July 2000

Bartenders and bouncers in New York City have never been too kind to me. They see a socially ackward person come into their bar, it is pretty much the same reaction as if Rosa Parks walked into a bar in Alabama in the 50s, or if a Jew walked into a bar in Germany in 1944. The bartender gives me a solemn glance and watches me for a few seconds, which I have come to recognize all too well. Then, he gives me some variation of "I'm sorry I can't serve you", which pretty much means "We don't serve your kind around these parts". I have felt it, I have seen it firsthand. And it all started in 2000, when I was not even legally old enough to go into a bar.

I spent the summer of 2000 in and around Penn State University, with a bunch of wild and crazy high school kids. That, and the following summer of 2001, which was the same situation in Georgetown University, were definitely the two best summers of my life. The purpose of the program was to adjust high school kids to college life through SAT prep, "college-level courses", and "the best summer ever", with every night being an organized, all-expenses paid party, concert, or event.

One of the highlights of the Penn State summer was when the program's organizers rented out a popular State College bar-club called the Crowbar for a night and let all of us in. Imagine that, you're a bouncer coming in for work and you see a full bar filled with 500 high school kids. What would you think? Exactly.

And imagine if you're 16, with all your youthful energy, and they just throw you into a bar. This was the very first time I had ever seen the inside of one of these places, so no kidding i had no idea how to act or what was socially appropriate. Nonetheless I was having a great time dancing to 2000-era party songs, such as "The Bad Touch", "Get Your Roll On", and of course, "Party Up".

Back when I was this age I had an unquenchable thirst for attention. I make fun of it now, but back then I had boundless energy and would do anything to put on a show. Anything, meaning chucking up empty snapple bottles into the woods and enjoying the satisfying crunch of glass exploding when they landed. Anything, meaning breaking up two chicks who were wrestling in the pouring rain and mud because I was concerned they were actually fighting (Yes, this program was THAT AWESOME!) Anything, meaning leading a bunch of girls into a fully clothed swim in the fountains at DC's Washington Monument (You know what, I was that fucking awesome). With "American Pie" still fresh in everyone's minds, I was compared to Chris Owen's character "The Sherminator". I could not be stopped!

Man, I had some fun times. But going back to the Crowbar on that night, I loved rap music in 2000. And there was one artist, one album, whom everyone knew I was obsessed with. That artist was Eminem. That album was "The Marshall Mathers LP". Yep, it was that summer when Eminem was at his absolute height, and no one would stop talking about him. The so-called "Summer of Shady". And when "The Real Slim Shady" came on at Crowbar, immediately everyone looked at me. They had all heard me rapping Eminem lyrics ever since the summer began. And now, everyone was expecting it, looking at me to do somethin' crazy.

And I did not disappoint. Surrounding the massive dance floor of the Crowbar was a two-rung railing, with the dance floor about 3-5 feet below. So as the first verse of the song came on, I jumped up onto the first rung of the railing and started rapping along. I was standing head and shoulders a good 5 feet above everyone down on the dance floor, and I thought spontaneous amateur performances were an acceptable part of club and bar life. Everyone in my group was diggin' it, throwing their hands up in support when the chorus came in: "Won't the real Slim Shady please stand up, please stand up..." Some girl even came up to where I was and started shaking her large booty right in front of me. I told you, it was a special time.

Just as I began to go into the second verse, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Expecting it to be another admiring groupie or a guy telling me I'm awesome, I looked down, only to see a large, Mexican-looking bouncer screaming something in my ear. I thought he was telling me I was kicking ass. The music was too loud and I couldn't hear a word he was saying. I nodded in approval. He could have been telling me there was a lion loose next door which needed taming. Whatever. I stayed on the railing and kept rapping. I was too engrossed in the song to care.

Then, midway through the third verse, I felt two distinct, very hard taps on my shoulder. I looked down and saw that same Mexican bouncer, and he had come with a friend, a large black bouncer, who resembled former Giants linebacker Lawrence Taylor. They both both began yelling something in my ear. Again, the music was too loud and I could not hear a word they were saying. They would not go away. I rapped, and rapped, then the song started to fade out: "There's a slim shady in all of us. Fuck it, let's all stand up", then I screamed "I AM Slim Shady!" as the beat faded out, before I was immediately thrown/forced down off the railing by the combined force of the two bouncers.

There was no applause or recognition of what i had just done, and everyone on the dancefloor just moved on to the next song. At the time, this was a shock to me. Not exactly how I had seen it in the movies and on TV. The two bouncers herded me off to a back room in the club, away from the blaring rap music coming out of the massive speaker system.

LT: Man, what the hell is wrong with you, kid?

Mexicano: Meng, I was tryin to tell you like 10 times to get down from da' railing, but you wouldn't listen. You deaf or something meng?

Me: I'm sorry I just... just got so much into the song that I couldn't hear what you were saying.

LT: No one is allowed to stand up on there.

Me: Is there a sign that says that somewhere?

Mexicano: No meng, you're just supposed to know it.

LT: How old are you, kid?

Me: I turn 16 next week.

LT: Then how the hell did you get in here?

Me: I'm here with my summer study group. Everyone is here with me. We're all here.

Mexicano: Well you gotta go meng.

Me: But... the bus.

LT: Whatever. Sorry kid, you gotta leave. Wait for all your friends outside, and get home safe.

They ushered me outside. The Crowbar was located more than 2 miles away from the main part of the Penn State campus where our dorms were, and the program rented out a bunch of buses to get us there and back. And now here I was, a teenager at a college campus on a Saturday night, forced to walk alone all the way back to my dorm. I did so without complaining, because this summer was going so awesome up to that point that I figured it was just a little setback. I sat in my room alone for more than 2 hours before everyone else got back. But once they did, I was quite the talk of my floor, and the girls' floor above us, who kept sending representatives down to find out what the hell had happened to me at the club.

The incident also generated a lot of talk amongst the program's college-aged staff, who liked to gossip. The next day I was sent into the office of the Director of Campus Life for our program, a cool twentysomething dude named Alan Music (one of the coolest names I've ever heard. And yes, that was his real name. This was 2000, what is he gonna do?) Here's how our conversation went:

Alan Music: You're quite the troublestarter huh?

Me: I was just having a little fun, sorry bout that.

AM: You know how many people were talking about you last night? You're like a rockstar.

Me: Well I guess I just have one of those kinds of personalities.

AM: Please, don't make us throw you out of (this program). We love you, man. Just try not to do something like that again. You know we have a talent show coming up. Why don't you just do some Eminem for that?

Me: Well, I'm a little shy, but when I'm at a club it just happens.

AM: No it's cool. Seriously man, that was awesome. Just watch yourself.

If every person in the world were as cool as that, then I would have no reason to make this website. At the end of this program I was rewarded with a medal for being the funniest kid. Those were very different times, and Penn State a very different place, then where I am at now.

But I have a feeling, a sneaking suspicion, that Lawrence Taylor-looking bouncer and his Mexican buddy like to talk. And they sent out a message to every bartender and bouncer in the United States showing my picture, standing up on a balcony and rapping along to Eminem, saying that I am a troublemaker and am to be treated like dirt. Or something like that. That is as good an explanation as any for some of the ridiculous stuff that happens to me today. Except now, there is not an entire dorm of girls waiting to gossip about it. Or a cool dude named Alan Music waiting to tell me what I did was "awesome" and everything is OK. Now there is nothing but scorn, regret, and uncertainty. How times have changed.

Talk about a Youtube video I would pay just about anything to see: Penn State Teenager Raps to Eminem on Balcony (2000). If you were filming that and uploaded that somewhere on the Internet, contact me IMMEDIATELY.

October/November 2001 & Spring 2002

Back In The Day, I was normal. Well, definitely a lot more normal and well-mannered than I am now. I don't know why I have apparently gotten more bitter,less respectful and patient, and more likely to be assasinated as time goes on, but that seems to be the case according to everyone else but me.

One possible theory is that my general unfavorability and intolerance is in direct correlation to the amount of friends I have surrounding me at all times, and the amount of positive attention I get from women, both which are both in a direct downward slope, beginning with the year 2001. That was the peak of my "normalcy". I was very well-respected by my peers in high school, and very attractive to several of the girls in my high school's circle. There was once a song by Soundgarden called "The Day I Tried To Live". Well this was the year I actually tried to live.

For those of you who have read the rest of my site, the one thing you can probably ask yourself is "How the fuck is this possible?" It's almost like I'm describing a different person when describing myself back then. That's because I was a different person. That's because then, I actually gave a shit. I got good grades in school, starred in several school plays, was a founding member of my school's track team, had a prestigious internship, and during the summer of 01' at a summer program in DC, I got some kind of award for being the nicest, most sociable, and friendliest kid there, or some shit like that. And most important of all, for a brief while I had what is usually referred to by society as a "girlfriend".

It was late October of 01'. Senior year of high school. The leaves were brown, and there were American flags and candled memorials all over Manhattan, in the post-9/11 period where everyone tried to be all patriotic. One day after school, I got a buzz from downstairs. It was a girl named "Buffy" who hung around my high school circle. She gets her nickname not just by her infatuation with the show of the same name, but by the way she has abused, dominated, and slayed men. She was just getting over a relationship with my classmate "Guerilla", possibly the ugliest kid who ever lived. She was on the rebound and wanted to chill.

I was not too thrilled with the prospect of her coming on to me, because she was as fat as a whale and had a constant aroma that smelled like raw fish. But still I obliged, talking to her for like about 2 hours, before she asked "Can I kiss you". And for the next week, every single day after school, we would sit by the flagpole of my old neighborhood and just make out and stuff. We were pretty much "official" or "exclusive" or whatever the fuck you call it.

Then one day, we got stuck on my rooftop, and nothing would ever be the same. My old apartment complex had a rooftop that was completely locked from the outside. Meaning, when you got up there, you couldn't get out. When I realized this, I panicked, and Buffy saw me at my weakest. She did not like it. I was trapped on the roof with this hideously ugly girl and had no cell phone on me. There's one for the Worst Case Scenario handbook. She took this opportunity to fool around with me up there, but having no idea how i would get off that fucking roof, it was quite "hard" for me to get any more "up" than we already were. Up until this point, our relationship had been easily 50/50- and I had been trying to accomodate her the best I could. But at this instant, she saw a hint of vulnerability in me: something she could jump on, something she could dominate.

Eventually, Buffy used a pair of keys to pick the lock and get us outta the roof, but she did not like what she had seen. I never felt comfortable around this bitch again. From this point on, she became nothing short of a dominatrix, attempting to completely control and take over every facet of my life. But ultimately, she didn't get what she wanted. It just had to end. Boy, would I ever find a solution for it.

I was the one who initiated it. In late November, almost exactly a month after the first kiss, we met for a routine hookup session on the flagpole, when I just came out and said it. "I can't take your shit anymore. This is goodbye". She was just some bitch who thought she could just use me on the rebound. She thought I was too cute and would never break her heart. Wrong!

Being that Buffy knew over half my high school, my relationship was a topic no one would shut up about for that entire month- just the same fucking questions over and over: How is she in bed? How far have you guys gone? Is it weird kissing Guerilla's ex-girlfriend? Blah, blah, blah. I just could not take it anymore. But boy, did Buffy have a bombshell for me, to keep the nonstop stream of gossip going for the rest of the year.

A couple days after my initial breakup, Buffy cornered me after school: "I have a confession to make. The whole time we were 'dating', there was also this 24-year old guy who I was getting with (we were 17 at the time). You just couldn't satisfy me, and I couldn't satisfy you, so let's just pretend this never happened. So I guess I'll see you. Sometime. Maybe. And if not, have a nice life."

OK, hold up a second. Wait a minute, so that whole month I was with Buffy did not even fucking count as a relationship? You have gotta be shitting me. And the sad thing is, this is the most clearly defined "relationship" I have ever had. Fuck you.

That 24-year old guy with whom she picked up the pieces of me shall be named "Angel" after Buffy's eventual love interest on the TV show, and also for the fact that the dude even slightly resembled the actor David Boreanaz. He was a bodybuilder and happened to also serve as a student teacher volunteering AT my school, which possibly led to one of the most embarrasing and ackward classroom moments in the history of high school. As a matter of fact, it may go down as one of the biggest social bombshells that has ever been dropped.

Second semester senior year, I was in an honors math class with Buffy's ex before me, Guerilla. And WHO happened to be the teaching assistant for the class, but Buffy's current BF, Angel. When we were discussing math and course-related material, it was very easy for me to suppress the incredible ackwardness and tension of having three guys in the same room who had dated the same bitch in the past year. That was until the day came.

It was very last month of the school year, and the course was winding down. So the teacher, a very cool guy called "MyNameIsJonas", decided to devote a class session to an open discussion about life and the upcoming excitement and challenges we were about to face during college and beyond. About midway through the course, the topic of relationships came up.

Jonas: One of the most important aspects of the transition from high school to college is the possibility of a long-distance relationship. Now by a show of hands, are any of you guys in a relationship going into college?

I looked around the room, and who happened to be seated directly to me, but Guerilla himself. I sensed a very ackward moment in the classroom, and I seized it. I put my arm around Guerilla, and very strongly and loudly, I proclaimed: "It's not like either of us would know."

The classroom had a couple of seconds of stunned silence after this proclamation. I remember a couple of girls whispering "Did he... did he really just say that". Then, a slow rumble built from the back of the classroom, and slowly, all the guys in the room began a chant of "OOOOHHHHHH". For they all knew damn well what and who I was referring to: the current girlfriend of Angel, who was standing right there in the front, next to the teacher. As the classroom exploded in noise, I looked directly at Angel's face, and he gave me a look of deep scorn and anger. Embarrased and red-faced, I just buried my head into my desk, and kept it there well beyond when all the noise had died down and the moment had long passed. Unfazed, MyNameIsJonas changed the topic to something completely different.

As I attempted to doze off and forget that moment had ever happened, I felt a sympathetic pat on the back. I finally had the courage to look up, and it was Guerilla. He had a huge smile on his face, as he whispered into my ear: "You're damn right she was a bitch". Mocking an album cover from his favorite all-time band Rage Against The Machine, Guerilla put his fist up in the air towards me, and gave me the signal to "tap that rock". Indeed I did, and engaged in one of the more priceless moments of camraderie I have ever had. Even Angel came up to me after class, to tell me that I had "major balls" to do that in front of him, and I even congratulated him on his conquest. All was good.

Just like their counterparts on the TV show, Buffy and Angel are still dating now, so that's that. How he has been able to put up with Buffy for so long is beyond me, but he's a better man than me for it. For me, love life has been nothing but downhill from here. That's because every girl I have even come close to getting into the dreaded "r" word with since Buffy, I have been paranoid in fear of that 30-year old bodybuilder she is fucking on the side and will undoubtedly catch me doing something stupid. Most likely, since it's beyond high school that bodybuilder will not be as nice to me, nor let me off the hook as easy as Angel did. Maybe someday, maybe I will confront this fear and take steps to overcome it. But probably not.

June 2002

It has always been my belief that a person's favorite Youtube videos are a good measure of what kind of person they are. So it wouldn't be much a surprise to figure out that two of my favorite Youtube videos are one of a guy who can't stop laughing, and one of a guy who can't hold his laughter in at an inappropriate time.

That is because holding in laughter has always been a problem for me. When I was a wee one back in 95' my teacher had to kick me out of a courtroom on an elementary school trip to the Department of Justice because I could not contain my reaction to a juror's wet hacking cough. A year later in hebrew school, I busted out during a memorial service because the cantor's voice was cracking. But the penultimate example of my tick to bust out at an inappropriate time happened back in June of 02'

Long before I was old enough to torture my first bouncer, me and my crew of friends used to commit a similar kind of annoyance to employees of the restaurants, pizza places, and Chinese take-out joints of New York City.

Many members of my original crew, unlike me, have matured since to become responsible and by all accounts "normal" adults, boyfriends, and members of the workforce. But back in those teenage years, we were all rowdy, boisterous, and juvenile in some way. Our gang included three sets of siblings, parents, and occasional hangers-on. We spanned two age ranges of nerds. A popular tradition among us was whenever one of the members of our gang had a birthday, we would pick a restaurant and all gather, 12, 15, sometimes up to 20 deep, and raise hell. Practical jokes were played (mostly on me), insults were thrown, loud chants often started, and everyone except for us inside the restaurant was annoyed.

One restaurant in particular became a favorite gathering place of our gang. It was called Uno's. So that fateful night in June 2002 we gathered for a birthday as usual. Little did we know that our reputation of Uno's as a go-to place would never be the same. We began the night with a couple chants, a couple jokes about the way I eat food, and then the practical jokes began, and insults when several members of our table began to depart for the bathroom. My friend "Kadavir" in particular had mastered the art of bathroom harassment. Kadavir has always been a mindfuck, but was never so goddamn reprehensible as he was on this particular night.

When it was my turn to shit my bowels out, I had become so accustomed to Kadavir's looming restroom presence that I didn't even mind his rambling and occasional peeking into the stall (I think, and I hope to God, that he was joking). But unfortunately for all of us, my friend "Mastafork" did not take it nearly as well.

I will NEVER forget when Mastafork ran out of the restroom, screaming at Kadavir at the top of his lungs, "FAG! FAG! FAG!' over and over again. His screams caught the attention of the restaurant manager, a heavyset man in his late 30s. Very enraged by Mastafork's tone, the manager came over to our table. We all started laughing. He told us to "shut up you little brats". We finally settled down and he began to speak. Mastafork's behavior had earned us a lecture that no amount of college tuition would be worthy of. Here is his speech, the best I remember it:

"You little teenage brats think this is funny? You think homosexuality is funny? Then you definitely need a lesson in sensitivity. For I, myself, am a homosexual." (Absolutely NOTHING in his tone of voice, appearance, or dress, gave even the slightest hint of this being true). "You think that only guys like him" (points to Kadavir) "...are homosexuals? Guys who wear shiny clothes, guys who talk like girls, guys who spend their Sundays shopping at the mall instead of watching the game? Well you're dead wrong. I was the most athletic man in my class, I played football for 12 years, I was an All-State defensive back, and I am a proud homosexual. And if any of you heathens even dare to ever come into this restaurant again, I'll break your fucking necks."

I was sitting next to my friend "G", who this whole time had been struggling to keep it in. But I knew right at this point that this guy was full of shit. This was the worst constructed lie I had ever heard. I thought to myself that there's no fucking way he's really gay, and I busted out laughing, causing G to do the same. This caused him to lose it.

"You guys think this is funny? You think this is fucking funny? I'll break your fucking neck right now!" He put his fists forth in a threatening gesture. This caused an almost shortage of breath as I tried to hold my laugh in. Cause let's face it, gay or straight those defensive linebacker muscles would probably be able to outlast at least 8 out of my 10 friends present. When I finally found the air to breathe out, he pointed us towards the door:

"Leave your payment with Pauline at the front desk. Please leave now, and you guys are never allowed back." Regretfully, we complied. So thus is the tale of how we got banned from our favorite restaurant.

But not for long. We returned three months later, when the next member of our circle had a birthday. And fortunately, the fake Mario Cantone-on-steroids poser had been replaced at the desk, by a hostess that didn't care who the hell we were, to a collective world's biggest sigh of relief all around. Uno's has since closed, but it will always be remembered for that one time I just couldn't hold it in.