Boston University

New Boston University Director of Athletics Should Bring Back Football

Today, my alma mater Boston University named interim director of athletics Drew Marrochello the new head of BU athletics. The University needed a replacement for Michael Lynch, who stepped down after two unfortunate, public incidents – one involving sexual assault charges against two male hockey players, the other being accusations that former women’s head basketball coach Kelly Greenberg mistreated players in an emotionally damaging way.

Drew looks like a nice guy.

Drew looks like a nice guy.

On the surface, this hire seems like a great move. Marrochello came to BU in 2005 as an associate athletic director for internal affairs and was eventually promoted to deputy director of athletics. According to BU Today, Marrochello’s promotion “received strong support from the coaching staff, colleagues in the athletics department, deans, faculty, and University administrators.”

Even better, the new athletic director grew up in Arlington, Massachusetts, and used to go to BU-Boston College hockey games. Between his nine years at Boston U and his growing up in the Boston area, the guy seems like a perfect fit as the new Terriers AD.

In my opinion, however, Marrochello is a safe candidate who will fall short of his goal of getting BU viewed as “the best non-football-playing Division I school in the nation.”

What angers me most about that statement is its subtext. That goal is akin to wanting to become the greatest rock band of all-time from Uzbekistan. No offense to Uzbekistan, but who cares if you’re the best rock band there?

To be less facetious, what I mean is who fucking cares if you’re the best non-football-playing Division I school in the nation? We’re a nation that loves football. And we – the BU nation – are starving for a goddamn football team. The fact that Marrochello even uses the phrase “best non-football-playing Division I school” is an admission that we can only be the best in a tier below the best tier.

Excuse me if I want to be in the premier league of college sports.

I think this logo is a sweet start.

I think this logo is a sweet start.

What pisses me off most about the quotes that BU Today attributed to Marrochello is the frequency with which football is mentioned. The new AD described himself as a “kid who grew up watching the Boston Breakers play on Nickerson Field.” According to BU’s athletic website, the Breakers were part of the United States Football League, and played their home games on BU’s campus during 1983.

One of Marrochello’s fondest memories of Nickerson Field was watching a football game. And why wouldn’t it be? Nickerson is a beautiful stadium, a gem in the heart of Boston. It begs for college football to be played there.

In fact, a lot of really great football has already been played there. The Patriots played three seasons there toward the beginning of the 1960s. And if you haven’t heard of the awesome 1993 BU Football team that beat future NFL Hall of Famer Kurt Warner then you should watch this video (and parts 2 and 3).

If you want to feel better about yourself, watch the video below that some friends and I made. It was supposed to be a parody, but Barstool got hold of it and ripped us to shreds.

**

I spent my BU infancy frolicking around West Campus. I lived on the fourth floor of Sleeper Hall my freshman year. I woke up numerous times way earlier than I wanted to on Saturday mornings to the sound of “I’m Shipping Up To Boston” blaring from Nickerson’s speakers every time our nationally-ranked women’s lacrosse team scored. They were fucking good. I heard that song a lot.

Now imagine this full of fans in scarlet and white.

Now imagine this full of fans in scarlet and white.

While my hungover ass could have used more sleep, I always loved looking out my window to see the excitement unfolding on and around Nickerson. I often daydreamed about nearby Babcock Street and Harry Agganis Way shutting down for a Saturday morning football tailgate. Droves of alums, students, and Bostonians in Scarlet and White, chugging Sam Adams, Natty Light, and busting a move as the BU Band played their rousing, awesome version of The J. Giles Band’s “Centerfold.”

Can’t you just smell burgers and brats on portable grills outside of Camp Co? Can’t you see Rhett playing bags with a group of wide-eyed freshmen excited to be experiencing college football at the best college in the Northeast? I can see wily upperclassmen explaining BU’s offensive game plan to sophomores who think they know it all. It’s not hard for me to picture professors, students, and BU brass filing into Nickerson hoping to somehow, someway take down Boston College in week one of the NCAA football season. That’s assuming the Eagles would have the gumption to take us on in a non-conference week one barnburner.

**

Look, I’m not naïve. I understand that bringing football back to BU is not easy, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be cheap. I’m also grateful of the efforts a number of students have made to make club football a big deal.

But I’m frustrated with the current administration and athletic department’s close-mindedness. Why can’t we be one of the nation’s best academic AND athletic institutions? Why has the current administration not considered bringing football back? Or, if they have, why hasn’t that discussion been public?

Boston is one of – if not the – best cities to go to college in. Sure, we might not be able to recruit top football talent in the same way that we struggle recruiting top basketball talent, but it’s worth a shot. Can’t we, at the very least, talk about the pros and cons of bringing football back to Boston University?

I mean goddamn it, our campus has a statue of famed BU athlete Harry Agganis throwing a football yards from Nickerson! Talk about a slap in the face.

The nerve of BU to put a statue of someone playing football on our campus.

The nerve of BU to put a statue of someone playing football on our campus.

Let’s stop pretending football isn’t part of Boston University’s past and discuss it becoming part of our future.

I’m looking at you, Marrochello.

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#ThrowBackThursday: Dunkaroos

Thank you, Betty Crocker. Thank you for creating the greatest processed dessert of all time. Or should I be thanking someone else? Did God himself make these wonderful, tasteful delights? Because something this perfect could not have been conceived in a laboratory run by a Nobel Prize-winning scientist, much less a Betty Crocker factory. No offense, Betty.

I remember the days my wonderful mother would bring back Dunkaroos after a trip to Sam’s Club. I always got irrationally angry for asking her to help me bring the groceries from our old Ford Windstar (and Dodge Caravan before that) – sorry about that, Mom – until I saw that perfectly weird color mix of sky blue and teal emanating from the bottom of one of the bags. I’d throw everything else out of the bag to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. Then I’d grab the box and hold it in front of my face just to smile at that wacky kangaroo sticking cookies in marvelous frosting.

box-of-dunkaroos

That goddamn beautiful kangaroo. Sometimes I’d call him Chester for fun. It sounded like a good name for a kangaroo. I’d say, “Hey mate! How are things down under, Chester?” Then I’d rip into the box and eat about four to 55 packs of his vanilla sprinkle-flavored comrades (I called them “roos” for short).

Oh… man! Roos were fantastic. I remember eating them after little league baseball games in the summer. I hated when parents brought healthy snacks. Seriously? You brought us orange slices and some purified water crap when you could buy an economical bulk of Hawaiian Punch and Dunkaroos from Sam’s Club? What’s your problem? We’re in little league here, not a nursing home. Bring me my Dunkaroos and let me stuff my face with them for an awesome sugar buzz.

I went through a Dunkaroo-less period in my life beginning in high school (I still call that time the Dark Ages). Those years were characterized by solid, awfully unhealthy desserts like Oreos, Skittles, Zebra Cakes, and Loyola Academy cafeteria cookies. It was like falling out of love with your soulmate and having decent flings here and there, but nothing to write home about. If I had to use an emoticon to describe my feelings during this period, it’d be this:

:/

Then, one glorious night while still a student at Boston University, a rumor started floating around. They might have Dunkaroos at Shaw’s (Shaw’s Supermarket was an oft-visited spot for Terriers, and is now called Star Market). My mind started racing. Could it be true? Are we all just in some kind of drunk, waking dream? Is someone Bigfooting us right now? I’ve got to find out.

Commonwealth Ave Shaw's.

Commonwealth Ave Shaw’s.

So, we trekked over to Shaw’s. Wish I could tell you what the journey was like, but I was three sheets (possibly nine) to the wind. When we got there, I felt like Indiana Jones searching for for a lost relic. When I found the Dunkaroos in all their glory, on aisle whatever, I held them in my hand for a second and legitimately thought I’d have to outrun a massive, moving boulder. In fact, I did start running. Right to the checkout aisle.

When we got back from Shaw’s, I blacked out. Upon waking up, I found an embarrassing amount of cashed Dunkaroo packages. I was too satisfied to be ashamed.

I haven’t eaten any Dunkaroos since.

Who knows when the next time I will eat Dunkaroos will be? Maybe never. But at least I had that one last night. That’s all that a man in love can ask for.

Here’s One For The Underdog: Go Terriers!

America loves an underdog. That’s why everyone and his grandmother are trying to come up with the next Rocky film. Sly Stallone feels no shame in continuing to make Rocky movies, either. Somehow, someway, that savvy old salamander always convinces us that Rocky Balboa is still an underdog. These days, it’s mostly because he’s 70 and has two replacement hips. It’s hard to win without real hips.

I root for the underdog. Unfortunately, I often cheer for the wrong ones. I consistently get my heart broken after I fall in love with one of my teams and they get eliminated from postseason contention in a very painful way. I’ve never been a fan of a team – aside from the 90s Bulls – that has been a clear favorite to win a championship from the beginning of a season through its completion. I envy my parents and their friends for getting to watch the 1985 Chicago Bears rip up the rest of the league. It must have been fun.

***

Every so often, however, one of my favorite teams makes it to a championship game. Today happens to be one of those rare, wonderful days. My beloved Boston University Men’s Basketball Terriers will battle the American University Eagles at 7:30pm Eastern Time for a chance to play in the NCAA Tournament.

For those of you who don’t know, BU is first and foremost a hockey school. I admittedly never got as into hockey as I probably should have during my time at school, especially considering we won a national championship during that period. Instead, I focused all of my sports attention on the basketball team, and was one person in a small group that tried to show up to every game.

(Full disclosure: I was not as diligent in getting to the arena in the winter as some of my more dedicated friends. I blame that on Keystone Light.)

I have closely followed BU basketball since graduating in 2011, which was coincidentally the last year we punched a ticket the tourney. I love rooting for my Terriers, and I don’t care that I have to watch their games online most of the time. I know we’re not Kentucky, Michigan, Duke, or any of the other programs that people around the country want to see on a weekly basis. We’ve got to fight to earn national attention. That’s what makes days like today so special. We get to take center stage, albeit on CBS Sports Network.

Last time we punched a ticket, my beautiful friends Luciano Fraioli, Greg Huntoon, Matt Cooper, Eric Dahl, Dan Reid, Colton Bozigian, and Brian Fadem were there to cheer them on. I was getting drunk in Naples and riding bikes in celebration with some other BU chaps.

Last time we punched a tournament ticket, my beautiful friends Luciano Fraioli, Zach Farnsworth, Greg Huntoon, Matt Cooper, Eric Dahl, Dan Reid, Colton Bozigian, and Brian Fadem were there to cheer the team on. I was getting drunk in Naples and riding (and falling off) bikes in celebration with some other BU chaps.

Today is a day when seniors like Dom Morris, DJ Irving, and Travis Robinson should get to cut down the nets at Agganis and wonder who the hell the tournament committee will pit them up against next week. Today should be a day when the nation notices Maurice “Mo” Watson Jr., a stellar sophomore who dishes out an amazing seven assists a game. Today should be the day that a young, freshman stud like Cedric Hankerson points to as a maturation point in his promising collegiate career. Today needs to be the day that Boston University students and alumni take notice of a basketball program that could be great with their consistent love and support.

***

As is custom, I’m getting too excited for this game. I came into work early so that I can leave early enough to get home, pop open a Keystone Light (for old time’s sake), and watch my Terriers (hopefully) earn a chance to go dancing. I haven’t been able to focus on anything else all day.

Dom Morris, DJ Irving, and Travis Robinson. Three stellar seniors.

Dom Morris, DJ Irving, and Travis Robinson. Three stellar seniors.

I know there’s a chance that I’ll get my heart broken, but I’m willing to risk that because today is the day that I get to hope that my team is Rocky. Sure, American U. is technically the underdog because they’re the second seed, but who cares? We probably have more guys from Philadelphia on our team, anyway.

The Patriot League isn’t the ACC, Big Ten, or Big East. That means if we can win this game, we get to be the underdog again. We’d slide into the tournament as 14 seed, which would give us a prime opportunity to upset an ill prepared, high profile program. Can you imagine if BU made the tourney and shocked a school like Syracuse? I can only dream.

But before that can happen, the Terriers have to fight for the right to call themselves the Patriot League Tournament Champions. In essence, they’re in a dogfight to earn the right to be THE underdog. I guess underdogs are bound to a life of proving themselves.

Today is a day for the underdog, and I’m hoping that dog is a Terrier.

Thirsty Thursday: What I’d Be Doing In College Right Now

It’s well after 5pm Eastern Standard Time on a Thursday. I’m on the West Coast these days, spending most of my weekdays in the office. But once in a while my mind wanders to years gone by at Boston University. If I close my eyes I can almost see what was going on first semester junior year (the best semester of school)…

***

I’m just getting home from some class. It was probably something in the basement of the College of Communication; definitely one of those tough classes only film majors have to take, like Movie Stardom. It’s so worth it to pay loans for the next 45 years of my life for collegiate courses like that.

Anyway, as I was saying, I just got home. As luck would have it, my roommates are already there, watching a rerun of Entourage. It’s the one where Sloan (Emmanuelle Chriqui) shows up. Yes, I know there’s a bunch where Sloan shows up. Naturally, I sit down and watch the rest of the episode. You don’t skip out on Sloan.

Toolish? I don't care.

Toolish? I don’t care.

After Entourage, we get a text from a couple of our other friends asking what we’re doing tonight. My roommates and I look at each other and shrug. “Let’s just invite them over,” any one of us says. We all shrug again. Good idea.

That’s when someone says, “Well should we play beer pong until they get here?”

Then another roommate says, “It’s only 5:30.”

We all look at that roommate. He’s smiling. “Just kidding. Let’s rack ‘em up.” I grab a 30 of Keystone Light from behind one of our beaten-up leather couches.

In no time, there’s a familiar playlist blaring from my old set of speakers. They’re a $50 set from Best Buy, but to us, they sound like a million dollars – especially when songs like Asher Roth’s “I Love College” blare from them. There might be four of us, but this party is rocking. Did I mention I’ve already won two straight pong games?

Asher Roth, a synonym for "one hit wonder."

Asher Roth, a synonym for “one hit wonder.”

After my fourth straight pong victory, I look up from the table – things aren’t fuzzy, but they ain’t as clear anymore – and suddenly the friends that texted us earlier are there. We’re playing Civil War. Then Baseball. I still haven’t showered. That’s becoming a bigger problem because we all just decided to go over to our girl friends’ place to pregame.

Wait, we didn’t consider four beer pong games, a game of Civil War, a nine-inning Baseball extravaganza – and what’s this, whiskey shots? – pregaming back then?

I’m in the shower now, humming Taylor Swift’s “Love Story.” I know I’ll hear it at some point later. I’m not in the shower alone either – oh get your mind out of the gutter. I’m accompanied by a banner of a dancing hula girl. We got her for someone’s birthday – but I can’t remember whose. I think she had a name. Damn it, what was her name?

Shower over. Now I’m humming “Stronger,” by Kanye West and thinking about all the way back to freshman year when we used to have to go to stupid fraternity parties as I slip into a pair of comfy jeans and a button-down American Eagle shirt. Almost forgot my backwards 90s-ish snapback hat. That could have ended badly. I should be humming “Good Life,” because that’s what we’re living these days as juniors with our own apartment. 

Now it’s after 10pm. We’re at the girls’ place. They’ve been drinking wine watching The Jersey Shore. We can’t even give them shit for that because half of us watch it, too. No matter. More shots. This time Vodka. Jesus, did I really used to do that?

We make it to the bar somehow, but it’s already midnight. We’re a motley crew, but somehow we make sense. I’m pretty loaded at this point, but luckily there are a few members of the crew who make me look sober. We all do that thing where you split up and talk to random friends from a class for a while. It’s fun and you can’t hear a damn thing anyone else is saying because they continue to pump Jason Derulo throughout the bar.

Wait, now we’re all back at the girls’ place. How the hell did we get here? It’s 1:30. My god, I used to stay up that late? Everyone’s pretty jacked up at this point. Only one unlucky soul has class tomorrow morning. Naturally, that means we give that guy another shot and turn on “Love Story.” It’s like clockwork. We’re all dancing and singing along, switching partners, jumping on couches, and chugging beer. I still think T-Swift should have come recorded us one of these times and created an alternate music video. We always had an amazing time.

Next thing I know, I’m waking up on my couch in my apartment in the morning. It must be Friday. The Entourage DVD menu is playing on TV. I check my phone. 9:30am. Oh shit. I was the one with class this morning.

***

Wait, where am I? Oh. Work.

I just woke up in my cubicle. And it’s not even 5pm here yet!

Ben Affleck and Matt Damon Are Still Awesome

In case you were wondering, Ben Affleck and Matt Damon are still fucking awesome.

I know I’ll be entering this contest. I only lament that I can’t spend Valentine’s Day with these two freaking awesome geniuses. Thank you Ben and Matt for helping me make the decision to go to Boston University even though Good Will Hunting took place mostly at Harvard.

I used to act around Harvard, too. I pretended I was a Harvard Law student to get into some parties and/or not get kicked out of others. My performances only lasted about an hour and a half to two hours, too.

On a more serious note, check out Omaze. They’re an awesome charitable organization that raises awareness and funds for great causes by providing “once-in-a-lifetime experiences that can’t be bought,” like hanging out with Ben and Matt. Or Matt and Ben. What’s better is that if you’re poor like me, you can still enter to win one of these awesome experiences for only $10. Pretty f—ing cool.

Valentine’s Day Eve Letter to Emma (Watson)

Dear Emma (Watson),

I don’t know why I’ve been getting my hopes up. I told myself I wouldn’t. I guess I just thought that this new, cool blog might mean that I had I better chance at getting in contact with you.

58669-so-youre-telling-me-theres-a-c-Sm9B

But self-pity never gets anyone where they want to go, so I soldier on. I’m a helpless romantic – and there’s no better time to celebrate and accept that fact than now, on Valentine’s Day Eve. If you haven’t gathered I’m a helpless romantic by the letters I’ve written thus far, we’ve got a problem.

Anyway, I was searching the web for some Harry Potter news (don’t judge me) and stumbled across this post from our friends over at Mugglenet. Apparently you have lent your voice to the reading of some love poems for an app called The Love Book. The app will be released tomorrow on Valentine’s Day. According to the Mugglenet article, you loved the idea and were eager to read these love poems.

You like poems, huh? Not sure if you knew it, but I’m somewhat of an aspiring my poet. Yesterday I wrote a single millennial Valentine’s Day poem. Excuse the bitterness. I was mad at my Dating Machine for lying and telling me he set a date for you and I. Last week, I wrote a poem celebrating the work of my intern. Excuse the bitterness there, too. I was just upset that the intern is on pace to be better at my job than I am. Imagine if there was another Hermione on set who was just killing it. Actually, that scenario is not possible because it assumes someone could be better than you at anything.

I’m actually not a bitter guy at all. I’m pretty hopeful. I believe in the improbable. I believe in soulmates. I believe in a thing called love. I believe that sometimes the most unlikely scenarios are what we need.

This makes me tear up every time.

This makes me tear up every time.

Maybe I’m waxing poetic here because the 1980 U.S. hockey is on my mind with the tournament ramping up in Sochi. The team was chock-full of Boston University students, by the way. I believe in miracles, too. Sometimes I forget that. But I really do believe in the impossible.

That’s why I’m asking you out this Valentine’s Day. I’m headed to Washington, D.C., to visit the family tomorrow. I get in at 10pm. I know it’s last minute, and you probably have plans, but I’m rooting for the miracle. Plus, it’s a hell of a lot closer to London than L.A. and you have enough time to buy a last minute flight.

I’ll be waiting at the Washington Monument with a box of chocolates from CVS, a bottle of Two-Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s, two solo cups, and some fancy flower assortment from Whole Foods. Almost forgot, I’ve queued up a sweet Valentine’s Spotify playlist. It’s heavy on British bands.

There’s a 99.999% chance that you won’t show up and that I’ll end up pretty drunk after chugging the bottle of wine myself. Wouldn’t be the first time. But that’s okay. I live life for that 0.001% chance. I don’t just mean with you. I mean with everyone and everything. I believe in going for it and leaving everything you got on this earth before we perish.

I understand reality. I get that you and I will most likely never meet. I know I probably won’t win an Academy Award. I’ve come to grips that the Cubs might not win the World Series in my lifetime. But I believe that we have to believe. We’ve got to hope against all odds that things that we want might just happen. It’s how we get up each and every morning.

It’s like what Danny O’Shea said to cheer up his team at halftime in Little Giants. You’ve got to believe in that one time.

Hate that I had to use that clip far in advance of my Little Giants 90s movie review, but it’s the only thing that accurately portrays what I mean. Special people, jobs, and relationships come about because of exceptions. Because one time one person took a chance and said, “Fuck you, Kevin O’Shea. I’ll beat your Cowboys.”

Happy Valentine’s Day, Emma. Hope to see you tomorrow night at 11pm Eastern Standard Time in front of the Monument. If not, I’ll keep racing my bike down Cherry Hill every day because I believe that one time I’ll win.

Sincerely,

Billy Danny O’Shea K.

Snow Days For Adults

I’ve been a Southern California resident for over two and a half years. That means that I’ve been able to avoid the unforgiving weather that used to be part of my daily winter life in Chicago and Boston. I’ve traded trudging to class down Commonwealth Avenue through impromptu March snowstorms for cruising to work down the Pacific Coast Highway with my windows open in January.

But something doesn’t feel right. I’m not talking about the fact that I still have my Illinois driver’s license and Boston University student ID.

No, it’s something much deeper. I miss snow days.

Let me clarify: I don’t miss dealing with inclement weather for long periods of time. I don’t think anyone in his or her right mind would. Consistent warm weather isn’t something to bitch about.

I miss that email from BU saying classes are cancelled. I miss the freedom and infinite promise that a snow day brings. A snow day is one those rare days in your life when anything is possible. Well, except any outdoor activity that doesn’t involve snow. Or driving anywhere. Or flying. And sometimes walking can be difficult. But let’s not focus on the negative here, Nancy.

Epic movie.

Epic movie.

On a snow day, you can lead everyone in your elementary school on an exciting mission to stop Snowplowman from plowing the streets so that school stays closed, while your dad, Chevy Chase, squares off against a rival meteorologist to save his career. Oh wait, that’s the plot of Snow Day, a Nickelodeon Movie from 2000. I don’t care what IMDB says (4.9 rating out of 10), the movie’s tagline – “Rules were made to be frozen!” – tells you how amazing that movie is.

My friends in Chicago and Boston, do they cancel work on snow days when you’re an adult? If so, that’s freaking awesome. Think about all the cool stuff you did as a kid on a snow day and how much cooler it gets as an adult.

For example, sledding. You’re never too old to put on a pair of snow pants and wax your sled – that’s not a euphemism – before heading to the local sledding hill. However, as a younger kid, you were way too young to play beer pong before doing so. As a grownup, you can go sledding with a slight buzz that provides: (a) warmth (b) courage and (c) creativity. They really need to make a pro-drunk sledding commercial with Tim Allen narrating.

Snow days for adults mean Netflix binging like nobody’s business, too. Still behind on House of Cards and need to catch up before the new season comes out on February 14? Snow days solve that. Oh, want to get a head start on your tax return? Bam! A snow day is here to solve all your problems. Have you been meaning to email your friends from high school or college telling them how the hell your life is going? Oh yeah. Snow day has you covered, baby.

Oh man. Maybe I made a mistake moving to Los Angeles. Adult snow days sound earth shatteringly amazing. Imagine if you had a significant other on one of these stay at home winter days. You guys could you-know-what all day long. It’s totally possible. I mean it. Playing Heads Up on your iPhone all day is more than a reality. There are a million categories. What’d you think I was talking about?

Now this is the kind of fort I'm talking about.

Now this is the kind of fort I’m talking about.

If you’re single and incurably immature – like me – you could go build the sickest, most fortified snow fort on the block. Forget that kid crap. You’re an adult now. You have the resources and wherewithal to construct a snow fort that rivals The Wall from Game of Thrones (which coincidentally would be another great show to binge watch on a snow day). Imagine how awesome it would be to start an epic, all-out snowball battle with everyone on your block. Since you built the first castle, you could claim the Stark family name and start yelling “WINTER IS COMING!” and kick some serious ass. Although, you might want to clarify that you’re the first season Starks. I’m telling you, watch Game of Thrones!

I might be getting a little carried away here. Or maybe I’m just getting started. I don’t really know anymore. The warm weather has made my brain a little mushy. Part of me just wants to go to the beach and have a margarita.

But, damn it. There will always be that other part that wants to grease up the sled (again not a euphemism), chug a beer, glide down to my snow fort, and start a battle so freaking legendary that George R.R. Martin writes a whole seven-book series about it.

winter-is-coming-48

Happy snow day to all my friends on the East Coast!

Saying Goodbye To The Kid: Growing Up Sucks

Growing up sucks. There aren’t any shortcuts in the long trip from childhood to adulthood. It’s a bumpy road that has never been – and will never be – paved and smooth. Becoming a grownup is a slow process that at times can be more arduous than sitting in the waiting room at your dentist’s office and listening to smooth jazz on repeat with a raging hangover.

I turned 25 last October. I don’t think I’m “old” by any means, but I’ve certainly entered that weird, purgatory-type area between being a post grad and an adult. Surprisingly, or perhaps not surprisingly, going on a weekend bender does nothing to change the fact that I’m not in college anymore and will never be again.

I don’t mean to sound depressing. I just find it funny how much you can learn and grow in college only to be knocked on your ass once again after walking down the graduation aisle. The reality is that there’s no major that prepares you for the rest of your life. You kind of just have to figure it out as it happens, which can be scary, overwhelming, and flat-out confusing.

Ferris is a true American hero.

Ferris is a true American hero.

For example, at 25 years old, my body cannot handle binge drinking like it used to in college. This is a fact, no matter how many times I try to dispute it with various experiments. I mentioned yesterday that too many games of beer pong now mean an awful two-day hangover that makes me feel as guilty as it does sick. Long gone are the days when I’d dominate a pong table for five straight hours and wake up the next day feeling as good as Ferris Bueller did when he sang “Twist and Shout” on the parade float in downtown Chicago.

Unfortunately it’s time to say goodbye to the kid that could party his ass off, put off responsibility, and spend all the money he made on booze and MBTA rides of various kinds to get around Boston University. These days, transportation costs are synonymous with Uber ride receipts. Buying Keystone Light for house parties is frowned upon. Responsibility is kind of mandatory thing on a daily basis.

These, of course, are all funny things. However, there’s nothing easy or comical about saying goodbye to the kid you loved being for so long. I’ve heard a lot of people say they are “so happy” to be an adult and that they “couldn’t have graduated sooner.” Good for you, assholes. The rest of us feel the like rope in the tug-of-war between our former “kid” selves and our future “adult” selves.

Those of us in our mid-20s are coming to grips with this big thing in front of us called the rest of our life. It’s fucking scary. There aren’t nearly as many keggers and themed parties on the horizon as there were when we started college. Instead, there’s college debt, bills, rent, mortgages, insurance, car payments, and diminishing athletic skills. I’m still sore from my flag football game last Saturday and I have another one tomorrow.

While adulthood scares me half to death most of the time, there are some great things to look forward to. Soon we’ll be so in debt that we’ll have to become beloved meth dealers like Walter White and Jesse Pinkman! Kidding.

Even meth makers need a beer once in a while.

Even meth makers need a beer once in a while.

I had a comforting realization the other day: This is the time in our lives when we learn how to live well. I think up until now we’ve all kind of had fun, done some great things, and have made awesome friends. But now we get to figure out how to make our lives the best possible experiences based on our own unique, specific passions.

Here’s a song to help you get through the rest of the article:

The thing that continues to be frightening is that we’re going to have to work and fight for what we want. However, as adults, we have the fortitude, know how, and resources to do so. If you ask me, that’s kind of cool.

This is not to say that we all of a sudden know everything and are experts in every field imaginable. Some days I wake up feeling like the same, dumb 18-year-old freshman I was at Sleeper Hall in Boston in 2007. All I’m saying is that we’re old enough to understand that most people in the world fake it until they make it. You can’t walk out of college and claim to be an expert in any field and you sure as hell aren’t born an expert in a damn thing.

It’s important to keep in mind that we’re all kind of faking it until we make it. We’re figuring it out as we go. No one should feel like they’re in this thing called life alone. And while it’s time for most of us in our mid-20s to say goodbye to the kids we all were, it’s important to remember there are a lot of sensational things in front of us.

It’s still okay to play beer pong once in a while. Just keep in mind you don’t have to play for five hours. Oh shit, I think they figured out I’m talking to myself.

Happy Friday!

This post was written by Billy Kirland, co-founder of The Millennial Man. 

Hearsay Hobbies: Amateur Astronomy

Welcome to the first installment of Hearsay Hobbies, my weekly attempt to find a fresh diversion to mundane everyday life. In my weekly hobby pursuit, I hope to inspire you to pickup a shiny new hobby of your own.

This week’s hobby: Amateur Astronomy

To be completely honest, I Googled “cool hobbies” to come up with this week’s topic. I was gone all weekend working on a screenplay – I’ll spare you the details – so I needed a quick fix and frankly, amateur astronomy sounded pretty awesome.

I should note that I’ve fallen for this charade before, however.

Exhibit A: my astronomy course at Boston University. As a naïve Film & TV major, I mistakenly thought that astronomy would be an easy A+. All I’d have to do is look at some sweet slide shows of black holes, check out Uranus, and watch Star Wars once a week, right? Wrong. Couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead of watching Han Solo cruise around on the Millennium Falcon I had to take a lab once a week, bust out a dusty old TI-83 calculator (one that didn’t have Mario on it, ugh), and figure out a bunch of science shit about comets looping around the cosmos.

What a crock of bullshit, right? Can’t a man just sit in a collegiate auditorium and get an A for passing out during The Empire Strikes Back? Guess not. Oh well. Lesson learned (actually, I didn’t learn anything).

Back to amateur astronomy! According to Wikipedia, amateur astronomy is “also called backyard astronomy and stargazing” and is “a hobby whose participants enjoy watching the sky, and the abundance of objects found in it, mainly with portable telescopes and binoculars.

Now THIS is a hobby I could get into. I’ll go buy my lawn chair right now. I’ve got a perfect cooler that sits about an arm’s reach away from a lawn chair. There’s nothing like having a Blue Moon and looking through a telescope up at the real moon. This could be the perfect loner, pensive hobby (to escape the hullaballoo of the weekday) or a great activity to hang out with friends.

It gets better: “The typical amateur astronomer is one who does not depend on the field of astronomy as a primary source of income or support, and does not have a professional degree or advanced academic training in the subject.”

That’s me! I barely even passed an astronomy course. Amateur astronomy is perfect for a guy like me. I love staring up into the sky and pretending to be in deep thought. One of the “common tools” amateur astronomers use is “the naked eye.” Awesome. This hobby is affordable, too. There are a bunch of other sweet gizmos you could buy if you wanted to get really into it.

For now, I think I’ll take my chances with my eyes, Blue Moon, a lawn chair, and stocked cooler. Let me know if you want to take up amateur astronomy with me. We can make it a habit to look for Uranus.

This post was written by Billy Kirland, a co-founder of The Millennial Man.