I left my main beard trimmer attachment thingee in Florida by accident, so I tried to use a different one this morning to clean up my beard. Naturally, things went wrong. Way wrong. I spent 15 minutes adjusting settings, the vibrating metal scraping my face raw but unable to give me a consistent trim. Eventually, I busted out the razor (which I haven’t used in over four months) and shaved off anything that remained.

Obviously, of all days for this to happen, I pick one with subzero temperatures, and it…the…..flames….flames……. on the side of my face….

I want to write something lengthy about the Capital One Bowl on Tuesday, but I’ve been doing a lot of non-blogging, non-work writing lately and don’t have the energy for too many words.

That game was incredible. Possibly one of the best ones I’ve seen as a fan, if not the best one. Remember, we’d spent a month listening to Tebow hype and Florida’s predicted dominance over us in the game. To make matters worse, I spent the 12 days before the game in Florida, listening to just about every single person I know tell me that we had no chance against this year’s Heisman winner and one of next year’s candidates (Harvin). Hubris among the Florida fans surrounded and annoyed me, but even I couldn’t help but expect a Michigan loss. Like all other Wolverine fans, I was just hoping for a chance to see a healthy Henne and Hart play one last time. Maybe, just maybe, beat the spread (gambling spread, not offensive spread). A moral victory.

Then we came out firing, scoring more points in a half than I thought we’d get all game. A lead at halftime, then a 14 point lead, and the excitement started building. Things were going our way. Sure there were the moments of anxiety - Mike Hart fumbled? TWICE? We’re throwing to Jake Long now? Why isn’t anyone covering Harvin? Oh crap, its the fourth quarter - but there were also moments of joy. Morgan Trent running down “SEC speed” from the opposite side of the field, constant hits on Tebow, Holy-fucking-Arrington, etc.

And we freakin won. I wanted so bad to call everyone who’d hyped Florida for 12 days, especially Guy Whose Only Comment Was CoughAppalachianStateCough, and say Ha! But I resigned myself to enjoying the victory alone (it didn’t help that I was watching the game in a Florida fan’s house, and would have been violently removed had I gloated excessively).

I choked up during the final moments of the game. The smile on Lloyd Carr’s face when he got his Gatorade bath, and when he was hoisted on his players’ shoulders, was genuinely moving, and it was then that the end of his era truly hit me. I’ll admit, I was one of many who were quickly frustrated by our team’s seemingly consistent ability to screw things up, especially during 2005 and 2007, and often joined the choruses calling for his head. But this man was our coach when I first became a Michigan fan. He made me proud to be a Wolverine. Eight seasons later, I am sad to see him leave.

I could go on, hopefully organizing my thoughts from the last two days a little better, but I’m tired. Check out this AP article on “Carr’s Last Ride”, as well as my Google Reader Shared Items (also in my sidebar) for a lot more commentary on the game.

Go Blue.

As we count down the remaining minutes of 2007, its important we look ahead to what 2008 will bring. Personally, I’m confident that 2008 will be an incredible year. Why? Because of this…

That picture was taken in my hometown. Friggin Panchero’s. In my hometown. I already have three trips planned home before June (a bachelor party, a wedding, and a family thing), so its safe to say that my New Year’s Resolution will not be “Give up burritos.”

Then again, even without Panchero’s, that was probably a safe assumption.

(Thanks to Manan, a.k.a. The Mayor of Melbourne, for the tip.)

Hey folks. I’m currently on a two-week trip home to Florida for the holidays. Last night I went out to the Melbourne bars, kicking things off at Friday’s (one of Melbourne’s hot spots) and ending at Main St, an indoor/outdoor bar that draws the full cross-section of Melbourne residents, from 15 to 50. It was there that Non-Sterger Jen, a high school friend, FSU grad, and blog reader who I am mentioning here out of my own free will and not because she begged me to, reminded me that its been a while since I’ve last posted. So I thought I’d take a break from sitting on the couch, wish you a very happy holiday, and share with you a little holiday tale.

Like many people living in New York City, I live in a building with a doorman. Or rather, seven of them. Plus a half dozen porters (no clue what they do), five maintenance men, a couple handymen, and a super (…and a partridge in a pear treeeeee.) All in all there’s about twenty different people working in my building, and over the last week, they subtly left a little note by our mailboxes with their names and instructions for leaving holiday gratuities.

Having lived here for a few years, I’m quite familiar with this practice (which according to Non-Sterger Jen, is not common in Washington, DC), but not a big fan. While on the one hand they have been incredibly helpful - fetching cabs for us, unlocking our door when we’ve forgotten our keys, etc - the act of tipping them for continued great service seems too much like a bribe. I’m not overly great friends with any one member on the staff, and there are too many in total to try to reward equally and significantly. Delivery of this gratuity further complicates things. Handing over a lump sum of cash to any one individual seems risky - he could potentially run off with the whole thing - but seeking out twenty different people to hand them individual tips is just way too much work.

Nonetheless, my roommate and I agreed that we’d conform to this tradition. We settled on an amount - $200 between the two of us. Not a small amount - I wasn’t planning on spending $100 on any one member of my own family - but enough to give each of them a decent ($10) tip for the holidays. I was supposed to figure out the handoff and take care of the payment, and my roommate would pay me back.

Shortly before I left for Florida on Thursday, I went down to the lobby to figure out how to handle the gratuity. I took a closer look at the note by our mailbox and discovered that not only was there a drop-box for gratuities to be split evenly, but that they also accepted checks. Yes, they went so far as to establish a bank account just for this purpose and accepted checks made out to “[building name] Staff X-Mas Bonus Fund”. A little shocked, but relieved I didn’t have to go withdraw $200, I cut them a check and took off to Florida.

My roommate, who is a hometown friend, also came back home last night, and met us at the bar. At one point, he got up to get a new drink, and asked if any of the others in our group needed anything. I requested a beer and told him to take it out of the 100 bucks he owed me.

“What 100 bucks?”
“I covered you for the doorman tip.”
“You did?!”
“Yeah, why?”
“I left them my own tip!”
“You’re joking?! Why did you do that?!”
“Because I thought we were each taking care of our own half.”
“I was supposed to be covering us both!”
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“I thought we agreed on this!”
“You mean we just gave them 300 bucks?!”
“DAMN IT!”

I’m a blogger. As someone who not only writes in a blog, but also reads like a bajillion others, let me tell you one thing: bloggers suck. We’re opinionated, self-important assholes. We’re boring, geeky, and we always think we’re right. There are too many of us, and collectively, we’re frying each others brains.

So WHY IN THE HELL would you have go and do something so asinine as quoting a blogger in your paper?

I read your newspaper because its not a blog. For a few fleeting minutes each day, I take solace in the nostalgia of your physical “mainstream” media. Not today. Thanks for ruining my commute, jerks.

(For Chris, who had to have seen this coming.)

The “long approach” is one of the most simple yet challenging social interactions in existence. You’ve likely experienced it. You’re walking along a sidewalk or long hallway, and in the distance you recognize someone you know walking in the opposite direction. Acquainted enough for them not to be a stranger, but not enough to merit an entire conversation, you get ready for a brief, pleasant acknowledgment of their existence. But the distance between you creates a conundrum. You’ve cleared all thoughts in preparation for the interaction, but are faced with an abundance of time before the two of you meet. Suddenly, you find yourself analyzing the most trivial things.

Do I say hi? Hello? Hey man? What’s up? Silent head nod? Upward or downward? Who goes first? Should I go now? No, too soon. Now? How about now?

I found myself in this situation the other day. I was at a client site, one I don’t visit that often, and was walking out of the break room. The office has an “open” layout - no cubicles or offices, just clusters of desks - and I could see someone walking toward me from afar. He was someone I’d had a brief meeting with nearly 6 months ago, and though I hoped he’d change direction, it became clear that he too was headed for a break.

A few seconds later, we eventually neared each other, and my thoughts now in a mess, I bumbled out the first word that popped into my head.

“Good.”

Note to self: Real life isn’t Jeopardy. Questions first, then answers.

Though I’ve always been a fan of Thanksgiving (who doesn’t love 4 consecutive days away from work/school/life?), the holiday has never been extremely special for me. Yes, I’ve been living pretty far away from home for the last seven years, so going home, seeing family, and eating home-cooked food is always special (holiday or not), but no Thanksgiving has ever been extremely memorable for me. But for some reason, Thanksgiving 2007 was like The Best Week Ever.

I say week because I was literally home the entire week. My mom is currently in India attending some family weddings, so I went home for the whole week to give my dad company. I flew home the Sunday night before Thanksgiving, and spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday enjoying the spaciousness of 4-digit square footage. Though I was technically on the job those three days, work trickled in at a slower pace. All of my trips in the last year have been hectic - weddings, jam-packed vactions, quick jaunts home, etc - so having those three extra days away from New York but without much to do let me truly unwind before the Thanksgiving mayhem kicked off. For most of the week, I didn’t go out and I didn’t meet up with friends, I just stayed at home and hung out with my dad, sister, and Spanky (our spoiled brat of a cat).

On Wednesday, my dad and I played two and a half hours of tennis with a couple of our other family friends. Its been over a year since I’ve played tennis, he just started playing again after an even longer hiatus, and its probably been at least 10 years since we last played together. He had a pretty serious medical procedure performed on him in the last few months, so being with him on the court was, quite simply, amazing.

On Thursday, my cousins from Orlando came over for lunch. We reminisced about the old days. After eating, we all left together for the real Thanksgiving festivities, held at an aunt’s house two hours away in West Palm Beach. I rode with my cousins. Did you know you can fit four people into a Carrera. Possible? Yes. Comfortable? No. (But luckily, I at least snagged the front seat).

(Also, I’ve had the chance to drive it a few times, and let me just say…I. Want. One. Are you there Santa? It’s me, Amish.)

In West Palm, we met up with the other 80% of our extended family, and we ‘kids’ spent the afternoon playing a lengthy game of 3-on-3 football. I’m not going to lie, I was awesome. I ran slants and posts with utmost precision, and juked the heck out of my cousins left and right. But my team lost 8-7 (or 56-49) when the game was called on account of parents yelling at us to get showered up for dinner. Also the mosquitoes were starting to bite. One of my aunt’s hosted the dinner party that night, and we spent the evening eating traditional Thanksgiving fare (traditional meaning samosas, paneer, rice, etc), enjoying margaritas and beer, and playing poker until 4am (I lost in that too).

On Friday, I went out for a round of golf with two of my cousins. Now, I don’t consider myself a pro by any means, but I have been playing golf for about 7 years now, whereas my cousins had only been playing for 2-3. I thought for sure that my score would be the lowest one on the scorecard that day. I was pretty even with one of the cousins throughout the round, but the other cousin unexpectedly tore us apart. Every single shot - his drivers, his 3 wood, his irons, and his putter - were completely on target. I think he only messed up one stroke the entire round; while I was nailing car windshields with a nasty hook (a story for another day), he was nailing pars and birdies. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a big deal - I’ve played with plenty of ridiculously good players before - but this was particularly noteworthy because he is eight years old.

Yes, I got my ass handed to me in golf by a four-and-a-half foot tall 8-year old!

And I’m not just saying he got more pars than me because I adjusted them for him (par 3’s became par 4’s, etc) to compensate for his lack of stroke distance. I’m saying that at the end of the day, he took less total strokes to get through the same number of holes as us (with clubs the size of ball point pens, no less).

Perhaps the most ridiculous event of the whole round was when the older of the two cousins (the 23 year old) muffed a drive that only trickled a few feet forward. He took a mulligan, and the kid waddled up babbling (like all eight year olds do) what seemed like a haphazard selection of tips he had picked up from his teacher. The older cousin, realizing any advice would be helpful, decided to follow the suggestions of the kid, adjusting his stance, shoulders, posture, and whatever else had been suggested. Boom - picture perfect 250 yard drive. Jaws dropped. The scorecard was later saved as a souvenir, the entire family in complete amazement upon hearing the results.

We gathered at another aunt’s house for lunch, and all of us cousins spent the afternoon playing on the driveway. The girls bumped a volleyball back and forth while the guys played basketball. We played fetch with the dog. I tried numerous times to ride a RipStik (failing miserably 9 times out of 10). All of us, ages 5 to 28, were out there for hours, completely living in the moment. I know it sounds cliche, but it was a completely zen moment, all of us just playing like kids and forgetting all else in the world.

(Another zen moment: zipping down the interstate in a Boxter with the top down. Don’t ask me to explain why two cousins each younger than me drive Porsches.)

That night was authentic Mexican food and margaritas. Pretty sure you all don’t need me to explain why I enjoyed that. And while this already seems like a great week, with its minimal work, tennis, football, golf, family, Porsche driving, and food, that only got me to Friday. On Saturday, I got to enjoy one of my most favorite things in the world: college football.

I drove up to Gainesville early Saturday morning for to meet up with John, a high school friend still attending law school there, and Kellen, who came from Jacksonville. We spent the afternoon tailgating, playing bocce ball and beer pong (strangely, one game included the husband of a Member of Congress), before heading over to the stadium for the UF-FSU game. Not the nation’s premier rivalry, of course, but a good one.

I had been to the Swamp once before - for the same game a couple years ago. Our seats were high up, we couldn’t hear the band, and in general I hadn’t found the experience that impressive. This time, however, Kellen had scored us a couple of tickets in the 10th row of the student section on the 20 yard line. And while I generally hate giving Florida credit for anything over Michigan, I will say that the experience was amazing. It was a night game, the stadium was loud, and the Gators rolled over FSU with ease. As much as I thought Mike Hart was a candidate this year (until he got injured), Tebow’s presence on the field won my Heisman vote. And if the Big House renovations mean our stadium will produce a similar atmosphere as that night, then by all means count me in. After last year’s BCS debacle, I had developed a strong indifference toward UF, pretty much hoping for their season to tank and relishing their losses when it did. Saturday night helped bring me back to at least rooting for them again. (Urban Meyer, I still hate you.)

That game capped off a great week. I spent most of Sunday catching up on sleep, trying to unwind one last time before coming back to New York and “life”. I’m headed back to Florida in three weeks for the holidays, and can only hope that it will be as fun.

I haven’t talked much about Michigan Football this year, partly because I’ve been less engaged with the season - only one alcohol-fueled (except while driving) road trip as opposed to three - but mostly because this season has been less than inspring. Sure I’ve watched (most of) every game, and I’ve been proud of our team’s “comeback” since The Horror (until last week, that is), but nothing about this season has made me want to run around screaming to the world how much I love/hate this team.

But this is rivalry week, the week of the most important game of our season, so I feel that some sort of acknowledgment is due.

Some thoughts on the HBO documentary… Fellow blogger CrimeNotes wrote up an excellent summary and review of the entire thing, one that I almost entirely agree with. My favorite part:

Read this paragraph and you can skip the movie: Football in olden days was fun. Michigan was good. Yost, Friedman, Oosterban, Crisler. Woody Hayes, Woody Hayes. Woody Hayes? Woody Hayes. Bo? Little Woody Hayes. OSU fans = crazy. Michigan fans = snobs. Earl Bruce. Desmond Howard had a touchdown. Biakabatuka was good. John Cooper. Jim Tressel.

I tend to agree with CrimeNotes and most other viewers of the program. There was a strong bias towards OSU as the program went on - they seemed more of the real football-focused half of the rivalry, and we seemed more of the academic institution that happened to have a squad. They had dozens of clips of their fans; we had multiple angles of the Law Quad. Perhaps the producers were trying to balance the show - OSU got a lot of focus because Michigan had Bo, alive (at the time) and able be a part of the program - but even the Bo interviews didn’t seem to carry as much gravity as they ought’ve (though, to be fair, when they spoke of his death and showed clips of the vigils, I almost cried).

I was also disappointed to see a core demographic missing from the show: current students (or recent grads). It seemed like every other angle was covered - coaches, former players, older alumni, journalists, random fans - but there was no real discussion on the rivalry from a younger perspective. True, this rivalry’s significance is more about its history than its point-in-time status, but it would’ve been an interesting perspective nonetheless.

All in all, I didn’t hate it but I didn’t love it. It’s ‘Saved Until Deleted’ on my DVR, but who knows if I’ll get around to watching it again.

On to this week’s game…

So much and so little to say. We’re playing for the Big Ten Title, a shot at the Rose Bowl, a first win against that team in 4 years, but I haven’t had the huge sense of excitement about it this year. Blame it on the three losses, I suppose.

I am regretting my decision not to go to Ann Arbor for the game. I was planning on it, then not planning on it, then planning on it, then not planning on it, and ultimately a decision was made to stay here in New York. But I realized too late that I could have gone to Ann Arbor to see Henne, Hart, Long, Manningham, etc play (at least I hope they all play) one last time, for the one win that’s always eluded them. It would’ve been nice to say bye to Carr - despite this season, he was still a good coach and a good man, and if he in fact does leave, part of me will miss him.

Another Michigan blogger, RBUAS (also noticeably absent this season), has an excellent post, appropriately titled Eulogy, which puts into far better words the finality this game brings.

But this is the Ohio State game, and despite our three losses and despite being miles away from the game, I’ll be waking up early to celebrate the end of the season, the end of an era, and hopefully the end of a losing streak. Go Blue!

Those of you who checked my Twitters over the weekend (one person - Hi Chelsea!) may have seen that the beer bet was ended this weekend. The picture above, documenting our first sip after 27 days, confirms that this is in fact true. It was a mutual decision to end the bet…No one lost, no one won. Anti-climactic, I know.

There were a number of small factors that led to our decision to kill the bet early, among them being it was clear that none of us were going to give up (even though Sachin and Rishi had predicted a quick loss from me, slamming 100 bucks on the table, and saying “I’m out” a la Kramer) and THE FACT THAT IT WAS THE STUPIDEST IDEA EVER (to be fair, it was a great conversation piece).

But the biggest factor in us breaking the seal, so to speak, was the logistics of concluding the bet as originally planned. On Friday Rishi reminded us that he had just started traveling for work. He was going to be out of town all of this week, and wanted us to push off the first beer celebration until Friday when he returned. Sachin was indifferent, saying one or two more days wouldn’t hurt him. I was adamant in my refusal, saying we had already waited too long. If we wanted to wait for all of us to be together, why not just end it now? Friday night ended without resolution.

On Saturday, I met up with friends at Professor Thom’s to watch the Michigan game. Again, Sachin and I sat there drinking Diet Cokes, unallowed to drink beer and too hungover to drink anything else. Rishi showed up mid-game, and pretty quickly our conversation turned back to how to conclude the bet.

Rishi argued again that we should wait. We had waited so long already, why would Sachin and I want to ruin the celebration by leaving Rishi out of it? It would be much more special if we all had our first drink together. Stupid sentimental crap like that.

Fortner, who was in town over the weekend for the New York leg of the Fortner Farewell Tour, started babbling in the background about how this would be the last time he would get to drink with us before moving to London and how he wanted it to be special and that the only way that would happen was if we all had a beer with him.

Sachin and I debated the pros and cons of waiting. Yes, it was only a couple more days of waiting, but we had already waited so long. It wasn’t fair to make us wait because Rishi’s job took him out of town. Where were his priorities? Ultimately we decided that we would try to wait but would not be held to a new deadline; that is, we wouldn’t make any specific plans to end the bet without Rishi, but if we happened to go out for drinks on Wednesday or Thursday, we would be allowed to have a beer without penalty.

This side agreement between Sachin and I was ultimately what I think won Rishi over (though Fortner will argue it was all him). We were all together in a beer drinking situation, so the moment was right, and the chance that Rishi would be left out of the end of the bet was too much for him to handle. He finally relented. We stood there for a few minutes trying to digest the decision. We did a silly three way hand shake thing to make it official (and also ensure that any funny business, such as one person not actually drinking a beer, would not be valid).

We decided the only way to celebrate was by having a chugging contest, with the loser buying a round of shots. We each took an initial sip (pictured above) to wet our lips and savor the moment (I had to set my beer down because my knees nearly buckled), and then pounded the beer.

The sad thing is that the beer was kind of warm, and the act of chugging a beer after so long was nauseating. For a few moments after finishing (btw Sachin lost and still owes us shots), we all felt like we were going to be sick. But eventually our stomachs settled and we drank a couple more pitchers while watching Michigan lose (@#*&^^#@#*$^!!!))

And then we went to Plug Uglies, where we drank more beer and played shuffleboard. And later that night we went to Bayard’s Ale House and all was right with the world.

Fun Fact: The last time I shaved with a razor was Tuesday, August 21, 2007.

I’ve received quite a wide range of reactions since starting this facial hair experiment a little over 11 weeks ago. The most common of these are listed below (in descending order of frequency):

- Comparisons to a terrorist. In addition to being the most common, this is also the most annoying. Brown man with a beard? OMG, TERRORIST! Seriously? The worst part is, the most common offenders are my brown friends.

- Comparisons to a high-up at my office, the only other person on our floor (probably 150 people) to have facial hair. A funny observation, no doubt, but not a flattering one. He’s older and more esteemed and slightly resembles Al Borland, and I…. well I am none of those things.

- Assorted comments of praise, such as “you look distinguished,” “you look manly,” “it’s a good look on you”, or “you look better than before” (huh?). Definitely flattering, but sometimes I get the feeling that these people are just trying to be nice.

- Assorted comments of criticism, such as “Dude, you need to shave.” This should maybe be ranked higher on this list. Whatever, go fuck yourselves. Haters.

- Praise for having facial hair that ‘connects’ - that is, the hair on the sides, bottom, and front of my face all come together as one. Surprisingly, many guys struggle with this. (Side note: Many girls don’t!)

I’ve also received some unique one-off reactions from certain people.

- One night at a bar, Sachin told me that another girl had mentioned to him earlier that she had a thing for beards. I thought he was just messing with me, but when I later talked to her, it turned out that, yes, she did in fact currently have a thing for men with beards. As we talked, she sat there rubbing the sides of my face, an experience I will describe as not unpleasant. Sadly, this story does not have a happy ending (unless you define happy ending as leaving the conversation to say hi to some friends, never returning to it, later hitting on a girl with a boyfriend, and going home alone).

- A manager at work said I looked like an “Indian George Michael.”

(He did add “The ‘Faith’ George Michael, not the ‘public restroom’ George Michael.” I still don’t know if that makes it any better.)

But nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to the conversation with a complete stranger I had yesterday, initiated indirectly as a result of having a beard.

I had stopped by Taco Bell on my way home from work (honestly, I don’t even try to make stories like this happen… they just do), and while waiting for my food to be made, an employee from the Dunkin Donuts half of the store came over.

“Are you Pakistani?”
“No. I’m Indian. Well, my parents are from India… I was born here.”
“Oh… you look like Inzamam-ul-Haq. Like you are his brother.”
“Huh?”
“You know who that is?”
“No, I have no idea.”
“Hey, he looks like Inzamam-ul-Haq, no?”
[guy making my food turns around, gives creepily intense grin of agreement]
“He’s an ex-captain of the Pakistani cricket team.”
“Oh…haha…”
“Yeah, you look just like him.”
[After a few seconds of silence, he can't get over it and brings it up again]
“You should look him up on Google when you get home.”
“How do you spell his last name?”
“H-A-Q.”
“And his first name?”
“Inzamum” [indiscernible, not spelled]
“Uh… got it. I’ll look it up.”
“You really look just like him!”

Wow. Just… Wow.