Boris Diaw Is Not A Verb, Jerk

When I tell people I'm a writer, most people are justifiably nonplussed. It's a pretty vague term that can apply to writing anything from the most interesting fiction in the world, sports articles, local news stories, plays, directions to how to properly work a Kindle Fire (starting to get pretty good with it, by the way), etc. It's kind of equivalent to saying your a musician without clarifying what instrument you play and what genre in which you dabble. (For some reason I thought of an AfroDJMack of Patchogue when I wrote that sentence, so shout out to that guy, whom I don't know as a person at all.) Anyway, when I do share a bit more about what I write, reactions kind of vary, with most people being politely interested and whatnot, but every now and again, you get people who seem to be intimidated by it.

Now, obviously, no one literally curls into a fetal position at my mention of my less-than-profitable profession, (Usually, it's my top notch physical condition which causes that) but people, at times, seem to tense up a bit and apologize for their grammar, or if they send me something to read and/or edit, they apologize for errors in advance. The point of this post is to tell people to relax. I'm not just talking about myself here, but more in general.

It bugs me to no end when I see people called out on their grammar, punctuation, and even spelling in public forums and things like that. I mean, clearly gratuitous issues in any of those areas is something that an author or speaker should address in order to make sure their thoughts are being conveyed effectively, but the quality of a person's ideas should never be measured by whether or not the correct "your" is used and your knowledge of where commas should be placed. Frankly, I believe anyone who looks at that stuff under a microscope outside of a professional workplace and makes other people feel inferior as a result is a sad person without much to contribute to the actual topic at hand. If they do have actual opinions to add beyond corrections and still shoot people down, then they're insensitive people.

If someone were as critical of my work before heading into college, there's a chance I'd be a semi-unwealthy theatre graduate with a surprisingly unique vocabulary rather than a semi-unwealthy writing graduate with a more explicable unique vocabulary.

In closing, don't be afraid to speak your mind. Share what you want say and judge others based on the content of their ideas not their editing skills.

Song of the Day: I Got Mine-The Black Keys
Jazz Song of the Day: Neptune (The Planet)-The Bad Plus

Hakim!

Hello to one and all and a happy new year, for what that is worth. My apologies for not corresponding too often in recent weeks. The NBA season has begun and I was working on a play for a about a week and a half or so that is finally done with the exception of some proofreading. In the face of the NBA season and commitment to a creative project, Yesternow kind of took a backseat in my writing life. Combine that with having a life beyond the laptop and the holiday season, there wasn't all that much time to scribe recreationally. As I said, the play, and obviously the holidays, are behind us, so hopefully that means some more frequent posts to satiate your curiosity or drive you to block my posts all together. Before I jump into the post, a quick plug for my new NBA twitter @sagercraig where I do my best to make the NBA comedic. I like what I'm doing with it so far, I could afford to post on it more, I admit, but on the positive side I'm not over posting with sub-par things to say. Whatever... if you're into the league, look it up.

Okay, here we go. I suppose no online compendium of life episodes can avoid mentioning the holidays, so just to get it out of the way, they were solid. It was great to give family the things they wanted, and I received a kindle fire which I just yesterday realized I had not properly been shutting down since I've had it. (You need to hold the button down, for anyone with the same problem.) Needless to say, the learning curve has been steep. I received a couple of O's hats to represent what can only be assumed to be the greatest city in all the world, a couple Dave albums (the collection is getting ridiculous), and a new Dallas Mavs shirt which I rocked for opening day and promptly removed and nearly buried following the blow-out loss to the Heat. I'm sure it was coincidence, but I got a real kick out of the fact that I was getting Christmas texts steadily all day until about the second quarter of the Mavs game when they stopped almost entirely. Only Brett ventured a mid-game text and apologized for the Mavs poor play that afternoon. Surely all of my friends were aware that this was a sensitive time. By the way, the only reason I didn't dispose of the Mavs shirt is because I realized that I was wearing my turtle slippers that I can only imagine were hexed in some way by the one who gave them. I would have ditched the slippers, but my grandmother was raving about them, so I was stuck between a rock and snugly place. Needless to say, I've resolved never to where those slippers during a Mavs game again.

The real reason for this post is to celebrate the return of Alex Wong to Long Island and the rest of the tri-state area. Wong has been away catering to the business end of the pronghorn antelope in Arizona, and it was my first time seeing one of my best friends since maybe last spring, if that. I figure if I can write a poem for Sean Taylor, I can certainly dedicate a blog post to Alex Wong. (A quick tangent: I almost regret writing Sean Taylor's poem because I feel like every single time I see him I can add something new and just as important to the piece that's obviously not in it now. I feel like an ode to Sean Taylor should be written with my dying breaths to ensure that I encompass everything that is the one and only. Sean Taylor's poem, when complete, would be an epic. My goal is to make him the Odysseus of the 21st century.)

Wong got home a bit before Christmas and the evening after he got in I hopped over to see him. It was great to see him, obviously. I loved hearing him talk about his work and what he's involved in Arizona. There's not much in this world I enjoy more than listening to people talk about getting involved with something they truly dig. The way their face lights up and they kind of lose themselves in life's big picture for a while. It's something that I find endlessly inspiring and I'm happy and proud that he seems to be finding that for himself. One of the last things he said to me that night before everyone else popped over to say hello was, "I know this isn't a party, people are just stopping by for a while. I'm not going to get crazy or anything." Three hours later, Wong was passed out in the middle of his basement and while Jay and I hoisted him to a mattress, he made Toad spin out impressions from Mario Kart 64. Indeed, Wong was home.

Over the next couple of days, we hung out when he was much more... present and it was a solid time.

The day after Christmas, I set out for a local coffee shop to get to know my new kindle. As I was en route, I got a call from Wong asking if I wanted to go to the mall with him to get his iPod fixed. As it turns out, the initial O's hats I got were a bit too small for me (which is surprising, because you'd think that manufactures would take into account that fans of all things Maryland have some of the most swelled heads I've ever seen), so I had to make the trek to the mall myself. With that said, I wasn't exactly pumped to go to the mall the day after Christmas, passing up hot cocoa and kindle experimentation, but for Wong and his brief visit, it's worth it.

As expected, the mall was an absolute zoo with the only store that wasn't packed to the gills being the ironically titled "Christmas In New York" shop. The Apple store was perhaps the worst crowded stop in the place and Wong was informed after a bit of a wait that he would not be able to get his pod fixed without an appointment. We were both disappointed and Wong considered grabbing a baseball bat from Dick's and coming back to see if any openings had spontaneously sprung up. Fortunately I still had my hats to exchange, so the trip was not for naught. I spent some time in Lids looking for a basketball hat and Wong sought a tennis hat that didn't look too "golf". Relative to nothing, but I didn't find a hat because I'm actually not too big of a fan of the snapback craze and those were the only NBA hats they were selling. Bummer, but two "bird hats" in hand are better than one bird and a snapback. (For the record, I made myself laugh pretty hard on that one.) Before Wong and I hit the trail, we stopped for some lunch in the food court and speaking of birds, we had to scavenge quite a bit to grab a table. As we were munching, we caught sight of our good friend Matty and his friend, Natalie. Matty warmly introduced us and I went to shake her hand, she pointed out that I had just been eating french fries and declined the gesture. After seeing that Wong didn't venture much of a formal greeting. Moments later, the duo departed and we carried about our shopping experiences. I'm not sure the awkwardness of this episode comes across in type, but take my word for this one. What a time.

This holiday season, the kindle fire appeared to be the present of choice as Jay and Sean Taylor picked up fires of their own and seem to enjoy feeling them out. Jay uses his to keep us ever abreast of the fantasy basketball score; a service for which I'm very grateful. Our preoccupation with the fantasy league was never more apparent than when I was trying to carry on separate conversations at once; one concerning Adam's new band we were going to see that night and the other concerning the then flailing Phoenix Suns. In a moment of utter confusion and confidence, I loudly exclaimed that I was excited to see Adam's new group, Hakim Warrick. I had to take a few seconds to recover my bearings. Jay was tickled to no end and we've been joking about it ever since. Later that night, we did in fact go see Adam's group, Hollywood Drive By (easily mixed up with Warrick) and it was a good time to hear new tunes and see musicians at work.

One of the bands that went on before HDB had a song centered-around/inspired by T.S. Eliot's "Love Song of J.A.P." I, of course, sober as a bird, but forgetting my surroundings screamed like a twelve year-old girl at a Bieber concert (albeit not as high-pitched). I'm pretty sure Wong and Jay physically took a big step away from me at that point and needless to say, no one even cared about the reference. Jay was again entertained by my attempt to explain the poem to the crowd in ten seconds or less. Rock on!

Another return was noteworthy this holiday season as Ben Kraus returned to the open mic of the Velvet Lounge. Everyone who knew who he was was pumped to see him come back and play some tunes. There was definitely an energy in the room and even though we were the last people to play that night at just past 1am, it was one of the coolest jams I've been a part of there in a long, long time. There was a lot of talent on the stage and it really seemed to click. Jay's cousin, Max, was so moved by the performance that he took the time to congratulate Jay on his sound with a handshake after each of our five numbers. That had me chuckling to no end, to be honest. Wong also expressed his appreciation and in a tribute to the great Edwina, chanted a "Bogdan on the horn" chant that sadly no one really joined him on. A night and experience that was anything but bland.

Then came the much debated and looked forward to New Year's Eve. We all met up in Astoria before going our separate ways, but not without a memory worth cherishing for the rest of my life that will undoubtedly find form its own stanza in the ever under construction poem of Sean Taylor. Before we got in to Astoria to meet at Ben and Jake's, Sean Taylor wanted to make a few shopping stops, which I was certainly okay with because he was willing to do the favor of driving us all in. We made a stop at Roosevelt Field Mall (a first for me, believe it or not). Lenny, Wong, Jay, and I killed some time around the mall while Sean did some suit shopping. Jay and I saw this AWESOME Joker basketball jersey, which I will own one do (a la Mike Myers: Oh yes, it will be mine.) and to my shock, a basketball signed by Kevin Garnett is worth more than a ball signed by Bill Russell. I was absolutely blown away by that.

Anyway, having long since eclipsed the 30 minute time limit he set for himself to return to find us, The four of us went off to search for the allusive Sean Taylor. After a stretch, we found him and I took it upon myself not to rush him and let him shop at his own pace, but I also took it upon myself not to let him out of my sight. After a while, Sean had gathered his New Year's suit and we waited about 15 minutes to get to the head of the line at the cash register. That's when the trouble started. Apparently the woman helping Sean had next to no idea how to work the register and check inventory for the clothes Sean was looking to purchase. Innocently enough, Sean attempted to walk the woman through the process, but the process was anything but smooth. After a literal half hour at the only register open in Macy's Sean looked like a mixture of rage and depression. Jay was annoyed, Wong and I were laughing hysterically (especially me, I admit. I was not a very supportive friend in that moment and feel bad even as I type this.), and Lenny was waiting the most patiently out of all of us. Wong and I offered to countdown the new year with those behind him in line should it come to that. At one point, the gentlemen right behind Sean Taylor left the line to find another register, only to return minutes later to the end of the line with no further progress made taking care of Sean Taylor's needs. I was getting a kick out of people going from nonchalantly standing, to texting with perturbed body language, to grumbling amongst themselves, to a look of defeat similar to Sean's.

In addition, on a counter nearby, someone had left 26 cents unattended. Wong and I watched as person after person stopped and examined the change, eventually to determine the impish sum was not worth snatching. Wong and I considered adding change to the pile until it was taken and we were convinced that between Sean Taylor being stuck in no-man's- land and this change enticing cheap people to theft, we were on some sort of hidden camera show. No such luck as after the half hour expired an fuming Sean Taylor left the store with only a vest. Sean was upset at the situation and our handling of it and was justifiably not in a social mood. One of the quieter Astoria drives to say the least. However, Sean did pick up some hot new sneakers and by the time we got to Astoria, the tension was pretty much quelled.

The night itself was a lot of fun. We saw some good friends and made some new ones. I kind of took it upon myself to look out for some friends, which I only mention to account for my lack of true stories to tell. To be sure, keeping an eye on Wong and others did have it's memories that I'll never forget, but I wouldn't share those over the internet. I did get one rave review on my Orioles hat from a birdland-loving cat. The bouncer and I at this one bar established a borderline friendship out of nowhere stemming from him calling me a gentlemen. (I imagine my mother would be proud too) I a saw a girl with heels far too high slip and fall flat on her rump out of nowhere, Kathy Griffin took off her top on national television, and as I said, I saw some friends, some of which I hadn't seen for a long time. I can't complain about it at all. I was happy to ring in the new year with those I care about, and I wish you all well in 2012.

The only story of that night worth its own paragraph has to do with an apartment party Sean Taylor led us to. The host of the party had actually read my poem about Sean I mentioned earlier and was quite a fan and happy to meet me. Likely the only time my reputation preceded itself. (At least my reputation as a writer) One of the other hosts of the party went about crushing ice the wrong way and wound up spilling cubes all over the floor. As I eluded to earlier, I was kind of in a helpful mood that night and took it upon myself to sweep up and clean his mess. The plus side of that is every person who saw what happened says to themselves, "what a nice guy that stranger is." Everyone who didn't see what happened, unfortunately, says to themselves, "who invited that jerk who spilled all the damn ice on the floor." Fortunately, the host was pretty gracious and did his best to inform the masses that the spill was not my fault and by the end of the night as we pulled Wong out of the room, I think my name was clear.

Like I said, good times with good friends and nothing but positive wishes to you and yours in the new year. Having Wong back was a really special time for all of us and I know I speak for everyone when I say we can't wait to have him back again.

Song of the Day: The Lying Lies and Dirty Secrets of Ms. Erica Court-Coheed and Cambria

Jazz Song of the Day: Peacemaker-Billy Harper

Weren't You Saying Something About A Google Doc?

This past weekend brought me back to one of my favorite institutes of higher learning. A land where students are always smiling, the sun is rarely shining, and there's always a fresh supply of soap in the fountain; York College of Pennsylvania. YCP's a capella group, Rhapsody, where I used to hum my share of jingles, was having its winter concert and it was awesome to see the group perform from the audience for the first time since my first semester at York. I'll definitely get back to the show and whatnot, but I figure I'll start at the beginning of the weekend and work my way up to the concert.

As with any story worth recanting, it all began on the train rumbling towards Penn Station. I sat across from a young mother and her admittedly rather adorable daughter. She kept staring and smiling over at me, accidentally kicking me in the knee, and wanting me to play with her stuffed whale of some sort. Her daughter kind of kept to herself.

Just kidding, it was the daughter who was doing these sort of things and as a result I got to talking with them a little bit, which always helps the time go by a little quicker. Plus, what kind of 22-year-old man isn't secretly dying for an excuse to play with stuffed animals? No one I'd care to meet.

I made the transfer to the Lancaster-bound Amtrak at Penn and found myself sitting behind a group of about six Amish women. I was a little surprised at how loud they were throughout the train ride. I mean, I know it's not like they're nuns or under a vow of silence or anything, so it's not like my jaw was on the floor or anything, but I guess with their conservative dress code and semi-isolated lifestyle I kind of expected their demeanor to be as reserved as their clothing. While they weren't obnoxious by any means, they were anything but reserved and sounded like a bunch of gossiping women trading German/Dutch-accented stories. At one point I heard one of the women call another a "hot dog". The turn of phrase in combination with the thick accent made it quite chuckle worthy and fortunately I was far enough away that I wasn't exposed as an eavesdropper.

Their yakking continued well up until we were leaving the train and even as I met Dennis and Dunn in the train station lobby and the Amish ladies left behind, I commented to them both that they were pretty darn boisterous. Dunn, in his all-too-wise monotone replied, "we noticed." Dunn has this relaxed way of speaking sometimes that is really quite intriguing. He can say something with next to no emotion and still make you feel like he's in tune with something larger than the conversation at hand.

Not to jump ahead in the story too much, but when I returned to Dennis' house on Saturday night, I was about ready to pass out when Theo burst into the room with a hubcap in his hand. Such a suspicious, yet almost expected, sight was the perfect note to hit the sack on and after recounting the uncanny vision to a few through text, I passed out. The next morning, the boys noticed that one of the screens to their doors were knocked out. After spending a minute debating how it could have happened, Dunn spoke up and said, "I know Theo was looking to get...reckless." The whole room kind of got quiet and nodded. No one said anything more about it. That, my friends, is the power of Ryan Dunn.

Anyway, Friday stayed pretty mellow. You could tell it was my second time back because it felt more like truly being back at York. There was no real mad dash to see this person or catch up with another, especially with the Rhapsody concert all but guaranteeing I'd see most everyone at some point. I was able to grab a leisurely bite at a diner with Gloves, Dunn, and Sarah and then casually bounce back to what I'll call "The Beatles House" simply because listing everyone's names would take a while. Brett and I wasted little time jumping into NBA talk, Ben and I about headphones and matters of the heart, and Amber and I snide insults combined with truly supportive words of candor and kindness. A style of rhetoric I feel only a select few can pull off. I talked jazz with this cat I had just met, Will, and got to know this cat Dan Street who seemed like a solid dude. He seemed to really enjoy the style in which I spoke and suggested I get into radio, writing, or some sort of self-help field. Let's face it, statements like that are a good way to make a quick friend out of me.

Later on, a few of us slid down to the bar where I was THRILLED to unexpectedly run into my old freshman dorm-mate, Brendan. Definitely a highlight of the trip. Glad to hear he's about done and faring well. Ran the pool table with Joe Mayes while Jackie and Zach provided some on-point commentary. Not to make their jobs seem too easy, but pretty much all of the games went as follows: Poli gets off to a hot start, pocketing about four balls in a row and inexplicably goes quite cold leaving Joe to clean up his mess. After the pool run I caught up with some surprise faces, hit the dance floor for a spell and headed for my designated couch at Dennis' digs.

On Saturday I saw some of the same faces as Zappy was kind enough to extend the invite for me to check out his new domicile of Springetsbury (spelling?). Great spot. Nice to meet his family and housemate, John, who let me rub his snake. Take from that what you will.

With that it was concert time. I grabbed a row with the Czar, dear Sharnell, and the Sultan of Seeds himself, Greg Sullivan. The theme this semester was "Stereotypes" a theme I tossed out via text very much in jest many months ago. Imagine my shock when the theme was actually selected after it taking four years to win the majority over on the power of large hats. At first mention, I considered Stereotypes a pretty dangerous theme, but it was really quite tame, mercifully. With a few favorites of mine being Luke's "Villain" and Justin Rivera's "Redneck". The concert really FLEW by. I mean, I don't know if that's because there were less songs being sung, if there wasn't some blowhard president talking between songs, or if it just goes that quickly from an audience member's perspective. I was really floored at the quality of the tunes and everyone except Jaci did wonderful. I really couldn't pick a favorite if I wanted to, there was so much talent on the stage. However, I will give one quick acknowledgement to Doug Feeney for his work on "Bring Me To Life" I know from experience with that solo that's it's really fun the first couple of times you do it and then kind of a pain in the butt to muster such anger-fueled intensity time and time again. He did great work. As did the rest of the group. If I spent the time complimenting every little thing I liked, you'd be reading all day, so I'll spare you.

Just before intermission of the show, I was speaking with Sharnell and Amber about how in my time in Rhapsody, I really only remember one person keeping the money they won from the 50/50 money. I mentioned that I wanted to give the raffle a shot, but if I did win I'd have a REALLY hard time giving up the money so selflessly. I didn't want to be "that guy" especially "former member that guy" if that makes any sense, yet I eventually decided to just go for it and I bought a single a ticket while those ahead of me and behind bought bunches of five and ten tickets. Naturally, I was under the impression that my internal debate over my mini-morality crisis would be all for naught anyway. Nonetheless, me being me, I talked a big game and asked Sharnell if she wanted to see the winning ticket. She played along as only she could and we had a good time with it, wishing Amber weren't sitting in between us. As the ticket was about to be called, the gravity of the situation set in and I mentioned to Amber to brace herself if I won this. Either she or Sharnell then said, "just don't hit anybody." I laughed and almost missed the beginning of the number. Jaci appeared to call the numbers in slow motion as it was one of the few moments where you caught a glimpse of the uniformity of the universe and how you are but a section of a fingernail of the cosmos. Every now and again you get a cognisant glimpse of the universal being and this was one of those times as the final number was called and I realized I had won the drawing.

In hindsight, it's not like a did cartwheels or anything, but I got a little too excited about 34 dollars, but I just think winning a raffle can be cooler than the prize itself. In one of my less philanthropic moments, I took the money and a cookie from Renee. Carly was kind enough to mention my name to the crowd and they, in addition to the group on stage, gave me a nice ovation to return to my seat to. It was moving. Not like a tears well up kind of moving, mind you, but it was a warming moment.

After the show, I walked back to Brett's house with Amber and we started warming up for the Rhapsody communion. I implored Ben Scott to inject our ears with the Talking Heads and he obliged, much to everyone's (I hope) delight. Doug seemed especially excited for the music choice and after talking with him about the group for a bit, I encouraged him to "get involved" with more of their tunes. Apparently my budding buzz was causing me to channel my inner Thomas Wolfe. Doug seemed to dig the phrase and I, obviously, didn't care one way or the other.

On the walk over to the Rhapsody party, Amber warned me that at some point "Ants Marching" would have to be sung. I kind of expected as much and was neither looking forward to nor dreading the experience. I think overall I was excited at the prospect. Singing with Rhapsody in any context is always super fun, but I did expect to at least ease into the part first. I'm literally in the party for no more than 40 seconds when all of the sudden Amber and Carly are grabbing my arms and pulling me over to the group. Apparently it was showtime and a good time at that. Great to meet new members and catch up with my friends. Isolated stories from the night, but nothing worth troubling you about. On my way out, I signed Justin Rivera's face which, surprisingly, given how often the opportunity came up over the year we spent together, was a first. I feel bad about it, but I wanted him to know I cared. In a twisted way, mission accomplished. Back to Dennis', enter reckless Theo, and you're all caught up.

The next day, Amber was kind enough to have me in tow for her work commute to Harrisburg, dropping me at the station. Even though we left before the sun had risen, I can honestly say that commutes with the Czar are always memorable as even when the sun is down she finds a way to light up a room, or in this case, a vehicle. Okay that's a lie, Amber tends to be more of a cloud than a sunbeam, but nonetheless it was a great time hitting the road with her vibing about this and that. Now, maybe this was the sleep deprivation setting in, but in her cup holder, Amber had this charmingly small orange juice container and I couldn't get enough of it. It was the kind of carton that you give to like a five-year-old for lunch time complete was attached straw (not on that one, but typically.) For some reason, I was smitten with it. Now I realize that most of you (including Amber should she read this) are thinking to yourself, "Good Lord, Poli, it's just a damn juice box. Do you have to be so weird about everything you observe?" To an extent you're right and I apologize, but like I said, I was running on very little sleep and something about the image of Amber sitting in the faculty lounge sipping on her little straw really tickled a chord with me.

After I basically saved our lived by pointing out a "one way" street sign, we got to the train station without much incident and I headed inside after saying goodbye and thanks. I was Philly-bound to visit the Kernel Denny Basens and boarded out of the 'burg. Regrettably no sign of any hot dog Amish, but there was one thing of note that took place on the train.

I boarded the train with my jacket on. This other cat, who was wearing an Easter-yellow (if that's a color) polo with blue jeans and sneakers. He decided to sit next to me. Now, on the surface of things, there's nothing about that which seems peculiar in any way. Except, dear friends, I was wearing the exact same outfit underneath my jacket and that train was heating up quick.

Even now some of you are wondering what the big deal is and five years ago I would be amongst you wondering what the big deal was. However, that all changed one brisk autumn evening of my freshman year of college when Steve Murillo and I went to pick up a pizza. Steve and I both had the same York sweatshirt and happened to be wearing them at the same time when we were going to pick up the pie. He said that one of us should probably change. I was semi in a rush and didn't see what the big deal was and despite his appeals to reason, I stubbornly said not to worry about it and he relented and we left. Together. Matching. Walking down Jackson.

Not since my junior year of high school when I said the Chicago White Sox would win 2 of the next 5 World Series have I eaten my words so thoroughly. We were greeted with many an "aww" from girls and some jibes of varying friendliness from dudes. The whole time Steve was justifiably saying that he told me this would happen and we had to walk back to the dorm separately to avoid the same treatment on the return trip. I can't remember misreading a social situation worse than that in my entire life and to this day I apologize to Steve for a moment of embarrassment that was 110 percent all my fault.

Well anyway, back on the train I know the moment of truth is coming as this train car is really getting warm. Finally, I cave and take off my coat and there we sit, next to each other. Matching to the T. Fortunately the world doesn't implode, but lo and behold, after about five minutes this guy takes out a grey sweatshirt and puts it on. I know in my heart that wasn't coincidence and I wanted to say something like "I'm sorry it got too hot" but I never quite had the guts. In our hearts, we knew.

Spending time with Denny and his family was a good time. We spent most of the time playing basketball and catching up with our very particular brand of humor. The Basenses were very kind and his mother shared my passion for brushing our teeth frequently throughout the day. It was nice to meet a kindred spirit of dental hygiene. I also got to know Denny's new nephew, Devon, spending most of his day nibbling away on his own fingers. I gave him what advice I could about life and basketball and his big ol' eyes seemed to be very appreciative. Great time with Denny and in York. Thanks to all who made it special.

Song of the Day: Flower In The Sun-Janis Joplin

Jazz Song of the Day: I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm-Billie Holiday

Been Through Astoria Past The Horse With No Name

It has been kind of a spell since I last chimed with my two shekels. For that I apologize. A lot of stuff going on as it at last seems some job leads are taking root after months of dutiful gardening, in the metaphorical sense. Most recently a lead in Lancaster which, it seems, may want to tune me into their operation. The NBA season is underway, which I tend to absorb myself in and I'm in the throws of working on a One Act play concerning contemporary faith and religion and a couple poems reaching their final drafts. A lot of writing going on, not enough focus on Yesternow. I aim to rectify that with this post.

I'll wind the clocks back to the Sunday prior to Thanksgiving and begin our journey in Astoria, Queens where I was staying with Ben and Jake in their pad which they were kind enough offer me for the night to make my commute to the city for a job interview the next day a bit less of a grind. I love how the first and last thing I see every time I board the N and Q to arrive in or leave Astoria is the mechanical horse ridden so expertly by Sean Taylor, tamer of beasts great and small, warm-blooded or electric. It warms my heart instantly.

It was great to just sit back and vibe with Ben and Jake without any real plans. I can think of few more relaxing and enjoyable experiences in recent memory. Don't underestimate the value of simply reclining with your good friends and sharing thoughts, ideas, and laughs. A highlight of the evening was watching Ben Kraus iron his shirt so painstakingly only to have it wrinkle again of its own accord as it rested on a hanger. It was, apparently, a "wrinkle-free" shirt Ben found on the clearance rack at Kohl's. I suppose now it's clear why the deal was so good.

Anyway, I hit the sack early and woke in the morning in the same fashion. While I was just finishing up my morning routine, I was treated to an unexpected visit from their very Italian landlord, Sal, a stout whirlwind of a man speaking a mile a minute and switching from English to Italian mid-sentence, probably involuntarily. Fortunately, I have some experience speaking the Mediterranean tongue and we communicated together just fine with me even daring to speak some Italian with him. After he fixed the thermostat and we traded some bilingual pleasantries, he bid farewell and was gone just as quickly as he'd arrived.

I left myself moments after him and caught the subway to my interview. I had the unfortunate luck of sitting next to man who was nursing a cold and kept making a god-awful snorting noise, presumably to contain a runny nose. As much as the noise wasn't pleasant, it wasn't big deal; not to me anyway. Apparently that wasn't the case for this young woman about my age sitting across from us. Each time this poor guy made that noise that woman stared absolute daggers at this man as if to say, "Can you tell how gross that is?" stopping the application of her make-up to make these looks to punctuate her point. As much as I'm sure everyone in the subway car was at least thinking something similar, it was clear that the guy couldn't really control his bodily functions. This girl, wrapped in her business casual attire with freshly applied red lipstick and modest blush, was not cutting this guy a break. I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous overreaction of this impatient stranger and found myself observing the situation with quite a wide grin and a few stifled chuckles. Feel better, man, she doesn't speak for everyone.

The interview itself was solid. Less to say about it than you might think. It was for an internship with Flavorpill, which I equate to being a kind of hipster "Rolling Stone" for the NYC arts and culture scene. Just to give you some closure about the situation, they decided to go with another candidate who had more of a pre-existing knowledge of the NYC artistic underground. I can't argue with them and wish both Flavorpill and the new intern all the success in the world.

Following the interview, I found myself in the NYU area with the live-long-day at my disposal. I called up the myth and legend Elliot Greene, who I knew lived in the area and he was able to pass the time of day with me for a while. He gave me a first hand look glimpse into his Bohemian paradise as we strolled the streets and Franklin Square talking about the poetry scene, the highs and lows of academia, good cheap food, and the pursuit of literary creation. It was great to catch up with him and see that he was doing well. Shortly thereafter, I left Astoria leaving behind a family sized bag of Salt and Vinegar chips as a thank you to my hosts.

Two days later, the holiday weekend officially began and was largely uneventful in terms of blog-worthy stories. That Wednesday I met up at Matty's and was pleasantly surprised to discover that his brother, Kevin, was going to be joining us on the town that night. Kevin was wearing green, I was wearing blue, and Matty was in red. I commented that we kind of looked like Alvin and the Chipmunks, a notion which tickled Matty and I to no end and provoked us to attempt falsetto-laden renditions of a few of our favorite tunes. I think it's safe to say that after about three minutes Kevin wasn't nearly as thrilled to be out with us. In all seriousness, it was great time to be out with friends and as it is with most any Thanksgiving weekend, you wind up seeing a lot of old familiar faces which is always... an experience.

The holiday itself was a solid one and I hope you enjoyed yours. Nice to spend time with the family and whatnot. Among the highlights of the day were swapping a couple train stories with my uncle, as I've become quite the seasoned veteran of riding the rails to and fro and he is as well. I feel as though we were both holding back some of the stories we could have told due to my grandmother being three feet away from us, but it was nice to share some episodes in mass transit and hopefully we pick up the conversation again soon. It was also cool to hear a bit about my cousin's college experience. I feel as though his entering college kind of signifies the opening of a door to a new level of our cousin to cousin relationship. Already we were talking about some more personal experiences and feelings that in the past we had never really disclosed to one another. The prospect of us being a little more open with each other is, to me, pretty warming.

The next evening, I met some friends at the Kraus house and was greeted by some rather oppressive Christmas music coming from the house across the street from them. It only took about three seconds for me to be bothered by it and I realized that the music was coming from the neighbor's Christmas light set up. Before I even got to the door I was choked up with laughter at the idea that this bothersome soundtrack was not an isolated incident, but an all day everyday staple of life on Niagara St. Ben answered the door and I feel like from the wry grin on his face he knew what I was going to ask before I even said anything. I simply pointed across the way and said, "is that an all day thing?" All he said in return was "tell me about it" and I instantly doubled over in laughter. Emily went on to explain that here room was positioned in just the right way to get the Yuletide tunes in surround sound and again I was in a fit of hysterics. Poor Kraus'. Santa can't come soon enough.

This past weekend, I took a trip to York. Look for a post concerning that tomorrow.

Song of the Day: Phat Cat-Kyle Hollingsworth

Jazz Song of the Day: Rumor-Christian Scott

The Garnish of a Cosmopolitan is a Lime

I want to start off this post by plugging an absolutely wonderful non-profit organization that is worthy of your support. Response of Suffolk County is a crisis hot line that offers caring ears to those in need regarding anything from loneliness, depression, drug abuse, mental illness, family issues, grief counseling. We all have, in some way, dealt with, or are trying to cope with issues like this. It's great to seek solace from these issues by confiding in friends or family, but some don't have that outlet. Response of Suffolk County a truly great cause and are working hard to have a positive impact on those in need. You can help by texting 109471 to 73774 everyday for the rest of the month and helping them receive a grant from Pepsi to aide their operation. Help is a text away. Seek Response of Suffolk County on facebook or Google for more information.

I had the privilege of getting to know about the organization as I took part in a three-on-three tournament fundraiser for them last week. I was put on to the event by Sean Gallagher and signed up with Roo (like kangaroo) and Jay (like the letter) to take on all comers. We did pretty well, securing the 4 seed and upsetting the 3 seed before losing in the semis. Also, I (along with half the field) came in second place in the free throw shooting contest, just missing claiming a 16 dollar gift certificate to I-don't-remember-where-but-does-it-really-matter-it-is-free. I mention the tournament for the sake of plugging the program and a couple quick anecdotes.

In an homage to Bretton Woods' own, Coop, we chose the team name of "Say Cheese". As I mentioned we did a decent job living up to those lofty expectations, but to an extent it's a little surprising that I made it to the event at all. Obviously, I know where Stony Brook University is, but regarding its layout, I really have next to no idea where anything is. I was naively optimistic when I turned into the section of campus that said "Athletic Complex" My hopes for a smooth arrival were further fortified when I saw another sign for the complex with an arrow pointing towards the left as I entered the campus itself from the main drag. However, as I went to turn left, construction blocked the way of my car. I figured, "okay, if there's a sign here, it can't be too far away" so I made a quick right instead and parked in a lot no more than a few yards from the sign... and set out for a quick walk.

I was following the sign, so I never really got nervous about being lost or anything, but I did get a little concerned when I stopped a girl to confirm I was going the right way and she kind of winced when I mentioned my destination. She said aloud, "Let me think about which way would be quicker." She was debating between the direction I'd come and the direction I was going. Then it was my turn to wince and I resisted the urge to tell her that the godforsaken sign had told me to come that way. She eventually sent me on my way and told me to keep on going the same way I had been. Several, several, several minutes later I did traverse the bulk of that end of campus and make it to the tournament, needing a drink before we'd even shot a basketball. I have since been back to clock the trip and I had walked just under four miles to get to the venue. I curse the heck out of that sign, but by the time I realized that maybe this gym isn't as close as I thought, it was too late to turn back. Fortunately, it was a beautiful day outside.

Say Cheese's first matchup was against a trio of Gallaghers who were just a blast to play against and we had as many laughs as we did buckets that game. We pushed each other to our limits and thankfully we came out with the upper hand, but all six of us were pretty darn wiped after the tight game to 21. In spite of the sweat and hands-on-knees panting being displayed by both teams, no less than two minutes after reporting our score, Kevin and Matt were lined up at the starting line of the indoor track and prepping for a sprint.

Admittedly I had just really met Matt and Danny that day, Kevin and I hadn't a conversation more than a few sentences long since my freshman year of high school, and even Sean, whom I consider a good friend, is someone I don't see as often as I'd like, but I remember thinking distinctly "only a Gallagher would be lining up for a race moments after busting his hump on the basketball courts even though he was hurting." Quite a competitive crew. A special dynamic they have, from an outsider's perspective.

These past couple of weeks, Jay and I have been taking some far out bartending courses after which we'll be "certified" bartenders. This experience has afforded no shortage of memories that will last the better part of our lifetimes, including an older woman disclosing her dominion over the color spectrum and sexual aspirations, me being peer pressured into a pool game with a very drunk Spanish man armed with condoms but not fifty cents, and an instructor who among many other things has made us see fast food in a whole different light. These stories are not really worth blogging about because some of them are not funny for the right reasons and they're all pretty situational and not worth the narrative build up I'd have to give them before getting to the point, so you'll excuse my vagueness here.

I like the job because it's kind of a legal way to sell yourself. Mixing drinks is not necessarily easy when you're learning about ten new ones a night everyday for two weeks, but it's not exactly hard either and you could teach a monkey to do it. Likely a monkey with a drinking problem, but I digress. What makes a bartender good at what he or she does is the way they interact with their patrons and, modesty aside, that's something I feel like I'm darn good at. I'm excited to kind of bring the voice and vision behind this blog beyond the page. To put it much less poetically, I can't wait to provide a service by being myself. I think that's what a lot of people dream of as a profession, and I'm not saying I want to be a bartender for the rest of my life, but I'm really enjoying the aspects of the business so far and I look forward to getting more involved with it. Plus, just think of the inspiration a nightly dose of inebriated people can provide this blog.

In the class, we work with dyed water rather than waste alcohol, but this past weekend Jay and I got the chance to sample the drinks we'd been making for the past week as we made the trip into the city to celebrate Mrs. Taylor's 50th birthday.

Mr. Taylor went to great lengths (even threatening bodily harm to his own son) to set up an absolutely wonderful surprise party for Mrs. Taylor and I was honored to have been a part of it. I don't feel it's my place to tell you the ins and outs of how the surprise was planned specifically, but when she walked into the room and was suddenly face to face with loved ones from all sorts of facets of her life, the emotion in the room and in her face was indescribable. The first thing that crossed my mind was that we all deserve to feel like that. For about thirty seconds, everything that was and is messed up or askew in my life and the world in general just vanished. It was one of the more profound moments of my life in recent memory. To share the love in the room and just to know that there are people in the world who care enough about each other to make something like that happen was incredibly warming. I can't stress enough how eye-opening the experience was.

I realize that was likely was the most hippie-like paragraph in Yesternow history, but sometimes I just have to take the time to embrace that part of me. It was a beautiful, beautiful moment and the reason I'm writing this blog. Not that you need me to tell you this, but cherish love of all kinds when you find it because everything else in life will absolutely grind you to dust.

I had a real Rhapsody missing moment, which I have to say are surprisingly rare. That sounds insensitive and I always miss them all {except Jaci} to an extent, but this was one time where it was really prominent. Hopefully you understand what I mean by that. Kind of like how I'm sure Rhapsody misses me doesn't really think about all that often unless Jaci is talking.

Anyway, Mrs. Taylor entered the party to "It's Raining Men" a song that as a result of Rhapsody will always have a bit of meaning to it for me. While the couple of Lynchburg Lemonades I'd ingested are partially to blame, I got a little pumped to hear the song and kind of looked around to see whom else was digging it and saw no one under 30 returning my enthusiasm. It was kind of a deflating moment, though looking back, I probably would have played it cool too if I were a 22 year-old male who was pleasantly surprised to hear "It's Raining Men". While it's not like a screamed, jumped around, and started dancing or anything, I definitely lost some man-points with my all-too-passionate head bobbing and humming.

Sean Taylor, donning some extra-special spectacles which made him resemble Clark Kent to the T, took some time off from the Daily Planet to share the night with his family. At last Sean Taylor's numerous disappearances are explained. Every time he's made such stealth and spontaneous disappearances he was obviously off to slow a runway train or hurl a meteor into the sun. It's all so obvious in hindsight.

Considering he's the Man of Steel, I should probably take it easy on him, so I want to thank Kal-El personally for inviting me that night. In all seriousness, at one point during the night when the drink samples had already effect, I did call Mr. Taylor Jor-El and laughed for no audience whatsoever. As Jay would say, I think we were both a little too "loose" to have any form of serious discussion about it.

Anyway, after the party, we hit up a few of the Tribecca bars and I took some time to ponder our mortality and nearly ran out of gas as a result, but thanks to everyone's favorite name that I regret to say I can't disclose on this blog, I caught my second wind and drew many a strange stare as Jay, Grebe and I were chanting it as loud as we could over the house music. Works better than any energy drink you can think of, I promise.

I understand that bars are supposed to be dimly lit and full of mood, or what have you, but this last place we went to was straight up dark. It was eerily reminiscent to a Jackson St. basement, and not in a fun nostalgia way either. Other than watching your step, the bar was still pretty solid and "bumping" as the kids are saying these days (I hope). At one point I was chatting with these ladies from Ohio. Since my sister went to school there, I had enough fun facts and knowledge to shoot the breeze some. At one point, unbeknownst to me, one of girls walked away to get a drink and when she came back I introduced myself as if I'd not met her before. She pointed out that we had just met and I muttered a feeble "oh, sorry, it's really dark" but something told me just to get out of there and I said good-bye to everyone and we headed home.

Something tells me I'd better get out of this blog post, too. Hope all is gold, my friends. See you next post. In closing, I forgot to mention the best part of the night: Mr. Stockhausen's beard.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Sean Taylor!

Also, can you tell me why you read this blog/what you like about it and send it to tpoli311@gmail.com? Thanks, it doesn't have to be long.


Song of the Day: The Ascent Of Stan-Ben Folds
Jazz Song of the Day: Pretty Eyes-Horace Silver

This Blog Post Is Double Breasted

A happy Halloween to all from this Winter Wonderland known as the east coast which is contradicting the time of the season more and more with every flake at rest on the autumn ground. To be perfectly honest, my particular slice of the Long Island suburbs had no snowfall and therefore has a climate much more befitting the night of fright, but from what I hear of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and other areas of New York, the same cannot be said of their situation. I had the pleasure of spending Halloween weekend in one of those less fortunate areas of New York, as I went with friends Astoria, Queens. The following is the account of a night and following day that will live in infamy from this day forward.

This past weekend, not only were we celebrating the one night of the year you can dress like a buffoon and be hailed for it, but it was also the one and only Deanna's birthday. We spent a fair amount of time and Ben and Jake's place where we had miscellaneous good times. I do have to say that my puns were on point that night. Not one to toot my own horn unless we're talking about NBA knowledge and opinions, I would hope that fact alone would vouch for the validity of my ego stroking claim. I mean, anytime Grebe is dressed up as a cow and Sean Taylor is dressed up as a dog, you're going to have some material to work with, but I was really outdoing myself, even by my standards. It would be overkill if I told you a few of them, but I do want to share my favorite of the night:

Jay's costume consisted of a fetus (complete with a nipple, disturbingly enough) attached to the side of his head. The wig which, relative to nothing, made him look a lot like Mickey Dolenz of The Monkees. Anyway, Jay, at one point, said something negative in jest. I replied, "I don't like your defeatist attitude." (Of course, pronounced de-fetus-t) I laughed to no end, and fortunately I wasn't alone.

For her birthday, Jay and I, with genuinely awesome back up voices from the group, performed a rather off the cuff, but pristine, rendition of "The Monster Mash" which we doctored a bit to better suit the birthday occasion. A tremendous time. Various other jams took place as Jay and Ben Kraus, appropriately dressed as Bob Dylan to match his sharp counterpart, Edie Sedgwick, portrayed by Deanna with a very convincing wig, jumped on the harmonica which he happened to have handy. Jake and I traded some rhymes, where I took the time to reference both Wilson Chandler and James Harden, much to Jay's udder delight. (That was a Grebe cow pun. Not the best, but better than a cow pie.)

After that we decided to brave the elements and head out to a bar where costumes were abound. I quickly made friends with a girl named Tamika. It was great to talk to her, for sure, because we wound up with a whole lot in common (appreciation of sports, jazz, fear of the letter "c", etc.) but our initial introduction had its hurdle. I asked who she was for Halloween, she gave various hints, I eventually guessed Columbiana (a recent movie about a girl who kicks butt that I don't think very many people saw), she corrected me, saying she was Rosario Dawson's character from Sin City. I promptly replied "wow that's an old movie at this point." I said it in such a way that was not at all sensitive, supportive, or appreciating. She justifiably just stared at me for a second and I apologized after realizing how impulsive I'd been. I must have seemed like quite the judgmental ass who was wearing nothing but a giant foam cowboy hat; not exactly the kind of costume in which you should take yourself too seriously. We shared a hearty laugh about it and spoke for another 10 minutes or so before I slid out to be with my friends. In one of the more moving moments of my life, my friends later raised a toast to me. Not too much to say about that other than it was a really awesome thing to do that I really wanted to take the time to thank them for.

We stopped at a second bar for about ten minutes. Nothing of note was happening except for a girl named Monica celebrating her birthday. Happy birthday, Monica, you're birthday is now immortalized in semi-permanent form on the Yesternow blog for all its small, but passionate, readership to acknowledge. HUZZAH!

(Did he just say huzzah in all capital letters? Is he drinking? Does he really think we care? Is Conan new tonight? Did I remember to lock my car?) All compelling questions, dear reader.

Anyway, the third bar we went to was really quite poppin'. (I don't think I can pull that word off) We had a great time meeting new people. For the record, I don't think there is any better wingman than a guy with a fetus on his head (strength in numbers). In all seriousness, Jay and I had a great time getting to know new friends.

Now, by no stretch of my rather active imagination do I consider myself a ladies man, but apparently there was another sheriff in the bar who was rather envious of the attentions I was receiving and he pulled a VERY FAKE ORANGE gun and starts kind of playfully instigating his dislike of me. It was mostly hat envy, I'm sure. I just took Joan, Jen and the others away from the scene and nothing really went further. I do believe that the guy, while far from being cool, was trying to joke around about the situation and was just either too drunk or socially inept to do so properly. Jay was pretty bothered by the exchange and hopped in to call him out and make him seem foolish. I hung by to make sure it got no further than that and it didn't and we carried on our night without further incident. In hindsight, I probably should have been more upset about it, but I was having too much fun otherwise and it's probably for the best of the whole situation that I let it roll off my back the way I did.

Eventually, the bar wanted to close so we were politely kicked out of the place. In the hustle to gather everyone together, we lost track of a few people, including our own friends much less the new ones we'd just made. (Between you me and the wall, kind of bummed I didn't grab Joan's number.)

It wound up being Sean Taylor (a dog mind you), Jay, and I finding our way back to Ben's place. We were going a way that neither Jay nor I were familiar with and wound up trusting Sean Taylor unleash his inner hound and follow his nose to lead us back to the pad. For a while it felt like the blind seeing eye dog leading the blind, but I have to say he did get us back in one piece, but not without some episodes along the way.

Now the entire walk home, Jay and I were had the uncontrollable urge to help our fellow man. The whole trip Sean Taylor kept lamenting how cold he was. Every time he did so, I insisted he take my coat. He never accepted, but as I sign of protest I walked home with no coat on myself. If my friend was going to freeze, by God so was I. Also on our trek, there was a guy around our age packing up these chairs at the end of the night. He was struggling to do so and a few of them were falling. Jay and I asked him if he needed some help. He distinctly said no thanks and we distinctly ignored him and helped him stack all the chairs. He was very grateful. No one was going to get in between us and a good deed that night.

At one point, Jay and I grew concerned about the direction we were going and wanted to grab a cab for ourselves just to be sure. Sean Taylor was adamant he knew what he was doing and for the record, he was right. Nonetheless, we stopped a cab and were greeted by two friends literally pulling a third out of the back. Now, this guy was OUT. We're not talking can't walk, we're not even talking can't stand, we're talking positively out in an unintentional drunk coma. As soon as the friends drag this guy out, he immediately slams flat on the sidewalk without even reacting to it. His boys are saying that he has to get up and are trying and failing to drag him on the sidewalk and get him up. Jay and I did not bother to help them, for they were beyond saving. As we went to hop in the car, we realize that the slumbering brother had hurled all over the back of the car. The cab driver tried to coax us to stick around while he cleaned the inside. Naturally, there was no way we were getting in that car. The driver said that all he needed was some alcohol to clean it up with. In my last pun of the night I said that it looked like alcohol caused this situation in the first place. We got out of Dodge and Sean Taylor got us home.

Ben Kraus let us in the apartment and immediately Sean Taylor bit the hand that housed him and laughed at Ben's attire, a double breasted jacket. Sean Taylor soon found himself in the doghouse, if you will. An d apparently quite the debate took place after I fell asleep as Sean knocked the double breasted look and Ben made fun of the "football pads" in Sean's sweater. The whole while, Jay laughed unabashedly while Sean Taylor threatened to punch him in the face. I wish I could be your primary source on this story, but by all secondhand accounts, it was incredible and Deanna has it on video which is wonderful news. Some moments deserve to live on forever.

The following morning we had planned to leave at a reasonable time, but it turns out Sean Taylor had forgotten his coat at one of the bars we went to and his car keys were in the coat pocket. A moment that was as inexplicable as it was unfortunate. We spent the day retracing our steps and hoping that at least the keys were turned in. No such luck... and no sign of Joan either.

Notice that the man making fun of the jacket last night had no jacket at all the next day. Also notice that the whole time Sean Taylor was saying he was cold that night, neither Jay nor I asked him where his coat was.

As if things couldn't get worse, Ben Kraus had blown a tire on the way to dropping off Deanna and needed Jake's jack to fix the flat. We all lent a hand and got the tire fixed with relative ease as soon as we figured out where, specifically, to put the jack. While we were struggling briefly, Deanna hung out in the car and was enjoying the show. After a while we realized that something was amiss and no one knew where Sean Taylor was. I wish I could say that wasn't a common occurrence, but I can't. After a couple minutes, we realized that a giggling Deanna had a guest in the car that was none other than Sean Taylor, grinning and in her Edie wig. To say Jay was mad is kind of an overstatement, but the combination of Jay's frustration with the jack, an empty stomach, and a loafing and grinning Sean Taylor whose missing keys were the only reason we were still in Queens in the first place, was a little too much for Jay to bear and he lost it a little bit, threatening to put his face in mud, powerbomb, and frogsplash him simultaneously. For a few minutes, Sean Taylor was in a worse situation than the jealous sheriff, but cooler heads prevailed and the tire was fixed.

I feel the need to mention that the entire morning Sean Taylor was white as a sheet, sweating profusely, and really not feeling so hot in the least. My heart went out to him. After the tire switch, we went to a diner and feasted in style. Over the course of the meal, a much improved Sean Taylor mimicked Ben and Deanna's expressions of affection on a very uncomfortable Jay, who did not want anyone leaning on his shoulder, much less Sean Taylor. (On the plus side, Sean had long since removed the Edie wig.)

Having no luck finding the keys, Jay and I left for home with Jake while Sean stuck around waiting for AAA. I feel like even though this is one of the longer posts I've written, I'm still only scratching the surface of this trip. All I can say is that it was wonderful and memorable and I'm glad to have shared it with those I care about.

Song of the Day: Lorelai-Fleet Foxes

Jazz Song of the Day: Blue In Green-Miles Davis

The Beggar And His Typing Machine

Over the past couple of weeks I've been trying to connect with a young entrepreneur out of Las Vegas by the name of Paul Carr. He is beginning a project called The New Gambit which will essentially be a one size fits all news outlet for e-readers like the kindle and iPad. Despite previous blunders, his new start up has a real chance to be successful because he's being well-funded and the media outlet which he's trying to corner lies in the grey area between Internet communication and literal hard copy publishing.

As a result of this news outlet not being so easily classified by either Merriam-Webster or urbandictionary.com, The New Gambit can transcend the partisanship and commercialism that has, unfortunately, infiltrated a great deal of our media sources both in news and entertainment. The New Gambit would be the first of its kind and, as a result, will have no boundaries in terms of what the voice of the publication will sound like, and what the Gambit will choose to do with that voice. I, maybe falsely so I admit, kind of equate the project to the literary equivalent of transitioning from the now seemingly archaic AM and FM radio to XM radio where the muzzles of self-expression are removed entirely.

What also makes his endeavor unique is the fact that he wants this news to not only be informative and thorough, but also humorous. As Paul puts it, he'd like "'The Economist' as written by 'The Daily Show'."

A couple of weeks ago, Dave Roman of Socialkind http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sx-s3Ad8Kiw&feature=related and quite an active blogger http://droman89.tumblr.com/ in his own right, forwarded Paul a mock cover letter that I wrote mostly to blow off some steam. Paul surprisingly reached out and said he felt there was a space in the start-up for me somewhere, but he was unsure just where.

Since that time I've been relentlessly communicating with Paul and sending him samples and letters about once a day trying to draw another response out of him and take this communication to the next level. I've been sending him a couple posts from here, some fiction work, and a few NBA articles that I hope illustrate that I can be informed, yet funny and conversational while educating and sharing my opinions with others. You know, just kind of letting him get a sense for my voice.

Recently I've kind of realized that perhaps taking The New Gambit into the sports world is more my vision than his, so I've been kind of branching out of my comfort zone and writing some pieces based on actual current events and messing with them a bit a la The Onion. This has been an incredible challenge to me because:

a. There's not much news in the world today that's worth smiling about

b. I have about 300 more LeBron jokes than Obama jokes, though Herman Cain was helping to bridge that gap for a while.

c. While I will be egotistical enough to say that I do believe I'm a pretty funny guy on my best days, I really never set out to be funny in my writing. Whatever humor that does come from my writing is really more of a reflexive side-effect of the story I wish to tell. These satirical articles that can be found on my wordpress account at polipoetica.wordpress.com were really probably the first pieces of writing since "Horseplay" that I approached with the mindset of please be funny...ready, go! It's a real adjustment for me.

With that said, I think you can tell I'm kind of new at the satire genre, but they came out pretty darn cool. Even if nothing comes of this, it has been cool to kind of tap this area of my creativity and I look forward to keeping up the what-I-hope-is-good work.

As nice as the experience will be regardless, I'd really like for this persistence to pay off and I'd love your help. My correspondence with Paul has been a humbling and growing experience which I feel is important for any professional, but with that said I still believe with 100 percent certainty that this is a project I can be a serious asset to and, if you don't mind, here's where you come in.

If you read my blog on any or all platforms with any sort of consistency, would you mind telling me why? What is it about my writing or personality that makes you care at all what I have to say and read more time and time again? Again, I'm thrilled with your readership, and I don't need the proverbial pat on the back or proof that what I'm writing is as special as the people who read it, but I fear Paul Carr would require such proof. Now, so as not to overrun his mailbox (or worse, have nothing show up in it at all), please don't email Paul Carr directly, but it would mean the world to me if you took the time to write something that can be as simple as two to four sentences that explains what makes my voice worth reading to you.

Please send your sentences, paragraphs, letters, novels, (kidding) to tpoli311@gmail.com, and know that unless I have your direct permission after asking you, I will not be sharing your name or email with Paul Carr or anyone else. Thank you again. If you're interested, please do look up information on both Dave Roman and Paul Carr as they both will undoubtedly be changing and shaping the future in which we'll live.

Thanks, my friends.

Song of the Day: Have You Seen The Saucers?-Jefferson Airplane

Jazz Song of the Day: The Wizard-Albert Ayler Trio