18th St.
Originally uploaded by hairywine
i think my mom now measures snow in batches of cookies.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Bek
My sister has been on my case about not posting about her enough. She thinks I talk about my body hair too much. She wonders why I can't write more stories about her. I find all of this very odd, since most of her childhood was spent trying to avoid any sort of attention brought on by family. Actually, I think she spent a good portion of her childhood crying with embarrassment over something myself or my mother did.
This upcoming snowstorm reminded me of one such incident where I purposefully caused her shame.
When I was in first grade I had a babysitter who told me about a local, nearby hill that had the best sledding around. On a good snow day, it became a slick, thick sheet of ice. I had to go.
The next big storm of the season, I begged my mother to take me there. She bowed to the pressure and so she loaded my friend Jarred, my sister, and yours truly into the maroon station wagon.
When we arrived, I remember the parking lot full of kids running, red-cheeked, and full of excitement. I remember the feeling of energy in the air and the cool breeze. Before the car was even fully parked, I grabbed my blue plastic sled and ran for the first part of the hill. At age six, i was invincible.
In first grade I was still a really tiny kid. It wasn't until the summer of fourth grade that I discovered Beefaroni and Bobs Big Boy and chubbed up (forcing me to purchase my Bar Mitzvah suit from the "husky" section of Fleet's). At the top of the hill, I pounced on my sled and went flying. Quickly, the sheet of ice that the snow-hill had become took control over the sled, my tiny frame adding only enough weight for propulsion, and not enough for control. I started to spin, turning sideways, the entire sled veering to the left. Although I have no recollection of this, the hill was next to the high school football stadium, which was surrounded by an until then unnoticed chain link fence. The sled veered toward the fence. It flipped me around, and I hit the chain link, face first, somehow catching the bottom of the fence in my mouth. I was knocked completely unconscious. The next thing I knew, I was being carried into the ER, my mother screaming for help......
For my mother, the scene at the top of the hill played out something like this:
My mother, sister and friend Jared all ran to the hill after me, thinking they were in for a fun afternoon of sledding followed closely by hot chocolate. My mother watched as I hit the ice and started to loose control. She watched as I nailed the fence. She screamed my name. She screamed it a few times. Then she stole a sled from some kid (awesome) and came down after me. Helped by a couple of father's who were hanging around, they removed the fence from my mouth and carried me up to the car. My mother, directing my sister to stay behind with a known-adult, sped to the nearby hospital, where I was patched up.
For my sister, the scene played a little more like this:
After her annoying little brother jumped out of the car, Bek grabbed her own sled and walked slowly behind my mother, making sure that nobody would think she was related to or knew any of us. In fact, her hope was that, despite her bright pink snow suit and boots stuffed with plastic bag liners, the older kids would think that she was passing through, just another 8 1/2 year old on a smoke-break or back from a date with Chad Allen. Soon, she heard her mother (as usual) causing a scene. "God" she thought, "can't I go anywhere without her drawing attention TO ME?" In her mind, she re-lived a scene a few days before where, fearing that her son was stolen at the local kiddy-city, her mother walked the aisles screaming "Joshie!!" as loud as she could. At that moment, she could have killed to be whisked-away to the life she so desired, away from her annoying family, and living in a mansion with an indoor, rideable train set. Maybe she would even have a black butler.
Eventually, she made her way to the top of the hill, only to see her mother steal a sled from some cute older boy, and go down the hill herself. What was her mother thinking??? The older kids would make fun of her forever for this one. An old lady sledding? Just another stunt her mother was pulling to mortify her. Soon she realized that something was wrong with her brother. Was he hurt??? The action of the hill-side came to a halt as everyone attention focused on her mother and brother. Whatever happened, she felt, Josh MUST have done it on purpose. Soon her mother came storming up the hill, her brother draped over her shoulders, shoving kids, sleds, and parents out of the way. Tears of embarrassment filled Bek's eyes watching the scene. She started to tremble. She just knew, deep down, that whatever happened, she was going to have to move or run-away after this. There was no-way she was going to live this one down. The next thing she knew her mother was yelling at her (as if she did anything wrong?), telling her to stay behind with a neighbor, and she placed Josh in the car and drove off. There was no doubt about it, this was the WORST day of Bek's life.
This upcoming snowstorm reminded me of one such incident where I purposefully caused her shame.
When I was in first grade I had a babysitter who told me about a local, nearby hill that had the best sledding around. On a good snow day, it became a slick, thick sheet of ice. I had to go.
The next big storm of the season, I begged my mother to take me there. She bowed to the pressure and so she loaded my friend Jarred, my sister, and yours truly into the maroon station wagon.
When we arrived, I remember the parking lot full of kids running, red-cheeked, and full of excitement. I remember the feeling of energy in the air and the cool breeze. Before the car was even fully parked, I grabbed my blue plastic sled and ran for the first part of the hill. At age six, i was invincible.
In first grade I was still a really tiny kid. It wasn't until the summer of fourth grade that I discovered Beefaroni and Bobs Big Boy and chubbed up (forcing me to purchase my Bar Mitzvah suit from the "husky" section of Fleet's). At the top of the hill, I pounced on my sled and went flying. Quickly, the sheet of ice that the snow-hill had become took control over the sled, my tiny frame adding only enough weight for propulsion, and not enough for control. I started to spin, turning sideways, the entire sled veering to the left. Although I have no recollection of this, the hill was next to the high school football stadium, which was surrounded by an until then unnoticed chain link fence. The sled veered toward the fence. It flipped me around, and I hit the chain link, face first, somehow catching the bottom of the fence in my mouth. I was knocked completely unconscious. The next thing I knew, I was being carried into the ER, my mother screaming for help......
For my mother, the scene at the top of the hill played out something like this:
My mother, sister and friend Jared all ran to the hill after me, thinking they were in for a fun afternoon of sledding followed closely by hot chocolate. My mother watched as I hit the ice and started to loose control. She watched as I nailed the fence. She screamed my name. She screamed it a few times. Then she stole a sled from some kid (awesome) and came down after me. Helped by a couple of father's who were hanging around, they removed the fence from my mouth and carried me up to the car. My mother, directing my sister to stay behind with a known-adult, sped to the nearby hospital, where I was patched up.
For my sister, the scene played a little more like this:
After her annoying little brother jumped out of the car, Bek grabbed her own sled and walked slowly behind my mother, making sure that nobody would think she was related to or knew any of us. In fact, her hope was that, despite her bright pink snow suit and boots stuffed with plastic bag liners, the older kids would think that she was passing through, just another 8 1/2 year old on a smoke-break or back from a date with Chad Allen. Soon, she heard her mother (as usual) causing a scene. "God" she thought, "can't I go anywhere without her drawing attention TO ME?" In her mind, she re-lived a scene a few days before where, fearing that her son was stolen at the local kiddy-city, her mother walked the aisles screaming "Joshie!!" as loud as she could. At that moment, she could have killed to be whisked-away to the life she so desired, away from her annoying family, and living in a mansion with an indoor, rideable train set. Maybe she would even have a black butler.
Eventually, she made her way to the top of the hill, only to see her mother steal a sled from some cute older boy, and go down the hill herself. What was her mother thinking??? The older kids would make fun of her forever for this one. An old lady sledding? Just another stunt her mother was pulling to mortify her. Soon she realized that something was wrong with her brother. Was he hurt??? The action of the hill-side came to a halt as everyone attention focused on her mother and brother. Whatever happened, she felt, Josh MUST have done it on purpose. Soon her mother came storming up the hill, her brother draped over her shoulders, shoving kids, sleds, and parents out of the way. Tears of embarrassment filled Bek's eyes watching the scene. She started to tremble. She just knew, deep down, that whatever happened, she was going to have to move or run-away after this. There was no-way she was going to live this one down. The next thing she knew her mother was yelling at her (as if she did anything wrong?), telling her to stay behind with a neighbor, and she placed Josh in the car and drove off. There was no doubt about it, this was the WORST day of Bek's life.
Friday, January 22, 2010
T is for
Dear world, although I don't consume swine, I am formally nominating myself as your sausage man.Cathy and I got back earlier this week from a fantastic jaunt to Austin to where we ate a ton of food and hung out with awesome friends (in that particular order). Upon our return, Cathy declared the food in DC better than the food in Austin. I believe her reasoning is based primarily on the lack of Asian diversity. Speaking of which, we went to a bar our last night there to pick up some food. While Cathy and I were standing at the bar, shoulder to shoulder (sexy, right?), an older gentleman pointed to her but asked me "Vietnamese or Japanese?" I found that it was very understanding of him to both pick countries that were not China, and to ask the question of me, since you just never know who might be deaf & mute & from Asia. Cathy was not amused.
Our first day there was spent in the Czech-settled region outside of Austin. But first we ate some BBQ!
Then we headed out to the hinter-lands where we stopped in on a few of the amazing painted Catholic churches built by these Czech communities 100 years ago.
The next morning was spent in Molton where we went to a family sausage making. The men stayed outside butchering and grinding freshly slaughtered hogs, drinking beer and listening to Texas-Czech polka music. The woman were inside making amazing strudel. What does it say about me that I felt more at home with the ladies in the kitchen? Although I did not consume any of the swine, Cathy ate for the both of us. (although she ate and drank a ton while in Texas, the following picture is not Cathy)
The rest of the weekend was awesome but less picture friendly. We stayed with our wonderful friends Stuart and Larny who are the most amazing, hospitable people on earth. For some reason we ended up with a ton of pictures of Stuart and only one of Larny. What gives?
This is the closest thing I have to a shot of both Stuart and Larny.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
J is for?
Oh no.
Josh S just wrote to me to let me know that technically Joshua IS Jesus in English since both Joshua and Jesus shared the hebrew name Yohoshua.
See Etymology below.
But here is the real issue. Cathy's REAL name in Korean means Jesus (since she as born on Christmas) and my name means Jesus (since I guess secretly my parents wanted a Christmas tree or a kid who could turn water in to Manishewitz for cost savings) I guess am living with myself. Oy.
Etymology
Josh S just wrote to me to let me know that technically Joshua IS Jesus in English since both Joshua and Jesus shared the hebrew name Yohoshua.
See Etymology below.
But here is the real issue. Cathy's REAL name in Korean means Jesus (since she as born on Christmas) and my name means Jesus (since I guess secretly my parents wanted a Christmas tree or a kid who could turn water in to Manishewitz for cost savings) I guess am living with myself. Oy.
Etymology
See also: Yeshua
"Jesus" (pronounced /ˈdʒiːzəs/) is a transliteration, occurring in a number of languages and based on the Latin Iesus, of the Greek Ἰησοῦς (Iēsoûs), itself a Hellenisation of the Hebrew יֵשׁוּעַ (Yēšûă‘) or Hebrew-Aramaic יְהוֹשֻׁעַ (Yĕhōšuă‘, Joshua), meaning "Yahweh delivers (or rescues)".[31] "Christ" (pronounced /ˈkraɪst/) is a title derived from the Greek Χριστός (Christós), meaning the "Anointed One", a translation of the Hebrew מָשִׁיחַ (Messiah).[32][33]:274-275 A "Messiah" is a king anointed at God's direction or with God's approval, and Christians identify Jesus as the one foretold by Hebrew prophets."
I got rid of the beard since I am off to a conference in NCY today. Sorry dudes. Here is a picture of it and my hairy shoulders.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Long John Sliver
Yesterday, after a serious spinning class at the LA fitness (where the instructor referred to me as Mr. Scruffy, in reference to my increasingly face-overpowering-beard) and following the realization that the holidays and my travels packed an extra 9 pounds on my ass, I took a shower.
It was a fine shower with shitty LA Fitness dial soap. My post shower routine usually has me drying off, and then putting on my underthings before I head back into the locker room area, so as not to flaunt my covenant with the lord. Yesterday, however, I wore long johns under my jeans, since it is was cold as Cathy's heart outside. Not wanting to drag my long johns into the shower, for obvious reasons, I opted to walk from the shower into the locker area with my mini-towel held over my person-parts. Then, I decided that it might be embarrassing to change right into the long johns in the middle of the locker room, what with them being baggy, and my desire not to look completely like a mountain man lost in the mean city. So, what I attempted to do was slide both the john and the jeans on AT THE SAME TIME. This was a failure. With three Congolese guys laughing at me (I could tell, even if I didn't understand what they were staying) I tried to insert myself, one leg at a time, into my outfit. My first leg got caught in the johns, and I started to hop around, bare assed, nearly knocking one of the laughing men over with my hirsute backside. Then, when the leg started to go in, my big toe got caught on the underwear and ripped a hole right though, causing me to fall forward, cathing myself at the laft moment on a bench. Finally, after a good five minutes of public struggle I was able to assemble myself like an adult. I hate the winter.
The following is shot of people getting down in Colombia, where it was considerably warmer than 20 degrees F.
It was a fine shower with shitty LA Fitness dial soap. My post shower routine usually has me drying off, and then putting on my underthings before I head back into the locker room area, so as not to flaunt my covenant with the lord. Yesterday, however, I wore long johns under my jeans, since it is was cold as Cathy's heart outside. Not wanting to drag my long johns into the shower, for obvious reasons, I opted to walk from the shower into the locker area with my mini-towel held over my person-parts. Then, I decided that it might be embarrassing to change right into the long johns in the middle of the locker room, what with them being baggy, and my desire not to look completely like a mountain man lost in the mean city. So, what I attempted to do was slide both the john and the jeans on AT THE SAME TIME. This was a failure. With three Congolese guys laughing at me (I could tell, even if I didn't understand what they were staying) I tried to insert myself, one leg at a time, into my outfit. My first leg got caught in the johns, and I started to hop around, bare assed, nearly knocking one of the laughing men over with my hirsute backside. Then, when the leg started to go in, my big toe got caught on the underwear and ripped a hole right though, causing me to fall forward, cathing myself at the laft moment on a bench. Finally, after a good five minutes of public struggle I was able to assemble myself like an adult. I hate the winter.
The following is shot of people getting down in Colombia, where it was considerably warmer than 20 degrees F.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Up
Cathy and I just finished watching "Away We Go." Until she hit play, I was under the assumption that this was the movie about the fat kid and the flying house. It turns out that is another movie altogether.
The movie was very sweet and romantic, but Cathy spent the entirety of the film loudly complaining about the soundtrack, which was chock-full of low-level Nick Drake-like drivel. I was able to get past the maudlin music and focus the gooey-stuff, but Cathy held onto that rage like bun to a hot dog.
The movie was very sweet and romantic, but Cathy spent the entirety of the film loudly complaining about the soundtrack, which was chock-full of low-level Nick Drake-like drivel. I was able to get past the maudlin music and focus the gooey-stuff, but Cathy held onto that rage like bun to a hot dog.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
gee wiz
I know it has been FOREVER. I have been around the hemisphere and back. Colombia, Montana, Virginia, BERLIN NEW JERSEY. What a bunch of weeks.
I have a killer family story tell you all that involves intrigue, skin discoloration, hillbilly masks, and acts of hubris. And my mother of course. Sadly, she has forbidden me to to discuss this story or share the amazing photo. So instead I will put up the equally freakish image of Cathy's niece. Isn't she a monster?.
I started my month heading down to Cartagena, Colombia for a very, VERY last minute trip (I found out about it two days before I got on a plane). It was mostly a talent scouting trip but I was able to sneak in a scuba diving excursion. At least 5 different people I met seemed to be confused about my name, asking if Joshua was English for Jesus? It's not.
The trip to Colombia was amazing and that country has a wealth of musical assets. It reminds me of a compact Brazil. Cartagena was almost unbearably hot and humid, the temp hovering at around 97 with 80 percent humidity. I soaked through most of my clothes while the locals strutted by in jeans and long sleeve shirts.
The next week I was in Montana where it was 7 degrees.
Moving on...
I have taken time off life and worked at my families store in Berlin, NJ since I was 13. The one year I failed to show up to work for the holidays my car was doused in gasoline and burnt to a crisp while parked at the local Jewish Community Center. The blame for this act was placed on some hoodlum for Northeast Philly, but I think my father played a part in scaring me into a work ethic. Maybe it was his recipe for a version of Jewish scared straight. Anti-Semitism+ignoring of filial ties+removal of mode of transportation+being stranded in Northeast Philly=work for the family biz every Christmas for the rest of your life. Thanks pop.
It is always great to see my family in action of the holidays and even if my mother was incapacitated by injuries, she still was able to cook up some mean soup.
It was Cathy's birthday on Christmas day and if you failed to wish her a happy birthday you will burn in Christian hell. As a gift of Santa or Jesus or something, she has those sorts of magical powers.
I have a killer family story tell you all that involves intrigue, skin discoloration, hillbilly masks, and acts of hubris. And my mother of course. Sadly, she has forbidden me to to discuss this story or share the amazing photo. So instead I will put up the equally freakish image of Cathy's niece. Isn't she a monster?.
I started my month heading down to Cartagena, Colombia for a very, VERY last minute trip (I found out about it two days before I got on a plane). It was mostly a talent scouting trip but I was able to sneak in a scuba diving excursion. At least 5 different people I met seemed to be confused about my name, asking if Joshua was English for Jesus? It's not.
The trip to Colombia was amazing and that country has a wealth of musical assets. It reminds me of a compact Brazil. Cartagena was almost unbearably hot and humid, the temp hovering at around 97 with 80 percent humidity. I soaked through most of my clothes while the locals strutted by in jeans and long sleeve shirts.
The next week I was in Montana where it was 7 degrees.
Moving on...
I have taken time off life and worked at my families store in Berlin, NJ since I was 13. The one year I failed to show up to work for the holidays my car was doused in gasoline and burnt to a crisp while parked at the local Jewish Community Center. The blame for this act was placed on some hoodlum for Northeast Philly, but I think my father played a part in scaring me into a work ethic. Maybe it was his recipe for a version of Jewish scared straight. Anti-Semitism+ignoring of filial ties+removal of mode of transportation+being stranded in Northeast Philly=work for the family biz every Christmas for the rest of your life. Thanks pop.
It is always great to see my family in action of the holidays and even if my mother was incapacitated by injuries, she still was able to cook up some mean soup.
It was Cathy's birthday on Christmas day and if you failed to wish her a happy birthday you will burn in Christian hell. As a gift of Santa or Jesus or something, she has those sorts of magical powers.
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