Halloween

It was Halloween.  I was 17.  We had a plan to rollerblade around my neighborhood and egg everyone we knew.  We were dressed in all black, with capes covering our backpacks.  We were the stealthiest ninjas on wheels.  They would never see us coming.  Except that my friend Bobby was riding my sisters’ pink scooter because he didn’t have rollerblades…

After making a run to the grocery store, we geared up, me, Bobby, Mike and Mike.

It was so much fun skating around the neighborhood, sneaking up on our friends.  We threw more eggs than we could count.  We were the gods of the night, unseen, unheard, until it was too late.  By the time you knew what was happening, you’re awesome costume that you spent 3 days making was covered in egg.

A couple of times, we stopped to talk to our friends, and we’d all kind of congregate on someone’s driveway or front yard.  

One of those times, the cops caught up to us.

We didn’t see them coming… ironically.

We were all scared of getting in trouble, so we did everything we were asked to do.  They made us show our ID, and we got pat-downs.  They had heard about a group of kids running around the neighborhood egging people.  “No Sir, we don’t have any eggs.  I think I saw those guys earlier, but they were going down Boldsling Road really fast so I didn’t get a good look at them.”

Suspiciously, the cop made me empty my pockets.  As he went through each item, he made a point to drop in on the ground afterward.  What a dick.

They told us to leave, go home, and that he didn’t want to see us again that night.

He missed my backpack, filled to the brim with cartons of eggs…

Party Pooper

Mo and I have been friends since as long as I can remember.  We go in and out of contact, and we’ve kind of landed on being the kind of friends that don’t stay in touch, but nothing ever changes when we see each other.

It was St. Patrick’s Day, 2007, and Mo, Stacy, Mrs. Rogers and I were hanging out celebrating.  And by celebrating, I mean drinking copiously during the day and trying to find fun places to be that night.  Stacy’s friend was having a house party in Brooklyn, so we figured it would be a good place to land.  

We got off the train in Brooklyn, and walked/stumbled our way to Stacy’s friends’ apartment.  I couldn’t tell you where it was to save my life.  

We join the party in earnest, and it seems to accept us in turn.  I have no idea who any of these people are, so I spend most of my time asking the same people what their names are, with the promise that I’ll remember next time.  I still have no idea who they are.

We’ve all been drinking this whole time, and I notice a peculiar look in Mo’s eyes while we’re bullshitting in the kitchen.  I asked him if he was alright, and he responded by taking one step towards me and falling over…

I barely managed to stop him from breaking his fall with his head (at the time he was about 250-260lbs).  He came to a few seconds later with me kneeling over him and a ring of strangers around us.  I was able to convince him that the bathroom was the place to be (to the chagrin of the other partygoers, there was only one in the house).  I pushed him through the door, only to have it closed abruptly in my face.   Fearing that someone would walk in on him and think him dead, I sat protectively in front of the door, feeling like a guard dog, calling out occasionally to make sure he was still alive.

About 10 minutes later, Mo emerged from this bathroom, again to me surrounded by a ring of strangers (who are all wondering if he’s okay, and more importantly, can they use the bathroom now).  At this point, we decide that it’s time to take off.  We scored a little whiff while he was “occupied”, and wanted to bounce and do it somewhere else.

‘Somewhere else’ ended up being home, because we were all a little too drunk to be going back out.  We get outside, and Mo decides at that moment to let us in on a revelation.  He fainted because he had to poo.  No seriously, he passed out in the middle of a party because he had to take a crap.

Not to sound unsympathetic or anything, but we laughed our asses off (at him) all the way home.  You should have been there when we heard that he did the same thing in the middle of a Quizno’s six months later.  And they insisted that he be taken to the hospital in an ambulance, even after he explained that this wasn’t the first time this happened…

Iceland

I was riding the subway this morning with Mrs. Rogers, on our way to work, and saw this advertisement:

And it reminded me that I recently became aware of the fact that the pleasant people of Iceland, by and large, believe in elves...

Not Lord of the Rings elves, or Santa's elves.  Think creepy Keebler elves...

Apparently these elves live in boulders and other large, impenetrable terrestrial objects, and generally leave people alone.  The only time you really have problems with them is when you build on their house, or crush it for gravel.  I guess if I was an imaginary creature that lived in a rock, I might be pissed too if someone crushed my house and used the rubble as a driveway or something…

And it gets worse.  Not only do most people believe these little Keeblers are running around, they also have to consult with elf “mediums” when new construction is to take place.  The “mediums” will check to see if elves are currently residing in the rock in question.  If there are elves in residence, the “medium” will either advise the builder to move the project, or they’ll “ask” the elves to move…

Apparently, if you try to build on an elf home in Iceland, your equipment will malfunction and your project will be plagued with problems…  

Mrs. Rogers wants to visit Iceland, because apparently all of her friends have gone there and said it was awesome.  I brought up the elf issue, and she basically told me to shut up.  I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't kind of interested in visiting a country where more than half the population is delusional.  It makes you wonder if it's in the water, and if so, where you can get some... 

And for reference material, I'll direct your attention to:

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/13/international/europe/13elves.html

and

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/12/081211-elves-video-ap.html

And about the picture, who thought it was a good idea to use a lay-over flight as a marketing tool?  I would have thought that Iceland should have been the destination, not a stop on the way. But then again, this is a country that generally believes in elves...

Museum of Natural History

The Brain

My wife and I went with her parents (it was her idea) to the Museum of Natural History this past weekend.  What a shitshow.  Never go to a museum in a major city at any point during a 3 day weekend.

Mrs. Rogers wanted to see an exhibit that we’d seen advertisements for, “Brain: The Inside Story”.

We called her parents at 8:30 in the morning to see if they wanted to go.  We woke them up.  It is my divine pleasure to listen to Mrs. Rogers giggle deviously, and this was no exception.

Then we sat around watching TV for an hour until her parents called us.  They were ready to go.  We hadn’t even brushed our teeth yet, let alone gotten dressed.  This is the story of my life with Mrs. Rogers.  We hustled through the routine and were out the door 32 minutes later.

Her parents had thought ahead and eaten before they left the house.  We were convinced that it would be easy to grab some coffee and a croissant and eat on the train.  Wrong.  The train was packed and the coffee spilled in the bag, soaking the croissants.  There is almost nothing worse than trying to eat a coffee soaked croissant while standing in a packed subway car.  Except maybe milking a feral cat.  That might be worse.

So we eventually make it to the museum.

Tickets are $24/per person, which is steep for any show in NYC, unless it’s Spider Man the musical.  I would pay $25 to see that. So it’s $48 later, and we’re searching for coat check.  Fortunately, we make it in before they close coat check because it’s full.  All I can do is think about the poor bastards that have to carry around their winter coats in this madhouse.

We have 45 minutes to kill before the next wave opens at the brain exhibit.  I want to see dinosaurs.

This is the point where I find out that it’s possible to fit 90 baby strollers into an elevator.  When we got to our floor, we came pouring out of that thing like it was a clown car on fire…

There is nothing more humbling than stepping into a room and seeing the skeleton of a  20 foot tall, 35 foot long T-Rex looking down at you.  Those things are massive.  Like impossible-to-imagine-because-they’ve-been-dead-for-30-million-years massive.  What I found really surprising though was the fact that the Hall of Saurischian Dinosaurs (scary, meat eating dinos) was packed, and the Hall of Ornithischian Dinosaurs (significantly less scary, mostly bovine dinos) was nearly empty.  More proof that everyone hates vegetarians.

It’s finally time to enter “THE BRAIN”. (insert impending doom music here)

We’re greeted by this really cool looking sign:

I’m not going to bore you with the details, but suffice to say that, although interesting, I would choose to look all of that up on the internet and spend the money on 5 years worth of Drano instead. 

And don’t act like your toilet doesn’t clog at least once a year too…

Camping

The first time my Mom caught me getting high was a traumatic experience for both of us.

It was 1997, and we were camping up in Massachusetts with the whole family.  My best friend Bobby’s parents let him come with us because I was such a good influence on him.  I got good grades (sort of), and could generally be counted on to have manners and not be a complete fuckup.

We got to the park and set about the process of setting up camp…

Rewind 2 days.

This is the first time I had ever tried to buy weed in my 16 year existence.  I was scared out of my mind.  A guy I knew told me to talk to this badass senior about what I wanted.  I’ve never been more scared in my life.  We met up in the long hallway behind the cafeteria, the hallway that was all but forgotten by the teachers.  I could barely find my voice when asked where the money was.  I pulled out my wad of $5 bills.  I didn’t have a job yet, so I had to save my lunch money for this.  $40, that’s eight crumpled, sweaty $5 bills.  The question becomes, “what the fuck is this??”.  I thought I was about to get my ass kicked, and then I’d be out $40 with no weed… “Sorry Jessica, it’s all I had.”

I am now paranoia incarnate, carrying my pitiful bag of crappy brown weed around school all day.  Finally home, I go about the task of finding a bowl to smoke out of.  I went over to the head shop in the next town over, and the guy at the counter reluctantly took my money after I told him I forgot my ID at home.

Now we’re golden.  I have the bowl and the pitiful brown bag.  Tents, sleeping bags, a boom box and swimming trunks.  Good to go.  My paranoia is creeping back up as I try to figure out where to stash everything until we get to camp.  

Back to the present.

We’ve set up camp, had lunch, and now we’re just hanging out.  There’s a pool at the main clubhouse, and a lake with canoes and peddleboats.  The backside of the lake is the ideal place to do things you’re not supposed to be doing.

Bobby and I made our way behind the lake and smoked a bowl.  I had never been high around my parents before and I was scared.  We hung out for a while, but I smoked too much and I was getting green fever. And paranoid.

We managed to get back to camp in one piece.  My mom figured it out immediately.  She didn’t yell, she just made us go take a nap and sleep it off.

I woke up expecting to be yelled at and grounded, so I moved as meekly as I could around the camp, and offered to start the campfire in the metal rim provided so thoughtfully by the campground.  Bobby had no such fears, so he was being his usually ADHD self, chattering away with my little sister and circling the camp looking for sticks for the fire.

I was squatting next to the fire, blowing and blowing, trying to get it to a respectable size.  I stood up to catch my breath when Bobby snuck up behind me and put me in a bearhug.  He squeezed for what seemed like an eternity.  When he let me go, I took 2 steps forward and fell face first into the fire.

I woke up from the best sleep of my life to my mother screaming and my sister crying, and strangely, dirt in my mouth.  I had bounced the side of my head off the side of the metal rim the fire was in.  My ear was bleeding like crazy.

My mom rushed me to the emergency room, where we waited for 2 hours to have the top of my ear sewn back on.  “Sorry for the wait folks, there was an accident on the highway.  We’ll get to you soon.”

Needless to say, Mom and I never talked about weed again.