Here's my haul:

Georgetown hat
Two Towers PS2 game(x2)
Socom Navy SEALS
Prey, by Crichton (sp?)
007 calendar
3 bags of Jelly Belly
Foxtrot Treasury
Digital Camera w/ stuff
Shakespeare Complete Works
Othello (Branaugh!!!!!)
Goldmember (again...I'm keeping yours, Kate and Kris)
Civil War DVD by Ken Burns
Some US history book we were gonna get for Serkie before we saw that the foreword was by Dubya
more stuff that I can't remember

Cool, huh?

And then, on Christmas Eve, Ian's Mom handed him his first gift of the season. It felt heavy and was long and rectangular. He ripped off the wrapping paper and saw one name across the top of a black box: "Shakespeare." Giddy with anticipation, he opened the case and found the complete works of the bard himself, in twelve volumes, each with a placeholder, gold lined pages and that new book smell when you turn the pages. Ian, taken aback at this perfect and unexpected gift, walked over to his mother, who, with that single present, had brought the Christmas magic back into his heart, and hugged her, all the while thinking of how his Christmas really hadn't lost all of the wonder of childhood. The difference was that, instead of the magic coming from the myth of Santa or the happiness brought by toys, it came from the people he loved and who loved him: his mother, his family, and especially his friends, whose gifts are constant and eternal.

And isn't that a lovely (and true) story?

Hey, everyone, this actually is addressed to the blog instead of being a transposed journal for Friedman. I am addicted to writing journals now and so I have to put it somewhere, why not here? I hope the holiday season finds you all well, first of all. Mine is at its usual splendor. I'll post my christmas journal when I get home, because that really sums up what's important about the holiday for me.

I saw Lord of the Rings once more with my uncle kevin and I'm about to see it again with my Uncle Frank. There go nine hours of my life to that movie, but I have no regrets. It's great, go see it, I loved it. The story is cool. Gollum rocks, Legolas kicks more ass (though he trips in a wide shot), and Helm's Deep rivals the best war movies of all time. GO SEE IT NOW. If I'm seeing it for the third time, the least you could do is see it once.

I was thinking while I've been here in PA and NJ; I really want to get out of my childhood. Granted, I'm grown up more or less and college is right around the corner, but I'm referring to my actual childhood. For example, Im not anxious to leave school and my friends. In fact, I fear that now more than anything else. However, I am ready to leave my actual house. My house just represents my young life to me. I'm ready to get out and "become who I'm going to be for the rest of my life" or however that obviously misquoted line from Spiderman goes. Not to mention the fact that I hate my house's furnishings with a passion whenever I go to someone else's house. Our house has no really cool atmosphere, no art, just pictures of me just about everywhere, a smiling blonde kid sitting on various rock formations, strutting in professional studios, or posing on the front steps of that very house. It's just like a gigantic monument to my childhood and I feel like that's what I want to leave behind when I go to college. My childhood was great, don't get me wrong. It's just that I think I'm ready to move on. My best moments of my life right now are those spent outside of my house with my friends, who are people who like the person I am now (no matter how much trouble I seem to have believing that). That implies to me that I want to get out in the world and start on my life. I dunno, this all seems like a stupid coming-of-age Full House speech, I know, but I can't describe it otherwise. I feel bad about it when I think of leaving mom and all that, but here, with my family, I'm stuck somewhere between childhood and adulthood. I feel equally comfortable in the basement playing with the kids or upstairs talking with the adults. It's just all so muddled when I'm with family, and yet it lends a sort of clairty to how much I enjoy being something of my own person now. Can't wait to get home.

Welcome to the life of Ian, an existence speckled with moments of devastation followed by joyousness. What, pray tell, could have lifted my spirits from yesterday’s deferral depression? Well, today, in the mail, I found an envelope from Georgetown University. I want to go to Georgetown more than any other school and I had thought that my chances were great, but I had misjudged Harvard, so I was wary. I opened the envelope, read the fist sentence of the letter and smiled. I’ve been accepted Early Action. I’m going to Georgetown. I’m going to study math for four years. I’m going to be a teacher someday. My future is bright. I ran up the driveway, wearing the biggest grin ever provided by a piece of paper. On the phone, I told my mom and then held the receiver away from my ear as her happy shriek pierced the lines between Westchester and Alpharetta. She congratulated me frantically, as I remained mostly calm. I don’t know why I didn’t absolutely freak out about the letter. I guess it’s because my world didn’t visibly change upon receiving the good news. I can say that my spirits were lifted, which was quite a feat, as I had been floating all day. I’m going to Georgetown. It’s all been worth it. I am blown away with happiness, and yet a little sad due to the fact that my future IS now clear. Now clear, concrete reality is given to my impending departure from the home I’ve spent my life in, the town I’ve grown up in, and the friends I love more than anyone in the world. Oh, well. I can’t really say I’m that downcast about it now. That’s at the back of my mind, really. Excitement is the main emotion. That and relief that it’s all done with for now. How appropriate that I should be home alone when I received this news. It concerns with my life as an individual, apart from my mother. It’s about the beginning of my future as an adult. Thus, it’s fitting and well appreciated that I got some time to really enjoy it for myself, instead of primarily garnering Mom’s approval for’t.

How appropriate for Friday the 13th. Mom told me yesterday that Harvard was sending out decision e-mails on the 13th. Thus, I was supposed to page her (as she is out of town this weekend) and soon as I found out. Unfortunately, I waited all day because I couldn’t manage to access AOL from school computers. I was kind of worried that such a malfunction might be an omen to the admissions decision. People kept asking me all day if I’d gotten in and I hadn’t. I was starting to get anxious. I came home, got on the computer, opened my e-mail and there it was. I’ve been deferred. Specifically, Harvard is “unable to take a definite action on my candidacy at this time.” Nice gentle way to say no.

Now I know deferment means that I am put on hold until regular decision and I would have been fine with that. In fact, I was fine with that until my mom called from Philly International. I broke the news and she did say “I’m sorry” a few time; however, I could hear wheels turning and I said that it’s not that big of a deal and that I’d just wait. My dear sweet mother then proceeded to comfort me by saying, “Well, Harvard says that if you get deferred, there’s not that big of a chance that you’ll get in at all. I just hope this doesn’t mean that Georgetown might defer you too. Maybe your teachers gave you bad recommendations.” Thanks, mom. She said three things that made me feel like absolute whale dung. Isn’t that nice of her?

I got sort of depressed after that. I called Kate to talk to someone and she and Kris helped cheer me up. Kris shares my pain because she wanted to go to Lehigh but that didn’t work out so well. I feel somewhat better now. I don’t know. I want to go to Georgetown anyway. It’s just that it was a personal thing. I wanted to know if I was good enough for Harvard. Now it seems I may not be. I don’t know what was lacking in my application, but all I can do now is send more material (this semester’s grades, the fact that I’m STAR student, “Most Dependable,” and an Outstanding Senior, and maybe some other stuff). Right now I feel just a little down, which isn’t good because I need to work on school stuff all weekend. I hope I can break out of this funk. Then the massive confidence that is Ian fell like Goliath by the small stone of a deferment e-mail.

Everyone and I mean everyone needs to go to http://www.dagsylad.com/Flash and click on all of the xiao-xiao ones. Stick figure martial arts sequences that make the matrix, jet li, and eveyone else look kinda tame. Well, not really, the moves are cool and the fact that it's stick figures makes it funny as hell.

Today’s Lit class ruled. I don’t care what anyone says; acting out the last scene of Othello with everyone was lots of fun. I had so much fun acting out the reluctant “honorable” killing of Desdemona, the painful realization of Iago’s plot, and my death scene. I enjoy reading and acting Shakespeare’s words. It can be so much fun when someone reads a line in a really funny way or when something unexpected happens that makes us start laughing or even when Mr. Friedman’s camera doesn’t work and you’re stuck in a dramatic pose for a few seconds. Stabbing with fake knives is fun and brandishing a baseball bat while speaking of a special blade is also quite amusing. I suggest you all go out and try it.

It all started with the early trip to the airport. I woke up at 4 and we arrived at the airport some undistinguishable time later. That might seem like a jump in events, but that's seriously about all that I can consciously remember. I read some Othello on the plane and then conked out until we arrived in Philly. Once we had gotten the rental car, it was officially family time.

There's something about going to visit family that makes my whole life different. This is probably because my family dynamics are static. I have the same unchanging relationships with each of my relatives, and I anticipate them being the same forever. Therefore, my familial obligations remain constant, while the rest of my life in its entirety is changing dramatically. I feel like a kid with these people, sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse. My cousins are getting older with me; that's about the extent of visible change within this environment created in Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

Another part of turning on the family Ian is adapting to deal with my mother. My mom and I have a great relationship when we're at home. She and I understand each other and we coexist well. I don't require excess patience or discipline; she treats me like her son as well as a thinking individual. Once we head north, things change. Mom suddenly has to assert her parenthood. Every five minutes I am here, she orders me to help my family, while I'd most likely do it anyway. It's as if our free relationship is a thing for her to be ashamed of in front of my aunts and uncles who constantly have to reprimand their kids. It bugs me because I love mom and I hate to dislike her, which it almost forces me to do. There are other things that she does while here that bug me, but that's saved for later in the entry.

Back to the Thanksgiving play-by-play, we actually first went to visit my grandmother at her nursing home out in Amish country. I’ve mentioned her before in journals, speaking of her Alzheimer’s and my personal thoughts concerning the matter. Our visit was the standard, although this time I didn’t have any of my amusing uncles to look to for some levity. Thus I was left to the terrible experience of visiting the Alzheimer’s ward, seeing the physical deteriorations that follow mental collapse. There are few things I have seen that cause me more pain then every visit there. It’s not because of some sort of failure on the part of the staff; there’s just nothing that can be done for these people and that’s what’s so tragic. Life’s so precious, the ability to think and act and love. The people I see can’t do much of anything.

My grandmother slept through our visit once again and I was forced to have a one-sided conversation with her as mom brought her new clothes, something I’ve never understood. I guess mom’s trying to make life as normal as possible. I’ve said before that I feel no emotion anymore towards my grandmother. Not to be misunderstood, I love my grandmother, but she’s just a physical shell now. It’s hard to feel love. Call me heartless. I consider it crucial to maintaining my own sanity.

After what was a seemingly useless trek out to the institution, we took the lovely snow covered drive through Lancaster County. It’s nice to see a little bit of nature from time to time, and Lancaster is about as natural as it gets with its rolling hills and fertile plains. Definitely a cool place; if it weren’t for the connotations, it would be almost perfect.

We arrived at my uncle Kevin’s to find my two cousins home for the day and the adults out at work. We unpacked and then I set about to my assigned motions for this specific house. I am really not giving family enough credit. They are great people. I always am assured to laugh, but that’s just it. Same kinds of jokes, same kinds of conversations. On the other hand, all of my uncles have managed to become partial fathers for me over the years, each with his part to play and his different way of being a father. It’s interesting to say the least.

As I was at my Uncle Kevin’s, that is the first setting to spring to mind. My cousins, Brian and Sean, have interesting lives. My uncle is a sports nut and my cousins have played them all: baseball, basketball, and soccer mainly. Visiting his house is like visiting a health resort. My aunt feeds us healthy food and my uncle puts us through rigorous sports. Granted, I owe it to Uncle Kevin for showing me how to throw a baseball, shoot a basketball, and chuck a football. Granted, I’m not stellar at any of these sports, but I owe it to him for playing catch with me and congratulating me for hitting a hard line drive, although it flew right into his shin. My uncle pushes my cousins on the fields and courts, pushes them hard. I imagine it’s easy to feel less than par for my cousins. Ironically, my uncle is a light disciplinarian. My cousins fight constantly and I mean FIGHT. Just this week Sean, 10, bit Brian, 13, on the back after Brian pushed him hard into a fir tree. Brian’s like a raging bull when he’s angry and I’ve often had to hold him back or even pop in a shot of my own to restore order. The rage comes from the fact that Brian is unbelievably full of himself, likely the result of his father pushing him until he decided to start thinking that he’s God’s gift to every sport. This ego makes things tense when Sean makes Brian look stupid. Sean, on the other hand, is fast and instigating, a dangerous combination for his less-than-easygoing brother. Sean listens to my uncle’s advice in sports, but unlike Brian, doesn’t let it get to him. Sean couldn’t care less if he was the best player. He enjoys playing and usually does well due to that approach. Two obviously opposing personalities make for one hell of a brawl when the boys go at it. My uncle’s usual punishment consists of a firm lecture and some form of grounding (from phone, etc). I don’t know if I’ve ever seen any of these groundings enforced. I highly doubt it, as Brian still talks back all the time and the fighting never stops. My mom often says to me that Uncle Kevin should sent the boys down for a week and see if they misbehave quite so much. My mom is not and was never violent, but she doesn’t take crap. I learned that at a young age and, until I decided to make decisions based on my own reasoning, I made sure I didn’t provide any problems. However, I’m convinced that the guys will keep fighting until they go to college, or until they kill each other.

Enough darkness on Uncle Kevin’s family. It’s a beautiful environment most of the time. The boys still give me hugs when I come visit, as I’ve always been the oldest boy cousin and, thus, the object of affection and imitation. Luckily, the boys don’t fight over who sits with me anymore, because I was getting a little tall for the middle seat. My Aunt Hannah cooks great meals, especially a nice warm home-style breakfast that is absolute heavenly to the senses after having rolled out of a bottom bunk. As we stay at Uncle Kevin’s all the time, there are traditions. The first night of our stay, the floor cushion is moved into Brian’s room and the guys camp out on the floor next to my position in the bottom of Brian’s bunk. That first night is officially story night, wherein I tell the guys about the events of my life. Nothing like the ol’ journal gets to hear; the content is mainly crazy antics of my friends and I throughout the year. The way I tell my stories is quite unique. We play “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” in our own way, which consists of my asking a question related to my life, providing crazy answers to match the likely craziness of the actual answer and telling the story once they get it right. They are getting old, but they still love the stories, as well as the weird voices I use for their lifelines. It’s a fun tradition at times, but I’m usually so tired that I lose steam long before them and they start begging for more.

The McCarthy Thanksgiving had its own special traditions this year at Uncle Kevin’s. My uncle Bob and his family came over and the craziness ensued. There was the annual McCarthy family football game, with my uncles as the two QBs for the rivals Ian/Brian vs. Sean/Colin. Colin is my Uncle Bob’s son, about 2(?) years younger than Sean. Colin and Sean are my mom’s godsons, her “little gangsters.” They are quite the rough team, even against two bigger kids. The game sort of petered out, however, when the brotherly scuffle began and Sean was sent inside for his partaking of Brian’s back. Surprisingly enough, this sort of end to the game is just as much a tradition as the game itself.

Once we went inside this year, we retired to the new sun room and my uncles asked me about school and college. My mom suggested topics for me to share with my relatives and so it went. Dinner was served and we shared a lovely meal with typical Thanksgiving foods. Thanksgiving in my family is what it should be and I love the experience no matter how much I may bash it. After eating two helpings of everything, I sat and listened to my mom and her two brothers stroll down memory lane, waxing nostalgic about their youth, four brothers and one sister, in Darby, PA. My family has truly come from humble roots, as Darby is sort of a dangerous urbanesque neighborhood. Now all of my uncles live in fairly suburban areas, as do I. Sean and Colin, having been excused already, tugged at my shirt as I listened, wanting me to come downstairs to play. I polished off my dessert and left the table with them. I had my own memories to create, as it was time for another incredibly bizarre McCarthy tradition. Somehow, one Thanksgiving, my cousins decided that throwing soft nerf and plush balls at me would be a game-worthy pastime. This practice has evolved into the annual Beat-the-Stuffing-Out-of-Big-Cousin-Ian game. I am assailed with a hailstorm of almost-dangerous toys, somewhat dense pillows and a fury of small fists. Granted, I wouldn’t play if I thought I would be seriously hurt. It’s all about the two younger guys fighting the veritable Juggernaut that is their big cousin. Often I am brought to my knees and the little heathens jump on me, in a scene similar to the end of Jurassic Park, where the raptors climb all over the raging T-rex. I can easily walk around with both the boys clinging to me, so I usually amuse them with some form of flipping them onto a big cushion to remove them. It’s a really funny, though very odd, tradition. My only wish is that Colin would learn that certain areas should be off-limits for his well-placed kicks.

After a long night with the boys, we said our goodbyes and drove to the Jersey shore. My uncle has a house in Stone Harbor and we were meeting him there as he and his family were coming from Thanksgiving with my aunt’s family in Maryland. I always love going to Stone Harbor. I have always enjoyed the ride to the shore because of the way the scenery crept up on me. I would always be reading with my head down, having last seen some simple highway, when suddenly I’d look up and we’d be in a whole new world. The Jersey shore is one of the most beautiful places one can visit, being both visually and culturally fantastic. I used to visit my Uncle Frank there about once a year every year to go to the beach and just generally chill with my cousins. My cousin Erin is 6 months older than me and, being the first two McCarthy young’uns, we’ve always been close. Her brother Steve is in high school now, yet he too was our companion around the town once he was old enough. Stone Harbor is perfect for kids; you can walk to the beach, the movies, the stores and just about anywhere else. It’s paradise in my mind. I don’t really know what it is that sets it apart from the world I know. I think it’s a lack of trees. To clarify, there are many beautiful examples of Atlantic flora in the town, but there aren’t any enormous pines and such. Thus, each house is exquisitely set against a backdrop of clear blue sky, making it seem like the town is sitting simultaneously on top and at the end of the world.

All of these images and connotations greeted me as we crossed bridge after endless bridge, concrete and steel monstrosities that seemed to make the atmosphere even more naturally stunning in contrast. Quaint seaside shacks evolved into million-dollar homes as we move further towards the center of town. My uncle’s is one of the latter. I love that house. It’s grown and changed a great deal since my youth. The outdoor shower is no longer in use. My uncle put in a hot-tub, deck, spiral stairs to the roof, and took out our old jungle gym. I suppose it fits our ages more now, but it is still sad to see it all gone. It has been a few years since I last spent a blissful week with my uncle on the shore, still digging holes in the sand and meandering through town with my cousins. In fact, the only contact I’d had with the house had been in these post-Thanksgiving meetings. Thus, this time, upon arriving a tad earlier than planned outside of my uncle’s house, I left mom and strolled the few blocks to the beach. The air bit shrewdly; it was very cold. However, I felt the need to embrace the ocean that I hadn’t seen in far too long. A familiar salty smell greeted me as I walked over the wooden planks that connected the sand to the pavement. A few more steps and I was there. Ladies and gentlemen, be it winter or summer, the sight of the Atlantic ocean while standing in the sand of the Jersey shore is something that everyone in the world should see at least once. I was the only one out there, considering the low temperature, but climate was of minimal concern. I was too busy alternating between watching the waves roll into the shore and closing my eyes to partake of the smell and sounds that surrounded me. I resisted the urge to take off my shoes and walk down the beach, although, had I done so, I would have walked with the ocean on my right so as to detract from Wayne Dyer’s inane cover photo. I smiled at my moment of nostalgia, peace, relaxation and innate spirituality, then turned and headed back to the house. As I walked towards our rental car, I thought of the possibility of returning there sometime later in life. It would be a beautiful place to live, although perhaps it wouldn’t be a terribly good town in which to raise a family. It’s fun to visit as a child, but I don’t think schools are easy to come by. Perhaps, if I make a sufficient amount of money, I can do what my uncle does and use it as a summer home, although it was their original home as well. Who knows? I am certain, though, that Stone Harbor adds its magic to every person, thing, place and event within its borders and that sounds like a lovely environment in which to live.

After walking the grounds, standing on the roof, and reading on the deck, my uncle finally arrived. We greeted one another with joy. It is with my Uncle Frank and family that Mom and I have gone to Disney World with several times. They have had us for Christmas almost every year. I was with them when mom called to tell me that dad had died. This may imply a great deal of personal connection with this branch of the proverbial tree and this is true. I always seem to be closer to Erin and Steve than with the mere playful relation with the younger guys.

After a nice lunch, the kids and adults broke up to go shopping. We hit crafts stores and little shops full of random accessories. It’s about the experience, not the yield, when one shops in Stone Harbor. Getting a perfect item to fit your need is just a perk. I did, nonetheless, buy something for the ladies back home from James’s candy shop. Once we all met up again, after my uncle and aunt finished in a Christmas shop, the kids piled in our car, as is tradition, and we all drove inland to my uncle’s house in Voorhees, NJ. To be continued...