I feel like Gene Siskel

Or Roger Ebert. Which ever one isn't dead. For the last three days all Aly and I have done is watch movies. At least it seems that way.

Friday Aly bought her wedding dress. It's weird writing that sentence. Aly bought her wedding dress. Five words ... Powerful shit. There's no going back now, not that I'd want to. While she was buying a dress, I bought the Simpsons season four DVD. Easily the best season and I got it for a song at Target. $17.77. Kick ass.

I'm sure there is some sort of deeper meaning in the fact that Aly bought a wedding dress and I bought four DVDs full of cartoons. You find it, there's something about not being able to see the forest for the trees.

Friday night we went to see "Alexander the Great". I was pumped for this movie for a few reasons: I like gladiator/historic pictures, I like Val Kilmer and Oliver Stone, I've always been a fan of ATG and it had a lot of buzz going into it. Three hours later, the buzz was squashed. It wasn't a bad movie per se. It just wasn't that good of a movie.

Even though Oliver Stone couldn't tell us how Alexander died it may have been the hammy over acting. And it wasn't all Colin Farrell's fault, Anthony Hopkins as Ptolemy, Angelina Jolie as Alexander's mother and Jared Leto were all terrible. There was even a narrator telling us everything going on. Shoddy filming, confusing cuts forward and back and corny dialogue torpedoed this flick.

And the symbolism ... oh the symbolism! A hawk was in just about every scene (no doubt representing war), snakes dominated every bedroom scene(shhhh ... they stand for penises) and the whole son of a former world power leader trying to conquer the mideast so his daddy will be proud (hello G.W. Bush!). Oliver Stone just slammed us over the head with this stuff.

The good: the fight scenes, especially in India and the fact that it was about Alexander the Great. I always think that he gets the short end of the stick compared to Julius Caesar. I'm glad he got some pub, though this isn't going to help him in the long run. Out of 19 stars, I'd give it eight.

On Saturday we woke up early and went to South Hampton, NH to pay our respects to Brownie's grandmother. She died about a week earlier and a funeral mass was being celebrated for her. The preacher did a really good job, even though he admitted that he never knew Brownie's grandmother.

I had driven by this church hundreds of times, but have never been in ... it was very bare and basic. Baptists aren't ostentatious like Catholics apparently. Also old, according to a plaque, the church has been there since 1833. A lot of shit has happened since then.

Another interesting thing was that the preacher was a black guy. Not a huge deal in most places, but this is South Hampton, NH. There is about 350 people in their village and I doubt that any of them are African American. I wonder how this guy came up there? Like I said, he did an awesome job and his sermons must be something to hear. I hope that they keep him.

After the funeral we went to my parents' house for another Thanksgiving dinner. We got there early and I began to get stir-crazy, so we walked around Newburyport for a bit. Aly had never been there and she enjoyed walking around the down town checking out all the little shops. We hit Fowles and it was like going into a time machine with their old-fashioned soda fountain.

We had dinner after that and of course Nina's stuffing was the best. And while the stuffing was top-notch, the most enjoyable part of the day was seeing how happy she is. She loves watching Aly and I interact because she knows how crazy we are about each other. She kept saying that we should always act like we are now. I'm taking that advice to heart.

Saturday night we were supposed to go out with Ryan and a bunch of his friends. I cancelled. I was just too beat from the entire day. Aly and I got a movie instead. In retrospect, we should've gone out. "The Missing" was probably one of the most boring movies both of us had ever seen. Aly fell asleep and then I did too. And I never fall asleep at movies.

Basically, Tommy Lee Jones is a drifter who finds his daughter. She's a healer in Arizona or Colorado or New Mexico in the 1880s and she hates her dad. These rogue Apaches who used to work for the government get sick of working for Uncle Sam, so they decide to kidnap a bunch of chicks and sell them off to the Mexicans as sex slaves. Guess who's grand daughter gets kidnapped? TLJ's, that's who. They have to go find them.

Sounds like a pretty good plot, huh? As Homer once said, "More boring than church." Too much talking (TLJ's bitchy daughter), too much brooding (TLJ), too much of TLJ's other, younger grand daughter. And since this is a western made in the last 20 years, it's Uncle Sam's fault that these Apaches are assholes. Why can't people just be dicks without having someone make them this way?

In any event I shut this turkey off before it ended. Hopefully, everyone died. I doubt that happened though. Out of 19 stars, this one got zero.

Sunday morning we woke up early and popped in "Elf" starring Will Farrell, no relation to Colin Farrell. Which is good because his movie was actually pretty interesting. It wasn't the funniest movie I've ever seen, hell, it wasn't even the funniest Will Farrell movie I've seen. But it was cute and had a lot of heart.

And there definitely were some funny scenes. The only problem is that every one has seen this movie about a million times. Elf is looking for his dad and comes to the big city. Dad doesn't want him because he's so weird. Elf does something that wins his dad over. The end. But like I said there was a couple of funny scenes. Out of 19 stars, I'd give it about 12.

After that movie, Aly and I ventured out of the house to the mythic city of Woburn, where we saw "National Treasure" with Nicholas Cage. This was a Disney flick with sort of a hokey premise, there is a treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence that was put their by our forefathers in order to hide the treasure of the Knights of Templar. Since the signers were Masons, they were also super smart apparently, so they were good at hiding shit.

Cage's great, great, great, great grandfather was a stable boy of the last signer and was given a clue as to where the treasure was and since then generations of Cages (actually his name was Gates in the movie) have been obsessed with finding this. So Cage gets paired up with a rogue billionaire who screws him over and then it's a race against time between Cage and the billionaire to see who gets the treasure.

Sounds really dumb, right? That's what I thought too, but it wasn't bad at all. Easily, the best movie I've seen in the last 48 hours. Lots of fun, didn't take itself too seriously and was entertaining. That's all I ask out of a movie. Every flick isn't going to change your life some times it's cool just to go in, shut down your life for a few hours and go home. "National Treasure" did that for me. Out of 19 stars, I'd give it 14.

Following that, we went to Charette's, I picked up some new pens, pencils and paper. It's all happening now, man. I also got to meet Drew's girlfriend this weekend, her name is Alicia and she's really cool. I guess she works at Drew's company. Hopefully she'll be around a bit.

Speaking of roommates, looks like I'm not moving out of here on January 1. I'm sticking around until March 1, at least. The way Aly and I worked it out was this: if she gets a job maybe I'll go back to Amesbury. If she doesn't, she's going back to Franklin. We need a place to hang out, and there is no way both of us are going to live at home. That would suck.

Also, Aly is going to Atlanta on Wednesday for a few days. Her brother is in Russia covering a hockey story and her sister-in-law is very pregnant. Aly's going down to help her. So, I'm a free man for three days. The women of Massachusetts must be very happy.

How I spent my first Thanksgiving

There should be an "Away From Home" in that title. Unfortunately, I don't have that many keystrokes in the title.

I had a good one. That's the short answer.

The long answer is this: for the first time in my 30 years I did not celebrate an important holiday with my folks. Aly and I went to her parents' house in Franklin where we had the annual turkey day meal. They had a lot of the same stuff the Magranes had, an antipasto course (which was awesome), turkey, peas (DelMonte especially for me), cranberry sauce. But they also had this mashed potato dish made with cheddar cheese and sour cream and sweet potatoes with marshmellows. So good.

It was just me, Aly, her dad, her mom, her grandmother, Bob and Lauren. All we did was watch football and eat.

Yesterday Aly had a bad day. It's odd but there are two things that I really have to get used to about being in a relationship. The one thing is, when she's in a bad mood, inevitably I'm in a bad mood. I'm not saying that she intentionally pisses me off, but I really feel bad for her. And when something is troubling her, it's troubles me too.

And it works in opposite ways: as in when I'm ticked off, she usually gets mad. This is sort of a weird phenomena for me, I'm so used to being solo, when I'm mad, I'm mad that's it. I don't have to worry about someone else also getting angry or sad because I happen to be feeling that emotion.

It's sort of nice to have a symbiotic relationship with someone. I guess that's what people mean when they say, "Two people have become one."

The other thing that I wonder about is money. It's no longer her money or my money, it's really our money. And since she makes more than me (even though she lost her job) I'm cool with it, though sometimes I fall into the trap of "Hey! That's my money." And this isn't to say that Aly spends all of my cash, because she doesn't. While I am the cheap one in the relationship (a title I hold near and dear to my heart) Aly isn't exactly Paris Hilton either.

I was doing some thinking about this in the shower today (where this inner monologue was MUCH better) and I've come to the conclusion that I feel this way because I am the first child and very territorial. That toy was mine, this toy was Jay's. That shirt was mine, this shirt was Jay's. And so forth. We shared, of course we did, but my toys were always in better condition because I took care of them.

Honestly, I'm not sure what the hell I'm trying to say, like I said, in the shower today I thought I had a truly profound point, but it's turned to shit now. I am very happy with the way things are going, but I guess sometimes I fall back to my old, bachelor habits. Oh well that's what three or four beers will do to your thought process, it makes it less lucid.

I'm going to be pumped tomorrow. Aly is going dress shopping all day which means I have a chance to finish up my comic strip. I've been corresponding with a dude from SOSH who is writing a graphic novel (his name on SOSH is Shoeless Joe) and he's been giving me some awesome advice. His best advice so far is: make sure that you set some time every day to do your comic. Otherwise, he said, you're never going to do it. And he's right. For the past two weeks I've been like, "I'll do it next Saturday. I'll do it next Saturday." I don't do it.

It has to be a strong decision to make this strip work. Tomorrow I will.

Anthony, Stacy's boyfriend, asked me if I wanted to bounce at the Pour House tomorrow night. It is from 8 pm until 2 am at $10 an hour. I was going to do it, but I have to be in South Hampton, NH at 10 am on Saturday for Brownie's grandmother's funeral. I asked him if I could do it another night and I think he said it would be cool. He has been trying to get me a gig there bar tending, but I'm not sure if I want that. I'd rather bounce, even though the money is better as a bartender.

Maybe I can work my way up to that.

I learned something this weekend

I think that this is going to be a long entry, so buckle up buttercup.

Thursday night I went home to Amesbury to pick up some mail and do about 35 pounds of laundry. One of the things that was delivered to me from BMG was a three-disc live CD box set of Led Zeppelin called "How the West Was Won". I wasn't sure if I was going to keep it, so I decided to listen to it on the way to work on Friday.

The verdict? Not that good. It feels like I've heard these songs over and over and over again. I'm bored with Zeppelin. And do I really need a 21-minute drum solo? I mean come on, that is just ego and self indulgence at its worst. What I may do is burn a few songs that I do like and then send it back.

But here's the thing, as I was listening to the disc, I just was getting more and more bored. It's not often when you can actually feel yourself grow out of something. Though I still like Led Zeppelin's studio stuff, it's much more tight, their live stuff is just meandering and sloppy.

I think I'm glad that I never saw them in concert. After 27 minutes of Dazed and Confused, I would've been out the door.

Speaking of art and stuff, I just finished reading "Junky" by William S. Burroughs. Pretty good book though I'm sure when it first came out it must've really blown some minds. You can tell it's dated because he actually had to explain what the words "cool" and "pot" meant when a few younger beatnik's swung by the Burroughs' pad. It's nice to see the entomology (spell?) of a word.

So Lisa is leaving work and Monica is not too happy about it. And to be honest, Monica has a point. Lisa was brought over from what I was doing after two months to her current job of ordering direct mail lists and things like that. (There is a ton more shit that she does, but that's essentially it). It's a pretty important job and she gave Moni five days notice. Lisa was unsure of what to do, but she just said, "Fuck it" and gave less than a week.

I can tell the Moni was a bit pissed because she called me into her office and asked me about Lisa and whether she was happy here and basically wondering whether she was the reason why Lisa left. She sort of is, but I never told her that. Moni's not a bad boss, but she is very hands on and if you fuck up, you're going to hear about it. I think Lisa used to screw up, not a lot, but enough that Monica didn't trust her. That started her out the door.

Normally I don't get involved with work melodrama basically because I don't give a shit and I don't want to deal with this sort of thing, but I can see how some people do get into the gossip game. It was sort of like being in a club when Moni asked me into her office to give her the scoop, and she told me a few things, namely that she feels that Lisa is too immature and that she's tired of hearing her whispering to Diane. Monica felt that Lisa was "talking about her", which I squelched.

The Patriots are on right now on Monday Night Football. This team is too fucking good, they are a machine. Just picking apart the Chiefs. Whether they're down third and ten or first and ten, the Pats just know how to get it done. Corey Dillon just scored ... that's seven points for my fantasy football team.

So what had I learned this weekend? Hmmmm ... aside from office gossip and that I dislike live Zep? I learned that I have awesome friends and family. Saturday night, Aly and my parents threw us an engagement party. All of my family were there like Nina, Uncle Guy, Kyle, Megan, Uncle Bud, Karen, Paige and Aunt Grace. Not to mention Rye and Kristen, Bill and Ellie, Brownie and Cindy, Skaus and Sara, and Jay and Vanessa. Aly's family and friends were there too: her brother came up from Atlanta (the next day he had to drive to East Rutherford, NJ to cover the Falcons/Giants game) as well as Lauren and Bob, Anthony and Heather, Grandma Connie, Sara and Chris, Stacy and Anthony, Chrissie and Mike and Danna and Rick came up from New York.

But the gifts we received, it was like a shower. Everyone was beyond generous. Our entire registry list has essentially been cleaned out and we got anther $200. Between my birthday party and now this, man, I'm just lucky. I shake my head some time as to how lucky I am. And it's just not the gifts, it's the time that people give up on a Saturday night to hang around with me and Aly. I guess you sort of expect family and friends to do that, but when they actually do it, you just feel it.

Forgot to tell you about last Wednsesday, Aly and I along with mom and dad, Bill and Ellie and Sara and Chris all went to Keri and Byrnie's house for dinner. I may have said this before, but it bears repeating, Byrnie and Keri have an awesome house in Stoneham. It's a lot like Jim and Sara's, it's not too small but it's not monsterous. It's a very cozy place ... I would love to have a place like that some time.

In any event, we did the same thing we normally do with those guys, we made fun of each other and shot the shit. Byrnie made a pork roast, with potatoes and corn. Very good food. Just thinking about it ... damn, I'm starving.

What I've been up to ...

To borrow a phrase from Onion correspondent Jim Anchower, "It's been a long time since I rapped at you, but I've been busier than a one-armed wall paper hanger."

Sort of.

I'm at work, trying to kill some time, so this may be a short entry ... or not. I don't know. It all depends on the quickness of my fingers.

This weekend Aly and I went to visit her friends in White Plains, Danna and Rick. I've talked about them before, cool people, even if they are Yankee fans. It was fucking snowing on Friday night, which didn't make for the best commute, but we made it to their place in about three hours. Not too shabby.

Usually when we get there, we start boozing and talking until 3:00 am. Didn't happen this time, Danna is pregnant. No one knows about it, so don't say anything. It was great news and we were their first friends that they told, which really meant a lot to Aly.

Saturday we just hung around and waited for Rick's 35th birthday party. It was pretty cool, more people were coming up to congratulate me about the Red Sox winning the Series than on my up coming nuptuals. I thought that was pretty funny. Aside from one or two people, everyone was really cool. There was one guy though who was more ignorant than annoying. He was trying to convince everyone that Steinbrenner threw the middle three games of the series in order to pad his pockets. He said that Steinbrenner was getting $1,000 per bleacher seat.

I had to put an end to his bullshit. When I called him on it, he got pissed and said, that he heard it on WFAN and that he was just going with "what he heard" Michael Kay say. Dude, shut the fuck up. You're a moron.

Sunday we did nothing but drive home ... the commute was much better.

While at the gym on Monday I was bitten by the inspiration bug. My comic now has a name, two main characters, and 13 stories. Thirteen fucking stories, I am more than pumped about that. Bruce Beattie, the comic strip guy I've been talking to, says that the art is the easy part, it's the writing that takes the most time. And he's correct. The one thing that I'm really excited about is that I also found the tone, it's a lot like the early Peanut strips that are sort of subtle and world-weary.

I don't want to have a hacky, pun-filled strip ... I mean, it might come to that, but I'd like to start out pretty high brow.

Yesterday the bomb dropped. Aly got laid off. She called the office at about 10 am, bawling. I pretty much dropped everything and went to her house. Apparently, there has been some scandal going on at Putnam and they've been laying people off left and right. She just happened to get caught in the thrashed. And the layoffs aren't going to stop ... there is expected to be another round soon. And it's going to be bigger.

The one good thing is that Aly was given a very generous severance package. She's going to land a job pretty quickly I think, and honestly, we may be able to make out pretty good in this deal if she does. I just feel bad for her because she's taking it pretty hard. It's not her fault, but she has inklings that it is.

Corporate America fucking sucks. Some shit head higher up gets his hand caught in the cookie jar and the little guy has to pay? Real good system we have. Of course no one gets pissed, and if they do, they're called a "Michael Moore".

I am a bad friend

About six weeks ago I got this email:

Byron,

What's up? Not too much down here, I was just chilling pool side (yes, I do have a pool here) and realized that I haven't written anything for your site in a while. Do you want me to do anything?

Your buddy,

Aquaman

BTW, dude Angels and Dodgers in the World Series

With the playoffs and other stuff going on, I forgot about him until I got this email yesterday:

Dear dicknose mouth breather,

What the fuck? I emailed you six weeks ago and you still haven't emailed me back. What the hell is your fucking problem? I just have a bunch of shit on my mind that I want to get out in the open, so let me write something. If you don't, the next time you take a crap, I'll find out and send a school of piranah to bite your scrotum.

Aquaman

BTW, what did I tell you? Red Sox/Cards World Series, just like I predicted!

Since I need my scrotum, with out further complications, here's Aquaman.

Hey surface folk, what's shakin your bacon? Not much is new down in the water, though Atlantis is still rocking from the World Series. I can't believe that the Red Sox did it. Old Neptune was really smiling up on them this year.

I got an email from Frank Weebles the other day and he asked, "Yo AM, since you don't really do the superhero thing that much anymore, how do you stay in the cabbage?" Here's the thing douchebag, I am still in the superhero game, the problem is aside from the Bison Dele incident a few years ago, there aren't many pirates or other nautical crimes going on.

That is why I am pumped for the best word in the English language: residual checks! Your buddy Aquaman was smart enough to tape all of his adventures in the 60s, 70s and the beginning of the 80s. This week I finally got my first DVD set, "The Challenge of the Superfriends" delivered to my underwater palace.

Calling it cool would be doing it a diservice. It rocked. The DVD was loaded with my fights against Black Manta, especially that part in the beginning where we're tussling around in the ocean and I get an octopus and a whale to help me kick his ass. Not that I needed two of the biggest sea creatures around to kick one dude's ass, but whatever.

So after I got done making Aqualad and Myra watch my adventures, I noticed that there was a disc of special stuff. There is no one more special than yours truly, so I figured it would be a lot of footage of me. Actually it wasn't. It was these two guys who worked for DC Comics.

At first they were totally complimentary saying, "What you should remember about Aquaman is that he really is one of the most powerful guys in the DC Universe. He controls 75% of the world. That's a lot for one dude, and he does it well."

See that? I bet you never thought of it that way before. Donald Trump doesn't control 75% of the world, neither does Paris Hilton or Hawkman. It's me, Aguahombre.

But then something happens to these two clowns and they start slagging off on me, "It must've been hard for the writers to come up with stuff for Aquaman to do. With so many heroes, there can't be a lot of water-related plots. So he stands around a lot."

Then they show scene after scene after scene of me just standing there. Seriously? What the fuck? If those assholes knew anything about superheroing, they would've figured out that:

a. I was waiting for something to happen so I could spring into action and
b. No one writes this stuff, it's all real stuff going on

Then they started talking about how in the older episodes, with less teammates, I was a more featured star, now that guys like Black Vulcan, Apache Chief and Samuri were around I got bumped to a bit player. Again, they're wrong.

Who did Batman come to when he and Robin got into a fight? Me.
Who did Hawkman come to when he needed bail money for getting peeping on girls at that woman's college? Me.
Who did Wonder Woman make clean up her room? Me.

If it wasn't for me, the Hall of Justice would stop running. But, you know what? I don't give a crap about what these guys say because those checks just keep rolling, rolling, rolling in. So suck on that, DC guys.

Well, I'm going to get going. I'll talk to you sooner than last time. Peace.

I crave excitement ...

"Excitement, action, adventure ... a Jedi craves not this." -- Yoda

So I'm not going to be wielding a lightsabre any time soon and I probably fucked up that quote, but I need something to spice up what I'm doing or I'm going to go nuts.

Friday night Aly and I went to dinner with her roommate Sara (from the long, boring story I told on Thursday) and her boyfriend Chris. That cat is pretty interesting, though he's not much of a story teller. He went to high school with Nomar Garciapara, saw Sublime play in Long Beach (CA) garages and lives in the house that Vincent Price lived in when he lived in Boston's South End.

I was really interested in the Nomar thing, but he didn't know him very well, Nomar was a senior when he was a frosh and they didn't run in the same circles. He did say that "everyone knew he was going to be awesome." Well, no shit ... I knew my buddy Dan Marshall was going to be a good hoop player after high school, and he put up a bunch of records at Assumption College. That doesn't tell me much. After I asked him two or three questions, and he didn't' know the answers, I gave up.

We ended up going to Giacomo's (I think I spelled it wrong) in the South End. Good grub. Nothing else happened.

Saturday, Aly went wedding dress shopping, so I had the day to myself. I started my comic strip, but was interrupted and stopped after one panel. Other than that I spent a bunch of time on SOSH and watching TV. Totally killed the day.

Then we went to Jim and Sarah's house in Reading. They live in a really nice place. I'm talking fucking beautiful house, lots of room, but not big enough to get lost in. I only wish that we could afford a place like that some day. Sarah made a great meal too, pork tenderloin with sweet potato fries. They also gave us an engagement gift, a wine decanter with a wine bucket. Since Aly checks our registry every day, she knew that they were the first people to get us something.

It was unexpected and really nice. I was very touched. One of the funnier things Jim told me was that one of our friends (I'm not saying who) gave them a check for $42 for their wedding last year. And he brought a date. What the fuck? $42? Is he serious, why would you choose to give someone $42? Was it in support of Jackie Robinson? I must've laughed for 42 minutes.

Sunday we went to Aly's parents' house where I worked like a dog for the entire day. First I put up insulation under their porch (or in the very least I helped) then I raked their front yard then I trimmed the hedges (which hasn't been done in at least five years). It sounds like it sucked, but it was pretty cool. For one thing the Manassos feed me like there's no tomorrow, and they always let me bring stuff home. Secondly, they are having our engagement party in two weeks. That's not going to be cheap, a day's worth of labor is the least I can do.

And thirdly, whenever we buy a house, I'm going to need to start doing this stuff, I might as well get some practice now.

Nick ran the New York City Marathon yesterday, I wonder how he did? I'll probably ask him tomorrow.

I worked out a deal with this dude on SOSH named Dick Pole (the name of a former Sox pitcher and pitching coach), basically I'll give him a copy of Sports Weekly and he'll send me a CD of the audio calls of the Sox playoff games. I'm pumped, that is going to be awesome.

Speaking of SOSH, I owe Napkin $5 for reading my last entry and there is a thread where a SOSHette and a girlfriend of a SOSHer are posting naked pics of themselves (not together). They're both pretty hot. I never thought that I'd see that, but it's pretty cool.

I fucking hate the telephone. Every thing about it. I hate talking on it. I hate how accessible I am to everyone. I hate the technology that more often than not fails as many times as it works. I just hate the phone. Aly loves the phone, she's like my mother, they could talk all day. So, sometimes we get into arguments about that. Case in point, tonight.

I made my usual call to see what's up, she told me she'd call me back. She calls back and we don't have much to say, I'm tired and not really paying attention and she's getting more and more frustrated with me. In turn, I'm getting frustrated because I just want to throw this cell phone through the wall. So, an instrument that was created to lead to better communication has effectively put a block on communication. Strange, eh?

Probably not, this sort of shit happens to millions of people every day. I just tried to be profound and I'm too fucking tired. Ok, I'm out ... I'm going to apply for some jobs.

I forgot to add a postscript to that story about Sara meeting with her ex-boyfriend. Nothing happened. They just caught up with each other and he made a couple of sarcastic comments about how he has to pay her back for all the crap she bought him. On one hand I'm sort of glad because Sara's a cool chick and Chris is a nice guy too. But on the other hand, it would've been cool if he came out (which he is going to, it's just going to take some time ... he's more of a chick than any chick I know) or if they hooked up.

I don't know why the latter would've been cool, and it probably wouldn't have been, but it would've given me something to talk about.

No baseball is boring

It's been eight days since the Boston Red Sox won the World Series, I just love writing that, BTW I will be doing it a lot during the off season. And there are 102 days until pitchers and catchers report.

That means I have about three and a half months to find something to do. I am bored out of my tree. Tonight I watched a bit of TV, the only thing that was on was Survivor. At first, I thought I may have judged this season a bit too quickly: the whittled-away cast seemed cool, there wasn't a lot of fighting and they merged tonight (that's always the best episode). There are four guys and six girls and it looked as if the guys were going to sway a few girls their way to vote a chick off.

They didn't. This means unless one of the three dudes figures out a plan soon, they're just going to get picked off. How fucking boring. I don't think I'm going to tune in next week. That's just boring.

I have a couple of things I should be doing, but I haven't been doing them. I think I still have a Sox hangover. At least that's what I'm telling myself. I think the truth is that I'm lazy. I wish I had more motivation.

Today at work, I was talking to my friend Diane. She asked why I didn't go to an afterwork party last night, and before I could say anything, she said, "Oh I remember, it's because you said you don't want to have work friends." I think she's right. I like just about everyone I work with, but I don't really want to socialize with them outside of work.

There are two reasons:
1. We're just going to talk about work. I'm there for more than 40 hours a week, I really don't want to talk about work any more than I really have to. I just don't like work that much.

2. Eventually I'm leaving there and when I'm gone, it's adios HCPro friends. Not that I would do it on purpose, but seriously, what's the point? Am I going to see these people any more? When was the last time I saw Briana Curran or Kristen Bolow or any of the other people that worked at HCPro? Never. They're shadow friends, in that they're real enough that I see them every day but there's no depth to the friendship.

Sort of a dick thing to say, but it's realistic. It's completely pathetic when people have to have their best friends at work.

It's fucking freezing in here and I saw that Josh got the oil bill ... $403. What the fuck? He still hasn't collected any money for the last two month's worth of bills. I should owe him about $200. This is going to suck, I don't have that kind of dough. I don't understand why he can't just do bills once a month, it's not fucking hard, I used to do it when I lived in Winthrop.

Butthead.

Last night I woke up at 4:00 with the worst calf strain. It fucking killed. I had to massage it and stretch it out. But when I sleep, I don't really move around too much so it was atrophied. So with this cramp and the early stages of not moving around, it was a painful experience all around. It still hurt when I woke up this morngin.

Here's a pretty good story: Aly's roommate Sara has a new boyfriend named Chris. Her old boyfriend, Justin, was a dude she thought that she was going to marry. He broke up with her after a little over a year in September. Sara was understandably crushed, but managed to find this new dude Chris.

He's a good egg, a total 180 from Justin, who was nice, but was really into himself. And he was a dyed-in-the-wool Republican and kind of a loud mouth. I only really met him three times (because he lived in Washington) so maybe he was really cool and I never go to know him. In any event, Justin is back in Boston and wants to meet with Sara on Saturday. BTW, his reason for breaking up with Sara was that he wanted to find himself, which I think was code for, "I'm going to see if I'm gay or not."

Chris is head over heels in love with Sara and expects to marry her. Sara told him that she has to talk to Justin. He was cool with it. I don't understand this, I spoke with Aly about this and said, "I would completely flip out. There would be no way that I would be cool with this, if we were just starting to date."

Aly thought I was just being posessive and her and Sara talked about it. I guess Sara felt bad that she didn't tell Chris the entire story, so she told him all about Justin, etc. Chris hit the roof. Good for him. This is just a dumb story that sounded better in my head than it looks on the screen.

If you're still reading, I will come over your house right now and give you a five dollar bill. As you can tell, I have nothing to write about. So, I'm going to bed.

In the coming weeks, I want to get another Aquaman story up, another Watching TV with 19 and a look at what I have on my Replay TV. Maybe I'll throw a Wire story in there if he does anything funny.

For the first time in three weeks ...

I have absolutely nothing to do. No Sox. No going home. No going over Aly's. I'm here all by myself, listening to tunes and just chilling out. It's nice just unwind for a night.

There were two Sox related things that happened to me last Thursday that I forgot to talk about. Last week, Massachusetts was like a giant college town where everyone knew everyone else. Let me illustrate:

Last Thursday, I was walking around Marblehead with my Sox shirt on. It's an old school Carl Everett t-shirt. As I walked by a dude in a truck, the guy honks and points at my shirt and gives me the thumbs up.

Then when I came back from lunch, I saw these two Asian guys whom I normally say hello to. They work in the office building we're in and they take a look at my shirt, yell "Red Sox!" and then "Schilling!" but did it in sort of a cartoony Asian accent.

I woke up sort of depressed today. Fucking George W. Bush won the election. I don't really get into politics on 19 Thoughts, but for so many reasons this is just the wrong thing. Why does the American public think that this guy is doing a great job? Jobs, our economy, scientific achievements, our environment, our standing in the world are in the toilet and we are getting our asses kicked in Iraq. How can a rational person say that this guy is doing the job?

This is a huge, huge mistake.

But the only person worse than George W. are anyone of his minions from Chaney to Rumsfeld to Ashcroft. These guys are just pure, unadulterated evil. Not nice men. You know who else sucks, the conservative cocksuckers who are just reveling in this. Gerry Callhan, Rush Limbaugh, the whole lot of them. Fuck them. I wish that they'd all drop dead.

Last week I finished, "Dark Star Safari" by Paul Theroux. When he wasn't lecturing on the evils of missionaries and how much he hates the city, it was a good book. It's a travel book and tells the tale of how he went from Cairo to Cape Town by rail and automobile. It's a lot like his other book I read, "The Old Patagonian Express", where he goes from Somerville to the tip of Argentina.

Theroux has a gift for writing about conversations between him and the locals and can paint an awesome picture of far-off lands. Like, I said earlier he does seem to sermonize about one or two subjects and continues to go back to them a lot during the book.

Aside from that, I would definitely recommend it.

I went to Stacy and Keith's wedding on Saturday, it wasn't too bad. Here's the thing, since Aly and I are getting married next year, we've become wedding critics, deciding what we want and what we don't want from different ceremonies. There were a lot of things that we liked from Stacy's wedding: she and Keith gave the eucarist at the church, which was interesting. I liked the food. It was damn good.

Oh yeah, last thing (I'm really tired) I told Eddie and Josh that I am leaving Somerville on January 1. I'm moving home to Amesbury to save some money for the honeymoon and our new place. Sort of sucks, but it really shouldn't be too bad.

Redemption and some humble pie

I don't know what to say.

The events of the last two weeks have me flabbergasted and unable to think or write or speak clearly.

The Boston Red Sox

Are the

WORLD CHAMPIONS!

Read those last three lines again. I'll wait.

Did you read it? What do you think? It's unfuckingbelievable, that's what I think.

I finally read my last entry and it was pretty damn hopeless. The Sox had just gotten smoked, my uncle was dying (more on this in a bit) and I was in depression. A lot of stuff has happened since then. I'm not going to do it justice, but I am going to try and recap the last ten days.

Sunday, October 17:
I am determined to keep my crappy mood going. I don't go to the Pats, I don't go to the concert and I sleep real late. Aly and I meet my folks and both of them try to cheer me up. It works, to a degree. I decide that I'm not watching Game Four. Too painful, we're going to a movie instead. Can't find one we want to see. Whatever, we'll rent one. Aly's VCR is busted.

We watch TV for a bit, Aly falls asleep around 10:30, I start flipping between the game and something else. The Sox are down by one with an inning to go. What the fuck, I'll see how the last inning goes. Here comes Rivera. Millar is up first (easy strikeout I think) he walks. Dave Roberts pinch runs and steals second. Bill Mueller drills a single into center, the Sox tie the game.

The game continues until 1:30 am before David Ortiz wins it with a walk off dinger. Those fuckers, I'm back in. Just like that. I can't fall asleep because I am too excited. Game Five in 14 hours.

Monday, October 18:
For being down 3-1, people around here are pretty excited. The game starts at 5:00 and doesn't end until 11. In that time, I've gone to the gym, tried not to get too excited and then freaked out when they won again. On another hit by Ortiz. Something is happening in Boston. This is really fucked up. Especially considering they were down by two in the eighth and Rivera blew his second save in the row. That has never happened in the post season.

Tuesday, October 19:
They're in the Bronx and Curt Schilling is pitching. This is the same Curt Schilling who was absolutely rocked the week before in game one and is limping on messed up ankle. They actually sutured a tendon in the wrong place so he could pitch. Read that last sentence again.

ARod shows his true colors by trying to slap a ball out of the hand of Sox reliever Bronson Arroyo. Most bush league play I've ever seen. You suck dude, you're a complete and total bull shit artist. Everything you say is carefully scripted until now when you showed your true colors. You don't deserve to wear the red, white and blue of the Boston Red Sox.

And did he ever pitch. Six shut out innings and the Sox scratch a couple of runs off of Jon "Game two hero" Leiber. They win. The series is now tied at 3-3. Game seven tomorrow in the Stadium. There was a game like this last year, can't recall how it ended.

Wednesday, October 20:
Here is the thing, realistically I wanted the Sox to win game four to avoid the sweep.
Then I wanted them to win game five, so the Yanks couldn't celebrate at Fenway.
Then I wanted them to win game six, just so we could go to game seven and see what happens.
Now I wanted them to win game seven, to make history.

Boston is completely off the hook right now. The Yanks are reeling and our boys (they've always been our boys) are moving in for the kill. The Bombers start Kevin Brown we counter with Derek "Just happy to be on the roster" Lowe. Ortiz hits a two-run dinger in the first. Damon hits a grand slam in the second. Lowe pitches brilliantly, the Sox cruise to the win and the team has done something that has never been done before.

The Yankees have choked in amazing fashion. No MLB team has ever come back from being down 0-3 and won a series. None. Zero. Zilch. Until now. Yankee fans are dying, it's awesome. Now they're the cursed team. Couldn't have happened to a better franchise.

In case you forgot, the Sox are going to the World Series. The first time since 1986. Unbelievable. Ryan came over and Drew flew up from DC. We ended up getting completely shit faced and walked to Davis Square. Unfortunately not much was going on down there, but some girl flashed us. That was the second coolest thing of the night.

I had never been flashed before. The next day at work, I was luggage. This was the first time since New Year's Day that I've been hungover. Not fun at all. I showed up late and took a nap in my car at lunch, not good times.

I also found out that my uncle died. My dad took it very well, but he is sad. I could tell he was sad because he didn't say much. Graveside services were held on Monday. It was weird seeing my uncle and aunt, both of whom I haven't seen in almost 20 years. We went out to lunch with them afterwards and it was really awkward. Thank God for Aly, she is really good at talking to people and did a tremendous job at smoothing over the rough spots.

Saturday, October 23:
It feels like Christmas. Everywhere you go people are asking, "What are you doing tonight? Where are you watching the game? Are the Cardinals that good?" Aly and I started our evening at a really nice Italian restaurant near her house. It was so good we were thinking about using them for our rehearsal dinner next year. Don't think we're going to, they're very expensive.

We ended up going to Keri and Byrnie's house. Aside from Keri, her friend Heather, and Byrnie, I didn't know anyone. Which was cool with me. They had three TVs showing the game, so I grabbed a couch and started watching. The one problem, it was the "girls'" room, so while I sort of looked like a dork as they talked about weddings, dresses and other stuff, I just zoned in on the game.

The Sox beat the crap out of Woody Williams, but the Cards (especially Larry Walker) smacked around Tim Wakefield. Mark Bellhorn, smacked a game winner two-run dinger off the Pesky Pole. One down, three to go.

Sunday, October 24:
Went to Aly's parents for a nice, home-cooked meal. Saw most of the Pats game, they beat the Jets to improve to 21-0 over the last year (that is unbelievable) and was home in time for the first pitch of game two. It's just me and Aly for this one, no on else is around.

The great Curt Schilling was on the mound again. Another six innings of shut out baseball. This guy is Jesus with a glove. The Sox jump all over Cards start Matt Morris and win again. This seems too easy. As Bon Jovi once said, "Oh, we're half way there ..."

Tuesday, October 26:
We are in St. Louis, where we have been told for the one millionth time that they have the best fans in the world. Ok. Whatever. They are very polite and give Sox starter Pedro Martinez a warm welcome. The Sox score first, and thanks to some base running blunders by Walker (thrown out at home by Manny) and Jeff Suppan (forgot to run home and ultimately doubled off), the Sox win 3-1. Pedro was dominant, setting down the last 15 batters who saw him. Keith Foulke gave up a meaningless homer in the ninth and it's one more win.

I watched this game with Aly, Sara and Sara's new boyfriend Chris. Kind of sucked because Sara was getting pissed when I'd get excited about the Sox. That was really fucking annoying. But, whatever, it's her house. She makes the rules, I guess.

Wednesday, October 27, 2004:
This is it. This is the big day. The Sox are looking to do a bunch of shit tonight. One: be the first team to win eight straight. Two: be the first Red Sox team to win a World Series since 1918. If they do it tonight, it's an end to the curse talk, the 19-18 chants, the highlights of Buckner, Bucky and Boone. Basically, it's a new era for Sox fans. If they win tonight, next year and every year after that is a tabla rasa. Clean slate.

Ryan, Andrew, Eddie, Josh, Keri, Byrnie, Skaus, Sara and a bunch of the latter two couples friends meet up at Olde Magoon's Saloon. We get a table in front. Eddie is to my right, Ryan is to my left, Skaus is two seats behind me and Drew is just about in front of me. I'm drinking, but I'm not going to get drunk. That was last week, this is serious business now. I want to enjoy it.

The first guy up, Damon, laces a homer. 1-0, Sox. Derek Lowe comes out and pitches awesomely. Another seven shut out innings. Trot drives in two more in the third. We're up 3-0. The Sox blow a couple of chances to score, which freaks some folks out (Hi Eddie!) and the Cards strand a few. It's the seventh inning and we're counting outs.

At zero, we go bananas. I mean, the entire place loses their collective shit. Champagne is flying everywhere, I'm hugging everyone in sight, my eyes are misting, Ryan is crying, Drew is crying, I bet Eddie crying. The entire bar is a mob scene, people slapping five, yelling, screaming, dancing, shouting, rejoicing. It is like a scene from a movie. I can't believe it. I'm numb. This is not supposed to happen to the Boston Red Sox. They usually only take us so far, and then they kick us out the door. But they did it. They brought it home. I am in love with everyone I see. I can't believe it.

The aftermath:
Here is the thing about Wednesday night, I have been dreaming about this moment for my entire life. And the funny thing is, is that it came out exactly how I thought it would. I knew I'd be in a bar in Boston (or close to Boston), I knew that Ryan would be to the left of me (that's just how I remember it) and I knew that there would be unbridled joy. Ryan, Eddie, Andrew and myself must've hugged and danced for 15 minutes straight. It was that awesome. I've never been so happy for something in my entire life. Just mind-blowing.

But like I said, it didn't sink in until yesterday. During lunch, I went to the beach like I always did and I was listening to the radio ... one of those tributes that has bits and pieces of the season interspliced with a song. I just started to bawl. And cry hard. Baseball is such an important part of my life, and the Red Sox are especially. From February through October, I'm with these guys every day. It feels like I know them, so when they do well I feel great. When they suck, I'm both pissed and sad.

I found out that a lot of my friends cried, including Jay and Brownie, which surprised the shit out of me. Emotional is not a word that I would use to describe either of those guys.

On SoSH, they had a "Win it for ..." thread and I posted in it as well as a thread about 1986. I am going to cut and paste them in here for posterity:

Win it for my mom. The person who taught me how to be a Sox fan and never give up hope.

In a bizarre twist of role reversals (not seen in our home since), it was my mom who told my brother and I to wait out Game Five of the 1986 ALCS, while my father wanted us to come to the table and eat the steaks he cooked. Dave Henderson rewarded our faith with a homer tastier than any steak I've ever had and my mother is the one who started it all.

I remember watching my mom cry when we watched the 1986 Red Sox highlight video in February and coming to the World Series part. I want to laugh with her when we watch the 2004 Red Sox highlight DVD in February and come to the World Series part.

Thanks mom.

I called my mom on Wednesday and thanked her for making me a Sox fan.

Here is the 1986 thing, it is very similar:

1986 was my year too.

I remember really starting to collect baseball cards that spring/summer and wondering why Clemens' Topps card wasn't more "exciting". Riding to Cumberland Farms with $2 in change has never been more fun.

I remember collecting those goofy cartoons of the players that the Globe used to put in the middle of their Sunday comics page.

I remember my mom and dad bringing my brother and I to our first real game as a family in July against the White Sox and marveling at how at ease my dad was in "the big city".

I remember clipping every article, every mention of the Red Sox from three different newspapers in September and pasting them in my scrap book.

I remember my buddy Mike coming to school on Monday and telling me before the doors opened how awesome it was that his uncle took him to Fenway that Sunday so he could watch the Sox clinch the AL East.

I remember thinking, "What the feck" when Schiraldi and the bullpen had their first meltdown in the Angels series.

I remember being hopelessly elated when Hendu hit his dinger.

I remember exactly where I was sitting when the Mets won game six.

I remember being mad that I couldn't stay up to watch Game Seven.

I remember watching my mom cry when we watched the 1986 Red Sox highlight video in February and coming to the World Series part. I remember crying too.

I guess I'm just a sentimental fuck. =)

BTW, there is a reason why I didn't write for 10 days, check it out:

Let me preface this by saying that I don't believe in curses, but I do believe in good mojo. That being said, I did five things since Oct. 17 that I feel were instrumental in this championship.

1. I wore my 1986 Seattle Mariners hat on every game day. Even if it was for three minutes, it worked. During the Yankee series I cycled through my Red Sox hat, my ASU hat and going hatless before settling on the Mariners cap. Don't ask me why it worked ... the ancient Greeks believed that an upside down trident was bad luck. The ancient Greeks never ran into the 2004 Boston Red Sox. 8-0 baby!

2. I wore the same blue windbreaker until today. It was phucking freezing out on some days, but I still wore that stupid thing. Clinging to summer, I suppose.

3. I wore the same black gym shorts all month. No explanation for this, I guess I'm just gross.

4. I didn't write in my Blog since after Game 3. I was so frustrated and tired of them then, that I just didn't want to deal with them. Of course, then Sunday came. I plan on writing a bit tonight.

5. I never told anyone about anything (I did about the hat, because I had to explain why I'm wearing that to the clinching game of the World Series). This includes reading anything in this thread up until now.

Now let me end this entry with an email from my buddy Reddish. This guy is not a sports fan. He doesn't hate them, but he just doesn't have time for it either. Here is what he said about where he was (the Grand Canal in Boston) on Wednesday night:

the scene was just crazy - but not in a destructive way.
i hive fived about 200 people. everyone you walked by was high fiving each other. everyone flocked to fanuiel hall area. there was no road, just people. everyone was just friendly and really happy. as someone here said "it was all love" i didnt go all the way into the madness, i stood on the wall by the jewish memorial. i was already covered in beer from the bar. i thought the bar was gonna be torn apart. just madness when they won.

it was so fun. i so would not have gotten the same experience watching it on tv at home. since im so fairweathered. im more happy for the die hards like you.

That about sums it up.

Saturdays some times suck

As far as weekends go, this was supposed to be a good one. Today Aly and I were to get up early, go check out a photographer, come home and eat lunch, go to the Harvard/Northeastern football game, go out to dinner with Nick and Debbie and then watch the Sox beat the Yanks. Tomorrow I was supposed to go to the Pats game and either watch the fourth game of the Sox/Yanks or see Public Enemy and Living Colour.

There's always a fucking monkey wrench.

We got really lost this morning and the photographer pretty much blew. On the way to the corner store for some milk I found out that my uncle is dying and will be gone within ten days. Apparently he has been shitfaced for the last 30 years and his liver finally gave out on him. His skin is yellowed from jaundice, he's bleeding from every orifice and they just took him off his pain killers.

This is my dad's brother, and he's been a bit estranged. The only time he would call the house is when he was drunk and then it was a 3:00 am ramble. At first it used to freak me out because he was sort of scary, just that bizarre vocal vomit that alcoholics spew when they don't know better. And it's frightening because they're capable of doing anything.

After a while, the fear melted and it turned to a laughing matter. "Who called last night?" "Oh, it was your uncle Chris." "Yeah? What did he say this time." These were the type of conversations my parents, my brother and I would inevitably have the day after the midnight calling.

But, it's really serious now. I haven't seen the guy in probably 14 years (since my grandmother died), but I still feel really shaken up by it. It was all I thought about tonight. He was (what the fuck? he's not gone yet) he is a good guy, he always made Jay and I laugh. He's sort of like a big kid, a lost soul who really didn't do any damage to anyone but himself. However, by messing up himself, he's messed up the people around him.

I don't know. I went to a bar tonight to watch the Sox get clobbered by the Yankees tonight and I couldn't bring myself to order any sort of drink. Not even a beer. It just seemed really disrespectful. I had a sip of Aly's and it tasted like poison.

Then I called Jim around 11:30 pm and told him that I couldn't go to the Patriots game. It was a dick move. If someone called me at 11:30, I would be pretty pissed, and honestly, I feel awful. But here's the thing, I was supposed to get picked up at 7:30 am, and I bet we'd get to Foxboro around 10 or so. The game starts at 1:00. What do you do before a football game? You drink. I couldn't do it tonight and I can't do it tomorrow. I just can't. Us Magranes have to be careful, we can easily fall into the trap baited with alcohol.

Another reason is because I have to be close to my family. What if something happens to him and I'm in Foxboro goofing around like nothing is the matter? I'd feel awful. One day I may look back and wonder what the hell my problem was. If I look at it from another's perspective, I might think: who cares, you barely knew the man. And what you did know of him it was either through fear or ridicule.

But it's not that I feel bad for him. It's my father. This is his brother. He's losing another piece of his family. A family he may not have been close to, but a family nonetheless.

So, the Harvard game was ok. I really wasn't in to it though. Then Aly and I came home and we got into an argument. We rarely fight, but when we do it gets pretty intense. I really don't feel like rehashing it, but it fucking sucked.

The last I checked the Sox were losing by 12 runs. It was like 19-7 or something like that. It was just a terrible game. This depressed me too. Not as bad as the events earlier in the day, but I was looking forward to this game and the Sox climbing back into the series, but it's not to be. See you next spring, Sox.

This is what I hate about the end of baseball. It's the end of warm weather and the summer and you have to go through a long winter of cold, wet, dark weather in order to see your favorite team again. And then it's another year gone by, you're a year older and you still haven't seen a World Series championship. It's just too depressing to think about.

I hate them. I hate the hold that they have over me. I wish I could just be an unattached yahoo fan and not care. That's the problem. The caring. The heartbreaking. The love of the Sox. The absolute hate of the Yankees. It's blinding. And maddening. All at once.

As for the Public Enemy/Living Colour show. Fuck it. I had too much to do this weekend, now I have nothing. And that's fine. I want to go into a cocoon and never come out. This has been a trying weekend, and it's not even Sunday yet. How much do you want to bet that I get a call from work tomorrow about a show? I'd lay even money that I do.

Just a few quick observations

The Yanks are beating the Sox, again. 3-1 in the bottom of the eighth. It's probably over for the Red Sox. I hate feeling like this, but it's probably true. I just wish that New York didn't make it look so easy.

Pedro has pitched pretty well, the bats were kept silent by Jon fucking Lieber. When you get beat up by Jon Lieber, you know it's not in the cards. Whatever. I'm just too depressed to even think about it.

I saw an interesting bumper sticker yesterday: "My boss is an Austrian painter." It took me a few seconds to realize what this jackass was talking about, but it was Hitler. I was actually sort of shocked for a few reasons: one the out-and-out brazenness of it, but the car wasn't a shit box, the guy had on a shirt and tie, regular haircut and it looked like he was driving to work (it was 7:45 am).

It looks like the Aryan race has gone above ground. Aside from his Hitler bumper sticker, he also had one that touted the International European Brotherhood and a double-headed eagle. It's been two days and for some reason, I still can't stop thinking about this. It should be a sick joke, but it didn't seem like one.

Wrapping up last night

Turns out I was worried for nothing. Yesterday's booth mishap truly was not my fault. In fact I spent over two hours trying to track this stupid thing down and it can not be found. The guy at the warehouse was cool, admitted that it was his fault and said that we should put in a claim so we can get a new booth.

Moni was cool about it and tomorrow I'll be making the claim. What a pain in the ass though. Lots of melodrama for naught. But it's better than this being my fault and being in the soup.

I found out some good news on Friday afternoon. Looks like I don't have Grave's Disease after all. On Thursday night when I was talking to the doctor, he asked again if I have lost weight, had any shakes, etc. I told him no. He remarked that this was odd and told me to get another blood test just to be sure. This time my test were really good and he said not to go on any drugs and to see him in two months.

Not only was I pretty psyched, but my mother thought that this was the greatest news ever. I think she thought that I had one foot in the grave (pun intended).

This afternoon on TimQuinn.com, I wrote this:

I'm nervous.

I'm very nervous.

First-date nervous.

And it's all about a situation 500 miles away between a group of 18 men that I have zero control over.

I have an intese hatred of the letters N and Y, so much so that when I see it interlocked on a field of dark blue, I want to puke.

The Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees are playing tonight and I can't concentrate on any work that I have in front of me ... which is a shame because I have a lot.

My roommate asked me to watch the game at a local bar, but I don't know if I want to do that ... I'm that nervous.

When I get nervous, I use the same words a lot.

Here's the thing though: I wouldn't change this feeling for anything in the world. I love baseball and I love the playoffs, and I especially love when the Sox and Yankees collide for seven out of the next ten nights. It's a cliche, but it is the pinnacle in sports. Two vastly different teams with contrasting attitudes on what it means to be a "professional" are duking it out for bragging rights.

Think that the Yanks don't care about the Sox, ask a Yankee fan to give you their favorite moment of the World Series last year. They can't. And it's not because they lost either. It's because they didn't care who won or lost. The World Series ended early on October 17.

A new cast of characters only makes the rivalry more intense. I love it. I can't wait. But I'm still nervous.

Go Sox.

Right now, I feel sick. The Sox are getting their asses kicked 8-0, Mike Mussina is throwing a PERFECT GAME, and the Fox announcers are acting like their old obnoxious selves. It's literally a hat-trick of suckatude. Oh yeah, Schilling's ankle is really bugging him too and he left the game after three craptacular innings.

This is what happens with the New England fans (including me): the Sox do something really cool (let's say sweeping the Angels) and everyone loses their shit. I mean completely. Their expectations are so high, there is nothing realistic about them. The Sox, being humans, can't reach the heights that the fans set for them. This sets the pendulum in the opposite direction. People are on the brink of suicide and the next few days are as terrible as the previous days were glorious.

At least Mark Bellhorn broke up the no-hitter. And Ortiz got a hit.

Right now, I'm obviously watching this game in my bedroom, about an hour ago Eddie invited me down to this bar about three blocks from the house called Olde Magoun's Saloon. It's cool, typical Irish bar, serves Guinness has a few nice TVs, etc. I was there with Mark (my old roommate) and Josh. Unfortunately I had to sit next to Josh.

I've known this guy, hell I've lived with this guy for almost two years and you would think that I just met him. He's such a fucking stiff. Never says anything. You try to start a conversation with him he answers with one words. I'm not looking to yak it up with Jay Leno, but I mean show some kind of personality. I figured that since the Sox were getting their ass kicked, I was paying for beers (the bar tender had a shitty Guinness pours) and wasn't talking to anyone anyway, I might as well go home.

Mark is a cool guy, I would've been happier (and probably stayed longer) had I been able to sit next to him or Eddie. But Josh ends up pissing me off. I've spoken to Ed about it here and there and he said, "That's just the way he is" and Josh has even said that he isn't very good socially. Whatever. If you know you're being a dick and you still act like a dick, then you're just a dick no matter how intellectual you think that you are.

Another reason why I left is because I'm fucking exhausted. It wasn't just the uncertainty of my job and the booth stuff, it was something else. Another something a bit smaller, but just as much as a pain in the ass. We have a mouse in our house. And last night, that little fucker was as loud as a brass band. In fact, while I was typing this Blog, that little shit ran into Eddie's room.

It's a black thing about an inch long.

But I'm going to get it. I bought six "cartoon" traps and set up four in my bedroom, two in Ed's room and I also have two poison pellet traps in my room. That piece of crap is leaving this house in a mini body bag.

BTW, the Sox have scored five in the seventh. Now the Yanks trot out their tenor to sing "God Bless America". Basically they freeze the opposing pitcher under the guise of patriotism. This is such a bullshit Republican move, it isn't funny. I fucking hate the Yankees, their false patriotism and everything about them.

The loooooooooooooong weekend

This was one of those weekends bookended with disappointment, but with a lot of fun in the middle.

Thursday night Jay and I had a bit of a fight. He doesn't want to go to the concert with me on Sunday night. He has to work on Sunday night and Monday morning. I asked why he couldn't take two hours off on Sunday night and meet me at Avalon at 7:00. He said that he couldn't, then he started to complain about working "12 hours in a row" on Monday. I don't why he can't take a few hours off on Sunday, or go to work a few hours early.

I do understand about working the next, it sucks, but I'm going to have to do it too. What I don't think that Jason understands is that I never see the kid. At all. He's always busy, no matter what time of the day I ask him to hang out. When he said that he wanted to hang out, I was pumped. It wasn't just seeing the show, it was spending time with him.

I don't want to just see my brother on holidays and passing him in the halls of my parents' house when I go home. I get sad about that.

The other shitty thing that happened this weekend was that my job is really starting to eat at me. Sunday Penny called me up from a conference in Washington. Apparently, the booth was never delivered to the conference. I know it was sent to the DC area, I double checked this on Friday morning.

But because of Sunday and today's holiday, the earliest time that they can get the booth is Tuesday. I think that the conference people lost it or misplaced it. This fucking blows because I'm going to have to take a raft of shit for this. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of having to count on people to do my job properly. I check and double check my work every day and still things go wrong.

Always. Do I think that Monica is going to understand? I sincerely doubt it. She'll wonder why it wasn't delivered. I'm not going to have a good answer. That is what I'm going to have to think of tonight. This just sucks.

For the entire weekend, Aly and I were at her parents' house taking care of her dog Murphy. That was fun. I felt like I was on vacation. Friday, we drove there through the back roads and in Dover we saw a deer. It ran out in front of my car, stopped, looked at us and darted in the woods. It was really cool.

The only other time I had ever seen a deer is when I was in high school and saw one in my backyard. It was just chilling out, saw me and jumped over the fence. It was amazing, so graceful, so poised. It really is one God's beautiful creatures.

Saturday and Sunday were wedding plans days. On Saturday we went to Cranston, RI to speak with a videographer. He was pretty cool, had some pretty good ideas about how to video a wedding. The one thing we were a bit concerned about was that there was a lot of shots of the back of peoples' heads. That might not be so good.

After that we went to the Federal Hill section of Providence. There was an Italian-day festival (which makes sense since this is Columbus Day weekend) and we just walked around, listened to a few bands, ate some grub and went home. Later that night we went to Joe's American Bar and Grille with Lauren and Bob. Bob was completely shit faced. It was sort of funny because Lauren was getting mad at him. We also carved pumpkins. I got into it so much that Aly didn't even have a chance to make a cut. I felt sort of bad about that when I was done.

Though we did have two cool pumpkins: one was a normal one with a funny face the other had the Sox and Yankee logos. That one took a lot of time, but like I said, I did a good job.

On Sunday we went to see a photographer in Franklin. He seemed cool, except that today we found out that he's already been booked on our day. Complete waste of time. After that we went to Lauren and Bob's house for dinner and football. The Patriots won their 19th game in a row. That rocks. I see them next week when they play Seattle.

Today we registered for more stuff at Crate and Barrel and then went to my parents' house for their anniversary. Nina was there, so it was nice to see her. I guess Jay and Vanessa were there too, but they were gone by the time Aly and I showed up.

I haven't been talking about this very much because I don't want to jinx them, but the Sox swept the Angels on Friday and tomorrow night they play the Yanks in the ALCS. It's going to be a nerve-wracking 10 days. New York has set a record for the most come from behind wins in a season. The Sox are just playing awesome. Something is going to have to give.

Bienvenidos a Miami

Memo to Will Smith, Dan Marino and Sonny Crocket: you can keep Miami. That place sucks.

Beginning Sunday, I had to spend three days in Miami Beach for an American Health Care Association conference. It wasn't fun from moment one. On Sunday morning I went downstairs to meet the car that was giving me a ride to the airport. I litterally live about 15 minutes from the airport and I was going to be there an hour and a half before my flight.

Not bad. I don't mind being at the airport early. So I get in the car and I know this guy, he's picked me up before. He's a cool dude. We shoot the shit and I notice that he's not going the normal way through the Callahan Tunnel into East Boston.

"Where are we going?"

"Through the Ted Williams tunnel (in Southie)."

Whatever. Maybe it's a short cut. He's the professional. He should know. We get to wear we're supposed to make a left into the tunnel and there's marathon going on. A fucking marathon. We stay in line for over 15 minutes before he decides to drive around. Everywhere we go, we are met by the marathon and throng of people running on a beautiful Boston Sunday morning.

It's now 10:50. The driver, I think his name is John, is swearing and driving around in circles. We end up in Chinatown. Stuck in traffic. We drive around some more. It is now 11:05 and we're in Quincy. At 11:15 we finally end up at the airport. My flight is at 11:27. The ticket lady says I'm already too late. I realized my second worst traveling fear ... I missed my flight.

I wait around for three hours and get on another one. I touch down in Miami just before 5:00, any hope of doing any sort of work is out the door. I end up grabbing a taxi to my hotel, the Wyndham Miami Beach. Not a bad hotel. It's like every other Miami hotel though, it was probably once really nice, but it has deteriorated and no one has spent the time or the money to fix it up.

That's all Miami Beach is, a bunch of run down, buildings that were hollow and souless when they were new. Now they're relics of an era where Jim Crow still ruled and Miami Beach was THE place to hang. I was lead to believe that it still was. I guess I was wrong.

The one cool thing about this trip is that I literally had to work for three hours a day. That's it. But those three hours sort of sucked, I really had to put on my happy face and pretend that I actually loved everyone. "Come to our booth and win this camera!" "Yes sir, are prices are too but, look at the value you get!" "Please take a look at our catalogs." Whatever. You either want to buy this shit or you don't.

One woman in the booth next to us who was hocking maniucures-at-home was an overachieving power saleswoman. She'd try to take people that we were talking to, until I said something to her. What a pain in the ass.

The two people I went with were pretty cool: Paul and Chris. Chris and I didn't really hang out that much, she's a 50-year-old lesbian who has a kid, so we didn't have much in common. She was interesting to talk to though, she lives in Machester and used to commute every day to Leominster. She's really psyched that she doesn't have to do that any more. Now that's a crap-ass commute.

Paul and I had more in common. He's about my age, so we ended up getting a couple of beers after the conference and went out on Tuesday night. We were originally going to go to this place called Dellano. He went there with a bunch of chicks who picked him up on Sunday night while he was having a beer alone in his hotel bar.

He said this place Dellano is amazing. Lots of hot chicks and it's an outdoor bar that has a pool in the middle. Around the outside of the pool are a bunch of beds. He said it was very "decadent". In any event, when we went there on Tuesday, I saw probably one of the hottest chicks I've ever seen in my life leaving the bar (which was in a hotel). Smoking body, beautiful face, this was shaping up to be a good night.

Wouldn't you know that the bar was closed because it was a party for hotel guests. Ah well, I probably wouldn't have fit in very well there. That's a brie crowd, I'm more cheddar.

I went to the beach on Monday and took a stroll to the water. As I was coming back to my seat, I noticed a plastic cylinder. It was a hypodermic needle (sans needle). Nice place Miami. Beside needles on the shore, it was humid. Had to be 90% humidity every day. I was literally sweating my ass off just breathing.

On Wednesday, I was about to go the conference when Monica called up. Apparently something went wrong at a conference on Sunday and she was pissed. She didn't know what exactly went wrong, she was to meet with the complaint giver at 3:00, but for some reason she wanted me aware of this. You know me. I don't handle this sort of stuff very well. For the next five hours, I was freaking. Badly. I honestly thought I was going to be fired.

I called her around 4:00 and it turns out it wasn't my fault. Did she call to tell me that? No. So I completely got myself bent out of shape for nothing. Thanks. That fucking rules. It's definitely time for a new job.

Today I went to the doctor's about my Graves' Disease. Looks like I have it. I'm not worried though. I just have to take two pills every day for a year. AFter that I should be cured. If I'm not, I will get radiation treatments. My doctor is convinced that since the disease is so slight, the pills should take care of everything.

Am I a bit nervous? Of course I am a little, but I just have to have faith that I will be ok. If you were to ask my mom, I officially have inopperable brain cancer. That's what mothers do though. They worry. That's a pretty shitty job, but if your mom doesn't worry about you, no one will.

And yes, I get the irony of me getting pissed about my mom over worrying, while getting angry at someone else for causing me to over worry.

Last Friday Aly and I went to Ryan's new house. It's really nice. Big, old and has plenty of rooms for him, Kristen and the boys. This is THE house that you live in for the majority of your life. He must be very happy and content with it. They really had a tough time finding a place, but I'm sure it's all worth it now.

On Saturday, Ryan's folks invited us down for dinner with Aly's parents and my parents, Byrnie and Keri and Ryan and the boys. We had a good time. Bill cooked both turkey and ham and we played bocce. I love days like that, drinking, goofing around, hanging with family. It was a good Saturday.

I'm pretty tired right now, so I'm out. I have some other things to say, but I'll wait until either tomorrow or Saturday.

The Pearl Jammers at the Fleet Centah

Last night for the fourth, or fifth time, I saw Eddie and the boys play live. Like all of the other times I've seen them, it was completely awesome. They really put on a great, great show. They play some of their new stuff, but still bust out their hits.

Some sights and sounds, before I list the set list:

- Brownie and I sat in the upper bowl, an appropriate name for the amount of pot being smoked, so while we were a little bit farther away that I'd like to be, we still got a great view. One of the views was during the song "Once" everyone on the floor were throwing their left fist up in unison. Brownie and I looked at each other and said, "Damn, that looks like a Hitler youth rally."

- For some reason actor Tim Robbins came on stage during the second encore and sang a song with the band. Don't ask me how he did because with three guitarists, a bass player, a drummer and a keyboardist, not to mention a lead singer, Robbins' voice was lost. I never thought I'd see Nuke LaLuche sing ... I wonder what kind of underwear he was wore?

- I am officially old. A joint was being passed around and it came to me, I let it go by. Brownie the same thing. I asked him, "How come you didn't smoke?" He said that he had work the next day. He asked me the same question, "I have a lot of work too, and I have to get up early." I doubt that would've happened ten years ago.

- There weren't a lot of empty seats last night. And from what I hear, there wasn't a lot on Tuesday either. Many people have counted this band out as a dinosaur, a relic of a flanneled past, but I'll tell you this, there were a lot of college and high school kids there. Pearl Jam could easily pull a Grateful Dead and not record a studio album ever again and just tour off their old stuff.

- They played a song called "Alone" last night that they haven't played since 1994. That was pretty cool. They also played five and a half covers. Aside from a bar band, I don't think I've ever seen something like that.

- Eddie and his friend Jason were there last night too. Jason seemed like a cool guy, Brownie and I grabbed a beer with them at the Beer Works then went to the old Canal Street bar (it's called something else) and had a beer with our old roommate Mark. Good guy, that Mark, we were trading engagement worry stories. I don't see him too much, which is a shame. He was a good roommate.

Here is the set list:

Setlist:
Ed Pre-Set:
I Am A Patriot

Main Set:
Go, Animal, Do the Evolution, Save You, The American In Me, Immortality, Wishlist w/tag, Grievance, Alone, Present Tense, Corduroy, I Believe In Miracles, Once

Enc 1: (Acoustic Set)
Lukin (acoustic), Off He Goes, Man Of The Hour, Parting Ways, Black

Enc 2:
The Seeker (The Who), Daughter/(War), Glorified G, Lion's Share (The Germs), The New World (X),

Enc 3:
I've Got A Feeling (Beatles), Rockin' In The Free World

I didn't see Ed's set. Sucks because I love that tune.

Usually on Thursday nights, I go home to Amesbury and watch Survivor with my mom. For the last five years it's been our little ritual. She usually makes dinner, I offer my pithy opinions, we talk about the people we took in the pool and I tell what I'm going to write in my Friday wrap-up, etc. It was pretty fun. Not this year. It's not my mom, she's still really cool. It's Survivor.

To say it's boring is an afront to boring people. For one thing it is split into men vs. women. We've done that before. There is an equal amount of "pretty" young people vs. "ugly" old people, which is where the tribal lines are drawn. Seen that before. And every other minute it's a new argument. The debate is always between two mental midgets about something incredibly ridiculous. Yeah, I liked that show better when it was called The Real World.

Here is why Survivor worked in the past, yes, there were arugments, all good reality shows use arguments as their corner stones, but they don't make their homes out of arguments. There just weren't that many and when there were, they usually meant something pretty big. They meant something. Fighting just to fight is worthless, it's just words.

One of the worst parts of Survivor are the Jordan's furniture commercials. These two clowns are just fucking terrible. They've been recycling the same jokes over and over again, "I wish they'd vote YOU off the island. Har, har, har." "Could you survive a desert island? I can barely survive the Big Dig!"

SHUT UP! For the last two years area furniture companies have been inindating us with "local celebrities" like these Jordan assholes, Bob and his hot little blonde, and the twin hellspawn demons, Bernie and Phyl. These two down-home, country fried, small town New England bumpkins have been driving me up a wall with their terrible over acting, oat-meal thick New England accents and low quality commercials.

Bernie, who I think is the guy -- they rarely ever address each other, makes Celtics broadcaster Tommy Heinsohn sound like Winston Churchill. It used to be that car commercials drove me nuts, now it's furniture commercials. As God as my witness, I will never by furniture ... ever!

So dad and I have been making plans for our trip next summer. We have one last Hall of Fame to go to, the Football Hall of Fame in Canton, OH. So far, we've planned that we're going to fly into Cleveland, catch an Indians game (hopefully, the Cincinnati/Cleveland tilt) then hit the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, before going to Canton.

I'm really looking forward to it. In 94, my dad and I went to Toronto and caught the Blue Jays and the Hockey Hall of Fame. I had a good time, but I don't think I really appreciated it as much as I should have. For one thing, I was still in college and was into my own thing. I didn't really get to connect with my dad as much as I should have. I'm looking forward to doing that with him next year. Especially considereing I'm geting married next year and won't really have too many opportunites to do this again.

Jay might be coming too, which would be fun. He's not too keen on flying out there, but maybe we can hit over the head with a hammer before we go on the plane.

Speaking of going places Ellie, Keri and Kristen are going to Florida in two weeks. Mom wanted to take Aly and go along with them. Ellie said no because mom never invited her to the Murray/Magrane Christmas events. I guess payback is a bitch. I'm sure they'll go the next time they all go. Ellie can't hold a grudge that long.

I think my mom is really pumped to have a daughter.

I forgot to tell this story, I'm sitting at my desk and out of the corner of my eye I see something racing behind the radio. It was a fucking mouse. I have a mouse in my house, which has caused me to rhyme all the time. I'm going to have to kill that stupid thing. Maybe I'll get a rat trap and snap that fucker's neck. I don't like rodents.

BTW, this may be my last Blog for a week or so. I'm going to Miami on Sunday for a conference until Wednesday. I'm sort of looking forward to it, but I like being home and sticking to my schedule. I'm also going with two people that I don't know very well. It would be a lot cooler if I was better friends with them. Maybe I'll find out that they're cool while we're down there.

The one thing that blows is that the Sox begin the playoffs on Tuesday and play on Wednesday, I better be able to see those games.

Honeycomb's big ... yeah, yeah, yeah

It's not small. No, no, no.

Don't ask me why I have that stupid song in my head. Ok, I'll tell you, there is this web site that I visit once every six months or so, where this kid posts a lot of different essays about 1980s and 90s pop culture. One of the cooler things he has on his site is a bunch of commercials from that time. I checked out the Honeycomb one with Andre the Giant. I've been singing it for about two hours.

If you want this craptastic song in your head, go to: http://www.x-entertainment.com

I forgot to tell you something interesting that happened on Friday morning. I had to go and get a bunch of stuff for work, so I left work at around 10 or so and took a ride into Salem. On my way back I got rear-ended by a Salem State student. It sounded pretty harsh, and I was pissed. When I got out of the car, I looked at the bumper and it wasn't too bad.

However, I still want to get it checked out and unfortunately I haven't had a chance to bring it to the garage. Hopefully, they can just buff it out, because it isn't that bad, but it does have the potential to chip and that would suck if I had to get a whole new bumper in a year because of this.

The Sox clinched a playoff spot last night. This means the next two weeks are going to be hell for most citizens of the commonwealth. Last year was insane, especially when the Sox faced the Yanks. For ten days, that's all anyone talked about. It was like those huge colleges in the Midwest, where the only thing people talk about is how the State U pigskin team did that week. Except it was every single night.

When they lost the way they did, I was in a deep funk for three days ... everyone was. That Friday after Game Seven was horrific. I don't think anyone did any real work. And speech was nonexistent. Just grunting and bleary eyes. I would guarantee that it was the worst night of the year for area bars.

But, this is a new year, and hopefully a different outcome.

I may have found someone to go to Public Enemy/Living Colour with me: my brother. The thing that sort of sucks about that day is that I'm going to the Pats/Seahawks game earlier in the day. I hope I can get back from the game in time to see the show. Jay thinks I'll be able to.

Speaking of concerts, tomorrow night is Pearl Jam. I am so pumped for this, I can not wait. Tonight on WBCN, they played the entire July 2, 2003 show from Great Woods. I can't remember if I was at that show or not. I know I was at one of them. I have a very strong suspicion that I was ... but I'm too damn lazy to find my ticket.

I was emailing Julie Kelliher earlier today and she was telling me that she reads my Blog daily. Apparently she knows Aly's friend Jeff. She has a friend from Franklin who actually dated Jeff before he went to Japan and met him a few times. Also, her husband Tom lives near that restaurant that we saw Joe Torre in, Frankie and Johnnies. She has gone there a couple of times, but has never seen the Nose.

I have not been into Survivor at all this season. Usually I run a pool and come out with a lengthy recap every Friday afternoon. This year, I'm not doing it. I was going to, but for some reason I just don't feel like it. I watched the first episode two weeks ago and it was just sort of lame. I have last week's TiVoed, but I'm not even sure if I'm going to watch that one.

I think that the show peaked with the All-Star cast. Maybe I'll give it another shot this Thursday.

Yesterday, I started doing something kind of dopey, but it should help me someday. Right next to my driver's seat I keep a mini-cassette recorder. Whenever I have an idea for my comic strip, I say it into the recorder. So far, I have 21 different ideas. Not too shabby. Now, I just have to find the time to draw them. That's the trick.

Drew gave me one of those Livestrong yellow bracelets. Basically they're yellow rubber bands that cost a dollar. The proceeds go to fight cancer, and are named after cyclist and testicular cancer beater Lance Armstrong. I mentioned to him on Friday that I thought his looked cool and that I like one. He put one under my door yesterday and emailed me saying that it wasn't "a fashion statement, but this is something he sincerely believes in."

I think Drew's mom passed away from cancer two years ago. It sounded pretty crass when I said that on Friday night, but I assured him that I wasn't wearing it because it was trendy, I told him about Aly's mom having cancer ten year's ago and my mom had Hodgkin's, so it has affected two people that I love too. I'm glad that I have it, it reminds me of those two people when I look at my right wrist.

Eddie may be having a party next week, so that should be pretty cool. I should spread the word. After I get off the phone with Aly, I think I'm going to drop my resume off at Harvard. Hopefully, I'll hear something soon. Talk to you on Thursday.

Ugh. The Sox

Wednesday night, Brownie called. "I have a proposition for ya, By." I was intrigued, "Go ahead."

"You give me a Pearl Jam ticket, and I'll give you a Sox ticket, some beer and a few dogs."

"Cool."

The Sox played the-thorn-in-thier-sides Baltimore Orioles. I haven't really had a bad word to say about Sox manager Tito Francona, but during these last few days, he has really sucked. I mean, Grady Little bad in terms of his bullpen management. Let's start with Thursday night, the Sox were tied with the O's 5-5, going into the fifth. Derek Lowe pitched kind of crappy and it was time for the bullpen.

He brings in Terry Adams, who pitches two no-hit innings. Good job. Then he brings in Ramiro Mendoza. He shits the bed getting no one out so Mike Myers comes in, loads the bases but gets two outs. Up comes a .186 pinch hitter, something Leon. He gets a hit. Two runs score. So, the Sox are trailing by two going into the eight, they go down one, two, three.

I guess Tito thinks that a major league game is over after the eighth, because he brings in Byung Hung Kim. He gets two quick outs and then explodes to give up two more. Of course, the Sox score two in the top of the ninth with David Ortiz hits a bomb that was about 15 feet away from going out. So the Sox lost the game and a game on the Yanks.

Two things about this game: people were completely pissed off at BH Kim. I have no idea why. Was it because he sucked at the beginning of the year? Was it because he flipped the crowd off last year? I don't know, but it was pretty freaking obnoxious. You have to cheer for your home team, unless they completely do something stupid. And being an asshole just to be an asshole doesn't make you a good or intelligent fan. It makes you a knee-jerk moron.

The other thing is that there is no other thing. I have no idea why I wrote that and since I'm on Sara's Apple laptop, editing things is a pain in the ass.

I asked Brownie to be a groomsman. He wanted to know what he had to do. I'm not sure if he's ever been in a wedding before, so I had to tell him what he had to do: give me two hours between and now next year for a tux fitting, walk people down the aisle and make sure that I don't run out of the church. He said that he could handle that. So, after the game I walked to Aly's place. It was a beautiful night, and a pretty nice walk, a little over a half hour to walk a mile and a half. Walking those roads from Fenway to Brookline made me think that I would love to live in Brookline Village and work somewhere in town.

Friday night, Aly and I met Skaus and Nick (and a few of their friends) at T's Pub on Commonwealth. Big game friday night. Huge game. The Yanks were in town, Pedro was on the hill and the Sox and Yanks were in a pennant race. The Sox were winning until the eighth when Tito decided to pull a Grady Little and leave him in the eighth inning, though he was well over 100 pitches. Bad move, a homer by Matsui and two more runs left the Sox in a 6-4 going into the ninth. Despite putting the tying run on first twice, the Sox couldn't do anything against Mariano Rivera.

What is the old cliche? "Those that don't study the pass are doomed to repeat it." Seriously, this was almost a carbon copy of Game Seven (except that last year was in Yankee Stadium). He is supposed to be a "numbers" manager and he does this? Unbelievable. On Thursday night, I didn't really blame him, a playoff-bound reliever should be able to get out a .186 pinch hitter. But this? This is entirely something different. For an entire year people were talking about Game Seven, and while the stakes weren't as high, he still screwed it up. This does instill confidence. Even Eddie was on the edge, he posted for the first time on timquinn.com with a scathing rant against Tito.

No one ever said it's easy being a Sox fan. The good thing about baseball is that there is another game tonight. If they win, most will be forgiven. Incidently, my parents are at tonight's game with their friends, sitting 11 rows from the field. What the fuck?

Two interesting things happened during the game. One, Aly's friend from High School, Jeff came up to visit. He seemed like a pretty cool guy, has led an interesting life. He lived in Japan for five years, teaching Japanese students how to speak English. He then moved to Los Angeles for a few years. He told us that he hated it, people were extremely mean, in-your-face and just too insane. He decided to come home because he missed Massachusetts. I liked him and I hope we see him again soon.

Ryan and Mike went to the game last night and as they were waiting in traffic a few Yankee fans started with them. Ryan threw a Coke can in one of their faces. They started to chase them. BANG! A Heineken battle spider-webbed their rear window. BANG! A Heineken bottle smashed through their rear window. The Yankee fans continued their chase, but never caught them. Ryan and Mike came over after the game, and Ryan didn't look too good. I think he knows that a line was crossed.

Today we didn't do much. Aly and I had to go and visit the priest for our compatability test, there was the typical questions on their. Only there was 156 of them. Afterwards we spoke about it and we seemed to be in agreement on the answers we put down. Then we watched movies. Saw a terrible movie, "50 First Dates". Not only was it a stupid story about a woman who gets amnesia every day, but Adam Sandler put in a shot against the Sox. Fuck him. That was a shit thing to do. Adam Sandler is one of my least favorite "actors" now. He can just suck it.

BTW, I was reading the Boston Phoenix today and it looks as if Public Enemy and Living Colour are playing a double bill next month at Avalon. I have to find someone to go with me. That is an awesome show.

Odds and Ends

Today I didn't go to work. I had to go to the doctor's, I think I may have written this before, my doctor thinks that I have Grave's Disease. It sounds a lot worse than it really is, basically my pituitary gland is shutting down sending signals asking for more hormones in my thyroid. So basically, my thyroid is getting a shit load of hormones and making my throat swollen.

There are a lot of symptoms for this, none of which I have: losing weight, losing hair (bad genes, more than hypothyroid), shaking hands, etc. So, today I had to go to the nuclear medicine wing of the Anna Jacques hospital and take a few radiation pills in the morning and then have an MRI type x-ray in the afternoon. Took a total of 25-30 minutes. Because of that, I didn't go to work.

I forgot to tell you, on Friday I sent my sitcom script into Bravo in California. It should be there by now. Hopefully, I'll hear something soon. It would be pretty sweet if I got good news.

I've been reading this Blog and I've noticed that I've been pretty much writing a journal about what I've been doing in my life. Really, who gives a shit? I should be writing about what's going on in pop culture and sports and shit like that.

Tonight, the Sox won. Finally. They dropped three straight and looked like complete shit. Curt Schilling pitched a hell of a game tonight, striking out 12 Orioles. The Sox were leading 1-0 with two outs, two strikes in the bottom of the ninth. Baltimore had the tying run on second when Javy Lopez nailed a dinger off of Foulke.

The Sox go into the bottom of the ninth and put men on second and third. There are two outs, and the human K machine, Mark Belhorn is up. For some stupid reason O's manager Lee Mazilli decides to take BJ Ryan, who is throwing gas, out and brings in Jorge Julio. Julio promptly gives up a two-run double. Game over. The Sox win. Mazilli is so far above his head, it's not even funny. I doubt that he's going to last until November.

I'm watching "NYPD Blue" with my brother. He really digs this show, and I've never really seen it before. It's good. Mark-Paul Gosselar is the young cop to Sipowitz' grizzled veteran, and you know what? He does a pretty good job. Makes you completely forget that he was once Zack Morris.

Speaking of which, I saw that show (Saved By the Bell) for the first time in a long time the other day. That show is fucking terrible, but it was always enjoyable. I don't know why I liked it so much. The acting was terrible and the plots were cliche ridden monkey-typed script. I guess the main reason was two-fold: hot chicks and predicatble stories. You didn't have to think while watching SBTB.

In the first act Zack was going to get a scheme going. Second act, Screech fucks it up, getting Mr. Belding into the plot, third act everything wraps up pretty nicely. Stupid show, but very entertaining.

A weekend in the toilet

I've had a busy couple of days, so I'll try to fill you in on the details.

Nothing really happened on Wednesday or Thursday, but Friday was a different story. Had to work, of course, but after that, I picked Aly and my mother at Ryan's parents' house for our trip to New York. We were staying at Danna and Rick's, while mom was going to Cousin Kathy's in Mt. Vernon. The ride out there sucked. My mother wanted to drive and she drove all right, slowly. It took us five hours to get there.

And then we got lost in Mt. Vernon in one of the worst slums I've ever seen. We almost get nailed by a white Escalade that was peeling away from a corner. We guessed it was a drug deal, and we were probably right. So, I haven't seen Kathy in a while, and she was really psyched to see me and was really pumped to meet Aly.

After we dropped mom off, we went to Danna and Rick's. We ended up drinking until 3:00 am. After five hours in a car, I needed more than one beer. They also busted out the champagne.

On Saturday, Aly and I went to have brunch with Mom and Kathy. We went to a diner in Mt. Vernon and Kathy gave us a really nice engagement gift. Way too generous. Aly and I were both speechless. After that we went to White Plains where I crashed hard, and fell asleep for like three and a half hours. When I woke up we went to Rye to a restaurant called Frankie and Johnnie's.

We had a nice steak dinner, and guess who we sat next to? Joe Torre. That's right, the Yankees' manager was at an arm's length from me the entire night. Seemed like a good guy, but didn't seem like a good conversationalist. I assume he was with his wife and all he talked was baseball. Which would've been cool to me, but I'm sure his wife was like, "Shut the fuck up." He talked about Sparky Lyle trying to become a manager and how he was soaking wet at last night's game.

The one thing I really felt bad about were the folks who just had to stop by and give Joe a pat on the back. He looked like, "Jesus, leave me alone I'm eating dinner with my wife and boring her with stories about shitty ballplayers." There was this one guy that took the cake; he was about 48 or 49 and he walked over to Torre and asked him for an autograph.

Give me a fucking break man, get a sack. Hey, I have to admit, I was a bit star srtuck, it was interesting eating next to a guy you've only seen on television, but let the guy eat his steak and drink his vino. But not this asshole, he had to get proof that he ate near a celebrity. The one thing that I wanted to do was turn around and go up to Torre with a camera in my hand and say, "I don't normally do this and I know you're done with eating. If you have a second can you ..."

At which point he'd say, "Fine, you can grab a picture." And then I would say, "Uhm actually I wanted you to get a picture of my fiance and our two friends." I wonder what he'd do? I bet he'd get a little pissed, but maybe he'd laugh. Who knows.

Rick was star struck. It was like sitting at a table with a jr. high girl.

Sunday we woke up early and went into the city to meet Grandma Connie because she wanted to see Aly's ring. We had a little breakfast and it was on to the Toilet, better known as Yankee stadium. There were a lot of Sox fans there, and all of us went home sad. The Sox got fucking hammered 11-1, which came on the heels of a 14-4 drubbing. The Sox also lost tonight to the Orioles, which means that they've lost three in a row for the first time in about six weeks.

They look terrible.

It took us about six hours to get home with all of the traffic and bullshit, so I am absoultey beat. A fun way to start the morning today, my chair was completely soaked. The cheapskates at work will not fix the roof, so whenever it rains my desk gets soaked. Nothing like sitting in a pair of wet jeans for half the day. This place is starting to get to me.

I went to Chili's tonight. It was supposed to be a big gathering, but Kim and Jamie didn't go (her computer crashed hardcore) and Colleen and Chris didn't show up. It was me, Sara, Skaus, Mi-shu and Nick. It was fun. The smaller Chili's gatherings are cool because you can actually talk to everyone and find out what is going on.

I finished, "Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them", by Al Franken. Franken does a great job of showing how conservatives are lying assholes, but at 382 pages, it sort of gets a bit repetitive. I never thought I'd say that, but whether it's conservatism or liberalism, dogmatic rhetoric for almost 400 pages gets sort of boring.

I also finished "Naked Olympics" last month, but I think I forgot to mention it. I've been on quite a reading roll lately. NO was cool, even though I hate the modern Olympic games. The author has done an awesome job with his research about how the Olympics used to be. Makes me want to go to Greece real bad and just hang out in Olympia, where they had the games every year.

BTW, speaking of the written word, I sent my sitcom in the other day to Bravo. It's not exactly what I wanted, but it's good. Jay seemed to really like it. Ok, I'm fucking tired, I'll write more tomorrow.