How would you like to be remembered?
Submitted by Paulha66.
I don't want to be remembered. I want to be forgotten.
What did you do for fun when you were a kid? How is it different from what you see kids doing now?
Submitted by jaklumen.
1. Played sports. We followed the seasons: baseball in the spring and summer; basketball in the spring and summer (and into the fall); and football in the fall. We had a lot of boys in our neighborhood, so we always had enough for 5-on-5, at the very least. Usually it was 7-on-7. With those types of numbers, it was great especially for football. You could run all sorts of plays. In the summer, we'd play strikeout with the neighbors' front porch steps as the backstop/strikezone. Trees served as the foul poles and ghost runners were employed when teams were 3-on-3. We would quadruple coat a standard plastic wiffle ball with duct tape and crush that fucking thing to the other block. It was bad-ass. Later we discovered drugs, Marlboros and AC/DC, yet we still made time for hoops or football or whatever.
2. How is it different from what I see kids doing now? I don't see kids doing jack shit now. At the basketball court at the park near my house, it's always 5-on-5 of a bunch of 18-21 year olds attempting their best Kobe moves. First off, today's players/role models suck dick. Let me amend that statement. They suck a big, dirty, dead dick is what they do. Naw man, when I was coming up, we had exceptionally skilled, graceful motherfuckers with true leadership qualities to admire. When on the court, I did my best to emulate my favorite baller of that time, Bernard King. Let's just say I fell way short, about as short as a then 5-5 doughy slowpoke could fall short. In the outfield I was Steve Kemp and in the rare chance my fat ass ever played infield, I was Rod Carew. Who can today's kids emulate? A-Rod? Clemens? Kobe the fucking rapist? I don't know, just seems like a shallow pot from which to select. But I don't see kids out playing sport like they did when I grew up. And we had Atari and MTV and water bongs and all of that shit too, and we still made it out to rock some Scrap 21 or strikeout, get fucked up and chase pussy. Fucking kids today, I swear. All of their cars look like something out of the "Fast and the Furious," the ones who can grow it have those lame-ass chinstrap beards and don't even get me started on the baseball hats. You're supposed to bend those brims, dummies. Just because Fiddy wears his straight doesn't mean it looks good when you do it.
I realize the local professional hockey team here is playing very well, quite possibly well enough to win the Stanley Cup, but I think this merchandising is going a bit too far.
Come on, this is a fucking sandwich, and not a very good one at that. I dare to speculate what else is out there for public consumption. Official Red Wings canned corn anyone?
What in the shit is going on with the New York Mets? First, well, they're the Mets, but that's of little consequence here. This is a team that has generated some of the most bizarre, negative, off-the-field headlines I've seen not only this season, but in a long time
First, in mid-April, a fan leaving a Mets-Nationals game at Shea fell two stories to his death after losing his balance on the escalator. Then, just last Thursday, while playing the Braves in Atlanta, another man died from injuries after falling 150 feet down a stairwell. Granted, this happened in Atlanta, but the Mets were on the bill.
And also, this past week, reports about the dwindling nature of manager Willie Randolph's job security began to surface. And if that was not enough, former player and current douchebag Keith Hernandez took the piss out of former Mets catcher Gary Carter for openly campaigning for Randolph's job. In an AP wire story today, it is reported that Carter said in a radio interview Friday that he had "reached out to the Mets when he learned Randolph's job might be in jeapardy."
I swear, there is little worse than people who just can't wait for the corpse to get cold. In the Mets-Randolph case, the corpse isn't even a corpse yet, and Carter is already sniffing around the shit. I hope he gets the job, and then proceeds to put up a .235 winning percentage.
From the east side ...
Anyone up for some Scrap 21? Mayhaps a little h-o-r-s-e?
And I'm not talking about Parcheesi. Mrs. Chicken made it to her first Tiger game of the season, and with the way the team lit up Minnesota's pitching that night, she should get to the park more often. Typical Detroit baseball for this season, though: lose Friday night to the Twins; come back Saturday to destroy them, 19-3, a game featuring two, two-run homers from Ordonez; and then lose 6-1 the next day, thanks to that dickhead Francisco Cruceta giving up a grand slam to what essentially amounted to a soup can of a player. This is the same Cruceta who missed all of spring training and the first couple of weeks of the season because he was stuck in the Dominican Republic with visa problems.
Dude, you're a professional baseball player. You have an entire off-season, and really, parts of the season prior to work the phones and get the right paperwork hooked up for the next season's spring training. Yes, I know it's bureaucratic bullshit, the work visa process, but you have an agent, and I assume, that because you possess the motor skills to throw a baseball at the professional level, you probably know how to read and use a telephone. If you can't tend to the most urgent personal matter -- you know, the one that gets you into the country to make the $500,000 that is on your contract for this year -- then how in the fuck are we supposed to have any confidence in you as a player. That, and you helped lose Sunday's game, pretty much single-handedly. You're off to a fantastic start.
Still, it was a perfect night for baseball with temps around 65.
Sometimes you see all sorts of stupid shit walking to the park ...
... including these guys.
I shouldn't be so hard on them, though. They were nice enough to pose for the picture in the first place, didn't talk any smack and were generally very friendly. It's just so odd to see a group of people rocking the opponent's jersey. This entire area is so nuts for their Red Wings, that it is rare to see a jersey, especially those worn en masse, of another team. I'm sure they weren't smiling that way about four hours after I took this shot, considering that Detroit "did" the Penguins in that Game One.
Stopped at The Park for some pre-game beers. Dig the Motor City Brewing Works' custom taps ...
United Sound Systems, on Second Avenue in Detroit. The notables who have recorded in this building include Marvin, Aretha, Jackie Wilson, Parliament, the Rolling Stones, an early version of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Stevie Wonder.
The Dequindre Cut is a miles-long swath of abandoned railroad path running north-south from Detroit's suburbs to the city's riverfront. At some points it is prairie-like; others, a ghetto landfill that has become a last stop for everything from trashed TV sets to human life. Here is an informative article about the the rail line and plans to convert it to a pedestrian-bike path. In the meantime, it's rideable at most points and tough to negotiate at others because of washouts and heaps of trash. I've read and heard of the cut's graffiti as being at the very least, worth a look. Yes, there were some good looks down there, amid the general creepiness.
I want to say that these are bones. They looked a lot like bones.
Someone's stash area. That wheel was already like that, trust me.
Honestly, it's really so much more. Heather and Pete (fka, Heate) are embarking on some exciting shit. Having lived in their house for, what, 10 years, they looked around one day and decided that it would be a good idea to knock down their house and build a new one.
Saturday was a final gathering at the house that has a date with a bulldozer. Pete assured a certain amount of destruction to the inside, and he had no problem delivering. This is a pretty serious house for them. They've had two kids there, hosted countless holidays, summer parties, late-night wine-soaked backyard fires. It's a significant structure and I would hate to leave out that it's not easy for them to say good-bye to the place. I'm personally looking forward to watching this entire transformation.
I thought the extent of Saturday night, the most damage or risk-taking would come from merely ashing on the floor. I was wrong. Out came the hammers and pinch bars and people went to work. Naturally, for a party of roughly nine, Heate made certain, as they always do, that matters of thirst and snacking were deftly handled.
Heavy tools didn't get the only workout. Heather went to town with some Sharpies. We especially appreciated the Chicken family portrait.
Gotta have a little Halen, too.
By the time everyone was pretty well-lubed, it looked like Heather was ready to roll.
Matt showcases the no-look wall puncture.
Lynne, poised to wreck some shit.
Standing across the room, I attempted to stick the hammer's claw in the wall by hurling it, end over end, knife thrower-style. Instead, I lodged it perfectly, handle-end first. The head stuck out through the dining room wall. The handle stuck out through the bathroom. I should've called my shot before throwing it.
I've always liked destroying shit. The night could not have been more fun.
The geographic enormity confined within Detroit's city limits is, for me, fascinating at pretty much every turn. For nearly 20 years, there was been no surefire way to cure boredom and generate interest than getting in the car and driving around the city. Some of my fondest memories date back several years during breezy summer nights, windows down, in a relaxed and enlightened state of mind, stereo on, eyes on seemingly everything all at once. People are telling it solidly when they talk about the sounds of a city, but I hear it too. I've always felt it. I get it. It is a fitting companion to the whole sights and sounds thing we relentlessly pursue.
And so it was Saturday, just driving around and feeding my eyes.
