They say good news travels fast. But truly, since the advent of Myspace and email, sad news travels even faster. It’s inevitable, and quite frankly, it sucks– like, sucks to the point where my heart stops in a very Pavlovian way every time my caller id reads an unexpected 757 phone number.

Jeff got an email and call from a childhood friend today. The friend wasn’t calling to ask us when we were leaving to come home to Va. Beach, but instead, the friend was calling to let us know that someone we knew and cared for had passed away. Receiving calls like that is never easy. In fact, calls like those make me question mortality and day-to-day decisions. It’s hard to grasp any loss, but when the loss is inflicted by senseless, irreverent assholes, it makes me angry. So angry my heart hurts.

We lost a friend yesterday as a result of a hit and run down at the Beach. Michael W. Taylor—Mikey–left Harpoon’s on Saturday night. He crossed Pacific and 24th, and from what I’ve read and what we were told, he stopped in the median and was then hit by a silver sportscar. The driver fled the scene. Mikey suffered massive head injuries.

We were told that he was taken off of life support yesterday afternoon. We have yet to get all the details about this accident, but it has been confirmed that Mikey Taylor’s accident was, indeed, a hit and run. As of today, they have not found any further information on the driver, other than that the car, probably a Mazda sportscar, suffered significant front end damage. This traumatic accident unexpectedly took the life of a friend, at a time often associated with happiness and celebration. And so, if anyone has any information, or by any chance, was near/at/ or knows anyone one who was at Harpoon’s or the site of the accident that night, please let me know. Or contact the authorities. Any details, information of any kind, would be a tremendous help.

_____

Michael Taylor—Mikey— was soft spoken, but friendly enough to make small conversation. Jeff and I, separately, were both friends with Mikey before we ever became a couple. Apparently, I was the only person still calling Mike, “Mikey.” Jeff and Mikey grew up in the same neighborhood. I’m assuming they rode their bikes, ate snails, and had makeshift WWF matches or whatever boys did. Me, I was fortunate to meet Mikey in summer school. I was one of those nerds that went to school in summer “to get ahead.”

Mikey, an effervescent spirit was asked to attend summer classes. He made me (and everyone) in class laugh all summer long. He echoed Jeff Spicoli, but a much cuter and smarter version. Much cuter. Since Va. Beach *really* is a small town, we all knew the same circle of friends– everyone knows someone that knows someone. It’s old friends like Mikey that make home so great.

Quite honestly, since school, Jeff and I probably only saw Mikey out at the bars. We never really hung out, but we did consider him a friend. Since it was always the same faces at many of the local bars back home, you could always count on seeing a friend wherever you went.
When we went home for Christmas last year, Jeff and I ran into Mikey at our old watering hole, not too far from our jr. high school. Mikey, having been at the bar several hours before us, shared his new found philosophies, revealing that life is too short and that he was a self-described “simple dude.” Mikey insisted that moving to Costa Rica was his ultimate plan; and that fishing and surfing made sense to him. Why not move somewhere that he loved and do the things he enjoyed for the rest of his life. Simplicity and the things he loved defined his happiness. Despite the various obstacles in his life, he figured it out– he knew what he wanted to do. It was a matter of getting there.

This chance meeting with Mikey came at a time when Jeff and I were questioning our lives—where do we want to be? What do we want to do? Is work defining who we are? We’ve yet to answer our own questions, but in those few hours with Mikey at the bar, an old friend reminded us about the simplicity of life and reverence of the ultimate goal. We really took to heart what Mikey said to us that night. Our little reunion with this old friend spoke volumes to us.
It’s people like Mikey—the people that understand the gift of life and can easily put things into perspective—reaffirms the ultimate goal in life: creating a life filled with contentment and happiness.

Stay safe this holiday season, guys. And please, if you have any information, please forward it along.

I shared this with a few friends already, but I thought I’d share it here too. ‘Tis the season, ya’ll.

A few weeks ago, while Jeff and I were walking through our neighborhood, we noticed this teenager getting on his bike. Something black fell out of his pocket. Since we were a half block away, we couldn’t really tell what it was. When we got to where he was, we noticed he dropped his phone. The kid was long gone, but we picked it up and tried to find a contact number within this Sidekick. We stood at the the corner of the block, trying to figure out what to do with the phone. A minute later, the kid rounds the corner freaking out about his phone. Jeff asked the kid if he lost something. The kid was practically in tears and said yeah and described the phone. So, we handed him his phone. He thanked us and we went on our merry way. though it was a nice phone and were amazed that this kid had a phone worth more than both of ours put together, we still felt good about our deed.

Fast forward to last week. I was half asleep throughout my entire commute. I just could not keep my eyes open. When I got out of the PATH, I went to Duane Reade to grab some cash. I stuck the $20 in my coat pocket since I knew I’d be using it in a few minutes. I walked my 4-5 block walk to the office. In the park, I think I stuck my hand in my coat pocket to make sure my $20 was still there. I must have pulled it out unknowingly and dropped it– in the middle of Madison Square Park amidst bums, rowdy teenagers and many suits commuting to work like me.

Anyway, this very nicely dressed gentleman came running up to me with my $20 in his hand. Since I had my iPod blaring and was totally oblivious to what was going on, he just handed me my money and told me I dropped it. I was completely shocked. I really couldn’t believe someone was kind enough to give me back my $20, especially when I had no idea I dropped it!

So, that’s my Karma story. What goes around always comes around!

Surprisingly, I’ve been very productive at work, thus impeding on my daytime internet/blogosphere usage. I haven’t updated my different blogs in several weeks/months, and like a crackhead, I’m fiending– bad.

So, here I am. Since I last wrote, I came back from a hectic trip home to Va. A few days later, I left for the Crescent City. I’ve been anticipating this worktrip all year, mainly because I was curious to see New Orleans for myself.
I’ve read in many different places that the touristy areas, specifically, the French Quarter, weren’t as affected as the other areas that were literally decimated by flooding.
I always sit in the window seat for reasons such as this–as my plane landed, I couldn’t help but peer out my tiny circular window. The views from the plane perfectly reflected the solemn magazines spreads depicting the area’s despair.

It was hard not to notice that every single house had a trailer out front. But even more noticeable, it looked like most of these homes had barely been touched, even though the waters receded well over a year ago.

On my way to my work event, we passed the Superdome. It was the first main landmark, and physical reminder of how much this city has changed.

My work event was held at the huge convention center in New Orleans, right by the French Quarter. This is the same exact convention center that served as shelter for hundreds and thousands of Katrina victims last year. It was the same exact Convention center where different media outlets reported multiple deaths among all of the Katrina victims.

That day and a world away, the convention center housed my work event, featuring thousands of company executives marketing themselves and their multimillion dollar ideas. What was just a temporary refuge for the poorest of poor last year, was now a badly lit, poorly carpeted, overbudgeted platform for really rich companies. Commercialism is fun.
What’s really funny is when I turn heads when I walk down my little aisle to my company’s booth. Since 95% of these exectutives are old white hairs, they usually don’t know what to think of me, the ethnic girl in a suit.
Nevertheless, my work trip was extremely productive. When the sun goes down, the function gets even more productive. This is an event where many companies schmooze with the best of them. My friend and I attended a work “event” hosted by a well known company. the open bar, food and beads were a great way to network with other people in the industry.
After several beers or so, things got even more interesting out on the balcony that overlooked Bourbon Street.

If you’ve ever wondered what traveling salesmen do on their nights off, those questions would’ve been answered right there. ( vivid proof for my friends on Flickr. read: boobs) Standing on this balcony with 100 or so men old enough to be my dad, I hooted and hollered with the best of them, pointing out the “cute” girls and chucking beads at the “trampy” ones. haha. You’ve never seen the French Quarter until you go there for this work funtion.

Craziness always ensues when you get several thousand middle-aged men together in New Orleans.

To end my evening, my friend and I retreated to our hotel lobby and enjoyed some nightcaps before another hectic workday. To the sounds of the extremely talented piano bar singer, I was reminded how much I love New Orleans and how rich it is in musical wealth. Some things will never change.

by the way, that isn’t my tree. That was in the Hotel lobby. It took everything I had to not jump on it a la Jack Bauer.

**8

On my way back to NJ, I had a layover in good ol’ NC. Much to my demise, I ended up getting stranded in Charlotte, NC during my layover. NIGHTMARE. I have never felt so miserable while traveling–ever. My flight was canceled due to extremely high winds in NJ. And THEN, they lost my damn bags. Oh the horror.

I stayed at the shittiest hotel in all of NC. Conveniently, it was situated next to the town’s Gentleman’s club. To provide an even better picture, I decided to have a drink before bed so I slipped into the hotel bar that happened to be pumping fine tunes from the early 90s. I ordered my usual– a miller light and a SoCo and lime. The bartender came back to me 3 times to re-ask what I wanted. Finally, she comes back with a Michelob and a rocks glass filled with SoCo on the rocks topped with a lot of Lime Juice.

Toto, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore.

The next morning, on my 2nd attempt to fly home from Charlotte, I met this kind little old man at the airport bar. He could hardly walk, he had a hearing aid in his right ear, yet he was drinking alongside of me at 10am. Instead of being frustrated like me, this 70-something old man was anxious to go and see his daughter in CA. Me, I was beyond anxious to get the hell out of effin rockin’ NC. The little old man couldn’t resist making conversation. Perhaps, he could sense that I was pissed off that I had to sleep in my clothes on a rickety ass bed. Perhaps, he could sense that maybe, conversation could take my mind off of how arduous my trip home had become.

He talked to me about his daughter and her gay friends who all work in Hollywood. he told me about how he was born and bred in Brooklyn with just a grammar school education– a fact that he could not help but repeat 75 times or so. If anything, the old man was so proud that he came from practically nothing, straight out of Brooklyn and became a multi-millionaire. The old man, staring at my disorganized pile of receipts for my expense report, asked if he could buy me another Bloody Mary. though I declined, he insisted anyway. Afterall, he assured me that he probably had more money than me. There’s no doubt about that one. And so, he continued to talk and I contently sipped my delicious Bloody Mary until it was time to board my flight. (graciously reassigned to First Class– just me and my tired, no makeup, lost luggage ass next to the real first class travelers.)

The conversation was nice, but really, I know the old dude just wanted a sounding board. Hey, I’m a great sounding board if drinks are involved.

Though the trip itself was productive, I truly wish my trip home would’ve been a lot easier. Despite losing my luggage, meeting the most bizarre people at the airport bars and having to spend the night away from my husband and my very comfortable bed, I was safe and out of harm’s way.

Truthfully, it wasn’t all that bad. Actually, my trip shed a lot of light. And I made it home in one piece.

The views of the Chesapeake Bay (from First Class!)

I want to preface my rants by say, I’m grateful for so much in life.

But for the first time in a long time, I can happily say, I’m very thankful to be home– in N.J.

While we had a fun-filled trip home to the Commonwealth, we were greeted by much drama, ferocity and yup, stress. I’m  talking about the Nor’Easter that whipped across the mid-atlantic while we were driving, just to clarify. But yes, as I predicted, there’s never enough time to see everyone, do everything we want or stay within a reasonable budget.

However, we did see a lot of my nutty family. We cooked, we ate, we laughed, watched way too much of the Filipino Channel (my parents insist on translating every.flipping.show for Jeff) and had an awesome time. We had the chance to see almost all of my inlaws. We played an intense game of Mr. Mouth, as well as dining at one of the finest establishments that Chesapeake has to offer. And of course, we saw a ton of friends. and Joe Millionaire. Jeff drank way too much in such a short time (surprised?) and our cool nephew showed him what happens to the crazy drunken uncle. classic.

What a fun, memorable but exhausting extended holiday weekend. By the end of our trip, when I was explaining something to my lovely parents for the billionth time, Jeff said he saw another vein pop out of my neck, despite my forced cursory tone.

He’s a smart man, he knows when to run for cover.

But seriously, I’m we’re very lucky and so very thankful to be loved by so many people back home. It’s good to visit our  other home, but it’s even better to come back to this home.

And here’s a pictoral synopsis of our trip back to Va.

At this point my parents had been blowing my phone up for the past 100 miles. sweet.  I felt like the winds were going to swoop up our top heavy car and the waves were going to swallow us up. We probably should’ve listened to dad and avoided this 17-mile crapshoot.

VB goes higher and higher every time we come home. I believe this is the Westin that’s under construction on the Blvd. in the Town Center.

Boys will be boys.  They must’ve played for days:::This was one of my most favorite and memorable thanksgivings. For the first time in 10 or so years, I was able to help mom cook in the kitchen. It’s the little things that make me so thankful.

in line at toys r us at 3am on Black Friday.    In NYC, they say “on line;”  In va, we say IN line

this cow was giving out coupons for breakfast

yeah. we shop a lot.

don’t you see the psuedo celeb all the way back there?

Bffs and  just a drunk guy and Kris (in Kelly’s coat?)

yeah. BFFs 4-eva.
me, Kel, Jeff and Kris

classic.

and my fave:

favorite quotes heard during our pensive and very competitive game of Mr. Mouth.

I don’t think I laughed this hard in a LONG time.

“I got one in!” “I got another one in!” “Yeah, 3 in a row!”– Michael.
“Shut up Michael, you’re being annoying.” “I’m the Champion!!!”–Grandma
“Michael, you’re in my firing range– move!!” “Aunt Jen, you suck at this.”–uncle Jeff
“Aunt Jen, have you ever played a game like this? It doesn’t seem like it.” –Michael
“um. I’m no good at this. Unless there’s beer and ping-pong balls involved, I’m obviously useless.” –Aunt Jen

____

Ok, now that I’m home.  I’m leaving on a jet plane tomorrow for Nola for work.  Should be a very interesting trip.   Updates later.

I noticed this royal blue tarp hanging over the side of the 23rd and 6th Best Buy in the city since Monday, maybe Tuesday.  I knew there’s been all this buzz this week for the latest PS3 and Wii, but I never realized that these consoles would garner a line this far in advance.

It actually stormed its ass off last night.  The winds were howling and the rain was pouring throughout the night.  Crazy enough, many people, not only in NYC, but across our electronics-obsessed land, waited outside of electronics stores just for a chance at these gaming systems.
Some people set up shop for days with tents, sleeping bags and layers of clothes.  I guess the line at my local Best Buy was kept under control on the city sidewalk with the police barricade and giant blue tarp.  When did this camping on the street thing become socially and culturally acceptable that NYPD is supplying barricades. All this waiting and shelling $500 out for a “flawed” gaming system?

I’m not a gamer and don’t have much interest in it, mainly due to that detrimental phase with barefoot boyfriend from high school. (he deserves a post of his own one day.)  heh.  He used to bring me to the local arcade, in the mall next to our high school, where I’d foolishly peer over his shoulder for hours– as if that was an appropriate teenage date. So, no, gaming is not my gig.

I’m guess I shouldn’t judge so much, considering next Friday morning, I’ll be one of the many crazies braving the cold elements, waiting in line at 3am outside of some big box store, just for some doorbuster barbies, a myriad of needless gadgets and gifts. 

Because the entrance to the PATH is across the street, I pass Best Buy every day on the way home.  My friend and I noticed last night that the PS3 Line got even bigger. 

My friend squawked when I told her  that many of these people had been in line for multiple days for a chance at getting a PS3. 

“would you do this for your child– wait in line for days?  Do they work?  How could they afford to do this?  Who does that?”

I explained to my friend, “many of them are grown men, as in, no kids.  Some are buying them for themselves and others are buying them to make a profit.”
Many of those that waited in line darted home this morning and listing like crazy. Ebay sales are popping up like mad.  Apparently days ago, Ebay had to regulate their selling restrictions, in anticipation of the PS3 sales.  I read somewhere that One system went for $9,000.  wow.I’m not sure if camping outside and waiting in line for 4 days is worth all of that to me.  I like my bed too much.  Now, if there were diamonds and pretty shiny boots for half off in those stores? maybe.
It’s hard to stomach that, not only did hundreds and thousands of people wait many hours for these systems, but in various places, there were shootings and riots. 

This morning, on the way to work, I noticed that the line had decimated, the blue tarp was disposed on the sidewalk, alongside of a week’s worth of Dunkin Donuts cups, potato chip bags and random grossness.

But really, was it worth all that?  The riots, camping out in the rain for days, the shooting?  It’s a bit ironic that people would get that barbaric for the latest advancement in consumer technology–the ever evolving gaming system.  As electronics continue to evolve, but our culture as a whole?  sadly, not so much in this regard.

Even though the tree outside of my building is still as green as it was in July, and even though I was too lazy to pull out my harvest-sized collection of pumpkins and other fall decor, and even though I’m sweating my ass off today in my Old Navy sweater, it’s already the third week of November– only a week away from the Thanksgiving holiday.

Our Thanksgiving trip home to Va is usually our longest and most anticipated visit of the year, but it’s certainly become the most stressful visit. This year, we’re going home for 6 fun-filled days.

When I was away at college, the anticipation of going home was always this exciting and valiant time for me. I was this unscrupulous English major, partying in DC and Baltimore and sleeping through my 8am classes. {I thought} I was big time.

Going home to the southeastern corner of suburbia and revisiting the facilitators of my teenage angst and all the sources of my youthful bliss was always a colorful time of year. I’d drive those 3-4 hours down 95 to 295 to 64, happily greeted by the Chesapeake Bay as a reminder that I was close to home.

Once I got to the other side of the peninsula, my car would instantly accelerate to speeding, but still in that ticket-safe range, all the way down 264. I’d race down the ramp, down Independence and the rest would be on autopilot through the neighborhood.

Thankfully, the neighborhood never changes.

As soon as I’d park my car in front of the house, I’d always take that last ceremonious drag on my cigarette, thinking heh– I was cool and all independent smoking in my dormroom and stuff. And then, I’d remember going home would mean that I was back to sitting on my ledge, in my pastel pink bedroom, puffing out my window as soon as everyone went to bed. Being home would bring trips to the mall with awkward sitings and the ubiquitous “so what are you doing now” conversations.

Strapped with my cheapy luggage and bags of laundry, I’d fling open the creaky door to my parents’ 1950s-styled Ranch.

I could smell it: I was home.

The essence of mom’s overzealous start on Turkey dinner, blended with grandma’s various pastries, created a flood of nostalgia every time. When I’d finally round the corner, without a word, only 5 extremely tight embraces, I’d know I was really home and remember how much I was loved.

It’s amazing- I worked so hard to escape my own angst in Va., but now, I’d do anything to go back. Truly, for me, there’s nothing like going home.

The anticipation of seeing my parents, in their happy not-yet judging state and hearing my grandma’s comforting welcome are still unmatched to this day. My NoVa college days may only be distant memories at this point, but I’ll never foget those vivid moments of coming home.
Fast forward 10 years, I’ve been gone even longer, live even further north, I now question if home will be the same. These days, being married and childless, our holidays are often overshadowed by anxiety, pressure and guilt.

That hysterical but innocent glance at my more-rotund-than-I-left belly from my kid brother; the disapproving smirk from my mother while I flatiron my hair before we hit the bars and the non-stop million dollar questions are just a few of the many things that are keeping me awake at night.

Instead of juggling bars and seeing high school friends, our holiday visits have become juggling acts between our two families. Even though we drive home from NJ to VA for most holidays, we still drive another 400 miles, jetting around to see all of our friends and family, dropping several hundred bucks in the process.

While there are real issues in the world, I’m truly blessed that my problems are so minimal that this nontrivial shit is all I have to whine about.

But I continue to whine anyway.

As much as I love going home to Va every year for every holiday and seeing each one of our family members, it’s disheartening to think that while we spend all of this time making sure everyone else is happy, we forget about us in the mix. We don’t have any of our own traditions yet, have never willingly spent a holiday at our own home, we sleep in my full-sized bed from childhood, sneak around when my parents go to bed, count the hours until we can do Jagerbombs at the bar with our friends and stress when we can’t see everyone for as long as we’d like.

I feel guilty for wanting to celebrate the holidays our way. And then I feel even more guilty for moving away.

The 350+ mile drive home is well worth my mom’s incredible home-cooked meals, the giant hugs from nieces and nephews, catching up with all of my inlaws, hitting our favorite bar where we were always greeted in a Norm from Cheers kind of way and listening to the not-funny jokes my dad likes to tell me over and over. It’s so worth it.

But, it’s still damn stressful. By day 3, my dad is knocking on my bedroom door at 7am reminding me that the oil needs to be changed. Mom is always eagle-eyeing me up and down, mentally telling me that beer doesn’t minimize my waist size. I’m not used to the driving thing. And the drinking and not being able to walk home thing, either. Five years removed, times have really changed.

Truth is, as much as I complain and moan about how begrudging and hostile our holiday trips can be, I really do love going home. We love home. Our family will always be there. Va. Beach is why we’ve become who we are.

But in the reality of things, NJ and NYC is now a big part of us and also our new home. And it’s so hard to verbalize that to my family. I’m sure it’s even harder for them to grasp. It’s hard leaving everything you know, leaving everyone you love behind.

We live in New Jersey now. And shockingly, we’re our own family, living in our little city, doing our fun and crazy things with a fun cast of friends. We miss Va– we always will. When I first left home with my overpacked black Jetta, I kissed my mom and little brother on the driveway. I wasn’t sad because I was leaving. I was determined to do my thing and eventually come home.

But this is where our roots are beginning to flourish. Our plans are always changing.

They say that many writers have lifelong conflicts about their hometown. I’m just now coming to terms with this.

But regardless of how long we’re gone or if we ever go back, I know for a fact that you can always go home. (just have a stiff drink before you do.) I’m definitely looking forward to our annual pilgrimage to the home state. But this time, I’ll be strapped with prettier, more traveled luggage and a lot more laundry.

Even though we’ve completely overhauled our eating habits over the past few months by regularly making dinner at home (instead of calling for takeout 3x a week), Jeff and I still observe our weekly rituals.
We used to do a burger night every wednesday at our local bar, where a giant burger and a pint of beer was only $5.  But, after the results from a recent physical, we chose to amend those rituals.  Now, we go to Tuesday wing night.
ha. we’re pretty pathetic, I know. 

Every Tuesday like clockwork, Jeff and I meet up after work as sort of a mid-week break.  We catch up, complain and connect over a plate of buffalo wings and a few pitchers of beer.  The deal, actually, works out for both of us:  I don’t have to slave in the kitchen after a shitty commute.  And he doesn’t have to manually wash the dishes after an exhaustive drive home.

Since getting married, we’ve started a few little menial rituals, but of them all, our weekly date nights at the bar are my favorite.  It’s never ideal to have too many pitchers on wing night, only to suffer with a throbbing hangover on Wednesday.  But for the few hours that we’re there, I love unwinding and sometimes even, beating our retired baker friend at a game of pool.
 
And because it’s tuesday again, I’m reminded of a silly conversation I had with my husband on our walk home from Wing Night.
We stopped in at the Bodgea to pick up an innocent six pack (I guess to solidify our weekday drunkeness.) Since we’ve only been seeing one of the two brothers who owns our local bodega, my husband was concerned of his whereabouts.  Jeff likes to trashtalk sports with them whenever we stop in the store.  Fueled by the pitchers of beer, Jeff’s lack of inhibition prompted him to query the cashier guy about the missing bodega brother.

Jeff slurs to the cashier, “So, ush, did Jaime buy out his brother?  I haven’t seen him around.”
cashier guy, typing into his Sidekick, without looking up: “ah, no. Jose works in the morning. I guess they have a set schedule.”
Jeff: “oh, well, I thought he was gone?  Oh well, I’ll catch him some other time.”

As we left, Jeff looked at me very Quixotically: “I guess Jaime didn’t buy his brother out, huh?”
I shrugged my shoulders and raised my brows in my bitchy, wifely know it all way, “Uh yeah. where have you been?  Jose’s always there in the mornings. duh.”

Yelling loud enough for all of Bayonne to hear, “Well THANKS.  NEXT TIME, WHY DON’T YOU JUST LET ME WALK IN THERE WITH DOO-DOO SMEARED ALL OVER MY FACE.”

Yep.  My husband said doo-doo. smeared all over his face. 
It’s a week later, and I’m still laughing.  With every laugh over every ridiculous thing he might say or do, I’m entirely grateful for how marriage complements us.

The old adage explains it:  Water seeks its own level.  (*or in this case, doo-doo)

So, there you have it.  Not only do we like to go out on weekdays, just so we don’t have to do dishes; but quality time with my husband often involves too much beer. 

I know there’s a contingent that frowns upon married people going out and having fun often, especially the kind of fun involving neighborhood bars and happy hour. (mom comes to mind)  I actually heard someone say that bars are an inappropriate form of fun for married couples, implying that it’s an immature social outlet.
Nonsense! I’m a big believer in marriage and the immersion of fun.  Whether it involves scrabble, Soduku on the couch, croquet in the backyard or Wing Night at your local pub, you have to have fun!

Studies say that married people live longer and healthier. 

Being married, staying married, being part of a married couple changes people’s choices. 

Maybe some of our rockstar Jameson chugging nights aren’t the healthiest of choices, but really, a fun night out with friends/family goes a long way for us.  Fun=healthy marriage for us.

While some of my friends are enjoying parenthood, home ownership or whatever path they’ve chosen, I’m openly chuckling over healthy conversations involving doo-doo. 

Happy Tuesday!

I know many of you have already braved the busted up polls, but for those of you that haven’t, please don’t forget to vote!  As one of my daily emails so eloquently put it:

Today, November 7, 2006, is election day in the United States.  This is the day set aside every two years when we gather to select those special individuals who will lead us for the next two, four, or six years (as the case may be).  These selected persons will also be the ones we most severely criticize, generally for doing the things they were elected to do.  Democracy in action!

In some cases, it’s up to us to pick the lesser of two evils.  If you don’t vote, you don’t have the right to bitch  

For someone who hits the snooze button 15 times a morning, 5am hit like a ton of bricks today. I was the overly eager one last Friday who confirmed this specific early morning work assignment. Truly, there is no glamour in waking up and leaving the house when it’s still dark out, especially when public transportation hasn’t even begun its early morning shifts yet!

As I headed east to the Hudson to catch the ferry, the sun started to peek out from behind the skyline. When I boarded the commuter ferry, from a distance, I could see the commotion of what was my latest work assignment. It’s funny, but great, how in the past week or so, I’ve seen more stories about my industry, than I’ve seen in a while.

I got off the ferry and walked a few blocks north to Pier 86. The behemoth that shadowed me, the hundreds of chipper morning news people and the parking lot surrounding us, is the focus for the day: The 27,000-ton decommissioned Naval vessel-turned Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum, was set to be towed from its berth to the Bayonne Drydock, just 5 miles down the river.

Because of work and the beat that I follow, I’ve been on many boats, small ones, big ones, rickety ones, shiny ones, classified ones, ginormous ones and even smelly ones; but today, I was on one that I’d never been on before– a media boat. Rarely, if ever, does my line of work coincide with consumer news, like the NY Post or the Daily News. Today, however, was a whole different story.

While they all stood portside, I was starboard with only a few others, knowing that the media boat would turn ever so slightly in my favor, giving me better angles for pictures or standing closer to those ‘in the know.’ When one of the captains started spewing propeller, dredge and chock talk, I nodded my head with another colleague, instead of the silly side tilt and forehead wrinkle of the ignoramuses.

I can’t tell you how funny it was listening to the Fox 5 guy trying to enunciate exactly what was going on. (and how hard it was to not pull a Jim Carrey in front of his camera.) He must have repeated the same sentence in 6 different ways.

Even though I don’ t know all there is to know about this stuff and I always joke about how unglamorous my work can be, but today, I felt like quite the badass. It doesn’t take much.

Basically, even though there were 7 tugs pulling, the 900 ft. Intrepid barely went anywhere. With Hillary Clinton, several other dignitaries, hundreds of invited guests and swarms of vessels abound, when it came down to it, 30,000 combined horsepower had nothing on Mother Nature and the mud that essentially cemented the vessel’s 4 props. Even though they did a good deal of dredging beforehand, someone either missed a big chunk or that whole problematic area was overlooked.

Some media outlets are incorrectly saying that it is stuck in the mud; actually, it moved about 10-12 feet on the initial pull, but then it was sucked back and then, grounded despite the high tide. Despite what everyone else is saying, the towing company made a great effort in light of the natural obstacles.

In order to forge ahead with the $60m refurb job, they’ve got to survey and come up with a “what now” plan. With all the money, agencies, companies, pomp and circumstance that’s involved, I’d like to believe, they’re going to have to figure this one out pretty quick, especially with all the coverage it got.

All in all, it was a fun day at the office. You know your work day is pretty interesting (or questionable) when it makes headlines on MSN and Yahoo.

*Link to my coverage will be filed over at the tab called Portfolio