Friday, February 5, 2010
A (true) short story
My dentist said I grind my teeth and tried to sell me a night guard. I laughed him off thinking that a lot of people grind their teeth, he just wanted to make a few quick bucks. Two nights later I had a dream I was chewing a whole wad of bubble gum. There was so much gum, my mouth was stuck shut. I woke up clenching my teeth. Stupid dentist.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Falling With Style 2
I'm not afraid of dying. Nope. I'd prefer I didn't die tomorrow, I have too much to do but if (snaps fingers) that was that then no problem. Hell, I'm spiritual and either there's some big, great beyond or there's not. Guess what? If I'm wrong I won't be in any position to care.
I am, however, greatly concerned with HOW I die. In other words I'd like it to be as peaceful as possible.
Willingly falling thousands of feet from a fully functioning airplane just to slam into the ground, bones shattering, blood spraying etc. would not classify as a top 5 in the ways I'd like to shuffle off this mortal coil. When my good friend and co-worker Josh years ago asked if I wanted to go skydiving I replied no. No thank you. Not happening, good day sir.
But when he asked again at the end of last year in preparation for his birthday I said yes. I had trouble thinking of why exactly and then something he said made me pinpoint what it was. On Josh's bucket list two of the larger items were:
1. Sky dive
2. Go cage diving with sharks
He had asked who wanted to join him on both activities. I wanted to sky dive. It seemed interesting. I did not want to go cage diving with sharks. The reasoning was very simple, I didn't want to swim with sharks because I felt that the sharks would be bored with me, they are giant fish that live in the sea who got a bad rap because of a movie made 30 years ago, I feel kind of sorry for them. You are lowered in a cage so there's no real suspense and there is also 0% guarantee on the day you're in the water the sharks will appear. I have no real desire to spend a lot of $$$ for an experience I have no emotional connection to. (NOTE: I wish Josh luck with this quest.)
This however was not my reasoning for jumping out of a plane. I didn't want to go skydiving because I was afraid of it. It looked fun. I bet it was a really awesome experience. The only thing holding me back was fear, plain and simple. That was a shitty reason. So when he asked again I said yes.
The build up was surprisingly painless. I realized I wasn't doing any hard work, my tandem partner was doing the heavy lifting and assuming they hadn't been having marital problems or any substance abuse issues, they too would want to stay alive as much as I would.
The drive out to the airfield was about 2 1/2 hours. It was moi, Josh, Josh's cousin Alan and Rich. We arrived at the hanger and were greeted with bright smiles. They were very enthusiastic that we would be jumping with them. They brightly handed over the largest waiver form I've ever seen which was basically five pages saying the same thing: "There is no guarantee that under even the best circumstances that this will not kill or horrifically maim you! By signing this you can never, ever, EVER sue us, this is all your fault!" And it's true, once up in the air, anything could happen. No one dragged us there, this was our choice. I never blinked, never thought "let's get out of here" but the thought did cross my mind that IF some freak accident were to occur and IF I was horribly injured but still alive how pissed at myself I would be. I shrugged my shoulders and signed, let future Greg worry about that.
A video on safety quickly turned from boring into epic with the appearance of this gentleman:
I don't know what Skydiving Rasputin's name is but for some insane reason this is the man they chose to host the video on the joys of falling out of a plane. No wonder he loves it, nothing can kill Rasputin!
Following the surprisingly hilarious, not reassuring at all video, we waited around. We talked to some other folks who had just jumped, I ran into a co-worker of mine Lauren who had just finished jumping (small world) and passed the time anticipated our turn. I saw that one of the staff wore a bright blue jumpsuit with flames and hoped that they would be my partner. If you are going to do something potentially fatal it's best that your partner looks amazing.
After about an hour we were up. Alan's partner seemed pretty cool, down to earth, nothing too flashy. Rich got paired up with a large man with a huge scar on his face, if I was a foreign country and this duo parachuted in I would surrender immediately. Josh got a little French man who spoke with a thick accent. From his look and manner of speech he and Klaus Kinski would have made excellent co-stars in some kind of buddy cop movie. As fate would have it I got the Blue Flame. Blue Flame was very cool in explaining the procedure, what to do on the plane, what to do once in the air and then how to land. We were all briefed on the protocol and that was it. Off we went.
There were 16 of us crammed in a little plane, I chatted a bit with Blue Flame. His wife had signed him up for skydiving years ago to get him over his fear of heights, he fell in love with it and quit his day job to do it full time. As the plane climbed I just kept thinking that the view we had out the window, all the empty space, we would be out in that within minutes. The door opened:
Out goes Josh.
Out goes Alan.
We're making out way towards the edge. My cameraman is hanging halfway out the door the camera in my face. I offer it a smile, I lean forward, then back and then I'm gone.
It's bizarre and I can't really do the whole falling sensation justice. The closest comparison and even this doesn't begin to describe the actual sensation, is that it's like riding a roller coaster but one where the car you are riding in shoots off into the air. Back in the hanger, watching the videos of the others the minute long free fall seemed to last forever but in reality it felt over within seconds. He pulled the cord and my harness pulled tight as the parachute deployed. Drifting down was surprisingly peaceful. One of the guys back in the hanger had offered us some advice: "Look around". He said your gut instinct would be to kind of freak out, almost not think about anything but he said the best thing to do is enjoy the ride. I watched the ocean, the trees, I steered the chute for a bit, I tried to take it in.
He told me to brace for a landing, hold my feet out, let his legs touch down first. I agreed and got ready. Then in one of those moments, the ones you would play if your life had a greatest hits countdown.
"Oh shit."
There are certain words you don't want your parachuting partner to say. Honestly next to "Oh shit" the only words I think I would deem worse would be "We're dead!". I manage a "Wha-"
That's it. I don't even have time for the "t". In an alternate world this is my last word, an aborted "What?!"
We go from in the air to on the ground in what feels like a flash. Thinking back it's amazing how at that last moment the ground just shot up at us. Trying to glide in we lost the current and dropped instead. We managed to miss the target area, landing in some bushes. My tailbone nails the ground and I'm shocked. What just happened? In a split second my mind flashes back to the waiver I signed, the even under the best circumstances anything can happen sentiment that had been stated and restated, over and over. I just didn't want to be paralyzed, I believe we can rise to whatever challenge is set in front of us but I really didn't want to be fucking paralyzed because I was being an idiot. I cursed past Greg and went to wiggle my fingers and toes. Everything worked. I was happy/still shocked when we stood. The kicker is Blue Flame seemed shaken up. I offered him a "Any landing you can walk away from is a good one" but he seemed pretty relieved we were both OK. For the record I think he did everything right, this isn't an exact science, stuff happens. We're fine.
We drove back to the facility and waited for our DVD's (my crash looks especially epic on Rich's disc). Since we had more time to kill I called the folks to tell them what we did. (I am no super genius but telling them after was definitely a good call) While we can put this whole heights thing behind me my mom made me promise if someone wanted to wrestle an alligator for their birthday that I wouldn't go along so I apologize in advance if that's anyone's plan.
I am, however, greatly concerned with HOW I die. In other words I'd like it to be as peaceful as possible.
Willingly falling thousands of feet from a fully functioning airplane just to slam into the ground, bones shattering, blood spraying etc. would not classify as a top 5 in the ways I'd like to shuffle off this mortal coil. When my good friend and co-worker Josh years ago asked if I wanted to go skydiving I replied no. No thank you. Not happening, good day sir.
But when he asked again at the end of last year in preparation for his birthday I said yes. I had trouble thinking of why exactly and then something he said made me pinpoint what it was. On Josh's bucket list two of the larger items were:
1. Sky dive
2. Go cage diving with sharks
He had asked who wanted to join him on both activities. I wanted to sky dive. It seemed interesting. I did not want to go cage diving with sharks. The reasoning was very simple, I didn't want to swim with sharks because I felt that the sharks would be bored with me, they are giant fish that live in the sea who got a bad rap because of a movie made 30 years ago, I feel kind of sorry for them. You are lowered in a cage so there's no real suspense and there is also 0% guarantee on the day you're in the water the sharks will appear. I have no real desire to spend a lot of $$$ for an experience I have no emotional connection to. (NOTE: I wish Josh luck with this quest.)
This however was not my reasoning for jumping out of a plane. I didn't want to go skydiving because I was afraid of it. It looked fun. I bet it was a really awesome experience. The only thing holding me back was fear, plain and simple. That was a shitty reason. So when he asked again I said yes.
The build up was surprisingly painless. I realized I wasn't doing any hard work, my tandem partner was doing the heavy lifting and assuming they hadn't been having marital problems or any substance abuse issues, they too would want to stay alive as much as I would.
The drive out to the airfield was about 2 1/2 hours. It was moi, Josh, Josh's cousin Alan and Rich. We arrived at the hanger and were greeted with bright smiles. They were very enthusiastic that we would be jumping with them. They brightly handed over the largest waiver form I've ever seen which was basically five pages saying the same thing: "There is no guarantee that under even the best circumstances that this will not kill or horrifically maim you! By signing this you can never, ever, EVER sue us, this is all your fault!" And it's true, once up in the air, anything could happen. No one dragged us there, this was our choice. I never blinked, never thought "let's get out of here" but the thought did cross my mind that IF some freak accident were to occur and IF I was horribly injured but still alive how pissed at myself I would be. I shrugged my shoulders and signed, let future Greg worry about that.
A video on safety quickly turned from boring into epic with the appearance of this gentleman:
I don't know what Skydiving Rasputin's name is but for some insane reason this is the man they chose to host the video on the joys of falling out of a plane. No wonder he loves it, nothing can kill Rasputin!
Following the surprisingly hilarious, not reassuring at all video, we waited around. We talked to some other folks who had just jumped, I ran into a co-worker of mine Lauren who had just finished jumping (small world) and passed the time anticipated our turn. I saw that one of the staff wore a bright blue jumpsuit with flames and hoped that they would be my partner. If you are going to do something potentially fatal it's best that your partner looks amazing.
After about an hour we were up. Alan's partner seemed pretty cool, down to earth, nothing too flashy. Rich got paired up with a large man with a huge scar on his face, if I was a foreign country and this duo parachuted in I would surrender immediately. Josh got a little French man who spoke with a thick accent. From his look and manner of speech he and Klaus Kinski would have made excellent co-stars in some kind of buddy cop movie. As fate would have it I got the Blue Flame. Blue Flame was very cool in explaining the procedure, what to do on the plane, what to do once in the air and then how to land. We were all briefed on the protocol and that was it. Off we went.
There were 16 of us crammed in a little plane, I chatted a bit with Blue Flame. His wife had signed him up for skydiving years ago to get him over his fear of heights, he fell in love with it and quit his day job to do it full time. As the plane climbed I just kept thinking that the view we had out the window, all the empty space, we would be out in that within minutes. The door opened:
Out goes Josh.
Out goes Alan.
We're making out way towards the edge. My cameraman is hanging halfway out the door the camera in my face. I offer it a smile, I lean forward, then back and then I'm gone.
It's bizarre and I can't really do the whole falling sensation justice. The closest comparison and even this doesn't begin to describe the actual sensation, is that it's like riding a roller coaster but one where the car you are riding in shoots off into the air. Back in the hanger, watching the videos of the others the minute long free fall seemed to last forever but in reality it felt over within seconds. He pulled the cord and my harness pulled tight as the parachute deployed. Drifting down was surprisingly peaceful. One of the guys back in the hanger had offered us some advice: "Look around". He said your gut instinct would be to kind of freak out, almost not think about anything but he said the best thing to do is enjoy the ride. I watched the ocean, the trees, I steered the chute for a bit, I tried to take it in.
He told me to brace for a landing, hold my feet out, let his legs touch down first. I agreed and got ready. Then in one of those moments, the ones you would play if your life had a greatest hits countdown.
"Oh shit."
There are certain words you don't want your parachuting partner to say. Honestly next to "Oh shit" the only words I think I would deem worse would be "We're dead!". I manage a "Wha-"
That's it. I don't even have time for the "t". In an alternate world this is my last word, an aborted "What?!"
We go from in the air to on the ground in what feels like a flash. Thinking back it's amazing how at that last moment the ground just shot up at us. Trying to glide in we lost the current and dropped instead. We managed to miss the target area, landing in some bushes. My tailbone nails the ground and I'm shocked. What just happened? In a split second my mind flashes back to the waiver I signed, the even under the best circumstances anything can happen sentiment that had been stated and restated, over and over. I just didn't want to be paralyzed, I believe we can rise to whatever challenge is set in front of us but I really didn't want to be fucking paralyzed because I was being an idiot. I cursed past Greg and went to wiggle my fingers and toes. Everything worked. I was happy/still shocked when we stood. The kicker is Blue Flame seemed shaken up. I offered him a "Any landing you can walk away from is a good one" but he seemed pretty relieved we were both OK. For the record I think he did everything right, this isn't an exact science, stuff happens. We're fine.
We drove back to the facility and waited for our DVD's (my crash looks especially epic on Rich's disc). Since we had more time to kill I called the folks to tell them what we did. (I am no super genius but telling them after was definitely a good call) While we can put this whole heights thing behind me my mom made me promise if someone wanted to wrestle an alligator for their birthday that I wouldn't go along so I apologize in advance if that's anyone's plan.
Falling With Style 1
Heights and I have always had an odd relationship. (If you want to read how the skydiving went, mosey on over to part 2)
In elementary school there were certain Fridays where instead of the normal gym class consisting of soccer, basketball or any other type of game we would get to do more gymnastic type activities: a pummel horse, a section devoted to somersaults and for some odd reason a rope swing suspended off a platform. You would make your way up some stairs, step across the platform and swing a few feet off the ground. I don't remember the exact height, I do remember hating the fucking thing.
I'm not sure exactly what I thought would happen, the worst the fall would have done is knock the wind out of me but at the time the idea of stepping up off the platform and sailing into the air really scared me. I boycotted the swing for years, the last thing the gym teachers wanted was a hysterical child so they let me be. Years passed. It's not like these hybrid gymnastics days occurred that often so avoiding the rope swing became kind of a common practice, there was no reason to do it. That is until one day it occurred to me that there would come a time where I would be older and regret never having conquered that damn swing. Yes, even my undeveloped brain realized that adult Greg would not want to look back at what a little wuss he had been so one random Friday I just did it. Much to my surprise when I returned safely to the platform the whole class applauded. Looking back is a weird feeling because on the one hand it was a very nice gesture, I appreciate that they were happy for me. But there is another part of me that gets angry because in reality they weren't applauding my bravery, they were clapping because I had gotten over being a really big pussy. I'm not angry with them, I'm angry with me, what the hell was I so afraid of?
Several years later I'm being forced to take an outdoor adventure course (my father reasoning that being inside reading comics, watching black and white movies and cheering as Bret Hart wrestled people were not the most constructive activities) when we come across the day I've been dreading. There's a ropes course laid out 30 feet up in a row of trees. The only way to get up to the course is by a swinging rope ladder and you have to attach your own safety harness once you're at the top. I don't even think I could sleep the night before.
Getting up was easy, just grin and bear it and haul ass up that ladder. Passing the ropes course was simple as long as I didn't look down, this strategy only worked for so long however since upon climbing to the third tree I came across three platforms swinging in mid air which I would have to jump from one to the other.
Nailed the first.
Second one, little shaky but I'm on it so not a problem.
Third one, different story. I fly in between the support ropes and just hang by my safety line, the one that I tied. No words can describe the feeling, it was mortifying and it lasted for several minutes as I flailed around in mid air. Eventually it occurred to me that either:
A. Hang on this line until I die of fright or for some reason the rope snaps.
B. Wait for them to grab a big ladder or something to rescue me where I would die from embarrassment so same result as A.
C. Pull myself up to the third platform and continue on.
After five frantic minutes (holding up the line of kids behind me) I climb up and finish the course. I'll admit feeling pretty great when I reaches the ladder leading back down to sweet, safe, Planet Earth. I went to jump off in celebration, a sign of conquering this day but misjudged what step I was on, landing flat on my back. While my dignity had taken a blow the overall result of not having died while hanging thirty feet up seemed to electrify me. To this day my mother says a different child came home that afternoon. I guess having the just about worst case scenario play out was a blessing in disguise.
(NOTE: Some poor bastard behind me ended up disturbing a bees nest and ended up stuck 30 feet up getting stung repeatedly by bees and no one could help him. He was halfway through the course and had to complete it just to reach the ladder to get down. I hope he's off blogging somewhere about THAT.)
Shortly thereafter I became a huge fan of roller coasters, whereas I had avoided them like they were covered in bubonic plague as a kid, after the ropes course they seemed like nothing. I also reasoned that large companies wouldn't spend that much money on devices which would kill children so that logic helped as well. In other words, for all intents and purposes, the heights issue was closed.
Yet when my friend Josh purposed going skydiving back in 2007 I answered: NO WAY.
Why? Why bother to even tempt fate? It's literally like the grim reaper has you in the palm of his hand until someone pulls the parachute cord. Your hand slips or the chute doesn't open and that's it, you're street pizza. I shook my head, told him no and that was that.
But that was 2007.
In elementary school there were certain Fridays where instead of the normal gym class consisting of soccer, basketball or any other type of game we would get to do more gymnastic type activities: a pummel horse, a section devoted to somersaults and for some odd reason a rope swing suspended off a platform. You would make your way up some stairs, step across the platform and swing a few feet off the ground. I don't remember the exact height, I do remember hating the fucking thing.
I'm not sure exactly what I thought would happen, the worst the fall would have done is knock the wind out of me but at the time the idea of stepping up off the platform and sailing into the air really scared me. I boycotted the swing for years, the last thing the gym teachers wanted was a hysterical child so they let me be. Years passed. It's not like these hybrid gymnastics days occurred that often so avoiding the rope swing became kind of a common practice, there was no reason to do it. That is until one day it occurred to me that there would come a time where I would be older and regret never having conquered that damn swing. Yes, even my undeveloped brain realized that adult Greg would not want to look back at what a little wuss he had been so one random Friday I just did it. Much to my surprise when I returned safely to the platform the whole class applauded. Looking back is a weird feeling because on the one hand it was a very nice gesture, I appreciate that they were happy for me. But there is another part of me that gets angry because in reality they weren't applauding my bravery, they were clapping because I had gotten over being a really big pussy. I'm not angry with them, I'm angry with me, what the hell was I so afraid of?
Several years later I'm being forced to take an outdoor adventure course (my father reasoning that being inside reading comics, watching black and white movies and cheering as Bret Hart wrestled people were not the most constructive activities) when we come across the day I've been dreading. There's a ropes course laid out 30 feet up in a row of trees. The only way to get up to the course is by a swinging rope ladder and you have to attach your own safety harness once you're at the top. I don't even think I could sleep the night before.
Getting up was easy, just grin and bear it and haul ass up that ladder. Passing the ropes course was simple as long as I didn't look down, this strategy only worked for so long however since upon climbing to the third tree I came across three platforms swinging in mid air which I would have to jump from one to the other.
Nailed the first.
Second one, little shaky but I'm on it so not a problem.
Third one, different story. I fly in between the support ropes and just hang by my safety line, the one that I tied. No words can describe the feeling, it was mortifying and it lasted for several minutes as I flailed around in mid air. Eventually it occurred to me that either:
A. Hang on this line until I die of fright or for some reason the rope snaps.
B. Wait for them to grab a big ladder or something to rescue me where I would die from embarrassment so same result as A.
C. Pull myself up to the third platform and continue on.
After five frantic minutes (holding up the line of kids behind me) I climb up and finish the course. I'll admit feeling pretty great when I reaches the ladder leading back down to sweet, safe, Planet Earth. I went to jump off in celebration, a sign of conquering this day but misjudged what step I was on, landing flat on my back. While my dignity had taken a blow the overall result of not having died while hanging thirty feet up seemed to electrify me. To this day my mother says a different child came home that afternoon. I guess having the just about worst case scenario play out was a blessing in disguise.
(NOTE: Some poor bastard behind me ended up disturbing a bees nest and ended up stuck 30 feet up getting stung repeatedly by bees and no one could help him. He was halfway through the course and had to complete it just to reach the ladder to get down. I hope he's off blogging somewhere about THAT.)
Shortly thereafter I became a huge fan of roller coasters, whereas I had avoided them like they were covered in bubonic plague as a kid, after the ropes course they seemed like nothing. I also reasoned that large companies wouldn't spend that much money on devices which would kill children so that logic helped as well. In other words, for all intents and purposes, the heights issue was closed.
Yet when my friend Josh purposed going skydiving back in 2007 I answered: NO WAY.
Why? Why bother to even tempt fate? It's literally like the grim reaper has you in the palm of his hand until someone pulls the parachute cord. Your hand slips or the chute doesn't open and that's it, you're street pizza. I shook my head, told him no and that was that.
But that was 2007.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Meat Truck
A few weeks back I performed an autopsy on my deceased car to rescue my personal effects. It had taken me a while to find a batch of time for sorting out what to keep and what to chuck but Saturday afternoon I found myself with a few hours free (before the Jeff and Greg cleaning bonanza) and decided to move some stuff to Black Lighting.
I had just dropped some materials into the trunk and was placing some cd's in the center console when I heard a vehicle approaching. I shut my car door, turning back towards the house when I spied a small catering truck with a large picture of a steak plastered to the side. Seeing me the driver of the truck pulled to an abrupt stop and I was eye to eye with a man in a white, dingy catering outfit.
Mean Man # 1: We just came from (unintelligible) restaurant down the road.
I had been expecting a question, I assumed they were lost asking for directions. I had no answer to this so I nodded.
Meat Man #1: (Mumbling) prime rib and steak?
I figured this was a restaurant related question so I shook my head no. The man in the dirty white outfit looked confused.
Meat Man #1: (Suspicious) You DON'T like prime rib and steak?
In retrospect I should have replied "No, I don't. I'm vegan. Good day" but the way he asked "Hey MORON you don't like prime rib and steak?" brought out my defensive side so I shrugged with a "Well yeah..."
That was all the answer they needed. The driver pulled the car over and they both hopped out.
Meat Man#1 held out his hand and introduced himself, Meat Man #2 nodded at me. Throughout this odd little encounter he would never say a word. Meat Man #1 gestured towards the truck and opened the back (I stood several feet away for fear of them clubbing me and throwing me inside) and began throwing boxes of meat out onto the road. Meat Man #1 lines the boxes up on the sidewalk and opens them all so I can see the various cuts of beef (from hamburger to fillet mignon). I keep trying to say "No, I'm not interested" but he keeps cutting me off, offering to drop the price. While Meat Man# 1 tries desperately to haggle with me Meat Man# 2 wanders down the sidewalk, just looking at houses.
I tell him I can't afford any of this so he pulls out a pamphlet to show the other things they sell. This is when I observe that his left hand has been terribly injured. He wears a black cast and he can't seem to move his fingers, everything he does is one handed and the mangled hand remains 100% stationary the entire time we talk. As he tries to show off the pamplet his partner returns and leans down to hold one of the meat boxes. He seems as if he could care less and proceeds to spit chewing tobacco onto the front yard on his right. As Meat Man# 1 tries repeatedly to entice me Meat Man#2 continues spitting onto this well maintained lawn.
I thank the pitchman for his time but assure him I have no funds for this and return to my house. In all honesty they might have just been two harmless salesmen but really, who the hell sells meat out of the back of a truck to people they happen upon on the sidewalk?
Just a wonderfully bizarre episode from Saturday.
I had just dropped some materials into the trunk and was placing some cd's in the center console when I heard a vehicle approaching. I shut my car door, turning back towards the house when I spied a small catering truck with a large picture of a steak plastered to the side. Seeing me the driver of the truck pulled to an abrupt stop and I was eye to eye with a man in a white, dingy catering outfit.
Mean Man # 1: We just came from (unintelligible) restaurant down the road.
I had been expecting a question, I assumed they were lost asking for directions. I had no answer to this so I nodded.
Meat Man #1: (Mumbling) prime rib and steak?
I figured this was a restaurant related question so I shook my head no. The man in the dirty white outfit looked confused.
Meat Man #1: (Suspicious) You DON'T like prime rib and steak?
In retrospect I should have replied "No, I don't. I'm vegan. Good day" but the way he asked "Hey MORON you don't like prime rib and steak?" brought out my defensive side so I shrugged with a "Well yeah..."
That was all the answer they needed. The driver pulled the car over and they both hopped out.
Meat Man#1 held out his hand and introduced himself, Meat Man #2 nodded at me. Throughout this odd little encounter he would never say a word. Meat Man #1 gestured towards the truck and opened the back (I stood several feet away for fear of them clubbing me and throwing me inside) and began throwing boxes of meat out onto the road. Meat Man #1 lines the boxes up on the sidewalk and opens them all so I can see the various cuts of beef (from hamburger to fillet mignon). I keep trying to say "No, I'm not interested" but he keeps cutting me off, offering to drop the price. While Meat Man# 1 tries desperately to haggle with me Meat Man# 2 wanders down the sidewalk, just looking at houses.
I tell him I can't afford any of this so he pulls out a pamphlet to show the other things they sell. This is when I observe that his left hand has been terribly injured. He wears a black cast and he can't seem to move his fingers, everything he does is one handed and the mangled hand remains 100% stationary the entire time we talk. As he tries to show off the pamplet his partner returns and leans down to hold one of the meat boxes. He seems as if he could care less and proceeds to spit chewing tobacco onto the front yard on his right. As Meat Man# 1 tries repeatedly to entice me Meat Man#2 continues spitting onto this well maintained lawn.
I thank the pitchman for his time but assure him I have no funds for this and return to my house. In all honesty they might have just been two harmless salesmen but really, who the hell sells meat out of the back of a truck to people they happen upon on the sidewalk?
Just a wonderfully bizarre episode from Saturday.
Friday, April 10, 2009
I take requests.
Following my announcement on Facebook yesterday that a Grilled Cheese Invitational was coming to Los Angeles (!!!) I was indirectly challenged to construct a blog devoted to grilled cheese. Being someone who prides himself on having a story for any occasion I was horrifed to realize I really didn't have any specific gem ready to go. That is until a golden oldie, over a decade past, came to mind. It's a trifle, some stories are more epic than others but it made me smile then and now.
In Oneonta there is a small little diner which looks like the extension of your great Aunt's kitchen only restaurant size. While this in and of itself doesn't make the diner stand out, the fact it's full of creepy fucking dolls has burned itself onto my memory. All sorts of dolls line the walls and counters but even more off putting is the little dioramas all over the place. Fine detailed dioramas, resembling the ones you used to have to build for school are everywhere just filled with dolls.
-Little girl dolls
-Cowboy dolls
-Farmer dolls
-Soldier dolls
You get the idea.
One afternoon a while back it's my father, my grandfather (the ex boxer) and myself sitting down to lunch. Up until college I was a really picky eater, no salad dressing on salad, no jelly with my peanut butter, no frills in general. I was probably eating a burger of some sort, I forget what my father was having but my grandfather ordered a grilled cheese sandwich. On that day the idea of myself eating grilled cheese would have been met with an eye roll and the idea of years later anticipating a festival devoted to this culinary delight would have been met with horror. We talked for a bit, the conversation probably covered the time my grandfather defeated the Mexican World Champion because he liked telling that story but soon our food arrived.
My grandfather took one bite of his sandwich before a curious expression crossed his face. He set the grilled cheese down and opened the sandwich up, revealing tomatoes sitting upon the cheese. He looked up at us "It takes a real man to put tomatoes on a grilled cheese".
We burst out laughing as he closed the sandwich and resumed his lunch. That phrase would make my dad and I laugh for days to come. We would pitch each other scenarios with policement, firemen, superheroes and in each case no, these men were not heroes. The REAL men were the ones that put tomatoes on grilled cheese.
In Oneonta there is a small little diner which looks like the extension of your great Aunt's kitchen only restaurant size. While this in and of itself doesn't make the diner stand out, the fact it's full of creepy fucking dolls has burned itself onto my memory. All sorts of dolls line the walls and counters but even more off putting is the little dioramas all over the place. Fine detailed dioramas, resembling the ones you used to have to build for school are everywhere just filled with dolls.
-Little girl dolls
-Cowboy dolls
-Farmer dolls
-Soldier dolls
You get the idea.
One afternoon a while back it's my father, my grandfather (the ex boxer) and myself sitting down to lunch. Up until college I was a really picky eater, no salad dressing on salad, no jelly with my peanut butter, no frills in general. I was probably eating a burger of some sort, I forget what my father was having but my grandfather ordered a grilled cheese sandwich. On that day the idea of myself eating grilled cheese would have been met with an eye roll and the idea of years later anticipating a festival devoted to this culinary delight would have been met with horror. We talked for a bit, the conversation probably covered the time my grandfather defeated the Mexican World Champion because he liked telling that story but soon our food arrived.
My grandfather took one bite of his sandwich before a curious expression crossed his face. He set the grilled cheese down and opened the sandwich up, revealing tomatoes sitting upon the cheese. He looked up at us "It takes a real man to put tomatoes on a grilled cheese".
We burst out laughing as he closed the sandwich and resumed his lunch. That phrase would make my dad and I laugh for days to come. We would pitch each other scenarios with policement, firemen, superheroes and in each case no, these men were not heroes. The REAL men were the ones that put tomatoes on grilled cheese.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
So yeah, that happened
Recently its come to my attention that someone came to this site looking for an update and were disappointed not to find one. We can't have that now can we?
Despite some larger hallmarks (turning 28, my car's untimely demise etc.) I felt weird posting because isolated incidents didn't really seem to demand their own entry for fear I'd come off as whining ("I'm a year older...and?", Wah, my car's dead!" etc.) Let the record show while I'm all for a good timed rant every now and again I am not cool with whining in just about any form which is how I felt these posts would come out. Suffice to say now that I've crossed the five year mark here in Los Angeles I feel a page has been turned and look forward to the next five years, may they be even more action packed.
Moving on, what have I been up to? I gave up movies for Lent. This was mostly met with widespread disgust given I love them so but the method to my madness was:
1. I've been half assing it the last couple years. I can't tell you what happens once you shuffle off this mortal coil but I have faith in the concept some people like to call God and owe that some sort of thought. 4o days doesn't seem all that long.
2. It would give me more time to devote to writing. Following Devil On My Shoulder I was scribbling more and more notes down on napkins and was shocked to find I've had 21 ideas for features. This is from someone who used to struggle to think of a short film to shoot for class. If 3 of these are remotely workable at the end I will be a very happy camper.
With Lent ending in three days I am already planning a massive movie binge in addition to resuming the humble WTF Movie Night which has become the Sunday staple.
Speaking of movies you may be wondering, wasn't I working on a feature of some sort? Devil On My Shoulder is insanely close to being done. I know this has become my stock answer but we are literally at the tweaking audio levels phase. The holdup has been the studio we are working with is doing the sound work for free since their original technician screwed us over. While this arrangement is easy on the pocket we have to work around their schedule since they need to also concentrate on paying gigs. We are probably one session away, odds are that session is sometime next week. I can't wait to have this behind me, it's been a wonderful process but I just want to mark it *complete* and move on.
Ok, that's it for now. Hopefully work is almost done with me and I can enjoy a three day weekend.
Side Note 1: Congratulations to Brendan and Rabia on the announcement that she is with child. I've known Brendan since 7th grade which seems so long ago now and I am overjoyed at this news.
Side Note 2: A quick shout out to Amy & Jeff's blogs (http://alternativearmywife.wordpress.com/ & http://vampirebombat.blogspot.com) which are so well done I find them inspiring.
Despite some larger hallmarks (turning 28, my car's untimely demise etc.) I felt weird posting because isolated incidents didn't really seem to demand their own entry for fear I'd come off as whining ("I'm a year older...and?", Wah, my car's dead!" etc.) Let the record show while I'm all for a good timed rant every now and again I am not cool with whining in just about any form which is how I felt these posts would come out. Suffice to say now that I've crossed the five year mark here in Los Angeles I feel a page has been turned and look forward to the next five years, may they be even more action packed.
Moving on, what have I been up to? I gave up movies for Lent. This was mostly met with widespread disgust given I love them so but the method to my madness was:
1. I've been half assing it the last couple years. I can't tell you what happens once you shuffle off this mortal coil but I have faith in the concept some people like to call God and owe that some sort of thought. 4o days doesn't seem all that long.
2. It would give me more time to devote to writing. Following Devil On My Shoulder I was scribbling more and more notes down on napkins and was shocked to find I've had 21 ideas for features. This is from someone who used to struggle to think of a short film to shoot for class. If 3 of these are remotely workable at the end I will be a very happy camper.
With Lent ending in three days I am already planning a massive movie binge in addition to resuming the humble WTF Movie Night which has become the Sunday staple.
Speaking of movies you may be wondering, wasn't I working on a feature of some sort? Devil On My Shoulder is insanely close to being done. I know this has become my stock answer but we are literally at the tweaking audio levels phase. The holdup has been the studio we are working with is doing the sound work for free since their original technician screwed us over. While this arrangement is easy on the pocket we have to work around their schedule since they need to also concentrate on paying gigs. We are probably one session away, odds are that session is sometime next week. I can't wait to have this behind me, it's been a wonderful process but I just want to mark it *complete* and move on.
Ok, that's it for now. Hopefully work is almost done with me and I can enjoy a three day weekend.
Side Note 1: Congratulations to Brendan and Rabia on the announcement that she is with child. I've known Brendan since 7th grade which seems so long ago now and I am overjoyed at this news.
Side Note 2: A quick shout out to Amy & Jeff's blogs (http://alternativearmywife.wordpress.com/ & http://vampirebombat.blogspot.com) which are so well done I find them inspiring.
Monday, February 9, 2009
View from the floor
Since it was just Rich and myself attending a boxing event in Anaheim
Anyway, sensing his poor performance Demarco finally strung more than three punches together in the 9th round and put a serious beating on his misfortunately named opponent. As the round ended and the crowd roared for Demarco’s progress I turned around to face the other hooligan and offered a simple “it only took him ten rounds”. He laughed and nodded “that’s right!” What we failed to realize was how effective the rally had been since Kid Diamond refused to come out for the next round. The crowd went nuts and I was pleased with a b-day KO. I know that our screaming had no effect on the events in the ring but it felt like we did and that was the benefit of the ringside seats above anything else. My other guy managed to lose a helluva brave performance in the main event but I guess that will give me something to look forward to next year.
What was readily apparent early on was that no matter where you are sitting there are boxing hooligans everywhere. This can be a blessing or a curse since you may find yourself near someone who has the same passion for a fighter as you or the guy who feels obligated to scream “Show your tits!” to the ring card girls EVERY TIME they come out. The gentleman behind me had yelled sporadically throughout the evening but came alive during a fight featuring a boxer I like named Antionio “Tony” Demarco and his opponent Almazbek “Kid Diamond” Raiymkulov. Winning this fight would be a huge step forward in Demarco’s career and I was on edge the second the opening bell rang but the guy behind me constantly screaming only added to my stress. However, my annoyance soon turned to amusement as I realized his non stop verbal abuse towards the ring was constructive criticism:
“HE’S DUCKING HIS HEAD, THROW AN UPPERCUT AND NOT THAT PUSSY JAB! SHIT! FUCK!”
Anyway, sensing his poor performance Demarco finally strung more than three punches together in the 9th round and put a serious beating on his misfortunately named opponent. As the round ended and the crowd roared for Demarco’s progress I turned around to face the other hooligan and offered a simple “it only took him ten rounds”. He laughed and nodded “that’s right!” What we failed to realize was how effective the rally had been since Kid Diamond refused to come out for the next round. The crowd went nuts and I was pleased with a b-day KO. I know that our screaming had no effect on the events in the ring but it felt like we did and that was the benefit of the ringside seats above anything else. My other guy managed to lose a helluva brave performance in the main event but I guess that will give me something to look forward to next year.
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