$Texas, Journalism, Politics

Trump sees New York, New Jersey in reach


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Donald Trump signs autographs after a rally in Myrtle Beach, S.C.

MYRTLE BEACH, S.C. — Speaking a day before he won the South Carolina primary, Donald Trump began listing off a number of prized states typically considered out of contention for Republican nominees.

“I have a chance to win New York,” Trump said. “Can you imagine? If you win New York it’s over.”

Trump may have been overestimating his popularity outside of Lower Manhattan, but New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie’s endorsement of Donald Trump Friday leaned support to the notion that the real estate mogul may be favored in the Garden State, where his name is still synonymous with Atlantic City. Continue reading

$Texas, It's in the vault, Me Myself and Ty

Just go out.

Beer just tastes better out of a glass to me.

I’m not pretending to have just discovered this, as I’m sure many of you are aware of the aromatic properties of certain glasses (see the Sam Adam’s glass for such an example) but it has been impressed upon me to use glasses as much as possible.

This has grown increasingly common now that I have a dishwasher that seems capable of ONLY correctly cleaning glasses (and somehow never getting that one pot lid clean) and I have taken to drinking even canned light beers out of a glass.

Yes, in those cases it is a 32-ounce mug that’s heavy enough to count as a weapon in certain cases, but it’s still an example of me always preferring a glass, even when the beer contained therein isn’t the greatest.

Of course this all has its roots in my preference for draft beer over bottled beer, which is truly what this post is about.

I live within walking distance of a handful of bars dotted along one of the main roads here that is marked by urban sprawl. Continue reading

Don't Call it a Farewell, Journalism, Me Myself and Ty

I’m not good at goodbyes

You can feel the tears queued up behind your eyes even when you talk to the pretty girl. That’s how you know it’s time to go.

Time to say goodbye at a goodbye party, but the two negatives don’t make a positive in this case.

You hurriedly put whatever distraction conversation you were having on the proverbial shelf, but you know it need not ever be resolved. Then you turn to find her, not to say goodbye, though.

Goodbyes are for suckers who don’t think they’ll ever see each other again. A healthy understanding of the ambiguity of the term “later” allows you to say “see you later” without much thought and without much remorse. It sets the table for the reunion.

But you don’t even say it. You just think it. The farewell moment is a long, tight hug. You don’t say a word, but not because the silence says it all. It’s because saying nothing deep down in your head allows you to suspend the disbelief for another night.

Now it’s the escape. Hurry to the door. Say bye to everyone else. Suddenly saying bye to them means absolutely nothing. It’s a cheap goodbye. You’ll see them all Monday and you’ll drink and you’ll bitch and complain about work, but she won’t be there. It doesn’t matter if you say goodbye to them at all, but all of a sudden it’s imperative that you do, just to prove that you can say it to someone.

Quick, easy strides to the car. It’s no longer a question of holding back tears. Just imagine how close you are to home, to your bed where you can finally let it all out. Cry into your pillow. Wake up and start worrying about work again.

The drive home proves to be a healthy distraction. Just turn on autopilot and let the subconscious take the wheel so you can shut the rest of your brain off. You’ve traveled this way hundreds, thousands of times before.

Fucking goddamn train. It breaks the monotony. Think about the implications. No more dancing. No more drinking. Now it’s hitting you.

Start thinking about the blog entry you’ll write. That’s how you’ll cope, huh? Write that lead in your head because we’re all really fucking impressed. You’re just distracting yourself again, just like you did two weeks ago when he left.

Not saying goodbye doesn’t make them not leave.

It's in the vault, Journalism, Me Myself and Ty, Politics

(Re)affirmation (re)visited

I recently followed up on a candidate for City Council who put down two separate addresses on his voter registration form.

One was the address at his recently purchased home in the district he was aiming to represent. The other was his work address.

I did due diligence, especially since I knew he was living out of district very recently, but N.C. laws concerning residency are very ambiguous. A formal challenge to his residency filed by a resident fell flat, as well, mostly because the challenger didn’t appear to read my stories, but to make a long story short, the young man is still on the July 17 ballot.

I know the guy well since he’s one of the young professionals in the area and we’ve shared quite a few beers before and since his candidacy. He’s a nice enough guy, but the story isn’t about him or his candidacy. Like nearly everything on this blog, this story is about me.

I had just arrived in Canada and it was 12:01 a.m. when I received a text message from the candidate whose campaign I had nearly stamped out. Continue reading

Eh?, It's in the vault, Journalism, Me Myself and Ty

Trouble at the border, Eh?

It was a 14-hour drive to the border.

The beer I drank in another country. It was an Amsterdam. There were many more.

We had planned to go to Canada for months, although you wouldn’t believe it if you asked us why we were going.

“I want to drink a beer in another country,” I told everyone. And truthfully, that was the extent of the longing to head north.

That’s also what made it so difficult when the border agent asked what we were planning to do in Canada. Continue reading

Journalism, Me Myself and Ty, Politics


I have a crazy concept of deja vu that I learned from someone. I can’t remember who.

Anyway, the concept is that the phenomenon (feeling like you have experienced the moment you just experienced before) is simply evidence that you are on the right path.
For example: You think you dreamed that conversation last night? You did. That’s the path fate has chosen for you, and you’re following it perfectly.

Silly, maybe, but it’s a pleasant way to deal with that unexplained feeling. (Even though Farrell told me this weekend that it’s simply an example of your mind’s perception of what’s happening outpacing your mind’s ability to process what’s really happening…boring).

So the idea is that fate has these subtle reminders that you’re making the right choices along the way and everything is going according to THE plan.

I had one of those moments this weekend, when I visited Farrell and Jessica Saturday night.

I had aimed to get to their place after dinner, since their Indian friend, Vasant, was over preparing authentic Indian cuisine and I didn’t want to impose, but I arrived just in time to watch them cook.

They made food that pushed the limits of my recently expanded spicyness capacity and invited me to partake.

I provided nothing for the meal except for some cinnamon whiskey I brought, so I decided to contribute chiefly in the form of conversation.

Those who know me best know that, writing and driving backwards are my best contributions to society anyway, so it’s not a big surprise, but I started talking politics and blah blah blah.

Anyway, at some point during dinner, Vasant said the following:

“You should be like a columnist or something.”

He had just met me and had no idea he was sitting beside a newspaper I brought for Farressica that had my byline on it twice, and while I’m nowhere close to being a columnist, his suggestion that I be involved with a newspaper was as poignant as deja vu in asserting that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing the job I was meant to do.

It’s nice to know you’re on the right path.

Don't Call it a Farewell, DRIVEN, Journalism, Uncategorized

It’s in the Vault: Tall tale

My long-term absence will be explained in a future post.

When I got started in journalism, it wasn’t because I wanted to be a journalist.

It was because I wasn’t good enough to play sports at school anymore, so I sought a way to stay connected to them any way I could. Daniel Ellis invited me to attend a sports section meeting with him, and from then, I was sold.

Which is surprising, since I started out in the undesirable beats – for instance, covering our volleyball team which was riding a conference losing streak of more than 30 games.

Of course, I love volleyball, so it wasn’t really a stretch to stay interested, but there was also the spandex and the tall females I got to talk to on a weekly basis…

Maybe it wasn’t surprising, but regardless, I wouldn’t allow myself to date any of them.

I say that now and pretend like I was being an objective journalist with integrity, but it’s only because I was too afraid of them rejecting me to even ask. Continue reading