“Fuuuuuuuuuck!!!” I yell at the top of my lungs, waking up the entire neighborhood and kicking over a metal post in my backyard. I cannot function. I have never dealt with such raw emotional anger, such pure hatred.  Two weeks back,  I was out on Clearwater Beach celebrating a friend’s birthday. The club is packed with beautiful women, so packed that the crowded dance floor has a pulse, swaying back and forth, jumping up and down. I leave Shepherd’s elated; happy to catch up with old friends and downright thrilled to be out mingling with all the beautiful people. I get back to my car and it is not there. I walk frantically up and down the street three times checking every side street, every parking lot. “It was parked legally, this is complete bullshit!” I say to myself. “Do you see a towing sign?” I ask a group of onlookers, looking at this crazy man zooming up and down the street. I call several towing companies to no avail. “Sir, I am going need you to calm down. We have not towed your car, if it is impounded, the police will know.” My friend’s cousin, whom I had spent close to the whole night dancing with comes and picks me up. I am silent and do not know what to do. I continue to call around to towing companies, who all say they do not have the car and that I need to file a police report. The cops show up and are really hesitant to believe my story: “How much have you had to drink, sir?” “Are you sure you parked it here? I don’t see any glass or anything” “Did you give the keys to anyone?” I’m sure these questions all have to deal with pure statistics, as I am sure cars are almost never stolen in Clearwater Beach, with no glass on the ground, especially in front of a police station(seriously like right in front!!). I am angry at the questions, but respect the fact that they are just doing there jobs and these questions probably have to deal with years upon years of police experience, of seeing drunk spring breakers reporting there cars “stolen”, only to remember that they parked there vehicle on some other part of the beach. God, how I wished my car was on some other part of the beach or even towed. It unfortunately was not, this was where my car was parked and there slowly becomes no doubt in my mind that it was stolen. The cop tells me they will get back to me and files the report in the system. He suggests I look around the beach area. We drive around until 5 am. It is way too late for vengeance way too late for worry. I get back to my house and for the first time in a while fall right asleep. I am helpless. The next two weeks become quite the ordeal, I had moved back home a few months back to save some money and get more focused in wrapping up college. I wake up and my mom tells me to get up and my dad drives me to work. I love them and all that they do, but I feel like complete garbage. I am 23 and not only is my car gone, but perhaps my pride. That stupid little car, which took me all of a few years to afford, is vital to my life. It was my way to school, my way to work, and my social life.  Yes, I am 23 living at home being driven to work, like a god damn child. This could not have come at a worst time for me, my self esteem had been shot down a few notches with the inability to find a steady girlfriend, moving back at home after three years on my own and no longer enjoying time spent with my core group of friends anymore. I would hate to bore you like I always do with the banes of my existence, I’ll spare you every tough time I go through as one thing I learned from this event is that we all have our own problems and the mark of a strong character is one that deals with initiatives, doesn’t harp on every rash, every misfortune. In fact, from now on, I no longer will use (at least I’m going to try) this blog as a dumping ground, but instead a place to update people I care about on my life, my journey. Back to the point at hand, I am a psychologist’s paint canvas and go through (one of my favorite pieces of psychology) the Kubler-Ross model, venturing through the first four of the five stages of dealing with an issue:

Denial

Being the skeptic I am, the Denial did not last long. “It will show up at an impound lot” I say to myself. “Its busy for these towing companies during spring break, the tow truck driver must have just forgotten to report it.” All wrong assumptions. But hey, I am in Denial.

Anger

I begin to get very angry. I send a vicious e-mail to all my slacker group members, who are not doing there job and perennially ignoring my e-mails on the upcoming due project:

Well its 8pm on Sunday and seeing that nobody has responded Tim and I are taking the liberty of   doing everyone’s work for them tonight. No need to meet tomorrow or for that matter, act like adults, just continue to ignore our e-mails and think of what lame excuse to use tomorrow. “My e-mail was acting funny” or “My grandmother was violently sick” are common yet acceptable, if it helps in your efforts…

Again, no need to worry, unlike all of you busy college students, Tim and I have really really easy schedules and will gladly take on this responsibility.

Thanks for everything,

The e-mail sent by a very angry man, was regrettable but nevertheless all team members responded immediately, so if I think of it, it served its purpose. Anyways, back to the unrelenting anger and hatred. Each night I come home from work wanting to rip someone’s head off. I “What is fucking wrong with this world? Why me? Does the man upstairs fucking hate me or something? I put my fist into several walls. Each night I have violent dreams of finding the thief, pulling him or her, (I wasn’t discriminating…) out of the car and savagely beating this person to a pulp. I dream ripping this person out of the car and knocking out all of their teeth. Fuck Florida, america’s land of outlaws, a modern day Australia, this would never happen anywhere else. This person is a disgrace to humanity, taking a shitty old car from a hard working college student. Fuck them. Fuck humanity. “What is wrong with this world? Everyone just seems to be out to fuck over everyone. People are vicious and will do whatever it takes, they rape, they steal, and they kill each other. This anger eventually subsides, but I must admit there is still a lingering distrust for humanity and people in general.

Bargaining

I am not a religious person. However, I do believe in a higher power and that there are some things in our lives that we simply cannot control, whether that be some sort of divine intervention I am not sure, but I am sure that there are powers greater than all of us in a spiritual sense. I begin to bargain with myself and perhaps god; “I worked so hard for that car man, just let me have this car until I graduate. I will do anything just to have my car back.”

Depression

I have a real tough time dealing with the loss of the car, loss of my freedom. I have been working non-stop for four years, both working hard on this internship and putting myself through college, studying and trying to balance all of the pressures that come along with it. But it wasn’t good enough; all I have worked for is pointless. Why bother even trying to better yourself, when it gets taken from you like this? I can’t seem to make women stay around me for longer than a night or two, and this was only going make it worse. How will I get to work? How can I continue to take classes in Tampa? I break down like I’ve never done before. This is not my life. This is not where I wanted to be at my age. How am I supposed to move out like I planned next month? My sister comes over one night and uplifts me with her compassion, telling me that I will get through this, that hopefully someday I will look back on all of this and laugh. If you ever want to know if someone loves you, look no further than how they feel when something awful happens to you, when you hurt, they hurt, when you feel hopeless they are there to comfort you, your problem becomes “our” problem. I love my sisters with all my heart; they are a source of inspiration for me like no other. Lauren’s sheer love for me and my family’s unconditional understanding through this whole ordeal brought me into the most important fifth and final stage.

Acceptance

As week two rolled around, I started to accept the fact that I lost my car. “You lost some money” my dad put it best. I lost money, really what it was. Money makes the world go round, but it onto itself it is so insignificant. This was not about me; this car thief didn’t steal this car as a personal attack against me. He stole my car (the most stolen car in America Honda Accord) because it just so happened to be there at that time. This was no doubt an awful thing, but it could have been worse, I could have been in the car when it happened. I could have cancer. I could be getting shot at in some foreign country.  I could be paralyzed. I begin to realize that it’s all going to be “ok”. Any obstacle in this world can be fought head on with an open mind, a willingness to change course.  The car was stolen, I cannot change it so I might as well make the best of the situation. I start looking again at new cars, all which are expensive yet manageable if only I worked more hours or tightened my belt a little. I can’t believe that a motor vehicle company (rhymes with Beneral Gotors) has the nerve to charge premium prices while there company tiptoes on the verge of bankruptcy. I do find some cars that are real nice though and perhaps it is time for me to have something nice, even if it means having to work a little harder for it. If only the majority of Americans (and our fearless government) who seem to feel they are entitled to everything, who live completely outside there means and run up debt like there’s no tomorrow would take on that age-old notion of “hard work pays off” I think our fledgling economy would be in much better shape. The fall of capitalism is upon us and because of not just runaway government spending, but people who just eat and eat up things they don’t need and more importantly can’t afford.

After coming to terms with the loss, the next day (no kidding! like seriously the next day) the very next day I get a call from a Hillsborough Detective who has found my car in Tampa, intact and being driven around, they even tell me they have the thief with them. My dad takes me and we race off to meet up with the investigators, who we find sitting next to the car, the thief a woman (I know. women steal things too?!?!)  in handcuffs. “Keep it cool ” my dad says, surely remembering the gory things I said I would do the person if I found them. But I am past the anger, am so relieved to see it back and in one piece that my anger is taken over by childlike giddiness. “Oh my god, this is it!!!” I say pointed to the rust spot on the driver side door. “I love you rust spot.” I say to myself, a modern day George Bailey kissing the loose post of a banister. Something great has happened; my faith in humanity is restored. The iPod and its enormous 15,000 song library are as I expected stolen, which sucks but again nothing I can change. I begin to look around the car and realize that some work has been done to it! My a/c which wasn’t working very well has been fixed, my driver side door’s cloth lining has been patched up and according to the sticker left on the car, even a minor oil change and tune-up has been done!

The cop tells me that the girl bought the car from someone else a week or so ago, knew it was stolen and will not confess as to who sold the car to her and as a result, will take the fall for the felony. The cops are proud of themselves and rightfully so, they have done some fine detective work and deserve all the credit in the world for their efforts. The investigators tell me that the VIN the girl used to register the car was from another stolen car and that when she went to the DMV to get MY car registered, it showed up in the system as stolen and alerted the Tampa authorities. Following this lead, the cops go to where the vehicle was registered and sit outside of her apartment wait and pull her over. I know there are many people out there whose image of a cop is some pompous power tripping douche with a mustache who only went in to the profession because he was picked on as a child and masks this deep an unfilled need to feel dominant in his profession, but for every one of those cops there’s about ten guys who are out there uncovering dirt and dealing with the low-life scum of the world every single day. It was a fine piece of detective work. I get to work around lunchtime, high fiving people around the office, appreciating the fine people I work with. I am elated and so eager to be around people, tell the enchanting “caper” I was just in. Everyone around the office looks at me in shock, they have never seen me so happy, so incredibly wired and giddy. I am usually diligently working in my cube blocking out everyone else, a symphony in my headphones and working on some complex coding and database composition are probably the common thought of me at work.

Looking at the bigger picture here, I learned so much from this ordeal. Yes, the world is for the most part a brutal place, people will rape, kill, and steal just to get ahead in this rat race we call life. However, by succumbing to these people we become just like them, too often mistaking the awfulness of the world as being our own. The more I thought about it, I realize how blessed I am. Sure there are things I don’t like about my life, but only I have the power to change them. I am doing the best I can. Regardless of what anyone might think, I am doing the best I can right here, right now. I am three classes away from a serious promotion and with that shift in lifestyle, surely a completely new set of worries.  As “the secret” (kind of cheesy feel good hogwash, but something to take with a grain of salt for sure) says “The current life we live now is just the current life, not the be-all or end-all of everything. My car getting stolen very well may be a blessing in disguise! By the way, thanks for the new air conditioner you son of a bitch!

“Success is how high you bounce when you hit bottom.” – George Patton

I realize this isn’t well-written, but the point was ( and frankly is for all my blog posts) for me to let this out first, then revise it later. I promise, when it’s completely revise it will be so enjoyable, so well written you’ll all come on the trip with me….wow that was lame.

BY POPULAR DEMAND, THE ENTIRE TRIP TO NEW ENGLAND…..

Last night I returned from what was without a doubt one of the most fun, most eye-opening trips of my life— Backtracking a bit ,for the purposes of storytelling—As many know, for the past four months or so, I have felt gravely depressed and for the most part, very disconnected with my surroundings. School and work had begun to take a toll on my mental well-being and not in the way that it does to every college student, but in the way that I felt my life was at a stalemate, a complete stop. I had to do something big and with my cousin’s wedding steadily approaching, I decided I would make a trip out of the occasion and revisit New England the way it was meant to be, free from financial worry and in a way that opened my eyes to all that is to be seen in one of the nation’s top areas to visit.

Day 1- Newport’s son comes home

I wake up and grab a red bull, heading off to my Cost Accounting final for which I had studied my ass off for the past two nights. The test is non-cumulative and covers only a small number of concepts, Activity Based Costing, Balanced Scorecards and inventory costing methods are all I can think about. Little did I know this test would be one of my final accounting exams, one of the final straws that broke the camels back. I do pretty well on the test, which is being administered in a cramped faculty office in St. Pete, the professor literally watching every move, every bubbling and head scratch. I head home after the final, racing down first avenue towards the beach, heading off to throw my luggage into my sisters car, who is meeting me at the house. We ride off and I am so relieved that exams are over. I had spent the greater part of that month in an accounting bubble; ignoring so many rather tempting text messages on saturdays, spent day upon day in and out of libraries and cubicles, studying the vast terminology and best practices which now that I look back on it, led me to lose interest in the major. The real last straw would be earlier this year, where I sat in the first class and the professor informed us that we all had to learn a 300 page lawbook within a month. Needless to say, I lost the urge to be an accountant.

My sister’s car is for some strange reason, being driven by my dad to the airport. Everyone immediately begins fighting with each other, stirring up some awful yet memorable moments of those long station wagon car trips from my childhood. These trips,  though despite taking us to amazing places like Montreal and NYC, were rattled with confrontation and  for the purposes of me keeping my relatively healthy childhood at ease, should never be revisited. I do laugh at the classic “Before-a-big-trip-Abernathy-hostility” and for a brief moment, I am 12 years old. I feel like pulling my sisters hair or biting someone, just to mark the occasion.  We arrive at the airport and stop at an everso placed, TGIFridays and immediately I drink three rounds, unwinding for the first time after leaving my” accounting bubble”. It did not taste good, but it really might have been the best drink I have ever had. We get on the plane and I  start telling my family of my extravagant plans. “I’m gonna do blah blah”  oh and stop off at “blah blah”, ideas and far fetched dreams escape me. “That’s not even In New England” my little sister points out , but I don’t care, I am overcome with energy and with a lot of  hard earned money in my account and  a brainful of memories, places and people to visit, I am dangerous; “reckless” if you will. I have been waiting for this trip for months, mapping out the places where I want to go, attempting to rejuvenate some of the long lost relationships. I order a jack and coke and fall in to a deep slumber, which is strange  being the insominac I am and having never fallen asleep in a plane before.  I wake up and watch a little Wall-E on my iPod, explaining to my sister the simple yet beautiful message in the film about how wasteful mankind is. “How old are you?” she asks pointing to her 23 yr old brother watching a pixar film. “I am a kid” I reply proudly. A kid on vacation.

We arrive at the airport and I am greeted by Ed and Nick of which I am reminded of an absurd amount of memories; the time Nick and I made the fire that almost engulfed a garage, the first time we ever hung out, the fact that Ed was the only friend we knew with a car at the age of 16 and though most of these cars were broke down jalopys, he was almost everyones sole means of transportation. The stories and memories pour out of uncontrollably as they often do when remanicing with old friends. It all is meaningless topics though; the weather, the Patriots, encounters with fast women, blah blah blah. I am bored with these conversations already, but delighted to be back in these peoples lives feeling as if somehow listening to some stories could make up for over three years of lost time. The Newport bridge peaks out as we drive across Rhode Island  and I have this warm comforting feeling take over my body. I am back in the RI, back to the place where I learned so much.

We meet up with John and head down to the Rhino Bar, which is just in dead center of downtown, a perfect location for a bar and much to my surprise, is sporting a pretty decent crowd for a wintry night in Newport.  I am amazed  and perhaps a little disoriented, to be out reminiscing and running into “kids” (note that usage) from high school after being in Florida, sitting in an exam some four hours earlier. I begin drinking (which just a forewarning, will be quite the recurring theme in this trip. Again, I’m not an alchohlic, I just like to party a little more than I should sometimes…note that usage as well) and pouring them on like I never do, like I was a sailor on leave in some foreign port. Within minutes, I am refusing to let anyone within a fivefoot radius of me buy drinks. The “I love you mans” are already in full force and its only 9 pm.  I am on vacation, for the first time in a while, I am on vacation. The night is full of long conversations that don’t really amount to much. I am a stranger in my own home. A place that I once had thought I would never leave, suddenly seemed to feel like a speck on the map.

I head back to Ed’s to sleep on the couch, Ed is  drunk and being the regular scholars we are, we decide to take his dog for a walk at 3am in 23 degrees. Somewhere along the way though we pick up where we left off, becoming rebellious kids again. Ed starts lighting off roman candles and shooting them at lampposts and surely waking up people in his apartment complex. Within minutes, Middletown cops who have to be bored senseless show up and Ed starts running. ” Come on Man!!!” Ed screams, but I am a grown man, no longer in high school and do not run from police, especially not with this little Shih Tzu on a leash over some fireworks. These your fireworks buddy” the thick Rhode Island accent says. “Uhhh uhhh, look man I’m just walking the dog” I say. Ed comes out from some bushes, telling the Cops the fireworks are his. The cops grab him and handcuff him. It was a little stupid to be out doing such things at 3 am, I’ll admit, but why not a simple fine? Fucking puritans. Unless you move away from New England, you really forget how ridiculous and backwards that place can sometime be. I mean, you weren’t even allowed to buy alchohol in RI until like a few years ago, a law that had been enacted sometime around when the mayflower landed. I love the place to death, but it isn’t exactly “progressive”, I wouldn’t be shocked if witches are still burned at the stake in some areas. I begin to laugh. The cop tells me that it isn’t funny and that I should “go home”; “where’s home?” I think to myself. Ed and the cops leave and I am alone with this dog and have absolutely no idea where Ed’s apartment is. I call up every Newport contact in my phone but nobody answers. 4 am rolls around, it is probably 12 degrees outside and I am in a thin sweatshirt. The dog begins to cry and I am standing outside this 7-11 somewhere in Middletown, RI, my phone is about to die and maybe I am about to as well. Just earlier that day I was driving down sunny gulf boulevard and now I am in east bumfuck, RI drunk and disoriented with a little yappy dog who looks just as uncomfortable about the situation as I am. “Don’t worry buddy, I’ll get us out of this mess” I say to the dog. John answers his phone and being the person he is, comes and gets me and we somehow get into Ed’s apt. We go down to the police station, where Ed is walking out with a big smile on his face. John exhausted and surely a little bit on the angry side drops us off at Ed’s. I feel awful about the verbal thrashing Ed is surely going to endure the next day from his girlfriend, who he is living with. It is an umcomfortable sitatution but nevertheless, a fitting one for a first night on vacation.

Day 2- OJ and Irish Brawls

I wake up in typical Newporter fashion, 11 am and a massive hangover. OJ simpson is being put away in prison for robbery, a sixty-something year old man arrested for armed robbery. I laugh to myself as the judge tears him apart, as the man who murdered his wife (I don’t care what any verdict says, the Juice killed her) goes down for robbery. I tell Ed how it’s like seeing Al Capone go down for tax evasion,who doesn’t understand the reference nor my love for OJ jokes. Kerr comes to pick me up and we go down to the handy to grab some breakfast. Its just as I remembered it, the same prices on the breakfast menu, the same motherly waitresses. The breakfast takes me back to so many times as a kid, but I don’t tell Kerr who is and will be constantly annoyed over the entire trip by my constant need to get all nostalgic every chance I get. I feel like I am insulting the man everytime I get this way purely based on the assumption this reflecting makes me seem disconnected with the town I once called home. Kerr and I drive around Newport talking about old times and whats new with each other. We drive past schools, restaurants and old houses. These places, excuse me this town, seemed unfazed by time almost as if as if nothing new had happened at all in the past 3 years. After a much needed sightseeing tour, we grab a drink at Busker’s and Irish pub in the center of town, perhaps the most authentic Irish pub I’ve ever been in; where all the bartenders are from Ireland and even an old man with an Irish brogue sits at the end of the bar watching one of those UFC imitation league fights. You know, the fights were the leagues are named like WEEC and the fighters are strong instead of coordinated, somehow expecting that if they lift weights they ultimately will be a great fighter. Kerr and I talk about Ireland and the legendary summer of ‘05, the last time I was up there.

For those who do not know of the legend, I went back to Newport for the summer of ’05 and became excellent friends with a group of ten or so Irish college students, who we partied and taught our American way of life to all summer. In short, Best Summer Ever. We wonder if we contacted them now, if they would be excited to see us or perhaps more importantly, if they would let us crash with them in Ireland. We had literally come days away from taking a semester off and following the irish students we partied with all summer back to the motherland, in a quest to backpack around Europe. We both agreed it would have been a very reckless and irresponsible thing to do at the time, but left open the possibility for the discussion to be revisited once people are graduated and/or restless. The rest of the day is uneventful, I watch a 9/11 conspiracy movie at Kerr’s who is convinced at all the evidence the guy has that 9/11 was an inside job. Secretly, I am both offended and annoyed by the movie, feeling it is just a tad disrespectful to the innocent people who lost their lives that day, but I don’t say anything. This is not a trip to talk about politics, this is more important than that. I take a nap, meet up with my sister and we head down to O’ Brien’s pub and my sister surprisingly gets in showing her underage Florida license (By the way, if your ever on vacation and underage, I recommend this method. I mean you’re technically not breaking any laws, just playing on the stupidity of big dumb bouncers.) I see a few people from high school, but don’t really want to talk to them. All around me are familiar faces, faces that I shared chemistry labs with, sat next to in Spanish classes, rode buses with in elementary school, teammates on little leauge teams. I’ve never been in a room in which I was so familiar with so many people , but at the same time really had no idea who any of these people were.

“Did you see Alex?” My sister says, asking about a kid I once had science class with I think. “Yes” I sigh. I am annoyed as I always am with my sister, who naively thinks people are the sole reason I go back to New England. I have always felt bad for my sister’s sense of unfinished business in Newport, which was surely provoked by an abrupt move in the middle of high school. I am no psychologist, but as far a social development is concerned, high school is crucial. It is so transparent that this poor girl feels like she graduated in the wrong high school and I don’t blame her for acting this way. I humor it and talk about high school for a little bit, because I love her and this is what she wants to hear from me, right?

As I begin talk about high school, looking around the table, realizing that most of my friends in Newport never grew up have become stuck in our little town, I get depressed and suddenly loose the urge to drink. These are all the same people I left 3 years ago, lacking any distinguishable difference. I know this comes off as being a bit arrogant, but let me make clear, I don’t say this because these people are lacking initiative or passion, I say this because they are all some of the smartest most capable people I have ever met. These are the friends that have help make me the man I am today and to see such idleness was extremely disheartning. I had always laughed at the cliche that Newporters used to say how sometimes you just get “stuck in Newport”, the people who go on to be firemen and history teachers, people who never grew out of their newport shell or spread their wings. There world is much much larger than Rhode Island, trust me. Regardless of how I felt, these were my friends now, but I could not get over the fact they had all became walking stereotypes. For the rest of the night, I try not to think of it as the more I do, the more I feel like I have nothing in common with anyone, once again a stranger in my own home.

We get kicked out of O’ Briens at 1 (remember this is Pilgrim country…Mayflower laws) and it is absolutely freezing outside. A man at O’ Briens is so angry about the 1 am last call that he feels the need to throw his glass at the bartender, you know in an educated response sort of way. The man is pushed over by bartenders and bouncers even taking Kerr down with him. We laugh about the incident and walk down Thames street, we are those guys, that crazy bar crowd that we used to complain about as kids, tourists who littered our town every Saturday in August. My sister and I get back to Kerr’s, trying to get some sleep as we had to make an early train in the morning over to New Haven. Kerr’s younger brother comes stumbling in the door soon after. He is at least 60 lbs heavier and looking even more strung out than I remember him, a textbook example of what this god forsaken place can do to good people. My sister was really close friends with him at one time, but when he began hanging out with the wrong people, she wisely disassociated himself with him. Kerr begins getting confrontational with his brother who is not only being ridiculously vulgar, but embarrassing him once again in front of friends as he always has. Things escalate to unnecessary levels and the two get into a huge fistfight, dishing out bruises to each other and knocking over this nice wooden sailboat replica in the middle of the room. Trying not to laugh, my sister and I look at each other: “Should we leave?” as the fight raged on in the background.

Day 3- The Wedding

I wake up surprisingly refreshed — I have a sleep disorder that really comes out during vacation allowing me to feel “refreshed” on a mere 4 hour rest—Kerr drives my sister and I to the train station and we wait for the train. My sister tells me about her experience visiting her best friend in CT and how ridiculously spoiled some of the people at the school were.  I tell her how she is so much better than these girls who will one day  wake up and be 40 something and wont have their daddy or some trust fund to carry them through life.  I am a firm believer that hard work builds character and there is a fine line between making sure your kids have it nicer off than you did but when you take away the child’s work ethic, thats were the long term damage starts. She doesn’t understand and is rightfully a little insulted by the remark but I am upset that she didn’t have that great of a time with her so-called “best friend”, but respect the fact that she needs to learn that age old lesson in life, where we simply grow apart from people and places. I think we often confuse what is our “best” friend with our “longest lasting” friend. Anyways, we get on perhaps the most scenic train ride I’ve ever been on, crossing through quaint fishing villages and town centers, heavily wooded areas and wood covered bridges, the sights if you saw on a postcard you’d be like “oh thats so New England”. We meet my Parents and my mom’s best friend in New Haven at Pepe’s pizzeria, the oldest pizza place in America, a place that will make you wonder how bread, cheese and sauce can taste so damn good. The line is usually pretty long outside of the place and if you ever stop in New Haven, its a “must stop”.

I tell my mom how disconnected I was feeling in Newport and how upset I was to see people I grew up with and love, not changing one bit or showing any enthusiasm for bettering themselves. A constant problem in my life is that I am constantly trying to better my situation. This affliction was taking its toll on me, especially that day seeing the vicious fight the night before between two brothers. I begin contemplating cutting the trip short in hopes to rid myself of seeing people from my childhood in these conditions, perhaps prefer to leave them to the pleasant memories of the pst. She gives me sound advice, advising me that not only would me going home be a huge mistake, but I would be following a trend of canceling vacations that I often regret and complain to her about. I take a nap as maybe I am not that upset about it all, but rather I am according to my mother “just a cranky boy” that just needs some sleep. I wake up feeling refreshed and get ready for the wedding. I try not to be vain, but fucking damn am I good looking when I put on a suit and tie? I mean, I clean up well. I even steal the mirror several times from my little sister, striking poses “Holy Shit, why am I so good looking?” I joke. Ali laughs and poses along with me, we are Derek Zoolander and Heidi Klum.

We get to the Church and as is the case with most family occasions , we are one of the first people there. My mom trys to sit everyone in like the second row a place reserved for parents and bridesmaids. This need to sit in the very front is an Abernathy trademark and cannot begin to tell you the amount of movies I’ve seen practically under the damn screen. There is a Christmas parade going on in Wallingford and the church is right in the middle of town and has this classic red brick look to it, it is truly a storybook Connecticut setting. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins and relative I’ve never met all begin to file into to the church. Ali and I laugh at the old lady organ player who has the most neon pink hair, you will ever see. This reminded us of something Lauren has said about if my mom gets old and senile and how Lauren would do awful things to her, like dye her hair pink and give her tattoos. Ali and I thought it was funny but I think my mom found it distasteful. The ceremony is very nice, my cousin looks like the happiest person on earth. Just seeing my cousin who I grew up with, who I used to spend countless weekends with as a kid, just so incredibly in love and so completely at peace was truly an amazing sight. A borderline offensive speech is given about sinners and something about damnation as a sermon in the wedding, but my cousin seems unfazed, she is in love and that is all that matters and when you think of it, really should matter when at a wedding. I am reminded how alone I am. I think about the most perfect woman I’ve ever met and become deflated thinking about how I confessed my love for her before she moved away, only to be shot down one last time, cast back into the friend zone forever.

We drive to the reception and get our seating arrangements. For the first time in all of the countless thanksgivings and Christmases, I am not at a kids table, I am an adult! It only took 23 years but finally, I had become a man in the eyes of the family. I am sitting with another first cousin and my uncle at a table of random people. I do not mind and take advantage of the easy access to the appetizers near our table. Lauren is sitting across the way from me and is sitting next to a really cute girl that goes to college in Hawaii, Lauren tells me she asks about me but I feel awkward about it as there is a solid chance I am related to her, if only by marriage. The night progresses and drinks are aplenty, as it usually is in every wedding. I only have twentys in my pocket and even though it is an open bar, I feel awful not paying for top shelf drinks, but not awful enough to give a twenty dollar tip. I meet up with my Grandfather and Dad who are talking about the economy, my grandfather being the business savvy person he is. We somehow get our conversation on Newport and I tell my grandfather how I hated seeing this place, but mainly people, I held in such high regard in such a way. “You can never go back, things change to much” my grandfather tells me, with wisdom beyond my years. I tell him the problem therein didn’t lie in the place being unrecognizable, but being so cold and stagnant. He doesn’t understand my problem with this, coming from a man who openly has a distaste for change, who still has the same brown shag carpet in his house, the same 1970’s decor.

We drink and dance all night, my dad makes his trademark white dad doing a break dance move he does at every party, even though nobody has seen a breakdancer in over 15 years. As is the case in most family weddings, we are the only side dancing. We don’t mind, we are blood, this is a wedding, my cousin is getting married and celebration is in order. “WE ARE FAMILY” we sing to the disco classic. I am jumping around the dance floor with my little cousin on my shoulders, a cousin I have met maybe once but still knows my name. This kid adorable as he may be, is really solid and heavy and probably has a future as some sort of interior lineman position on a football team. The night begins to wind and everyone starts to leave. It is beginning to snow outside, beautiful snow oh how much have I missed you. I am hugging and kissing relatives as the snow accumulates in my hair and my feet begin to freeze.My uncle hints that we can come party and stay at his place, but both my sister and I feel a little strange staying there given the seperation he’s going through, a divorce where we think his wife and children are still living there even though we are not sure and don’t feel its our business to ask. We end up staying at my cousin and girlfriends place. Regardless, I am as one would say “housed” and Steve and me begin talking about life.

Steve begins telling me about his life and the Abernathy condition.He tells me that he is in a rut and doesn’t know why, how alot of Abernathy men have issues with bettering themselves and often fall contempt to a life of paycheck to paycheck lifestyles. He begins to assert that “I have the world on a string” and that I am not taking my future serious. At first I am annoyed, feeling that Steve is making assumption of me based on facebook pictures, which are only taken at bars on Saturdays and give outsiders the impression that my life is one non-stop party. For just once, I want someone to see me on top of a mountain or running, anything other than drinking. I begin to realize, that though a little extreme, Steve is not so off-base in his comments. I have really been stressed out over the past year, and have begun to accept mediocrity in my academics. Basically, I just want to graduate at this point and it shows in the way I handle my weekends and the days after work. This was not news to me, I’ve known I’ve had issues all along, but perhaps it needed to come from someone else. I tell Steve about my internship and how even though it appears things aren’t going well for me, especially with me living back at home the past couple of months, things are a lot better than they seem. I try to get some sleep, but am rattled by the conversation. Have I been coming across as unmotivated as my friends in Newport? When I look at Steve am I looking into the future? Is my life really this complicated?

Day 4- The unshakable Hangover

I wake up at the crack of dawn, 11 am to be exact and we head off for a brunch my cousin has arranged for immediate family. The snow from last night actually is on the ground, which will not last long as it is surprisingly warm that day, most likely in the low 50’s (I assure you this is warm) I am not well, not only because I have perhaps one of the worst hangovers ever, but I am deeply affected by the previous night’s conversation and feel that I am somehow an embarrassment to the family. I am surrounded by screaming cousins. The food comes out and I cannot believe how much my family can eat, cousins are dipping butter and syrup on just about everything. Not to be harsh, but for the most part, this is an overweight family with well documented cholesterol problems. All around me I hear the clangs of forks and spoons, chomping and squishing sounds. For a minute there, I get very nauseous and think I am going to throw up. Everyone asks me if me and my sister are going to NY today and I don’t know how to respond to that question, I am still a little drunk. Family and for that matter, most people do not understand the way I travel, the way everyone should travel, free and without schedule, on a whim. Not going to New York City, This would be my only regret of the trip. My Aunt is having people over and they are singing Karaoke, I would love to go as Karaoke is always a great time, but Steve is really not with the idea and besides the point I am exhausted. My sister and I get back to Steve’s and he asks us what we wanted to do that day. I am confused by the question as he is the host in this operation and really should be thinking of things to do for us, I mean isn’t that a key element of vacation? I pass out on the couch for over 4 hours, I apologize to Steve but hope that he understands how I needed to recharge my batteries, especially since I was on a long vacation and needed the fuel to last me throughout the next week, I don’t think he understands. We go out to dinner and for the most part, their is akward silence, today is “a wash” , I am not well both physically and mentally. It is a casual night, we rent some movies eat popcorn. I try talking to Steve about the night before’s conversation and he seems uncomfortable and perhaps a little rattled as well by it. The subject is dropped and I go to bed.

Day 5- Boston
I wake up and call my Dad, who is picking up my sister to go to providence to catch their afternoon flight. I ask him if he could drop me back in Newport, even though I am unsure of what I want out of this trip which even though has brought me much fun and memories has come at the cost of seeing my life and an entire town in a whole new light. I tell everyone about my issues of staying and ultimately make the choice to stay on the trip. Like a coward, I text John:

Me:How would u feel if I left early?

John: How early?

Me: Like tonight…

John doesnt respond for an hour or two but says he would understand either way, even though I don’t entirely believe him. Despite my best efforts, I head back to Newport. Not knowing what to expect nor what I really wanted out of the trip anymore, I get to John’s and we talk. I try to allude to the fact I am disheartened seeing my town in such a light, but stay away from the topic. As am I, John is in control of his own life and can do with it whatever he wants to, I have no bearing on his life anymore and feel the point is moot. Who am I to sit in my ivory tower? Is my life really even that much better? Can I even make an impact on him? John leaves for work and I am alone all by myself, yet strangely at ease. I had spent so many nights over this old house when I was younger and feel like the house, as old and messy as it may be is truly a second home. I am full of life, awake and bursting with energy. I call up Kerr.

Me: What are you doing?

Kerr: Nothing man, nothing

Me: Wanna go to Boston?

Kerr: Uhhhh,well…..I got…..why not…I’ll be over in a few.

We race off to the Rhode Island highway,  interstates riddled with awful drivers. Kerr and I decide to take the T into Boston and leave his car at one of those outside Braintree stops.  This is the way Boston is meant to be visited as it is perhaps one of the worst places to drive in the US. We are clueless tourists, bums if you will. We have no accommodations, no plans. Between the two of us, we’ve only ventured into the city a handful of times and only for brief moments in time. I had only been there to catch a Sox game and once to a Bruins game as a kid, which I had amazing seats for. I can remember watching Mario Lemiux being viciously checked right into the boards as my friend and I pounded the glass. Besides the point, we look up things to do on my nifty Smartphone (which rarely shows its value, but in instances like this is quite useful) and atop of the list was the Sam Adams brewery. It speaks out to me and I am sold. We get off in Jamaica Plains, not the nicest of areas in Boston but historic nonetheless and make the trek up the hill to the Brewery. We are hungry, which in case I have forgot to illustrate is a common occurence when I am on this trip, I literally was eating 5 meals a day and am shocked I didn’t come back at least ten pounds heavier. We are in some chic Boston cafe. A place where style is king, oozes out of every booth and table. All of these people are at the very least twenty years ahead, wearing styles and playing with gizmos that will be available to me and the rest of the average joes in 2030.

Boston is an interesting place, it really could care less about tourism or what you think about it. I don’t think there is a visitor center a map or even a god damn brochure in the entire town.  It is a city that  survives on research and academia, home to hundreds of colleges and medical centers. But perhaps it is this unrelenting disregard for tourism that is what I like so much about it as I live in Florida, where if it were not for Tourism, the entire state would probably be an enormous swamp. The tour starts and it is free, the girl at the tour absolutely loves her job and knows entirely way too much about beer. I can only imagine this woman at a party in college and her epiphany to go into a career in beer. The end of the tour is brilliant and we are given beer that tastes like it is the nectar of the gods. Beer should never tastes this good but it does, it is the freshest and most amazing beer I have ever had. We try a multitude of beers, all equally as good. “I will never drink another awful domestic beer again” I tell Kerr. I think about all that disgusting beers I have drank over the years. Beers with the words “Natural” and “Ice” in them, beers that you drink when you are rookies to drinking, youthful and misinformed. These beers were nothing more than “headaches in cans” and I from this day forward, will never drink another one of them.

The tour gets over and we are both in the mood to drink, the tour tells us of a Bar down the street that has been there for close to 250 years and we fall in to the marketing ploy. This cheap stunt to take advantage of people who just tasted the greatest beer they’ve ever had. We get to Doyle’s and it is the classic Boston pub we all know, Shamrocks and pictures of Bostonians line the walls. Every were you look are shots of Larry Bird and irish flags. A lot of people knock the Irish culture because of its long bouts with alcoholism, but it still is a culture right? Kerr and I talk about the night and are clueless what to do. All that I’ve ever done is the whole freedom trail thing, the Paul Revere house and Fanueil hall. These are day things to do with parents and girlfriends, we need to have a man intenerary, a mantinerary! I call Vanessa, a friend from high school who moved to Boston and I had hoped we could crash with. She doesn’t pick up but only leaves obscure text messages.

“I am out at blah blah”

“Are you blah blah?”

“My mom is blah”

Kerr and I take the T into downtown towards quincy market. It is literally the center of the city and thus, a good base for operations. We wander around Boston for an hour eventually stopping at Cheers. We sing the theme song to the 80’s show based off the bar—makin’ your way in the world today , takes everything you got— Expecting to see Norm and Ted danson and a a regular working class bar the place was on the tv show. We are both disappointed as Cheers is no more than a fancy restaurant with a very small bar with little if any atmosphere. Kerr practically begins falling asleep in his beer, the night has taken a turn for the worse. “We are we going to stay man?” Kerr asks as if we just arrived in Boston. We leave Cheers and head to the North End where Vanessa lives. She tells us her Mom unexpectedly came to visit her, even though we don’t believe her. She tells us to go to a bar down the street and wait for her and we oblige. The bartender is a striking older women, who begins to flirt with me, grabbing my hand and talking to me about some town I’ve never heard of. She actually tells us she lived in Newport at one time and we start talking about it for a little while. Her shift ends but we don’t decide to talk to her anymore, Vanessa is on the way and coming to rescue us. An hour goes by, then two hours and we are getting drunker by the minute.  In my trademark style, I send Vanessa a thought provoking text “If you didn’t want us to come by, you could have just said so. We’re big boys. No response. Kerr and I venture out in the Boston night, public urination and singing is aplenty. We decide to head towards the bunker hill area. I take out my handy phone to get us there, but it neglects to account for one way streets, as it only claims to be a driving gps. We pass by the same buildings

” Is that the state building again?”

“Don’t say that man… oh fuck it is”

We ask a police officer how to get back to the north end.

“You seriously are walking there?” She asks pointing to the map of Boston I have taken out. We are somehow on the complete opposite end of the city. We laugh hysterically at the whole scenario, which really is quite funny. The tourist map, “Are you trying to get us mugged walking around with that thing?” Kerr asks. We grab a nearby cab and make our way back to the bar where Vanessa is waiting for us. I see her sitting on a stool, perhaps one of the shortest girls I have ever known. I had been semi “mean” to Vanessa during various points of high school, I wouldn’t take her to prom cause I was trying to have sex that night, wouldn’t hang out with her on various occasions because I had friends that didn’t like her, things that weren’t awful when you think of them, but I regret nonetheless. She is flirty as she always was, but make no mistake about it one of the biggest teases there is. We talk about Boston and how awesome of a place it is. I mention skiing and she puts me on the phone with an old friend, who used to think he was the king of the world in high school but is slowly realizing his “coolness” has worn off. “Hey man!” the fake enthusiasm rings.  ” You should come up to New Hampshire sometime, come skiing up here”. I tell him I’ll call him before I go skiing but never do. Fuck him, fuck anyone who ever thought they were cooler than me. We make our way back to Vanessa’s which despite being in perhaps one of the most romantic and scenic areas of the city, is extremely small.  It is a two room flat, with a long hallway/kitchen/foyer in the middle. There is no distinguishable place to eat dinner or living room. Though cities are amazing, this is clearly the worst part, paying thousands of dollars to live in a closet, paying thousands pretty much just to say you live somewhere.

We go up to the neighbor’s roof, it is amazing. Skyscrapers beam out from the ground and there is an entire skyline above us. The roof is unsafe, it has no railings and has probably at some point, caused a death or two. We head back out to the bars and Vanessa and I are all over each other, licking ears and kissing necks. In such a way now that I think about it probably made Kerr uncomfortable, but at the time seemed so right.  We make it back to her apartment, beyond drunk but really more tired. Her cousin is mad for some reason and yelling at Kerr for no apparant reason. I begin to fall asleep. Vanessa comes in and things begin to get hot and heavy, she stops “you were such a dork in high school and now you are what some ladies man?” I laugh and put the moves on her with all my might whispering sweet things; “I’ve always had a thing for you” I say. Not true. “I miss you”. Not true. “You look  amazing” Perspectively true. She has me where she wants me, drunk, practically naked and vulnerable.  “You know what,  I can’t do this” she says the sign of death, the putting on of more clothing. “What? What did I do?” I asked confused. She calls up a friend and asks to crash at his place. Does this girl have a boyfriend? Did I do something wrong? “You will never see me again” I tell her. “You will never see me again” I reiterate, more clothing is put on. “Oh I’ll see you tomorrow”. She says laughing. This short girl is getting sweet revenge, kicking me when I am down. I am paying the price for ignoring her in high school. This is cruel, this is justice. I fall asleep as she leaves, but can’t help but laugh and admire her for her tactics. Well played. Touche.

I forgot how memorable this trip really was and as such, am breaking up this blog entry in half. The final 5 days, will be posted at a later date sometime shortly….

Day 6-  Setimentalville

We wake up in Boston. The weather is a balmy 12 degrees, yet surprisingly comfortable. There is such a romance to Boston unlike other cities I’ve been to. Where New York City kicks of this attitude, it is the powerful CEO, the heiress, the wanna be celebrity, Boston feels like the more avant-garde stepchild, the artsy student, the girl who wears the funny hats. As I said in part 1, Boston doesn’t care what you think of it, it doesn’t pretend to be a city that makes you feel famous, yet it offers the brownstone backdrop and narrow streets that make you feel like you are in Prague or somewhere so foreign. We get some great breakfast at this little place down the street, which in true North End form is ridiculously quaint and rustic. Kerr and I begin to map out the day, but in doing so realize how exhausted we were from a heavy night of celebration, women, singing and man-hugs. We contemplate going down the whole Fenway area, stopping by Harvard Square or one of those academia melting pots, but we decide against. We say our goodbyes to Vanessa, who despite being the world’s biggest tease was a more than gracious host in showing us around Beantown the night before.  We find the nearest T station and the Boston excursion is soon over.

For the first time in the trip, I begin to think about money all too much. Sure I had saved up accordingly for this trip, but was it really worth it? Again revisiting the question “What do I want out of this vacation?”

We get back to Newport and Kerr heads home; I meet up with John’s brother and we head down to Ben’s chili dogs. It is an awkward trek down to but nevertheless, one I made many of times as a kid. The place, which is a staple with he locals, is unfazed by time. I don’t mean this in a “wow, how admirable, how historical way” I mean this in a holy shit what is wrong with a little change once in a while. It is literally the EXACT same place it has been for over thirty years. The exact same tables, the exact same plates, trays, the same serving spoon for the chili and cheese and pretty much the only person I have ever seen working there is behind the counter. It is quite creepy, but it really hits right at home with me. I give the cashier my card, “We only do cash”. I laugh to myself at the stubbornness of it all, the town that time forgot. I eat my chilidogs in little under a minute to Bobby’s amazement and we head back to johns. The day is still young and I am feeling nostalgic. I walk from one end of the town to the other, feeling a lot like a little kid who shows up to hid childhood home but finds a new family living there. Ok, bad analogy, but I walked everywhere this day. I walked past elementary schools, the old 7-11, places I used to work, the houses of friends, past playgrounds and parks, libraries. These things seem stupid for the average traveler, but in describing my childhood, constitutes for a significant portion of memories. I stop by my old house and I am overwhelmed with memories. I remember playing in the snow I the front lawn, sneaking out through the basement door as a rebellious teenager. I stand outside the house for a few minutes to breathe it in, a span of time long enough that if someone was inside watching me they would probably feel both creeped out and most likely, confused.

In a weird way, seeing the house I grew up in —yes, I grew up in a dozen houses as a kid but for argument sakes this is my childhood home— all done up, the nice garden in the front the stupid lawn decorations, the happy minivan in the driveway, I feel closure. The move to Florida was a treacherous one emotionally for me, we moved without knowing where we going; to an area with no family or friends, no discernible connection, we just picked up one day and left the place we called home our entire lives. To this day, there are probably people, who never got the memo our family moved to FL and perhaps take me not talking to them for the last 4 years was because I simply didn’t like them. I didn’t even make the trek down to FL with my parents and sisters, I was so torn emotionally I chose to stay up for an additional week or two for what I reason I cannot recall.

I make my last rounds through downtown, passing by a guy who looks vaguely familiar but gives me a somewhat nasty stare. “Abba?” the guy turns around. Nobody has called me this in years; it was a high school nickname, albeit a lazy one, like calling someone “Big Nose” or “Turkey neck”. “Ya?” I turn around. The guy walks up to me, I still do not recognize him. “Do you have any cigarettes man? I could use a bogey bro” I know who it is. I went through a phase in high school and I mean like maybe a few months or so, where when I was out with friends, I had to have some sort of tobacco with me. Probably a product of my persistent need to feel accepted  back then, but nevertheless something that was short lived. There was no” how have you been last 4 years”?  Just a “do you have a cigarette”. Every town has them, the kids that never grew up or spread their wings but this was an extraordinary case. Here is a kid who I can honestly say I envied, a guy who had all sorts of friends and girls hanging off him that I could only dream of in high school and now, now he was a scraggly and strung out waste, reeking of booze and wandering around town in the middle of a weekday, in the winter in Rhode Island. “Ughhhh, no man” I say  “Fuck man, can you give me a ride to work bro?” he asks. I am confused and don’t know what to say “Ummm no, I don’t have a car here. I don’t live here anymore man”  I say puzzled
“Aight man, call me later then, you still have my number? I live down on blah blah now”  “I’ll call you, take it easy man” In saying take it easy, I truly wish I had the balls to say “I’ll call you later, please grow up before you are found dead in an alley somewhere man”. He takes off and I am puzzled and disturbed by the exchange. I try not to be overly judgmental but I can’t. This is a kid who came from money, attended private schools and I’m sure at some point sailed to Nantucket on a yacht or wooden vessel of some sorts. Why does this town do this to some people? Why is there this false sense of entitlement with so many people? I get back to John’s and try to go to sleep recollecting and both all the nostalgia I walked past that day but not forgetting the negative energy that I begin to feel.

In business, it is common knowledge that when business fails to “adapt “it dies. As I write this, I am reminded of an example a professor told me a few semesters ago about a typewriter company that failed to account for the advent of the pc. When the personal computer revolution started back in the 80’s this company instead of adapting an changing its mission to account for a rapidly growing technology, it decided to stand pat. Needless to say, the company went bankrupt shortly thereafter. The point I am trying to make is that the real world is changing rapidly as well just like the business climate and much like businesses we as people need to adapt and account for this. Adapt or Stay still, eat or be eaten. Newport is a place where only a certain type of person can survive without adapting, that being the wealthiest on the food chain. Do I think one needs to move away from where the grow up to adapt? Absolutely not. I do feel that a lot of people in that little island tucked away in Rhode Island could use some sort of additional perspective.

I go to sleep but can’t help but question again what I wanted to take away from this trip.

Day 7- Bowling for exhaustion

The day is for the most part uneventful, I had been running around for a full week now and could use a day to unwind and relax. I play Call of Duty on Xbox live for a solid three hours. The game is quite addicting and just playing it for a little while gives me a taste of what my roommate went through, overcoming a relatively nasty addiction to the game. It had gotten so bad that he had to destroy the Xbox to prevent himself from playing it ever again. This is the monster that is Call of Duty and I laugh to myself about the sheer wrath the game can take on good people. Towards the end of the day we head off to go bowling as my friends play in a bowling league just across the bridge and needed a fourth for their team. Now, I have been around sports my whole life. I watch them with passion; I am as intense of a sports fan as you will see. I can run a fly route, I can hit a baseball, but when it comes to bowling I am flat out awful. I guess I don’t understand the whole enterprise of it all, the cheap looking building, and those stupid clown shoes you have to put on.

I bowl just over 100 in the first game, which I am proud of much to the dismay to looking bowling connoisseurs The second game I blow big time, I feel awful about it but bowling is about just having a good time. I get back to John’s and we talk about what mountain we would go to the next day. John recommends Killington as he knows people who live in the town and the mountain is big enough so that we can enjoy enough trails so early in the ski season.

Day 8- The Drive

I wake up and call Kerr who I believe ignores me because he has already had more than enough of me for one week. It is early, I mean like fucking 5 am early.  Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not a morning person, it takes a lot for me to get up early except for a very short list of things, but Skiing is definitely on tht list. We get to a McDonalds where we grab the everso healthy McBreakfast. I don’t care what your stance is on fast food is, nobody can deny the glory that is McDonald’s breakfast. Perhaps it is a comfort thing for me, remembering how road trips as a kid always began with an sausage mcmuffin. Anyways,I am driving up to VT, which I do not mind doing. I am usually uncomfortable driving bigger cars but probably due to delusion induced by a 5am wake up time, I am fine. The drive is perhaps one of the more scenic drives I have ever been on. When you move away to a place like FL, you forget about  this whole other world that exists, a foreign place where it isn’t a perpetual 85 and sunny and actually topography exists. Heavily wooded forests and hills, those huge rock cliffs that hang on the sides of the roads as we meander  our way up I-95. We pass Fall River, perhaps the most depressing city in the area (Imagine a town built on factories, all the factories go out of business, then you have Fall River) and make our way up towards Boston.

Traffic. God damn awful traffic. Boston is a world-class city but the worst part; the VERY worst part aside from the sometimes obnoxious accent, is the traffic. Whether it’s in the city, going out, heading in to the city there always seems to be congestion. Not to mention, all around you are some of the world’s worst drivers, “massholes” as us Rhode Islanders refer to them as. Everywhere I look cars are merging across lanes that shouldn’t be merged—you really crossing there bro? Seriously?—. It doesn’t help as well as we are right in the middle of rush hour traffic, 8 am which is obvious bad planning on our part. Finally we get out of the city and it is just a strait shot, we find out that most of New Hampshire and parts of Vermont is suffering from an ice storm and as a result, rolling power outages sweep the state. Killington is a sheet of ice (a skiers worst nightmare) and besides the fact is without power and closed for the day. With the traffic we don’t expect to hit much of the slopes during the day and decide on going an hour or two north to Stowe, VT.  As we head into northern mass the trees start to gather frost and soon we are driving on a road  through a  forest of white.  Now, not that I don’t enjoy driving by a tropical beach or  over a bridge with the gulf of Mexico right next to me, but this was a truly scenic drive. There is something about mountains that humbles me, mountains are these anomalies that just sprout out of nowhere, without warning and to look up and see something so large that isn’t manmade, is completely refreshing. It really is cliché and perhaps a little feminine, but the only word I could attach to it is “Majestic”. I’ll tell you what, if the right career opportunity presents itself to me in a mountainous area (e.g. Boulder, Denver, Oregon, Washington, Wyoming…) I wouldn’t hesitate to move there without warning or visit. I know that sounds extreme, but its true.

We make our way off the Stowe exit for a stop at the Ben and Jerry’s factory. Vermont is often attributed to many things, maple syrup, the Green mountains, the band “Phish” but without a doubt the biggest export out of the great state has to be the overpriced but goddamn delicious ice cream. The tour begins and it is just the three of us (but seriously it is 2 degrees outside on weekday). The tour guide is enthusiastic; “now we will watch a short mooooooovie” he exclaims in a cow reference. The movie talks about the story of Ben and jerry and it is very interesting how to average dudes (stoners) drove across the country in a VW van giving away free ice cream. This sort of business strategy to me is so amazing; Ben and Jerry knew that there ice cream was far superior to others and felt that by giving it away free all across the country, it would create a buzz and the ice cream would sell itself. Eventually the promotion caught national news and the rest was history. Even though I was a little sad to hear that the two average dudes are no longer involved in the company selling it off for what I am sure was a fat check. Nevertheless, we taste fresh ice cream and get to see the production line where most of the country’s Ben and Jerry’s comes from. The tour guide is upset with the people below who are obviously slacking off. “Fuzzy seems to be the only one working down there” the tour guide explains as the bearded man walks past, an appropriate nickname for such a hairy dude. The tour gets over and the gift shop, where the tour begins, where ever tour begins , is loaded with old people. “Grab your ice cream afterwards!!” the person in charge of the group says to the old man in line to get ice cream. The old man sighs and gets out of the ice cream line as I start laughing at the childish reaction of the old man.

We head off on this road towards Stowe and the roads are ridiculously slippery. Ed and John laugh at me and my fear of driving in the slush, but it has been awhile since I have seen ice, let alone driven on it. We stop and walk around the town of Stowe briefly, it is quite a small town center but the epitome of a New England ski town. There are wooden covered bridges and cobblestone walkways. Red brick and rustic wood are apparently the only building materials in Stowe. There are no franchises, everything is mom-and-pop, which I love. Some areas of New England enforce this even, on my last trip to Martha’s Vineyard I remember being told by a local about the law. I believe a lot of Cape Cod enforces this as well, but I am not sure. We find a place to eat/drink, the beer is local and awesome and I get some slice of home, with a hearty bowl of clam chowder—- I do realize this all beginning to sound like a Steinbeck novel, but when it comes to Vermont I feel it is the only way to convey the scenery and images.— We drive around for a little while looking for a place to stay, everything is expensive, it is early in the ski season, but nevertheless it is still probably in the peak time for Stowe. We find a place no more than a mie away from the mountain. The guy at the front desk is a raving lunatic and talks to us for about  half an hour of the worst storytelling I have ever heard.

“ We was like snowed in right….and then there was these tractors….and so I was like…and they was like….you know how those….blah blah blah”

The story went on so long I didn’t know whether to interject or slowly walk away from the talking head. We ask for a two bed but since we listened to his god awful storytelling or probably because the place was empty, we get the suite. The hotel is a little on the dated side but actually pretty sweet for the price (120 I think it was?). There is a kitchenette and a set of bunk beds and another bedroom set off from the main room. I jump into the bed, I am exhausted from a lack of sleep and driving for 5 hours. Driving for long distances really takes it toll on me mentally, which is all the reason I respect those truck drivers who drive across the entire country transporting wristwatches, hopped up on methamphetamines.  I pass out for an hour or so but as I said, it is quite tough for me to stay still when I am on vacation. The Matterhorn is the popular local spot in Stowe and we decide to stop in for a few drinks. It is a nice little Ski lodge sort of bar but a place that kind of rubs you in that “holy-shit-there-have-probably-been-serious-bar-fights-here” way. There is a hot older woman dancing in front of us all by herself, I want to go up and talk to her but its probably borderline inappropriate. She is probably the only woman in the bar, but we don’t mind, girls are not what is on our mind. We talk about high school and our more mischief years as kids. The time we had on cabbage night, throwing eggs at cars, the times when cops would break up parties in high school, the time where a hundred or so kids were running through the woods being chased by cops. I think when you grow up in a small town like I did, where everyone knows everyone, you grow accustom to mischief. It is a real nice night, despite me wanting to punch the bartender in the face for asking for my ID four times throughout the night and not accepting my card because the strip was a little worn, ok very worn.

We head back to the hotel, a little more drunk than we wanted to be but nevertheless, excited to go skiing the next day.

Day 9- Skiing

We get up early and head off to the mountain. It is one degree outside (is it one degree or one degrees??) so I put on like 4 layers and John’s comfy ski socks. I wish I could seriously wear such splendid things on my feet in FL. I put on a hefty jacket from John’s brother and underneath, the only jacket I own, t this old military jacket, which is actually quite stylish in a sort of John Lennon Nuevo kind of way, but nevertheless might get mistaken for a threat to America. I tell everyone it is from the Al Qaeda Fall collection, but the reference is not funny and maybe even a little insensitive. We get a huge breakfast from the dining room in the hotel, hoping not to run into the “bad storyteller” and then head out, It is blisteringly cold outside, Ed’s car is a freezerbox with wheels, a place to store frozen meats. I go in reverse and I hear a snap, (which in the long list of car sounds, Is usually not a good car one) and his power steering line froze and snapped. Not a big deal but enough for me to not want to drive anymore. John takes over and we get to the mountain. From the parking lot, I start getting a little nervous. Stowe is unusually steep of slope for Vermont, such in a way that it looks like it belongs as part of the Swiss alps or somewhere in Scandanavia. I get rentals and put on the dredded ski boots which not only make your feet uncomfortable but significantly hinder your ability to walk/not look walk like Robocop. We get to the lift and there is not a whole lot of lines, contrary to what a woman told us the night before; “It’s a zoo up there, too many lines.” The lifts at stowe give you such a “majestic” (yes, I did it again) view of Vermont.

I am afraid I will be that guy who falls getting off the lift, probably one of the more embarrassing things one can go through. Not only do that have to stop the lift if you fall off, but you look so pathetic with your big dorky poles and your skis all mixed up together. I get off with no problem. The bad news is that the only green circle. which for you non-skiiers, is the easiest on the ski scale (green circle is easy, blue square is medium, black diamond is hard and double black diamond is suicidal) I am a little ticked off not only cause I think green circles are the most relaxing part of skiing, those long wide trails are so relaxing its almost theraputic.  I go down the blue square and its  intimidating, especially for someone who has only been skiing a handful of times that were at least 7 years ago. I fall all over the trail, a lot but in a comical kind of way, making a point to flail my arms everytime I am about to fall. I keep trying to take video of going down the slope and ski at the same time but it is unsuccessful.  John and Ed are great friends who laugh as I tumble my way down the mountain for my first run of a long long day. Regardless of how keen you are at skiing and how tuned your motor skills are, It is quite awesome thing to do and as I said one of my favorite things to do. The temperature no longer matters to me. John’s and Ed’s facial hair have frozen over and the two of them look like they were just part of an expedition to the north pole. I have some serious facial scruff going on but it hasn’t reached the full on “mountain-man” status John is sporting. The landscape is beautiful, we jump from slope to slope, chairlift to chairlift and decide to grab some food at the capitalist food lodge. If you’ve never been, something about Skiing or any form of outdoor hiking drains you of precious bodily vitamins and at a ski lodge all you see are people stuffing there faces with carbohydrates. It is really the only food you can eat at these places and really the only type of food you should be consuming. faced skiiers are packed into this tiny room stuffing there faces with pastries and fried foods. I struggle to finish my 12 dollar he-man burger, but I finish it and we get back to Skiing. John and Ed don’t appear as exhausted as me and maybe because they go all the time, but I start to think it is because I am so out of shape.  The past few years, I wouldn’t say I’m overweight, but if you look at me you’d say, “Alright he could lose a few lbs”. “I am definitely hitting the gym when I get back to Florida” I say to myself.

I ski till I can’t feel my legs and the day is soon over. We are all exhausted and not looking forward  to the drive back to nEWPORT, but tomorrow John has to work and I have to fly home.  We stop at a pizza place in Stowe, talking about skiing and all of the attractive waitresses. It is mild banter and we head back on the road, jamming out to tunes. I try not to fall asleep as I have this rule about letting the driver be the only awake person in the car. I remember driving through South Carolina one time in my parents notoriously unreliable Mercedes wagon with my whole family asleep and a broken radio. Just me and a pitch black lonesome southern highway. We get back to Newport and I catch my second wind and even contemplate calling Kerr to see if he wanted to hit the town. After all, it was my last night in Newport. I decide against it, I had enough fun and spent more money than I would have wanted to on this trip.

Day 10- Home to Home

I wake up nice and early and go grab some D & D coffee to start the day. The weather is in the low 50s but it couldn’t have been nicer out there. I call up Matt and ask him if he wants to go to Providence/give me a ride to the airport. Kerr is a little hesitant at first but obliges. John and I talk about the trip and how awesome it was to go skiing and getting to see New England for the jewel it is. It is a tough goodbye as I begin to think it might be awhile before my next visit. I tell John to call me sometime and that hopefully, I get a visit from him sooner than later, and I take off.   Kerr and I head up to Providence. I make a point that we must stop in federal hill and grab a slice from Casserta’s pizza, the absolute best pizza I’ve ever had. The wait for the food is long, but totally worth it. On the TV, Brett Farve and the Jets are getting absolutely demolished, I think by the Buffalo Bills. All is right in the world.  We are clueless what to do in Providence and it is a little pathetic to see two native Rhode Islanders lost in the biggest city in the state. Providence is strange city, in that people always rave about its vibrant art culture and quaintness, but when you get to the place, you really don’t know where to go. It might be the product of years and years of going to Providence for the mall or to see a concert and than leaving immediately after. I call up my sister who always raves about Providence and ask her what to do. “Um, you could go down Thayer street? Or stop by that whole RISD, Brown University area?” she proposes. We have nothing else to do so we make our way down to Thayer street. It has a real college feel to it the whole neighborhood, I mean it is right near one of the top designs schools in the country and last time I checked Brown wasn’t a bad school. Its like a Gainesville or an Athens,GA.  We are both bored with driving around looking at architecture and decide to go to a strip club. Kind of a strange way to end a trip, but I’ve got a few hours to kill. I have been to maybe two strip clubs before and both times I was with a large group on a Saturday night. This time it was just me and Kerr and a bar full of lonely lonely dudes. Lets face it, the enterprise of strip clubs attracts certain types of people, but it truly takes a special man to go to a strip club during church hours on a Sunday. The Patriots game is on and my mind can’t comprehend being surrounded by nude women and watching the team I love so much. I bounce back and forth between the two; “Run Cassell Run” “Go stripper go”. It is a good problem to have.  One girl comes out and talks to us, she is really attractive and talks about how she is going to med school  next semester at Boston University, which is not a shabby program to get into and we look at her in shock. Not that we were surprised someone as attractive as her would be going to medical school, but that she could put herself through school on a striper salary. She starts talking about her son and how she only wants to make their lives better. It is a really heartfelt conversation from someone who was just five minutes ago, rubbing their breasts in peoples faces. She asks me if I want a dance. I say no, even though I want to, not for me of course , but for that angel son of hers;).  I still say no, I’ve got a flight to catch in an hour. “Its too bad” she says, nibbling my ear. We leave, I say goodbye and wish Chastity (forgot her name, but I just assume use a generic stripper name right?) all the best. I get to the airport and say goodbye to Matt, goodbye to the ocean state.

A lot of good had come from this trip, I learned tuly how much growing up I had done since moving away from New England while at the same time, realizing that I need to get a little more serious about my future and start making moves this year. I can’t change that place or put it in my pocket and take it with me to Florida. I can’t tell someone the way to run their life. I’ve never told my father how much I respect him for moving us to Florida, the courage it took to move away from family and friends and a life that was all we knew. Even though I completely hated the decision, I cannot help but think It could have been me walking around disoriented and asking people for cigarettes on a street corner. I’d like to think my head is on straighter than that, but seeing the complacency of so many people all throughout my trip, really opened up my eyes to how much of a crutch any town can be.  I want to see the world, I want to backpack across Europe and Asia and perhaps this is all cause I moved away. I don’t know when I will go back, perhaps when I get married or have a kid of my own. For now, I am happy with where I am and that is all I could ask for.  The trip was a beautiful moment for me and I can safely say I have come to closure with my move to Florida. Melville once wrote that “life is a voyage, that’s homeward bound” ; no matter where life takes me, I will always reflect on the places that made me who I am, while still not take away from the places that will carry me into the future.

“A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.” – George Moore

For those keeping track (yes, I mean you mom) a few weeks back I posted the reasons why I was voting for Barack Obama. In this post, which is coincidentally right below this one, I mentioned how though I wasn’t head over heels like America apparently was —Barack took McCain behind the woodshed, I mean 349 to 163?!?! Where I come from that is an old fashioned woopin’). I strongly agreed we needed to steer away from the failed leadership of the last eight years, most definitely after the recent economic recession and mounting fears. However, when I saw almost an estimated half million people Chicago on surely a historic night not only for African Americans, but perhaps a turning point in American politics, I became a little insecure about my decision. I truly hope Americans can understand, though this is a huge step in the right direction, it is by no means a victory yet. If I remember correctly, George W. Bush in 2000 ran a campaign on reform lower taxes and less government and in 2004 due to plummeting popularity, decided to run a campaign based on fear. It is truly sad that over the course of W.’s administration not only has he not reformed government but he has overseen the largest expansion of government in the last 80 years and in my humble opinion neglected to make us any safer than we were before the heinous acts of 9/11, though only time will tell on that one. The point I’m trying to make here is simple, it is easy to make promises Americans and get them to vote for you but to really back it up is what is important. I have never immediately bought into the fads that sweep my generation. Sure, I’ve bought an iPod when It made sense to me, I shop in relatively modern fashion —I mean I wouldn’t walk around in acid wash jeans or wear fanny packs— and generally try to stay up on what is fresh and new in the world. It is just who I am, I follow the news not because I want to be hip but because it makes sense to me. What makes sense to me as an American is for us to overcome partisanship and have the capacity look past everything and focus on what is important; peace throughout the world, technological innovation and overall progression. We didn’t get to where we are now as a country by sitting around talking about how great we were. Though I am also reminded, America has had to take when and it had to, made tough decisions like wiping out an entire Japanese city to end a war and declaring independence from a far military superior empire. Back to the issue at hand, though I do feel Barack is the right choice, Obama’s administration has a lot of mess to clean up and the task will be treacherous and most likely wildly unpopular, but I hope the real measure of success of Barack’s legacy is what he accomplishes as president, not simply because he won an election.

However, there is a good chance I just don’t understand. I am not black and thus have no concept of what it means for a race of people who were long ago perceived as inferior, living in the white man’s world. Shamefully, I voted for a circuit judge in Pinellas county because he had an Irish last name —-I mean his name was like Shamish O’ Hooligan, it was ridiculous—–so perhaps I am being a hypocrite. I guess I am just sick of people using their race as a reason to not achieve something. A man, a black man, who came from practically nothing, has become the president over the most powerful country in the world. Not only that but he has a god awful name like Barack Obama, excuse me, Barack Hussein Obama! Conversation over. All I am saying is its 2008, if you feel you are discriminated because of your race, look no further than the white house. I use this example a lot in references, but what about Jewish people? Let’s talk about a group of people that were enslaved for centuries, forced to roam the deserts for lifetimes and oh yeah, nearly wiped off the face of the earth numerous times. Not only have the Jewish people survived unimaginable injustice and struggle, but they have come out as one of the more educated and affluent groups in the world. After Barack’s amazing accomplishment, which it is, I just never want to hear the words “Color barrier” ever again. I’m not saying that race plays no issue at all in today’s society, there are instances yes, were black people are still stereotyped just in the way Asians, Italians, Latino  and even white people are. However, for African Americans to think of these obstacles as life shattering is irresponsible.

Sure we are all stereotyped and black people are no exception:

The more common examples:

• Problems Hailing a cab late at night

• <!–[if !supportLists]–> Issue standing Behind someone at an ATM, especially when you are wearing a ski mask (this really happened to me and though it is terrible, I was petrified)
• The noisy lady screaming in the middle of a movie theatre
• Traffic violations that somehow turn a routine stop, into a 20 police car ordeal.

<!–[if !supportLists]–>

<!–[if !supportLists]–>However, there are such things as positive stereotypes, small things that stick out in my mind:

• <!–[endif]–>Inclined to be Athletic
• <!–[if !supportLists]–> <!–[endif]–>Loyal to family and neighborhood
• <!–[if !supportLists]–>A musically and entertainment inclined culture
• <!–[if !supportLists]–> <!–[endif]–>Able to actually keep rhythm, don’t laugh there are some of us who can’t move like you

In this next administration I hope we somehow become intelligent enough to look past our country as white or black, blue or red but focus on real issues at hand and become a nation of Americans with a common goal. That my friends, *Mocking McCain reference* is what will bring the real change we need.

    As I start of what appears to be a “mild” depression for myself, I have come to some unsettling conclusions. My luck with women or lack thereof, is heading for record  “’05-like” figures and for the first time, I am truly not that upset about it. I have reached the point in which that situation deserves self deprivating laughter, so bad that I am reaching for anything, confessing love, damaging platonic friendships and even more shamefully, calling up that promiscuous lady I once met at a benigans. On top of all this, asking my so-called friends to do stuff on the weekends is all of a sudden some daunting task. You know that insecurity driven “game” we play when we begin to question our friendships?  The one where you go through this period which you refuse to call anybody and only wait until they call you? Yea, well let’s just say I’ve been playing out this game and the results have been overwhelmingly upsetting. Nobody out here would care if I picked up and moved away only to ask four months later “Where’s Abernathy been?” like I was a cat that snuck out of the house or something. Aside from the occasional weekend, life in Tampa appears fruitless, mundane and uneventful; always the same people, same places, same shitty neighborhoods, people talking about the same things.  I am sick of this awful area in which I call home. I live in Tampa Bay, arguably amongst one of the most desirable areas to live in the country; next to world-class beaches, a burgeoning economic climate and frankly, one of the better party scenes that I’ve seen anywhere. So why am I acting like I live somewhere in Kansas? Do they not have shitty bars and impoverished areas littered with strip malls in Anywhere, USA? A change of scenery will broaden my horizons and clear my head, which is why in hopes of revitalizing this last year of college, I have come to the conclusion that life for me will be better on the other side of the bridge, in St. Pete. Not only do I generally “enjoy” St. Pete more than Tampa( I.E.  its lack of bumper-to-bumper commutes, actual sense of a shred of community, buildings that actually look like they weren’t made from a cookie cutter….etc)  but it is also where I have worked for the past three years ,where my family is and where I strangely often find myself gravitating towards. Sure, I will miss out on a touch of that “college experience” but the fact is, I’m 23 years old and not to sound like I feel old (but I do feel old, I really do…Is that pathetic?!?!?) perhaps it’s high time to grow up and distance myself from this college environment. I need to be much more active in my lifestyle or I will continue to become another stereotype, another college student who is:

a)       Severely in debt

b)       Lacks any sort of REAL tangible relationships

c)       Works all week, just for the weekend

d)       Out of touch with reality

In the meantime, while the lamest summer of my life continues to unravel (man I am one uplifting mofo am I not?), I have decided to write an autobiography about my life  despite its so-called obscurity. I realized the potential for me to recollect the other day talking to an old friend about the sheer multitude of hilarious, awkward and uncomfortable situations I have been in is uncommon and despite me not having  on any awards, no peace prizes, I feel it is going to help me as a person by documenting my experiences in a novel of my life. I know it sounds stupid and like some sort of sick self-admiring enterprise, but if you understand me as a person, you know why I feel I must write this. I know, I haven’t been through much hardship, have rarely dealt with any sort of death or loss, never had a terminal disease, won an Oscar blah blah blah but I really feel I may be on to something with this. For those keeping track, I had written 40 or so pages about a fictional character named Winslow Taylor (awful name isn’t it?) who becomes this hero for the American public only to later find himself a homeless washed up old man. However, during this mild bout with depression, I cannot fuel the creativity it takes to write anything let alone a fictional piece, especially to get any sort of recognition from the 20 or so people who read this thing. No I need to write for myself and only myself, which is why in hopes of opening some sort of Pandora’s box of memories, the potential of unraveling this vast blanket of experiences to the world, I will write a novel this little life of mine (I’m gonna let it shine…had to). It may take a month, a year, even ten years. Truth is, I cannot sit on here any longer whining about things (see current post…). In the meantime, please enjoy the music while your party is reached….

Well, another year of college goes into the books and what it year it was. However, despite having such a great year, I find myself in a pickle (yeah thats right…a pickle) in terms of living situations next year. I had intended on sticking around here, in this apartment for the next year, but given the fact that my roommates are just about the sloppiest people I have ever encountered, I think it might be best for me to move out. Plain and simple, I want to upgrade. I want to live in a place where people from out of town feel comfortable when they come visit me, a place where I can throw parties (think “parties” not great gatsby-like galas…idiot) and have girls come over and not feel grossed out or uncomfortable. Now I know I am on a shoestring budget here in college and I always laugh at all these young kids who once they have one year left to go, get some sudden urge to go out and buy a condo or a expensive townhouse, only to find themselves a year later out of school, without a job and up to their neck in mortgage payments. I have no interest in such, which is why returning to the lodge makes alot of sense on the surface. However,  let’s weigh the options…………….

Move to: St Pete

Advantages

Closer to work and family.
Save hundreds a month on gas ( thanks alot George)
Live in a city I actually like
Way better area
Nicer, more intimate campus setting

Disadvantages

Roomate? I know close to nobody that would move to St. Pete with me
Friends? I know a handful of people in St. Pete, but nobody out of my usual weekend crew. Would this mean I would have to drive to Tampa just to go out and have a good time?
Potentially more expensive
Miss out  a bit on “college experience”, especially during football season.

Stay in Lodge

Advantages

Cheap…dirt cheap
No furniture to buy
Already settled in

Disadvantages

Dirty apartment
Hassle of looking for visitor spots
relatively small room
Dreary area

So basically the point being that my “pickle” is something which I have much to think about. I really want to move to St. Pete, but would miss out on alot by doing so. Perhaps it is time to grow up and sacrifice friendships for the greater good of convenience and comfort?

Behind all this, probably the real reason I woke up a 7 am the night after my birthday, hung-over and exhausted  and somehow felt like typing was discussing (my new favorite “thinking out loud”….) about how a friendship with someone that I have always admired appears to be heading sour. For close to six months, I constantly brought up that I wanted to move in with a buddy of mine, to my surprise, he would say things like “alright” and eventually, “definitely”. This was obviously a subject that had meant a great deal to me as if I have to live in this pigpen next year, I swear…Anyways, for close to 4 years now, this “friend” of mine, who is someone I have always admired for his well-known genuine, brutally honest, “tell-it-like-it-is” personality, has grown to become one of my most important friendships. Spending the majority of weekends with someone for 4 years will do that to you, it will. Anyways, I have recently realized that I do not achieve or gain anything, from being this person’s friend. I have always felt that in time, I could almost become brothers with this person, due to a mutual admiration for all the great times that have been had over college, someone I could call some 20 years down the line and have a drink talking about all the crazy times that we used to have and  as old men, cannot have anymore. This may sound a bit selfish and you may even be saying to yourself “You seems to expect the same out of his friends as he would with a girlfriend”. I really don’t, but when you dedicate so much time to something, I feel you should at least gain or acquire something from it and what saddens me is that I don’t.

The point of this is that the final straw occurred at a birthday party recently, where I brought up the fact that since our leases at lodge had to be resigned somewhere in the near future, we needed to start thinking about places to live. Now at no point, was there ever an “official” agreement to live with this person, but what was said next shocked me:

“No man, you’re out. No way, I can’t live with you”

Perhaps it was the enormous margarita I had just drank and even besides the fact that there was a good chance he was joking, I took major offense to the comment. Imagine being a friend of someone that you are around so much that practically all of your tagged Facebook photos are with that person, someone who you’ve always been around for,  weekend after weekend, even when they were clearly depressed, even going as far as letting some of your female friendships, people you love, deteriorate a bit just because that person doesn’t want to be around them anymore, even gladly taking a back seat when friends who were never around for four years decided to show up, even creating so much association with this person that when you went out people would ask you “How’s [name] doing?”, “Where’s [name]?”….you get the point, I have treasured this friendship because I felt it was one of value because of how much I have put in to it and to see it go to waste has turned to be disheartning…

I had been talking about this for close to six fucking months and with one fucking sentence I get shunned completely. It was like all of my assumptions had came true. I may sound upset, but I am more disappointed than anything, ( ah man I sound like someone’s dad right there) disappointed that clearly nothing I have done or will ever do will make my friendship stronger with this person. I have always admired people like my friend who march to the beat of their own drum, who do not follow the crowd, the great visionaries and leaders of this world, but I find that maybe these people who “are their own best friend” have figured out something, that we all haven’t. As much as you may think  writing blog entries to the 12 or so collective people that read this stuff may sound otherwise, I don’t need anyone in this world to fill any sort of void in my life. I could care less to keep friendships with people who not only don’t appreciate me, but who refuse to let others get close to them. Now I know people change, you go through friends like water in this day and age and this is all merely a fact of life. Hell, if I stayed in touch with the people I was friends with in middle school and high school, I would be probably be stuck in Rhode Island, working at some gas station, still rocking out to metallica and becoming a classic example of a “townie”; that proverbial case of that guy from high school that never grew up, showing up to the reunion trashed, hitting on the girls he used to think were hot, despite the fact she is too busy out there accomplishing things, you know like a family and a uhhhhh career. God knows if I was still hanging around with my middle school ruffians (had to use that word)  I would either be living in some relative’s basement, flipping burgers some where or worse, in prison. Friends truly come and go for a reason and people who don’t realize this (which makes up a hefty percent of the population I assure you) become stuck in their ways and can end up living very meaningless and sad lives, lives that never progress.  However, I guess I always hoped this particular friendship would be much more than that. I was wrong and perhaps everyone we meet turns into that “kid in my ninth grade gym class”, “the hot girl with the big boobs that  works at Blockbuster” ” Greg, you know, down in accounting?” . Who knows maybe things will get better, but for right now, not only do I need to start figuring out a place to live and definitely need to question the friendships I have but…..I have to go watch the first place Tampa Rays!!!!

You like that last sentence? I very well might start getting rid of the trademark “thought- provoking-dramatic-statement-to-finish-a-entry” last sentence that I have become so accustomed to…..

This will be poorly writen but i really could care lesss..

I leave work early, scuffling out around 4 trying to beat the mad dash, the terrible 275 traffic that has become a constant pain in my side. It is now almost 6 pm and I am finally back to my apartment, back to a place I really don’t care to live in anymore. All my life I’ve lived in really “livable” areas, places where traffic wasn’t even an issue, places where if you really felt like it you could walk or ride a bike to go somewhere you wanted to. Locations whose only real crime was perhaps an overabundance of natural scenery. If you don’t get the picture, I am yet again having a problem with the area I live.

To recap for all those keeping score, I lived in Connecticut and Rhode Island my whole life , moving down here right before college and I absolutely hated it. To be fair though, it wasn’t exactly a nice meeting between me and the state of Florida. To put it nicely, I was living in a cramped unfurnished apartment with my parents and two little sisters and sleeping on air matress surrounded by boxes of old newspapers. I did this for close to seven months, moving down here with almost no money to my name and unable to afford any sort of schooling, had to pick up at job at the Vinoy, sitting by a pool (which wasn’t really all that bad…looking and flirting with the hot,women that attended the athletic club there…..what was I talking about?oh yeah, back to complaining). On top of all this, the guy who rented the apartment to my parents refused to let us move his stuff out of this “closet” of an apartment, completely out of line and controlling, despite the fact he no longer paid rent and the apartment was being paid for by my folks. He would come over whenever he felt like it, checking on his prized devil ray bobblehead collections and his old magazines, making sure we weren’t trying to steal of of these priceless valuable treasures. It truly was the absolute worse living situation, I have ever been in and ever intend to be in.

Again to be fair to Florida, I gave it a chance. I mean, If I had to live in a cramped apartment with my family in Hawaii, I would still have not enjoyed it, it really was not the areas fault. Needless to say, I fell in love with the area. The nightlife, the beaches, the people, the constant friends I was making. I explored the area and all it has had to offer.Until recently, I hadn’t had much problems with the area. However, the more and more I live here the more I grow to dislike it…..

You have to drive almost everywhere.

Nobody walks to anywhere, because everywhere comes equipped with a parking lot.

There is a strip mall about every fucking two blocks.

The crime is horrendous.

Everything is made of concrete.

Every decent piece of land is gobbled up to build condos for old people.

Whats the point of all this complaining?Call me crazy, but the area we live has an enormous impact on our attitudes and on our ability to enjoy our lives. Therefore, I point this out only to show how this area has begun to have an adverse affect on my attitude. Let me make an example; Looking at a map of the States, we see this shift in attitude in what I call my”coastal affect” theory, where people who live in coastline areas tend to be much more laid back, easy going and up for a good time. Notice the states of North and South Carolina. Places like Charleston, Myrtle Beach and Wilmington all have residents who are almost unrecognizable, when compared to the appalachian mountain hillbilly folk that live just a few hundred miles away from the coast. Now it is important to take my theory with a grain of salt because obviously people in Kansas and Nebraska, and the states in the midwest aren’t some Super-Rednecks. You get the point…

Anyways, once I graduate I am getting away to somewhere people make real money, a place where the women aren’t always on a permanent vacation, a place where a 30 something mile drive doesn’t take two hours.If you really think about it, you can find flaws in just about anywhere you live. There is no utopian community or city waiting out for me and maybe I just have to accept that. This area certainely has more to offer than a Rhode Island or a Connecticut, but does that mean this is where I need to live forever? Who knows, maybe this is all just another phase one must go through in picking a place to live, a second and final period of self questioning which once it has ended, I will truly know how much I enjoy Florida. For now, I seem to be slowly giving up hope once again on an area I was just beginning to love.

Here’s some of that “liberal propaganda” for you…My two cents on same sex marriage

Same sex marriage is an issue that is all over the news, all in the minds of the god fearing Americans alike. Let me just say It truly boggles my mind sometimes how much we waste government resources. Not only did I watch in amazement while a congressional hearing is held on steroids in baseball, in which Roger Clemens has to sit in front of a grand jury and proclaim his innocence in front of a bunch of old senators, furthering my amazement on how bloated and idiotic the government has truly gotten. Why the fuck are a bunch of senators concerning themselves with that? More importantly, who are these same people to say that two American citizens who love each other can’t get married? More importantly, back to my point, who the fuck are these people to say that honest tax paying American citizens do not have a right to marry because they are gay? Perhaps , in order to fully examine why and to better understand what surely appears the next great suffrage movement in American civil rights, we must approach this issue from both sides of the spectrum.

Personally, I live my life to a very simple code; I don’t dabble or get to involved in the business of others, I almost never gossip and frankly, aside from my immediate family and a very small number of friends, could care less about anyone, what they are doing with their life and more related to this issue, what their sexual orientation is. I really don’t ask anyone this types of things not only because I tend to be a bit more reserved than most people, but because “IT IS NONE OF MY BUSINESS”. This sort of code should be imposed on the American public who seem overly preoccupied with the lives of others that they are neglecting their own. Every time I go to the grocery store, I have to see the stupid celebrity magazines about how Paris Hilton is going wild and how Lindsay Lohan has daddy issues, but I ignore them, you know why? Because it is none of my business. Who the fuck cares what celebrities are doing? How does Brad and Angelina’s marital woes affect you? Ok, I’ve drifted a bit but I’m back…Again, as I said before we need to stop being so preoccupied with the lives of others, if it doesn’t affect you just don’t bother. Unfortunately, this sanctity of marriage that right wing nuts so strongly protects, is unfortunately not this sacred and holy value anymore as almost 1 out of every 2 marriages in this country end in a divorce (that is a real statistic by the way….). So many kids these days are brought up in broken homes because of these divorce rates and often miss out on the affection and hard love that transitions kids softly from childhood to adulthood. Who are you to say that two men couldn’t raise a kid better than that guy who leaves his wife with four kids or that women who walks out on her family only to leave her children up for adoption?

Being a straight man, who likes women ALOT (just thought I would slip that in there…since some of you more ignorant readers are probably wondering where the passion for the topic is coming…hmm could it be because I have a fucking spine?!?), it is really tough to stance on what it means for someone to be homosexual. Is being gay something that is uncontrollable, like the color of one’s skin or being born with curly hair? Though I do think at times people can become gay to get back at their parents or to act out in childish sexual curiosity, I do believe the overwhelming majority of gay people are gay in an uncontrollable way by either being “born to be gay” or having acquired the preference of the same sex through behavior. If the government intends to punish people for being who they are, perhaps they should ban marriages for people with big noses or people with brown eyes? The state of your personal relationships should be none of anybody’s business but your own, this includes everyone, even or high and mighty government.

Now taking a look at the other side of this issue is difficult, as the arguments against gay marriage tend to center around pure uneducated, conservative, redneck ignorance. The Bible says its wrong? The Bible says a lot of things, like that the earth was created in seven days, something about a guy name Noah and this ark put all the animals in the world in it, frogs raining from the sky you get the point, most of the stories and writing from the greatest stories ever told are far fetched and obsolete to begin with, so using the bible as a means for segregation is unwarranted. However, where I do faintly agree with gay marriage dissidents is when it comes to children. Since traditionally, marriage has been reserved for a man and a woman their are certain aspects in raising a child (usually comes with marriage) that could prove hazardous when raised in a gay household. For example, gay marriage could create problems with ridicule with kids at school. Children are extremely cruel and gay marriage could potentially cause problems with that, not to mention this exposure to homosexuality at a young age could “out” kids in first grade. I mean, the last thing a kid needs in elementary school is to be dressing himself in tight clothes and blasting show tunes during show and tell. Joking aside, I do think this issue of exposing children to homosexuality is not a home issue, but rather a “society issue” and can only be reverted with the passing of time. This has only gotten more and more acceptable as I was telling a friend of mine the other day “The amount of gay” on television is really out of control. Be that as it may, like every civil rights movement, it only needs time and the progression of common acceptance to heal this issue.

Gay marriage and legislation on gay marriages, though controversial and in my opinion a neglectful way to waste government resources is one of the most important movements of my generation. The changing of what it means to be a “mommy” and a “daddy” has changed so much even from when I was a little kid (which wasn’t very long ago). However, using my simple code of conduct , I stay out of people’s business, stay clear from imposing my will on the world. Sure, I have this stupid little blog to post my frustrations to the twelve people who bother to read this, but surely you don’t think I write blogs so after reading them every reader would think like me? That my friends is called socialism and not a very empowering way to function as a society, if you’ve read any history books before. I guess the main point through this all is that nobody should have a right to impose their will on two people who love each other, two people who pay taxes and are citizens of this great country, regardless if they disagree with it. Gay marriage and all marriages for that matter are a reflection of free speech, the single most important civil liberty bestowed upon us by our forefathers, so important in fact, that it was the very first amendment made of our nation’s constitution. I may not like seafood, but does that mean I should prevent other people from eating it? Okay, so the metaphors are missing, cut me some slack its almost 2 am here. As long as we are all on the same page with treating gay people as equals, allowing them to own a home, pay taxes, fight in the military there should be no reason to prevent them from marrying each other…

Put down that celebrity magazine, get a life and remember to stay out of things that are none of your fucking business….

Usually on this blog I cover hard-hitting subjects, topics like Gun-control, politics and religion, subjects which I feel affect the world and how we live it. More often than not, there is a topic in which I always seem to gravitate back to, the topic of life-sucking, god fearing and constantly disappointing women. In all seriousness, whining like a little baby about my perpetual inability to hold a steady girlfriend throughout college has in some strange way, allowed me to deal with this constant bickering with the opposite sex. More recently, these problems of mine were put on hold, in order to make room for a two month makeshift relationship, pasted together with carelessness and misunderstanding, carefully out of sync with the foundations in which relationships should be founded on; things like intimacy, trust and oh yeah, affection.

The magic began a few months back when, via a mutual friend, I met this girl (who for privacy purposes, lets call “Sunny”) whom I happened to hit it off really well with. Sunny and I spent new years together, drinking and laughing and even despite the fact I was completely drunk and borderline incoherent, somehow managed to get ourselves into some sort of hot and heavy situation in a public restroom. Over the preliminary weeks, I would call her after work, telling her about my day and talking about our plans for each upcoming weekend. Since we shared so many mutual friends, we began regularly hanging out on the weekends and even though, things were going remarkably well with me on the women front, I really began to grow affection for Sunny. Within the next week or so, Sunny gave me a call, explaining how she felt it was time for us to be exclusive and not see other people. Lacking a consistent “girlfriend” for the previous few years and as I said before developing affections towards Sunny, I concurred and thus the magic had begun. As Gasparilla weekend approached, I began to get excited, not only was this festive, pirate infested, beer drinking extravaganza going to better than most years, but Sunny was coming down to visit for the entire weekend! However, my excitement soon diminished, noticing something about Sunny which I didn’t seem to care to much about. In the spirit of Pirates, and taking into account I had been given that “exclusive” talk the previous week, I put my arm around Sunny. To my surprise, Sunny was not interested, twisting out of my grasp and spilling back onto the main street to get some plastic beads. I thought nothing of this incident, which I will explain, turned to be a huge HUGE mistake. The rest of the weekend went off without a hitch, as it is downright impossible to be in a bad mood when there are so much pirates, friendship and celebration to be had. On top of all this, I had officially agreed to go on a cruise with Sunny and an assortment of her friends for Spring break to the tropical paradises of Cozumel and Grand Cayman! This was a huge deal for me not only because I have had this awful case of the travel bug for the past year or so, but perhaps Sunny was as interested in travel as I was. As I’ve said before, I find that free-spirit character in a woman, that ability to pick up and travel a very redeeming and sexy quality.

Taking a newfound appreciation to Sunny, I made the drive to go see her at her college (which again for privacy purposes, lets call Northport). In Northport, I spent the entire weekend with Sunny, which perhaps proved to be yet another huge mistake. I left off work early, driving up to Gainesville, I mean Northport, to have a romantic Valentine’s Day dinner with Sunny, who appeared to be excited I was about the entire weekend. We went out to dinner at a local Italian eatery, a place which sunny touted as “romantic” and “cute”, and even thought it was necessary to call the place “inexpensive”. Taking offense to the comment, I thought to myself;—- Did this girl I think I was cheap? What just because I drive an old Honda, I was broke and didn’t have the funds to take her out to a fancy dinner?—- We arrived at the place and I had a delicious Filet and her, the Robster Lavioli. Though the food was excellent, the place was anything but “inexpensive”, as between the food and a nice bottle of white wine, I ended up dropping a hundred thirty something dollars. I had succeeded in proving I wasn’t cheap, proving that I cared enough for Sunny to take her somewhere romantic, something we could both appreciate. Now don’t mistake me telling you about the dinner as something in which I hold a grudge against, because I really don’t, I feel it is only necessary to tell you in context of the story; an illustrative instrument in which I will use to paint the picture that the two months with Sunny was nothing more than a misunderstanding. Anyways, as the weekend progressed, things only got worse, with Sunny getting blackout drunk for three of the four nights I was in town while spending every day smoking countless bowls of marjihovee (again, privacy purposes…). I didn’t mind the blackout drunkenness, as I had been in pretty bad shape myself a few weeks prior parading around my apartment in my birthday suit and apparently claiming that it was important for me “to get some air” by going outside, only to find Sunny taking care of me, making me toast in the morning. As far as the copious amounts of weed usage, I must admit was a huge turnoff. I had already gone through the “smoke when I get bored” in my teenage years, and because I feel I am already lazy to begin with, refuse to touch the stuff to this day. At the end of this magical weekend of awkwardness, I sat outside Sunny’s apartment with my buddy John, talking about the night before and how much we really liked Northport and the proximity of everything, the quaintness and sheer awesomeness that is Northport.

“So you and this Girl are getting serious or what man?” John says to me, taking a drag of a cigarette, a habit he had said he would quit countless times

“Yea, things are going well” I said hesitantly, holding on to something that wasn’t there.

“You sure man? It just doesn’t seem like you two hit it off that well.”

I had heard this countless times from friends the past month or so who had seen us together, but I had always made nothing about it, until I realized that just maybe, we we’re just not that into each other.

“No….Its just that she’s not into the whole public displays of affection thing…you know.”

I told John explaining my constant thwarted advances toward Sunny.The conversation ended and John went back to Melbourne, unaware of how he had opened my eyes to the lack of potential for a long-term relationship with Sunny. At some point, things ultimately were going to fizzle out with Sunny, becoming colder and colder and less and less romantic.

Confronting Sunny about what had occurred the weekend, I told her that I had an issue with how the relationship was going, how much I didn’t like the coldness that was shown to me that weekend.“I thought I was upfront about this a month or so ago” she said., referring to her displeasure of showing affection to the people she dates. Sunny was completely right though, she had told me that months ago, so why was all of a sudden was this an issue? Maybe, I thought I could have changed this, could have somehow made things better. I panicked, completely stunned by Sunny’s honesty and perhaps thinking that the whole weekend was merely a mirage, a blip in a relationship that was on the surface, going rather well. What was I going to do? Go back to being single, alone in a world of random hookups with no emotional attached. Regretfully,I told Sunny everything was alright and headed home that night.

I went home and let it marinate, thinking things over and figuring out what I was going to do with the dead-end relationship I was in. Perhaps hoping that if I could somehow keep myself on good terms before the cruise I had already paid and planned my work schedule for, despite my best interests, despite being upfront and honest, I ignored it. On top of all this, I told most of my friends about my situation, how I was going on a cruise with a girl and her friends who I felt didn’t like me very much and how I had to keep my mouth shut until spring break, in order to have an enjoyable drama-free vacation. Word leaked out to Sunny and I got a phone call in which she told me the situation and how she clearly “couldn’t give me what I was looking for” and how we should still go on the cruise and still have a good time on this cruise. Though she was completely accurate on the fact that we should have called things off by then, Sunny worded her spiel in an aggressive tone and needless to day, I became insulted. I felt I had to get my jabs in, give some last parting shots while I was being kicked in the teeth over something I had no issues with anymore. I said some hurtful things, like how she could care less about us and in a much nicer context, how I felt like I had been going out with a stone the past few months.

Fearful of an angry exchange that could again, prevent me from having a good time on the cruise, I sent Sunny a message via facebook…..

To Sunny:

Just gotta get some things off my chest and I feel writing is the only way to do it (sorry)…

I am really sorry for not being understanding of you wanting to break up. I have been in and out of relationships for so long that I guess a part of me was only trying to hold on to something that really was never there to begin with. Due to this constant relationship failure, I internalize breakups and take them as an extremely personal attack on my character when in fact it has nothing to do with that and moreso with two people not being right for each other. Throughout the whole time we were dating I felt and still feel like you weren’t nearly as interested in me as I was in you (i.e. lack of PDA, valentine’s day, lack of returned phone calls..etc) but apparently this wasn’t the case, and I have some insecurities that I need to address in the near future. I definitely agree we are better off not together, we are simply looking for two different completely different things out of relationships and I should have been more up front that I was looking for more romance, a few months back. In other words, I expected this to happen, its just at the time, I felt the timing and manner in which this was sprung on me, was unfair.

I hope you understand that I have had a really long week being swamped at work/school and feel this was just a matter of really bad timing. If B******* can’t go on the cruise, I can still go and have a great time. However, It would be ideal if we didn’t have to stay in the same cabin …call me tomorrow if you still want to talk about this and again, sorry for not being understanding and upfront with my feelings…

In my message, I felt I had left it open for a possibility of still going on the cruise. In my passive aggresive note, I neglected to mention I still wanted to go away on this cruise.I called Sunny the next night, explaining how I had thought it over and still wanted to go on the cruise. In a fit of rage, Sunny begins screaming at me, calling me among other things “indecisive” and even “childish” for sending her a message via facebook despite the fact that if you were to ask any of her friends, is clearly the only way to get a hold of her. Not to mention, she never answered phone calls of mine so why on all days would today, the day after a huge fight on the phone, be any different? Sunny informed me that I had been replaced on the cruise, taking a mutual friend of mine, who desperately wanted to go to take my place. At first I got angry, but realized if this was the way I was going to be dealt with on the cruise, there was no way I would want to go, plus who was I to prevent a friend of mine who clearly wanted to go more than me of having a great spring break? I let it go….

As I write this, I reflect on my experience with Sunny, the times we had and I see nothing more than missed opportunities to get out, reason upon reason why were so incompatible .The moral of the story, the main point of this whole experience of mine, is to be completely honest in relationships. Be open with how you feel for someone, don’t force feelings that are not there, don’t pretend to be attracted to someone when you really aren’t, intimacy will happen entirely involuntarily and to think that you can make something work between two people who are looking for completely things is unreasonable. If you’re lonely, don’t go out seeking something, take your time and pick what you are looking for. This is why people warn you not to go grocery shopping when your starving, because you will only to come home to a cabinet full of chips and pretzels, fast and impulsive things that satisfy you for the time being, but in the end are just a waste of your time. If you are out there in a dead-end relationship, stop whatever you are doing and call that person, tell that person that things don’t have potential and your reasons why, it really is the only way to prevent a giant misunderstanding like this. As I head back to the single world, back to where I seem to get a sense of belonging, I can’t help but feel a little hopeless. Despite these two months of misunderstanding, I still truly want to get into a relationship with someone, someone who I connect with. I am not a fool, I know I will meet someone someday and this is all a part of growing up, life’s way of filtering out the good with the bad, the compatible with the incompatible. I am alone once again but completely happy,refreshed and relieved that it is over. Now what am I supposed to do this spring break? One should never lose faith in love, never give up on the possibility of meeting someone to care for. Life is strange like this sometimes, but maybe it is this world that is just the one huge misunderstanding…

Every four years or so, we as Americans have the opportunity to pick a leader; someone we feel will bring us into a prosperous new age, who will revitalize our country from the ground up, our next president. Over the past eight years, we have had the god awful, elitist, war mongering George W. Bush in office. Despite having much admiration for G.W.’s ability to clearly not give a fuck about anyone else, this uncanny ability of ignorance, a guy who despite the fact 80% of his country hates his guts, still continues to vow to “Keep Americans safe”. “Safe”, a concept that will probably decide this next election. Ever since 9-11, its no secret people in this country have been walking on pins and needles. Sine the attacks on the World Trade Centers, I’ve first hand watched people ducking for cover after hearing a rustle in the bushes and even someone screaming bloody murder when someone dropped silverware on the floor. Fear is powerful motivator, capable of keeping millions in submission, silent and stagnant, I mean, just ask any of the other imperialism enforcing empires before us.

Oh whats that?
You can’t ask them?
Why’s that?
All of the empires have been destroyed?

The British Empire? What about the Romans? How about that Ottoman Empire?
Ok, so you get the point, Imperialism doesn’t work, it never has and most certainly in this day and age of such cultural division, stands no chance. We know this, yet we support wars for power; foreign agendas that seem to pile up like a collection of old newspapers stacked neatly beside the door while the battle outside rages on.

This next election ,which in my opinion is based on fear, is being touted as “the most important election of our lifetime”. Let me save all you gun-toting, liberty loving, corporate bigwig, nascar-driving republicans the hassle, John McCain will not make you reduce the amount of fear ingrained in your head, nor will he make you safer .On the opposite side of the spectrum, for all those folk rock listening, freedom-hating, hybrid-driving, pompous, hippy liberals, please stop this notion that we will somehow be living in Shangri-La if Obama or Hillary become president. In case the ignorance of the previous two sentences washed over you as if it were meant to be humorous, let me just say that this is this sort of stereotypes that have destroyed American politics and have sent it into an almost disrepairable state. As I’ve said countless time, every issue in this country today has been completely and haphazardly distorted. Long gone, are the issues that our grandparents, (who let me just say know a thing or two about real “fear”; some guy named Hitler, who almost took over the world and exterminated almost ten million people just seventy years ago?) who used to use the “is it good for my children?” and “how will this help shape our world” approaches, seemingly non-bias approaches to issues. In place of these old schools of thought issues are now seen as “blue vs. red”, “democrat vs. republican” and my personal favorite, the ignorant “Patriotic duty vs. terrorist supporting” approach.

The main point, which in my long-winded rant, seemed to escape me, is that this upcoming election, american voters should what each candidate stands for, genuinely looking at what each candidate offers;

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_positions_of_Barack_Obama
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_positions_of_John_McCain
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_positions_of_Hillary_Rodham_Clinton

rather than what their party has stood for historically. It’s time for you America to vote, but please, don’t fuck it up this time around.

            Older women, the most beautiful and delicate of all flowers in the garden of woman;a mighty sunflower, soaring supremely above the other flowers, commanding respect and unwavering regard from the garden below. Poetic hogwash aside, I feel it may be time for me to not only confess, but explain this connection I have older women. That’s right, I have “a thing” for older women, I really do. The thirty to forty something ladies that you see at the grocery store, beauty still intact, some fine wine that had somehow only gotten better with age. The attractive woman who wears things like sweatpants, contempt with her life, beauty and sophistication, that all seemed to be rolled into one convenient package. To many out there, this attraction may seem completely cliche, nothing more than some boyish lust or desire as if I were some fifteen year old boy, salivating over some friends attractive mom or even worse a slip from the heart of a tormented little boy , stuck inside a grown man whose dealing with the constant pains of “Mommy Issues”. I assure you, I am a completely (well not completely…) mentally stable young adult who seems to more often or not, find himself involved with older women. To me, there is something about the older woman that is so refreshingly different from the college aged girls. As I begin to explain myself, let it be known this connection isn’t some primal attraction, but rather a true and complete one.

First off, lets start with experience. The majority of young women have less experience with relationships and thus generally, tend to be less stable emotionally than older women. It is through this experience where we see a comfort factor, a comfort that is tough to find in younger counterparts. Older women are independent and don’t need a man as much to make them feel accomplished or take care of them. They don’t play the games like younger women do, acting coy and shy one minute, only to find the next minuet mouthing off and being bossy, revealing her true self. Older women are ready to have some fun with someone who shares the same interests as they do, and don’t want to have to worry about your hang-ups and see if things progress.Older women ten to be less shallow than girls in their twenties and care more about a decent conversation or genuine interaction than what type of car you drive or how much stuff you own. Don’t get me wrong, they care, just not as much as a younger woman. Simply put, these are women who are proud to share their experiences both good or bad, rather than gossip like a bunch of clucking hens. With an older women, you tend to know right away where you stand, as she will normally not be afraid to tell you what she is looking for and more importantly, what she isn’t. This open dialogue, tends to give you an easier chance to “back out” before anything gets too serious, before feelings become attached. Society, which tends to think sex is the only reason a younger man will want to go out with an older woman, is misinformed. Sure, it’s no secret that women peak sexually in their 30s and 40s and like most men, I have no qualms about that. Let not forget, with the abundant access to gyms, older women today are taking better care of their bodies and are looking better too. The older woman of today is not looking for the white picket fence, 2.5 kids and the two car family, especially if she has already spent earlier years doing just that, so not too many older women are looking for what some may refer to as”baby daddies”.

Despite much disapproval from society, this age-old attraction persists, an attraction that baffles older men everywhere, the fling that quenches the young man’s insatiable desire for intimacy yet at the same time, puts out the fire of the older women that has seen it all, who craves for something new and youthful in her life. It is simply a flawless arrangement, immortalized in movies like “American Pie” and more famously, “the Graduate” and on the tip of every young males tongue, however unlike most people, I see no shame in confessing my appreciation and connection I share with Older women, as for the most part these experiences tend to be short-lived; fun while they last, eventually turning “taboo” conforming to an convoluted artifact of a patriarchal culture that, to me, should no longer be seen as an issue whatsoever. Let me ask you a question, why does society revere guys like Hugh Hefner, Donald Trump and millionaires worldwide over their “trophy wives” or do we not care so much about the Young blond who is “gold digging” a 80 yr old oil tycoon for his uhhh…..personality? looks? I don’t know, maybe it is just the way it is and writing a long blog entry explaining my attraction is a waste of time, merely a product of controversy.Who knows, perhaps some day it will be considered “Ok” by everyone else, maybe even Ashton Kutchner and Demi Moore can be considered as pioneers.Who knows, maybe Franki Muniz and Bea Arthur will start dating (Ok I think I went to far…ugggghhh gross!) .Anyways, until then….Here’s to you Mrs. Robinson…..