If you care deeply about not spoiling the movie Greta, just stop reading right now.

First and foremost, I’m not a movie person. I can’t keep my attention focused on something for that long. I like watching TV shows because I can browse Twitter while I watch and the commercial breaks chop it up for me. I like reading books because I have to create a mental image in my head as I read along. Movies create everything for me, I just sit there, slack-jawed, staring at a screen. The last two movies I saw in theaters were Insidious 3 (2015) and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2011) just to give you some reference.

I am all about movies now though. I finally went to the luxury cinema. Recliner seats, a bar, cheap tickets. They have me as a customer.

Despite a 54% on Rotten Tomatoes, I thought Greta had some hope. I’m ALL IN on the current fascination with stalking, kidnapping, and the likes. I watched You in two days and sat on the edge of the couch while watching Abducted in Plain Sight. The synopsis of the movie seemed like something right up this alley:

Frances finds a handbag on the New York subway and promptly returns it to Greta, an eccentric French piano teacher who loves tea and classical music. Having recently lost her mother, young Frances strikes up a seemingly harmless friendship with the lonely and kindly widow who enjoys her company. But when Greta’s behavior becomes increasingly erratic and obsessive, Frances does whatever it takes to end the toxic relationship before things spirals out of control.

First of all, Frances, you’re in New York City. If I see a bag on the subway in Pittsburgh I’m not touching it. I expect it to have a bomb, homo pee, or some kind of illicit drug in it They try and bill it that Frances is from the quaint, little town of Boston. WHAT?! Boston is one of the most racist, rude cities in America. It also has about 700,000 people living within the city proper. Pair that with the fact that Frances is a recent college grad and has a home phone, this movie is unwatchable just because of that.

The movie felt rushed, almost like director Neil Jordan and writer Ray Wright just wanted to get a psychological thriller on the market because they knew it was the hot item.

It’s almost like they forgot to introduce the characters. WHAM. All of the sudden Frances McCullen and Erica Penn are apparently recent college graduates and Erica just happens to have a rich dad who bought her a SoHo loft and Frances’s mom died of cancer. No lead up, no backstory, just a dump of a character in front of us. You blink and you miss it. First Frances is waiting tables at a fancy restaurant and next she’s living it up with a haphazard version of Emma Roberts’ Madison Montgomery from American Horror Story.

I’ll move past the weak character development and just chalk it up to not wanting to drag the movie out past two hours. Fair enough.

Except, those aren’t the only issues. There is no point of to the movie and I’m left with more questions than answers.

First is Greta’s daughter. Greta lures Frances in under the pretense that her daughter is away in Paris and Frances, having recently lost a mother, bites and gets caught in the web. Of course, Greta’s daughter hasn’t talked to her in five years and Frances finds returned letters that Greta has sent and concludes that the phone calls that Greta was having with Nicola were also fabricated. Frances decides to snoop, grabs Nicola’s number out of Greta’s phone. A friend returns the call and we find out that Nicola committed suicide. Except, that just opens a vat of question that never gets answered. Did Nicola’s suicide lead to Greta’s kidnapping behavior? Did Nicola kill herself because of Greta? Did Nicola’s alcohol problem (which was dumped on us by the friend) lead to this untimely demise? This is a huge plot point that we should know more about. Was this the catalyst that set the movie in motion or a byproduct of Greta’s insanity?

Second is the dog. Why did the dog have to die? Why did Greta and Frances have to shop for a dog in the first place? It was a bonding moment for the two ladies and should have shown humility with Greta picking the dog that was next on the list to be euthanized. Maybe this was a play to get us into Greta’s corner, but it is going to take more than a dog adoption to do that and it fell flat on its face. Even the one scene in the movie where having a dog would make sense – Greta telling the P.I. that it was her guard dog making the noise – the dog was already dead. Then the dog serving as a science experiment on the proper dosage to incapacitate Frances. Dogs and humans are different. What if Greta used too much on the dog but that amount wouldn’t have any impact on Frances? Why not just use the poison the girl that Greta already had locked in the basement? I think this was another haphazard attempt by the writers to “make a good movie” and throw in a dog because people love dogs!

Finally the last two points which tie into one, why have Erica play the role of undercover secret agent and go after Greta and what happens to Greta after this? Even if you suspend belief in order to watch the movie, it makes zero sense why the police were not involved and instead Erica plays the role of Angelina Jolie’s Evelyn Salt. The police know the history, after all, Frances did call them twice. They know the stalking behavior of Greta. Greta sends letters with her return address and name, has been the hospital in care of the police, they know her name, her motive, and presumably her address. Even if you still want the undercover sing operation involving a missing purse, send an undercover cop in with the bag. Don’t leave a early 20-something girl to do the dirty work and possibly wind up in the same situation as her roommate and best friend.  There is already a missing girl and a missing private eye. I’m sure the police will take an interest and case the absolute shit out of that place. They might even bust down the door S.W.A.T style and rescue Frances. Finally what happens to Greta after all of this?! If you play along it is the perfect scenario that she was locked in the box by the girls. Okay, I’ll buy it and even pretend it makes sense. But what happens next? Does Greta escape? Do the cops come? Is there supposed to be a sequel? It makes no sense.

I’m fine with cliffhangers. I read all of the Tanya French books and there are ton of unanswered questions in those, but it makes sense why. In this movie, I feel like the cliffhangers are simply due to an unfinished plot.

Legendary Jeopardy host, Alex Trebek, was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer today and I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty damn upset. Amongst my friends and family I am known as a huge nerd and Jeopardy addict. I received no less than four texts messages or notifications when the news was first released. Check out my Twitter or Facebook timeline and it is filled with tweets and posts about Jeopardy. My favorite part of the day is getting off of work after a long day, making myself dinner and sitting down to watch Jeopardy. It’s my me time and I cherish it. When I see Jeopardy on the screen, I can decompress and relax. I generally don’t care about celebrities. I’ve never been one to get caught up in the culture of worshipping celebrities and their lifestyles, but DAMNIT THIS IS ALEX TREBEK!!! I’ve only cared about Mac Miller dying and now Alex being diagnosed. The man is a American hero and treasure. Without him their is no Jeopardy and frankly I’m not sure I wanna exist in a world where there is no Jeopardy. Don’t tell me that they’ll find somebody. There is nobody else that can match his experience and talent. He adds the intellectual gravitas that makes Jeopardy into what is. Without Trebek, Jeopardy would be a game for chaotic peasants like “The Price is Right” or “Let’s make a deal”. It’s been my dream to go on Jeopardy forever. The good news is that dream will not end because Alex is gonna beat this. He’s gonna kick cancers ass, I don’t care about the odds. Watching his video to the Jeopardy fans, I’m not gonna lie I feared up a bit. The last time I remember having tears in my eyes was my grandmothers funeral. I’m sure that he will never read this, but we’re all behind you Alex! You’ll kick cancers ass and your in all our thoughts and prayers.

Sit down and buckle up for a rollercoaster ride of emotion. Now picture this it was, February 17, 2019, I was on my way home from Scene 75, the knockoff Dave and Busters with a go kart track. I had had myself a couple bigass daiquiris so I was feeling pretty good. (No shame in my alcohol game. I love a fruity, frozen beverage) anyways there I was on 2nd Avenue when I opened my Snapchat at a red light, obviously. I’m not gonna be snapping and driving. That would be irresponsible and I’m the furthest thing from irresponsible. Since I opened my Snapchat my last location was on 2nd Avenue and that was the last anybody heard of me for nearly four hours.

Now for those who are unfamiliar, the “Smiley face killer” are an alleged serial killer or killers who kidnap men in the early to mid 20’s dump their bodies into nearby water with smiley faces spray painted on the nearest man made structure where the body is found. Three men have disappeared and been found in Pittsburgh, most noticeably Dakota James. There has been a recent series on Oxygen about the disappearances and deaths of those suspected to have been killed by the “Smiley Face Killer.” (Check out my Dakota James blog cause to be fair there was a lot of shady shit with the investigation). My younger sister has been slightly obsessed with these “killers” since the story first came out about James. She’s constantly telling me to be careful and not go anywhere alone. You get it. I’ve always taken the idea that if I’m destined to get murdered by a serial killer than that’s just how the cookie crumbles. The chances are so minuscule of that occurring that I just don’t really worry about it.

Back to my disappearance so my sister had seen my last location and her “spidey senses” immediately tingled. Fear coursing through her veins in an icy panic, she launched a manhunt to find me and make sure I was safe. She enlisted family, friends to find my whereabouts. Thinking and fearing the worst, knowing what happens to those who are taken by these sociopathic killers, she raced to my rescue in a battle against time. I received approximately four phone calls; three from her and another one from a friend. At least twelve text messages from four different friends, both of my parents and also my sister in those missing four hours. When I finally received these calls and messages they found me safely in bed where I had been napping peacefully sleeping off my buzz. To be clear, I don’t live at home with my parents or sister and I have regularly gone days without communicating with them. My sister launched a MANHUNT because the last play she saw me was on 2nd Avenue. It was only FOUR hours and my phone was being blown up. I haven’t received so much attention since the day I’d been born. Now all joking aside I am very grateful for that a sister who cares so much about me possibly missing. It’s great to have family that cares. The bigger benefit of her and everybody I know calling me is that I woke up without napping too long. Everybody knows that napping on a Sunday is a dangerous game. If you nap too long you won’t sleep all night and Monday will be worse than they already are. So thank you Danielle for not letting me ruin my Monday by sleeping too long on Sunday.

Eat’n Park claims they are the place for smiles. For 69 years they have had one of the staple restaurants in the tri-state area. Affordable food, excellent pies, smiley cookies; all things that most Pittsburghers grew up on. The chain has also delved in Hello Bistro locations with slightly more gourmet options and even provide the on-campus dining catering to Duquesne University and Washington & Jefferson College.

I know plenty of folks who have worked at Eat’n Park locations in the past and have had some of the best service and food at the Dormont and Baldwin locations. Other restaurants, not jut those under the Eat’n Park umbrella have also provided me with great service, decent service, and bad service.

However, I’ve never had as bad service as I did on Saturday night at the Homestead location.

I knew what I was getting into with going to Eat’n Park at 7pm on a Saturday. I expected it to be busy with slower service. I knew going in that I would likely have to wait for a table, that the wait staff would be running a mile a minute, and the kitchen would likely be backed up. These are all things that any normal person would expect going to a location during the dinner rush. What I didn’t expect was the utter abomination of a dining experience that I had.

I got there with Kierra around 7pm, waiting on one of our other friends to join us. The lobby was crowded, but just by using the eye-test I knew our wait would be about 15 minutes. That was the only thing I correctly predicted. The host honestly acted like he had never seen a person before nor knew what an Eat’n Park was. Instead of greeting us, he started wide eyed and in shock, confused as why we would EVER have a party of three.

15 minutes later our name was called and we were taken to our booth. Possibly the only time of the night there wasn’t some sort of issue. We were seated and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, oh and then we waited! The waitress, Destiny – she might not be destined to be a server – came over and placed our silverware so slowly on the table that I thought she was about to turn into a Salvador Dali painting and start melting. She did this in silence, awkwardly staring at her shoes. Then, when she decided to look up, she started at us as if I had just unzipped my skin and was an actual lizard person. 15 awkward seconds later, she asked for our drinks. Dr. Pepper and sweet tea.

Finally Maria, the third person to our party arrived. Perfect, maybe the waitress was just trying to buy time because she saw three menus and didn’t want to rush us. WRONG. Waitress walked back over, asked if we were ready, Maria didn’t even have a chance to sit down and open a menu, and we declined. So, she walked away. No drink for Maria. I guess she was supposed to work up some spit.

Another grueling 10 minutes passes and Destiny, who we have now realized is high as shit, comes back over. Listen, they say weed supposedly slows you down, if that’s the case this girl must have smoked 23 blunts and ate some brownies before her shift because she was GONE. I was honestly surprised she was able to speak without saliva rolling down her chin. So, we put in our appetizer order, pretzels, fried pickles, and mozzarella sticks AND Destiny walks away. Still no drink for Maria or refills for myself or Kierra. We call her back and Maria asks for a water, sorry to bother you Destiny.

We get the water. I’m sucking ice cubes at this point and making that slurpy noise because I don’t have any more sweet tea. I was like a three year old who was upset there is no more juice in his Caprisun. Another waitress brings over a tray to our table. I can tell its the appetizer but its missing the cheese sticks. So, to us the two surrounding booths, she rudely yells “did someone order pickles and pretzels” as she holds the trays above our head and vaguely waves at it like some sort of Kathy Bates version of Vanna White. We pip up that we did, however we should also be getting pretzels. Instead of accepting this answer Kathy Bates/Vanna White scoffs “well, your waitress didn’t say that”! She infers it is our fault the order and wrong and stomps back to the kitchen, food in hand. Destiny must have gotten an earful because she slinks back over and asks what our third option was. We tell her and she doesn’t write it down. She hasn’t written down anything all night. Maybe Eat’n Park is trying to save the tress and go paperless.

So, minutes later the appetizer comes. Correct this time but with soggy ass potato chips; an added bonus. At this point, I don’t care, I just want fried pickle. Still no refills on the drinks and our order hasn’t been taken. We remind Destiny that we in fact, do want dinner, and she smacks her lips together out of disgust. Shit, I just want my burger. In retrospect, I’m fairly certain that if there was ever a time someone was going to spit on my food, it would have been that night.

BBQ Southern Burger with fries and chicken noodle soup. A buffalo chicken salad, which apparently doesn’t get dressing as Destiny didn’t ask and expected Maria to eat a dry salad like she was some sort of farm animal. Chicken tenders and fries (Kierra is apparently 5 years old) with a side of brown gravy. Food comes, sans gravy and dressing, and still no refills. We flag Destiny down once again, ask for the dressing, gravy, and refills. She, for the first time, acts like we’re actual people and brings it all right away! I almost pass out from shock. Thank god I know the medics around here.

While we’re eating, a waitress fight breaks out. I honestly was about to run to the car for my gun. I expected it to be like the song “One Shot, Two Shot” by D-12. Apparently someone is new at serving, and BOY SHE IS NOT ALLOWED TO ASK QUESTIONS. KATHY BATES/VANNA WHITE IS LIVID THAT THIS NEW WAITRESS WOULD EVEN THINK ABOUT ASKING HER A QUESTION. Destiny is not the new waitress by the way. Manager hears this and shoos her back to the kitchen. Keep in mind, this entire time, the entire waitstaff is running around like they have never seen a plate before. Maybe the entire staff has cibophobia. I don’t know but they’re probably in the wrong profession.

After eating dinner and not seeing Destiny again until she drops off the check, I’m not shocked that she never followed up to ask how the food was or if we wanted dessert. Even if I wanted a slice of pie, Destiny decided it was our time to go. No pie for you Glenn Coco. I guess we also aren’t allowed to split checks here. I leave a 5% tip. The lowest tip I have left in my life. I’ve given homeless people more than I wrote on the tip line for Destiny. I feel bad, but then again, I felt like we were a bother to everyone there. So, DESTINY COMES AND GETS THE CHECK AND SEES MY 5% TIP.

I guess I won’t be going back to the Homestead location.

Ace Davis, 10 year old budding scientist from Lexington, Kentucky, has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tom Brady is a cheater. For his school’s science fair, Ace proved that deflating balls gave Brady an unfair advantage through his experimentation. He observed that balls with less air in them went further then balls with more air. Listen this just proves everything we’ve ever known about Tom Brady, he deflated those balls and he’s only won because of it. If you deny these studies conducted by a ten year old consider yourself a science denier.

Who am I to doubt Ace? He did the work and not to mention won the science fair. Would they have awarded him if his hypothesis proved incorrect? Absolutely not. I’m just glad somebody finally had the courage to go against the New England Patriots and Tom Brady, thugs that they are. I fully expect Roger Goodell to strip the Patriots of their rings and ban them from the Super Bowl this year. It’s the only fair and just thing to do. Thank you , Ace Davis and god bless you. Not all heroes wear capes.

So I’m not an expert in police investigations or murder or even this particular case, but I did watch the documentary on the Dakota James disappearance last night and shit was wild. I had heard of the case, but like I said I wasn’t too familiar with it until watching the documentary and reading some other stuff about it.

First off, I’m not completely buying into this idea of the whole smiley face killer gang of serial killers across the country. It seems highly unlikely to me that if a group like this existed it wouldn’t be infiltrated and destroyed by the FBI or police. Somebody in one of these groups would brag to an outsider and expose the entire operation or one of their members would be arrested for a separate charge and snitch about these murders for lesser charges. In my very limited experience, criminals largely aren’t masterminds with a code of honor. Even in the mafia “the code of omertà” has gone by the wayside and with it a lot of their power and influence. It’s hard to force somebody to be silent when they’re looking at hard jail time. As Benjamin Franklin said, ” Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

When it comes to the smiley face graffiti, I feel like it can’t be that uncommon as a graffiti tag. If I’m learning how to tag things the smiley face would be one of the first things I would learn. Easy, quick with a low chance for being caught. It just seems like the smiley faces are coincidental and the investigators are using their “discovery” at crime scenes to try and link the different murders. In the Dakota James case there was a smiley face tagged on the I-79 bridge which was the closest bridge upstream from where his body was found, which follows their theory. I just think it’s highly coincidental and unlikely that it is a calling card for some super intelligent group of predators operating in multiple cities across the country.

Now past the theories and into the somewhat hard facts. Dakota James disappeared January 25, 2017 after leaving the bars in downtown Pittsburgh and was walking home to the North Shore. The last place he was confirmed to have been by surveillance cameras was the Cultural District just outside an alley leading to the Robert Clemente bridge. Now the police believed he either fell off the Clemente bridge and into the river or walked down steps off the bridge down to the rivers edge for reasons unknown. Yet neither cameras end of the bridge ever recorded him being on or near the bridge at all. Now I’m just an amateur, but I would be willing to bet he was snatched in that alley before he reached the end of it. In the picture from the camera where he was last seen it shows him looking at his phone and it wouldn’t be too hard to knock somebody over the head and stash them into a vehicle when they’re looking at their phones and not aware of their surroundings, especially if they had been drinking that night.

Now the second questions arise about where the police believe his body had gone into the water, where it ended up and the condition it was in after being recovered. If James had spent 40 days in the water as concluded by police there would have been substantial deterioration, yet the river recovery team who said they have discovered dozens of bodies and Dakota was in the best condition out of any of them. If he had been in the water that long his body would be unrecognizable due to simple deterioration. The rivers are always fairly fast moving rivers and it seems highly unlikely that it would have taken those forty days to travel the ten miles where his body was found. Another hole in the official story is that for Dakota to have gone in by the Clemente bridge and been discovered where he was, he would have had to pass through a concrete and steel dam. Now it is possible he could have passed through the dam, the gates can open from as small as a foot and a half high to seven feet high. The questions arise when you again consider the condition the body was in when recovered. There had been very little damage to the body that could be attributed to going through the dam. The investigators working the case believe in the day he most likely would have gone through the dam that the gates were only raised one and a half to two feet high. Now it seems nearly statistically impossible for a body to travel through a gap that small without suffering severe damage. Now it is possible Dakota passed through the dam on a different day when it was opened as much as seven feet so we can’t dismiss out of hand that his body was dumped in the river before the dam and he did somehow travel through it. The only problem with that theory is the according to the river recovery unit that recovered his body it would have only taken a half hour approximately for Dakota to travel from the dam to his final resting spot. The last time the dam had been opened to seven feet was days before his body was discovered which makes it unlikely that he passed through unscathed.

Despite his body being in relatively good shape for what had happened, Dakota’s family was forced to identify him by a ankle tattoo. They were not allowed to see the autopsy paperwork or photos unless they pressed the issue with help of private investigators as shown on the documentary. With the autopsy and pictures there are two inconsistencies that are fairly obvious; in the autopsy there is no mention of any markings around the neck, head or shoulder area that could indicate some sort of death besides the accidental drowning that the police and medical examiner ruled. Yet in the pictures released to Dakota’s mother there was significant ligature marks around his neck signifying strangulation as well as black and blue marks on his fingertips that indicate blood pooling as he tried to fight against whatever object was wrapped around his neck and strangling him. In what possible, plausible scenario could an accidental drowning victim have these marks on them?? And in what scenario could the medical examiner be excused for leaving these off the autopsy report?? I’ve never studied forensics, but any Joe Schmoe who saw the pictures could see that those sort of marks just don’t occur naturally.

Now I’m not here to say that something bad or criminal is going on within Allegheny County medical examiner’s office, but at the very least this new evidence should be brought to lift and a new investigation should be opened. That seems like a reasonable conclusion yet the examiner’s office still drags its feet on looking into any new evidence or even answering how a trained examiner could have excluded those marks from the autopsy report or even missed them entirely.

The family of Dakota James family deserves the City of Pittsburgh’s full support to help them discover what really happened to their son. We may not discover and apprehend the murderer, but we owe them a full, thorough investigation into the death of their son, especially when there are so many holes in the current story we have been told. I felt ashamed to be from Pittsburgh when I watched the documentary and saw the disappointing treatment Dakota’s mother received at hands of the police as well as the medical examiner. Again I am just an amateur here and I don’t fully believe that his disappearance and death are the work of a highly sophisticated group of serial killers, but that is besides the point. This family is owed justice whether is was the “Smiley face killers” or just a simple murderer.

So we have all heard Panic at the Disco’s latest hit “High Hopes.” It has reached the number one spot on the Mainstream Top 40 charts as well as Hot Rock songs. It’s a good, catchy pop song with great vocals from leader singer, Brendan Urie. It is the band’s highest charting song, passing the absolute emo kid middle school classic, “I Write Sins not Tragedies.” It speaks to achieving your goals, overcoming obstacles and making a name for yourself in whatever you do in life. A pretty positive song and message to always do your best and “have high, high hopes.” I was on the bandwagon until one line jumped out at me and I knew I could not ignore it and turn the other cheek.

“Manifest destiny, back in the days. We wanted everything. We wanted everything.” I mean come on!! Manifest destiny! Unacceptable and a dog whistle to white nationalists and supremacist! For those who don’t know Manifest Destiny was a call during the 19th century used in white America to plow forward into the West. Conquest and settle these at all costs. Despite the fact that these lands had already been settled by indigenous peoples! (Notice I didn’t say Indians, stay woke). Newspaper editor, John Sullivan is generally credited with first coining the phrase to express the idea that it was white America’s destiny to conquer the West. Used by Democrats and President James K. Polk to justify the war of aggression against hapless Mexico and conquer the Southwest. The Mexican War established America as a continental imperialist power as we stuck our toe into the genocide pool, wishing to imitate our European cousins. We jumped in headfirst as we conquered and massacred the peaceful indigenous peoples (woke) who had already been pushed from their lands further east. Manifest Destiny was used to justify these atrocities as white America spread further and further west, oppressing any innocent, peaceful nature loving peoples in its path. I am honestly shocked that such a popular band would even think to use the term. It’s a short leap of imagination from “Manifest Destiny” of the 19th century to the alt-right Trumpian chant of “Build the Wall.” Now nobody else may be offended by these lyrics or have even made the connection, but I did! I am offended by these words and my feelings must be validated! I say radio stations ban Panic at the Disco until such a time as they publicly apologize for their alt right, bigoted, homophobic, patriarchic, white nationalist/supremacist lyrics and pay me reparations for the emotional trauma they have put me through. I will not be silenced, I will not be oppressed, nevertheless I will persist!

The world’s oldest World War Two veteran, Richard Overton, died today at the age of 112. Overton was a member of the 1887th Engineer Battalion which was an all black unit and served all over Pacific theater during the war from Guam, Iwo Jima, to Palau and Hawaii. Born 1908 in Bastrop County, Texas he joined the army in 1940 and served throughout the duration of the war, leaving the service in October of ’45 and returning home to Austin. First off, I wanna say thank you to Mr. Overton for his service during the greatest war in human history. I can scarcely imagine the things he saw, but having a history degree my history is obviously peaked in a man who lived so long and saw so much history. How did he live to be this long you may be wondering? Well luckily Mr. Overton was kind enough to give us the magic answer. THIS GODDAMN HERO DRANK WHISKEY AND SMOKED 12 CIGARS EVERY DAY OF HIS LIFE! I mean what a legend. He smoked a cool dozen Hav-a-Tampa cigars as well as drinking multiple cups of coffee a day. You give me one cigar and I start feeling light headed and my throat hurts. Two cups of coffee and I got heart burn and acid reflux. Peach cobbler, waffles, pancakes, cinnamon rolls are also part of his diet. I’ll tell ya I wish I had this man’s metabolism. Ate whatever he wanted and lived to 112! I suppose after surviving the Pacific theater a few sweets weren’t gonna hurt this man. He also enjoyed a whiskey with soda water at night claiming it was good medicine and kept him feeling lose. Mr. Overton is an American badass and hopefully he will be remembered by everybody. This man has earned his place in Valhalla.

What is a friend? There is no good definition. Merriam Webster says it is with someone we share mutual affection. I don’t think this is enough nor do I know how to better the definition.

Each person in a group of friends holds a different purpose. There is always a leader, a comedian, a cynic, a voice of reason.

This past weekend I got to see some of my friends. It was our fraternity alumni Christmas party and a group of guys, who chose to be friends, traveled in from different cities to spend a weekend together. In many aspects nothing has changed. Some of new jobs, new significant others, a new outlook on life, but one thing has never changed; our bond with each other. We may be a group of 20-somethings who got obnoxiously drunk and had to Uber home at the end of the night but that group of friends comes together in a time of need or celebration.

We travel far and wide for weddings, for Christmas parties, and for pick-me-ups. One of our brothers was recently diagnosed with cancer. A man who I’ve only met once or twice, but yet no one hesitated to support a GoFundMe to help with medical costs. If you can donate or just want to read Alex’s story, visit this site. A-Rob GoFundMe. I’m not here to solicit though, I’m here to tell a story.

This morning I watched the memorial service for President George H.W. Bush. I may have ugly cried while watching W., James Baker, and Reverend Levenson cry. I watched long time friends talk about 41 and praise him, while making some jokes at his expense. That is what friends are for. Sure, the fraternity may have wanted to nickname me Sgt. Stutters – THANK GOD they went with The Bachelor instead – but these men will be the first to carry me when I’m down. I would do the same for them.

Next year I get to stand with one of my closest friends at the altar as his best man. A groom’s party of 6 fraternity brothers and a blood brother. I already know who will stand with me at my wedding. That is when I finally convince a lucky lady they actually want to spend their life with me and won’t get annoyed with my snoring, or my mustache, or the fact I keep the thermostat low during the winter because I’m cheap.

I will get to give a speech commemorating the good times we’ve had together, how the first time I met his fiancee I touched her ass and she hit me – well deserved -, and how I wish the rest of their lives together, while it may not be perfect, will be the best and most loving experience.  I will also recognize that he will no longer be a drunk frat boy, but a drunk husband.

I hope that my friends also see in me the good times we’ve had together, the bad because we know they’ll bring it up, and the future on how to make me a better man.

I could write about all of my friends. Fraternity brothers, high school friends, fire house friends, college friends. Each has a unique place in my life.

This past weekend, and this mornings memorial service for the President taught me one thing. Everyone matters to someone. Even if you’re down on yourself remember that someone out there cares about you. Just because you don’t always talk with your friends that doesn’t mean they won’t be there to support you.

The goal of most post-graduate college students is to find their dream job, buy a house, buy a car, get married, and have children. Let’s not forget about building up a massive 401k and investment plan so they can retire to Cabo San Lucas and live out their life drinking piña coladas on a beach while developing skin cancer from the sun.

I have a truck. One that I love; with a car payment I hate. I’ll always have a car payment. I like having a new vehicle. Everyone has their vices, mine just happens to be buying a new car when I get bored of the old one. Better than shooting black tar heroin into the tip of my penis because the rest of my veins are blown out, so my parents have to be proud of me there. Maybe not the most financial savvy thing I do but, oddly enough, they don’t teach you about budgeting when you get an undergraduate degree in finance; or an MBA with a finance concentration for that matter.

I have a house. I bought my house in February of ’17. I was tired of the sunk costs of renting. Paying more than a mortgage payment each month in order to live in someone’s second home just didn’t make sense to me. I did the math, since the time I moved off campus junior year of college until I bought my house I spent almost $30,000 in rent. I would have had about 40% of my house paid off had I bought it then. All-in-all, it’s been a good investment. I’m knocking on every piece of wood I can find as I type this but I haven’t had any major issues. The house needs a little TLC but it’s getting there. Slowly upgrading from grimy bachelor pad to slightly more clean house. I wouldn’t call it a home yet, something is missing. I just don’t know what.

I also have a GREAT job. I mean GREAT. The hours suck, I work 3pm-11pm but I’ve gotten used to it. Salary is above industry standard, health benefits are outstanding – seriously, find a job that pays for your deductible even if you don’t ever really go to the doctor -, perks of working here are pretty standard for a small scale tech firm, and the 401k is decent. I’m not going to become the next Howard Hughes or Warren Buffet working here, but it pays my bills and I have enough left over for taking a vacation every year and the occasional splurge on something I want.

All of this sounds great, right? It is. Something is missing though. In the back of my mind, the pit of my stomach, I have the desire to flee. Leave it all, sell the house, quit the job, and just move away and start over. I don’t have a bad home life or something chasing me away. My relationship with my family is excellent, I have a roommate who is my best friend, I’m single. I’m not trying to escape anyone or anything. I know how good I have it but I want something else.

I fell in love with the idea of moving sometime this summer. I’m not sure if it was the allure of Las Vegas, the fact almost none of my college friends live in Pittsburgh anymore, or just the fact the longest I’ve been away from my hometown is when I studied abroad for six weeks in China. The cost of living in Pittsburgh is one of the best cities around. I would need a better job and probably need to sell my body behind a 7/11 in order to be able to afford another city with the same perks as Pittsburgh.

I would need to leave my fire station. I started to volunteer in January of 2016. I can honestly say its the first time I’m so passionate about something that I never want to leave it. Seriously, know those race car beds? If someone finds one that is shaped like a firetruck and fits me and a potential spouse somewhere down the line, let me know. I’ll buy it. Name your price.

I would need to leave ghost hunting. I know, I know. GHOST HUNTING?!? Yup. I love that too. I was fortunate enough to be asked to join a ghost hunting group last month. I was a client of theirs for a little over a year; they saw my passion and asked me to join. Seriously, huge shout out to Brett, the CEO of Ghosts n’at, Patty, Tim, Ken, and the others who are a part of that group for bringing me on. Do you know how hard it is to get someone to let you talk to the thin air in a building they own overnight? Nearly impossible. I can’t just up and ghost hunt somewhere else without selling myself, which I’m horrible at, or catching a breaking and entering charge. I can’t do the b&e because I love the community too much to disgrace paranormal investigation like that.

I feel like I’m being pulled in two different directions and I’m not sure which part of me is going to win. Do I leave my current lifestyle, pack up, and move across the country? Or do I stay put and never know what could be in store for me elsewhere.

I never knew I was afraid of the unknown until right now. I won’t know what I’ll be missing out on until I do it. However, the fear of missing out is a real thing. What if I move and I hate it? What if I move and I find the love of my life? What if I move and I miss my family? What if I move and find the job opportunity of a life time?

How do I decide?