Sometimes we get the days we need.

I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone.

I have distinct and vivid memories of riding in the car with my sister, the driver, the wind blowing her long blonde hair out of the window and into her face. We would play 'Fast Car', one of our favorite songs, and she would drive faster, floating along the highway, content that Tracy Chapman was narrating our life as it was unfolding in front of our eyes. The song was a staple on mix CD's we would make for each other, despite our music tastes being hilariously different. I remember one specific time when I was late to work because I was downloading the new version of Lady Marmalade from Christina Aguilera and company. Her CDs for me were full of Goo Goo Dolls and Edwin McCain. Also Tracy Chapman.

The song always crept out of the speakers during meaningful, poignant transitions in my life. For instance, when that sister moved away to college, or when she moved back but got married, or when I went off to college or moved to Pennsylvania, leaving my sister far behind and married in Maryland. The song depicts terribly unfortunate circumstances experienced by the narrator, who is blinded with naivety to think that she can escape her situation, drive off and shrink into the sunset and make a new life. So it is no surprise that the song is playing silently in the chambers of my mind as I am faced with the life I lead. My current life is me pushing, urging others to do something. If it's not doing the most good, it's getting off of the sofa for a few hours to catch a breath of fresh air. If it's not begging people to do things with me, it's me pleading with my 25-year old friends that they don't deserve to be alcoholics, especially not this early in their lives.

As of late, I have been extremely unsteady and unsure of what to do next. The wheels keep turning but I haven't moved an inch, and I find myself dreaming of a time when I can get behind the wheel of a car, loyal friend or sister in tow, on our way to something new and different, attempting to figure it out one mile at a time as we drive aimlessly into city skylines and across state borders. As for now, though, I am left with my daily renewal of hope and the daily letdown, as another day inevitably gets sucked dry by a television screen or a bottle of vermouth. Every day I wake up, set goals for my day, but I meet them by myself. In it all I can still picture my sister's face when we would sing along with the lyrics, knowing that we could escape whenever we needed to. This knowing will get me through today, and tomorrow, and the next day, until the things that I know in my head grow limbs and sit next to me in my car.

A friend of mine named Colin says it best in his poem Coming Home:

"In dreams I have lifted the fabric of this life
and shaken a wave through it all. This house
is fragile, though, and waves more dangerous."

Life hasn't looked this good in a while. Evidence:

1) Tomorrow is pay day.
2) Tomorrow is Friday.
3) Tomorrow, we travel to Maryland to see the Terps play.
4) On Saturday, I will hang out with old friends all day.
5) On Saturday, I will see the movie Precious, which I've been so fascinated with since a trailer boasting an award-worthy Mo'Nique from the Sundance Film Festival.
6) On Sunday, I will see my friend who has been sailing the ocean blues for the last seven months.
7) Next week is a half work week.
8) Next week, I will meet my sister for dinner.
9) Next week, I will see a friend from Baltimore visiting in Harrisburg.
10) Next week, I will take my roommate from Harrisburg to visit Baltimore.
11) Next week, our friend from Chicago is visiting.
12) Next week, it's our friend Kenny's birthday.
13) Next week, I get to see Over the Rhine play in Philly with an old friend.

Yesssssssssssssssssss.

This song impeccably describes my mood over the last few weeks. Check it out.

'Missed the Boat' by Modest Mouse

While we're on the subject, could we change the subject now?
I was knocking on your ears - don't worry, you were always out
Looking towards the future, we were begging for the past
Well, we know we had the good things but those never seemed to last
Oh, please just last

Everyone's unhappy, everyone's ashamed
Well we all just got caught looking at somebody else's page
Well, nothing ever went quite exactly as we planned
Our ideas held no water but we used them like a dam

Oh, and we carried it all so well
As if we got a new position
Oh, and I laugh all the way to hell
Saying, "Yes, this is a fine promotion"
Oh, and I laugh all the way to hell

Of course everyone goes crazy over such and such and such
We made ourselves a pillar but we just used it as a crutch
We were certainly uncertain, or at least I'm pretty sure I am
Well, we didn't need the water but we just built that old good dam

Oh, and I know this of myself
I'd assume as much for other people
Oh, and I know this of myself
We've listened more to life's end gong
Than the sound of life's sweet bells

Was it ever worth it? Was there all that much to gain?
Well, we knew we'd missed the boat and we'd already missed the plane
We didn't read the invite, we just danced at our own wake
All our favorites were playing so we could shake, shake, shake, shake, shake

Tiny curtains open and we heard the tiny clap of little hands
A tiny man would tell a little joke and get a tiny laugh from all the folks
Sitting, drifting around in bubbles and thinking it was us that carried them
When we finally got it figured out that we had truly missed the boat

Oh, and we carried it all so well
As if we got a new position
Oh, and we owned all the tools ourselves
But not the skills to make a shelf with
Oh, what useless tools ourselves

i guess we'll just have to adjust.

It's finally happening. The inevitable consequences of moving near your college town are cozying up next to me, or playing beer pong at some bar in Manhattan. We're all stuck, we all know it but we don't want to talk about it. So we're putting our eggs in other baskets - marriage, England, Iraq, Belize, New Hampshire. People are leaving, some out of choice, others out of necessity. I'm not sure how future Jeff is going to handle all of that, but we'll let future Jeff cross those bridges when he gets there.

It's like my friend told me the other day - to get where you haven't been before, you have to do what you've never done before. Cue the transition music.

You better look out below.

Three Surprising Things I Have Been Called in The Last Week:

1) A Good Dancer. I went on a cruise last week with five friends to visit a friend of ours who was singing on the ship. I took Cha-Cha lessons that were being offered for free in the main auditorium. I'm not much of a Bojangles, but my friend didn't have a partner, and I felt bad, and I'm a nice gentleman, so I went on stage with her. Because she works on the ship, the instructors knew her and they decided to put us in the front, meaning on the front of the stage. We sashayed and clapped our way through the steps, and we were quite impressive. One of the instructors, who was the sole Hispanic on stage, told me I was doing really well, and that I was a great dancer. I gave a courtesy smile, and accepted my role as Awesome Dancer. Later, during my friends' actual show, when they were searching for volunteers to come dance on stage, they selected me. I practiced the macarena in the aisle with a girl wearing large feathers, and then we made our way to the stage. My next command was to "give some salsa moves to the band", which I obviously did. As our cruise ship navigated its way through and on international waters, there I was, putting my hands to my hips and shaking, flaunting even, my moves to the unsuspecting crowd who either gaped in horror or cheered in amazement.

2) A Yankee. I didn't know people still used this word. However, I was recently on a trip down South, when I stopped for a quick dinner at Subway. When I went to pay, the cashier opened her toothless mouth and mumbled, "craydit or daybit?" as only a Virginian can. "Debit", I told her, which caused her to look at me sideways, like a dog unsure of your commands. She then chuckled, as only a Virginian can, turned around to her kitchen mate and said "Chris, we done got ourselves here a Yankee!". The two of them shared an extended laugh, which fizzled out and transitioned into her asking the next customer what kind of cookies they wanted with their Subway Fresh Meal.

3) An Uncle. When I got to work on Friday, I wasn't sure what my weekend had in store. There was talk of seeing that new Tina Fey movie, or going to a pumpkin festival in Carlisle which promised to have biblical proportions of apple cider. Things changed at lunchtime, when I found out that my oldest sister went into labor 14 weeks early, and had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. Her condition was not immediately known, and the idea of a baby being over three months early caused the Waters family to panic, and rightfully so. I ran home from work, threw a bunch of dirty clothes into my suitcase and took off for Tennessee. Because he was born so prematurely, Anthony doesn't have a lot of fat on his bones, meaning that he looks like a 14 inch long Hercules. He came out kicking and screaming, and also probably flexing, and he will muscle his way through the next few months as he sits in the NICU until he can be brought home around the holidays, where he will probably be doing curls with his older brother.

Let's Get Ethical.

I, on behalf of People for the Ethical Treatment of Rackets (PETR), would like to extend a hand of congratulations to the United States Tennis Association (USTA) for finally acknowledging obvious tennis racket abuse in the 2009 U.S. Open, a Grand Slam Tournament which takes place every year in New York. This year has seen an unnerving spike in forceful, unnecessary crimes against rackets, and the people in charge finally seem to be catching on. We were given the silent treatment when Roger Federer slammed his racket at the Sony Ericsson back in April. Our voices were muted when Vliegen beat the tar out of his racket at Monte-Carlo. We were stunned when Dinara Safina, currently the number one women's player in the world, strangely tried to eat her racket.

But, at long last, we at PETR have been given a fair shake. Defending U.S. Open champion Serena WIlliams showed very little class when she beat her racket to a purply pulp during her struggles in her showdown with Belgian baby mama wildcard Kim Clijsters. Officials at the U.S. Open served Ms. Williams a $500 fine for racket abuse. We feel that the $500 fine is laughable, and that Ms. Williams will only see it as a slap on the wrist; nevertheless, we are thrilled that important issues are finally being noticed.

We also understand that Ms. Williams later engaged in some sort of explosive, Baltimorean tirade that fell just short of bloodshed, but we will let our colleagues from the People for the Ethical Treatment of Asian Linesjudges (PETAL) speak to that matter.