It’s too bad you can’t up and punch people anymore.
In our society, things have changed, and largely for the better. You can’t smoke in bars, we recycle more, and we’re more tolerant of alternative lifestyles.
But you just can’t hit a dude. And for the most part, that’s too bad.
I can kinda see what’s happened in the NHL happening in real life. Back when my dad and dad-to-be played in the league, there was a lot less spearing, high-sticking and mouth-running, because you couldn’t get to the “uck” part of the phrase that ends in “you” without taking your first bite of knuckle sandwich. Guys were held accountable, so they were less likely to flap their gums just to look tough.
Now, the league protects so heavily against guys getting randomly popped, that players spend time after every other whistle getting through a lot more than just ”f*** you” (which is still a clever, intelligent thing to say), because they never have to physically back it up.
And that’s on the ice.
Off the ice, you can’t hit anyone ever. I think you have to file paperwork at City Hall if two people agree they wanna scrap. Here’s where I’m going with this:
Why does anyone care that Braylon Edwards might have popped a “club promoter” (Lebron Jame’s friend) at 2:30 a.m?
Club promoters are the exact type of people that we need to taste a few flavours of knuckle on a nightly basis anyway. A guy gets drunk at a club and punches the promoter… and we’re calling that “an alleged assault”? Can we not devalue the phrase “assault” so much? That’s an alleged “straightening out of the food chain”, isn’t it?
Lebron is saying that his club promoter friend is “like 130 pounds, it’d be like hitting someones little brother”. Okay – if you’re 130 pounds, don’t run your mouth to a professional football player, right? Just a thought.
As my Facebook status mentioned yesterday, I’m dropping more columns than a bomb at the Parthenon today. (Still only me that thinks thats funny? My bad). The following are links to those pieces:
USA Today – A New Season Begins
The Hockey News – Life After Hockey
My last post was called “The Involuntary Nap”, regarding the Boise state player who was taunting LeGarette Blount, only to find himself waking up from a short, less-than-refreshing nap a few seconds later.
My college roommate Charlie Kronschnabel saw the title and text me “damn, I thought I was gonna get some ink”.
Well you are now, Kronsch.
Charlie suffers from nap-attacks. Although “suffers” is probably the exact opposite of the word I should have used.
I’m still not sure if I pity or envy his special breed – you know, that unique group of people out there that struggle to make it through a two hour DVD? As much as the nap attack seems like a crappy affliction to be stuck with, it has to have some upsides to have so many supporters, right?
Making entire flights disappear must be nice. And if you have six hours of sleep before your alarm, you manage to get six hours of sleep. I guess there’s a few things I envy. But for every hour you’re out, you’re missing an hour of… just… stuff, aren’t you? Is life that intolerable?
The nappers are almost like wine connoisseurs to me. I enjoy wine. I can tell which ones I like. But they really seem to get something more of the same liquid, something special that I’m not. It’s the same with art collectors, or that girl on “e” at a concert who seems to be feeling the music on an entirely different level than I am.
But what I really don’t get, is the involuntary nap. The “oh, shit, did I just fall asleep?” moments.
It takes me forever to fall asleep, and these nap fiends do it unwillingly?
That’s almost just rubbing it in my face, like, I’m up at 2:30 a.m. tossing and turning and they’re like, “what, can’t fall asleep? God, it’s so easy it’s sometimes I do it by acci-zzzzz”.
Don’t you feel yourself drifting? What’s going on in your head that you’re thinking so few thoughts at any given time that the machine can just power off without closing all the programs?
I used to have a theory that um… less intelligent people… tended to fall asleep quicker, on an “ignorance-is-bliss” level. There isn’t much processing going on, very little worrying, etc, but that theory is about as solid as an alibi from OJ. There are plenty of geniuses who can turn it off like a light switch.
The financee fiance is a hell of a napper in her own right, but back in college, Charlie used to fall asleep mid conversation. And as much as I’d never say it to his face, the guy is usually pretty damn sharp.
So I’m opening it up to the readers for input.
Love it or hate it? What’s the norm when it comes to the time it takes to fall asleep? Do you know any involuntary nappers (or are you one)?
* I’m crazy-busy with final Fantasy Camp preparations, so I thought I’d run an old, rambling, classic that continues to plague my existence. Enjoy.
WHAT’S UP, GOOD – Feb. 10th
How hilariously awkward and awful are pleasantries gone wrong? There’s nothing worse than this moment. It’s absolute buffoonery to answer “what’s up” with “good”, but man, does it continue to happen. I can’t even watch someone else do it without blushing. You just weren’t up to the task of that complex question, eh? But I do it all the time.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Not much, you?”
It’s just awful. There’s not even a good way to correct yourself. “AhhhhhI’m an idiot” is about the best you can muster. We all just wanna get through that monotonous first part of the conversation because, ultimately, those questions just aren’t sincere. Nobody actually wants to know how you are or what’s going on. We’re all just trying to get to the meat of the conversation.
And I know you’ve met the person who’s completely oblivious to these social laws. They’re everywhere, and I cannot stand these people. When the “how are you question” comes out, we all just say good, okay? Everyone has agreed upon this, unless the relationship is family, or the word friend is preceeded by boy, girl, or best.
“Heyyy, how’s it going?”
“I fell on the ice a month ago shovelling the driveway and it put my back out so now one of my legs is shorter than the other and it gave me nerve damage so I have to sleep in a hyperbaric chamber”.
Tough break, but nobody cares. Society has a deal. We spare other people our miseries, because we all have them. Maybe that’s not the same as the awkward pleasantries mess-up, but it’s worthy of mention. How about the befuddlement Bri brought up:
“Enjoy your flight”
You don’t even try to correct that one. The person at the airline counter doesn’t care, everyone knows what’s happened. It’s not even worth a 15 word follow-up to straighten out. “Have a good” is usually preceeded by day, not flight. You rolled the dice, you gambled, you lost, so be it. Go get an US Weekly and an eight dollar pint and wait for your flight to board.
But you know what’s even more awkward than this? The bad hand shake. The knuckles thing has thrown it all off because old white guys do it so much now. Not that this is a problem, but there’s still a few who opt out of the pound, so you never know what you’re dealing with. As a 26 year old, I think old white guys assume I’m young so we should do the knuckles thing. Maybe on the golf course after a good putt or something, I dunno. We really have to set some guidelines for this debacle.
I think the handshake is perfect. What’s to tinker with? I get the germ-free quality of the pound. But there’s a mutual respect to the handshake that I love. What’s even more confusing now, is the people who want to do the upright handshake pull-in thing. This works fine if the two guys are on the same page, but if you aren’t it’s a complete disaster. It takes a thorough evaluation of your relationship with the guy to know if it’s a pull-in shake or not. You don’t want to assume the pull-in. But if you go level and the other guy is upright, it’s pure chaos.
You can taint an otherwise perfect day by leaving it on a bad shake. You need an exit strategy. I spent a half hour trying to make a chart for this situation, but there’s too many variables. Excitement. When you last saw the guy. How well you knew them before. It’s definitely going to continue to remain troublesome, but you can apply a couple loose rules.
The high five after a great sporting moment is way better than the pound. Provided, of course, that you mix in a momentary clasp. You can’t go beyond the guys hand with the five like you missed, and you can’t mutually push up after contact (whitest move ever). Do the five, clasp, bring it low, done. Not feminine, not too white, it’s okay.
The pound should be reserved for the solemn positive moments. It says: “nice, I knew you were gonna make that putt”, not: “sssiiicckkk 40 foot putt!!!”, pound. Not the occasion.
If you’re unsure in any greeting circumstance, shake the hand. No greeting is a solid as the firm, couple second shake with eye contact. You only go to the upright-pull-in phase if you and the other person share a memory together. You know, a night at the strip club, a round of golf, that night you drank Cuervo til you started chanting “Jose” like Euro soccer fans do “Ole”. Any of those. Acquaintances don’t do the pull in, okay? It’s never assumed.
Bri and I were dying laughing about this last night when our cluster$#%& of a goodnight had to be red-flagged and laughed at. We need Obama to come down with firm greeting rules that we’ll all agree to abide by. I mean, I need to know - in New York they mix in the kiss greeting, and I’m gonna end up kissing her Dad if I don’t figure out the damn rules. So I’m out of here.
“I love you too”
I’ll tell you why:
Guys don’t remember shit.
It can be a Monday afternoon at some dive bar with buddies, and if a girl is there, anything you do or say can and will be used against you in the Court of Long-Term Conversation. Girls remember everything. You’ll run into the same girl from that Monday at Ikea fourteen years later and she’ll say something like “How’d that job interview with the Prime Minister go?”
You’re brain immediately starts processing old lies like an early 90′s IBM. This never would have happened with your guy friends.
The ladies remember. A half-cocked barstool claim is supposed to hold the weight of helium. It kinda takes the fun out of it when you have to back it up. “Thought you were gonna lose 15 pounds?”
Plus, when you talk with girls, you kind of have to have that filter on. You can be edgy, even coarse, but you you still have to keep it on this side of reasonable. Guys say some outlandish things to their buddies without a second thought, whether it’s a real opinion or not; shock value is half the fun. There’s always that fear of some girl in your group dying laughing at your crude friend’s gay and racist jokes, then turning to stone at your orphan one. Curses. Thought she was an exception.
You know what else guys like about hanging out with guys? You don’t need evidence for your opinions like it’s a history test. “That guy’s a dick” may not be evidence enough for marks in class, but hey, it’s good by most dudes. Girls ask follow up questions.
“What’d he do to you?”
“Did you ever think that maybe you feel that way because — stop. No. I haven’t thought about it beyond the last word of “That guy’s a dick”. I don’t like him.
We don’t need each others re-assurance that we’re liked or good enough from each other. Girls constantly have a pulse on the conversation, keeping tabs on the vital signs of all the relationships at the table like a surgeon. We are oblivious to that stuff. Who needs that extra stress?
Four guys could sit at a bar and one could contribute absolute zero on the Kelvin scale. He could sit in his chair, chuckling and drinking his beer, and nobody would think to ask him if he was okay, what’s wrong, or playfully say ”you’re awfully quiet.” The real bonus of dudery is, if one of the guys is talking too much, we’re able to make simple statements like ”Dude, shut the f%$& up“. Girls are so afraid to hurt feelings they’ll let ”that girl” hold the mic all night. Stop her, please.
It’s fun to go out with guys because the next day the previous night is over and behind us. For all the dumb comments and bets I’ve heard guys make, I can’t remember more than two. But, I do remember two. I’d like to use this forum to remind the losers of the only two high school bets I still remember how much they suck. This is fun.
One: Dear Paul Hampson. Ryan Beckmann was right. Gretzky scored 92 goals the year he set the NHL record, not 96. After all that passionate debating…. you lose.
Two: Paul, I’ve got your back on this one. Like we said we would, we beat all takers in four player NHL 2000. Including the highly advertised, doubly publicized sell out event where our opponents nearly cried, thanks to Corbett’s heavily biased verbal chastising. You know who you are out there. I mean really, who freezes the puck in video game hockey?
I’m not making the claim that guys never like hanging out with girls, I’m just saying we do enjoy our just-guys nights. Hell, my girlfriend is a ton of fun. But there’s always that risk…
Hey, last night when you said….
Ohhh boy. Herrre we go.
*Context for the top shelf of the picture below: It was college, we lived in that place for 3 years, and we lived in Alaska. Regardless, we had some pretty stupid conversations in those days that’ve gotten swept under the rug. I Charlie Kronschnabel Guarantee it.