THE LAST FIVE ...

Closing up shop
- Wednesday, Aug. 02, 2006

It may be time for a change
- Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Entry in the air
- Friday, April 21, 2006

Still here
- Thursday, April 20, 2006

Music of the moment
- Wednesday, March 1, 2006

Or ... BE RANDOM!


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101 in 1001
American Road Trip, 1998


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Chupatintas
Dancing Brave
Fugging It Up
Kitty Sandwich
Mister Zero
Sideways Rain
Ultratart
Velcrometer


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Tuesday, June 10, 2003 - 9:04 a.m.

Thomas Wolfe was half-right

I still feel at home in Little Silver. I have a job in Bergen County, an apartment in Bergen County; I feel comfortable in Bergen County. The apartment's pretty well decorated and I've got most of my stuff there -- photos, camera, computer, movies, CDs. Every day I grow more and more fond of living with Casey.

But driving down the Parkway to Exit 109 and cruising slowly along the quiet, tree-lined streets of my hometown, I feel at ease. The traffic is thinner and, to be honest, the drivers are not nearly as careless and aggressive. I think it's because of the lack of New York license plates.

It's not my home anymore, but I think I'll always feel at home there. I remember being home one summer in college, lying in my bed one night or one morning, and thinking, "This will never be my home again. Other than summers and semester breaks, I may never be coming back here regularly again." That, of course, didn't happen, seeing as how I spent three years living there while working.

It's been a little more than a year and a half, though, since I made the move one hour north to look for a new job in publishing and to be closer to Casey, who was moving to the (Jersey) City. My bedroom in Little Silver no longer has the loft beneath the bed, the bookshelves and desk are less organized, the few clothes lie under the bed in tupperware crates and hang in the closet.

But the yard still smells more like the grass and the trees than anything else, my bed and pillow still feel comfortable as I lie down to sleep. Oreo still recognizes me as someone who will feed him or let him out if he meows enough.

The fact that Dave still lives there surely plays a part in my hometown still feeling like home. Casey's comfort there makes it easier to drag her along for the weekend. Our options for shopping, entertainment or beer may be limited, but are usually enough to satisfy us for 36 hours or so.

It may not ever be home again, but for as long as my parents still live there, I'm sure it will feel like it.

<><><>

As Casey mentioned, Oreo had quite a day with the moles on Sunday. For hours, he'd sit or lie, staring at a cluster of flowers, ivy and other plants alongside the driveway. He'd relax, close his eyes, perhaps even doze off for a little while. But when his ears picked up the sound of a mole beneath the underbrush, he'd slowly walk over that way, dragging his leash behind him. When he pinpointed the mole -- and I'm not sure he ever sees them -- he'd ready himself, then pounce. Twice we caught him too late, after he'd carried it a few feet in his mouth and dropped it again to the ground to do whatever it is he does with them. He tends to lick them to death, it appears. Three times, we spotted him walking back from the bushes with the mole in his mouth. We'd jump up from our chairs on the patio or run from the kitchen shouting "NO!" until we reached his leash and tugged at it. He'd drop the mole and someone would hold the cat back while someone else (either Dad or me) scooped the mole up from the grass and carried it to the bushes on the other side of the yard.

Then we'd let Oreo go again, and he'd walk over to where he last saw the mole, hoping it was still there. Finding nothing, he'd settle in to wait again.

Maybe we're the dumb ones here.

<><><>

While I do enjoy returning to my roots at the Shore, my current home lies 15 minutes or so from the Meadowlands, that nondescript sports complex over in the "swamps of Jersey" where ... hmm ... something just happened, I think ... Oh yeah!

THE DEVILS WON THE STANLEY CUP!!!

I admit, I'm not a die-hard Devils fan, let alone an adamant hockey fan. Ticket prices are too high (cheap seats are like $30, the lower arena $75) to entice me to take in a game on a slow Wednesday night in December. But when the playoffs come around, I can watch some of just about any game on TV, and I'm always following the Devils. Back in the early 90s, before they'd won their first Cup, I said to myself, If a New Jersey team ever wins a championship, I'm there. That'd be so cool. Imagine that. Back then, the Devils were decent, the Nets horrendous. Picturing the Nets in the NBA Finals was ludicrous, so forget a championship there.

Then, in 1994, the New York Rangers had their improbable run to their first Cup in 54 years (beating the Devils on the way), and I caught what the NHL used as a promotional slogan a few years ago: "Cup Fever." It's the oldest and most recognizable trophy in sports and the Devils won it for the first time the next spring. Three years ago, when the Devils opened the 2000 Finals against Dallas, the Cup toured some Jersey Shore towns on Memorial Day, and I touched it as it was set up on the Pt. Pleasant boardwalk. I gazed at the names etched in it over the decades and found the 1995 Devils -- Martin Brodeur, Scott Stevens and Jim Dowd, the only New Jersey native to have his name on the Cup. (The Cup never gets any bigger than it is now, if I remember correctly. When a section of it gets filled with names, the topmost section is removed and placed in the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto and a new tier added for more space.)

There's certainly something special when your team wins a championship -- when your hometown or home state or alma mater is the talk of the nation the next day, and in some circles, for the entire offseason. Right now, that's New Jersey, and if the Nets can overcome the Spurs and all the pundits, they'd pair with the Devils to become the first pro teams who share an arena to win their respective league's championship in the same season.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to shower and make a stop at Modell's Sporting Goods for a new shirt.

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