Three Feet From the Door

The End of the Facebook Universe

2008-02-20T10:52:00.003-05:00

So apparently, I've reached the end of the Facebook universe. I just got an e-mail message saying, "Brian Lee has added you as a friend on Facebook." That's right. Apparently, I added myself. Seemed like it was worth clicking on just to see what would happen.

Turns out there's a world of Brian Lee's out there. A world. Searching for my name yielded 338 groups. Groups like:

· I Heart Brian Lee (I especially like the description, “Brian Lee is the golden calf.”)

· I Was Once Punched by Brian Lee (with 46 members!)

· Brian Lee Can Crush the Universe

· Brian Lee is Not Good

· The Brian Lee Fanclub

· I Support Brian Lee

· Center for the Advancement of Brian Lee for Political Office

· Brian Lee Saved Graduation

· Brian Lee’s Unite!!

· We Think Brian Lee is Katherine’s Stalker (which is weird, because I used to date a girl named Katherine...)

· Yes...I Have Used the ‘Brian Lee’ Fake (which apparently is “dedicated to the hundreds of people who have used the infamous “Brian Lee” fake ID to buy almost anything illegal”)

Wow. Apparently, Brian Lee has a rather high view of himself...

Untitled and Unwritten

2007-10-30T12:31:00.001-05:00

God, I miss writing. But you were so much more than I was ready for. Truth is, I can't get past the first few sentences. And that's where all the good stuff happens.

Wedding Bells for Erich

2007-06-06T16:44:00.000-05:00

My brother just got married last weekend! More details and pics to come.

The Dreamlife of Worker Bees

2007-04-15T19:50:00.001-05:00

Last night, I had a dream that I was trapped in a hotel room with a polar bear and a fox. I distinctly remember jumping between the two double beds in an effort to evade both animals -- both were trying to eat me. Just as the fox lunged at me, the polar bear snapped it up. As the bear was shaking the fox in its mouth, I ran for the bathroom and barricaded myself in there.

Now I have no idea what that means, but I am sure it has everything to do with my job, and the fact that I am working all the time (far from a reprieve from my law firm days). Either that or I'm watching too much Planet Earth, which incidentally, is the best show on television.

New Year, New Year...

2007-01-07T16:30:00.000-05:00

Hi. Welcome back.

Truth is that having my own website has been wearing on me. Mostly because it's for people that understand computers, HTML codes, server compatibility, etc., etc., blah blah blah. Here's what I've realized about that. I'm not that guy. Yes, I know some HTML stuff. Enough to make the borders blue and have my header.

But really, when it comes down to it, there's just too much to worry about with my own site. Too much spam. Too much maintenance. Not to mention that it costs money to host. So, I'm back where I started in 2003. Even before I blogged here.

Stay tuned for more to come. I'm not sure what I want to do this year, but I know I want to write. Whether it's observations, insights...or just plain fiction and storytelling, I'm hoping to add more here soon.

Thanks for checking in. I promise that i won't disappoint you.

Moving to Flickr

2007-01-03T14:36:00.000-05:00

In what could be the beginning of the end for my blog, I've decided to move my photos out to Flickr. It's got a great interface, and quite frankly, it's ten times easier to upload and organize them.

I'm just not sure yet what to do with the lack of writing. I'm not giving up. Just trying to figure out what the next evolution will look like. Until then, click here for the photos.

Ummm...junk mail, anyone?

2006-11-25T15:10:00.000-05:00

So Teresa came in with the mail today, and this is what we had in our mailbox...

Yep. All that. It's a bit hard to appreciate, so here's a list of what I got:

Washingtonian magazine
Entertainment Weekly magazine
TWO Godiva Chocolate catalogues
Nordstrom catalogue
Pottery Barn catalogue
TWO J. Crew catalogues
Sports Illustrated magazine
LL Bean credit card offer
Costco credit card
FedEx letter for old roommate
Invitation to Christmas party
Letter from Fourth Presbyterian Church
Citibank statement
LL Bean order confirmation letter
Happy Thanksgiving card
Samson Realty newsletter
Lord & Taylor catalogue
Volunteer fire and rescue department request for money
Valupak coupon savings package
United Airlines credit card offer
Bank of America credit card offer
BathExpress bathroom renovation flyer
Bed, Bath and Beyond catalog
Vienna Connection newspaper
Sun Gazette newspaper
Jackson & Perkins holiday gift catalogue
Outer Banks, NC vacation planner
The Economist magazine offer
See’s Candies catalogue
Sears Craftsman catalogue
Brookstone catalogue
Macy’s catalogue
Harry & David catalogue
Citigroup account offer
The Wisconsin Avenue Collection flyer
The Kitchen Guild kitchen renovation flyer
Lord & Taylor credit card offer
Bank of America bank account offer

You can't make this stuff up. All in all, a bad day for the environment. And we're not even in December. I can't wait to find out how many J. Crew catalogues I get before the end of the year. The over/under is 25.

There Are No Christmas Trees in San Diego

2006-09-23T17:00:00.000-05:00

This is how I know Christmas is around the bend. Not the displays at our neighborhood Macy's or Williams Sonoma. Not the piped in Muzak in the elevators of office buildings. Nope. It's the trumpet player that sits on the street outside the World Bank. Earlier this week, he started playing, “O Christmas Tree”. Normally, it’s an eclectic mix of the Star Spangled Banner, the horse racetrack call to attention, and Taps (which I find strangely humorous playing on my walk to work). Yes, it's decidedly random. But yesterday? Nope. Like Snoopy dancing on the top of his doghouse roof at the first sign of snow, this trumpeteer was belting it out, puffing his cheeks out like Louis Armstrong. Satchmo channeling Ernst Anschutz.

But he’s definitely got a jump on the stores. With temperatures here dropping into the bona fide 70s, we might actually have a winter to look forward to. I can't wait.

That being said, I’m definitely looking forward to my trip to San Diego next week. Teresa's headed to a conference all week in Rancho Santa Fe, so I'm just tagging along for the ride. Heading to Encinitas for golf school during the first half of the week, a nice Friday morning at Del Mar National if I can squeeze it in and then down to San Diego proper for some fine food and some find lodging. I can’t think of a better way to spend a vacation. Fun, sun and many pics to come.

Mmmmmmmmmmmm...Nano?

2006-09-15T14:46:00.000-05:00

I don't know what's wrong with me. Clearly, I have been brainwashed by the people at Apple. I've somehow convinced myself that somehow, it was my fault that my iPod broke. 4 times. Evidently from all the "walking" I do to and from the Metro. Whatever. So I was convinced that hard drives simply can't take the heat.

Addicted to Alaska...or Something Like It

2006-09-01T12:44:00.000-05:00

So I had to see for myself. Had to find out if Al Gore's Scary Mystery Science 3000 movie was true. Rest assured, the ice is still there. That is, I think so... After escaping 100 degree temperatures in Seattle (that's right...SEATTLE), we shipped off into the fog.

As far as I can tell, this is what Alaska looks like:

Pics coming, but suffice to say that we beat the fog, helicoptered across glaciers, walked in a rain forest, saw more than a fair share of bald eagles and ate more than our fill of food. Oh, and I got addicted to my motion sickness medication. It was awesome.

I just got back from Birmingham last week. Had a client meeting there, and I stayed over an extra day to see one of my best friends. Next stop -- San Diego in less than a month. Gitty up.

How I Know I'm a Guy

2006-07-20T18:28:00.000-05:00

We’re headed out to Seattle tomorrow morning. Then to Alaska for a week. Teresa’s been figuring out the clothes she needs for the trip. Piles of clothes in a guest bedroom. Short-sleeve shirts? Check. Formal evening gown? Check. Raincoat? Check. Me? I haven’t thought about packing yet. Okay, I brought up my suitcase from the basement, but it doesn’t have anything in it yet.

Instead of packing clothes tonight, I’m packing music. Working out my playlists and new artists. Downloading stuff on to Teresa’s iPod, because…well, mine is broken. Again. When you turn it on, this icon comes up.

My rage with Apple and iPods is well documented.

So I’m almost ready to go. I’d much rather have the right music and my laptop than an extra pair of jeans. I’m planning on blogging quite a bit next week, but don’t know if I’ll have internet access. We’ll see.

My Decidedly Pop Alaska Trip Playlist:

Everything Will Be Alright, Joshua Radin
How to Save a Life, The Fray
Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
Strangers Again, Ari Hest
Bent, Matt Nathanson
Sometimes You Can’t Make it on Your Own, U2
Talk to You, Brian Webb
Fair, Remy Zero
Only You, Joshua Radin covering Yaz
Let it Fall, Nickel Creek and Glenn Phillips

I’ve got a crazy amount of travel planned for the rest of the year. Attending a wedding in North Carolina in August. San Diego in September. New York in October. Chicago and possibly Birmingham in November. And Naples in December. And I’ve already put Vegas, Aspen and Cape Cod on the calendar for next year. First thing’s first though. I’m off to see the last glacier on earth (according to Al Gore). I’ll let you know if it’s still there – forecasted temperature in Seattle tomorrow – 94 degrees. Ouch.

Sudoku? Ummm...

2006-06-21T20:09:00.000-05:00

Okay. I admit it. I'm scared of Sudoku. That's right. All those numbers in boxes. 3 x 3 boxes inside of 3 x 3 boxes. There's something too methodical about it. Too symmetrical. I haven't tried it. But like my friends say, I don't need to try cocaine to know that it's bad for me. Okay, I don't really have friends that talk like that, but... Don't tell me you haven't seen what it does to people. On any given morning, on my Metro ride into work, there are no less than 5 Sudoku zombies, racking their brains trying to figure out if that box should have a "3" or "4". Really? Does it matter? Apparently so.

And some people are doing it in pen. The girl sitting next to me on the Metro did -- in her Big Book of Sudoku. Now that's just showing off. I was going to take a picture of her doing it in pen to show you that I wasn't exaggerating, but then I thought twice about it. Stranger. Camera. Asking to take a picture of you "doing Sudoku". Definitely creepy.

I suppose when it comes down to it, maybe I'm afraid I'll like it. A lot. And the last thing I need is another addiction. Between playing No Limit Hold 'em, watching episodes of Lost and eating Coldstone ice cream, the last thing I need is another addiction. God knows I have enough.

One of these days, I'm sure I'll break down, and try to tackle one of those puzzles with Zoolander-like skill ("Wait. The files are IN the computer???"), one of these days...when I have an hour (or five) to kill. But I'm not holding my breath. Busy seems to be the order of the day. And an Xbox 360 is definitely in my sights, now that it seems the PS3 won't be out until 2007. Once I buy the Xbox, you'll never see me again. That's only a slight exaggeration.

Finish Line

2006-06-10T21:57:00.000-05:00

Tonight finds me kicking back on my bench outside, smoking a celebratory Opus X and enjoying the beautiful evening weather. After over a month of 14-18 hour days, our first meeting is finally in the books, literally. It was extremely well-received, which will make our next month considerably lighter, although I'm not holding my breath. Work always seems to come out of the pores of our office.

It was a long month to say the least, and I am beginning to realize that a banker's life is not for the married. Or a lawyer's life for that matter. There's simply not enough time in the day. And that's not really what I want to have written on my tombstone. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

I've got a million errands to run, and so I suspect that much of the day tomorrow will be spent doing them. It feels good this cool evening though. Good to be sitting here, and not thinking about how to explain the next big legal management consulting insight. Not checking e-mail. It feels quiet. And though I have a million thoughts to keep me company, I'm not indulging them right now. For now, it's me, a cigar, a drink, and a heaping tablespoon of everything feeling just about right.

Two Chinese Boys

2006-05-28T23:36:00.000-05:00

So this past week brought a ridiculous amount of work. Friday though was frustratingly slow, and our team was getting punchy, as evidenced by the following video sent to me by a co-worker. I have to say though, it made my week. That is, until I realized that the URL for this site is www.twochineseboys.blogspot.com.

That can't be good for me.

Writing Like A Glacier

2006-05-20T20:58:00.000-05:00

I'm taking a break from what has been an exceptionally busy month. It's the busy season at work, and I have been putting in my share of late nights and weekends, coming up with arguments and trying to figure out why conventional wisdom is wrong. I've still got a fair amount of work before tomorrow, so this is sure to be a relatively short, rambling train-of-thought kind of post.

Truth is, I miss blogging. I miss the idea of taking an hour or two out of the day and sketching out my thinking on the computer. Not that I had an hour or two in the day. But it always seemed that I could just shut my door and find that time to be quiet. Now that I'm married, there's no door to shut anymore. And the biggest thing that I'm finding takes getting used to is that I won't have that ever again. At least not for myself.

I'm looking forward to the end of the busy season, which ought to be in about 3 weeks. Teresa and I are headed to Alaska in July, and I'm looking forward to taking some time off for myself later next month. But for now, this work I'm doing is all I can see. That and the promise of more late-night dinners on the firm.

Moving Like A Glacier

2006-04-05T12:41:00.000-05:00

A change in personality is never like the way you see it in the movies. In truth, change is rarely measured in epiphanies, and meted out in heaping tablespoons of feeling. In real life, I think change occurs on a much smaller and mundane level. In this time zone, personality changes are glacial in nature, carved from the big decisions we make, and gradually melting under the heat of the stress of our daily lives.

In my almost five months of marriage, I have found that change within me has run slower than expected. Slower than the seasons. And springtime has yet to thaw me. Not that I thought it would be easy. Not for one second. Maybe I thought it would be more synergistic than symbiotic. More partnership than kinship. In the marathon of marriage, I’m feeling tired just from the warmup. Then again, as I am sure some can attest to, I was never really “in shape” when it came to relationships.

Marriage continues to change the way I see things. All of my legal training is useless in the new, stifling construct of marriage. There is no fair argument in a marriage. I am constantly in retreat mode, falling back to the Alamo of my heart, hiding in the closet of my own selfishness, knowing all the while that it simply is a matter of time before change comes for me. Understandably I think, 33 years of single life have convinced me that marriage is after my independent soul, and that with each trinket and ornamental picture frame that appears on the bookshelves and coffee tables of my house, I am becoming less of who I want to be. Slowly. Insidiously. But as sure as the sun and right as rain.

I find myself bargaining for the smallest of things. My CD collection. My old towels. Rugby shirts. Anything to help me remember who I once was. But like old memories, I suppose, there comes a time when you have to let go. And that time for me was five months ago.

Don’t get me wrong. I think marriage is great. But it’s enormous. It’s an oak tree in the middle of your living room. Still, I feel like I’m growing into a better person because of it. And with every day that passes, I’m beginning to understand that marriage is a bit like exercising. The effort is always worth it.

Amuse Bouche

2006-03-22T01:31:00.000-05:00

These past months have been busier than I could have imagined. Errands upon errands. Work assignments piling up. And that toilet still hasn’t been fixed. Somewhere around the beginning of the year, I apparently turned 45.

To catch you up (and to relieve my irrational guilt for not writing), this is my abridged, Christmas-letter version of the past three months:

Learned that a valet ran my car into the side of a passing car

Met and had dinner with Cal Ripken, Jr.

Was accosted by the police, who came to my house, thinking I was a burglar

Had my jacket stolen, along with my keys, cash and new phone

Spent the past month underwater at work

Became surreptitiously addicted to American Idol

Learned the Korean alphabet (apparently, there’s a “k” and a “kk”)

There are hundreds of stories packed into the past few months. Stories about getting used to marriage, and about marriage getting used to me. Enough stories to make me understand how Bill Cosby can go on stage and perform a 3-hour monologue on the virtues and vices of marriage. I think I could do a stand-up routine right now.

With that said, I’m hoping to get on a more regular schedule of writing. And so I'd consider this an appetizer. Or actually, the chef’s pre-appetizer. You know, the tiny crouton topped with caviar and some sort of goat-cheese blend that the waiter brings out “compliments of the chef”. It’s the thing that’s so small, that you wonder why someone would go to all that trouble to make it.

Good things are coming. I guarantee it.

Ummmm...American Idol is Addictive

2006-03-15T13:41:00.000-05:00

Okay. I admit it. It’s been a while since I’ve written. And I could rightfully attribute it to the increasing workload and responsibilities of my job, the fact that I have a ridiculous number of errands to run, or that I am spending time with my new wife. That’s all true. But I fear the real reason is much more sinister. Somehow, after several years of ignoring the call of the inevitable, it’s happened. I have finally succumbed to the pop-culture juggernaut that is American Idol. I’m not sure how it happened, except to say that it did. One glimpse became a look. A look grew into curiosity. Curiosity into fascination. And fascination turned into me sitting in front of the TV every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday night cheering for Chris Daughtry, my favorite from the beginning.

Now it isn’t to say that I like all the performers. I mean, Kevin Covais is a train wreck. A nervous, 12-year old train wreck. And Paula Abdul has to be drunk half the time. What is it she said? "What did you tell me Simon? What did you tell me? Simon gave me advice and said on 'The X Factor' he always refers to a fortune cookie and says the moth who finds the melon - (laughter) - finds the corn flake always finds the melon and one of you didn’t pick the right fortune.” Now I have no idea what that means, but she said it. Honest.

Don't worry. I haven’t gotten into calling the phone lines to “vote” for the contestants, mostly because I think when you’ve crossed the line from passive enjoyment to active participant, you’re just one step away from plastering up Clay Aiken posters all over your bedroom walls. And I’m pretty sure Teresa wouldn’t be to excited about that.

Paper Jam? Why does it say Paper Jam?

2006-02-22T20:02:00.000-05:00

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but for anyone who's seen the movie "Office Space", I think this one says more. I walked in on Monday morning to find this picture attached to our prehistoric fax/printer machine. Positively one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time. That's the kind of place I work at. No note. Just an anonymous picture. Awesome.

Saturday Morning Espresso

2006-02-04T08:53:00.000-05:00

So I'm making a resolution right now. A month late, but nevermore heartfelt. I am taking Saturday mornings off. No huge to-do lists. No Home Depot. No Bed Bath & Beyond. Just quiet mornings in an overstuffed chair, drinking a freshly made espresso and reading the paper. Listening/watching Norah Jones in concert, singing "The Long Way Home". Perfect. There's something about the stillness of the morning, and the sabbath from the urgent that helps me order my day.

And the days have become increasingly busy. Filled with all the things I've convinced myself are necessary to do before the week starts all over again. Work is spilling over from Friday afternoon. One more e-mail. One more thing to buy. One more thing to fix. One more, one more, one more.

As busy as I think I am, I know that I am destined for busier times. I can feel them catching up to me. An undertow pulling me back into the urgent. I have grocery lists and audio/video cables to buy for the TV. But for now. For this moment. I'm resting. And that's okay with me, even if I can see the smoke of my own industry on the horizon.

I'm going to take another sip of my espresso before I start my day. Having a few friends over to watch the Super Bowl tomorrow, and making a big pot of chili. What could better than chili and football? I'll let you know if I ever find out.

NOTE: Wedding pics have finally been scanned and put up on the site. You can see them here.

When 549 Billion Colors Simply Aren't Enough

2006-01-30T12:40:00.000-05:00

If I've learned one thing in this world, I've learned this: nothing is perfect. Case in point: when you have 549 billion colors on your TV, there are bound to be a few that just annoy you. Mostly because they don't exist in this world, but that they are exceptionally bright. Like someone's got a laser pointer pointed directly into your eye. Add that to a 150% contrast ratio, and you've got pictures that don't look quite real. Great when you're watching sports. Not so great when you're trying to watch a really old episode of "Murder She Wrote". Not that I watch "Murder She Wrote". Seriously. I don't. I may be old, but I'm not that old.

Don't get me wrong. I love the TV. But something funky was going on. So after years of research, and tons of time and favors cashed in, I'm returning the TV. But truthfully, the sadness will be replaced with joy on Saturday, because I returned the TV for this one instead. In the end, this is the one I wanted anyways. Really. Take that Samsung.

Strange how life works sometimes. Okay. Now gitty up.

Losing...in High Def

2006-01-17T14:13:00.000-05:00

So I finally got the TV mounted above my fireplace, and I have to say...now that it’s up, it’s...well...big. Really big. But complaining that an HD television is too big is like complaining that your diamond shoes are too tight. Needless to say, I spent Friday night watching nature programs and the Discovery Channel. No kidding. Ask anyone who has an HD set. I guarantee that they did the same thing when they first got their TV.

And, of course, there was the Redskins game on Saturday. It was in every paper, every local newscast – you couldn’t get away from it. That’s D.C. for you. Needless to say, I invited a bunch of friends over to watch the game. Teresa was making ridiculous amounts of food, and it was fifteen minutes to kickoff. HDTV. Chips. Drinks. Couldn’t be happier. And that’s when it happened -- the power went out. I actually think I heard the collective groaning from every football fan in our neighborhood. What happened next was a ridiculous trip that took us out in the blizzard-like sleet and snow to the closest bar (which sadly, was Chili's) and then to another friend’s house before going back to watch the second half. Not the best way to spend a Saturday, but it was fun. Until the Redskins lost.

In other news, the wedding pictures finally came, and I am working on putting them up on the website. We received close to 500+ pics, so naturally, not all are making the cut. Plus, there’s only so many pictures you can take of me posing for the camera (“Okay, now put your hand on your knee. Okay, now move your head to the side. Okay, now with the hand off the knee and on your face. Greaaaaaaat.”) I felt like I was a child in my family photo shoot – put a bowl cut on me, and it would have been 1975. It’s taking a while, since the photos have to be individually scanned in, and I’m working on figuring out a more efficient way to navigate through the photos (which is annoying to code to say the least). They should be up by week-end.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: As some of you might recall from earlier posts, my blog has been getting spammed by such cool places as “pokeronline” and “king4u”. While it started off as a mere annoyance, it turns out that those spammers finally met sometime last week and had lots of baby spammers who are now pelting me also. So it was either receive 100 comments a day from “domx35” and “mikeyonline” or rewrite some code to block them. Soooooooooo, what does that mean? That means that for those of you who want to leave a comment, you now need to register with Typekey to do it (i.e., I can't write code to save my life). Refresh the site once you log in, and voila -- you're on your way to snarky commenting. Besides, if you’re technically saavy enough to leave a comment on a blog, then you can fill out the form. Really.

Dress Like It's Your Last Day

2005-12-30T13:39:00.000-05:00

It’s one of my coworkers’ last days here. And for her last day, she chose to wear...a sweatsuit. That's right. You heard me. RED. VELVET. SWEATSUIT. Part of me wishes I have the guts to wear something like that on my last day. There’s something utterly awesome about not caring enough to dress in socially appropriate attire. A full-on fashion disaster cocktail. 2 parts confidence, 3 parts craziness, and a splash of alcohol from lunch, poured over a whole lot of "I don’t care because I’m moving to Florida in a week with my boyfriend." Shaken. Not stirred.

Part of me just feels bad. Whatever the case, it was awesome to see. If it weren’t for my 0.00000003 megapixel phone camera taking ridiculously blurry pics, you’d be right there with me (pic looks like a giant red blob). Got to get a new phone.

Looking forward to 2006, I think. Headed to Corduroy with some friends for New Year’s Eve, and then spending New Years Day watching and wishing for a Redskins win and playoff birth. Yes, I know. I’m a little late in the wishing department. Christmas has already past. But quite frankly, I could use another gift or two. After all, it was my birthday. And the Xbox 360 and plasma are on back order.

The Fellowship of the Ring

2005-12-12T16:27:00.000-05:00

It’s not that I have nothing to say.

Far from it, there are hundreds of threads I’d like to unwind. For those of you who know me, you know I’m a talker. But for those of you who really know me, you know I’m much more of a thinker. And sometimes, the two don’t willingly go hand in hand. Especially, when you’re grappling with the enormous changes that marriage brings.

Of the many questions that I have gotten since I’ve been back, the most common one has been, “What’s the hardest thing to adjust to now that you’re married?” They expect to hear comments like, “I can’t play the Xbox whenever I want to”, or “I don’t have any time to myself.” But while it’s easy to talk about all of the typical things you might observe in the first couple of weeks, the thing that has been most difficult to adjust to is actually something much more simple and mundane – wearing a ring.

I should first off say this – I am not a jewelry kind of guy. I actually lost 3 watches in a month when I was in junior high school (including one extra-fancy watch with electronic games built into it (I kid you not)), and never put one on again. So it goes without saying that rings are not my style. They always seemed too expensive and gaudy. In fact, truth be told, I wasn’t really looking forward to wearing one. You wouldn’t have caught me trying it on before the wedding and looking at myself in the mirror.

The first thing that I noticed after wearing a ring for a day was how heavy it was. When I spoke with my jeweler about what my wedding band should look like, I gave him only two words. Simple. Platinum. I picked out my ring after being at the store for less than 5 minutes. There was something utterly comfortable with the concept of a ring being both simple and extravagant. But truthfully, I wasn't ready for the weight of it.

The second thing I noticed was that while it was a perfect circle, my finger was not. The ring is tight in some places, loose in others. It feels weird. Foreign. Depending on the time of day, it can feel downright constricting. So much so that I find myself taking it off often, if even for a minute. In fact, as I type this, the ring is sitting beside the keyboard on my desk. Not because I don’t like it, but because it still feels funny on my hand. And while I refuse to believe that this small fact can be extrapolated into some broader, categorical statement about being married, I can’t help but see some similarities. In a sense, marriage feels funny to me.

Still, when I remark to married people that the ring feels a bit uncomfortable on my finger, they all say the same thing.

"It takes a while to get used to it."

Interesting.

Several of my friends have told me about newer, more comfortable wedding bands. One of them wants a ring made out of tungsten carbide because it can be sterilized (he’s a doctor). Another told me about wedding bands made out of titanium that are so light, you can barely feel them. All things being equal though, I think I’ll stick with the one I have. Because in the end, if nothing else, I think I want to feel the ring. I want to feel its weight, reminding me that I made promises. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. Promises that are just as weighty. Promises I fully intend to keep.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thanks to my blog getting out into the general public and being found by a large number of spamming sites, I am now being forced to approve comments before they are published. So feel free to leave as many comments as you’d like. I’ll get to them, I promise.

Three Feet From the Door

2005-11-17T22:24:00.001-05:00

I have come to find that at the end of the road...at the end of this road, there are no more answers. At least not now. Less than ~~a week~~ two days before I get married, and I feel no different. There is nothing new to stumble upon. No rocks to uncover. No overwhelming emotion. And I still have questions. Questions that can only be answered by doing. I can not make my home in this walled-off ivory tower. There is no academia in love. And while I have worked through enough over the past 10 years to earn a doctorate degree, I am no closer to solving the theory of why some things happen and other things do not.

Not that I thought it would be any different. But in some weird way...I thought I might be. For once, I thought that I wouldn't have to find myself caught at the last stitch of a daydream, and wondering after all that, how I had gotten there. Wondering how my mind wandered far past the roadsigns and highways of conventional political and moral correctness and into the deep, dark forest of otherness. The mind is funny sometimes. Just not "ha ha" funny...

So here's my great insight. The sum of my 33 years of hopes and of dreams, of past loves and disappointments, all rolled into one sentence. It is this: As happy as I am, I will never get to where I want to be. At least not in this lifetime. Truthfully, for those of you who ever wanted to know, that is where the name of this blog comes from. It comes from the fact that I am constantly three feet away from where I want to be (wherever that is). That's the funny (or sad) thing really -- I'm not sure where THAT is. And I suppose that makes sense, when you think about it. Wasn't it C.S. Lewis who once said, "If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world"?

But maybe that's my problem. I am seeing this as the end of the road, and not the beginning. Maybe "Three Feet From the Door" actually means that I'm getting closer, not farther away. And in some strange way, that gives me great hope and optimism.

So what does it look like -- being three feet through the door? Ask me in a couple weeks. Pics and words (and maybe a newly designed website) then. Next time I write, I'll be married. Wish me luck.

Three Feet From the Door

2005-11-17T22:24:00.000-05:00

Still a While to Go

2005-11-09T21:53:00.000-05:00

I couldn't be busier right now. Between all the errands and last-minute details. And it's a shame too, because I think I've been thinking about more stuff in the past couple weeks than ever before. I need to write this down, because I get the feeling that I'll never feel this way again. This weird mix of confusion, happiness, fear. It's palpable. I can't believe it's almost here. Everything is being framed in terms of pre-marriage and post-marriage. It's the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. And it's blinding me.

10 days to go. It's both the longest and shortest wait I've ever had. More later, hopefully.

A Good Night Spent

2005-10-20T19:38:00.000-05:00

I have to say, the only thing better than going to the U2 concert was enjoying the concert from the Comcast box/club seats. Well...I suppose I could have met Bono. I'm sure I'd ask him all sorts of stupid questions. Like what was up with Edge and his skullcap? I mean, when's the last time he took it off? 2000? On second thought, maybe it was better I didn't meet him.

I did, however, get a copy of the setlist. And some shrimp and peanuts. All in all, a great night.

Souvenirs and Storage Rooms

2005-10-10T15:04:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, I spent a lot of time cleaning out my storage room. Tucked away behind a non-descript door in my basement, was a large room littered with boxes, knick-knacks, and pretty much everything you’d think a storage closet would have. You name it, I’ve got it. Probably a dozen of them. All from 1990. Mounds of tape cassettes (I kept the Def Leppard tape) and Sony Walkmans. Reams of personalized office stationary. Green and blue rugby shirts. Old bottles of wine that have long since turned into vinegar. And boxes of law school notes and papers that quite frankly, I don’t ever want to see again.

I also ran across a lot of memories, as I expected. Old job offer letters, diplomas and bar certifications commemorating where I’ve been and showing the potential I had. Boxes of email. Old sentimental items too. Gifts. Notes. Commonplace things that brought back vivid stories when the world didn’t look quite so complicated. I found myself wanting to hold on to most of it, rationalizing why I’d need my old law school term paper on cyberbanking and the future of electronic commerce. Or trying to figure out why I could care so much about an old set of ticket stubs. I spent most of the night grasping each piece in my hand and attempting to divine its meaning, remembering why it was I kept it in the first place.

In then end though, I think these kinds of souvenirs are deceptive. They are dangerous because they speak to you in present tense. They tell you what once was, in the freshest and most brutal detail. They take you back to the moment, and confuse what you had with what you have. And their stories come across with powerful and staggering clarity. If you’re not careful, you’d almost be fooled into thinking that they still convey real feeling. Truth is, it’s hard to let them go.

But as much as I am tempted to keep my eyes closed, I remember that I am no longer in the business of holding onto old memories. So I’ve packed my old letters away. I’ve bundled up all of the email. And I’ve pitched most of the souvenirs. I’ve done it for the sake of the future, and for the sake of getting over the past. And as I sat down, tired from hauling everything upstairs and out of my house, I realized that there is no clearer sign that I am moving into a different phase of my life, than the huge pile of trash sitting outside my house on the curb.

It doesn’t mean I won’t miss what I’ve thrown away from time to time. Truth be told, I’m tempted to go back now before the trash collectors come tomorrow morning and root through it all one last time. But in the empty space of my storage room, new things are coming. New old memories. Dusty keepsakes as old as my fourth-grade basketball trophy and all of my swimming ribbons. And those memories...those memories are the souvenirs that I’ll hang on to.

Running Towards the Sun

2005-10-04T16:29:00.000-05:00

This is the week. Every year, once in the fall, once in the spring, there is a span of one or two weeks where the weather is just perfect. And this past week was it. The weekend couldn’t have been better weather-wise. 70s. Clear. Cool. Almost picture perfect. Of course, I spent Saturday on a service project picking up dime bags (did you know they come in all sorts of colors?) at an elementary school in the inner city of Baltimore. Seriously…an elementary school. There’s something horribly disturbing about that. Still, I was happy to help refurbish the place. All I’m saying is that I could have done without the drug paraphernalia.

I’m taking tomorrow off to play at a golf charity event. It’s great timing, because recently I’ve been tempted to take some time off to enjoy the weather. I’ve been so busy lately, that I thought a sunny day would be great to help me breathe and gain some perspective on what’s been happening lately. I was recently reminded by a friend of mine in San Diego that it was sunny and beautiful there all year round, and that I could get all the perspective I wanted over there. I admit, I can’t argue with him.

In fact, on my way back from work last week, I wondered if my life would have been different if I lived somewhere else. If I’d work out more often and take longer walks, or if I would be the same kind of worker, just in a different place. If I’d ever get tired of sunny days. And while I catch myself sometimes wondering if I wouldn’t be happier swinging on a hammock somewhere in Monterey, I’m looking forward to the cooler breezes of fall. Seasons are strange like that. They remind you that change happens. And that everything – including people, given enough time, change too.

Wedding planning is dominating my life, as it always does. Invitations went out, and I’m ironing out last-minute details of the honeymoon, which continue to wrinkle like a wet Brooks Brothers pinpoint. I'm also ditching the wedding website because I just don't have enough time to put it together the way I want. And in the end, I suppose, that’s fine with me. There’s just too much to do. Besides, I’m running out of sunny days.

100 Days

2005-08-11T18:51:00.000-05:00

So I just looked at the calendar, and I found out that I have 100 days left. 100 days until my wedding. I can't believe it's coming up so fast. I'm having trouble catching my breath.

I'd be lying if I said this has been an easy process. On the contrary, it's been a grind making all of these ridiculous decisions. I'm learning more about a person in a few months than I have in the past 6 years. More than anything, though, I suppose I'm learning a lot about myself. About how fiercely independent I am. How selfish I can be. And how I deal with conflict.

Truth be told, sometimes, it's hard not to feel like you're Indiana Jones being chased by that huge boulder after stealing that golden idol. After all, I have been single for 33 years. A partner at my law firm half-joked that the whole wedding planning process is a way for the guy to understand and prepare for the crushing truth that he will eventually lose all autonomy. Then again, he's on his second marriage, so I'm not really looking to him for advice...

Maybe it's this wedding planning. It's unrelenting. Every day, there are more decisions to make. 3-tiered cake or 4-tiered cake. Buttercream or Almond. Or lemon. Tenderloin or beef tips. Stand up or sit down. Flowers. Photography. Order of service. Sparklers or bubbles. I'm literally going crazy. And for a guy who has a hard time making decisions and spending money, it's a recipe for disaster.

At least this week off has been nice. Played golf yesterday and today, trying to enjoy my last moments of vacation before I start a new job. And I'm getting my money's worth out of Netflix. So I got that going for me...

100 days to go and counting. Yikes.

Why I Am Leaving the Law (In 500 Words or Less)

2005-08-09T22:41:00.000-05:00

I love the law. I love corporate transactions. The excitement of mergers and acquisitions. IPOs. Venture capital. All of it. But here's the thing: I hate the law business. And when it all comes down to it, it's not worth all of the angst and pressure to do something that will consume my days, nights and weekends for the next 30 years. And that's if I'm really good at it. I've had friends brag about how they gave birth, and within a week, they were back doing deals. Or how a heart attack didn't stop them from closing a $2 billion deal. That's great for them, I guess. But quite frankly, that's not the kind of stuff I want to brag about.

I spoke recently with the head of the corporate group of a large, multi-national law firm, and he told me that he was so happy that his son decided not to follow in his footsteps and go to law school. This from a man who is undoubtedly making close to a million dollars, and is seen by many as being at the top of his game. That should tell you something about the state of the law today. In fact, it's not a stretch to say that I don't know one happy lawyer.

If I could write out the exact reasons I wanted to leave, this would be the mother of all entries. There are so many reasons. So many stories that you wouldn't believe about working beyond all limitations and getting nothing for it. Stories that would make child sweatshops sound like daycare centers. That would make prison feel like a 4-star hotel.

But instead of boring you with all sorts of details and pro/con lists, I should simply say this: there are times in our lives where we must make decisions grounded in faith. And sometimes faith takes the form of the road directly in front of us. Yes, I'm going to miss it. And who's to say I won't be jumping back in in a couple of years? But for the foreseeable future, I believe that this is where I should go. My life has been hard enough, without the 100-hour weeks.

I'm jumping into the vast, undefined world of consulting on August 15. Good salary. Decent hours. And you get to wear jeans. In all seriousness, part of my job description is to "identify and solve problems". Really. Basically, sitting around a table with really smart people and figure out things. They call it work. I call it dinner conversation.

So I'm taking this week off, working through a million wedding details and buying lots of crap. I just bought the world's most expensive coat rack. And the Heavenly Bed is coming on Saturday. Ahhhh, the Heavenly Bed. Who says I can't enjoy my life a bit more?

Come to think of it, that's what I need. A big, fat nap.

You Are Your Playlist

2005-07-28T15:58:00.000-05:00

"I can tell who you are from the music you listen to," she said with the confidence of a street palm reader.

"Really?"

"Absolutely...you mind?" as she took the iPod from my hands.

"Hmmmm...no. I guess not."

I was at the Apple store to have them fix yet another problem with my iPod. It seemed that my iPod would indiscriminately pause in the middle of whatever I was listening to. Pretty much all the time. What can I say? Apples and I just don't get along. It's like the iPod knows I use Microsoft Windows. And it's angry.

I sheepishly gave her the iPod, feeling a bit uncomfortable. I couldn't help but feel like she was taking something personal from me. Reading chapters from my journal. I found myself wanting to explain the music from Backstreet Boys and Avril...that I had downloaded it from a friend in bulk. But then again, I'd probably have to further explain that I kept the songs because they made good shower songs. You know, songs you'd sing at the top of your lungs in the shower when no one was listening. I mean NO ONE.

"Hmmmm...you're all about artists that aren't quite mainstream," she began, as she perusued my playlist. "You like finding artists. Ones that haven't hit it big yet. I bet you take pride in that. But you like pure tones. Harmony. Nothing too edgy. You don't really stray too far from the path. You've got a soulful side. You have creativity and imagination, but you don't live there. See? Your playlist. It's safe. You have the eye, but you are a bit restrained."

"Ummmm...thanks?" Pretty dead on as far as assessments go.

"See here? You've got Dashboard Confessional's old stuff, before they were on MTV. But you stop short of The Smiths. You have REM, but not The Connells or Uncle Tupelo." I tried to tell her that I had The Connells on there before my iPod was erased the first time, but she was on a roll. And I was intrigued.

"I'm not saying that you need to loosen up. But you should take more chances with your music. And lose the Avril."

I wasn't really sure what to say. She was right, but I didn't let her know it. Maybe it was because she was so presumptuous. She was an Apple support person, music buff and psychiatrist all in one. But in the end, she did the same thing they always do. Reformat my iPod. Erase all of my music, so that I can spend another hour or two transferring music from my hard drive to the iPod. Again. Crap. Oh well -- maybe it's a chance to start over. Good thing she didn't see my old Amy Grant albums or for that matter, Degarmo & Key's "Captain Sozo and the Charge of the Light Brigade". Who knows what she would have told me then...

On the old playlist:

1. "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk" -- Rufus Wainwright, Poses
2. "Breathe" -- Tristan Prettyman, Twenty Three
3. "Closer" -- Joshua Radin, First Between 3rd & 4th
4. "I'm Yours" -- Jason Mraz, Wordplay -- EP
5. "Crank" -- Catherine Wheel, Chrome
6. "Worn Me Down" -- Rachael Yamagata, Happenstance
7. "The One I Love" -- David Gray, The One I Love
8. "Pour" -- Lori McKenna Bittertown
9. "Supernova" -- The Brindley Brothers, Playing With the Light
10. "Won't Give In" -- The Finn Brothers, Everyone Is Here

Summers are Better in Maine

2005-07-26T09:54:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was a complete blur.

The weekend started early...I took Friday off and headed up to Maine to attend an old friend's wedding. Basically took the whole day to get there (thanks to ridiculous traffic near the bridge leading into South Island), and we arrived with only a few minutes to spare to the cookout. The couple had rented out the entire Inn where the reception was. It was like summer camp. Had a lobster or two (after all, it was Maine) and some great ice cream (flown in from where Marty and Grace had their first date) before eventually grabbing some shuteye.

Caught a 7:00am tee time here on Saturday morning with the groom's father and family. I shot pretty poorly, but the groom's father managed to shoot a 64. Granted he's been the U.S. Amateur champion in years past, and is the president of Columbia Country Club. But still, the only thing more frustrating than playing a bad round of golf is playing a bad round and watching someone play a phenomenal round. On the same course. In front of you. Kinda makes you feel like it's you. Which, of course, it is...

The wedding went well, although it was 90+ degrees in the church (apparently, there's no air conditioning in Maine). The reception was nice also, down by the water at Boothbay Harbor. Left early the next morning, drove back to Boston and got back home Sunday evening.

I did happen to catch some sort of summer cold (although I think it might have been from my roommate who caught something when he was over in Zambia last week). Oh well. I guess nothing's perfect. Although if you ask me, summers in Maine come pretty darn close.

The Cooler

2005-07-18T11:55:00.000-05:00

I've met the Cooler and his name is Steve Johnson. Okay, maybe I should back up a little...

I had another interview in Baltimore on Friday morning, and I figured that since we were already pointing in that direction, we should keep going up I-95, take a right turn at the Atlantic City Expressway, and see where it takes us... So a bunch of guys came up with me. It was more than a posse. It was an entourage (which, incidentally, if you've never seen on HBO, you're missing out). After the interview, I took the elevator down to the ground floor, jumped back into Ken's Yukon, and headed straight for the Borgata. Missing the exit to the Borgata should've been our first clue that bad luck was a'coming.

I was up a couple hundred before stopping off at my room about 11:00ish. Steve was already there complaining about his losses, and the other boys were no better off. He was talking about putting the rest of his money on the roulette table. Red. Definitely red. I felt bad, so I told him I'd double his bet, whatever he chose. That was the worst mistake I've ever made. Not only did I lose my $50 at the roulette table when the number came up black, I lost another $200+ on the craps table with Steve behind me. Yep. A bona fide cooler.

For those of you who don't know what a "cooler" is, you should see this movie. Essentially, a cooler is a person whose job it is to go around the casino and "cool off" tables. He is bad luck incarnate. And if you look hard enough, you can almost always pick him out. He's the guy with slouched shoulders, not playing but casually and quietly watching. A little too quiet. He won't make eye contact. And that noise? That's him sucking the mojo off the table.

The next morning, I went back to the craps table, but told Steve to stand 5 feet back from the table. So he sat by the slots, while I started winning. Lots. Now I'm not a superstitious guy, and I don't believe in luck. But it was amazing to watch...it got so good that I told him not to even look at my table.

Fifteen minutes later and up a few hundred or so, I decided to call it quits. He walked up as I was coloring in, and I kid you not, I spilled my coke. Yah, it was time to go. In the end, I guess it could have been worse. I actually pushed Steve up to the $100 craps table, and the guy rolling lost $5,000. I'm telling you, Steve could have been on the Borgata payroll.

Awesome time though, and I made it back in time for my engagement party (with an hour to spare). The party was awesome, thanks to the Seetins, who were great hosts. My guess is that it'll probably better than our wedding reception. Tons of great food with friends. It was a bit surreal. And Sunday was a lazy day watching the Tour de France and the British Open. It doesn't get better than that... Really.

Borf is Dead

2005-07-14T06:56:00.000-05:00

Well, it finally happened. They captured Borf. They arrested him late last night. For those of you who have never heard of Borf, he is responsible for those strange spray-painted pictures that you've seen throughout D.C. on streetlamps, newspaper stands, electrical boxes and brick walls. There was even a huge picture over the Roosevelt Bridge. No message, really. Just a picture of a boy and the name "Borf". All over the city.

Soon thereafter, tags begin to pop up saying, "Borf writes letters to your children" and "Borf is good for your liver". People even started writing for him, saying "Borf hates NYPD" or "Borf hates God". For those of you interested, there's even a flickr collection devoted to Borf sightings. According to the Washington Post article, the name "Borf" was the nickname of a close friend of his who had committed suicide two years ago. Which, I suppose is appropriate, considering that it was his friend's picture spray painted across D.C. A sad homage wrapped in a spray-painted statement of youth and anarchy. It was everything that was wrong with the world, packaged in a simple act of stealthy defiance.

Personally, I'm sad to see it go. Yes, I understand that graffitti is costly to clean up and is often derogatory or rude. But there are times where personal expression is refreshing. While most tags in D.C. demarcate gang territory and boundaries, these pictures were statements -- statements against the staleness of government and the cynicism that comes with growing older. Strange? Definitely. But if you ask me, a person that passed them on the street every day on my way to work, they were harmless. As one of the pictures says, "Grown-ups are obsolete." I mean, he has a point.

It reminds me that differences of opinion do not create a world of addle-minded people. On the contrary, they add focus and color to doctrine and to dogma. Knowing what you don't believe or agree with is just as instructive as knowing what you do believe. It's two sides of the same coin. Besides, this world would be a lot more boring without color.

It's All in the Answer (which, by the way, is "50")

2005-07-06T14:11:00.000-05:00

This is how I know I've crossed from the world of law into the crazy land of management consulting. This was an actual question from an interview I had last week:

"How many piano tuners are there in Chicago?"

After asking a bunch of questions, counting in my head and on my fingers, making assumptions and writing down all sorts of random numbers, I said "50". He shrugged and said, "Sounds good. I actually have no idea if you're right." And then he moved on to the next question. With questions like that, I ~~better get this job~~ GOT this job.

I suppose it could have been worse. I could have been the guy who was repeatedly asked to open a window in the interviewer's office when in reality, there was no way to open it (except by throwing a chair through it). Yikes...

A Good Night Spent

2005-07-05T18:46:00.000-05:00

The Wedding Planner

2005-06-28T22:58:00.000-05:00

Here's the thing about wedding planning. There's a lot of it. A whole lot. Decisions you never thought you'd ever have to make begin to consume you. Decisions about things like font size and centerpieces. You learn that flowers cost more than you ever thought possible. You have to use words like "thermography" and "DJ" when you talk. It's like they become part of a second language. Wedding-speak. You realize that while you only hang out with less than 10 people on a consistent basis, you have more than 200 friends. And they all want filet mignon at your reception. You find out that your wedding needs to have a theme. There's a color scheme. You start to ponder whether you should put ribbons on the pews. And if so, what size and color. And whether there should be flowers attached to them. A million decisions. All this from a guy that needs to spend weeks researching the best toothbrush before buying one. Do I get the soft bristles? What color? It's death by a thousand cuts.

No, this is not going to be a rant on wedding planning. I think it's one of those things that every couple does, regardless of the amount of money they can spend at their wedding. And generally, the decisions are the same whether you're having 100 or 1,000 guests. We've got the basics down. Wedding ceremony here. Reception here. But a thousand more things to do (hence the lack of blogging as of late). This week it's caterers and tent rentals. Then the cake and invitations. And flowers. Don't forget the flowers.

This past weekend was thankfully crammed with a bunch of other things. Eating some delicious crawfish etouffee with some good friends before they leave for Louisiana. Evening party celebrating my friend's son's first birthday...complete with birthday gifts and...ummmm...keg? Our office is moving this weekend, so I imagine things will be hectic for the next week or two.

All this to say that there are lots of things to decide. On top of planning for the wedding, I need to figure out what to do with my house (and hers), where to live (Baltimore v. DC). I need to find a better job (one that doesn't feel like breaking rocks), and in general, figure out what to do with my life. So many things to think about. Oh well. At least I have my toothbrush. Sonicare rules.

Working for the Weekend

2005-06-14T15:49:00.000-05:00

Sometimes weekends are just breaks from the work week -- hoping to take a breather before you have to wake up on Monday and head back down into the salt mines. But sometimes weekends are something far more than that. And that's how I'd describe this past weekend in California. A bunch of good friends of mine met up with me in San Francisco and we traveled up the coast to wine country for the weekend. It was seriously one of the best weekends I've had in my life. Really. Even with the trip to the emergency room (more on that later...). We ran up the tabs and spared no expense. Ate and drank like kings. We probably bought/drank almost $1,000 in wine alone. In 3 days.

It's way too long to narrate, but it was an amazing trip. 4 days of 75 degrees and sunny bliss. Perfect weather. Constant laughter. If you gave me the choice between living out in California or going home, I'd already be handing you a mailing address telling you where you can ship all my stuff. I can't understand why anyone would ever want to leave. By contrast, DC is currently 95 degrees with stifling humidity. Heat indices in the 100s. Awesome.

Highlights included:

Busting up our rented SUV with only 4 miles on it.
Eating ridiculous chocolate and tasting olive oils at the gourmet farmer's market in the Ferry Building.
Taking a private tour at Marimar Vineyards.
Playing impromptu bocce at a vineyard estate.
Going to City Lights Bookstore, the epicenter of alternative literary culture.
Getting cheese at Cowgirl Creamery, and oysters at the Hog Island Oyster Company in Marshall, CA (population: 50).
Almost slicing my finger off with an oyster shucker, and having to go to the emergency room because after 5 hours, it wouldn't stop bleeding (apparently wrapping it with a torn piece of someone's T-shirt doesn't always do the trick).
Schmoozing with the ER nurses so we could still make our 9:30 reservation at Gary Danko. Seriously. The food is just that good.
Driving along the Pacific Coast Highway, singing the Violent Femmes at the top of our lungs.
More bocce on the beach in Point Reyes.
Sitting out on the rooftop of my friends' house in San Francisco (complete with views of Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz and the bay), not worrying about when I have to go home.
Spending time with old friends, and realizing that I'd be a lesser person without them.

Pics ~~coming~~here...

Napa Ready

2005-06-09T20:04:00.000-05:00

Leaving tonight for San Francisco (with a layover in Vegas), and I haven't started packing. A bunch of errands to run still, so I may leave work early. It's that kind of day. 90+ degrees. Humid. Muggy. And I'm flying into 70 degree temperatures and blue skies. Nice...

I finally loaded all of my music onto my new iPod (the old one broke from sheer frustration) and I've spent way more time than I should recreating my playlists. Current favorites for the plane ride out west:

1. "Bent" -- Matt Nathanson, Beneath These Fireworks
2. "Gone For Good" -- The Shins, Chutes Too Narrow
3. "There There" -- Radiohead, Hail to the Thief
4. "Crowing" -- Glen Phillips, Live at Largo
5. "Twilight" -- David Gray, Lost Songs
6. "Worn Me Down" -- Rachael Yamagata, Happenstance
7. "Zero Percent Interest" -- Jason Mraz, Live at Java Joe's
8. "Shy That Way" -- Tristan Prettyman (unreleased)
9. "Gone" -- Jack Johnson, On and On
10. "Hold On Tight" -- Christopher Jak, Applause of the Rain

Gitty up.

A Chain of Broken Events (Part 4 of 4)

2005-06-02T19:04:00.000-05:00

It all started harmlessly enough with an email on May 7, 1999:

Good morning, Brian! I know your time is precious, so I’ll apologize now for bugging you… I realized that I no longer have [a friend’s] card and…her home phone number… Do you happen to have that number? I would love to talk to her about the possible room vacancy at her house.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. We had seen each other at Cactus Cantina a couple days earlier at a Cinco de Mayo party, and I guess you could say we hit it off. But she was dating someone at the time, and I was licking my wounds from a previous relationship. Neither of us looking, but in retrospect, neither of us closing our eyes either.

I responded like I always do – with some snarky comment about how she wasn’t bugging me, but that come to think about it, my time was worth about $250/hour, according to the law firm that was billing me out. So it wasn’t so much that she was “bugging” me, as it was that she “owed” the firm money.

The summer had just kicked off at our firm, and if you've ever worked at a big law firm, you’d know that meant: summer associates (aka “meal tickets”). Every summer there are a group of young, Harvard or Yale law school-educated blue-bloods that the firm babysits, in the hopes that they would accept lucrative first-year associate positions at the firm. Or at least that was the case in 1999. That’s great for everyone else because that meant huge firm-sponsored events and a ton of free lunches. I asked her to a Natalie Merchant concert (our firm had bought out the first two rows). I figured it would be a good way to get to know her. I remember that she wore capris for the occasion. I think I only remember that because I hated capris. We laugh about that still.

Email grew into longer emails. Longer emails grew into conversation. Conversation grew into lunches. And lunches grew into something much more. I wish I could say that I knew right then and there that we would be together forever. But that would vastly oversimplify the situation. It would be like trying to recreate the nuances of a painting using only two or three colors. It’s impossible to condense six years into a paragraph or two. What I can say is that we had a crazy journey. Everyone’s story is different, and mine clearly took a few detours along the country mile home. It had its share of drama. Drama worthy of a daytime emmy. But the great thing about it, I suppose, is that through it all, I still ended up in the place I was supposed to be. Amazing how God works...

Exactly six years to the day after that fateful email, I made the decision to push my boat into the water. I was convinced I could know nothing more about the seaworthiness of our relationship, and that the only step left was to push off from the dock and turn my eyes towards the horizon. Still, I spent the next week double checking all of my knots and pulling on all of the seams. Making sure, as best I could, that the sails could take the buffeting wind of conflict. I turned my house inside out looking for books on relationships and marriage. Is she the right one for me? What if I made a mistake? How could I know for sure? I dreamt nightly about past failures and the odds of future success. The more I thought about marriage, the more I began to question my own preparedness for it.

But somehow, through it all, I felt a sense of impending calm – not calm yet, but calm soon. I knew I was making the right decision. In a world of sinners and mismatched people, there was no one I’d rather fight through differences and hardship with than her. And once I accepted that there was no perfect person, the decision was easy. Mixed with faith and hope, the cocktail became downright intoxicating.

While she was not the fulfillment of all of my unrealistic expectations, she was the answer to all of my questions. And in the end, that was what I needed most. Not a person who makes it effortless, but a person who fights when it is hard. Not an extension of my own selfish ego, but someone else entirely. Someone who constantly strives to become something better than she is. Someone who will challenge me and encourage me to grow...even if I don't want to.

Buying the ring was both the scariest and the most exhilarating experience of my life. The jeweler at the store I bought it from spoke to me about the "4 Cs" of diamonds. But with every word he spoke to me about the spectrum of color grades, I heard him speak about shades of forever. And when he spoke of the size of the diamond in terms of carats, instead I heard the word “commitment” being measured in total weight. I guess it’s true what they say – buying a diamond means so much more than buying a diamond.

Teresa had an upcoming event in Baltimore – a black-tie benefit for the Shock Trauma Unit of the University of Maryland Medical Center. There were thunderstorms in the forecast, and all I kept thinking about was what I was going to do if it rained. Whether I should wait for the perfect moment, even if it meant holding off another week or two. Truthfully, I had no backup plan. So it seemed like a dubious sign when the fire alarm went off and everyone was hurried out into the pouring rain, dressed in their tuxedos and evening gowns.

After the evening ended, I suggested a walk along the inner harbor. It was damp, but thankfully, it wasn't raining anymore. As we walked down to the pier, I could feel myself growing more anxious. Not so much nervous. My mind was already made up. Just anxious that our lives were about to change. I began to look for spots along the pier to stop, but none were that memorable. To complicate matters, all of the benches were still wet. And even worse, two huge ships were docking, full of screaming high school kids fresh from their prom night.

When we reached the end of the pier, near the science museum, I decided I had to say something. After all, it was the end of the pier.

Do you think we’re going to make it?

Strange way to begin, and not the words I was expecting to come out of my mouth. But it was a great consolation to me that I already knew the answer. It was both easier and harder this time. I knew the weight those words would carry.

Are you breaking up with me?

No. Not at all. No.

My mind was racing, looking for the right time to ask a question. One question. The only question. I was stumbling. Stammering a bit. But right then, in the hustle and bustle of all of those kids, I could hear it in my head. Words I hadn’t heard with any conviction in a long time. Maybe forever. We’re going to make it. This time, I’m sure.

And right there, in the hazy light of the moon, and in the midst of the bustling crowd of high schoolers, I asked her to marry me. And she said yes.

A Chain of Broken Events (Part 3 of 4)

2005-05-14T01:19:00.000-05:00

In the end, whether you decide to jump into a relationship or not, you are inevitably risking the same thing. Whether you allow someone to enter into your life (with the potential to hurt and disappoint you) or decide against a relationship (risking a great relationship, and perhaps marriage), the heart is always in play. It’s just two sides of the same coin. Try as we may, shielding it from the daily rigors of real life is impossible. And there are only so many times that you can say, “I don’t know.”

My past relationships left me with a maddening sense of regret that I had spent too much time analyzing, and not enough time feeling. Like withholding water from a thirsty plant, my lack of ability to move forward had slowly and painfully choked the life out of them. Truthfully, I think I had too many questions in my head, and all of the uncertainty paralyzed me. And I couldn’t lead by standing still. I determined to let feelings take more of a role in my life. To take more chances. As they say…carpe diem.

So I did. I went out with more people, under the guise of extending myself and moving in faith. I moved in the direction of my feelings. But strangely, the result of this was an even more unstable, drama-filled life. A life with more questions, not less. And confronted with my own selfishness, my life became bipolar, and my relationships unworkable. There were days of complete glee marred by evenings of doubt and fear. Fear that we would grow apart as the years went by. Fear that our differences would turn into unbridgeable chasms. Fear that we would grow to hate each other. Fears that ultimately led me down well-worn paths of self-doubt and self-preservation. And once on a familiar bent, it was almost impossible to find another way. I knew where we were going. I knew what was going to happen, even if I didn't want it to. Habits are funny that way.

At heart, I am a risk-averse person. I prefer slow and steady to extreme highs and lows. I am the proverbial turtle to the jackrabbits of this world, sure to turn over every stone and look behind every tree. And as much as I wish I were not, I am a man of formulas. Given enough time, my compulsion drives me to pulverize and deconstruct any situation into indivisible, sub-atomic particles. Each grain a circumstance. Each atom a possibility. So it comes as no surprise that I weigh relationships with the precision of a scientist, careful not to taint the process and controlling for each variable. Questions like, “Will this person still be with me if…” and “What will happen if…” became my test tubes and Bunsen burners. Each relationship was inevitably driven into a centrifuge, attempting…hoping to extract doubt with dizzying quickness and effectiveness.

In the end, what I found is that examination only yielded more uncertainty. There was always more information to gather. There was always another choice. I think one of the greatest fantasies that people have is that a relationship, if it’s the right relationship, won’t be hard. Or at least, not as hard as the one that you’re in right now. But what I’ve found is that it is impossible to compare an existing relationship to the possibility of perfection. And that you can’t have a healthy relationship with one foot constantly out the window, waiting for the roof to collapse.

Attempting to find the seams of my life has only shown me how imperfect my fabric really is. And how great of a role faith must play in any relationship. Just as a boat must be built on land, and then cast to the ocean to test its seaworthiness, so must a relationship be, at some point, tested and ultimately, trusted. It’s not a blind trust, as evidenced by the wreckage of so many of those “I knew when we first met that we’d be together forever” marriages. Every captain has life preservers in the boat, and tools to fix the leaks and holes just in case a storm hits. But if we always worried about our own weaknesses and differences, we would spend our entire lives on the shore. And I can’t imagine anyone who truly wants to be there, among the driftwood and cast-off shells of all the things that could have been.

A Chain of Broken Events (Part 2 of 4)

2005-05-05T02:26:00.000-05:00

I knew it was coming. Or at least I should have known. We were 6 weeks into a class at our church that was supposed to prepare us for marriage. Though we weren’t engaged yet, we had decided to take it anyway. I suppose she thought that after two years of dating, it was about time. I thought that it seemed like the next logical thing to do. I was always logical like that. The class was supposed to teach you how to communicate better and deal with conflict. It wasn't syrupy-sweet, and that was just fine with me. After all, the last thing I wanted was a class telling me that hearts and roses were all you needed to make a happy marriage.

In the class, each couple was appointed a mentor couple...a couple who had already traveled several miles down the long, ashen road of marriage and had come out on the sweet side of things – past the clouds of dust and soot – no worse for the wear. Our mentors were an old and kind-hearted couple in their seventies. Anachronistic. Simple. They were warm. The kind of people that even after 40 years of marriage, wore their love for each other like something still fresh and brand new. It was refreshing just to see.

One cloudy afternoon, we drove to our mentor couple's house to meet with them and talk more about what it took to get (and stay) married. They talked about conflict and how they dealt with it. They talked about how different people were, and what to expect. I knew all that. I ate it up like hot fudge sauce on an ice cream sundae. I was ready for it. I had read books and every authority that I could find on relationships. I made my home in the self-improvement section of Barnes & Noble. I thought I had found a formula for success, and had distilled it down to its most basic elements. Earth. Fire. Water. Love. Communication was everything. Feelings were deceptive. It was a gospel tailor-made for me, and I bought into it like it was religion.

I'm not sure how it happened, but in the midst of our mentor couple explaining how different they were, she brought up something that had happened months before. Something she was apparently still upset about. In her mind, a trust had been broken. In mine, I was being unjustly accused. She saw feeling. I saw logic. Accusations were heaped upon assumptions and uncommunicated, pre-conceived notions, creating a giant and unstable, Jenga-like tower of misunderstanding. We tried, almost helplessly, to pull each precariously situated fiction out of the pile. But as we did, the tower began to teeter. And we were both too stubborn to budge an inch to bear its weight any longer.

After what felt like a two-hour counseling session, we slowly made our way back to the car. I was stunned at what had just occurred, and she was in tears. We got in, and neither of us said anything. I don’t think I even started the car. We sat in silence outside our mentor couple's house for what seemed like hours as the rain lightly fell onto the roof of the car. And in the dim light of the cloudy afternoon, she broke the silence...

"Are we going to make it?"

It sounded eerily familiar, and I began to think back to all of the other broken points of decision in my life. That night in college. That night on the train back from New Orleans. That lazy afternoon on the jungle gym. But wilting in the white-hot stress of the moment, I couldn't piece anything together. I sat in thought for what felt like a good two or three minutes before I could muster out the best and most honest answer I could think of.

"I don't know."

It's not as if I wanted to break up. I wanted to say "yes". I really did. I wanted to give her all the comfort that she deserved. But this was different than before. This wasn’t Dragon Park. The answer was intentional...not a product of a lack of words to say. No, this was borne out of long and hard thought. The silence was me searching for an answer that I could make sense of. I had felt like a failure in the relationship. But more than that, she had thought the same. And that I was responsible, which, when it came down to it, was far worse. I had reached a breaking point. It was the truest answer I could give – I simply didn't know if I could go on. If we could go on. I was never good at pretending something was fine when it wasn’t. It was the weakest we had ever felt, and under the intense strain of that day, the seam holding us together ripped and tore open a gaping hole of doubt.

Our relationship melted quickly after that, like cotton candy in a child's mouth – delicious at first, but ultimately sticky and insubstantial, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Over two years of work had ended with more suffering, and that was hard to swallow. I didn’t want to fail. I didn’t want to feel like a failure. I guess upon reflection, I was worried about how different we really were. That we would fight a lot, and that during our lives together, she would come to resent me. Her opinions were so strong, that I believed they would eventually consume my own. Her differing viewpoints and desires began to feel like criticisms of mine. And my pulling back caused a disconnect, which, under the dim light of non-communication, looked a lot like indifference.

At the time, though, I think I still wanted to be with her, disagreements and all. Perhaps it was for the best. Or maybe in God's providence, our marriage would have produced better communication, and not so many fights and disagreements. But in the end, like most things, those questions vanished into the ether when the relationship came to an end. We tried reconciling a couple of times after that. We hung out “as friends”. But it never stuck. You can’t be friends after knowing someone that well for that long. Everything afterwards becomes a slap in the face. A perpetual reminder of what went wrong.

In the end, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was always one step behind in the relationship, and one deed away from being accepted. I wanted to give her everything she wanted. I wanted to be the hero. But I always left her wanting. It was the hardest, most humbling experience I had ever been a part of. And for better or worse, something I determined never to be a part of again.

I think I remember more about that cloudy day in the car than I do the actual breakup, because in my mind, it marked the moment we stopped trying. After that day, a breakup was only a formality. The fight had been taken from both of us, and we were left with nothing but the heavy yoke of our own selfishness. That, and the aching that came with trying to push a square peg into a round hole.

Business is Busyness

2005-04-28T22:23:00.000-05:00

Things at work have been crazy the past 2-3 weeks. Conference calls and meetings with our client almost every morning. Writing memos about what happened in those meetings almost every afternoon. And trying to stay on top of the work I already have every evening. It's not the crushing pace of M&A work, which I'm thankful for. I still come home at a decent hour, albeit after dinner usually. No, instead it's been more like a dull, consistent grind. And I must say that it's taken a toll on a lot of things (like...well, blogging). But thankfully, I have been able to carve out some pockets of time for myself here and there.

I've been thinking about whether I should write every day, regardless of whether I have anything interesting to say. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a million thoughts running around my head at any given point. But then I started thinking, "Do I really want to talk about how Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are dating, and what my thoughts are on that?" (yes, I have thoughts about it)... Or for that matter, how I'm really annoyed that the Wizards are down 2-0 to Chicago in the NBA Playoffs? Do I really want to become that blog?

I'm reminded of something that a friend wrote to me recently regarding blogging. I told him that my blog has recently become less personal due to the increase in readership, to which he urged me to continue to write what I've been really thinking about. Otherwise, he said "...it's just chaff for the blogosphere." And he's right. It's just junk food for the internet-minded, junk-food addict.

I've been dwelling on some serious issues recently, and it has taken longer than expected to wrap my arms around them. I've been tracing my fingers along the fabric of my life, working to find the seams and edges. Identifying those portions that need the most work, where my attributes and virtues are weakest. Compulsively checking and rechecking every stitch and loop, making sure that they will hold together when tugged on.

So to that end, I suppose what may seem like silence then is really simply me processing things into a form that I can share them. Besides, I'm sure you'd much rather read about more significant and honest things, than who is dating a celebrity. If you want that, you can always go here.

A Chain of Broken Events (Part 1 of 4)

2005-03-29T16:24:00.001-05:00

When I was a freshman at Vanderbilt, I spent a lot of time in one of the huge common rooms on the first floor of my dorm. They called it the "formal lounge," which I suppose only now do I find odd, since there was really nothing formal about it at all. Just a gigantic, carpeted room filled with generic, stain-resistant couches and chairs upholstered in non-aggressive colors like magenta and grey…and light blue. They had a strange sheen to them that could only be described as a few steps away from plastic. Almost all of the freshman lived in a group of buildings, girls on one side, guys on the other. After all, it was a proper Southern school. And the formal lounge is what connected them all together. So on a given night, if you hung out downstairs long enough, you could bump into almost anyone. People came down to study alone or in groups, or to grab a late-night snack at the Munchie Mart. People came down in their pajamas and bedtime slippers. It was that kind of lounge. There was a grand piano in one of the rooms, and sometimes when it was really late at night, I would sit down and play something I wrote or some lounge music. Or just improvise for a while. There were always people around. And I guess that's how I met her.

I was a beltway boy still getting my bearings in the land of chicken-fried steaks and homemade grits. She was from a town on the outskirts of Atlanta which, at that time, was considered "deep south" to me. I suppose when I think about it, almost anything south of Virginia was. I don't ever remember us having any classes together -- she was a biology major, and I was a psychology/poly sci/econ kind of guy. I spent all of my time in the social sciences buildings. She was always in a lab or class on the other side of campus. But for some reason, we both seemed to end up somewhere in the middle, studying downstairs in the formal lounge amidst the sofa chairs and old oak tables.

The first thing I noticed was how easily we talked. She had a comeback for everything I said, and our conversations would roll so quickly and effortlessly, it felt like an Aaron Sorkin television show. I teased her about fried okra (or for that matter, "fried [insert anything here]"). She talked about the "War of Northern Aggression" like it happened yesterday, and called me an “honorary Northerner” (which was a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one). She had a great sense of humor, and it wasn't long before we began spending time together. We skipped classes together. We pulled all-nighters talking. One night, we talked for 16 hours straight. I just never seemed to run out of things to say. And she never ran out of questions. Rumors abounded about the state of our friendship, but we didn't care. We were having fun. And we were freshman in college. And wasn’t that the point, anyway?

One night in the spring, a bunch of people went over to a friend’s house to watch some movies. I don't remember what movie was showing at the time, but I guess now that I think about it, it didn't really matter all that much to me. I remember that it was a large room, and people were sprawled out all over the floor. People had brought sleeping bags, I guess to stay the night. The first part of the night is hazy – like a dream. It was halfway through the first movie when she nudged me.

"Do you want to take a walk?"

"Now?"

"Yah."

"Um...sure..."

“I know the perfect place.”

And so we left the house and took a walk. A slow walk. The kind of walk where it didn't really matter where we went. At some point, we ended up at a place called "Dragon Park" (nicknamed that because it had huge dragon sculptures coming out of the ground). I remember thinking how quiet it was. No breeze. Nothing at all. And so we stopped and hopped on some nearby swings. And when she grabbed my hand, it felt as if we were kids again, running around the playground and playing hide and seek among the dreaming trees.

But then something strange and unexplainable happened. I realized where this night was headed. We were in the same book, but on completely different pages. I was somewhere in the first chapter, but she was already at the end. And at that moment, everything changed. She looked different. She looked down a lot when we were talking now. She stopped looking me in the eye. We kept talking, but the tenor of her voice was changing. It was tender. Intimate. We both didn’t want this evening to end, but for very different reasons.

So we continued to swing for a while, pretending a giant elephant hadn’t walked into the room and wedged itself right between us. We took our time walking the country mile to my dorm room, which was empty. This was different from the formal lounge. And I noticed it immediately. We just continued to talk, laying on the bed and looking up at the ceiling. Or at the opposite wall, covered with posters of U2 and Michael Jordan. We looked around. Just not at each other. We said things, but our conversations became tired and labored under the weight of unrequited feelings and expectations.

I'm not sure what happened next. But for whatever reason, I left. Not physically, but emotionally. I checked out. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to have the conversation. Not yet. Maybe, not ever. Maybe I was on overload. Whatever the reason, our conversations ground to a halt. And in the midst of the hours of silence, I heard her.

"So…do you think we have a chance?"

“Chance?” I said as if I hadn’t understood the question.

“Yah. You and me.”

I paused for a long time. I wanted to get this right. I wanted to say the words I was looking for in exactly the right way.

"I…I don't know."

I was stunned. The words escaped before I could close my mouth. And for the first time in our brief friendship, neither of us could say anything. The awkwardness was growing exponentially, and began to fill the room until it threatened to choke the life out of us. I desperately wanted to say something that would break the tension. Anything. A joke about southern food. Or maybe some joke about southern names like “Mary Jane” or “Jim Bob”. But my voice failed me. Our voices failed us. And somewhere in the darkness, on that quiet and still night, we broke.

When the tears stopped, she got up off the bed and left my life. We never really talked about that night, or what happened (or why for that matter). The funny thing is that I can't really remember any of our talks, but only that we did talk. And to this day, I'm not sure why I said what I said. Like many of my memories, that night was vivid in places, fuzzy in others. I remember her white, long-sleeved tee shirts that she wore, and the shoulder length brown hair she had. I tell myself that maybe I wasn’t ready. But more truthfully, it was probably that she just wasn’t the right person for me. And somewhere, deep down...inside in the inarticulate part of my soul...I knew it.

She wrote me a 20-page letter later in the summer, but I never replied. It’s not that I didn’t want to. I wrote dozens of drafts full of apologies, explanations and good intentions. But in the end, I couldn't get over the fact that I still felt the same way. And no one wants to write a letter saying that you’re sorry, but you wouldn’t have done anything different. It haunted me the entire summer after my freshman year (and for a while after that). I was bearing the crushing weight of self-imposed guilt…of feeling cruel for not being able to feel the same way she did about me. Of wanting to feel differently and of wanting to be the bandage that bound her brokenness. I eventually wrote her back the following year, but by then, the damage was done and all the apologies in the world couldn't have bridged the chasm that had formed between us. We did reconcile a bit and get closure on the issue, but it was never the same. We lost touch over the years, and eventually, she married a good southern man.

I was genuinely happy for her, but truthfully, I couldn't help but feel a little bit sad also. Though I am sure the seeds were sown long before that night, it forged the first link in a long chain of broken events. And though I don't look back on that night with regret, I do mourn the loss of a dear friend. Sometimes, I wonder why it had to be that way. Why in the affairs of the heart, it is always all or nothing. There is so much I wish I could know. But when I stare up at the vast starry sky, questions in hand, I am often troubled to hear only silence, save for the small consolation of the beating of my own heart.

A Chain of Broken Events (Part 1 of 4)

2005-03-29T16:24:00.000-05:00

2005-03-09T20:26:00.000-05:00

In my dreams, I actually make it to the coffee shop before I get to the office. I walk the extra 3 blocks down Connecticut Avenue, through the bitter cold and biting wind just for coffee. Or, actually yuppie coffee -- a latte. But then I open the doors to the shop, and realize that apparently, 100 people have the same dream. All wanting their half-caff, extra-hot, frappa-mochachinos with extra whip and no foam. Quite frankly, that's too many choices to make at 7:45 in the morning. Latte for me. Hazlenut if I'm feeling especially ornery. And this morning, I'm feeling especially ornery.

Starbucks in the morning is its own bustling metropolis. There are distinct groups of people. The daytimers, who armed with their laptops and wifi access cards, have already scoped out a comfortable sofa chair or seat and dumped what seems like literally all of their belongings on it. They are in it for the long haul. They'll be there when you get your afternoon fix, still typing furiously. The drive-bys are there too, looking at their watches, incessantly peering over the shoulder of the person in front of them as if that person couldn't say the words "grande soy latte" fast enough. They're the aggressive drivers of the bunch. They're late to work because they shaved every possible minute from their morning routine to get more sleep. And they're fixin' to get a cup of extra-shot, hard core coffee. If there were car horns in lines, they'd be laying on them like there was no tomorrow.

Then there are the tourists. People like me that simply don't spend enough of their disposable income at Starbucks to merit an honorary citizenship. People that don't know the lingo. Who know what the heck a Chantico is. Or what the difference is between a Sulawesi and Sanani coffee bean is (don't act like you do either). People that, when they get to the front of the line, go completely blank. I'm the guy you secretly want to kill because I am standing between you and your addiction, tapping his lips in quiet contemplation and saying, "Wait...is the grande the large size or the medium size? Because the sizes are called different things at Caribou." Yes, I love coffee. No, I don't like spending as much as I do for lunch on a cup.

All things being equal (and caffeine drug dependency aside), I drink at least a cup every day. But I just won't spend five bucks every day for it. Really, it's the principal of the matter. Like paying $10,000 to put blinds on the windows of your house. Plantation shutters...whatever.

I confess. I'm not fluent in Starbucks-ese. There's something to be said when a company like Starbucks can affect the way we talk and act around other people. It's only a matter of time before the Oxford English Dictionary has entries for words like frappachino and chantico. And I'm not quite sure I'm comfortable with that.

Oh, and then there was the time that I spilled coffee on my neck...so maybe I'm a bit biased.

Things I Learned in Vegas

2005-02-26T23:44:00.000-05:00

I just left Vegas, and am currently in Birmingham, AL visiting one of my best friends. US Airways (aka "Useless Airways") lost my luggage, so I'm in day-old clothes, waiting for my stuff to get here so I can actually go out for the night to a respectable place. I've been sick on the trip, but haven't been doing much about it, since...well, you can't rest in Vegas. Getting very little sleep and drinking lots of OJ. Lots to say, but for now, here are the top ten things I learned while in Vegas:

1. If you want to spend time to write and gather your thoughts, don't go to Vegas. Vegas is like an ADD child. On speed.

2. Having pocket kings in No-Limit Texas Hold-Em is quite possibly the worst hand ever. Because if you raise (and you will), you're just asking for a bad beat. And that's a $400 lesson to learn (at least for me).

3. Craps is crack. Enough said.

4. "Lucky" boxers are only lucky for one day. After that, they're just dirty.

5. "All you can eat" is not a challenge. You don't really have to eat ALL you can eat...even if the buffet has prime rib and alaskan king crab legs.

6. Each casino's purpose (aside from taking your money) is to mesmerize and confuse you with ringing sounds and bright lights. It's one big, disorienting maze. And if you're not careful, you can find yourself in front of the craps table (see #3).

7. There are no clocks in Vegas. At all. Which makes sense when you consider the fact that everything's 24/7.

8. Just because you can see the hotel in the distance, doesn't mean you can walk there. It's like "Ishtar". You'll never get there.

9. People will wait in line for hours just to get a shot at playing a chicken in tic-tac-toe for $10,000. And no one beats the chicken.

10. It's like the billboard said as I was leaving to go to the airport..."Goodbye from Vegas...for now." It's downright chilling.

Stories and pictures to come...

100 Things About Me

2004-01-01T17:59:00.000-05:00

100 Things About Me

1. I was born in Sacramento, California, but have lived almost my entire life in the D.C. area.

2. I was the rebellious son of the family, and I really didn’t do anything bad (except becoming a lawyer).

3. I’m not a big fan of driving (despite owning a really fun car). If I had a choice between spending an hour in traffic each day or getting pricked with a needle 5 times, there’d be no question about it – I would already be rolling up my sleeves.

4. My first car was a 1980 Toyota Cressida, which my friends and I called, “The Luxury Edition”.

5. I have perfect pitch.

6. I'm not very good at receiving compliments.

7. I always think I can do better...and usually I can.

8. I have one older brother who is an assistant pastor in Grand Rapids, MI.

9. I’m a night person.

10. People think I’m a traitor for moving from Maryland to Virginia.

11. I’ve never changed a baby’s diaper, and I don’t plan on it any time soon.

12. I’m not a big cat person.

13. If I had a cat, I would name him Walter.

14. I don’t drink alcohol, not because of religious reasons but because I am moderately allergic to it.

15. I found that out the hard way.

16. I still believe I can do anything I put my mind to. Except dunk. I couldn’t dunk to save my life.

17. My dad is a nuclear physicist. He’s really smart.

18. My first memory is of me sitting on my mother’s lap being driven to the hospital because I had the croup.

19. College basketball is my favorite sport, although pro football runs a pretty close second.

20. I played foozball for my college team when I was in England.

21. My parents say that I had a dog, although I can’t remember ever having one.

22. I am a registered republican, but have been known to side with democrats on many issues. I am okay with that.

23. Despite having a girlfriend at the time, I never went to my high school prom.

24. I’d rather be the best at one thing than good at a lot of things.

25. I don’t like eating ice cream with a big spoon. And preferably, not metal.

26. Fall is my favorite season.

27. I am so accident-prone, that my orthopedist once suggested that I take Judo to learn how to fall better.

28. I have broken a foot, two toes, three fingers, a hand, a thumb, a shoulder, a rib and a jaw. Not all at the same time.

29. I have been known to have made such large sandwiches that I’ve actually dislocated my jaw trying to eat one.

30. I am not sure if I am proud of the above statement.

31. Coke, not Pepsi.

32. In twenty years, if all goes well, you will find me either in Nantucket, MA, Monterey, CA or a suburb of Washington, D.C.

33. In elementary school, I was part of an “orffestra” that I had to try out for. I played the metallaphone. I have the pictures to prove it.

34. I also played the saxophone when I was in elementary school, but I kept forgetting practice, so I quit.

35. I believe in finishing the job. I once had surgery and then got up off the table and went back to work for 6 more hours so that I could finish a merger agreement.

36. It wasn’t worth it. It never is.

37. I’ve been fired from a firm, and also referred to by a partner at one of the largest consulting firms as, “the smartest person he has ever seen in 30 years.” I hold stock in neither.

38. I’ve learned that what people think of you doesn’t matter. Unless he or she is in charge of hiring/firing you.

39. I received my first bible in second grade from the church that I still go to, and it sits on my bookcase in my house.

40. It was the King James Version, and I couldn’t understand a word of it.

41. Sometimes, when I read it, I still don’t understand it.

42. Once, during my freshman year in college, I talked with a girl for 16 straight hours. I don’t know why we never dated.

43. I analyze things way too much.

44. I learned how to play the guitar by putting it face-up on my lap and pushing the strings down with my fingers like a piano.

45. I’ve played the piano for over 25 years.

46. One of my secret goals in life is to be able to play good lounge music. Or jazz.

47. I am right-handed, but throw left-handed in lacrosse.

48. Me and my best friend invented a game in elementary school that every kid in our class played. It was ruled “too dangerous” by the recess lady, and it was banned.

49. We played it anyways, and were suspended from recess for over a month.

50. I once read 150 books and wrote 150 book reports just to get a free meal at Roy Rogers. It was worth it.

51. I am still bitter that Roy Rogers was bought by McDonalds.

52. The most attractive feature about a woman is her smile. Then her eyes.

53. I taught myself how to juggle at a supermarket with oranges. I also taught myself how to make that annoying water-drop sound by plucking your cheek, outside of a Baskin-Robbins.

54. I once fell off of a 10-meter diving board onto concrete. After a trip to a hospital, I was okay.

55. I’m a sucker for stupid, sappy romance movies. Unless Jennifer Lopez is in them. Then, I hate them.

56. I had a dream once that I would marry a girl named Laura, before I knew anyone with that name.

57. Eight years later, I almost married a girl named Laura.

58. I don’t like being tickled.

59. According to some people, I can get grumpy at times. I don’t know anything about that…

60. I don’t care much for hanging my diplomas and bar admissions in my office. I find it elitist. And I’ve never felt soothed by seeing a diploma from Harvard Law School. I’d rather hang nice pictures.

61. My best friends and I bought houses across the street from each other. I grew up with them and have known both of them, separately and together, for over 15 years.

62. I backpacked alone in Europe for 5 weeks. I was planning on going counter-clockwise, starting in the Netherlands, but the night before, decided to go in the reverse direction. I think it worked out better.

63. I believe puns are the lowest form of humor.

64. I went to math camp in 9th grade. I was supposed to learn a whole year’s worth of math in 3 weeks. I don’t think that I did. But I did meet a girl named Callie. And that made the whole camp worth it.

65. I am by far, my harshest critic.

66. I didn’t wear jeans until my senior year in college.

67. When I have something that has to get done, I will work tirelessly to finish it. But if I have nothing to do, I will sit like a big shmoo on the couch.

68. I never had braces, but I do wear contacts.

69. I have been the victim of racial discrimination.

70. One of my hobbies is working with sugar and chocolate. I have the burns to prove it.

71. I am always on time.

72. I have always liked the strawberry Starburst more than the cherry one, although the cherry one is starting to get to me.

73. I missed a penalty kick in a shootout to send my college soccer team to the championship. I still think about it sometimes.

74. I make excellent 3-minute impressions. It’s the 3-year ones I’m working on.

75. My average dating relationship between high school and the end of law school was a little over 2 years. The average dating relationship after law school was 3 months. I attribute that to growing older.

76. I was unemployed for almost 2 years. I called it “retirement”, and spent much of it learning new things…like carpentry.

77. I have a soft spot for Good Humor strawberry shortcake ice cream bars, even if they are completely artificial.

78. I have more regrets about things I didn’t do, than things I did do.

79. I hate marshmallow peeps. With a passion.

80. I am not impulsive. I often wish I were.

81. I did, however, buy my house on a whim. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

82. I prefer cold weather to hot.

83. I am not very good at letting people help me.

84. I do not believe in luck. I do, however, believe in providence.

85. My friends refer to my love life as, “As the Blee Turns”. They often ask me if it’s coming back for an encore season. Each year, I tell them no. Every year it does come back, replete with crazy plot twists and cliffhanger endings.

86. I don’t tell people that I love them until I absolutely, unequivocally mean it.

87. I regret not saying, “I love you” enough.

88. Though a Redskins fan, when I was really young, I used to root for the Dallas Cowboys. I don’t tell anyone that.

89. I have trouble forgiving myself.

90. My favorite color is blue (but it used to be green).

91. I always try to set really high goals for myself. If I achieve one, I sometimes think it means I didn’t set it high enough.

92. I used to think that good conversations…really good conversations only happened after midnight.

93. I am like a mecca for mosquitoes. Mosquitoes come from all over the world just to get a chance at biting me when I run to get the mail. They’ve heard stories. Legendary stories of a man with sweet blood like nectar from the gods.

94. I got into so many accidents as a child that I actually believed that the devil was trying to kill me.

95. I once earned a free night’s lodging after singing “American Pie” in a hostel bar in Salzburg, Austria.

96. When I was in 9th grade, I went to a breakfast sponsored by our church, because they served bacon.

97. I passed the bar in Maryland, Virginia and D.C. However, that doesn’t seem to be getting me a job I actually enjoy.

98. If I could do anything, I would play music and write.

99. I have stronger opinions than I think.

100. Contrary to what people might think, I am not afraid of commitment. Just ask my wife.