Friday, March 31, 2006

For Dangerous Dan

Above: A Long Lost Brother

On Sunday, the Allman Brothers Band wrapped up its 157th night at the Beacon---no joke. Since high school, I've made a point to catch one---and only one---ABB Beacon performance each March, the lone exception being 2005 where I double dipped in order to see the Big House Benefit. At this point, Peakin at the Beacon is a holiday of sorts, falling somewhere between Purim and Passover (and like all Jewish celebrations it adheres to its own lunar calendar, never quite falling on the same day). In fact, I've learned that the more time you spend at the Beacon the more you begin to look and sound like Warren Haynes, which is probably why the Dali Lama only took two nights at the Beacon this week (I hear he closed with "Soulshine").

Unlike many of the bands who exist in the Relix/ world, however, the Allman Brothers Band has a universal appeal. It's the only band in our space who can draw both Bear Sterns investment bankers (who buy the entire floor opening night each year) and Hells Angles motorcycle bikers (who, ironicly, pack a bar called Bear before each show) and who can jam with Bruce Williams and Pinetop Perkins. Yet, it all seems natural---ABB fans come in all shapes and sizes, boasting all sorts of stock portfolios.

But it ain't easy being an Allman as Dangerous Dan Toler can tell you. In fact, one could create a oldies-circuit version of the ABB composed exclusively of the band's ex-(living) members including Dan Toler (guitar), Johnny Neel (keys), Frankie Toler (drums), Chuck Leavell (piano), Jack Pearson (guitar), Mike Lawler (keyboards) and David Goldflies (bass). Oh, and I guess Dickey Betts, sadly, fits into thicategoryry as well ....

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Fast Food Injury

On Wednesday, I bought a fish sandwich form a some fast food restaurant en route to a Magic Numbers show. While quite tasty, it oozed with the reheated flavor of way-to-hot pizza and I ended up burning the roof of my mouth. Its been two days and I still can’t get my taste buds to readjust properly. Not a fatal injury, sure, but I do think someone should invent a cure for upper mouth burn. I think it its a million dollar idea---we can even sale them in the Ray’s Pizza display case next to the flavored calzones nobody ever seems to buy. Speaking of Ray’s Pizza, I am extremely disappointed---and hurt----that my younger brother prefers the more gourmet, less greasy West Village Pizza to Ray’s. Its as if I found out he was a Republican or into the Backstreet Boys or something. Haven't I taught him anything in the last 21 years?…..

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Earplug Alert!

A big week in Mikey's music land:

3/28: The Magic Numbers @ Webster Hall, New York, NY

3/31: The Flaming Lips @ Webster Hall, New York, NY

3/31: Moonshine Still @ Knitting Factory, New York, NY

4/1: RAQ @Bowery Ballroom, New York, NY

4/2: Gorillaz @ The Apollo Theater, New York, NY

Monday, March 27, 2006

The High Cost of Lot Shopping

With the exception of, perhaps, a trip to a cool CD store, shopping has never been my favorite sport, especially when it comes to picking out new cloths. In general, I find clothing stores overwhelming and hard to navigate---a museum-like environment that puts a price tag on its displays. A psychology student could make a strong case that my store-a-phobia dates back to my fifth birthday, when one of my loose shoelaces got tangled in an escalator, spiraling me upward toward the infinite floor so vividly chronicled in The Phantom Tollbooth. But, in reality, I think I hate shopping because I have a hard time finding cloths that fit. For some reason, Greenhauses are genetically designed to be jocks. We have broad shoulders, big breasts and strong legs. But, since my great-great grandfather retired from boxing in, oh 1908, Greenhauses have traditionally strayed away from anything remotely cardiovascular, rendering our DNA, essentially, useless and flabby.

Like many things in my life, I long for the freedom Kindergarten, when comfort outweighed style and Velcro shoes and sweatpants were the trends of the day. Personally, I’ve always thought of myself as something of fashion connoisseur, just not a conventional one. For instance, I can tell the difference between a Phish ’95 Summer Tour shirt (which is dark blue) and a Fall Tour ’98 shirt (which is maroon) from a mile away, despite their identical logos. I’m also smart enough to pick and choose which band shirts I sport at what musical events. Its pretty unheady to where a Phish shirt at a Phish show, unless of course it’s either a lot shirt referencing a specific song or at least five years old (aka proof that you’re earned your Shakedown stripes). While I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing my IT Festival souvenir at the Disco Biscuits’ next performance, it is OK to wear a Phish shirt from Big Cypress or earlier. After New Year’s 1999, any veteran tweaker surely spent all major holidays with the Bisco, moe. or Cheese. Phil Lesh and/or Dead paraphernalia in general is pretty much universally accepted except maybeat a Christina Aguilera show where tie-dye in is considered probable cause or a Lynard Skynard performance, in which case you’ll probably want to wear your granddaddy’s confederate flag.

Speaking of concert T-Shirts, last summer I purchased my first new concert shirt in about three years at a Jones Beach Black Crowes concert. I really like it because, unlike the dozens of Phish Ts which hang idly in my closet, it actually fits as a shirt instead of, say, a kilt. After debuting it at a Tsunami benefit, I also realized that it works as a pretty hip going out shirt, if only because its black and tight enough for hipsters to think I’m being retro. In fact, if I had any fashion and/or business skills, I’d start my own concert attire advisory group and hem a line of designer concert T-Shirts for white collar Deadheads to where on Sundays. I-Bankers take note: If nothing else, it might encourage some earthy secretary to rub your chest (even if they are mentally petting the the cotton likeness of artist in question).

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Matt Pond and His PA in the BK

According to my all-knowing concert almanac, I haven’t been to North Six since the fall of 2003, which in indie-rock years translates to about 3/5ths of any given band’s lifespan (speaking of which, who are the Stokes and why do I still have their CDs in my closet?).

If I remember correctly, the last show I saw at North Six was Lake Trout and, at the time, all parties involved unanimously agreed that I was nowhere near cool enough to ever step foot in Williamsburg again. But, now that all jambands claim to be of indie-decent and all intelligent indie-rock bands have realized the financial benefits of playing to hippies, its become increasingly hard to avoid this stuffy, slice of west Williamsburg. Besides, I’m Friendsters-in-law with Matt Pond PA guitarist Brian Pearl and they were nice enough to play on my home turf last fall (a Guster concert, of course), so I feel I owed North Six a visit.

In post-Millennium New York, riding the L to Williamsburg is kind of like taking a bus tour around Haight Asbury in the late-1960s. Its become a caricature of itself and most of its original residents have been economically boxed out, relocating to refuges in either the east village or Hoboken (where Yo La Tango surely offered them social asylums). But its still an interesting section of the city to visit (especially to see a bill as intriguing as Matt Pond PA and Youth Group) and still manages to horizontally with my below 14th Street comfort zone.

I can see myself really liking Youth Group given the right setting, but since I not suffering from a broken heart and haven’t recently undergone a traumatic experience (like wrinkling my pressed pants) I decided to talk about Pink Floyd with a friend in the lobby instead. Don’t get me wrong---I like indie-rock just as much as the next aging Phish-kid, but there is something inherently uncomfortable about sitting through a club-size hipster show. Its as if North Six is so frail that cracking a simple smile could instantaneously shatter the room’s entire fa├žade. In retrospect, I don’t think I would have survived Haight Asbury either. I’m a jamband kid who doesn’t do drugs, a indie-rock observer who doesn’t tie his shoes. I guess in searching for a scene, I’ve been able to carve out my own little, neurotic scene. Besides, no style of music should take itself that seriously.

Before Brooklyn authorities evoke my Metrocard-size passport, I want to clarify a few things. First off, I’ve always been a fan of indie-rock, even back when it was called alternative-rock. Second, I see a distinct stylistic difference between the hickster breed of indie-rockers (My Morning Jacket, Iron and Wine, Calexico, et all) and the more straightforward, dare I say generic, bands people associate with the indie-stereotype. I think it boils down to geography and drumming, which tends to be flashier in Brooklyn than, say, Kentucky. Speaking of indie-rock, I’m still really, really digging the latest batch of jam/indie cross-overs (Dean-is it too early to classify these bands as post-jam?). Tom Hamilton’s American Babies brings tears to my eyes and the Duo’s new, Broken Social Scene sound makes me bounce in a whole new way.

I’m generally of the belief that if I spend too much time in Williamsburg I’ll magically grow a “the” pre-fix before my name, so I decided to bounce just after Matt Pond PA broke into “Brooklyn Stars,” an ironic song title if there ever was one.

As they Say In Matt Pond PA,

The Mikey Greenhaus

Monday, March 20, 2006

Earplug Alert! (and Excuse)

Ok, Ok, OK. I know I haven't updated my blog in a few dates. Its not that I don't love you dear readers, its that I'm still trying to backstroke through all the work I missed during Langerado. Plus, I pulled my back and have been hopped up on musscle relaxers all week, causing me to pass out before breakfast. Speaking of passing out, did you know that Cher divorced Gregg Allman after he passed out in a plate of spagatti? Maybe I'll remind him of that dinner when I see the ABBs at the Beacon Thursday. Speaking of which, here is this week's earplug alert:

3/21: Matt Pond PA, Noth Six, Brooklyn, NY

3/23: Allman Brothers Band, Beacon Theater, New York, NY

3/25: Dr. Dog @ Southpaw, Brooklyn, NY

3/26: Fro @ Groove, New York, NY

3/26: Minus 5 @ Southpaw, Brooklyn, NY

I'll be back with more personal self-deprication by Wednesday. Cross my little jamband heart.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Earplug Alert!

3/15: Jesse Harris @ The Living Room, New York, NY

3/18: Man on Earth @ CBGB, New York, NY

3/19: Jenny Lewis @ Irving Plaza, New York, NY

3/19: Jazz is Dead @ BB King Blues Club, New York, NY

3/21: Matt Pond PA @ North Six, Brooklyn, NY

3/25: Dr. Dog @ Southpaw, Brooklyn, NY

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Live at Langerado

Its 7:30 PM and I've just pulled perhaps the dorkiest move in the history of jam-nation. After spending the morning moderating a pretty nifty podcast press conference featuring such luminaries as Art Neville, Michael Franti and the Flaming Lips' Wayne Coyne, my internet connection cuts out, stunting Cold Turkey's launch into cyber space. At first, I panic and consult a few of the scene's biggest cyber dorks ('s Andy Gadiel and Relix's Aaron Benor to name a few) before finally leaving my favorite band's set mid-segue to call our technician back in Northampton, MA. So, instead of hearing the Disco Biscuits' play "I-Man," I find myself huddled in back of an old, red-and-silver tour bus, hijacking Perpetual Groove's wireless connection to navigate my way through a maze of iMacs and FTP files before figuring out how to put our podcast back online. Sure, it's probably not how journalists reported on Woodstock, but such is life on the modern festival circuit: a traveling circus with all the characteristics of an urban city (including, alas, bumper-to-bumper traffic).

As a child growing-up in suburban, northeast America, there were really only two reasons to travel to Florida: grandparents and spring break packages. And, while festival promoters ignored my idea to schedule designated grandparent visiting hours between main stage activities, Langerado does have an overarching family vibe. Set in a lush park near a clean waterway, Langerado is the type of gathering you can bring your children (or grandparents) to without being too sketched out. But, it's also the ultimate spring break adventure, boasting performances from tweaker-approved jam-titans like Umphrey's McGee and the Disco Biscuits, as well as soulternative stars like Ben Harper and Spearhead. If your stuck at home this week, try screaming the words "spring break" at the top of your lungs. Apparently, it is some form of age-old mating call in these parts.

Speaking of Spearhead, for a man who preaches peace and equality, Michael Franti sure knows how to drown out his competition. While performing on Langerado's Sunrise Stage, Spearhead pumped his politically conscious folk and hip-hop so loudly that Steel Train's guerrilla-set in front of the Relix booth was rendered all but inaudible. No matter, those who huddled around the Relix booth were treated to an extremely up-close and personal set by the folk-punk upstarts.

If Langerado is indeed festival season's official kickoff, then it also serves as a fitting preview of this summer's most popular trends. For some reason, many of the scene's core bands have slimmed down in sit-in department this go around. In fact, the day's only onstage collaboration took place during Umphrey's McGee's late-night performance at Ft. Lauderdale's Revolution. During a version of Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall Part II," the Disco Biscuits' Marc Brownstein and Jon Gutwillig each took turns dueling with the Chicago sextet onstage, trading both licks and fraternal punches throughout the extended workout. A few of my co-workers have also pointed to the Flaming Lips in the setlist asterisk department. While the Flaming Lips ran through a selection of material from its forthcoming album At War with the Mystics, members of Lake Trout, Drive-By Truckers and Steel Train could be spotted dancing onstage in animal costumes, along with Wayne Coyne's "mystery birthday girl" (which turned out to be Relix's own Cold Boyle.) While these personalities did indeed join the Lips onstage, we still need a 3/5ths majority vote to determine if their onstage appearances classifies as a worthy news bit. Oh, and to hear the abovementioned press conference in its entirety please visit Cold Turkey's home at

Special Thanks to Randy Ray!

Friday, March 10, 2006

Spring Break, Relix Style

Above: LangerRusoo at Langerado 2005 (photo:

I may have been out of college for close to three years now, but I’m going on spring break anyway. Now, I’m sure those of you who know me will rightfully joke that I’m always on some sort of mental spring break. But, this weekend, my sonic schizophrenia is taking a three dimensional form as I embark on my first trip to Langerado. Viewed as festival season’s unofficial kickoff by some, and a chance to bake during spring break by many more, Langerado has rightfully aged into one of the country’s finest festivals since its 2002 debut. Expanding by close to five thousand fans, and boasting such headliners as Ben Harper, Wilco, the Flaming Lips and the Black Crowes, this year’s festivities should draw both the diverse crowd and bumper-to-bumper traffic so sweetly associated with the Bonnaroo’s of yore. Plus, most Spring Break vacation packages expire after your 25, so I only have four months to get out any residual college angst.

Before we begin the bloggin’, a shameless plug. The good folks at Langerado have been nice enough to let Benjy Eisen (my fellow nocturnal jam-dork) and I host their official podcast. Those of you with your speakers on are probably hearing one of our pre-casts right now. For those of you surfing the web while procrastinating from the doldrums of everyday Office Space-­life, be sure to plug in a pair of headphones before your boss walks by (unless, of course, he’s hip to the Cold Turkey). If all goes to plan, we should be fleshing our camera phone reflections with daily podcasts straight from Sunrise, FL so be sure to check this site on a daily basis throughout the weekend

Without rehashing the opening graph of my death of the jam-scene dissertation, a subject for another blog entry all together, Langerado has widened its stylistic borders significantly this spring. Placing indie-rock “It Bands” (Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and the Secret Machines) next to the jam-scene’s next (last?) group hopes (The Duo and Umphrey’s McGee), Langerado has followed in the footsteps of Bonnaroo and Austin City Limits, presenting independent live music spanning a number of genes side-by-side. Speaking of the Duo, I’m eagerly awaiting their set today, which should feature both new material (think the Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene) and old, drinking game favorites (try to predict just when in the best the Duo busts into its Jammy-nominated “Becky.”). I’m also excited see if Wilco reinterprets any material from one of Jeff Tweedy’s 10,000, new solo-projects (is Warren getting jealous yet? )t and to see who exactly is playing with the Black Crowes this go around (I hear rumors that Eddie Harsch is the latest victim of the Robinson Brothers’ famed sibling rivalry).

Well, I’m off to finish packing and to prepare my eyelids for another marathon weekend without shuteye. If you’re reading this from the comfort of your own home, be sure to download our three Langerado Pre-Casts at (or through itunes by searching Cold Turkey in the purple colored podcast section) for your trip to sunny Florida.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Cold Turkey Heats Up (and other poor puns)


Sorry for the shameless self-promotion, but I think (most) of you will enjoy this one.

Relix’s Cold Turkey, my semi-professional podcast, is hosting the world debut of “Gravity's Gone” off the Drive-by Truckers’ forthcoming album A Blessing and a Curse. The episode also features a choice quip from Brazilian Girls (the band, alas, not real, live Brazilian girls) and some commentary about Langerado you will all likely like to ignore.

You can hear it now at either or by turning on your speakers now at (got to love a commercial within a commercial)

Party on,

Mike (y)

Monday, March 06, 2006

And the Winner is...Jon Stewart

A few semi-related thoughts about the Oscars...

1) Like many, I found it hard to imagine Jon Stewart hosting the Oscars. Not because I don't think he's my generation's Johnny Carson, but because I also think he's my generation's Abbie Hoffman. He's simultaneously our voice, our humor and our moral compass. Without being one of us, he makes politics cool for all of us. He's supposed to be leading rallies or at least, as a friend of mine pointed out, smoking pot with liberals of equal intelligence---not parading Hollywood royalty down the red carpet.

But, after watching every minute of the 78 Academy Awards last night, I hereby stand corrected. Instead of taming his routine for the masses, as many feared, Jon Stewart brought his liberal minded wit to the masses, also finding time to slip in enough self-depreciative humor to make Woody Allen feel like a good Jew.

As American politics have slowly crumbed, I've heard more than a few people describe the Onion and the Daily Show as our country's only true news sources. Last night, I think a great American joke finally became a reality, and at the end of the day, I think Jon Stewart did our people a great service. And, to clarify, by our people I mean liberal, intellectual, Jews residing between 12 and 14th street in New York's West Village.

2) Its no secret that I've always longed for a screenwriting Oscar of my own. But, as I've grown, reality has hardened my dream. For instance, if by some miracle on 12th street I am able to turn my dyslexic suburban story into an Oscar-winning dramedy (ya know, the bastard child of Garden State and Almost Famous), I've slowly realized that most people in my immediate circle wouldn't notice. My Skidmore friends would likely forget to watch (but, be really bummed they missed it the next day, man), my RCDS-crew would too busy fighting over fantasy baseball to hear my speech and my mom's ulcer would fully explode when I no doubt walk onstage without tying my shoes. As for my co-workers, they'd most likely serve me a detention for being away from my desk long enough to sit through a four hour award ceremony.

3) Despite living a stone's throw from his real life brownstone, I've never met Jon Stewert. But, I have met his producer and head writer---a Wizard of Oz-like character who, according to reports, is responsible for the Daily Show's shift into politics post-Jimmy Kimmel.

I first ran into him at a Sirius Radio party my freshman year at Relix. I don't remember much about that night except that the bartender somehow managed to turn both my vodka and my skin blue and that a friend of mine started dating Jon Stewart's muse a few months later. The specifics of their breakup are a bit fuzzy right now, but I remember it having something to do with the way he treated her around his friends (and maybe stealing a line for his opening monologue, but I digress). Afterwards, I heard that she broke up with him after comparing the way he treated her to the way I treat my friends. At the time, I think it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me, and I haven't been able to watch the Daily Show the same way ever since. Considering that he spent his weekend writing an Oscar monologue and I spent mine importing CDs to itunes in my boxers, she probably shouldn't have taken my advice. But, in some odd way, today the road to the Oscars became a bit more tangible, and a lot more neurotic.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Social Schizophrenia

Washington Square Park, 1 AM

Above: It took me four years of Latin lessons to learn how to buy schwag from the people who live beneath this arch....


With the exception of an overcrowded party at my apartment and a drunken disaster at Dumpstaphunk, I haven't spent a weekend in New York City since 2005. So, I decided to make the most of my "vacation" home and spend Friday night bouncing around the Village as if seguing between stages at a hippie jam-fest. In case I missed you during my evening-long adventure, here's a brief style recap (a full sit-in report is still pending publicist approval...)

Opening Act: FaDa with Jenny

7-8:15 PM: In general, I think I am pretty good at FaDas, a.k.a fake dates with old friends. Especially when those FaDas involve spaghetti marinara and recycled jokes. I always like seeing people after a long hiatus because, usually, I've compiled enough stories to make my life seem mildly interesting. I feel bad for those of you see me every day...there are only so many ways to make my Tuna tales exciting.

Set 1: The Skidmore Scope Photo Shoot

8:30-10:30: The Skidmore Scope is my college's alumni magazine. Since graduating, I've been to lazy to write an update about myself, but Friendster has allowed me to properly stalk those nearest and dearest to my heart. Between 8:30 and 10:30, I had drinks with not one, but two members of my senior classes' presidential administration. Since I was an editor at our school paper, I guess you can say they were lobbying me, expect I ended up buying the first round of drinks (where is Nixon when you need him)

Setbreak: A Spam Filled Interview

11-12:45 AM

At 10:45, I had to shift back into work mode (which for me basically means adjusting the part in my hair and turning off my ipod) and truck across town to interview the Spam Allstars at SOBS. For the first two and a half years I worked at Relix, we were located directly above SOBS, yet I only stepped foot into the club once (I guess Phish tends to shy away from the afro-Cuban scene). Too bad---its a pretty cool room.

Instead of mingling at the bar after our interview, I decided to take a lap around my old neighborhood. For my soundtrack, I chose a number of artists I've discovered since first stepping foot into 180 Varick (Relix's old address). Sometime during My Morning Jacket's "Mahgeeta," I walked past the dinner I had lunch at before my initial interview in of August 2003 and a bit misty eyed. It's weird that I've been in New York long enough to feel nostalgic about anything, really, let alone long enough to call something made out of bricks and cement home. John Lennon once said that life is what happens when your busy making other plans. I'm not sure if that’s completely correct, so I'm going to rework his sentence to say life is what happens when your worrying about other things. Anyway, while searching for the meaning of life in my favorite gentrified corner of the city I looked up to see this....

I'm not surprised this show failed...who wants to hear about an introspective, love stricken music geek anyway....

Set 3: Hi-Fi, Cheers for Hipsters

1:10: 2:00 AM: In indie-rock folk-lore, Hi-Fi is the bar where Ryan Adams, Interpol, Jesse Malin and a host of other hipster-approved bands got their start back when this watering hole was called Brownies. In Mikey Greenhaus folk-lore, Hi-Fi is the bar where I publicly made some girl cry. They have the same jukebox though.....go figure

Set 4: Close Encounters of the Iz Kind

1:10-3:00 AM: John Iz was my roommate for two years in college. Now, he's a producer at NBC (or WNNNNNBC as Howard Stern would say). Though he's since shed his hippie hair, he's still the same old John Iz, only with a more impressive job title (not that Skidmore New Editor in Chief was too shabby). John insisted that we go to some dance club located in the basement of Niagara. I don't know how to dance, but I do know how to bounce (and drink) so I managed to wing it. Alas, the only thing I went home with is a hangover.

Encore: Slave to the Traffic Light

At 3:08 in the morning, apparently, documenting this sign made me feel deep.

Encore 2: Home

Its always nice to come home to your one true love...

Friday, March 03, 2006

Touch of Gray

Mom, its time to breakout the baby book because I found my first gray hair. And, while not as exciting as, say, my first loose tooth or embarrassing as my first sub-bellybutton hair, I guess turning gray is one of those growing old moments worth documenting.

Like losing my first tooth, which happened after a performance of the Nutcracker at Lincoln Center sometime around my sixth birthday, the arrival my first gray hair took me by surprise. Sunday night, while trying to bang out a belated Sam Champion review, it fell from my scalp, floated onto my keyboard and remained statically chained to my mouse pad, an omen of my march towards adulthood. Since I’m not genetically predisposed to an early whitening, I blame my first gray hair on our April/May issue (and my favorite crazy G) and, when I’m fully white at the age of 26, I plan on expensing my Just for Men to Relix on regular basis.

As some form of suburban punishment, though I’ve been blessed with my health, I’m prone to falling cosmetically ill: I have weathered a brutal battle with braces, will go bald early (but apparently not before I go gray), and spent my adolescence watching the Appalachian-mountains spread across my nose. So it goes….I guess its time brake out my favorite Steve Martin movies.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Earplug Alert!

After a short "lapse" from seeing live music its time to strap on a pair of plugs and march towards my inevitable hearing aid. Join me if you will

3/2: Brazilian Girls @ Warsaw, Brooklyn NY

3/3: Spam Allstars @ SOBs, New York, NY

3/4: The Slip/Apollo Sunshine/Sam Champion @ Red Square, Albany, NY

3/5: Academy Awards @ Jacob Burns Film Center, Pleasentville, NY

3/8: Rouge Wave @ Webster Hall, New York, NY

3/9: Tea Leaf Green and U-Melt, Knitting Factory, New York, NY

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Add It Up

As many of you know, I am currently taking a math class to prepare for a test which will (presumably) prepare me for admission to an institution which will (again presumably) prepare me for a yet to-be-determined future. And, despite my reluctance to return to academia (even just for night classes), all of this preparation seems to be paying off. No, I still haven’t figured out how to string a series of numbers and letters into a cohesive quadratic equation, but I have brushed up on my long dormant classroom people watching skills.

Its amazing how much you can learn about a person from silently stawlking them across a blackboard. Unlike my previous academic settings: college (which drew a heady mix of prep-school hippies, offbeat artistic types and out of the box pseudo-intellectuals, plus a few D3 athletes) and high-school (which drew a very unheady selection of hockey players, young republicans and kids who took the SATS in seventh grade, plus, um, me), my Kaplan class features a nice cross-section of twenty something New Yorkers. In no particular order, we have a suit-clad I-banker, a brownnoser, a heroin-sheik artistic type, an Indian math wiz, a New York urbane Amazon women, a Russian who could likely beat me up, an EMT (to protect me from both the Russian and the Amazon woman), a bubbly female with a selection of hip hats, and, of course, a generic, blonde shiksa. Though I can’t see myself in the third person, I imagine I fill the room's disheveled, introspective hippie void.

On a completely unrelated, but still somewhat scholastic note, I encourage everyone to checkout I’m not sure if it’s the second coming, but it is a good way to catch up with any tour pals you lost track of since leaving the lot