Zach's Blogfest 08-09!

Waiting In Line (Fixed)

Waiting in line
8:48 am - I’m currently waiting in line in central park for something called the Bacchae, which is apparently a play, for apparently another 5 hours. My girlfriend is asleep on a sleeping bag. Seeing as I started this site for my own amusement I figure why not delight my fans.

8:52 am
It’s come to my attention I can’t edit posts on the iPhone, so instead of a running post I will have to make many and condense them later. The inconviences of technology…like how the iPhone won’t let me stream pandora and use other apps…useless invention. Added bonus…the biddies next to me just spent 10 minutes explaining to each other that it was cool out but not cold out. Is this what we sound like when were rambling in public?

8:56 am
Homeless guy renting out folding chairs for $4 just asked if I wanted one. I showed him the single dollar bill in my wallet. Any day where I successfully out-pathetic the homeless is a personal victory.

9:00 am
Already completed the AM New York sudoku, crossword and Ken Ken. AM new York just makes me feel sad…any publication that devotes a third of it’s cover to a “get out of debt” ad will always have that effect on me.

9:05 am
The sun is beginning to hit its full strength. The biddies remark that the sun has made it warmer out. A fly just landed on melanies face before I shoo-Ed it away. I fear she might be dead. More on this momentarily.

9:08 am
Every time a dog passes I make this audible laugh-sigh noise…I think I’m beginning to worry my line buddies…

9:11 am
No word on status of girlfriend. Poking her with pen elicited no response BUT she does appear to be breathing. Just started downloading the futurama episode “Jurassic Bark” with fry’s dog, Seymour. All of the dogs put that idea in my head. That episode has a 100% airing to me crying rate.

9:15 am
AM NYs celebrity birthdays of the day are proportionally pathetic to everything else about it. Actor Chris Burke? Singer Shirley Manson? Actress Melissa McCarthy? Singer Tyler Connolly? Singer Cassie? Macaulay Culkin. When Macaulay Culkin is the most legit celebrity on a list (that isn’t of actors who played Richie rich) things are bad. Do real papers get dibs on real celebrities?

9:25 am

9:31 am
Melanie is awake (and alive) and promptly begins giving me a quiz from some French magazine about my relationship with my cellphone or mis mobile. Turns out an affective girl and a fashionista. I can’t confirm these results because my French vocabulary is only as extensive as oui and ami.

9:47 am
One of the biddies just left for work which is unfortunate because there was definitely potential for comedy there. We’ve all lost out.

10:00 am
Melanie has abandoned our post to use the bathroom. I’m trying to lay down on the spread out sleeping bag but I don’t fit on it completely in any dimension. There’s too much bustle around me to sleep…Too many adorable dogs walking by that I don’t want to miss and too many acorns falling from the trees above for me to feel safe.

10:06 am
A little girl (10 years old?) unaccompanied by any adult just jogged past the line wearing a tie-dye shirt down to her ankles and crocs sandals while listening to a 20 year old Walkman. I have so many questions.

10:35 am
Central park looks a lot like the park from GTA IV!

11:31 am
Just emerged from a semi nap on the hard central park road. Well on my way to becoming a hobo. Watching the squirrels run around in the trees is oddly enjoyable. I expect I’m going to get more out of squirrel shenanigans than the actual play. I feel like the kid who just got a brand new toy and just wants to play in the box it came in.

11:41 am
Melanie and I argue over the term for one who plays the flute. She claims it’s floutist. I believe it’s fluter. The “fluter” is currently playing “my heart will go on.” This prompts me to go into my Titanic rant. Rose is the reason I can never truly trust any woman. Rose lived into her 90’s going on 300s. She married, lived a full life, she had a child, and a lifetime with her husband. Yet, the only man she REALLY loved was Jack, a handsome street urchin she met on the Titanic and let fuck her in a car on a boat after 3 days. This is the man she lived her entire life thinking “What if?” The lesson as always, women are whores. Melanie has heard this rant several times in our short relationship, she has never seen Titanic, and she could careless about what I’m saying.

11:43 am
A man passing by points out the “floutist” to his son. I refrain from insulting the man’s intelligence in front of his kid.

12:35 pm
As the line condenses and moves up, a couple of sketchy characters fight over line position. A fat Italian man with a sleazy faux mullet tells two black men, “I can get yous guys kicked off the line.” Excitement levels are high.

12:53 pm
Both men have since been joined by friends and are currenty chatting with randoms in the line. I can only hope they’re gathering up posses for a brawl. It should be noted that the fatter man looks and sounds like something out of life with Louie.

Final Note: No fight broke out. The play was alright. It had a black man playing a white king’s son, which was confusing to me, but apparently in theatre you’re allowed to do that. I noticed a raccoon in a tree about half way through the production and paid it more attention than the play from that point forward. Melanie and I sat next to the line biddies, who showed up late and with cups of beer. The climax of the play came when the black man’s queen mother in a euphoric Bacchus induced high tore her son apart and drank his blood. The lesson as always, women are whores.

Summer 09! Part One (My Bout With Swine Flu)

If Summer 08 followed these strict guide lines:

Then Summer 09 has so far gone as follows:

- Get Swine Flu

- Go On a Homo-erotic camping trip with 7 other guys <3

- Turn 21 at a Sweet 16

- Fall In Love

- Do tedious desk work at my Dad’s office

Unforunately facebook doesn’t have a “Swine flu-Gay Camping-Too Old To Be At A Sweet 16-Fall In Love” Bumper Sticker to link to quite yet. I tried to make it just now but doing anything on facebook that isn’t loading pictures or wall posts confuses me.

Summer 09 started like any other. My mom bitched about me sleeping on the couch all day, and how I single handedly took over the living room in 12 short hours. However on Tuesday, May 19th the unthinkable happened. After a fun filled afternoon at the mall with friends, and a night spent catching up and bowling I fell ill. It didn’t come as a huge surprise since my brother was sick before I even got home, and I sleep about a foot above him. The sickness left me devestated. I was immobile and my fate in the hands of day time television. I watched more TMZ then I’d care to admit (Eugene Levy, good guy…Chris Tucker, kind of a douche bag). My sickness left me helpless to stop the fact that I watched two hours of the American Idol finale where I got to see the third gayest Adam I know take on Kris, the unassuming, quiet kid that would spend months buttering up your girlfriend before they eventually hook up. I got to see Vanish “Anoop” Grover sing a duet with Jason Mraz, Queen Latifah sing a duet with Niecy Nash of Reno 911, and Steve Martin play the banjo eventually culminating in my sister asking, “Who is that old guy? No, wait? Oh, is he the guy from Cheaper By The Dozen?” It seems like The Jerk came out 150 years ago.

As Steve Martin’s career was dying, so was I. So the next day I went to the doctor where he discovered I had a 103 degree fever, that I should try eating (I hadn’t in four days) and that he assured me that it was not the dreaded, media hyped Swine Flu. (Whenever I heard the phrase Swine Flu I would just picture Pigma of Star Fox fame. I still do.) Regardless he decided to test me for “academic purposes” (his exact words) and proceded to shove a nasal swab up my nose. You don’t know how deep you can stick something into your nose until you have a middle aged man with a cotton swab attached to a long thin tube really go spelunking in there. The normal one day turn around at the lab was delayed by Memorial Day Weekend, and I wouldn’t learn my fate until Tuesday. Over the next couple of days my condition improved and by Saturday I was ready to go camping with my bros. I did in fact test positive for the H1N1, a hilarious revelation that did not come to light until after returning from the PA wilderness. I’m still trying to sculpt my bout with swine flu into a good pick up line. The best I got is “Swine Flu made my throat, limbs, body, and head ache, but baby, you’re making my heart ache.” OR “Even when I had Swine Flu and had no appetite for a week, I’d still eat you (WINK)”

That second one made me laugh out loud when I thought of it. I like when I think of things so stupid I amuse myself…Anyway I know those are rough, but they’re works in progress.

Part 2 of summer 09 (The Bromantic Getaway To Pennsylvania) should be coming soon. My Over 21 Drivers License came today so after getting a haircut I went to 7-11 and excitedly bought a 40 and now I have to figure out what I’m going to do with it.

Oh me!

allisons:

Zach: the US has gone fucking nuts since you left
Zach: we’re up in arms about pirates and the news keeps covering tea tax protests
Zach: : we’ve literally regressed to 1750

That Mr. X sounds like one handsome mother fucker! And I bet he smells like Diddy.

allisons:

Mr. X (11:45:53 PM): i feel like the crew of the titanic deciding which porn to move from my old computer to my new computer
Ali: (11:47:16 PM): damn, you just spit out classics
Mr. X (11:47:24 PM): bam bam bam

I don’t think shielding your true identity is protecting you from anything here. The Wise one will know.

Gonna Show Her My Oh-pra Face

I supposedly started writing here as an outlet to share my family with the world, and I’ve gotten away from that. On April 9th, 2009 at Nanny’s house my family watched an episode of Oprah about talking to your young daughters about sex. The following are bits of what ensued, I hope you enjoy…

(In response to hearing about sexting [sex texting])

Nanny: What’s sexted? What? Is it sex on the computer? I wanna do that.

…

Nanny: In my country you wouldn’t get passed first base!

…

Nanny: We girls in school thought we were smart, but we knew nothing about this oral sex. Nothing. Sex was just when a man and a woman got together, like to-geth-er you know, that was the only sex.

…

(While Oprah discusses on TV what to call masturbation)

Nanny (To my dad in the kitchen): Go inside. Go inside there and get some ice cream.

Me: You could call it that.

…

Jesse: What’s an erection?

Nanny: It’s when your penis goes up!

…

Nanny: Jesse, did you ever get an erection for no reason. Wha-I’m not even going to ask Zach that question.

Me: What is that even supposed to mean?

…

10 year old girl on TV: I didn’t, I didn’t know where the penis was supposed to go really.

Nanny: What?! What did you think? The ear?!

…

Nanny: Jesse, you have fun on your trip (to the Bahamas). You rem- No I’m not going to say it’s about his penis.

Me: Go! Go! Just say it.

Nanny: I don’t know. I was just going to tell him not to worry, that size means nothing.

***Editors Note: ^^^Personal favorite of the night***

…

Nanny: Little kids knocking a little ball around like a basketball they bounce on it, it feels good to them. So what, it feels good. You don’t need to talk to a psychiatrist.

…

Nanny: The bitches (female dogs) on the lower east side would just play on the street in heat and the males would come out and we wouldn’t need to be told about sex. We’d see it.

…

Nanny: In the old country you couldn’t get married if you weren’t a virgin. The family would check their sheets after the first night and see.

Mom: Uch! Too much information.

Me: Nanny’s referring to having your cherry popped.

Nanny: Yes I am. (Puts hand out to high five)

…

^^^Action Shot

^^^Clitoral Vibrators (teeheehee)

I don’t think there’s any coming back from this…

You Always Remember Your First

I can’t complain about my life. I’m not over worked or over burdened. I’m pretty well off, as are my friends and family. This year at school has been far and away the best of college. Aside from a disasterous class on Volcanoes/Earthquakes (More like natural diasterous!) I’ve pretty much enjoyed everything I took this year. When things have been going so well in general the small problems become more painfully obvious. I am (unhappily) single, a point that was brought to a head on the train last night. Cornered against a window by an older couple next to me cuddling, a couple of kids in high school going at it in front of me and an ipod completely drained by my drunken commute home days earlier, I was forced to face the most unsatisfactory facet of my life. (That was until I heard the rustling of a belt in front of me, at which point I just put my head against the window and closed my eyes until I heard “This is a train to Port Washington, the next stop is Bayside!”) Surrounded by these couples on the train, got me feeling Nostalgic for my own first love.

I’ve been in a handful of serious relationships, I’ve been in and out of love, and I’ve been through unrequited crushes. The one constant through all of that though has been Baseball. I met Baseball back in 1995. I was an impressionable youth. Baseball was coming off a troubled strike marred year. My dad introduced us with a box of baseball cards we opened together, and a computer game called “Hard Ball 4.” I don’t remember half of the stuff I learned in college but I still remember that the Pirates won the full season of that game I played through. I remember early on thinking a Grand Slam was a HR that you hit when using the “contact” option batting instead of the ”power” option. I even remember the fake team logos since apparently they didn’t have permission to use the real ones. The Dodgers were represented by funky shades green and pink and yellow with silhouttes of palm trees scattered throughout.

The first baseball game I attended was a week before I was born. My parents still riding the high of the Mets’ 86 season went to Shea while my mom was 8+ months pregnant. A Mets employee told my parents if my mom went into labor at the stadium they’d receive lifetime tickets at the stadium, or so the story goes. I think about how that would have changed my baseball fates. Instead the first game I remember was in 1995 at Yankee Stadium. Again, I don’t remember the dates on which I started dating some past girlfriends, but I know for fact that game was September 24th, 1995. It was (at the time) Don Mattingly’s last home game at Yankee Stadium. They ended up making the playoffs, so that didn’t hold up, but I remember following the crowd and standing to clap every time he came to bat even though I wasn’t sure why I was doing this. I remember getting stung by a bee in ear at some point during that game, which come to think of it might explain why my hearing is so awful.

My parents were Met fans throughout the 80’s, but having children seemed to kill any rooting interest in baseball. I don’t know how I ended up being a Yankee fan. It’s easy to call out my 7 year old ass for being a front runner, but Paul O’Neill was my favorite player as a pixelated little man from Hard Ball 4. I remember caring about them before they were winning any World Series, waking my mom up early the morning after game 5 of the ALDS when the Yankees lost to the Mariners to find out what happened. I still remember being suprised by how upset I was watching the clip of the Mariners celebrating after the game being shown on the ABC morning news show.

Disappointment was not a feeling that I associated with baseball much in the coming years. I remember staying up late with my parents to watch Game 6 of the 1996 World Series. Leaving them during the final inning, I watched the end of the game in my room on the floor so excited I couldn’t sit still. A nervous anticipation equalled by the feeling right before you ask a girl out. I remember later that year going as John Wetteland for halloween, a stark contrast to the black power ranger of a year earlier.

I remember my mom being so excited the morning after Dwight Gooden’s no hitter, unaware of his history at the time. I remember seeing David Wells’ perfect game in a pizza place. I remember watching David Wells take a perfect game into the 7th or 8th inning later that season. I sat in my brother’s bed with my mom and brother, burying my head in blankets any time he got deep into a count. I don’t remember the name of my Intro to Poli Sci professor, she was an older blonde woman, but I remember it was Jason Giambi who broke up that perfect game with a single in the 7th or 8th. The next year I remember hearing the call of David Cone’s day of perfection on the car radio during a trip with my dad to PC Richards. I remember thinking you were supposed to see at least one perfect game every year.

2001 taught me about heart break before I ever even knew heart break. The Yankees were representing New York only a month after the twin towers fell, they rallied back in three straight games in the most amazing way I will ever see, Paul O’Neill had already announced his retirement, the pieces were in place, and the script just couldn’t play out in any other way. I remember keeping the scorecard of that final game. I remember watching as the greatest closer to ever pitch, blew what was supposed to be a story book ending. I laid in the top bunk of my bed in a choked up disbelief rivaling my break up a couple of weeks into college.  

This relationship goes beyond myself and the Yankees. It’s an open relationship between the sport and I, and it has showed up throughout my life. By chance, or through the divine intervention of those behind TV scheduling, it seemed for a couple of years every time I slept over at my Grandma’s house ”Field Of Dreams” would be on TV. I remember it getting to the point where we were able to recite the upcoming lines to each other. I remember Nanny getting choked up every single time Ray would ask his father to have a catch. I can hear in my mind as I write this James Earl Jones say “Moonlight Gray-ham” as he steps in front of Ray’s van. I can hear it more clearly than the music currently playing from my itunes. I remember on one of my first nights in Binghamton stumbling upon “Field Of Dreams” playing on HBO. I remember never missing my home more than I did at the moment of its’ conclusion.

The Great American Scream Machine (GASM) fantasy baseball league cemented and then maintained friendships from high school that probably would have faded otherwise. GASM is so powerful that according to some it has ruined lives, although I tend to disagree. Stupid trades (Mark Prior for Pat Burrell), Insane predictions (Javy Lopez’s record breaking year), and mindless rambling (Something about Rick Reed’s heart?) shaped many of my best friendships.

Baseball has even fucked with actual relationships I was in. One time I was yelled at because an ex felt I paid too much attention to the games on TV when we were fooling around. In my infinite wisdom I responded by saying that I was able to focus on both at the same time and she shouldn’t feel bad. This did not go over swimmingly. On an early break in college I postponed a late night tryst because Chris Young (one of my boys) was in the midst a perfect game on the west coast. When flipping through channels in an ex’s bed with her one night, I discovered Justin Verlander (another one of my boys) had pitched a no-hitter that day (the first of anyone on my fantasy team). I had to hide the fact that I was getting teary eyed over this revelation, which is insane because I was probably never that emotional with anything related to her over the course of our relationship. Just take a second to let that tidbit seep in.  

I remember for my 18th Birthday, Emily, my girlfriend at the time, had gotten us tickets for a subway series game at Shea Stadium. The Yankees trailed the entire game, before rallying in the 9th off Billy Wagner to win. It was one of the few, if not only times my Baseball love life and my actual love life were both perfect, and those tickets remain the best birthday present I’ve ever received.

It is horribly cliched, and corny, and trite to end this mini-epic by saying that when the 2009 season begins tonight, the longing brought about by being single will suddenly be remedied, but it would be just as untrue if I said Baseball’s return wouldn’t Ease My Pain at all either.

(Real post coming tomorrow probably when I’m not falling asleep) I officially can only speak in oddly contrived metaphors relating to TV… Zach 12:13 AM the problem is we talk about everything too much we’re like 24 hour news networks hear me out we have too much time to kill talking about things with nothing to really talk about and it just gets us into trouble Jeremy 12:14 AM that actually makes a lot of sense like, a lot we should just focus on gsn and how silly “ML” is