Jonny On The Spot

2009-01-19T07:49:00.000-08:00

Today's the day, today's the day, today's the day

2009-01-18T06:27:00.000-08:00

Last week, we started to say our long awaited goodbye to President Bush. In what seemed to be a tour of fare-thee-wells that was so undeserved, Americans were able to finally see the light at the end of our dark and murky tunnel. It seems as though there is an illusion in the White House (surprise, surprise) that Bushie and his misministration did some good and had some policies and that will last the test of time. At least that's what Condi Rice thinks. History can be a powerful judge, but the precursor for what our next generation's textbooks will say lies openly in the talk of current events. If we are living in the here and now and are so tired, beaten down and disgusted at the environment of politics, how will we relay this message to generations to come? We all know of the elderly man who will gladly tell us that since the Great Depression, he puts all of his money under a mattress. We never knew what it was like to stand in a soup/bread line, but I think we're pretty damn close now.

I often have anxiety attacks. It's how I deal with life. I find myself in the middle of what a lot of people in my generation are facing. It wasn't too long ago (3 years) that I graduated college. I have pursued graduate study and even did a year of law school before realizing I didn't want to walk the earth looking like I would like to kill myself or someone else. As a result, I have ended up with a ridiculous student loan debt I will be paying forever and ever. But looking at people just a few years younger than I, I can see it's not that bad. They have mounting tuitions that will surely ruin the quality of life for them, if they can even get funding for school. I am lucky because I have a job (granted it's one I don't care that much for), I have health insurance, and I am working toward my career in journalism. I have my health and I have very little credit card debt, which should be gone within a few months. I am in a good position, but a lot of people are not. I can't even begin counting the friends of mine who are out of a job right now. Being a Communications/Poli-Sci guy I had to stick with the banking field in order to survive, while making meager wages on the side for being a freelance writer. Honestly, right now, I can't imagine it being any other way. Thanks to governmental mismanagement we are in a true Call-of-the-wild, survival-of-the-fittest scenario. It's scary.

So of course, with all of this loathing for the mess we have gotten into since 2001, we have nothing to do but hope that our new leader will be the real American hero that W could have only wished to be. Last week, another event helped to overshadow America's goodbye to a man who could barely handle the office of President due to it being "hard work". The Bush years were somewhat framed by incidents involving airplanes along the Hudson in New York City. This time around, to close the bookend on the past 8 years, we saw true heroism and a miracle in the happening. As a strategic and savvy pilot safely guided his jetliner nose up into the Hudson, saving all of the lives on board then lastly his own, we were served up with a reminder of what a hero really is. And that hero stole the show right away from the man who handled the last disaster in NYC with a steady enough hand to win over the public just one more time in 2004. In a time when the winking Texan with poor grammar just doesn't do it for us anymore, we are able to look toward hope for the future. Could the event of a plane crash in the frigid Hudson make for a foreshadowing of our country's next leader? Maybe. I hope so. And, I am not alone. A hero is someone who can come into a situation in a time of extreme peril and guide others through with strength and selflessness. I would like to think that now we can say farewell to the selfish and hello to a new era of heroes. Only now, it will be the giant jetliner comprising of fifty states and a sinking economy that will need to be saved. And I am pretty sure that when it comes to being saved, yes we can.

Someone Who'll Watch Over Me

2009-01-14T17:22:00.000-08:00

At exactly the second I feel I need to give up all hope of recovery in the heat of rash decisions, I find that I sometimes suddenly come up with a solution.

Small town corporate America exists and is alive with blood thirsty fangs. Two years ago, I started working for a company that embodied the fundamental idea of philanthropy and safety within its walls. That was, until a new HR queen came in and declared the company her own Xanadu. Now it seems that every policy is changing, every thought has to be carefully guarded, and no one person is able to express their own freedom. Typically, this occurs everywhere at some point in time. The principles of an organization are put to the test by someone who has limited respect for the way things have been run in the past.

I won't pretend I am not a creature of change. That is simply not true. Change makes us versatile and energizes our souls, and who wouldn't want that? But there is a different kind of change that comes with the need for paranoia and control in our society. In a parallel universe, we could see that kind of change happening in politics a number of years ago. Now that a reformer is coming into Washington, I am personally hoping that his new energy will spread across the country.

We need it desperately.

We need to stop feeling as though everything is at risk, and stop streamlining the spirit of America. Though efficiency is the key to making everything run smoothly, sometimes people mistake their own agendas for the greater good of the people. Sound familiar? What happened in the beltway also happened in the board room, and I wonder when it will all change since reverberation takes some time to be felt all over. So, in the interest of us all maintaining a little American sanity, let's be sure to hang on tight and weather the storms of change as the conservative cold front crumbles to the long-awaited and warm feeling of bipartisan movement. If you think I am stating that being liberal means more works in your favor, then please allow me to restate my point. Being FREE to think what you will, honor one another and work together as opposed to individually will make for a clean break from the clusterfuck of the past. Maybe then, with any luck, some of the people we have grown to despise like the HR queen of all things her way, will finally go the way of the dinosaur.

Washington's New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-04T08:48:00.000-08:00

I was 7 years old when the clock struck midnight on January 1, 1990. I was too young and impressionable to understand much of what was going on in the world, so I really view the "2000's" as my first decade of complete coherence. And now as we close in on less that 365 days of this decade, it's time for the politicians with the best intentions to step into the sun and take charge. The buzz around Boston resonates the feelings in DC that a new era in American Politics isn't just about to begin, but it has already started. The stymied reflections of this change are tied up in that house guest we wished would leave a long time ago. The problem with people who overstay their welcome is that sometimes we make plans for them to stay for a period of time we think will be just fine. About half way through their stay, we realize they should have gone home yesterday. The rotting guest in Washington's house right now is the entire Bush Administration.

I am not just a crazy liberal kid from Boston spouting what my generation of twenty-somethings feel deep inside and are frankly very vocal about. I am noticing people who are extremely conservative and traditional looking at what sits at 1600 Pennsylvania with incredible disdain. In 2009, there are few people who are alive now and can recall the brevity of the Great Depression and the recovery of the New Deal. Lending an ear to an elderly woman in the lobby of my office building in Lowell, I found that the lessons learned in those days could serve us all well today. "This is why I still shove some dough under my mattress", she said. Never striking people as the type to follow one home and burglarize them, I chuckled, but at the same time I could completely understand why someone would be so apprehensive to trust the machine.

So, with a fresh 2009 blooming in the front yard, Barack Obama and friends have an even larger job: stick to their new administration resolutions. Now that his team is in place, everyone has them, and some have already started to sink some teeth into the problems plaguing us and our neighbors. Hillary Clinton, Secretary of State appointee, has the heavy task of regulating the squabbles of the Gaza Strip while Condoleeza Rice signs a book deal. (Given our world position and the past decade's foreign policies, I would certainly hope she is co-authoring her book with the Barefoot Contessa or Tucker Max, because there is nothing enlightening she could have to share.)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Obama has done a fantastic job of engaging the eyes and ears of a nation. Now for the true test. He must keep us all interested in improving the world around us. He has a big job, but we all collectively have an even larger task at hand, and that is to work hard at overcoming the odds. While George Bush retires to his own ranch and dwindles into history, however cruel it may be, we must not let the past hang our livelihood on a hook on the wall. It's time to fight. Let's keep our own resolution to live better by scrapping the worst economy in our lives, damaged international relations, a war to nowhere and the smattered reputation of Americans worldwide. Easier said than done, right? Well, studies have proven that mind prevails over matter and can assist with depression.

When I feel depressed, I seek philosophy and stimulation. Maybe economic stimulation is what we are all looking for right now, but let's remember the earth still exists, and as long as we have health (but with increasing health care costs, that too is temporary), we can rehabilitate our senses and strive to make the world work. A little while back, I was in an asian market when I read a short piece on the money tree. It's a sign of prosperity and impending wealth when left in a creative space and taken care of properly. With so many resolutions to keep, these plants usually sell in abundance at the gateway to a new year. I am starting to think that since I have been a cheerleader for positive sociopolitical change in the new year, it may not be a bad idea to pitch in a little more, pull out 10 precious dollars and buy a money tree. Then I can take a trip down to Washington and leave it in front of the White House. With resolutions to keep of their own, the incoming rainmakers of the Obama administration could use all the help we are willing to give.

A Year Without a Santa Claus

2008-12-30T16:56:00.000-08:00

And just when you thought you had it all figured out, something else comes along and shakes the whole structure. That, my friends, was my personal theme for 2008. I suffered some losses, and had a lot of miserable heartache. I learned many things about myself, and often looked upon my failures with a heat inside me that compelled me to wish I had taken a different path. But when I look back on the last 365 days, I also must give myself the credit of looking at the person I was on December 31, 2007 and the man I am now, on December 31, 2008. The two are drastically different. In some ways, I am more bogged down with stresses, and in others, I have achieved goals I didn't realize I had and have moved leaps and bounds beyond my imagination. On top of it all, we had a very interesting year on this great earth of ours, and that alone is something to behold.

In the interest of…well….your interest, I will summarize the events of 2008 in your world and mine, large and small.

2008 started with the motto "Be Great in '08". Well, that got off to a rollicking good start when I had nobody to traditionally kiss at the drop of midnight. As cliché as it may be, no year has gotten off well that doesn't start with a little affection. Even if it is from someone random, and you are sloppy drunk and will likely never remember the person locking lips with you, it just sets the right tone for a year well lived. I sadly did not get to smooch anyone, and so I didn't start '08 off so great. But, perhaps I wasn't in the correct frame of mind to get my tongue battered by some sloppy intoxicated babe. This would be the precedent for 2008.

The most devastating loss of my life occurred right after my night of being lame. Little did I know how light these other issues are in comparison. After all, all of the qualms and squabbles we have with life are just that. And without life, what does it all matter? On January 7, 2008, the woman I called "mom" passed away before my own eyes at the too-young age of 69. After weeks of being petrified of my own lone shadow, nauseated at the idea of a world without her, and apprehensive to do anything normal with myself, I recall cracking my very first laugh. It was, from that point on, an emotional tilt-a-whirl that still gets to my core. The myriad of my own emotions made me a basket case in 2008, but all in all, I was able to see the path and continue to walk down it. Every so often, though, I sit and wonder where she is, what she is doing, if she can see me, if she can hear me, why she left, if I will hear her voice or see her face again. I wonder how I will ever feel complete at times, but then I recall that there was a point in 2008 when I felt complete after all...

Two months after Mum passed away, I had begun my position as a Leadership Development Participant at a Commercial Bank I had been working for. I was in the audit department, writing an evaluation of an audit I had performed. Nobody was around, and my desk faced an open double door into an empty hallway. I looked up, and I didn't actually see anything, but in another unspoken layer of my vision I was able to see Mum standing there, holding her iced coffee cup, smiling at me and telling me she was "just stopping in to see my new office and say hi". Maybe she was really there, but I know one thing, and that is that it quelled my anxieties and my sense of extreme loss enough that I could again smile because I knew my mom was there. And I could finally perhaps start to feel good again.

Weeks later, I fell in love. And love is something I don't concede defeat to all that often in my life, but this time was different....certainly very different. For, you see, this was no normal girl. No lady Topanga walking in with a bubbly smile and perky mannerisms to make my apple-of-the-eye, boy-next-door persona all the more squeaky clean. This time, love punched me square in the jaw, and the fist belonged to a boy. After months of dating, and my contemplating following him to his native New York, I decided the time was proper to stand in the mirror and say it to myself, then turn and repeat to all my closest friends and family: I am gay.

The first time I heard myself utter the words, I ran for the bottle of Listerine and cried for about an hour or so. When I leaked those privy details to my first friend who knew me for me and not as someone's friend's boyfriend, or someone else, my stomach churned around and almost wound up spilled out onto the pavement. As with everything else in life, however, it got easier each time, but there was still a tremendous challenge facing me.

Though being openly gay and my same quirky, normal dude self is liberating and inspiring, there are still situations that push me right back into a cavern of self-doubt and discomfort. I have found that some of my closest friends whom I could never envision living without in the past have made a spectacle of my personal life behind my back. Instead of fighting with my fists raised high and a hint of whiskey on my breath, I have taken the strong and steady stance that there are people in this world who purport themselves to be something they are not. I no longer hide a damn thing, though I keep my love life intensely private. The two concepts are extremely separate from one another, though I can now strive on a heavy doctrine of honesty. And since I do that...let's be honest...
My christmas card list was far too long, and next year, I have a few names to strike from it. Done deal.

Honesty also lead me to an important choice. Seeing politics unfold moment-by-moment everywhere in my world, I opted to follow my initial career path and become a journalist. Ultimately, I would prefer ending up on television, but until then, and forever I will always write and will always be a contributor to the penned universe, regardless of where my other pursuits take me. I may have to wait a couple of years through the most dismal economy of my lifetime in order to afford obtaining a masters in Journalism, but eventually I will, and in the meantime, I am putting my bachelors in Political Science to good use, writing my hands off and my heart out for all the world to read if they so choose.

Lastly, I found that the thought of love everlasting can not be trusted, and lust can often mask it's slutty eyes with the even grander "L" word. One beautiful, crystal clear day in New York City, I fell out of love...or at least I made the decision that I had to fall out of it pretty damn soon. It was similar to withdrawals from heroin. I was sweating, my heart pulsing and stomach twisting one moment, and the next moment my eyes were filled with tears and I was cold as ice with palms as clammy as a luke warm sauna. I walked away from New York and a life I was about to take on in that city with black clouds appearing in my wake. As the bus drove away, and my heart was again tearing down the middle but for a new reason, the sky opened up on Manhattan, and I started my life all over again in a city I knew well enough: Boston. And I started it single, but in short time along the way, I found some wonderful friends to not only live with, but to make my journey brighter.

And here I now sit. I am in Boston, living just to the left of the city proper, in the metro borough known as Medford where the red and orange lines shake up neighborhoods of triple deckers, laden with bathtub Virgin Marys and people my age wandering around with nothing to lose. In twelve months, I have become a writer, a city boy, a well-travelled and semi-worn thinker, an orphan, a boyfriend, an ex-boyfriend, and an overall better man.

Time makes us better. I say that as a blanket statement, though 2008 was a difficult, if not the MOST difficult year of my life. I shed more tears in 365 days time than I ever have in the 24 1/2 years of life prior to this collection of months passing through me. I became things I never dreamed I could, and I let dreams that were once so close to me slip right out of my grip. But that is the beauty of life. Thinking maybe we have to place one ambition to the side doesn't make us lazy or dismal, but it opens us up to new possibilities. I saw an icon for change and hope elected to be my country's leader, and shortly after 2009 takes its first steps, he will take the reigns of the free world. Because of him, and the people behind him in his mission, and the people around me, lifting me up and raising my face into the sun, I feel we will all be better next year.

So, there you have Jonny On The Spott's synopsis of his very own version of 2008. Allow me to recap:

1. Love starts as a baby, and the one who made me the man I am today from the baby she took on at birth bid me and this beautiful world farewell. Having had Virginia here for 69 years before 2008 made this earth a better place, and made many, many people laugh easier, smile wider, and feel better. I miss my mom, but she was the best I could have ever had.

2. Amidst searching for myself, I realized I was here all along. I kissed a boy, and I liked it. He liked it, too. But if he really wanted me, he would have to speak up because I won't wait. And if he REALLY liked it, let's not beat around the bush...he should have put a ring on it.

3. Honesty IS the best policy, and now I can stand here with my arms outstretched, awaiting every day and every possibility with anxious thrill.

4. 4 is for 44. The 44th President, that is. He was my man of the year, and if he wasn't yours, then honestly....why are we friends?

5. Here is to wishing that 2009 is filled with a million greater and wilder moments than this year was. Here's to health of the mental and physical variety being in great shape. Here's to never feeling alone, never fearing the unknown, and never wanting each day to end. Here's to those who keep us afloat, and those we will meet, or re-meet along the way.

Here's, my friends, to a wonderful, prosperous, and vibrant new year. And most of all, here's to me using less Rilo Kiley references in future posts!

Happy New Year.

And now...a photo retrospective of what 2008 meant to me, complete with rarely seen photos of people...especially your beloved author and some of his beloved:

_something_other_than_love_from_another_

2008-12-17T19:05:00.000-08:00

The hurried rushes of life seldom leave me the fleeting chance to be pleased with what I have. For some reason, I really loved today and all it had to offer, and I feel compelled to write about it. Though, I would likely write regardless...

Point number one in the spectrum of proving my life worthy of relishing in delight is that today it snowed. I hate snow and winter weather with every last drop of my blood. In 2000, I started snowboarding and continued until roughly 2004. Around that time, I conceded that I actually loathed winter and I bid my fiberglass snow riding device a fond adieu, trading it in recent times for a fiberglass wave riding device. It's much more my style, and better suited to put a smile on my face with every use. Sadly, it is bunked in the back hallway until the sun warms the earth up beyond 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Normally, I would use today as a way to broadcast my dire wish to move to California or Florida or the Carolinas sometime in the next ten days, but I took a deep breath and thought otherwise. Maybe today, I could enjoy some of this winter thing by running around on crunchy snow. I took a trip to Groveland, and on my dearly deceased mom's lawn, I ran through the crunchy, ice covered snow in my black suit and magenta tie. It's a snapshot of sorts, since this was always my favorite snow, and my mom was always my favorite lady. I used to love winter, but it's amazing what a couple of decades can do to the fervor that embodies childhood.

About twenty years ago, you would find a five or six year old blonde boy trekking his purple plastic sled through that large and hilly backyard. When it snowed, and the quick rain glazed over the white blanket in a slight freeze, he would tromp around to hear the crunch of his feet collapsing the frozen shell and revealing the fluffy clean accumulation beneath. Sometimes he would be with friends or a cousin or two, but sometimes he would go alone. After all, who can resist the biting temptation of a limitless backyard adventure?

Indoors was a woman in her late forties, watching out the window at her little boy and doing what she did best: worrying he would hurt himself. He was overzealous and fearless in his youth. She took delicate care of him as though this was one last shot at being a good mother. She was a good mother without dispute, but she perfected her craft over time, and this little boy was her seventh chance at showing the world she could churn out good citizens like Nabisco could make a cracker. This winter scene repeated itself over many years, but as most perfect situations do, this also came to an end.

Today, coming from work, and wearing my favorite suit/tie combo, I felt relatively cheery. My favorite kind of snow was waiting for me at my favorite lady's house. But something had to come in and snatch the thrill away. The fact that the caring blonde woman wasn't in the window to watch the blonde boy jump around and forget about his cares for a while frustrated and saddened me. She wasn't my actual mother, but she was my mom. She was my parent. She was my best friend, and no matter what mood I was in, what weight was placed on my shoulders, or what cares I had, I could always count on coming home to her to have a smile placed upon my face. The lack of lights in the window, the absence of a Christmas tree or a winter village on the mantle all brought a tear to my eye and the need to choke back a flowing river of sorrow that still pains like an open wound.

But in the midst of my sorrow, the second point came across. I have loved, I have lost. I may miss my mom more than anyone in this world could bare to understand, but I can reflect on a valuable lesson that little boy with the purple sled couldn't have possibly understood back then. I am happy I had the best mom on the face of the planet. She worried, she pined over my every move. She came to my school plays all the way up through high school and crossed her fingers I would remember every line, hit every note, and shine like the galaxy. She came to my soccer games and shook with fear that I would break a limb, or get the wind knocked out of me. She begged with the powers that be that I would pull off a good game. She yelled at me for making errors at my baseball games, and congratulated me on a match well-played. She cried when I got into college, and she cried alone when the house became empty because of my absence. She taught me how to swear, play cards, and bestow love and care onto others. She taught me how to be a respectable man, and I hope to the gods that I fulfill her lessons. Now, she isn't here to see me standing in the yard, at 26, in a suit, playing in the snow. It breaks my heart.

it has been almost a year since we said goodbye to each other, and like a close friend of mine said: it doesn't get any easier....sorry. And tis the season to be reflecting.

But the point....the second point...

Lucky men are not created, they are developed over time. I am lucky, and I was always lucky. She may not be here now, but my mom gave me the foundations to be a character, and to love every second of it. At this time of year, I owe it to everyone who emphasizes that characteristic in me to thank them all. I know who I have to thank, and I know who loves and has loved me. And thankfully, because of them, and because of myself and my good fortune, I can enjoy that rare day where my favorite kind of snow falls and makes a simple, yet endless playground for the blonde boy, be he 6, or be he 26. Little can relieve the blow of losing your parents at a relatively young age, but maybe if I could locate that purple sled, I might be able to smile some more.

Some Days...They Last Longer Than Others

2008-12-15T17:29:00.000-08:00

This is the day I love the most. It never falls on any specific spot on the calendar, but it always seems to come when I need it the most. Walking through the treacherous traffic disaster of Powderhouse Square, I weighed everything on my mind. We all have those days when it seems like everything is only going to commence to make our heads explode in a fury of over-thinking. If you say you aren't sure what I mean, surely you jest. Very few of us have the ability to brush off the worries of life and simply not worry about it all. Those of us left in the lurch often find ourselves frustrated and angry at the world that chucks challenge at us non-stop. But today? Today was the seventy-degree day in the face of a long and crude winter. It's the final solace before a lengthy battle.

So now I am walking to Davis Square to do some writing, when I decide now would be a great time to feel inadequate. One of the biggest things that holds us back is money. And surely, most folks make decisions that are based on how much financial security and prosperity they will have in the immediate future. I was no exception to this rule. In 2006, I was a college graduate with perfect teeth and an inflated ego. That to me is the picture of perfection. I managed to make a fatal mistake. I was offered a job at $31,000 a year as an Assistant Editor for CommonWealth Magazine, a local political publication. I was also simultaneously offered a position as a Branch Manager for a large commercial bank I had worked part-time for during my college career. I was a cushy celebrity at the bank. Working for a regional manager overseeing twenty-one branches, I was known, I was loved, and people thought I was HOT! Who would ever want to pass this up?! And for $10,000 more annually, I sure as hell didn't. And thus begins the few years I could have done without. I got comfortable in my banking career, switched companies, and continued my rise up the ladder.

By all means, despite my disdain for the subject, this seems like it's the all-American story.
Boy is a hometown next door love who excels at everything and gets into college.
Boy does college, making friends and being drunk on weekends.
Boy gets involved in shit while in college and makes people know his name.
Boy graduates college and wears a little ropey thing for getting good grades.
Boy gets a good job where he wears a tie.
Boy makes friends at the water cooler.
Boy forgets to leave and pursue his dream................

So the fight starts here. I thank this blustery and unseasonably warm day for invigorating my soul and awakening my thoughts. It's not too late to be what I should have, could have and would have been. If people treat it like it is, then it is. But life is full of second chances, and doors that are cracked open. In my mid twenties, I envision that I am standing in a hallway, with those thin beams of light staring at me as I walk down the hall. There seems to be no end in sight down this track, but once I walk by one door and pass it, I can't go back. That is not to say, though, that some doors do not lead to the same destination.

Life is just that....it's a hallway. Someday, the doors will run out, and there will be an end. Until that time, the cracks of light shine the path, and all of the doors ahead of me, I plan to fling open and shine as bright as they can.

I am retard(red)

2008-12-05T11:13:00.000-08:00

Canada really placed me into a false sense of realism. I was able to forget about the stresses I felt in Boston, which was great, but a whole new set were sitting here waiting for me when I got home. Though the culture in Canada is reasonably similar to ours in the US, it got me thinking about how unfortunate we can be in America. We so easily lose out on dreams we have because we get too cluttered with reality. And our reality right now is ever so harsh considering the inability we all have to plan and dream for the future with an economy that is up in smoke.

As though life wasn't cruel and funny about being so harsh enough as it were, coming back to the United States offered me my smack in the face with the ol' red, white and blue hand that I was looking for. I got my first EVER speeding ticket in New York State. I was so taken aback with the kindness and accommodation of the state trooper who gave it to me that I felt compelled to pay HIM right there on the spot and give him a thank-you and safety high five! In Massachusetts, we often don't encounter kind-natured police officers. Needless to say, I was pleased and impressed with his kind demeanor. I still have a ticket to pay, however. And that is something I am not looking forward to at all. Adding insult to injury, my car then decided to flash it's friendly "check engine" light and start chugging up the road. Currently, it is being fixed down the street and I am stranded, hence the blabbering on my blog. If anyone is reading this, thank you for your patience.

Additional circumstance comes to haunt me as our country's nasty economic crisis may potentially block me from getting the student lending necessary to be able to go to school in March. That the gods among us I voted for Obama, because I am hoping that he will be able to bring us back to the days of prosperity and possibility again. I look forward to that change. I look forward to changing my life. I look forward to the country becoming NORMAL AGAIN!

Reality likes to also bite me in the lip....literally. This morning while trimming my beard nearly off, my hand went rogue and the electric trimmer went right for my upper lip, shredding it's pink hue and creating a blood bath. I think it was about this time that I realized that someone was out to get me today, December 5.

Vacation is something we cherish and keep close to us, as it is the saddest thing when it is over. Monday I return to work, and real life will then saturate my frivolous dreams. ....Looking forward to it.

2008-12-02T06:35:00.000-08:00

These days, I am far from New York City, but sitting here in a hotel room in another city larger than any I am used to. I decided to give myself a break and travel to Toronto for a few days. Little did I know, first of all, how far Canada's big city really is from Boston (the center of my universe). But interestingly enough, I am reminded of my brush with Big Apple life. Toronto is very different, in fact, it reminds me A LOT of San Francisco, a city very close to my heart. Maybe though, I wasn't really ready to explore a new city. I have yet to discover what my threshold of tolerance is.

A while ago, I decided to re-ignite my love affair with Boston in lieu of spreading the news and heading to NYC. Two months, and one broken heart later, I am discovering new things about myself everyday. Things that I am surprised to reveal are not new to those who already knew them about me. I guess I can be funny, kind, sweet, considerate, sexy, fun, charming, smart, clever and interesting. I let someone cut me down, but I think oddly enough it wasn't even his fault. I was in Urban Outfitters today looking for bitterly sarcastic Christmas cards for my friends when I stumbled on a drinking glass that had my astrological sign of Virgo on it. Being a sucker for the stars and how they aligned and continue to impact my life, I decided to read what this $8 item had in store for revealing things about my personality. Though it's a strict novelty, I still got smacked in the face by its starkly blunt statement that I, as a Virgo, am a perfectionist, and as such, I am starving to drive perfection within myself before all others. If I let someone in my pants, they will break my heart. Whether it's my fault or theirs, it will still happen, and I will place all blame on their shoulders. Someone broke my heart because we weren't made for one another, and I dragged it out way too far. Lesson learned. But I should know that I am all of the aforementioned character traits rolled into one complex human being. And as a human being, I am determined not to be defeated. My friend Russell once told me that there is "something about a lot of boys...not just one". How right he is. Everyone has something about them that makes them unique. When you say good-bye to someone, no matter who they are, it is a loss.

So a couple of months of losing stuff, and now I am doing my best to gain all I can from life and its shortcomings. So now I am in Toronto. I could sit on my couch and kick back for a week, but I think it is far more fruitful to have driven somewhere I can now appreciate and add to the list of cities I love. Though it is somewhat gloomy and the snow flurries are plenty, I am pleased to be here, and glad I can explore this great land up north. I have many observations, but for now, I must go and explore more here in Toronto. Be well, all. And remember, life is definitely for the living, and nothing brings that out like traveling.

Somebody Has a Case of the Thursdays!!

2008-11-27T06:15:00.000-08:00

I often feel that Thanksgiving is oh, so overrated. As a native Massachusetts-ite, it has become evidently clear that Turkey Day isn't what they taught us it was back in elementary school. We know now that it had little to do with peace being offered between the pilgrims and indians, and that it was far more a hostile and bloody scene. The same hostility is felt in households across America today as reluctant families gather to remember what it is they don't like about each other and why they so seldom gather in the same room. We all know the usual pattern of behavior that leads to someone being offended about something, and creating bad blood between relatives, only to be rehashed again when Christmas rears its ugly glitter-soaked head in less than a month.

I personally feel a detachment from this holiday thing. Having lost my parents, and not really having a steady place to call home on Thanksgiving allows for me to reflect, but mostly, to successfully avoid. I am highly fortunate to have one of my best friends cooking dinner and inviting me to come along for the meal. She and her family do not necessarily exemplify the perfect American unit, but they are a REALLY good time, and I am pleased to have the opportunity to be part of their family debauchery for a one-day-only bonanza.

Thanksgiving makes us all realize how screwed, and yet how fortunate we can be. Sure, we give thanks to the powers that be for all that is bestowed on us. We can be extremely fortunate because life can really be awesome sometimes. I am a true believer in that one. BUT (and there is always a "but") we also have a lot to not enjoy about this day. First and foremost, it is a painful reminder that we have only a matter of a couple of weeks to get our shopping done for the horrid commercial fever that has become Christmas. It reminds us to go check our credit card statements after we eat some blueberry pie to make sure we can purchase our nieces and nephews whatever it is they want and still have money for gas and groceries. It also reminds us to be sure and hit the gym daily, since that little idea tends to fall by the wayside until early January.

Good god, I am not a fan of this season anymore. I think I should paint myself green, get a dog named Max, and live high on top of a mountain overlooking a village of odd looking gleeful creatures.

A New Day

2008-11-24T19:39:00.001-08:00

Missing from my own written universe, I have decided to come out of hiding and write something about what life has proven to be since we last spoke. On a Wednesday in November I woke up proud to be American once more. I have never been the type of guy to wear his pride on his sleeve, and I suppose I will never end up as one, but for once I truly felt that the tide was turning in a positive direction. Our world is now set to change, but I am seeing things with esteemed familiarity as many officials from the Clinton years are rearing their heads once again. Theirs are faces I have missed in the past eight years, as they were synonymous with getting the job done and creating only necessary reform.

The most vital of my youthful years occurred with the most incompetent of the handheld leading our nation into the point of no return. From the time I was 18 until now at 26, I have been so unsure as to where our country is going and so unsure about whether or not I even want to be a part of this nation. We backed away from preservation of constitutional rights by tapping into phone lines and creating a negative aura around anything and everything that could potentially be deemed as "unamerican". Too much was left up to interpretation that could be interpreted the wrong way and thus violate our rights as humans and as americans.

It's scary to me to look in retrospect and see that I knew people who left our country because of our administration. Now this can all come to change. Barack Obama doesn't just symbolize the crashing down of a wall and the making of history. He has become the voice of many generations, but mostly mine. An overwhelming majority of us are coming to realize that we aren't the voice of tomorrow, but that we are the voice of now, and that is an exciting prospect. Finally, we are geared to make a change in our world, and change is precisely what we are waiting for. To us, this election symbolizes the awakening of a new era.

My bottom line is that finally we can wake up and have hope day after day. Beforehand, I felt like things couldn't get much worse yet I knew they somehow would. The few weeks we have between now and the fruition of our President Obama seem like a far stretch to the weary and impatient. But as tired as we all may be from eight long years, we are ready, we are refreshed, and finally, we are proud.

Election Recap Time!

2008-11-08T05:46:00.000-08:00

Surprisingly, I have been relatively mum in the days following the most monumental presidential election of my lifetime (thus far). If we flash forward a few years, I intend to be one of the many members of the media covering the elections, but for now, I am doing so in the world of blogging and freelance writing. I can deal. But the main reason why I have been so quiet is because I am honestly tired from all of the excitement and all of the hysteria that has led us to being thrilled at the installation of a new regime in America. It has been a long eight years for people like me; the people who started voting around the time Al Gore was an option, and who couldn't remember how bad things have been under Reagan and Bush. As an aside, I constantly hear that those were pretty amazing years from my conservative counterparts, however I beg to differ citing Iran Contra, economic recession, Desert Storm, taxation, deficits, and the list continues…

But in the past eight years, I have watched as the prosperity and hope of Generation Y has slouched and eventually almost disappeared. We really aren't used to not worrying about money, about whether or not we can afford a mortgage or even qualify for one. And we definitely have a hard time remembering what life was like without war. Though I have a quarter of a century under my belt, I am a relative novice at being an adult. College prepares you (sort of) for what lies beyond. I am two years beyond that at this point, and have looked to find myself and what I stand for, and what my purpose is. In understanding what it is that motivates me, I have also gained a knowledge of what I want to avoid again at all costs. The poor politics and failed agenda of the Bush administration pushed me to want change and want reform and crave and desire progression. I feel that the changes we are seeking as a generation helped to elect Barack Obama to the presidency on Tuesday night. But, I am still tired.

Why am I so tired? Well, it seems we have a long way to go if we want to achieve any of the progression that comes from a refreshed administration taking charge. Plus, many political pundits cannot seem to get far beyond the McCain loss. A number of unnamed senior staffers in the McCain camp came out to speak against Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin following the fall of the GOP in Tuesday's elections. Granted, every election must have its loser, and though it was a close race at many points, McCain had to be the one to lose. Many writers and analysts are looking at this and trying to figure out if Sarah Palin was to blame. Oddly enough, I am going to stand behind the governor. I am not a fan of her politics, nor do I think she would have made a better Vice President than Joe Biden will. But I think it's time to be fair to the woman who so clearly wanted the job she was asked to fight for. Humbly, she scoffed mid-summer at any notion that she would be the choice for the Republican ticket. It seemed far-fetched to most that the freshman governor from Alaska, who was a relative unknown on the national scene would ever be selected to be the running mate of Senator John McCain, one of Capitol Hill's most revered elephants. When she was actually plucked from the igloo, everyone was interested to know more. Who is Sarah Palin? Where did she come from? How did she get there? What will she do for me?

What ensued was a bloodbath of badgering, and I will admit, I wielded my best weapon and bashed her right alongside everyone else. But now that it's over, I have a better understanding. No, Sarah Palin would not have made a better leader than either Barack Obama or Joe Biden, and that is why we felt the need to criticize her so stringently. But, I have a heart. And the badgering must end, folks. The truth is, she IS a smart woman, and I could see how in a few years she may again return on the national stage to be the GOP's shining hope in 2012. In the meantime, let's lay off of stating she didn't know Africa was a continent, or her lack of policy knowledge. It barely seems possible that she would not know Africa was a continent. She is college educated, and she is intelligent enough to be governor. Give her some credit, please. Perhaps the real reason why McCain lost is because of the sheer lack of strategy and a steady course that any successful political campaign so clearly has. Perhaps also, he lost because we are changing the tide. The United States is sick of politics as usual, and the people who encompass my age group have made that evidently clear. The world is changing around us, and it's time for us to adapt. Barack Obama will be the leader to help us shift our focus. Not John McCain. And it's time for Mr. McCain to fulfill his promise and go back to Washington to help be a part of the non-partisan movement. His party will be strategizing to come back to the top someday.

Do I want to see them come back to the top? No. Do I think they can easily recover from 2008? No. But, what do I think they need to do?

Get out of their own way first, and stop pointing fingers like children often do. No one person is to blame for the blue wave that is hitting the United States, except maybe for the person sitting in the oval office now. But, if you really want to come back and have your voice be the voice of reason and the voice of change, maybe think about why we need change in the first place and revisit this in four years. Our time is now.

President Barack Obama

2008-11-04T20:07:00.000-08:00

For once in my life, I am speechless for the time being.

Thank you, god. Thank you President-Elect Obama.

Portrait of a President, Views of a Society

2008-11-04T15:01:00.000-08:00

I am now sitting here, reflecting on the last eighteen months, as most people are right now. Though I may purport myself to be a liberal pundit who shares any and all opinions without holding back, I have surprised myself by being reasonably objective this time around. I have found that I am not alone, though the climate is far more challenging than it was in 2004. I recall a conservative movement across the board of people I was talking to at the time, and I was astonished at their points of view. Since then, I have gotten out of my college kid mentality and come to understand that my world isn't so blue after all. Now, I have a whole new set of concerns.

My generation is dying half a world away, and those who aren't are coming back hurt, wounded, damaged, and scarred. Everything costs us more. Gas, travel, food and clothing are all growing beyond our means. College is again becoming something that children who are working hard are painfully reminded they may not be able to achieve due to lack of funding. With the same issue in mind, the american dream of buying a home is also just out of grasp for so many. Socially, we have moved backwards, and in respect to our liberties: they too are challenged.

And, I understand all of this. Having worked in finance for the past decade, I have a strong understanding of the cycles that occur in the US economy. The lows come and go, but my friends, these lows are pretty damn low. And it doesn't have to be this way. Emotion drives a high degree of financial decisions, and it was hard for people not to react negatively when the country was running amuck.

Bottom line is, I would love to see someone elected tonight who will be blind toward red and blue colors and actually change our world. Our culture is unraveling. It's not a culture of dominance or power, but rather one of prosperity and hope. As Americans, we have prided ourselves on the ability to manifest our dreams and make anything happen. That notion has seemed to fallen away as we have become greedier and obsessed with money and power. It's not about all of this. I remember a time when things were good, and unfortunately, it is no time in my adult life. At 25 years old, I have not been able to live in a time without war or the fear of war, and I have always been worried about where our leaders are taking us in terms of economy, society, and continued prosperity. That feeling of prosperity is something our parents have been able to experience, but not for us and our generation. Generation Y is suffering. We want more, we crave more, and we are placing our full trust in someone new tonight.

I have never seen so much hype as there has been around our current candidates. Whomever is elected tonight, I hope that it reflects a tide turning. I had a friend quote Bruce Springsteen: "Come on up for the rising", and he was surely assuming Barack Obama would win tonight, and that it would incite a nationwide change. We would not know the change that will happen overnight. The first 100 days are always crucial and well scrutinized in the American presidency, but they never prove to exhibit much of the change we look for. I speak for a lot of people in my generation when I say that we are so tired, so scared, and so very hopeful that whomever the victor may be tonight must carry us to the top of the mountain. May the best duo win, more at 11.

DeMoulified

2008-10-27T20:07:00.000-07:00

Again, I have this scathing hatred for Market Basket on my mind. Truly something that only those who grew up in eastern Massachusetts would understand is how revolting this non-fancy discount grocer can possibly be. But let's pair that with something else I detest; my hometown: Haverhill.

Rarely do I darken the doorway of the "shoe city". But a recent move into a smaller apartment has forced me to relinquish some belongings to be stored in my aunt's extra room in "Helltown". I took this occasion to visit my friend Julia after she leaves work. Julia is a dental hygenist at a family dental clinic appropriately called "Family Dental Clinic", next to the Market Basket in downtown Haverhill. While she was busy scraping plaque off of a local resident, I took the opportunity to purchase some deli meats at Market Basket.

Walking into the squalor that is the Central Plaza Market Basket, my first sensory impression was the wall of body odor that smacked me in the face and laid me out like a deck hand on the apricot tile. I was clammering for something else to smell; like sawdust. Alas, nothing would treat my nostrils to such relief, so my sole option was to hurry through the crowd of moustached women and homeless men looking through the collection of cardboard boxes that is a staple at each location's front end to find what I came here for. Maybe it was the undistinguishable array of hams among fake greenery, or the "fresh" sushi that likely came off of a truck earlier today, but I soon realized I couldn't bring myself to buy a damn thing here in pure fear that I would contract dyssentary and die at a young age. I walked around to try and find some standard non-perishable to make my trip worthwhile and not a total and complete waste, but all I could see were the locals I have tried so hard to escape in recent years. The lady with overly teased jet black hair and no upper gums was strolling past the gay hispanic couple who used to argue about their cats in the pizza shop I worked at in high school. I likely went to high school with the bagger, and the deli clerk could smell the nausea on my mind, so I knew there was no way out but to start screaming; running frantically through the crowd of welfare recipients and local obese politicians, and just make a clean break for the door. Of course, I had to brave the B.O. yet again, and had to make it past the largest of the moustached women before I could smell freedom once more.

The entire ordeal made me arrive at two conclusions. The first is that I hate Market Basket. The second is that I am a horrendous snob. Being a complete snot bag isn't so bad though. I can be lovable while sharpening my craft of exclusivity. Then again, I try to be as giving, generous, and thoughtful as I can be....but when it comes to Market Basket and when it comes to Haverhill, I have had all I can take. The saying goes you can take the boy out of Haverhill, but you can't take Haverhill out of the boy. Or maybe you can....

You Can Call Me Milla

2008-10-26T07:51:00.000-07:00

Halloween has always been an exciting time for me. I have a personal policy of dressing as something different not just each year, but each time I go to a party or event or happening. In my mind, very few things can top last year (Halloween 2007). Capitalizing on the success of the 2007 Boston Red Sox, I opted to give in to popular demand by dressing as my look-alike, closing pitcher Jonathan Papelbon. Fall 2007 found me going NOWHERE without being recognized as Papelbon. A few times, I encountered people actually star struck because they thought I was the great step-dancing closer. I will admit, we do look similar...strikingly similar. Since around this time last year I was also a shameless slut looking for attention, I went head first and invested in a cigar and some swimming goggles and said hello to Jonathan Papelbon. As far as costumes go, this was so easy for me. I had a red Papelbon Sox T-shirt, and some black boxer briefs. Having been a baseball player myself, I also added the athletic cup for that authentic touch. I looked the part, so I was ready to go.

I headed to a halloween party at my friend Kristle's home in Rhode Island. While there, I reunited with some friends, including my friend Angel whom I had not seen in quite a while. We chatted, and she decided she needed to use the restroom, and so I followed suit. We walked through the kitchen to get to the bathroom door. When she went in ahead of me, I waited behind to find a young woman sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a dress, looking rather plain for a halloween party. Since her costume was not instantly discernible, I found myself looking at this attractive young lady. I will flirt with anything that walks, male or female, so the focus instantly turned to a budding conversation. From the first words that came out of her mouth, I knew this was not going to be a normal conversation, and boy was I right!

Here is a transcript of what then took place:

Jonny: (nods head upward) Hey.
Girl in dress: ......(awkward pause and delay in reaction)...........Paaapppelbonnnnn!
(It was around this time I assumed she had taken some sort of drug or was incredibly intoxicated since she was over annunciating everything that came out of her mouth....every syllable, everything...)
Jonny: Yeah....that's me! You like baseball?
Girl in dress: (awkwardly rubbing her legs and appearing to be giddy by putting hands between her legs and perking her shoulders up) MMMMMMMMMMM!!!! Hahahha, YEA-AAAHHH!!!
Jonny: Huh....wow! That's, umm, that's great! Haha, yeah. So....ahhh....what are you supposed to be?
Girl in dress: Milla Jo-vo-VICH---HAAA (!) (Extra emphasis on the "CH")
Jonny: Oh wow. Great actress! Fifth Element, Resident Evil....Target commercials....she's rad! So....like....Milla in a certain role, or just in general?
Girl in dress we will now call Milla: (still rubbing legs) Just MIIILLLLAAAAAAAA! Milla, Milla, Milla! (smiles and giggles and smacks her lips)
Jonny: (clearly disturbed) Ohhh....wow!! Good for you!
Milla: Milla, Milla, Milla!!!!
Jonny: Right....yeah, I get it.

At this point, Angel was finished in the bathroom, and given the nature and discomfort of this conversation I was convinced she had fallen into the toilet and needed to be helped. I thought she was gone for about 35 minutes because I was sitting here talking to the most screwed up woman on the planet, but in reality it hadn't been long. I decided to say "hey, gotta go", and I split into the bathroom to take care of business and try to forget what had just happened. I have always had an affinity for conversation with strangers. This has gotten me far in life, and has pegged me as one of the friendliest people that others have met, or so I have been told. Sometimes, this can be a gift that gets me into a bad situation, like one where the other person is crazy. Clearly, I was in the midst of this now. Emerging from the bathroom, I noticed Milla sitting at the table....still...and staring at a large bowl of candy before her.

Jonny: (makes eye contact with Milla)
Milla: (makes eye contact with Jonny, then with the bowl, then with Jonny, then with the bowl, then Jonny, bowl, Jonny, bowl, and looks at Jonny) MMMMMMMMMMMMMM CAANNNNNDAYYYYY!!!!!!! I llllike candy!!! Mmmmmmm!!!!

The entire conversation was moot at this juncture, and I decided to walk away. Nobody believes me to this day that this whole thing occurred, and to be honest, I never saw this girl again. Nobody knew who she was, and she showed up in merely the background of a couple of pictures from the party. Though uncomfortable, the encounter reinforced my theory that the strangest people, from all walks of life, with all sorts of insane character quirks, all seem to be magnetized to me. And though telling this story in written word does not do it a lick of justice, you will agree that only god above can possibly help me.

Forever Connected, Milla Jovovich and Jonathan Papelbon

The Plight of the Bostonian

2008-10-20T19:26:00.000-07:00

Growing up on the North Shore, the center of our universe was Boston. Anything beyond the thirty-five mile radius circling Boston was "too far" to travel, or insignificant, or scary enough to petrify the fearless. Two decades of being flooded with this mentality did its own work to jade my opinions, and I too garnered a feeling of hierarchy over other cities and regions. When I started traveling, and exploring personally unchartered parts of the United States, my policy began to change. I remember the first time I drove into San Francisco, a city which I have since visited several times and come to know quite well. My first thought was something like "this place is WAY too HUGE" as I instantly noticed a skyline fuller than ours, with seemingly brighter lights glowing and more of a built-up feel than our windy brick roads and storied dwellings. Suddenly, the "big city" took on a whole new meaning, and I became enlightened. It was mind-blowing to discover that Boston was not as big of a big city as the big city can be. As I started travelling more, and experiencing more cities across the country, I also became adept to the perception that we as Bostonians live in our own little world.

The legend of the crusted New Englander conjures images of a Gorton's fisherman-like figure, pissed off at the notion that both Jordan Marsh and Filene's have disappeared, holding tight to the days when Liz Walker and Jack Williams told the news before a good episode of "Evening Magazine" hit the airwaves. Ahh, the Boston of yore, long before Macy's came into town and The Nutcracker got booted from The Wang. When the Bank of Boston eagle bearing the year 1789 finally disappeared and gave way to the red and blue waves of nationwide branding, we all realized we lost something close to us, and that would be our regional identity. New Englanders are known for being exclusive. We own the Kennedys, you can thank us for Ocean Spray, and if Paul Revere hadn't galloped around our neighborhoods, you would likely be speaking German and not voting for anything! You can believe that most of us feel this way, which is why everyone hates us.

Trends usually become unique in Boston, but nationwide fads don't make their way here for quite some time. This is usually thanks to the fact that we love being exclusive, and we love that we are here on our own jutting peninsula of six states clustered together in brotherhood and solidarity against the remaining forty-four. We're not even that nice to our neighbor, New York. The threat of entry into our own micro-society is so strong that everyone notices it but us. The best evidence of this sequestering truth is in sports. Every year, we tout our red and blue hats, our jerseys, and our livers and head to Fenway. By the time October rolls around, we are either egotistically pumped to be on top, or playing the comfortable role of miserable loser and boycotting baseball. Just a few nights ago, our beloved Red Sox, who so gracefully clinched the World Series last year, fell to the former last place Tampa Bay Rays, and will not see the green turf of the 2008 World Series. Disappointing to most of us here, but, as I found out, not so disappointing to everyone else in every other corner of the nation. Speaking to my cousin on the west coast, I asked why it was that people were so thrilled the Sox crumbled in game 7 of this year's ALCS. He was quick to call me a "lobsterhead" and told me that "(Boston teams) win and rub it in everyone's faces, lose and wallow in misery and disgrace until another win comes along". So, there we have it. Misery loves company, and so Boston sent out a message in the 1990s that nothing we could do would make us winners, and nobody likes a loser. So even though the seeds maybe had been sewn so many years beforehand, the Massachusetts of the 1980s set the stage for animosity that couldn't warm even the wholesome hearts of Mrs. Fields or Betty White. By the time I was barely old enough to know what a "wicked bastid" meant, Boston hadn't won a sports championship in many a year, despite coming dangerously close. The central artery was leaking, rusty, and creating a gorgeous landscape by dividing the city in two. People were still bitching fifteen years later about digging out their cars from the Blizzard of '78, and the days of Kevin White gave way to the mumbling grumpiness of Tom Menino by way of Ray Flynn and the Pope. Our friends located elsewhere in the US were even able to show their disdain for us by voting in our first Bush over Mike Dukakis.

In my adult rationality, I would like to think things have changed. We got rid of the artery and put in a nice park to cover the highway! We let in the nationwide chains, and have embraced even international sensations such as Wagamama and Ikea. And of course, the sports situation turned around. We may boast and brag about our position as a city of sports leaders, but how can anyone despise a lovable pitcher who does an Irish jig in his underwear on the field?

The truth is; Boston is amazing. Maybe I am biased because it's home to me, but Boston should make other cities cower in fear. Granted, it's not as large as New York, not as flashy as Vegas, as colorful as San Francisco, or as breezy as Chicago. But Boston has a little bit of everything. Not many cities can mix generation X metropolis with the foundation of our country. Other cities don't flash four colorful seasons on the water all while entertaining thousands of college kids. You see, Boston has a place in this world that not other cities can claim. Sure, we can be loud, we can be brash, we can be crazy. We can also be charming, down home, and eclectic. When kids get made fun of, their mothers sit them down and all tell them the same thing; "the other kids are just jealous". The others...well, they're just jealous. If you don't believe me, get on a flight, land at Logan, and I will kindly pick you up and show you what makes us great. You may get sweaty palms over my Massachusetts motoring skills, and you may end up confused on why you would wear shorts during the day and a winter coat at night, but let me assure you best. The Bostonian knows how to have a good time. Though I was so hellbent on finding a new city to call home, I am coming back around to the idea that this dirty water town has a chokehold on me, and I could leave but it will never leave me. I could be taunted by people in other stretches of the world for being from Boston, but there is a certain pride that comes with this town that I hardly think anyone else can understand. Win or lose, I speak for all Bostonians when I say "we'll take the plight of the Bostonian".

Don't let me wear out my shoes

2008-10-16T12:49:00.000-07:00

I tend to be a packrat over items that should hold little to no significance. As packrats usually tend to do, I hold on to things in hopes that I will need them again, or rather over the fear that my getting rid of said items will devastate and damage me beyond repair. Looking down at my black dress shoes, I am realizing how badly they need to be polished. There is clay on the tread of my shoe that is visible from the toe. In fact, both shoes have some dingy clay and remnants on them to the point of making me look far less polished than I usually stand to be. But, the fact of the matter is that I am not polished at all these days. In fact, as many people do from time to time, I have fallen apart. Notice I say "fallen" and not "fallING". There is a point where I realized that I am not myself anymore, and I am desparately clawing my way back up the hole I have dug to get back to the old me.

In doing so, I have made a horrendous discovery: The old me is gone, washed away forever, and not coming back. Maybe that isn't such a bad thing afterall. The old me would be someone I didn't care to know. Someone who didn't live in truth, but rather dwelled in possibility while playing everything conveniently safe. I would cover my tracks, retrogress, hang in my comfort zones, and never reach beyond the element of what was familiar. In short, the old me was stifled and was not the best guy on earth. I often look into theories of greater powers to get a better understanding of myself.

And no, I do not mean religion. I tend to look at astrology, numerology, and coincidence to help guide me to capture the truest, purest and most vital essence of myself. I know all I know about the Virgo. As a Virgo, I am opinionated in a sharp and often biting manner (true). I am loyal to those around me and would never turn my back on someone, even if they have wronged me (sadly also true). My love life heats up passionately, but cools off just as quickly (uhh….true). I value my space and alone time, but crave the spotlight and all the attention I can handle when I want it (AGAIN, true). Having been born on 9/18, my lucky numbers seem to focus around 9. When I was in grammar school, I was fascinated by the times table for the number nine. I LOVED it. 9, 18, 27, 36, 45, 54, 63, etc. etc. And I HATE math and all that math entails, so it was interesting that I found fascination in such a thing, but I think it was part of my makeup. Naturally, with next year being my 27th birthday in '09 on 09/18, I am anticipating great things. I pay attention to the year of the dog, which was when I was born. Chinese zodiac philosophy has assigned me to the "water dog". I act like a fish…always swimming, engaging myself in water sports, and craving to be near the ocean all of the days of my life. As other dog years prove, people born in these time periods can be endearingly loyal as the dog connotation would suggest. Sympathy and empathy are standard traits of these people, but on the other hand they can have the sharpest tongues on the planet, all while being as eloquent and alive as humanly possible.

In the deep, dark hallows of searching for one's self, it's sort of easy to forget what you are really and truly all about. I spent so much time fabricating a new identity for myself and trying to stick with being the golden boy I created that somewhere along the way I became a nasty, hollowed shell whom I really did not like. Part of my desire to leave Massachusetts is to leave that false self so far behind I can't even see him in my rear view mirror. But now I am being brought back to the packrat designation I have so kindly given myself. Packrats have a hard time saying goodbye to their past, and in a lot of ways it doesn't get them very far. Feeling like tiny facets and trinkets can help them hold fast to their cherished memories blinds these people from creating new experiences and progressing into more adventurous situations.

Looking down on the clay caked on my black dress shoes I realized that I am having a hard time letting go of part of a dream I recently had. Some parts of this dream will come true. Soon enough, I will be embarking on an academic adventure that (the gods willing) will plant me behind a news desk someday, projecting to a camera with many a faceless watcher behind it, gazing at me and listening to me. That is a dream I have always had, and will fulfill come hell or high water. But a part of my dream died when I walked into Bryant Park in New York three weeks ago, all dressed up and nowhere to go but home. I confronted the end of something that changed me forever, and I had no idea what the future held in store for me. Little did I know that three weeks later I would be petrified to take out the shoe polish because I had this one very specific memory attached to the clay on my shoe. My last tangible link to someone I loved and lost is ruining my look by remaining attached to my shiny black leather. I doubt people take such notice to these things, but I am grappling with the idea of whether or not I should shine them up and move on with my life. So much symbolism goes into this decision.

For me, the person I left in the park that day held the key to making me a better man. When we met, I vowed that such a wonderful person deserved someone who didn't make mistakes anymore. I tripped over each mistake I made all the way to the finish line of our relationship, only realizing in hind sight that I could have been better for him, but mostly better for myself.

Gone now are the days where I can simmer in the thought of making things happen. Life happens too fast to be able to plan anything out, so instead, I am going to lift the pressures off my shoulders. I need to leave myself behind, but it is a challenge, and I am sure that if anyone has successfully done this before, they can attest to this being difficult, but could also offer me advice on how. How do I scrap myself and start clean? How do I become good? And in the meantime...should I just buy a new pair of shoes?

Medieval Knievel

2008-10-10T19:55:00.000-07:00

Renaissance fairs in general conjure thoughts of modern day Dungeons & Dragons aficionados dressing as knights and wenches for an outdoor day of glory to rival no other. At least that is the idea circulating their minds. Nothing can beat medieval era rehashing on a warm autumn day. Thus far, I have done a spectacular job of avoiding such festivals, but for some reason, Fall 2008 has proven to be my catalyst for change in this respect. At first, I went to a so-called "ren-fair" to appease a friend who has since fallen out of favor in my life anyhow. The event itself was foreshadowing into the catastrophic end to a roller coaster ride of emotional meltdowns in my personal life, however at the time, all I could think of was how much I could not stand being rained on in a park with horse dung aroma and lingering effects everywhere and people acting like we were living in the days of Robin Hood and Little John.

With that exhaustingly "fun" time in my mind connected to the term "renaissance fair", I embarked on a new adventure with my friends, the dynamic brother-sister duo known as Sarah and Tom. When Sarah asked me if I wanted to go to King Richard's Faire in Carver with she and Tom, I gladly accepted, willingly wanting to rid my memory of the last medieval fiasco. Driving with these two for an hour and a half was a great time, since both are hilarious people, and we spent a lot of the car ride laughing and giddy with anticipation of King Dick and his fair with an "e" at the end of it.

When we arrived at the faire, I was then able to see why I should never take the trip again. This is almost an outdoor Star Trek convention, minus the futuristic aspect, and easily replaced with old fashioned mid-millennia retrospection, which might I add, brings its very own level of creepiness to the entire event. Grown adults who work by day as accountants, physical therapists, receptionists, and members of New England's working force and everyday culture flock to Carver to frolic through the woods dressed as maidens, lords, ladies, and other character figures of yesteryear. Having a storied and cultured background in the fine, visual and performing arts, I have come around to accept this sort of behavior as typical of people who really, really just get INTO this sort of thing. But, I feel that in my older age, I am getting far less tolerant of such interesting action...which is DEFINITELY not the typical behavior I tend to exhibit toward others.

As time projects, people tend to forget where they come from. Walking around the "faire", it occurred to me that I have become intolerant of oddities in human interest. To me, and to many like myself, it is peculiar to find adults dressed as though they were sitting in a court watching a jousting match, walking around and speaking in language long gone. At times, I wanted to jump in and wear a half-open linen shirt and pants below my knees, and carry a sword and fight dragons and wrongdoers!!!!

.........then I came back to earth and realized that I have never been a medieval fairE kind of guy!! I try, and try and TRY to adapt to this subculture of people who relish in this particular era of european history, but never with much success, and never with all that much pleasure on my part. History and I mesh well. I love replicating the eras of the American Civil War, as well as our Revolution. The idea of a Gatsby bash with women dressed as flappers and men smoking cigarillos from long black holders makes me positively giddy with excitement! But, when we relive a time where dungeons were as common to the everyday man as paper towels are today, something about the whole thing just kind of makes me smack my tongue like I had the taste of rotten pears in my mouth.

To remedy this feeling, as Sarah and Tom looked on, I guzzled a yard and a half of ale, and promptly became intoxicated. Sitting in the woods, I noted two people mostly naked, dressed as elves. Seeing more than one overweight and slovenly person devouring a sinewy, and oddly magenta shaded turkey leg turned my alcohol-filled stomach with instant sickness. Thankfully, though influenced by a giant cylinder of Killian's, I successfully talked myself out of purchasing a staff. I toyed with the idea of spending $50 on a polished pole of knobby wood, because clearly, I needed a staff.....

So much for impulse purchases. No matter how hard I try, I will just never be a Medieval Knievel.

Evidence of a clearly intoxicated author trying to enjoy the faire. Clearly the nastiest photo ever taken of Jonny. Ever.

The Curiously Awkward Situation Surrounding Public Restrooms

2008-10-09T18:40:00.000-07:00

Oh, the HUMANITY!

For years I have avoided using public bathrooms for so many reasons. Granted, there are times and places when I have no other viable options so I have surrendered my personal pride and walked into a lovely ceramic laden restroom aromatically strong with the whiff of urinal cake. Working in your standard office building, I have battled with my inner emotions basically every single day over whether or not to take the "plunge" and use the shared bathroom facility nearest to my office suite. There is a reason why my decision making is so straining on me.

Allow me to get graphic. But not too graphic, for I do have some integrity left in my soul. The mens' room at my work has a unique set-up. Picture it: Lowell, Massachusetts. A mens' room in an office building. Fascinating...
You walk in to find there is a lock on the door handle in order to gain privacy from others who may enter during a poor moment. Interesting find. The bathroom is outfitted with a lone urinal and a locking stall with toilet. Clearly, a sink is also present. I feel I have sufficiently set the scene in order to now lunge into my rant of disgust.

One time, I decided I needed to use the locking stall, but since I needed to "have a seat", I also cautioned courtesy to my fellow gentlemen at work and locked the door. Sometimes you just MUST lock the door. I was shocked when someone decided to jiggle the door handle as though the locked door would magically open. With seven other bathrooms located within a short walk, I assumed this individual would move on and take care of business elsewhere. How wrong could I have been?

Said respectful male walked into my cloud of stomach pain come to realization, and much to my horror sighed and moaned while urinating just a few feet away from me. I decided it would be wise to pull my pants ever closer to my knees so as not to expose my bright blue underwear, or be able to easily identify the combination of my suit pants and shoes. Would you be embarrassed? I was. I was.

Additionally, I take issue with urinals. The splashback, the ability to peek over the divider, the awkwardness.

Now that I have discussed at length my utter dislike for public disposal centers, I feel that I have laid far too much down on the line, and that I have somehow brought those who read my blog to think significantly less of its author. I only hope that your trust in me can someday be redeemed.

Balancing Act

2008-10-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

As my friend Sarah so kindly enlightened me this evening, "We need to find you a balance between thinking and not thinking".

...Thanks.

However, this was a true and accurate statement. I either think not of major decisions facing me, or I over-think everything to the point of nausea. I would like to think that in the spectrum of being neurotic, I fall somewhere in the middle of the scale. Though, I have found that at times I seem to be either too carefree or too insane. Where can I find my happy medium, people? Sometimes I let the small stuff overwhelm me, and the larger challenges seem to meet easy solutions while rolling down my back. Part of the reason I bring this up now is because I am causing myself to have major heartburn, headaches, vomiting, coughing, and all other nerve related quirks that come when I worry my little (or not so little) body over the small stuff.

Running myself ragged has taken its toll, and I am about to sleep. I have so much more to write about, so I hope my faithful wait with baited breath, because I have about nine or ten articles/entries/rants saved up to publish on here soon. ESPECIALLY now that I am watching the debate. Good lord.

Masterdebator

2008-10-02T05:15:00.000-07:00

The nation was watching tonight to see if Alaska's Governor Sarah Palin would fall flat on her face against the biting and sharp-tongued Joe Biden in this year's only Vice Presidential debates. Being among the concerned league of voters everywhere, I am pleased to say that in my opinion, she did not fall on her face. (Enter sigh of relief for the GOP) She didn't necessarily do well, however. That is not to say that Joe Biden wasn't doing his share of making me want to bite my nails as well. Biden has a reputation for saying what is on his mind as it comes to mind, and thus proving he has no filter to keep those thoughts subdued. Entering the stage, the mic was able to pick up Gov. Palin asking "can I call you Joe?". Some saw that as a charming and down to earth gesture. Others thought it to be hokey, uncomfortable, and amateur.

As the candidates forged ahead, we were able to discern what makes these individuals so unique. Sarah Palin offered up the suggestion that she not stick to the principles of the debate format, and instead offer Americans her form of "straight talk". Meaning, she would not answer questions, and would instead circle around her talking points like an awkwardly hovering aircraft. Issues that Moderator Gwen Ifill brought up, such as the current $700 Billion economic bail-out plan were met with the Governor discussing energy. The question of what each candidate would surrender in their plan to supplement the economy within our borders was greeted with no real response. I could see this trend continuing through the night, though at no point did Palin cower in fear. She continued to deliver her preloaded responses with as much grace as a lipstick covered pit bull could possibly muster, however, I feel it fair to say that she did not prove herself to be an independent thinker.

What shocked me came after the debate drew to a close. Pundits everywhere seemed to be giving Palin more credit than she earned in the ninety minute word shuffle. Geraldine Ferraro, the 1984 Vice Presidential candidate, offered her point of view that as a woman, she was elated to see a woman stand and deliver in the presence of a man. Geraldine, did we watch the same debate? I mean, I know she didn't falter in the face of pressure, but she also didn't answer a damn thing, and she kept moving back to irrelevant topics in order to focus on her strong points. I watched it and didn't feel good to see a woman on the stage arguing about what she could help to do to fix our suffering nation, but instead I felt regret that the wrong woman got the chance to stand on such a stage. Let's be honest, we have made this about sex and race and breaking down barriers. It became clear to me that many barriers remain when I watched tonight's debate. When we can't seem to get past the stale adage that marriage is "between one man and one woman", far enough to realize that we're suddenly mixing politics with religions interpretation, then we know we're in trouble.

I am not going to lie to you, folks. I am a democrat, and a die hard dem at that. I am a middle-class Irish Catholic from Boston who is gay, so clearly, I have some centers of influence in my make-up. Despite those things, I have always voted for the worthy candidate. This time around, I am frightened by the lack of intelligence I saw on stage tonight. I would like to think that a woman in place as one of the most powerful in the world will change us all for the better, but I am not so sure that this one can move forward. Continually calling one's self a maverick and not backing it up with evidence does not make for a great candidate. I would be interested to know what others feel on this, but I for one, feel that Ms. Palin needs to go back to Alaska, since she seems to know that oh, so well.

And Sometimes When You're On....You're....oh you know the rest!

2008-10-01T15:02:00.001-07:00

I would prefer not to sulk and hang my head low, so I am thinking that I need to turn my inner light on and bring my soul forth for all the world to see.

I have spent the past fourty-eight plus hours ready to sob at the drop of a hat because the person I love(d) decided to call me every name in the book to his friends, and decided to degrade my self-worth with actions and the absence of word. Examination has not gotten me very far. It has only gotten me to a point where I feel that I could have done so many things differently and could have acted a certain way to make him continue to think highly of me. Then I decided to smack myself in the head. I looked at a picture of us together, and it hit me.
How awesome would it have been if that picture had never been taken? And I say this despite the red eye and double chin action in the photo. I say it thinking that us together meant something to me, but that has to become a part of my past. If he ever read this, I have the following to say:
You must be an actor, and you deserve an award, because Darling you had me fooled. You never wanted to become the diva Broadway type, but you are turning into that, and it's something I won't understand. Maybe I will become the same way when I am on the news, but I think I know myself more than you know me. My life is actually pretty damn rad. I have friends who lift me up and act ridiculous. I am talented, and I am exercising my talents more and more on a daily basis. Tough New England stock runs in my blood through my veins, and courses it's way to my beating heart, that once beat for you, and no longer can seem to care enough for that. It's a very good thing that I found out all about you. But for you, it's sad that you never found out about me. You never found out what I could be like, and all I had to offer. You were too self-absorbed to see me and embrace what makes me different from you. Thanks for the ride, kiddo. You did me a lot of good.

So I am going to be stronger, better, more of a man for bouncing back than anyone could expect. I am going to fiercely pursue the visions in my mind for who I want to be. I will get it. And I will continue to be the magnet I have been to all in my life. What is left to lose? Nothing.

I am officially back. I am fucking ON!

I've got a lot of love and I don't wanna let go

2008-09-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

When I really want to jerk my own tears around, I picture myself (or anyone else for that matter) as a child. At that point, we were all clean slates with impressions being built, talents being developed, and ideas getting processed. I think back to how when I was a child, all I had to offer people were love, respect and gratitude. In several respects, the same goes for me now, and not much has changed. I found myself doing what I never do....I fell in love. I date a lot, and it sounds odd, but now that I have switched sides, I have nothing but options available and possibilities ahead. But you see folks, I never should have fallen in love with the man I did fall for. He said he loved me, sure, but was he in love with me? No. Though I felt that somehow I could make him love me (I guess I didn't listen to Bonnie Raitt enough), the truth is that he didn't. And for that matter, he never could.

My problem was that I was far too enamored of him to see the difference. Never has someone NOT loved me, and enjoyed my personality, my company, and all I have to offer. It was so hard to see that someone I thought was perfect in every way actually could not see a positive thing about me in all reality. I thought he was meant for me, and I could be perfectly happy with him. I guess what is more evident is that I am looking for someone who is the anti-Sean. I am looking for someone to share my sense of humor, and understand my jokes, and be my friend, but also fall in love with me. I thought Sean was who I was looking for, but in the same adage of "absence makes the heart grow fonder", they fail to mention it also makes the heart delusional. In my mind, Sean was the Great American Hero. The Jersey boy next door everyone loves, who makes his career on Broadway. He is gorgeous, athletic, funny, thoughtful, intelligent, and so caring. At least that's what my heart told me. Sean was by no means perfect, and he was not as thoughtful as I wanted him, or perceived him to be. I was wrong, and I paid for it by being naive. I thought the Sean I cooked up in my head was really my hero, and really the guy I wanted him to be.
When he put the brakes on our dating each other at the end of the summer, I was devastated and hurt. I knew I fell in love with him, and I knew I had to fall out of it before I doomed myself. When I visited him this weekend, I was happy to see that he still felt highly of me, and that he was supportive as ever. But as time trucked along, that too disappeared.

It ended with me confronting him in Manhattan's Bryant Park. I pulled up a chair on the green while he read, and came right out with it.
"So, you have been treating me so badly over the past two days, and Sean, I wasn't born yesterday...I know that I am not welcome with you. But there is something you must understand, and that is that way back when we first met, somewhere along the way in the earlier days, I fell in love with you. And I have not been able to fall out of love since, and as a result, I have decided I can't see you again."
What hurt me the most at this time was looking at his expressionless face as though what I said either would chill him inside, or have no lasting effect on his persona. I will never know what I meant to him. Whether he kept me around for physical pleasure, or needed me to sublet his apartment while he was away, or because he really enjoyed being near me, I will never know.

I miss him already, but I am sure this too shall pass. All pain does. He left me with lashing insults and a sense that no matter how the stars can be aligned, no matter how perfect at times we can be for one another, we will never happen, not now, and not in a million years. Despite the anguish I feel over excommunicating him from my life, I know that I will find someone who makes me feel even better than before. But a little piece of me will cringe every time I see a tall blonde boy with a sloping nose, or hear a song from a musical. I may run into him when (and at this point, if) I move to NYC. I have to be prepared to get the wrenching feeling where my heart stops beating for a second, and my head feels faint.

But for every time that may happen, I will be sure to hold my head up high, walk by, and pretend like it's all OK. Because someday, and somehow, it will be just that.

He said 'I think I'll go to Boston'......WAIT! Scratch that.....

2008-09-28T06:22:00.001-07:00

Recently, I made the bold and adventuresome decision to move to a new city. I mean, a lot has changed in my life. Some things, however, remain solid. One truth about Jonny is this: I am a metropolitan kind of guy. Up until recently, I pictured myself being strictly Bostonian, but I feel a magnet-pulling effect from our hub neighbor four hours away....New York City.

For those who know me, and know me well...New York has been a point of contention in my life since day one. I was born in this state (granted...NOWHERE near the city), and yet I have never felt a kinship to our nation's largest city. Being an ardent Red Sox fan, I feel relatively blasphemous sitting here and typing about how I have fallen in love with New York. Mind you, Sox fandom is the stuff they write horror films about. Every so often, I step outside the box, look in, and realize we are all a bunch of freaks. And before you go ahead and get ready to lynch me for the aforementioned observation, please keep in mind, I am one of you. I am among the rabid nation of Jerry Remy worshiping, Sweet Caroline singing, Irish Jig dancing Red Sox worshipers. Given that truth, walking down 34th Street in Manhattan last night, I encountered my first ever "Boston Sucks" t-shirt wearer. My heart dropped, and I realized he was clearly mistaken, and likely had no IDEA what Boston had to offer! Boston is a charming city, with history, culture, quirkiness and beauty embodied throughout. The windy cobblestone streets and the ghosts of our revolutionary fathers take you away, and encapsulate you in this town of extreme pride and distinction. I will miss certain things like the summer evening breeze scooping me up while sitting in the bleachers at Fenway Park, or my female friends getting their pointy high-heeled shoes eaten by the uneven stones at Faneuil Hall during an evening out. I will miss seeing my look-alike, Jonathan Papelbon, staring down batters at the close of a game, looking like he is about to blow heat the magnitude of a brick oven. I will miss tuning into Maria Stephanos and whatever co-anchor she has (someday, me) on Fox 25 News at 10. I will miss the 237 Dunkin' Donuts locations in my city, as well as the 146 in my hometown. I will ache for spring foliage in the common, and cry over missing the marathon. I don't yet know how I will make a Christmas without the Boston Ballet adaptation of "The Nutcracker", nor do I think I can bare a summer without being able to drive to Plum Island and pay $5 for parking and practically have the beach to ourselves.

So, with all of this being mentioned, you may be asking yourself "why are you going to move?", as well as "why New York?"
Well....it's time.
I found a new calling in life, and a new purpose. I have new goals, and I am a refreshed person. I want a clean slate, and I want to have so much at my fingertips that I feel like I absolutely can not stay in the same city I call my home. Though I live a short drive outside Boston, I feel more at home in The Bean than I think I have anywhere else. It physically HURTS to drive out of Sullivan Square and up 93 north with the Pru-laden cityscape in my rear-view, since I love Boston so very much. But, since I am embarking on a new adventure, I am finding new things to love about the new city I will call home. I am going to school here, and I need a job here. I have a few friends here, and with hope, I will find a few more. Sometimes, life is worth reinventing yourself. I want to wake up and feel like my life is limitless, and in turn, really, really awesome. I love my life now, but I have a funny feeling that I am going to fall in love with it all over again once I lock in my Manhattan address.

All of my optimism reminds me to close with one final, yet crucial point. Never, ever, in my life, will I adorn a Yankees hat. So, despite moving, some things will always remain in check. With that said, I am going to embark with my friend Sean to a Renaissance Fair today, and check out more of the city for the remainder of my time here. I hope that it is sooner, rather than later, that I return for good. Likely it will happen before 2008 rolls to a close, but in the meantime.....

I think I'll go to Boston.

Hitchin' a ride...

2008-09-26T09:16:00.000-07:00

Coming to you live from the Bolt Bus en route to lovely Manhattan!

Of course, traveling makes me think of what we go through just to get somewhere different. At times, it's acceptable to drive if it is within a reasonable distance. For my friend Kristine and I, we choose to visit people in New York by riding a rather cheap bus with wireless internet. Of course, traveling by bus offers many an interesting debacle in popular culture. In Boston, we have the lovely luxury of cheap fares on buses to New York, getting us where we need to be in just a few hours time. Lovely.
Up until I heard about the Bolt Bus and it's easy, no-frills policy, I associated cheap transportation with the Fung-Wah. Synonymous with awesome memories of such things as... accidents, drinking on the job, ...death, the Wah is the cheapest way to get a guaranteed fare between The Bean and The Apple. Not that cheaper necessarily means better per se, but the F-W has it's share of stories. While boarding for the Bolt, we were feet away from the Fung-Wah station in Boston, so I was able first hand to encounter angry asian people arguing with each other and yelling at people to board. Thank god I am not riding that vehicle.
And, we have all heard stories of the Fung-Wah. At least if you're from the Northeast, you know what it means. Today, I heard a story that was told sixteenth-hand (or something like it), regarding a nighttime Fung-Wah ride. My friend's friend from work (I think??) was coming from New York and heading to Boston one night. Relaxed, as she was traveling on the cheap, she was jarred by the brakes slamming on the bus, and the driver pulling over somewhere in Connecticut right on the highway. The driver signaled to a family (later determined to be HIS family) to come toward the door. The family then huddled together, and ran across the highway, and into the woods, whereupon they disappeared. The driver then got back behind the wheel and started driving again. Business as usual.

....

I am AGAIN going to reiterate, I love the fact that I am not riding that bus line.

Good god.

Additionally, Kristine and I were watching something on my laptop (which I JUST affectionately named "White Thunder") when we looked to our left at a woman across the aisle ferociously vomiting. I assumed it was her friend sitting next to her, helping her to feel better. Through my wandering ear and a careful investigation, I have uncovered that at 9:30 AM when we all boarded the bus, these two young women were strangers. Now, post-emesis, I find these two ladies chatting the day away. It's at least comforting and just really nice to know that bus trips bring us closer together, and forge new friendships where before, folks were just mere strangers.

As I am getting slightly woozy myself typing while moving on a bus, I am going to make a break for it, and watch Unsolved Mysteries with Kristine. I am sure that this weekend will bring more stories, as horrifying events typically find me wherever I go.

Love and the Gamut of a Mess

2008-09-24T20:57:00.001-07:00

Today I was sitting at work, feeling my head ready to explode, leaving my coworkers completely scarred for life by the exploding noggin of their beloved, wacky blonde-headed friend in the office down the hall. Luckily, none of that happened, or else I would not be here typing my little fingers away. The brainplosion that I was waiting to feel was the direct result of SO...MUCH...STUFF happening in my life right now.
I am daunted by the idea that I am likely moving to a new city. This would typically make someone giddy, but ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls: I am petrified.
I suppose petrified is a good thing, since I am embarking on a new city, with new people, and going to school for broadcasting. I am also seeking a new job. Now is when the messy stuff comes into play. My head swelled at the notion of maybe not being able to make a new job happen in enough time, and my brain started spinning.
"What if I don't find a job"
"What if I fail miserably"
"What if I run out of money"
"What if I can't make it as a journalist"
"What if I make no friends"
"What if"
"What if'
"What-the-hell-IF"??????

Well folks, it took someone I respect very much to tell me I need to just do it and stop thinking. Easy for him, he has the apartment I would be subletting, so my moving would solve his temporary crisis of an empty apartment. But, it was interesting how his words quelled my angst, and I was able to move on and stop FREAKING out. I had some more successes at that point during the day, and it made me extremely happy.

I was able to secure a job interview, and we shall see how THAT adventure goes. Following that, I learned that two of my most loving friends are going to maybe go on a kinda date with each other! Woohoo!! (This was ALL my idea, might I add...::wink wink::) And additionally, I had a crazy photo shoot with three of my great pals that resulted in mayhem.

So where am I going with this, seeing as how all my entries embody nuggets of wisdom? Well, it's simple. Love is all over the freaking place!!! Whether it be budding or fading, it seems to anchor us all, and make us better for the wear. My person I mentioned before isn't my significant other, however, he is that person who GETS ME. We all have those people....
Maybe they may not understand it all, but they sure as hell can say any damn thing to get us to stop with the bitching and mosey along. I am lucky because he has inspired me a lot, and he continues to smack me into place. Seeing my two great friends just commence to a simple hanging out made me realize that I want to see so many people happy, and it made me happy in return! And finally, when I was shooting photos in Salem with some amazing friends, I tried to picture what my life would be without them, and I started to hyperventilate a little. Simple things make us realize how much we love the people around. All in all, I have decided to move. I am scared, I am nervous, I am anxious, but I am excited. I have realized that people I love happen to be everywhere, and sometimes they are there when I need them the most. Hopefully everyone finds the same solace, and can appreciate all that love has to offer.

I am so sappy, that maple trees have a hard time keeping up.

That is all for now.

The door is open....into the great wide open!!

2008-09-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

When I was...I want to say eleven years old or so, I remember seeing an episode of 'Ellen' where she comes out of the closet to k.d. lang singing something to her in a moment of pure homosexcellence. I remember thinking to myself "is that how this happens?". I think Melissa Etheridge and Little Richard may have had something to do with the episode called to mind as well, but that was neither here nor there so to speak.
Let's now flash forward a few years (or fifteen) to me being twenty-six, and coming out to my friends. Yes, you heard me, I came out to my friends. It was a difficult task, since I think they all expected me to tell them I was dying of some horrific disease. When you have news to tell that stirs around in your cranium, you tend to build it up to astronomical proportions. As a result of that, I had a tendency to tell my friends things like "we need to talk, please sit down", or my favorite, "please have a few drinks before you come over, because what I have to tell you will be rather intriguing". Basically, my revelation was met with wide acceptance by everyone, and much to my relief, was rather easy.
The interesting full-circle tie-in comes with my friend Ashley. She has always been an advocate for happiness and she sensed that I was not being completely happy. Essentially, her support drove my confidence further, and I couldn't thank her enough. For my birthday, she made a CD for me with music from our not-so-distant youth, the 1990s. On that CD was k.d. lang's Constant Craving, which was a song I LOVED as an adolescent for some odd reason. I found myself listening to it on repeat when finally it all hit me, and the inner monologue came into play.

Inner Monologue: You're listening to k.d. lang....didn't she have something to do with Ellen being gay on that TV show in the 90's?
Jonny in real life: But...I like k.d. lang....you don't think she could have something to do with....nahhhh...
Inner Monologue: It does mean that. You watched Ellen as a youth, and that episode foreshadowed your real life. Welcome to the gay-borhood.
Jonny: WHAT!!?
Inner Monologue: But then again, for the benefit of the doubt, they're women. Remember, you don't like women...
Jonny: true story.
Inner Monologue: Homo.
Jonny: What!?!? HEY!
Inner Monologue: What? Just sayin'...

OK, so now that I have painted a picture of myself as a complete schizophrenic (since the inner monologue and I are one in the same), you can see that I have come to the awkward realization that my coming out HAS, yes, involved k.d. lang. Albeit, her involvement is somewhat indirect and twisted, she is involved nonetheless.

And that's about all Jonny has to offer right now.

It's been a long time...

2008-01-18T21:38:00.000-08:00

So it has been several months since I last published something in my blog. I suppose that life has a funny way of working out, and I read my last post with nothing but fond memories. My entries may become more serious, as life has turned more somber for me. Loss is something which most of us have to experience in life sooner or later. For some of us, these losses turn into baggage, and the ghosts of those we lost march alongside us all ever after.

I say all of this because on Monday, January 7 at 5:50 PM, I lost my mom. Virginia Mae Welch was my grandmother, but I affectionately called her "mom" and I became who I am because of her dedication to giving her grandson a good life. A life that was something otherwise deemed impossible until she stepped in. I can't begin to explain in words how this woman was my world. But, somehow, I use words because I am so baffled by the ways of the universe now, that something must release my aggravation. Life and the afterlife is such a strange phenomenon. Nothing can possibly explain why we live as we do, and what happens when the confines of this life prove to be too futile for our spirits.

For now, I am grief stricken. I am heartbroken, and I am tired of feeling so sad. People say to me "it gets easier with time", or "you have to have faith". I know these are people with only the best of intentions, but didn't someone once say the road to hell is paved with those?

2007-08-09T18:41:00.000-07:00

OK people, I got facebook again.

BUT. BUUUUT.......I still maintain that there is something to be said about human contact. Calling your friend and saying "hey, Kerry and I broke up, she's a slut". Or "hey, I got a job at the bottling plant". That's it. That's what it's all about. More later.

In Your Face

2007-07-01T15:15:00.000-07:00

Recently, I made a major change to my everyday life. I didn't do something profound like quit smoking, adopt a baby, or get married in Vegas. But I did make a huge swooping change that makes me feel free-er, and more human. I deleted my facebook account. I love, LOVE the fact that the facebook is a social utility that allows me to see what my friends are doing, who they may be dating, where they work, what their major was and so on and so forth. I love that I can host millions of pictures on their site with benefits of automatic resizing, taagging, and album organization! LOVE IT!

But, what I am not hallaciously keen on is the fact that from the facebook, people can see hundreds of incriminating photos of me. They never have to pick up the telephone. They never have to take a drive to my house. They know what I am doing. They can see how I look these days versus four years ago when I was a college sophomore, and living merely in a realm of possibility. Neat. I am trying to advance myself socially and professionally (I guess). And on that page, I find it refreshing that I can control that by NOT being tagged in a photo with my pants down, pretending to lick my best friend's neck, or NOT being tagged in a photo where I am showcasing my buddy's crotch in a whif of self-mocking homoerotica a la straight men making asses of themselves. I now have that control.

And I know.....everyone and their mother and half-sister Debbie is on the freaking facebook. It's almost like there is a huge party in the woods, with fire, kegs, all my closest friends, and loud music, and I just decided to leave early because I have the runs. I get that. I am liberated now, though! I don't check it, I can write my musings, go to work, work out, go outside, be with people, and the facebook isn't a thought.

Several people my age, however, remain on there. And that is fine. But somewhere in my mind, I can't help but think that there is a picture of a girl on the facebook, passed out at a frat party, with whipped cream on her head, and the brothers of Sigma Alpha Whatever Beta Who Cares, making lewd gestures around her face. She may think it's funny. But in years to come, she will be the first lady of the United States. And now, she is on the facebook looking like a hood ornament made of spam and maraschino cherries. I'm just glad that isn't me.

the right side is my wrong side

2007-07-01T08:27:00.000-07:00

In conversation with a new person I have known just weeks, I was discussing the book I have taken to read, entitled "Don't Leave Me This Way, or when I get back on my feet, you'll be sorry". For anyone looking for an amusing story of overcoming self defeat and not letting the little things get to you, this book by Julia Fox Garrison, a local (to me) author, is worth reading and not putting down again.
Julia had a stroke 10 years back, and was left paralyzed on her left side. It has taken her the interim to regain much of her function, and live her life. Her life is by no means perfect or ideal, but she has her life back. Hers is a message of learning to deal with the crap life shovels at you over the years and making the best of the situations at hand.
So why does this story come into play for Jonny? Well...something very similar, but far less destructive happened to me last year.
July 31, 2006 started out really normal for me. I was starting a new job within the same building, and I needed to tell my staff about the changes. It was Monday, like any other Monday, but with a different twist. Personally, I was heartbroken, but determined to make the best of my situation. Afterall, I was starting law school in three weeks, and I just got back from a vacation in California. I was moving to a new house, and a lot of things were in the works for me. As the day progressed, I felt a headache come on, and there was a sharp pounding in the back of my right ear. I decided to go home because it was abnormal to have a migraine like that. When I got to my old apartment that was five days away from no longer being mine, I crashed. Crashed on the bed. Crashed into oblivion. Crashed into what I was going to remember for the rest of my life as a life-altering experience.
I awoke not able to see clearly out of my right eye. I heard nothing but muffled mania out of my right ear. I was congested in my right nostril, and to make matters worse, I was confused, disoriented, and shaky.
Cut to the chase, the next day I learned I suffered a mild stroke. Incredibly mild. I was still a little bit blocked on the right side of my face, something that has yet to completely go away. I had a hard time finding a word when I needed it. Again......yet to go away.

Flash forward to five days ago, and I am telling my friend whom I just met that I liked Julia's book and he should read it. I liked it because I had a stroke too. I liked it because I realized that we can make any situation light-hearted if we really try. He was COMPLETELY ASTONISHED. I had a stroke. And here I am acting like it's commonplace, or old hat. I had a stroke, I was 23. I had a stroke and I needed speech therapy, and had a hard time with law school....I had a stroke and it changed my life.
Look at me now, and I am completely fine. I look normal, make normal interactions, but there is something that has changed. Sometimes, I make a stumbling idiot of myself if I am holding a steady and engaging conversation and come to the strongest halt, all because I can't place the word. Not to worry, though, I replace it with awkward hand gestures, silence and giddy, over-zealous laughter. That's usually the part when I discuss the book I am reading and say "see, it all makes sense".

Wearin' Yo' F-Me Pumps

2007-05-09T18:32:00.000-07:00

Astute Observation:

Amy Winehouse is the greatest recording artist alive on earth today.

Perhaps people may not believe me, persay, however, I challenge any naysayer to listen to her music and tell me otherwise. She may have a raw effect on you, she may be somewhat harsher than the rest. BUT, Amy Winehouse takes every lyrical word straight from the recesses of her bitter, torn, ripped-to-shreads heart. I am going to stop to think that perhaps my opinion is influenced by the fact that I saw her in concert and had a chance encounter with her shortly after her show. HOWEVER, I can somehow relate to everything she sings about.

When I feel torn up by the loss of love:

It's okay in a day, I'm staying busy
Tied up enough, so I don’t have to wonder where is he
Got so sick of crying
So just lately
When I catch myself I do a 180
I stay up clean the house
At least I'm not drinking
Run around just so I don't have to think about thinking
That silent sense of content
That everyone gets
Just disappears soon as the sun sets

his face in my dreams, seasoned my thoughts,
He floors me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone

Or when I am being used by supposed friends:

You're too good at pretending you don't care
There's enough resentment in the air
Now you don't want me in the flat
When you’re home at night
But we're best friends right?

Oh Amy, you can say anything and make me drool, lose control over my bodily functions, go conveniently insane, and no other singer can make me such a fool. Congratulations, you brazen British broad, you have rendered me useless in your presence.

Hell is a Market Basket Checkout line

2007-05-02T17:49:00.000-07:00

The subject line is true for a woman, who in 2000, was innocently shopping at the DeMoulas Market Basket store on Wood Street in Lowell, when she decided "you know what? fourteen items in the twelve items or less line should be fine to sneak by!". Little did this poor woman know that a fuming beast behind her was counting her every item. She met the poor, unsuspecting consumer outside in the parking lot, where upon she pummeled her, drawing Lowell Police attention.

This is the event I think of EVERY TIME I WALK INTO A MARKET BASKET STORE. Not only does this happen every time I grace the apricot-colored, sawdust laden grocery superstore, but when I opt to shop (and this is FAR more frequent) at the classier local Hannaford or Shaw's in my immediate area, I like to chuckle to my fellow yuppie shoppers around me that it is "peachy keen" to throw a few extras in the express line checkout! Not like I am at Market Basket or anything, where you get beaten up for that sort of thing!! Hahaha!!!
And of course, my new found friends at checkout line #14 in the Chelmsford Hannaford laugh right along with me, because nobody forgets what happens when you make that miniature foible at the Market Basket down the street. After all, isn't this why we are here? We laugh about it, but the truth is, deep inside, we never forget.

Sometimes, despite my fears, I walk into a DeMoulas Market Basket, either because I desperately cannot find a Hannaford, Shaw's, Star, Stop & Shop, Roche Brothers, or any other clean-looking grocery store chain out there. Sometimes I will hit the local M.Basket if I want to save a few bucks. Regardless, let it be known that I DO NOT seek out Market Basket on usual shopping excursions. It is simply no shocking secret to anyone who has ever met me for a second that I am a scathing opponent of the DeMoulas chain. One time, when I was roughly 5 years old, I was sitting innocently in the carriage while my mother shopped for discount groceries at the lovely Central Plaza Haverhill Market Basket. I saw a boy my age, clearly just as disgusted as I, vomit on the floor. A DeMoulas clerk hurried to the scene and covered it in sawdust. Cool....I mean, sawdust soaks up liquid and makes for an easier clean-up, right?
Well.....right......IF you cleaned it right up. You heard me, folks, the clerk, who likely is hitting 40 this year if my math is right, FAILED TO WIPE THE PUKE OFF THE FLOOR.
Shocking.
This sealed my fate, and I was not a fan of this store. Twenty years or so later, this remains true. Thus bringing me back to my story.

This evening, I cooked a fantastic meal for my roommates and I. I decided I could use some Crescent Rolls for the meal. I am typically not the type to go all "gourmet" on the bread portion, so the sealed tube of perforated bread delight will have to do. This is something I am content with. I decided to go to Market Basket because of its close proximity to the liquor store. It's cheap enough to win for tonight, too. But, to buy a $1.79 tube of rolls and put it on my debit card, might be a waste. I decided to peruse the aisles of Market Basket. Just as I was about to pick up another item, down goes the tube of crescent rolls....to the apricot-colored, sawdust covered, twenty-seven year old tiled floor. Down. The top popped off, and the swelling dough billowed out onto the floor.

So, what do I do? Throw it behind a collection of Poland Spring Water. The same clerk who wiped up my toddler co-hort's upchuck off the floor in Haverhill back in 1987 will likely find the swelled pasty remains of what was supposed to accompany my dinner, and curse the fact that he works in such a hell-hole. I would have grabbed a new container of breaded delight, but just two cashiers were on tonight, and luck had it that the express line held nine people, each with no more than seven items per patron (trust me, I checked). Tonight would have been the kind of night that I would have gone bat-shit a la the 2000 episode, were someone to have superceded their item limit, but alas, I decided to keep a lid on it. I promptly gave my crescent rolls back to the shelf where they belonged, and I went next door to get my liquor.

My friend Danielle, who is a lovely and classy girl, but nonetheless admittedly just as much of an a-hole as I am, was on the phone with me the entire time. Thank god, because who else could appreciate this faux-pas of discount grocery shopping but Danielle? Her stories are sometimes far more wacked out than mine, but I digress.

The moral of the story here is that even when I feel I want to save money, even when it's more convenient, even when I feel like slumming around and giving the lowmen a chance here and there, I should really just pinch a penny elsewhere and drive the extra mile and avoid Market Basket at all costs. It may be More For Your Dollar, but it sure as hell is Less For My Pride.

Somber Post (I swear this isn't my typical personna)

2007-05-01T19:03:00.000-07:00

Very seldom to I stop to become a philosophical individual, and think about my past and how it has affected me. Two nights ago, I had a dream that my long lost great-grandmother was back from the dead (and I mean that in the least-creepy Halloweenesque way humanly possible). I have the occasional dream sequence in which I encounter my Gram and become thrilled over the fact that she was "back". Each time I have this dream, despite the fact that I am slipping into the deep recesses of my brain where anything and everything are possible, it seems more and more far-fetched that she would still be here, despite my dreams. Nonetheless, I hold on to this possibility that she is here and back. It happens time and time again, and each time, I awake and come to that realization that it is just in dreams where we meet up from time to time, and that is something i need to work hard to accept. She died in 1996. I was 14. Every day that passes is a day away from the person in my family who meant the most. Time has really trucked along since that time, and I still can't understand life, death, the whole thing. What is it? Is this just an opening act to the main scene? Who knows. But it seems that the people who I hold closely in my consciousness are finding their way deeper and deeper into my bank of memories, and I would prefer that stop happening.

I have a wit about me, would you like to hear about it? You don't? Oh well, tough!

2007-05-01T16:45:00.000-07:00

I often find myself sitting in my car, churning clever repartee around my cranium, and yet, I have no outlet for such words. Alas, the wonders of the internet, and how amazing it is that I can share my inner thoughts with my public and display it in such a clean, organized format! Snazzy! So, here I welcome you all to JonnyOnTheSpot (I had to elect the web address to be spelled "JonnyonthespotT", however, since some unworthy slob has claimed my famed name for himself....pfft.)
Whoa....I drifted. But, I digress.
Anyway, here I will share my take on this crazy society. Sometimes poignant, sometimes ridiculous. I hope I can teach the world something, whatever that may be. So much seems to be shared by people with a platform, and now I have a platform (wee!). Prepare to be thoroughly entertained. This is the world from the eyes of a talented, professionally trained maverick of the quill. I tend to be overly critical of others, and cynical, all the while maintaining the fact that I am indeed a decent human being, and that I can see the good in everything and everybody (with some minor exceptions I am sure I will mention later). I can be a dick, it's ok! Dick status is cool (at least on some levels)! I like to give everyone everything and open myself up like a nasty wound. When I get burned, I have a hard time understanding why, because though I have that dick side, I am compassionate, and that's my largest fault.
Enough about me! God, what is this site about? Oh yeah....me. I will leave you with the tagline I like to leave so many people hinged with: My name is Jon Welch, and I am a crazy mother fucker.