All Entries Related to "My (ahem) Life"

May 19, 2008

Lifelong Goals List, Updated

Posted by Michael at 11:32 PM | Comments (2)

May 16, 2008

Another Reason To Move

Because it doesn't look like he's ever coming to the Northeast.

Posted by Michael at 11:29 AM | Comments (1)

May 14, 2008

A Little Clarification

The following is a followup post to this. If that clears anything up.

A couple of people here and here have questioned why "the local sports scene has nowhere to go but down" made my list of reasons to bail out of town. I love it when my teams do well - I really do! - but, unfortunately, whopping success brings with it a parade of poseurs, pink hats, bandwagoners and assorted other jerks. Case in point: Section 324 at the Garden tonight. For years, it's been the refuge of dieveryhard fans (raises hand) and kind folks and families who can't afford the lower level; tonight, with the playoffs in town, we were surrounded by the casting call for Night of A Thousand Douchebags. Not that I'd rather root for a collection of hopeless stiffs - been there (for a long time), done that. But there's something to be said for the valiant struggle. And there's definitely something to be said for actually being able to get tickets on a whim.

None of this is to be construed in any way that makes it seem like I'm thinking of leaving town merely because my favorite teams are too good. Because that's just pathetic-bordering-on-psychotic, and I might as well go listen to Dog's Eye View's "Everything Falls Apart" over and over again if that were the case. I mentioned it as part of a laundry list.

And thanks for the suggestions so far...I can tell you all that I've completely ruled out Alaska, North Dakota, New Hampshire, Mississippi and that insane asylum posing as a state. Nearly everything else is on the table. Keep 'em coming.

Posted by Michael at 11:42 PM | Comments (1)

I'll Listen To Reason

I'm having one of my occasional "maybe I should move out of Boston" spells. This spring*'s weather broke my spirit, the local sports scene has nowhere to go but down, I've looked at apartment costs in other cities which break my heart, and...I don't know...I just feel like maybe life will be a little different (read: better) somewhere else.

So convince me why I should or shouldn't go, and if I go, where I should go. I have a few cities I've been investigating; some will seem obvious to people who know me and some will come completely out of nowhere. But I ain't tellin' yet. (I'll finish Project 351 before I go, so we're looking at another year or so. One more winter. Sigh.)

*the term "this spring" refers only to the calendar period between March 21 and the present, and may or may not correspond with any actual observance of pleasant and enjoyable weather in the Greater Boston area. Though May's been pretty good.

Posted by Michael at 10:21 AM | Comments (10)

March 31, 2006

Uncle Death Has Decided To Leave Me Alone For Now

The deathgrip of spring allergies has loosened itself a little. Survivor update and new movie review are still on tap, but it might be a couple days.

Posted by Michael at 10:11 AM | Comments (0)

March 30, 2006

Spring

Spring allergies SUCK. That is all.

Posted by Michael at 11:06 AM | Comments (0)

March 27, 2006

We're Finished

Dunkin Donuts, you and I are finished.

I know it's always been a tenuous relationship. I've long known that the delicious smell wafting out of the building will never be matched by the taste of any of the baked goods within. I know that, at this point, donuts are a sideline item for you, and that Fred the Baker is gone, his duties long since shifted to some assembly line.

I know I'll always be in line behind a construction worker buying 11 coffees for his coworkers. I know if I buy my special (Mt. Dew and a donut) and hand you exact change ($2.30), you'll count it, then ask me if I want anything else. I know the mathematical formula by which the hurry I'm in is directly proportional to the number of people in front of me buying egg-and-cheese sandwiches.

And I've long known that I hate your coffee. Seriously hate it. Honestly, I wouldn't drink it if I were having a coughing fit in the desert.

But this was the last straw. My soda was flat and my Boston Creme donut was 90% cake and 10% cream. It takes a special kind of determination to eff up a donut and a soda.

So thanks for everything. It's not you; it's me. Actually, that's a lie. It's you.

Posted by Michael at 09:56 AM | Comments (6)

October 24, 2005

For 3

As big a sports fan as I am, my own personal list of Moments of Athletic Glory is...well...pathetic. I know that in Little League, I caught a fly ball; in my memory (possibly embellished over time) it was a running catch, but I do know that when the ball was hit in my general direction, the opposing coach told all his baserunners to take off at full speed. Ha ha.

Fast-forward 16 years (ouch). Yesterday, the Celtics held an open practice for season ticket holders; part of it was interactive. You could tour the locker room, get some autographs, and step out on the storied parquet floor and take a shot. I bricked 2 free throws - the less said, the better - did some of the other things, then got in the other shooting line.

So I'll set the scene. Under the basket, greeting fans and shagging rebounds, were Mark Blount and Ryan Gomes. Meeting people as they got to the front of the line was Brian Scalabrine (and in the good humor of what's to come, I won't at this time voice my opinion of Brian's play thus far). And hovering over that end of the court was Paul Pierce. I get to next-to-next in line behind a little kid. Scalabrine starts to give the kid some tips, so the Celtics flunky hands me the ball. I have a choice. A layup, my patented fallaway from the baseline....nah. I'm going for it all. 3-pointer.

Nailed it.

It may have scraped the back rim, but I choose to think it was, in the words of ESPN announcers, "NOTHIN but the bottom of the net". There was cheering. There were appreciative nods from Blount and Gomes. There was a handshake from the Truth.

Right then and there, I decided to retire, with a career shooting percentage from the floor of 1.000. It was, frankly, the best performance by the least in-shape person on the floor since the hefty Thomas Hamilton scored 13 against the Bullets in '96. It's not going to get my number up in the rafters, but I'll take it.

Posted by Michael at 06:17 PM | Comments (3)

September 19, 2005

Trivia

Even though some friends bailed out on us (Riddle: What do an abandoned Broadway theater and _____ have in common? No show!), my friend Kari and I went down to the Common Ground bar in Allston tonight and played Team Trivia. Our entry, affectionately named the Wilber Czech Festival (after the annual event in Nebraska), came in third. Not bad, considering most of the other teams had 4-6 players and, we only had 2.

So what did we win?

Thank you to Paul McCartney and Wings, poutine, Marilyn Vos Savant, and the destruction of Lisbon, among others, for making our victory possible.

Posted by Michael at 11:39 PM | Comments (6)

June 22, 2005

Meet Lloyd

A quick timetable of last night.

1:20 AM. Home from work. I had to park several blocks away from my building - way out of my parking comfort zone - and am looking forward to crawling into bed.

1:25 AM. Open my door. Hear an unexpected rustling from over the right of my two windows. Oh crap.

1:27 AM. Ascertain that there is, in fact, a bird in my room. My screen has been loose from the left window for a while; I guess some wind blew it open a little bit and in came the bird (I suspect a chickadee). I dub him "Lloyd", because it's more monosyllabic and easier to yell than "you stupid bird." The thought of calling him "my little chickadee" never enters my mind.

1:33 AM. Both windows are now wide open, permitting Lloyd a quick way out. If he'd only look down. But no, he continues to hang around at the top of the window.

1:39 AM. Back from a field trip to the kitchen, where I learn that there's no bread or anything that might conceivably lure Lloyd down to the windowsill and let him escape. Now I'm really ruing my decision to throw out the last bit of rice that came with my (excellent) General Gau's dinner special from Jade Garden. Doesn't rice make birds explode?

1:54 AM. Winded from a merry chase around the room. I tried pinning him with the aforementioned window screen; I threw socks and...well, let's just stick with socks...at him to try to get him down to open-window-level. After a couple near-misses and a couple cameo Lloyd appearances in my closet, he perches once again near the top of the right window.

2:03 AM. Moved some of the furniture around to try to funnel him towards the window. Learned to my chagrin that I didn't, in fact, clean up every shard of glass from that glass that broke last week. Yowza.

2:10 AM. Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.

2:12 AM. Fire up the Internet. Search for "bird trapped". Finally find a page that recommends turning out all the lights and opening a door. With two cats doubtless lurking right outside my door, I decide not to provoke a bloodbath. Though I'm tempted.

2:17 AM. IE goes haywire, trying to "Detect Proxy Server" for a long long time. I decide then and there to become a loyal Firefox user, which I know will delight some of my core readership.

2:34 AM. After a few (if I dare say so myself) valiant efforts to lead Lloyd to the bottom of the windows, I grimly resign myself to having a houseguest for the night. Lloyd seems to be sitting contentedly on the curtain rod, so I shove aside my fear of having my eyeballs pecked out during the night. (This, by the way, is a legitimate fear of mine, and has been for some time. I have honestly had premonitions of losing an eye to a bird or a wayward umbrella.)

2:40 AM. A little too wired to fall asleep, I throw in my Deep Impact DVD for a bit. I figure a few minutes of planetwide cataclysm might put my situation in perspective.

6:12 AM. The sun hits my window. Lloyd goes, to put it mildly, berserk. Now I'm wide awake and marvelling at the perceptiveness of whoever coined the term "birdbrain".

6:17 AM. Screw it. We've reached endgame, and I'd really like to salvage that magic hour of sleep between 6:30 and 7:30. I open the right window from the top (which alert readers might have noted I didn't do earlier in the saga).

6:29 AM. I didn't actually see it...but Lloyd is gone. Off to fulfill his stupid little bird destiny. And ain't no way I can get back to sleep now. Let me see how many of my passwords (which I had saved in IE) I can remember to enter in Firefox. Not many.

8:00 AM. Time to get ready for work!

Posted by Michael at 09:03 AM | Comments (6)

June 06, 2005

I Love My Bookstore

Working at Americs'a best bookstore has given me a chance to do some incredible things and go to some incredible places. Tonight was one of them.

PEN-New England, an organization of local writers, held a fundraiser at Fenway called "Writing Baseball: Great Writers on the Greatest Game." The main event was a panel discussion with Stephen King, Roger Angell, John Updike, Doris Kearns Goodwin and Michael Lewis. They shared stories about the role of baseball in their youths, the relationship between the game and literature, and some current issues facing the sport today. All in the .406 club with the field as a beautiful backdrop.

And since our store was supposed to sell books at the event, then wasn't - a convoluted saga - my boss Frank and I got complimentary tickets to the reception beforehand. Where I got to get some autographs (Stephen King signed my oft-read tattered paperback "The Shining"), eat some fabulous food, meet owner Larry Lucchino (I think I babbled thanks for last year, but who knows) and...

Wow

You weren't allowed to actually touch it. Fair enough. If I'd ever developed a curveball, maybe someday I would have earned that right. Some more pics here.

Posted by Michael at 09:36 PM | Comments (4)

May 28, 2005

The Show Must Go On

The first rule of show biz, of course, is that the show must go on. Technical difficulties, chaos, what have you - if you're a performer, you simply must deliver the goods every time or you lose all your credibility.

So with that in mind, picture your intrepid correspondent, nervous as all hell, with a voice creaky from a couple of beers and the remnants of a head cold, facing the crowd during karaoke night at the Courtside Bar. The music starts, the crowd leans forward...and the lyrics don't show up on the monitor. Nothin'. Blue screen of death-on-stage. A quick glance at the DJ, who shrugged helplessly.

But I'm proud to say (obviously; I don't post about my failures) the flop sweat never hit my forehead. I reached back into the 63% of my brain devoted to memorizing song lyrics, found the file located "Classic Rock -- Doors, The -- Hello, I Love You"...and brought the house down.

Yeah, that's right. I plucked that dusky jewel. I am the Lizard King. I can do anything.

Posted by Michael at 01:13 AM | Comments (1)

May 21, 2005

Bleeeeeeccccch

You'd think one of the few benefits to "no spring" would be "no spring allergies". You'd be horribly, horribly wrong.

Posted by Michael at 06:24 PM | Comments (0)

March 15, 2005

Snot Funny

The Winter That Won't End just keeps on giving. I have the most miserable cold I think I've ever had in my life. Now when I blow my nose, I can feel my brain actually starting to leak out. How else would you explain the fact that I watched Fox News for 1/2 an hour this morning, unable to summon the energy to change the channel?

Posted by Michael at 03:36 PM | Comments (0)

March 09, 2005

Lousy Smarch Weather

This is ridiculous. I refuse to come up with any more movie reviews or pithy fake news stories, or write anything, until the weather gives me something other than this "dark-and-stormy-night" crap. It's hard to channel the late Hunter S. Thompson (not that I ever really tried, but you get the idea) when the skies above are unrepentently Lord Bulwer-Lytton. (But I can still reach back and pull out a terribly obscure literary reference.)

I don't know what it's like everywhere, but here in New England, there are two kinds of pre-spring. There's the traditional March, where a few cold days are balanced out by a few mild days, where you actually get a glimmer of some of the warm weather to come. I remember a couple of years ago -- it may even have been March 9th -- walking down Comm. Ave. near Kenmore Square, and it was about 57 degrees, and I was just around the corner from Fenway, and I thought, "Wow...I really like living here." Then there are the springs like last year, and like this year's shaping up to be: where it's cold and sullen and rainy and snowy every day, and then on May 7th, it's suddenly 80 and humid. And I hate living here.

Oh look, I just went and wrote something. By the way, feel free to point out that I'm the schmuck who planned a trip to Florida in April instead of February. My only defense is that the Red Sox are involved.

Posted by Michael at 01:15 AM | Comments (2)

February 19, 2005

Big News

I can still call it "big news", even if I had nothing to do with it and can't take credit for it. Right?

Anyway, thanks to my brother Steve and sister-in-law Debbie, I'm going to be an uncle for the first time this August! I'd like to remind the two of them that if they need someone to take Junior to a baseball game (it's possible) or spread some left-wing propaganda at a formative age (not likely), I'm just a phone call away. Congratulations and best of luck to you guys.

Posted by Michael at 03:07 PM | Comments (2)

August 20, 2004

PETA Hates Me

I can understand the rationale for vegetarianism. I really can. Animals have feelings...corporate industrialized slaughter...pigs are smarter than humans...blah blah blah. I can buy any anti-meat argument you give me.

But not today, boy.

First was lunch with my housemate Rachel in Chinatown. I don't remember where it was; I don't completely remember how to get there. I just know it was on the second floor of some nondescript building, and they made a fantastic roast-duck-on-rice for like 5 bucks. Mmmm...duck.

Dinner was at the Midwest Grill near Inman Square. It starts out as a buffet -- salads and some meat options -- then takes off. Once you sit back down with your plate, waiters keep coming at you with giant skewers of just about any cooked flesh you can imagine. Mmmm...pork and beef and chicken and kielbasa. Even my friend Liz Steffey, who has voluntarily eaten both cow-tongue and haggis, was impressed.

Remember when the Simpsons went to the Renaissance Fair and Lisa saw the vision of her future husband? And Homer came bounding out of the tent, telling Lisa, "I've eaten eight different meats! I'm a real Renaissance Man!"? Yeah. Mmmmm.

Posted by Michael at 10:28 PM | Comments (0)

August 13, 2004

Honestly...Don't Even Read This

Really. Don't click below.

You were warned...

Sometimes when people say, "I don't want to talk about it", they really do want to talk about it...they just want to set the stage to be dramatic and stuff. Heaven knows I've been guilty of this myself, a time or two or sixty-three.

But if you believe nothing else I ever say, believe this: I really really really don't want to talk about the last 24 hours of my life. Nothing horrible; no damage to person or property; no unspeakable trauma, I swear. I'm alive and well and made it home just fine. I just really don't want to say anymore.

Now having typed all that, I realize that this may come across as an even larger-scaled version of what I said in the first paragraph. Emphatically not true. So don't bother. If your curiosity's been piqued...un-pique it. If scandalous thoughts are going through your mind (And they really shouldn't be. Let's remember who we're talking about here.)...push them aside. As far as anyone needs be concerned, I spent another day recovering from my head cold.

And if you think a liberal application of booze is all it will take to spill my secrets (I'm looking at you here, Mystery Person J."B".G.), you are certainly welcome to try. But it will be fruitless.

Maybe in 6 months I'll be ready to say more. I can at least dangle that carrot. Remember. Head cold.

Posted by Michael at 03:36 AM | Comments (3)

July 02, 2004

My Joy-Drenched Life, Continued

So remember a couple days ago I was ranting and raving about the street-cleaning schedule being all screwed up, and how it took me a long time to find a parking spot?

Well, I went back to my car today - it wasn't there. Apparently they decided to just go ahead and clean the entire Central/Inman Square neighborhood and tow everything in sight. Beeeee-youtiful. So I got the exquisite joy of long-hiking through the off-off-off-Alewife area to find the tow lot (thankfully, the thunderstorm held off - everything's comin' up me!) and pay the extortionist's fee.

So if you're keeping score at home, this bullshit non-holiday has already destroyed one afternoon and whacked me for 80 bucks I could ill afford. I'm really starting to hate living in this city.

Posted by Michael at 01:18 AM | Comments (2)

June 19, 2004

Open Question II: Not Nearly As Deep

Except for a 3-month stint in 2001, I've had this goatee for eight years. But now I'm thinking about its future. Should it stay or should it go?

Posted by Michael at 12:19 AM | Comments (10)

June 02, 2004

I'm Ready, Mr. DeMille

Hilary is totally obsessed with 8-tracks. So much so that VH1 spent the last two days filming her for a new show called "Totally Obsessed", which they're rolling out in August. She was a total natural for the camera; I can't wait to see how it all comes out.

How I come out, I don't know. Yes, they spent quite a bit of time talking to me about her and her total obsession. They filmed me and Hilary talking 8-tracks for good half-hour in the bookstore's used-book department, and another good half-hour filming me by myself. I'm the one with the goofy grin (I kept trying to look serious; it kept coming back) and the Whale sweater on.

So I make my national TV debut sometime in August. I'll keep you posted. Best-case scenario: I make Salon's "I Like To Watch" column and develop a cult following. Worst-case: I look like a total chump and embarrass Hilary. Somewhere in-between and most-likely scenario: I look like somewhat of a chump, but Hilary looks really cool.

Time will tell.

Posted by Michael at 01:54 AM | Comments (2)

May 21, 2004

Choke

First, the good. I went to see my sister graduate from college today. She's on a roll - just got her degree, already has a great job, and will continue to do freelance writing for Bust Magazine, where she interned last semester. So that's all awesome. She's awesome.

But we all know you're here to read about how pathetic I can be when I put my mind to it. Confession's good for the soul, right? I'll tell you now, so you can make fun of me all you want (my roommate's already started).

Yes, today I was ten feet away from one of my five favorite people on the planet, and my avowed personal hero. Did I go up to him? Did I thank him for being out there, doing what he's doing and keeping the bad people riled up? Did I congratulate him and wish him success with his new film?

I did not.

I gawked for a few seconds. I tried thinking of something to say. The moment passed. He went off to spend time with his newly-graduated daughter. I sulked. Make fun of me now.

Posted by Michael at 09:35 PM | Comments (3)

May 07, 2004

Knees and Stuff

I've told a couple of people that I think once you turn 30, the first thing to go is the knees. No kidding; they hurt like hell if I've been sitting down for a while.

But I guess the second thing to go is the muse. It's not like there's not stuff out there to write about -- the Red Sox (my Mom took me to see the new movie today, and it's GOOD), the end of Friends (just kidding), the perpetual outrage that comes with living in Bushian pre-Antebellum-II America -- but it's just not coming. So bear with me.

Maybe I'll even review Birth of a Nation to get me out of this funk. That'd be something, huh?

Posted by Michael at 09:41 PM | Comments (2)

April 22, 2004

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You...

...to everyone tonight.

Maybe I said I wanted to spend my 30th birthday sitting in a dark room listening to the Smiths all day. But obviously, I didn't really.

I got really touching comments in response to my online panic attack last night...thanks to all. I got traditional warm telephone wishes from my family...very much appreciated. And I got a 6-hour roving party thrown for me by pretty much everyone else I know in the world. And you were there, and you were there, and you were there...

And Jess made me a Black Wednesday cake. And Bunny made me a Simpsons-Shrinky-Dink-doppelganger. And a lot of other really close and cool people who don't have websites (though, frankly, most of 'em should) were there too. You all know who you are. You all know I love ya.

I think maybe I'm ready to take on this 30's thing.

UPDATE - Jess not only made me a cake, she took and posted pictures. I am honored to know all these people.

Posted by Michael at 01:53 AM | Comments (0)

April 21, 2004

Maudlin

(Author's Note: The entry within contains thoughts and language that are a little more sentimental and introspective than the run-of-the-mill BunkoSquad posts you may be used to. Depending on where my train of thought rolls, it might even contain some bad words. So if you're easily disconcerted by this, or not quite ready for unaccustomed depth(?) in your daily(?) BunkoSquad dose, you may want to skip this entry and go directly to seinfeldscripts.com, which (as you might think) has scripts for every Seinfeld episode. There's a lot of laughs on that page; more than what's to come, believe me. Thanks for your time.)

OK. You made it this far.

At work, we thought it would be a cool idea if everyone brought in pictures of themselves as babies or toddlers, so we could all giggle at the clothes of the late 70s and early 80s and try to guess which baby turned into which hip, clever colleague. Sounds fun, right? So there I am, picking through a few old pictures I have and a really cool booklet my sister made me a few birthdays ago, with more old pictures, and suddenly had a kind of out-of-body experience. And describing it is a little tricky, so please bear with me.

I had always looked at old pictures of myself with a mixture of amused shame and small regret. The inch-thick glasses, the short shorts, the perpetually open mouth (why it was always open for pictures, I'll never know) -- they were clearly picture of a younger me. I never thought of it any other way. But suddenly, I started seeing them a little differently. What if, I thought, this wasn't an old me, but rather a distinct individual? What if, somewhere in the space-time continuum, there still is a dorky little 10-year-old who's confident that his ability to finish word-search puzzles quickly, recite all 50 states in alphabetical order, and compute slugging percentages will be adequate tools for getting through the rest of his life?

(On a side note, I guess that also means that, somewhere in the space-time continuum, there's a timebomb of a 19-year-old waiting to explode in an avalanche of apathy, doubt and self-destructiveness that will spiral down the years to the point where he can't sustain a goddamn metaphor through an entire goddamn sentence, but that may be a tale for another day.)

What would I say if I ran into that 10-year-old? I presumably know more about the ways of the world than he does; I presume that if I could convince him that I was his future self, he'd accept and take to heart my counsel. So where to begin? What's the message I wish some "wiser" adult had shared with me?

I guess it boils down to this: don't live your life afraid. A lot of life really sucks and is repetitive and humdrum and filled with an utter lack of transcendent moments. You can accept this, and bemoan it, and let it gnaw away at yourself or you can challenge it. Take a damn risk once in a while. I think the kid in question might appreciate a convoluted baseball analogy, so here goes: sometimes you need to throw a hit-and-run or a squeeze play into your repertoire. Maybe you'll hit into a double play, or maybe you'll knock in the winning run - either way, you'll get the crowd buzzing in a way that looking for a bases-loaded walk will never do. And gambling managers are always looked at with more admiration than the guys who play it safe (I obviously don't mean the Pete Rose gambling). End convoluted baseball analogy.

All the great thinkers have dealt with this. Tennyson said "It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." Neil Young said, "it's better to burn out than to fade away." If you keep charging, sometimes you'll get knocked on your ass, but you can spring up again. If you stand still and just slowly sink to the floor, it's hard to get up.

I'd tell the kid that everything in life is so damn temporary anyway, it's worth it to take a chance. Maybe I wouldn't want to scare him away, but I should probably tell him all about opportunities that I've had, but never followed up on, only to see the moment pass. Friends -- girl friends (two words) -- that I've wondered if I should risk taking the next step with, only to see the friendship lost in distance and time anyway. People who could have been lifelong friends and allies, except that it would have required a (so minor!) change in my habits and patterns and trends -- which I would have soon fallen out of anyway.

Is this all making sense? I hope not...I'd hate to be that transparent.

The other thing I would try to convey to that kid is how, when all is said and done, you've got to still live inside yourself. Eventually, you're going to be at a point where all the outside distractions and social ramble and fooferaw is going to be gone -- if only for a time -- and you're going to be alone with nothing but your mind. And it would behoove him to try to force that mind outwards, to seek new things and challenge it, rather than let the mind turn on itself and try to devour itself in a feast of doubt and second-guessing and mangled metaphors (like, for instance, this manifesto).

So...what questions would that kid have for me? Maybe he'd ask where his life should be when he reaches his (let's pick an arbitrary number here) 30th birthday. Maybe he'd be afraid that at 30, his skillset would consist of little more than customer service, basic HTML, a working knowledge of the infield-fly rule, and some (admittedly cool) geography-related party tricks. Oh yeah; and a penchant for rambling psychiatric self-diagnosis. Actually, on second thought, if he asked that, I'd probably call in Ari Fleischer to deflect/redirect that particular question.

The other questions he might ask, and that I couldn't convincingly answer: How do you do it? How do you make that leap of faith that lets you shake up your comfort level (slight though it may be) and take that risk? How do you challenge yourself, and force yourself to follow through with the challenge, so you don't end up at 30 with a list of regrets (roughly) three times longer than your list of satisfactory accomplishments? And when is it too late to take that leap? I've had several people tell me, "30 is the new 21!", but everyone who tells me that is a damnsight closer to 21 than to 30. And, related to that, wherein lies the difference between a groove and a rut?

So, stumped by these questions, I'd have to come up with some cogent advice for him to take into the next 20 years of his life. I'd say Satchel Paige's rules would be a good place to start, but I've broken four of the six rules since I started writing this piece. I googled other "rules of life", but nothing seemed to exactly fit. I guess, in the end, the best advice I could give him is you've got to forge your own way. In the end, you have to stand before your younger self (or, failing a workable time-travel solution, a mirror) and account for yourself.

And I guess that comes to the crux of why I wrote this; absent a 50-year-old version of myself appearing with more advice, I'll fill in what I think he'd say. Something like "You've got to live for yourself, not for your perception of what others expect of you. Your successes and failures will come and go, but make them yours."

And with that, probably the longest post in BunkoSquad history, I enter the fourth decade of my life with...that. Thanks for listening.

Posted by Michael at 01:48 AM | Comments (7)

March 22, 2004

Where I've Been

How I spent the past few days:

So that's that.

Posted by Michael at 11:43 AM | Comments (0)

February 16, 2004

Wanderlust

So there's two things gnawing at me lately. One, I haven't really been on a road trip in years. Two, in 65 days I turn thirty.

So in a rare flash of insight, I thought, "Well, why not combine those two things and take yourself on a 30th-birthday road trip?" Then it dawned on me that I didn't have a specific destination in mind, nor did I have the moolah to treat myself to fancy hotels and dinners. Hence this appeal.

The Appeal
To anyone in the Eastern United States or Canada, who has an extra couch or something and doesn't mind putting up a traveler for a night somewhere between April 17th and 24th. Who doesn't mind making an extra sandwich. I want to visit you. I'm agreeable, I can pick up after myself, and I won't put any unreasonable demands on you. I'd be happy to be shown around your town, but equally happy to take a couple suggestions and then fend for myself. Concordance with the Major League Baseball schedule is good but certainly not required.

Potential benefits for you include: prominent, effusive thanks on the trip portion of this blog, help with the dishes, and willing freeranging discussion on the topic of your choice. And whatever else I can do to sweeten the deal.

So there you are. I humbly ask for your help in giving me direction. If there's a place for me, leave a comment or email me at "michael at bunkosquad.com" with date availability and other info/requests. I'll figure out my best itinerary and let you know, as soon as possible, what time you can expect me.

(UPDATE: If you want to help, but don't want me darkening your door, there's a Paypal tip jar on the right, just above the search box. Did I mention you're all extremely discerning, good-looking readers?)

Much thanks in advance.

Posted by Michael at 05:31 PM | Comments (4)

January 24, 2004

Friday Five

If you haven't seen it, the Friday Five is a series of 5 questions designed every week to give regular (or close to it) web writers some kind of frame to hang an entry on. So I'll give it a whirl. And yes, I will overanswer.

At this moment, what is your favorite...

1. ...song? It's kind of sad. I'd built up a pretty good mp3 collection on an auxiliary computer, but since I moved, that computer hasn't been exactly, well, working. I can probably somehow take the hard drive out and salvage the mp3s, but I haven't yet. And procrastinator me, who intended to back up all the files onto CDs in the event of just this sort of crisis, only made it partway. So I have everything from A3 ("Woke Up This Morning" - the Sopranos theme) to Cake on CD. But there are 23.8 letters still in limbo. Including "E" so no Elvis Costello. So when I was driving home from work late the other night, and I got to hear something I haven't heard in weeks, I realized that, at this moment, "Veronica" is my favorite song.

2. ...food? I go through phases where I find myself dying for a plate of pancakes. And Boston, unlike some other cities, is not a hotbed for 24-hour Denny's and IHOPs. But I got to Johnny's Luncheonette in Harvard Square the other day and devoured a short stack in a short lunch break. So pancakes.

3. ...tv show? As it was, as it is now, as it will ever be.

4. ...scent? The smell of a spring day in the city, when people cook outdoors, the trees bloom, and...wait. That's only in my imagination, since it's clear that spring will never come. So I'll continue the theme from Question 2 and say maple syrup.

5. ...quote? Right now, it's gotta be Nic Cage in Moonstruck. When he tales the sad tale of how he lost his hand in a bread-slicing mishap, and blames his brother for the injury and the ruination of his life, and Cher points out that it wasn't his brothers fault..."I don't care! I ain't no freaking monument to justice!" Classic stuff.

Posted by Michael at 10:25 PM | Comments (0)

January 20, 2004

Late Night in NH

Sooz and I went up to Portsmouth on Monday night - er, make that Tuesday morning; I'd forgotten how all-nighters can screw up my internal clock - for a 2 AM Dean rally.

She wrote up all the details and has some audio links. And it's her birthday!

I got a Dean Deck, too. I'm a sucker for any anti-Bush trinkets; I just hope I don't turn into Winston Smith and have to start cramming all of them behind a loose brick in two years.

Posted by Michael at 10:58 PM | Comments (0)

January 12, 2004

Warm Enough To Type...

...finally.

I moved into my new apartment in Central Square last week. The good news? It's within walking distance of Harvard Square, the Charles, Boston...almost everything. The bad news? My first week here we had temperatures best expressed in degrees Kelvin. So you can't really walk anywhere without exposed skin turning to solid ice within seconds.

And there were heat problems in my new building. Sunday morning I woke up and it was 45 degrees in my room. Yikes. Now that's fixed and I've thawed out a bit.

So back to what the charitable-minded would call a regular posting routine.

Posted by Michael at 10:20 PM | Comments (0)