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.

Tracking Nostalgia: TV and Tears


I graduate from college in exactly 25 days. Holy crap. As the day of reckoning inches closer, I have been overcome by the expected wave of nostalgia. That is, I have spent a great majority of my time thinking about the past, with each picture I see, conversation I have, and street I walk down reminding me of specific moments. And regardless of whether these moments were good or bad, what is important is that they cause me to remember and spend my time not enjoying the present or embracing the future, but rather sucumbing to the memories I will be leaving behind. Like many other soon-to-be college graduates, I am prematurely longing for that euphoric feeling you get when you finish your last final of the semester, the laziness and drunkenness that takes over the semester you have only 3 days of class, and the conversations that take place at 5am on a Tuesday over cheap beer and Cheers reruns. Yes, from the general debauchery and commrodery of college life to the Boston specific things, like Marathon Monday and the buzz that takes over Commonwealth Avenue when a new Red Sox season begins, I will certainly miss college.

However, a funny thing happened on the way to the May 20: My primary rememberances are not of college, but of moments from my childhood. At first the reasons for the dominance was lost on me. Soon, though, I realized that I am not leaving behind cheap beer, late nights, and other college-type voyeuristic thrills. As long as I have no money, no steady job, and live with other 20-somethings, those things will still be there.No, what I am leaving behind is that period of my life I could hang on to as long as I was still in school: The innocence and memories of childhood. It is something quite different; it is not a specific moment in time or a great, drunken night, but rather a feeling that overtakes you when you think back to the days when picturing yourself in high school meant you were thinking 3-7 years down the road. And as soon as I walk across that stage in 25 days, all the simplicity, protection, and comfort of a sheltered life are likely gone forever. Age, responsibility, and bitterness, or in other words, reality, take over, and that is what I am scared to part with. And the result of this fear is my subconscious clinging to the past, with even the tiniest memory of childhood opening the emotional floodgates. There have been literally dozens of moments since Spring Break when I have been on the verge of tears for seemingly no reason; in the computer lab, lying in bed, and of course, when watching television. That last place is important, so keep it in mind.

What triggers these outbursts? Well, like I explained at the outset, it is remembering my past as I face the inevitable onslaught of my future. But what comes in to my mind to causes me to well up like the countless number of groups of men in movies and tv shows (Entourage, Just Shoot Me, etc.) while watching the last 15 minutes of "Brian's Song" (apparently, it is the only time is appropriate for a manly man to cry). Put simply, the trigger has been the memories of childhood. And because so much of my childhood centered around television, it has been old tv clips that make me look back sometimes wistfully, sometimes fondly, but always fondly, at what I am leaving behind. And after making you read through three excrutiatingly corny and philosophically empty paragraphs, I am turning the post over to these clips, and I am doing so for 2 reasons:1. The clips can explain my nostalgia so much more succintly and considerably more entertainingly than I ever could.2. I guarantee that are at least 2-3 clips on here that will connect with any person who is, who has, and who will be going through what I am.

And so without much further Apu, I give you not only the reasons for my trails of tears, but for about as happy childhood as one could imagine...

-WSBK TV 38http://youtube.com/watch?v=a-Nq1_51Tfg and http://youtube.com/watch?v=EmjWXVdGgD4I could not decide on a single clip to represent TV 38 so I went with these two. For those of you who did not grow up in Boston, TV 38 was the one stop channel in Boston throughout the 1980's and early-1990's. Before becoming UPN 38 in the late 90's, it carried everything. So much of my childhood is brought back through the ads and music in these clips. From the ages 5-12, TV 38 could be counted on for the following things:-Red Sox games: With Sean McDonough doing the play-by-play and Bob Montgomery doingthe color, I was introduced to some truly awful, but still my favorite RedSox teams in 1992-93. And they carried just about every game. None ofpomp and cirumstances associated with NESN, but it was not necessary.-Cheers, M*A*S*H, and Murphy Brown reruns every night week night. Wow.-Dana Hersey's Movie Loft: As the second clip will only partially demonstrate, this was aweekly show in which local news personality Dana Herseyintroduced a different movie every week. The movies werelargely mediocre, but mention the name Dana Hersey to anyNew Englander between the ages of 23-55, and they will likelyrespond, "The Movie Loft guy? I loved that guy." And yet, likeme, they will not know their reason for living him. We just do.-Three Stooges New Year's Marathon: Running from about 8pm until 2am every Dec. 31,it became such a fixture, both when it aired and thecountless rewatchings on video tape, that for yearsI could not hear Auld Lang Syne with hearing theThree Stooges theme and thinking of 5 Jewish menpoking each other in the eyes and hitting each otherover the heads with saws. Try getting drunk andmaking out to that.Like at the ridiculous line-up. And these were nightly and yearly things. The greatest tv station on my lifetime.


-Newhart Opening Themehttp://youtube.com/watch?v=hytAuxshsbYThis is here only because the opening for "Wings" is not online. While this show was largely inferior to its predecessor, "The Bob Newhart Show", its opening, along with the one from "Wings" will forever remind me of the New Englang Spring, Summer, and Fall, specifically circa 15-20 years ago. The colors, the sights, the scenic drives. "Wings" takes it further with its shots of Cape Cod & the Islands on a sunny morning. Again, this may ring truer with anybody who has spent even a single minute enjoyed a sun-filled Cape morning. In "Wings" opening credits, when the plane casts its shadow over the store window, I am instantly back in Harwich Port in 1991, sitting in my grandparents kitchen on a Fall Saturday morning, eagerly awaiting that nights Cranberry Harvest Festival Fireworks. Alright, time to move on because it is suddenly becoming a little too dusty in the computer lab.


-Saved By the Bell Graduation
http://youtube.com/watch?v=QivuAbLP140
We have all seen it, so why spend too much time describing it. It is enough to say that it has my favorite closing line in tv finale history from Mr. Belding when he hands Zack his diploma. And I always loved the completely illogical chain of events that brought Zack to the podium (Screeh gets Valedictorian, unbeknownst to most, but it means more to Jessie, so he gives it up. Jessie is excited. Jessie finds out what Screech did and gives it back to him on Graduation Day. Screech cannot express himself, so he gives it to Zack. Yes, Zack, whose F, F, C, D grades inspired the Fine Feathered Cats and Dogs remarks). However, maybe there is no sense in looking for logic in a show in which Zack could call time-out and speak directly to the camera, Zack and Screech could end up at the same elite college, and Zack could spend exactly one episode each as the star of the track and basketball teams, with his participation never being mentioned again. Whatever the case, the show was such an integral part of all our childhoods, that this clip is 5 star tear jerker and I can remember watching it in my living room when they aired it on a Saturday night in Fall 1992. Here's hoping the COM graduation ceremony takes a similar route.


-Duck Tales Theme & Denver the Last Dinosaur Theme
http://youtube.com/watch?v=34Sb0hGUNIQ and http://youtube.com/watch?v=EH7UfKmXRUQ
Both shows bring me back to the early days of the Disney Channel, and such other shows as Tailspin, Darkwing Duck, and Under the Umbrella Tree. Although, juding by the openings, I would guess Denver was a product of the late-1980's. I chose these two because they have my two favorite theme songs. It was not an easy decision. Suffice to say, I really like the Duck Tales theme song.


-This Week In Baseball Opening Theme
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Week_In_Baseball
Scroll to the bottom, click on the link that reads 80stvthemes.com-This Week In Baseball.
What can you say about the greatest tv theme song of all time? To this day, no song brings me back to my childhood faster or more effectively. Coincidentally, it also aired on WSBK TV 38, on Sundays before Red Sox games. I think of the awful mullets and mustaches of 1986-1993 MLB. I think of a skinny Roger Clemens, of Wade Boggs pumping of his fist after hitting a walk-off home run, of Cal Ripken, Jr. fielding a ground ball, and then spinning around in a full circle and firing the ball to first base. I think of Chris Sabo's goggles and Barry Bond's cross earing. I think of Sean McDonough, Tim McCarver, and Pat O' Brien calling the Blue Jays back-to-back World Series for CBS in 1992 and 1993. I think of Fenway before the Monster Seats, with 70 win teams, before it was a place to be seen. I think of TWIB Notes, Bloopers, and "How about that?" I think of the amazing closing montage, and rushing out in to my front yard in my catching gear to play with my dad before the last-place Sox battled the second-to-last-place Tigers came on (how could I miss that game?). I think of watching Red Sox games on summer nights, with the small tv brought out on to the porch after we went swimming, and stuffing my face with Little Debbies Jelly Rolls. I think of all this and I get goosebumps because this simple 2:21 theme song coupled with Mel Allen's voice is the reason baseball went from a game to a way of life for me. And that is why it is the greatest tv theme song of all time. Period.


-Cheers Final Episode Intro
http://youtube.com/watch?v=vJM5UuyKPTI
Nothing spectacular, but it is among the first times I remember tv being an event. Long before the "Seinfeld" or "Friends" finale and before the Super Bowl meant anything great to me, this was Must-See-TV. Like "M*A*S*H" and "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" before it, this was one of the few times my parents got emotional over the end of a tv show. Not many current tv shows cause the attachment, emotion, and devotion of "Cheers." Perhaps it meant more to us because we were from Boston. In any case, my parents allowed us to stay awake for the finale. Aside from the great final moments, I remember it airing around the same week of the Larry Bird Retirement Special from the Boston Garden in 1993 (the one where Magic Johnson presented him with a Lakers Bird jersey and they raised "33" to the rafters). Chills.


-Bill Simmons Leaving Boston Column
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=simmons/021129
When I read this column my senior year of high school, I only hoped it captured perfectly what it is like to live in Boston on a daily basis (the city, not the suburbs). I also thought, "Why would anyone want to leave once they are there?" Now, as I sit less than a month from graduation, I realize it perfectly captured the daily Boston experience. The sights, the overwhelming sense of history, the good and bad of the sports fanaticism. For all of its blights, the small size, the occasional lack of social options, the dreary winters, it is a truly unique place that will forever have my heart. However, I also now realize the answer to my question: Because sometimes you have to move on. It is sad, but true. Some days I tell myself it is because I cannot become the next Robert Smigel or Hunter S. if I do not move to Chicago, Los Angeles, or New York. And to a certain extent it is true; to succeed in the world of sketch comedy, I need to go where it exists and thrives. In my heart of hearts, though, I know it is because if I do not make a clean break now, I will never leave. Too much of my heart is tied this area: family, friends, my sports teams; in short, my life. Sure, I will be back to visit, family and friends will come visit me, and I can attend 25 Cubs and eventually Dodgers games a year. Nothing, though, will ever compare to waking up in a place you call home, that you have always called home, knowing your friends are with you, your family is a short drive away, you can walk to Fenway Park in the time it takes you to chug a beer, the Cape is always a short drive & dream away (except on Friday nights and Saturday mornings in the summer), and the 4 seasons will come and go, while your comfort and love affair with your birthplace will remain forever the same. But sometimes you have to leave behind the greatest city in the world to achieve your dreams. It is not easy, but I guess the impending real world never is. That is why in less than 3 months, I will say goodbye to Grafton, Hopedale, Harwich Port, North Adams, Springfrield, Granby, Allston, Commonwealth Avenue, and all their inhabitants. And because it will mark the official end of my childhood, I can think of no more appropriate final link than the Simmons's column.


NEXT POST: The 25 man roster composed of my favorite MLB players since 1992.

Here & There:
MLB Predictions, Links, and Holy Shnikes

It hardly seems fair that I am now forced to deal with the consequences of having done little to no school work since Spring Break. As it stands now, school work is set to dominate my life for the next 9 days. This will likely equate to little to no time for entries, as even at the exact moments I write this I am wasting time that should be spent half-assing my way towards my Bachelor of Sciences degree in Film (Has the cause for the waste of $160,000+ over 4 years ever been explained so concisely and completely than with the phrase "Bachelor of Sciences degree in Film). Sorry, Dad, but we both know it is true.

At any rate, to hold you over until the good LORD (I was never sure if you capitalized the first letter or the entire word) guides me through my roughly 60-65 pages of papers and projects due on or before next Wednesday, I have some quick 2007 MLB predictions and a few links for your enjoyment. As you will see I have a few bold predictions, many safe ones, and as I am sure the season will play out, mostly wrong picks. God bless.

American League:
East: New York Yankees
Central: Minnesota Twins
West: Texas Rangers
Wildcard: Boston Red Sox

Divisional:
Yankees over Rangers, 3-0
Red Sox over Twins, 3-1

ALCS:
Red Sox over Yankees, 4-2

Cy Young: Johan Santana
MVP: Manny Ramirez

For those cursing my existence more than usual for picking the Sox, just know I have never predicted the them to win the World Series. I see Manny finally breaking through because he was on a MVP pace last year before the Sox fell out of contention and he packed it in (Remember, he tore the cover off the ball and was on base 14 times in the first 4 games of the Boston Massacre series in August). I think with the team in contention and a solid 1-6 in the order, he will get the award he should have split with Pedro in 1999. Ivan Rodriguez won, but Perdo had 23 wins and 300 K's, and Manny knocked in 165 runs. I think the Rangers will surprise people with improved pitching and the energy usually provided by a younger, first time manager. Plus, the Buck Showalter Effect has to be a factor. After leaving the Yankees in 1995, Joe Torre wins the World Series in 1996. And following his departure from the Diamonbacks in 2000, Bob Brenly won the World Series in 2001. In regards to the Twins winning the best division in baseball, I challenge you to find another team as complete and loaded up the middle with Joe Mauer, Santana, Joe Nathan, Luis Castillo, and Torri Hunter. Throw in Justin Morneau and Michael Cuddyer, with solid contributors in Jason Bartlett, Nick Punto, and Boof Bonser, and I think this is vastly underrated lineup, although a bit top heavy, with enough pitching to get it done. As for the playoffs, I don't think the Rangers have enough pitching or the Twins a consistent enough 6-9 in the batting order. As for the ALCS, they have a deeper roster with Hinske and Pena coming off the bench and will be able to swing a midseason trade to upgrade the bullpen (Chad Cordero?).

National League:
East: New York Mets
Central: Chicago Cubs
West: Los Angeles Dodgers
Wildcard: Philadelphia Phillies

Divisional:
Mets over Cubs, 3-1
Phillies over Dodgers, 3-2

NLCS:
Phillies over Mets, 4-3

Cy Young: John Smoltz
MVP: Chase Utley

I really hate David Wright and the Mets fan base as a whole, but a combination of my begrudging unbiasedness, enjoyment of Jose Reyes, and respect for Tom Glavine, Pedro, and Moises Alou makes me pick the Mets. I think the Cubs can bash their way into the playoffs as the Yankees have the last 3-4 seasons and the Red Sox did in 2005. You can give up 750 runs as long as you can score 900+, and I think that is what will happen in Chicago. In the playoffs, the lack of pitching will catch up just as did to the Yakees and Sox. I like the Phillies rotation and the way Howard and Utley took control of the team after the Abreu trade, although Tom Gordon's history of choking in the postseason (See: 1998 ALDS and David Justice, 2004 ALCS, David Ortiz, and vomitting in the bullpen) and Jimmy Rollins low on base percentage at the top of the order make me somewhat weary. Not enough to change my prediction, though. They could still make a trade for a Chad Cordero or JJ Putz at the deadline. I see the Braves, Astros, a surprise Diamondbacks team loaded with veteran pitchers and phenom position players, and underachieving Cardinals and Padres teams to challenge the Phillies for the wildcard. In the playoffs, I see the city of Philadelphia coming alive and making it a tough place to play, Jamie Moyer coming up big a la Kenny Rogers in 2006, and Mets fans tears being drowned out by the sounds of my rejoicing as Cole Hamels freezes Carlos Beltran, this team batting from the right side, with the bases loaded in the 9th inning of Game 7 at Shea. A boy can dream can't he?


Link Number One:http://gainesville.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070401/GATORS27/703320324/-1/sports
As someone who has been to Dodgertown several times, and gets nostalgic over all things baseball, such as the This Week In Baseball closing credits montage from the early 1990's, and Florida, such as the Carousel of Progress at the Magic Kingdom, this article made me particularly sentimental, slightly depressed, and sporadically aroused.

Link Number Two: http://youtube.com/watch?v=TZXxrA64K88
With so much love going around between Red Sox Opening Day and the U of Florida playing for a much deserved and historical title, this seemed appropriate. Besides, any song involved with Tommy Boy has to be worth three minutes of your time.


Finally, you may think I am a bandwagon fan for the U of Florida, and in some respects you are correct. However, those of you who know me, know that the U of Florida baseball team is my favorite college sports team. Also, in 1997 I was allowed to stay up until 11pm to watch Danny Wuerffel and Reidel Anthony beat the shit out of Florida State in the Sugar Bowl for the National Championship. Besides, how can you not love a team that works hard, seems to genuinely enjoy playing together, and was not built for the short run like this Ohio State team.

So, to summarize, Go Gators!, Go Red Sox!, and Eres Tu.

Kept Promises, Coach K, and Key West

This week's posting is historic, and not because it comes one day after Unionists and Sinn Feins agreed to share power in Ireland, but rather because it is the first time since I have posted in consecutive weeks since I unveiled the blog in mid July, 2005 to much acclaim and adulation within my mind's depraved and self-obsessed world. This marks a siginificant step forward in my work ethic, although some could claim it is the day I should post under the pseudonym
La Definición de la Ironía, considering, first off, I have nothing to write about, and second, in still taking the time to write, I am doing so in detriment to actual writing assignments I have do for school.

Nonetheless, a posting I promised for this week and a posting I am delivering. Ideally, the posts should be more substantial, filled with polished and entertaining writing. Between fraternity and ignorning school work, though, I am too busy to offer any Gonzo like rants such as last weeks. Instead, I offer a brief book review and a link to the place I want my soul ascend to, or descend to depending on your social consciousness, when studying for the Massachusetts Bar Exam in ten years kills it. Enjoy.

About a month ago I realized I had not read a good sports book since July and picked up Will Blythe's To Hate Like This Is to Be Happy Forever: A Thoroughly Obsessive, Intermittently Uplifting, and Occasionally Unbiased Account of the Duke-North Carolina Basketball Rivalry. Having put it off until I shot dead the literary corpse that was Norman Mailer's An American Dream and went off for my third shot of The Rum Diary, I am now halfway through, and can only ensure you that it deserves every bit of praise it is being given as an instant classic of sports journalis. Blythe, an ardent UNC Tar Heels fan, does a remarkable job of detailing the life of a fan whose emotional well-being is often controlled by the performance of a basketball team, the coaches who orchestrate the rivalry, and the players who pass through the rivalry as if on a conveyor belt, and without whom there would be no teams to compete. What makes the book so good, however, is Blythe's ability to relate how the rvilary can affect families and relationships, how your existence can be defined by the side you root for, and the struggle of a decidedly subjective writer to referee the battle between his inner Journalist (the impartial observer) and his inner Beast (the thoroughly obsessed fan). The book offers some surprising glimpses into the lives of the players and coaches; for instance I leave the book with much less hatred for JJ Redick and yet for less of an opinion of Roy Williams as a coach and person. Whether you enjoy basketball, studies in group behavior, the modern sports zeitgeist, or just quality sports journalism, the book is a definite must read.

Also, this resort in Key West is my newest obsession: http://www.hawkscay.com/. Granted it offers little in the way of the dirt covered streets and shots of cheap rum that inhabited Hemminway's Havana or Thompson's San Juan. In fact, it could not be further from the life I romanticize about daily, and is perhaps the exact dreadful and depressing visions Hunter S's Paul Kemp had of an Americanized San Juan (i.e., resorts, shops, no discernible appearance of local culture or history) in The Rum Diary. I don't care. Just click on the accomodations section, view the Conch or Sanctuary Villas and tell me you would not to spend the rest of your life there. The first $30,000 of disposable income I come across, obtained legally or otherwise, I am taking my family here and spending two weeks sipping glasses of Sailor Jerry's rum drowned in ice, taking the time to awaken from my rum induced slumber to witness the sunrises and sunsets, all while making sure to pour a drop out for my deceased literary homies. Amen.

What? If you are going to sell your soul, you might as well reap the sunny and palm tree related benefits.

Desperation, Thy Name is Life After College:
How Hunter S. Thompson, Canadian Beer, and Eric Maynor Could Make Me Fear and Loath the Impending 50 Years


There are 61 days until I graduate from college. Read that again. 61 days. Two months. Some 1,400 hours. Or the number of days minus 61 that Sarah Jessica Parker has been attractive in her life. However you choose to look at it, that is a short period of time, and a big pointy nose in the case of Sarah JP.

To say I am growing nervous and wondering what it is I will have to look forward to in the next 50 years besides moving to a Jewish retirement community in Delray Beach, Florida, is an understatement. Rather, I am moving into a state of paradoxical fear: on the one hand, the notion of leaving behind the security of my family, friends, and the only state I have ever been in for more than 2 consecutive weeks, for the 1 in 1,000,000 chance of succeeding as a professional writer is unnerving. On the other hand, however, settling into my current surroundings, having never experienced the world, and with each passing year putting my dreams and soul on the furthest back burner on the big Sears model electric stove hell that is the real world, is a terrifying world of dirty diapers, tuition, and worst of all, compromised hopes and values.

Confusing, self-centered stuff, right?

Well, to better understand my current mindset, you must up with a few hundred words from my neverending love letter to Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.

During the first half of Spring Break, I read Hunter S. Thompson's The Rum Diary for the third time. For those unfamiliar with the novel, it is Thompson's semi-autobiographical account of working as a journalist for the English language newspaper, San Juan Daily News (the San Juan Star, in real life) in late-1950's Puerto Rico (right about the time revolution in Cuba was forcing American government and big business to find a new tropical destination to exploit).

I had previously thought the novel detailed the romantic existence of a professional writer: escaping the trappings of a shirt-and-tie, chained to a desk, winter doldrums existence; and rather being paid to write by day while filling your stomach with warm rum by night, all against the back drop of a tropical paradise. My god, I thought, how did life get better then that? I mean, knowing that when you went to sleep everynight, while the palm trees swayed outside your window and the alcohol drfited happily through your body, that you were a "professional writer", living in paradise while at the same time perhaps saving a bit of your soul from the real world. With his lenghty, at times poetic verses about the promise of the San Juan mornings and the breeze that gently rocked you in your alcohol induced stupors on the San Juan nights, Thompson was laying the template for every Jimmy Buffet song that followed.

Upon closer inspection, however, the novel is anything but the beautiful love letter to the life of a vagabond journalist that I once imagined it to be. Rather, it is a terrifying and all to real account about realizing there is no reward for those who seek fufillment outside the 9-to-5 world, or as Thompson puts it, those who want to escape the bag coming down over their head as they reach their early-20's, as it will forever trap them in the two cars, house and a family in the suburbs life. Like he does in most of his works, Thompson works with the theme of chasing that invisible dream and almost getting over the top, before you start the back slide, realizing quickly that too many people love money and power and normalcy, and that it is easier to give up on the hope for a better and less corrupt world, and give into the allure, and inevitability, of the stable life (i.e. an apartment, a closet full of collared shirt and ties, and a fridge full of bottled water and imported beer). That late nights filled with boisterous talk, big dreams, and hard alcohol are for those who are going nowhere, not when there is money to be made and democracy to practice with the rising sun.

Suffice to say, for a soon to be college graduate who desperately wants to avoid going to bed May 20 and waking up in 30 years to a mortgage and a driveway filled with snow, it is a veritable nightmare.

And that is why I use The Rum Diary to put my point in focus. Thompson masterfully captures the feeling of being over the hill before you have even begun to climb it. With two months until I graduate college, I am not certain the path I want to take. No question there is the part of me who wants to test my mettle as a writer and discover if I have what it takes to succeed on levels similar to Thompson, or Chuck Klosterman, or Bill Simmons. Whether that takes me to Chicago and Second City, San Diego, Wyoming, or NYC, I feel with hard work and a few breaks, I have the talent to make it to the top. I say, let me graduate today and show people what I can do.

So, what is the problem?

The problem is that a sizeable part of me that wishes I was starting law school in the fall. That I would have 3 more winter breaks & spring breaks, and that I would leave college with a six figure salary that would buy me a big house in the suburbs and take a family to Cape Cod in the summer and the Bahamas in the winter. At the very least, I know would be with my family every Thanksgiving and Christmas. I came to this realization during the first two rounds of the NCAA Tournament. On Thursday, I spent from noon-4pm on my couch with a beer, and then 4:30-midnight at a bar with several beers watching every second of tournament coverage. Sounds like a good day, right? It was Friday, however, that was the kicker.

As the snow began to fall heavily in the late morning hours, I knew a run outside would be impossible. As a result, I opted to stay in my hooded sweatshirt and warm up pants all day, park myself on the couch, and drink Labatt Blue (yes, imported beer) and Molson Ice from noon-midnight while again watching every moment of basketball coverage. And that's exactly what I did, with my brothers and mother coming in and out of the living room all day, sometimes to watch the games and sometimes just for a beer and small talk, and other times to bring me a white russian (the beer began to run out). And as I sat in my $800,000 temperature controlled house, staring at my 50inch plasma tv on the wall, while the snow blissfully piled up outside and the Canadian blissfully piled up in my stomach, and the only people in the world I truly love other than myself joined me sporadically, I felt a feeling of contentment I had never before felt. It was a truly amazing moment. After all the years I spent thinking that a sense of worthwhiledness would only exist for me if I was writing and criss-crossing the country, travelling with the sun and making my home wherever there was a writing job, I began to think that maybe it was the material trappings and family that made me happy. Could I really be satisfied with a little money and no certainty of when I would be home again? I am beginning to wonder if that is the case, and quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me.

So, where does that leave me? Well, probably no different than the thousands, maybe millions, of others who will be graduating in May. Is the stability of a family and forgotten dreams more promising than taking a shot at your dreams, even if you fail? After all, there will always be time later on for a family and that house in the suburbs, right?

I do not know the answer any better than the few of you who might read this, but what pushes me over the top is the story Jerry Seinfeld tells a struggling young comedian in the documentary "Comedian". A quit background: The comedian is approaching 30 and tells Jerry that he is thinking of forgoing his comedy dreams so he can make some money like his high school friends who are succeeding on Wall Street; in short, he feels as if he wasting his life. Jerry is mystified that the kid would want to do anything else with his life, and is disgusted that anyone would want to earn a living like his friends are. To put the comedian back on the right track, Jerry shares the following story about the Glenn Miller Orchestra:

It's the dead of winter. The members of the Glenn Miller Orchestra are headed for a gig when their bus breaks down. The musicians grab their instruments and, with no other option, begin slogging through the snow. Eventually, they come across a cozy little home. Gazing inside, they watch a family gathered around the dinner table, talking, laughing, reveling in the warmth of each other's company. Damp and shivering, they stare a little longer at this Norman Rockwell painting come to life, complete with apple-cheeked children, before one turns to the other and says: "How do people live like that?"

Put simply, the story describes the decision so many of us will face: Stability vs. Satisfaction. Manufactured Happiness vs. Achieving Your Dreams. Is is better to be the family in the comfort of the home or the orchestra members earning a living the only way they could ever imagine? Thanks to the efforts of Dr. Thompson novel written in 1959, I realize we will make that decision, either by conscious choice or a slowly evolving process, at somepoint between the next 61 days and 50 years.

In the meantime, I could use a rum and coke in my hand, the palm trees moving gently in the warm night breeze, as I listen to the lonely sound of time passing on a long Caribbean night.
In the meane

Here & There


This entry originated not out of me having anything new or exciting to say or write, but rather because I feel like I have to say or write something. You see, for the last week or so I have been stuck in an intellectual rut. I have done little to no reading outside of the The Boston Globe, and I have not sit down to write anything of significant length or content in two weeks. Throw in the fact that I have drank considerable amounts of alcohol 5 of the last 7 nights, and I say that just as the weekend is beginning, and it has left me feeling sluggish and useless. What really pushed me over the edge, however, was Professor Carney's brief, innocuous aside while making a point during my American Independent Film class. The comment pertained to comedy, and how corrosive it is to society for the likes of Jay Leno and David Letterman to make light of the world's ills during the monologues. He also mentioned how a show like Saturday Night Live could be such more dangerous and important if it alternated between serious and funny, allowing the humor to naturally grow out of the seriousness, as opposed to just being constantly silly, and as a result, inconsequential and easily disposable. Professor Carney's comments immediately got me thinking, as it is my intent to make a living as a sketch comedy writer. My initial response was that he was displaying his usual intellectual arrogance and dismissing out of hand anything that is popular or mainstream. The more I got to thinking, however, the more I realized he was right. And a result I instantly began to doubt myselfWhen SNL does a sketch like "Dick in a Box", it's entertaining, but it has very little redeeming value and allows the show to be dismissed by those it attacks whenever it does make a sharp and biting comment on society. It's just silly. The reason Kids in the Hall has altered my view on comedy and its effects is because the comedy comes out of dark places, and even the silly sketches arise from real world situations. Following Prof. Carney's remarks, we watched a clip of Mikey and Nicky, an outstanding film by Elaine May, in which John Cassavetes and Peter Falk, two of my favorite actors, take turns sexually assaulting a clearly confused and dim woman they know to be a slut. Now, I realize that sounds like the worst set-up for a comedic situation, but trust me when I say that the scene was as funny as it was uncomfortable. The humor came not out of the situation, but rather how mean, ignorant, and hurtful both Cassavetes and Falk were. The class was laughing not at the poor woman being taken advantage of, but rather in disgust at Cassavetes and Falk for their cruelty. Initially I was angry at Professor Carney because after criticizing comedy that makes light of the world's ills here he was laughing at a defenseless woman being sexually attacked by two men. I soon realized, however, that he was absolutely right. The film was not getting a laugh at the woman's expense, but rather at the two boorish men, and in doing so proved just how ridiculous it is to do something to women. And that is when I soon began to feel better again about my future profession. Using comedy to expose and explore the worst of society is an obligation I take very seriously, and by the end of the class, my career path had actually been reaffirmed. Granted, it has shaken my faith in the art I enjoy, and has caused me to reexamine much of the music and movies I have always claimed to love. Again, I think Prof. Carney is right; maybe films like Wedding Crashers and Anchorman are corrosive to society, not only intellectually, but when you consider that $300-400 million is spent to make, market, and view these movie at a time when over 1,000,000,000 are living in poverty. Perhaps having previously enjoyed them makes me no different than the Anti-Intellectual Pride people I so regularly bash.

But that is a subject for another time. Right now I have written myself about 50% out my intellectual rut. And perhaps a little Norman Mailer and Kids in the Hall can take me the rest of the way.

But in the end, I will probably just get drunk and watch Beerfest. And the rut continues.

To be young and full of false confidence and a completely unearned big ego:

Anyone who has spent literally countless minutes reading my entries knows it has been awhile since I touched my blog. Well, rest assured I have been touching other things in that time. I know it has been over nine months since my last entry but I feel the time away has given us both a chance to grow - me as a writer and you as a blog reader person. Some will claim that in the last nine months has seen my writing grow more sarcastic, hateful, spiteful, resentful, and many other -fuls. This simply is not true. Our time apart has allowed me to find my voice as a writer, and for my word play and witty observations to spring forth triumphantly from my pen or fingertips in a glorious fashion usually reserved for only the most prolific and gifted verbal craftsmen. To those who claim I have turned bitter, the exact opposite is true and I implore to read my postings in the coming days. For those who stlll insist on the growing hate in my writing, I can say only that you smell. And you are probably a very fat person. So fat, in fact, that it distracts people from your raging anti-Semitisim. And I hate you, very, very much.

But enough about what me, the writer, and you, the reader, have put doing with ourselves the last nine months. The real reason I am writing is to let you know that I am less than a week away from starting my last semester of college. My immediate plans involve marrying a Texas oil tycoon with a penchant for half-Jews with fluctuating waist lines. While I plan on making writing and the whiskey that gives me the courage to do so the central part of my life, it will have to be put on hold for awhile (My future tycoon believes sarcastic quips are not the place for his little lady. He is short on affection, but big on tradition).

Anyways, as some of you know, during the Fall 2006 semester I wrote a weekly opinion column for Boston University's Daily Free Press. It ran on Page 3 on Mondays under the title "Senior Thesis." Though it ran under my pen name Willem Malkovich, I still received mostly positive feedback from people whose opinions I respect very much. Now to be honest, not everyone liked it. But to be fair those who did not like it, they were and likely still are idiots, so the blame can hardly fall to them. As a way to introduce the column to those who never read it or to catch up those who fell behind, I will be re-posting my 6 favorite columns in this blog over the next 5 days. The columns will be posted in the chronological order in which they were published. Please give me your feedback on them, and do not be afraid to tell me you hate them, because, well, I hate them too. Self-loathing is the fuel that feeds my half-Jewish fire. Here is the day on which each article will run:

Wednesday, January 10: Making Senioritis Last Year-Round, Originally published on 9/18/06
Thursday, January 11: How to Avoid Post-College Employment, Originally published on 10/23/06
Friday, January 12: Previewing the Upcoming National Elections. Originally published on 10/30/06
Saturday, January 13: Introducing the "Old School" Trend, Originally published on 11/6/06
Sunday, January 14: Religion and Gay-Marriage Go Hand-in-Hand, Originally published on 11/20/06
Monday, January 15: Saying Goodbye with some help from Abe, JFK, MLK and RFK, Originally published on 12/11/06

Thank you in advance for your time.




The first column I am posting is in fact the first column that was published. I originally wrote it in August and submitted it to MyBlotto.com as in attempt to become a weekly columnist. It was rejected, however, and I like to think not having my smiling face on its website once a week contributed greatly to the site's demise. When it came time a month later to submit samples to the Daily Free Press I only needed to make minor changes to make it more BU specific. As you will notice it is the only article I include from the first month, but I will have more on the reason why in the coming days. Please enjoy.



FELPER: Successfully sustaining Senioritis

As the days grow shorter, the temperatures cooler and sneaking beer into your parent's basement gives way to sneaking beer into West Campus and Warren Towers, thousands of students are returning to Boston University as seniors. With them come the usual worries of sexually transmitted diseases, binge drinking and the attempts of Virginia's George Allen to get his United States Senate campaign back on track. Lost amongst these concerns, however, is a problem that gets little attention from mainstream media outlets such as CollegeHumor.com, Facebook profiles and Sports Illustrated on Campus. It is a disease that afflicts the lazy and unmotivated alike, providing its victims with an excuse for poor grades and missed opportunities when defending themselves to their parents, future employers and their own conscience. It is a disease that does not have the cute connation of the "Kissing Disease," but is not as socially crippling as the ones they give you penicillin for at the campus clinic. The disease is Senioritis.

Senioritis plagues roughly 112% of college seniors every spring. Known for its ability to cause sudden bouts of doing nothing, followed by prolonged periods of not showering, watching "That 70's Show" reruns and not showering some more, the affliction has hit our own Charles River Campus with the same clich餠and irritating zeal as HSS (Hooded Sweatshirt Syndrome) and AIODCILJTATCOOEBYFNTYD (Awful Impression of Dave Chappelle Imitating Lil' Jon That Annoys the Crap Out of Everyone But Your Friend Next To You Disease). In an attempt to help seniors' better grapple with the Senioritis, a panel of expert college seniors, who were going to do a scientific study but then that episode of "The Simpsons" when Homer becomes the Isotopes mascot came on, believes Senioritis is centralized too greatly in the spring semester. Oftentimes, seniors returning from Winter Break are inundated with pressure to cram a lifetime's worth of fun in to the last four months of college. This can cause a sensory overload, leading to heavy spending, heavy drinking and knowing the words to Stefani Eyed Peas song.

Fortunately, there is a solution to protect your wallet, liver and good taste. Seniors need to spread Senioritis to their fall semester, providing a healthy balance between time wasted and time spent doing nothing constructive throughout the year. Why cram your desperation to fight off the real world into one semester? Far too many fall nights are wasted on Camus and Kierkegaard while Stewart and Colbert go dangerously unwatched. With that in mind, I offer a few helpful hints to college seniors on the successful contracting of Senioritis at the outset of the year:

Pace Yourself: Many people believe the early bird catches the worm, but who wants a worm when you can sleep for an extra two, three or nine hours. You may be tempted to start the year with a bang academically and get caught in the trap of doing work each night, but a mid-September burn out will be your only reward. Atticus Finch's strong sense of morality will read the same in mid-December as it does in early-September, and when read at five pages a night it will be a daily reward for somehow surviving those two harrowing hours between "The Golden Girls" and "The Drew Carey Show." Periods of sporadic work interrupted by regular periods of napping, bar hopping everywhere from the Dugout to the Kell's on Monday nights and skipping your 9 a.m. lecture on alternate weeks are the keys to pacing yourself and your Senioritis. You can't get all your reading done in one week or all your partying done in one night, so make sure to do both one step at a time. Remember, Rome was not built in a day, but there is no reason your midterm paper about it cannot be written the night before.

Procrastinate: Along with pacing yourself, procrastination is the key to maintaining your Senioritis for an entire year. Why study now when you feel you can get just as good a grade studying the night before the exam, despite your professor suggests. Procrastination allows you to live in the moment and savior the good life you would have to wait 24 hours to experience if you chose to do your work that night. Your history paper due in two weeks will still be there in 13 days, but Dane Cook on The Daily Show is only on tonight at 11 p.m. tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. tomorrow 2 p.m. and tomorrow night at 8pm.

Sleep Late, Sleep Often: Do not try to be a hero and get by on less than 11 hours sleep. An entire year of Senioritis is no small feat. In keeping a regular sleep schedule of 3 a.m.-2 p.m. you will be prepared for those spring months when the sun shines brighter in your window and wakes you up. Your body and your Senioritis will thank you.

These are just a few tips to help get your year started. If you know of other ways to avoid responsibility and schoolwork, by all means, employ them.

If Senioritis has not yet affected you or someone you love, turn on TBS and contact your local Allston/Brighton Domino's deliveryman. Together we can get through this disease one "Seinfeld" rerun and one day old pizza at a time.