Tag: The Nate Way

Spreading the News

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/liberty-762057.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/liberty-759415.jpg" border="0" /></a>The first weekend in June, I’m going to New York.<br /><br />The last time I was in New York, the twin towers were standing and the Yankees had a bullpen. So, it’s high time I returned. Not that you give two rat turds dipped in urine, but I’m going to New York because I’m in my twenties, which means most of my friends are in their twenties, which means most of my friends are getting married, which means I’m going to a wedding in New York. Which basically just means that I’ll be getting drunk in a different location with people who either don’t know me or actually like me (there are still a few out there).<br /><br />Now, I was gonna use this space to go off on why I think marriage is a total sham and I’ll never get married ever because there’s absolutely no reason to ruin your life like that, but the truth is, I really don’t feel like pissing off a whole bunch of women today (hey, maybe tomorrow). (Side note: I hate the fact that all women are proponents of marriage and all men are skeptical of the idea. If that doesn’t tell you something about the importance of marriage in this country, well, quite frankly, you’re an idiot. But thanks for reading.) So instead, I’m gonna borrow a page from <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/columns/justin/archives.htm">Justin Rebello</a> and bitch about my life.<br /><br />I’m busy as hell. This is my biggest complaint. Not only do I have to work an office job from nine to five where I actually have to get work done every stinking day, but afterwards, I have to come home and try to get some writing done (I’m working on a book) in forty five minutes, then I have to go out and umpire baseball games. And then, when all this is finished and I just want to go home, rub one out and go to bed, I have to deal with my girlfriend who cannot get enough attention from me and is, unfortunately, bearing the brunt of my resulting attitude. So basically, I can’t do what I want to do pretty much ever.<br /><br />Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “DeGraaf, just quit the umpiring gig and tell your woman to take a hike and finish that book because I know you’ve got like a hundred pages of snippets and I want to fucking read them.” And to you I say, “Fuck off.” I umpire out of obligation because that crew needs me there. They need me because they have few umpires of my caliber (and yes, I am at least above average at everything I do, which is why I do what I do and if you have a problem with that you can go to hell—man am I pissed today). And, as regards the girlfriend, kicking her out is coming dangerously close to breaking up with her because she lives with her dad now and she hates it there. So kicking her out is basically a fight. And by the way, I love it when one of the reasons I haven’t finished the book yet (Amy) tells me I should finish the book. That, right there, is women in a nutshell.<br /><br />Speaking of which, I have been working with a woman who has been trying to get me fired for three years. She’s retiring now, so she’s on the final lap of her mission. Every day I get through without impaling her with my letter opener is a great day for me.<br /><br />So basically, I am in a new place for me. I’m not happy. <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/blog/court.htm">Court Sullivan </a>once told me that I was one of a handful of genuinely happy people he knows. I never really understood what he meant until I woke up today in a bad mood after an evening wherein I displayed quite a bit of anger (sorry, Amy). I had never waken up in a bad mood before. Now I know what it’s like and it really sucks. So, clearly I need to find happiness again. How will I do that (you never asked)? Well, I will fly to Manhattan and get drunk as hell with one of my best friends. You may know him as the <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/05/chills.html">owner of Chills</a>. I’ll get a little change of scenery, a little catching up with an old friend, a lot of debauchery and, hopefully, I will return with batteries recharged and tackle the final leg of this book.<br /><br />Wish me luck.<br /><br />Oh yeah, and if you’ll be in Manhattan late Friday night (June 2nd) or Saturday (June 3rd), please feel free to let me know where you’ll be buying me a drink (so long as it’s actually on the island), and I’ll do my best to get there. I’m a drunk like that.

Breaking the Snippets

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/cottonelle-766882.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/cottonelle-764690.jpg" border="0" /></a>Me: So, my girlfriend cleaned my place, and in doing so, she managed to break my coffee pot and destroy my bathroom rug. So, her cleaning my place will end up costing me about forty dollars.<br />Bobby: That’s women for you: finding new and unusual ways to spend your money.<br />Me: Yeah. They’re great for that.<br /><br />Me: That was the worst game I’ve ever seen in my life. Those kids had no business being on a baseball field. I counted thirty three errors.<br />Kris: Yup, they sucked. I could have crapped a better game out of my ass. In fact, if I get the nuclear wings tonight, I probably will.<br />Me: If we had Jane Goodall and a few years, we could train chimps to play better than those boys played today.<br />Kris: Hell, I could probably teach the chimps to crap better games out of their asses.<br />Me: No. I think that’s more of a natural talent.<br />Kris: Yeah. I guess you’re right. My ass has talent.<br /><br />Me: Thanks for buying that toilet paper.<br />Court: Consider it the last gift I ever give your ass. Literally.<br /><br />Jenna: I’m changing my major to Creative Writing.<br />Me: That was my major.<br />Jenna: Really? What do you do with it?<br />Me: I write whatever I want.<br />Jenna: Does that pay well?<br />Me: Not unless your definition of “well” actually means “not at all.”<br />Jenna: Well, I can always fall back on my looks. What do you fall back on?<br />Me: Actually, I have to fall back on my brains.<br />Jenna: Ouch.<br />Me: Yeah. I know.<br /><br />Becky: I want to fuck you so bad.<br />Me: Like, right now?<br />Becky: No. I’m working right now. How about later?<br />Me: Well, I have a girlfriend. Do you think you could fuck her, too?<br />Becky: You’re kidding, right?<br />Me: No.<br /><br />Me: Thinking of it from a purely intellectual standpoint, it’s very difficult to limit the negative effects of perspiration while still reaping the physical advantages.<br />Kris: My balls itch.<br />Me: Exactly.<br /><br />Becky: Describe yourself in one word.<br />Me: No.<br />Becky: Interesting approach.<br /><br />John: I figured out why I drink so much.<br />Me: Why?<br />John: Can’t remember. I was drunk when I figured it out. But I certainly had impressed myself with my self awareness.<br />Me: So, you remember that you figured it out, but can’t remember what exactly you figured out?<br />John: Pretty much.<br />Me: That sucks.<br />John: Wait. I got it.<br />Me: What? You know why you drink so much?<br />John: It’s ‘cause I’m a drunk. And that’s what drunks do.<br />Me: Deep.<br />John: I’m like a philosopher.<br />Me: Except you’re not.

It’s All in the Hurricane Name

<a href="http://www1.ncdc.noaa.gov/pub/data/images/hurr-floyd-19990913-2kmir.gif"><img style="float:right;width:200px;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="http://www1.ncdc.noaa.gov/pub/data/images/hurr-floyd-19990913-2kmir.gif" border="0" /></a>As some of you may know, hurricane season starts June 1st and meteorologists are predicting at least sixteen named storms, six or seven of which

Observations Like a Drunk Bumblebee

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/drunkbee-744793.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/drunkbee-741855.jpg" border="0" /></a>A seven year old boy set a record by becoming the youngest person to swim from Alcatraz to San Francisco.

Little League Chimps

<p>Those of you who read The Nate Way with any regularity may know that I have been <a href="/nathan/2006/05/snippets-blew-that-call.html">umpiring baseball</a> at the local little league parks here in Tampa. It’s decent side money, it keeps me out of the bars (for a few hours, anyway) and it can even be fun sometimes.<br />

Don’t Link the Snippets

<p>Pete: Did you hear about that new heroin?<br />Me: Yeah. Apparently you can swallow it and it gets right into your blood stream.<br />Pete: Yeah. No more track marks. I’m stoked.<br />Me: I wasn’t aware you did heroin.<br />Pete: I don’t. But I date a lot of gutter slut, drug using bitches. You know, those track marks can be a real turn off.<br />Me: I imagine.<br />

Local Luke Likes Living Lazy

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/bunny-740935.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/bunny-736155.jpg" border="0" /></a>So I’m sitting at the bar, where I often sit when I drink, and I’m thinking, which I often do when I drink, about the world in general.

Obervations like a Roofer’s Misguided Dream

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/catsup-732218.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/catsup-715543.jpg" border="0" /></a>Showing someone around your city is harder than you think. While my parents were in town, I got us temporarily lost at least twice, mainly because I wasn’t used to looking through my town from the passenger seat, nor was I used to giving directions. There are so many things that my brain just does automatically. And so many things that it just doesn’t do. I’ve said it before and I’m typing it now: <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2005/10/risking-snippets.html">I ain’t that bright</a>.<br /><br />Reading <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/scott/blog.htm">Scott Goodyer’s blog </a>is like finding a joke in some random place where jokes aren’t usually found. It’s like going to lunch, grabbing the ketchup bottle and then reading the phrase, “This Ketchup has Aids” on the bottle’s label. I mean, you can’t help but laugh, but then, at the same time, you’re not really sure what the hell you’re laughing at. You may not agree, but I dare you to do a better job defining whatever the hell it is that whacko does. Did you hear me? I dared you. Oh yeah, you have been dared.<br /><br />PIC’s own E. Mike Tuckerson is spending the summer helping rebuild his hometown of New Orleans. On a related note, I once helped an old lady clean the leaves out of her gutters. We’re both humanitarians in our own way. Tuckerson’s way is just more, umm, humanitarian.<br /><br />I don’t care what anyone says, no one is looking for Osama Bin Laden. You just can’t convince me otherwise. I mean, if America really was looking for him, wouldn’t we at least have some kind of bullshit name for it, like “Operation Find that Smelly Bastard”? And yes, I know I’m going to hell.<br /><br />My parents are pretty proud of me. Not only have I thus far avoided a life in prison, but they didn’t see me drunk once this weekend. So there, Mr. Probation Officer. I told you I could do it; I just needed the right motivation.<br /><br />President Bush is allegedly sending approximately 10,000 members of The National Guard to protect our borders from <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/05/observations-like-cute-butt.html">immigrants</a>. In a related story, 20,000 jobs just opened up in the day labor market. Get your resumes ready.<br /><br />And finally, because this is one of those entries where I pull a Goodyer and use as little logic and fluidity as is humanly possible, I leave you with the following, which was written on a flyer that (for whatever reason) wound up on the door of my apartment:<br /><br />“Get your new roof today. It’s cheaper than you think.”

My Mom Rules

<a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/june-795991.jpg"><img style="float:right;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/uploaded_images/june-792871.jpg" border="0" /></a>My mom’s coming in for Mother’s day weekend. She’s gonna meet Amy. My mom reads my columns and The Nate Way.<br /><br />This is going to be a little <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/01/observations-for-fellas.html">awkward</a>.<br /><br />Anyway, because Mother’s Day is coming soon, and I probably won’t post again until Monday unless something really amazing happens in the world of sports and/or pornography, I’m gonna take this opportunity to address some of the things my mom did to help make me the great (and humble) person I am today.<br /><br />Mom encouraged me to write. When I was in second grade, a teacher named Ms. Hawkins discovered the damndest thing. It turned out, the blond kid who kept getting in trouble for fighting, kissing the girls and making jokes during class could actually read and write at an above average level. In fact, Ms. Hawkins thought he was such a good writer that she gave him an hour a day to sit and write whatever he wanted (on one of those old school, green screen, Apple IIe computers—man, those sucked). That kid’s mother read every word he wrote and offered feedback and constructive criticism while all the while never actually complimenting his above average talent. She nurtured the writing without spoiling the writer. Few mothers could have pulled that off. Mine did.<br /><br />Mom trusted me. When I was in junior high, I almost flunked out. My horrible behavior and below average grades were of grave concern to my mom, who came up with a compromise. She said, “As long as you keep an A average in high school, you’ll have no curfew. You can come and go as you please and we won’t even punish you for anything shy of an arrest.” I graduated high school in the top ten percent of my class and got a scholarship to college despite the fact that I was arrested five times in those four years. Mom knew that, in time, I would figure out how to be a responsible adult. And she also knew that I would have to be the one to figure out how to pull that off. And she let me do it my way. Few mothers would have been that patient. Mine was.<br /><br />Mom enjoyed me. Believe me when I say that I was not the easiest child to raise. I had issues with illegal businesses, drugs, <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/04/snippets-drink-too-much.html">alcohol</a>, illicit sex and mental instability (there’s a reason the Army wouldn’t take me). Nevertheless, nothing brought a smile to my mother’s face like her children cracking jokes and enjoying themselves. And fortunately for me, I was one of her children. Many mothers wouldn’t enjoy having a blatant criminal for a son. I was lucky. Mine did.<br /><br />Mother’s Day, in my opinion, is a crock. It’s one of those Hallmark holidays that was essentially created to inject money into the economy. But, unlike <a href="https://www.pointsincase.com/nathan/2006/02/red-ribbon-snippets.html">Valentine’s Day</a>, Mother’s Day at least serves as a reminder of the women who gave birth to us and offers us a day to contemplate how lucky we are that our mothers didn’t leave us in dumpsters or beat us stupid with lead pipes (to all of those readers out there whose mothers beat them with lead pipes or left them in dumpsters, I apologize for rubbing salt in the wounds). And I don’t know about you, but I’m grateful that my mother was able to raise me into the man I am today, because the military recruiters, school principals, most of my teachers and several police officers were all dead sure I’d be killed in a bar fight or end up in jail. Not a lot of mothers would have been able to make me into a decent human being. Mine was. And for that, I kindly thank her.<br /><br />Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

The Snippets Blew That Call

<a href="http://redbirdnation.blogspot.com/denkinger295x374.jpg"><img style="float:right;width:200px;cursor:hand;margin:0 0 10px 10px;" alt="" src="http://redbirdnation.blogspot.com/denkinger295x374.jpg" border="0" /></a>Coach Lombardo: That was the worst call I’ve ever seen. You’re a lousy umpire.<br />Cary: Do you think my hat smells like fish?<br />Coach Lombardo: Get that smelly thing away from my face, freak.<br />Cary: I think fish, but Nate says it’s more like a dirty, butt crack smell.<br />Coach Lombardo: You suck, Blue.<br /><br />Coach Micks: Listen to me you little punk. You’re a lousy umpire. And if any of these kids look up to you, I think it’s a crying shame.<br />Me: Coach, you’re way too close to me, right now. Anyone who gets this close to me, well, I just have to kiss them. It’s how I was raised.<br />Coach Micks: You think you’re funny, don’t you, you little jerk?<br />Me: I once slipped on a banana peel.<br /><br />Me: So what did he say? Fish or butt crack?<br />Cary: He didn’t answer the question. He just wanted to argue the play at the plate.<br />Me: How rude.<br />Cary: Yeah, some people.<br /><br />Coach Micks: Holy shit. I can’t believe you just kissed me!<br />Me: Wow. That got you out of my face in a hurry. What? Are you afraid of a little man love?<br />Coach Micks: You are messed up, DeGraaf.<br /><br />Eileen: I heard you kissed a coach.<br />Me: Shh. Don’t tell anyone. He’s married.<br />Eileen: Did you go to the Ringling Brothers School of Umpiring or what?<br />Me: What’s a school of umpiring?<br /><br />Tom: Yeah, we got some problems in the game you’re about to do.<br />Me: What’s that?<br />Tom: You got three parents, two coaches and a player all suspended for the game. You have to make sure they don’t show up.<br />Me: These kids are twelve years old and I have six suspended people? Whatever happened to sportsmanship?<br />Tom: Look at it this way. If we had sportsmanship, we wouldn’t need you guys.<br /><br />Batter: Ump, was that a strike?<br />Me: Yeah, you swung at it.<br />Batter: What if I hadn’t swung at it? Would you have called it a strike?<br />Me: I don’t do well with hypotheticals.<br />Batter: I don’t do well with big words. Just tell me where the pitch was.<br />Me: Which pitch?<br />Batter: The last one. The one I swung at.<br />Me: Man, that was a long time ago. I honestly don’t remember.<br />Batter: It was a minute ago.<br />Me: Quit living in the past, dude.<br /><br />Tom: I heard you kissed Coach Micks.<br />Me: Of course not. That would be unprofessional.<br />Tom: No offense Nate, but unprofessional seems to be your middle name.<br />Me: Keep it up buddy, and you’ll be firmly entrenched in my passionate embrace.<br />Tom: Seriously, who hired you?

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