We're Related!

Evil



This is my nephew. He's almost 2. His parents thought it would be festive for the holidays to stick a red nose on his face. You know, like Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. Apparently, the kid wasn't amused. He looks more like a sad clown! OH NO! I guess it runs in the family...

Me. the Big Man, and more Waffle Houses than you can shake a stick at

There we were, at a Waffle House somewhere between Atlanta and Birmingham. As we gorged ourselves over All Star breakfasts, I knew I had found my role model. He had hired me but I always thought he gave me more credit than he should and maybe I gave him les sthan deserved. We sat there and the conversations turned to our fathers and their immigrant experience. The conversation got heavy and after a while he just sorta looked up and said "this is great country, ain't it" breathed for a minute and then started talking. We were kindred spirits he and I. We were guys who kept trying to piss in the tall grass till everyone got too tired of chasing us away, he and I are the type of guys that don't understand no, guys that don't so much ask for things as much as encouraging people to give it over willingly. Failing that we're the type of guys that will just fucking take it, shit all over whoever tried to fuck us and turn it into a great story, where our antagonist is left somewhere eating shit. That's him, and that me and that's what brought us to this point right here, this waffle house in the middle of fucking nowhere.

I got a little nervous, because right there, there was some concern that he might grab my hand, slice my palm, slice his, slap our hands together, and declare us true blood brothers.

He brought me along to drive the car and keep him on schedule. He brought me along to pretend to be his EA, in anticipation of the day, 3-5 years from now, where he'll call on me to do it for real, and not just a few for a few weeks. I had done a piss poor job up till this point. I had nearly gotten us run over by a speeding tractor trailor as a I cut across a 8 lane highway. I had nearly put us under another tractor trailor and of course there was that episode with the off ramp where the laptop, and the cell phone flew across the car during his conference call and he cussed a storm to everyone he could find and asked openly on the call (after recovering)

"anyone remember driving their third line manager around and not knowing where to drive and not know where he was going and actively trying to get him and yourself killed?"

A chorus of folks, all of whom actively try to curry his favor regularly, shared a hearty laugh at my expense, haha, the most favored son has some chinks in his armor after all. I hated them all, just for that one moment. When the anger passed, I took note of who the assholes were that laughed the loudest or maybe tried to be witty. I quickly added the to the mental list of "people I need to fuck over the second I get a chance".

But this guy, man, what a sight to see. The guy was a human fucking dynamo...We hit 5 clients in 3 days. Always be Closing is the motto, and he always was. Me, I was driving, I got the driving straight, I got the time straight, I did a good job making sure everyone had everything they needed. We had a system, everytime he waved his hands incessantly, I knew to stop at a waffle house. Everytime he smacked me in the back of the head, I knew I had just done something inappropriate, like use the word "brain fart" with a southern lady.

Every once in a while, I wondered if I had gotten an MBA just so I could do this, So I could watch someone else drive all the action while I drove the friggin car...maybe...then I wondered "is there anywhere else I'd rather be?"

I'm Baack!!

After QUIETLY serving my suspension from this blog, I have been reinstated and ready to do some damage. But before I do, I would like to share with you my New Year's Resolution with all five of you.

1. I promise to write blogs on current and relevant issues. Not like those(who shall remain nameless) who talk about how often they can't get laid. (What am I talking about? That's just about everyone reading this)

2. I promise to keep my quarrel with Evil to a maximum of 4 blogs per week. ( I thought maybe two, but I just don't like him.)

3. I promise not to insult people of all races, religions, and gender. ( That's hard because I'm not a fan of anyone's, including my own.)

4. I promise to objectively hear any complaints to the issues I post and to respond in a respectful and professional manner.( That's bullshit because you all suck!)

And finally to my BIG HEAD. I promise not to stick Holly on the same train back to NY with you. I know it was an unfortunate circumstance, but I hope you didn't suffer much. HA! HA!
I'm Sorry! Did that come out of me?

Well, to the handfull of you who read this crap, I wish you a Happy New Year. Drink, Be Merry, Spend a quiet time with yourself and manola, while I pop a Prozac and down a bottle of Jack Daniels. Peace!!!

Getting Less Ass Than Someone With No Arms Or Legs

Evil

Is this Normal (Part 3 of Many...The Christmas Edition)

I never believed in Santa Claus. Our family tradition, one I loved really made believing in Santa Claus, structurally impossible. Our tradition was simple. At 9pm on Christmas Eve. My mother, her 8 brothers and sisters (the ones that live in the US), all my cousins, and other assorted Ecuadorian friends and well wishers would gather together and ring in Christmas Day by eating excessive amounts of pork and then sharing gifts at around 12:05am on Christmas Day. No room for Santa Claus there. Also, I went to catholic school and the Sister Mildreds of the world would not allow us to turn the birth of our lord and savior into such a pagan and commercial holiday by encouraging us to write Santa Claus a letter.

So really, I never minded. Except for one year my godmother joined us for Christmas. I was about ten and her son, my cousin was about 8, more importantly her little daughter was 3 and very much still believed in Santa Claus. This was an easy trick for them to pull off because they always lived far away from the family and were not usually part of the Christmas festivities, or on the off chance they were, it was very easy to convince little Tina that Santa was in fact at all our respective houses leaving us our appropriate gifts. As the oldest cousin in sight and a petulant little snot, I took umbrage with having to maintain a facade for the benefits of others. Who was out there, making up elaborate stories for my benefit? Who was getting creative and making sure we always had a gift from Santa, I even rationalized it, maybe it was too late for me, I was bordering on being a Christmas cynic, but what about the Lil Bumpasaurus/Pacey Witter, he was 5.

That's right. YEAH! Who's got Pacey's back?

What? Would it kill my parents to contrive a scenario where they run back in the house on Christmas eve break out a stash of secret gifts and maybe have my dad eat some Christmas cookies we might leave out for Santa. He was eating them all anyway, would it kill him NOT to do it in our faces, joking and spilling crumbs all over his sweater?

That was it, I'd had enough. It was Christmas Eve, and I went up to my mother and pled my case. Next year, I would do my part. I would write a letter to Santa, I would also promise to not throw lil Bump in the trash for the next year. To the contrary, maybe I'd even help him compose his own letter to Santa. Then with a few knowing winks and nods my parents would step up and get us an extra gift, from Santa, and maybe we could save the pagan joy of Santa for Baby Bump. Meybe we'd save him right then and there. It was at this critical juncture that we could have set him on the path to well adjusted adulthood. Plus, I would have an extra gift. Everyone wins!

Of course, this is my mother we're dealing with so everything went wrong, horribly wrong. The next year, the day after Thanksgiving my mom takes us to Toys-R-Us and just lets us run around. We weren't so much there to buy anything (because we didn't) we were just there to give my mom an impression of what we wanted. We left empty handed, but me, ever observant, noticed how much my mom paid attention to everything we showed here, as in she paid attention at all, which is not what she typically did normally. Normally, she'd just plead with us to leave her alone and use her hands to construct a defensive posture. This time there were no hands up, the boxing clinic was closed. We got home and set to write our Santa letters which my mother gladly collected.

A few days later, I noticed she walked in with a bag from Toys-R-Us, not only that but I noticed some GI Joe stuff in the bag. The plan was coming together, maybe everything would work out! Bump was oblivious, he probably in another room, peeing himself. I dunno, he falls out of this memory pretty quick.

Under the tree on December 5th (or thereabouts) I took stock of the gifts. There were gifts for me, gifts for bump, gifts for my cousin Jay and cousin Vic and any number of gifts for other people. There were also extra gifts for me and bump and they were unsigned.

On Christmas Eve, as we packed the gifts, I asked my mother what do with the gifts we had received from someone who could not be bothered to sign their own name. She told me to leave them home. We could deal with them later.

That night I saw my cousin Jay open his gift from us, and it was item #3 on my freaking wishlist. The hell? Also, I got socks and some underwear from my parents. I had no idea what to do....But I didn't internalize it, till the next day when I saw my cousin Vic open his Christmas gift and it was item #1 on MY WISHLIST! What is this lady doing? HOLY CRAP! I was besides myself.

When we got home that Christmas night my mother turns to me and Bump and disingenuously says "Wow, Santa must have come by...look at these gifts he left you?"

The hell? Even Bump didn't buy this line. "Mommy that gift was there tomorrow, Santa didn't bring it, daddy put it here last month I saw". (Bump was still getting past and future tense confused)

I don't know what the hell point she was trying to prove, but she proved it, that might be why my favorite Christmas memory is about giving rather than receiving gifts.

Is that normal?

The Best Christmas Ever!

I remember the best Christmas ever. My first year after college was the first year I ever had a dollar to my name. The only logical response of course was to blow it all on overly elaborate, and occasionally ostentatious Christmas gifts.

The biggest winner in this march towards self-defeat was my godson, who at the time was 1. I stepped up and bought him the biggest friggin stuffed dog I could find (pictured above). The thing weighed was over 3 feet in length and a number of innocent Christmas shoppers were injured as Sparkes and I transported it from FAO Schwartz to our apt on e89th St.

I remember sparkes' girlfriend completely melting and I also recall a female friend of mine being completely unmoved by my preposterously sized gift.

I recall asking my father to come pick me up and him wondering why I just couldn't show up on NJ Transit. His face when seeing me step out of my apt with an oversized bag was a rather dramatic "oh noooo!". Thankfully his response was offset by the boy's.

When I arrived at my grandmother's house that Christmas eve, my little cousin, who was also the mother of my godson asked genuinely (and possibly hopefully)
"Is that for us?"

HAH...Great moment! A few years later I noted that the boy still slept on the dog and he kept for a quite a long time. I dunno why, but that's one of my fondest Christmas memories.

(flipside next)

How to Raise the Roof

(Editor's Note: Diagrams left out. Our graphics department (Sleeve) was not able to meet our publication deadline.)

1) Bend your elbows at 45-degree angles, and expose your palms to the heavens.
2) Extend your arms over your head while saying nothing
3) Return arms to start position
4) Repeat for desired effect
5) Look around to see if anyone is impressed enough to mimic you.
6) Upon realizing that no one is, curl up in the fetal position, gently weep and once again return to your lonely rotten life.

Touch Points

I recently found something I wrote in the spring of 2003 which i fucking loved. I don't know why I loved it, maybe it was not that great, but I really liked the frame of mind I was in.

It's called "Manolo is not one for Weddings", and Manolo will be very unhappy that I posted it prior to him posting some other nonsense, but its my story and the fact that its about him is entirely incidental.

This week - a three day travelogue as me and my VP take a 3 day trip thru the deep south, hilarity to ensue!

If we kept her and raised her as our own, would she be a good person?

Last night I met my niece. She's not actually my neice, she's my cousin's child, but I'm going to call her my niece because I'm latin, and us latins have a phrase. it's primos-hermanos, which translates into cousin-brother. Well, Claudie is my "prima-hermana", so Calley is my niece and that's that and screw you guys.

The point is, I met my niece. I was exhausted but it was the most energizing thing I've ever seen. After a week of personal embarrasment I was spent physically and emotionally. My cousin's husband, Chris had decided to throw her a proper baby shower and scheduled it for last night. Not knowing any better, an anxious Calley snuck out a month early. Taking after her uncle, she decided it best to blow off her own welcome party and chose instead to hang out at home contemplating her own hand, and possibly her navel. A fact I learned later, when around midnight, I stopped by the house to properly(if belatedly) welcome her to the world. Expecting to just measure her up and walk out silently I was surprised to see she was quite awake. O.Z. the family dog was up and bouncing off the walls, clearly once again hoping I would be a pal and take out to take a proper crap. Even his energy though could not match hers, there she was, kicking a bit, stretching her legs out as far as humanly possibly. I'm not suer she can see yet, but she was compelled by her hand, she was impressed by her foot, enchanted by her blanket and inquisitive about the ominous mass standing over her, this exhausted, mildly defeated mass who seemed to stand upright at the sight of her, suddenly re-energized by the positive energy she was emmitting.

I stood there for 10 minutes not saying anything, not thinking anything...zoned out by the miracle of life...as I walked out I thought back to that movie, Hurly Burly, and how at the sight of Chazz Palimenterie's baby, Sean Penn sobbng and coked up, wondered if he and his self loathing friends could take this baby and create something positive. I remember the first time I was saw it and how I laughed at how preposterous an idea it was. But I think I've come back around on that idea, after looking at a baby properly, for what feels like the first time, I know that it wasn't such a crazy idea, I mean how could they not?

Write Your Own Caption

Jason Kidd: "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Vince Carter: "Aren't I already in position?"

"What did I do to fuck this guy up so much?"

A reasonable question for anyone who has ever had to put up with my drunken ramblings...

The answer, when the guy in question is me is clearly
"Nothing! You did nothing wrong, its not your fault. I'm fucking crazy. RUN"

Anyone remember this. For reasons that transcend logic I was able to contrive my way back into this conversation for either a second or third time depending on how you define second or third...

Rather than accept anything at face value I became convinced that the only approach worth any attention here was "go big or go home", Thanks Coah G, that advice really fucking worked out here. In this case that meant basically laying it all out there, of course I was drunk. What a hero. All I know is that I had a few drinks and the next thing I know I started throwing dangerous phrases around, not so much dangerous, as much as sort of raw...If I were forced to come up with a metaphor I would go back to an old standard. I was swinging a cat by the tail in a small closet and not giving a shit that the blood splattering might be my own...

I'm not sure what the aftermath of all this will be, but some damage has been done. Hopefully it won't be left to the police to sort out.

for nostalgia's sake, I will soon repost "Manolo is not one for weddings" somewhere. it feels very timely...

Patent Pending

You know what would be cool?

Giant scissors that could cut wood. No more sawing!

Guess What?

Evil

I think XTIAN has a new woman. Be sure to ask him about it...

Best City for Cable Porn

I was watching The Wire on HBO last night and I got kind of lonely. You see, sunday nights in Astoria for me were special. The whole gang would come in the afternoon and we would bullshit for hours...somewhere in between we would have the eventual supermarket run and Charles will cook a sumptuous italian feast for the whole gang and then we would watch The Sopranos. I then started thinking how Xtian almost burned the apartment down when he threw some garlic bread wrapped in aluminum foil into the microwave or how you knew Balls Mahoney was going to have sex any given particular night because he would take meticulous notes while watching Sex and the City and would then turn on his Christmas lights "to set the mood."

All of a sudden, life in NYC started flashing before my eyes...I went from remminiscing about Sunday nights in Astoria to happy hours gone by to college to...and then my thought process just stopped...I started thinking about adult entertainment...

You see, Rudy Guiliani may have somehow managed to turn Times Squares into the Mall of the Americas but not even Giuliani was able to mess with the Big Apple’s long-standing tradition of pro-bono porn. As any Manhattanite with Time Warner cable TV will tell you, Channel 35 was like a gift from God. The spank station features strippers, porn starts, hermaphrodites and thousands of steamy ads for 900-number sex lines and escort services.

The best part: It comes completely free of charge for all basic-cable subscribers.

The worst part: Bikini-clad hostess Robyn Byrd of The Robyn Byrd Show has more folds in her belly than an origami crane (shout out to KenTak).

Is Channel 35 still around?

Good times, good times!!!

More Animal Trivia

After receiving enormous feedback from my pseudoceros bifurcus post and as requested via thousands of fan emails, I have decided to make the mating habits of our little friends in the animal kingdom a regular event...This week's episode features the Platypus.

Platypus:
Penetration isn’t the only objective, of course, but that’s a nuance that apparently escapes our friend the platypus, whose three-inch penis (shout out to Evil and all our Asian readers) has sharp spines that point backward-a concept somewhat removed from “ribbed for her pleasure.”

Need some Assistance and Other Musings

EVIL, SLEEVE and I need some space somewhere to load additional media and possible serve as a new home for The Hose, does anyone have any suggestions about who to go with?

Ken lives! Hopefully, Evil will stop being so gay...

Having fun on a non-funny Subject

[15:31] evil: do you know what you're going to say
[15:31] evil: you know
[15:31] evil: when you deliver ken's eulogy?
[15:31] xtian: yes
[15:31] evil: very sad
[15:31] evil: dont break into tears dude
[15:31] evil: because that comes off as gayish
[15:31] xtian: if I had a brother, and he were a robot, his name would be kentak 3.
[15:32] xtian: When I first met Ken, i knew right away that he was hanging out with me only to take advantage of my female friends
[15:32] xtian: The joke was on him.
[15:32] xtian: for not only could I not get ass, i could not help him get ass
[15:32] xtian: He was a better student and I hated him for it
[15:32] xtian: he was a better golfer and i hated him for it
[15:32] evil: DUDE
[15:32] evil: post this
[15:32] xtian: he always made more money than me
[15:33] evil: it'll be funny
[15:33] xtian: and i hated him for it
[15:33] xtian: But now, I will miss him, for he was my brother. I will miss him for other, less emotional reasons as well.
[15:33] xtian: I will miss the fact that his head was actually disproportionally bigger than mine
[15:33] xtian: I will miss the fact that I am directly responsible for him having more fun his last two years in college and also for a half point drop in his GPA.
[15:33] evil: "ken had one final wish"
[15:33] evil: "his dying wish..."
[15:33] evil: "he wanted to be buried with his beloved half-dog, Bruno"
[15:34] evil: "so to respect Ken's final wish, i must now kill the dog"
[15:34] evil: "come here, bruno"
[15:34] xtian: omfg
[15:34] xtian: this is great
[15:34] evil: at the end, it would all be a ploy
[15:34] evil: on ken's part
[15:34] evil: to snuff out the dog
[15:34] xtian: RIGHT
[15:34] xtian: i am posting this exchange now
[15:34] evil: we suddenly realize that ken took a sleeping pill
[15:34] evil: a la Romeo and Juliet
[15:35] evil: but this will be like Kentaro and Bruno
[15:35] xtian: its a shakesperean tragedy
[15:35] evil: EXACTLY
[15:38] xtian: dude
[15:38] xtian: what if ken is actually dead
[15:38] xtian: one or both of us will be a-holes
[15:38] evil: that wouldnt be the first time
[15:38] evil: it wouldnt even be the 100th time
[15:39] evil: i mean, you were the asshole who was making stupid comic book wisecracks in a chatroom at 10am september 11th
[15:39] xtian: dude that was you!
[15:39] evil: this pales in comparison
[15:39] evil: oh wait
[15:39] evil: you're right
[15:39] evil: damn
[15:39] evil: regardless

Fear of Dying

I have an intense fear of dying. As a child this fear manifest itself as insomnia and I could not sleep for days on end. My parents addressed this issue with repeated therapy ginsing tea, and qualudes. My fear has recently been exacerbated by the troubling/untimely death of a b school classmate of mine, who was 30 and was in much better shape than I ever am. I wept openly for his month old son, but I did it in my room with the door closed and the shades down and told no one about it.

My insomnia is also back in full force. I was up on the phone last night till about 1am and up running the chelsea streets at 5:55am.

Seriously fearing for my health I hit the vitamin shoppe this week and stocked up on over $100 in natural madness

L-Carnitine - an all natural suppliment that has been shown in some tests to alieviate and effects of Alzheimers while at the same time speeding up the metabolism and improving heart performance

Omega-3 Fatty Acids - The natural oils found in most fresh fish. I consume 3 of these a day, because 3 years ago I had some blood work done that indicated my trygliceride count was too low. This is at least part of the genetic curse of being a member of my father's family where everyone seems to be on lipitor a hardcore cholesterol drug.

Glucosamine & Chondroitin Sulfate - I have noticed that in weeks where I run more than 8 miles my leg joints start hurting and I need to take a day or two off, the glucosamine speeds up the replenishment of my joint muscles so I can run more, faster...so i can take more glucosamine.

Smart people would just go to the doctor...me, I'm self medicating...

Sometimes I Feel Like This Guy

I adopted a cute lil' emo fetus
from Fetusmart! Hooray fetus!

Party, Baby

Anyone want to party with us this Friday?

=====
XTIAN: did you rsvp for that thing
XTIAN: on friday

EVIL: YES

XTIAN: did anyone get back to you asking for money?

EVIL: no
EVIL: i emailed that barnard email alias yesterday
EVIL: no one responded

XTIAN: right
XTIAN: i did so on friday
XTIAN: no response
XTIAN: lets just show up
XTIAN: its not like we're doig anything anyway
XTIAN: you need to pick me up in midtown in a cab
XTIAN: or a black lincoln
XTIAN: whatever works for you player

EVIL: plan later
EVIL: dude
EVIL: what if The Hose sponsors a columbia alum event?
EVIL: that would be SOOOO legit
EVIL: all we need to do is monetize our readership and then funnel that money into event sponsorships
EVIL: it's like a virtuous cycle

XTIAN: wow
XTIAN: that is a virtuous circle

EVIL: i am like some sort of business genious

XTIAN: no, not really

EVIL: i know
EVIL: thanks for bursting my bubble tho
EVIL: you didnt even want to let me have that little piece of joy, however fabricated
=====

Missed Opportunity

Dammit! We blew it. To be specific, I blew it. Turns out that Big Head was out of town this weekend, so it would have been the perfect time to throw a party at Big Head's swanky 3-bedroom apartment. It would have been great... guys + gals + irresponsible drinking + recreational drugs - Big Head = a damn good time. OK people, here is the plan. Please continue to check the (new) competitive blog. Next time I find out that Big Head will be out of time, I'll post a party announcement on the blog. WOOO!

Fascinated With Big Heads

Whoever is in charge of the photo galleries at MLB.com must be sleeping on the job, because ESPN just did a really good job with this Barry Bonds thing. Check out the progression of Barry's head size from 1988 to present.

In particular, check out 1998 and the very next year, 1999. A very noticable change -- the moustache is gone!

Roller Coaster

By the way, today has been the worst day in a long time. Really. If you want to cheer me up, please buy me something.

Am I Busted?

My super is a nice woman. She lives on the first floor. When people in the building gets packages, she gladly signs for them. She called me last night about a package and I went to pick it up, breath smelling of liquor and eyes not able to focus. She called me again tonight. Another package... and my breath smelled of liquor and my eyes not able to focus. Bad stuff. Have I been busted? I luckily, I haven't been doing coke.

Updated 2

I am sad. (And not drunk.)

Updated

I am drunk. (And oh, I am pretty happy.)

Is this Normal (Part 2 of Many)

When I was 11, I played little league. Except I was a little squat surly fuck. I played baseball because it beat getting chased down the street by the white kid across the street and his dog. Our team was great, The Perth Amboy Fire Dept sponsored us, so we were called the Firemen. We were like the bad news bears, scruffy, shaggey headed, diamonds in the rough...only add abject poverty and remove the uplifting victories at the end.

Anyway, I got put at shortstop for reasons that defy logic and reason. It was agreed that I was generally pretty slow, however I was squat and it was possible that many balls hit my way would find some part of my body to bounce off of and manage to stay on the infield where either I or our much more talented 2nd baseman could then make a play. The only problem with this strategy was that I was gun shy. A ball got hit my way and I was suddenly the fastest show on dirt, ducking, running and diving AWAY FROM THE BALL!

My mother completely exasperated with this scenario did not know what to do. My dad, you see, has always had a bad back, so with the exception of the times he showed me how to kick a soccer ball, we never really had much bonding around playing sports.

Seeing her options limited, my ever resourceful mother turned to her sister's husband, a good guy, and a former decathlete. Growing up in the DR, he was also a reasonably decent baseball player. We had always gotten along well enough, though he was in his mid twenties and I was barely 11. After observing my acrobatics on the ballfield, he decided that my limitations were not physical, but rather mental. It was clear to him that I had a fear of a baseball, and this was the only thing that kept me from being a diamond legend. A fear he, of course, committed himself wholeheartedly to eliminating.

His approach was interesting to say the least. One day, he arrived at my house and asked me to bring some baseballs. I brought out my glove, a few baseballs and a bat assuming he was going to hit them my way and maybe I would field them. Maybe I would field them or maybe I would execute a triple back flip and just barely avoid the spray of balls hit my way. It made no difference to me, I was good either way. Instead he just picked up a ball, and looked at it. He held it in his hand pensively, maybe he was trying to understand its weight and its hardness, maybe he was sort of checking it for scuff marks. I stood there examining him as he examined the ball. Suddenly, from a distance of about 5ft, he wound up and pelted me with it.
Then he started yelling

(translated from Spanish) "Its, just a ball, its just rubber. You can't be afraid of a ball"

And then he hit me with another one. Spit was now shooting from his mouth as he yelled.

"Does it hurt? No, it doesn't hurt. If someone wanted to hurt you they would use the bat not the ball."

The bumpasaurus, not sure what to do, broke for the house, lest someone decide to start screaming in Spanish and throwing baseballs at him. He did turn at the door and let out a fat grin, as he drifted safely into the moderately warm embrace of the Household on Alpine St.

This went on for a few hours and though painful, I recognize this as a moment where I turned a corner and where I found a new friend, a great friend, or possibly just a well intentioned but borderline abusive friend.

The next week, the shortstop experiment was over, I had been replaced by a small, fast kid freshly immigrated from DR and I was relegated to the outfield. But still something changed. I scored 8 runs and stole 12 bases in a 22-4 romp over a rival team. I was also hit by a pitch all 8 times I came up to bat. Rounding the bases at one point, I caught my mother's eye in the stands, I could tell she was confused (she never really understood biesbol). She was able to figure out I was doing things more or less right though, and for a second (just one) I saw a vague hint of pride wash across her face.

Does any of that seem normal?