twenty-something

Today, on my way to work, on the nine mile drive that can take, like this morning did, well over an hour to complete, there was a big, blue SUV in front of me for a few fleeting moments, an SUV with a bumper sticker slogan that stuck with me all day. "Wag More, Bark Less," it read.

Wag More. Bark Less.

Brilliant.

I spend a lot of time barking -- at my alarm clock, then at other cars or the PC I'm forced to use at work, sometimes at my family, sometimes over boys and often over bills. This adult stuff -- too much barking, man. Sometimes I get stressed out over how stressed out I am.

But there was this moment last weekend... I found myself in a random park in Arlington overlooking the city of Boston. Whiffleball bat in hand, new madras shoes on feet, foolish smile on my face, I was swinging away at pitches from my best friend and laughing my ass off.

Moments like these are fleeting. I don't remember the last time I'd had that much fun or been that happy. That's wagging, man.

I gotta start wagging more.

There's something about the new Death Cab for Cutie song that I can't get enough of. At eight minutes and thirty-five seconds, "I Will Possess Your Heart" is an unlikely single -- it's length a definite turn-off, especially since Ben Gibbard's vocals don't come in until 4:35, well over half-way through the track. But like the lyrics instruct, you gotta spend some time, love, you gotta spend some time with the song. Luckily, I have a hellish commute and I added the track to my spring driving playlist, forcing me to listen and quickly fall in love.

It opens straight out of 1994, like a lost alternarock song that would've been at home on alt radio with the titans of fourteen years ago -- Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, Live. I would've listened to and loved this early in high school and that fact surprisingly doesn't hurt the song, it makes it. Retro fits Death Cab well (and I'd much rather be reminded of '94 than '04, as the band usually evokes thoughts of the dearly departed The O.C. for me).

When he suggested brunch in the South End, I should have said no.

Brunch? South End?

Nothing against any of it, but that's just not me.

But I said yes. Because he was hot. And funny. So he got a pass, though mostly for being hot.

I'm tired of sleeping alone. It may be over 60 degrees in Boston today, but the nights are still cold and my bed, while big and comfy, usually just feels big. I don't necessarily want to have hot, dirty sex before sleeping -- although I certainly wouldn't say no -- but, damn it, I want somebody, and not just anybody, for some afterglow, cuddling, spooning, snoring, and lots of morning breath. (Don't get any ideas -- I'm not kinky about it, I just find it intimately and endearingly human.)

Ah, 2007. We hardly knew ye.

Another year, come and gone, and I can't find the words, cliché or not, to commemorate the passing of another 365 days. It's not that 2007 wasn't a formative or momentous year. It went by quickly, sure -- but it was important and worthy of remarks. It's just that I seriously can't find the words.

I suppose in a year when I could only muster a mere sixteen public and unsubstantial blog posts (and few bits of other writings that weren't published here), it's to be expected. The quantity and quality of my writing suffered in '07 (and - who am I kidding? - the latter half of 2006). Suffered? Hardly. My writing practically died. I'm out of practice. I'm lazy. I'm largely uninspired. I've had writer's block so crippling that I don't know that I can even call myself a writer anymore.

Am I finally, finally out of words?