p.E. Please!?

Hello,

This is Charles, finally responding to your email from October 19th. You haven't interacted with me much on here, but from what you said, I definitely know you've been tracking my progress. Thanks for that; it is greatly appreciated. This is long, but we've never officially spoken, so I'm writing to fill you in on all of it. I was recommended this class by my coworker. You showed the email he sent you when he passed the exam using this class in one of your lectures for Fall '23. He spoke very highly of you and the other instructors, and I trust him greatly. You love what you do here, and it shows.

As you may know, I signed up for the on-demand version of both the water resources depth and breadth classes in September, with the overly ambitious goal of completing them and taking the Water Resources PE exam on December 6th. You, and I imagine others, might find that to be an extremely tight turn around, and you'd all be right. I now believe you when you lay out the timeline in some of your videos, because when I first heard you say that this process would take longer than three months, I was defiant. Fellow students take note: completing this material, even at an instructor-guided pace, will take minimum four months, maybe longer if you have that luxury. There is a lot of material. 

Admittedly, I did not have that luxury and consequently did not complete studying and reviewing everything in the depth portion of this class. Everyone recommended starting with depth and then moving on to the breadth. I heard that and proceeded to do the complete opposite. That should not reflect badly on you; it's solely the result of me not budgeting my time, not having a study plan, and not reaching out for help. My schedule filled with priorities that seemed as important if not more so than a few hours everyday devoted to these classes, with weekends being all water all the time. I had the idea to refresh my breadth knowledge first and then rely on all of my career water resources knowledge to carry me through the second half. In November, when I really buckled down to get ready for December, I found that to have its pros and cons. I was nervous to finish the material, review for the breadth one last time, and review for the depth one final time. If I could go back, a better strategy would have been to reach out for help, and see if there was anything anyone could do for me. I imagine I'm not the first to be in this position and won't be the last.

December arrived with me being behind on the material, which means I hadn't finished watching all of the videos. That's a piece of advice I have; at a minimum, watch all the videos, and watch them at 1.25, 1.5, or even 2x speed if you have to (from a fellow slow talker, I appreciated this about the lectures). With December 6th looming, I made the decision to postpone my exam, getting very lucky to find another open slot at the same Pearson Testing Center almost two weeks later on December 18th, after repeatedly checking and not seeing one. For $50, I switched my exam slot, which is another piece of advice I recommend. There's no shame in doing whatever you need to get piece of mind around this experience.

The extra ~2 weeks made a difference. I finished watching all the videos and took a week to review the breadth. Then, in my final week, I tried my best to review the depth. Yes, in one week. Not smart, I know, but I had to meet life on life's terms. This was the situation at hand. Over and over again, your recommendation to do only the starred problems rung in my head, but there really wasn't time to listen to that either. I had saved the quizzes and mock exams on the portal until last, so I skipped right to the end and attempted those. I was quickly reaching the point of whatever I didn't know, I wasn't ever going to.

The Sunday before my Monday exam, I sat down to take the practice depth test (a tad last minute, I know). To my dismay, what I hadn't counted on was the fact that to take the simulation depth exam in the portal, you needed to be finished with the tests that come before it. That's worthwhile knowing ahead of time for anyone looking to rush this process. I went back, started from the first mock quiz I could, and resigned myself to the fact that I may not get to take a simulated depth exam, like I did for the breadth, before my early bedtime. I got as far as I could, but ultimately was not able to sit for the 4 hour depth practice test. That made me very nervous, but something was bringing me comfort. In the last two weeks, I had worked my butt off to progress as fast as I could. I also made a concerted effort to ask the folks around me that had taken the test for any tips and tricks that they had. That may have been what saved me.

I made careful note of what you said in each lecture that related to the test. When you told us that a question like this may appear on the exam, I listened. When you suggested knowing what you call the "Friend Equation" in regards to solids loading, I filed that away. When you kept stressing to us the importance of knowing that headloss occurs in pipes from one end to the other, that it does not add like flow rates do, I made sure to remember that. I recount these things because I'll be damned if some of the questions that I saw on the exam weren't practically word for word what you showed us in the quizzes and mock exams. I buried the lead, I know, but yes, I took the exam on December 18th, despite feeling underprepared.

The test for me ended up being a lot of conceptual questions, so I was able to redistribute time (6 minutes per question) to the math intensive ones. I didn't need 6 minutes to answer the questions (yes, questions!) about headloss in two parallel pipes; you taught us how to that one in 10 seconds. Same as the ones that were merely definition based. At one point, I started (quietly) laughing to myself, because the questions felt incredibly similar to the ones we practiced on the forum. The end of my 41 breadth questions was all sludge and solids loading. Thank you Friend. The morning session felt just OK to me. I finished in 3:40 hrs. The afternoon session made my head hurt. It was mostly stuff I could attempt, save for a few questions that were, I believe, ones that NCEES was trying to test out, like you had mentioned. I used the rest of the time there.

This is all to say that, after waiting two weeks to get the results back, I found out that I successfully PASSED this exam!! I apologize for never communicating with you. I did not want to let the chance to say Thank You! pass by. You helped me invaluably. I would love to give myself all of the credit, but it was not without your and my fellow classmates efforts, who asked strong questions and got us all thinking critically about this material. I would recommend this class over and over again. I actually have been suggesting it to fellow coworkers that I now am guiding through this process. So, if this was too much to read, I apologize, but I had to tell you about my experience. If it helps anyone else even a little bit, it was worth it.

Sincerely, Charlie

The Steel Anniversary

Wow, the place looks great! Haven’t been here in a bit but it’s like nothing’s changed; a few cobwebs here and there but you know what they say — when life hands you cobwebs, make a cobweb salad. Eek, that one had a spider in it.

*inaudible high-pitched profanities*

It was an accident, geez! Mouth on that little guy… Anyway, year 11! What a momentous occasion to gather for my blog, which is aging like a fine wine — slightly orange and very dry after 11 years. Must be a rosé.

Wait! 11/11 and it’s turning 11? It’s coincidences like these that make me believe in a higher meaning and a right-where-we-should-be situation. Let’s all sit here a moment. Hmmmmm…..

Now, this is typically the steel anniversary, so mail me any metal gifts, but I have enough steel beams. Please do not send any more steel beams. I’m serious. We’re drowning in steel beams. I put out one “Beam Me Up, Bloggy” request on Reddit and the Internet came through in a big way. Too big of a way. 

I need to share some feedback after all my time and effort doing this. So, here’s my dos and dont’s list:

Do - steal a kiss from me when you see me.

Don’t - send me a steel beam.

Do - still read this blog, as frequently as when I post a post.

Don’t - read this and send me a steel beam. 

Do - steel yourself to the insults and criticisms of others. Validation comes from within.

Don’t - find a girder on the street and send it my way. 

Do - put your mettle to the test and find out what you’re worth. You owe that to yourself.

Don’t - send me metal to test. I’ll stress it in my hydraulic press and keep the scraps. You know I will. I still have shit from college.

Do - beg, borrow, and steal to change the country, like Hamilton when he was changing the country. 

Don’t - send me metal candlesticks. The hell am I supposed to do with a candlesticks? I’d rather have steak beams. No, wait, I have enough. 

Do - root for the Pittsburgh Steelers. They’re pretty far back in the division and could use some love.

Don’t - ask me to watch your stuff while you go to the bathroom, then leave without telling me, and saddle me with your backpack full of steel beams.

Do - watch Man of Steel. Superman is the best!

Don’t - show me a kitschy magazine where I can order miniature versions of larger things. You know I’m ordering those little steel beams. 

Do - watch Steel Magnolias. It’s a good cry. 

Don’t - cry over spilled milk made of steel beams. That’s my job. 

Please follow these. It’s my biggest piece of advice that I have from 11 years of this blog. And now I’m having the realization that this place doesn’t look great. I’m a hoarder, it turns out. Let me and not think about this till next year. 

Ouch!!! 

I hit my toe on a steel beam.

Happy October’s Extreme!

Halloween! Candy! Is this a dream?

Oh to be on the couch stuck in between

Buttered popcorn and a movie scene,

Watching some few really scared teens

Be silenced with many jump screams

designed to freak me out or so it seems.

Growing up, that wasn’t my lean,

Eating at my fears like fava beans,

These movies and the tv screens

Scaring me sick til I turn green.

But as I grew and formed a team

Of friends I hold to high esteem

For outings wearing makeup creams

On my face and threads I’ve deemed

Worthy of assembling into a themed

ensemble from a show we streamed,

I’ve begun to understand horror memes

And what they’re from and what they mean.

Monster parties and haunts will glean

Frightful visions and noises heard not seen

And Halloween will rise again all clean

Next year, same time, October’s extreme.

30 for 30

Alright, since you all love a themed month, and I’ve got nothing doing, let’s do a themed January for my 30th, dirtieth birthday at the end of the month. Last year’s Golden birthday was spent during a raging pandemic, and this years 30th won’t look much different. So let’s celebrate untold quips and lines from my first 30 years. Sayings that have helped me get to where I am today, the man you read before you. Here we go:

1. My childhood was uneventful, or as my therapists calls that, a lie.

2. Growing up, I didn’t have friends; I had a twin brother and a bowling ball, sometimes both.

3. Living with my family in 5 different houses for the first 24 years of my life prepared me for the last 6 years in New York City, where I’ve lived in 4 different places.

4. If you don’t like numbers, we can’t be friends. We can be acquaintances, enemies, relatives, coworkers, or lovers, but not friends.

5. I’ve been diagnosed with FOMOOTIL: fear of missing out on things I like. The cure is a medicine also called Fomootil.

6. You say half full, I say half empty. Let’s call the whole thing half.

7. I feel like water bottles are the new matchboxes; I’ve got a drawer full of them and can’t possibly use them all up. Also, I don’t want to get any wet.

8. Take a picture of yourself doing everything. You’ll never know when you’ll need to look at it again.

9. “Bills, bills, bills!” - an adult duck rooting for Buffalo football.

10. Nostalgae - Some pond scum I haven’t thought about in 25 years.

11. Perfect is the enemy of good, but they’ve forgotten what they’re fighting about.

12. I don’t want to admit it, but emails that address me by name are kind of sexy.

13. Actually, time keeps on slipping into the past, Steve Miller Band. Adjust yourselves accordingly.

14. I’m starting to think that every concert doesn’t feature The Doors, cause I’ve never seen them play, even though on the ticket it says “Doors at 6:30.”

15. Now, for just the price of 20 cups of coffee every month, you too can have 16 subscription services.

16. I don’t believe in coincidences. Oh, you don’t either? Wow, what a logical thing to think along the same lines as me on.

17. Molekools - “For Atoms That Smoke!”

18. A screwdriver, a nail gun, and rope, but make it fasten.

19. Always keep a few different balls in the air. Really make an attempt to piss off professional jugglers.

20. I never did grow into any of the clothes that my mom bought for me, but hey, that’s what my thirties are for.

21. “May the Farce be With You” - An upstairs, downstairs British comedy set in the Millennium Falcon. C3PWhoops!

22. Nice guys finish last. I usually finish first. Therefore, by the transitive property, I’m mean as hell, honey.

23. If at first you don’t succeed, sucking seed might not be right for you.

24. Cardio diem: Seize the workout.

25. Non sequitur - I hardly know her!

26. I shouldn’t grow fresh herbs inside because I forget to water them and there’s no sunlight. That’s some pretty sage advice.

27. I love to misjudge people by how fun they are. I call it funderestimating them.

28. Taste everything. Waste not a thing. Paste a thing. Baste a Turkey.

29. I want to have “wear a backpack on the chest” energy, but I regularly give off “wear two identical puffy jackets at the same time” energy, you know, the creepy one.

30. Take the scenic route whenever possible. Who knows? You might actually see Nick!

Again, these are all ideas and things I’ve lived by for a long, good while and now I get to share them with you. These helped me get to here. An online journal. Ok cool! 

Thanksmusings/Hanukkusings

Here we are again. Three weeks past Thanksgiving, smack dab in the middle of the holiday season, and a pandemic that’s like my style in the club; it just won’t quit. What a time to be alive! Have I said that before? Probably. Compared to last year, where we were separate and isolated, it might not be that bad. You didn’t have to worry about leaving us out of a Thanksgiving Zoom Call this year. Things are looking up. Nothing for me to hold a grudge about. Good. And no, I’m not still holding a grudge about that Thanksgiving zoom call. That would be insane.

I can’t tell if a year is long or short. A lot can happen and even more can change. One year, thanksgiving is working from home, where you watch a parade of float prerecorded a week earlier on 34th street; the next is a full blown gathering full of as many vaccines as the pharmacy would give us. It’s actually the appetizer and main course. You haven’t lived til you’ve had turkey, basted in vaccines. No I mean you really haven’t lived. This isn’t sounding right. I mean you have not lived. Ugh. 

I have to agree with SNL; Staten Island is full of turkeys. And no, I’m not talking about your cousin Sal. I mean actual wild turkeys. Full bottles of Wild Turkey being drank by your cousin Sal and actual wild turkeys. I hit one or two with my golf ball two months ago. It’s a gobble ball now. A gobball. Isn’t word play fun on Wild Turkey Wednesday?

Ah, WTW, my old fiend, er, I mean friend. How are all my high school fiends, er, wait, friends doing? Any new developments? Marriages and kids, huh? Well, that’s thirty for ya! Time of their lives and their little new lives, I reckon. I keep a breast of the changes via the Meta Company’s subsidiaries of Facebook and Instagram, don’t you worry your pretty little bar tab about that. So much can change after all, I guess, in a whole year. 

Keep your old friends close and your new friends closer. That’s what I’ve done. I’ve made a slew of new friends, mostly online. It’s so weird to pull out a device and wave “Here are my friends!” But I’ll show you a discord full or weirdos and misfits and really nice people. Discord is kind of the wrong word for a place to meet people and agree on something, as it literally translates to a disagreement. Seems perfect for Thanksgiving, though. 

And we’re back, once again, at Thanksgiving. A fuller circle has never been drawn, and I’ve seen three seasons of the reality show “The Circle.” Have you? It’s wild stuff. Wait! All this circle talk has me spinning more than my dreidel! Did you know it was also Hanukkah. Seems to be coming earlier and earlier every year and getting shorter and shorter. It’s the Benjamin Button of holidays. A nice Jewish boy’s name if I ever heard one.

And what would you like for Hanukkah? asks no one because gifts aren’t the point. The point is to once again commemorate the persecution of Jews and the tenacity that they have been forced to adopt these 5760 something odd years. Not to quote the Tin Man, but “gimme dat oil, yo!” And where would we be without mentioning the food? Those donuts, fried potatoes, sour cream, or as I call it, breakfast. Life’s got a funny way of always serving you breakfast! 

Anyway, Hanukkah came and went like some bad gas this year, and by that, I mean I ran out of candles to light. You try finding Hanukkah supplies in Bay Ridge. I had to borrow hair gel and fresh pasta to make my menorah. I cobbled together what I could. Thanks for the fettuccine, Alfredo! I feel connected to my Jewish-Italian roots. 

All in all, two holidays down before we even knew it and now that’s what I call Christmas knocking at the door. Oh, no, hang on, just a stupid Amazon package. Ugh, toss it on the pile. I forget what it even is that I ordered. Isn’t that fun! See you closer to Christmas, which, coincidentally, is the new Christmas movie I’m writing: Closer to Christmas, the story of a busy stock company exec who’s being ordered to treat his employees with any type of kindness, so he decides to fly them all to the North Pole this year and well, you get the picture. 

Happy Holidays (Non-Denominational and Otherwise) to you and yours.

The leather/Tin/Diamond Anniversary

Hi! I’m Tin Diamond. That’s Tin, with an “n” and not Tim. Parents were hippies. Anyway, I’ve been mandated to take a break from selling used cars at Diamond’s Dealership off the on ramp of Route 74 near exit 21 while the police finish their “investigation.” But enough about my side hustle. Charlie has asked me personally to wax poetic (and not wax a car, for a change) about his blog over the last 10 years, of which I am an avid reader. Who isn’t? This guy’s got it. And I was honored to be recruited on such a momentous occasion, the 10th year anniversary of him writing on here in fits and starts. Speaking of starting and stopping, go buy a used car from Diamond’s Dealership. We’ll cut prices just like jewelers cut diamonds, or the mob cuts people. But enough about my side hustle. 

From beginning posts that were literally about masturbation, to later posts that have been figuratively very masturbatory, he’s done himself a real self service. If it’s self service you’re after, look no further than Tin Diamond’s Used Car Emporium, part of Diamond Dealership, re-opening next week after the lovely folks at Precinct 15 finish up their work. He’s covered everything in between, spared no expense, and created a space that’s intimate, funny, and if I may say so myself, a book-worthy expanse of odd bullshit and lackluster musings. But he’s not stopping here. He’s going much further, unlike the wonderfully cheap and inexpensive cars from Diamond Dealership; pay no attention to reliability, it’s all about price.

I’ve supported him from the beginning, and let me tell you, I’ve donated every year. Been a very nice place to offload large sums of money under the guise of fostering a creative voice, a passionate artist yearning to write free. It’s my way of giving back. But enough about my side hustle. It’s all been used for good. When the pandemic derailed life everywhere, Charlie was also affected and that’s comforting to know. I actually can’t get my shit together because car parts are stuck at port, and he figuratively can’t get his shit together because anxiety is a real demon. Who knew we’d be in such the same boat? Speaking of which, we sell boats now at Diamond Dealership. There may be no car parts in America, but there’s a boatload of boats. Come get yours today (or as soon as the men and women in uniform say I can again begin selling vehicles, and only vehicles, so help me God). 

Some of you eagle-eye readers may have spotted something out of place. You’re saying “Hey, Tin? If this is the 10th anniversary, where’s the post about the 9th?” Good eye, I’d respond, as my Australian alter ego Tinney Leather, who is also wanted on some minor embezzlement and petty theft charges. I didn’t plan that name for this, I swear. I’ve always used it, and now I don’t have to tell you, but it surely fits like a leather glove, since leather is the 9 year gift after all. ‘Leather? He hardly whips her.’ I’ve seen that joke many times on here and it’s nice to know that I got it absolutely one hundred percent guaranteed correct the one time that I’ve been asked to guest write. Yeah, what about year 9? There was a pandemic, I think. He took it off, much like I’ll slash five thousand off the price of a slightly used Cadillac. The use? Street racing! This baby went from 0 to 60 a few times and now can’t. It’s perfect for your children learning to drive. Even comes with a cigar rack and barber chair. We’re slashing everything, including hair. Cut him some slack for the leather anniversary, or I’ll cut you some slack, and that threat’s about to get married because it’s thinly veiled. 

Well, now, let me get back to it. It’s been such a thrill and a great escape to write on here for a week. Now that I mention great escapes, anybody know how to? The police found something, and between you and me, it’s not gonna end well. Don’t worry, the dealership will still be run by the Diamond family, it’s just gonna have to pass to my baby girl, my pride and joy, Karat. Karat Diamond’s Dealership. That’s got a nice ring to it… (see what I did there?)

Honey, start the Cadillac! Grab your go bag of bags and let’s make like a meatball sub and split.

Oh, right? You’re still here reading? Good, really quick, he’s not stopping and all that jazz… [insert broken promise about writing every week here]. But do get excited for a book. That would be cool.

Honey, let’s a go. I’m doing Mario voice, so you know I mean business. Come on, Princess. This ain’t our castle no more.

*Engine sputtering* *tires squeaking* *loose leather hitting the road* *smoke fading*

New York Is Back

And now, a poem:

Yesterday, I walked outside, saw a pigeon steal a snack;

Well, my friends, New York is back!

Went to do my laundry on Sunday, and the entire place was packed?

Don’t have to tell me twice — New York is back!

Found some pennies on the ground, they were even in a stack;

Don’t make any more wishes, folks — New York is back!

Caught a morning subway ride, when the sky was still black;

Get your own damn job, cause New York is back!

Ate a full street pizza slice, filled my heart with plaque;

All of a sudden got real hungry, now that Nee York is back!

Covered my face at subway Showtime!, afraid of getting whacked;

Put a dollar in this guy’s hat, cause New York is back!

Observed cars honk at nothing — still give each other flack; 

The good news is the light is green, cause New York is back.

Took in an upbeat, jukebox, Broadway show, although Jagged Little Pill is really about crack;

Anything Goes on that Great White Way, especially when New York is back!

Biked outside in October, around a park’s track; 

Throw away your Peleton, New York is back!

Fall foliage is in full swing, just get on an Amtrak;

No better way to leave the city, now that New York is back.

Too many unmasked people gave me a panic attack;

I’ll take my chances at home, but nice to see New York’s back!

Sanitizer? I Hardly Know Her

March 17th, 2020 was a Tuesday. I’ll never forget that week, ever. I finished my shift bartending at the Tank Theater’s bar, a chill job that paid in tips and free drinks, if you were discreet enough, which I was. Things were… tense. I rearranged the letters on the light up sign to say “Alcohol kills germs,” in an attempt to lighten the mood and also sell drinks. But things were… tense. We were all kind of just like “What do we do?” I had my small Bath and Body Works Black Cherry Merlot hand sanitizer, which I nursed all night long, but the scientist/tinkerer in me realized that stores were out of stuff and making our own supplies might be a necessary option. The smell of that sanitizer still sends me into the fetal position. Always will.

My plan was to grab a bottle of Tito’s, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a bottle of aloe. I’d drink the Tito’s, and use the other two to make hand sanitizer. While most of the US was fighting over toilet paper, it took a special few of us to fight over rubbing alcohol from CVS, Walgreens, and/or Rite Aid. I arrived at a CVS to what appeared to be a real lack of rubbing alcohol, and a comrade/foe of mine had gotten there a smidge faster. We didn’t exchange names because we we’re millennials (it’s just not the first thing that comes up in conversation), so we both stared bug-eyed at an unopened box of Nice! rubbing alcohol on the floor, 60% isopropyl, which was also, coincidentally, our chances of surviving this thing.

She was an Asian woman, terrified and hiding it poorly. I was a Caucasian man, bottling up my emotions into chest palpitations and stomach problems. Taking out the world’s saddest missed connection ad now seems to be in poor taste, right?  When her first request of taking the entire unopened box of like 16 bottles was denied, the manager countered with an offer of being able to give out two bottles. Two bottles to split between us. She grabbed them, so you might as well call me Stanley Yelnats, cause I was left with Zero.

I took a fighter’s stance, unafraid to get a little scrappy, since we were in the first aid aisle, after all. Ring the bell, Apollo. I verbally taunted her with “May I please have one?” She floated like a bumblebee and said “No.” I felt a hint of sexual tension, although that could’ve been gas, as my stomach was uneasy. “Come on, we’re both here, and you don’t need two. It’ll be ok, I promise,” I jabbed, after spotting a drop in her metaphorical gloves for a split second. “You’re sure?” She slammed. Oof!!! I didn’t know we were allowed to hit below the belt. Well, nothing is guaranteed in life, so I said, “Yeah, that’s enough for a whole two bottles of sanitizer, once you mix it with the aloe.” Nevertheless, she relented and reluctantly handed me one. If I’m going to Hell, let it be for that. Ding! Ding! Round 1 done. We didn’t get to have a round 2 because of COVID. I think she’s ok. I hope she’s ok.

Now, one and a half years into a pandemic, the only alcohol I’m panic buying is craft beer.  But what’s remained is all of the things we do to sanitize our lives. I didn’t quite clean house, but I for sure sprayed everything with Lysol. Couple of broom sweeps here and there. A quick swiffer run across the floors. That’s at home. I want to talk about the sanitization out, on public transit, at the grocery store, in public in general. Remember letting groceries sit in the garage for a day or two? I don’t because I don’t have a garage, but I do remember wiping down all the groceries with Lysol wipes. Why? Because I still do it. Do I wipe the subway seat down? No, not anymore. I still use hand sanitizer. Do I wear gloves? No, never did, in any sense of the word, if you know what I mean… and I mean sex. Hell, some people don’t even wear masks anymore, a thing which I am sure is here to stay. It’s the new pocket square. Bury me with my collection, please? That’s all I ask. 

What got me thinking about this was some people watching, which, truth be told, is kind of what gets me into everything. People are nuts. I didn’t need a pandemic to see that. I’ve seen crazy scenes on the subway before, but nothin quite takes the cake like a woman using her own self-made disinfectant to sanitize a seating area fully, like she’s being paid to do it, all while her mask was below her chin. If I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again; your toxic concoction and latex rubber glove does nothing for an airborne virus, and it just doesn’t feel comfortable so I won’t wear it, OK? Sheesh. There’s other types of prophylactics… oh wait that’s not part of this rant. 

Put your kid in a visor and a mask. Is that overkill? Yup. Wear your gloves and touch everything and then your cell phone. Did you negate the effort? Yup. Eat and drink on the train. Delta to mouth one? Yup. We still do all these protocols because in some way they comfort us. They get our vaccinated asses through the trip mentally. They are the brain’s vaccine, and I guess to each their own, whatever gets you through. If COVID doesn’t get me, the over redundancy of all of us trying to protect ourselves surely will. Oh, that reminds me; come see my improv troupe Brain Vaccine at the corner of Madison Ave and 41st street. We do a new form called Food Truck that I really think you’ll love. There’s an open bar, and by that I mean an exposed piece of scaffolding is being used as a bench. Currently it’s limited capacity and vaccinated only, so be there early with your phone’s Clear app ready to go. We’d really love to see you there. 

Wear a mask, folks. It was relevant at the snapshot in time of 2019-2022 and it’s relevant now, whatever year this is. It’s the only thing we’re being asked, and the only thing that I’ll ever expect of anyone else ever again. I learned my lesson. People are nuts. Didn’t have to tell me twice.

So when the time comes, my obit will say something to the effect of “He died doing what he loved, baking sourdough and drinking scotch.” And the obit picture will be the top half of my made up face, a smoky cat eye or whatever the funeral home wants to try, a mullet maybe, no restrictions, and the bottom half will be a cloth mask that I got for free in the mail with “Apply for an Upstart Loan! Call today!” written on it, just as God intended.

The Old Concert Try

It’s been a long time between posts because I’ve been working on just how exactly to phrase this. I think I’m getting old, not solely because Steve from Blue’s Clue has been on his 12 step journey and making amends for the last twenty years, but also because I like the finer things in life. A good scotch, a relaxing fire, all kids being sent “somewhere else.” The finer things. My joke is that I was born 40 years old, so just add 40 to my actual age and you get how old I feel inside mentally. So that would make me 69. Nice!

Regardless, I’m not as young as I used to be. That’s a true statement always, but I say it with some irreverence as I just stretched myself to the limit of my physical and mental comfort by going to 2 different concerts on 2 consecutive days with 2 different ambiences. One was the Dropkick Murphy’s and Rancid, and the other was Alanis Morrisette and Garbage. And if youre thinking “Calm down, Charlie, your age is fine, those are two very different concerts, nothing is wrong,” I’d say to you ‘I know, but that’s not funny. People say I’m funny. Let me make it funny.’

The first concert was 50 year olds who were very into punk when they were younger and the second concert was 50 year olds who were very into grunge when they were younger. So basically just a ton of white people. Reminded me a lot of Billy Joel and Weird Al. (Maybe I have a type.) Anyway, I’m not afraid to go to a concert alone. It’s more fun with people I know, I know, but if they’re out of town or “studying” in college, don’t stand in the way of me seeing Weird Al Yankovic or Billy Joel, respectively. But when my current girlfriend of five years said “These are the first concerts we’ve been to together,” I was shocked at her perceptiveness and my lack thereof. Turns out, we do concerts very differently. Not a bad thing, just… different.

I much prefer to tackle a concert drunk. I don’t mean get into a fight with a drunk at a concert. I hate confrontation. I mean use alcohol as a way to loosen up, relax, dance in my seat. And yes, my seat; I wouldn’t be caught dead in a mosh pit. Actually, I would be caught dead in a mosh pit. That’s how they’d find me. I weigh 122 lbs in baggy, wet athletic shorts. What can I say? My personal dress code and style is “at the pool without a bathing suit, just go in wearing those” chic. My final words would be “Hey, you spilled that on me! Are you going to apologize?” No, no, not my scene. I’m a Seatgeek™️ when it comes to shows. She’s ok with a pit of moshers, it turns out, even after I told her there’s no good explanation for a black eye when you’re dating a man, except for maybe that you got dropkicked by Murphy at a Dropkick Murphy’s show. She’s willing to take the societal risk of me being like “I didn’t do that, I didn’t do that,” and everyone saying “theythinks me doth protest too much.” That’s my next book; She Got Punched, I Got Cancelled. 

However, if you’re a person who’s not a narc like me, you probably just get high at a show and nurse a rosé. Now, they say drugs are prohibited at shows, but they obviously mustn’t look too hard, cause there’s enough weed at concerts these days to kill Snoop Dogg and Woody Harrelson. (That’s the True Detective casting I want to see HBO, if you are in fact reading these posts.) I guess they don’t do cavity searches at the door, although I wish they would. I haven’t been to the dentist in ages. Of course, the most imperceptible way to get stuff past the gate check is to slip an edible about 45 minutes prior and just let the music feel like it’s entering your body through your chest and not your ears. Rock the rib cage! 

I’d never done that before, because let’s be honest, I’m scared of drugs because of their on again/off again illegality. Decriminalized, uncriminalized, recriminalized, subcriminalized… This legalese over legal weed is enough to make a judge cry. (Side note: um, Prince? this is what it sounds like when judges cry…) But, when in Rome, and by Rome I mean deep Queens, what’s a guy and gal to do for fun? See the show as God intended, high on just Jesus? Certainly not. I’d like to be paranoid about my belongings please? Thank you. Now, look at the pretty colors and stop shaking the person next you. (Things we wish we could tell our younger selves.)

And now what about merch? I don’t normally buy merch when I go to a show, but when I do I prefer dos XL. I like to remember concerts the old fashioned way, by recording every song on my phone and never looking at the video again. Why do I need a sweatshirt from every show? It only makes sense to wear one sweatshirt at a time, unless you’re someplace really cold, like in the Arctic or the surface of Mars. Is there even merch on Mars? Age old question, isn’t it? But, my girlfriend likes sweatshirts and tees, of which, and I don’t think she’ll mind me saying this, she has way too many. Marie Kondo would just turn around, muttering “Gonna waste my time…” under her breath. Alas, though, we own more sweatshirts and tees now. Yay merch!

Anyway, I’m like the bands we saw perform; I’m getting a little to old for this shit. And I guess I’d rather have an IPA than an edible. This is the TL;DR, the too long, didn’t read part. Strategically placed at the end, so that you’ve read it all. But here’s what I can say: I learned about myself, I learned about punk and grunge, and I learned about my girlfriend. Can I ask for more? I don’t think so. And it’ll even be good fodder for the podcast I do with my brother, where we talk about concerts. To Whom It May Concert! Give it a look up and a listen. 

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/to-whom-it-may-concert/id1454935902

Enjoy the Tour

Much like a great set of Karaoke or a late night dive bar hang or just the 80’s music scene in general, Life is all about the Journey. “Don’t stop believin’! Hold on to that…” notion that there is no prize at the end of the road. There may be a few forks, but no prize. Lots of times, we travel down the road collecting forks only to realize that the theoretical “reward” is soup. You know what the actual reward is? A fork collection. 

I’ve been playing a golf game on my phone since April 2020. It was one of the coping mechanisms that actually didn’t hurt me physically or financially this past year and a half. ‘See? I told you they were out there, honey. Unpack those bags, would ya? Stay a while...’ Anyway, you level up in experience by winning matches which wins coins to spend on club upgrades, the more rare, the more xp points you get. And there’s daily goals, tournaments, a clubhouse, a group chat, all the things that make an app basically social media. And long story short (which yes, I do know how to do), I’m a co-captain in my clubhouse and the chat will vary wildly week to week but always come back to the long struggle for most of us to reach Level 9.

Ah, level 9. What mystery awaits! Prizes, accolades, riches beyond our wildest dreams... I’m as salty as Veruca because I want it nowwwwwwwwww.....

Egg on my face, huh? Could you even imagine for a second if I was like that? Life, and yes we are talking about that, scroll back up, you’ll see, is actually about that journey to the end, and enjoying your time getting there, the Charlie Bucket of it all, if you will. Lick the walls, drink fizzy lifting juice, save that ever lasting gobstopper for an everlasting gobstoppical moment, take the glass elevator wherever the hell it goes. But don’t for a second think that a chocolate factory will make you happy. It won’t. (I actually wrote and performed a whole piece on here about how it didn’t. Remember that?) 

Here’s the actual exchange from the game, and yes, it’s this boring most of the time, but I enjoy it (08/24/2021):

And here’s what I wrote:

I like playing this golf game. It is fun to me. I do so every day. I haven’t missed one day since April 2020. It’s the same holes, over and over again. Like marriage! Updates come out regularly and the game hasn’t really changed. I think they added TPC Boston. Have I lost you yet? The look and feel remain the same and that’s comforting, but I have to wonder, will I reach level 9? 

Who cares! When I start winning all the tournaments, getting holes-in-one everywhere, paying for card packets to open, then I’ll stop. But right now, it’s about the fun and the journey (there’s that word again) through it. 

Where’s life going? I don’t know. You couldn’t pay someone enough to tell you and be right. The only thing I do know is where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and if I’m determined and enjoying myself enough to keep going. I am. Don’t spend so long pondering the existential questions. Take some time, but much of it is unanswerable. Is it really worth getting to level 9? Maybe, but let’s be present here now and then find out one day that level 9 is right in front of me. And if I play long enough, spend enough money, and win enough challenges, maybe it will be.