I'm trying something new today. I'm going to post a weekend re-cap on a Friday. Why? It's the kind of outside-the-box thinking that I've been doing lately. That, and I haven't made the time to write it until now.
Anyway, last weekend was great. It didn't get off to a great start. I had to work late Friday, and I barely made the ten o'clock bus to DC. The cut-off was about two people behind me. Those unfortunates had to wait until 12:30 am for the next DC bus. I was lucky. I had a psychic in front of me.
Of course it wasn't his amazing extra-ordinary mind powers that helped(after all, he didn't anticipate Port Authority, of all places, being crowded). No, what helped was he was going to Baltimore to "unhaunt" (I assume that was a technical tearm) an old motel. So when a separate bus to Baltimore became available, off he went, and up the DC line I went. Before he left, he did give me a nugget of paranormal knowledge I feel I should pass on: usually (but not always, mind you), if there is a ghost doing some haunting, it's because that person died possessed. Before you ridicule, keep in mind this man was financed by the Sci-Fi channel and wore a t-shirt from his TV show. That's credibility, folks.
So I got into DC around three in the morning. Luckily, my father and my youngest brother(who is 19, wow) were waiting for me. I was all prepared to get my geek on the next day. Considering the festivities started at noon, I went to bed right away.
Hahaha, I'm just kidding. I hardly ever do the reasonable thing when it comes to sleep. So, after getting lit up with two of my brothers, we went outside and I spent a good half hour watching them attempting to hit one their cars with a football. It's not as dumb as it sounds. The car was parked in the street, across the yard, underneath one huge tree with another standing between them and the car. So bullet passes were out; they had to launch the ball like an artillery shell so it would clear the first tree and arc through the branches of the second. In the dark.
OK, it is as stupid as it sounds, but after ten or twelve misses(we decided halfway in that 'off a bounce' didn't count) I was really invested. Someone had to hit it. Sadly, neither one did. Oh, and during this entire spectacle, a hot waitress from the restaurant all of my brothers work at watched the entire thing. That just made it more surreal.
Eventually, I made it to bed and somehow, I manage to get up in time.
The Magic festivities were fun. My father did the best in the tournament, finishing in the money, with the rest of us scrubbing out by round five. In fact, everything was going pretty smoothly until I unleashed the "six degrees" monster.
You see, Friday night, while I was working late, my co-workers and I started playing "six degrees" with various actors. For example:
Elvis Presley to Naomi Watts
Elvis > It Happened at the World's Fair < Kurt Russell > Bird on a Wire < Goldie Hawn > Everyone Say I Love You < Julia Roberts > Closer < Jude Law > I Heart Huckabees < Naomi Watts
So we start playing this game Saturday, and everything else took a back seat. All we did was name actors and movies while our bodies kept doing other activities like eating, driving, and playing other games. At one point, in attempting to like Robin Williams to Jack Black, we kept circling back to Robin Williams. The game can get confusing.
So Sunday, I'm on my way to my brothers' baseball game, when I bring the game up. Everything is going great until my youngest brother suggests Meg Ryan to Drew Barrymore, which we don't solve before arriving at the ball field. Long story short, I place all the blame for my brother's error on a fly ball to left field on "six degrees" and his mind wondering: so wait, Meg Ryan was in...with whats her name, who was in...oh fuck the ball! They won, despite Meg Ryan.
The game was like no other I've ever been to. This was my first time at a non-high school, non-college game that didn't involve being at Camden Yards or RFK. You see, my brothers are playing in a semi-semi-pro league that has existed since 1886. There are teams in cities throughout Maryland, and these people take their baseball seriously. Lining the chain-link fences along the base-paths were throngs of old men talking trash. Serious trash:
"What the hell is wrong with you boys? You're bunch of sissy girls, the bunch of you! I'll fuck you up if you don't play some god-damned ball! I'm fifty years old and I ain't afraid of any one of ya!"
Yikes. A far cry from the -- relatively -- quiet stands of a Little League game. These guys would grind on you, and they wouldn't let up. One error, and they'd be on you the entire game. And it wasn't limited to players; umpires, coaches, opposing fans, and even the damned PA guy.
"That guy says 'last-call for lottery tickets' one more time I'll go over there and stab him! It's fixed anyway - someone from Charles County always wins! I was born on a farm, you can't put that shit over on me!"
The other weird interesting part of the league was that it was all ages. I saw a 46 year old hit a home run off of a twenty-something, and it didn't involve Julio Franco.
I was sad when the weekend had to end, and I had to get on another damn bus back to NYC. I need to find another way to travel.
A dream..
9 years ago
