Here & There

The Perfect Day

I awoke 8:15, still flushed with the memories of one of the greatest weekends of my collegiate "career". On 8 hours of sleep, is the perfect time to start the day, not too early, but too late. And because of the moderately early start, I am able to catch an entire episode of Boy Meets World.
I run 20 miles at the gym, and because of the three hours I spend on the treadmill, I am able to watch the 90 minute Sunday SportsCenter twice, while oscillating between The Beatles Magical Mystery Lunch on WROR and Adam-12 on WBCN.
After running, I catch up on emails, read the Houston Chronicle for reaction to the Rockets playoffs failures, check out the San Francisco Chronicle for previews of Warriors-Jazz Game 1, and ingest The Bastard Machine (SF Chronicle tv writer Tim Goodman) and his weekly dissection of the most recent episode of The Sopranos.
I eat a nice, leisurely lunch while reading The Boston Globe.
After lunch, I proceed to the sun-drenched BU Beach, where guys with long hair play frisbee and girls with short skirts lay out on the grass. I find a remote and secluded spot and read for 45 minutes.
I walk along the blue skys and brownstones on Bay State Ave and its brick facades, sprouting ivy, and small New England college feel.
I spend an hour in Barnes & Noble, flipping through travel magazines and deciding what book I want to read next.
Upon returning home tonight, I will do some reading and watch reruns of Seinfeld and The Simpsons that I have seen a dozen times before. I can watch the entirety of the Warriors-Jazz and still get 8 hours of sleep, despite its West Coast start time.

And while I did all this, I dreamt. I dreamt of weekday excursions to Cape Cod for baseball and the beach and of Saturday afternoons wasted away by heavy drinking and heavy BBQing. I dreamt of trading sarcastic comments and dissecting Kids in the Hall and The Ben Stiller Show with other top-tier, faceless stage & television comedy writers in Los Angeles or New York or Chicago. I dreamt of the Felper Compound and where I would build my dream estate: Somewhere tropical and romantic like Key West or San Diego? Or maybe somewhere familiar and comfortable like Cape Cod or the Worcester suburbs. What about somewhere secluded and seemingly random, like the southeast coast of North Carolina or the hills of Vermont? I dreamed because I had the time, because there is still the time to dream.

If I learned anything from today it is the following: Good God, I am going to miss college.