Tiger Woods Y'all

Heading to Bermuda tomorrow for a work/golf trip. Presently watching Happy Gilmore to prepare. Hopefully I can keep the ball dry. Hopefully I can put the ball in its home before my 10th stroke. Hopefully I don't slice a drive into someone's face or chip a divot into a spectator's Rum Swizzle.

Hopefully I don't look like THIS GUY! Just plain turrible...

SpaHa Profile: Wash and Iron - The Laundromat Lady

She works ridiculous hours, sacrifices weekends for her job, cleans Spa-Ha dirty laundry, breathes in poisonous fumes, and yet, she seems happy. Every week, she greets us with a smile. Actually, I can't be positive that she's smiling. She wears a medical mask over her mouth. She could be grinding her teeth and cursing all of us under her breath.

She calls me the big guy. "Heyyy, it's the big guy!!" A phrase I've grown accustomed to since my time in Korea.

She even sewed a slight tear in my pants together...FO' FREE! I tried to slip her a 5 dollar bill. She kindly declined. "No, no. Merry Christmas." It was February 5th.

She's cute. She laughs at my jokes, runs to the front counter when I walk in and has to be the most beautiful girl...in the...room. Depending on the room of course.

Here's to the laundromat lady.

SpaHa Profile: AM-NY Guy, Yup, Yup, Yup

He's up earlier than most of us, yet, he has the energy of Richard Simmons after drinking six Red Bulls. His hands smell of ink. His legs are tired from standing. He spits. He smiles. He yells. He works through rain, snow, sunshine, atomic fallout. His job must be done. He's the AM-NY guy.

His office is just up the stairs from the 6 train. The place where rats feast on trash and sandwiches get crushed in subway doors. His mouth never stops moving and his attitude is refreshingly positive on these cold, weekday mornings.

"Yup, yup, yup. AM! Freebie! Here we go! Whoooop!"

His yelps reverberate throughout Spanish Harlem. Usually he just repeats the above phrases, but sometimes he mixes it up. Adds a little spice.

One morning as I was reaching for the paper he came up with a phrase that sent Alex and I cackling into the subway.

"Yup, Yup. Here we go! I like it when you grab and go! Whoooop!"

I like it when you grab and go? Imagine hearing someone say that at 7 in the morning. Someone you don't even know? Was that what I was doing? I was grabbing and going? Kind of dirty, no? Either way, it was a great line.

I began to wonder if he stayed up late at night brainstorming new phrases for the following morning. Does he practice these in front of the mirror?

Of course, there are those commuters that can't stand this burst of noise and positive energy at 7 am. One woman actually began yelling at AM during his performance.

"You can't be this loud this early! Why can't you just be like the Metro lady?!

Metro lady, "Metro...Metro...Metro..."

But instead of backing down and shying away from the angry grouch, AM walked right up into the woman's face and did a little dance.

"You know you love it. That's right! Whooooopp!"

AM has not been challenged since.

My roommates and I also wonder about AM's life.

Lynch sees AM as an angry, disgruntled middle-aged man with turrets syndrome. He loves to yell at people and is actually a psycho serial killer in his spare time.

Alex seems to think AM is a CEO of a fortune 500 company somewhere downtown. He lives in a posh penthouse in midtown, drinks Courvoisier for breakfast and does this newspaper gig as a hobby. He just loves the feel and smell of that early morning paper. He's also dating the Metro lady.

I do think he loves the paper, but I'm not sure if he's a CEO. Although, that would be a great story. Definitely AM-NY worthy.

Monday, Monday

I was traveling down south this week for work. Gone from Tuesday to Friday.

Now, you'd think that one of the 3.5 days I was traveling would be the most interesting of the week. The most memorable. The coolest of the uncool post-college work week.

Surprisingly enough, Monday was the one day that stood out during this past week. Monday morning to be exact. Not really because it was cool or interesting. But because it was particularly awkward, uncomfortable and amusing.

It started out like any other Monday. Late. I snoozed my alarm 3 separate times and didn't make it into the shower until 7:15. Five minutes off my scheduled pace to ensure Lynch and Alex could get adequate shower/shave/Lady Gaga on the bathroom i-pod dance time. I was out by 7:40. Still had about 30 minutes before I had to leave for work. I grabbed my phone and set my alarm for 8 a.m. Quick nap before breakfast.

Lynch left a little before 8 to study for his CFA (Driver's Test) at work. That left Alex and myself. Just like during the holiday season, Alex is especially cheery on Monday mornings.

Alex and I ripped our sandwiches out of the fridge and threw them in our work bags. It was the first time I'd made a sandwich in about 2 weeks. I felt responsible and my wallet thanked me.

We headed to the elevator, slamming our apartment door behind us and cursing the long week ahead of us.

We hit the elevator button and after passing by us both on the way up and back down again, it stopped on the 7th Floor. By that time, our hallway neighbor had joined us for the ride down to the 1st floor.

Now, the only thing that makes a Monday morning worse is being forced into conversation with someone. Whether it's some bum on the subway, the Metro delivery woman or an old coworker you never actually liked.

Well, Alex and I were thrust into that position on this cold, Monday morning. We'd actually met this girl before in the same situation and already exhausted all conversation topics during the 5 minute walk to the 6 train. We had nothing more to say to her.

Neighbor: "Hey guys! How are you? I literally just woke up 10 minutes ago!" (lol!)

Alex: "Monday morning. Wish I never woke up."

Neighbor: Nervous laughter.

We continued to bombard the poor neighbor with Monday morning misery and senseless inside jokes. She had no idea what was going on. This continued up until the three of us were standing on the subway station. Once here, our isolating humor died down. Now only long, awkward pauses.

The subway pushed into the station, packed to capacity with people from all points north of 103rd Street. The car doors creaked open, but no one came out. Nobody was getting off in Spa-Ha. Where the players play and the ballers ball. Where Maria, Maria grew up. Where Blue Magic ran the boys in blue.

So Alex began forcing his way into the subway. LW needed to get into work. He flipped strollers, pushed old women to the floor and elbowed a homeless boy in the face. I watched all this from the platform with our neighbor. I suddenly realized I needed to follow Alex's lead. I couldn't be left with this girl. As mentioned before, all conversation topics had been explored.

I squeezed into a tiny space just as the doors were closing, leaving our neighbor alone. Just as our inside jokes had left her alone. But I had also left something else outside the dirty, unrelenting subway doors. Half of my work bag had become lodged in the unforgiving threshold. I tugged at my briefcase, but couldn't free it from the door's tight grasp. My sandwich? Completely crushed.

Alex and I couldn't stop laughing at the situation and the circumstances leading up to it. We reiterated why we should never have woken up or called in sick to the office. I vowed to never make a sandwich again. Other passengers on the subway also found our predicament funny and smirked at our misfortunes. They smiled! Smiles on a Monday morning in a New York City subway! Unheard of. Rare. Rare like Mr. Clean with hair.

The rest of my Monday was pretty uneventful. I spent a couple hours trying to scan a newspaper article at work and ate chicken burgers for dinner. But the Monday morning was definitely one of the more memorable yet. A time when laughter is hard to come by.

Here's to Mondays?

March On

March. It's my favorite time of the year. A month when brackets burst, birthdays boom, seasons change and baseball begins.

This year my bracket has stayed relatively strong. Besides picking the St. Pete's Peacocks to advance to the Sweet 16 (a team nicknamed the Peacocks will never advance anywhere in any tournament), my bracket is healthy. As long as Kansas St. makes its epic run to the Elite 8 and Steve Lavin packs his team into the DeLorean, beats Gonzaga and BYU and moves on to the Sweet 16, I should be in good shape.

Birthdays in March are like striped shirts in my wardrobe. They're everywhere and always a good time. My birthday fell on a Friday this year. So instead of ordering Asian food and listening to Sheryl Crow, I went to an Asian karaoke restaurant and sang Sheryl Crow! About 20 friends went down to Japas 38 and sang, drank and threw sushi rolls all over the room from 10-12. It was a great time. I don't think I gave up the mic. Not once. We did some 3EB, 80s hits and I sang a duet with another girl who was celebrating her birthday. What song did we do? La Vie En Rose? Always Be My Baby? No way. Nelly and Kelly FTW. Welcome to Nellyville, girl.

Winter turns to Spring. The snow disappears, people are happier and the projects are poppin'. It's the one and only time I wish I still drove the tram in the New York Botanical Gardens. Magnolia Way, the Twin Lakes and the Ruth Rea Howell Family Garden are all in their prime this time of year. FYI. "The long, low brick wall marks the entrance to the Ruth Rea Howell Family Garden..."

America's pastime. The Mets may not be great. In fact, they may not be mediocre or even below average. But baseball is baseball. A game so pure (sans HGH, Barry Bonds and anybody who played from 1988-2009 (sans Mike Piazza)) and undeniably beautiful, it can make/break a little leaguer's childhood, cause grown men to cry and bring warm feelings of nostalgia and tranquility to those hot, summer nights. There's nothing like a late July ball game. I remember driving down to Camden Yards two years ago for a three game set between the Orioles and Mets. Nothing beats that atmosphere. Nothing beats that hazy glow under those soft, ballpark lights. It sort of reminds me of this MasterCard commercial from back in the day. Can "Summer Wind" please be played at every game?