PPF FYI

This is the first installment of a little thing we like to call "Past, Present, Future." It is really no more than a cheap excuse for me to reveal a few things about myself, things you may not have known. Things you need to know. It's so simple I don't think I even need to explain how it works.

I. School/Work/Career

Past: I never had good study habits growing up, but it didn't really come back to bite me until my sophomore year in high school. Sometime around February 1985, I had a secret psychological breakdown. I still don't know exactly what caused it or what it meant, but I just about flunked out of school before I got the ship righted again. The truth is, my h.s. diploma is as tainted as HR ball # 756.

Present: My job is a daily battle to survive. My head is cluttered with intense anxiety and various lame plans for escaping that day's nightmares and moving on to tomorrow. I can't focus, I have little time for my family, and I have no time to think about carving out a better career for myself (or even updating my resume). I am always exhausted or overcaffeinated.

Future: Using "To-do List" technology, I will become more organized and efficient. In my extra time, I will think creative and productive thoughts, one of which will eventually help me land a job I really love. My work-life balance will be ideal.

II. Bowling

Past: I am pretty decent for a down-the-middle, no-hook bowler, with a career high of 193 or 194. I average about a 150.

Present: I have not bowled in quite some time and I miss it. Let's go bowling this weekend.

Future: I just want to go on record that no child of mine shall ever participate in bowling with the bumpers along the gutters -- at least not on my watch. Maybe if they go to another kid's birthday party or something like that that's out of my control, it will happen. But I am completely opposed to it. When my kid first goes bowling, she will get the 33 or whatever we all get the first time we bowl, and then she will want to get better. I have too much respect for her as a person, and more importantly for bowling as a sport, to let her do the bumper thing. It's moronic. Are kids really excited after they get a strike that was banked off the damn bumper? WHY TEACH THEM THAT IT IS OK TO SUCK? SUCKING IS NOT AS GOOD AS EXCELLING. A REAL STRIKE = EXCELLING. A BUMPER-AIDED STRIKE = SUCKING AND BEING LIED TO ABOUT IT. IF YOU THROW IT IN THE GUTTER, YOU NEED TO STRAIGHTEN THAT SHIT OUT AND DO BETTER THE NEXT TIME. OTHERWISE, WHY FUCKING BOWL AT ALL? Apply the bumper theory to other sports and you will see how stupid it is.

III. Basketball

Past: Once I stayed up 'til 1:30 am on a school night watching the Showtime Lakers squeak out a home win against the hapless, hustling '86 Knicks. Magic Johnson kept complaining to the refs all game, infuriating me. After the game I sat down and wrote him a bitter, irrational letter. I never sent it, but I still remember the exact anger I felt that night. I might type that shit up again from memory right now. I used to be passionate about basketball.

Present: I am trying to play more hoops. Whenever I see pictures of Laguna Beach I get inspired. I can't watch the freaking Knicks without a barf bag (wouldn't it be funny if the Knicks ran a promotion called Barf Bag Night?) but I did recently plop down 150 bucks for NBA League Pass. On the rare nights that I have time, I get to watch any NBA game I want. And I like it a lot. And if I ever get around to faxing them a copy of my cable bill, I can watch 'em all live on my compooter, freeing up the TV for the wife.

Future: I am getting old and slow and will probably have to stop playing at some point in the next few years. But I do look forward to the Knickerbockers' memorable 2013 playoff run. Also, I don't think a player should ever be called for a charge if he has released his shot already and then crashes into a defender who is just setting up there trying to get the contact (and possibly injuring both players).

Also, why isn't there a good basketball website? Free Darko is OK from time to time but they take things a bit too seriously for my taste. Wizznutzz is of course magnificent but doesn't work on firefox for mac, in fact it crashes my browser. Plus, it is more of a site about humanity than it is about basketball. So somebody either clue me in to what I'm missing or let's start a damn basketball website that is good.

IV: Diet/Health

Past: I have eaten nothing but crappy food for the last 37 years. My pop used to make me nachos for dinner -- Doritos with Monterey Jack cheese melted on top. I have continued gaining weight every year of my life. I did go on a modified version of Weight Watchers for a few months six or seven years ago. I lost about 15 pounds but then decided to go back to regular old Bungle-style eating and I gained it all back in like half an hour.

Present: I seem to have stabilized at an unhealthy and grotesque weight and body shape.

Future: I will continue to gain weight until my first heart attack, pre-age 50. Then, motivated by terror, I will lose weight and be skinny for the rest of my days.

V: Shoes

Past: I have never had really cool work shoes, but I have owned a shitload of basketball sneakers through the years. Even at this moment, I own 6 pairs.

Present: For Christmas, my wife got me a pair of boot-shoes that I really like. Check 'em out:

I have had good experiences with the Clarks in the past. Real simple and comfy. I think these will be my regular work shoes for the next few months. (Update: Unless my feet keep sweating the way they have been the last couple of days.)

Future: I will continue to wear shoes.

VI: Drinking

Past: Between the ages of 16 and 35, I drank a ton of beer. Fuck that, more than a ton. About 8 tons, by my conservative estimate. I used to love drinking beer, I really did. Just the sight of an unopened case of Old Milwaukee made me giddy with anticipation. I never liked blacking out or morning-after anxiety, though. I used to encounter both of those about once a week.

Present: I drink about three or four beers a week. Maybe twice a year I will exceed three beers in a night. On those nights, lock your doors and hide your fireworks.

Future: I will continue drinking about three or four beers a week. That works out pretty good for me.

VII: Relationship with La Toya Jackson

Past: I never had an intimate relationship with La Toya Jackson.

Present: I am married with a child and vehemently deny that there is anything going on between me and La Toya Jackson.

Future: Who can predict the future?

VIII: Facial Hair

Past: I never had much more than a few stray hairs stickin' outta me chin.

Present: In 2007, I finally attempted to grow a moustache. It wasn't all I hoped for, but it was pretty incredible nonetheless. I miss it. My misstache. Whatever, here is the final photo taken of it before it got shaved.

Look into my eyes (but not too close!) -- I think this shot demonstrates how emotionally difficult it was for me to euthanize the ol' lipsnake. At the very least, you get a free gander at some chest and neck zits. And since we are here, it is time for me to give my long overdue moustache-troops donation info. If you pledged money in support of my 'stache, you can give it to the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund. I'm sure they are corrupt and your money will end up somehow going to Dick Cheney's rent boy, but it's worth a shot. I am giving $40 as promised. In case you have forgotten, here are your pledges.

Future: I need an excuse to grow another one. A better one. A moustache that redefines masculinity for the 21st century. What, you say my first moustache already did that? Then I'll do it again.

IX: Hometown

Past: I grew up in NYC, then lived in Madison, Wisconsin for 6 years. Then I moved back to NYC and I've been here for the last 14 years.

Present: I live in one of the "luxury" apartments of Stuyvesant Town, but the rents are getting so ridiculous we will have to move soon. Maybe to the boonies of the Bkn.

If we do move, maybe the suburbs are a good bet, too. Although Brooklyn is not getting left out of the suburban-style holiday fever, let me tell you. Check out this atrocity:

Future: I think I will move to Southern California at some point in the next five years. I want to be outside 52 weeks a year. I want my kid to ride dirt bikes and catch rattlesnakes. I want beaches and mountains and a newspaper with all the box scores in it. This city's got me feeling like a motherfucker.

slumpin' into the new year

How does this blogging shit go again?

It's been a hard year, a year to forget, a year of cold Brooklyn winds and 40 hour work shifts and tired morning eyes and the looming presence of the thing I've dreaded since I was a little kid.

It's a year of death, man. Normally my attitude is, damn life sure is tough but tomorrow's bound to improve. We'll get this thing figured out. Pointless thinking. You'll never figure it out in time. You'll never have the last laugh. Your family dies, then you die. Each time it's grim and unmanageable and you try to find a way to look at it that doesn't remind you that life is cruel but in the end you can't. Life is cruel, and you know this to be true. One day you are at the bar playing pool and making eyes at the cute girls, and in what seems like an instant 60 years pass and you are lying in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of you, trying to figure a way out of it.

I'll tell you what -- don't even waste time thinking about it or bracing yourself for it. Not now, not tomorrow. Because when it comes you won't be prepared for its spectacular ugliness. No matter how bad you think it's gonna be, it'll be worse. Sudden and shocking or drawn-out and depressing, it's the worst fucking thing I can imagine either way.

My pop is still kicking it but I've seen him go through an unimaginable series of indignities and discomforts, more life-threatening ailments than any one person could reasonably be expected to tolerate. He's been in and out of hospitals and cancer centers and rehabs and he just takes it and never complains for a minute. And as his body shuts down he doesn't get bitter, he just keeps fighting. He's the fucking best.

Work has also been up my ass like sand in a bathing suit for the last four months. I have the next ten days off and I couldn't be more excited about it -- our department works harder and under more pressure than the other departments and that's just the facts. We're like umpires or lifeguards or garbagemen -- completely unnoticed except when we fuck up, and then we're the talk of the damn town.

To reward our troops for all their hard work, I decided that we should all go out for manly steaks at The Palm for lunch on the last day of work before Christmas break. I even suspended my vegetarianism for the occasion. We busted our asses to get all our work done ahead of time, then we we ate, drank, and I sent most of the dudes home. A couple of young upstarts decided that it would be a good idea to get some more beer and head back to the office, which would presumably be empty by now (4pm on Friday pre-holiday). There is an air hockey table in the Web Department upstairs (I like how web departments are still living the high life like it's 1998) and we decided to give it a shot. The two young guys went up and I was going to meet them there after tending to a few loose ends. However it turns out that the rest of the office was still working soberly at their desks. The guys had gotten through like four points of boisterous air hockey before they noticed this. So they came back downstairs toting sixpacks and open bottles of Rolling Rock, carrying on like fools. I shuffled them into an edit room and closed the door. Then we all had one more drink while watching two excellent youtube videos (below). That sent us into the new year all nice and good.

On a side note, one of the young dudes is at that stage of life where buying jagermeister shots seems like a good idea, and referring to them as "jager" is not in the least bit shameful. God Bless him. And, honestly, I had forgotten how delicious that shit is.

Remember that poster they had with the old man grimacing after doing a shot, and the words "so smooth"? They need to bring that back.

Here's the youtubes:
1. winnebago man -- an oldie I'm sure, but I had never seen it somehow.
2. she's gone -- best song/video combo of all time?

I've been walking around Brooklyn Heights/Cobble Hill for the last few days as I visit my pop. What a neighborhood. I lived near there -- on Sackett and Court -- for a year in the early 90's, that shit was pretty nice. But the place has gotten nicer. It may prove to be a good alternative for the family as we get priced out of Manhattan and resist the urge to hit Jersey. Of course, we can't afford to buy in Cobble Hill, either. But maybe near there. It's so awesome, lots of little restaurants and shops and streets with only like three people walking on them.

Lastly and this should probably be a separate post, but who knows when I'm posting again so may as well get it out now -- I find it quite easy to watch an NBA game and see who is good and who is not. You probably can, too. For my money, Dan Dickau is one of the worst players in the NBA. He simply cannot compete with the opposing point guard on either end of the floor. You look at the stats and see that he once averaged 13.2 ppg for a season. Pretty good, you say. But no -- what 13.2 ppg tells me is that the 2004-2005 Hornets must have been one of the worst teams in recent memory. If Dickau is getting enough run to average 13 a game, your team sucks.

It is the Blumpy Postulate -- it suggests that anyone good enough to get into the NBA could probably average double figures if given the playing time. The postulate is named for former NBA player Tony Campbell, a lifetime bench player who got plucked in the expansion draft and all of a sudden turned into a 20 point scorer with a horrid Minnesota team. Nothing against Campbell, he could definitely score, but he was not a good all-around player and would never crack the lineup on a good team.

I bring this up because after watching bits and pieces of Zach Randolph for the first two months of his Knicks career, I think we may have another Blumpy on our hands. Sure, he puts up numbers. Sure, he has an uncanny knack for scoring from weird angles and he cleans the glass well. But you watch him with the ball, backing down his man, clogging up the flow of the game, shooting almost every time he gets the ball and usually missing, then paying only causal attention to his man on defense, and you can see: Zach Randolph is not helping your team. He has no real value as a player. You could say the same thing about Marbury, I guess. If it is announced that Marbury is going to miss a particular game, does that even affect the point spread? I doubt it.

Is it possible to root for the Knicks right now? I know as fans we are supposed to be loyal, but this is such a disgraceful franchise and the product itself is so shitty, I think we can be forgiven for taking a year or two off.

2008: the year I finally get my shit together. If not, there's always 2009.