An Bitter Old Man Turns 30

As anyone who met me in college knows, I tend to split my time between one of two maturity levels: age 10 and age 90. For some reason, my mental progression often avoids the norm and instead bounces around like a 20 sided Dungeons & Dragons die. I have proven this multiple times in life (much to my chagrin some days):

• I programmed through the night of my 21st birthday - not weird for a CS major until you realize the assignment was due 10 days later.
• For my 13th birthday I didn't ask for a bike or a video game. No, I asked for a footlocker. Luckily there is video evidence of a fat, young Chad celebrating such an outstanding gift in no more than tighty whities and a grin.
  
• I married at 23. Enough said.

The list can go on and on, but I'm not here to bore you. Instead, I've decided to join the clan of several million other middle class, nearly middle age white kids who don't have enough to bitch about. I'm going to rebel by using my MacBook in an open air cafe (actually, airport food court, but I still look equally as artsy/edgy/douchy), hop on a free Wi-Fi connection (take that, The Man), throw together some semi-coherent thoughts in text that is amicable to the eye (Blogspot gets all the credit for that one) and blow your mind.

That's right, I'm going to write a list of "Why Life Sucks At 30"!

<You may now roll your eyes>

Reason 1 - Recovery is Difficult
It seems like only yesterday I was able to go for a 5 mile run at a killer pace as a warm up for a 90 minute soccer game. This was a routine occurrence for nearly two years of my life. Now I take days just to recover from a quick hour long jog and am still sore for days after. This goes for other areas of life as well, but we need not discuss my drinking and night time habits here.

Reason 2 - Things Shift
I weigh less now than I did in High School. Or college. Or pretty much any other time in my life when I wasn't training for a half marathon. Oddly though, I somehow have gained moobs and a tummy that is getting disturbingly close to my belt buckle. Even odder, my waist size has gone down, but my shirt size is going up. Truly a Cathy moment.

Reason 3 - Everyone Else is Settling Down
Everyone I know seems to be settling down and becoming adults. Houses are being bought, nuptials planned and exercised, children bred and berthed. Meanwhile I'm rebelling against any possible stability by selling a house, moving to a new city and dating a wonderful young lady that barely falls in my age range. Throw in a Corvette and a receding hair line, and I believe you have the definition of a very early mid-life crisis.

Reason 4 - I Just Don't Care
I remember being a spry, young, ambitious 24 year old who was going to change the world. Sure there were hoops in the government software cycles, but I could jump through them and help make them better! The ozone layer - I can help fix it! That bum peeing in a cup and drinking it - here's a buck for food! These days I'm older, theoretically wiser, and very much in a "to each his own" type of mood. It's possible that someone could punch me in the face and I'd just shrug and laugh it off.

Reason 5 - Plan A is Gone, As are Plans B, C, D, E and F
I think there are only about three dozen people who have ever succeeded with plan A and most of them are in some kind of professional sports hall of fame. If someone told me 10 years ago (yes, I was in college 10 years ago) that I'd be one level above bait on the corporate food chain I would have laughed in their face. I'd have laughed them out of the room if they told me I'd be single, renting and living in New York City as well. It turns out that plan G is a lot more fun than any of those others, mostly because I have no idea what is coming next.

So there you have my list of why it sucks to turns 30. Being that I'm in a pessimistic mood, I'll not mention the great parts like getting able to eat a pint of ice cream whenever you like or the little joys like still getting ID'd to buy booze.

Oh, and one more little joy. I get to type this before any commenters do: waaaahhhhhhhh....

Brussels - A Pretty Fun Place After All

After four very unimpressive days in Brussels, I had to take a step back and figure out what I was missing. I'd heard lots of good things. Everyone seems to have enjoyed their previous time here. Where could I have gone wrong?

And then it hit me: I didn't have a plan. I had been randomly walking the streets of Brussels with no aim - no sights I wanted to see, no food I wanted to eat, no fountains I wanted to bathe in. So after a long night's sleep on Saturday, I sat down over a grilled pita lunch and devised a plan. These days, my opinion of Brussels is much better - here are my church-less, museum-less highlights:

Artwork Without Stuffy Fake Art Lovers - Sick of standing next to the dumbass with a money pouch sticking out of his pants studying the Mona Lisa for 20 minutes just in case 200 million other eyes have missed something? Me too. That's why I stick to sculpture parks like Place du Petit Sablon and Warandepark (aka Parc de Bruxelles). The sculptures are amazing, the crowds don't dare walk nearly a mile from the tour busses and the Parc metro stop is very close.

Peeing Statues - Sure Manneken Pis is famous, but he has an equally entertaining sister (Jeanneke Pis) and pet dog (Zinneke Pis) scattered throughout the city. Depending on the number of pints consumed, Jeanneke Pis is sure to make you giggle for five to fifty minutes.

A Idyllic Grand Plaza - When I go into a Grand Plaza/Main Street area, there are a few things I want: A lack of greasy vendors, great buildings, cobblestone, an impressive town hall and somewhere to drink. Luckily, the Grand Plaza has it all. I will even give a rare non-sports museum shout out to Musee de la Ville de Bruxelles for its' great Manneken Pis costume wing.

Celebrating Because, Well, They Want To - It seems that every corner in the touristy areas of Brussels are celebrating something. Firefighters, Halloween, peeing statues. Who can't love a city that constantly is looking for a reason to drink?

Gastronomic Diversity - While Belgium has the rights to breakfast, dessert and dinner time drinks, there aren't a whole lot of easily identifiable foods with real nutritional value. Luckily every other culture in the world is ready to hop in and help. A one week stay included visits to Irish, Indian, Chinese, Greek, Thai and Italian restaurants. There were seemingly a million more to chose from.
The Best Gay Club Name Ever - A real, live lesbian once told me that I'm extremely un-butch. As I gently placed my tea cup down and contemplated slapping her with an open hand, I realized it's true. The benefit of this? I can accidentally stumble into any town's gay district without the fear of being ravaged by those savages beasts. While the assless chaps are usually enough to make me crack up, passing L'Homo Erectus with a disco ball twirling and belly shirts for as far as the eye can see made me giggle like a school girl.
Sales Rooms Disguised as Museums - What's more breathtaking than a dozen classic Mercedes? The €435,000 base price for the McLaren Roadster on display. And don't forget the additional 21% sales tax that brings the total price to nearly €530,000 (about $750,000 to you and me!)
Awesome Buildings - I've had my share of museums and castles for a few lifetimes, but I still love the old town halls and townhouses. Luckily Brussels had plenty on display!




Entertaining Street Musicians - I heard a great rendition of "Tears in Heaven" on acoustic guitar. Unfortunately for the Clapton wanna be, the accordion extraordinaire playing "Rich Girl" was the winner of my daily street performer Euro.

Indy Store Fronts - Fancy vinyl - either to wear or listen to? Maybe some 30 year old toys? A life size cut out of R2D2 and C3PO? Look hard enough and you'll find whatever (and I mean whatever) your heart desires in one of Brussels' shops.


Amazing Public Transportation - The trains are frequent, smooth and fast. Each station gives an indicator of how many trains are running, where they are and how long you have to wait. For the lesser served areas, electric above ground trains and diesel buses will take you quickly and cheaply. There is never a need for a rental car since long haul trains seem to run to every major European city from the Central Station every hour.

And as I stated in an earlier post, it was going to take a "massive beer garden with killer sausages, live sports on big screen tvs and girls of Oktoberfest proportions to elevate my opinion" of Brussels. While I didn't find exactly what I was looking for, I did find...

Fat Guys Sportsbar & Grill - I walked in to find the Pats game projected on one wall, nearly a dozen LCDs carrying a variety of other football, baseball and soccer games, an owner with a Sox tattoo on one arm and a great group of Mainers/Massholes to drink with. Four hours and several (maybe many) pints of Jupiler later, I was stumbling home with an ear to ear grin and take out chicken fingers that held my attention more than the whistling prostitutes ever could.

So, with my old man grumpiness pushed aside, I will gladly upgrade my status of Brussels from "Eh, it's worth seeing for an afternoon" to "Plan the Night Before, Arrive in the Morning, Walk (or Ride) Around All Day, Get Drunk That Night and Head to Paris/London/Amsterdam After Lunch the Next Day".

A Note on Self Deprecation

Recently a co-worker who never had the pleasure of working with me approached me with a concern. He wanted to point out that I'm very self deprecating and wasn't sure if I knew it. To this, I could only respond, "No shit Sherlock. Even I could have figured this one out."

So for all of you who don't know me well enough to get my "style", here is a little run down:

I am awesome - in all senses of the word. I am probably one of the cockiest people you have ever met, and have many reasons to be, but really hate when people come across as cocky. For that reason, I had tried to tone down my feelings of superiority over pretty much everyone in the past, but usually still ended up sounding like a complete jerk.

Being that I rather enjoy letting people into my awesome little world, I decided to take a different approach several years ago. Instead of being a cocky prick in public (I still often am around friends and family), I decided to take a different approach - self deprecation.

Self deprecation is easy. Simply ignore everything that makes you great (which with me are myriad) and blow the little flaws out of proportion. For example, if you have a failed one night stand, don't hide in shame. Instead, shout it for the world to enjoy. Hell, even embellish upon it a bit. Just make sure you look like the dumbass at all times when retelling the story.

Maybe you are great at what you do, but make a mistake every now and then. Why rub your greatness in a co-worker's face? Instead, just point out that you like to slack off on occasion. Or maybe mention that you don't work the long hours they do. Of course, you need to conveniently leave out that you can accomplish in 6 hours what takes them two days, because why make enemies?

My point is this - I have a style. It works for me. If you think I'm a sad person, ask people that know me much better. If it still bothers you, I'll be happy to break out the cocky ass that lives deep inside me. I promise you'll be asking for the self deprecating guy back very quickly.

Belgium - A First Impression

One of the benefits of being a socially awkward (but lovable) tech geek is the opportunity to travel to far away lands. While the majority of my traveling in the past has been to locations that would rank very low on the awesomeness scale - Montgomery, AL and Mechanicsburg, PA spring to mind - cities of much higher caliber will occasionally sneak into the mix. Gems like San Francisco and New York are thrown my way with a frequency that earns my current employer just enough goodwill to guarantee I will be one of their cash cows for at least a few more months, but infrequently enough to keep me from whining about the abundance of plane and train seats I must squeeze in to.

So, after far too many months in Merrimack, NH, it was with much joy that I was informed of my next assignment location - Brussels, Belgium! Better yet, the assignment required an odd Wednesday to Wednesday schedule, meaning I would have to be tortured by a European weekend on my company’s dime.

Being the dedicated, subservient employee I am, I forewent obvious questions like “Don’t we have a European office just for situations like this?” and “Don’t you realize a two hour train ride is cheaper than a transatlantic flight?”, assumed there was some advanced staffing logic beyond my grasp and quickly booked a direct flight to the capital of the European Union. (Yup, that was news to me too).

After a few days of work, exploring the city at night and avoiding my sleeper sofa in any way possible, I came to the following conclusion - Brussels is to Europe as Nashua, NH is to the United States. A great place to raise a family and live, but not the most exciting spot to visit. What better way to demonstrate this than through factors upon which all civilized cultures should be judged: Food, Bathrooms and Ladies.

The Food

There are three things that I think of when Belgium is mentioned: waffles, chocolate and beer (in that order). While this sounds like a simple night of gastronomic indulgence for a normal person, it excites formerly fat children the world over into outbreaks of week long buffet sweats. I must say, my preconceived notions did not disappoint.

Unsurprisingly, the beer was delicious and exactly what I expected. While Stella is readily available in the States, I had yet to experience the deliciousness of Jupiler. Hoegaarden comes in a close 3rd, but only because I’m not into Belgian wheats all that much.

The waffles are crisp but chewy - glazed with any combination of chocolate, powder, honey and fruit based preserves that one's cholesterol clogged arteries may desire. Your hands are sticky and stomach heavy for hours after eating them, but it only takes seconds after the digestive cycle is complete before you are contemplating another trip to the waffle stand. There’s a reason I’m fat, deal with it.

In no way did I think anything could live up to the quality of the waffles or beer, but alas, I was wrong. I’ll explain the chocolate with this little tale from a Saturday afternoon stroll:

I entered a chocolate shop just for a treat - 4 pieces of chocolate (2 dark walnut, 2 dark caramel) at a cost of 6 Euros, or about $7.50. Now, the number of motivations that override my cheapness is comparable only with the number of ladies I’ve made lucky in my life, but of those, gluttony easily takes the cake. The chocolate was gone in a matter of minutes and I quickly found myself dropping another 5 Euros on several more pieces. I’m proud to say that every piece of my 58% cocoa-based lunch was one of the best I've ever consumed, even with the $1.50/piece price tag added in.

Much to my surprise, this is the limit of Belgian food (other than French Fries) that I would consider edible in any way. Based on the list of native dishes (including black pudding, horse steak and tongue set in gelatine) in my Lonely Planet guide book, I forewent the search for a Belgian restaurant and stuck with Irish, Chinese and Indian. While they may still make me sick, at least I'll know exactly why.

The Bathrooms

Take every preconception you've ever had about European bathrooms and throw them out the window. Despite having watched European Vacation to no end, only once have I had to share a bathroom while traveling in Europe. For the most part, they've been completely private, perfectly clean and up to the standards of someone hailing from rural Maine (I figure the Europeans should get the benefit of the doubt on this one).

The bathrooms in Belgium have actually been quite pleasant. They often have very stylish fixtures, great color schemes and lots of tile and mirrors. It's like walking around nude in an Ikea showroom without the threat of security chasing you out.

Now the bad part: I'm an American. A large one at that. Even without my soft outer shell, I tend to have a very wide stance. Like certain politicians, I prefer bathrooms where sitting on the toilet doesn't require my knees to touch the stall door, or each other for that matter. No one should ever bump their head on a door when standing up after sitting on a toilet to cry. Nor at any time during the number 2 process should one have to tuck body parts in a way that results in a "mangina" because the side walls are too close. It's just not natural, and actually a little disturbing.

So to all European landlords out there - keep up the good work! Keep the water hot and the style cool, but please widen those stalls by 6 inches on all sides.

The Ladies

Remember that dude from college that went to Europe for a summer and came back bragging about how hot Italian women are? Or Spanish women. Or Swiss. Or Polish. Or even the German ladies in their own "I want to be emasculated when I make love" kind of way. Think real hard. Did that kid ever mention a Belgian woman?

Let me help you with the answer - NO! There is a reason Belgium is known for beer, waffles and chocolate - because the women are incredibly average. Not fugly, just not anything worth looking twice (or even once) at. Not to get too self deprecating (riiiiggghhhttt....), but Belgium is to hot women as I am to attractiveness, grooming, personal appearance, common sense, casual conversation, athletic ability, bedroom adventures and anything else not involving a keyboard. (For the record, my bedroom adventures involving keyboards fall more into my tech strengths than love weaknesses.)

It kind of baffles me. I have walked everywhere possible - malls, tourist areas, universities, even the red light district in Antwerp (seriously), and not once have I been wowed by a woman. Hell, the whole red light district only had two women I'd even consider allowing to see me nude in real life, and never would I pay them for that honor.

The girls aren't hideous, they are just consistently fours, fives and sixes. There are too many buck teeth, overly plump behinds, crossed eyes and missing limbs on each one to put them in a category even approaching hot. Belgium is the place where women should send their fiancees for bachelor parties - I promise you that the guys will come back thankful for finding a hottie to take him after being totally immersed in such averageness.

While I'm hoping my opinion of Belgium, and Brussels in particular, change over the next few days, my hopes are not high. It is going to take a massive beer garden with killer sausages, live sports on big screen tvs and girls of Oktoberfest proportions to elevate my opinion above "Eh, it's worth seeing for an afternoon".

The Greatest Game Ever Played

The recent move to New York has marked many changes in my life - most notably the official status update to "living in sin" (which has been pointed out by at least 2 of Mia Manda's relatives - one of which told her to "be careful" so as not to get "sent away").

Such sharing of space requires patience and consideration, both of which I greatly lack:

• Wall hangings must be agreed upon
  
• Furniture must be laid out in mutually agreeable locations
  
• DVR recordings must be scheduled so as not to accidentally delete shows slandering men while reassuring women that fat asses are too be cherished, not pointed and laughed at.

For the most part, major arguments have been avoided. The girl has great taste, I have none. Our TV shows don't overlap. We enjoy each others' wall hangings. So far, so good.

Through all this harmony and bliss, one major point of contention has emerged. An issue of such magnitude that I am willing to fight to the death before bowing in defeat. An issue that can not only ruin evenings, but friendships, relationships, and possibly even legacies.

An issue that is second only to life and death: How prominently to display Catch Phrase.

For those who may not be familiar, Catch Phrase is a simple game played between two teams. A little plastic disc displays a phrase that needs to be guessed by your teammates without giving the actual phrase as a clue. Overall, it's a pretty simple concept, although phrases like "Gryffindor House", "Shroud of Turin" and "Muslin" (not "Muslim") can prove to be problematic.Fortunately, I'm a world class Catch Phrase player with skills rivaled only by my brothers, and quite honestly, no one else. Many a night have been spent giving clues like "Remember that time..." or "4th place AL East team's AAA affiliate" and hearing the answer echoed in milliseconds. Add to this the fact that many of our competitors give clues like "Uhhhhh...", "Ummmm...", "Come on, you know..." and "Shiiiittt...", and I dare say we would make the best 3 person Catch Phrase team to ever roam the earth. Needless to say, it is all good fun.

Naturally, any game that brings such joy to a household should be prominently displayed - upon a mantle, atop a bookshelf or even encompassed in an air tight case to ensure a lack of tampering with the circuits and integrity of the game.

For some reason, the girl vehemently disagrees.

Apparently, having been crushed by one too many Holmes-rich teams has altered her mental state. Despite my continued attempts to perch the beautifully polished blue and white plastic upon the entertainment center or the dining room table, it is continuously found in easily missed locations. Some may even call them hidden.

While I can only hope that this is a conspiracy between the girl, Hasbro and other Catch Phrasers who feel threatened by my dominance, the thought occurs that she may be the sole driver behind such horrendous suppression. With that being said, if there is a sudden facebook relationship status update with no witty message, feel free to assume that "Emasculate" popped up on Catch Phrase, leading to voices being raised, plastic being smashed and my saying something stupid.

If instead, I disappear and Mia Manda sheds real tears, please conduct a full investigation of the Hasbro word games division.

A Summer in Limericks

"Oh where, oh where have you been?

You dude with the double stuffed chin.

Last time you did write,

I thought I just might

Cry for you and your corpulent kin."

"Well, the summer vacation was great

Despite the new excess weight

From the Cabot factory store

Plus a Ben & Jerry's tour

During a weekend-long Vermont date

Next was the Hall of Fame,

To see the best who have played the game.

Both Rickey and Rice

Delivered quite nice,

But Pete Rose was old, fat and lame.

Let's not forget Carrie and Tim

And her poor judgement in choosing him.

The rain was unplanned,

But Greystone Manor was grand

To prove they are more than a whim."

"But what of this move to New York?

You socially awkward dork.

With a great deal of fear,

The last I did hear,

Is you partied with Jay-Z and Bjork!"

"To believe that you'd have to be dim,

For I'm not rich, smart or slim.

But my college friend Joe,

Was on the Letterman show

Which must be more fun than IBM*

And for my birthday I did get to see

Accompanied by a symphony

My man crush Ben Folds

Whose voice is like gold

And nearly makes me go pee.

So I will, with all of my might

Try much, much harder to write

On a regular basis

About far away places

Or maybe just more nonsensical shite"

*Give me a break - it almost rhymes