For a long time now, I have wondered when one should refer to A versus B about many different things. I have decided to help out humanity by not only answering each question which, like how Churchill referred to Russia, can be seen as a “riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma” but by posting the answer to my site as well. In the immortal words of Bill Cosby, I hope you have some fun and learn a bit before you’re done.
Yesterday’s date was 7/27 or 7-2-7, which looks to me a lot like 7-x-7, or seven squared, so I have decided to name July 27th “Seven Squared” Day. Legislation is currently pending. The only problem with my day was that I was behind a Client firewall all day, then at school with a dead laptop in the evening and then out and about for dinner and drinks with friends at night so I didn’t have a chance to post on my very own day. Yes, “boo” to me.
However, I can say that my site hit an all-time high in terms of traffic yesterday though so “yay” to me as well. In honor of this new annual day which honor’s my blog, I have decided to try and get healthy again, as I fell off the wagon from the regimen I laid out for myself in my “Return to 19” post, so that I’m around in the future to keep posting. We’ll see how long I stay with it this time.
Switching gears, I recently read up on Balzac and found two great quotes of his that seem to be very relevant today:
For those, like me until a day ago, who do not know the facts about the famous French author with the naughty name, I can tell you that he was an ” observer of society, morals and human psychology who continues to appeal to readers today. His novels have always remained in print. His vivid realism and his encyclopedic gifts as a recorder of his age outweigh the sketchiness and inconsistent quality of some of his works. Enough of them are recognized as masterpieces, to rank him as the Charles Dickens of France.”
Now, think about the world today and the news you read on a daily basis and re-read the quotes, especially the last one. Maybe that is why the magic has disappeared for me, because the magic has turned into a mockery. What do you think?
This is what it is like to be and feel old. It is to wake up each day and to feel that everything good has passed, at least in terms of an apex, at least in terms of appreciation of said apex. Nothing produced today, no art, no music, no films, etc can equal the impact of what was produced in the past. That which was produced in the past was produced at a time when I lived – that means to say that what I am appreciating occurred in the recent past, or at least the past that constitutes my life time, with compensation duly added for the time when I was alive yet had no comprehension of events occuring, mostly limited and focused to my childhood pre-five years old, although certain fugue like states later in life caused on purpose or by accident also qualify. I am listening to Metallica’s Master of Puppets right now and wish, oh so badly wished that I saw them in concert when they were in their prime.
But wait, I think I did. I think that during Woodstock one could consider them in their prime. If that is the case, then I saw them and crowd suffered to them, for when Master of Puppets came on I went up. I wound up kicking a dude from Texas in the face on my way down which would not have been so bad if he wasn’t the same person I had not only been hanging with for the past few hours but the same individual who was plying me with alcohol during the entire time. He was hooking me up and I kicked him in the face. He didn’t mind though – we both laughed and drank more. So I lived through it but didn’t live through itl, because that was one isolated instance, that was one show and an abnormal show at that, a show which helped shape the course of my life, something that opened me up though still limited me, something where I learned what I could control and what I could not, a show that set me up for all the rest that has transpired.
And the guitar soars as I type, the sound rising like the lines on my face, so beautifully hard, climbing towards the top of a cliff that will only make you dive, as a huge stone stab falls crushingly onto you, as if in slow motion the walls of a room closing menacingly without a human cyborg relations bot to rescue you. Chris Campenelli sang this to me with a crazy look in his eyes. I am realizing that every person is so deep, that the wells of the thoughts, even empty thoughts are deep, are perverse, are layered, are ready to multiply at a moment’s notice and only need the spark to cause it to flow. And the music dances onward, upward, swirling around in the melody maelstrom, cue the drums, smash smash smash smash smash
While I made this declaration to myself on 4/1, it is anything but a joke. It is a simple pledge to try and “return to 19.” When I was 19, I was 10 pounds lighter, in much better physical shape and definitely more, as the kids put it, ripped. Stephen King wrote a great essay called “On Being 19” that can be found in a number of his books, such as the re-release Dark Tower books. It’s about how we crystalize our view of ourselves at 19 and that we forever view ourselves as being in a sense 19. So, if you played sports then but haven’t since, you always consider yourself an athlete even if you are 100 lbs overweight and a total couch potato. I have been guilty of thinking that I am now what I used to be and am hoping to break this routine. I want to get back to being the person that I think I am.
While I have started and stopped many previous attempts to recapture my former glory, I have decided to use my blog a forum to publically declare my intentions to “Return to 19.” I figure, if I put it out there, I’ll have to be accountable. My goals are pretty simple and attainable:
* I will no longer eat after 10 pm during the week, period.
* I will do at least 50 push-ups a day at first which will eventually get up to 100 a day.
* I will eventually will run both a 5K and 10K race (I have never done the latter) this year.
* I will bike 60 miles (not 30 like I’ve done the past few years because I haven’t been in good enough shape) in October in the MS Bike Tour.
* I will increase my metabolism (I’m buying Ultrametabolism tonight) by modifying my habits. This includes having breakfast (something I never do) each day to kick start my digestive engine.
* I will reduce the amount of coffee I drink and increase in the amount of water.
* I will get a journal so that I can keep track of what I’m supposed to do and will give myself gold stars as rewards. In case you didn’t know it, gold stars rock. If it was good enough to help me learn how to go on a potty like a big boy all those years ago, it’ll work now.
That’s about it. Exercise more. Eat less. Fix my metabolism. Get ripped. Sounds easy enough, right? Wish me luck. Change is hard but simply putting my goals in writing is a huge step for me. Sometimes the first step is the hardest. Good bye perpetual fall – I’m ready for this new leaf to stick…
The spam barrage continues. I hope that by taking down the comments feature for a few days, the spambots will leave my little blog alone and I’ll be able to add comments back to my site. In the mean time, I am experimenting with a couple of different comment verification systems. I know that I’ve received less than 200 comments since my blog has been up but its not the amount, its the idea that someone can publicly respond to what I wrote. Now, I’ve had to change this because of fucking spammers. I hope every last comment spammer dies a gruesome death.
“I’m never leaving the city again; I’m terrified of leaving the city.” – Anna Hillen, from a recent NY Times article about the suburbs.
Back in March, 2000, after living at home for 9 months post graduation, I moved into my first NYC apartment. It was a 2 bedroom converted to 3, my room was formerly part of the living room and my roommates were one of best college friends and another guy who happened to not only be a co-worker of my friend but a great friend of one of my best high school friends. In a small world moment, we figured out that we had actually all crashed in the same hotel room in New Orleans during Mardi Gras in 1999. It was exciting and exhilarating to be once again on my own and it was like being a freshman in college all over again, except that I had the riches of all of New York to explore.
A few weeks prior to this momentous event, when my family took me out for a good-bye dinner I raised my glass and gave this toast, “To, unless I really screw up, never having to live at home ever again.”
There were many reasons as to why I hated living at home. A grand sense of emasculation was one. I had so much freedom at college and I basically lost it all when I lived at home. My parents wanted to know where I was going, what I was doing, who I was with and when I would be home. They wanted to know if they should prepare dinner for me and a million of other little things that may seem nice and loving when you’re on the outside looking in. When you are on the inside, its annoying, grating and very quickly it made college feel like it was merely a dream.
Another reason was that I hated the commute with a passion. Mine was about 1.5 hrs one way when you took into account the drive to the train station, the trip in and the walk to work. My father drove me to the station each day (there was a severe lack of parking if you got there after 7:00 AM) which added to my fun as I needed to make arrangements to and from the station each and every day. I hated the way the commute turned people into automatons and I still have a vivid memory of one man who would sit in the same seat each day and would robotically wake up the second the train arrived in Penn Station, stand, grab his briefcase and walk off the train. I found it really scary yet soon enough, I was carrying a travel pillow in my messenger bag because the train motion lulled me to sleep like I was a mere baby.
I hated the way a train schedule dictated my entire life. I hated how I almost missed the train one morning and got into a fight with the trucker driver that caused my delay. He tried and failed repeatedly to properly back his rig up to a loading dock and wound up blocking the street for minutes on end. I was forced to get out of my dad’s car to run about 5 city blocks in order to make it work on time. Of course I had to yell at the guy too – “Don’t you know the train schedules asshole?! There’s only 1 every half an hour and you choose now to fuck this up! Don’t you realize that people need to get to work?!” Sure enough, he got out, hopped down and wound up grabbing my coat and throwing me against a fence. He was about to hit me too until I taunted him with, “Go ahead and hit me, please hit me. My father is in that car back there. He’s a lawyer. I’ll own you.” Definitely one of my prouder moments. Anyway, he put me down, my father yelled at both of us and I ran and just caught the train. Suburbia was making me crack and I needed out.
My hatred for my commute was such that I vowed that when I was finally able to move into the big city, I would frame my monthly LIRR pass as a reminder of what I left behind. A week or so after the trucker incident, I called up one of my friends (my future roommate) and said, “Dude, It doesn’t have to happen immediately but I cannot live at home any longer with no hope. I need to know if you want to look for apartments together. Again doesn’t need to be now. Frankly, I’m not sure if I have the money yet. However, I can’t afford a studio so I need a roommate and wanted to know if you wanted to look together.” His response was miraculously, “Actually, I was just talking to a co-worker today who you sort of know about getting a triple. Would you want to be the third guy?” “Would I? YES!” The second apartment we saw we took and the rest is, as they say, is history.
So, I now have a slightly tattered February, 2000 light green Long Island Rail Road monthly pass sitting on the shelf above my bed. I framed it when I moved into the city in 3/00 and its been with me ever since. I used to think that the house, the deck, the yard, the space, the neighborhood, the car and all the other things the ‘burbs bring with it was worth it if you had a family. I used to say, “This is great for the future. But for now, this sucks.” Now I’m not so sure about the future. I don’t think I ever want to leave the city. Each time I go out to the ‘burbs I have the same feeling: I love to visit but can’t wait to leave. Who needs a house that constantly needs something redone or repaired done when I can live in a hotel? I can’t fathom living outside of an urban environment again, thus my love for that Times article.
My favorite phrase in the entire article was “Adding insult to tedium,” which was used to explain how a mostly non-pedestrian lifestyle caused 15 lbs of weight gain for one commuter. Here are some other good quotes from the article:
“It’s like death out there. I can’t wait 15 minutes in a bagel store to get two bagels. I can’t have people looking at me like I’m crazy when I walk in and put a quarter on the table to get my paper and walk out. I go home and there’s, like, people doing their lawn every five minutes. They seem like normal people but they spend, like, hours working on their lawn.” – Ronn Torossian, President and CEO of 5W Public Relations
“The suburbs have some way of sucking the city out of you” – Brian Lover, VP at the Corcoran Group
“When we come home and walk from the train to our apartment, there’s no one on the street between 7 and 10 p.m. It’s just that feeling of being alone. You walk the dog and there’s no one there.” – Sara Mendelsohn
“I spent many depressing nights at the Hoboken station. If you go out for a drink with friends, you’re always watching the clock” – Andrew McCaul, photographer
Here’s to a year where hopefully we’ll see (in chronological order):
One can hope.
In college, my roommate Bryan introduced me to The List. The List is not something you want to be on, like People Magazine’s List of the 50 Sexiest People. Anything can make its way onto The List – it doesn’t matter if it is a person, place or thing. Adding something to The List is not done lightly either, for once added, the entry is permanent. While there are many things that may annoy you in life, only the truly special annoyances make it to The List. I try to keep my list as short as possible because it can get out of hand, like when Bryan and I added half of Binghamton University to The List one night at an after hours party. Use this concept with caution.
Today, I am adding bobblehead talkers to my list. You know who they are, the ones that say something and then nod over and over again as they say it, trying to convince you (or is it themselves?) about the validity of their statement. To me, it whiffs of condescension and is insulting – I do not need a prod in order to engage in a conversation. If I agree with you, I will agree and vice versa. A head nodding up and down will not sway my decision. Rather, it reminds me of how foreigners says “uh huh” at the end of every English sentence. My guide in the Monteverde Cloud Forest did this over and over again as he narrated our walk. “This is a walking stick. Uh huh. Over there, you can see a thrush. Uh huh. Hear it? Uh huh.” It was his way of saying “Yes? Am I right? Do you understand?” because he was unsure if he said it right. If you are a bobblehead talker, then you probably aren’t sure of yourself either. Stop letting the world in on your secret.
You are reading the 250th post on “We’re Going To Cover That In Phase 2.” In honor of this momentous occasion, which I believe would be technically its “sesqui-bicentennial” post (I’m not sure this is an actual word but centennial = 100, sesquicentennail = 150, and bicentennial = 200 so I think it is), I want to share some stats and reflect on the past 2.5 years with my dear readers:
Posts: In my blog’s first year, I only posted 26 times, a paltry amount by any standards. During ’04, I started to get serious about this whole blogging thing and posted 114 times. I think the watershed moment was when I was almost killed in a gang shoot-out in Chinatown. and really saw my blog as a great way of communicating with the world. This year so far has seen 110 posts and I can promise there are plenty more to come.
Site Traffic: In ’03, basically I was the only one who ever stopped by. Period. For three fourths of ’04, only around 115 unique visitors a month would visit which meant that a bunch of spiders and bots, a few friends, some family and maybe some random people were the ones who stopped by. However, starting in 10/04, things started to move. That month the site hit 200 unique visitors and the proverbial snowball started to roll down the mountain. November saw 500 stop by and the numbers kept on creeping up; in 5/05, 888 people visited. Last month blew me away though: 2432 unique visitors stopped by. I tripled my previous amount and so far its holding steady as over 2200 visitors have stopped by so far this month with less than a week to go.
Comments: While I know through site traffic reports people are stopping by, this site suffers from a definite lack of comments. If you read something that moves to have an opinion, share it. When I went to a sleepaway camp reunion, I was floored to hear that every girl there from bunks 33 and 34 had read my first post about camp. I had no clue any of them had read it, let alone all of them. That was the first time I realized that more people are reading this blog than I thought. I know you are out there. I want to hear from you.
After the jump, feel free to read my reflections on this milestone:
I had been in a bad car accident and while out of work, I re-evaluated everything that was important to me. Writing was at the top of the list. I have always written in some shape or form and in toying with the idea of changing gears and getting an MFA in Creative Writing, while recovering I took a short story workshop to do 2 things:
1) get a portfolio together for my admissions package
2) see if really wanted to do this in the first place
Well, I didn’t like the workshop at all. Instead of it solidifying my true latent desire to write and teach writing, I became discouraged from writing in general and found it hard to finish a few stories, let alone an entire collection.
I shortly thereafter returned to work yet I desperately wanted to keep writing in some fashion in order not to get rusty and to keep my renewed enthusiasm towards writing alive. Just because I’m in the IT realm does not mean that I don’t want to write and publish a series of children’s books, or that I won’t write and publish my Seven Squared graphics novel series, or that I will never write the Great American Novel. It just means that they’ll have kickass web sites supporting them. As I was working through these thoughts, my Cognitive Remediation Therapist of all people suggested that I start a blog. Well, as they say, the rest is history (that is if you believe in history – some people don’t.)
I chose Tolkien’s poem “The Road” as my first post because the words are as true now as they were when they were written:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
So far, this road has been an interesting and rewarding one for me. Without this blog, how would I have ever touched base (no pun intended) with my favorite baseball player Lipso Nava? How else could I have shared all my thoughts about literature, politics, technology and a whole host of other things with friends and strangers alike? I love how 8 people so far have asked me for the New Yorker article on the NYPD’s response to terrorism, and that 2 of them are professors. It’s about the connection and the interaction. It’s about randomly matching someone’s DNA and helping to save a life. It’s about how ka is a wheel, its one purpose to turn and in the end it always arrives at the place where it has started.
I hope you’ve enjoyed the first 250 posts. Hopefully you’ll enjoy the next 2,500.
Cheers,
Jeff
One year ago today, Congress unanimously declared that the horrors unfolding in the Darfur region of Sudan — the mass slaughters, forced displacement, and coordinated rape campaigns — amounted to genocide. It seems as if almost everyone has either forgotten about it or thinks that the problem has been solved. For instance:
The Center for American Progress has launched a campaign called Be A Witness to try and pressure various news outlets to stop ignoring this story. Starving children are not pleasing to the eye during dinner. Increased television coverage of the genocide in Darfur does have the power to spur the action required to stop a devastating crime against humanity. I for one am being a witness.