Awareness and Solidarity

The topic of gay marriage came to the Supreme Court the other day and I was greeted by a bombardment of images of pink equals signs on red backgrounds. It's a valid gripe, no group (moral authoritarian heterosexuals) has the right to bully on the minority (homosexuals who wish to get married) to force a specific definition of a term. Any reasonable person, I think, can understand this. Despite this though, I found myself getting extremely annoyed by the number of folks posting the equals signs in show of support.

Since it's popularity, I believe in the 90s (please correct me if I'm wrong), I've always been bothered by such symbolic acts of compassion. I think celebrities started doing it at various awards shows. Now the NFL has their players wearing pink shoes for breast cancer awareness (ridiculous). Please don't misunderstand me, the causes are valid. I'm NOT shitting on the cause. I'm shitting on the "notice me, I care about the boobies, I'm aware!" vibe that the whole act gives off. Does this affect anything thing. Does this make anyone feel any better because we're all sitting being aware and telling the world we are.

For those that don't do such outward acts, do they have less compassion? Are they heartless? Do they wish to see the Troops suffer, or more children with autism wander aimless and erratically with no care and support?

If a politician doesn't wear a flag on his/her lapel, are they un-American? (I think that came up a few years ago in the news, as a legit topic...no joke).

Priorities...
Another thing that sort of bugged me about yesterday's group histrionics (if you will) are the priorities of many of those that posted their equals signs up. Again, not shitting on the issue, it's a valid one, and I sympathize and support the cause. But one might assume that this is the most grave and serious issue facing the country at this point if they had logged into my Facebook page, from what I witnessed. Of all the shit, the scandal, the theft, the violent imperialism abroad, the continued infringements of rights, this is the one that gets most attention. This is obviously because the media chooses to hype up such controversy as it pretends to make the two political parties, outwardly seem different. And like a poorly informed and over sensitive populous, we feed into and hyper focus on just one injustice. (Why weren't people pissed off when the president legalized assassinations on American citizens? Everyone sort of STFU'd on that one, prolly not as cool to bust on Obama - um, not a conspiracy theory either.)

So, as everyone gleefully, and maybe impulsively threw up an (cool) equals to demonstrate their deep caring and sensitivity, some questions seem to have been lost in all of this. Why are we arguing this in the first place? (in other words) What is the origin of our government's restrictive marriage laws? Would taking the government out of the marriage business hurt anyone, or might it be a simple way to find common ground in an overly yet understandably divisive topic?

God forbid people mind their own business and let others live their own lives without a government dictating what is or isn't proper.

The D&D Kid from Across the Alley.

For a brief period of time there was this taller lanky kid who lived across the alley from us. When they had moved in I think my mom or dad ended up talking to his parents. My dad likes to sit on the back porch and see what's going on (not unlike white trash, white trash with a doctorate in engineering no less), and chat it up with the neighbors (more often than not, younger ladies half his age). This family was just one of many.

I think this was the late 1980s.

This kid would always wander aimlessly, skipping at times in the alley. He had no friends. He was quite a peculiar fellow. My mother saw this and felt bad for him, and suggested I go out and play with him. My older bro and I would end up making jokes about him - not to his face or in any kind of bullying sort of way. We'd just occasionally look out the window and watch this boy sized sprite/fairy "being" having fun with himself and his made up games and then of course comment to each other about how ridiculous that seemed. I'm certain the comments were clever and witty. I remember a lot of chuckling. I'm laughing now.

He was also heavily involved in D&D which seemed to make sense, considering his other weirdnesses. He was in his own universe and fully self sufficient at entertaining himself. Quite something to behold.

One summer night, I had nothing to do, and I saw him playing out in the alley with a wiffle ball bat swinging at something, I couldn't tell. He wasn't standing as a batter should. He was swinging the bat more like a tennis racket from what I remember. Mother was in the kitchen, again encouraging me to go out and play with him.

I'll try anything once. I was intrigued. I wanted to find out more.

Cautiously walking through our ghetto urban looking backyard, out to the alley, I introduced myself, as politely and warmly as I could. He was friendly back. I asked him what he was doing. He replied, "playing firefly baseball!"

(In my little brain, I was thinking....WTF!)

He kept swinging, at what looked like nothing, but it turns out he was trying to hit lightning bugs. Such enthusiasm he had. He handed me the bat so I could try. It felt weird. Aside from there not being a pitcher, or rules for that matter, like bases to run, the idea of hitting flies with a bat just seemed stupid and meaningless, but I tried to pretend some enthusiasm.

(There were also no winners or losers so it sucked even more)

This lasted for about ten minutes, before I felt the need to return back to the safety and sanctity of my home. I think I told him I had to go. And I said it politely. I don't remember being rude about any of it. If anything, I was awkward.

When I got back to the kitchen I had told my mother what we were doing, she decided it was probably not a good idea to not play with this child anymore. I don't think I told my brother as I was embarrassed for making an effort. He would've called me a fag or a sissy (and rightfully so).

(I would give my mom a tough time about this years after - Accusing her of forcing me to play with that D&D freak from the across the alley)

They ended up moving a month or two later.

***I'm quite certain this child ended up being far more intelligent than me, and probably makes a lot more money than I ever will...probably has a family, kids of his own, who participate in firefly baseball every summer.

***Fuck me.

Korean Garden and Restaurant - Blue Bell, PA.

One thing that I've picked up on in the last ten years or so, is that, if an Asian puts food out in front of you, and you don't know what it is, you don't ask questions. You just eat. This goes regardless of whether it's a restaurant or a home. It always works out. You always leave happy if not amazed. Put the dietary restrictions aside, STFU, and eat!

Me and my friend headed down to the Korean Garden and Restaurant in Blue Bell last Saturday. For me it was my second time. It was worth the drive.

Immediately we were bombarded with about seven or eight little bowls of appetizers which included green beans, kim chee, mushrooms, tofu, among other things, also included was a chili paste. They went fast. Everything was great. Light with a variety of flavors, small amounts, but just right.

We split scallion and red pepper (potato) pancake. It was about the size of a small pizza (and cut up like one), but a lot thinner and fluffier. It came with a soy and sesame sauce (I believe). I'd say it was the best pancake I've ever had.

Now, last time I was there, I ordered the raw beef and vegetables with a raw egg cracked over it (not called that officially). That was pretty good, but this time I went with the spicy Black Goat Stew. It was like a combination between a soup and a stew. It came out presented in a boiling pot - still bubbling.

Maybe the first time that I had goat (not sure), it was nice. It's hard for me to describe how it tasted, other than a meaty hearty broth, that was seasoned and spicy. Something you'd crave on a cold day. Many of the spices I don't think I've had before. I believe there were some kind of greens mixed in too. It was a large portion and probably didn't finish half of it at the table. It was great the day after.

***I would've taken a picture of it, but I feel like a weird food worshipping freak shooting a picture of my food in a crowded restaurant. Order it yourself and see what it looks like!***

So, you will have to shell out some cash for the food obviously, but considering the quality and quantity of the food, it's well worth it. We both left the place absolutely stuffed. Service was also excellent, along with the ambiance and vibe, even though it's located in an upscale "east coast" strip mall.

If you're in southeastern PA, I would recommend going.

Scorn of the Rings

There are a lot of things I despise fashion wise including gold necklaces and bracelets, tattoos and even soul patches. And, well, way up there on my list are rings (especially on men, but in general). I guess it started in the 90s when I noticed people wearing thumb rings. I swear I wanted to knock out each and every one of them, male and female alike. If I could.

I associate rings with decadence and royalty. People adorning themselves and spending cash on something that serves no purpose whatsoever is not something I like. Please understand, that I understand it is their right to look foolish. I have the right to dis it and rant about it on this unpopular, substance-less, whiny blog.

My dad never wears and he loves my mother as much as any other husband. The strong silent type don't wear rings.

Who wears rings?
The pope and bishops and cardinals wear rings. The nazis had military rings. People in high school will buy their class ring. Let's not forget the masons, they too have rings. All evil, up to no good. Flamboyantly flaunting wealth/power and/or knowledge of secret mysteries and/or prestige. It's vile and it needs to stop.

(side note: some people will actually fly to the Vatican to kiss the Pope's ring. WTF?)

(Exceptions:
I can tolerate (not that it matters) married people wearing rings but I still wouldn't do it if I were married. A simple/plain ring is all that's required. My mom has a very plain ring that serves the purpose. Other than this, no one should wear rings ever)

Please take off your rings after reading this blog. You now have the appropriate knowledge to move forward. Keep a plain and simple humble approach. Jewelry is for the insecure and small minded.

A List of My Own Vile Contradictions.

I enjoy pointing out others' hypocrisy, now let's look at some of my own. This isn't a pity party/"woe is me"/I'm a horrible person blog, just, hopefully, an honest assessment. We all have them, if we're honest. Instead of pretending we don't, let's address them. Do this in your own life.

(Dear Friends: You may not use any of these during any bar room political disagreement...plus it'd be an invalid argument.)

Free-markets
Probably the thing that most interests me and I support but I have yet to start up my own business and give the "free" market a shot. Now, in my defense, there really isn't a free-market, and I would argue that things have so been destroyed or bastardized that it might be tougher than it's ever been (speculation). But, most of my employment has come from corporations, and even some that receive government funding. Integrity and consistency would dictate that I leave such things, but my level of comfort keeps me there. Comfort might be our worst enemy.

Voluntaryism
In relation to Free-markets is the idea of voluntaryism. The notion that people will/can help out the poor more effectively if it's done on a voluntary - and not by force or coercion (of government). Aside from a week in Kentucky, helping the poor for a Catholic charity (this was the 90s) I have little history of volunteering to help the less fortunate. Again, it comes down to comfort level. I would bet if I forced to help out, I might feel a little better about myself.

Germs
I don't like sharing glasses with people however I've done some reckless things in the past. Yes there was protection involved (always), but it still wasn't wise, and very opposite of how I feel vis-a-vis sharing food and drinks. This is all the detail that needs to be disclosed at this point.

Other notes on germs: I don't shower every day, and my apartment is rather messy. On positive note: I'm getting better at cleaning my kitchen.

Clean Meats
This is the big one, and I don't mind getting my balls busted over it, it makes me laugh quite loudly because it's utterly ridiculous. Yeah, I don't eat pork or shellfish, or bunnies. Some people decide to be vegetarians, I decide (in early 2000), that I'm going avoid pork and lobster. Because my body is a temple, no? Yet I'll drink large amounts of alcoholic beverages and other things (unmentioned) will pass through my dying system on a regular basis.

Moving forward.

Okay, now that I got that shit off of my chest, I'm going to out there and start my own business, work at a soup kitchen, go back to celibacy, and avoid all chemicals. I vow to rid myself of all things that make me feel comfortable or good. I will be in constant anxiety over where my next paycheck will come from, I won't have health care, and all this stress that builds from this will have no place to go since I'm abstaining from the flesh and chemicals. I will either have a breakdown, or succeed gloriously in being the most perfect consistent person ever while creating countless jobs for people around me, and giving anything extra to the less fortunate.

That would be nice.

Good Bars & Bad Bars.

We were often discouraged from becoming regulars at bars by our parents. Don't become a bar fly, they said. Low lifes hang out at bars. Do something useful with your time. At the moment it seemed to make sense, but that was many years ago. Having experienced the highs and lows that all human beings go through, I've found the bar to become quite a comfortable warm place to be, with therapeutic qualities.

Not all bars are great places though. They're probably a handful I go to on a semi-regular basis and I consider these to be "good" bars.

Convenience-
Probably the biggest reason for why I keep coming back. It's going to cost less in gas money and I'll be at lest risk of coppers if I go to a bar that is in a convenient location from my house.

People-
A bar needs to be more than just convenient. Yeah, if there are tons of TV's and NASCAR promotions/ads on the wall, chances are, that's not going to be my place. If you the music selection is really bad and it's packed with local college kiddies, that probably won't be my place either. A decent mix is fine, more ladies is better, but that's not always going to be the case.

Beer Selection-
I don't drink anything but Beer and Ale really. There should be a nice selection of that at a bar. Drinking the higher quality stuff just goes down easier, makes me feel better, especially during the next day. Find a place offer the good shit.

Events-
Events, in a lot of cases can be nice. I really need to avoid all open mics and most cover bands because both the noise and the people they draw in are seriously tough to take. I've worked out a good thing with my local bar where my band plays twice a year. (We're not a cover band). Trivia nights can start out fun then become fucking annoying.

Food-
Usually after beers you get hungry. You don't need excellent food but you don't want shit either. Bar food can get old. Wings need to be top notch. I wish bars would serve Chinese take out. Somebody should do that (or do it more often). Another thing with bar food is that it can be overpriced.

Bartenders
You want bartenders that will serve you promptly and not get upset if you try to get their attention if you're not served promptly. You want a bartender who will listen and not judge and be smart enough to get your humor. It's okay if you can talk politics with your bartender, but you don't want them preaching at you. You want a conversation - if that's possible, depending on how busy the crowd is. That's hard for some people. Most bartenders should have some knowledge about sports.

Ambiance
A jukebox is always nice in the place. Lighting should turned down. It should feel warm. Strangely enough, the bar I go to most has grade school cafeteria style lighting and it doesn't bug me that much. You shouldn't feel uncomfortable in any bar, even if it's your first time. Hardwood floors are nice if you can do that. Unfortunately, more flat screen TV's are going up in what used be quite cozy bars. People are just too dumb to talk to each other anymore. WTF?

These are just a few things to consider, if you haven't when deciding about a bar. Some things you won't find out until after you put your time. It wouldn't hurt to bring the above things mentioned, in, to serve as a checklist though let it be known, you're first try at any bar might lead to some minor awkwardness, which will soon pass.

Pro Wiffle Ball

My first moments of being part of a team took place in an alley next to our house. The game was wiffle ball. The beauty of this game is that it's cheap, you can set up a game in a lot of places if you have an imagination, and you can hit people with the ball. I still remember the intense joy I would get crossing home plate, as if I were quite literally home safe. High fives and team respect, winning and losing, disagreements, fights even, all happened. We worked them out on our own. There seemed to always be a game waiting to happen.

(Fast forward 25 years)

In the summer of 2008, me and a few friends formed a wiffle ball team to compete in a pretty intense tournament just outside of Trenton, NJ (I hate New Jersey). The average age of our team was about 40 years old. I had convinced everyone this was something we needed to do, and so we united. There were high hopes, practices, and I made uniforms. They were cool looking.

Trenton is a couple hours away so we got up early. I think we left right before 7am on a September Saturday. Locker room humor soon took over as we rode down.

We arrived at the huge park, which had at least 50 wiffle ball fields throughout the whole place, feeling a little nervous. Okay, at least I did. We signed in, having the best uniforms that day, and made our way down to our first game.

I pitched the first game. Now, I had a bit of confidence, being a little league legend, and I had a crazy knuckle ball which fooled a lot of my friends. We ended up competing against three pretty muscular bros in our first game. Picture it, little DaintyBones pitching to some strong experienced wiffle ballers. What the fuck could go wrong? All that had to be done was for me to hit the 3X4 foot wooden strike zone with my junk pitches. No problem. Yeah, and they had to swing and miss too.

Yeah.

It didn't take long. It didn't take long at all for the humiliation to commence. I had never seen a wiffle ball travel so goddamn far in my life. And with such consistency. I think I hurt my neck from turning around so quickly as the plastic ball would leave the park.

So, what happens is, when you end up giving up like 4 or 5 home runs right of the bat (double entendre), you get a little timid about throwing it over the strike zone. The batter realizes this, doesn't swing, and then you end up walking like 5 batters in a row. It starts to get cyclical. Walks - Home runs - Walks, with some outs and errors mixed in between. The whole thing was ugly, really, just quite shameful.

There is no point discussing the other two games, as they were all similar. By the middle of the last game, I broke out a bottle of whiskey, concealed in a paper bag of course, and we passed it around the dugout like four defeated men. Losing/failing is always a learning experience, and what we learned was that we had no business competing in this tournament, and that my knuckle ball was garbage.

As we headed home, through lovely Bucks county, we stopped at a few bars. One of the older fellas on the team made a "connection" with one of the servers at one pub (or, what he thought was a connection). We drank, ate, and discussed what would we do needed to do for the next time. Sadly there wouldn't be a next time for this roster.

You see, the Kutztown Hexxenwolves, as we were briefly called, suffered the worst off-season of any sports team ever. One player died, another ended up serving time, I fractured my hip, and the other player hurt is knee.

The summer after this wiffle ball tournament (2009), as I sat and laid on the couch, thinking about my friend/teammate who had passed, chewing up opiates like M&M's in recovery, watching Grease I and Grease II, and the Goldn Girls non-stop on the Lifetime Network (while having my piss buckets emptied), I had kept the dream alive that I would make the greatest comeback to wiffle ball. I read up on Bo Jackson (on wikipedia of course) who returned to baseball with a fake hip (I still have my own). I had committed to healthy living, even juicing greens religiously to speed up the return.

Reality set in, and I came to terms with the fact that my left hip will never be what it used to be - even after full recovery. Yes, I can still hump, and I needed to test it out (don't ask), but those days of pursuing fly balls, diving to for grounders and pushing off of the "mound" are over. My flexibility is half of what it was. Life's hard.

I'm quite blessed to have competed, even failing, with these three great gentlemen. Really, I'm happy I nagged these fellas to join me. I think it brought us back to childhood for a brief time. It made us all kids. More shit like that needs to be done.