7 things about me that you may not know

Instead of being a voice, let me pull you in closer to my way of life.

Greetings from the windy streets of Princeton Heights. It was a pleasant Heights until one man came into its orbit and destroyed it all. His name was Charcoal Mixed Nuts!

HA! A tweet asked for the color of your shirt and what you ate last this morning, and that’s what it was. I can hear the movie trailer voice guy now:

“Lego Batman wanted it, and he said no. The color, charcoal, is all his. And he has the nuts too, baby! This summer, Princeton Heights will feel the heat and get the meat!”

I’m working on it. As we pass the 100 subscriber count this week, I wanted to pull you closer into my orbit, and allow you to get to know me. First thing, I will say thank you very much. Free or paid subscriber, I have your attention and I don’t take that for granted. It’s not wasted, especially as I pound this latest post out. I use “pound” because that’s what my therapist told my keyboard and me.

Learning to pound less and telling you more about me, starting now. Seven sounded better than the usual five, so let’s open the book. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

7. I HATE mosquitoes. Bugs in general but mosquitoes are my Thanos: an endless pit of seasonal rage brought on by the tiniest little bastards known to man. They float around the air, suck out your blood, and then do something a little extra nasty. They leave a little saliva on your skin so it creates an itch. One that makes a normal blood draw look like a legit breakout.

Yes, men hate mysterious breakouts and itchy, red skin too. We’re not just tough walls that work like magnets half the time. There’s feeling inside the boulder we call a heart. Yeah, so part of the reason I hate summer so much is due to the mosquitoes. Kill them all and allow the ecosystem to rebuild itself. I bet the next annoyance that flies around won’t need our blood. Evolve, you tiny asshats.

6. I started smoking cannabis when I was about 36 years old. Why the wait? No reason, really. Just the need came about at my uncle’s birthday party. Someone passed the roach and I decided to take a puff. I didn’t cough too badly, and liked the way it made me feel. Elevated yet not trippy. Enlightened and uplifted without the feared paranoia, which can make your body feel like a prison in the worst circumstances.

These days, I am a medical marijuana card-carrying happy guy. I visit Swade Cannabis frequently. Sure, they have deals and lowering prices--but it’s the staff and personalities I have gotten to know. The best way one would like to feel while buying some weed is not like a black sheep smoking the devil’s plant, or some shit. We want to feel comfortable and accepted, like anyone would as they sip a beer or glass of wine. They’re all drugs of choice, you know.

5. I once fell asleep on the job. While working security for Whelan Security, I was pulling all-night shifts at a hotel in Clayton. It was a zombie task and unarmed, a basic assistant to the real helpers. I joke that they said I could do the job in my sleep, and I took them at their word. After a few weeks of walking around floors and tapping a round shape with my special glow stick-bosses regulating our activity, aka making sure we’re not sleeping-I got extremely tired towards the end of a shift.

So, I did extra rounds and made coffee. Figuring I was in the clear with only 20-25 minutes left in my shift, I sat down in a chair and allowed my back to touch the cushion. A few minutes later, I woke up and the owner of the DAMN HOTEL was standing in front of me. My supervisor, an unlovely soul named Todd, already hated me and life itself. He fired me with a quiet glee. Not my best moment.

4. One of my closest friends died young to the inglorious bastard we call cancer. Troy Siade was a rugged prince, a natural comedian who wore bleached jeans and liked to roll his short sleeves up nearly to his shoulder. His skin seemed like it was created with synthetic olive oil, and his impersonations and laugh could stretch across Busch Stadium’s large circumference. We were instant brothers from different mothers, latching onto our dirty minds and ambition to make people laugh. He got me and I got him. He was hard on me, but it came from a place of protective love.

Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma was what chopped that tower of charisma to the ground. The manual scoreboard crew had no idea, because Troy could hide it very well. He could crack a joke or zing someone, re-routing our concern that he keep touching his neck in an unusual way. My advice would be to treat your close friends-the ones who really get you-like a family lottery pick, because life can just swoop down and take them away.

The last time I saw him, he hated it due to the fact that he was so weak from chemo and bald--in the most unflattering state, his Italian black locks shorn. We posed for a picture he wished had self-destructed ten seconds later, and I knew for the most part that this was the end. It’s an awful, awful feeling.

I miss Troy every baseball season. He would love Jim Edmonds on the call with Danny Mac because he loved everything about Edmonds. His center field work and hitting ability obviously, but his dramatic turn away from inside pitches and shallow setup in the field fed Troy’s adoration of all kings brash. He was brash, and being taken in your mid-30s is nowhere near fair.

3. I saw the Jean Claude Van Damme action film, Nowhere to Run, at least eight times in the theater. I’ve never seen a film more times in a theater. It was a throwaway B-side action kick fest. Van Damme was an escaped convict hiding out in a woman’s home, and finds his own brand of trouble. Rosanna Arquette and Ted Levine co-starred. The movie just worked. The Avalon Theater on Kingshighway only charged ten cents for tickets on certain days, so that helped too. I had good, trustworthy parents.

2. I am a big fan of the DARK. Or dark rooms, one carrying little light. I am not sure if it was a concussion aftershock or the fact that I am quietly Batman, but I don’t prefer much light in rooms or wherever I go. Call me the guy that wears his sunglasses on cloudy days. Something about the night and lack of light that makes all of this more bearable. Or, I could be Batman. Sorry, Pattinson. (I’d kick his ass, FTR.)

1. I once won a fight by knocking a kid out in middle school with one punch to the center of his chest. Going off sage advice from my father-if you’re backed into a corner and have no other options, hit them once and hit them hard-I aimed for the center of his chest, where the mitochondria sits. The oxygen bank gets hit hard, and you’re in trouble. I was hit there by a slap shot while playing ice hockey, and I could barely breathe for three minutes. Karma is a bitch, but pissing me off isn’t healthy.

See you next time.