- Just read Schaubs' post about his less-than-perfect relationship with his Dad. That took guts, m'man. It's easy to write about how much your dad meant to you - god knows I've had practice - but it can't be easy when your dad is a disappointment. Schaubs, you have my respect.
- Speaking of blogs, I've been reading Hurricane Mikey's with amusement and interest. Just the right mix of poker and life, well-written, conversational, and entertaining. Nice work, Mikey - keep it up.
- I used to really like DB Cooper's blog until he went nose-to-nose with the Boston Red Sox. Now listen: I'm no Johnny-come-lately Sox fan. I remember watching the 75 ALCS against the A's back when it was a best-of-five series. Dick Stockton and Ken Harrelson called the game for Channel 38 (that's right, it wasn't nationally carried!). I cried when they lost the '78 tiebreaker game. Cried! A boy of 10. Later that day I played Monopoly with my brothers and to needle me even further they called Free Parking "The Pennant," those bastards. If Free Parking is mentioned to this day they'll call it the Pennant, and probably won't even remember why. Anyway, I like Coop, I like his blog. But Coop, dude, you gotta lay off the Sox or I'm taking my ball and going home.
- Then there's Josie. We've had our moments, she and I, but it's one of those deals where we do our fighting in private, and even if I'm so pissed off at her I can't even speak, don't you DARE disparage her in front of me (right Wolfie? I still apologize for that!), even if you're kidding. I've known her for more years than I'd care to remember, and I value our friendship a great deal. AND, to nobody's surprise, she's a good blogger. I've been bitching at her to start writing for years now - not blogging per se but whatever gets her to put pen to paper is ok with me. Did you know that she is/was a member of Mensa? If she wants to give more detail she certainly can.
- In closing, and since it's six minutes to Mookie/Dank (can we just agree to call it the Dookie? hahahaha) I'll leave you with another "best of" story. The "Last post" referred to in the title was the one where I fell and broke my ass. Enjoy!
Reaction from My Last Post
The consensus from the small yet passionate circle of friends, acquaintances, and various and sundry hangers-on is unanimous: Everybody loves a post wherein Your Hero inflicts pain upon himself, whether that pain be physical or mental. Apparently, they can't get enough of some good old-fashioned pie-in-the-face humor and debasement, as long as 1) they are NOT the subject of the humor, and 2) I am.
Well, who am I not to oblige? Forthwith then one of my most embarassing moments on this earth.
My first new car was a 1989 Ford Mustang, black with a red interior. I bought it for the princely sum of $9,400 in the summer of that year. And I loved that car, whether it deserved the love or not. Hey - I was all of 21 years old - what can I tell you? If you want to take a look at what it sorta looked like, click here [don't bother - link long since taken down]. Mine was a hard-top, and not automatic, but it's more or less the same car. The details aren't too important; suffice to say I loved the car and felt like a million bucks driving it.
One fine day as I was driving down the highway (128 South, heading towards 93, for you townies), I looked to my right and saw some dude driving the exact same car as mine. black exterior, red interior, the whole bit. My car down to the floorboards. So I did what any car-proud youngster would do: I sidled up to him and made eye contact, making what I hoped was the universal gesture for, 'hey, check it out, we're driving the same car.'
The other guy looked at me as if I were holding up a fresh turd for his examination.
Undaunted by this apparent rejection, I pointed at his car, then pointed to mine, again in a gesture I thought was immediately recognizable as an acknowledgement that we were, in fact, brothers in automobilia.
Again, he gave me a look that would wilt lettuce and pounded on the gas, speeding away.
I was left only to reflect on the unfriendliness of my fellow man when it struck me why he had reacted the way he did: I was driving my girlfriend's car at the time, a decidedly girly Honda Prelude. Instead of "Hey, we have the same car," he could have only taken my gesture as meaning, "pull over - I'm a homosexual." I turned the color of the interior of my car, a humbler boy, but a little bit wiser.
And because this story has no real moral I'll borrow the one from my previous post: Don't mess with your own ass.