Homo Septans

New Slang
I spent part of my last weekend on a beer tour in the city. We visited Yards Brewery, drank free samples, toured the brewery, and crushed $3 grilled cheese. After that, we went to south street and drank 190 Octanes at Fat Tuesdays.
Although I had an awesome time enjoying the city I call home with some of the best friends I could ask for, perhaps the most interesting part was the trip to and from. Like when you're a kid and the best part of any present is the box it comes in. Public transportation always send my mind into a kind of analytic overload. There are few other places where you can just sit and watch people go through the daily routine of their life. Sidewalks and boardwalks are great for people watching, but they can be more like runways. Trolleys, trains, and airplane seats are the places where people lose pretense.
The Septa line we took down exposed us to some of the very best in people watching- the quiet girl who let smile after smile play out lightly over her lips as she read her book, the 16 year old boy with more tattoos squeezed onto his face than I have on my entire body, the horribly un-self aware woman who shoved all 280 lbs into 'Pink' short shorts, the young boy, desperate for attention, and living on a diet of chips and soda. As I sit and watch these people, I can't help but begin to dissect their lives in my mind.  How does a girl have a child that young? How hard is this man working that he has to nap on the ride between job 2 and 3? Who's more dangerous- the older man with the look in his eye, or the tall black kid with cut off dickies and converse sneakers?
This environment seems to provide a sliding door of anonymity. Every few blocks, you're a stranger all over again. No one wants to look, no one wants to know, no one wants to get too close. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.  Get on, get off, get on with your life.
The ride home wasn't without entertainment either. None of us had exact change, and the attendant got so fed up watching us try to figure it out, he just let us on for whatever amount we had. Ant, Bub, and Brian started singing Lion King songs in doo wop, and I got to pull the chain with the bell on it to let the trolley operator know we were ready to get off. Three times.

Avada Kedavra

I can't think of any music to put with this.

I spent this morning watching the 7th film of the Harry Potter franchise: the Deathly Hallows part 1, and my afternoon in the theater watching the 8th and final film.

I didn't care for the first couple films in this series, but I've heard such positive reviews of the most recent couple that I decided to give it a shot.

I read the series at least twice, and because I connected so deeply with the books, I became frustrated with the visualization of these stories. How dare they do that to my characters, my landscape, my imagery? I supposed I should have expected this, because I've only seen a few films that lived up to the book - LOTR, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Of Mice and Men.

As I sat in the cold, dark theater with a whole row to myself, I couldn't help but marvel at the scope and intricacy of such a wonderful story line. I thought back to grade school English classes in which we would plot out story lines, characters, antiheroes and denouements. In school, we would use notebooks and chalkboards. I can't imagine how J.K. plotted and kept track of such an intricate storyline.

As the flashes of wand fights flared across the screen, I imagined these as story arcs and events. One green flash aims high, and continues off screen. A red flash combines with a green one, and veers off into a column, taking out statues and lives. Orbs fly and circle, forwards and back, up and down.

Like neurons firing in the brilliant mind of Ms. Rowling, these lights dance across the screen to form beauty and destruction. Eros and Thanatos.

So how do you graph out a story as spanning and twisting as the Harry Potter series? I don't think you do. I think that the only way this story was ever fully realized was not on a chalkboard, but in the mind of J.K. (before the story was written, she told Alan Rickman about his past with Lilly and his pact with Dumbledore). Each character like a neuron, and each story arc like a synapse. Because some things are much too beautiful and complicated to be confined to something as worldly as a chalkboard or notepad.

As I left the theater, and walked into the offensive sunlight, I was overcome with the same feeling I was upon completing the books. Loss.

Rowling had the ability to not only tell a remarkable story, but to couple it with remarkable characters. Part of being human, I think, is to project our thoughts and feelings onto things that may not be capable of thoughts or feelings- think feeling sorry for the last stuffed bear at a carnival. The one that no one is taking home. This bear has no feelings, but we feel for it.

I think this overabundance of empathy is one of the greatest things about being human. We have so much empathy, that we can spare some for something as silly as a stuffed animal.

Similarly, the characters in HP are not really people. They're a figment of J.K.'s imagination. They're a literary device, and nothing more- a vehicle for a story.

But still, we; the audience, connect with these characters as if they're part of us. We associate with their feelings, and troubles, and excitement. Perhaps we're just desperate for connection of any kind.

I remember, as a child, thinking that I would meet these characters in Heaven. That we would finally meet as old friends, and pick up right where we left off- at the end of their story. Our story. Because we took that journey together.

Give me liberty, or give me freedom.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4WFfmE73Sw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8a4iiOnzsc
The 4th has fizzled out, like so many fireworks in the night sky. This year was different than most of my Independence days' past. Because of a variety of reasons, I spent much of this weekend alone- either hiking through the woods with my girls, or sitting by the pool, drink in hand, finding new music and thinking.
This was a departure from most of our past 4ths.
There was the year I met Andrew Patrick. We split a fifth of Bacardi in the back of Adam's car on the way to go see fireworks at Scum Valley. Then we came home and emptied half the pool having a cannonball contest.
There was the year I spent the weekend sleeping in a closet down the shore. At night, I would slug Captain and Gatorade fruit punch- then throw it all up before going to sleep.
There was the year David got severe burns on his stomach when he caught a Roman candle ball during a Roman candle fight- that was the year we got to trash talk 'the bastard' because Sha Sha had found out he'd been cheating.
There were the years we spent here, with a few hundred dollars worth of illegal fireworks. Drinking beers and trying to get a lit firecracker out from between your fingers before the fuse burned out. Shooting bottle rockets into glass bottles and Roman candle wars. Chicken fights and Two Sticks.
This year was good for me though. There wasn't the hooplah from years past, but it was freeing.
For me, freedom doesn't need to be barbecues and fireworks and chasing girls on the boardwalk.
This year, freedom was a 2 hour hike through the woods with the dogs, and reading by the pool until the fireflies came out.
Sometimes, freedom is just spending time by yourself.

Lucky Sperm Club

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLlYQQrHmh8
I've been under a lot of stress as of late because of the amount of work I need to get done.  My tenuous grasp on concepts like time and dates, coupled with my desire to please all of my customers led me to double booking this week with projects.
Shortly after waking from a whiskey saturated, stress laden slumber, I got a call from one of my customers asking to be pushed back a week. Once again, I have this insurmountable feeling that someone is looking out for me. In truth, I've always felt this way. There are too many clear examples in my life of situations that could have gone horribly wrong, but somehow turned out just fine.
In grade school, I remember walking away from friends just before they made decisions that would live with them forever. In high school, I survived hundreds of hours traveling highway speeds on windy, hilly, 35mph roads. In college, I was lucky enough to go out on a limb and connect with some guys who are now my best friends. In grad school, I was lucky enough to be paired with a professor who cared in a program that would push me to pursue something I've always aspired to.
As I look back on my life, I can't help but feel blessed. I'm so unbelievably fortunate that I have the opportunity to pursue these goals, because I've had so many unbelievable people backing me up. I wouldn't have been able to start the business I'm building without the charity of a few generations of grandparents. I got a shit-you-only hear-about-in-movies check for $1,000 from a distant Aunt, and then hundreds more from Aunts and Uncles in graduation money. Pretty good timing for a guy who just lost a $1,500/mo stipend. I don't know anyone else that has been given an opportunity like this.
How often have deadlines been extended, opportunities arisen, solutions been presented, crises averted? How often have I looked failure in the eye, only to come out unscathed on the other side?
So, am I just part of the Lucky Sperm Club- the guy that gets all the breaks? Or is there someone out there working overtime to help bail me out of all my stupid decisions, and make sure that I've got a life to be envious of? How lucky am I.
Whatever the case, I'm just so thankful. And I really really hope I deserve it all.

Dear Summer

Tonight. The Media Five Miler. One of my favorite nights of the summer; and more than an actual date, for me, it marks the start of summer.
The night invariably starts off at Fat Ted's house on 3rd Street in media. Whether I'm drinking Irish whiskey out of an iced coffee cup from Dunkin Donuts, or coming late to the party because I was finishing up a tattoo session, there is truly no better way to begin the evening than by getting drunk and cheering on Fat Ted as he and several hundred others runs past his home.
As the race winds down, your best bet is to make your way to the finish line in front of Joclyn's and muscle your way to the bar for whatever is on special. The hours from 8-12 are pretty much amateur hour, so you're better off avoiding the crowds and drunks by continuing the pre-game back at Ted's house.
There, we start a fire pit and play Bag-O until around midnight when the town is ours again. There are still more transplants there than usual, but at least by this point they've had enough to drink that they're not bothering anybody but themselves.
For me, this night marks the start of summer. Flip flops, tank tops, aviator shades, day drinking, and the smell of sunscreen. This night is such a clear marker for me that I can recall more details and memories from this night than I can from virtually any other night of the summer- Jameson mixed with the last bit of iced coffee, the cake with a picture of Fat Ted pole vaulting in a speed suit, Mr. Heron pointing out where his neighbor gets changed in front of the window, putting a pair of 60lb cellar doors (most 
beautiful phrase in the English language) through the sidewalk in front of Media Theater because I was hopping on each one we passed.
So tonight is the start. I'll drive to Ted's around 6 with my family and friends, and my freshly splinted nose. We'll guzzle beers as we cheer on "Fat" Ted, the only one amongst us who actually competes. We'll lock down a corner of the bar in Joclyn's and defend it with our lives, because this is our turf, and we're not going to wait in line for a beer like a bunch of noobs.
Let's get it.

Those who do not learn from history are... I'll just Google the rest.

I've watched a couple documentaries over the past couple days Gonzo, When we were Kings, and You can't be neutral on a moving train.  All of these films expressed, in one way or another, the importance of history and the effect that politics and world events had on the subject of these films.  Howard Zinn talked about riots being broken up by police, and uniting young dock workers; Hunter S. Thompson talked about how deeply the McGovern scandal and the Chicago riots affected him; and people today can still recall things from Ali's fights- like the phantom punch, and what it meant for them when he beat George Foreman; I know people who can remember the years of album releases and what each album did for music, and what year a movie was released and the exact theater they saw it in.
I feel like today news only exists long enough to be the punchline of a clever facebook status, or a bit for pundits like Stewart and Colbert or morning talk shows. Our generation seems to be almost totally clueless about the world that surrounds us. We don't know if we're at war, or how many wars we're fighting. We don't know who the potential candidates are for 2012 (except for Trump, because that was funny). History for us is events like the ban of Four Loko and the release of the iPhone 5.
Perhaps more troubling than our oblivion, is our complete lack of knowledge of the past. As Zinn stated; without history, we have nothing to compare things to- folks in charge can tell us whatever they like, and if we can't look for similar examples we'll just have to accept it blindly.
I can't tell you what the riots in Egypt were about, and I'm not entirely sure of the reason for the switch from Iraq to Afghanistan, I'm an avid follower of UFC fights (and I while I can tell you the result of MANY of the more prominent fights) I can rarely tell you the exact combination that ended it.
Whereas people from previous generations talk with excitement and detail about where they were, how they felt, and what was said by whom; people from my generation seem to talk in generalizations and with uncertainty.
Perhaps we've grown numb, and world events no longer seem like world events. Perhaps we're living in a slow time and important/life changing events aren't as commonplace as they were 50 years ago, perhaps things just don't seem that big and important when you're in the middle of them (I always think of Dazed and Confused and how one of the characters states that 'the 50s and 60s were cool, but the 70s are lame).
What I really think is that everything is just too accessible now. Why bother remembering dates and events and numbers and circumstances when we can just Google it? Many of us have smartPhones, and those of us that don't have a laptop at home. I don't need to know the combination that Silva threw to knock out Jackson, and I don't need to remember who ran against Bush in his first term, I don't need to remember when Metallica released their last album; because I can research all of it in a matter of moments and then forget it again just as quickly.
I'm not sure that technology is making us stupid, but I do think that we're living in epochs. We type in less than 140 characters, and we fast forward through commercials, we're only interested in a story or celebrity until the next exciting thing comes around. We have gadgets at our fingertips and can find a way to distract ourselves from even the simplest of things (I now use my time in the bathroom to catch up on words with friends).
The part that scares me is that one day I'll look back and say 'I missed ALL of that?'
Maybe I'll just enjoy every sandwich.
Zevon
Zevon2
Enjoy every sandwich

I'm not a business man. I'm a business, man.

So. I've done more than half a dozen projects, and I've made more than half a dozen thousands.  I haven't seen any of this money yet, but I'm at least breaking even.
It's slow right now, but I'm sure I'll wish for this type of leisure time in a few months.  Anyways, it's given me time to catch up on the book keeping, tidy up loose ends, address issues with previous jobs, and worry about how much money I'm not making.
I'm also learning a lot about what it means to be a small business owner. I always thought it was super cool when people said things like "I don't pay for gas", or "that's a write off". I can say that too I suppose, but the fact it that I really do. Sure, the money might be coming out of the business account, but I'm the one filling up that account. And guess what? If I don't do a good enough job filling up that account, nobody is paying for gas- and that's a big problem. As a friend said, " you don't eat unless the business eats".
I am wholly accountable. I've never been a detail person, and I'm always put off when I come across people that are. 'Yeah, I guess I see what you're talking about, but why are you looking for it?' The fact is that people are paying good money for my services, and they expect perfection. I think perfection is a little steep for something a fraction of the price of my competitors- but I should still be getting close. So I now know that owning your own business means dropping whatever you're doing to go address a potential issue, it means that it's always easier (and cheaper) to do it right the first time, and that bad news can travel halfway around the world while good news is still putting on it's shoes.
So. I'm taking stock and analyzing and adapting and trying to do the best job I can on every project I touch. From start to finish.