Ashley York Vol 2: A Blond, A Jew, A Writer. A Blond Jewish Writer.

Ashley wrote "I just waved hello to Prince Harry".

She was at the Royal Ascot, which for all intents and purposes is the Kentucky Derby and Preakness rolled into one. I leave out the Belmont Stakes here, because I don't think the Royal Ascot has any tailgating and peeing into Gatorade bottles on a huge parking lot. Perhaps I'm mistaken. But that is neither here nor there.

Ashley was updating me via her Facebook for Blackberry. She had managed to score passes to a very exclusive party, but amidst making eyes at royalty, eating cucumber sandwiches, and wearing outlandish hats, she wanted to chat with me and say what's up. As for me, well I remember it being an absolute scorcher of a day in Greenwich and I was at home alternating between swimming, and seeking shade. The occasional message from Ashley was a good excuse to seek solace from the heat and head inside to air conditioning. I'm not going to lie, I liked the fact that this girl was emailing me during this great event - which takes place in London by the way - to say what's up. She was also there visiting family. She's British. I didn't tell you that yet though. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me pick it back up from post-Toronto wedding, which was a great time by the way. Ok, so post-Toronto wedding...

So at this point I'm back home and Krista sends me a Facebook message asking me how things are going. Nothing is "going" because there is nothing. And basically that's what I told Krista. I gave the old "college try" and that was it. I was done. Moving right along, as they say...

I didn't feel any need subject myself to rejection again, but Krista kept urging me, telling me how amazing her friend, and roommate, Ashley was. Then she started giving me some more information on this Ashley York. Here are some of the facts:

1. Born and raised in London.

2. Moved to NYC in HS

3. Went to Georgetown

4. Avid tennis player

5. Currently a writer for Elle Magazine

6. Jewish

So here I am. Single. Sitting in my room, being told that there's this very pretty blond, jewish, writer, tennis player, with an accent, and this girl's best friend in the world thinks we'd be compatible. I re-read 1 through 6. And then I emailed, on May 30th 2008, an email that would literally take me through one of the most bizarre two or three weeks in my entire life.

And wouldn't you know, Ashley York liked the email, and we started trading emails, or should I say facebook messages. Flirty, cute, short and sweet. And how do I recall these messages you ask...well, Facebook still has them and I'm looking at them right now. She was a rabid Ohio State Buckeye fan, and as you know, I'm a Michigan Man, so we joked about that. She made fun of my sneaker collection. I made fun of her writing stories about men's underwear for Elle. It was all real junior varsity stuff. But fun.

I started work the next week, on June 9th. I must've exchanged messages with her after my first day of work because on June 10th, she wrote a message that said, "hope day two went well..."

I realize that it was all a bit weird that this was all done via messages and email, but at the same time it was nice to know that someone out there was thinking about me, and this someone happened to be a ridiculously attractive blond jewish writer. And all the while, Krista Marks was all over me. Asking a million and one questions, urging me to meet her in person.

Ashley and I had been messaging for a few days now, perhaps almost a week's worth of messaging. So later on in the week I wrote a message to Ashley saying how it's kind of ridiculous that we don't meet up for a drink because we lived so close to each other. (She was an Upper East Sider too, where she lived with Krista, and her dog Marley, a terrier beagle mix). And then it got weird because Ashley said more or less, whoa whoa whoa, hold your horses, I don't even know you, and you're just some totally random internet dude. And you know what...she was right. I stepped back for a second and realized what the hell I was actually doing. I knew nothing about this girl, but at the same time, it would kind of be like a blind date. I mean, this is exactly what happens on Match.com or JDate or other dating sites I imagine. People exchange messages, it goes well, they meet for a drink. This in theory was no different.

On June 11th Krista and I had the following exchange, most likely about me meeting Ashley, and mind you this is exactly how it went because I am literally cutting and copying...

John Finger June 11, 2008 at 9:30pm

Yeah, she messaged me back today and agreed that perhaps phone is the next logical progression. I'm not going to push though right now though. I really like chatting with her. She's pretty sassy (a good thing, by the way), kind of like you. I can see why you two get along.

June 11, 2008 at 9:45pm

LOL, I'M JUST LOUD AND ANNOYING

John Finger June 11, 2008 at 10:34pm

Come on, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you are not annoying.

June 12, 2008 at 4:19pm

LOL, true.

The phone was the "next logical progression". Um, why did I sound like a scientist when I wrote that? Was I talking about meeting a girl or the history of jazz?

Anyway, I first called Ashley on June 16th, after a long facebook chat about social implications of Sesame Street. She was a writer, she was witty, she had me at www.hello. com. What do you want from me? So on June 16th I asked her to just email me her number, and she did.

I dialed and the phone rang, and someone picked up...

"Hello, John...?"

.....stay tuned....

Ashley York Vol 1: Beginning

As I alluded to the other day, this will be the beginning of the end. Super dramatic, I know. The following series of posts will recount a tale from back in 2008. Please note that this isn’t based on a true story. This is a true story. Sometimes I may change a name or ad lib a dialogue, but this is actually how it all went down. There’s no embellishing here. I want you to remember this as you read on. No embellishing. I’ve been sitting on this for two years now, and I’m happy to be getting down in writing and sharing it with you. I hope you’ll enjoy.

It was about 90 degrees already at 8am, which for Aruba isn’t particularly unusual. As I did most mornings of this vacation, I woke up incredibly early and went down to the beach to claim a little hut and beach chairs that would prevent us from dying of heat stroke and alcohol poisoning in the blistering midday sun. With me on this vacation were three friends from Michigan. Fuller, Old Greg, and Hutchybear. The trip is exactly what you’d expect from four guys in paradise. A lot of drinking, a lot of throwing around the football in the water, and a lot of hitting on girls, almost always unsuccessfully. In fact, it was actually kind of funny to “throw salt” on each other’s game by interrupting innocent flirting by saying “oh, so I see you’ve met my friend Joran Van Der Sloot”. Sorry. Too soon?

After coming back upstairs to the room that morning, stepping over empties, making a PB&J, and putting on Lil Wayne’s “Lollipop” for the four hundredth time, I opened up the computer my friend had brought and decided to check my email and of course Facebook. Since I was the only one without a blackberry at that point I was feeling slightly disconnected, and relished the opportunity to catch up while the boys were still passed out. I grabbed a seat by the kitchen counter and logged in. It almost seemed wrong connecting back to the world. I could hear the birds, and the ocean, and the curtains flicked against the wall with the gentle Aruban breeze. The thought of starting my summer internship in a little more than a week made me literally cringe. Talk about a tough transition.

Now to be perfectly honest here, I’d been dating a girl from school, kinda, and she had just graduated. She happened to have been an undergrad. Whatever. We had hung out back in New York before the trip and while I had absolutely no desire or aspirations of dating her, I thought at least I would’ve seen an email from her in my inbox. Nothing. A touch dismayed, I then opened up Facebook to a message and friend request from a very cute blonde girl named Krista Marks.

The name did not ring a bell and I tend to always remember a name and almost always a face. Her note read something to the effect of “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me, but we met in the Hamptons last summer. I just wanted to say hello and tell you I think you’d be a really great match for my friend”.

Tom Stoppard once said, “every exit is an entrance somewhere”. This was awfully convenient considering nothing was doing with this Michigan girl. I’m not going to lie. I was kind of intrigued by Krista. If Krista’s friend looked anything like Krista then I was about to meet a very pretty girl. But still, I had no idea who Krista Marks was. At this point the guys began to stir, the first beer was cracked open, and it was not time for computers. I accepted Krista’s friend request and wrote the following:

“Krista, I have to apologize, but I can’t quite remember where we met. Where exactly were we?”

We kicked ass that day out on the beach. Fuller, as always, represented America with his portable NASCAR beer cooler/satchel and doled out ice-cold Balashi’s all day to the four of us. We even befriended two girls, one of which was stunning. Her last name was Van Peenen and she had recently received breast implants. Isn’t it weird the details you remember? Anyway, by day’s end the four of us and our two new friends had turned one of these thatched beach umbrella hut things into a regular bar. As we all hung out, listened to music, and had a good time I couldn’t help but think about this Krista Marks character. Perhaps not 100% sober at this point I placed our meeting at Stephen Talkhouse in the summer of 2007. I wanted to believe I’d met her. Hell, maybe I did.

After we all deemed it essential to passing out in the room before dinner I checked the computer again, and lo and behold, a response from my new friend Krista.

“I forget the name of the bar we met at. Whatever. I think you’d really be great for my friend Ashley. What do you think?”

Well at this point we were Facebook friends because she had accepted my request, so I got to look at her profile. Old Westbury, New York. Puzzling. Not to stereotype, but I didn’t realize they made them tall and blond in that part of Long Island. She seemed sporty. Lots of Lilly Pulitzer. Very pretty friends. What did I have to lose?

I wrote, “Hey. I’m up for a set up. I’m actually going to be back in the city this summer, so I’d be willing to meet your friend Ashley”.

Krista’s response, not five minutes later, “Great. Her name is Ashley York. If she found out I was trying to set her up she’d kill me. She doesn’t like setups but I really think it would be a good match. Just send her a message and don’t mention me. Be cute and funny”.

Me writing back to Krista, “I’ll give it a try, but she has no clue who I am. This is kind of ridiculous. I’m a complete stranger. There’s no way it’s going to work”. But then I went onto Ashley York’s facebook profile and I was actually shocked. This girl was a straight up knockout. She had stunning blue eyes, although I’ve seen MUCH better since, and looked like a model. A little bit hungry looking, which I don’t particularly care for, but hot nonetheless. So I mustered up the courage, and wrote a short but sweet email to Ashley York. It read something like

“Hi Ashley. We haven’t met, but we have a bunch of mutual friends in common. I came across your profile and just thought I’d drop you a note. I’m actually back in the city this summer and thought it might a fun to grab a drink if you were available. I know this is really out of the blue, but it’s always nice to meet some new people. Hope you are enjoying the summer”.

Now, that is me trying to remember what I wrote two years ago. Clearly it wasn’t that, but that’s what I think I would’ve written. Total cheeseball awkwardness. I’m taking a little bit of artistic license here. But you write a note to a total stranger model and tell me what you’d say.

The next day I woke up early and hopped on the computer and was excited to see a note from Ashley York. It read “New York is a lot of fun. Enjoy being back”. Well, not exactly what I was looking for. I wrote back to Krista thanking her for trying to make it happen, but told her that it makes no sense why a complete stranger would want to meet me, and how if she just set us up herself, which I still couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t, then we might have a chance of actually meeting. Later that day Krista got back to me and urged me to try again and be funnier and more charming. I liked this Krista Marks. I didn’t know her, but I liked her. Lots of “LOL” and exclamation points, but her enthusiasm was appreciated. It was nice to have her in my corner trying to make this happen.

Unfortunately though, I was taking off. We’d managed to escape Aruba while not getting arrested or deported. My Aruba vacation and Ashley York will forever be entwined. I was off to a wedding in Toronto though. Krista’s unbridled enthusiasm and Ashley’s apparent surliness would have to wait until after I got back from the wedding.

Next: Making contact, cucumber sandwiches, and the Royal Ascot.

Winding Down

Yeah yeah. It's been a while. I know. The blog gods got me back though. As I was sitting out on a longboard during a surf lesson this weekend I started think about the last time I had blogged. I couldn't remember. It had to have been over 2 weeks ago. The air was crisp, the ocean warm, and I felt like a million bucks. And then all of the sudden I felt like five cents. Nausea slowly began to creep in and with every wave I caught I felt more and more ill. I honestly thought about vomiting right then and there out in the ocean, but then thought better of it because I had visions of grizzled fisherman chumming the waters in search of Great Whites, and if I threw up on myself, I'd basically be chumming myself.

I powered through, catching gnarly 1-2 foot barrels, because after all, with lobster salad at an offensive $60/lb down the street from the beach, the price points for anything out in the Hamptons don't exactly give you the warm fuzzies and I was determined to go until I literally couldn't go anymore. So when I got home the blogging gods made me pay and I gave back to the Earth if you will. I felt better immediately, but the moral of the story is make sure you hydrate and blog, in that order of course.

Now that I've spent several weekends out at the beach I think I've sufficiently lost touch with the pulse of New York. My world really exists from the walk to my office from my apartment and back. Thirteen blocks one way and thirteen blocks back. However, out in front of the little plaza where I work there's certainly some interesting things to be observed. For example, last week I sat next to an elderly man who was wearing a suit and proceeded to take scissors out of his pocket and cut his own hair. I also saw a woman perform an interesting feat of health as she alternated smoking a cigarette she held between her middle and index fingers, with eating a Snickers bar held between her thumb and ring finger on the same hand. People do strange things when it's this hot I suppose.

Maybe it's the heat, but I've decided to wind this thing down over the next couple of months. But before I do, I'm going to leave you with a final story, a true story, about me that I've told a million times in person but have yet to put down in writing. I don't know how many entries it's going to take, but it'll be my opus, if you will. I hope you stick it out with me for it.

Stay cool. It's hot out there.

Card Confusion

The world is a confusing place. You don't need me to tell you this. You can step outside on any given day and see it for yourself. One day you have the President of the United States telling a company domiciled in England how to conduct their giving (or not) of dividends. The next day you can be walking down the street in East Hampton and see a husband and wife pushing an extremely expensive stroller down the sidewalk. What so weird about that? Nothing, except that inside the stroller was a 5 lb. dog. Yes folks, a dog. In a $800 stroller. My monthly rent in Ann Arbor wasn't even $800. By way, I'm quitting finance and going into stroller-making.

There are some things that you know will be confusing. But there are some things that should just be simple and straight-forward...like buying a birthday card. Apparently this is not the case anymore.

My girlfriend of several months celebrated her birthday last week. With the gift found, purchased, and wrapped all I needed was the card and I was set. After work I headed to the card section of my local CVS. Huge selection. Lot's of Hallmark stuff. I was going to go in, pick the card, buy it and go home. Five minutes tops. So I go to the birthday section, and as you well know, the sections are further divided. As I scanned I came across "From the Both of Us". No. "Sister". No. "Religious" is actually a favorite of mine. There's nothing like getting a birthday card signed by your boyfriend and Jesus Christ. I thought that would be funny, although kind of inappropriate, but funny.

What I like in a card is limited wording, or as I call it, "editorializing", because I like writing a lot, surprise surprise. After a few minutes I still hadn't found anything appropriate. I came across a section called "Love". Okay, I thought, I'll see what's here. I grabbed a card and looked at the front, which started "When we're old and gray", and I immediately put it down. If you're trying to scare someone off after a few months this is definitely a good card you choose. So I continued in the "Love" section hoping to find something better. I saw a teal card and grabbed it. It started "I want to sneak away with you". So I'm thinking, all right, we're onto something. Next line read "To a deserted island". Okay, I like deserted islands, go on. "And I know it might be selfish"...okay where are we going with this now..."But our kids are driving me fucking crazy, and walking away from our home and mortgage wouldn't be the worst thing, and seriously, why did we get that pool because I don't think anyone so much as dipped a toe in that thing all summer...". ABORT ABORT ABORT. I dropped the card like a hot coal. Wow Hallmark, talking about keeping it real.

The last thing you want to do is get a card that scares the bejesus out of someone, especially if you've only known that someone for a few months. It's a birthday, not a jail sentence. So many of these cards...so much potential and then one thing just seriously inappropriate. I saw this one card, and on the cover it read "You Rock My World". I thought, finally, something promising. On the inside in bold letters.....

"HERPES"

What the hell was going on here? So it's been like ten, fifteen minutes now. I'm officially the weirdo who can't find a birthday card, and I'll be damned if I'm leaving this store without a card. And that's when it hit me, like a 2x4 across the head, or should I say a mahogany 2x4 across the head. A section literally, and I swear this is for real, called "Mahogany". (Please read the "Cards with Sound" Section of that link.) I opened up the first card and it started, "Ayo Babygirl". First of all, is Hallmark telling me that "Babygirl" can only make it to a Mahogany card. That's a little bit racist Hallmark, is it not. Non-Mahogany people say "babygirl" all the time. In fact, my first full sentence as a child was "Babygirl, can I borrow some suuuuuuugar?"

I had to give this Mahogany section a chance. There was one card I liked. On the front it said, simply, and tastefully.

36-24-36

On the inside, simply, and perhaps a touch less tastefully

Only if you're 5'3"

I passed on it, and then picked up another one. On the front it read "Girl, you are crazy delicious". Nothing wrong with that. On the inside, "Tonight I'm going to drizzle syrup on that badonkadonk and then call up your mama and say 'thank you'". After a few minutes of giggling to myself I gave up on the Mahogany section, but I will say that I like that Hallmark has really made an effort to segment their selection. I hope this actually has translated into more business for them.

At this point though a solid fifteen had gone by. I was on the verge of frustration now. I happened up another section called "Love - New". Again, this is for real. There is a "Love - New" section. Now this seemed promising. The first card I saw...just a picture on the front. Perfect. Simple. On the inside "You put the 'Pill' in 'Morning After Pill". Um, yeah, when they were talking about "Love - New" I didn't realize the emphasis would be on the "New" part, and not the "Love" part.

I found the perfect card though, but it's what you write in the card to express yourself that matters. Next time you go to Hallmark just be prepared. Life has gotten confusing. I'm not sure when it happened, but it happened. Life should be simple and fun and fulfilling. Summer is going to give that to you. Get your fill. Have a great week.

Chillin' With Mr. Hoshizaki

It feels like summer is officially here. At least that's what my lobster red back is telling me right now. New adventures, new bathing suits, new jobs. Yes, new jobs. Today was my first day of school all over again. My third rotation. My third job in ten months. Do you know how hard it is to be the new guy every four months? It's not that hard. It's actually kind of fun. You see, I really only need four months worth of jokes in my repertoire, and then I simply bow, exit stage left, and find a new gig.

This new job finds me across the street from my old one, but sadly 29 floors lower than my old one. I can no longer see New Jersey and Brooklyn and on a clear day Buenos Aires from my window. I see the concrete jungle that is midtown Manhattan. I have a nice big workspace, I'm not too far from the bathroom, and most importantly I have the closest seat to Mr. Hoshizaki. Mr. Hoshizaki is literally the coolest dude on the floor. He's the kind of guy who you always find hanging out in the kitchen just chillin' with the ladies in the morning. And under pressure it's pretty clear that he has ice water in his veins. Oh you don't know Mr. Hoshizaki? The man, the myth, the legend...

The Hoshizaki Ice Maker

Hoshizaki ice makers are the best. I'm not even going to argue this point. I love them. There, I said it. And I sit geographically closest to Mr. Hoshizaki. He is mine. I am never leaving this job. In my last job the ice was questionable. It tasted a bit like catfish and a bit like freon. It tasted like shit, but at least it had a pretty shade of blue. But no longer. Hard, yet chewable, cube-shaped morsels of tasteless goodness will be savored every single day for the next four months...at least. And that's pretty much it. After one day...best...job...ever.

It's a short one today. I think the sun took a lot out of me this weekend. I'll be back later on this week hopefully. Oh, and don't be a hero. Use sunscreen.

Spinning

I'm off to another wedding tomorrow. Pittsburgh here I come. But before I get on that plane I needed to tell you about my maiden spinning voyage last Sunday. Yeah, I went spinning. Like stationary bike riding spinning. In the Hamptons. On a Sunday morning. Bayg.

I wasn't at all hesitant to go but I did wonder how serious a workout I could get in an hour of pedaling...and 4 days later I'm still feeling the answer. First of all, let me just say that the crowd was, I don't know, kind of MILFy. Everyone was good looking and seemed to know one another. Supermom Kelly Ripa was in the class before me, but I missed seeing her because, surprise, I was peeing. Do I have "going problem or a growing problem"? I don't know anymore. First it's Kelly Ripa, then I'll be kayaking with my buddies and I'll have to pull over on the side of the bank to pee. But likely I'd just pee right there in the kayak, you know, because I'm in the water anyway.

But Kelly Ripa or not, I walked into the barn and took my place on my bike. First impression: why is the seat made of barbed wire and bamboo. Like seriously. On a scale from 1 to 10 with 1 being Frette sheets on a pillow top mattress and 10 being this

I think the bike seats were about a 12 or 13. What I quickly learned was a lot of spinning is about controlling your abs and your torso, and apparently not slamming your nether-regions down on the seat every time you go from position 1 to position 2. I learned the hard way. I really still don't feel it so much in my tush, but moreso in my small intestine and ego. Bruises are deep my friends, bruise are deep. I can see how these lithe, skinny little things seemed to be so at ease on the bikes. It was because how hard is it to simulate a climb when you have no body mass to hold up as you climb. Skinny bitches and their damn skinny lattes and skinny jeans.

So that was really the only negative, the lasting scars and possible infertility, but you know, sometimes you gotta sacrifice for a good sweat. I thought the music was great. A lot of it was keeping the beat and if you have any sense of rhythm you can really find a groove. It was kind of like dancing and all the songs were all the club songs I would want to hear if I was out. But there are instructions to, barked out by the instructor who urged the masses, "to make this day the first day of changing your life" and "channel your energy to make a change" and other stuff she learned in The Dalai Lama Comes to New York 101. Was it inspirational? Eh, I don't know. I think I'm a sucker for some of that stuff sometimes. You can't "win" at spinning, but by God I was trying to "win" so I was kind of buying what she was selling. And as a result I was sweating, like a pig, in the kitchen of The Breslin Bar.

Profuse sweating is not what I would call a recessive gene in my family. I was dripping so much that I thought that after the workout instead of wiping down my bike they'd find me in the crowd and tell me that the sweat damage was irreparable and I'd simply have to buy the damn thing. It was like there was a faucet coming out of my chin, and part of it was me, and part of it was because they had 100 people elbow to elbow, forehead to ass, in a barn built for Barbaro and only Barbaro. I hope they hose that place down like they do at the end of the night at Rick's in Ann Arbor.

So how was the workout itself you ask. Well, there certainly was enough eye candy to keep me focused, and the back row is certainly the catbird as far as I'm concerned. The workout was great though. At one point towards the end I felt a little vomititious. It reminded me of basketball camp back in the day. The first drills were always after breakfast, so after you'd loaded up on pancakes and chemically enhanced OJ they took you out on the court and had you do plyometric drills for hours. You didn't even touch a ball in the first few hours. You basically would go on doing kangaroo jumps until the fat kid at the end threw up breakfast and then they'd stop the drills and say, "see, you think you can just come here out of shape? You think this is some kind of joke?" etc etc as they set the tone for the week. It was basically just go go go until vomiting occurred and you just prayed to God it wouldn't be you. Well, with five minutes left in the workout, with my triceps on...

Fi-yah?

Yeah, with my triceps on Fi-yah and my quads barking at me, I thought to myself, what are the chances I'd be the first one to throw up in here? Of course I didn't, but the moral of the story was that I was S.P.E.N.T. Gracias to Bret and Amanda for showing me the light. Spinning really did hurt so good. I can totally see how people get really addicted to it, and how it can tone the shit out of your body if you do it enough and do it correctly.

I will return to icing my rear end though. I need to be able to Harlem Shake my face off this weekend. Enjoy.

Some of this. Some of that. Some of Toohey's New.

In my opinion, this blog is better when I'm crankier, grumpier, and slightly surly. So I've been waiting for those moments in the past weeks in order to turn those feelings into a post…but they never came. Wait, am I complaining that I have nothing to complain about? Yeah, that pretty much sounds right. And since my hours at work have been great, and I've been seeing friends, hanging out, working out, eating well, and learning how to tie a bowtie properly I'm just going to write about all the good stuff and just hope that it's all palatable and not overwhelmingly saccharine.

As for my bowtie, I learned how to tie it in preparation of becoming, for the first time in my life, a groomsman. A quick story before I move onto the incredibly fun and lovely wedding of Kim and Old Greg…the first time I had to do a bowtie by myself in a pressure situation was 2005. I had put on all my tux gear and all I had left was the bowtie. In the approximately 30 minutes it took me to get it right I had sweat through my shirt so hard that it looked like I'd gone to another wedding prior to one I was about to go to. My shoulders burned from holding my arms up for 30 minutes straight and I had fogged up the bathroom mirror and could barely see what I was doing. James Bond be damned if I was going to let that happen again. It didn’t. I've only been to a handful of weddings, and only have been married once myself (it was in Laos, there wasn't much English, I wasn't sure what was happening, my dowry was four goats and a tin drum of rice wine, whatever, it happens sometimes), but I think the following is universal when determining how to make a wedding great: 1) Good band, 2) Good music, 3) Bar next to the dancefloor. It's the triumvirate of awesomeness, and you'd think it wouldn't be that difficult to pull off, but it's not a given, and it this wedding, they nailed it. The wedding was in Columbus, OH and both bride and groom were from the midwest which means one thing…everyone is so damn nice. Like not "cordial" nice, but like "hey, for real, for real, we really like you and we are genuinely happy to share this occasion with you, friend". Let's all raise our glasses and toast true midwestern values. They exist. Anyway, it was great to have a lot of my good friends in one place for an entire weekend. It was by far the classiest we've acted as a group, I think ever. I think part of it was that we had dates and toned it down (slightly) and part of it we were dressed nicely an nobody really wants to clean jagermeister off a white tux shirt. Of course our classiness ended in about 2 hours when we sequestered the videographer and made him film a pretend beer commercial that we made up. Wow, how I miss College Part II. Toohey's New! And again, congrats to the bride and groom who are somewhere in the Pacific living out ABC's Lost for real.

The Old Stag. Toohey's New.

During my trips to the Caribbean it was almost never a question what I was going to eat for dinner…"fish and sauce, and fish and rice and sauce". Last night I took one step closer towards my next Caribbean voyage, a wedding in Turks and Caicos in November. I am in that wedding as well and the groomsmen went to try on the suits we will be wearing for the wedding. On the way to the store I noticed a large number of girls, fashionably dressed (read: most in black tights with long-ish plaid shirt dresses giving off that "I'm not trying-but I am-but I'm not-but I kinda am" look) scurrying around 5th Avenue in the 20s. It seemed like an awfully high concentration for the area, and then I realized the reason after I passed a sample sale. Forget consuming fish and sauce, and fish and rice and sauce, these girls were consuming baygs and baygs, and baygs and baygs and baygs. It was a bag sample sale. It looked like a colony of ants, rifling through leaves (bags), bumping into other ants as they went back and forth sorting, sifting, clawing. It was quite a sight for a Thursday afternoon. I guess walking back from midtown to the 60s with all the other suits and tourists I'm not privy to such NY activities, but I was glad that while millions of gallons of oil pour out from under the Earth, and not several blocks away an entire area was being shut down, these ants kept their eyes on the prize. Nobody has the determination New Yorkers have.

And while I'm talking about New Yorkers and their determination I want to give my pitch for Lebron James to come to NY. You know, because he reads my blog sometimes.

Dear Lebron,

I can't give you much. You can't even stay in my apartment, because you wouldn't fit in my Murphy bed. Sorry. Not even if you slept diagonally. I don't know a ton of girls to introduce you to either, because most either have boyfriends, are engaged, married, or are looking for a Jewish guy. If you are willing to convert though I might be able to help. I can't get you into the clubs. In fact I showed up at Marquee once wearing a full leg cast and was summarily laughed out of line. But what I will tell you is this, in this city you can make ANYTHING happen. Anything. You can sit on a stoop with a fish taco and beer, or you can be the absolute fanciest you can possibly be. This is a city with everything imaginable, tangible, non-tangible, and everything in between. It is the best city in the world and you can be the King of it…and maybe win a couple games too. Come join the party.

Sincerely,

Finger:TheBlog

Ok, I just needed to do my part in the wooing process. Lebron's official announcement is going to be crazy. I'm thinking primetime on every newschannel. I can see it being rivaled by only one event that I can remember in recent memory…The OJ verdict. When OJ was found guilty I couldn't even…wait, what? He wasn't? Are you serious. He was found not guilty? Wow. Are you sure? But he murdered those two people, did he not?

Anyway, my stint in Corporate Treasury will be coming to a close soon. Next stop, the Investment Bank, where people "stop being nice, and start being real". Or was that the Real World? Either way, I fully expect that everything I've been able to do in paragraph one, I'll be doing less of, which means in turn this blog will get better. But until then I'm going soak it up as much as I can, eat sleeves of girl scout cookies in single sittings, and run aimlessly through the streets of this city, preferably with Lebron James. Enjoy the weekend.