And for those smart alecks out there, no, it's not me.
There was this kid I went to junior high with that was the personification of the word "nerd". Let me start by coming clean. I'm sure there were plenty of times I was guilty of tormenting this poor kid. I like to think that, knowing what I know now, I'd be a little more sympathetic, but I was in junior high and junior high kids are fucking cruel. However, he did bring a lot of it on himself.
First of all, he had all the textbook signs and symptoms of a nerd. He wore uncool clothes (probably Garanimals) and shoes. He neither washed nor combed his hair. He walked funny and he sucked at sports. His mom used to drop him off by the bike racks each day right in front of the gathered masses of pre-pubescent vultures ready to give him his daily dose of early morning shit. Looking back, I'm impressed that he had the fortitude not to resort to a Columbine-style rampage.
There were two things he did that elevated him above just your run-of-the-mill nerds. One was that he wrote love letters to a handful of the most popular girls in our class. In them, he described how he had fantasies about them. Big mistake. The notes instantly became public and he had nowhere to run.
The other thing he did that really baffled me was what he did in the gym locker room. At the beginning of the school year, you had to purchase a gym uniform. The guy's uniform included a jockstrap. None of us ever wore it except him. What he would do, in order to never be completely naked, was put the jock on over his underwear and then stretch the legholes of the briefs down around his ankles. It required a lot of coordination and a lot of extra time - enough time that the rest of us noticed and gathered around him in a chorus of taunts. He did this every day.
Given my disdain for bullies, it saddens me that I didn't have the balls to stick up for this kid, or at least give him some tips on how to fly under the radar. I guess I was too nervous that one wrong step and I'd be exposed for the nerd that I was, too. That's how I remember junior high - living in fear. The best bet was to keep a low profile. One moment everything could be fine, but one embarassing fuck-up and you'd be eating lunch by yourself for the rest of the year.
By the way, doing an image search for "jockstrap" is not something I intend to do again any time soon.
I don't usually do this, but my pal Frank has really been doing some great shit over at The Sirmarco Letters lately. For a while he only posted sporadically, but he's really been hitting his stride recently. If you don't already frequent his blog, consider checking it out. Call him "Frunkles". He likes that.
Hey gang!
I'm leaving on another vacation! Spring Break! Woo hoo!
Yeah, I'm aware I live in the north and snow in April is not uncommon, but fuckin' a!
I admit, when I add films to my Netflix queue, I don't always read up on what the movie is about. If it's won a few awards or looks like it might be a bit subversive, that can be enough for me. Yesterday, I received the movie "Shortbus". It wasn't what I was expecting.
All year long, I leave a bag of Kingsford charcoal on the floor next to the door by my deck, in plain view in my living room. Most people would find some place out of sight in which to store this, especially during the winter. I look at it as a constant reminder that, yes, it will get warm again. Plus, it has our nation's colors - colors that, contrary to popular belief, do not run.
For the most part, there aren't too many striking differences between the way people talk in Chicago and the way they talk in Michigan. One saying I don't remember hearing anywhere else but here is "Jeez-O-Pete's".
I love having house guests.
I've written just over 500 posts since I started blogging. That adds up to a lot of words. In many cases, a lot of these words get used more than once. I wanted to figure out some of the words that have been neglected thus far, so I did a search for a few. They have not appeared in this blog until now. They include:
I think I had about the same amount of beer this weekend as Bob McKenzie did when he was trapped at Elsinore Brewery.
I find it interesting that I have a semi-daily dialogue with many of you, yet have no idea what some of you look like. Here is a list of the people on my blogroll I don't think I've ever seen a picture of. This is in no way a request for pictures. I respect the fact that some of you want to remain anonymous. Plus, I kind of like the mystery:
Usually when I do a post like this, it's to gripe about some product not living up to its promises. In this case, I am prepared to offer praise.
And for those smart alecks out there, no, it's not me.
As I've written before, I used to play a shitload of baseball growing up, both organized and informal. I remember playing from dawn til dusk on many occasions. I even used to play a two-on-two version with a pitcher and an outfielder. It involved "pitcher's hands" (you're out if the pitcher had the ball before you got to first) and invisible men on base. I can remember the goofy shit we'd say when people were up. They include:
