In Memoriam: Maybe the Mayans were Right.

For months I've been missing you. I've been thinking, how do I return? What do I say? Where do I start? When my whole world crashed down on me on January 27th, I never thought I'd be the same -- and now I know that I won't be. But life must go on. When Poppy, my grandfather, left this Earth, it went dark for me and everyone he had ever come in contact with. It took me weeks to even accept the reality of what had happened. Most of the time, I still cannot believe he's no longer with us. But I will now work every second for the rest of my life trying to light this world back up with the brightness he once brought us.

It's apparent that since he left us, however, it is not only my world that has gone dark. Unfortunately, he did see the news of the awful massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Since that awful day, no amount of good news has shielded us from the tragedies filling the daily news. The events of this past week have overwhelmed me to a point where the way I could express this multitude of emotions was to return here, to you, my loyal followers.

Out of Our Misery

How do you root for a team that not only loses continuously, but loses in such an embarrassing manner? How do you call yourself a fan when in your heart you just want the team put out of their misery? How do you love a team when you are looking forward to a time when the personnel, players and coaches alike, are fired and a new team is rebuilt in their place? These questions along with endless 'whys' are running continuously through fans of the New York Jets far and wide.

In Loving Honor and Memory of the Sandy Hook Elementary School Victims

On Friday morning I found myself delving into a big week for New York sports. It was a beautiful, brisk day in New York and I was ready to discuss Braylon Edwards' return to the Jets, Kevin Youkilis's signing with the Yankees, and the masterful way the Knicks beat both the Nets and the Heat within days of each other. And then tragedy struck. As I sat at my desk, I watched as Newtown, Connecticut went from a relatively unknown town to a household name. I turned on the news, and like much of the nation, found myself glued to the details as they very slowly emerged from the Sandy Hook Elementary School. I prayed that the earliest reports of very few injuries would hold true. Unfortunately, as more information became available, the truth was worse than anything we could have ever imagined. An armed gunman entered a kindergarten through fourth grade school and opened fire on our nation's most innocent and vibrant children and those who made it their life's work to educate, love, and mentor them. Today, as I finally have my thoughts together and enough information is available to paint a relatively clear picture of the day's events, I feel it is my duty as a journalist, a former preschool teacher, and an American, to honor the twenty-seven people who were stolen from this Earth and their families far before their time.

The Quest for Mediocrity

After the back to back match ups of the most brutal blowout in [very recent] history and the most deflated, excessively covered win, for week 14 the Jets headed to Jacksonville. Of course the biggest story line of the week was that the son of Christ, Tim Tebow would be returning to his hometown. My question is: Why?! If Tebow was playing quarterback, if he even had a chance to play, sure. Knock yourselves out, set up a whole studio show outside his locker and hotel room, report on every time he blows his nose and wipes his ass. But Tebow didn't play. Yes, Tebow was activated over recently beloved, third string, and most importantly, healthy quarterback Greg McElroy, but that's beside the point. We saw that one coming. The winds of change could only blow for so long and sure enough it was back to Mark Sanchez and the Inconsistent Bunch.

MC-EL-ROY

Growing up, Sundays were time for my dad and I to bundle up and head to the Meadowlands. Sure, throughout my childhood the Jets were nothing to write home about, but he had season tickets and we went. One of my fondest memories will always be the game my dad and I went to in the dead of winter, easily the coldest day of the year. I don't remember who the Jets played, I don't remember the outcome of the game. What I do remember is that we layered up in so much warm clothes that we were barely able to move our extremities. I remember the thermoses of soup my mom made and the hand warmers, foot warmers, and even padded seat warmers she sent us with. I remember climbing all the way up to the top of the corner end zone section where our seats were practically the farthest from the players in the whole stadium. I remember it all because it was one of those bonding experiences with my dad that has and always will stay with me. It was hysterical. We didn't stay all game. But we went. We suited up and supported Gang Green like I have for 22 years.

An Open Letter to My Fellow Jets Fans

Gang Green,

It has taken me a few day to really recuperate to a level where I feel I am ready and willing to address you about the events that occurred on November 22, 2012, a day that will forever live in infamy for the New York Jets. This past Thursday, our men were massacred to a point of no return. The slight glimmer of hope we once held despite pain and ridicule was stomped out, spit on, set on fire, and sent out to sea. Vegas dropped our odds of winning the Super Bowl to 300 to 1. Boston celebrated. And most crushing of all, Fireman Ed quit.

I, along with 79,087 others, spent my Thanksgiving night in exotic East Rutherford, New Jersey. Rather than stay warm, eating until combustion, and drinking myself to oblivion with the rest of my family, my brothers and I bundled up and headed to the Meadowlands. The night started off festive as ever. We joined family friends in an extensive tailgate complete with tents, tarp, a generator, (us Tri-Staters have become experts on these post-Sandy,) a space heater, toasters, microwaves, a multi-course Thanksgiving feast, and of course, enough alcohol so that we could forget the inevitable loss ahead.

An Update from the LIGHT!

God said "let there be light," and there was light!

Thanks to the tireless, round the clock work of PSE&G at the urging of East Brunswick's Mayor, David Stahl, I am happy to report that as of this evening, I officially have power in my home. I cannot wait to return home and not have to open my garage door manually, use a lantern to get around, warm up by sitting next to the fireplace, attempt to put make up on by leaning out the window, or have to walk my dog in the pitch black with a flashlight in hand. I am looking forward to a warm shower and a warm house to dry off in, walking my dog on a lit street, a night not completely bundled up almost to the point of immobilization, and some mindless hours watching awful television. I can't wait to go to my proper polling place and place a vote to help determine the next president of the United States of America tomorrow.