I think that there are way too many people throwing around the word "change" right now. I get that our new president was elected based off of a campaign rife with promises of "change", as if anything really changes in the long run. Sure, there might be less torture, less taking away of civil liberties, maybe even a shred of diplomatic and domestic decency...for a time.

But let's not kid ourselves; lines were crossed over the past eight years. For every step behind the line we've taken as a country we've taken two past it over a very long period of time. And as long as there continues to be a wishy-washy, less-than-transparent government I don't think we're ever going to make it back to the line in the sand. We'll just keep drawing new ones and saying "this will be the line we never cross". And then when the line is too far behind us to see it even when we turn around and peer into the darkness, we'll draw another one. This will be the line we never cross. And then this one. And then this one.

Politics won't change because too many people are rich off of its teat. Elected officials make millions in donations and fundraisers. Lobbyist groups make millions for their specific causes, not caring from where the money is taken. Cures for life-threatening diseases and conditions are slowed to a crawl, not because we can't fix all of it but because of inane religious beliefs and the fact that there's no money in the cure, only in the medicines manufactured solely to surpress the illnesses but not enough to make you independent of the drugs.

Change takes sacrifice from everyone. And right now, not enough people are willing to sacrifice. Politicians don't want to give up the donations they get from pharmaceutical companies, so they won't push for universal healthcare or tie government funding to measurable goals. Without these mandated goals, those same companies have no reason to strive for cures; they make too much money off of making a drug to treat every illness you didn't know you had.

People whine about taxes while their schools and roads are falling apart. Parents talk a lot of bullshit when it comes to giving their children the opportunities that they never had themselves. They'll rail on about the poor conditions of their childrens' gymnasium, the lack of computers in the writing lab, the outdated textbooks...right until you ask them to do their civic duty and shell out some cash to pay for all of this publically-funded knowledge. And then those same parents will bury their heads in the sand right next to the line we crossed eight years ago and tell us that they pay enough already and to get someone else to do it. There are TVs to buy, boats, cars, vacations to pay for. They'll say they don't owe anything towards education because their kids already graduated, and they'll wonder why their grandchildren dropped out of school because they can't get the attention they need in a class of fifty for geometry.

The idea of "we're all in this together" went to hell the minute Gordon Gecko told people that greed is good. The minute somebody told the wealthy CEOs of companies that if they piss excellence that it will trickle down and enrich the lives of all the little people below them, the ant drones who serve their food, cook their books, teach their children. And rich people swallowed that tripe hand over fist; they couldn't get it all into their gaping maws fast enough.

You want change? Real change?

Too bad; that ship has sailed. The government gave change a boatload of money and it sailed away as fast as it could.

There are two things that will never change: greed and people.

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People don't change. Sure, they get fatter or skinnier; there's always an ugly duckling who turns into a beautiful swan. There's the homecoming queen who turns into the town whore. But those people never really change; they only got what was eventually coming to them. Deep down, people are who they are. They're raised a certain way; their life experiences shape their behaviors.

Doctors can try and walk you through your experiences. They can tell you that none of it is your fault and that you can learn from your mistakes. Sometimes, they're even right; that's not the point. You can learn anything and everything you've ever wanted to know about yourself, but you're still you. You're still the person who made those mistakes and lived those experiences.

They are as much a part of you as your eyes, your hair, your skin. You can't just decide that you're not "that person" anymore and start over because every time you look in that mirror it's still the same person looking back at you no matter how many hours you've spent on a couch shelling out $100 an hour to cry about the time you told your parents you hated them. Or when you watched a life-long friend cry his eyes out because you just had to loudly make fun of him in a crowded cafeteria just so that other kids would think you were cool.

You are who you are, and no amount of self-awareness is going to turn you into someone else. The only thing that seems to ever work in changing one's perception (for a little while, anyway) is tragedy. Two things about that disturb me: one, that a person's only change to better themselves comes after something terrible; and two, that even then...it doesn't last.

Eventually, everyone ends up where they always were. You really do want to draw a new line in the sand, only you'll find that the old one is just where you left it: right in front of you. And if you squint hard and look out into the desert, you might just see something scratching new lines into the sand ahead, a trail of money swirling around in its wake.

"Plus de choses changent, plus qu'ils restent les mêmes."

Well. Hmm. Fuck.

Note: this is one of those "woe is me" entries that I usually just think to myself in my head until it builds and builds and I get even more pissed off at the world than I am right now. I'm not looking for pity or a "you're great, Andy!" I just need to get this down on something before it makes my head explode.

For fuck's sake, what is wrong with me?

I like to think I'm a pretty good guy. I wouldn't say "nice", because at times I'm too sarcastic. I make off-color jokes because I think they're hilarious and my close friends do, too. I tend to fake going off the deep end for a laugh. But I'm pretty sure I'm a good goddamn person.

I keep hitting these obstacles, man. I'm not athletic enough for you. I'm not nice enough for you. I'm not rich enough for you. I'm too loyal to you. I'm too in love with you. You're not ready for marriage even though you said yes (my personal favorite, by the way).

Well fuck, and here I thought we were doing well. Which leads me to the question: am I completely fucking wrong about my perception of me?

Maybe I'm not as funny as I thought, or as smart, or as sarcastic, or as (shudder) nice as I thought. Maybe I really am just some smug asshole with an inferiority complex about his superiority complex who no one will ever truly accept and who brings nothing else to the table.

And by "no one", of course, I'm talking about women.

For all the bullshit I hear about women needing a man who first and foremost makes her laugh, it seems like I'm the comic relief who ends up in a perpetual month-long tango rife with dinner dates, an activity or two, and a "you're a great guy, but I just don't see it happening" talk...you know, just to drive the point home that either a) I am funny, nice, and whatnot but just not attractive; or b) I'm none of those things mentioned in part "A" in addition to being unattractive.

Fuck, it's not like I'm trying to be the way I am; it just is what it is. I don't want to have to change my sense of humor, or my level of intelligence. I don't even want to pretend they aren't what they are. I want someone who accepts me for me. Now I'm almost 28 fucking years old and I'm right back where I started when I was 21. Even worse, I only drink good booze so I can't even drown my sorrows for less than $30 on a good night without eating dinner.

I want to be with someone; I hate being alone. I'm just not willing to sacrifice who I am to get there.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, fuck you all. I change for no one. If you can't accept it, die. Seriously. I'm going to bed.

Should old aquaintance be forgot...

So, another year has come and gone. Not a great year, not a terrible year. It was the first year I spent New Year's Eve as a single man in a very long time. It's a very bizarre feeling, when the clock strikes midnight, the cheers go up, and there's no one to kiss. Or, should I say, no one I wanted to kiss; there were plenty of women at the Grand Canal but I was just there to have a good time and bask in the glow of my friends. I actually wasn't as let down at midnight as I thought I would be; the night went so well that the New Year's kiss was almost an afterthought. I was supposed to head down to the Cape, where I would have been guaranteed a New Year's kiss. The weather decided to kick me in the ass and make that trip impossible at 6pm. No big deal...it would have been a miserable trip and I wouldn't have gotten there until well past 9pm.

There are several things I've learned about myself and the world in the short time since work ended last night:

1) As down as I might be sometimes during special events when I realize that I really am single, I think about why I'm newly-single and it brightens my spirits.

2) Women will wear the skimpiest clothing possible on New Year's Eve no matter what the temperature is outside. It must've been way below freezing with the wind last night and there were women EVERYWHERE clad in nothing but a short-as-hell cocktail dress, nylons, and heels. Which instantly makes New Year's Eve my favorite holiday. Ever.

3) I truly am a sucker for a woman in a skirt, nylons, and heels. Every time. I ended up talking to two different women for about 15 minutes each who were clearly morons, but I continued to talk to them because they looked like Barbie dolls. Unfortunately, the women who go out to bars on NYE are either taken or part of a "mother hen" group; I wasn't with anyone I wanted to subject to chatting with the mother hen for me. Which knocks NYE down a couple of pegs to just below my birthday (yes, it's a holiday), Memorial Day, and MathiSlam.

I also ended up helping a girl who had slipped in the snow but was literally too drunk to get herself upright again. She almost pulled me down with her twice. Why did I help her? You guessed it: skirt, nylons, heels. Done and done. Her request to give me her number was refused, however, based on the fact that she took three steps after I helped her up and puked.

4) A person walking through Boston at 2am has a better chance of finding, subduing, and collecting the reward for catching Whitey Bulger than getting a cab. I ended up walking for the Grand Canal to my car...at the Hancock Tower in Back Bay. It took me nearly an hour and I'm pretty sure one of my ears may have fallen off. I don't remember reattaching it but perhaps my brain had been numbed as well.

5) There may be something to this new-fangled idea of NOT getting completely hammered in order to have a good time. I only had a couple of drinks and I had a blast. The fact that Bearfight rocks my cock probably had something to do with that.

So, you've probably gotten this far and have decided that this was a waste of your time. Why did you read all of this boring BS about me? Well, if you read carefully then you've figured out the way to get me to do whatever you want. Women, just put on the trifecta of hotness before you ask anything of me. Men...provide me with women who wear the trifecta of hotness before you ask anything of me.

But in all seriousness, I hope 2009 is a better year for you and me. Here's hoping. Cheers.

Gobble the grenade.

A year ago I was in Jersey, spending the holiday with her family. I spent most of the day playing with Pete and Bridget. Dickens Days in Clinton.

It's not so much her I miss, because I don't. She isn't worth it.

It's her family I miss.

It's the memories I have of times I should be treasuring forever that will never shine as brightly as they once did.

They're in the pictures I look at when I'm reminiscing with a little bit of disgust that I never felt before.

It's the sour taste I get in my mouth when I have to answer the same goddamn question over and over in the most polite tone I can muster because I know it's being asked out of genuine concern, when I just want to scream "because she SUCKS" just the one time and have it over with but I can't. Even if it's completely true.

After all the analysis, soul-searching, and explanations I can come up with are exhausted it all boils down to the fact that she's a five year-old who would have rather wallowed in her drama and have taken me down with her than to have actually talked to me like a human being.

Seriously, fuck you. Choke on your goddamn turkey.

God bless us, everyone...but you.

Just Because.

I'm just writing in here because I want to get something down on here. I'm just not sure what. Ideas just come to me.

For instance, did you know that I used to volunteer at a battered womens' shelter back in college? I just took calls, talked to people, gave them lists of places to go/call...that sort of thing. I've seen the excuses women come up with to "justify" the fact that they are physically abused.

1) All he does is push me.
2) Don't worry about me; I fight back.
3) If I didn't do (insert benign action here), he wouldn't have had to hit me.
4) He does it to show me he cares about me.

I've heard a lot of excuses in my time. AND NOT ONE OF THEM MAKE IT OK. So when a woman says that she is strong enough to take it, that she fights back, I say to her "sure, you fight back...until the next time when he uses a fist, or a belt, or a bat." And if a woman says that her guy would never do that, tell her to look back to a time when she said they'd never let a man hurt her. It's the idea of diminishing returns, only what diminishes is sanity, control, and self-worth.

A woman who is truly strong either a) doesn't take that shit from anyone, regardless of relationship; or b) knows to ask for help if and when it happens, if and when they can't fix it on their own.

I guess that's all I have to say about that.

USE YOUR HEAD.

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I'm not really sure on the stages of grief/loss, but I'm pretty sure I'm at "anger" right now. I didn't really do "denial" because I'm the one who broke it off and really, how silly would denial be at this point? ("I did it! No I didn't!" See how stupid that sounds?) I'll probably get to the "depressed" part when it gets closer to Christmas, but for right now I'll take the anger. Feels pretty good, actually. It's what's getting my ass around the lake four times a week in this weather.

Which one is after anger? Sleepy? Dopey? Whatever; I'll enjoy "anger" for a while.

Funny enough, the one thing I could always count on to take me to a happy place was acting. I haven't done a show since Love of a Pig, and the last time with that show was at EMACT back in June 2007. I auditioned for a show a few months ago and didn't get in, which was a bummer. I'm going to jump back in for Acme's New Works Festival and their auditions for Picasso at the Lapin Agile. I just need to be able to get onstage. I need to be able to let go of everything else (control, the thoughts constantly in my head, work, stress) and just be told where to go and what to do. Say this line, move to this mark, project to the audience, don't fuck it up. I was actually asked to direct for the NWF but I just couldn't do it. I am too much in my own world to tell other people what to do with theirs. I need direction right now. Strong, confident, organized direction. That'll snap me out of this johnny-come-lately bullshit funk that has been festering in my brain the past week or so.

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Work is...what it is. No holiday party. Possibly no bonuses. You're a Mean One, Mr. Wall Street.

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Alright, I'm spent. Auditions tomorrow, trivia Wednesday, peace and quiet after that.

Sweet dreams, kids.

Words of advice.

For the life of me I couldn't tell you why, but I read this and cried. Maybe I'm just overtired; I don't know. It made me so happy and so sad at the same time. Where you go, I go. Anyway, here it is.


So there's this guy who's walking down the street when he falls into a hole. The walls are so steep he can't escape. A doctor walks by and the guy asks him for help. The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down the hole, and leaves. A priest passes by and the guy asks him for help. The priest scribbles out a prayer, tosses it down the hole, and walks away. Then one of the guy's friends walks by and the guy asks him for help. Without hesitation, the friend jumps down into the hole with the first guy. The first guy asks, "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here!" The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out."

A Moment of Morbidity

I've always been fascinated with death, mostly because it scares the shit out of me. I am so afraid of dying that I can barely step into a doctor's office or a hospital. Of course, that's also partly attributed to my fear of needles and being "under".

Still, even being as big a pussy as I seemingly am, I think about death. Not in the same way a goth kid does, or an elderly person, or a doctor. I think more about what really happens. Who knows if there really is a God? I don't really subscribe to religion as I genuinely feel that early religions were invented as a story - a story meant to explain "that which cannot be explained" - and which grew to be an escape for people from the harshness of real life. Religion used to be the panacea for anything and everything; diseases were punishments for sins and recoveries were miracles, seemingly the work of divine intervention. It has also evolved into a force of control over the masses, a way to keep the poor from killing the rich and to keep the outsiders just behind the borders of the norm.

Who is right? Who is wrong? And what right do people think they have to judge others based on their beliefs?

I guess I mull these ideas in my head because I don't know what's going to happen when I die. If I even get the chance to reflect on my life as it fades away, what will I see? Will "God" be revealed to me? Will I have flashes of my life, my accomplishments, my failures before I pass? Will I have time for my last words?

I think about my last words more than I probably should. I think about what I need to say if and when I realize that I'm going to die. I've always imagined that my last words will have to be something comforting to my family and friends. Maybe it will be profound, but I'm less worried about that. Will I be surrounded by people I love who will hear my words of comfort? What if I die at a diner or on the train to work? Who will care what I have to say? Who will tell my family I love them?

I just want to be able to tell the people I love that I love them, that they're going to be ok, that I'm going to be ok. And then I think about how many people don't get that chance. People who die in car accidents, or from heart attacks at restaurants, or in botched carjackings; these are people who have lived their lives and have loved and whose flames get snuffed out before they can tell people the people they love that it's all going to be ok, even if it's not.

And maybe I won't be able to say what I need to say. Maybe I'll be too busy crying like a little girl and begging for my fading life. Maybe I will be so preoccupied with fighting against the dying of the light that I won't be able to comfort those I love.

It's scary and it's stupid, I know. But it's what I think about.

So I try to tell the people I love that I love them. My family, my friends...the people who make me happy, who make me love life - even if it's only for a little while and only in small doses. If you really love someone, then go ahead and say it. Don't worry about hurt feelings or reactions; don't let other people pound self-doubt into your head. Love can be so many different things to so many different people, and the idea that love is somehow sacred and only available to certain people in certain situations is ridiculous.

I love my family, I love my friends (new and old), I love the people who make me feel like I matter. I do what I can, though sometimes it's by use of sarcasm and humor, to tell those people that I don't exist without them. I wish more people would get over themselves and just say it to someone - even if you're afraid, even if it's just the love of friendship, even if it complicates things. In the end, you're going to find out what you're made of and what the people around you are made of. Love really will do that for you. It will change you life and make you a better person. And who doesn't want that?

Don't wait to tell people you love them. Don't put it on hold; don't assume that you'll be able to say it tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. You may never get the chance to change yourself for the better by just being honest and admitting that you're in love with your life and the people in it. And you'll be happier, I promise you.

Love never fails.