A Load of BS

Dear Robin Williams, First and foremost, you were, without a doubt, my favorite actor growing up. You were my favorite comedian. Quite frankly, you were one of my favorite human beings up until the time of your death. I miss you, as does most of the free world. I recently started writing again. Subsequently, I started befriending a few authors on social media. I'm extremely happy with the quality of my second book so far. These days, I don't think too highly of my first book. I was a first-time author. It was inconsistent at best. One of my new writer friends suggested that I get my name back out there by embracing my first book and giving away a copy. I'm sure you're asking 'What does this have to do with me?" Well, I have a hard time re- reading my first book. I've skimmed bits and pieces here and there. Some of it is well written. A lot of it is cringe worthy.  There is a passage near the end of the book that uses your unfortunate death as a means to an ...

First and foremost, it is never anyone's business why somebody decides to consume or not consume anything, whether it be food, alcohol or other recreational substances. Nobody has questioned me on this topic recently. However, I started thinking about the who, what, where, when, why and how and decided to offer some context. My grandfather, Vincent Scala Sr., was always kind and loving towards me. He was a lively individual who enjoyed his Yankees, his horse racing and trips to Atlantic City. He also enjoyed his alcohol. By all accounts, he enjoyed it too much. I don't know what made him tick. I wasn't around for 95% of the bad times.  Towards the end of his life, all of his major organs started failing. His four children (and my grandmother, by then his ex-wife) took turns caring for a belligerent, mean bastard that was once my kind, fun-loving grandfather. Finally, my father took him in. There he stayed until his life ended in 1998. When I started noticing changes in my b...

Hello. My name is Brian. I am a chronic people-pleaser and an attention seeker. The latter is extremely hard for me to admit. I promise you, I don’t purposely seek attention. I don’t try to act out. I believe everything I do or say is with the best of intentions.  My problem is I have a need to be loved by everyone. I try too hard and sometimes it comes across as being overbearing. When I don’t get a positive reaction, I try harder to get that reaction and it just makes it worse. When I get anything construed as a negative reaction, it sends me into a downward spiral of depression. It’s a vicious cycle. This is probably why I’ve had trouble maintaining friendships over the years. I also apologize too much. I apologize for everything. I'm afraid of losing. I focus too much on trying not to lose that I forget how to win. Many times, I don't believe in myself and I don't believe I'm good enough. I could seriously use that Stuart Smalley self-help mirror. I'm good enoug...

On this rainy Tuesday, many of our young friends in New York are going back to school. Football season is upon us. Thankfully, hockey season is fast approaching as well. This is the time of year where I look back on my time at University of New Haven. You know, the "best years of my life" that I'm still paying for? We all know some people who are venturing off to college for the first time. I'm here to tell you it will be fine... just as long as your parents have money to send you. Back in my day, I had to wait for the check to come in the mail, the mail that took an extra two days to go through the UNH mailroom. It was either that or go to a random convenience store to collect via Western Union.  It will be fine as long as you have a car. This doesn't apply to those who go to John Jay and take mass transit. It does apply to those who go to school upstate or in New England. Don't rely on others to drive you. Don't rely on the bus to take you to the mall. Y...

I'm not going to lie. I forgot I had this blog. I'm not even sure if people still blog. Well, I'm going to do so, because I need to. Twitter is too toxic for me. Don't get me wrong. I've met some great people through the bird app. They are the only reason why I still have it. I've recently realized how dangerous it is for my mental health (and, for that matter, my relationships with my friends) to tweet a spur-of-the-moment missive and wait for three random people to like it and nobody to comment. It's designed to make you beg for validation that will never come. It's a drug and we know what happens when you become addicted to drugs. You crave it more and more until you become overbearing and self- loathing. It only gets worse from there.  Maybe this blog is the rehab I need. I used to write a lot. In fact, for those of you whom I've recently met, I wrote a book. Yes, a real book. It's available on Amazon and everything. It totally sucks. No self...

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of visiting the new state-of-the-art studios of 88.7 FM, WNHU. It was impressive seeing new equipment being put to use in a renovated house. The annual alumni meeting was held in a nice, newly- constructed basement. It was a far cry from the old days where I spent the majority of my four years in a dilapidated basement. Allegedly, a deceased janitor walked the halls and ghosts of old orphans from the 1950s bounced dodgeballs in the bowels of the building. We were encouraged to share our experiences and stories of the past. It's hard to encapsulate four years of memories in an email without the reader losing his or her focus. I did my best to summarize my life at WNHU to the new station manager. Here's what I wrote: In September of 1994, I walked through those glass doors in the basement of Maxcy Hall and began the greatest four years of my life at WNHU. I loved sports and new alternative music, two distinct entities that garnered the la...

My friend Matt Mentone likes to tell the story of how he first met Jim. He walked into the WNHU studios, down in the bowels of dingy Maxcy Hall, one day back in 1995. The man extended his hand and said, "Hi. Jim Abbott, like the pitcher." I suppose there could have been more than one Jim Abbott in this world, but the one we would come to know and love was one-of-a-kind. This made it all the more sad when Matt texted me last night. He'd heard from a mutual friend that Jim Abbott passed away on June 11th at the age of 59. I later found out that he'd suffered a stroke in January and never fully recovered. When I walked into my first sports department meeting in 1994, I was a little punk with long hair who loved alternative music and sports. I'd previously met Jay McEnaney, WNHU's Sports Director and play-by-play man at the time. Next to him was a young Scott Criscuolo, whom I would later bond with over anything Mets and wrestling-related. Then, there was this...