Hip to be Square

I was flipping through the channels last night looking for a Christmas movie to get myself in the holiday spirit. Much to my delight, I came across “American Psycho” on IFC. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but the first scene I caught was of Christian Bale and Reese Witherspoon wearing 80s Christmas sweaters sipping cocktails at a Christmas party, so I decided to keep it on. Soon after, I was enthralled, as I usually am with this movie. I’m not sure if it’s Bale’s impeccable portrayal of Patrick Bateman or the adapted voice of Brett Easton Ellis’s witty dialogue, but every time I see it on TV, I have to watch. A few scenes later I was able to catch Bateman and his rival Paul Allen sitting in an empty apartment listening to Huey Lewis and the News. In the scene, Patrick explains to Paul Huey’s undisputed masterpiece, “Hip to be Square”. He describes it as “a song so catchy that people probably don’t listen to the lyrics but they probably should, because it’s not just about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trend, it’s also a personal statement about the bandit self”. Well, today I looked up those lyrics:

I used to be a renegade, I used to fool around
But I couldn't take the punishment, and had to settle down
Now I'm playing it real straight, and yes I cut my hair
You might think I'm crazy, but I don't even care
Because I can tell what's going on
It's hip to be square

I like my bands in business suits, I watch them on TV
I'm working out 'most everyday and watching what I eat
They tell me that it's good for me, but I don't even care
I know that it's crazy
I know that it's nowhere
But there is no denying that
It's hip to be square

It's not too hard to figure out, you see it everyday
And those that were the farthest out have gone the other way
You see them on the freeway, It don't look like a lot of fun
But don't you try to fight it; "An idea who's time has come."

Don't tell me that I'm crazy
Don't tell me I'm nowhere
Take it from me
It's hip to be square

It’s funny I should come across this thought this week as I have been grappling over the issue of conformity. For better or worse, I’ve always carried myself with a sense of pride over my alternative look and lifestyle. I have made an earnest effort to balance this rebel appearance in the conformist world of teaching and now business. I have let my hair grow longer than ever as if to say, “I know I may act within the rules, but I don’t need to look like everyone else while doing it. The problem is that I think it conveys the wrong idea about me. I work extra hard to articulate myself to customers and others to make them think twice about judging people based on appearances alone, but I don’t know why I feel the need to make such a statement. The hair thing has been a funny experiment actually. I’ve been called a hippie, and been mistaken for an Occupy Boston participant to my face, and I can only imagine what people say behind my back. The truth is that I don’t really care what people think, but the question I ask myself is whether this is hurting or helping my business. Would people rather buy a rug from a long-haired hippie or a suited salesman? It’s funny that the length of a man’s hair has been part of our conditioning as Americans and as human beings. I coach a youth basketball team and the reaction I have received in terms of my appearance has been overwhelmingly negative. I’m no different than I was with short hair, but I am looked at as if I am so. I don’t know if it’s the look that brings the insults or just the change, but the old cliché “don’t judge a book by its cover” certainly isn’t being applied. Anyway, the experiment ends today as I am getting it cut in an hour. My feeling is that there is nothing better than a fresh cut, and I look forward to going into the new year with a clean slate. I’ll be curious to see if by going square I’ll be treated any differently, and if the rest of me will follow in conformity. I hope not.

One Year Later

I'm a sucker for symmetry so I couldn't quite make it through the day without breaking my break from writing. One year ago today I arrived back in the States from Costa Rica. It just so happens that that very same day  my father escaped the shackles of entreprenuerial censorship. He was asked to no longer sell his product from his warehouse. He had been granted the gift of Channel 5's Chronicle, but the greedy retailers that employed his services wanted a piece. Rather than give in, he removed himself. Since then, we have experienced a monsoon of good fortune and a client base that has helped us build a successful retail business of our own. I have chronicled the events over the past year on this Blog, but more recently an increase in business has kept me from staying in the habit of writing. The experience has shown me how easy it is to get lost in the grind. I left Costa Rica feeling refreshed and with zealous dreams, and although they haven't been lost, they have certainly been pushed to the side by the new opportunities in front of me. Now it's time to find the balance that will allow both the pursuit of dreams and financial independence, one that many seek their entire lives. I'll finish this short catch up post with a quote from Ferris Bueller, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it".

Planting the Seed of a Novel

A big part of the reason I started blogging was to get in the habit of writing on a regular basis. I really hope that it will eventually lead toward writing my first book. I'm not sure how long this will take, but I had to start somewhere. That start was initiated in high school. In order to counteract my mathematical inadequacies in school, I chose to put an extra effort toward any writing assignment I was given. My style wasn't always welcomed with high marks, but I always found a way to get my point across, even if it wasn't always in the most traditional or efficient manner. I never put much stock in grading as I rebelled against most conventions, but I tended to receive praise for my writing. I took those compliments to heart and always hoped I would find a career in writing. After trying my hand in a few different academic disciplines in college, I eventually landed in the communications department studying journalism. I can't say I was particularly enthralled by the rigid mechanics of print journalism but I liked the power that it provided. To write is to share; experiences, opinions, history, and propaganda. It is a powerful tool if used correctly. I tried to pass down that skill as an English teacher for three years after commencement. However, I grew frustrated in a short time.The grade level I was teaching needed an instructor to enforce basic grammar and structure; two facets of English that I wasn't yet equipped to teach. I taught my courses with an emphasis on living life as if you are the author of your own story. I hope that idea got through to a few of my students more so than parts of speech, punctuation, and basic syntax (all of which are important, yet little fun in the classroom). I know I had an impact, because a lot of my students took a liking to the subject and made a concerted effort to improve their writing and speaking skills. I developed relationships with all of my students, but took a bigger interest in two types in particular; the ones that played sports in the school yard (they were the ones I could most closely relate to) and the troublemakers (the ones that were given a negative title early in their academic careers and thus targeted by my disciplinarian colleagues before I arrived). I know as a teacher you are supposed to be an impartial presence, but I was inexperienced and perhaps too sensitive to allow these children to go by the wayside. There was one student in particular in the 6th grade my first year at Saint Kevin's that fit both of these descriptions. That boy had one hell of a story to tell, and I hope that he will eventually act as the inspiration of my first novel.

For the sake of this post I will use the literary name I plan to use; Prince Canal. Prince was 13 when I met him and he was quickly entering adolescence. I was warned by his former teachers and current principal that he had issues with authority, a pension for conflict with his peers, and an attitude far more immature than his adult appearance (over 6 feet tall and a size 13 foot). They also told me that he took his education seriously and expected excellence from himself. I got to know Prince quickly after our first meeting and could easily see where his critics developed their view of him. He was arrogant, rebellious, tactless, and immature. In a word he was rude. He acted condescendingly toward his peers and took constructive criticism poorly. He always seemed to be yelling at his classmates, pouting about his teachers, or otherwise taking part in activities he shouldn't have been. On a few occasions he tried "setting me up" with a Puerto Rican girl (they are the sassiest). He also tried to sell me condoms (I did not accept). It was easy to see in his behavior that he was looking for a male to talk to. I also knew that he lived with only his mother, and that his father had been murdered in Haiti before his family emigrated to the United States. At an early age, he was given the responsibility of being the man of the house by helping to raise his baby brother while their mother worked as a hair stylist to provide for her family. I was his first male teacher and only role model. The only others were the teenage thugs he looked up to at the community center on the corner. I took it as my personal mission to be the positive male influence that he needed. I wanted to approach it carefully though, making sure not to "force it", which was the most commonly used term in my classroom for trying to be something you were not.

Prince was gifted both academically and athletically, and we both knew that athletics would be his way to the next level. I tried to instill in him discipline first and foremost. I taught him the gift of foresight by telling him there was always consequences to his actions. I constantly referred to his "filter" in an attempt to teach him the skill of thinking before acting. This went on for 3 years, and even carried on after Saint Kevin's closed and we both moved on to Pope John Paul II. During those years I wasn't his classroom teacher, but I always checked on his progress, defended his actions so that his teachers would be patient with him, and welcomed him whenever he needed advice or a lending hand. From the early days of our relationship, I had told him that if he worked hard, continued to improve his behavior, and stayed out of trouble, that I would help him get into a good high school. He always reminded me of this, and when the time came, I was able to help him get into my alma mater, Xaverian. There, I knew that he would be in the right environment to excel. They provided the right formula of discipline + challenging academics + competitive athletics. He entered Xaverian in the autumn of last year, and I haven't heard from him since. I have tried to keep track of his progress via Facebook and asking my old teachers, but he has not reached out for my help. I see this as a positive thing. I feel confident that he is surrounded by people like myself that will have a vested interest in his future. I know he is in good hands. The last I heard was that he had made the junior varsity football team as a freshman (almost never happens at "The X") and that he was able to keep his academics in enough control to stay eligible athletically. I think the change of environment has been good for him. In middle school he sought an after school education at the community center, but now he had the friendly confines of Xaverian and their extensive list of extracurricular activities. I hope that the combination of his street savvy along with his new found disciple will put his arrogance at bay, and create a confident young man ready to face the challenges he will most certainly confront. At this point, his story becomes fictional. I don't know all the factual details about his past before I entered his life, and I don't know exactly what he is going through now, but I certainly have a good idea of what his experience is like. I took an interest in Prince because I saw a lot of myself in him. I'm not a young black man you was left fatherless at a young age. I never had to help raise my baby brother. I never had to walk into a primarily white high school after spending my entire life in a black community. What I do empathize with is coming to terms with talent, and coming to terms with the fact that you can't spend your life fighting against the conventions of our society. I have a very optimistic vision of what his future holds and I hope that when the time comes to write my novel, that he will allow me the opportunity of knowing the details of his story.

This very lengthy introduction was to provide context as to the birth of this idea. Prince's life is a huge part of it because it got me to think; How can you expect a young man, without a positive male influence, to succeed in this country? When I first met Prince he was lost, and his story could have gone in a very violent or tragic discourse if our paths hadn't crossed. Without taking too much credit, I believe that my presence in his life shifted the plot of his story. I feel as if I helped initiate the construction of a successful man. This thought led to another, and I got to thinking; What does it take to be a successful man in this country in the 21st century? What virtues must a man possess to reach his potential? When a successful man looks back on his life, can he pinpoint the events that led to his success? Can he see the influences that knocked him off-course onto a more virtuous path? This is the road map of my novel, "How to be a Man in America", and Prince Canal is the vehicle I will use to navigate.

A Pedagogical Shift

An anonymous comment on my last post reads, "From a typical idealist leftist to a capitalist in a matter of months?!? Where is your conviction!!??!! Say it ain't so, Matt!!!!!! ".

Cheers to your keen eye and quick wit! Now, please allow me to explain...
I met John Olquist in 2007 when I began teaching at Saint Kevins. He organized a mentoring program that encouraged high school students involved in a parish in Sudbury to travel into Dorchester to meet students grades K-8. He worked diligently to set up transportation to and from Uphams Corner and accompanied the mentors twice a week. The mentors always came with enthusiasm toward their work and a respect for the children they were helping. The kids at Saint Kevins loved the volunteeres and they looked forward to the days when they'd come to visit. John would spend his time playing basketball or teaching math. Once summer came, I also found out that John took responsibility of  organizing a summer enrichment program that ran for 5 weeks over the vacation. Again it was a partnership with the community of Sudbury, but was a lot more intensive than the mentor program. He organized field trips, donations, lunches, and gifts for all the underprivileged city kids at the end of the summer. He even opened the doors to his summer home on the Rhode Island coastline to the older children for an overnight trip at the end of the summer. He was an astonishingly positive and generous man that I gained a great respect for while I was working in the Catholic Schools. I actually spent the last 3 summers leading a group and absolutely loved the environment that he created. I am no longer involved in the program but it still runs today.

Now, let's go back a few years. John grew up as a humble city kid in Brooklyn. He came from solid roots and was provided a good education. He went on to get a business degree from Bentley College and worked for the corporate machine for a number of years. He made money, started a family, and eventually grew tired of the corporate world. He decided that he wanted out, and tried his hand at teaching. He spent exactly one year teaching in a public school in Framingham. The experience was enough for him to realize teaching was not for him, and that the politics of working for a school were not much different than the office.He grew a tremendous respect for teaching, but didn't want to rely on it as his career. He opted out, went back to the corporate world, and tasted some good fortune with his endeavors in the stock market. A few years later he started his own financial planning LLC in Sudbury, continued to support his family, and had enough spare time to help out in Dorchester. He realized after working as a public servant that in order to help out, you need to approach it a calculated way. What took him 1 year to understand took me 3. I am far too deep into debt not to spend some time playing a capitalist. If I want to really help the community I grew to love, I first need to take care of myself financially. The three years I spent teaching were a fantastic experience I would never take back, but the stress caused by the work was not worth the small return on such a large investment of time and energy.

So, to sum things up. Yes, I may currently employed as a capitalist, but I am certainly proud of what I'm doing.  I have not lost my ideals, I simply took a more calculated approach. It would be irresponsible not to...

Looking Forward to the Next Step

It seems as if in the flurry of carpet, rugs, Quickbooks, search engine optimization, web design, forming a corporation, developing a payroll, and hiring installers, I have lost track of writing. My last post was on May 6th, and in the meanwhile major moves have transpired in stabilizing my father's business. A one man installation company is now The Carpet Workroom & Reclamation Center, INC. We have 4 full time employees, 2 sub-contractors, and a new store that is home to brand new concept of carpet and rug buying. The speed of this process has been mind blowing, but the skills I have learned will stay with me for as long as I am chasing down a dollar, which will probably be a very long while.

The biggest challenge came to me recently in the form of a sales squall. It dawned on me while I was trying to schedule a week of recent wall-to-wall installations; we were completely overwhelmed with work and entirely understaffed. One of the major reasons  I cut my Costa Rican trip short to work alongside my father in his profession was to help him transition from installer into the less strenuous but more lucrative role of workroom manager. However, as I was scheduling these jobs, it occurred to me I was exploiting his talents the same way an agent would exploit an actor or athlete. This was not the reason I was hired. This situation forced me to take a step back and realize we had plateaued, it was time to hire someone to take over the role of installer. Here, I met two challanges. The first is something every business deals with at one point or another; finding employees who share your enthusiasm and whom you can trust as an extension of your business is extremely difficult. The second has to do with habit. My father has installed carpet for the last 32 years of his life, the vast majority of his existence on this planet. Of course in his mind, and every one else's for that matter, he is the best at what he does. In order to shift roles in his business, he would need to break the 32-year-old habits he had developed, and allow someone else to take over his coveted craft. This is the point we are at now. The transition has not been entirely smoothed out, but it has begun. I firmly believe that once we complete this evolution, we will able to make the next step toward our growth.

The most ironic part of this experience is the path in which I took to get to this point. I spent more than 2 semesters in Fordham's College of Business Administration. I transferred back into its liberal arts program becasuse of an accounting class that gave me more anxiety than what it was worth. I felt then that there would never be a time in my life where the skill of accounting would be needed. I was terribly wrong. I have spent the last month receiving lessons on Quickbooks, a basic accounting software that everyone seems to need help with. In keeping track of credits and debits and following our financial situation, I can finally see the value in such a skill. I only minored in business at Fordham, but the 8 months since starting at the Carpet Workroom, I feel as if I completed what I had started in 2004. I don't know if I can say I belive in fate, but I can certainly laugh at the irony present in the events that got me to where I am now.

Now that we took a moment to lubricate the gears and adjust the machine we have developed, it is time to look at the future. Our website, http://www.thecarpetworkroom.net/ has been launched, and now it is time to optimize its exposure on the Internet. We have barely paid for advertising, opting instead to capitalize on the free press we received from Channel 5, The Boston Globe Magazine, and most recently the Canton Citizen. I think our best bet is to first build our online presence. From there we need to continue building the infrastructure to allow our machine to continue running smoothly; another vehicle, a more pronounced recycling system, and more accounts to add to our inventory and potential order selection are at the top of the list. One thing is for certain, we are on the cusp of something big, and a new set of opportunities is sure to present itself if we continue on this path.

A Humbling Experience

I fell in love with New York City on my first trip as a kid. My father was helping my Uncle Chris move to an acting school in Queens, and I was encouraged to go along for the ride. We left Boston early in the morning and crossed the East river on the antique, cast-iron bridge as the sun made first landfall on the island of Manhattan. I remember vividly the fiery reflection of the sun on the countless skyscrapers. As I wiped my eyes leaving the makeshift bed in the back of the van, I remember thinking, "I want to live here one day". My notion was fulfilled years later as I began my studies as an 18-year-old undergrad. During my four years living there, I developed a love/hate relationship with the world's cultural epicenter. I love the people, the action, the diversity, the freedom and hope, the reputation. I hated the consumerism, the cliches, the wealth, the envy, the hustle, and the gaudiness. I decided to leave there upon graduation, choosing instead the safer, familiar, more tight knit culture of Boston. Soon after, learn that the things I hated about NYC also existed in my hometown. I still think I made the right decision, but there will always be a part of me that wonders what would have happened if I bought into it. I still visit a few times a year, opting for a friend's couch and a short bender over the lifestyle.

On my most recent visit, I had an experience unfamiliar to me but common to many; I felt old. The cause for the trip was to see The Gaslight Anthem, one of the few rock 'n' roll bands still alive today. They were just finishing up a global tour and returning to their home state of New Jersey. They were headlining a music festival called Bamboozled that featured hundreds of bands at the New Meadowlands sports complex over a 3 day weekend. Christina and I bought my sister a ticket for her 19th birthday and figured we would take her to NY for her first time as an adult. After some daydrinking in the East Village with some friends from Fordham, we made the drunken and hurried voyage to New Jersey via bus. We arrived around 6. The sun was bright and warm, the crowd was large, and the music was loud; all characteristics for a good show. Unfortunately the $80 ticket didn't get us into the stadium. Rather, there were 5 stages set up throughout the concourse; no seating, little shade, and the same high prices for concessions. More discouraging was the face of the crowd; 14-18 years-old, plastic jewelry, skinny jeans, and exposed skin advertising "free hugs" in neon body paint. This could have either been a high school rave or a pedophile's (possibly a few of my firends') wet dream. A few hours went by of drinking, gawking, and self-amusement before Gaslight performed. In the meanwhile I took notice of the growing popularity of techno music. What first struck me was the look of the performer; white, suburban, young, awkward, similar to everyone in the crowd. Next was the equipment, undoubtedly expensive; no instruments but speakers and a few computers. I was amazed at how the simple, fierce, pounding beats manipulated the actions of the crowd. They jumped with their hands in the air in unison like a well-trained army eager to please their commanding officer. I almost joined in the fun until it hit me, I was too old for this.

Fortunately, The Gaslight Anthem didn't disappoint. They played non-stop with high energy for their entire set. They have been likened by many to Bruce Springsteen and his E Street Band, however they still lack the showmanship the Boss possesses. Maybe they were tired after their tour and just happy to be home, but I clearly see a future of success for them. Do yourself a favor and look them up, download some of their music, and enjoy. Maybe next time they will actually be playing in the stadium...

WWJD?

Easter just passed as did conversations about Lenten promises and accidentally eating meat on Friday. How did these topics overtake Jesus' ministry and sacrifice as the two most popular discussion points during this holiest of times?

Even though I taught Catholocism to children, I don't consider myself a Catholic. I choose not to put a title on my beliefs, rather I prefer individuality over institution. I'm not a pagan, a non-believer, or agnostic. I simply agree with Jesus; The kingdom of God is inside us. I don't think he could care less if you accidentally ate ham with your egg sandwich on Good Friday or that you gave up eating Junior mints for 40 days. If you know anything about his life and teaching, he is far more concerned with how you treat others than simply following the rules. "Treat others the way you want to be treated" is one of the most fundamental models one can live by, yet it is ignored by many "religious" people. The quality of your spirit is not measured by self-discipline but the treatment of your fellow man no matter how badly they may have wronged you in the past. What bothers me the most about religious holidays is not the overflowing materialism we are consumed with, nor the cartoon figures of the Easter Bunny or Santa that are meant to manipulate children. What angers me is the misinformed men and women that claim to be pious even though they are so blinded by the human laws (no meat on Friday, fasting, going to church etc.) that they miss the real point. If you choose to practice these exercises or not is not my concern. As long as you are a good person that follows in the model of the man Christianity is shaped after, than I am on board with you. Once the latter is ignored, I begin to lose faith in you.

On a lighter yet related note, I just finished reading the book "Lamb" by Christopher Moore. It is a humerous attempt at filling in the "lost years" of the New Testament. The Gospel is told through the eyes of Biff, Jesus' childhood pal. It covers their early years causing trouble in and around Jerusalem as Joshua (Jesus) learns that he is the messiah. Then, as he begins to question the meaning of this gift/burden, they leave the Holy Land to search for the 3 wisemen present at his birth. They travel to the east learning Confucinism, Buddhism, and Hinduism before bringing the learnings back and forming teachings. This is meant to explain why Jesus' teachings were so radical to the fundamentalist Jews that eventually condemned him. Some of the jokes were forced, but overall it was a funny story that provides an alternative account at what could have been the reason Jesus was one of the original countercultural leaders in history. It is certainly worth the read if you're like me and think most people are missing the point as to what he actually did for us.

Finally, something to get fired up about...

Alright, finally getting some discussion going. I started this blog simply to get in the habit of writing and hoped that through initiating discussion, the theme would start to take shape. Well, I got what I wished for and its time to respond...

 In regard to "Grave Concerns" and "Starting a Revolution", I have worked my ass off for the last 4 years first helping the Catholic schools rebound after a near collapse. I applied with no teaching background nor expertise in any particular subject matter. Three years later I had a master's in teaching, my own afterschool program, and a basketball team I volunteer coached for. I worked 50-60 hour weeks and did all of this while making a salary of 30k. Starting this past December, I started working for my father's carpet installation business. When I started, he had a phenomenal reputation and a workload he couldn't handle on his own. Five months later, he has a corporation, a retail store, and an ad looking for new employees. I've worked 6 days a week since I have been home from Costa Rica making a mere $10 an hour which is all he can afford to pay me right now. I know that I made choices to work this hard for little in return, and that I put myself into this tax bracket by not choosing finance, engineering, or biochem as an 18-year-old who was still trying to play professional baseball. I also battle with the notion that financial success is the only kind. I feel many of my peers studying at Fordham were brainwashed by this notion, coming from a much different background than I had, and I did my best not to conform. They may achieve material wealth at an early age, but for what, so they can say they were like everyone else? No thanks. The solution I propose going forward is to tell high school kids the truth rather than what they want to hear. Nobody tells you how it is when you are looking at colleges because they don't want to be dream crushers. That's bullshit, guidance counselors by name should offer guidance, not build up your confidence based on your SAT scores and GPA. Speaking of guidance, not everyone is fortunate enough to have family that can share virtuous advice such as "student loans will sink you", and "make connections with rich kids in college". Everyone is brought into this world under different circumstances, and unfortunately I didn't have many people in my life with the kind of background I envisioned for myself going forward.

As for "fishing for handouts", you couldn't be farther from the truth. I was simply observing that the student loan issue us too far from the public eye. Interest rates for these types of loans should not be higher than mortgage rates. Too often I have seen or heard ads for credit card debt or mortgage loan relief. Not once have I heard anything in regard to student loans, which are affecting a group of people who have no choice but to take entry level positions at 30-50k. Because of this issue and the state of our economy, which hit my age group like a wrecking ball in 2007, high school kids are now resorting to local community colleges and staying at home because of fear. How is this going to get us out of this recession? If my peers from Fordham or other top-tier schools are having a tough time fielding jobs, how are these kids going to find any?

As for my most recent post, I know it was weak but I was trying to step away from the political conversation previously posted. "Vagina Monologues" might be harsh, but definitely noted. Maybe I just got caught up in the nostalgia of visiting friends on another coast with family I don't spend much time with. And yes, I do love myself but shouldn't we all. It's that confidence that will get me through this financial rut and hopefully achievement in my most recent endeavor. Keep an eye out for "The Carpet Workroom and Reclamation Center, INC. Once we go public in 2021, you'll be sorry you didn't invest.

Let's get some more conversation started shall we?

The Lazy Coast

Somehow a month has gone by since my week vacation to Southern California. I traveled with my younger sister, Maggie and her best friend, Jenna. We were going to visit Jenna's brother and one of my best friends, Jarrod who works in San Diego for the federal government protecting our border. He lives and spends most of his free time in Pacific Beach, an outlying beach community of San Diego brimming with guys showing off sleeved tattoos, trendy tank tops, lifted trucks, surfboards and the young girls that love them. I also had the opportunity to spend time with Mike, my best friend from middle school and Craig, my college roommate. Maggie and I spent the week walking and biking around the city and surrounding areas taking in the colorful sunsets, spring break beach scenes, eating the local cuisine (cheap burritos, tacos) and consuming enough alcohol to remind ourselves we were on vacation. It was a great opportunity to spend time with old friends and my sister, who is finally old enough to spend time with. As I've gotten older, most of my time has been alotted to working, spending time with my girlfriend, and working out. It was nice to  break routine and enjoy the company of people I would otherwise just drop a message to on Facebook. What I really enjoyed about San Diego is exactly what Jarrod hated; the lazy attitude.

I have the reputation of being laid back, some may even have some choice words in regard to my lifestyle, but nobody could ever call me lazy. I simply hate living by a schedule, I hate constantly rushing around, I hate getting frustrated with people that are taking their time. Growing up and spending my entire life in the northeast, that is just the kind of lifestyle my peers and I became accustomed to. I'm not sure what to attribute it to exactly, just that it is what it is. To be honest, I am sick of it. The stress that this fast-paced lifestyle causes just doesn't seem to be worth all the frustration. I know for a fact that we are not meant to live that way, yet as Jarrod exemplifies, we are creatures of habit and crave what we are accustomed to. Although I spent time living in Costa Rica, it was not enough time to miss home. I'm not sure how I would react to living in a place like this, but I know for sure I want to try it.

I also became aware of how many people living in Southern California are actually from the northeast. These people can be seperated into two categories; hippies and hustlers. The hippies are pretty self-explanatory. Given the lax laws regarding marijuana and the overall acceptance of art, love, surfing, long hair, liberal hygeine, and unemployment, there is no wonder that Southern California has become a hot spot for the hippie. The other category, the hustler, is someone that hates the northeast winter, craves change, loves meeting new people, initiates activity, and wants to take advantage of the fact that entrepreneurial competition is a lot harder to come by than in New York City or Boston. I'd like to think that I fall somewhere in between the two poles, but both seem to be very successful in their seperate endeavors. With spring slowly arrives and with it, New England summer, I see very little reason to leave. This coupled with the fact that I am fully committed to helping my father turn his company into a lucrative business keeps me grounded, but there's no chance this craving for the west coast is going to subside.

Grave Concerns

It's been a few weeks since I last posted, expressing concern in the lingering student loan "bubble" that will inevitably burst. Upon reading the comments that followed and watching events unfold across the world, I have a few reactions:

• Those of us that graduated with a bachelor's degree in and around 2007 have faced the most difficult and widespread economic recession this country has ever seen. The science is simple; never has there been as many educated people hitting the workforce with as few available jobs as there has been the last few years. This catastrophe was caused by the selfish business dealings of individuals more corrupt than the brokers of J.T. Marlin (see "Boiler Room" if you don't get the reference). Few have suffered the consequences resulting from these scandals, yet the banks who turned a blind eye were "bailed out". The CEOs that ran American car companies into the ground were equally rewarded. Amidst this recession, people that lost their jobs had the ability to file for unemployment. Those who borrowed money for mortgages they couldn't afford could file for bankruptcy.Those who were fortunate enough to keep their jobs were told to be patient, to wait for the recession to end. It has now been 4 years, the economy has not turned around, and the cost of living has only increased while salaries stay the same. It used to be an honor to get and hold a job. Now I see friends collecting unemployment and getting paid under the table and I wonder with the rest of the points I brought up; where is the justice? Something's got to give...
• Many people may read this and say, "Quit complaining". My response to them is that this isn't complaining. I am simply pointing out an obvious flaw that is hampering a large majority of the working class.
• Those of us under 30 have lived a very unique existence as we have literally grown up alongside computer technology. I was in elementary school when Encarta was introduced, basically making physical research obsolete and digitizing information. I was in middle school when AOL came out, bringing millions of people together worldwide together through instant messaging, chat rooms, and most importantly bringing the world wide web into the home. In high school cell phones started gaining popularity, thus putting the Internet into a handheld device. In college, Facebook was introduced and robbing us of our privacy. My generation has grown up in an amazingly advanced world; larger, faster, more populated, and more informed than any we have known before. We are intelligent, hardworking, and capable, yet are voices are being stifled by the circumstances that were thrust upon us by previous generations. Is this a result of poor timing, or fear by the leaders governing us?
• There are some major things at play here, and I feel alone in my agitation. As my peers are distracted by social networking, promises of change, and ipads, people across the world are preparing for a goddamned holy war. The Internet has made the world flat, but also more docile. Not all human beings are ready to evolve. I worry about the situation we are in, and even moreso, the generations that will follow us. The system is failing, and I hope that we are ready for when the walls start caving in.

I feel left out, let's start our own revolution...

"You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We'd all love to see the plan".

                 -Beatles

It's a really interesting time we are living in; the flattening of the world. The Internet age has brought about an evolution in the worlds of science, religion, politics, business and the way that we communicate. Twitter, Facebook, YouTube and others are allowing us to share our ideas in a way that gives even the most modest man a voice. They are enabling the common people, the peasants, the working class with the ability to reach out to eachother under a shared vision and goal. Whether it's the overthrow of a dictator in Egypt, the creation of call centers in India, or the pedagogical shift in thinking of the media in the U.S., the rise of social media across the entire globe is changing the way we live, and I want to be more deeply involved.

I am well-educated, well-mannered, well-spoken, and well-read. I am not well connected. I don't have a trust fund. I don't have handlers giving me advice. I am a common man and I feel stifled; not by a dictator or a way of life based on religous fanatics. I am held back by the burden that is student debt. Throughout my childhood, I was consistently hammered with the idea that success is borne from education. I started taking entrance exams for private schools when I was 11. The burden of tuition was a bit much then, but by the time high school came around, I began seriously considering it. At $7,500/year, Xaverian was "affordable" for my parents. They scraped by for 4 years because they promised admittance to a high-end college or university. Although I couldn't afford it, I chose to attend Fordham University, a private Jesuit school. That decision was based on a $20,000/year grant I was issued. Still, even at half tuition, I had to take out loans totaling about $80,000 over the 4 years with an interest rate over 6%. In high school and college, I received a well-rounded education on world history, economics, values of the media, psychology, physics, religion amongst many other helpful subjects. What I wasn't taught was how crippling those loans would be. Upon graduation in 2007, years of financial irresponsibility finally began coming to fruition in what was referred to as ther "financial crisis". Businesses adopted hiring freezes as they tried to hide the mistakes of the past while banks and investment firms were probed for corruption. I chose to pursue a career in teaching to avoid the mess. I spent 3 years working in the Catholic schools of Boston making a little more than poverty level income while deferring my loans by going to grad school, because my salary could't support my debt. I tried living on my own at the time, and I could barely afford it due to my deferred loans. All the while I was adding more debt while accruing interest. Eventually I had to move home once I finished grad school because deferrment had ended, and now the loans would need to be paid. I am now 26 years old, I still live at home, and I am paying over $500/month in loans. The kicker; that is only covering the interest I am accruing. That doesn't even begin to cover the principal balance.

I have sat and watched as banks have been bailed out, as unemployment levels have grown, and those collecting have been supported. Because I am educated, I am being punished. Unless I come up with an idea that will allow me the financial freedom to pay my debt in a lump sum, I will never be able to afford a mortgage. Let's face it, higher education has become as much a business as anything else. Tuitions for private univerisities are reaching astronomically high levels. Fordham is actually charging $56,000/year for students needing room and board. Loan providers such as Sallie Mae have been issuing loans at a debilitating interest rate for years, and they seemingly hand them out like candy. Before I go any further, I want to ensure I am not complaining, I know full well I got myself into this. My concern is that something needs to be done before others accept this albatross without proper understanding. If the U.S. wants to move forward, and out of this recession, policymakers need to consider helping out recent graduates with this debt or even before they get themselves into it. Whether it's by offering more affordable public education (UMASS Amherst is now charging over $20,000/year for residents), or by issuing loans at a lower interest rate, a change needs to be made.

I have been conditioned my entire life that knowledge equals power. We are made to believe that the U.S. government prefers an educated, aware, and active population, but this trend is proving otherwise. I am not empowered by my education, I am asphyxiated by it. I can't help but think this is our nation's plan to keep the low/middle class where it is. Education should lead toward opportunity not misfortune. I now call for my fellow oppressed to unite. We can make some noise if we ban together. If you feel the way I do, than we obviously have the education to make something happen.

Time flies when...

It's now been just over 10 weeks since I returned from Costa Rica, approximately the same amount of time I spent living and learning abroad. Because I began working immediately upon my return, I wasn't granted much time to transition, I was simply thrust back into the rat race. It was December, the holidays were approaching and I was broke. I worked 6 days a week, moving my father's business to a new, more customer friendly location while simultaneously operating the new store so that I could afford gifts and life. This was in the midst of coaching a youth basketball team, battling jet lag and cold weather, and the ever-present temptation of catching up with friends.  Add on a legal battle because my father rented a location next door to one of his biggest competitiors in a space not zoned for retail on top of one of the snowiest winters on record and you have the time period that is my winter of 2010-2011. This is what I came home for?

The funny thing is, the past 3 months have gone by faster than any other period in my life except maybe my 4 years in college. I'm reminded me of the old cliche, "time flies when your'e having fun". Im thinking maybe I should ammend that. I wouldn't call the last 3 months "fun" by any means, but it sure is Hell went by fast. The 10 weeks I spent in Costa Rica were fun, and that time dragged on like a trip to the dentist. Ticos, along with people from SoCal, Florida, the Caribbean, and those hailing from other places considered paradise seem to adopt a different mentality than those from the northeast. In Costa Rica they called it "Tico Time", and the only rule is that time doesn't dictate life. Rather, life dictates time. Ticos see time as an ever-moving constant created by man to make us more productive. This idea was born around the same time as capitalism and the phrases "if it don't make dollars it don't make sense" and "time means money". It seems to me that when you are enjoying your time you don't think about how fast it is passing because you don't even consider looking at a watch. On the other hand, when you're rushing to an appointment or sitting in traffic, you're fully aware of how much time you have or have lost. It actually has nothing to do with fun. In the movie "Deep Blue Sea", poet LL Cool J has an ingenious take on time and the theory of relativity. LL says, "Grab hold of a hot pan, second can seem like an hour. Put your hands on a hot woman, an hour can seem like a second. It's all relative".

Back to the original issue; when does time fly? As humans we don't give ourselves enough credit. We are highly-evolved, intelligent beings, at least on paper. We actually have the ability to speed up and slow down time based on how effectively mindful we are of it. Unfortunately, success is measured by productivity, so in striving for material triumph one needs to always be conscious of time. Ticos are constantly  less mindful of it, and in turn, don't speed it up or slow it down, simply letting it be. It was that ignorance that allowed me to let time slowly pass me by. Now I'm living the American Dream, or perhaps just the infant stages of it? In the grand scheme, 3 months is such a small sample size, certainly not enough to determine the future, but enough to know I'm onto something. The reason for my optimism is the way time has passed since being home. Time flies when you're using it productively....

The Perfect Personal Day

Well it's finally hit, my yearly bout with SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). For those of you who never heard of it, it's a mood disorder that affects humans during the cold, daunting months of winter. No one is sure why it affects only certain people, but my mother theorizes that it's genetic. She claims its inflicted her brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, and even her late mother. It seems to have passed its way down to me, because for a few weeks out of every year I feel like doing absolutely nothing; not working, not playing, not reading, not exercising, not talking, not writing. Everything seems to be a struggle, and my energy wanes to a weak gurgle. Im not sure what initiates this, every year something different sets me off. Maybe it's the presence of death, a lack of vitamin D, student debt, living at home, Egypt, or even the absence of color (actually there seems plenty to be depressed about). Regardless, there is very little that can be done other than waiting it out until green begins to uncover.

I tried one remedy last week; "the personal day" aka "the mental health day". As a kid I would sleep in, watch daytime television, and find ways to amuse myself while everyone else was at school. Nowadays that therapy only puts me into further despair. Activity is what cures me now. So last week, I decided to take a day off, drive to the White Mountains, and spend the day carving down a slope at high speeds. The timing couldn't have been better for a trip to Cannon; it was half price Thursday providing us with a $33 lift ticket, a new storm had just given us over a foot of fresh powder, and because it was a Thursday there were no lift lines. We left Boston before dawn, happy to see the sun pushing the clouds out of the way and giving us a clear path to the north. Just over 2 hours later we were putting on our boots and strapping into our bindings. It was still snowing in Franconia Notch where storms seem to get stuck in the confining barriers of the close knit range. We were up and down all morning, creating new paths in the virgin powder and doing our best to emulate the Winter X Games. We took a break for lunch and were more than pleased to hear the announcement that the clouds were departing and the summit lift would be opening. Everyone there was in great spirits, happy to take pictures of strangers, and enjoying the fresh air on a work day. We spent the afternoon making the long runs from summit to base without hesitation. Eventually the clouds gave way to blue skies and phenomenal views of the snowcapped mountains that surrounded us. Cruising from the summit, you moved down toward the clouds below creating a dreamlike scene unknown in the city. Not once did we mention work or anything negative. We were living in the present and enjoying the therapeutic retreat from the concrete jungle we call home.

So often I forget to appreciate the gifts that the winter provides us. Life in the city during this time of the year consists of complaints about shoveling, stepping in slushy puddles, black snow, waiting in lines at bars, and the flu. There is so much more that we miss because of this omnipresent negativity. This is why employers give us these days, so that we can aleviate the stress caused by the season. It just seems to me that we don't use them correctly. These kinds of activities allow us to focus on the present and help to shift our anxieties from the past and future to the immediate. I wasn't concerned about loans, relationships, or illness. Instead, I was focused on speeding down a mountain as fast as possible without killing myself. For me that's what life is all about.

Stolen Manhood

This morning I was assigned the malicious task of transporting my family's cat, Boondock, to the vet to be "fixed", a term that is appropriately obnoxious. What was wrong with the cat that required this inhumane operation? Ya, he could be considered spunky, possibly even annoying, but its an animal. I think we expect too much from the behavior of our pets. Cats and dogs have been domesticated for thousands of years, but can we really hold them to that kind of lofty standard? Poor Boone wasn't instructed under the tutelage of his parents. He didn't have a mentor that told him, "don't scratch furniture or jump on tables, or they'll take away your manhood". What's worse is that we now consider it irresponsible to not "fix" our pets, and it's even broadcasted during The Price is Right. Who can we blame for turning our beloved animals into a bunch of barren eunuchs? Christians have obviously made it difficult with their stringent anti-abortion laws. Animals rights groups certainly need to take some blame here as well. They were all up in arms over the Michael Vick debacle, yet they support the castration of thousands of helpless animals. And how can we ignore Bob Barker? He could have chosen any charitable project in the world, yet he chose this. What kind of sicko would put this kind of an effort into stealing my cat's instinctual identity? Maybe his part in Happy Gilmore was a lot more accurate than anyone gave him credit for. All I know is that when I return home, and look into the eyes of my mini tiger, something is going to be missing. Worst of all, he is forever going to associate me with this horrific day, for putting him in a cramped crate and driving him to his eventual demise. He is never going to trust me again. I am sorry that we had to do this Boondock, and I am especially sorry that I played such an integral role in all of this.

I don't want to die without any scars.

"You have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something.  Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don't need.  Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don't really need".  ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

I woke up this morning with an overwhelming urge to do something out of the ordinary...

Today I followed the same course of action, the same routine as I have done just about every morning since returning from my trip. I Was robbed of my dreams by an alarm, delayed the inevitable 5 minutes at a time with my snooze button, and eventually got up. I sloppily made my bed, brushed my teeth, and quickly ate a banana as I drove to the gym. I worked out for a little over an hour, returned home, showered, drank coffee, and drove to work. Luckily, I enjoy my job. Working for my father's business has been an epiphany of sorts. I get to exercise my creativity and follow my own schedule, while seeing my efforts directly leading to the success of the company. Unfortunately there are too many others out there that remain stifled by their restraining routines.

On this particular morning I got to thinking about how controlled everything is. Most of us are blindly and even more tortorously, knowingly following a path carved out by the trailblazers before us. As humans, we have an inate desire to explore, to hunt, to chase, to adventure, yet we have no avenue to exercise these desires. Some of us go to the gym, play sports, shop, eat, travel, take drugs, drink, have families in oder to fill this void in our souls. We have no great war that unites us, but we have a "great recession" that only inhibits us further. I can't stand hearing, "you can't do that, you can't afford it". That's bullshit, that's why we have credit (probably not the best attitude). As the population grows to obscene levels, and the number of leaches consuming the garbage that is thrown our way bythe media and advertising execs becomes the majority, we in the middle are restricted further and further.

Right now I want nothing more than to cause mayhem, to remind everyone that we are free, that we don't have to follow the rules and conventions set for us. We are more powerful than we think, and we are the ones getting in our own way. All of these thoughts reminded me of one of my favorite movies; Fight Club. In an interview in 1999, Oscar nominated director, David Fincher said this, "We're designed to be hunters and we're in a society of shopping.  There's nothing to kill anymore, there's nothing to fight, nothing to overcome, nothing to explore.  In that societal emasculation this everyman is created". Fincher's most recent fim, "The Social Network" is the most relevant and discussed fim of 2010. You can actually see the similarities between that and "Fight Club"; a young man fighting the conventional rules of society in order to create a unique idea, and creating mayhem in the process. Im not sure what my idea is yet, but I'd like to start by doing something completely out of the ordinary...

Sports; The Most Addictive Drug in America

So the much anticipated and overevaluated showdown between Bill Belichick and Rex Ryan turned out to be one of the most anticlimactic sporting events I've ever sat through. The Jets came to Foxboro with a better, more creative gameplan coupled with far more grit, and belittled the Patriots on offense and defense. Tom Brady will not be remembered as an MVP or playoff hero, but for his prudent audibles and lack of fortitude under pressure. Please spare me the best quarterback of all time argument or even Tom vs Peyton debate. In the last three years that Hollywood Tom has been in the playoffs, we have watched him lose composure when it has mattered the most. In 2007, his historical offense was thwarted by the overpowering defensive line of the Giants. We watched from home as Eli Manning did what tom could not; elude the rush and make a big play. Last year the Ravens entered Foxboro as underdogs, and made the Pats look feable in their attempt to continue owning the title; "unbeatable at home". This year it was the loud-mouthed Jets that embarrassed New England in front of their home crowd. Now, as fans, we will need to wait patiently as the final 4 teams remaining have it out in their respective conference championships.

Let me be the first to say that the NFL is dead to me until draft day. I have such a terrible taste in my mouth, like the one you wake up with after a heavy night of drinking and neglecting to brush your teeth. As enticing as it is to sit down on a Saturday/Sunday night with friends and watch these games with beverages and snacks, I will not. Instead, I choose to omit the remainder of the season from my life. Following a professional team the correct way takes a whole lot of time and energy, both of which come at a premium at this point in my life. Sports act as a fantasticdeterrant to reality the same way a drug would, giving us both reason and excuse to ignore the responsibilities around us. Fans pour not only their well-earned dollars into this hobby, but also their heart and souls. Now fans have a choice; go back to reality or fill the void with something else? There are plenty of other sports to follow, nevermind that the Red Sox look more promising now than in any of their World Series seasons. My best guess is that fans will follow football through the Superbowl, pick up college basketball for conference championship season and eventually March Madness, then turn to baseball once spring training is in full swing. This is exactly what the sporting industry wants us to do so that they don't miss a beat with tv programming and in turn, ratings. It's the neverending cycle of the sporting year, and we consume it like a drug. Should we blame ESPN? The answer is no, we should take the responsibility for our consumption of the same old, tired storylines and rivalries. The reason ESPN gets away with is is because we will take the time to watch. If I see one more recycled story about a David vs Goliath in college basketball or bad guy gone good in the NFL or NBA (see Vick, Michael), than Im going to be sick. Sports are a drug, and we are giving those who feed us too much of our time, energy, and money. I hope that there is a lockout in the NFL next year, it will force us all to go back to reality. Or maybe we will just fill the void with something less wholesome...

A Belated New Years Toast

New Years Eve;  the promise of a good house party, a midnight kiss, and the inevitable blackout with your friends, whats not to love? For me, it is the way that the media looks back on the previous year, the history that was made, and the people that we've lost.  People cry about getting older, talk about what fun times they had, and make forced resolutions that they probably won't keep (just take a look at any gym's attendance in January compared to May). Im not above this custom, in fact I've done it for years, but life as a producer has changed me. It's so easy as a student to simply fall in line with the flow of the masses because you spend so much time socializing and with streaming media. However, once you enter the rat race your vision becomes more clear. The past has very little bearing on your life because there is nothing you can do about it. There is just too little space in our brains to dwell on events and circumstances we cannot control. Instead I choose to focus all possible positive energy on the present, and put myself in best position to succeed in the future. So, in celebration of this sentiment, here is a list of things I look forward to in 2011:

• Learning more about the flooring business.
• Contributing to the growth of The Carpet Workroom.
• Learning as much as possible about owning and managing my own business and actually putting it into action.
• Helping my sister move in the right direction after making the wise decision that as an 18-year-old girl with a blurry vision of the future, a $50,000/year education was not for her.
• Actually building a savings account.
• Becoming more politically active, apathy has gotten me nowhere.
• Not being taken advantage of by the Archdiocese of Boston.
• Further persuing the ability to dunk a basketball.
• My first coaching win of the year.
• Visting the west coast for only the second time in 26 years.
• Traveling to Asia so that I can actually make money as an ESL teacher.
• Paying off some of my paralyzing student debt.
• Learning how to dance Salsa.
• Watching Carl Crawford and Adrien Gonzalez wearing Red Sox uniforms.
• Growing out my hair to ridiculous lengths. Yup, you may even see me in a ponytail.
• Refining my writing skills through this blog.
• and probably hundreds of other things that I cannot possibly account for...

Here's to adapting, let us raise our glasses and make things happen in 2011...

Roadtrippin' with my Partner in Crime

We spent our first couple of days in dirty San Jose saying goodbye to my departing freinds and touring the place I called home. We shared a domestic evening with my former host family where we provided parting gifts while they served as a traditional Tico dish. We were anxious to escape the harsh city life and explore the plush wilderness so we quickly took a bus to the Guanacaste region that covers most of the Pacific coastline and Nicoya Peninsula. We decided that a touristy surf town called Tamarindo would be our destination, and a hostel aptly named "Pura Vida" our temporary home. We quickly and coincidentally met a guy named Chance from Alaska and a few other travelers from Scotland, LA, and Sweden. We arrived too late to view the sunset so we went right into eating and drinking. First, we had the best meal either of us has had in a long while at a small, open-aired restaurant called Dragonfly. Eventually we sauntered to a liquor store that also served as a bar and got caught up in the best nightlife in town. Some tequila and a few cervesas later, we stumbled back to our dorm and retired for the night. We awoke early the next day, switched rooms for privacy sake, and for only $30 a night achieved a queen sized bed and air conditioning. Our goal in Tamarindo was to learn how to surf. It would be my second time, Christina's first, and I proved to be a far better learner than teacher. Christina stood a couple of times but retired early citing frustration while I was able to find far more consistency than my first attempt. During a luch break with Chance we ironically ran into a friend of mine from Canton. It was their last night so we partied again, saying farewell to Chance and helping Chris court an American hippie working as a teacher. We finally caught a sunset, my first since arriving in Costa Rica, and we spent our last day preparing for departure and making dinner in our immaculately kept, open-aired kitchen.

The next morning we departed for the cloud forest of Monteverde and a town called Santa Elena. For $25/night we made a home at Cabinas Eddy which was owned by a very welcoming family of two generations and a dueling pair of pets. There, we defied gravity on the longest ziplining tour in Costa Rica while dodging howler monkeys and gazing at amazing butterflies fit for Pandora. We had dinner and drinks in a tree house, and listened to our canopy guide and a local drummer cover reggae songs with an acoustic guitar at a local club. We left after a couple of days and returned back to the valley below. With Thanksgiving and Christina's birthday approaching we wanted to veer from hostel life and stay somewhere a bit more elegant. Christina wanted to see a volcano and I knew the perfect one. I emailed the wakeboarder I befriended on my previous excursion to Arenal because he had mentioned before that he and his girlfriend operated a local bed and breakfast. He replied with an amazing offer we couldn't refuse; $50 to stay one night in a "palace" at the base of the volcano. We arrived after a 5 hour jaunt through the mountains on a jeep, then a boat, and back on a jeep. The views of Lake Arenal were painstakingly beautiful and serene, still untouched by the growing commerce. The place wasn't exactly a palace but acted as a fitting place to give thanks for all the good in our lives. I was able to watch a bit of the Patriot's game before going to collect food for Thanksgiving dinner. When the sun went down, Jonny and Sofia brought us to the local's hot spring. There we chased a buzz while wading in the swift, steaming river flowing from the heart of the volcano by candle light. We returned to cook our meal and fell asleep on the veranda to the sound of tropical rain. We never got a chance to see the volcano due to intense fog, but the trip was a success and we had the Caribbean playground of Puerto Viejo ahead of us.

A shuttle ride to the middle of nowehere, 90 minutes waiting for a public bus, and a 3 hour ride to the Caribbean standing in the aisle of a sweltering bus was how we spent the first half of Christina's 25th birthday. Anyone else would have dropped me by then, but she stuck with me even when I dragged her to the moldy tents of Rocking J's. I don't know if it was the abundance of alcohol, the birthday pineapple I surprised her with, or the spectacular beaches and easygoing atmosphere of the small rasta town, but we were able to have a great night. Unfortunately, on our bike ride to the beach the following morning, it began to rain. Our day on the beach was thwarted, but we salvaged the day at The Jaguar Rescue Center where we socialized with monkeys, gawked at sloths, and actually learned a good deal from our guide. The following day the sun finally came out and we explored the beaches. We spent the morning at the local beach with a professional snowboarder from France named Chris and his quiet lady friend before biking to nearby Punta Uva, probably the most scenic beach I've ever walked on. We napped in the shade of the mangrove forest and enjoyed watching the sun go down behind the trees, offering the most colorful afternoon either of us could remember. We slept in hammocks on an open air platform that night thankful that we were finally allowed our day in the sun.

Eventually we made it back to the Central Valley to say goodbye to our new friends and the troical land that played host to this amazing adventure. We left exhausted on November 31st and arrived back to Reality on the first of December.

Life After Maximo

I have now been home a full month, endured the gluttony of the holidays amidst continuous harassment by my new neighbors in Newton, and couldn't be happier looking to cover the clean slate with colorful experiences that come with the new year. I am still astonished at the rate in which time passes in the United States. One month back in the rat race and I am already having a difficult time remembering the different lessons I learned while traveling abroad. Fantasies of long term travel and learning new cultures while teaching English have given way to social media, online marketing, conversations with lawyers, and the sale and use of rugs. I had no idea how much education I would need in order to enter the world of floor covering. From Wiltons to loop piles, Karastand to Shaw, and sisals to bolon, there is a whole new jargon I have learned and will continue to research in the coming year. But before I shift my thinking to that, I want to share how I spent my last few weeks in paradise...

Upon finishing my time in San Jose, I relocated roughly 20 kilometers away in the former capitol of Costa Rica, Cartago. There, I resided with my friends Martin and Chelsea, my new family run by the matriarch, Vicky, and 10 university students attending the nearby technical school. For $260/month we enjoyed room and board, 3 meals a day, and laundry. I spent my days studying Spanish on Live Mocha, sneaking into the University's gym, refining my blog and wandering around my new city. I traveled back to San Pedro often to visit the Lorias and share cervesas with my old friends at Maximo. I basically lived life as a Tico student and filled my head with plans I intended to put into practice upon my return home. The days passed slowly and I began to grow anxious wondering about my incumbent departure from my suspension of reality. On the weekends I continued to travel. I spent three days traveling solo to a place called La Fortuna that sat in the shadows of one of the world's most active volcanoes, Arenal. There I met fellow travelers, drank some litros, waded in the natural hot springs, and went on a 15 kilometer hike with a Dutch traveler named Geert. We swam in the translucent waters at the base of the spectacular Fortuna Waterfall and hiked to the top of Arenal's older brother, gazing into the green waters of Cerro Chato. At first I was discouraged by the way in which the tourism industry stole the innocence from this beautiful place, but I was relieved after finding that not everything in La Fortuna had been stripped of it's natural essence. The following weekend Martin and I were invited to spend our TEFL instructor, Iani's birthday at a bed and breakfast in the mountains of Heredia. We had no idea what to expect, but we were welcomed by Iani's British friend Emily that was house sitting and managing this mountaintop villa. We spent the night doing the usual while experiencing one of the most unusual and overwhleming views of the dim lights of the Central Valley which looked like fireflies. We spent the next day trespassing through a neighboring coffee plantation en route to another waterfall, this one polluted by rainswept garbage rather than awestruck tourists. Then, on the 18th of November, Christina arrived with a backpack as big as her small frame and an even bigger smile after our 10 week seperation.