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It was a cold, snotty night. I am sitting in my little mansion on a hilltop in Connecticut. I look out the big windows, across the snow-covered yard at the palatial homes lining the street. Out the other side is a view of downtown Hartford. I’m snuggled under the down comforter in this four-poster bed, mountains of white tissue full of nastiness.

I am sick…coughing, sneezing, body aches. It’s almost 9 AM and I can’t sleep. I started with a full roll of toilet paper on my nightstand when I went to bed just after midnight, and now it’s unwound to the last few sheets, those sheets that stick to the tube like the biggers in my nose. (No one else is here to make me laugh, so it’s just a one-man show.) Being sick and alone sucks, even if it is in my own little mansion.

A sleeping bag and a dining room floor are all the accommodations I need, but it sure is fun to get a surprise like this while I’m out traveling. Last night I spoke at University of Hartford in Hartford, Connecticut. I was at Trinity College on the other side of town a year ago.

I kind of feel like a Joe Thousandaire. This room is like a whole house, except it doesn’t have walls dividing the rooms. If there were a basketball goal in here it would make more sense than all the extravagant furniture and sparkling lights. I have to admit I got a little spooked last night, waking up to the banging and boiling of the archaic heating system. Normally I’d only have a small room of potential ghosts, but there could be a whole football team of ‘em in here.

This is a pretty charming town. I’ve always liked Connecticut. It’s a refuge for all New Yorkers, and for a good reason. Just flying in yesterday was fun, looking down at all the pretty old houses and old trees. It’s New England at its best. Sometimes I think I’d like to live here.

I think I’m going to get out of bed and start my day, snot or not. The shower has seven showerheads, like a human-scale car wash. I think I’ll sing songs from “The Little Mermaid.” She’s hot.
:::

3:29 PM
This morning after I got out of bed, I went to St. Joseph’s Cathedral. Wow…that place was cool. It was a cathedral, with the mile-high ceilings and soaring stained-glass windows, but it had a futuristic feel to it…like it was a Cathedral on Star Wars. I couldn’t focus on the Mass b/c I am still sick and I was touring the place with my eyes. The sermon was really good, but even that didn’t stir any life in those folks.

They seemed so lifeless, mumbling the songs and the prayers. There was no joy. I don’t know why, maybe because it was so big, you couldn’t get personal. Maybe it was the 14-degree weather waiting for us. I was disappointed and sad at the same time, like I wanted to yell at everyone or sit silent and feel sorry for them. I wish the St. Tim’s crew could come up here and unleash the Spirit.

After lunch at Cosi, I snuggled into my bed and watched the “Beverly Hills 90210 E True Hollywood Story.” With two older sisters who were hardcore 90210 fans (alright I watched it too), I was pulled into the drama ten years ago. It a pretty interesting documentary. Then off here to the airport.

I’ve been in this airport on four different trips. I’m leaning against a wall in the corner, charging up my battery, hoping to watch a few episodes of “24” on the long flight back to the West coast. This guy over there looks just like Super Mario. I would tell him that but that might not impress him. There’s a group of girls a few seats away, loudly debating if I am that guy from the Real World. Such is life. Ah…boarding time.

Buying a house taught me a lot. The endless trail of looking, calling, paperwork—it was like I was signing my life away all so I didn’t have to give my life to my landlord. But now that it’s over, I have a HOUSE. All I have to do is send of my mortgage payment each month, pay my electricity and water, and that’s it. That wasn’t too scary, was it?

The discomfort was worth it. So, now I am out finding new ways of being uncomfortable. You can just horde away money, depositing checks and watch the number get bigger and bigger. But, that’s so boring. Now it’s time for BIGGER stuff.

The financial security is nice, but it’s the adventure that’s the real thrill. I’m going to have to stop this here, because it’s time to fill out some papers.

I’m sitting in the back of a van of someone I don’t know. I just dropped my car off at the shop to get the window fixed.

This is one of those uneventful snapshots in life that you just gotta do. It’s kind of funny to ride in a van full of strangers. The radio is the only thing that is making noise. Oh no! “Sexual Healing” just came on…I’ll never see these people again. I’m singing now…soft then louder while everyone looks forward blank-faced. If I sing loud enough, they’ll have to turn it up. Yes, he just did! (You gotta sing it like you mean it.)

Speaking of sexual healing, I did a big sex talk at a chastity rally yesterday in Colorado Springs, CO. That would be a big SEX TALK, not a BIG SEX talk. There were several different denominations that came together at this new nondenominational mega-church. As a lover of art, I can’t help but feel a little uneasy in a “sanctuary” that looks more like a convention center than a place of worship. I do realize that God doesn’t need an ornate cathedral, but sometimes we do.

I shared the stage with Miss Michigan. It was kind of crazy there and didn’t get a chance to talk to her, but I wanted to tell her she did a great job. It was comforting not to carry the whole afternoon with my one or two talks. I was real proud of her.

It was exciting to see all those teens signing chastity commitment cards. It’s a long journey. Money-hungry companies drape their products with sex, will hammer them every day until they die. Those girls will be chased and manipulated by lustful males who were never taught what is right. They’ll check their email everyday, where there is pornography waiting to poison their futures. How devastating is it to your wife and children when they know their Dad is addicted to pornography? It’s a long journey.

Before heading to the airport, we stopped by a local Life Teen parish. It always warms my heart to see people around the country faithfully coming together to give young people there best. A priest was visiting from the Ukraine. He brought a translator to help him thank the parish there in Colorado Springs for their support. The Church was nearly snuffed-out by Communism, and has slowly been growing since Communism fell. The young people in Ukraine demanded they get their churches back. They celebrated Mass on the stairs of locked church, and they kept doing it till the government opened the doors for them.

It’s a strange world to live in today, that this happened just a few years ago. All the while here in America, you can’t pray in school, you can’t talk about God in classrooms. Individuals protest when school marquees ask that we “Pray for Peace.” We’re “liberating ourselves” into a God-less society. A God-less society will rot from the inside, killing itself while other societies sit and watch. It happened to the Roman Empire, and it’s happening again.

I hurt. Everyday, I am working with the young generation that is the product of our loosely-crafted society from lawsuits. Lawyers and special-interest groups plan and execute their agendas and go on to pat each other on the back, having shifted the policies of a country. All the while I am in the gutters, helping young people who day to day have suffer from this society of death. Under the beautiful name of liberty, we’ve destroyed human dignity.

But no one can stop the love of God. Societies will come and go, leaders rise and fall. Long after this laptop is buried in a landfill and my bones of rotted away, Christians will power through their time on earth, boldly share the love of Christ. You can’t stop us.

You’d think I was in a lounge or night club, the pink sofa and hot blue carpet. But, I am in a rectory (where priests live) in Colorado Springs, Colorado. It never ceases to amaze me how priests, in their vows of poverty, manage to horde the “old” furniture from “old” people. And I pay good money to get the same look.

I just went downstairs to get some water, and this place is loaded with cool furniture.

My body is aching. Tommy and I bundled up and strapped on our snowboards. It was getting dark but who cares? We started at the top of this snow pile and scooted down the hill, over the ramp, and into an empty pond. The last stretch was the best because you cross over the edge of the pond and down into darkness—into plants. It sucked at first because I had a mouthful of cattails, but once you spit it all out, you can’t help but laugh. You just closed your eyes knowing you were going to smash into a mess.

Then we pulled each other around behind his ATV. It was a blast. Tomorrow morning I’ll speak at a chastity rally. I thought I had 45 minutes, and now I realize I only have ten, so I’m going to stop here and start practicing for tomorrow.

As dorky as it sounds, a filing cabinet sure made my day better. My life better, really.

I started with those trendy clear pocket binders a few years ago in college. I would stuff bank statements, student loan info, and any other paper that I felt I should keep. Once I started dealing with big dollar amounts (over $20), I had to be sure I was taking care of it.
I kept all those clear pocket binders in a cardboard box in the corner of my closet, next to my skateboard.

Now I have all kinds of things to file: insurance info, four bank accounts, titles, receipts for taxes, auto receipts, and mortgage stuff.

Okay, I admit it: I don’t want others to know I am growing up. I can act like a grown up better than most grown ups I know. I can use all the words and brag about my accomplishments. But that doesn’t matter.

I work with high school students. I was one of them last year, or was it the year before? I don’t want to surrender my youth. I want to be able to stay in touch with teenagers. I know it’s all “in the heart,” but retirees still have to talk about healthcare reform. I could talk about mortgages and investments, that’s a planet they won’t land on for years.

But I don’t have to be young and reckless to feel young and reckless. Most teenagers don’t even know what there peers are going through, so I’ve got a good shot at helping still. In the end, this day and this filing cabinet won’t mean a thing. But right now, I feel unsure of myself.