"Oh yeah"Cold today. Cold yesterday. Probably be cold tomorrow. No ice yet, but it's frosty as a magic nugget. I've always liked seeing my breath. As an impressionable young lad, me and my crew would hold long pieces of barkdust like cigarettes and pretend to smoke, blowing the pretend secondhand out of our lungs in the form of crystallized clouds. That is what happens right? The moisture in your breath freezes? Makes sense to me. "I am the one Johnny Carcinogen" said NOFX. Man, every one statement I make leads to two questions. Tom Cruise can't handle the truth, but I can manhandle verity. I'm absorbent. Porous. Permeable.
Today I had a conversation with a deaf girl. That's right, a conversation. An exchange of words. A dialogue. An informal discussion. With none other than a deaf girl. She kinda reads lips, so that helped. Topics covered included, but were not limited to, the weather, electricity, last names, family relations, utilities and the holiday season. It was so cool. I've seen this girl before and watched her try to start and maintain conversations. This process is often difficult as many people don't want to make the effort. Think about her though; in a world of silence, she just wants some human interaction. Some shrug her off, others play dumb. It's sad but I don't want to feel sorry for her. I'll admit that I tend to avoid situations like these with the universal grin and nod. But today was different. She made the effort. So I complied somewhat begrudgingly and was later rewarded with a sense of content. We exchanged pleasantries and I struggled to decipher her rudimentary hand signals (thankfully, she dumbed down the sign language for me) and unrecognizable speech. Sensing our frustration at not being able to understand each other, she broke out the pen and paper. This is when the fun started. Writing short sentences, questions and answers, exlamations and expressions-we began to connect. Though the whole endeavor lasted only 15 minutes, we managed to scribble nearly 4 pages of hurried, chicken-scratched text. All of this was accompanied by nods, shrugs and other indicators that made the conversation just that.
Another good feeling I got the other day: I saw a middle-aged couple with two giant Costco carts full of children's books, toys and balls of all sorts. After a brief chat, I learned that they had no children and were planning to donate the nearly $700 dollars worth of merch they had purched to needy kids. That's the coolest. At the risk of sounding corny, that is the true spirit of the season-tis better to give than receive.
There's a draft. A cold wind a-blowing. Is that a Dylan song? nope, hard rain's a-gonna fall. bombs and stuff.
Just remembering being a young fella. Our neighborhood, however suburban [and it was (to the max)], was maybe like any other inner-city neighborhood. As I imagine it at least. ooooooooh, good song: quicksilver messenger service. Anyway, my hood was
divided by blocks and the kids on your block who were of the same age made up your gang. I know it sounds silly, but shit was real mang. Copper Creek (my crew) had like maybe 5 or six dudes that were all within a four grade range. Rollin deep son. Like the other crews, we'd throw the ball, kick the can, and throw berries at the girls. Our jurisdiction was patrolled by bike and trespassers were dealt with. I hate ending sentences with prepositions. Is it sometimes grammatically correct? Or never ever? You ever blink your eyes really fast to make the strobe effect? it doesn't work as well. But back to the olden days, we'd ride dirty or hang out on the curb, I don't even know what we talked about, probably hot lunch or something. I remember too that each crew had girls, but everybody was too young to really comprehend. Just being kids. I actually remember peeing in front of this one girl like it was no biggie. She was looking at it the whole time. Then she went. We even conserved water-two pees, one flush. I bet we were like second or third grade. Wierd. At that age, I think I would've known the whole 'private' parts thing. Maybe we didn't care? Should a trained professional be asking these questions? No matter, it's nature. Once there was a rumble. It wasn't over turf either. These butthead kids, neighborhood enemies from a rival gang, were talking shit. Talking shit was how you proved your worth back then. Y'know in The Sandlot when all the kids are kinda going back and forth, throwing out insults and putdowns? That's what it was like. You'd make fun of other dudes to make you and your dudes feel cooler. Real mature-like. Anyway, these guys were fully making fun of the Remley clan. It was me, my brother, and our wussy neighbor, though nonetheless part of the crew, Jon. There were three of them, too. They were two brothers and a neighbor. So a chance encounter on the corner led to an exchange of words. A full verbal assault ensued. Both sides got heated, I don't remember what was said because it was like 15 or so years ago, but fools got hot man. I'm not an angry person in the least, never have been, but I remember something snapping. So we rumbled. Shit hit the fan, beef was confronted and it came to blows. This probably consisted of pre-pubescent wrestling with some body shots thrown in for good measure. I don't remember much besides Jon (read: wussy neighbor, unreliable ally) running away to cry in my garage while my brother and I worked three dudes, defended our honor and retained our Remley pride. I'm pretty sure I became friends with one of those guys down the road. We jumped out of the back of the bus on the last day of school and bonded over Lucky Charms. True story. Man, I'm opening the vaults here. I'm remembering shitloads; it's cool.
TAKE PHOTOS. ReMEMBER. DRINK YOUR OLY.
Today I had a conversation with a deaf girl. That's right, a conversation. An exchange of words. A dialogue. An informal discussion. With none other than a deaf girl. She kinda reads lips, so that helped. Topics covered included, but were not limited to, the weather, electricity, last names, family relations, utilities and the holiday season. It was so cool. I've seen this girl before and watched her try to start and maintain conversations. This process is often difficult as many people don't want to make the effort. Think about her though; in a world of silence, she just wants some human interaction. Some shrug her off, others play dumb. It's sad but I don't want to feel sorry for her. I'll admit that I tend to avoid situations like these with the universal grin and nod. But today was different. She made the effort. So I complied somewhat begrudgingly and was later rewarded with a sense of content. We exchanged pleasantries and I struggled to decipher her rudimentary hand signals (thankfully, she dumbed down the sign language for me) and unrecognizable speech. Sensing our frustration at not being able to understand each other, she broke out the pen and paper. This is when the fun started. Writing short sentences, questions and answers, exlamations and expressions-we began to connect. Though the whole endeavor lasted only 15 minutes, we managed to scribble nearly 4 pages of hurried, chicken-scratched text. All of this was accompanied by nods, shrugs and other indicators that made the conversation just that.
Another good feeling I got the other day: I saw a middle-aged couple with two giant Costco carts full of children's books, toys and balls of all sorts. After a brief chat, I learned that they had no children and were planning to donate the nearly $700 dollars worth of merch they had purched to needy kids. That's the coolest. At the risk of sounding corny, that is the true spirit of the season-tis better to give than receive.
There's a draft. A cold wind a-blowing. Is that a Dylan song? nope, hard rain's a-gonna fall. bombs and stuff.
Just remembering being a young fella. Our neighborhood, however suburban [and it was (to the max)], was maybe like any other inner-city neighborhood. As I imagine it at least. ooooooooh, good song: quicksilver messenger service. Anyway, my hood was
divided by blocks and the kids on your block who were of the same age made up your gang. I know it sounds silly, but shit was real mang. Copper Creek (my crew) had like maybe 5 or six dudes that were all within a four grade range. Rollin deep son. Like the other crews, we'd throw the ball, kick the can, and throw berries at the girls. Our jurisdiction was patrolled by bike and trespassers were dealt with. I hate ending sentences with prepositions. Is it sometimes grammatically correct? Or never ever? You ever blink your eyes really fast to make the strobe effect? it doesn't work as well. But back to the olden days, we'd ride dirty or hang out on the curb, I don't even know what we talked about, probably hot lunch or something. I remember too that each crew had girls, but everybody was too young to really comprehend. Just being kids. I actually remember peeing in front of this one girl like it was no biggie. She was looking at it the whole time. Then she went. We even conserved water-two pees, one flush. I bet we were like second or third grade. Wierd. At that age, I think I would've known the whole 'private' parts thing. Maybe we didn't care? Should a trained professional be asking these questions? No matter, it's nature. Once there was a rumble. It wasn't over turf either. These butthead kids, neighborhood enemies from a rival gang, were talking shit. Talking shit was how you proved your worth back then. Y'know in The Sandlot when all the kids are kinda going back and forth, throwing out insults and putdowns? That's what it was like. You'd make fun of other dudes to make you and your dudes feel cooler. Real mature-like. Anyway, these guys were fully making fun of the Remley clan. It was me, my brother, and our wussy neighbor, though nonetheless part of the crew, Jon. There were three of them, too. They were two brothers and a neighbor. So a chance encounter on the corner led to an exchange of words. A full verbal assault ensued. Both sides got heated, I don't remember what was said because it was like 15 or so years ago, but fools got hot man. I'm not an angry person in the least, never have been, but I remember something snapping. So we rumbled. Shit hit the fan, beef was confronted and it came to blows. This probably consisted of pre-pubescent wrestling with some body shots thrown in for good measure. I don't remember much besides Jon (read: wussy neighbor, unreliable ally) running away to cry in my garage while my brother and I worked three dudes, defended our honor and retained our Remley pride. I'm pretty sure I became friends with one of those guys down the road. We jumped out of the back of the bus on the last day of school and bonded over Lucky Charms. True story. Man, I'm opening the vaults here. I'm remembering shitloads; it's cool.TAKE PHOTOS. ReMEMBER. DRINK YOUR OLY.
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