Friday, September 01, 2006

Can I hit it and quit?
Can I hit it and quit?
Can I hit it and quit?

Fuckin' James Brown, man.

He rules.

If you don't have any in your collection, I ask you, "Why? Why oh Why?"

There has never been anyone else like him, and there never will be again.

He is personally responsible for 50% of the beats in hip hop.

OK, I made that up, but nobody, and I mean nobody had better beats.

Anyway, on to the purpose of this post...

I had two phone conversations today that made me laugh.

I am talking top-volume belly laugh.

# 1. I was talking to my friend, Atwaan Randle El, who, in addition to being a versatile scatback/wide receiver/kick returner/quarterback, has earned his C.P.A.

Surprising, isn't it? Dude plays in the NFL, wins a Super Bowl, and still has time to do some freelance accounting for financial institutions on the side.

He is also looks a lot shorter in person. And skinnier. And whiter. I'm talking ghost-like. Strange. But they say t.v. adds 10 pounds. And black skin.

I digress.

So, I'm talking to Antwaan on the phone today. We were shooting the shit about his hectic life since the big Steelers Super Bowl win, his new team, the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, and whether or not I can deduct my meals if I think about how I used to practice law while putting wasabi on my sushi.

It was weird.

He kept trailing off in the middle of his sentences and completely forgetting where he was in the story.

After the third time, he said, "Dude, sorry if I sound distracted. There are some incredibly hot girls suntanning on the Capitol lawn, right across from my office."

(Today was a C.P.A. day, not an NFL day. Like I said, dude's versatile.)

I said, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Hot enough that I had to go down to my car and get binoculars."

I start to laugh, "Really?"

"Yeah, really. What's fucked up is that my office has glass walls, so everyone in the bank can see me."

{cue: me internally hemmoraging from torn stomach muscles.}


#2. Later, I was talking to Will Danger. You guys remember him. We did the backcountry trip to the Beartooths. Goats? Smokewagon?

Anyway, he lives in Gig Harbor, near Seattle.

They are an hour behind us Mountain Time Zone denizens.

I called him just as he was going to lunch.

We did our usual chattering about the stock market, interspersed with Lebowski quotes.

(There is an unspoken rule: any time either one of us says, "Jesus" in a conversation, the other immediately interrupts with, "That's right. Nobody Fucks With The Jesus."

Anyway, Will was on his cell phone, a/k/a MOH-bile phone.

As he was on his MOH-bile, he started off to lunch, unbeknownst to me.

Occasionally there was that annoying cell phone static that happens when the wind blows, or, as in this case, someone breathes directly into the phone.

I ignored it, and continued trying to shoehorn "it really tied the room together, man" into a discussion of the performance of Devon energy stock.

Out of the blue, Will says, "Just so you know, I'm walking to lunch; I'm not jacking off."

And that's where I absolutely lost my shit.

Have a killer Friday.

Gone like my last paycheck, gone, gone away
Gone like the car I wrecked, gone, gone away

I've got an issue.

It is something that has been on my mind for years.

It really bothers me.

Almost as much as those guys in the silly biker outfits.

I am finally going to address it.

{deep breath}

Here goes...

Occasionally, I will see a friend whom I have not seen in a while.

And, once in a while, during the greeting, something happens that annoys me.

This applies only to dudes.

(Women don't even have to keep reading. In addition to being more graceful than men, reaching puberty before us, and remembering to do things like "change the sheets," they beat our asses in the "awkward greeting" department.)

Duder will come in for the handshake, and then apply the half-hug with the other arm, often applying a manly backslap or two.

What the hell is this?

Drives me fucking crazy.

It's always awkward as hell.

It's the hey, dude, I'm glad to see you, more than handshake glad, but not full-on hug glad... I mean, I'm not gay, and I certainly don't want you to think I'm gay, so I am just going for the half-hug, and since our hands are awkwardly clasped at our chest, I am just now feeling a teeny bit gay, so I am going to throw in a backslap just so you know I'm not hitting on you or anything greeting.

It's just dumb.

Dumber than the macho-who-can-squeeze-harder contest.

(My high school sweetheart's dad, Jerry, used to always do that to me. He's the only dude I ever met who could pull it off, because he always did it with a shit-eating grin and a sparkle in his eye that said, "Alright, you little shit. I know what you're up to...")

It's even dumber than those secret, multiple-move handshakes dudes in their 20's like to do that nobody ever taught me, yet people seemed to do all the time.

Shake my hand, do the fist-bump thing, or just give me the goddamn hug.

Hell, you can even pretend you're a Soprano and give me the full hug and an air-kiss on each cheek, Tony-style.

I promise I won't think you're gay.

Unless you stick your tongue down my throat and grab my junk or something like that.

You know what?

I would even understand if you did that.

After all, I know I drive a cool car and that when I get on the dance floor, grown men weep.

You might get a raised eyebrow, and a "whoa, dude."

But I would understand.

Just don't do the handshake-hug thing with me.