Nealmeister

In re: Valentines

The Rant:

>   As part of my anti-Valentine's day gig, I want to
>   remind you all that today is Frederick Douglass'
>   birthday.  Yes, the same Frederick Douglass that
>   appeared in your sixth grade English class in a
>   Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An
>   American Slave.  So, while ya'll are whimsically
>   enjoying candies and dinner and kisses and the like,
>   consider a moment of silence to reflect upon the
>   birth of one of the most influential figures in US
>   History.

Then...

Just before I head out on the anti-Valentine's Day pub tour, I visit my mom and dad.  My mom calls me shy.  My dad says I'm oblivious (and recounts how some non-cougar eyes were following me at church).  I say that I don't care.  I'm "single by choice," or so goes my cop-out, and besides "if I get married now, I'm just going to get screwed... royally" screams that jaded side of me, that won't give love a chance.

So, I remembered.  I can give, today.  And this I give to you: Obama for Valentine's Day...  sexy obama loves you too. [ via Hill and Bluntest ]

I guess I'm not so good at this "bitter-anti-lover" thing either. I'll enjoy my yam fries and cherry wheat sam now.

Cash-Only Dinner Dates

When I got word of my Giacomo's dinner date with the Boston consulting crew, I got all excited. "Giacomo's!" I thought.  Thoughts of the North End and cash only and wait staff edging on the side of abrasive flooded my head, and would be the only way to have it.  I also though, "Gosh, thank GOD!" because the last time I really went out to eat with out of town friends in Boston, I went to my age-old throwback: Pizzeria Regina in the North End (with Heather, but of course, it was totally appropriate!).

Well, it turns out that my dinner date with Kevin and Stan was in the South End instead. But, I wasn't going to hate.  I needed to appreciate.  And I totally did.  Butternut Squash... wicked awesome.  Stan... wicked awesome.  Wait staff... totally expecting us to order dessert, and totally waiting to rush us out the door.  And the company, which I guess includes Stan and definitely includes Kevin, made me snort once -- about scantily clad 22-year old girls hitting up podunk bars in klan country, in the middle of winter, while at work orientation, thinking they're hitting up the club.

Bottom line: dinner was great.  We made it in and out before the 8pm rush (and, as Kevin put it, before "them g@ys all poured up with cologne took over the place." ha!).  And for once, in a really long time, it was really great to grab dinner when the rest of the city is grabbing dinner.  When dinner wasn't dine it.  When dinner wasn't crashing my mom and dad's place.  Or involved beleaguering my poor roomie with my bitch tales of lawyering and how I'm not cut out to do it until she is convinced to think twice about law school.

The only thing we should have done: closed out the place with a couple bottles of wine.

So I guess Giacomo's in the South End isn't so bad.  It'll do.

Vive le Flash's

I love this place, even though, in the scheme of things Boston, Flash's is relatively new.  Says some random dude on the internet: "This staff will show you a great time! The food is simple but hits the spot. Lots of cool, pretty people hang out here. Great for going out alone, or with big groups. Funky drink lists will send you in the right direction."  The dude's totally right... and, like any great neighborhood bar in Nealski's playbook, nostalgia and memories of all types abound with this place.  Janine and I used to grab lunch here all the time when she worked at H&K.  I used to love getting their pizza hamburger whenever it was on special, or hang out here during long breaks in between law school classes and enjoy a nice Harpoon UFO, especially in the springtime when they open the windows to Columbus Ave.  Delish!

Of course, with Kevin's arrival in Beantown, it meant me, roomie and fluffy had to go... on a Wednesday night!  It really only began a whole night of debauchery.  Here's to no longer being lame (for the time being!)

This is Why I'm Hot

No, I'm not the rapper Mims.  But it seems like the second Kevin got to Boston, things started to get all hot up up around here in New England.  Now, I'm used to a nice little thaw at the end of January (or was reminded of it by Kevin Lemanowicz, Chief Meteorologist at Fox 25 News), but this is kind of crazy.  When I was hanging out with Kevin in the South End, I was out and about in a sweatshirt and jeans.  It's January people.  It's supposed to be wicked wicked cold in Boston right about now!  I should not be wearing crocks without socks!

Then, there's the New Hampshire primaries.  My near and dear friend Crystal is working the Obama campaign up in New Hampshahhh, and my near and dear friend Shane is working the Romney campaign, so I feel like, between Facebook and random text messages and spur of the moment blog updates, I'm right up there in the middle of the action.  The whole presidential campaign thing continues to get me all excited this year.  Perhaps the reason happens to be that both parties -- Democrats and Republicans -- don't have a clear front runner yet.  Perhaps the reason happens to be that each of the candidates, regardless of the party affiliation, happens to have a some sort of depth, a whole lot of quirks, and a bit of admirable conviction.  Perhaps the reason happens to be that I'm stuck somewhere in between Obama and Mitt (but people know where I'll be voting), somewhere between hopeful and jaded, somewhere between being really young and naive and getting old and stuck and stubborn in my ways.  Whatever the reason, things continue to stir up in New Hampshire.  Politics are getting fun again.  And the commercials -- yes, because Boston is right on the cusp on New Hampshire, we get all of the crazy pitches from each of the candidates, trying to woo voters between segments of a really lopsided LSU/Ohio State game (go Buckeyes!), the rebirth of American Gladiators (Go Helga!), and yet another rerun of How I Met Your Mother (Go... Go) [/ALT LINK/CBS Corporation site].

Anyway, I'm not quite sure where this post is going, except that it's January 2008 and I didn't even get a chance to wear my reindeer winter hat to work today.  The snowmen are melting.  And I'm feeling all hot and bothered about everything going on...

 

"Nevar" Hate in 2K8!

• The first thing I want to say about 2008 on my blog: I love Chicago.
• An affirmative action I want to contemplate beginning in 2008: Rule 705 Motions or ... .
• Some things continue to sit well in 2008: for sure, Harry Potter movies.
• Nicknames that shouldn't (and can't) stick in 2008 in 2008: Carlton; Carlton; Carlton.
• Overrated for 2008: Showering, productivity, lack of McDonalds.
• First wrong reference/realisation of 2008: "it's what i eat and what i do".
• Magic number of 2008: 2050.
• Looking forward to in 2008: Becker's Litany of Saints @ Easter Vigil; 7/26; joy; 27.

The nickname won't stick (hopefully)

First off, let me share with the world the text message I sent to a few people this morning (late this morning) as I tried as hard as I could to not move my body (for fear that things would get 'agitated' and 'you know' would 'happen'):

Ugghh gawd.  Thing #5860 I did not miss about alcohol: massive hangovers the day after where the recurring though is "oh, dear sweet lord jesus, what did I do? I am so sorry but please PLEASE I do not deserve death."

Sound desperate?  That's because I was (and really--still am).  In fact, I am being a total schmuck; while my friends are scrubbing the tarp for the "Cups Nook," I'm blogging on Typepad mobile.  I am awesome... and being horribly selfish.  At least the music in the background is good (think: Vince Guaraldi Trio's "A Charlie Brown Christmas" Soundtrack). 

Back to the main details of last night.  First off: Hill and I went to this amazing mexican place on Halsted in 60614 -- about a block away from the Citimates' place -- called Mayan Palace.  Maybe it was good because Hill and I got to catch up on gossip, because our waiter (Alejandro) offered us a celebratory New Years' flan, or because the frozen strawberry margaritas (first alcohol in 65 days!) were unbelievable.  Whatever the reason, I now love Mayan Palace and can't wait to go back....

After a little trip to Walgreens for some Pepcid and some cash, we stopped by Kev's place and then to a bar in the 'hood.  I'll cut to the chase: after tons of ice cold Heineken and blowing about $160 on rounds of Jäger Bombs (say my receipts--and this is a good place to reference--they've only caused trouble before--and by now, I've submitted poor Rach to becoming the newest "you're doing shawwwwwwts with me" victim), I commit the most atrocious of hambone-esque 02129 moves (actually, a couple) to /POST CLIPPED/  But I have this weird feeling that "Carlton" is going to stick as my official nickname forever... I officially hate myself. You just had to be there :)

All I got to say -- in sweet defense -- is that I love my brooks brother tie and my gray wool sweater. I would take neither off for no one.  No one.

 

The End a 65 Day Alcohol Strike

Well, I head off to Chicago on American Airlines flight 2487, with direct service from BOS to ORD (and continuing service to PHX) in about 6 hours to spend New Years with the mofos and put an end to my 65 day alcohol strike.  Striking happened to be difficult.  I realized -- but never faced with such start intensity -- how much alcohol was literally flowing through my life on a regular basis.  From excellently-tasting microbrewery beer to excellently-priced keg beer, from cocktails at business functions to wine at church functions, all of this was all cut off. 

The strike has not been without great benefit.  For one, cheating was not an option.  This task became more of a mission based on integrity as the days and weeks moved on; never before I have been encouraged (albeit, sometimes sought the advice) to "cheat a little bit."  That only fueled the desire to bite the bullet -- at times, only to face disgust with the quest -- especially when I had to ask for sparkling cider instead of champagne at toasts!  Even the physical "side-effects" have been interesting  As I first said to Greg and Lori (or maybe it was Peter and Natalie): "the weird thing is that I feel great--I can run faster, swim longer--this is amazing!"  Magically, acid reflux basically disappeared.  I've lost somewhere in between 12 and 17 pounds.  People kept on telling me I was sounding better as a cantor at church.

I'll have to let you know how New Years goes.  I mean, it's bound to be fun with the mofos... wish me and my liver luck!

Moving, Lonergan, and Seventy-Five Days

An agent through which vital powers are exercised.

Fall is finally becoming fall in Boston, in November.  Crisp and cool, just the way November should be.  I always thought that this type of fall weather lends itself to the nostalgia that replays inside my mind and supports the frustrated writer that lingers inside of me.  That's what I thought about when I was walking up Walker Street after I got off the bus this evening.  I was thinking about how much I really love my street, and how cool but strikingly red the fireball glowed from the utility pole at the top of my street, and how much I really loved what I do--even though I bitch and complain about it at times.  It's that new slug of a slog that I have to fight out and figure out.  I could quit.  But I love the playing field.

Beneath that fireball, though, I bumped upon Todd and Meg's U-Haul.  Todd and Dan were in it, amid all of the Todd and Meg's life that was getting squeezed into a 17-foot U-Haul.  Now, I always get really funny with change, especially moving.  I play things off like I'll see someone tomorrow.  I try to keep things "normal."  I laugh a bit and [/MESSAGE CLIPPED/]

The iPhone Commercial [ORD/SBN/MRY]

This is going to sound really weird.  But every time I hear/see the iPhone commercial, that little nostalgia button inside of me gets triggered.  It's like the music and the iPhone voiceover voice are really soothing.  At the same time, the shots -- I don't think I can call it cinematography -- have this flow that puts me into the Rudy/Skipping class for the BrewCo with Hill/Doors of Notre Dame/"walking across South Quad at dawn after pulling an all-nighter" kind of feel.  Everything's in soft, clean, incandescent-boosted hues.

And it all begs another question that I'll just answer.  I really miss Notre Dame.

I guess that's why I'm wicked excited to be making the trek on the third week of vacation.  Instead of celebrating a year on the job, I'll be celebrating the ND Perpetual Keggers, ND Football, ND Wedding.  And I really can't wait to go to the Grotto.  It's my favorite spot on campus, especially late in the summer when the Indiana humidity, 1000 chirping crickets, and faint sounds of the lake culminate in just one really surreal experience.  Just thinking about it makes me sigh.  And when I close my eyes and just think about it, the feeling of being relaxed pours over me.

Perhaps this is a little bit of hyperbole.  Perhaps it is.  But I think it answer's Erin's question from a few weeks ago.  I still think about that place.  And it still matters.  It matters to me.

Thank you, iPhone.

Clearly: popular

I have so many draft posts, here's a quip from the collected memories of my pre-graduation trip to Chicago last year.

You can take the kid away from Boston, but you can't take the Boston out of the kid... especially when Boston keeps on following you.  I know, I know.  Chicago should be Chicago.  But once I trekked from O'Hare on the Blue Line to Logan Square, I was wicked excited to hear that Hill and Alan had the same thing in mind: Dunkies, please. 

Who knows, Chicago might have yet another piece of Boston contained in it at some point in the near future...