By the way

After thinking about it, I realize that the below could come across as one of those crazy person moments that happen that end friendships. like when your cousin Jeremy told everyone he found God, but God was living in Idaho skinning potatoes. God lived in an RV... yada, yada, yada... that old story. Also, your cousin Jeremy was probably on meth. I got away from the point. I'm not becoming a crazy person. Anyway, who would you rather be in a pool with, a shark or a lion?

Golf, Love, and Happiness

Maybe golf is just a microcosm of my life. Maybe everything I have ever done wrong, and every wrong that has ever been done to me are the reasons that I can’t swing this club. Maybe things will never come together. Maybe I just don’t deserve to be happy. These are the thoughts that were going through my head today after my less than stellar tee shot on the 14th hole. I know, it sounds insane. There I stood, 150 yards away from the green, a tree line to my right, and a green side bunker looming to the left. The smart, simple and easy play is to grab my 7 iron, drop my second shot on the green, and, at worst, two putt for par. Sure, that’s the easy play, but I’m also the guy who flubbed a shot on the previous hole and subsequently threw his pitching wedge into a tree. No kidding, it took us ten minutes to get it out of a branch. The sad part is that I just stood there, ready to give up on the club, because I figured, to hell with it, I just won’t play anymore. It’s not worth it. The irony of the situation is that I am widely perceived as a very easy going, affable person. I don’t often let my anger show. Maybe I haven’t let enough emotion show. As I stared at the clubs in my bags, roughly a thousand things ran through my head. First I tried to convince myself that since the clubs were used when I inherited them that they are total crap. My bag? What a piece of shit. Maybe if all of my clubs had their own separate hole, they wouldn’t get mixed around in the bag and I wouldn’t have to search for a certain club, thus always staying in a perfect rhythm. My shoes were too tight, briefly considered untying and retying them, even though, no matter what, I knew that the answer was the 7 iron and absolutely none of these other factors mattered. The thing about golf is that it’s very mechanical, and if you follow the basic rules of swing science, almost anyone can play it. I am not a bad golfer, nor am I joining the pro tour in my life time. I’m at peace with that, but I see no reason that I cannot consistently shoot in the mid 80’s. When it comes down to it, my handicap is my brain. I possess an inability to put a bad shot in the past and move on to the next one. One bad shot begets another bad shot, begets an atrocious shot, which culminates in a full blown melt down. Get your radio-active suits on. I am the master of conjuring excuses for why I think I stink. Excuses, excuses, excuses. All of these things lead me to a situation where I believe that there is some other worldly force that is holding me back from being truly good at a simple game. But really, all it is, is a bunch of excuses. The thing that I realized today is that I am the only thing standing in my way. There is no one playing defense, there is no shot clock, there is only me, the club and the ball. Go on, young man, be happy. I’m 150 yards out, tree line to my right, green side bunker to the left. All I have to do is swing. It was in this moment that I came to grips with the ways that golf does mirror my life. The trees to my right are every relationship I have had for the past 10 years. They blossom for a short time, and shortly after, they wither and grow bare. They are my paralyzing fear of never being accepted for who I am, the good and the bad. They are my unfounded delusions that I am unlovable. Sadly, I always end up in the trees, because I’m too afraid of the bunker. The thing about sand is that it can be very hard to get out of. My feet sink, the ball sinks. I find myself swinging harder and harder, frustrated beyond belief that I can’t get out. The sand is the deep seeded alcoholism that has ripped my family apart. The sand is my dark place. I live in the sand. And yet as I stood there, 150 yards away, I laughed. I laughed at the fact that the trees and the sand will always be there, in life, as well as on the course. No amount of pain or unhappiness is worth living with if you feel like you can’t swing the club. There’s just some things that I need to put behind me before the next hole, in life, and on the course. Today I decided to enjoy my life again. No more excuses. Life is a simple game. Just keep your head down, swing through, and trust that the ball will go where it should.

Bill Bergen

Downeaster "Alexa" sermon coming someday. I swear to God.

If all else fails...

Someone recently told me that the current job market "sucks". According to this source, the economy is in shambles, layoffs are the new black, and I should hold onto everything I have, because it all might be gone in the morning.I, like another famous black man, have a dream. What is my dream exactly? Well, it is to be a professional roller blader, of course. But I don't need validation. I can skate backwards at an advanced level, and I listen to The Prodigy. That speaks for itself.

Alas, there are currently no professional roller blading leagues, and "agressive in line skating" is for Mo's. It is inevitable that I will have to seek another career, at least in the mean time. Please feel free to pass this resume onto anyone in the market for 'a real go-getter'.

The Shore House
Havertown, PA 19083
UnitedSk8sOfAmerica@gmail.com
Stephen M. Keenan

Objective

To obtain employment in a laid back business setting, possibly working in sales, or maybe just telling jokes and forwarding emails, all from a comfortable chair, or love seat. Ottoman would be a plus, but is not a requirement. Will accept position as test sleeper in mattress factory.

Professional Summary

An outgoing, and energetic individual with a comprehensive knowledge of people seeks to utilize his dynamic talents and semi professional background. Is known for being a leader, as well as using words to distract you. Excels in napping, but is not above full out sleep on the job.

Education

Archbishop Carroll High School, 1996-2000

Diploma (Everyone Gets One)

Best Story Teller in the class of 2000. (Cheers to whatever nerd got the math award.)

Number 8 on the Leading scorer list in the 2000 Flyers Cup Championship racking up a mind blowing one goal, and two assists, in 3 games.

Fan of soccer.

Finalist for Prom King. (Beaten out by another guy named Steve. ( Sever kick to the nuts.))

All general courses studied, none processed.



Pennsylvania State University, 2000- when I have the time and money to finish. I know I fucked up, save your judgment.

Ice Hockey. Left wing on the 2000-2001 'Crash Line'.

Skipped a lot of classes, opted for Burger King breakfast instead.

Racked up a record amount of parking tickets. (Theme continued throughout life.)

Dated Jackie Callaghan.

Majored in Regret.




Professional Background

Villanova Hardware, 1991-2002

Heir To The Throne.

Responsibilities included, but were not limited to, eating free food at the pizza place next door and playing frisbee at Villanova University.

J.W. Bickers Tree Service, Bryn Mawr, PA. 1996-1999

Ground crew.

Was required to collect debris from tree trimming/removal, dispose of wood in an extremely intimidating wood chipper, direct traffic.

Spent one summer dealing with a food poisoning. Couldn't eat a cracker without needing a bathroom. Spent a lot of time learning about "Roughing it" in the back of the wood chip truck.

Spent most of my free time finding excuses to go to the truck which had the most hard core pornographic image I had seen to date taped up inside the cab.

Eventually quit to pursue a career in just being a high school kid.



The Villanova Skating Center, 1997-2003

King Shit

Skate Guard, Disc Jockey

Excelled in forward and backward skating

Looked incredible in a referee shirt.

Could out skate you, in shoes.

Responsibilities included, meeting most of my high school girlfriends, skating, and playing hockey for free.

Once punched a dog because it tried to eat my breakfast.


The Garrett Williamson Foundation, Newtown Square, PA 1997-1998

Responsibilities included cutting grass on a large working farm, maintaining the sanitation of a summer day camp, getting a tan.

Once had a brilliant idea to cut the grass in the shape of a star like I had recently seen done in a major league baseball all-star game. The final product came out looking more like a Star of David, according to multiple irate sources.

Subsequently was not asked back the following summer.



The Gun Boat, Bar and Grille. East Falls, PA., 2002

DJ, cook, occasional bartender.

Responsibilities included: babysitting the owners 30 year old daughter who might have been missing half of her sixth chromosome, but loved Stevie B.

Cooking sometimes.

Providing hostile twenty-somethings with fight music every Friday and Saturday night.

Once saw that a girl had nipple rings, told her to buy me a shot, and dated her for a year.

Was oblivious at the time that you don't date "those girls".

Still might be.

Maloney's Pub, Bryn Mawr, Pa., 2002

Cook, Bartender.

Mostly did shots.

Was known to take my pants off during Irene Cara's 'What A Feeling'.

Was/is convinced she wanted me to, "take my pants off, and make it happen."


Dan's Sports Pub, Phoenixville, PA. 2003-2004

Bartender, Part time manager by default.

Was expected to drink at least 3 red bull and vodka's while on the clock.

Took the rules very seriously.

Once had sex with the other bartender because she put on 'Feel Like Makin' Love', and started taking her cloths off.

Was/is Morally weak.

The Bryn Mawr Pub, 2004-2007

Manager, bartender, Crazy girl magnet, sucker.

Responsibilities included: Making drinks, seriously ruing that college thing, covering for the owner while he was off doing shifty things, pouring said owner endless amounts of Crown Royal, assuming all responsibility of quelling customer uproar over a clearly failing business. Overseeing the staff of US foods reload their truck after I presented them a check, because the last 3 had bounced. Wetting panties with my musical stylings on Thursday nights.

May or may not have known about Mexican's living illegally in the unfinished apartment upstairs.

May or may not have partied with them.

Ferry Site Management, 2006.

Spent one summer working for a landscaping company.

The only objective was to work every possible hour out of every day so I wouldn't have to go home to my unnecessarily mean girlfriend.

Got poison ivy twice in the first month.

Split foot open on vacation. Subsequently called my boss and told him, "I'm going on the 15 day DL. Possibly Injured Reserve." Told him I'd get back to him. I did not.




The Oakmont National Pub, 2003-Present.

Bartender, Manager, Vaunted lover, Sabbatical taker, Prodigal Son.

Responsibilities included: Being the best bartender I can be.

Knowing that you like bitters in your Manhattan.

Giving you three olives when you only ask for one.

Putting salt on your coaster because it keeps sticking to the bottom of your drink.

Expertly drawing a Shamrock onto the head of your Guinness.

Big picture stuff.


After reading this, it is probably obvious to you that I am over qualified for WHATEVER position you have open. I am clearly head and shoulders above the competition. I will be patiently awaiting your response.

Write Back!

Some People Just Get Their Kicks This Way. Nothing To Be Ashamed Of.

For the record, I might actually know this person's twin.

LA LA Land.

So there I was...sitting in the Philadelphia International Airport, staring down my second Skyy vodka and Sprite. The clock read 8am. The man across from me was drunk off of rum and cokes, and was doing things like knocking his fork off the table just so our ample breasted waitress would have to bend over to pick it up. Generally I prefer to protect the innocent, and not print their names. However, this man is no innocent, so from here on out he will be referred to as Bill Parras, his government name. Weeks earlier, Parras had come to me with an offer that I simply could not refuse. That offer was a free trip to Los Angeles. Having always wanted to go to Aspen, California I was willing to settle for the sunshine of beautiful LA. Now for those of your who know me, and those who don't, I'm pretty smart. I wouldn't be able to tell you how to convert liters into gallons, but I could tell you that any trip that's advertised as free is most likely a bullshit scam. But who likes a bullshit scam better than me? No one. I love a good story and frankly I knew immeditely that there was a solid chance that I wasn't going to come back home alive. So this "free trip" went something like this. All I needed to do was cover my airfare which was about $2oo and the rest of the vacation would be paid for. And by that I mean, the hotel room was comped. Sweet deal though, I was 24 and didn't have anything to do that week. Also, Parras is the craziest person I have ever met so the thought of a weeks worth of hijinks and tom foolery were selling points, enough. So as I sat in that airport bar, wearing ripped up khaki shorts a CYO All Star baseball T-shirt and flips, I began my preflight routine of wondering how exactly I'm going to handle myself when the plane begins to spin out of control and death is at my finger tips. I admit, maybe I'm crazy but I always think the plane is going to crash. I know myself, and I know my luck. In this particular case, the plane didn't crash - but sometimes I wish it had. I did however play Yahtzee with Parras for 4 hours and didn't win a single game. Kenny Mayne is full of shit. Upon arriving in Los Angeles we deboarded the plane and collected our luggage. And when I say we, I mean Parras got his luggage. I on the other hand was told that 'somehow mine was put on a later flight.' Ever the optimist I assumed that they meant a later flight that day. For about an hour not having luggage was fun because we had to stand in line at the rental car stand and I was free to do things like shake hands with people around me and act like I was important. (After all I was wearing that CYO All Star shirt.) The whole time we were in that line Parras would only talk to me about one thing. He wanted to spend an extra few hundred dollars to upgrade to some Mustang that they were offering. Admittedly, I don't know dick about cars, but I know something about money, and that is that I don't have a lot of it, so we decided to stick with the base model Toyota that we had originally budgeted for. And like that, we were on our way to... well, we were supposed to get set up in Beverly Hills, Hollywood, or Downtown LA as per Parras' agreement with the travel company, but nay - God himself took that day off and we were told that we would be staying at the beautiful Wyndam in Commerce, CA. I didn't know where Commerce was so I called my boy SPK since he had previously lived in LA. When I said the word Commerce, he replied, "Wow...um, dude you should just get on a plane back home. I'm serious." I'll take advice I should have heeded for $1000 please, Alex? We pulled out of LAX and began what was supposed to be a 2o minute drive over to our hotel, but the drive ended up taking closer to 2 and a half hours. Why you ask? Well, when your hotel is located just a few blocks from the Slauson swap meet and there is a 4o foot wall surrounding it for the protection of it's guests, it's a little hard to find. For an hour we starred at that wall thinking it was some sort of correctional facility. The reason we even ended up finding it was because a really pleasant Latino gentleman gave us great directions. And by that I mean walked toward our car with that Fresh Fish look on his face so we took off and magically ended up at the Wyndam. For those of you who are not familiar with Commerce, let me just paint a small picture for you. Commerce is like the movie Traffic. It's all Latino, gun shots ring out more than church bells, and everyone is wearing a pair of Dickies and a button down, only fastened at the collar. If you think that's just a stereotype, you would be mistaken. The place is downright scary. Because it took us so long to find the hotel we(Parras) dropped off our(his) stuff and hit the road again because part of the deal was that we got two free tickets to go see the Dodgers play the Giants at Dodgers stadium. We were 10 miles from the stadium. The drive took 2 hours. I honestly wanted to go home, but there was one thing that was making the whole trip worth while and that was that every radio station in LA was bumping "Buttons" by the Pussycat Dolls. At the time, it made me happier than you'll ever know. I was single, sitting in a Toyota with my male friend, listening to the PCD and doing the Harlem shake for all passers by to see. You tell me that's not the poster for Heterosexuality. Anyway, the game was pretty sweet and the stadium was awesome. It was a run down piece of shit, but awesome none the less. Bonds didn't go yard and for that we booed him, but I did put down two dodger dogs so that was victory enough. With the game entering the late innings and Bonds out of the lineup we peaced out in an effort to beat traffic. We headed back to our hotel, stopping at the liquor store for Menace II Society first, where we picked up Captain, Vodka and dirty looks. For the record, I'm not very good at being racist, but LA will make you understand why people are. Back at the hotel we whipped ourselves into a drunken frenzy in our room watching Sports Center before having the brilliant idea of mingling with other guests at the hotel bar. Having previously had a drink at the bar in the afternoon and being outraged with the pricing system we did would any asshole from Philadelphia would do. We brought our own drinks to the bar and ignored the bartenders requests that we purchase drinks from him. The only draw back to mingling with hotel guests is that if there are none, you are shit out of luck. So we asked around for ideas of what could be done safely in Commerce at night and the answer was, just as we had guessed, "nothing." However the hotel did run a shuttle bus to the Commerce Casino right down the street, which seemed like a good idea. Free drinks and gambling? Count me in. We hopped the shuttle, and harrased the driver for the 5 minutes it took us to get there to the point where I wasn't sure they would pick us up later on. Fromt the outside, the Casino looked nice. Beautiful fountain, important looking cars parked outside, barbed wire. It had everything. Inside, we quickly realized that once again we were the odd men out. This casino had more Asians than Asia does. And it was all table games. I'm not good at card games, so I'm certainly not good enough to sit down at a table full of Asian people who are no doubt smarter than me. Honestly this place looked like an underground Russian Roulette Club. There was so much smoke in the air, I thought I was in Eric Foreman's basement. In circumstances such as these there is for me, only one option. Find the bar, and cause a scene. Done and done. We got blitzed at the bar, because they wouldn't give us free drinks, and Parras got hit on but a really nice Asian woman. (Found out later she was a P-tute... sorry pal.) After about an hour at the invasion we hopped the shuttle bus back and figured we would just drink in our room until we both passed out. Maybe I'd hand wash the clothes that I have been wearing now for about 20 hours.

Sometimes life just has a plan though. This night, was one of those nights. As we entered the court yard of the hotel we were greeted by a group of about 14 hispanic kids all decked out in San Francisco Giants gear. One of them offered me a Corona and some Hennesey while his amigo wanted to know if I would be interested in his hand rolled 'cigar.' Yes, sir...I would like both. So we sat down and just started partying with these Latino kids in the middle of the hotels courtyard. At one point it dawned on me that this is something that could possibly get us kicked out of the hotel. My fears were quickly put to rest when I realized the guy smoking a blunt to my left was the hotel manager. This night is very grey to me, but after a while I realized that no longer did I have a friend with me. I was the lone white boy and I was worried that my sarcasm might potentially offend someone, which then might lead to me being harmed. To shank - Its a verb. As I looked around in search of Parras I heard a commotion behind me and without having to turn around I knew exactly what was happening. Parras had broken into the hotels pool area and was now skinny dipping with 4 of the hispanic kids girlfriends. And these were not a few moy bueno bonita's. They were gordo, if you will. But none the less, the craziest kid i know is skinny dipping with them, and from the looks of it, having the time of his life. I swung my head around to the people i was sitting with and all the dudes were loving it, talking about how he's insane and that if he wasn't funny they would have killed him. Seemed like pretty decent fellows. The next day I woke up in my bed, but I don't have a clue how I got there. My first priority was to go down to the front desk to get my luggage, but when your luggage isn't there, it seems dumb to walk all that way. Instead we chilled in our room and made drinks and ordered food. At one point Parras was smoking cigarettes our the window and throwing butter knives and forks out of it at the same time. Noticing the concerned look on my face he apologized by saying, "I'm sorry, I just don't know any better, you know what I mean?" I believed him.

That afternoon we ventured out to the outlet shops that were also inside of the hotel compound where I started to compile looks from people in the hotel who were beginning to wonder if I was planning on changing my outfit. No I wasn't. Yes, I'm a man of pricipal and I will stick to my guns, but I also had nothing to change into so what was I going to do? I could have bought something at one of the shops but I was poor and I felt confident that my luggage would show up at any minute. After cruising the shops for a few hours we headed back to the hotel where were fixed ourselves a few drinks and went down to the bar, only this time we got a table because we figured we'd treat ourselved to a nice steak dinner. Our waiter came over to us, a black kid, similar in age named Bryan. Instead of starting with the specials he greeted us with this, "Oh you're those crazy white boys from Philly!" Like I said, the night before is hazy...but it must have been pretty good if there was a buzz about us. Dude spent the entire meal talking to us about how he wanted us to go to a party with him in Long Beach that night and that there would be crazy weed and drinks there. We opted to stay at the hotel after discussing all we knew about Long Beach. Honest to God, to conversation went something like this - "I heard there is so much drama in the LBC... Let's just stay here and play it safe." We opted out of the party, but did meet Bryan's roommate (also a Wyndam employee) who's name was Ronnie DeNiro. He was a rapper from Chicago, who practically forced us out to our rental car with his cd in his hand. he made us pop it in and then he stood to the right of me, and creepily rapped in my face. His "hit" was called 'Legend In My Own Mind' which was extremely accurate because he stunk and no one else is every going to give him legendary status. But all in all he was a nice guy and without knowing us, he just kept saying how much he wanted to smoke weed with us. Maybe he was just being nice.

As the night rolled in, we found ourselves all hopped up on booze with no where to go so we hit up the casino again. Same crowd, same situation. This time we got at least one free drink for the bartender because he was about 80 and was talking about killing himself. I think he just stopped caring about making money and just wanted someone to listen to him. After a while we were starting to lose the ability to walk to so wisely packed it up and took the shuttle back to the hotel. They say lightning doesn't often strike twice, but obviously they don't know Commerce, CA. Sure enough, back in the court yard, all of our people were there again, throwing another rager of a party. I was already completely gone, but I sat down anyway, in my same outfit, and continued to party deeply into the night. Again I woke up in my bed the next morning, with no recollection of how I got there, but i was free of knife wounds and Parras was too. I had no idea what time it was so I began to search for my cell phone. It was no where to be found. Parras being the thinker that he is, decided to call it and hope that we hear it ring. It was on vibrate, but sure enough somewhere, somewhere closer to the door, I could hear it buzzing. It wasn't on the floor by the door, but I figured maybe it was on the other side of the door in the hallway. It was entirely too possible that I dropped it out there the night before. Upon opening the door, I found that it was not on the ground, or even in the hallway. It was in fact super glued to the door along with my flip flops and sun glasses. Need proof? Look no further...



It took me a while to peel everything off of the door, and when I finally did, the rubber soles of my flips were still on the door. It was totally ruined. However I have never laughed harder in my life. Those God damned mexican kids were hilarious. A few hours later one of them even knocked on our door and presented us with 4 San Francisco Giants wrist bands, 2 black, 2 orange. He said I kept asking him for them the night before and since they were leaving they wanted us to have them as a thank you for all the fun.


With the Mexican kids leaving we kind of laid low for a while. If by laying low you mean, got raging drunk and aliented every other guest at the hotel. It was like a prison, but with no warden and no repercussions. The things that we did, which didn't get us kicked out were, and are unspeakable. For some reason, the staff loved us and we could do no wrong. The 50some year old El Salvadorian front desk clerk would even bring us bottles of chardonay and crackers just because she wanted to party with us. By the fourth day we were there we were itching to get out of Commerce. I was just itching because I was wearing the same clothes for 4 days in a row. So we called up a buddy of ours who lived out there and we met up with him in Santa Monica. If you've never been, go. Or come visit me because I will be living there by next December. We went to some bar in the middle of Santa Monica and we got drunk while watching a Phillies game. Practiacally everyone there was a Phillies fan from what I remember, so at least I'll know where to go once I move. After a few too many margarita's our tour guide wanted to show us around. Fear not, he's responsible and he wasn't drinking. So he drove us all around the areas out there who's names I can't even remember. I just remember him driving us through Brentwood and saying, "That's where OJ murdered his wife..." Before he finished that sentence, Parras was out of the car and laying on the sidewalk in front of the house recreating the scene. It was the hardest picture I have ever had to take. I will not print it, because I fear the Karma that comes along with something like that. On the other hand, the picture had to be taken, ok?? Our buddy dropped us off at our car and said something like he had something to do or blah blah blah. He was tired of us, and most likely he was tired of the way I smelled. I understand, and I forgive him. We didn't know what to do. We considered Vegas, and the Los Angeles Spearmint Rhino, but eventually settled on drinking in our room. But it was not meant to be. When we returned to the hotel, Bryan the waiter cornered us and asked us if we would go to a club with them instead. He sold us on it, by telling us it was not in Commerce and that there was always something going on like 1/2 priced drinks or ladies night. So we went, and we stood in line until we got to the bouncer. Parras was not allowed to bring his car keys in, because keys are sharp, or something like that. Upon entering said club, it all made sense. "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Latino Niiiiiight!!" I shit you not, that was the DJ's announcement. You can imagine the look on my face. You can also imagine the look on all the other patron's faces when they saw the look on mine. I was not a crown favorite that night. But we did what any good soldier would do and we bellied up to the bar and fought off the 50some year old El Salvadorian as she tried to get both of us to dance with her. Did I mention she was wearing some sort of Sailor's outfit, that had an anchor emblazoned on the chest area? It was like something out of the Jon Benet pageant collection. Oh I guess it's important to also mention that right before leaving for the club my luggage arrived, which was perfect since were were only going to be there for one more day. Eventually our ride wanted to leave so we did just that, narrowly escaping the SA's who wanted to kill me. 50some tried to get us to sneak her back into the hotel so she could party with us, but instead we told her we'd unlock a door for her and never went back. Hey she was working the counter the next day and seemed pleasant so I guess it was all in good fun.

We headed back to the beach that day and did things like watched dolphins in the ocean and other extrememly gay stuff. So gay was it, that we decided that even though we were leaving in the morning, perhaps we should loosen up some buttons and get rip roaring drunk one more time on the left coast. With no plans of leaving our room we bought two bottles and a 6 pack and rented X-men 3. I couldn't tell you anything about that movie. I was too busy throwing butter knives out my window.

The next morning was just like Home Alone. We woke up at the same time, in complete panic mode because he hadn't packed and we were on pace to be 3 hours late for our flight. I have never moved faster in my life, as I have never wanted to get home as badly as I did. Over the next 35 minutes we found ourselves in the carpool lane doing 110mph in a Toyota. Parras was driving, and he was probably still boozy from the night before. In retrospect it was foolish, but it was necessary. We made our flight, and he murdered me in Yahtzee some more.

The one thing I knew never made it onto the plane with me was my watch. I couldn't find it anywhere. I figured that I must have left it somewhere in the room. I wasn't too upset. (Although it was a $750.00 watch. More on that later.)

A week later, for whatever reason I decided to flip through the pictures on my cell. It was a verizon LG flip phone just to paint a picture for you. And sure enough, I had 14 new pictures that I had never taken. Each picture was of one of the Mexican kids, flossing with my watch on, which they stole from me. And here I thought the wrist bands were a gift of good nature.

God, I love LA.




(As a very special thank you for their hospitality, Parras and I left this picture for Hotel Bryan and Ronnie DeNiro - with specific instructions that they don't open the envelope until we had left the hotel. I've always wondered what their reation was.)

W O W

All those kids snorting pixie stix can eat it. This kid is the real deal.