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Go Big or Go Homer

I was reading up on some over-the-hill jocks whose motto is, “Add years to your life by adding life to your years. Play basketball.” Which reminded me of the old Mae West line, “It’s not the men in my life, it’s the life in my men.” Which reminded me of another clever twist, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste. And a waist is a terrible thing to mind.” Sometimes such wisdom is lost on me. When the going gets tough, the tough get going; and I go home or under the covers. I figured there must be a name for these literary or rhetorical twisters, and there is. But no one in the history of the English...

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The Gravity Of Ignorance

I believe the Earth is round or at least spherical, so I’m not a flat-earther. Though I think if you get to the end of Far Rockaway, you might fall off the planet. But I digress. Whenever I want to get people screaming at me, I show them how dumb I am. They start off patiently trying to tell me why people in the Southern Hemisphere aren’t upside down.  If the world is shaped like a basketball and they’re on the bottom, shouldn’t they be upside down? Gravity keeps them glued to their Earth but they’re upside down, right? They start telling me it’s relative and in space, north doesn’t mean up,...

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Stuck On Words

I’m no Whit’s End but I’ve dropped an F-bomb once or twice in my life. Sometimes in the same effin’ sentence. Note to all my lady friends in the Golden Age club: I know my mother is rolling her eyes in heaven and tsk, tsking. She’d say it’s not a sin to curse but I am “contributing to the coarsening of the language.” Coarsening. There’s a word you don’t get to use too effin’ often. Point is, ladies, you don’t have to tell me I should know better. I know, I know.  Of course, some of my granny friends love the salty talk and make me blush when they drop the words on me.  I’m still trying to get...

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The Dodgers Are Cursed

I owned a bar once. If you ever get the urge to do the same, I’ll do my best to talk you out of it. Anyway, with the Yankees and playoff baseball underway, it’s that time of year for me to celebrate another year of Los Angeles Dodgers heartbreak. The LA Dodgers haven’t won the World Series in almost three decades, despite being an odds-makers’ favorite several times. They can have the best pitching and hit the most homeruns but they can’t get by the hex, the whammy, the evil eye, the curse of The Brooklyn Dodger—which, was my doing. And there’s proof. It’s on tape. A million years ago, my brother...

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Dog Dirt

Dog Dirt gave dirt a bad rep. Dog shit, dog crap, I got. What the hell was dog dirt?  See, even in the old days there was some politically correct ways of saying things. You’d be going out to play and your mother or some adult would say, “Watch out for the dog dirt.” You didn’t know what that was until you played football in a grass field covered with leaves. You’d learn the hard way. That’s the problem with a lot of PC language; it’s confusing. Dog dirt? I think Dog Deuce would’ve been so much better. Anyway, I was minding my own business (which is not to imply that I was doing my business)....

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How Ya Doin’

I remember somebody told me that he took the subway to work every day and he’d see the same woman. Every day. For years. He didn’t know her at all. On one day, no different than any other day, he said hi to her. And what happened?  She freaked out. From that day on, she would never ride in the same car with him. He wasn’t making a move. His hello was just common courtesy. You see the same person every day for years, isn’t it a bit odd NOT to say hello? It’s not like he went overboard and asked, how are you? He just said, hi. How are you? or the more common, how ya doin’?, is a standard enough...

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Bad Sign Language

So, I moved into the right lane then swerved into the left, swerved back to the right, swerved again and then jerked the wheel to get back in the left lane. And then waited for a bike rider to pass so I could make a right turn from the left lane. I should have gotten a Driving Under the Influence but I was stone cold sober. I should have been pulled over for reckless driving, at least, but I had a fool-proof excuse: I was just following the driving lanes in Rockaway. There’s some thing, an island? A something-or-other that is near the median at Beach 105th Street and it just causes driver after...

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The Shoe Fits

It was like somebody having their own weapon turned on them. Famed local photographer, Peter Brady, ripped my iPhone away from me and turned the camera towards my ankles. I was caught, just steps from the shore, wearing sneakers and black socks. A nearby throng, led by George Johnson, crushed me with over the falls, gnarly invective.  I was called a barney, a kook, a goofy foot, and shoobie.  They were wiping me out with surf slang which was appropriate enough because I was at the Richie Allen Memorial Surf Classic. I took exception to shoobie, which is what they call DFDs in South Jersey and...

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More Social Torture

Someone, a long time ago, asked a question about me that has never been accurately answered. She asked her friend, “Is Kevin Boyle socially awkward or socially inept?” Is he rude or just a rube? Both? If there is a correct answer it would be D, all of the above.  About a year ago, I wrote about how I hated getting hugged. And Rockaway being Rockaway, that meant I had to endure about a thousand hugs over the next two weeks.  At about hug number 970, I started getting used to it. I tried once or twice to out-hug, to hang on longer than the other person, but I couldn’t do it. Still, I made some...

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