Wednesday, April 16, 2008

"I just to a Nuprin!"* II

The following notes (passed to me during the Reagan era) were found a box in my folks' attic, commingled with a couple of Blanche Knott's Truly Tasteless Joke Books, which I stole from a local bookstore in the mid-80s, and likely brought back to the giant, hollowed-out shrub we used as a clubhouse. I passed the shrub last week and wished it wasn't trimmed to 6 inches off the ground. Prob for the best. "33 Year Old Man Found By Police in Clifton, NJ Shrubbery", although funnier than any Onion headline in the past year, would not bode well, employment-ally, in the event of a google.

Planting land mines around Ronny's grave seems so petty upon recent reflection on how our lives had run parallel:

Minutes after Reagan was sworn in, the hostages were released from Iran, sparking accusations by the left that he orchestrated "The October Surprise."
Minutes after my first day of school, my pee was released in my chair, sparking accusations by Elise Geiger that I was, "A pee-er!!"

In 1986, after bombing Libya, Reagan declared, "Today we did what we had to do. They counted on America to be passive. They counted wrong."
In 1986, after watching Iron Maiden's Live After Death VHS, I declared, "Priest Sucks."

Cindy (below) was my first "girlfriend". This note was pre-dating (read: pre-1st base on the West Point field trip bus ride in 1989).


Shortly after Cindy dumped me in the hallway and gave back my pewter drum pin, I danced with this girl Jen at a VFW hall dance in West Paterson. I vaguely recall going to Hot Grill
or maybe Rutt's Hut
with her, but, aside from a general sense of not liking her and thinking she was mean (and 'didn't even like metal anyway') I have no other memories of her whatsoever.

What a commitment-phobe! Maybe I asked if she wanted to get gravy fries the following Friday after school. Foiled! 15 is too young for a gravy-stained extremely serious relationship promise ring. I see that now. I wonder if she's a grown up, 33 year old crazy lady who writes emails like this to ex boyfriends. I wonder if she married whoever Billy is and works at Linens 'n Things in Totowa.

Finger of fate, how you fingerblast me on the tracks above Pathmark and call me a slut to the whole clarinet line.

*Title a reference to this 4 year prior blog.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Highland War Face

Highland War Face

Me in '88. Totally pissed. This was shot in August, just after I finished a stint at baseball camp. The season prior, I was on an undefeated little league team (Paterson Stamp or Parker House... sponsored by a local business... can't recall which) where the team captain was the coach's son. Course he was. I was far and away the worst player on the team- a potential threat to their image and record. Whenever I was called up to bat, the groans from my own team's dugout were audible... and crescendoed with every unsatisfying swing of the bat. I was fortunate enough to have a dad who [I clearly recall] assured me that if I wasn't enjoying myself and decided to bail, I wouldn't be a "quitter"- I would have just been someone who wasn't having fun and fucked off for good reason. I fully believe that I might have been a different person today if he was a dick about it. I finished out the season of doom and decided, along with my best friend Kevin, that I would sign up for [and destroy at] baseball camp.

What followed was a training period of Rocky IV proportions *Vince DeCola montage fade-in*... What was left when the dust settled is evidenced by the eye of the tiger, above.

When baseball season rolled around (1st season of "Babe Ruth League") teams were randomized but the 1st team we faced boasted a handful of kids who were on the undefeated team from the preceding season. As I approached the plate, I heard muffled laughs and a couple of them sat down in the outfield as a physical demonstration of what I couldn't hear from across the field. I. Was. Seein. Red. The first pitch was at eye level. I swung anyway, and cracked the shit out of it. The ball scorched for the first basemen's head. He ducked just in time. As I stood on first base, safe, I stared down my ex-teammate for a good 5 minutes. I remember getting off a good line, but I'm not even tryin to recall it. No desire to.

Sweet Enola Gay, son.

(Highland, NY is where my Grandmother's parents settled from Italy. They dug for water and started a small working farm. Elders of the Bellacicco family still live on this land and my Grandmother still owns the 2 room cabin, which was built in '69 on the 1 acre of property I'm sitting on, here. I still visit when she's up there. It's just outside Poughkeepsie.)

Monday, April 7, 2008

Woooohhh Oooohhh parts

Kinda special like Lowenbrau:

1. Having a girlfriend who is both not a psychopath and also prone to surprising your azz by painting the inside of your closet & putting your shredded sneakers and hibernating double bass pedal away--

2. Spring cleaning on a dreary Sunday while listening to Verbal Assault and Jon Benjamin.

3. Sprinklin’ gunpowder on Heston’s grave. Thanks for the heads up about it being "made of people" and everything. We had it from there, Bright Dead Eyes.

4. bok choy

5. fresh ginger

6. Scanning 63 year old photos of my grandparents when they were dating. He was on leave. I have the jacket he was wearing in my closet and the train schedule from this trip is still in the chest pocket.
Rendendo romanzesco una minaccia ancora in ’45.