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.