Graduation

Pollen¸ Jerry Bruckheimer, and college seniors are all known for coming up big in the middle of May. Yesterday, I attended my cousin's graduation from Rutgers University in New Jersey.

I have a passion for solid offensive line play and sound logistical planning. The Rutgers graduation committee did an excellent job organizing an efficient ceremony for several thousand students and their respective families. Parking was not only ample, but also supple and firm.

The ceremony had all the familiar trappings of a graduation. The phalanx of graduates' seats was flanked by a parenthesis of foldable plastic chairs in which sat their impeccably dressed parents.

Some, that eternally unidentifiable group of others upon whom lazy writers heap scorn, find graduation ceremonies to be excruciatingly boring events. I am not some. Specifically, I was looking forward to the speech by Eric Knecht, the President of the Rutgers Class of 2010 and the only scheduled student speaker. Public speaking isn't difficult in and of itself. But, Knecht would have to balance obligatory graduation day platitudes against the pressure of saying something interesting and memorable. His introductory speaker, a vice dean, approached the podium to give a short introduction on the class president.

Knecht's biography was remarkable. A summa cum laude graduate, Knecht has also chaired or founded several university organizations and will be teaching underprivileged children in Washington, D.C. this fall. If he were from "right here in hard-workin' northeast Ohio", he could have been part of a presidential candidate's stump speech. The parents in the audience were impressed. An awed murmur of "woahhhh" swept through the crowd with each successive fact the vice dean told the crowd. The introduction ended and the class president neared the microphone.

When the home team in basketball falls behind by, say, fifteen points and goes on a run to cut it to two, the crowd gradually crescendos. Still, they wait for the exclamation point – the three pointer that triumphantly marks the home team finally taking the lead – in order to explode into happy delirium. Sometimes, this shot misses. Twenty thousand people simultaneously groan ("ohhhhhh") and the announcer says something like "they woulda blown the ROOF off if that had fallen!"

Thanks to his glowing introduction, the class president approached the stage essentially having cut the lead to two. The crowd was firmly in his pocket. We were waiting for the exclamation point.

The exclamation point never came. It was soon clear that his speech, by his own design, could not have had one.

First, he gave the standard remarks alluding to their first days together as a class in fall 2006 and mixed in some tepid but crowd-friendly jokes about dining halls and Facebook. Pretty safe material, but Knecht's a natural speaker whose delivery was effective nonetheless. Soon, he took an enormous risk for which I must give him a lot of credit.

He talked politics. And, he did not equivocate. Knecht forcefully stated his convictions in blunt language, convictions which were soon transmitted over two enormous video boards and dozens of loudspeakers. He did not hide, and though the speech was well received and he earned a warm round of applause, I couldn't shake the feeling that many of the same parents who were "ooh"ing during his biography were made squeamish by hearing Knecht's political views on this particular stage.

I was pretty squeamish as well. I don't really care what a person's political views are, but most political statements are couched in arrogance and feigned piety. As soon as Knecht started talking about 2008, I had a feeling he would start talking about politics. Much like male nudity in a Judd Apatow movie, I knew it was coming, and I knew I was going to be uncomfortable, I just didn't know when.

Michael Jordan was once asked by a Democrat why he didn't make political statements. Jordan replied, "Republicans buy sneakers too." Knecht didn't care. He gave his speech the way he wanted to and earned a well-deserved round of applause, even if it meant forfeiting a chance at a standing ovation.

After Knecht's speech, students who had earned awards or scholarships were recognized for their achievements. Seventeen students had a perfect grade point average. Winners of department level awards, such as the Arthur C. Cope chemistry prize, stood up. My favorite was the one student who received the Geroge Washington Carver Award for Excellence in Peanuts.

Later that night, my freshly graduated cousin, his family, and my family all went to dinner. His father, my uncle, is like a cross between Rodney Dangerfield and Vito Corleone. His medical empire in central Jersey is wildly successful and he is regarded as one of the top immunologists in the state. His word is law and he has inspired loyalty bordering on devotion in those who work for him. Still, he never met a fart joke he didn't like.

Most first generation immigrants from India were taught British English as schoolchildren, which means they refer to "math class" as "maths", likely a shortened form of "mathematics". This extra "s" presumably migrated from Rutger University, which is what my uncle's friend repeatedly called the home of the Scarlet Knights.

I'm happy to be incubated in college for one more year. Good luck, class of 2010.

Late Registration

Broadstreetrun.com indicated that interested runners could register for the titular race by March 31^st, though by now enough time has passed that I can't remember all the details and the site may have in fact said April 1^st. At any rate, I logged in on March 27^th, which should have given me enough of a buffer to register for the race in time.

Buffering…buffering…buffering…

When I logged in, I was greeted by a banner at the top of the page. It said that the race was full and that registration was now closed. I don't blame the organization charged with managing the race at all; the original notice probably said "…until March 31^st or until race reaches capacity" and I misread it. Plus, the race was May 2^nd, which was during the peak of finals-related stress. So, it's been a fun six weeks or so, but my failure to register on time doomed my chances for a spot in the race.

It is difficult to come up with something interesting to say every day without becoming stale or repetitive. I thought about standardizing the column by creating a few fields – say, Music Listened To, Miles Ran, Noticed – and updating them every day. But, I think it cheapens the writing when an occasionally amusing gimmick is used as a crutch, though since everything I write is based on run-on sentences and the 1994 NBA season, I don't know that there's much quality left to corrupt.

After taking roughly two weeks off from moving in order to deal with classwork, I've started running again since moving home. The past few days I've ran between four and five miles.

Lingua Pura

Language can be hilarious:

1. I was gunslinging some conversation at an attractive woman when she said "she had to run to the ATM machine." I told her that she was being redundant, because the M in ATM already stands for "machine". Thanks to my hilarious knack for stomping all over my own game, we didn't speak after that.
   
2. At a recent barbeque, a girl told us how her globe-shaped earrings were based on the planet earth. I didn't understand she meant planet earth and not Planet Earth, because any earrings that involve 6 months of time lapse photography and Sigourney Weaver must be taken seriously.
   
3. Writers of TV shows such as Lost like to make characters read books so that they can add depth, hoping that viewers like me will go "Literature! Wow! They mean business!" For example, a recent episode had one character read Of Mice and Men, which makes sense because parts of the sixth season have been like getting shot in the back of the head by your best friend.
   
4. A few of my friends were trying to figure out – without looking it up – when Catcher in the Rye was set. One person thought it was the 1920's, another the 1980's. I blurted out "you're way off, it's set in the future!" but I said it with such pinache and perfect timing that I expected to get a solid laugh out of it. Crickets!
   
5. Pitchfork, the hipster music website, actually started a review with the following passage:
   

   "Akira Kosemura's entrancing Polaroid Piano is my favorite ambient-inclined piano record from Japan since Radicalfashion's Odori, which it often resembles in faded miniature"
   

   
   

   I guess they were embarrassed that someone actually thought it was a good idea to write like that, because the current version of the review deletes that line. I had to look up the cached version of the page to find the line. It was such pretentious writing that it was seared into my memory.
   

The comedy in language has been successfully mined by entertainers from Larry David to Randall Munroe. Munroe is best known for his comic strip XKCD, which often comments on the link between romantic angst, Fourier transformations, and Venn Diagrams.

Tony Soprano once said "'Remember that time?' is the lowest form of conversation". I thought he was being an idiot – I love to talk about old times with friends. But, I guess he meant that eventually the words get stale and you have nothing left to talk about.

I don't speak with some of my close friends from high school anymore. Not that we had a falling out or wouldn't enjoy spending time with each other now. It's just that over time, the stories atrophy. You run out of things to talk about and become trapped in a prison of "how're classes going?" conversations.

The language and structure of sports films had grown depressingly stale, but this changed in recent years. I love movies like The Replacements in which a scrappy group of misfits comes together to beat the more handsome and better funded villains. But, films like The Wrestler remind me of Raging Bull in that they are sports movies that require the viewer's focus and attention and not just an ability to fight through quicksand. I don't know how my Quest to run Broad Street is going to end. There are no square-jawed, arrogant runners taunting me, and no out of my league romantic interest for me to win. Just a lot of dirty laundry and lower back pains.

Day 15, March 16 2010: 2.5 miles

Day 16, March 17 2010: 8.0 miles

Day 17, March 18 2010: 3 miles

Day 18, March 19 2010: 2.67 miles

Day 19, March 20 2010: basketball

Day 20, March 21 2010: basketball

Day 21, March 22 2010: basketball

Day 22, March 23 2010: 2.0 miles

Day 23, March 24 2010: basketball

Day 24, March 25 2010: rest

Day 25, March 26 2010: rest

Day 26 March 27 2010: basketball

Just Do It

Day 14, March 15 2010

Be like Mike. So said the famous 1992 Gatorade ad in which the smiling Bulls guard inspires little kids to achieve the same greatness he did. The funniest part of the ad is the last three seconds, when the screen fades to black and the signature phrase appears in white text on a black background. Clearly, some lazy video editor forgot that the final cut of the ad was due the next day and slapped it together as quickly as possible. I'm reminded of a classic Simpsons joke in which the Navy employs three recruiting tactics:

Lt. Smash: There are three ways to get people to join. Subliminal, liminal, and superliminal.

Lisa: Superliminal?

Lt. Smash: I'll show you. [shouts out window] Hey you! Join the Navy!

Carl and Lenny shrug and choose to enlist thanks to the superluminal efforts of Lieutenant LT Smash. Maybe I'm not as impressionable as they are, but I'm pretty close. Jordan's legendary competitiveness – and the aura of invincibility which validated him – made every kid who grew up from 1984 to 2000 want to Be Like Mike.

When I was growing up, my cousins used to whoop my ass at everything from Madden '95 to schoolwork to Madden '96. Granted, we had a limited universe, but it still sucked. If I was reading picture books, they were reading novels; when I could add, they could multiply. Jordan was the dominant cultural figure in our lives, and every time I wasn't good enough compared to my cousins made me feel pretty lame, pretty Unlike Mike.

I wanted to run ten miles today and I couldn't get past six. I hadn't eaten in several hours, but so what? Jordan had the flu! Game 5, 1997! I thought of every story I've read in which words like "pathological" and "ruthless" were used to describe Jordan's competitive streak, and how hard I used to try to emulate him when I was younger. I wonder if the mythologized version of "Michael Jordan" I've admired for so long is even real. But, I've realized that I'm also the same person who believes that an 89.5 is just as good as a 98 if they both count as As. I don't think Jordan – or, at least, "Jordan" - would agree.

Pestle and Mortar

Days 10 – 13, March 11-14 2010

Food Wars premiered on the Travel Channel on Tuesday and immediately became my favorite current show on TV. The premise of the show is simple: most cities have a signature food and two iconic restaurants battle over which makes the better product (think Pat's vs. Geno's for cheesesteaks in Philly). Food Wars's charming hostess walks us through seven minute mini-documentaries on the rivals before each submits a finished dish for a blind taste test to a panel of locals who determine which makes the "true" cheesesteak, or deep dish pizza, or whatever.

I mention this because several housemates intend on hosting a barbeque and my hope is that some sort of rivalry breaks out. Neil, the current burger-making champion, may be challenged by Mak for the title. If there was a Tale of the Tape, Neil would be listed as the defending champion, 5'10'', and from the Mid-Atlantic region which is known for its fertile soil and temperate climate. Most of my knowledge of Neil is actually from my fourth grade social studies textbook. Also, he has a fondness for laxatives.

Mak is from both Bosnia and Herzegovina. Dan once described his burgers as having "a secret ingredient, but the secret ingredient is Worcestershire sauce and burning it". Mak is a heavy underdog.

Food and running are perfect inverses in terms of how enjoyable they are. Running is excruciating, but the sweaty, triumphant walk from the gym to the shower is worth the pain that the miles bring. Food, contrarily, brings instant gratification and feelings of lethargy or gluttony afterwards.

I finally got back on my grind for three miles of misery on Day 11 and three more on Day 14. These aren't good numbers. I cramped up in the second mile, which forced me to abandon my intention of running six. My hope is that the end of spring break and its indulgences will be a positive development for my training.

Sick

Day 9: March 10 2010

After spending ten hours driving home from Toronto, I spent two more driving back to Jersey from Philadelphia. I had a fever.

Being home sick reminded me of all those times growing up when I couldn't make it to school. When I was young, it meant that one of my parents would stay home with me and feed me some delicious pink antibiotic. As I got older, I spent my time watching the Nick Jr. morning lineup or the same episode of SportsCenter five times in a row and then worrying about how much schoolwork I was missing.

I wonder what it's like to grow up in the South or West where the weather isn't miserable from late October to early March. People don't usually get sick during the warm weather months. Maybe those kids don't have memories of "Hi there, Face here! (trumpet sound)" or Barry Melrose breaking down a Hartford Whalers game, but maybe that's a good thing.

Today, I got home at three, watched Tuesday's phenomenal Lost episode, and spent the next eight hours napping or watching NBATV. Since there weren't any NBA games on until later, the channel spent its time discussing the NBA D-League, which is kind of like a minor league for basketball. Lot of hype for Saturday's Tulsa 66ers vs Rio Grande Valley Vipers showdown presented by Papa John's. My assumption is that Rio Grande Valley chose to represent an entire region so they could maximize their fan base, much like the New England Patriots.

Since I got a phone with a Facebook app on it, I haven't been on the actual Facebook website in a while. I logged on today to respond to one of my friend's messages. He is studying abroad in Argentina and said that he found a vending machine whose poster is an image of Grant Hill on the Pistons instead of a glossy Coke bottle splashed with ice. I wonder if this is a common phenomenon in countries with a history of hyperinflation. I hope Theo Ratliff is on Aquafina machines in Belarus.

I took TheraFlu, Claritin, and six times the recommended daily dosage of Vitamin C in an effort to heal as quickly as possible. Today is March 10 and the last time I ran was March 4^th.

Muddy York

Days 4 - 8: March 5 – March 9 2010

Toronto, perhaps Buffalo's greatest suburb, is a wonderful place and I'm happy I chose to drive there with several friends for spring break. Dan, Neil, Mak and I drove in one car, and Rob and Thao drove in another. The majority of my time was spent with Dan, Neil and Mak.

Saturday 8:40 am – 1:00 pm

After my alarm goes off, I roll off of my mattress and into the shower. From what I can recall of events this early on a Saturday, I actually rolled from my bed, out my door, down the stairs, and took a shower lying down in the tub. I couldn't even shower efficiently; I used too much shampoo and too little body wash. I hadn't packed yet either, but I figure the masculine thing to do is to pack only a few shirts and underwears and travel as lightly as possible. Road trip participants should be as grimy and smelly and stubbly as possible, especially as the trip wears on, and I wanted to fulfill my character. All men have a toiletries bag that smells like aftershave and testosterone, and I was proud to call mine up for duty once more.

Dan and I had agreed that we should try to listen to as much stand-up comedy as possible on the drive to Canada, so I loaded albums from Mitch Hedberg, Aziz Ansari, Dave Chappelle, George Carlin, and Richard Pryor onto my mp3 player and headed for the door.

Dan and Mak have been friends since before high school, and I enjoyed taking a backseat as they reminisced about the old days. Mak mentioned how Dan used to let him drive Dan's father's car to school before Mak even had a permit. Dan told us how he was so tired during those early-morning commutes that when it was his turn to drive, he'd fall asleep at the wheel every chance he got. "Every red light was a chance to get some sleep."

By 11:00 am, it became clear that I was not going to be alpha male, or even beta male, on this trip. Instead, I focused on being a great role player - for example, I'd bail out jokes that fell flat by giving some solid courtesy laughs. I did not mind being the Shannon Brown of the trip, but only because both of our names sound pretty feminine. Sometimes, I wish my name ended with an "O" instead of an "A".

Saturday 1:00 pm – 2:00 pm

We enter an all-you-can-eat buffet place somewhere in upstate New York. The staff there was incredibly nice; one noticed Dan's Shane Victorino shirt and told us that she went to high school with Victorino back in Hawaii. She said that he was nice to her, but that he was a jerk for pitting two of her friends against each other so he could date both. She also said that Victorino was the only person in her high school who was allowed to play multiple sports per season because he was so good he didn't need to practice.

Mak needed a pair of nail-clippers, so we walked to a nearby drug store. There was only one main road in the entire town, yet there were somehow three (three!) tax preparation services competing against each other. I thought this was pretty funny. Small towns are lionized for their heartland values, not their accounting prowess. Also, Neil bought a package of laxatives which would provide most of the entertainment for the next six hours.

Saturday 2:00 pm – 8:00 pm

Neil eats a triple dose of laxatives as soon as we pull out of Dodge. We all try to trick Dan into eating some, but he says he doesn't want any chocolate, and that he also doesn't want any chocolates that are laced with laxatives. I guess he was on to us. Either way, within two hours he changed his mind and took twice the recommended serving. Not wanting to feel left out, Mak and I soon followed. Basically, the stand-up comedy had gotten kind of boring and we had five hours left in the car.

The dynamic among four guys on a ten hour car ride are hard to describe. For example, the following quotes become hilarious after seven hours:

Person A: [notices highway billboard for Jello museum] Look, the Jell-O Hall of Fame!

Person B: [takes Dan's grandmother's cataract-ridden eye shields which were in the car and begins making faces at other drivers]

Person C: [taunting Neil's laxative situation] You know what I could use right now? A niiiiiiiiice [expletive].

For entertainment in some third world cultures, people will defecate into a closed container and wait for fermentation to make the compound's fumes hallucinogenic. Our car ride was pretty similar to this.

One highway took us through the heart of Syracuse. I started disliking college basketball this year. I watched a Kentucky game trying to buy into the John Wall hype; maybe he'll be good in the pros, but all I saw from Wall and both teams during that game were missed layups, turnovers, and sloppy play. Besides Carmelo Anthony and Kevin Durant, I can't remember another highly touted college player over the past decade whose game was polished before a couple of NBA seasons. Anyway, Syracuse is more than a small college town. It's actually pretty urban and developed.

I fell asleep for about three hours and woke up after we had already passed Buffalo. Border crossing was less than forty-five minutes away. The laxatives were slowly beginning to liquefy our intestines. I keep mentioning the laxatives not because I like those contrived Tucker Max style "Can you top how crazzzzzzy this is?!?!?" stories, but because it actually happened.

The Canadian border patrol guard was incredibly nice to us, and as soon as we entered their country we saw a McDonald's sign advertising free coffee until March 14^th. It felt like the country was saying "Welcome to Canada. Here's your coffee."

Saturday 8:00 pm – 9:00 pm

We find some government subsidized parking for Dan's '73 Nissan right outside of the hostel. Shortly thereafter, we finally check in. I wonder if we can do especially stupid things because Canada has universal health care, but I'm not sure if foreign idiot twenty year olds are covered by their plan. Either way, I love moral hazards.

Sunday 10:00 pm – Noon

We crawl out of bed and take some of the grimiest showers in memory. I hated stepping out of the shower only to feel the dust and hair of the floor begin clinging to my wet feet. The bathroom setup on our floor was pretty stupid. The floor housed roughly 50 people. There were two women's bathrooms next to each other, and a third bathroom which was unisex. To recap: three bathrooms, two women's, one unisex. It was only $30 per night though.

Neil went to visit his relatives in the Toronto suburbs as Mak, Dan and I headed to the Air Canada Centre to catch Raptor fever. Sadly, Dan ended up catching Raptor herpes. We didn't have tickets yet, so we approached some scalpers. Canadian scalpers are hilarious. One refused to sell for anything less than $40; when we agreed but said we needed to go to an ATM for cash, he immediately apologized and offered to sell for $35. Dan and Mak joked that if we held out longer he would have thrown in some pie and maybe a belt.

Sunday Noon – 3:00 pm

The Raptors host the Sixers. I cannot overstate how much I loved the Toronto fan base and the arena they filled.

The fans nearly sold out the arena – no small feat in today's NBA – and cheered loudly throughout the contest. They even stayed until the closing seconds despite trailing by double digits to a horrible team for the entire fourth quarter. And, I won a free t-shirt.

The Air Canada Centre itself was gorgeous. The concourses are packed with bars, food stands, and games. Over two seasons in the late '90s, this franchise was home to Marcus Camby, Damon Stoudamire, Chauncey Billups, Tracy McGrady, and Vince Carter. Much like the Montreal Expos – erstwhile home of Pedro Martinez, Randy Johnson, Larry Walker, and many others – they should have been more successful.

Dan nearly disowned me for turning on the Sixers so rapidly, but that's ok.

Sunday 3:00 pm – 8:00 pm

Mak, Dan and I explored Toronto's financial district and enjoyed the weather during a long walk back to the hostel. After taking a nap, we meet up with Neil, Rob, and Thao before heading out. Also, Neil had already [expletive] five times today, thanks to the laxatives.

Monday 1:45 pm

We get breakfast at an excellent restaurant near the shopping district in Toronto.

Monday 3:00 pm – 6:00 pm

Though we are thoroughly exhausted and can barely stay awake, we dig deep and find a way to explore the biggest mall in Toronto. I grow progressively crankier and I need a nap.

Monday 6:00 pm – 8:00 pm

Knowing it's our last night in Toronto, we explore as much as possible on foot and finally make it back to the hostel. I stupidly forgot my Zyrtec in Philadelphia, which meant that my allergies were beginning to make me feel a little sick. Mak and Neil agree that they'd rather rest and be ready to drive at 8:00 am the next day than go out for a third straight night; Dan proceeds to call everyone a bunch of [expletive] and tries to guilt everyone into going out.

Tuesday 8:00 am – 1:00 pm

Dan lost the argument, but he did moon everyone in retaliation. We wake up on time, cross the border, and return to American soil. The first thing we do is go to an iconic Buffalo restaurant, Duff's, for their famous chicken wings. When Dan and I visited New York in November, we agreed we were allowed to indulge in anything on vacation – because, damnit, we were "on vacation". This same clause was invoked again as we all had bacon cheeseburgers to go with our buffalo wings. Dan even got a sandwich which was made on weck, which is a kind of bread that is dipped in salt. Imagine a sugar powdered donut, only instead it's covered in salt, and also there's a pound of roast beef in the middle. That was Dan's sandwich.

Tuesday 1:00 pm – 4:00 pm

Toughest stretch of driving. Everyone's legs and lower back are dead from the constant travel and uncomfortable beds. No one has showered due to the early start time, which only adds to the misery. The hero of the trip was my iPod, which did not run out of battery despite being nearly five years old and not being charged at any point in Toronto.

Tuesday 4:00 pm – 8:00 pm

My time to shine. I get behind the wheel for the last stretch from Scranton to Philadelphia. The ability for four guys to meld into one entity after spending too much time with each other crosses the line from cool to creepy when I make a correct left turn on some tiny street in Philadelphia to get to Mak's house without him instructing me to do so. I will never understand how I knew to turn at the correct street, but I did.

Tuesday 8:00 pm – 8:30 pm

Dan breaks every speeding law possible to get us from Northeast Philadelphia back to Penn's campus. Neil, Dan and I order dinner after a few hours at home and while Neil isn't looking, Dan spikes his drink with more laxatives and then uses his finger to stir the contents of the glass. I laugh a lot when the prank works and Neil comments on how his drink "suddenly tastes pretty minty", then shrugs and finishes it. I haven't run in six days.