Have you ever run into a B-list celebrity? You know, someone whose autograph you would've sought 10 years ago, but who now is just another citizen, living like (gulp) you? I have bumped into or met celebrities before, whether by accident or at a planned event. These names include Adam Sandler, Woody Harrelson, The Smothers Brothers, Artie Lange, Phil Helmuth, Tommy Davison, Shannon Elizabeth, and some reality t.v. stars whose names I forget. But as a sport's enthusiast, I feel different when it's an athlete. I have seen David Ortiz eating lunch in South Beach, seen Derek Jeter walking down Newbury St., met Walter McCarty twice, saw Eric Snow and some Sixers teammates in Vegas, and have been stuck behind Jason Varitek in post-game traffic. This rarity occurred again last week, when I met the unhearalded former Boston Celtic, David Wesley.
I was sitting with my buddy in a cheap corner breakfast spot on Commonwealth Ave. in Brighton. As we sat there enjoying our $5 feasts and coffee, we engaged in stimulating Tuesday morning conversation. We contemplated why this seemingly All-American diner was fully operated by short, Asian women. Isn't it weird how in a chinese restaurant, you can't go more than 10 seconds without having a waiter re-fill your water to the very top, almost to the point of spilling, whereas here we practically had to throw silverware at them to get a coffee re-fill? Next, we discussed how such a popular venue for hung-over college kids on the weekends could exist without a bathroom. Seriously, I'm sure at least twice a Sunday someone unexpectedly needs to puke or develops violent diarrea after a full plate of chocolate-chip pancakes.
Suddenly, my friend sees a tall, black man standing outside. "Is that David Wesley?" he asks excitedly. I turn, and immediately notice his bald head and trademark oversized ears. "That is David Wesley!" I excitedly respond. An event this large doesn't happen to normal guys like us. When I've seen public figures in the past, I usually avoided conversation, but I felt different. Maybe this was due to the fact that only a dozen or so people were within shouting distance of the restaurant. I turned and jogged outside before he could get away. "David Wesley?" I inquire. He nodded, while the younger girl he was with, a blonde with gigantic boobs, sort of rolled her eyes, as if this happened all the time. Did she think she was dating Mick Jagger? "Sorry to bother you," I continued, "big fan." "Nice to meet you" he responded, as he politely smiled and shook my hand.
As if he smelled the fine aroma from my feta, spinach, and bacon omelette, he lead his girlfriend inside, and promptly asked the hostess where the bathroom was. My friend and I started convulsing with laughter, having just finished discussing how stupid it was that they didn't have one. Wesley inquired aloud, "No bathroom?", before choosing an open table by the window where he could stretch out his abnormally long legs. My friend asked, "When you coming back to the Celtics?", while Wesley chuckled and announced, "I'm retired." "They could use you," I noted, though half-heartedly since it was sad to admit that my beloved Celtics would actually benefit from having a solid, though unspectacular 36 year-old point guard running their offense. "Nah, they don't need me," he said with a smile.
With his relatively short responses, we figured it was probably time to end the conversation. You generally get about a 20 second window to make small-talk with someone famous before you become an intrusion in their lives. So we finished our meal, asked for the check, and left. In the car on the way back home, we laughed until it hurt, in large part because this entire event was so random. What was David Wesley doing not only at that restaurant, but in Brighton no-less? Though officially part of Boston, the Allston/Brighton area is basically populated by students who can find some decent bars and cheap apartments. Was a $5 breakfast all a professional athlete could afford? Was his girlfriend a student who lived in the area? I know he wasn't going there for the service. I wonder if he lived in our building?
For two guys in their mid-twenties, this was a wake-up call. Often, the things that matter most to you when you are a teenager aren't really important in the grand scheme of things. If this event happened when I was 10, I probably would've excitedly asked my dad to go get Wesley's autograph, while I ducked my head and avoided eye-contact at all costs. Now an older and wiser being, it's easier to understand that people are ultimately, just that, people. Maybe not exactly like me, being they were for a time, rich and famous (at least locally). But once your career is over, once your name is no longer in the newspaper, once people are no longer cheering your name in the closing seconds of a ball-game, all that matters really is how you conduct yourself and what kind of person you are.
To this end, Wesley passed the test. In the brief seconds we spoke with him, he was engaging and respectful, and even smiled a couple of times. I'm sure there are plenty of former athletes who wouldn't have. And while Wesley has undoutedly already forgotten our encounter, my friend and I are left with a good story to tell our friends. Even at the ripe-old age of 26, a chance meeting such as this can prove to be a significant experience.
Reel Opinions on Movies
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The First Post - Getting to Know Me
Why did I use 'my girlfriend's sleeping' as a title for my blog? Well, it took some thought, but this made sense for a couple of reasons . . .
1. It's kind of catchy, admit it. I see that headline and I want to know what's going on while some guy's girlfriend is sleeping. Now where your mind goes with this is your business and not for me to judge. I take it there are guys out there who will see this title and expect a blog devoted to kinky sex stories. You know, "My girlfriend was sleeping, so I called so-and-so to hang out and one thing lead to another . . ." Sorry to disappoint, but that's not me. I have less game than Peter Parker. So if I am lucky enough to meet a girl who's as cool, funny, pretty, sexy, intelligent, and witty as my girlfriend, not to mention a girl who can tolerate all my weird attributes for more than 5 minutes, I'm not gonna risk losing her.
2. It's a problem far too many guys can relate to. You're lying down with your girlfriend on a Wednesday night. She's been working all day, came home a little bit cranky, isn't thrilled you didn't take the initiative to arrange for dinner (even dialing for take-out would've been appreciated), and is in need of some quiet time. Meanwhile, you're thinking, I haven't seen her all day, it's 11 pm, and it's time to fool around. Some people are morning people, others are night owls. I am a long-standing, distinguished member of the latter group. So I get horny right around the time she decides to end her day. Better luck tomorrow.
3. I swear, I am most productive after my girlfriend's asleep. But in truth it's not just her, it's everyone and everything; family, roomates, dogs, Letterman, Sportscenter, friends who might be drunk-dialing . . . I don't seem to get anything done until I am all alone in the middle of the night. Some people prefer the hustle and bustle of a busy work day. It keeps them focused and energized. Not me. Being productive is a wishful thought, one I am ill-equipped to handle until the rest of the world has said good-night. That's when the wheels start spinning in my brain. This is nothing new to me. As an avid supporter of procrastination, I never began my assignments until well past the point when others had finished. This was true of term papers or studying for mid-terms. Friends used to think I was nuts. Their popular question "You haven't even started?" was typically followed by something along the lines of "I'll get going at 2, once Cocktail is over." I would rather watch the final hour of a mediocre 80's Tom Cruise flick for the 67th time on TBS than start something that requires my undivided attention and is, afterall, important!
So why start this blog at all? Why not sit on the couch with my hand down my pants and watch the 100th re-run of The Soup Nazi episode, hoping to win the lottery? Well, much to my dismay I've discovered that winning the lottery is somewhat less than a sure thing. I have lots of friends who work and seem to be making good money, if not fully enjoying their jobs. While I am not dying to join the club, I am self-aware enough to realize that sharing the same aspirations as Office Space's Peter Gibbons is not the wisest way to go through life. I am 26 yers old, a full 4 years removed from a very good college, and am slowly piecing together what I hope will be a fullfilling and successful adventure. I have tried a little bit. I worked at J.Crew for about a year, which I will undoubtedly mention as the worst job I've ever had when I am one day interviewed by Barbara Walters. For the last few years I have been teaching on-and-off at a pre-school, or molding young minds as I like to say. The job is not without it's perks, most of which involve feeling good at the end of the day knowing I have done something beneficial for another person. I seem to have an amazing bond with children, perhaps because I am at the same maturity level. But ultimately, there was far too much beaurocratic non-sense at the school for me to take it seriously anymore. The woman in charge of the program understood less about children than Bush does about politics. There were days I wondered aloud if she had won the job through some sort of public contest.
One thing I have always loved to do is write. People tell me I am creative and entertaining. I wrote a screenplay in college and would love to see it become a film one day. Apparantly that involves a lot more work on my end, so I will let it go for now. I majored in psychology, mainly because my school didn't offer a film major. I learned a lot with psychology, and found behavioral studies fascinating. Exploring why humans dream, why we act out in certain situtations, the effects of certain drugs on one's psyche, what attracts one person to another . . . . these elements have meaning. However, after discovering that I would be required to take some heavy research labs, not to mention spend hours studying the insignificant, yet overwhelming texts that accompany biology and psychobiology, I knew it wasn't for me. Seriously, what attracts people to science? They must love the smell of plants or something. All I know is that if I ever have to look at a cell through a microscope again, I may be arrested for setting a lab on fire.
I love movies, which are probably my favorite past-time. If time and money were no object, I'd probably see 4 a week. I also love sport's, but only the "real" sports. I'm talking about baseball, football, and basketball. I will likely enrage readers by claiming other "sports" are not really sports at all. One of which is poker, ironically my other favorite hobby. If a few days have gone by without my posting a message or article, it probably means I am in Connecticut at Foxwoods playing no-limit texas hold'em with hundreds of degenerates with nothing better to do. I am passionate about poker, but nobody will ever convince me it's a sport. A sport by my estimation involves moving quickly and sweating (sorry Golfers) and in this regard, poker is no more a sport than bowling or chess. Additionally, sports are games contested by real people, not machines, so anyone who tries to convince me that auto-racing qualifies will be smacked upside the head and laughed at. Nascar in on the same level as playstation Madden.
I grew up in the suburbs outside of Boston and still live in the area. I really like it here, though as someone not too big on change, I wonder if there are other places I'd enjoy more. I could definitely see myself moving to NYC, L.A., San Francisco (insert almost any heavily-populated city with plenty of Jews so I don't feel like an outcast). The one exception I'd make is Las Vegas, which I am convinced is the most exciting city in the world. It's worth noting I have never left the country however, with the exception of a 4 day camp trip to Montreal when I was 15. Seeing the world is something I would love to do, but I am taking baby-steps to get there. After graduation I drove cross-country with my best friend and took my first initiative toward discovering what else was out there. Free advice; There is nothing worth seeing between New Orleans and Colorado unless you enjoy driving through a desolate wasteland with more cows than humans.
So that's me 'in a nutshell' (who invented this strange phrase anyway?). I hope you enjoy what I have to say. I have strong opinions about topics that interest me, and welcome your comments and feedback. Please visit and know that your mindless web surfing is keeping me busy. To my people, that's called a Mitzvah.
Enjoy,
Pavs
1. It's kind of catchy, admit it. I see that headline and I want to know what's going on while some guy's girlfriend is sleeping. Now where your mind goes with this is your business and not for me to judge. I take it there are guys out there who will see this title and expect a blog devoted to kinky sex stories. You know, "My girlfriend was sleeping, so I called so-and-so to hang out and one thing lead to another . . ." Sorry to disappoint, but that's not me. I have less game than Peter Parker. So if I am lucky enough to meet a girl who's as cool, funny, pretty, sexy, intelligent, and witty as my girlfriend, not to mention a girl who can tolerate all my weird attributes for more than 5 minutes, I'm not gonna risk losing her.
2. It's a problem far too many guys can relate to. You're lying down with your girlfriend on a Wednesday night. She's been working all day, came home a little bit cranky, isn't thrilled you didn't take the initiative to arrange for dinner (even dialing for take-out would've been appreciated), and is in need of some quiet time. Meanwhile, you're thinking, I haven't seen her all day, it's 11 pm, and it's time to fool around. Some people are morning people, others are night owls. I am a long-standing, distinguished member of the latter group. So I get horny right around the time she decides to end her day. Better luck tomorrow.
3. I swear, I am most productive after my girlfriend's asleep. But in truth it's not just her, it's everyone and everything; family, roomates, dogs, Letterman, Sportscenter, friends who might be drunk-dialing . . . I don't seem to get anything done until I am all alone in the middle of the night. Some people prefer the hustle and bustle of a busy work day. It keeps them focused and energized. Not me. Being productive is a wishful thought, one I am ill-equipped to handle until the rest of the world has said good-night. That's when the wheels start spinning in my brain. This is nothing new to me. As an avid supporter of procrastination, I never began my assignments until well past the point when others had finished. This was true of term papers or studying for mid-terms. Friends used to think I was nuts. Their popular question "You haven't even started?" was typically followed by something along the lines of "I'll get going at 2, once Cocktail is over." I would rather watch the final hour of a mediocre 80's Tom Cruise flick for the 67th time on TBS than start something that requires my undivided attention and is, afterall, important!
So why start this blog at all? Why not sit on the couch with my hand down my pants and watch the 100th re-run of The Soup Nazi episode, hoping to win the lottery? Well, much to my dismay I've discovered that winning the lottery is somewhat less than a sure thing. I have lots of friends who work and seem to be making good money, if not fully enjoying their jobs. While I am not dying to join the club, I am self-aware enough to realize that sharing the same aspirations as Office Space's Peter Gibbons is not the wisest way to go through life. I am 26 yers old, a full 4 years removed from a very good college, and am slowly piecing together what I hope will be a fullfilling and successful adventure. I have tried a little bit. I worked at J.Crew for about a year, which I will undoubtedly mention as the worst job I've ever had when I am one day interviewed by Barbara Walters. For the last few years I have been teaching on-and-off at a pre-school, or molding young minds as I like to say. The job is not without it's perks, most of which involve feeling good at the end of the day knowing I have done something beneficial for another person. I seem to have an amazing bond with children, perhaps because I am at the same maturity level. But ultimately, there was far too much beaurocratic non-sense at the school for me to take it seriously anymore. The woman in charge of the program understood less about children than Bush does about politics. There were days I wondered aloud if she had won the job through some sort of public contest.
One thing I have always loved to do is write. People tell me I am creative and entertaining. I wrote a screenplay in college and would love to see it become a film one day. Apparantly that involves a lot more work on my end, so I will let it go for now. I majored in psychology, mainly because my school didn't offer a film major. I learned a lot with psychology, and found behavioral studies fascinating. Exploring why humans dream, why we act out in certain situtations, the effects of certain drugs on one's psyche, what attracts one person to another . . . . these elements have meaning. However, after discovering that I would be required to take some heavy research labs, not to mention spend hours studying the insignificant, yet overwhelming texts that accompany biology and psychobiology, I knew it wasn't for me. Seriously, what attracts people to science? They must love the smell of plants or something. All I know is that if I ever have to look at a cell through a microscope again, I may be arrested for setting a lab on fire.
I love movies, which are probably my favorite past-time. If time and money were no object, I'd probably see 4 a week. I also love sport's, but only the "real" sports. I'm talking about baseball, football, and basketball. I will likely enrage readers by claiming other "sports" are not really sports at all. One of which is poker, ironically my other favorite hobby. If a few days have gone by without my posting a message or article, it probably means I am in Connecticut at Foxwoods playing no-limit texas hold'em with hundreds of degenerates with nothing better to do. I am passionate about poker, but nobody will ever convince me it's a sport. A sport by my estimation involves moving quickly and sweating (sorry Golfers) and in this regard, poker is no more a sport than bowling or chess. Additionally, sports are games contested by real people, not machines, so anyone who tries to convince me that auto-racing qualifies will be smacked upside the head and laughed at. Nascar in on the same level as playstation Madden.
I grew up in the suburbs outside of Boston and still live in the area. I really like it here, though as someone not too big on change, I wonder if there are other places I'd enjoy more. I could definitely see myself moving to NYC, L.A., San Francisco (insert almost any heavily-populated city with plenty of Jews so I don't feel like an outcast). The one exception I'd make is Las Vegas, which I am convinced is the most exciting city in the world. It's worth noting I have never left the country however, with the exception of a 4 day camp trip to Montreal when I was 15. Seeing the world is something I would love to do, but I am taking baby-steps to get there. After graduation I drove cross-country with my best friend and took my first initiative toward discovering what else was out there. Free advice; There is nothing worth seeing between New Orleans and Colorado unless you enjoy driving through a desolate wasteland with more cows than humans.
So that's me 'in a nutshell' (who invented this strange phrase anyway?). I hope you enjoy what I have to say. I have strong opinions about topics that interest me, and welcome your comments and feedback. Please visit and know that your mindless web surfing is keeping me busy. To my people, that's called a Mitzvah.
Enjoy,
Pavs
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