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.

Merry Christmas

So Winik’s been all up on my ass lately trying to get me to write another blog. Like, as soon as the Celtics’ season started and I (somehow!) deemed that to be more important than making fun of my friends, she’s just constantly been on my case. So it’s probably my own fault that I didn’t see it coming when she verbally assaulted me the other day. I mean, there we are just canoodling on my couch watching Top Chef: Just Desserts, when all of a sudden she makes a comment about how I’m not actually funny in-person. Excuse me? She says I have a great writing tone, but in real life I’m just kinda boring and not funny. Ok…I guess that’s kinda true, except for the fact that it’s not. I’m freaking hilarious in pretty much every walk of life. Seriously, who’s quicker than me with witty one-liners? Maybe Brady on his best of best days? Maybe?

But that’s neither here nor there. You want a blog? I’m giving you a blog. Although, technically I posted a great one about Teo on the “Barre New Year’s” Facebook event page. But you probably didn’t have access to that one. Zing!

Anyway, I’m going to be doing a few blogs over the next two weeks. I figure since nobody is going to TOUCH my 1250 score on Facebook Snake, I have a little time to spare. Here’s the first:

*******

So earlier this semester I’m at some party and this mush walks past my friend and me. My buddy not-so-subtlety calls him a tool, which the kid hears and then immediately wants to start a fight. Being the intimidating presence that I am, I step in and try to break the whole thing up. To this day I will never know why this worked, but the kid sees me, backs down, and says (direct quote). “Whoa. You look smart. I’m not gonna fight you because you look pretty smart.” And walks away.

So here are 8 ways to trick people into thinking you are smart when in reality you spend 75% of your day watching Bravo and couldn’t point to Palestine on a map to save your life.

1. Read everything by Malcolm Gladwell. Apparently he’s one of those “it” authors that everybody is talking about these days. Listen, I don’t read books. Never have, never will. Just don’t see the point. If I ever wanted to read something, I probably would just write it myself. In fact, before I heard of this Gladwell guy, the only eight books I had read since middle school were the seven Harry Potters and The Book of Basketball (this is sadly true).

But luckily for me, I realized that everybody and their grandma was reading this guy, so I powered through The Tipping Point, Blink, and Outliers. Here’s my advice on the Gladwell books: Know them by heart. Be able to elaborate on his ideas and shit. But never be the one to bring him up first in a conversation. I repeat. NEVER be the first to bring him up in a conversation. Actual smart people will jump on you like a trampoline if you do. It simply reeks of superficial/mainstream intelligence. Believe me, I found this out the hard way. One minute you’re just having a delightful conversation about those hockey players from Outliers, and the next thing you know, you’re getting questioned about Thomas Friedman. Seriously, who? Instead, wait until some other hopeless victim brings up Gladwell in a conversation, then just casually interject here and there and pretend like he’s old news at this point.


2. Start a blog and trick girls into thinking you have a unique writing style. Since they don’t read Barstool and/or Bill Simmons, they will probably think you’re hilarious and witty. But really, you know fully well that you’re just copying their styles and playing it off as your own. But hey, they don’t know the difference!

Side-note: Since I started my blog, writing has become the Number 1 thing that girls admire about me. We all know that girls like guys who are talented, and since I can’t sing or play the guitar, this is really my only viable option at this point in my life. What’s depressing is that my best attribute before I started writing was…wait for it… the way I turn the steering wheel when I’m driving. Yup. With one hand and my palm wide open. Apparently girls love that. That’s what they’re looking for in a future husband. Open palms. Wide open.


3. Always carry the Wall Street Journal around with you. Sometimes when I’m by myself and I know a bunch of people are about to come into the room, I immediately pull out the WSJ and start pretending to read it. Then when people come in, I’m just oozing smartness in every direction. Ho-hum, just reading the Journal. No big deal. Oh hey everyone! Nothing going on over here, I was just reading the Journal. Then I just need to answer a short series of questions and I’m in the clear.

“What’s that you’re reading, Mike? Anything interesting?” Then I run through some pre-determined answers I thought of earlier in my head: “Oh, well the banks are considering lowering interest rates to combat all the foreclosures in the housing market, blah blah blah.” And that’s really all there is to it.
(Note: “Foreclosure” is a great word to throw out there every once in a while. Everybody thinks that everybody else knows what it means, but nobody actually does. So you’ll never get challenged on it, but you come off looking wicked smaht).


4. Know what you don’t know. Can’t over-emphasize the importance of this one. My personal weakness is Vietnam. I literally know nothing about nothing that happened there. Doesn’t matter how many times I read over the Wikipedia page, it’s like my brain just doesn’t want me to know anything about it. But since people reference it from time-to-time, you always need to have an exit strategy. Try to wiggle your way out of the conversation somehow. Or better yet, change the subject to something in which you’re the expert.

My favorite one typically involves me overcooking my raviolis. As soon as someone brings up the topic of the Vietnam War, I usually say something like, “Oh, my raviolis are probably overcooked. Better go check on those!” But Mike, you aren’t even cooking anything…“Well, you’re not Italian. You probably didn’t even know that the meatball is the world’s most self-explanatory food. Seriously, what’s more self-explanatory than a meat ball? It’s just a ball of meat.” Boom. Subject is already changed and I’m back in the driver’s seat. Staples…that was easy.


5. Pick friends that don’t have your major. Difficult to execute, but will pay huge dividends if you can pull it off. Especially if you’re in the business school and can talk with reasonable knowledge about things like… paying dividends. Shit drives English majors up a wall. They can’t get over the fact that we actually go to class and just learn about analyzing financial statements all day. And the irony of all ironies is that usually during my business classes, I’m just on my computer writing (in English!) for all of my successful blogs. Like, you can’t even make this stuff up. My life is just a fairytale.


6. What’s that saying? You learn a lot about a man by the way he acts when he thinks nobody is watching. Well you learn even more about a man by the type of music he listens to when he thinks he’s by himself. Listen, I don’t have particularly great taste in music. When I know I home alone, all I do is blast electro-club remixes in my room. Basically just one Rihanna mash-up after another. But as soon as I hear that front door open, I immediately switch to my “Chill Hip-Hop” playlist on my iPod, full of classics like Nas, Biggie, A Tribe Called Quest and Common. I don’t even like half the shit on there, but I listen to it because it’s universally accepted that you can’t make fun of someone for liking those artists.


7. Be smart about when you wear your glasses. We all know that wearing spectacles makes you appear to be smarter. But you know what DOESN’T make you look smart? Wearing glasses when everybody knows you don’t really need them. Nobody likes a fraud, just ask the NY Jets. My general rule: Wear them on the first day of class, and then you can wear them for the rest of the semester. In my case, I forgot to wear my glasses during the first week of classes in September, so I wasn’t allowed to wear them for the entire fall semester. I have to wait until January. That’s just the way it goes.

Props to Sarah for being the first one to discover this back in like 9th grade. Just completely beat everyone to the punch on that one. Mitch, on the other hand, comes out of nowhere last summer and just decides he’s going to start wearing glasses to help him pull off the whole Kid Cudi/hipster look. I questioned Mitch on this, and his response was that they were prescription. Prescription? Ok, Mitch. That and $2.00 will get you a ride on the MBTA. Congratulations.


8. Dress nicely to class. Ok, so it’s semi-hypocritical of me to say this. The real reason I transferred from Wake was because I didn’t have any boat shoes to wear to class on a daily basis. Now I wear them to class at least four days a week, and I only have class Tuesday-Thursdays. So that’s a lot. Obviously, when you dress like an asshole you sacrifice a little in the “That person looks like a regular guy who I would want to become friends with” department, but you gain so much everywhere else. People just look at you and smell success.

Disclaimer: Don’t make the mistake of looking too smart. You know, to the point where people assume you would be a good person to work with on a group project. Because there is nothing worse in this world than being the #1 guy in a group project. All the organizing meetings and emailing professors and whatnot. Just seems like the absolute pits to me. That’s why I always try to come off as the #3 guy for any group project. Not too smart, but not a complete slouch either. That way, I don’t have to take on the majority of the work, but I pull enough weight that I still get to sit around with the other top dogs and bitch about how the rest of the group is slacking off.

Birthday Blog

You know that feeling when the Red Sox have a big playoff game coming up that night, and it seems like everyone is just looking forward to the first pitch at 8:17 pm? You can tell, there’s just a constant buzz in the air. People go to work and go to class, but really they’re just going through the motions. Well, I was walking around campus today, and it had that exact same feeling. I could tell that people had a little extra hop in their step. It’s only Tuesday, but the excitement and anticipation for MikeandJoshApalooza on Friday is already real high. It’s going to be fire weekend. Although topping last weekend could be a difficult task.

On Saturday, the BC football team played at Wake Forest, so naturally, I told everyone that I was definitely 100% coming to visit and then bailed. It’s kinda my thing. This time around though, I actually did visit Expedia and Orbitz and looked at real-life flights before I decided I had no interest in ever going back there. And honestly, at this point you guys should consider that a win because normally I’m walking to class or playing Bloons Tower Defense when I text Mitch: “Looking at flights as we speak. Be there in 3 weeks. I’m serious this time.”

And to really kick you when you’re down, not only did I not go to Wake last weekend, but I decided to go to the exact opposite of Wake Forest. That’s right. Road trip to UVM with D-Robb.

To say my expectations of UVM were met would be like saying I get a little nervous every time Barstool posts a UMass video with a bunch of girls dancing with El Pres. Because my heart skips about 14 beats every time that happens. But in all seriousness, Jesse’s house was everything I imagined it would be and more. As an avid Farmville player, I was pretty pumped for the Chicken Coop in the backyard (obviously one of the chickens laid an egg the night before, which Jesse casually collected and brought to his neighbor as a nice gesture). There were also dogs and guinea pigs running around everywhere. Basically just a barn of a house.

I hit the nail on the head wearing my plaid button-down shirt that day. Fit right in with everybody. But one move that did not go over so well: walking in to a pregame with a FourLoko in my hand. “Oh my god! You actually DRINK those things! Let me try a little! Argghh that’s gross! My heart’s gonna explode!!!!” Relax people. It’s sugar and alcohol mixed together. And you had half-a-sip. You’ll live. The best part, though, was when I told people that I went to BC, and then suddenly it all made sense to them. “Oh yeah, my friend goes to BC. I think she drinks those, too.” Listen, she drinks those because she goes to college, not because she goes to BC. Sorry for partying.

Something else I couldn’t wrap my head around: everyone bikes to the parties. Like, everyone. When we went to this pregame, Jesse forced us to bike even though it was 25 degrees outside and I was protesting vehemently against it. Anyone who really knows me knows that I’m a terrible bike rider. I will always maintain that I am a better pound-for-pound athlete than Lebron. That's just a fact. But when it comes to biking, I’m just the worst. I can’t even get on the bike to start with, I don’t know how to change gears, and I can never figure out if I should be sitting on the seat or doing that standing thing. It’s a miserable experience. And if it weren’t for Halo and Call of Duty, I would say it’s the thing I’m worst at in this world.

Fortunately, by the time we got back to Jesse’s for the official party, things started popping off. The real highlight of the night was when DJ Dangerous Dave started killing it on the 1’s and 2’s. As you can imagine, there were a lot of freshman there because Jesse is a nice guy and doesn’t know how to say no. Everyone’s having an average time until Jesse asks Dave to start playing his iPod. And as soon as he does, the place goes bonkers. Just one jam after another. Beating up the beat, then slowing it down, then beating it up again. He nailed every single song. At one point, in typical Newton North fashion, Dave went back-to-back with Call on Me and Don’t Stop Believing. Must have been at least a 75% hook up rate on the dance floor during those songs.

Dave was working it so hard, there were at least 4 girls that came up to him and asked him to dance. He had to politely turn them down, but was considerate enough to point them in my direction. Unfortunately, every single one of them walked in the complete opposite direction of where I was standing. I really tried to talk to myself into the idea that this didn't happen on 4 separate occasions, but there's really no getting past it. I guess that’s the way the cookie crumbles sometimes. But honestly, I wasn’t even that upset because two of them were wearing the Short Uggs, which have been an absolute deal-breaker for me lately. Like, what could possibly motivate you to get the short ones? Go big or go home ladies.

P.S. Memo to everyone going to Barre for New Year’s: Unless there's some sort of miracle where DJ Desert Storm volunteers his services for the night, Dave is making a playlist and we’re just letting it go. That’s it. Apologies to Hyatt and Calvin, but you guys are being ex-communicated from DJ-ing. It’s called a party, guys. We don’t need Calvin playing an acoustic version of Lupe and Common singing “Buffalo Soldier” in Talib’s basement while Lauryn Hill was upstairs watching Casablanca. It’s rare. We get it. And Sam, we don’t need you to counter that with a song that Lil Wayne won’t even write until 2014, but you’ve somehow managed to already get on your iPod. You like Weezy. Welcome aboard. Save these battles for another time. Let’s play some club bangers that people actually know, and hope we can get Seth to voluntarily start dancing after we kidnap him for the evening.

Priorities

Hey everyone. Hope you've been enjoying all the invisible posts lately. Pretty high-tech stuff.

As many of you know, I'm now contributing to CelticsHub.com. It's an actual blog with more than 18 followers, so I'm gonna have to devote my time to that. I'm not going to be posting much for Behind the Arc anymore. Maybe every now and then. But not.

This is basically a win-win for everyone. I move on to bigger and better things, and you guys can focus on your studies without having to constantly hit "refresh" to see if I've posted something new and hilarious.

More emails

Good Email: This picture that Charles sent of me as Nnamdi Asomugha, aka Miggy Asomugha, aka Asomiggs.



Bad Email:

How about this prank email from Ben that had me thinking I had MADE IT in the blog world. Some friend, huh? Or maybe it's worse that I actually believed this for an entire 24 hours. Like, of course Tommy Wiseau, director and lead actor of "The Room," one of the worst movies ever made, follows my blog.

Dear Mike,

I have followed your blog for quite some time now and it is splendid, it gives me funny feelings in my nether regions. I do have a question though, that has been churning around in my mind for quite some time now, how does one become such a sexy beast like yourself? If you could give me some tips or advice in that regard, I would be very appreciative.

Best wishes and keep up the great, very sex work,
-Tommy

Like no joke, I actually fell for this email. However, in my defense, look at this guy. He's a nutjob. I probably would have believed anything you told me about him.

Got Me a Ticket to Celtics-Heat

There are very few occasions in a man’s life where he has the chance to witness something greater than life itself. When the entire world has its eyes transfixed on one game, in one arena, for an entire 3 hours. When the Damons and Wahlbergs and Jay-Zs of the world all come together under one roof to share such a spectacular moment in history. It only happens once, maybe twice a year. And it just so happens that Tuesday night at the TD Garden will be one of those times.

To say I’m looking forward to the Heat-Celtics game would be like saying Screech had a thing for Lisa Turtle. Because there are certain things in life that you look forward to…and then there’s this game. For example, I’m looking forward to dressing up for the midnight showing of Harry Potter next month. I’m looking forward to attending Calvin’s wedding with all my friends, which my Google Calendar just reminded me is only 18 months away. And I’m looking forward to COMING HOME ONE DAY AND NOT SEEING OUR FREAKIN’ BATHROOM LIGHT ON WHEN WE HAVE A $204 ELECTRICITY BILL! But that’s just me.

This game is probably one of the most anticipated games of our lifetime. I’m not trying to be hyperbolic (by far the biggest word in the history of this blog), but I’m having trouble thinking of another game that will receive more warranted and impassioned attention than this game. Super Bowls are fun, but at the end of the day, they have one every year. I admit, Celtics-Heat will probably soon be triumphed by LeBron’s return to Cleveland in a couple months. But for now, there’s really nothing that can top it.

How did I score a ticket to the game, you ask? Just used my infinite resources as a basketball insider to purchase myself one on a little website called Stubhub.com. And I got a pretty good deal on it, too. Cost me just about the same as my monthly electric bill. Ba-dum-chh!

Is this too much money for a single game ticket? No way. This is truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. When I’m sitting around in my rocking chair when I’m 65 years old, do you think I’m gonna care if I have an extra $200 in my pocket? Or am I gonna want to pick up Salvuchasaurus III and say to him, “You know what little guy, I was at LeBron’s first game ever with the Miami Heat, before he went on to win those 5 championships. And you know who won that game? That’s right, the Boston Celtics.” Then I’ll whip out my wallet and give my 6-year old grandson $200 anyway because that’s the type of bomb G-Pa I’m going to be.