Grandma

My Grandmother died today, or was it yesterday? Well, actually, she died a few weeks ago, but there is a certain sick part of me that makes obscure references to French existentialists whenever I can, but I digress. Everyone said that they were shocked when they found out, but I think that we were all kidding ourselves. We all knew, but it was the pink Elephant in the room that we let just piss and shit all over everything and pretended that it didn’t smell.

Rewind seven years ago. My grandfather (Poppy), the patriarch of the family, with all his strengths, and what could only be called Shakespearian flaws, was sick. To say that this man was sick was an incredible thing, because until about that time, I had never seen him weak. This was the guy who, at 80, had more pep in his step than any man that I knew. Then, all of a sudden, he started to deteriorate. At times, he got sick and got pneumonia, and petty much went into a state of dementia. He would get better, and then, visit after visit to the frail chill of Upstate New York, we would see him slowly get worse, until one Thanksgiving, we saw him as a weak old man who could not do anything for himself.

I didn’t really know then what really kept him alive and going all that time, but I know now. Those last few years, my grandmother, the retired RN, pretty much waited on him hand and foot. I’m sure that that experience made my grandmother want to put arsenic in his drinking water, but I guess that the power of love is a little more powerful then I ever imagined.

So I was there, in Upstate New York, at my grandparents’ house for Thanksgiving. My grandfather had been sick for a year or two, and seeing him in his weak state and absence of mind was quite discerning. Then, I see my grandmother, the caretaker, have a stroke in front of my eyes. She fell over the coffee table and was completely unrecognizable. We had her talk to her sister, who was also a nurse, and she told us to call an ambulance immediately, and we soon found out that she had a blood pressure of over 200 and had had a stroke.

For a few days, we didn’t know if she would live or die. It took me that long to even bare going to the hospital to see her. I’m still ashamed, to this day, that it took me that long to go there to see her, but at that time, I was hospitalized and health problemed out. My father had a heart attack and coded in 1993 and then, soon after got diagnosed with diabetes. He pretty much goes to the hospital every one to two years, to the point where my mother and I just laugh about it when it happens. Saying that my dad got hospitalized with chest pains is sort of like saying that little Jimmy has the sniffles. My mother spent the turn of the millennium in Temple Hospital, recovering from getting her infected Kidney taken out. My cousin, who took care of me so many times at my aunt’s house was lying in bed in Jersey with Breast Cancer and was not expected to live 6 months (even though I saw her today) My grandfather, who I thought would never die, was sitting there, only a fragment of his existence.

So of course, the family drama ensued, and we had to figure out what would we do with Grandma and Poppy. So of course there were family discussions and arguments and deep dark secret unveilings, and I learned more about my grandparents then I cared to know, and then I found out that we would spend the next Christmas taking care of Poppy.

I remembered when I found that out, and I was devastated. I, and my selfish self, am definitely not Jesus, but I thought that considering that because Christmas Eve was my birthday that it was “my time”, because frankly, it always was. I thought that it would be hell, but it was actually quite nice, but it just didn’t feel like it usually did. Needless to say, I probably drank half a bottle of Vodka that New Years Eve, but then again, what else was I going to do?

So a few days later, we left, and I gave Poppy one last kiss goodbye on his sweet bald head, and that was the last time that I saw him. A few months later, I went to see Cabaret when it came to Philly, which is probably one of the best theatre experiences that I have ever had. I came home, and my roommate told me that my parents called. I called them and wondered what was up, but I sort of had a clue. My grandfather had died the night before, and thus was the end of an era.

You see, you hear all these weird stories about animals who go off to die. The dog or the cat that sniff around the house before they finally slip out and go die alone in a ditch. But after that experience, I sort of understand it. I never really felt that the whole “Daddy is a fighter” thing had any merit, but at that point, I sort of got it. Poppy was holding on as much as he could, but then when he finally found out that Grandma couldn’t take care of him, he just gave up, and that was that.

So fast forward to the present. I’m at the funeral, and I find out that my Grandma was a part of the civil rights movement and was an activist to the core, especially when it came to the PTA. Now my grandmother was never one to hold her feelings. It’s funny, because my Uncle’s best friend said at the funeral that Grandma never said a bad word about anyone and she never raised her voice in anger to anyone. Well, we all laughed our asses off, cause Gradma never minced words. We all remember to this day how she tore the grooms family a brand new asshole at my cousin’s wedding. There was the infamous statement, “That old lady cussed me out.” For the record, the family deserved it, but that’s a whole other story for a whole other day. But even after knowing all that, I just never pegged her as the activist type.

I guess that we all find out what we need to know when it’s too late. I mean knowing now what I know about both of my grandparents, there would have been so many questions that I would have asked. But, then again, high and site is, as they say 20/20.

Off to the Races

So I started a new job almost two months ago. I had to get out of my old job or I was seriously considering going postal. I mean we all know that we make sacrifices in all of our choices, and a job is no exception. We work like mad men in order to make our careers worthwhile, whether its for the money, the work, or the people. Us programmers often sacrifice the technical side in order to promote the business, or less often, it’s the other way around. But I will tell you, there is nothing worse than working for a company that does neither side well.

When I started my last job, I was coming off one hell of a crazy 7 month cycle where I was a “consultant”, which pretty much meant that I worked my ass off, had no benefits, no stability, and made little money. Of course, little money is a relative term when you are a programmer.

Then I landed my last job, and for the first 6 months, I was having a ball. It was the first steady job making pretty good money that I had ever had. The people were nice, and there was no back stabbing. I was finally able to buy a house, which I wanted to do since I was 22, and it was the best thing that I ever did. In fact, I sit here now writing on my couch in my living room, with my laptop, looking partially at what I am typing and partially at the clutter on my coffee table and the signs on the carpet telling me that it’s time to shell out some more money for what will seem to be its annual cleaning.

The walls aren’t naked anymore, but I still have to buy a couple more frames for things that I’ve been meaning to hang for months. Then, maybe one day I’ll get off my ass and go to the labyrinth of cheep crap known as Ikea in order to get my guest room together. But my first and only experience at Ikea made me want to invite people over to my house and kick the shit out of them in my basement. Tyler wasn’t crazy. Ikea just fucked him in the head forever.

Now back to your regularly scheduled program, already in progress.

So life was good. I had a house, a little more money, a job where the people, for the most part, were fun and nice, and the work was relaxing and new, and it was sort of challenging, because it was, well, new. It was sort of like leaving a tough relationship that meant a lot to you but would never work out and moving onto the hot rebound chick who you thought would be something special too, but after a while, you found her to be hollow and not that hot in the first place.

But the newness was cool, and before people started leaving, it was fun. I remember hearing a lot of people complaining about the company, and I was like, man, you guys are crazy. I went out every night, went to work hung-over more times than I would like to recite and still did more work then was ever expected of me. It was like a year long vacation. But the good times never last forever, and that was definitely not a healthy trend.

After while, if you are a creative person like me, you really yearn to create interesting things. You want to be set up to succeed. You want to work in a collaborative environment. And that just wasn’t happening there. The few people who felt exactly how I did started to leave one by one, and I went from being happy to being comfortable to being absolutely stir crazy.

Then the stars aligned just right. My friend went independent, and I was always toying with working with him again, but I was a little nervous. And then, for some strange reason, an acquaintance of mine who lived in Hawaii but would come back to Mt. Airy every once and a while invited me out to stay at her place for a week. It was a great time. It was the perfect mix between fun and relaxation. I had a lot of time to reflect on things. I mean here was this girl who was a total free spirit. I mean she’s lived in Italy, Denver, Hawaii, and soon to be Boston. She just lives her life the way that makes her happy and be damned with the social norms. Having her invite me to her place gave me a confidence boost, cause, well, I’ve never really been the guy that people just invite places, let alone Hawaii. Or probably more so, I have never thought of myself as that guy. But, well, now I guess I am that guy, and after seeing someone live their life so fully, I realized that I no longer had any excuses to postpone joy.

So, in a simple twist of fate, it turns out that my friend had a job for me after all. I had just finished my first year at my old company and got a 6% raise to boot, but I wasn’t happy, and I knew that I could do much better for myself, and a 6% raise wasn’t big enough to keep me there, especially with how crazy the market has been. So I kept the pressure on, and thus I have a new job and another even bigger raise (whew hew!).

I can honestly say that I’m happy. The long hours sometimes suck, but I feel alive again. I’m creating things. I’m learning things. I’m joking around and working collaboratively like I used to. It’s mind blowing, and it can only get better.

Now I have to say that my old job was a great experience for me. I never really knew that I was good until I was put next to people who ranged from sucky to great. I also had a lot of time to bone up on my skills. I found a lot of blogs and pod casts that I read and listen to religiously now. In busy jobs, you never have time to stop and smell the roses. So when I had the chance, I stopped, relaxed, regrouped, and now, I’m off to the races.

Fake It Until You Make It

I started taking an acting class the other week. It’s one of those cute little funky classes put on by Mt. Airy Learning Tree. There was this one exercise that we did at the beginning. It was a variation on walking around the room coming in and out of the center of it. At a certain point, you would stop and face the closest person to you, taking them in with your breath, or at least that’s what you were supposed to do symbolically.

The variations kept happening. After every iteration, you would walk a little faster, until you were literally running. Sometimes you said nothing, but sometimes you would give the person a name that you thought that would suite them. Then you finally said your own name after each time until you have introduced yourself to everyone.

We then each picked two names and created a body expression for that name. Like, for Norma, I would wave my hands like in a dream sequence. It almost looked like I was Javert when he jumped off the bridge after Valjean surprisingly let him go unharmed.

So using that body motion, and a Kick to the side for this other kid Ben, I had conversations with other people. All we could do is say their name while giving our motion. It was pretty fun to see how the whole thing evolved. You could change your intonation as to express emotion or variations in thought.

There was an interesting tidbit that the teacher said after the exercise. He said that you should examine what happened to see what people thought of your presence. What kind of expressions did they use for your name? Did they use your name at all? If not, then what does that say about your presence?

It was interesting, because I think that I was the only one whose name was never used. I did feel a little weird there. I mean it was a completely new situation, and it seemed like people there knew what they were doing, or at least knew more than I.

At a time where I am feeling a lot more confidant than I have been in the past, I still know that I have a long way to go. Supposedly, next week, we get to work on presence. Maybe I’ll learn enough to fake it until I make it.

Problem Solved

Today I had my informal 90 day evaluation at work. It turns out, as I expected, that I totally rock. I probed him in areas of improvement, and he seemed to have none. He talked with management and my peers and heard nothing but good feedback. But me being as persistent as I am and one who chooses to live in this place that I’d like to call the ”real world”, knew that he had to have some advice for me, and I really did want to know it.

So he said, “Sometimes when you are communicating”, and it almost seemed like time had stopped. I was expecting to here “you need to think before you talk” or “you’re not always as professional as you should be”. I expected those things because in my current workplace, I have kind of just given up on the whole stepping on eggshells paradox and sometimes revert to what would charitably be known as colloquial linguistics. Namely, I like to say Fuck a lot in my fishbowl, I mean cubicle, and I have no problem saying things like bullshit in any sort of meeting. For the record, most people there don’t have this problem either, so it’s par for the course.

What he said, to paraphrase, was that sometimes when I communicate I express a lack of confidence. It’s kind of weird having your boss say this, because after all, they could give a flying fuck about your confidence as long as you do you work and make them look good, so they can drive their Porsche Boxster home every day. (Yeah, he has a Porsche, that fucker. ([Enter Green Eyed Monster Stage Left]) Maybe he thinks that part of doing that is convincingly conveying to everyone on the team and in management that I know what the hell I am doing. I’m not going to pontificate on his motivations, but I do think that it is great that he said it.

Then he continued and gave me an example. He said that there was total confidence in my writing, and then when he first met me in the interview, I was uncertain of myself until I warmed up later. Is there something to be said for that? Am I like Harry who lives beautifully in his art but sucks in real life?

It’s very easy to convey your thoughts in writing, because, it’s just that, your thoughts, almost unadulterated. And you can also frame them however you want and hit delete and spell-check, which I have done many times tonight. And you’re not asking for anything, like more money or permission to stick my penis in someone. Once those monkeys, which are the two 400 pound Gorillas in most 25 year old men’s lives, are of your back, you worry less about looking good and more about being good. But I digress.

I think that this statement is a lot more powerful when it comes from your boss then if it comes from, say, some random chick at a Bar. Yes, this has happened many times. Totally random people who travel in the same circles as I do, usually women in relationships or women, who do not date “younger” guys, have, after one or more meetings pretty much pegged me as a guy who lacks confidence.

It’s even more powerful coming from your Boss then it is from your close friends in some odd way. That’s because you take it for granted that your Boss doesn’t give a fuck about the good side of you, and that your friends do. Your friends are your cheerleaders, or at least they should be, even if you play Temple Football. And your boss, well, he’s just the guy with the pointy hair who actually expects you to get shit done.

What I have been realizing in the past couple of months which was definitely sealed today was not that I need to be more confident or show more confidence. That is an axiom which I came to except a long time ago. What I really realized is that all these people, the friends, the random drunk chicks (well, at least one of us was drunk at the time), and the pointy haired boss, were not saying that I need to be more confident. What they were saying is that I have a lot to be confidant about. Thus, problem solved. QED bitches!

And for the record, my Boss doesn’t have pointy hair. He is very supportive and he outlines clear goals, and I execute them. If you get a boss like this, then pinch yourself, because it doesn’t happen that often. My point is that no matter how cool a boss looks on the surface, no one ever expects them to give a flying fuck about you. I mean how could I have a crappy boss and work at a place that does tin foil bowling?

A Toast

Is there some law in life that says that once you think that you have the perfect social and professional network that everything will just come crashing down upon your head? Let’s see, my first real female friend is moving to Chicago for at least 3 years. My good techy Church Planter friends are moving back to Montana forever. My other friend is moving over an hour away to go have fun with crazy plants. I’m leaving my job with my one friend who also happens to be getting married in 6 months. And now, two couples who I have become friends with in the same social network are pregnant together. How incredibly fucked am I?

So people come into your life and they make you realize all these things about yourself, and now, you are happier, but now you have something to lose. Sure, you don’t lose your good friends, but over time you are less important to them, because they have to get on with their lives, and frankly, so do you.

I can’t help but feel a certain sense of loss in my life now, but I’m getting on with my life too. This will be the first time that I have been gainfully employed in my life. It will also be the first time that I wasn’t able to call my boss an assface. At least, not just yet. As they say, you take the bitter with the sweet. But the place that I’m going seems to have the goods. That great balance between business sense and creativity. A real formal development team that also doesn’t crawl up your ass every five seconds about namespaces. I didn’t know that places like that existed. Then again, maybe they don’t, but this will be an awesome ride.

Now with a new job comes new things. I’m going to move out of my parents’ house in the next few months, hopefully to a house that I own on my own. That will be a big step, one that most 25 year olds can’t say that they have taken. I bought a road bike and a trainer, and now it’s just me and the road. I don’t give a flying fuck about how my car looks, but one tiny scratch on my new Bike sends my in a frenzy.

So who knows what this next period in my life will bring me? But here’s a toast to growth and friendship. May all of my friends be successful in their new ventures, and may I find comfort in mine.

Driving Sagas

So I have been thinking about the whole driving thing lately. Many of you might remember that I probably held off on getting a license so long because I was pretty much a total pussy who was content to stay in his shell. But alas, in these day’s, that isn’t the case. So I feel that I must inundate people with my daily trials and tribulations behind the wheel.

First, if you haven’t been sober in a parking lot in Center City at 2AM, then all power too you. Because if you had been, you would never get on the road ever again. Imagine walking to your car, and seeing people stumble to them. See some chick yelling, if not slurring, about how it is her 21st birthday. Then you see her friends, and they aren’t much better either. Shit, next time I’m driving at 2AM, I might have to take a drink just to feel comfortable driving home. I will not, but jeez, it sure seems tempting.

OK, this is not too articulate, but Fuck New Jersey. The next time that I hear someone say “just take the jug handle”, I will just say, “just take it in the pooper”. Who the fuck are the civil engineers for Jersey? There are the jug handles and the double clovers which just suck my ass. Then there are the lack of warning signs. Like, you will be driving, then they will say, 4 major highways next right, without a warning. Then, of course, there are the exit/onramps. You will be trying to exit on the same lane that people will be trying to enter on. Is there anything else to say but “What the fuck”?

Then there are streets like Alleghany, with all the homeless people walking across the street and the asshole drivers who cut you off. I would have to say that I made my driving bones by driving on Alleghany avenue every day.
All that I know is that I love driving. I can’t believe that I said that, but I really do. I’m a total yuppie. Me and my satellite radio. I may be killing the environment, but damn, it sure is convenient.

Selfless Friendship

So I’ve been thinking about the nature of friendship and how it only works if the two parties are selfless. You give all of yourself to support them and their dreams, and hopefully, just hopefully, they will do the same for you. Now, I know what people will say. If you are being selfless expecting something in return, then isn’t that selfish? Of course it is, but everyone is selfish. That’s what motivates people. But if they were smart, they would figure out that the most selfish thing to do would be to be selfless.

As some people know, I have become very good friends with a group of Christian Conservatives. A lot of people, even people whom I call friends, might have problems with this. I can just hear it now, “How can you be friends with people who voted for Bush, are Pro Life, and are against Gay marriage? How could you support them spreading this crap?” But here in lies the truth. Do these things disturb me a bit? I would be a liar if I said that they didn’t. But they’re my friends, and I love them, and they love me, and that is what really matters. There is no pretension about what I will be or what they will be. There is no condition on our friendship. It’s just us, and they support me in my efforts, and I support them in theirs. I support them, not only because I love them, but because I know that even if I don’t agree fully with their methods, that they will do good in people’s lives.

See, that’s my job as a friend. It isn’t to figure out what I want my friend to be and make them go there. It is to figure out what they want to be and what they can be and help them get there. It isn’t about what’s best for me. It’s about what’s best for them. Heck, I’m really good friends with a girl who met her boyfriend right after I met her. I love her to death, and because I love her, I support her relationship, because that is what’s best for her in her life. I’d love nothing better than to have her as my own, but that’s bullshit. It’s all about me in the now, not me in the future, who will always have some one in his life who is kind and supportive of him, no matter what he is or is not.

Then I look at my best friend. He’s put himself out there for me in the countless times in the years that we’ve known each other. But in every single occasion where we could have made or broke our friendship, we always made it. He moved to NYC and it made us not take each other for granted. He offered me a job and I turned it down, and then he understood what my goals were and understood that I could stand my ground. We had a mutual friend who wanted nothing but to bring us apart, but we just grew closer together.

He and I have different lifestyles, and that’s fine, because we compliment each other and are never afraid to tell each other to brutal and honest truth, because we know that it’s out of love. Some girls, and even he, would argue that he is “afraid to commit”, but I would argue that most girls are afraid to commit to him. Sure, they want to have a relationship with him, but it’s only if he becomes someone who he is not, and that’s the problem.

Who the hell wants to be around people who want to change them? Who wants to be around someone who basically tells them that they don’t cut the mustard? All I know is that I will always love my friends, the people who see me for me and nothing else. The me with all his warts, the self doubt, the laziness, the chronic masturbation, the alcoholic sleepwalking self. That’s me, and I’m here to stay.

Structure

Last night I was at the 30th Birthday party of my brilliant and beautiful writing friend. She said that she liked my writing but it needs structure. I value her opinion, but it creates a dilemma. I hate structure. Whenever I’ve tried to put structure to anything or I have had structure thrusted upon me, I get paralyzed by it.

I remember back in high school when we learned about the structure of a paragraph. Topic sentence, three supporting sentences, and a conclusion. I got so consumed with getting this structure down that I couldn’t write anything good anymore. When I told structure to go take it in the pooper, I started getting A’s on my papers. Ironic, isn’t it?

See, I went to a Hippy school. We learned how to write by just writing all the time. We didn’t learn grammar. We just wrote a shitload and went from there. I mean what the fuck is a predicate nominative anyway, and what does it have to do with the price of tea in China? Maybe that and 50 cents will get me a cup of Coffee. Although these days it’s more like that and 5 bucks, but that’s another story for another day.

But it isn’t just in my writing that structure screws me up. At work, we have this “project plan”, which is basically a way for people who know nothing about programming to crawl up the programmers’ asses. It also makes other people look a lot more important than they are. I just want to code damnit. I want to create some cool shit that will actually help the users. But now I have some jackass who doesn’t know what he is talking about structuring the way that I work. It’s like trying to make love to a virgin who is giving you sex advice. Fuck me here! Fuck me there! Harder! Softer! Faster! Slower! Don’t cum yet! If you can manage to keep it up, all you would want to do is just bust and leave. Meanwhile, if she would have shut up, you might have stayed and spooned.

Here lies another problem. It takes me a while to get into things, but once I get into them, it’s all or nothing. No half ass. When I was a kid, we had these wide steps with no banister. I was scared to walk down them, so I used to just slide down them on my ass, one step at a time. Shit, I didn’t even get my license until I was 25. Now I run downstairs and drive wherever my heart pleases me.

So I just need to write and code and let the chips fall where they may. In the immortal words of Mary Schmich, “Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.”

Last Call

Take a shot of Glengarry then a Dewers on the rocks. Follow it up with the finest beers around. A kwak, a double IPA, a fine German Pilsner, or even go retro with a PBR and a shot of Jim Beam. Feel that alcohol just going down your throat, soothing all the pain, and finally reaching out and traveling though your veins, reaching out and hugging your heart. Who doesn’t want to feel like this? Who could ever want this feeing to end? Who couldn’t want more?

See, we all love getting drunk. And it isn’t always alcohol. The people in our lives want to get us drunk all the time. We do things for our bosses and we strive to do more. They get that great look in their eyes. It’s like a mix between a kid in the greatest Toy store around and an adult who just blew a load right in their pants. It’s amazing that we have that power, and it feels so great to use it. Or they take you out to lunch at the finest restaurants, let you hobnob with the beautiful people, the movers and the shakers, if you will.

Or it could be some friend or acquaintance who tells us how “special” you are, about how smart or nice or caring you are. Then they take you cool places and show you around. Or it could be some chick who wraps her legs around you, bats her eyes, and says, “I’m all yours, scream if you want to, it’s just you and me.” And then they all manage to make your life a living hell because they have you.

So then, some mourning, you wake up with a hangover and a surprising soreness in odd places. They got you drunk, got what they wanted, and then they left without even saying goodbye. And all that you have is regret. Too bad you can’t even remember what you did to regret. Maybe the next time that the bartender rings the bell and yells “last call”, you will ask him for water. Instead, you had to have that last drink that would send you over the edge of reason.

See, sometimes, less often then we want, the experience of euphoria actually means something. We can connect with people. We get good responses. We can produce those feelings again, and those connections last. But often times, people just get us drunk and take advantage of us. That feeling doesn’t last. We are just stuck, wanting more, and the bars are all closed.

The Artist and The Audiance

You know, I have always had this opinion that artistic performances are kind of like making love. You are both there, you and the performers, for a visceral experience, and your vibes feed off of each other. Around the forth of July, I went to a performance by the Academy of Vocal Arts in Rittenhouse Square. A guy sang “O soave fanciulla”, and I swear to God that I was captivated. I seriously thought afterwards that if I was a Gay man, I would so fuck him.

So last night I went to see a play that was put on by a local Theater company that I am friends with. It so rocked. The use of Puppets and music and the creation of the staging before your eyes was just breathtaking. It was a folktale, meant for families, so it was just a fun experience. The puppets came alive.

I was actually hanging out later that night with some of the cast and the writer. They actually told me that when they were in rehearsal that the Director actually started giving directions to the puppets. It wasn’t on purpose. It was just that the puppets had a life of their own.

They were talking about all kinds of changes that they could make. So I asked them if the added saying that no performance is the same is true, and they said that it totally was. It was fun, because I got to see that whole process in front of my eyes. I was so glad to see this performance, and they were so glad that I came. It’s that whole relationship just taking shape.

And they talked about the relationship with the audience in this show and in past shows. They talked about how they wanted to create better responses and how they perceived people’s reactions. So at that moment, I found out that my theory is true. There really is a vibe between the artists and the audience. They really are expecting something from us. I only hope that they can give me what I want and I can give them what they want. Maybe we can have an artistic simultaneous orgasm.

What I am Thankful For

I never really used to like Thanksgiving. I mean I like to eat good food and sometimes throw back a few cold ones, but I just didn’t get what the big deal was about it. I think that part of it had to do with my smug liberal intellectual complex. But then again, maybe I had a point. I mean we thanked the Indians by killing them and taking their land, and then created a Holiday celebrating that. It sounds like a cruel joke.

But I think that at the end of the day, I used to not like Thanksgiving because I felt like I had nothing to be thankful for. I found it so corny how people would do all these cheesy ass testimonials about what they are thankful for. It would go something like, In these times, yadda yadda, at this time of year, yadda yadda, thankful, yadda yadda, our health, yadda yadda, friends, yadda yadda family. And now, it’s a cold day in hell, because I feel this certain urge to embrace the bask and glow of cheesy triteness.

So today, I had a sudden urge to call or IM all of my friends and wish them a Happy Thanksgiving. I have never done this before. Yet for some reason, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. I thought back to about a year ago, when I felt like Napoleon in the middle of Russia. I had won battles only to find out that there was no prize. There was just a bunch of shit burning all around me and I couldn’t see through the smoke and the flames, but I certainly felt the heat and choked on the fumes.

Now I feel like I’ve conquered the world. The March on Rome started a little over a year ago. I was walking around in the middle of New York City with my best friend and his co-worker. We were both miserable for quite some time but didn’t know how to talk about it. I shut him out of my life because I was ashamed at how I was feeling. We had a talk that we should have had a long time ago. I came out of it knowing that I had someone who was important in my life who saw in me what I never saw in myself. We have never had a fight. We have never been on bad terms. I think that it is because, at the end of the day, we understand each other and are brutally honest, but it never hurts, because we know, at the end of the day, we have each other’s best interests at heart, and we will not stop a conversation until each side is understood. Eeven if we don’t agree, we validate each other’s points of view and learn from each other. I am thankful every day that I have a friend like that, and I don’t know how people who don’t have friends like that can survive.

I am also thankful to all the other people that have come into my life or came back into my life in the past year.

An eccentric and loving College student with great wit and an unbelievable obsession with the keeper. I feel loved every time that I see her and her family.

A spunky aspiring Luthier who is like a sister to me and has an uncanny ability to put a smile on my face, even after telling me when I’m being an asshole. In the Dictionary, under cool chick, there is no definition, just her name and a picture.

A group of redneck seminary students who I am convinced coined the term “praise the Lord and pass the ammunition”. They have helped me find some semblance of spirituality in my life. They got this liberal to visit a Church and consider the glories of shooting perfectly beautiful and defenseless animals. Plus they drink beer, smoke Cigars, and their wives can cook there asses off.

A witty writing teacher who is never afraid to throw back a few cold ones and talk about the glories of Democratic politics, Jazz, or the French New Wave. My love and understanding of many things can be attributed to him.

A neighbor, who I swear to God is the basis for the character Ned Flanders. He always makes me Lattes and we argue about politics. He is a Republican, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

A scruffy programmer who bows to the alter of anything Wesley Clark. He taught me a lot about programming and always has an interesting saying to throw out, like, “Life is either boredom or suffering.”

A total Metal head who is just completely intense about everything. He has been a mentor to me in my career, and he is never afraid of telling me some hard things that I have to hear.

A crazy Ward Leader who I think sometimes is more of an angry Black man than I am, and he’s White. He taught me everything I know about local politics in a practical sense.

A guy that I grew up with who wants to become a Lawyer, because, after all, the Jewish population at Penn is dwindling, isn’t it? He helps me to remember where I came from.

A set of couples, both of the wives being musicians. They have let me into their world and helped me really appreciate who I am.

A web programmer who has a keg that is always filled in his house. He has taught me a lot of lessons about life over pints of beer.

Then there all the communities that have opened up and let me in. There are my Mt. Airy peeps. There are my theatre buddies. Who could not forget my fellow Deaniacs. And then there are the random people who you meet on the fringes of these groups. You don’t hang out with them but wind up seeing them from time to time, and they manage to just make you feel good about yourself.

All of these people, including, last, but not least, my awesome parents are what I am thankful for this year. They have all been a part of helping me become the person who I am now, and they will all be a part of me becoming the person who I want to be.

I’ve had a crazy year this year, with it’s smoke filled Dive Bars, Salsa classes, deep conversations about Reformed Theology, powwows with the “Liberal Elite”, Theatre, and now programming for people who make kick ass signs.

Thanks to you all, and happy holidays.

If aRb and bRc then aRc

I remember back to my days in my Discrete Mathematics class. We talked about transitive relations. A relation R on a set S is said to be transitive if for all a, b, c in S, if aRb and bRc then aRc. Now that I have gotten my geek bravado out of the way, why don’t I make my point. Why aren’t all the relationships that we have transitive?

When I’m in the Dominican Republic this isn’t the case. Transitivity is everything. When you are friends with someone and you meet someone in their close circle then you are automatically a part of that circle. You get all the benefits of it and all of the responsibilities as well. I can call at least five different people and have a free place to stay in Santo Domingo, and they will take me all over the country and feed me until I burst. Yet there is that added responsibility that the next time that I visit, I will have to go visit all of them and visit all of the people who I met when I visited them last. It is a daunting challenge, but it is quite rewarding.

I’ve been lucky though. Pretty much all of my good friendships now started in a transitive nature. There is something rewarding in being able to let your guard down with no pretenses. You get all that bullshit in the beginning out of the way, and just let it all out there right away. And, for some reason, maybe just dumb luck, I haven’t gotten screwed over yet. And there are people who I have known for only a few months who it is like I have known for years. And who would have thunk that important bonds in our lives can all be boiled down to “if aRb and bRc then aRc”.

More and More About Less and Less

So it seems that nowadays, in our professional lives, specialization is key. There is the old added saying that we learn more and more about less and less, until eventually, we know everything about nothing. But I think that our personal lives are a lot different. I think that when we first meet people, we talk a lot about nothing, and as the relationship progresses, we talk less, but our conversations have more meaning.

I think back to the first conversations that I had with some of my good friends. The topics spanned from science to sex to drugs to religion to the arts to computers to you name it. These talks could, of course, have spanned multiple hours, and while fun and fulfilling for both parties, they just were not meaningful in the long run. They were just what you talk about in the beginning of any relationship. They were the placeholders until people felt each other out. They were the things that you throw out there just to get the bullshit that divides you out the way. And you can have a drink, pack a bowl, smoke a cigar, talk artsy fartsy, or pick your poison of social lubricants until you can actually just talk without any of that stuff.

Then, there will be one day, when because you are busy, or because it needs less time, or whatever, you find yourself talking less. But for some reason the conversations seem more meaningful. Part of it is because we cherish what we don’t have all the time. But the other part is that in the end, you know each others rhythm. There’s no explaining to do. And if you have gotten this far, you have learned to except the other person for who they are and who they are not. Am I perfect? Of course not. Are my friends perfect? Not in the least. But I do know that the people who I feel closest to are perfect the way they are as it relates to my life. I don’t sit around thinking about how it would be so cool if only they acted a certain way or changed a certain thing. I like them fine the way they are, and they the same for me.

And at the end of the day, you don’t hang out all the time, or talk on the phone or IM for hours about every little detail of your life or what you are thinking at every moment, or how the Eagles are doing (E-A-G-L-E-S Eagles!). But what we do talk about is each other, our relationships, me and you, or so it seems. Because we all have skeletons, and we never share everything, but our lives together are an open book, and that’s how it should be.

Run Rabbit Run

So I have been at my new job for a month now, and I have to tell you that working is pretty sweet. I could live without the frustration of waking up at 6:30. And I could bear to have a freaking social life. But for some reason, life is good. I work at a Sign Company in Jersey now. I am a part of the “IT Division”. This, of course, consists of me and my friend who brought me on. Supposedly, in the sign industry, that is a big fucking deal. All I know is that a company that makes some of the best signs in the country has a couple of pieces of paper taped together labeling my “Division”.

Now work is a weird thing. I don’t get much sleep, but for some reason, when I get home, I can’t get to sleep. I am still on that programmer high. That feeling you get when you just got something done. And then there is that high from learning what we call the business logic. I mean a month ago, I didn’t know what the fuck a Pylon was, or Channel Letters, or the difference between first surface and second surface venal. Now I could school your ass son.

But there is something cool about working for a company that actually makes something. Not only that, but they are one of the best in their industry. All they need now is technology. I mean how fucking cool is it that I have a chance to turn a good business into a great business?

What's Next?

What is it about love anyways? And, to be clear, I’m not talking about any of that romantic Cupid shit at all. But what is it about the love that we have for the people who are important to us? How weird is it when we find out that this person makes us a better person and without them, we wouldn’t feel as whole? How is it when you figure out that this person in your life is like your brother or your sister?

How do you feel? Do you get that little warm tingling feeling inside? Is it then followed by a sense of weirdness? Like, what the fuck is this feeling, anyways? Is it then followed by regret? Do you feel that you should have gotten to know them better sooner? Do you regret not being there to help when you could have? What should you feel?

Over the past year, I have had the pleasure to love many people and I have felt so loved by them. My best friend who saw that I was unhappy and made me face reality and made me seek the life that I deserve. My spiritual friends who taught me that there is more that unites us than divides us. My female friends who love me for who I am and not what I do and make me feel like I’m the king of the world.

See this whole feeling of love is kind of new to me. Yeah, I love my family, but, at the end of the day, it’s one of those things that is just a given. I love my parents, not only because they brought me into this world and showed me the way, but, well, you know, just because. I’ve liked people, and they’ve liked me, even if I didn’t see it then. But I never felt like they were indispensable in my life, and I’ve never felt like I could ever be indispensable in anyone else’s life.

Now I do, and I have this mix between total euphoria, shock, and most of all fear. Can I live up to their expectations? Can they live up to mine? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? What’s next?

Preaching to the Choir

So I have talked in the past about my intolerance towards people who were not like me. I talked specifically about some neighbors of mine. Now, let me preface this by saying that these are some of the kindest people that I have the privilege to know, and while we may not see eye to eye on Religion or politics, I deeply respect them and their beliefs, and I am glad to have them in my life.

OK, now that we have the disclaimer out the way, it’s time for me to rant. I love going over my neighbor’s house and hanging out. There is only one problem. They only play one type of music. I, in general, don’t really like to just hear one type of music. But it isn’t just that. The type of music that they listen to is boring and WASPY Christian music. I mean this stuff, which is supposed to have a happy message has a tone that is so depressing. At best, it makes you want to fall asleep.

I mean I’m no Christian scholar, but I have picked up a few buzz words over the past few years. The ones that I seem to here the most are salvation, freedom, liberty, gospel, and most of all good news. Those all seem like joyous words to me. I mean we are talking about the good news here. Shouldn’t the music be a little upbeat? If the news is so good, then why does it sound like their puppy just died? I mean if you are going to have music that is such a buzz killer, at least make it like Christian Death metal or something talking about what will happen to all of us wicked sinners when the world ends. I could even rock to that, and I know that a lot of my friends who are big fans of the Left Behind series would love it too. (Ok, I was joking about Left Behind).

I can understand that some people only want to hear music that has “positive” messages. I don’t agree, but I understand those who do. That being said, shouldn’t the music be good? I mean I can rock on to Jars of Clay and Third Day and some of the other so called “God Bands”, and I know people who are proud Atheists who can too. I went to my other friend’s Church, and the music was so powerful that this proud Agnostic couldn’t help but sing along. So shouldn’t the test really be the music? I mean if the Art is bad, then what the heck is the point? Will you get your message across, or will you, for lack of better words, wind up preaching to the choir?

Job Dating

This whole job-hunting experience seems surprisingly familiar. And then, one day, it hit me. Job-hunting is pretty much isomorphic to dating. You put your resume out on Monster and all those sites, and you get a lot of hits from people. This is kind of like your first experiences getting a lot of numbers from girls at different places. You think that you have sealed the deal, as they say.

Then, the first date comes along, which is usually a first interview or a telephone screening from an HR guy, or maybe even an IT guy. You think to yourself, well, I fucking kicked ass on that date, so this chick will most likely want a second date, because we all know how money I am. Then, you wait by the phone, and each hour and each day, your self esteam gets lighter and lighter, until you give up.

Then there are the hookups. You know, the jobs that your friends try and get you. Now, like with a woman, the job gets props because your friend recommends it, but then again, you think to yourself, why shit where you eat? Why does my friend want to hook me up? Is it for me? Is it for them? Is it both? If I fuck up, then how much am I really fucking up? Just my situation, or our friendship?

Then there are those hotties. I had a phone interview with a really big name consulting firm, and it was like I met a chick who was hotter than the 9th ring of hell and liked John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Jean Luc Godard, August Wilson, and Woody Allen. You want to let your interest be known, but you don’t want to blow your load. Finding that happy medium is hard, because you can’t help but think about your sunny days ahead and all the romantic trips to Europe and Asia you will take with this hot chick on the dime of that hot company.

Then there are the head hunters. I guess, to keep the analogy alive, they are like matchmakers. I don’t believe in match makers, because most of them don’t have their own healthy love life, but want to give you advice. The same goes for Head Hunters. I swear to God that some of the messages that I got on my phone sounded like a cheesy used car ads.

Monday! Monday! Monday! All programming jobs must go. SQL Server, C#, VB.NET, you name it. Whatever it is that you think that you know, we have a job for you Give us a call at 215-555-JOBS, that’s 215-555-JOBS. All jobs must go!

Well, like dating, you have to know that this whole thing is a game, and games should be fun. Hey, I live at home, so my professional biological clock isn’t ticking. However, it would always be great to slide up into some hot software engineering job.

Technology: The Whisky for the Social Chill

I’ve been thinking about how technology and our fast paced lives have actually hurt relationships. People work long hours, and even if they get out of work at a reasonable hour, they just want to go home and go to sleep, or maybe they will be lucky enough to tuck their kids in at night.

I’m reminded of a joke by George Carlin. He was making fun of “play dates”, where two parents would schedule a time for their kids to play together. His response was, “What ever happened to ‘you show me your wee-wee and I’ll show you mine?’” I mean really, when did personal relationships, even making mud pies, become so hard or complicated?

Then I look at all of our technology like cell phones, blogs, IM, and online dating, and now I see the problem. All these things are tools, and tools can do as much harm as they can good. They can bring us together and then tear us apart. They can make it look like we are creating more meaningful relationships, when what we really are doing is creating a lot more relationships in our lives which appear meaningful, but aren’t, and in doing so we separate ourselves from the ones who are really important to us.

I love my cell phone just like the next guy, but it seems like when we are lucky enough to have good old face-to-face contact with people, we get interrupted by extremely annoying ring tones for a conversation that could have taken place almost any other time. Do we really need to be in contact with everyone whom we know 24 hours a day? We won the Revolutionary war and created modern Democracy, and I’m sure Washington could sit down for a drink with his pals and shoot the shit and not worry about hearing that annoying Beethoven’s 5th ring tone.

Then there are blogs, which I obviously love, because I am writing in one as I type this. But blogging can get addictive, and even though you might have an interesting discussion with someone from across the globe, you might be neglecting that talk that you need to have with your kids. I got addicted to the liberal blogs during the Dean and Kerry Campaigns, and I neglected my family, my friends, my job, and my life. I did, however, meet a lot of cool people at that time, and some of them are very important in my life now. However, I didn’t meet them on blogs!

Then, there is the lovable IM. I love IM. I really do. I think that I’m addicted to it. Maybe it’s because I can multitask, like talk to 3 different friends at once, or chat with your friends while you write a blog post about how bad IM is and watch the latest episode of “Six Feet Under” all at the same time. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to worry about those long uncomfortable silences on the phone. You can just do something else until something else comes to mind, and you don’t feel bad about it. But then there is the reality, the ugly side of why I used to like IM. It’s because I felt ashamed to look people in the eyes.

Now I know a lot of people who have had some success with online dating, so I am in no way dissing it as much as I am dissing a society which needs it. What ever happened to good old fashioned romance? Now it’s cute little profiles, or witty funny ads and emails. I think that it became so big because we are all too busy to foster social networks. Most people that I know who are married met their spouse through mutual friends. Why doesn’t that happen anymore?

And now I think that we hit the nail on the head. We are too busy, or at least we act too busy, to spend the proper time with those who are important to us. Does any of this sound familiar? Hey, I would hang out with you, but work is killing me. Hey, Daddy is busy blogging, but I will be with you in 5 minutes… I mean 10 minutes… Sorry, it’s your bedtime. I have to take this call. Sorry about the delay, I have 3 IM conversations going on at once. I’ll be right down honey. I’m just answering a few emails. And the list goes on and on.

So does technology bring us together or tear us apart? Worse yet, does it tear us apart and make us think that we are coming together? Do we use it like a bumb drinking whisky to kill the chill of a winter night, only to wake up frostbitten and hungover?

A Raison In The Sun

Last week, I went to Live 8, which has got to be up there in the list of the coolest experiences of my life. Afterwards, I went to my friend’s 30th Birthday party, which was also cool. I got a ride home from a singer who I have scene before at a Cabaret act that my friend is involved in. We started talking about her career. I asked her about her goals and what her dreams were. She said that her dream was to bring her art to the masses and make a living as a musician. I have to say that I think that she is well on her way, and maybe someday, I can say that I knew her when.

Then, she put the question back at me. What are my dreams? And I hesitated and didn’t really know how to answer it. I want so much in life. I want to have a family. I want to have a wife who loves and supports me and can kick my ass intellectually. I want to walk in the room to my kids who yell Daddy and hug me, only to have my eyes light up like the Champs-Elysee at night. I want to travel the world. I want to be financially independent and be my own Boss. I want to be known as a good friend, a good father, a good son, a good man, and a good artist. I want it all. I don’t just want to be the Squirrel trying to get a nut.

And then I think back to all the dreams that I had. I remember wanting to be a firefighter, and Aeronautical Engineer, hell, even an Ichthyologist. I try not to have dreams or high aspirations, because our dreams are based on limited knowledge. I thought that I would be the next dot con (yes, con) Millionaire. Now, I’m just happy to get an OK job where I can code some badass shit.

So is it good to dream? I think so. I think we all need to dream, because if we don’t, then there is no progress in the world. But when do our dreams get in the way of progress? How do we stand firm in our goals, even in times of adversity, and know that we don’t have our heads up our asses? How do we deal with the fact that our dreams are an ever-changing target based on where we are and what we know? Should we give up? If so, then what happens to a dream deferred?

Dating: The Opera

I am about as far away from Cro-Magnon Man as you can get, yet I have a certain nostalgia for caveman culture. When a guy wanted a women, he would just take a club, beat her over the head and then take her to his cave. Dating was that simple. Why can’t it be that simple now?

Now, it’s a whole song a dance with all sorts of games, twists, and complications. I can even imagine it being an Opera called Datare.

[Curtain up. Overture starts]. Everyone is in their debutant costumes, drinking, laughing and dancing at a ball. The light goes up on two people whose eyes meet all the way across the room. The guy, trying to impress the lady, does spins all the way across the room. He takes her hand and asks her to dance. She giggles and acts shy and says no. The guy asks again, and then they dance in the center of the stage.

The next scene, we see the guy at one place and the girl another. He calls her, and we see her with her friend laughing. They hang up and the guy dances and turns all over the stage while the girls gossip and laugh about what they think of him (“Comico”).

The next scene is the first date. The guy meets the girl and he bows and she curtsies. He does his little dance, and she does hers. Both are trying to show good moves but not their best moves. They keep a safe distance as to not get to close. He tries to impress her without revealing anything. She flirts but does not want to flirt too much, because she wants to hold back (“Partita”).

The next scene, we see the guy singing about how much he loves the girl (“Amore Mia”). Then immediately following, we see the girl with her friend again and they make fun of him. They sing about how he is not attractive, doesn’t make enough money, and was too nice to her (“Barzelleta”). In the finale for the act, we see the guy call repeatedly getting no answer. [Curtain down]

[Curtain up. Entre’Acte starts]. In the last act, we see the guy and girl wandering aimlessly down the street. The guy is glad to see her and she is belligerent to him. He sings to her begging for her to go out with him and she is so moved that she finally says yes (“Per Cortesia”).

They fall madly in love and sing to each other about how deeply they love each other (“Per Sempre”). Then he meets her parents briefly. The father then sings to the daughter about how she will never go out with such a guy of low class (“Classe Sociale”). The next scene we see the girl breaking it off with him saying that she loves him but can’t be with him (“No Posso”). Next we hear the guy talking about how crushed he is. He decides to challenge the father to a dual to win the hand of his love (“Spappoloto”). They have a dual, and the father kills the guy and leaves. We see the girl crushed, holding his dead body singing an aria about how she can’t live without him. Then, she kills herself. The father comes in and collapses at the sight of his dead daughter. [Orchestra finishes the climax of the music. Curtain Down. The end.]

Dating doesn’t get as crazy this Opera, but the whole dating process seems like a crappy game with a secret score card and timer with the jockeying for power where each person only reveals the “them” that they want the other person to know. They play games and try not to look to too eager or too apathetic. And then things get funky. Most of the time, either the relationship ends before it starts with no clear resolution as to when or even why, or they get into a relationship and don’t know how to get out. Sometimes a good murder-suicide seems like an ideal ending.

But we never stop and think about how absurd male and female relations are. Right now, as I type this, there is a guy in a bar somewhere talking with a girl. They are doing the normal “what’s your name what’s your sign” thing. They are talking about work, where they live, where they grew up, and what they like to do in their spare time, if they are lucky enough to have any. Sometime in the near future, he will have his penis in her. Am I the only one who finds that absurd? This is what we spend all of our time and energy worrying about? Is it worth it?

It’s much more fun to not worry about romantic involvement. The other night, I went out with my two female friends, and the one friends sister and Mom. I was the only guy with them. That’s fun, just hanging out with women and not being afraid to act silly or reveal too much. It’s just good old wholesome fun. Sometimes when you are trying to get involved with someone, them turning you down is a liberating experience, because now you feel that you can be yourself.

When you have experiences like that, you ask yourself, why the hell you would ever want to date. Well, we all do need “companionship”, and most of us want to start a family eventually. But you think to yourself that the Caveman way was so much easier. At times of frustration, you think, in the immortal words of Jimmy Buffet, “Why don’t we just get drunk and screw?”

50 year old Rock Stars

You ever hear people talk about artists like James Dean or Jimi Hendrix who died way before their time? They always talk about how great they would have been. My question is, do we know that for a fact? Look at Miles Davis for instance. Miles was on top of the world, and then in the summer of 69, he went to the Newport Jazz festival and saw Sly and the Family Stone and then got the ingenious idea of doing Bitches Brew because he wanted to be cool. That was the birth of Fusion and the death of Jazz.

Look at Peter O’toole. He did Lawrence of Arabia, The Lion In Winter, Man of La Mancha, only to do films later in his career like King Ralph. Hey, his fellow warrior Omar Sharif did Funny Girl (which I secretly love but will never admit it in public). Do you mean to really tell me that James Dean wouldn’t have had to play the Dad in a few cheesy chick flicks? You can’t see him hosting a bad game show or reality TV series? Do you really think that Hendrix would have been that great forever? Or do you suspect, like I do, that he would have had to stick to the standards until he became so mad that he actually turned into a purple haze. Or, would he have sold out like Miles did? All I know is that it’s like Grace Slick said, “There is nothing sadder than 50 year old Rock Stars.”

Thank You Busby Berkeley

I watched Reservoir Dogs for the first time about a month ago. I’m kind of slow on these things sometimes. I have to make a real sick confession. My favorite scene in that movie is when Mr. Blond does that funky little dance to “Stuck in the Middle With You” while torturing the cop. I asked my friend whether this makes me a sick fuck, and he pretty much said 10-4. It’s just that I have a soft spot for funky music and dance.

In a similarly sick movie, American Psycho, the main character, who is a serial killer, puts on “It’s Hip To Be Square” by Huey Lewis and the News. He does this funky little movement while doing a crazy funky monologue about the history of Huey Lewis and the News. It was pretty funky. And then, if memory serves me correctly, he hacks the guy to death with an ax.

It looks like I am on a sick little trend here, so maybe Godard can come to the rescue. I have kind of turned into a Godard fiend as of late. Two of my favorite movies by him have cool little dance scenes. I love the cool scene from My Life To Live where Anna Karina does a fabulous funky little dance in order to get the attention of the men in the room. The best is from Band of Outsiders, where they do a dance called the Madison. Even cooler is the narrator’s monologue:

Now is the time for a digression in which to describe our heroes’ feelings. Arthur keeps watching his feet, but his mind is on Odile’s mouth and her romantic kisses. Odile is wondering if the boys notice her breasts moving under her sweater. Franz thinks of everything and nothing. He wonders is the world is becoming a dream or if the dream is becoming the world.

There are many more dance numbers and musical scenes that I love. Pretty much anything by Mel Brooks lands on the list, but I digress. I wonder why I love the scenes so much. Is it because I got introduced to the performing arts by seeing Broadway Musicals? Do I have a soft spot for sick or campy musical scenes because that’s what I have trained myself to do? Or, are these scenes just that good. It’s the million dollar question. I think it's all Busby Berkeley's fault.

My Own Taj Mahal.

Most of the great wonders of the world are monuments and tombs to old dead leaders. They build these divine structures so that people will remember them. But at the end of the day, what will they be remembered for? Will they be remembered for the legacy that they left in life in how many lives that they have touched, or will they be remembered for using slave labor and stealing from the poor in order to make these buildings that stand for nothing except megalomania, death and destruction?

So then I wonder, what will I want my legacy to be? What do I want people to know and think about me when I die? I can only hope that I have touched many lives, through conversation and through art. I can only hope that the ones that I truly love loved me and loved how I loved them. Maybe I will not be the next Cezanne or F. Scott Fitzgerald, but I can be Charles, the guy who loved with all of his heart and let all of his feelings flow the best that he could.

So when I die, I want to be cremated. I want my ashes to go to the places that meant the most to me. I’m sure that some should go to Mars, in honor of my mentor, but I want the rest to go to places that have a special place in my heart, like my back yard, Central Park, the Dominican Republic, Kelly Drive, and the trails on Fairmount Park. My life will be my own Taj Mahal.

Land of lost Web Pages

When I started this blog, I said that I wouldn’t get too personal. Then, I started talking about intolerance, drinking, smoking pot, partying it up with Co-eds, masturbation, lack of luck with women, and struggles with self-confidence. I think that maybe I kind of missed the boat on not getting personal. But then again, I probably wasn’t clear to myself as to what I meant at the time. A lot of personal blogs are filled with total garbage. People name their friends by name and talk about their sex lives but on a totally superficial level. They play those blog games where they answer questionnaires or have those auto generators that tell you your porn star name. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just that I think that a blog can be something more, even my little 5 hit a day ode to existentialism and intellectualism.

I wonder if there are studies out there with data on how much hard drive space and bandwidth is wasted on these blogs, especially the ones that are abandoned after a few months. How much Copper, Coal, Silicon, and Iron have we wasted on this sludge? Just think, Mountains upon Mountains wasted on useless knowledge that soon is abandoned into that land of lost web pages.

The Early 20's Funk

We always hear about teenage angst, mid life crisis, and the golden years and how tough they are. Why is it that no one ever tells you how much your early 20’s suck? After I went through this hazing I asked everyone that I know about what they felt about their early 20’s. They all told me that they totally sucked for a variety of interesting reasons. They were all very deep and personal stories that bring up a lot of emotions. But what I found most interesting was how unanimous this feeling was and how that differs from what you hear before you enter the shit storm.

My question is why doesn’t anyone tell you the truth about this before it happens so that you are prepared? You have such adolescent notions and material dreams. You think that you will make a lot of money, have a nice apartment in Center City, drive a Ferrari, and have a model on each arm. Then you wake up one day, in the room that you grew up in at Mom’s house, pinch two pennies together to take SEPTA to work, and then go home, tired, only to veg out in front of the TV, Google useless knowledge, bullshit on IM, smoke a joint, jerk off thinking about that hot chick who won’t fuck you, then fall asleep only to do the same thing again the next day.

It’s the vicious circle. You have no concept of time, because it used to be fall semester, winter break, spring semester, summer break. Now its work, work work, and more work, until you take that vacation which you never will take because you feel so self important, like the fucking world will end at your job if you aren’t there. Work consumes your life and you feel like a Doozer. At the end of the day, you don’t sit back and see what you made, because all you care about is what you didn’t get done. And then you stupidly think that if you work a little faster to beat that deadline then you will get to relax. Then, reality strikes, and you realize that if you are stupid enough to kill yourself to work fast, then your boss will be smart enough to just pile on more work.

So you work so hard, because you want to build a life for yourself. Then, you realize that all your dreams were bullshit. You thought that you were building your life, but what you were really doing was letting it pass by. You don’t have that luxury car because not only can you not afford it, but you realize that it is a bullshit money pit depreciating asset for balding middle aged men with small penises. You don’t have that model, because not only will she not give you the time of day, but when she opens her mouth the shear bullshit that comes out of it is so unattractive that it can soften even the rock of Gibraltar.

You never get to go out because you work all the time and all of the people who you know are from work, and the last thing that you want to do is hang out with their monkey asses when you leave Inotech Inc. You work in a corporate fishbowl called a cubicle that has the unique combination of both making you feel claustrophobic and exposed. Every month you learn that Herpes isn’t the gift that keeps on giving, but College loans are.

You realize that money or prestige can’t buy happiness and things are just things. The new dream is to work with people who you respect and help you grow. You want the ability to tell your boss to go fuck himself without worrying about being fired. You want to feel like a person and not a number. You want to feel whole and appreciated. And most of all, you want a life.

But the professional route isn’t the route for everyone. Some choose the Spartan existentialist route, filled with houses jam packed with people, ramon noodles, sucky per hour jobs in the service industry, promiscuous sex, cabinets filled to the brim with liquor, 3 foot bongs packed with the killer kind bud, useless gadgets which collect dust, and the credit card debt to prove it all

No matter what route you take, the problem is all the same. You worked all your life to get to this point, and now you don’t know what the hell to do. You feel so unsure of yourself now that you have to actually live your life. You have to make your bed, and then you have to lie in it. Before, hey, you might have been miserable, but at least you knew that you were doing “the right thing”. There was light at the end of the tunnel. Now you are at the end of the tunnel, and you don’t know what to do, because all you ever did before was just try and get there.

Then, one day, you finally realize what you have to do. You basically have to tell yourself, fuck everybody. Fuck society, who only wants you for your slave labor and your consumerism. They want to make you feel like shit so you will make their product, give it to them, and then go out and buy it. Fuck your boss who is never happy, no matter how crazy you work. Fuck those women who don’t appreciate you for who you are and just want to use you because you are a nice guy who is a doormat. Fuck all those guys you used to hang out with who aren’t worth anything except some free beer and pot on occasion and who tell you that all you need to do to make yourself happy is to get laid. Fuck your parents who, even though they love you and want what’s best for you, haven’t been your age since Country Joe and the Fish were storming the charts.

So, when your parents tell you to go to school and work hard, so that you will get a “good job with benefits” and you will be happy, you feel like you were lied to. Why didn’t they tell you? Do they think that you will not do the right things if you are prepared with the truth? Do they just not remember? What happens when you don’t become what they want you to become? What happens when you marry the wrong person or don’t become a doctor or a lawyer like they told you that you would be since you were a sperm? Will they still love you? Will your relationship ever be the same?

I had my own version of this story with some omissions and additions. It took me a lot of time and work to get out of this depressing vile of funk. It took old friends who believed in me and helped pull me out. They made me see in myself what everyone always saw in me. It took new friends who guided me and made me feel more reassured. The guys who take me out for a beer or a cigar to bullshit or talk about our lives. The women who tell me what a great guy I am and make me feel like the king of the world.

I used to put up walls for fear that I was not worthy. And when people put up walls in front of me, all I would do is pile on more bricks. I was the caterpillar who was afraid to break out of his Cocoon and be the butterfly that everyone knew that I could be. Now, it’s time to tear down those walls. It’s time to spread my wings and fly.

Rocky in the Rain

Tonight I went and watched Rocky II in front of the Art Museum in the rain. That’s definitely an experience. The bright lights shinning through the rain onto this magnanimous gothic structure, which is now covered by the semi-built stage for Live 8.

It’s pretty cool watching the famous scene where he runs up the Art Museum steps in front of the very place in which is was filmed. What I remember most about this montage was when he ran through the Italian Market. It brings me back to my childhood when the Italian Market was actually Italian and untouched by gentrification. Now it might as well be called the Korean Market, and there are art galleries there. Galleries in the Italian Market? What is the world coming to?

What I remember most about the Italian Market was not the great food, the saw dust on the ground which soaked up the fish guts, or the burning of plywood in the middle of the street to keep warm. One day, I went there with my dad, and we parked near a slaughterhouse. We made several trips to and from the car. I heard a lot of bahs coming from there. Then, a few less. Then, only a handful. Then, total silence.

Get Regular With Relax

I was watching an old episode of Sex and the City the other night. It was the one where Samantha goes out with a guy who is so well endowed that she can’t handle him. Imagine being known as that guy. I’m wondering whether it would be a good thing or a bad thing. Then, of course, my mind started wandering and thinking of all the other sucky roles there are out there.

I heard that a lot of the people who played the criminals in the America’s Most Wanted reenactments got mistaken for the real criminals all the time. Imagine being actually mistaken for an ax murderer on the run.

Then, of course, there are all those commercials. You know the ones I’m talking about, PMS meds, tampons, Genital Herpes meds, erectile dysfunction meds, and laxatives. The funny thing about these commercials is that the characters seem so happy to have these conditions. I mean how happy would u be if you were constipated on PMS with a big wad of fuckin cotton or dioxin ridden bleached wood fibers in you, while you had an STD and are married to a guy who can’t get it up?

Imagine being that actor and talking to someone in a bar who thinks that you look familiar. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” “Yeah, I’m the guy in the Levitra commercial who finally got to throw the ball through the hoop.” Or, imagine being like Mia Farrow’s character in Radio Days doing a commercials where you sing “Get Regular With Relax”. I mean, are the residuals really worth it?

Damned To Hell

I consider myself a total clutter bug. I think that anyone who knows me will attest to that fact. So walking around my room, kicking around stuff that should have been thrown away a long long time ago, I found an old test of mine from College. I must mention that I graduated 3 years ago, but I digress.

It took me forever to figure out which class this was from. It shows me how much I just learned to “past the test” sometimes. And I read it, not understanding what the hell I said, but it did sound profound. I guess that’s all that matters at the end of the day.

So my friend always says that if you want to make money, don’t go to school, create one. I mean how much of the bullshit that we “learn” in school do we actually retain? I would say that after 3 years in the “real world” that school teaches you to learn how to learn. This is a valuable skill, especially in my field, software engineering.

Then, I couldn’t help thinking, jokingly, about my friend who goes to Seminary to become a minister. I mean how much of this stuff does he really retain, with all the Greek and Hebrew and Jesus and Paul this and that? And then God said, bla bla bla, Israel, Jesus, bla bla bla, Nazareth, etc. I mean, I only do a program here and there, and here this guy is going to guide the spirituality of the future movers and shakers of our nation, or I can only hope. If he learns spirituality the way that I learned Math and Computer Science, then I think that we are probably all damned to hell.

Boulder of Shame

I’ve always been a pretty blunt person. I have prided myself on cutting through bullshit and arbitrary notions of tact. I’ve been complimented on many occasions for my ability to “say anything”. For example, a girl I worked with in college saw me chewing on straws a lot. She asked me if I did it because I had an oral fixation. I responded that I thought that most girls would like that. That’s the kind of bluntness that I had. I had the ability to say anything without really revealing anything.

I had a conversation with a friend one night and he told me about the reason he is such good friends with his best friend. He said that they don’t hold anything back. Then I realized that for years I was holding back. I was holding back with him, but more importantly, I was holding back with myself.

Yeah, I can flirt or ask people questions that most would not even think about asking. I can say a lot of things most people just don’t say. But at the same time, I was holding back. I didn’t talk about the fact that I was miserable and uncomfortable in my own skin. I didn’t really let anyone into my life, even the people who meant a lot to me. But more importantly, I didn’t tell the people who were important in my life how much they meant to me.

So at that moment, I just said fuck it, and just let it all out. I started telling people what I was really thinking and feeling. I let it all out without fear of sounding sappy or worrying about feeling vulnerable. And instead of feeling vulnerable, it’s quite a liberating experience. Keeping things bottled up feels like carrying around the Stone Cutters boulder of shame, and now I’ve cut the shackles.

P.Q. Quatlbaum

As I have said before, when I was a kid, I went to a very Liberal alternative Co-Op school called Project Learn (PL). We called our teachers by their first names, and each parent had their own job. One parent’s job was teaching me and my two friends how to program in Quick Basic. Every month, there was a Town Meeting, where all the parents from school got together and talked about the issues. Everything was done by consensus, so being a product of PL can really help you in collaborative processes. Hell, I’m a Theatre nut who is a Software Engineer. I don’t think that this is a coincidence.

What I loved about PL was the people and the environment. I mean, they are “my people” if there ever was any. They are mostly smart, middle classed, liberal intellectuals who work in the public sector or own their own Business. I have never met a PL parent who worked in Corporate America. And despite all the beef Liberals get about being “anti-family”, you will never meet people with more traditional family values. All the men who are a product of PL respect and deeply love strong women and are generally the types who mostly seek long term relationships, even in their 20’s.

I think that it was the right fit for me, because the school is a community that really seeks out what is best in each member and nurtures it. I always had a problem with English, even though I am a pretty good writer with the help of spell check (God bless modern technology). So a few days a week, I would get extra tutoring after school, after it was found out that this was something that I had to deal with. IN other schools, I would have fallen through the cracks or been labeled “incorrigible”. At the same time, I was a year ahead in Math, so instead of doing Math, I took a class in programming, and now, I am a programmer, for better or worse. Perhaps, some day, I’ll get a real job. ;)

So last week, it was an end of an Era. The after school teacher who taught me how to draw, carve, and was a mentor early in my life retired. We had a big party for him. I have to tell you that I never thought that he would leave. I kind of thought that he would just stay there till he died, and then we would all chip in to rocket his remains to Mars. You have no idea how to many times I have heard him filibuster about the face and pyramids on Mars and the merits of not being a one planet person, but I digress.

It is always great to see old friends and get back in contact with people who you should have never lost touch with in the first place, especially if they knew you when you were a little whippersnapper. It’s always good to get a little old dose of PL from time to time too. But what is really great is becoming friends with people who raised you while you are now a man. The conversations that I have with this teacher now are eye opening, because now we can talk about things that we couldn’t before. The same goes with my parents. When you are a man, you are less worried about getting “in trouble” than you are in just having an open and honest conversation. And this time, more or less, you are on the same level with your elders.

I remember I saw a guy in a Bar who I used to go to a pool with every summer when I was a kid. His son is the same age as I am. I asked him whether he ever thought that he and I would have a beer together. He seemed to not be as freaked out about the whole thing as I was. I guess we all grow up and our relationships change. But we always have to keep our eye on the ball. We always have to remember who we really are and where we came from.

I make it a policy not to name anyone I know in my writings on this blog. All I have to say is, this post is dedicated to P.Q. Quatlbaum. You have touched many lives more so than you can ever imagine. May your retirement be divine, whether it’s in the Pyramids in Egypt, or the face on Mars.

The McDonald’s Test

Today, I stopped by McDonald’s to get a quick bite to eat. This is something that I swore that I wouldn’t do after seeing Super Size Me, but I guess when you are in a hurry, it’s OK. This visit made me remember an old Economic theory I had. I call it the McDonald’s test. Here is how it goes. If you want to find out the Economic livelihood of a community, then stop by their local McDonald’s. How old are most of the people working there? Do they look like they are doing it to get extra money for Gas or that nice prom dress that they always wanted, or are they older? Not necessarily old, but old enough that they shouldn’t still be working at McDonalds. This test has seems to have stood the test of time during my short years on this earth.

It makes you think about people’s fate. Some people are destined to wear a three-piece suit to a well paying but crappy job at Innotech. Others are made to wear a uniform, weather it be at McDonalds or in Iraq. Is that good enough for the richest country in the world? I don’t think so, but maybe that’s why we are the richest country in the world. After all, someone has to pick up the garbage. Right? Is there a better way? I don’t know. I certainly hope so. It is food for thought though.

Here comes the Pellaton

Last Sunday I went and watched the Wachovia Bike Race in Manayunk. I watched part of it on Main Street, and the rest was spent on the infamous Manayunk Wall. If you haven’t seen the Pellaton pass by you ten feet away going 35 miles an hour, then well, frankly, you are just letting life pass you by. This is, of course, a lot different from the action on the Wall. You see the pure agony on their faces as they the hill, one out of the ten times during the race. Their jerseys are open. Sweet is pouring down their face. The pain in their expression is something that you will never forget. They almost look like they are foaming at the mouth.

But once you see them go by a few times, the real show is the crowd. There must be at least 20 random Keggers on the Wall. They are equipped with DJ’s, Live Bands, Food, Slip and Slides, you name it. People play Beer Pong and Flip Cup on the sidewalk. Most of the music that I heard was Old School Hip-Hop, Tribe, The Pharcyde, The Sugar Hill Gang, Black Sheep, Slick Rick, and much more. None of this 50 Cent shit. In fact, in my whole walk along the wall, I heard absolutely no crappy new Rap music. Thank God for that.

I used to go to a party on the Wall every year when I was a kid at my Aunt’s place. It was great. You would watch the race on the TV in the AC, and then when they came up the Wall, you would run downstairs to see them, and then run back up to the AC. It is definitely a different experience being own your own and of drinking age. You wake up the next mourning with a hangover and sunburn. I remember last year I saw a drunk kid go up to a cop and ask, “To whom do we owe the ability to get drunk on the street like this? Mayor Street?”

If you can’t go to a race, then seeing it on TV is still fun. All I can say is that I can’t wait for the Tour De France. Three weeks of none stop action. I want to see killer crashes and crazy drunk fans in the mountain stages swarming all the riders. I want to see the strategy. The attack, the defense, the counter attack, the breakaways, the drowns on the team taking one for Il capo di tutti capi, and that great announcer, with his awesome voice saying, “Here comes the Pellaton.”

Boredom or Suffering

It is sometime funny how pure beauty can come from what would normally be perceived as melancholy. The other day, as I was riding home on the train, I could see the fog cover the tips of a few of the Philly Skyscrapers. It was quite a site. I’ve seen the same thing in New York, but it is usually from the ground, and the lights from the buildings, which give Midtown permanent sunshine, shine through the fog and create an amazing site. The same can be said for the blinding security lights at Temple University.

Do I like this so much because of the contrast? Light symbolizes beauty, life, assuredness, and hope. Fog symbolizes ugliness, death, uncertainty, and fear. Do these polar opposites come together and create an impressive equilibrium? Is it that one’s strength does not come without the other?

Can we appreciate happiness without adversity? Would we just get used to it and want more? When is enough enough? Is there a dollar amount salary that will make us happy? Is there a number of chicks that we can score with that will make us satisfied? Is there a square footage of housing that is big enough for all the useless shit that we buy? Can we ever really have a nice enough car, whether big and gas guzzling or small and fast? Can we ever have a enough “friends” on speed dial? Can we ever really be happy without despair to compare it with?

A friend of mine always says that life is boredom or suffering. Maybe he has a point.

MC Oliver!

I was channel surfing this mourning. Yes, I said this mourning. I haven’t been able to say that in a while, but I digress. So I came across MTV 2, and there was a video by one of these new Hip-Hop groups that brought their C game as usual nowadays. What captured my attention was that they were sampling the line “you’re going to love me” from the song “And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going” from the musical Dreamgirls. I was just wondering what is with this phenomenon of sampling hooks from Musical Theatre in Hip-Hop songs.

I think that the first one that I remember was a Reggae remake of “If I Were A Rich Man” from Fiddler On The Roof. It’s a pretty fun song, especially at parties. I must admit that. That remake has been done I think at least 3 times, including the new version by Gwen Stefani. I love you Gwen, but I think that you should stick to your roots, my dearest.

I think that Jay-Z took this thing to a whole new level. He first started by sampling “It's the Hard-Knock Life” from Annie. Then he sampled “I'd Do Anything” from Oliver!. It’s just so funny to see all this tough new wave Hip-Hop fans driving down the street, with spinning rims, their seat laid back with the TV on the headrest, pumping these songs at full blast. They love the hot little hooks that Jay-Z has given them. But, oh no my friend, that’s little orphan Annie and pickpocket Oliver. I’d pay a Million bucks to see the looks on their faces when some of these guys figure out that they have been head nodding to musicals, campy sentimental musicals at that.

What a day for a ride

It was a great day to ride today. There were clear skies for miles. The flowers were in full bloom. The sunbathers were out in bikinis. The beautiful aroma of pot permeated the air at different points along the path. The “Chief” was selling pretzels in front of Boathouse Row. The clubfooted Pigeon named Petey was walking around, doing his thing. People read. Friends played Chess. Families played with their kids. What a day for a ride.

Only in G-town

Did I ever mention how funky Germantown is? Right now, around the corner, a guy named Rick who is squatting on a house that is falling apart and most likely using it as a Crack House, is playing live Jazz on his porch, and it sounds great. I’ve met Rick a few times, and I got to tell you that he seems like a really nice guy. Everybody who has met him has said so too. Where else are you going to meet a drug dealer who everyone thinks is a nice guy? Where else can you hear this nice guy drug dealer play good live Jazz on his porch? Only in G-town baby. Only in G-town.

Peek Into The Soul

I was over someone’s house the other day, and I was looking at their music collection. I remarked that photo, movie, and music collections are a peek into someone’s soul. My friend added that the book collection is too. I’ve always loved looking at people’s photos. I remember a friend of mine asked me why I always wanted to look at his yearbook, and I think that is why. In his casual picture, he is doing a one armed handstand while doing a split. Anyone who knows him well knows how much that captures a certain part of his personality.

I don’t have many photos of myself, probably because I was never the real adventuresome type. With the exception of what my Mom called the “Wall of Charles”, all my grade school pictures, there aren’t many photos of us. We were never like those families who take pictures and send them as Christmas cards to their friends.

My music collection is ridiculously diverse. I have everything from Juan Luis Guerra to Miles Davis to Yanni to Beethoven to Parliament Funkadelic to Wu Tang Clan to Jimi Hendrix to old obscure Sondheim Original Cast Albums. You know what I hate? When you ask people what types of music they are into, and then they say “everything”, or they say “all different types”, and then you ask for specifics, and they look at you with this totally empty look on their faces, or they will pull the most well known brand names out of their ass, which they have obviously never listened to. You will ask them what Classical Music that they like. You either get a blank stare, or you will hear them answer “Beethoven’s Fifth”. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I am like an Orchestra snob, and I have never heard the entire Fifth Symphony. I have however heard the entire Pomp and Circumstance. Yes, there is more than just what they play at graduation. You know: da da da da da da, da da da da da, da, da da da da da, da da da da da, bum bum bum.

I have to plead total elitism when it comes to my DVD collection. I think that the most mainstream film that I have is Patton. My favorite writers/directors are Woody Allen, Jean Luc-Godard, Ingmar Bergman, Federico Fellini, David Mamet, and Aaron Sorkin. For the most part, I don’t watch any movies that aren’t playing at The Ritz or are on the IFC or Sundance Channels. Maybe it’s cause I want to see some real shit, some good dialogue and an actual story. The old Hollywood blockbusters did this very well. Now, it’s about how much gratuitous sex and violence that you can fit into an hour and 45 minutes. While that does have a time and a place, it just isn’t my cup of tea. At least not when every movie is like that.

By book collection is pretty sad. It consists of the Cannon of programming books like Advanced Programming in the Unix Environment, and at least 5 books by Wrox. Then there are the financial books like The Millionaire Next Door and Rich Dad Poor Dad. Oh, and of course you have to add in the whole Liberal politico books like Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them and Conscience of a Liberal.

So how else do we look into people’s souls? Well, when I’m talking to someone for the first time, I usually ask them what they do for a living. I so hate triteness. I really do. Thus, I think I need a new ice breaker, but this is such a good one, if you use it the right way. We often use it to put people into little socio-economic groups instead of using it as a springboard to see who someone really is. Like people assume that I am all about money, anti social, boring, and don’t know how to have fun because I am a Computer Guy. Some, of those things, I will admit, I did need to work on, but it had nothing to do with being a programmer. The truth of the matter is that you will never meet more frugal, outgoing, interesting, and fun people than most of the programmers that I know. You might have to get past a little wall, or a little outsider hazing, but once you do, you will never meet cooler people. The whole us verses them thing always gets in the way at first.

After I know people for a little while, I ask them about their spiritual journeys. You will get some very interesting stories. Then I ask them about how they dealt with the total hazing period known as the early 20’s, and you will defiantly get some insightful info with that question, probably because this time in our lives is almost universally sucky. The fun one is to ask married couples how they met and how he proposed. I think you can pretty much tell it all by that one.

Maybe next week I’ll have better signs, but now I’m pretty much playing it by ear. At the end of the day, it may not be the signs, but how we use them. If we use them as a beginning and not and end, then we are doing a good job. If we use them as a filter, then well, we are just pushing people out of our lives.

Booze Hound Rocking

I dropped by Fergie's Pub one night and went upstairs, cause a lot of nights they have very interesting bands playing. They had a band there, and they did what they called “Booze Hound Rocking”, which basically means that they were drunk off their asses while they played. They were quite good, or maybe I was just quite drunk as well. They did a lot of fun songs, like they did this song in French for some reason. To the best of my knowledge, none of the members even speak French. Then they did a song where the catch line was “why did you get a dog if you can’t afford to feed it”, an ode to all those wonderful drug addicted panhandlers in Center City who have a dog in tow. It’s fun to be around interesting people who don’t take themselves too seriously.

This experience just got me thinking about the whole Bar culture. Like what would it be like to be a waiter or a Bartender? When thinking about the service industry, I always think about a scene in Deconstructing Harry. Woody Allen’s character, Harry, just got done getting a blowjob from a prostitute. He asked her why she did that as her profession, and she said that it “beats waitressing”. To which Harry replied, “Every Hooker I’ve ever been with says that it beats waitressing. Waitressing must be the worst fucking job in the world.” I tend to agree that it must probably suck, but sometimes it looks like they have a lot of fun. I don’t think that it is a job for everyone.

One night I was out with a friend of mine, and I noted that the Bartender was pretty belligerent. He asked me to imagine what it would be like to deal with drunken assholes all night every night. He pointed across the Bar and said, “See that guy over there? I guarantee that he’s an asshole.” I have to say that he has a good point.

And then there are the different types of Bars. There are the Dive Bars where you can get “the special”, a shot of Jim Beam and a can of Pabst for 3 bucks, and then there are the Bars where everyone is prim, proper, and pretentious, and a Lager Costs 4 bucks. Now, hanging out with some of my Beer snob friends in Mt. Airy has made me sort of a beer snob as well. But sometimes, there is nothing like going to a Dive Bar with normal people, great music, and cheap beer.

Then there is this new trend in a lot of Bars of having those little puzzle machine things. My favorite game is the match game. For those who don’t know, you are given two photos, usually of half naked women, that are identical except for 5 places, and you have to point them out in a given amount of time. Usually the easiest things to find are in the hair, the fake cones, and the flowers that are usually in a corner somewhere. These are great places to just start chatting with new people. It is like the modern day Jukebox.

Ah, and who can forget the darts with what I call “Crazy Cricket”. I’ve played Cricket like 5 times, and I still don’t know how to play. Thank God for those dart machines that keep score. I was out with my friend the other night, and one of the Bars had real darts. REAL DARTS? Let’s do a formula: massive amounts of alcohol + drunken assholes + sharp and pointy projectiles = X. I can only imagine that X = “a total disaster” on some nights.

I only have one question. If you know your Bartender’s name, and they know yours, then does that make you an alcoholic?