November 17, 2002

Why I felt compelled to take the large ziplocked bag full of pennies from my friends house is for a diary entry all its own. Same goes for the reasons why I, once free on the street, attempted to transfer all of the coins from the bag to my pockets, only to put them back in the bag when I found it forcing me to walk noticeably cowboy-like.

So there I was downstairs at the Hynes Convention Center T-stop, sitting on one of the benches, reading a book. My mind dismissed most of the background noise of the station but I glanced up briefly when I spotted a homeless man methodically going from person to person with the same query. I couldn't make out what he was saying exactly but could easily assume one of a small handful of possibilities. His thoroughness was impressive, not letting a single person go unasked. Finished with all those standing he starts in on all of us seated.

My nose remains buried in my book. But at this point I admit I'm waiting for it.
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)
"Spare some change?"

KA-POW!! My arm springs away from my chest fast with the clear bag swaying heavily from my closed fist. The man is in disbelief. The bag is enormous. A quick second of silence passes as the man looks at the bag, then me, then back at the bag again. Finally he takes it and walks away. I look to my right and am greeted by a row of smiling strangers greatly amused by my unexpected response. The proud owner of the unrefutable answer they've often wished they had in situations just like this one.

"So, what were you going to do with all those?" the woman to my left asks.
"Roll them up?" I offer.

Her guess was as good as mine.

November 7, 2002

I've been reading for pleasure lately, which is a good thing -- something I haven't done in a long time. And I'm finding that I don't like seeing the authors face on the book. Seeing the mug shot does nothing but taint my perception of the book. Now when I read the words I can't help picture it being said out of that head, that face. And sometimes the voice in the book is saying and doing things that I could never picture the face saying or doing.

Anyway, since I don't mind seeing the pic after I'm done with the book, I have a proposal. The authors face, on all books, should be covered with the same silver film that scratch tickets use. So then I could read the entire book, and then be like, "hmmm, ok, let's see what he looks like now." and scratch away.

September 24, 2002

Becoming a Justice of the Peace: Mission Aborted

I wish I could explain how this one got on my "list." But there it was. And I was dead serious about it. I wanted to marry people. Well ok, let's be honest, I wanted to walk around wearing a long flowing silk robe and carry a gavel. I wanted to make casual statements like "I need another beer," and when the beer finally arrived, slam the gavel hard on the table and declare loudly, "JUSTICE HAS BEEN SERVED!!" I would do this a lot actually. If I saw someone give up their seat on the T for an old person. If I just made a light before it turned red. If my meal at a restaurant was good. After being told I get an extra bagel when ordering twelve.

Motives aside I attacked this with the determination of a pitbull. Web research, emails, two trips to the State House. The end result was obtaining an official application, a guidelines pamphlet, and finding out that my town was allowed three Justices of the Peace..... and that they currently only had two! Perfect.

I started filling out the application. Basic stuff. Why do I want to be a JOP. Blah blah blah. Where did I go to school. Blah blah blah. The last section calls for "the signatures of five well-known persons, one a member of the bar, and one an elected official in the town in which you reside." Hmmmm.

At first this didn't phase me at all. I even started thinking of all the Boston semi-celebrities I could probably finagle into signing it. Mish Michaels. Ezra Dyer. That guy who rides his big tricycle around and constantly yells "Eppp Eppp Eppp!"; part warning call, part insanity. These people might pass for "well-known" and they would make for interesting endorsements. But damn, how do I get a politician to sign on? Did I want this so badly that I would be willing to approach and/or befriend my State Representative and basically out and out lie to him, telling them how much I wanted to do this for some completley made up but legit sounding reason? No. I couldn't do that, I don't have the heart.

And then I started thinking further down the line. What if I got all the signatures, applied, and actually got appointed? Then I'd have people calling me. I don't want people calling me! I came to the now obvious realization, I probably couldn't handle marrying people. I'd be a nervous wreck. I'd ruin the special day. When I read at Donna's wedding I sweat so much that I lost 5 pounds in water weight, and that was only a few paragraphs. And now I think I'm going to run the show at one of these? People would call me and I'd always be "busy" that weekend. Before I know it my picture would be in the paper with the caption, "Dead Beat Justice of the Peace," like they do to fathers who don't pay child support. They'd shame me into marrying people. I'd have to keep them at bay long enough to finish my public speaking class I guess. But wait, I could go to these weddings, do my little thing.. and then get my drink on! Don't they say a wedding is a great place to meet someone? What could be more attractive to a tipsy cute single female than the intoxicating power and charisma of a Justice of the Peace? Would you like to dance? JUSTICE HAS BEEN SERVED!!

Now the application remains tacked on the large board over my desk at home. A reminder of my failure.

September 16, 2002

I did two things last week that I never ever thought I'd do. Things that scared me. The first was shopping for a unix book. Granted, my boss said I could expense the cost, but still, Wow. Here, take my milk money, just please don't hurt me. The second thing might even be more disturbing though. I was walking home from work and I deliberately went into the bookstore near St. Mary's... not to buy a book... but to pet this incredibly affection cat that lives there amongst the books. I sat down on a milk crate and he jumped in to my lap, just like on my first visit, and we had a nice little petting session. Awwww. No! This is not normal. This is wrong. This very very bad. This stops now. What is happening to me.

September 2, 2002

"Thanks for not stealing anything!" the waiter says loudly as I leave the restaurant. After serving us slightly seriously all night he is now smiling widely. Behind him two of the waitstaff are huddled around a third; they are reading something.

Without breaking stride I shoot him a quick smile and wave in return. I honestly don't like the attention. It actually isn't supposed to work this way. Normally they read it AFTER I've left the restaurant.

My ladyfriend hears the waiter's comment and gives me a confused look, and then I can literally see it happen inside her head -- She realizes that it is always a bad move to visit the bathroom, leaving Andy alone in a restaurant with a 'comment card' and a pen in front of him.

(In the comments area I had written "I did not steal anything from your restaurant. A rarity! I liked it THAT much." Oddly enough this same restaurant had received a rudy letter a week earlier.)

September 1, 2002

I'm at the corner of Boylston and Arlington, waiting to cross. I've had a rough day. I need a drink. I'm hungry.

Me: Where do you want to eat?
She: I don't know, where do you want to eat?
Me: P.F. Changs? It's close.
She: Yeah, let's go to Changs.
Me: CHANG IT UP!!!

Overjoyed at the prospect of doing something non-work related I say this admittedly dorky comment way louder and far more excited than is really necessary on a random street corner.

As soon as the words "Chang it up!!" come rumbling out of my mouth... I realize I am standing directly behind an asian family, also waiting to cross the street. I freeze. I feel as if I've suddenly done something very wrong; fearful that somehow this family missed the context of my comment and now perceives me as walking up behind them and yelling "Chang It Up!!" in their ear with bad intentions. I walk the remaing two blocks to the restaurant in complete silence.

August 20, 2002

"Tapered or straight, hon?"

She wants to know how I want the back of my hair cut. I have no idea how to answer this. How the fuck do I know, I never see the back of my head. Why do I need to make this decision? I'm back home in New York. I'm on vacation. I don't want to make any decisions. I don't want to challenge myself in any way to be quite honest. I want to read my book on the terrace all day and when I need a break I want to take a drink of ice-water and use the cheap mini-binoculars to secretly ogle the girls playing volleyball. Mmmmmm. Nice ... bump.

My barber in Boston doesn't ask questions, he just knows what to do. And if there ever is a question I just have him do what's in style, according to him. He's gay. I trust him.

"I guess just do it the way it looks like it was done before," I suggest.

"Well it's all overgrown now, I can't tell how it was," she replies.

Great. What if I say the wrong thing and my hair look stupid? I bet there is a right answer to this. What is it? Is tapered the style where you end up with that little downward spike of hair in the back that resembles the rear end of a duck? Will straight make my hair resemble those stiff and sometimes removeable hair-helmets found on lego people?

Why am I even here? I know why. Because you're a freak. Even on vacation you can't stop making your lists. You and those damn lists! You're here because your list for today (made last night) said, "Breakfast. CVS. Gas. Movie." And you decided to put "haircut" on there too so you would feel good about yourself when the mission was completed and you could cross it off. Congratulations! Would you not have eaten breakfast if it wasn't on the list? I am convinced the village of Brookline is sorely missing their idiot while you're on vacation.

"Surprise me." I end up saying in the end.

To this day I don't really know which she chose.

August 5, 2002

I get back in the car, still wiping the pizza grease from my mouth with a wad of cheap napkins as if it were really just one big thick napkin. If you ever wonder why the napkin dispensers are always empty at your favorite eatery, assume I've just been there.

I turn the key. The 'ABS' light comes on and then dissappears, like it always does, but this time I take notice of it. Did it stay on a little longer than it usually does? It's not even a polite British 'abs'. It's a loud obnoxious upper-case American 'ABS'. Wait, what am I talking about, if I'm going to personify my car at 2:00 in the morning I might as well do it with some accuracy. This is a Toyota, so it would be Japanese. Wait. Sumo wrestlers are Japanese. And they're obsese. Before a match they throw salt on the ring to purify it. I throw salt on my pizza before eating it. A sumo ring is circular. A pizza pie is circular. Knowing the cultural context of my car's comment only makes this hurt even more. I'm pissed. Because my car is obviously making fun of my current physical condition with this whole ABS thing! Great. The light might as well say, 'No More Late Night Pizza... Fat Ass."

I put the car in drive and declare to never bring it in for another oil change. If she doesn't want me putting grease or oil in my body, fine, but she gets the same. We're in this together.

July 23, 2002

I'd been using it as a coaster for about a week, the unintentional result being a series of encrusted ringlets on the cover, making it look like an early scratch-pad of an olympic logo creator, after eight beers.

But it was on my list so I had to do it. That's just the way it works. So I went to the book store and brought the book up to the counter.

"Is this worth anything? It's in poor condition, but I think it's a first edition. 1943."

I say this knowing full well that in pencil on the inside cover of the book is written "$1-". But you know, I just saw some dumb goober from Indiana find out that his blankie was actually a 'first phase navajo wrapping' netting him half a million dollars on Antiques Roadshow, so forgive me if I play it safe.

"No thanks. It might be a first edition, but it's a first edition of probably the 15th book he wrote."

"OK. That's what I thought. ... do you want anything for it?"

"No."

"OK. I'll just look around."

I had never been in this store before although I had walked past it literally hundreds of times. I pretend to look around. I adore the look of old leather bound books, but I have no desire to crack one open. Why am I not more knowledge thirsty? I don't own an x-box, I don't mountain-bike or drink Mountain Dew, I don't own flared pants. No, I'm not them. But still my attention span is peanut sized. I actually find myself welcoming the single-serving tidbits of information offered up by that ubiquitous morning waitress, the Metro newspaper. I even forgive her misspellings. Isn't she the cutest? I don't want to date her. But I want to kiss her every morning.

Outside of the store are 4-5 metal racks of books on rollers. Everything is a dollar. I pretend to look at the books... as I slyly insert my unwanted book into the mix... and walk briskly away.

July 13, 2002

He: Well go get on your email box and write them a letter.
Me: Oh my god. My 'email box'??
He: Whatever. Yeah. Your computer.
Me: Are you not fully awake yet. Maybe you need to go stand in the closet that rains?
He: Shut up.
Me: Hey, when you're down with that, let's go somewhere in your box on wheels that moves?
He: Shut up.

June 23, 2002

I am polite. I am a gentleman. There is no argument there. But I started thinking about how I stack up when it comes to 'traditional manners' in the realm of dating or relationships. It turns out that I will very happily: hold doors open, let her order first, walk on the curb side of the street, open the car door for her, and even help her on and off with her coat if we're in a social environment that calls for that. (did I miss any other major ones?)

But I recognized one manner that I just really don't care for. And that's the whole pulling out her chair move. It's just.... I don't know, it's too much! She can't sit without assistance? I'm all for making you feel like a princess, but going from a standing position to a seated position, even at a very fancy restaurant, is a responsibility you should take on yourself.

To avoid losing my gentleman status ..... I take all my dates to places that only have booths in them. Problem solved!

June 22, 2002

Women's noses. They're very cute. But what's always fascinated me about them is, no visible hair, ever, and with no effort! It's a mixture of fascination and jealousy I guess. As a guy I keep on top of this, but I think I might go a little too far. Now I find myself scared to go outside for the fear that my years of constant nose hair yanking has made me ultra-susceptible to a host of airborne diseases.

May 27, 2002

My parents are pretty smart people. This is quietly evidenced by their weekly decimation of the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. When visiting home I'll invariably come upon the puzzle, already 95% done, by 10:00am. I beam with pride and immediately want to run outside and slap bumper stickers on their cars that read, 'Honor Roll Parents On Board'.

What tickles me is the stuff they can't get. Sure they can get the answers to clues like "article in dei zeit" and "eton's founder." But when it comes to "Rocker Billy ____," they can't seem to figure out what could possibly be the missing letter to complete I _ O L. Billy IWOL? I admit a childish glee in etching in the missing D. I make sure the handwriting is noticeably my own.

I was looking at the puzzle just this past weekend and noticed the printing at the bottom that read, "Need an answer? Call 1-800-XXX-XXXX. $1.20 a minute." Wow. $1.20 a minute aint cheap. I wondered what type of person called this number. Then I started to think about starting my own racy version of the service that'd combine the correct answers with... classic phone sex! That could be a money maker. I'd bill it as a service to stimulate your intellect AND your libido. .... "Oh yeah baby. Do you want my 61 down? Six letters, last letter is H, and the clue is 'grab quickly'. To talk to me more, enter your answer using your phone's touch tone keypad now."

April 26, 2002

I'm of the belief that if you're having trouble getting to sleep, the best thing to do is to get up and do something for a little while. Eat a banana. Watch a little TV. Call her work number just to hear her voice-mail message... again.

After I've exhausted these activities I usually end up on the internet. It goes something like this: porn site, porn site, porn site, eBay. And it's here that my tired eyes scour the offerings, placing bids on various items. Oh, that's cool. click. I bet I'd be the only one on the block with one of these. click. I'll surprise Mom with this. click. click. click.

The next day I'll be working away in my cube and I'll suddenly get an email. You've been outbid! My reaction is one of initial surprise, followed by a wave of relief. 'Oh thank god. What the hell was I thinking at 3:00AM to make me covet an antique gumball machine?' And the emails continue throughout the day. You've been outbid! 'Good. Where the hell would I put that thing anyway.' You've been outbid! 'YES! Whew. That was a close one.'  .....  At days end it's nice to know that my insomnia results in driving up the price of random shite on the internet.

April 18, 2002

I've started running again. This is good. As I run the Callipygian Highway (aka: around the Charles River) I'm amazed at all the women who seem to run with the grace of prancing antelope. Their bodies bounce along lightly as if their heels and toes are spring loaded. Boing! Boing! Boing! Their little pony tails and their little headphones moving forward with what looks like incredible ease and minimal effort. It even looks fun!

Then there's me. The Ogre. Plodding along slowly behind them. Each step hammering the concrete heavily. Huffing. Puffing. Spitting. Moaning. Face contorted. Even my thoughts come in out-of-breathe chops ..... Ogre... must... catch.... antelope.

April 17, 2002

I've often thought about buying one of those body pillows to sleep with. I've also thought about buying one of those white noise machines as well. But what stops me is the thought of liking either of these products so much that I can no longer sleep without them. I envision having to buy two plane tickets, one for me and one for the body pillow. I imagine calling hotels and asking them how close their outlets are to the beds for the noise machine. Suddenly what seemed like a nice luxury sleep item turns into a bonifide physical addiction!

So instead I safely choose not to buy these items. In fact, I've taken it a step further. I now sleep on the floor with no sheets and with a rock as my pillow. I figure this way I am guaranteeing that I'll be able to sleep anywhere I go. Because anywhere I sleep will feel better than this. I am a genius.

April 15, 2002

The Sissy Bag. You know what I'm talking about. You go to a store and buy one pair of socks, and they give you the Sissy Bag. It's the only bag they have. With the squat paper body. And the cord handles. Ugh, those handles. If there is a way to carry this bag without looking effeminate, I haven't found it yet.

Recent conversation at Harnett's in Harvard Square:

Girl: would you like a bag for that?
Andy: yeah that would be great, thanks.
Girl: ok (putting purchase in bag)
Andy: oooh, do you have any plastic bags?
Girl: no I'm sorry just this kind.
Andy: (making face) ok. I hate the sissy bag though.
Girl: ha!
Andy: what?
Girl: you just bought a $26 bottle of face cleanser and your concerned about the bag looking sissy?
Andy: shaddup. (smiling)
Girl: (laughs) ha. have a nice night sir.

April 13, 2002

Things that bothered me this week
Noticing that on MTV Spring Break, every guy has zero chest hair.
Getting spam from the government along with my refund check.
Always getting the cashier who gives me change with the coins on top of the bills; impossible to receive.
Noticing that telling cabs how to get to my new apartment isn't as easy as it was with my old place.
Guys with chiseled features.

Things that pleased me with week
Discovering that Old Spice now makes bar soap!
Giving fake names with my order to the cashiers at the Wrap. (chicken burrito for Larry!)
Noticing in the video for "Baby Got Back" that the name of the magazine cover used in one shot is called Cosmopygian.
Using the word troubleshat as the past tense for troubleshoot at work.
Removing all the flip-fliers from a magazine before reading it.

March 25, 2002

Have you ever taken a CPR class? Remember the CPR dummy "Annie"? I found out recently that Annie was a Swedish girl who drowned in Sweden and that her family created a fund to supply these dummies for all CPR classes. On top of being called Annie, the dummies all have her proportions. Now I don't mean any disrespect or anything, but if I wanted to somehow memorialize my deceased daughter, I really don't think creating a life-like dummy of her for everyone around the world to french kiss is really the route I'd go.

March 14, 2002

Last weekend I created an excel spreadsheet on my desktop at home. It's misleading to call this document a spreadsheet though, because that gives the impression of reams and reams of data. Items to be calculated. Numbers to be crunched.   In stark contrast, this is an extremely small document. I'm talking tiny. It's ...um... it's a list of all the women that I've ever slept with. It's called pipe.xls.

I have no idea why I would create such a thing. But there it is, sitting contently in my 'personal' folder. And I can't get myself to delete (or rename) it now.

March 3, 2002

I'm partly embarassed to admit this, but Friday night was dinner, followed by board games and a bottle of wine. When did I get old? Anyway, we're playing this game called Imagniff. Quick version goes like this: you roll dice and a card gets pulled with a question about someone at the board. Then everyone has to guess the answer.

Imagine if Andy were a tv channel. What channel would he be?
   1. comedy channel
   2. playboy channel
   3. discovery channel
   4. food network
   5. ESPN
   6. sci-fi channel

Everyone immediately slaps down their cards (face down with the number of their choice on the underside) and I hear comments like, "oh this one is SO EASY!" I'm staring at the choices. This is easy? Well, ok, ok. I start eliminating a few like ESPN and sci-fi. Finally I slim it down to two choices. I slap down my card -- #1 -- which is greeted with groans from everyone, and I watch as all the cards turn over to reveal #2.

So apparently I think I'm funny, and everyone else thinks I'm a pervert! I felt like when that kid in the 3rd grade showed me that if you punched the digits 55378008 into a calculator, and turned it upside down... it spelled out the word 'boobless.' Scandalous, but he was right! And I was never the same again.

March 2, 2002

One of the many things I've decided to be this year is a man of decision. According to the way of the Samurai, every decision should be made within the space of seven breathes. This was working out well, until I went to the eye doctor....

Ok which is better, #1, or #2?
How about now #1, or #2?
And now, 1 or 2?
ok, and now, 1 or 2?

Too many decisions.... in rapid succession! Each answer having a direct effect on my future eyesight. And they all look the same!    I have failed.

February 9, 2002

My family weekend at the Rocking Horse Ranch....

4:00pm on Saturday: Q&A with Cowboy Don in the Round-Up room. 'Ol Don has already answered a handful of legitimate horse and cowboy related questions from the barrel of hand-written questions submitted by the ranch guests. Don pulls a fresh question out of the barrel. He looks at it. He hesitates. Then he reads: "If a horse neighs in a forest and there's noone there to hear it, does it really make any noise?" My entire family immediately turns and looks at me. Sipping on an orange soda I can't help but grin widely, an admission of my guilt. "Sorry, I just couldn't resist," I offer up.

.... later on that night I'm heard telling my Dad, "Hey, be thankful it was a question. At first I wrote, 'fuck you and the horse you rode in on!'" He tells me he's certain I must be adopted.

January 27, 2002

"Eyes on the road!!" I yelled at my TV yesterday. I just get so anxious when a movie shows two people riding in a car and the driver turns and talks to the passenger for what seems (to me) like too long a time. I get genuinely anxious. Then again, as a child I used to get rather preoccuppied about who was going to clean up the mess that Tom & Jerry made as they ran around wrecking the house.

January 8, 2002

Ever since 2002 my computer has been 100% porn free. Completely porn free. No bookmarks. No pics on my hard drive. Pure as the driven snow. I'd let my mother play with my computer it's so clean.

... But it's amazing how the human psyche can adapt, like a marine, to any situation, making due with what's available. You see, ever since my porn purge I've found myself oddly drawn to Lil' Peach convenience stores. It's here that I take handfuls of their match books and bring them home with me. .... and I don't even smoke.