A Year's Worth of Shit

I’m going to use this first official blog entry of 2008 as a springboard for motivation into a New Year that seems yet to yield any promising outcomes. Though I’m still optimistic, I’m stepping tepidly. Furthermore, considering my lackluster and lethargic state, your bets are as good as mine on the future. But nevertheless, here we are and there’s not a damn thing one can do about a year’s end whilst the new begins.

I’ll start with a warning: this is not your People Magazine, Cnn.com, Tabloid, random year in review; it’s mine. Just didn’t want you to get too far ahead in case you want to turn back.

I’ve been pretending to conjure up themes, ideas, or a plot for this ’07 wrap up/’08 outlook, but nothing fluid came to mind. Hence the reason I’m just chugging forward; dancing about the keyboard as I usually do, only this time with a whole year’s worth of happenings to consider instead of perhaps a moment’s recap.

The last time I did a year in review was January of 2007…only but a year ago, right around the one-year anniversary of my departure for Semester at Sea (It’s posted on Facebook, not my blog). Now, 2007 was not nearly as admirable for traveling purposes—but it certainly did have its stints. Looking into 2008, travel seems to be the lacuna thus smoldering the prospects of a year of adventure and one to look forward too. Granted, I leave for Montana in about two weeks, but there are no cemented plans for an international excursion in 2008, only talk that translates to hearsay.

Two thousand and seven, with all its 52 weeks and 365 days, seemed to progress in an anti-climatic fashion. The presidential primaries and all the 2007 ebullient hype didn’t occur until after the strike of twelve on the 31st; the Democrats, with almost a full year under their belt of majority rule in both houses of Congress, have yet to make their mark on 6 prior years of sordid, ignorant, intolerant, incongruous, unjustifiably conservative, arcane rule under the unctuous George W. Bush—Christ, they couldn’t even muster the votes to override W’s veto of a children’s health care bill; in fashion, Marc Jacobs ruled the global runways for not only his two personal lines, but also for Louis Vuitton, one of the world’s most revered, sought after luxury labels that has survived more than 100 years; on the environmental front, I’m not sure there was one positive or inspiring tidbit about the state of our planet, other than maybe China and the US coming to the table for the Bali talks for a Kyoto-like treaty, though their presence was more a prick in the side of eco-friendly Europeans and newly green Australians—not to mention all the island states who are absolutely horrified for the warming prospects of the future.

That’s enough of that.

As for a year in positive review: I finished my undergraduate education on time and with what I’ll call flying colors. And though that was a mild shock considering my severe senioritis, constant “negative” peer pressure, numerous and seemingly non-stop adventures rife with bibulous activity, I, excuse me—We—all prevailed from a year ending with an odd number. Though I’m not sure there’s relevance, I’ve always been more a fan of the even rather than the odd, though I’m not really sure why. Anywho, I digress. My spring semester was definitely one of the best. I loved my bi-weekly rants in the Pace Press about school politics and whatever else I felt like incorporating. It was also a great year in achievements for Pace in Model United Nations. Perhaps it’s because I was a contributing factor to the team’s successful sweep at the conference/competition, it also furthered my love and lust for socialism: we proudly and profoundly represented The Republic of Cuba. And we did it with all the zeal and vigor the United States pretends to exude when it comes to spreading democracy and freedom throughout the rebellious world. Regardless, the PaceNY teams took outstanding delegation in all nine committee’s, we raked in awards for seven of nine position papers, and I along with 7 others received Outstanding Delegate awards. Sorry if I sound like I’m tooting—frankly, I kinda am. We fucking rocked and you can take that shit to the bank.

It was a tremendous feeling of achievement, and I am so proud to have been apart of it. I believe finishing college, with the MUN victory as the cherry, will only be topped by my graduate and PhD completion, which looms somewhere in the years before I’m 40.

As for my time after graduation, it was a shitshow free-for-all. From the night before graduation to the days immediately after, errantly cavorting whilst rampantly trysting about Turkey and Greece, to my graduation party all topped off by a summer of being unemployed, not to mention the random jaunts up and down the east coast; it was most definitely a summer for the story books. And then there was my official return from summering in CT back to urban life in my very own atelier in Harlem. Then the three weeks of unemployment in the city before running back to the florist I worked at during the springtime, to Maroon5 and the holidays, to landing my very own client for free-lance floral design, to promptly being fired for landing that very client.

That, my friends, is one fuck of a year in a nutshell—and just think, that is only up to 22 Dec 07, the morning I was relieved of my position at Adore Floral Inc.

Which is a story I was never able to tell, so I’ll give a quick précis:

Rewind to the very beginning of December. I had five lobbies to decorate for Goldman Properties, all commission jobs through work for the holidays, and of course, they all had to be done in less than a week’s time. Goldman’s newest building is 25 Bond, where there are nine floors and ten units, seven of which are spoken for, and only two of them are currently housing occupants.

Well, there I was, decorating the 12 foot tree by myself when I was approached by a very nice lady who wondered if my company did in-home tree decorating (using the person’s ornaments) and also in-home floral design (using the person’s containers or vases). I explained that it was not something the company typically does but that I would be happy to do it on my own time considering my experience in doing so and also that I only worked part time for Adore. Well, I was just elated. My very own client.

Well, since I was paid under the table at work and had never signed any sort of contractual agreement for Adore, I saw nothing wrong, nor did anyone I know, with me taking on a client. So, I got them a tree and decorated it. Now, fast forward to about three weeks after that, 21 Dec 07 to be exact.

I had to swing by to check on the tree and to also bring some flowers. It was a Thursday and I was planning on Christmas shopping the rest of the day. The day before I mentioned to the bosses that the flowers in the lobby at 25 Bond (which are replaced on Friday’s) looked absolutely horrific. Wednesday was busy so I never got over there to change them. Well, there I was, done with my work at my client’s pad, so down the elevator I went and into the lobby I landed. Holy shit. There’s the boss changing the flowers in the lobby and here I am coming off the elevator that only leads directly into resident’s homes. My excuse was semi-believable, as I had mentioned to them there was someone who did have questions about a tree and us decorating it.

I made it seem like nothing and that it was something I’d scheduled the day before and that there was nothing work could do—this was certainly not the way I needed them finding out about my jobs on the side. Well, I went on with my day, slightly, but not really worried. The next morning, I woke and took a shower. When I got out, I noticed work had called and left me a voicemail.

I promptly listened to it. It was Jack, my boss, telling me I no longer work at Adore and that they are very upset with what I did to them. Yes people, this was done on a fucking voicemail. I was fired via voicemail. Not in person, not even over the phone directly talking to me—VIA VOICEMAIL. Well, I was in such a state of shock that I wasn’t even going to bother calling about my paycheck. But then I added up the hours, got some guts from my mother and balls from my father, not to mention Roger pestering me to call and get what I was entitled too, had a glass of wine and a hit or two off a bowl, and called to “tie up loose ends” as I so aptly put it.

I let him know the hours I’d worked and that all I would need my paycheck. He said that was fine, and that was that. Short and concise, brief but polite. Then I got a phone call a few minutes later. He just wanted to double check hours and get my address. After giving him the information he wanted, he posed two questions: “Jeffrey, I just want to know, do you really think you should be paid?” Well, I was stunned. I said I absolutely felt I should get paid because I worked those 30 hours for you and only you, you son of a bitch (I surprisingly held my tongue and temper—you can thank the wine and weed). His next question: “So you’re really going to be able to live with yourself after what you did to us? I mean, you broke a business principle.” Well, this one pressed me a bit and I did go off, but for only a second. I told him we’re not even going to get into business principles because he has none and after that realized I owed him none of this. I simply said, “Jack, I’m not here to justify anything nor am I asking for my job back. If you wanted to ask me questions, maybe you shouldn’t have up and fired me. All I expect is a paycheck.” And that, my friends, was that.

I’m happy to report that I did receive the paycheck just a few days ago, so that was great. Sadly though, I liked my job and thoroughly enjoyed my bosses. (It’s a couple that own this little shop; he’s Chinese and she’s Japanese—I know, fucking weird, right?) Anyway, it was sort of a blessing in disguise for the holiday season. I had my time at home to enjoy my most favorite time of year for the festiveness, the decorating and the entertaining.

Christmas was great and New Year’s was even better. And of course I did my annual five-mile run ending with an icy plunge into Long Island Sound on 1 January 2008 and it was fantastic. It is, I’ve found, a fabulous was to start off a New Year, feeling refreshed and cleansed of a previous year’s worth of sin. I don’t do confession and I don’t do religion, so for me, it is absolutely fitting. A plunge and splash in the Sea.

But then there’s all the happenings that will carry over into ought eight. Perhaps most notably, for me anyway, is Pakistan. Of course there’s the rest of the Middle East and all its turmoil too, but what occurred there only a few weeks ago was a tragic blow to a semi-stable region in a tumultuous place of the world.
Former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto was murdered after returning to Pakistan from eight years of self-imposed exile to her home country that has been under military dictatorship for the better part of the millennium—this same military dictatorship is avidly defended and enhanced by the freedom touting United States, too. Now, many people had their problems with Bhutto; it was indeed understandable considering her two stints as Prime Minister were filled with corruption charges and sneaky governance.

A good friend of mine, Neelofer, whose roots hail directly from Pakistan had her say (which you should read here: Another one Bites the Dust and also Knowledge Will Save Us All ), but I must most respectfully disagree with her on a few fronts. I say this because my perspective is political and impersonal, fueled mostly by my love for the Middle East and desire for its safe stabilization; hers is personally political, giving it a far more poignant and stinging ring.

Nevertheless, I was and still am deeply saddened by her assassination. For this was a woman who was elected for the first time at the age of 35 in Pakistan—granted it was on the coattails of her martyred father—but a woman, who was at one point pregnant in office, in the Middle East, in 1988! Can the tide be more bucked than that? Then she was elected again a few years later, only to be ousted on corruption charges. Her goal this time around was democracy (there was a lot more to it than just that, but I’m truly making a concerted effort to stay light), something most Pakistanis got a mild taste of from Musharraf, but the ideology was never thought completely palatable by this conniving ruler.

Then look at where Pakistan stands today: The US touts it as its closets ally in the War on Terror because of its geographic location; since 2001, more than $10 billion in aid has been funneled there which was supposed to be used to enhance military presence in the northwestern territory, Al-Queda and Taliban strong holds. However, evidence is claming that it has instead been used to beef up it’s southeastern border with rivaling India. Furthermore, the current leader, Musharraf, imposed Marshall Law for nearly a month before lifting the ban. Let’s not forget that he also cleaned house in the Supreme Court because he didn’t like the power and independence of the Judiciary. And yet the US has stood proudly by his militant side, reassuring the world that a good relationship with Pakistan is necessary to take down terrorism in the Middle East.

I find this truly nauseating. I could go on about this topic for quite sometime, but there are still a few more things I’d like to get to—and I’ve already gone on long enough.

My guess is that most people have forgotten yet again about Iran. They’ve seemed to slip under the radar. Between the violence in Kenya and Al-Queda activity in Northern Africa, sky rocketing oil prices and a very shaky, on-the-verge-of-recession US economy, there’s reason to overlook, but not forget.

It seems W’s policy of ignoring our enemies and using diplomacy as a last resort, if at all, has our adversaries building their own coalitions. Iran and Russia are now buddy-buddy. China continues to help squelch the people of Burma whilst raping it for its resources. And good ol’ Chavez was not only told to shut-up by the King of Spain, but he continues to be a throbbing thorn in the side of US foreign policy: Citgo, the state run Venezuelan oil company is yet again supplying reduced-cost and at times free heating oil to people all over the Northeastern United States. Just check out some of their operations: Citgo and the Bronx. This though, I must admit is beautiful. Absolute brilliance on the part of a leader who uses oil and socialism to annoy and pester a Nation in a way it can’t refuse.

Then there’s Iowa. I was shocked, not by the results, but what it could actually mean. The fact that a very white, very rural state overwhelming supported a black man is amazing. That’s not to say he’s my first choice, in fact he’s not even really my second, it is nonetheless amazing. As for the Repubo’s—I’m just thrilled about what Huckabee (and Chuck Norris), that ignorant preacher from Arkansas, is doing to the GOP. My hope is that he gets the full nomination because if he does, christ, even Dennis Kucinich could beat him in the general election. But at the same time I’m getting nervous: McCain, a very viable candidate for the general election, could make some serious moves if he bodes well in NH, as he also did in 2000. Then you’ve got Guliani to worry about in Florida, and that crazy flip-flopping Mormon, too. (Whom, if you didn’t know, won in the little heard of Wyoming Republican caucus two days after Iowa.)

Hillary is salting and licking her wounds as Edwards furthers his pointedly populist agenda. Which, I must admit, I am falling very fast for. Obama keeps taking half-ass swipes at the Clinton’s for continuing to steel his pitches for change and tolerance, while Richardson, barely holds on. I vote in the Connecticut primary on 5 February, along with 22 other states that day. I’m currently on the fence and quite obdurate at the moment as to whom I’m going to throw my hat in for, so I’ll just leave it at that.

So here we are. A year has gone by. I visited, by far, one of the greatest places on earth and I hark back to it daily. Istanbul, by far, was my absolute highlight for the year. Perhaps it was the drugs and the trysts, or maybe it was the sights and the culture, I’m not really sure. All I do know is that I will return there in due time, and I will do so again and again for the rest of my life. I’m not ruling out dwelling there for quite some time either. It was a year of great laughs (my parents doing dueling keg stands) and striking blows (US mortgage crisis), good friends and new experiences.

There’s not much to complain about for ’07, but then again, there’s nothing to preach or scream about too much either.

It was a year, and we’re all older now, more learned also I hope.

As for 2008, I’m hoping to find a job; I’d also like to hit up Spain with my dear friend Amanda, but that’s all on the backs of getting a good job. I’d like to get a step closer to my 40-year-old goal. Whether that means simply figuring out if I’ll stay in the city for more schooling or run overseas for it—which also depends on that whole job thing—I hope to have a better, more 17th Century Dutch-like painted image for my future, rather than a 19th Century Impressionist idea and view. As for politics: I’m not even going there…yet, anyways.

Good luck in all that you do for the coming year.
Be well.
Drink up.
Smile.
And goddamnit, don’t forget to laugh.

Cheers.

Highs and Niches

Let’s try something:

Is there a first step down a mildly trodden avenue for opportunity and success, or does it bloom from nowhere?

I’m guessing it depends on the troddener and the avenue. I think I’m slowing coming to see the notion that if one does truly put their mind to something, that something—whatever it may be—is indeed achievable.

Now, typically I’m quite frank in personal narrative and seething—or at least hoping to be—with odd, slightly morbid, lurid sarcasm. But unfortunately, what I’m dappling with needs to be kept silent before official take-off.

In other news:

I am SO far behind on my fucking Christmas Cards.

[Note: Author recognizes the ridiculous religious reference, however, he sends cards to any human being, regardless of religious preference or affiliation, thus making them Holiday Cards.]

And as much as I’m loving the winter weather (though today (12 Dec 2007) was an exception), I’m finding out more reasons to dislike radiators and multi-story buildings.

No, my building has not burned down, but it has certainly heated up; and I’m on the forth floor. And though I’ve lived with radiators before—most recently during the construction of my parents’ current home in 2003. And such becomes the case while jaunting on the second story of a late 19th Century Victorian home; it of course, was my grandparents’ home. And though it certainly had its perks—same day laundry service: Mem washed while Pep either folded or ironed, and they loved it because it kept them busy(!); fresh cookies and desserts almost daily; centralized city location (mind you I use the word city mildly: Norwich has a population of about 36,000); and a delightful transitional place to be whilst going from home to college—the radiators and their heat were ruthless.

That was an incredibly long sentence. I don’t think I mind, but I do apologize.

Anyway, the point of my radiator story is that I now have to add more water during the week to my fish’s bowl because of the dry heat. Yes, that is a mildly pathetic reason to dislike radiators, but it is perhaps a tic.

Just like tic’s up an avenue and tic’s of “city” population; they’re all just minor niches in the rotunda at large.

Somehow, sleep is always overdue.

Cheers.

Lost at Sea

Pardon my hiatus. Between returning from afar (and, regrettably, not finishing my travel blogs), throwing a massive graduation bash where my parents did dueling keg stands (and my mother won), entertaining out of towners for a week, and now being planted on the beach in Sandbridge, VA, there really hasn’t been a moment to write, but nevertheless, there is always moments to write about.

I’m brought to the page today (18/7/07) because of what happened to me yesterday. We (my mom, dad, and I, along with 14 of our closest friends (we vacation every season together)) arrived in VA on Saturday. The weather has been perfect and the sea just a delight. Reading and sunning, eating and drinking, drinking, drinking, the days commence with the rise of the sun and end in some other beach-themed way. But yesterday, there was something that happened that made the day different for me.

Four years ago, while my dad, Emily Constant, and I were jet skiing on the back bay, something happened that has kicked off a steady and yearly train of events: I flipped my dad off the back of the jet ski and he lost his brand new Oakley glasses to the shallow depths of the murky, hot bay—this was most upsetting for him as he had just purchased the glasses the week prior to departing for vaca; the following year, also while jet skiing on the Back Bay (it’s official name), I lost a ring that I bought on a Madison Avenue street sale and had worn for three years. It was a beautiful sort of chunky basket weave topped ring that I adored. Of course I didn’t realize I lost it until long after we returned to the house and started eating. It was a sad day, likely comparable to the loss of my father’s glasses. All of these past occurrences lead us to the grand and indeed heart wrenching events of yesterday.

On Monday, we all decided Ocean Kayaks might be fun for the day. Dad and I, being the crazy adventurous ones that we are were the first ones to cast off over the rough surf during a lull. We rowed about, parallel to the shore for a while before deciding to get tossed ashore by the crashing waves; I was incredibly excited for the rush. We made our way, slowly, cautiously, waiting for the right wave that would effortlessly carry us to solid sand. Finally, our wave arrived. We began paddling, quickly working to get ahead of the wave so we stay perpendicular to it and be cast ashore flawless and without capsizing, and more importantly, to get the rush-feeding perfect wave ride. So much better than a boggie board.

Needless to say, all of our paddling and planning efforts were thwarted by the restless, powerful, and unpredictable sea. To our grand delight, we were flipped right at the shore. Both of us popped up with ear to ear smiles, breathing heavily, laughingly reflecting on what the hell just happened. It was a blast and we needed a little rest.

By this time, mom had arrived and was there, laughing, taking our paddles and walking with us up to our chairs. We sat down, told her of the massive feeding frenzy we came upon where bait fish were just flying out of the water, trying to escape the jaws of a hungry predator from below. Little did the jumpers realize, there were also hungry stomachs flying above—a looming pelican, several seagulls and an unrecognizable hunting bird, circled, knowing full well their chances were enhanced because of what was going on below.

Now, on with my point. As we sat, laughing and recalling, it finally hit me, “Where are my sunglasses?!?!!?” Shit fuck cunt mother fucking shit, whore ass bitch. Damnit. We ran to the shore, quickly running up and down, in and out, hoping to find them washing back and forth in the turbulent and turbid waters. Our beach neighbor came down and began chatting with my mother about how his son lost glasses and they found 8 pairs, except his. I was in shock; I still am.

You see, the glasses I was wearing were the first designer pair of frames I ever bought—ever, in the history of my 22 year life. They were classics, ones that the world had seen (seriously, they’ve been around it) and friends knew just by glancing. I reached for them when I needed comfort, when my attire was casual through and through, and also when my outfit was screaming and if my glasses were any louder, I should be imprisoned. They toned it down while keeping it spicy, and vice versa. They were a perfect green plastic frame with a subtle CD on each side in a pewter silver color. From that I’m sure you can surmise they were Dior’s, and clearly cost a pretty penny. I had them for seven years and adored them, even as my sunglass collection grew more outrageous, more flashy, more luxurious.

It didn’t matter, they were classics. But I’m the fucking idiot. I know the sea and her unforgiving ways. She had no reason to throw them back on shore; I’m the one who wore them on the kayak to begin with. And to think that when I left the house and threw them on my face I thought, “Christ, I better not loose these out there.” I’m truly an idiot and I have no one to blame, no one to be mad at but myself.

Perhaps if I had realized sooner, perhaps moments after, not minutes, that my frames had disappeared, I would of found them. As it were, the next person I went out with, Timmy G, also wore his glasses and lost them when we came in; however, he was able to quickly recover them from the rushing surf and crashing waves. I was pissed. But oddly, and surprisingly, I never expressed it. My disdain was for myself.

I love the sea and there’s just no getting mad at her. Arguably the most powerful force on our earth, making it more blue than green, her powers run deep and what she takes is hers for the taking, be it a freighter or a frame. And though I’d give anything to have them back, it’s comforting to know they went this way. It’s not like I broke a lens or sat on them, had them stolen or even misplaced them. It’s kinda like dying in your sleep or just collapsing without knowing you’re dead; it just happens and there’s nothing you can do about it, but supposedly, it’s the way everyone wants to go. It wasn’t their choice and it certainly wasn’t mine.

In the end, I’d say they had a damn good life, and I know my eyes and outfits were always thankful to have them adorning my face. Fare ye well, my prized green glasses—enjoy the sea for me.

So, there they be;
Lost at sea.
My green Dior glasses
Were so very good to me.
I’m not mad at her,
Just pissed at myself.
For if I’d thought it through,
They’d still be on my glasses shelf.

Potpourri and Such

Well hello and hello.

So I just can’t stop thinking about the World.

Knowing I leave in ten days for the most excitingly historic, architecturally rich, conveniently juxtaposed region of the world is truly mind boggling. By conveniently juxtaposed I mean Turkey and its perfect geographical location. How Istanbul, once a powerhouse economic capital, the second Rome if you will, straddles the Bosphorus, looking north to the Black Sea and south to the Sea if Marmara—the crossroads from West to East, Europe to Asia. But even that is not the only reason I can’t stop thinking about the World.

The G8 conference is in full swing this week and host, Germany’s Chancellor Angela Merkel, is trying to pull her industrialized and coal laden weight to sway the most hegemonic and hedonistic of powers to commit to serious and meaningful environmental change. But before anything even began, there was already a ‘no’ from Washington. George W. Bush is still being himself. And to no avail to the rest of the world—or even the US—he will continue to be the ignorant, selfish, illegitimate president of our poor United States. Merkel wants W to commit cutting greenhouse gas emissions 50% by 2050. Sounds simple, right? Not in the minds of an oil-slicked, blood-tainted Texan. Especially since the Republicans only started believing in "global warming", or perhaps more properly, "climate change" not even a year ago. Talk about a flip-flop.

As for the Democrats, they’re pissing me off too. I found it absolutely appalling that Obama, Edwards, and Clinton took part in an Evangelical Christian Q&A session. Obama quoted the bible; Edwards paid it all to the lord above; and Miss Hil said it was the lord who helped her through her marital woes. Bullshit, bullshit, and bullshit. If we haven’t noticed already, it’s organized faith that seems to be screwing up our world the most…Jerry Falwell anyone? Or wait, what about "radical Islam," you know the new fascists of the world? And how about those born again son of a bitches? I think maybe the Jews have it the best: clean penises, an embattled homeland that no one really gets involved with unless they are there, and christ, even their most conservative of sects has allowed for gay clergy and same sex union blessings. But at the same time, none of them have it. Maybe the Buddhists. But I don’t know.

Now perhaps you found that all a bit rude. Fine, take it that way. The thing is I have no problem with faith, none at all. In fact, I consider myself to the a spiritual person, in an agnostic sense of the world, of course. Which is why I have such a massive problem with FAITH AND POLITICS, together, in the same topic. People pushing their god on my, espically in political ways is simply absurd and an invasion of my rights and privacies. They do not mesh, faith and politics, just look at Iran and Saudi Arabia, and the new secular problems boiling about in Turkey. We are indeed a secular state, but day by day, the all mighty and downright horrifying church hacks away at our separated governmental institution. The Separation of Church and State is so simple and yet it is under the most vicious of attacks by the most hypocritical people in the world. Morals? You want to talk about those religious morals? How about lending a hand in Darfur, that would be moral, would it not? A genocide has been occurring there for how long, and what the fuck have our moral l eaders done…nothing. They simply said, "Not on my Watch." Well, W., clearly you didn’t learn how to read a watch while blowing coke off your gym teacher’s ass and snapping your towel at other locker mates, prancing about at Yale, knowing nothing about the world around you…and all the while your future wife kills someone. But that would be to simple, sending troops to a region in need, where we know there is a problem, and people of mass destruction are killing hundreds of thousands of people day in and day out. But then again, we’re bogged down in a quagmire and our troops are truly stretching thin. Cheers to them, our strong and brave troops, regardless of their duties—they’re simply following their Commander in Chief who unfortunately happens to be the most stubborn son of a bitch on the planet.

Ha.Hmm.

What a rant. Whoopse. Anyway. Connecticut has been interesting. Besides preparing for my graduation party non-stop, there’s not much else one can do in the western hills of Norwich, Connecticut. Well that’s not true either, but do you want to hear about the drinking and the toking and the absurdities past ensued?

Either way, I’ll tell a quick graduation story.

It was the night before the big day, the 22nd of May….
My family was in town for the night, Mom, Dad, and Joel, Betty and Amanda, too. Off to dinner we went, never expecting what happened to indeed ensue. We were at Choice Kitchen on 28th and 3rd and to our great surprise, they serve happy hour drinks to the dining tables! Well, that did it. Martini’s all around, everyone. And like that, the laughs got louder and the stories more outrageous. The Sox were playing and of course my brother was overtly cheering them on, just to be the asshole he is, but oh well. It was great nonetheless. From dinner, we started walking back up third towards their hotel.

Dad had expressed earlier that he would certainly get thirsty on the walk back to the hotel, so we’d have to stop for a drink. Knowing my brother and my father, we stopped by Joshua Tree. This place is kinda odd, but crazy too. They have big screen TVs muted with sports playing while the best of the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, blasts away. Joel was immediately frustrated because our drinks were not coming fast enough damnit, and how was it possible that there was only one bartender and one server for a bar full of people!?! Well, after our first round of drinks, shots were necessary. Mom and Bett split, so we just kept drinking. An hour probably went by and Amanda finally called.

I had to run and meet her at Grand Central, maybe five or six blocks from where we were. And so I did. Running all the way, I finally caught up with friendy and she immediately handed me my grad present: a bottle of Van Gogh Vodka, one of the finest of Vodka’s without question. She hadn’t been drinking, so I immediately opened the bottle and we started chugging it as we walked back to the bar. My dad called me wanting to know what we’d want for a drink when we got back. Fucking sweet. We walked in the door and there were our drinks, and the shots Joel surprisingly ordered as well. We stayed for a few more drinks and out the door we went.

Now, my father is a working man. He’s up at 0530 every day and the more and more wasted he got, the less he could believe how many people, his age, older and younger, were still out drinking. He asked the bartender I can’t count how many times, "Don’t these people have to work tomorrow?!?! It’s Tuesday!" But it’s New York…it doesn’t matter what day it is.
We walked up the street a bit more and Dad realized he was "parched." So, we stopped for a few more drinks and a few more shots, and holy shit, were we bombed. After snapping some hysterical pics, I pointed them in the direction of their hotel and Cooter friend (Amanda) and I jumped into a cab, bound for the Heights. We arrived, and off we went to a far off place, high above where our minds typically function. Devon came over. Supposedly, I fell down a lot.
It happens.

So morning comes. We’re supposed to be at 2 Gold for Bloody Mary’s with the girls, but by time I got out of the shower in which I didn’t even wash myself, we were not making it. I was in a tremendous amount of pain, though somehow, it wasn’t affecting me…yet. We jumped into a cab, and pulled up at Radio City just as my family was arriving as well. My brother looked distraught and beat, my father’s eyes squinty and just a big sluggish. I didn’t take my sunglasses off. We snapped some pics and off I went into what would become a pit of hot air and cramped bodies. Fun, though difficult to manage when you’ve only consumed nothing.

I fanned myself the entire time with my graduation ticket. People took pictures of me and told me how much I reeked of booze…which is how I learned that I didn’t wash myself in the shower, only my face when I realized it. But through it all, I made it. Across the stage at Radio City, I shook the hand of our "retiring" president all the while taking jabs at classmates and speakers, laughing it up with the friends surrounding me. What a day it was, and the weather was perfect too!!
I spent the entire day and night recovering. And frankly, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Cheers.