I feel like a jackass, I really do. Not that it’s totally uncharted territory for me or anything, but the circumstances are at least new for me. I’ve really dug Facebook, it’s been a great way to keep in touch with friends, and find catch up with old friends. But I found someone, and now I’m not sure if that was a good thing. It isn’t even someone I knew personally. It’s the son of my childhood hero, Dwight Gooden, and we’ve swapped a few emails.
He’s been cool about it, and I hope I have too. But looking at his page, I was offended myself with the comments other people were leaving. Everything was about his dad, women commenting on his looks, or just fans checking in. I understand their thought process, to a point. I flat out told the guy that I grew up a big fan of his fathers, and I had read he (Dwight Gooden Jr) was now doing some music, and I wished him well. Maybe I’m just more articulate than those other fans, either way, it just feels kind of dirty.
But I couldn’t really help myself. Not that it should be his problem, but like most fans, I’ve had a relationship of sorts with his dad. Man that sounds too much like Macauly Culkin talking about Michael Jackson. But his father had a huge impact on my childhood. Not just as a sports fan, because there’s so much more to his story than what happened between the lines. I vividly remember how I reacted in 1987 when I found out that he was going into rehab. I was furious, and I was only 10.
I think Doc and Darryl’s woes forever changed the way athletes were covered and perceived. I’ll have to do some research, but I think they were the first major scandals, at least in the age of 24 hour sport networks. The day he went into rehab, was the end of the era that saw reporters covering for ball players. How much a guy drank or what he did off the field was protected in the past and with Gooden and Strawberry’s troubles, reporters began looking at the personal lives of the ballplayers as newsworthy.
That was my first experience with “knowing” someone with a drug problem, not just Nancy Reagan telling me to say “no.” Soon after, I had some much closer relationship with someone with a substance abuse problem. How I handled that was directly impacted by my response to Doc. There was, and still is plenty of anger, but there was also forgiveness and since that day, I’ve come to realize that I can handle someone messing up, as long as they can own up to it. Doc taught me that, I never learned how to throw a curve.
So here I am, 32 years old and I’ve emailed his son. There’s no ulterior motive, I’m not looking to accomplish anything. Well, other than revisit the 10 year old in me. I like that kid, and its always been important to me to remember him. That’s why I have Doc’s rookie card in my wallet. In 1996, Doc threw a no-hitter for the evil empire (Yankees) and I jumped up and down (just one jump!) on the bed in my dorm room. It looked like I was alone (had there been an outside observer) but I was with the 10 year old me. So it wasn’t just some 32 year old emailing the son of his hero, it was the 10 year old that made the decision.
March 25, 2009
Changed Hirp
Two years ago yesterday KU was in the NCAA Tournament, and they were playing UCLA, the school I rooted for as a kid. KU-UCLA also hooked up my freshmen year at KU, when the Bruins were defending champs. They came to the Fieldhouse, and lead KU by 15 at the half. The Hawks came back to win by 15, and it was the best live sporting event I ever witnessed. I proudly sent my cousin, the UCLA grad who also showed me around the campus when I was 12, a “PHUCK UCLA” tee shirt. I still have mine, but I doubt he has his. Two years ago, that game is a distant memory, but that day changed my life.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
March 23, 2009
One TrHirpy Weekend
The past weekend was without question one of the most bizarre, and scariest, in recent memory. And based on what we did, you’d think it was just another weekend in the ‘burbs. It started off great, as we took the Kyd to Potter’s Haven in downtown Lee’s Summit. She’s a creative kid who loves craft projects, and for a few months we’ve kicked around the idea of heading there. She loved it too, other than stressing over mistakes (I told her, there are no mistakes in art, sounds good, right?)
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
March 12, 2009
Shirped Myself
I feel like I should be wearing a tee shirt that says “I survived the ’09 layoffs.” The last two months have been a roller coaster ride, and I’m not a fan of roller coasters. Being a little bit on the short side, my head happens to be positioned perfectly, so that it bounces between the over the shoulder restraints like a super ball. Not much fun. When word came out that my company was going to be laying off a significant portion of the work force, the rumors and emotions started flying.
“I have a family, there are no jobs out there, we just moved, and what the fuck am I going to do if I’m on the list?” Pretty much covers the flow of my thoughts on 18 second intervals for the first two weeks. Then I sat down with excel and crunched the numbers. I made pivot tables, I had formulas and on paper, I saw that we’d be fine for almost a year. I slept a little better. Then the company started talking about notification dates. Originally we were to find out March 13th, a Friday no less. I mentally circled that date on my mental calendar, and told the wife that I wouldn’t be sleeping at all on the 12th, and probably not much more on the few days before either.
So a month goes by, and I’m more scared of any calendar showing that week than George Clooney is scared of commitment. And then we get an email that announcements will come either on the 12th or 13th. That’s just mean, how about giving us real info, or nothing at all. Don’t tell me just so I can readjust how much to worry. And then this Monday we find out that it’ll be Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. That’s just fantastic. I can just write off the idea of sleeping for the rest of the week. Thanks, suit.
At a meeting yesterday, my boss said that word would be coming out later in the day. Depending on if he gets the final cut list in time, and then it might not be till tomorrow. I’m pale, but I went to a new level of pure-white when I heard that. Around 2pm word gets out, they’re calling people and having them go to meet with their managers in conference rooms. It took another two and a half hours before I got the call, and to make me sweat a little more, the call was to tell me that I’d be getting THE call in another 5 or 10 minutes. Lucky me, I got two calls rather than one. So what if I sharted my pants twice? Finally I get the call, head to the conference room and get the good news. I still have a job.
I may have lost a few years off my life, grew hair just to see it fall to my desk and soiled myself four times. But hey, there are a lot of good people who aren’t as well off as I am today. Good luck to all of them.
“I have a family, there are no jobs out there, we just moved, and what the fuck am I going to do if I’m on the list?” Pretty much covers the flow of my thoughts on 18 second intervals for the first two weeks. Then I sat down with excel and crunched the numbers. I made pivot tables, I had formulas and on paper, I saw that we’d be fine for almost a year. I slept a little better. Then the company started talking about notification dates. Originally we were to find out March 13th, a Friday no less. I mentally circled that date on my mental calendar, and told the wife that I wouldn’t be sleeping at all on the 12th, and probably not much more on the few days before either.
So a month goes by, and I’m more scared of any calendar showing that week than George Clooney is scared of commitment. And then we get an email that announcements will come either on the 12th or 13th. That’s just mean, how about giving us real info, or nothing at all. Don’t tell me just so I can readjust how much to worry. And then this Monday we find out that it’ll be Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. That’s just fantastic. I can just write off the idea of sleeping for the rest of the week. Thanks, suit.
At a meeting yesterday, my boss said that word would be coming out later in the day. Depending on if he gets the final cut list in time, and then it might not be till tomorrow. I’m pale, but I went to a new level of pure-white when I heard that. Around 2pm word gets out, they’re calling people and having them go to meet with their managers in conference rooms. It took another two and a half hours before I got the call, and to make me sweat a little more, the call was to tell me that I’d be getting THE call in another 5 or 10 minutes. Lucky me, I got two calls rather than one. So what if I sharted my pants twice? Finally I get the call, head to the conference room and get the good news. I still have a job.
I may have lost a few years off my life, grew hair just to see it fall to my desk and soiled myself four times. But hey, there are a lot of good people who aren’t as well off as I am today. Good luck to all of them.
March 02, 2009
Random Hirps
Was Nancy Pelosi expecting some sort of prize for jumping to her feet the fastest last night? Or was there just a broken spring in her chair?
Gov. Bobby Jindal, just wondering if you even realize “Americans can do anything” is just about the same as “Yes We Can?”
Saw a story online yesterday, about a 9 year old having a big wedding. At first glance I thought it was some sick and twisted story, and fully expected to be sick to my stomach and furious. Turns out she has terminal cancer, and a big wedding was something she always wanted. So she “married” her best friend, the vows included, “will you take Jose to be your friend, forever and ever?” That’s the most amazing combination of sweet and heartbreaking as I’ve ever heard.
I received some beads at work yesterday; someone was a little too much into the spirit of Mardi Gras. It was that moment I decided, if the Kyd ever drives home with some beads hanging from her mirror, she’s grounded for a year. For each string of beads. I’m just not sure at what age I can safely warn her, without it coming off as “I dare you.” She’s much smarter than me.
Is it easier to make a comedian laugh or a prostitute climax? I shouldn’t watch “Cathouse” on HBO.
This weekend I watched KU wax that MU ass. Hate to say it, but its time for fans of both schools to watch “Battle for Tobacco Road.” Since 1990, KU is 27-14 against MU. When one team is winning 66% of the games, it’s not really a rivalry on the court. (By comparison, since 1990 Duke is 24-22 against UNC) I know KU-MU means a lot to the alumni, students and the residents of the metro area. But KU has pretty much been winning ever since we won the Civil War.
Gov. Bobby Jindal, just wondering if you even realize “Americans can do anything” is just about the same as “Yes We Can?”
Saw a story online yesterday, about a 9 year old having a big wedding. At first glance I thought it was some sick and twisted story, and fully expected to be sick to my stomach and furious. Turns out she has terminal cancer, and a big wedding was something she always wanted. So she “married” her best friend, the vows included, “will you take Jose to be your friend, forever and ever?” That’s the most amazing combination of sweet and heartbreaking as I’ve ever heard.
I received some beads at work yesterday; someone was a little too much into the spirit of Mardi Gras. It was that moment I decided, if the Kyd ever drives home with some beads hanging from her mirror, she’s grounded for a year. For each string of beads. I’m just not sure at what age I can safely warn her, without it coming off as “I dare you.” She’s much smarter than me.
Is it easier to make a comedian laugh or a prostitute climax? I shouldn’t watch “Cathouse” on HBO.
This weekend I watched KU wax that MU ass. Hate to say it, but its time for fans of both schools to watch “Battle for Tobacco Road.” Since 1990, KU is 27-14 against MU. When one team is winning 66% of the games, it’s not really a rivalry on the court. (By comparison, since 1990 Duke is 24-22 against UNC) I know KU-MU means a lot to the alumni, students and the residents of the metro area. But KU has pretty much been winning ever since we won the Civil War.
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