Bart Tocci (’11) lives in Boston where he writes essays, performs at open mics, and threatens to start taco restaurants. He’s been told that he looks like the kind of guy who stands up for what’s right. And who goes to the store before the party. Read more here: barttocci.wordpress.com
I’m afraid that I’ll settle and never do anything I set out to do. I’m worried that life will slip by and I’ll be an old man saying, “If only I hadn’t settled for anything less than butterflies, I’d be a butterfly by now and not a caterpillar.”
We like Tony C. because he was good, but we love him because he could have been great. We love him for his potential. We love him because we can imagine what he could have been. 100 home runs by twenty-two? He could have been the best player who ever lived.
For someone unfamiliar with competitive rowing, it looks like people rowing a boat down a river. For someone familiar with competitive rowing, I have to assume it also looks like people rowing a boat down a river.
This girl really isn’t my type, but I’ve heard of people just being friends from Tinder stuff, so I think, Maybe we can have a let’s-be-friends conversation at some point.
There were fifteen of us sitting on the floor, playing Mario Tennis on GameCube, like kids. He stormed in, all sideburns and mustache, and yelled at us like kids.
They’re as excited about America as we are about Europe. We want to see the Alps; they want to see the Rocky Mountains. We want to take a train; they want to road trip.
I’m sitting in a chair at the ear, nose, and throat place. The doctor is sliding a tiny camera up my nose. On the screen in front of me is the inside of my nose.
…Now what?, we wondered. Do you buy a bumper sticker or put a note up on Facebook? (Not that those are bad things, but they sure seem to fall short.)
Quitting, when other people are involved, is extremely difficult for me because I like to make people happy. Quitting invariably means that I’m not making someone happy.
There was no lightning. No music. No narrator. No hoverboards. I learned that people lie to you in order to get you to buy things, and I learned not to trust commercials.
We’re waiting in the lobby, and we see them. She walks over to us, and we’re thinking, oh boy. Later we would say, “It was so weird, because she sure sounded hot.”
If you’re confident in yourself, the crowd is confident in you. So maybe starting off with, “This is my first time doing this!” wasn’t a good idea.
I was in an honors history class during my junior year of high school. (Did he say…honors??? You bet I did, impressed reader, and I escaped with a C+.)
I don’t have to dress up to go to work! HA! You rat-racers. You penguin-suited pieces of—what?! You don’t have to dress up either? Wait, you work and talk with real humans?
He was there alone for about fifteen seconds, eyes closed, loving every moment. Those seconds were an eternity. A mop-headed kid in a big t-shirt ran up behind him and grabbed his shoulder.
If you’re someone who doesn’t like to help people, who is selfish, and who is like me, you hate reading this stuff. “SO what, Bart? Make me feel bad for walking past a homeless person?
Why was I so afraid of losing this thing? I thought of it as Sampson’s hair—when I grew it, I scored more goals in hockey, hit harder, was a better leader, made better jokes, talked to more girls…
We drove into the night, and every five to ten miles, we’d see a light in the distance. A farmhouse, no doubt. People live there, no doubt. Where do they get water? Groceries? Where do they go to school?
How many wind chimes would be considered reasonable? One, maybe. If it’s nice sounding (silent) and pretty to look at. Two are means for legal action. Guess how many she has. Go ahead.
88% of the calls: Beep-bop-boop-beep dialing the phone. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Robot voice: Hello, 7-0-8-5-5-5-5-5-1-1 is not available, please leave a message…
The good stuff was taken. No waterskiing, no archery, no boating. The woman confirmed my fear: “We’ll put you drama and arts and crafts!”
Finally, a girl asked me to dance. I was always taught to ‘respect women,’ so we danced with our arms outstretched, creating a mini Arc de Triomphe on the outskirts of the floor.
I hated saying no to people. I’m slowly getting better at it. I would have joined the Marines because I didn’t want to hurt this nice Sergeant’s feelings.
The cheerleaders sat in the bleachers and did muffled clapping and stomping routines. (The clapping was muffled on account of the mittens.)
While I was home we hosted gatherings, which means we cleaned. As it turns out, my mom’s idea of clean and my idea of clean are not the same, and have not been the same for some time.
The film, Hunger Games: Catching Fire, followed the book decently, but they added a brilliant (Read: horribly irritating) element: excessive screaming.
The world became bigger. I keep asking, where do I build my life? Around a job or career? Passions, in general? A girl? How much do you sacrifice for someone, and at what point?
I’m getting better at b-ball, but it’s in the same way that I’m getting better at kite-boarding, pogo-sticking, goat-milking, or anything else that I never practice.
We all came out from behind our trees like were were ambushing the Redcoats and let our eggs fly. CRACK CRACKCRACK. Three out of five, not bad.
When you see a rental moving truck on the road, pass it like your life depends on it. Because your life probably depends on it.
