Back in Bridgeport

Photo by Tim Hammill

Readers, I’m going to admit to something that may make you think differently of me. I don’t tell everyone this, so you should feel special that I’m opening to you like this. I fought with myself over whether or not I should write this. I couldn’t sleep last night. I tossed and turned, wondering should I or shouldn’t I? And well, I’m just going to do. I’m just going to come clean.

There’s really no other way to say this. So here it is.

I love food courts.

Actually, love might not even be the appropriate term. Here’s the evidence, you tell me what you think.

My home-away-from-home office in Los Angeles was a food court. Many of my birthday lunches were held in a food court. In fact, for my most recent birthday celebration my best friends and I got in a car and drove to the food court in Burlington, MA to enjoy Chick-Fil-A. Feel free to read that sentence again. I’ll wait for you.

While I’m waiting I’ll go to Google Maps to give you an accurate distance between Bridgeport and Burlington, MA. It’s 153 miles.

Welcome back. I’m not done yet. There’s more.

Off the top of my head, I can rattle off the names of the establishments in a given food court. Friends find that ability impressive or disturbing or some sort of combination of the two. If only there was an opening for a “Food Court Memorizer” I’d be employed again. Sadly, there’s not.

Why am I revealing this deep, dark secret to you?

Because tomorrow is the opening of the brand new food court, I’m sorry I meant Dining Terrace, at Westfield Trumbull aka “The Mall” and I’m fired up about it. I can’t even believe I just wrote those words. Think about it, a collection of food establishments, restaurants and eateries located inside a shopping center has me, not just excited, but “fired up.”

What can I say? I’m eager to see what they’ve done with the place. I’m pretty certain I know what the place is going to look like but that’s not stopping me from wanting to see the real thing. I may have seen this YouTube video featuring the artistic renderings of the Dining Terrace more times than James Cameron has seen Avatar. Pandora was nice and all, but imagine how much more beautiful it would’ve been if it had a Panera Bread.

Some people like to be the first ones to ride a roller coaster. Other like to be the first to see a movie. I’m looking forward to being one of the first to enjoy a meal in the sparkly new Dining Terrace. Best of all, it could be free. According to the Westfield Trumbull website, the first 500 people to arrive at the grand opening ceremony tomorrow at 11am will receive a free lunch. Will you be one of the other 499 people cashing in on the free lunch? Because you know I’ll be there.

photo by Tim Hammill

Before I left Bridgeport, I think the only time I used the word foliage was during a spelling bee. I still don’t use the word. But I sure did hear it a lot while I was in Los Angeles.

Tell someone that you’re from Connecticut, and you’re bound to hear the following questions, “So, how rich are you?”, “You miss the cold weather?”, “Isn’t that where ESPN is?” and lastly and most surprisingly, “How about that foliage?”

Really? Leaves changing colors and falling on the ground is our calling card? I remember one of the first times I heard that, I responded with, “It’s just leaves.”

Now that I’m back, I have to say maybe I underestimated just how beautiful the umm … foliage can be. The leaves are actually a lot nicer than I remember. They’re even nicer when found in someone else’s yard.

This morning I walked outside and noticed that our front yard had been invaded by the leaves of our red maple tree. It looks like we’re hosting a Hollywood style red carpet affair at our house except there are no reporters, no cameras and no celebrities, unless you count my father who is pretty famous among people named Hammill. My celebrity of a father also also just informed me that he’s upset about not being voted “People’s Sexiest Man Alive.” Actor Ryan Reynolds eked out a victory for that honor.

It looks like someone’s got some raking to do. It’s going to be either my father, me or a gust of wind. I’m pulling for the gust of wind to sweep up all of the foliage, f-o-l-i-a-g-e.

Update: After days of hoping for a wind gust, my father and I finally gave in and raked the leaves on Monday.

Photo of my neighbor's backyard

I’ve been asked numerous times since I’ve been back home if I was ready for the cold weather and more specifically, the snow. My usual response was, “I am not ready for the cold, but I actually sort of miss the snow, and won’t mind seeing it the first time.”

This morning, I woke up to that first bit of snow. And when I say, bit, I really mean it. Just a tiny layer of white stuff could be found on the next door neighbor’s grass and the windshield of my car. By noon, all signs of snow were gone.

Despite the meager amount, I’m comfortable with saying I’ve seen all the snow I’d like to see for this winter. I’m good without finding another flake. Go away snow and stay away.

Now, if you’ll excuse I’m going to look at pictures of a snow-less Los Angeles and cry a little.

Photo by samantha celera via flickr

It’s Friday and we’re still not positive who our governor is. Or are we? Is it Malloy? Is it Foley? I don’t know. It’s difficult to keep up with this whole thing, even with my constant refreshing of the front page of CTPost.com and the Google Alerts flooding my inbox.

I’ve heard all kinds of different reports. It’s either we’ll know for sure later today or we already were supposed to know for sure earlier today. Something like that. Someone else told me that if the groundhog sees his shadow in the bag of uncounted ballots than we’ll know for sure that it was the butler in the library with the iron pipe. It wasn’t a very reliable source. Actually, I think that was me. Yeah, I made that one up.

I’ve totally just given up on it. I don’t know who is going to be our governor but I do know that this isn’t the first time I’ve lived at the epicenter of election day discombobulation.

In 2000, I lived in Florida. To be more specific, in November 2000 I lived in Florida. Remember that? If not, here’s a Wikipedia page, a book, another book, another book and a straight to premium cable movie starring Kevin Spacey to refresh your memory.

I was working at Walt Disney World at the time, in what is known as the “College Program.” I shared an apartment with five other members of the college program. One of them was a real-life Texan and Bush supporter. His name was Tim, as well. It made phone calls a little awkward. Imagine this on a daily basis:
“May I speak to Tim?”
“This is Tim”
“It’s your mother”
“No you’re not my mom. You meant the other Tim.”

It also made discussions of the presidential election interesting. We’d sit in front of the TV and wait for the latest news and debate the situation. In the midst of all that, I’d communicate with friends back home asking me “What’s going on down there in Florida?” as if I knew any more than they did. I was too busy selling Winnie the Pooh plush toys and restocking Princess dresses to investigate the hanging chad situation.

Most recently, I was living in Los Angeles in 2008 during the controversial vote on Prop 8. While the results of the vote were certain, the “Yes” vote won, the fact that it was even on the ballot resulted in uncertainty. Despite Barack Obama’s historic victory in the presidential election, Prop 8 managed to steal the headlines in LA for what seemed like months. Driving home from work was an adventure back then, as the streets were full of protesters from both sides each night after Election Day.

As you can see, I’m no stranger to these voting messes, mishaps and mysteries. The only thing I learned from it is, it gets stranger and stranger every time. I’m no betting man (actually I sort of am), but I’d be willing to throw down a week’s pay (not a whole lot of cash) that the next place I live will definitely have some sort of problem at the polls.

Photo by David S. Rubin

An added plus to being back home is once again living on Eastern Standard Time. The benefits of life on the EST are too great to throw together into a list. Let’s just say there’s a lot. Although football in the Pacific time zone may be heaven, I’m happy to trade it for the chance to listen to “The Howard Stern Show,” live. Thanks to Sirius|XM‘s double dosage of Howard, with two channels devoted to the “King of All Media” I would listen to Howard on the west coast feed during my time in LA. It was nice and all but for some reason it just wasn’t the same as hearing it live.

One of the show’s most popular cast members, executive producer and resident of lower Fairfield County, Gary Dell’Abate released a book yesterday, They Call Me Baba Booey. The surprisingly hard hitting memoir is a revealing look into Dell’Abate’s early life growing up with a clinically depressed mother. Fans of the show will be shocked by the book’s honesty and insight. Mixed in with the tales of a tumultuous childhood are, as you’d expect, hilarious anecdotes from his work on the most popular radio show in the world.

The 27 year veteran of the Stern Show will be signing copies of his book tonight in Stamford at Barnes & Noble. Last week, Dell’Abate took time out from his crazy schedule to chat with me on the phone.

Here’s a little of how the interview went down:

What has been the most rewarding aspect of writing the book?
The fact that people are interested in it and interested in more than just the fact that I’m the guy from “The Howard Stern Show.” The response so far, has mostly been “Wow! This isn’t the book I was expecting” and “There’s a lot stuff I didn’t know about you.”  So I think it’s really cool. That’s what I’m hoping to achieve and that’s what I’m hearing so far.

Howard often compliments you on your memory. You quote specific moments from the show throughout the book. Did you have to go back and listen to shows for the book or were you just able to quote those moments from your own memory?
Probably about 70 percent on my own and 30 percent I went back and listened. When you’re writing a book you have to be accurate. So 70 percent I just knew but 30 percent I went back just to double-check.

Yeah, your memory is really impressive.
I know. When stuff makes an impression on you, you tend to remember it.

When the Mets went to the World Series in 1969, I was eight years old. I could give you the starting lineup almost in order. When the Mets went to the World Series in 2000, which is a season that I watched every game. I went to World Series games that year. And I can’t remember the way I can remember 1969 because ’69 left a bigger impression on me.

What do you enjoy most about living in Connecticut?
As you read in the book, I lived in the suburbs but I didn’t really get to have … I feel like, now I get to live that suburban lifestyle that I wished for as a kid. I never imagined that I would enjoy it as much as I do. I love coaching my kids’ football team. I love coaching my kids’ baseball team. I love that my wife and I are really active in the school fair. We really are living that life that I never got to have growing up.

Lower Fairfield County, where you live now, seems to come with a certain reputation. How does the area actually compare to what everyone thinks of it?
Yeah, I just assumed everybody was snotty, didn’t move their teeth when they talked and everyone drinks gin and tonic. There certainly are parts of this area that fit that bill. Someone said to me, “What’s a Sicilian like you living in lower Fairfield County?” I said the part of town I live in is very Italian. Not to say it’s an Italian neighborhood but there’s a lot of Italian blue-collar type of people who live here. It’s really not like a snotty town. You move anywhere and you’ll find the people that you get along with best.

For more info on Gary Dell’Abate, his book and upcoming dates on his book tour check out BabaBooey.com.

UPDATE (11/5/10): Good news to those who missed Gary’s signing in Stamford on Wednesday (that includes me), I just walked in to Borders in Fairfield and found several posters promoting a signing at that location on December 1st. That’s right, Baba Booey’s coming to Fairfield. Mark your calendars, December 1st at 6pm.

Doree Lewak, author of The Panic Years

I’m continuing my efforts to turn to people much smarter than me for help with tackling turning 30. Yesterday, it was Colin Sokolowski, author of The Accidental Adult who was kind enough to exchange emails with us for some insight on the milestone age. Today, I turn to Doree Lewak, author of The Panic Years: A Guide to Surviving Smug Married Friends, Bad Taffeta, and Life on the Wrong Side of 25 Without a Ring.

Doree, a freelance writer living in New York whose work has appeared in Glamour, Entertainment Weekly, Time Out New York, NY Daily News, Metro, The Jerusalem Post and more took some time out of her busy schedule to correspond with me over email in the days leading up turning the big 3-0.

–Your book, which was called “sassy and humorous” by the Library Journal, was written for a female audience. Do you think that a women approaching her 30s is more likely to panic than say a guy who writes a blog on the Connecticut Post website about moving back in his parents?
I think in both instances we’re actually talking about the same fundamental issue: “Am I where I should be by this point in my life?”  Both “The Panic Years” and the anxiety associated with turning 30 are essentially different sides of the same coin. It’s about this artificial pressure — the expected societal pressure that we feed into — and the internal pressure that many of us inadvertently commit.

Creating artificial deadlines is the easiest thing someone can do to destroy self-confidence.

But on a serious note, you’ve got to give yourself a break — don’t compare yourself to your friends and at what stage different people might be in life. Just live the best life — the most authentic one — for you, and let everyone else worry about timeframes and checklists. You’ll be too busy enjoying your life.

—–

Thank you Doree for your words of wisdom and valuable advice. To find out more about Doree and The Panic Years, be sure to check out thepanicyears.com or on Amazon.com.

Colin Sokolowski, author of The Accidental Adult

As I mentioned in a post earlier this week, I’m turning to people much smarter than me to help tackle this whole turning 30 thing.

The first expert to offer some insight is the very funny Colin Sokolowski, author of The Accidental Adult: Essays and Advice for the Reluctantly Responsible and Marginally Mature, a book St. Paul Pioneer Press called “A humorous approach to 30-something males. How to act your age without losing your cool.”

Colin was kind enough to exchange emails with me in the days leading up to my birthday. Here’s how that went down.

–Please explain the term “accidental adult.” How did you come up with the term?

A few years ago, I began writing a series of personal essays about my life’s journey through my 20s and 30s, and after a while I noticed a theme was developing. Everything I wrote had to do with being a reluctant grownup. So I decided to use that theme to organize my thoughts for a collection of essays. I later titled my manuscript “The Accidental Adult” to capture that theme. I define an accidental adult as an individual whose age indicates maturity, but whose approach to life suggests otherwise. That’s me! And probably a lot of people you know too.

–What’s the key to growing up without losing your cool?

Playing the part of an adult when you have to, but knowing deep down, you’re really not one of them. And that’s OK. At the same time, embrace your inner-smart ass to keep yourself company when you can’t quite blurt out everything you’re thinking.

–Why do you think turning 30 is such a scary event for so many people?

Many people seem to think that by 30 you’re now supposed to be accomplished, serious and wise. Lots of reluctant grownups hit 30 and find themselves treading water in a sea of rising expectations and diminishing praise for accomplishments that are no longer considered spectacular but are now expected of them. Now I sound more like a sociologist instead of a humor writer.

–You say “A sardonic and sarcastic silent conversation with yourself not only provides an outlet for your adulthood angst, it keeps you company when you feel alone and outnumbered.” Why should you keep these thoughts to yourself? How is this important to overcoming accidental adulthood?

Sadly, we accidental adults are outnumbered by the assimilated adults. So to skate through life with few hassles, it’s often necessary to keep irreverence to yourself. I’m thinking primarily at work. This also shelters your stunted maturity from any unnecessary exposure. At these certain times, we should hide our aversion to adulthood, but I’d never fully recommend overcoming accidental adulthood. Whenever possible we should celebrate this liberating state of mind that says there are plenty of people like us who are capable, working professionals who don’t feel confident handling jumper cables and who can’t taste the difference between a Cabernet or a Chianti. And the best part is, we really don’t care. I think that’s the main message of my book, The Accidental Adult. Life is too short to worry about succumbing to adult convention at every opportunity. Adulthood may not be the road trip we had bargained for, but why not have a little fun along the way?

——

Colin, thank you so much for taking time to talk with me. I couldn’t agree more. Let’s have some fun along the way on this road trip called adulthood. If you want to learn how to do that, read Colin’s book. Want to know if you’re an “accidental adult”? Take the quiz here. For more info on Colin and his book, check out accidentaladult.com and the Facebook page.

A 30th Birthday Cake, not mine. | Photo by Sugar Daze via flickr

As of yesterday, the answer I will give when asked my age from this point until October 20, 2011 is “I’m 30 years old.”  I’m a 30 year-old man. Weird.I remember when 30 was the line for what was considered “old.” It was a punchline.

The following are statements I’ve definitely made at some point over the last 15 years of my life:

• “Look at the old guy in the bar, he’s like 30.”
• “She’s dating an older guy, he’s at least 30.”
• “I’ll probably stop doing that by the time I’m 30.”

I’m dealing with being 30 quite well. So far. One day down.

In case you’re wondering, and I know you are, I spent my special day eating and watching the baseball playoffs. Lunch at Flipside, my new favorite burger joint, followed by Pinkberry (as I predicted the wait was lengthy). Watched the Yankees win, unfortunately. Then, had myself a meatball calzone from Mario the Baker and fell asleep before the end of the Giants/Phillies game.

Earliest end to a birthday night in at least 12 years. Yes, I am old.