5 years ago, I graduated from college. A 22-year-old brimming over with optimism in a giddy New York paradise.

I learned a lot in 5 years. 

For one, it’s not all jam. And then, it is in fact, all jam.

I learned, nay, discovered that not everyone likes me.

I learned that not everyone likes me…again.

5 years older and all the more wiser? Seems subjective to me; some may think I matured while others might see the same Joey D today in 2012 as they did in 2007. I know that upon self-reflection, I can at least assert that I gained (er, I guess I could say learned) not only the above but also the following:

I can drink a lot less now than five, sweet years ago.

It’s harder to slim down (when you need a slimin’).

Getting laid off is not the end of the world but, in fact, kinda cool sometimes.

Yes, you still like pop music. As much as you did in college.

Still a DJ. Kinda.

“He’s gay?”

I ought not swim in the Pacific, nor any body of liquid, with a magnetized rental car key.

No pants subway rides are awesome (on a side note, I have “the best calves” in New York!)

Driving in the city becomes easier; parking in the city does not. I’ve got an orange ticket collage to prove it.

[Facebook’s format changed what, like, 500,000 times in the last 5 years…?]

Friends can become lovers. And lovers become friends, or nothing at all.

2467 Belmont in the Bronx is a thing of the past. But forever in memories. So is Banco Popular and Blockbuster rentals. I can’t think of a show, besides “Family Guy,” that I watched back then and still watch now. 

There’s oh so much more.

… … …

That’s how I’ll leave it this time, with a series of ellipses so you, me, and anyone can ponder the whirlwind of staggering change, or lingering normalcy in 5 years time. 

Why do we do what we do?

It’s a question with anthropological, sociological, child-like, adult-like, scientific, general, insightful, and simple implications.

Some say we’re creatures of habit; we adopt patterns and styles of those around us. We are built to survive, so when we seemingly have all we need “to survive,” we do what we do to fill that void. In other words, we create drama, gossip, and challenges for ourselves, ironically, in order to fulfill our primal needs.

Some regard the question from a theological standpoint; they say that all life adheres to a religious code which declares that humans ought to do everything with divine intentions. “Live like Jesus/Buddha/[insert diety here],” they say.

Others look at pure science. “Cells multiply, we evolve; our genetic code dictates how we look, talk, act. They are the key to the ignition of our being. Everything we do comes from biology. “We don’t necessarily ‘fall in love;’ chemical reactions tell our bodies we need to, and then we copulate,” they’d assert.

Some people don’t know. Some conveniently avoid the question, as if it’s so simple yet so unbelievably complex they’d rather not talk about it. Some feel everything we say and do is fueled by carnal desires. Some people talk of class, status, and education.

I don’t know why we do what we do. All I can do is speculate. But I can qualify emotions, the word we’ve given to describe a blush, a sweat, a glaring stare, and a sweet, gentle smile. These fuel most of what what we do. These biological, chemical reactions. I don’t know exactly where they come from or what triggers them each time. I just know they are real and quite palpable.

Emotions are the reason there is no longer a World Trade Center in New York. Love of God; hatred of the West. They’re the reason a man dies at the hands of another man when he discovers the former in bed with his wife. They’re the reason you cry in Titanic. The reason we laugh at Martin Short in Father of the Bride or in real life when a young child unknowingly says a curse word.

So if our emotions dictate all these things, one might ask why we often let other things - like a yearly salary, skin color, “normal protocol,” and other social mores - define our actions. It seems counterintuitive. It might even conjure more emotions, “WHY are we so blind? I can’t believe we’ve become like that…it’s infuriating…”

I think our intrinsic emotions and the human nature to react, or not react, is so potent that it overrides reason. Philosopher Immanuel Kant, who argued the categorical imperative that humans are “rational beings” who have the mental capacity that ought to allow them to ‘think before they act’ would be horrified at this assertion.

I believe it. The security guard is always going to deny access to lowly, investigative journalist trying to get to the shady investment banker’s penthouse suite because he doesn’t want to lose his job.  A family in Berlin in 1938 will keep quiet about their Jewish neighbors disappearing in ‘Kristallnacht’ because they don’t want to disappear themselves.  The boy kisses the girl. The girl then slaps him because in her culture a kiss on the first date is forbidden. In these cases, these passionate emotions of utter fear, disgust, or blatant surprise will cause these people to react on that initial gut feeling, as if being held hostage and paralyzed. Their heart of hearts, upon further reflection, knows the “right thing” - learn the truth, stand up for my lost neighbors, speak out, kiss him back because I love him, etc. - but it will never be.  As another philosopher (perhaps Mill) said, “reason and morality is a slave to passions.”

9/11 might be the most loaded phrase in American vernacular.

Hearing it, thinking it, saying it conjures images of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, Al-Qaeda, Bin Laden, terrorism, destruction, fireighters…the list is unending.

If you’re reading this now, you might be recalling your own mental picture of that day…

September 11, 2001 is often referred to as simply “9/11,” as if its epic nature renders all prior and future September 11th’s irrelevant; there is now and forevermore only one 9/11. 

Personally, I regard no day prior and since as more impactful, vicious, or hopeless (and I wasn’t even living in New York at the time!) Even miles away in Ohio I sensed the negativity in the air; felt the extreme loss. Arguably, nothing has effected the masses like the events of that bright, unsuspecting September morning. So imagine a child’s point of view on this tragic piece of history; imagine trying to teach schoolchildren, or your own child, about 9/11.

How do you do it?

Everyone would embrace different ways of tackling the issue. Some might relay the watered down version, “well, some bad people took airplanes, hit buildings, and made those buildings fall down; it was sad” whereas others might delve in and say, “Terrorism means causing fear and terror in others, and this is just what a group of radicals called Al-Qaeda did on this day…” How much information is too much? In the spirit of history and truth, shall we uncensor our version of the story a la Shinder’s List?

Of course, there will be a time (probably in the not so distant future) when children will not shudder, feel saddened, or revert into a nostalgic state upon seeing an image of the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. Not because they’ve forgotton; rather, they’ll never know they existed in the first place.

Conversely in my age group, a quick skyline shot featuring the WTC in a TV show, movie, old magazine or book immediately evokes images of 9/11. We no longer see the shiny, metallic twin brothers rising proudly into the sky.  Like a car accident victim, we relive the day when we regard the old World Trade Center. We see the towers being destroyed, burning, and not as they were: bold symbols of international commerce, capitalism, and the “great American city…”

Either way, a conversation about this day paves the way for a history lesson, perhaps a cultural awakening, and has many implications about human nature; the way we were, the way we are now, and the way we’ve always been. Teaching a child about 9/11 is essentially painting them a picture of the world at large, and an uncensored version means admitting to that child the planet they call home is not always a great place. In fact, surrendering (even if a part of) one’s youthful, blissful innocence is a casualty of telling the story. Like taxes and fees to a shipping order, “loss of innocence” may apply when hearing this tale and trying to absorb its meaning.

For young, inquiring minds maybe the best approach is cold, objective facts - this is what happened chronologically that day and thereafter - and as they learn more about the world and its people, they can begin to interpret 9/11 for themselves. Maybe only at an older, less naive age can they truly grasp the severity and scope of the events that befell. 

However you recall the story, one tale neither heard nor known is that of the victims themselves. Those who never escaped; those who died instantly, or those who suffered. See, all one knows of 9/11 is his or her empirical understanding of the day, most likely seared into the brain from a relentless stream of images: planes crashing, skyscrapers burning, bodies falling, people gripped in fear and overcome with emotion.

The story that will never be known is from those who couldn’t watch the news and hear the anchor commentary. From those who were not lucky enough to be standing on the street outside, looking up in disbelief. From those who were oblivious to what was happening as they were unwillingly turned into human missiles. 

This 9/11 story, probably for the best, can only ever be speculated.

I think it’s best that way; not knowing what sort of hell-on-earth scenario these people lived will allow us to believe they had hope, whether or not that was the case, and that they did not suffer long.  Our lack of knowledge somehow makes their story more genuine, because it will never be up for discussion; up for debate by human minds. Only omniscient, divine beings may know the truth. And that’s for them. For us, the “peace” of not knowing is the preservation of their memory as they were - and an unyielding respect and gratitude for their heroism, their amazing spirit, and their lives.

The Offspring’s “Want You Bad” was the inspiration for this entry.  

While listening to it recently, for the first time I discovered it’s actually a very sad song. Behind the band’s demonstrative, heavy guitar riffs and passionate, rhythmic drumming, lead singer Dexter Holland sings fervently about a boy yearning for a special girl. Maybe it’s love, or just lust (probably the latter, hence “all tattooed” and “X-Rated” in a “vinyl suit”), but either way he wants her so bad he’s losing his mind. Relentless desire, coupled with continued frustration at the fact that - let’s face it - she just doesn’t get it, is driving this poor boy to the brink of insanity.

(Maybe she’s just not that into you, Dexter…) :D

In all seriousness, some of us have been there. It’s gut-wrenching and awful.

Furthermore depressing is the fact that “Want You Bad” has no resolution. It’s simply a song about a guy brimming with desire; it remains to be seen if her ‘bad desire’ is him. The listening audience is left without that “Pretty Woman” moment of satisfaction when - alas! what does he see? She’s walking back to him! (One may argue that Roy Orbison’s cat meow might just be enough to lure any woman).

The song reminds me of “the other side” of love; a side some of us know all too well. It’s the side where Beauty ditches the Beast for Gaston; the side where Rachel marries the womanizing Italian model and never gets with Ross. On this side, Jim settles for another “Pam” and his heart breaks a little more each time he sees “real Pam” with that douchebag, Roy. Basically, it’s the dimension where everything you know about love, from virtually ALL media, is wrong.

Why are we hardly ever exposed to “the other” love story?

Of course it doesn’t make sense that we ever would know that tale. We’re all rooting for Ross & Rachel; Jim & Pam. Our beloved sitcom and movie couples paint the picture of what love should be: longing for and fighting for someone and finally achieving success. Seeing these lovers satiate their desires and win out, against all odds, is what we want and pay for (it’s what advertisers pay the networks for!!) Love must prevail, and always in the most epic way.

The reality, that sometimes douchebags get and end up with the girl or perfectly loveable girls don’t find their prince charming, would never sell. It’s dark and dreary. It’s what it’s like when the cameras are off. Silence. No musical score by John Williams. No flight simulation and passionate kiss on the bow of the Titanic.

For those who never watched the show “Friends,” the passionate love story between Ross and Rachel was a central theme; he loved her for over 10 years before they finally dated. Rachel never knew Ross existed for most of those 10 years and went through a barrage of “wrong” guys for her, naturally, until finally on one rainy night in the dimly lit door frame of Central Perk, the group’s local hangout, they kissed. The music revved up; the rest is history.

In my life I’ve had many “Rachels” to my “Ross.” Except there was no spontaneous and life-changing kiss to make my love story a story. Many of these Rachels are now getting married off.

And It’s not just me.

Many people, just like Dexter in his song, have chased after someone else only to learn the harsh truth - they’re just not interested. Or they’re with someone they love. Or they’re married or absolutely not interested and probably never will be. The rejection is real (unlike in the romantic comedies when the girl says, “absolutely no way!” and 30 minutes later she’s in bed with that guy).

In truth it seems, the other guy or girl you’re competing against is not the heartless @sshole or raging bitch the other guy or girl always seems to be, but in fact the love of that person’s life. And on this side, that’s tough to take.

I group myself in the category of “other sider” because right now, that’s where I am. This is not to say us folk won’t find love; find someone special. It’s just that we haven’t really had that epic moment yet or prevailed over the “wrong” person and became the “right” one for anyone. We want people we can’t have, but feel we deserve. We struggle to understand why.

Here’s hoping anyone living the other love story will seek out, and get, the Rachel to his Ross or vice versa.

Never give up hope that they’re out there…

Perhaps the only thing constant in life is change.

Society deems this natural process as, “often difficult, but ultimately rewarding; necessary for the growth and progression of our planet.”

I mean, without change, where would we be? Still lowly serfs fearing the Lord of the Manor? Still fervently believing the earth was the center of the universe, flat like a pancake? Still chasing after the wooly mammoth; still sealing envelopes with hot wax and waiting a fortnight for any sort of correspondence…

For the functionality AND longevity of any society, change seems almost imperative; so, we’re conditioned to try and embrace it.

On the personal level, the rules of change also apply; I think a healthy dose is crucial for any individual’s well being. But how much change is too much? Is it possible to become disillusioned with an ever-changing landscape; a series of new and uncertain beginnings? If nothing ever remains the same in our lives can we actually become cynical about it? 

In the story of my life, especially the last five years, “change” is a core theme - a tune that has neither regressed nor played out. In that timeframe, I lived in five apartments. Dated a few dozen people. Showed up for work at over five different addresses. Friends went astray, some for good. Conversely, I met and bonded with countless others. I once had a car. Now I ride the subway again. I once had a bike(s). Now I walk, one foot after the other, again.

Much like the iconic Empire State Building in my previous post, amidst it all, I’m still here, standly (er, proudly) with all these experiences locked deep inside. However as a person - and clearly not a 1200-foot tall structure - I cannot silently stand back, objectively assessing each story. My humanity, for better or worse, attaches emotions and opinions to each encounter. My soul, unlike the metallic and concrete one of New York’s tallest, will feel. Respond. Judge. Carry “emotional” weight.

Whereas many of the changes I mentioned made my life richer, more fulfilling, definitely more interesting, and often hilarious - I feel they’ve also taken a toll on me.  On a macro level, the periods leading up to many of these changes were stressful, worrisome, and trying. The uncertainty of life - even if you “know,” you don’t really “know” until you “know” - makes placidity and peace of mind quite difficult.  Reaching new frontiers and having to reinvent constantly each year, month, or day keeps one sharp, but could it slowly wear on a person, becoming more stressful than helpful, and eventually numbing them down to an apathetic or cynical Eeyore?

I would generally agree that change keeps me on my toes, allows for new ideas and new perspectives, and often results in hilarity. But whether or not it’s “beneficial” or something I could have less of in the long run is yet to be see in my life; whether this lack of stagnation in ANY area is more harmful than helpful, or vice versa.

What do you think?

To sum up, before I even begin, I’ll refer to a status update from awhile back:

“Arguably the most iconic building in the five boroughs, the Empire State Building has inspired many a picture. Even as modern day Gotham bustles at her feet, often oblivious to her presence, she still serves as a comforting reminder of the classy charm of old New York!”

The Empire State building, in New York City’s “Midtown” (a district whose name, most likely, arose from this building’s existence there), is portrayed frequently in movies, television shows, and other forms of mass media as a point-of-reference; you ARE in New York because you are seeing “her.”  She’s classically beautiful; maybe the “Eiffel Tower” of Manhattan. She’s become more “New York” than the city itself; without her, the blueprint of Gotham would seem broken, incomplete.

My personal fascination with and appreciation of this landmark is stronger now than when I first arrived at her feet.  I still stop and stare, snap pictures at different angles and times of day, and am ever intrigued by her story and her epic-yet silent-presence in the city she calls home.

She seemed to leap into the sky out of almost nowhere; from the nothingness of depression quickly emerged anew a bold, pristine structure in less than fourteen months (often times, more than one floor was finished each week!!) She symbolized productivity and strength in a climate wrought with declining wages, jobs, and hope.

Here, in the middle of Manhattan, after one of the worst days in America and the world’s economic history - people were working again. We were creating, moving onward (and upward), and it was no secret.

The resilience of a people, and the world, was evident at the corner of 34th Street and 5th Avenue.

Eighty years ago she opened her doors, proudly de-throning her neighbor a mere eight blocks away as “New York’s tallest” and subsequently creating a long, rather poetic sibling rivalry with said neighbor. The Chrysler building, although architecturally stunning and as iconic as her younger but taller sister seems perpetually dwarfed by her - only in a few pictures at a few rare angles does the Chrysler building seem larger than the Empire State - even though in reality they’re ‘almost’ the same height. 

For awhile, she was referred to as “The Empty State Building.” Times were hard; tenants were scarce.

But ultimately, this building named after the state - and city - she represents, prevailed.

She’s there when you’re walking southbound on Lexington Avenue with your dog; there while you’re strolling casually in a city park with iPod in hand. She’s silently poised in the background as you steal a kiss on the balcony; type furiously at your office desk. She’s there always, a non-intrusive yet very realpresence for the millions who walk at her feet each day.  And that’s just what I love about her - her unchanging role as New York’s “keeper of secrets.”  She stands objectively by while the beating heart and constant hum of the city pulsates below; she is no stranger to the peaceful and malevolent acts that transpire each day.

Times may change, people move in and out, buildings collapse, fires burn, children laugh, balloons and airplanes fly high in the sky. Through it all - she (I somehow imagine her as a female, for whatever reason) is THERE, brick and mortar, sweat and tears, taking it all in; judging no one and remaining silent, wiser by the minute.

Within her she’s retained the old, “art deco” architectural charm of 1930s Gotham and is a never-ending reminder of the classic, jubilant eras preceding us - “what was.” Yet as we’re often unaware or not mindful of that glory of yesteryear which she so proudly embodies, she inevitably becomes now more than ever a symbol of “what is” and “what will be,” still culturally relevant even as modern day New York whizzes faster into the future and looses a bit of that old flare.

She’s still there.

Circle one: M of F. Which is yours? Which do you identify with most?

Most of us would, without hesitation, circle the gender to which we subscribe. We’re just taught it that way. I’m male. You’re female. He’s a he. She’s a she.

Most of us know that our gender differs slightly from our sex; as in, gender may refer more to traits and characteristics whereas sex is objective-if you have a penis, you’re male. If you have a vagina, you’re female. Right?

Yet often times, society views ‘gender’ and ‘sex’ as synonymous or equal, in every way.

A friend and I recently discussed gender and its meaning and place in this modern society. He suggested that homosexual males or females, although phenotypically ‘male’ or ‘female,’ may align more with the opposite gender (boys who love boys may possess more feminine characteristics, and vice versa); thus, he feels they have ‘transcended gender,’ or in a way rendered it obsolete.

I thought about it a lot. Was he right? Does society limit certain (or all) individuals because of its emphasis on traditional gender roles? And are those who defy or see beyond gender more culturally or societally advanced than those of us who don’t?

I suppose we won’t-and can’t-understand the course of human evolution. But what if in a thousand years a person’s gender will be regarded as an inhibitor - a mere label affixed to them so as to keep them ‘inside the lines’? 

I agree; a majority of us certainly seem ‘male’ with token male mannerisms and habits or ‘female,’ smelling, acting, talking feminine. But when one crosses the boundary and becomes, if just for a second, less of a “man” or “too butch to be a female,” they are condemned, mocked, severly ridiculed, or merely misunderstood, 

There are “guy’s girls,” “Tomboys,” “sissies,” “sensitive guys.” Maybe these are ‘gender blenders,’ or simply those who are predominately one gender but exhibit traits of the other from time to time.

For those who don’t follow the cardinal rule of each gender - liking those of the opposite gender - they are judged, or often deemed “odd,” because of gender itself. Males should like females; it’s innate and a key ingredient in who they are. Females should like males for the same reason.

Alas, gender seems to be the only reason large parts of society still view homosexuality as “weird,” “immoral,” or “off.”

Why do we do that?

The emphasis we place on these roles allows us to use enact discriminatory measures against “gender blenders” or “gender offenders,” those who don’t like who they’re supposed to like (as dictated by gender!) 

If people are people, and love is love, what does it matter?

Perhaps this where the next level of the evolutionary process comes into play. Will we trend toward less importance on gender and more importance on real, genuine human relations? Will we be more tolerant of traits as traits-compassion, sensitivity, toughness, sheer excitement-and not as “gender markers”?

I sure hope so.

Modern Family is arguably the best show on television.

Why do I, and why does America, love these ‘modern families’ so much?

For those who aren’t familiar with the plot, this is the story of 3 families: Jay, the patriarch, re-marries a younger Colombian woman named Gloria who brings son Manny with her from a previous marriage. Jay’s kids are Clare and Mitchell; Clare is married to Phil and they have 3 kids (Luke, Haley, Alex). Mitchell’s partner is Cameron and their daughter is baby Lilly. 

One could say, very simply, it’s a well-written and humorous show; who doesn’t love an attractive, vivacious latino woman with an attitude or a flamboyant gay guy with sassiness and a great sense of humor?

But I think this show is more than just Will and Grace meets In Living Color.

Every single character in the cast is infinitely humorous and therefore very easily exploitable for our enjoyment.  Although on the surface our beloved characters are simple enough for the average American to “get” and even to connect with, each also possesses a deeper innateness - a “Glorianess” “Jayness” “Philness” and “Camness” - a wide and endearing range of quirks that delight and amuse the viewing audience.  The greatest part? Their discovery, exploration and cultivation of these quirks is what keeps us watching, and is what I believe makes the show so spectacular.

Certain mothers will identify with Clare; defending her over-bearing character and always wanting more of her charmingly neurotic ways.  Happy-go-lucky dads trying to “get” their kids will always understand Phil’s story; they’ll laugh at every awkward moment, at Ty Burrell’s mastery of physical comedy, at each and every voice inflection or facial contortion.  Patriarchs will see eye-to-eye with Jay, the “rock” in the family, constantly finding himself in amusing or awkward situations as he tries desperately to shake his traditional ways and immerse himself in the culture and lifestyle of his wife, son, and step-son.  Awkward pre-teen boys, or formerly awkward pre-teen boys (myself included) will see themselves in Luke; his absent-mindedness, hilarious one-liners, and his extremely genuine boyhood obliviousness. 

For me, I can certainly identify with both Luke and Manny (Gloria’s younger son) - not just because it can be hard finding your place in “the in between” of boy and man - but because I’ve been both; the socially awkward and clumsy Luke, and the overly analytical and “feeling too mature for my age” Manny. I get a warm nostalgic feeling experiencing these characters play out their roles.

I’m sure sisters everywhere attach the same nostalgia to the Haley and Alex characters; Haley is the “pretty” and popular one and Alex is the bookworm and scholar. I find their dynamic funny and palpable; even though in my house it was always a brother-sister scenario, my sister and I were always playing off of each other’s strengths and weaknesses, constantly jabbing at and “one-upping” each other.

I also am pleasantly surprised by the fact that Mitch and Cameron, the gay couple, are rarely singled out for their lifestyle (As in, it’s no big deal-they’re gay-shall we move on now??) Cam may perpetuate the stereotype, and he-man Jay is constantly teasing Mitchell all in good fun, but at the end of the day this sub-family is as credible a unit as the Dunphy or Pritchett-Delgado clans. The other families love and accept them, as reflective of America’s continued and on-going acceptance of same-sex couples. 

To conclude, however predictable the characters may be, it’s the way they ‘vary’ that predictability and constantly reveal the hilarity within - that character we’re growing to love, each and every time - that makes us keep watching, and loving, “Modern Family.”

Bring on season 3!!!