I Don't Want Money. Just Enjoy The Music.

Last week, I sat down on the local 1 train going downtown, heading home from Columbia.  That particular day, I had an awesome squat and deadlift workout, I learned about nuclear decay in chemistry and did terribly on my chemistry quiz.  Needless to say, it was a long day and I was tired.  There I sat, headphones in, listening to Hockey (my favorite band of the week), dazing in an out of consciousness as the subway rocked back and forth.  Like countless times past, the train pulled into the 79th St station and people began that little dance, negotiating positions as they try to get on and off.  Just as the doors start to close, a group of three Mexicans jump on board.  All three wore huge cowboy hats, two had guitars and the third carried an accordion.  Glancing around the train, there were a mix of reactions...  The few tourists onboard took out their cameras.  Most of the commuters rolled their eyes and raised the volume on their iPods.  I paused my music in anticipation of their performance.  I wasn't about to fight the volume and risk going deaf.  The musicians played their piece, asked for money, and switched cars as the train rolled between stations.  New Yorkers know the tune...  Anyone whose ridden the subway has heard the music before.  They come on, play some music, and ask for your money.  Judging by the reactions of my fellow subway riders, everyone immediately knew what was going on and what to expect.

A couple of weeks before this, a very similar situation ensued.  I sat on a downtown N train near Central Park as this young, scruffy, and dirty looking guy got on the train.  He had a violin in his hand and a box tied to a string, hanging around his neck.  Once again, eyes rolled, people moved away, others pulled their belongings in tight.  As the train left the station, he began to play.  The dude was phenomenal.  I could have closed my eyes and imagined myself in Carnegie Hall, listening to a solo from the philharmonic.  I took out my headphones and listened, gazed in amazement.  I looked around.  The passengers were all as stunned as I was.  The train pulled into the next station and instead of getting up and asking for money, he continued to play.  The violinist eventually got up and began walking around, stopping by each passenger.  As he got closer to me, I reached for my wallet.  Yes, even I was prepared to give this guy some money.  Then I finally saw the box.  More importantly, I saw the sign on the box.  "I don't want money.  Just enjoy the music."  

Stunned.  Absolutely, unequivocally stunned.  That guy got on the subway and everyone, including me, made a snap judgement as to what he wanted, what his angle was.  Everyone has an angle, right?  This guy didn't, yet we all judged him.  Judging people based on their surroundings, appearance, and overall characteristics is natural and we all do it all the time.  It happens to me quite often lately.  Just the other day, I was walking through the office wearing a lab coat.  As I walked into the kitchen, a pharmaceutical company representative proudly held up some drug and said "hello, Doctor, I'd like to show this to you."  I politely declined, grabbed my coffee, and walked back to my desk with a huge smile on my face.  

We've all heard the phrase that to assume is to make an ass out of you and me.  And it's true, but it's impossible to not make assumptions.  Like I said before, it's in our nature.  Sometimes, making quick judgements can protect your property or even save your life.  You don't necessarily know why people do what they do and therefore, try to reserve judgment.  People do things out of their own ambitions, necessities, and even fears.  Who knows why that kid decided to get onto the subway and play his violin.  Was it a social statement, a political one?  Maybe he just needed a place to practice.  Who knows.  But he taught me a very valuable lesson...  Sometimes you need to just clear your mind and enjoy the music.  

Hey Mom... I Got a Plan. How About Daytona?

Whats the craziest thing you've ever done for the sport that you love?  Wait in a long line for tickets?   Paint yourself in the colors of your favorite team?  Maybe it was you who got up and danced while being broadcast on the jumbo-tron.  Thats all good and crazy and all... but I mean really out there, to the point that people say 'what the hell?' when you tell them of your deed.  Well, my first crazy sports related adventure came back in the summer of 2005, when my mom and I went to the Pepsi 400 in Daytona, Florida.

My family and I became NASCAR fans back in 1997 when, for Christmas, I got a computer game called NASCAR Racing 2.  It was a racing simulator.  I spent hours designing cars and racing them.  Usually my races ended in a fiery crash with my car somehow always tangled with the 24 car of Jeff Gordon.  Later that year, in the summer of 1997, my mom informed my brothers and I that she had purchased tickets for the Pepsi 400 in Daytona, FL and that we were going to go after a family vacation in Orlando.  At the time, the sport was nothing more than pixels moving on a screen, so the only reaction I had was... "Why?"  Looking back on it now, I kinda feel bad.  She was all excited and I had no real interest.  Oh well...  Sorry mom!

During the four hours of that race, two crucial events took place that would shape my sports life for the next thirteen years.  The first, Jeff Gordon hit the wall.  The crowd burst into cheers and applause.  Not really knowing what was going on, I wondered why everyone loved the fact that he crashed and I felt bad for the poor guy.  Little did I know that everyone hated him because he was literally the best racer on the track.  What was done was done, I was now a Jeff Gordon fan.  The second thing happened when I went to get a snack.  Down by the concessions was a fence that separated the pack of cars barreling down the track at 200 mph and the fans.  At the time, safety rules were much more relaxed and I walked up to the fence just as all forty something cars came flying by.  Words cannot describe the rush from the wind and noise.  I was almost knocked over and deafened.  It was awesome.  I stood there for a couple of laps waiting for it to happen over and over again.  I was hooked.

Since that family vacation, we have gone to a race at least once every year.  For the most part, we stuck to the Pennsylvania 500 in the Poconos.  It was local, cheap, and an easy trip overall.  In 2005, however, my mom and I were eager to go to another race and we began scouring the schedule for one that we would be able to go to given our school and work schedules.  That's when we saw that tickets were still available for the 2005 Pepsi 400.  Ahhh, nostalgia... our first race from almost tens years before that, however this time, there was a huge difference.  The year after we first went to that race, it was switched from Sunday afternoon to Saturday night.  Specifically, the Saturday night of July 4th weekend.  Huh... interesting.  The race would start at 8pm, so we could fly down that morning and then just stay over Saturday night and fly home Sunday.  Good deal!  One problem...  all the hotel rooms from Daytona Beach to Jacksonville were booked.  Crap.  But wait!  If the race is Saturday night, why not just fly home first thing Sunday after the race.  No hotel room is needed.  Now we had a plan.

So we booked!  We got a Delta Airlines flight from JFK to Orlando, with a connection in Raleigh, roundtrip.  I packed just a backpack with my favorite Jeff Gordon t-shirt and hat, my mp3 player, and some snacks.  My mom packed roughly the same stuff (except all of her apparel had a large 8 on it with pictures of Dale Earnhardt Jr, ugh).  At JFK, we boarded this tiny little airplane where we had to walk out on the tarmac and up the steps.  I took this opportunity to act much more important than I was and as I approached the door of the plane, at the top of the staircase, I turned and waved to my amazing fans and public....  Okay fine, it was just the baggage handlers and they didn't even wave back.  Jerks.

We arrived in Raleigh at about noon and had a delightful lunch before flying down to Orlando.  At this point, we reviewed our plan...  We arrive in Orlando at about two in the afternoon.  We pick up the car and drive the hour and a half drive to Daytona (expecting race traffic, probably much longer than that).  We hang out at the track for pre-race activities until eight o'clock when the race starts.  At about midnight, we get the car and drive back to Orlando and wait until our 5:30am flight back to New York.  Everything was perfect.  What could go wrong?

We picked up our Chrysler Sebring convertible (we were living large) after dodging all the cruise, resort, and timeshare salespeople that bombard the newly arriving passengers.  An so we cruised to Daytona with the top down and our shirts and hats proudly displaying where we were going and who we were rooting for.  As we arrived in what had literally become NASCAR City, we were directed to park in the lot of some university many miles from the track.  Shuttle buses then took us to a lot, much closer to the track.  As I stepped out of the bus, I heard a squishy sound and feel under my foot.  Mud?  What the hell!?  Where did all the mud come from?  The lot was a disgusting mess!  Well, that goes to show how much I knew about Florida weather and the random rain storms that would move through.  Wait, what?  What was this about rain?  NO! Nononononononononono.  The slick rubber tires of a race car do not mix well, or at all, with rain.  

With sky looking clear, my mom and I basked in the gluttony that makes a NASCAR race.  Sausage and pepper sandwiches, lemon slushies, pizza... oh man, its great.  There is a reason why a lot of NASCAR fans look the way they do.  Pre-race activities began as paratroopers flew in from the sky and we found out seats by the Start/Finish line, much closer than the first time we came, when we sat in the Depalma box, almost half a mile down the the track, jeez that was far away.  Lisa Marie Presley sang the National Anthem as three F-16 Fighting Falcons flew overhead causing all 100,000 plus people to gaze at the awesome power of the nation's military.  Shortly after, the most important words in all of motorsports, this time, Donald Rumsfeld, the then Secretary of Defense proudly told the drivers to 'start their engines'.  And that was when Florida rained on our parade.  

It poured.  People put on ponchos.  Others went underneath the grandstands.  Teams brought out covers for the cars and NASCAR started up their jet dryers (jet engines on the back of pickup trucks which heat the track).  My mom and I sat there, in our one set of clothes and sneakers, staring straight ahead, soaked to the bone, and waited.  Hours passed.  I had never been so drenched in my life and I am a swimmer!  At times the rain lightened up or stopped which gave us all hope, only to start pouring again.  The wind picked up and the temperature dropped.  No, I didn't have a sweatshirt or anything, it's Florida in July, why would I have a jacket!?  I went down to try and find some coffee.  The only concession stand with a cup was down in the Depalma box, oh no...  Our original seats, about a half mile away.  At times, while sitting there, my mom cried.  Hell, even I cried.  Our perfect plan ruined!  This was not fair...  we were getting ready to leave, to fly back to New York, without having seen a race.  At 11pm, NASCAR had dried the track enough and called drivers to the their cars.  Amazingly, to the surprise of the diehards, neigh, idiots, still in the stands, the race was on.

The green flag dropped at about 11:30 and racing commenced.  It was worth the wait.  Still soaked to the bone and freezing cold, we now cheered on our favorites with all the energy that we had left.  Mark Martin, my little brother's favorite driver, took a spin and crashed into the wall right in front of us.  Boris Said spun out and took his car through the grass kicking up mud and splashing water in a spectacular display, causing the fans to jump up and scream.  A couple of hours later, Tony Stewart survived the rain and mayhem and won the race, climbing the fence for the first time, to celebrate with his fans.  Jeff Gordon placed seventh and Dale Earnhardt Jr finished third.  

It was two o'clock, Sunday morning when we finally got back to our Sebring and started the trek back to Orlando.  We fought through post race traffic while a sensational fireworks display went off above Daytona International Speedway, and eventually made our way back to I-4 en route to the airport.  It was 3am and the roads were empty, we were hungry, we were tired.  "Are you alright, can you drive?"  "Yes mom, I'm fine" were the only phrases that made up a mostly repetitive conversation during the drive back.  We decided to pull off and get something to eat and some coffee.  At an exit near Deltona, I pulled of the highway, followed by another car behind me.  Figuring Deltona was a bigger city, there would be someplace to get food, Florida's version of a 7-11 or Wawa or something, anything!  As we come off the exit to the cross road, I looked left, I looked right.  As far as the eye could see, which was not very far, was total darkness.  The road disappeared.  No lights, no signs, no food, and most importantly... no coffee!  I turned the wheel hard to the left and pulled a U-turn on the exit ramp and drove back down to I-4.  There was no way in hell, I was going on that creepy dark road.  Apparently, the guy behind me thought that the same thing and followed with the U-turn, smart move (yes, I was a little worried that they were following me, but I was too tired to really care).  We eventually found a cup of coffee at a rest stop on the highway.  The place was filled with NASCAR fans fueling themselves up for whatever trip they had in front of them.  

We arrived at Orlando Int'l Airport at 5:30am, just in time to watch our Delta flight leave, sigh.  I was tired.  I was hungry.  And now, I wanted to be home.  That is a terrible combination of feelings.  We spoke to Delta and they put us on a Song Airlines (Delta's failed attempt to compete with Jetblue) flight at 7am, direct to New York.  WOOHOO!  No connection.  By this time, our clothes had dried, we had our flight home, we saw the race, everything had worked out.  As we boarded the plane and took our seats, the flight attendants had new age music playing.  There were TV's in the seat-backs, pillows, and food... what a glorious flight home this was going to be, I was excited.  Three minutes later, I was sound asleep.  I don't remember taking off, I didn't get any food or even my usual in-flight orange juice.  I woke up while on approach to JFK, in time to see us land safely at home.  After a short train and car ride back to our house, out adventure had come to an end.  I feasted, I slept, and I began planning the next one...

Forget 'Great Expectations', Try No Expectations!

Twelve college students, walk into the woods...  Sounds like the beginning of a horror movie.  One by one, each student is killed in some gruesome way while going through the woods.  Maybe one is carrying a video camera, documenting the torture to their fellow classmates.  This could also be the beginning of a terrible joke.  Twelve students walk into a bar, they all collectively say "ow!".  I know, terrible...  I didn't laugh either.  But no, this is not a horror story or some terrible stand-up routine... Sorry to disappoint.


I joined the Columbia Hiking Club in an effort to meet new people and get a change of scenery.  I love New York City, but nothing beats the occasional escape into nature (just wait until I start talking about a place lovingly called "Upstate").  I signed up for this hike a couple of weeks ago and eagerly awaited for the day to finally come.  On Friday, the destination was posted... The Delaware Water Gap.  I was even more excited than before.  I had driven through the Water Gap many times on my way to destinations further west, yet never explored the area.


6:00am on a Saturday arrived rather early and my alarm went off reminding me of the adventure that awaited me.  I had no idea what to expect from the day ahead.  Usually, I hate that.  I am someone that likes a plan, not necessarily a broken down itinerary, but at least a vague idea of what the day will bring.  This time, nothing.  I didn't know the people and I didn't know anything about the destination.  No expectations.  By 8:00am, campus was just coming to life.  Sports teams were boarding buses, students were looking for breakfast and lounging out by the steps to Low Library, and I was standing quietly at the 116 st. and Amsterdam gate.  Slowly, a small group of people with backpacks and hiking boots began to gather.  Some quick introductions were made as we boarded the rental van.  A van is pretty close quarters for 12 people, especially for an hour and a half drive.  Initially, the van was silent.  Gradually, some more introductions were made.  The guy sitting next to me introduced himself as Josh.  Eventually, the van was buzzing with the conversation of students meeting students.  "Which school are you in?"  "What degree program are you in?"  "How long were you in Butler (library) last night?"  Everyone seemed nice and friendly.  Josh even made the point: it takes a certain type of person to get up early on saturday and go hiking with people you've never met before, you're not going to get a bunch of jerks.  Hmm, good point.


We arrived at the trailhead, now a group of acquaintances as opposed to being just co-members of a university club.  As we set out on the hike, we were all single file and quiet.  That didn't last long as the conversation started right back up, probably scaring most of the wildlife from there to Pennsylvania.  Stories about people's lives and backgrounds, jokes, and laughter filled the forest as we traversed the rock and dirt path.  At times, the path became steep.  Sweat started to pour, breaths got deeper, conversation slowed and stopped.  Hours passed and we got higher and higher above sea level.  A newt skittered past, a snake slithered and stuck its tongue out at us.  An older couple sitting on a log informed us that we just missed a black bear wandering in the woods.  An actual real life BEAR!  Im kind of glad we missed that one...  We looked down an abandoned copper mine, saw the autumnal effects on the leaves, and eventually came to a vista overlooking the beautiful Delaware river and surrounding woodlands with awe.


As we approached this vista, a man walking past said that the "official bird counter" was up there observing bald eagles and broad-wing hawks.  Okay... bald eagles are pretty damn cool, but what was this about an "official bird counter!?"  What the ... Such a job exists?  Does it pay well?  Anyway, there literally was a man standing at the top with one of those little clickers counting the number of migrating birds, but I digress...  The bird watchers were all lounging out on top of the mountain with scopes and binoculars, eating lunches and chatting.  It was here that the ambitious learner quality that resides in Columbia students took over.  I learned more about migrating eagles and hawks than I did over the course of my life.  Way high above us, hawks used thermal updrafts to lift themselves 1000's of feet into the air.  Then they glide down, towards the south, until they hit the next thermal.  By doing this, the birds can travel thousands of miles using very little energy.  We sat and ate our lunches watching the birds and overlooking the Appalachian Mountains.

After forty or so minutes of resting, learning, and watching, we began our descent.  No longer just club-mates or acquaintances, but as friends.  We joked about politics, feminism at Barnard, and anything that came to mind...  How far the topics had progressed in such little time was astounding.  A couple of us already started planning an overnight hike and inquired about volunteering for the group.  On the way home, new friends discussed society and life, a far cry from talking about class and programs.  Finally, e-mails and phones numbers were exchanged and we all went our separate ways, for now.

I didn't expect to meet so many awesome people or learn about migrating birds or even sign up as a driver for an overnight hike, but I'm really glad I did.  No expectations.  Go try something with no preconceived notions or plans.  Always keep an open mind and as my swim coach used to tell me all the time, just go with the flow.  You might experience something great that otherwise may have disappointed.

Got Ca? It Does a Body Good!

I thought I'd post another quick lesson in health today, in between my chemistry/physics studying and programming work.  So, read and go be healthy!

I don't think I am going out on a limb when I say we all remember the bombardment of milk ads that we've all seen in life.  "Milk.  It does a body good" and "Got Milk?" were revolutionary ad campaigns promoting the dairy industry's number one product.  Maybe your parents also said things like 'a glass of milk is part of a balanced breakfast' or something to reinforce milk's consumption.  I know my parents did.  In fact, they took it to a further extent.  The rule in my house was that the only thing we were allowed to drink during dinner was milk.  Flank steak, spaghetti and meatballs, stir-fry, the meal didn't matter... a glass filled with the white liquid accompanied it.  In fact, thats all we were allowed to drink for the rest of the night.  Water was always an option, but I never really considered it.  So milk it was...  But why?  What made this stuff so special and so much better than my beloved orange juice or soda?

Well, I may have not enjoyed that rule, but to this day, my bones are still thanking my parents.  You see, milk and other dairy products are a human's primary source of calcium (Ca).  Calcium, is a mineral that is essential to human life, especially early on while the skeleton is developing.  As the skeleton grows, calcium is used to build bone structure.  In fact, bones are the primary storage location of the mineral.  Around ninety-nine percent of the body's calcium is found in bones, providing them with their strength and structure.  Deficiencies in calcium would, in turn, lead to weaker bones and osteoporosis (fragile, porous bones that break easily due to lower density).  

Calcium deficiency problems arise due to the fact that bone density is not calcium's only purpose in the body and intake is inadequate.  The mineral is used in everything from muscle contractions, blood clotting, nerve impulse transmissions, enzymes, and neurotransmitters.  Here's the kicker...  The body considers all of those purposes more important than the strength of its bones.  So take a guess as to what's going to suffer if calcium intake is not up to par.  The body will sense a drop in blood-calcium levels.  It will then proceed to pull calcium from bones (as well as try to absorb more and excrete less) in order to bring those levels back to normal and balanced.  However, if the deficiency continues, the body will continue to use the bone's calcium stores to maintain the functionality of vital systems, like the contractions of the heart.

Okay, finally the importance of the drink makes sense...  Growing up, I had no idea.  So how do you get your 1,000 milligrams?  Or even more if you are above 50 (closer to 1,500 mg).  A glass of milk contains about 300mg of absorbable calcium, so drink up.  Other food sources include cabbage, broccoli, and other green veggies.  The problem with some green veggies, like spinach, is that the calcium is not absorbable.  So heed the ads, get yourself a milk mustache and do your body good!  Try it with your dinner, I know I still do!

Water Separates the World, Wine Brings it Together

Do you know the origin of your name?  I mean the etymological origins, not the fact that you may have been named after some great uncle, once-removed, on your mother's side.  I am not sure if my parents knew the meaning of Dennis before they labeled me with such a distinct honor, but if they did, they may have had some devious plans in mind.  'Dennis' originates from Greece and is derived from Dionysus, the greek god of wine, theater, and fertility.  He was the Liberator!  The one "who inspires ritual madness, joyful worship, and ecstasy, carnivals, celebration." (Wikipedia)  Wow, what a name!  In future posts, I may make reference to some of these other characteristics, but today, I'm going to tell a story about a boy from New York who travelled to the Old World and discovered the importance of the red water that his name's etymological origins were so engrossed with.


Wine, to me was always an elitist drink.  So many different types, grapes, ages, vineyards, how are you supposed to make a decision.  At least with beer, I initially had the influence of television commercials and ads.  "Samuel Adams, always a good choice!"  Not to mention an older brother and a father who both liked beer.  But wine was hidden, not really accessible to me at all.  My parents occasionally had a bottle white zinfandel in the house, which I had tried a couple of times.  A vile, sickeningly sweet drink with this odd boozy after taste to it.  Gross... at that point, I didn't care if it was accessible or not, it was nasty. 


That all changed after a study abroad trip in the summer of 2004.  I travelled around Europe with a group from the Normandy Business School studying, take a guess, wine!  More specifically, we were researching the business related aspects of importing alcoholic beverages into the European Union.  Yeah, guess where we did our field research.  Upon arriving in Brussels, during orientation, I was handed a beer, a Chimay Bleu.  Yes!  I know beer and I know that I like this beer, so we're good, for now.  In Holland, I was handed a Heineken.  Alright!  Once again, a beer that I knew (in this case, a beer I knew I despised, but still a beer), but I'm still in the cool.  Welcome to France and Spain!  Uh oh... whats this red stuff in the nice crystal glass?  I truthfully don't even remember what the first wine was.  All I remember was how I talked myself out of liking it.  It wasn't beer, I didn't know it, I don't want it.  I'm not an elitist, wine isn't for me.  My professor then said something that knocked me off my beer loving feet.  He said... try it, it's just wine.  He said that you should go to the store and pick a bottle that 'looks good' and that liking the label is a perfectly valid reason to try a bottle.  He then took a sip, did this little aeration trick with his mouth, and said now thats good...  Try it!  And try it, I did.  Wine was now accessible, wine was grounded.  In my mind, wine was no longer that elitist drink that only wine insiders drank.  In fact, while at a restaurant in Spain, later on during the trip, a friend and I even got a bottle.  The first bottle I ever ordered, De Casta by Torres, a rosé.  

Italian Hillside

I cultivated my new education steadily, trying various vintages from California and Long Island vineyards, even one from North Carolina.  I mainly stuck to the big name varietals like merlot or cabernet sauvignon, I still felt a little intimidated venturing from those, but I was drinking wine and I was happy.  
In January of 2006, my experience with and access to wine took another leap forward.  I studied for a month in Italy.  This time, I was studying ancient art and architecture, not alcohol, but still... in the land of wine, one will indulge oneself.  My friends, professor, and I took a tour of Sergio Mottura vineyard at the top of a hill in Civitella d'Agliano.  The view was magnificent as it towered over the rest of the small town and its rows of grape trees lined the downward slopes.  Leaving the main house, going down a damp stone staircase, we walked into the wine cellar.  Now deep inside the hill itself, barrels of wine lined the cool, dark cavern.  Some barrels contained red, some white, and at the end of the rows are where the sparkling wine rested.  Here, the grapes that grew out in those italian fields became the drink that is beloved around the world.  The leader of our tour began pouring and gave us a tasting.  Before taking our first sip, he said things like 'grapes don't grow well in sand... Long Island wines are pure acid' and 'if you are going to drink a varietal, get one from where it came from, be honest with your wine.'  We then proceeded to taste and once again, my understanding of wine was turned upside down.  It was smooth, dry, and delicious.  It coated my tongue and left a delightful aftertaste in the back of my throat.  It was a Pinot Noir.  He laughed and said to me, "I'd knew you'd like that one.  No more merlot for you."


Later on during that trip, my friend Nick and I were touring Florence as we hunted for a friend's wine bar, Il Volpe Enoteca.  There we sat and tried our new found taste in pinot noirs and other italian wines.  While eating prosciutto, cheese, and crackers, we had taste tests to see which wine we like better.  The waitress would serve a glass with a colored rubber band on the stem to distinguish what we were drinking.  Pinot noir, merlot, sangiovese, and others all got their own colored band.  After many glasses it was determined that we both preferred pinot noir over the others served.  As we stood up to leave, I glanced at the menu on the chalkboard above the counter.  There was this one glass which was almost twice the price of the others on the list.  Nick and I decided to try it, how often do you get to go to an italian wine bar and indulge?  So we each ordered a glass of Brunello di Montalcino.  What was served to us wasn't really red, it was more brown and it was served in a very wide glass.  This sangiovese varietal from Tuscany had such depth to its flavor, it was so smooth, and had such a lasting aftertaste.  It was dry, with floral and earthy notes.  Some black cherry, maybe even chocolate flavors filled my palette.  It was simply amazing and to me, we had discovered the best in the world.

Brunello di Montalcino

Wine is a fascinating drink that has a different meaning and purpose to everybody in every situation.  Go home and contemplate a long day's work with a glass in the evening, celebrate the a special occasion with a glass of Brunello, or simply enjoy a well paired glass of wine with dinner.  Wine is not an elitist drink.  The two-buck-chuck has just as much of a place in life as the merlots, pinots, and barolos.  
So, go find a label with a funny name or a picture you like.  You might find something great.  Maybe ask the server or sales person to recommend something based on a food pairing.  Thats how I found Cotê du Rhone, a wonderful earthy wine that goes great with roasted vegetables.  


I can't help but wonder how else my personality may develop to match my name's origins.  But in the meantime, I'm going to go enjoy a glass and not worry about it.  Wine is accessible, go pick up a bottle, share it, enjoy it.

*I will soon be posting a wine list (as has been requested by many friends) detailing wines across a range of prices, varietals, vineyards, and some recommended pairings.

Have You Ever Gone to a Bar Alone?

The beer is flowing, the shades are down, its dark, I'm buzzed, and all 9 TV's are tuned to football (soccer).  I must be at Nevada Smith's or what I have come to refer to as my home away from home, my library, my church, you name it.  Its my spot to escape from the world around me for 90 minutes to watch 22 men scramble furiously for a ball in what is often a futile attempt to kick it into goal.  Usually, its me and a couple of other Bayern fans sitting in the dark (they close the shades to see the match better).  Today is not normal though...  The bar is packed on a Wednesday afternoon.  It literally has become a microcosm of Europe as the UEFA Champions League kicks off and Europeans have no where else to go to root for their home team.

Tons of people pack in around the bar to get their drinks before kickoff and then migrate to which ever television is showing their team.  I was sitting there, alone, in my FC Bayern jersey (a team which I have become quite fond of) waiting for the Bayern v Roma match to start.  When I arrived, the place was pretty much empty, but I knew that wasn't going to last long.  So I grabbed my beer and my stool and secured a spot in front of the TV that I cared about.  Soon the place filled up.  In walked a guy that I recognized from other Bayern matches, so I made a spot for him to sit down.  Fans of Chelsea, Real Madrid, Roma, Bayern, even an Inter Milan fan (Inter played yesterday) was there to watch AC Milan with fellow Italians.  As English, Spanish, French, Dutch, etc all scattered around the bar, I was now surrounded by Germans and Italians all speaking in languages that I did not understand at all.

2:45: Kick Off.  

Each group was now broken off into their separate areas, decided upon by Nevada Smith's management as to which match to play on which TV.  Chelsea got the projector and the overhead commentary.  My fellow Germany fans and I watched Bayern progress in silence.  For the most part, the place was quiet.  Some chatter, some small talk... nothing major as everyone watched with anticipation of their favorite footy team scoring.  BOOM!  The crowd erupts.  What happened?   Bayern didn't score and thats all I was paying attention to.  Heads began to spin to see what TV, what team, earned that first goal.  Chelsea.  For the next 90 minutes, that happened over and over again.  Chelsea again.  And then Chelsea again!  Then Real Madrid.  Chelsea a couple more times, and AC Milan was next.  Us Bayern fans were getting a little anxious.  The Roma fans too.  When was it going to be our turn?  I wanted to jump up and scream and yell and hug the people next to me as if it was I that scored that goal.  But time was dwindling down and both teams started to look desperate.  80th minute: Thomas Müller scores.  The German fans erupt in a fit of passion, drowning out the cursing from the Italians.  A couple of minutes later, Miroslav Klose scores again for Bayern.  It was once again our turn to come together as friends and cheer for our team.  And cheer we did.

Nevada Smith's during Euro 2012 Qualifiers
(Germany v Belgium)

I entered that bar alone.  I never in my life thought I would be doing that, going and drinking alone.  Thats the sign that someone has a problem right?  The first time I did something like this was pretty scary.  I went to Zum Schneider for a World Cup match (Germany v Australia).  Talk about being out of my comfort zone...  I barely knew the sport, I didn't have anyone to talk to, I didn't even speak the language of the people that I was with (everyone spoke German).  But, I quickly learned that I was not alone. Far from it actually...  The world is a friendly place.  There is always someone willing to talk, you just have to reach out and be friendly.  I've met so many interesting people by doing this.  I met Ehmer a couple of weeks ago while watching Bayern against Wolfsburg.  Tom, despite seeing him around for awhile, I met today while watching the Champions League.  They were both language students, studying abroad in America.  I met Phillip and Raffi while they were vacationing in NY and stopped in to catch the Euro 2012 qualifiers.  These are all people that I never would have had the experience and pleasure of meeting had I never wandered into Zum Schneider or Nevada Smith's alone that first time.

Scary and uncomfortable?  Yes.  But its okay... cause I was never alone.  I was amongst friends that I just hadn't met yet.  

By the way, Thomas Müller is my favorite footballer!

Heartburn? Nah... I'm Just Thirsty.

My first little lesson in health...


A couple of years ago, I was diagnosed with "GERD" or Gastro-Esophageal Reflux Disease or even more commonly known as heartburn!  What happened was this... I went to the gym, had an awesome workout, and then went back to my desk to eat lunch.  Due to my ridiculous post workout hunger, I scarfed down my food.  I barely even chewed.  Low and behold, a piece of food got stuck, causing a massive amount reflux and even damage to the lining of my esophagus.  I went to Lenox Hill Hospital, was examined, x-rayed, and essentially told to chew better in the future.


Now, I had suffered from heartburn spells before, but this was something else.  The pain in my chest was so terrible it made me sick to my stomach.  To alleviate the symptoms, I was told to angle my bed, avoid coffee and chocolate, and all the other normal anti-GERD recommendations.  I was also prescribed a proton-pump inhibitor, which reduces the amount of stomach acid produced.


Here's the problem... none of that really helped.  The PPI would do the trick, until I stopped taking it and then the heartburn would come back full force.  I despise taking medicine like that, so I decided to look into what causes acid reflux and try something different.  The answer that I discovered: water.  According to the research that I did (reading articles and testing on myself), heartburn is a thirst indicator for the body.  Stomach acid has a pH of about 2 (hydrochloric acid) while water, being neutral, has a pH of 7.  By drinking water, you naturally dilute the acidity of your stomach.  Antacids do the same thing, but to a stronger extent... which could lower the acidity too much.  Water would do this naturally and gradually.  I tried it... and it worked.  I increased my water intake and now I am off the little purple pill and my bed is still nice and level.  So, take it or leave it...  It may not actually cure your heartburn, but drinking a glass of water is a lot easier, cheaper, and healthier than reaching for the pill bottle.  What have you got to lose?


These comments have not been reviewed by the FDA.  And I'm not actually a doctor.  Yet.