Where Were You...?

I was at home recovering from days of little to no sleep after that epic 2004 American League Championship Series. I remember purchasing a 12 pack of Sam Adams Oktoberfest and taking out my Red Sox baseball cards out of dusty shoe boxes, as a kind of exorcism ploy, and strategically positioning them around the living room. My youngest wasn’t born yet; he was probably stirring in my wife’s belly wondering what the hell was going on. Alex was 9 months, sitting on a swing, bewildered by my crazed actions, which included in no particular order, praying on my knees, sobbin' at random times, stomping on the floor and sprinting. When the final out was recorded, I was delirious. Crying, laughing, spilling beer and going out of my mind, as my favorite team on Earth had done the impossible. They were World Champions.

I celebrated at home with my wife and kids; I celebrated with my brother, parents and friends via multiple cell phones and communication contraptions. I also celebrated with the millions out in the streets of Boston, at the bars and at their own homes, because we all felt the same emotion. Joy. Boundless and effervescent. Unbridled excitement, as we stood there shaking our heads and telling ourselves over and over, did this just really happen...who's fucking with me?. I drank beer and shed tears. I hugged my wife and kids and jumped up and down. The sentiment was the same across the phone lines, down in Florida and up in New Hampshire. The boyhood dream had come true...at last. How many times did I replay that scene over and over in my head, as the final out was recorded? We came back from the depths of hell and clawed our way out all the way to redemption. Redemption in the eyes of all that are faithful, whose parents and grandparents displayed the same love for the Olde Towne Team. Unforgettable. I thank God that I was alive, to see the ALCS play out in its entirety. Every pitch, every inning, all the way into the Series finale.

The moment may never be duplicated, given how they got there, but it will certainly be relived from generation to generation as the question is posed; where were you when the Red Sox won the championship in 2004? Where were you when the hearts of millions across the globe beat out of pure joy and excitement, for a simple backyard game of stick and ball? For the love of the game and all that is wonderful in life. Family, friends, beer and baseball...

Summah in New England

There's a vitality that summer offers, unlike anything else. It isn't just the sunny skies and the heat; it's something else altogether. The X factor in this case, is the "sense of urgency". Here in New England, summers are short, and usually rainy, kind of like in 2009, when there was no summer. It was the year summer was snuffed out entirely. Winter gave way to spring and spring gave way to fall... what the hell is wrong with that picture..?? Yes, summer here is like a drug, you need it, and you want it as long as possible. So we make our treks to Browns for lobster and steamers, or to the Cape, or up the New Hampshire coast for beaches and fried dough. The alarming thing about it is that almost tangible sense of urgency that arises, especially now, around late July, knowing full well that once August hits, the countdown begins.

I'm beginning to feel that the fall is near...that my fried dough will be snatched up. That there will be less sunshine, more darkness... With that said, I'm going outside to catch some sun and drink a margarita or two..

Jukebox Years (Intro)

I’m not sure how it all began, but it seems as if it was decades ago when I stumbled upon the streets of Boston like fire raining down from the heavens. Those days are long gone, but hot damn they were inspiring times! Despite the chaos that September 11 left, I reveled in its aftermath; thinking that at any point a missile would land at my doorstep and wipe me and the rest of us to Kingdom Come. Those were dark times, when decadence and fear ruled. The only cure was to drink as much alcohol as possible, and hope that the end came swiftly, amidst the writing on the wall.

It was February 2001 and I needed to get the hell out of Dodge; in this case Dodge was a company called Stonewall Investments. I was 25 years old and going nowhere fast; stuck in a thankless glorified operator job with a bunch of deadbeats and unfulfilled souls. I desperately needed change. Recently married and looking towards the future, I began to sift through the Internet for work. My buddy Steven was also at the end of his rope as we shared a common pessimism about our worthless jobs. We both struck quickly. Steven had contacted a recruiter in Boston, and within two weeks he had landed a job in the city at a small financial firm. He selflessly gave me the recruiter’s number, knowing full well that I was about to unleash mayhem at Stonewall unless I found something else quickly. The end had already begun.

I became a malcontent, doing less than the bare minimum, being a regular pain in the ass, belligerent and completely unruly. I even walked uninvited to my manager’s office and openly mocked him about how incredibly important I thought my job and his job was. It was time for a fresh start. I called the recruiter and quickly landed an interview with him. I remember him as a redheaded man in his late twenties; probably someone who once had a dream, but had now settled for a stool job at an empty desk; a desperate ending that I did not want any part of. I recall his office looking more like a jail cell with him playing the part of a helpless inmate. In a matter of two weeks I scored three interviews with three different companies, until the big one bit.

It was a mid-size financial firm in Boston called Standard Investments. My interview with the hiring manager was an awkward experience where I rambled about my so-called analytical background in marine biology, and he stared at me with that deer-in-the-headlights looked reserved for the dumbest of beasts; but he hired me. Unknowingly, I had walked into a bear trap of sorts. A psychopath was going to be my boss; a simpleton at that. One of those guys they usually find strapped to a chair with a baseball bat up his ass. The type the neighbors usually recall “pissing in the middle of the street” or “the one with the crazy look in his eyes, ready to stomp at any time”. I was in for a ride. It was March of 2001; year one of the Jukebox years...

Paris

Paris...

It speaks to me through dreams, though stars. My muse, my never ending love for you is as clear as a night sky in July. How I love thee...yet the question beckons...why? Though I've never seen you with my own eyes, I've watched you from afar, through pictures and conversation with individuals that have felt your presence. I've tasted you on occassion, when the time is just right. Your voice reverberates in my head like a forlorn love song. What a love story we share huh? How I love the way you walk, red lipstick and velvet skirt; your lips inviting, subtle of course, as nothing you do is ever forced. It is the eyes of you that strike me best; light-filled eyes, full of passion and romance.

I know you are upset...I know I've let you down. No visits or roses, just plans and empty promises. Daydreams and nights longing, for your touch, forever mourning. Inexplicable forces have kept us apart, yet we hope that someday we'll see each other eye to eye. I'd like to tell you I'll bring roses, but that would be undeserving of you. You, who the world admires and loves, deserves so much more... Perhaps a kiss and a bon jour mademoiselle would be enough; to have you in my arms and softly tell you je t'aime ma cherie...because I've always loved you...and I always will.

When the Wind Was Fierce and Desperate

In times when the fire is hot and burning, it is when you expose your soul to the world; when you soothingly float in the night air inhaling its exquisite perfume. At the end of the world where stars meet unwillingly, silently weaving their illusions and desires - that's where you belong. Carelessly bathing you in moonlight under a starless sky. Never again will the elements meet like the did back then; when the wind was fierce and desperate, isolated from everything. Where the only sound you could hear was your own beating heart, faintly, in the distance, as if gasping for air, for life. Exciting and bewildering desires that kept you young and vital; these are tonight's thoughts. While the rest of the world sleeps and the music wields its sword into darkness; lasting forever.

Color Green

I have realized that I enjoy beer in green colored bottles. I feel like I'm drinking something special and distinct. It reminds me of absinthe and emeralds and Miles Davis. Green fascinates me. It is my favorite color because it oozes serenity and vigor; clarity in nature. The Green Lantern comes to mind and so does Kermit the Frog. That old green-hornet looking automobile I see in the mornings on my way to work with the for sale sign; it reminds me of it as well. Rain forests and grass fields as far as the eye can see. It works wonders and allows me to engage my senses; to make certain feelings tangible. I recall The Matrix and its green motif - it's in almost every scene, inescapable. Green, lush, intense, serene, tangible, engaging. The green bottle allowing its contents to take on magical properties, as it rushes down my throat. The alcohol in the bloodstream making me smile, as I think of the color green. Emerald green, luscious green. The night is at its end, yet green persists, in dreams and sensations.

Grape Crushing in the New World

Some kind of world we live in eh? We live our lives and don't stop to blink; to embrace the air and make it our own. Sadness creeps in and removes your soul and you surrender, to the emptiness, without flinching. What will it take to awaken the soul and resurrect the passion? What grandiose plans await us who stand by, idle, waiting for the tide to come in? Inevitably, it comes for us all; that tidal wave of emotion and restriction - that God-awful restrain that harps on the negativity and salivates at our despair. Maybe we sit back and clap once in a while, to our own demise, to our own retreat. Well fuck that.

In plain English, it takes balls, to stand up and do what we do. These times are the real-deal, and there is no fucking around that won't go unnoticed or unpunished. Whether it is at work, or in a relationship, the guys in the black suits await. One step in the wrong direction, one wink, one whisper, and you are but a flash in the pan, nothing more; a cockroach waiting to get squashed by the size 22 boot of life. And you want to know why this is the current state of affairs? Because we let it be so. We forgot we had balls, and stored them in our asshole, out of sight, out of mind. No wonder we walk funny.

The spirit of relentlessness and adventure await us all, and it is in out best interest to take a sword in one hand and a cigar on the other and march forward. Live how you want to live, shit with all of these diseases going around, natural disasters and wars, might as well strike while the iron is hot. I take it my view is an anti-fatalistic one, but it is what it is. Look, we don't have the luxury of sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, waiting for the race to end. So it rains every weekend and the wine store across the street is closed. Find your way around it; make your own fucking wine, crush your own fucking grapes. Gravitate towards constructive thoughts and listen to good vibes. These will heal your soul and help get your ass off the chair.

While I write that last sentence, I realize that my ass is on a chair; a very small chair which is quote uncomfortable. And I realize two things - I'm out of wine and I need a real chair. The buzz is gone and my ass is incredibly sore. At least Bill Evans continues to play in the background, and I find myself smiling at 2:36am on this 29th of August, 2009. Good vibes my friends, good vibes.