"amber put my dimple in the wrong spot."

stef and i ventured to dumont burger for mac and cheese and deep fried pickles. some ranch dipping sauce would have been a pleasure, but not a requirement to us enjoying the comfort food. we drank beers. talked about life. music. deep fried pickles and how awesome they are. we drew our favorite characters. then, we drew portraits of each other. stef successfully captured my good sides - all four of them. like any good producer would, she offered me options. i captured her dimple, in the wrong spot.

stef: 9 nov 9

amber: 9 nov 9

it comes in threes.

they say that tragedy comes in threes.

yesterday morning, gawker reported that a man was found dead on the l train. the same train i ride to work every morning. the day before, a friend of mine witnessed a 13 year old girl get hit by a car in the city. the child's parents were there as they watched her life fade, uncontrollably. last week, as i walked to work down bedford ave in williamsburg, a team of paramedics and fire fighters fought hard to save the life of a man that had collapsed on the sidewalk. it didn't look promising.

lesson of the week: life is fragile.

though, this sentiment may seem obvious, these events served as a reminder that life as you know it can change in just seconds. like watching a glass slip off the table, just out of reach and as you try to catch it, it hits the floor and breaks into pieces.

life is short. it bends and breaks and twists, in all directions. without control. without expectation. and, what can you do, but look both ways, eat healthy and only walk the line when you really mean it? im not sure yet if there is comfort in knowing most things are out of our control. but, the alternative seems way more scary.

do i believe in fate? yes, i think so.
is fate a bitch sometimes? certainly.
is life unfair? it can be.

but, the things you can control. the moments you choose. that's where we need to focus.

i was having drinks with a friend. a very wise friend. well, actually this advice came from a friend of hers, but lets not get caught up on who said what now. the message was clear and simple.

she said, "amber, do the things that make you happy."

i think she's right. i also think, we could probably all get better at this.

game on.

i have a plan.

i have decided that i am not going to become a rock star by playing music.

observation[1]:
people in new york love their extracurricular activities[2]. if new yorkers know how to do one thing together, it's compete against each other in an organized, highly efficient manner. there are countless basketball leagues, biking groups, spin classes, beer pong tournaments, tennis clubs; for the young, the old, the gay, the straight, the talented and the beginner.

hypothesis[3]:
assuming playing sports is a good way to meet people, famous people like to play sports just like the rest of us[4], and becoming famous is all about who you know, then permeating[5] the “A” list celebrity extracurricular scene in new york, should result in a successful career as a rock star.

this is what I have convinced myself.

i am confident, that i can totally kick tom hanks' ass in anything involving a ball.[6] i saw cast away. he turned a fucking volleyball into his best friend. at least kick it around a few times, bump it, play 21 against the tree as if it's a basketball net; something. it's a ball. treat is like one[7]. you have nothing to do. i could have killed at least two weeks on that island thinking of games. by the end of week three, i would have put together a fucking league with the locals.

i am also pretty sure that i could give brad pitt a run for his money on the court; assuming that no wnba players show up and out school me. in which case, i will have to resort to quick wit and charm to win him over. but, competing with brad pitt on comedic timing shouldn't be too difficult. i saw his cameo on friends. it was just okay.

alright, i lied. i have the beginning of a plan.

i still haven’t figured out where these celebrities hangout. nor, do i really know anyone that is famous to ask. a small detail, really. check back in six months. if i am already famous, you can probably assume that i have been spending most of my nights and weekends on the court and not in the recording studio.

footnotes[8]:
1. observed through personal experience, minimal use of google and whatever the nice contributors of wikipedia told me was true.

2. just googled percentage of people that participate in sports in new york city and it turned up the following results:
60% of adults cant drink milk.
1 in 4 adults in new york have the herpes virus.
1 in 8 adults in new york have diabetes.

all good things to know, i think

3. this may not conform to proper hypothesis form, but i dont care. it's a fucking blog and the last formal hypothesis i wrote was in grade 12 science class.

4. i think I read this in US magazine in a piece titled, "celebrities do it too." And by read, I mean looked at pictures and quickly scanned the captions.

5. this word sounds kind of gross

6. caution: this sudden flood of confidence may be the result of too many crown royals on the rocks and one ginormous gravity bong. Yes, I know ginormous is not a word. spell check keeps reminding me with the red squiggly line. Do I care? No. the word gigantic is lame. So is enormous. It’s all about ginormous.

7. he may have actually played with the volleyball as if it was an actual ball. but, i asked my roommate and she's about as sure as i am that he didn't. frankly, i didn't care enough to spend the $3.25 on a rental to tell you for certain. i also have no interest in ever watching that movie again. It’s three hours of a guy on the beach talking to a ball. once is enough. and if tom hanks was better at sports cast away wouldn’t have even been a good movie.

8. creating footnotes in blogger is really annoying. just saying.

shit my dad says

is it weird that this guy is 29, living at home with his 73 year old father, and i am kind of jealous? based on his twitter page, i think it's justified. who wouldn't want to live with that kind of constant entertainment. and, free rent none-the-less.

http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

dad.

drinking out of cups. being a bitch.

im not sure if this makes for a good case against drugs or for drugs. i think for. because, it's ridiculously funny and i doubt that anyone could rhyme this off sober with the same success.

reading rainbow.

over dinner, a friend told me she would never marry a girl who buys her a journal or asks her to read a book.

as a reformed, non-reader and avid note taker, i was eager to prove her wrong. and, marry her.


i hated reading.
i was an idiot.

i equated literary esteem to entertainment. they are not the same thing.

i told her, i would buy her this book, because i am confident that this is the book that will make her a believer. a reader.

my argument:

a.the font is huge.
b.he swears. more than i do.
c.it's fucking hilarious.

i think this is strong criteria for a good book.

the average american male.

hot. fucking. traveling machine.

last night i decided i need a bike. so naturally, i also decided, it's way more fun building your own.

i stopped off at joe's shop, which google and a few choice words lead me to find, just a few blocks off the 7th ave stop in brooklyn. tucked away, past report cards pinned to fridges, was a backyard.

it made me think of how rare backyards are in this city.

having a backyard in new york is like being the cool kid in elementary school. you get to throw pop and chip parties again; only the pop is spiked with whatever booze you can get your hands on and the dips are slightly more refined. we have moved on from our days of cheese whiz melted in the microwave; though, it's a nice change when you're feeling simple.

when you have a backyard, everyone wants to come to your party. because, well...you're the fucking cool kid. you get to slow dance to meatloaf, play games and hand out hot dogs. most of us in new york have accepted that we are just the fat kid, who eats all the cake and only got invited because his mom is fucking the soccer coach.

but, if you aren't 26 and preoccupied with turning every space available into your next place to party, then you do things like joe. you find a hobby. you turn it into a business. and you work on projects that you love.

which is what brought me 45 mins away from the city on the F train.

right now, she is just a frame. a red, 1983 fuji frame. but, in a week and a half, she will be transformed into a hot. fucking. traveling machine.