EDITOR’S NOTE: You don’t have to know the “Lost” storyline to follow this blog entry.

…I learned from the “Lost” finale.

There has been a lot of talk this week about the finale of “Lost.”  Regardless of your opinion of the episode, there is no denying that the producers created a show that often stirred emotion and always made people think.  In that vein, the show was a smashing success.  Furthermore, the scene pictured above might be my favorite television moment ever.

Almost everything you need to know about life can be learned from the finale of “Lost.”  Within the context of the dialogue, the writers left us with lessons that are applicable to both “Lost” viewers and non-viewers alike.

Without further adieu…

1- “There are no short cuts, no do-overs. What happened, happened. Trust me, I know. All of this matters.” (Jack)

I say it all the time, but can’t stress it enough.  Make the most of every day.

2- “There are rules, dude.” (Hurley)

For the most part, laws were not made to be broken.

3- “You can’t let other people tell you what you are, dude. You have to decide that for yourself.”  (Hurley)

People sometimes get wrapped up too much in what others think of them. Honestly, who cares?  You are the one that has to look yourself in the mirror.  All that matters is that when you do, you like what you see.

If you don’t…

4- “Nothing is irreversable.” (Kate)

It is never too late to change things.

5- “I don’t believe in a lot of things, but I do believe in duct tape.” (Miles)

Sometimes, non-conventional methods can be used to solve problems. There is never only one right answer.

6- “You are not alone. Let me help you.” (Kate)

6A- “Will you help me? I could use someone with experience, for a little while.” (Hurley)

Life is much easier if you ask for help when you need it.  This is one I struggle with sometimes.

7- “If it helps, Ben, I forgive you.” (Locke)

To truly live, is to forgive people who wrong you. Nobody is perfect and we all make mistakes. Let go.

8- “Everyone dies sometime, kiddo. Some of them before you, some long after you.” (Christian)

This one speaks for itself.

9- “I’ll see you in another life, brother.” (Jack)

Depending on your personal beliefs, your opinion on this one may differ.  I believe that after our “physical” life, there is an afterlife.

10- “I believe in you.” (Jack, Hurley)

10A- “The most important part of your life was the time that you spent with these people. That’s why all of you are here. You needed them and they needed you. Nobody does it alone, Jack.” (Christian)

The secret to life is finding people you can truly believe in and sharing as much of your life as possible with them. Without those type of people, you would be….

lost.

I’m a pack rat.  I save everything.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve really stepped up my clean up effort at the house.  During the past few days alone, I’ve thrown out five large bundles of newspapers and four large boxes of “stuff” that I was saving for some reason.  I had newspapers from pretty much every memorable event over the past 20 years.  Most of them were sports related.

I have mentioned before that I save wedding invitations.  I felt like if I just threw them in the trash, it would be a bad omen for the couple.  Over the past weekend, I found practically every invitation to every wedding I have ever attended.  Some of these weddings have even already ended in divorces.  I also found graduation cards, Christmas cards, birthday cards, letters and even receipts – some of them were 15-20 years old.  A lot of the letters and cards were from my college days.  I found letters from family members, friends and even former co-workers.

I spent a lot of the weekend re-reading some of these items, keeping only the most important items, and throwing most of them away.  Hopefully in doing so, I will send no bad karma to anyone’s marriage (if so, I apologize in advance).  Today, I can now officially say that I was a pack rat.  One can’t continue to physically save everything.  We can only rely on our memories and feelings to remember people.

Because of these feelings (and few things that happened last week) and because I am a maudlin sap, it has been a really emotional couple of days.  And because of this, I have recently a few messages to people I’ve known a really long time thanking them for those cards and letters.

Sometimes we need to stop and remember our past.  The clock and calendar never stop moving.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Thanks for all the positive feedback regarding yesterday’s entry.  It’s nice to know I still can dial up the fastball every once in a while.

In the movie Up in the Air, Alex asks Ryan:

“What do you want?”

It’s a question I ask myself often.  It is very simple, but it isn’t really easy to answer.  My first thought is something along these lines:

She has to glow like Minka, smile like Rachel McAdams, sing and have a stage presence like Lea Michele, age like Annette Bening, and look like said person from yesterday.

But after thinking about it more, I came up with this:

She has to make me laugh, understand my twisted, repetitive-driven sense of humor, high-five me when Tom Brady throws a touchdown, love dogs, be tolerant of the many different types of people I care to associate myself with, cry with me at overly sappy movies, challenge me and also be able to call me on my bullsh*t – which is A) not easy and B) slung more often than I care to admit.

Finally after much thought, it comes to me.

I know what I want!

I want to find the connection, and I want it to come at the right time.

All of that stuff above is meaningless unless (and this is where the asterisk from yesterday’s entry comes into play), you have the connection and good timing. It probably hasn’t happened because it isn’t the right time.

Yet.

The connection is not easily defined by words.  It is more of a feeling, an unspoken yet tangible bond that bounds two similar souls.  It is an exchange of a look, a completed sentence or even a passing glance.  It lets you know that you are in lock step with each other.  Furthermore, it is either there or it is not.  Like Yoda says, there is do or do not, there is no try.  The same holds true for the connection.

I think you can have the connection with multiple people.  I don’t think it is limited to one particular person.  How do I know this?  I’ve had (and still have) it with a few people.  The problem with those connections is that the timing was bad.  You need both to make it work.  You need to connect and just as important, connect at the right time.

It is something we all should hope to achieve when trying to find “someone.”  Otherwise, what’s the point?  Believe me when I say this, any other scenario is a complete and total waste of your time.  If you have the connection and your timing is right, everything else will work itself out just fine.

The hope and promise of finding the connection is one of the things that keeps me going.

I think it is fitting to say that today, on New Year’s Eve.  It is a time or rebirth, renewal and fresh starts.  It is my sincere hope that 2010 is better than 2009, for all of us.  After the shitshow otherwise known as 2009, odds are very good that this will be the case.

Happy New Year, everyone!

A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you’ve been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high full of the single greatest commodity known to man – promise. Promise of a better day. Promise of a greater hope. Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl. In her smile, in her soul, the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it’s going to be okay. The supermodels, Willy? That’s all they are. Bottled promise. Scenes from a brand new day. Hope dancing in stiletto heels.

-Paul, from the movie “Beautiful Girls”

Walking into the cozy little urban bistro, you would have thought Helen of Troy was on my arm.  Literally, every eye on the place turned to her.  Girlfriends/wives glared at their companions as their heads turned our way.  I think I heard one of them say, “Why don’t you just walk over and give her your f*cking number?”

It was an eye-opener for me – for sure.  I’m never usually the one put in that position of “what the hell is she doing with him?”  She could be a model and as for me, well I’m just me.  Of course I played it up, with an extra spring in my strut and even adding some extra volume to my already boisterous laugh.

Our waiter practically fell over trying to serve her.  He made it seem like we were the only table he was responsible for.  The best look/reaction came from him when she put her arm on mine as she filled my wine glass.  It’s was a look of, “You’ve gotta be sh*tting me.”  I shot him a menacing wink and half-head nod which, in non-verbal male communicatory terms, said that she rides like an Aston Martin and would suck the chrome off the bumper if given enough bad chardonnay.

Yeah, we men are jerks.  Of course we are.

You know what I like best about her?  She never notices any of this (at least she doesn’t say or act like it).  This kind of behavior is probably “normal” to her and happens all the time.  To me, it is not normal and it is as evident as the day is long.  I am an avid people watcher.  It is what I do.  I love to watch people, hear their stories, and try to figure out their angle(s).  To her, everyone is just “really nice” at this particular restaurant.

I know she is sincere when she says that; we both have that sense of humility that is ingrained in you if you happen to be a high school “bandie” growing up.  You can never really achieve “cool” if you’ve ever worn a plumed polyester uniform during the most image-conscious time of your life.  It’s just not possible.

If the night was was a date, it probably wouldn’t have been a success (not by my standards, anyways).  It’s not that she was vapid and/or vacant, it was just that we didn’t have that connection*.  It wasn’t a date though, I don’t think so at least.  As a mid-thirty-something divorcee, the lines between dating and friendship have become about as clear as a stained-glass window.

You may be reading this and thinking to yourself, “Wow. Finally our blogging protagonist has finally fallen in love.  It’s about time.”  I can assure you this is not the case.  For as we learned in Beautiful Girls, beauty is only skin deep.  I need more.  As Billy Joel so aptly sings, I don’t need some pretty face to tell me pretty lies.

What else is there, you ask?

I’ll tell you tomorrow.

As for me, everything isn’t perfect.  All things considered however, life is pretty damn good right now.

As I was driving Miley to the dog park, I thought about these sentences I wrote yesterday.  And then it hit me….

I know the meaning of life!

It was so easy, simple and I can’t beeeeeelieeeve I hadn’t thought of it sooner.  I was so excited to figure it out that I wanted to turn the car around and head home to write about it.  But then I looked at her excited puppy dog face, and thought of our friends waiting for us at the dog park, and stayed on course (you’re welcome Chuck and Archie!).

Because you guys are such awesome readers, I am going to share it with you.  If you don’t want to know that ever-elusive definition of the meaning of life, please stop reading now.

The meaning of life is quite simple, actually.

The meaning of life is: Everything we do, every dream, thought, hope, action, and every word is done to make our lives perfect.  This is what we strive for.  This is what we wake up every day hoping to achieve.

We strive to be perfect friends, brothers, sisters, cousins, fathers, mothers, sons and daughters.  We strive to be perfect at our jobs.  We strive to be perfect in our decision making.  We strive to be perfectly happy with ourselves.  We strive to be perfect at everything we do.

Realistically however, complete perfection is impossible.  The funny thing about humanity is that we are inherently flawed.  We live imperfect lives in an imperfect world.  Perfection is impossible – just ask the 2007 New England Patriots (sorry fellow Pats fans).

As I was writing this, I learned that Mark Buehrle of the Chicago White Sox threw a perfect game.  He faced 27 batters an retired them all.  Yesterday, Buehrle was a perfect baseball player.  This is the first perfect game thrown in like five years and the first attempt by a MLB player to sabotage my blog.

Mark Buehrle was perfect on the mound yesterday; he still isn’t perfect at life.  It is just not possible.

Even though perfection is impossible to achieve, this doesn’t mean we stop trying.  We spend every day trying to get as close to perfection as we can.  The day we stop trying is the day we stop living.

Friends, be fabulous.  Be perfect.

(or be as perfect as you can be!)

Have a great weekend everyone! Make the most of every day.

I’m going to change it up and get serious for a minute.

I had my heart broken last night and quite frankly, it sucks.

It really sucks.

I was watching Game 1 of the NBA Finals, thinking back to that magical run the Celtics had last year.  I thought of the excitement that ran through the city: the large replica Larry O’Brien trophy on Causeway Street, the minature replicas of that same trophy inside the Jungle, “NBA Finals” plastered on the parquet floor and every other indicator that the Finals were in town.  What a ride it was.

Sigh.

As I sat and sipped on a glass of Guinness, I watched on with envy as Laker fans experienced again what Celtics fans enjoyed last year.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part happened while I was watching the halftime show.  In the background of the halftime report, I heard a familiar tune.  My heart sunk. I was shocked.  It was an ancient Chinese tune that only signified one thing:

Chinese Unicycle Bowl Lady was doing the halftime show in Los Angeles!!

C.U.B.L. is (well, was) the greatest halftime show in the history of halftime shows.  Words simply cannot do her justice, so I have posted a youtube of her below.  The first time I saw C.U.B.L. was at the halftime of a Celtics game.  I’ve seen her a few times and each time she was announced it was a great surprise.

She was like an old friend.  She showed up at the perfect times, those times when you thought all was lost.  She lifted my spirits when my basketball team was down.  She was there during both the regular season, playoffs and even the pinnacle of professional basketball: the NBA Finals.  She was an inspiration.  She made amazing happen.  Most importantly, she was ours and ours alone (or so I thought).

Hearing that soothing, familiar music in the background on the broadcast of the NBA Finals in L.A. hurt.  It was an act of treason against me that I will never, ever forget.

Chinese Unicycle Bowl Lady: By performing in L.A. (the home of the hated Lakers), you broke my heart.  I will never be the same.  If our paths ever cross again at a sporting event, I will either turn my back or enter the concourse in protest.

Your amazing, unicycle-riding, bowl-tossing feats inspire me no more.

Goodbye.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

I apologize for this one in advance.  I wasn’t going to write about this but at this point, I simply have to. Somebody please sound the “yeah, he’s gone crazy” alarm.

Stat.

I’m being haunted by Ric Ocasek and The Cars.

It started about a month or so ago when I heard a Cars song on the radio. I specifically remember saying to myself that I haven’t heard a Cars song in like 15 years. It brought back a lot of memories of high school, growing up in Pleasantville, MTV videos, and many things I really hadn’t thought about in a long while.

Lately, I have been hearing Cars songs everywhere: On the radio, in restaurants, in the grocery stores, the mall, and just about everywhere and anywhere. At first, I played it off as coincidence. I hadn’t heard a Cars song in what seemed like forever, and now they were popping up all the time. Whatever, maybe someone at my favorite radio station found a CD. I decided to switch up radio stations and routines. Sadly, it kept happening.  I am now being slowly “new wave synth-oriented pop” rocked to death.

Before this weekend, I thought I had figured it out. I thought I knew the significance of this “haunting” and ever-present music in my life. Due to some events that happened over the past few days, I realized that I was wrong. Dead wrong. Now, I’m more confused than ever. I have simply no idea what this musical time warp that I have been placed in is all about.

who’s gonna pay attention
to your dreams
who’s gonna plug their ears
when you scream

you can’t go on
thinking nothing’s wrong
who’s gonna drive you home tonight

Yesterday was the final straw. I got into the car and the first song I hear of course, was a Cars song. It happened again later during my ride to my gym buddy’s (I’ll expand on this sometime later this week) place after work.  During that five minute drive, I was literally thinking about what I was going to write here and guess which band comes on the radio. It has been simply uncanny.

To try and figure it out, I went on wikipedia (one of the best sites ever, btw) to try and learn more about the band. I feel like one of the many “Lost” (maybe I’m watching too much) zealots I read all over internerd who try to decode every single frame of the show. I am a living, breathing Dharma Initiative work-man. To figure it out I’ll memorize the numbers, I’ll press the button every 180 minutes, I’ll visit/find Jacob, I’ll not Penny’s boat, I’ll do whatever.

From wikipedia, I was very surprised to learn that The Cars were from Boston. Before you call me on it, I seriously didn’t know this. Hell, I just found out who Bernie Madoff was like a week or two ago. I also learned that band members Ocasek and Benjamin Orr met in my old college stomping grounds, Columbus Ohio. They first released an album (as a different group) together in the year I was born, 1973 and “spent the winter of 1976–77 playing throughout New England, developing, honing, and ultimately perfecting the songs that would become their debut album.” Somewhat interesting I guess, but it still doesn’t explain the cosmic connection I seem to have with the band lately.

you’re emotion in motion
my magical potion
you’re emotion in motion
to me

As an aside, I really don’t mind being haunted, but could I have at least gotten better music? What does it say about my place in the universe that the group that I’m haunted by is a techno-pop-80’s mishmash of sound? I mean, their music is OK, but come on…. What does a Dutchman have to do get haunted by some good music (like Radiohead or something, I’d kill to be haunted by them)? Furthermore, Ric Ocasek, I mean.. seriously? He is a Howard Stern wanna-be look alike.

So, to the supernatural forces that have chosen to litter my world with the “magical” (oh oh it’s magic) sounds of The Cars, I say this:

You win. You have my attention. I am here at your disposal and exposing myself for The Cars mockery for all of my readers to see. You have Ocasek’ed me into submission and I will not ignore you anymore. Have your way with me, but please, enough with The Cars music popping up anywhere and everywhere.

you can knock me and i don’t care
you can mock me and i don’t care
you can rock me just about anywhere

Just get me out of this month long 80’s video!!!

Best of times: My favorite musical artist is performing in the Commonwealth for the first time in forever on 7/18.

Worst of times: I’m going to a wedding in New Hampshire that day.

Awesome.

On the way to the Celtics game on Sunday, I had one of those rare moments which I love so much. I was at the Sullivan Square T stop waiting for the train. Sitting alone on a bench, with the iPhone providing the tunes, I fell into a quasi-trance while watching the snow land softly onto the tracks.

The subway has a particular smell to it. It is not a good smell, just a familiar smell – one that is unique and distinct and is not found anywhere else.  The smell always has a certain way of conjuring up particular thoughts and emotions in me.

Usually, I don’t like taking the T. I don’t do it too often.  It takes too long and there can be some shady characters on there. There is one exception to this rule: It is the two stop ride on the Orange Line from Sullivan Square to North Station. I always like getting to the Jungle this way. I love staring out the window and watching the city disappear as the train dips below ground. I love knowing that no matter how bad the traffic is above, I will get to my stop within 5-7 minutes.  The ride is long enough for me to appreciate it, but not so long that it reminds me of everything that annoys me about the subway.

Sitting on the platform, I thought about everything that is going on in my life. I thought of A who is having trouble with so and so, B, C, D, E and F who are going through marital problems, G, H, I, J, K, L who all are welcoming a new babies this year, M who has a sick mother, N who has a sick father, O who seems pissed at me for reasons I can’t figure out, etc, etc.

I also thought of everything I’m doing wrong: I haven’t done enough to work on P, am careless with Q and don’t do enough R, and focus too much on S etc, etc. All of these thoughts of people and things made me tear up. I stayed in this quasi-trance until I noticed the people stirring to get ready for the approaching train. The vibrations on the track helped bring me back to reality.

We get caught up so much in the minutia of everyday life (work, errands, responsibilities and the like) that we don’t take the time to really sit and ponder the stuff that really matters. We don’t “stop and look around every once in a while” as Ferris says.

Maybe this is why I need/enjoy a two stop ride on the subway every so often. While waiting to get where I need to go, I am forced to stop and think about where I’m headed.

Dear February 24th-

I’m so, so glad you’re here!

Yesterday was my ex-wife’s birthday. If you’ve been following along, you know I’m a big fan of birthdays and always try and remember people on their special day (even if it is a text or an email). I figure you only have one birthday and it is the only day of the year you can truly call your own.

It seems like the older I get, the less people are receptive to this. Thirty-somethings don’t want to be reminded of their birthdays because soon they will be forty-somethings. I counter by telling my grumpy thirty-something birthday party-pooper friends that we still have many years left. We’re not even half way done.

Hell, I’ve always remembered my friend Dan’s birthday because it was the same day Roger Clemens struck out 20 Seattle Mariners in 1986. I still remember Gorman Thomas taking the Rocket deep that day – it was almost unnatural. Yeah, yeah, I know. Today, Clemens sucks. The Big Texan left Boston to sign with Toronto to “be closer to home” (wha?). He then eventually ended up on the dreaded Yankees. I still remember the picture of him on the front page of the newspaper; He was donning the faux pitchfork that is otherwise known as the logo of that team from the Bronx.

Back then however, Roger Clemens was the man. I was 13 in 1986 and Clemens was my guy. He was the guy I’d pretend to be in the backyard as I ignored my mother’s calls at dusk. He was also the guy that broke my heart every time he lost to Dave Stewart and the Oakland A’s in big games. It didn’t matter, though. I always thought he’d be my guy. It was never the Rocket’s fault: It was reporter’s fault for asking the wrong questions, the ump’s fault for squeezing him, or the manager’s fault for leaving him in too long.

So, yeah. Yesterday sucked. There are two days that get me and will probably always get me: Yesterday and August 7^th (look what I wrote that day – I especially liked the comments!!). They really shouldn’t suck. I’m over the whole thing, but will probably never be over the guilt I feel for what I did. I’m just not wired that way. For the rest of my life, 363 days out of the year, I will be fine. My penance is two doldrum days.

I can live with that.

It’s totally worth it.

Even though I woke to great email (which made me cry – good cry even), I walked around in a malaise for most of the day. I joked on Twitter that I was going to have Indian food for lunch in honor of Slumdog Millionaire. I even contemplated trying to high-five my waiter. Normally, that kind of thought would have been quite funny to me.  I probably would have even attempted it. But yesterday, it wasn’t funny and it didn’t happen. I was quiet and almost apologetic to the man.

On January 7th, I stayed up until midnight agonizing as each minute slowly ticked away.  To escape February 23rd, I skipped dinner and went to bed before most elementary school kids were forced to brush their teeth.

But you know what?

Today is a new day.

Today Clemens still sucks, today a smile has snuck back on to my face, and today I’m definitely finding someone to mockingly harass with an unnecessary high-five.

February 24th, thanks for stopping by.

Thanks for being today,

ME

I wasn’t going to go here, but thanks to a late night IM, I am (Thanks Scott).

The song above is a rare sentiment.  I think I could start every MCTTT blog entry with the following two phrases:

Best of times: I don’t think I can put into words the excitement I feel for my brother and his fiancée.

Worst of times: Over the past week, I have heard of five married couples I know (ok, four I know, one I am indirectly connected to) that are going through serious marital problems. While a lot of it has been going on for a while, this has all been new information for me. All of this news has rocked my sensibility and has definitely tempered my excitement from Thursday night.  Hearing about one particular couple left me absolutely heartbroken and completely ruined my weekend.  Sorry Cupid….

What is happening? What has happened to the institution of marriage that it as become (in Keri’s words), so “disposable.”

Here’s my guess:

People are getting married too young. There is serious social pressure to do so and I think it ultimately leads to divorce. One of the phrases that really, really hit home the most for me this week was “and now he’s lost his twenties.” Ouch. Sadly, that is something I can totally empathize with. I used to always shake my head when I’d hear people say that you shouldn’t get married until you are 30. As a naive, pollyannic twenty-something, I thought that if you are in love, it doesn’t matter how old you are.

Well, I’ve learned the hard way that it does in fact matter.

People are not communicating enough. The ultimate irony of modern technology these days is as we are becoming more and more connected, we are communicating less and less. The lack of communication between people has been the biggest detriment caused by all the new forms of communication. It seems the quicker, easier and cheaper communication becomes, the more impersonal it becomes as well.

I am totally guilty of this. I hate the phone and would rather send a text or an email. I am facebooking, tweeting, IMing, texting and emailing and not calling. Yesterday alone, my ratio comparing emails/texts/IMs to phone calls was staggering and frightening. This is something I’m going to definitely work on.

With all this in mind (and with my 5-1 “worst of times” news to “best of times” news ratio) true-to-form, I am choosing to focus on the positive. I’m taking my one positive and running with it. I actually believe that one is going to stick and it gives me hope.

I still believe in the concept of marriage, but not the concept of marrying the wrong person. I still believe in soulmates, fairy tales, and happy endings. Getting there is the challenge anyone who wants to be married faces.

Communicate more. As I’ve told some of my “best of times” people lately, cherish what you have.

It is indeed rare and worth fighting for.