Mechanical engineer, material scientist. Loves to run, play billiards, swim, and be outdoors.
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Saturday, March 13, 2004
Alright, so I went out tonight. And anyone who called my cell phone evidently were not able to get through due to a weak signal. I don't know what the hell is up with Chuck's obsession with staying out late. So what if we're college-aged? That doesn't mean, by default, that we stay out all night--or that we should.
For one, it was 10:00 PM. All the malls closed down. Not all of us are 21 yet, and therefore bars are out of the question. The pool halls had closed, as had many restaurants. There is nothing left to do. Had this been the summer, and not have a negative wind chill, I could see the merit in walking around in the center of Boston. But since the wind chill was in negative numbers, why the hell should we freeze our asses off walking around, if there is nothing else to do in-town? Might as well go home, and meet up again the next afternoon to do it again!
Ok, here are the events of the night, in semi-chronological order.
Met up, Wallaston Station, at 4:50...evidently both Chuck and I showed up at 4:30, but he got off the train, and waited on the platform, while I had gone in the doors and waited downstairs. He noted my lateness, and we laughed about the coincidence. Anyways, he asked me to tell him my story, and I gave him the quick rundown, a very abbreviated version. I basically told him that I got stressed out and was diagnosed with a stress disorder and an anxiety disorder, due to this evil, evil, evil course (ES 2502, Stress Analysis...somewhat ironic, no?). Enough of that. That story sucks. Much better to talk about the good things in life.
Everyone else caught up with us at 5:00 PM, and we headed out to Park St., then switched to the Green Line and headed to Lechmere, and walked from there to the CambridgeSide Galleria.
From there, we walked around for a while, then gravitated towards Best Buy. Downstairs. Video game section. Demo stations available for play. Football. We're definitely all geeks/dorks/whatever the hell you want to call us. Chris rigged up a cool antenna system for a stereo.
Then it was time for food. As usual, Chuck complained about any food other than Il Panino. Damnit, you're too picky. As for me, any food would do. I ordered at Aladdin, which served Indian "cuisine"...the lamb curry tasted a little funny, but the naan was pretty good. Major Problem: Not being kicked out of Brookstones. Lost a few points off my ego because of that. I think the salesclerk there was hitting on me.
From there, it was off to NU's pool hall, where I summarily got beat down...quite humiliating, because I'm so used to being really good. Ah well, it was all in good fun. I'll just blame it on the stick. Yes! That's it! It was the stick's fault! Nah, everyone just has seemed to improve greatly since I last played them. Kudos to them. Damn good shots being played tonight, from everyone. Then we got kicked out. Chuck had this bright (aka stupid) idea to not go home, but instead to walk around and freeze our asses off. Mine got quite frozen solid. I don't know why he wants to stay out so late...if we were going to go to a club, great, but we weren't--no one really had enough to pay for cover charges. And once the T closed down at midnight, we'd be stranded, because none of us drove into Boston to begin with. So, by walking around, instead of going home, we accomplished three major goals. Goal #1: Did Nothing! Goal #2: Froze our asses off! Goal #3: Got annoyed with Chuck!
Mission accomplished. All in all, a good night. Can't wait to be able to do it again, once I'm home for the summer.
Repent or perish! Repent or perish! Don't be a masturbator, sodomizer, gay, lesbian, adulterer, or murderer! Repent or perish! Repent or perish! -- people in van driving around near NU station, Green Line. After this, I wonder if going to Ruggles instead would have been a better idea...
Forget heterosexual, homosexual, beast-sexual, hand-sexual, sexual this, sexual that, furry-sexual.
Here's a salute to retrosexualism:
The Code :
A Retrosexual, no matter what the women insists, PAYS FOR THE DATE.
A Retrosexual opens doors for a lady. Even for the ones that fit that term only because they are female.
A Retrosexual DEALS with IT. Be it a flat tire, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you DEAL WITH IT.
A Retrosexual not only eats red meat, he often kills it himself.
A Retrosexual doesn't worry about living to be 90. It's not how long you live, but how well. If you're 90 years old and still smoking cigars and drinking, I salute you.
A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need an endcap (possibly 2 endcaps if you include shaving goods.)
A Retrosexual does not dress in clothes from Hot Topic when he's 30 years old.
A Retrosexual should know how to properly kill stuff (or people) if need be. This falls under the "Dealing with IT" portion of The Code.
A Retrosexual watches no TV show with "Queer" in the title.
A Retrosexual does not let neighbors screw up rooms in his house on national TV.
A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for women. Some is inevitable, but major re-invention of yourself will only lead to you becoming a froo-froo little puss, and in the long run, she ain't worth it.
A Retrosexual is allowed to seek professional help for major mental stress such as drug/alcohol addiction, death of your entire family in a freak treechipper accident, favorite sports team being moved to a different city, favorite bird dog expiring, etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn't pay you enough attention. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH IT. When you screwed up, he DEALT with you.
A Retrosexual will have at least one outfit in his wardrobe designed to conceal himself from prey.
A Retrosexual knows how to tie a Windsor knot when wearing a tie - and ONLY a Windsor knot.
A Retrosexual should have at least one good wound he can brag about getting.
A Retrosexual knows how to use a basic set of tools. If you can't hammer a nail, or drill a straight hole, practice in secret until you can - or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss you be.
A Retrosexual knows that owning a gun is not a sign that your are riddled with fear, guns are TOOLS and are often essential to DEAL WITH IT. Plus it's just plain fun to shoot.
Crying. There are very few reason that a retrosexaul may cry, and none of them have to do with TV commercials, movies, or soap operas. Sports teams are sometimes a reason to cry, but the preferred method of release is swearing or throwing the remote control. Some reasons a retrosexual can cry include (but are not limited to) death of a loved one, death of a pet ( fish do NOT count as pets in this case), loss of a major body part.
A retrosexual man's favorite movie isn't "Maid in Manhattan" (unless that refers to some foxy French maid sitting in a huge tub of brandy or whiskey), or "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Acceptable ones may include any of the Dirty Harry or Nameless Drifter movies (Clint in his better days), Rambo I or II, the Dirty Dozen, The Godfather trilogy, Scarface, The Road Warrior, The Die Hard series, Caddyshack, Rocky I, II, or III, Full Metal Jacket, any James Bond Movie, Raging Bull, Bullitt, any Bruce Lee movie, Apocalypse Now, Goodfellas, Reservoir Dogs, Fight Club, Cool Hand Luke, etc...
When a retrosexual is on a crowded bus and or a commuter train, and a pregnant woman, hell, any woman gets on, that retrosexual stands up and offers his seat to that woman, then looks around at the other so called men still in their seats with a disgusted "you punks" look on his face.
A retrosexual knows how to say the Pledge properly, and with the correct emphasis and pronunciation. He also knows the words to the Star Spangled Banner.
A retrosexual will have hobbies and habits his wife and mother do not understand, but that are essential to his manliness, in that they offset the acceptable manliness decline he suffers when
married/engaged in a serious healthy relationship - I.E. hunting,
boxing, shot putting, shooting, cigars, car maintenance.
A retrosexual knows how to sharpen his own knives and kitchen utensils.
A Retrosexual man can drive in snow (hell, a blizzard) without
sliding all over or driving under 20 mph, without anxiety, and
without high-centering his ride on a plow berm.
A retrosexual man can chop down a tree and make it land where he wants. Wherever it lands is where he damn well wanted it to land.
A retrosexual will give up his seat on a bus to not only any women but any elderly person or person in military dress (except officers above 2nd Lt .) NOTE: The person in military dress may turn down the offer but the retrosexual man will ALWAYS make the offer to them and thank them for serving their country.
A retrosexual man doesn't need a contract, a handshake is good
enough. He will always stand by his word even if circumstances change or the other person deceived him.
A retrosexual man doesn't immediately look to sue someone when he does something stupid and hurts himself. We understand that sometimes in the process of doing things we get hurt and we just DEAL WITH IT.
For one, it was 10:00 PM. All the malls closed down. Not all of us are 21 yet, and therefore bars are out of the question. The pool halls had closed, as had many restaurants. There is nothing left to do. Had this been the summer, and not have a negative wind chill, I could see the merit in walking around in the center of Boston. But since the wind chill was in negative numbers, why the hell should we freeze our asses off walking around, if there is nothing else to do in-town? Might as well go home, and meet up again the next afternoon to do it again!
Ok, here are the events of the night, in semi-chronological order.
Met up, Wallaston Station, at 4:50...evidently both Chuck and I showed up at 4:30, but he got off the train, and waited on the platform, while I had gone in the doors and waited downstairs. He noted my lateness, and we laughed about the coincidence. Anyways, he asked me to tell him my story, and I gave him the quick rundown, a very abbreviated version. I basically told him that I got stressed out and was diagnosed with a stress disorder and an anxiety disorder, due to this evil, evil, evil course (ES 2502, Stress Analysis...somewhat ironic, no?). Enough of that. That story sucks. Much better to talk about the good things in life.
Everyone else caught up with us at 5:00 PM, and we headed out to Park St., then switched to the Green Line and headed to Lechmere, and walked from there to the CambridgeSide Galleria.
From there, we walked around for a while, then gravitated towards Best Buy. Downstairs. Video game section. Demo stations available for play. Football. We're definitely all geeks/dorks/whatever the hell you want to call us. Chris rigged up a cool antenna system for a stereo.
Then it was time for food. As usual, Chuck complained about any food other than Il Panino. Damnit, you're too picky. As for me, any food would do. I ordered at Aladdin, which served Indian "cuisine"...the lamb curry tasted a little funny, but the naan was pretty good. Major Problem: Not being kicked out of Brookstones. Lost a few points off my ego because of that. I think the salesclerk there was hitting on me.
From there, it was off to NU's pool hall, where I summarily got beat down...quite humiliating, because I'm so used to being really good. Ah well, it was all in good fun. I'll just blame it on the stick. Yes! That's it! It was the stick's fault! Nah, everyone just has seemed to improve greatly since I last played them. Kudos to them. Damn good shots being played tonight, from everyone. Then we got kicked out. Chuck had this bright (aka stupid) idea to not go home, but instead to walk around and freeze our asses off. Mine got quite frozen solid. I don't know why he wants to stay out so late...if we were going to go to a club, great, but we weren't--no one really had enough to pay for cover charges. And once the T closed down at midnight, we'd be stranded, because none of us drove into Boston to begin with. So, by walking around, instead of going home, we accomplished three major goals. Goal #1: Did Nothing! Goal #2: Froze our asses off! Goal #3: Got annoyed with Chuck!
Mission accomplished. All in all, a good night. Can't wait to be able to do it again, once I'm home for the summer.
Repent or perish! Repent or perish! Don't be a masturbator, sodomizer, gay, lesbian, adulterer, or murderer! Repent or perish! Repent or perish! -- people in van driving around near NU station, Green Line. After this, I wonder if going to Ruggles instead would have been a better idea...
Forget heterosexual, homosexual, beast-sexual, hand-sexual, sexual this, sexual that, furry-sexual.
Here's a salute to retrosexualism:
The Code :
A Retrosexual, no matter what the women insists, PAYS FOR THE DATE.
A Retrosexual opens doors for a lady. Even for the ones that fit that term only because they are female.
A Retrosexual DEALS with IT. Be it a flat tire, break-in into your home, or a natural disaster, you DEAL WITH IT.
A Retrosexual not only eats red meat, he often kills it himself.
A Retrosexual doesn't worry about living to be 90. It's not how long you live, but how well. If you're 90 years old and still smoking cigars and drinking, I salute you.
A Retrosexual does not use more hair or skin products than a woman. Women have several supermarket aisles of stuff. Retrosexuals need an endcap (possibly 2 endcaps if you include shaving goods.)
A Retrosexual does not dress in clothes from Hot Topic when he's 30 years old.
A Retrosexual should know how to properly kill stuff (or people) if need be. This falls under the "Dealing with IT" portion of The Code.
A Retrosexual watches no TV show with "Queer" in the title.
A Retrosexual does not let neighbors screw up rooms in his house on national TV.
A Retrosexual should not give up excessive amounts of manliness for women. Some is inevitable, but major re-invention of yourself will only lead to you becoming a froo-froo little puss, and in the long run, she ain't worth it.
A Retrosexual is allowed to seek professional help for major mental stress such as drug/alcohol addiction, death of your entire family in a freak treechipper accident, favorite sports team being moved to a different city, favorite bird dog expiring, etc. You are NOT allowed to see a shrink because Daddy didn't pay you enough attention. Daddy was busy DEALING WITH IT. When you screwed up, he DEALT with you.
A Retrosexual will have at least one outfit in his wardrobe designed to conceal himself from prey.
A Retrosexual knows how to tie a Windsor knot when wearing a tie - and ONLY a Windsor knot.
A Retrosexual should have at least one good wound he can brag about getting.
A Retrosexual knows how to use a basic set of tools. If you can't hammer a nail, or drill a straight hole, practice in secret until you can - or be rightfully ridiculed for the wuss you be.
A Retrosexual knows that owning a gun is not a sign that your are riddled with fear, guns are TOOLS and are often essential to DEAL WITH IT. Plus it's just plain fun to shoot.
Crying. There are very few reason that a retrosexaul may cry, and none of them have to do with TV commercials, movies, or soap operas. Sports teams are sometimes a reason to cry, but the preferred method of release is swearing or throwing the remote control. Some reasons a retrosexual can cry include (but are not limited to) death of a loved one, death of a pet ( fish do NOT count as pets in this case), loss of a major body part.
A retrosexual man's favorite movie isn't "Maid in Manhattan" (unless that refers to some foxy French maid sitting in a huge tub of brandy or whiskey), or "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Acceptable ones may include any of the Dirty Harry or Nameless Drifter movies (Clint in his better days), Rambo I or II, the Dirty Dozen, The Godfather trilogy, Scarface, The Road Warrior, The Die Hard series, Caddyshack, Rocky I, II, or III, Full Metal Jacket, any James Bond Movie, Raging Bull, Bullitt, any Bruce Lee movie, Apocalypse Now, Goodfellas, Reservoir Dogs, Fight Club, Cool Hand Luke, etc...
When a retrosexual is on a crowded bus and or a commuter train, and a pregnant woman, hell, any woman gets on, that retrosexual stands up and offers his seat to that woman, then looks around at the other so called men still in their seats with a disgusted "you punks" look on his face.
A retrosexual knows how to say the Pledge properly, and with the correct emphasis and pronunciation. He also knows the words to the Star Spangled Banner.
A retrosexual will have hobbies and habits his wife and mother do not understand, but that are essential to his manliness, in that they offset the acceptable manliness decline he suffers when
married/engaged in a serious healthy relationship - I.E. hunting,
boxing, shot putting, shooting, cigars, car maintenance.
A retrosexual knows how to sharpen his own knives and kitchen utensils.
A Retrosexual man can drive in snow (hell, a blizzard) without
sliding all over or driving under 20 mph, without anxiety, and
without high-centering his ride on a plow berm.
A retrosexual man can chop down a tree and make it land where he wants. Wherever it lands is where he damn well wanted it to land.
A retrosexual will give up his seat on a bus to not only any women but any elderly person or person in military dress (except officers above 2nd Lt .) NOTE: The person in military dress may turn down the offer but the retrosexual man will ALWAYS make the offer to them and thank them for serving their country.
A retrosexual man doesn't need a contract, a handshake is good
enough. He will always stand by his word even if circumstances change or the other person deceived him.
A retrosexual man doesn't immediately look to sue someone when he does something stupid and hurts himself. We understand that sometimes in the process of doing things we get hurt and we just DEAL WITH IT.
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