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.

Seeing Red

Red polo shirts. They've kind of been a huge thing for me over the past 3 years. Freshmen year I applied for this little job called "orientation leader." And I got it. I was about to become "one of those kids": the overly caffeinated student that shows you where to park your car, where the cafeteria is, and just how amazing their college is. And though the job description seems to entail a long list of enthusiasm and spunk...there's a lot more that goes into it. And a lot more to get out of it.

I welcomed over 6000 people into our school's main promenade. I've herded freshmen into 4 dorm rooms, 3 academic buildings, and a chapel. I made my acting debut as a broken-hearted boyfriend and an infuriated father who may have been pushing pills. And I played enough ice-breakers to significantly intensify global warming. I'd say I put my hours in as a leader.

But when the days were done and the guests were gone - I found myself surrounded by a special breed of people. You see, the orientation staff is basically an accumulation of the most off the wall yet down to earth people on campus. Although we're all extremely active, it's not with each other. We have our own friends, clubs, and majors. And it takes orienation to put us together. Therefore, I can tell you whole-heartedly that I don't understand why my peers behave the way they do most of the time. But that's what makes it all so perfect. It's absurd. It's a job that hires you...to be you. And because there's nobody even remotely like us there, there's no such thing as a "norm." It's a very raw atmosphere once those red shirts come off (oh yes). And we love each other for it. Become best friends for it.

That said, today was my last day wearing a red polo. Well, wearing it for all those reasons. Today, more than ever in the past 3 years, I saw myself in the job. I saw myself as an assured, young guy, happy with what he's become here. There's an ora that our group gives off, a breath of comfort. And sometimes that's all it takes to say goodbye to a loved one for a while or say hello to a stranger. They asked us seniors to leave the program today with a word of advice for the crowd. I told them to forget about the word transfer. It's a change. And we all change. I'm graduating, they're going to a new school. The best thing we can do is get into the driver's seat and hit the gas. Embrace it. If we don't steer ourselves the way we want to go, we'll wind up at some pitz stop that seemed worth settling for. Don't settle, go for your happy. Go for that, and this change will be just fine.

This Doesn't Make Sense. But It's Perfect.

Apathetic schedules. Familiar faces. Mixed emotions. I'm back at school, it's my last semester, and as usual I'm trying to make sense of it all. But that's just it - I can't. Nothing will ever make sense. And the minute life does make sense - I hope I get thrown horribly off track and have to start all over again. It's not like a piece of Ikea furniture. Yellow futons have directions. There's no instruction manual for sense though. So don't try to make it. It just wastes the time you could've spent not making sense. And that's always more fun.

For me, I stopped trying to make sense the minute I hung up the phone.

I got a call yesterday from one of those friends. A friend that's pretty much always been in the picture and always will be. Longevity has us sewed together tighlty at the seams yet everytime we meet, we're of an entirely different outfit. She's a "home" friend, as my collegeiate circumstances allow me to propel. The tough part about going away to school, or even more so, leaving the country for a few months, is that the people you say goodbye to at the terminal aren't there to see you change. And then as time permits, you find them again, often right where you left them. Sometimes the change is clear, a dip in your step, a new shade of skin. But other times, it's nothing in your daily portrayal that's taken a twist; it's everything else. And when you have these "home" friends, it takes a lot more to make them see a new you. First impressions are heavier than most of us like to admit. My first impression with this girl lasted 13 years. Then we said goodbye to our everydays. In the three and a half years that have gone by, I've made more impressions on myself than I ever imagined. And so going back to the place where I began, the land of first impressions, "home"...there are times I wish I could shake off the past, and meet these people all over again.

I told her I loved to write a million times. Even more recently, I mentioned my blog. Initially the idea was met with rolling eyes. The exact response I thought someone that knew me would never have. But apparently somewhere in that conversation I convinced her to read it before she dismissed it. And yesterday, she called to say she loved it. That she thinks I should write a book about an old story I have up my sleeve. That she knows how well I could do. That she believed in me. And that's the only reason she called - because she just had to tell me that. I felt like that first impression had finally been shaken off - or at least given leeway to a new me. And to be honest, when you reach that point with someone you've known for so long - it feels like you're doing something right.


I'll be fine after college, I know I will. But sometimes I have to write it out loud for it to sink in.

Me Two.

I don't have much time on my hands tonight. I moved back Marist today, and sort of let "catching up" absorb me. But as usual I wanted to leave you with something. So here's another video:

I don't have the most common name in the world. Tim McGeever. It's easy to remember I guess, although my last name does get it's fair share a butchering, including one too many McGyver references. But it's always been unique to me. Until now. I know people have same names out there. And thanks to google, I knew Tim McGeever existed somewhere else besides New York. Ohio actually. He's an off Broadway actor. And though I knew he existed, I was always able to pretend he was only two words (sometimes a pixelated image). That ended today. I was on Youtube. Before you get too excited, i didn't find footage of the imposter himself. But I found something that I consider equally, if not more realistic.

(You can stop it after like 30 seconds)




When I first heard my name uttered, I couldn't separate myself from this new character. It was so uncomfortable to hear my name in a context that I never knew it to be in. Then I replayed it. And again. And by the third or fourth time, i started believing in him. I think there's a certain truth in a person when they're spoken about. Especially in a good way. For me, hearing this woman say my name...our name....made me want to meet Tim McGeever. And even odder, I felt like I had a right to. Like we owned the name together. I suppose he's developing a good name for us. And though it might taint the originality of my personal sound, I can only take it as a challenge. After all, he is just the understudy, right?

I'm Tim McGeever.
And I hope Tim McGeever feels the same way...

A plane crashed into me.

My step mom shook me into consciousness. I had a half hour to consolidate my confusion and make sense out of this early life. There were stains on my t-shirt, invisible dollar bills hiding in my wallet, and a hot cup of coffee steaming swirls of delight beside my futon. My first comprehensible thought was that I had no thoughts about last night. What a horrible feeling. My next thought was that I had no time to think my thoughts. So I stopped thinking. Which is tough for me to do. I don't remember the next 25 minutes very well. There was cold air, hot water, toothpaste, and an unfriendly mirror. The next thing I thought was about my speed. It needed to be faster. So once again I was running to the train; my sole pounding against the icy pavement. The wind drew tears along my cheeks, and if I let them spill, I could make this train. I made it.

As I sat in my seat all I could see were planes swimming and people sleeping. Today's today, the people the same, the news...more buoyant. In the monotony of commute, I watched another train pass by. A young girl in the window shot an exciting smile and wave into our car. I smiled back. She had a fantastic energy for this time of day. Good for her. Its funny when you catch a train just in time. You rush and stumble in a frenzy, but when you finally make it everything stops. You stop. You feel a great sense of relief and victory, but now all you can do is relax. A great juxtaposition to your morning marathon. Now, the train does the moving for you. And though you're the one "going" to work. You're not going anywhere. For the most part you're staying incredibly still wishing it wasn't so early. Then the train arrives where you need to be, and you start going again. Probably not as fast as before, but at least you're the one moving. You're alive.

I wasn't so sure I was alive this morning. I sent out texts to close friends to clarify my existence. They confirmed my suspicion. There was no way I could be alive. I tugged at my memory's thick rope and desperately tried to pull my night into focus. Nothing. Last I could recall, my friend Colin bought me a shot. What a bad last memory. No offense to Colin (thanks for the shot btw) but it's not a good sign when your last memory is probably the reason that you have no memory. I felt queezy because of it. Not in a vomit sort of way, but in a "who was I last night?" kind. Some friends of mine call it "time travelling." I'd have to agree with them. I definitely wasn't in the tristate area at midnight last night. Anyway, I spent my spare time today mending any and all collisions I created. There weren't many. Mostly compliments actually. I was happy to have remembered everything pre-shot. Like This Condition. They played amazingly. I would say seeing them on stage was surreal, but it wasn't. It was the exact opposite actually. It was so incredibly real that it gave me goosebumps. I can't tell you how many bracelets I've worn and stamps I've gotten just to see them play, but it's always been worth it. I know they've got something special on their hands. And I hope it takes one too many showers to ever wash it off.

Works been great today. I made my cubicle my own. Made some friends my own. And then ate some ostrich! MmMm. I'm pretty much recovered, I guess you could say. And I was pleasantly surprised at how well coordinated my outfit was when glaring in the lobby mirror. It's good to realize that you're happy. And it's nice to know that the reason I can be as happy as I am all the time is because of my friends. The friends that found me falling asleep on a New York City street corner and put me into the futon where I belonged. Those friends. I love 'em.

Oh and that plane landed in the Hudson yesterday. I was like 2 blocks away. What the fuck, right? Felt like I needed to mention that since it's headlining this weeks show. I'm leaving work now. Enjoy your Friday.

Your friend,
Tim

Dance with Everyone.

SO nothing too interesting happened since my last post.  I did go to Ricky's house for tacos at 12:30 in the morning for the sake of eating tacos, and seeing friends too I guess.  It was freezing.  I don't know why her housemates think indoor heating isn't a wise investment.  It's a great investment.  Invest, I say.  Anyway,we listened to some old school music.  And by old school I don't mean Willenium or Meredith Brooks, I mean Outcry and Stereo Skyline (circa 2007).  It was even more interesting listening to the music with the people who once created it.  Funny at times, perplexing at others.  

I typically don't write during the day.  But today's a little different.  The guys are playing Highline Ballroom tonight.  Big show.  Not the biggest.  But very very big.  How's that Nate?  Anyway, I figure I'll be out late.  But I wanted to leave you with something to read/see.  

The video below is pretty well known.  Sorry if you've already seen it (Molly).  But it's still pretty cool to watch.  It will have its lovers and its haters.  There's not much to it.  Just some guy who dances.  Everywhere.  With everyone.  And though it may seem like a silly concept dressed up in fancy music, I still think it's great.  Unity is a an exceptional concept. 

Scratchy Thoughts

I run.  For the train. 

I make it.  Just in time.

Windows become mirrors underneath this water

I check my hair in the new addition.

I’m okay.  I’ll be fine.  Skip thinking today.

Grande soy latte please.

And this fruit.  I could use some fruit.  I’ll take this fruit.

One grande soy latte.

I have the music. 

It makes the mimes around me dance a funny dance, and the beggar’s song a sad one.

More tracks.  Big lights.  Cold air.

Toys can warm my soul.  They must.  Killing time.  Toys are everywhere. 

Time killed, I’m alive.  I’m inside.

Copy copy copy

The window here is stories high. 

Outside a big big ball looks me in the eye.

It’s way bigger than from the street.

Below it, I get it, it's definitely not 2008

Copy Copy copy

I listen through my cube

Copy copy copy

Back to the machine.

People mean well.  I’m doing well.  I’ll do well.

More lights, less sky.  Alive is the world.

I dive underground.  I ride my way home.

Music on.

I stare at this woman.  She stares back. 

I can tell we’ll stay strangers.  I can tell she thinks back.

My stop.  No ride.  I’ll walk.  

Paintings of Imperfection

So my internship didn't REALLY start today, it starts tomorrow. I was, however, obligated to attend an MTV orientation today. Between paperwork, video montages, and lets not forget those blood binding ice breakers I was ready to be a cog in their flawless piece of creative machinery. By 11:40 the fusing was finished, and I was off; free until tomorrow, my real first day.

But today was far from over. I wouldn't let it be. I let yesterday's sun slip away, and I had every determination to not let that happen again. So what was I to do? Where was I to go? The MET. It's been 21 years and never have I been to this place I knew I'd love. Kind of frustrating in retrospect. Anyway, I got there by noon and didn't leave till they kicked me out at 5:15. It's tough being in such a massive museum at times. You're forced to pass by certain pieces of art and dismiss them, not because they're not equally impressive, but because there genuinely wouldn't be enough time to stop and examine each and every fixture. I find this particularly hard to do with paintings. Monet, Van Goh, Pollock, Picasso, some of the world's most renowned artist's work hung effortlessly for the public to see. Yet even those works of the lesser known painters and sculptors were hard to look away from.

I was reminded of the movie "An American in Paris." It's a Gene Kelly flick from the 50s I believe. He plays an American turned roadside artist in the foothills of Montmarte. There's a scene when he talks about selling one of his paintings. It's a good thing, selling a painting, it's how he makes a living, puts food in his mouth. But different then a musician, when an artist sells his work, he must say goodbye. Once a painting is gone, it's gone. Records and tapes and sound files allow for music and movies to capture their creation. But not is the case for an artist and his paintings. Those exact strokes cannot be replayed, the moment not relived. It was chilling at times to think about. This was the actual canvas Monet spilled his scene of water lilies onto. This was the paint splattered tarp that Pollock went crazy on. These were more than just paintings, they were experiences. And the evidence was as real as the clumps of oil and loose strokes of paint that suggested a man's imperfection.

I was exhausted by the end of the day. Almost relieved that I was forced to leave, because I can never convince myself that I've seen enough. Do we ever see enough? I start my internship this morning. Off I go...

Burnt Out.

Today was one of the worst cases of boredom I've suffered in quite some time.  It's my own fault.  I could have done SOMETHING of remote substance, but I opted not too.  I start my internship in the morning and figured I owed myself one final day of the winter-break wasteland.   These types of days typically consist of drinking V8, social-network-siting, aim, and occasionally daytime TV.  But if nothing's on TV, all my "buddies" have productive-sounding away messages, facebook is malfunctioning, and my tomato juice runs out...I run out.  This was today.  Not having a car I might add, is the real killer.  Otherwise I could do my nothing somewhere else, like Mike's house, where TBS runs more fluidly than water.  

By nightfall I needed out.  I walked a mile or so to the nearest starbucks.  With me, I brought a book I've been trying to read since July.  I purchased it for $3 at a used bookstore in Haight- Ashbury, a bookstore that prohibited cell phones.  And not because people were reading (this place was more like sifting through an attic space) but because the owner was battling the influx of technology.   I've picked it up four times, and each time I had to re-read everything I had forgotten.  But tonight I was determined.   I had to get past page 50.  The good parts couldn't be far off, right?  Wrong.  By page 90 (mind you the book is only 215 pages)  I was baffled.  Nothing interesting had happened yet!  The author spent 20 pages describing a bedroom.  The photos on the walls, the people in the photos on the walls, what the people in the photos on the walls were wearing.  I'm a big fan of description.  But there's description and there's just plain avoidance of plot progression.  For the first time in my life, I placed a book down on a table with no intention of ever opening it again.  A gust of triumph flew threw the doors of starbucks and sent a chill down the skin of my back.  Kazza!  I was better than the book.  I turned up my iPod and got lost somewhere else.

When I arrived back at the house, every window and door was open.  It was as if we were feeding the public tonight, and I was just about to join the party.  Unfortunately by the time I reached the stoop, I smelt the real party.  It was in the oven.  Burn chicken burn.  You'd think pizza would be on its way, but no.  In this house, the show really must go on (I say show purposefully).  I sat in the dining room, my eyes watering under a layer of smoke, as my dad, stepmom and brother decided which pieces of the chicken were salvageable. 

My favorite quote from the dinner table:

"Is that pepper or ash on my potato?"

Eventually supper ended and I was off to Game Night at Ricky's.  We played charades.  Andre, Jay, Mike, and I kicked ass.  I would go into more detail but I'm getting tired and I should be somewhat functional on my first day at work.  So that was todight for me.  I'm glad it ended a lot more energetically than it began.  Friends do that to us I guess.  

And then came Sunday.

Yesterday was nothing short of a splendid tC Sunday, as usual.  With Ricky in the cockpit, Jay and I braced ourselves for an eventful trip down to Hamilton, NJ.  Ironically we spent the first half of our ride sightseeing Long Island, Queens, and Brooklyn.  Sure there were some wrong turns, missed exits, and even a pass by Jay's grandma's house - but we made it eventually.  In fact, once we got out of NY state, time kinda flew by.  

Because we had some time to kill and Ricky was falling asleep at the wheel, I suggested we stop at Starbucks.  What I had no idea of however, was that I was about to revolutionize my coffee sipping future.  You see, I had only started drinking Starbucks regularly last summer. A double shot of espresso on ice was exactly what I needed in between bus transfers in San Fran at 8 in the morning.  I was hooked.  Come fall I was a pumpkin spice regular, and by the holidays the gingersnap latte was glued to my palm.  But now that the holidays are over, the menus have changed, and gingersnap is no longer in the starbucks vocabulary (at least not for another year), I'm forced to move on.  Enter the Soy Latte.  A tall for my first try, I'm sure i'll never go short of a grande from now on.  Thanks to Jay's recommendation I'd found my new regular.  Relief.  

We drove to Hamilton Lanes, the bowling alley turned venue.  As we sat in the parking lot discussing anything and everything useless, the image of a big red van with an oversized white roof breaking the horizon gave us every bit of purpose to be in that moment.  We still had time to kill, but at least now we had even more friends to pass it with.  Some of us played Cash Cab the board game.  Some of us even won (Me! and Ricky).  As much fun as we create for ourselves, our reason for being 2 hours from home on a Sunday afternoon found us when the guys hit the stage.  The show was amazing (the best ever according to Ricky and Ryan).  You can hear the same songs week after week.  You can see the same people you saw last time.  But something about seeing your friends do something they love never gets old.  Sentimental - I know. Afterward, we headed for Hoboken on a sort of whim.  Lights Resolve was playing at Maxwells and we knew if we rushed we could make it.  And we did.  Just as they were about to hit their first notes.  Another amazing show.  

Till my next thought,

Tim

Dancing Underground.

*Before reading the following blog, you're asked to push play on the adjacent playlist. Use the first two songs as a backdrop for this one. Thank you wisely.

Friday night was unbeatable. Some of the home kids and I thought we'd check out a bar in the city for a change and get out of the Queens crawl we always run with the people we always see. Because I was the pusher for a change I was left in charge of finding a place to go. And because some of my friends still look at subway maps like a Russian tourist with an eye patch, I played navigator as well.

Hunting for a bar can be tricky when your trying to please a small, yet opinionated group of young revelers who claim they'll go "anywhere." There's certain criteria these establishments must meet, that even CitySearch.com can't guarantee.

First, you have to make sure it's cheap enough. Not just standard cheap, college cheap. But Googling "cheap bars NYC" gets you nowhere. Nowhere safe at least. Trust me. We're looking for drink specials and invisible cover charges.

Next we must consider "the vibe." Delicate stuff here. If it's too clubby, some group members may feel out of place, or worse yet, they may not be dressed appropriately. If it's too pubby, we may as well have stayed in Queens. Music, theme, crowd...all of it comes into play during this stage.

Now for location. This one's huge kids. Cab rides are a wallet sucker, subway connections can get confusing (especially when the group navigator tends to wander off), and walking should be kept to a minimum (girls tend to wear heals and certain people avidly avoid coat checks, no matter how cold the alternative may be).

After an hour or so of reading NYU student blogs, browsing bar and club websites, considering reviews and playing on HopStop.com, I'd found the bar: Fat Black Pussy Cat. You read me right.

Before I go on I really need to reflect on a portion of our commute into the city. Our train was stopped at the Jamaica station platform for an unusually long period of time. Once we began moving again, the intercom assured us it was just some "intoxicated guys who were surfing on top of the train." This is Long Island's finest folks.

Anyway - Fat Black Pussy Cat - one of the best parts about this place was that you were really getting 3 bars in one. The main bar was pure pub, pool table and dart board included. The room beside it was more of a lounge. And the basement...we never left. Thanks to good real estate (and the same owner) this bar sits atop a pretty famous venue -The Village Underground. And this place was shaking in every sense of the word. Which brings me to my new obsession, The UnionN. This group of musicians had me 100% entranced in their sound from the moment I stepped inside. Check them out if you haven't already at myspace.com/theunionn. It's no surprise John Mayer and Sasha Allen have jammed out with these guys before. They're incredible, and make live music what it should be.

As for the details of my night - there was a lot of dancing, a certain friend got friendly with a saxophonist, and I somehow got separated from the group (no worries, I ran in to them on the train ride home). All around, some great memories.

A Certain Truth.

I thought I'd throw another post in today, for no particular reason. I took this photo in Prague, at the John Lennon wall. If you ever get a chance, go there! The graffiti is amazing by sight and even more so by depth. I think about this one all the time. So I thought I'd share it with you guys. That's all really. Thanks for stopping by...

Fuck Recipe's, We've Got Friends.

Last night was fun. There's nothing like a dinner party amongst a patch of young friends. It's the sort of scenario that helps you get to know people really fast, and in a comfy setting. There's just so much personality brought to the table. You find out what foods people love, and which ones make them sick to their stomach. You find out how some people cook their pasta and how others feel about the butt of the baguette. It's a learning experience to say the very least. So here are some quick lessons I learned at last night's supper:

1. Green Onions. Google that shit. Who knew they looked nothing like a regular onion?

2. When questioning quantities..cook ALL the chicken.

3. If you can't reach something from a high cabinet, do not try and defy your height. Ask someone who is taller to retrieve the item for you. This is how ceramic orange bowls break.

4. If your not one of the designated chefs, offer your help anyway. THEN when you get denied, pour yourself a glass of wine and dish out jokes instead.

5. People from the boonies were never taught to break their pasta in half before placing it into a pot of boiling water.

6. People from the boonies were never taught to take their pasta off the heat after about 7-10 minutes.

7. People from the boonies probably shouldn't cook pasta. Ricky Martin is the world's one exception (both the Latin pop star and the Adelphi dancer).

8. When everyone else is drinking wine out of wine glasses, you shouldn't be deprived a fancy glass just because your not drinking wine. Whether it be vitamin water, fanta, or pepsie, feel free to grab stem and class up your beverage too.

9. Dinner parties bring out the truth of all man. Notice at a restaurant people often act too full for dessert. But at a dinner party (when cost is out of question) everyone seems to have room for the sweet stuff.

10. When giving someone the option of a canoli, or a canoli dipped in chocolate, it's pretty much the same difference as winning a scratch off ticket or winning the mega-million. No brainer which one you'll cash in on.

11. When washing dishes, be happy when you get the easiest job of the lot- "putting things away." It doesn't require arm power or wrinkly fingers. If you don't know where something goes, just put it anywhere. And when you notice the host rearranging the cabinet space you ruined, look away.

12. Say thank you. Give hugs. Realize you're in good company.

Out of the Hush.

We love the whispers.
The gestures no one else can see,
The eyes that give our word.
But until tonight we'd never fall,
We'd build up our hearts
And construct our soul.
I'd touch your face
You'd hold my waist
But never would we tell.
Better off just you and me
Avoiding the thought of us as we.
No.
I will not let things stay in the hush,
I'll hold you still
I’ll hold this crush.
I’ll keep your face within my stare
I’ll build you up,
I'll make things fair.
It may hurt to trust
It may hurt to love,
But give in to me
Give in to us

Home-made.

Last night I took part in one of my favorite activities: Game Night! There's a certain magic that exists between the games that never change and you, who keeps getting older, wiser and dirtier. Ricky was nice enough to host the event, so Mike and I eagerly hopped in the car and headed for her house. Ironically, Mike didn't know where Ricky lived. We winded up driving a ways past where we needed to be, turning around, and finding ourselves not too far from where I lived in the first place. After a few, scratch that, 12 rounds of Scattergories it turns out Paul Bunyan is an historical figure, Ricky needs to stop biting her hair off, and Mike and I both consider Bob Barker (double 'B' points!) a notable celebrity.

Scattegories soon ended, but the fun didn't stop. After two consecutive trips to King Kullen (we came up short the first round) we had all the makings for chocolate chip waffles - with nutella - and peanut butter - and maple syrup - and vanilla ice cream - and whip cream - and chocolate syrup. Washed down with a pitcher of chocolate milk. I speak honestly. It was no surprise that all it took was a brief mention of our menu to get even more people to come and join us - enter Andre and Jay.

The night concluded with yet another classic game - Apples to Apples. Jay (a rookie) and Andre (a vet) really took the reigns on this one, capitalizing on their power card hands. Their uses of Helen Keller and The Great Chicago Fire in particular brought Andre to an early lead and Jay to a final win. Congratualtions to both you.

I went home, passed out, woke up, and found myself on a train within just a few hours.

Tonight I'm in Poughkeepsie. Po-town. The gem of the Hudson Valley. Okay the last one is a bit of a stretch. But I'm here. It won't be a long trip (I got in around 5 and will be gone by 1 tomorrow) but it was sort of a necessity. I was without an iPod. I was without a phone. My internship is a week away, and somehow I still haven't gotten proper course credit approval. My car hasn't moved from its parking space in 2 months, and I need to start the donation process. Oh and my roomate is here by himself and could use as much company as he can get. So i figured I'd just kill five birds in one trip (wow that sounds morbid).

We went to the Palace Diner. We watched TV. Now we're going to sleep. Simple pretty much sums up the night. But I have to say, I've never been so comfortable before hopping in to bed since I left this place. I know it's not really "my room" as Nick constantly reminds me, but for this year alone - these are my walls to put pictures and records, and posters, and postcards all over. This is my floor to walk on. This is my bed to sleep in. Not to be a downer, but all I get in Floral Park is a futon in the TV room, and not even a set of drawers. Unpacking doesn't really exist for me.

Yet I'm still hesistent to call Poughkeepsie home. Everyone seems to have that specific place they call home, but for me it's sort of in pieces. In moments rather. I feel at home a lot more often than I'm ever in one. And I'll take that any day. I love my friends. Excuse me while I shut my eyes.

Elk of the Month

Well the first weekend of the new year has come and gone. I've officially been "active" this year, I guess you could say. Hooray! So how did I spend it?

Friday- enter Molly. Haven't seen this girl in months. I molested her at Penn Station and we proceeded to make our way downtown. We found a delightfully overcrowded coffee shop (I had a latte, she went Americana) and successfully filled in our opinions, dialogues, and emotions that facebook pictures had left out. In other words, we got to know each other - in that 'since the last time I saw you' kind of way. After that we headed for dinner. Already reacquainted, we shifted focus off of ourselves and onto everyone else. Who's doing what? Who's doing who? You know - the essentials. Unfortunately even the best dinnereunions face their hour of expiration. We said goodbye, knowing it'd be another few months before we'd get to do this all again. But hopefully when the real world crashes into me, she'll be somewhere near the wreckage and we won't have to wait so long in between these dates.

Saturday - enter colby and This Condition. Avoiding the monotony of home and embracing the chaotic humor of a band on tour, I went to Jersey. I rode the New Jersey transit for the very first time and met Colby and her rambunctious best friend Roseanne on one of Newark's finest street corners. Fast forward a few hours. Colby and I are sitting on the front steps of the Point Pleasant Elk's Lodge. A 16 year old girl double fisting her cig and her cell asks us to wave to her grandmother sitting in a car 500 feet away to prove we aren't dangerous. I feel fantastically old.

I love going to see This Condition's out of state shows because the venues are usually more entertaining and the people you meet become characters in your next blog. We came to the show that night under the impression the guys would be the second act out of about six or seven bands. Our impression was soon erased, and the band was rewritten into the headlining spot. As it slowly became apparent that there would be lots of not-so-good bands to sit through Colby and I conveniently relocated ourselves into the lodge's basement - at the bar. It was one of the best ideas we've had. We signed in as visiting Elks, took a seat, and threw back Coors Light pints for a $1.25. And as an added bonus we got to meet Karen. I loved Karen! Perfect bar linguist. By the end of the night we had infused enough of our thoughts and opinions into her that she was swapping nicknames and insults with our musician counterparts. I miss her.

After the show, which was superb, there's always a series of events that prolong the night's demise. Nate - who often brings horsing around to the next level - accidentally knocked over the merch table. Thankfully it was the end of the night and nothing was on it. Except for me. Ouch. We also made a trip to Applebees where Mike learnt the difference between 1/2 price appetizers and eating twice as many appetizers. As you can see, we're learning big lessons here. Eventually we did find our way back to Colby's for quality sleep over arrangements and the end of Armegeddon.

Sunday - enter the longest day ever. I won't say much about Sunday because I really can't summarize the 9 hours I spent at a Paramus VFW. I am slowly realizing however, that elderly men and their organization halls are extremely supportive of the punk scene. Cheers to that. I spent the day persuading adolescent girls to love This Condition, eating cupcakes, and genuinely being supportive of my friends. By hour 7 or 8 I had gotten a second wind (or reached delirium) and found myself jumping on top of people and singing songs I didn't know I knew.

Finally we ended the way all good nights and days should end - at a diner. I love diners. I feel like they spur the best conversations, even if they lack any real depth. And after a solid band-filled weekend, I find diners even more valuable. They have that comfortable caught-up in the moment atmosphere that lets the check sit on the table for as long as laughter holds it down.

After ALL that, I hopped in the van (solidifying my groupie status) and we drove back to New York. It was quiet - except for the songs that brought us back a few years - and completely perfect. Passing street lamps offered just the right light and you could tell everybody was thinking. If the diner meant unwinding with your friends, this was unraveling yourself. It was warm (and not just because I was sitting next to a teddy bear wearing teal skinny jeans).

That was long. But if you're reading this, that means you made it! Thanks for staying interested...

Love,
Tim

2009.

Well, here we are in the next year. Can you feel the difference? Me neither. But I did have a good time celebrating the switch, up in Poughkeepsie. I thought for today I'd fill you in on some of the details I love about New Years.

1. Champagne. It humors me that on this very special occasion champagne becomes so many people's favorite drink, yet throughout the year they hardly look twice at a bottle of the good stuff. It makes me wonder why. It can't be the price. I know it seems like a classy beverage, but there's no way to make it fancy when you slam that bottle of Andres on the counter for $4.99. It can't be the taste either. Unless of course manufacturers throw in a secret ingredient during the season to spur a liking. But then why wouldn't they keep that ingredient year round? I'm pretty sure it's the same recipe. So it must be my third suspicion: people generally do love champagne...they just don't know it 364 days out of the year. Some people have caught on. People like my roommate nick who enjoy a bottle on a weekly basis. As for the masses, don't be afraid to by a few bottles of the bubbly for your next social event, it's good. And for anyone who genuinely hates champagne...your loss.



2. Party Favors. How can you not love these guys? Lets run down the list:

Noise makers (just incase your vocal cords give out, don't panic. There are devices you can use that require only a small gust of air and some festive spirit to become louder than necessary)

Feathered hats (because New Years should always take place in the roaring twenties)

Weird coiled paper blow thing (because blowing into a mouthpiece in order to make decorative paper momentarily unravel into a straight line says I'm ready to party)

And of course...The 2009 Eyeglasses (enough said about that)

I particularly enjoy seeing people multitasking with the items mentioned above. Maybe a little eyeglass and noise maker combo (this is a favorite of mine as facebook pictures will attest). Another classic image is seeing people wearing these items the following day (again guilty but not in public). I saw a man just today on my way home in the Times Square subway station wearing the feathered hat and a woman nearby wearing the eyeglasses as if they were prescribed. It never occurred to me until this year, just how many people take a few extra hours to say goodbye to 42nd street.



3. Midnight. Of course I had to get serious somewhere. This year I actually spent the anticipated moment, observing the moment. I didn't have a current love interest to swap saliva with, though most of my closest friends who were with me did. And everyone else was kind of paired off with their other halves. It sounds pathetic, but it really wasn't. I liked being able to watch an entire bar hug and kiss one another simultaneously. While each piece is celebrating their private moment, the bigger picture sees an overwhelming display of affection. And of course, within the time it takes to finish that kiss or unwrap your arms, I was in the action as well. It's one of those feel the love moments.


enjoy 2009.