Some things never change. I keep thinking that they do, but as time goes on, you can count on certain things.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving is still, in fact, the largest impromptu re-union nights in the country. Former high school co-eds still meet up at the same places every year.
The Friday after Thanksgiving is still, in fact, the only day that guys get together and play football. Unfortunately the biggest change when it comes to this, though, is physical fitness.
Already marked for the Queens flag football league, we claimed a field at Crocheron Park, slightly muddy as usual. Half of us wore baseball cleats, the other half sneakers. Some had football wide receiver gloves, I had batting gloves.
Most wore a football jersey, I wore a "baseball at night T-shirt." The "B.A.N" t-shirt had high potential to be the go-to T-Shirt for me. Unfortunately mysterious grease stains presented themselves at the appendix area, so it was now designated to "work out T-shirt" duty.
At first, it appeared that only 5 of us were going to show up, but Sal's colleague arrived with 4 friends. The difference between us and them, was that their receiver gloves were actually used before.
After a mini debate about whether to revert to our olden days by playing tackle, Steve's mechanical knee brace did all the talking for our side. After one drive we had to take a water break and Mike could get his Puma track suit dry-cleaned.
On the twin field next to us, a small group of kids multiplied into about 20, and a full blown tackle game ensued. Before taking the snap I shouted "Omaha, Omaha. 34, 34" to which I got not even a giggle.
I scrunched my nose and gave a nice Farley giggle, but just then a large 20 year old brute, took down another 20 year old with a horse collar tackle on the sister field. The tacklee got up and threw the ball at the tackler's legs, to which he responded with a loud " WHOOO!!"
I yelled hike and threw a 2 yard pass for a 3 yard gain to Sal. " WHOOO!!"
It seemed that our adversaries were jealous of the tackle game, and wanted to remember their olden high school football days. No dice for us, as Taco Bell was calling anway. After losing the first game badly, and then mixing up the teams for another, we ran for the border.
At TB, I learned of Steve's new invented soda beverage. Since he, "doesn't like the taste" of plain diet pepsi, he filled the cup then added a splash of wild cherry. Delicious and ground-breaking, I'd like to go ahead and call it "the Steve."
We sat in the "Rat Pack" booth. It was a circular booth in the corner that seemed to offer the most room, and also gave a little pride to the habitants. I could just see Frank now, ripping open the fire sauce with his teeth and doucing it on his 89 cent soft taco.
They should hang a framed Rat Pack picture above the booth with the caption of Frank saying,
"Who do ya gotta f--k around here to get a chalupa?"
I'd like to see this Friday-after football game evolve into playing video games in one of our dens. Hopefully, though, we won't be drinking wine and checking out the new lawnmower while waiting our turn.
ck
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
11-26/Let's Go to the Diner
Congratulations everyone. You've made it to the playoffs.
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/originalfriday-december-30-2005-oh-boy.html
It's time to get your game face on. Right now, most of you are in the locker room, or your bedroom, prepping for the game.
Locker Room attendant (mom or bellman bringing you your laundry) hanging up your uniform, dress shirt or tight Armani shirt. Leather jacket, smelling extra leathery tonight, or your small shirt that says "slut" or "baby" on it.
Your eye black, or makeup is in your locker, ready to be dispersed. This will help deflect the disco lights as "you can have whatever you like" starts to blast. Make sure you have stretched completely, so when you start f&ck dancing, you don't pull a hammy as you put your hands on the floor and shove your ass into a fine young gentleman, ready for the snap.
Gentlemen, make sure you hit a few Jaeger bombs before entering the field of play. This is your warm up, so that you are nice and loose when you get hit in the first quarter by rejections. The first few hits of the game are always the worst until you are nice and warmed up.
For those of you working like myself, here's a quick rundown of what you'll miss.
Walk into the bar, automatically seeing a dozen people from high school you always promised you'd keep in touch with. After a few, "what up bro", and kisses on the cheek from girls you were never allowed to even look at, you belly up to the bar where there is another "bro" you went to school with. And still don't get hooked up on the drinks.
At first you feel good about yourself, then you see your sister and her friends, and immediately feel ashamed.
You get over it, strike out big with one of her friends. Then you return to the bar to try another shot of getting free drinks from your old compatriot by saying things like "what have you been up to" as 5 other people try to get drinks and you're wasting his time. Take your 6 dollar Corona, and "The next one is on me" and go back to your crew.
Your crew is now talking to the same people you were only good enough to talk to in high school, made up of 6 ok guys, one of them maybe from the swim team or something. This barely makes you feel better since you are hanging with a varsity pro and maybe one of his friends from a more prestigious team will bring over cool girls. Maybe even girls that are now slightly more attainable because you have a good job and they don't.
After another 2 hours of OAR's "Crazy Game of Poker" and trying to ask the dude you sat next to in homeroom about his startup DJ business you start getting tired. You say goofy things like "Let's pick up some chicks and get out of here," or "Let's hit White Castle."
You have a daydream of the football team showing up in their letter jackets, hands in pockets all silent, and everyone goes crazy. You bump into a few more people not paying attention because they are texting someone on their Blackberry, to " Come over to XXXXXX, its pumping."
It ends up at the diner, where you have a swiss cheese omelet and french fries. Do yourself the favor and just go to the diner at 7pm.
You can't change the past, but the future is bright. Especially when you have a Blackberry that you actually need for work.
ck
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/originalfriday-december-30-2005-oh-boy.html
It's time to get your game face on. Right now, most of you are in the locker room, or your bedroom, prepping for the game.
Locker Room attendant (mom or bellman bringing you your laundry) hanging up your uniform, dress shirt or tight Armani shirt. Leather jacket, smelling extra leathery tonight, or your small shirt that says "slut" or "baby" on it.
Your eye black, or makeup is in your locker, ready to be dispersed. This will help deflect the disco lights as "you can have whatever you like" starts to blast. Make sure you have stretched completely, so when you start f&ck dancing, you don't pull a hammy as you put your hands on the floor and shove your ass into a fine young gentleman, ready for the snap.
Gentlemen, make sure you hit a few Jaeger bombs before entering the field of play. This is your warm up, so that you are nice and loose when you get hit in the first quarter by rejections. The first few hits of the game are always the worst until you are nice and warmed up.
For those of you working like myself, here's a quick rundown of what you'll miss.
Walk into the bar, automatically seeing a dozen people from high school you always promised you'd keep in touch with. After a few, "what up bro", and kisses on the cheek from girls you were never allowed to even look at, you belly up to the bar where there is another "bro" you went to school with. And still don't get hooked up on the drinks.
At first you feel good about yourself, then you see your sister and her friends, and immediately feel ashamed.
You get over it, strike out big with one of her friends. Then you return to the bar to try another shot of getting free drinks from your old compatriot by saying things like "what have you been up to" as 5 other people try to get drinks and you're wasting his time. Take your 6 dollar Corona, and "The next one is on me" and go back to your crew.
Your crew is now talking to the same people you were only good enough to talk to in high school, made up of 6 ok guys, one of them maybe from the swim team or something. This barely makes you feel better since you are hanging with a varsity pro and maybe one of his friends from a more prestigious team will bring over cool girls. Maybe even girls that are now slightly more attainable because you have a good job and they don't.
After another 2 hours of OAR's "Crazy Game of Poker" and trying to ask the dude you sat next to in homeroom about his startup DJ business you start getting tired. You say goofy things like "Let's pick up some chicks and get out of here," or "Let's hit White Castle."
You have a daydream of the football team showing up in their letter jackets, hands in pockets all silent, and everyone goes crazy. You bump into a few more people not paying attention because they are texting someone on their Blackberry, to " Come over to XXXXXX, its pumping."
It ends up at the diner, where you have a swiss cheese omelet and french fries. Do yourself the favor and just go to the diner at 7pm.
You can't change the past, but the future is bright. Especially when you have a Blackberry that you actually need for work.
ck
Friday, November 21, 2008
11-21/Giant Disaster
I decided that putting up my NY Giants flag while at a red light was embarrassing. So I waited until it turned green, started driving, and then affixed it to the drivers side window. As I ordered the window to close, I let go of the flag hoping it would shut quickly. As it was sliding up, the speed of the car increased, and my brain cells continued to decrease.
Note for other non-engineers: The wind from driving will blow the flag off of the window if not closed. Quite a design flaw if you ask me.
As I tried to swerve back into my lane after attempting to save the flag from its dark fate, I could only imagine what happened behind me. Did it snap under the van that was following me? Did I cause an accident? Was I the laughing stock of Johnson Ave? I'm sure the answer is yes to at least one of those questions.
I didn't go back for it.
I might go look on my lunch break.
I'm not sure if I can bear to see its remains.
If I can't have it, my worse case scenario is that it is proudly flying atop a King Kullen shopping cart, driven by a newly proud Giants fan bum.
If that's the case, I would recommend he doesn't ride that cart down a hill.
ck
Note for other non-engineers: The wind from driving will blow the flag off of the window if not closed. Quite a design flaw if you ask me.
As I tried to swerve back into my lane after attempting to save the flag from its dark fate, I could only imagine what happened behind me. Did it snap under the van that was following me? Did I cause an accident? Was I the laughing stock of Johnson Ave? I'm sure the answer is yes to at least one of those questions.
I didn't go back for it.
I might go look on my lunch break.
I'm not sure if I can bear to see its remains.
If I can't have it, my worse case scenario is that it is proudly flying atop a King Kullen shopping cart, driven by a newly proud Giants fan bum.
If that's the case, I would recommend he doesn't ride that cart down a hill.
ck
Thursday, November 20, 2008
11-20/Going Down, Hand in Hand
In the 90's there was an indoor roller rink called Laces. Similar to bell-bottoms and afro's, it was the 90's way of reminding you that one day, when you're older, you are going to look back and cringe.
I had been invited by a girl to go to Laces, and it appeared that perhaps she had asked me out on a date. Not knowing much about girls, and that wearing sweatpants to the library was unacceptable, I didn't know the difference. She was my first crush, and it didn't dawn on me, that maybe she liked me too. In fact, I thought it was a hoax.
Even in the library, with my sweatpants and 94 Rangers Stanley Cup Champions hat, I still didn't get it when she asked me out.
Her mom dropped us off, accompanied by 2 of her other friends. I felt pretty good about roller skating, since I had just started playing roller hockey - and when I say just started, I mean I wore quad roller skates that were 2 sizes too small. Along with the skates, I had built most of my goalie equipment out of cardboard, and I could barely stand up.
As we skated to some Boyz to Men song hand in hand, I felt pretty good about everything. Maybe this was for real. Was I going to join the ranks of the 8th grade elite who had a boy/girlfriend and......kissed???
(15 years later, I found out that there was much more than just kissing going on when boys and girls hung out and experimented. The only experimenting I was doing was dipping popcorn in the nacho cheese at Bay Terrace while seeing "The Mask" with Fabe. John made pizzas at his aunts house.)
As "Shoop" by Salt-n-Peppa played, I started to question how I looked on these rented skates. Was I actually looking like the roller hockey player I had boasted? I actually remember answering the mom's question of "Do you know how to skate?" with a defiant, "Yeah. I play hockey."
(Flashback to the bended piece of cardboard with cut out neckhole, placed over catcher's chest protector. The Eddie Belfour Blackhawks plastic goalie mask borrowed from Mike next door too small for my head.)
Making a turn, I felt my weight shift to the left, and I started losing my balance. I countermeasured the loss to the left, with a twist to the right, ignoring the rules I will learn in driver's ed a few years later about what to do in a skid. I was going down. Hand in Hand.
Just then I caught myself. Actually.....I caught her while naturally trying to grab something while losing balance.
It grabbed something alright. Her. Her right one.
Pretending like nothing happened, we skated on. I would get another chance at Laces with her weeks later. I harmed this second chance by lathering up in Drakar Noir.
Thinking that sweatpants, and a tan St. John's Red Storm t-shirt was appropriate, I worked up quite a sweat. Shocker. I had become immersed in sweat, evident by the bib like stain that shadowed the front of my shirt. Not like a baby's bib - more like a lobster bib.
It was safe to say there was no hand in hand skate to "Always and Forever."
But things have turned out just spectacular since.
ck
I had been invited by a girl to go to Laces, and it appeared that perhaps she had asked me out on a date. Not knowing much about girls, and that wearing sweatpants to the library was unacceptable, I didn't know the difference. She was my first crush, and it didn't dawn on me, that maybe she liked me too. In fact, I thought it was a hoax.
Even in the library, with my sweatpants and 94 Rangers Stanley Cup Champions hat, I still didn't get it when she asked me out.
Her mom dropped us off, accompanied by 2 of her other friends. I felt pretty good about roller skating, since I had just started playing roller hockey - and when I say just started, I mean I wore quad roller skates that were 2 sizes too small. Along with the skates, I had built most of my goalie equipment out of cardboard, and I could barely stand up.
As we skated to some Boyz to Men song hand in hand, I felt pretty good about everything. Maybe this was for real. Was I going to join the ranks of the 8th grade elite who had a boy/girlfriend and......kissed???
(15 years later, I found out that there was much more than just kissing going on when boys and girls hung out and experimented. The only experimenting I was doing was dipping popcorn in the nacho cheese at Bay Terrace while seeing "The Mask" with Fabe. John made pizzas at his aunts house.)
As "Shoop" by Salt-n-Peppa played, I started to question how I looked on these rented skates. Was I actually looking like the roller hockey player I had boasted? I actually remember answering the mom's question of "Do you know how to skate?" with a defiant, "Yeah. I play hockey."
(Flashback to the bended piece of cardboard with cut out neckhole, placed over catcher's chest protector. The Eddie Belfour Blackhawks plastic goalie mask borrowed from Mike next door too small for my head.)
Making a turn, I felt my weight shift to the left, and I started losing my balance. I countermeasured the loss to the left, with a twist to the right, ignoring the rules I will learn in driver's ed a few years later about what to do in a skid. I was going down. Hand in Hand.
Just then I caught myself. Actually.....I caught her while naturally trying to grab something while losing balance.
It grabbed something alright. Her. Her right one.
Pretending like nothing happened, we skated on. I would get another chance at Laces with her weeks later. I harmed this second chance by lathering up in Drakar Noir.
Thinking that sweatpants, and a tan St. John's Red Storm t-shirt was appropriate, I worked up quite a sweat. Shocker. I had become immersed in sweat, evident by the bib like stain that shadowed the front of my shirt. Not like a baby's bib - more like a lobster bib.
It was safe to say there was no hand in hand skate to "Always and Forever."
But things have turned out just spectacular since.
ck
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
RE:11-15/Tis the Season Already
Anonymous posted:
Oh it's so much fun to have all my weeekends free to watch football and have some tasty wings instead of having to purchase presents for some family member I have never met. Maybe while everyone is out toasting the town and I'm stuck putting up Christmas lights, I'll use your same blow up dolls and recreate a fun poker game with my closest buddies. Maybe we'll even plan a fun MAN-cation. Fist pound bro!And who doesn't love getting drunk phone calls while you watch Mama Mia on DVD. "Hey broseph, the bar is swimming with chicks tonight, Wooooo!!!" Woooo indeed my friend. My buddy that is also in a relationship (and sorry he doesn't have a cool nickname like Paps or Hank or "The Chad-ster") suggests that we call you at 7:30 AM to join us when we spend yet another Sunday shopping for a gift for Sophia and Vinnie's baby shower.Look at those guys at the bar high fiving because the local football team just scored, go fuck yourselves.
November 18, 2008 9:47 AM
1. I dont have weekends off. You can call me at 730am Sundays, I'll be at work.
2. Hank is an awesome name.
3. How come you buy presents for someone you've never met at least once?
ck
Oh it's so much fun to have all my weeekends free to watch football and have some tasty wings instead of having to purchase presents for some family member I have never met. Maybe while everyone is out toasting the town and I'm stuck putting up Christmas lights, I'll use your same blow up dolls and recreate a fun poker game with my closest buddies. Maybe we'll even plan a fun MAN-cation. Fist pound bro!And who doesn't love getting drunk phone calls while you watch Mama Mia on DVD. "Hey broseph, the bar is swimming with chicks tonight, Wooooo!!!" Woooo indeed my friend. My buddy that is also in a relationship (and sorry he doesn't have a cool nickname like Paps or Hank or "The Chad-ster") suggests that we call you at 7:30 AM to join us when we spend yet another Sunday shopping for a gift for Sophia and Vinnie's baby shower.Look at those guys at the bar high fiving because the local football team just scored, go fuck yourselves.
November 18, 2008 9:47 AM
1. I dont have weekends off. You can call me at 730am Sundays, I'll be at work.
2. Hank is an awesome name.
3. How come you buy presents for someone you've never met at least once?
ck
11-18/"Daddy-No's"
Things not to do in Greenwich Village.
-Wait for someone over 10 minutes on the same street corner.
-Do not give directions to anyone. While standing next to the subway, a gentleman who was acting extra masculine, asked me where the subway was. After directing him the 5 feet to the entrance, he said "Thanks bro." Then he stopped and asked about the weather, then said, "Ok take it easy bro." Then he stopped again, but I got on a fake phone call really fast, and started yelling at the other party.
- Man appears with a single white rose wrapped in plastic behind his back. He's wearing a hoodie, and black jean jacket from the 90's. He walks past me and turns the corner - only to walk past again seconds later.
-Enter stage right : Large man with beard wearing a single jump suit fatigue - Man with handlebar mustache, tucked in t shirt to very tight white jeans wearing a harness and what appeared to be a whip - and tall man in overcoat and knapsack - They cross the street.
-Man with rose walks past, hood up this time, turns the corner, then reappears seconds later.
-Gentleman in Members only jacket and brown derby hat, starts complaining about the rain very loudly, throwing his arms around.
-Man with rose walks by again and turns the corner. This time he reappears with a woman(dressed like it at least) who resembles the prostitute from the "Life and Times of Tim." She/He is walking ahead of rose guy pretending not to know him (so it seems). I swear I hear him say "But I got you a flower!" He walks away with her, but she still doesn't act like she knows him.
-Update : People still go to packed bars. People still pay 7 dollars for a beer. People still wear tight shirts.
-In a bar where man in turtleneck sweater serves drinks. I am sweat-ing. The bar is named "Daddy-O's" I scared away a table of Cs because I threw in a dip.
- Friends talk about business meetings with Matt Leinart, agents, cool haircuts, and "closing deals." I mentioned I saw Pete Harnisch at Waldbaums once. (Never confirmed)
Home Sweet Home. Don't know where it is.
ck
Saturday, November 15, 2008
11-15/'Tis the Season...already
If you haven't noticed, this year's holiday season has been accelerated. Christmas songs are already playing on satellite radio, select FM stations, and radio station websites. Holiday sales are also starting early, not only to get us in the holiday mood, but also because stores need a boost to their bottom line.
Well, Christmas, if you want some of this early, then come and get it.
I've got my motha'f----ng sweaters at the cleaners. My little winter hat with the stupid f----ng ball on top of it is out of storage - and my ice skates are getting sharpened.
Wollman Rink, NYC. Yeah, you. I'll be there. Ill be the guy pretending to not know how to skate and take down happy couples skating around. Laughing, giggling. Uh oh..... watch out..... really large guy doesn't know how to skate coming right at us! BAM!
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry you guys!!" I say in that black guy imitating white guy voice. "I'm so bad at skating, I just wanted to have a good time. Let me get some napkins for that blood, bro."
I skate away, accidentally over the rose that Johnny Loser got for his girl. I turn back, put my mitten covered hand over my head, roll my eyes upward sheepishly, and mouth the words , "So sorry..."
Paps decided that we should duct tape rose-holding blow up dolls to our hands, and skate around in serendipitous bliss. We would dress them up classy, of course, donned with a nice coat, classy scarf - what kind of weirdos do you think we are?
Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. Hi. Any loser couples checking you out this evening? Holy Shit its a huge tree with lights! Hurry up and get to Chez Max before you're late for Mamma Mia.
Somewhere around Lincoln Center a derranged homeless man has broken into a 3 story apartment. Walking down the street is Jenny with her very nervous gentleman lover: a pressing question on his mind. He stops her underneath a bare oak tree decorated with white Christmas lights. Descending down onto one knee, he pulls out a black velvet box and says, "Jenny, I lo.........."
Then, in superhero fashion, the derranged bum jumps off of a third story fire escape, swinging on a rope of bedsheets tied together like Tarzan. He swings right through the couple, snatching the box from the hand of the stunned gentleman, landing in a pile of garbage bags. He springs up and starts running. Johhny Gentleman starts crying. Dont worry, the ring was insured.
Saks Fifth Ave window bullshit. Awww how cute. Man! This garbage makes me want to go buy overpriced stuff in this store!
Overheard being said by douchebag.
"Sweetheart, this window wonderland has put me in the mood for some hot chocolate. Let's say we go get some at a cafe and then go buy some stuff here. What do you think hun?"
F--K YOU is what I think.
Oh, how sweet, its snowing. Don't eat the yellow snow.
CK
Well, Christmas, if you want some of this early, then come and get it.
I've got my motha'f----ng sweaters at the cleaners. My little winter hat with the stupid f----ng ball on top of it is out of storage - and my ice skates are getting sharpened.
Wollman Rink, NYC. Yeah, you. I'll be there. Ill be the guy pretending to not know how to skate and take down happy couples skating around. Laughing, giggling. Uh oh..... watch out..... really large guy doesn't know how to skate coming right at us! BAM!
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry you guys!!" I say in that black guy imitating white guy voice. "I'm so bad at skating, I just wanted to have a good time. Let me get some napkins for that blood, bro."
I skate away, accidentally over the rose that Johnny Loser got for his girl. I turn back, put my mitten covered hand over my head, roll my eyes upward sheepishly, and mouth the words , "So sorry..."
Paps decided that we should duct tape rose-holding blow up dolls to our hands, and skate around in serendipitous bliss. We would dress them up classy, of course, donned with a nice coat, classy scarf - what kind of weirdos do you think we are?
Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. Hi. Any loser couples checking you out this evening? Holy Shit its a huge tree with lights! Hurry up and get to Chez Max before you're late for Mamma Mia.
Somewhere around Lincoln Center a derranged homeless man has broken into a 3 story apartment. Walking down the street is Jenny with her very nervous gentleman lover: a pressing question on his mind. He stops her underneath a bare oak tree decorated with white Christmas lights. Descending down onto one knee, he pulls out a black velvet box and says, "Jenny, I lo.........."
Then, in superhero fashion, the derranged bum jumps off of a third story fire escape, swinging on a rope of bedsheets tied together like Tarzan. He swings right through the couple, snatching the box from the hand of the stunned gentleman, landing in a pile of garbage bags. He springs up and starts running. Johhny Gentleman starts crying. Dont worry, the ring was insured.
Saks Fifth Ave window bullshit. Awww how cute. Man! This garbage makes me want to go buy overpriced stuff in this store!
Overheard being said by douchebag.
"Sweetheart, this window wonderland has put me in the mood for some hot chocolate. Let's say we go get some at a cafe and then go buy some stuff here. What do you think hun?"
F--K YOU is what I think.
Oh, how sweet, its snowing. Don't eat the yellow snow.
CK
Thursday, November 13, 2008
11-13/Sweating to the Oldies
As I sat in the first row of forward facing seats, I clutched my gym bag, shifting nervously. I was perpendicular to the sideways facing seats, occupied by two girls, en route to the same high school as me.
The mere fact that they were Cs, created a glisten on my brow, as I didn't want them to catch me staring at their legs as they probably assumed I would be. The C-ness was strong in these two, marked by their arrogant tone as they told each other stories of being Cs.
Hoping I would catch a story about them doing X-rated things to either Zach or Slater in the bathroom of the Max, I heard them start talking about B.O. This was strange, I thought, as a couple of Cs like this would probably have no interest in talking about something as foul as body odor.
Then their tone got louder. They started proclamating about the importance of showering in the morning. It hit me. They were using their C powers to make fun of me, thinking that I smelled. I may not have been "fit" or "likeable" but damn it, I certainly never smelled bad. I wanted to tell these Cs this, but I had no backup, and it bothered me.
Nothing smelled on me, not even the gym bag. I was going to, though, have to take the C-bashing I was getting, and like it. I finally got to school, then put a whole bagel in my mouth for 5 dollars.
I did hate gym day though. I am a "sweater," but I don't mind it as long as I am in the right attire for it. After school, no problem. Third period, problem. As much of a health nut as I was, I wish someone would have told me in nutrition class, that a cold Pepsi is not really a remedy for thirst.
Going to high school, I was always concerned about showering after gym class. I was even going to choose my high school based on whether or not the school forced you to shower after. I guess I was watching "The Wonder Years" too much, and assumed that showering after gym was a way of life. Thankfully, that was not the case, so instead I could just sit and learn about the Moors and algebra in a steam of my own sweat.
I was always freaked out about the showers. I could see them in the corner of the locker room taunting me.
"Get nude and shower with other boys," I could hear them whisper; the nozzles oddly shaped like male genitalia.
Running away I would think, "No. Thank you. I have powder and deodorant."
ck. I hope you eat that whole plate of cheese.
The mere fact that they were Cs, created a glisten on my brow, as I didn't want them to catch me staring at their legs as they probably assumed I would be. The C-ness was strong in these two, marked by their arrogant tone as they told each other stories of being Cs.
Hoping I would catch a story about them doing X-rated things to either Zach or Slater in the bathroom of the Max, I heard them start talking about B.O. This was strange, I thought, as a couple of Cs like this would probably have no interest in talking about something as foul as body odor.
Then their tone got louder. They started proclamating about the importance of showering in the morning. It hit me. They were using their C powers to make fun of me, thinking that I smelled. I may not have been "fit" or "likeable" but damn it, I certainly never smelled bad. I wanted to tell these Cs this, but I had no backup, and it bothered me.
Nothing smelled on me, not even the gym bag. I was going to, though, have to take the C-bashing I was getting, and like it. I finally got to school, then put a whole bagel in my mouth for 5 dollars.
I did hate gym day though. I am a "sweater," but I don't mind it as long as I am in the right attire for it. After school, no problem. Third period, problem. As much of a health nut as I was, I wish someone would have told me in nutrition class, that a cold Pepsi is not really a remedy for thirst.
Going to high school, I was always concerned about showering after gym class. I was even going to choose my high school based on whether or not the school forced you to shower after. I guess I was watching "The Wonder Years" too much, and assumed that showering after gym was a way of life. Thankfully, that was not the case, so instead I could just sit and learn about the Moors and algebra in a steam of my own sweat.
I was always freaked out about the showers. I could see them in the corner of the locker room taunting me.
"Get nude and shower with other boys," I could hear them whisper; the nozzles oddly shaped like male genitalia.
Running away I would think, "No. Thank you. I have powder and deodorant."
ck. I hope you eat that whole plate of cheese.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
11-8/Picture of the Week
You know what they say, "The camera adds 10 to 100 pounds."
ck ( taken at JFK May '08 )
Friday, November 7, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
11-6/Thank you Little Rock
While at the gym today I realized two things. First, I am going to try a triathlon. Second, I really want to be in a band.
On the treadmill, I use different tools to motivate me. Sometimes I just think of something that enrages me, and its enough fuel to get the job done. However, when coupled with music, I'm a regular Jackie Joyner-Kersey.
One of my oldest fantasies takes place at the show of one my favorite bands. I've disclosed this to only a select,very very very special few, but I decided why not spread the love around. It was something that I thought about back in probably the 8th grade, but over the years specifics have changed.
The setting of this motivational fantasy takes place in the St. Fidelis Elementary School's auditorium, capable of handling about 250 people. In the crowd of 250 is me and some friends, and also the girl that I like.
Background : I had run into the band earlier at some arbitrary neighborhood store, where I tell them that I was coming to the show, and a conversation ensues. We talk about music, what type of music I write, and I give them an insight about my motivations for writing it. We leave on great terms, with an invite to hang after the show.
The band in the daydream changes, depending on what song I'm 'training' to. At the show, they finish up a song, and then it goes something like this...
"Hey, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone that has come out tonight. I know we're in a small place, but we figured it would be cool to do something low key for you guys," the lead singer says, sparking a drunken roar from the crowd.
"But now, I figured we'd do something different, and invite a friend of ours to the stage to play xxxxx with us. Come on up here!" he says pointing to me.
I am shocked, but I love this song and I know how to play it. After 2 seconds of astonished silence, the crowd erupts, and the people that know me start chanting my name.
As I hit the stage, the lead singer gives me one of those high fives with the half hug and hands me his Les Paul. He then says,
"Guys, this is Chris!" evoking roars from the crowd. I glance at the girl for a moment and go to stage right, where a mic stand is set up.
We start the song, and I even start singing backup vocals. The lead singer turns his head while singing, keeping his torso facing forward, giving me a surprised glance. After a nod and a smile, he swivels his head back around to the front of the microphone to align it with his body, as his left hand grabs the mic stand.
As the chorus comes around, I start to get more comfortable. The initial fear and nervousness has subsided, as I realize the whole band is behind me, cheering me on with silent approval - only apparent in nods and gestures from their heads, and hands, when free from the instruments.
As the second verse comes up, the lead singer walks away from the mic. He picks up another guitar and starts playing rhythm. I realize that no one is near the mic to start singing. Then they all look at me, and I know what to do.
I start singing, eyes closed for parts of emphasis, then opened to lock into hers. I start singing the words as if I'm having a conversation with her alone in a city coffee shop on a December night. Within the daydream, I think of me speaking the words of the song, glancing at her black coat, the battlefield for resilient snowflakes to lose their fight with the warmth of the fire.
Back in the {fake} moment on stage, I close my eyes again as I come towards the end of the verse. Sucking in the emotion of the situation, I hit the note perfectly at the end of the verse, catapulting me into the guitar solo of the song. I step aside from my mic, and wander toward a smaller amp, where I throw my foot up on top of it, and stare at the girl while finishing the solo.
The song finishes up, and the crowd goes wild. The band all leave their positions and come over to me to congratulate me for 'rocking out.' I look at the girl once more- her head is cocked to the side with a half smile, hands clutching the scarf hanging around her neck like the straps of a backpack. She lowers her head and closes her eyes for a moment, only to glance up and return them back towards mine.
Usually the fading of the song enlightens my auditory senses to the fact that my hoofs have been thunderously pounding the treadmill. I realize that the whole gym is probably wondering why such a large gentleman has yet to break the machine.
I always thought this was funny, but it's good motivation. Usually, the right girl always is.
ck....biggs.
On the treadmill, I use different tools to motivate me. Sometimes I just think of something that enrages me, and its enough fuel to get the job done. However, when coupled with music, I'm a regular Jackie Joyner-Kersey.
One of my oldest fantasies takes place at the show of one my favorite bands. I've disclosed this to only a select,very very very special few, but I decided why not spread the love around. It was something that I thought about back in probably the 8th grade, but over the years specifics have changed.
The setting of this motivational fantasy takes place in the St. Fidelis Elementary School's auditorium, capable of handling about 250 people. In the crowd of 250 is me and some friends, and also the girl that I like.
Background : I had run into the band earlier at some arbitrary neighborhood store, where I tell them that I was coming to the show, and a conversation ensues. We talk about music, what type of music I write, and I give them an insight about my motivations for writing it. We leave on great terms, with an invite to hang after the show.
The band in the daydream changes, depending on what song I'm 'training' to. At the show, they finish up a song, and then it goes something like this...
"Hey, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone that has come out tonight. I know we're in a small place, but we figured it would be cool to do something low key for you guys," the lead singer says, sparking a drunken roar from the crowd.
"But now, I figured we'd do something different, and invite a friend of ours to the stage to play xxxxx with us. Come on up here!" he says pointing to me.
I am shocked, but I love this song and I know how to play it. After 2 seconds of astonished silence, the crowd erupts, and the people that know me start chanting my name.
As I hit the stage, the lead singer gives me one of those high fives with the half hug and hands me his Les Paul. He then says,
"Guys, this is Chris!" evoking roars from the crowd. I glance at the girl for a moment and go to stage right, where a mic stand is set up.
We start the song, and I even start singing backup vocals. The lead singer turns his head while singing, keeping his torso facing forward, giving me a surprised glance. After a nod and a smile, he swivels his head back around to the front of the microphone to align it with his body, as his left hand grabs the mic stand.
As the chorus comes around, I start to get more comfortable. The initial fear and nervousness has subsided, as I realize the whole band is behind me, cheering me on with silent approval - only apparent in nods and gestures from their heads, and hands, when free from the instruments.
As the second verse comes up, the lead singer walks away from the mic. He picks up another guitar and starts playing rhythm. I realize that no one is near the mic to start singing. Then they all look at me, and I know what to do.
I start singing, eyes closed for parts of emphasis, then opened to lock into hers. I start singing the words as if I'm having a conversation with her alone in a city coffee shop on a December night. Within the daydream, I think of me speaking the words of the song, glancing at her black coat, the battlefield for resilient snowflakes to lose their fight with the warmth of the fire.
Back in the {fake} moment on stage, I close my eyes again as I come towards the end of the verse. Sucking in the emotion of the situation, I hit the note perfectly at the end of the verse, catapulting me into the guitar solo of the song. I step aside from my mic, and wander toward a smaller amp, where I throw my foot up on top of it, and stare at the girl while finishing the solo.
The song finishes up, and the crowd goes wild. The band all leave their positions and come over to me to congratulate me for 'rocking out.' I look at the girl once more- her head is cocked to the side with a half smile, hands clutching the scarf hanging around her neck like the straps of a backpack. She lowers her head and closes her eyes for a moment, only to glance up and return them back towards mine.
Usually the fading of the song enlightens my auditory senses to the fact that my hoofs have been thunderously pounding the treadmill. I realize that the whole gym is probably wondering why such a large gentleman has yet to break the machine.
I always thought this was funny, but it's good motivation. Usually, the right girl always is.
ck....biggs.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
11-5/Interesting
You ask for it........ you got it, Toyota. You ask for it........ you got it, Toyota. You ask for it........ you got it, Toyota.
ck
ck
Monday, November 3, 2008
11-3/Line of the Day
Fabian on Chris Berman interviewing the candidates during halftime of monday night football.
"Back back back back....vote!"
ck
"Back back back back....vote!"
ck
Saturday, November 1, 2008
11-1/Run, Colin, Run
In support of my friend Colin, I'm going to make fun of him for running in the NYC Marathon.
Things going through his mind while running.
At the start line, waiting for the race to begin.
-Can I get a little room here?
-What is that smell?
-I want to run next to that one! Italian gesture and then "minkia!" out loud.
Race begins
-Im in such good f#&#ng shape!
-"Im in such good f%^&**ing shape!" said to the pretty girl he's running next to.
Mile 14
-I think Chris was going to live here once. What an ass.
Mile 15
-"Did you know the Queensboro bridge was built in 1745 in preparation for the elephants to cross during the Battle of Gettysburg?" Pretty girl says, "I did hear that actually."
Mile 22
-Uhhh,Ahem,Uhhh,Ahem,Ahem,Uhhh...
Mile 24
-Im in such good f#**ng shape!
Mile 26
-I hope Phil is waiting for me.
When I was a child, and my parents wanted me to be "healthier," I was enrolled in the New York Road Runners. The NYRR is a widely popular running club that celebrates not being obese, and is responsible for creating the marathon 31 years ago.
I remember when we had a 'meet' at our local park. I must have been about 8 or 9. I was wearing the sweatshirt that they gave me, which of course, was way too tight. I was keeping pace ( with an old man walking liesurely around the park ), and I knew that the finish line was close ( I could hear the Mr. Softee that was waiting for me).
While getting close to the end, I noticed a dog was running at me in the distance. As I've come to learn, dogs want to play when you are running, and not necessarily eat me. This dog came up on me, leaping in the air, almost with its paws on my shoulders. I tried running away faster and faster, but it was to no avail. I starting sobbing uncontrollably as I was trying to fend off this dog.
The owner finally caught up to us, and was able to get the dog to heel. My mother was laughing, I think. After I was released from its grips, sobbing, I tried to get this way-too-small sweatshirt off of me. Struggling, trying to get the tight neck around my bulbous head, I started to shout about how I'm never doing this again. I got this tight sweatshirt off, messing my hair, and threw it onto the ground and walked away.
Go Colin!
ck
Things going through his mind while running.
At the start line, waiting for the race to begin.
-Can I get a little room here?
-What is that smell?
-I want to run next to that one! Italian gesture and then "minkia!" out loud.
Race begins
-Im in such good f#&#ng shape!
-"Im in such good f%^&**ing shape!" said to the pretty girl he's running next to.
Mile 14
-I think Chris was going to live here once. What an ass.
Mile 15
-"Did you know the Queensboro bridge was built in 1745 in preparation for the elephants to cross during the Battle of Gettysburg?" Pretty girl says, "I did hear that actually."
Mile 22
-Uhhh,Ahem,Uhhh,Ahem,Ahem,Uhhh...
Mile 24
-Im in such good f#**ng shape!
Mile 26
-I hope Phil is waiting for me.
When I was a child, and my parents wanted me to be "healthier," I was enrolled in the New York Road Runners. The NYRR is a widely popular running club that celebrates not being obese, and is responsible for creating the marathon 31 years ago.
I remember when we had a 'meet' at our local park. I must have been about 8 or 9. I was wearing the sweatshirt that they gave me, which of course, was way too tight. I was keeping pace ( with an old man walking liesurely around the park ), and I knew that the finish line was close ( I could hear the Mr. Softee that was waiting for me).
While getting close to the end, I noticed a dog was running at me in the distance. As I've come to learn, dogs want to play when you are running, and not necessarily eat me. This dog came up on me, leaping in the air, almost with its paws on my shoulders. I tried running away faster and faster, but it was to no avail. I starting sobbing uncontrollably as I was trying to fend off this dog.
The owner finally caught up to us, and was able to get the dog to heel. My mother was laughing, I think. After I was released from its grips, sobbing, I tried to get this way-too-small sweatshirt off of me. Struggling, trying to get the tight neck around my bulbous head, I started to shout about how I'm never doing this again. I got this tight sweatshirt off, messing my hair, and threw it onto the ground and walked away.
Go Colin!
ck
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