Heartbreak

Four years ago, I was about to turn sixteen. A lot of things were similar, I liked The Ramones, was vaguely interested in punk rock at large, owned a lot of Converse shoes, enjoyed reading and listening to my iPod, and I had a summer job. It was 2006.

Some things were different, though. Now, I am well accoustomed to not living at home, being an independant (in fact, as I write, I'm waiting on my laundry to finish so I can go back to my apartment to cook myself some dinner and then wash the dishes) student; however, in the ripe year of 2006, I had just had my first away from home expereince, at the Denison University Jonathan R Reynold's Writing Camp. It was an eight day experience of heartbreak, writing and a taste of what was to come on the other side of three more years in high school.

I came home to family and friends, but mostly, The World Cup. Finally, an atheletic event that my brother and I could bond over, jokingly fight over, and enjoy together. I can't remember who Steve rooted for, but it was at least always againt my guys: the French.

The Cup wasn't the only time he and I shared though, we also enjoyed employment at the same cafe and catering company. Far cry from Summer Conferences here at Otterbein, working at Chapter's under the Poland library was always a long, steady day's work. Not all bad, our days were often made short and fun by the incredible people that worked there. Unique and all having strong personalities, washing dishes and serving weddings was never a chore.

There are several days that I can vividly recall and walk through, but one stands out today. The day of the final game in the Cup, France versus Italy. Zidane was my dude, and I'd been following them for most of the Cup.

This year my loyalties were all national.

At any rate, the final game was on a Sunday morning, I know this, because I worked Sunday mornings. Lynn and Claudia, our bosses, left early to an offsite catering job, leaving myself, a few servers and Sarah Sexton, one of my favorite line chiefs, in charge. Of course, as soon as they left I called Steve, begging him to bring a radio. It arrived around the same time several piles of dishes from the party. As I listened, I plugged away at my stacks of table ware. I was focused, one dish in, one dish out, keeper blocks, striker kicks, and so on and so on.

Then it happened. I can still hear it, something like "Zidane headbutts Italy! Red card! He's out of the game!" He was null for the shoot out to come, and Italy won 5-3. Horrid.

Of course, today, I am still toiling at work during the Cup. For USA's previous games, I had to sprint from across campus to catch nail-biting ends, including just making it for Landon's 90th minute goal. Fantastic stuff.

Until today. The American dream for World Cup gold is over, and perhaps in four years, a job or two later, I'll be ready to once again set myself up for, another heartbreak.

Up Late? Hungry? No Problem

Details later.

Random Playlist #4

This one is really short:

Homecoming

What good would a blog post be without a little Kanye drop?


Fans of the blog (irony) will know, I went home very briefly for the weekend. Last time we spoke I was sleep-drunkenly gaffing at the ridiculous Dukes of Hazard reunion show, looking forward to a nice short flight home, ala' Knickerbocker Air. It was awesome, but frustrating because Matt got the wrong address and we ended up on the wrong side of Scott Field, by the military compound, NOT the tarmac. But, we flew home in under an hour, and poor Ron, both Dad and I slept the whole way home. I'm expecting pictures from the part time lawyer, photographer, pilot and full time party animal Ronnie K, so will post when that comes through. For now, enjoy 3.2 mega pix from 5000 feet...



So I get home, well rested (sort of) and decide after I unpack a day's worth, go for a walk around the Manor. There are some things, I'm sure, that will change, as I continue to grow up. But there is a magic, a vividness that courses through the blood of Poland Manor, that I think will never change. A wild beating of drums, a non-stop tempo of life just flooding the woods and streets that are overlapped by trees and forest; it is the most beautiful place I will ever go.

I did my old route, from the summers of Giant Eagle pizzas, Star Fox 64 with Stevie, and roaming the streets trying to imagine how similar my spontaneous patrolling of my neighborhood was to the suburban dream of the 50s. So, I stopped at Wagon's.

Matt the Wagon Rogers is one of my oldest friends. Older then Jim, Porter, Brent, Kitten, all those guys have some heavy boots to fill in. My parents met Wagon's at a neighborhood party, and the following day, Stevie and I had to go meet the kid, you know, welcome him into the Manor. As if Steve and I were embassardors to Poland, or something. I remember this event vividly: I was wearing really short jean shorts (yikes) and ended up talking about rap, which at the time I didn't listen to, with Matt's mom in the driveway. Matt came out and we all decided to go for a bike ride in the woods, which was thrilling becuase Steve and I weren't supposed to take our bikes on those rooted, beaten trails.

During our ride, we asked the usual questions that friends testing new waters ask; we quickly learned that Matt was the same, bike ride loving, outdoor playing, Star Wars fanatic that Steve and I were. Then, and I also remember this vividly, the question that most likely is what made us friends: "So do you play any video games?" Matt says, "Yeah, I have a PlayStation 2 and an N64. I'm really into my James Bond game right now." That was all I needed to hear.

"You wanna come back and play?"

So we did, probably in 2001 I played my first PS2 game, Agent Under Fire, at Wagon's house with Steve. You can imagine the rest: endless days and sleepovers of movies and games, frozen pizzas and exploration. Almost ten years later, Matt is still one of my closest friends later. So it was nice to catch up while Matt worked on his Poker carreer.

Of course, not too long into our reunion special, Dad calls and it's time for Mary's Middle Eastern. Not much to say, I ate. A lot. The usual: Lamb combo with a large order of Grape leaves. Delicious, I think as I pity people less adventureous with their eating habbits. We go home with Ron and Bobbie, and grandma and papa joined us for ice cream and good company. I sprawled out on the floor with Maggie and took a nap. After waking up, of course, a bonfire at Porter's was an order. We made pizza, burend yard waste and had a great time. Had an even better time at Sheetz with Jim.

Here I have to stop and call myself out. "I pity people less adventureous with their eating habbits," to, in the same day, "having a better time at Sheetz." Gas station food, Arabic food, I guess it's all gormet to me.



Speaking of gormet: father's day picknic. We had honey dijon chicken, compliments of Amish country's 35 cent off the truck Grey Poopon, Goat-kabobs, pasta salad and tabouli. All of which was delicious. Even sweeter than the watermelon, of course, was getting to see everybody on the back porch one more time. That's how summers should go; the whole lot of us, gathered around to papa's occasional calous remarks, Mom's adorable knit-picky hosting, and of course, the booming raccous laughter that dots the green canopy in the trees above us.

Even loftier, it was great to be with Dad on his big day. Stephen Anthony doesn't get much credit, and he's a great dude. Talk about lessons in sacrifice, and it really was all for us. He is a family man, a loving husband (those secret kisses mom and dad think we miss are the best), a strong backed employee/boss; his coworkers respect him in ways I believe the word respect was created for, and of course, a devoted father.

I don't throw around phrases like the greatest man that ever lived, or undisputed father of the year, but, rest easy Daddyo, you got my admiration.

Random Music Playlist #3

"Time to Pretend" MGMT
"Pretend that We're Dead" L7
"We Came to Dance" Gaslight Anthem
"American Girl" Tom Petty (who I've never in my entire life wanted to listen to)
"Soma" The Strokes
"Sleepyhead" Passion Pit
"Born to Run" Bruce Springsteen

I can't wait to listen to these tracks later...

Dukes of Hazzard

Remember that nifty link tagged on the Dukes of Hazzard part of my last post? Well, long story short, I just watched the entire Reunion episode / film with the original cast. Some favorite quotes:

"Good ole Cooter, well, he bought a suit and got hisself elected to Congress. Only in America."
-The Balladeer

"Roscoe, you can't arrest this woman on my wedding day, she's the matron of honor!"
-Daisy, of Mama Max, the villain and apparently, matron of honor.

"That machine is slicker then deer guts on a doorknob."
-Uncle Jessie, of Daisy's fax machine.

And not really a quote, but somewhere halfway through the movie, Cooter's suit disappears in lieu of his usual fare; thank god he kept that cutoff flannel work shirt, where would old Luke and Bo be without it?

Yes, I did just spend the last hour and a half watching the Dukes of Hazzard Reunion on You Tube. Am I embarassed? No, just more excited to go home. The Dukes is one of the last things I remember having as a family before we all "grew up," and started taking to liking different things. You all know what I'm talking about, the period of metamorphisis where parents are ready to let their kids sort of discover for themselves, and kids, or at least Steve and I, started going off on doing "our own" things. Dukes was something we all shared.

The show was on Spike, but before it was Spike. Can't remember the name of the channel, but I do remember Dad laughing at Rosoce's "my little fat buddie," or the "coot-coot-coot's." So, with that in mind, I consider: am I more prepared to finish my move? No. Am I more excited to go home? Yes.

Because not only did the four of us watch Dukes every time it was on, in between multiplication talbes, but everybody watched Beverly Hillbillies at Grandma's. I can vividly hear Papa shouting along "If this bus goes uh-any faster it's gonna lift off!" You know, black oil, Texas tea...that stuff.

And in that vein of examining my family's dabling into redneck culture, another quote, from Grandma, given as Dad's in-laws come in the house for a picnik:

"[eying her sandals] I better put my shoes on, don't want anyone thinking I'm a hillbilly."

Happy early Father's Day, Hilljack, redneck, blue collar, hill billy, whatever you are out there. Happy Father's Day, DeGenaro Men.

One Week

So, this project fell by the wayside quicker than I had imagined...

I'm back in the campus center office, listening to Ra Ra Riot radio on Pandora trying to write. Should I recap or skip forwards? This is sort of tricky stuff, because as mentioned in LAST Saturday's post, a lot happened. I guess I'll recap, like in the beginning of an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard, or something.


Find out what the boy'sll get into next week...or something.

Saturday began with a little rain, a monsoon really. The weather couldn't have been worse for the alumni to walk, pace, roll or crutch into the Campus Center for brunch. With that being said, the resilient old folks did not become discouraged. Of course, after (almost) everybody was inside, the rain subsided and Saturday became another typical horridly humid day.

Something really cool happened during the geriatrics' march while I was holding doors. These two guys, perfect strangers when they met, exchanged names and then for fifteen minutes (no joke!) went back and forth about all the people they knew, all the things they'd done, and all the life they'd lived since college: the dudes were best friends. Phrases like: "That little colored boy down the corner? Yeah, he's the CEO of [......] now, big business," or, "The old woman in the house across the street, always a loner, she...." and so on and so forth. I just found it so interesting what our minds chose to remember at specific times. As another, less academic conclusion, it was HILARIOUS to hear them switching and discussing email.

When the alumni festivities ended (relief) I went back to Garst and moved a bunch of stuff over to Davis, because Matt was coming back that night. He'd done a touch and go through the room, I could tell, because his mac and a few other things were laying around: he had to work, the poor guy. Figuring that I would just drop stuff in there so that getting into the apartment would be easier, I began the sludge drudgery of walking load by load over to that side of campus. In retrospect, this was an awful idea...

So Matt gets back. Neil and Brent are hungry, and because it's the weekend, Brent doesn't need to go to service the following morning at some ungodly hour, we decide the only reasonable things to do is go buy a smokin' joes pizza from Hound Dogs. The only problem was, it was raining fairly hard. No lightening, but, sort of pouring. About five minutes into our drive downtown, we see a transformer at the Cleveland Ave. overpass on 2-70 EXPLODE! It was nuts, blinding, a shower of sparks and easily the coolest thing I have seen that wasn't in a 3-D movie. Yikes.

We and our pizza return. And just in time for Jay-Z's live webcast from Bonnaroo, and let me tell you briefly, it rocked.

Sunday, I watched a few more Bonnaroo streams, notably The Avett Brothers and listened to the NPR recording of Gaslight Anthem's set. I also used a shopping cart, clutch for moving shit to Davis, to put my mini fridge in our SCA office in the campus center. I was still in my pajamas when I chose to do this; at the same time the commencment ceremony was letting out. So, if you're a parent or family member of anyone in the class of 2010, I am sorry you now think a hobo walks around Otterbein.

Eventually, I got a call from Brent and Mama Ford, and the three of us had dinner at Pasqualie's Italian: delicious, sweet delightful spaggets. Yum.

I'm going to take you through the week real fast now: OMG GOAL, work, work, work, work, work, Suzuki Music camp, RUDE Suzuki Music camp, work, Ramen for dinner, moving, moving, moving, a SUPRISE EMAIL CLAIMING WE COULD MOVE INTO OUR APARTMENT ONE WEEK EARLY, moving, work. You get the picture.

So, now that I'm stuck in the campus center office at 8 in the morning, and everything's slowed down, and I confidently know all my stuff is in the middle of my new apartment bedroom, I'm going to FINALLY finish "A Fistful of Dollars," listen to more Pandora, and maybe if I'm feeling risky, sneak a nap.

Peace.

Bona Festa

Today is June 13, and one of the few major religious holidays that I believe SHOULD be more mass marketed and celebrated internationally: The Feast Day of St. Anthony of Padua. Both the patron saint for which I was named (I think) and the namesake of my first parish church, St Anthony has meant a lot to me in my life.

Anthony was a scholar in the Franciscan order, born is Lisbon, died

in Padua and was the fasted ordained saint, having been canonized by Pope Gregory IX less than a year after his death. Anthony is the patron saint of finding lost things, was a friend to children, and an eloquent speaker. These are all modules of persona I try to emulate in my daily practice, and I only hope that I am able to be as worth a man as St Anthony.

Of course, during his study, the baby Jesus appeared to Anthony; I'm not exactly expecting a repeat. It's just nice to have a healthy role model.

With that being said: I do have two very saintly role models, my grandparents, Marian and Steve DeGenaro. Parents to my father, lovers of fine cooking and patrons of St. Anthony's Church in Briar Hill, Youngstown, Ohio.

Above pictured is the church; here, I was baptized, grew out of a crying room, had asthma attacks leading to ushers offering me water from the Holy Water font, and morned the death of both my Great Grandparents. I have also joined the noble men and women of the kitchens in doing what lesser people (like me) would call back breaking work, in cooking pizza early every Friday mornings.

Every year, St Anthony's throws down the party to end all parties, and it is tonight. Attendees can expect a fairly lengthy mass during which the Monseigneur will look grumpy, the Knights of Columbus will look non-threatening despite being armed with silver swords, an elderly alter boy will go overboard with incense, and the place will heat up. Fast. All in all, the mass is a gorgeous service, and if you're luck and able, you will participate in the procession around the block on historic Italian Briar Hill following the Mt Carmel marching band, the priests and of course, the statue of St Anthony.

This was always my favorite part of the festival, sometimes, Papa would even be seen carrying the arm or the leg of the statue's stand. It would always be hot, and sometimes I would be scared or startled by the test fireworks warming up for an impressive display (until the city of Youngstown shut down the operation).

After mass, the flood gates opened the people into the two cafeterias of old St Anthony's elementary school and fantastic food was had. Expect spicy Italian sausage, with marinara sauce and peppers, spaghetti or cavetelli, and of course, pizza. The Friday crew would surely be working, happy to see their finely crafted famous pizza go from happy customer to happy customer. And of course, there is fried dough!

After the meal, there used to be a fireworks display. I can vividly remember taking a few pizzas and some sausage sandwiches over to grandma dee's house on Crumrine. I also remember a weeping willow that mostly takes over the yard, and blocks the front porch view from seeing the construction equipment graveyard across the green. Papa Dee would sit in his chair smoking, the adults would chat, and Grandma Dee and Stevie and I would be in the kitchen, making chocolate milk at the kitchen table waiting for me to get married and a place to live so it can serve again.

I am sad that I'm missing all of this today, in Columbus. The church might close, rumors claim: this could be it, the last show. If this is the last St Anthony's Feast the church ever does, so it goes; I have lots and lots of the best memories my mind and soul can keep.

Happy St Anthony's Feast Day, or as Grandma has always (including today) "Bona Festa!"

Random Music Playlist #2

Tokyo Police Club - Wait Up (Boots Of Danger) (Passion Pit Remix)

That's all for today I think. It's been pretty quiet out here.

Saturday

First of all, I've already started losing track of days of the week: a good time to a good, distraction filled summer. I lost count of how many times I needed someone to convince me that today was in fact, the first day of the weekend.

A lot happened today: Alumni Luncheon, The USA Game for the World Cup, did some moving over to Davis, Matt came back, went to Hound Dogs, saw a freaking transformer explode on the road, and am watching Jay Z's set live from Bonnaroo. Yikes.

I don't even know where to begin, so I won't.

See you tomorrow.

EDIT: Ending with "Encore"? Excellent.

Movie Buff

I've seen quite a few "summer blockbusters" recently. Two, to be precise: the "A-Team," last night for it's midnight release, and "Get Him to the Greek," just a little bit ago this evening. Work was slugging, and I blame either the being up super late last night, or the muggy and rainy and cold but mostly indecisive weather. At any rate, it was nice to sandwich this drag of a day between two very nice escapes.

I'll start with "A-Team."

I instantly wished I had seen something of the original television series. I can almost guarantee that the show and the film are far from similar, but between the UFC goon spitting Mr. T-ish "FOOLS!" etc that in many, many ways (like the theme song popping up here and there) that the movie did try its hardest to remind viewers that Bradley Cooper's smarminess is actually from something. I read the review over at The AV Club and it's a mostly negative C+. Maybe I'm low brow, although, I'm positive everyone that knows me will disagree, but, I enjoyed the "A-Team." A-Lot. It was a thrilling action ride that didn't make me think, didn't stick it's big budget nose into current affairs, or attack politics, it just had explosions and kick ass action sequences. Liam Neeson rocked, I mean the guy nailed it. Its good to see he was able to survive Qui Gon's flop and turn into a late game bad ass action hero (see Taken). The UFC guy did what BA Baracus was supposed to do, to quote, "I'm BA, and you're going to be unconscious." The no-name that played Murdoc was funny, and Cooper was, well, Brad Cooper.

Rotten Tomatoes gives this movie less than a 55% rating. I have ALWAYS hated Rotten Tomatoes; people say that the site does an unbiased survey of reviews and compiles, but it always seems that they aren't looking very hard for positive writing on most movies. Particularly the "A-Team." But you know what? Screw Rotten Tomatoes, there are more bugs and ads on the site then Myspace now. No, I do not want to watch the trailer for "True Blood" again RT. Weekend is as vampire as I get.

But on to bigger and, supposedly, funnier things. "Get Him to the Greek," the next Aptow/Seagal two hour laugh fest pits Jonah Hill's Aaron, an Aldous Snow & Infant Sorrow obsessive a little less obnoxious then "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," against a failing, drug addict lead singer on a three day journey from London to the Greek Theater in LA. Let me sum it up in one line: they get s**t-house drunk. A lot. And I mean, that's the entire movie. To have Aptow behind the reigns on this one, it should have been a lot better. "Greek" suffers the same fate as "Funny People:" could have should of been funny. There was so much talent in this one for it to have been so bad. "Greek" had a major identity crisis: part booze cruise frat boy mayhem, part heartstrings tugger, part fakeo rock doc, and none of them outshone the other, and the point is lost in this awful dross of confusion.

But, I enjoyed parts. I laughed, and I guess when you don't pay for the ticket, that's all that matters.

It is officially Alumni Weekend; work should be nuts tomorrow. On the plus side, I get to wear my new SCA Polo, and talk to old people about what Otterbein used to be. More details to come, but fun fact: the year Garst Hall was built, OSU used the same building style/construct for their chicken coops.

Cluck Cluck Cluck, I guess.

Random Music Playlist #1

NSFW Cool Kids live on Tunnelvision:

Lust For Life (Cover of Girls song "Lust for Life") by Childish Gambino

Let Me Dope You (Snippet) by Childish Gambino

What's for Dinner?

Spaghetti...

Not really, actually, as I rest into the easy part of my first day back at work; I am eating Pizza Primo leftover from last night. Naturally, after the back breaking efforts it took to clean my room enough so that Matt Neitz could move back in, we had to eat. Maybe part nostalgia or just straight up hunger, Matt was generous enough to treat he, Neil Brown and I a pizza.

Fast forward to around three fifty today: my feet are sore (the toes forgot what socks and sneakers felt like) from being back to work. It felt great, to be running around campus dealing with the miscellanea required to send Alumni Weekend off without a hitch: deliver laptops and projectors to the Handcock House (that one made me feel like a spy) or mustering the rationality to give Jimmy John's subs a second chance (so glad I did) to rearranging tables in the campus center in such a way as to accommodate the geriatric class of 1944 (1 confirmed guest!). Long story short, it was tough, hard work, but I'm stoked to be back at it. Nice to not use my brain during the day.

Like I said, I'm in the office, and I mentioned something about spaghetti. Not the dinner kind, no friends, that's all down the hatch and digesting; the spag I refer to is a film genre: spaghetti Western. (que soundtrack).



As in, during the ridiculously challenging finals week my sophomore year of college presented me with, I picked up "A Fistfull of Dollars" from the library. Why not, right? After all, I've been playing that new game from the makers of "Grand Theft Auto" set in the wild West. And I seem to remember the title track being on a mix CD Uncle Bill made for Dad that I ripped and obsessed over, and again, seem to remember, enjoying the tune.

So I'm seven or eight minutes into the movie and I CANNOT get over how good it is. Like, in all cheese and campy film ways, this movie screams retro. My favorite little "tic" that my favorite 60s and 70s movies have is the archaic audio tracks that pick up in great detail the footfalls and noises of movement (like the little boy in the beginning of the movie scrambling up into a window, or Scout running around in a ham suit in "To Kill a Mockingbird").

So I'm going to finish "A Fistfull of Dollars" enjoying the white noise behind Clint Eastwood being a generally good moraled scoundrel and trying to draw comparisons between the spaghetti western genre and anything Quentin Tarintino has made. Who knows, I might even reflect on how similar I am to the rouge Man With No Name: exploring the violent desert of Westerville, or at least the violently deserted Otterbein.

Speaking of noise, shamefully using Pandora's service, I forgot my iPod in Garst, and am surprisingly pleased with the Ra Ra Riot channel. Hits like "Oxford Comma," "Float On," or "Naive."