out there havin' fun

So it's time for the first of maybe 2 or 3 West Coast-based posts for the xmas 2008 holiday season.

Out in California. Beautiful as hell.

That's actually the ugliest picture of the sunset that I could take. The others are so beautiful that they'd make you weep uncontrollably about the fact that you're not here with me, weeping. Controllably.

The kid loves it out here, the wife loves it out here.

You don't get to dance in fountains in NYC on December 27th. At least not that I can remember, and certainly not in upscale shopping malls featuring both a Cheesecake Factory AND a California Pizza Kitchen. No sir.

I played some ball in Laguna Beach today. It was exhausting, occasionally humiliating, and somehow completely satisfying. My wife stood on the beach taking photos from like 100 feet away. Would your wife do that? Keep an eye out for suspicious-looking drifters giving her the staredown.

Here's me getting taken to the hoop by this kid who turned out to be quite good.

Here's me switching out on big man and getting a rare steal.

Here's me looking intense but actually just fucking spent.

Here's me afterwards, quenching my thirst the only way I know how and reflecting on our 21-16 loss.

I could have done more. We all could have. But in the end, our biggest mistake was giving the ball to the Bearded Mountain Man too often. I believe sharing the ball increases the love and makes the world a better place, but at some point a man's got to be accountable for mishandling every pass and generally screwing the game away. Oh Mountain Man, I forgive you.

Time has not hindered my ability to enjoy Gatorade one bit.

My wife's parents are retired, but they keep very busy. Lots of social plans, tons of errands to run, gardening to do, hikes to embark on, etc. I am very impressed by how much they're getting out of retired life. In my head I always thought about retirement as a chance to finally be a bum and not feel guilty about it. I even have an image of retirement in my head: it's me, grinning broadly with both hands behind my head, leaning back in my chaise lounge as empty cans of PBR mysteriously stack up alongside me.

Sitting around, boolcheating with pals, maybe playing some catch. Going to the movies. Thinking about stuff that amuses me. Blogging about the way things used to be. Basically what I am doing right now. I am in pre-retirement.

When you are retired like me, you have lots of time to think about useless stuff. Here's some of what's been going through my head as I breeze through my California days.

1) Charles Oakley.

I just saw something on MSG where Knicks fans voted him one of the starting forwards on their all-time Knicks team. I think the average fan loved Oakley for: his toughness, his hustle, his defense, his rebounding, the way he maximized his limited physical ability, his hilarious quotes, and his genuine willingness to mix it up if somebody started something. All valid points. I get it. However, I was never really a fan. I couldn't get past: his outlet passes into the blue seats, his complete lack of an offensive post game, his constant whining on and off the court, his occasional dirtiness, his carelessness with the ball (whether it was minute 1 or minute 48 made no difference to Oak), and the way his poor athleticism cost him when it came to finishing around the hoop. (Remember how many times you'd see him leap horizontally toward the basket, desperate to draw contact rather than going up strong?)

At the same time, when Oak would put up one of those 20 rebound, sweat-soaked, I own this backboard tour de force performances in a huge game, I'd be right there singing his praises. Now I realize I judged him unfairly. You can't have it both ways, Bungle. Nobody's perfect, but Oakley's hard work and generally efficient play deserved more respect than I gave it. It's ten years too late, but I now embrace the Oak-man and support his inclusion on the all-time Knicks team. Sure, Bernard shined brighter, but only for like three years. What this really makes me aware of is just what a pitiful franchise the Knicks have been. Charles Oakley is one of their two all-time best forwards. They haven't won a championship in 35 years, despite playing in the center of the basketball universe. Come save us, LeBron.

2) Peeing.

I always savor my midday pee at work, mostly because it is a chance to get away from the stress and have a solid minute to clear my head. But I realized something else: that midday pee is usually your first opportunity to see your penis since you tucked it away that morning. Hey penis, whats up? Everything cool down there? Good. Take your time, man. No rush. You all done? You sure? OK. Can I get you anything? No? You're all set? OK man, see you later. Let me know if you need a hand with anything. That bonding time is important.

3) The Yankees' offseason.

Just absolutely shameful. It's not just a giant illustration of how unfair baseball is (although this is a great take that kind of proves the opposite), it's a reminder of how completely unfair the universe is. You have all the cards? Great for you, enjoy yourself. Life is shitty? It's gonna get shittier!

I know I say it all the time, I know it angers some people, but I may have to take on a new team. Although the spending might be justifiable if it ends up creating misery in Boston...

4) Personal satisfaction.

As much as it is important to ceaselessly whine about every little thing that fails to go your way when things are tough, it is also important to revel in your own happiness and triumph when life smiles on you. That is how I feel right now, lucky to be alive and warm and active and bathed in sunshine.

IAQ vol. IV

Q: Why has nobody taken your barside advice and made a documentary or reality series based on Shawn Kemp's Italian league comeback this year?

A: This was a can't-miss idea, I agree. I bet Kemp would have given a camera crew 24/7 access to his 12 months in Italy for like $500,000. For that $500,000, plus various production costs, the world would get to see things like:

-Kemp picking up Italian women in a disco
-Kemp learning Italian/adjusting to cultural differences
-Kemp gorging on pasta and ballooning to 350 pounds
-Fat Kemp struggling to pick up women in a roadside eatery
-Heartbreaking game footage of a player who used to take your breath away now struggling to finish inside against 6'7" Italian dudes
-etc.

Any given episode could move you, make you laugh, maybe even make you horny.

The only problem: his Italian league team cut him before the start of the season. I hope this is not the end for the Reignman. After all, this is a fellow who once dunked a ball so hard on a hoop with a chain net THAT SPARKS FLEW. Plus, reputation aside, I suspect he is a nice guy.

Q: What is your definition of cool? As in, what makes a person seem like they'd be worth getting to know better?

A: I think the most appealing trait a person can have is a total willingness to let go of any pretensions of coolness and instead: rock out, get lost in the moment, play the fool, howl at the moon, ask for help, say something inappropriate, quote the Boz, throw the orange, risk the scorn of others to soak up the pure enjoyment of what's happening. Not surprisingly, when drunk I can do this. I can play the damn fool. It is often accompanied by tremendous shame, but that's OK, shame usually only lasts a week or two. It's the times when I allow fear/the perception of others to dictate my actions that I feel true regret.

Like, if you can make this face, I want to be your pal.

If you want people to think you are cool or hip, you can go suck the big one.

Q: Isn't this actually IAQ vol. III?

A: I don't know and I'm too lazy to go back and look.

Q: What is Bethune-Cookman? More importantly, why is Bethune-Cookman?

A: I dunno, but I went to Carnessecca Fieldhouse or whatever it's called to see them take on St. John's on Sunday. B-C lost. I've also seen then lose to Wisconsin several times. I don't know much about their school (I think it's in Florida), but it seems to me that they always lose. They are like the Washingon Generals of the NCAA. I like them anyway.

Q: What do you think of Damone?

A: He's incredible. I like so many things about Damone (and Robert Romanus, the actor who played him), I will save them for a different post. For starters, I enjoyed his east coast accent, his willingness to go full-frontal (even though the MPAA shot it down because they viewed a penis as an implement of aggression), the fact that he was like 30 when Fast Times came out, the near musicality of his line readings, and that, in a movie that reveals probably 5 examples of pure adolescent truth per minute of screentime, he delivers what might be my favorite moment in the movie (don't make me pick):

Geez, I'm really kinda busy, Rat. (with Leave It to Beaver rerun playing in background.)

Discuss the multitude of ways in which this scene kicks ass or challenge me on this and watch me do it.

Damone? More like Da Man.

Q: Say some lunatic comes up to you on a dark and empty street at like 4am. He starts screaming and shoving you and stuff, and then pulls out a gun and says he's gonna kill you. But he's standing too close to you and in a moment of pure instinctive reaction, you're able to overpower him and throw him to the ground. What follows is basically a movie fight. He fumbles the gun, it goes sliding across the sidewalk just out of reach of both of you. You trade dozens of blows, blood is everywhere. This guy is like a rabid dog, he won't stop coming. He might be on PCP. Finally you get the upper hand and grab his head, slamming it against the ground like 15 times until he submits. You pull yourself together...where is the gun? You crawl over and get it, just as the nutcase starts coming to his senses. He is shaking his face and trying desperately to regain his awareness. He's down, but not completely out. He begins crawling over towards you, slowly, pathetically, as if he's gonna roll over and die. But he keeps crawling. You are now on your feet and you have the gun cocked and pointed at him. You tell him to stop in his tracks or you'll kill him, but he keeps crawling, ever so slowly. There is nobody around to either call 911 for you or witness what is about to happen. Do you kill him?

A: Yes. Just in case you're thinking about testing me.

Q: City or suburbs?

A: I've never lived in the suburbs, so I'm gonna say suburbs.

Q: What do you want for Christmas?

A: Realistically, nada. In a dreamworld where you are a billionaire and want to buy me something, maybe something like this. Although I suppose I should learn how to use my camera first.

Q: What should I get for my work secret santa person (max. $25), and also for assorted co-workers (target range $15)?

A: I have no idea but tell me if you get any good ideas because I am in the same spot.

Q: What's your prediction for the week?

A: It's gonna start off like shit, improve slowly through like Wednesday, then on Wednesday afternoon there will be some bullshit crisis that costs you a few grey hairs, but it'll get sorted out and the last day and a half of the workweek will be a breeze.

sunday night grab bag

I played basketball the other day. Played well, better than last week. Last week was so bad I thought maybe I should just stop trying. Then this week was good enough to warrant another week. I'm at the point where if I am bigger, stronger, younger, better, healthier, better groomed and more motivated than the guy who's guarding me, I can be successful. Otherwise, I am basically just a big bag of dirty laundry out there. Unfortunately, most of the dudes who I play against are younger and better than me. Dicks.

I'm not ready to quit. Close, but not yet. I was never great at basketball, and now I am probably only 60% as good as I ever was. But that 60% is enough to make it fun for me. I think if I dip below 50% I will quit. I may blow out my ACL before that, time will tell.

It got me thinking: man, I'm 39 fucking years old. There is no standard by which that can be considered young. I'm sure if I was 82 I'd kill to be 39, but I still wouldn't consider it young. Is there anything I can do better at 39 than I could at 38? Or at 28? Not much.

And I started panicking just a wee bit, like: the best is behind me...shit I'll be 50 in like 10 years...I am probably entering my heart attack zone...what am I gonna do for fun when I can't play sports anymore?...why can't I grow sideburns?, etc.

And then it hit me. I drink better now than I did 10 years ago. And I bet I'll drink even better 10 years from now. If an old friend comes to town in 2023, and the schedule allows, I will go out to a bar with that old friend and we will share laffs and beers and we'll feel it and it'll be just fine.
Physically, I must admit that I don't drink with as much force as I did 10 years ago, or God help me, 20 years ago. And on the rare nights I do, the price is steeper. But that is part of my overall improvement as a drinker: I don't go out as much, and when I do, there are too many things that can get ruined if I go nuts-out maniac-style with the booze. Wife, baby, job -- I just can't fuck all that up and lose a day to a hangover like I used to. It's not to say I'll never do it again, but generally now going out for a beer means just a few beers and it's not open-ended and I'm not blacking out or waking up sweating in a pool of regret. When I look back, man, I was a pretty bad drinker as a kid.
The beers taste better now. You treasure each one. You watch the clock and savor the night and you don't take this brief burst of freedom for granted like you once may have. The time limit creates a desperation to the night that is kind of exciting.

Plus, you try to keep track of your wits, you don't spend $300 in an evening, you don't end up hating your friends or yourself the next day.

I'm looking forward to being 56. You'll give me a call to say you're in town for a couple of days, and then we'll go meet up around 9pm for like 3-4 hours of drinking and bullshitting. We'll go to a bar that's friendly to old men (7B?), but there will still be some young kids coming through and raising their eyebrows at us, the sad-eyed old-timers out chasing the night when the night has long since lost interest in us.

Look at those old bastards, they'll snicker. Drinking away their last years on earth.

Ah, kids, we'll say, as loud as we please. Too stupid to know what they've got.

And we'll both be right.

***

I am going on Weight Watchers starting Monday. Not the meetings or any of that crap. Just the points system. It'll work for a little while. I'd like to lose about 15 pounds. Then I will dunk on your head. After this, I will eat a million fritos and die with a smile on my face.

Also, while the jury is still out as to whether or not facebook is a positive force in the universe, I must admit I like it. But when I think about it, what I really enjoy about it is:
1) Reading people's status updates.
2) Connecting with people I'd lost touch with (although I'm sure this can turn out very badly).
3) Looking at people's pictures.
What I don't get is:
1) Becoming a 'fan' of something. Are there some benefits to this that I don't know about? If not, whoop-de-damn-do.
2) Joining a group. Eh, I guess I've done it, but it doesn't do much for me.
3) The "Wall". Only a fool would allow people to freely write on his or her wall. Conversations should be kept private.
4) Also, people need to be careful what they are posting, lest they humiliate themselves and/or others. There's no shield of anonymity on there, people are using their real names. If you say something about somebody or post a picture of your pal all drunk and stoopid, there's a chance other people will see it and then it's too late to get it back. Common sense applies.

I am ready to like the Knicks again. Even though they probably won't be truly competetive until the cavalry gets here in 2010, they have at least trimmed some of the fat from their roster and the dudes they got rid of were the dudes I really didn't like (mostly Randolph, to a lesser extent Crawford, plus Curry and Marbury aren't really part of the team anymore either). I haven't actually watched them since the trades but I plan on giving 'em a try soon.

18 things that don't suck about winter in NYC

1. 85% less chance of encountering Michael Kay on a day to day basis.
2. Bars with Christmas lights in them.
3. Somebody's gonna give you something at some point; you might like it.
4. Watching an intense snowfall in the glow of a streetlight.
5. Work slows down and you even get some days off.
6. Less cops on the streets. (Less criminals too.)
7. Walking home with a warm beer buzz and a brisk wind in your face and feeling like you're invincible.
8. You might crash somebody's office party and drink for free.
9. It's a Wonderful Life.
10. If it is 1984, you might see Bernard go for 60 on Christmas Day.
11. a) Watching the smokers huddling outside of office buildings and thanking God you'll die of something other than lung cancer, or b) the joy of sneaking out of the office for a smoke when it's cold as hell but knowing the pleasure of your cigarette easily trumps the pain of the cold.
12. Playing Fairytale of New York on the jukebox in a nearly-empty bar.
13. You can leave and go place someplace warm for a week or two. You really should.
14. You hang out with your friends and wonder why you don't do it more often. Then you wait 12 months and wonder the same thing.
15. Waking up on a Saturday morning in a cold apartment under a warm blanket and staying in bed when you realize you don't haveta work.
16. Walking in a field in central park after a big snowstorm, before anyone else has trampled it.
17. Taking scalding showers that destroy your skin but feel oh so good.
18. Dogshit is usually frozen and less likely to destroy your shoes when you step in it.

the lot of us

I first encountered Andrew Bird in character -- as Dr. Stringz on "Jack's Big Music Show," a kid's program on Noggin. I loved Dr. Stringz. My kid loved Dr. Stringz. How could you not love Dr. Stringz? Then my brother-in-law told me that he's not just a children's artist, but a well-known Chicago musician dude. I never really looked into it until the other day, when I sort of accidentally stumbled across him on youtube:



I dig this song a lot. If I could whistle, play an instrument, or sing as well as he does all three, I'd be all set. He should have a finesse vs. power whistle-off with Phil Jackson.

We are coming out of a tough run at work. Ass: kicked. Future: cloudy. But unless you're one of the lucky 1% of mankind who do what they love and control their own schedule, all you can do is show up and have a heaping bowl of whatever the bossman cooked up for you that day. I'm stuck in the worksauce with the other 99% for the rest of my life. I should have learned how to whistle.

if i was an astronaut

(Ed. note: this is the second in what I guess we can now call a series of "if i was a..." posts, following up on "if i was cop" from December 2005.)

if i was an astronaut...

i'd inadvertantly let it slip to girls that i'd been in space. then i'd answer every question they might have about it. i'd make it sound cooler than it actually is, because they'd never know.

i'd wear my most tricked-out astronaut spaceman outfit every halloween. when people complimented me on it, i'd say something nonchalant like, "i just didn't have time to dress up this year. maybe next year."

i'd surely never get over how cool it must be to see stuff floating around inside the spaceship. i'd get the other 'nauts involved in some sort of stupid game involving floating stuff.

i'd volunteer for like one spacewalk-repair mission. after that, whenever it came time to go tinker with a sideview mirror or whatever, i'd conveniently sneak off to the bathroom until one of the other, braver dudes had already put on the spacesuit. then i'd emerge from the john holding my stomach, and i'd say, "damn that reconsituted chili, my insides are a wreck...whoa...hey, donnie, what are you getting ready to go outside for...shit, did I miss another spacewalk-repair mission? dammit! i'm starting to think you guys are purposely planning these on the times i can't do 'em. no, it's cool. you got this one. but i'm DEFINITELY doing the next one."

my answering machine outgoing message would often say things like, "i'm on my way to mars, motherfucker! is what you've got to say really that important? if it is, leave a message, and if i don't die heroically upon re-entry into our atmosphere, maybe i'll call you back."

i'd always use my astronauticity to swing an argument in my favor. as in, "oh, of course you know how much tip to leave, arnie. you're a fucking big shot claims specialist. what the hell do i know, i'm just a goddamn AS-TRO-NAUT."

my business cards would definitely have the word "astronaut" on 'em in a place where people could see it. and i wouldn't be afraid to hand one over to a cop along with my license if i got pulled over.

upon return from one of my missions, i'd start acting funny around my wife for like a month, and then one night i'd put on a scary alien mask and curl up next to her while she slept. i'd videotape her reaction the next morning and post it on verbungle.com.

during a live national TV interview from the space station, i'd repeatedly make bad sex jokes for my own amusement. after each one, i'd yell, "boom," and i'd throw some confetti in the air. then i'd watch it float slowly and anticlimactically around me.

while on earth, i'd fall hopelessly behind in my bills, i'd lose touch with people intentionally, i'd do nothing but watch TV and eat fritos. then when someone called me on it, like, "Mr. Bungle, you are 19 months behind in your cable bill," I'd say, "wow, 19 months...i must have been in OUTER SPACE when you sent those notices. i'll get right on it. although i am leaving for OUTER SPACE in like 15 minutes..."

i'd never admit that the entire space program was a giant hoax perpetrated by the government to boost national morale.