Break A Few Eggs

Rebirth... in the Twenty-Fourth Year Grundig22@aol.com

I'm back. Alright, that was only three months. Getting better. Periodically it seems when you become arush with an absolute energy you must do it justice by channeling it in a formative way. Hence, this entry. So, here I am, three months later, still in the best job and relationship I've ever had. I have ecstasy in my system at the moment. I don't believe I've ever posted in such a state. But clearly I'm feeling everything that is said to go along with it: empathy, love, exuberance, illumination, and so on. Radiohead, too is back in my life, and, as such, I am filled with it. Now I'm doing my best to unceremoniously and humbly spread this feeling. I am clear. I can make great change. I even have a few ideas on how to do so. I'll start by returning to In Rainbows. This is the pudding. I am in the pudding. Come on in. posted by Neal @ 11:31 PM	8.26.2008
Well, OK. Let's catch up. I've been back in New York since April 17th. My previous post from August of last year came from Las Vegas, where I lived for roughly a year and three months. Before that, Italy, and so on. Now I'm in New York. My fantasy baseball team is in last place. My father's team and Liebman's team are floating up around the top of the standings. Other than that, I am about as content and exhilarated as I can ever remember being. I have the best job I've ever had and am in the best relationship I've ever been in. I trust that the previous sentence will retain it's honesty for quite sometime. I also realize that I've always really enjoyed writing here whenever I do so. One of the things I'm still trying to figure out about myself is why I still have a hard time motivating myself to do certain things that I love while doing. This platform has been helpful in demistyfying some similar questions in the past. So here we go again. Hopefully I'll be back soon. posted by Neal @ 11:15 PM	5.13.2008
Missing the Milestone I suppose the greater majority of people who spend time in my company feel intensity in my presence. I can only hope that most often this intensity is received as some form of love, because I exact very little control over its strength. posted by Neal @ 1:09 AM	8.01.2007
Vino Italiano Aaaiight. A good friend whom shall remain nameless (initials L.R.) DE-mands that I begin telling my winemaking tales within this here blog. Makes sense. Andiamo! ***If and as you read this stuff, and perhaps become horribly frustrated trying to vissualize it all, fear not, as I'm gonna attempt to make a little visual-aid album to accompany it in the near future. First, a little history. For roughly 100 years, the great-great grandfather(trisnonno), great-grandfather(bisnonno), grandfather(nonno), and father(Lupa) of Alberto and Alessandro used the four hectares (10 acres) of their farmable land for harvesting corn and other cereal grain. They planted a handful of grape vines and olive trees (in fact the picture on the Selvagrossa website of the olive oil label is of these four gentlemen standing in front of an original olive tree), however they used these vines and trees only for family and friends. Papa Taddei died in 1994, when the boys were fairly young (21 and 26), and their grandfather died in 2000. After the latter's passing, they decided to convert the large garage which had stored not only cars, but also all of the farm equipment and tractors into a cantina, and began the much longer process of turning the land into a true-blue vineyard. As they prepared the soil, starting with the 1.5 hectares uphill of the house and cantina, they imported Sangiovese grapes from a vineyard about four miles away, and began aging the first vintage of Trimpilin. In fairness to Alessandro, to whom I ask roughly 74,000 questions a day, I have yet to find out the details of their aging experimentation and why they have thus far settled with this current model: One month in large steel vats, followed by two years in 225-liter medium-toasted french barrique, back into the vats for three weeks, and into the bottles for roughly six months. Then I wipe the dust from each bottle, one by one, until my hands fall off. As I get more details on the bits and pieces of this part, so shall ye. Short note: The name, "Trimpilin" was a nickname Giorgio Pinchiorri gave to Alberto when he worked as a sommalier at the Michelin three-star (obligitory modifier) restaurant, Enoteca Pinchiorri, in Florence. It essentially means "Little Troublemaker", and it is quite befitting. The picture on the label was created by Alberto, and is inspired by the novel Il Barone Rampante (which I now own, in Italian, and am VERY SLOWLY trudging through), and the four bohemoth oaks that tower to the right of the new downhill plot of land. Allora. Land and Grapes. With the Sangiovese grapes coming in from elsewhere, the boys designated the first plot of land to Merlot and Cabernet Franc. Although Merlot and both Cabernets (Sauvingon) hail from France and have also gained fame in California, all three have been planted in Italy at least since the end of the nineteenth century, when Phylloxera wiped out much of Europe's vines. Now they are finding promenence in many of the Italian new-world style wines, with Merlot mainly succeeding in Fruili and the Veneto, and both, with Cabernet most often as the anchor, in the famous "Super-Tuscans" throughout Tuscany. They are currently being experimented with as single varietals and in blends in nearly every corner of the country. Here, at Selvagrossa, Cabernet Franc and Merlot were planted originally in 2002, and plucked and juiced for the first time last summer. I BELIEVE they are getting the same aging treatment as the Sangiovese. For now. Ultimately, there will likely be a wine blending the two, and perhaps a third incorporating Sangiovese. For the oenophiles, there is also a small plot just below the house, growing Sauvignon Blanc. It will be harvested for the first time this year, and will probably be used only at home for vino da tavola. Also the first five or six rows on the new plot (see rest of blog), are petit verdot, which will be about two or three percent of the Sangiovese varietal, for its deep purple (wine fans?) color and big tannins. In 2004, work commenced on the Selvagrossa Sangiovese plot, where I have seen the bulk of my work so far. These grapes will reach maturity and undergo their initiative picking next year. Sangiovese, the most frequently planted grape, white or red, in Italy, does most of it's work in the central to northern regions, and gets most of its worldwide acclaim in the Tuscan wines of Chianti Classico, Brunello di Montalcino, Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, Morellino di Scansano and a host of others I'll leave out as there may only be two or three people still reading this, and they know these things already. Sangiovese is often heavy in tannins, and is usually a great bet for aging. It tastes of tar, tobacco, porkfat and barnyard. Only those four things. If anyone else ever mentions any other flavor or aroma, they are either a pretentious sommalier, Robert Parker, or suffering a massive brain hemmorhage. Here, for this new sangiovese plot, after digging up the old crops and preparing the soil, the large wooden poles, about six feet long, maybe four inches in thickness, were set into the ground, about fifteen feet apart from each other, forming rows of fifteen to eighteen, depending on the lay of the land, downhill on a slight incline, running away from the house. Left to right, there are 101 rows in all, about five feet between each, with the large path leading uphill to the cantina and house, as a virtual midpoint. Next came the vines themselves. Imported mostly from, brace yourselves, France, they went one by one into the ground, seven between each two large wooden poles, two feet plus between each vine, including one up against each large pole. Finalmente, yours truly enters this story. My tasks on this land have included: -Marking each pole thrice using red crayons, actually PASATELLI INDUSTRIALI, made in Chili by an Italian company called FILA (the Italian word for "row"). Strange route there. The purpose is to mark where curved nails will later be nailed in. Only on the left side for the bottom mark, on both sides for the top two. -Nailing the nails. -Walking steel cable down each row and hooking it to the nails along the bottom marks. -Following Alessandro and the large John Deere, scooping bundle at a time of thin metal poles, three feet long, out of a large red wagon attached to the tractor, and placing them in the ground one by one next to the vines, "non precision", according to Il Capo's wishes. -Removing the very small wooden pole next to the vines, which had been set only to get the vines starting to train straight and upward. Replacing with aforementioned thin metal poles, with "molto precision", as straight and close to the perpendicular wire as possible. Attaching small black rubber caps to the tips of these poles. -Twisting little paper clip type doodads around the rubber tip and thus fastening to the wire. The goal of this entire part is to get the vines trained up the poles, and then turning to train along the wires, where the first set of grapes will eventually grow. -After Alessandro John Deers's his way between each row, removing plantlive in all of its many forms, I go through with a hoe, getting up the greenery where the machine couldn't, along the rows themselves. The purpose here is twofold: The greenery can make work generally less manageable, especially when it grows tall or thick, and it can steal nutrients that would otherwise go to the vines. This last part has been the work of the past three days. My hands do in fact breed blisters, and my arms are sore, especially considering the double dose they've seen lately with the baseball action. Oh crap, baseball. Next blogpost. Right. So, yeah, save for a few days in the cantina (which I'll discuss further later, especially as the workload there grows), this has basically been what I've been doing for work. It ain't all fuckin' dolphins and chewin' on macaroons out here people!! Although, yes, there's plenty of that, too. Ah, one more thing. Someday you may find yourself drinking a 2006 Trimpilin upon the docks of your seaside summerhome retreat after an arduous period of daytrading. If as you lift the glass to your nose with one hand while fondling your blackberry with your left you note the faintest hint of dogshit wafting heavenward amongst the other ethereal aromas, you be correct, poncho. It's there. I done seen it myself. Extra points if you detect the labrador-golden retriever blend. posted by Neal @ 11:34 AM	5.17.2006
Portarme Fuori al Gioco con la Palla? So, in what can only be considered a totally unexpected course of events, I have a baseball tryout Tuesday night. Last night, Alessandro, his visiting friend Pierre, and myself swung by the Pesaro baseball field to say hello to a couple Alessandro is friends with, that also is involved with the business side of the local Pesaro baseball team. The team, which I can only guess is named the Pesaro Porchetti (actually I think it's the Angels), had just wrapped up a scrimmage. The husband, Beppe, asked me if I liked baseball, and I explained that it was my favorite pasttime in America, and he asked me if I ever played and which position I played, and when I told him I used to play first base, he said "Oh we are trying first basemen!". So, somehow I will be trying out for this team on Tuesday night. I gathered that this team is kind of the Single-A or Double-A level in Italian baseball, which probably is something like the equivilent of fourth-grade baseball in America, yet I'm still pretty sure I'm way outta my league here. The only upside is that, from a month working on the vineyard, I am probably in the best physical shape that I've been in in some time, so hopefully it won't be an all out embarassment. Beppe did mention that the average team fastball is around 70mph... so attempting to hit these guys should be quite interesting. I'll bring the camera. Friday night I was eating and drinking with new friends Cristina, Stefania, and Lorenzo and the latter pointed out something worth mentioning regarding Italy in general. I had told them that I was amazed that I've been living here a month, and for the most part I still don't really know what people do for a living. And it's not just the language barrier... it's simply that this subject usually doesn't come up right away, as it often does when you first meet someone in America, especially a place like New York. Lorenzo told me that the lifestyle here (and in much of Italy) is that of the extended siesta. While people here will put sincere effort into their careers (for example, Alessandro pretty much devotes himself to the vineyard in all facets of his life), there seems to be the enduring sentiment that work is not worth doing if it is ever taken too seriously. This concept clearly raises a world of thought, both in a micro and macro fashion. I think to an extent everyone struggles with the many colors of this topic. Even I hear this and think, well yeah, this is a lazy culture. But in truth, it really isn't. Many restaurants, which by way of history, terroir, and technique continually produce exemplary food and drink, can take on the same frenetic pace as those in New York. The difference being that within the chaos, there really is an underlying level of calm, which can be felt throughout each particular establishment. Of course there are exceptions in both places, as some of my favorite restaurants in New York took on this same persona. But as a whole, it seems like there is a climate of relaxed professionalism here, which I do deem admirable. The downside might be that Italy isn't often at the cutting edge of technological and business advances, perhaps mostly thanks to the daily siesta and shmorgasboard of national holidays. But, in turn, in Italy you will find the best cured meats, some of the best wine, the most comfortable suits, the finest grain, and some of the most beautiful art and architecture. This truly feels like the world of five-percent nations, where every small world unto itself, be it pizza, jewelry, cheese, or ties, is given such intense attention, that specialists and geographic regions of expertise are born in each one. It is something that I always sorta knew about Italy, but it is pretty inspiring to see it up close. So, if I've taken anything from the first month of this wild and wooly experiment of sorts, It is that, no matter where in the world I choose to make my way, nor how I seek to do it, I should hope to take some cues from this society and do it, at least in part, in the Italian style. Even though I, myself, have yet to aqcuire any of that Italian style myself. I need to get some sunglasses. posted by Neal @ 4:56 AM	5.07.2006
i cieli grigi vanno chiarirsi Today's game has been postponed on account of PIOVE. It will me made up as part of a doubleheader on Lunedi. In a surprise move, Nelo will be starting both games of that doubleheader. Alessandro Taddei has been known for his crazy managerial style, but this? posted by Neal @ 12:36 AM	4.28.2006
Dio Porco Just for the record, there is a freaking DELI SLICER IN THE KITCHEN. A picture speaks a thousand words. posted by Neal @ 12:52 PM	4.25.2006
La Guida Fluttua su un Mare di Silenzio I sit on a long concrete bench perched against a cluster of large jagged stones. To my right: La Mare Adriatico, breathing silently with the April breeze. The sea resembles a sleeping vessel, fully alive, yet peacefully so. It effortlessly blends into the evening sky, between which, every shade of blue and green is represented, in such a way that I have never seen before. Here, in Pesaro, the clock creeps toward 9pm. To my left, a cauldron of early-evening activity brews. The harborside bar has a beautiful, irreplicable view of the sea, and tonight it is at near capacity. Old and young, families and twenty somethings alike, drink aperitivi and prosecci, readying themselves for a temperate springtime Saturday evening in Italy. I sit directly between the spectacular ease of the great sea, and the frenetic, passionate simmer of the growing mass of Italians. Tonight I will part company with the sea and dive into chaos, but I won't leave the sea entirely, for even the most intense moment here is built upon a bed of tranquility. I am amazed anew every day by this. With the remnants of an Americano (appropriately) in my tanned left hand, I stand and make my way toward the hum. I prepare myself to speak a version of Italian so broken, the strongest adhesive couldn't repair it. Ciao! Buona sera! Dove sei? Si? Bravo! I must sound like a fucking Italian infomercial. Still, I will not be shaken in my efforts to communicate, to become one with this place. The entire affair probably looks like a national geographic special on the newly born chick trying to make sense of its surroundings, bouncing off a tree every now and then. Not to fear, somehow in one week I have somehow met all 100,000 people in this city, so now it's just a matter of remembering which Giovanni wore the green shirt, and which Lucia spent three years in Colorado. I think it was the one with the Prada bag. This whole thing is unreal, and feels like a steadily evolving dream. I wonder how long that will last. The clock in the bottom-right hand corner of the screen reads 0.00. I believe that means the bomb is about to go off. Or maybe it's midnight. Either way, time to go. posted by Neal @ 3:39 PM	4.22.2006
Sembra essere lí un pezzetto di cibo in Italia Ciao! Come stai? OK, well I am sorry it has been a lil while since my last post, but I think I haven't had a moment without food or a utensil or both in my hands since I last wrote. These people really don't screw arpund when it comes to Pasqua (Easter). I went shopping with Alessandro Saturday morning at the Iper, a large Italian supermarket chain. He did assure me that he does most of his important food shopping (meat, fish, fruits, veggies, etc.) at the butcher or small market. Here, we got some bottled water, piadi, butter, milk, eggs, beer, and a few giant chocolate eggs to give to the kiddies the next day. With the Taddei tribe on Pasqua, every child, including Alessandro and Alberto, gets a large chocolate egg with a surprise inside. The supermarket was PACKED. It was quite a sight: fathers, mothers, children and grandparents jumping through the aisles like they were in the big indoor candy garden in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Specifically, I have never seen anyone in my life get more joy out of food shopping than Alessandro. When I told Alberto about it later, he said, "Yeah, he's completely in his element. You can't stop him." The previous day a young lady named Emily, a past regular at Falai, swung into town. Emily is traveling for at least six months through Europe. She saved money for a couple of years, and was now generally letting this trip determine her near future. It was nice to chat with her about her travels. I realized how comforting it can be to encounter others that abandon their home country, often simply for the sake of curiosity and adventure. I also see now that this is what many of the Italians I worked with in New York are doing as well. Friday night Emily, Alberto, Alessandro and myself had a "light dinner" at the restaurant where mama Taddei works. It was actually something that doesn't really exist in America: a cafeteria style setting with trays and self service and a high standard of cuisine. We sat down, and ended up eating in a group of roughly a dozen people, as people they knew kept strolling in. We had great mussels and branzino. After eating, Alessandro dragged me to one of his friend's birhday parties, which ended up being a really good time. I have little understanding of how he knew these people, but I do know that they were fascinated that I was from New York. It is pretty amazing how people react when you tell them that. It's like you told them you were James Dean. They often tell you about a time they went or how they want to go, or they mention things they've heard about it. I've managed to hold back and not damper their enthusiasm by telling them that one of the reasons I was in Italy was because I didn't really feel home in New York. Saturday afternoon, after shopping with Alessandro, Emily, Alberto and I went into Pesaro to check out the beach and walk though town center. We ended up meeting up with Livia, another American that I had met in Verona, in the afternoon at a small wine store. The meeting itself was actually quite miraculous. Alberto and Livia had arranged for her to come to Pesaro for a couple of days, that part wasn't all that strange. What was strange was that Livia had just driven from Tuscany and found this small wine store in the center of Pesaro, and because she didn't have a phone, asked the proprietor to call her friend Alberto for her. When she called, the three of us were literally two doors away. And while this isn't exactly New York, Pesaro is a pretty decent sized town, so the coincidence was grand. Naturally, we celebrated the fortuitous assembly with a bottle of Trimpilin 2002. After a supper of Florentine style steaks and shish kebab ala Alessandro grilled up outside the vineyard home, we hit the hay to rest up and get ready for the Eating Olympics otherwise known as Pasqua. All told, I ended up eating four straight meals with the same five people: Alberto, Alessandro, Mama Taddei, Emily and Livia. I think that alone be a first for me. The second of those meals was a classic Pasqua breakfast of hard-boiled eggs accompanied by a mix of spices for dipping and some parmaggiano\pecorino cornbread on the side. We soon after took off for Il Sorpasso, which is really nice by day, for the Easter lunch, a four course seafood spectacular expertly prepared by the chef and family friend, Piluz. Livia pointed out something very comical and certainly incredible during this meal: where we Americans would say, meet at the corner of 14th and 1st to then go to lunch, we Italians in this day, met at the vineyard and ate breakfast in order to go out to lunch. Easter dinner was back at the farm. Agnello (lamb), taglilata, and some other boiled meats were on board. After a strange streak of roughly eighteen straight corked bottles of wine, we finally found a decent one, and went at it. The next day is a national holiday in Italy. They call it Pasquetta, and you are supposed to rest with friends and family, maybe have a picnic, or stay in and eat leftovers. Naturally, they had twenty or thirty friends and family members over for a Pasqueta festa bellisima. It was a lovely day, and little Italian bambini ran around and threw the frisbee, as their parents and the grandparents sat and picked at salumi and breads and chocolate and joked and told stories. Alessandro made everyone laugh when he told them about one quirky detail of our lunch the previous day at Il Sorpasso. I came in with an upset stomach and heartburn (only the lord knows why), and ordered a Fernet-Branca neat from the waitress. Livia, who knew also of my stomach ills, had ordered me an Averna on the rocks. So there, as the first course arrived, my first course was two amari, on the rocks and neat, and this gave the Italians much pleasure. Now the celebration has ended. Today was rainy, so we didn't work in the field, but we did spend a bit of time putting the labels on the 2003 bottles, which took a bit of figuring out. Although it's a bit unfortunate to have the Americans gone, I do feel like I was cheating a bit with all of the English and Eating over the past few days. It's time to get back to learning the language and working in the fields, if for no other reason, because I have food protruding from every part of my body. Missing y'all. Talk to y'all real soon. posted by Neal @ 12:14 PM	4.18.2006
Bene, bene OK, so it turns out that it takes a bajllion years to do that on this site. So here is the info to view my photos: Website: Ofoto.com Email: Grundig22@aol.com Password: Grundig View on, I say! posted by Neal @ 1:19 PM	4.11.2006
Home Sweet Pesaro When I worked in NYC with Italians, every so often, in response to an Italian's movements or mannerisms or some strange situation, an American co-worker would say, "That's so Italian". These days, I pretty much find myself saying that in my head every twelve minutes or so. Yesterday was my first in Pesaro. I had the day off to rest and do what I like, which turned out to be a visit to the city. Before heading in, I enjoyed a nice lunch of penne alla arrabbiata and mussels pomodoro with the other workers, compliments of Mama Taddei. Alberto drove me into town, and I spent four hours or so wandering around and soaking in the local flavor. I arrived during the THREE HOUR siesta, or whatever they call it here, so most stores were closed. I also considered checking out "Inside Man" in Italian, but the cinema, too, was closed, due to the big ole' election going down across the land. By the way, we've currently got a Gore-Bush type situation going on here, as the election was such a dead heat, that they are counting on overseas votes to decide the darn thing. Also, a bunch of elderly Jews in Apulia accidentally voted for Buchanan, even though they had to write him in to do so. It accually looks like the good guy will probably win, so Italy may be pulling it's four troops out of Iraq shortly. So, anyhoo, I walked down to the beach, which is really quite lovely, and got an espresso and a croissant. I also walked through a free modern art exhibit and chowed on some unbelievably delicious €1.50 gelato. Pesaro has much of the charm of some of the big Italian cities, but without the crazy traffic and swarmed streets. I'll be posting some pictures of the beach and the town in the next few days. I came back by bus and got lost in some kind of unholy kind of way. Alberto ended up picking me up in what I believe was Argentina, or perhaps Hackensack. He, Alessandro and myself had some nice piedini, and I went to sleep earlyish to get ready for my first day of work. I awoke around 7:30, and was pruning vines by a little after 8. I am way too tired to explain what I've learned thus far about this process right now, so I'll go into it in my next post, but I will tell you that I had a beautiful day. The clouds came and passed, and I watched the shadows creep across the vineyard as I worked away, with the passing company of other workers and Alessandro's two labrador retriever puppies, Homer and Yanko. After a lunch of Trenne with sausage and mushrooms, fritatta with aparagus, and baked verdura mista, I went back to work, this time marking large poles with a red crayon on the newer side of the vineyard to prepare for later work. I just downed some pizza and beer with the boys, and now I am canne tired. Still lemme see if I can get some photos up on this godforsaken machine... posted by Neal @ 12:00 PM
Buon Giorno I feel this strange sensation that I have not felt for at least a week now: I am not hungry. I hope it goes away soon, as it is quite confusing. Yesterday I finally got around to trying some wines from the Marche, as I know I will drinking those more than any other over my stay here. Luckily, I was introduced to a guy around my age that spoke a little Inglese and works on a vineyard near Ancona, so he showed me around and had me try a few wines vineyards he was very familiar with. I realized as I was drinking a Vernaccia also from the area around Ancona, that I nearly always favor white wines that have seen very little time aging in any kind of wood container, whether it be new French barrique, or large oak barrels. Most of the whites I've liked so far have been aged in stainless steel, which seems to let the grapes speak for themselves, and with certain whites in particular, this can be very important. Anyways, I am starting to itch to get back to Pesaro, as I am eager to start doing the wine creation activities and to be reading the wine realated literature. So the big feast last night was delivered as advertized, except that it was thirty people as opposed to twenty. The company was great, and very jovial. If these people loosened up any more, they would be puddles. It's almost scary how good they are at having fun. As far as the meal went, it felt a bit like watching a great film the second time. It was still rich and fulfulling, but the surprise and enjoyment of experiencing it for the first time had passed. No complaints though. And JESUS did we drink some good wines. I wish I could remember what the hell they were, but I do remember a 1997 Valpolicella and the same Bollinger champagne that we had the other night being the standouts. Afterwards we went back to Bottega dei Vini, and then I somehow ended up with a bunch of Albert's friends from Pesaro, including my friend Philo, whom I worked with at the Panetteria in New York. I think I would have been better off traveling with a group of rabid mountain lions. We spent an hour driving around Verona trying to find this discoteca, which, once found wanted to charge us thirty Euro apiece to trance dance with a bunch of Red Bull-Vodka chugging teenagers. Thankfully, we turned back, and headed to the hotel, where i was once again awoken by Signora Pazza herself, this time yelling at five of us, instead of just me. A couple of the guys stood up at attention and saluted her, yelling "Si, general! OK, general!" Again, at the table, she treated us as sons, and all was forgiven. So my last day at Vinitaly hath arrived, and I oddly enough am in no mood to drink wine. Hopefully, that will change after a quick visit to the the Cinzano stand for a bit of Campari and Prosecco on ice. CI SENTIAMO! posted by Neal @ 4:17 AM	4.09.2006
Tutto va Bene So yes, it be true. I be in Italy. And all is well. Two nights ago we followed up the meat lovers marathon with an Apulian dinner at Ristorante Gargano, which specializes in treats from the sea. It was nearly as magnificent as the previous evening, with the oysters taking the spotlight, as they often do. These came from the markets in Venice, which is only about forty-five minutes away, and they tasted as if they had been plked from their waters only minutes earlier. It was one of those flavors that you can conjure up just by thinking about it, because it was so powerful and unique. Included in the feast was sea scallops in the shell, fresh mollusks, swordfish carpaccio, mussels alla pomodoro and mussels gratin, a sea urchin/salsaverde spread on toast, and skate that was richer and tastier than I can remember it being in past occasions. We drank a rosato spumante from the pinot nero grape through the meal, and it carried very well throughout. One of the wives was due to arrive the next day, so a couple of the guys insisted we go out more, as the "vacation" would soon be ending, and the rowdy behavior would have to come down a notch or two. So we headed to Bottega Dei Vini, restaurant and cantina in the heart of Verona, near the Arena. We had an incredibly crisp and tart Bollinger Champagne, which tasted as if an apple had been carved above the glass. I told the guys i was going to sleep in a bit the next day, and proceeded to sleep straight through my alarm. Instead, my substitute alarm was a loud Italian woman, standing in the hallway entrance to my room, screaming "prepararte! preperarte!". She, the propriator of the Agrituriso di San Pietro, was unhappy that I'd slept late, as she wanted the room to be cleaned, and she wanted me to eat breakfast. I rushed to get ready, met her in the front office, where she angrily insisted in Italian that I take a spot at a table in the dining room, where she brought me breads and homemade jams. Once I was eating, her maternal instinct kicked in, and she softened up a bit. She asked me why I slept until 11am, and I tried my best to explain jet-lag in broken Italian. I think she now thinks I'm a pilot or something. She called me a cab and off I went back to the Vinitaly conference, where I foucused most of my time in the Piedmont, Toscany, and Sicily areas. Last night was much more subdued. The meal, at a restaurant named Cicarelli, was nice, but compared to the two previous evenings, was nothing amazing. Plus, with a woman now at the table, the boys acted as if their mom had just come into the room and now they could no longer flirt with the waitresses and curse at each other. Plus I think the late night previous took a bit of the wind out of all of our sails. Tonight we head back to Ristorante Cavour in a group of about twenty or so, which I am guessing will be ever so slightly celebratory in nature. OK, Sardegna calls... I have to go swirl a few glasses and pretend like I know what I'm doing. Ci ve diamo! posted by Neal @ 2:11 AM	4.08.2006
ALLORA First things first... let's post a mass email I sent the other day to catch the brethlessly anticipating internet-surfing world up to date: Hello, Ciao, Biongiorno, Greetings to family and friends of past and present and anyone I thought might be interested in hearing about this unbelievably strange journey I've undertaken. For those of you that may not know, I left Monday for Italy where I will be spending the next eight months (unless I am arrested and deported, which is always a lingering possiblility). I will be living and working on a vineyard in Pesaro, which is in Le Marche, on the Adriatic coast, roughly three hours south of Venice, and withing two hours of Bologna and Florence. The vineyard is Selvagrossa ("large forest" in Italian) and it is operated by Alessandro, the brother of my friend Alberto, whom I worked with in New York. www.selvagrossa.it will give you a bit of info. I currently write you from the buisiness center in the VIP lounge at the Vinitaly conference (www.vinitaly.com) in Verona, a four day shmorgasboard of Italian wine and wine-related fun. Monday I return to Pesaro and get workin'. One thing I'd like to relay about Italy right off the bat... here are a few keys that exist on the Italian keybord but not on the U.S. one: £ ? é ç à ò è ù ì When I actually Begin using this silly language, I'll consider using those keys. I intend to communicate the majority of my thoughts and adventures on my very own personal blog at www.rebornat23.blogspot.com but those of you who wish to contact me, this email (Grundig22@aol.com) be a good place. For now, quick summary of what I did yesterday: Drove to Verona with Allesandro and Alberto, and met up with Claudio and Uri, two brothers that that own two seperate vineyards in Toscana and Emilia Romana. Us five spent several hours setting up their booth, where Alberto and Alessandro will also be pouring their 2004 wine from Selvagrossa, which we will be officially bottling in the next month or two. Around five o'clock we drove to the Roccolo Grassi winery in Valpolicella, where Marco, the talkative-to-say-the-least winemaker showed us around and poured us a flight of his wines. (Valpolicella, Amarone della Valpolicella and Recioto della Valpolicella) They were damn good, but I was losing my mind because I know just enough Italian to understand only every tenth word out of his mouth. After, we drove to the outskirts of Verona where we ate at Ristorante Cavour, a 26 year old joint that blew my freaken mind, and will continue to blow my freaken mind until I go back Saturday night in a group of twenty, when it is sure to blow my freaken mind again. We ate: salumi (two salami, lardo, sopressata) tiny tortelli stuffed with veal, beef and pork in butter and sage tagliatelle with rabbit gnocchi alla cavallo (HORSE) bollito misto (boiled veal, beef, calves tounge, roast ham, cotechino) tiramisu, cheesecake, prune cotto, creme caramel and chocolate bon bons with zabaglione HOLY CRAP WAS IT GOOD. The pastas especially were UNREAL. The horse, a specialty in this area, was tender and fatty, and as juicy any meat I've ever tried. For the record, my days of openminded attitude regarding vegetarians is officially over. They can all go drown themselves in a pool of creamed spinach as far as I am concerned, for to deny the chance to eat what we did last night would be a tradgedy far worse than any other previously set in Verona. Also, the food, plus four bottles of wine and grappa came to roughly three times LESS than it would have been in New York. The best meal of my life and it was a bargain. I feel thus far like I am in that film Defending Your Life, where everything you eat is the best version of it you've ever eaten. At this pace, I'll outweigh a truck by the end of the week. But it will be well worth it. Sorry for what may sound like boasting, it's just that I'm filled to the brim with exhilaration and nobody here speaks English, and if they do they take all this stuff for granted anyways because they've been living it their whole lives. Ok, well I've got four days of drinking wine ahead of me and twenty-one regions to cover, so I best get moving. Love and Kisses from the heartland of Romance, Neal posted by Neal @ 1:58 AM
Battle Won I'm sure I'm not the first, nor will I be the last to mention that all three of these ungodly hurricanes were named after women. We are the assholes, but they are just downright nasty. posted by Neal @ 12:30 AM	10.20.2005
Downtown Hipster Paradise Now that I have had some time to consider it, I'm finding the chorus of "Cats in the Cradle" rather unsettling. Not so much as the sweet and sour aroma rising as the afternoon autumn sun warms cumulative Chinese loogies that plummet like paratroopers around my feet as I stroll northward every day. I'm awfully silent these days. posted by Neal @ 11:43 PM	9.29.2005
you must be posted by Neal @ 1:01 AM	8.17.2005
YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME posted by Neal @ 1:00 AM
Good Luck We are all a little silly until we all get home We are all a little stupid until we're on our own We are all a little crazy until we lose our soul We are all a little jaded until we find our home Or maybe that's not true. Two things I'd like to experience: A culture that doesn't approach spirituality, in any of its countless forms, sizes and expressions, with general skepticism. A broadbased religion that is fruitfully connected to economy. I will assume that spirituality and religion is most often experienced in part, however large or small, in a way that seperates and relieves oneself from the stresses of biological need (food, shelter, sex, air). I will also assume that it is often easier to be spiritual when these biological needs are rarely endangered, or even at risk. Clearly a truly spiritual religion would incorporate these things onto its tablets. I should probabaly mention that I just watched a group of Chinese neighbors throw gold paper into three fires in three tin barrels on Essex for quite some time. At 2am. Myself and others stopped to watch and throw and shout "Oa!" and Oa "Nien!" I am full of questions and pleasant tranquility. I'm gonna use this website as a reminder to dicuss something with my parents, because all of these strings are cutting off circulation to the tips of my fingers. posted by Neal @ 11:36 PM	8.02.2005
And the Lovesick Rejections that Accompany the Company I Keep It is entirely purposeful: You look at me and you ask yourself, even if fleetingly, "Could this be the one?" I look at you and I challenge myself to ask myself anything other than, "Could this be one?" Let's prove each other wrong. We are as capable as any of the rest. I am having a look at Japanese knives in a Japanese knife store in Tribeca at around noontime. Maybe I'll have a look or two along the way. Just try, ladies... just try being a young man in Manhattan in the deepest part of summer, and watch all of your predisposed chivalry and rational inklings melt away with the best of the flovorful snow-cones. It ain't easy. But then, I know it ain't all that easy for you guys either. See you on the 50-yard line. posted by Neal @ 12:40 AM	8.01.2005
Mashed Potatoes I can't help but notice that I am sitting and typing this on my computer at 2:45am on a Fri/Sat, listenining to War's "Spill the Wine", as Spee snores on my couch, when I could be talking to a woman from Long Island over two highballs, every so often allowing my attention to drift pleasantly to the woman from Minnesota. Or something much better. Maybe one of them actually lives in Manhattan. Who knows. Not me. Until next time. For now, this'll do. I'm genuinely exhausted. I no longer work at Becco. I work at Falai. This link is supposed to act as one of a handful of daily reassurances that leaving a cushy job as a manager of a solid new york city restauraunt to be a server was with much merit. I'm genuinely exhausted. His snoring is relentless. posted by Neal @ 11:43 PM	6.17.2005
Pretending There's Drama and Candleabra What exactly does it take to get a drink in this place? posted by Neal @ 11:39 PM
Oh, Hello There In New York City, the need to play loud music can be as great as the need to sleep. Yet, the seperation of these two needs is most often represented by a physical wall. It's totally fascinating. posted by Neal @ 10:30 PM	5.05.2005
"Life is much too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it." -OW Becco holiday party at OW bar on E58th St. last night. It was lavish and celebratory and several other adjectives that I am unable to conjure in my detox state. OW (Oscar Wilde), a place where men often go to meet and chat up other men, was a trippy scene for this particular event. I walked in last night at ten minutes before midnight, after a full day at the restaurant and thirty minutes at a friends apartment doing what the youngsters gleefully refer to as "pregaming". The first thing I saw was a generally empty establishment, which was strange, because I expected to find a wild and crazy holiday party. Several patrons sat with their backs against the bar, drinking, chatting a bit. On the opposite side of this rectangular space, several other gentlemen sat on long plush benches, drinking, chatting a bit. Mostly, these twenty or so patrons had their attention focused sqarely to the back of the bar, where a robust blonde transvestite stood on a small stage at a podium reading out letters and numbers for the generally eager crowd. Yes, it's true, it was bingo night at the gay bar. And Becco was having its holiday bash. I came to recognize the "bingo room" as the main, but not exclusive space in this establishment. I walked on past the transvestite to her right, into a smaller, much more occupied space. As I passed, she paused from her responsibilities as headmistress of Bingo long enough to ask me, into the microphone, "where are you heading, handsome?". I only smiled and continued on into the private room where the forty or so Beccosians were rocking and a-rolling. Without sifting through thousands of tiny details about my workplace and why exactly I had so much fun last night, I will say this: It was really really nice to dance and drink and enjoy a holiday prize raffle (most of the prizes were booze) with this particular group of people. It lovely to not feel like a boss around them for a change. I'll admit, being twenty-five and one of the bosses at this restaurant can be a confidence-building venture at times. For one, I take pleasure in doing the service schedule every week, because I usually succeed in simeltaneously correctly staffing a busy restaurant at the busiest time of the year, and making the forty person service staff all pretty happy with their schedules. It's a fairly challenging task, and considering past failures, I'm quite pleased to be handling it as well as I am. That said, being a twenty-five year old boss when so much of the staff is your age or older, and quite likeable, can be trying at times. It's one thing I'm still trying to manage. Pun intended. So, last night I didn't really feel like one. I felt mostly like a guy hanging out with a bunch of good people having a good time in the back room of a gay bar on a Monday night. Bingo night. One more note to tie this all together: Jeremy, the tall, lanky, long haired, ebullient to the point of effusiveness wine director, also my boss, my co-manager, and basically the face of the restaurant, danced up mostly everyone at the shindig and gave me a huge bear hug and kiss on the cheek as I was leaving. Again, he is my boss and co-manager. This is a true sybmol of why, despite many weary moments, I love this job as much five months in as I did the first week. But enough about me... posted by Neal @ 1:12 PM	12.07.2004
Let Me Clear My Throat Ok. Even I am not quite able to follow that last post. To summarize: My Thanksgiving was about the same as years passed. Mostly warm, sunny, crisp and clear, with brief showers, partial cloud cover, patches of fog. Oh yeah, those were metaphors. Happy Thanksgiving. posted by Neal @ 11:25 PM	11.25.2004
Something to be Thankful For I am sitting at the desk I grew up with in my mom's White Plains apartment typing on her Dell Inspiron. Behind me, my mother discusses a renovation project currently in progress at my parents' new home in Bethesda, Maryland with my 79 year old grandmother, her mother, Nettie. My father took a new job at Comcast in March 2003. My parents sold my childhood house in Scarsdale in January, and my mom lives here until she finishes her final year teaching in the New Rochelle school district. I type this as we wait for my father and sister to complete their epic and seperate but achingly equal preparing-to-go-out ritual. It mostly involves much status-checking from my mother, shrieks of victimization from my sister, and unfettered sarcasm from my father. We are shooting to leave for the restaurant in 15 minutes. My mother just yelled through the door, asking my father how much longer he'd be, and he responded by telling her it would be another hour. As I was typing the last sentence, however, he stepped out, fully dressed and ready to go. Now we await my sister. This is always an adventure. The battleground lies on either side of her bedroom door, and the fight is a good fight, full of pleading, yelling, joking, laughing, and the occasional steady current of the hair dryer. Finally, she will emerge, and we will all drive to the restaurant to meet my mom's younger sister, her husband, and their three kids, our cousins. The food, drink, and celebration is always earned, having just survived the battle. OK, they are calling for me. OFF TO WAR I GO!!! posted by Neal @ 5:40 PM
Longest Intermission EVER Yesterday was strange. Today is no different. Amidst the frenzy of activity, I briefly noted, as the whole city did, that winter had arrived. Sunday was a warm, lazy, late summer day. Now it is 5:30, dark, and colder than a sorority girl at a math club mixer. So yeah, it's winter. I am 25 years old. This blog is two years old. I had my birthday off for the first time in four years. It was a Friday, and I went to dinner with my parents at Lupa, another one of the star joints in the growing Batali-Bastianich spiderweb. Dinner included items like smoked eggplant, sardines ala Romana, orichette with a lamb ragu, pork shoulder and tuna belly milanese. Dessert was warmed fruit compote over fontina, tartufo, and a concord grape sorbet, the ghost of which has lingered on my palette longer than any other dish. The wines and the complimentary limoncello weren't too shabby either. The whole experience was so nice that there was nary a chance to dampen the atmosphere with typical family bullshit. Next Tuesday I am dining at Babbo. I think it fair to say that I am rather excited. However, I think it not fair to continue the 10/1 post in a similar style. An attempt to put events to dates would be almost excrutiating. Suffice to say, I work alot. Luckily, work and fun have so far lived in relative harmony. A year or so ago, I came up with a simple project for the socially active: scribble one saying onto a blank sheet of paper, make thousands of copies, and post all over the city. This saying has been dancing about my head for a week, and I hope to make it last: "The world is changing for the worse, yet life is all around me." ta-ta for now. posted by Neal @ 2:35 PM	11.09.2004
Class is in Session Exactly one-half of a year has passed since the 4/1 post where I "felt the change coming". I am such a prognosticator. So, on that note, here's what I did this summer: Saturday, May 29th: As manager of Torchia's, ran a 55-guest, five course, seated wedding reception. The bride was Irish, the groom and the rest of the guests were all Korean. The 15 minutes it took to send the main courses (filet mingon or chilean sea bass) were the most intense 15 minutes I experienced in my Torchia's career, and worthy of entire blog entry. Sunday, May 30th: Showed up 35 minutes late to work. Was directed by my boss Justin, the owner of Torchia's, to take the day off, and to take the day off on Wednesday as well, in addition to Monday and Tuesday, my regular days off. This was not a reward for working my ass off the weeks before. It was a punishment for being frequently late, as I had been that day. It was also made clear to me that I did not correctly communicate to the bride during the reception that the main course was going to hit the tables roughly 20 minutes late. Despite the fact that I actually had communicated this to the bride, and despite knowing she was never really unhappy about it, and despite understanding that he, running the kitchen, had had a huge hand in the main course hitting the table late, I kept my mouth shut this afternoon. For one, he was right about one thing: I had been frequently late over the past few weeks, and in truth, most of the time I worked for him. I saw it as the only way to cut down on my 60-70 hour workweeks, but never really approached the problem in a mature manner. Secondly, when he went on a "Neal, you are everything that is wrong with this restaurant" tirade, which he did every month or so, it was best to keep my mouth shut and let him joyfully play the part of unmovable monster. My only response was to dramatically, yet sincerely roll my eyes as I walked out of his office. I needed that day off in the worst way, and although I was angry and confused, I was able to enjoy that beautiful day. I sat outside for the bulk of it, talking on my cell phone to various people, trying to figure out what the hell i was going to do with my life. When darkness fell, I went inside and began the transport of my resume to those concerned via the technology of electronic mail. (ok, I'll stop talking like that) Sunday, June 13th: Came to work 15 minues early. Justin was in the office talking to Derek, the young, stylish, ex-model/full time Torchia's bartender. Derek had been telling co-workers for a month or so that Justin intended on firing me and giving him my job. I informed them both this morning of my resignation, effective Sunday, June 27th. At the time, I had no new job lined up. I was moving forward with purely blind confidence that I would find a job and an apartment by August 1st, when I would no longer have enough money to live in my Ossining studio. I lied and told Justin, and eventually everyone else in the restaurant, that I had a management job with BR Guest Restaurants, when really all I had was an interview. Saturday, June 26th: My last last night at Torchia's. Roughly 20-30 tables ate at the restaurant all day, which is decent for a Saturday in June. The most I ever saw over the course of a full day was the 50 or so on the prior Valentine's day, which fell on a Saturday. Said some nice good-byes. Got cards and a cake. Went to the Thirsty Turtle for the last time. Got drunk. Passed out that night feeling a perfect balance of stability and anxiety, excitement and fear, relief and stress. Tuesday, June 29th: 2pm interview at Becco, on Restaurant Row in NYC. (46th st. btw. 8th and 9th ave.) I believe I had sent my resume to Becco in that initial flurry on May 30th. Met with Craig, the General Manager. Sat at a small table in the alcove of the front entrance. I now refer to this table as 34. Had a great interview, was told I'd be hearing from him. Wednesday, June 30th: Craig called early in the afternoon and asked me to trail during dinner that evening. Told me when I came in that usually after a night or two of trailing, a training manager will run scared and hide if it seems too overwhelming. Came back the nights of Thursday July 1st: Saturday, July 3rd: Didn't run. Stuck around and sat tables, learned table numbers, widened ears and eyes, ate some beautifully prepared Italian cuisine, drank some incredible Italian wine, pinched myself all over (ew), prayed to God not to fuck this up. Before I left that night, Craig told me he liked what he saw, but he had to run it by the owner, Joe, before he could hire me. I would hear from him early next week. Sunday, July 4th: Went home. Came back. Watched the fireworks from Spee n' Serb's on 34th and 2nd. Wasn't really thinking about US independence, too busy celebrating the fast approach of mine. Drove to the Hamptons with Michael late that night. Monday, July 5th: Misty, grey day in East Hampton. Saw Farenheit 9/11 with Michael and a German opair. Yelled all night with his family over the film and the state of things today. Pretty damned funny shit. Wish we'd had a video camera. Tuesday, July 6th: Gorgeous day. Went to the beach. Went to East Hampton. Sat on a bench. Got the phone call from Craig, telling me I got the job. Told me to come in 3pm the next day to talk details. Hung up, turned to Michael, smiled. I believe he grunted. Wednesday, July 7th: Drove back to NYC. Copied my licence and birth cirtificate. Was told how much I would be paid (cannot disclose), how often I'd be working (5 days/6 days a week, alternating weeks), and what would happen after 3 months of employment (benefits, the owner must OK my firing, one or two other unmentionables). I was told that I could start the following Monday, or a week after that, Monday, July 19th. I chose the 19th. Monday, July 19th: My first day at Becco. Every day since has been a wild ride, and the train has barely left the station. to be continued... posted by Neal @ 5:44 PM	10.01.2004
War of the Worlds Let not this derth of storytelling mislead you, readers. The action is present. The richness of my experience grows richer all the time, yet it has not been brought to you, dear readers. Not the way it should, not to its true potential. I have so much to say about the world and life and my enjoyment of life, but I already spend much of my day lurking about these topics with others; topics and discussions that are worth futher discussion here. Usually by the time I get here, however, I am puppydog tired, as I am now. So again, I will take my leave of you, and ask you to tune in next time, when things get really interesting. (Jamie falls in love with Morton's mommy's baby's daddy's lover) I really can't wait to try the carmelized poached pear stuffed with mascarpone and garnished with fresh grapes. posted by Neal @ 11:25 PM	9.21.2004
Back to Life, Back to Reality (Soul II Soul) In the next day or two, I will post a regular ole' "what's been goin' on in my life", or rather, "what I did this summer" type of email. Here's a teaser: My life is coming into focus. Things are nice and good. I am regularly quite happy. By the way, I am no longer a virgin! Actually, I lost my virginity when I was seventeen... but I never mentioned it here, so just in case you thought that I still was a virgin, I just wanted to clarify: I'm not. I've done it. Like a billion times. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hmm, what else for now, at 4:45 Wednesday morning? I looked at a few entries in my blog just now, and I felt like I came off as a bit of a narcissist. Then I realized that it doesn't get much more narcissistic than having a blog about yourself to begin with. Now I've realized that I may have misspelled narcissist and narcissistic. I hope I didn't. I want people to think I'm smart. And loveable. And capable. If you get the chance, could you like me? PLEASE LIKE ME!!!!! or don't like me. i really don't care. and by that I mean I do. I hear and say that phrase at the restaurant all day long: "If you get the chance...?" It's a pretty irritating phrase. Ok, I'm damn tired. Goodnight. posted by Neal @ 1:35 AM	9.15.2004
The Continuing Voyage of Me the Sailor There is much to say. I've had many things to say. I've forgotten most of them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am tearing up space. I have had my hands all over the place. On the dishware. On the cutlery. I have caressed each and every glass. I am around the block and have never seen you. I have never picked up on you. I have never spilled an entire drink on myself. None of these things happened. Until just now. posted by Neal @ 1:06 AM
Loco en su Cabesa There's a hole in my bucket, dear ELIZA, dear ELIZA. A hole in my bucket, dear ELIZA, a hole. I'm not impressed, HENRY. said ELIZA. dear ELIZA. posted by Neal @ 7:52 PM	9.04.2004
Never Again Never again shall this wave of televised nonsense infect my palms and the ground beneath my feet. Never again can two elements of misery converge within two neighborhoods, with no intent but to the slow the love and speed the shame. It fills me over and over. It harbors rest within my heart and finds requiem for the loss within my shredded skin. Maybe. Maybe someday. Maybe under feather and shaded tree, with passed discretions you will find me. Alone. Unashamed. Ready to will you back home. Ready to pop you open and sing you to lullaby sleep. Take care, take cover. You will be a blessing. You will move upwards... along with the souls of the lost and the terrified. posted by Neal @ 1:34 AM	9.01.2004
Where Was I All things eventually fold in apon themselves. Not for better, or even for worse. All events seem more patternistic by the day. There is no great force at hand likely to return humanity to humankind, so at times I feel like a great pitcher on a lousy team; I am playing out the string and trying my best to make the best of the time I have. The problems of the world often seem to outweigh the solutions, and for this I can find no excuse. I can only try hard enough to make my existance worthwhile, even if that has already been decided for me. I had a wonderful, lovely day off. I went to a Japanese massage parlor on E 4th and I saw a great rock show in Queens. I can only hope the intoxication lasts. posted by Neal @ 1:27 AM	8.28.2004
Not All Who Wander are Lost nyello. things are fine. I sit in Russ's office chair at his dirty desk and I punch his coated keys on this curvy keyboard. (coated with what, i wonder?) For the past two weeks, I've been living in this highrise at the corner of 34th and 2nd, 10 days into my new job, three days until the big move: Rutgers St., where Chinatown meets the Lower East Side. Quoting my 4/1 entry: "I am strangely absent from myself for several days now. I have a stirred feeling that change is coming, and perhaps my mind is gearing for this change." Well, there you go. Change is happenening. It has happened. I am exuberant and charged and passionate and all of those wonderous things. Now I am late for a train. soonsoonsoon we will make things whole again posted by Neal @ 11:19 AM	7.30.2004
Loves Labours Lost I just wrote a really really long post and then lost the entire thing after hitting the wrong "publish". I can't believe the motherfreakers keep changing this format on me. It was actually interesting for a change. Oh well. I post again later. Maybe in like 3 months. posted by Neal @ 6:29 PM	6.08.2004
Do Not Ash on the One That Just Got You Off I am strangely absent from myself for several days now. I have a stirred feeling that change is coming, and perhaps my mind is gearing for this change. At 7am this morning, Debra shook me out of deep R.E.M. and a rich dream state, and then we set foward into morning reflection. I dreamt I was in my childhood home. I ran down the hall to my parent's bedroom, and found a pile of bedding outside the door to the room. I carefully stepped over the bedding, opened the door, and found my parents in anger throes. My mother stood by the side of the bed where my father laid on his back, with pouted face, and arms crossed. My mom had a delicate but weak smile on, and flicked his ear while telling him he was wasting his day. In a mild rage, he stood and leapt toward the closet to gather his work clothes, all the while sreaming at my mom and calling her awful things. I followed him and told him to find himself and correct himself, before the chance slipped away. This angered him further, and he ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. I walked back down the hall to my old room, which now serves as an office for the family. I found my sister sitting a foot from the television, sending a video into the VCR with her right hand, and worrying her left thigh with her left hand. I walked over to her to watch alongside. The tape was apparently a recording that I had made of myself. The first image of me sitting in a desk chair in front of a camera faded into the second image of my face, from the shoulders up. In the tape, in the same dimly lit room, I receited poetry for the camera. As the feeling of discomfort settled, I awoke to Debra's hand, slamming the alarm clock and then rubbing my right shoulder. I explained the dream, and the recalled the first line of the poem, the only line I could remember: "If they were just so guarded, this ragged upstart potential would be folding upon itself." The thing that troubles and excites me is the possibility that these dreams are a regular part of my nightly routine, but I am only aware of it this one morning that I had been shaken from deep sleep. Eventually I will either grow and develop and revel in my madness... or I will simply go mad. Only time will tell. posted by Neal @ 10:52 PM	4.01.2004
No Comment This is something to be considered: What dictates loneliness? Why does it flourish? Loneliness seems to be the basis for most fear. So I'll contemplate this one theory much discussed: The only absolute truth is my own existence. So it goes, then, that my understanding of myself, of my own psyche, of the conscious and the unconscious, is not simply the most complete understanding of my own psyche; it is the only understanding. Simply put, my psyche is the only truth. Only I know me. To be more accurate, only I know I. Furthermore, I observe my own knowledge of myself as an incomplete, and I entertain the possiblility that it will always be so. Thus, my mind can never really know my mind. Even I cannot know I. Suffice to say, that's pretty fucked up. I can only hope that to be known completely is not necessary for a psyche to be complete. Now, consider too, how much time is spent discussing, as perceived fact, the psyches of others. This makes me uneasy, despite my growing support of psychotherapy. For another time. posted by Neal @ 11:53 PM	3.16.2004
The Number You are Trying To Call Cannot be Reached by This Method It's kind of incredible watching this newly programmed name pop up in the little caller I.D. screen on my cell phone with some regularity... even though until recently the name had never been there before. I'm happy for my phone. Although he doesn't let on much, I can tell he's a bit excited about this new name, and pleased to have the name popping up on his face every so often. I really do have a very interesting relationship with my cell phone. It would probably take me a decade or two to adjust to life without it. I feel ridiculous saying that, but it's nearly true. It's so wild how many different emotions are conjured when a name or number pops up on that screen... I've experienced quick and sincere moments of fear, frustration, laughter, amazment, satisfaction, outright anger, confusion... all depending upon the name in the window. I also do this strange thing that I have no control over, where I guess which name will pop up whenever I hear the phone ring, before I pick it up. And sometimes I make out with it. And why the hell am I always being told to "please hold, while the Nextel subscriber you are trying to reach is located"? Just fucking locate him! I don't care to know about it! And those messages that tell me I am being transfered to someone's voicemail are equally pointless. It seems like the amount of time that passes before I get to actually leave the message is growing longer all the time. Lately I'm told I can mark the message urgent, that I can choose to display a short message in the person's phone... I'm told that after leaving the message, I can stay on the phone for more options. I never ever ever plan on finding out what those options are. Freaken idiots. Just give me the beep and the white noise and I'll take it from there, you raging pains in the ass. OK, so it's 2:30 AM, and as I wrote that last sentence, my apartment door slowly creaked and opened three or four inches, as if someone was coming in. I'm pretty sure I just had a full-on heart attack. I'm gonna go lie in bed and wait for the blood to return to my limbs. posted by Neal @ 11:39 PM	1.10.2004
OK, fine. I'll join the party: Miserable Failure posted by Neal @ 2:41 AM	12.12.2003
The Madness of King Neeklacht No light bulb has blown in my apartment for months now, so I was a bit rattled when the middle of three bulbs above my medicine cabinet sputtered and burnt moments ago. I am in a movie hangover. They last hours usually, sometimes a day or two. During a movie hangover, I talk, think and act like the characters in the film. It's never for the benefit of others. It's all for me... I fucking love it. I love disbanding from the routines when I can, and sit in the quiet. I love to indulge the farthest reaches and find the rusted parts of my capable mind, even for an hour or two. I love those moments when I am not quite normal. Being normal has its moments, but being a little bit screwed up sure goes a long way. I'll take a silent troubled evening every so often, to snap a string of noise and everyday people, everyday situations, everyday concerns. Work is great. Work absolutely sucks. Work is fantastic. I hate my job. I love my job. This restaurant is a wonderful place. This restaurant makes me want to slowly peel the skin from my cheekbone. She is lovely, she is awful. He is lost, she is non-existant. I can't stand him, I want to fuck her. I need a pen, I really really need a pen. Oh, how I love my job. My food is sitting in the window. I wonder if anyone is pissed at me. Those kids are adorable, why the hell is the father yelling. I want kids... jesus christ I am certainly not ready for kids. This couple seems nice. Young. Friendly. Why am I not part of a couple. I can lose some weight, but that's not it. I talk too much, people don't want to hear from me. The more you plead the case, the weaker it seems. I am obsessed with myself. Well, at least the office party seems to be having a great time. I wonder if they want any more coffee. And so on. and then again, and then the next day, and for the rest of my life. 24 is such a wierd fucking age. posted by Neal @ 2:03 AM
My Mom is Turning, I Think She's Turning, I Really Think So I feel this psychotic urge to write. I feel as if my brain, like my computer, spent time in limbo, bent down under an overload of memory, under the pressures of a spreading virus. I needed a new hard drive in the worst of ways. This is not really how the human mind works, we do not often completely break down, only to be revived, our energy replaced and built upon. We operate differently. These weaknesses are never cured so simply. It's much more difficult, and gradual. And for many, rebuilding never begins. So minds stay in limbo, as others marinate, and reawaken and expand daily. I'm trying to find my way this way. My mother is in Japan. She's been awarded a Fulbright sponsored trip to Tokyo and Kyoto to observe, and experience Japan, and along with 300 other American teachers, meet and interact with Japanese school teacher and students. I talked to her on AOL Instant Messanger yesterday. It was midnight on Thursaday night where I sat in NY, typing to my mother where it was 10 AM. She had just had a Japanese breakfast with a few other teachers, I believe two from the US and two from Japan. And we are typing. From one planet to the next. Although it happens all the yime, I still am amazed by this. And I am really happy for my mom. She's been talking about this trip for a long time. It's really a nice thing when you reach the age that you can feel genuine pride for your parents. It makes me all the more eager to return the favor. Here's a link to my mom's website, set up by her grammar school. It's no IMDB.com, but it's nice enough. OK, I'm a schmuck. posted by Neal @ 1:28 AM	11.22.2003
Say No to Cracking UGGGH. I am so achey today. Every joint on my body has been cracking lately, and I walk around cracking up a storm. It must sound like I'm hiding bubble wrap under my jacket. Plus, I believe I may be losing feeling in several of my toes and one or two of my fingers. I'll probably let this continue until one of my arms falls off before I swing by a medical center. It's probably some kind of tendonitis sprinkled with a little rhumatiod arthritis, throw in a splash of polio. mmmm, polio. In the meantime, it is really nice in here... the light breaks into this place quite nicely... and I'm saddened by my laziness today-i'm about to step outside for the first time. I'm lucky I have a job that i can work from 3-midnight. I wonder if I'd ever make it throught a 9-5. Mike and the Mad Dog are making my ears hurt. Time to go. posted by Neal @ 11:53 AM	11.21.2003
Spin The Black Circle I am going to do this i really am this is really something that I want to do. Keep saying this , Neal. Say it over and over again. Like yesterday when you were in the shower and you said to yourself "you really have to stop telling your boss you are going to be at work at 2pm and then show up at 2:30pm", and then you were late again the next day. These are the pathetic speeches and the subsequent repititions that have haunted you for years. So now you say on this webpage that you are going to write on this thing all the time, and you might do it a bit more... you actually may do it quite a bit, or you may not at all. You tell yourself this, that you are going to do something that you really need to start doing and yet you have another voice simeltaneously telling you that you are steeped in piles of bullshit. This is such a strange curse... there are worse ones, of course. This what an alchoholic does on a daily basis, most likey, but probably much less dangerous. But still it sucks to know you still cannot meet your attempted potential. And now the good news. In addition to all this nonsense, there are other small reasons that I haven't updated in so long. For one, my computer has been broken ever since I got back from my trip... it was sort of strange... it just kinda got sick and slowly died. It's now been reanimated... so that helps. It's so nice to have it back... I really do like having a computer, I really really really missed Loveline and some other comforts it brings. More importantly, I have recently become the proud recipient of MY FIRST FULL-TIME JOB. I was appointed manager of my restaurant. It's nice. I really do like it. I never really saw this new life's direction coming, but I've sorta discovered a new passion as a result. There's a bit of stress, and I think my mental and physical well-being may be taking a bit of a hit right now, but I'm also truly enjoying much of the work that I do, and in the process regaining some of the confidence I misplaced during my rollercoaster college career. Essentially I work one on one with the owner of the restauarnt most of the time, trying to improve the business, booking in-house partes, working on the menu, acting as maitre-d on the weekends, gladhanding the regulars, setting the service staff schedule on a wekly basis, holding monthly staff meetings, restocking, fixing, cleaning, resetting, preparing, and observing the restaurant. It's wild... definately the first time in my life I can say that I am incredibly busy and mean it. Being really busy is so much better than having all the time in the world... at least right now, at 24 years old, it feels that way. Oh yeah, I'm twenty-four. I was really peeved that I couldn't post on the 1st bithday of this website. My birthday came and passed... I was at the restaurant, working, for the second straight year. And like last year, my cool co-workers got a cake and tricked me into thinking I was needed at the bar, when really they were waiting with the cake and jovial song. They sang the song "Happy Birthday". Cool song, new on the charts perhaps. So yeah, I'm 24, and this year of life shapes out to be much different then the last one. Which is probably a good thing. I think maybe some of the promises I made in the first post of this site are starting to take shape. Hopefully... but I've been here before. And I may be there again. I sure hope not. I like liking life. The cross-country trip was all I had hoped for and perhaps a bit more. All terrain in Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and the Pacific Northwest is blessed with an asthetic quality so unique and wonderful... and unlike much of life, it is impossible to justify with words. There was one moment on that trip that really delivered this feeling. After visiting the Rocky Mountain National Park, the skies began to clear on our drive from Northwest Colorado into Wyoming, and we were witness to a vast open landscape, the sun creating a wide band of light through the patches of cloud cover, creating intermittent shadows across the mountain side and the road before us that we could see stretching for miles, literally miles. It made me hungry for life, and religion, and travel, and knowledge. At it's best, this country is so pure and perfect, especially out West. If I could figure out how to make it happen, I'd spend a long stretch of time as a nomad, getting to know the land much better. Man o man how nice it is. I can't believe that anyone lives anywhere in The US than NYC, Chicago, Boston, or the entire Western half of the country. If anyone in the world is actually mentally choosing Detroit, Michigan or Picayune, Mississippi over Portland, Oregon Or Boulder, Colorado, or even Boise, Idaho, then my mind is supremely boggled. OK, well I guess I'll go cry over the fact that I live in Ossining, NY. See Ya. P.S. - And we kept on seeing Radiohead perform live. That was really cool too. posted by Neal @ 9:49 PM	11.18.2003
Counting the Cars on the New Jersey Turnpike I leave tomorrow on the aforementioned trip. Here is the link for the tour website. posted by Neal @ 10:13 PM	8.17.2003
Drunkey Drunkerton Has a Snack Yeah, so I worked a 15 hour day today... I just polished off a paper cup of Honey Nut Cheerios and an extra extra large screwdriver... I'm gonna listen to an hour of Loveline, play some SSX Tricky, and pass out like I've never passed out before. Man how the single life rocks. posted by Neal @ 10:50 PM	7.15.2003
like a fish flopping on the ground with no air no air in the water to breathe The Mets are either 5-0 or 5-1 in the games I've attended this year, which is pretty amazing considering how awful they are. If it should be so that there is a God and stuff like, means stuff... then I'll feel guilty for not going to more games, giving them a better chance to make the playoffs. I'll tell you one thing, if He does exist, He's definately a Yankee fan. He loves the Jankees. And He lives in Jonkers. Took Katie and Victor from the restaurant... my friendships always seem to come in threes, and this is probably one of the stranger threes I've enjoyed. It was nice... probably the first perfect night we've had this new season, 75 degrees and clear, light breeze, green grass in the outfield, girls in tank tops, and so on... Some 9th inning dramatics added to the fun, and we hit the "Turtle Cove", an outdoor bar behind the Thirsty Turtle in White Plains, on back to reality, oops, there goes gravity... I'm going to have to make some big decisions pretty soon... that really freaks me out. Thank goodness for alcohol and the growing wiser, keener me. Yes, all that can exist together. I hope to hell I get into the city in time for the fireworks... even though I am a flower-waving pinko leftist, I really wanna watch some fireworks. posted by Neal @ 12:37 AM	7.03.2003
Oh, by the wanyhoo, I have a comments section. I can finally find out if anyone has ever seen this... so comment on, young soldiers, comment on. posted by Neal @ 2:25 PM	6.28.2003
David Rupret, Eat Your Heart Out Welcome to the Food Emporium, Pleasantvile Rd., Briarcliff Manor, NY... where the Westchester elite gather to discuss the fine quality of "our" supermarket's sushi. Welcome to the Stop and Shop, Arcadian Shopping Center, Ossining... where all the degenerate losers of all the world congregate to buy crappy, beat up produce. I feel like right now I am teetering on the edge between these two stores, both geographically and metaphorically... with a chance at shopping at one or another for the rest of my life... but which is the lesser evil? i dunno posted by Neal @ 2:22 PM
You Have Not Been Paying Attention String us along, Elastic Lioness Depart from our skin through an open abscess Talk about it on the telephone hear about me on the radio You'd cover your eyes but you've become a shadow Feeling fine and on top of it Feeling as a harbor man does before the big storm and the salt stains the dock sweat and wet air and a greying man i am tonight and the ships are going to spread the sea. And I am going to wish you'd never met me. Take us for granted I'll take us for granted. cool too cool for you you delight us, i am surprised by you how i am amazed to be without you cool in pool at a school for you And i am going to wish you'd never met me And this feels like a barbershop bloodloss a barbershop bloodloss to me so now the day breaks wide open halleluyah it's a fine day the season changed again... and we all kept on crying about it but today is a fine day for a barbershop bloodloss for you and me and you are going to wish you'd never met me. ------------------------------------------------------------ Yeah, so I am not going crazy or losing control... I've just been listening to a good deal of Radiohead lately... like chicken soup for the slightly deranged soul. Deep. OK, I am following Thom Yorke and company cross country.. 10 shows.. 13 days.. probably. I feel a possible scray crossroads coming. Every other month feels like I am at a new life crossroad lately. UG. or SWEET. i dunno. Otherwise I am quite the same... as if you knew me anyways. As if you even tried to know me. You were always so into yourself to notice... haha... wonder if i'll ever break-up with my blogger.. hmm.. not likely... more likely we'd just drift apart, as tiresome lovers often do. But not soon... I actually feel a writing spell coming on. Hope it lasts past the length of my inebriation. I was thinking today that although I have never met anyone romantically that I want to be with for the rest of my life... I think I've met a pretty satisfying diet of people that I want to spend the rest of my life knowing... and certainly "with" in the literal sense. Psychoanalysis aside, that has to be a good thing. I miss my dog Suzie. :o( I'll allow that this one time and this one time only. We got her when she was 1... she was my 12th birthday present. Not quite like a person dying, but it definately doesn't quite sit right. I felt kind of dorky doing this, but 2 days before she died, I held her, petted her for the last time, and whispered in her ear "You were my first dog... You 'll always be my first best friend. At least, as far as dogs go." I had to throw a semi-joke in... so lame.. but I think she was laughing somewhere below the loud panting caused by her swollen lymph nodes filled with cancer. That is pretty fucked up that dogs get cancer. Seriously, someone should do something about that. Hmm, guess they probably are. The heat is making me lazy whenever I am home, too lazy to lift the air conditioner to the window... too lazy to install the air conditioner. It is such a demonic cycle. As thommy would say, "here comes the flood... i mean the the smarmy 95 degree weather that feels like 105 and you sweat like a power foward at the free throw line 43 minutes into the game of which you played 41." good times, hot times. posted by Neal @ 11:02 PM	6.26.2003
Whooooooooo Are You? Who Who, Who Who? (I Really Wanna Know) I have this strange quirk lately where I am generally reluctant to take any medication that isn't perscribed to me. I feel strange taking aspirin, knowing that even if it erases the pain, the cause of the pain is still under there somewhere, even if only in my mind. It's almost as if self-medicating is a cop out, an escape from the true source of the pain. It's a struggle, and a microcosm of my greater struggle. This said, I've just treated myself, and downed three Tylenol(tm) gelcaps - my throat is freakin killing me. By the way, I am no longer a student. I am now working at the restaurant quite a bit, and in a desperate, panicked search for a "real" career. and a wife. and kids. 1.5 to be exact. Six months from now I could be living virtually anywhere on Earth. I guess this is everything I've ever wanted. Still, it seems pretty boring. posted by Neal @ 12:10 AM	5.25.2003
Hope Springs External Why is that each and every year the sweet taste of baseball is embittered (a word?) by the realization that I'm still terrible at being a student? I still have no idea what to write because I am still ridiculously ashamed of my own actions... and I feel ridiculous that I approch the world and other people as a critical thinker, when the critical thinking I've done for myself has gotten me virtually nowhere. It's a whole lotta fucked up, and it's par for the course. Everything else I could say would seem insignificant and absurd. For example: I had the crab cakes at my restaurant for the first time today. They were damn good... something about a ratatouille sauce.. i dunno, but they were surprisingly excellent. I also realized recently that I've lost roughly 20 lbs in the past month or two. I'm hoping that means something. Hoping is such an incredible pain in the posterior. And OH YEAH, I LOOOOVE world tournament poker on the Travel channel. It is so interesting in a sporty, strategic way, and even moreso in the way that everyone at the table is a classic stereotype of a classic poker character. I just wanna faint every time one guy raises another 250,000 bucks. ok... off to bed without completeing the assigned work I go. If you read this nonsense, I pity you. (But thanks for reading this nonsense) posted by Neal @ 1:28 AM	4.03.2003
It's an Old Sicilian Message... Just in case today unfolds as the spark that lights the fuse that reaches the sticks that end it all... This will fit neatly into the final scheme of things... as will this. posted by Neal @ 11:15 PM	3.16.2003
We Draw at Haaaaayyyhh Noon... or Roughly 3:30 I have to read 100 pages for my presentation on the social myth that was Western film by tomorrow at 3pm... if I fall short of my goal, I plan to time my student walk-out accordingly, conveniently taking to the streets at the exact point in the presentation that the text becomes unfamiliar. I'll keep walking until either this administration makes some fundamental radical changes in its foreign approach, or until I reach the deli I love on Anderson Hill Rd, or until I figure out the singular behavioral imprint of "Shane" and "High Noon". That said, maybe I should go flip some pages. ta posted by Neal @ 10:43 PM	3.04.2003
A Blog Divided Cannot Stand OK, so apparantely my Rebirth blog needed a rebirth of its own. I was unable to fix a problem that was making the blog even less readable than usual, and the fine people at Blogger(tm) must've been too busy blogging to respond to my several pleas for help. So I've essentially hit the reload button on the whole darn operation. and it's springtime, time to begin again. As is frankly obvious, my entire blog to this point is now under the March 1st post. and away we go... -last semester of undergraduate college education -much a mile spent between kitchen, bar, three dining room in that fiiiiine italian eatery -the backs of my hands, especially the knuckles, are red and chapped... don't know why -my sordid involvement with Nicole enters its sixth year -my tummy is comically gelatinous -the world keeps turning, on its broken axis, and the flood is coming soon.. here comes the flood -i saw The Vagina Monologues twice in four days -my sister IMs three times faster than me -BushBushBushBushBushBushSaddamSaddamSaddamSaddamSaddam -i'd love a good swim posted by Neal @ 8:50 PM	3.02.2003
[2/5/2003 1:57:37 AM \| Neal Jacobs] My capacities are dwindlindling, 'til they're gone gone gone.... but everything is comin up, everything is going as planned yeah Can i Change my mind? Baby, can I change my mind? So, I'm irritated by the fact that blog has apparantley gone cabo st. loco.... and by the loss of two straight blogs. oy, i can't really afford to lose any blogs. Tonight a family of five spent 220 dollars on dinner. All five pulled up in a cab and went at it. Two parents, three children of ages 2, 5, and 8. the eight year old had two meals, the father had four, yes four, appetizers, and a filet mignon. they spent 60 bucks on drinks. I can't exactly complain, 60 of the 220 was my tip... still, it was quite a sight. Even stranger was the fact that they looked like they had pulled up in their motor home to dine with us... i'm talkin' serious mullet presence. I may have been wrongly judging this book by it's sweatpant-wearing, large children bearin, stained t-shirt sportin' cover, but something tells me this couple was going just a hairlip beyond its dining budget. So after they leave me the fantastic tip, they put the three kids (2, 5, and 8) into another cab, and send them off into the night. 2. 5. 8. in a cab. sans parents. The 'rents returned for more double crown royals on the rocks (three apiece), and roughly an hour after sending the kiddies down the river, they said a final goodnight, and stumbled into a third cab. After some deliberation, my co-workers and I agreed upon the best possible explaniation: The couple had finally realized that their attempts to raise the three raucous children were in vain, and decided to send em off for good with one big smorgasboard at our fine Italian restaurant. After devouring a bay's worth of clams, several chicken, and a baby cow... and drinking up a storm, they said their fond fairwells, packed the kids into the cab, slipped the cabbie a 50 and told him, anywhere, sir... preferably somewhere safe and warm, and with plenty of chicken parm... and off they went... or something like that [edit] posted by Neal @ 1:56 AM	3.01.2003
[1/30/2003 4:02:48 AM \| Neal Jacobs] Idiot's Delight Nevermind... we made up.. kind of. I am the weakest person in all the wide wonderful world wide web and beyond. and i'm embrassed that i post this bullshit. I'll try harder later [1/30/2003 2:52:42 AM \| Neal Jacobs] AHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY THE FUCK DO I CARE SO MUCH??!?!? WHY WHY WHY WHY DO I DO THIS? WHY DOES SHE DO THIS?? WHAT DO I DO? PLEASE TELL ME?!?!? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!! sorry... i really needed that. i wish i could have done that vocally, but it's nearly 3am, and i'd surely lose my studio apartment. god almighty, i am so entirely full of misery... please make it stop. i love you i love.. please make it stop [edit] [1/22/2003 2:15:06 AM \| Neal Jacobs] Catch Me if You Can I think i'm inching ever closer to taking a bottle of Mr. Clean to my entire life. closer... maybe still a marathon's length away, but closer nonetheless. I saw Morcheeba at Roseland Thursday night. It's always highly enjoyable to see a group perform for the first time, after you've been into them for a while. There's something undeniably sexy and soothing about that group... it was the sort of experience that allows one to sweat out all his anxieties just long enough, before he realizes how much happier he would have been if he could have shared the experience with a romantic counterpart. Judging by the fabric and momentum of the "realationships" i've sported over the past year or two, I'm not sure what it's going to take to achieve that variety of romantic normalcy. I think normalcy is something that i've truly underrated for a long time now. I have a deep yearning for a 9 to 5 job, even if i detest it. I really need some routine, some stabiltiy, even if it is somewhat artificial. I want to live a Leave it to Beaver existance... for just a little while at least. As I wrote the word, "relationships", I thought about my short stint with this girl named Kelly over the past semester. It never really was anything worthwhile or all that healthy for either party, and when I sopke of it to others, I usually made that pretty clear. Only a couple ever really understood that though. When I sporatically spend time with my friend Mike, he'll enevitably ask "How's your woman?". Although he's trying to show some interest, it usually just exposes the fact that he wasn't really listenting the last few times he asked that question. To be fair, I'm sure I come off the same way at times. It becomes clearer at this age that there can only be a handful of people in your life at any given time that genuinely care. That's fine by me, as long as I can avoid caring about the ones that don't. As I envisioned Mike sitting at a small table in a bar asking me that question, his named popped up on my cell phone. I mentioned that he called just as I was recalling this memory. I don't think he heard me. I'm gonna make it my chief priorty to eat something exotic and uniquely satisfying tonight. Wish me luck. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- hmmmm... I don't know what to say really. I really really don't know. I love the Sims Online. Enough that i'm worried i may move there for good. My sim is sooo much more smooth with the gals than non-sim Neal. Well, maybe not. who knows. The front of the Post had Saddam's smiling face, and the big block letters saying, "What, me worry?" and above that: "Saddam Claims He Sleeps Like a Baby". God how I hate the Post. It is swaying closer every day to the land of the enquirer. the star, and the globe. I've said the word "propaganda" so often lately, I think my mouth is mutating. like a baby, he sleeps.. like a freakin baby. I wonder how Bush sleeps. I myself am gonna run off now to sleep like a fidgety, slightly overwieght, fully in love with love 23 year-old. [edit] [1/20/2003 10:37:44 PM \| Neal Jacobs] If Bush ain't Staging an Attack on Muslims in this Country, then Bread ain't Groceries, Eggs ain't Poultry, and Mona Lisa is a Man! Very hectic MLK weekend. Michael called Thursday and we decided to head down to DC for Saturday's antiwar rally. I had to work Friday night, so Michael, I, and two female compadres didn't get to DC until roughly 5:30am on Saturday morning. In total, our entire trip to DC and back lasted 20 hours or so, and it was filled with many layers of pride, anger, pettiness, laughter, guilt, and sweet irony. The politcal temper and richness of the rally nearly failed to match the unholy war within the metal of my Camry. The sad truth is, when I look back at those 20 hours in the future first I'll remember the anguish over a $270 speeding ticket I got on the way down, then I'll remember the countless number of menial things that Michael turned into great catastrophes, then I'll remember Michael's balded beady-eyed, horn-rimmed, tiny friend, whom opened her mouth only a handful of times to let us know how cold she was, and how she couldn't wait to get back home. Once I can clear myself of the noise and nonsense, I'll remember the inspired crowd of nearly half a million of which I was one. I'd feel better about all this if I made social action a more steady part of my diet. It's sort of the same way I feel about Judaism. My interest and connection with the issues leads me to genuine meaningful action, even going to temple, only a few times a year. So I'm left feeling like my enthusiasm is vacant and insignificant. The truth is, I'm having so much trouble just trying to become an adult, and I understand that any headway I make in that area will likely be reflected in the aforementioned areas as well. But blablablablablablabla... Still, it was so good to see so many people of so many different backgrounds, many traveling great distances to scream until blue in the face, because this administration seems to be quite passionate about delivering the world to hell in a handbasket. All told, millions around the world protested on Saturday, and that made me feel a little bit better about the state of humankind for one day. Just a little bit. [edit] [1/14/2003 3:55:41 AM \| Neal Jacobs] Sweet Fancy Moses.... That was one long-ass concert! OK, a friend reminded me today that I had a blog. Of course I was aware of this, but I've sortofkindofsorta been mentally avoiding it for two big reasons: 1. I was on break from school, which unfortunately usually means a break from all forms of reading, writing, arithmetic,etc. under which this blog fell. More significantly.. 2. I'm really not feeling so hot about myself lately, and although I know I should, I'm hesitant about disscussing it here. I know it's counterproductive and pointless for me to avoid painful topics in my blogging, so i'll do my best to avoid psychologically hibernating from Eggland in the future. I'm not gonna write a "what i did over my school break" essay now. I'd rather just sum up the events of the past forty days or so by saying this: My Thanksgiving, the Doughty concert, four days in Boston, a four-day visit from an old roommate, sitting 17 rows up as the Jets pounded the Colts, a day of skiing, forging new ground with an old girlfriend, WINNING MY FANTASY FOOTBALL LEAGUE, and all the fanciful menusha in between was wholly fantabulous. Failing one of my courses, and continuing to understand that I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, and feeling like an impostor, and feeling like I haven't earned anything good that has happened in my life... made the previous stuff unimportant and bittersweet at best. i'll do my best to make this work... i really want it to... but then again I don't deliver on many things I'd love to make work. We'll see. ...and Julie, thank you for IMing me... sadly, this may have been delayed another week or two had you not [edit] posted by Neal @ 1:55 AM

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