The End Draws Nigh

And now only 40 more years until the next time I have another full summer off. I received my first job assignment for work and suddenly walking into work this coming Monday has become very very real. When I graduated back at the beginning of May, August 31st (aka The Day the Music Died) seemed like a million years away. In between May 1 and August 31 was a five week trek through Southeast Asia and then an additional six weeks after that to recover from the trip. I shaved infrequently, swam often, learned that Tom Colicchio likes virtually nothing, and more or less enjoyed a carefree existence, hopping from place to place with nobody really to answer to but myself, kind of like a homeless person in a buttondown and pink shorts. Those days are done, son. However for some people those days are every day. Hanging out at Surf Lodge in Montauk last Sunday night I wondered, "who are these people here on a Sunday, just hours before the work week rolls in?" I know I am a recent b-school grad, soon to be a cog in the wheel of corporate America and soaking up the last days of summer, but these other folks...the girls, long hair, tall, svelte, sun-kissed, and the guys, long hair as well, the classic it-may-look-like-I-don't-care-but-I-do-but-I-don't-want-you-to-think-that-I-care beards, and enough plaid and ridiculous looking hats to clothe Paul Bunyan several times over, which prompted me to remember one of my favorite quotes from Eastbound and Down's Kenny Powers, when he says to his girlfriend, "Baby, I love you, but you dress like a dickhead". Anyway, these people all seemed to be, as I like to say these days, "freelancing life". I don't get it really. Maybe they are all international surfing stars, or maybe they are all successful hedge fund managers who retired at the age of 30, or maybe they are royalty. Or maybe they were all the international students at Michigan I just never hung out with. Regardless, they all seemed to be having a grand ol' time and the looks on their faces weren't the ones I used to get back in the day on Sunday nights when The Wire finished up and I'd look at the clock and literally say "Shiiiiiiit, tomorrow is Monday". This Sunday will be the first time in over a year I'll look at the clock on Sunday night and say, "shiiiiiiiiit". Worst of all now those silly little days actually have meaning again. Up until this weekend Monday was Saturday and Sunday was Saturday and everyday was Saturday. No mas.

As I mentioned above I didn't shave a whole lot this summer. About two weeks ago I decided to grow a 'stache because my thinking was that if I went into work on Day 1 with a moustache I'd be setting a precedent that says, "that Finger guy, yeah, he wears a moustache". Would it look ridiculous. Absolutely. But would it give me an option to grow a moustache later on in my career and not have it be one of those "ironic moustaches". Absolutely. I chickened out in the end, but this is what I would've unleashed on the world...

"Would you lika some parmigiana ona youra spaghetti?"

The possible captions for that photo are endless. My moustache reminded me of one of my favorite episodes of The Cosby Show where Theo uses a pencil to draw in a moustache in order to look more manly and impress the ladies. Oh that Theo. Please note that no performance enhancing drugs were consumed in order to increase the luster or the density of my moustache. Believe it or not that's all natural.

I've been able to go sans blackberry for 27 years, but I don't think I'll make it to 28. This week I had to go to the Amagansett Public Library several times to check my email. Just me and the Cat Ladies straight chilling up on the second floor accessing our email and talking shop. Mittens is pregnant...again. Slut. What am I supposed to do during the next two weeks when I'm training at work and have no email access? Do I run to the NY Public Library at lunch and check gmail? Obviously not. I just go get a damn blackberry like the rest of the world. I've been putting this off for too long, and now instead of waiting until I get home and seeing that I have another email from JCrew CrewCuts, I'll immediately know about "Jenna's Picks: The Classics Remixed (+free shipping)". These are things that simply cannot wait.

People have been asking if I'm looking forward to going back to work. I'm looking forward to being a member of society again. I'm looking forward to the getting back into the social swing of things in the city. I'm also looking forward to the First and Fifteenth. I can't believe this crazy run is coming to a grinding halt. The next time I blog I'll officially be a suit. A moustache-less suit.

The DMV...Death, Murder, Violence

This week I went to the DMV in NYC voluntarily. I have a CT driver's license, but I wanted to get a NY resident ID so if I happen to go play golf at Montauk Downs at some point in the future I can play for half price. Since I have no 9 to 5 and literally had nothing else on my agenda I was willing to sacrifice an hour of my time in pursuit of this ID. Unfortunately one hour ended up being two and a half hours and I really believe I was close to being killed.

To start with, the DMV was located at Herald Square, which in my opinion is one of the most undesirable parts of the city. The intersection at 34th and 7th might be the worst intersection known to humankind. I used to intern near there and the one redeeming destination in that area is D'Aiuto's Pastry which besides making a famously delicious cheesecake, also makes fresh italian ices that on a summer day can make you forget just how shitty the New York Knicks are, since MSG is practically across the street from the shop. I'm talking ices with chunks of fruit. But that is neither here nor there. The DMV is never a place you want to be, for anything. I remember thinking after standing in line for 25 minutes that this is why crazy people, on hot summer days, lose their damn minds. There were probably 200 people in my line and about 3 employees assisting them. I know there were three because I counted them, on one hand. After an hour and a half on line (no exaggeration here) I finally got the counter, got some more forms, had my picture taken, and then was told to wait in line (again) for my number to be called so I could go and do whatever it was that would allow me to leave this godforsaken place. I had my ipod so I was occupied. Some folks had books. People should know that you don't come to the DMV empty-handed. So I sat down and waited for my number to be called...B343. They were up to B319, and there were As, Bs, Cs, Ds, Es, Fs, and Gs, so I knew it would be a minute before I'd have my chance.

Behind me was sitting this Asian fellow. I don't want to stereotype here, but to give this story more texture please picture him as a kid in his early 20s, more Filipino-looking than Chinese, and kind of thick and a little thugged-out. He wore a shirt with a big digital "24" on it, a clear homage to the Fox TV show. About two minutes after I sat down he screams at the top of his lungs "Hurry Up!". Every single person in the DMV stopped what they were doing and looked. We're talking like 400 people here. It was then when I started to wonder whether his love of "24" had something to do with him liking Keifer Sutherland, or perhaps his love of calculated acts of terror. Next, and I swear to you, he yells "Fuck you white people, you already have enough cars". I didn't turn around this time because as the only white person in the vicinity I was thinking that I'd turn around and that would be it, so I just got up and moved my seat. I sat down next to a menacing looking fellow who immediately remarked, "I just hope they call my number so I'll be gone when this guy starts shooting up the place". If this guy was scared I felt I had the right to be as well. Then this crazy guy yells something (and now I can't exactly recall so I'll paraphrase) "All these fucking cars are made in China anyway something something something, another crazy something, I love the Philadelphia Eagles". He may or may not have said that last part. At this juncture he left, and I'm not sure whether it was under his own volition or not but the security guards acted like they saw this every day and were not at all concerned which was mighty reassuring.

I was just waiting for this guy to come back with a gun. I know I overreact but I've just heard too many stories of mentally unstable people, in the dog days of the summer, coming into some government building and shooting up the place for no good reason. I don't know maybe he just wanted his non-driver's resident ID because he wanted to play golf at Montauk Downs really badly. All I know is if I see this guy on the course I'll let him play through because if he's behind me I'm just not going to feel safe. I think even jack Bauer would understand that.

New England...Better than Old England

The life of a vagrant continues to be as awesome as I imagined. Sleeping under highway overpasses, free meals at homeless shelters, and the occasional hot water shower. I'm just walking the earth and livin'. L. I. V. I. N. As I talk to my friends who have already entered the working world I can hear the corporate America in their voices and I realize that I have less than one month until that's me. In fact, this week I have to go in for processing for work, which literally makes me feel like I'm a robot or something going in to get my bolts tightened and my joints oiled. Not sure if removal of the heart is part of this 'processing'. I also have a drug test which I intend to pass with flying colors.

This weekend I went up to lovely Manchester, VT for a wedding of two friends from business school. After a nice wedding weekend up in the Berkshires back in June I was looking forward to heading back up to the mountains of New England. After the scenic drive up I was incredibly hungry and wanted to go to one of those quintessential New England eateries and mix it up with the locals. After driving through town and making several snap judgments based on decor and types of cars parked in various parking lots I settled on Maxwell's Flat Road Grill. All VT plates in the parking lot and most of the cars were pickups, which was perfect. In I walked with my red polo shirt, collar up, and polo shorts, looking like I had literally just robbed the Polo outlet which was about 2 minutes down the road. I walked in and it got deathly quiet, and literally everyone stared at me. It was as if I'd just shot their beloved Vermont brethren Ben & Jerry and had decided to come in for a burger to celebrate. This one mustachioed gentlemen gave me a particularly long death stare which made me slightly concerned because his shirt read, and I quote (because I immediately texted this to myself upon reading it)..."I Just Shot My Load at the Brookfield Rod and Gun Club". You stay classy Manchester, Vermont. Undeterred I sidled up to the bar and sat down. Conversation had started up again, and things seemed pretty lively because it was about 4:30pm and the Jim Beam was flowing like Poland Spring. So I order what any good Brookfield Rod and Gun Club member would order at 4:30pm on a Friday, a Long Trail Ale and an angus burger, extra bloody. After drinking beer that was probably brewed with water and giant catfish from the Mekong River I can't really even describe how good a crisp New England microbrewed ale tastes with a burger on a hot day.

Anyway, I'm sitting there watching ESPN, which is on mute, and whatever, I'm bored so I try to fit in a little bit.

Me: (Sipping my beer and looking at the TV) Quite a spell we're having.
Rod & Gun Club Guy: Excuse me?
Me: Oh nothing.
R&G: No, you said, 'quite a spell we've been having'. Quite a spell of what?
Me: Me? I didn't say anything.
R&G: Listen Mr. Smahtypants, I know what you said.

Awkward Silence

Me: Fuck Jetah, go Sawks!
Everyone in the bar: Go Sawks!!!!

And then they carried me around the bar on their shoulders and it was awesome. Oh that Red Sox Nation, they sure love their steroids and hate their Yankees. All the wedding events all weekend were great, and I wasn't the only single person at the wedding. There are in fact other single people on this earth. So with that, I'm going to pick some raspberries. Long live summer.