The Po-lice

Over Thanksgiving break, I had the great pleasure of going to my boy Zach's house in Southern CT. T'was a great house, good food, real relaxing.

However, I had to come back to school on Friday instead of Sunday for various reasons. Once I got to the station in New Haven, I had to wait for my ride. The guy picking me up is on the hoop squad and they had practice till 8 and I got into the station at 6:40.

No problem with waiting. I got a book. I got my Ipod. And I got two fully fuctional eyes.

Once I sat down on the benches I noticed three things: firstly, I read a sign saying we were on heightened alert since it was the holidays and there would be an increase of police presence. Secondly, I noticed that there were SQUAT like guys patroling the station. And lastly, there were the fake cops.

Now, I'm all cool with taking extra precaution and trying to prevent attacks. But does the increase in officers almost have the opposite affect on you sometimes? Like, the more cops you see walking around...just waiting.... makes you think something might actually happen?

I'm sitting there on the bench and can't help but stare when these cops go walking around. First, have you seen what is on their belt? I mean my goodness, they got more s*it than Batman. I don't even know how they can walk around. They got the normal cuffs and the pistol but on top of that there is a walkie talkie, can of some spray, and a beating stick amongst other things.

Oh and not to mention the absolutely GINORMOUS assault rifle that is in their hands at all times. And then you got those black boots which look like they could have taken down the Berlin Wall in one or two kicks. They go up to about their shins and look like they weigh more than what Shaq did when he was born. I don't know how they can run in those. I think Nike should make some sweet big running shoes for cops. That would make money.

So I'm just sitting there. Trying not to stare at these guys cuz I don't want them to think I'm up to something. I mean I look American. But you never know. So after one of the guys caught me looking at him. I tried to be as American as possible.

I took out my Ipod with a quickness and started bobbing my head to the music. (even though i was listening to Harry Potter on tape). Then I took out a bag of bagels Zach's mom had given me. I didn't eat them cuz I wasn't hungry (Thanksgiving leftovers earlier in the day) but I just took them out. Like a prop.

I probably took it too an extreme but you never know. Then I noticed something even more interesting that made me unable to stop staring: the fake cops.

Now you know what I'm talking about. The folks in the black thin jacket with "Security" written on the back. You usually get the ambiguous race male with or without a ponytail and/or the overweight black woman.

They will have the see through white shirt and custom movie theater employee black pants. And you might find a flashlight or their belt. You will never see a regular old person doing that job. It is exclusive to the outliers and weird people of any given community.

Seeing them almost made me want to commit a crime in front of them becauseI know I could a)outrun them and b)outsmart them. I thought about going into the Dunkin Donuts, ordering a donut and then walking out without paying and then telling them just to see their reaction.

My ride came and got me after a couple of hours and as I was leaving I took one last look at all of the law enforcement.

I realized that the police presence made me feel more and less safe at the same time.

And obviously provided some good laughs.

Who knew?

Clap Yo Hands One Time

As I sat through one of the more boring films I have ever seen, my boy Josh hit me with a text saying he had an extra ticket to this concert and if I wanted to go. Yes, this is the same Josh that I went to that concert in Boston and he got his ID taken. Then kicked out. Then went back in. Then got caught with a flask. And kicked out again.

So, naturally, I said yes.

The concert was the annual "Ebony Singers" concert. It is a class Wesleyan students take for a .25 credit and they sing gospel songs and scream and have lots of energy. I had never been but heard good things.

The concert started a little late (CP time anyone?) and surprisingly enough, Josh and I made it to our seats in time. The leader/pastor/guy in the suit was a cool cat. All the students were dressed in black. But, that is not to say they were wearing the same thing. Skirts, pants, slacks, jeans, flats, boots, dark gray sweaters. Wesleyan only provides so much.

The concert itself was cool with every song involving some swaying or clapping. However, that was not the most fascinating and entertaining part of the night.

I can't speak for every temple out there but the one's I've been to don't involve too much yelling and enthusiam from the rabbai's. (Just picture your own rabbai up there, all 5'7" of him screaming "I said don't eat that bacon! yes sir! can I get a Amen for the Manischewitz drinkers out there?! ) But the crowd was more into it than the people on stage.

It could have been because I was in the back row but I think that some of the words the pastor was saying were muffled and the microphone wasn't working properly but the folks in the audience would shake their heads in agreement no matter what.

As long as the words "Jesus" and "Amen" were said you could always count on hearing "Alright" or "Mm hmm" from the audience. Apparently, those two words can be applied to any situation, song, or anything when gospel music is played.

What was even better was certain audience members (particularly the over-zealous black folks who were at least 40 years old) putting one or two arms up in the air. This is the universal sign for "I agree with ya!" or in modern terms "Fa sho!"

If there was a soloist who was rocin out and hittin the high notes or the pastor was saying that you can count on the G man when times get rough, I would see arms begin to elevate into the air. And they would stay there for a considerable amount of time. Sometimes swaying side to side, sometimes not.

I found myself looking into the audience more than on stage. I felt real good when I left the concert. I had just got two shows for the price of one.

Actually, I didn't even pay for the ticket.

Andy Price is a Prick

Well, maybe he is a punk. No, a coward. No, a jackass I’ll go with all four, actually. You see, ladies, and gentleman, Andy did a stupid, thoughtless, distasteful thing on the night of September 19th. While at a party, and intoxicated, Andy Prick decided to pick up a friend of mine, swing her over his head and then proceeded to drop her and then fall on her. This incident happen to Margot Kistler.

If you don’t know Margot, you should meet her. She is a sweet and friendly gilr hailing from Central Mass. They didn’t even know each other before this night. He just decided to pick her up and act like the ass-clown he is. She currently has TWO BROKEN BONES in her foot and wears one of those boots that make you look like Robo Cop and will be on crutches for at least a month.

When I heard the news, I was shocked, but once I saw her in person, it hit me harder. If you have been on crutches before, you know it is horrible. Its tiring, you feel self-conscious, and you sweat like the dickens. And can you imagine crutching on a college campus? Sheesh.

And one of the worst parts about this is that Mr. Prick claims he does not remember this happening. In addition, he did not apologize until the following Tuesday. That is four days after. And he damn well knew about it the day after.

He showed up at Margot’s house on Tuesday with a mediocre bouqet of flowers and an apology that lasted all of 16 seconds. Come on man. You broke this girl’s foot. And you go with the cliche, boring flower route? Try some creativity. Try something else.

Flowers and something. Give her some of your meal points. Get her a magazine subscription. Do something. You broke her foot. For God’s sake man! Wanting to remain anonymous, I asked a member from the class of ’09 to share his thoughts: “That’s bull-sh*t. If he would have done that to me, I would have got my friends from back home to come to campus” A second classmate agreed: “Yeah, I probably would have gone a different direction and pressed charges. Thats f*cked up.”

I call on the Wesleyan community to show some love for Margot and say hi to her if you see her around campus. And if you see Andy, glare and scowl at him. Yell at him. And if you are feeling jolly, go old school and give him a right hook to his jaw.

November 4th, 2008 (Part 2)

As the campus center came into view, there was a crazy amount of people there. Fireworks were being set off and I joined the chaos with a quickness.

I spotted some girls I hadn't seen for a while and owing to the fact I didn't bring my camera, I took one of theirs and began taking a video of everyone. And pictures. Then I went into the crowd. Looking for anyone I knew. My mom called me at this point and we were both going crazy. Text messages were pouring in from California to Boston to Florida.

I spotted my boys and more hugs and smiles. Someone had brought speakers and music was playing and people were dancing and just having the time of their lives. All of a sudden Will Smith came over the speakers and Gettin Jiggy With It came on. I hoped up on a table without hesitation and started signing.

There were american flags. There were Obama flags. Cameras everywhere. Obama shirts everywhere. The public safety officers were there and all they could do was watch. Even if were breaking some law I would have loved for them to try and stop us. You would have needed King Kong and Lord Voldemort to get rid of us. And even that might not have been enough.

Then in between songs I started an "O-Bam-a!" chant and that was fantastic. Then Wesleyan's president showed up out of nowhere in the crowd and everyone just lost it. People hugging him and takin pictures of him. Then I started a "Michael Roth!" chant which turned into an "O-bam-a!" chant after a few seconds.

After starting to lose my voice I took a seat on the side and just chilled out. Sat there by myself for a solid 25 minutes just soaking it all in. I had never seen so much happiness and excitement in one place. It was truly amazing. Hugs and kisses with strangers. Smiles everywhere. Everywhere. The most unique moment I will ever experience. (My apologies to my future bride)

As the crowd began to disperse, I headed home. I got back to my house at 2:50 and couldn't fall asleep for a while. I sat in bed just thinking.

As I started to drift off I said something to myself. Something that sounded so good. And made me feel so good.

"President Barack Obama"

November 4th, 2008

Inspiring.
Unbelievable.
I. Need. To. Catch. My. Breath

Where is my inhaler?

Everyone already knows what happened by now. I had been looking forward to November 4th for obvious reasons and I had really looked forward to documenting it. This was my first chance to vote and it was possibly the biggest and most historic race ever. I changed to vote here in CT from CA because I didn't just want to put my ballot in the mail. I wanted to physically go to the polls. I wanted to get the "I voted" sticker. I wanted to take pictures. Take a video. The whole 9.

Although I campaigned for The Man back in January, I felt I had to do more. So I put my cell phone to go use and decided to call folks from Virginia. I wanted to look back and say I did something on election day.

And thats exactly what I did. I went down with my friend Jessie and stood in a short line. I was wearing my Barack Obama t shirt (nobody said anything) and I was feeling nervous and excited. Before I went in to vote I took a video of myself and I did the same after. I called my mom to let her know her son had voted and then the waiting game was on.

Constant internet checking. Constant tv watching. As the sun began to set, my nerves began to kick in. Had two friends come over with some newcastle, sierra nevada, and champagne. We sat there as the first results came in and although 1% of Indiana precints were reporting, we were nervous.

As the night went out, things began looking great. But the mood in my house was to stale. Jessie came back over and my roomates were watching too but we didn't have the energy we should've. So me and Jess decided to roll to another spot on campus where we knew people would be getting rowdy. We stopped by her friends house to pick her up and as I was walking out the door of the friends house to go to the big party, I heard a lot of people counting down.

Then everyone erupted. The West coast polls had just closed and cnn projected The Man as the winner. I ran back inside to see it on the screen and sure enough. Presiden Barack Obama.

We still rolled to the big party and as soon as I walked in I started screaming. I pointed to my shirt (has Obama's face on it) and everyone was going nuts. There was a keg. There was cake. There was rowdy folks. There was big screen TV. There was everything. Hugs for all. Pass the bottle around.

Then the loser (literally) came out and gave his speech. I didn't care at all but I listened. Some people were throwing cups at the TV as he spoke. I was just waiting for the real speech. Waiting for The Man.

Then he came out. With the family. And I started crying. I felt the tears coming down and I have never been more proud. The Chicago crowd was going wild. The folks I was around were screaming and crying themselves. I stood there. Still. Not blinking. Complete joy.

The speech itself was great of course. Because he is great. Everything about him that night was amazing. He definetly got a fresh haircut hours before the speech. Got that clean ass shave. And he played basketball earlier in the day. How can you not love this guy?

After the speech everybody headed out to the campus center to party some more and watch fireworks. Tears were wiped from my face and the screaming and hugging continued.

Gotta Love It Pt. 2

On the walk from the concert to Will's spot, I began to laugh to myself. Afterall, it was pretty funny what just happened. The more we went over what went down, the looser everyone got. By the time we reached Will's dorm, we were doing alright.

We hung out with some folks from Will's crew to get things started. He's got a cool little setup but for one's last year in college, I have (seen) better. I texted Becca to let her know I was in town. After about a half hour we headed out to meet up at this bar/restaraunt. I had seen Becca over the summer but there is always a sense of excitement when you meet up with old friends on a college campus. And to be honest, I have a good ol time when I roll up to Harvard.

Becca was with two of her good friends both of whom I have met and hung out with. That was all before my year in Italy so I hadn't seen this girls, or women, or young ladies, or whatever in a long time. Smiles and hugs all around.

One of my boys from school likes to speak Hebrew/Yiddish when he has had a few drinks and Becca's boyfriend loves speaking year round so they hit it off. We only stayed there for a minute and then headed out to some party where the theme was 'jersey'. As in wear a sports jersey.

No shot Bob I was rollin around in a jersey. That wasn't in my overnight bag that I packed. As we tried to go into the party we were hastily turned away. I never got the explination from the guy because as soon as he said "You gotta get the f*ck out!", I got a little testy. I understood I wasn't on the guest list and I wasn't wearing the proper attire but no need for that language, ya digg?

We then rolled to another house/school club. This time we were let in and it was quite a doosey. They had a big dance floor and the drinks were free flowing. Both my boys from school were quite tips and they were doing swell and I was rockin and rollin when two girls from high school showed up and I went crazy.

These girls are two years younger and I hadn't seen them for quite some time. More of "how was Italy?" "How is school going?". But we all ended up on the dance floor when push came to shove. We stayed there for a bit and then we headed to Will's club. They were throwing a party the following night and had got one of those bouncy room/astro jump things that kids get for their birthday party.

At this point it was about 2:30 in the morning. As we stepped into the jump, there were 4 oversized boxing gloves waiting for us. An all out battle royale ensued. We were throwing haymakers and ganging up on each other like no tomorrow. One of the most exhausting things I've done in the last 5 to 10. Once it was all over and we were ready to go, Josh realized he lost his glasses.

Now, this is the same cat who used and got his fake ID taken. Got his flask taken and got kicked out of a concert. Twice. Now he lost his glassed in the astro jump. And Will had justdeflated it. Somehow, some way, we ended up finding them and the both lenses that came out. Then he realized he lost his phone. Now its 3:30 in the morning and eveyrone is tired and somewhat sick. We trace our steps and go back to the spot where there was the dance party. It was there. Praise Moses.

We went back and got our bags and decided we would drive back to school instead of spending the night. We said peace to Will and hopped in the car and drove back to Connecticut.

I got into my bed at 6:03 AM

Great evening.

Gotta Love It Pt. 1

I was just chilln this past Saturday afternoon. These two girls came over so we could do a little "group studying" for our Italian midterm tomorrow. I used quotation marks there not to imply that anything, um, explicit occured, but rather to show that group study sessions never work. You end up eating some snacks and you get distracted easily.

After my two friends left, I went upstairs to lay down on my bed and relax when I got a call. It was my boy Aaron. He said he and his friend Josh had an extra ticket to this concert up in Boston and if I wanted to go. I never heard of the groups playing plus I was in the "kickin it" mood so I said no thanks. After 2 minutes of contemplating my night and the potential for fun, I called him back and said I'm in. Afterall, I'm all about getting into some adventures and livin up this last year. Plus, I got my main man Will and my girl Becca up in Cambridge.

I took a quick shower, packed some food for the car (bag o' potato chips, reese's p cups, gatorade) and threw some essentials into my backpack. Hopped in Josh's volvo station wagon and we were off. We got to the concert pretty early. We found good parking and dropped our stuff off at Will's spot. Then headed back to the concert. We all had beers by the bar and then went to get our tickets.

I was the only 21 year old. Josh and Aaron are both 20. However, they do have fake ID's. Aaron had went into the concert a few minutes before me and Josh but didn't call or text that you only had to be 18 or over to get in. I walk up and show my legal ID and I get a green braclet that I show to the bouncer. Josh goes up and shows his fake South Carolina ID that says he is Eric Doyle. As I'm descending the stairs, I look back and see a woman take his ID and point for him to get out. Aaron is standing there with me but at that moment the band he likes comes on stage and he goes to see them.

I go outside and find Josh standing on the sidewalk. He honestly looked like his puppy just got run over. As I was trying to console him, I decided to insert some humor. It didn't go over well. We then came up with the idea that I could ask someone to buy their green braclet owing to the fact they were already inside.

I went back inside only to find Aaron buying the bands T-shirt and CD and being pretty darn jolly. He said he was fine with leaving cuz he already saw his band. (Leave no man behind, right?) But the next band was Josh's favorite and I didn't want to let him down. I didn't know who the F was playing and I was already have a fine adventure so I was cool. Right then I saw someone's braclet fall off and made like Speedy Gonzalez and snatched it up.

As I was walking outside, I saw another one and took that, too. We all congregated outside and I presented Josh with the new braclet except there was no way to get it to stay around his wrist because it already broke up. Lo and behold, Josh happened to have scotch tape in his pocket. I kid you not ladies and gentleman. This Jewish bloke from Rochester walks around with tape in his pocket. So, he and Aaron switched shirts and Josh took off his glasses in order not to be recognized.

Josh went in first and I followed a few minutes later. I didn't see him at the entrance and once I made my way downstairs I spotted him. He got in. I was happy. He was happy. Aaron came down a few minutes later and we were feelin good. We decided to go to the front near the stage so we could hear the band better.

As the set was changing, Aaron handed me Josh's flask. I took a sip and passed it back to Aaron. He then took some and as he was handing it to Josh, this guy in a black hat and black sweatshirt came over and yelled "You two are done!" This was an undercover security guard/worker for the club and he busted them for having an outside drink.

I was in shock but I didn't dare say I was with them. I waited for them to be escorted outside and then I texted Will with only one word: "TROUBLE". I then went outside and found Aaron and Josh sitting on this bench. Not only did Josh get kicked out for a second time and Aaron for a first and not only did they take the fake ID, they now took the flask.

As soon as I sat down, I started laughing. Josh was pissed. Aaron was cool cuz he got a shirt and a CD. I then explained the good ol' "So weak its tight" motto which was perfect for that moment. The more we talked about what just happened, the funnier it became. We decided to cut our losses and head back to Harvard hoping things would turn.

And turn they did. Sort of.

Weekend One-Eighty

Who doesn't look forward to the weekend? As soon as Friday hits, everyone is excited. For some it means no work, others no class, but for everyone, it means time to have fun.

Ever since freshman year, I have been real pumped for the weekend. Parties, girls, and more parties. But as the year went on, I began to be excited for weekend nights. Not the days. And especially not sundays. Not Sunday mornings, not Sunday afternoons, non Sunday nights.

You see, when people go out on the weekends to concerts, the movies, and parties, they get done up. They try to look 'nice'. Guys put on the button down shirt they got at Macy's with the fresh kicks they "only break out for specail occasions". The girls get the makeup on, make the eyelashes longer, and roc those heels.

When one starts drinking a little bit, people begin to look a little better. When a dance party ensues, people start to look hot. When the lights go off, Everyone is attractive.

I just remember sitting in the dining hall at Sunday brunch scanning the area. I would be talking with some people bout the two nights before while people walked back and forth getting food. I would bring up a name or describe someone and a friend would point and say "You mean her?" And sure enough, the damsel of the night before was suddenly looking like The Bride of Frankenstein.

The tank top from the night before was replaced by an oversized Wesleyan T-Shirt. The jeans that made her legs look great are gone. Now, a pair of worn navy blue sweatpants. The heels are now some old navy flip flops that are at least 3 years old.

The guys aren't too much better. The nice button down from the night before is replaced by just a tank top or cut off shirt. (Apparently the need to show off the guns is heightened during brunch hours). The jeans are gone and now we are looking at size XXXL basketball shorts. And slippers or rainbow flip flops replace the fresh new kicks.

Now, I'm fine with being comfortable in what you wear. Wear whatever the hell you want. But don't go from one extreme to the other in a matter of hours. I can't handle it. I get to know you as Person A on Saturday night and I see you as Person T Sunday afternoon. It makes it harder to recognize you. It makes it harder to get to know you.

"Weekend One-Eighty" is a reference to 180 degrees which I experience throughout the course of the weekend. When people go from one thing one night to something else the following day.

With your help, we can end this epidemic which is plaguing campus' nationwide.

Spread the word

By Myself

So I went to go see Iron Man last night. This was my second time seeing it and I was still as excited as the first time. Although I will admit that going to see it after I got back from Italy, and going to the Grand Lake with the free popcorn, and going with mom made it a little more exciting the first go around.

The movie was playing at the campus film center and I had cleared my evening so I could go. My man Zach had a meeting and my boy Yuki had an econ meeting so they couldn't go. I made no attempt to invite anyone else.

You see, I like doing things solo. I like going to the movies by myself. I like eating by myself. I don't need nobody else. People ask how I can go to the movies by myself and I reply that it is easy. When you watch a tv show or a movie at home, do you need someone else to be there? No

But my reasoning goes beyond that. We have all been on dates to the movies or just gone with friends or family. Is there anything else worse then trying to decide where to sit. I mean honestly. You turn the corner with popcorn in one hand and candy and a soda in the other. You are already late and most of the seats are taken. You are standing there looking up at everyone trying to figure out where to go.

You might need to walk all the way across to the other side, you might be with someone who, although not tall and thus possessing short or normal legs "has to have an aisle seat", or you might be with the "I don't care where we sit. You pick". By the time you settle on two or three seats together, all that is left is the seats in the second row which leave you with a neck ache comparable to that of the aftermath of a roller coaster at Six Flags.

So, I roll solo. I leave my house when I want to. I don't need to wait for anyone. I don't need to get the tickets and have someone pay me back after. I can choose anywhere to sit. There are countless single seats available, and I can get aisle or center or whatever I want. No sharing my water, or candy. Anything and everything is my decision.

Going into the campus theater I knew there were going to be some wack people. What I didn't know is that fools were going to bring in beer and act stupid. I happened to pick the row right in front of some ass-clowns who talked throughout the whole movie. I kept turning my head around and looking at them and after the third time one guy said "Hey Brum, shut up!" They got the point. For the record, this guy lived on my hall freshman year and the name 'Brum' is the actual name this kid goes by. His real name is Abraham but somehow he derived Brum from that and thought it was a good idea to go by it. You can probably assume I don't kick it too much with that guy.

It is just awful when people talk in the movie. "This is confusing." "What did he say?" "That was stupid. Why he do that? I wouldn't have done that" It is also horrible when someone in the audience has seen the movie already and they are whispering what is to come. "Watch this move he makes" "Oh, this scene is crazy funny!"

Equally bad is when folks want to bust out the cell phones. And with the iphone and blackberry, people love to show them off. When someone breaks their phone out during a movie, the screen lights up and eyes are distracted. I was missing the quick wit of Tony Stark cuz this dumb girl couldn't keep her thumbs to herself. "Click click click click". After the second time she started to text I turned across the aisle (I was sitting on the aisle in the middle, she was aisle on the right side) and said: "let's text after the movie". This chick put her phone away quicker than Yosemite Sam draws his gun.

The guys behind me continued to open beers and whisper to each other and since I was outnumbered, I decided to do nothing. They were already speaking in hushed tones instead of that whisper which is actually louder than the normal tone. And that girl didn't look at her phone until the credits began to roll.

Going to the movies is a unique experience. Comfortable seats, air conditioning, big screen. We can do without the cell phones and talking. I understand if you are in a fight with your significant other or someone is about to go into labor. But, if something else is that important, your ass shouldn't be at the movies in the first place.

Turn off the phone. Keep your mouth shut. And enjoy.

No More Of That

It is weird, indeed. Back on campus after a year away. I'm feeling like a freshman all over again. We have a new campus center, a new president (bout as cool as joc itch), and a bunch of new faces.

I'm slowly getting back in the groove but it will take some time. I'm in a house now which is nice and having my own room is just great. I'm starting to realize I just don't like to share. Plain and simple. I don't like sharing. At least I can admit it, right?

Although I was here for two years, there were some things about this school that I forgot about. Mainly I forgot about the people. Aside from having to pretend to be interested in how people's summers were, I had to answer the same question over and over again.


jackass #1 "Hey, how was being abroad?!"

Me "It was good"

jackass #2" Where were you again? Spain?"

Me"No, Italy"

jackass #1"How was the food? Was the pizza so good?"

Me "Good. All good"


See, my feeling is this: if we were cool to begin with you would have already known. I would have sent you an email or you would have contacted me in some way. All my good friends already know I had a fantastic junior year in Italy. Now, I have to answer to the tweener friends...oy vey

But the main thing I'm noticing is how the guy and girl interactions go down. I am two weeks in and am already tired of seeing the New England guy with the backward Red Sox hat, J. Crew shirt, J.Crew khaki shorts, and J. Crew sandals.

I'm tired of seeing some chumps from Boston throw the football in one hand while sipping some brewski's in the other. But, I can hang with it. That is the way it is out here. If it wasn't for them, folks like me from California wouldn't be as cool. No, the one thing I can't stand is the guy to girl high 5. That has to stop.


Its the uneasy greeting or farewell when a guy doesn't know what to say or do when talking to a girl


Guy "So you have all your classes?"

Girl"yep"

Guy "Cool (gives high 5) See ya later"


Some guys will put their hand way into the air before they are even 10 feet from each other and hi-5. I assume this is one way to engage in some physical contact but come on. Hi 5's should be kept to sports related events only. Handshake or hugs and kisses only.

You think James Dean ever hi-fived a lady? You think Shaft told a female to give him 5? HELL TO THE NO

Nobody in their late 20's, 30's, 40's, 50's does the hi-5 outside of the arena. Unless your are from Mass, New Hampshire, or anywhere in New England.

Apparently, if you are from there, you can act like a jackass and get away with it your whole life.

Bellbottoms & Afros & Pat

As I'm sure y'all have figured by now, I'm into acting. I had this internship in the costume department of this movie this summer and met someone who told me bout this website for actors. I went on it and joined.

It was mainly background or extra work. But it was with legit shows: Law & Order, Ugly Betty, etc. I submitted myself for everything just cuz I wanted to throw myself out there. I was chilln late night watching TV when I got a call on my cell phone. It was a number I didn't recognize so, naturally, I didn't pick up.

It turned out to be a a woman who wanted me to be part of this TV show tomorrow up in Queens. It was a cop drama show and this episode was the pilot for HBO. Well hot damn, I'm there.

I took the subway uptown at 6 in the morning and took the bus they provided from 96th and Lexington. I found out I was going to be playing a "detainee" once I got on board. As I was walking to my seat, I noticed it was chalk full of black guys. No problems there, just interesting. Once we got to the set I figured out what was going on. No, no, no, this wasn't the sequel to Roots, but rather a show that took place in 70's and all of the suspects for this episode were of some minority.

Once I checked in and sat down it really hit me that I knew absolutely nobody. Everyone here was trying to "come up" or "make it" in someway. I sat down at an empty table and wished I had my iPod more than ever. As more people checked in, some folks came over to my table. I introduced myself and was pleasantly surprised at those at my table.

We sat in the holding area all day. Literally. We were in a middle school gym all day and didn't once make it to set. Apparently the scenes were getting delayed so everything was pushed back. I wasn't really worrying though because they kept feeding us and we were getting paid. Me and the other guys I just met were just chatting it up about movies, TV shows, and everything in between. The two older black guys were just telling all kinds of stories ranging from some gangsters they knew back in the day to absurd adventures they have had at dunkin donuts.

I was in holding for about 11 hours when they finally told us to go home and come back tomorrow. The following day was a whole lot better. I got to go to wardrobe and was given grey bellbottom slacks and a knit blue and grey shirt. I kept my chuck T's on. They picked out my 'fro and I was ret to go. I got called to set along with some other guys and we were handcuffed to desks for a scene. At one point, a main character comes over to me and uncuffs me which prompts another detainee to say some lines. I'm thinking I got some good face time in front of the camera so stay tuned.

That scene was shot over two days because of camera angles, scene re-writes and what not. I was cool with it. I got paid and was getting my grub on at the craft service table. The funniest part no doubt came when we back to holding for a break. I was yukking it up with one of the older guys when we noticed somebody lying on two chairs asleep. This person was in one of those extremely awkward positions where you ask yourself "how the hell did the fall asleep like that?"

When I approached this person to get something out of my backup, they woke up. No lie, they looked like a unknown gendered gremlin. I backed up immidealty and sat back down. Once this person got up, the guys at my table noticed him/her too and one guy said the funniest thing I've heard in a long time as he/she passed. He turned to me and said "Its Pat"

I started rollin'. He hit it SPOT ON. This was a real life ' Pat' character from the old SNL. Legit short black hair, no sign of breasts, semi baggy/loose pants. It was seriously Pat. For the rest of the day 'Pat' could be seen walking around and not doing much at all. I never figured out why it was there but I didn't care.

Someone asked her some questions and she gave vauge Pat-like responses that didn't give any hint to who or even what she/he/ it was.

It was a pretty fun overall experience. I got to relive the 70's by wearing a fly outfit and seeing cops in leather jackets and thick mustaches. I got to eat like no tomorrow. And I got paid. And I saw Pat!

I only wish I got a picture... well, there is always google images.

Lady, You've Got To Relax

As my acting class was coming to an end, were encouraged to become very passionate and "really get into the role". I took this advice to heart and wanted to put my skills on display but I was NOTHING compared to that one older lady.

I wrote about this woman before. She was the one who told the class about her "coked out sister" and I'm not talking the cola baby. She said she was a writer and my guess would be in her early 50's. She was friendly but always talked about how she "needed her caffeine".

There was a small amount of people I would look forward to getting up in front of the class and acting: Sam, the oldest person in the group who always had a joke to make no matter what the circumstance, Jeff- the slightly overweight dad of two who would sweat through his polo shirts on the regular, and this woman Susie-the crazy.

When Susie went up with her partner (don't remember who it was cuz my attention was on Susie) I was hoping for something special and I was not dissapointed.

I don't recall what the scene was supposed to be. Only what it ended up being. Susie wanted her partner to "submit" (that was our word of the day) to her request. It was to be something minimal but Susie took it down a whole other road. Susie started asking her partner about something but it turned personal within a minute.

"You need to pay! Why don't you support your daughter?!"

I froze. I was excited but also scared. I knew this was gonna enter a danger zone. Susie's partner opened her mouth but had nothing to say. She was speechless. I think this might have made Susie even more angry.

"I've been asking you for months." She began to weep slightly and talking in a calmer voice. "I know you have the money. I've seen the accounts. Please, please"

I was completely freaked the f*ck out. I mean clearly this woman has issues. Susie's partner looked at us, the audience. Susie looked up from her hands that were covering her face and just unloaded.

"Pay the F*CKING MONEY!!! Pay it! Pay it! Pay it!"

I literally had my hands over my mouth looking at everyone else to see if they were on my level. Half of me wanted to run out of the room for fear of being killed and the other half wanted to begin laughing hysterically. Our teacher cut in at this point and stopped the scene.

He gave the obligatory "Good job. Good job". I wanted someone else I really knew in the class with me that day more than ever. At the time it was completely ridiculous to be there in person. Looking back, it was funny as all hell. Top 10 most outrageous moments of my life so far. The teacher told us to take a small break while he continued to congratulate.

Wheter or not he thought Susie was homicidal or not, I don't know. All I know is that she is one crazy woman who needs to call a help line ASAP.

Always Keep It With You

We all have done the sleep overs. From our first time in second grade to over night when you pass out at a friends house from too much, um, beverages.

I pride myself on always being prepared. Whether it be bringing a sweatshirt in case it rains or bringing an extra pair of draws and socks. What I also like to do is have the essentials in my car: deodorant and gum.

As we prepare for nights out on the town, there is the short list that everyone takes part in. Take a shower, put on clean clothes, gel/spray in hair, money in wallet, blackberry/iphone in pocket. Although all these are good and important, it is missing what I think is the most important: the travel toothbrush.

That's right. The travel toothbrush.

We have all been there. Slept over somewhere, woke up with the breath smelling like dirt and ham and have nothing to do about it. We've woken up with the dry mouth and not a trace of siliva anywhere.

What is even worse is when you yourself wake up good but the person laying next to you isn't so fortunate. There are few things worse then going in to hug or kiss someone and having to pull back with the scrunched up face and ask "did you brush your teeth this morning?"

Nobody likes it when their friend blows their breath in their face and asks how it is. Even if it smells like strawberries, clouds, or a new pair of sneakers, it still isn't right. Even if it smells good, I'm gonna tell you it smells bad cuz nobody should be blowing their breath in someone else's face without their permission.

With this day and age with crazy technological advances, it becomes tough to think about the basics. People like to say that can't live without their cell phones and all the applications it provides but I truly believe the TT (travel toothbrush) should be added to the essentials list.

If you are out to dinner or a bar or someone's house, you now have the luxury of removing yourself for a bit and getting a brush in. However, I will admit that unless you are at a house or apartment, you probably aren't going to have access to toothpaste. But, the most important thing about brushing one's teeth is actually brushing the tounge. You don't need toothpaste to do that and that is where your hot garbage breath comes from.

So, it is time to add one more to the list before you head out the door. Keys, phone, wallet, toothbrush.

It'll save lives.

I'll Take The Lead

I have been checking craigslist.com every day, 9 times a day since I got back from Italy. I have been looking for oppourtunities to do some acting. Everything from being an extra in a feature film to infomericals to body doubles for a TV show. But, for the most part, I send emails to fellow students who are working on their final proects.

Recently, I heard back from one of the 37 daily emails I send. It was from a girl who wanted me to be in her short movie for one of her classes at the New York Film Academy. I obliged.

It was to be an office shoot where my character would be wearing business casual. I reached for the Gap khakis, put on the dark orange colored Alfani, and was reaching for the Banana Republic loafers when I decided I would store them in my bag an opt for the sandals for the subway ride. (Huge move right there. Trying to avoid that sweat, ya feel me?!)

I was headed to West 27th and Broadway and was running slightly late. I arrived at the building 4 minutes late and went to the 5th floor. I met the "director" of the movie who was the girl I had spoken with through email and one other person from the crew. We chit chatted briefly about this and that and after 35 minutes of waiting, everyone else showed up. Well, almost everyone.

Originally, I was going to play a supporting role with only a few lines but the guy who was to play the main guy named Alex, never showed. So, I was called upon to fill in. I was pretty excited and up to the task.

The basic premise of the movie was there was a guy named Alex who works in an office and has become really sick and stressed. He has a big meeting with his boss later in the day and ends up getting these over the counter meds from co-workers(day quil, night quil, benadryl, theraflu,etc) He ends up taking all them and gets pretty loopy going into the meeting with the boss. He says off the wall things and in the end, he gets a promotion. (funny stuff happens in between)

At this point there was myself, two girls, and one other guy. The girls were my co-workers and the guy was gonna be my boss. The scenes with the girls were cool. I expressed my stressful situation and they conspiculously gave me meds. Sometimes it would be no-look handoffs near the copy machine or secret drop offs near the filing cabinet. The scene with the guy was a completely different story.

Before the final scene with the boss, there was a montage scene where all the co workers were high off some over the counter med and we were wearing party hats and dancing in conference rooms. Now, the two girls were your standard plain, friendly, white girls. This guy claimed he was Spainsh, Italian, and Greek or something but he was basically a duplicate of Fez from That 70's Show. If you don't know who that is, please go to Google and look him up. He even talked like him, too.

When he first came on screen, he kept talking about how the party hat would mess up his hair. He kept asking everyone if it looked alright and liked getting people's attention. He always found a reason to say something even though it was a scene without dialouge. I was begining to dislike this chico.

When the director asked which one of us wanted to ride a bike through the office for the next scene, I immideatly said "Francis should". He looked kind of taken back but he went through with it. He said in the "10 feature films I have been in, I haven't had to do this but okay!" You see, there wasn't a lot of room for him to make the turn from the hallway into the next room and I was hoping, praying he would crash.

He got on the bike, party hat, dress shoes and suit and all, and began swaying and jerking as he was riding. He barely made it with the first take. During the second take, he was not so lucky. As he was exiting the scene, he crashed head on into the wall and I was paralyzed with laughter. Success! Even the director, cameraman and microphone holder were rolling.

When it was time to shoot my scene with Francis, I knew it was going to be something. The two other girls had finished their scenes and dipped out. At this point, it was 9pm and everyone but Francis' late, wack ass had been there since 3. The scene called for Francis, myboss, to be sitting at his desk waiting for me. I rush in out of breath and try to locate my report while he criticizes me.

I rush in, say my lines and am straight. This cat could not remember jack sh*t. Not only could he not remember the 4 lines he had, he couldn't pronounce them. Not only could he not pronounce them, he made suggestions to the director about changing the scene. It got so bad with the lines the director said he could put the script in front of him on the table. Still didn't work. At one point, he talks on the phone and says "Its Barney meets Wonka" because I made these crazy business suggestions to him because I was high on theraflu and the likes. He kept saying "Its Barneys meet...Donka" or "Its Barney meets...uhh I'm sorry".

He kept saying sorry and smiling. He would try to cover his ass when he messed up by asking if he was doing it right and didn't know exactly what the director wanted so he stumbled. In the words of myself and my brother "Shut yo b*tch ass up!"

Once the director cut the last two lines as to minimize the "difficulty", he finally finished it. When he left the room to go to the bathroom, the crew and myself just lit into this guy. Criticism up and down the block. I'm no professional at acting (yet) but I know a jackass when I see one. The crew said he was the worst actor they had been around and one of the worst overall people. I mean this guy thought he was THE MAN. He told us he spoke 11 languages, too. And that wasn't even the half of it.

I thanked the crew and the director and was told that I should get a copy of the movie this week.

It was a fun overall experience except for that guy. Actually, if it wasn't for that guy, I wouldn't have much of a story to tell.

Although I would prefer to work with a real life Tyrone Biggums before I work with that guy again.

Rat Watch

Just a quick update on the game I created for myself. As of today, Day # 24, I have seen 23 rats.

My record for rats in one "sitting" is 4. In case you are interested, the best time to see them is late at night/early morning. You gotta go to the really grimey subway stations where pipes have holes in them and the ceiling is leaking and/or falling apart.

I have seen some baby one's and some really big guys.

If anyone has any suggestions as to which stations might be the motherload, holler at your boy

Welcome to The Edgewood

As I sat in the front seat chatting with Becca I was taking in the fact that I had gone on quite journey and the day was only half over. I started in Brooklyn, then went to Manhattan, then went to Greenwich, CT, and now I was driving to New Jersey. Woah.

As Becca was struggling mightly with the GPS system, we were briefing each other of the last 6 months. "The food in Italy was amazing, i did some traveling...etc." Once she got on her Blackberry it really became clear: Becca is an adult. A real one. Here she was, picking me up in a Black SUV (it was her significan other's) in Connecticut, talking on the Blackberry, discussing with him wheter to meet him at his house or meet him at "the club".

I was secretly hoping for "the club". I wanted to see what it was like. Could be fun. After Becca said "meet you there", I was pleased. Once we pulled into the parking lot, I was wondering wheter we were going in or not. I was worried because I was dressed like I was a shark from West Side Story. Remember now, I had just come from my audition where I was a tough guy from Chicago and was wearing a white v neck, black jeans, and chuck t's. And now, here I was, about to enter a New Jersey country club in the middle of July. Oh boy.

We met Becca's counterpart outside and he asked us if we wanted to go swimming. Hell to the yes! I had been wanting to go swimming ever since I landed in JFK and started sweating. I said sure but I didn't have a suit. No problem, my new main man Sam (the boyfriend) said he got me. Sam and I walked to locker room and boy howdy it was nice. I mean wow

The Claremont aint got nothing on The Edgewood. The locker room was huge. As I was noticing the wood lockers I walked by a room with a massage table in it. I poked my head in and there was a guy sitting there reading the newspaper. I gave the traditional "hi" without saying anything aka the slight nod of the head downward. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flatscreen in the room. Wow.

I got a pair of shorts, changed quickly, and headed for the pool. I was told that I didn't need to put my clothes in a locker and could just leave them out. I was hesitant at firtst but then I realized, this is the Edgewood baby! Everything is cool!

I walked out and jumped in the pool without any reservations. It was a solid 95 degrees out and the pool was niiiiiiiiiice. I met a few freinds of Sam's but for the most part found myself going under water periodically to avoid being the odd man out couple wise. (Becca and Sam and the friends I just met were together)

After time well spent in the pool, I made my way back to the locker room. I quickly took a shower and after getting dressed went back to the shower area so I could use some of the, um, products. And there was a lot of options, let me tell you. Lots of after shaves, lots of desposbale razors, lots of gel, lotion, all kinds of stuff.

I was a little dissapointed, however. You see, Becca and Sam had a concert to go to in Manhattan so I was not able to go in the steam room. But, beggars can't be choosers. I was welcomed into this club with open arms (chances are nobody knew I was Jewish AND Black), took a dip in the pool, and had a nice shower. So I was happy overall.

As we left the club with my body feeling swell, I was happy my day had taken a detour to The Edgewood country club. Next time though, I'm spending no less than 3 hours there.

Make it 10

Audition 2+3-Curse Words & Chuck T's

After my first audition and first day of acting school, I was riding high. I realized I could hang. There was nothing to it but to do it. No shame, no reservations. 

I had a second audition scheduled for wednesday during the day near times square. I found the place okay and when I went up the stairs there was already a guy waiting outside. He was wearing black slacks, a dark red dress shirt and a tie. And it was 2:30 in the friggin' aftanoon. I was in a polo and shorts. And he was going before me. Setting the bar high with the appearance. But have no worries, when it gets down to the nitty gritty, it comes down to wheter or not you can act. Well, unless you got three nostrils or something, then you might run into danger territory. 

I went into the room and there were three women sitting down. One of them had passed me a script earlier and when I get in there another asked if I had picked a character to read. I said they all seemed cool to me and she said I should read the narrator and this character named Paul. I said okay. The third woman busted out a video camera from under the table and hit the record button. I began with the narrator who spoke in prose. I tired to look up every once in awhile but it was tough cuz I had never seen the script before. I finished with the narrator after about 2 minutes and then moved onto Paul. 

Paul was currently in a doctor's office and was being very cynical and pessimistic. He was swearing and going off. He was throwing out the mother f'ers the s*its, the f's. The whole sha-bang. (Right up my alley, huh ma?) I was having fun with it. Really getting into it. Once I was done with that I asked some questions and that was it. Pretty smooth. I decided to take a stroll around times sq and include myself (briefly) in the chaos. There were all these people on roller blades handing thins out and there was a giant truck with a line in front of it. I quickly joined the line although I had no idea what for. Turned out to be a great move. It was a FREE ice cream truck as part of the USA network's promotional thing for "Burn Notice". A new show that was on the other night. I got my free ice cream and later a free frisbee with the words "Burn Notice" on it and dipped up outta there. Not a bad little afternoon.

My third audition was today and in Greenwich, CT. One of, if not the richest city in America. I auditioned for a web series and was sent four scenes to choose from for the audition. I chose what was described as a "sketchy, tough guy with a Chicago accent". I didn't know whether or not the accent should be more New York tough with the 'whada ya want' or the Chris Farley SNL skit "DA BEARS". I went with the former.

I took the subway to Grand Central and then the Metro North to Greenwich. I arrived in Greenwich at 1:28 and my audition was at 1:30. Gonna be late no doubt. As I was in the taxi, some guy came up to the window and asked if I was going to the Community Center for the audition. I said yeah. He said lets split a cab. Alright sounds good. I'm already spending money like crazy out here, I could save some dough. 

He was a friendly guy from the Bronx. We chatted a little and it was a short ride. When we arrived at our spot the taxi driver said 6.50 each. I was puzzled and thought for a second while the Bronx guy goes "What the fuck, man? 6.50 each? You crazy?" The driver was saying it would have been just 6.50 if we had arrived together but the fact that we were seperate initially made it 6.50 each. I began to say that just doesn't make sense since it is just one destination and then he pulled out "I will call the police then". I then realized I was 14 minutes late and couldn't afford (double meaning there. Smooth eh?) to argue anymore. the Bronx guy only had 4 bucks so I handed a 10 to him and said "try to take care of it". He said he would go to the ATM and pay me back when went for his audition after mine. 

As I was wearing sandals and plaid shorts, I figured I should change into a more tough guy outfit. But did I have time? I was late already? I should have been changed already. I went in and said I was sorry for being late and asked where the bathroom was. I changed into my black and white chuck's and black jeans. Kept the v neck I already had on. Went in to the room and ran through the lines twice. Bada bing bada boom. I walked out to a seated Mike who had my change and then I called Becca who was going to pick me up on her way to see a friend at their New Jersey Country Club.

Oh yes, the New Jersey Country Club. 

First Day of School

Back to school. There really is nothing like the first day. Is there anything more tormenting than what you are going to wear? You don't want to be plain but you can't stick out too much. Something has to fit well and show off something. For girls- the tan legs you got while you went on vacation in Maui with your family. Or the clevage that finally broke through after years of wishing for it while blowing out birthday candles. Guys- maybe the biceps you have been over working at the gym ever since summer started. Either way, its a big deal.

I went with a nice lavender polo shirt and some khakis. I felt good about my decision. I didn't know how serious this school was or wheter or not it was conservative or what. I give myself enough time to get lost and be late (strict, STRICT policy about tardiness though. One second late? the door is closed and you can't come in). I signed in with the guard in the lobby and was thinking to myself 'What have I gotten into now?'

I got off the elevator and am told to go to the end of the hall. I get in the room and most of the class is already sitting there. I take a seat in the back and take it all in. The super energetic teacher(his contract says he has to be-trust me) comes in and we go around the room and say where we are from, why we chose this school, yada yada yada. There are 4 adults in the class and the rest are in their last year of college or mid 20's. There is one guy with all white hair and a mustache. He is the type that is always making jokes and constantly nodding his head in agreement. There is another woman who has a kid and she likes to share information (more on that later). There are 5 gentlemen total and the rest are ladies. 

We start with this one excericise that I don't understand the point to. I choose to go last so I can feel everyone out. See what I'm working with here. I get up there and do my thing and its fine. As the second part of the class rolls around, we begin to share what we thought of the book we had to read for the application. There was a section that was called the "as if" section where we took a scene and had to say "to me, this scene is as if..." and apply it to something that happened in our life. 

Well, our teacher wanted us to use the example where in a play someone is asking for forgiveness. Everyone ponders for a minute and then this woman, one of the adults in the group, raises her hand. "Well, my mom and my sister are very close. They always go to church together and I'm not allowed to go. (she's been divorced twice) Its as if I tell my mom that my sister is a coke-head, WHICH SHE IS! and now I have to beg for forgiveness from my sister because that would ruin their relationship"

At this point I froze. My eyes began to dart around the room franticly. Someone, anyone. Did nobody realize what she just said? I am stifiling a laugh, some tears, the sensation to yell "woah!", everything. Nothing. Everyone is just looking at her and kind of nodding and not really processing this. At that moment, I wished I was back in high school with my boys in class because we would have been rolling on the floor with emotion. Literally rolling. I needed a Max Gibson or Will Houghteling right then but I had nobody. I just put my hands over my face and began to go crazy on the inside. 

That was definetly the biggest thing that day. While taking notes, one girl took out a Harvard pen to write with. Come on now. Who would really do that? The only types of people to actually have those pens are those who visited the school and didn't get in. What is this chick really trying to say with this cheap ass ball point pen? Get that shit outta here. 

As the second part wrapped up I was feeling good. I couldn't put my finger on everyone, though. At least not yet. But I figured this whole coke thing could last awhile.

And that was only the first day

Audition 1-Too Hot

My first audition was on Monday night. Two days after I arrived. I had recieved an email saying for me to come in for my audtion at 6:30 at 9th avenue between 14thst and 54st. Next to broadway and across from D. Firstly, could we get more confusing than these streets out here? I mean really. Why does it always gotta be between this and this and paralell to that? Can you imagine someone going "Yeah I go to school at Head Royce on Lincoln Ave, bisecting Fruitvale between Juaqin miller and MacArthur 5 minutes from 53rd" But I digress.

I was excited seeing as this was my first audition but didn't really know what to expect because, well, it was my first audition. I was planning on meeting my boy Eric (aka TJ aka Teej aka McDuff) afterward cuz he lived at 10th and B next to whatever the hell. Basically, he was close. I hadn't seen him in a year so it was shaping up to be a good night. I get a little lost coming out of the subway and decide to ask this guy where to go. I told him the address and it was in the opposite direction of where I was headed but the same direction he was headed. 

So I turned around but not too quick because I didn't want to be walking step for step with him. So I took out my cell phone and made sure my brightness was still on low (that saves battery life-tip #13) and began to walk behind him. As I was approaching my destination I noticed he was headed to the same building and he was auditioning, too. 

Now, at this point, I had been in the subway and was walking at a good pace so you bet your sweet ass I was perspiring. When I enter this building I am now producing blotches on the white button down. WHITE! I didn't go for the grey (what idiot would?) or the red or baby blue. I went with the white which does well in warm weather but not this time. I brought an extra shirt of course but I stuck it out. I decided that it is too damn hot out here to be frontin' like I don't sweat. If I came in all calm and collected that wouldn't be right, wouldn't be authentic. (Ironic that I'm trying to be an actor but also authentic at the same time. Huh)

I introduce myself to the lady who is signing people in and immediately ask for a water fountain. (My poland springs bottle was empty) She told me they bought water and there were cookies as well. (+2 for them right there) I filled out something and gave them my headshot. Now, don't forget I'm a rookie in the game. I had my boy Kevin take a picture of me while we were in our program's office in Italy with my digital. My stuff isn't glossy and I print it off microsoft word. I handed her my resume and headshot and chucled slightly to myself. The guy next to me who had slicked back hair and was wearing tight jeans and a long sleeve (doing way too much) handed her a glossy, shiny, headshot. 

After I chugged 3 cups of water I was called in for the audition. The theater room was cool and there were two girls who would be auditioning me, judging me, interviewing me, whatever you call it. They asked me which part I wanted to play and I elected for the transfer student who was of the "athletic build". Right before she said "start" I was slightly nervous but the more I started to think about messing up and being worried, I realized I was too damn hot. How could I be anything but hot right now? I was more worried about how sweat getting into my eye and stinging me (terrible feeling aint it? gosh that stings) than my lines.

I breezed through my part alright. It could have been a little better but they didn't have one of the pages so there was a big pause which through me off and made me look bad but whatta ya gonna do? I said thank you and sped off to the water table. I filled my bottle up with H20 and was gone.

The movie is a short thriller/horror where a dorm is taken over by zombies. I'm waiting to hear from them. 

Not bad for the first go through

Here We Go Again

That was too long. I took some much needed time of to recover from Italy and to enjoy home. Now that I had my fill of Mexican and Chinese and food and a good ol' fashion cheeseburger not to mention TV in English, I'm ready to be back.

Currently, I am not in Oakland, my beloved home. Not even in the Bay Area. Not even on the West Coast. I now call Brooklyn my home. That's right ladies and gentleman, Mr. King is in New York.

To properly understand how I got here, I must take you back a few months. This all began when I took the theater class in the first semester in Italy. After having so much fun with it, I decided this might be something I would like to do in the future. I made some calls and emails and someone suggested an acting school in New York. Sure, why the hell not? I'll give it a go. My boy Nick invited me to stay with him and his parents at their apartment in Park Slope and after I got admitted to the school, I jet blued my ass over here.

I planned on not just going to school. I planned on going to auditions and taking this charm, curly hair, and big nose to the top. I have been emailing people non stop trying to get auditions (gone to 3 now) and will continue to do so. As Mr. Puff Diddly P. Daddy Doody says "can't stop, won't stop"

I came here a week ago and it seems like 3 weeks ago. Between times square, broadway, brooklyn, the meatpacking district, alphabet city, muggy subway stations, and great bagels (Noah's is garbage) I have been around. I have seen folks I haven't seen in 6 months or even a year because I was abroad which has been great. I realized the unlimited subway card is the best way to go. And I have been stopping at all thrift stores looking to strike gold (heads up if you see a khaki or seersucker suit)

As I will recount my adventures from acting school to auditions I have come up with a little game for myself as I stay in NYC. As I am always taking the subway and looking for ways to get mind of perfusely sweating, I have decided my goal, while in New York this summer, is to see more rats than days I am here. To date I have seen 7 rats and this is my 8th day. 

Who is with me?!

Super

After remaining silent for a very long time, I have finally decided to publicly support Barack Obama to be the Democratic nominee and, moreover, for president.

I am what I like to call a "Super Super Delegate". Not to be confused with those in Washington, I am my own special breed. Sure the super delegates hold a very important political position. Sure they are smart and more experienced. But I'm the future, baby. I'm the young gun who will be making moves 5, 10, 20 years from now. I, along with my fellow classmates, are what politicians talk about. We are it.

As Mr. Obama did extremely well this past Tuesday I felt it was time for me speak out. Although those close to me knew where my loyalty lied all along, I felt now was the time. This process has gone on for an extremely long time and we are fast approaching the end.

The excitement and interest this campaign, but more specifically Mr. Obama, has had on me and my friends is tremendous. I now read as many articles on politics as I can. Emails will be exchanged that contain very little except for a few words such as "Big primary day today" or "The polling hours have been extended". But, of course, a lot of them center around Mr. Obama just flat out being "The Man". But its the subtle emails with a sentence or two that is a reflection of the power of this campaign year.

It is as if politics has become a sport. It has taken on a new meaning and interest. By that I mean one will constantly be checking the results, or counting down the days until the next primary is held, or buying posters and signs to hang up and show their support.

I never would have imagined I would be this into politics. It has never really peaked my interest. I am more into sports, eating, movies, and playing the clarinet. The buzz that this election year has in the States but also internationally is something else. Every time I roc my Obama shirt over in Italy, I break necks. People's eyes get real wide and sometimes, as they are staring, I just say "Yeah, I know" but in a tone that really means "yeah, he's the man".

My boy Will over at Harvard has made a video and group entitled "Lets Make a Change 2008". (http://youtube.com/watch?v=icJ-qNA5wpg) Its a cool video that he did with his friends from school. I had to chuckle to myself when I thought about how good everyone is over there in Cambridge. Sure I could have made a video like this with some jokers I know but it wouldn't be the same. They got some aura over there. Or maybe its the rule banning any facial hair and every student having at least one (blue) blazer. Don't get it wrong though, I love it over there. I mean, is there anyone famous or successful who didn't go to Harvard? I can only think of three: Michael Jordan, Jesus, and Dracula.

I don't know how this whole thing is going to play out but I am enjoying this period in history. For me to be able to participate in this election, is absolutely amazing. To be part of something like this...is truly special.

Let's hope this passion and interest in politics does not dwindle after this year.

Let's hope we take care of business in the next few weeks and again in November.

Let's make that change.

The History of Art

Before I get started let me say this: my brother was an art history major and he is the smartest cat I know so don't think I am biased. And he even feels me on this one.

The following will only be relevant to those of you who took or are taking an art history class. You have to have sat in one of these classes to fully understand what I'm about to preach.

Ever since I took my first art history class in my junior year in high school I noticed people LOVE to talk. Not the talk that Jewish mothers do but the talk where the same people always have something to say whether its about Roman sculptures or 18th Century French paintings. We only had art history class once a week in my junior year but it was enough to see a pattern.

I chose to take art history 5 days a week senior year and was one of 4 guys in the class. Total was 18. I enjoyed that art history class a lot. The material found me well and I liked my professor. I raised my hand occasionally but was called on a lot more. But there was always those two girls who always had something to say and, although it was never disclosed, battled each other for art history supremacy.

Every time a new slide was shown there are those hands that shoot into the air quicker than Doc Holiday could draw his pistol. In my senior year, I would roll my eyes, slouch further in my chair, or look around the classroom to see who was on my level. Occasionally I would catch someones eyes and, without saying it, we would exchange a "can you believe this?!"

I am taking another art history course over here in Italy and I like it a lot. The professor is a cool older lady (aren't they always) and the material is swell. The number of girls in the class far outweighs the number of guys, of course. And you have the same folks (girls) who always talk. One of my favorite parts is, in order to remember the painting or sculpture, I decide to draw it myself in my notebook. There is a small window of opportunity because the next slide is always on the way but I manage to draw some pretty darn good stick figures if I do say so myself.

To be fair to some of the people, art history does give students more of an opportunity to speak in comparison to calculus or biology. The teachers like to hear what the students think and encourage them to share those thoughts. But there is a limit. Its not just the students who get tired of hearing the same voice (in the front row) over and over. Teachers hate it, too. They definitely see your hand when it first goes up but pretend they don't. They stall to give others a chance and to delay hearing that one, same voice.

But is there anything better when those girls go on a two minute speech about a certain work of art and then the teacher hesitates, thinks for a second, and then says they are wrong? I mean that is beautiful. It usually starts off with the polite "Not exactly" or "Not in this case". I love that. I keep a little tally in my notebook, you know the one where you draw a line for a point and on the fifth you draw a diagonal one. Its great.

I'm not trying to say that those who take art history and talk a lot should stop. I'm just saying don't talk all the time. Sure you are helping the awkward pauses when nobody else knows the answer but sometimes just take one for the team and keep your pie hole shut. Its on the other students, too. Y'all gotta step up and take a risk every now and then, too. You might not be exactly right but the teacher will appreciate the participation. And how wrong could you be? A lot of art is based on how it makes the observer feel and what they think about it.

Constant talkers: talk a little less
Non-talkers: talk a little more

It's that easy.

THAT Bag

I do not come here before you to tell you how to live your life. I have written stories and information that pertain to me with hopes of entertaining you. However, I must put my foot down on one thing that doesn't exactly pertain to me: that got damn Louis Vuitton bag.

You know exactly which one I'm talking about. That brown bag with the tan "LV" and tan designs that like the suits from a deck of cards and snowflakes. Now I know I haven't crossed dressed in awhile (2005 to be exact. And that one time in Cabo) but I do know a little about women's attire. I know that some shirts work better than others on a certain body while some can wear heels and some cannot. Don't even get me started on women's jeans...


I will admit, though, that when it comes to handbags and purses, my interest and knowledges diminishes. The fascination girls and women have with handbags and purses is something I will never understand. The classic line is always "you can never have too many". Um, yes you can. You can when you start to have no room to put them and ask guys to buy them for you. I don't know which is harder for me to understand with women: the fixation of purses and handbags or the lack of ability to go to the bathroom by one's self.

I cannot give advice on purses. I will give advice on that spring dress you want and I will on that pair of heels but purses I cannot. The damn thing dangles on your arm or you carry it in your hands for a few hours. You stuff a bunch of unnecessary sh*t inside it and then complain and ask why you can never find anything. Nope, I speak of nothing when it comes to this part.

But coming back to Louis. I cannot figure out what is so great bout this standard, lackluster bag. The colors of the bag, like Meg Ryan, are mediocre at best. The all over print of "LV" and wacky designs are too much on the eyes and take away from what the individual is wearing. Observers are drawn to the bag instead of the individual('s clothes). A bag should complement what a person is wearing, not take away from it.

I'm not positive, but I would be that a lot of people who own this bag (or looking to buy one), have it because it is "the bag" to have. It is everywhere. Everyone has the same one. Now, last time I checked, girls HATE when other girls have the same things. OK, you can't knock someone for getting the same company of jeans or the same color hair tie, but a purse? How does that look when a girl and her friend go out carrying the same Louis bag? Not good. Who wants to have the same bag as 200 million other people anyway?

If someone could let me know what is so sexy or great about this bag, please do so.

All I'm saying is you gotta throw in your own flavor and make it original.

Spice things up, ya digg?

My Dear Sicilia

Once I made my decision to come back to Italy for a second semester I had some dates marked on my calendar: Groundhog Day, Earth Day, and April 10th-14th. As I am clearly joshing about the first two, I'll move right along to the last which were the dates that my program was taking everyone to Sicily. (Jury is still out on whether our tuition money was used to pay for it or it actually was free. I like the idea of it being free so let's work with that)

Every Italian I know (over 4,000), told me that Sicily is amazing. The beaches, the sites, and, of course, the food. We left Bologna early on a Thursday morning and flew into Catania. The weather was pretty hot and we had a very boring tour of the city. However, we did walk through the food market which was nuts. There was meat and fruit all over the place. Whole pigs dangling on ropes, big cuts of beef, great smelling oranges. I even think I saw a small dinosaur. I'm not sure, but I think so. Then we took a bus to a town called Siracusa. We had a big charter bus to ourselves and the bus driver, who's name was never disclosed, was a crazy cat. I am taking a risk saying this but I have to let my readers know that this man was bizzare. The only real thing I can tell you is that me and my boys named him "Joe Killer". He was the guy everyone, adults included, tried to avoid sitting next to when we ate dinner.

We stayed at a hotel in Siracusa that was cool and called Hotel Gutowski. (Seriously. Hotel Gutowski) The only problem was that my roommate, Francesco, had just got back from 2 weeks in Morocco and let's just say he was looking and feeling like the boys in The Sandlot after they take the tobacco and go to the carnival. We went and played frisbee near the water which was nice and highlighted by me almost hitting a lady no younger than 65 in the head. As I missed her by less than an inch, I pulled a Jim Carrey in Dumb & Dumber at the diner and turned away and pointed to someone else.

The second day in Sicily can be summed up in one word: DELICIOUS. My number one thing to do in Sicily was to have a cannoli. We went to this town called Noto which is suppose to have a cafe that has the best cannoli's in the world. It was true. I felt like I was eating a tasty cloud. The ricotta cheese was sweet, but not to sweet and had a texture that was just right. Oh man was it good. The other Sicilian food I had wanted is called an arancino which is tomato sauce with meat, rice, and carrots in a fried ball. Had a bundle of those. Good stuff.

That night we went out to dinner as a program that lasted 4 hours. No lie. There was lots of food and even an intermission so we can digest the first part and get ready for the second. That night some of us went out to this bar, recommended by the waitress, for this girls birthday. It turns out it was the only place open that night and it was pandemonium. I mean straight chaos. It was like Black Friday at Best Buy or Wal-Mart. I loved it. I was taking pictures and baby steps for about 5 minutes straight.

The next day we went to another city and that meant a new hotel. It also meant that there was a flaw in the plan. The 3 other guys in the program were placed in a triple while I was put with two other girls in another room. As I entered the room pondering how fast I could use the facilities, change clothes, and go to the beach, one of the girls took a look at the Queen bed and then the small one on the side and threw her bag on the Queen. "Looks like you got the small one" she said. "No it doesn't" I said and I threw my bag on the big one, too. I think baffled or shock would best describe the look on her face. Turns out the Queen was two twins put together so we were straight anyway.

Everyone went to the beach that was right behind our hotel and going in the water was fun. Did some body surfing (is anyone actually good at that?) and played more frisbee. The show was stolen by a little Sicilian girl who decided to chase Nick around. At first everything was cool until Nick fell down and she decided to throw sand in his face and then hair. Ouch. What can you even do about that? Throw sand back at her? Pick her up and throw her in the ocean? He just had to sit there. It was rough yet comical.

That night we went to a new hotel that was more like a bed & breakfast. It was in the suburbs at the very top of a big hill with a great view. It was very relaxing and nice. The dinner there was right up my alley. I knew we were in for a treat when each person got an antipasta plate. It had 7 different meats or vegetables on it with the best being a sauteed eggplant with meat in it. Oh boy. Best believe I asked for more of those. There was salami, prosciutto, cheese, and other foods I cannot recall. The pasta we had next was great, too. Pasta alla norma. Eggplant and tomato sauce. Then the plate of meat came out. Sausage and beef. My thing on this trip was to always be near at least one vegetarian so I could get a little extra. The vegetarians are better than the super picky one's. Vegetarians go about their business and keep it cool instead of "Oh! What's that? It looks bad. I'm going to smell it. Yuck"

First off, you shouldn't be smelling your food. Specially not in Sicily. If you need to, do it casually. Bring it close to your mouth and get a whiff. DO NOT put your big, ugly face into the plate. Also, if something doesn't look particularly appetizing to you, that's fine but keep that to yourself. As I'm going for a bite I do not want to hear what you think of it. Nor does anyone else. Just shut up and eat.

My motto for this trip was to just keep eating. I often found myself thinking: "I'm not hungry. But I'm going to eat". At dinners and lunches I would make sure to get my fill. I kept it under control but I never left hungry.

So here is to Sicilia. You lived up to the hype and provided me with some absolutely deliciousness. Salute!

(Non) Morning People

This study abroad experience has provided me with several experiences and taught me many things. From living with Italians to cooking lessons to soccer games, I have seen some stuff. However, it is something that my fellow Americans have said as well as their actions, that have stuck out to me the most. I'm talking about those folks who label themselves "not a morning person"

Does anyone else hate hearing this? What does it even mean? Nobody likes when the alarm goes off and you have to go to class or to work but you got to do it. What did these "non morning people" do in high school? Some of these folks pick their classes based on what time they begin as opposed to what interests them. "So why are you taking Trigonometry in Modern Day Russia"? "Because it starts at 2 in the afternoon" Nobody wants to take a class at 8:30 in the morning but we gotta draw the line somewhere.

I have fallen asleep in class plenty of times. Everyone has. But you have to do it in the proper way. You can go for the hand covering the eyes while you have the pen in the hand so it looks like you are taking notes. Or you can excuse yourself and go to the restroom and you can catch some z's while on the seat. But please, don't just let your head fall back and your mouth drop. Please do not. Firstly, you are way too obvious. Secondly, you scare me and my fellow classmates. Sure you provide some good entertainment but after awhile it becomes embarrassing and disrespectful.

I am just having a hard time when people say they "just can't do mornings". Mornings are when the days begin. That's how life works. I don't know anyone who "does afternoons" or "is a dusk person". I'm not saying that I can hop out of bed and immediately do the "Thriller" dance but I'm saying I can get myself together in the mornings. When these folks graduate from college, what are they going to do? I can't imagine these (non) morning people going to apply for a job and trying to explain themselves.

"Is there anything else you would like us to know?"
"Yeah. I have a hard time working in the morning. I'm not a morning person"
"Okay, grrrrreat. You are definetly not going to get this job. But thanks for coming in!"

If you start getting up at the same time every morning and get into a routine, you will actually end up getting more hours of sleep. Its when you go to sleep at 4Am after watching T.G.I.F. re- runs on youtube and wake up at 2PM that you start to run into trouble. I do have a bit of job advice for those who do not wish to work before the clock hits noon.

You basically have two options:

A) Be one of those jerk-ass guards at a student dorm at a big college like NYU or BU. You can get the night shift and wear a wack ass outfit and abuse what little authority you have

B) Be homeless.

Deep Breath

I have been off the blog scene for a minute due to various reasons. Some good things been happening lately that got a brotha distracted. But a big part was due to my spring break. I, along with 4 others went to Spain and Portugal for 10 days.

I was really looking forward to this trip. I mean Barcelona is suppose to be super nice. Ever since the 1992 USA Dream Team won gold there I had been wanting to go. OK, not only because of that but it was a small part of it. We had Madrid, Barcelona, and Lisbon, Portugal on the itinerary. I decided not to go to Morocco with the group and go to the South of Spain of my own. (4th best decision I've ever made)

I have never had the opportunity to do extensive traveling with someone outside of my family. I've never traveled anywhere with girls in a small group. Sure I have gone on Chorus trips with girls but that was with well over 40 people. I didn't really know what to expect seeing as I had never done it but I didn't expect it to be like this.

I believe it was during the second night in Barcelona I knew I was around some unique company. After the other two guys and myself separated from the two sisters for dinner, we met back up to go out. My boy Nick asked one of the girls if they had seafood for dinner and they responded with: "No, we had salmon". Dead serious they did not know salmon was considered seafood. No I can't blame someone for not knowing Einstein's theory or not knowing the capital of Venezuela but I can say there go some stupid folks if you don't know salmon is seafood.

The trip continued in this manner: stupid comments, lots of complaining without doing anything about it, and constantly starting days late. It got to the point that I sent my mom an email describing the trip.

Dear ma,

Things are cool. Portugal is real nice. I like it a lot. These two girls are driving me crazy. If I could get away with it, I'd kill them.

Love, Ari

I almost didn't write that. Not because I didn't want to tell my ma or because it wasn't true but because that could be used against me in a court of law. If things went down, they could go into my email records and use that as evidence. But I was so annoyed and fed up, I decided to go through with it.

I honestly would double major in Russian and Arabic before traveling with these girls again. Hell, I'd even adopt an entire family from Indonesia before taking a walk to the supermarket with them. People have asked me why are you saying all this. Why so mean? Its not mean. Its truth. When folks ask me how my trip was I tell them. I'm not a liar and I'm not gonna sugar coat nothing. "My trip was real cool. Spain and Portugal are great. Don't ever travel with these sisters"

Did I mention that one of the girls, while booking a plane ticket, put down this one guys name twice instead of my name? Oh, I must have forgot. That means I also forgot to mention she never admitted it was her fault, or said sorry. We had to pay a total of 90 Euros to change the ticket and pay the difference in the price of the flight.

I'm not a hater by nature. I'm not. But I will say what's going on. Did I say that these two girls sounded like a mix between Darth Vader and Paul Bunyan? Because they did. I could carry on and on but it is not worth my time nor yours to write everything here. If you want more stories, get at me.

I will say that one of the highlights of the trip was being on my own in the South of Spain. Granada and Malaga were great, small, peaceful cities. Barcelona was real cool but very touristy and real spread out. Definetly gotta be there when the weather is warm. Madrid was aight. Real big and nothing that was out of the ordinary. And Lisbon is the best city you've never been to. A lot like San Francisco, too.

What is really unfortunate is that some folks were like "Oh I knew it! " after I tell them about the trip. I'm just wondering why nobody told Ari? Everyone is so giddy that they knew it was gonna be like that but decided they were gonna play secrets. Heads up for everyone, if your friend is gonna travel with someone and you think it might be problematic, tell them. Please.

But, its over. Its in the past. Nothing to do about it now. I ate, drank, took pictures, and saw some great stuff. Now, its off to Sicily with my program. And one of the girls...

I'll be sure to keep my distance. And stay away from sharp objects that could tempt me.

Frightening yet Intriguing

Although I have touched on this subject before, it always finds a way to work itself back into the mix. I'm talking about the gym. Nothing completely crazy ever happens but its all the little things that make the gym experience unique.

I have heard some stories from the girls locker room which sound ridiculous. I won't go into details but let's just say everything guys think goes on in women's locker rooms actually does over here.

But back to the matter at hand. As I have said before, my gym is the low budget one. We are talking a handful of machines in a tiny space. So tiny that you have to turn sideways to walk when its rush hour. But its cool, it gets the job done.

Now, if you go to the gym you have your regulars. You have those who are there just to tell their friends later that day that "Yeah, and I went to the gym today". You got your folks that will wear as little clothing as possible to show off as much of the body as possible. The folks who are new to the gym and take very long sips from their water bottle just to stall and study the machine (how hard is the stationary bike though, really). And then you got the folks who are too muscular and actually make you feel weird when you look at them.

Now I got one of those in my gym. The catch is, its a woman. Before you judge, I have no problem with women working out or being muscular. No sir. Got the hair tied back, short shorts on, or the black leggings, and the asics or nikes. You might have left the earring on. Sounds good to me. The thing with this woman is that she is a grunter.

I strongly dislike the folks who must grunt and make noises while working out. If you are doing that, you are doing too much weight or running too fast. It makes me feel weird when I hear these people that sound like they are on their death bed. I don't know whether I should offer them my inhaler (I would never) or run and get help.

The thing is, I can't help but look at them. Maybe because its so distracting, or maybe because I want to witness something go down. Either way, I periodically stare. And that is what recently got me in trouble. While I was in the gym this week, there was one woman who looked like she could give Hulk Hogan a run for his money.

No lie, she sounded like Sea Lion in mating season. She was grunting and coughing, and all that and I would look over that way every now and then just to see if I could be the first person on the scene if something happened. After I had looked 3 times, she caught me. Our eyes met and my initial reaction was to turn away. And I did. But I stupidly turned back immediately. (Come on everyone does that) And she was still staring at me.

I didn't back down but after a second or two she did one of the weirdest things I've seen in about 5 to 10: she flexed her muscles. I'm still not sure if this was to prove her dominance, challenge me, or express her interest in me. Either way it was odd. I turned to the clock on the wall real quick and reacted in a "Oh no! I'm late" kind of way and got the hell outta there.

As I put on my Spidey backpack she gave me a "ciao" and I responded with a ciao but didn't look her in the eyes. I'm going to try and avoid her but part of me wants to see her again cuz the whole situation is so ridiculous. I'm all about the stories and situations just so I can look back and be like "Damn".

So here's to hoping I don't run into Xena: Warrior Princess again

And here's to hoping I do

Is That Necessary?

There really is nothing like Italian fashion. From Dolce & Gabanna to Armani to gold shoes and mohawks, they got it covered. From pre-teens to single folks to (my personal favorite) old folks, Italians got it all.

To start with the young guns, one only has to stay in the piazza for a short time or any popular street. They will always be roaming in hoards and extremely loud. There will be at least 3 of them, males and/or females, wearing white pants. Some will have a gel'd mohawk or just bangs, Others will be wearing shirts that are written in English but don't make any sense. For example: "Lettuce is my religion" or "New York's Ugliest"

The singles always provide good laughs. The guys will be wearing the super tight shirts and jeans that are way over the top. (I'm all about the skinny jeans look but there is a fine line between jeans and nut-huggers) They could be fat and outta shape but somehow, this outfit does wonders. You can also smell these cats from a mile away. I think its a combination of three things: very strong body wash, followed by a spray deodorant and finally massive amounts of cologne. On the other hand, the single females don't stand out too me that much. You can never tell who has a boyfriend, or who is even open to the idea of conversing. There are a lot less welcoming than I had anticipated. No lie, I have gotten more attention from guys than girls. That's not to say I haven't got attention from girls, but, um, I'm just saying...



My last and most favorite groups is the seniors. Now, this isn't meant to be too critical as I understand I will one day be a senior myself but I got to draw the line somewhere. Firstly, with the men. I will say my problems are very minimal, if at all. They always have a nice tie and sweater on usually accompanied by a jacket and scarf. I will say that they could do with a little bit more color. They are less adventurous in comparison to their young male counterparts. I'm not saying I want to see pink sweaters and purple ties but I will say cut back on the Tim Burton black and gray, ya digg.


And now, the old women. I got nothing but love for old women. I don't even think its even PC to clown on old women at this point. However, I cannot pass on this one. I can confidently say that at least 93% of Italian old women wear the same brown mink coat and that s*it needs to stop. Whether its sunny and 60 degrees outside or rainy and 30, these women will roc this coat. (Now this is a common thing amongst all Italians. They always think it is freezing outside. It is never cold or a little wet, always freezing. You can go outside and see folks with scarves over their mouthes and Soviet Union Soldier hats. I have been chastised extensively for wearing shorts on my way back from the gym) Moreover, the jacket makes the women look like they are getting attacked by a 400lb Grizzly Bear. I went to the grocery store today in jeans and a sweatshirt and saw 3 women with the same brown coat. Standard issue. I don't even know where they get them. I have yet to see them for sale in a store. Its like there is some Italian law that if you are a woman over 60 you need to have this coat. Its a right of passage-like a Bar Mitzvah.


Now don't get me wrong, I love the Italian fashion. There is nothing wrong with looking nice and taking pride in the way you present yourself. I must also give a huge amount of praise to the Italian women who wear stiletto's while walking on cobble stones while smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone. If you want to be impressed look no further than these women.

Don't believe what I say? Come to Italy, grab a caffe and people watch in the piazza.

Then come talk to me

PARTY-PT.2

I knew I was going to be drinking a lot. I couldn't refuse a drink from anyone. If someone offered me something, to take a shot with them, or just share a beer, I was in. I mean its my twenty first, right?

As my two American dudes came through, I knew things were going to get started. Firstly, Nick, was wearing a plaid shirt with shorts that are hard to explain except he defined them as his "Woody Harrelson shorts. From White Men Can't Jump" After he said that to me I knew that was going to be a great night.

Within a matter of minutes, the place got flooded with folks. The Americans arrived in sets of three and the Italians arrived, what seemed to be, in one giant group. I was posted over by my Ipod and the speakers with the hard alcohol while the Italians had the kitchen and the wine.

Italians are more into sipping the wine, talking about their respective soccer teams and cites, cigarettes, and the art of plucking eyebrows. Americans on the other hand want to get drunk as quickly and violently as possible while dancing furiously. I was going back and forth between the two groups. I would get the occasional random Italian guy who obviously came for the free drinks and well dressed girls but decided to wish me a happy birthday.

It seemed like folks who I never saw drink before were going after it. Ivan, whom I used to live with, decided it was his birthday and was pounding vodka like he was a soldier back in WWII. I had seen him drink wine only but he was nuts tonight. I think he was feeling some of the American girls. I think Andrea was too. Shit, I know I was.

At one point, Francesca and Vittoria told me to kill the music and they called for everyone's attention. Then everyone sang happy birthday to me and my close Italian friends presented me with a present. It was a jersey and shorts of the local pro basketball team called Fortitudo. It has the year the team was founded and a giant eagle which is their logo. Super fresh. They also got a disney card that has Belle and Cinderella on it that says: "You're marvelous!" in Italian along with a picture of me after I got hot pepper in my eye. (That was a disaster. Can't speak of it)

As I was heading back to the Ipod, these four Italian girls came up to me and said Happy Birthday and introduced themselves. They were friends of Luigi's. They asked me if they could choose the next song so I gave them the Ipod. At this point, you had to turn sideways and almost do the Robot to get through the crowds. It was packed. Before I even reached the other side of the room the music stopped. Folks were yelling for me. I headed back to the Ipod and it was frozen. Then, all the songs got deleted. These girls had manged to f*ck up. Big time.

I was feeling great. Had the drinks in the system, just got a great present, and things were going smoothly. Now this. I took the ipod and retreated to my room to figure things out. Sure I was worried about the party and how it would go downhill without music but, to be honest, I was more worried about the 6 Harry Potter's I have on tape and how I might have to kill someone at my own party.

I plugged the ipod in the computer, hit restart and waited. Windows welcomed me, I was told my virus protection had expired and I was in "immediate danger" and then Itunes came up. And then, it all came back.

I unplugged, walked back out the party and felt like Wayne and Garth: GAME ON!!! From there the party continued until about 3 in the morning. Folks were still drinking and, to my shock, all the tuna sandwiches were gone. I noticed there were three huge bowls of homemade sangria. I knew we didn't make those and went to find Luigi and ask him what the deal was. It turned out that nobody came to the party at #18. They threw in the towel and decided to bring all their alcohol to our party. DAMN.

As folks were parting I got all the words from the drunks. "Great farty, rappy birthday!" And then there were the people who say if I need help cleaning up tomorrow, to call them. Uh huh. Sure. They just get credit for the offer when they know damn well they wouldn't come back and help tomorrow. I think I would have preferred someone to say "Wow. Your place is f*cked up. Its a mess. And you know what? I'm not going to help you clean up. Peace" Now that would be real.

After everyone left me and my Italian guys (and girls) stuck around and just gave a recap of the night. The place looked worse than Alicia Dantzker's bedroom. Some folks got real ambitious and started sweeping and mopping right there. Twas great. I said goodnight to everyone at 5:05 and headed off to bed.

Happy Birthday, Mr. King