From the excitement of the unknown that came with the springtime job-hunt, to serendipitously nailing a creative career that I once could only dream of achieving, all the while having more fun than any human being should legally be allowed to–I don’t think I can remember the last time I uttered the words, “I’m bored.”

New opportunities. New relationships. And even an Emerson-like journey into self-reliance, as I bunk up in the woods of Egg Harbor Township with two Renaissance Fair pirates, an unemployed metal head, a PhD’ed minister turned day trader and his wife and two daughters. This experience alone has already inspired a chapter in my book that will be entitled “The American Hostel”–but that’s a story for another night, and a tall glass of whiskey.

2009 has brought so many new kinds of fun. In addition to reacquainting me with all the old kinds, and the amazing people I neglected far too much in the past. I have managed to finally connect with my older brother–whom I was at odds with for most of my life–and my artistic genius of a cousin, who I now am grateful to be able to call a very close friend.

From New York City to Philadelphia to Boston to Atlantic City to Baltimore, and even good ol’ Glassboro–I’ve dumped about 80 truckloads of crimson throughout my quest to paint every town red. And as the song goes, “we’ve only just begun.” I feel like I’ve just barely scratched the surface of this crazy world, and the extent of accomplishments I intend to achieve.

Be on the lookout for big things in 2010. The world’s largest creative portfolio review and advertising recruitment event is coming to Philadelphia in May, thanks to my ambitious friends at Philly Ad Club YP. We plan to keep turning heads and shaking things up even more in the new year.

The commencement of this decade just brings to mind one question, though: Is there something wrong with all this fast-paced, carpe-the-shit-out-of-diem way of living? I feel like society wants us all to settle down, mellow out and fit snugly into a routine far too early. Onlookers will say, “yeah, I used to live crazy like that back when I was in my twenties. You grow out of it eventually.” But why? If you’re truly happy with the way you live, by all means, keep living it that way. Don’t bend under the norms and self-inflicted time restrictions of marriage-by-30, picket-fence-imprisonment with a side of 2.5 kids.

Sure, I will someday have a family to support, and then I may slow it down and pull into the right lane for a while. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to ‘follow the model.’

Your life is the greatest piece of art you will ever create. So please, make it original.

…to get my mind off the fact that I hate winter.

Here’s a glass-half-full approach to what I normally call “the four-month depression.”

1. Snow.

If we ever get any, that is. I absolutely love snow. I think everyone does. Except maybe for those regions that get dumped on regularly with avalanches of white (shoutout to my Canada/Syracuse/Boston fam). A good snowfall is such a rarity in Jersey that it always seems special to me. The way it covers everything in a clean, reflective blanket, making the whole world seem brighter. Sometimes letting a few spots of earth peek through, painting the scenery like a Bev Doolittle piece. Not to mention, it provides for certain fun-filled activities that can only be done in the snow, such as…

2. Sledding.

I’ve never had a bad time sledding. Even when my brother and I were younger and used to hurt ourselves incessantly while hosting “Full-Contact Sledding” at our house (it was the best hill in our neighborhood). We would make snow ramps, and usually descend the hill standing up on the sleds as if they were snowboards with no footing. Falling was inevitable as we attempted skateboard tricks on busted old pieces of plastic, ultimately smashing our bodies into the snow and rolling the rest of the way down the hill in tumultuous clumps of adrenaline.

3. Unlimited refrigerator space.

One of my favorite selling points of winter is the fact that I can store my beer outside and keep it even colder than the fridge would. This frees up much-needed space in the icebox for my other favorite thing: food. Which, by the way, it is completely acceptable to eat more of during the winter, as it provides for insulation during the hibernating months.

4. The holiday feast.

Speaking of food…there are some remarkable holiday feasts in my family around the winter holidays. Being the son of a chef definitely has its perks, especially during Christmastime. Gift-giving stress aside, Christmas brings all of my local family to my parents’ house for a gluttonous gauntlet of appetizers, roast beast, famous holiday soup, fine wines and delicious desserts fit for a king. Nobody even has room for my grandmother’s rum cake by the time we’ve polished off the main course. But there’s always ample room in the giant outdoor fridge to store the leftovers.

5. New Year’s.

This is one of my favorite holidays, simply because there are no gifts, no obligations, and no need to “do” anything except be with the people you love through those highly-anticipated ten seconds that lead an entire timezone into the new year. In essence, it’s just another reason to throw a party. But to me, it’s a special moment–albeit a short one–in which millions of people are all on the same page, thinking about the same thing and celebrating another year of being alive. Plus, the following day marks the annual Turducken that my dad prepares as a recent New Year’s Day tradition. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the Turducken…it’s a chicken inside of a duck inside of a turkey, stuffed snugly into one hedonistic hybrid like oversized edible Russian dolls. Mmmm…

6. No bugs.

You probably have to live in the woods to understand this one. I am recently starting to appreciate the frigid weather for its built-in bug-repelling quality. After spending a whole summer and autumn with arthropodal encounters of all kinds–from chiggers to grasshoppers to some species I couldn’t even identify–it’s nice to wake up without fearing that I’ll have to pull a deer tick out of my thigh. Again.

7. Wings season.

As a lifelong lacrosse player and fan, I always enjoy going to Philadelphia Wings games in the winter. Nothing like an indoor version of my favorite outdoor sport, with twice the action and violence packed into half the astro turf. And the Wings’ PR team really knows how to throw a party. Every game comes equipped with such attractions as a live cover band, Hooters waitresses riding a mechanical bull, a cheesesteak cannon that launches Geno’s sandwiches into the crowd, and countless promotions to keep even the non-fan entertained. That reminds me…I should buy season tickets.

Well, that does it for me. What do YOU like about winter?

A lot of people say they want to move to the West Coast, or travel throughout Europe. From the stories I’ve heard, those places are magnificent, and I’d definitely like to check them out sometime. However, there are plenty of great things happening right around here where we are–you just have to look around and realize it.

I was talking to a friend today about exactly this subject. After complaining about his stressful accounting job, he went on to say, “I gotta get out of New Jersey.” Then he toyed around with the idea of relocating to Europe or some exotic destination, and asked me how exactly one would go about ‘moving’ to another country. I explained the whole work visa thing, along with the 90-day rule that most nations abide by, and how aside from that, it’s pretty much a piece of cake. But why, I wondered, did he have such a problem with his current location?

I let him think out loud for a while and sort it out, and we came to the conclusion that he really just doesn’t like his job. Auditing people obviously isn’t what he’s passionate about in life. And, on top of that, he doesn’t even know what his passion is. This seems like the main reason why he’d want to “get out of New Jersey,” because he is equating his current state of unhappiness with the actual state in which he resides. Hell, maybe if he went to Costa Rica or Amsterdam, he may end up stumbling upon his passion. Sometimes it takes a little travel to learn about oneself. But do it for the right reasons.

I learned when I tried to drive across the country once that no matter where you go, people are people. There isn’t a huge difference among members of our society, and running off into the horizon won’t necessarily cure your unhappiness. It may temporarily fix your boredom, due to the thrill of new experiences and surroundings. But then what happens when you’ve been there for six months to a year, and you’re tired of that place, too? Another move? Will you keep skipping around nomadically, chasing that unattainable phoenix?

You’re not expected to know exactly what you want to do in life, especially not when you’re young. My mom is in her late 50s, and she just recently gained an interest in forensics science and crime scene investigation (a strong contrast from her current position as a retail manager). I feel extremely fortunate that I’ve already found my passion in life, and have very clear goals and ambitions that I am working to achieve. Now that I know what I love, I can do it anywhere. Maybe I will move to Europe or California or Costa Rica for a little while, just to experience it. But I won’t do it to run away from a routine life.

I’ve been thinking way too much lately. Drilling my brain over the margins and blindly missing the big idea centered in between them. When really, I should just be doing what I love: writing. Letting the words flow out, as they dance around and figure out their own paths along the way.

Tonight I took a trip back in time. Back to my early years of high school, when life was beautifully simple and, like most youth tend to do, I didn’t appreciate that simplicity. Rather, I waited and waited for the day when I could move out on my own and see the world. Now, I’m out here, and ‘the world’ is amazing. But it’s nothing like the dark lonely nights when I would pour my soul out onto a notebook with no other cares in the world.

Climbing rooftops of shopping centers, passing the time with the moon and just…writing. There wasn’t much else to do in the suburbs at night, so I thank whatever god mans the watchtower above for blessing me with creative outlets.

I’m at a point in my life where I actually get paid to do something I thoroughly enjoy, but I seem to have lost touch with writing for myself. I write for casinos, convention and visitors bureaus, agency websites, networking events, corporate communications, social media strategies, and more. Being a copywriter is like being schizophrenic–juggling a dozen other voices, and often misplacing my own.

So here’s mine. Echoing through the night sky, off the lonely rooftops and graffiti walls in the dead quiet of creativity.

We’ve never really gotten along in the first place. I’ll admit it. But now that my brother and I are both aspiring for similar career goals, we’ve actually reached a common ground: our love for the creative ad industry. For the past several months we have been talking more than in all the 23 years I’ve known him…and, he actually reaches out to me for help. Kind of an honor, having someone that is two years my senior seek out advice from his “little bro.”

So where did it all go wrong this weekend? Atlantic City. I’m not sure at what point in the night (morning) we clashed heads, or even what I said to provoke it–I’m convinced I didn’t really do anything out of line at first, although that may just be the “not my fault” syndrome kicking in–but we ended up physically duking it out on the beach at about 3 A.M.

I think it had to happen eventually. I could have walked away, and so could he. But the amount of alcohol consumption up to that point prevented either of us from thinking logically. And, he was down $260 at the casinos, so he was already a little on edge to say the least. So, we squared off, touched fists, and round 1 began.

I’d like to think I’m a lover, not a fighter. So this was a rarity for me. The ONLY person I have ever seriously fought is my brother. All other issues and ignorant instigators I simply ignore, because it’s never that serious. But somehow when he and I hang out, we could be having the best of times and sharing tons of laughs, then out of nowhere creeps something unsettled from under the sibling rivalry carpet. And this time Mom and Dad weren’t around to break us up. It was just me, him, and a sand-filled boxing ring bordered by the boardwalk and the ocean.

Needless to say, it got pretty wild. Many poorly planned punches were exchanged. Sand flew everywhere as we grappled, forming angry snow angels into the beach. I caught him with a right to the forehead, which almost immediately grew into a cartoonish lump. He jabbed me in the eye and nose somethin’ fierce. At one point, he put his years of watching Ultimate Fighting to good use and had me down on the ground, arms tied, hovering over me with his right fist in the air, saying “don’t make me do this.”

As I looked upward at my big brother, I suddenly had a moment of clarity. I didn’t want to do this anymore. This was a fight that was never going to end, unless we ended it right there.

Sure, I could use the anger and pain to explode back, shake him off using my knees, flip him over and send a barrage of fists back at him with downward force (I actually had a vision flash through my mind of exactly how I was going to do this). But no. I had to stop this now. Plus…he was winning, fair and square. Big bro had me pinned down in full-guard, my back to the sand.

So I gave up. As difficult as it was to kick my stubbornness and let him win, I did. I put both my hands in the air, palms open, as if prompted to by a police officer, and said “you win.” Then, I asked him for two high-fives.

He answered my request with his palms in mine, and then pulled me up on my feet. We brushed the bloody sand off of ourselves and walked down the beach back to the hotel, laughing and joking again, just like earlier in the evening before it all went sour. It was a very strange moment.

So last night marked the first time in my adult life that I completely regressed back to sheer caveman instinct. For once, words could not solve the problem. Any almost-cogent argument immediately got convoluted with 23 years of the past–not to mention drunken angst. And two grown men, who by nature should be best friends, completely let go of all sanity for a few moments and just beat the living shit out of each other.

Do I regret it? I want to say yes. But I think it was necessary.

This morning, we spent most of the day laughing and joking, as if we really were best friends. And I don’t think I will ever fight anyone again. Especially not with my own blood.

There’s something bittersweet about the bay in South Jersey. Upon first whiff, your nostrils may tend to shy away and block out the pungent aroma reminiscent of sewage. But if you get past that and finish the second half of your breath, the smell of El Mar is more calming than offensive. Especially on a sunny Sunday afternoon, as boaters skim by and fishermen sit on their docks, enjoying the nothingness.

Maybe it’s the realization that a block toward the East is the very end of land–or the beginning, if you think of it historically. You can stand up facing the seemingly endless ocean, wobbling in the wind, and literally put the rest of the world behind you. That, plus the soothing sounds of waves gently crashing on the shore will put anybody in a state of Zen.

For those that hate on the Jersey Shore…I’ll admit, yeah, we’re dirty. The water isn’t a perfect transparent turquoise like in the Caribbean. But there is a sort of character to these parts, that I’m learning to enjoy more and more lately.

Last night, for instance. I couldn’t help but glare through the moonroof of my mid-90s Honda as I casually cruised down the local forested backroads. No fear of swerving or hitting anything (aside from the Jersey Devil), because there was nobody around. Nothing but a soundtrack of crickets, bats, frogs and other creatures that come to life only after the night takes over.

I gazed up at the heavens. Had to be for a solid half an hour, but I wasn’t keeping time. Just trying to fathom how I really couldn’t even count the stars that were visible. It was like our class trip to the planetarium back in astronomy 101–only it didn’t feel fabricated. It was the realest realization I’ve had in a while.

It didn’t even make me feel “like a tiny speck among millions of galaxies, unimportant and insignificant”–in that movie-quote cliche epiphany way. No, rather, it was as if this scene were created just for me. I was special. At least, I’d convince myself that. The way the rows of trees on either side of the road framed my vista like the black bars on the top and bottom of a widescreen motion picture made it all the more surreal.

If you happen to live near the middle-of-nowhere, then you probably know exactly what I’m talking about. On the other hand, if you have always dwelled near bright lights and that gradient glow of the city, you probably think I sound like a queer. But I highly suggest you trek out into the woods, and then, just for a minute…look up.

I was explaining to one of my eccentric flatmates today how my upbringing has led me to strange sleep habits (which I find perfectly normal, to tell you the truth).

My mom has always had trouble sleeping at night. Especially after her father died, something hit her — she started to have a subconscious fear of passing away in her sleep. Not to mention, she is psychic, and lord knows what kind of dreams that leads to. She once revealed to me that she “includes people who have died” in her dreams. I’m not sure if this means they talk to her like the Sixth Sense, or if she just thinks about them. Either way, it’s pretty interesting. When I was younger, she picked up the third shift at Wawa from 11pm to 7am to accommodate having nocturnal tendencies, which further screwed up her internal clock.

Having a parent that doesn’t really sleep at night definitely contributed to me inheriting this habit. The thing that makes it even more prevalent is having TWO parents that don’t sleep at night.

My dad, an executive chef for 40 years, has always worked crazy hours. On a good night (I say ‘good’ for the restaurant.. not necessarily for his health) he may be in the kitchen until 4am. Then, when he comes home, that’s his time to unwind. He eats his one meal of the day, watches something educational on TV and falls asleep sitting up on the couch. At this point, my mom may be somewhere in the room, too, finally dozing off along with him. Neither one of them really sleeps in a bed.

So, family time at my house has always been somewhere between midnight and daylight. That’s when we’re all at the house. My brother may just be stumbling home from a drinking night with his buddies, my dad getting back from the restaurant and my mom drifting in and out of a medicine-aided slumber, possibly having conversations with people from the afterlife.

Sound strange to you? I don’t think so. Personally, now that I’m off living on my own and not at my family’s house, I value this time in the middle of the night even still. It’s my time to create. Everyone else is asleep, and I have extra time to write, draw, build, and think — with no deadlines.

At least, until the sun comes up and it’s time for work.

It’s things like this that keep me in advertising. Not the fun atmosphere, the ability to create for a living, the crazy characters I meet or the beer (although those are all great selling points). It’s the potential to connect so many people across the world with a single idea.

Okay, so the meteor shower is not an advertisement (but I could think of ways to turn it into one . My point is, think of the millions of people who are looking up at that same sky, thinking about nothing else but whether that light they just saw was an airplane or a meteorite. Doesn’t it feel cool to be a part of something that big?

It’s the same idea behind Twitter, and its ever-popular “Trending Topics.” Everyone wants to be a part of something bigger. They want to feel that inclusion with the countless other people discussing that specific topic at that particular moment.

It also goes along with networking in any form — just now, with technology and social media, we can expand our networks as far as we want. And I love it.

For the rest of my career I will probably be figuring out ways to connect the world through communication. For now, go outside, and enjoy the meteor shower.

Yes, that means anything from Twitter to what I am writing right at this very moment. Regardless of what it’s about, chances are, you probably don’t want to read all of it.

I’ve noticed myself getting worse about this lately, too. I turn on my computer at work and log into my Twitter account, hastily scrolling through the headlines and recommended articles posted by my tweeps. I cram a whole day of news into twenty minutes just by digesting all the headlines. Occasionally, if a headline really draws me in, I’ll click-through to the article, but I still may not read the whole thing. I take in the first few paragraphs, then move on to the next interesting article.

If I think an article is worth passing on, I’ll send it to the person that it reminds me of or that may get something out of it. For really interesting overall articles, I will retweet them for all to potentially see. That is, if they can get past the headline.

Now, if you’ve gotten this far, good. I’m glad someone reads this. But to be honest, I could go on forever on this topic (or one of many tangents criss-crossing inside my head) and would rather cut it here for brevity’s sake. Hmm, maybe I’ll use an ellipses…