Last Memories from a Dying City -- Reminiscing my Waterbury Hotel visits

From the first taste of sandy lettuce in my salad to the final snub of the replaced potato salad, the Courtyard has imprinted memories well beyond food. Although it is the dinners and lunches I remember well, since the mere exposure to society at those times cloaked my hotel-prison loneliness. I met some great people; at the hotel, and from my classes. The staff regulars became my friends, even to the point where I would trust them more than my own co-workers at the hotel.
Back to the Food. The food was never great. They changed the menu on occasion (which seemed to be constantly) and I remember being consulted as a valued guest on it, but despite my fervent protests, the prices never seemed to descend to a level that matched the value or taste of the food. There was always a question whether you would get what you ordered the last time, especially when you asked for the same plate. Drinks were even more of the same story. After hearing a few of my attendees complain of changing drink prices, I tested for myself. Sure enough, the next month, for four straight nights ordering vodka cranberries, I was charged a different price. I think the last straw happened on my last visit. After one of my attendees complained about the taste of the mandarin stir-fry, the chef, informed by the barman, confronted the guest and told him that the meal was good and tasted fine. I have never heard of such a thing happening at a restaurant. But not at this place.
The receptionists, waitstaff, bartenders and greeters were my source of social entertainment. I became friendly with several of them. The date with Elda was probably the weirdest I have experienced, from her chain smoking, bare apartment, eastern European accent or the double bottle dinner that I received little help finishing to the fruitless foreplay and characteristic mid-hookup passout. I awoke at 5am, clothes on, and realizing my folly, sprung to my feet, promised a call and jetted. I did actually call her back several days later and after not recognizing my name, she pretended to be too tired to talk...I got the point.
Off and on there were those working at the reception desk that were into me. Faten and Christy were the first there and both left about a year after I began giving the classes at the hotel. I had a crush on Faten (Egyptian name). Safia came later and soon replaced the former receptionist stalwarts. Until the end S. and I were more than mere acquaintances, though I would not consider my connection to her went beyond a sort of workplace friend. Our conversations, while entirely on a personal level, never crossed that line of professionalism, no matter how far the line was drawn. Kiara did cross that line. Slipping me her number on my keycard packet and frequently giving me the "why haven't you called me?" sobs. Not that I didn't want to...in a sort of a fuck-her-to-shut-her-the-fuck-up way. But she was bad news and I knew taking that step with this girl would have been a heap of trouble. She was a hormone induced travel bag of bad decisions. I was surprised how long she lasted at her post. That was until she was spotted by a manager picking up some of my attendees at the hotel drive-up and then taking them to a local strip joint. In the end she was fired twice for "fraternizing with hotel patrons." It's not that some of the other girls didn't break the fraternizing rule, it's just they had the brains not to cross that line with such a zealous disregard for decency to stop at that previously stated line. Andrea and AnnMarie became my closest friends at the restaurant. AM was always kind and pleasant company, subconsciously attempting to make my stays at the hotel that much more comfortable. If it was not the extra wine filling my glass, it was the feeling of having someone I already knew there to talk to. Andrea was more of a confidant, even acknowledging that we both liked eachother at some time ago. I always looked forward to seeing her, even if just in passing. She had a spark always, and it was blatant that this place was just a stop on her journey. Chrystal, Kylie and Kimberly, all relatively new on the scene, were all friendly and to laugh at any and all silly jokes I could muster at the front desk. In fairness, I did have them rolling at my act, which makes me question what kind of sense of humor they had. (in jest) Who knows?
The weight/workout/gym room was always a riot. They shouldn't have had the thing in operation, much less advertise its existence. (Actually another patron's complaint) The elliptical made this awful see-saw noise, the treadmills' tracks were always in need of oil and the weights from the adjustable dumbell were a real hazard, falling on the user in mid-rep. I was just lucky not to have been injured. Halfway in, I convinced myself that the 1/2 mile run to the local Y made sense. Taking a tip from my weightlifting attendee, I negotiated a $10/week fee, got a membership card and managed to workout at that place after every class. The place was a palace compared to the Courtyard fiasco they called a "gym". With brand new equipment and a complete range of workout options, it was enough enticement to brave the vampires and zombies that paraded and sulked about in the town green. Although they never bothered me coming and going, their presence was somewhat unnerving , even with a police presence in the area. It was almost as if the junkies, crackheads, dealers and lowlifes had held the town center hostage legally, by just being there.
Banquet Staff. In the beginning, Casey kept everything in check with what seemed at the time to be a smooth operation. When he was promoted to the Marriot-Hartford, the void in his absence left a jolly jump up to take his place. While she was no slouch in command, she was not a manager at heart and was bounced around to a few different positions before I didn't see her again. That's the thing about the hospitality business, sometimes you never see or hear from people ever again. A completely transient industry. Renee took over command for a time, and although things went somewhat well, I always had the sense that the wheels were falling off the wagon. Bobby filled the captain position after Renee's transitional role. Dale followed and currently Christine holds rank. In all that time Jojales still sees action and has worked with our group in almost every session we have had at the hotel. I have to admit our relationship over the three years has waned (or never really progressed) as her English is atrocious and my Spanish without alcohol is just as bad. Language barrier aside, I perceived her disapproval of my insignificant relationship lifestyle. In her mind things should fit into neat bows and tie up just as tight. I shiver to think that is a reflection of her flirtatious comportment with my attendees: Leading them by a string this way and that. It's no wonder showing me basically naked beach photos with an "oops" after recognizing her lack of clothing. Not a stretch when a rather notorious attendee asked her to attend his "private class" in his room. Maybe she deserved it. But for the tribulations of basically being called a slut, I gave her a left-over gift card from the Home Depot.
I looked back towards the middle of the lobby, the pillars masking the front desk and my girls working there, the partition of the fireplace blocking my view of the bar and dining area. If it weren't for these static emplacements, perhaps the nostalgia could have flowed more convincingly, but they didn't. I was relieved to leave on this friday as I always was after a full week at the hotel. Only this time I knew I was not coming back.

Surfer only loses an arm to 16 foot shark

Let's keep our planet green...oops, I mean...clean.

Sox sign Saito

"I saw Theo today. He was at the state landfill sifting through garbage looking for diamonds. He said it is his favorite low risk, high reward activity outside of baseball."

A New Year

It’s really 2009 and I have already made a few mistakes writing 2008 at the end of some dates. It’s tough to break a year-long habit; and in the same breath, as it is trying to break life-long (multi-year) habits. All the vices that I am overdue on, simple ways to forego an early collision with the doctor are resisted, instead, favoring the ephemeral pleasure. Isn’t it odd that such a wise creature constantly affords him/herself the tentative pleasure for potentially permanent pain? Smoking, unprotected sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Drunk driving, poor diet, and laziness can all lead to harsh repercussions. Yet how many of us subscribe ourselves to such wanton abuse on a regular basis? I would venture to suggest that there are very few who are mindful of all one’s activities.

I looked at a list of possible New Year’s resolutions, and can’t imagine how depressing next December will be looking at that list and realizing that even though I probably accomplished great things (relative of course), maybe not even one will be from that list. What is the point of resolutions if they are impossible to keep? Does the thought of resolving our perceived malignancy give ourselves hope in the coming year? I have resolved to quit all smoking, even bar-time butt breaks, probably several times in the last few years, including this one. But even last night, watching the Gators beat the Sooners in the BCS Nat’l Championship, I was tempted to bum a smoke off of those not resolving to quit outside the bar.

The BCS and the Playoff series talk is so obvious, it’s painful. As a Gator, I can’t help wincing though, as every news story covering the game also includes the talk of the real no.1. It’s too bad that it comes to a head, as my college football team takes home the trophy, as I can only imagine how the talk must make the national champions maybe feel even a bit bitter. I mean think about how long they have waited to play this game and when they finally do, the muffled conversations before about playoffs and the real no.1 become full-blown following a less-than-exciting premier football showcase. It’s as if the No.1 team is decided by the last game they play in, rather than for a season. However, for as much as I would like to believe Florida is the real no.1, I also would submit that college football needs some sort of bowl playoff series to decide. It doesn’t matter how many teams; 6, 8, 12, 16… just something more than a calculation based on irrelevant points. After all, somebody has to put Utah in its place.

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.