March 2003 Archives

As American as apple pie, baseball and violation.

A long while ago a few "future" Americans broke into the north-eastern US and took, among other things, a continent. A short while ago, the US broke into the Middle East and took, among other things, a people's way of life - under the guise of bringing about democracy and ending an evil tyrant's rule. A few weeks ago, someone broke into my Ford Escape. They took, among other things, my baseball equipment.

While Australia sits quietly, basking in the Pacific sun, the US has become a nation of uninvited thieves - true violators of all the freedoms and privileges we enjoy and tell our children about.

When I was younger - about six or seven - I took a handful of rubber bands from a neighbor's carport. It was a holiday. I had been dragged to my grandparents and I was bored; so I played peacefully in and around my grandparents front lawn. Having kicked every rock and broken every twig, I ventured into the yard belonging to the next house to the left. In the carport I found a pile of rubber bands, like the kind discarded from a daily newspaper subscription - cool. I knew that's what they were, so I took 'em. What a great bouncing ball they would make if all bound together like my granddad had taught me! Well no sooner than I had taken my find into the house to construct my poor-man's pinky ball did my mother set into me, "Raymond, where did you get those?" I was then ordered to "march right back there and apologize for stealing what didn't belong to me."

The man next door caught on quick when I stammered through tears and the humiliation of an on looking family while I handed over a wadded bunch of useless rubber bands. "Thank you," he managed to choke out, taking my prize to what was surly a countertop just inside the door wherein the moment we'd all left, they would be tossed into the garbage...more to come.

There is a woman on my block who wears pink. Not just pink - God awful pink - a hideous cotton candy colored sweater. And if that were not enough, hot pink leggings complete the ensemble. My word, what a sight! But the image continues with a less than matching baseball cap, until you notice that it is of the same shit blue as her shirt hidden under that puffy pink thing.

And then there is the baby, as I am certain it's called. A fagot of a dog, wearing a shit blue ribbon somewhere around it?s retarded head. All furry and cute, and obviously lame -- as she, the pink lady must carry it. Its one of those kinds of dogs that even dog lovers would use for field goal practice. Although, most dog lovers, I know will use anything less than two feet high for some sport involving a foot.

Anyway, there she is as expected at 12:59 PM, carrying her lame dog down my otherwise un-pink block. All is quiet, (for Brooklyn.) Everyone is asleep. Nobody?s around to see this fashion disaster in pink and her butt-sniffing dog. I am the lucky insomniac. What a treat!

And then there is a car. 'Oh, no! Run pink, run,' I say. 'What if they see you?' The car stops. 'Christ, I think its the fashion police! Run.' The car backs up and then turns to block her path as she walks down my street. He gets out, and reaches out to her.

'Oh, God!' I cry, 'Pink's done for.' And then he pets the homo dog. He (wearing a matching shit-blue cap, I might add) rubs the gay dog's ears and says hello. 'Oh, I get it,' I admit. 'Pink has a friend... How odd.'

So, when you walk down my block, don't be late. For, if you wish to see love, at 1:05 you will have missed it. Note: So, here I am writing about some true love experience, and I can't help laughing about some pecker-sniffing, homo-assed dog that probably eats better than they do.

Brooklyn, NY: In a bold and unexpected move today in criminal court, Mr. Matarazzo was released unto the world a free man. After two years of legal cat-and-mouse, the defendant was found not-guilty on all charges but released under the rules of probation as part of a earlier settlement of "no-contest" with the prosecution. The judge summed up the anticipated conclusion with, "Mr. Matarazzo, you are free to go. The court thanks you for your time." This reporter wonders if other super heros lurk within the Brooklyn court houses.