Review of A Beacon St. Restaurant

I was looking for a new place to try on Saturday night in Brookline and came across this zealous review from Benito that I found too hilarious to not pass on:

"[1 Star of Five] The Roadhouse hurts my Eyes -

This buildings new facade was clearly designed so the venue could host the world championship of dungeons and dragons. The architect (and I use that term loosely) should have the decency to kill himself. As a humanist, i am disgusted with what has come of an otherwise beautiful tree lined street. This sort of artistic display would perhaps embelish the natural grace of route 1 in saugus, however it does not belong in the town of Brookline."

Judge for yourselves folks:

There's always room at Christmas for creepy Elves

or is this a jockey?

This statue is in the backyard of a waterfront mansion on the north shore.

State of the Onion

I have used the analogy of myself as an onion on many occasions to those willing to listen. As you peel off layers and reach another layer, you eventually run out of layers and are left with nothing. An onion…so State of the Onion. Ok, regardless, it’s December again, and it’s time to shout out my inaugural yearly address, to give my final impressions on 2008 and prepare for 2009.

A lot has changed since last December. It was the month that my most significant relationship ended, and I was a man lost for a few months thereafter. My exercise kicked into high gear during last winter, and I started feeling some effects of my efforts by March. And these effects brought with them two intangible benefits; the ladies and self-confidence.

It is fair to say that I have never been a beacon of self-confidence. In college, I actually passed off an invite to dance with a looker, because I had no desire to play tricks on my dire self-image. I could not take any further losses in that department. I was ready for neither challenges nor opportunities that would invoke any degree of self-measure. It was perhaps unfortunate to prevent myself enjoying any bliss, but it was a necessary protection from the looming pit of depression.

For stretches during my young adult age, I enjoyed confidence, women and success. The summer after Gettysburg was a summer to remember. Blasting off with a ridiculous trip to Spain, working at the lake brought me into a circle of co-worker friends that made my summer blessed with all manner of get-togethers, liaisons and pure social bliss.

This past year was similar to that summer. Although I did not take one significant trip, I did see myself in many different places; from the Boston and New York metro areas, to DC, Raleigh, Clemson and Memphis, and finally back to Florida. It wasn’t necessarily the trips that brought me joy this year, but the people that I had the pleasure of spending time with. I had another short but significant relationship, met a score of different people, played a little bit of a trampie, and by year’s end, have no more direction in my personal life than I did when I entered it.

It all started in March, teaching my company’s introductory class where I had a brief but inspiring relationship with the only female attendee. “What are you doing talking to that waitress? You are so much better looking than that!” I don’t think any words could have had better effect for my confidence.

It is a shame that the confidence index sometimes can be gauged best by what is current in my single man’s love-life, but it’s not the only thing that drive’s one’s self-esteem. I was stellar at work, was working out to no end and dropped some chub weight. I was even told I looked skinny! Not true! I read several more books than I did the previous year and got interested in a new discipline: Economics. Fitting, as the launch date is approaching. I got a raise at my job, I didn’t save any else’s life but I am pretty sure that is kind of like a once-in-a-lifetime kind of event so that category cannot be improved!

I had my 10-year reunion a few weeks ago. Besides the old faces that I bumped into, it was a real pleasure jumping out of the shell that I had pulled over myself when many of them last saw me when we were 18. I had the nerve to approach chicks I dared not before, not because of any fear of rejection, but because their shyness and disconnection with my circle would have played out as rather more awkward than intriguing.

I told my friend Nicco that I planned on shading out more in the coming months, retreating from this jetsetter lifestyle, rescinding on social obligations and taking some face-time time off. I am not sure what the end result may bring, but I need to refocus at this critical time on career and future stability. I would not want to look back at the last year and accuse myself of wasting time and money on things, notwithstanding people, and regret it fiercely. Therefore, I need to teach myself restraint; restraint from purchasing needless things, overindulging on every vice that I currently have year-ending subscriptions to, and generally cleaning it up. Smoking is top on the list.

I have come full circle from four years ago. Last March, my St Patrick’s Day bender was interrupted by inflammatory accusations of scumbaggery back in Florida to a friend of the family. I had, in fact been guilty, as I openly admitted, but I thought the accusations rang a bit false to the degree of my treachery. On an October 2005 night in Gainesville, I was supposed to rendezvous with said family friend after an entomology party. Instead I ended up in the arms [and bed – don’t worry about that, I passed out fully-clothed] of a fabulous woman that I spent the following six months passionately with and dated for more than 2 years. That being said, I think my decision to leave with her was warranted and had more bearing on my apology for negging our appointment than anything else.

Well, she came to the bar that night that all my friends and I were tearing down. After I matched my story with her case against me, I could tell she had vindicated my crimes, and although her fiery disposition did not allow her to let go, the drive back to her hotel the next morning was not nearly as hellbent as the night before. We left it amicably.
It’s funny that facebook brought us back into communication. Last weekend, I flew down to Daytona to visit her (among others), and for lack of better words to describe…had a great time.

Of course the calendar does indicate that several weeks still remain this year, and I can be sure to score with some of the same zeal that I have had since the beginning of the year. This coming weekend to DC should be heart-stopping (let’s hope not considering my recent heart struggles), and the following weekend before Christmas should be a good return to normalcy in Boston. Don’t worry, I plan to get raucous. I can only wonder what next year will bring.

The Void Space

The hardest part to deal with in any break-up is the void that’s left when each party goes their own way. There’s a tremendous amount of investment for any successful* relationship. This investment in time [and money] always depreciates and nosedives when the end nears. You can take neither back. The reverse is true for the investment in emotional energy. This investment into the relationship can appreciate in value over time and can store rewards, similarly to a credit card paid on-time each month. When the relationship runs its course, emotional investment declines until it reaches bottom. Because emotional energy is not bound by any laws of physics or mathematics and belongs solely in the realm of the conscientious, emotional lag can pull this type of investment below bottom (beneath the investment energy at the beginning of the relationship) into an allotment of negative emotional energy that is commonly called heartbreak. Heartbreak can last an undetermined amount of time. There is an unproven mathematical equation describing the time invested into a relationship and a reflecting proportionate amount of reciprocal time to relationship mourning, but considering that I already put forth that emotional energy has no basis in mathematics, there is no correct way to determine period length of heartbreak.

In some cases, it is not the heartbreak that plagues the loss of relationship. Heartbreak wanes quickly, [perhaps] because the victim can grip at his/her bitterness as a result of a shot to the ego, rather than genuine heartbreak and the emotional tie is undone. But the void space still remains. That person forged a collective identity in that relationship. They would be the first to call, to hang with, always in the thoughts and plans. When you needed advice, concern, or sympathy, they would be there. Maybe this is our biggest need as a social species. Physical intimacy is not usually a heavily time-laden constraint and that void can therefore be replaced without difficulty. It usually takes only a smile, a clean shirt, pants that don’t smell [maybe a few fingertips of hair forming cream], and an ounce of trust. But the other voids cannot be replaced with such ease. It’s funny, the things that make humans most jealous in relationships are sometimes the easiest to replace. How hard is it to get advice from someone who really cares? Who is going to listen to your plight with the same interest as the one you are romantically inclined to? Friends are the pillow to your fall, but there is no platonic friend that balances out the loss. Usually new activities and meeting new people facilitate a quick turnaround, but it only takes a moment of retrospection before these voids can activate old emotional scars.

*Relationships that can stand for a time on their own merit. Does not necessarily mean leading to marriage or permanence.

The Big Apple - November 2008

I came to the odd realization last week visiting New York City that I had yet to visit either Ground Zero or Times Square in all my time visiting in the last 7 years. I saw both this past week and neither could be farther apart in essence. Times square is the happy bustle of life while Groundzero reflects an epoch of sadness and yet they are separated by only a few score of blocks. It's easy to put that monumental day of grief behind the flashing neon signs and LCD screens and forget, but the scar in that infamous ground in Manhattan's downtown allows not a wink of that same bliss.