Renaissance: Buffalo

New York licenses: check
New York state of mind: check

New York City: 346 miles east...

Buffalo may be a healthy six hour drive away from the city, but its ambitious residents aren't discouraged when it comes to art...

OK I admit, before I got there I was skeptical too. But after perusing around the city and meeting some of the laid-back (likely stoner) store owners on Elmwood, my attitude towards Buffalo has changed. One store in particular pulled at my heartstrings, and wallet. Two purchases later I found myself repping a "Buffalo Roots" t-shirt and helplessly linking Terrell Owens with the word "Hope." The power of marketing rears its charming head at me once again. Go figure. Buffalo, a city forgotten, but not gone.

The store: CITYLOVE, a clothing store not named for New York's largest and most affluent city, but Buffalo, the crown jewel of the western Empire (State). Its products are the city's own walking advertisements. Its media: t-shirts sported by all those Buffalo natives who aren't ashamed of their blue-collar heritage. It's time to get rid of that worn and played out Che Guevara shirt and join a new revolution. CITYLOVE is on the front lines, using prints from local artists to promote its cause- saving Buffalo.

CITYLOVE's urban feel and optimistic attitude has earned it a spot atop the young social scene in Buffalo. And why not? It's a cool idea. Whether you're from the B-Lo or not, you've got to enjoy a place that has turned the humble mindset of a city into a marketable product.

Shirts range in design from humorous punch lines like "I Love Dick...Jauron," to more subtle inked etchings of a steadfast bison with small print on the back, advising wearers to "still B proud." The unique style and idea hold a small-town charm found nowhere else.

Buffalo. Who would've thought?

CITYLOVE

http://www.citylovebuffalo.com/

Hang 10...in Manhattan?

Concrete, concrete everywhere and not a spot to surf.

For many years you've been marooned on this barren island called Manhattan, stranded without a palm tree or decent wave in sight. Not to worry all you surfing city dwellers, your prayers have been answered. Your life-vessel has just pulled in downtown.

The port: 31 Crosby Street. The ship: Saturdays.

Walking into the store the rumbling traffic noise outside fades away, drowned out by laid-back jembe beats and mellow lighting. The walls are lined with photos of perfect waves (are you ready to ride giants?) and nostalgic surfers. Boards stand like Easter Island moai, propped up on the left wall of the foyer. And just in case you were thinking about going no further, a beach-ready wooden bar, complete with staple blond at the reigns, invites you in with an espresso or a black-cherry soda.

Just beyond the bar, the main room of the store is adorned with all the gear you'll need to complete your "business formal = (wet)suit" look. Throw back board shorts with 60's style colors and cuts, mixed with soft flannel shirts and thin woolen cardigans hang effortlessly from the walls next to vintage surfing books and classic Playboy magazines (browsing optional).

And if you're not quite ready to shop, or just didn't shove enough bills in the old wayfarers' case, head to the ship's rear deck (an outdoor sitting area) perfect for chilling out, reading through one of the store's books, or listening to some live guitar.

Fear not, fellow Manhattan stranded beach-bums, our time to escape has come. Saturdays is open any day of the week to get your fix of the life less complicated.

I think you're ready.

Saturdays NYC

official site

www.saturdaysnyc.com/

Is that Doctor Pan, or just Mister?

Or is it Peter Pan, CPA? Whatever your title may be, the fact of the matter is we've all begun to grow up. Despite all our best efforts, Hook has delivered a substantial blow. We've been booted from our college Neverland, and the question remains, what to do? How do we continue our childish dreams, sadly all realities a mere 18 months ago, of loafing all day in an Eden of beer and sex? The answer isn't simple, and I don't think it's the same for everyone, but here are some ideas I have been mulling over for all of you fresh college grads searching.

Move in with college friends. Who better to foster your return to Never Neverland than the very people you shared every moment (keg) with during your stay? Not me personally, but a guy I know was going through a tough time dealing with his post-graduate stress disorder (yes, that's what they're calling it now, and yes there's a prescription (or ten) for it). He was moping around his house with his roommates (mom and dad) until one day he decided to make the move out. Now he's getting invited over his college fling's house, conveniently located around the block, to help her "drill holes" for hanging pictures on her bare apartment walls. Call me crazy but I think his life has improved drastically.

The next step, also a crucial one but often not as easy to fulfill, is to either find a job you love or love the job you find. This is a tough one for all of us who used to scribble in the word "student" (in crayon) in the blank line marked occupation on the official documents that we were forced to complete at the doctor's office. (Lollipop on the way out anyone?). Time to find a new filler for this spot. How about "assistant ______?" Yea that'll work (crayon, too, will still work). You need a way to finance your mini-fraternity house right, so do what you must. And if assistant, or associate, or junior....blank, doesn't feel right, do something else (prostitution) that makes you happy. Peter Pan, Samuel Adams Beer Taster. There, that sounds right, no?

In the end we're all going to have to submit to Hook, but until then hang on tight to all your saving graces: video games, cheap beer, moldy apartments, fast women. To quote a great speech, "the inches we need are everywhere around us." It's up to you to be the badass and just take them. Don't ask for anything, nothing outside of Neverland is free. Until we're old and tired, and probably (definitely) overweight from all the Sam Adams tasting, stay strong. Exercise daily, drilling holes or curling brews, or even hitting the gym if you're so inclined. Learn something new each day (how to mix a mean bloody Mary is a good skill, and one of the many prescribed meds to the aforementioned disease). Whatever you do remember this: the title doesn't make the man, it's the Pan inside that keeps him going. It's a slippery slope, and if you find yourself falling, take a risk. Meet up with friends, get a keg, plan a party. Don't worry, Tinkerbell will still be at your Halloween bash, but trust me she's not looking for a guy in a suit (even you, corny guy who chose to be Clark Kent instead of Superman. What were you thinking?).

The Subway Buddha

They say the only two absolutely certain things in life are death and taxes. That list is incomplete. The third certainty has been overlooked, but is nonetheless true. Fact: nobody enjoys their commute to work. No matter how great your job is, no matter how close it is to your home, getting to work is simply not fun. So to curb the boredom and improve the time I spend traveling on my way to work, I look for little things every day to make the trip a bit more interesting. Some days it's a stranger's outfit that is so ridiculous I think, "What do they say when they look in the mirror before leaving?" Some days it's a conversation I eavesdrop on and cannot help but laugh along when I hear about this girl's on-going escapades with her ex-boyfriend. But today, well today went above and beyond the rest.

As I boarded the 7 train to go across town everything was business as usual. The car's air conditioner was broken, the guy across from me had a blank stare on his face that somehow gazed through my head, and then the wall, and on into infinity, and there was a woman in business attire aside from her awkward tennis shoes she dons to minimize her time spent in heels. Needless to say, I pulled into my stop disappointed. That is until the train conductor got on the intercom...

"42nd Street, Grand Central, transfer is available to the 4,5,6, and Shuttle. Connection is also available to the Metro North."

More business as usual as I stand, waiting, in front of the door like a lab rat begging to be released into his cheese-scented labyrinth. The doors do not open and I'm feeling a bit frustrated when the conductor comes back...

"Enjoy the weather," he says in a kind and almost practiced stage voice. "Get to work safely today, and no matter what your destination, remember, happiness is always the way."

Everyone on the train stairs at each other in a moment of awe, then the train erupts with laughter. Our own personal Buddha on the subway. What a phenomenal way to start a Friday.

I've been thinking about his words all day and I've concluded the Subway Buddha is wise. Happiness is always the way. And for a second I began to think, "then why am I on my way to this job??" only to realize happiness can be found in the weirdest places. Sometimes even a hot crowded tunnel deep underfoot a busy city can be the saving grace of your day. You just have to keep your eyes and ears open (or maybe just turn down the ipod once in a while).

The Experiment

Ok here's the deal. We're going to try a little periodical experiment. In order to keep the content fresh and diverse, I'm going to allow some followers of Something Evermore to submit, verbally or in writing, topics about which they'd like me to write. I see this is as the perfect challenge to break away from the habit of constantly writing on things in which I'm interested, and learn to write about things that tickle the fancies of others. So without further ado, here's the first topic of conversation:

West Coast Promises of the Eastern Dream

This is an interesting topic that was brought up by a friend of mine as we discussed different ideas for the blog. To be perfectly honest, it came up originally as "the life of a West Coast Playa." I thought the idea was funny, for sure, but no gripping enough for a story. Then I realized there's more to the West Coast Playa' than meets the eye.

The idea of the West Coast Playa is one much older than you probably think. The West has represented blissful freedom in America since the idea of manifest destiny (our distinctly American idea that we are destined to own the Western territories of the New World). And it seems that not much has changed since then. In the 137 years or so that have passed, Americans have been flocking as far west as possible to find the true paradise our country promises. Today, the ideal culminates as the so-called West Coast Playa': A dude who's chillin' out Cali style, riding waves and dating blonds- living the dream while sporting a flat-brimmed Dodgers hat (in black, of course). He hits the beach by day and the clubs by night. Think Brody Jenner meets the Beach Boys and, I don't know, Snoop Dogg, just for some flavor. He's an image that never dies. Like Hugh Hefner, age is not a factor out west. When you've got it, you've got it and that's the bottom line.

This is what we East Coast people think of when we dream of the land that lies beyond New Jersey. We dream of packing up and roaring down Route 80 until we reach the end, fueled by thoughts of the land of dreams-come-true. And from all the live accounts I've heard in my life time, that's exactly what it is. A fantasy of laid back bros and gorgeous girls. I don't know, maybe it's the perfect weather (ideal marijuana growing conditions) that mellows people out in Cali and creates the closest thing to a Utopian society since More's fabled island in the Atlantic. I don't know, and I don't care. I'm glad it's there for us to dream about. And maybe that's even more fun than actually living it. Maybe it's the East Coasters that have it made. Because no matter how bad things get here, we can always rest assured there's a better place beyond the horizon. What do they have? Japan? I think we win that argument.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

Picture this: you're walking the streets of Florence, Italy with a group of 3 of your friends. As you meander through the maze of cobble stone, you stumble upon a porcelain shop. Standing behind the counter is this girl whose beauty is so traditional, so simplistically perfect you can't look away. Her long, soft brown hair cascades down the sides of her face, rolls off her shoulders, and hangs lightly at the mid of her back. Her pale brown eyes shoot through yours, now humbly bowing in shame as you and your crew nervously file into the small family-run store. For a moment, as you float past porcelain-clad walls towards the register, you feel as though everything else has fallen away. She speaks. It's English but with a northern Italian accent that softens the harsh Germanic words to their dullest edge. Her voice is dark and deep, not what you expected, but it lures you closer. "Hello. Can I show you anything?"

later

The four of us are standing on the Pointe Vecchio watching the sun as it paints the sky an awesome burnt orange and pink on its final decent over the Arno River. Her words are echoing in my head, "Can I show you anything?" "Why yes, I think you can." We all just stand and gaze at the beauty before us and reflect on the beauty we'd just encountered when suddenly, and almost to my chagrin, my one friend poses the question...

"If you could live with that girl, 'China Girl', here, on this bridge, forever, never to return to the United States again, would you do it?"

We all stand in silence to consider. I think it over...and over...and over. On that bridge, I stood in one of the most perfect places I'd ever been. Nothing could argue with that. The warm summer breeze on my face, leaning over the edge of the bridge, nothing could replace that carefree feeling of freedom. But could I stand to never return to the United States and all the loved ones she possesses? At that time I had been traveling for 5 weeks and was feeling a bit homesick. My answer then: No. But as I sit behind the desk in my tiny New York cubical, surrounded by overstressed bosses, underpaid workers and a culture obsessed with work for the sake of working, I am forced to reconsider my decision.

In fact, if my friend asked me that question right now, I would say "100% yes," and I would never look back. For me Italy represents a return to the simple. Yes, to live there you must forgo some of the luxuries of American living (i.e. guaranteed service at any time, in basically any store through out New York), but the return, is far greater than the sacrifice. Having worked an all-American corporate "9-5" job I can say from experience that our system is flawed. Yes, working is good. I'm a firm believer in capitalism. But the purpose of working should not be lost in the work itself. That is, one shouldn't work simply to work. One should work to live, not the other way around. I want to enjoy the ride that is my life while I'm young enough to really live it, not slave through 40 years so that I can enjoy the end in moderate comfort. Who knows if I'll even make it that long! The purpose of work is to give a feeling of accomplishment to your every day. Yes it's a means to maintain, but more so, I feel work should be a way to contribute.

So would I abandon my American roots to run off with a gorgeous Italian on the Pointe Vecchio, running a small porcelain shop day in and day out? Yes, yes I would. I would say goodbye to SUV's on open roads, baseball at Citi Field, friends and family, if it meant a life concentrated on achieving gratification rather than wasting hours in an office building. There are so many things going on outside of the gray box that is corporate America, I cannot even fathom why I would waste another second sitting here. And yet, we stay.

So I ask you, what would you do? Would you stay, or would you go? Take a risk, or play it safe? The choice is yours. Personally, I'm thinking it's about time to take a risk. The way I see it, if you don't act fast, the things you once despised for being mundane will become the norms you slavishly can't live without. If that's what America is all about, then I say, no thanks.

Don't Fall Behind

Well, we're here again, aren't we? Has it really come and gone? I can't even bring myself to type the words...but nevertheless, here they are: summer is over. And with that stale and stagnant statement come promises of a less enjoyable lifestyle. But, I'm forced to ask why? Why does the fall always catch such a bum rap? Fall certainly isn't the worst season of all- that, without a doubt, is winter, and that's another blog on another transitional day. No, fall is more like a country dirt road than the desolate white dessert of winter. The road can be lonely if you put your head down and just truck along, but if you take a look around and embrace the changing journey, you'll find lots of fun things are still happening. Your summer dreams of months packed solid with entertainment are not dead. Here are some of the many redeeming qualities on which you can focus your attention to keep your spirits high as the temperature plummets.

First and foremost, sports are alive and well. Football is about to kick off, which means fantasy fans across the country are all gearing up for the season. Who's going to be the best sleeper pick? Will Brandon Marshall stop complaining and start playing up to his potential? How will Cutler do in Chicago? How will Orton do in Denver? Will Forte and Slaton build off their stellar rookie seasons? or will they plateau like so many other rookie sensations. Will Moreno be a pro, or just another college stud gone average player? Although summer offers great weather to play football, for those people in the autumn of their athletic careers, fantasy football is the only place to live out your dreams of making it big on the gridiron.

Baseball is still in full swing as well. The beginning of fall means the playoffs and the World Series are just around the bend. And even though my Mets are long out of the picture, I still love the thrill of baseball in October. The smell of falling leaves mixed with pine tar, grass stains, beer, and peanuts-it's a potpourri of America's finest I can't help but enjoy.

Holidays, too, are at a premium in the fall. Labor Day has just passed giving us the opportunity to catch up on some much needed time for fun, and leaving us with a shortened work week.

For those party lovers and miss-ers of the all-American college rager, Halloween is coming up, and even though the weather is getting colder and colder, something tells me the outfits will continue to get hotter and hotter. It's a phenomenon I can't explain, but then again, I'm not complaining. Halloween was once my least favorite holiday, now I wait in anticipation for it all year. Forget those summer parties, sweating out on the roof- give me wacky costume parades and a chance at the unthinkable. That's when the real fun begins.

But if that's not your slice of pie, Thanksgiving is there to round it all out with some good, wholesome fun- games of touch football, time spent with loved ones, and the best cooking mom can offer.

So for all of you moping around these early days of fall, cheer up! and think about all the fall has in store. Forget about summer. It's over, it was hot, and I'm sure it was fun, but it wont be back for a long, long time. This is the beginning of something new, and what does that always call for? A party. So quit kicking those leaves around the backyard and crack open a can of spiked cider. It may be getting colder, but remember, the only way to stay warm is to keep moving fast!

The Quest for G

It's 4 o'clock on a Tuesday, the working man's least favorite day of the week- too far from Friday to dream of the weekend, close enough to last Sunday to still remember the joys of a time already passed. And just when you thought your life couldn't get any worse, after your boss emails you a new assignment, what happens? Gmail goes down for the count.

10 - 9 - 8...

This has happened before. Your main portal into the social pipeline of people you once spent time with daily, now only engage in digital friendship, suffered some kind of severe blow. But you, being the businessman that you are, rest assured in the power of technology and tell yourself Gmail will be back in no less than 5 minutes. You rely on getting a head start on that new assignment to pass some time....

7 - 6 - 5...

Ten minutes have now passed and panic is starting to set in. What is going on??? Is it possible Google, the Internet giant, is really having this many problems? You rationalize, maybe someone over there is also having a bad Tuesday. You say sorry to that techie out there in cyberspace and you patiently get back to work.

4 - 3 - 2...

OK, enough is enough! It's now 4:50 and this has to be a dream. No way in hell can you possibly do "real" work anymore. "What is going on with my friends?" "Who's going where for happy hour?" "Have ANY of the jobs I spent most of last week applying for responded with a promising interview?" The power of the Internet is now punching you in the face. Because what can you do without it? Simple social networking tools are all you have left of humanity! Take them away and you whither and squirm like an ant under the magnifying glass! "Please, make it stop! Connect me with those friends I so desperately cling to for reassurance that this won't be my last job and everything will be OK once we get to the bar! Google, what have you done to my life?!"

1...

It is now 5:30. Somebody at Google better be getting fired.