Yesterday, there was a Winter Weather Advisory in effect in the Greater Boston area. Light snow in the early A.M. intensified in the late morning and early afternoon before turning to sleet and eventually rain in the late afternoon. I had to be careful on the commute home as the slush turned to ice, resulting in several minor accidents and spin-outs on 95 and the Mass Pike.
Today, the weathermen on the radio would have you believe that everything is A-ok. It's not. The roads may be in good shape, but the sidewalks are a different story.
This evening's journey took me from my apartment (point A/D) to Boston Sports Club (point B). From BSC, I jogged down to Whole Foods (point C), where I picked up dinner and some miscellaneous items which I will discuss later. Thus far, I had traversed 0.7 treacherous miles. Only 0.2 miles stood between me and a comfortable evening on my denim couch, as you can see on the map below:
View Larger Map
The time was approximately 2030hrs. As I walked out of Whole Foods, I was salivating at the thought of plopping down on the Levi's sectional with a LeBron-Dwight Howard matchup just getting underway. In one hand, I carried my neatly packed Whole Foods paper bag. In the other, I held my dinner. I had paired two chilis for dinner - a chicken chili verde and a regular beef chili - in separate sections of the black Whole Foods plate, and I didn't want them to get mixed up, which sometimes happens when dinner is placed in the paper bag in spite of how carefully the bejeweled, oft-tattooed clerks pack the bag. I was walking briskly. I had chosen to wear a pair of my homemade Adidas capris (fashioned from those black Adidas track pants). The capris kept my knees warm, but I was cold nonetheless and was trying to get inside as quickly as possible.
I crossed Cambridge St. at Garden/Blossom. I was somewhere between a jog and a walk, propelled forward by the tilt of my Nike Max Air running shoes. I'd rate this pair of Nikes highly on most dimensions. Traction is not one of those dimensions. As I reached the other side of the road, I saw that, if I hurried, I could cross Garden without waiting. I planted my right foot to make the turn...and then my right foot wasn't there anymore.
I went down hard. I said "ooop". I opted to hold onto my dinner and Whole Foods bag. This meant I took the full brunt of the fall on my right hip and side. Did not feel good. What felt even worse the number of spectators. I take it back - it wasn't the number of spectators. It was the two that felt the need to comment.
A pair of "that guys" were across Garden St., walking in my direction. That Guy A looks and That Guy B and they share a That Guy chuckle. Then That Guy A (in his backwards hat, of course) offers a deeply sympathetic: "You alright, buddy?". Mind you, I was not rolling around on the ground in agony. On the contrary, I popped right back up from my fall. A car coming down Garden St., my desire to keep my two chilis separate, the general A-hole feeling that accompanies doing something dumb and attention-getting in public...I had plenty of motivation to pop up in a hurry. I was alright. A little red-faced, but clearly alright. Thanks for the concern, pal.
The situation could have been worse. My S.O.P.O.D. (Stupid Organic Purchase of the Day*) from Whole Foods was a Raspberry Ginger cereal. Yup, Raspberry Ginger. Made by a brand called Peace Cereal. What if that gem had fallen out of the bag? It would have been a regular field day for That Guy A & B.
That Guy A: "You alright, buddy?"
That Guy B: "Oh hey, you lost your...huh...Peace cereal dude."
That Guy A: "Yeah, don't want to lose that good Raspberry stuff."
That Guy B: (trailing off) "You see his pants? Huh-huh."
Crisis averted. Narrowly.
*I just can't seem to forego the SOPOD anytime I visit Whole Foods. It never works out. In fact, there's a pack of "Doctor Kracker Organic & Artisan-Baked Klassic 3 Seed Snackers" crackers on our coffee table right now, which went for $5.99. If those crafty no-goods stocked some Ritz crackers and Frosted Flakes, I'd still have more money and my manhood. Or maybe not, since the Ritz crackers and Frosted Flakes would still be packed in my environmentally sound reusable bag, which features a picture of a tree drawn by Sheryl Crow.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Answer honestly...would you prefer to dunk once in front of a loud crowd or whenever as long as there were no cameras, spectators, or proof?
My first reader question, big moment. My issue with this one is: what are you really going to get out of dunking undercover? Where are you going to find a hoop without any spectators? Are you going out to that secret court in the woods where Air Bud developed his game?
Now suppose you do find a completely concealed court. I'm pretty sure throwing down by yourself would get a little bit old. In fact, I'm 100% sure. The basketball hoop in my driveway goes down to seven feet. Even Air Bud got tired of playing ball by himself.
The real joy of dunking is humiliating some other guy...
...and getting props from KG.
Now suppose you do find a completely concealed court. I'm pretty sure throwing down by yourself would get a little bit old. In fact, I'm 100% sure. The basketball hoop in my driveway goes down to seven feet. Even Air Bud got tired of playing ball by himself.
The real joy of dunking is humiliating some other guy...
...and getting props from KG.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Statement of purpose
As I sifted through the avalanche of fan-mail sent to thehonestbro@gmail.com, I found a few questions among the unadulterated praise:
1. What's with the name of the blog?
Molson Canadian has the slogan: "An honest brew makes its own friends". Each bottle asks a "would you prefer..." question and asks you to answer honestly. As The Honest Bro, I will answer these questions.
2. Is that all you're going to write about?
Probably not. I'm worried that there are only about 10 different questions total. I'm also planning to talk about the NBA and MTV shows like Bromance (FYI: Mondays at 9:00pm EST).
3. Why are you writing a blog in the first place?
I'd like to answer in the form of a "would you prefer..." question, which I'll then answer.
Answer honestly: would you prefer...to be a known loser with a blog or a closet loser without a blog?
When I thought about starting a blog, that was the question. How many people do I want to know I'm a loser? I remembered a conversation I had earlier this fall, and it made the decision easy.
It was a conversation I had when visiting Dartmouth. I ran into fraternal comrade Kemper Pierce, who, in the vein of Beyonce, has an alter ego "Kemper Fierce". Kemper Fierce is the epitome of frat cool. Though he's also in Boston, I haven't seen much of KP/F. We ran into each other in our frat.
Me: Hey, what's up dude?
KP/F: Remember when you soberly cut the sleeves off a sweater, split the front, wove a shoelace in the chest split, and wrote something on the back to get ready for Magic Monday?
Me: Oh yeah, that's right, heh
KP/F: What did you write on the back again?
Me: Ummm, I don't even remember.*
Silence.
Me: What was it? Probably something stupid.
KP/F: Good to see you.
*I do remember. It said "Sun's out, guns out". It was my most-prized item of frat wear. Let me explain more.
Bequests are a ceremony where seniors pass along "frat-gear" to younger guys for two main reasons: (a) to pass along they will (they hope, sort of) no longer need and (b) to fight the transience of frat-greatness, to leave mementos that remind those who come after that they once did things equally wild and crazy to things done today.
I attended my first bequests at the end of my pledge term, filled with the fervor of being a new brother. I was really impressed by all the cool stories and cool stuff that was passed along. Unfortunately, I didn't get shit (in retrospect, this should have been a signal). I did get one thing though. It was a red and beige striped sweater that the frat president threw in the middle of the floor. He said: "This is just some ugly clothing I want to get rid of".
As KP/F mentioned, I did some work on that sweater. I decided to make it my cool piece of frat gear since I didn't get much at bequests. I did in fact cut off the sleeves, cut a slit down the chest, sew up the chest slit with a shoelace, and write "Sun's out, guns out" on the back in permanent marker. Actually, I wrote "Sun's out, guns out" and drew a picture of a sun with "06X" written inside the sun. (For those non-Dartmouth folks, "06X" is the abbreviation for summer term 2006).
I wore my Sun's out guns out sweater quite a bit. I did wild and crazy things in it, like drink a lot of beer and pass out. Sometimes I mixed things up. I drank beer, ordered pizza, and then passed out. I had plans to pass along this sweater to my favorite underclassman when it came time for my bequests. Unfortunately, when it came time for my bequests, I couldn't find the sweater. At some juncture in the moving shuffle, I left it in my room at my parents' house. It's still there, unless my mom found it and has started putting it to use. Email thehonestbro@gmail.com if you want it.
What's the point of the story? Everyone already knows I'm a loser. So what the hell? I get bored of watching TV after work. Why not give a blog a try? I have an image of a place where I put my opinions and my friends read the posts and comment on what they think. Or just make fun of me. I don't know if that will happen. But I'm hoping to at least get more hits than my roommate's blog. Failing that, I'll publicly air all my complaints about living with him.
4. How can I, the reader, get involved?
There are a few ways:
1. Follow the blog (see link at right).
2. Comment on the posts. I'll take anything.
3. Email me with questions you would like to see me write about. Anticipating the massive response, I've set up a gmail account for emails: thehonestbro@gmail.com.
4. Extra credit: email me a guest column of any length about anything. I'll post it. I have no standards.
5. Who has the best set of teeth you've ever seen?
Cardinals wideout Larry Fitzgerald.
One more superlative: Best self-esteem builder: Lil' Mama from America's Best Dance Crew. Lil' Mama has a way of delivering praise such that you know it comes straight from the heart. And she's anything but stingy with compliments. If only she'd reviewed some of David Foster Wallace's work, we'd still have the best author of our generation (a third superlative, I admit).
1. What's with the name of the blog?
Molson Canadian has the slogan: "An honest brew makes its own friends". Each bottle asks a "would you prefer..." question and asks you to answer honestly. As The Honest Bro, I will answer these questions.
2. Is that all you're going to write about?
Probably not. I'm worried that there are only about 10 different questions total. I'm also planning to talk about the NBA and MTV shows like Bromance (FYI: Mondays at 9:00pm EST).
3. Why are you writing a blog in the first place?
I'd like to answer in the form of a "would you prefer..." question, which I'll then answer.
Answer honestly: would you prefer...to be a known loser with a blog or a closet loser without a blog?
When I thought about starting a blog, that was the question. How many people do I want to know I'm a loser? I remembered a conversation I had earlier this fall, and it made the decision easy.
It was a conversation I had when visiting Dartmouth. I ran into fraternal comrade Kemper Pierce, who, in the vein of Beyonce, has an alter ego "Kemper Fierce". Kemper Fierce is the epitome of frat cool. Though he's also in Boston, I haven't seen much of KP/F. We ran into each other in our frat.
Me: Hey, what's up dude?
KP/F: Remember when you soberly cut the sleeves off a sweater, split the front, wove a shoelace in the chest split, and wrote something on the back to get ready for Magic Monday?
Me: Oh yeah, that's right, heh
KP/F: What did you write on the back again?
Me: Ummm, I don't even remember.*
Silence.
Me: What was it? Probably something stupid.
KP/F: Good to see you.
*I do remember. It said "Sun's out, guns out". It was my most-prized item of frat wear. Let me explain more.
Bequests are a ceremony where seniors pass along "frat-gear" to younger guys for two main reasons: (a) to pass along they will (they hope, sort of) no longer need and (b) to fight the transience of frat-greatness, to leave mementos that remind those who come after that they once did things equally wild and crazy to things done today.
I attended my first bequests at the end of my pledge term, filled with the fervor of being a new brother. I was really impressed by all the cool stories and cool stuff that was passed along. Unfortunately, I didn't get shit (in retrospect, this should have been a signal). I did get one thing though. It was a red and beige striped sweater that the frat president threw in the middle of the floor. He said: "This is just some ugly clothing I want to get rid of".
As KP/F mentioned, I did some work on that sweater. I decided to make it my cool piece of frat gear since I didn't get much at bequests. I did in fact cut off the sleeves, cut a slit down the chest, sew up the chest slit with a shoelace, and write "Sun's out, guns out" on the back in permanent marker. Actually, I wrote "Sun's out, guns out" and drew a picture of a sun with "06X" written inside the sun. (For those non-Dartmouth folks, "06X" is the abbreviation for summer term 2006).
I wore my Sun's out guns out sweater quite a bit. I did wild and crazy things in it, like drink a lot of beer and pass out. Sometimes I mixed things up. I drank beer, ordered pizza, and then passed out. I had plans to pass along this sweater to my favorite underclassman when it came time for my bequests. Unfortunately, when it came time for my bequests, I couldn't find the sweater. At some juncture in the moving shuffle, I left it in my room at my parents' house. It's still there, unless my mom found it and has started putting it to use. Email thehonestbro@gmail.com if you want it.
What's the point of the story? Everyone already knows I'm a loser. So what the hell? I get bored of watching TV after work. Why not give a blog a try? I have an image of a place where I put my opinions and my friends read the posts and comment on what they think. Or just make fun of me. I don't know if that will happen. But I'm hoping to at least get more hits than my roommate's blog. Failing that, I'll publicly air all my complaints about living with him.
4. How can I, the reader, get involved?
There are a few ways:
1. Follow the blog (see link at right).
2. Comment on the posts. I'll take anything.
3. Email me with questions you would like to see me write about. Anticipating the massive response, I've set up a gmail account for emails: thehonestbro@gmail.com.
4. Extra credit: email me a guest column of any length about anything. I'll post it. I have no standards.
5. Who has the best set of teeth you've ever seen?
Cardinals wideout Larry Fitzgerald.
One more superlative: Best self-esteem builder: Lil' Mama from America's Best Dance Crew. Lil' Mama has a way of delivering praise such that you know it comes straight from the heart. And she's anything but stingy with compliments. If only she'd reviewed some of David Foster Wallace's work, we'd still have the best author of our generation (a third superlative, I admit).
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Answer honestly: would you prefer...to have your dream house in the Arctic or be homeless living on the beach?
This is an easy one. The dream house in the Arctic. Hell, you could put a beach in your dream house and pretend to be a homeless person living on that beach.
Think of the possibilities. Remember the ice castle from "Die Another Day"? (Aside: if you answered no to the previous question, you are missing out on the finest of the Bond franchise. Not since the days of Timothy Dalton has arrogance and misogyny met such an utterly outlandish plot. The only shame is that Pierce is overshadowed in his finale by freakish villain Graves, the North Korean dictator's son, who undergoes gene therapy to become a WASP wine-swirling, hair-slicked-back, black-turtleneck-wearing fencing specialist. For me, the apex of the movie comes in what I consider a modern interpretation of the Luke-I-am-your-Father scene: Graves' father (good solid North Korean last name) claims he no longer recognizes his son, forcing Graves to make the painfully difficult decision to electrocute his "father" with his metal glove/wrist guard that harnesses the sun's power, a decision so painful that the sheer agony of following through with the choice - one necessary to futher his pursuit of world domination/destruction - sends a burst of remorse through his semi-human nervous system and causes Graves to turn away suddenly and turn his eyes upward (toward the sun that is now under the control of Graves's wrist guard-turned-patrocidal-weapon). I don't know what literary or artistic term explains why this moment is so poignant.) Combine that ice castle with the emperor penguin exhibit at the Boston Aquarium, and you have the coolest anteroom/deck imaginable. That's before you take a heated Gotham-City-before-the-crime-scourge monorail to the center of your personal Wayne Tower. You get the idea.
I think this is a case where whoever wrote the question didn't think through just how boundless "dream" is. Give me three wishes without any conditions on them, and I'll start by wishing for unlimited wishes. Bam. Then I'll use wish number two out of infinity to wish for a fifth Pierce Bond movie starring TD as the villain. Or maybe I'd prefer a knock-off franchise starring Pierce and TD side-by-side as a British-accented dry-humor version of Starsky and Hutch. Not sure how that would play out. Then again, who cares? I can recast and/or revise the script with wish number three. JCVD might be involved.
Think of the possibilities. Remember the ice castle from "Die Another Day"? (Aside: if you answered no to the previous question, you are missing out on the finest of the Bond franchise. Not since the days of Timothy Dalton has arrogance and misogyny met such an utterly outlandish plot. The only shame is that Pierce is overshadowed in his finale by freakish villain Graves, the North Korean dictator's son, who undergoes gene therapy to become a WASP wine-swirling, hair-slicked-back, black-turtleneck-wearing fencing specialist. For me, the apex of the movie comes in what I consider a modern interpretation of the Luke-I-am-your-Father scene: Graves' father (good solid North Korean last name) claims he no longer recognizes his son, forcing Graves to make the painfully difficult decision to electrocute his "father" with his metal glove/wrist guard that harnesses the sun's power, a decision so painful that the sheer agony of following through with the choice - one necessary to futher his pursuit of world domination/destruction - sends a burst of remorse through his semi-human nervous system and causes Graves to turn away suddenly and turn his eyes upward (toward the sun that is now under the control of Graves's wrist guard-turned-patrocidal-weapon). I don't know what literary or artistic term explains why this moment is so poignant.) Combine that ice castle with the emperor penguin exhibit at the Boston Aquarium, and you have the coolest anteroom/deck imaginable. That's before you take a heated Gotham-City-before-the-crime-scourge monorail to the center of your personal Wayne Tower. You get the idea.
I think this is a case where whoever wrote the question didn't think through just how boundless "dream" is. Give me three wishes without any conditions on them, and I'll start by wishing for unlimited wishes. Bam. Then I'll use wish number two out of infinity to wish for a fifth Pierce Bond movie starring TD as the villain. Or maybe I'd prefer a knock-off franchise starring Pierce and TD side-by-side as a British-accented dry-humor version of Starsky and Hutch. Not sure how that would play out. Then again, who cares? I can recast and/or revise the script with wish number three. JCVD might be involved.
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