Know The Score

Life can be pretty tough. It’s difficult to know who you can trust. Ever since the first time someone told a lie (Psst! Hey, Eve, I bet you could eat this and the big guy wouldn’t even notice, and it’d probably be good in a pie) we’ve struggled with the balance between telling the truth and the fact that our taxes are just too high. Even those traditionally held in the highest moral esteem (the clergy) have been lying for generations (or paying altar boys in Snickers bars to lie for them). And the ones whom we count on to enforce the laws that keep us honest are held in the lowest moral esteem (politicians).

I propose the following: every person is to be fitted with a holographic projector attached to their forehead. Compact and light weight, constructed of the cutting edge in space-age composites, this holographic projector would be powered by a combination of green power sources, such as body heat, motion, and solar energy. It would be free to have installed and free to have repaired. This holographic projector would have one purpose and one purpose only; displaying your humanity score.

Your Humanity Score would be computed automatically, displaying how much of a saint or a prick you really are. Good deeds would increase your score, bad deeds would diminish it. Real time results would flash over the score, like in a video game; get a cat out of a tree, and a (+1) would float up from your projector, and be added to your score, accompanied by a pleasant little “DING!” Steal a lollipop from a baby? A glowing red (-5) would jump out along with a diabolical crash of piano keys.

Sort of like a karmic credit score. It would sure make things a lot easier.

Picture it: You wake up in the morning, and catch the subway to work. You’re standing in the middle when you see a guy nod a greeting to you. He seems pretty friendly, but his score shows a -450. He’s looking to take your wallet, so you move to a different part of the subway.

You get to work and your secretary hands you a report. The glowing +5 over her head means that the TPS Report you’ve been avoiding all week is finished.

You head to the bar after work and see a beautiful blonde smiling at you. She seems interested in you, but her -100 tells you she’s just interested in your bank account. You choose the girl next door with the glowing 300 over her noggin.

The score should dictate status in society. You can cut in line over people with a lower score, because you’re legitimately better than they are! Elections would be a snap. People with higher numbers would be rewarded for their good deeds.

There would have to be some sort of sliding system, though. People who donate things other people gave them to charity solely because they can use it as a tax write-off can’t get as many points as someone who works a double shift to put their kid through college. Likewise, I’d hate to see equal punishment for a serial rapist and a naughty lil’ minx who’s just thinking about what she’d like to do to you when she gets you between the sheets. Maybe the minor, good natured offenses can be in bright orange?

But I’m sure that someone somewhere would find a way to mess with it. I suppose the first people to hack it would figure a way to reverse the scoring system, and give themselves plusses for negative deeds. They’d then sell the hacking service to the wealthiest people, increasing their own scores along the way.

Man, evil pricks screw everything up. I give up. I’ll be at the bar, looking for a red-head with blinking bright orange -1’s over her head whenever she smiles and looks at me.

Note To Self

Write up a bunch of events that happened this year, except change the dates to make it look like I predicted them.

Hat Trick

O.K., so anyone who knows me well knows about my long standing love affair with my second home. Southampton College, by and large, is responsible for me being the man I am today (the good parts, not the bitter, broken man working for the bank has made me). During my coaching days, I was given a truckload of free clothes as part of the uniform, many items of which I still wear proudly to this day.

The one thing Southampton College Athletics ever failed to provide me with was a hat that didn't look like something made in the back room of a t-shirt shop by some minimum wage slug with cheetos dust permanently caked under his fingernails. The one hat they did give me was one of those adjustable ones with the buckle and strap. Not even a snap adjuster. This was more like the type of hat a weekend tourist might buy whilst shopping the better stores in town. It was not an athlete's hat.

Unacceptable. As my head is rather large, I have a hard time finding fitted caps that fit. I had long detested the adjustable snap caps, and I liked the buckle adjustables even less. I made it my mission to find a hat that was not only comfortable, but was something I could wear while coaching and not have it appear out of place.

Walking into Lids in Smithaven Mall was like climbing down into the Well of Souls to find the Ark of the Covenant. Or, more accurately, it was like going into that room with all the Holy Grails scattered about. There were hundreds of hats, but none of them looked fit, and none of them were proper for my team needs.

Then I found it.



Penn State's simple S logo could easily be a stand-in for the lack of a proper Southampton logo. The color was a PERFECT match for our school colors, Blue and White (it was missing the Yellow, but I wasn't complaining). It was a Flex-fit™, which, for the uninitiated, means it had an elastic band in the edge. It could STRETCH! Perfect for my oversized noggin. It was relatively cheap, although I would have paid a bundle for it.

That hat has been in my possession for the better part of a decade. It was stretched just right to fit. I wore it not only while coaching, but also while playing. I bought the hat washing frame to keep it in shape. I wore it everywhere it was appropriate, and a few places it wasn't. I even slept in it a couple of times (well, passed out, more appropriately). That hat accompanied me overseas! It has seen more countries than many of my relatives!

It is not in the best of shape. It is permanently stained from all the sweat it has strained through it over the years. It has a tiny frayed spot on the right side of the brim from me taking it off and putting it on so many times, as well as tugging on the brim to adjust it during games. It has a dark smear under the brim that for the life of me I have no idea what it is, it may be pine tar, it may be tobacco, it may be a beetle, and it won't ever come out. But GODS how I love that hat.

Did I mention I was fond of the hat?

It has been missing for weeks. I have been despondent. I have been forced to wear my not quite right fitting red MD hat (Mudd Devils, my former team). I have torn my entire room and jeep apart looking for it. I have searched the entire house. Nothing.

Until today.

It was sitting on the floor, next to the couch, between the couch and the fax machine desk, on top of an old glass chess board. It looked as if it had been sitting there in plain sight the whole time. Which isn't possible, considering that I have looked everywhere for it.

I think it is more likely that whomever took the hat (at this point, I've narrowed the suspects down to the President of BP, the North Koreans, or Benito Mussolini) crept in the house while I slept and slid it down along side the couch. Or a dimensional vortex had opened up and sucked my hat in, and the subsequent return vortex redeposited it weeks later once the alien scientists on the other end were done studying it. Or it became detached from the time stream, and reappeared just this morning.

All that matters is, I have my baby back.

Rejoice, world!

Keep Yer Fucking Kid Gloves

Why is it that no one can fathom the fact that just because I am an emotional guy doesn't mean I am fragile?

I am not a China fucking doll. I am 6'2" tall when my spine is adjusted, topping 250 lbs., and I can punch (and have punched) a hole through a wall if I need to. I am capable of deep, seething anger. I am also capable of deep, unconditional love. Emotions aren't a trip wire, they don't rule my life. I'm not a fucking Vulcan, I'm not a fucking robot. I don't need anti-depressants, I don't need counseling, I don't need fucking pity.

I need to feel, and I'm doing that just fine, thank you. I am a grown man. I know there are those who see me still as a confused kid. They see me get emotional, they see me on the verge of tears, they see me trembling with anger, and they think the emotions control me, that I am still a little boy. They have not the first fucking clue what is going on in my head.

People accuse me of enjoying being miserable. I denied that for a long time. But the truth of the matter is, I DO enjoy being miserable, if the alternative is sitting in a bland little box feeling nothing.

A person very special to me invited me over one night to watch Vanilla Sky. Weird fucking movie. But Jason Lee had it spot on.

"You can do whatever you want with your life, but one day you'll know what love truly is. It's the sour and the sweet. And I know sour, which allows me to appreciate the sweet. Because without the bitter, baby, the sweet ain't as sweet."

It's like Butters from South Park (of all fucking people) said:

"Well yeah, and I'm sad, but at the same time I'm really happy that something could make me feel that sad. It's like, it makes me feel alive, you know? It makes me feel human. And the only way I could feel this sad now is if I felt somethin' really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good, so I guess what I'm feelin' is like a, beautiful sadness."

I just want to be happy for a while. Can't I be happy, and deal with sad when it's sad's turn at the podium?

Maybe We Can Date For A Bit First?

OK, so I am a firm believer that good deeds get rewarded. Maybe not right away, but somewhere down the line, it gets back to you, or as an intelligent co-worker who only occasionally says the silliest things once said, "it gets paid in reverse, you know, the opposite of paid forward?" Some may pronounce that "paid back," but I digress.

I pulled into work and emerged from my jeep, locking the doors and heading towards the building. A derelict looking dude walking in the opposite direction says "hey," to me, so I look over.

"You got a quarter?" he asked.

Now, I've heard this scam a thousand times if I've heard it once. 'I'm short on gas, and I don't get paid until tomorrow,' they say, or 'I haven't eaten in two days,' or 'I'm trying to get home to see my kid.' This guy was likely just seeing if he could get lucky by hitting random saps with a simple question.

I turned and went back to my jeep. Sensing my intentions, the man shifted gears. "I'm just trying to get seventy five cents, I've been up and down this street all morning, I just need a break." I reached into the large travel mug I keep in the cup holder and grabbed for whatever change my hand found. I came out with $1.25 in quarters and a few pennies. I'm not gonna miss it. If it makes someone else's day, might as well, right?

"Here you go," I say, handing him all the change. The pleasant surprise on his face was classic.

"Thanks," he said smiling.

"Have a good day," I say, locking my jeep again.

"You have a better one," he countered.

"Thanks," I answer, turning to walk back to the bank.

"Hey, are you married?" he asks.

"Nope," I reply.

His face loses some of it's glee. Clearly he was hoping for a yes. "Got a girlfriend?"

"Nope," I reply.

Again, you could see this man was confounded a bit. "Well," he finally said after a second or two of contemplation, "I hope you meet one tonight that blows the shit out of you."

So I got THAT going for me. The homeless grifter of Blue Point is praying for my (oral) sex life. What else could a man need to succeed in the world?