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.

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).

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.

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?

Season's Greetings from this twenty-something in Boston.

There are other options, of course -- the Phoenix, Improper Bostonian -- but these are the free dailies, and these are the papers that hire people, real live people, to push the latest issue in your face. And therein lies the choice.

Michiganian Transplant at Malden Stop & Shop? - m4m - 27

Hard to believe that, one year ago, I was counting down the days before I left Vermont to move in with my best friend in Manhattan. One year ago, I was four days away from that big move. One year later, I'm four days away from another big move -- this one to a newly-renovated-but-very-familiar apartment five minutes north of downtown Boston with my other best friend. Yes, after three months living on E. 14th Street, a block from Union Square, I'm fully settled in Red Sox Nation and ready -- not just ready, wicked psyched -- for my next move to, technically, the 'burbs.

Is this where I would have foreseen myself when I left the Green Mountains for the Big City last year? Not a chance. My life's not particularly glamorous and it's far from perfect, but I'm a heck of a lot happier than I've been in a long time. And that, ultimately, is why I left Vermont -- which, for the record, I miss desperately, but I was desperately unhappy there. Those three months in New York and the last nine months here in Boston have been exactly what I needed, full of those things that my old life was so devoid of -- experience, excitement, mistakes, old friends and new blood -- and missing the things that took so much energy -- drama, stress, Duncan. And after a year of moving around, of new people and places, of practically non-stop dating, a year of good-byes and hellos and more good-byes, I am ready to settle down. To stop and smell the summer. To stop jumping and finally let myself fall.

Am I satisfied yet? Hell no. But I'm living a happier, healthier life here, one virtually free of oppressive blood drives, Chicken Charlie's, and a certain bad ex-boyfriend, and that's worth celebrating.

Danielle and I saw Josh Kelley at The Paradise here in Boston last Friday.

Though we were in the midst of the St. Paddy's Day nor'easter (which cancelled my NYC trip the following day) and Yelli's knee was in a brace, the show was fantastic. Josh was great, as were his opening acts (but where was Jennifer Paige?!).

Your Real Name: Patrick

Your Gangsta Name (1st 4 letters plus izzle): Patrizzle

Your Detective Name (fave color + fave animal): Blue Monkey

Your Soap Opera Name (middle name + childhood street): William Woodstock

Your Star Wars Name (last 3 letters of your last name + first 2 letters of your first name + first 3 letters of Mom's maiden name): Ondpathar

Your Superhero Name (2nd fave color + fave drink): Red Red Death

Your Witness Protection Name (Grandma/Grandpa's first name + Jones): John Jones

Your Goth Name (Black + name of one of your pets): Black Molly

Your American Idol Name (fav car and sea food): Jetta Calamari

Your Movie Star Name (sibling's middle name + mother's maiden name): Clark Harvey

Your Alter Ego (name of one your childhood pets + popular brand of clothes when you were young): Schmedley Levi

Your Lawyer Name (fav actor's last name + fav hard liquor): Owen Absolut

Your Hip Hop Name (fav candy + fruit): Jelly Belly Pear

New Yorkers -- Check out Revival, a "new old play" by Greg Turner (of Tea fame), beginning this week as part of the Frigid New York festival. Get more info at donotdisturbtheatre.com.

I read the play over Christmas and I loved it. There's a diva character that's just fantastic and the play is extra-fun because of her -- as the tagline says, "The leading lady always gets her way." You know I'm a fan of Greg's work because, c'mon, he's my best friend and happens to be a brilliant writer. And, of course, this is a damn good play.

(And how about that design work? That's by yours truly.)

Greg tells nytheatre.com:

I wrote this play after hearing about a play that was being revived on Broadway for the first time after thirty years. The playwright had, according to legend, written the play about his first failed marriage. Well this got wheels in my head turning… what if a playwright wrote about his leading lady? And what if she went on to become a huge star and left him behind and they never met again until the Broadway revival thirty years later? And that right there is what Revival is.

So when we bill Revival as "a new old play" what we're really saying is that it's a play within a play and the play within the play is the revival of a fictional play. That sounds confusing, I know, but trust me it's not confusing on the stage. It's clever and charming. It's certainly the charmingest thing I've ever written… I mean there will still be beautiful young people making out in their underwear, but that only adds to the charm of it all, right?

It would be trite to say that Revival will be a breath of fresh air in this "crazy mixed-up world" and I don't know if that's the case or not. And Revival won't help people decide what they want to do with their lives or which candidate they should vote for in the next election. But Revival will make people laugh and have a good time. People will definitely relate to the characters in the show. And I did mention that there will be beautiful people making out in their underwear.

I'll be there next Saturday because I love Greg's stuff.

But you? You should go whenever you can because everybody loves a diva (and hot making-out-in-undies stage scenes).

This is not a bomb, but it's now an eBay auction.

Yesterday, Boston was gripped by fear because of an ad campaign for the Cartoon Network show, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, worried that light-up cartoon characters were actually the work of terrorists. Me? My office had a little buzz and we saw a couple helicopters circling, but mainly I was afraid the Red Line would be shut down or backed up by the time I left for home. (It wasn't.)

Hey Boston -- over-react much? Clearly Beantown is unlikely to ever be the target of an attack, be it by Mooninites or terrorists.

Because, clearly, I would rather see any kind of cinematic trash than watch anything on any critic's "Best Of" list this awards season, I saw Jennifer Gardner's new rom-com, Catch and Release last night. 'Twas a cute movie and a fun little date night with a certain hot blonde. I'm discovering that I really like movies without any kind of pretention -- and this movie certainly wasn't putting on any airs. It was what it was, and I thought it was fun.

Worth the price of admission alone is Sam Jaeger (above, and right), perhaps the most perfect man I've ever seen. He's a decent actor and the epitome of my archetypical type. His performance isn't anything that extraordinary, but he does a good job as an unrequited everyman. Plus, he's so damn handsome it hurts. Add to the fact that his character a rugged, sensitive outdoorsy man in Boulder, and I'm hooked.

(Insert fisherman joke here.)

Sam Jaeger (how hot is that name?) -- will you marry me?

And since I'm clearly delusional, we can totally have a threeway ceremony with George and Callie and Burke and Christina.