Series Finale

I often joke about my life being like a TV show (probably a lot like an 80's sitcom, but I'm over-analyzing). It goes through various "seasons," has some guest stars and ongoing storylines, but I am the main focus. In fact, I often used this to be a yardstick for the kind of relationship I'd like to have, stating to anyone who would listen that my girlfriend can be a regular on my show, but she would have to be able to carry her own storylines, as well as hold her own in the episodes that involved couple-y things.

I feel this has served me well, because life often has (or at least should have) events that can signal the end of a season. When I broke off my engagement was certainly a big season finale. When I moved out of Cambridge and got my own apartment was the harbinger of a new season. And originally, I thought maybe now moving back in with my once and future roommate would be a season premiere of sorts. Upon further reflection however, and thinking about how a lot of my friends and neighbors are moving, too, it seems like this could be the end in a larger sense. Maybe this is how my series actually concludes. Maybe it is the beginning of a spin-off, like Frasier rose from the ashes of Cheers and nearly eclipsed its predecessor (Nearly. It did, however, make Frasier Crane one of the longest running television characters in history, second only to Bat Masterson from Gunsmoke.) I mean, the story has to keep going. I'm moving, not dying.

Hopefully, my new series can be as good a follow-up to The Matt Dursin Show as Frasier was to Cheers. I'd rather it not be like Joey, but I guess we'll have to see. Certainly, the characters have gone through a lot of changes over the years, and cast members have come and gone (which is often something that audiences don't take very well, but in life, casting choices are usually made by necessity rather than contractual disagreements.) This series, Dursin is certainly a little older, a little wiser, hopefully less drunk, and maybe he can use all that to make a successful spin-off. If not, there's always syndication, right?

Kicking and Screaming

So, last year, I wrote this post about my adventures on the kickball diamond. I wrote a lot about the beer and the team camaraderie and the fun. Well, Team Hang-over is back, with a vengeance!

Thus far, we are 2-0 this this year. We have a bigger and better team, with bench players and different pitchers and what-not. The only drawbacks are that we play farther away from my apartment, and our shirts are now yellow. Well, okay, the other drawback is that I haven't actually gotten a "hit" yet, although I reached on an error. this week, however, we are playing one of the other undefeated teams, so you could say I've been saving my best stuff for them.

Still, despite my preaching, people snicker when I mention that I played kickball over the weekend. "You mean the game you played in third grade?" Yes, in fact, and not only is it exactly the same, but it is in fact more fun now. Possibly because I was an unathletic nerd in third grade, and was usually picked just before the heavy girl, but whatever. I'm having a helluva time now.

I'm not sure why they snicker. Maybe it's because people can't bring themselves to just let their shit go and have fun playing a "kid's game." Maybe it's because they like to have a laugh at my expense. Maybe they wish they could relive their youth a little and are jealous. Or maybe they are right and I'm just a silly fool for not growing up. I am the elder of the team. The Tim Wakefield, as it were. Although, two of our new players (females!) didn't know how old I was, and assumed I was 25. 25! I'm not sure if that's ironic considering we are talking about kickball, or just lame that an old dude like me gets such a charge out of it. Shouldn't I be watching my child play kickball?

But no. In fact, I think the very fact that I do things like this is what keeps me looking 25 despite being well into my thirties. I play kickball, collect comics, ride around town on my bike-cycle, and live on pizza and beer is what keeps me young. And not only physically doing these things, but the fact that I do them "mentally," because a few years ago, I probably would have been one of the snicker-ers. Maybe there's something to that "only as old as you feel" stuff, after all.

Winds of Change

This is all-too familiar territory. In just over a month, I will be moving again, into a new apartment, with an old roommate. For the first time, however, I will be moving out of choice, not some need to get away. Even though I keep telling people that the traffic and the train is getting to me, I really enjoyed my time on Comm Ave. Let's face it, going it alone in the city is not easy, especially on the wallet, but for three years I have somehow managed. Now I am moving on again, and even though I'm excited about the new place and situation, I will miss my current place just a little because, as I said, I'm not actually escaping.

Years ago, when I got my first real apartment, as an adult, with my girlfriend, I was a tad scared that I might not be able to handle all the responsibility. But, it was a large one bedroom, with a big living room and kitchen, a walk to the T, free street parking and a month-to-month lease. Looking back, it was a sweet deal, especially that part about the lease. It become even sweeter when I moved out five months later after my girlfriend and I broke up, because I would have either had to break the lease or kill her. I moved into a much crappier apartment a couple miles away, which only about $25 cheaper, but was a studio with a thick layer of tar on the windows. I signed a year lease, knowing that I would certainly not stay there a day longer, which almost made it like staying in a hotel for a really long trip.

Six months into my lease, I had already made plans to move, and called an old friend of mine to see about shacking up together. We ended up in Cambridge, Porter Square to be exact, in a large apartment on the 3rd floor of a house. This one sounded awesome, with central air, utilities included, laundry in the basement, on-street parking, and again, a walk to the T. And I had always wanted to live in Cambridge. As the months went on, and my roommate and i battled squirrels in the attic, mice in the closet, and a landlady who not only refused to fox the central air when it blew out, but also rarely got around to cashing the checks. She would end up cashing three at a time every three months. Then she raised out rent each year we were there, despite the fact that the apartment was actually declining in value (unless squirrels running over your head and chewing through your screens constitutes a bump in price.) After three years, and learning that she would once again raise the rent, we had decided we had enough. It was sad to split with my roommate, but she wanted to move home to save some dough and I wanted to move closer to work, so we parted ways.

I moved into my current place in Brighton; a large, sunny, one bedroom, HT-HW included, and literally steps to the T. The bar on the corner didn't hurt, either. I also had several friends in the neighborhood, which really helped the transition. They funny thing is, most of them are moving too. Two of them (sisters) are moving in with their respective boyfriends. I hope they have better luck than I did when I tried that all those years ago. One of them, a co-worker of mine is getting a new job, as well. My nights spent at that corner bar are probably numbered (There are other bars, after all.) It may not seem like much, but it really is a time of great change. It's like we're building up for the big season finale, and I have no idea what the writers have in store for next season. But it better be good.