My Life in Hoboken | Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer

From the 2-19-10 issue of Hoboken’s Progress:

If you build it, they will come.

If you congregate on a field, they will show up.

And if you sign up for a casual touch football league, they will not only sign up on the roster, but they will be sure to throw their water bottles at the bench and screech at their teammates, while the onlookers try not to laugh too hard.

Oh, do not be fooled. I was definitely a spectator at this game. I was the one trying not to laugh too loudly at the disgruntled quarterback. Just as much of a guarantee as the previous statements, if you place a ridiculously aggressive player in a game meant for leisure, people will laugh at him.

Perhaps there’s a bit of Murphy’s Law at play, but it is always inevitable: there will always be at least someone who takes a game too seriously.

In this instance, it was during a 2 o’clock touch football game on the Hoboken High School field. I was out with the boyfriend cheering on the roommies. Although we were failing to keep warm in the 20-degree weather, this guy was on fire.

With four games in play on the field at the same time, this guy somehow managed to steal the entire show. At first, he started to get a little loud during a team huddle. Something about him being the quarterback and that no one should call his name. I don’t know all the rules about football, but this seemed a little unnecessary. I wasn’t the only one. Huddled together, I heard the boyfriend trying to muffle a laugh. We looked at each other and immediately both thought—game on. Sorry to my roommates, but this was the game to watch.

We observed subtly, steadying our heads to face slightly left while we still stood in front of my roommates’ game. Though this posed as was quite the challenge given the wind that afternoon, our interest was peaked, and it was sort of impossible not to pay attention to the “quarterback.”

And we were not disappointed. In the midst of some exaggerated arm movements, he not only continued to yell comments, such as, “It only takes one foot! One foot!” after an opposing player made a touchdown, but he also got so worked up that he threw his water bottle at the bench on the sidelines, so hard that water flew out everywhere, even back at him. It even got his fanny pack wet. (OK, maybe it wasn’t a fanny pack, but he definitely had something strapped around his waist, and for entertainment purposes, it may as well have been a fanny pack).

Whether or not this is really Murphy’s Law—that for every one casual game, there will be at least one insanely intense player that may ruin the experience for someone—regardless, for the spectators, people like that “quarterback” are pure gold. I will surely keep my eyes peeled for him at future games, though my ears will probably find him first.

Moving In The Right Direction

From the January 29, 2010 issue of Hoboken Progress:

There’s nothing quite as humbling as sorting through your own stuff, especially, when you have decided to rearrange your bedroom on a random Wednesday night.

I’m not the tidiest of people. While I like to have a neat appearance, I find that my possessions are quite needy—they have a tendency to cluster together in groups.

In my determination to tackle time management and organization for 2010, (also inspired by the fact that my roommate and I got sick of hearing each other though the door that separates our rooms) I decided to play a little Russian roulette with feng shui.

This wasn’t the first time I’ve made a last minute decision like this. In the year and a half that I’ve lived in my current bedroom, the head of my bed has faced several directions. I’m a big believer in change the space, change the attitude. This was no exception.

I have also lately taken on a crusade to simplify my life, and weed through all my possessions, which is quite an exhausting task. After flipping my room around for a few hours, I am now sitting next to two huge, black plastic bags: one full of clothes and shoes (some not even worn) to give away, and another full of beauty supplies, and other paper goods I have somehow convinced myself to part with. (I prefer the term “pack rat” to “hoarder.”)

But, besides accepting the fact that I really don’t need to hold onto notebooks from every college English Lit class, I’m also coming to terms with the fact that I’m not the only one maturing in my room—all the cheapy bedrooms things I bought when I first moved out are as well, and I am truly understanding the idiom, “You get what you pay for.”

When I first moved out of my parents house, after a brief stint which I refer to as my “Banana” years, ie, the year and a half I somehow pasted together 40 hours a week working retail at Banana Republic (my name tag is a magnet on the fridge), I was so excited, and so very poor. Almost two and a half years later, I’m finding that all the purchases I made with my new, tiny budget were essentially just short term solutions. Cute and design-conscious necessities for my bedroom (so that my room didn’t look like it housed a squatter) were high on my list, but low on affordability, so instead of sliding tubs for under the bed, I bought $8 flimsy plastic zipper packs to hold my jeans.

By now, surviving a major move downtown and several turns around my current room, these packs, a few other plastic items, and my “hand-me-down” furniture are begging for mercy.

Sorting through my stuff has made me realize how far I’ve come living independently—even if I can only measure time by falling apart, plastic gear from Bed Bath and Beyond. A little wiser, and better at budgeting, I feel that I’m always ready and excited for my next move, even if its only as small as changing which direction I face when I sleep.

Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer

Category Archives: My Life in Hoboken

There’s Always That One Guy

Moving In The Right Direction