All the small things

Last summer I was admitted to the Master's of History program at Simmons College. When I got the acceptance letter in the mail a sense of accomplishment slowly came over me. I was moving on with my education, getting an chance to be challenged and to learn. God I wished that I put more effort into my undergad degree it would have been much easier to get into Graduate School.

So, getting into Grad School posed a totally new problem for me...paying for Graduate School.

I thought real hard and came up with the following options to pay for class

Option A: Loan

Option B: Credit Card(s)

Option C: Scholarship

I tried getting several scholarships or grants and was unsuccessful with each attempt. I was too dumb to get a scholarship, and when I applied for a Grant, the women on the phone quickly realized that I was not Latino as advertised, and threatened to prosecute me for fraud. When I heard this my response was, "Que?" then I hung up.

The Credit Card companies laughed at me when I called them up, and said the way my credit score was I might be eligible for U.N. relief. No seriously, my credit score and my SAT math score were pretty damn close.

The Bank wouldn't let me walk though the door, and Sallie Mae told me to play in traffic, so there was no loan coming either.

What was left...paying out of pocket..? What a strange and foreign idea for me.

If your still reading, your wondering what the hell does this have to do with the Ride? Here is is...

I was accepted to a Federal Grant that gives teachers lessons on history, but focuses on primary sources. The class that I was taking focused on the Industrial Revolution, something that is heavy in my curriculum. I would increase my knowledge of the content I was teaching, and my kids benefitted from having a teacher that knew more then what was just in the text book. For $235 I would be taking 2 graduate classes from UMASS Boston. I stepped in it big time.

The first class was from August 2009 and ended in April of 2010, meeting every other Wednesday. The second class was offered the week of July 19th or the week of August 2nd. I signed up for the week of July 19th...but thought it started on July 26th. I missed my class, 3 Grad Credits wasted, gone. I basically was given $4,000 and burnt it in my backyard.

I showed up for class on July 26th, drove all the way out to Lowell for it. Had my syllabus in my notebook, even got dressed up for the occasion. Waited at the park across from the Textile Mill for 30 minutes as National Park Rangers and tour guides gave me a funny look. I didnt blend, fat guy wearing a button down and khakis and my stupid male purse in the middle of a park while camp kids line up for a field trip. I was nervous that Chris Hansen was going to ask me what I was doing there.

As my anxiety grew, I checked my itinerary to see if I had the right park.

"Ok I got the right mill....and it is 9:00 it said meet at 8:45....and its Monday...oh shit."

Looooonnnggg ride home from Lowell. A traffic filled, pain in my chest, how the fuck did this happen ride home.

I had to make some phone calls that day that were really making my sick.

First I needed to explain what happened to the Federal Grant Director and pray to God that I could switch. I was able to take the class during the week of August 2nd, and the woman in charge of the program found the whole incident amusing and assured me that it would not be a problem.

Then I had to call Billy, and Tim. (I was too embarrassed and too much of a chicken shit to call Meagan up). Rescheduling the Ride was not an option so the whole thing was put on the shelf.

My mom insists that I was "not supposed to ride" this year and assured me that everything happens for a reason. By Friday, I hope to have found out what exactly that reason is because I feel awful.

The 2007 version of me is probably disgusted that I let the ride fall by the wayside. I probably would have done the ride and just forgot about the credits, but now I can't just pass up on that type of opportunity.

For weeks I have been putting off checking my work email. I kept insisting that I just did not want to deal with school and was enjoying my carefree and Updike filled summer of John.

Was my not checking my work email in time a Quantum Leap worthy experience. Shouldn't have Dr. Sam Beckett "Lept" into my life on July 18th and had me download my Course Itinerary on his quest for the last leap home? How many of our little actions or indecisions have some sort of major impact on our life?

For example if I had completed my online application to Catholic University I would have gone there and not have gone to Marist. Crazy right? I have no idea how my life would have turned out. However, I never finished it, and eventually got into Marist after being wait listed for awhile.

Now that I think about it I was actually wait-listed at Marist. I did not know what to do, considering the only other college that I had applied to (Fordham) had sent me a very polite rejection letter. A Seminarian at my parish heard about my situation and informed me that he was really close friends with a member of the Board of Trustees at Marist and promised to place a call for me. I got in 3 days after talking to him. I had met the Seminarian while I was working at the parish rectory during high school, a job that I almost quit the year before.

There are probably dozens of these moments in my life that I still have yet to realize the impact that they have had. I hope that not doing the ride is one of them.

Thurman or How Irish guilt got me a Dog

Since my Junior year of college I have wanted a bulldog, for no specific reason other then I thought they were really cool. I had a long list of possible names for my potential future canine buddy: Winston, Fat Boy, Hemingway, and Farley were my top options for a male, and if I got a female her name was going to be Gertie.

On a road trip down to DC I purchased a sign that said, "Fat Boy Parking Only" which was set to hang above my dog's bed.

As time went by and living situation changed from dorm, to apartment, to Jean's house the likelihood of me getting a dog went down. I continued to be very vocal about my want of a bulldog, and had received birthday cards, boxer shorts, and other gifts with bulldogs on them from friends and family.

I received a card from a student at the end of the school year that said that she was told my brother Tommy to get mea bulldog, but that she could only afford a gift card to White Castle instead. A very thoughtful gesture, and an even more amazing gift.

Liz had promised to buy me a bulldog if I finished The Walk, that was in 2007. She insists that she said that she would "help me buy" a bulldog, but I believe her memory is a bit clouded. She spent several months researching bulldog breeders in New England and New York while I was living in Brighton. Ultimately, I decided that a dog would not be the most prudent investment with my schedule and financial situation, so I temporarily abandoned the dream until I felt I was ready.

In September of 2009, my dad informed me that he made plans to make a trip up to Boston in October, not to see me, but to attend The Canine College in Holbrook Massachusetts. He said that there was this trainer that was giving a presentation there that he wanted to see. "He is a dog wiz", I think was the accolade my father bestowed upon him. I was more than happy to get a chance to spend some time with him, and show him my apartment so I was looking forward to his visit.

What my dad was completely unaware of, was that my mom had been calling me in the weeks leading up to his trip putting ideas in my head. In one conversation my mom actually said, "I hope he doesn't do anything stupid like bring you a dog." In another phone call she said, "Imagine your father brought you a dog?" Suddenly, I started to count down the days of my dad's arrival as if it was Christmas.

I began to think, "Holy crap, he might just be brining me a dog?"

*I apologize that I did not mention this earlier, but my dad has a long standing history of showing up at our house with pets. Through out my childhood and into my college years he has brought home: rabbits, turtles, tortoises, geckos, anoles, birds, 4 German Shepherds, and Baby our South African Mastiff, all unannounced, and all met with priceless reactions from my mother. He had also bred one of our dogs three times, each time denying to my mother that the dog was pregnant. So he has a record of showing up with pets.

With my head swimming of thoughts of having a puppy, my dad's arrival at my apartment further enhanced dream when his message as he was getting off the Mass Pike was, "Were about 10 minutes away."

Holy Crap!! Were 10 minutes away, We are! Im getting a dog!!

Yeah, so when he pulled up I ran out like a little kid only to find my dad with a recently broken right foot, alone in his car. Major let down.

That night he joined my apartment with typical Friday night ritual of drinking and listening to music, and I went to bed with no puppy.

When we got to the Canine College the next morning I really had no idea what I was getting into. People had traveled from all over to watch this trainer give lessons on Schutzhund training their dogs. (I can not describe what Schutzhund is, but there is alot of yelling in German) There were people from all over the East Coast, even a couple that flew in from Germany were there.

We parked in front of a kennel, and I swear to God, the cage right in front of our car was a bulldog puppy, looking beyond adorable. As soon as I saw that dog, my heart jumped into my throat. My dad sees me staring at the puppy and says, "Hey John I think he likes you" and then kind of chuckles.

The puppy looked very much like this one but was a few weeks older:

adorable right?

Now, my brain is racing. Oh my God, this whole Canine College thing is just to get me out here to pick up the puppy. I have an absolutely thoughtful and brilliant father. I was in love with this puppy, and after petting him through the fence for a few minutes I joined my amazing father for a full day of dog training.

Periodically when there were breaks in the demonstrations I would wander over and hang out with my new best friend. My dad came over at one point and commented on how cute the dog was. The puppy was gnawing on my finger and when we got up to leave he started to whine. My dad said, "He wants to come home with you."

Oh you sly devil dad, that he does. I began to wonder how long he was going to put on this act.

As the day was winding down, I sent a picture message of the puppy to my mom. I wanted to thank her and talk about how surprised I was by the gift. When she called me back I was really surprised by how she responded to the message. My mom asked me , "what the F**K was that!?" I explained that it was the puppy dad got me and she quickly set the record straight. When I asked her about what she had said about dad getting me a dog for the past month she said she was joking, I told her it was child abuse.

So I went from being on Cloud 9, to feeling like a complete asshole. It was a long ride back to my apartment and to add to my bad mood I wanted to get back back before Game 2 of the World Series.

Thanks to the rain delay, by the time the game started I had a little bit of a buzz going. There was a costume party in the apartment upstairs that made me feel like I was back in college. My dad rested his swollen foot on an ottoman and entertained us with stories. It was the first time that I watched a World Series game with my dad, and I was feeling really happy.

When I told him all about how I thought I was getting a puppy from his trip up here, he started laughing. As I was explaining the phone calls with my mom and what he said when we got to the Canine College, I realized just how ridiculous I was, and got a little embarrassed by the whole thing. My friends and my dad seemed to have found the whole situation very amusing.

Two weeks after he came up, my mom was saying how guilty my dad was feeling about the whole situation. By then I was pretty much over the whole thing, and had become one of my favorite stories to tell. I didn't want my dad to feel bad about my stupid misunderstanding.

When I came home for Thanksgiving, the only person who was home was my brother Tommy. He asked me to help him move some stuff downstairs, and there in my old room was a cage with a puppy in it. My dad got me really good.

By the time my dad came home I was already trying to figure out what to name him. Taking one look at him I realized that he was not a Winston, or a Hemingway, or a Fat Boy. I wanted to give him a Yankee game and thought about Mo or Munson. My dad suggested Thurman, and that became his name.

He loves the car

And after living two miles from Fenway Park for seven months he has been enjoying his new life in suburbs.

thanks Dad

Caught in a Bad Romance...

There is a chance that from that title I lost what little credibility I had, assuming you gave me some credibility. Anyway, the only thing that I have been neglecting more than this blog has been my role as a Yankee fan. The day The Boss past away I started a blog entry, but after 25 minutes of struggling on the first paragraph I walked away.

So why I have I been neglecting my favorite team and my favorite hobby (this blog, I don't think eating is a hobby), well I am slowly becoming an adult, a card carrying member of suburbia. Lizzie and I purchased a house in Beverly, 19 miles north of Boston. I went from living in a Young Professional Frat House, three miles from Fenway to the 'burbs in the beginning of June. It's Friggen nuts.

Since Liz is pretty much a saint she got me the MLB package with Comcast. Why the YES Network is not available baffles me, I wait for that day though...oh Lord do I wait. We have one TV in our living room and part of me feels bad hogging it with a Yankee game. When the Yanks are away, the game is broadcast on the home team's network. After three innings of the Orioles announcers and commercials, I became depressed and surrendered the remote. It was the Yankee game, but not the same. And yes, I am well aware that I sound like an ungrateful, spoiled little snot.

Its a long distance relationship with the Yankees, and its hard to stay in tune. I tried subscribing to the Daily News and the NY Times, the News wont deliver to me, and the only Times that is available is the New England Edition. I check the sports sections of the papers online so that helps. At night I get a very static 880 AM in certain parts of town. Sad how happy I was to hear Suzyn Waldman's voice.

Enough moping.

I think the main reason that I have been neglecting the Yankees is that for the first time since I moved up to Mass, I am really genuinely happy. I had an amazing time while I was living in Brighton. My roommates were like a second set of brothers to me, but deep down something was missing. Now that Liz and I got a house, I enjoy watching the Bachelorette with her. Before you dismiss me as a fan or man, let me give some hypothetical scenarios that might better explain my thought process. try one more time to explain.

If the Yanks are playing the Royals: TV with Liz

Yanks playing the Rays: Yanks

Yanks playing at Oakland: Past out on the Couch

I will end on this note.

I finally ask Liz to marry me on July 11th, and I am fortunate enough that she eventually said "yes", there was a good amount of crying and "oh my Gods before I got the answer. Despite the fact that I opened the ring box upside down, it was my greatest accomplishment.

"Haterade"

     Sports tends to bring out the Haters in all of us.  People will say they hate the Red Sox or more commonly hate the Yankees, hell there is even a whole bunch of Yankeehater websites. This one lets you post your reasons why you hate the Yankees. 

    

   Alex Rodriguez may possibly be the most hated person in the M.L.B. right now. Actually, that is an understatement, A-Rod is the most hated person in baseball right now, possibly one of the most hated ball players ever.  If you do not hate Rodriguez you are not going with the the majority of baseball fans right now. 

    The NY Times recently did an article on the hatred towards Alex Rodriguez that I found pretty interesting.  Hating a player can be viewed as a sign of respect in some ways.  

    If a talented player on the opposing team consistently performs well, as a fan you might be obliged to hate them, if not definitely root against them.  There is a hint of envy when a Red Sox fan bashes A-Rod, or a Patriots fan will talk trash about Peyton Manning. 

   For several years the focus of my Red Sox hatred was directed at Curt Schilling. Since he has retired from baseball that has cooled a bit, but Schilling being Schilling he does not like to be out of the media spotlight for too long, and will run his mouth from time to time. 

   I had planned on listing the reasons why I hate(ed) Schilling, but have decided against it.  I found a list that does a good job of conveying my opinions so I will just link up that. 

  

 

Riding the Rivalry Returns....Again

As we speak the Old Yankee Stadium is being torn down and making way for NYC park space.  The times they are a changing...

So there will be a 2010 edition of Riding the Rivalry.   This year there will be featuring some new and returning faces to the Baseball Odyssey.  Personal Statements of the Riders will follow soon.

The plan, and remember with us nothing but our goal is set in stone.

July 31st will be the Departure Date from Yankee Stadium

August 7th: Arrival Date at Fenway Park.

I am well aware that the Yankees are playing the Sox at Yankee Stadium when we will be in Boston but, that is how the cookie crumbles.

Wish us luck

~ Johnny

Boycotting Dunkin Donuts

     Saying that people are pretty crazy when it comes to their coffee is an understatement. People are dedicated to a certain brand, and want their coffee just the way they want it.  It used to annoy me being stuck behind a person in Dunkin Donuts who wanted a half decaf/half French Vanilla Iced Coffee with a Splenda.  I would just think, "really".  

    Who the hell am I to judge a person on how they want their coffee?  If they want a Hazenut with breast milk, give it to them.  There are not to many places where a person can get exactly what they want for $2.75.

     My sudden enlightenment aside, I am going to be boycotting Dunkin Donuts for awhile.  I am a Dunkins fan, something that coffee aficionados have and will continue to judge me for.  However, I can not walk around with an Iced Coffee that looks like this:

I can not go through with it.  I bought one yesterday on my way to get some school work done.  The weather was nice, I had the windows down on the ride, a little sample of what summer was going to be like.  Get my Blice (black,iced) French Vanilla and as I am leaving the store, I encounter some former students of mind who are also enjoying April vacation.  One of them commented on my sox apparel, and I died a little bit.  Why is there no Yankee equivalent of the Red Sox cup?  Who knows?  There will be plenty of Starbucks for me this summer. 

"Well what are you doing out here?! Get the F in there!"

  I went down to Kenmore Square with $100 and a dream. I was about a week late, and a couple of hundred short.

    In the limited experiences that I have had around Fenway on game day there never seemed to be a shortage of scalpers hawking their tickets around the ball field.  I have seen them outside of Copperfields and right when you get off of the T @ Kenmore.  However, that was not the case on Sunday night. 

    Maybe I should not have been so naive and believed all those reports that the game was not even sold out.  The rumors of tickets available at face value was just too good not to believe.  My greed got the best of me.  

  Tim and I walked around Fenway Park while the game went on.  We did so many laps, that one of the sausage and peppers vendors recognized us.  He told us that he was able to get tickets for $25 last week no problem.  Tonight he heard that they were selling bleacher seats for $400.     We saw one scalper, and he was offering his one bleacher seat for $200.  At that point, it was already the 4th inning.  

It was nice to be down there though, despite the frustration.  The weather was warm, and plenty of people there had spent the weekend out in the sun.  The first sun burn of 2010 was accompanied by Opening Day, baseball was officially back.

   The bars outside Fenway were packed, with people waiting over 45 minutes to watch the game on a flat screen T.V. and pay way too much for a draft beer.  I forgot about the Drunken shuffle that is only heightened by sandals.  There were a few of girls shuffling on Lansdowne Street, that broke out the summer dresses before they lose the winter lbs.   

A man who could have passed as C.C.'s twin brother was leaning against a lamp post on the corner of Lansdowne.  He was wearing his Yankee gear and had the swagger to go with it.  He asked if I was waiting to get in to the Cask n Flagon.  When I told him that I was trying to get tickets for the game he looked me up and down and gave a little pep talk that is the title of the blog. 

         Taking my hefty African Tony Robbins' advice I soldiered on with Tim for another lap that was as fruitless as the previous two.  I had enough and headed back to the T feeling like I wasted a good amount of my evening.

The Yanks lost, so maybe it wasn't a complete waste.  It spared me having to endure the taunts of Red Sox fans while leaving Fenway Park.  Which, by the way I did not experience while I was walking around during the game.  Nobody bothered me or said anything to me while I looked for tickets.  Maybe the rivalry is fading a bit?  Or is it too early in the season to be angry?

Monday morning, one of my least favorite students and I had an exchange:

L.F.S.: "so, you ah enjoy that game last night?"

me: "I did. I fell asleep when the Yankees were winning."

L.F.S.: "well, we won."

me: "we?  I didn't see any 4 foot 9 Asian ball players. Who is we?"

I can't just inspire kids, I'm sorry