Villages of Newton: Power Rankings

#1 Newtonville

Whatever you do, never start talking about youth sports with someone who went to Cabot. It’s literally the most miserable conversation you will ever have in your life. “Dude, Cabot had the best athletes, man. We had sick athletes. Like, if there was an Olympics with all the elementary schools in Newton, Cabot would easily win. We were sick.” Like, nobody cares. We don’t need to listen to stories about that time when the football bounced off the Humpty Dumpty and Kirsch caught it in the end zone. We’re over it. Believe me.


#2 Newton Centre

Basically the Disney World for overprotective mothers. I mean, this place has it all. Pick the little ones up at Hebrew School. Drive them over to their orthodontist appointment. Pop in to CVS real quick because your son forgot to bring a pencil to Kaplan SAT Prep. And since your daughter has an hour in between Russian math school and Driver’s Ed, why don’t you grab a bite to eat with her at Johnny’s. Partly because you want to ask her about her sex life, but mostly because Johnny’s is an awesome place for Newton mom’s to be seen. It just screams “I’m still young and hip enough to enjoy a burger, but you better overcharge me for it because people need to know that I’m well-off.”


#3 Newton Highlands

Yeah, I know most people on the Newton North freshman baseball team probably loved going to Lincoln Field every day after school. They probably all have great memories of Newton Highlands and the fun times we used to have there. Not me bro. Not when I was fucking humiliated in front of the whole team every single day at practice. Like, seriously Coach Kane. How many tennis balls do I have to throw against this wall before you realize I have no arm? I’m literally never going to throw out a runner at second base. It’s just not gonna happen. If you don’t want the other team stealing 14 bases a game, then don’t put me behind the plate. Otherwise, just pencil me in for the leadoff spot, let me hit my .350, and go teach Danny how to catch a fly ball in the 9th inning of a one-run game.


#4 Nonantum aka “The Lake”

See, this is what makes Newton so great. We identify problems and implement solutions. Since our town is like 50% Jewish, there’s obviously gonna be high demand for landscaping services. Because let’s be real, those lawns aren’t gonna cut themselves. But instead of allowing those jobs to be outsourced to Waltham and losing out on precious tax dollars, we reserve a little part of town for the Italians. Next thing you know, they’re immigrating here left and right and setting up landscaping companies. Everybody wins! The Italians get jobs. The grass gets cut. And the city finally gets some extra cash to start recruiting basketball players from Roxbury to win us state championships. It’s really pretty genius when you think about it.


#5 Auburndale

All those Auburndale hippies just counting down the days until the Cove finally freezes over. I mean, nothing says I’m white and have plenty of time on my hands like ice skating on the Charles River. Just be careful when the Albermarle All-Stars start showing up and playing hockey. Half of us can’t even skate and Izzy thinks he’s Zdeno Chara with that slap shot.


#6 Newton Corner

It doesn’t take a Boston College law student, I mean rocket scientist, to figure out I’ve been living the Newton Corner dream recently. Anytime you can take a cab back from Tavern for under $10, you know you’re sitting pretty. But it hasn’t always been this way. Back in high school, living in Newton Corner was the fucking worst. Since it isn’t even remotely close to anything, nobody ever wanted to come here. Trying to get a ride home from someone was almost next to impossible. Like trying to get the girls to help clean up after New Year’s or something. It just wasn’t gonna happen. I mean, Mitch basically summed it up when he said, “If it wasn’t for the Mass Pike, there’s no way I’d still be dating Sarah right now.”


#7 Chestnut Hill

Hey Libs. It’s Mike. I need a favor. I need you to explain to everybody what on Earth you were thinking with that whole New Year’s thing? Like, not trying to bite the hand that feeds me or anything, but that was the wrong move sister. Everyone knows we don’t finalize our plans until Calvin gets home and makes a last-ditch effort to change Izzy’s mind. That’s why I’ve been working so hard on my abs for the past few weeks, just hoping I’d get a chance to show them off to everybody in the hot tub. But now that dream’s over, thanks to your little power trip. Like “Oh my God, I lived in Chestnut Hill for 4 years. I’m an independent woman. Let’s have New Year’s here instead.” Typical BC girls. Never understand their place.

#8 West Newton

How cool are the people from West Newton? I mean, talk about trend setters. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was in Coolidge Corner. With a Sweet Tomatoes, and Trader Joes, and a movie theatre that only plays Sundance films I’ve never heard of. Honestly, where would this city be without you guys blazing a trail for everyone? Anyway, I know you’re all probably busy trying to revive the Occupy Movement, but if you get the chance, could you go on Spotify and blow up my Newsfeed with all the music that I’m supposed to be listening to? Thanks!


#9 Waban

If there’s one village looking to secede from Newton, clearly it’s Waban. They absolutely want nothing to do with us. They don’t send their kids to our schools. They definitely don’t send their kids to our camps. And they always use “Waban” as their hometown when they’re mailing a letter or listing their address. Personally, though, I don’t even care if they leave. We’re better off without them. Plus, there’s no doubt in my mind that Quibby is moving to Waban once Dave finally gets that corner office. So at least Dave can “technically” say he didn’t live in the same town his entire life.


#10 Newton Upper Falls

Hmmm, let’s see here. I hate animals, so obviously I would never be caught dead inside a Petco. That’s kind of a no-brainer. Plus, I haven’t been to a Newbury Comics since the 5th grade when my mom caught me drooling over a cardboard cut-out of Pamela Anderson. And those emotional scars don’t appear to be fading away anytime soon. So yeah, those are pretty much the only two reasons why anyone would ever go to Newton Upper Falls, right? Glad we sorted that out.


#11 Oak Hill

Everyone knows Oak Hill Middle School is the Slytherin of Newton, so it’s no surprise that the whole village is also a bunch of purebloods. Naturally, they don’t like contaminating the family blood lines, so they typically discourage outsiders from moving into the neighborhood. But if you really have your heart set on it, just make sure you work for a reputable company, drive a nice enough car, and most importantly, have an acceptable last name. Cause at the end of the day, you can have all the money in the world, but if you have a blue-collar last name like Salvucci, there’s no chance the realtor even looks at your application. In all seriousness though, the only person I actually know from Oak Hill is Mel, and she’s literally named after the fucking village! Like, if that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know, then I don’t know what will.


#12 Thompsonville

Literally never heard of it until now. Is this like the hood? Is this why we keep dropping in the rankings of America’s Safest Cities? I honestly don’t have the slightest clue because I just learned this place existed like 15 minutes ago. Fuck it, there’s only one way to truly find out. I’m going to buy an Xbox from Mitch on Craigslist and I’m telling him to meet me in Thompsonville. If he shows up with Brenny, then we know this place is dangerous. If he shows up with Quinn… well, then we know we got nothing to worry about.


#13 Newton Lower Falls

I’ve been staring at the computer for about an hour now, trying desperately to come up with something to say about Newton Lower Falls. And honestly, I’ve got nothing. I’m sure it’s a lovely place and everything, but I can’t even remember a time when I actually went there. So I’m shamelessly going to use this space as an opportunity to ask for help. Albermarle All-Stars could really use another writer. I’ve recently been getting tons of texts and Facebook messages from people being like, “Mike, I randomly stumbled across your blog, and I think it’s really funny and you’re hot. You should definitely try to post more.” I mean, how can you argue with that? All true statements there. Anyway, if you think you might be interested in posting something like once a week, please let me know. I could really use the help. Oh, and just to give you an idea of where my head’s at, my first choice is Hyatt but in a pinch I’d settle for Calvin.

NBA is Back!

Obviously LeBron's really excited to not win another championship. Here are the Top 5 reasons why I'm excited:


1. I don’t have to show my face in public with Quinn anymore.

Without an NBA season, I needed another way to get my basketball fix. That meant attending BC basketball games with Quinn. Initially, I thought this was a pretty simple solution. That is, until I realized that Dave thinks it’s completely reasonable to wear a pea coat, sweatpants and slippers to a basketball game. Like I don't already have enough on my plate trying to avoid former lovers whenever I come to campus. The last thing I need is someone committing social suicide in the seat right next to me.

The worst part, though, is that Quinn’s completely oblivious to it all. When I asked him about it, I believe his exact words were, "It's a good look." Listen man, don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. You look like a clown. Libby, if I were you, I would get out now. I know you’re probably waiting to see how this whole “lawyer” thing works out, but let me save you the trouble. Dave doesn’t have what it takes to be a good lawyer. It’s not in his DNA. Successful lawyers are always arrogant hard-bodies, not the soft-spoken type that you can push around like a shopping cart. Seriously Dave, it’s a good thing you didn’t pay a dime for undergrad, because this is $150,000 you’ll never see again.


2. I get to be considered an expert on something, even though I secretly don’t understand how basketball works.

It’s true. I really don’t know what I’m talking about. I only played organized basketball for two years. Like, that’s pretty much the same amount of time that Teodora’s been driving a car, and I don’t think anybody is ready to call her an expert on that.

It’s actually pretty crazy when you think about it. The amount of unwarranted credit that I get for being a “basketball guy.” Like yeah, I understand the superficial things. I know that Phil Jackson loves the Triangle, and Al Skinner loves the Flex. But I literally have no idea what that really means, and I definitely couldn’t distinguish between the two. But like I said, I only played basketball for two years. And even though I had the legendary Peter Roby as my coach, there’s only so much you can learn when the team’s most effective offensive strategy is isolating Igor on the wing.

3. Brenny probably doesn’t read CelticsHub, so at least some of my writing can elude criticism.

At the Boston College School of Law, Brenny learns about torts, contracts, and how to be an asshole. And boy is he good at it. I mean, the kid placed in the top third of his class for the rough draft of a memo he wrote. That kind of legal talent doesn’t just grow on trees, people. And since 3 months of law school obviously makes you an expert on everything in life, Brenny has also decided he’s going to criticize each and every one of my blog posts. “Listen, Sal. I’m not gonna sugar coat it. Blogs just aren’t doing it for me.” Listen, Bren. I’m sorry you’re like the Rob Gronkowski of interpreting blogs and only laugh when I write things like “Tom no like Albies.” Pardon me for trying to work some underlying themes and motifs into a comprehensive piece. Why don’t you go try a few Kaboomspikes in the backyard and you can laugh when it comes back and hits you in the face.


4. Hyatt and Tom can go back to arguing about sports instead of trying to solve America’s problems.

I mean, at least when you guys yap about Stephen Curry’s ability to play point guard, you have the slightest clue what you’re talking about. Unlike when we’re at Union St. and we have to listen to you guys talk about corporate greed and the distribution of wealth in this country. Because that shit’s embarrassing.

Honestly, Sam, I’m surprised you didn’t get a job offer when you went down to Occupy Wall Street. Because you’re great at talking out of your ass, and everyone knows that’s the only prerequisite to succeeding in Finance. But to each his own, right? If you want spend your days working for social and economic reform, be my guest. But don’t shove it in our faces every chance you get. Some people are revolutionaries. And some people just like showing up to their cubicle every day so they can have enough money to spend at Tavern on the weekends. That’s just the way the world is.


5. I can go back to being a man again.

I’m not gonna lie, I kinda went soft during the NBA lockout. I know I have a reputation as being the ultimate man’s man. You know, the kind of guy that Brooke wishes she could date. But without the NBA to keep me entertained, I found myself doing a lot of borderline feminine things. Think about it. I went apple picking even though I don’t have a girlfriend. I watched Pan Am for 3 weeks just so I could tweet nonsense at Mel about it. And every Facebook status that I’ve posted since September, I wrote with the intention of getting Libby to “like” it. But now that the NBA is returning, hopefully I can get back to doing regular guy things. You know, like going to the bar with all my boys, watching some hoops, and hoping that Ben Dyer picks up the tab before it ever gets back to us.

Why Traveling in Europe with Mike Salvucci was a Really Bad Idea

Just crushing Ruffles in the Mediterranean Sea. Nothing to see here.



Editor’s note: This is the first guest blog in the history of Albermarle All-Stars. Not gonna lie, I’m kinda nervous about it. I mean, if Mike and Dave are funnier than me, it's gonna be a tough blow to my self-esteem. Basically won't have anything else going for me in life.

But I know they put a lot of thought into this, even if it was at my expense. So I’m going to allow it. Plus, we all know Brenny is itching for someone to breathe some new life into the site.


By Dave Robb and Michael Kirschner

When we were planning this trip Mike seemed like a pretty good guy to travel with. But boy were we wrong. It would be impossible run through every detail but here’s a breakdown of a day in Europe with Mike.

If you’re sleeping in a hostel with Sal you’re not actually sleeping at all. If you close your eyes its hard to tell whether that’s a table saw in the top bunk or Mike’s just dozing off. We’re not making any friends in a 8 person mixed suite with this kid. You know its bad when the 35 year old dude from Kenya is throwing shoes over at him at 5 am. Only when you’re just falling asleep around 9am does Mike dismount from the top bunk and tumble onto the floor, effectively waking up everyone in the hostel. He stumbles out of the room in his boxers and button down. More often than not Mike neglects to drink water or take his button down shirt off before bed. Which takes us to our next point.

When Mike’s hung over he does his best to ensure that we are completely aware of how miserable he is. During the morning hours were walking around some European city with this train wreck lagging behind and complaining about how ugly Prague is or how unimpressed he is by the Coliseum. This doesn’t end until he takes his first of two daily showers. Eating also brings him out of his PMS which doesn’t happen for him until the three sequential dinners from 4-7. We all know Mike prides himself as a great tipper back in the states. The American “Salvucci 25%” converts here to leaving 25 cents in Danish Kroner equivalent to around a nickel and a penny.

Mike’s a terrible tourist. He cant read a map and he couldn’t work a camera if his life depended on it. He’s been asked to take two pictures the entire trip. He’s 0-2 dropping the cameras both times. If you give Mike a map don’t expect anything more than him to treat it like a maze and start drawing all over it. Literally every single time we walk out of the hostel he starts walking the wrong way. After walking around for the day don’t expect to hear anything out of mike if its not about how sore his knees and back are. The Salvucci family: “great hair, bad backs”

In preparation for going out Mike sometimes gets in a quick back rehab session. This consists of him standing upright, hands on his waist thrusting his hips forward and making a sound similar to that of someone coming prematurely. If we had any friends in the hostel before this they now have requested a room change.

Mikes dry-skin issues become apparent when getting ready to go out. After his second shower he applies between four and five layers of moisturizer. This kid goes through more moisturizer than a teenage boy who just hit puberty. Speaking of stuff he puts on his face don’t get us started with the chapstick. Before leaving every night Mike recites out loud “phone, wallet, keys, chapstick minus phone”. Really bro. Chapstick?? This problem became apparent in Prague when we spotted him essentially surfacing for air during a dance floor make-out session only to apply another coat.

“Alright two issues here. One why are my eyes red. And two, why do I have an asian glow?” Mike screamed from the bathroom as we were ready to head out for the night. When Mike starts talking like this he has usually had a few drinks and is ready to hit the town hard. In the clubs Mike is like an uncaged animal, his only fuel is some obnoxious fruity fishbowl drink. Upon taking one of his fishbowls to the face its on to his go-to dance which shares a strong resemblance to the 85’ Bears Superbowl Shuffle. Chicks dig it...like 28% of the time.

Long story short, leave this kid out of the mix the next time you’re thinking of going anywhere further than the cape.

Madrid

"Throw your hands up if you love clubbing in Madrid!"




Americans do a lot of stupid things. We drive inefficient cars, eat fatty foods and even listen to Dave Matthews Band. But, by far and away, the stupidest thing we do is clean the house the night before the cleaning ladies are supposed to come.

In our house, the cleaning ladies come on Thursdays. So every Wednesday evening I get the same speech from my mom. “They’re not here to clean up your clutter. They’re here to vacuum and wipe the bathroom and sweep the dust out from under the radiator.” Listen, Mom, you don’t have to tell me. I’m scared shitless of the cleaning ladies.

Seriously, I feel more motivated to impress the cleaning ladies than pretty much anyone else on Earth. I mean, I’ve failed my fair share of exams in school, and I have absolutely no problem walking into class the next day and facing the teacher. But if the cleaning ladies were to walk into my bedroom and see clothes on the floor and empty Coke cans on my nightstand, I honestly don’t know what I would do with myself. I can’t even tell you the number of times I’ve woken up on a Thursday morning and shoved everything into my closet right before heading to school. Just the thought of them judging me in a foreign language is too much for me to live with. It’s like I can’t even defend myself.

But you know who wouldn’t get all worked up about the cleaning ladies coming? The Spanish, that’s who. Because the Spanish don’t give a fuck. In fact, they might be the laziest people I’ve ever met in my entire life. No wonder their economy is a sinking ship right now. It’s cause they go to the office for like 3 hours and then leave so they can go watch some soccer, eat some tapas and drink Sangria in the Plaza. No chance in hell they would lift the slightest finger if they knew the cleaning ladies were coming the next day.

But there is one thing that the Spanish know how to do better than anyone else, and that’s party:

Here’s the difference between partying in the U.S. and partying in Spain. Say you’re out at a bar in Boston and the DJ plays a couple bangers in a row. Like “Bulletproof” and “I Want You Back,” or something like that. Got everyone dancing and having a good time and everything. Well, as soon as the second song ends, what automatically happens every single time? The DJ plays a Third-Eye Blind song because he knows everyone needs a breather. Most likely the “Jumper,” but occasionally you’ll get “How’s it Gonna Be” just to keep you on your toes. Because God forbid people dance for like three songs in a row without “mellowing out” for a bit.

Now take Madrid, for example. There’s like 1,500 people dancing their faces off at Joy at like 4:00 in the morning. Just Avicii and David Guetta for days. Then all of a sudden the DJ decides he’s going to play “Wonderwall” by Oasis. Not even kidding, not one person in the entire club knew what to do. Everyone just stood still and started looking around, waiting for someone to take the lead on this. I almost volunteered, but honestly I thought it was another one of those siesta things right in the middle of clubbing. Seems ridiculous, but they fucking love those siestas.

Fortunately, though, it turned out to be the only slow song of the entire night. Good thing too, because the line to dance with Dave Robb was literally out the door. I mean how can you resist that dance move where he acts like he’s a choo-choo train, speeding forward and then putting it in reverse? Like, it’s not an actual train, people. It’s just Dave!

We had to leave at like 5:00 am to ensure we caught our flight to Barcelona, but there were absolutely no signs of slowing down at Joy, even though it was a Thursday. But I guess in Spain it doesn’t matter if you have work, school, or the cleaning ladies coming, because life is a joke nobody does shit anyway.

Copenhagen

When Steve Jobs died, I wanted to do something to honor his memory. But since Steve was such a creative guy, I figured I should do something a little more original than simply update my Facebook status. So I looked all over my room until I finally found my iPod Sillyband. And I started wearing it again as a tribute to the man that has done so much for me. You scratch my back Steve, I’ll scratch yours.

But when it was time to pack for Europe, I couldn’t decide if I should bring the Sillyband with me. I mean tribute or not, we’re still talking about the second rarest Sillyband in the world here. Like, there’s gonna be professional pick-pockets everywhere I go. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

But in Copenhagen, I realized why I made the biggest mistake of my life. On Saturday night, Dave and I went out by ourselves because Kirsch was at Sensation. We went to a bar called Sjus, which was kinda like the Danish version of Cityside. Mostly college students, but enough weird older people to make you explore all your options first.

We had recently discovered that northern European girls love American guys. Everywhere we went in places like Germany, Denmark, and Holland we had girls coming up to us left and right (the other side of that coin, though, is that Spanish and Italian girls are way too intimidating to even think about approaching). So we decided to go sit down at a table and wait for them to come to us. Not 15 minutes later, and there are two Danish girls asking if they can have a seat. One of them was really cute too, but she immediately sat down on a stool next to Dave.

My girl didn’t need a stool because she basically decided to sit on my lap. Normally I wouldn’t have a problem with that, but this was a little different. I know I make fun of people a lot on Albermarle All-Stars, but I still make a point to never write anything about people’s physical appearance. You just don’t say stuff like that. With that being said, though, this was probably one of the Top 5 ugliest girls I’ve ever seen in my life. There’s just no escaping it. And the moment she spotted my iPod Sillyband, I knew I was in real trouble.

After she asked about it, I literally had to show her like 12 different times that it took the shape of an iPod. And even now, I’m still not convinced that she understood because her English was pretty awful. She asked if she could wear it, and even though I knew this was probably a bad idea, I still allowed her to try it on. Like, what was I supposed to do, say no?

Anyway, then she proposes a trade by taking off her ring and placing it on my finger. “In Denmark, when you make a trade you have to kiss with the other person,” she says. Fuck me. Fortunately, though, I’m pretty quick on my feet and told her my girlfriend would be upset if she found out about that.

A few minutes later, the girls ask us if we want to go to a club with them. Keep in mind; I was still trying to flirt with the cute one across the table throughout this whole scenario. I knew Dave wasn’t gonna pull the trigger, so I was just waiting for my opportunity. The problem was I couldn’t shake this other girl. I know you gotta slay a few dragons to get to the princess and all, but I couldn’t take it any longer. When the girls got up to go to the bathroom, I had to make an executive decision.

“We need to leave,” I immediately tell Dave, who laughs at me like I was joking. Asshole. But after seeing the look on my face, he goes, “Wait, you’re serious?” And even though I knew I would never see my treasured iPod Sillyband ever again, it was a better option than seeing how the rest of that night was going to play out.

Prague

Czech Kirsch out!



Back in college, when you hooked up with a random girl from the bar, your biggest fear was running into her the next morning in the dining hall. Unless of course, she was really good looking, but that usually wasn’t the case for me. There was nothing worse than walking into Lower on a Saturday morning and seeing her in the omelet line. Because no matter what, the situation is going to be really awkward. Your friends are there. Her friends are there. They’re all whispering about you behind your back. You don’t know if you should just say hello as you pass by, or if you should stop for some bullshit small talk. It’s usually a nightmare.

Well, I think now it’s safe to say that running into a girl in the dining hall isn’t nearly all that bad. In fact, in comparison to what Kirsch and I went through on Wednesday, it’s pretty harmless. Yup, you guessed it: a 4-hour walking tour in Prague with the two chicks we hooked up with the night before…

On Tuesday night we rolled into Prague at around 9:00 pm and immediately went on a Pub Crawl. We show up at the first bar, and surprisingly, there are these two cute American girls playing ruit against these Canadian bros. At this point, naturally I’m thinking this is gonna be too easy. Just right in our wheelhouse. Yeah, I was kinda up for a challenge tonight. Maybe try to win over a nice Czech girl or something. But when life throws you a meatball right down the middle of the plate, you’re obviously gonna hit it.

I go over and ask them if we can play the next game and then start introducing myself. Nothing too over the top. Not trying to win the game in the first quarter. But just letting them know that Kirsch and I are in the building. By the third bar, it’s basically a done deal and all that’s left to do is decide which one is going to get Lindsey, the blonde, and which one is going to get Marshall, the brunette. I usually don’t go for girls named after discount retailers, plus I wanted to keep my consecutive blondes streak going, so it turned out to be an easy decision.

Then we split up and took our respective girls to different corners of the dance floor, and start talking and stuff. She tells me that she’s studying in Copenhagen at DIS (the program that Kirschner is in), so obviously my immediate response is “No way. Me too!”

Now I’m on a real slippery slope. Despite my recent discovery that Kirsch is a social animal, I overheard that the rest of the architecture program was pretty cut off from the rest of the school. So when she asked me what I was studying, I just told her that I was in the same program as Mike and that we lived together, blah blah blah. Then I just pulled a few street names out of my ass, and then a few train stops in Copenhagen, and she literally bought the entire story.

Next thing you know we’re dancing and inevitably one thing leads to another. Generally, I’m not a huge proponent for making out on the dance floor. Like, there’s a time and a place for everything. But with that being said, it’s not like I’m not gonna say no. I look over my shoulder and see Kirsch is doing his thing too, and it looks like things are heading in the right direction for both of us.

The problem, though, were their friends. These two grenades that were too much for a wifed-up Dave Robb to detonate. They eventually exploded right in our target range, and we were forced to say goodbye to Linds and Marsh a little earlier than we were hoping. Seemingly never to be seen or heard from ever again. Then Kirsch literally asked a decked-out Prague pimp on the street where we could get some food, and we ended our night settling for some late-night Doner.

Fast-forward to 10:00 am the next morning. My hangover is so bad that I’m seriously considering murdering Dave and Mike for making me walk around in this medieval land. Like, I thought I was supposed to be on vacation, not in King’s Landing wanting nothing more than for someone to take a Zelda sword to my neck Ned Stark-style. We finally arrive at the meeting place for our walking tour, and I’m hit in the face with the only thing that could possibly make this situation any worse: the girl I spent 3 hours making out with in the middle of the dance floor staring me straight in the eye.

Amsterdam

So obviously this picture is spreading like wildfire right now and people are probably all up in arms being like "What the fuck is going on in Amsterdam?" So I thought I'd just address the whole situation before it got any more out of hand.

On Sunday afternoon we got into Amsterdam, did a few laps around town, ate dinner at Pino's Pizza (seriously) and then went to this sports bar at night to watch the Patriots game. There we are, just three bros chillin at a sports bar, when all of a sudden Hana Haver comes blitzing through like Troy Polamaulu and is all like, "You guys are from Boston, right?"

Next thing you know she brings her friends over and we just start hanging out. Watching the game. Having some drinks. And talking about the good old days back in Newton. See that's the thing about Europe. One minute you're not taking Jager shots out of test tubes with Hana Haver in Amsterdam, and the next minute you are.

And after the game ends, you better believe we're all going to a club to dance the night away. Hana suggested a more classy place, but that decision was immediately upended by Kirschner's "gut-feeling" about a random black door on a white wall in this sketchy alley. Sure, we were the only people in the entire place for about 20 minutes, but once the DJ started bumping WIll Smith all bets were off the table.

EuroTrip Preview

For the past 3 weeks, I’ve basically been living in constant fear of my cell phone. Because whenever it rings there are only two things that can happen: either Comcast is hunting me down for the cable bill, or worse, Dave Robb is calling me with another stupid assignment. “Book this flight. Check that bus schedule. Email your friend. Go on Skype. Wake up. Get the fuck out of bed.” Shit just wouldn’t stop.

The good news, though, is that we’re finally done planning. Dusseldorf. Odense. Copenhagen. Amsterdam. Prague. Munich. Rome. Madrid. Bilbao. Barcelona. The flights are all in order. The hostels are booked. Cole World is on the iPod. And I bought these shoes that are so European-looking, even Calvin would probably think twice before trying them on.

Anyway, I guess now would be an appropriate time to address all the rumors that have been swirling around over the past couple months. It’s true. I’m not coming back to the U.S. at the end of this little adventure. When Dave gets on that Aer Lingus flight in mid-November, he will be all by himself.

No, seriously. I’ve played it out in my head like 1000 times, and it always ends the same way. I meet this girl at a club in Barcelona. We enjoy a wonderful evening together, and the next day she introduces me to her father, who just so happens to be a wealthy businessman. He offers me a job and Isabella begs me to stay. But I have to decline. I try to let her down as gently as possible, which is difficult for me because I don’t exactly put the “b” in subtle. “Isabella, mi amor. No puedo. Tengo un blog muy famoso en los estados unidos. Se llama albermarleallstars.blogspot.com. No podrias entender. Lo siento.”

Obviously, though, this vision doesn’t end there. I start seriously weighing my options more and more. Realistically, I could continue writing the blog from Spain. Sure, the cast of characters would change, but we could make it work. Also, my mom would probably miss me, but it’s no secret that I’m her third favorite child, so that’s not really a huge concern either. Maybe if it were Julie or Dan. But I doubt she would come chasing after me.

Once I make my decision, I finally work up the courage to tell Dave that I’m going to stay in Barcelona. He pretends to be disappointed, even though deep down he’s relieved that he’ll never have to deal with me on the basketball court ever again. But he still handles the entire situation with class. First class, all the way. We hug it out one last time, and he asks if there’s one last thing I want to tell the gang back home. Nah, man. They know I love them. And we turn around and go our separate ways…“Actually, Dave. There is one thing. Could you have someone finish my Words with Friends game with Sonya? I’ve built up like a 103-point lead and it would a shame if I lost because of a forfeit. Thanks, man.”

I Can't Decide Which Waitress at Union St. I Should Leave My Number For

A few years ago, back when The Gap was still a place where reasonable people could buy clothes, I went to the one at the Atrium to get a pair of jeans. After I try on a few pairs and make my decision, I obviously go up to pay for them. I give the girl behind the register my credit card, and she swipes it. But then she writes her name and phone number on the receipt and tells me to call her personally if there are any problems.

I remember thinking to myself, “Well, that’s just ridiculous. If there are problems with these jeans, I’m probably just going to return them. Not sure how calling you on your cell phone is going to fix anything.” It honestly wasn’t until I was back in my car that I realized, “Wait a second, was that just what I think it was?” Then when I got home and opened up the bag, I saw that this girl had “accidentally” left the security tag on my jeans, forcing me to go back into the store to have it removed. So I get in the car again and drive back to the Atrium. I walk into the store, and, just my luck, this girl is nowhere to be found. I have some other random employee remove the security tag and then I leave and go about my day. I never end up calling her, and that’s basically the end of this story.

But three years later, I still kinda regret it. Like what if that was some huge missed opportunity? I mean, superficial hook-ups that eventually fizzle out after two months don’t just grow on trees. And that’s especially true once you’ve graduated college and are stuck living with your parents. So you know what? I decided I’m going to leave my name and number on the receipt for one of the waitresses at Union St. The problem is, I can’t decide which one. Here are the frontrunners:

Waitress who loves me but is probably a little old for me. Two weeks ago, I waited by myself at the bar for like 30 minutes, and she kept me company. Plus she laughs at all my jokes, which is kind of a big thing for me. For example, she started informing us of how many wings we were eligible for based on the number of beers we had bought. “Well, you guys have ordered 3 pitchers, and you’ve only ordered 40 wings. So you can order another 50 wings!” Naturally, I made some witty comment about how we should be able to rollover those wings to next week and she just ate it up. “Hehehehe, oh that’s gooood. Nobody’s ever asked about that. I think I’m gonna tell my manager that one.” You do that, honey. Then come back like three years younger and maybe we can talk.

Waitress with the glasses who’s gonna ask about the Miller Lite beer tower. Love the initiative that this girl takes. She brings us this sweet Boston Celtics edition beer tower which I immediately identify as a fantastic trophy for the Albermarle All-Star of the Year Award. So we ask her how much it would cost to take it home with us. Instead of just laughing it off like most people probably would, she asks her manager about it and comes back with the most detailed response of all-time. Says that they rent it from the Miller Lite promotion company, so technically they can’t sell it to us. But since she knows we come every week, her manager is gonna try to get one for us by next Monday. Great news for us. Unfortunately for me, I’m pretty sure I saw this girl with her boyfriend during Week 3.

Waitress who’s Pre-med and therefore out of the running as a long-term option. This girl started off strong by recognizing us a “regulars.” And I’m pretty sure she’d never actually waited on us before, so that sense of awareness will put you on my radar 100 times out of 100. Unfortunately, though, it was mostly downhill from there. I recycled the same “rollover wings” joke with her and it missed completely. Then she had to close out her tab early with us because she needed to go study for her molecular biology exam. Trying to be a doctor or some shit. And everybody knows I only date teachers, nurses and Winter Olympians, so obviously that’s not gonna fly.

Time for a little change

Everyone knows by this point that Theo Epstein is leaving for Chicago to become their President of Baseball Operations. And you can’t really blame him. He accomplished everything he set out to accomplish. He will be adored by Red Sox fans whenever he shows his face in Boston. And so, I wish him the best of luck.

But that got me thinking. There are some changes that I would like to make in my own life. For instance, I’ve pretty much been the official 3rd Wheel of Team Zack and Mel for the past couple years. We basically do everything together. We play Words with Friends together. We go on Spring Break together. There really isn’t anything that I’m excluded from.

Nevertheless, I think it’s time for a change. No offense guys, you’ve been great. Honestly, you really have. But I’ve won my two World Series already, and there’s not much left for me to accomplish here. I need a new challenge. So effective Monday, October 17, 2011 I’m officially signing with Team Dave and Libby as President of Relationship Operations.

Obviously, my biggest obstacle will be convincing Libby that I’m actually a halfway decent person, because on Friday night she basically told me she thought I was an asshole. Honestly, though, I can’t even blame her for trying to add some variety to our conversation. Because for as long as Libby and I have known each other, we essentially have only had two discussion topics: Libby’s marathon training and my trip to Europe. And unfortunately, you can only get so much mileage out of a race that Libby’s never run and a continent that I’ve never actually been to.

Next order of business. When we’re out at a bar with all our friends, stop pretending like you’re on a first date. It’s ridiculous. Act like you’ve been there before. Seriously, everybody else is dancing and having a great time, and these two will be sitting in the corner flirting with each other. On Saturday night at The Draft, for example, I saw Dave gently touch Libby’s knee and then quickly pull it back as if he was trying to play it cool. Like, bro, you know you’re already going home with her, right? You don’t need to win her over. Casually putting your hand on a girl’s knee is arguably the most important move for a single guy, so for you to go around wasting it like that is pretty irresponsible. I mean, isn’t that like the entire point of being in a relationship? So you can talk about sports with your buddies all night and then get some anyway without needing to try?

And finally, we need to make sure Libby stops calling him “Quinn.” Listen, you guys aren’t a couple of bros shooting the shit together at the Plex. You’re boyfriend and girlfriend. If a girl ever calls me Sal or Voochi, I obviously know right away that I have zero chance with her. It’s a fucking death sentence. Clean it up Libs.

History Shows How #OccupyWallStreet Will End

Lost in all the recent media coverage of #OccupyWallStreet is the fact that this is not the first protest of its kind. Back in 2007 at Newton North High School, a group of students organized a movement called Occupy Main Street in response to a controversial decision to move Senior Countdown to the cafeteria.

For decades, NN seniors had celebrated the culmination of their high school education by hosting a Countdown Party right in the middle of the historic Main Street. But school administrators felt the chaotic festivities provided too much of a distraction for underclassmen, and so a ruling was made to move the Countdown to the more secluded cafeteria.

Obviously, the students were vehemently upset with this decision and immediately set out in protest. Similarly to #OccupyWallStreet, Occupy Main Street used social media to share their ideas and organize their demands. One Facebook user posted on the group wall, “They can’t do this to us!” And under the strength of rallying cries like that one, students were able to plead with teachers on the issue. Some even went so far as to tell the teachers that they would rather not attend the Countdown than do it in the cafeteria.

When Senior Day finally arrived, students set up lawn chairs on Main Street, tossed footballs back and forth, and simply caused a general ruckus. Throughout the day, more and more students joined the movement. Much like the #OccupyWallStreet protesters, these students also had no idea what they were protesting against, but they had nothing else better to do and wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Eventually, though, the teachers and school officials were able to persuade the students to file down to the cafeteria. Without any legitimate foundation to stand on, the students had no choice but to surrender. Not to mention, high school was about to be over and nobody cared anymore and we all left to go party. Just like eventually Phish is gonna play Madison Square Garden again and all these hipsters are gonna leave this protest and forget it ever happened.





P.S. Who's the really handsome guy crowd surfing in that first picture?

Albies Recap, whatever

The Second Annual Albie Awards took place Friday, Sept. 2 in front of a capacity crowd of 20 in Tom’s basement. And for the second straight year, Mitch stole the show, aka drank the most. Here are some of the highlights of night:

Best tiebreaker: Giving the MVP A-Gourd outright to Quinn because Joey was not there to claim his share of the award. No offense Joe, but you really think you’re good looking enough to get into Wonder Bar? Because I gave up on that years ago.

Best idea that obviously I came up with: Albermarle All-Star jerseys. Ben still works at Radnor Printing right?

Greatest opportunity cost: The Stanley Cup being at MA’s. Still stings a little bit.

Best tweet: @MikeSalvucci: “Let’s get this thing going. BC law students don’t have all night. #albies.” Classic Mike right there. Just classic. Seriously, these BC guys all think they’re the fucking toast of the town. Like, no, I can’t possibly order Buffalo wings with you guys because I’m on call tomorrow. I’m getting the steak tips instead… Give me a break. You know when I was on call? Every day since 2008 because that’s what happens in college.

Arrogant observation of the night: Quinn, for his “For some reason all my awards have to do with me looking good” remark. Honestly, this kinda confirms my suspicions. Dude’s obsessed with himself. Seriously Dave, go change your Profile Pic another 12 times this week.

Lamest running joke: Mike only making like 5 appearances all summer. LOL so funny! Seriously, never heard that one before. Sorry I’m a provider and work for a living. NERDS.

Most noteworthy irrelevant attendee: Brady’s friend. PHEW! At first I was worried that transferring from Wake Forest would mean I would miss out on meeting tons of girls. But clearly Brady is bringing them all up to Newton one at a time, so it’s basically like I never left!

Wet blanket of the night: Tom. To be fair, I’m not saying Tom was actually the wettest blanket of all the blankets that were there. But relative to his usual fun-loving self, Tom simply was not feeling the Albies this year. Every so often he would just scream unpleasant words from the back corner. I don’t know if he was just confused because nobody was calling the cops looking for him that night, but something was in the water, for sure.

Embarrassing moment/Under the radar best comment: Zack presenting an award to Kirschner. “There really isn’t a way to measure this. But this award is for someone that does all the tangibles right.” Yeah man, there’s really no way to measure all those tangibles. Points, rebounds, assists. Those aren’t the type of stats that show up in the box score.

Nice moment of the night to be undercut by this blog: Dave Robb giving Mitch the Sportsmanship Award. Sure, it was a really nice gesture for Dave to acknowledge Mitch’s alleged sportsmanship by personally honoring him with this award. But shouldn’t this lead to the obvious question that is, “What is Mitch’s hidden agenda with being such a good sport?” Seriously, how have we gone like 3 years without ever addressing this elephant in the room? Because with the exception of Jamie, no doubt Mitch is the biggest asshole in the group. So something clearly doesn’t add up here.

Personally, I think Mitch should have won the Poor Sportsmanship Award. Seriously, how many times per game will somebody air-ball an off-balance jumper from the corner and then have to listen to Mitch mumble something like, “Good shot. Keep shootin’ em.” Like no offense Mitch, but are you actually an idiot? Like, do you honestly not know anything about basketball? That was a deep, fadeaway jumper that had absolutely zero chance of going in. It’s literally the worst shot a player can attempt. And you’re gonna stand there with your shirt tucked in offering up words of encouragement? I don’t know, seems a little pompous to me.

THE FUTURE OF THE ALBIES

Ok, so I think we can safely say that the Albies are here to stay. Like, I envision us carrying on this tradition well into Calvin’s third divorce. But I think there are a few different directions we can take the Albies. First of all, we definitely need to start doing them while wearing suits, because if you watch Mad Med you obviously know that everything is cooler when you’re wearing a suit. And then, if we really want to get ambitious, maybe we start making a weekend out of the whole thing. Because eventually we’re all going to have jobs and stuff, so maybe this will be a good excuse for everyone to hang out for a few days.

But here’s the real issue facing the Albies: What are we going to do about the MVP A-Gourd? Because there’s no way that we are alternating between Mitch, Joey and Quinn for the next 30 years. Like, sorry basketball is my 5th best sport and it’s all your Number 1’s. If we played pickup soccer, then Trubes and I would alternate every year and maybe once we’d throw Jesse a Lifetime Achievement award. But that’s not the case. It just so happens that we play basketball. Arbitrary shenanigans.

My proposal: The MVP A-Gourd is awarded to the Albermarle All-Star that has the best overall year. And I’m not talking about basketball. I’m talking about life. Get a big promotion? Throw a bachelor party in Vegas? Get over 1 million views on Youtube for something? These are all things that would put you in the running. There wouldn’t be any specific criteria. Just a vote. I don’t want to say I’m on to something, but I’m definitely on to something.

Don't you hate when a light jog accidentally turns into basically a half-marathon?

I honestly wasn’t even planning on going for a run at all on Sunday. But when you’re trying to eat one Buffalo Wing to keep up with every Roethlisberger turnover, you’re obviously gonna take on a few extra calories. So I figured I’d go for a light 3-mile run, just so I wouldn’t feel like the plague all night.

Anyway, I’m on Comm. Ave and literally about to take a right on Centre St. and head home, when I see this chick running like half a mile in front of me. I immediately could tell this girl thought she was all that and a jar of pickles. Basically struttin’ her stuff like she was God’s gift to exercise. You know the type, people who just think they’re the fittest motherfuckers on the planet and they want nothing more than to shove it in your face. Like congratulations bro, your heart pumps blood faster than mine. Now go take your sports bra and all your Marathon swag and get over yourself!

I decided that I had to do something about this situation. Sunday Night Football would just have to wait. I had to pass this girl and teach her that you can’t just come into Newton and act like you own the place. Would most people call me a hero for doing this? Yeah, probably. But somebody’s got to do it, right?.

To give this girl some credit, though, she was flying. Like somewhere around 7:15’s. And after a full day of beer and wings I was starting to wonder if I was really gonna be able to do this. Eventually, though, I get within like 25 yards and she obviously notices because she immediately picks up the pace. Now I know I’m probably in for a dogfight. Again, I start contemplating whether or not I want to make this move. Because, on paper, this girl probably had the slight edge over me. But I kept telling myself, “It’s not the dog in the fight, Mike. It’s the fight in the dog.”

We kept the same steady pace until about Walnut St. when I finally busted out my secret weapon (Natasha Beddingfield’s “Unwritten”) and went for it. Absolutely kicked it into high gear and zoomed right on past her. Didn’t even shoot her a glance to see if she was cute or not. Just kept my eye on the prize and never looked back. Unfortunately, I couldn’t just turn down the next street cause then she would think I was gassed. So I had to keep at it, and the next thing you know, I’m sprinting through Auburndale and my light workout has turned into a fucking 11-mile Tour de Newton Extravaganza.

10 Things I Learned This Summer (Part II)

Here's Part II (6-10):



6. The biggest question facing America right now is, “How will Kris Humphries fit in with the rest of the Kardashian guys? Sure, our credit rating is in the toilet and our unemployment rate is approaching the Mendoza line. Not to mention there’s a natural disaster like every other week and we have no money. What America really wants to know is how this Kris Humphries thing is going to shake out.

In my opinion there’s just no way that Lamar, Scott and Rob can be happy about this. They had such a good thing going. Rob told the jokes. Scott played the pranks. And Lamar brought the swag. Now Kris shows up being all in love and shit and ruins the whole vibe. Like can’t you see Rob and Scott huddled around Lamar being all like, “Next time the Nets come to the Staples Center, you’re gonna flagrant foul his ass so hard even Kobe will feel a little bad.”


7. If you’re gonna break into our apartment and try to steal our shit, you can’t be passing out on the living room floor. Like, c’mon bro, you gotta do a little better than that. I’m no expert on robbing people or anything, but I feel like you got to make out with at least a GameCube in this situation. Something to make it worth your while… Dude made it like 10 steps before he just collapsed right in front of the TV. Honestly, I realize Josh and I aren’t the most intimidating guys on the planet, but if you break into our apartment and pass the fuck out right in front of us, you can bet your bottom dollar we’re probably gonna call the cops.


8. Just because you’re living at home doesn’t mean the refrigerator is stocked. Hey Mom, no offense, but summer vacation is over. Like seriously, it’s time to get your act together. There’s this place in Newtonville, got a bunch of snacks and shit, I think they call it Shaws. Might want to head over there and bop around for a while, see what you come up with…

I’m honestly starting to miss those days when you come back to your apartment at 3am, open up an empty refrigerator, and say to yourself, “Fuck it, I’m getting New Hong Kong.” Because at least in that situation you can chalk it up to survival. People gotta eat. But when you’re sitting in your own house, there’s just no way you can pull the trigger on ordering food at that hour. Just not a path you want to be starting down. Because the next thing you know you’re thinking about how much time you’ll save chopping vegetables with the Magic Bullet and reaching for your credit card.


9. I kinda like sharing beds with dudes. I know, I know… probably shouldn’t be going down this road, given my recent history and everything. But it’s the truth. A few times this summer we had friends over and there simply wasn’t enough room on the couch. And I’m not kidding when I say those nights were some of my best night’s sleep I had. First off, the pillow talk is amazing. “Well yeah, I definitely like Arian Foster. I’m not saying he’s not a Top 5 back, I just think Jamaal Charles is gonna be better this year.” And second of all, unless it’s with Ebram, I don’t have to worry about them trying to cuddle in the middle of the night and waking me up. Seriously, bro, that was a little weird.


10. Donald Glover does a lot of cool shit. I swear to God, if one more person puts on “Freaks and Geeks” and asks me if I watch “Community”, I’m gonna fucking lose my mind. Like, enough already. Dude’s talented. We get it. People literally think they belong at a Talent Agency after making this observation. Drives me up a wall. And actually, while we’re on the subject, can we all just agree that Alison Brie is hot and that we don’t have to talk about that anymore, either? Because that’s usually the conversation that follows the discussion about how hilarious Donald Glover is on “Community.” Seriously, it’s like you’re all robots.

10 Things I Learned This Summer (Part 1)

It’s 10:30pm on a Saturday. Pretty sure my roommates have been in bed for hours. Right now I’m listening to Bedtime Magic. Fucking Jewel just came on. Yup, I think it’s time to get the Blog going again.

Part 1 (1-5):

1. Apparently there are some things that you shouldn’t do once you graduate from college: Wear snapbacks. Go to Mary Ann’s. Bring a backpack to work instead of a shoulder bag. Give daps. Drink Rubinov, except for Mango cause its bomb. Go swimming in the Reservoir. Have an awkward amount of facial hair. Know all the words to “A Milli.” Believe your childhood dreams are still attainable. Facebook chat. Update your status (even if you technically only do it as a pseudo-joke to mock the people who ACTUALLY update their statuses). Say “Get at me.” Buy Nike Air-Maxes. The BBM pose. Care about college sports (Did you care about high school sports when you were in college?) Look forward to Tuesdays. Man, this is getting depressing. Let’s stop here.


2. Izzy was really onto something with that iPhone thing. I mean, seriously, what a second wind for Apple this summer. Can’t even walk down the street without Sarah trying to bump me or Trubow showing me some stupid app I have absolutely no use for. Normally I’ve always had a terrible phone. Just living in the Stone Age when it comes to mobile devices. But even I got myself an iPhone this summer. So if you don’t have one by now, I really don’t know what to tell you.

Here’s my only beef with all you Apple dorks: why hate on FaceTime? It’s a darkhorse best feature on the whole phone! For instance, Josh and I are about to go to the bar. Only thing is, I don’t know if tonight is supposed to be a chill guys night at the bar, or if we’re trying to make moves tonight. Do I wear a T-shirt, or go with a button-down? Sure, I could just ask him. But anyone that has ever had a roommate knows it’s all about mind games. So what do I do? Hit ‘em with the FaceTime. BOOM! Find out he’s going with the striped V-neck sweater. That’s his moneymaker sweater. Means he’s trying to get after it tonight. So I need to be on my game, too. Without FaceTime, I’d probably wear my Crawford shirt or something. And let’s be real, no girl wants to get with a guy reppin’ a .251 hitter with a .286 OBP.

P.S. Thanks to all the people who told me that I would get used to the texting within a couple of days. A couple days, my ass. I’m like 2 seconds away from ending up here (check it out).


3. The Elecktro Lemonade Fishbowl at Tavern literally has no alcohol in it, but I still have no problem paying $20 for it! Ok, let’s be honest. I’m not up for re-election as Governor of MA’s this year. That dog left weeks ago. And the more I think about it, the more I’m starting to realize that Tavern is going to be its official replacement. But what’s the one thing you need to have at your go-to bar? That would be a go-to drink. Before the entire school copied me and started drinking Rum & Coke’s at MA’s, that used to be my jam. Now I’m calling the Elecktro Lemonade my new signature drink of choice.

The truth is, this drink just pushes all my buttons. It just does it for me. First off, they give you like 14 straws for 3 people, and obviously I’ll drink anything with at least a 4-straw per-capita… Second of all, it shocks me how they’re able to make it that New York Giant-blue color. Like, I’m pretty sure I ordered the Lemonade, bro, this drink is blue. Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s ELECKTRO! Gets me every time…And last but not least, girls go buck-wild for them. Just pushing people out of the way and being all like, “OMG I’m Bridgette and I need to try this.” And I’m like, “Yeah girl, join the party,” as her boyfriend anxiously looks on. Hey, just cause there’s a goalie doesn’t mean you can’t score, right?


4. Casual Fridays are a pain in the ass. Not only do you need to spend like 20 minutes longer in the morning trying to decide if this is “work appropriate,” but I honestly just feel more comfortable in regular work clothes. I’m sorry but my jeans are a hell of a lot tighter than my dress pants. I mean technically it’s not my fault since I’m used to buying all my jeans at the Gap and nowadays a guy can’t walk in there unless he’s wearing an Arabic scarf and some Man Toms. Like bro, thanks for saving the world and everything, but you know you're wearing women's shoes, right? Seriously, what happened to the days when you went to the Gap, bought yourself a nice pair of 32x30 slim fit jeans and a 1969 T-shirt and left the store feeling all American and shit?


5. Girls are a lot better at Twitter than guys. Not trying to be rude here or anything, but is this one of the greatest upsets in the history of the world? Like, if someone told you that Twitter was this form of social media where people had to be direct, concise, straight to the point, and only had 140 characters to share their thoughts, wouldn’t the logical assumption be that guys might have an easier time with that? Not because guys are special or anything like that, but because girls can talk for days and days without food or water.

Well, if you had that same logic, you would be DEAD wrong. Girls kill it on Twitter, and frankly, guys kinda suck. Guys will give you a laundry list of their day and then inform you that you should get in contact with them. “Gym. Food. Bars. Hit me up.” Girls understand that you’re supposed to make a witty one-liner, bring some energy at the end, and then get the fuck out. “Who needs homework when you’re 21? #SORRYIMNOTSORRY!” Like that’s a little bit funny, it’s quick and easy to read, and it at least demonstrates you understand the concept of Twitter: to entertain your followers. Yeah, occasionally you have to deal with Teodora giving you updates on global issues and stuff, but eventually you just learn to ignore it.

P.s. I was a little confused about what the word platonic meant, so I asked Teo. Her response, “No offense Mike, but you and me: platonic.” Ummmmmm, offense taken.

Summah. Oh yaaa!

A few weeks after we graduated from Underwood Elementary School, Hunnewell Hill Productions announced that the first show in the company’s history would be “Grease.” However, no further information on casting was provided. And let me tell you, this created quite the buzz around the neighborhood. “Who’s gonna play Danny? Who do you think would be the best Frenchie?” Everywhere you went, it’s all people wanted to talk about. Literally, there was no place to escape it. Grasmere Park? Check. C&N Pizza? You betcha. The block party? Forget about it! And don’t even get me started on those book club meetings. Not much literary analysis going on there, if you know what I mean. Like, c’mon Mom. Read your book, bro.

Anyway, I was obviously cast as Danny because I had the best look and the most talent. I mean, it really doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you put your hottest star in the leading role. That’s Theatre 101 right thurr. (Not to be confused with Theatre 102, which teaches you how to stand up in front of a classroom and inform your peers that they should really come out for the show because it’s supposed to be amaaaaaaaaaaazing, even though it probably sucks).

However, despite my excitement for the role, the show never made it to the stage. As you can imagine, there was great disappointment all throughout Newton Corner. We told our supporters that there were significant financial limitations and that we didn’t think we would be able to do the play justice. But ultimately, I think the show failed for two reasons: obviously it’s difficult to get things done when you’re 10-years old. But mostly, I think it was because Sega Dreamcast came out like a week after we had the idea and we just forgot about it entirely. As a result, I never got to be Danny Zuko. I never got to grease up my hair and wear a leather jacket and put a cigarette in my ear. All things that I was really looking forward to.

But last week, in a full-circle-kind-of-way, going from my elementary school graduation to my college one, I finally had this opportunity again. Dance Through the Decades. Club Royale. BC Oh Eleven. And man, I looked good:


(Best shampoo of my life the next morning.)


Over the next few days, I did the whole Senior Week and Graduation thing. I cried twice, but it's cool because I look good when I cry, and looking good crying is the new looking good partying. But when we got together for our first Albermarle All-Star game, things just felt kinda different. Times are changing, huh? People are straight up leaving Newton these days. Just packing their bags and bouncing, probably never to be seen or heard from again. Personally, I’m kinda offended. Like, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. After all I’ve done for you, you’re just gonna get up and go? Fine. But you should know that I poured my heart and soul into these blogs for your benefit. Not mine, yours. I made you all pseudo-celebrities. I gave you the Albie Awards. And now most of you are moving across the country or living at school for the summer. Thanks for nothing.

To be honest, though, I knew we were fucked the minute I found out that Quinn got a girlfriend. That shit caught me off guard. Like, we’re talking about Dave here, right? Not that he’s incapable of landing someone. Far from it. Dave is a beautiful man and I’ll be the first to admit it. But let’s not kid ourselves either; his love-life could almost qualify as the 8th Wonder of the World. Dude keeps it locked up. Like, I try to think that I’m relatively mysterious when it comes to this stuff, but Dave takes it to a whole new level. So when I saw on Facebook that he was “In a relationship,” it really hit me. Like, no more messing around. Life’s about to get serious. Kinda reminded me of LeBron when he finally beat the Celtics. Just saw the guy transforming into a man before my own eyes. Did I want it to happen? Of course not. Did I know it was inevitable? Yeah. But it still doesn't sink in until it's finally happening.

Fortunately, though, not all my realizations over the past few weeks have been negative. For instance, you all know how girls be crazy, right? How they often act in ways that are the exact opposite of how they’re feeling? Well, how’s this for a hypothetical situation: There’s this girl who has a major crush on this boy. At the beginning of the year, they are pretty good friends, but they aren’t really THAT close. So instead of the girl just being honest and direct with this boy, she instead decides to start hooking up with his best friend. That way, she always has an excuse to talk to the boy she really likes. They have this natural ice-breaker. They can start hanging out with each other at the bar. They can start texting each other. And on New Year’s Eve, she can bombard him with questions about the situation, consequently making him completely sober when he just spent the last 5 hours trying to get to the right level of drunkenness. Hypothetically speaking, of course. But still, you get the idea? #girlsbecrazy

Anyway, I can’t believe it took me 8 months to figure this out, but this exact situation has been happening to me all year! Bananas, no? And to be completely honest, I’m a little unsure of what my next move should be. Like, I’m down, I guess. But where do my loyalties lie? Whatever. I’ve put all my cards on the table. Your move, Mannix.

P.S. – I know there are probably other more pressing issues in the world, but we really need to establish some sort of universal understanding for the following phrase: “Oh, well, you should just sleep here. Our couch is really comfortable.” Seriously, this is the most ambiguous shit of all time. And it’s been throwing me for a loop lately. Is she saying this because she wants to save face if I’m not interested? Or is she saying this because she has no interest in me and the couch is actually where I’d be sleeping? It’s anybody’s guess! Like, when someone asks if you want to come over to watch a movie, then you’re good to go. He knows it. She knows it. There’s no gray area. Or if someone starts telling you about the time they were backpacking across Western Europe, it’s a done deal! But when they tell you the couch is really comfortable, what does that really mean? Please, can one of you girls just let me know?

Double P.S. - I’m naming my first daughter Saturn. I thought of it first. It’s mine. Nobody’s allowed to steal it. And don’t worry Susan, I’m getting you the Volvo SUV so let’s just call it even.

Hit or miss?

Remember on New Year's when Dave brought that sweet mixer and DJ'd like it was nobody's business? Well, I was bored the other day and hadn't made any large purchases in a while, so on a whim I just decided to buy one. Anyway, I've had it for like 4 days now. Not only do I have no idea how to use it, but I'm also missing a ton of other equipment that I need just to set it up. LMFAO right now!

This is going to end one of two ways: Either I figure out what the hell I'm doing and Dave and I end up having killer DJ battles all day long. Or this mix track ends up topping the Green Grass cleats as the worst purchase of my lifetime.

Futures Blog - Best Man Style

Ok, there’s no easy way of doing this. Eventually, this was a bridge that we all needed to cross, so I figured we might as well just do it now. When we all get married in the upcoming decade, how the hell do we decide who gets to be the best man, who gets to be the groomsmen, and who gets relegated to a lowly usher? Am I wrong, or is this going to be a sneaky huge issue?

Obviously there are some no-brainers that we shouldn’t get all hot-and-bothered about. For example, Jesse, Seth and Dave will probably do some Rachel-Monica-Phoebe deal where they rotate being each other’s best man. Calvin, Sam and Tom will probably do this too. Not a big deal. You guys have been friends since you were 5. Your families have little get-togethers and shit simply to reinforce this tight bond you have formed over the years. One love. We get it.

But what in the world am I supposed to do? Keep in mind, until a few months ago I didn’t even know that apparently we call ourselves LGO. That stands for Los Gangadores Something. I literally have no idea what the “O” stands for. Maybe “organization,” but not actually. Let’s just say I wouldn’t bet the house on it. Well, honestly, I can’t even bet anything at all because I spend all my disposable income playing Rihanna’s “What’s My Name” on the Mary Ann’s jukebox. $35 in February to be exact. Credit card bill don’t lie.

Anyway, it’s difficult enough for me when you guys are all like, “Silver team was the shiiiiiiiiit.” I went to Bigelow, guys. We didn’t have colors. I was in Cluster D with Susan. Whoop-dee-frickin’-doo. And what if nobody asks me to be their best man? Because that’s ultimately the biggest concern here. Nobody wants to be that guy. Especially me. I mean, I can tolerate a lot of shit. The other day I moved my sister’s underwear from the washer to the dryer without even squealing. But if nobody picks me as their best man, I’m going to flipping lose it.

Honestly, should we all just go ahead and announce who the front runners are right now? Everyone make a power rankings and update it every 6 months or so? Because that could get awkward. Probably not as awkward as last week when I was at the Bruins game with my dad and they showed the two of us on the JumboTron together. I don’t think anything will ever top that. Like, what do you possibly do in that situation? Wave? Smile? Stand up and ferociously start pointing to the Bruins logo on your shirt? My dad completely froze. I was probably worse, though. I double-pumped a wave. Started to raise my hand to wave to the crowd, then started to pull back because I thought it would make me look like a 15-year old girl, then realized I had already committed and re-raised my arm and gave a quick salute. Just brutal. I always thought that nothing could ever be worse than watching a movie with your parents when there’s a sex scene involved. Because that level of awkwardness has withstood the test of time, for sure. But when you see your face on that 50-ft screen, with 18,000 people looking deep into your soul, shit gets real. I’m not even kidding when I say the relationship I have with my father will never be the same.

Another proposal: when you guys finally do make a decision, you have to hold a press conference to announce your intentions. Put it up on YouTube or something. Hands-down, my biggest regret from high school was not inviting the local and national media to help me publicize my college decision. That would have killed. I just picture myself set up at a table on Main Street with 14 microphones in front of me. I got the BC hat, the Wake Forest hat, and the Emory hat all laying in front of me. I reach for the Emory hat. A collective “Ohhhhhhhhh” from the audience. But then at the last second I grab the Wake hat. “AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” as the crowd goes wild. Then Trey Wingo comes in and asks me with a straight face, “Why Wake Forest, Mike? What was the difference for you? Did the decisions of Mitch and Brady have an impact on your decision?” Oh man, by far my biggest regret. Hands-down.

Actually screw it. I’ll probably just choose my brother or one of my BC bros and avoid this all together.

P.S. When I think about it, choosing a best man and groomsmen and ushers takes me back to the Bar Mitzvah days. Remember how there was that candle ceremony and for some reason everyone felt the need to distinguish their “close” friends from all their other friends? First the Bar/Bat Mitzvah person would call up all their “new/less important” friends from middle school, and a relatively large crowd of 30 people or so would huddle around the cake and the light the candle. But immediately afterwards (we’re probably down to 4 or 5 candles left in total, for those keeping score at home), the Bar/Bat Mitzvah person would invite up a special group of like 8 close friends to come up and light another candle. At this point, every single kid has one thing on their mind: Who actually gets to light the candle? Who is the BEST of the best friends? There is a collective murmur from the crowd, probably people making bets - “3-2 odds on Hayley. 6-1 on Kelsey. 12-1 they hold it together and light it at the same time. Who ya got?” Shit was ridiculous.

Stop Asking Me this Stupid Question!

A lot of people have been asking me lately, “Hey Mike, isn’t Barstool hiring right now? Why don’t you apply?” Listen, I’ll tell you why. The reason I don’t apply is the same reason why I don’t ask girls out on dates. Not because I’m afraid of rejection. But because I don’t know what the fuck I would do when they inevitably say yes. When I see a girl with a cute face, I obviously think it would be fun to spend more time with her. But at what price? Do I really want to go out to dinner with you? Answer: no. I really don’t want to do that. “Oh but Mike, you’re such a regular guy. I’m sure deep-down you would really enjoy getting to know someone.”

Listen, have I not made myself perfectly clear about this in the past? Honestly, have I been writing in fucking Mandarin or something for the past 6 months? I mean, I know my calligraphy in Ms. Gao’s 3rd grade Chinese class was top-notch shit. That lady basically thought I was straight out of the Ming Dynasty or something. But I think I did a pretty good job of explaining how there are very few things that guys care about in the world.

If you still think I’m over-exaggerating how little I care about non-sports related issues, guess again. I literally still have no idea what the fuck happened in Egypt over the past few weeks. Not even kidding, my mom texted 5 days in a row, “Mike watch CNN. History being made in Egypt.” Ok, Mom. Will do. In all seriousness, if you offered me $1 billion to tell you what the name of that Pharaoh guy that they overthrew was, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I would probably say “Ahmadinejad” because that seems to be the answer to questions like that 75% of the time. I don’t even know what the hell an Ahbadidajad is, to be honest. Like, is that a person? A country? Who cares, it’s still probably the right answer. Anyway, the point is: unless this chick is ready to talk NBA, some Red Sox spring-training, maybe even a little hip-hop sprinkled in on top, I'm really not interested.

But then there are those people that will say, “Oh but Mike, you don’t have to go out to dinner, you could try going to a movie. That doesn’t involve nearly as much talking.” Oh really! Do I really want to go see some lame-ass movie with some girl I don’t even know? Because the last time I went down that path, I ended up seeing Marley & Me, in theaters, MORE THAN ONCE! And you’re looking at a guy that deliberately roots for the Philadelphia Eagles because he hates dogs so much. So just try to imagine how thrilled I was about that.

So yeah, that’s why I didn’t apply to Barstool. Not because I’m worried about him tearing me apart or just flat-out ignoring me, but because I have no idea what I would do if he actually offered me a position. The truth is, I have better things to do with my time. Like trying to put together a legitimate career of my own. Seriously, like what if El Pres was like, “Sure Mike, we’d love to have you aboard.” How do I even possibly think about taking that job? Like, that’s a 100% wrap on the rest of your life. You can’t do anything legitimate after working at the Stool, right? I like your beard.

The Futures Blog

Alright, so even though 95% of my friends pulled some typical Jew-trickery and managed to postpone the real world for at least another year, some of us are actually graduating in May and moving on with our lives. So naturally, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future and what that entails for the Salvuchasaurus and the rest of the Albermarle All-Stars.

My initial reaction: Holy shit, I need to find my future wife while I’m still young. I’m literally freaking out about this right now. I feel like Rachel Zoe during awards season. Just constantly stressed out and ready to kill somebody. Like, even now it’s hard enough for me to trick girls into hooking up with me, and that’s with my moneymaker abs. What the hell am I gonna do when my job starts and I’m working 800 hours a week and pouring milk into my General Gao’s and calling it breakfast? Besides, do I really want to enter that whole “Early 20’s/Young Professional” dating scene?” Just seems like a bunch of hullabaloo to me. Because as you know, I’m a simple man with a simple ideas. I don’t like all the complicated rules that go along with dating.

For the past 4 years, I’ve been operating under one rule and one rule only: As long as you treat girls like a Meal Plan, you won’t find yourself in any messy situations. (The Mean Plan Rule is easy: You know how your meal plan carries over from fall-semester to spring-semester? But at the end of the academic year you lose everything and have to start over next September? Well, girls are the same way. At the end of the year, you have to cut your losses. Because if you’re hooking up with a girl at the end of junior year, allow an entire summer pass, and then start things back up again during senior year, you’re basically screwed. Sparks start flying all over the place. Feelings come creeping in. It’s a fucking disaster. One minute you’re playing ruit with all your boys, and the next thing you know you’re spending your entire weekend cuddling and watching “He’s Just Not That into You.”). But now I don’t know what to do because I’m trying to find Ms. Right and apparently Meal Plan rules don’t go hand-in-hand with relationships.

My second reaction: I think to myself, you know what would be hilarious? A blog about all my friends and where they are in about 6 or 7 years. Mitch and Sarah, you guys are up first. You can spare me the song and dance about how you want your own individual posts. The last time you guys weren’t together, I didn’t even have a Facebook. That’s long as shit. Besides, if the Grammy people are allowed to give Best New Artist to Esmerelda Spalding or whatever-the-fuck-her-name-is over Justin Bieber, then I’m allowed to do this.

2018:

Mitch and I have been living together in Boston for a few years now, just tearing up the accounting world like we’ve always been destined to. My alarm clock usually goes off at 6:00 am because I like to take a long shower in order to wake myself up. Unfortunately, after 15 minutes in the shower, I’m literally standing in an ocean because Sarah won’t clean her hair out of the fucking drain. I mean seriously, you’ve been living here rent-free for like 2 years now. Would it kill you to un-clog it every once in a while?

Anyway, after a quick breakfast, Mitch and I hop on the T and head to the office. We’re pretty excited because we just signed a new client: Dyer Corp., which secretly is about to take over the world. Honestly, it’s like the next Google. The partners in our office seem more pleased with this client than the last one we brought in: Jesse’s Bike Rentals, which had, let’s just say, a very laissez-faire policy on paying its auditing fee.

I could bore you with all the details of what Mitch and I do all day long, but I’d probably fall asleep just trying to describe it. For simplicity’s sake, we sit at our desks changing numbers around until the assets match the liabilities, and then we go home. I usually try to convince Mitch to go to a bar with me after work, but he always insists he’s too tired. It’s cool, though. I had a girl once and she ran my life, too.

As soon as we get home, Sarah immediately begins to tell us about her day, which obviously makes me feel terrible about myself. “Oh, well first I did some research in the lab, which will help like 1 million people. Then they needed someone to fill-in in surgical, so I did that for the rest of the afternoon. And since I finished early, I figured I’d stop by Harvard on my way home and get started on my 8th degree.” Relax chica. I went on 4 service trips in college. I’ve paid my debt to society. Now let me watch this Warriors-Clippers game in peace.

But wait…I just remembered I need to start being nicer to Sarah since we’re getting married in T-minus 14 months.

In order to explain myself, let me take you back to Bigelow Middle School for a minute. In 7th grade, Sarah and I are sitting in Ms. Moore’s art class talking about Friends like we usually do. We eventually start talking about the episode where everyone has a backup. You know, if you’re not married by a certain age, then you get married to one of your friends so you can play the game of life together. Well, being the forward-thinking girl that she is, Sarah asks me to be her backup, and I agree. (Little known fact: this was actually a very difficult decision for me. After successfully asking Sarah to the first dance in 6th grade, things just kinda fizzled from there. If it didn’t work out in the future, I wasn’t sure if I could handle opening up Pandora’s box of emotions again).

Anyway, we then proceeded to iron out all the details. Sarah spent the next 45 minutes going through magazines and making a collage with pictures of all the furniture she wanted in our house (I wouldn’t be surprised if this was in The Burn Book). And most importantly, we agreed upon age 30 as our deadline.

I hope you can see where I’m going with this, because I’m almost about to turn 29, and Mitch still hasn’t popped the question. I mean, we could talk for days about true love and soul mates, blah, blah, blah. Get off your high horse. People make these kinds of deals for a reason. In the winter of 2019, you’re getting an invitation to Sarah’s wedding. And if I’m the lucky groom-to-be, don’t think for one second I’m not asking Mitch to be my best man and forcing him stand up at the alter with us.