Life.  There is nothing like waking up from another performance anxiety dream to really kick off another week of anticipated redundancy.  It’s not a bad thing.  Frankly, it’s similar to Groundhog’s Day, that Bill Murray gem from 1993.  Every Monday, I get to start my progression over, and the effort lies with trying to make it that much better.

The weekend was kicked off with an improv show that went phenomenally well, and it ended with a full stomach; you cannot complain about that sandwich of optimism.   Saturday, new kicks were purchased, and–due to my love of them–it comes with a surprise they have not been worn to bed, in bed.  They’ve gotten more compliments than not, so such a spontaneous purchase was worth it.  The Syracuse University win was an absolute delight, and the night when the Orange juiced the Blue Devils created such a wave of positive exhaustion, which has not since receded.  There is another big game tonight, and it’s against Notre Dame Fighting Irish.  Hopefully, we can prevent Notre Dame from having a luck-of-the-Irish upset over our potentially first-ranked Orange.

Death.  It struck in the family/friend circle last week and in the world of entertainment yesterday.  A loss to my mom’s side of the family:  my uncle’s mother-in-law, an outstanding and selfless woman who lived life to the fullest.  This side of the family, true Europeans at heart and Americans by birth, the quasi-related woman was always held in high regard by my immediate family as part of the family.  A wake was held yesterday, and the service was today.

Philip Seymour Hoffman, a fellow upstate New Yorker and in my top favorite actors–he’s right at the top–met an unfortunate death.  Tears were actually brought to my eyes when I received the text yesterday from Paul, thinking it was a joke.  I kept my distress in until I got to my car;  the message was received at my friend’s kid’s birthday party.

People complain on Facebook that people post their feeling sorry when someone famous meets an untimely death–those complainers lash out with stating that us common folk never knew these people, and it’s ridiculous to express our sympathy.  I find that unsympathetic backlash on their ends as ridiculous.

Sure, I had no true connection with Nelson Mandela, but why would anyone feel disgust with me for expressing sympathy with this man’s passing?  He really was one heck of an influential person, and his legacy will definitely live on.

No one (should) wishes death upon anyone, and PSH’s unfortunate demise should be taken as an example.  Yes, it was another drug-related death.  PSH relapsed, and he kept it hidden very well; and drugs abuse is something that should constantly be stressed. Some may feel stressing the issue as ineffective or redundant, but ignoring it is possibly worse.  This actor’s relapse will be used as an example by the media.

I’m simply happy that the media I have seen has only been generated with shock and sympathy.  He truly was a fantastic actor, and he’s going to be greatly missed.

Life continues.  With this weekend, more personality was developed.  Let’s put the designated pieces of paper in a hat, and shake them up.


A conversation starter.


After attending Joe’s son’s first birthday, after reading Amy’s Silver Lining’s post this morning, and after my being reminded of this adorable little guy in the coffee shop today (he’s got quite the laugh), it’s easy to admit–despite being thoroughly single–that I definitely envision myself being a father.  It’s not going to happen soon, but it’s anticipated.  For the first time, I bought a birthday card for a one-year-old by myself.  There was a smile on my face while deciding on a card and gift card to pick out (actual gifts are difficult for me to choose, so I’ll let Joe put the card to good use).

Finally, I ate at Twin Trees 57.  It’s almost as good as the original and Too, but this goes along with familiarity and preference; it’s hard to compete with the original of anything.  Joe’s son, his name is purposely left out, is such a happy and adorable little guy.  Months ago, at the beginning of the football season, he was crawling around our friend’s house, never acting out and crying; he’s a great little guy, but it’s obvious that all kids are not the same.

Yesterday, the little dude was still as incredibly behaved.  It was pretty obvious that he recognized me, which is reassuring, and he was cool with me hanging out with him at the table while Dad was taking care of the guests.  We talked about birthdays and food–the standard.  Ladies, watch out for this guy; his baby blues are definitively baby blues.  The chewing of his birthday hat was replaced with a piece of cucumber, which I took the skin off for him; he entertained eating it, and there is uncertainty on whether he truly enjoyed it.


After the SU game, I scurried over to help a new friend celebrate his 31st birthday; I’m glad he took the fall before I did–y’know to buffer it out.  He’s doing well, and I wouldn’t expect less.  Regardless to where we celebrated, he was in good company.  His card is still in my possession, because people need to get their gifts on their birthday.  I’m kidding of course, but I still–unfortunately–have his card.

Happy Birthday, Frank!  I promise I will get you your card sooner than later.  I’ll just drop it off, and leave it at Danielle’s.


The conversation between a guy and his much younger friend after the improv show allows one to realize how far one has traveled.  This first young man justifiably outstanding of a person as he is a musician.  When I first met him, I found it equally hard to believe that he was 21 and that I was almost 31.

This chapter of Greg’s is just starting off, and it ends nine years later.  He seems to be off to a great start, and he best keep that momentum going, and he better not hesitate.  Roll into those mistakes that await and come out standing.


The two girls attempted five selfies, before subjecting themselves to the old method of a selfie, looking into the back of the camera to take a shot.  One I recognized from a coffee shop, and I shared my table and outlet for the sake of kindness.  The other:  I recognized her from last year’s eHarmony stint, a girl never contacted due to simply seeing her out and about all the time.  My suggestion to them was a simply inquiry, asking if they wanted me to take a picture with their phone.

The latter stopped, looked at me and half rolling her eyes, telling me that they were good.

Happy SU game halftime.  Pretentiousness.

Later in the evening, they were accompanied by drunkards, one of which kept leaning back into me, stepping on my new orange Chucks.  I didn’t say anything to him, but rolled my eyes at him after he turned around after backing into me for the nth time–no apology issued, but a Hey…Oh… instead.  Those are the girls types of  guys?  Luckily, I don’t fit in.

Some people find themselves between a rock and a hard place.  I was between a booth partition and a [censored].


The dirty blonde with the hipster glasses.  The extremely cute brunette talking to our group of friends.  My shyness:  my bane.


The Super Bowl spread, minus the delicious chowder my brother made and the copious snacks Meg and Tara brought :




Results of Syracuse University beating Duke:

  • Lost voice
  • Elation that was cranked to Notch 11
  • Pride
  • Confidence
  • A wave of optimism to carry many through the weekend
  • Super Bowl?  What Super Bowl?  The game of the weekend goes to game between two college greats, regardless who won
  • Exhaustion that was cranked to Notch 11, and that was finally resolved Monday morning


Putting aside drama for what’s important.  (Those who know, know.  This touches upon many aspects.)


  3:12 (P.M):  An arrival time for email that was received from a certain state-related entity.  The numerical significance of birthday and Chicago area code.


The act of starting the week off with an email reminder to a writing opportunity, and a resume and inquiry email to a potential job lead… in the Adirondack Mountains.


(a.k.a. Notch 11)

This just in:  Mark Bialczak’s nominating me for a Dragon’s Loyalty Award.  If that’s not Notch 11 worthy, I don’t know what is.  Maybe I should create my own award?

Thank you, Mark.  You’re amazing.

***     ***     ***

Let’s get this week started.

2 thoughts on “Loop

  1. Man, I just burn when I read the way some people treat you out here in the booths and barstools of our hometown, Chris. To the woman selfie-half-eye-roller: Get over yourself. You simply cannot be as great as you think you are or else you would not disrespect somebody who just made a kind offer. To the oafish man Chucks-stomper: The space of the entire world is not your’s alone, big-foot! There, Chris, feel better. And Notch 12: You deserve the Dragon’s Loyalty Award. Have fun passing out your own nominations, my friend. And 13: I am kind of worried about a post-Duke letdown against the Fighting Irish tonight.

    1. I’m too nice of a person to get on someone unless they are blatantly, consistently rude to me. If I saw it happen to someone else, I wouldn’t hesitate to speak in defense of a victim’s well being.

      Thank you, again for your nomination, and it will be a blast to give out the award to others.

      I share the same worry, Mark, but I’m going to try not acknowledge it…

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