Luke Grown Up

For those of you that don’t read dynamoaf, I highly recommend you do. Not only would you get a dose of laughs daily, but you would also find the link to the new location of this blog. It is now located at http://lukegrownup.today.com. It gets updated nearly every day, so give it a read! It’s pretty good. And it’s different from most of the trash I’ve been posting here.

So I feel the need to be pissed off about this situation. If you think I’m whining, fuck off – if you were in my shoes, you’d be just as pissed as I am. A couple weeks ago my friend Kate asked me if I wanted a short-term job doing freelance revisions of these self-help workbooks. She showed me what I would need to do, and I said, “I’m in.” So I get a workbook to do and I revise the shit out of it. I show several people and they agree it looks really good. I worked on it for upwards of about 5 hours. I sent it to the boss lady named Marsha and didn’t hear a word about it.

This past week I got the second workbook I had to do. I went through and streamlined that motherfucker like no one’s business. I made it pretty and everything. Then I get an e-mail this morning from Marsha “The” Bitch saying that I needed to redo the entire thing on my own time because it wasn’t what she was looking for. She said that I was instructed on how to do certain things, but I didn’t follow those instructions because I did them wrong.

First of all, let me say that she was only paying me for approximately three hours for each workbook, even though only a jerk doing a really shitty job can get it done in that time. The amount of work that needs to go into these pitifully dated and grammatically incorrect books is staggering, and for some reason she doesn’t understand that.

Also, the delegation of responsibility was completely non-existent. Marsha assumed Kate was my boss, and Kate assumed otherwise. I do not believe that Kate was at fault at all – she and I both believed that we were on the same level, receiving orders from Marsha “The Boss” Bitch. However, I received little to no communication from her barring a frantic phone call on Saturday afternoon. She talked in circles, continually asking me if I was working on the workbook or the leader book, and I kept telling her, “The workbook.” I worked on it all night, through the Super Bowl and into the wee hours of morning. Spent around (or maybe more than) 6 hours on the piece of shit. Looked really smart. Followed the standards I was given (regarding footers, margins, and dates, whatever the fuck that means) throughout a collection of fractured e-mails, none of which were sent to me directly. Then I got that e-mail at 8 this morning.

So what did I do? I sent her this back:

Marsha,

She did explain to me how to do header/footers, and I was under the impression that the footer was what you wanted. And what do you mean by “dates”? My main focus was to update the text, and since I didn’t want to mess with any of the publishing information, I left it as is. I feel like I’m getting the short end of the stick because things are not getting explained to me as efficiently as they could be, so now I have to go back on my own time and re-work a book that I spent close to 6 hours completing? (And yes, I work quickly.) I don’t think Kate is at fault in her practices – she is trying really hard to get everything done and keep on top of Jonah, Shane, and me. She has forwarded me e-mails regarding formatting, but they don’t seem to have any definitive answers contained within them. Perhaps our practices of delegation have lost some important items in translation, but I think given the information and material I’ve been given, I’m doing a good job.

Please let me know about these mystery categories I’ve elicited above (i.e. header/footer/dates etc.)

This afternoon, after more than 6 hours of silence from her, I received this:

I am sorry if there was confusion. I have spoken to Kate about your work and what she told you to do. There is a gap between what she has told me and your work. I do not feel that you accomplished much here; as a matter of fact, we’ll have to start from scratch on this one with another student’s help. There’s just too much lacking. I will pay you for your efforts, but considering all the work that needs to be redone, I feel that 4 hours is sufficient. I can either write you a check (tell me where to mail it) or you can set up a Pay Pal acct (maybe you have one) Please complete the invoice attached and initial it and send back to me.

So basically, because I was given very few guidelines, my work is unusable for some reason. Not only that, but I’m getting royally screwed as far as work-hours go. I have a right mind to just post these workbooks on the web. Not going to do that, because I actually have standards, but it would totally serve this crazy lady right.

I guess in the end, it’s all good. I know that she can not keep this company afloat – She seems more scattered than a bunch Skittles in a bowl that were spilled at a party and traveled around the house all night being kicked inadvertently by guests. This shit’s gonna bomb. Peace lady. I am really nice until you fuck me over. Then all bets are off.

When I was a senior in high school, I took what may have been the worst English class of my life. The teacher was this woman named Mrs. Baca, and she was a fuckin’ terror. There was just something about her that made me hate her. Perhaps it was the hair that everyone speculated was a wig. Maybe the strange, haughty-sounding accent. It could have even been her hate for baseball because all the players did was chew gum and spit. Who knows! One way or another, I managed to terrorize her for a full year with the complete approval of my classmates. Don’t get me wrong here – I was a good kid in high school. I tried hard and I was well-loved by most teachers, but Baca was an interesting case. Here are a couple stories that I hope make you smile.

I wrote about this on dynamoaf, but I just can’t help myself – so here it is again. At some point in the year we had to read a Shakespeare play and pull out a line from it and write a poem around it. I can’t believe I had the balls to write the following, as well as recite it proudly to the whole class. Here it is, with maybe one or two words changed over the course of time (Shakespeare line in bold):

She aks me for a raise
It more than I can pays
What, ho! What, ho! What, ho!
The answer still be no.

To this day I’ve never witnessed such a resonant silence as followed my recitation. Baca did not even seem to notice, as she just went on to the next person. I hope someone actually listened to the words.

Later on in the year, I don’t really know why, but we were in a different room in the school for English on a select day (I think the MCAS or something was going on in the wing we usually used). So we’re sitting there, and people are going to the front of the room and presenting projects or reciting something. Not important. I’m about halfway in the back of the class, and I had a brilliant idea to flick a nickel at Mike, the kid that was at the front of the room. My reasoning was, if I just leave my hand on my leg under my desk and just flick up my thumb like I were flicking a coin, then no one would be able to tell it was me. So I flick the nickel, and it whacks into the ceiling about halfway between me and Mike, then SLAMS down on the teacher’s desk in front. I really don’t think anyone even noticed. Except Baca. She pulled me out of class rather quickly and yelled at me for doing that – I denied it. I got sent to a private office and got to read Inherit The Wind on my own. Really not a bad punishment. Didn’t even have to talk to any Assistant Principals or anything.

One thing I always seemed to get away with though was flipping Baca off. She would turn to the board and I would just stick my finger in the air. As time went on, I got more bold about it, using both hands and standing up, fists raised high in the air. Others followed in my example and started doing it too. I think there were a few close calls, but no one ever got in trouble.

In this vein, I was able to get other members of the class to become insubordinate as well. I remember well some people getting very rowdy, talking back, making snide remarks, giving sarcastic answers to questions. Baca never seemed to notice we were just treating her like total shit.

Which brings me to my last point. This was one of the best things I did in high school (pretty sad, but I was a lame kid). During the second half of the year, we got these thick paperback books containing short stories from all of these American writers. Actually quite a good book – I have one at my house somewhere. Anyway, we consulted these books nearly every day in class, so they would be passed out when we needed them, but at the end of class, they were always passed to the front. I had other plans. Starting in late March/early April, every time a book was place in my hands, I took it. I put it in my bag, then in my locker on the top shelf. By the end of the year, I had almost 20 of these books. The shortage was being noticed, but no one had any idea who was taking them. I handed one or two out to friends and kept another for myself. On the second-to-last day of class, I raised my hand and asked to be excused. I came back balancing a huge stack of books in my arms, and when I walked in, the class erupted in laughter. The final class, I got a note from Baca on one of my papers saying that it was very rude for me to take the books and that it inhibited learning and all that bullshit. I had a good laugh.

In all, that class was no good. But I had some fun times. If I had to do it again, I certainly wouldn’t. That class sucked shit.

It always makes me sigh in depression when I see heterosexual women walking with their arms linked.

It usually makes me laugh when I see a strumpet, for she generally just looks ridiculous.

Someone I don’t even know told me the new Radiohead album is awesome today. Seriously, everyone, stop telling me – I couldn’t be more apathetic.

I really hope the wave comes.

Why George Lopez’s show is on Nick At Nite boggles my mind. Thinking about how he still has a career makes my head hurt.

I quit smoking six days ago, but I’ve had 4 cigarettes since then.

It bothers me when no one responds on AIM – usually that’s the only time when you really need to talk to someone.

What’s up with the new barebones UMass blog system? It sucks.

Ross needs to update Dr. Wisdom way more often.

Why do people always want to fight me too? I never provoke anything.

I can’t get over this George Lopez business.

I fucking love pizza. End of story.

And I would kill for some tacos right about now.

I used to think I was the smartest kid around. Now I’m not so sure.

I think I’m gonna slam back a big glass of wine and just go to bed.

Do any of you ever get that feeling? The one where you realize that no one is watching over you and that you’re completely on your own? It’s less a feeling of liberation and more a feeling of puzzlement and awe – that feeling. I’ve been getting that a lot lately, especially this semester. But coupled with it is a fear that I’ve never really felt before. This is the beginning of the rest of my life, and I’m only now realizing that. The choices I make right now are going to affect the course of my life. Beyond that, there are so many choices that can be made, but which ones are the right ones? Which ones?

I’m at a point where I’m not sure which decisions to make. But I have to commit to something – otherwise, I’ll end up failing at everything. Not good. I’m in an open field with a haze in the distance due to the humidity. Which way do I go? What do I choose for my life? Do I order the hamburger or the pizza? These things haunt me.

But you know what, it doesn’t matter. Whatever I choose I will make work in one way or another. I’ve got a lot going for me, and I know how to use it. Okay, I have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s 1:30 in the morning, and I am tired. I’ve been up for a little while typing away, trying to get myself tuckered out. I think I’m there now.

Good night.

Oh, and keep reading the blog – I should be updating them all more regularly now (including The Schedule, which I updated tonight).

Ahh Camp Yawgoog. What a time. What a damn good time. It’s funny, this story has been saved as a draft for quite some time (a work in progress), but apparently last night (edit: this was way back in April) I was talking to Angela on the bus to the bar about being an Eagle Scout and stuff (I don’t really recall this, but I was also pretty hosed at that point), so I figured, now’s a good time to get this one out there.

Camp Yawgoog (YAH-goo) is a big Boy Scout camp in Rockville, Rhode Island. There are three different “sub-camps” within Yawgoog: Three Point (the oldest), Medicine Bow (the middle one), and Sandy Beach (the youngest). Within these camps were campsites. I was at Camp Sandy Beach, and we stayed at the Kit Carson campsite every year. It was a great place to be because it was close to the waterfront and the mess hall. Terrific! We usually had a good time, but the best time had to be the last year I went to Yawgoog – it really was something else.

That year, I had just gotten relieved from duty as the Senior Patrol Leader, the guy who runs the meetings and makes sure everyone is in line. My successor was none other than Dan Dewitte, a guy I went to high school with who was pretty ridiculous. Read about Dan by clicking his name above. It’s seriously ridiculous.

One more thing I have to add to set this up: we all stayed in bunks in what were essentially big tents with raised wooden floors. There were two bunks per tent, and two beds per bunk, meaning four people per tent. In my tent was Jon H., Chris G., and Dan. Let me explain these guys (Jon and Chris) to you. Jon and Chris were potheads. They loved their pot. But they weren’t your typical potheads. Jon was a boisterous young man who loved to laugh and make jokes. Chris was a loud crude awesome human being. Chris absolutely loved giving Dan a hard time. By the end of the week, he managed to get 100% of the younger scouts to disrespect Dan. It was a job well done.

There were a lot of events that happened that week at camp that have stayed with me for all these years. Events that when I reflect upon them I feel an intense amount of nostalgia. It really was the best week I think I’ve ever had. On top of that, I grew just by being there that week.

That year, I only had a few merit badge classes I had to take. I think one was Lifesaving, and another was Shotgun Shooting. That was a good one. Anyway, so because I had only a few classes, I found myself with a lot of free time. I did my fair share of relaxing in the beautiful weather, lying down listening to the breeze ruffle the leaves. I can still remember the smell of the air.

At the beginning of the week, Chris and I decided to take out a canoe and paddle around for awhile. Well, that didn’t last too long, as we went out on the water and less than 20 minutes later, we had capsized. Whoops! We heard the airhorn, and the Charlie Brown, the camp’s rescue boat, came to help us. We were the first rescue of the week. It certainly was entertaining.

On a couple of occasions when it would get dark, Chris and Jon would fashion an odor absorber out of a 20 ounce Coke bottle and a whole lotta paper towels, walk down the trail by our tent, and smoke a whole bunch of weed. I was always too scared to go, but they would hang out with every one else afterwards with no one the wiser.

Early in the week, my cousin Jeremy who happens to work at the camp made us tags so we didn’t have to do training to pilot kayaks. This came in handy and saved us from doing any actual work. One day we took out a couple kayaks, met up with a mess of other kids in kayaks, and teamed up and capsized people in canoes. We didn’t really get in any trouble.

After we brought the kayaks back in, Chris thought it’d be a great idea to drain his bladder right there on the beach. Now, I took it upon myself to piss myself while in the kayak, making my seat super-warm and comfortable. However, I didn’t want to miss this spectacle. Chris stood right on the beach and let it rip. The urine dribbled down his leg and squirted onto the ground (mind you, he had his swim trunks on still). Jon joined him. I shrugged my shoulders and evacuated what was left in my bladder. No one even noticed.

As I said earlier, Jon and I took a merit badge class in which we were able to shoot shotguns. We were able to both do really well in it the first time we went, but we didn’t actually complete the requirements, but we still got the badge (we would have done it if there were more time). Only reason I bring it up is because my counselor for that badge was fucking crazy. He was always being weird, and at one point he said he was “buggin’ out” when someone came and talked to him. Weird dude.

Jon and I shared a couple other things, one of them being some moments with Boris. Boris was a chipmunk we had essentially adopted that week. He lived behind our tent in the woods. Boris would always hang out and eat, so we would toss him food and such so that he’d stay. He ended up staying most of the week.

Another thing Jon and I shared were the profound talks. We talked about a whole boatload of stuff, from our lives to girls. I think that’s where my disorder began. I remember telling him that I wanted to get the whole girlfriend situation out of the way so I could focus on improving myself. That means that I wanted to find my wife ASAP and marry her so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. How naive I was. I know now that until one loves oneself, one can not love another. Furthermore, to quote an Uncle Tupelo lyric, “There’s no sense in lovin’ anyone that hates themself.” How true. Nonetheless, these talks gave me an outlet, as well as some knowledge from someone I deemed more worldly than I (he had been with a few girls in his day, so he knew what he was talking about). They totally influenced who I am today.

There were a couple of really funny moments that I remember from the week as well. One of them happened one night at a campfire. We were all sitting around, shooting the shit, when one of the Scoutmasters invited us to play a game called “I’m Going To The Store”. Basically, the game starts with someone saying, “I’m going to the store and I’m going to get…” and then they name an item. The next person in the circle has to say the previous item, and then an item of their own. It continues like this around the circle. Well, the dude right before me said that he was going to the store to get peanuts. Except he said it like, “Peenits,” and so it sounded like “Penis.” I lost it. Thinking it the funniest thing in the world, I tried to one-up him, and so when I went to the store, I got “some Canned Feces”. As the next person in the circle was going, the same Scoutmaster interjects, pretty upset: “Okay, hold up a minute, if you guys aren’t gonna play this seriously, we’re not gonna play it. ‘Canned Feces.’ Real items!” I laughed really hard and left the game.

Each week at camp had a specific theme that ran the week. That week was “Superheroes”. On one of the nights, we would all go to dinner dressed up as a superhero. The best one from the campsite would go on stage, and the best one of all the campsites won points or something. Jon had gone to Yawgoog earlier that summer for a week for a thing called “Eagle Camp” where they basically knock off all the Eagle-required badges in one fell swoop. He said one of the guys dressed up like a total asshole and went on stage. When they asked him his name, he said, “Choada Fett”. He then proceeded to swing something over his head. The whole dining hall was banging on the tables and chanting “Choada Fett! Choada Fett!” The counselors had to settle everyone down, and I think he was disqualified. Needless to say, I had some big shoes to fill. I figured out my idea, and I decided to go as Captain Colostomy. I painted a “C” in chocolate pudding on a white undershirt, then wore boxers over my pants with a garbage bag or a pillowcase hanging out of the back. It was a great costume. I was pretty disappointed when no one really even cheered.

At the end of the week, there was always a parade. At the parade, all of the troops line up and report to the head their camp one by one. The Senior Patrol Leader is the one who reports. Now, a day or two prior, our SPL, Dan, had “broken” his ankle. I put it in quotes because he most certainly did not- many sources saw him limping on it one minute and walking on it the next. Regardless, he went home, so there was no one to report to the head of Camp Sandy Beach. So I got enlisted to be the acting SPL for the rest of the week. I wish I could remember the exact way I told the head of camp that all of our scouts were present – it’s always a challenge every year to try to be amusing to all of the people watching. I do remember that directly before that trip, our head Scoutmaster had gotten a hip replacement, so I claimed that our troop was the only one with a “Go-Go-Gadget Hip”. He yelled at me about it later, and I laughed like a bastard.

One final thing that came out of this trip. As I mentioned before, this trip was so relaxing to me. I had very few obligations and plenty of time to sit and enjoy the perfect weather. It was my week off from my first real job: Jiffy Lube. The job was absolutely piss-poor. One of the guys hated me, I was getting burns all over my hands, I was getting exhausted, and I was getting filthy. I could never wash the dirt and grease out from under my fingernails the whole time I worked there. But that week off gave my nails a chance to clean themselves. By the end of the week, they were pristine. It was then that I decided that I was done with that god damn job. I remember going home and calling in to quit, and my boss telling me, “Ya gotta do what ya gotta do.” Very true words from a grease monkey.

Today I saw some guy wearing a Camp Yawgoog shirt at the DC. I almost asked him about it, but I realized that I didn’t really give a shit anymore. But I would give many things just to experience that week again. Possibly my first daughter’s ovary.

I smoked my first clove my sophomore year of college. My roommate and I had gone to see Sin City and I saw one of the characters smoking, so I said to myself, “I need a pack of cloves.” I bought it and smoked the first one while playing frisbee. It made me feel weird. After that, I smoked one every couple of nights. I went out to the quad and sat around, or I stood in front of the building if I was feeling lazy. I smoked cigarettes once in awhile, switching from Camels to Djarums to Swisher Sweets and back again to Djarums. No real pattern, just testing the waters.

Then I went to Syracuse during the winter of last year. There I met D’Errico’s friend Andrew (who we call “Paco”). He introduced me to Djarum Supers. We smoked a bunch of them and I loved it. When I arrived back at school, I bought a pack of Supers. After that pack was done, I ended up getting a pack of Specials, I think by mistake. Specials are brown, and they are amazing. After that time, I ended up buying them all the time. They helped me get through this past summer when I was bored out of my skull.

Then when I came back to school, I ended up going through cloves faster than a germophobe goes through Purell. I kept giving them out to my roommates and friends. One pack would last me two days. Since a pack costs around 7 bucks, I was like, fuck, this is no good. So I decided to follow in Paco’s example and buy me a carton. I would end up saving half the money buy getting it (a carton was about 35 bucks). So I went for it.

When the carton came, I decided it was a good idea to keep track of my habits when smoking it. I found that each pack led to a new story. I also decided that right as I was starting the carton, I would quit smoking after it was finished.

As usual, Pack 1 was doled out swiftly to my friends. I was rolling in cloves at this point, so I wasn’t concerned about it.

Pack 2 started in an interesting way. I had had a few already, and one day I was coming back from class and I saw Ed (one of my roommates) outside smoking one of my cloves. He told me he took it because he was freaking out – someone had stolen $1500 from his bank account and wired it to Australia. I was pretty pissed about that too, so I grabbed the pack from my room and joined him outside, and we discussed it a bit. Eventually, he got his money back, but in the meantime he was pissed off all the time – the pack went fast. Toward the end, I gave one to a girl named Trish and made her pledge that the next one she borrowed she had to smoke with me.

Pack 3 was pretty much split even with Ed. During this pack Ed had a brilliant idea because of one annoying event. While we were outside smoking one day, I a clove, Ed a cigarette, some guy came up and asked Ed for a smoke. Ed gave it to him, the guy said thanks, and he walked inside without smoking it. We were both pretty pissed about it – it’s common courtesy to smoke with the person you bum from, or at least even talk to them for a couple minutes. But no, the prick took the cigarette and fuckin’ left. Bastard. So Ed hatched a great plan to thwart squatters that tried to bum cigarettes all the time. He bought a soft-pack of Basics (Full-Flavored Menthols) and left them on the counter in our kitchen. Any time either of us were to go outside, we would have to take the Basics with us. This way if anyone tried to bum one, we would give them a Basic. I never had the privilege of having to do this, but Ed did – he said the guy he gave it to took a drag, coughed a ton, and said, “Hey, this is pretty good!” Obviously the young man was deluded, because I tried one one day and I could only take one drag before I had to throw it out- absolutely dreadful.

By Pack 4 I was feeling cocky. I knew I had a lot of cloves left, so I didn’t even try to conserve them. The pack was gone within 24 hours. At night I got really drunk and smoked several at the same time, looking like a total asshole. The next day my friend Kiersten and I went uptown to pick out some decorations for my room. I got a sweet tapestry, and that was about it. We smoked the rest of the pack in the following couple of hours while Ed lied around.

Pack 5 was definitely one of the most eventfiul. This pack led me to go to a party in Hobart with Danny Hikes, a friend of mine that also happens to be an ALA (Apartment Living Assistant – that’s my job this year). It turned out to be a pretty lame party, but it was good to hang with Danny – I don’t get to see many of my co-workers as much anymore. So Danny, Ed, Sam (another of my roommates) and a couple of other people go to this party. We’re outside and I get introduced to this guy named Jamal. He tells us he has a great story. We are psyched up for the best moment of the night, and Jamal ends up telling this horrible story about seeing some Irish people at a bar and how they were really drunk. Shorty after this major disappointment, I ditch and walk home with a couple people.

A couple more things came out of this pack. Sam made a brilliant comment about the fact that I was smoking more than ever in order to quit – the irony made me laugh a lot. I was also judged by some of my friends – they told me how disappointed they were in me for smoking. I essentially told them to fuck themselves. They don’t seem to understand that I am a strong person, and that I can quit whenever I want. I guess that’s a pretty cliche statement, but it’s true. Finally, I decided that, beginning with the next pack, I would only give out cloves to people who agreed to stay and smoke with me.

Pack 6 was gone in two days. I gave out cloves to all who wanted them.

Pack 7 was completely uneventful, but it too went fast.

Pack 8 fell in sequence with my feelings of sadness as the autumn weather approached. The weather was still beautiful at the time, so I spent a lot of the pack lying in the grass by my building and enjoying the sun and the breeze. I gave the grass many deep inhales, and I knew that in a month or two the grass would all be gone, hidden by the unwelcoming snow. So I basked in it while I could. I also spent this back hatching a plan to get my Seinfeld DVDs back from Louis, who transferred at the end of last year and borrowed it before he left. He never gave it back, and I was pretty pissed. I have IMed him and written on his Facebook wall numerous times, but he never responds. I spoke with some of our other friends, and they said he never responded to them either. So he’s being a totally sketchy asshole. I decided that I would get back my Seinfeld by hook or by crook, or sever all ties and piss him off in the process. At least once a week I would write on Louis’ wall, demanding my Seinfeld back. I started off being nice about it, but since the first post, I have become more direct and more angry. I know this will end in one of two ways: he will send it back (not likely) or he will unfriend me (much more likely). At this point, I will hammer his phone, leaving messages demanding my Seinfeld. I will have others call him too, either demanding the DVD or simply prank-calling him. I doubt this will get him to return it to me, but I’m sure after awhile he will either block my number entirely or be forced to get a new number. So at the very least, I will make his life a living hell for awhile. It’s been a couple weeks since I started, and things are going well.

Pack 9 went by fairly slowly as I tried to pace it out. I thought Diaz and Ross would be coming here this weekend, so I wanted to save the last pack for when they arrived. They ended up not coming, so it didn’t even matter. Anyway, Ed stole one, and that was the height of excitement for the pack. One other even that transpired during the pack: I had my first Belgian beer (Duvel) and I loved it. Since then, I’ve decided that I’m going to buy more Belgians whenever I can. I’ve since only had another one (I can’t remember what it was called, but it was even better than the Duvel).

Pack 10 went really fast. I saved last one for days, smoking others’ cigarettes. My loophole was, as long as my last clove is still unsmoked, I can smoke as much as I want – but I can’t buy any. My plan was to drop 7 dollars on the floor in front of one of my roommates and subtly suggest that it be used to buy a pack of cloves. However, this never happened. On Thursday, it was my birthday- I smoked maybe one clove, and the rest were others’ smokes. I had a whole bunch of people over, and it was fantastic. On this past Saturday morning, I smoked my last clove.

It’s been 2 days since I last smoked. I feel fine, and I only want a smoke mildly here and there. I did cheat a little bit- after my last clove, I smoked 6 or 7 cigarettes over the course of Saturday, but that was more out of necessity of my current situation than anything else (a trip that would behoove me not to discuss publicly – if you want to hear about it, ask me). I had said that I would never touch a cigarette again, and I could easily do that. However, I still haven’t decided if I want to do this – I’ve always believed that moderation is key, and that if I smoke one once in awhile, it won’t kill me. But I haven’t figured that one out yet – I’m at least taking a few weeks or a month off from smoking so my lungs can clear. All I know is that it’s been a good year having Djarum on my side. If anyone is into smoking, I highly recommend Djarum Specials. They burn slowly, and they’re not as sweet as Blacks – waaaay better. Enjoy them – but not in excess.

For those of you that actually read this (maybe 3 people), I urge you to read dynamoaf (www.dynamoaf.com). It is a blog that a couple friends and I write – we try to make it as funny as possible, and most times we succeed. Give it a shot, for yourself.

Well hello there. I’m still alive. I want everyone to know that stuff has been happening, but I’ve been too busy to record it.

Y’know, I could have sworn I had some good stories for this from the end of the summer, but I can’t even think of any. More entries to come, and if I think of any good stories, I’ll fix this post.

Update: Oh, I thought of a pretty good one.

So at one of the last parties of the summer, I am at D’Errico’s apartment in Allston. This is after Kurt had moved out and everything. This is also the first time I see Adam in a year, and I am thrilled. Adam used to be the drummer in my awful high school rock band. He now goes to school in Oklahoma, so I never see him. However, this weekend, everything changes. He picks me up at my house and we drive to Boston, getting pretty lost once we get into the city. However, we find a map near South Station and I am able to direct us the rest of the way there.

When we reach D’Errico’s, Adam, D’Errico, Woods, Kurt, and I all go out to Our House and get burgers and brews. Fuck, I’ll summarize. Basically, Kurt, Diaz, and Woods go to Diaz’s and drink all my beer. Then they come back and the party begins. Woods and I go uptown to buy some beer, and on the way we stop at Wonderbar and get some highly-overpriced Jager Bombs. Later on, after a last-minute trip to Big City, Woods disappears. It was just him and me in the bar, so I’m a little worried. I go downstairs, and he is waiting with a big pizza. I slam down a slice while we walk to his friend’s apartment. When we arrive, she isn’t there, so I hop off the balcony (it’s half a story up, not a big deal) and find my way back to D’Errico’s.

When I arrive I notice that the party has gotten heavier, but still enjoyable. Good people are all around. A little while later, Woods shows up with his friend that I missed before. She is short, real skinny, timid-looking, and sober. Obviously I don’t realize that she is sober at this moment. I get introduced and I go off to do something else. Five to ten minutes later, I see her in the kitchen. Now, this part is the punchline, and it’s a tad hazy. I say to her something along the lines of, “Hey, wanna see a neat trick?” and she replies, “Sure!” At this point I proceed to pick her up in my arms. I think I was trying to do the fireman’s carry or something. However, as I try to lift her up high, I completely lose my balance, and I fall, dropping both of us with a thundering THUD. Everyone – EVERYONE – stops what they’re doing and stares in horror. I am lying on the floor cracking up, kicking my legs in the air, and she gets up unscathed. After this I conclude that the high point has come and gone, so I retire to bed.

The next day I am up at 6:30. What else is new. I find that Woods is missing. After I have a clove, he calls me to let him into the building. I go downstairs and we go out trying to find a breakfast place, but none are open. They all open at 7. So we go to Store 24 and get some drinks, then head back to D’Errico’s. We sit out front smoking for a bit. I notice a can and bottle on the ground, and Woods tells me that last night while he was peeing off the balcony, I whipped a bottle three stories to the ground. Interesting. De lets us back into the building and we hang out for awhile on the balcony, having a High Life. Yes, at (now) 7 AM. Slowly but surely, people begin to stir within. I decide to take a shower. I get into the bathroom with a towel and all, and I notice what looks like potato peelings all over the tub. I don’t have my glasses on, so I can’t see exactly what it is. I peer at it from inches away. The drain has what looks like minced vegetables in it. Did someone make soup? I ask myself. Perplexed, I leave the room with a look on my face, grab my glasses, and go back. I still can’t tell. Ash (from Franklin) is awake, so I call her in to look. She has no idea what it is either. I see D’Errico, and he and De are being wicked weird when I ask them about the mess in the tub. I conclude that it is Chris’ vomit and forget showering. Kyle (from Franklin) gets up and is being rowdy and starts drinking. Woods and I continue. Kyle tries this chocolate raspberry liqueur that Woods had bought the night before. It is awful, but Kyle doesn’t mind it. It cost $2 for a huge bottle.

So we are getting drunk in the morning. Classy. Ash goes to Lee’s Market to get food, and Woods and I go with. The store smells HORRIBLE. Just awful. I quickly buy a bowl of spicy noodles for breakfast and get the fuck out. When I make the noodles, I decide to microwave the water in a mug. Well, boiling water plus rounded mug lip equals boiling water all over Luke’s hand. It hurt quite a bit. Weeks later, I still have marks from it on my hand.

Anyway, after this stuff, everyone leaves. Chris and I stay and keep drinking while laughing hysterically at Intervention (this one woman takes a bottle of pills to off herself and says, “I took the whole bot-tle” pronouncing both “t”s). Then we go to Back Bay, I chase some pigeons, and we take the train home, sleeping on the way.

Another thing I want to mention is the Irish. We partied with a bunch of Irish people a couple times toward the end of the summer. By “we” I mean Kenny and me. Kenny ended up getting mancrushed on by this Irish dude named Jordo – absolutely bullshit. Kenny loved it almost as much as he loved taking off his shirt. In fact, this came in handy on one occasion. I was sitting on the roof, talking to some girl I had just met, when Kenny comes up and walks into a puddle of water (it had rained earlier). Not only was there rain, but also someone had peed in it. I warned him, but it was too late. Regardless, I don’t think he cared, because he just started puking everywhere. Luckily he had his shirt off, because he blew his nose in it. Then he lost that and his shoes. We have no idea where they went.

One night, D’Errico’s and my friend Sterling came out to visit, so we went to the Irish party. Long story short, two Irish girls with boyfriends strung Sterl and me on all night. We were both pretty pissed about it.

After taking a little time off from Boston in order to save my money, I headed in this past weekend in order to celebrate Kurt’s birthday. On Friday after work I get myself ready to roll, and I get the 7:47 train in to hang out with Ross, who is leaving for London the next day. While I’m waiting in Franklin for the train to come, I see Anthony, a guy that Diaz and I had seen a few weeks prior at Franklin’s Tavern. We talk for a bit, then the train comes and we go our separate ways. After I sit down on the train, I feel a pat on my shoulder. I look over, and it is Duncan, another guy I haven’t seen in ages. He and I are talking about what’s going on for a bit, then I don my headphones and toss on the second Lord Of The Rings movie.

When I arrive at South Station, I end up meeting Anthony again on the Red Line. After our short rendezvous, I hop on the Green Line at Park Street. So far, so uneventful. At Ross’, I do my usual “Heeeeeyyy the Brooklyn a’pizza” line at the door, then trip over the doorway. Embarrassed, I break several windows. Okay, untrue. But after that incident, Ross and I go to Mission Hill Liquors and I buy us a bottle of Chardonnay and a rack of Miller Lite. We return to Ross’ and proceed to have a poor man’s wine and cheese party (Ross has tons of pre-sliced cheese left over from his sister’s grad party). We get pretty drunk and watch various television programs. After midnight, I call Kurt and wish him a happy birthday. Drunk, he tells me they are going to the Sam Adams Brewery at 12:30. I tell him I’ll call him tomorrow. A little later, we order from Chinese food from Sunshine. It is MUCH better than the shit we got weeks earlier. It is actually quality. We eat and go to bed.

7:30 AM: I am awake, and I am not surprised. I go out onto the balcony without a shirt to have a clove. As I’m leaning up against the railing and taking a drag, a weird looking moth lands on my arm. It is dark gray with a bright orange spot on it. I blow my smoke out on it, and it flies away in frenzied confusion. I laugh.

Ross soon awakes, and I treat him to Dunkin’ Donuts because I am starving. I get a bagel and coffee, he only gets coffee. We head home and sit on the balcony, where I chow down and Ross plays guitar. We harmonize on a few songs and struggle to think of other songs we know. After a bit, Ross showers and I call Kurt to see what the deal for the day is. He says we’ll meet at 1 at his friend’s place on Newbury Street. After Ross gets out of the shower, I hop in. I say my farewells to Ross (he has to go to lunch with his parents around 1 and will be leaving from there) and I head out.

I take the T to Copley and get out, walking to Newbury Street. Kurt tells me to go to Newbury Comics and hang out for a little, since he isn’t there yet and it is near his friend’s place. After about 20 minutes of browsing, Kurt shows up with his roommate Topher. We go to Kurt’s friend’s place which is right nearby. I am shocked that they live on Newbury Street, and the rent is ridiculously low. We walk in and I am introduced to a bunch of people, including one (Mike) who I met several years ago while visiting Kurt in Boston (we played basketball in Brookline – well, they played, I climbed a tree, like an asshole). Mike’s sisters arrive, and we all try to figure out what is happening with the tour. The next one we can catch is the 1:30, so we head out. The crew is me, Kurt, Mike, Topher, and Mike’s sisters. We are to meet up with Kurt’s friend Krystyna at the Orange Line.

When we get to the Stony Brook stop, we get out and I bust Kurt’s balls a little bit. We get to the Brewery and get tickets for the 2:30 tour, which is the next one available. We have about 45 minutes to kill, so Kurt, Topher, and I decide to find a place to get some food. We remembered passing a convenience store a way back, so we go back to check it out. In the front window is a black cat cleaning its asshole. This turns me off, but the other two are ready to go in. We turn the corner to the door and notice some guy standing directly up to the glass, smiling like a pervert at us and dancing to some inaudible rhythm. We go back to the Brewery and ask the guy where we can get food. He directs us to City Feed which is about 10 minutes away.

We get there and it reminds me of The Black Sheep immensely. I am about to order a sandwich on Kurt’s bill, but decide against it when I see they cost about 7 bucks. I instead get a large iced coffee. Kurt gets a big cookie and a Vitamin Water. Topher gets a sweet sango and a drink. So we head back, and on the way I light up a clove. As we get closer, Topher decides he doesn’t want the other half of his sandwich, so he offers it to Kurt and me. We rip it in two. I am juggling a clove, a big coffee, and a sandwich. I can’t consume any of them, having only two hands. We try to fix the problem, and fix it we do. I scarf the sango and love every moment of it.

Back at the Brewery, I look around the antechamber and gaze upon all the historical shit they have. It’s pretty interesting. I notice a man wearing tighty-whities outside of his pants with the phrase “World’s Largest Natural Gas Resource” on the back. I shake my head. In walks the tour guide sporting a huge stein of beer. He drinks it throughout the tour. During the introduction he brings attention to the skivvies guy. People start to clap, and I calmly implore the people not to applaud him. So we’re on the tour, looking at the vats and such. When they pass around the ingredients of beer (they only pass around barley and hops) I eat some of the hops. Pretty bad choice.

After our brief tour we are led to the tasting room. At the door we are carded – I still have my Under 21 license because it doesn’t expire until October, and the guy who checks my ID says, “Man, get your license.” I get embarrassed. I point out that it is Kurt’s birthday and dart inside, getting my free 7-ounce glass on the way. The tasting room is set up like a beer hall, and we take our seats near the back. One by one pitchers are passed back. We drink the nectar that is fresh Boston Lager and are merry. Next comes the Summer Ale, equally delicious. At this point the tour guide talks about how it is Skivvies Man’s bachelor party. The guide asks him what his name is. He says, “Matt.” Kurt, like an asshole, says very loudly, “What? Mac?” The man shoots Kurt an incredibly dirty look immediately, and I lose my shit. I realize then that for the rest of the tasting I will be a huge asshole. Kurt and I play off each other in that respect. The tour guide wants us to sing Happy Bachelor to him, so I sing Happy Birthday. Loudly. Nothing happens.

Next comes the Winter Lager. Not really a beer I like, but I drink it anyway. At this point they are having trouble with the lines to the kegs, so the tour guide starts asking trivia. The first thing he asks is “What are the four Sam Adams seasonal brews?” Immediately a frat boy’s hand shoots up. He is so sure he knows the answer. His answer: “Spring, Summer, Winter, Oktoberfest.” Too bad there is no Spring Ale. The tour guide says no, and Kurt and I proceed to say “Spring Ale!” really loudly. When we’re about to get another brew, Kurt loudly asks, “Is it Spring Ale?!” More variants emerge. We have to leave after this because the kegs are fucked. We visit the shop on the way out. I buy myself a Perfect Pint glass and a stein, and Topher and I chip in to buy Kurt a stein for his birthday. Topher, Kurt, and I head to Diaz’s to pick up the rest of my Miller rack from the night before. Diaz has just recently arrived back with Meg, so we go and hang for awhile. I have a beer or two. On the way out I give Diaz several beers for the road, and we agree to see each other later at Kurt’s party.

We head back to Kurt’s and hang out briefly. It is now about 5:30. I get myself situated in Willy’s room and we all prepare to go to Sunset Grill (a bar with 100+ beers on tap) to meet some of Kurt’s friends. The three of us leave within a few minutes.

When we get there, I realize I need cash. I order an Anchor Liberty and a pulled pork sandwich. Scof shows up, and the two of us try to track down the nearest Bank Of America ATM. After 10 or 15 minutes of going up and down the street and asking a store clerk where it is, we finally find it. We get money and head back to the restaurant. Our food has arrived, and we chow down. Scof didn’t actually order anything, but the waitress fucked up and put in an extra order of nachos, so Scof eats that. The food is awesome. I notice that the beer glasses say “Lame Stolen Beer Glass” on the side. Naturally, I steal it – I give it to one of Kurt’s friends, and she puts it in her purse. We leave a pretty piss-poor tip.

From here, we go to the liquor store nearby and get beer for the party. Kurt buys 3 racks of Pabst while we all get tons of phone calls from people coming to the party, including Chris D’Errico and Alex Butera. We leave the store and run into Diaz and Meg. They help us carry the shit back to Kurt’s, and the party begins. Butera and his girlfriend Lindsay show up, and I meet Chris Woods and his friend Rin. Scof and I face Diaz and Meg in Beirut. We lose amidst Diaz’s trash-talking. We go outside to have a smoke. Chris and Rin join us. As we are outside, shooting the shit, Tha HIZ comes up in conversation. Chris tells me that there is a legend at Maine College of Art (Tha HIZ’s alma mater) that someone did a shrine to Chuck Norris as their senior thesis. I confirm that it was Tha HIZ.

Just then D’Errico and De show up with champagne. They go inside. Kurt keeps yelling at us out the window. Then Heather and her boyfriend Chris show up. Kurt comes down and introduces us all as Chris. I realize there are way too many Chrises at the party. Shortly thereafter, D’Errico and De come outside. D’Errico invites me to come to the bar with them, and I accept. We head into the middle of Allston, going behind a building to avoid being seen by people De works with. I see a streak of light on the ground, and as I look closer, I notice that it is a rat scurrying from a restaurant with a big chunk of food in its mouth. I try to stomp it as it goes under a fence.

We end up going to Big City, a bar with many many beers. D’Errico gets me a Kronenbourg. We hang with some other Franklin dudes for awhile and leave after we finish our beers. On the walk back, Chris and I walk really slowly in front of a BMW SUV with a girl driving and a guy in the passenger seat. We aren’t meaning to walk slowly to be dicks, but we’re walking slowly nonetheless. The car is trying to turn, but we’re blocking. As we hit the sidewalk, the guys says, “Try walking a little faster next time!” in a rude tone. Normally, I would have to think of something to say, but because of the alcohol in my bloodstream, spitfire I shoot back a flat “Fuck you.” He says, “Fuck YOU!!!” and totally wants to fight us. We walk off. Chris wants to fight him.

We get back to Kurt’s around 10:30 and Diaz, Meg, Alex, Lindsay, Heather, Chris, and Scof are gone. What the fuck? I hang outside to have a clove. I get inside and there are a ton of new people that I don’t know. Apparently D’Errico invited over Kurt’s neighbors. Lots of chicks. I make a ruckus. D’Errico commences knocking people’s open beers out of their hands. He does it to me 5 or 6 times over the night. We proceed to get ridiculous. I throw burnt cookies all over the place. D’Errico pours beer in a light fixture on the wall. Kurt is wearing a Pabst box on his head as a hat. Kurt and I rap Tha HIZ’s “Lesson We Learned”. Everyone is becoming a garden plant.

A quick break to explain the term “garden plant”. A few weeks prior I hung out at Diaz and Ross’. Kurt came over and the four of us played Shirts vs. Skins Beirut. We drank a rack of Pabst very quickly, then started playing quarters in the kitchen. I was very drunk. I kept dropping the quarter on the counter haphazardly and making it in. At 1:15 in the morning, while playing, someone looked at the clock 0n the stove. Making a joke, they said, “The oven’s on! At 115 degrees! What could you cook at that temperature?” I added, in Turtle-voice, “You could cook a garden plant in that.” I kept insisting that one could cook a garden plant at that temperature. Prior to this, we had used the term “jalopy” to indicate a person that was very drunk (because Diaz and Ross witnessed my neighbor Lauren completely wasted, passed out on Ashley’s back on the island in my kitchen – Ross called her a “jalopy” and it stuck). After I said that, anyone who is completely out of control was now known as a “garden plant”.

There is now beer spilled all down Kurt’s hallway from D’Errico’s and my shenanigans. We migrate to the ping pong table, where Kurt is about to open a fresh PBR. D’Errico knocks it out of his hands, and it hits the floor with a thud. D’Errico picks it up and shakes it a bit. He tells me to open it. I refuse without thinking, and begin to tap the top to get the fizzing down. Right before I tap it one time, I realize that it’d be hilarious if I opened it. I open it and it sprays EVERYWHERE. I get everyone around me and myself soaked with cheap beer. One of the girls I spray screams. I laugh hard and drink the rest of it.

After more shenanigans, we decide we want to go to a bar. It is now about 1:30 or so, so we’re almost out of time. Kurt, Krystyna, Chris Woods, Chris D’Errico, Topher, and I make our way to Big City. Chris claims he is a muppet. Kurt is wearing a rubber snake around his neck, and he wears it for the rest of the night. We get there with just over 5 minutes until last call. We go upstairs and I order a $14 22-ounce beer with 10% alcohol (Pizza Port Old Viscosity). I can hardly drink it though, because it is so sweet and I am on the verge of disaster. The bartender fucks up the bill and because of it, Topher and Krystyna can’t get drinks in time for last call, so they leave. As they are trying to clear people out, Chris, Kurt, and I are being complete drunk assholes. We keep screaming things like “HEY HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT MYSPACE” (Kurt) and “HEY HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT BLACK PEOPLE” (Luke). Chris leaves a $3 tip, and I steal it when he isn’t looking (I recall this the next day when cleaning out my pockets).

We leave and continue being assholes, screaming and doing other unsavory things. I light up a clove and start blowing it on people. I blow it in one girl’s hair sitting at a table and her boyfriend yells, “Hey, he just blew smoke in your hair!” We walk faster. Toward the end of the block, Chris defies physics and jumps in the air and makes himself completely parallel to the ground, landing in some shrubs, belly-up. He lies there for a couple seconds while I laugh my balls off. Right around here, D’Errico gets a call from De. He answers it, and Kurt slams his phone out of his hand onto the pavement. Then Chris Woods and I run ahead and start punching the bumpers of expensive cars, trying to get alarms to go off. None do. We finally punch the bumper of a fucking Jeep, and the alarm goes off. We book it back to Kurt’s.

After this, not too much happens. The party is winding down, and Chris Woods, Rin, and I sit outside. Chris climbs onto a ledge and pisses off of it. I laugh.

The next day Kurt and I go to Spike’s to get a hot dog and back to Big City and play some pool.

That’s about it.