Two naked guys!?!?!

I just went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, and we have a geust(s) in the common room. To make sure I could see in the dark, I unplugged the night light from the bathroom and let my eyes adjust.

Mistake.

Apparently there are two people on my fouton right now. One of them is stark naked.

Who are they? I may, or may not know. I am, however, going to try to get up for church tomorrow at 10 a.m., so I have an excuse to find out. If not, I'll be hanging with my man J.C. from 12:15 until about 1 p.m.

Wow!! And I already thought I'd seen crazy tonight.

No title necessary

"We bombed the shit out of them, that's why we call them afghans..."

-- A good friend

Yup. It's been a long time coming, me having internet again that is. Mr. Roadrunner ran his ass out to our apartment today (finally) and fixed our internet, so you can expect some great content in the next 48 hours. There is lots to tell.

--

Song of the day?!? Wilco's "I am trying to break your heart"

The story is true, and so are the names

Go Visit Todd, he's lonely and needs cheering up

I made this site so people could track the drama as it unfolds. Expect daily updates....

Shuffling Stuff

Tonight a friend proclaimed that their defining moment of happiness had occurred. It was described as better than the first communion, becoming an uncle, and even the "first kiss."

Now my real first kiss was from a sultry brunette, and definitley had a lot of magic, so at first I doubted his proclamation. Then I accepted it, realizing that if what he said was true, I should be happy for him. Then I began to think ... what is my happiest moment?

There have been a lot of cool things, prizes, accomplishments, elections, people, friends, family ... but can I pick one ultimate moment? I can tell you the last time I truly smiled (see my first post on this site), but I can't call it my best moment. It was bittersweet at best, I mean, I haven't seen her since.

Then I got to thinking about the big stuff. High school graduation was sad because of Tim (deserving of its own post, sometime in the near future). My last high school concert wasn't happy, I was glad it was done. My last track meet was a dissapointment. I PR'd earlier in the season. Childhood moments? Birthdays?

And that's where I've possibly nailed it. My sixth birthday was my "happiest" moment becuase I was still blissfully unaware. I recieved all the toys I wanted as gifts, everyone -- family and friends -- got along, and I even had a dinosaur cake. How can you top that?

After six? Math in school got hard. Some friends turned into bullies. Heck, things just got progressively worse.

You can't call it innocence lost -- I never lost my innocence. I shed it with the death of a friend. I had to order flowers for the funeral, what I consider to be my first adult act. Childhood was truly lost then.

But six is when it stopped being peaches and cream. Sure there were days after that with peaches, days with cream, and even some with both. But not like before six.

Of course, there's so much ahead, and I could definitley see a good LSAT score, acceptance to a great summer internship, or even finding someone special as topping my current moment.

Although the look all over my brother's face when I spit on the cake was priceless...

---

So Dylan and Jevon arrived (sorry Jevon, you'll be first next time), and so far their move-in has been painless. Earlier this evening I joined Kajsa, Jackie and Reina in the common room, while waiting for the twins. They entered, we quickly hashed out business, (re)picked rooms, and moved some stuff around.

We're still looking for the key to our basement, which Graham hid while drunk. I don't quite understand fully, I also was not present for the incident. I'd like to find the key so I could have my bike.

More on Blair Hornstine -- today I did my tour of the Network Operations Center at Cornell, and Jeff Lehman was there -- he doesn't know anything (sorry if that was anti-climactic, it wouldn't be the first time someone called my finish dull...)

---

Everyone on IM was pretty strange tonight. Most had moving away or packing as their messages, adding in the requisite similey face to show they'd miss all their high school friends. I found myself thinking that was pathetic, but I was later corrected.

After moving Jevon's bed, I returned to my computer to find five IM windows. Four from college friends, but one was from Kate Pulley -- the high school dream girl.

Now don't think me perverted or hopelessly lost in the past. I'm no longer attracted to Kate the way I once was. Also don't confuse this with any flaws she might have, you'd have trouble finding them. She's still blonde, pretty, athletic, and wholesome.

Anyway, the IM reminded me of all the cool people from high school I never get to see anymore. Maybe they're just cool beucase of that fact, but I doubt it. They were cool becuase they were different -- still are. In my mind, those differences mean they're still cool.

Andy Brown, Courtney Bajdas, and Kate are all prime examples of people who make me stop and think. Whenever I hear good clarinet music, see a fiesty woman's guard on the court, or see a blond girl in fleece, I stop and think of those three, respectively. It's the curiosity of it all.

And in truth, I may never know what happens to these people. It's something that I'm not happy about, but I've also come to accept it.

---

I also met Rachel's boyfriend tonight. I know that she wouldn't really care, but I'm going to let her know that I approve. Scott is a really cool guy, and you'll probably read more about him and his booming god-like voice in future posts. I forsee fun evenings, philosophical conversations, and maybe even some good roadtrips...

---

I miss Matt Nagowski. He was a social glue, and without him I haven't run into Phil, or Dan at all (well Dan is admittedly out of town). Still, Matt was truly the hub in our summer social system. Hopefully we can do one more polar bear swim club before it gets too cold.

Blair Hornstine did what?

Apparently she did something to have her admission to Harvard revoked. I don't know too much, but the scuttle butt on the street is that now she's coming to Cornell. If you have any info, please feel free to e-mail me. It'd be highly appreciated.

On the flip side ... I'm back from Buffalo now, and getting ready for school. I found out at work that they've promoted me to "supervisor," which means I don't have to take phone calls and they pay me more. Life is sweet.

Even better is that in a few days Orientation begins, so while I'll have to work more, I'll also make serious bank. You do the math, if I work 10 eight hour days...

I'm light on the updates for now, just beucase life has been sleeping, working, and helping friends move in.

Oh, and spicing things up.

I picked up Donovan McNabb in my fantasy draft, and used he and Eric Moulds as trade bait. The guy I was trading to was an eagles fan, and I'm from Buffalo, so in return I got Drew Bledsoe, Peerless Price, and Jeremy Shockey. Shockey should have a breakout season, and seriously improves my TE position. At the same time, I have Bledsoe, with Kerry Collins on the bench. Both are surrounded by enough weapons to have atleast one emerge as a top QB, and Price should outpace Moulds. He was the better reciever at separating himself and, regardless of Vick's situation, should have a better season than Moulds. Moulds will have to contend with Double teams, and while Josh Reed should be a solid No. 2, I don't think it'll be enough to get Moulds the kind of yards he had last year -- Price was too much of a threat. He's the real deal, and if he takes the next step, I got three goodies for the price of two.

(I'll miss McNabb and Moulds -- Hell I'll probably salivate over what I'm missing -- but I think I came out on top here).

What do you mean Nomar's not Canadian?

Sure the sign read Boston Pizza, but the look of the place was enough to give me some second thoughts.

After our brief stint at the Roulette table, Paul, Bryan and I headed across a sketchy ally to the glowing lights that are Clifton Hill. It's a great place if you've never been there, and includes such things as a planet hollywood, rainforest cafe, donuts and the best thing ever -- Canadian people.

Boston Pizza also had Canadian people, but mainly they were the surly kind. That's right, teenagers who look 17 but are somehow sitting at the bar and having a Blue. Gotta love the Northern Neighbors.

We partook in our own salute to Canada of course by ordering a pitcher of Molson. It's no Blue but it was still Canadian, and last Thursday that was enough. We also ordered two pizzas to kill the appitite. It was sometime between opening the menu and realizing that every girl in the room was jail bait that we came to a horrifying discovery.

It seems that if Canada has one flaw, it's that it can't spell. ESPN's Sports Center magically became "Sports Centre." But this wasn't surprising, I mean not everything Canadian is good. Just look at Alan Thicke (of Growing Pains fame).

If Canada has two flaws, it's that they don't show American football on Sports Centre.

Hell, why not just call it "waste of Space," if you're not going to show NFL highlights? It even fits the Canadian spelling motif by ending in an "e."

We drank the beer more quickly to forget about this, and soon found ourselves needing to visit the rest room. Bryan needed to go the most, but strangely enough his dick seemed to change it's mind when it was called over by a female. Turns out the girl who called him over was from Baldin Wallace, Bryan's school. It also turned out that she and her boyfriend had just parted ways.

Anyway, while Bryan was busy auditioning for season two of MTV's "Who's Got Game" (It's the canadian version -- it ends in an "e"), a slightly inebriated Paul and I tried to find the bathroom.

After running into a dead end, it looked like we might have to hold it till the states. Paul then spotted a possible solution.

"It's down there," he said pointing to a set of stairs.

Of course, Paul was pointing to the Clifton Hill street, and while that kind of behavior might be aceptable in New York City I quickly pointed out that here it would probably only hasten our trip back to the states. He agreed and then we started venturing into the Kid's section of the resturaunt. It was great, but only beucase we found the bathroom.

Afterwards, we walked the strip in search of fried dough. We didn't find any, thus demoting Canada from America's Amusement Park status down to Playground. But I must say, it's still the best damned playground I've ever been to. I mean, neither Cass nor Como park serve donuts or Labatts, which is coincidentally how we ended our evening.

Well that, and Bryan and I made off color remarks during our border crossing. Once again Paul almost pulled an angry parent on us -- threatening to turn the car around and come back there -- all that fun stuff. Bryan and I shut up just in time to act like clean-cut white kids, and the border man let us come back to the States.

All in all, an enjoyable evening and fitting tribute to an equally enjoyable summer.

Pardon the Interruption...

My tale of Canadian wonder will have to wait, I've just hit on a very depressing thought that I need to share.

In two weeks the freshman will move in. They will come wide eyed, bring parents, and stay for anywhere from one semester to one lifetime.

Yet besides all that optimism, they bring something else -- something I fear. They bring an attitude.

Not all, mind you, but the ones I think are worth meeting seem to carry an attitude. Kind of the "I'm too good for you," thing. And just becuase they don't have it now doesn't mean they can't pick it up from their friends. That's what happened with Lisa.

Hell, I was even good enough for Devon until I opened my mouth.

But why?

What changes when you start opening up? Why do people instantly shoot others down beucase of affiliations or creeds? If college is supposed to be about opening doors and expanding your mind, then there are a lot of people at Cornell who don't appear to be getting their monies worth.

Sure, being exclusive is fun, but it gets old. Meeting new people and hearing new stories? That's where it's at, and this orientation week, that's where you'll find me.

Wow...

This is great if you're a fan of the new Bravo Show, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.

http://www.smalldog.com/wag13345/atdealmacpre

Full bodied Canadian goodness...

So the other night Bryan, Paul, and I ventured North to America's playground -- Canada.

In my original thoughts a week earlier, I had envisioned a whole caravan of us going. Marty, Heufner, Jenny, Schwach, and even people who none of us had seen in forever like Kate Pulley. Of course, while most of the people I knew from high school have remained great friends in my memory, the truth is that most of them appear to give a rats ass about me when I'm home. It's alright, next time I'll call Bryan, Paul, Ed and Mike Sebaaly. We'll have a good time sans the rest (not including those with credible excuses).

But enough bitterness. For their own separate (and a few were credible) reasons, most declined the invitation. In the end, it was the three of us, and it was kind of fitting.

We had all had our own separate experiences, and for them I think we were enriched. Unlike the others who sit around at home 12 months of the year, Bryan, Paul and I all went away to school. We were used to the freedoms of sleeping until 3 without your parents nagging you to cut the grass, eating whatever you wanted, and playing video games until your eyes bled. In short, what separated us also tied us together.

We had tasted Independence, and on Thursday we did so again.

The drive was a bit awkward at first. I settled a bet about me having my license (Bryan won, correctly claiming that I had passed my driver's test before college), we saw Jon Koziol drive by, and had a good laugh about the enigma known only as Huefner -- and that was all before we turned off my street.

The problem was that after that first turn, we started to run out of things to talk about. I asked them a few questions, but the answers were similar. They had seemingly done little worthwhile to talk about while home for the summer.

I on the other hand was different.

For those of you who continue to read this, you probably know that I consider everything an adventure.

So I started with the stories. First was about the guy who came to fix the roof and caught me getting out of the shower.

"I came to fix the roof," he said.

"Well it's outside, isn't it?" I asked.

Then I told them about our Bat, then about our second Bat. Then I talked about how one night we climbed the scaffolding, and polar bear swim club, and meeting Jeremy Schaap. It was great beucase by the time I finished, Paul was hushing me up so we could cross the border.

And that was where the real fun began.

Paul was worried we were going to get stopped, so of course Bryan and I kept making remarks that would have gotten us searched had any one from the border patrol heard us. Paul meanwhile, was trying hard not to have a stroke -- I mean you could see his blood pressure rise as he sat there.

But as always, three white kids with money are never stopped from entering Canada. So we said thank you to the nice Canadian woman and began driving to the park and ride.

Now I always park behind the club when I go to Canada. It's free if you tell them you're going to the club, you don't need to validate, and you're walking distance from the casino. Of course, taking the park and ride was just as great. The scenery, which included a "budgetel -- the motel too cheap for a "ho," was worth the trip alone.

We parked, we rode, we entered fantasyland. The bus to the casino was chock full of old people. It kind of reminded me of Flordia, or water aerobics at the Helen Newman pool. Still, Paul, Bryan and I made our lewd remarks as if we were the only ones on the bus. Shiny objects also distracted us. I got caught up looking at the large television billboards, Paul was busy looking at passing cars, and Bryan was mesmorized by the glare coming off of the head of the guy infront of us.

Which must have affected his casino prowress.

We entered the casino, and I easily glided through security. Paul and Bryan, however, looking like professionals were detained. After some questioning, Paul and Ossama Bin Banach were let through, and we hit the floor.

I, as always, intended on playing the slots. They're colorful, make funny noises, and sometimes give you things in return. They remind me of TV, or even a shiny hooker.

Bryan and Paul had other ideas.

They were headed for the blackjack tables, and me with money to burn was along for the ride. I mean, if they could do it why couldn't I? Of course, the cheap tables were filled, so we loitered for about ten minutes until Bryan decided he would play some roulette.

So I joined him.

He bet $10, so I bet $10. He lost his first ten, and so did I. Then we split ways.

He was soon out after another two rounds, where as I suddenly found myself up $40. Paul came to join us, and since I had announced I was going to be paying for pizza with my winnings, he promptly bet everything he had on Red 33.

"I've got a feeling," he exclaimed.

And so if I've learned one thing from my Canadian trip it's this: don't trust Paul's "feelings." He lost it all, which was bad for Paul, but not so bad for us. Since I also lost my initial $10 bet, I decided it was time to uproot myself from the table and hit up the Pizza place.

But not before a free pop.

You see, the bartenders at the casino serve free non-alcoholic beverages, and far be it from me to pass up a free drink. So taking a leisurely stroll over to my favorite casino bar (it's actually the only one I've ever visited -- once with the Alpha Phi girls, the other time on Thursday), and asked for a coke. Paul joined me, but Bryan scoffed at us. His loss. It was the best coke I ever had.

"It tastes great. It tastes like free," Paul said.

We were about ready to leave when we had a kidwtsahs, or kid I didn't want to see after high school. In this case it was Dan Krebs. Now all night we had been wondering if we would have a kidwtsahs, and sure enough, here it was. Another thing we were wondering is if you can have a kidwtsahs without speaking to the party in question. I volunteered to go over and strike up a conversation if for no other reasons than to A) make Dan uncomfortable by the sheer fact that he had to now talk to me -- a near stranger, and B) to make this an offical kidwtsahs. Paul and Bryan told me it wasn't necessary beucase they'd count it anyway.

With that over, we left the casino and headed over to Boston Pizza, which is another story in itself, so I'll save it for tomrrow.

I leave you with a question: Are you ready for sports centre?

Canada is my favorite state...

Things I have done while home:

1) Called Kate Pulley
2) Played with my little cousins
3) Got a hair cut
4) Visited my favorite state -- Canada (more to come later)

Rocking the LSAT

So I just did about 40 LSAT questions and answered all but two correctly. I gave up watching Old School with the guys to do it, but some sacrifices must be made. If I can keep it up thru October 4th, then I will successfully rock the LSAT.

But Not that anyone really cares...

The "cool" thing of the summer happened yesterday. You know, that thing you call your folks about. For me it was spending some quality time with Jeremy Schaap (Cornell alumnus, 1991, and Daily Sun Editorial Board member during his hay day).

Schaap, who hosts outside the lines nightly, took some time out from his schedule to come back to the Cornell Football Association fundraiser. He, Tony Kornheiser, and Ed Marinaro were all special guests at the banquet. The following is my e-mail depection which went out to the kids I met in LA, the paper's sports e-mail list, and some recent alumni:


"Sunnies, Top Thirty, and other friends,

CFA stands for Cornell Football Association, but before the evening began I thought the "F" might as well have stood for fat.

The Cornell Daily Sun was recently selected by Cornell to receive the annual Bill Mintz media award. I, being the only sports staffer in Ithaca, was asked to attend the dinner and ceremoniously accept on behalf of the Cornell Daily Sun Sports Staff, past and present.

When I arrived tonight, I was taken a back. Where I expected to see tall, strapping (pardon my Gary-esque wording) men with hot wives, I saw none. They were all fat. Ok, there was one, I mean Ed Marinaro was there, but the rest of the guys were just plain fat.

I spent the next twenty minutes trying not to talk to any of them.

Later, while waiting for dinner with our photographer and the representative from sports information, I struck up a conversation. It mentioned in the program that Ben Mintz passed away in 1991, so I assumed the award was relatively new (also why the Daily Sun had never before received it). That's when Jeremy, my pal in sports info coughed up the info that this was the 27th presentation of the award.

Jokingly I asked if the dart had hit us this year, and he told me no.

"You guys had never received it before, which is why we chose you," he said. "That, and we scrapped darts for a pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey-like approach."

Not sure whether I should have felt honored or slighted, I made small talk with our photographer. Then J. Andy Noel, our athletic director showed up. Much to my disappointment, he did not look like FDR. For once, he was wearing neither his wool overcoat or red scarf.

Next some annoying fat guy got up and tried to speak over the crowd. He kind of reminded me of a certain Daily Sun Alumnus.

The dinner itself was better than I had expected, and I'm not just complementing the food. With the exception of M.C. (he was fat, too. Did I mention that?), the rest of the night turned out great.
It all started with our football coach talking about how we should do better than we did last year, but not well enough to win the conference. Next, surprise guest Ken Blanchard (he wrote the one minute manager) got up and told us all how that was a bunch of bull shit and if our coach had a pair, they'd shoot for a perfect season like Don Schula (sp?) and the 1970 era Dolphins.

Then Ed Marinaro got up and told us all how much he hated Ken Blanchard for working with Don Schula. Marinaro's team lost to Schula's Dolphins in Super Bowl VIII. Marinaro completed his speech by trying to add his newborn son to the live auction.

"How about $150? He costs a heck of a lot of money, but I've already paid for all his shots," he said. "Hell, for $200 I'll even throw in his mother."

A guy in the back started to raise his hand, but then his wife hit him. I suppose she wanted to wait until Marinaro threw himself into the deal, too. Either that, or she was waiting to bid on the color commentator's package, which included a chance to broadcast a Cornell football game over the Internet. I know I had at least 25 cents sitting in my pocket for it.

I also had an award on my lap, but it wasn't all mine. Part of it belonged to the guy who took the stage next: Jeremy Schaap.

Schaap, and his father had both done their respective tour of duties with the Daily Sun, and while Schaap might have graduated in 1991, I'm sure that some of the things I've been taught were also taught to (or even by) him. Institutional memory is key at our paper, and I'm thankful for all the people who put their time in before me.

Schaap was on tonight, taking jabs at everyone including Harvard Hockey. But the magic wasn't all Schaap. Alongside him was Tony Kornheiser, who's daughter Liz attends the hotel school here.

The two of them took questions from the crowd, playing off and taking sides just like an episode of PTI. Schaap also took time out to address a very important point: that his ratings with Outside the Lines were higher than Tony's. Tony just laughed it off and hammered on the Yankees with a wit that brought both a tear to my eye and a smile to my face. Overall it was a very impressive show.

(Off the record, the two also noted how Dusty Baker's biggest reason for leaving San Fran was really Barry Bonds. Apparently Bonds isn't well liked in the club house, and Baker has gone as far as to say -- once again off the record -- that any team with Bonds will never win a World Series. It was deep stuff. Kind of like when we all found out that Monica and Chandler from Friends were sleeping together.)

Later Adam (the photog) and I grabbed Schaap. He was more than happy to pose for a photo with our award, and even asked about the new office. I told him I'd show him around if he wanted, and he instantly reached for his phone.

He was going to put my number in his phone -- I almost choked up a nut!

But it was in his jacket back at his table. Before we left, I slipped him a business card so he could call me. I suppose Jeremy Schaap having my number on a card is just as good as him having my number in his phone. Maybe he'll even call from time to time.

Yeah, and maybe Seabiscut will have a sequel.

Anyway, as I found out, the "F" in CFA also stands for something else. It stands for family. There's nothing like seeing four buddies who used to play football bid 5 grand on a pair of giants baseball tickets for a former coach. They easily could have won for less, probably something like $20 seeing how nobody realy likes Barry Bonds anyway. But no. Instead they pulled out their wallets for the cause of the Cornell football program. They helped a bunch of kids who they hardly even know, who from their record don't seem to work hard enough, and don't even seem like they deserve the money.

Like I said, it was just like a family."

The coolest part, though, took place the following day. On Sunday, Schaap actually called me and asked if we could meet up so he and his friends could see the building. I said sure, rolled out of bed and called Adam. In ten minutes we were at the Sun.

Schaap and his friends were all sunnies, and by default very cool people. They poked around the new building, marveled over the woodwork and large room upstairs, spent some time in Nate's office, and then left.

But not before grabbing a freshman issue. Schaap's friend (the AE from 89 to 92) noticed my column, which Schaap then started reading. It was cool to think that he actually read my stuff.

And it's even cooler to get 6 1/2 hours of sleep.

---

My fourth Ithaca Journal article comes out tomorrow. I'm working on my fifth and it's a doosy -- all about how international students can get visas to come to Cornell, becuase Cornell has pull with the state department, while smaller schools can't help their students on that level (i.e., TC3)

A Prelude:

More to come on an evening which included Jeremy Schaap, Ed Marinaro, Tony Kornheiser, Action Phil, Ryan Sarsfeld and Jacko. For right now, all you need to know is this:

http://homepage.mac.com/mrspleen/iMovieTheater6.html

Summer winds bring sweet memories of Spring

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.