Road Rules/Real World Challenge

What happens when a 56 year old man takes up residency in your basement pounding on walls from 8:30am until midnight?

You guessed it... Road Trip!

Last Wednesday Zane and I hit road in an effort to escape our demons (Hi Dad if you're reading this!) and visit all the Gould/Lippke/von Barta/Calzia relatives in one swing. Success! With the help of juice boxes and books on tape we arrived on the lengthy island at 4pm. Feeling pleased over our stealthy arrival (Mom and Dad Gould were in Ireland and didn't know we were there) Zane treated me to something long overdue. A truly classy date. Taco Bell and driving range.

Ladies, contain yourselves. He's taken.

We had a blast and I learned how to truly bust some balls. The next day we set out to visit Maren and Kevin in good ol' Philly. This left us nervous for their safety. As we approached their 'hood we passed a billboard boasting "Every Murder Is Real" with a hotline so you can validate your loved one's brutal slaying. Maren. Kevin. Get out. Get out now.

I have decided that a couple years ago some clever marketing person for Philly decided to hold a "Whitest Couple Ever" contest which Maren and Kevin clearly won. As a prize they were plopped straight down into the heart of the most dangerous "quaint" city in existence. Each year they survive they have received a consolation cat. While they are noble competitors in maintaining their "Whitest Couple" status, I think it's time to hang up the doctorates and tandem bikes and escape before the brotha's get down on your 'hood with that love of theirs.

After unsuccessfully pleading for them to just hop in the backseat and return to small town life with us, we sadly trotted back to Long Island to prepare for our returning vacationers from Ireland. Of course we wanted them to be greeted in style so we stayed up Thursday night making our sign.

There's nothing greater than those bored looking chauffeurs holding up placards with strangers names on them. Don't you just want to know what that stranger's life is like that enables them a personal luggage caddy? I wanted people to envy Melissa and Tom that way. "Gosh, Brad and Angelina sure look different in person!" "Well those are the best looking chauffeurs I've ever seen!" But the real reaction was "...what... does... that sign say?" Bingo. Shock and awe achieved.

Flashback to Zane's graduation dinner months earlier: Sitting at a dinner table we discussed the naming of grandparents. Zane and I decided to provide monikers for Melissa and Tom that the next generation could use. Something original, something with sass, something... odd.

So back to us at the airport with a giant sign reading "Mammy and Ta Ta" awaiting our guests. I followed the looks in their eyes when they nonchalantly scanned the crowd of anxious drivers/relatives/weird kids holding a sign that... wait a minute... those are our weird kids! It was sweet. There may have been tears. We don't like to talk about it.

The remaining weekend was filled with numerous adventures. Car breakdowns (not mine, phew!), hospital visits (everyone's okay, phew!), inappropriate movies watched (I wasn't the one sitting next to Tom when male genitalia was prominently displayed onscreen, phew!), fires (in a fire pit, phew!), and visiting with more family (not mine, phew!). All in all a successful time away from my family spent with my other family. Luckily it's only been a year so I still like them.

Next year though, we'll have to find a group of strangers to escape to.

The ER Marathon

Recently we made a stint to my old haunches to pay a visit to the family members of mine still unfortunate enough to evade becoming Massholes. During our time there my lovely grandmother Madge-Dogg was told by her physician that she would have to go to the emergency room. This was nothing too dire, he just suggested that she visit the ER because the only clinic nearby to have one of these Vulcan Death Rays was closed until Monday.

3 hours into her visit we received a call from her saying that she had undergone the machine's 2 minute scan and was left to wait for the test results. Julie and I went to keep her company and perhaps rough up some preoccupied nurses. On our walk into the building I came across a $5 bill laying on the entrance ramp. I picked it up and handed it to Julie who insisted that I keep it, but as I wiped the blood off on my pant-leg I told her that I just didn't feel right taking money from some unsuspecting victim.

We entered the waiting room and after noting that the receptionist had her back turned we went in search of my grandmother's room. We made our way down the hall passing patients sleeping in gurneys, group of police officers surrounding one of their own sporting a neck brace, hustling nurses, and bustling doctors. As I contemplated the joys I could have if I took the policeman's utility belt that was abandoned on a nearby chair we entered my grandmother's room.

She sat directly in line with the door in a beautiful powder blue diamond paper gown. She greeted us and we were filled in on how she came to be sitting in her cozy 4 bed room, pantless, and alone. Rather than confront any of the staff busily running down the hallway I spent some much long awaited quality time with my grandma as Julie went to find out what the hold up was all about. Apparently in the emergency room of this particular hospital (the one I was born in might I add) each doctor is in charge of fifteen patients. Rather than treating the patients that are ready to leave, they seem to tend to those closer to death.

While my grandmother sat there saying "I don't know why I'm here I feel fine" her single serving roommates were hardly so lucky. One woman was released shortly after her induction because the doctor determined there was nothing to be done about the blood emanating from her 90 year old honey pot. We assumed the person at one end of the room to be an overly excited old man as we heard the interaction with one visitor; "We're going to the movies!" "Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" "Do you want to go to the movies?" "Yeeeeeeoooooooo"; only to realize that this preconceived cheering accompanied other questions as well; "Does this hurt?" "Yeeeeeeeeaaaaaa". Adding insult to injury it turned out to be a woman. Fortunately the third roomie was nearly blind so her family turned on some WWE Raw and sat contently watching.

At the 6th hour my mom came by to lend her stories of Ireland to give Julie and I a chance to have some dinner. As we finished our meal my mom called to let me know that they were finally heading home. After 8 or so hours Madge-Dogg was released with a practically clean bill of health. We stood on her front lawn watching a silent lightning storm light up the sky over the hospital. All we could think was grandpa must be pissed.

There Will Be Buoyancy

I have been a rather competent swimmer for most of my life. As far as the YMCA is concerned I have the aquatic prowess of a Flying Fish. Recently I have made the discovery that swimming with a life vest is one of the most relaxing ways to enjoy the water. It combines the freedom of swimming with the joys of an inflatable raft.

While it may be the adult equivalent to wearing floaties, I much prefer it to traditional bare-back swimming. When swimming in a natural body of water (something I had previously been put off to the idea of up until this summer) it provides some much appreciated bodily coverage to whatever may be lurking in the murky amber-colored water. My fears of vengeful fish stalking me with their illegitamate lip piercings is qwelled thanks to the fact that I no longer need to tread water to stay afloat. Instead, I can lean back and keep all my appendages in close view near the surface of the water.

While I'm sure this makes for a strange sight to my neighbors; me wearing a bright blue vest, swimming in waters 3 feet deep, it is a minor draw for the fun and pride I have in my selfserving ingenuity. I realize that it is pretty much the same as walking on the sidewalk wearing a helmet, but once the pros and cons are weighed it still seems like a good idea to me.

525,600 minutes and all I got was this lousy post.

While it was nice that Zane took time to reflect today on one of the bitches in his life, he failed to remember about the other one. Today marks a year since the fateful day that brought Zane and me together to meet outside the Beer Garden by our mutual friend James Whalen (shout out!). It was James' birthday party (happy birthday James!) and Zane was the first to... well, let's save the story for the wedding. James, we'll corroborate before you give that speech to our guests. :)

Tonight Zane and I went out to celebrate/commiserate in downtown Northampton. We ironically ended up at a beer garden there and sat down over a pint to reflect. So much has happened over a year, lots of "remember this" or "wasn't it funny when". Because we are two nerds, we started a list and compiled a factual sheet charting the progress of two souls on the same path over 365 days.

In the past year...

We have killed 5 plants.
Been through 5 roommates.
Moved a total of 3 times.
Had 1 pet.
Managed 3 Christmases.
Endured 1 ER visit.
Gone through 2 cars.
Had 365 fights.
Seen 7-11 movies in theatres.
Julie has slept through 38 movies at home.
Visited 8 states.
Stayed in 3 hotels.
Had a total of 6 haircuts.
Gifted 2 diamonds.
Exchanged 0 engagement rings.
Been to 1 wedding.
Gone to the airport 2 times.
Met 41 relatives.
Julie has been threatened by Melissa 15 times.
Julie has been threatened by Tom 1 time.
5 people have talked to us against our will.
Zane has been dragged into 12 projects with Barry.
Attended 2 professional sporting events.
Played at LEAST 24 board games.
Endured 16 games of Mexican Train.
Zane has beat Julie at Boggle 0 times.
We have gained a total of 8 pounds.
And lost a total of 3.
Zane has had 4 different facial hair styles.
Had 366 fights.

When the bitch comes to visit

Every weekend Julie's parents come up to stay with us and enjoy their house. While this is usually a bummer for me seeing as I can no longer blast hip hop music or make forts out of the furniture in the house, it is nice to get a break from the responsibilities of entertaining Julie. This week my duties as court jester have been doubly cut back thanks to Neil graciously letting us dog-sit his beloved Allie.

She is a sweet Oreo colored Husky-Mutt who is probably the most laid back dog you could possibly meet. Like most dogs she enjoys long walks, treats, licking sleeping people, dismembering toys and tearing out their squeaker, and above all else; other dogs. When last Julie and I took her out for a pee/poop, we encountered a couple of sweet Labradoodles. After some salutary butt-sniffs the fluffy, friendly dogs went on to enjoy their freedom. Unfortunately for Allie I had to keep her on a leash as to not lose Neil's capricious pup.

I was placed in the uncomfortable position as the oppressor of Allie. Here she had just made some friends and would very much like to run and play with them, but I held her back as if to say "Freedom is for the White 'n fluffy". Sure I was dealing with a dog and not a person but the racial undertones felt all too real. Who was I to say she must be held captive as the rest of the world goes on adventures? Sure I had been co-entrusted with maintaining possession of Allie this week, but morally I didn't know if I could take on the role of master.

I'm sure the domestication of certain animals does lend them to leading healthier happier lives in many instances but I have personally always wished for a greater coexistence with animals, namely in metropolitan settings. Of course, this is a dream as far-fetched and implausible as world peace and fat-free ice cream that still tastes good. I would picture walking through the Washington Square Park, passing a couple of deer grazing by the street performers, ducks wading in the fountain, buffalo crossing the street, and packs of wild dogs begging homeless people for food. A world where for every cursing yuppie on a cell phone there would be three mocking birds breaking up the monotony with beautiful music. There is no room for any of that in Man's civilization, just more movies about CG dogs being mischievous.

a photo essay experiment

a summary of google images that appear when googling phrases that would depict this past weekend.

up to you to figure out what happened...

Our day and a half long detox program

I don't typically see myself as someone who would ever undergo a diet. I have no problem with my figure that can't be solved with a month-long fast, and I respond very well to reverse psychology. So when Julie introduced the idea of trying an "all-natural, fruits and vegetables program" I wanted no part of it, "...or not" I was all for it.

The concept behind the diet wasn't so much to lose weight but to cleanse ourselves of the unhealthy toxins we've been ingesting courtesy of Papa Johns. Last Sunday we were filled with hope. We went to the friendly neighborhood grocery store and stocked up on greens, oranges, and the occasional yellow. Little did we anticipate the hell we were about to put ourselves through.

Monday started off well. We had bananas and peaches for breakfast. It really had us thinking "this is nature's candy". The day proceeded as usual; hours of job searching, wedding show marathons, tense stares at one another over our laptop monitors. Then as lunch neared we grew eager to dig into the carrots and celery. The earth-meat tasted good and all, but it left much to be desired, namely grease and fat. Afterwards our stomachs felt full but our mouths begged for the appearance of an entree. This lack of climax left us in a state of limbo. While we were physically satiated, our taste buds were starved. We may as well have just licked the outside of an ice cream container, for in that perhaps we could have enjoyed some slightly sweetened condensation. Instead there we were, stuck with "healthy" food, nourishing us in ways the big Oprah in the sky intended.

By dinner time we were contemplating whether cannibalism would fit into the diet. In the end we felt the whole process of cleaning and preparing the "neighborhood toddler sashimi" would be more work than it's worth. All that we really craved was bread. Of all the things that we were being held from it was the only one that we were prepared to kill for. I mean, come on! It's the bottom of the food pyramid, one of the few foods that is so good it can act as both a plate and utensil, and can make any object a meal just by placing two slices around it. Ultimately we caved and each had ourselves a bagel. We went to bed satisfied with our bellies feeling full for the first time in what seemed like a year.

The next day started off well. I discovered that cantaloupe can be used for more than just a makeshift botchy ball. As agonizing as it was to dine on our rabbit food lunch we did it with a stripe of pride. The gratification was short lived when Julie had the greatest idea she has ever had in her life (namely making her amazing turkey chili for dinner) I felt it was time to put our little dietary venture to rest.

Overall the stress of having every food I enjoy being withheld from me was much worse than any toxin that may be lurking in the recesses of my rockin' bod. I think next week we'll fair much better with Billy Bob Thornton's all orange food diet.

Julie's Rebuttal

So this is fitting. I have been laid up on the couch for 2 days now, having come down with a cold the day after our July 4th celebration. In hopes of regaining my sassy health in time for this fun-filled (Cousin Erin's wedding) weekend, I have been planted in front of my innocent pleasure: wedding shows. I feel it is a good way to express my creativity by envisioning my special day vicariously through these other women who have been lucky enough to find someone committed. *cough* Ahem, pardon.

Despite my heart fluttering at Z's claims to "lock this down" I did take note that not once was my name mentioned within his wedding day dream. Perhaps I shouldn't take offense to the fact that he has spared me from partaking in his, *cough* glorious day. I didn't even know what a zepplin is, but was glad he had okay music taste. (I was then told it's a blimp.)

All I know is that if I were to be made an honest woman by such a liar as Z, I would do it up in style because a lifetime with him will do me in quickly. In an effort to make sure we were meant to be, it would be an obstacle course to my heart...

First, guests would be placed throughout the Grand Canyon (which we will refer to as the "Love Pit" for the big day). I will be at the top, accessible only by... well, I'm getting ahead of myself. Z will be pushed off a low flying airplane by my father (his version of "giving me away") My mother will be in a nearby Cessna and will toss the flailing Z a chute pack. Midair, Z will be expected to situate his pack and release his chute in time to sprial into the Love Pit. Amidst the skeletal remains of past fiances of mine, Z will go through a series of holes avoiding natives much like Legends of the Hidden Temple. Once the silver monkey has been assembled, Grandma Madge will lock him into his billaying gear and Grandma Joan will begin yanking him up as he scales the interior walls of the Love Pit.

Once reaching the top, Grandpa Jim will give Z the approving thumbs up to marry me and Z will proceed to the obstacle course of eternity.

A mound of burning tires and rope ladders compose all that's left between Z and a lifetime of happiness. As he ascends, well thought out vows in rhyming couplets must be shouted out for cheering onlookers to rate. Once our aunts and uncles tally the results, it will be determined if Z can move on to the final elimination round. At the top of the tire and rope mound, I will be there in my beautiful dress, being held high by Cousin Blaine. Z must tickle Blaine until I am released. Once that is achieved, Tom pops up from beneath the burning pile and begins the ceremony.

So... I mean, I'm not obsessed with all this froo froo wedding crap the TV has to offer. It just helps distract me while I sew together this faulty parachute. I mean, what? It's not like Z doesn't enjoy a challenge. :)

200 Channels and there's something to watch...

...unfortunately they only seem to be wedding shows. After two years without TV Julie has been ecstatic to be able to watch it again. Little did I suspect if you search hard enough you can find a wedding themed show to fill every half-hour block of the day (fortunately the same can be said for Law & Order). From multi-million-dollar destination weddings in Belize, to cakes that are a life-sized replicas of the bride, these glamorized exposes on the day every little girl dreams of make the event seem daunting and terrifying.

While some might think this is Julie's way of subliminally gearing me for that frightful day, it really has had the adverse effect. After a marathon of Bridezillas it is apparent that weddings turn women into ruthless egocentric terrors. This hopefully inaccurate portrayal of women on the weeks leading up to their big day makes me fearful of what I have in store for me should I ever plan to turn this blog into a sitcom the bible-belt can appreciate.

Platinum Weddings is the greatest display of the gross infestation of materialism in the world second only to QVC's "Patriotic Family Commemoratives". The centerpieces take on Red Wood tree size proportions, venues span from castles to mountaintops, and brides surround themselves in tool (not referring to the fabric). They claim that these lavish weddings will make the occasion ever more memorable, yet in many cases it seems their only reason worth getting married in the first place.

Watching all these shows do make me wonder how I would design my perfect wedding, because let's face it, someone's gotta lock this down eventually.

(Spoiler Alert) First off, the ceremony would be held in an abandoned airport hanger. Scratch that... an ACTIVE airport hanger. I would appear at the alter in a puff of smoke to the song "The Final Countdown" by Styx. Instead of a tux I would wear a suit of armor. After slaying a giant 3D projection of a Giant Squid the Argentinean national anthem would play as my bride enters. She will be dressed up like some sort of nearsighted archeologist holding a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries and grapes. She will approach the alter in a zeppelin. For a little extra buzz, we'll be married by whomever was most recently ratted on in the tabloids, and our vows will be presented in the form of dirty limericks. Naturally the reception will be held on the zeppelin and we will serve all you can eat Taquitos and Dairy Queen Blizzards. At the end of the evening I will puncture the zeppelin and force everyone to skydive to safety but my new bride and I will go down with the blimp; because a captain always goes down with his ship and I'm not one to spoil tradition, especially on my wedding day. (End of Spoiler)

Where the Wild Things Are.... Maine

After a weekend of foraging for berries and hunting for our dinners, I have returned, unscathed from the woods of Maine. Sure, the beasts are many... I mean, have you heard the rumors of Grandma Joan? But I packed enough tranquilizers that if that 85 year old tried to pick me apart... oh, let her try....

To entertain myself this weekend, and in distraction from the probing questions such as "why are you corrupting my grandson?" and "do you really find it appropriate to gargle your mashed potatoes at dinner?" I mean seriously people, can a girl get a break from the 3rd degree grilling I was getting. Well anyway, I kept track of all the critters I saw while up in Maine. I was disappointed in the lack of furry giant beasts (i.e. Deer, Moose, Zanes) but alas, what can you do?

1. Chickens (I even got to feed them!)
2. Horse
3. Kitty (That was their cat's name....)
4. Turkey Family
5. Skunk
6. Osprey
7. Bald Eagle (Hanging out in a tree across the water)
8. Robins and assorted songbirds
9. Goats
10. Sheep
11. Dog
12. Mosquitoes
13. Chipmunk
14. Dead Chipmunk (Thanks to Melissa.)
(I can feel her smacking my arm as I type)
15. Ducks
16. Dead Duck (No, Melissa didn't off that one.)
17. Seals
18. Goldfish
19. Cows
20. Bees

Well, after this fun-filled weekend there is nothing left to do but take a knife to the chicken in the freezer for dinner and reminisce of my new feathered friends I made... YUM!



P.S. Shout out to my parents! Happy 32nd Anniversary today!

The Simple Bare Necessities

This afternoon Julie and I were watching some Oprah, as usual, and she had an intriguing piece about living on just the necessities. She challenged two families to live a week with severe cut backs on spending, no use of cell phones or ipods allowed, and only having an hour of TV or computer use. The first family consisted of three teenagers, a materialistic mother, and a tool of a father. As you can imagine their achievements were superficial at best. The Gallant family, however, had a complete reformation. They went in being complete TV addicts and came out closer than ever.

As with every episode of Oprah, this got me thinking. How can Julie and I make better use of our resources? The game plan for moving up here was to return, if not be introduced to nature. Yet, so far our time here has been a reunion with cable television*. There have been strides though. This afternoon we jogged nearly three miles with only two pauses! But enough gloating, back to the subject at hand.

To conserve my alloted computer time this post was drafted on paper first, as to leave time for something like, but not entirely pop-cornography. For those of you who don't know what "paper" is, it is a thin leafy material made from wood. While it is debatable whether this method is really all that frugal, as long as it appeases Oprah it must be good for the world.

You may notice that this post doesn't contain as much humor (or as I refer to it as "silly bits"). That is only because being away from my computer I can't listen to my Bill Engvall CDs for inspiration.

Other ways we've cut back are by opting for baths in the pond as opposed to showers, instead of watching TV we use telescopes to watch the neighbors, and to save money on air conditioning and laundry we've done away with clothes altogether. All in all I think we're well suited to hop on this going green bandwagon. Technically it should go right along with one of my favorite recreational activities anyway. Though giving up fast food will be rough.

I must note however that even after an hour of Oprah preaching about putting away the cell phones and video games, to have a commercial about her grand summer giveaway where she'll be giving away hundreds of TV, iphones, and computers is more than a little hypocritical. For shame Oprah, for shame.

*see next installment "200 Channels and there's something to watch..." to find out more!

I need an adult!

Zane and I were brought up as good, behaving children who listened to our parents and didn't speak to strangers. But the one thing we were never taught was how to survive in small town America. Here, rules are made to be broken.

While strolling in the local grocery, Zane and I were casually discussing the benefits of ground meats, as often is our Wednesday night ritual. This gentleman nearby felt it necessary to join our dialogue. Zane told the gentleman "Sir, this is an A-B conversation, so please C your way out of it" but he was relentless. He first tried picking us up by telling us to get "real meat" not the turkey we were oggling and when we didn't tell him our social security numbers he continued.

I was mesmerized by the chip in the lense of his glasses while Zane kept petting his Ned Flanders moustache and giggling at its softness. Our new friend asked us if we knew about "The Barn" and literally was aghast when we said no. He wanted to know where we were from to which Zane hesitantly and generically answered "we just moved here." This did not appease Mr. X as a sufficient answer, so he grilled Zane further "Where's here?" he demanded. Zane, shaking, whispered "Athol." This was what our local stalker was looking for, and he went on to describe how to get to this mysterious "Barn" in Greenfield (a nearby town) "around the rotary, below the train tracks, round the corner, to the right." We nodded as if we knew what he was saying just to get him to stop talking.

What is "The Barn" you ask? It is the best place in the area to get discount groceries! We were told about the deals on things such as....

A 6 pound wheel of Brie for $7!
50 pounds of Barbeque chicken for $15!
3 for $1 6 month old frozen vegetables!
Expired meat of a wide variety for low low prices!
2 for $1 moldy sour cream pints!

I mean this stuff was amazing... and for this man to graciously tell us how to acquire our monthly alotment of excessively large quanities of moldy produce, I mean.... wow.

So as we slowly backed up from our friendly, and probably poisonous pal, plotting our nonverbal escape route, MRS. X comes from behind us! Seems like Mr. X must be quite insistent on his Barn promotions because Mrs. X had a neck brace on as well as Band-Aids strewn about her. We decided to nod some more.

The lovely, and scary, couple asked us some more about ourselves. It began to take on the feel of "why don't you two come to our house... why don't you two get more comfortable... have you seen how nice our bedding is...?" I think I've seen some YouTube videos about these type of people. After mentioning something about a swing set, or something, Zane started grabbing at my arm. They gave us their card and told us to call... what for, they never said. As we checked out, guess which friends found us in the SAME cashier line! I checked a few times before pulling out of the lot, but I think we lost them.

Oh, gotta go, someone's knocking on the door. Boy, people sure are friendly here!

There are plenty of fish in the sea, and now I know how to gut them!

Today was a big day for me. I officially quadrupled my record for most fishes caught in a day. My previous 1 was shattered today when I caught an astounding 4 Crappy! That's not even counting the ones I threw back. A Crappy is a fish indigenous to the lake, named for the dark gunk that they're often coated in. At least that's the only reason I could think of.

Over many years fishing in Maine I never had nearly as much success or enjoyment out of removing animals from their natural habitat. Often we would go out on the boat for hours scouring the waters for gullible sea-creatures. Often we would catch some slimy shrubbery but it never tasted very good, even with tartar sauce.

Today's fishing excursion got to the point that after 2 hours, with the sun going down, my envious fishing compatriots had to drag me away from the area now referred to as Zane's Cove. Thankfully I was wearing a life jacket so my head stayed above water.

Once we got back to the house it was time to do the inevitable. With a rope of 7 Crappy to clean we began our preparations for cooking dinner. Barrytone Sax laid the fish out and proceeded to show me the proper was to humiliate them. While I understand the necessity to cut the supple meat from the bone, dressing it up to look like Judy Garland before hand was a little uncalled for. Although I will admit that Barrystein Bear did do a lovely ventriloquist version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. It felt empowering to imagine myself as the Wicked Witch exacting my revenge on the little water-loving tart.

At first I had some trouble finding my moral standing on doing the dirty work necessary in the eventual enjoyment of a filet of fish. In the end I swallowed my pride and entered the role of the carnivorous human and began chopping off heads left and right. Much like other forms of murder, what seems like an ugly disturbing task of taking a life isn't so tough once you get into a groove. I will admit that if my sister ever learned of this she probably would never speak to me again, but thankfully there's no possible way she would ever find out.

Shaniqwa LX you will be missed

While moving to the new place was a fun and exciting experience it is not without its tragedy. Leaving the Astoria apartment we caravanned up route 91, with Neil, Allie and S-Dub driving the truck, followed by Julie and myself cruising in my beloved Honda Accord wagon, and Crunch Barries bringing up the rear in his ruby red Jeep Grand Cherokee. In the week leading up to the big move I had been reunited with my long lost mom-car. She ran well, sputtering a few times but overall standing tall, teal, and proud. I was assured by my family's mechanic that she would be perfectly fine to make the long journey North. I was excited to have her up there. She got great gas mileage and never complained too much. I pictured loading up her big trunk with bikes and finding all the great trails that were in the vicinity.

On the day of the move everything was going smoothly. We packed up the entire apartment over the course of 2 1/2 hours. I put all my electronics in the Honda to keep them close to me, and before too long we were on our way. Getting out of the city was not without traffic, but it was all fairly seamless. Once the traffic broke it looked as though the rest of the day would be smooth sailing.

Julie thought the Honda should be named Shaniqwa for it's big back side and love of DMX, and even though the radio no longer worked, Julie was determined to have a music filled trip as she regaled me (somewhat reluctantly) with acapella versions of many of the songs that unfortunately make up today's pop music.

Just after exiting New York with about three hours left in our journey the Honda began coughing. The gas pedal sounded like it reacted to my touch yet the car was slowing down. Panicked I hit the blinker and pulled the car over two lanes just as the shoulder began to disappear. Crunch Barries, who had done a great job following the whole way, was able to pull over right behind us.

We sat there for a moment planning our next course of action. Fortunately it wasn't long before the highway police came to our aid. They called a tow truck for us then left to attend to a wreck somewhere down the road. Thankfully we were able to fit all that I had packed in the Honda into the Grand Cherokee and waited for the tow truck far off to the side of the road. An hour and a half, and 11 inspired semi tractor-trailer horn blows later the tow truck finally arrived. We followed the truck as it brought my beloved wagon to the shop. I handed over the keys and asked that they determine if it would be ok.

A few days passed and I received word that the timing belt had snapped and whipped nearby parts bending precious valves. Her injuries were too severe, and there was nothing more they could do for her. Upset as I was there was no use in pointing fingers. Perhaps this problem could have been foreseen, maybe Julie shouldn't have offended the car by singing Pokerface so many times, or perhaps I shouldn't have ghost ridden her so much, or taken her off so many jumps in High School, or used her to reenact my favorite scenes from the Bourne Identity. The silver lining to all this is that she did have many many good years, I just knew she could have had a few more.

Where da hood at?... RIP

You + Me = Us

Our move... the equation.

One week with my mother in NY
+ just enough free boxes from Starbucks
- alone time
+ 2 rolls of packing tape
+ Tom and Melissa's oasis amidst packing
+ my amazing medium reading
x 2 helpers driving down on Friday
+ a 16' truck
/ parallel parking the 16' truck 8 times
+ one special moving helper with fur!
x Dad's mad packing abilities
- 2 sets of keys turned into the building super
x 3 vehicles caravanning
- Zane's 1991 Honda Accord seizing on the highway once we hit CT
x 3 people standing on the side of the highway for 1.5 hours waiting for a tow truck
x Dad's mad re-packing abilities
- 3 hours lost of travel time
/ a great Chinese dinner
+ Mom and Neil unpacking a ton by the time we arrived 3 hours late (squared)
- spending the weekend with Mom and Dad
+ spending the weekend with Zane's Mom and Dad
/ unpacking
x internet!
x cable television for the first time in 2 years!
x 200 channels
+ beautiful nature
- a trip to the Springfield RMV (=s DMV in normal speak) to get my car on the road
x 2 when we had to return after incorrect paperwork
- one flat tire on MY 2003 Honda Accord on the way BACK up
+ Zane's proven manhood of changing a tire on the side of the road!
+ Julie singing "What a man" by Salt N Peppa while Zane changes the tire
x 2 new back tires
+ no parents for a couple days
= We made it.

Massholes in Athol

As you all should know by now, Julie and myself have taken the blog north to Athol Massachusetts, if not then... well... surprise! We are now living in her parents' lake house on the edge of White Pond. It's a beautiful wooded area complete with chipmunks, robins, and a Walmart.

Going rural takes some big adjustments. For one there are no homeless people anymore, here they're just called locals. When people wave to you on the street they don't typically want to sell you something or have you take a survey but rather they want something completely different. What that something is I don't know, I've been able to avoid them thus far. Instead of car horns, daily life is filled with the sounds of these feathered creatures flying around honking. Instead of rooting for talented pro football teams like the New York Giants, people seem to root for some small local team called the Patriots. It's actually pretty cute really. But the one thing that is truly a shock are all the vampiric insects buzzing around. In New York we didn't have to worry about happening upon a family of spiders, or suiting up with anti-mosquito scent every time we step outside.

It's really quite absurd, this place is just overrun with animals. I'm not talking the cute little fluffy ones that stick out of coach bags, but slippery, chirping, scurrying, confrontational ones. Just last night I awoke to a clutter of noises emanating from the ceiling directly above me. It could only be described as squirrels playing soccer with an lug nut. The real tip off were the high pitched chanting of "Olay olay olay" and the subsequent riot that proceeded a particularly wicked knock.

Above all this place is very friendly. Shop-keeps are actually pleased to help you, cars let pedestrians cross and traffic pass, and no one looks like they are absolutely miserable with their life for no reason. Moving up here has been more than a literal breath of fresh air. Now I just hope I can live here for a while before getting cabin fever. I saw a movie about it once Shawn from Boy Meets World and a bunch of college kids rent a cabin and then are attacked by a flesh eating virus, and there was that weird little blonde kid who flipped out and started doing gymnastics when he heard the word "pancakes". Terrible movie. They're making a sequel you know. I'll probably see it. F***ing Rider Strong.

Chick Flicks: A Guide to Growing a Vajayjay

This past week weatherchannel.com teased us in the 10-day forecast by saying that we would be stuck inside due to severe thunderstorms, although none of which turned out to be true, Julie and I have been preparing like it's a hurricane. What better way to spend a rainy day inside than watching something with the word "diaries" in the title? Now, I don't particularly hate girlie movies with all that much fiery passion, but given the choice between watching a 20 something go soul searching in Western Europe, swearing off men though secretly being open to accepting any native she meets as her soul mate, and explosions with a chance of nudity, I would much rather choose the latter.

The latest batch of estrogen that has been emanating from our TV set has been in the form of Grey's Anatomy. We all know the story: Girl tries to make it in the same career field as her famous mother, only to get swept up in inter-office romance with her yet-to-be divorced boss. Joining the ranks of dozens of other bubbly bright eyed nymphomaniac interns. Egos are tested as she and her friends denote nicknames to their bosses in the form of Mc(adjective). This not-so-secret slight against Irish-Americans doesn't slow the doctors down as they fall in and out of love with patients, complete their six degrees of separation of sexual partners involving their colleagues, spreading kitschy catch phrases that only get proliferated by the likes of Oprah and the ladies of The View. All while chomping at the bit to satiate their unending lust for blood and gore.

Ok maybe I give the show a little more credit than it's due. After watching four seasons of this medical melodrama I must view it on my terms. Thankfully with the recent acquisition of a Netflix account (not saying whose exactly)*1 we have many more choices of things to watch. Our current favorite being Law & Order: Special Victims Unit*2. This show is much more up my alley.

What separates SVU from the other twelve or so Law & Orders out there is that this one focuses on the particularly heinous crimes of Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (otherwise known as FU.... hey wait a minute). We enjoy the drama and the mystery of finding the perp who left a middle-aged man dead and strung up in S&M gear for his wife and daughter to find. Between this, Sex and the City, and watching Titanic for a 3rd time, it's really no contest. When watching shows about such a gritty and disturbing subject matter it's reassuring knowing that we will be leaving the city soon.

Oh wait a minute! Julie just showed me a news article about three men being found dead in a lake in Northampton. Well I guess you can't win them all. I'm just glad I won't have to hang up my tiger-print spandex super hero outfit just yet!

*1 Holla atchya S-Dub!

*2 Look to my previous post "Thanks Man: A Retrospective" and you'll know why -- smug stan

Thanks Man: A Retrospective

A few Mondays ago I aided Julie with her company's annual fundraiser. I was propositioned with the promise of free drinks and the possibility of seeing some celebrities. You think I would pass up the opportunity to rub elbows with the likes of Nicolas Cage, Christopher Meloni, and Marc Linn-Baker?! Don't be ridiculous! Ever since I saw Chris Meloni in Wet Hot American Summer I felt that he would really understand me, I mean he practically played me in the movie! I knew that if I were to meet him though I could not act like some star-struck floozy hanging all over him, I had to be presentable and stately. I would have to present myself as though I were one of the big wigs there, sure he's been nominated for an Emmy but I'm a co-author of a blog enjoyed by numerous members of my family. Whatever I said, it had to be good!

I spent hours in front of the mirror practicing ice breakers: "Hey, sup?", "Do you enjoy raising funds?", and my personal favorite "What crazy weather we're having? Yes or No?". With those winners I knew that he and I would be buying round trip tickets to Vegas before the night was out, if you catch my drift. Before heading to the venue I made sure I was carrying the biggest marker I had so that when I finally popped the question and asked him to sign my chest it would be visible no matter how small and embarrassed he wrote it.

My work started off with a twang. As I brought supplies down from the offices I haphazardly lifted a box and felt something pull in my back. I had aggravated a strain that I believed to have developed from a racing tournament I competed in on Xbox the previous week, as the pull was in my upper right ass. While at the time the injury didn't slow me down much, the following day I woke up to a demolished back and had to lay on the floor for two days.

The setting up of the event went about as well as could be coming from geriatric theater people. The conflicting personalities led to a wide array of perfect ideas for how the event should be set up. After a few hours of lifting, laughing, crying, and complaining the event was ready. I thought to myself "Bring on Detective Stabler!"

As the evening went on crowds cycled through perusing the items that were up for auction. Personally I wanted to put a bid on backstage passes to One Life to Live but Julie reminded me that $600 could be spent much more responsibly and efficiently on her. It wasn't until the later part of the evening did Meloni grace the venue with his presence. I tried to make my move when he was eyeing some Hirschfeld prints, but before I could get close enough to stroke his hair his wife pulled him away. Defeated I drowned my sorrows in Gin and Tonic.

At the end of the event I stood by the gift reception desk trying to make myself most available to work that needed to be done, when lo and behold over walks Chris Meloni to purchase the lovely quilt he had won. It was then that I had my chance! The moment I had been waiting for all week. He picked up the form he had to fill out then paused and looked around hurriedly. I knew what was up. I leaned over to the table and picked up one of the pens lying about, spun around and handed it to him. "Thanks man" he replied, taking the pen. It was pretty awesome, I'm never washing that pen again.

A.... or B?

We are amidst the personal hell that is packing and are T-minus one week until we are no longer New Yorkers but oddly fashionable backwoods Massachusetters. Lots has happened since my last blog. I am no longer employed (by choice) and am confused by unemployment. Am I supposed to wake up as if I am going somewhere? I can't seem to pull off tricking myself into waking up any earlier than 11. Beep-Beep-Beep- Oh no I'm gonna be la-- waaaait a minute! Ahhhh you almost got me, alarm clock!

Now my daily routine has gone from coffee and a bagel with endless hours of staring at a computer screen workin for the man to canned food and dry cereal staring at the new mess that is our apartment. Boxes left and right, empty, packed, nothing seems to be done but everything seems in the midst of some incomplete state. From my very organized desk at the theater to just a constant sense of chaos. Some order needed instating.

Zane and I have devised a plan that at first seemed logical, even helpful, but has become a question of social standing and guesstimating. We are only temporarily moving to the lakehouse and then off to Northampton/Amherst after a few months so we know this isn't a permanent situation. No use in packing, unpacking, then packing all over again. So we are labeling boxes according to use. A is immediate use. B for not going to need all summer.

My life is now the equivalent of an unsexy Cosmo quiz. I am answering more B's while Zane is leaning toward A's. When we arrive to MA we will have enough electronics and games to entertain all the armed forces. Mind you, most everything here is mine from the last 2 years being at this apartment. But I found it comical that on Day 1 we packed up the entertainment bookcase and all our DVDs. I packed mine into a box and he into his own (I don't want mine to get boy movie cooties). When we both finished we proudly looked at our first 4 packed boxes and smiled. Then I saw his were labeled A while I, the martyr I am, thought it was more of a B thing. Looks like it'll be a summer of Fight Club, Rock N Rolla, and When Harry Met Sally. What? It's Zane... come on.

We have plenty more to do over the next week and will be joined Monday night by my mom to help gather the last of it. Our sendoff party was a week ago at the Beer Garden and it was a blast. We're hoping to organize a cookout the weekend after we move in for all the friends and family up in the MA area. Stay tuned!

Gray Hair Watch: 38

A recent hair count conducted by Julie has revealed that I now have 38 gray hairs. This is far more than the 2 or 3 I counted not a year ago. These findings lead me to believe that living with Julie is aging me at an alarming rate! This may sound crazy but I secretly believe that she is keeping me around to steal my youth, much like in "The Picture of Dorian Grey". By the time my annual "Photo Shoot by the Sea" comes next month I'm bound to look like some withered old geezer.

I suppose all I can do now its hope. Hope that I will grow a full head of salt & pepper locks and become the middle aged sex symbol I looked up to as a child. Freshmen year of high school I tried to dye my hair gray. It was my Richard Gere-esk form of teenage rebellion. I thought that perhaps it would make me look distinguished. At least it would make me look gentlemanly enough so they would stop pestering me about an ID whenever I tried to go to my old hangout Gossip.

Unfortunately the woman I turned to to help me in my transformation told me that they didn't make any such hair coloring. Her attempt to grant my wish consisted of bleaching my hair to baby chick yellow, and after I saw myself as the cartoon version of James Van Der Beek, I knew that this was not going to end well. She then turned my hair into a sort of metallic black, which ultimately took on an unexpected purple tint. Fortunately at that moment in my social life I was seen somewhat of a hip trendsetter.... *coughs* no one really seemed to take notice.

As I draw nearer to my lifelong goal I find myself at a pass, do I shun Julie for performing such superficial witchcraft on me, or thank her for giving me that which I have pined for my whole life. On second thought, I'll just let her go along for it. The reaction I get from all the neighborhood cougars should be punishment enough.