Look, I'm not a perfect guy - far from it, in fact. I can be a total coward, I can come off as obscenely arrogant, and I've got an internal judgmental streak that I'm still struggling to shut down permanently. I've got my flaws, and they aren't hard to spot (greasy hair and pointy nose notwithstanding). 

But I like to think I've become comfortable with the concept of who I "am" (whatever that really means), and with that realization comes a certain comfort in knowing that simple things don't have to be complicated. Shouldn't that seem inherent? Simple things aren't complicated - that sounds like basic logic. But think about it. It's simple to know how to treat people with respect. Specifically, it's simple to know how to treat women with respect. Don't demean them, talk down to them, or take your anger out on them. Treat them as moral and intellectual equals, because they are. It frustrates me to even type that sentence, because I fail to comprehend the alternative perspective. Occasional parking jokes aside (guilty as charged), the women in my life are freaking incredible. They astound me with their principle, intelligence, and fundamental goodness that gives me a constant barometer for how well I'm handling my challenges. They are each deeply imperfect in varying ways, and yet that simply enhances my appreciation for their ability to embrace and flaunt their flaws in a way that demonstrates not fearlessness, but the ability to wear fear on their shoulders like a badge of honor. 

See my point? As a young man who does his best to be a decent guy, and looks forward to eventually finding the right match for my strange brand of non-humor and occasional spouts of social ineptitude, I just don't understand how to act any other way towards the brilliant women I'm so privileged to call friend. Please don't take this as ego-pumping, because the ultimate point has no relation to me. Keep your hands and your insults off women, fellow testicular comrades, unless you're embracing them or insulting their love of Twilight (every rule has exceptions). In all seriousness, get rid of whatever mental or social stereotypes that seem to communicate that treating women as second-class citizens of a patriarchal world is acceptable - this isn't like kicking an addiction or curing a disease. It's literally just a decision. Use your breath for decency and praise; it's the only part that isn't a waste. 

I've tried to find a friendly, conversational way to start this entry, and I've given up. I'm talking about friends tonight, and I'm going to be as honest as humanly possible, within the constraints of relative anonymity. I've written here before (several times) that I value one quality above all else when choosing friends - loyalty. In general, I don't really care who you are, what you've done, or where you're planning to go next, as long as you understand that human bonds are formed because individuals believe in one another. That's all I ask from people in return. Meet me wherever I happen to be at, and join me there. You don't necessarily need to stick around, but always be willing to come back if I might need someone else to walk a few miles with me and tell me what they see.

I have a friend who I met through tremendously odd circumstances - we weren't close at first, and it took time to forge even a small bond. But soon after we began to creep past those initial steps of casual interaction, I was hit with a personal family tragedy, and this friend jumped to my side without a moment's hesitation. That was all I asked, all I received in return, and all I needed. Even though this person proceeded to systematically destroy a decent portion of that trust, I still can offer them the benefit of the doubt (and accept the sincerity of their apology) because when I needed them, they were loyal, and I've had the opportunity to return in kind. Honestly, this analysis sounds highly simplistic, and much less circular or elaborate then some of the strange discussions I find myself delving into through these pages (if you will), but I think that makes sense based on my worldview. To me, friendship doesn't have to be complex. My closest friend on this planet is Matt Norris, and to be perfectly honest, we have almost nothing in common. But I trust him, completely, because he has never given me a single reason to doubt that trust. He is loyal to our bond, and I hope I return in kind. (We even kept each other at number one on our respective MySpace top 8, even through multiple fleeting high school relationships - now that's true loyalty on display). 

My point is this - friendship is worthless (or at least significantly less valuable) if it doesn't involve self-sacrifice. If you want to be my friend but remain emotionally detached from who I am and what I struggle with, you're wasting my time. A friend exists not just to grieve with you - they exist to grieve for you, or celebrate for you, or laugh for you. They are an extension of you, whichever you that may happen to be on a particular evening (or early morning, as seems to frequently be my case). Friends forgive one another, they laugh off stupid mistakes and argue until it reaches the point of sheer stupidity and no one can remember the source of the initial anger. Marriage or long-term partnership is at its very core, a story of best friends - people who see every possible flaw in their life partner and love them so much more passionately and ornately because of it. Friendship is this very bond (without the sex, generally); this idea that people's flaws can make them better and not worse, and we should celebrate and promote the idea that mistakes and irresponsibility are just a manifestation of a willingness to take chances. 

Let me connect these two diverging thoughts as my final muse for this brainstorming claymation of chaos and pseudo-intellect. People make mistakes, poor choices, and bizarre, irrational decisions. Every single person has made more of this type of decision than we can possibly account for. The point of friendship is to embrace these mistakes and form bonds because, in reality, we all have the same flaws, just expressed differently. My inability to understand or recognize the consequences of my actions are the same as your lack of recognition that your words have hurt people, deeply. My blindness to the reality that sometimes life moves on without you is the same as you turning deaf ears to people telling you how much they want to be by your side. We're selfish, stupid creatures sometimes, so let's take that one thing we all have in common and let it galvanize and energize how we weave amongst one another. It's abstract and erratic, yet particularly and unusually simple. Instead of worrying too much about walking in someone else's shoes, just try walking next to them in your own shoes. You'll get a better perspective, and there's always strength in numbers.

So, Chuck ended. 

Perhaps I should take a few steps back. Indulge me for a few (read: more than a few) minutes; set down what you're doing and come along for a brief, albiet not particularly brief story. This is a story of a young man with an uncertain future, tremendous potential, and a big heart. Actually, it's a story about two of those guys (or three, if you count the occasional Seth Cohen reference). In reality, though, it's just two - Chuck Bartowski, and myself. 

Chuck and I met back in 2009, as the series was deep into its second season. Oddly enough, I came onboard right as so many began to jump ship. Lauren (@Paishinator) and I were at the bookstore some random evening and the DVD caught my eye. I read the description and found myself intrigued, so we came home and downloaded the first season. She thought it was fun but nothing particularly amazing. I was instantaneously hooked. 

See, from the moment Chuck and Sarah sat on that beach at the end of the pilot, you knew the ending. Somehow, after a tremendous amount of extraneous and poorly-animated spy babble (this is NBC, after all), the geek would get the girl, and the world would spin like it should. Sure, there might be some bumps along the way, and occasionally I might find myself questioning whether the magic that so thoroughly permeated the first two seasons would ever fully reappear, but in the end it would always work out and leave me smiling (with the small exception of every on-screen appearance by Jeffster, which became the most excruciatingly painful side-plot I've ever witnessed). The beauty of Chuck came in the simplistic reality of the title character. Chuck Bartowski became the technologically savvy continuation of fellow Schwartz creation Seth Cohen (so I'm a closet OC fan, get the hell over it). Chuck will always be the guy who has too big of a heart - he isn't perfect, and he makes mistakes, but somehow that core sense of decency remains intact. 

I think Sarah Walker is more real to me right now than ever - probably because part of me thinks I found my Sarah, and let her go. Gentleman of the world, you know that feeling; you find that girl who scares you with her ability to kick your ass and make you feel like blubber whenever you try and form a sentence. Unfortunately, reality doesn't work like a serialized show, where you can turn down one opportunity to run away with the local princess, only to get your next chance six months later when fall sweeps roll around. Sometimes you have someone, and you let them go, and that's it. You don't get a second chance, and you can look back and pinpoint that precise moment when you made a decision that permanently ruined the possibility of ever changing the harsh concept known as reality. 

As Schwartz and Fedak so often did, they struck gold with that final scene. I'm going to be perfectly honest here - I didn't love the first portion of the finale. To me, the fifth season (and parts of the fourth season as well) became obsessed with attempts to keep the spy dialogue relevant when all we really wanted was to see these characters interact. People like Ellie and Awesome became novelty prizes with strange, non-fulfilling cameos, and that frustrated me. That being said, when Morgan told Chuck that he knew where Sarah would be, I just about lost it, because I knew exactly where we were headed. The beautiful symmetry of a direct reversal from where we started to where we leave our heroes made everything seem... human. I just paused for several minutes before typing that last word, because I couldn't find the right one. It wasn't that it suddenly made the show believable or perfect or anything like that. It made you feel like these were just two people, deeply in love with one another (even if one may not realize it at the moment), who are just going to take things a day at a time, like all of us do. 

The greatest finale episode in the history of television (in my humble opinion) belongs to The West Wing. When outgoing President Josiah Bartlett is handed the napkin given to him in season one by late co-star Jon Spencer that reads "Bartlett for America" and represents the forming of his exploratory committee for President, I had to pause the TV because I couldn't see through my ridiculous crocodile tears. But the finale doesn't end on that note - it has one last scene. As Air Force One begins to bring the President back to Massachusetts to begin his next part of life, he looks out the window and his wife asks what he's looking at. Martin Sheen's brilliant character turns to her and simply says, "Tomorrow." 

To me, that's what Chuck always did. It left me thinking about tomorrow, and what I could do to be just a little bit better, or a little bit more compassionate, loyal, decent, hardworking, and every other positive adjective you want to plug in there. Chuck never took itself too seriously, but it still successfully made you think, and I believe it's fair to say it has (and will continue to have) the most loyal fan base in the history of television. Even though the numbers dwindled as we moved to Fridays and crept towards the conclusion, the spirit of camaraderie and collective spirit I share with fellow fans is something I find unique and special. I don't have the perfect word to describe why Chuck fit me so well, but I think the closest term I can find is the one I shared earlier - it made me feel human. 

The Head and the Heart said it best, as the camera panned away and our heroes shared a final kiss - if you don't know what to make of this, then we will not relate. Chuck was, and will always be, an experience that went beyond a television show. Josh Schwartz may not be the world's most incredible writer or producer (although he's pretty damn good in both respects), but his characters make you feel welcome. And from a personal standpoint, yes - I really do miss your face like hell. You may not believe me, but I do. 

So to Chuck, Sarah, Morgan, Casey, Ellie, Awesome, the BuyMore, and so much else - but most of all, to a fictional world that has become something just a little bit more - thank you, and goodbye. 

I'll see you all among the rivers and roads, whenever I find them.

my first experimentation with the Xanga iPhone app. My brother's cabinet, in preperation for our new band project:

Apologies for the neglect - school is fantastic, life is good. I'll try and actually write something one of these days. 

I upgraded my iPhone to iOS5 today, and because of that, I spent a few minutes redoing some of my standard alarms. I've used the same sounds for years now, and my brain has started to simply incorporate the sound into my dream as opposed to using it to wake me up. In the process of doing this, I discovered a never-used ringtone I still have on my phone; it's the chorus to a song called Autobahn, by a band named Anberlin. The chorus is simple, two lines, repeated once, that read: "Drive to dream to live, we could see the world tonight; here to hope tomorrow, we could see the world." 

The reason I mention this ringtone is that it used to be the ringtone for a former significant other. I'm not going to mention which one, and it doesn't matter, but suffice it to say I heard it ring a few times. Even playing it now, several years later, just sounds right. My mind automatically assumes that a certain individual must be calling, because why else would I be hearing that noise? 

Now, let me clarify; this is not a walk down nostalgia street (which happens to run parallel to memory lane); in fact, it's exactly the opposite. When hearing that brief snippet (of a fantastic song, by the way), it reminded me why I chose that particular chorus to hear every time this person called. So many people have sappy love songs or cheesy choruses for when their partner calls, and there's genuinely nothing wrong with that. It's not something I'd ever do, but to each their own; there are few things more harmless than a ringtone. (The only things that come to mind are puppies and holding doors open for pretty girls). In thinking back to why I chose that refrain, I couldn't quite recall if it had any sort of significance specifically with that person, and honestly I'm almost positive it didn't. There were plenty of other songs that could have been "our song," if you will (heh), but I didn't opt for any of those. To me, I think it's pretty clear why I made the choice I did.

Think about it for a second. If you know me well, you know there is nothing I enjoy more than waxing poetic about the sheer simplicity of a long, nighttime drive. One of the most fantastic nights I've ever had was a drive I took to New York City to meet a friend and go to Warped Tour. I left right after 2 AM, in the midst of a fantastic lightning storm. It was barely raining, but the lightning was almost beyond words; it was mesmerizing, terrifying and invigorating, simultaneously. Little did I know that exact lightning storm was going to follow Topanga and I up the I-95 corridor and usher us straight to Queens. I swear, I've never seen anything like it, and that is not the tiniest iota of exaggeration. It was just me, Topanga (my Saturn), and the greatest lights show I've ever seen (and I've seen TSO three times, so that's no small statement). 

That is exactly why I chose that song. Look, I haven't dated in awhile; there have been prospects, close calls, near misses, and "oh she's cool, oh wait never mind RUN"-s. Once in a great while, it eats at me for a few hours, so I usually come here and vent privately. This isn't one of those nights; I'm writing this entry with a smile on my face, because I learned something tonight. Here's what I mean. In many ways, I've matured tremendously from the kid who chose that ringtone to the adult who sits here tonight typing nonsense that no one reads. But at the core, I've always been proud of myself. I've done plenty of things that I'm not proud of, and I've made plenty of moronic decisions. But those few simple things that define a person, I feel like I've got those under control. And seeing those lyrics and hearing that song, it's nice to know the Ben of a few (unspecified) years ago knew that exact same thing. He knew then, just as I know now, that nothing in life is more fantastic than letting the world simply exist around you. You don't need to tell someone you love them every minute, you just need to make sure they know it, and you need to make sure they know they every time you show it, you mean it. He knew then, just as I know now, that a significant other or a friend or a loved one doesn't make you who you are.

I lost my grandfather just over a year ago to a long and ugly battle with colon cancer. It was the first death I've experienced that really hit close to home; I've been to over a dozen funerals, but I've never sat in the front row before. When you're sitting at a funeral for someone you loved that much, it occurs to me that you're probably in the most universally human state of mind you'll ever experience. What's more universal than death? It is brutal, ugly, unforgiving, and sudden; even when expected, it's nearly always a shock. In my bizarre and nonsensical stream of consciousness, that fits so perfectly into what I'm trying to communicate.

I suppose the ultimate point of this jumbled mess is straightforward; learn to humanize yourself. I'm not perfect at it, I wouldn't even say I'm good at it, but I make an effort. Why do I love the somewhat over-stereotyped experience of sitting in a car, either alone or within someone you care deeply about, just letting the only noise be the wind and the engine? I don't know, exactly, but I just know. When the car stops, you're at a destination. If I'm navigating, it probably isn't the destination you intended to be at, but that's neither here nor there (which is typically about where I end up). But when you're moving, there's nothing certain. Yes, you're constantly reaching new places, but they disappear as suddenly as they arrive. Nothing is certain except that everything is going to keep changing until you decide it's time to stop. You're in complete control of when the ride is over, but you have no control over what you see along the way (to an extent, of course; don't read too deeply). 

Final story. While in Colorado last summer, I drove down with a friend I met there to see a movie near Denver. It was about a two hour drive, and we ended up getting back around 3 AM. However, getting back to where we were staying involved weaving through the hills at the base of the Rocky Mountains, including several sharp turns, sheer drops, and hairpin curves, all in the pitch dark while driving a minivan we had gotten access to that very day (all the while driving approximately 2 MPH so my friend didn't projectile vomit out the window). It was, to be honestly, absolutely terrifying. There was rushing water, unfamiliar roads, upset stomachs, upset people (long story), and basically just complete uncertainty. Yet, I still had to stop for a second and be amazed. I was driving through the mountains of Colorado at 3 in the morning, having never seen anything remotely like that before. I don't quite know why that seems to make everything fit together, but to me, it just does. When I eventually meet someone who might make me want to reuse that ringtone, it won't be because they're beautiful, or my soulmate, or my boo (god I just actually said that), or anything of that nature. It will be because they humanize me. They allow me to feel exactly like that song describes; we could see the world, or maybe we won't. 

Figuring it out is the fun part.

Everyone has their story. Mine is no different; there's nothing exceptional or particularly unique about my experience that day that would differentiate it from anyone else's. But I feel like it's my tiny little way of paying tribute, so I'll share it quietly on here. Feel no obligation to read on. 

I was an awkward sixth grader, barely adjusted to middle school. We had been back for maybe two weeks; three, tops. Around 9:30 AM, rumors started flying that one of the eighth graders had gotten a "text message" from his mom saying someone blew up a bomb in both of the Twin Towers. (Side note: think back ten years ago; an eighth grade student having a cell phone, let alone the capability to send/receive texts was just beginning to become a common sight). People were frantically speculating as to what might be happening, and I was pretty much just listening. Eventually, however, I overheard one of the students in my class standing at the locker next to me mention to another student how he thought it was pretty cool that someone might have blown up the Twin Towers. I remember that incident largely because it was the first time I ever used the word "fuck" out loud, to another person. Is it bizarre that such a trivial detail is permanently attached to that day in my mind? Yeah, I think it's fair to say that's more than a little strange. But I remembering being so furious that anyone could find something of that nature "cool" that it just slipped out; I had told him to "shut the fuck up" before I could even process I had said that sentence. 

Finally, after an hour of wild rumors, my history teacher told us the truth, including the details about the Pentagon. That was the first time any of us heard that part of the story, and it changed my entire mindset. Attacks in New York were horrible and devastating, but my dad works near the Pentagon. It went from being a feeling of mild fear to a desperate longing to hear my dad's voice on the phone. I remember my history teacher asking us to stop and pray; although he told us to put our heads down and close our eyes, I stole a glance upwards and saw tears running down his face. For a terrified sixth grader, few things are more upsetting than seeing your strong male role model at school looking as helpless as you felt. My mom picked us up around fifteen minutes later; they tried to stop her and get her to sign us out properly, and so she marched right past them and took us each out of class. She was crying too, but with those tears she brought a brief moment of relief; my dad was safe and in no danger, to the best of our knowledge. Obviously, as a doctor he wasn't going to be home for several hours, but she called him as we drove home and I got to hear his strong, calm voice, telling me that he loved me and that God was still in control. 

I got home and we immediately turned on the news; NBC4 was broadcasting live like every other network, but just like the rest of us, they had no clue what to say. By the time we were home, both towers had collapsed and Flight 93 was down in Pennsylvania. Speculation was rampant that other planes were still headed towards Washington, and I distinctly remember hearing reports of attacks in Chicago and Pittsburgh. Networks were estimating death tolls in the tens of thousands, and the endless loop videos of people leaping from skyscrapers seemed to sear themselves into the back of my eyes. I immediately logged onto AOL Instant Messager and started frantically chatting with friends and random acquaintances, desperate for someone to share the moment with. For some reason, one conversation has stuck in my mind; it was with a girl named Kristi (who has long since gone out of my life). She told me not to be worried about my safety because "it would take the world's dumbest terrorist to attack Bowie." For some strange reason, I found that funny and comforting. In reality, it definitely wasn't funny and really shouldn't have been very comforting. But to a young, overwhelmed mind, even the tiniest attempt at humor was appreciated. 

Above all else, the thing I remember most clearly is the tears. I saw my mom cry, I saw my dad cry, I saw teachers, parents, students, strangers, TV anchors, politicians, and movie stars, all crying. What else was there to do? There is always a time for healing and remembrance, but on that very day, there was hardly another action that could possibly seem appropriate. I cried myself to sleep that night, and I'm crying now as I type this paragraph. Like my mom said today in the car, "it's almost impossible to believe it was ten years ago, and yet it really does seem like a different world." So much of what I felt that day was exactly what we all felt; raw, unfiltered emotion. Whether it was terror, sadness, mourning, devastation, hopelessness, or steely resolve, we all felt it together. The room I live in now served as our TV room ten years ago, and I can literally look at the corner where the TV sat, close my eyes, and watch those broadcasts like they're happening in this very moment. Those raw, brutal emotions are branded into some deep corner of my brain, and I highly doubt they'll ever fade. 

But in the end, my story is simply that; my experience. I offer it not to bring attention to myself, but to place context on this final paragraph of tribute. On this day, one of mourning, sadness, remembrance, and continued healing, I offer my most humble and gracious thank you to the men and women serving in our armed forces. I offer my most humble and gracious thank you to the brave men and women of the police and fire squads, both those who responded on that day and those who keep us safe through today. And above all else, I offer my most humble and gracious thank you to those who lost their lives. Thank you to the fireman who rushed through the doors as everyone rushed out. Thank you to the citizens who boarded a plane and fought back, refusing to let that missile find its target. Thank you, so much, with the most sincerity and generosity this language can possibly convey, for your heroism, bravery, and above all else, your sacrifice. 

I can't speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself when I say you are truly never forgotten. 

As seems to be common practice, I've neglected this spot for a few weeks now. It hasn't been out of a lack of desire, but essentially a lack of time to spare. With that in mind, here's a few miscellaneous thoughts in no particular order (which happens to be the best way by which to order things, with the exception of lists of numbers).

Actually, I stopped after writing that first paragraph to send a few emails, and I find myself returning to this post with my creative juices completely stymied. It officially feels strange to sleep in this room, despite living and resting in this very corner for upwards of ten years. I'm living out of a suitcase in my own bedroom, sleeping on a guest bed, and using an old, shaky card table as my "desk." Despite all that, however, it has the one element of my room that I miss most in Arbutus; it has two dogs, sound asleep on the floor, content simply to be sleeping in my presence. Few feelings in the world can match the unconditional affection of an animal who is satisfied simply because you exist. 

In many ways, I'm beginning to figure out that I'm going to be living two parallel lives for the next few years. On one hand, my entire existence has moved to the apartment; all of my belongings, books, and priorities lie within those walls. My weekdays will be spent studying at random hours there, away from the city that happens to be the only place I can remember living. But each week, Friday will role around. And right as the work week ends and people flow home to enjoy their weekend, I'll be coming home to start my work. This isn't a complaint; merely an observation. As I sit in this room and look around, it barely even registers as the same place. It's remarkable how quickly a new domain can become your home. And yet, this is still my "home." I get to hang out with Sam here, and run into my dad at 3 AM as we both troll for midnight snacks. (I feel like "midnight snack" is one of those words like kleenex or windex, where one brand becomes the description of all types; any snack after dark is a midnight snack, regardless of the actual hour). The simple pleasures of interacting with my family are daily rituals that I already miss, and so I get to catch up every weekend and come back to the other half of my life. As long as I can find the right balance, I think it's going to work out pretty well.

That's pretty much my limit on inspiration for the evening; anything beyond that would be forced and contrived. So here's to an uncertain, but always adventurous future. I'm really looking forward to it, one day at a time.

Few things. 

Number one, I'm so done with you. I get it, we used to be cute. I've been a pretty fantastic friend as of late, and this most recent incident has just reminded me why I'm wasting my time. Bitch at me for airing dirty laundry on here, I don't really care (and frankly, no one reads this, so it doesn't matter). My patience is completely gone, and so is my interest in attempting to maintain some semblance of a bond. Good luck.

Second, it's incredible to me how fast this week at Summer Winds went. I've got a lot of thoughts on the week, and most of them are private, but let me say this. Life is about change in a pretty massive way for me, all at once. But for this past week, with the soft crash of the waves and spinning winds of the ocean, I finally realized that I'm ready. No matter what challenges this year brings, whether it's at school, church or life in general, I'm all set. Don't get me wrong; I'm terrified. Completely and utterly terrified, to add a few unnecessary descriptive adjectives. But I think that's a good thing, and I'm ready to embrace it.

Third, and finally; it's strange, but that first paragraph could apply to three different people. I know who I wrote it about, but now that I'm reading it, I have no idea who it's really about. So there's that. 

Those who know me well are familiar with my love of literature, from the classic to cheesy; epic history texts to moderately simplistic science-fiction, and so on. To me, the simple adventure of discovering what may happen when I turn the page is worth the effort, every time. I've always loved to read, and I always will. With this in mind, it is with a heavy heart that I read today's news regarding the liquidation and eventual closure of the remaining Borders bookstore locations. It's a sad thing whenever you witness another sign of the slow demise of printed news (and such notifications are rather commonplace these days), but the dissaperance of Borders is particularly poignant to this 21-year old. 

Back in middle school, the Borders here in Bowie, Maryland was the place to be. Granted, that is in no way a factual statement. But for my family, it absolutely was. Barnes and Noble hadn't yet drawn us in with promises of expanded selection and constant discounts; the place to find books was Borders, and there just wasn't another option. Every junior-high level Star Wars novel I ever devoured came from Borders, and many of them are still collecting dust on my shelves with their Borders price tags intact. I can still visualize the Harry Potter section that sat in the middle of the aisle leading to the youth/teen book section, filled with random memorabilia and trivia games that I've long since disposed of. There was nothing particularly magical about that store; in fact, the lack of magic and charm is likely why I remember it so fondly. Bookstores today put so much emphasis on the experience; comfortable reading chairs, secluded corners, and modern coffee shops are scattered among the bookshelves. But to me, I'll remember Borders for the books, and nothing else. I'll remember cramming myself in the corner between the displays of children's DVDs with the latest Animorphs release, tearing through the pages and attempting to finish the book before my mom or dad decided it was time to go.

The Borders in Annapolis holds completely different tales, largely unrelated to books. To an awkward sophomore, that was the prime location for a date; what better place to meet the girl I was smitten with than the lofty ceilings of a two-story haven of random books and movies. The layout of the store was perfect for finding a small corner, not to read, but to find a goofy title and laugh, enjoying some personal moments that are so fleeting in young relationships. That store was a place to meet people; both friends and random strangers. I still remember fondly a group of five friends spending time at that Borders, wasting hours with nonsensical fun. Sure, time has changed those relationships and altered friendships, but that store will always be a common ground of simplicity and nostalgia, even once it disappears. 

So in the unlikely even that a random Borders employee reads this, allow me to say a heartfelt thank you. Trust me; I work retail, so I get it. It's just a bookstore. But let me ask you this. Does it ever seem weird, even when your mind matures past youthful ignorance, to see a massive company simply dissipate into thin air? Borders was once a giant in my mind, seemingly "too big to fail" (and thankfully existing in days before such an idiotic phrase was coined), and yet it is already beginning to ride out of view beyond the sunset. Despite fully understanding why Borders will no longer exist, I'll never quite get it. 

And so that's it. Tomorrow, I might swing by the Annapolis Borders to say a brief farewell, and then I'll move on. The Bowie location closed several months ago, and I hadn't stepped foot through its doors in years before then. Just as with any event in life, the world stops for nothing. But for this slightly saddened bibliophile, I'll gladly stop for a few seconds and say thank you to Borders. This wide-eyed kid will always have a small place left for your stores, even if it's not much to go on.

You'll be missed.