I have to get out of the office more often. I spend my day going from one meeting to another or at my desk doing work. Sometimes the meetings are in different buildings so I do get to briefly go outside, but mostly I'm indoors from when I get in until I leave in the evening. It's not exactly what I'd call a big problem or anything like that. It just is what it is, y'know? I get busy and before I know it, I've been sitting in my cube all day (minor confession here: I came really close to saying "my office" just then to give the impression that I'm not just sitting in a drab beige-grey box with no top. As if I might actually have a door or *gasp!* a window...but alas, I do not. My cube does have one "wall" that has glass in it but that's not really the same as a window is it? No, it's mainly a source of annoyance when people stare at me as they walk by. Keep it moving people. Do not make eye contact).
I sometimes go for a short walk during my lunch hour (maybe down to the Charles River or over to Central Square to people watch. Central Sq. may be a lot less sketchy than it used to be but hoo-boy there are still quite a few characters to be seen) but as the weather gets warmer, I have to limit my range. Why? The "sweat factor". I know....I'm gross. But seriously, if I walk too far and/or too fast (not really an issue...let's be honest), I run the risk of becoming a sweaty mess. As I may have mentioned before, I generate enough heat to power a small city. If you add to that a high ambient temperature, or god forbid, humidity, well, that's a recipe for disaster. It is out of courtesy for my fellow workers that I will keep things under control.
As the weather improves, I must bid adieu to a rarely used but wonderful way to recharge myself. I call it "urban camping". Urban camping for me means going to my car in the garage here at work and sitting inside quietly while trying to clear my head (again, not really an issue for the most part). Sometimes I'd just take a quicky nap (like 15 min) but the main idea is to just take a break from what's going on and relax. I've never read anything about how to meditate but I think I have the basics. It works really well for me. I don't think I'll be able to do it as much during the summer because I like to have the windows rolled up so that it is as quiet as possible. That's kinda hard to do when it's 90°F out.
Speaking of 90°F days, they're coming and I am not looking forward to them. Since I can't do the camping thing nor can I go for a walk when it's that damn hot out I'm going to have to find some alternative. I thought about trying to book a conference room for a half hour or so as a solution but the walls here as so super thin that I think it'll be too distracting for me. Plus, I'm not sure what the perception of someone meditating in a conference room is here at the office. My guess is that it may not be positive. I have to find some place to do this though because I like the way it helps me focus. I'm not an afternoon coffee person (used to be during the Hate Bus days) and I'm suspicious of the 5-Hour Energy stuff and their ilk, so I've come to depend on these sessions to help keep me going. I hope I'm not turning into a hippie, I'm allergic to hacky-sacks.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Everyone Will Want to Buy This Product!
Right around the same time that I was "taking a break" from college and trying to find a career path that best suited my lack of experience/terrible attitude, I wandered into the clutches of a multi-level marketing job (which is a polite way of saying "pyramid scheme"). This particular episode of Vocational Errors by Your Host Mark took place sometime during 1991 since I was living in Jamaica Plain at the time. As a matter of fact, I just realized that this Vocational Error is a two-fer since I was also working at Copy Cop (making the lofty wage of $7.50/hr). So I was doubling down on the stupidity. Let's dive shall we?
A friend of mine had heard about another friend of ours who had had recently come to be involved in this really lucrative and exciting business. He said that we should meet up with him and see what this business opportunity was. He was super excited to do this and I was pretty naive (read: dumb) so I agreed to meet up. Our friend suggested that rather than the 3 of us meeting that we should instead come to this office building to meet his contact (Business Dude). Whatever, just tell me where to be and what time to be there. (Note: that's 4 uses of the word "meet" in one tiny paragraph. What an excellent vocabulary, Mark. Actually the whole paragraph is poorly written and confusing. Meh, I'm too lazy to fix it now.)
We met with the Business Dude and he was impressive to the 1991 me. He looked completely legit with a dark suit, nice hairdo, and rented office space. He even had a big wooden desk and framed pictures on his walls. Clearly, this guy had made it so I should listen up and pay attention here. He went on to explain what the product was and how the business ran. We were to give people the opportunity to experience the superior quality of NSA Water Filters and at the same time let them in on the rewarding and financially liberating world of sales! He showed us how our friend had sold X amount of filters and was now moving on to amass his own team of sales guys (a.k.a. the two of us. Oh man, what a poor choice he was making). The Business Dude said things like "You can make your own hours! Work as much or as little as you want! These things sell themselves!", which to a guy like me who was lazy and unmotivated that's the equivalent of saying "It's like college where no one really cares if you do the assigned work or not. It's totally up to you and your well-defined work ethic. Go get 'em tiger!". Business Dude assured us that this model was working for him, would soon work for our other friend and could, in fact, work for us.
What I should have said was "No, I'm not interested in being a marketing/sales dude. I'm more of an introverted cube-jockey kind of guy. Got any jobs like that around here in this one-room office?" But what I did was sign up on the spot. I also purchased the sales starter kit which included a couple of the sink filters, some pamphlets, a video tape of a woman who was entirely way too excited about the virtues of filtered water, and some freebie give-away things (pens, stickers and shit like that). Did I mention that I had to borrow money off my friend in order to buy this kit? I went to a sales meeting/cult-like motivational speech thing at a local hotel and listened to person after person get up and tell their remarkable stories of success selling theseoverpriced and shitty wonderful water filters. Each person's story was more fantastic than the next. "I used to be a real estate broker," one woman said. "But I got tired of getting broker and broker! <she paused for a waayyy-too-forced laugh break here> So I started selling NSA filters and supplies to all my dumb friends! Now look at me! I'm so successful that I'm standing in a Holiday Inn conference room on a Tuesday night talking to all you assholes!" (I'm paraphrasing of course). It was thrilling. I was convinced that I'd be one of those successful douchebags within the year.
I went home that night all psyched up about my new found fast-track to wealth. All I had to do was sell hundreds of water filters and filter-related products to all the people I knew while I recruited them to be in my sales crew. What could possibly go wrong? Oh, except the fact that 2 of my friends were already doing the exact same thing and hitting up the very same, now rapidly dwindling supply of peeps. Ah shit. Plus, I have a full-time job and no car. Pfffffffth. Whatever. What I decided to do was to install one of the filters on the kitchen faucet in my apartment and then take the only other one in the kit and install it in my parents' apartment. What a brilliant marketing plan: Put the product where the least amount of people will see it. I think this is the same way Dyson sold all those vacuums. I could be wrong about that.
About 2 weeks later I was contacted by Business Guy. He was just checking in to see how amazingly successful I was by now. I explained that I had not exactly had the rapid rise to success that everyone had expected of me but to rest assured, I was certainly massively qualified to run my own off-shoot of this business. It would only be a couple more weeks before I found my groove. Business Guy also wanted to know if I needed any more filters or other things that he could sell to me (no, I didn't pick up on this red flag). I bought a couple more filters from him (along with a couple of the portable models which, he told me a little too quickly, could be used to filter your own urine into potable drinking water. Um, ok...I'll take your word for it mister). I failed to ask him if there was any kind of training or management support for a dumb-dumb like me out there in the field. Basically, I just said "yes" a lot on the phone and went blindly forward. I was 4 weeks and a few hundred dollars into this deal and had nothing to show for it.
The next several weeks resulted in zero water filter sales for Team Mark. Actually, I'm not sure I can legally call it a team since I was the only member. My friend who had joined up with me had also not had much success. One of the biggest hurdles that we both faced was that these things were fairly pricey (I believe they were in the $200 range) and everyone we knew were Po' Folk who didn't mind drinking water straight from the tap. This was 1991 remember so the whole filtered\bottled water thing hadn't really taken off (that's it! we were AHEAD of our time!!). I floundered around with this "business" eating at my tiny budget for another week or so and then I made the call to the friend who got me into this whole mess in the first place. "Look man," I explained. "I'm not going to do this anymore. I haven't sold one filter thing and I can't afford to buy samples and supplies." He made a last-ditch effort to front me some filters and other supplies to keep my sinking business afloat until the sales started pouring in but I turned him down. "I quit man. I'm done." He hung up on me and I don't think I've spoken to him since. Ah well. At least I had good drinking water for another 5 months until the filter clogged up and it stopped working.
A friend of mine had heard about another friend of ours who had had recently come to be involved in this really lucrative and exciting business. He said that we should meet up with him and see what this business opportunity was. He was super excited to do this and I was pretty naive (read: dumb) so I agreed to meet up. Our friend suggested that rather than the 3 of us meeting that we should instead come to this office building to meet his contact (Business Dude). Whatever, just tell me where to be and what time to be there. (Note: that's 4 uses of the word "meet" in one tiny paragraph. What an excellent vocabulary, Mark. Actually the whole paragraph is poorly written and confusing. Meh, I'm too lazy to fix it now.)
We met with the Business Dude and he was impressive to the 1991 me. He looked completely legit with a dark suit, nice hairdo, and rented office space. He even had a big wooden desk and framed pictures on his walls. Clearly, this guy had made it so I should listen up and pay attention here. He went on to explain what the product was and how the business ran. We were to give people the opportunity to experience the superior quality of NSA Water Filters and at the same time let them in on the rewarding and financially liberating world of sales! He showed us how our friend had sold X amount of filters and was now moving on to amass his own team of sales guys (a.k.a. the two of us. Oh man, what a poor choice he was making). The Business Dude said things like "You can make your own hours! Work as much or as little as you want! These things sell themselves!", which to a guy like me who was lazy and unmotivated that's the equivalent of saying "It's like college where no one really cares if you do the assigned work or not. It's totally up to you and your well-defined work ethic. Go get 'em tiger!". Business Dude assured us that this model was working for him, would soon work for our other friend and could, in fact, work for us.
What I should have said was "No, I'm not interested in being a marketing/sales dude. I'm more of an introverted cube-jockey kind of guy. Got any jobs like that around here in this one-room office?" But what I did was sign up on the spot. I also purchased the sales starter kit which included a couple of the sink filters, some pamphlets, a video tape of a woman who was entirely way too excited about the virtues of filtered water, and some freebie give-away things (pens, stickers and shit like that). Did I mention that I had to borrow money off my friend in order to buy this kit? I went to a sales meeting/cult-like motivational speech thing at a local hotel and listened to person after person get up and tell their remarkable stories of success selling these
I went home that night all psyched up about my new found fast-track to wealth. All I had to do was sell hundreds of water filters and filter-related products to all the people I knew while I recruited them to be in my sales crew. What could possibly go wrong? Oh, except the fact that 2 of my friends were already doing the exact same thing and hitting up the very same, now rapidly dwindling supply of peeps. Ah shit. Plus, I have a full-time job and no car. Pfffffffth. Whatever. What I decided to do was to install one of the filters on the kitchen faucet in my apartment and then take the only other one in the kit and install it in my parents' apartment. What a brilliant marketing plan: Put the product where the least amount of people will see it. I think this is the same way Dyson sold all those vacuums. I could be wrong about that.
About 2 weeks later I was contacted by Business Guy. He was just checking in to see how amazingly successful I was by now. I explained that I had not exactly had the rapid rise to success that everyone had expected of me but to rest assured, I was certainly massively qualified to run my own off-shoot of this business. It would only be a couple more weeks before I found my groove. Business Guy also wanted to know if I needed any more filters or other things that he could sell to me (no, I didn't pick up on this red flag). I bought a couple more filters from him (along with a couple of the portable models which, he told me a little too quickly, could be used to filter your own urine into potable drinking water. Um, ok...I'll take your word for it mister). I failed to ask him if there was any kind of training or management support for a dumb-dumb like me out there in the field. Basically, I just said "yes" a lot on the phone and went blindly forward. I was 4 weeks and a few hundred dollars into this deal and had nothing to show for it.
The next several weeks resulted in zero water filter sales for Team Mark. Actually, I'm not sure I can legally call it a team since I was the only member. My friend who had joined up with me had also not had much success. One of the biggest hurdles that we both faced was that these things were fairly pricey (I believe they were in the $200 range) and everyone we knew were Po' Folk who didn't mind drinking water straight from the tap. This was 1991 remember so the whole filtered\bottled water thing hadn't really taken off (that's it! we were AHEAD of our time!!). I floundered around with this "business" eating at my tiny budget for another week or so and then I made the call to the friend who got me into this whole mess in the first place. "Look man," I explained. "I'm not going to do this anymore. I haven't sold one filter thing and I can't afford to buy samples and supplies." He made a last-ditch effort to front me some filters and other supplies to keep my sinking business afloat until the sales started pouring in but I turned him down. "I quit man. I'm done." He hung up on me and I don't think I've spoken to him since. Ah well. At least I had good drinking water for another 5 months until the filter clogged up and it stopped working.
Monday, April 18, 2011
I'm Going to Miss You Harry
Unfortunately I again find myself in the terrible position of reporting sad news. Another member of my family has died and way too soon. We lost Harry Climenson on April 6th. Harry was married to Amy's mom Cheryl and so I've known him almost as long as I've known Amy. Since Amy was 27 when they were married, she never called Harry her "step-dad" she just called him her "Harry" (as in when introducing them to people: "This is my mom and this is my Harry". It just made more sense). Harry was such a constant presence in our lives that hard to accept that he's not going to be there anymore. Yeah, I know I can "keep him in my thoughts" and "keep his memory alive" and all those things that people say when someone dies. I'm sorry, but that's not good enough. I just want to have dinner with the guy again and I can't (Harry was a phenomenal cook and Amy and I enjoyed many a meal that he prepared. Seriously, the guy could tear it up in the kitchen).
I don't know where I currently am in the Kübler-Ross model but I think I'm jumping all up and down the scale. When I heard that things had taken a desperate turn for the worst I simply couldn't understand it. We had just visited him in the hospital and while he certainly didn't look like he was going to run a marathon anytime soon, it did seem like he'd at least be able to go home soon-ish. I figured we'd all help him adjust to whatever the scenario would be (I had envisioned him having to retire from his job, tote around an oxygen tank, and give up his beloved game of golf) but we didn't get that chance. On Sunday the infection he had contracted got worse and the doctors decided to put him into a medically induced coma to help his system fight it. They moved him into the critical care unit and tried everything they could to knock down the infection and the reverse the damage it was doing to his lungs. They simply weren't successful. All of this forced Cheryl to make the hardest decision she will ever (hopefully) have to make. Let me be clear here: It was the absolute right decision to make. But that doesn't make it any less heart wrenching and awful. I've buried both of my parents and a mere 5 months ago we lost Amy's father but I can't imagine what losing a spouse must be like. Let's not think about that right now ok? Ok.
I have to confess that this hit me a lot harder than I had expected. I think I can attribute this to making myself more present in the moment this time around. I didn't allow myself to retreat into my favorite defense mechanism. That's where I disassociate from what's going on and everything feels like I'm watching it all on a TV. It has its uses but I do tend to rely on it too heavily. So much so that I'm not really sure I've ever honestly confronted my own feelings about losing my parents all those years ago. And every time since when I've had to go to another funeral for an aunt or uncle I have watched myself wander through the proceedings and say all the things people say from a tiny monitor somewhere far away. Not this time. This time I forced myself to be present. At the funeral when Cheryl sobbed, I felt that pain like a rabbit punch to the kidney. When I looked over at Harry's long-time friends Tommy and Vic and saw the hurt and sadness in their faces I let that sink in. I tried to not shrink away from any of it. I think I was successful but goddamn that shit hurts.
So now what? I don't know. We have to figure out what to do next as a family. I have no idea what this will mean or how it will all pan out but it has to somehow. It always does right? I'm guessing it does because we're all still here but I can't remember how any of this works. Maybe it just does? No, that's bullshit. As a matter of fact, that's borderline defeatist. I'm not saying we have to work every waking moment but I'm certainly not putting any "faith" or whatever you call it into some higher being to make everything all better. People make things work or not work. I'm determined to make things work. I'm not saying I can "make it all better" but I can make sure that it is less shitty. That may not seem like much but that's all we have. This is our new "normal".
Shit. I don't know what I'm even talking about. All I know is that I'm really sad that he's gone. I'm going to miss you, Harry. Rest in peace.
I don't know where I currently am in the Kübler-Ross model but I think I'm jumping all up and down the scale. When I heard that things had taken a desperate turn for the worst I simply couldn't understand it. We had just visited him in the hospital and while he certainly didn't look like he was going to run a marathon anytime soon, it did seem like he'd at least be able to go home soon-ish. I figured we'd all help him adjust to whatever the scenario would be (I had envisioned him having to retire from his job, tote around an oxygen tank, and give up his beloved game of golf) but we didn't get that chance. On Sunday the infection he had contracted got worse and the doctors decided to put him into a medically induced coma to help his system fight it. They moved him into the critical care unit and tried everything they could to knock down the infection and the reverse the damage it was doing to his lungs. They simply weren't successful. All of this forced Cheryl to make the hardest decision she will ever (hopefully) have to make. Let me be clear here: It was the absolute right decision to make. But that doesn't make it any less heart wrenching and awful. I've buried both of my parents and a mere 5 months ago we lost Amy's father but I can't imagine what losing a spouse must be like. Let's not think about that right now ok? Ok.
I have to confess that this hit me a lot harder than I had expected. I think I can attribute this to making myself more present in the moment this time around. I didn't allow myself to retreat into my favorite defense mechanism. That's where I disassociate from what's going on and everything feels like I'm watching it all on a TV. It has its uses but I do tend to rely on it too heavily. So much so that I'm not really sure I've ever honestly confronted my own feelings about losing my parents all those years ago. And every time since when I've had to go to another funeral for an aunt or uncle I have watched myself wander through the proceedings and say all the things people say from a tiny monitor somewhere far away. Not this time. This time I forced myself to be present. At the funeral when Cheryl sobbed, I felt that pain like a rabbit punch to the kidney. When I looked over at Harry's long-time friends Tommy and Vic and saw the hurt and sadness in their faces I let that sink in. I tried to not shrink away from any of it. I think I was successful but goddamn that shit hurts.
So now what? I don't know. We have to figure out what to do next as a family. I have no idea what this will mean or how it will all pan out but it has to somehow. It always does right? I'm guessing it does because we're all still here but I can't remember how any of this works. Maybe it just does? No, that's bullshit. As a matter of fact, that's borderline defeatist. I'm not saying we have to work every waking moment but I'm certainly not putting any "faith" or whatever you call it into some higher being to make everything all better. People make things work or not work. I'm determined to make things work. I'm not saying I can "make it all better" but I can make sure that it is less shitty. That may not seem like much but that's all we have. This is our new "normal".
Shit. I don't know what I'm even talking about. All I know is that I'm really sad that he's gone. I'm going to miss you, Harry. Rest in peace.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The Saddest Mid-Life Crisis Ever
I first saw her on the internet on one of those sites. You know the ones. She wasn't my usual type but damn, she looked good and her information seemed promising. I arranged to meet up with her and that was the start of things. I was so excited. I had never done anything like this before. When we finally met it didn't take long for me to fall for her. Her online profile did her justice and the pics did not lie. We only went out once but after that it was obvious to me that I'd be with her for a while. I'm a commitment kind of guy after all. It was an exciting time.
The first month or so of the relationship was rocky at best, making me jumpy and irritable. But we worked on how to communicate better and soon there was a mutual give and take. I learned to recognize her signals and sometimes not-so-subtle suggestions. She saw how I operated and adjusted. It had become comfortable and nice, even familiar. Everything seemed to be going well but then I started to...question things. That nagging sensation I had been ignoring for the last several months was getting stronger. What is this feeling? Is it a wanderlust? What is it that I'm looking for? Am I afraid of settling down? Or is it just that goddamn clutch and the fact that the radio doesn't work?
And so, after 2-plus years of being together, the Jetta and I have broken up. It was a hard decision that I'd like to say was a mutual thing but honestly, I can't. I left her. She seemed bitter at the end and I can't say I blame her. I'm not sure she saw it coming at all. Although I did complain daily about driving a manual transmission to and from Cambridge that's hardly her fault. She was pretty up-front about the fact that she was a stick. That's all on me. Maybe I was experimenting or trying to prove to myself that yes, I can drive 5-speed car every day and not blow out the clutch or stall every 15 feet. She was supportive of me during that learning period (in her own Prussian way) and that's why I still have feelings for her. But it's over between us. I hope her new situation works out.
I'm already seeing another car. Actually, I made it official the other day. I am now with an asian. That's right. When most guys go through their mid-life crisis it involves destroying their marriage and/or going nuts and buying a new Porsche or something along those lines. Not me. I just hem and haw for months on end trying to rationalize replacing a perfectly decent car that will easily last several more years with one that gets worse gas mileage and is quite frankly, a larger car than I need. But see, this one is an automatic and therefore it doesn't make my left leg hurt in traffic. And it's New. And Shiny. And Everything Works. Hee! So without further ado, I present to you the result of the saddest mid-life crisis ever: The 2011 Hyundai Sante Fe.
Sorry Jetta, but you never stood a chance. No hard feelings ok?
The first month or so of the relationship was rocky at best, making me jumpy and irritable. But we worked on how to communicate better and soon there was a mutual give and take. I learned to recognize her signals and sometimes not-so-subtle suggestions. She saw how I operated and adjusted. It had become comfortable and nice, even familiar. Everything seemed to be going well but then I started to...question things. That nagging sensation I had been ignoring for the last several months was getting stronger. What is this feeling? Is it a wanderlust? What is it that I'm looking for? Am I afraid of settling down? Or is it just that goddamn clutch and the fact that the radio doesn't work?
And so, after 2-plus years of being together, the Jetta and I have broken up. It was a hard decision that I'd like to say was a mutual thing but honestly, I can't. I left her. She seemed bitter at the end and I can't say I blame her. I'm not sure she saw it coming at all. Although I did complain daily about driving a manual transmission to and from Cambridge that's hardly her fault. She was pretty up-front about the fact that she was a stick. That's all on me. Maybe I was experimenting or trying to prove to myself that yes, I can drive 5-speed car every day and not blow out the clutch or stall every 15 feet. She was supportive of me during that learning period (in her own Prussian way) and that's why I still have feelings for her. But it's over between us. I hope her new situation works out.
I'm already seeing another car. Actually, I made it official the other day. I am now with an asian. That's right. When most guys go through their mid-life crisis it involves destroying their marriage and/or going nuts and buying a new Porsche or something along those lines. Not me. I just hem and haw for months on end trying to rationalize replacing a perfectly decent car that will easily last several more years with one that gets worse gas mileage and is quite frankly, a larger car than I need. But see, this one is an automatic and therefore it doesn't make my left leg hurt in traffic. And it's New. And Shiny. And Everything Works. Hee! So without further ado, I present to you the result of the saddest mid-life crisis ever: The 2011 Hyundai Sante Fe.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Maybe I Should Stand Still
I may have mentioned that I am not a very coordinated fellow. I have a rich history of bumping into things, knocking shit over, and/or just wiping out for no discernible reason. I typically take what I call "my annual fall" in the winter months. I'll be shoveling the driveway or simply standing still when suddenly my feet will fly out from underneath me and I'll come crashing down on my butt (actually I've been pretty lucky this winter season. I haven't had a spill yet. "Yet" being the operative word here). The tumbles usually aren't of the breaking bones variety but more along the lines of "Oh shit, I hope no one saw that" genus. I'm probably going to wind up on YouTube against my will one of these days with the some unfortunate tag like: "Fat Dude Toppling into an Icy Puddle LOL!".
Recently I've been going through some old pics from when I was a kid and I found one that represents my gracelessness quite well. It's a picture of me holding a damp facecloth to my bicep while my sister Mary stands guard over me. Why was I holding the damp facecloth on my arm? Well, I'll tells ya.
It was Mary's birthday (and if I'm correct at guessing the ages here, it was her 4th birthday which would make me 7) and after the cake had been devoured and the presents had been opened, I went out bike riding with my friend Joey. Now Joey had a super fancy and lightweight BMX-style bike. I had an old Columbia with ape hanger handlebars and a banana seat. It weighed nearly as much as I did. Joey was a kid who was much smaller than I and he had seemingly boundless energy. It was always really hard to keep up with him. He'd be doing all these little jumps and hops up and over curbs and stuff while still maintaining a significant lead over me. He was fast, light, and he never ever tired. In other words, the opposite of me.
On this particular day Joey rode over to my house and we did what we usually did. We'd ride up and down my street and in and out of my driveway. The driveway was halfway down the street so we'd go as fast as we could down the hill and then turn into the driveway at the very last second. The goal was to hit the entrance at an angle where we could get some air. It all sounds harmless enough but there was the added danger of the giant tree. The giant tree sat on our neighbor's property but its trunk stuck out juuuuuust enough onto our side that if you miscalculated your angle of approach, you could end up with a face full of bark. I saw that tree up close and personal more than once. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The two of us were riding around at the top of my street which kinda made me nervous because there were a couple of brothers who lived in a house right there who were notorious bullies. They had chased me and another kid away from their house when we were walking home from school. They had warned us not to let them catch us in their yard (But we weren't in their yard. We were on the sidewalk. Why would we go in their yard in the first place? Silly bullies, you make no sense). Now here I was riding around in front of their house in bold defiance of their territorial borders. It made my palms all sweaty. Joey was riding around like a lunatic hopping up onto the sidewalk and then using the sloped driveway entrances like mini ramps. He could not be stopped. I was trundling along behind him showcasing my limited catalog of tricks: The Poppa Wheelie (that's what I thought it was called. I realize now that I must have misheard someone say "pop a wheelie" and never thought to question the name), The Curb Jump (a.k.a. The Spoke Breaker), and of course the ever-popular Sliding Skid (my personal favorite...although it did tend to limit the life span of my tires by quite a lot).
Joey was doing these amazing jumps using the lip of the curb and the slope of the driveway as his ramp. I was impressed. I watched him over and over again until I knew just how he did it. On his next approach, I followed on my two-wheeled tank of a bike. He hit that curb and he FLEW across the sidewalk landing neatly and dare-I-say gingerly about 5 feet away. I hit the SAME curb at the SAME speed and my bike nearly came to a complete stop when the front tire hit. I managed somehow to stay upright and followed Joey around for another attempt. This time I watched as he lifted the front tire at the very last second before it hit the curb. OH! That's how he does it. I was so excited to try it out for myself.
I wheeled around and made a bee-line for that curb. A split second before hitting the curb I lifted that giant front wheel up and when the back tire hit, my bike and I were suddenly airborne. Holy shit! I had done it! Hey! Lookit me! I'm totally DOING A TRICK! I was so excited that I hadn't actually failed at the jump that I completely forgot one of the most important parts of this particular trick: Stopping. I looked up and right in front of me loomed a chain link fence that clearly wasn't going to swerve at the last second. I scrunched up my face and slammed full speed into the fence. My bike added insult to injury by clonking me on the head with its handlebars. Thanks for that, bike. I was leaning up against the fence doing an injury inventory when I noticed that my arm really hurt. Hmmm, I'm gonna have to go have Mom check on that for me when I get home. Let me just bend down and pick up my bike here. Huh, that's weird...I can't bend down. My arm seems to be caught on something. Lemme look and see...what...is that...why is the fence going INTO my arm like that? That's when I realized that I was impaled on the top of the chain link fence. The prongs were sticking right into my left bicep. Ow. Ow. Ow. [Note: I tried to find a picture of a chain link fence with those prongs but apparently now-a-days they make them all roundy and no longer have the super sharpened spikey bits anymore.]
I don't remember exactly how but somehow I managed to extricate my arm from the grasp of the fence. I looked around to see where Joey was and he was no where to be found. He had bailed. He did the typical kid thing of panicking about "Oh shit, we're gonna get in trouble for breaking that fence" and took off. Thanks Joey. No, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I looked at the deep wound on my arm and I remember thinking, "Huh, that doesn't look so bad". And then it started bleeding. A lot.
I was still remarkably calm as I got back on my bike and started down the hill to my house with my left arm out of commission. I zipped down the hill, made the right-hand turn into our driveway too quickly, lost control of the bike and went full-on Superman-style into the not-so-welcoming arms of that goddamn giant tree. It made a huge racket and all the kids in our yard came running over to see what had happened. And that's when I started crying. I had crashed so hard that my handlebars where all crooked and the chain had fallen off (I remember that because it had scratched the hell out of my ankle and gave me a grease tattoo on my calf). I hobbled into the kitchen and there my Mom had to figure out what had happened from my open sobs and snot bubbles. I was a mess. Somehow she determined that I wasn't dying and got me cleaned up and calm enough to take this photo. But don't worry, I survived. Check it:
Recently I've been going through some old pics from when I was a kid and I found one that represents my gracelessness quite well. It's a picture of me holding a damp facecloth to my bicep while my sister Mary stands guard over me. Why was I holding the damp facecloth on my arm? Well, I'll tells ya.
It was Mary's birthday (and if I'm correct at guessing the ages here, it was her 4th birthday which would make me 7) and after the cake had been devoured and the presents had been opened, I went out bike riding with my friend Joey. Now Joey had a super fancy and lightweight BMX-style bike. I had an old Columbia with ape hanger handlebars and a banana seat. It weighed nearly as much as I did. Joey was a kid who was much smaller than I and he had seemingly boundless energy. It was always really hard to keep up with him. He'd be doing all these little jumps and hops up and over curbs and stuff while still maintaining a significant lead over me. He was fast, light, and he never ever tired. In other words, the opposite of me.
On this particular day Joey rode over to my house and we did what we usually did. We'd ride up and down my street and in and out of my driveway. The driveway was halfway down the street so we'd go as fast as we could down the hill and then turn into the driveway at the very last second. The goal was to hit the entrance at an angle where we could get some air. It all sounds harmless enough but there was the added danger of the giant tree. The giant tree sat on our neighbor's property but its trunk stuck out juuuuuust enough onto our side that if you miscalculated your angle of approach, you could end up with a face full of bark. I saw that tree up close and personal more than once. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The two of us were riding around at the top of my street which kinda made me nervous because there were a couple of brothers who lived in a house right there who were notorious bullies. They had chased me and another kid away from their house when we were walking home from school. They had warned us not to let them catch us in their yard (But we weren't in their yard. We were on the sidewalk. Why would we go in their yard in the first place? Silly bullies, you make no sense). Now here I was riding around in front of their house in bold defiance of their territorial borders. It made my palms all sweaty. Joey was riding around like a lunatic hopping up onto the sidewalk and then using the sloped driveway entrances like mini ramps. He could not be stopped. I was trundling along behind him showcasing my limited catalog of tricks: The Poppa Wheelie (that's what I thought it was called. I realize now that I must have misheard someone say "pop a wheelie" and never thought to question the name), The Curb Jump (a.k.a. The Spoke Breaker), and of course the ever-popular Sliding Skid (my personal favorite...although it did tend to limit the life span of my tires by quite a lot).
Joey was doing these amazing jumps using the lip of the curb and the slope of the driveway as his ramp. I was impressed. I watched him over and over again until I knew just how he did it. On his next approach, I followed on my two-wheeled tank of a bike. He hit that curb and he FLEW across the sidewalk landing neatly and dare-I-say gingerly about 5 feet away. I hit the SAME curb at the SAME speed and my bike nearly came to a complete stop when the front tire hit. I managed somehow to stay upright and followed Joey around for another attempt. This time I watched as he lifted the front tire at the very last second before it hit the curb. OH! That's how he does it. I was so excited to try it out for myself.
I wheeled around and made a bee-line for that curb. A split second before hitting the curb I lifted that giant front wheel up and when the back tire hit, my bike and I were suddenly airborne. Holy shit! I had done it! Hey! Lookit me! I'm totally DOING A TRICK! I was so excited that I hadn't actually failed at the jump that I completely forgot one of the most important parts of this particular trick: Stopping. I looked up and right in front of me loomed a chain link fence that clearly wasn't going to swerve at the last second. I scrunched up my face and slammed full speed into the fence. My bike added insult to injury by clonking me on the head with its handlebars. Thanks for that, bike. I was leaning up against the fence doing an injury inventory when I noticed that my arm really hurt. Hmmm, I'm gonna have to go have Mom check on that for me when I get home. Let me just bend down and pick up my bike here. Huh, that's weird...I can't bend down. My arm seems to be caught on something. Lemme look and see...what...is that...why is the fence going INTO my arm like that? That's when I realized that I was impaled on the top of the chain link fence. The prongs were sticking right into my left bicep. Ow. Ow. Ow. [Note: I tried to find a picture of a chain link fence with those prongs but apparently now-a-days they make them all roundy and no longer have the super sharpened spikey bits anymore.]
I don't remember exactly how but somehow I managed to extricate my arm from the grasp of the fence. I looked around to see where Joey was and he was no where to be found. He had bailed. He did the typical kid thing of panicking about "Oh shit, we're gonna get in trouble for breaking that fence" and took off. Thanks Joey. No, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I looked at the deep wound on my arm and I remember thinking, "Huh, that doesn't look so bad". And then it started bleeding. A lot.
I was still remarkably calm as I got back on my bike and started down the hill to my house with my left arm out of commission. I zipped down the hill, made the right-hand turn into our driveway too quickly, lost control of the bike and went full-on Superman-style into the not-so-welcoming arms of that goddamn giant tree. It made a huge racket and all the kids in our yard came running over to see what had happened. And that's when I started crying. I had crashed so hard that my handlebars where all crooked and the chain had fallen off (I remember that because it had scratched the hell out of my ankle and gave me a grease tattoo on my calf). I hobbled into the kitchen and there my Mom had to figure out what had happened from my open sobs and snot bubbles. I was a mess. Somehow she determined that I wasn't dying and got me cleaned up and calm enough to take this photo. But don't worry, I survived. Check it:
 |
| No need to go to the hospital for stitches or perhaps a tetanus shot...just put some Mercurochrome on that fucker and walk it off kid. |
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