So I was sleeping on the blue couch, Jason was on the yellow one, and what happens? Matt Nagowski comes and wakes me up. No biggie, we weren't supposed to fall asleep, but I suppose you can't help it when the Mets are playing.
Anyway, Matt was slightly winded, and were it a Lassie episode I would have to had guessed that little Timmy was stuck in a well again.
But no.
Matt had come to get me for the Iron Chef match.
Yeah, that's right. I talk a lot about TV, and maybe it's beucase there isn't much else to do in Ithaca after dark (The gorges are a bit sketchy then). But in this case, no TV was involved, just pure unadulterated fun.
Matt was taking on Iron Chef Min over at Phil's place. I was needed for three things: an egg, moral support, and my video camera. Nothing like milking a friendship.
We ran over to Phil's apartment and things got underway. Matt seemed ahead of Min, preparing two dishes to her one, needing less time, but there was a reason. You see, like most males Matt has two types of chromosomes. X, and the unfriendly Y.
Now the Y chromosome can be responsible for some pretty amazing things, like the invention of the wheel, fire, and those cool naked lady pens. But on this night, it merely led to dissapointment. After a backbreaking hour and a half, Min trounced Matt in all areas. But what do the judges really know? They didn't even stay for ice cream floats!
---
I've been going into work more, and it seems to be keeping me busy. Nabina can never remember when I'm supposed to be in, so she fishes for something for me to do when I'm there. It's good, I got two solid article ideas today, one of which I could easily pull off in an afternoon.
Then Bruce got me. Remembering that I could use Quark, he put me to work updating the welcome guide. I guess it's going to be my pet project for the rest of the summer. I'm cool with it, as long as I get a byline sometime along the way (or three -- I really need two to submit for next year's internship apps).
---
Today was also a friend's birthday. I didn't do much, but in this case just remembering made it special.
You see, this friend is in California. I met her during the LA Times workshop this Spring.
It's kind of sad really. You go so far, and take away so much, but at the same time leave a bit of yourself behind. In this case, I went out to get an internship, but walked away with about 25 amazing friends.
Melody is one of those friends.
She's smart, funny, going places -- the kind of girl I'd like to date if she didn't live on the opposite coast. I'd like to hope that we'll remain friends despite the distance.
But remembering it was Melody's birthday also reminded me of all the other cool kids I met that week. Steve Elsasser was just rediculous, Arash was generous, Barry was the most "together" guy I've ever met, and Stephan was like my long lost twin. I really miss those kids beucase of the connection we forged.
And no, I don't mean the compulsive gambling and massive monitary losses at Hollywood Park.
I mean that we were all into the same thing -- we all are adventurous -- we all like to tell stories -- and among those thirty kids were some of the most caring and generous people I think I will ever meet.
(And where else will you find four guys that ready to hit the strip club after a full plate of chicken and waffles?)
It's really too bad that our whole lives can't be like a giant conference. I mean, what if people didn't hide behind their fences and doors? What if they were open and got to know their neighbor -- their fellow man? I suppose we might not ever truly know.
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
Monday, July 28, 2003
Things I do when I should be sleeping:
1) Read Bill Plaschke columns from the book the nice people at the L.A. Times gave me
2) Think about tomorrow
3) Think about doing laundry tomorrow
4) Read some more Plaschke
5) Make several unecessary trips to the bathroom
6) Toss in bed
7) Give up on sleeping, read some more Plaschke
8) Think about playing Zelda
9) Eat
10) Realize that Rachel is coming to get me in an hour. The day starts too soon.
2) Think about tomorrow
3) Think about doing laundry tomorrow
4) Read some more Plaschke
5) Make several unecessary trips to the bathroom
6) Toss in bed
7) Give up on sleeping, read some more Plaschke
8) Think about playing Zelda
9) Eat
10) Realize that Rachel is coming to get me in an hour. The day starts too soon.
Sunday, July 27, 2003
After a Rocky start, Father Bob recovers...
I did it again.
I was up until 5 a.m. downloading comedy mp3s again. I got some good stuff, some Dave Attell, some more Dane Cook, but I don't think it was worth it. I ended up sleeping most of the next day, and got up at 3:30. It was just in time, however.
Turning on my tv to Fox's Saturday Baseball game, I was able to have breakfast while watching the BoSox down the Yankees. This means that Boston is just 2 1/2 back, hopefully just a half after tonight.
The apartmentmates began to join me, and after the game we found the best tv show ever (next to surf girls of course).
It opened like this: Five gay guys drove up in a black SUV, got out and started accosting this straight white guy. Then each one of the gay guy used his special skill (which supposedly from the angle of the show, gay men are allowed to only have one special skill each) to help the straight guy out, as if he were some chairity case.
I tell you, if the governement invested its money in gays instead of things like wellfare, we'd be a better nation.
They cut hair, shopped with, taught cooking skills and even tanned their straight chairty case. And of course, they did it in style. Check out the latest episode this Tuesday at 10 p.m. on Bravo. If you live in Ithaca, you can even come over to watch.
After four or so odd episodes (and I mean odd), I went up to the track to knock off a mile or two. This time, I started with a hard mile, then did some paced laps. In the end, I felt good.
I came back and made dinner. Jason was falling asleep on the couch, so we kept switching back and forth between things on the tv. Eventually the phone rang. It was Rachel.
She was going to get bombed at her cast party -- very cool -- but wanted to apologize for not calling me back the night before. I told her it was completely unecessary and then we set up a "date" for church.
(I put date in qoutes becuase we're not dating, and if we were, church would not be as good of a prelude as say ... dinner and a movie.)
Then the phone rang again. I picked it up, but the person didn't identify themselves.
" Hey. It's Me," they said. Worse still, it was grainy in sound quality and a bit quiet. I thought it might have been my brother, so I just played it out to see what they wanted.
It ended up being Graham.
He had just finished working on his lab report for the night and was on his way to the video store. He wanted to know if he should pick up Rocky. We had discussed how neither of us had ever seen it earlier in the day, and decided that it was a guy's movie night. I told him to do it.
About 10 minutes later we were watching Sylvester Stallone mumble his way through his lines, and the life of one Rocky Balboa. Halfway through, Graham said what I was thinking, the movie kind of sucked.
But then I thought about it. I went into it expecting a good film becuase so many people talk about it as one. Instead, Rocky needs to be approached like any other independent film. Beucase that's what it is.
After I chewed on that for a while, it all made sense, and the movie seemed a little better. That and Sylvester Stallone was talking to people who spoke in complete sentences. Always a plus when you can understand the dialouge.
After that it was time for my pre-bedtime shower.
This morning, I got up just in time to comb out the bed head and put on some clean clothes. Then I met Rachel downstairs for church.
We got there and climbed the stairs, realizing as we picked up the song books that there was to be a baptism. It was a bit strange, having a baptism at a collegiate church, but I like the ceremony so I didn't complain.
The priest known to me as "Father Bob" was once again saying Mass. They announced his real name when Father Mike left, but I didn't retain it. Funny, retention of the things said at mass was a topic of his sermon. I didn't feel bad though when he admitted that it was his own poor retention that brought up the idea.
The baptism threw father Bob for a loop. He fumbled words left and right, skipped parts of the ceremony, and for some reason didn't pour chrism (or oil) on the baby. Far be it from me to argue with a priest, but any good alter and catholic school boy knows you are supposed to use chrism. Ah well, perhaps they have handed down a new church decree. If not, I doubt it's absence has sentenced the child to hell. Well I would hope not.
Father Bob recovered, however. In the end, it was a great ceremony, one surely worthy of God's blessings. That (and I'll go to hell for this) and the godmother was hot! I also didn't notice a wedding ring, which prompted me to think about asking Rachel to hit her with her car, but then my conscience got the better of me. It looked like she had a boyfriend, and he looked bigger than I am.
I was up until 5 a.m. downloading comedy mp3s again. I got some good stuff, some Dave Attell, some more Dane Cook, but I don't think it was worth it. I ended up sleeping most of the next day, and got up at 3:30. It was just in time, however.
Turning on my tv to Fox's Saturday Baseball game, I was able to have breakfast while watching the BoSox down the Yankees. This means that Boston is just 2 1/2 back, hopefully just a half after tonight.
The apartmentmates began to join me, and after the game we found the best tv show ever (next to surf girls of course).
It opened like this: Five gay guys drove up in a black SUV, got out and started accosting this straight white guy. Then each one of the gay guy used his special skill (which supposedly from the angle of the show, gay men are allowed to only have one special skill each) to help the straight guy out, as if he were some chairity case.
I tell you, if the governement invested its money in gays instead of things like wellfare, we'd be a better nation.
They cut hair, shopped with, taught cooking skills and even tanned their straight chairty case. And of course, they did it in style. Check out the latest episode this Tuesday at 10 p.m. on Bravo. If you live in Ithaca, you can even come over to watch.
After four or so odd episodes (and I mean odd), I went up to the track to knock off a mile or two. This time, I started with a hard mile, then did some paced laps. In the end, I felt good.
I came back and made dinner. Jason was falling asleep on the couch, so we kept switching back and forth between things on the tv. Eventually the phone rang. It was Rachel.
She was going to get bombed at her cast party -- very cool -- but wanted to apologize for not calling me back the night before. I told her it was completely unecessary and then we set up a "date" for church.
(I put date in qoutes becuase we're not dating, and if we were, church would not be as good of a prelude as say ... dinner and a movie.)
Then the phone rang again. I picked it up, but the person didn't identify themselves.
" Hey. It's Me," they said. Worse still, it was grainy in sound quality and a bit quiet. I thought it might have been my brother, so I just played it out to see what they wanted.
It ended up being Graham.
He had just finished working on his lab report for the night and was on his way to the video store. He wanted to know if he should pick up Rocky. We had discussed how neither of us had ever seen it earlier in the day, and decided that it was a guy's movie night. I told him to do it.
About 10 minutes later we were watching Sylvester Stallone mumble his way through his lines, and the life of one Rocky Balboa. Halfway through, Graham said what I was thinking, the movie kind of sucked.
But then I thought about it. I went into it expecting a good film becuase so many people talk about it as one. Instead, Rocky needs to be approached like any other independent film. Beucase that's what it is.
After I chewed on that for a while, it all made sense, and the movie seemed a little better. That and Sylvester Stallone was talking to people who spoke in complete sentences. Always a plus when you can understand the dialouge.
After that it was time for my pre-bedtime shower.
This morning, I got up just in time to comb out the bed head and put on some clean clothes. Then I met Rachel downstairs for church.
We got there and climbed the stairs, realizing as we picked up the song books that there was to be a baptism. It was a bit strange, having a baptism at a collegiate church, but I like the ceremony so I didn't complain.
The priest known to me as "Father Bob" was once again saying Mass. They announced his real name when Father Mike left, but I didn't retain it. Funny, retention of the things said at mass was a topic of his sermon. I didn't feel bad though when he admitted that it was his own poor retention that brought up the idea.
The baptism threw father Bob for a loop. He fumbled words left and right, skipped parts of the ceremony, and for some reason didn't pour chrism (or oil) on the baby. Far be it from me to argue with a priest, but any good alter and catholic school boy knows you are supposed to use chrism. Ah well, perhaps they have handed down a new church decree. If not, I doubt it's absence has sentenced the child to hell. Well I would hope not.
Father Bob recovered, however. In the end, it was a great ceremony, one surely worthy of God's blessings. That (and I'll go to hell for this) and the godmother was hot! I also didn't notice a wedding ring, which prompted me to think about asking Rachel to hit her with her car, but then my conscience got the better of me. It looked like she had a boyfriend, and he looked bigger than I am.
Friday, July 25, 2003
A shower, two shaves, and some shopping ...
Water areobics was fun, except for the fact that it was at an ungodly hour. I almost missed it, too. I woke up to my alarm at 6:30, then turned it off and sunk back into bed. I fought myself for a few minutes, and eventually got back out of bed. It seemed like seconds to me, but the clock told me otherwise. I had been dozing for 16 minutes, and now was late.
I put on some clothes (a bathing suit to be exact), and found Rachel. She was throwing stones at my window to try and wake me up. She laughed when I told her what happened, and then we got in the car and took off. It was a sleepy drive through campus, but it was pretty, most likely beucase there weren't any people out to mess up the view.
Water Areobics reminded me of high school, especially the times I used to go with the choir to the nursing home. Most of the people were over the age of 50, and for some reason they all could float better than I. Over breakfast I told Rachel I thought it was becuase I didn't have boobs. She corrected me and told me it was beucase I didn't have any body fat.
It wasn't really a great work out, but my left leg felt sore anyway. I had beat it up the previous day while doing some hard laps on the track. I put in a mile of extensive tempo, and then launched into a hard 800. From there I did another mile. But I don't think that did it. On the way home, I slipped on a wet manhole cover and twisted my left leg. That's what did it. And I was so sure that I took a nap.
I woke up from my nap and did something, but it wasn't that memorable beucase by now I have forgotten it. Later, Rachel called again and I went to the Gym with her. Brian and Graham came along, and they spent the time being lifting buddies. I did my usual circuit stuff, and Rachel tried out some of the new exercises she had learned from her trips to the trainer.
--
The next morning we did the Polar Bear thing, or atleast we meant to do the polar bear thing. The previous evening's surging rain had overrun the gorge, and our once calm and shallow swimming hole had turned into a white water disaster area.
"This drains the largest watershed in Tompkins county," Matt Nagowski told us all. Atleast that's what I think he was saying. Somewhere from about the time when we first heard the water, to when we left, I sort of blocked everything else out. I was too busy thinking about how if I am reincarnated, I want to come back as a mighty river.
With no swimming, I just dove into bed without my customary shower. I then napped until about noon, when I was supposed to be at the Ithaca Journal to meet the metro editor. It's okay that I was late though, he neglected to tell me that he wouldn't be in until 4 p.m. He also neglected to mention that I was coming in. As a result, there was nothing for me to do. So I did what I would have done at home, I read the paper.
Somewhere along the way I had a chat with two of the reporters. One, Anne, also went to Cornell and wrote for the Sun. The other, Lauren (I think it was Lauren), was leaving soon to go to law school. I should ask her why, if I get the chance.
John came in just in time for me to say goodbye and get to my LSAT class. No surprise there, but it was another wasted day at the Ithaca Journal. I guess it wasn't a total waste, however, as I was given a feature assignment by the M.E., and hammered out a quasi-permanent schedule with John. My next day is today (Friday), and I will be working the late shift.
Class was class. I got there, did my thing, fell asleep as we went over some problems (I had gotten them all right, so in my mind there was no guilt). I parted ways with Brian and then headed to Matt's porch, where I was already 15 minutes late for Tuesday on the Porch.
After grabbing some sahlens hotdogs and rushing down the street, I was dissapointed. I was the only one who had shown up so far for porch night. Atleast I was the only one besides Matt who was currently there.
It didn't matter. I threw on some dogs, and the next thing I knew, Phil was there. Min had also come along, and then eventually Hannah and Dan showed up. There was this indian guy, and K, and his girlfriend, too. The indian guy had a name like "meekit?" I'm sure I'll catch it later.
So there we were. We had some great conversation, and it was just amazing to be with people. The night wound down as slowly as it started, but not without a rousing game of 3-D tic-tac-toe. Matt won of course, overcoming the collective brain power of Phil and myself, as well as newcomer Dan. But it was all good, and in the end, I went home with a bike.
I didn't really win the bike, I just kind of cashed in on a friendship. Although cashed in makes it sound like I used it up, and I would hope that I have not.
Anyway, I got up the next morning, threw on some clothes and began looking for a bike helmet. Not finding one, I called my feature person (an antique dealer), told them I'd be there within 45 minutes, and headed up to The Rack (or whatever the hell the Ctown bike store is) and purchased a helmet.
Then I was on my way to Lansing. Ten miles away, my interview was waiting.
And so my 45 minutes stretched itself. I road by the mall, almost got hit by a truck (he even made eye contact with me before he pulled right up to me), and then eventually discovered the beauty of Lansing.
If you ride Tripphammer straight out, you will eventually hit route 34. Before that, however, you will sit in traffic by the mall, die of boredom as you pass farm after farm, and then eventually ralize something. The view from the road is fantastic.
Somewhere after a place I like to call farm #368, the westward view opens up to reveal a stunning vissage of Cayuga Lake (*note* There is no such thing as Lake Cayuga).
But I didn't have time to admire it. I was late, and my interviewee had an appointment coming up. I made it to the store, dismounted, took a deep breath and ran in. There, behind the counter was a short middle aged woman with glasses, whom I grew to know over the next half hour.
Barn Store Antiques was amazing, eclipsed only by its proprieters. If they don't have an antique or collectible you're looking for, you can get on a list, and they'll try and find it. Now that's service.
I finished up, took down her home phone number for further information, and was soon riding back down route 34 B. It was a lot easier going back, as most of the ride was down a gentle hill. I got back home around 3:30 and after another hour was ready to call it a day. I watched some Mets baseball, made dinner, and caught myself falling asleep on the couch.
So what did I do?
You guessed it. I stayed up until 4 a.m. Oh, but it was worth it. I downloaded a whole bunch of Bernie Mac, Dave Chapelle, and Chris Rock. It will be worth a fortune on our upcoming sports roadtrips. Hell, we'll probably listen to Brian Regan a bunch more times before we do anything else, but I can't wait for some Bernie Mac. He's pure genius.
--
I awoke to the sound of claning pots. It turned out that the properties place had finally sent someone to fix the stove. Of course, they had to do it early in the morning. The stove guy ( suspiciously the same guy who got rid of our Bat a month earlier) left, and I went back to bed.
I got up again to find that Katie (graham's girlfriend, and a good personal friend of mine) had come to visit. I joined the rest of the apartment around the TV, and soon we found ourselves entrenched in a Euchre battle. Somewhere along the way to Panamanian glory, Echo Cheng, our landlady paid us a visit. She started by inspecting our rooms, and snapping photos of how everything looked. She spent a long time looking at the stain on my carpet, and I wondered if she knew it was there before hand. Shane, the guy who showed us the apartment seemed to, so I wasn't too worried.
She left, Jason and I took Graham and Katie in another Team Panama Victory, and then I spent the afternoon double dipping.
First I watched the Minnesota Twins beat the KC Royals. Then I ate two eggs with two peices of cheese on top. Next I watched Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen in their ABC Family TV show. Then I checked my e-mail. Twice.
Not sure what to do after that, and realizing I smelled bad, I took a shower. It was three days in the making, and once I was gloriously clean, I decided to mess it all at the gym.
Wow.
I love the gym, if only for it's asthetic purposes. There was this hot blonde in a green top on the stairsteppers. Now if they could only move the treadmills so that they were behind the stairsteppers, and not the otherway around...
I walked home at a gingerly pace. I also spotted Ithaca mystery girl (the brunette who said hello on East Seneca last week) walking around on Eddy. She was headed farther up to somewhere near college ave, and while we passed each other, there were unfortuantely no "hello"s this time.
It's okay. I've decided that if it happens again, I'm just going to slip her the tounge and be done with it.
I got home, and realized I needed to go shopping. Rachel hadn't called at all, and while she said she'd call again when she had to go to the store, I just couldn't wait any longer. Grabbing my green bag, hat, and raincoat, I began the walk to Wegmans.
Graham and Jason said it was crazy. Maybe they were right, but about an hour and a half later, I returned. In my arms were groceries, including my dinner.
The two who called me crazy on the otherhand had done a bit of maddness themselves.
While putting my stuff away, I asked Jason what the duo had done in my absence.
"We shaved our heads," he replied.
And that's about the point where I coughed up a nut.
I specifically remember Katie giving some sort of threat to Graham about shaving his head.
Ok, maybe I don't specifically remember it, but I do remember a threat. Anyway, there I was putting away my groceries, when two minutes in, Graham and his shaved head step into the room.
I wasn't sure what to say. Congratulations? I'm sorry? You missed a spot?
Yeah, it was just one of those odd moments. I'm sure I now know how they feel when I hike up my pants, throw on a hat, grab the panamania flag and parade around the house yelling things. To put it bluntly we live in a strange and magnificent place.
So after staring at the hair for a while, we watched a movie. Batman, with Michael Keaton. It was great.
But now it's time for bed. Tomorrow is a big day of sleeping, swimming at Helen Newman, and checking my fantasy scores (I'm in a solid sixth spot, and poised to take fifth this week).
---
I'm not listening to anything right now. I'm boring and lame. But not as bad as you people. 12 of you visited 32 times yesterday.
I put on some clothes (a bathing suit to be exact), and found Rachel. She was throwing stones at my window to try and wake me up. She laughed when I told her what happened, and then we got in the car and took off. It was a sleepy drive through campus, but it was pretty, most likely beucase there weren't any people out to mess up the view.
Water Areobics reminded me of high school, especially the times I used to go with the choir to the nursing home. Most of the people were over the age of 50, and for some reason they all could float better than I. Over breakfast I told Rachel I thought it was becuase I didn't have boobs. She corrected me and told me it was beucase I didn't have any body fat.
It wasn't really a great work out, but my left leg felt sore anyway. I had beat it up the previous day while doing some hard laps on the track. I put in a mile of extensive tempo, and then launched into a hard 800. From there I did another mile. But I don't think that did it. On the way home, I slipped on a wet manhole cover and twisted my left leg. That's what did it. And I was so sure that I took a nap.
I woke up from my nap and did something, but it wasn't that memorable beucase by now I have forgotten it. Later, Rachel called again and I went to the Gym with her. Brian and Graham came along, and they spent the time being lifting buddies. I did my usual circuit stuff, and Rachel tried out some of the new exercises she had learned from her trips to the trainer.
--
The next morning we did the Polar Bear thing, or atleast we meant to do the polar bear thing. The previous evening's surging rain had overrun the gorge, and our once calm and shallow swimming hole had turned into a white water disaster area.
"This drains the largest watershed in Tompkins county," Matt Nagowski told us all. Atleast that's what I think he was saying. Somewhere from about the time when we first heard the water, to when we left, I sort of blocked everything else out. I was too busy thinking about how if I am reincarnated, I want to come back as a mighty river.
With no swimming, I just dove into bed without my customary shower. I then napped until about noon, when I was supposed to be at the Ithaca Journal to meet the metro editor. It's okay that I was late though, he neglected to tell me that he wouldn't be in until 4 p.m. He also neglected to mention that I was coming in. As a result, there was nothing for me to do. So I did what I would have done at home, I read the paper.
Somewhere along the way I had a chat with two of the reporters. One, Anne, also went to Cornell and wrote for the Sun. The other, Lauren (I think it was Lauren), was leaving soon to go to law school. I should ask her why, if I get the chance.
John came in just in time for me to say goodbye and get to my LSAT class. No surprise there, but it was another wasted day at the Ithaca Journal. I guess it wasn't a total waste, however, as I was given a feature assignment by the M.E., and hammered out a quasi-permanent schedule with John. My next day is today (Friday), and I will be working the late shift.
Class was class. I got there, did my thing, fell asleep as we went over some problems (I had gotten them all right, so in my mind there was no guilt). I parted ways with Brian and then headed to Matt's porch, where I was already 15 minutes late for Tuesday on the Porch.
After grabbing some sahlens hotdogs and rushing down the street, I was dissapointed. I was the only one who had shown up so far for porch night. Atleast I was the only one besides Matt who was currently there.
It didn't matter. I threw on some dogs, and the next thing I knew, Phil was there. Min had also come along, and then eventually Hannah and Dan showed up. There was this indian guy, and K, and his girlfriend, too. The indian guy had a name like "meekit?" I'm sure I'll catch it later.
So there we were. We had some great conversation, and it was just amazing to be with people. The night wound down as slowly as it started, but not without a rousing game of 3-D tic-tac-toe. Matt won of course, overcoming the collective brain power of Phil and myself, as well as newcomer Dan. But it was all good, and in the end, I went home with a bike.
I didn't really win the bike, I just kind of cashed in on a friendship. Although cashed in makes it sound like I used it up, and I would hope that I have not.
Anyway, I got up the next morning, threw on some clothes and began looking for a bike helmet. Not finding one, I called my feature person (an antique dealer), told them I'd be there within 45 minutes, and headed up to The Rack (or whatever the hell the Ctown bike store is) and purchased a helmet.
Then I was on my way to Lansing. Ten miles away, my interview was waiting.
And so my 45 minutes stretched itself. I road by the mall, almost got hit by a truck (he even made eye contact with me before he pulled right up to me), and then eventually discovered the beauty of Lansing.
If you ride Tripphammer straight out, you will eventually hit route 34. Before that, however, you will sit in traffic by the mall, die of boredom as you pass farm after farm, and then eventually ralize something. The view from the road is fantastic.
Somewhere after a place I like to call farm #368, the westward view opens up to reveal a stunning vissage of Cayuga Lake (*note* There is no such thing as Lake Cayuga).
But I didn't have time to admire it. I was late, and my interviewee had an appointment coming up. I made it to the store, dismounted, took a deep breath and ran in. There, behind the counter was a short middle aged woman with glasses, whom I grew to know over the next half hour.
Barn Store Antiques was amazing, eclipsed only by its proprieters. If they don't have an antique or collectible you're looking for, you can get on a list, and they'll try and find it. Now that's service.
I finished up, took down her home phone number for further information, and was soon riding back down route 34 B. It was a lot easier going back, as most of the ride was down a gentle hill. I got back home around 3:30 and after another hour was ready to call it a day. I watched some Mets baseball, made dinner, and caught myself falling asleep on the couch.
So what did I do?
You guessed it. I stayed up until 4 a.m. Oh, but it was worth it. I downloaded a whole bunch of Bernie Mac, Dave Chapelle, and Chris Rock. It will be worth a fortune on our upcoming sports roadtrips. Hell, we'll probably listen to Brian Regan a bunch more times before we do anything else, but I can't wait for some Bernie Mac. He's pure genius.
--
I awoke to the sound of claning pots. It turned out that the properties place had finally sent someone to fix the stove. Of course, they had to do it early in the morning. The stove guy ( suspiciously the same guy who got rid of our Bat a month earlier) left, and I went back to bed.
I got up again to find that Katie (graham's girlfriend, and a good personal friend of mine) had come to visit. I joined the rest of the apartment around the TV, and soon we found ourselves entrenched in a Euchre battle. Somewhere along the way to Panamanian glory, Echo Cheng, our landlady paid us a visit. She started by inspecting our rooms, and snapping photos of how everything looked. She spent a long time looking at the stain on my carpet, and I wondered if she knew it was there before hand. Shane, the guy who showed us the apartment seemed to, so I wasn't too worried.
She left, Jason and I took Graham and Katie in another Team Panama Victory, and then I spent the afternoon double dipping.
First I watched the Minnesota Twins beat the KC Royals. Then I ate two eggs with two peices of cheese on top. Next I watched Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen in their ABC Family TV show. Then I checked my e-mail. Twice.
Not sure what to do after that, and realizing I smelled bad, I took a shower. It was three days in the making, and once I was gloriously clean, I decided to mess it all at the gym.
Wow.
I love the gym, if only for it's asthetic purposes. There was this hot blonde in a green top on the stairsteppers. Now if they could only move the treadmills so that they were behind the stairsteppers, and not the otherway around...
I walked home at a gingerly pace. I also spotted Ithaca mystery girl (the brunette who said hello on East Seneca last week) walking around on Eddy. She was headed farther up to somewhere near college ave, and while we passed each other, there were unfortuantely no "hello"s this time.
It's okay. I've decided that if it happens again, I'm just going to slip her the tounge and be done with it.
I got home, and realized I needed to go shopping. Rachel hadn't called at all, and while she said she'd call again when she had to go to the store, I just couldn't wait any longer. Grabbing my green bag, hat, and raincoat, I began the walk to Wegmans.
Graham and Jason said it was crazy. Maybe they were right, but about an hour and a half later, I returned. In my arms were groceries, including my dinner.
The two who called me crazy on the otherhand had done a bit of maddness themselves.
While putting my stuff away, I asked Jason what the duo had done in my absence.
"We shaved our heads," he replied.
And that's about the point where I coughed up a nut.
I specifically remember Katie giving some sort of threat to Graham about shaving his head.
Ok, maybe I don't specifically remember it, but I do remember a threat. Anyway, there I was putting away my groceries, when two minutes in, Graham and his shaved head step into the room.
I wasn't sure what to say. Congratulations? I'm sorry? You missed a spot?
Yeah, it was just one of those odd moments. I'm sure I now know how they feel when I hike up my pants, throw on a hat, grab the panamania flag and parade around the house yelling things. To put it bluntly we live in a strange and magnificent place.
So after staring at the hair for a while, we watched a movie. Batman, with Michael Keaton. It was great.
But now it's time for bed. Tomorrow is a big day of sleeping, swimming at Helen Newman, and checking my fantasy scores (I'm in a solid sixth spot, and poised to take fifth this week).
---
I'm not listening to anything right now. I'm boring and lame. But not as bad as you people. 12 of you visited 32 times yesterday.
Monday, July 21, 2003
Swimming at what time???
I've got to get up at 6:20 a.m. tomorrow (today, actually) so I can meet Rachel for water areobics. In otherwords, I'm going to come back home and take a nap, so I probably won't update until late tomorrow afternoon.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
A Quiet Day...
I tried to wake up around 1 p.m. so that I could make it to Rachel's performance in the plantations. Then I just tried to get up.
After succeeding sometime around 3:30 p.m., I wandered out, had a bowl of ceral and decided to wait it out till I could go for a run. While waiting, I was flipping around and found the Graduate was on, so I watched it (with the occasional flip to ESPN or MTV during commercial breaks).
The film is simply amazing, and everyone should see it for the soundtrack alone. Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits weave in and out of the background of the film and softly into you ears as Here's to you Mrs. Robinson, Sound of Silence, and several others come and go. On top of that, Dustin Hoffman headlines a stellar cast of females that just served to make me more depressed. But that's okay, surf girls is on MTV on Monday.
Just about the time I was going to get up for my run, I decided to check with Matt Tyhatch to see what he was up to for the evening. He suggested playing lacrosse, and since the opportunity rarely presents itself, I skipped the run for an evening on the Schoellkopf green.
It was great. Matt, Matt Sheinkopf, and I ran around for about 45 minutes. Passing to the net, taking turns playing a poor man's goaltender, and running after the ball. Just about the only thing we did more than run after the ball was to laugh. Jokes about ourselves, each other, and anything else we could think of flew for the same time our passes did, and then some. We continued Matt's night out at Shortstop Deli and then at the fraternity house. It was there we watched Clerks.
I had never seen the film, and while it would have been lame if viewing it by myself, seeing it with friends put it into a new context. It seemed to mirror my life.
Well, not my life, but rather the lives of the people I used to live with. All I could think of while watching the film was of Lancaster and the people who still live there, mainly Paul, Bryan, Tim, Marty, Huefner, and the rest of the crew. Afterall, they work at convenient stores, play hockey in strange places, and have even stranger trials with women.
It truly embodied the romantic yearning to go home, except for the fact that home isn't how you really remember it. The people, places, and faces all change until one day, "Home" changes too. I guess from that stand point I'm a bit of a vagabond, not really having a place to call home anymore, especially beucase I'll probably never permanently return to Buffalo.
Clerks the movie turned into Clerks the animated series, and then disc one ended. Matt S wanted to keep going, but I knew better. It was better not to push a good thing, and besides, Matt T would soon be recieving his nightly phonecall from his girlfriend. It was time for Matt S and I to depart.
I got home to find a new message on the answering machine. It was my parents, specifically my dad, telling me about some Bill Mahr special on HBO. It was good to hear his voice, and even better to hear he was taking some time to enjoy himself, even if it is just by watching TV. Things have been rough for him lately, and I know that certain people are trying to professionally run him into the ground. I think that's why he's pushing me towards law school. My father sees it as an answer to life's problems, and by it I mean the money that can be made after you're done.
My brother is going to be making serious bank next year (provided he passes the bar exam), and if he ends up making partner some day, he has a real shot at job security and flexibility. And so maybe my father is right. Plenty of people do things for money (like leave school early to go pro), and while the argument may be made that they enjoy their lives, how do we really know that? There's a huge difference between playing pick-up, or high school basketball and playing in the NBA. Still, most try to make the leap because of the money, becuase of the things they will be able to provide their families.
I'll be the first to admit that money isn't everything, but maybe it's something.
Anyway, that's for another day. Now it's time for bed.
After succeeding sometime around 3:30 p.m., I wandered out, had a bowl of ceral and decided to wait it out till I could go for a run. While waiting, I was flipping around and found the Graduate was on, so I watched it (with the occasional flip to ESPN or MTV during commercial breaks).
The film is simply amazing, and everyone should see it for the soundtrack alone. Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits weave in and out of the background of the film and softly into you ears as Here's to you Mrs. Robinson, Sound of Silence, and several others come and go. On top of that, Dustin Hoffman headlines a stellar cast of females that just served to make me more depressed. But that's okay, surf girls is on MTV on Monday.
Just about the time I was going to get up for my run, I decided to check with Matt Tyhatch to see what he was up to for the evening. He suggested playing lacrosse, and since the opportunity rarely presents itself, I skipped the run for an evening on the Schoellkopf green.
It was great. Matt, Matt Sheinkopf, and I ran around for about 45 minutes. Passing to the net, taking turns playing a poor man's goaltender, and running after the ball. Just about the only thing we did more than run after the ball was to laugh. Jokes about ourselves, each other, and anything else we could think of flew for the same time our passes did, and then some. We continued Matt's night out at Shortstop Deli and then at the fraternity house. It was there we watched Clerks.
I had never seen the film, and while it would have been lame if viewing it by myself, seeing it with friends put it into a new context. It seemed to mirror my life.
Well, not my life, but rather the lives of the people I used to live with. All I could think of while watching the film was of Lancaster and the people who still live there, mainly Paul, Bryan, Tim, Marty, Huefner, and the rest of the crew. Afterall, they work at convenient stores, play hockey in strange places, and have even stranger trials with women.
It truly embodied the romantic yearning to go home, except for the fact that home isn't how you really remember it. The people, places, and faces all change until one day, "Home" changes too. I guess from that stand point I'm a bit of a vagabond, not really having a place to call home anymore, especially beucase I'll probably never permanently return to Buffalo.
Clerks the movie turned into Clerks the animated series, and then disc one ended. Matt S wanted to keep going, but I knew better. It was better not to push a good thing, and besides, Matt T would soon be recieving his nightly phonecall from his girlfriend. It was time for Matt S and I to depart.
I got home to find a new message on the answering machine. It was my parents, specifically my dad, telling me about some Bill Mahr special on HBO. It was good to hear his voice, and even better to hear he was taking some time to enjoy himself, even if it is just by watching TV. Things have been rough for him lately, and I know that certain people are trying to professionally run him into the ground. I think that's why he's pushing me towards law school. My father sees it as an answer to life's problems, and by it I mean the money that can be made after you're done.
My brother is going to be making serious bank next year (provided he passes the bar exam), and if he ends up making partner some day, he has a real shot at job security and flexibility. And so maybe my father is right. Plenty of people do things for money (like leave school early to go pro), and while the argument may be made that they enjoy their lives, how do we really know that? There's a huge difference between playing pick-up, or high school basketball and playing in the NBA. Still, most try to make the leap because of the money, becuase of the things they will be able to provide their families.
I'll be the first to admit that money isn't everything, but maybe it's something.
Anyway, that's for another day. Now it's time for bed.
Saturday, July 19, 2003
So here's the question...
A person raises themselves up in the gaze of the public. They are charitable, loving, and in the eyes of some even a hero. But despite what actions they may take in his or her public life, there will always be hidden secrets.
Hidden as long as your name isn't Kobe Bryant.
By now, most know that Bryant has been charged with felony sexual assult, a crime for which he could receive a sentance of life imprisonment. And while it probably won't come to that, the minimum is four years, and that still has me worried.
Think about it. A young nobody, who if the charges are "proven" true, will be in every Kobe documentary until she dies, as the woman who ended a promising young career. There's a young district attorney, who clearly can make a name for himself by reeling in this supposed immoral and corrupt young man.
Yet besides the two of them -- who else has to benefit from this?
Certainly not the city of Los Angeles.
Besides the Lakers being a multi-million dollar business, the team sereves another purpose. As local gods, Shaq, Kobe, and now even Glove and Mailman all boost moral. They give the people of LA something to be proud of. They donate to charities, they foster programs to help the young, underprivelged and the sick. But the lives they touch are in danger of losing that saving grace.
Charges or not, children will still want to meet Kobe Bryant. They'll still want to shake the hand of Basketball's current greatest player, and they'll still light up to see him drop 40 on any given night.
But not if he's in prison.
So perhaps the question should not be, "did he do it," but rather "does it matter?"
Sure it's cold. Sure if you were sexually assulted, you too, would most likely want "justice." But in this case, shouldn't we step back from the situation and think -- does it matter? What happens to the community should you remove a pillar? Does it crumble? I think we may find out.
--
I spent today walking places. I got up, ate and walked to the commons. I picked up 50 copies of the freshman issue at the Daily Sun, and then I walked back to campus. But then I kept going, all the way to East Hill. I finally dropped them off with Athletic Communications, and asked that they get to Coach Tambroni. I'll call to double check on Monday.
I then walked home. I walked around the house, then out of it, then back in (I was cooking hotdogs outside). Next I walked to the arts quad, where I played croquet with Dan McAlvin, and Matt Nagowski. It was an enjoyable time and I grew rather fond of the game, but after one match we walked away to get ice cream and never quite returned.
So I was having a conversation among friends, when Lisa's (cell phone girl) roommate from last year walks in. Of all the things to be brought back from the past -- did I need that? Needless to say, I've been giving more thought to what Sabrina (my brother's friend, and a housemate from last summer) told me. I'm thinking of e-mailing Lisa to meet for lunch in the fall.
I mean, we seemed to hit it off okay. She seemed to enjoy herself, she was giddy -- we both were. It was the friends who ruined it for me. So the real question now is, after a year, has she moved on enough to be able to tell them to shove it? It's tough. If the guys I hang out with razzed me about someone I was dating, I would most likely end up dumping them. It wouldn't be becuase of their taunting, it would be becuase they would wear on me until I was sure I recognized whatever flaw they were talking about. I'm not sure what that means about me as a person...
If you asked my apartment mates, it probably means I'm an asshole. They all left (I think) for the weekend, but the only one who said anything about it was Kajsa, and that was in passing. It's okay though. I'm enjoying the quiet, but it would have been nice to have some notice. I mean, isn't this how people go missing for weeks at a time? Especially at Cornell.
And one more quesiton while we're at it -- why do I find myself romantically pining to return home for a little bit? I know when I go home, my family are the only people there who care about me. I haven't seen most of my "friends" since I graduated from high school, and those who I have don't bother to include me in their plans whenever I do go home.
I suppose the infatuation all comes from the romanticism that the term "home" invokes. Afterall, home is where you hang your hat. Home is where the heart is. But for me, the term has evolved into something of a holy grail. I'd love to hang out with the kids from high school, but I really can't go back. In part, they don't want me. And to be honest, part of me doesn't want them.
--
Oh, and my song of the moment is "something stupid." But it's not the old Sinatra song, it's a cover done by Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman. I'm not sure which version I like better, but maybe it's like chosing between chocolate and vanilla. I mean, why not enjoy both?
Hidden as long as your name isn't Kobe Bryant.
By now, most know that Bryant has been charged with felony sexual assult, a crime for which he could receive a sentance of life imprisonment. And while it probably won't come to that, the minimum is four years, and that still has me worried.
Think about it. A young nobody, who if the charges are "proven" true, will be in every Kobe documentary until she dies, as the woman who ended a promising young career. There's a young district attorney, who clearly can make a name for himself by reeling in this supposed immoral and corrupt young man.
Yet besides the two of them -- who else has to benefit from this?
Certainly not the city of Los Angeles.
Besides the Lakers being a multi-million dollar business, the team sereves another purpose. As local gods, Shaq, Kobe, and now even Glove and Mailman all boost moral. They give the people of LA something to be proud of. They donate to charities, they foster programs to help the young, underprivelged and the sick. But the lives they touch are in danger of losing that saving grace.
Charges or not, children will still want to meet Kobe Bryant. They'll still want to shake the hand of Basketball's current greatest player, and they'll still light up to see him drop 40 on any given night.
But not if he's in prison.
So perhaps the question should not be, "did he do it," but rather "does it matter?"
Sure it's cold. Sure if you were sexually assulted, you too, would most likely want "justice." But in this case, shouldn't we step back from the situation and think -- does it matter? What happens to the community should you remove a pillar? Does it crumble? I think we may find out.
--
I spent today walking places. I got up, ate and walked to the commons. I picked up 50 copies of the freshman issue at the Daily Sun, and then I walked back to campus. But then I kept going, all the way to East Hill. I finally dropped them off with Athletic Communications, and asked that they get to Coach Tambroni. I'll call to double check on Monday.
I then walked home. I walked around the house, then out of it, then back in (I was cooking hotdogs outside). Next I walked to the arts quad, where I played croquet with Dan McAlvin, and Matt Nagowski. It was an enjoyable time and I grew rather fond of the game, but after one match we walked away to get ice cream and never quite returned.
So I was having a conversation among friends, when Lisa's (cell phone girl) roommate from last year walks in. Of all the things to be brought back from the past -- did I need that? Needless to say, I've been giving more thought to what Sabrina (my brother's friend, and a housemate from last summer) told me. I'm thinking of e-mailing Lisa to meet for lunch in the fall.
I mean, we seemed to hit it off okay. She seemed to enjoy herself, she was giddy -- we both were. It was the friends who ruined it for me. So the real question now is, after a year, has she moved on enough to be able to tell them to shove it? It's tough. If the guys I hang out with razzed me about someone I was dating, I would most likely end up dumping them. It wouldn't be becuase of their taunting, it would be becuase they would wear on me until I was sure I recognized whatever flaw they were talking about. I'm not sure what that means about me as a person...
If you asked my apartment mates, it probably means I'm an asshole. They all left (I think) for the weekend, but the only one who said anything about it was Kajsa, and that was in passing. It's okay though. I'm enjoying the quiet, but it would have been nice to have some notice. I mean, isn't this how people go missing for weeks at a time? Especially at Cornell.
And one more quesiton while we're at it -- why do I find myself romantically pining to return home for a little bit? I know when I go home, my family are the only people there who care about me. I haven't seen most of my "friends" since I graduated from high school, and those who I have don't bother to include me in their plans whenever I do go home.
I suppose the infatuation all comes from the romanticism that the term "home" invokes. Afterall, home is where you hang your hat. Home is where the heart is. But for me, the term has evolved into something of a holy grail. I'd love to hang out with the kids from high school, but I really can't go back. In part, they don't want me. And to be honest, part of me doesn't want them.
--
Oh, and my song of the moment is "something stupid." But it's not the old Sinatra song, it's a cover done by Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman. I'm not sure which version I like better, but maybe it's like chosing between chocolate and vanilla. I mean, why not enjoy both?
Friday, July 18, 2003
And then reality hits like a ton of bricks
So I think I just figured out the root of my problems. I'm the surrogate adult living with a bunch of kids.
Think about it, when you were a kid, money was never an issue. You never worried about bills, and always had the gall to ask for something if you wanted it. You never gave a second thought to the expense your parents might have to shoulder. The people I live with just have to pay rent. They don't have to worry about things like utility payments being linked to their names.
But I find myself on the other side.
In two weeks, the cable bill will come in my name, but the people who owe me money for it won't be in Ithaca. I however, won't have enough to float the bill. It poses an interesting situation.
If I can, I should cancel the cable services, thus avoiding a bill. But first I'll write to our incoming residents to see if they can put up the cash for it. I doubt they will, so it looks like I'll end up cancelling it.
I wonder if I should cancel the modem, too?
What a college education! For the first time in my life I'm worried about finances. I just wish I could get my reimbursement from the glee club.
Think about it, when you were a kid, money was never an issue. You never worried about bills, and always had the gall to ask for something if you wanted it. You never gave a second thought to the expense your parents might have to shoulder. The people I live with just have to pay rent. They don't have to worry about things like utility payments being linked to their names.
But I find myself on the other side.
In two weeks, the cable bill will come in my name, but the people who owe me money for it won't be in Ithaca. I however, won't have enough to float the bill. It poses an interesting situation.
If I can, I should cancel the cable services, thus avoiding a bill. But first I'll write to our incoming residents to see if they can put up the cash for it. I doubt they will, so it looks like I'll end up cancelling it.
I wonder if I should cancel the modem, too?
What a college education! For the first time in my life I'm worried about finances. I just wish I could get my reimbursement from the glee club.
"Frolf" - licking around campus ...
So today was a typical Thursday. Typical in that I woke up, went polar bear swimming, and then napped away the rest of it. Oh sure, I woke up around 3:30 p.m., when I was ever so disturbed by my apartment mate to take a phonecall. It was shortly there after I set the ground rules of waking me up:
I only take calls from three sources: My mother, the Daily Sun, and the good lord Jesus Christ.
(I would also just like to take this moment to say that I hate people opening my door on me when I'm sleeping, especially since I do so in the nude.)
Anyway, I got up, had a bowl of cereal and then plotted how I would spend the few remaining hours of the day. I realized (after trying to dress) that I didn't have clean clothes, so the first order of business became laundry.
It was great. I put my clothes in, and then wandered out on the back porch of the Laundry place. Sitting in the sun, I pulled out my LSAT home study book and began feverishly working away. I'm doing better now, only choosing one incorrect answer for every six or so.
Laundy wasn't anything exciting, but I finished up soon enough and then went back home. No one seemed to notice I had come in, as they were discussing something regarding me when I came back.
Apparently one of Kajsa's glasses was broken. I had set it in the sink the day before while cleaning up the apartment (assuming that if it was on the table for the duration of the day that it was dirty), and sometime between that and when Graham and Jason did the dishes, the glass broke. Compounding the situation, the glass was from a formal she had gone to.
So for the time being, I believe the affectionate term I have been given is that of "asshole."
And speaking of assholes, I saw the football team practicing today on Schoellkopf, but that's all for another post. Today, I'd like to talk about the great sport of Frolf, or frisbee golf.
Matt Nagowski has been talking about building a frisbee golf course around Cornell for weeks, so tonight we acted on it. After eating dinner and checking my im's, I met Matt at ABC cafe. They were doing a Thursday night Jazz session -- very smooth -- and Phil Lane was there. I suppose we're a sad and unlikely group, but the conversation is good. Well, that and Matt and I can always complain about how we're both single.
So there we were, galavanting around the arts quad, maps, frisbees and all. It was really quite an enjoyable evening. Our first hole was from the base of Ho plaza to the circle that says, "Ho." Then we did some wierd thing to the clock tower, followed by a stint to west campus, the douche palace, and back up to the giant Johnson. The whole thing is capped off by hitting the statue of Ezra Cornell.
Along the way, we happened upon the piece de resistance, to any campus climber. It was the scaffolding surrounding Baker Arch. We had to think about it for a few minutes, but eventually decided that it was a once in a college-life-time experience, so up we went.
The view was breath taking, or maybe it was just the fact that I was scared to be up that high. Either way, it was an amazing experience. Better still was that it ended with a panic attack. While I was sure there were no monitoring devices on the scaffolding, just as we reached the top we heard sirens. I don't think I could have gotten down faster if I had fallen. Of course, I wouldn't want to try.
The best part, however, we have yet to experience. Due to custodial interference, we were unable to play through Goldwin Smith hall, but don't worry. I plan to someday during classes, so if you happen to spot a frisbee going by, don't freak out. It's just me, frolfing it up.
--Random Side Note --
The other day I was running on "game farm road," and this woman in a car waved at me. It was the second time that I was confronted by some strange (but not to say unattractive) female in Ithaca. The first was when I was walking down East Seneca Street and this gorgeous Brunette said Hello. I wish I knew her, or had the sense to ask for her name. Ah well, there's a whole year of walking down to the commons ahead of me, and perhaps we'll run into each other again.
Or perhaps I merely dreamt it.
I only take calls from three sources: My mother, the Daily Sun, and the good lord Jesus Christ.
(I would also just like to take this moment to say that I hate people opening my door on me when I'm sleeping, especially since I do so in the nude.)
Anyway, I got up, had a bowl of cereal and then plotted how I would spend the few remaining hours of the day. I realized (after trying to dress) that I didn't have clean clothes, so the first order of business became laundry.
It was great. I put my clothes in, and then wandered out on the back porch of the Laundry place. Sitting in the sun, I pulled out my LSAT home study book and began feverishly working away. I'm doing better now, only choosing one incorrect answer for every six or so.
Laundy wasn't anything exciting, but I finished up soon enough and then went back home. No one seemed to notice I had come in, as they were discussing something regarding me when I came back.
Apparently one of Kajsa's glasses was broken. I had set it in the sink the day before while cleaning up the apartment (assuming that if it was on the table for the duration of the day that it was dirty), and sometime between that and when Graham and Jason did the dishes, the glass broke. Compounding the situation, the glass was from a formal she had gone to.
So for the time being, I believe the affectionate term I have been given is that of "asshole."
And speaking of assholes, I saw the football team practicing today on Schoellkopf, but that's all for another post. Today, I'd like to talk about the great sport of Frolf, or frisbee golf.
Matt Nagowski has been talking about building a frisbee golf course around Cornell for weeks, so tonight we acted on it. After eating dinner and checking my im's, I met Matt at ABC cafe. They were doing a Thursday night Jazz session -- very smooth -- and Phil Lane was there. I suppose we're a sad and unlikely group, but the conversation is good. Well, that and Matt and I can always complain about how we're both single.
So there we were, galavanting around the arts quad, maps, frisbees and all. It was really quite an enjoyable evening. Our first hole was from the base of Ho plaza to the circle that says, "Ho." Then we did some wierd thing to the clock tower, followed by a stint to west campus, the douche palace, and back up to the giant Johnson. The whole thing is capped off by hitting the statue of Ezra Cornell.
Along the way, we happened upon the piece de resistance, to any campus climber. It was the scaffolding surrounding Baker Arch. We had to think about it for a few minutes, but eventually decided that it was a once in a college-life-time experience, so up we went.
The view was breath taking, or maybe it was just the fact that I was scared to be up that high. Either way, it was an amazing experience. Better still was that it ended with a panic attack. While I was sure there were no monitoring devices on the scaffolding, just as we reached the top we heard sirens. I don't think I could have gotten down faster if I had fallen. Of course, I wouldn't want to try.
The best part, however, we have yet to experience. Due to custodial interference, we were unable to play through Goldwin Smith hall, but don't worry. I plan to someday during classes, so if you happen to spot a frisbee going by, don't freak out. It's just me, frolfing it up.
--Random Side Note --
The other day I was running on "game farm road," and this woman in a car waved at me. It was the second time that I was confronted by some strange (but not to say unattractive) female in Ithaca. The first was when I was walking down East Seneca Street and this gorgeous Brunette said Hello. I wish I knew her, or had the sense to ask for her name. Ah well, there's a whole year of walking down to the commons ahead of me, and perhaps we'll run into each other again.
Or perhaps I merely dreamt it.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Tallman's Tale Reminder of Family Life
So Friday was the start of the weekend. Clearly.
After beginning work at the Ithaca Journal on Thursday, I returned to work on Friday only to find myself mired in the same busy work. I was (and for all practical purposes, still am) compiling a profile of all the interns for Bruce Estes, the managing editor. I finished up what Bruce told me to do, and waited around for him, but after about an hour I split. The Stanley Cup was in town, and I knew I could get good access.
I was right. I found Cornell Sports Information Director, Laura Stang, and asked her what I needed to do to talk to some of the players and coaches. After she told me, I also asked if it would be possible to speak to Joe Neuwendike (Of New Jersey Devils fame). She rolled her eyes, but gave me the info I needed.
Coach Schafer was going to present Neuwendike, and Mike Tallman (The man of the evening). In turn, Neuwendike would then present the cup. All I had to do was wait off to the side, and he would apparently speak to me later.
I was floating around. While not as excited as most, I was still intoxicated about talking to Neuwendike (funny, since I have probably mispelled his name wrong about a million times). Like everyone else, I was buzzing about the cup, Joe, and seeing Shafer play.
All nice things, but not what was important.
As things went on, as I "donated" my five dollars to the Mike Tallman fund, as I sat there with my friends, I started to sober up. I had come with the idea of writing something about the Joe and the Cup, but now that I was in Lynah rink, it all was changing.
When I was in L.A., Times columnist T.J. Seimers told us we would all fade away into the crowd. He lamented for us, and urged us not to go. Three months later, I knew exactly what he meant.
The pack mentality of the media was focused on Neweundike, but the crowd was focused on Tallman. That was the story, and as he was brought onto the ice, I realized it.
It was startling. Most people on the Lynah ice don't use wheelchairs, but Tallman isn't like most people. He's stronger, and even though he's limited to the confines of his chair, he's also somehow larger than Newendike, the cup, and even life itself.
After Newendike was done on the ice, I went over to the dressing room area, but not to talk to him. Instead I waited in line to talk to Mike Tallman. I wanted to know what it was like for him, how he had adjusted, and what this day of giving meant to him. In short, I wanted to know why Newendike would use his day with the Stanley Cup to benefit him. What made Mike Tallman special.
And while waiting in line, I found out.
Mike Tallman, class of '90, had played Hockey at Cornell. But in April, he suffered a spinal injury during a pick up game. The next few weeks were greuling, but he eventually rehabilitated enough to resume most normal activites. He was, however, bound to a wheelchair. The evening's events were to benefit his family, and help pay for his hospital bills.
But that wasn't what made Tallman special. There was something else.
Besides Tallman's attitude, which made you like him the minute you met him, he was a Cornellian through and through. He grew up in Ithaca, wanted with all his might to play Cornell Hockey, and eventually got his wish. While he may no longer possess the ability to walk, he does still have his memories, and families.
That's right -- families -- plural. Besides his loving wife and daughter, Tallman also has the Cornell family. In short, what made Mike Tallman "so special" was his time spent on East Hill.
While the other reporters were busy talking to Newendike, I was busy watching Tallman. Sure I was invading on what should have been private moments, but I was part of the public in a public place. I, like the others in the crowd, wanted to know more about this remarkable person, and his journey to recovery.
Eventually the other reporters came over and joined me, but not with the same purpose. They wanted a sound bite. I wanted to know the whole story.
When most people went home that night, I'm sure they talked about Joe Newendike and the Cup. Hell, I did. But I'm also sure they stopped for a minute to thank the powers that be. Those who went home most likely reflected with loved ones, paused and felt sorry for Tallman. And in that regard I wrote my story.
But not quite. Instead of feeling sorry for Tallman. Instead of using his injury to elicit emotion, I used it to illustrate a connection which I have already written of here. The connection between Cornellians.
You may think of it what you want. You may think of it as Networking. But then pardon me if I think of you as mistaken. It is indeed a bond of friendship and love, and something stronger than words can explain. In short, it's the reason I'm proud to call myself a Cornell student. Becuase I'm part of something that's better than what you can get at other institutions. I'm part of the family.
The rest of the evening was mixed. Newendike left early, so I didn't get my photo with him, but I did find him for an interview. Funny, I didn't even use his qoutes -- they weren't necessary. I also went out afterwards, to rejoice in the beauty of life with my fellow man, but in this case it was both good and necessary. I needed to experience living, and find something to be thankful for (I found it).
So for those of you who take the time to read my ramblings, I urge you to do the same. Remember Mike Tallman, and whether you be Cornellian or not, remember to be thankful for the people you call Family. Now get out of your chair and go experience life -- it truly is worth living.
After beginning work at the Ithaca Journal on Thursday, I returned to work on Friday only to find myself mired in the same busy work. I was (and for all practical purposes, still am) compiling a profile of all the interns for Bruce Estes, the managing editor. I finished up what Bruce told me to do, and waited around for him, but after about an hour I split. The Stanley Cup was in town, and I knew I could get good access.
I was right. I found Cornell Sports Information Director, Laura Stang, and asked her what I needed to do to talk to some of the players and coaches. After she told me, I also asked if it would be possible to speak to Joe Neuwendike (Of New Jersey Devils fame). She rolled her eyes, but gave me the info I needed.
Coach Schafer was going to present Neuwendike, and Mike Tallman (The man of the evening). In turn, Neuwendike would then present the cup. All I had to do was wait off to the side, and he would apparently speak to me later.
I was floating around. While not as excited as most, I was still intoxicated about talking to Neuwendike (funny, since I have probably mispelled his name wrong about a million times). Like everyone else, I was buzzing about the cup, Joe, and seeing Shafer play.
All nice things, but not what was important.
As things went on, as I "donated" my five dollars to the Mike Tallman fund, as I sat there with my friends, I started to sober up. I had come with the idea of writing something about the Joe and the Cup, but now that I was in Lynah rink, it all was changing.
When I was in L.A., Times columnist T.J. Seimers told us we would all fade away into the crowd. He lamented for us, and urged us not to go. Three months later, I knew exactly what he meant.
The pack mentality of the media was focused on Neweundike, but the crowd was focused on Tallman. That was the story, and as he was brought onto the ice, I realized it.
It was startling. Most people on the Lynah ice don't use wheelchairs, but Tallman isn't like most people. He's stronger, and even though he's limited to the confines of his chair, he's also somehow larger than Newendike, the cup, and even life itself.
After Newendike was done on the ice, I went over to the dressing room area, but not to talk to him. Instead I waited in line to talk to Mike Tallman. I wanted to know what it was like for him, how he had adjusted, and what this day of giving meant to him. In short, I wanted to know why Newendike would use his day with the Stanley Cup to benefit him. What made Mike Tallman special.
And while waiting in line, I found out.
Mike Tallman, class of '90, had played Hockey at Cornell. But in April, he suffered a spinal injury during a pick up game. The next few weeks were greuling, but he eventually rehabilitated enough to resume most normal activites. He was, however, bound to a wheelchair. The evening's events were to benefit his family, and help pay for his hospital bills.
But that wasn't what made Tallman special. There was something else.
Besides Tallman's attitude, which made you like him the minute you met him, he was a Cornellian through and through. He grew up in Ithaca, wanted with all his might to play Cornell Hockey, and eventually got his wish. While he may no longer possess the ability to walk, he does still have his memories, and families.
That's right -- families -- plural. Besides his loving wife and daughter, Tallman also has the Cornell family. In short, what made Mike Tallman "so special" was his time spent on East Hill.
While the other reporters were busy talking to Newendike, I was busy watching Tallman. Sure I was invading on what should have been private moments, but I was part of the public in a public place. I, like the others in the crowd, wanted to know more about this remarkable person, and his journey to recovery.
Eventually the other reporters came over and joined me, but not with the same purpose. They wanted a sound bite. I wanted to know the whole story.
When most people went home that night, I'm sure they talked about Joe Newendike and the Cup. Hell, I did. But I'm also sure they stopped for a minute to thank the powers that be. Those who went home most likely reflected with loved ones, paused and felt sorry for Tallman. And in that regard I wrote my story.
But not quite. Instead of feeling sorry for Tallman. Instead of using his injury to elicit emotion, I used it to illustrate a connection which I have already written of here. The connection between Cornellians.
You may think of it what you want. You may think of it as Networking. But then pardon me if I think of you as mistaken. It is indeed a bond of friendship and love, and something stronger than words can explain. In short, it's the reason I'm proud to call myself a Cornell student. Becuase I'm part of something that's better than what you can get at other institutions. I'm part of the family.
The rest of the evening was mixed. Newendike left early, so I didn't get my photo with him, but I did find him for an interview. Funny, I didn't even use his qoutes -- they weren't necessary. I also went out afterwards, to rejoice in the beauty of life with my fellow man, but in this case it was both good and necessary. I needed to experience living, and find something to be thankful for (I found it).
So for those of you who take the time to read my ramblings, I urge you to do the same. Remember Mike Tallman, and whether you be Cornellian or not, remember to be thankful for the people you call Family. Now get out of your chair and go experience life -- it truly is worth living.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Monday, July 14, 2003
What a weekend
So the Daily Sun kids came in on Saturday so we could do the freshman issue (which we are still in the middle of), and I have never felt less productive in my life.
It's not them, they're great. Owen has done about six pages of the section so far, and Freda and Pete were almost finished with news. Nope, the problem is with me. Like last night for instance -- I was updating the photo on a page with Joe Niewendyke (sp?), when I looked at the clock. The time was 1:33 a.m., and I had just put the photo down. Owen and I did somemore stuff, but only ended up finishing that page. In the end we left the sun at 2:37 a.m. It had taken us over an hour just to update a photo!
Adding to my misery, it seems as if things are slipping away from me. Tough to imagine when I don't actually do much. I started at the Ithaca Journal on Thursday, but haven't written a real article yet. Instead the managing editor had me doing busy work; I was writing up a profile of all the interns so the other editors would know who they (and I) all are. I was also supposed to call the metro editor to set up a time to come in this past weekend, but couldn't reach him by phone (he came in late and I was out). So I only hope that I'm not in the doghouse. I'm going to call the ME later today to ask him what I should do next.
To top it off, It's now past 1 p.m., and I just got up. No doubt Owen has already gotten his qoutes and started in on his articles. Meanwhile, I (with two articles to write), still need atleast two sets of qoutes, and then need to get writing. It is a bit frustrating, especially since I need to do some LSAT work before tomorrow's class.
Ah well, atleast this past weekend was cool (I'll update on that tonight).
It's not them, they're great. Owen has done about six pages of the section so far, and Freda and Pete were almost finished with news. Nope, the problem is with me. Like last night for instance -- I was updating the photo on a page with Joe Niewendyke (sp?), when I looked at the clock. The time was 1:33 a.m., and I had just put the photo down. Owen and I did somemore stuff, but only ended up finishing that page. In the end we left the sun at 2:37 a.m. It had taken us over an hour just to update a photo!
Adding to my misery, it seems as if things are slipping away from me. Tough to imagine when I don't actually do much. I started at the Ithaca Journal on Thursday, but haven't written a real article yet. Instead the managing editor had me doing busy work; I was writing up a profile of all the interns so the other editors would know who they (and I) all are. I was also supposed to call the metro editor to set up a time to come in this past weekend, but couldn't reach him by phone (he came in late and I was out). So I only hope that I'm not in the doghouse. I'm going to call the ME later today to ask him what I should do next.
To top it off, It's now past 1 p.m., and I just got up. No doubt Owen has already gotten his qoutes and started in on his articles. Meanwhile, I (with two articles to write), still need atleast two sets of qoutes, and then need to get writing. It is a bit frustrating, especially since I need to do some LSAT work before tomorrow's class.
Ah well, atleast this past weekend was cool (I'll update on that tonight).