The Wonderful Adventures of Nugie

We currently have precocious teenagers visiting our campus for a music clinic. The little bastards have been mostly annoying except for this one story this girl told today. It seems that during the Blizzard of ’96 her family was stuck in the house for five days. Still, in true testament to the gumption of New Yorkers, or maybe the almighty dollar, the Chinese guy still delivered. Not only did he perform the act of providing sustenance, he even shoveled them out. Here’s the kicker: Girl’s father didn’t even give him a tip. How gangsta is that? Was he disappointed in the job? What did the guy have to do? I couldn’t stop laughing. Maybe it’s just cause I am writing this during my 11th hour of work.

Maybe I’m just envious that I have no extravagant stories like that. My experiences have been quite vanilla in comparison. My repertoire includes no story that begins “I remember….” That results in amazement, not even mildly amusing. If I have anything resembling that, it is only because I am retelling someone else’s story just as I just did. I guess the world needs blank canvases like me to make all the other things seem more vivid.

This is the section where I let you know what music currently dominates my MP3 Player/CD Player/Winamp Pantheon.

Amel Larrieux - Bravebird (A)
Nellie McKay - Get Away From Me (A)
Miles Davis & John Coltrane - The Complete Coulmbia Recording Sessions 1955 - 1961 (A)
Dionne Farris - Hopeless (S)
Nikka Costa - So Have I For You (S)
Nirvana - Rape Me (S)
The Beatles - Michelle, While My Guitar Gently Weeps (S)
Pete Rock - Petestrumentals (A)

So I am on overnight shift here at the front desk in my ninth hour of duty and my mind is wandering. But I started to think about kissing in my lifetime. I must say that it is one of my favorite activities. It’s the reason that Hi-Five song I made the title is one of my favorite thousand songs.

It all started with a rainy day game of Truth or Dare at summer camp. Somewhat sad that I don’t remember my exact age but I had definitely achieved double digits but I was not officially a teenager. Our small clique was in a corner of the game room playing, unencumbered by counselors. It came time for Jennifer’s turn and she chose dare. The dare was to kiss me on the lips. She hesitated because of the potency of my lips, but she ended up relenting because she could not resist their siren call. Yeah whatever.

As defining sweet childhood moments go, it was pretty nice. She had soft, delicate lips that I longed for before the kiss was over, even though it probably lasted a split second. The feel was on my lips the entire night. I was kind of upset the next morning when I didn’t feel it anymore. For the rest of the summer, I kept wishing for rainy days in the off chance we would get to play the game but God only rewarded my horniness with acts that literally hurt my manhood. I must have been the only tween considering wearing a cup for kickball.

Serves me right. But I’ve had a healthy appetite for kissing ever since. That slight, curly-haired Egyptian Jew sent me on the path of no return. The years have seen me get compliments on my kissing. Then again, you have to like the way a person kisses to keep doing it with them. So maybe I shouldn’t be so egotistical about it. At least I know they didn’t suck terribly. It’s even more remarkable considering I learned my kissing philosophy from the occasionally amusing, oft-repeated sitcom Wings.

The two main characters, whose sexual tension drove the show, got into a conversation on kissing, debating how to do the act consistently well. Of course, they end up in an experimental state and it becomes a Goldikiss session. She decrees the first kiss is too soft. The second one is too hard. Of course, the third is just right and the longest kiss is the result. The implicit principle came through though. Kisses should be forceful yet yielding. Your partner should know you’re there, but want to get more of you. I don’t know why I trusted a not-so-smart sitcom about white people in Nantucket, but it hasn’t foiled me yet.

Over time, I’ve had some blow away kisses. I’ve had extended kisses in the rain. A number of kisses were enhanced by the illicitness of the situation. In the library, parents in the next room, on the roof of my apartment building. I never thought that something that quite literally leaves me struggling to breathe would feel so utterly fantastic. Now I’m worried I don’t know where my next one will come from. I wouldn’t mind a hit.

WARNING: This post may not be suitable for women aged 18 – 35 who reside in the Lone Star State and work for the government. Please take precaution.

I don’t know where it all started. I‘d like to think that there was something that triggered it. Maybe I’m genetically predisposed to it. What is this it? It is an amazing attraction to the well-formed legs of the female gender.

Some men focus on the breasts. I appreciate those. I deem them necessary but not my primary target. The ass has recently gained prominence thanks to the well endowed J. Lo and Beyonce. As an African-American male, I appreciate the importance of the booty. But something about a girl wearing some sick heels and a classy skirt makes me go crazy.

I don’t know what it is exactly but I know it’s been there for a while. As a curious teenager, the naughty pictures that titillated me the most were the ones that highlighted the legs. (Favorite pose: girl facing away from the camera, looking over her shoulder with the coy expression on her face. Gets me every time.) Now that I’ve moved on from such pedestrian interests, the attraction is still there. When I flip through a Vogue (yes I read it and not for that nasty thing you’re thinking either), I love the pictures that show off the legs.

Goodness, when everyday girls stroll the streets of New York in tight jeans or short skirts and some crazy heels, I had to constantly think of my girl so I wouldn’t do something stupid. Luckily it worked but probably cause I like her legs so much.

I stop way short of a fetish level. I don’t lose the ability to speak coherently when a girl puts on or takes off a shoe. I don’t rub stockings to get aroused or something. I clearly will not be on the next episode of HBO Real Sex. But I think I am a throwback to an earlier time, like when Betty Grable was the number one pinup girl. A time when crossing your legs was the sickest seduction move and you were labeled a slut if you did it because it was so damn effective. I mean Sharon Stone made it popular again with Basic Instinct, although I think there was something else that attracted the men folk as well.

Whatever I am, I know I have appreciation so don’t get too offended if I tell you “Nice Gams.”

So last night I wanted to sleep. I had been up since 7:00 p.m. Tuesday and I was going to try and be in bed at midnight. But of course that didn’t work out.

First I called my new friend, ex-girl Drizzle to do our nightly devotion. But she was busy. Then a bloody fire alarm goes off in the dorm and I have to leave the place. I finally get into my room at 12:30 a.m. and our beautiful conversation evolved into a discussion very similar to the ones we had when we were technically dating. The only difference was that the topic was “Why Were You Being An Asshole?” as opposed to “Why Are You Being An Asshole?”.

Those pseudo-dates with Nitro bother her more than I had calculated. During the course of our relationship, I thought the first one pissed her off because I was contradictory and secretive. But she gave me permission to keep going and I did. Now I find out that New York had attained a sacrosanct place in her heart in regards to our relationship and each time I went out I was basically shitting on it.

See the Apple was an important catalyst in the development of or love. We spent a day having modest adventures in the city that ensued in the daily transcontinental email swap that spurred us into a relationship. Obviously it would hold a special place in her heart. I didn’t realize how special that place was for her.

I suspect that it’s because the Apple is my home and it’s hard to separate that into such a special entity. See for her New York was a tangible representation of something that distinguished our relationship, something particular that only we shared. Anything that resembled that representation hurt her and confused her because she didn’t know what was so special about us anyway.

She needed a symbol, an activity, a something that she could always point to as an identifier of our uniqueness. But I thought about it and I find that not every couple has that. For me, the uniqueness in our relationship was derived from the intangibles we shared that you couldn’t put a finger on. Even in our Gotham catalyst excursion I see it. I’ve been to the Met with other people, eaten out with other people, walked around the city with other people. But I never felt butterflies with those people and my stomach didn’t flip like it did throughout that special day. I NEVER feel those things when I’m out with Nitro or anyone else in particular. When Drizzle’s car spun around in the middle of the street, she called me first to calm her down. I think that’s pretty special. I felt comfortable venting to her about my most private subjects, to the point where I could cry in front of her. I thought that was special also. If there was any tangible thing I grasped it was the plethora of email, cards, and IM conversations I’ve saved. But those are ultimately futile documents that tried to capture the intangible elements that I thought distinguished us.

I don’t think that I am too crazy on this realm. My parents don’t have something special that they do that is isolated to just them. I don’t think she’s crazy to want such a thing either. Her parents have baths and eat off the same plate and travel as their special things. I would have loved to have a symbol or symbols to hold on to but the intangibles that give these symbols their power was enough for me.

I wish I had known it meant that much to her. I wish I could have understood. Now it is just one more way that I know I’ve made her upset for a sustained period of time. Those intangibles we shared make me unbelievably sad now.

So yesterday I found out I will not be Teaching for America. 9,000 applications and I was one of the people that was not invited to interview. I guess it is for the best. My fuse seems to be getting shorter with the little ones. Well that’s a lie. I still love the little urchins. I’m getting snappier with adults who act like children.

Maybe God knows what I should be doing. Actually He definitely knows. I’m the idiot who doesn’t. Being in this particular program is not on the list. At least I’ve winnowed down the possibilities to infinity from infinity plus one. It was probably a sign when I started to hear bad things about the program anyway. My girl’s girlfriend’s boyfriend (you follow) is in the program teaching in the Boogie Down Bronx. So far he has accumulated a host of horror stories. They go from the inadequate intensive summer training to the discovery of third graders performing anal sex (you did read that correctly) in the janitor’s closet. The farm boy from Indiana whose sole mission in life seems to be saving children is quitting after this year, and I don’t blame him. Stuff like that is supposed to shake you. Poor dude was probably laid out on his futon mumbling “the horror” to himself like the colonel in Apocalypse Now.

Yikes. Maybe I’m not ready for it. But I am so ready for change. And this move sure made me think that I have to change my whole approach. Here I was thinking I’d at least be a sure thing for the interview. Then I could have wilted under the pressure and embarrassed myself in person. I keep thinking something’s gonna work out but I haven’t done anything to make it happen. I guess I was just waiting for things to fall into place. Lord give me the strength to help push them there.

Early in the morning of February 25, 2004, me and Drizzle ceased to exist as a romantic entity. 41 months and 11 days. We made love at some point. In the end, I incited a war in her psyche that finished us and almost finished her in the process.

It’s so weird considering how we started. If one uses selective memory and forgets those first few missteps we took, we seemed destined to be. There was the instant connection, that seemed almost cosmically written. Looking at those missteps, maybe our true destiny was written as well.

Due to miscommunication, we ended up dating other people. Once that minor quandary was resolved and we finally were together, I started to have a monthly spaz-out that turned me into a complete jerk. It was probably an adverse reaction to how we started: too well. My 18-year-old mind couldn’t deal with it and my 22-year-old mind is just starting to learn how to honestly deal with unwanted emotions in a healthy manner. In between, this inability to just be honest with myself was probably the death knell for me and her.

All the things I’ve said or done to cause her pain were a result of an inability to properly channel my emotion, including the one atrocity which probably accelerated the end. How can you make the person you love scared of you? My actions had the effect of tossing about her mental well-being much like a rag doll, to the point where she was so bruised she couldn’t recognize who she was.

Me? An emotional abuser? I didn’t think it was possible. Here I stand, taking full responsibility and title, looking for some penance to redeem me and purge me of the ability to do such things to any human being in the future.

I am probably painting an elaborately bleak picture. There were reasons for her to fall in love with me. When planets align in the right formation, I am one of the illest boyfriends on the planet. I constructed complex displays of affection which ranged from CDs to emails to cards. I shopped for her, not for my own personal gratification (most of the time), but just to make her happy. She never asked me to but it was just one more way to bring a smile to her face. My heart was never happier than when I knew she was happy. It was my life’s work, when I remembered.

If there was a consistent season in our relationship, it was summer. In the first summer we met, the seeds of our love were planted. The next summer her campus apartment was the epicenter of bliss. At certain times, you might have mistaken it for the garden of earthly delights. There was the summer-like environment of her graduation, where the sun woke me up and made me honest with her and myself. Even this past summer was a milestone, because it was my first drama-free visit to Texas.

But three summers proved inadequate. As did my six weeks of sustained good behavior. The ghosts of the past proved too haunting for her. They reminded her about the change that has ensued in our relationship: She changed into a monster she now detests while I did not change that much, and stagnation is just as dangerous.

Now I have to go about the business of change, without her, which is even harder when you have to plan a whole new forever. This is a woman that I had named future children with, incorporating our respective parents’ names. Over time, I have had at least three working scenarios of proposing marriage, one of which included my impending graduation. My goodness, we even discussed our marital bed. We probably focused on the future to get us away from our imperfect present.

All I long for now is a nice, hot summer and the presence of a comforting drizzle.

You remember this guy from early to mid 90’s Saturday Night Live episodes? He was the one that sat in front of a mirror saying affirmations to reassure himself that he wasn’t worthless. Yeah we all had a big laugh at the pathetic man in the warm, fuzzy sweater. But now I’m not laughing as hard since I’m about to get fitted for a sweater of my very own.

Now I know I am relatively intelligent. I’m not ugly. I clean up well. I can be humorous. I have a number of great qualities I know. Furthermore, others have said so with unsolicited comments. Drizzle tells me I’m worthwhile and full of potential. My mom says I’m wonderfully made. The mother of the groom at that wedding I just went to noted that I was sensitive, helpful, compassionate, caring and charming. My teachers say I actually add to discussions. So what is the bloody problem?

I constantly don’t believe it. All this supposed potential and I can’t act on it. On a consistent basis I say fuck you to the world and my responsibilities. I turn into an asshole. I disappoint people. In the end, I come out more confused and farther behind than before. What the fuck?

So I’m thinking maybe this affirmation thing ain’t such a bad idea. Maybe the mirror can be of more use than to make sure if my beard is shaped up and even. So here it goes:

I am intelligent
I am compassionate, caring, and charming
I will not be an asshole
I will not shirk, slack, or slouch
I will be one Adam, under God, never too critical, with love and candy for all
And doggone it people like me

One of the things I’ve learned here that makes me think I haven’t signed over my soul to Sallie Mae in vain is the importance of memory. One of those psychology classes I took revealed its importance to me in plain light. Just one more thing that we take for granted. I mean think about it. Without memory, you wouldn’t learn how to speak. You have to remember that the big woman who keeps feeding you keeps calling themselves Mommy.

I recognize its power in my life. My nickname is Details for a reason. I remember a lot, a little too much sometimes. But if I didn’t remember as much as I did I would be so ineffective I feel. I mean memory is the foundation to the ability to bullshit. You have to know, or at least believe you know, a little something to be able to B.S. and it’s a skill I treasure.

For all that greatness though, bad memories come along too. I wish I could get rid of the bad memories. There’s a movie coming out that deals with that too. Some doctor comes up with a procedure to erase the memories from your head but the guy who undegoes the procedure relaizes that he doesn’t want to do it anymore because he’d be losing to much. Therein lies the dichotomy of the bad memory: it brings so much pain, but if you’re smart, there’s a lesson in there too.

But what happens when you learn the lesson, but can’t get over the pain? And you can’t remember how to forgive? And you can’t go back to living life like you knew it or at least you thought you did? You wish you could forget but you can’t. Beautiful looking tans fade away, but those damn scars just stay around forever. Even if they fade over time, you know how ugly they once were. I think it was Stanley in A Streetcar Named Desire who says “I wish I could take out my brain and wash it out” or something like that. I’m probably even getting the play wrong. But you get my drift. And I never wished I could do that so much as now.

I shouldn’t be as tired as I have been of late because I have been doing jack shit. I mean diddley and squat have taken over my schedule. Yet I am perpetually tired. I know it’s not mono. I had that before in a past life. But I need to figure out what it is soon. I have a feeling it’s tied to my thinning hair and my bleeding gums. This isn’t healthy. And it’s putting a big ass roadblock in my efforts to leave this icy hell 49 miles outside of Boston.

Is there some elixir I can take? The Vanilla Pepsi doesn’t seem to be working. Maybe I’ll write a schedule and actually stick to it. This is one of the first times I’ve wanted that damn Palm Pilot my father gave me to work. At least then I could fake like there was something to be exhausted about.

I think apathy is my own personal succubus. She just keeps raping me.

Patience is a virtue/But sometimes it can hurt you
Cause you stay sitting around waiting for shit to happen
And you’re the sap when/It doesn’t come in a nice packet
If you think things just str8 workout/then you must be a crackhead
Or just cracked your head/Cause it don’t work out that way
Lazy Sundays transform into crappy Saturdays
Please get up get out and do something like Macy Gray
Time comes quicker than a virgin and then it scurries away

So my friend and stupid freestyle partner Johnny C comes to me after class and shows me this rhyme he’s created spurred on by the gay marriage issues currently in the headlines. Needless to say being at a Christian school plus rap’s inherent misogyny resulted in a one sided rhyme against the issue at hand. Sample lyric: “Yeah God says to love your brother/But not the same way your dad loves your mother."

It made me think about the topic though and I realized that the whole gay marriage thing is inspiring. Point of clarification: I am a Christian, but I am honestly confused about homosexuality. On the one hand there are the verses about it being unpleasing to God. “God hates that” as my friend Alex would point out. But then you have homosexuality appearing in nature like a recent article in the New York Times pointed out. There were two male penguins that did all the normal mating things with each other. Even raised an adopted egg. So me personally I don’t know where I stand on the whole thing.

I do know I am for gay rights. Even if I did take the position that it was a sin, why should someone be denied things they earned because they sinned? I mean I sin rather regularly so I’d be a hypocrite if I said I could get the job myself.

Anyway back to my inspiration. Here in America we have this culture where the institution of marriage is a joke. At least half of marriages end up failing. You have idiots like Britney Spears basically shitting on the principle of it all. Plus shows like Sex & The City and Friends have made the single life sooooooooooo attractive. There’s the chase, the intrigue, the constant hope of getting your heart palpitating. Why would anyone be running down any type of aisle? Think of romantic comedies; they don’t end in marriages but just in a couple. No commitments, no promises.

But in the face of the beautiful portraits of Queer as Folk and The L Word, a special few are fighting for their love to be officially recognized. They’re actually going out on a limb and saying “This is my guy/girl and I want the world to know.” How endearing is that? Il Dubya funnels money into programs to encourage the poor to get married and these people want to get the same damned certificate, no money spent.

A returned phone call is a milestone in the heterosexual relationship nowadays. People celebrate the anniversary of when they decided to move in together (the first anniversary is the Urban Outfitters anniversary). A certain contingent amongst the gay community actually want to show they’re that committed and the state won’t let them. It’s so retarded. If we’re gonna let shit like Who Wants To Marry The Rich Asshole go on and stop Adam and Steve and Eve and Alice to make the same trip down the bloody aisle, we’re stupider than I thought. Why in the hell would people choose to have principles all of a sudden? Fucking hypocrites.

Where do friendships come from> How on earth do they develop? In childhood, it seems as easy as the kid that lets you use his crayons becomes your friend. How the hell does it happen now? I was thinking about it on my choir mini-tour on Saturday and it baffles the hell outta me.

There’s the friendship between me and my good friend Alex down in Florida. Now at my old school we were next door neighbors. Occasionally sat at the same table for lunch and dinner but that’s all I can recall. When I visited there during my time off I guess I came to him a lot cause I was constantly locked out of where I was staying. Somehow we were on the same vibe. Both of us knew when to be stupid. Same for shutting up. That’s my boy now. God knows where it came from.

There’s my friendship with Nitro too. On my sojourns to a dorm far far away to get some action, she was my girlfriend’s suitemate, but the one I knew the least. Yet now she and I constantly go on pseudo-dates in the city. We do the dinner, theater, law school forum thing that the kids like to do and we have wonderful conversations that run the gamut. Somewhere along the line I became her guru and she my disciple. That point I would be unable to locate. No catalyst can be found.

And there are countless examples. Maybe its just proximity and saturation. But what happens to the people who move to cities where they don’t know anybody and you have to drive everywhere? Are you then just subjected to be friends with people you work with? Doesn’t that go against the idea of having friends. I’m praying this doesn’t become an issue later in life.

Many works of art and culture have been created in the hopes of expressing the magic that the city of New York possesses. I guess my efforts here would be futile yet I continue to type. As I entered the city last weekend on a makeshift Worcester-New York shuttle, the sights just had me excited. The lighting of the city I gravitate toward are not the touristy Empire State and Chryslers but rather the fluorescence and neon of corner stores and storefront Chinese stores. It made me want to get some General Tso’s and fried rice right then and there. My heart grows warm whenever I see those things. I bumped up the volume on my cd player and danced with my suitcase. And no one gave a shit. Another wonderful benefit of the big city.

I checked out the new Shops at Columbus Circle that everyone is talking about and I admit it was pretty cool. It will be a long time until I can walk in there seriously and say that I came to shop but that’s the stuff of dreams. I guess a vertical mall has to succeed sooner or later. Might as well fill it with a bunch of pricey things. Including the massive supermarket downstairs. There’s a food court in the supermarket. A food court!!! How excellent. And you can get sushi. I was introduced to California rolls on a Greyhound bus and I haven’t looked back.

Shopping was refreshing though. Not being as closely tracked as I browsed clothes was particularly nice. The lack of peculiar looks as I bought nail polish was also wonderful. Here in Mass such things are anomalies. Nail polish buying would probably lead security to follow me around more and bored Bay State teenagers to get more intrigued with me which is highly unnecessary. The little bastards already want to touch my dreadlocks like it will give them magical powers.

I think wherever I end up living I have to be able to feel like I can get lost. Of course New York would be my chosen settling place but I don’t think the stars have that in the cards (that was a mini-rhyme). To live in the style I am accustomed to, I would need supplication. I love my parents dearly but living with them can never happen again. That leaves my options to gigolo and crack whore. While I think highly of my sexual prowess, I’m not sure I could get any one to pay for it. Being a crack whore would probably make me more destitute. Not because of the drugs, but for the number of things I would have to get just to hide the habit. So maybe single life in the Apple is a pipe dream (did I just say that after I talked about crack?)

Maybe I’m looking at it the wrong way. Maybe it’s time to get adjusted to another style of life. Maybe that’s what life is about, adapting to different styles. I think maybe I’ll try the Ramen and tap water diet. Who cares? I need to graduate first before I can even think about this stuff.

So last weekend on my escapade to New York I went to the wedding of my childhood crush. Don’t cry for me Argentina; she was always at least six years older than me. I guess I have always dreamed big. Anyhoo, my mom was the wedding coordinator and I went to pitch in (plus earn my keep for the spending money I had blown the day before. Curses H & M). So I stroll up with my hair just done, my beard shaped up, and rocking my newly christened “Gangster of Love” ensemble (Black pinstriped suit, black dress shirt, pink tie. You don’t want to mess with that individual. I was looking quite dapper if I say so myself). So as soon as I walk in my mom introduces me to the groom’s sister and in a matter of moments we were consumed in witty banter.

I cannot tell you how much I adore witty banter. You know just speaking about nonsensical things back and forth and make it sound like it really is something substantial. Oodles of fun.

Of course for witty banter you need a worthy partner and this young lady was up to the task. I really can’t remember anything specific we talked about but that isn’t the point. Wait I did find out she might worship the Backstreet Boys. I forgive her. I mean with all the things there are to worship, boy bands are at the low end of the harm spectrum.

Anyways, I appreciated the talk not only because it was enjoyable but also because it was great practice. I figure since I am now in my 20’s my attendance at these nuptial functions will significantly increase as my friends fall into the bliss of matrimony. Here I was thrust upon a stranger, or maybe vice versa, and I was able to have a cogent, unawkward conversation. This is great hope for the future, even in non-nuptial matters.

Maybe if my destiny is to be some sort of public figure, I will actually be able to speak with people I don’t know. A more practical application is the networking crap every job site tells me will be necessary to obtain and keep a job. Who knew that conversation would end up being the key to my livelihood?

Allow Me To Introduce Myself….

My name is Adam. A connect with C

Ummm on second thought, forget that. I may be from Brooklyn but I know that I am no Jay-Z. I’ve lived in the same apartment since birth in between the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges, which is far away from the environment that would turn me into a rapper. That bleached central Massachusetts remark at the top of the page refers to my temporary outpost at a tiny Seventh-day Adventist school in the tiny hamlet of South Lancaster. There’s not that much to do here which probably spurred me to start this little thing. Of course it took me a month to come back to it, but me and apathy have had a destructive on/off relationship for a number of years. So in the future you might just see bursts of productivity and then nothing. Get used to it.

So what do I do to fight the urge to get inebriated every night? Well there is actual studying, but I avoid that with a passion. I sing in a choir (Sing for Jesus!!!), I kick stupid freestyles with friends, and I listen to a truckload of music, although it seems I listen to the same 325 songs. I know this because I use the same Winamp playlist constantly even though there are about 6,000 songs on my computer and 210 CDs currently surrounding me. I’m working on that though.

Throughout my writing, you might recognize one of two things: 1) I am extremely cocky or 2) I have self-esteem issues. I personally think they’re both true but you might lean to one side or the other.

My objective in life, that I share with countless others, is not to turn into my father. He never did anything to me like abuse me or something, but his confusion and constant state of tunnel vision is disorienting. I’d shoot myself if I became that way. Although I’m not doing to well on the confusion part, but everyone says that it’s natural for a 22 year old to feel that way. I’ll trust the forecast for now and put away the 45.

Anyway I don’t know what else to say so I’ll just stop here. I figure you’ll find out everything you need to know in due time.