Happy Bday JC

So this may be the sambvuca talking; or the general Christmas high I have been riding on since service last night night. But iwanted to post to throw out some feel goods to my fellow bloggers, some holiday metaphorical ass licking to 4 incredible people I have had the pleasure of getting to know over these last few years.
First , to the least active poster, and the only one of the group whom I have actually lived with; Will Tower. I have never met a more accomplished and driven person then will. There is a great expression that goes,; “ if you want something to get done, give it to someone who’s busy;” Will lives being that guy. He may not always know where hes headed but hes got a good heart and I know he will change the world.

Shannon Cooke is the nicest person I have met in my life. And I know nice is a rather lame comment, but I mean it with the fullest strength of the word. Shannon has an aura of goodness that she obmits and she may be the most gifted listener I have ever encountered.

Rich is an amazing person. Not many can accomplish the things he has, taken the crap hs taken, and still have the ability to make you laugh every time you see him. Toad is the friend that John Blushi protrayed in Animal House; when he sees a friend down, he will smash a bottle over his head to cheer you up. I hope you got that reference, because I just don’t know how else to put it.

Finnally there is Steph. If I track back to freshman year I most likely have spent at least a month’s worth of tiem listening to steph. And I don’t think I have ever been bored by her. Steph has this incredible ability to get completely involved and excited about whatever she is talking about. Its always captivating. She’s just a fun person to be around.

Alright so that’s it everybody, no link, no pictures, just a Merry Christmas post about the other posters. I’m working on my indepth views of this world and the road I’ve traveled, I promise, but lets save the heavy shit for after the new year, and remember that even with all the chaos in our lives, theres still a lot good.
MERRY CHRISTMAS

The Case for Christmas

"It's not the giving, it's not the getting. It's the loving. There, I said it. Now get outta here."- Garfield, A Garfield Christmas

It’s Christmas time once again, for better or worse. I’d like to write something about what how I’ll be spending the holiday, what I’d like to get, and my favorite parts of the season’ but after reading Shannon’s post below I can’t help but try and play devil’s advocate on both sides and maybe make an argument for Christmas.
Let me preface all this by saying I work 35-40 hours a week at a grocery store. (Some day when I have a lot of free time I will write an epic post about my job but I won’t bore you with that right now).
Like many places, from Black Friday onward I have heard nothing – nothing – but fucking politically correct, holiday themed festive songs. I call them that because they are not the Christmas carols I grew up loving (Silent Night, Joy to the World etc.). Those are effectively banned from Stop and Shop. Thus I am forced to work while listening to no less than 8 versions of Winter Wonderland, a half-dozen Sleigh Rides and far too many Jingle Bell Rocks and White Christmases. I’m all for diversity but when political correctness turns my job (which usually sucks a great deal) into a veritable hell than it really pisses me off. So there’s that about Christmas. Like Shannon, the music gets to me.
The other thing is the fact that, as I think we all know Christmas is totally and blatantly over-commercialized. It’s all become one giant excuse to get you to buy something – anything – and it annoys me. What makes me mad this year is that in an economic situation where you would expect many people to accept sacrifices involving presents, wish lists etc., it’s the same old trend of Christmas consumerism. Nothing’s changed since when I first watched Charlie Brown’s Christmas as a kid. Charlie’s friends were obsessed with having the perfect aluminum tree and getting the best part in the Christmas pageant while Charlie just wanted to figure out what Christmas was all about.
There are any number of reasons for people to not be fond of the holidays: not getting what you really want (a better job) and losing a loved one during this time of year is also really tough to handle. I only listed a few reasons above, but for the sake of brevity I’ll switch over and try to make the case for why Christmas is still a great time of year.
My favorite Christmas movie growing up was Mickey’s Christmas Carol (Mickey Mouse by the way. And if you never saw it do yourself a favor and check it out on youtube).
Anyway, I loved Dickens’s parable as a kid for the same reason I love it now – though I probably didn’t realize it as a kid. It’s the idea of redemption. Even the meanest old son of a bitch can still change into a kind-hearted charitable old guy. The other day I saw the live-action version with George C. Scott, one of the best actors ever, as Scrooge.
I really got into it not just because Scott turned Scrooge into a seriously mean bastard but because it was true to the book. Early on, Scrooge’s nephew Fred drops by his office wishing all a Merry Christmas. Scrooge replies, “Christmas? Bah. What good is Christmas? A time for buying things for which you have no money. For finding yourself one year older and not an hour richer. What good has Christmas ever done for anyone? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”
That’s pretty harsh. But it’s Fred’s response which is crucial to understanding why Christmas really is good and my favorite time of year.
“There are many things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmastime, when it has come round. as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!”
Amen Fred, Amen. Sure 40 hours a week worth of god-awful pop versions of politically correct Christmas music sucks – it sucks a lot. And the fact that a great holiday has been morphed into an attempt to sell consumers out of their last pennies is gay. (New Jersey has more malls than any state in the union so I’ve seen this commercialism thing first-hand since birth.)
No, as Scrooge says, it doesn’t put any gold in your pocket – quite the opposite in fact. But as Fred says, it is also perhaps the only time of year when we recognize that no matter what our differences, we’re all in the same boat cruising along on this journey called life together. And that’s a pretty great excuse for gathering with your loved ones and celebrating.
Have a merry one.

Mouthbreather

Nothing makes me wish I lived with my parents more than being sick. When I was at school and I got sick, my dad would come pick me up and whisk me away to a land of cold medicines and cool washcloths. The pots of soup were bottomless. There, I could lay on the couch and leave my used tissues crumpled up beside me until my mother would come clean them up and bring more tea and well-wishes. I'd get to go to the doctor and blow off classes and I'd be better in two or three days and it was a beautiful thing.

No more. The thing about me is, if I have a cold or a sore throat or something minor, I truck through it. I have no problem self-medicating. But when I have the flu, I regress into childhood and become completely incapable of doing anything myself; including walking, feeding myself, and changing the channel. I whimper and shake uncontrollably like a puppy mill victim. Frankly, it's embarrassing. Walking from my bed to the bathroom takes four hours of stored energy to accomplish.

I also don't eat. This week, I've had two cans of soup and a pint of raspberry sorbet. In the past five days. That's not much food. Granted, I had a few Reese's Peanut Butter Cups too, but that doesn't really count, does it?

So I had an interesting experience while I was sick this time around. My boss called a free clinic for me (as I do not have health insurance), and they told her to send me in. It was the third day I had been incapacitated, so I was anxious to get some sort of help from an adult (Note: I am not an adult. If I were, I would have known to get a fucking flu shot after the first time I got the flu this year). So I take a cab to the clinic. Apparently, when you don't have insurance, "free" means $200. I already spent close to that on Theraflu, Nyquil, Dayquil, Campbell's soup, and raspberry sorbet.

Then, they asked if I had a pay stub. I did. Now, my free clinic trip only costs $150! What a deal! This was only for them to look at me. Any tests would've been extra. Any prescription would have been paid for in full. Not worth it.

I walked back to work in the rain and cried a little (I know, dramatic, but I'm sick and that's what I do) at the prospect that America does not want to help me. Not to make this a political post, but my parents were born here, and I was born here, and we all work FULL TIME, HERE, and I shouldn't have to pay $200 to see some half-ass doctor who will tell me something I already know and prescribe me something I can buy off of a friend for half the price.

During the election, I met a lot of "olds" who would say, "Sweetheart, no doctor would ever turn you away because you didn't have insurance". Meaning since I'm a young, 'white' American, I will be taken care of when I'm sick for free. This is their debate against improving the health care system. Where does this happen? Is there some secret fucking code word I have to use? Maybe a doctor wouldn't turn me away. But I know plenty of receptionists that would.

I returned back to work, and my boss felt terrible for sending my sick ass out into the rain to the non-free clinic. I left work early with some prescription cough medicine that saved my life, and now, two days later, I'm (almost) better. Dr. Mom was disappointed that I took someone else's meds, but it's a Cowboy-and-Indian world the uninsured live in, and I'm just acting accordingly.

I don't have the flu anymore, but I do have a sinus infection. I'd rather have the flu. I've never had a sinus infection before, and it's scary because I can't fucking breathe through my nose. I have Vicks slathered all over me like it's suntan oil. If anyone has any suggestions, please leave them.

'tis the season to be crabby

I preface this entry by reminding everyone about how much i hate the holidays; christmas in particular. According to my mother i have never liked christmas-not even as a child. she says that i always was sullen and upset and generally displeased with the entire day. and this never faltered, no matter what gifts i received or how hard she attempted to make it special.
now, at 23 years old, my disdain for the holiday season hasnt lessened. in fact, now that i am older, it has only increased. I am now capable of hating the holidays by using a much more colorful and interesting vocabulary than ever before. Furthermore, i can actively inform everyone of this hatred and not feel like a grinch no matter how much they try to tell me i am one. For, I am amazingly comfortable in my little house devoid of joy.


This year, though, my joy-less house has been infiltrated by my mother. Apparently, my mother believes that Christmas begins at 12:01 am the day after Thanksgiving. Which means I have seen 10 christmas movies, listened to roughly 150 hours of christmas music, and there are currently 11 (!) christmas trees in my house. It is only december 7th.

To make matters worse I work in mid-town Manhattan. Short blocks from tourist meccas Macy's, the Empire State Building, and Rockefeller Center. I cannot walk anywhere around my building without hearing what i believe is some of the crappiest music ever created: christmas music. Its being piped into the subways like some sort of audible napalm.

I write this as both a warning and a baseline. A warning to those of you who might see me in the upcoming weeks and wonder what you did to make me so angry. I assure you that its the season and not anything you've done (unless you work for Hallmark or compose holiday music and ESPECIALLY if you are responsible for Dominick the fucking Donkey). And as a baseline to judge my breakdown. Maybe Ill give in and accept that this time of year isnt avoidable-if i cant beat 'em join 'em (i doubt it).

And if you hear about a 23 year old lunatic getting arrested for going postal in grand central screaming obscenities about christmas, be prepared, i might be calling you for bail money.

happy holidaze

Let the Bad Times Roll

Earlier this evening, my Blackberry buzzed with a new e-mail. "News Alert: Leaders in Congress Agree on Auto Bailout Plan." I presume the primary vote will be on short-term loans totaling billions of dollars accompanied by the dozens of provisions we've been expecting. No golden parachutes. No private jets. I find it so interesting that while GM has been struggling with steeply declining sales and increased costs, it's somehow found the money to contribute millions to fund a particular campaign leading up to month's election. That same month, execs at each of the 'Big 3' stepped off private jets and onto the tarmac at Washington-Dulles. Following intense questioning and a substantial amount of ridicule, these same execs arrived weeks later from Motor City U.S.A. in each of their brand's finest hybrid vehicles. That'll show 'em what we're thinking, ay guys?

It is impossible to not address the desperate realities we face in this terribly painful economic climate. Let's face it, more and more people are having a real difficult time getting by out there these days. To grasp the current "mess," however, requires a backwards journey. How did previous economic downturns affect Americans, from the poor to the rich? Will history repeat itself? If so, what does history demonstrate as an appropriate timetable for things to turn around? If you ask me, the current recession is nothing short of a "perfect storm." A blatant lack of adequate scrutiny and financial oversight coupled with greed and the bundling of risky mortgages into securities to be sold on Wall Street has been stirring in the proverbial clouds above us for years. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to the many consequences you'll be getting to know quite well until we stop swimming against the current.

Economists, lawmakers, and brokers in our financial and housing markets have spent much of the past few years in a deep denial. Ladies and gentlemen of the United States of America---welcome to your day of reckoning!

Chill the fuck out man

I think I can honestly say now, after being out of college for 6 months, that this has been the hardest transition of my life. I went from four straight years of changing the environment in which I lived in, to now spending my nights back in my childhood bedroom. Which, as a side note, is painted bright as fuck blue, which may not be a Crayola official box used name, but believe me you know the color when you see it. It’s the color that bothers me as much as the reminder I get when I see it; that I at one point my life I thought this would look good.
Thinking back on each of the last four years of college I thought of a story from freshman year that I don’t believe I have told many people. The story is of the only time in my life that I became completely consumed by fear and probably almost shit myself. With all I know now about psychology and what not, I’m pretty sure I experienced what most experts would call a panic attack.

It was freshman year and I was living in Loftus hall room #45a. It was around the middle of October, I remember this specifically because there was a Red Socks playoff game on the night, and being stuck with two redsock fan pricks, it was the only thing we were watching and talking about. Not wanting to miss a second of the game, my suite mate Mike and his friend Joe concocted the genius idea of smoking a blunt in the room. Not having any money or weed at the time, they offered to smoke me on the blunt so long as we smoked it in my room. Seemed like a fair deal, and with the fan in the window, I thought, what harm could come. My roommate Matt decided to head down the hall while we smoked; clearly sensing that maybe this was not a bright idea and wanting no part in the potential trouble this could bring. After finishing up the blunt we decided to leave the scene of the crime and let the room air out a bit. I went down to doug and tex’s to chill and needless to say I was retarded. (Any pot smoker will tell you that smoking with a chance of being caught always intensifies the high.) After bullshitting for about 5 minutes with those guys we hear for the first time ever in Loftus hall the fucking fire alarm. Immediately I’m sent into a panic, if for no other reason, then from the usually paranoia of being high and hearing loud unexpected noises. As were walking down the hall I begin to think in my head about how that smoke could have some how triggered the alarm. “Impossible” I thought, “there’s just no way.” It was not until we reached the staircase that Mike Hendry informs me and anyone else in a 15ft radius that the fire alarm lights were blinking with #45a shining through as the lettering behind it. “HOLY FUCK!”, I thought and I just went blank. I could not even get a word out, my mind, heart and anything else that can race was at full alert. Thoughts flashed in my head, “It was just over a month into college and I just set the fuckin fire alarm off smoking a blunt.” How the fuck can I get out of this sshit! How can I explain this to my parents!? Immediately I knew there was no way and I was going to be expelled, I was completely fucked. I even could see the meeting with my parents and the brothers clear as day in my head and believe me it wasn’t going so well.

Not explaining myself to anyone I rushed off and made my way over to Cannones pizza, stumbled inside, and found Joe sitting at a table eating a slice of Sicilian pizzia. “You hear the fire alarm went off?” I told him. “NO WAY?” he says, “Man that really sucks for you…hey we weren’t in there or nothing alright, there’s no reason you should be taking us all down. We were just chilling in mike’s room alright?” This fucking guy, here I am across from him practically convulsing, sweating, pale as fuck, and all he tells me is you better not rat on us. This set me over the top; I start getting dizzy and stuttering out words which must have just sounded completely illiterate and started to feel like I was about to vom all over the place. I started to shake like it was all of a sudden below zero in this place. While this freak out is going on, this mother fucker across from me never stops eating his pizza. Through this entire breakdown, I can still just picture him sitting there eating as calm as day, as if we were having a pleasant Sunday morning conversation. Finally after a few minutes of my shaking and speaking in tongues, he looks at me and says, “you just gotta chill the fuck out man, maybe it was something else.” Few minutes went by, and once I had somewhat pulled myself together, I walked back to Loftus in time to see that everyone had started walking back in. I walked up and asked someone “Jesus, what happened here?” as if I had just arrived back, “some idiot burnt some pancakes on the 3rd floor, everything is alright now.” I later would find out that fire zone 45a was the 3rd floor lobby, apparently the basement is where they start their zoning numbers. Also my RA did smell weed in our room as he walked around making sure we had all evacuated. All things considered though, I got lucky. I had assumed the worst case scenario and caused my mind and body to react as if it had. This of course was partially Mike Hendry’s fault, but I also think that my propensity to see the worst in a situation, the fact that I was high and paranoid, and I’m sure a few other factors played a part.

Now over four years later, I would just like to formally thank Joe, wherever he may be, for what may have been the greatest advice I have ever received, and words that I have referenced in countless situations of my own panic and toward others since; “you just gotta chill the fuck out man."

Link For this post:
The coolest 9yl in the world:
http://www.nypost.com/seven/12022008/news/nationalnews/i_wrote_the_book_of_love_141817.htm

Dumb Luck.

One thing I've learned about myself over the course of time is that I hate when people throw around the word 'luck'. I also hate destiny, fate, and any other words that imply that you don't have control over your life.

When people say I'm lucky, for any reason, I feel like it's a degradation of everything I've ever done. Finding $100 bucks on the floor, that's lucky. Or karma. Who knows? But I didn't get where I am in life by being lucky, no one does.

After re-reading my last post, I wanted to clear the air a bit. I really am proud of myself and everything I've done, no matter how small those achievements may seem to other people (and at times, to myself). I don't have much, but I do know that I've earned what I do have. It has nothing to do with luck.

I spent high school as a sneaky degenerate. I had no regard for hard work or for anything that my parents did for me. For someone who wasn't very spoiled growing up, I certainly felt entitled. I spent those four years doing things my parents would've kicked my ass for, had they known what I was up to.

Senior year rolled around, and I applied to all of the SUNY party schools I had visited. My grades were terrible, my SAT scores were average. My bullshit extra-curriculars got me nowhere. As someone who had no concept of reality at the time, I only applied to four schools-- three of which I wanted to go to, and Iona College. Iona College was the only one that accepted me.

After a brief stint in summer school (which I deserved, because I missed 3/4 of my speech classes), I went to Iona in the fall of '04. Going to a private school was fucking expensive. I took out what seemed like a million different loans. Didn't feel like going to class? No problem. After all, I wasn't wasting my parents' money or my professors' money, I was wasting my own, future money. I dropped at least one class each semester up until I was a Junior, you know, to free up my schedule for things like drinking and naps and sometimes, Oprah.

It was my Junior year that I realized I wouldn't graduate on time. This wasn't an option. I couldn't afford another year of loans. I would have nowhere to live. So instead of taking the easy way out again, I kicked it up a notch and started taking six classes a semester to make up for the ones I had missed. I took summer classes and winter classes. I busted my ass and worked harder than I ever thought I was capable of.

My senior year was a glimpse of what was to come. I was taking six classes, working in the Financial Aid department, and interning in the city. On top of that, I was looking for a post-graduation career and an apartment.

Before I knew it, the bubble of a community I had spent the past four years inhabiting was popped and left me floating in mid-air. Graduation was a string of unforgettable moments for me. It was one of the best days of my life. But of course; what goes up, must come down. And I did. I didn't just come down, I violently crashed headfirst into the pavement.

I lived in a basement for a month and worked four or five part-time jobs, going to interviews in between. None of which came to fruition. Then, I finally found an apartment! On June 30th, I moved into my new abode. Except, the apartment didn't have a refrigerator and stove. The neighborhood was less than savory. My roommates and I broke the lease two days after moving in.

Then I became the homeless bum friend who sleeps on your couch for a month (I paid). This period of time was full of more apartment and job hunting. At this point, a slow and painful suicide seemed like it would be more fun (Does any of this sound lucky yet?).

One afternoon, my apartment hunting partner-in-crime and I found an apartment in a neighborhood we actually wanted to live in. It wasn't perfect, but we moved in two days later anyway. And I love it. After a month of job interviews punctuated by smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee in bed all day, one of my part-time jobs offered me full-time status. Downtrodden and tired and generally beat, I accepted. All of the madness and exhaustion and desperation finally ceased.

And here I am. My situation is still far from ideal. I have a new set of problems to conquer-- things like affording a quality of life beyond the bare minimum and balancing my personal needs with the things I have to do in order to survive. But at the end of the day, I fought tooth-and-nail with nothing more than moral support from my parents and a TON of help from my friends (thank you).

So am I lucky that after months of searching for a place to live and a job, I finally landed both? Not by a long shot. I deserve these things because I worked tirelessly for them, the same way I earned my degree at long last. That isn't luck, and I'm not lucky. But I am grateful.

the ties that bind

background: after graduating undergrad, i lived in an apartment with a few crazies and after a year moved back home to my mothers house. This move marked the first time I'd be living at home since i was...sixteen years old. At first, I was terrified. Totally bummed about not being able to move onto another apartment, with some other crazies, in a cool new place, I begrudgingly packed my pickup full of five years worth of crap and headed back to new jersey. Now, i will not lie, i was pretty happy about not having to pay rent or utilities anymore. But, I was totally terrified about having to move back to a place that I had left so long ago. I worried about inevitable power struggles, missing clothes, and a lack of veg friendly dinners.

This past Thanksgiving week i realized that i was most thankful for that move. my wonderfully fun and sarcastic brother returned from school on saturday and we spent the majority of the week drinking and making fun of people and running all over the place. His visits mark the rare occurrences that all four of my mother's children are home with her. These times are by far my most favorite times. My brothers are some of the best people that i know. Spending time with them this week reminded me of just what i was missing while I was away for all those years. I guess I had always thought that because they were family, they'd always be there. That being related was just as good as being around. But I was wrong. I missed out on so much during those years that I was away.

I have always been lucky to have some of the most fun, creative, and terrific friends. But this year, I realized that I am also lucky to have acknowledged the value of my family. I might not know where my life is heading and I might not have any idea what I want to be once I decide to grow up. But I do know where I came from and as I grow up, I know who I want to be around.

Autobiographical Sketch of Rich/Toad

Whenever I get asked to describe or introduce myself I try and tackle the task with an optimistic approach. That way I don’t end up saying something like ‘I don’t know who I am or who I should be’ or ‘I just spent a whole lot of money on a college education and I feel like I’m right back where I started.’ Those statements above may be true – truer than I’m willing to admit right now, and that kinda scares the shit out of me. I’ll get to that in another post but for right now I’ll just focus on letting you (the reader) get to know whose random thoughts it is that you’re reading.

Like I said, I usually focus on the positive, and on that note I’ll compare myself to a jigsaw puzzle. Right now I’ve only fit half of the pieces together and I don’t know exactly what it’s going to look like once the last pieces have been connected. But judging on what I’ve seen so far, I think the puzzle will reveal a pretty cool picture. (I know that’s a terrible/lame metaphor but forgive me – that’s the best I can think of to describe myself right now.)

As for what I do know about myself:
I’m a 23-year-old college grad, and I think I should be on Jeopardy.
I have tons of friends and I would take a bullet for each of them.
I have a great family that is supportive of me when others might not be.
I’m a passionate sports fan (Giants, Rangers, Yankees etc.)
I have a love of great art that constantly fuels me to reach for a better life.
I work a shitty job that pays just enough to keep me from quitting every day.

That’s what I know about myself so far and I’ve made peace with that. Eventually I’ll fit the rest of the pieces together and hopefully I’ll be happy with what I see. Until then, I strive to change what I can for the better every day and sometimes I even make some progress. But I’ve also come to realize that life is just too short to be unhappy – even if that means having to make compromises in order to enjoy a life that kids in a third-world country will never know.

Most of my future posts will be about every day life, current events, sports, the blue collar idiots I work with, and my weird post-college life at home. Till next time – shine on.
-Rich/Toad

My statement.

I'm not quite sure what my "personal mission statement" would be, the first thing that came to mind was stay alive.

Then I read further on, Will, and you asked something like: Are we living, or are we surviving? That question completely pinpointed the uneasiness I've been feeling for the past few months. I wish I could say this aloud to someone without them thinking I've become completely unhinged-- but I'm not so sure I haven't become unhinged.

I love my apartment, my roommate, my neighborhood, and my job... but there is a definite sacrifice involved that I wasn't prepared to make. I really don't know or understand the why's and how's of my every-day functioning. I feel like a fucking robot. I do the same things, all the time. There are no surprises. I think that's the thing I miss most.

New York is beautiful and amazing and I love it. But at the same time, living here has made me jaded in a shocking amount of time. The change was as drastic as the Prom-Queen-turned-Meth-addict.

Living here drains the life, energy, and money out of me. When I see someone totter back and forth and fall asleep while standing in the middle of the sidewalk or in front of a flight of subway steps, I am reminded that this city is depressing as fuck. I can genuinely understand why everyone that lives or works here is on Xanax or Klonopin. My only wish is that I had health insurance so I could be one of them.

It's not all bad, and I don't want to sound like it is. It's rewarding and it's fun, when you have time to actually breathe it all in and enjoy it. I think about the choices I've made that got me to this point and can't say how changing any one of them would have made anything less challenging. I had to grow up somehow, and this whole ordeal has definitely aged me five years. So I guess I break even on this one.

So Will, I guess my personal mission statement would be to live. But like, to actually live. Not methodically sleepwalk through the rest of my existence.

Forget Enterprises & Organizations, I Can Have a Mission Statement Too, Right?

For a long time, I've been meaning to get around to piecing together my insights and ideas in a way that is seemingly more constructive and concrete than speaking. Anyone who has ever met me knows that I already do plenty of that. In times like these, and by that I mean always, communicating our ideals and insights with one another is critical. The internet has undoubtedly revolutionized how we go about doing this. I'm the kind of guy that always has his eyes on the bigger picture. I'm constantly focused on getting my point across. Right now seems as appropriate a time as any--Enter the blog. 

My friends and fellow bloggers: I'd like to quote a very famous mission statement with which you might be familiar. According to it, as college graduates, we will be sought after because we are: 

-ethical and skilled decision-makers and problem solvers motivated to leadership, service, and civic responsibility;

-independent thinkers informed and enriched by a liberal arts education;

-lifelong learners skilled in and adaptable to new information and technologies; and

-individuals who integrate the spiritual, intellectual, civic, emotional and physical dimensions of their lives. 

After four years of political science, philosophy, ancient history, international affairs, religion, and other intellectually stimulating coursework, I find myself wondering where I'm supposed to be right now. Along with meeting some amazing people, binge drinking more than I probably ever will again, and living in some strange and downright bizarre environments, I ended up in an office quite like the one pictured above. (Actually the cubicles at my company are much more spacious and really quite comfortable but Jesus Christ, what in God's name am I doing there????) I am not a cog in the machine. Why does this have to be the American way? I'm not saying I deserve a corner office but honestly, what will it take to do something that I like and that actually impacts the world in some at least relatively positive way? I don't belong in marketing. Should I move to the midwest where incomes and the cost of living is lower? How can that be found satisfying to someone who enjoys the diversity and culture that is New York? It can't be. It won't be. So how does one afford to rent a decent place in the tri-state area while doing something they enjoy and not having to live with their parents (no offense Brian, Richard, or Shannon)? 

It is in our nature (I think) to desire success and prosperity. However, those of us educated in the liberal arts tradition too often exit the confines of our cushy campus lifestyles to enter the world believing we're destined to leave it better than we'd found it. After graduating college in May of this year, I entered the so-called 'business world,' landing a well-paying job with a marketing subsidiary of a major U.S. magazine publisher. I was lured by decent pay, health insurance, and well, they serve a catered lunch to the entire company every day. I think the lunch was a large contributing factor in my choice to take the job because frankly, I was hungry when the HR rep called me...it just sounded great at the time. Six months later, I'm not so sure I'm happy. Where's the god-damn fulfillment I heard all about in college? How long is the wait? I'm getting inpatient and when I get inpatient I get angry. The lunches got old pretty quick and the health insurance premiums are going up as the economy worsens. We've had a restructuring and I think I'm lucky that I still have a job given all of the changes. I'm still figuring out how what I do has a positive impact on people's lives; it may or may not become more clear as time goes on. We shall see. 

I work hard every day. I'm constantly searching for that sacred balance we always talk about. You know, the one between your actual interests and the functions of your life that operate within (and sometimes beyond) necessity? Perhaps the ultimate test of one's conscience is their ability to sacrifice individual wealth for the greater good. You may have been told that as a human, life is truly about leaving your footprint on this Earth. As Americans, we're told to diversify our stock portfolio and contribute sufficiently to our 401k if we want to actually retire in this crazy country of ours. Each day when I awake I find myself wondering how I can reconcile these two ideas. Pondering this, never mind actually accomplishing it, is certainly no easy task.

Friends and readers (do we have any?), won't you join me in writing your own personal mission statement? I know that mine at least will be an ever-changing and adaptable document that does not require a majority vote in the Senate to amend. Honestly though, where the hell are we headed? What do we need to take with us? Are we living or just surviving? What tools and skills are we lacking? What type of support and guidance do you think we will require? Are our goals realistic? What is standing in our way? How can we kick the shit out of it to clear our path? I realize I'm in no position to be issuing assignments. Still, I'm wondering if some direction might be a good place for each of us to start now that introductions are (almost) out of the way. It is a way to focus our energy, actions, behaviors, and decisions toward the things that are most important to us. It is my hope that through our shared musings, perhaps an answer to this ridiculous riddle called life might be found. Indulge me.

introductory issues

As I sit here trying to introduce myself I am finding it harder and harder to figure out exactly what and who I am. I know my age. I know where im from and what my job is. But beyond all that, im at a loss for words. This is the battle ive been fighting my entire life. a battle of adjectives. A battle of descriptions. I have always felt as though no matter what clothes I wear, what ill always be the most uncomfortable in is my own skin. This is mainly because I have never been sure of exactly what it was I was labeling myself as. Am I a joiner and a doer? am i who my friends are? Am I a slacker? A stereotype? A statistic? All of this is why I have decided to participate in this project. To get a clearer idea of who I am. Because sometimes things make more sense the farther removed you are from them. I want to see my life laid out in front of me in a language I understand and no longer jumbled up in my head; over-thought and exhausted. I guess I am hoping my life is a Monet; messy up close, beautiful from afar.

Unlike many children I never really thought to far ahead into my life. Never really imagined my wedding or named my yet to be had children. I never thought about where I wanted to go to college, not even when I was in high school. I never was much of a planner. That’s probably why I feel so lost now. I don’t have a five-day plan let alone a five-year plan. Maybe eleven year old me betrayed twenty three year old me by never dreaming. I guess if you dream youre only setting yourself up for a disappointment. Actually, maybe that statement sums me up right there. Actually, maybe i'm just drunk.

When reading my posts you can expect a lot of conflict (interpersonal and otherwise), poor spelling, fragmented sentences, and definitely lack of correct punctuation. But hopefully hidden in all my grammatical sins, there is some sort of insight that makes reading and writing all worth it. Or at the very least you can probably feel a lot better about your situation by reading mine. Youre welcome.


-shannon

First Timer

So I've been deciding over the last couple days just how I was going to introduce myself to the world of blogging. Yes, I am a blogging virgin, and believe me when I say I have never felt any gayer then I do right at this moment after having said that.

While ruminating over the words I would use for this baptism into the paperless world, i thought back on the last time I had been asked to write a description of myself.

It was the summer before my freshman year of college. I was working at Clarkstown Physical Therapy and just starting to discover the joys of smoking weed, when I received a letter from Iona College. Inside was a packet of questions, and a letter explaining how the following questions were carefully selected and my answers will be evaluated by Iona so they can match me with a roommate. Not being sure how to handle such a momentous task I did what I often did at that time in my life; called up my friends Jolly and Pat, brought a fat bag of weed, and proceeded to bake out my car while behind the safety of Kohls. Once home I read over the questions and made the decision that I would only answer one. It might have been the fact that I was immensely lit, may have been due to me being a lazy piece of shit at times, or as I look back now, I could have had something to do with my low self confidence and self loathing; whatever the reason, I answered no questions that were about myself or my preferences. The only question in the entire packet that I did answer, I don't remember the exact wording, read something like "What interests would you most prefer your future roommate to have?" I wrote down the two most honest and fitting word that I could think of, "partying and snowboarding." Iona College gave me Matt Reen.

Quite possibly the best roommate pairing of the '08' year and exactly what I asked for.

So what was the point of this story? Maybe its to show that sometimes the simple and direct answer is really all you need. So can I describe myself now? After these past 4 magic years of college I think i finally can;

I'm Brian, I'm an only child, I'm straightforward to my friends, family, and anyone who asks for it or needs to hear that way, I drink green tea like I'm being payed to promote it, and I can quote for you every single line from the movie "My Cousin Vinny."

So what do I hope to achieve by blogging?

I have done some fucked up shit, had some even worse shit done to me, and I have countless other thoughts, opinions, and stories that I need to put out there. If for no-one else, I'm here for myself. Some of my closest friends and family do not even know the full truth about much of my life. So you can say I've decided to not take this blog too lightly. In the end the only people I'm here to even try to entertain are the four friends I started this with. And for those of you who think my writing sucks, or just hate reading, I will always post a link to something funny and less tedious for you.

Alright well thats enough of this shit for now.

For those of you getting sick of hearing about those commercials about the converter box for cable changing.

Funny Video to check out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AH37RiYfHT8

I fought the law and the law won.

As the first to post something, I feel some obligation to explain who I am. I put a lot of (some) thought into how I might introduce myself, but then realized that the following story is indicative of who I am. In a nutshell, I am Murphy's Law incarnate.

On Friday, two of my oldest friends came to visit me. We had a couple of drinks at my apartment before heading out for the night. At around 9:30, we made our way to the subway station. Maybe it's just that I've become increasingly spoiled with the convenience the subway affords me, but the last thing I wanted was to just miss the train and have to wait another ten minutes for the next one. So when my friend Laura told me she needed to get a MetroCard, I would have none of it. After all, it was mere hours ago that I had spent $81 on a monthly card. I guess I felt entitled to use it how I saw fit. So in a most juvenile move, I took her through the turnstile with me. The legal term, I learned, is "doubled up".

It could have been the vodka or maybe it was that invincible, it-won't-happen-to-me attitude that did it, but I could swear I saw her standing there before we broke the law. Not only did I let Laura come through the turnstile with me, but I was loud about it. "Who cares? Just come in with me! No one's gunna care! WOOO!"

But someone did care, and it was the cop standing RIGHT there on the platform. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought I did it as an anti-establishment political statement, because that's how blatant and shameless we were.

So Laura and I are told to stand against the wall while my roommate Ashley and my other visiting friend Jackie double up with the greatest of ease and coast on through the turnstile. The train comes and we miss it. This happens two or three times while the officer calls us in on her radio and writes us tickets.

I couldn't be mad. I had already had an obnoxious day, so it seemed natural that this happened. The officer called my name in, spelling it out using men's names and I thought back to the only other time in my life I heard my name spelled like that.

I was sixteen and went to a house party. It was like every other party I had ever been to, except for one small detail; no one that lived in the house was actually present. It wasn't like we had all broken in, I mean this girl left her keys with a friend for the sole purpose of allowing us to party there. No one thought it was a big deal until the cops showed up; closing in on the party like hawks. I'm talking front door, back door, garage door... there was no way to escape them unless you jumped off of the back deck and ran into the woods. Which some people actually did.

The rest of us were ushered into the living room like a herd of cattle. The cops told us to call our parents. What the cops didn't know was that I had successfully evaded any and all situations where my parents could have potentially found out I was doing something wrong. I watched my friends get picked up by their parents over the course of two hours, figuring that if I could wait it out, I would be let go. It wasn't until my best friend Jessica and I were in the back of a police car and I heard my name going out over the radio, "George...Eric...Oscar...Richard", that I decided it was a good time to call my father.

So back to this Friday. Here I am, receiving my first summons ever. When I asked the officer a question about paying said summons, she looked at me in disbelief. "You've never got a summons before?" Looking at me like I'm some petty criminal. Fuck no, I've never got a summons. After years of being a law-breaking citizen, it's doubling up in a goddamn turnstile that got me.

Not only that, but the ticket is $100. I'm looking at the ticket and there's a bunch of different options. We have $25. I would've taken that. Then there's $50, $60, and $75. What in God's name can you do for a $25 ticket? What is less lame than doubling up on the subway? Apparently there are a few lesser offenses, and I'd like to know what they are. Maybe during another time of my life, this wouldn't be a big deal, but the last thing I would want to spend $100 on is a train ride that I, in all actuality, already paid for.

Most of all, I'm stunned that after everything I've done, this was what I got pinched for. This is an otherwise perfect bank robbery gone awry because someone forgot to take a security camera down. This is a serial killer leaving behind a strand of hair. This is me doubling up so that I won't miss the train. I couldn't be mad at the officer, I was too amused by the irony unfolding around me. I doubled up just to not have to miss a train that didn't show up for another six minutes. Laura and I stood for almost twenty minutes while passersby ogled us. I hope they came up with a more interesting story in their heads regarding our offense than what actually happened.

Exactly 25% of my paycheck goes to the government and I refuse to give them $100 more. It would be ridiculous for Laura to contest the ticket because she doesn't live here, but you can bet your sweet little ass that on December 22nd at 8:30 A.M. I will be in court hoping the officer in question is too busy writing frivolous tickets or Christmas shopping to show up.