33 Things I Know

Tomorrow I turn 33.

At this point in my life I don’t know everything there is to know- I only know some things. Things you know are absolute- they are facts as far as you are concerned. They are bases of discussion, conversation starters, conversation enders, and possibly points of contention. But ultimately they are simply enough, just the things you know.

Here are 33 things I know as of today, the day before I turn 33.

1. I know you can’t beat flip flops when it comes to foot wear.

2. I know the Red Sox will always be the team I care about the most, although this has been less rigid in the past couple years- with the Patriots & Celtics sneaking in there.

3. I know the difference between a $15 haircut and a $25 haircut.

4. I know the Wire is my favorite television show of all time. Arrested Development is second and the Office (prior to season 7) is third. Notable mentions are Lost, Madmen, Seinfeld and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. In the next couple years I could see Boardwalk Empire and/or Game of Thrones cracking that list.

5. I know the best hat I ever owned was a green fitted Michigan State hat.

6. I know that after a while, you can get sick of drinking only water.

7. I know that the only state not on an ocean I could live in is Colorado.

8. I know the best job I ever had was being a deckhand at Casco Bay Lines.

9. I know I will always look fondly upon Isuzu Troopers.

10. I know I prefer black ink to blue ink, but I’m not entirely sure why.

11. I know that I really came to appreciate the city of Philadelphia.

12. I know my favorite baseball player of all time is Ryne Sandberg.

13. I know that I never thought I’d have a nickname with more staying power than Burns.

14. I know Life cereal will always be the best cereal there is and if you mix it with Honey Nut Cheerios, it’s a work of art.

15. I know beer tastes best in a cold bottle.

16. I know that sporting a handlebar moustache makes me look angry and troubled, regardless of what my mouth is doing.

17. I know the five best concerts I’ve been to are (in no particular order):
- Pearl Jam at the Spectrum in Philly
- My Morning Jacket at the Mann Center in Philly
- Phish’s midnight set on 1/1/00 at Big Cypress Indian Reservation in Florida
- U2 at the old Foxboro Stadium in Mansfield, Mass
- From Good Homes at the Recher Theater in Towson, Maryland

18. I know that life got easier when I stopped caring what everyone else thought.

19. I know that mix tapes are better than mix CD’s.

20. I know I wish I was five inches taller.

21. I know 75 to 83 degrees and sunny is where it’s at.

22. I know playing music for people is one of the best feelings there is.

23. I know Goucher College might not be for everybody, but it was for me and I have no regrets.

24. I know I actually do have one regret about Goucher and it’s that I wish I had done a semester abroad. I really wouldn’t have missed as much as I thought I would.

25. I know that at weddings I drink Gin & Tonics.

26. I know my favorite place I’ve been to in California is San Diego.

27. I know that someday I want to go to Europe and do the following: fly to London, travel to Ireland and then over to Scotland, then on to Norway & Sweden, followed by taking a boat to Poland, the Czech Republic, Germany, Holland, France, Portugal, Spain and finally taking another boat to Italy. If Greece was included, that’d be dope. But if not, it’s not a deal breaker.

28. I know that I can’t wait to have a dog.

29. I know that for me, coffee just does a job. Taste is secondary.

30. I know Portland, Maine is the greatest place in the world July through October.

31. I know that my next vehicle will be a SUV or a truck. Cars aren’t for me.

32. I know patience isn’t my strong point, but everyday I’m working on it.

33. I know I’m a lucky dude because I met Kim and I had to be lucky for that to happen.

That’s what I know.

Go Pats.

Married Women in Red Sox t-shirts Make the World Go Round...

Seeing all the Red Sox shirts while traveling, doesn't matter where in the states because they're everywhere, is comforting. If the world ended, it's nice knowing that there's usually someone always around that you can strike up a conversation with.

I don't want to sit around, planning for various End o' the World scenarios, but flying really means you're just sitting around waiting & waiting & waiting, so you really have to do what you can to not totally lose your mind. For instance, this morning I was completely amazed by how many hot women, all married, were at the Philly airport on an early Sunday morning. Three Bloody Marys, one spicy and the others not, and the minutes that pass while waiting for your delayed flight to leave are the longest minutes in the world, next to the minutes spent lying in bed in the middle night when you're dead tired and can't sleep. There's no bars in my bedroom though, so those minutes are usually spent just thinking about old girlfriends, NBA playoff scenarios, and future living arrangements.

It seems though, that every time I fly, I see a girl walk by who resembles an ex-girlfriend. Sometimes, the gal is almost a dead-ringer of an ex and I almost think it's her. I've seen Chicago Molly lookalikes at numerous American airports and this morning I was almost convinced that Beth, a gal I dated senior year in Baltimore and haven't seen since, was on the same flight as me. Slumped against a wall, waiting for the plane, I kept looking at her, wondering if maybe this was Beth. It's been a few years and crazier things have happened on a slow-motion Sunday morning.

But it wasn't her and like most of the women in the airport this morning, it looked like she was either married or engaged. Before we boarded, she was talking on the phone and doing so with the girlfriend-talking-to-the-boyfriend smile. It's the same when dudes have the boyfriend voice. Girls have the girlfriend smile. It's a comparable deterrent to the wedding ring or extra lb's- just better to look at.

On the flight today, a straight-shot across country to sunny San Diego, most of the flight seemed to be all together, co-workers on a work field trip. I had no idea what they did and watched as the one dude next to me typed away at spreadsheets and emails that dated back to 2006. I wondered if this fella liked his job, if pouring over these spreadsheets and old emails, was a fun thing for him- something that reved his engine. I became kind of thankful that I have a job I like, one that I enjoy doing and when doing the work, 90% of the time, I dig it. Does that make me lucky, fortunate, or just another dude with a job?

Right now, it makes me tired and later in the week, it'll make me sunburned. After that, I'm not entirely sure and that's part of the draw.

So now it's chilling in San Diego, hearing the Padres game across the street, and waiting for the planes to start flying. The first hot girl I saw here had a wedding ring on too, so while that's not nearly as comforting as seeing a few people with Sox shirts on at the airport, it's at least nice knowing that all the way cross country, some things are still the same.

Now if only the time was the same, I'd be golden.

I'm gonna flat out out run ya, Jet Lag. Flat out, brah!

Rolled out of Philly Thursday night- through the rush hour traffic and miserable, gray rain. Plane was only delayed a few minutes and five hours later, time spent reading about the violence in Naples, Italy and listening to everything from Santogold to Van Morrison to Gang Starr to Faith No More, touched down in LAX. Just a brief stopover before finally arriving in San Diego. Of all the airports, the air outside the San Diego airport is the most refreshing. It pours into the cab windows and smells of salt. Late at night, after a cross country trip and perhaps a few too many Jack & Cokes, it's one of the best feelings in the world.

It would be roughly 36 hours in San Diego. Roughly 14 or 15 hours spent traveling- including layovers.

It would be quite possible to outrun jetlag.

It would be just like going to DC for work. If time stood still.

Out there in San Diego and head a little out of sorts, a little sideways due to the past few days of Vermont and back to Philly for a minute and then now out in San Diego. Bought a Gatorade at the store- for later, after the six pack was done. But while five days earlier, putting it on the windowsill made perfect sense, this time I had to make a few trips to the ice machine and fill the bathroom sink. The sink was just big enough for five beers and a Glacier Freeze. On Friday night, the only dude left in town, I tried to find Neighborhood, a bar we had tried to hit up last time we were there, but their absence of booze made it tough for some. But no worries there because that steak place was the goddamn cats pajamas. And shit if I don't still think about those mashed potatoes. But now on my own and killing some time I decided to find that bar, trying to remember the directions we had gotten a month ago. Pretty pleased with myself, I found it- 3 or so blocks up (from the other hotel) and maybe a block over.

But shit man, the place was packed. Not even a spot at the bar for a dude on his own to saddle up to.

Walking to Neighborhood, I noticed I was walking faster than usual and I attributed that to having a goal and a destination in mind. But walking away from the bar, I quickly noted I was walking slower, at more of a normal pace. The destination was gone, now there was just the goal. Things were more open-ended and for a second I got a little worried. The Gaslamp is a killer little district, but one that is hopping and busy on a Friday night. I don't have any problems with eating alone, happens a lot when traveling, but it's a lot easier to do when the place has a bar. It's why I ate at Applebee's twice on the way to Utah. If you're cruising solo, a place with a bar is your best option. But now I was concerned because all the bars in the Gas Lamp already seemed packed. Damn it, I was getting hungry. But damn it, whatever dude. So I headed back towards the hotel, where most of the district's restaurants were and after passing the coolest street band I've ever, ever, ever seen, I walked into the Whiskey Girl. Trashy, loud, and for that moment, pretty much awesome. Got a spot at the bar, right by two TV's showing both games. Kansas on one and UNC & Gonzaga on the other. In the middle was a bigger TV, showing the videos of the songs blasting through the restaurant. When November Rain came on, I took a break from both games and watched the video.

Ah, simpler times.

Later that night I came close to fisticuffs with a dude because I accidentally split a little bit of beer on his back. The pitcher was really goddamn full and I tried my best. All he said was thanks and I apologized, but I caught that bastard staring me down for five minutes afterwards. I was stoked when Jenn said we should go to the other end of the bar. To hell with that dude, accidents happen and you just got to let that go. If I had a nickle for every time I woke up Sunday morning with a little bit o' beer on my shirt, I'd have a shitload of nickles.

A shitload.

Luckily, if I was drinking a Pacifico the night before and left a floater- that beer is perfectly drinkable Sunday morning. This is according to the dude who proudly claimed that dude, I like to drink, like to blaze, and like to watch football. He was going to Vegas the next day and I imagined he'd be drinking a few floaters in the morning.

Saturday morning was leisurely and I decided it was time to head out when Sportscenter ended and women's basketball came on. Damn time change. Quick breakfast at the hotel and then a cab ride back to the airport, through the best smell in the world, with an Eastern European immigrant who was unsure how to process credit cards and first lived in Jersey. Ah, Atlantic City, he said. Then back on the plane, a bigger plane and I was up front at the emergency row with a large black dude who seemed to need help with everything. Getting his tray out of the arm rest, plugging in his headphones, calling the attendant. This is no judgement on his character at all. But if anything, I'd be concerned because if the plane went down, the two of us have some shit to do and frankly, given what I've seen so far, I don't think he'd be able to help much. It's the emergency row for God's sake! They called me to the counter before I boarded to ask if I was cool with sitting there. Oh I'm ready, I said. But this dude? I don't know man. Luckily Kevin Bacon was a few rows up in first class and I figured because he was wearing Aviators the whole time, he'd be able to fly the plane in an emergency.

A gracious layover in Denver, enough time to watch the UConn/Missouri game, eat a sloppy club sandwich, and have a few more Fat Tires. On the plane, smaller than the first one, the dude next to me in the window seat wearing a Spyder jacket and cowboy boots asked You going home? I am, I replied. Then I quickly said something about the Villanova game and turned away.

Back home a little after 11:30 and really only gone since 6ish on Thursday.

If time stood still, it'd be just like a jaunt down to DC.

With time not standing still though- moving along putter, putter, putter, it was a cross country back and forth through the time changes, ending abruptly with a cold beer, some chili, and Fast Times at Ridgemont High, not entirely sure what had just happened.

Only sure that if I were Kevin Bacon, I'd be wearing sunglasses on the plane too. Just not Aviators. Because if shit does go down, people will be looking at you to do something. I'd wear more unassuming sunglasses. Sunglasses that said, oh that's Ryan O'Connell, he looks busy, we shouldn't bother him, but I'm sure if we needed him to, he'd help.

That's what I would do. But that's why he's Kevin Bacon and I'm not.

Go Nova, thanks for coming out.