Tomorrow is my Dad’s birthday.

On Isolation
To feel alone in the most crowded city is one of the most depressing yet liberating experiences for a guy like me. On one hand I feel that I am more of a man for being able to step forward each and every day “alone”. On the other hand, I feel sad and depressed that at the end of the day I have not one particular individual whom I rely and rest upon. I continue to consider myself blessed because I have a gamut of amazing, knowledgeable, loving, caring, and supportive people- some of whom are not at all aware that they support and encourage me in such astonishing ways.

So- the realization that I am supported by a melting pot of individuals can spark a smirk or puzzlement in the eye. Is that to say that I am any more or less than the guy who finds support in ONE facet of life?

Often I wonder, at any given time, how many people are thinking about me. How many heads is “Scott” running through? I ask this out of part selfishness (we all wonder that, get real) and part quest to articulate the spontaneous and rapid stock-ticker of people, events, and things that is perpetually scrolling across a marquee that lies right behind me line of vision. Yes, that is right, all day, everyday, even when I am looking you in the eye there are names, places, and things running through my mind. I really am of the ADD generation. I blame it on too much TV as a kid. I should have been forced to read more.

Maybe I am so isolated because that fucking marquee is keeping me from disclosing the real “me”.

On Foolish Things
Our lives are filled with many noisy and foolish things. Bracelets, extra cell-phones, smaller iPods, drink coasters, key chains, flash-lights… seriously, do we need all of this shit? The answer is no.

A life simplistic is a life pure. A life complex is complicated. A life short can be complicated and one long is often pure.

New Yorker’s love excess. We don’t have suburban homes in gated communities with 3 car garages. We have Prada bags and luxury lofts. Not one person will know you live in the most glamorous apartment (which is really closer to a trailer park in the sky) if you don’t walk in Gucci. But wait, who really gives a serious shit about any of that?

There are the “in-betweens”… the people in suburbia who buy mid-class luxury cars (a pimped out Mazda versus a basic Mercedes, for example), are the people with a really, really good “fake bag guy” below Canal, and a yearning to hold a martini (made with well vodka, not Grey Goose) at a Meatpacking District hot-spot on a Friday night, hoping she will not again be denied access to some trendy over priced, bridge-and-tunnel flooded nightclub where financial yuppies with fake-money dive their faces into 8-Balls of cocaine and pour over priced import vodka down the throats of innocent model-wannabes in a desire to be hot enough to sleep with, but in actually turning themselves into a disgusting beast of addiction and self-loathing.

There are also “made-its”… the people who have a fucking shit-ton of money and don’t need to show it. They wear the Chanel, Gucci, and Prada but opt for logo-less items because, well, they don’t need to flaunt it. They have probably had their money for 2+ generations. Basically, this is the classy class. The real shit.

I also love the yuppies that find it really cool to look poor. These are the Goldman-Sachs guys who live in the Lower East Side, wear Converse sneakers, “old” Diesel jeans, and a western style button down from Foley and Corina (that cost them $150). They so badly want to be “in a band” that rehearses in a basement on Ludlow, but instead, they spent their teens and early 20s slaving away on their education, only to land a job that makes them hate life, so they play poor, eager, and trendy on the weekends, leaving their parents lost in a stupor of confusion of what has happened to their child that “they worked so hard on”.

On South Africa
I am not sure what it is, but I have a deep obsession with South Africa. It may have been Kiefer, a guy I met in San Diego last year, or it may be my desire to go explore opposites. I actually was into that country PRE-KIEFER, but I suppose it sounds more romantic to involve a man. After Kiefer I have met a handful of South African people. I consider them to have the benefits of a European minus any of the stereotypical arrogance or pretension. I think that the respectful, laid-back, warm, and calm lifestyle mixed with the European culture yields a strong and beautiful class of people… diverse and void of many of the pretentious, foul, and discriminating qualities of modern Americans.

It is far too soon to tell, but I am looking into study abroad programs and possible living situations in South Africa. I wonder how much of a reality that is... Riiight.

Included in this post are some pics of cape town and one of new smyrna beach in FL where my bro/dad/and co live now.

On Continuing College
I fucking miss and hate that I am not currently continuing my bachelors. That must be changed this year, damnit.

I do not think F.I.T is for me. I do not want to be a victim of fashion. I believe that I can provide the world with more than a strong attempt to make really good looking good stuff look even good-er when put on good looking super people at super high prices in really good places.

I think I should write. And travel. Or, be a travel writer. Maybe a traveling writer?