Celia's Choice

It’s been three days since I’ve actually sat down and written something and I’m disgusted with myself. This is exactly what I was afraid of when I began this project. I knew I wouldn’t be able to write everyday, and I knew if I skipped a day, it wouldn’t be just one. It’s what I’ve done my whole life. I tend to take extended breaks, stunting my proverbial growth and keeping me mediocre at everything I do. Granted, this has been one of the worst three-day spans for me in a while. I got my alternator in my car fixed only to learn that I have a leak in my coolant tank. Fuck! I’ll be moving in about a week and a half so I just put $400 down on a damn deposit so I don’t know how I’m going to get this damn tank fixed, but I need the damn car to get to work so I can make money to pay it off. See what I mean? I haven’t been able to catch a break at all lately. It’s just been one thing after another. I’m beyond frustrated. I’m at the point where I don’t even care. Whatever.

On Saturday we threw a surprise party for my sister’s 20th birthday. It was pretty cool. She was pretty surprised, but the surprise was lame. It was nothing like what you see on television – it’s the thought that counts right? Exactly. The highlight of the night was when my sister and I played a game we hadn’t played in a while. We played war. You know the game with the playing cards? Well, we play that with those dumb wallet sized studio pictures girls (and some lame ass dudes) go take. We play just like the card game, it’s just the uglier people are the lower cards. It gets hilarious when your friends come out and one of them is uglier than the other one. It just might be my favorite game of all time. We get pretty damn hilarious when we’re broke and bored. Play that if you have a grip of those bum ass wallet sized pictures.

Well, the meat of today’s blog is a collection of topics that my friend Celia gave me to write on. Most of them ridiculous (partly because I just gave her a list of ridiculous things to write on for one of her blogs), but it was something to write on nonetheless. When the topics were given to me (on Friday :/), I didn’t really have anything to write about (by the way, this whole paragraph feels like déjà vu). I think she was hungry when she gave me the topics because, well, just read on (I may or may not have been kidding with the hungry comment, you decide).

French toast sticks.
I must say, French toast sticks are pretty much amazing. They’re convenient, taste great and they’re heavy, so you don’t need to eat a lot of them to fill you up. I’ve had French toast sticks all over, and believe it or not, I think Jack in the Box may have the best ones out, well, if they warm them up when you order them. They come in that little box with a few packets of syrup, and when they’re warm they can’t be beat. I’m one of those dudes who think French toast sticks are way better than French toast itself. Regular French toast is made with that nasty ass egg batter shit that makes it taste like feet unless it’s suffused (my word of the day today) in some maple syrup. It’s not often that I like the remix over the original, but this is definitely one of those rare cases.

Highlighters
I used to think highlighters were the shit back in my prime. While studying, I’d pull out my trusty highlighter, pop off the top and mark key terms and ideas with the neon ink. Now that I’m older (and study much less than I should) I don’t find it necessary for me to go out and purchase something I can do with the ballpoint pen that’s already in my backpack. I can just as easily underline those same key terms or ideas with a black pen. However, that usually isn’t even necessary because if I even get around to actually reading the text book (why do I even buy them?), I know there is little to no chance that I’ll go back and re-read that shit. If I don’t get the information the first time, I’m probably not going to get it the next time, it’s just not how I obtain information. Unless it’s basketball, I learn much more through listening than through reading. It’s too hard for me to concentrate on anything for more than half an hour (again, unless it’s basketball), much less the words in a fucking text book (which is probably why my overall GPA will never crack 3.0). Highlighting something would be pointless for me, so I’ll never buy another one, and if you buy me one, I’m re-gifting that shit.

Nestlé Tollhouse Ice Cream Sandwiches
I’m assuming these are some pretty good ice cream sandwiches since Celia asked me to write about them. Have I ever had one? I’m sure I have, but I couldn’t tell you with any kind of confidence that they’re the best thing since shoe strings because when it comes to ice cream, I’m far from a aficionado. Do I like ice cream? Sure, probably about as much as that one fat guy you work with, but I just don’t eat it enough to have the ability to differentiate between a pint of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate ice cream and the ice cream of your local grocery store’s generic brand of the same flavor which probably means I wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference between the Nestle ice cream sandwich and the one you buy from the neighborhood ice cream truck (which may or may not be the same one). I’m sure they’re amazing, but if you placed two in front of me without wrappers and asked me to tell you the difference, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you.

The Number 9.
As soon as Celia said “the number nine,” I immediately though of Nick Van Exel. I loved “Quick Nick” as much as I loved Eddie Jones, in fact, that’s probably still my favorite back court of all time (and will probably be until Acie Law and Baron Davis are running the show together). Other than Bob Cousy, I don’t know if there’s been a point guard who was more reliant on his dominant hand than Van Exel, but I don’t think I’ve ever watched another point guard who was able to take more advantage of using only one hand than him. Somehow, he always got in the lane, and he always finished on the left side of the rim. It couldn’t be stopped, it was ridiculous. I remember his second season when he pretty much did anything he wanted on the floor when he averaged 17 and 8.5. If either A) Del Harris was their coach or B) they had a better front court than Elden Campbell and flopping ass Vlade Divac, they could have played in the Finals that season (a statement that may or may not be a stretch). That front court was vicious. Along with Van Exel’s 17 and 8.5, they were getting 21 points and eight rebounds from Cedric Ceballos and 14 more from Eddie Jones in his rookie season. It’s just unfortunate that they would have had to go through both David Robinson and Hakeem Olajuwon to get to the Finals with Del Harris coaching. Either way, the number 9 reminded me of Nick the Quick, that left hand, oh! and him standing like two and a half feet behind the free throw line. Who does that?

Photosynthesis.
Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Otter Pops.
Man, this takes me way back to Buena Park. This takes me back to Corey Elementary. This takes me back to the good times before I ever had a worry in this world, well, at least one outside of my favorite sports teams. I remember coming home from school, not to turn on my Sega Genesis, but to go outside and fuck with the Arabian girl who lived next door to us (I almost feel terrible for being apart of that madness, but I was young and stupid, I can’t feel bad for that shit now). I remember playing tag on roller blades, going back to the little sand box area we weren’t allowed to go to, walking up the street back to the school to hoop with my best friend Kris, catching lizards and burying them outside of our front door and coming back home, walking into the kitchen dirtier than Pigpen, reaching into our freezer and pulling out a green Otter Pop. There was nothing better than that. A full day’s work capped off with a Otter Pop and some hilarious family time with the parentals. Looking back at those times now, it’s no surprise to me that I’m writing this blog right now. Not that blogging in particular has anything to do with my childhood, but me wanting to improve my writing this summer has everything to do with it. It’s no surprise that I want to be a sports journalist. I remember on Friday nights or Saturday mornings my dad would whip out the news paper with my mom sitting right next to him and my sister and I would be standing or sitting right in front of them as my dad read off the week’s football games that would be played on Sunday and Monday nights. I remember my sister’s dramatic ass would act out all of her picks (i.e. if she picked the Lions over the Packers, she wouldn’t say “I’m picking the Lions,” she would roar and my parents loved that shit). I remember whoever pick the most games right would get a dollar, and there is nothing my sister or I wanted more than that elusive single to put in our piggy banks. I remember after everyone’s picks, I’d go over all of the games with my dad before we looked over the rest of the Los Angeles Times’ sports page. I don’t think there is a better way for a father to bond with his son than through sports. I don’t think there is a better way for families to bond than through sports, but that just might be because I don’t know of any other way to do it. So yeah, green Otter Pops were the fucking shit and now I want one.

Celia.
That’s right, Celia asked me to write about her. Initially, I couldn’t begin to write this segment because there is just so much to say. So many good memories in such a short time, so many things in common, so many hilarious conversations we’ve already had and there are so many more that I hope to have. It’s very rare that you feel like a completely different person around someone just because you’re allowed to be yourself around them. I spend too much of my time around lames who don’t allow me to be myself it’s almost weird when I’m allowed to show my natural personality and express natural thoughts instead of this manufactured persona I’m forced to give everyone else to maintain my sanity. I’ve always been very particular about the kind of people I surround myself with, which is why writing this is so hard. I only have positive things to say about you, and the list of things I could say right now is seemingly endless. I really appreciate how you’ve taken this summer project so seriously and I can already see huge improvements in not only your writing technically, but also in your style. Readers are beginning to see bits and pieces of your personality through the words you’ve so carefully chosen to share with us. Not only that, but I feel like you’re really beginning to enjoy writing much more, something that is only going to help you more in the long run. You might not notice this, but when you’ve written something you’re proud of (or while you’re writing something you think you’re really think you’re going to like, like the piece on Reasonable Doubt you were telling me about today) it seems like you’re in a much better place, and it’s something I really admire. That passion is a quality I rarely find in people, and I know you wouldn’t be improving at the rate you are without it. I also appreciate you for your willingness to read every word I write and more as I slowly but surely inch toward the same 100,000 you are. I know I have a couple of other friends who read something I write from time to time, but as a writer, nothing feels better than hearing someone say they’ve read something you’ve written – even if they say it’s terrible. It’s just nice to know that you have someone reading it, and I get that from you when, for lack of a better term, my thoughts meet words. If I don’t know anything else, I know you’re going to be an amazing writer and I’ll be forever appreciative that you’ve been there since we became friends helping me become the best writer I can be. Thank you.

If anyone else has anything they’d like me to write about, feel free to let me know. Until tomorrow (seriously),

Stay Hideous
-PB

(Word count to date: 22,775
84 days and 77,225 words to go)