east village idiot

After Kate took a little trip in the Internet Wayback Machine yesterday, I decided to dig up some of my old web pages on Prodigy.

In my time-travels, I had the misfortune of finding a list of the CDs that I owned, circa junior year of high school. Apparently, I was so proud of this collection at the time that I posted it on my Prodigy web page. The list is so embarassing now that it could be potential blackmail material. Many are relics of my mid-90s angry rock obsession, followed by my mid-to-late-90s angry chick rock obsession, followed by an ex-girlfriend who, well, softened my musical tastes. I’m not proud of this, but I must not be ashamed of my past.

So, rather than make excuses, I’ll encapsulate my likely reviews at age 16:

Tidal, Fiona Apple
Oh my God! Greatest CD ever! She’s so deep and her lyrics cut straight to the bone! And I’m not just saying that because my girlfriend told me to!

Desireless, Eagle-Eye Cherry
This guy is gonna be HUGE!

Tubthumper, Chumbawumba
Spice, Spice Girls
Ladies and Gentlemen, watch out! The new British invasion has begun!

Fairweather Johnson, Hootie and the Blowfish
Sooo much better than Cracked Rear View! Who said anything about a sophomore slump? I will NEVER get tired of this band!

Galore: The Singles 1987-1997, The Cure
Eh, this CD is all right. Nothing special, though. I don’t even remember why I bought it. It was probably on sale at Newbury Comics. And I probably only got it for that “Friday I’m in Love” song.

Yourself or Someone Like You, Matchbox 20
These guys rock hard! They’re totally edgy. “Push” really “pushes” the envelope. I heard a radio station banned that song because it was about domestic violence.

Celebrity Skin, Hole
I have so much respect for Courtney Love. She’s really cleaned up her act.

Under the Table and Dreaming, Dave Matthews Band
Personally, I celebrate the man’s entire catalog. To me, it doesn’t get any better than when he sings “Lover Lay Down.”

Tragic Kingdom, No Doubt
Gwen Stefani is so angsty and passionate! She’s the kind of artist that will never sell-out to the man! Also, SKA RULES!!!

It’s funny, because last Thursday night, amongst other bloggers, I mentioned that the first CD I ever bought was Counting Crows’ August and Everything After. While others had the shame of Ace of Base or La Bouche, I had a nice, solid selection. But apparently, it all went downhill from there.

…the lights went out. I was on the 13th floor of an office building in Midtown, in the midst of a benefits meeting for the job I had just started that Monday. Our room was so brightly lit by the sun, we barely noticed the power was out, until we heard people screaming and pounding on the doors of the elevators outside the conference room.

We walked out onto 41st Street in a haze. At first, we thought it was just our building. Then, we saw the streetlights dark on each block, so we thought it was just the neighborhood. Then, people started to use their cellphones, and couldn’t get through, so we realized it was something bigger. As the Midtown rumor mill continued to churn, we heard other rumors: “it’s the whole east coast! It’s every major city in the U.S.! It’s a terrorist attack!” Being only two weeks removed from first moving to New York, I was trying to take it all in stride, but was naturally nervous. I didn’t partake in the free alcohol at the bars I passed - I just wanted to get home.

My boss, a die-hard New Yorker, looked out for me. She walked back towards her high-rise on the Upper East Side, and took me along, suggesting I take the 59th Street Bridge. At the time, I wasn’t even familiar with New York terminology to know she was talking about what I had known as the Queensboro Bridge. She gave me $20 and wished me luck, and if the power was still out in the morning, she insisted that I not come back to work.

…My most vivid memory of the whole experience was at the approach to the bridge. It was pandemonium. Pedestrians were sharing the road with cars, and throngs of people trying to escape Manhattan scaled the retaining wall that separated the upper deck of the bridge from the lower deck. As one reached the top, they would help pull the next one over the wall. I opted for the lower deck, since I was in nice clothes, and it was still about 85 degrees outside.

About midway across the bridge, a man had collapsed in the midst of his brutal walk. The fellow bridge-crossers sprung into action, trying to find a way to get him out of harms way and off to an emergency room. They flagged down a FedEx truck that was stuck in the mob of people. The driver opened the back door, and people hoisted him into the truck. Myself, along with about 10 other people, ran down the bridge, shouting at people to make way for this FedEx truck. I only hope that the teamwork I witnessed that day saved that man’s life.

I eventually descended into Queens, where I stopped at a Mr. Softee truck for something cold. It was the first time, and to this day, one of the only times I ever had Mr. Softee. While in line, I met a woman who confessed that she was pretty much lost. She was trying to get to Brooklyn - Bay Ridge, I think, about as far away as you can get and still be in the city. I told her I was headed toward Brooklyn and she could walk with me.

We struck up conversation on the way, talking about the kind of camaraderie we had seen, and just how unexpected it was. I admitted to her that I was new to the city myself - and this wasn’t exactly what I expected on my fourth day of work in New York. I guided her into Greenpoint, and rushed up and down my apartment building’s pitch-black stairwell to offer her a map and steer her in the direction of home. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I saw New Yorkers rushing to help others, so I did just the same.

Three days later, when our cable was finally restored, I came across this missed connection on Craigslist. It was a woman thanking everyone for helping her get home during the blackout, including a story that sounded strangely familiar:

To: the girl I walked across the 59th St. Bridge with, the guy I met in Queens and walked to Greenpoint with, the guy at the car service in Williamsburg, the guy going to Staten Island who I shared a car with…

I only moved to NYC a year ago. I’ve been spending that year trying to convince people back home that New Yorkers really are nice and good people. Yesterday’s blackout gave me more evidence to prove my case. I met some extremely friendly and nice people. Extra thanks to the guy in Greenpoint for getting a map. Extra Extra thanks to the car service guy for being trying to be fair about getting people cars in the order they came. I’m still glad I moved here and I’m still going to convince people how nice New Yorkers are!

Sure enough, it was her. I was a Craigslist Missed Connection. That day changed my perception of just how New Yorkers can bind together in times of crisis, and memories like these make me proud to be a New Yorker.

I made a confession to one of my college friends recently. “I’m a shy guy.”

“You? No! You weren’t in college!”

Of course I wasn’t shy in college. Nobody is shy in college. Everybody is drunk.

I told him that outside of situations where I’m pretty much forced to be social, I can be pretty shy and reserved. I’m not one to approach strangers, and I’m not one to make small talk for the sake of small talk.

“But you were a loudmouth in college. You never shut up.”

Right, and I was also a loud, obnoxious drunk.

I cited the perfect example of my shyness.

I had a huge crush on this girl in junior high. It was pretty pathetic, actually. I met her in sixth grade for the first time and instantly fell for her. She was in all of my classes, but she was completely out of my league. This girl was cute, smart, witty, and reserved. These are qualities most sought after by a 25-year-old, not a 12-year-old, but I was always told I was mature for my age.

(As a side note, at least I know I have good taste in women. She went on to an Ivy League education… and two national beauty pageants.)

In eighth grade, I finally convinced my parents that I could be trusted to go to my first junior high dance. These dances are not very big deals, as they were held once a month, and nobody actually asked anyone to these dances. This being my first school dance since I had chickened out of dancing with a girl I had a crush on in third grade, I was determined to make it memorable.

For most of the night, I sat on the sidelines of the cafeteria’s dance floor, shuffling my feet, like all eighth grade boys did (except the gay ones, of course). I had a whole ridiculous monologue in my head about what I would say to my crush when I finally got the nerve to speak up.

At last, I sensed that a slow dance was coming up soon. Sure enough, the DJ cranked up “I’ll Never Get Over You (Getting Over Me)” by Expose. I knew it was my chance. I made my move, and walked across the dance floor and up to her. I took a deep breath, and started what could have been the most romantic line I had ever said at the young age of 12.

“Hi… I… I want to…”

And I walked away. I was a deer in the headlights. The song played, and she went to dance with another boy. I sat in a plastic chair, wiping the sweat off my brow, and still trying to find the words that completely escaped me.

To this day, I don’t remember what I was going to say. And today, I probably would have ended up doing exactly the same thing.

Unless I was drunk.

Previously: Junior High Report Card

I guess you could say that I’m an emo kid. But not one of those obnoxious ones who cuts himself and says “woe is me” in more modern terms. Given my taste in music, it would be hard to argue otherwise.

[Side note: Do you know how excited I am about Dashboard Confessional’s new album that comes out next week? I cannot contain myself. It should be noted that every emo guy has a huge man-crush on Chris Carrabba.]

I’m going to see Taking Back Sunday tonight at the Nassau Coliseum. I am willing to travel to Long Island to see a concert at which I could quite possibly be the oldest person in attendance. I will be kindly reminding my friend who is accompanying me that “taking in the scenery” at this show is not the best idea. You can look, but it’s best not to touch. There is roughly a 99.8% chance that they’re underaged.

How do I know this? Because I have the musical tastes of a 16 year-old girl. This is a proven fact, not a theory. Well, it was just a theory, until last spring.

CHRIS, EX-GIRLFRIEND, and her female 16 YEAR-OLD COUSIN are in the ex-girlfriend’s car. CHRIS is driving, with EX-GIRLFRIEND in passenger seat and 16 YEAR-OLD COUSIN in the backseat. CHRIS turns on the now-defunct K-Rock. “Work” by Jimmy Eat World comes on.

CHRIS: Ooh ooh! I love this song!
16 YEAR-OLD COUSIN: Oh my God! Me too! Chris, you have really good taste in music!

And scene!

She’s 18 now, so you might argue that I have the musical tastes of an 18 year-old girl. Doubtful, as she has probably grown out of her emo phase… and at 24, I still have not.

For the second year in a row, Rhode Island drivers are the worst in the nation! As a native Rhode Islander, I can’t disagree.

After all, look at Patrick Kennedy! The politicos inside the Beltway may blame substance abuse for his accident, but his constituents know the truth: he was just driving like a Rhode Islander! You know, “pulling a U-ie,” or speeding up through a yellow light, or doing “the Rhode Island block” (blocking a lane of oncoming traffic to make a left turn).

Although I no longer have a car and therefore do not drive in or out of my home state, I want to state for the record that I am part of the solution, not part of the problem:

Plus, I received a near-perfect score of 99% on my on-road license test in 1998. That test consisted of driving around a block near the DMV. The one point off was for “inattention,” because I was so shocked that the instructor told me to turn back into the parking lot after 2 minutes, I said “turn right here?” He sternly replied, “yes, right here.”

I can drive around a block with flying colors! No wonder Rhode Island drivers are so bad.

I came across a couple of pictures of me from 2001:
Note the ugly white cap, checkered shirt, and hoodie over a polo shirt. God, I really was your stereotypical fratboy-type (at a school with no Greek system, no less). But also note the 40 fewer pounds on me.

These photos are my motivation to work out every day. I have been working out every day (except Memorial Day, when the gym closed at 8pm and I was too busy sleeping all day to go), but I don’t think it’s going to be enough. I have decided to make a very drastic move to help me lose weight: I am cutting beer out of my diet.

This may come as a shock to many of my friends, as I consider myself a beer connoisseur. Or a lush. Either one. I promise, this will only be temporary, to give me that extra push. When I go to a certain favorite bar of mine and ask for a water, my friendly neighborhood bartender says “we don’t serve that here” and gives me a beer. So maybe it’s time for me to re-think my priorities.

So long, beer. It’s been a blast. See you real soon, I hope.