I don’t think I’ll be writing any more entries on this blog anymore. I guess the web real estate is covered for a while at this particular address, but for all intents and such the premises have been ultimately vacated for some time.

I had a great time for a while on this blog. The creation of it in and of itself was a lark, a joke, and so much fun just to be I suppose the victim of, thrust into the role of reluctant blogger, then embracing it, then becoming an annoying online belligerent shit.

At least I am still writing grammatically horrific run-on sentences, just like I did when I started eating ham and cheeses.

Pour a little out for that, if you don’t mind.

I’ll reserve the right to, ahem, write, I guess, something until my web license expires. But I’m pretty much done. I appreciate all eleven people who ever read this blog when, you know, I actually wrote posts and stuff. You all rule.

My birthday is coming up soon. I’ll be turning 41.

What the heck am I doing writing a blog?

I’ll leave the kids to that. Those whippersnappers.

My life outside of the blogosphere is advancing in a way that I can barely keep up with.

I bequeath the unwieldy crown of spiced clove thorns that every ham-head must adorn to my successor, whomever that may be.

Ham and cheese forever!

A very big thanks to the Tilted Stick in in inimitable neighborhood of O.B. in San Diego, CA for providing not only the sandwich that caused this blogs existence, but the people who worked there tolerated me and my friends. Not a small task.

To my West Coast friends, who have been loyal readers of this blog from its inception, I apologize and only say that I already have plans to come back in some way. Just not under this artifice. We shall meet again, I hope.

All the best.

I went to church today.

Not mass.

Church. By myself. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

I prayed.

It was kinda awesome.

I think I’m going back.

It is a strange world in which we live.

One month of paid vacation…um, by paid, I mean collecting and…

I’ll check in maybe time and again, but just remember this – NO SLICED TOMATO ON YOUR HAM AND CHEESE!

Yeah, I went all caps, bitches.

When a guy gets all involved with a lady, he does some stuff he never thought he would do. In my case, I willingly went to the new Twilight movie with my cute button nurse. I think I’ll call her M&M, since those are her initials and all. I don’t intend to write about her a lot, since those of discerning ham and cheese tastes that visit this blog surely have no interest in my private life. God help you if you do.

But since I saw a movie in an actual theater for the first time in years tonight, what the heck, maybe I’ll just review it and be cool like that.

The review will be comprised of three parts.

PART 1:
REVIEW FOR DUDES: This movie sucks pretty much as much as you thought it would.

PART 2:
REVIEW FOR CHICKS: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!

PART 3:
GENERAL REVIEW: Well, the actors pretty much suck. Jesus, the guys that play Edward and Jacob successfully built careers upon this franchise. The Edward guy is a terrible actor. And I’m pretty sure what the Jacob guy did on screen doesn’t even qualify as acting. Holy deadpan.

The Bella chick was surprisingly alright, as far as performances go. Maybe she should have gotten naked. That always works on True Blood, right?

The scenery and cinematography was well executed, if not predictable. The cgi wolves were substandard, the pale makeup effects on the vampires was just, well, bad makeup.

The storyline was ho-hum, not really my thing. But I root for the good guy always, and I ended up doing so tonight. And you know why? Because I am a good goshdarn guy.

So tonight I watched a movie that I didn’t love, but I sat next to a girl who is crazy about me (I know-call a shrink!) and I got to hold her hand for two hours or so.

She digs my goofy self a little bit more for having sat through this movie with her. I am a lucky man. Screw it. Maybe those limp-wristed, pale-ass vampire creeps are doing some good. To each their own.

Maybe I didn’t eat a ham and cheese tonight, but tonight I think I still win.

I often wonder what life would have been like if my life was the one that Tom Waits lived. Or George Harrison, or I guess Eric Clapton for that matter, but I always jump to uninformed conclusions with that one. Like, I know Clapton is still alive, but he laid waste to so serious bands back in the day.

Incredible creativity and talent squandered on misplaced love or devotion or if you want to go Jimi, addiction.

I never died from over-excessive vomiting. Yeah, I never drowned in it.
But I should have.

There is anger.

Um, music?

Yeah.

I didn’t buy new glasses.

In my early adult years, and admittedly occasionally in my teenaged years, I spent a great deal of time at a local drinking establishment called the Berwyn Tavern, also know affectionately by its patrons as the “B.T”. Many a drunken hour was spent there, good times were had by all, blah blah blah you know the rest.

Times change, people move on, and bars get bought and sold and then sold again. The B.T. looks much the same as it used to, but it is at the same time not the same at all. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. It is nice that plumbing fixtures and wiring are not dangling exposed from the ceiling anymore. And the men’s room is no longer a wretched pit of stink and filth. Again, good things.

There was a time when my friends and I felt like we ruled the B.T. We got all kinds of mad drinks comp-ed and shit because we went in there all of the time. Much time has passed since those hazy glory days, and when I entered the Berwyn Tavern for some lunch after a mid-week doctor’s appointment the other day, I didn’t exactly feel like a stranger in a strange land, but I didn’t feel like a fellow settling into a comfortable old familiar couch either. Mildly unsettling, but again, things change.

At any rate, I got some lunch. Totally random stop by myself. I’m pretty sure I was the only customer there at 12:30 on a Wednesday. The bartender told me that their soups were “awesome” so I had a cup of the “Freeport Lobster Bisque”. Guess what?

It was awesome.

It really was. It was gray and bland-looking, but it was totally delicious and had some generous chunks of lobbies in there that made it all the better. Major points for the Freeport Bisque for sure.

Sadly, the same cannot be said for their ham and cheese sandwich. And without further review…………

The, um, review:

Bread: This is the serious end-all screw-up here. I perused the menu and evaluated my bread choices. I could have gone white, whole wheat, rye, or even hoagie roll. But the option of kaiser roll sounded like it suited my mood most at the time, so I went with it.

Then the sandwich showed up. In a very efficient and quick manner, I should add.

It was on a fucking sesame-seeded, Big Mac-style hamburger bun. Not. A. Kaiser. Roll.

Lying sacks of feces.

Honestly. If the bartender came out and said, “Hay, we’re all out of kaiser rolls. Is a hamburger bun okay or do you want something else?” I would have gone with rye or whatever and been cool with it. No sweat on my brow, bro. But they screwed the pooch on that one. I’m deducting 3 full dragons for that maneuver.

Ham: It was good tavern style ham. They gave lots of it. Generous portion.

Cheese: I was given a choice and I rolled with it this time. I went with the pepper jack. I know! I must have been hungover or insane or something. But yeah, good enough pepper jack as to not cause any notice. Maybe a spicier version would have been better, but let’s not pick nits.

Condiments And Such: Mayo. Hold the tomato, as always. yeah, good, fine. What the fuck about the bread though? No bueno, mi amigos. En Serio. What the fuck?

4.5 dragons. Out of ten. Yeah, that is an ouchie.

I ate a ham and cheese sandwich today. However, I am having trouble getting the pictures on my phone to find their way to the internet. If I can’t get the pics up, I’ll just write the review anyway, since it is my duty to keep the public informed of all things ham-and-cheese-related.

Hang tight, good citizens. The ham and cheese news will be delivered forthwith.

The following video is in honor of the little button who likes elephants a lot.

Oh, I’ve given up on the whole ham and cheese thing for now. I’m broke and I live in this insanely awesome apartment that I can’t afford and I have of all things, like, a life of some kind that I can’t keep up with. The other day at work I couldn’t get my shit together and I freaked out. I had to get all this food together for a party and I was running out of time and I flipped for about a minute.

It happens.

But at the time, it would have been awesome if I had just about the best excuse for my irrational behavior that there could be: oh, he’s just crazy.

I start throwing shit and screaming expletives and everyone around me is all like, its cool. He’s just a crazy person. He’ll be alright.

That would rule.

If only, if only.

I wore flip flops in the snow last weekend. Does that make me crazy, or just a guy who needs to buy more shoes?

Fuck it. If I can’t write about ham and cheese, then I’m going to get all philosophical and shit. And crass, apparently.

I’m not kidding about wanting to be a crazy person. I’m sure it is not fun, the mental anguish and all, the not knowing what is real and what is not, but the carte blanche blanket pass for odd behavior seems good to me.

“Don’t mind him.” (((knowing shrug and nod)))

Moving on.

I’ve been thinking about a lot of people from my past lately. Like my friends from high school. I’m forty years old now. My high school friends have done much the same as I have – they have lived their lives in their own ways. Some have died, some have married, some have had kids, some have divorced and moved on. Stuff happens.

Since I graduated from Archbishop Carroll High School, I have lived in countless apartments and houses in New York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland, and San Diego and Los Angeles – both California, yes, but pretty much two different states. I was married for three years. I had someone in my family die in a car accident. And I am nothing special. We all wade through this sea of life and well, shit happens. I’m pissed that I don’t live in San Diego anymore, but I must live in crappy suburban Philly for a reason. I don’t think life is something you figure out. Maybe you spend time between losing your way and finding it again. There is almost a comfort in not knowing your way, not knowing where you are at a certain moment, because the unknown is what life is about.

Why am I here? That’s a solid question.

I’m pretty sure it is because Malvern is where I’m supposed to be a crazy person, wandering King Street, muttering about ham and cheese sandwiches.

That would be one silly obsession for a crazy person, ham and cheese sandwiches. Hah.

Hey amigos e amigas!

I came to a realization today. Before I came to that realization I ate a ham, egg, and cheese sandwich. I thought I took a picture of said delicious sandwich, but I just checked my fancy picture-phone and I guess I forgot to hit the button or whatever. Take my word for it, it was darn tootin’ good.

Back to the realization.

On any given day, well any given work day – my days off are largely spent in a drunken blurry haze (call Mom!) – back to the point, at work I typically speak more Spanish than English. I know! This is Uhmerricuh! Speak Uhmerricain!

I need to tread lightly here. I really don’t mind immigrants invading our workplace. I kind of dig embracing foreign cultures. When I lived in Southern California I visited Mexico fairly often. Not just Tijuana, but like, cool Mexi towns. Where people welcomed you and gave you food and played music for you and shit. Who the fuck does that in America? I’ve lived in eight different states and nobody opened their doors to me like that. So I figure I can try to be welcoming to people who might feel a little out of place in my backyard.

So I try to speak some Spanish here and there. There is a charming little woman that I work with who speaks pretty good English, but she prefers to speak to me in Spanish. Thanks to her, I know mucho mas words in Espanol. Spelling be damned!

But honestly, at my workplace, I’m probably speaking 70% Spanish to 30% English. I mean, that’s crazy, right?

I read these articles about how English will eventually no longer be the language of the states and Spanish will take over. People write about it in a mourning fashion. I kind of don’t give a shit. Mexican culture might come along with the language shift. I’ve known a lot of generous, loving, caring Mexicans in my time, and count some Mexicans amongst my best friends. So screw it. Let’s go drink a Modelo and go to the beach.

If that song doesn’t get stuck in your head you have no soul.

I live on the west coast, I live back east. I work until 3 a.m., I have the day off. I manage a bar, I cook mashed potatoes.

It doesn’t fucking matter. I still can’t sleep.

It sucks. It doesn’t matter how happy I am, how in love I am, how exhausted I might be, how broke and broken, how content and confident…I’m still an insomniac. And that blows. That is why I am writing a blog post on a ham and cheese sandwich blog at five thirty in the morning and the post has nothing to do with ham and cheese sandwiches.

So let’s talk.

Hmm.

What to talk about?

I miss San Diego.

I mean, most people would. The weather is perfect, the beach is right there, the people are awesome, none of that east coast angst. But still I am living in fucking suburban Philadelphia. What is wrong with me?

Well, there is a lot wrong with a lot of people. Living on the east coast might not be the worst malady that I could suffer.

I got my cute little button of a nurse that takes care of me and has late-night phone calls with me. That’s a good thing.

And the weather sucks. It snowed the other day. Its October, you know.

Okay, that does not count as a good thing.

I have insomnia lately.

Again, not a good thing.

God, I miss San Diego.

I haven’t eaten a ham and cheese sandwich in a while. I promised to re-start this blog in October because I thought it would be an easy month for me with lots of free time. Not so much. I’m working mostly six-day weeks and my social calender is a little more filled than usual, which leaves little free time for ham and cheeses and blogging.

So, since I have not enjoyed a ham and cheese in a while, I’m going to write a How To Behave In Public post. Not a great one, and not a particularly astute observation, but I might as well put it on record.

Here’s my How To Behave In Public post:

Don’t be a fucking jerk.

I know!

It sounds easy, right?

It is amazing/appalling that so many people don’t get it.

I’m broke as fuck and I always throw an extra buck in when I tip my bartender/barista/deli counter worker.

Eh, it is a start, at the very least.

Also, at the risk of sounding like some hippie, my last words this morning will be: remember to love. Love is fun.