3/31/05: To Be Young, Hung, and Rocking the Bung

Today my co-worker Valsmal informed me that verbungle.com has been blocked from her work computer. That makes me uncomfortable.  Did anyone else have trouble viewing it Wednesday? I hope the office cybercops haven't stumbled upon the site and made the connection that I am Hans and Hans is me. Yikes.  I don't know if it was that development or my unhealthy sleep patterns this week, but I felt weird and dizzy throughout the workday.  A little creeped out, maybe.  And it was one of those days where the words were coming out of my mouth faster than I could consciously think them.  It was kind of terrifying -- I kept thinking I was going to say something offensive because my "censor" button was out of order all day.

So I left work around 6 and decided to walk home. What a pleasure. It was 42 minutes and about 55 degrees, and every song that popped up on my iPod was aces.  That's rare for me. I think I only hit "skip" once, during "Point Blank" by Bruce. I don't even hate that song, it just busted up my flow.

It was just one of those classic, bustling Spring evenings when I really wouldn't want to live anywhere else in the world. And while listening to music deprives you of some of the unique sounds of the city, it also insulates you in a way that makes you feel free to observe people and things as if you were invisible.

It could have been 1926, it could have been 1992, it could have been 2014. The city was stretching its legs after a long winter, like it does every year.  That same communal glee was in the air, the shared sense that we made it out the ass of winter and we're still in one piece. This sensation of timelessness was enhanced when I peered into a bar window and saw Nolan Ryan in his Astros uniform, pitching to Bucky Dent in his Yankee road greys, in what I now realize could only have been the 1981 All-Star Game.  How Bucky Dent ever made the All-Star Game is beyond me.  I guess it was his looks. Especially the eye black. He had some of the best eye black of all time.

It felt so encouraging to be outside again.  I decided I am going to start riding my bike to work again next week. On the way home, weather permitting, I'm going to ride around the Southern tip of Manhattan every night to clear my head of useless work anxiety. I'm excited to be placing my fat ass on a bicycle again. And I'm also looking forward to playing some sports again.  The neck is 98.75% healed, and I think I will start hooping again soon, maybe this weekend. I can't wait to be out there running around and I want to be good again. The last three times I've played ball, I've stunk.  I was fearing it might be the beginning of the end, but the warm weather has motivated me to keep trying.

We also have softball starting this weekend.  That makes me happy. And, as Big Jim Lang points out, MLB has a free preview going on next week. 

It's very good in this city right now.  And for once, I'm not feeling jealous of all the young kids who get to cut class and sit in Central Park sneaking tugs on Tall Boys in brown paper bags. Who get to lean in for their first-ever kiss in Sheep Meadow after a nice extended frisbee toss. I'm happy for them. And I'm happy for me, 35 years old and not feeling a whole lot different than I did at 15.

Let the kids have their fun. I only feel sorry that they don't get to listen to the Steve Miller Band's Greatest Hits anymore.  I'm sure they have their own silly, washed-up, good-time war horse to crank up and sing along with.  It's probably Will Smith or Duran Duran or something like that.

But that's no Steve Miller Band.  They need to know that.

***

If you are an avid reader of this site, you know that we have closely followed the C-Murder case since it began and we have tried with very limited success to mine the obvious comedic gold that it must surely provide.  Here was one stab I took back in December 2003:

Master P's brother, a rapper named C-Murder, has been convicted of murder.  My new rap name: C-Lottery Winna.

Yeah, not very good. So today, when I came across the headline "C-Murder Loses Murder Conviction Appeal," I felt like I had been given another shot.  A murdering rapper named C-Murder is the comedy equivalent of a 3-1 fastball from Dennis Lamp.  You need to turn on that shit and knock it out of the park. But somehow, despite the easy opportunity, I was unable to come up with anything decent. I tried going with a "Someone named C-Murder being convicted of murder is an unfortunate coincidence right up there with Lou Gehrig contracting Lou Gehrig's disease," and then I realized that I was merely stealing someone else's VERY old joke about Lou Gehrig getting Lou Gehrig's disease. Pathetic.  So I thought about saying something like, "I bet C-Murder is wishing he had gone with his second choice for his MC name, C-Helping-Little-Old-Ladies-Across-the-Street."  And then I realized I was just stealing my own lame joke about his name from a year and a half ago.  My well is dry, folks.  For fifteen verbungle.com genius points, leave a good joke about the C-Murder Case in the comments section. Funniest joke wins, and I am going to put the responses (if there are any) to a special independent judging panel for determining the winner. You can start leaving them immediately and we will accept answers until Thursday night at 11pm Eastern.

For those of you who are looking for a slightly less subjective way to move up the Genius Board, answer this question (worth ten points): if you were a comic book character, and someone struck you in the back of the head with a heavy object, what three-letter grunting sound might you emit right after the blow, just as you were about to lose consciousness? There are probably multiple answers here, but one in particular stands out, and that's the one we're looking for. Please don't answer until noon eastern.

One more little quizzie here: for fifteen points, tell me wheredat? Please wait until noon for this one as well.