AIG

I'll be honest. It's difficult for a man of my age and background to understand what's going on with companies like AIG. As a matter of fact, whenever I think of AIG, I think of those commercials. You know, the one where the kids can't sleep or can't relax or are having anxiety attacks over their family's financial planning. And, of course, their parents are never worried because they have AIG. I wish I could have the opportunity to bring all those actors back to re-shoot the commercials. Here's one such commercial (the one I can tolerate), with the dialogue re-written:

Mom: Did you have a nightmare?
Kid: No, I'm worried about this family's financial future. Does your retirement plan provide predictability of income and protection against market risk? Do you have good supplemental health insurance? What about estate plan? Car insurance? Dents are easy to fix but liability's the nightmare!!!
Dad: Buddy, we're with AIG. SO PACK UP ALL YOUR SHIT AND GET IN THE CAR FAST!!

Or this one, which I'm sure everyone has seen:

Dad: What're you thinking about hunnie?
Kid: Butterflies. What're you thinking about, daddy?
Dad: I'm thinking about butterflies too.
Kid: But daddy, aren't you worried about protecting your company and your employees in the changing global economy? Are you tapped into the right capital markets expertise to help manage your institutional assets? What about life insurance? College? Retirement? You need a smart financial plan, you know.
Dad: Honey, we're with AIG, so I've arranged for a family of gypsies to take you in while your mother and I flee to the Bahamas.

On the school bus:

Girl 1: Same thing, day in and day out...
Girl 2: Problems at home?
Girl 1: My mom's looking for a better group benefits provider for her company.
Girl 3: My dad's company is tough to ensure. He needs risk management solutions with alternative collateral options.
Boy 1: My mom's company really should consider private equity investments to help meet its pension plan obligations.
Girl 2: My parents are with AIG.
Girl 1, Girl 3, Boy 1 (in unison): SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GIVE US YOUR LUNCH MONEY!!

Waiting for the Verizon Tech

I have the tendency to dwell on things a bit too much, when I really shouldn't at all. The tendency is worse when I have too much time by myself with nothing to do like right now. Here I am, on my only day off, waiting all day for the Verizon guy to show up. They told me he'd be here sometime between 8 a.m. and 7 p.m. Now that it's 7:18, I don't think I just wasted 11 hours of my life that I won't be able to get back.

I'm able to type and publish this blog by stealing Internet from a faceless neighbor. The signal is so weak that I'm sitting Indian-style with my back to the front door, crammed in the tiny space where we hang up the coats. This is the only place where I can successfully connect. I dread having to get up, because I know my cramped legs will feel searing pain when I do.

I may have had a chance to buy a new book and CD at Barnes and Noble this afternoon, but Fridays are really becoming quite a bust. I hope it approves when the summer rolls around, when I can spend all day at the beach or in Manhattan, swimming in the ocean or drinking sangria while reading.

The Fall of Daylight Savings

The end of daylight savings time is always a big change. The sun is now right in my face when I take the single-block walk to the subway. People seem angry everywhere, like the darkness that seemingly comes around earlier and earlier is seeping into the people's hearts. That may be a very dramatic thing to say, but in the past week I've seen a man in a wheelchair screaming at an MTA worker in the NQRW/BDFV station, a woman screaming at a newspaper hawker on the stairs down to the same station and a few people I work with giving each other the business. I hope the sun comes out soon, because I don't know what to do with the hostility.

I'm again having my hangups about alcohol due to recent displays of complete jackassery, but instead of making the bold statement that I will quit drinking (again), I am just going to reserve the wild nights for when I'm out with my close friends, at least until I find people who are into more sobering activities.

Plantar Fasciitis

Plagued with pain in each of my heels for five months, I finally decided to see a doctor a few weeks ago. I wanted answers, and a means to an end. What I got were annoyances.

I was diagnosed with plantar fasciitis, a deformity that strains the ligament running between my heels and the front of my feet. It can be fixed with shots, orthotics and stretching exercises. The pain was excruciating for the first few days, but improving. On my first follow-up appointment, I was given to splints to wear when I'm sleeping and when I'm laying around that are designed to keep my feet at a right angle. It's annoying, and I don't even know what I'm supposed to do if say, I sleep somewhere else. But anyways, it's already been helping the healing process. I can't wait to start working out again.

Take the Ride

After spending the last three months physically writing my thoughts on and off in a book, I've decided that keeping this blog is really the only way I can get things done when it comes to writing.

S'been a long year. I remember writing of the anxiety of turning 24 when I'm now just about two months shy of my 25th birthday. This time, however, I welcome the aging and am thrilled at what I have learned and can learn from it.

Here's a few examples:

- Erika will no longer be able to wrap her cold, slimy talons around my heart again. I'll have to leave the memories, insecurities and the theft and ultimate destruction of my umbrella in the distant past.
- The "Wakefield" style of living is no good. If I have a problem, I should speak up and try to work it out instead of plotting to fake my own death when something goes wrong.
- Turn up the charm and have some fun.

Who Will Save YOUR Souls?

I thought I could give it a chance. There's only so much advertising I can take before I relent to the pop culture icon that whores itself into American television with flashing lights and the promise of stardom, but it's as honest as Don King. Creating dreams doesn't get viewers. Crushing them does. I watched Jewel's biggest fan do a rendition of "You Were Meant for Me" before Jewel herself, only to be rejected quickly by all the judges. The girl burst into tears and collapsed to the ground, her dream crushed by one of the people she'd most want to sing for.

Fuck you, American Idol.

24!

OK, so I made it. 24 years. I celebrated the occasion by bringing the people I care most about into Manhattan for a festival in my honor-- complete with savory Italian food, drinks and karaoke until well into the next morning. The night was not without its share of, well, hindrances. But the important thing is that everything ended up falling into place and it ended well and good. So good that nobody was really into New Year's Eve festivities the next day, which was fine by me.