enunciate

So I ran into Starbucks and was making small talk with the girls there, as I do...and I asked the girl how her weekend was...

she said, "Fine."

Then I asked, " No black eyes ?"

And she looked at me really funny so I followed with, " That's great, I like to set the bar really low."

Then she looked at me even funnier and I left.
 

I'm back at my desk and realize that she thought I asked " No Black Guys ?"

I wonder how the coffee at Dunkin Donuts is ?

Pretty funny

Just your typical Wed.

Wednesday night Mike H. and I were scheduled to meet with the executive board of the fire company.  This was the first big meeting where we were to discuss the Township increasing our involvement in the administration of the department and the entire exchange was going to require diplomacy and a deft hand.

Thing started off well.  I made introductions and provided oversight, then I handed things off to Mike who started asking for input.  That's when the chief said, "that's great, but didn't share any of this with any of these guys, so they have no idea what you're talking about."  So while we were there to get information from them to begin our strategic plan, we ended up looking at a table full of blank faces taken totally by surprise.

Then the sirens went off and radio dispatch came through the loudspeakers, " active structure fire Decartes Rd, possible high occupancy residence".

Literally 1 minute later I'm in a vehicle with sirens blaring and flying down to the southern end.  7 minutes later I'm standing in an apartment with a half dozen firemen opening up windows and taking pictures of a burnt stove top.

Eventually we got out of there and started back to the station..then..." station 66 - class 2 vehicle accident Millersville Pike and Schoolhouse Road.  All units on standby, respond".  And so it goes.

Needless to say, meeting cancelled.

After all of the hullabaloo I still hadn't eaten and needed a drink so I took Mike over to the hotel bar Loxleys.  I go to Loxleys for mainly because two of their three bartenders are the best in the county.  One is a good looking, smart-ass chick who makes the best Hendrix martinis, the other is right out of central casting, Scott the bartender/philosopher.  Unfortunately we got bartender #3 - Goofy McDopicus.

Mike went to use the bathroom and I sat down and ordered. " I'll take a Hendrix, rocks, olives and I'll take a McCallans rocks for my partner".

My partner.  OK, not the weirdest thing to say, but the only other people at the bar were these two guys a few stools down and they kinda looked at me funny when I said it. 

So Mike came out of the bathroom and the next five things he said, though benign, sounded to my paranoid ears like RuPaul having drinks with Liberace, " Hey Billy Boy...wanna split something ?  Hey McCallans, a man after my own heart !  God I love this young kid from Ole Miss...a real good looking young player "

So of course I ( holding my martini glass in the manliest of ways) tried to butch it up with a bunch of comments about the hoops game sounding like Bob Costas in a hostage situation, " Yeah, they're gonna fuck those dude's up man !.....Slam motherfuckin Dunk !"  Apparently I think "fuck" to gay people is like holy water to vampires.

Finally one of the two guys at the bar smiled at me and said, " yeah, you're right...that was an NBA three".

Oh cool.  We're cool.  Everything is cool.

10 minutes later one of the two guys got up and left, but the other guy stuck around for one more drink.  At some point I turned toward Mike (whose back was to Mr. NBA 3) to answer a question and the guy stood up, looked over at me, smiled,  tipped his drink, and winked.

Winked ! 

No not something in his eye winked.     Like, " hey why don't you ditch the old queen you're with and meet me outside" wink. 

( Or that's what I suppose it was because, of course, I don't know what gay guys actually say to each other....not that there's anything wrong with that )

My jaw hit the bar and in shock I just started shaking my head in the negative.

Mike looked at me puzzled, but then continued talking.  And with that my new friend went to sit down,  missed his bar stool completely and fell flat on his back onto the bar room floor.

BOOM !

The retarded bartender didn't notice and Mike has his back turned.  The dude then jumped up, looked at me, grabbed his shit off the bar, and ran....stumbling and crashing into the hallway walls the whole way out of sight.

Now, WTF am I supposed to do ?  The dude was obviously hammered.  And he was heading out the parking lot.  So I can't let the guy drive - but if I run out into the parking lot after him, I don't need him pulling his pants down.

I gave a big sigh and interrupted Mike, " hey, that guy at the bar is hammered.  He's heading out to get in a car.  Can you get the manager, I'm going after him ?"

I found the guy in front of the bar trying to light a cigarette. " Hey man.", I got his attention.

" Heeeeeyyyyy", he responded with a smile.

" Oh God....listen...are you driving home ?", I groaned.

" Nooooo", another smile, " I have a room here at the hotel." Oh god it pains me to write that he purred when he said it....purred.

Finally, thankfully, the manager came walking out the door.  It was the third life saving rescue I'd witness that night.

sorcery

My daughter plays on a high level volleyball team for girls 15 and under.  Their coach is a college coach who's previous experience was as an instructor in the Marines.  What he was "instructing" in the Marines was not made clear.

Before the season started Coach B told us a few things straight away..." I'm going to mess with your daughters heads.  We're going to push them when they need to be pushed and we're going to back off when they need room, but we're going to challenge them to get the most out of them."

That was borne out after the third practice when my daughter got in the car and said, " I get the feeling that this guy is messing with my head....but I think I like it".

He warned to, " not talk your daughters about how they played or practiced for at least one hour after they're done."  This was advice I ignored twice, and never again.  I don't know if its good advice in general, or if its simply he doesn't want me tinkering around while he has her head open ( more likely).  Now, when she come out of practice all adrenaline up, I spend the ride home doing nothing other than mentioning positive things about her play and progression and either forcing the conversation to silence or distracting it to non sporting issues.


Finally, he told us , " Boys you can yell at.  Boys can hate each other, but when they step on a court or field of battle they'll give everything for the combined cause, and they're fine going back to hating each other when the game is over.  But girls......girls first need to bond...and it only after they've bonded with each other that they can fight.  And a tight group of girls is a force to be reckoned with."  ( fact that I suppose any of us should have learned in a college bar)

So I've been careful to watch the subtle things that the coach and his staff are doing to bring these girls together.  This is not an easy situation.  These are all super competitive type A girls who are all the best ones on their school teams.   They've almost exclusively played against each other in practice as their first tournament is this upcoming weekend. And they're all fighting each other for starting spots.  Oh and they're all 14 and 15 year-old girls. The situation is potentially as volatile as it gets, and hardly the stuff of sleepovers and pedicures ( I apologize for my obvious lack of understanding of how girls bond).

So what I've seen them be able to do is both frightening and impressive.  I'll give one small example.  At the end of each practice he has the girls go through a post workout stretching routine/ritual.  They were lead through it one time the first day.  After that they're just sent off to the side, in a tight area, to do it themselves while the coaches tend to some other items.  The area that they're sent to in totally contrived....its near their bags ( more on that in a second)...its away from all parents and coaches, and its in a tight space so they have to all get on the floor to stretch, but they're almost on top of each other ( hmmmm sort of like a sleepover).  The "stuff" that the coaches are doing is contrived,  mostly they're doing nothing....but this has forced the girls to come up their own system of who leads the stretches, etc etc.

All of that is obvious.  Its obvious to me anyway, and it seems obvious to the girls...but as I was told, " I know he's messing with me, but I think I like it".  What it does is it provides a safe excuse and a structured format for the girls to interact in a cooperative way all while relaxing physically and emotionally.

But the think that I find most impressive is that the stretching time, and likely its obviousness, is nothing other then a decoy for what he's really doing.  On day one, the coach moved the girls around a couple of times under other auspices, that forced them to carry all of their stuff with them.  When they began practice, instead of each of the girls leaving their clothes and bags and coats with their parents, all that stuff was put together in a corner.  People being creatures of habit, the girls put their stuff there every time now.

The girls stretch right next to their stuff.  So he has them in practice mode, drives them hard, brings them down stretching, isolates them, then tells them that practice is over.....hardly.   With all their stuff right there, and them already sitting down, the girls spend 15 minutes changing, talking, laughing...and that's how every practice ends....bonding.

I think we should all be grateful that Coach B left the Marines for volleyball and not not to start a religious cult....or time share sales.

Slip of the tongue

My son just used the word "poontang" inaccurratly and in the most unfortunate of settings.

Between this and the turkey incident, I can't image Grandma is going to want to stick around much longer.

pretty freakin funny

via Andy Scarpandy

This cold

I have one of the three cold/flu that everyone else seems to have right now.  I've got the version with the slight fever, fatigue, and small cough.  It's bad enough to make me feel lousy, but not so bad that I'm willing to pack it in under the covers.

Basically home bound I was able to get a couple of things done this weekend that I found fun.  The first was that I cleaned out my garage.  The second was that I was able to watch the national cyclo-cross championships.  These two items are not as dissimilar as they might seem.

When cleaning out the garage I came across all the paperwork from when I created the Pennsylvania Cycling Association  www.pacycling.org.  In those files I found old results, emails, and photos from around 1996 and up.  In those days, pre internet, the cycling calendar was disjointed at best.  Basically, you heard about races when attending other races, or when you got VeloNews in newspaper form and were lucky enough that the race hadn't already happened.  I found myself at the center of a perfect storm of cycling popularity and technology, and I was lucky enough to have a lifestyle situation and good people around me, to form the PCA and have it really take off.

In short order we went from no calendar and poor quality races, to a full calendar of excellently run events with good attendance and strong prize lists.    While I provided the framework, it was people like George Theil, Andrew Albright, Mike Kuhn, Mike Hebe, Mike Miller and a half dozen other people name Mike that stepped up to the challenge and the cycling scene here flourished on the road and in cross.

But as with most things in life you get an ebb and a flow.  And while the remnants of the PCA continues to provide a service to the cyclists in the region, and I believe the overall quality of the cyclist scene is better than it had been prePCA, we're far from our high water mark.

I think that ties into what we've witnessed nationally as well.  Cyclo-Cross nationals went well this weekend in Madison.  Cross here is more professional, better organized, and has a higher quality of competition than it did 25 years ago.  But like the PCA, its a far cry from its hey-day with the SuperCup.

I had the good fortune to manage Kopps Cycles in Princeton NJ for a while.  Its the oldest shop in the country, and the Kuhn family has been at the forefront of cycling in this country since the 50s.  I used to be stunned by their nonchalance.

" Hey this is a picture of you and Eddy Merckx !!!!", I'd exclaim.  
" Oh ?  Yeah, I think his wife made stew that day...it was awful". " 

" Is that a picture of Greg Lemond in the shop ?"
" Yeah, nice kid."

But after participating in this sport for the last 25 years, I'm starting to get a better understanding of where they were coming from. 

Cycling in beautiful.  Cycling is shit.  But most of all cycling is eternal.  And though I lack the ability to accurately capture the sentiment, there's clearly something poetic about its cyclical nature.

Later this week Lance is going to go on TV and talk.  Its not going to matter.  And I don't say that because his interview is going to be wordsmithed by lawyers and public relations consultants....that is surely true....but its not going to matter because no matter how much it may have seemed to be the contrary at times....cycling transcends everything.....even Lance.

So take it from a guy who started out as a fan of the Stedina's, Phinney's, Zabel's and Roche's of the world - and is still here to see them come around the second time.  Its all good, it always has been and always will be.

The universe is testing me today

I'm going to spend the better part of the day trying not to put my fist through something.

So in the meantime, I'm sending over the to tumblr page.

To my closest friends...keep your cell phones close and your bail money closer.

Just driving to lunch

X:  I'm not saying anything at all about freedom or women's lib or any of that shit.    All I'm saying is that women today seem to be losing their fucking minds.  They're all depressed and anxious and upset and freaking out about everything.

Y:  You don't think that's the way its always been ?

X: Fuck no !   If a woman wants to work, great.  But this nonsense about a woman who doesn't work somehow being denied her fulfillment of selfhood is bullshit.  What I'm saying is most women would be perfect content to stay at home, darn some sock, cook some food and take care of the kids.

Y: I'm sure that would work out for you.

X:  Yeah, well I'm not even talking about me.  Forget me for a second.  I'm saying THEY would be happier.  You'd have less chicks running around on Prozac driving their kids into a lake and crazy white people shit like that.  I'm saying in the olden days...

Y: ...the olden days ?!?!

X: Yeah, fuck you, the olden days, I think most women were perfectly fucking happy with the arrangement.  What's not to like.  Work sucks.  I mean what the fuck.  You don't have to work, you get to hang out with your kids...which is what they want to be doing anyway...and making the house look nice...which is all they're trying to do when they're not at work.

What's the downside ???  So every once in a while you have to shut the fuck up when you don't want to and sometimes you have to have sex when you don't feel like it.  Big deal.

Y:  That's easy for you to say.

X:  Damn straight it is.  I could do that shit standing on my head.  If you told me tomorrow that I'd never have to go to work again for the rest of my life, all I'd have to do is shut the fuck up and have sex a couple times a week, the only thing I'd ask is, " where do I sign".  Fuck, that's such a good deal I'd sign up for that even if it were a dude.

Y:  I.................ah.................................

X: We probably want to keep that last part confined to this car only.

Y: That's probably best.   Listen man I think you might be a little bit manic.

X:  Yeah ?  I think I might be a lot bit awesome.




(olden days advert)

Bird on a cage, bird on a wire

The last 48 hours have seemed particularly strange.   It seems to me that people, en masse, are losing their shit.

I'm starting to come to the conclusion that this sort of thing happens, collectively, with some sort of ebb and flow.

This phenomena reminds me of Uncle Walt's bird.  After a night of poker I stayed in my Uncle Walt's guest room.  The room usually serves as a place for the birdcage for a parrot that they keep.  When we walked into the room there was a sheet over the bird cage.

Walt showed me the room and said, " Don't worry about the bird, he's cool....and smart too, he totally recognizes my voice."

 When Walt spoke (slurred?) the cage started rattling around.  " See.", he said.

Then he walked over to the sheet ." HEY YOU FUCKING BIRD, I'M GONNA EAT YOU !!!!", Walt started screaming and shaking the cage, " THANKSGIVING'S COMING, YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED!!!!"

" So he recognizes your voice, eh ?", I asked, " you don't say."

I'm not really sure if that story is supposed to have society as Uncle Walt or any of us as a rattled bird in a rattled cage, or if the whole thing was a weak premise to tell a funny story.....  If you're looking for that sort of insight, you've likely coming to the wrong blog.  But I can tell you that both Uncle Walt and the bird are both still alive and both mostly bald.

And now your clip for the day.

Driving in this morning I saw a girl leaning over the side of a car saying good bye to a boy outside a diner. 

It made me really wish I knew how make a movie

Sleepwalking in the Rift on Nowness.com.


or write a song.

The Ric Ocasek effect

I've often though that the one super power that exists in the real world is "chick hotness".

This is a power that mankind has gone to great lengths to hide and suppress, but our dirty little secret is  with varying degrees, women of every size, shape and age have the ability to make men do...well just about anything...with or against their will.  Ask Mike Tyson.

But a trip to the bar last weekend made me realize that we are not completely powerless in the battle of the sexes.  Men in fact have their own ace in the hole.

The bar was packed to see a local band, so we got the last available table top which was positioned with our backs to the stage.  This provided us with a similar perspective as the band.  While we couldn't see the musicians, we had a great view of the crowd.  And because we were off to the side and in an assigned seat, we could watch the patrons without them really noticing.  For a people watcher like myself, it was the best seat in the house.

The band itself was comprised of four of five guys in their late 20's to early 30's.  Guys with regular jobs, for whom rocking out is a weekend hobby, but who are really talented and cool enough to get away with facial hair and thumb rings that would otherwise make me look like an old queen.

But what made these guys really different was that they were fronted by a 17 year old nerd.  One of the folks I was with was the kids high school teacher, and the he stopped by the table before hand to say hello.  He was a nice enough kid, fairly smooth and intelligent, but he was about 5'8", 125 lbs, and looked like Peter Parker without a camera.

A few minutes past nine and after a ripping sound check* they started with the distinct guitar riff to the Black Crowes, "Twice as Hard" and I thought to myself, " maybe the have Peter Parker on tambourine for the first couple of songs to work the nerves out".   By the time they got through, "Clean as a whistle, Smellin' like a rose...." I had to look around the corner to see who was belting out this booming voice.  Sure enough it was Spiderman.



For the next hour I listed to this kid completely turn the room out with everything from the Beatles, to the Who, through Kiss and Zeplin, and the whole time the I watched women from 18 - 48 completely transfixed.  It was amazing....in any other setting this kid wouldn't get a second look, but here I sat and watched young girls blush and grown women with less than innocent ( if not criminal) intent.

He was like a wizard.  Like some sort of Harry Potter with a boner.

In any case, that's it.  That's what we got boys.  Get yourself a guitar, a drum set or a washboard, and start memorizing the lyrics to " Your Body is a Wonderland".  Its our only hope.

* I'm a huge fan of sound checks.  I prefer the old, " mic check mic check 1-2" over popping sounds, but I'll take what I can in a pinch.  Of course the legendary Pearl Jam - Unplugged ( Alive) soundcheck remains the measure of all others.

Grocery shopping

Me: Sophie will you come with me to the grocery store, I don't want to go alone ?

Soph: No.


Me: Come on ?

Soph: No.

Me:  Commmmmme oooonnnn ?  Just go with me ?

Soph: NO !  I'm NOT GOING !

Me: OK.  This is exactly the sort of thing that I'll remember when you're 17 and want to borrow the car.

Soph: I wont need to borrow a car from you.   If I need a car I'll steal one.

Me:  OK, fair enough.  What are you going to do for bail money ?


She didn't talk to me or look at me the whole way over to the grocery store.

Eventually she loosened up.

Editorial Comment

Besides the blunt force trauma of endless fart jokes,  there's a subtle ironic humor that I try to achieve in my writing.  For those of you who don't know me in person ( I have a curiously huge following in Afghani nationals) that twist might be lost on you.

For all my ranting and complaining about whatever situation I've gotten myself into there are a couple of undeniable truths.

1.  I'm really happy.  I have a great wife, incredible kids, and a job that I really enjoy.  I'm exactly where I want to be metaphysically.  Physically I'd rather be in Costa Rica, but that's somewhat besides this point.  I write crazy shit like stealing Schwartz's life, but for me that IS the joke....I wouldn't trade place with anyone*

2.  I completely realize that the conflict and endless commotion around me comes from one primary source.....ME.  I'm quite self-aware.  I'm a maniac.  And either by design, attraction, or infection the world around me is affected.  Stick me in another job and the people where I'm at quietly go back to shuffling papers, move me to another town and my poker and golf friends probably never end up drunk parking a stolen front end loader on their front lawn, and move me into Schwatz's house for two week and his kids will begin starting dumpster fires and my kids will take up the cello.  I get it.  Schwartz's wife smiles because she knows I'm going home.  I smile because of who I'm going home to.

Hopefully that puts some of the writing in context and that pulling back the curtain a little adds to the story. 

I wish all the readers and their families a safe and Happy New Year, my Afghani friends a premature Happy Nawruz, and here's a a crazy and exciting 2013.

Flick



* I would think the Brad Pitt rule still universally applies.