5 guys. DOB, Jay, Andre, Colin, Ricky, Randi, Emma, the list goes on; it's a perfect ensemble of comedy and support. I look back on where they were two years ago - I was one of seven bystanders, four I came with, another I've come to call Colin. They sang the songs that never made it to a recording studio and deliberated the distinction between bandmate and friend. Young love back then, love only today.



In today's highlights, DOB was on Room Raiders! Hahaha It was AMAZING.
This Condition's cameo was priceless too. I agree with Anthony - room one was just not mature enough for DOB.

Anyway...back to the mix I suppose. Monday just happened, Tuesday's about to.

THAT WAS LONG.

Laundry

I haven't seen them in 9 months. But finally, today, after 3 seasons, 2 Presidents and 1 deep breath, I'll hit the happy with some of my closest friends from Athens. I'm sure they've changed. I've changed. But I hope we haven't changed. Does that make sense?

My laundry's just about finished. Every time guests turn my corner, I feel the need to wash up my life a bit, including the wardrobe. I'll probably do some mopping later.

I'm excited today. EEK.

Go.

I made it out alive today,
I suppose that's something to say.
Tomorrow gives me another shot,
And I think I'll have a go.

Much Ado About Nothing

I've been battling with Shakespeare for the better portion of this week. I'm actually one of those people who enjoys Shakespeare - to an extent. Much different than your leisurely read, it requires a certain amount of effort; an 'Old English' translator, a loose grasp of Elizabethan culture, and of course lots of time to spare. Up till now, class consisted of reading on my down time (sparknotes nearby), and discussion come class time. But a schedule as simple as that would never qualify as true coursework. Because a "course" assumes a measured degree of learning, aka grades. So now there's this paper. And despite all the discussions I've had and opinions I've generated, I can't find a place to start. Introductions can be the hardest part to write, but when done well, can be the best part. I have faith I'll get my thoughts into some logical configuration, but till then I think I'll procrastinate some more. Wish me luck I suppose.

Pierce made me a hemp bracelet today. Does this mean love? I think so.

Caught up in the swing,

Tim

On track.

Start. Had an amazing breakfast cooked by the girls on the flip side of the wall. Found out about Stew Leonard's, or 'Disney World meets grocery shopping' as some refer to it. Constructed a turtle friendly racetrack. Watched new turtle housemates Stu and Leonard, compete on said track. Stu somehow won, despite Leonard's clear energetic edge. Utilized facebook as a verb, in every interpretation. Worked on an exceptionally challenging project with an exceptionally challenged group of advertising majors. Kept doing that for 4 and a half hours. Had a genuine laughing fit while reading my friend's '25 random things...' list on facebook - hate it, but entertaining if well executed (props Meghan Burke). Discovered fmylife.com - visit and you'll be shamefully addicted. Threw left over pasta in the microwave for two minutes. Stirred it. Then one more minute. Sat down to watch TV. Channel surfed for 45 minutes and didn't find a thing worth while. Realized how technologically spoiled I can be. Sat down to do homework. Started browsing youtube. Now I'm finally writing my blog. Still haven't done that homework. Well that's Sunday. For some reason it's usually the hardest blog for me to write. I never know where to begin. Irony? End.

It's easy to love.

A blog is sort of like a weekly sitcom. I'm supplying you bits and pieces of my life. The comical, the dramatic, the ironic. Yet I rise to the even bigger challenge of writing to you almost daily. Anyway, the point is that when you make this sort of commitment it's customary to address reality's landmarks. Today's one of those landmarks - Valentine's Day. I haven't really developed any sort of stance on Hallmark's offspring, but do think it's nice when there's more to a day than just a number and a month. It gives me excuses. An excuse to cook a fancy meal. An excuse to eat chocolate covered strawberries. An excuse to get free condoms. An excuse to have a party. You see my point.

I look at all of my friend's who are happily intertwined with significant others and it makes me think. And what I think is that love is the easy part. Love is so incredibly easy to fall into we can't help it. I've never met anyone who successfully tried to fall in love. That wouldn't be love I suppose. Yet despite it's simplicity, once you're in it with someone and you decide to build a relationship out of it's bricks, then it's not always so easy. I don't like calling it "work" but a relationship definitely does require effort from both sides. And sometimes that effort is more than we can handle. Falling in love may be easy, but making it "work" isn't, at least not always.

I think that's why I don't believe in soulmates. Managing a relationship is too rugged to be as shiny as a "perfect pair." Besides, the idea of one person being the right person is intimidating, no? How are you supposed to know how or when you've met them? What if you spend six months loathing over a broken heart, when that person wasn't "the one" anyway? What if you already let go of the person you were supposed to hold onto? As you can see, I don't like having limits. And love shouldn't have limits. Most of us fall into it more than once in a lifetime anyway. Sometimes we're loved back, sometimes we're not. Sometimes it works, sometimes it just doesn't. It's simple to diagnose in the aftermath. It isn't complicated.

I don't like it when people say things are "complicated." Facebook sure capitalized on that one, huh? 99.9% of the time it isn't complicated at all. It's incredibly simple, just like love. In fact, the people that do call it complicated are usually the people in limbo. They've got the love, but they can't make it work. And because they don't want to extinguish the flame they have burning, they avoid a relationship. It's fun. But there's a reason it's not official. Jelousy, commitment, betrayal, impotency, intimidation, narcissism, timing, the list is enormous. The point is, there's a way to describe it, usually in one word. So when people say it's complicated they're really just too lazy to explain the truth, OR they haven't accepted the truth. It's not always a bad thing, either. Hanging out in limbo can be really fun. It's all the sugar without the cavities.

All that said, Love is incredible. And that's what today is all about. Today's not about the work. Complicated, committed, or strictly platonic, we can all appreciate Love. It's that easy.

Just Press Play

100 days till graduation. There's really no avoiding it. It's coming and everyone knows it. If my school's conveniently located "countdown clocks" didn't send me the message, the dozens of people who have asked me the unanswerable question, "what are you doing after college?," definitely did.

Growing up, birthdays were anticipated. It's an unscientific fact that kids love getting older. And we're as guilty as the new ones are. We would disect who was the oldest and who would get stuck "waiting" the longest. It's pretty clear that we wanted the future. We wanted to be in the next scene of the movie, press fast forward and get to the good parts. Thirteen and seventeen gave us a foothold at the box office, sixteen gave us a driver's seat, eighteen gave us tobacco and scratch off tickets, and twenty-one...well it's where the anticipation seems to end.


Now my days consist of face-off upon face-off against time. Hell, for Halloween I was a murdered countdown clock. Now don't get me wrong, I don't want time to freeze altogether. There are plenty of things I have to look forward to, believe me the list goes on and on. It's the moments that close chapters that are the scariest - graduations, birthdays, etc. There's no real solution to these inevitable dates and times, but it's an observation well worth making. If life was a DVD player, there would only be a play button. So don't waste time looking for any others.

100 days. I can wait.

Breathing Room

I just submitted this little story as an example of a "compromising situation" I'd been in, and how I overcame it. It's a pretty significant memory for me, so I figured now's as good a time as any to share it. The end is a bit preachy, if you will, but remember it was for an application.

Last May, I spent a week exploring Italy. We planned to take an overnight train from Rome into Milan. Nothing seemed challenging in the slightest. Yet when the train pulled up to the platform, I noticed that it was a bit crowded. Once inside, my observations were strikingly reassured by an incredible condensation of human beings. A narrow pathway (no more than 3 feet wide) was barely navigable under the immense traffic flow. I was with two friends, who I feared for immediately. One in particular I knew may be in danger of a severe panic attack. Perspiration, heat, and foreign odors followed us every inch. Every cabin we passed was dark and silent, each seat occupied by a passenger fast asleep. I remember looking backward and into my friend’s eyes. She was clearly agitated and uncomfortable with what we’d gotten ourselves into. The train eventually began moving and we were forced to make the most of what we had. Unfortunately what we had was barely enough breathing room for each of us. We were in Italy, none of us spoke the language, and we had a plane to catch early the next morning. Even if an alternative existed, we had no way of finding it. So we rode the train.

I placed a small piece of luggage underneath me and propped it up as a chair; the hall was so thin my kneecaps pressed against the opposite wall. My right thigh rested on my companion’s leg, and my left leaned on that of a stranger’s. We had eight hours ahead of us and falling asleep wasn’t really an option. I knew I could make it; I knew I’d have to. I’m great at seeing the glass half full, shedding light on the bright side and uncovering the optimism, in even the most compromising of situations. And I knew that my friends, at least those who traveled with me, weren’t always so wide eyed under these circumstances. It was important to stay collected and confident if only for my companion’s to see. Motivation is often key in times like these.

About half way through we exited the train for a ten-minute stop in Florence. The warm air felt like ice against my burning skin. I saw my friend approaching me, and I knew immediately what was coming. Her limit. She had reached her breaking point. I know now that there are times when reaching your limit doesn’t always mean the end. It just means that you can’t necessarily do it alone. I gave her a hug. She’d been squeezed between two unhygienic Italian men who’d been kind with their words but forward with their eyes. It was enough to make her feel even more uncomfortable than leaning on a window for four hours already had. When we boarded the train again I stayed close to her. My situation wasn’t much different, yet being a man I was spared any unsavory stares. I tried to talk her through the rest of our journey, about everything and anything that was better than that moment, all the places we’d seen, and were going to see. And eventually we made it.

Looking back, it was certainly the most compromising situation I’d ever been in, both mentally and physically. And what got me through it was nothing short of confidence and communication. Once I was able to secure those two elements, motivating those around me came easy. Perhaps it’s a recipe for a sticky situation, but I believe it be a formula fit for any given day.

My Abbey Road

Did you ever have one of those days when you can't help but think about someone from the past? Today's one of those days. It used to take a lot more for these sirens to sound; the way a word is spoken, a product on a shelf. But now, thanks to facebook, yesterday's recollection is merely news on the feed. It lies in a chain of other updates and amendments. And it's odd just to think any of those other updates might spark the heart of someone else. There are people who de-friend. But that isn't me. De-friend, to me, can be as loud as hate. What a curiously uncomfortable thought to think that someone could hurt me so badly that I might expel them from every last wire and list. Of course I haven't been hurt as such, and thus cannot cast shame on those who have. So for now, all I can say, is I hope I never have to.

But this person - they're haunting me. It's not that I feel the way I once did (or didn't, ironically). It's simply that they're crossing my mind. And for some reason my red halting hand has flashed away to a waltzing white figure, shouting for this person to come to the other side. And just like Abbey Road, they're frozen in place - the cover of today's album. And in this billboard-charting moment, forcing that person to reach the other side appears to be as impossible as forgetting "Come Together." I suppose, in this case, that it's not about forgetting.

Maybe it's about listening. Maybe it's about hearing what they have to say. Seeing their status, feeling my reaction. Maybe it’s about that.

I'll let this record play till you cross my mind. And if it never stops, perhaps I'll walk it with you.

Perfectly Weird Yesterdays

One year ago today, I landed in Athens. It wasn't a long flight, just a quick 2 or 3 hours from Munich actually, but the anticipation was unbearable. I had spent two weeks exploring Western Europe and now I was soaring to the other half of the continent. I can vividly recall the bus ride from the airport into the center of the city. And to be honest, it wasn't the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. Dilapidated apartment buildings, abandoned cars along the rode, graffiti everywhere. Any expectations or mental portraits of where I'd be living quickly vanished. I had no idea what to think. Every hill we approached, I leaned forward in anticipation, thinking maybe, just maybe, the Acropolis would break the horizon. It didn't happen so smoothly. One turn after another, urban slum would collide with timeless beauty. I think the city as a whole, defines the word ironic. The closer we got, the more I realized how different this place was - than anywhere I'd been, including other parts of Europe.

When I did first see the Acropolis, it was from my doorstep. That was today, 2008.

Athens is weird. In a beautiful, distinctive, and extraordinary kind of way. When it came to culture, it was the richest city I'd ever been to. When it came to history, it was the oldest city I'd ever been to. And when it came to splendor, it was the most unexpected city I'd ever experienced. It was full of more secrets than the average tourist could ever have time to uncover. The roads were quirky, the people impractical, and the infrastructure often incomplete. I loved it.

Tonight, I'm having dinner at a little Greek restaurant in New Paltz with two of my closest friends I left Athens with. We'll try our hardest to replay the past, but that's the most we can do. I don't like to dwell on all that I miss, but today, more than usual, I can let myself feel it.

Underground Ketchup Dispensers in New Jersey

I saw The Unionn again Friday night at the Village Underground. Unbelievable. I was literally steps away from boarding my train back to Poughkeepsie that afternoon when my phone rang. It was my housemate Alex - and he was coming down to meet me. Earlier in the week, a plan of this sort was mentioned, but swept under the couch pretty quickly. Thankfully the plans weren't killed altogether, and we had a more than acceptable excuse to head downtown. I guess I should mention that Alex's old boss from Dublin was in the city on holiday with his girlfriend, and they contacted him rather last minute to meet up. They wanted him to pick a place. Being the New Hampshire kid he is, and hearing me glorify The Unionn over and over again, he went with my advice and had them meet us there. I was ecstatic to go. I was even more happy when I realized how much our two guests were loving the ensemble. By mid first song they were center of the dance floor, and by the end of the last song, they'd yet to move. His boss' girlfriend, Michelle, actually asked me if I read her mind when I recommended The Unionn. I laughed and said no, fingers crossed of course.

My two friends, Anna and Allison, who I hadn't seen in about a month, also met us there. I told them I was heading to the Underground on a whim, and their envy got the best of 'em. I cannot explain how infectious this music is. You know how some guys hate to dance? And some girls I suppose too? Well, imagine if their was some sort of sound that could not only make them tap their heels to the floor, but could actually peel them off of their seats and relocate them to the middle of a steamy basement dance floor. That my friends, is The Unionn. Okay, I'm done raving.

Saturday was a Ketchup day. One of those days where you find someone you haven't spent sufficient time with in the past few days or weeks, and take them out to lunch. Nowhere fancy, something cozy. Like a diner. Or a cafe. You sit down, spill the milk, and ketchup with one another. There's really nothing like it, except for mustard days of course, but I won't get into those for Mike's sake.

Today I went to Jersey for the same reason I've entered the state the last dozen times, to see This Condition. Now we've all heard jokes about the dirty Jers a million times, but today I compiled a mental spreadsheet of all the reasons New Jersey isn't THAT bad.

1. Gas stations. So you're telling me I can get my gas cheaper than usual, AND stay seated??? I'll ride my gas light over state lines any day for that deal.

2. Six Flags. For any thrill seekers in the tristate area, this is probably where you find your fill. Crowded and overpriced, maybe, but worth it when played strategically.

3. WaWa. Delicious custom made sandwiches. I think enough's been said.

4. Colby's house. Any Italian family who'll have food waiting for me at 1 in the morning and give me a place to stay is more than okay with me.

5. The shore. I may have grown out of the novelty just a bit, but there's not much that compare's to a hectic summer boardwalk with games, prizes, rides, and mini golf just off the sand.

6. Grande Soy Latte. It's where I found my new Starbucks regular - gotta give it to the essence.

7. Rest stops. I genuinely enjoy rest stops. It's the one place where I lift my ban on fast food, and marvel at America's tackiest families. I love roadtrips, and this is a huge reason why.

8. A necessary armpit. Lots of us have heard Jersey be called the armpit of the United States. But not so many of us realize how essential that "pit" really is. If it wasn't for New Jersey, New York would border Pennsylvania. And if that was to be, that would be weird to me.

9. Elks Lodges & VFWs. I may be a long way off from Elk of the Month, but I can still appreciate their establishments, if not for the post-retirement socialization, then for serving as a reliable punk scene venue.

10. The Land of Make Believe. I'm not sure where or how this fits in, but I think it's wonderful that someplace with this name exists. Plus, I grew up seeing the same exact commercial for it everyday till I turned fifteen and stopped watching One Saturday Morning.

*Yes I just wrote a pro-Jersey list that did not include Bon Jovi. Suck it.


Lucky Monday...

Google It.

Conversations
climb over mountains.
They begin with that look,
that genuine look of interest.
Without that look it's not really
a conversation. "Converse" is a very
delicate word. It assumes a vested interest.
A desire to hear the answer to your question,
a drive to tell your story. Conversations have a
depth. It may be shallow, a kiddy pool even, but
there's certainly a submergence into a greater thought.
These thoughts that need to be understood, that need to
be vocalized, if only for your own reassurance. Yet every
conversation reaches it's peak. That moment when
everything you needed to hear, all the solutions
you were fishing for...surfaced. It's sort of like
real life Google. Maybe you already know
what you're searching for. Maybe you
don't. Maybe your just checking the
weather. Or maybe you're the
engine, and someone else is
searching you for all the
answers. Either way,
once it is found, or
once you've made
peace, you climb
down. All the
way down.
Till you
smile.

Celebrity Status

This morning was a bit difficult to get going. As my first alarm began chiming at 5:50 a.m., I actually contemplated if it was acceptable or not to bring my orange pillow onto the train with me. I opted to put that thought aside at around 6:10. Clearly it was a tough decision. The morning does have its bright sides. For instance, I had taken a shower the night before, so the uncomfortably cold walk from bedroom to bathroom was actually avoidable today. Mornings never seem to get "easy" for me. Thankfully I take responsibility seriously enough that there's never much of a fight, though I do avoid getting into the ring almost every day.

As usual the next two hours or so become a blur of commuter repetition. At about 8:20 I emerged into the chaotic concourse of Grand Central, and headed for "my" Starbucks. I feel incredibly warranted to call it my Starbucks, today more than ever. As I approached the counter, a young girl yelled out to me "Grande Soy Latte, right?" She must've caught my flattered expression, because not more than a moment later she smiled and called out to me again. "You're at celebrity status now. You don't have to say a thing." I was impressed. I only come in twice a week, and I've only been to this location the past few weeks. That's about five or six separate instances, and yet she already considered me a regular, a celebrity even. It may just be a Starbucks, but hey, it feels good to be noticed.

I guess that was the highlight of my day today. It'll do, I suppose. In fact, it definitely does do. I was happy about it. The same sort of contentness I felt when I got off the subway a bit later on. I was listening to Jack's Mannequinn's "Spinning" and I swear it seemed like today's current was swimming to it's beat. It's funny how some days just move the right way.

Moving along,

Timmy

A familiar taste.

Whoa. It's been way too long since we've last chatted. Actually, I take that back. It's my fault. It's been way too long since I last posted. My apologies. It's been one of those weeks that goes by faster than you had time to check the date. Suddenly it's Thursday, and lots of us have already expired. Black history month is in full swing, candy hearts are stocking the shelves, yet we've barely had time to adjust putting the 9 after the 2-0-0-. Inevitability, a bitch ain't it?

I can hardly identify why it went so fast other than the monotony of classes, commuting, and a taste of socialization. In fact, if it wasn't for last night, I probably couldn't distinguish this week from the last.

Dinner Party, round 2. Oh jeez. It was me who really wanted to make it happen. It had been way too long since I'd seen my winter-break life in action. On Monday I even discussed the menu with Ricky. I got approval from the host (Nate), and proceeded to finalize plans with Ricky. All was set...or so it seemed. I went to work Wednesday morning content as ever. I knew I had great night ahead of me, and I was under the impression all arrangements were set.

Text #1. 10:41 am. Ricky: "Are we having dinner at nates or did you make that up"
Text #2. 11:33 am. Nate: "Whats the dealio with tnight?"

Clearly things were not so set in everyone else's minds. I texted back the appropriate responses and extinguished all these small flames. Ricky was instructed to retrieve the groceries, while I take care of wine and dessert. In other words, an identical game plan to dinner party round 1.

6:53. I'm early. Nate's not even home from work yet. It's cold. I call Nathen. He says to give him 10 minutes. I place my bags on his stoop and clench my fists inside my coat pockets. His upstairs neighbors emerge, startled by the hoodlum gracing their doorstep. The second girl struggles to lock the door. Something isn't working for her. As she grows frustrated, I feel the need to smooth over my "voyeristic" identity, so I tell her I'm simply waiting for Nate, her neighbor, to get home. She says that it's fine, that she hates this door, or her keys rather, I'm not sure which was to blame. Eventually she prevails though, and flees off to her preheated car.

7:10. Nate's three minutes later than he'd promised, but nonetheless, he's here, and I'm frigid. Inside, he flusters by the door and I'm left to navigate the hallway in the dark. The hall seemed narrower than I remembered, and I could barely walk a few feet before I questioned the right direction.

I can't recall any specific minutes after that. I suppose those I could remember were frozen in mind from the cold. Ricky eventually arrived, with Jay, Andre, Nicky, T.J., and Dylan (Colin arrived later on). She acted as if the evening was speratic. That she hadn't known about it until this morning. Like the long discussion we had just 48 hours prior about breaded chicken in a mustard and orange sauce was just my imagination. Bull Shit.

She's lucky I love waffles. She didn't bring the chicken or any of the ingredients even remotely associated with breaded chicken in a mustard and orange sauce. None of it. Instead she brought Aunt Jemima's pantry and a carton of eggs. Thankfully, I was more than okay with breakfast for dinner. Since befriending these kids, I've grown a taste for waffles past noon. And while I was thrilled for the evening sunrise, I felt bad for my little box of pastries. Let's face it, breakfast is one of those meals where you legitimatley don't have room for dessert. I tried passing the canoli's off as an appetizer, but that was no more successful than a popsicle in the sun.

Thanks to Ricky and Andre, the food turned out fantastic. I stacked the waffles, thank you very much. We watched Alladin as we ate, and matched certain friends with their cartoon counterparts. My favorite was DOB as Lago the parrot.

In other events of the night, we all became video-stars. Keep an eye out for a 9 person collaboration of Kelly Clarkson's "My Life Would Suck Without You." Truly epic. By midnight we were slowly draining out of Nate's basement. Given the hour, I actually wouldn't have minded just heading home, and dealing with the train in the morning. Yet the thought of not only waking up my family members, but gracing them with my surprise visit, was a bit much to fathom. I opted to stick to the plan and catch a train back to Poughkeepsie.

By 3:15 I was back in my own bed. I'd spent the last 2 hours being shaken awake by sudden jolts and a conductor letting me know it was in fact the last stop. I felt like such a nomad, yet contrary to past scenarios like this in my life, I was coming and going from places I knew, and people I loved.

Today was a bit exhausting. A late night, followed by a day filled with classes and meetings. By the time I hit the gym, my ambitions were clearly ahead of my body. I'm about ready to collapse into my bed as of now, so I think I will. I have to get up in just 4 hours to intern again, yet I couldn't fall asleep without saying all this. So there. I've posted, you'll read it, and I can shut my eyes.

Super Sunday

Hellooooo Monday!

Superbowl Sunday had so many bits and pieces to look forward to. You've got the actual football game. You've got the commercials to critique. You've got the half-time show extravaganza. You've got the "right after the game" premiere (The Office). And finally, you've got the FOOD. It's even more eventful than Thanksgiving in a lot of ways. This year, the day couldn't have been spent any better. I was home with the housemates, eating the food we all played a part in creating, and laughing about whatever came into our minds. It was cozy to say the least. Here's a look at our bowl-worthy menu:

Trail Mix by yours truly
Pizza from Giacomo's - ordered by Steve
MAC-govern & Cheese
Kristen and Mike's Guacamole & Salsa
Pierce's Peanut Butter Balls
Chips/Pretzels/Tostitos (various contributors)
Cupcakes via Mama Gruebel
And finally: Kate's extraordinary HOT wings (3 hours in the making; worth every nibble)

By the end I was in that 'past-out on the couch' position, wondering how I fit everything into my stomach. I must say, it was an exceptional display of gluttony.

In terms of commercials, I thought we had some classics in there, along with a few duds. The two that pop into my mind right away are the "Free Doritos" campaign and Pepsi's "Forever Young." The Doritos ad was especially buzz worthy since the commercial's concept was created by a contest-winner, and not your typical creative team. The promotional stunt seemed well worth it, landing Doritos at the top of many critic's lists. Unfortunately, true success can only be measured by sales in the ad world.
Pepsi brought their new logo and look into full circle yesterday with their commercial. The inter-generation comparisons were a great creative execution, especially against big-time competitor coca-cola. The vintage and classic tone was literally swept out from under coke's feet, one might say. I enjoyed it, but then again I've always preferred Pepsi.

I guess I should say a word about the half time show. How about...'Boss'? Ironically, that term came into use again during The Office, but I won't get into that. Bruce Springstein did a great job entertaining all ages, yet making it quite clear he wasn't 30 anymore. From his mic-stand back dip that kept him down for a solid 30 seconds to his stage-slide that landed his crotch in the camera lens, it was clear he hadn't pulled those moves in quite a few years - yet it was completely worth it. I was especially humored by his exclamation at the end of his set: "I'm going to Disney World!" It used to just be the winning team who got to say that phrase, but apparently half-time performers are also warranted to announce their vacation destinations from the fity yard line. Why not?

Lastly, congratulations to all you Steeler's fans out there. I had no real preference, except for a good game - and I definitely got that. Until next year...

I'm in Love.

A blog is sort of like a relationship between me and my words. It's a commitment, especially when you post on a semi-daily basis. Today wasn't necessarily a busy one. I woke up earlier than need be. Laughed about last night. Went to Palace Diner (all I got was a chocolate milk, but time with friends around a table, especially at a diner, is always worth it). Then I sat (for 4 hours) with 7 of my most insane peers and worked on our epiclly impossible advertising campaign. Now, it's night 4 of Frank's birthday extravaganza. Friends are creating a whirlwind of happiness, and I'm reminded by some regulars that I haven't spent time with my keyboard today. So here I am - typing my thoughts and dwelling on my relationship. I'm not about to go make things facebook offical, but I'm more than content with this commitment. It's the kind that will last. That will travel with me to new cities and back again to the familiar places. It'll never betray me, yet can always surprise me. It's love.

The Current

I've been doing the commuter bustle for a few weeks now, yet today I felt strangely out of context. Typically I roll into Grand Central, buy a newspaper, fetch my coffee and head directly for the Times Square shuttle. I guess you could say I'm part of the flow, a piece of sediment caught in the current of a raging river. I know where I need to go yet the "rush" of rush hour seems to carry me there. It's perfectly natural in the urban ecosystem we dive into each day. But not today. Today, I caught the early train. I was never a fan of the Starbucks in my wing of Grand Central (the people pushy, the seating limited) but there was rumor to be another; through the main concourse and left toward Lexington Passage - a duplicate. And because I had this residue of time on my hands, I decided to explore the "other" Starbucks. Maybe it was my extreme lack of sleep the night before, or possibly the absence of my earphones, or simply the genuine overflow of traffic, but this morning I felt like I was drowning. My ears were absorbing an extremity of peculiar sound effects [ the heels of a woman's shoe, the waggle of a key chain, the brush of a pant leg]. They were amplified into my eardrum, as if to announce their passing presence. Having no urgency in my swagger, I felt subjugated by the masses. And for the first time ever, I was overwhlemed by New York.

It wasn't so much being overwhelmed by the furious momentum or sheer volume - I was well adapted to that. It was more of an astounding sense of the ordinary. Nobody speaking to one another. Everyone gliding into and out of turnstyles. Indistinguishable outfits and oblivious facial expressions. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. It had all accumulated into this one consistant flow, and I was struggling to swim against the current. A few more steps and I hit the surface; breathing again. It was only a momentary lapse, but it was enough for me. I know I'm not invinsible. It's okay to be caught in the current sometimes, it makes the world keep spinning I suppose.

After a few sips of my soy latte, I was grounded again. I even finished a round of sudoku.

Hold it! Or not...

Awkward Assembly!

All day today, I was put into an offly familiar circumstance. Perhaps you can relate?

The door-hold. Oh my, how incredibly awkward each and every time. You open the door, realize there's someone behind you, and are left to make an instantaneous decision. Are they close enough to deserve a respectful door hold or are they just far enough to fend for themselves? You could be a couple of people in this situation...

1. The Eyevoider. A solid persona to undertake, it's especially great for those of you with an easily guilty conscious. The key here is to avoid eye contact. Whether you hold the door or not, it's ten times worse if you've looked them in the eyes. If you hold the door, it's as if they mean something to you - all of a sudden it's more than a courtesy, it's a gesture. If you don't hold the door you may as well have slapped them in the face with it, because now you've measured them, and the innocent are left to believe you genuinely didn't think they deserved it. How horrible of you. Don't make eye contact, and at least you'll be sacrificed the awfulness of meeting your victim.

2. The Hustler. Pretty straight forward, this method is fantastic for anyone who loves being selfish. Rather than making the decision on the spot, the hustler already has his decision made, every single time. He never holds the door. He plows through, without as much as glancing at another human being. Be him, and people will either loathe you or assume you're extremely important (who else would constantly be in a rush?)

3. The Handler. This is for the weak of heart, who can never let go of the handle. Again, rather than ever making an on the spot decision, this individual has a predetermined fate. They will always hold the door. My only further advice would be to wear gloves (and maybe look into a career as a doorman/woman)

4. If all else fails, there's always the 'hold for as long as possible without ever actually stopping' approach. You never turn your head, yet you assume someone is always right behind you. If someone is behind you, hooray, you've just been a kind human being! If not, you've successfully made the effort without losing any time.


Good luck out there.

Pastrami Sandwich

It's lunch break - I'm eating a Pastrami sandwich - and I figured better to blog now than never. The City is soaked in a gloom of slush. I hate this weather. This would be the perfect time to refer back to my very first blog entry. The number one reason for my discontent is WET SOCKS. It happens, even when you leap the largest leap to avoid the unfortunate circumstance. Today, was no exception. Good riddens.

There is one benefit to the forecast however, and that's getting my ass out of a few pickles. Sometimes I forget that I do this whole escape to Manhattan thing on Wednesdays and Fridays. I book meetings, confirm my attendance to events, and even volunteer to work when I know (or should know) that it's impossible for me to do any of these things while I'm a hundred miles away. Thankfully, today, Marist had a snow day. All meetings were cancelled, all events postponed. I guess you could say Wet Socks were an easy price to pay.

I guess I'll get back to work now. Sometimes this cubicle spurs the wildest ideas, and other times gets no more interesting than a pastrami sandwich. If anything outrageous comes to mind, look forward to another post.

One Year Longed.

Today marked the 1st anniversary of my flight into Europe. This day last January I was taking off for Dublin to begin a 4 month European culture-fest. I think about my time over there everyday, especially Athens, my "home" city. Things just couldn't be any simpler. My friend Courtney said it best tonight. There's so many things we do in life just to cross them off our list. But when people ask me about Greece, or I think back on Athens, it's more than that. My experience over there was more than just some item to be crossed off; it became a glimpse into another life, a life I could see myself settling into. I long for Greece. It sounds cliche, melodramatic even, but it's exactly the way I feel. I try to think of reasons, excuses, and far-fetched job opportunities that could somehow bring me back. It's like catching a virus you don't want to lose. I embraced the infection, and now I'm craving for the relapse. America has me stationed conveniently near the entrance ramp of the career-driven expressway. Unfortuntely, I'd rather be love driven. There's too many people, and too beautiful of places that we let go of, all because of distance and money. I get that. I get that big time. But when there comes a point in our lives that it's our independent choice to give up what we truly love for that which we're "supposed" to love, then I see a problem. I'm not sure I'll land back on the coast of the Meditteranean the day after graduation, but I do see it as a feasible near future. I love what life became there, and I would hate for it to be nothing but a memory.

Recommendations

I wasn't too sure where to begin summarizing my life as of the past few days, so I figured I'd just express whatever highlights came to mind at this exact moment.

I saw Slumdog Millionaire Saturday. It was fantastic. I know you don't come to my blog to read movie reviews, but this one really is worth seeing, mostly because of how well the movie identifies the people and life of India's urban social climate. It blew me away. We know the world has it's crevices and armpits that we wish didn't exist, but as much as we avoid dwelling on those circumstances, there are times when they find us, and affect us, in even the most entertaining of settings. This was one of those times. And I truly reccomend seeing it.


As a drastic change of topic, I made trail mix yesterday! I've been meaning to make my own batch ever since Pierce started mentoring me in the art a few months ago. And since I've had so much positive feedback, I figured I'd share the recipe:

1/2 pouch of pretzel Goldfish
1/2 pouch of cheddar Goldfish
1 Standard size bag of Craisins
1-2 cups of Reeses Pieces

Enjoy.

More Than I Know

How to hold a hand a hundred miles shifted?
A thought for friend a river's length away?
Pressing keys into a pad until a weight is lifted,
Shouting miss you's and melodies far from today.
I wrote the words I hoped they'd want to hear,
Made the comments thought they'd laugh to see.
There is no red van to rip the horizon,
No highways paved in heartfelt reason.
This charade is the play it's always been,
A way to conceive that distance won't win.
Music once hit me through waves of warm wind
But the air in between us now spread too thin
It's up to the wires linking man with machine
To play me the memories of a crowded scene.
I'll take those notes and once live verses,
I'll sew their seams with wishful thinking.
I'm far from the people yet near to the hope
That life will explode into more than I know.

The college binge.

College is a great deal, literally.  Last night I participated in the weekly "mug night."  For anyone oblivious to the drink deals of a desolate college town, this is a perfect example.  I purchased my actual mug 5 months ago for $7.  From that moment on, you can have the sucker refilled for $1.  That's right, $1...for a beer.  Binge drinking isn't even an option in this scenario, it's inevitable.  I guess that's college for you though, at least in Poughkeepsie.  It's all those things that would be deemed socially unacceptable at any other age.  There's lots of those instances I've been noticing, many not involving alcohol at all, like squishing 8 people into a 4-door sedan.  You just don't see a lot of forty year olds willing to let that happen I guess.  

Today I had 4 classes in a row.  It dragged on for a while there, but I kept trying to remember high school.  It was essentially the same deal, six hours of consistent education, but this time I had tons of perks.  I could eat hard boiled eggs in the middle of class, I didn't have to begin my day till 12:30, social circles weren't nearly as clicky, and let's face it, I'm a lot thinner now (which doesn't have too much to do with this, but always comes up when reminiscing of those chubby days).  I got through it.

I ended the day inducing my mind with useless information.  Also known as Trivia Night at the Hyde Park Brewery.  The questions were tough; we didn't do so well.  We had a great time though, which is usually the case.  You regulars know that I love a good game night. 

That's all I really have for now.  I'm tired.  I have work in the morning (the kind of work that takes a two hour + commute).  So I should probably give these fingers and eyes some rest.  I'll be more creative tomorrow - promise.  I'll be interning, which means lots of mind wandering and inappropriate thoughts throughout my down time.  

Call Me Jim Parker

It's become evident that I am in fact leading a double life. It's day 3 of my internship, and I must say that life is completely different up here on the 33rd floor of 1540 Times Square; different from the residential college life of a comparingly barren city in upstate New York. I love it. It's my other side, the mysterious one. And as for my co-workers, well they're left wondering who I am as a college kid. It's a fun duality. Those fools in Poughkeepsie have no idea what I become between 10 and 6, Wednesdays and Fridays. It may not be fighting the underground crime scene of Gotham City, but it does entail cubicles, keyboards, and Microsoft Outlook (all of which can be used as weapons in their own right). And though I don't interact with damsels in distress, I do find myself in equally uncomfortable situations near the copy center. I like to think of myself as a cross between Jim Halpert and Peter Parker. I guess you can call me Jim Parker - the office spider. Just a suggestion.

In the event you do buy into my alter ego, I guess I should finish coloring this comic. Before the sun rose, I departed Poughkeepsie via the Metro-North Railroad (equivalent to superman in a phone booth). I was accompanied by Terah (essentially that friend who is dangerously on the cusp of seeing you as the other you), and was careful not to break into the glitz of Times Square until I had lost her underground. Finally we have my supervisor (the mentoring butler, if you will). She knows the office better than anyone else and when there's a problem, she assigns me to copy and fax it. It's a wonderful little world I have up here for myself. I'll be back in Poughkeepsie after sundown, and my friends will have no idea how many paper cuts I've dodged.

Okay, so the alter ego may not be as dastardly or dashing as the resume requires, but it's still an alter ego to me. Ironically, rather than morphing out of the everyday and into the surreal, I'm doing the opposite. My normal is an unrealistic college bubble of bliss, but on Wednesdays and Fridays I transform into Office Spider - the monotonous intern in cubicle 3A. It's like Batman turning into Bruce Wayne. However, wouldn't one assume Batman doesn't want to be the tedious Bruce Wayne? He's already living the incredible life, why transform? This is exactly where I am. I get these few days a week to preview the outside world - the monotonous one. And for what? Just to prove how much better a dorm room is than a cubicle? Turns out...no. There's a lot to look forward to in the real world. And I'm not just saying that because I work at MTV and not some paper supply company. There's a lot to be learned, and a lot to live. A lot of independence that I'm more than ready for. And the mission isn't to fall into the grind - it's to break out of it; fight the crime of settling for less.

Excuse me while I shatter this window and save the world.

Office Spider gone.

Dodging THAT moment.

Now that I'm back in the swing of things at college, I've found myself tackling a little issue...avoiding people. Don't get me wrong, I love people, but after being gone one month, so much of the student body feels the need to over-embellish the time spent apart, using fake smiles and starting every conversation with THAT question: "How was your break?"

So here are my top 5 ways to avoid the post winter-break reunion encounter:

5. Leave for class a full half hour earlier than usual. This avoids being caught in the typical commuter traffic on school pathways. If you don't see anyone, you can't awkwardly encounter them.

4. Leave for class at the last possible moment. This will force you to move quickly and efficiently. If you do encounter anyone you can pull the old 'point at the invisible watch and wave' stunt.

3. Try a radical wardrobe addition or hairstyle. By doing this (and avoiding direct eye contact) people will be reluctant to assume it's actually you. They'd feel like a perfect ass hugging the wrong person.

2. Electronic accessories. This method is probably the most simple. If you have an iPod (or at least the headphones) - use it. Keep your head down and any passing faces will be forced to assume your caught in the tunes. Cell phones can also work here, and are sometimes better. Putting that speaker to your ear is a powerful weapon when paired with some fictional dialogue. The iPod thing can often fail, some friends will actually feel comfortable stepping into your line of vision or ripping out your headphones. But if you're on the phone having a fight with your mom or explaining what went wrong on the night of your senior prom - people WILL back off.


1. (Liberally biased) Wear Obama apparel. If you encounter any republican friends they'll probably take precaution not to speak to you, so you have nothing to worry about. Any politically apathetic friends will also avoid speaking with you - not because they hate Obama, but because they're probably ashamed they haven't watched the news since TRL went off the air. I can't guarantee you'll escape your democratic friends, but if they do find you, they'll probably bring up the election almost immedietely. Then you can throw out a simple excuse to wrap it up before they ever get to the highly avoided question - "how was break?"


* These methods will also work to avoid general conversation with fellow human beings.