Just A Little Unorthodox

I'm sure some of you can relate to this. Sometimes, when you get stressed out or are doing something brand new you get this annoying twitch in your eyelid and you think to yourself that it must be the most noticeably awkward thing ever and that everyone must think you're giving them the "stink eye". Well, I don't have that. Instead I've had this weird week-long muscle spasm situation in my left tricep. I'm not going to say that it's directly tied to working in excel several hours a day, but I'm also not going to say that it's not at all related.

The city really emptied out last weekend. I stayed in Manhattan though and attended Rosh Hashanah services on Saturday morning with my sister. Since we are unaffiliated we attended a free service down near NYU. I attended free services a few times back at Penn and a few times at Michigan. You really get a mixed bag of experiences when you attend these free services. I remember one time at Penn there was some new age rabbi who insisted up adding the suffix "he or she" after every time she said the word "God". I'm pretty open-minded but that shtick got a little old after a while. Services last Saturday were led by an elderly female rabbi who you could tell was really relishing the opportunity to be up at the mic. She was part Gloria Steinem, part Coffee Talk with Linda Richman, part Estelle Getty. In fact, she even told us to feel free to "tawk amongst ya'selves while the service is taking place". That was a new one. Anyway, for a free service I thought it was going pretty well. People seemed to be engaged, which is I guess all you can really ask for if you are running a free service.

So we get to the haftorah, which for the gentiles... (from wikipedia) The Haftarah reading follows the Torah reading on each Sabbath and on Jewish festivals and fast days. Typically, the haftarah is thematically linked to the parasha (Torah portion) that precedes it. The haftarah may be sung in Cantillation (known as "trop" in Yiddish or "trope" in English). Related blessings precede and follow the Haftarah reading.

I'd like you to focus on the cantillation part, which for those not in the know and not sure about tropes, is kind of like a set of directions regarding the tone in which the haftorah is chanted. Man, this is hard to describe. Regardless, a woman came up to read the haftorah and like most other parts of any service I've ever been to, I don't have the slightest idea what is actually being said because it's in Hebrew. But lo and behold, this woman had translated this haftorah into English and was still applying the appropriate cantillation. Well, I immediately started giggling, which is horrible news for me since once I start laughing in temple it's basically impossible to stop, especially if I'm sitting next to my sister. Oh, and I'm 27 years old. I'd just never even heard of such a thing before. Of all my days as a 12 and 13 year old on the bar mitzvah circuit I had never come across anyone doing this. I realize this woman was just trying to make the haftorah and its lessons and teachings more accessible to all those in the room, and I really can appreciate that, but it was a little blasphemous, like, just a little. It was like she was just telling some random story but adding a musical twist to it. It was kind of like this...and please improvise your favorite cantillation to go along with this..

So this one time, I was walking up in Harlem.
It was very hot.
I saw this fellow and he was selling little sno-cones.
He said his name was Moses.
I said "Moses, what you do with sno-cones is delightful".
He said "buddy, I know this guy up in Yonkers,
He turns water into wine".
I said, "Jee-ee-ee-sus!"
He said, "no man, over there they pronounce it 'hey-sus'".

It was like that. Almost as absurd. However absurd though I'm glad that I went to services. Needless to say that after the haftorah was read I got up and left and went over to the East Village for some delicious ramen. Amen.

Who Loves Fasha?

Great weekend. Great win for Michigan. Great win for the GMen. I had a feeling this past weekend would be good because the shenanigans really started on Thursday at lunchtime. I went out to 'get some fresh' as I like to say, and I was walking up and down Park just enjoying the nice weather. I came up behind two guys wearing sandwichboards. These were new age sandwichboards though, which means that instead of the over-the-head old school sandwichboards these were were more like backpacks with a huge sign than ran from about the midsection area to a few feet above these guys' heads.



Nobody steals from Walmart. Not even you Lee Wuornos.

So this being Fasha Week, or Fashion Week, there were a lot of strikingly striking women walking the streets. As I walked behind these two sandwichboarded guys (who were advertising for Atomic Wings, which are quite delicious by the way) I heard them say about a 9'9" girl directly across the intersection something to the effect of "I would court the hell out of that damsel". This girl was super-attractive and had legs from here to Brooklyn. So the light turned and Atomic Wings Guys and I crossed and one of the sandwichboard guys says "what's up girl? How you doing?" Now I definitely give this guy props for being so bold as to try to chat up a girl, in the middle of a Park Avenue intersection, in broad daylight, wearing a sandwichboard, but really? Really? Like was she going to stop and say, "Sandwichboard man, I've been waiting to be cat-called in the middle of the street by a sandwichboard man my entire life. Let's go make little sandwichboard babies and live in a sandwichboard house, and drive a sandwichboard car." Gutsy these New Yorkers are.

I'm not going to lie. I really don't understand fashion week that well. I'm not really down with people telling me what to wear and people telling me what to wear nine months from now seems kind of ridiculous. As far as I'm concerned manchego is the new black. I still wear a henley shirt that was bought for me in 1993. 1993 people. You want to talk about being a couple years behind the fashion curve...well I still wear my customized Jim Finn #20 Giants jersey to games even though he retired two years ago, and I still get dap for it in the Giants parking lot. In fact, some woman came up to me on Sunday and told me her sister was at Thanksgiving with Jim Finn last year, and now he's out in Cali doing his investing thing. Clearly, people know a classic when they see it. And now, back in crazytown, every high fasha boutique is peddling their double-breasted suits (I walk down Fifth Ave every morning so I know these things) and everyone knows that these double-breasted numbers will be seriously out of style in a year and a half and then what? I'll tell you what. You and this guy can go back to 1932 and play your trumpets together. Ya dig?



Maybe I'm just jealous though. No, not of the zoot suits, but of the ability to wear whatever. Deep down don't we all want to be able to dress however we want whenever we want. Sergio Tacchini warm-ups fo' life. Rest assured the first day I'm free to wear whatever that 1993 henley will be making an appearance, elbow holes and all.

One Week Down, 1,499 To Go

First off, an actual message from the MTA, “Please be careful with your jewelry because it’s always chain snatching season”. I've been saying the same exact thing for years. I'm glad someone is finally paying attention.

A lot has gone down since my last post. I got a blackberry. In addition to writing an entire post from my new blackberry, I can write an entire post on my new blackberry but I'll just make a few remarks about it. I used to just check my email a few times a day, and I guess I kind of liked checking my gmail and yahoo accounts at the end of the day and seeing a couple emails in each mailbox. But now as long as I have my blackberry in my pocket I have my email in my pocket, which I guess was the point of getting the thing in the first place. The only way I can explain it is like, every evening when I checked email it would be like a mini-Christmas, but now Christmas is 24-7 so it's just not as meaningful when I get an email. I'm reading this over and it sounds ridiculous, I know. Maybe I just over-estimated how much I wanted to be connected. All that said, I love that I can check the internet whenever and once I learn how to play with the bells and whistles I imagine I'll really enjoy/appreciate my yet-to-be-named electronic device.

While I went a little more high-tech in one aspect of my life, I've gone a little more low-tech in another. When I got back from SE Asia I started running not on the treadmill but on pavement. Like old school Prefontaine style. I really don't care for running, but running outside was definitely more palatable. I've been running a few days a week for the past 6 or so weeks and I'm kind of starting to like it. So now that I'm in the city, I've taken this whole running thing out of the gym and back to the streets, specifically, the roads in Central Park. And as far as Central Park is concerned, a) I don't think I've seen, on average, a better looking compilation of people in one locale in New York. Even the homeless folks are tan and fit. B) They got this reservoir right in the middle of the park, but let's not tell too many people about it because I like having it all to myself. C) You can basically do whatever in Central Park and nobody will even flinch. I saw these two girls taping themselves doing a full on provocative dance routine right in the middle of the Sheep's Meadow and nobody seemed to even give them two looks and on that same walk through the Park I saw a guy on a horse and carriage ride propose to a girl. I actually saw it go down right then and there and I'm pretty sure her tears were tears of joy. The Park really is an awesome place, as long as there's still daylight. I don't know what goes down in Central Park at night, but I am assuming things that are not kosher. Even though I'm enjoying my evening run I do miss the camaraderie of team sports. It's a little lonely running solo. I'm a team sports person, and always will be, and sometimes I have to fight the urge as I pass a struggling runner to slap them on the backside and offer them a word of encouragement because that's what you do if you're trying to help a teammate, but in Central Park that's called assault, brotha. This past Friday I even got to give a little thank you to Central Park when we took a day during our first week of training to paint railings in the park. Good karma, let me tell you.

And now to what you all have been waiting for...the job 411. I don't know when it hit me that it was for real, and by "for real" I mean no more school, no more Summer of Finger Part III, no more fun, no more laughing, no more smiles, no more puppies. I think it was when I woke up last Monday morning and put on a jacket and tie that I realized shit's done changed. At some point last Monday, my first day, we had a break so a bunch of the guys in my associate class went down to get some fresh air. So there we were, standing outside the office building on the front steps, yukking it up, the South American guys sucking down Marlboro Reds, the rest of the us talking college football, and then I just had this weird realization that to the outside world we probably looked like a bunch of 100% Grade A-certified Suits who did this on the reg, even though not a day before we were all free children of the Earth enjoying the dusk of what was an outstanding and relaxing summer. Ah how it all can change so quickly. For my first rotation I'll be in Asset Management. Doing exactly what, you ask. Managing some assets, obviously. We still have another week of training, but I'm ready to get the show on the road.

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.

Cursing Never Sounded So Sweet

All it took was hearing "hey, fuck you buddy" and I felt right back at home in New York. It's been about a week since I returned from Bangkok and I'm finally sleeping past 5am. The flight back was pretty uneventful, although I still wonder why I was made to fly "over the world" as I like to say, and not over the Pacific Ocean. I guess when you use miles you just do what they say. On my flight from Frankfurt to NYC I was sitting on the aisle in the middle section of 3-4-3 setup. As soon as the seatbelt sign went off I went horizontal and occupied all four seats for some much needed shut-eye. I had taken a Ambien for this leg and I don't even like taking Advil and wasn't exactly thrilled about taking the Ambien, but after sleeping about 4 total hours from Bangkok to Singapore and Singapore to Frankfurt I needed the assistance of modern day medicine. So at some point from Frankfurt to NYC I was woken up and fed and when I woke up I didn't even know what planet I was on, but all I knew is that someone had put pad thai in front of my face and it was my destiny to finish and then go back to sleep immediately. So yeah, a week later I'm more or less back to normal, and feeling like myself.

So what of these next 5 weeks? Weddings, beach, hanging out, and trying my damnedest not to wear socks. I remember working and heading outside to pick up lunch or head to the bank and seeing young adults walking around mid-day, in shorts and t-shirts, and I remember saying to myself, who the hell are these people not working, and now I guess I'm one of these people. I love New York, but living here for an extended period of time sans paycheck has to be nearly impossible. I paid $8 for a salad today. Granted it was a salad with unlimited toppings, and it was delicious, but for $8 I could buy a small village in Laos, and have enough left over for a watermelon shake. But despite the whole money thing, just to walk the streets and not hear the words "bloody" or "mate" or "massive" or "that was a wicked googly" was absolutely refreshing.




This was a quick one. Not going to lie, when you go from the craziness of SE Asia to refreshing ESPN and gmail several hundred times a day it's a bit of a weird transition, but I'll try to get in a little trouble this weekend for no other reason than to give you a 4 minute respite from your shitty work day when you read this blog.