A Soccer Tale (or My Genetic Inheritance?)

Hello there. It's a new year on the calendars (Mayan and Gregorian) and this would be as good a time as any to knock the rust off of this ol' blog of mine. I haven't had the same "inspiration" recently to write as I have in the past. That doesn't mean I haven't had anything to say, I just wasn't willing to sit in front of a monitor and bang away at the letters on the keyboard to tell my stories (despite the inordinate amount of time I have spent in front of a monitor in general over the past 2 years).

In an attempt to shake off the writer's block I've been afflicted with, I'm going back to my unfinished drafts to post some of the thoughts that have been on my mind over the last 2 years. I'll call these the 'Draft Revisited' series.

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Draft Revisited #1:

My father had lived a life that was filled with as many crazy stories by the time he was in his mid-twenties. I would argue he had more unusual life experiences by that age than most "normal" people who live to the ripe old age of 85. One thing that he would occasionally leak out in his recollection of his childhood was how he was once recruited to play for the national team of his country of birth, Colombia.

As I recall the story, my father was in his pre-teens (perhaps early teen years) when a stranger saw him playing soccer (presumably with his friends, he was never specific about this part). The stranger found out a little more about this kid who showed some skill on the field. It turns out he was a scout for the Colombian national soccer team. He spoke to my dad and praised his play. He expressed a desire in having my dad try out for the national team.

The chance to play for the national team represented new opportunities for my dad. For starters, playing for the national team is an accomplishment that many take pride in. To represent your country is a tremendous honor but also an amazing personal accomplishment since only the best of the best can say they reached that level. Furthermore, he could now have the possibility to travel outside of Bogota... to travel away from the relative poverty he lived in. Not just to travel to other parts of the country but the world! His wanderlust was deeply rooted in him even at such a young age. Most importantly, if the team was good enough, he could end up playing on the largest soccer stage of them all: the World Cup.

Every boy who plays sports will inevitably fantasize about playing in the championship game: throwing the winning touchdown pass as time expires in the Super Bowl; hitting a grand slam in the bottom of the 9th to win the World Series; making the fadeaway jumper at the buzzer to win game 7 of the NBA Finals. My father loved playing soccer and knew he was good at it. The prospect of playing in the World Cup was an intoxicating dream. Simply put, to have this chance to realize this boyhood dream is something that doesn't present itself every day (pardon the hackneyed cliché).

My dad was confident that his family would support the potential realization of this dream. The scout visited my dad's house to speak to my grandparents. He attempted to sell my grandfather on the prospects of having my dad train and eventually play for the national team.

I didn't personally know my grandfather very well. Nevertheless, I have the impression - from stories told by my dad and my aunts/uncles - that he was a stern man. For better or worse, he didn't take crap from anyone. Which, by extension, also meant he could be extremely obstinate and always knew what was "best" for his family. My grandfather told the scout, in no uncertain terms, that he was not going to allow his son to be taken from his home just to play soccer.

His rationale was sound. There was no guarantee that my father would end up playing for the national team. He was just being given the opportunity to make it. The scout tried to convince my grandfather but ultimately he moved on to the next prospect on some other playground. My father was crushed. He hated my grandfather for a while. He carried the bitterness from that disappointing moment with him for his entire life (as far as I know he is still salty about it).

Interestingly, he had a chance to allow his son (me) to play in organized sports (baseball). He turned it down since he knew what was "best" for his child.  I'm not trying to imply that I was going to play for the U.S. national team in the Olympics. It was just a Little League team that I wanted to try out for. My dad didn't allow me to play and pursue my childhood dream. His explanation was that many coaches would fondle - even rape - boys on these teams and he didn't want to expose me to that.

I don't feel his rationale was as sound as my grandfather's. Then again, I could just be speaking from my biased perspective because I was denied my chance. Yet, in hindsight, all I can think about is how much of a hypocrite my dad was for not letting me try out.

Luckily for him, I didn't hear my dad's soccer story until years after my Little League disappointment. Had I known that story when I wanted to try out, I would've thrown it in his face and probably could have guilted him into giving me a chance.

Generally, the takeaway from my experiences with my father is to, essentially, do the opposite of what he did. If I want to be a good father, a good husband, a good person, I need to use him as my model of what NOT to do. I hope I can recall my disappointment of not playing Little League and his of not being able to try out for the soccer team when the day comes for my children to try something they're passionate about (whether it's sports-related or not)

*sigh* Thanks for listening. Until next time, faithful reader......

I Ain’t ‘Fraid of No Ghost (or One Semi-Sleepless Night)

Now, bugs, on the other hand… they creep me the fuck out.

I cannot avoid the skin crawling sensation every time I see any type of insect, arachnid, or other bug-like vermin. Even when going to kill said pest, I have to take a moment to muster my courage and approach the creature without reacting in a way that will betray my stance of dominance (according to the hierarchy of the animal kingdom). Once the deed is done I feel a sense of relief but it’s the anxious moments during the standoff that I dread. The waning moments of the insect’s short life versus the nervous tension I have built inside of me creates a moment in time not unlike the high noon showdowns of the Wild West.

What the hell does this have to do with ghosts you ask? Well, unless you want to consider the spirit of the deceased bug… then nothing really. I just needed a catchy title. LOL.

But one night a few weeks ago, I had an encounter with a bug that didn’t end the way I would have liked and it still haunts me even to this day. (You like what I did there? “haunt”… ahem… never mind)

I was lying in bed on a very humid night. I felt something brush across my face and thought it might be a random hair left by my girlfriend on my pillow. I quickly realized it wasn’t a hair and I bolted out of bed to turn on the light. In the few seconds as I moved to the light source, I brushed my face repeatedly as if I had a swarm of bugs on my face as opposed to just one tiny little creature.

I caught sight of the bug flying around and it looked like a cross between a small spider, a fly and a mosquito. It had the long, thin wiry legs of a mosquito or one of those light, 6-legged house spiders and the body of a very small fly. I think had it just been a mosquito, or a small spider, I would have been able to cope with the situation much better. But it was this unique hybrid of a bug that left me disoriented and emotionally rattled. As it flew around my bedroom, I couldn’t help but squirm and squeal like a small child that has come face-to-face with his greatest fear. Eventually, I managed to compose myself long enough to see the bug fly out of my bedroom.

What made this encounter more striking was the realization that I have NEVER had a bug in my apartment in my short time here. I found it strange and was wondering how one made it inside. I’m always careful to close the screen doors on my windows. Maybe it was my girlfriend who has a habit of opening all my blinds (to let in natural light) and open windows (to get some fresh air in my apartment). It couldn’t have been my fault this little fucker was flying around my apartment causing me to lose sleep. It was about 3 in the morning when it landed on my face.

Needless to say, this meant war. I had to kill this bug so I could have piece of mind. I wouldn’t be able to relax and have the adrenaline rush wear off until the deed was done. With vengeance on my mind, I pursued my prey into the living room. I grabbed a Crate & Barrel catalog that I had been meaning to throw out and roll it up as my weapon of choice. I spied the creature as it rested on my off-white walls. Its light brown body contrasted strongly against the wall making it an easy target for my wrath.

I raised my hand, weapon at the ready, and smacked the wall. SWAT!!

As I drew back my hand to view the impending clean-up job on the wall, a wave of dread washed over me. There was no trace of bug innards on my wall. This realization was coupled with an angry fly-by across my line of sight by the offending bug. I was so sure I had hit the little fucker, how did it not die?? I must have made contact since the creature seemed to have some difficulty flying around. This was a great sign and I was out for blood. There was just one problem.

My apartment has hardwood floors. The dark wood made for perfect camouflage for the bug that was now struggling to survive. I didn’t know how hurt it was but I knew at the very least it was stunned. But I wanted it dead. That would be the only way I could go to sleep. I had already wasted about a half hour stalking this little creature and refused to lose any more precious time for sleeping. I decided to be patient. Eventually, it would fly high enough for me to strike the death blow and go to sleep. I sat on my futon waiting for the moment it would reappear.

And reappear it did. The only problem was I wasn’t ready for it. My eyelids were getting heavier and I decided to turn on the TV after 10 minutes of waiting. When I saw the bug again, I was distracted, had put down the C&B catalog, and pretty much had forgotten about the bug. I freaked out as it was now flying close to and landed on my leg. I bolted off the futon trying to gather myself for the next offensive attack on this creature. But just like before it disappeared out of sight.

This went on for another hour or so with some variations in where I sat (on the small couch, at the dining table, on the futon again) and how focused I was (I had a stretch of 15 minutes where I meticulously scanned the floor).

Once the adrenaline wore off and I hadn’t seen the bug for 20 minutes, I decided I wasted enough time trying to kill this thing. I’d try again in the morning but I had lost too much sleep and was more annoyed than anything. I closed the bedroom door (first time I had to do this at this apartment) and went to sleep.

I woke up the next morning and there was no sign of the bug. I also realized very quickly that it was my own fault that any creatures had come into the apartment in the first place. Earlier the previous day, there was rain in the forecast and I had closed all my windows. Because of the high temperature and humidity, the apartment got stuffy very quickly so I reopened some of the windows. I had left the small screen door open on one of the windows.

So, what’s the moral of the story here? If you’re going to something (anything!), be sure to do it right the first time. Whether it’s closing/opening a window, or trying to kill a pesky bedroom invader intent on disrupting your sleep.

Until next time, faithful reader……

The Glory Days of My Childhood (Part 2)

For Part 1 of the story click here.

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The details of the second game of the tournament are lost to me. The only thing I remember is all the shit talking that took place prior to the game. All the talk centered around how it would be 8-4 vs 8-5 in the finals, an honors class final.

It turns out that 8-4 lost their semifinal game so there would only be one honors class in the finals, either 8-5 or 8-3. The only detail that I recall was the outcome of our semifinal game. My class won the game. I vaguely recall it being a close game. 8-5 had their chances but they threw too many deep balls and executed poorly when it mattered most.

Now my class, 8-3, was in the finals. We were the least likely of all the honors classes to make it. You could go so far as to call us the Cinderella story of this tournament. We even had guys from other honors classes asking if they can be ringers on our team. Clearly, we made it this far without them and I wasn't about to go into the finals with a new team full of egos. We were going to win or lose on our own!

It was the morning of the final game. It was also the last day of classes before the winter break. I woke up and it seemed like any other school morning: I was slow to get up. I kept asking my mom to come back in 5 minutes so I can squeeze in a little extra sleep. I finally decided to get up, not because of any sense of responsibility: I had to pee pretty badly. I swung my legs out of bed and tried to stand up. I had a tremendous shooting pain throughout both my feet and part of the way up my shin. I couldn't walk.

I would have asked for help from my mom but I didn't hear her nearby. We lived in a duplex apartment and I suspect she was upstairs, though I don't actually know where she was at the time. I figured the pain would pass the same way the pins-and-needles sensation goes away when your leg falls asleep. I dragged myself across the floor and down the hall to the bathroom commando-style, forearm over forearm. I slowly propped my body to an upright position first using the knob on the bathroom door, then the sink, and finally with the towel rack on the wall. I was doing some strange form of dips using the sink and towel rack to hold my body up while I pivoted to try and sit on the toilet to relieve myself. I was not only humiliated for having to go to such extremes to get to the bathroom but I was also really scared. When I finished, I called out for my mom and I remember feeling like it took her forever to come over to the bathroom. I didn't have the will to drag myself back to bed.

She came over and helped me back to my bedroom. It was clear I wouldn't make it to school that day. Normally, I wouldn't care about missing a day of school, especially when it meant an extended vacation, but this time it was different. I felt like I was letting my guys down. At the same time, I was concerned about what was afflicting me. My father, who woke up hours after my sister and I left for school, was surprised to see me in the house that morning. He tried soothing my feet by soaking them in a warm Epsom salt bath. It didn't help but at least he tried something (one of the few things I give him credit for in our life together).

My only course of action now was to go see the doctor. By the time I went to see the doctor, my feet felt better and I no longer had any pain. I was able to put my weight on my feet once again ans walk normally. Whether this was due to the bed rest or some other stroke of luck is unknown but we took no chances. My mother called a cab for us to go to the doctor's office.

I was embarrassed to be in the doctor's office explaining to him the pain I felt in the morning only to have him question my ability to walk into his office unassisted. It turns out he had a strong hunch as to what was wrong with me and insisted I see a cardiologist as soon as possible. He scheduled an appointment for me with one of his colleagues (and friend) a day or two later.

I was out of the doctor's office and home by 3 o'clock. I was feeling better and I was only a short walk away from school. If I left the house around 3PM, I knew I could make it in time. I seriously considered going to school to play in that final game. In the end, I decided against it. It was partly due the fear of the pain returning while I was on the schoolyard. I also didn't want to explain to my math teacher why I wasn't in school for class but was there for the game. To this day, Mr. Kralick is my all time favorite teacher and he was also the referee for the football games. He was an intimidating SOB and I honestly didn't want to deal with him after the morning I had. All I could do was hope that my guys did well.

After seeing the cardiologist, I was diagnosed with rheumatic fever (if you want more info, click here). My doctor told me that had I waited a few more days I could have had severe damage to my heart. Had I waited a few more days, I could have died from this. It's hard for me to put myself in that position again. As a 13 year old, it was almost impossible to imagine what dying truly meant. I knew enough to know it was serious but every time I think back on that diagnosis it chills me to the bone. I could have died! All my experiences since then would be unknown to me. The people whose paths I've crossed would have been altered forever, for better or worse.

Consider what you are doing at this very moment. This would never be happening since there would be no RaUM, no Alan, and I suspect neither one of us can imagine what our lives would be like had I not gone to the doctor, had I gone to play that last game, had things been different on that fateful December morning.

Fast forward to my return to school in January. It was a new year, I had been treated for the pain and was taking daily doses of penicillin. I'd be required to get a shot of penicillin every month of my life until I turned 18. It was preventive treatment to stop any recurrence of the disease. I don't recall ever catching a cold or being sick in any way shape or form from that moment until I became an adult. It was awesome!!

I had no idea what happened in the final game of the football tournament. I was eager to find out how it went. When I walked into homeroom at the start of the day, I was greeted by several of my classmates. They then immediately started peppering me with questions. Where was I that last day of class before the break? How could I abandon them? Why did I leave them on their own? What was so important that I missed the ONE GAME that mattered? I didn't quite understand why I was forced to answer all these questions until someone finally told me what happened in the game I missed. We got massacred. Destroyed. Humiliated. Outclassed. Run over. You're welcome to continue inserting relevant adjectives here.

They were venting their frustration at losing and blaming the loss on my absence. I must admit I was flattered, a bit upset they were saying it was my fault, but it definitely made me feel good since they felt I was important enough to be considered the primary reason we lost. Never mind the fact that we weren't even the best team in the tournament. I often think back to that time of my life and wonder what would have happened had I played in that game. I'll never know. But it's nice to imagine us finishing what we started and become the 8th grade football champs that year.

Once I explained to my classmates why I missed class that day they all fell silent and started apologizing for blaming me. After a few minutes, all the talk of the game and my illness was forgotten and we moved on. But for me, the memory lingers. Occasionally it creeps back into my consciousness and brings a smile to my face.

We played our hearts out and, whatever my influence may have been in our two wins, we won as a team. More importantly, I'm now in good health and I'm alive to tell the tale. I don't mean to over-dramatize that point but I have always been one who has taken my health for granted. That experience I had in the 8th grade always humbles me and reminds me how lucky I am to be where I am now.

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For years, this was one of my favorite stories to tell. This was my "Al Bundy" football story. I hadn't told it in years and I don't even know why it came back into my consciousness recently. Hope you liked it.

And for those of you who are wondering... YES! It really did happen to me. =)

Until next time, faithful reader......

The Glory Days of My Childhood (Part 1)

It was December in the middle of the 8th grade. The snow hadn't fallen yet that winter but it was beginning to get cold enough for it to happen soon. In my Junior High School, there was an intramural football tournament scheduled between several 8th grade classes. The tournament was to last 3 weeks and would be completed before the winter break.

I was in one of the four honors classes at my school in the 8th grade. Needless to say, none of the honors classes were given a chance to win because we were the "nerds" - despite having several athletic guys in our four classes. Of all the honors classes, my class (8-3) had the worst chance of all. You see, each honors class had it's own concentration, a specialty if you will. One class (8-4) was the band class, 8-6 was the art class, and there was the computer class (8-5). My class was the chorus class. Not only did we have the fewest numbers of boys out of all the classes in the 8th grade but we were also seen as inferior due to our status as choir boys. The only honors class not to participate in the tournament was 8-6.

When we put our team together, made up of practically every guy in the class - not all were athletic - I became the de facto leader of the team. My goal was to make sure we didn't get overly embarrassed in our first game and that we had fun playing in, what most expected to be, our one and only game. Yes. I admit I thought we were going to lose, as well. There were 7 others teams/classes in the tournament that we would have a tough time beating even on our best day.

In our first game we faced a solid opponent in 8-17. There were a lot of tall guys in that class and we clearly had our work cut out for us. If things looked bad for us before the tourney, things looked even bleaker when you sized us up in that first match-up. It was probably the worst possible match-up for us. Compared to 8-17, we were under-sized and a bit slower overall.

They got an early lead on us and my focus as the "coach" was to make sure everyone got to play (since we were unlikely to play again). I even took myself off the field to allow my classmates to get in the action. As I managed the game from the sidelines I started noticing two things about our opponents: (1) they were extremely cocky, especially after getting the early lead and (2) on defense, they only focused on our best players. I called in a few basic plays from the sidelines telling our QB to drop short passes to the "scrubs" (though I'm pretty sure I didn't call them that to their faces). The strategy paid off. We started moving the ball down the field very easily on 8-17 and even scored our first touchdown.

This is where their cockiness came into play. They began throwing bombs to the endzone on every play to quickly regain their lead. Our defense managed to keep them from scoring. In their frustration, they started getting upset at each other. With every completed pass by our QB, with each touchdown we scored, they became increasingly frustrated. They didn't have the "mental toughness" to stay in the game and play as well as they did in the start. We took advantage of that, mixing up our passing plays: short/long, sidelines/middle of the field, stars/scrubs.

We managed to pull off the upset in our first game against a solid team. We did it by playing smart and making it a complete team effort. When word got out of our win, everyone considered it a fluke. The other two honors classes won their match-ups so no one considered 8-3 a threat. If anything, it would be an easy win for our next opponent in the semi-finals: the most athletically talented honors class, 8-5.

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What happened to 8-3 in the semis? Will the boys in 8-3 overcome another difficult match-up? What befell our blogging hero that changed the tournament (and his life) forever?

Stay tuned for part 2 of this true story.

Until next time, faithful reader......

Back on the East Coast (or Viva Las Vegas)

Helloooooo there,

I got back from Las Vegas late Sunday night. I was exhausted and hated being back. I had a massive headache and didn't even feel like driving home. (Yes, for those of you wondering, I DID park at the airport. It was for a good reason, trust me on that one).

I was in Vegas for three days with some friends and had a great time. Three days wasn't nearly enough time and I need to go back soon.

I also found out they're building a bridge that will replace the roadway over the Hoover Dam! The bridge should be finished in a year or so. No one will be allowed to drive on the Hoover Dam once it's finished. We're on the clock, folks. Pretty soon we won't be able to stop at the Arizona-Nevada border and make a wish over the dam so now's the time to head out there.

AND if you're in the area, boys and girls, be sure to stop by Boulder City to check out the Bootleg Canyon Flightlines (website). Simply amazing! I'm afraid of heights and I can tell you wholeheartedly, this is a MUST for anyone whether you like thrill rides or not. Not a fan of roller coasters? This is soooo much safer and soooo much more fun. Beautiful landscape, great staff, and an exhilarating experience!!!

Here are some other tidbits I'll share from my trip --

Overheard at the Palms:
A guy, who was playing on the same craps table as me about an hour earlier, walks over to some women sitting at the penny slots and says to one of them, "Hey girl, I'll give you $10 if you get up so I can see your ass."
[The girl did not take him up on his offer.]

True story on the roulette table:
A woman was down to her last $8. She didn't know what to play and was convinced by a group of girls to play $8 on 8. Sure enough, 8 comes up on the wheel. She won $280 with that bet. Nice work, ladies! lol.

Last day on the craps table @ Caesar's Palace:
[I had been winning money on a bet I placed on 4-4, a.k.a. "hard eight". It was off the table when this conversation occurred.]
Dealer - Want to play hard eight again?
Me - No thanks. I'll pass this time.
[The next dice roll was 4-4]
Dealer - Told you you should have played hard eight (She smiles as if she knew something I didn't).
Me - Next time I'll get it.
[Yeah! Thanks lady!!! lol]

At McCarran International Airport:
A small boy, no taller than 2.5 feet - a little half pint, walks by me cheesin' with pride because he is pulling his own mini-suitcase by himself. It's a "Cars" Lightning McQueen bag with the #95 emblazoned on it. Too cute!!

Drink of the trip:
Vodka and RedBull - kept me awake long enough to do what I wanted to do each night in Vegas. We can sleep when we're dead, right?

Lesson learned:
NEVER (EVER!) get in a situation where you have to accept a dare from a group of girls. smh. (That's all I'm saying about THAT one!)

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I came across a blog post the other day (click here to read it) and it claims that: "Much like single friends, I think that single bloggers are generally better bloggers."

This made me wonder if the reason this blog is even MILDLY entertaining is because I'm single. Hmmmm... I may not be posting stories of my dating experiences here or any "wild" nights with the guys but I definitely feel there is some truth to the claim. I have time to actually sit and write at the ol' laptop. Otherwise, this time writing blog posts could be spent with a girlfriend. Who knows... We'll see when that day comes.

Until next time, faithful reader......

My wanderlust has been satiated ... for now

Hello,

You've probably been spoiled rotten by my many posts to start this year. Nevertheless, I've been keeping busy lately and haven't had as much time as I'd like to post this past week.

*sigh* Where to begin...

This past weekend, I had a severe case of wanderlust. I had originally planned out my weekend where I'd spend time with old friends (Saturday) and some family (Sunday). Unfortunately, I had gotten paid on Friday and felt the urge to get away from NY... away from everything and everyone... just get in the car and drive away... despite my plans.

I happened to be chatting with a friend online and told her of my need to getaway. I didn't have a destination in mind at the time and she had been very encouraging offering options for byways. I figured going back up to Boston, MA would do me some good. And perhaps a stop in Providence, RI on the way just to take in the vibe all over again would be refreshing to my soul. Ultimately, I'm not quite sure if it was through my powers of persuasion or simply kismet, she agreed to accompany me on this overnight trip. I grabbed my gym bag and packed it for the 2 day trip and went to her place.

As my friend walks over to the car, I wondered whether she really was prepared for the trip or maybe she just packs really light. When she sees my bag in the back seat, she looks at me and says "Oh, you were serious." Now, I know I tend to be pretty sarcastic, and it is difficult to gauge sarcasm in an IM, but I was devastated. I needed to leave!!

Just minutes ago, I was grateful to have a travel companion. Now this?? I was ready to tell her to just stay home so that I could head off alone. Much to my surprise, after explaining that I really was serious, she told me to give her 5 minutes to get a few things together in an overnight bag. I was back on my travel high and ready to hit the road.

At this point, snow had been falling for a few hours already and the roads were not only covered in dirty snow and slush but they were not salted or plowed yet. We driving in some terrible weather. Making matters worse (in terms of road conditions) was that we did not take the I-95 but rather the Merritt Parkway. Needless to say, we didn't quite make it to Providence on Saturday but we did stopped at an awesome little coffee shop in South Norwalk, CT called Caffeine. If you happen to be in the area, or driving through, take a load off and relax for a few. The decor is wildly clashing IMO but the place is quaint and cozy.

I also had the (guilty) pleasure of introducing my friend to the evil empire known as Ikea when we reached New Haven, CT. She had never been there and I was more than happy to take her inside to the Swedish wonderland. We didn't have time to hit the food court since we got there after they closed (they closed early due to the weather so we would have missed out either way). We did have some very helpful Ikea workers tell us where we could find lodging for the night and some eats nearby.

Sunday's leg of the trip started with more snow and more cleaning of the car (much as it had during practically EVERY stop on Saturday!). Yet this time things were a little different. The car wasn't covered in snow, as it had been the day before. No, on this morning, we had ice covering the entire car. Don't believe me?? See the pictures below.

OUTSIDE:











INSIDE:










Snow was no longer in the forecast for the day and after clearing off the car, we returned to Ikea for breakfast. Before you cast judgment, it was close by and the price was pretty good for the meals we got. The next stop was Mystic, CT. A fairly small town but one that my friend wanted to see so I showed her around as best I could (which, naturally, means we got somewhat lost... lol). Her love of anchors was rewarded as she managed to get a picture of a decent sized anchor on display near the harbor. After driving over the drawbridge over Mystic River, we made our way to Providence. (For those of you wondering, it wasn't JUST the name of a movie. It DOES actually exist.)

Providence is a city I happen to love dearly despite having only been there once before. Something about the small city vibe that seems to invigorate me. I'm not one to consider leaving NYC but if I ever did... Providence would be on my VERY short list of destinations. I wish I could tell you why. There isn't one specific thing. It's just the overall feel of the city. It's like a node of revitalizing energy emanates from the ground when I'm there. It's very strange but I love it. I applied to Brown for grad school in the hopes of entering their Demography program. After walking through the campus and visiting the local area, that desire extended to the entire city and not just that school. I almost felt like I needed to be there.

Now here I was a few years later... and I felt like I was back home.

The weather was not conducive to walking around but there really doesn't seem to be much to do in Providence but walk and admire the mismatched architecture. At least this was the case for us who arrived without an itinerary or destination in mind. There were no list of tourist attractions. Just Google Maps and an iPhone. An iPhone that needed to be charged!!

After walking down Benefit Street (and back on South/North Main St.), we decided to find a charger so that my navigator could have a functioning phone. Throughout Saturday, it proved to be indispensable and I was willing to go the extra mile to find a place where a car charger could be purchased (preferably one with audio playback capabilities). I was sure that we would need the phone on the ride back home.

To quote my friend: "Providence is all anchors and hills and bliss and NO FUCKING SIGNS but hey is that too much to ask for?"

After a few futile attempts at purchasing the charger at Radio Shack, Staples, and FYE, (not to mention futile attempts at FINDING the freaking strip mall where these stores were located!) we gave in and went to the Apple Store at a mall in Providence. With charger in hand and a rumbling in our bellies, we made our way to a restaurant on the other side of town. By now, we had driven back and forth often enough to know our way around the city already. We had dinner at a Portuguese restaurant - a Madeiran restaurant for those of you requesting more details.

On the ride home, we vibed to a variety of good music courtesy of the charging iPhone. We returned home much the same way we made it up to this area: down the I-95 until we could hop back onto the Merritt Parkway. Though the ride wasn't completely without incident.

My friend had to pee pretty badly... and when she mentioned it to me, I agreed to stop at the next rest area. I missed the exit... of course I did. What else would I do on this trip?? The next chance I had to get to off the highway... I got out one exit early. *SIGH* I should have expected something like that would happen.

We eventually made it to a Dunkin Donuts where you will find the worst men's room door in the history of any public establishment!! It starts easy to open, then it gets really hard to open. By the time you exert extra pressure to open the door completely, it loosens up again. It's a cruel practical joke on the customers of that Dunkin Donuts. I was looking around for the video cameras.

That's where the final pics in this photo set were taken and where I bought my final cup of coffee for the day. That coffee cup would only be half full by the time I managed to get a sip out of it because my travel buddy felt it was her prerogative to help herself to my coffee. Madness!! It was getting late on Sunday night and she dares deprive the driver of his coffee?? Someone has a death wish.

We made it back without incident (other than dodging two fools who decided to play a hybrid of chicken and leapfrog with their cars in the passing lane!). My friend had to pee yet again and she managed to get back upstairs with her Ikea booty and overnight bag in hand.

As for me... I came back relieved, revitalized, and refreshed. I had an amazing weekend and will be eternally grateful that my friend went with me. It wouldn't have been the same had I gone alone.

For the people I upset that day by flaking on our plans and for ignoring your phone calls and texts, I apologize. I needed this time to disconnect from everything that kept me grounded in NY. If you know me and care about my well-being, I know you will understand.

This was truly one of the best road trips I've ever had!!

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I bid you farewell for now. Until next time, faithful reader...

Playlist #1 + Ikea is evil (or I'm in love with Ikea)

Hello again,

I'm going to use a tactic to trick myself into posting at least once a week by introducing [insert drumroll here] a weekly music playlist. Essentially, it'll be a look inside my iPod, in a manner of speaking. It'll be music that'll fit my mood for the week, or just random songs that I'm in the mood to hear. It will be updated weekly and, on a personal note, will be interesting to revisit in the future to see where my head was at a week ago, a month ago, or maybe even a year ago.

With that said, here is this week's playlist featuring two songs for every artist that appears (always played in shuffle mode to surprise myself):

John Legend - Green Light (w/Andre 3000)
John Legend - Save Room
Jason Mraz - Geek in the Pink
Jason Mraz - I'm Yours
Rihanna - Rehab
Rihanna - Disturbia
Reik - Inolvidable
Reik - Vivo en Sueños
Pink - So What
Pink - Sober

If you are not familiar with any of these songs, I strongly encourage you to download them (as I shake my head and stare at you indignantly). Then again... it may not be your cup of tea so do what you will with the list.

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My new-found love affair with Ikea:
I had lunch at a quaint Vietnamese restaurant with my favorite little lady on Sunday - Sofia - and her parents. Jorge and Dana were telling me about their visit to Ikea this past weekend and commenting about the cute things they found for Sofia. Jorge, in his very Jorge-like way, raved about the food court there. Needless to say, I was compelled to visit Ikea myself. (For those who are wondering... NO... it wasn't the food court that sold me... lol)

Quite impulsively, I decided today was a good day to go. I drove down to Red Hook, Brooklyn to finally check out the furniture emporium. With Google Maps in hand (via my awesome Centro!), I made it to Ikea. Though even if I had basic directions, I would have made it. Every 200 feet there is a small green traffic sign leading you to "Ikea Plaza".

DUUUUUUDE!!! I do not believe this place. It is amazing! I now see what all the fuss is about. I was hardcore against the idea of Ikea back when they first invaded the U.S. But daaaaamn they know what they're doing. The layout is perfect for those who want to wander through. I went with the thought of making this a personal recon mission for my apartment. Instead, I came back with a catalog and thoughts of buying something every two weeks when my paycheck clears. LOL!

The place is evil! Evil I tell you.... and I LOVE it!! I can see myself becoming an Ikea-holic! If any of you know any Ikea Anonymous groups (or an equivalent Ikea-addiction recovery program), please let me know now so I know where to turn to when things start getting out of hand.

As Swedish names swimmed in my consciousness, I decided to follow the hunter instincts ingrained in my DNA to get me back to the Belt Parkway. Surprisingly, I inadvertently ended up on the left lane of a 3-lane road that led me directly to the Verrazano Bridge. I hadn't realize that this roadway was neither the Belt nor the BQE until I saw a sign indicating that the exit that    I    JUST    frea-king    passed (aaarrrggghhh) was the last one before the tolls. Ikea is EVIL!!! Plenty of signs leading you there and none leading you back to major roadways! *sigh*

And so, I ended up in Staten Island. Not for long, though, as I didn't want to get caught up in afternoon rush hour traffic. But damn it I paid to get into the forgotten borough, I could at least sight-see from the comfort of my car (and accompanied by a certain playlist that may have been mentioned above... ahem). There really is nothing special IMO but I might go back with my camera in hand to take pictures along the waterfront (which I didn't get to actually see... but I suspect I would be able to get some nice shots from that side of the city). Not wanting to be stuck in that part of the city for longer than necessary, I used Google Maps to get back to the Verrazano and I was back to home base in no time.

Anywho... these are my misadventures for today. Hopefully there'll be more as my wanderlust has not been satiated... I may need a trip before the new year... how many vacation days do I have left at work?? hmmm...

Until next time, faithful reader. . . . .

The Believer

I was rummaging through some old papers I had stored away and I came across some old poems I had written over the past 10 years or so. But the one interesting item I found is actually not poetry at all but the recollection of a dream.

I recall writing this passage immediately after waking up one morning. Rather than writing out the details of the dream... it was as if I was doing automatic writing. The words just flowed and I put pen to paper. It's still surreal and dream-like (to me, at least... but only because I remember the dream... lol)

Hope you enjoy it.

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The Believer

          "I believe that was a Chinese proverb." she exclaimed after yet another nonsensical statement. "She" was a middle aged black woman with a weathered countenance giving her almost an elderly look. Her hair was tied back so tight that her hair opened up resembling a mini afro about half the size of her head. Despite the age on her face, her afro-puff showed few signs of age as only a few gray hairs were visible.
          "Those Jehovah's Witnesses don't know a thing, but they good in my book because at least they believe in God and the Good Book." She tilted her head back partly in laughter but also to keep her horn-rimmed glasses from falling off her nose. The sunlight peeking through the bus window gleamed off of the silver house key dangling from the hoop earring on her right ear.
          "Oh, Judge Brennan B. Oh, the biggest mistake you made was when you took my baby girl from me." Shaking her head, she raised her hand to her mouth. With a delighted sigh, she savored what was left of the glazed donut she held in her hand. "Oprah can keep her chicken wings in her trailer. Maya is the one I want to meet. Oh sista Angelou. You are my hero."
          That last sweet bite of donut was washed down with water. She wiped her mouth with a flimsy piece of wax paper. "I believe I wouldn't be here were it not for my holy water" she proclaimed with donut crumbs flying in awkward arcs from her mouth. "Not like that Renee Washington! Everyone loved her. Never minding the fact that she was a PROSTITUTE. The whore had it coming to her."
          She turned around and stared me in the eye. "You know what I mean, sonny?" There was a flash of momentary sanity in her gaze that compelled me to reply with a nod. She let out a laugh that woke me from my hypnotized state.
          "I know YOU know what I mean, Mr. Bus Driver Man!" she yelled as she turned back around in her seat.

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And then I woke up.

I probably could add some more details to this and touch it up a bit but this was what I had on paper and I wanted to stay true to the original work. Maybe one day when I'm feeling... inspired.. I'll fix it up and maybe add to the story.

I hope to see you back here soon. Until next time, faithful reader....