Skate Park Invasion

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(Farce) I visited my nearest skate park today. It had the usual bunch of hooligans and ne’erdowells. I was totally afraid for my wallet. I was even afraid for my women and children, these punks were so ferocious and violent.

(Reality) Actually, while I was there, I saw lots of skaters and one BMX biker, all getting along really well with each other. Nobody was hogging any features. Nobody was even smoking anything, except the tricks, if you know what I mean. One guy had the fakies made out like nature’s butter. Or at least that’s what he told me. I’m not so sure I want to ever see nature’s butter. I don’t mind watching a fake ollie or two, though.

The kid on the BMX was the youngest one there. He had some good tricks, but I could tell he was being timid on a few of the jumps. It’s great to see people making progress. He’ll be even better at it in a few years, as long as he keeps practicing.

Speaking of practicing, I was on my mountain bike, so I tried out a few of the ramps. It was good practice for me too. Spring-time riding makes me feel timid like a ten year old. I needed the practice. By the time I left, I felt like tackling a mountain. In other words, I’m ready for summer now. Wasatch Crest Trail, here I come.

(Farce, Reality, or what?) By the time I left the skate park, I felt the eyes on my back, and all the relieved thoughts, skaters easing up on their tension, punks going back to their mayhem, “Man, I’m sure glad that old mountain biker dude is gone. Now the skate park can be a skate park again, instead of a mountain goat park.”

Staring at the Airwaves

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Staring up at a cell’ tower, imagining all of the dissonance bombarding it night and day.

How many millions of contentious texts are bouncing off of those vented panels? How much trivial pretentiousness is thrown at the tower every minute? How much pompism* is sent on the airwaves to and from the tower? How much bandwidth is plugged up with overly wordy textual intercourses?

Then again, how many birthday wishes are flying across the planet because of the cell’ tower? How many people, who can’t reach each other physically because they’re too distant on the planet, can make contact because of the cell’ tower? How many people get to talk to each other…before they never hear from each other in this lifetime again? How many people get to know their distant relatives through the cellular sound waves? How many men and women meet each other online first and then get together in a permanent married way? How many friends set up D&D games, or Pokemon get-togethers, or pool parties, or sandlot ball games, or sand volleyball games, or mud football games, or road rallies—-and all because of that connection forty feet in the air.

It has its good points to counter the bad.

*Pompism: the use of unnecessarily large words. People who want to make themselves appear intelligent operate under the principle of pompism.

Gum One

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Speaking of chewing gum, I haven’t had any good chewing gum for a long time. My favorite used to be called Wintermute or Freshgreen, or something like that. It was not too minty and not too sweet. Then—-it seems like a long time ago—-the company changed the formula and ruined it. That action definitely falls in the category of “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” The whole idea behind that cliche is that when you go “fixing” things that have no problems, then you create problems.

In the case of my long-lost favorite chewing gum, they made it taste like chemicals. They put in an artificial sweetener that supposedly made the flavor last longer. Well if it doesn’t taste good anymore, why in the world would anyone want the flavor to last longer?

My impression of the flavor was no more wintergreen, but aluminum (or aluminium if you’re in the mood). At no time in the history of histories have I ever heard anyone say, “I’d really like to chew on some aluminum for an hour or so.” I’ve never seen anyone sucking on their aluminum can after their drink was gone. I’ve never seen anyone wad up a ball of aluminum foil and suck on that like some kind of alien lozenge.

Although I have heard of someone claiming to have eaten an aluminum can, I can only say that the brain power of someone entering into such an endeavor has to be as astounding as the event. Did I say the guy was stupid? Not directly. His pastime is food for sane people’s nightmares.

Give me a gumball laced with sugar, with flavor that lasts almost a minute and I’ll chew that ’til the flavor of it is the world around me. Give me a stick of chemical, metallic nastiness and I won’t even bother to unwrap it. I’ll just stick it in the bin with the rest of the recyclables.

Gum

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People who spit their gum on the sidewalk should be knocked down there on the sidewalk with their gum. They should get a hard, swift shin to the soft parts of their body. They should be bullied until they cry.

Okay, that last sentence was purely in jest. The others, less so.

Do people not know that there could be hundreds of shoes stepping on that discarded gum in a day? And if the temperature of the walk is in a certain zone (the temperature at which gum does not harden), the gum could stay sticky for a long, long time. Long enough to contaminate shoes and attitudes across the whole city. People will all be in a foul mood, causing mayhem and disrupting feelings, all because of one careless gum chewer who spat their cud in the wrong place.

What’s the worst is when there’s a trash can in sight. When I see that, I always think that the person was not only careless but lazy. Couldn’t they take the ten steps to the can and spit it there instead of where everyone walks?

When you step on gum, you immediately search for something to wipe it on. Gravel, wood, the rough edge of a curb, or even grass, is what you think will do the trick. But it never all comes off. No matter what you do, a few minutes later you’ll feel your shoe sticking to the pavement again.

Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be a better plan to just leave the shoe over the gum. Then you’d be free of the gum, but you’d also save the next pedestrian the trouble of getting their unwanted share of the nasty junk.

If I was wearing a flip flop, then for sure I’d leave it there. I’d leave it and go buy a new pair. And if I saw someone spitting their gum out on the sidewalk, I’d smack them over the head with my new flip flop.

BSR: The Boy Scouts of Russia

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I don’t know nothing ’bout them Boy Scouts of America.

I joined the Boy Scouts of Russia. While much of the knot tying requirements are universally useful, I do question the life-building skills of operating a chainsaw inside the dacha. Why really would I need to know that?

Some of the things I learned in the Boy Scouts of Russia were how to send body parts in the mail without having anyone track the original mailing point, how to drive a Humvee through a blizzard, and why it is so important to build the fire before you close the door.

One of the merit badges we earned was unparalleled in other scouting countries. For sure, the Boy Scouts of Spain don’t have anything like the polar bear claw award, which you get from removing a polar bear’s claw without waking the polar bear. Sure Spain has those bull things, but bulls are quite small and tame compared to a hungry polar bear.

The Boy Scouts of Ireland are probably the only crazier organization than ours. I heard they have a bath merit badge. Sounds timid, doesn’t it? Except you have to take a bath in your favorite beer and not drink any of it. Most of us in the Russian Boy Scouts would fail that test. How do the Irish do it? They must have some sort of mind powers that make them superior in a test of will. Maybe they imagine that the beer has already passed through them. That would do it for me.

Someday, I hope to earn the highest award, the HnS Scout Award.

Until then, Prigotov’sya! *

 

*Translation: Be prepared.