EDITOR’S NOTE: A warm “Welcome to the blogosphere” to my cousin, Allan.  His blog link will also be on my blogroll on the right hand side of the page. Check it, yo!

If you’ve been reading along, you know that I am excessively sentimental and maudlin.  I hate saying goodbye.  I dread it, do not do well with it, and am not good at it all.

Saturday afternoon, I begun the goodbye process by going to lunch with my friend Steve.  This the first of many goodbyes I will be experiencing over the next two weeks.  I close on the house a week from today and hit the road two weeks from yesterday.  As of right now, I have plans to hang out with someone almost every day I have left here.  I’m still waiting on a few people to get back to me on this (hint, hint).

Lunch went fine.  I hadn’t seen Steve in a long while and it was great to catch up.  After leaving Steve, I felt really sad and even tweeted that this was going to be a tough process.  Surprisingly, by the time I was heading to dinner to meet another friend (a few hours later) I was feeling fine.  Hopefully, this process will go easier than anticipated.  We’ll see.

I still vividly remember the day I moved to Ohio.  It was 7/5/1991 and one the worst of my days.  Because of this, I have begun to plan what 7/25/2010 is going to be like.  I’m very laid back and easy going, but when it comes to “events” I’m a planner.  As a maudlin sap, I picture what landmark days are going to be like before they happen.  7/25 is going to be a big day and I’ll probably remember it forever.

My last day here is going to go something like this:

I will wake up, get ready, and take a drive by this house and my “old” neighborhood.  After that, I’ll hit the noon mass at St. Margaret’s church (I am usually at the 10am mass) and take a drive by the house I grew up in on Heritage Way.  Finally, I’ll hit the road and head to my cousin Erwin’s house in New Jersey.

I added the stop in the Jerz because I think it will be too emotional of a day for me to try and drive a lot of hours.  I think it would be fitting to leave down after going to my church and driving by the two Pleasantville homes I lived in.  It will somewhat mirror the drive out of town from nineteen years ago.

The very distinct difference is that this time, moving away is my choice.  This certainly wasn’t the case back in 1991.  On 7/25, I will come full circle with regards to my moves away from Boston.

To me, this is kind of a big deal.

Driving home the other day, I was disheartened to see that my local video store was going out of business.  I have rented from Video Village in Pleasantville for over twenty years.  It is a family-owned business; the type of place that you could rent a movie for a few bucks cheaper than the local Blockbuster Video.  Also, it is the type of place that Blu Ray technology hasn’t even reached yet.

Back in 1989, I rented the Sega Genesis from Video Village.  I still remember Rahm’s (the owner) voice as he presented my brother and I with the gaming system.

“THIS is Sega Genesis,” he proclaimed in an authoritative voice.

(He said it as if he was entrusting warriors with samurai swords before heading into battle.)

I knew this was coming.  Last summer, I was in there talking to Rahm and he said he almost closed up shop last year.  His claim was that people aren’t really renting videos anymore.  Services like Netflix and On Demand are rendering these type of places obsolete – even the local Blockbuster closed down over a year ago.  Soon, Pleasantville will have gone from having two video stores to not having any.

My favorite memory of Video Village was from back in 2003.  I had just moved back to Burlington and I stopped in to grab a movie.  As I brought my selection to the counter, Rahm asked me my name and looked me up in the computer.  I wasn’t expecting to be in the system because I hadn’t rented there in about 12 years.  As I watched him hunt and peck the keys, I noticed that the computer looked very similar.  Surprisingly, I was still in there, listed under the address of the house I grew up in.

Rahm was still using the same computer.

My feelings about Pleasantville and the importance of moving back after being exiled have been fully documented on this blog.  I can honestly tell you that when I saw my name in the Video Village computer after all those years, under that old address, I truly felt home.

I’ll miss heading in there to grab a movie on my way home from wherever.  I’ll miss seeing Rahm’s smiling face behind the counter.  He would always have a movie suggestion and would never forget to hand me the latest copy of the new release pamphlet.  I’ll miss wondering why he still had more VCR tapes than DVDs and that all too familiar smell of the place.  And lastly, I’ll miss laughing to myself as I watched people make the “walk of shame” from the rear of the store (adult section) to the checkout counter.

Godspeed, Video Village.

Thanks for the memories.

I had my annual cookout last Saturday and there were many memorable things about the afternoon/evening.  There was the batch of hot dogs I seriously, seriously burned, the Coldstone ice cream cakes from my friend Jen (yum), the nim chow my friend Anthony brought (yum again), the talk of ATMs (not yum) and the friends and family that attended.  However, the most memorable part of the cookout for me was the can of garbanzo beans I found in my yard.

Yeah, you read that right.

A can of garbanzo beans.

While I was (badly) playing host, I was cleaning up as I made my rounds and I found the can on the ground.  I was perplexed.  I thought to myself, “How the hell did these things get here?“  The only time I have ever had garbanzo beans in my house was one time when I made chili for a tailgate.  I asked around and found out that they belonged to my friend Nils’ son, Soren.  Soren brought a toy truck to play with and apparently the beans were inside.

After wondering why the kid had a can of garbanzo beans in his truck, I pondered what the proper etiquette is when this happens.  Do I give them back to him?  Should I eat them?  Or should I just throw them in the cupboard with the other unwanted cans of whatever that have collected in there.

As I cleaned up the yard/house, I kept walking past the can.  Each time it gave me a chuckle.  I thought of all the funny things I could do with them: mail them next day air to his house, wrap them up and give them to someone else as a gift, bring it to someone else’s cookout and leave it in their yard or I could make more chili and give it to Nils and his family.  When fate drops a can of garbanzo beans in your lap, the possibilities really are quite endless.

Don’t tell Nils, but I’m keeping it.  It is staying with me wherever I end up in the next few months.  It will be a reminder of my last cookout in Pleasantville and it will be proudly displayed in my new home….

wherever that may be.

Happy Pleasantville Day!

Yes there is a real Pleasantville (it is in New York) and today is really Pleasantville Day!

In honor of Pleasantville Day, here are three web links that have been taking up way too much of my time:

7(ish) Things I’ve always wondered about Back to the Future

Awkward Family Photos

Texts From Last Night

Enjoy!

EDITOR’S NOTE: Friday was a record day for TAM with 975 hits (25 short of a Spe Day inflatable jump house). Thanks to everyone for checking in!

If you’ve been reading this blog you’ve heard me refer to Pleasantville. Pleasantville is a name that my friend Maverick gave to my hometown, Burlington. “Plesantville” is more of an idea and could be 10 different places to 10 different people. Pleasantville is home. It is comforting and it is the place you most want to be. Everyone should be living in their own “Pleasantville.”

Yeah, I’m a townie.

I have an elevated opinion of where I live because of the circumstances when I moved (see the Paradise City entry for more background). My “Pleasantville” is the place where I met the group of my closest friends. The only thing really missing is the Reese Witherspoon flitting around. We don’t see each other often these days, but when we do it is always the same. This weekend we were fortunate to have the whole group together which is quite a rarity. Usually this only happens at weddings. The reason for the get together was Stink’s bachelor party and it was held down at MGM Foxwoods on Saturday night.

I was all set to write a funny blog entry about the goings on at the bachelor party today. But, as with any good bachelor party, to protect the guilty, I really can’t. What happens at the MGM stays at the MGM. A good time was had by all and I will offer these short crib notes which I gathered over the weekend:

I’m still not a fan of strip clubs or golf (future blog topic alert!). Flah doesn’t think what goes on in the Foxwoods poker room is real poker. I slept (for about an hour) on the most comfortable bed I’d ever slept on; the place is still not worth four bills a night. Stink had a great time, so great that he didn’t make breakfast. “The Squirrel” was in full effect and won enough money to get a start on saving for winter. He also wore the worst shirt on the reservation Saturday night and it’s not even close (he won’t let me post a picture, either).

Through the years, even though our life circumstances have changed, everything remains the same. Saturday night was no different. We picked up right where we left off. We used the same jokes, same way of talking to each other and rehashed the same memories. Stink’s brother Allen even noticed:

“You guys are kinda rough on each other, huh?”

My friend Flah replied (referring to me), “Nasty Spe is out tonight. It might get ugly.”

It didn’t. We can be that way because of the comfort level we have with each other. This is a group of friends that have known each other for 20+ years. It is like Ronnie from the barber shop’s group at his annual golf outings. We can be this way because at the end of the day we know that each and every one of us would take a bullet for each other. It is this type of relationship that can only derived from our “Pleasantville.”

Yesterday, I went to a cookout in Pleasantville. Most of the people there were people from Pleasantville (many who I haven’t seen in a long while) and everyone seemed almost exactly the same. The only differences were: more gray hair, more weight (in some cases), wives and a ton of kids running all over the place. As I looked over the scene, I saw guys I grew up with building a Pleasantville for the next generation. It was a stark revelation of how life is truly a circle. I met these guys as kids and now they were all raising kids of their own. It was quite sobering, actually.

Home is where the heart is. Home is where you feel most comfortable. No matter if it is where you grew up or where you are now. As always, people matter, and it is the people that surround you that define “Pleasantville” for each and every one of us. Recently, I had two eloquent examples that hit home in terms of how I define Plesantville.

A few weeks ago, my friend Braino sent me this in an email:

I was sitting up at the Common with my wife of one month, listening to the tones of the Bob Bacheleder Band. They played a lot of old school music that the “older” folks enjoyed but we did as well. As I looked around, I realized I was hanging out on the same common that I had run around chasing girls at when I was a young boy.

I talked to my wife Amy (who grew up in Lowell) about your blog and your reference of Pleasantville.

As I sat there listening to the music, I found myself..

Watching the cars whiz by on Cambridge Street, watching the kids play kickball, peering off into the distance at Simonds Park at the fields I played so many games at, and seeing so many people I grew up with there with their own kids now.

Tuesday nights at the Burlington Common…that’s what Pleasantville is all about.

And yesterday morning, shortly after we paid Ken-Li, the Weston toll collector, our fare for using the Mass Pike and as we were crossing into Burlington, Cal said:

“No matter what’s going on my life, or what problems I have, whenever I cross the line (into Pleasantville), everything is fine. Everything is better. Even though I live in Nashua, Burlington is still home to me.”

“Pleasantville” may be a different place to each and every one of us, but wherever it is it symbolizes the exact same thing:

Home.

There are certain places in Pleasantville that make it truly home for me. One of the places at the top of the list is Morandi’s Barber Shop. Morandi’s is at the corner of Winn Street and Mountain Road and it has been a staple of Burlington for years. Angelo “Sonny” Morandi opened the shop in 1960 and it is still going strong today.

My family moved to Burlington in the late 70’s. Ever since I can remember (other than when I was at college in Ohio), my only recollection of haircuts was going to Morandi’s. The house I grew up in was literally down the street. As a kid, my father would take me in there and I remember being terrified of a brash young barber named Joe Morandi (Sonny’s son). Joe loved to “torment” little kids much like a nasty uncle. I’d literally had nightmares about the guy.

The great thing about Morandi’s is you never know who you will see in there. Being a townie, you’d think I run into people I know all the time. This isn’t the case and other than the barber shop, it doesn’t happen that often. Morandi’s is literally the place where “everybody knows your name” and Joe is right at the center of it. The faces in Morandi’s really haven’t changed: Sonny, Joe, Ronnie, John and a couple of newbies: Julie and the kid.

It seems like Joe knows everyone in town and he still “torments” the young kids that come into the shop. Joe actually lives two houses down from me now. He plows my driveway every snowstorm (huge for my rear-wheel drive Batmobile), never accepting any payment or any offer of payment. Also, when the man who owns the lot containing the woods behind my house wanted to build there, Joe was in frequent contact with members of the planning board voicing his opposition. He has gone from haunting my dreams to protecting my home. Except for the fact that he teases me about the length of my grass, I couldn’t ask for a better neighbor. Furthermore, I consider myself lucky to be able to call him a friend.

I went in there today and it was a typical visit. Joe had all of the customers in the waiting area laughing per usual. I even struck up a conversation with a guy who is building a house in the lot diagonally across from the house I grew up in. Talking to him about that lot brought back some great old memories. Per usual Ronnie, who started at Morandi’s in 1961, cut my hair. Ronnie has been cutting it for years, but I don’t think I laughed as hard in the barber shop as I did today. Ronnie talked all about his annual golf trip with the guys. I hope that when I am his age I am still doing things like that with my friends.

One of the great things in life is finding places where time stops. Sometimes, finding those places can make all the difference in facing everyday trials and tribulations. Every time I walk into Morandi’s, I see the same faces and I feel like a kid all over again. The place is a part of me. My bi-weekly visits remind me of where I’ve come from, where I’ve been, and comfort me on the way to where I’m headed next.

Housekeeping #1: Just another reminder: Please check out the SoSH auction for Curt’s Pitch for ALS. The current bid total is over $23,000. The newest item is a tour of the set of the hit show “The Office” in Los Angeles (donated by SoSHer KenTremendous). What an item! If anyone has any questions on how to get involved/donate/become forever entrusted with my gratitude, please let me know.

Housekeeping #2: I was going to write about the departure of James Posey, but I just can’t yet. I’m not ready. He was a special part of a very special team. I didn’t think anything (heh) could ruin the fabulous zone I’ve been in since the wee hours of Sunday morning. James Posey leaving the Celtics was the only thing that could have done it (heh). All I can say right now is that each and every member of the basketball gang is getting one last huge Posey Hug the next time I see them. Be ready: John, Devid, Z, E-Man, NEIL!, Chris, Mel, Kid Spin, High Roller, Game 2, Saint Nick, YD, and anyone else I forgot.

**sigh**

With all that said, I think I have a new favorite blogging spot.

I got home from work yesterday and had the perfect idea for a new blog entry (Hugged out: Goodbye, James Posey). I was so “pumped and jacked” to start working on it until I entered my house. Living in the Northeast, you can get by most of the year without central air conditioning. Yesterday wasn’t one of those days. It was a complete “cookah” in my house. I had to get out of there.

I googled “Free Wi-Fi Pleasantville” (sic) and the first entry that came up was the Panera Bread. Now, I’ve never been in the Pleasantville Panera Bread before. I’ve been in the one in Woburn Mall (a.k.a. the mall that time forgot) and that one was pretty small, so Panera Bread never made an impression. I walked into the Pleasantville Panera and it was like walking into a blogger’s wonderland.

The place is huge. They might as well paint a huge “Please loiter here” billboard right out on the front of it. There are comfy couches in quiet corners, huge tables for large groups and even a private Panera luxury box in the back for group meetings. This place is the truth. I am so setting up all my Craigslist “casual encounters” here from now on. No doubt.

Another thing: I dunno if it is the current dry spell or what, but the Pleasantville Panera Bread was chocked-full of hotties. If I didn’t already have a harem of women I am already unsuccessfully courting, I would have totally turned the place into a singles bar. Get that smirk off your face – I’ve got the best wanna-be-coffeehouse-deli-whatever-this-place-is game in town. I literally could cover the floor of the place with panties if I wanted to (yeah, I am totally laughing at that vision right now). The Seth Rogan look-alike in the corner booth would definitely have served as a perfect wingman.

Choosing a spot to sit was an adventure as well. I needed a table near an outlet (yeah, I’m staying until close) and I didn’t want to choose too big of a table which would be unfair to other customers. This was such an important decision, my entire Panera existence and experience would be dictated by this choice. Which one did I choose? I chose the one nearest to the hottest blonde in the place (men are so pathetic, aren’t we?). She was a total smoke show. It was like I was sucked in by her hella-attractive-broad-tractor-beam. I was left defenseless against this force of Panera Power and had to sit near her. From this point forward the “Helen of Pleasantville” (not Troy), will be referred as HBPBB (hot blonde Panera Bread babe).

I walk to the counter and try and pick out the cheapest thing I can get and enjoy. I don’t want to look like a “free WiFi” freeloader. I needed something to put in front of me to mask the fact that I am just here to steal bandwidth. As I step up to order, some snowbird tried to cut in front of me and line jump. Now, if we were at Canobie Lake Park or another amusement park, I probably would have said something. I didn’t and just glared at her. Mid-order, she realized what she did, stopped and let me go.

I finally decide on the Frozen Mocha and learn that I am about to get 2.5 hours of unlimited internet access for $3.66. As I approach the middle-aged overly-enthusiastic counter man (let’s be honest here, he was way too cheerful to be shlepping “Soup/Salad you pick two’s”), the only other negative Panera moment happened. I asked the dude for only a little whipped cream (I need to watch my girlish figure, you know?). This dude proceeds to fill the whipped cream to the top of the plastic bubble cover of the frozen concoction. I look at it, look at him incredulously, and blatantly proclaim:

“Dude, I don’t think you could have gotten any more whipped cream in there. Look at the thing, it is popping out the top.”

He gives me the “I’m only an over-cheerful, middle-aged, ham on rye sandwich salesmen” look and shrugs. I ended up taking the drink just so not to piss of the mass of humanity waiting in line behind me. What is it with Panera? The place was packed the entire time. I retreated to my aforementioned table, set up the Thinkpad (a.k.a. where the magic happens), threw on the Ipod and began to write.

I must say, writing away from home is great. I don’t have the usual paparazzi circling the neighborhood and all the familiar comforts of home. I was really able to whip this one out in TAM record speed. I think I’m going to be looking for new locales to write from now on. It really brings out a different feel to the writing, wouldn’t you say? Ironically, a few of my neighbors (I live across town) sat down for a little while and had dinner. While we exchanged pleasantries, I didn’t have the heart to let them know that the Spe Day evite roster had just broken 200 people. Hello neighbors!

And yeah, I know you’re wondering. HBPBB got a definite chuckle from my Ipod dancing. After she finished her packaged bird food (a.k.a. whatever salad), she cracked open a book and read for a little while. I definitely noticed her looking over. It wasn’t because of the insane amount of charisma that usually emanates from me; it was because of my sophomoric behavior. Throw an Ipod on me in a public place when I’m by myself, and it becomes a mini-concert for me. We traded a couple of smiles and as she packed up and left, she even attempted to seduce me (ok, maybe not).

“Looks like you’re having a great time with yourself over there.”

Story of my life, HBPBB. Story of my life….

The absolute best part of the night was when they were closing up. The manager and one of the employees (a 50 or so year old foreign woman) got into a loud argument right in the counter area. It was fantastic. She was absolutely berating her superior in front all the remaining customers and employees. I exchanged smirks with one of the other employees as the fireworks happened. I asked her if that happens all the time and she said in the three years she has worked there, it was a first. Interestingly enough, I was the last person to leave.

I think Truth About Mike has a new, satellite office on hot, steamy days. Maybe I’ll hold my first book signing there. Hopefully, all of my current stalkers won’t read this, but I will certainly will be headed back there. If you see me there, try not to make a scene with your digital cameras and autograph requests. I’ll be the fabulous dude rocking the backwards Sox hat, blatantly Ipodding out, while sporting the “genius at work” visage.

See you tonight, Panera Paradise!