"It's Time"

I remember as a kid beginning the “School’s Out” countdown as soon as the Christmas Holiday was over. I remember asking the teacher to use the top right-hand portion of the blackboard as a way to update the number of days remaining. But the days never passed by quick enough. Waiting for the daily digits to decrease is distressing to a student. (Alliteration is fun. Too bad there’s not a “D-word” for student.) "Summer break is always so short, but it takes forever to get through a week of school.” The thought of every student nationwide.

It’s not quite the same for me. While kids across the country are dying to get out of school, I’m longing for the day when I can go back.

I haven’t been to school since the spring of 2003. I was on track for a degree in Journalism and I was rocking and rolling with a GPA over 3.0 through my freshman year. The first semester of my sophomore year was another story…

I had the thought in my head that I could juggle working full-time, going to school full-time – completely online, no less – being a full-time volunteer at my church, and being a full-time boyfriend. I had success at teaching myself college algebra my freshman year, so I thought I could duplicate the same results with pre-calculus. (I had to teach myself college algebra because my professor had a THICK African accent, and I couldn’t understand him at all. So every night, I’d skip ahead a chapter and already know what he was going to “talk” – at least I think he was talking – about at the next class. But pre-calculus is a completely different beast.)

Needless to say, with so much on my plate, I had to make a decision. I withdrew from all my classes – or so I thought – and decided to put school on the backburner. However I withdrew, it apparently wasn’t the correct way, and I failed three classes that I didn’t even take. You can imagine what three failed classes can do to someone’s GPA, not to mention someone’s HOPE Scholarship.

Once my GPA dropped below the allowed limit to receive the HOPE, I made the decision that had already been made for me. I stopped going to school, focused on my work, volunteering and my wife-to-be.

But I’m ready to go back. The days on the calendar won’t switch over fast enough. May 21. It’s really not that far off, but at the same time it’s so far away.

I just never thought I’d be so excited about going to school. I’m delirious.

"How To Start A Fire"

Maybe I have an inferiority complex. Maybe I can’t live with the fact that I’m a “second-rate citizen.”

Maybe I should just pull a Brooke and go ballistic for something seemingly insignificant. (Watch the whole thing - it's worth it. It has to rank pretty high on the "Unintentional Comedy Scale." What about it, Bill?)

(Ok, I’m not going to go that far. But I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t think about it.)

Let me set up the scene…

I TiVoed the Thrashers/Rangers game from Tuesday night because Rachel and I were going out and I wanted to watch it later. Being the first playoff appearance for the Thrashers, I wanted to make sure I caught every minute of the action. I kept from watching the “Bottom Line” on the Worldwide Leader the entire night to ensure that I would truly enjoy the game without knowing the result of the game beforehand.

When we got home, I made a late night snack, set-up the DVD-Recorder, and plopped down to enjoy Game 3. My wife tried to ruin the outcome for me a couple times before she finally went to bed. Let’s just say, I kind of wish she had before I spent 2 hours recording the game to DVD.

(That’s a lie. I would’ve been more upset had she said anything.)

The Rangers scored the game’s opening goal 31 seconds in, and the Thrashers were done from there.

Keith Tkachuk was brought in at the trade deadline to offer leadership to the younger players – like Ilya Kovalchuk – and he allowed the most hated man in the league (as voted by his peers) to get under his skin. (That’s right, Sean Avery. You know him from Cribs and the significant other of Elisha Cuthbert.) Kovy finally got his revenge on Avery in the third though.

Nothing went right for the Thrashers on this night. They were outhustled, outmuscled, outplayed in every aspect of the game. Frustration boiled over in Hoss and Slava – two normally cool characters. Long story short, the Rangers won the game 7-0.

7-0! And to boot, this game gave me more reason to hate New York. Towards the end of the second period, Rangers fans began to mock the Tomahawk Chop in the stands. I guess if you can’t beat the Braves, you have to mock them, right? In the middle of the third, over the P.A. they began to play “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond. Usually, there’s no problem here. I’m a big Neil Diamond fan. But, when the Red Sox play the same song during the 7th Inning Stretch in Fenway, and New Yorkers want to make it their own, something’s not right. Too often, New Yorkers talk about how much better they are than Bostonians, and how they don’t want to be like them… But then they steal their trademark? Nice.

Anyway, here’s a running list I’ve created for all the reasons I hate New York, in no particular order (and I’m sure it will get longer in no time):

1. Aaron Freakin’ Boone – killed the Sox in ’03 ALCS
2. Jeff Van Gundy’s Hair – at least he cut it when he got to Houston
3. $80 hotel rooms the size of a shoe box
4. George Steinbrenner
5. Derek Jeter – overrated defensively, and not that good-looking. Enough said.
6. Sean Avery – see above
7. A-Rod – stupid nickname, purple lips, sissy slap. At least he didn’t come to the Sox.
8. Taxi fares – $30 for three blocks? Are you kidding me?
9. Jets fans – they boo everyone the Jets pick in the Draft. The Jets could select Jesus himself, and they’d boo.
10. Isiah Thomas – terrible coach, terrible executive, but heck of a talent scout. Go figure.
11. 2006-2007 New York Knicks – highest paid bunch of losers in history of NBA. Everything that’s wrong with the NBA in a nutshell.
12. I Love New York – no, I don’t!
13. Bucky Freakin’ Dent – killed the Sox in ’78 to take away Pennant
14. Michael Kay
15. James Dolan – my grandmother could run the Knicks better than this guy.
16. New York Times
17. Every “thug” teenager that acts like their life is an audition for The Sopranos.
18. Dirty Water Dogs
19. The Yankees 26 Championships and how every Yankee fan believes they had a part in each of them.
20. 1996 World Series – Braves were the better team that year. Ask any intelligent sports writer.
21. (In that same vein) Jim Leyritz – his batting stance irked the devil out of me.
22. Sex & the City - eeeww
23. Dirty, dingy subways
24. John Starks, Patrick Ewing, Charles Oakley, Charles Smith, and Derek Harper – I couldn’t stand those guys!
25. The Eli Manning Experiment – I feel for him. He’s not Peyton. And his facial expressions say the same.
26. Jeffrey Maier

There’s more, but I’ll leave it at that.

How do you start a fire? Start talking about New York. You’ll see.

"Hey, I'm A Ghost"

Doubt is time-waster. I don’t understand how people can be atheists in that regard.

Many people have inner discussions to “decide” whether or not there is an all-knowing being and Creator. How a person can make a decision based on non-qualifying stipulations is beyond me, anyways. It’s no different than me coming to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a million dollars. I’ve never seen it, so you can’t convince me that much money really exists.

OK, so you’re an atheist. In the event that there is no God, what then? Where do you go from there? What’s the point of living if there is no consequence for the life you live – whether reward or penalty? So what if you’re a good person. If there’s no reward for doing so, why does it matter what you do? So you spend all this time trying to figure out if there is enough evidence, come to the conclusion that there is no proof to His existence, only to… What? Why are you on the Earth? How did you get here? What’s your purpose?

Incertitude is a good-for-nothing attribute brought on by self-inflicted thoughts and wonders. In the time I’ve been thinking about this post, I haven’t been able to come up with a single time when doubt is helpful. Someone tells you a story and you doubt its truth and relevance. What’s the point in wasting time trying to decipher the validity of someone’s claim? Lies always find a person out. Every time. That time could be better spent doing something a little more constructive – like watching inane videos on YouTube or clipping your toe nails.

Speaking of which, I’ve got a perfect season going on NHL ’06. One way or another, the Thrashers will win the Cup.

"Friction"

I’ve been rubbed the wrong way so many times in the last two years, I’m raw. Aloe Vera can’t help. The makers of Vaseline chuckle and comment under their collective breath, “Oooo, that’s not looking good.”

The most recent of incidents drew blood – figuratively. I’d probably use stronger language if blood had actually been shed. (Actually, I’d probably have to run this column by my lawyer just to make sure I could publish it.)

Back to the story at hand. Everyone knows the cliché “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.” I’ve come to the understanding that it couldn’t be truer.

Rachel and I moved into our apartment last March. Everything was great. Except for the occasional argument our downstairs neighbors had – which we could hear perfectly from our master bathroom. We never understood why all of their arguments took place in the bathroom of all places. Regardless, as often as it happened – maybe once a month or every six weeks – Rachel and I would complain about it. …And thus our real problems began. Without going further, I’ll go ahead and give you the moral of the story right here:

Complaining about little, insignificant things without attempting to do anything to make a change will ALWAYS lead to bigger, more significant problems.

(You can probably imagine where I’m going with this…)

They moved out in August, and we had a month of peace and quiet. No more early morning toilet confrontations. And we were satisfied. Until September…

The people that moved in September are – for lack of better description – the quintessential stereotype of African-Americans. (Take into account that my best friend is Black, so any thought you might have about me being a racist is erroneous.) Although they have the same 2 bedroom apartment layout that we have, I still to this day do not understand how so many people can live together. Here’s a little of the specs: 4 women (all between the ages of 15-24), three young boys (assumedly the children of one – or each – of the women), and occasionally anywhere between 2-5 men (between the ages of 15-27 maybe). There are so many people living together that a police officer asked us if they were Hispanic when we told him how many there were. (I’ve already let the cat out of the bag.)

We’ve actually had to call the cops out a grand total of six times. For what? I’m glad you asked. 2:30AM parties, thumping bass at 3:15AM, yelling and screaming at 11PM, Dance Party Revolution get-togethers in the parking lot under our bedroom window at 1:45AM, smoking weed and drinking in the same parking lot, and the most unnerving of them all: gunfire.

While one of the women and her brother were arguing one night around 11:00, we’d had enough of it. At this point we’ve already notified the management of our displeasure with our neighbors. We’ve called the police five times and we were ready for a change. In the midst of their heated exchange, I poked my head out of the front door and loudly and forcefully asked them to keep it down. Seconds later, Rachel jumped up and down on the floor to again notify our neighbors of our unhappiness. What followed was the most terrifying event of my life.

I can’t count how many times I’ve heard the message of desensitization – how before a kid finishes college, he will have witnessed over 70,000 murders via television, movies and video games. Sure, maybe I’ve seen that many – just in Casino Royale, I probably saw 25 alone – but I can tell you that I am definitely NOT desensitized. Not in the least.

Shortly after Rachel banged on the floor, we heard their front door open and heard five rounds unloaded into the sky. I’ve played Grand Theft Auto, I own Saving Private Ryan and I loved Blood Diamond, but nothing could have prepared me for the terror I experienced that night. It’s a different feeling to watch someone get shot in the head by a sniper in a movie than to hear the echoes of the discharge of a 9mm firearm in the halls of your apartment building.

I am in no way condoning the allowance of children to play violent video games or watch movies or television shows with similar content. What I am saying is that the desensitization message is a little muddled. I have no doubt that true love and relationship from father to son, mother to daughter and vice versa are the solutions to the homeostatic quandaries we hear about on the news everyday.

And sometimes face.

Oh, how we long for our previous neighbors...