Dirigo-In-Balto

Last Call

2011-12-19T18:46:00.000-08:00

It's December. That means (usually) when you step out of your front door in the morning, there is a chill to the air, frost covering the last few sprigs of green grass that are resisting to give way to the brown and grey dregs of winter, and ice on the windshield. You start the car, turn on the defrost, scrape the windows, and when you get in to drive to work, the slopes, up North for the holidays, down to the lake to icefish, into the woods to hunt, or down the long driveway to grab the morning paper, there it is...that familiar warming feeling directly under you and on your lower back. What the hell did you ever do before heated seats? Did you don a full snowsuit for even the briefest of commutes? Did you shiver and curse all the way to town and back? Did you take along one of those old school hot water bottles that elderly folks place on arthritic hips? To be honest, I cannot recall. I think we just grinned (gritted teeth) and took it. We did so because we did not know any better. Now we do.

Heated seats are one of those simple luxuries that we have come to know, to love, and to depend upon. Well, all of you--no matter what you drive or how long you have been driving--can (and must) give thanks to Saab engineers. Saab was the first to put heated seats in their cars way back in 1971! Saab, because of its heritage, because of its peculiar styling, because of its status as a niche brand, had the freedom and the opportunity to be first with a myriad of features that are now commonplace on cars that are anything but luxury or European or Scandinavian. A year earlier, in 1970, Saab engineers unveiled the headlight wiper/washer system that was activated when using the windshield washer. 1983 saw the unveiling of the 2.0 liter turbo charged engine with intercooler--capable of 200 horsepower...IN 1983! Three years later, the 9000 (of which I had one that went 228,000 miles) was the first front wheel drive car to be equipped with ABS breaks. 1991, with an eye for being green, Saab was the first car maker to introduce a freon-free air conditioning system. And, to round it all out, in 1997* because they started with the heated seats, Saab introduces on the 9-5 (of which I also had one) ventilated front seats. This reduced the need for air-conditioning, increased gas mileage, and set the stage for other car makers to utilize their innovations and integrate these designs into some of the finest luxury and super cars in the world.

There were also dark days. In the blind consumerism and desire for all things yuppy in the 1980s, The American behemoth, General Motors, decided it wanted a piece of the mighty Swede and acquired 50% ownership in Saab. Initially, this meant an influx of some cash and a greater American market. But gradually, GM took a bigger and bigger role in the business of producing and selling Saabs in America and the rest of the world. Though most of the building and engineering of Saab automobiles stayed in Trollhattan, enthusiasts could see differences. As GM's influence grew, the more bland Saab cars became. They lost their rounded 'wagon-backs' that made the iconic first generation 900s more of a face of the brand than the blue and red griffin emblems prominently displayed on the hood and boot. They became more plastic, clunkier, rattled more, little shit broke, the quirks were disappearing, but they never totally lost what had for so long set them apart. They still ran forever (in car terms--not in actuality).

There is a reason the firsts stopped in 1997. GM never wanted to build the brand. When the mass-market appeal was not there, the bodybuilding exercise turned into an organ donor program. Innovation was sacrificed for attempts at snappy slogans. 'Welcome to the state of independence.' 'Born from jets.' And the list goes on. These were attempts to capture the niche that had always existed and force it on those who thought they wanted a BMW, a Mercedes, or, God forbid, a Volvo. It did not work. At least not in the way GM hoped. Saab never realized that mass-market appeal. However, it did do a lot for those who had been owners and enthusiasts since before the GM takeover. It reinforced the the niche sense of what the brand always was--and what most hoped always would be.

Sadly, Saab is--as of today--no more. Part of the reason the financing from Youngman-Lotus Auto Group (a Chinese conglomerate) was not approved was that GM objected because it still owns some Saab licenses and was worried that the "innovations" would fall into the hands of its Chinese competitors. This, coming from a company that gave birth to badge engineering. You know, when you slide into the driver's seat of a Buick Regal Turbo, you are really hopping into a dumbed down Saab 9-5. Youngman-Lotus was never going to have majority ownership, though they were led to believe they would. Now no one is going to have the majority share.

Saab could have been the Apple of its time. It never had or would have the market share, but it had the allure. It had the brand recognition. It had the die-hard following. If you are not from the Northeast, you are probably reading this with a bit of skepticism. You are probably writing this off as a nostalgic, liberal, Mainer longing for the days of old with a Swedish car that was full of quirks and more of a status symbol than a feat of engineering. Well, you would be half right. I do long for all those things, but I do know the value these cars held, especially in New England. They were tanks. They ran like champions in the snow, without all-wheel-drive. They had great gas mileage and tremendous power (for a four cylinder). They were recognizable. But, most of all, they were practical. They could hold just about anything you wanted to haul. They were good in the snow. The turbos performed better in cold weather. And, above all, they were safe. What do you expect from a company that tested crash safety by running cars into 800-pounf dummy moose at highway speeds?

Yes, Saab was and still is a special car. I will continue to drive the two I own until it is not possible to drive them anymore. My child will hopefully inherit one of them as a daily driver to and from school. And I will own another one.

Thanks for all the memories:

-1987 900s 16v

-1993 9000 CSE 2.3 Turbo

-2000 9-5 Aero

-2004 9-3 Arc 2.0 Turbo

-2007 9-3 2.0 Turbo SportCombi

*photo courtesy of openwalls.com

Saying Goodbye: A Long Time Coming

2011-05-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

It was once said that 'parting is such sweet sorrow'. It has also been said that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. There are many famous sayings, proverbs, and anecdotes that have helped people say goodbye--since, I would have to guess, the beginning of man. I can almost see the first relative of man inventing the wheel, using the wheel to make his life easier, and then, eventually trading in the first for a better, two-wheel drive model. I can also see him leaving the cave of his neighbor, two wheels heavier, six mammoth pelts lighter, stopping, and gazing back at the lone wheel that had made his life, well....almost enjoyable.

Why do we put so much emphasis on saying goodbye? People. Places. Possessions. No matter what we have, who we meet, or what we experience--it all comes with a final moment.

I, just as many before me and many more, have said my share of goodbyes. Each time the words are the same but the reasons and emotions are different, unique. I have had to say goodbye to family--whom I will not be able to say hello to again. I have had to say goodbye without the comfort of receiving one in return. I have said goodbye to places I may or may not see again. I have said goodbye to places that have been my home, my sanctuary. Each time, it is more difficult, for different reasons.

The lead up to goodbye--the anticipation--can be just as grueling and just as draining as the moment the words start in the brain and the vocal cords vibrate and finally, the trembling lips force the sounds into the recognizable utterances that transcend almost any language.

I then think about the things to which we say goodbye--the things we get rid of. We, as humans--as Americans, live in a world of daily goodbyes. We say goodbye to newspapers, to soda cans, to take-out wrappers, to old and frayed clothing, to junk mail, to that bullshit job that has just not really been worth the quality time with loved ones sacrificed, to...(fill in the blank). We are more accustomed to bidding farewell because there is always something new to which we are almost forced to day hello. We are driven by consumerism, by the lust to not only keep up with the Jones', but the be the Jones'.

I grew up in a household where we did not get rid of something that was perfectly good in its purpose just because there was something newer that could do the same job, supposedly better. 'If it ain't broke, don't fuck with it' was the mantra. Maine has a reputation as a self-sufficient, hard-working, no-frills state of existence, but I think it goes beyond that. I am part of Generation X (as lame as that still is) and we were programmed to live a life totally different from that of our forefathers (and mothers). We were told that newer is better, more is what we should strive for, radical and different are the only qualities that have value. Old belongs in a museum, but the real world needs to get the hell out of the way of progress.

The 'Greatest Generation' and the 'Baby Boomers,' some say, are cut from a tougher cloth. They experienced some of the most testing times of our history. World Wars, economic feast and famine, nuclear crisis, assassinations, civil unrest, and ever changing times instilled a respect of and an ability to find value in the constant. Form fits function. This one of the few points I remember from high school biology and a concept that was never lost on those who made their way in the world before the internet, before grunge music, before hip-hop, before cell phones, and the multi-million dollar sports contract. Nope. It worked because it worked. If it did the job, it was worth all its costs. If it did not live up to its promises...it went overboard (or, more likely, it was recycled (before that was even a concept) into something that functioned in some other necessary capacity). And, that was the way it was.

So, what is the way it will be? Will we continue to live a disposable lifestyle--trading in our leased, pseudo-luxury automobiles every 3 years so we can have the, newer, 'better' version of the same thing? Or, will we be able to--as a collective society--see the intrinsic value in something that stands by us and never lets us down. Sure, it may be quirky, it may draw puzzled looks and thoughts of pity, but goddamnit, it's been good. We will always remember the good times and relive the days of glory. And, for those times when all was not rainbows and butterflies--shit, those just make for interesting war stories when yearning for the days of yesteryear.

*Photo Credit: C. Lawson (Betty White handling the blizzard of 2010--with ease. You will be missed. Love you, old girl).

Homecoming: Maine, Man-Time, Mom's Cooking, and Moustaches

2011-02-27T18:01:00.000-08:00

There is something about returning to somewhere you have not been in way too long, seeing people you have not seen in even longer, and doing things you almost have to relearn because you have neglected to keep up the practice. The real enjoyment comes from the fact that it everything comes so natural, even after so long. The faces are still pretty much the same, every place is still in its same location, and, as with riding a bicycle, everything has its way of coming back.

Embarking on any journey causes excitement as well as a bit of angst and uncertainty. But, no matter how tight the time frame or the restraints placed upon it, there is nothing like a road trip. There is something romantic about being on the open road, making great time, seeing places that you would otherwise have no need to see or to which you would go, seeing just how long you can go without sleep--it's all part of what makes it worthwhile. From a strict, economic, cost-benefit analysis, driving 23 or 24 hours, staying up for 40 hours straight, filling the car up with gas multiple times, the wear and tear--not to mention the real possibility that something could go wrong and cost money, sanity, well being, it really does not make any sense to do anything but get up, go to work, and get back home as quickly as you can.

Home. No matter where we go, we all see to return home, again. Home is exactly the reason why the cost-benefit analysis does not apply because home is not a solitary location--for anyone. I feel home when I walk in the front door of the house that my wife and I bought almost a year ago. She feels home when we are standing on the beach in Delaware. We both feel home when we are sitting down to Sunday dinner at her parents' house. And we both feel at home, in front of a fire, with our dogs and my mother, in the house where I grew up.

In addition to feeling home, it is also important to feel at home. Heading back to Maine in the middle of the night, I really started to feel at home. The familiarity of late-night drives with my wife hit as soon as i reached just behind the gearshift, turned the key, and the the Saab wagon came to life--packed with dogs, bags, coats and boots. We are no strangers to long road trips. Living in Boston with a dog and having family and friends in both Maine and Maryland, car was the only way to go. It also brought me back to my college days when I used to wake up at 4 am to drive four-and-a-half hours so I could feel at home with some great friends in the mountains of Western Maine.

This mentality and familiarity could serve to explain why it just made sense to, after an 11-hour drive through the night and 24 hours without sleep, say hello to my mother and turn around to drive another two hours to the mountains to do some long over due riding and see some great friends.

It was fitting that my first run would be solo. Though only the better part of the nine o'clock hour had passed, it felt like it was half past noon. The sun was bright, the snow was soft, and all the lifts were turning. I attached my lift ticket, got on the chair, and headed straight to the top. To get to the top of Sugarloaf, one has to take two lifts. The first one heads straight up the middle of the hill, the second runs up the western ridge and provides spectacular views all the way into New Hampshire. That day I could see Sunday River and all the way to snowy peak of Mount Washington. I then unloaded off the chair, strapped in, and took off toward the familiar pitch of the West Mountain trail to Penobscot circle to see some old friends. Yep, it sure felt like home.

Walking up to the condo door was a walk I have made countless times over the years, but this time was something different. I opened the door and saw the two familiar smiling faces that I expected. Though I had not seen Greg in over a year and Joel in close to five times that long, we immediately fell into our old routine: set up the new board, lace up the boots, put on the goggles, and head out. The day would only get better when I surprised an old friend with my presence and my brother with my early arrival. The day was spent as so many others, taking lap after lap after lap. Everything came back almost immediately. Though I was not at the top of my game and those I grew up riding with had progressed incredibly, it felt like I had never missed a day on the mountain.

It was hard to top such a great day on the hill, but time, as they say, marches on. We had a lot to do and not adequate time in which to do it all.

I was able to spend some (though not enough) time sitting and talking with my grandfather, whom I had not seen in way too long. Again, it did not feel like it had been years since my last true visit. We aught up, he shared stories, and showed the true wit and humor that I always remember him having. After a difficult goodbye, we met some other friends for dinner and beers down at the local brew pub where we had spent so many nights in our early/mid twenties. Really, we could have been anywhere and had an amazing time. Again, it was as if this was our regular Friday night get together. No one missed a beat. The stories and the jokes all seemed to flow with as great an ease as they ever did.

The next day I was able to really experience Maine in a way that few people from away ever get to. Spending a day on a frozen lake with some great people in a home made shelter is rather humbling. Being out in the open with the wind whipping 40 to 50 to 60 miles per hour around you in a couple hundred pound structure heated by a wood stove on 18 inches of ice really lets you know what it means to be at the mercy of nature and those around you. This was less about catching fish than it was about good company and good times. More comes from the shared experience than the shared catch.

Our final full day was spent in one of my favorite places that I have ever had the opportunity to experience. We spent the day hiking on a groomed carriage road in Acadia National Park. Through the just under 4 miles, we ascended the incline through the woods to some amazing frozen waterfalls, views of jagged mountains, and the shimmering Atlantic Ocean. This is a ritual for us. It was cold, sunny, and the perfect place to be. The dogs had a great time and we were able to spend our last day outdoors, with my mother, doing something we all love.

Though the time was well spent, it was all too short. It seemed that we had just arrived and it was time to pack up and hit the road again. We managed to pack just about everything we had planned into a mere 4 full days. I saw the mountains, lake, and the ocean. I saw friends and family and family friends. I was able to relive old times and create some new memories. Not a moment of the trip was misspent.

So, with teary eyes and more bags than with which we came, we started up the Saab, loaded up the dogs, blew the horn, and set off to retrace the miles we had driven 4 days prior. It was difficult to leave, but there is comfort knowing that it will not be long before we return.

The first half an hour was spent in almost total silence as we watched the trees go by and the mile markers ticking closer to Portland. Then, before we knew it, 12 hours and 9 states had passed and we were home, again.

*Photo credit: C. Lawson: "Oh My Gosh Corner" Carrabassett Valley, Maine (via Blackberry).

Finest Kind

2011-01-13T18:13:00.000-08:00

They may not be big, but damn, they are cold. Anyone who has ventured into the water in Maine in August can tell you that, without exaggeration, if asked about the waves. True, Maine is not nationally known for its record breaking waves, but it does have a core group of men and women who put on the wetsuits and paddle out every month of the year. And you can bet these folks are hearty....The ocean temp barely breaks out of the 50s in the southern part of the state--even at the height of summer. There is really only one word for that--dedication. This photo is my background at work and it comes from my good friends at BeerMe.

I recently had two minor encounters with the surfing community in my home state. First, I happened to be reading my newest edition of Down East Magazine and was interested to hear how people described the "real Maine". This seems to be a point of contention in almost any context from politics to sports fans. In a state that is so dynamic, in its own way, there are certainly as many definitions as there are "the best way to get there from here".

[Side note: I still do not care to hear what Martha Stewart's idea of the "real Maine" is, and, I suspect the real folks of Mount Desert Island do not care to, either...and yes, she was asked.]

Various Dirigo State icons, from Stephen King to Don McLean to Susan Collins to Shelly Pingree to Thomas Moser (some of you may even have some of his cabinets in your summer homes). I agreed with all of their definitions, and then I came to the words of Seth Wescott, Olympic Gold Medalist in Snowboardcross. He said that his idea of "real Maine" is having breakfast at Becky's Diner in Portland. He went on to say that if he was there, it probably meant he had been out surfing in the early hours of daylight.

The second run-in I had with this rugged community came by way of national television and the great state of Delaware. Being a beer enthusiast, (which is a nice way to say that I drink more pints than I probably should, but my wife is nice enough to keep up the euphemism) I was watching Brewmasters on Discovery. Sam, at Dogfish Head, received a package of Northern White Cedar scraps from the guys at Grain Surfboards in York, Maine. They make incredibly beautiful, hand-made surfboards from locally grown wood and they generate a minute amount of waste. Needless to say, a beer brewed with cedar shavings tantalizes the taste buds of such an enthusiast.

Though I do not surf, I connected with these ideas of realness. I could relate to everything this community encompasses. First, no one could have gone to Sugarloaf in the last 12 years without knowing who Seth Wescott was, but it was more than that shared place of recreation and solace. There is something about being in a local diner--especially one on the water--early in the morning. The coffee is always good, even when it's not. There is a lively bustle inside and out. There is something almost classically romantic about watching fishermen go out to sea. And there is something about getting up earlier than you normally would to go to work to go out and do something you love. The feeling is really indescribable. For me, it was never surfing, rather going to mountains of Western Maine or the hiking trails of Acadia National Park.

Second, no matter what part of the state from which a person may hail, there is no shortage of entrepreneurship. If I were asked to describe the mentality of Maine, it would have to be 'do-it-yourself'. My father, grandfather, and uncles did almost everything themselves. From framing walls and building houses, to changing oil and car repair, there was no need to ever really look outside one's own bloodline. The women were no exception. I am pretty sure that until I graduated from high school, at least one article of clothing in every drawer was either made or altered by my mother, grandmother, or various aunts and cousins....and don't forget the 'jams' of the late 1980s. But it goes beyond that. I had the privilege of being a part of a do-it-yourself business that was born out of a hobby and a desire to make something that was real and true to our idea of what it should be. I am proud to say that one of my best and dearest friends has taken that idea and that initial bit of primitive machinery and turned it into a viable business. TeamEight Snowboards of Portland, Maine is offering something that no one else is.

There is a spirit that is not only reflected in products and words of these folks, but also contained in everything they do. Nothing is more real that building something with your own hands and having that be valued by those around you. Surfers and snowboarders are both members of tight-knit communities (though there is still always a level of realness that fluctuates, depending on the members--and that is always open for discussion)

I guess it all boils down to a sense of community and a sense of belonging. Though you may look different, believe in different spiritual beings, listen to different music, hell, even have totally different value structures, when you step onto the freshly groomed snow, paddle out into the early morning break, drive that first nail when you can still see your breath, or sit down to coffee in flannel and blaze orange before heading out into the deep woods, all is forgotten. The only thing that matters is the task at hand, the shard experience, the common goal.

So, no matter where you may be from, no matter what you may do for fun or for a living, there are constants. People, ultimately, desire the same things--they just take different forms. Always be on the look-out for, and seek to find what makes you whole--all things, finest kind.

*photo credit: Lee Cullivan (by way of BeerMe)

Old Passions, New Endeavors

2011-01-04T19:09:00.000-08:00

Well, it has certainly been a while. I would like to say that I have been sans communication devices because I have been living out of a duffel bag, traveling to remote corners of the world, chasing powder on mountain peaks near and far, and generally living a life that would make even the most seasoned thrill-seeker jealous. However, that is not the case. I have simply been busy enjoying the married life--really, in all seriousness--and everything that goes along with it. The addition of a house and another dog, and the day-to-day security of steady employment have long since put many other activities on the ever simmering back burner. However, the beauty of turning over new leaves is that, sometimes, it allows you to rediscover passions of old.

Identification. All people, from all corners of the globe, from all walks of life, in all shapes and forms, identify. We look to have an identity that is all our own, or at least carve out a uniqueness in some larger classification. Part of growing up is finding one's own identity in a seemingly endless sea of possibilities. Preppy? Slacker? Jock? Hippie? Nerd? Punk? Hick? Intellectual? Liberal? Conservative?. . . The list goes on and on. I, over the course of my years, was able to identify with many groups and many different people. Though I have no long since left my teenage years, identity is still nothing that is set in stone. I now reside south of the Mason-Dixon, but I will always identify with New England--specifically, and most importantly, with Maine.

If you don't know people from Maine, sorry. At the risk of sounding elitist and playing favorites, there simply are no other people like us. Sure, Bostonians may sound similar, come from similar backgrounds, and, until 1820 were citizens of the same state, but there is something simply Maine about those who reside North and East of New Hampshire. Though it is a diverse state, inhabited by lobstermen, business owners, potato farmers, loggers, hunters, mountain dwellers, Independents, staunch Democrats and Republicans, organic co-op members, chamber of commerce members, Saab drivers, and Chevy loyalists, everyone can identify with the state that is first to see the sun rise. It is a common saying, maybe just meant to usurp the burden of explanation: "if you're not from here, you wouldn't understand." I guess that is probably true of a lot of places. I have lived in New Hampshire and the licesne plate is true: Live Free or Die. Boston fosters a brotherhood from Chelsea to Canton, Brookline to Boxboro, Dorchester to Danvers, and the Flat-of-Beacon Hill to Foxborough. Baltimore, hon is all about crabs, lacrosse, hostory, and tradition. It is as much an old port city with distinct neighborhoods as any city I have visited, and I am proud to call it home. . . It is just that, I will always identify as a Mainah (that's how we say it up there. . . North of Freeport, that is).

The holidays had me reflecting on life, family, and the idea of home. My mother, knowing my deep roots, sent me a Maine state flag and a t-shirt that had the outline of Maine above the word HOME (available at http://www.thehomeshirt.com). Of course, that got me thinking of all things Maine and my friends and family that were still there or had ventured away and moved back. Ahh, memories.

This past weekend, I had a chance to head to the mountains (or so they are called) in Pennsylvania for a day on the snow. This may not sound like much, but being that a great part of my identity came from time (every free moment from mid November to late April) spent on a snowboard in the mountains of Western Maine and greater New England, it was an instant rush to be returned to a familiar place--all be it not quite what I was used to. However, the mechanics came back, the feeling was still the same, the excitement was still there. If not home, I was at least in familiar territory. Being in the company of people that shared in that excitement and were out there for the same reasons really reminded my why I do identify with and long to be in the mountains. It also made me homesick. Though the feeling can be recreated, it can never be duplicated. There is nothing that beats riding twelve people deep on a sunny powder day at Sugarloaf when those eleven other people are some of your closest and dearest friends and family.

So, with this longing for things past, I was also inspired to try my hand at something new. With the boiling of water, the addition of malted barley, hopps, yeast, and a little sugar, I have begun brewing my first batch of beer: a Norther Sierra Pale Ale. I have high hopes, but realistic expectations. All has gone according to plan, but you know what they say about the best laid plans. As with everything in life, there is a learning curve, and I am sure home brewing will be no different.

Maybe it is the no-frills attitude of my parents and grandparents. Maybe it is the anti-bullshit platform on which much of my home state is built. Maybe it is the rugged individualism that is common in New England and embodied in Maine. Maybe it is a combination of all that I was originally, all that I have added, and all that I am now. Maybe it is everything. Maybe it is nothing. One thing is for sure, we can always look ahead, but to appreciate where we are going we have to know where we have been.

Welcome home.

*Photo: Primary fermentation, week one--Baltimore, Maryland.

Life Anew

2009-12-08T17:53:00.000-08:00

Well, it has certainly been a while. My extended hiatus was not intentional, nor was it meant as a reprieve from my (semi)daily musings on matters large and small. It was, however, a time of great change, but also of reflection.

Much has changed in the month or so since my last diatribe. I found that ever elusive job, I enjoyed a lovely Thanksgiving holiday, and--most notably--got married. A year of planning and preparing and finalizing and rehearsing was all over in a matter of hours. Quite honestly, I remember bits and pieces, but it was all perfect.

This whole experience, of course, taught me about love and friendship. But what I had not counted on was what I would discover about the human spirit. Whenever friends and family gather, the occasion lends itself to a time of humor, reflection, and reminiscing. This--I expected. What I had not expected was just how much insight I could gain into those I had known since grade school and those I had only recently had the pleasure of meeting.

I have been to many a wedding. They are the only occasion (other than funerals) where friends and family come to share in the knowing of a specific person or people. They are happy, celebratory occasions filled with good food and drink. They are occasions where people can connect and reconnect. Really, I have yet to attend a wedding that was not all of these.

This time was different. This time it was Elizabeth and Me people were there to see, to witness, about whom stories were shared and much fess was made. This was totally virgin territory--uncomfortable, too. Neither Elizabeth nor I enjoy being the center of attention. To be completely honest, I really do not like people making a fuss.

Anyway, the truly amazing parts of this gathering of friends and family--old and new--were the ability of everyone to find commonalities and for everyone to seamlessly fall into relationships. It was amazing to see friends and family that I had not in years and be able to immediately pick up where we left off. It was amazing to jump into conversations and embraces with those I had just met and not feel as comfortable as I did with the latter group.

What moved me beyond anything else was the generosity. Beyond the gifts and the cards, (which were more than generous) the sacrifices endured and expenses incurred by those who attended were amazing to me. To know that people are willing to travel from far and wide and get hotel rooms and buy drinks and get suits tailored and to leave their own families to be with us is almost indescribable.

My stunning bride, my sobbing-with-joy mother, my wonderful in-laws, my extended family, my oldest and dearest friends, my new friends, my brother, and all those who were there in spirit, made those hours some of the happiest and unforgettable of my life. What I now know about the human spirit and generosity will stay with me for the rest of my days.

Thanks to all that made this marriage and wedding possible. I love you all.

To all of those who could not make it: you were missed and are loved.

*Note: If you would like a fashionable account of the evening, please see Alice over at SummerIsAVerb. (p.s. thanks so much for being there)

**Photo Credit: Jordan Parkhurst.

As Goes Maine....

2009-11-04T13:12:00.000-08:00

Well all....I really do not know what to say. I am at a loss for words--or at least the right words, so I will make an honest, but undoubtedly futile attempt, nonetheless.

I have taken to not posting for a while because I found that I really was trying too hard to be interesting, funny, witty, yadda, yadda, yadda. I know that I certainly do not want to read drivel, so why should anyone else. I have decided to come back to the keyboard (as it were) because I am struggling with being able to wrap my mind around something that I feel is a big issue and an important one that deserves honest discussion and discourse and airing of all concerns from both sides. It is also an issue that I, unfortunately, had to watch from the sidelines.

Let me start off by saying that I am not an overly superstitious person (unless it involves the Red Sox). However, certain events, when strung together can give the sense of what is to come. Yesterday I had a wonderful and exciting job interview. I was so happy to finally get out there and prove myself verbally to folks that are generally interested in giving me a chance to better their company. So, that was 1. Secondly, I learned that my brother has a job at Sugarloaf--if he so desires it. Living at the mountain is something we had wanted to do since we started visiting it in the mid-90s. Lastly, things are all falling into place for the wedding. We are getting down to the wire and we are meeting all the milestones with ease. Sounds good, right?

So given all the positives, it is obvious why I was riding high as the sun set on November 3, 2009. This day ended much happier than others, but was not unlike many that I have experienced in my 28 years. However, what you may or may not have realized is that November 3, 2009 was the date of the off-year elections in many states. The races in New York, New Jersey, California, and Virginia took up most of the media spotlight. However, there were some important issues put on various state ballots from coast to coast.

Now, I never intended for this to be a political blog, but I nonetheless feel the need to delve into an issue that suffered a rather crushing defeat last night in Maine. Not overwhelmingly and giving no mandate to the cause, the right of gay couples to have the same marriage rights as straight couples was voted down by just about 52% of the people. Early polls showed the side in favor of gay marriage ahead, but the lead slowly dissipated through the night. By 2 A.M. it was clear to me, through eyes bloodshot from refreshing every major and minor news website I could think of, that the Vote No On 1 side (the ones against repealing the equal marriage law) had lost.

I do not pretend to be an authority on all things politics. I do not claim to always be on the right side of every issue. But I do stand up for what I believe as well as the rights of those who disagree with me to do just that. This is what makes our country and our process so great. However, in the world of politics things are not always as they seem and the choices made in the voting booth are not always the result of honest discussion and analysis of information. There was a lot at stake last night for both sides. I can see why some people might be weary of "gay marriage" because this issue was incorrectly framed as just that. This was not about Gay marriage--it was about Equal marriage. There were no special rights being sought, only the same that are afforded to straight couples every single day in this country.

The debate around marriage equality has wrongly been thrust onto the people as an issue of gay versus straight. This is a much too simplistic and narrow framing of the issue. It is an issue of equality under the law. It is an issue of obtaining certain benefits granted by Civil Rights for citizens of this country. It is unfair, I believe, to ask someone to abide by all of the rules and regulations but fail to give them full protection and benefits. This country has had a long struggle with Civil Rights of types. And, whenever there was an Amendment to the Constitution to attempt to fix these problems, the language was broad as to encapsulate all that might fall under that clause.

The 14th Amendment to the Constitution (Section 1)states that:

All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the state wherein they reside. No state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.

This was done in order to bring freed slaves into the fold of citizenship. However, if it had been written specifically about freed slaves, it would never have been as powerful or as lasting. There is a lot in this Amendment that speaks to what is happening today. And, there is a reason why it was an Amendment rather than a ballot question--It never would have passed. Still, to this day, there are some people in some places that would not vote for some of the rights that all citizens take for granted.

Civil Rights are too important and too guaranteed to ever be put on the ballot because fear, mistrust, ignorance, misinformation, and simple reluctance to change often win over careful thought and consideration. When Maine extended marriage rights to include couples that happened to be gay, it was a great step forward. It was also not forcing acceptance of those that were against it. It did not force any church to marry gay couples, it did not force any other state to recognize the union. It did not do anything extra. It simply extended rights that were already freely enjoyed by the heterosexual married public--as they should be.

Dirigo--our state motto--means: 'I lead'. This is why Maine has been looked to in many important elections since its rise to statehood in 1820. This is why there is the saying: 'As goes Maine, so goes the nation.' So Maine went last night--52% to 48% percent. This is not the result that I had hoped for, but I am not willing to except defeat on this issue. Also, I am not willing to call everyone on the winning side a bigot or a homophobe--though I am sure there are those who exercised their rights as ANY OTHER CITIZEN. This will be revisited. This will be debated. And, just as so many other important Civil Rights issues in this country, will be taken up by more courageous people and eventually a courageous Congress and a courageous President and will finally bear the fruit of so many efforts from across the country in the form of Equal Civil Rights and Benefits for all. I just hope I am around to see that day.

I am still proud to be from Maine, just disappointed in the way she went.

*That is just my 2 cents.

Try it....You'll Like It.

2009-10-28T08:31:00.000-07:00

Life is all about trying new things and having all the new experiences one can possibly handle. It is rather easy to become comfortable doing the same thing, seeing the same people, eating the same foods, etc., etc. This can be not only comfortable but extremely safe. why do you keep going to the same place for pizza? Because it is good. Why do you buy the same make of car? Because it has treated you well in the past. Why do you tend to stay in the same areas of your city? Because they are familiar and provide an element of safety. Yes, it is easy and fitting to always follow the same path, but if you do not stray once in a while, you will miss a multitude of opportunities that are right under your nose.

Sometimes you have to revisit things were once familiar but, for the passage of time, have become just a distant memory. What we did as children can and is fun again. What we though was a blast in high school and college can become even more enjoyable when paired with more maturity and an expanded world view. We do not have to reinvent the wheel, but from time to time it is good to put on a new set of tires, or, at the very least, rotate them. The latter can be one of the easiest and most fulfilling ways to add something different into one's routine.

Last Friday night we decided to forgo the traditional pizza/take-out and a quiet evening at home. We packed the car with pumpkins, beer, a bottle of wine, and the dog and headed off to Hampden--the home of our friends, Lauren and Andy and their dog, Tucker. It was to be a night of food, drink, and pumpkin carving. Yes, pumpkin carving. Before this, I could not accurately say when I last carved a pumpkin and really meant it. Maybe in college, probably in high school, but I cannot say for sure. Nevertheless, I jumped in with both feet (and a couple of knives) and went to work. We all did. The designs were based on patterns, but we all ended up resorting to our free-hand carving skills to finish the job. And I must say they all turned out well. The best pumpkin I have carved in years.

So, the pumpkins were carved and lit, the dogs were beginning to wear each other out, and dinner was almost finished. The conversation moved from various subjects of the upcoming wedding, plans to buy a house, the job market, and inevitably, politics. It was a civil discussion that saw interesting and opposing view points. People say that you should never discuss politics or religion if you do not want to ruin a perfectly good evening, but I beg to differ. However, the debate was put on hold to discuss one of my favorite topics: Bars. We decided that we should leave the dogs to their own devices for a while and head out on the town. Lucky for us, our hosts lived mere blocks from the heart of Hampden--the home of Cafe Hon and the gigantic pink flamingo (which had been taken down by that night, but is happily returned to its perch). It is also home to a great new bar--a wine bar appropriately named: 13.5%.

Admittedly I have been to few wine bars in my time, but I was not at all opposed to the suggestion--certainly not when I found out they have 2$ Natty-Bohs. So we went. And we were not disappointed. The place was packed but we easily found a recently vacated table--only it was missing a chair. We said it was no problem but the host insisted on finding one for us--despite all else that had to be done to maintain order. He brought a stool from the bar and apologized that it was not a chair. We assured him that it was fine, but back he came about 5 minutes later once a large party had cleared with the matching chair to complete our set. Service.

The decor was modern with funky seating options and clean lines all around. The wall that held the wine selection was exposed stone and complimented the orange paint color nicely. The patrons we a mix of ages, incomes, and styles. There were hipsters, young professionals, academics, retired couples, college kids, newlyweds, and a plethora of people that I must have missed. The vibe was interestingly relaxed for a place that literally had one open seat. There was no snob factor that some might associate with wine bars. Our waiter did not judge us per our request for Natty-Bohs and apologized for a delay of a couple minutes. The noise level at 10:30 on a Friday night was what I would expect from any bar, but no one really strained to hear.

Once the big parties left and the tables were put back to their normal locations, the bar took on the laid back and relaxed atmosphere of a local coffee house. The conversations were kept low, beers and wines were being sipped and enjoyed, and everyone seemed to be basking in the quieter part of the evening. Everything seemed to fall into place over the course of our evening. Now, I was engrossed in conversation at our table and was not able to do the keen observing that I normally do when I am alone or just with Lizzie. However, 13.% did leave a good impression on me and I will certainly return.

So, trying new things and new places is actually quite easy when you are forced to do it on a daily basis. This new city, these new people, these new customs, this new accent, are all contributing to the whole experience of this destination. Everything is new and every little piece adds to my understanding of what Baltimore is and why. That is the part I enjoy about moving to a new area--especially one out of my comfort zone. I look to develop an understanding of the city, its people, and its history. I like to observe, analyze, and retell. I guess that is just the historian in me.

Go by the road less traveled, get lost, and end up discovering something new, different, and probably unexpected.

*Photo: Taps at Sea Dog Brewing Co.: Bangor, Topsham, and Portland, Maine

Stuck in a Rut

2009-10-21T10:53:00.000-07:00

Did you ever notice how the days all start to blend together after a while? Routines become just that, routine, and one finds himself just going through the motions of life as if he were an automated device programmed to do so. We, as humans, are creatures of habit--like it or not. We find comfort in knowing what to expect from day to day, week to week, month to month, etc. There is something satisfying in knowing that when you do 'X', 'Y' will usually follow (or some variation of it). This is how we learn the ways of the world when we are young and we build on this base information throughout the rest of our lives. We are scientific in our approaches to life and its problems and wonderful aspects.

As we grow older we seek more and more stability in our personal, public, and professional lives. A steady job, a steady relationship with a loved one, stable friends, a steady income, a steady foundation of family, and an all out firm and stable life. We count on the mail coming on Monday and on Friday. We count on the TV networks sticking to the schedule posted and if they do not, well, there is certainly hell to pay. We count on Democrats saying one thing and the Republicans saying another. We count on our cars starting when we insert and turn the appropriate key and when this does not work, what a goddamn monkey wrench it is. We count on traffic in the morning and in the evening and if it dares to spill over into any other time of day we all lose our minds.

Yes, we count on a lot in our lives--over much of which we have no control at all. We desire it. We strive for it. We swear about it and scheme different ways to try to obtain it. We look to different formulas that offer some explanation of what is beyond our control. When that fails to adequately quench our thirsts for control, we seek still more mechanisms that offer the appearance of control. We are more heavy-handed on that which is within our grasp. We take a more active role in planning for what cannot be controlled. We talk to one another and play out the various scenarios and our potential responses. Yep, we grab that son-of-a-bitch and squeeze every conceivable part we can. This makes us feel wonderful--powerful, even, but it is ultimately futile.

Then comes the next stage: we wax nostalgic. We long for the days when we had some notion of control or--at the very least--had control enacted upon us. Holy shit--wouldn't it just be wonderful if we woke up in the morning and there was a schedule on the night stand that laid out the entire day...like a big executive? Times, activities, places, people, purpose, all in a neat and ordered way that made sense would certainly add an element of control to the daily dealings and tasks. Think about it, it would be constraining but also allow for a multitude of freedoms not always available to those of us that avoid confrontational situations. If a conversation was boring you or the person was babbling on about something totally unrelated, it would not be rude at all the stop, redirect, or even dismiss them. Hey, it is all with keeping with the schedule.

Moreover, it would be impossible to be suckered into some activity that was not on the schedule. No impromptu meetings, dinners, conversations, outings, periods of down time would get in the way of a perfectly planned day. If these outsiders to your life wanted the pleasure of your company for something not scheduled, they would have to petition the booking agent and get penned in when the previous commitments permit. This would make us, undoubtedly feel important and in control of at least the moment. Yep. It would be an ordered and efficient world.

But to what end might this lead? A predictable one--for sure. We would know everything in advance. There would be no real surprises. We could adequately prepare for what was to come. We would, inevitably, long for less control. The control that we once sought would entangle us in a predictable, mundane, and boring life. We would long to be shocked without any advanced warning. We would want to be frightened by the possibility that something might happen that was beyond our control. We would want to be unexpectedly delighted and even miserable. We would want all this, why? Because we are humans. We need the uncontrollable so that we have something for which we can strive. It is the pursuit rather than the actual control that excites us and keeps us going.

It is all about finding a balance between comfort and familiarity and shock and awe. What is life, really, without the unknown? Half of the excitement of living is not knowing when it is going to end. Of course, the other half can be paralyzing fear and paranoia. All in all, life is a long movie with several plot twists and turns and new and old characters alike that shows the viewer both the expected and the never anticipated. But, no matter the plot line and the sequence of events, the movie always begins and ends the same way.

Damn, that was uplifting. Well, it's not all doom and gloom: At lest we still have beer.

*Photo: Harvard Yard--structure, paths, and a schedule to keep.

Good Evening, I'm Chevey Chase and You're Not.

2009-10-19T11:53:00.000-07:00

After a weekend of sports and birthday celebrations and family time, I needed a little escape. I was looking for a film that would take me back, a film that would offer a bit of inspiration, and, above all, a film that would keep me in stitches. So, after rummaging around in the DVD case for a few moments, I found it: Caddyshack. This film has everything from a classic soundtrack, to an A-list of actors, to a myriad of one-liners. But, above everything the movie had, one name stood out as my real reason for watching: Chevy Chase.

Yes, Chevy Chase is more than just a city in Maryland, it is the name given to (chosen by) one of our greatest comedic actors. From Saturday Night Live to the National Lampoon's Vacation series to the current NBC comedy, Community, Mr. Chase has made me laugh for most of my 28 years. From his dry delivery to his sarcastic wit to the subtle (and not so) physical gags to the way he develops and allows himself to flow into his characters, Chevy Chase is comedy.

He is more than just a cultural or comedic icon, he is a style icon. From the pink shirt and white pants on the golf course to the tuxedo at the club dinner to gray suit in the judge's office to the tweed and seersucker in Fletch. Chase, in his early days, certainly wore the Prep style true and true. Sure, it was a different time. Prep was everywhere--even more (in many ways) part of the mainstream than it is now...at least in a truer, more authentic form.

Yeah, Chevy looked as if he had stepped straight out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue. Today there is something seriously lacking the style department of the mainstream. Sure, there are those who maintain a classic style, but there is little worse than those who try to place a modern twist on a timeless style. Sure, looks need updating from time to time, but a true classic stands the test of time and must stay true to its roots.

I have been viewing certain magazines lately that are concerned with giving style advice on all things from hair to suits to ties to home and office decor. They do an adequate job at identifying the do's and the don't's of basic style, but they seem to be hung up on the newest and trendiest wears from the hottest designers. They portray this new idea of 'Prep' as an evolution of polo shirts and shoes with no socks. They are missing the point. The look is only part of the style. It is not all about what is hot and new and trendy. It is about what is tried and true. It is about the old, the classic, and the form fitting the function. Prep is very thrifty and scientific in its applications. Worth is not determined on the runway or in the accolades from fellow 'experts', it is determined by being tested in the field (office, classroom, etc.).

I do not claim to be the final word on anything--let alone style, but I do know what I like from clothes to cars to home furnishings. I like what I like because of style, simplicity, and function. To me, my style is a lot like my brand of comedy: get the most return for the minimal investment. The material is worthless if you do not know how to deliver it. So I would like to take a few lessons and liberties from Mr. Chase both in style and in comedy: I'll keep my style sharp and my wit sharper.

"Thank you, very little."

*Photo: from Warner Bros. Motion Picture: Caddyshack (copyright, 1980)

Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced

2009-10-17T13:47:00.000-07:00

If you are a frequent reader or just simply someone over the age of 25, you will understand and appreciate nostalgia. As we get older, we long for the good old days--the way things used to be. We constantly think back to our version of the simpler time when men were men, women were women, politics made sense, and we knew what to expect. Defining these classifications falls unto the generation waxing nostalgic and is, in no way, congruent from one group to the next.

However, there is one thing most age groups can agree upon: The college years are (4-plus of) the best and most carefree years of our lives. We often long to relive those days on campus with the terrible food, the all-night-study-sessions, the papers, the cheap beer, Saturdays spent rooting for the football, soccer, lacrosse, etc. team, the keg parties, late weekend breakfasts, no classes before 10 am, and countless other luxuries that are now only a memory. Yes, we all choose to remember our glory days as just that, glorious. But, are we blinded by 4-plus years of wearing beer goggles? Is hindsight really 20/20?

Well, I am here to tell you: It is not. The college student--no matter freshman, sophomore, junior, or senior--is a most curious animal. These 'adults' live the life of a high school boarding student with only a few more beers and cigarettes. College is a magical sociological experiment that mixes young adults with a bit older young adults, (semi)independent living, a loose schedule, and, of course, Jagermeister. Yes, the college student--in its natural environment--is a sight to behold. Beyond the conversations that are overheard (almost all fit the previous post), the sights seen, and the awkwardness that is a college bar, college is a mystical and misunderstood time and place.

For most college scholars, a Saturday is more about quantity than it is about quality. My recent foray into the college bar scene on the day when every major school's football team is playing, was eye (re)opening--to say the least. ( I will not reveal my spot for fear that I might be banned) The special de jour was a bucket of 5 Rolling Rock bottles for only$10. Seems like a bit of a rip off to me, but hey, it comes in a bucket with ice. I did my best to try and fit in even though, at 28, I was easily the oldest person there. I ordered a couple 23 oz. Bud Lights and a small plate of Atomic Buffalo Wings and kicked back to observe. What I saw was amusing, to say the least.

The dudes were all gelled up and the smell of Dakkar Noir mixed with Parliament Lights. The chicks had on their tightest tops, shortest skirts, and their best makeup that was rendered useless because of the constant downpours. Yes, it was all about fashion rather than function. The cheap beer was flowing, the pick-up lines were being dropped, and everyone was attempting to play at the top of their game. You practice hard all week and you must leave it all on the field on Saturday. Just because your team doesn't score does not mean you can't. In fact, it is your duty as an uncommitted college single to get out there and play the best game you can. There is no need to think about the future. There is no time to worry about the job market. There is no reason to concern yourself with anything other than the matters at hand.

Yep, college is certainly a grand old time. These days are over before they are fully appreciated and before you know it, you are the old guy reliving the glory days through unimpressive stories delivered over a plate of wings at a college you did not attend. Ahh, yes, college. I'm glad it's over....but I would go back in a heartbeat.

*Photo Credit: National Lampoon's Animal House

Observations

2009-10-14T08:07:00.000-07:00

I had some time to kill last night before I needed to pick up the bread winner of the family (Lizzie) at work so I decided that I might treat myself to a craft brew at a little wine bar called Grand Cru in Belvedere Square, Baltimore. This place specializes in fine and local wines, local, imported, and specialty micro-brews. They also have a small menu of interesting creations that can compliment any beverage you choose--even their creative and unique cocktails.

The vibe inside is a veritable mish-mash of the surrounding communities. There are wine snobs, beer snobs, connoisseurs, tourists, hipsters, preps, bankers, insurance agents, business women, housewives, singles, and the like. The atmosphere created is a melting pot of personalities, interests, and styles. There are just as many folks sampling the hoppy pale ales as there are swirling a pinot grigio. The decor is modern and edgy but comfortable and inviting. The tenders of the bar are knowledgeable, friendly, and eager to find you the right drink. G.C. is certainly worth a visit for the after work drink, client lunch, or a short pre-game on a Friday night.

Though I rarely frequent 'fine' anything bars, I do frequent establishments that specialize in the juice of the barley and I have found that all--no matter location, mission, or clientele--have some very basic elements in common. Anyone, if given what to look and listen for, can feel comfortable in any bar environment. No matter where you may find yourself--city, state, or region--conversations a plenty will greet and be familiar to you.

1. The Macho-Conversation:
We have all been there, right? Sitting at the bar, enjoying our beverage of choice, alone or in the presence of good company, and from some place in the establishment comes the unmistakable roar of the Macho Man (not necessarily Randy Savage). You spot them at the far corner of the bar and, though you cannot make out every word of the conversation, the important points are emphasized with a yell, grunt, high fives, louder than needed f-bombs, and all around boisterous behavior. Most likely these conversations pertain to: Sports, weight lifting, sexual escapades, and 'the last time we went out'.

2. The Politicos:
No matter the season, year, administration, etc., someone is always pissed off for some reason. The Politicos feel the need to actively campaign for office or lobby their position within the earshot of others who may or may not feel the same, different, or even care. It is like getting a beer fueled rundown of all the liberal/conservative/independent talking points that have been in the news over the past week. As the night goes on the debate gets more heated and more unintelligible. Both parties continue to recycle their earlier statements, insults, and rhetorical questions. The debate ends as most do--in a stalemate. Each side comes away 'victorious' having reaffirmed what was already believed. It's really entertaining and like watching a split screen of Fox News and MSNBC with beer goggles.

3. The High School Reunion:
Not unlike the Machos, the High Schoolers are loud, obnoxious, and call attention to themselves. But, they cannot help it. Cut 'em some slack. They have not seen each other in years (or so it may seem). Since they all went to different colleges and now live in different cities, they have a lot on which they need to catch up. After the pleasantries are exchanged and the updates taken down, then it is time to reminisce. The conversation inevitably devolves back to stories of high school parties, glories on the sports fields, road trips, hook-ups, and other misadventures that they will, one day, tell their kids about (when he or she is in college, no doubt). It's like the high school auditorium after summer vacation but with beer and buffalo wings.

4. The Snobitorium:
These are the people that cannot stop talking about themselves, their homes, their cars, or their most recent big purchase. Horses are also a common topic. Though a much more subdued conversation than those mentioned above, they are accented by martinis (shaken), people seated like they are sitting in the leather chair behind their home library desk, and a noticeable lack of acknowledgement of anyone else in the packed room. Do not bother. Just recognize it and steer clear.

5. The Game Players:
This conversation is not exclusive to guys or girls, but in my experience is usually initiated and prolonged by the 'dude'. There is little substance between the two. The conversation centers on looks, one-liners, innuendos, and gratuitous flirtation. Beware of this conversation because, when fueled with alcohol and the expectation of what is to come after 'last call', turns the participants to their most basic and animal instincts. However, if you are single, secure a seat within earshot, gauge the situation, and take notes.

6. The Whine-O:
Again, not exclusive to a single sex but usually observed coming from the mouths of men, the Whine-O is one that draws in even the most uninterested party. This, for obvious reasons, usually occurs between relative strangers who are too nice to turn and leave or between patron and bar master. The W-O begins simply enough--making pleasant conversation--but then delves into deep lamentations of all sorts. From job to love life to medical issues to automobile troubles to relationships with his mother, the W-O spills his guts and leaves it all on the table. However, depending on the one doing the whining, this could evolve into a Game Player. Be wise to that.

Of course this is not a complete list. But, with this rough outline you can fit in at any bar--fine or otherwise. So, take notes, study, and identify these creatures in their natural environment. If nothing else, it is fun to people watch.

Oh, and beware of any conversation that starts: "Hey, can I buy you a drink?" For, before you can even pretend to answer your Blackberry, you may become part of the study.

Good Luck. Drink up.

*Note: Photo--Gritty McDuff's, Portland, Maine.

A Gloomy Monday

2009-10-12T19:05:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that most people dislike the first day of the week. The weekend has passed (all too quickly) and the rest or the projects or the plans did not come to fruition. In one way or another, some promise has gone unfulfilled and pushed back another five days. Yes, the weekends are never long enough. Monday always comes too soon. And work is always at the forefront. These are realities few can escape. Even with this being a 'holiday' weekend, and I, having not gotten the job I asked for as a birthday gift, still wanted to not open my eyes this morning.

As if it were not enough to move to a new city, look for a new job, strengthen relationships with new friends, and prepare for a new (married) life, I also had to cope with the bombardment of new teams in a new market. This was especially difficult. I was used to being able to catch a Red Sox game any day of the week, no matter the city hosting the nine innings. I could walk to Fenway Park. I could talk shop with almost any person I met. And I was way too comfortable. I took it all for granted. Having lived 27 years in New England, I was never more than a stone's throw from something relating to Williams, Yaz, Nomar, or even Buckner. It was wonderful.

Don't get me wrong, there were plenty of difficult years (to put it mildly)--about 86 of them. But there was always something there for which we could root, to celebrate, about which we could complain, and reasons to say we would never watch again but do the exact opposite. Some would describe this as a 'Love-Hate' relationship, but it was not. New England is a passionate region when it comes to our history and our sports teams. We are huge on the legacies of our most revered institutions and our biggest sluggers. We live the euphoric highs of victory and the debilitating lows of defeat. We let our satisfaction and our disappointment be known--loudly. And we do not apologize for any of it.

I think the Red Sox have survived so long as an organization less from management, big name players, and winning season than being in the right region. New England was founded on hardship, struggle, and hope to the future. we endure harsh winters, short summers, and baseball seasons that begin and end with gray skies and stinging winds. Yet, we go back again for the first pitch on opening day and overload Internet servers to try and be there for what might be the last of the season. We do it because that is how we are programmed. We do this because this is our team. We do this, in fact, because we are stubborn.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I write this, today. It is with an even heavier heart that I admit that I was not able to see one inning, one play, or even one pitch of the ALDS. But, as anyone in New England will tell you: It is only six months until Opening Day at Fenway.

Till next year...

'Don't blame us if we ever doubt 'ya
You know we couldn't live without 'ya
Red Sox, you are the only, only only....' -Dropkick Murphys

Recovery.

2009-10-09T09:30:00.000-07:00

It has been a full day since I celebrated the 28th anniversary of my birth and I am just now coming out of that gift, cake, and family induced drunkenness and inevitable hangover. Not unlike an alcohol inspired hangover, the birthday hangover finds you feeling groggy, a bit sore, wanting loads of coffee, and vowing to 'never do that again'. But, of course, we all will do it again--next year.

I don't really look forward to celebrating my birthday. I did not t really do anything great. I actually had no voice at all in the matter. It is not the fact that I dread getting older, rather it is all the attention and, yes, the pressure. 'Do you like it?' 'Are you excited?' 'Does it fit?' These questions all come after the first domino: 'What do you want for your birthday?' To me that is a lot of pressure. Though it may be difficult to believe, I rarely relish being the center of attention. Even with close friends and family, it is just not my place.

Lizzie told me after my party that she thought I needed to at least act a little more excited when opening gifts. It's just not in my nature, I guess. I loved everything I received--which was way more than I needed or expected--but I rarely get animated and I am not a good actor. I was being genuine. I have become a bit more subdued in my later twenties and I guess it permeates into all aspects of my character.

Along with Lizzie's advice, I received another little tidbit from my best friend since high school, Nate. He called last evening to say 'happy birthday' and to catch up. We have not seen Nate or his wife, Erin, since the Logan-Matano wedding at the beginning of August. We laughed and made inappropriate jokes--as always-- and then he asked if I had: 'gotten shitfaced and made a bunch of bad decisions'. I told him that I had not. To which he replied: 'Why not? It's your birthday and you have an obligation.'

I could see both of their points. People like to have it affirmed when they do a good job. People like to make other people happy. Also, if there were any excuse to become inebriated and disorderly, one's day of birth is as good an excuse as any. I am actually surprised that I did not follow Nate's advice...I must be getting older. Maybe it is because I am in a new place, trying to maintain a good impression. Maybe not. We will have to see what 29 brings.

So, for all the gifts and the dinner and the well-wishes: Thank You. I really am showing excitement, but you all know my feeling about exclamation points.
(it's like laughing at your own joke according to Mark Twain)

Be well. Drink up.

*Old Photo from our time in Boston....Much better than the one on my new Maryland license.

Fading Fast (or) A Metamorphasis

2009-10-06T11:29:00.000-07:00

Today is the last day of my 27th year. Wow. To actually see it on paper (or at lest the computer screen) makes it all the more ominous. It seems like only yesterday I was turning 18 and then 21 and then 25. I had no quarter-life-crisis, though my friends and I often joked about it. I did not see a true rebellious phase. Nor did I spend the beginnings of real adulthood in a drunken stupor (well, at least not the entire time). Nope, none of that was in my life plan.

Now I am knocking on 30's door and, more than scaring me into a crisis, it has really made me stop and reflect. I think of those questionnaires they used to hand out in elementary school asking what you thought you would be when you grew up. Or, the multitude of surveys and quizzes and Q&A sessions in high school that were aimed at helping your narrow down an educational and career path. I still think about my dreams in 4th grade to be an NBA basketball player with a cheerleader wife. Too bad for me, I really stopped growing in 8th grade. Or, the thoughts of being a marine biologist or physical therapist that went by the wayside when I discovered that history and writing were a bit more interesting (to me) than the workings of marine mammals or the human body.

These dreams were good dreams to have. These questions were stimulating. The options were limitless. Each part of the equation worked as it was designed to. The only fault I find, now, is that they never really defined when you 'grew up'. I am still waiting for someone to define when I actually grew up. Or have I yet? The answer to this last question depends on who you ask and when you ask them. If you ask Lizzie, it would most likely be a toss-up as to how she would answer. She might sight our upcoming wedding as a sign that we have both grown up. Or she might point to my sense of humor and make the case that I have barely transcended middle school. I would like to think the arguments for outnumber the arguments against.

This leads me to the present. I am once again in the process of reexamining my life, career, goals, and ambitions. I do it every time I explain my job search to someone. I do this every time I write a letter of intent/interest explaining my professional life/accomplishments (in no more than one page). And I do this every time I check my email, eagerly anticipating an interview request. I would love to take one of those surveys or answer one of those questionnaires now and see where I was supposed to go and what I was supposed to do.

However, this teetering on the edge of another decade is not all doom and gloom. My horizons are expanding. In my 20s I completed college, entered the work force, lived in a major and great U.S. city, voted in two Presidential elections, witnessed history (not once but twice) when the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004 and 2007, got a dog, witnessed some of my closest friends get married, dealt with the passing of my father, moved to another city (a little more South than I am used to), saw some of my most inspiring students graduate and move on to college, got engaged, said goodbye to family, close friends, and wonderful colleagues, experienced the majestic nature of hiking alone on the Maine coast, saw my mother become truly happy for the first time in over 4 years, and I really became part of something special.

Yes, I would say that I have grown up in my 20s. I have experienced some of the best and the worst that life has to offer. I have closed doors and I have opened them. I have lingered in the past and I have moved on to the future. 28 is just another number--but a significant one, nonetheless. I still do not know what--if anything--will change when I wake up tomorrow morning.

So, if you asked me: "Is this where you though you would be at 28?" I would say that I don't know. But I don't think I'd want to be anywhere else.

History Buff

2009-10-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

In debating the current state of U.S. politics--personally as well as watching it play out in the media--it occurred to me that we seem to be drawing from two separate sets of facts (well, 3 or 4 or 5 if you count the lunatics on the fringe of both sides). We seem to be arguing--with absolute conviction--opposite facts that each side claims to be the 'truth'. What does this say about us? Are will ill- informed? Naive? Ignorant to the other side? Unwilling to accept that we might be wrong? Too prideful? Too set in our ways? Too dismissive? Too busy? No. It says that we are a part of a system that entertains many sides, opinions, problems, and solutions. We are a part of a great living tradition.

There are many reasons why this country was able to come into being and grow and progress so quickly. One reason is that, though we have a Constitution that sets forth the structure of government, the rights of the people, and the duties of the states, it is not written in stone. The document itself is amendable. In drafting and crafting it in this manner, the Framers made certain it would be a living document that would grow to accommodate the needs of an expanding, industrializing, and progressing nation. The only fact that never changes is that, over time, things inevitably change.

All too often we get caught up in these nostalgic longings for the way things used to be. 'If only ____________ (insert favorite president here) were still in office and we had __________ (insert favorite economic, social, defense policy here), we wouldn't be in this mess. It is a comforting thought--because it is something familiar and tangible--but it isn't true. Each successful president was successful in his term(s) because that was for what the times called. Simply put: politics, the economy, society, etc. all come and go in waves. Conservatism is not applicable to every situation. Neither is Liberalism. Neither side has it right all the time, but politics is a game and you need to root for and play the best game for your team.

Some of the greatest office holders we have ever had (and their policies) would have been political disasters if they had held office just a few terms earlier. What we are experiencing in this country is the changing of eras. We are growing in some respects and shrinking in others. We still have old problems but we are also being faced with very new and unique conundrums that have no easy answers (at least that will actually solve them). The way we will arrive at and have always arrived at a solution is through informed debate and compromise. Considering all options, weighing all costs and benefits, and aiming to do what is best for the majority now and in the future will ensure that the right action is taken--though it may not be the popular one.

When we are done being nostalgic, for whatever reason, we turn to longing for a time when our era will be the one for which the angry or confused or defeated or victorious will be longing. "Just wait 'till the history books are written," we will say, "and then you will see who was right." and, inevitably, we will. Both sides. We desire the absolute Truth (capital T) and actually believe that it will come once enough time has gone by, enough research and analysis has been done, and enough has been written. And we are right--to a point.

Just as the politics and debate cannot be removed from the present, history also cannot and must not be void of these two important components of what makes us who we are. There are all sorts of histories that exist: Revisionist history, Apologist history, Politically motivated history, etc., etc. History is lived and made by humans. It is recorded and decoded by humans. Humans are flawed (yes, even the beautiful ones). Though we seek it and desire it so immensely, we will never know the absolute 'Truth' but we will have our own.

There is an old saying that there are two things you never want to witness being made: Laws and Sausages. I disagree with the first but not the latter. Maybe if we--as a whole--were more involved in the process from day one, our leaders and our system would yield better results.

So, no matter your political persuasion, rest assured that: you will be have an opportunity to be nostalgic, your history will be written, you will constantly be seeking the 'Truth,' and the debate will never end. You will also have the opportunity to be a part of the majority and minority again and again and again. Knowing this, you had better grab the Dramamine because the waves in the political ocean are just that of any other: constant.

*Cover Art Copyright James Loewen, 1995.

**If you have not had the chance to read this book...Please do. It will change your life (or at least what you though you knew).

Life Coach

2009-10-01T12:23:00.000-07:00

It is official: We are now into October, my most favorite month of the entire lot of twelve. That is saying something. To beat out eleven other contenders is a big deal in any race--let alone one for superiority on the calendar.

There are a number of reasons why the 10th month is number one and I shan't go into all of them at this time because they are numerous and, in most cases, boring to those who are not me. There is the wonderful selection of fall micro-brews, the harvest of pumpkins, apples, and all things fall, Halloween, Major League Baseball Postseason, Lizzie, Natty, and Kaitlyn's birthdays, and most importantly, (not in the grand scheme of things) the day we all get together to celebrate the day of my birth. October 7, 1981 is a very historic day--at least in my history.

Looking down the road to turning a year older and a year wiser, did get me to thinking that this is a last and a first birthday in many respects.

First we will start with the lasts (if that's not confusing you are a better reader than I):
This will be the last birthday I will celebrate as a single man. This will be the last birthday that I can claim to still be in my "mid" twenties (though some will dispute this). This will be the last birthday I will spend in a rented home (hopefully). And, this will be the last birthday I will spend outside of a profession. I would much rather spend a birthday at the office than have no office to which to go.

Last, we will state the firsts:
This will be the first birthday below the Mason-Dixon. This will be the first birthday that I will not be able to go home soon thereafter. This will be the first birthday that will also involve wedding planning. And, this will be the first birthday where I really do not want a thing (except a sweet job).

Keeping with this employment theme, today I was hunting around the want-ads on craigslist and I noticed an advertisement for the employment of a Life Coach. It was attached to the other part of the job which was Runway Modeling and... I know what the first part of the job is, but the description gave me no insight into the second and seemingly more important job of the incumbent.

This also got me to thinking. Maybe I need a Life Coach. I have had coaches in all sorts of other areas, sports, music, Odyssey of the Mind (how many of you remember that?!), acting, academics, as well as with my responsibilities at home. But, I have never had a coach to take me through the practices for and the game of life.

I also got to thinking: How would this work? Each morning when I open my eyes and lift my head, the coach would be there to critique or encourage. Would he or she follow me through my day and give me a pat on the butt for an excellent parallel parking job or make me run laps when I failed at a joke and made a situation awkward? What would the conditioning be like? How would we keep score? Would we go to life competitions on the weekends and compare stories? And, when would practice be over? How do you stay after life practice to work on getting better?

After all this thinking, I am no closer to understanding what a Life Coach actually does. Nor am I any closer to forking over the $20 an hour to find out. It sounds like a pretty good gig, only I'm not sure how you would check one's qualifications.

So, I will go into my 28th birthday with a sense of hope and excitement rather than lamenting what has gone and what is still uncertain. And maybe, after the dinner, drinks, and cake, I will open that one remaining present and find what it is I have truly been wanting....

Happy October.

*Photo Credit

Versatility...An Ode to the Boat Shoe

2009-09-28T10:50:00.001-07:00

By now we all know that it is officially fall. College football and the NFL are in full swing. All those shows on the Food Network and the home and lifestyle magazines are all a wash with oranges, yellows, and browns. People are picking apples, baking pies, and settling in for, what the Farmers' Almanac predicts, is going to be a long and cold winter. In due time, folks, in due time.

Sticking to the matters at hand, the arrival of fall has made the people around here almost giddy with anticipation for the fall holidays and weekends spent not in quite relaxation by the pool or the ocean, but taking on projects and outings with a pace that is as crisp as the weather. All the housewives have donned scarves and vests. The kids are draped from head to toe in soccer and/or field hockey gear. The men are back to business suits during the week and rugged khakis and plaid shirts for those weekend projects and outings. Yes, gone (mostly--with the exception of yours truly on occasion) are the shorts and flip flops. But, I have not and will not let go of one of the most versatile pieces of footwear ever created...The boat shoe.

When it comes to picking out and purchasing a pair of shoes--no matter the style or purpose--I can be a little on the picky side. I have to be absolutely sure the shoes are going to work on a daily basis and that I will not grow to dislike them as quickly as it took me to purchase them. However, I have found something as classic, timeless, and as useful as anything I have ever owned. Yep, a pair of Topsiders is a pair for me.

These shoes are not only comfortable and iconic, they also can be worn with just about anything short of a suit. They are casual while still hinting at some refined quality. They are understated but noticeable. And, above all, they just plain work. The real boat shoe is simple and functional in its design and does not pretend to be anything but what it is. Leather upper and a slip resistant rubber bottom make it tops for the boat deck, or a damp sidewalk, or the dusty wood floors of a classroom, or a stroll on the sand. Absent are the jaunts through the woods, running a marathon, or shoveling three feet of snow, (most of you Mid-Atlanticers have no concept of that action with that amount of snow, but I assure you it does happen) but those were promises never made.

My first year in Boston, before and during my teaching days, I wore boat shoes every single day. I even wore them in a few snowstorms--which was not a great idea, but I survived. I happened to pick up a pair at the L.L. Bean Outlet store for something like $14.00. I bought them a size small and quickly had broken them in for a feel that could not be obtained from a shoe in my proper size (any serious soccer player should know this from experience and blisters). They are still on my feet 3 full years later and doing well. The Bean quality is no myth. I also own a pair of classic Sperry Topsiders, which I also cherish, but made the mistake of actually purchasing in my size. They are now a bit on the roomy side, but comfortable and purposeful, nonetheless.

There is something about the quality and the simplicity of these shoes that makes them a great fit for me. They have been 'in style' in some circles since their creation and show no sign of slipping by the wayside anytime soon. And I think that is what draws me to them. I can hold onto them and they will be the exact same day to day, week to week, year to year. I am no slave to fashion and, frankly, do not subscribe to the 'dos' and 'don'ts' of the hip and famous. I just enjoy the fact that I really do not have to try.

No, I do not own a boat. No, I am not a middle-aged WASP from Connecticut. No, I do not have an ocean front cottage in Maine. No, I am not a member of the Young Republicans. And no, I have no idea what the rules for Polo are.

However, I do know something good when I see it and wear it on my feet.

Stories, Tales, Lies, and Exaggerations

2009-09-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

(You may or may not have noticed that I pirated this title from the documentary chronicling the story of the Long Beach, California band, Sublime, its members, and the aftermath of the lead singer's tragic death from a heroin overdose. I want to give credit where credit is due and would not want anyone to overestimate my cleverness.)

Nonetheless, I find this title to be a rather poignant characterization of what goes on in life and how we each attempt to tell our story(ies).

Stories. From as early as I can remember, I loved stories. I was fortunate to grow up in a house that valued education, achievement, and reading. There was scarcely a night that I would descend into the dreamy state of REM without at least one bedtime story. This duty was handled equally by my mother and father and both added a uniqueness and a newness to tales I had heard literally hundreds of times. I liked hearing the stories and imagining, visually, what the author had written and what my mother or father was relaying in her/his own animated way.

Though I looked forward to story time immensely and still cherish those Christmas Eves spent reciting--with great anticipation of sleep--The Night Before Christmas, There were stories I looked forward to hearing even more than my favorite chapters in Hatchet These were the stories not transcribed in any book, volume, or edition. There were a mass of main and supporting characters that followed few if any literary guidelines. These were the stories of life told by the generations in my family.

Tales. A tradition as revered as cutting the turkey on Thanksgiving or my grandfather's boiled ham on Christmas was the telling of stories. Real life stories--from daily occurrences to local scandals involving neighbors, politicians, or officials to anecdotal tales of tourists gone awry--captured my attention in a way that no fictional tale ever could. Each family gathering I would sit in utter amazement and listen silently as the adults told their tales, laughed, commented, questioned, and made light of seemingly bad situations that had befallen one of their longtime friends. Their gift of gab was something that I never fully understood but something I did envy and respect. I could not wait to take my place at the table and share, not only in the listening, but in the telling.

Sure, I made feeble attempts at tale telling that were usually met with kind half smiles or sentiment akin to "Oh, really? Well that's nice." Then the conversation would move back into the political or local topics of the day. So, it was with a sense of great pride and acceptance that I began to realize my place at the table and begin to be a part of these conversations, not just an observer. The conversations would start with school or a possible girlfriend. They would progress to sports and other activities done outside of the academic setting. Where was I going to go to college? What was I going to study? What was I going to do now that I was almost done? How was the job going? How were my fiends getting along in life? Do you remember....?

That was it. I was finally in. I could now begin to offer my own stories, tales, recollections, and even opinions. This last part took a bit of practice and further study. I would engage in the conversation only to the point that was safe. I would wait until I heard the points and counterpoints and track how each person made his/her argument. It was almost like a game. There was much strategy involved. Don't come out with your big points too soon, but don't miss your chance either. Stay true to your beliefs, but don't alienate those around you. Be challenging, but don't push those who have more experience and knowledge than you. And, for Christssakes, make sure you are allowed to participate again.

Lies. I suspect there were few outright lies other than the obvious tales of Santa, the Easter Bunny, the promise that nothing bad would ever happen, etc., etc. These were more fibs than lies, told with the intention of preserving order and maintaining a positive outlook on the world and one's childhood.

Exaggerations. There were, however, undoubtedly many exaggerations. What good story does not have them. But, stretching the truth is far different than having a blank disregard for it. Were you really driving that fast? Did you really have all those beers? Did he have the presence of mid to deliver that one-liner? Is he really responsible for everything that is wrong with our country? Of course not. But, would I have been as captivated and entranced if it had all been the plain and absolute truth with no color? No, for that is a retelling of facts, not the gift of oratory.

I have heard and forgotten many great stories throughout my 27 (almost 28) years. But I feel that it is being able to have heard and experienced these stories that has nourished my love of history. Because what is history, really, but the telling of his story. Just as I did not understand the game my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, older cousins, and family friends were playing and had to spend years studying and figuring it out, so too have I with the study of history. Stories are a link to the past. They allow us to travel back in time. They allow us to see the world as it once was. But, they allow us to do it in our own way....to figure it out for oursevles...to piece together the bits that we remember and the bits that we find. They also allow us a connection.

Some of the greatest storytellers in my life have passed. I can no longer hear their words, but I can know them. I can remember them. And I can relive them. Their stories stay with me and not only provide me with an understanding of who they were, but an understanding of not only who I am, but who I want to be.

Listen to the stories. Tell the tales. Disprove the lies. Carefuly choose your exaggerations. Figure it all out.

NRO, Charles Street, Boston

2009-09-17T13:17:00.000-07:00

Last night I ventured onto the ESPN website to watch some of the Red Sox game since I could not watch it nor listen to it on the radio. In case you missed it, the Sox came from behind to win it in the 9th. Watching this game made me feel nostalgic for the feeling and the atmosphere of Boston. There was many a night I would watch the game in my living room and then walk down to The Hill Tavern for a Samuel Adams or two. I rarely missed a Sox game and have not seen an entire one since the move.

This nostalgia for the Sox gave way to another sense of longing. This time it was for the old neighborhood, Beacon Hill. We lived a matter of two blocks from John Kerry and a little more than three blocks from historic Charles Street. This is a street filled with small boutiques, shops, bars, and restaurants. If you have never been, it is well worth a stroll if you are in town.

Charles Street is also home to one of my favorite shops in Boston, North River Outfitters. This is your one stop shop for everything Prep. From Vineyard Vines to Lilly to Barbour to Patagonia to Mountain Khakis to Alden Shoes to Spotted Cow and Smathers and Branson Belts, they have it all. And, if they do not have it, they will try their damnedest to get it.

NRO is less about their products than they are about their people. The owners are wonderfully approachable and they never seem to forget a face. Every time I went in I was greeted with a smile and conversation. The no pressure atmosphere adds greatly to the experience of the shop. They have great sales and promotional events and are always looking for feedback.

So if you are in Boston, stop by NRO and pick up any and all things prep. Just make sure you consider one of their signature polos with an embroidered duck on the left chest.

A Dog's Life or Returning to a Simpler Time

2009-09-17T12:42:00.000-07:00

Oh, to have a dog's life--especially our dog's. Days are filled with walks, play time, naps, meals served to you in an bowl that belongs to no one else, your own bed, (though you favor the one in which your masters sleep) treats, rides in the car, time with friends. Such is life when you are a four-legged, fur covered bundle of energy and happiness with droopy eyes and even droopier ears. You can get just about anything you want and you know it.

Yes, our Natty-Boh has it pretty well. She has the run of the house, she has a back yard in which to play, her cousins are only a five minute car ride away, she has been through every state on I-95 from Maryland to Maine, she accompanies us on hikes and to the beach. She is truly and deservedly a member of the family.

As I was tossing a turning and trying to grab that elusive sleep, I felt a nudge at my side. It was Miss Boh adjusting her position without even breaking the cover of sleep. It is almost as if she has a switch that she flips when it is time for bed. The moment she hits our bed, she's done.

This particular night I was preoccupied with the usual things: money, job, wedding, future, etc. When I noticed how oblivious to the living world she was, I admittedly became jealous. How marvelous would it be not to be bothered with all the rigmarole of everyday life. How wonderful would it be not to know what an email was, how to use a Blackberry, apply for a job, give a speech, write a proposal, teach a class, sit through a meeting. Yes, how wonderful indeed. Nothing to concern yourself with but eating, sleeping, and playing. No responsibilities except to obey your master and try to please them at every turn. Oh, the benefits of a dog's life.

I was sufficiently envious and bordering on resentful when I realized that our lives are not that far apart. When it boils down to it, are we not all just looking to live well, rest soundly, and maintain healthy and happy relationships? Sure, we have a few more bumps in the road and we must go way beyond the basics, but--no matter how advanced we become--we are simple animals with simple needs.

Live. Love. Laugh. Simplify.

*Photo: one of our last days in Boston. Natty is tuckered out from showing the apartment.

Do I have to Put Away My Summer Clothes?

2009-09-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

Don't wear white after Labor Day. Nantucket Reds are only to be worn from late spring to the beginning of fall. After a while shorts are just not worth it. Not being in college any longer, I cannot get away with wearing my flip-flops with every sort of get-up imaginable. But really, do I have to follow all of these rules?

I have really never been one to stick to a strict style, nor would I classify myself as having a keen fashion sense, but when does it go too far? My friends like to have a few laughs (at my expense) about my wardrobe. They joke about the colors, the critter pants, the patchwork belts, the bow ties, the Topsiders, the "pink" pants--as they call them, and an overall style they see as too old, too upper-crust, too... not me.

Not that any of this really bothers me in the least. On the contrary, I have come to take their jeering and jokes as a badge of honor. In my mind, I am doing something right. As someone who wore a shirt and tie everyday of his teaching career--though it was not required--I enjoy a style that does not always quite make it to the 'matching' category. I was once told by a girl I had known for all of 5 minutes that:
"You can't mix Vineyard Vines."
"Oh." I responded. "Well, it's all Vineyard Vines, so it's a little difficult not to."

A bit snide, I know, but I was really taken back by the comment. Here I was, in the middle of Nate and Erin's rehearsal lobster bake, just assuming they would all make a joke about the "pink" pants and me being overdressed for the occasion, we'd start drinking, and that would be the end of it. Nope. Not this night.

The problem this one young lady had with my attire was that I was wearing a yellow Vineyard Vines tie with conch shells and clams with a Vineyard Vines patchwork belt (gasp). (too busy, I guess). I could have entertained this argument--if she had presented it in that manner--but still, it was not as audacious as she claimed it was. The tie and belt combination was "matched" with Vineyard Vines Links pants in 'sailor's red,' a Brooks Brothers checked shirt, Polo University Club navy blazer, and Cole Hann penny loafers.

Sweet, right. That is what I thought. Even sweeter was that the outfit was not nearly as pricey as it sounds. The belt was courtesy of Alice and Josh, the tie was a find at T.J. Maxx, the pants were purchased on sale at the VV Boston store, the blazer was a find at Second Time Around on Newbury Street in Boston, the shirt was inherited from my father's collection, and the shoes were a gift from Lizzie's parents last Christmas. Dapper on a budget is what I like to call it.

The point of this story is that style is all about not having to adhere to a strict set of rules. (at least that is what I have been told by being forced to watch Project Runway) And the whole Prep aesthetic is about breaking with and maintaining the traditional all at the same time. Mixing something old with something new, replacing dull colors with bright ones, and maintaining a smidge that classic look.

So, do I really have to put away the Nantucket Reds? The seersucker? The brightly colored patchwork?

I really have but one wardrobe. In my mind it is fit for all seasons.

Who the Hell do You Think You Are?

2009-09-12T20:12:00.001-07:00

I have been asking myself this question an awful lot lately. What defines a person? I can come up with a multitude of answers to that question, but each time I think I have found an answer--or combination of answers--to that question I find evidence to rebuke the argument(s). Still, I keep coming back to that essential question: 'Who am I and Why am I Me?'

I think each person struggles to answer these questions--in some form--at many points throughout his/her life. I also ponder the notion that many of these people also rethink their answers as they move forward (or backward) in life. No one is the same person day in and day out, week to week, month to month, year to year, yadda, yadda, yadda. So, along with trying to find the meaning of life, we must also define and justify just what it is that defines us.

I used to think it was merely one's family and those familial relationships that defined the core of him/her. I still subscribe to that philosophy, but what happens when that family expands, then shrinks, and then expands again? Does each relationship with each individual member--immediate and otherwise--endeavor to explain a little piece of you? What happens when that relationship ends? Does a piece of you die with it?

One's job is often considered a bulls eye on the dartboard of personal definition, but again, I take issue with that. Having spent my entire life in education, teaching undoubtedly colors my being in many ways, but one would not be able to observe me and definitively say: 'Teacher, through and through'. In an era where people of my generation do not know what they want for dinner, let alone a life long career, and change jobs as frequently as some change their oil, (my mother's Saab changes oil every 12,000 miles now) it is getting harder and harder to defend this argument.

Style. This is the most outward projection of just who a person is, but this, too, can send contradicting messages. Certain styles convey certain ideals, political persuasions, values, socioeconomic status, etc. I will own my style--though it has changed in some respect over the years--as a true and true Prep. If you have read a smattering of my previous posts, this is not new information. People assume different things about me because of my style. Not a problem. It is so multifaceted that it is, for me, a bit impossible to define. It is also difficult to explain what is so enticing about it. Though I have wavered a bit over the years, can a kid who showed up to kindergarten (at a public school) in a 3 piece suit ever really be anything but Prep?

Beyond the clothes I have changed my other aspects of me. I am now watching tennis and playing it as well. I crave drinking G&Ts as well as Bourbon. I have gone from a beer snob to a connoisseur of the thrifty (I'm talking about you, Natty-Boh/PBR). I am enjoying golf at a much higher level than ever before, politics are now in the front seat. I constantly think of buying a house, going on family vacations, having a little place on (near) the water, and--gasp--retirement. My fiance and my dog are now my most trusted companions that I see on a day to day basis. I will soon be driving a sport wagon and am looking forward to it. And, as I have gotten older the colors in my wardrobe have gotten all that much brighter.

Through this long rant I have yet to be able to answer any of the questions that began this post but--despite the haze from the libations mentioned above--do have a clearer vision of what I want those answers to be.

Here's to finishing that personal dictionary!

*Note: my apologies for the exclamation point. I rarely ever use them per some great advice from a noted writer:

'Using an exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.'
~Mark Twain

**Photo courtesy of Abbi Susi-Beal. Nate and Erin's rehearsal dinner....I had no idea who I was at that point.

Sometimes I Wish I Worked at the 'Office'

2009-09-11T09:14:00.000-07:00

With the new fall line-up just a week away, I have recently become almost giddy with anticipation for The Office. I have never really been one for following a series (The Wire not included) but this season I am determined to do just that. The previews caught my eye, the advertisements caught my interest, and my nostalgia for seasons past have sealed the deal.

I have always enjoyed watching Michael, Jim, Pam, Dwight, Andy, and the gang at Dunder Mifflin, but did not really feel the need to watch every single week. I would catch the show if I could or I would follow up on NBC.com. I even used the show as a teaching tool for my elective class entitled: 'Are Vegetarians Allowed to Eat Animal Crackers: Introduction to Comedy Writing".

*(Now that you have chuckled at the creativity of the title, I must give credit where credit is due--that line was taken from the late, great George Carlin.)

The show is full of quick one-liners, goofy antics, immaturity, and a lot of 'that's what she said'. However, I think the draw--at least for me--is that everyone can relate to at least one character or situation presented over the course of 30 minutes (22 without commercials). The characters, for all their humor, are, above everything else, human. They could be the people we work with, work for, or simply the people whose stories keep us hanging on every word and then in stitches over a beer on a Friday night.

The stories are realistic (maybe with the exception of Michael starting his own paper company and being bought out weeks later) but imaginative at the same time. Most everything is accepted without a stretch of the mind. The dialogue is fantastic and the character interaction depicts that of just about any place I have worked and the writers include all the uncomfortable and awkward moments that arise over the course of a work day.

However, I think the reason that I am looking forward so much to this season of The Office is that it will provide me with some normalcy. It is something that will transcend state lines and provide something that is familiar in an unfamiliar position. Perhaps the greatest draw is that it will put me into some greater routine. With this seemingly endless job search not panning out as I had planned, living vicariously through those that have a 'job' will undoubtedly provide laughs, possibly some inspiration, but most likely an escape.

It is Time To Bid Farewell...

2009-09-09T18:54:00.000-07:00

...to another summer. Though it is technically still summer on the calendar, as a matter of practicality, it is over. Schools have started, the lifeguards are no longer perched protectively on their towers, the pool is only open for one more weekend, and the overnight lows are in the lower 60s and upper 50s (in Maryland). It is time to face the facts and recall the memories of the summer that was and the summer that was not.

It seems as though summer only began a matter of weeks ago. The beginning of the season was cold and rainy with a smattering of sun here and there. Those days were filled with the end of the school year, graduating seniors, finals, grading finals, summer academy, and moving. Through it all, I can count 3 totally nice weekends. Those weekends were spent on our roof in Beacon Hill soaking up Vitamin D to store for the long gray weeks ahead. It seemed as though any weekend we planned on heading up to Maine the drops would start to fall and would not stop until we had crossed through the York toll plaza.

July was more of the same. The wedding of my two best friends, (now) Nate and Erin Susi, took place next to a glassy lake under a cloudy sky. The nuptials were brief, but heartfelt and the rain held off until we were all inside and occupied with other matters. This month also saw our 'jack and jill' shower and the packing of our apartment (and our lives as we knew them) into a 16 foot Budget truck.

This brings us to the month to which we just bid a sullen goodbye, August. We finally saw the sun and in copious amounts. It seemed as though summer wanted to start at the beginning of the alphabet and had to wait. August is where we began our transition and our tans. We attended Ryan and Beth's wedding with the Budget truck in tow and used Providence as our launching point for the trip down to Baltimore. A long wedding reception with far too many drinks and far too much fun made a long trip even longer. This long trip led us to Charm City and to sunshine. We sat by the pool, played tennis, went for walks with the dogs, ran (very infrequently on my part), and enjoyed life.

Now it is September and we have just returned from a wonderful long weekend in South Bethany Beach. It is back to work for Elizabeth and back to full-time job hunting and interviewing for me. Though it was short, I did get to go hiking, play golf, sit on the beach, eat crabs, and get a tan. We managed to pack in a great deal to a little less than true month and I think we are better for it.

Now it is time to turn our attention to fall and all the plans that have been made. We can take comfort in the thought that there is still a little summer with us until the tan-lines totally fade.

Summer, 2009--we hardly knew ya.

The Last Summer Moments

2009-09-05T16:24:00.002-07:00

Well, summer is drawing to a close. I know, give yourself a moment to let it sink in. There. It is difficult, but in order to get over it, you must accept it. As you may or may not already know, I am a boisterous supporter of fall, but still it is sad when anything comes to an end.

However, this last (unofficial) weekend of summer is being spent at the place where the majority of all summers should be spent--at the ocean. Salt air, sun, a warm breeze, and (very soon to be) family make for an amazing end to summer weekend. South Bethany Beach is where we are, overlooking a canal and a short jaunt to the beach.

So, let us all raise a glass (or a bottle or flask) to wonderful friends, family, and memories in the making. Enjoy this last weekend and toast the people you love.

*More to come.

The Last Summer Moments

2009-09-05T16:24:00.001-07:00

The Great American (My)history Novel

2009-09-03T11:13:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of months, after finishing my summer school teaching activities, I have had an opportunity to do some long awaited reading--for pleasure. Throughout the year I have certainly done a multitude of reading for my classes, which also was pleasurable because I am an amateur historian. I have always gravitated toward works of history, non-fiction, politics, and, if all else fails, biography. This is until I found William Martin.

Lizzie's father gave me three of his books for Christmas last year and, up until now, I really have not had the time nor the energy. However, one Saturday, three weeks before we were to leave, we were sitting on our roof soaking up some sun and I decided to crack open Cape Cod and could not put it down.

The book chronicles the journey of two main families, the Hillyards and the Bigelows, that arrived to Cape Cod on the Mayflower and how the cape changed from 1620 to the 1980s. It begins with the Mayflower making its faithful journey to the New World, the landing, the beginning of the colony, and the growth of the nation.

This historical narrative is only one half of the story. As the settlers are constructing a new colony, one of the Hillyard's descendants is starting a new life of his own on Cape Cod. He is in the middle of a dispute over what to do with family property that had been held since the 1600s. The other side of Jack's Island came to be owned by the rival family and his in-laws, the Bigelows. Through his journey to decide the future of the development, he stumbles upon the legend of the Log of the Mayflower which was said to account all that happened on the ship and the first year of the colony.

This story, rich with history and with mystery, is factually accurate and incredibly entertaining. Martin pays great attention to the landscape, the development, and the history of the Cape. He develops his characters and their surroundings in a manner that makes them genuine Cape Codders. He takes great care in describing the politics of small town life and the joy of living on the ocean, the nightmare of summer traffic, and the hassle of dealing with summer people.

Through the course of reading this book, I was drawn equally into the historical narrative and the modern-day story trying to uncover and make sense of the history. It is certainly a must read for anyone interested in American History, Cape Cod, or simply just a good mystery.

I have currently moved on to Back Bay and have found it incredibly hard to put down. It follows the same format and pays the same great attention to detail in describing the characters and various locations around Boston, Southie, Cambridge, and the North Shore.

These books, and the time I have had to read and enjoy them have made me convert and fan of fiction.

Remembering Beantown

2009-09-03T09:26:00.000-07:00

Each day I await the arrival of the mail (actual mail as well as email) because there might be some news about one of the hundreds of jobs for which I have applied. Each day I am met with disappointment. Usually we receive fliers, catalogs addressed to the previous resident, the Towson Times, coupons, bills, and all other types of junk mail.

Yesterday, however, was a bit different. No news on a job or even an interview, but I was pleasantly surprised when I unfurled the rolled mass of glossy advertisements to find the we had been forwarded the latest issue of Boston Magazine. This issue is dedicated to the review of public and private schools in and around Boston, with the regular pieces on fashion, dining, entertainment, politics, and the like.

Though none of these issues are pertinent to my life now, it is refreshing and reassuring to leaf through a publication and have a tangible connection to the issues, places, and people being discussed. This level of familiarity is something I never imagined I would have when I moved into my Beacon Hill apartment two years ago and is something I did not really fancy until I placed myself in the same position some 8 hours south.

As time goes by and I get more experienced here and settled in, I know that I will find that connection and familiarity. I have no idea how long this will take, nor what will facilitate it, but I am certain that Charm City will leave a lasting impression on me--as Beantown has done. I can only hope that it does not take relocating and a month of pondering to realize it.

Lizzie and I will always cherish our time in Boston because it was full of firsts for us. The first time we lived together, our first dog, the first time we hosted a party together, the first time we met other couples and friends independent of either side, our first Red Sox game, and the list could go on. This is also where we were living when we decided to get engaged (though I popped the question in Baltimore).

This new town is full of character and has already impressed and intrigued me. I love its history and its people and I am ready to learn as much as I can.

But, until then, as the song goes:

'Well, I love that dirty water,
Oh, Boston you're my home.'

Fall Is In The Air (Part II)

2009-08-30T16:42:00.001-07:00

Well, August is on its way out, Labor Day will be here (and we will be at the beach) next weekend, back home the morning temps are in the upper 40s, the kids are going back to school, and, most importantly, Samuel Adams has released OctoberFest! It is almost officially fall when this beer hits shelves all over the country.

This beer has a reddish hue and some rich and almost caramel undertones. It is surprisingly easy to drink and is smooth from start to finish. It is not overly hoppy or heavy. It is not over-spiced nor is it an assault on any of the senses. From the aroma to the taste on the tip of the tongue to the back of the throat, to the firm aftertaste, it is the epitome of brewing excellence. Quite simply, it is, by far, the best that Samuel Adams brews.

I feel a bit of a connection to this heavenly mix of hops and barley because it was this that helped me celebrate my 21st birthday, thus ushering in a new calorie filled era in my life. OctoberFest was my first legal beer (not counting Canada). It is also the beer to which I look forward to drinking--rather, enjoying the most out of the many I have sampled in my years.

Another month, October, is a special time around these parts. This month is the keeper of mine, Lizzie's, Kaitlyn's, and Natty's birthdays, the World Series, the famous OktoberFest in Southwest Harbor, Maine, apple picking, and, most recognizably, full tilt fall colors line the countryside. The days are crisp and refreshing, the nights are cold and right for sleeping. It is the transition from Indian Summer to the real thick of fall. It is home to Columbus Day weekend, college homecomings, and Halloween. It is, quite possibly, the greatest transitional period on our calendar. Thirty-one days separate us from the end of summer that is September to the pre-winter stage that is November. Yes, October is the month.

Here's to good friends, crisp, sunny days, good beer, and a the first October outside of New England.

The Lion's Roar Has Been Silenced

2009-08-26T08:24:00.000-07:00

To say that I was saddened when I heard the news this morning would be an understatement. I did not see or hear the new this morning, rather I was alerted to the passing of Ted Kennedy via blackberry messenger by a friend and former colleague of mine. This news was not really a shock--a man of 77 battling terminal brain cancer--but I was still caught off guard.

No matter your political leanings, Ted Kennedy was (and will remain) one of the most influential political figures of modern times. He has shaped much of the social policy of the last half of the 20th Century and the first decade of the 21st. He was a champion of the worker and the poor and those kept out of powerful circles by their position in society. He carried on the legacy of his brothers and accomplished much in their names and memory.

I was fortunate enough to get to hear Kennedy speak. It was my senior year at Wheaton and Kennedy had just won a major battle to increase the federal minimum wage. He was invited to Wheaton to speak about this and other causes for which he was fighting. His voice was powerful and instantly recognizable. He praised the passage of the minimum wage bill--for which he a fought so hard--but he also called on those that were graduating to keep pushing for social reform. His message was clear, concise, and convincing.

As humans we tend to celebrate people and their accomplishments after they pass. We tend to leave out their flaws, or present them in a way that makes them appear more likable, more treasured, more human. I am not going to pretend that Senator Kennedy was flawless or a Saint. He was not. However, he was a man of great stature, importance, and--at least to me--of great influence.

I think his Obituary in the New York Times today summed him up pretty accurately:

"He was a Rabelaisian figure in the Senate and in life, instantly recognizable by his shock of white hair, his florid, oversize face, his booming Boston brogue, his powerful but pained stride. He was a celebrity, sometimes a self-parody, a hearty friend, an implacable foe, a man of large faith and large flaws, a melancholy character who persevered, drank deeply and sang loudly. He was a Kennedy."

He, up until early this morning, was a living legend. Now, he will take his place alongside his brothers as the final part in the trilogy of the Kennedy Legacy.

In asking us to remember his brother, Robert F. Kennedy, with that commanding voice beginning to shake, the closing parts of his eulogy offer us, now, a way to remember the man that delivered those words.

"My brother need not be idolized or enlarged in death beyond what he was in life, but be remembered simply as a good a decent man who saw a wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it, saw a war and tried to end it...As he has said many times: 'Some men see things as they are and ask why. I dream things that never were and ask why not.' ''

Farewell, Mr. Kennedy. You will be missed and certainly never forgotten.

If you are in Boston...

2009-08-25T18:57:00.000-07:00

...And you see this man stumbling out of Fenway Park tonight, his name is Adam Bromley and he is mostly harmless. So, please stop him, buy him a beer, and wish him a happy birthday. He is one of the finest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Beef, I miss you buddy and can't wait to see you....Hope Beantown is treating you well.

You had better get ready for the bachelor party.

Love ya, Adam.

Friends Forever

2009-08-24T10:29:00.000-07:00

Natty-Boh is adjusting to her new life in Charm City and is having a blast visiting Lizzie's parents and their dogs, but there is someone she truly misses back in Boston.

Jackson is Natty's best friend and they would literally play for hours on the sidewalks of Beacon Hill. He is a Springer as well and about 6 months younger than Miss Boh.

The two of them hit it off from the beginning. Natty played with Jackson when he was still a puppy. She let him bite her ears and chase her around. As they became more accustomed to one another, they played all the more wildly and almost exclusively. Toward the end of our time in Boston, each could sense the other's presence when out on a walk and would devote all their attention to locating their favorite playmate.

Hannah and Jackson, we hope to see you again and hope you are doing well.

Fall Is In The Air....

2009-08-24T09:07:00.000-07:00

And you know what that means....It is time to head back to school (for some of us). Thinking back over my long academic career, this portion of the summer--the later 20s of August--often filled me with angst because it was only a matter of days until the weeks of waking up around 6:00 to go to work before the beach would be replaced with months of waking at the same time head off to the classroom and then soccer practice (the beach painfully absent from that equation).

However, this time of the year is not all bad, nor was it always as dramatic as my summer craving mind mad it out to be. One particular late summer--pre--school--preparation session filled me with angst, yes, but also with a new excitement and intrigue fro the fall that was to come. This was August of 2000 and I was heading off to Prep school. I had not gone the traditional route of boarding for four years, rather I attended a somewhat stuffy Memorial High School that had once been an exclusive Catholic School, but had reopened as a semi-private college preparatory day school with an "extensive" application process. This was where I spent my four years, about 20 minutes from home. This was until I decided that college was going to have to wait because I was going to go down the Post-Graduate path.

That's right, that August I packed up my 1987 Saab 900 turbo and headed out of state and worlds away. Meriden, New Hampshire was the town I would be calling home for the next 9 months and Kimball Union Academy was the school that would house me. The school was founded in 1813 and offered just about everything for which I was looking. I had made up my mind in my senior year that I wanted to prep. KUA was a perfect fit from the beginning.

From the rolling hills of the campus to the old brick buildings to the remoteness to the atmosphere to my classmates, KUA was all I could have asked for and then some. As a PG, I came in almost as an 18 year old freshman. It was strange to be an offshoot of the senior class after only having been there a matter of days. However, this strangeness faded in the first few weeks of school.

Soccer season was a blast, but that came and went. Winter was long in the White Mountains, and spring, a bit delayed by a late April snowstorm, sped past like the Saab on Interstate 89 trying to make it back by curfew on a Sunday night. Graduation came, the diploma was signed, and the car was once again packed. I left KUA with friends, an acceptance letter from Wheaton College (Massachusetts), a decidedly preppier wardrobe, and a sense that I had been a part of something special and interesting. This is something that I have still not yet found words to effectively and accurately describe.

Deciding on going prep was one of the most influential decisions of my life. The KUA experience shaped me personally, academically, and for lack of a better word, spiritually--in that, it really helped me to put a finger on who I was and who I wanted to be, in the greater world.

Prep-school and college--knowing what I do now--are the two things I really wish I could do again.

Please, Do Something Good for Yourself....Buy Maine Lobster!

2009-08-22T20:32:00.001-07:00

When was the last time you had real, fresh Maine lobster--in any form? Lobster roll? Lobster tail? Lobster Bisque? Boiled Lobster? Well, what are you waiting for? I must say that I am a bit of a snob when it comes to this particular shellfish. I only eat Maine lobster and only when in Maine. However, this should not deter any potential diners out there.

If you have not partaken in this delicacy lately, you need to. The New York Times had this interesting story that tells the plight of those fishermen (and women) who build their livelihoods on these crustaceans. Times have gotten tough, tempers are running high, and time--really--is running short. The price of their catch had plummeted while diesel fuel has skyrocketed. This economy really has hit most people, but, believe it or not, you can afford lobster.

You can literally have Maine's most recognizable symbol sent anywhere in the world and they will arrive fresh and alive. All you have to do is boil or prepare in any number of ways Martha Stewart suggests.

So, do you part to help the economy and so many people trying to live The Good Life the way their families (part of mine included) have done for generations.

*Note--lobsters will come in a variety of colors ranging from a mix of brown and orange to all blue, but only turn red when cooked.

**Note--there have been live red lobsters found, but chances of this coloring is something like one in 300,000,000.

The Dog Days of Summer

2009-08-21T07:53:00.000-07:00

It is hard to believe that we are 2/3 of the way through August. It appears as though summer showed up late this year. Boston was rainy and cold for pretty much the second half of June and most of July. Maine was dealt an even worse hand. The sun did not shine in Vacation Land but one weekend Lizzie and I (and Natty-Boh) we up there.

And we do mean 'up there'. Just to put things in a little perspective, my hometown is approximately 4 and 1/2 hours from Boston. It is about 8 to 8 and 1/2 hours from Manhattan, and I have made the drive to Baltimore in a smidge over 13 hours. But, damn is it worth it. We are about 35 minutes from Bar Harbor and the Atlantic Ocean, (and by now you know about my love affair with that body of water) about 5 minutes from the lake, an hour and a half from the mountains, (Sugarloaf!) and about 4 hours from Canada.

Up until recently (August 18, 2007) this is where I spent my summers. We golfed, swam, hiked, boativated, (going out on a boat off of the mid-coast with all intentions of fishing but mostly just drinking) went out on the river, and the list goes on and on. This all changed, at least in the frequency of the activities, on that faithful day when I packed up my belongings and headed to Beacon Hill in Boston. After that--and after we decided on having a car in the city--we had to settle for the small doses of what I had known my entire childhood, adolescence, and adulthood.

Now, with this new chapter, the visits are going to be even less frequent, the trips even longer, but the experiences all the more desireable. 'They' say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I think it does. In the meantime, I will just have to seek out and discover the Maryland versions of my Maine roots.

*photo taken July 26, 2009 at Sand Beach, Acadia National Park

**The water temp. that day was flirting with 54 degrees.

The Good Life

2009-08-20T10:33:00.000-07:00

Everyone holds onto their own notion of what the good life really is. Some look forward to chasing the sun in search of the endless summer. They dream of a house on the water and enough time to enjoy it. They want to have a place to share with their family. A place where they can watch their children play in the sand and surf. To be able to enjoy long, warm days filled with beach combing, sunbathing, scrabble, salt air, and cool nights on the deck with the grill, some cooler drinks, and possibly a sweatshirt to take the late summer nip out of the sea breeze is a constant hum in the ears of many.

There is something spectacular about the ocean, no matter where you happen to be. The ocean represents the true human spirit. I know it is common to call her Mother Ocean, but it goes way beyond that. At the risk of sounding cliche, the ocean is every person I know. Giving, taking, calm, turbulent, welcoming, intimidating, old, new, changing, unpredictable, hopeful, harmful, warm, cold, beginning, ending, and elusive are the ocean.

There is a draw to the ocean for everyone. From those who come to peer into the crisp blue waters from their land-locked states, to those who wake up before the sun and step out their front door, walk down to their dock and go to work, there is something that binds these people. From those who retreat from the stress of the suburbs (this is where they fled to escape the demands of the city) to a place on the shore, to those who are preserving a family legacy, (a place to where they have fled from the unknown) the ocean calls.

From the Bold Coast of Maine to the beaches of the Mid-Atlantic to the sandy tropical islands of the southern states, the ocean calls us.

I'd rather be on the water, living some sort of the Good Life.

*thanks to Vineyard Vines for the use of the whale.

Happy Birthday Alice

2009-08-20T10:18:00.000-07:00

This is from your friends in Ruxton. We hope your day was all you dreamed it would be and you got everything for which you asked. We cannot wait to see you and Josh and hopefully before the wedding!

Casey and Elizabeth (and Natty-Boh, of course)

Natty-Boh

2009-08-20T10:00:00.000-07:00

If you are from the Baltimore area, you know what Natty-Boh is. If you are not from the greater Baltimore area, then I will fill you in. Natty-Boh is the shorthand for National Bohemian Beer. This American style lager used to be brewed in the heart of Charm City but is now brewed somewhere in Pennsylvania. However, it can only be purchased in and around Baltimore. For those of you who have never tried it, think Pabst. I happen to really enjoy a cold Boh. Plus, the bottles (yes it does come in bottles as well) have fun pictograms under the caps.

Now that you know what Natty-Boh is, you still may not know who Natty-Boh is. She is the apple of my eye. Those of you in Maine and Boston have all (I think) had the pleasure of meeting her, and if you have not, you will sometime--I promise. Those of you in Baltimore and points unknown will certainly meet her in the coming months if you have not already.

Do not let the name fool you, Natty-Boh is no slouch.

There is no thing finer than having the company of a good dog. They are loyal, sensitive, nonjudgemental, loving, funny, exhausting, protective, and everything a true companion should be.

*Note: This photograph is from a while ago, but it is one of the finest. This was taken on one of Natty's first road-trips. (Chatam, Cape Cod, March, 2008. 6 Months old)

Truly a Classic

2009-08-17T19:25:00.000-07:00

Today was spent job hunting, playing with the dog, and reading. I finished my copy of Cape Cod and was rummaging around our yet-to-be-unpacked book box and found our copy of: The Official Preppy Handbook. This had been given to Lizzie by her mother some years ago and has certainly seen a lot of love. (even more so since we became an 'item') Long story short, I began to read and kept reading until I read it (again) cover to cover. (It made me nostalgic for my days in the dorms at Kimball Union Academy in Meriden, NH) I had forgotten just how utterly wonderful this book is. The casual asides and quips and digs at all things not prep make this entertaining and humorous to those who may not subscribe to its philosophy.

A lot has been made of the Prep style as of late. It seems that every popular clothing brand is trying to rev up declining sales with the 'tried and true' prep style. I guess you could say that in this day in age: it is easy to be a Prep. Only, it is not. This 'handbook' for all of its extravagance and excesses, it really touches on not only a style of dress, but a style of life. It offers simple rules which every Prep should live by. Not simply how to dress, how to shop, where to go to school, what kind of car to drive, what kind of dog to have, this work really captures a philosophy that is more about conserving what you have than flaunting it. The frugality that is inherent in passing down blazers, ties, etc. and most fully embodied in Nantucket Reds is the Prep idealism I can endeavor to embody. Having grown up in Maine, I was constantly dressed in L.L. Bean from top to bottom, inside and outerwear. There is something so Prep and so salt of the earth Mainer in L.L. Bean--especially when you can return something you bought in 1987.

Anyway, if you have not read The Official Preppy Handbook, try to find a copy. It is out of print, but I am sure it exists somewhere in the vast reaches of the internet.

*Note--my alma mater, Wheaton College, gets a mention as number ten in the 'runners up' for the college bound Prep: "Wheaton College, Norton, MA 02766. 1,323 women. 35% from private schools. Best departments are English, Art, and History. Students who take junior year abroad never return. 'Wheaties' hanging around Harvard and Brown on the weekends are distinguishable by their pink-and-green Bermuda bags. SATs: V500, M500."

**Note--the only thing that has really changed is the student population--now it's coed with about 1700 students. Still preppy, still called 'Wheaties'.

Oysters, Orange Crush, and.....PABST!

2009-08-17T07:38:00.000-07:00

If you are looking for one or more of these items, then you need to head to Canton and march right in the front door of Mama's on the Half Shell. I knew I was going to like this place when we walked up and saw on the window--along with all their seafood specialties--PABST! Once I got over that excitement, and actually walked in the door, I was greeted by an Orange Crush. This refreshing drink consisted of: fresh squeezed orange juice (squeezed right in front of you) orange vodka, triple sec, and crushed ice. If that does not get you taste buds in a frenzy, they do have a grapefruit version as well. The Newport Oysters were gigantic, the steamed shrimp were juicy and covered in Old Bay, and of course, the Pabst was flowing and cheap all night long.

So, if you are in the Baltimore area, head down to Canton and check out Mama's on the Half Shell. You will not be sorry. And, if you are looking for a spicier option that is still full of Maryland character and seafood, you need not go more than 20 feet or so to Nacho Mama's--right next door. The crab quesadilla is amazing.

**Thanks to Mike and Katie for introducing us to such a fine establishment. And next time we'll take you!

Today is the first day of the rest of.....

2009-08-17T07:29:00.000-07:00

Well, another Monday has come and Lizzie is off to start her new job and I am left here--with Natty Boh--searching for one. So, while waiting to hear back from those who make hiring and interviewing decisions, I am have to going to be content to surf the employment websites, read, sit in the sun, watch the news, and try to find something that sets me apart from those other millions of people looking for employment as well.

Who knows...I may just have the winning MegaMillions ticket in my pocket.

Here's to hoping!

How To:

2009-08-14T20:08:00.000-07:00

There are a few keys to having a successful and traditional lobsterbake:
1. Enough beer to satisfy the hooligans in the crowd
2. Enough (cheap) wine to satisfy the fore refined tastes
3. Lobster (yes shedders are fine--especially if tourists are involved)
4. Fire--you gotta boil the water somehow
5. Seaweed--it gives that little bit of extra flavor and authenticity
6. Friends and Family--especially the kind that are not easily offended (see 1. and 2.)

And if you put all these ingredients together, let steam for the appropriate amount of time, and have enough Maker's Mark and S'mores for the remaining wood fire. you'll be fine.

The Rocky Coast of Maine

2009-08-14T20:03:00.000-07:00

Well, as I said in the previous post, sunshine in Maine in July of 2009 was something of an oddity. So, you will have no problem comprehending my Columbia fleece pullover and Lizzie's Marmot quilted jacked at "Thunder Hole" in Acadia National Park--Mount Desert Island, ME July 26, 2009.

All in all, it was a great weekend and a beautiful way to spend my last weekend in Maine before heading to Balto.

The 3 Amigos

2009-08-14T19:57:00.000-07:00

Wes, Greg, and Me at the couples' shower in July on the beautiful Philips Lake in Lucerene, Maine. It was a wonderful day filled with friends, family, drinks, food, and SUN! If you are at all familiar with July 2009 in the Northeast, you will realize what a rare occasion this was. Thanks to Aunt Sheila, Mom, Michelle, and Colleen for throwing this shindig. This was certainly a great way to introduce Lizzie's family to our neck of the woods.

Here we are

2009-08-13T21:03:00.000-07:00

I was looking through some of the photographs on Lizzie's computer and found this one. Are we not the picture perfect family (minus the house, 2 kids, and white picket fence)?

Loved that Dirty Water

2009-08-13T20:37:00.000-07:00

Well, it is official. I am now a "Baltimoron," as I have lovingly been told. It has been almost 2 weeks since we left our lovely abode on 28 Anderson Street in Beacon Hill and made the trek in the 16' Budget truck with car trailer to our newest home in Ruxton, MD. Elizabeth, Natty-Boh, and I are settling in nicely and I am getting used to the Baltimore way of life.

To all of you in Beantown--I miss you. You know who you are. I look forward to seeing you for the bachelor party and the wedding.

To all of you in Maine--the same.

Until next time...