About 3 minutes ago I was writing about how fun it is to steal and blow up things with illegal fireworks even though I haven’t done that since before I had chest hair. I looked up and saw the Verazano-Narrows Bridge, clear as… well a well lighted bridge on a clear winter’s night. Then before I could push “Upload” on my blogging software I look up and it’s gone.
“OH HOLY SHIT” i thought and then ran around the apartment getting my duck tape and painters masks in case it was terror but then I realized that that’s stupid and that the temperature just dropped 10 degrees and that it’s snowing.
And before I get on with this I want to make a statement: Yes, I know that I’ve localized myself on my blog. But who the fuck cares? I’m not expecting stalkers and if I get one… I’m armed. And it’s sort of important that some people know that I live on Staten Island because… I’m going to WRITE about STATEN ISLAND!
ZOMGZ@@!!#@$@# What a concept… Writing about your hometown.
And besides… If you’re one of those bloggers that tries to obfuscate their location/employer etc with misspelling and/or just-slightly-changed-names like “Wallyworld” for “Walmart” or whatever then you’re a retard.
ANYdamnedway… enough blogging about blogging.
I remember when I was a kid, every few years it’d snow enough to allow my degenerate friends and me to build those legendary forts and snowmen that you see in cartoons.
I used to make snowmen and put sombreros on them. I got in trouble once because I lived in a Mexican neighborhood. And they would chase me with six-guns in each hand…
When I was 8 or 9 my friend Tommy Peligrino’s brother was one of the older kids that picked on us all year. So Tommy and I came up with a plan for revenge and filled up a garbage can with snow, hoisted it up onto his garage roof and I laid in wait while Tommy lured his brother out of the house, with no jacket and got him to come into the garage right as I fell through the roof.
Tommy and his brother nearly shat out a pile of cinderblocks. We hauled that garbage can out back into the woods behind their neighbor’s house and told their dad “OHMYGOD!! THE SNOW BROKE THE ROOF!”
Their dad bought it, even though I had bits of tar-paper and shingles stuck to my bubble jacket.
Tommy’s brother then proceded to de-pants me and plunged me waist-deep into the garbage can filled with snow.
Good times.
There were also epic-level multi-neighborhood snowball fights. Not unlike the cartoons where you have a crew of “manufacturers” and a crew of “soldiers” and another crew of “snipers”. I’d usually be designated a “rouge-operative”. That’s where you’re technically a soldier, but operating outside the coordinated effort. The only problem with that is that we had an unspoken sort of Geneva Convention and that a captured rouge was NOT covered. And yeah… I’d get a pantload of snow if I got caught behind enemy lines.
During the blizzards of 1996 I was a little too old to go out playing in the snow. At 16 I was too busy trying to get the polish girl in my physics class to let me take her bra off so I could play with her boobies and I missed out on the last real blizzard in the past 12 years. Hell… I missed out on who Maxwel Plank was and what the difference between General Relativity and Special Relativity are but who cares? I was busy trying to grab boobies! BOOBIES!!!
I wonder what the parents of today would think if their precious little angels were out doing what we were doing? Some would just close the blinds and go back to their 40oz of Panther Piss and smoking meth with hookers off of craigslist. And those would be the kids who’d sneak a rock or something into a snowball and act as if they didn’t do it…
Then there’d be others who’d pull their kids right out of the park and into their minivans or SUVs and lecture everyone about the evils of war and competition…
And those parents are probably the ones who thought that the sombrero snowmen were a sign of my perpetually maladjusted Western Male personality. Rife with Greed, Sexism and Corruption.
And I don’t see a problem with that.
