Archive for October, 2010

flat on the track.

25 October 2010

i attended a roller derby bout. previously i thought i understood the sport, having attended a match a few years ago and watching it on television, as a boy, with my grandmother, not to mention somehow sitting through the entirety of whip it, but being so close to all the blood, sweat, and tears made me question a few things (one being, why weren’t there more tears?).

the point system: i was trying to keep score, knowing that a team gained a point with each girl that the jammer passed, but after each jam i looked at the scoreboard to find i was off. it seemed arbitrary, like a drinking game where you start changing the rules in order to drink more (for instance, while watching the hills, drink every time you see a white person). when one team was up by twenty one, it was as if the scorekeeper thought, their opponent was good that time, okay, lets give them nineteen. the crowd loves a close game.

players’ numbers: i picture everyone lining up to choose jersey numbers, and the first couple of girls pick sixteen, nine, and twenty eight, and then the fourth one selects 1464. sorry, i thought we were limited by the numbers that could fit across our backs.

one of the most memorable parts of the exhibition actually occurred at the after party when i was introduced to whiskey slaps. participants find a partner and take turns downing a shot and receiving a slap to the face. that’s really all there is to it. it’s simple, yet elegant, much like the universe.

i can imagine after reading this post some of you are interested in starting your own team or joining an existing one, so in parting i’ll suggest a few names for your newly-created alter ego: skate moss; mary flay blige; queefer sutherland; the cast of that 70s show, tokin’ grace, laura preponderate, ashton krusher, and, um, kill more valderrama (if i looked at a list of the cast i could no doubt get you an entire team); emma hotsun and scary (or fairy or mary) potter and volde-court (for a girl named courtney who must not be named); scimitara banks; michelle o’ bomb ya; sarah impalin’; chelsea manhandler; amanda binds; nicki minaj a trois; kim karcrashian; scarlette fever. if you want to adopt the famous new york yankee idea popularized by babe ruthless, then you have mickey dismantle, joy dismashio, or als, which could stand for many things other than amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.

what i’m saying is that the naming process is not as difficult as some of you are making it look. i’m certainly not insisting that all the names i’ve suggested are amazing, but i came up with this list mostly by browsing maxim magazine’s website for twenty minutes, while you’re supposed to be passionate about this sport.

my sister is so gullible.

15 October 2010

out of the corner of my eye i caught my sister in preparations to send me a link asking for support in her efforts to raise awareness for autism. i tried to stop her, telling her that i didn’t want my mailbox to be filled with spam, but she was determined. i received a message a few minutes later, asking for sponsors to donate money to her team.

i replied quickly from my own email address in a poor attempt to attempt to trick her: this message has been reported as spam. if this is not spam, please call 1-800-555-2632.

she wrote back, you asshole, so i understood that i had to be a little more creative with my next message, though i again chose to send it from my own email address. you are receiving an automated message. we can not answer questions that you send to this email address. please call our phone number with your query. 1-800-555-2632.

after a few days without receiving a response, i tried one more time. at gmail we take allegations of spamming very seriously. we are reaching out to you because you have recently been implicated as a sender of spam email. we wish to speak with you about these charges and clear up any misunderstanding. your reticence in this matter, thus far, has caused us to take further action and we have notified yahoo.com in order to safeguard our customers. please call our toll free number at 1-800-555-2632 to discuss your views within seven days or we will be forced to limit or suspend your account.

i was ready to give up when i received a text from her the next day sarcastically thanking me for getting her into trouble. now i have to call gmail to talk about my allegations as a spammer. they have already contacted yahoo and my account may be suspended. i think you need to call instead. so not only had she believed the email was legitimate, but she had apparently been antagonizing over every word of it.

we continued sending texts back and forth:
scott: why should i call?
niki: you sent my autism email to spam. gmail takes that seriously, they said.
scott: i didn’t send it. they flagged it.
niki: i got the email that said you put it as spam. now i’m getting these emails saying i need to call.
scott: well, did you call?
niki: no, i just read it. i’m sick and you should call. i didn’t do this.
scott: you’re sick because of the email? just call them when you feel better, as long as it’s within the next seven days.
niki: and explain to them that my brother hates people with autism and is a doucheball? ok.
scott: no, just tell them it won’t happen again and say you’re sorry. be sincere.
niki: whatever! i’m telling them that my brother was being mean and sent my email to spam!
scott: well, as long as you call. i don’t want them to suspend your account.
niki: you suck.
scott: why do you say that?
niki: because you said my nice email asking for donations for the autism society was spam and now i have to deal with it.
scott: you just have to make a simple phone call to clear up your mistake.

twenty minutes passed.

niki: i called and it just had an automated thing, for fun, stimulating conversations call 1-800…. are you messing with me?
scott: hahahah
niki: really? you wrote those emails?

illustrated man.

8 October 2010

many of my friends have tattoos, which has made me often wonder if i too should get one. thus far i’ve held off because there is no image with which i would be content to permanently have on my skin. it’s not that there isn’t anything i love, it’s just that i don’t expect my interests to look very good in ink. it’s like in ninth grade, when we had to do an interview discussing our future career, i switched from writer to rodeo clown in order to be more entertaining. rather than talking about how i sat at my typewriter for seven hours a day hammering out sentences that i would eventually throw away, i turned it into a show, detailing close calls and saved lives, wearing ridiculous makeup while a giant animal attempted to maul everyone in its sight.

the lure of the tattoo remains. maybe it’s kind of like beards. i mean, no one really likes beards — they make you look homeless or at least age you unnecessarily; no one takes you seriously because if you’re too lazy to simply shave, how can you be expected to run my company in my absence; women compare it to kissing a wild animal, and not in the pleasurable, that-was-so-fucking-amazingly-hot way, more like the my-face-is-abraised-and-i-have-to-apply-moisturizer way. still we grow beards because one time a girl told us (or someone nearby) that facial hair was an improvement and we’re too dumb to understand that meant either, a. i can’t see your double chin anymore, b. it really hides your acne/scars, or c. i do not know what i like but i do know that caring about your appearance is so mainstream and uncreative.

anyway, i’ve thought a lot about tattoos. if i were to get one it would have to be something i designed so that no one would have anything similar. unfortunately, i cannot draw very well. below is one of my ideas, a dragon sitting on a stool eating an apple.

i was told it looks like a tootsie roll holding a bomb, and if i’m going to go the route of humor i may as well go all out and get the following:

okay, there’s no way i would ever do that, plus the joke only works if pinocchio’s nose grows (nice self-deprecation there, eh?).

recently i solved all of my problems, however technology is not advanced enough to fulfill my vision. that is, i want to get a tattoo of a kaleidoscope where the colors and patterns change depending on the angle from which you are looking at it. even when i am ninety-five years old i will marvel at the loose beads, pebbles, and glass in my body.

simple steps to restore love.

2 October 2010

presumably there have been times in all of our lives where someone we love has stopped talking to us due to some slight, whether real or perceived, that we inflicted upon them. it could be that we cheated on them or accidentally slammed their fingers in a car door or urinated in their sink because lifting the toilet seat was inconvenient. regardless, no amount of apologizing can coax them to renew the conversation with you. some of us have sent jewelry and flowers or asked our assistants to look into whether a galaxy or constellation can be named after our former flame without a change in demeanor. the frosty glances will continue forever unless we can find the correct combination to unlock their hearts.

fortunately i have discovered the solution thanks to did you hear about the morgans? first you’ll need to convince the person of your dreams to meet you for dinner. maybe you still have some cherished possession that you want to return, maybe the dog you shared since it was a puppy was run over by a car and you just picked up its remains which were separated into two decorative urns. just make something up. it doesn’t even have to be believable if your object of attraction is a girl because they’ll do anything for a free meal.

eat quickly so that taking a walk afterward doesn’t seem like a ploy. the other person will understand that you couldn’t have possibly said all you needed to in such a short time. if that, in and of itself doesn’t work, bat your eyelashes and stammer when you speak to illustrate how uncomfortable you are. eventually your partner will suggest a leisurely stroll to calm the nerves and clear the head.

now for the most important part: witness a murder together, preferably one that has been perpetrated by a wealthy crime syndicate with plenty of trained killers and the latest technology at their disposal. when the police mention the witness protection program following a close call at your apartment, resist the urge to hire jack bauer as your personal security detail, and instead let them fly you to wyoming or montana or wherever it is that sam elliott and mary steenburgen reside.

when you arrive you’re sleeping separately, but over the next few days you converse more, you deliver more heartfelt apologies, and you begin to listen more to the sage advice offered by the u.s. marshals in whose house you are staying temporarily. then, all of a sudden, you realize you’ve bought him bear spray to ward off the predators that frighten him and he is always there to remind you of your assumed last name (foster) and fake relationship (cousin) with your custodians. trust blossoms between you. you understand that life doesn’t make sense without each other. you cannot fathom a world without his floppy brown hair and sarcastic quips, and he never wants to, um, sorry i cannot think of any redeemable qualities that pertain to sarah jessica parker, so i’m going to have to make something up.

here goes: he has so much he wants to share with you still, and while you can sometimes be a porcupine, quills poised to lodge into anyone who approaches, he knows that for him alone you’ll roll over to expose your underside, soft and sweet as a ripe peach.


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