The reinvention of a classic american folk hero -or- how Daniel Craig as the new Bond is the manliest bond of all time

We all sat around the table, the same one that countless dinners had been set out on, names carved into the surface, insults traded across (all in good fun of course). I had sat at that table so many times I can't even begin to remember them all. Once, Hunter made a dinner for a small group of us that seemed so out of place for our college dining experiences. It must have been lamb medalions over polenta with sauteed asparagus or something. Micah and I used to eat cereal late at night and talk about the future because mens health said it was good for you (the cereal, not the conversation). It was the first piece of Micah's house that I was acquainted with at the bar b q that week I moved to Tallahassee, I sat at it in awe of these people that I had fallen into meeting. So many times, and yet those people surrounding it have come and gone- new faces seem to pop up around it. We all sat around the table, Micah, Kansas, BJ, me. There was hamburger to be eaten and salsa to critique. I sat and listened as the boys talked about their girlfriends as though they had been in love their whole lives with these people. We had changed. We are all becoming the people we wanted to be as opposed to the people our parents warned us about.

Photographs and Memories

Written Snapshot from October 4, 2005: I suppose some things never change.

This weekend was ridiculous. I discovered a new cousin. Stay with me because this going to be good. My Aunt Debbie was married to a man named Alan, who left her for another man named John, who had a sister with a son named Matt, who loves to drink Vodka and Cranberries and dance all night long. Bri and Tyler were hysterical as always and we stayed at my uncles' house (That's two uncles- Alan and John) off of bay shore boulavard the most bougouis neighborhood in all of Tampa. They had a floating stair case with black and white pictures accentuating their obviously swedish dinette set. The best part was when I woke up the next morning and trudged into the kitchen, the only thing to read over a bowl of cereal was Out Magazine. And that's not an exaggeration plugged in for comic relief. All night we talked about, "ahhh, those gays..." So thank you Uncle Alan and Uncle John for taking a three week trip to Europe and that bottle of Absolut. But sometime between being breakin' it down to throwback music in a scene bar and passing out on the couch downstairs, Bri and I had the most stereotypical drunken conversation on the back patio. She would say, "You know what fuck it man, fuck the drama, I'm so wasted right now" and I would say, "Yeah, man whatever right? I mean, it's almost as if she asked me to punch her in the mouth. I mean, that's what it sounded like to me." And Bri would counter with, "Isn't my cousin cute... I mean I'd totally hit that if we weren't related. And you would totally hit it if you weren't a closet homosexual." And then silence. Because we just went too far. But what came out in the end was this massive understanding that the world is formed by two sets of people. Those who embrace sadness and those that just say fuck that. We all know them, the girls who seem to always be sick. Who's life is always falling apart. They bitch and moan about school and work and bros or lack thereof. I'm not saying one is better than the other. All I'm saying is that night ended with me holding an empty glass and never once telling Bri not to sleep with her cousin.



Observations:
1. Family never changes.
2. Ideas about optimism must be remembered and recalled from time to time.
3. Sleeping with non blood related cousins is something that I do not endorse.
4. Bring it on, Thanksgiving.

Don't you want to come with me, don't you want to feel my bones on your bones.

Yesterday was the first day back to the old 9-5 after a week off. Not a vacation, but rather a forced time break due to my inability to close my hand into a fist or carry anything with my left side. My fingers bend again, my wounds have healed, and so I returned to work just like the first day I started- with my backpack and butterflies. It took a while to feel comfortable again but eventually it happened for me and I eased back into the rhythm of a kitchen. I have to say the most exciting part of yesterday was learning that we at Cypress restaurant will be CLOSED on Wednesday and Thursday of next week. That's thanksgiving eve and day for those of us who are keeping track. That's one more day of straight hanging with the fam both in Melbourne and Tampa. One more day to play flag football and eat Turkey. One more day to give BJ the kisses he deserves and talk to my sister about how much it sucks to be a teenager. These are the first holidays for a lot of us. And I think we should enjoy every sam adams passed our way, every awkward family questions, every glance across the room, every unwarranted smile. Because of the best of times and the worst of time, these are the latter.

The quest for coffee begins

Despite the fact that there isn't much of a chance that any one is actually going to read this, I suppose it's worth a shot. Something to do between classes other than searching for christmas gifts for relatives on the crate and barrel website.
I'm on a quest today with $1.42 to find a cup of coffee, something other than the folgers that I have at home. The temperatures are decidedly autumnal, I get to wear my pink sperrys, I have what used to be enough money for a cup of coffee and now find myself without said beverage despite the weather outside being perfect for it. What ever happened to coffee being a cheap alternative to booze? Because with the change in my pocket I could pick up 32 oz. of malt liquor, something to make the walk home interesting. I'm either going to continue the search or settle for the Natty Ice.
Thanks a lot America.