Sunday, May 15, 2011

David Wells & I: Perfect We're Not

Earlier this week I read Boomer's book Perfect I'm Not about eight years after I should have and it definitely gets my endorsement. If you know anything about David Wells, it's about what you'd expect. His co-author did a fine job of letting Boomer's voice and attitude shine through. As I mentioned the last time I wrote about Wells here, I've always been a fan of him, even when he wore pinstripes; I find him so relatable. As a young adult, he experienced periods of homelessness, a situation I've been in a few times in my life. As it turns out, I'm there again. The day I began reading this, I had a home; the next day when I finished it, I did not. As is the case with most of the less than desirable scenarios I find myself in, this one was of my making- or at least mostly. One of my roommates, a disgusting, loudmouthed, self-centered ogre who I had grown to hate more than life itself decided it would be a good idea to talk a bunch of mess behind my back and when confronted on it be a snotty smartass. I just left at that point. When I came back later that night after a few adult beverages and a lot of stewing, all it took was one little cutesy remark to set me off on a year's worth of angry, hateful ranting. I said some things that a human being should never say to another, regardless of how true they are. I guess I threw the term "drug-whore" around a good bit and concluded the whole thing with something to the effect of "Every morning, I wake up and want to die! Well, now I have a reason to live. I want to live as long as it takes so I can one day piss on your grave!" Yeah. Not pretty stuff. Needless to say, that was the line-crosser and I promptly found myself out on my ass. Like Boomer before me, I was provided shelter by my friends. I really do have the best of friends, both those here whom I've known most of my life and those across the country that I have yet to meet in person. I love you guys; without you, there would be no me.

Monday, May 9, 2011

19 is 51

It's been nearly two weeks since I've written anything on this humble little nerdblog, due mostly to laziness. However, no amount of laziness can keep me from commemorating Tony The Gwynn's birthday. Last year, I posted nineteen of his cards for his fiftieth. I won't be doing that this year due to the aforementioned laziness but since it's Tony's fifty-first, it seemed only right to include his old sidekick #51 in the festivities.

It's been a rough year for The Gwynn. He battled cancer and a variety of other physical ailments in addition to giving up tobacco and seeing his only begotten son be thrown out of the comforting confines of San Diego and becoming a damned dirty, dreaded Dodger. Through it all, even when he was physically unable to smile, he never lost that famous Gwynn laugh that we all know and love. Happy birthday, Tony; may your fifty-second year be smooth sailing.