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?).

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.

Welcome

Hi everyone, and welcome. I've started this blog as a means to keep doing what I love to do amidst the toils of day-to-day life in corporate America. I see this as an outlet for any and all who share similar interests in writing, sports and any other leisure activities they wish were more prevalent in their adult lives. As the title suggests, this is all about moving forward and keeping the spirit of Romanticism alive- despite the efforts of modern realists. That said, get ready to escape, give in to your infantile inhibitions, and let's move on to the good life...