Grin and Bear it All

So there I am, sitting in the dentist chair, the dental assistant picking at my teeth with her pointy implements, and she asks me what my plans are for the weekend.

"Unh?"

It's hard to talk with metal tools in your mouth.

This all reminded me of my childhood dentist, Dr. Hunter. He was the father of my best friend, and his office reminded me of my grandfather's den, the comforting aroma of pipe tobacco hanging in the air. Often he still had the unlit pipe hanging from his mouth as I came in.

He was a great story teller, and I realize now it was perfected over the years by his captive audiences. I didn't mind hearing him recount how his garden was coming along, or what trouble Andrew and Kevin had gotten into. As long as he stayed away from asking what his son Iain and I had been up to. Of course, the conversation does get to that point, usually about the time he has my mouth open and the picking tool poised. Being the master of the one-sided conversation, he would pose rhetorical questions and see if I reacted. Often I was only reacting to the tool in my mouth as it poked my gums.

One time, we were well along in the cleaning and I thought that I was going to skate through with no questions, when he said, "So I had your parents over the week before last, some other people as well. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to bring out a bottle of my wine from last fall, eh? Seems I must have miscounted though, since I was a bottle short in the wine closet. What makes it strange is I could swear I had that extra bottle in there a month ago. You were over for the sleepover Iain had with Jay and the boys, what, 2 weeks ago?

In my head, I am recounting that evening. We had each brought alcohol pilfered from our parents cabinets. We walked the warm summer night, traversing the quiet backyards and streets while the assortment was passed around, including a bottle of Dr. Hunter's wine. After a few hours of mischief in the neighborhood, which included but was not limited to toilet papering the driveway, tying knots in hoses, playing "ring and run" (aka "nicky nicky nine door") and harassing the park ranger in Crescent Park.

After we had returned to the Hunter's barn and laid down for the night, I vomited. According to reports, I just rolled onto my side, barfed, then rolled over the other way and went back to sleep. The barn we were sleeping in reeked of ill-procesed vino the next day. I spend a good portion scrubbing the planks and cleaning my sleeping bag, the aroma sticking to me and my pounding head. Never again... (yeah right)

Dr Hunter had me squirming under the bright examination light, the lapse in conversation speaking volumes. Then he was onto another story, and I was eager to hear all about it.

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Free Pool

What part of "free" don’t these people understand?

I put our old pool out by the road, with a sign that says “Free Pool + Liner”. The parts are all stacked neatly. It would all fit in the back of a SUV or pickup no problem.

Two days later, it’s still there. What’s WITH these people?

Last year, I put out an old bike with “Free” on a piece of cardboard. I didn’t make it back to the garage, and somebody was stopping. I turned, and they had it in the back of their pickup. POOF! Sign and all.

So I thought the old pool would be the same thing. It’s 90 degrees outside! Who doesn’t want to cool off?

It’s a FREE pool! Fer christ sakes.

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The Rest-In-Peace Roast

I should be a millionaire, I have so many sweet money making ideas. And you'd never hear me whine that "money doesn't buy you happiness" or "gee I miss going to work every day". Nope, not me.

I bring this up because I had another great Business Idea, which would make me a fortune if I had the gumption to implement it. This one I like to call "The Rest-In-Peace Roast".

Just imagine, you've passed away, and now hover with your brand new wings over your wake, watching loved ones reminisce about you. Some people sniff and cry quietly, others seem bored. The common theme is that whoever they are talking about, it sure as heck isn't you. The stories are filled with inaccuracies, lies and rosy remembrances. Your rough edges that took year create are suddenly rubbed smooth!

The cousin that used to call you an ignorant hack now praises your investment skills, while Uncle Buck recounts how you succeeded at college thanks to his advice to give "American Studies" a try. In reality, that cousin wouldn't know an investment from a coffee can buried in his back yard, and the uncle only busted your balls for four years to enter dental school.

This is how the commercial will go (yes I've already thought this through). The spokesman for this product could be Stephen Collins from 7th Heaven. So imagine his calm voice reading this script:

We're all going to die. It's just plain science.

Hi, I'm Stephen Collins. On the television show "7th Heaven" I play a minister who has to deal with death and funerals all the time, and so I know it's not easy.

When you leave your Earth-bound body, your loved ones gather and hold a ceremony to remember you. But what will be said? Who speaks for YOU at YOUR wake?

That's where The Rest-In-Peace Roast can help! Our professional Roaster will attend your wake, armed with material written after an in-depth interview with you. Like a will, you select which relative get's named, and give us some juicy details to create a zinger on your behalf.

(cut to clips from wake of customer John Porter)



"I see Cousin Mike made it for John's wake. Nothing like free tissues to get him to venture out away from his computer porn business. Well, he's not technically IN the internet porn business, but he is a customer. Right Mike?"

"And Uncle Frank is here. John always spoke fondly of his Uncle Frank. Or was that Uncle Frank was always fondling him? I forget."

(cut back to Stephen Collins)

The possibilities are eternal. Why look down upon your remembrance ceremony with anger and frustration? The Rest-In-Peace Roast gives YOU the chance to get the last word at the last rites.

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I'm Royalty. Really.

One of the biggest scams that people of Irish heritage fall for is the Family Coat of Arms. If you have Irish in your blood, then chances are good that somewhere in your house is a coffee mug or plaque or something that has what you believe to be your family crest. Maybe you even got it from here.

There's something about us ex-Irish. We like to think we come from royalty, but how many kings can one country have, fer christsake? I would guess that for the most part the ancestors who fled Ireland were simple peasants trying to avoid starving to death.


The O'Drunkahan Family Crest

I may be cynical about it, but I'm still keeping my family crest on the wall. My neighbors don't realize it's a scam, so I'll still point to it when they come over and say, "Hey, did you know we O'Drunkhan's come from royalty?"

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Not Born To Ride

This guy probably should stick the bus.

My favorite line:
"He had no driving ability. However, he was obviously a fairly tough fellow."

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Man Overboard

I've cruised. Both times to Bermuda and had stellar fun both times. The drinks have fruit in them, your waiter knows how you like your coffee, and you can have as many dinners as you want. It gives you a sense of what it must be like to be Tom Cruise. Minus the Scientology enlightenment.

You can't open a newspaper most weeks without reading a story like this.

Is this is really a big problem, or a new problem, or is the media is just making more of these kinds of incidents?

"According to the International Council of Cruise Lines, 24 people were reported missing aboard cruise ships over a three-year period ending March 2005."

While it's true that more people are killed by falling coconuts than go missing off cruise ships, the number still seems alarmingly high. I suspect that there is a type of serial killer that roams the seas in these floating hotels and every few weeks sends a passenger over the side.

I've been on the sea. I grew up by the pacific ocean and have spent a few hairy trips on sailboats to gain a big respect for the sea. And a respect for learning how to sail correctly, read depth charts, and for listening to current weather reports. I love to swim, but even with a floatation device, I would not like to be adrift watching the midnight buffet disappear off into the distance.

That would be a time where the phrase "fuck me" would be appropriate, wouldn't you say?

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Real Life

I rented the movie Real Life from the library. I'm an Albert Brooks fan, and had never heard of this movie, so I decided to check it out.



Yikes.

Brooks was 30 years ahead of his time, nailing the boom of reality TV. Here's the synopsis:

"A pushy, narcissistic filmmaker persuades a Phoenix family to let he and his crew film their everyday lives, in the manner of the ground-breaking PBS series "An American Family". However, instead of remaining unobtrusive and letting the family be themselves, he can't help himself from trying to control every facet of their lives "for the good of the show"."

The movie is damn funny. The camera guys "wear" the camera, as you can see in this picture and they capture a ton of embarrassing moments of the family, and proceed to wreck their lives in the filming. Sound familiar? Yeah, it's the reality TV MO we are all used to now.

You'll have a hard time finding this movie out there in Blockbuster land, but swear to god it will crack you up should you luck upon it. It should be required viewing for anyone signing up for these effin reality tv shows.

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The Circle of Life

Two recent news stories on the same theme:

Bears eat monkey, visitors shocked
Alligators blamed for 2 more deaths

When we witness the savage and brutal examples of nature in action, like a bald eagle carrying off a still-kicking bunny screeching in panic, our sensibilities are offended. "Bad form, old chap!" as the English say. No, it's carrying out the circle of life just like Disney talks about.

You can build track houses all over a swampland, but the gators are still going to want to live there, and they'll adapt and start attacking the dogs, cats and people who stroll by their territory. They gotta be themselves, which in the case is one of the most successful carnivore's this planet has even seen. Hey, it's science.

For the record, I already had "being eaten by an alligator" on my list of ways I don't want to die. Maybe I'll move it up a few notches, right below "falling into a sewage container and drowning" and above "Heart attack while on the crapper".

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At The Movies

This guy is funny. And nuts.

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Balls

I coach two baseball teams. Well, it's not coaching so much as I herd children in an attempt to teach them how to play the game. It doesn't take years of training, or a deep depth baseball knowledge (I slip into hockey lingo sometimes) but you do have to be able to do a few things well.

Yell. I'm not a yeller, but when your center fielder is pulling up the grass and sprinkling it over themselves when they should be watching out for the ball, or the kids are running all over the dugout like it's a jungle gym then you can't do much else. As the coaches go, I stink at yelling, and find it works best to get up close and be able to look them in the eyes so they can see I'm serious as I tell them I'm going to make them do push-ups. That usually works.

Push Ups. I shy'd away from this tactic at first, but kids hate push ups and so they will pay more attention if you tell them to 'drop and give you 10' a few times.

Give Up. On both teams, the head coach is on the verge of quitting and it's only been three games. Both teams have a larger than usual share of kids who aren't there to learn, they are there because their folks dropped them off. Like day-care. My experiences with coaching kids has been consistent to this kind of situation. The other coaches have all had winning teams, which gave them a taste of success, and now they have teams full of kids with ADD and other disorders and they are not sure what to make of it.

Go With De Flo. That's my theory. Teach the kids who want to learn, try and teach the ones who are just there for the free t-short and hat, and give the blood pressure a rest. If you think your kid is going to be playing in the MLB someday, and you're going to complain if he can't play first base all game, then take him somewhere else to play.

Only 12 more games to go. Then soccer starts. It's a labor of love.

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New People On My List

Yeah, I keep a shit list. Who doesn't? These are the people I added to my list this week.

Mr. Bluetooth headset - welcome to my list!
Why? Because you can't be seperated from your phone for 2 seconds.

I saw you eating dinner with some chick Saturday night at Le Conca Dora. She must be the perfect woman for you, because she was on her cell phone the whole time as well. Why did you bother going out to dinner together? You're just wayyyy to busy for things like "meals" and "face to face conversation".


Mr Low Profile tires, you're another jackass who's burned rubber onto my list.

Yeah, they're cool. But it always looks like you tires need air, and this annoys me.


OK, enough negative. Time for some magic.

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Queens maybe, but not Queen

They call themselves a tribute band, but aside from the guitar and bass
players, this ain't no tribute.

Ovueen, Korean Queen Tribute Band - Medley

And next time, pick better songs.

The best tribute band I ever saw was called Shine On, and they were playing a wedding reception on Long Island. I was wandering around checking out the other parties in the mega-reception-plex and heard them playing "Comfortably Numb". I hung out until their next break, amazed. They had two guys who did the Gilmour/Waters trade off better than I ever heard, and played the music like Floyd did live - not reproducing the album but giving it more flair.

So there are a few good things about going to Long Island.

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Banzai!

Hey Pope, Pass The Eggplant Parmesan

We had a family birthday last Sunday, and celebrated in the Pope's Party Room at Buco Di Beppo.

In case you've never dropped-it-like-it's-hot in that venue, here's a picture:


The lazy susan in the middle of the table is for sharing of the plates, because portions are enormous. During the meal, the Pope's bust in the middle of the table spins around as people make their selections, turning the gaze of the papal visage to different people. The bust in the picture above is not the one we had on our table. We had the new Pope, who has a way more intense look on his face.

So every so often during the meal I would feel those lifeless eyes boring into my head. I would meet the plaster stare, and feel uncomfortable, at which point I would pretend I wanted another meatball and spin the pope to look at someone else. It really freaked out the kids, who would immediately yell out "Ahhh, the pope's looking at me!" then spin the pope to someone else.

It doesn't make sense that an inanimate object could weird you out, but rather it taps into your psyche and any "issues" you have come forth. Being raise uber-catholic, I have enough guilt for a bowling alley full of burglars.

Great food, but I would have rather been eating it in the Sophia Loren room which was right next to ours. They had this picture hanging in there.

Now that's a spicy meat-a-ball.

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Sting Like A Bee

I had this pair of khaki shorts that I wore one damn time before something spilled on them and left a stain. They were really comfortable, baggy with big cargo pockets. I refused to part with them, and hatched the bright idea to dye them. They came out bitchin, although now slightly darker tan than before, but the stain was gone and I hung them triumphantly on the line outside to bake in the sun over the weekend.

Tonight was the first baseball game for Emily’s team, and so I broke out my snazzy newly-dyed shorts to wear with my coach shirt. Putting my keys into my pocket, I felt a sting on my finger, like I jabbed it into a pin. Or like it had been stung by a wasp. Which is what had happened.

Yes, in the two days my shorts hung out in the sun, two wasps moved in. They were apparently a little pissed I had taken the shorts inside and put them in my drawer overnight, so when my hand made an appearance, they stabbed it with their pointy behinds.

But it could have been worse. That pocket was mere inches from the crown jewels - I don’t even want to think how bad that would have hurt. Fer shizzle.

The other bright side to the evening was Emily got a hit in her first at bat. For weeks she has been bummed that she hasn’t been able to hit pitches in practice, her swing being too cautious and slow. She was trying to make contact, not HIT the ball. So we have been working on it in the backyard, often reluctantly on her part. She missed playing last year, and never got the t-ball/coach pitch transition. She had visions of going all season without a single hit, and the thought of that was seriously impacting her enthusiasm for playing.

I was the first base coach, so I got to see her happy face up close as she stood on the bag while her teammates cheered from the bench. On the way home, she asked when the next game was.

That’s my girl.

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