A few life reminders from the past week:
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
D on't burn bridges.
(You never know when you're going to need someone... and you certainly never know when you're going to need everyone.)
A ttitude is everything.
(It's never hard to say "poor me." But it's also no magic trick to say "I have been blessed with hundreds of beautiful friends, 1000s of caring supporters, and a strong and inspiring family." Half the glass has water in it... the choice is always yours and yours alone.)
V alue stability.
(My senior year of high school, I told my parents I feel spoiled. Because of their hardwork, I live in a gorgeous suburb, have a car I didn't pay for, I'm not worried about college and two parents that have stayed married for 25 years. They told me everyone gets a turn to carry heavy baggage and that, in the meantime, you stock up your principles, treasure your friends and take your vitamins. Now, my Dad takes it easy on the stairs and I stick myself 4 times a day. Don't be sorry. Life happens, and it's beautiful. If it hasn't happened to you yet, don't feel guilty. It will. And when it does... you can call me.)
I nternet rocks.
(Within a week of my sister's email... 1000s of people got word about Dad. We have a website, and the NFT is about to hook up with Paypal for the first time ever. Nothing has taken a greater stride in making our world smaller since the printing press. And gravity. Gravity rocks, too.)
D ie proud.
(Dave Matthews sings "everyday should be a good day to die." I think it is so long as you dedicate your life to making the world a bit better and inspire others to do the same. My father has done this as hundreds of donators will testify. And if he died tomorrow, we will know we did everything we could so he could keep giving back. May we all be so rich as you, Dad.
That said, you're not going anywhere soon. I'll call you tomorrow during the game.
-30-
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Our Father
Dear Friends,
Our dad, David Rubenstein, is 52-years-old. If things continue as they are, he most likely will not see 55. He has systemic scleroderma, a rare autoimmune disease that causes the skin, lungs, and other connective tissues in his body to harden. His lung capacity is 45% and falling.
Until 3 years ago, other patients with advanced systemic scleroderma had all passed away. Now, doctors have learned to use patients' own bone marrow cells to reverse damage and extend their lives. Our dad is scheduled for a bone marrow transplant this coming November.
Our health insurance company has denied coverage for the transplant needed to save his life, considering it is experimental. In order to have the transplant, our family must pay $90,000 to the hospital beforehand and an additional sum of about $50,000 for other expenses related to the transplant and follow-up care. If we do not raise the money, he will lose the appointment, and we lose our Dad.
Fortunately for us, the National Foundation for Transplants (NFT) was founded 23 years ago. The NFT is a non-profit organization, which assists transplant patients directly with advocacy and financial support. All of the money donated to the NFT goes directly to pay for transplant-recipient's care.
Here is where you come in. If you would like to get involved, please let us know and we will keep you on an e-mail list to get updates on any fundraisers we have going, and if/when we need any positions filled.
If you, or anyone you know, would like to make a direct donation, here's how:
1) WRITE A CHECK, payable to "Nat'l Foundation for Transplants," memo
line: "MA Bone Marrow Fund." Send to:
HELP DAVID
National Foundation for Transplants
MA Bone Marrow Fund
P.O. Box 5611
Marlboro, MA 01752
2) PAY BY PHONE. Call the NFT toll-free at 800-489-3863 and specify your credit-card donation is for David Rubenstein's Massachusetts Bone Marrow Fund.
3) NFT is working on setting up a PayPal account specifically for our dad's funds. I will send out an update when that goes into effect.
Every dollar counts! If we manage to overshoot our goal, excess donations will go into the NFT's general fund to help more patients afford this life-saving procedure. Whether you donate or not, please forward this e-mail to all YOUR friends, families, and co-workers. Dollars only come in when the word goes out.
Thank you all for your help and friendship. It means the world to our family the love and support we've been given through this process.
Sincerely,
Jayme & Emily Rubenstein
Our dad, David Rubenstein, is 52-years-old. If things continue as they are, he most likely will not see 55. He has systemic scleroderma, a rare autoimmune disease that causes the skin, lungs, and other connective tissues in his body to harden. His lung capacity is 45% and falling.
Until 3 years ago, other patients with advanced systemic scleroderma had all passed away. Now, doctors have learned to use patients' own bone marrow cells to reverse damage and extend their lives. Our dad is scheduled for a bone marrow transplant this coming November.
Our health insurance company has denied coverage for the transplant needed to save his life, considering it is experimental. In order to have the transplant, our family must pay $90,000 to the hospital beforehand and an additional sum of about $50,000 for other expenses related to the transplant and follow-up care. If we do not raise the money, he will lose the appointment, and we lose our Dad.
Fortunately for us, the National Foundation for Transplants (NFT) was founded 23 years ago. The NFT is a non-profit organization, which assists transplant patients directly with advocacy and financial support. All of the money donated to the NFT goes directly to pay for transplant-recipient's care.
Here is where you come in. If you would like to get involved, please let us know and we will keep you on an e-mail list to get updates on any fundraisers we have going, and if/when we need any positions filled.
If you, or anyone you know, would like to make a direct donation, here's how:
1) WRITE A CHECK, payable to "Nat'l Foundation for Transplants," memo
line: "MA Bone Marrow Fund." Send to:
HELP DAVID
National Foundation for Transplants
MA Bone Marrow Fund
P.O. Box 5611
Marlboro, MA 01752
2) PAY BY PHONE. Call the NFT toll-free at 800-489-3863 and specify your credit-card donation is for David Rubenstein's Massachusetts Bone Marrow Fund.
3) NFT is working on setting up a PayPal account specifically for our dad's funds. I will send out an update when that goes into effect.
Every dollar counts! If we manage to overshoot our goal, excess donations will go into the NFT's general fund to help more patients afford this life-saving procedure. Whether you donate or not, please forward this e-mail to all YOUR friends, families, and co-workers. Dollars only come in when the word goes out.
Thank you all for your help and friendship. It means the world to our family the love and support we've been given through this process.
Sincerely,
Jayme & Emily Rubenstein
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Pride.
Pride cannot be taken.
You, alone, can keep it... surrender it... and reobtain it. No one else.
We can all benefit from reminding ourselves that, especially my brothers and sisters of the Pride of the Orange... my beloved Syracuse University Marching Band which took a shot across it's bow this week from our ever-ignorant and apathetic student newspaper. This was printed in the Daily Orange on Wednesday, Sept 13:
------------------------------------------
Anyone at the Dome last Saturday knows the play calling was terrible and the execution was worse. When it was all over, I was actually glad to see the football team come back on to the field.
That's right, I'm talking about the Syracuse University Marching Band, the so-called "Pride of the Orange." Let's not kid around, bandies: the pride of the Orange is Baton Girl, and you are like so many Kevin Federlines to her Britney. Now take out your stupid-looking cornrows and go back to fathering this nation's next generation of hyper-sexual teen stars.
In actuality, the best teams to take the field for SU this fall are the field hockey and men's soccer squads, both at 3-2. Though the men's cross-country team has picked up two first places so far, I don't count them. "Run through the woods" is not a sport, it is step number one in "how to escape a bear."
Meanwhile, the marching band has yet to even compete, giving them a grand total of zero wins for this year. Thanks for bringing such marvelous accolades to our proud alma mater, guys.
Tom Dilella, an undeclared freshman and tuba-playing marcher, said he is not even sure when the band's first competition will be, but the SUMB is "going up to Toronto for something."
I'm guessing that's either a pot-smoking convention or a seminar called "How to get away with using other students' tuition to buy ridiculous outfits and still refuse to play the 'Hey Song.'"
(In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit I was in my high school marching band; I even met my fiancée there. But I only joined to see if band camp was really the bastion of rampant sexcapades that "American Pie" made it out to be. It turns out my band camp was more along the lines of a Kmart sweat shop-I played first sewing machine. Most of us lived.)
As for this year's halftime show, Dilella described the set this way: "We got 'Dancin' Men,' 'Mercy Mercy Mercy' and 'Channel One Sweet.'"
Is it just me, or does that sound like the primetime lineup of a gay porn channel? Why don't we just replace the color guard with Chippendales?
There must be better amusements we could feature during halftimes. I like it when stadiums bring out the Average Joe and let him try to kick a field goal for $10,000, because of how funny is it when he misses! Oh man, and you just know he's got late car payments, too. You can't buy that kind of entertainment.
Here's a thought: we could just have the Orange play a quick game against a local high school, thus giving the fans a chance to finally see a victory by their hometown team. You know, one way or the other.
Seriously, anything would be better than watching a bunch of horn-blowers march around in indistinguishable formations. At least Ohio State University's band does that cool thing where they spell out "Ohio" in cursive. Why can't our band take it to the next level and spell out "Hey visiting fans, we slashed your tires-have fun getting back to Iowa"?
Despite torturing the crowds with their usual, tired routines, the marchers sure give themselves a lot of credit.
"We feel like we have some part in contributing to the (football) team's effort," Dilella said.
Oh really? Thanks a lot SUMB, that's working like gangbusters. Keep it up and we might just make it to 0-12.//
Seamus O'Connor actually played tenor saxophone, most pimpin' of all instruments. Email him at sroconno@syr.edu.
-------------------------------------------------
This caused quite a predictable stir among band members young and old... so far, two ALUMNAE have had letters to the editor published, and at least one more is on it's way.
I wrote a letter to the editor of my high school paper once after a scathing review of my senior One-Act Play Festival which admittedly lasted about 46 days. I felt the article undermined all the hard work we'd put into that production and gave the impression that no one enjoyed it. I wouldn't write that letter again, because I realize that anyone who saw the show knows what they thought of it... anyone who participated knows what it meant to contribute to it... and that article was one man's opinion, printed-- sure. But still just one.
While I compliment an ex-drum major and ex-uh... "formations coordinator" (I guess?) on well-written responses (and they were), I invite all you guys to simply let it pass. If you embrace college as a great place to refine your personality (drunken tirades excluded) take Seamus's article as an exercise in something I call "ignoring stupid people."
Responses will fall mainly on deaf ears... the student body you're trying to convince that the Pride guards our university's traditions either already knows that or doesn't give a shit. Your response won't change that... but don't worry... neither did O'Connor. In fact, I'll guess that 99% of the people who read more than half his article are band kids... and maybe their roommates.
"Seamus O'Connor"s are going to follow you the rest of your life. He will be your co-worker, your brother-in-law, a politicial opponent, the drunk who's hitting on your girlfriend, your child's teacher... learn to ignore him now. Take the energy you'd need to set him straight and invest it in fortifying your pride in what you KNOW you've achieved.
No one can take that Pride away from you.
You, alone, can keep it... surrender it... and reobtain it. No one else.
We can all benefit from reminding ourselves that, especially my brothers and sisters of the Pride of the Orange... my beloved Syracuse University Marching Band which took a shot across it's bow this week from our ever-ignorant and apathetic student newspaper. This was printed in the Daily Orange on Wednesday, Sept 13:
------------------------------------------
Anyone at the Dome last Saturday knows the play calling was terrible and the execution was worse. When it was all over, I was actually glad to see the football team come back on to the field.
That's right, I'm talking about the Syracuse University Marching Band, the so-called "Pride of the Orange." Let's not kid around, bandies: the pride of the Orange is Baton Girl, and you are like so many Kevin Federlines to her Britney. Now take out your stupid-looking cornrows and go back to fathering this nation's next generation of hyper-sexual teen stars.
In actuality, the best teams to take the field for SU this fall are the field hockey and men's soccer squads, both at 3-2. Though the men's cross-country team has picked up two first places so far, I don't count them. "Run through the woods" is not a sport, it is step number one in "how to escape a bear."
Meanwhile, the marching band has yet to even compete, giving them a grand total of zero wins for this year. Thanks for bringing such marvelous accolades to our proud alma mater, guys.
Tom Dilella, an undeclared freshman and tuba-playing marcher, said he is not even sure when the band's first competition will be, but the SUMB is "going up to Toronto for something."
I'm guessing that's either a pot-smoking convention or a seminar called "How to get away with using other students' tuition to buy ridiculous outfits and still refuse to play the 'Hey Song.'"
(In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit I was in my high school marching band; I even met my fiancée there. But I only joined to see if band camp was really the bastion of rampant sexcapades that "American Pie" made it out to be. It turns out my band camp was more along the lines of a Kmart sweat shop-I played first sewing machine. Most of us lived.)
As for this year's halftime show, Dilella described the set this way: "We got 'Dancin' Men,' 'Mercy Mercy Mercy' and 'Channel One Sweet.'"
Is it just me, or does that sound like the primetime lineup of a gay porn channel? Why don't we just replace the color guard with Chippendales?
There must be better amusements we could feature during halftimes. I like it when stadiums bring out the Average Joe and let him try to kick a field goal for $10,000, because of how funny is it when he misses! Oh man, and you just know he's got late car payments, too. You can't buy that kind of entertainment.
Here's a thought: we could just have the Orange play a quick game against a local high school, thus giving the fans a chance to finally see a victory by their hometown team. You know, one way or the other.
Seriously, anything would be better than watching a bunch of horn-blowers march around in indistinguishable formations. At least Ohio State University's band does that cool thing where they spell out "Ohio" in cursive. Why can't our band take it to the next level and spell out "Hey visiting fans, we slashed your tires-have fun getting back to Iowa"?
Despite torturing the crowds with their usual, tired routines, the marchers sure give themselves a lot of credit.
"We feel like we have some part in contributing to the (football) team's effort," Dilella said.
Oh really? Thanks a lot SUMB, that's working like gangbusters. Keep it up and we might just make it to 0-12.//
Seamus O'Connor actually played tenor saxophone, most pimpin' of all instruments. Email him at sroconno@syr.edu.
-------------------------------------------------
This caused quite a predictable stir among band members young and old... so far, two ALUMNAE have had letters to the editor published, and at least one more is on it's way.
I wrote a letter to the editor of my high school paper once after a scathing review of my senior One-Act Play Festival which admittedly lasted about 46 days. I felt the article undermined all the hard work we'd put into that production and gave the impression that no one enjoyed it. I wouldn't write that letter again, because I realize that anyone who saw the show knows what they thought of it... anyone who participated knows what it meant to contribute to it... and that article was one man's opinion, printed-- sure. But still just one.
While I compliment an ex-drum major and ex-uh... "formations coordinator" (I guess?) on well-written responses (and they were), I invite all you guys to simply let it pass. If you embrace college as a great place to refine your personality (drunken tirades excluded) take Seamus's article as an exercise in something I call "ignoring stupid people."
Responses will fall mainly on deaf ears... the student body you're trying to convince that the Pride guards our university's traditions either already knows that or doesn't give a shit. Your response won't change that... but don't worry... neither did O'Connor. In fact, I'll guess that 99% of the people who read more than half his article are band kids... and maybe their roommates.
"Seamus O'Connor"s are going to follow you the rest of your life. He will be your co-worker, your brother-in-law, a politicial opponent, the drunk who's hitting on your girlfriend, your child's teacher... learn to ignore him now. Take the energy you'd need to set him straight and invest it in fortifying your pride in what you KNOW you've achieved.
No one can take that Pride away from you.
Monday, September 11, 2006
September 11th, 2006
The thing that hits me on September 11th is that we Americans have the luxury of focusing on "September 11th." We'll ask ourselves, our relatives and co-workers if we feel safer or not 5 years after the Wake-Up Call. We seem to seldom stop and appreciate the fact that mile-high plumes of toxic dust are not more common in our metro-skylines.
What date do you think they'll pick in Iraq or Afghanistan or Lebanon or Israel? Is there one day to reflect on decades/centuries of mass distruction? The loss of countless mosques? Temples? Churches? Schools? Media centers? Pivotal infrastructure? Homes? Lives? What date have the Kashmiris designated to reflect on the result of hatred? The Sudanese? The Irish? The Chechnyans?
12/21/88, 9/11/01, 3/11/04, 7/7/05... Americans, Spaniards, Brits & Scots remember these dates because we can. Because fortunately we don't have many to choose from. Why is that? Because the terrorists choose not to hit us yet or because our governments don't let them? I don't know... and if you're reading my blog, chances are you don't either. But I do know I have nothing to do with our anti-terror successes or failures. I was just lucky enough to be born in a country that needs to dig back more than a week to list five incidents of mass-causality within 2,000 miles of my brand-new adobe condominium.
"...this kind of life makes that violence unthinkable..."
Now I'm all for asking our government to try protecting us. If it doesn't... why have government at all? But I fear Americans expect too much protection in this itty, bitty world of ours. Politicians are afraid to admit vulnerability... and who can blame them? The public is too afraid to hear it. (A vicious cycle, greased by the one renewable energy source this country uses regularly: Fear). And so we wrap ourselves in a caccoon of fear, saying over and over that this War On Terror can be won and evil be no more... spoken like a real 230-year-old country, if you ask me.
If the idea of worldwide extremism bothers you, here's your options, as I see them:
a) Join an Intelligence Agency
b) Leave protection to those who have, and just live each day like you'd be proud to make it your last
c) Sit at home worrying about something you know little about and have no control over
d) Kill yourself, start over. Play the odds that any parallel universe possesses less hate than this one
a) has tempted me in the past. But I'll stick with b). At least for now.
And I'll stop for a second today and reflect on how lucky I am to live where I do, when I do. If my timing had been different, I could have died in Tower One, or the Oklahoma City Federal Building, or Baghdad, Beirut, above Lockerbie, in Saigon, East Berlin, or a host of other hate-filled time-spaces. But I didn't... so I better not waste my lucky oxygen.
I try to think about that for a few seconds EVERYday.
After all, September 11th, 2006 is just another day.
What date do you think they'll pick in Iraq or Afghanistan or Lebanon or Israel? Is there one day to reflect on decades/centuries of mass distruction? The loss of countless mosques? Temples? Churches? Schools? Media centers? Pivotal infrastructure? Homes? Lives? What date have the Kashmiris designated to reflect on the result of hatred? The Sudanese? The Irish? The Chechnyans?
12/21/88, 9/11/01, 3/11/04, 7/7/05... Americans, Spaniards, Brits & Scots remember these dates because we can. Because fortunately we don't have many to choose from. Why is that? Because the terrorists choose not to hit us yet or because our governments don't let them? I don't know... and if you're reading my blog, chances are you don't either. But I do know I have nothing to do with our anti-terror successes or failures. I was just lucky enough to be born in a country that needs to dig back more than a week to list five incidents of mass-causality within 2,000 miles of my brand-new adobe condominium.
"...this kind of life makes that violence unthinkable..."
Now I'm all for asking our government to try protecting us. If it doesn't... why have government at all? But I fear Americans expect too much protection in this itty, bitty world of ours. Politicians are afraid to admit vulnerability... and who can blame them? The public is too afraid to hear it. (A vicious cycle, greased by the one renewable energy source this country uses regularly: Fear). And so we wrap ourselves in a caccoon of fear, saying over and over that this War On Terror can be won and evil be no more... spoken like a real 230-year-old country, if you ask me.
If the idea of worldwide extremism bothers you, here's your options, as I see them:
a) Join an Intelligence Agency
b) Leave protection to those who have, and just live each day like you'd be proud to make it your last
c) Sit at home worrying about something you know little about and have no control over
d) Kill yourself, start over. Play the odds that any parallel universe possesses less hate than this one
a) has tempted me in the past. But I'll stick with b). At least for now.
And I'll stop for a second today and reflect on how lucky I am to live where I do, when I do. If my timing had been different, I could have died in Tower One, or the Oklahoma City Federal Building, or Baghdad, Beirut, above Lockerbie, in Saigon, East Berlin, or a host of other hate-filled time-spaces. But I didn't... so I better not waste my lucky oxygen.
I try to think about that for a few seconds EVERYday.
After all, September 11th, 2006 is just another day.
Thursday, September 7, 2006
Love That Dirty Watah
Spent the last 2 days bumming around Boston.
First thing I did was let a nice lady drain 3 vials of blood out of my arm (welcome home!)
Then, I walked from Joslin Clinic (near Longwood Station) all the way to the church in front of the Hancock. It was the best 3 miles I've walked in ages. Listening to the sirens, the car horns, the random pieces of intellectual discourse as I strolled past a dozen universities, the smell of 102% humidity mixed with wafts of curry, teriyaki and Burger King fries, and all the relaxing feelings that stem from both knowing you're home and NOT knowing exactly where you are. As I was walking along the pool in front of the First Church of Christ, Scientist... I saw a 70+ year-old man walking up one step, right on the side of the pool. Just like any 6-year-old would do. Just like I was doing when I saw him. I jumped down to let him pass. He smiled at me and strolled on. I thought two things at that moment, as I jumped back up to the side of the pool: (a) I'm so happy right now, I feel like I'm in a remade music video for Dave's "Everyday" and (b) it's nice to see proof that you never get too old to balance on the side of a pool just for shits.
The proverbial finish line to my stroll down Memory Lane was Anthony Richard Ring. For anyone who knows him, you are also striken with how appropriate this is. Dinger is the quintessential Bostonian. If I had my way, he would be digitally imposed somewhere in the background in Good Will Hunting, Mystic River, Celtic Pride, and Blown Away (did you know that was set here, too?) Anthony and I sharpened our small-talk skills en route to Whiskey's w/ Jim & BH. Heading to a bar with these 3 was a step back in time. But if that's not all, Whiskey's ended up being 5 of my friends from SU, 5 from HIGH school and a truckload of 10-cent wings. (p.s. Lynn, seeing you was an utter surprise and one of the most pleasant of my entire trip... and the fact that you backed me up when I made my most brazenly offensive comment of the evening, I feel like we've come full circle. I always think of you while planning my next holiday away message. Seriously, you're awesome and we should chat more often).
Random surprises proved to be my Homecoming Theme.
On Monday, I'm visiting my sister in Waltham and walking down an aisle in CVS when I run smack into Andrew Pollard... a dear friend from middle school I haven't seen in about 2 years. He had no idea I was home; I had no idea he was still in Waltham.
Back to Tuesday, I ran into Pat Gillooly, a dear friend and fellow journalist who directed my senior play in which I babysat a bunch of mentally challenged individuals. It remains my favorite work, tied with playing Nikhil's father that same year.
I also ran into Casey, our recently departed intern (yes, in EL PASO). He goes to BU... and apparently to karaoke bars on Tuesday nights.
My fifth surprise came last night at Fenway. Fly ball. Deep right. Trot Nixon goes back to grab it at the wall. I stand up. My dear friend from high school, Vicky recognizes me from 10 rows back. So we spent 2 innings catching up; I met the lucky boy. To make this encounter even more special, she's also taking a week off from San Diego. Crazy, crazy odds...
(by the way, I did hold my father's hand when I walked out of the tunnel. And in Waltham, Emmy and I played Dr. Mario, Kirby's Dream Golf and rummy-500 while downing Oreos for 3 hours... Vacation: Complete.)
And the stars keep lining up... Lil Bro 1.0 has a big interview in Boston today so we'll be doing dinner. So I've seen both Little Brothers & Emmy this past month... I guess that puts Jennifer & Vito on-deck. Can't wait, you two...
If you don't know any names I've mentioned (except maybe Casey's)... it means I haven't seen you in a week. I miss you all, I miss normal humidity, I miss anything spicer than BBQ sauce. I do not, however, miss "Hips Don't Lie." I've heard it 4 times this week... why does all of America love that damn song?
Two more days before the 8 becomes a 5 again...
Peath Out,
JaRube
First thing I did was let a nice lady drain 3 vials of blood out of my arm (welcome home!)
Then, I walked from Joslin Clinic (near Longwood Station) all the way to the church in front of the Hancock. It was the best 3 miles I've walked in ages. Listening to the sirens, the car horns, the random pieces of intellectual discourse as I strolled past a dozen universities, the smell of 102% humidity mixed with wafts of curry, teriyaki and Burger King fries, and all the relaxing feelings that stem from both knowing you're home and NOT knowing exactly where you are. As I was walking along the pool in front of the First Church of Christ, Scientist... I saw a 70+ year-old man walking up one step, right on the side of the pool. Just like any 6-year-old would do. Just like I was doing when I saw him. I jumped down to let him pass. He smiled at me and strolled on. I thought two things at that moment, as I jumped back up to the side of the pool: (a) I'm so happy right now, I feel like I'm in a remade music video for Dave's "Everyday" and (b) it's nice to see proof that you never get too old to balance on the side of a pool just for shits.
The proverbial finish line to my stroll down Memory Lane was Anthony Richard Ring. For anyone who knows him, you are also striken with how appropriate this is. Dinger is the quintessential Bostonian. If I had my way, he would be digitally imposed somewhere in the background in Good Will Hunting, Mystic River, Celtic Pride, and Blown Away (did you know that was set here, too?) Anthony and I sharpened our small-talk skills en route to Whiskey's w/ Jim & BH. Heading to a bar with these 3 was a step back in time. But if that's not all, Whiskey's ended up being 5 of my friends from SU, 5 from HIGH school and a truckload of 10-cent wings. (p.s. Lynn, seeing you was an utter surprise and one of the most pleasant of my entire trip... and the fact that you backed me up when I made my most brazenly offensive comment of the evening, I feel like we've come full circle. I always think of you while planning my next holiday away message. Seriously, you're awesome and we should chat more often).
Random surprises proved to be my Homecoming Theme.
On Monday, I'm visiting my sister in Waltham and walking down an aisle in CVS when I run smack into Andrew Pollard... a dear friend from middle school I haven't seen in about 2 years. He had no idea I was home; I had no idea he was still in Waltham.
Back to Tuesday, I ran into Pat Gillooly, a dear friend and fellow journalist who directed my senior play in which I babysat a bunch of mentally challenged individuals. It remains my favorite work, tied with playing Nikhil's father that same year.
I also ran into Casey, our recently departed intern (yes, in EL PASO). He goes to BU... and apparently to karaoke bars on Tuesday nights.
My fifth surprise came last night at Fenway. Fly ball. Deep right. Trot Nixon goes back to grab it at the wall. I stand up. My dear friend from high school, Vicky recognizes me from 10 rows back. So we spent 2 innings catching up; I met the lucky boy. To make this encounter even more special, she's also taking a week off from San Diego. Crazy, crazy odds...
(by the way, I did hold my father's hand when I walked out of the tunnel. And in Waltham, Emmy and I played Dr. Mario, Kirby's Dream Golf and rummy-500 while downing Oreos for 3 hours... Vacation: Complete.)
And the stars keep lining up... Lil Bro 1.0 has a big interview in Boston today so we'll be doing dinner. So I've seen both Little Brothers & Emmy this past month... I guess that puts Jennifer & Vito on-deck. Can't wait, you two...
If you don't know any names I've mentioned (except maybe Casey's)... it means I haven't seen you in a week. I miss you all, I miss normal humidity, I miss anything spicer than BBQ sauce. I do not, however, miss "Hips Don't Lie." I've heard it 4 times this week... why does all of America love that damn song?
Two more days before the 8 becomes a 5 again...
Peath Out,
JaRube
Monday, September 4, 2006
My Life Soundtrack
My Anthem: "Take It Easy," The Eagles
Time to Face The Day: "1 Angry Dwarf & 200 Solemn Faces," Ben Folds
My Pastime: "Centerfield," John Fogerty
Song for My Friends I: "Don't Stop Believing," Journey
Back to Middle School I: "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Nirvana
Back to Middle School II: "Bad Habit," The Offspring
Song for Him/Her: "Waste," Smashmouth
My Favorite Place I: "Dirty Water," The Standells
Favorite TV Show: "I'll Be There For You," The Rembrandts
Party Time I: "Seniorita," Justin Timberlake
Party Time II: "Pour Some Sugar On Me," Def Leppard
Song for My Friends II: "Take Me Out," Franz Ferdinand
Back to High School I: "Free Bird," Lynyrd Skynyrd
Back to High School II: "In The Car," Barenaked Ladies
Back to High School III: "San Dimas HS Football Rules," The Ataris
Song for Him/Her: "Blinded," Third Eye Blind
My Favorite Place II: "Lights," Journey
Back to College I: "One Shining Moment," Luther Vandross
Back to College II: "Died In Your Arms Tonight," Cutting Crew
Back to College III: "The General," Dispatch
Favorite Weather/Time of Year: "Boys Of Summer," Don Henley
Time to Be Alone: "Dock of the Bay," Otis Redding
My World View: "Lie In Our Graves," Dave Matthews Band
Song for My Friends III: "Sweet Caroline," Neil Diamond
Song for The Fam: "Peanut Butter Jelly Time," Buckwheat Boys
Song for Secret Him/Her: "Closing Time," Tom Waits
Looking Ahead: "Turn The Page," Bob Seger
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