How fucking lazy am I?
SO FUCKING LAZY that this update is not really an update at all. In fact, it's simply a reposting of an entry from Davelogredux's dead older brother, Davelog. It is reposted here, in it's original form and in it's entirety with no editing whatsoever. The date: April 19, 2003.
There have been many complaints over the past weeks about the lack of a Davelog update. I can
understand your frustration. Reading the Davelog is, and should be, the highlight of your day.
I give the following explanation for the lack of a Davelog recently: Life's been dull. Sure,
there have been a few choice incidents that were comical, but nothing worth writing a Davelog
about. I'll give you two such incidents, and you'll understand.
Incident 1.
Scene: Neil, Matt, and I are drunk off our asses at Camden Yards watching the Orioles lose.
Eminem's "Lose Yourself" comes on the loud speaker. A middle-aged married couple is walking to
their seats further down our aisle. The, oh so caucasian wife turns to her painfully white
husband and says, "Oh, honey! Is this the eminem?" To which the husband replies, "Yes, dear. I
do believe that this IS the eminem." They keep walking. A pregnant pause. Neil, Matt, and I
start laughing so hard that we damn near pissed ourselves.
See? I mean, that's kinda funny. But not worth writing a separate Davelog about. Moving on.
Incident 2.
Scene: Cafe Q. (Coffee bar in the library for non Jo-Ho affiliates.)
I take note of the coffee special for the week: On the white board, they have drawn a Union
Jack and they are advertising their "Anarchy in the UK Latte." My first reaction was, "That's
cute." But the more I thought about it, the more it pissed me off. Seriously, they're using the
Sex Pistols to sell fucking LATTE. THE SEX PISTOLS, for christ's sake! Can you imagine Sid
Vicious and Johnny Rotten sitting in a "really great" Starbucks enjoying a goddamn latte?! Me
neither. For those unfamiliar with the Sex Pistols, I'll briefly explain: Late 70's British
punk band, known for two-chord hits such as "Anarchy in the UK" and "God Save the Queen." The
band didn't really have any musical talent, so they got by on attitude alone. Sid Vicious, the
bass player, (And, btw, how fucking bad ass is that name?) would routinely spit on the audience
and they screamed for more. The band broke up just as they began to achieve popularity in the US
and a few months later Sid killed his prostitute girlfriend, and then killed himself before he
could be prosecuted. Sid Vicious wasn't a player in a punk-rock band. He WAS punk-rock. So, you
can see why the whole idea of him sitting back with a mochacino might be slightly incongruous.
Now we get to the real point of this Davelog. I went home last Thursday, and as usual, my trip
home was eventful. I actually learned a lot this time. It was passover, so I went to the west
village where the seder is held every year. It's at my cousin's house. She's about 40. Has two
kids (Ethan, aged 6 and Eva aged 2. I really like that these kids are related to me, because
my GOD are they pretty. I mean like Gap Kids pretty.)
I get there about an hour early due to train schedules and whatnot. I go to the apartment and
it's in CHAOS. A thousand things on the stove, Eva has no clothes on and is running about.
Before I can even set my bag down my cousin's husband, David (Yeah...I know. His name's David
too. Crazy. Try to stay with me, though.) runs at me and just says, "We have to GO!" I follow
him out. I'm like, "What's up?" He says, "Weren't you paying attention in there!? Joy [my
cousin, his wife] needs potatoes." I reply, "Uh...so, we're getting potatoes?" He looks at me
like I'm an idiot and says, "No! We're going for a drink. But I guess we could get the potatoes
too." So, we go get the potatoes, which in and of itself was an ordeal. We arrive and, man let
me tell you, there are a LOT of different kinds of potatoes. We stare dumbly at them for a time.
Eventually we just find a woman and ask her what to do. She was quite helpful. But all of this
took a good deal of time, so David says, "Damn! We have to skip the drink. We took too much time
with the damn potatoes!" So back into the chaotic apartment we go. We're there about 2 minutes.
Eva and Ethan have settled somewhat, but Joy is still somewhat frenzied. David then elbows me
in ribs so damn hard that I think he broke one. He says, "Oh! Joy! We need napkins!" Joy says,
"No we don't." David, in desperation says, "Yes we do! We have kids! They're messy! Napkins
make kids clean! Joy, do you want our kids to be unclean?! What kind of mother are you!?" Joy
glares at him. She says, "Fine. Go get the napkins. But no funny-business. I know you're
trying to sneak my cousin to a bar. But you can't! In my mind he's only 5 years old. So, go
get the napkins...and that's IT. NO BEER."
We leave the apartment again. We ride, silently and sullenly down the elevator. We reach the
street. David looks at me. I look at him. He says, "You're in college. You should be able to
chug a pint of beer in less than 6 seconds. You game?" I look at him and deadpan, "You're on."
On our sprint to the bar, David mentions to me, "So, I play in this soccer league. We have a
game at eleven tonight. Think I can do it? I haven't asked Joy about it yet. And, you know,
it's a holiday and she takes that stuff kinda seriously. What do you think?" I reply, "Well,
I don't think it's that big a deal. Joy's cool." ohooohooo. Lesson one: If you're 40, married,
and you want advice about whether your wife will let you do something, don't ask your 21 year
old, single, male buddy.
We go back to the apartment (after getting the napkins! See?! We're not dumb!) and David says,
"Oh, honey. So...I have this soccer ga-" Joy interjects, "No. No way. Absolutely not." This
dumbfounds both David and me. We hadn't expected this. Now, here's Lesson two. MY reaction
would have been to argue about this. But David is obviously much smarter than me because he
quickly dropped it. "Ok. Fine. Not a problem. Want me to put the potatoes in the oven?" I was
awed at this masterful performance of wife-maintanance. I mean, he didn't get to go to his
soccer game, but he prevented it from being a larger incident. I told him later what I thought.
He said, "Yeah. Wasn't switching the subject to the potatoes just fuckin' genious?" I love this
guy.
It brings up an interesting point. I had asked David in the past, "Dude. So, you've got a job.
[Ed note: He's a law prof. at Baruch University. I wish all my profs. were this cool] You've
got two small kids. You've got a wife of 10 years. You've got car payments, and bills, and all
this shit. Don't you ever just want to wake up one morning, not shave, make yourself some
scrambled eggs, not get dressed and just get in your car and start driving and never come back?"
I'll never forget what he said. "You know, I remember being your age and thinking that that's
what it would be like. Like, one day I'd just freak out and skip town. But honestly, I don't.
I wouldn't want to. I love my life." This both comforted me and concerned me. I'm pleased that
one day I'll WANT to be responsible, but I was also upset because I thought that being
responsible might mean the end of fun. But our little chugging extravaganza proved to me that
you can be a dad and a husband, but you never really lose who you ARE. Your essence. You're
still capable of being irrisponsibly fun and being an adult. Life's looking good.
So, finally, Lesson 3:
Chugging a beer with your 21 year old buddy=good! Chugging a beer with your 21 month old
daughter=Bad. Unless your wife says it's ok.
There have been many complaints over the past weeks about the lack of a Davelog update. I can
understand your frustration. Reading the Davelog is, and should be, the highlight of your day.
I give the following explanation for the lack of a Davelog recently: Life's been dull. Sure,
there have been a few choice incidents that were comical, but nothing worth writing a Davelog
about. I'll give you two such incidents, and you'll understand.
Incident 1.
Scene: Neil, Matt, and I are drunk off our asses at Camden Yards watching the Orioles lose.
Eminem's "Lose Yourself" comes on the loud speaker. A middle-aged married couple is walking to
their seats further down our aisle. The, oh so caucasian wife turns to her painfully white
husband and says, "Oh, honey! Is this the eminem?" To which the husband replies, "Yes, dear. I
do believe that this IS the eminem." They keep walking. A pregnant pause. Neil, Matt, and I
start laughing so hard that we damn near pissed ourselves.
See? I mean, that's kinda funny. But not worth writing a separate Davelog about. Moving on.
Incident 2.
Scene: Cafe Q. (Coffee bar in the library for non Jo-Ho affiliates.)
I take note of the coffee special for the week: On the white board, they have drawn a Union
Jack and they are advertising their "Anarchy in the UK Latte." My first reaction was, "That's
cute." But the more I thought about it, the more it pissed me off. Seriously, they're using the
Sex Pistols to sell fucking LATTE. THE SEX PISTOLS, for christ's sake! Can you imagine Sid
Vicious and Johnny Rotten sitting in a "really great" Starbucks enjoying a goddamn latte?! Me
neither. For those unfamiliar with the Sex Pistols, I'll briefly explain: Late 70's British
punk band, known for two-chord hits such as "Anarchy in the UK" and "God Save the Queen." The
band didn't really have any musical talent, so they got by on attitude alone. Sid Vicious, the
bass player, (And, btw, how fucking bad ass is that name?) would routinely spit on the audience
and they screamed for more. The band broke up just as they began to achieve popularity in the US
and a few months later Sid killed his prostitute girlfriend, and then killed himself before he
could be prosecuted. Sid Vicious wasn't a player in a punk-rock band. He WAS punk-rock. So, you
can see why the whole idea of him sitting back with a mochacino might be slightly incongruous.
Now we get to the real point of this Davelog. I went home last Thursday, and as usual, my trip
home was eventful. I actually learned a lot this time. It was passover, so I went to the west
village where the seder is held every year. It's at my cousin's house. She's about 40. Has two
kids (Ethan, aged 6 and Eva aged 2. I really like that these kids are related to me, because
my GOD are they pretty. I mean like Gap Kids pretty.)
I get there about an hour early due to train schedules and whatnot. I go to the apartment and
it's in CHAOS. A thousand things on the stove, Eva has no clothes on and is running about.
Before I can even set my bag down my cousin's husband, David (Yeah...I know. His name's David
too. Crazy. Try to stay with me, though.) runs at me and just says, "We have to GO!" I follow
him out. I'm like, "What's up?" He says, "Weren't you paying attention in there!? Joy [my
cousin, his wife] needs potatoes." I reply, "Uh...so, we're getting potatoes?" He looks at me
like I'm an idiot and says, "No! We're going for a drink. But I guess we could get the potatoes
too." So, we go get the potatoes, which in and of itself was an ordeal. We arrive and, man let
me tell you, there are a LOT of different kinds of potatoes. We stare dumbly at them for a time.
Eventually we just find a woman and ask her what to do. She was quite helpful. But all of this
took a good deal of time, so David says, "Damn! We have to skip the drink. We took too much time
with the damn potatoes!" So back into the chaotic apartment we go. We're there about 2 minutes.
Eva and Ethan have settled somewhat, but Joy is still somewhat frenzied. David then elbows me
in ribs so damn hard that I think he broke one. He says, "Oh! Joy! We need napkins!" Joy says,
"No we don't." David, in desperation says, "Yes we do! We have kids! They're messy! Napkins
make kids clean! Joy, do you want our kids to be unclean?! What kind of mother are you!?" Joy
glares at him. She says, "Fine. Go get the napkins. But no funny-business. I know you're
trying to sneak my cousin to a bar. But you can't! In my mind he's only 5 years old. So, go
get the napkins...and that's IT. NO BEER."
We leave the apartment again. We ride, silently and sullenly down the elevator. We reach the
street. David looks at me. I look at him. He says, "You're in college. You should be able to
chug a pint of beer in less than 6 seconds. You game?" I look at him and deadpan, "You're on."
On our sprint to the bar, David mentions to me, "So, I play in this soccer league. We have a
game at eleven tonight. Think I can do it? I haven't asked Joy about it yet. And, you know,
it's a holiday and she takes that stuff kinda seriously. What do you think?" I reply, "Well,
I don't think it's that big a deal. Joy's cool." ohooohooo. Lesson one: If you're 40, married,
and you want advice about whether your wife will let you do something, don't ask your 21 year
old, single, male buddy.
We go back to the apartment (after getting the napkins! See?! We're not dumb!) and David says,
"Oh, honey. So...I have this soccer ga-" Joy interjects, "No. No way. Absolutely not." This
dumbfounds both David and me. We hadn't expected this. Now, here's Lesson two. MY reaction
would have been to argue about this. But David is obviously much smarter than me because he
quickly dropped it. "Ok. Fine. Not a problem. Want me to put the potatoes in the oven?" I was
awed at this masterful performance of wife-maintanance. I mean, he didn't get to go to his
soccer game, but he prevented it from being a larger incident. I told him later what I thought.
He said, "Yeah. Wasn't switching the subject to the potatoes just fuckin' genious?" I love this
guy.
It brings up an interesting point. I had asked David in the past, "Dude. So, you've got a job.
[Ed note: He's a law prof. at Baruch University. I wish all my profs. were this cool] You've
got two small kids. You've got a wife of 10 years. You've got car payments, and bills, and all
this shit. Don't you ever just want to wake up one morning, not shave, make yourself some
scrambled eggs, not get dressed and just get in your car and start driving and never come back?"
I'll never forget what he said. "You know, I remember being your age and thinking that that's
what it would be like. Like, one day I'd just freak out and skip town. But honestly, I don't.
I wouldn't want to. I love my life." This both comforted me and concerned me. I'm pleased that
one day I'll WANT to be responsible, but I was also upset because I thought that being
responsible might mean the end of fun. But our little chugging extravaganza proved to me that
you can be a dad and a husband, but you never really lose who you ARE. Your essence. You're
still capable of being irrisponsibly fun and being an adult. Life's looking good.
So, finally, Lesson 3:
Chugging a beer with your 21 year old buddy=good! Chugging a beer with your 21 month old
daughter=Bad. Unless your wife says it's ok.