Tag: The Nate Way

Non Sequitors like Funky Smoke

How come most rappers rap about how good they are at rapping? That seems really stupid. I think rap is the only artistic endeavor that lets you go on about how great you are at going on about how great you are. <br /><br />I asked my friend Kevin how long he plans on living in Florida, and he told me that he plans on staying “off and on.” I asked how long he planned on staying “off and on” and he told me: “for however long it takes.” I asked him what “it” was and he told me that “it” was the stuff that was taking him so long to do. I asked what that stuff was and he told me to consider a career in minding my own business. If he had just told me that from the beginning, we could have avoided this entire paragraph. <br /><br />The hurricane hype is coming in droves. Meteorologists are pontificating, insurance companies are on non-bind status in South Florida, and yours truly will be stocking up on cigarettes (practically currency during a hurricane), beer (so I can enjoy the hurricane) and Ice (so I can enjoy the beer). I love hurricane season. Makes me feel alive. <br /><br />Every time someone tells me that something they own is a conversation piece, I inquire as to how many great conversations the piece has yielded. And you know, they never have even one that I would pay like, two bucks for. Stupid people.<br /><br />And finally, because this entry is obscure and pointless, I leave you with the following, which I read on a bumper sticker in 1993:<br /><br />My Gun has Killed Less People than Ted Kennedy’s Car

Snippets for the Pimpettes

Russ: I was watching Live 8 and I realized that John Norris is still alive.<br />Me: Who?<br />Russ: I weep for America’s youth.<br /><br />Me: I’m sorry, but that was funny.<br />Lou: Nate, that wasn’t funny man. Those people could have been seriously injured.<br />Adam: That’s what was so funny.<br /><br />Adam: Jimi Hendrix is overrated. He’s not that great a guitarist.<br />Lou: All right. That’s just stupid. <br />Me: Seriously, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard and I own every Dead Milkmen album ever produced. <br /><br />Me: How come everyone else gets a nickname? I want a nickname.<br />Peek: No, man. You can’t have one. You’re just ‘Nate.’ It fits you.<br />Me: It’s my name.<br />Peek: So you’re lucky; you get the two in one.<br />Me: I think you’re just too lazy to think up a nickname for me.<br />Peek: Maybe that’s part of it, Nate. Maybe.<br /><br />Me: So, the hospital wants to charge me like, eighty bucks to take my stitches out.<br />Russ: No, I won’t take your stitches out.<br />Me: No man, my buddy’s a fireman. He’s on it. Why would I ask you?<br />Russ: I don’t know. I could just tell that your statement was not gonna be followed by, ‘and I decided to pay up’ so I covered my ass.<br />Me: Smart thinking.<br /><br />Ryan: Now, I don’t want you to be weirded out by us two total strangers. Your sister said it was okay to hang with us, so you’re not scared, right?<br />Ashley: If she says you’re cool, I’m sure that you’re cool. She wouldn’t let me hang with people she doesn’t trust.<br />Me: Besides, your sister serves us drinks every day. If something happened to you and it was our fault, where would we drink? We need her so we have a need to treat you right.<br />Ryan: So, we’re not gonna use the GHB and tazer this time?<br />Me: There’s always tomorrow.<br />Ashley: All right, now I’m scared.<br /><br />Me: How come no one believes how I hurt my hand?<br />Ashley: What, is it like some crazy story or something?<br />Ryan: No, that’s just it. It’s a boring, plain story. And that’s just not believable when it’s Nate. Like, remember the time you had your ribs cracked f---ing that chick from Boston? Or the time you scarred your hands f---ing that skinny broad? Or when that crazy bitch gave you a black eye for cheating on her?<br />Me: Okay, chances with Ashley are now zero.<br />Ashley: I don’t know about that. I think if anything, your odds just got better.<br />Me: Wow, so like what kind of chick are you?<br />Ashley: The kind that loves hurting men.<br />Ryan: Oh, those are his favorite. <br />Me: F--- you.<br /><br />Me: Ryan, you do realize that you’re ridiculously drunk and making no sense.<br />Ryan: I do.<br />Me: Okay, as long as we’re all on the same page here.<br /><br />Ashley: What are you doing up so early?<br />Me: I have to go to work.<br />Ashley: You don’t have any tattoos, you don’t own a gun and you made me breakfast. You’re on hell of a guy for a one nighter.<br />Me: It’s easy to be nice when you know you’ll never see the other person again.<br />Ashley: F--- off.

Stitches and Fireworks

Today, a paramedic at a local fire station removed my stitches for free. He used a scalpel, a little clamp, some numbing medicine and gauze. He did it in nine minutes (including the drive). The hospital wanted $80 and they would have made me wait. The lesson here: firemen are the only people on planet earth who wear a uniform and are not, to some degree or another, hated. No one ever runs around saying things like, “Damn firemen, always running around and saving all those lives. Bastards.” <br /><br />Have you ever seen a family of six run, duck and cover because a misguided firework is shooting fire-coated projectiles at them? I have. And it’s every bit as funny as it sounds (chill out—no one was hurt).<br /><br />Give four full-grown men $100 worth of fireworks and watch them quickly turn into four young boys. I swear, on the Fourth, I was very close to trading in my beer for a soda-pop.<br /><br />The guy at the pizza shop next door just saw the bandage around my hand and made the obligatory masturbation joke. Just a few more days of gauze, God. Please, provide me with the strength to refrain from murdering these unoriginal people. On second thought…<br /><br />Oh yeah, gauze related humor. Every time I mentioned that I had to buy gauze I would hear, “shut your gauze damn mouth” or something to that degree. Thought you’d want to know. <br /><br />Fourth of July wrap up: Barbecues… check. Hanging with old friends… check. Heavy drinking… check. Fireworks on the beach… check. Accidental attempted murder of a family of tourists… check. Damn, I forgot to do laundry.

The Fourth

In honor of the Fourth of July—the only holiday that allows and encourages all American citizens over the age of five to blow stuff up—I have decided to make a list of my all-time favorite Fourth of July moments. With topics this unique, it’s a wonder I’m not writing for SNL. <br /><br />#10: The Fourth of July that Ben talked us into positioning ourselves so we could see the Tampa, St. Petersburg and Clearwater firework shows all from (roughly) the same area. Highlights of this moment include a complete lack of beer tents or beer services (“what, you mean we have to stay sober? Aww, man”), Ben and his girl averaging one fight per twelve minutes, and running from the street to the parking garage to catch the tail end of the Clearwater show, only so we could hustle to another side and catch the St. Petersburg show. In retrospect, it’s a good thing we weren’t drinking. Someone might have cracked their skull.<br /><br />#9: The Fourth of July that Kevin and I went to a Legion baseball tournament. We weren’t there ten minutes before a third basemen had his nose broken by a line drive. Kevin, who wrestled in high school, said the following (with the parents of said third basemen within ear shot): “Dude, in wrestling, if that happens to you, they tape you up and put you back on the mat. I dislocated my collarbone and they had me back on that mat in three minutes. How long until they get this p----y off the f---ing playing field. Ch---t, it’s just a nose. This sport is dog sh--” (self-editing can be tough with friends like Kevin). Three or four fans threatened Kevin with bodily harm, but he was never actually (read: even slightly) intimidated. <br /><br />#8: The three Fourth of Julies (all right then, you pluralize July) I caught a Cardinal game and the St. Louis Fair (formerly V.P. Fair). Highlights include my friend Tyler losing our beer, my friend Chip finding our beer, the Blue Angels, the best Gyro I ever had, the worst Gyro ever had, and some dumbass vendor serving me a beer at the ripe young age of fourteen. Go vendors! Oh yeah, and I saw Styx, Huey Lewis and the News, and Diana Ross for free. And sadly, those are the best three acts I’ve ever seen at Fair St. Louis.<br /><br />#7: The four fourths I’ve lead my team to victories in Bottle Rocket Wars. Just so you know: the Roman Candle Shooters go up front during any army to army confrontation, PVC is the plastic of choice for bottle rocket guns, M-80s are to be used only if trying to flush out an enemy, and taking prisoners is allowable but torture is not. Gotta have rules, people. <br /><br />#6: The time my family caught the yard on fire during a drought, spent an hour putting it out, then proceeded to have a water fight. That one will be remembered for a long time in my family lore (I think I was eight and I still remember it vividly).<br /><br />#5: The Fourth of July after high school graduation, when I got drunk at a barbecue, broke in to a friends car, fell asleep, and scared the living crap out of her when she left to drive home the next morning. She reminds me of this every summer. And yes, every Fourth of July I buy her a drink.<br /><br />#4: The time my Dad handed me a lighter and said, “It’s okay, I trust you.” (He did this because, even though I was six, it was raining hard that day and he knew I couldn’t set fire to too much of his property. Still, I felt like a big shot.)<br /><br />#3: The time I made love on the center field grass of a little league baseball field while the local township firework show exploded above us. I was fifteen and all I had was an old blanket and half a bottle of Boone’s Strawberry Hill. How times have changed (nowadays, I have a new blanket and can afford as much Boone’s as any girl can drink). <br /><br />#2: That time on the roof of my friend Chris’s car, when the firework show looked extra pretty (wink).<br /><br />#1: The Fourth of July I spent in Europe. This was really cool because I had completely forgotten about the holiday because I had been there about two months by then and was getting used to foreign stuff everywhere. I was staying with my girlfriend at the time (she was German). I came home from an afternoon of drinking in the local pubs (while she was at work—hey, the law said I couldn’t work there) to discover her wrapped in nothing but an old American flag. In addition, she had McDonalds hamburgers and sparkling fireworks on the patio table. As a gift for me that night, she presented me with the flag, the body underneath the flag, some bottle rockets (fireworks are hard to come by there) and the sentence, “You can use them wherever you like, just make sure I am nowhere near you.” Believe me when I say, European stuff blows up just as easily as our stuff. I’m tearing up just thinking about this. <br /><br />Happy Fourth of July

You Snippetty Putz

Luke: I could have gotten a job saving lives.<br />Me: Why didn’t you?<br />Luke: I hate people.<br /><br />Me: You know, I have never used the police for anything. I think I should get a refund on my taxes. The cops have never been a benefit to me. <br />Mike: Yes they have. You just don’t know it.<br />Me: You mean like when they catch a criminal who could have killed me or something?<br />Mike: No, I mean like when they don’t arrest you for doing the stupid shit you do.<br />Me: Wow. I guess if you look at it like that—<br />Mike: You owe them money. <br />Me: Dang, I’m joining the Benevolence Society.<br /><br />Me: These are the best chicken wings in Tampa. How come I never knew about this before?<br />Mike: Because they smoke ‘em. So they run out. And after they run out, it takes two hours to smoke another batch. So no one ever tells anyone about them because they don’t ever want them to run out early. You hear me?<br />Me: Relax Gigantor, I won’t tell a soul.<br />Mike: Nathan, I’m trusting you with something very important to me. Misappropriation of this knowledge could lead to bodily injury and possibly death. <br />Me: I didn’t know you had such a serious side.<br />Mike: Nathan, women come and go, so I don’t take them seriously. Same with jobs, friends and just about everything else. But the best chicken wings in Tampa? You think I’m gonna mess with that?<br />Me: Obviously not. <br />Mike: You’re damn right, obviously not. Now promise me you’ll lock your mouth and throw away the key.<br />Me: What are we, seven?<br />Mike: Lock your mouth, Nathan!<br /><br />Me: I think I may be drunk.<br />Peek: Well yeah.<br />Jeff: Usually sober people don’t throw up on my patio.<br /><br />Me: I love pelicans.<br />Peek: Do the poem.<br />Me: I’ve done it like 20 times. Don’t you have it memorized by now?<br />Peek. No. Do the poem.<br />Me: Okay, fine. ‘A marvelous bird is the pelican/His beak holds more than his belly can/ He can stash enough in that beak/ to eat for a week/I’ll be damned if I know how the hell he can.’<br />Rachel: Did you write that?<br />Me: No, it’s from an old episode of Columbo.<br />Peek: As opposed to all those new episodes of Columbo?<br /><br />Me: So, after a long night of drinking heavily, your girlfriend wakes up, staggers to work on three hours sleep, and commences assembling missile guidance systems.<br />Peek: Pretty much.<br />Me: Well, I feel less safe already.<br /><br />Doug: That guy gives nudists a bad name.<br /><br />Me: I’m thinking about becoming a male prostitute.<br />Lauren: I don’t think your eyes are sexy enough.<br />Me: My eyes? You think my eyes are holding me back? You think I’m one pair of colored contacts from total whoredom? I’m there.<br />Lauren: You might wanna get back in the gym, too.<br />Me: Okay, scratch that one.<br /><br />Greg: So, how do you write all those snippets? I never see you with paper or a tape recorder.<br />Me: I just wake up and try to remember all the things that made me laugh from the previous day.<br />Greg: So, do you think you get any of them wrong?<br />Me: Oh yeah. But none of the people in the snippets ever read the snippets, and it’s not like they’d remember verbatim anyway.<br />Greg: So you might as well be making them up.<br />Me: I guess.<br />Greg: Dude, could you make me sound like, really smart?<br />Me: I doubt it. <br /><br />Sheila: It’s like a hundred degrees and I haven’t had to put my sunglasses on in three days ‘cause of all the storms. I hate Florida summers.<br />Me: You work nights.<br />Sheila: Shut up.

Get Down Laundry Day

For the first time in about two years, I’m living in an apartment with no washer and dryer, and as such, I must use the laundromat in my complex. Now, just because I have to shell out $2.50 per load to wash and dry my clothes does not mean that I’m gonna waste two hours of my life watching the clothes spin. So, I grabbed my Weber Barbecue Grill (accept no substitutes), put a twelve pack of Yuengling into the cooler (drink what you like—what do I care?), got a couple packs of brats from the freezer, and headed to the laundromat. <br /><br />First, I started the fire (it takes about fifty minutes to get the coals ready for Bratwurst). After I put the clothes into the washing machine, I went outside of my complex's clubhouse and set my lawn chair in the parking spot I reserved for the barbecue (a sign stated that the spot was actually reserved for future residents, but the leasing office was closed so screw ‘em). Many people walked, rode or rollerbladed by, all offering me curious glances; but the first person to stop and talk to me was a young man. He wore a suit. And carried a book. A leather-bound book. I think you know where this is going.<br /><br />“Hey there, I was just wondering if you’d given any thought to your eternal soul,” he said.<br />“Wanna beer?” I asked.<br />“No thank you,” he said. “I don’t drink anymore, now that I have Jesus in my heart. My name’s Josh”<br />“Well, good luck selling Jesus, Josh.”<br />“I don’t sell Jesus. The Lord is a gift.”<br />“Okay, well good luck selling the gift.”<br />“I’ll pray for you, sir.”<br />Somehow, I doubt he will.<br /><br />After three beers and a switch of laundry to the dryer, I threw on the brats. I got to know a few of my neighbors over the course of the next hour, but none were more interested in my activities than a plump girl named Amanda.<br /><br />“Are you barbecuing in a parking lot?” she asked<br />“Wanna beer?” I asked.<br />“Uh, no. Why don’t you go barbecue at your apartment?”<br />“I’m doing laundry now. I’m trying to get the most out of my time. How do you like your brats?”<br />“I don’t like brats. I’m a vegetarian. Don’t you think this is a little strange—barbecuing out in public like this? I don’t think it’s legal.”<br />“If barbecuing in the middle of a parking space in my apartment complex is wrong, I don’t wanna be right,” I said, before calling three other neighbors over to grab their brats. (All I had was mustard and relish, and I apologized for not having onions or ketchup. I try to be a good host.)<br />“So you just said to yourself, 'I really want to drink beer, eat bratwurst, meet my neighbors and do laundry all at once.'”<br />“Well, I try not to talk to myself. And to tell you the truth, I think you’ve given this more thought than I have. I think, at most, I probably thought, ‘Dang, I have to do laundry. Maybe some beer and barbecue would make that more enjoyable.’”<br />“You are one strange guy.”<br />“This coming from a girl who doesn’t eat meat. I thought vegetarians were more open-minded.”<br />“I am open-minded. I’m just curious is all.”<br />After an uncomfortable pause I said, “Hey, why don’t you get some corn or potatoes or something and I’ll grill it for you. Still got some fire left.”<br />“Actually, I think I’m gonna go home and, um find something a little more normal than this. Like maybe X-Files or something.”<br />“Wow, zing!”<br />And she left.<br /><br />So, all in all, it was a decent two hours. I met a few of the neighbors, made a few friends and I have clean underwear. I mean, what more could you want from a laundry day?

Try Sleeping with Me

Because you know you never asked for it, here’s a list of stuff that keeps me up late at night:<br /><br />Pitcher Dewon Brazelton disappeared for twenty days without any explanation and the Devil Rays have already let him back on the team. And he still hasn’t told us where the hell he was. Apparently, my friend Larry and I are the only people bothered by this lack of communication. It really gets to me. No other team would stand for this garbage. My little league coach wouldn’t stand for this. The Tampa Bay Devil Rays; team motto: Really, We’re in the Majors. We promise.<br /><br />I have an unhealthy love of fireworks. The week before Fourth of July, I have a real hard time getting to sleep because I’m busy making a mental checklist of stuff I wanna blow up. <br /><br />I try to fall asleep while imagining myself shooting certain people in the face, but then, right before I get to sleep, I jerk wide awake because I know that somewhere, someone is imagining shooting me in the face. Crazy bastard. <br /><br />What were the Pistons thinking taking all those jump shots? Your game was in the paint, guys. So now Tim “seriously, I’m not pouting” Duncan gets another ring. The guy’s as interesting as bran flakes. Why oh why?<br /><br />Since I’ve gotten into this internet column thing, I’ve seen a lot of blatant attempts at plagiarism and or general copy-catting, and, when I see said thievery, it always makes me think, "Why can’t you come up with something original? There’s so much cool stuff in the world." Then I lie awake at night, trying to think of a column topic, and I understand. <br /><br />Wouldn’t it be great if there was a place where fads could actually go when they’re gone? I wonder what “scrolling belt-buckle” heaven would be like. <br /><br />I like to imagine that all the people who visit Florida in the summer are either masochists or demons preparing for hell.<br /><br />Man, how good a professional baseball player would I have been if I had just practiced ten times as much? Probably still not as good as Bob Ueker. <br /><br />Maybe I’ll get to sleep if I just drink one more beer…

Is Your Hand Okay?

As most of you may or may not know (doesn’t matter), I recently screwed up my hand. As a result, I received ten stitches, which I must cover with bandages and gauze. Naturally, people notice and comment. Here’s a list of some of the comments and questions I have received.<br /><br />“Hey, what happened to your hand?”<br />“Screwed up your hand, huh?”<br />“Is that a sprain or stitches?”<br />“Keep that up and you’ll go blind.”<br />“High five!”<br />“Whoa, what the hell’d you do?”<br />“Damn, I told you to stop whacking off.”<br />“You call that a bandage job?”<br />“Can I see the scars?”<br />“Damn, tell me you weren’t drunk when that happened.”<br />“Damn, who f---ed you up?”<br />“How big was the other guy?<br />“Come on Nathan, is life really that bad?”<br />“Couldn’t take all the pressure, eh wuss?”<br />“Nice start. When you gonna do the other one? ”<br />“I knew you were a bleeder.”<br />“Wow, this guy will do anything to impress the chicks.”<br />“Dude, I’ve been trying to tell you: first you shut off the engine, and then you work on it.”<br />“Hey, I’ll bet that hurts.”<br />“Hey, someone give Nate a hand.”<br />“How ironic? You have the clap, yet you can’t clap.”<br />“Quick, gimp-meister.”<br />“What’s up, Lefty?”<br />“You apply for your blue tag yet?”<br />“What you hiding under there?”<br />“Pushed one too many pencils, eh office boy?”<br />“See what happens when you try to do real work?”<br />“Well, that’s f---ing cute.”<br /><br />And finally, my personal favorite:<br /><br />“You know, white’s really not your color. You should buy some colored gauze. Maybe a green or a red. You look good in red.”

Hospitals and Slang

A hospital is a strange place to hang out. When I was sitting in the ER waiting room, I struck up a conversation and learned some new slang though.

Snippets by the Truck Load

Me: Hey, how came you never hook me up with any of your friends?<br />Cheri: Because I like them.<br /><br />Tom: I refuse to eat there?<br />Me: Why?<br />Tom: They put all the fixings on the bottom bun of the hamburger.<br />Me: So?<br />Tom: You’re either bottom bun guy or a top bun guy. Which one are you?<br />Me: Honestly, I don’t care.<br />Tom: Dude, that’s un-American. Get out of my car. <br /><br />Mike: Clay just referred to us as white guys.<br />Me: We are white.<br />Mike: But on the phone, he just said he was hanging out with a couple of white guys.<br />Me: Once again, Mike, we are white.<br />Mike: That’s racist. How would he feel if I called up my girlfriend and told her I was hanging out with a black dude?<br />Me: He is black.<br />Mike: You’re having a hard time getting past the obvious here. We, as a culture, are not supposed to put significance in skin color. Clay is being racist. <br />Me: I think you’re reading way too much into this. We’re white, he’s black and no matter who we tell, that won’t change. I mean, what do you want to do here?<br />Mike: Nathan, all I want is interracial harmony.<br />Clay [hanging up phone]: What did you say?<br />Mike: Why you gotta refer to us as white guys?<br />Clay: You are white.<br />Mike: Stop laughing, Nathan. You’re being racist, Clay. I don’t like being categorized by my skin color. I want an apology.<br />Clay: Umm, okay. Mike, Nate, I’m sorry that I told my black friend that I was hanging out with two of my white friends. In the future, I’ll try to be more sensitive to issues of race. <br />Mike: That’s better. I accept your apology.<br />Me: What the hell just happened here?<br />Mike: Interracial harmony, Nathan. Interracial harmony. <br /><br />Mike: Only us guys and under-wire can support Hooters.<br />Sean: That should be on a billboard.<br /><br />Me: Michael Jackson got off.<br />Mike: Really, what was the little boy’s name?<br />Sean: Oh, that was bad. <br /><br />Ben: What’s the difference between a pile of dead babies and a ’57 Cadillac?<br />Me: Okay, what?<br />Ben: I don’t have a Cadillac in my garage.<br /><br />Me: Hillsborough County is refusing to provide police and public services for any gay and lesbian-pride activities. <br />Brian: That’s gay.<br /><br />Me: Hey, it looks like we’ll get hockey back next year.<br />Danielle: Hockey? You mean the sport?<br />Me: Yeah.<br />Danielle: Whadda ya mean, get it back? Did it go somewhere?<br />Me: There was a lockout. The season was canceled.<br />James: And yet she can tell you every girl Justin Timberlake’s ever dated.<br />Me: Amazing.<br /><br />Mike: The NBA playoffs suck so bad this year. Your columns are more entertaining.<br />Me: I’m touched, Mike.<br />Mike: Don’t mention it.<br /><br />Me: I’m so hungry I could eat the snot out of your nose.<br />Nicole: That’s great dinner conversation, Nathan. What do you do for an encore, tell me I look fat in this outfit?<br />Me: You’re so beautiful, I could eat the snot out of your nose.<br />Nicole: Wow, it’s amazing how easily you turned that into a compliment. <br /><br />Deanna: Who do you think has a bigger ego, Nate or Mike?<br />Stephanie: That’s a tough call. They’re both cocky pricks.<br />Me: You know, we’re right here?<br />Stephanie: We know. <br /><br />Brain: I want a cigarette.<br />Me: You just smoked one.<br />Brain: Yes, that is true. That does not, however, preclude me from wanting another one.<br />Me: Touché<br /><br />Nickel: So, I guess you heard I’m pregnant.<br />Me: Congratulations.<br />Brain: Uh, Nate, I don’t think that’s one of those “congratulations” pregnancies.<br /><br />Nurse Lady: On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate this pain?<br />Me: Hold on a second. I’m not great with math. Let’s see? Carry the one, divide by the multiplier…. Uh, 1.79.<br />Nurse Lady: We’ll call that a 2, smartass.<br />Me: Sold to the smartass with the busted hand.<br /><br />Jen: What happened to your hand? Wait—don't tell me. Let me see the scars and guess.<br />Me: Okay, what's your guess?<br />Jen: Let's see… knowing you, it either has to do with some freaky chick or a really mad guy. I got it! You were having sex on a glass table and you broke it.<br />Me: Close. I was moving a piece of glass furniture and it broke on me. <br />Jen: Jeez, that is so lame. Next injury, I want to hear about a chick with whips and chains. Or at least a decent bar fight.<br />Me: Yes Ma’am. Sorry to disappoint.

Game 3: Cards vs D-Rays; Beach Balls vs Security; and a Busted Hand

It’s been so long, I almost forgot who pitched, let alone who drove in any of the twelve total runs. All I remember about the game is that we won and, thanks to an overzealous kid in the left field stands, one of our beach balls landed on the playing field. Before the game, I had told my step-dad that I was brining some beach balls because security was actually gutting them with hunting knives and, as a result, I caused this conversation to happen in St. Louis:<br /><br />Mom: Uh oh. Someone threw a beach ball on the field.<br />Step-dad: I think your son might have had something to do with that. <br /><br />Isn’t it awesome to be able to say hello to your parents from over a thousand miles away with nothing more than a phone call and a beach ball?<br /><br />Don’t answer that. <br /><br />Anyway, the beach balls didn’t stand a chance. Every ball we launched got gutted by some security guard. Next time, I’m bringing twenty. We will overcome this fascist, beach-ball hating regime (how can you hate a beach ball? I mean, what a symbol of innocence and good clean fun. Nazis). If we all bring ten apiece, they’ll still have the guns (er, knives) but we’ll have the numbers. <br /><br />Another weird thing that happened at the game: they wouldn’t let Peek and I bring a broom into the stadium, so we found a janitor’s broom outside one of the ladies' bathrooms. So there I was, swinging this disgusting, very-used, bacteria-ridden broom in the box seats. And no one stopped me. Apparently, a disease-ridden broom is a lot safer than a beach ball. Stupid Nazis. <br /><br />As I mentioned before, after the game I busted my hand. I wanna clear this up: I did not get in a fight; I did not pull a stunt; I did not break a law. I was helping a friend move and things got ugly. I can’t give the details because he wants to recoup his financial losses and he warned me against discussing this event before he talks with his lawyer. Just believe me when I say that this was not at all some kind of crazy, Nate-being-an-idiot thing. It was a legitimate accident complete with blood, health insurance, ten stitches, doctors, and this really cute nurse who said she liked my smile and took one of my business cards. <br /><br />So, in honor of the Cardinals sweeping the D-Rays, let me just say, “Wooooooooooo!” And, in honor of my cut hand, let me offer the obligatory, “Awwwww.” And in honor of the Beach Balls, let me just say, “You served valiantly and died for a noble cause. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, mainly because, I will never again set foot in that awful field until the Cardinals come back to town.”<br /><br />I’ll leave you with this snippet:<br /><br />Peek: I don’t know if I can go back to Tropicana Field.<br />Me: Come on, man. This time, we’ll sit on the other side?<br />Peek: Okay, I’m in.

Writing Time: 30 seconds

My hand is messed up. I'm medicated. It hurts to type. The Cardinals won. I'm not in much of a good mood. I promise a wrap of game three (Cards D-Rays) and a seriosuly fatty serving of snippets in the next two days. I apologize if my injuries are causing you any problems, but I know they're not.

×Close