Tag: The Nate Way

Observations Like a Beautiful Moron

I love waking up in a drunken blur and finding a random woman in my bed. Sure, I may not remember what in the hell I did the previous evening, but that woman is validation that I at least did something right. I mean, her presence almost makes up for the obligatory empty wallet and stained sheets.<br />

The Bible: Just a Book

I was a weird kid. I know it's hard to imagine that, seeing as how I'm such a shining example of normality and good cheer. But it's true. I was also the son of a Minister, which meant I went to church pretty much every week for a long time.

Observations Like a Greasy Red Card

I don’t want to say I’m never watching the NBA again, because I know I will. But, after the officiating in The Finals this year, let’s just say I’m not watching professional basketball for the games anymore. I’m officially gonna start watching basketball like a guy who intensely watches a magician close up. I’m looking for the wires, the smoke and the mirrors.

The Snippets With the Shot

Me: Has there ever been a Hispanic in the NBA?<br />Tony: I mean, I’m sure there has.<br />Me: Tony, you’re like forty, right?<br />Tony: Something like that.<br />Me: And you’ve been watching basketball since..?<br />Tony: Since I started watching television.<br />Me: And in all that time, have you ever seen a Hispanic basketball player?<br />Tony: You know, Kobe’s wife is Mexican.<br />Me: What’s that got to do with anything?<br />Tony: Hey man, you’re the one who wanted the Latino-NBA connection. I’m just helping you reach.<br />Me: Thanks, man.<br /><br />Chris: So, you been watching the World Cup?<br />Me: No.<br />Chris: Not at all?<br />Me: I caught twenty minutes of it. We tied.<br />Chris: Yeah.<br />Me: I hate ties. It’s like, I’d rather see a bad ending than no ending.<br />Chris: Yeah well, you’re an American.<br /><br />Me: Has there ever been a Hispanic in the NBA?<br />Dave: Manu Ginobili’s Argentinean, I think.<br />Me: Are Argentineans Hispanic?<br />Dave: I don’t know.<br /><br />Jenny: Do you believe that everyone gets what they deserve?<br />Me: God, I hope not.<br />Jenny: What are you saying?<br />Me: I’m saying that so many people deserve so much that I would just hate to see the love of material possessions fall in the way of the beauty of our character.<br />Jenny: Wow, that was deep.<br />Rod: And he knows he probably deserves to go to hell.<br />Me: You cock-blocking bitch.<br /><br />Me: Has there ever been a Hispanic in the NBA?<br />Chris: I mean, I’m sure there has.<br />Me: How are you sure?<br />Chris: Okay, so I’m not sure. But I would think there would have to have been?<br />Me: Why?<br />Chris: Law of averages.<br />Me: I hate that law.<br /><br />Brian: How’d it go with Goody Goody Girl?<br />Me: She was buying my bullshit, but then public opinion intervened.<br />Brian: You should really try taking your act to places where people don’t know you.<br />Me: Thanks, Brian. Thanks for caring.

Thirty Bucks Worth of Beer

“Tell me about yourself,” said the waitress. <br /><br />“Why?”<br /><br />“Because you seem interesting. Everyone who comes in here just drones on and on about their new cars and real estate deals. No one in here ever talks about anything of substance.”<br /><br />“Like what?”<br /><br />“Like the meaning of life.”<br /><br />“Never notice when you win. Never care when you lose. And always smile.”<br /><br />“What’s that? The meaning of life?”<br /><br />“To me it is.”<br /><br />“Oh,” she said. “Let me get you another beer.”<br /><br />And she got me another beer. <br /><br />“How can you not notice when you win?”<br /><br />“It takes practice.”<br /><br />“How would I start to practice?”<br /><br />“What do you want right now, that you are having trouble attaining?”<br /><br />“Well,” she said. “I’d like to find a nice guy. One who’s smart, funny, attractive and real.”<br /><br />“Okay, now imagine you’ve found him.”<br /><br />She smiled. <br /><br />“Alright,” she said. “I’ve found him.”<br /><br />“Now imagine he dies a week after declaring his love for you.”<br /><br />“Oh no.”<br /><br />Her face curved into a frown. <br /><br />“Why would I want to do that?” she asked. “That’s like killing a dream.”<br /><br />“Exactly,” I said. “You see, for most people, life is a series of ups and downs. You can’t enjoy not having what you want, you can’t stop yourself from enjoying what you have, and then you can’t bare to lose what you have. It just goes on like that. Over and over again. You want it; you’re unhappy. You get it; you’re happy. You lose it; you’re unhappy again. And on and on.”<br /><br />“So?”<br /><br />“So, by eliminating the need for happiness, you eliminate the unhappiness as well. You are now free to always smile.”<br /><br />“Is this easy for you?”<br /><br />“No.”<br /><br />“Do you want another beer?”<br /><br />“Yes.”<br /><br />She never said a word to me the rest of the night. She just kept the beers coming. But hey, at least she picked up my tab.

The City Bus Fuck Up

My friend Joe once hit the back of a moving bus with his old Chrysler Le Baron. The bus, like all city buses, had a sign on the back which, in big letters, offered the following piece of information: This Bus Stops at All Railroad Crossings.<br /><br />Joe was doing something other than watching the bus in front of him (I wasn’t there but I’ll bet whatever he was doing was marijuana related) and, as the bus slowed to stop for a railroad crossing, he slammed into the back of it, severely damaging his hood.<br /><br />The bus driver stopped the bus and exited it in time to find Joe driving away from the scene of the accident. The bus driver didn’t get Joe’s license number, but that was okay, because more than twenty people on the bus did manage to get it.<br /><br />That’s right, more than twenty witnesses saw my friend hit this bus and drive away.<br /><br />Before he died, Joe was fond of telling this story, which he would introduce with the words, “You know, the two dumbest things I ever did happened within thirty seconds of each other.”<br /><br />He was right.<br /><br />Hitting a bus that stopped at a railroad track was very stupid. Fleeing the scene of a witness clogged accident was also very stupid. Joe was usually a bright guy, but here… well, he just fucked up. I blame the weed.<br /><br />Anyway, one day we were drinking in the kind of shit hole little bar where the owners don’t mind eighteen year old kids with fake IDs sucking down beer (as long as they paid cash) and Joe started telling a couple of prostitutes this story. After he got to the part where he hit the bus on 22nd street, one of the prostitutes said, “That was you. Wow. Thanks so much.”<br /><br />“What?” responded Joe. “You’re thanking me.”<br /><br />“Yeah,” she said. “That was really cool. Thanks to you, all the people on that bus had a story to tell, and from then on, whenever we would sit together, if we recognized someone from that day, we’d all have something to talk about. The bus can be real creepy if you ain’t got no one to talk to.”<br /><br />“You’re welcome,” said Joe.<br /><br />Now, I was born on Christmas Day; I once burnt my house down and my mom ended up marrying the Battalion Chief who helped put it out, so I knew all about mixed blessings. And I just thought it was awesome that Joe’s infamous bus fuck up had finally become one.<br /><br />As we walked home that night I said to Joe, “You feel a lot better about hitting that bus, don’t you?”<br /><br />“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”<br /><br />And then, after a few steps in silence he added, “The minute I get a car again, I think I’ll have to hit me another bus.”<br /><br />In case you were looking for it, this story has no moral.

Don’t Piss in my Sandbox

Recently, I have been keeping track of where my money goes, and I learned something very frightening. I waste pretty much all of it.<br /><br />Now, I don’t make that great a living. I’m somewhere above the average teacher and below the average engineer, but I’m nowhere near broke or destitute. Or rather, that is, every month I end up pretty much broke, but it’s not from paying my bills. My rent, debts and utilities represent one third of my monthly income. I have no savings.<br /><br />That means that two-thirds of the money I make is spent on partying. I love taking trips to cities that I can’t afford, or buying drinks and meals that I can’t afford. I love strip clubs and bars, gambling and loose women. I love living, basically. And I guess that’s how I justify having a straight job instead of forcing myself into the guarantee of poverty that is being a professional freelance writer.<br /><br />You see, when you write for a living, and you don’t get to write about what you want (which is what writing for a living happens to entail most of the time), then you come to hate your job even more than someone who works in a field for which he or she has little to no passion. Writing, to me, is like playing. Sure, it would be great if I could get paid to play. But if you change the game on me, or worse yet, make me play an entirely different one, I shrug, think to myself, “fuck this” and go find a baseball game to umpire or a girl to pimp. Whatever makes me happy. So, trading in my hours for a handful of dimes just so I can live beats trading in my craft for a handful of nickels just so I can live. Essentially, what I’m saying here is, welcome to my sandbox. These are my toys, and you’re welcome to play with me, but never forget that this is my box. These are my toys. And that’s why I do what I do.<br /><br />Recently, I had a conversation with PIC writer, <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/writers/michael_curtiss.htm">Michael Curtiss</a>, a talented writer with absolutely no inclination towards the craft. He just recently found out that he could do this, and hopefully, he’ll be able to find his own sandbox, fill it with toys, and play just a little more often. When writing becomes work, well, fuck it. I mean, that’s not what this is about. Ask <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/dan/blog.htm">Dan Opp</a>, who recently quit writing a column because he felt that the weekly deadlines were taking the enjoyment of writing from him. When this starts to suck, well, there’s nothing worse. When it feels good, well, few of life’s emotions feel better. That’s why we do this. That’s the way writers think.<br /><br />Now, as I have mentioned many times, I am currently working on a book. And you know what? The damn thing just hasn’t gotten old. I’m still having fun constructing new and bigger sand creatures in the sandbox; and maybe the book will make me money and more than likely it won’t. But that’s not why we do this. We do this because, like drinking, fucking, gambling and fighting, it feels good. And, unlike our other vices, this doesn't cost a thing.<br /><br />I guess the best way to sum up what I mean is with a snippet from one of my old Creative Writing classes back in college.<br /><br /><strong>Celeste:</strong> Would you look over my story, Nathan? I mean, I don’t know if this major is for me. Could you just read this, and like, if you think it sucks, just tell me and I’ll switch to history or something.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Sure, Celeste. Just umm, let me have your phone number and after I finish reading this, we could set up a time to—<br /><strong>Jenny:</strong> Wait a minute. Celeste, you can just quit writing?<br /><strong>Celeste:</strong> Well, yeah, if I’m not any good at it, then why bother?<br /><strong>Jenny:</strong> Nate, can you quit?<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Writing?<br /><strong>Jenny:</strong> Yeah.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> No way, no how.<br /><strong>Jenny:</strong> Celeste, if you can quit, you probably should.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Jenny, you cock blocking bitch.<br /><strong>Jenny:</strong> Nate, you arrogant slut.<br /><br />Jenny knew what Celeste and I did not. Everyone knows how to read and write. Not everyone is a writer. That’s the difference between playing in a sandbox and building a sandbox. One is fun. The other is work.<br /><br />So, if anyone out there is entertaining thoughts of becoming a writer, to them I say: congratulations, by definition, you are not one.<br /><br />And I wish you the best of luck.

Snippets of Principle

Me: She cheated on me.<br />Kevin: With a man or a woman?<br />Me: A man. It’s not cheating if it’s with a woman.<br />Kevin: Ahh, well clearly I need a copy of this rule book.<br /><br />Kevin: Let me ask you a question.<br />Me: Alright.<br />Kevin: If I drank a bottle and a half of red wine and two beers and didn’t even get a slight buzz even though I haven’t had a drink in six weeks, do you think I have a problem?<br />Me: How much do you weigh again?<br />Kevin: I’m about six foot two, two sixty.<br />Me: Yeah. I’d definitely be concerned.<br />Kevin: Thanks, hoss.<br /><br />Me: I can’t believe she cheated on me.<br />Main: She cheated on her last boyfriend, didn’t she?<br />Me: Yeah.<br />Main: And she sucked you off in the bar, didn’t she?<br />Me: Yeah.<br />Main: So, what surprises you again?<br />Me: Fuck off.<br /><br />Jamie: I don’t think my parents want anything to do with me.<br />Me: Why not?<br />Jamie: They moved like a month ago, and they still haven’t told me where they live.<br />Me: That’s fucking hilarious.<br />Jamie: Whatever, Dick.<br /><br />Tiffany: That was great. Your girlfriend must be lucky.<br />Me: No girlfriend. She cheated on me.<br />Tiffany: She left you for another guy?<br />Me: No. She just cheated on me and I broke up with her.<br />Tiffany: Wow. I’m glad my man isn’t so strict.<br />Me: You have a boyfriend?<br />Tiffany: Fiancée, actually.<br />Me: Man, it’s good to be back.<br />Tiffany: What?<br />Me: Nothing.<br /><br />Tim: You looking at her ass?<br />Kevin: Yeah.<br />Tim: Wanna hit it, huh?<br />Kevin: Yeah. But I can't. You?<br />Tim: Boss, I would hit that ass so hard, whoever pulled me out would become the next King of England.<br />Kevin: That’s going to Nathan.<br />Tim: Who?<br />Kevin: Get to work.<br /><br />Becky: I’ve heard rumors that you beat women.<br />Me: Like, in a bad way?<br /><br />Me: Do I strike you as the kind of guy that hits women?<br />Becky: No, but you never know about the people in [The Smoky Pool Hall]. You have to make sure.<br />Me: Well, I’ve slept with a few of the women who work there. I can give you references if you like.<br />Becky: That’s okay. Thanks, though.<br /><br />Becky: I think that cheating is cheating, whether or not a girl cheats on you with a man or a woman.<br />Me: I disagree. When it’s girl on girl, the only cheating that’s going on is when they don’t film it for me.<br />Becky: You’re a real man of principle.

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