Solar Flare

As the last day of Summer has shined it's last ray of light, I'm sitting instead of working at a half empty steakhouse thinking of the ups and downs this summer has afforded me.

I learned a lot about perseverance this summer, about how to put aside the snickers and sneers from others and continue to press on to achieve goals. I learned to not strive for excellence from myself, but to expect it. I graduated college this summer, I received a diploma (a shitty fucking diploma btw, but more on that later) that signifies my education, but I left behind a place and a people that made me feel important beyond unbelievable imaginations. I learned that sometimes being single is the goddamn only way to be, by witnessing the terrible things relationships do to the people around me (My brother, my former boss) I learn that sometimes sleeping with best friends cannot be casual, no matter how much you try to convince yourself it meant nothing.

I started a new job, well, really same job different menu. I had the worst night I have ever had as a server at this new job, but I also realized how being consistently funny and charming might be the greatest currency a man can possess. My new job also showed me how sticking with something even when it seems pointless and terrible sometimes pays off.

I spent more time alone in my home this summer than any other four month stretch I can remember, thus leading to even more introspection, I've spent more nights up crying, worrying, and/or making my heart race with the anticpation and excitment I have for my future in entertainment than I did actually getting good rest.

This summer gave us one of the best performances by an actor ever (Heath), it exposed a new DJ for all of us to get boners over (Girl Talk) (and yes I know he's been doing this shit for years) The summer gave me a new found respect for a band I didn't think could get any better, but did with their new album (Staind) We also found out what happens when a band tries to hard (Coldplay) This summer showed us that this November is going to be the most dirty, rotten election in years, and damn if that doesn't get me excited :)

I put my dog down this summer, My two best friends were hundreds of miles away from me for 95 percent of the summer, I lost a few friends that live within a mile, and no matter how many friends you lose, and trust me, I've lost plenty, each one still hurts. My parents and family were on vacations without me three times this summer, and I took a few of my own without them as well, and yes, visiting Rider last week counts as one.

I could sit here and list a million other monumental things, like discovering that beer should NEVER look yellow ever, and it can be drank with class (Sorry Mom), but like dreams and sex stories, it's all boring if you aren't involved. I look ahead to the fall and I see myself inching slowly closer to next step. I see myself losing one of my most unconventional best friends to the Marines, another to a "real" job, and even more to grad school and such.

Summer is over. Fall is here.

I get up from my perch near the service bar and I start to clean off table 18, the old couple that ate there previously left little mess, so I don't even bother to wait for the bus boy to clean it off. I think about how just three months ago I was scarred shitless of the new restaurant I was working at, and how I was never comfortable or happy there. Now I have some of the best shifts in the house, and I feel that not only do I sometimes have fun at work, people enjoy working with me as well.

Sometimes it only takes a summer for things to figure themselves out.

Welcome to the Rock

Death is a scary thing.

We all think about death from time to time, well at least I know it crosses my mind. Whether it be after we have a near miss car accident on a highway, if it's right before we get on a roller coaster that is creaking a little too much for our liking, or even right as we are taking off in an airplane going on vacation or what not. Death is the elephant in the room for everyone, young or old.

It's how we deal with Death that defines who we are. Some of us sit around writing the tragedies of our lives while ignoring how to live them. Some of us take every opportunity to cheat death, whether it be sky diving, mountain climbing, those crazies on Jackass sticking leeches up their asses. There are even those that take life for granted, almost accepting death as some sort of reward, it could be those that overdose, those that drink and drive when utterly wasted, or those that drink themselves asleep forever.

Today we are putting our family's dog, Rocky, to sleep. I'd be lying if I said I was overly upset, ever since Rocky ate my 1996 All-star baseball cap signed by LL Cool J we've been on bad terms, but I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't going to feel anguish after we put him down. It's a strange things pets do to us really. Pets, especially dogs, are the biggest pain in the ass purchases you can make. They take months if not years to train, you have to feed them at least twice a day, clean up after their shit, hair, mess, etc. Outside of a child, pets are the neediest things you can buy. Yet, my home is going to feel like it is missing something in Rocky's absence.

My brother, the one whose whore ex recently left him, considered Rocky as another brother. As weird as it was, he'd talk to the dog, or just pet him, the reassurance that no matter what, Rocky needed my brother's affection, he relied on my brother, and that made my brother feel more complete. I cannot imagine what his loss will do to my brother, how my brother deals with this will really shine a light on who he really is, and I'd by lying if I said I wasn't a little curious to see how he deals.

I'm willing to bet that you won't be able to walk into this house and notice something incomplete about it the next few days. I'm sure there will be some snappiness around the house, a few teary eyes, but over the next few weeks we will move on, and it will all be back to normal. Rocky won't be around here anymore, but he will have left us with a lot memories.

I think that's the true test of how one deals with death. How he or she deals with the dead loved one's memories. Do you remember all the great times and all the fun things the person left you, or do you just remember how you felt the day they left the world?

Because really aren't memories the only things anyone can leave for us? Sure, they can leave jewelry and pictures, but those pictures are really empty without the memories that back them.

Safe Place

I have a terrible job. Okay, it isn't THAT fucking bad, I just wait tables, and I choose to, so this isn't me complaining, I'm just stating how terrible waiting tables can be, shitty costumers, bad tips, asshole-ish demands, bad managers and lazy fucking co workers are all reasons to never want to wear an apron and say "how would you like your steak cooked?" But tonight I actually had a moment that made me love my job.

It was about 8:30 and the restaurant was slowing down, less consistent costumers, less orders going through the POSy machine into the kitchen etc. I got sat a table of three around this time, and at first I wasn't happy, only because I was hoping to be cut and sent home, but never-the-less I had a table, hey at least I'll have an opportunity to make some money.

I approach the table and I see a mother a father and a young daughter, she can't be a day over 9, but she is dressed nicely, in a long black dress, with make-up on her face.

"My name is Mike, welcome to the steakhouse, how is everyone doing tonight"

The father looks up at me and has a nice smile on his face, he looks like fun.

"I'm doing good, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing good sir," I say to him and I look over at the young girl, "special occasion tonight?"

"Me and my daughter are out on a date tonight Mike, although my wife decided to come as a third wheel," the father says to me and laughs.

I assure them that I am going to take good care of them, and I take their order. The father orders a gin and tonic because his daughter asked him not drink a beer tonight.

Their food comes out quickly and they eat, I go back to check on them and the daughter is at the bathroom, so the father takes the time to talk to me.

"Me and my daughter are on a 'date' tonight because all three of her brothers are at a 'boy's only' sleepover party, and she doesn't get a lot of daddy alone time."

"That's so nice!"

"Before we came out I went to grab a few things and I told her I was going, so she says to me that she is going to get ready for dinner. I come back from the store and she has on this black dress, and I look at her and she's got on this eye liner and lipstick! It was like a knife in my heart because although I thought it was so cute that my daughter was so excited to go out, I know what's coming next, and I know i wont be on any of those kind of dates!"

Hearing all this broke my heart man, it was warming to see such tender care for a child. When you wait on people you see people at their best and at their worse. Eating makes people vulnerable, and they let their guard down when they do it. In a world where we read stories about people leaving their kids in trash cans and child abuse, and fucking child porn, it was really refreshing to see parents that really loved their child. It made me think of the times I would spend playing board games with my mom before i had school or she had work, or when I took my Dad to a comedy show last year and he texted me that he had a good time and said he loved me. I saved the text message, and all those memories because people aren't going to be around forever, and when they're gone it's all we're gonna have.

The father asks for the check, he compliments me galore, which i appreciate almost as much as the 30 percent tip they leave on the bill, I thank them and I tell the daughter to enjoy the rest of her date.

I only got to know these people for about 45 minutes, but for those 45 minutes, I didn't feel like I was waiting tables, and for that I am forever grateful.

Till death do us part...

I don't know, maybe it's me, maybe I'm the only one that thinks like this. Maybe I'm the asshole.

Let me explain.

I have very few friends.

Okay, some of you that know me well are probably thinking, "you, only a few friends? PLEASE." Okay, it's true, there are more people that know me and hang out with me than that know you, and I know many people. But, when it comes to real friends, people that i truly care about, and truly care for me, I have a few. Sure, I'll party with tons of people, I'll make an amazing drink with my own booze for anyone that works into my apartment, or at least when i lived in one, but that doesn't make that person someone i care about, that just makes them someone I've made a drink for. I'm talking about people that will do anything for me, anything at all, no matter what lenghts they have to go to to do it.

These are the people I expect more from.

To steal a line from one of my best friends, I expect greatness from my real friends. I expect them to be as great as possible when it deals with things that involve the both of us, and especially things that involve themselves. I don't expect perfection, no one is perfect, not even myself, I expect greatness. Greatness can be described as many things. Greatness is going to a bar or a club that you fucking hate with someone who really wants to go just because they want to. Greatness is driving two hours and sacrificing pay and work time just to spend 5 hours with a person. Greatness is driving an hour and a half to pick up your friend after he gets kicked out of his house, only to have to drive another hour and a half back. Greatness is finding out that your friend is upset that someone wished all her friends a happy birthday, but not her, and you going out of your way and making sure that someone that made your fried upset wishes that person a happy B-Day but never taking any credit for it. Greatness is not seeing someone for months or even years, and being able to pick right back up where you left off the second you see them again.

These things define what makes a friend great.

These are the attributes I look for in a real friend that truly gives a double-fuck about me.

Being sick is no excuse to abandon greatness, anything less than death bed warrants no pardon.

Maybe I'm coming off too snotty, but it's what I give that makes me want in return. Ask any of the people I've come into contact with that I still talk to, ask any one of them that considers me a good friend, I practice what I preach to umpteenth degree. I sacrifice for my friends, I care about my friends and I live and die with their struggles.

Being a great friend means only wanting one thing in return for all the sacrifices and hard work and late nights spent listening and talking and helping.

The only thing a great friend wants in return is simple.

Greatness.

Tisbury Lane

It's 10 o'clock after the last class of my college career and I'm laying in the grass behind the track next to one of the sexiest girls I've ever had the opportunity to be in company with, and instead of thinking about all the wonderful things I'm about to get myself into, all I can think about is how much I'm going to miss everything.

I see a shooting star cross over the sky, my 4th so far that night.

"It's been four years man, you really can get connected to a place after only a short time," I half whisper.

"Yeah, that's the goddamn truth," she says to me, her statement said with a half sigh half exhale that lets me know she agrees, but really isn't in the mood for a deep conversation.

I catch the hint and lean over and give her a long hard kiss. I've always had the problem of needing something going on at all times. It isn't enough for me to just say goodbye to school and drive away, I need to make-out on its fields one last time, I need to do something big, even if it is only me and one other, I need to give everything a proper send off, and tonight is no different.

Even in the embrace of someone else I still can't get my mind off all the amazing things that have happened to me over my time at college. I won't sit here and list them all, because memories are like sex stories and dreams, if you aren't in them, then who gives a shit? I think of all the good parties, good people, good shows and the good things I've done at school. I think of the terrible things that have happened, the people that have died, the people I've disappointed (see my parents 100x). I didn't have the cookie cutter college experience, but what were the odds of that happening anyway?

My mind wonders to the future, and what it holds for me. I do have a plan, and I will stick to it until it is fulfilled. I know where I want to go, and what i want to do. The future is bright for me, and after another shooting star goes across the sky (number 6 of the night, no I'm not making that up) I stop thinking about anything and I do what I did for the last four years of my life, I just live in the moment. A beautiful girl, a great night with an amazing sky, and all of the world's ambitions at my finger tips, what more could anyone ask for?

A lean in for one more kiss before we pack up shop and head home. It's a good one, exactly the way to end the night.

I drop her off and I start my ride back to my house. I drive by the school's neon red sign one more time before getting on the highway to take the drive back to town. I get a little choked up, but the "Girl Talk" coming from my radio stops me from getting upset.

The last four years were fucking amazing. Tonight was amazing. The proper send off for sure.

Fuck the glam rock...

It's a Sunday afternoon, and I can think of a million places I'd rather be then at work, but at work I am.

Four or five of us are sitting at the bar, trying to get a few more seconds of relaxation before the horde of costumers looking for their "Mid Well Fillets", and unlimited refills on lemon water come barreling through the double doors at the front of the Restaurant.

It's about 1:55, and we open at 2:00, but no one really wants to move or talk, just sit and relax. No one, except Ted, Ted wants human contact, and he wants to talk. Quick back story about Ted, Ted was in a boy band in high school, Ted thinks he can sing, and thinks he looks good, real good. He isn't a bragger per se, he just lives in his own small world, and thinks everything he cares about we all care about. He is like the little puppy that constantly wants to play fetch, even after hours of catching a Frisbee, he can't read a situation, and can never tell when someone isn't interested in what he is talking about.

Now that the wikipedi biography on Ted is out there, you know what we are dealing with. Ted comes up to us sitting at the bar relaxing and he immediately shakes hands with everyone. The most awkward, tilted terrible hand shake next to a lip wrist you can get. I must have hit the daily Ted jackpot, because he sits right next to me.

"Whats up Mike, how you doing today?"

"I'm good Ted, just relaxing before the onslaught."

"I hear that Mike."

(I mumble something incoherent, but just enough to show I've heard what he said, I'm hoping this means it's all over)

"I see you went with the slick back look with your hair there Mike."

Looks like I wasn't lucky enough

"Ya know Ted, I just kind of did it real quick because I was running late."

"No, I mean I see what you did, but you should try spiking your hair like I do, because my hair looks good."

(beat)

"I gotta go make sure my section's ready Ted."

I get up and walk towards my tables, and all I can wonder is who I pissed off to deserve to win the Ted jackpot...

Magic Hours

My brother's girlfriend broke up with him last week.

She told my brother that she wasn't happy with him, and that my parents were too much of a hassle for her. Said my brother was abusive, and was too controlling. Abusive? Please, that bitch doesn't know abusive. She's got a fucking over controlling babying fucking mother, and a dumb fucking Pot head father, she doesn't know SHIT about being abused.

In typical Washington Township fashion, everyone knew before my brother did. She told her mother, her father, her brother, all her friends, before she told my brother.

She told him she was going to wait till my parents got back from vacation to break up with him, because they had plans and she felt bad breaking.

She felt bad breaking plans, she felt bad breaking plans that my brother would have to shell out money for, she felt bad breaking plans that my grandmother was going to cook for them.

She felt bad breaking plans, but didn't feel bad breaking my brother's fucking heart.

My parents gave my brother a whole fuckton of shit about him dating this girl. She wasn't the most exciting person in the world, hell he took her to see Aaron Lewis' solo and acoustic show, and she sat there emotionless. I wasn't fond of her, but I kept my mouth shut, because i knew how hard my brother felt about her. And my parents aren't making it any easier on him, but I understand they are doing what they feel is right for him, and I know it hurts them just as much as it hurts me to see him upset, but when he tells me that it hurts when they bring it up, I don't know what to do.

I did write a story about this four years ago when they were only kind of dating, and she pulled a stunt similar to this. He went back with her, and i let it go then, but I'm telling you, if I ever see this walking piece of cunt on the street, it is going to take every ounce of self will in my body not to hit her, and I have never hit a girl in my life.

But mark my words, if she is ever at a party, and I happen to be there, and she happens to be enjoying homemade jungle juice, I'll be sure to give it my special touch. That's for sure.


As far as my brother goes, I think he is going to be okay, but he sure as shit isn't okay now. He talks to me because I'm his older brother, but it isn't easy. Hearing him tell me that he didn't think it would be this hard, absolutely destroys me. I can't stand it. Seeing him trying to hold back tears is the most painful thing I've ever witnessed, and it's bad.

I tell him whatever i can to try and make him see that there is light. I tell him he has to learn from this, and that he has to apply what ever went wrong in this relationship to the next one. I tell him that although its shitty now, it's going to get better, because as we all know, it does. He tells me he thinks about her a lot, and i tell him it's normal, because it is. I tell him to listen to the music he loves. I tell him to get lost in music because it's what i did. I also tell him that till the end of time, he will compare every girl to this one. It was his first girlfriend, his first young love, it's only human for him to bleed from the inside.

I know this post is shit, and its not very eloquent, but sometimes things like this aren't polished. The look on my brother's face isn't polished, its stripped, raw, and fucking real. His emotions, and my rage, aren't sugar coated, they are sour, they are honest.

News Radio

Because I miss my friends ever so, I am going to post a story I wrote that was inspired by one of them a few months ago, enjoy!

'Alyssa'

She’s the girl who wants it.

Badly.

Just look at her.

Look at the way she’s wearing that “new; old school” Edie Sedgwick short cut she spent papa’s 52 dollars and a tip on at the fancy hair salon on main.

The way she walks through the door of the restaurant, trying hard not to seem like she’s looking around to see who noticed her walk in the door, which in turn just makes it seem even more obvious. She knows she looks good, and she knows her fathers’ cash was money well spent, yet her past won’t let her believe it.

Raped at the age of 12.

Heart broken at 19.

Scarred for the duration of the flight.

She tells all of her close friends that all she wants is companionship, love, and someone to ask her how she is and really mean it. Her friends tell her she’s beautiful and petite and that she is going to have it all one day. Her past tells her she is ugly, pathetic and going no where.

She sits down at the table with another stranger she feels might give her what she wants. He’s dressed conservatively with a plain navy suit, solid blue shirt and dark blue tie. They both order the fish and sip their waters as the man talks about whatever it is he feels she might be interested in. She isn’t and it shows by her wandering eyes.

She sees a middle age couple laughing

She sees a family of five peacefully eating.

She sees nothing she recognizes.

It’s not that the man isn’t handsome, he is, and it’s not that what he is saying isn’t interesting; its just she is incessantly worried about everything around her. Like a newborn she tries to soak it all in. Like a scientist she is trying to figure out how it all fits into the formula that is her self conscious.

They finish their meals, skip dessert and leave a nice tip. The man offers his coat to her as they walk out, it has begun to rain and neither of them are the news radio type, thus they came with no umbrella. She politely accepts the offer, and flashes one of the few “soul baring” smiles of the night. They exit the restaurant and enter the rain soaked dark. I watch them as the walk rapidly outside.

Water falling from the sky.

Water hitting the black of the night.

Water flowing through her hair.

Purge

I need something.


I need something new to outlet my emotions. Wow, if that wasn't the most Emo fucking thing ever written on here, than I don't know what is.

What I'm trying to say is, I need a new outlet for what goes on inside.

This blog is great for me, and I love it, and I am going to use it more and more, but it can only serve so much as a purpose as an outlet. I need something a bit stronger, a bit more cathartic.

I want to be in a band. I want to fucking be in the most angry band ever. I want to write songs and scream till my fucking lungs bleed. I have always wanted to do this, I've thought about it many times. It wouldn't be about being good necessarily, or even being popular, I just want to be in a band that plays basements and fucking parties, and the occasional hipster bar.


Some of you might say, "my god, are you really that angry?" And to be honest, yes and no, I'm pretty angry sometimes sure, but I have a pretty sweet life, and this is why the little things that do get me angry or upset tend to fester, because i really have no right to complain. But if I must say, all of the people I have met in heavy bands have been extremely happy, nice, content people. They use their time on stage, or behind their microphone, guitar, kit, etc, to deal with and "release" whatever it is that bothers them.


A therapy of sorts.


The only people I have met that were in sad, heavy bands, and were still sad and depressed after the music stopped, were in terrible bands that didn't actually care about their sound or what they were saying, they were just acting the part that they thought they needed to act.


One of the people that reads this blog told me the other day that they thought my blog was really good, and I thanked him for the compliment, and really it was nice to hear, but I got to thinking...am I writing this for it to be good or bad? Is this about quality? No, it isn't, and although i was glad to hear that I have people that actually read my ramblings and grumblings, I realized I don't care if this is good or bad, just like i wouldn't care about if my band was good or bad, all i would care about is whether or not it was what I wanted it to be. I think it would do a lot for my Psyche.


Or maybe i should be as cool as this kid and get a tattoo:

The Cooler

Some days man, some fucking days are just shitty fucking days.

Worst part is, when you have one of these days, and you aren't terrible upset, nor did anything really all that bad happen to you.

No, these kind of days are worse. These are the kind of days where you really have dick to do with your time, thus you let your mind wonder to places it shouldn't go.

I'll elaborate.

Today i had nothing to do but go to class at 6:30, so I sat around all day and festered on my inadequacies and all of the things that are going on right now that I am not too happy about. I thought about my lack of motivation to engage in any real sort of physical activity, and then i thought about why i should be motivated to engage in physical activity. I got down on myself about how I really have nothing left to look forward to this summer except for the Dark Knight coming out, and the new Staind CD on august 19th.

I'm losing one of my best friends that I've had for the past eight years to a terribly stupid addiction, and no matter how much i scream and yell at him about how much i care, it doesn't get through, and even when I make a mistake and fuel his addiction I'm given no choice but to make him pay for it because of his inability to realize he is destroying himself day by day.

My social life, albeit pretty solid, has some major fucking flaws in it. My two best friends are away, one in Boston, the other in the fucking Dominican. My other two best friends here at home are leaving by the fall, one to China and the other to Delaware. Three out of my four best friends from School are either too busy to celebrate her own 21st, too far to afford to be able to see me, or doesn't have a car, or even a license for that matter, and lives about an hour away. I'm (finally) coupling with girls that I have been crazily enamoured with for years, yet instead of trying to build on these acts, or instead of being upfront and social about my feelings or drive to start something serious, I'm talking to them like I talk to all of the other pieces of waste I've shared a bed with in college.

I'm in the sort of mood where I have no idea what kind of music I want to listen to, it seems the only CD that really brings a smile to my face is a 10 year old New Radicals album that I don't think they even press copies of anymore, oh that's right, even the lead singer thought they were a one hit wonder so he fucking ended the band. Shame, that CD is incredible.

My parents have been gone for a week and a half, and I'm all fucking alone in my house, which was cool for the first few days, but now I really have nothing to do. My mother might get on my ass for the dumbest of shit sometimes, but at least fighting with her was something to do.

I can't talk to my best friends about something that has kept me from having a good night's sleep since last week. As much as I tell people I like it, I think I fucking hate working at the steakhouse, and I miss the comfortably of the Chee. Besides when I write in this stupid thing, the Internet fucking bores me senseless.

This isn't a pity pull, I just want to know what gets you people when you get into one of these moods, what do you think about when you have nothing but time to kill?

I don't need anyone to tell me everything is going to be okay, or that I am a good person. I know I am, and I know my life is great, so if you came here to do that, thanks, but please take it somewhere else. Really.

I'm just having one of those days.

Lightning Crashes

A lot of people talk about accomplishing things. People talk about climbing their "Mount Everests," in other words, doing things that seem impossible to many, or just impossible to them, but they work through the hard times and do it. Using their "roof toilet" is what you Scrubs fans out there might say.



I have many "Everests" that I want to climb in my life, I wanna be a Talent Agent, I wanna make money, I wanna make money so I can buy myself and my family nice things. I wanna weigh 180 pounds, etc.



I recently received something that I had been wanting for a while, it wasn't an Everest by any stretch of the imagination, not at all, but it was something that I had been working on for the past few years. Well, not working on, I don't want to give you some mental image of me looking like one of the Seven Dwarfs, getting up every day and hammering out some monster fucking mission with a weird hat on, and a really baggy onsey, so maybe I haven't been working on this for a while, but I sure as hell have been thinking about getting this for quite some time.







This weekend this thing I've been "jonesing" for came to fruition, and to be honest, I can't decide if it's a good thing or not, or really what's going to come from it, if anything at all. I keep trying to decide whether or not any of it was even worth it. I mean when Led Zeppelin was writing "Stairway" do you think they knew they were writing the greatest song of all time? Do you think they sat there thinking, "hmm maybe if we had this string arraignment here, or a guitar solo here, it'll be the greatest fucking recording ever, ahh fuck it let's go throw lunch meat on the groupies..." Although I'm sure they covered many a woman with coldcuts, I highly doubt they knew the importance of what they were doing while recording that song. Only after its release and years of praise did its true greatness become exposed.



So should i judge my recent dealings after only a few nights of pondering its importance, or do I let it sit and burden my thoughts for say, the next 10 or 15 years?



Worst of all, I have absolutely no one to talk to about this that will truly understand the importance of it all in the mini spectrum of my life. All the people that can be trusted with this sensitive material wouldn't understand the importance of the actions, and all of the people that would truly realized the epic proportions of said events wouldn't be able to contain the information. Hell no one would be able to.



So I guess my question is, how do you talk to someone about something, without really telling them what you're talking about? God knows I need to talk to someone. Or maybe I should just pay a stripper to let me throw lunch meat at her.



Hey, it worked for Led Zeppelin.

Melt

I don't think Fuck is the dirtiest word that one can say anymore. People say fuck all the time, it doesn't shock us anymore. Hell if you hang around me enough you'll hear it so much you'll forget your parents told you never to say it in the first place.

I think the more taboo word, or conversation if you will, would be race. We don't like to talk about it, we don't like to analyze it, and we sure as shit don't like to recognize it's importance on the normal person's decision making process. It's why people just wanted the recent democratic primaries to just be over, so we can all stop pretending that race didn't play the biggest part in that decision.

The reason I am bringing this up is because of two separate occasions over the past five days I saw examples of the lowest forms of the two most dominate races in this country.

On Saturday four friends and myself went out to Wildwood for a night of boardwalk, and bar / restaurant hopping. We ended up at this rest. called Juan Pallos. Mexican place, it was just okay, their quesadillas were lacking, but their tortillas were on point! anyway, after we were done at Juan Pallios, we started walking back towards our buddy's place where our car was parked. On the way, there were about 10 black guys and few Latino girls hanging out on a car. One of them put his hands in the air and tried to elicit a high five from one of my friend's girlfriend, who was with us. He was a bit too pushy, and my friend was full of patron, so he stepped in and told the black guy to go fuck himself, and to stay away from his girl. This prompted a block-long walk where three black guys just yelled at us while we kept walking and me and another friend telling them to relax, and that it was a non issue while my buddy and his girl went ahead. Instead of trailing back and letting it go, the instigator black guy ran ahead and punched my buddy in the neck. He then ran back to us an apologized. He was obvs. trying to impress his friends, and rectify the situation with us, although there were more than them, we weren't necessarily backing away from them.

After all this we got back to our place, and our car, and everyone calmed down. I thought this was hilarious, but everyone was pretty angry and or upset. Everything calmed down and we finished the night and went home. It was pretty terrible that we even had to deal with this sort of thing to begin with on an otherwise pretty sweet night, but it happens.

My other instance happened just yesterday. I was leaving the Wawa in Birches West, and as I was about to enter my car I see about four or five Mexican guys walking across the street and towards the Wawa, as they are about to enter the pavement the Wawa is on, a car full of four white guys drives up, slows down, and one of the guys takes out a megaphone, and goes "Go back to Mexico." It was loud (megaphone duh) and direct, and it was the most rude terrible thing I have ever seen for no reason. I looked over at the five Mexican guys, and you can tell they weren't happy about it, but they kept walking to Wawa, totally used to that kind of thing happening to them. My whole car ride back to my house I was full of anger, I hated those kids for doing that, I hated that they found it so funny, and by the way they executed this prank it seemed like they had done it a million times before, I hated Washington Township for producing such over spoiled trash that would do such things. I was full of hate and it made me think of race. It made me think of Saturday night, and how those black guys felt threatened by us, or how we felt scared because they guys coming after us were black. These Mexican guys didn't feel threatened by their megaphoned attackers, but you'd be stupid to think their feelings weren't hurt. The white guys in the car feel threatened by the Mexicans, just because of the color of their skin and the way they say our words different.

All of these races, scarred of each other, threatened by one another.

And I just kept thinking the same thing over and over again when I was driving home after seeing the Mexican instance at the Wawa.

Maybe we aren't so different after all.

Brogan

My family is moving.

Well, we were.

Moving was something my family teetered with almost two years ago, it didn't work out, so we took our house off the market. I didn't want to move then, and I thought I didn't want to move this time as well. I spent many days and trips with my family going to see houses and picking out the bad things about all the houses we saw. There wasn't one single house that I wanted to move into. It's not that the houses weren't nice, some of them really were, there was just something that was holding me back.

Fear.

I was scared of moving, and I was scared of having to go somewhere new, and somewhere different. I've lived in three houses my entire life, and I thought when we moved into the house we live in now that this would be it; that this house would be the house I take my grand kids to when they wanted to visit their grandfather and crazy Grandma Sue. Even though I hated this house when we first moved from South Philly, after some recent alterations, and a really nice extension of my "room" I began to really fall for it, and even looked forward to coming home some weekends last year when things were a bit rough at school. That all changed last Friday.

See, we went to go see a house behind a local church, before I even got there, I was putting down the neighborhood it was in, and trying to plant the seed of doubt in my parents' mind. We get there, and its actually a really nice house, four bedrooms, well almost five, two and a half baths, full finished basement, and the most spectacular backyard I've seen behind a house in real life. It was way below our budget, and it had everything we were looking for in a house. It was perfect!

We all begged and pleaded with our parents to put in a bid to buy the house, and I think they loved the house as much as we did. This is where this dream story comes to a crashing and confusing halt.

Long story short, our house isn't sold, and although we could probably just pay full price for the house, we still had to sell ours. As great as owning a home is, it comes with a fuck-ton of bills, and one of those being a mortgage. If we bought this nice house, and didn't sell ours right away, we would have to carry two mortgages. Again, long story short, my parents are afraid, although they can afford it, they afraid it might cripple us if our house doesn't sell, and the double mortgage goes on too long.

Fear.

I'm not going to go in depth on what must be going through my parents' minds. For two reasons, one it's none of your, or even mine for that matter, business. Second, It's their money, and although I am deeply disappointed that we aren't buying that home (even though I'll probably be out on my own in a year anyway) I understand their decision, although I don't agree with it. My parents deserve that house. Not that our house is shabby, it isn't, it's a great home, amazing kitchen, and we live comfortably here. That being said, my parents have earned the right to live beyond comfort, to be able to truly stretch their legs.

My Dad doesn't have a college degree, yet we go on over a months worth a vacation every year, I went to a 35 thousand dollar a year private university, and we live in a expensive town. My mother busted her ass in night school to get a degree in, like, six years at the age of forty, and works everyday. They doesn't just provide for our family, they flat out fucking spoil us. I know they must have a million things going through their head everyday, and god knows my brothers and I don't make it any easier on them.

The only way to truly thank them is to be at least half as good to my kids as they were and are to me. The reason I say this is because I want you to understand where I come from when I say that my parents are being scared dogs when it comes to this house ordeal.

Fear.

I want this house, they want this house, but they are too scared to take a risk. Case closed, end of story. Fear wins again, and again we all lose.

I really don't know when fear took over all of us. When we let it creep right into our fucking lives, sit in our favorite recliner, and drink the coldest beer from the back of the fridge. I'd blame George Bush and how he manipulated that bastard fear for his own personal gain. I'd blame Osama Bin Laden and every fucking "terrorist" that gets angry when he sees the red, white, and blue and is jealous of the freedom those colors represent. I'd blame the whores and the assholes who spread STDs with dirty needles and careless sex, or I'd blame the drug dealer who helps kids greet death everyday just so he can ride around in a pimped out caddy or sleek black Mercedes. I'd blame Barack Obama, and Hillary Clinton, and John McCain, and every other cock-sucking politician who makes us fear the future if we don't vote for them, so they can make our decisions for us. I'd blame all those stupid fucking signs and brand new security measures at the airport that scare the shit out of all the families before they board their flight to "sunny Florida!" I'd blame the finger-fucking Priests and all the clergy men of all religions for scaring it's patrons into believing God will make us pay. I'd blame all the atheists for pissing off God and believing something that wasn't Divine could possibly make everything around us. I'd blame all the models and workout shows for making some of my best friends hate themselves when they look in the mirror, and make people so scared to go to the beach, or go to a pool party, that they'd rather sit at home and do nothing for fear of being judged.

I'd blame everyone else, if I could. But I can't, because I know who is really to blame for letting fear take over ourselves. We are, and I would tell you how to change it, and I would tell you how to fix it, and how to regain our footing in this fucked up world. But I don't know how to.

Actually I think I do know how to fix it all, I'm just afraid I might be wrong.


Fear.


Author's note: So, the people that were selling the house that I wanted to move into said last night that anyone who wanted to put a bid in for their house had to do so by 10 am today, and they would make their decision by noon (apparently other people wanted that house as well) My parents went to bed last night deciding to not put in a bid, and to take our house off the market. I just got a call from my Dad telling me that they put in a bid for the house, and that they accepted it, thus making us the new owners of the house! Apparently something made them change their minds this morning, and take the risk. I sure am glad they did ;)

Pack Your Knives

I Love Top Chef.

I think it's the best reality show on TV at the moment. Bravo does an amazing job with editing the footage, getting top notch judges, (unlike American idol whose number one draw on the judges tables is someone whose only real credit in the music business for the first four seasons was producing a Teletubies soundtrack) (p.s. Simon Cowell) and bravo understands that the show isn't about the judges, it's about the contestants and their product.

Tonight, for those of you that don't watch, my favorite chef out of the remaining six was eliminated, Dale. The show consisted of the six remaining chefs competing in "Restaurant Wars" which pits two teams of three against each other, and the goal is to see who can put together the best one night only restaurant experience. Long story short Dale was the executive chef on the losing team, and was tossed from the show.

Most people don't like Dale because he is brash, ultra competitive, sometimes cocky contestant. I happened to love all of these qualities in Dale, and I thought it was what would have made him an excellent Top Chef. I'm not writing an entry about this just so I can bitch about the outcome (although Dale got fucking hosed if you ask me), it's because I feel that I possess the same qualities as Dale does, and I execute them in my life.

I'm rough, I'm open, I'm brash. I hate to fucking lose, and I hate to be beaten. I hate making mistakes, and sometimes I'm super confident about certain things. Over the past four to six years of my life I have tried to work these qualities into a more positive disposition for myself.

I didn't get along with many people in High School, but I always gave everyone a shot. Same thing for college, but looking back I see that me being brash, and real, and sometimes brutally honest causes people to not enjoy my company. Mostly these people are people I have never met, people that have never shared the same conversational air with me, or have even tried to, yet I'm no one that they would ever spend time with.

Now I'm not some hippie that thinks everyone can get along with everyone, we human beings aa a whole only really like certain people, and personality dictates a lot of the decisions we make about our relationships, but does that mean we should shut out people completely just because of what we might hear, or what obstacle their personality might present?

Dale said something in his post interview after he was told he was off the show. he said "You either love me or hate me, but either way, I'm myself." Cliche? Sure, but it got me thinking a little bit.

The reason some people shut me out before meeting me, is it the other people's fault, their negligence for not forming their own opinion, and instead just swallowing the spoon fed judgement dictated to the many from the few?

Or is it me?

Season 3

I had a wonderfully fantastic weekend, it goes without saying, i mean, i spent a lot of time with Jake, went to Rutgers and got sushi with Ruscoe, saw Greg, Jordan, and his lovely wife, and i even got to see my favorite band (Staind for all of you that don't know) and the reunion of Stone Temple Pilots. Needless to say, my weekend fucking rocked!

But for some reason i have this terrible feeling in the back of my stomach and this ever growing nag in the back of my brain that the fun times are going to end real soon. I don't have a job, my money is running low, and i owe the government and banks more than i care to share with you, so i guess i have a reason to be a bit worried. it's not like me to worry tho, not that I have ever just blown off responsibilities, but i have always just done what i was supposed to do and everything just has always tended to fall into place, i just don't know if this time it is enough.

There are mainly three things that need to be fixed right now in my life, my financial situation, my weight, and my employment situation. I feel that the first and third go hand in hand so i will start there. I am doing everything i fucking can to get a job. I want to start out waiting tables, so i have put in resumes in a bunch of places that fit my financial need. I'm not talking about going back to Friendly's, I'm talking nice places with bars and adults that tip well. The fucking economy is so upside down right now, jobs are at a premium, unless you have a degree in some sort of business related field or at least 3 -5 years of experience in any other. It is rough, and i don't want my parents to shoulder my burden, at least not fully. They work too hard.

As far as my weight, which directly influences my degenerate disc disease in my lower back (aka back pain) I'm doing it there too. I go to my physical therapy three days a week, and I am back to eating turkey and egg whites. It's great. At first there was no motivation behind what i was doing, but then i got some amazingly, yet indirectly, fantastic news and I am motivated more than ever, which is the perfect storm for what I am trying to accomplish.

It all came to me on Friday. I was driving to Rutgers with Nick and he decided to take the Turnpike, and for those of you that have ever taken the New Jersey Turnpike you know there isn't much to see. En route to Rutgers we drove by these long buildings. We must have driven by at least a half dozen of them. The buildings consisted of 20 - 30 loading docks for trailers to load their stuff into, and that's it. Just a long row of white garage doors, all the exact same, and it got me thinking.


There are people out there that go to these doors everyday to load up their trucks and deliver nameless product to nameless store. The truck driver, the guy who opens the garage door, the guy who helps load the trucks, and the guy that oversees the whole thing. Everyday these people do the exact same thing, the exact same way, in the exact same place, where all the doors look exactly alike.

This scared the absolute shit out of me.

I am scared that I am going to crash and burn so fucking bad, and I am going to be stuck in some sort of monotony where I will spend the rest of my life just drowning away, making no difference, being completely unhappy. This isn't to say that what those people do isn't important, someone needs to do it, and I applaud those that can, I just don't want to be stuck in a predictable situation.

I look at my mother and I see how goddamn happy she is at work. Sure, she wakes up everyday at the ass crack of dawn to get ready to go teach disrespectful and unappreciative high schoolers about Shakespeare and whatever the newest author of the month is, but she loves it. She truly loves what she does because she feels like she is making a difference.

I want that.

Yet those white garage doors got me so worried that I am going to become what everyone, including myself, says I'm not. Predictable. I am trying to fight it and fight it yet as everyday passes, I feel more and more...typical.

And this makes me fucking petrified.

Look at my fagstash!

Fucking NHL and their Cidney Crosby love is out of control, sure the flyers played like shit, and were not focused, but please, u cant even breath in the direction of Malkin or Crosby without getting a penalty. Is this the future of the NHL? Count me out.

In other news, i started Physical Therapy today, well more like i had my first appointment, which means he asks me what hurts and i tell him that my back does, and then he shows me this book, which must have been 800 years old. It had all these black and white pictures of people sitting and sleeping. There was even a set of pictures on how to pick up babies, i took copious notes, believe me.

Tomorrow I go job hunting. My goal is to try and get a posh waiting job, sock away a shit ton of money, and then move to NYC to start working on my Agent career. I dont want to be one of these people who goes to NY or LA and burns out early, that's not my style. I'll save up some cash, pay some loans, and then move out there, especially with the economy so upside down rite now, it just makes sense to me.

P.T. tomorrow at 815, in the morning, oh yeah. I'm looking forward to that like Mike Vick's dogs look forward to the friday night fites he had at his house. Oh I went there.

Fill in the _____

Welcome, and hello, for those of you that don't know, I'm mike, and i just graduated from college! yay!

Yeah, now that the introduction is out of the way, we can get serious. I'm starting this blog for a bunch of reasons, but the most important is so i can communicate with my friends. For some odd reason I feel that there are people out there (my friends) that do actually care about what i do with my life, and i believe in the "one to many" method of communication as opposed to the "many to many" method, thus my blog!

With this little blog i'll talk a lot about what it's like to be a recent college graduate in a terrible job market with an economy that requires us to pay four dollars for a gallon of terrible smelling piss water that runs our automobiles thus running our lives. I'll also post short stories, pictures, and whatever else i feel...

If you like what you see, come in, take your shoes off and have a seat!