Friday, December 23, 2005


What a week it's been. Gumby has been staying with Chan and I, in from California. So he's seen a lot, between the Johnny Damon saga, and going to museums with Chan while I'm at work, and seeing a Christmas-type rock 'n' roll show with various artists (including Andrew WK, who was the reason I chose that show), all while having to walk everywhere due to the subway strike, which just ended this morning. My feet and legs are still hurting from all the walking we've done this week. It's funny, my first thought is always "Walk to Times Square? Are you out of your mind?" But then you just bundle up and start walking and have a good conversation with your friends and before you know it, you've walked 50 blocks.

We went to an Italian place last night that had a bocce court right in the dining room. Due to the strike, Gumby and I were able to get right on the court (pictured, like, 40 years ago) after our meal. We played for hours while the other diners and their kids watched. Chan was the judge. One of the waiters taught us the "real" rules, which was cool.

To wrap up the work week, just now, on my way home from work, I couldn't help but notice a ratty, disgusting man make some loud animal noise right into a woman's ear unashamedly as she walked past him towards me. She kept right on going. Then as I passed the guy, I heard him mutter something about "Boston." He stumbled right up beside me as I walked and then drunkenly asked me something about Christmas. I ignored that and turned down my street, as this happened right at the corner. He kept walking but said "You fuckin' little bitch, you don't belong in New York." I looked back for a moment, but coward that he was, he never made eye contact the entire time. Since I was so close to home, I did think that maybe I could go inside and ask "Gumby, you wanna come out here for a minute," and had Gumby help me toss the guy into the East River. But, alas, I figured someone else will do it eventually. I hope it's the next woman he opens his mouth to, actually.

Because there's no excuse for that. About what he said to me, though, hey, it's understandable. How can you not feel for fans of a team who haven't won in so long, who have to go out and steal players from the superior teams in a lame attempt to become a true winner? They have every right to be mad at the fans of the superior Boston Red Sox. I don't know how they deal with year after year of choking and choking and choking again. Must be that Puritan sense of defeatism. New York winters are cold and lonely, a perfect representation of a fan base so used to losing, it's become part of their character. Drunk, sexist cowards who sleep in the fucking sewer.

Isn't the river poluted enough? Merry Christmas and happy Chanuka.
Your great grandfather was the champion bocce player at the Luna Club. I hope you used the "old man" position: right-handed, right foot forward before the toss rather than in sync with it, left-hand placed upon thigh for balance, and actually a loft rather than a toss.
We pretty much had to roll the balls, bowling style, because lofting would've been really disturbing to the diners, who are literally right along the edge of the court
I'm talking a gentle loft, not anything that might endanger the diners. Imagine the loft of the wiffle ball from Dad to you when you were 18 months old.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Salam Elichem, Cool Kwanza and an unforgettable Festivus for the rest of us.
Yeah, but imagine if that wiffle ball weighed ten pounds and landed on the ground right next to you while you were trying to eat petagine graffanino.

Post a Comment

If you're "anonymous," please leave a name, even if it's a fake one, for differentiation purposes.

If you're having trouble commenting, try signing in to whatever account you're using first, then come back here once you're signed in.

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

My Photo
Location: Rhode Island, United States