Don’t call it a comeback
I was out with a few co-workers the other night when one told me that she was sad that her summer vacation was almost over. My first reaction was to laugh. She had just graduated, so I guess I didn’t understand that her grasp of time was still a bit different than mine. I explained to her that there was no such thing anymore. No more summer vacations, no more back to school shopping, nothing like that. In fact, my entire concept of time has changed. The beginning of April, to me, is the beginning of summer and the second a cool breeze blows through, I’m ready for fall.
It’s weird, here’s why: working in retail fucks with your sense of time. Being anywhere with no real windows to the outside world will do that too. When I’m just getting back from skiing on the weekend and step into my store on a cold, February afternoon and the first things I see are bright, pastel colors along with short sleeve shirts and swimwear, I automatically think summer. In fact, I’ve been ready for summer since right around that time seeing as I’m around attire I’d wear to the beach. In the winter. The second the sweaters, heavier clothes and thicker corduroys drop in July, I’m in fall-mode. Weird, right?
With no school to set the seasons apart anymore, every day is sort of a vacation day. And in the same breath, every day is sort of not a vacation day. Still following? Summer doesn’t ever end. If I wanted to go to the beach on a warm day in April, or even October, there’s nothing really stopping me. The point is, summer vacation, if you wanted it too, never has to end. The feeling that newly graduated seniors are feeling right now is hollow. There’s nothing to go back to come September. There’s no such thing as a school night, early morning classes or all-nighters. There’s a new beast now called the nine-to-five. Most importantly, the new year starts off in January, not September anymore.
This is probably where I struggled a bit.
To this very day, September is still my new year. Why shouldn’t it be? My grasp of seasons and time is still skewered because my schedule is still so inconsistent. Catch me in an off-moment, and I might not even know the difference between a weekday or a weekend. This, I think, is what want back most of all. I want the sense of time back. I want to know what waking up and going to work on a Monday morning feels like, as miserable it may be. I want to know what 4:45 pm on a Friday afternoon feels like. And more than anything, I want to know what it’s like to have the same two days off as mostly everyone else in the world. Every single week.
September still feels like a benchmark, I guess. There’s always going to be a feeling of newness and rejuvenation anytime after Labor Day weekend, even though the days still feel the same. I’ll even go as far as make resolutions, similar to what most people do every January 1. I’ll go to the gym more, this year, be better about what I eat, travel more, write more.
This year, I’ll write more.
Now the floor is the ceiling
I haven’t updated as much as I would like to. That’s not necessarily true. As much as I would love to be updating and what not, I have been writing, just not on here, so at the end of the day, I’ve been writing. Between my Boston’s Best assignment and my new hockey website, this has sort of fallen by the wayside. I had this really good idea a few months ago to start another blog strictly pertaining to sports plus a few other things. Good idea indeed, but that never happened, everything else I’ve mentioned previously, did.
So for once, I want to write a post and not press the ‘save draft’ button on the top right-hand side of the screen, but rather the ‘publish’ one. I have a ton of posts in my draft folder that I started a little while ago. Most of them were random observations: how much I hate the T, how it would be cool to write a book about why a lot of things in our society suck/why there are so many douchebags in the world, and a pretty lengthy one on why I’m looking forward and dreading my high school reunion. Those never made the cut and probably never will in their entirety. All b-sides, if you will. So instead of writing a post that may or may not be saved as a draft, here is a summarization of the content of every draft I’m about to delete forever plus all of these random thoughts going through my head right now, in bullet form, of course!
- There is nothing like going to the bookstore and buying a new book. I don’t really buy CDs or DVDs anymore, but I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of buying new books. And that Kindle shit is just plain dumb. Seriously, if I’m buying a book, it needs to have actually pages not digitally enhanced fonts and a mechanism for it to recognize when I want to turn the page. What is this, 2010?
- DMB’s new CD is absolutely fantastic. I’m not saying this just as a biased fan either. My goodness, they nailed this one.
- Time for the Red Sox to trade/bench David Ortiz. GASP! No, really. If your DH had one home run, under 20 RBI and a batting average slightly under .200, you’d be pissed too. Moving him down to sixth in the lineup will not do much aside from having him strikeout in the 2nd inning rather than the 1st.
- I’m amazed at the cast of characters I went to high school with. When I was there, I thought I attended school with a bunch of pretty talented people. We were a Division I high school and almost always won our respective football, basketball, soccer and hockey state titles in both the men’s and women’s conferences. A few of my classmates went on to pretty notable colleges based on the scholarship they received because of their athletic abilities. In our school plays, we had some great talents with some students having incredible voices or an incredible acting skills. Even into college I would tell people that my high school was completely different than any other school out there. Now when I look back, I realize that I went to school with a bunch of ordinary kids. This sort of spun its way into my head while browsing through Facebook’s classmate section. Between the girls who have already had kids, the athletic scholarship guys who never graduated college and the questionable actors whose sexual preference is still just as questionable. Jesus, what a mundane group this is.
- Home is nice now. Pseudo living and working in Boston gets stressful pretty quickly. There is nothing better than getting away for 2-3 days to unwind at home. But as soon as day three hits, I’m ready to go back.
- If I ever needed to write a book about anything (my friends and their lives, retail and the fucking nutjobs we encounter), I’ll have enough material for an anthology.
- Facebook isn’t what it used to be. Also, looking at my friends list right now, I really don’t even remember a good quarter of these people. Delete, delete, delete.
- There’s nothing worse than people dressed up for anime conventions. Better yet, there’s nothing worse than people who think you’re weird for not dressing up for anime conventions. Grow the fuck up and ditch the fucking black eyeliner and Sailor Moon outfit.
That felt better. Delete, delete, delete.
Writer’s Block
I’m on assignment right now, which is fantastic. I spent all day on Wednesday running around Boston trying to talk to various businesses around the city whom, frankly, couldn’t be bothered with my questions. This is perfectly okay with me too because I know that I’m writing something again, something that actually matters, and this is a very good thing. Needless to say, I love it. It’s so 180 degrees differently than what I do every day and it makes writing more enjoyable. Finding out more about your skills as a writer can be exceptionally enlightening and incredibly frightening too. For instance, right now, I am in the middle of perhaps the worst writer’s block of my life. I’m rusty thanks to not writing anything “real” in a good six months, and am paying no attention to the phrase “word count.”
I know what I want to say and I know how to say it. How to write it, though, is a completely different territory. I’ll begin to type a few words on my Macbook and then not like how they look. I’ll like how they sound, but not the way they read. Within here lies my problem. I feel like I use all of the same words, always. Just as a test, I back-read what I wrote here, on a blog, and realized I repeat myself and re-iterate some words and phrases. Not good for someone with a degree in this stuff. Further proof of my college failing me by teaching me too much of the non-essentials of journalism.
Anyway, I don’t write enough. Far less than I should be. The platforms are here for me to exercise my skills, but the desire and drive just isn’t what it use to be.
I’m not sure what scares me more.
So here I am! On assignment! At 12:50 am on Sunday night/Monday morning, lying in my bed with the lights off and Sportscenter on in the background. I have to be up early to go back to Boston tomorrow and work in the morning and what am I not doing? The one thing I should be doing. How I made it through college with good grades and never missing a deadline with The Voice is beyond me.
I have no idea what to write about next or how to approach anything, but yet, I know exactly what I’m going to say and how I’m going to say it. This is either exhilarating or terrifying. Ruh roh.
Shut the fuck up: My love/hate relationship with Boston sports fans
I’m on a train heading into Boston right now. It’s a raw, Monday morning and I’m pretty sure that it’s starting to rain outside. Nothing too out of the ordinary, except that today just happens to be Opening Day for the MLB and the game just happens to be at Fenway Park and I just happen to be riding the train with a bunch of drunk douchebags.
Oh and it’s also 10 am, probably should mention that too.
Now, I obviously love my Boston sports teams and will be listening to the Opening Day radio broadcast on my iPhone while I slave away at work. I’ll attend a few Sox games this summer and probably watch a majority of them either at home, a bar, or at a buddy’s house. There’s nothing in the world like baseball in the summertime and managing three fantasy baseball leagues at a time. It’s the same routine with the Bruins; some of the best memories I have of sporting events or memorable games have come from the B’s. I fistpump when my teams win, and swear when my teams lose. Come playoffs, I’ll most likely be inconsolable when a Boston team is eliminated or go broke buying championship t-shirts, DVDs and bobbleheads. But holy shit, Boston sports fan are annoying.
Right now, my iPod is turned up to maximum volume and I can still hear every bit of their conversations about getting “fahkin shitty,” “the Sahx,” and “fahkin Manny.” I should make it a point to say that these people are NOT from Boston. They got on the train with me in Providence, clearly one hour removed from any type of Boston accent. I go to check my e-mail and twitter and find out that the game was postponed until tomorrow and that these poor fans who think they got an early start by drinking early and taking the 9:30 train into Boston for a 2pm game actually just got fucked over. Royally.
I think about telling the grim news; the group of 7 guys and 1 girl with a pink Red Sox hat no less. They’re all wearing some bit of Sox clothing with two of the heavier set men wearing Celtics gear. Typical Boston fans and their unspoken Boston fan code for sporting events: if you don’t have a jersey or t-shirt for the team you’re going to see, it’s totally fine to wear another jersey from another Boston sport. You see this a lot at the Bruins games (surprise, surprise).
I decide that I actually feel bad for these people and the fact that two of them “totally fahkin skipped work, bro” and will probably have to do it all over again tomorrow. I mean, as much as I suddenly despised these idiots, I felt for them somewhat. We’re all in this together, right? We’re all rooting for the same team at the end of the day. These are the same people I’ll exchange high-fives with come that game-tying or game-winning home run at Fenway. I might even strike up conversation with them in between innings about pitch counts, possible injuries and just how long before the Sox give up on Varitek (3 months, is my guess).
I kid you not, just as I’m about to break the bad news to them because of the unspoken Boston fan code for brotherhood, some businessman, Blackberry in hand, Metro in the other, does it for me.
“YOU FAHKIN’ KIDDIN ME, BRAH?! WHAT THE FAHK, DUDE?!”
Thank God. Any type of comradely I felt for my fellow fanatics fleeted instantly. No, these people were actually drunken douchebags who probably didn’t even know who was pitching today (Josh Beckett). The poor guy who told them scurried back to his seat and ended up getting off at the next stop. Coincidence or fear of the Boston fan? I’d say a little bit of both.
So, my fair-weathered friends debated on getting off at a random stop and waiting to take a train back (senseless, at best) or going into Boston, finding “some bah near the pahk, if there is one” (holy shit, dudeguys) and “drink till tomorrow.”
Their talk quieted down a bit and they became sullen with the news finally sinking in. One of them looked like someone just stole their ice cream cone and proceeded to spit in their face and step on their toe. “Shit, guys, this really sucks,” he said. Again, I felt bad but that’s only because I’m a nice guy with feelings. The rest of the train ride went on and their talk turned into whatever it is they do for a living. I should also point out that the majority of their Boston accents suddenly disappeared for whatever reason. They got loud again, got off and said they would find a bar to drink away their sorrows.
Ugh, all Boston fans are really in this together. I’m off to work now, with no opening day radio broadcast to listen to. This really sucks.
The Catch Up/The Let Down
No-blog February (apparently) has passed so we now return to our regularly scheduled post.
I’m starting an alternate blog I think. Maybe just for sports related content and nothing more. I would love to get a few other sports fans involved in this. It could be fun and would make me believe that I’m not the only one wasting my time writing stuff that not many people would read, rather even notice.
That’s what made The Voice so goddamn cool. I could have written about anything I wanted (and I did just that, alright) and I knew that a good amount of people would read it. The outlet on which it was released was that of the University’s, so there’s a compromise right there, but it would have gotten read. When I was in middle school and had a livejournal, the best times were when other 8th graders would come up to you and tell you that they read it. That’s nice still to this very day. This is the huge battle with writers, I think, or at least with just me. I don’t care if people like or dislike what I write about, or even agree or disagree on the topics; I just care that people are reading.
End tangent.
But anyway, a sports related blog would be sort of fun. Getting some writers together and actually pulling apart stories and writing based on our own thoughts and opinions would definitely work. But as soon as that happens, this blog would become obsolete. I wouldn’t have the energy to update two blogs, I mean come on, I barely update this one. It’s almost like if I put all of my motivation into one blog that will always provide me with tons of topics to write about, it might as well be something that I’m passionate about: sports.
So that’s that. I’m starting a sports blog. I’ll keep it in my blogroll here, and maybe even link to it later.
Anyways…
Things I Miss
Too much nostalgia for one week, really. Every now and then I’ll grow into this funk where I’ll see or hear something that will remind me of something else and it’ll make me miss it. First and foremost, the premiere of 24 instantly makes me think of my old apartment and the months I would neglect homework, parties and other such things to watch season one. I miss that.
My junior year, the only year I lived off-campus, was pretty damn good, I just didn’t realize how good it was at the time. Sure, our heat didn’t work, our kitchen was small and some of us made loud noises in the morning when others were sleeping. But we had it pretty damn good. Our location was smack-dab in the middle of Back Bay; close to the T, close to Newbury Street, close to Fenway, close to Despina’s. All essentials that we would realize we’d need daily fixes of. I miss that. Living with four other people, male and females, was a challenge but in a way, gave us the closest possible realization of what life was going to be like, after college. We bonded, we fought over trivial matters, we took turns calling our landlord to complain about the temperature in the apartment and the drafty ceiling. We got by. All while just trying to be normal students living normal lives pretending not to be freaking the fuck out; we did anyways, always. I miss those days. Everything just always seemed to work itself out.
Being so cold and having it snow more often than having the sun come out is wearing me down, i.e., I miss summer. Maybe it’s because of where I work now, but I want nothing more than to head down to the Vineyard for the weekend, relax, go to the beach and not do a damn thing. Fact: I hate the beach. It must really be cold outside. I want all of my home friends to be, well, home. Go to the beach for the day, go see a movie at night, play mini-golf, all things I’d rather be doing than spending my day at an ice rink while my car doesn’t start outside.
Every Tuesday, at 1 pm, for the past two years, I would conduct a meeting for my news publication. It wouldn’t be much, just a simple 15 minute touchbase to assign stories and review the past week’s performance. Now, every time a Tuesday rolls around, I’ll just sort of think about that. I’m not exactly running meetings anymore at my job, but it’s nice to think about all of that in the past. In a way, the Voice’s weekly meetings were my favorite part of the week. Not because I could get up in front of a room and talk, but because there, in that room, were 15 to 20 other students who loved to write just as much as me. They all believed in the Voice, just like I did. That was the amazing rush for me, knowing I had writers with me, my peers that believed in the same thing as me. To this day, the fact that the publication is still going strong with consistent writers and solid stories, amazes me. To not have writer’s block every night before a new edition debuts almost leaves a void in my week. Things just aren’t the same.
I wouldn’t say I miss Suffolk, because I don’t. If I was to write an entry entitled, “Things I Don’t Miss At All,” it’s a safe bet that Suffolk would be all over it. However, most of the things I do actually miss have to do with it. So how can you miss the little things inside of a big picture when you don’t miss the big picture at all?
Ugh, I’m so philosophical.
