This weekend started out harmlessly enough. I picked up another four chapters from my “editing staff” and planned to roll them into my master draft copies that I keep. I went to see the Yankees game this Saturday at the Stadium. I had lunch with my parents on Sunday. Seems like a normal and pleasant weekend, no? It’s amazing how leaving out details can alter one’s perception of things.

I started writing a book – or more accurately an anthology of short stories – mostly as something to do. I seem to end up with dead time on my hands every now and again and I usually hate sitting idle, so I start these “projects” from time to time. In the past, I would have killed this dead time with some quality PlayStation 2 gaming, chatting online, or something along those lines, but for some reason, once I got my own place a few years ago and I turned 30… well the combination of both have made such things seem more some how “unacceptable.” The last few projects that I’ve done have been making new applications like SharpMT or looking into more certifications (my MSCD certification came out of a previous project) or teaching another University class or writing a book. What also helped the book along were people that I’ve met over the years telling me that my life is rarely “normal” whatever that meant. So I put down some experiences and tied them all together. Once I did that I found out about places like iUniverse that publish books on-demand – I suddenly didn’t have to “find a publisher” to get my book on store shelves and I sorta liked that. I was originally planning on pushing the book out via the Web, but once I found these guys this “little project” was suddenly real. Hence all the concern about proofreading and why I convinced a friend of mine into proofing the manuscript for me. She’s making good progress, my editor, and I hope to have the final manuscript done in a couple of more weeks. Then I have to decide whether I want to do another round of editing or just ship the little bastard – right now, I’m leaning towards just being done with it! While I talked to my friends on Friday, about this particular book, they wanted to know when the sequel would be written. I reminded them that nothing much happened during my first three college years and even the last year of college was sort just there. Well, the more we talked, the more we collectively remembered, and now I have another outline drafted for yet another book. This would be the third book idea in the last twelve months – sorta scary for someone that doesn’t fancy himself to be an author – and I don’t know when I would work on it… a second book about my career experiences – think of it as “How I One-Upped Dilbert” – was going to be the next project and I can’t work on that yet for legal reasons. Blarg… Projects.

On to Saturday. My sister, who suffered from a carpenter ant attack on Friday night, called me to tell me that she might have to bail on the game if she had to wait for the bug guys. Instant panic, that – the weather wasn’t even that shitty this weekend, in spite of the doom and gloom forecasts – but she was able to reschedule some stuff and we went down to the Bronx. Starbucks was handing out DoubleShots again – my sister actually got to keep hers this time only to say that she didn’t like it that much – and things looked good. The Yankees went on the lose the game – part of the first ever Texas sweep of the Yankees at home, the wankers – and commit at least six errors. I know the scoreboard might have said three, but fuck’m. They played like ass all day. The only thing saving me from complete embarrassment was that I was wearing a retired player’s number – 21, Paulie-O – so at least I wasn’t supporting one of the current hacks. The worse part of this whole thing is that now all the Boston fans are coming out of the woodwork with their “We’re tied for first place!” bullshit. Hey BoSox fans? You were two games ahead of the Yankees at this time last year… where were you in for last year’s September baseball? Your boys were watching football like most of the AL East, while the Yankees at least made the playoffs. Go away because you waste my time! What a way to spend a Saturday. At least there wasn’t much traffic all day.

And then Sunday. I try to have lunch with my parents on Sunday. It’s part of my Italian upbringing and since I live near them, why not, right? It’s been a tradition for years. It’s usually good to find out what they’re up to and to offload some of my own baggage, and that’s that. Sounds decent right? I see half of you shaking your heads no already – you’re not Italian, so I don’t expect you to understand – but for the rest of you that agree with this, keep reading. See, if I didn’t talk to my parents during the week, it would be a good time to play catch up. However, there’s these little calls throughout most of the week, to keep up with stuff. Hell, even after spending a number of hours with’m on Sunday, there’s always at least one call during Sunday night – usually during the Sopranos no less! – with a “I forgot to tell you something” update.

Do I like my parents? Yeah, I do. I love my parents, but there’s problems with this constant prodding. I don’t care who the person is – wife, lover, friend or relative – but constant and intrusive conversations will always lead to irritation. Like last night, I’m in the middle of proofreading a chapter: *bring!* “Listen to the dog annoying your father with the toy you brought over!” is what I got when I answered the phone. Derailed my whole train of thought. At least my Pop keeps tabs on me with email and instant messaging. Granted, he sometimes calls you to make sure that you got the message, but still – it’s much less intrusive than a phone call two, three, or four times a night.

Ok, ok, fine. I know – I’m just being a spoiled ass, with this particular Rant, right? I mean I should try to be more appreciative that my parents are still alive and we have so very few issues, especially when so many other people have broken homes these days. So what if they think I’m 12 (and my sister is 18) and that I’m incapable of just about anything that an adult could handle… or that I got through my teen years being treated as an adult so it’s sorta odd that at 30 I have to have the “I AM AN ADULT” tantrum that so many teens have at 16… that should be lost in the noise right? I agree, it should. It has been ignored for the last ten years, since both my sister and I moved out.

What’s the point of all this prattle? There is one, to be sure, and it came to a head this Sunday during lunch. You see, my sister and I both live about twenty minutes away from my parent’s house – the house where we were both raised as kids – and my parents have been thrilled with that. With the exception of one couple, all of my cousins have done the same thing. It’s the Italian in us. We tend to stay near the place we were born and live there, usually happily and making babies so the family can continue to grow. It’s what my parent’s generation did and what their parents did. It’s also very unusual these days, where most people will move around the country to find better opportunities, both personal and professional. My sister, for as long as I can remember, has hated the New England winters and has had an affinity to the southwest US, Arizona in particular. I’ve always liked different parts of the US and have been drawn to both Seattle and Las Vegas – even Manhattan – over the years. But we both still live in Connecticut. Why? It’s the Italian values system that we’ve been brought up with. It’s engrained in you not to leave. You aren’t left with a conscious decision. No one has ever sat you down to explain it to you. You just feel that you aren’t supposed to leave. There’s something wrong with you, if you leave. I’ve seen it enforced on the one couple that did get out.

Again the non-Italians reading this are saying “Who gives a fuck? You wanna go – go” but again, the non-Italians don’t get it. Think of it this way: if you live your entire life between two counties of one small state, have a semi-successful career, raise a family, and send your kids to the same schools you once went to… doesn’t that give you a sense of self? Community? Completion? Hometown-Johnny makes good? This part of the Italian mentality. Giving back to the community that’s raised you – it’s what’s expected of you. Unfortunately – and my sister feels it too – once I became aware of a larger world, my wanderlust started to asked “why stay here?” The two things are constantly at odds with each other and in such a stalemate, I’ve been content to not do anything.

Until now.

I’m really becoming a person that doesn’t have many options left open to him. When I first became a programmer, it was the hope that it would become a profession like that of a teacher: you could work anywhere. That way, if I wanted to move I could, but if I wanted to stay in CT I would be able to. That hope is dying at little bit more each day. Generally speaking, programming jobs in CT are just about gone. Given that a lot of companies are obsessed with sending programming jobs to India, that’s helped to narrow the field a bit in CT if not the entire country. That means that I may have to move to stay in my field. It might be a small jump to a place as close as Manhattan or Boston [fuck you Red Sox fans – I’m keeping my Bronx pinstripes!]; it might be as far as Seattle. Exciting? Shit yeah! Scary? Terrifying is more the word I would use, but only if I stop to think about it and that’s only being caused by this trapped feeling… that I’ve become ensnared and forced to make such decisions. I hate the trapped feeling. I mean, I own a place out here and this would be a shake up of every possible area of my life – only someone stupid would say they aren’t a little shaken up by that.

My parents are usually supportive of my efforts. They nudge and they offer guidance – which I don’t always take – but they’ve been there for me throughout my entire life. I can always count on their support. And maybe that’s why I’m so pissed off right now. While this whole work-related shift has been going on, my sister has been contemplating a move south to either AZ or Florida. Both of us are talking “Move” at the same time. Quite accidentally really, but to my parents both of their kids are looking to “get out of Dodge” at the same time. My sister has been talking about a move for years, and whenever it’s been brought up to my mother it turns into “Don’t tell your father.” When it has been brought up to my father it turns into “Yeah, right, you’re moving, sure.” Either way, supportive is not the word I would use to describe it. I’ve seen it happen to her, so there’s no “spin” my sister puts on it – it’s real. So now that we’re both talking “Move” and both my parents are part of most of the conversations – my sister and I don’t play the “don’t tell” game between our parents – they are getting a bit antsy or even panicked. Mostly my mother who refuses to fly anywhere so she’s usually the more somber – and more inclined to pout – about it. She chose this Sunday’s lunch as her latest forum.

Seeing as Memorial Day weekend is coming up next week, my Dad asked both my sister and I what our plans were. This is typical, actually, and as usual, neither one of us knew what we were doing. We’re both a bit cagey about this because my parents will try to claim our whole weekend and frankly, we’ve got our own lives to balance with theirs now. So we told them we would let them know later in the week. My parents wouldn’t make plans either way, so there really no reason to rush to make plans right then. My mother’s comment – and no talk of moving had been discussed all day, so this was out of left field – was, “Better not get used to it! They aren’t going to be here for much longer.” I look at my sister and say to my mother, “Um, Mom, we’re going to be dead or anything… we’re just talking about moving.” My mother’s response to this was, “Same thing!”

Yep – it really happened. I fuckin’ uncoiled. Dead? Dead? Oh, I see. If I don’t live nearby, I may as well be dead? Is that what’s implied? Or is it, that if I move, I’m dead to you after I’ve left? Even my father was liked “what the hell is wrong with you?” at this comment – my sister, too. Of course there was backpedaling galore from this, but it doesn’t matter. That summed it up right there. Freudian slip? Maybe. Might have just been the unconscious talking… Either way this one little conversation sums up the entire Italian mindset, when it comes to moving away from where you were born and raised. Ironic for a culture that moved from Italy to America in search of better fortunes, no? And I’m not saying that if I do move that this is how things would be. This is just a small sample of the guilt that comes from such things… It’s a keen example of the “something must be wrong with you if you want to leave” mentality that is infused throughout my extended family.

Gave me something to gnaw on last night, though, I can tell you that… maybe I should get my old job back at Burger King and move back into their spare bedroom, just to keep things simple and peaceful. Who am I kidding? When have I ever been either simple or peaceful?

Exactly: Never.