So this past Sunday I'm sitting at home enjoying what had been a remarkably relaxing weekend. The weather was cold and football was on TV so I was content. Suddenly my BlackBerry goes off.
Colleen McDonald is blowing up my phone with calls and texts. By the time I can get to my phone, she has typed an invitation / command: 'Come on a roadtrip with me. It's in the SoCal region. You won't be sorry.'
Now, as much as I love enjoying some Adventures Being Alex, I am unabashedly a creature of habit. I like routine. I like structure.
But sometimes you just gotta say f--- it and accept an opportunity for spontaneity. Three nights earlier, at our company Christmas party, I turned down the chance to jump in on a dance contest because I didn't think I had enough moves to really be entertaining or have a shot at winning. I felt it was the right decision but I still partially regretted it.
This time I said yes and within 20 minutes I was piling into Colleen's car. I threw out some guesses, none of which she would confirm or deny: Legoland? Disneyland's Main Street Electrical Parade? A basketball game played by UCLA or - gasp! - USC?
Two hours later we're in L.A., thereby negating any guesses south of Culver City, and traffic is so crazy we see one guy cut off another, scratch the car he passed up, and engage in a road-rage chase. It was insane.
Quite suddenly I realize we're in downtown...near Staples Center...where a concert is being held that night...OH MY GOSH, JAY-Z AND KANYE??? ARE WE GOING TO THE JAY-Z AND KANYE CONCERT?!? Colleen said yes and I shrieked, literally shrieked.
It was one of the happiest, most unbelievable moments of my life.
We parked, saw a couple argue until they split up - why all the drama in L.A.? - and then went to the nearby Yardhouse, where good friends Jonathan and Jonas awaited with "Watch the Throne" tickets. I couldn't believe it.
We all went inside the arena and Jono, who works for AEG's sales dept., had us strategically placed near a walkway. That allowed him to high-five freakin' Jay-Z and Kanye as they came out. And it provided good vantage points to watch entering celebs like Pharrell, Jermaine Dupri, and John Salley (who sat and cheered just like when he was a Laker).
The show was ridiculous. Best hip-hop concert I've ever witnessed.
The atmosphere was electric. The drive back was long and I couldn't fight my sleepiness. The next day was a grind. But it was all so worth it, three hours sleep was so worth it.
It was one of the best surprises of my entire life.
Showing posts with label Colleen McDonald. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Colleen McDonald. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
McKnight in Shining Armor
I've been looking forward to my upcoming trip to South Bend for my speaking gig on Thursday because not only do I love that city, but I haven't had any extended time off of work since last Christmas. I can tell I need some time away because I've just been frustrated, not necessarily with work - that's been good - but with relationships, and some friendships, and a lot of women. That's when I know I need to get away and clear my head.
I thought today was going to be another exercise in frustration when my work line rings. I didn't recognize the number but picked it up anyway, and instantly heard the familiar voice of a community colleague, radio DJ Xavier "The X-Man" Hernandez of Magic 92.5-FM. The next two minutes were just surreal.
I had registered for a contest, at Karen Madden's urging, to win tickets to a private performance by Brian McKnight for 92 listeners. Then K-Mad said she couldn't go but that I should apply anyway because both myself and my pal Colleen McDonald are huge McKnight fans. Besides, she said, all it requires is a sappy essay on why you deserve the tickets, in 92 words or less. Right up my alley!
But since I'd submitted my essay nearly a month ago and hadn't heard anything, I figured my prose about Colleen's encouragement during the Rock 'n' Roll Marathon wasn't sappy enough. Maybe I should've written that I lost my limbs saving a Brian McKnight CD from a burning building?
So X-Man says, "You know why we're calling, right?" In an instant I realized 'we' were on the air and my mind went blank and mouth turned dry.
"Um, no," I responded.
"Well let me read your letter then!" And he did, citing word for word how doing the RnR in 2010 and 2011 changed my outlook on life.
"Alex, tell me about Colleen."
My response: "Well, she's a great friend...who's always provided me a lot of encouragement...and I just really value her...because she's just, um, uhhhh....really encouraging."
I then proceeded to bang the phone receiver against my forehead.
"That's...nice," says X-Man. "Alright, brotha, well you and your friend won TWO FREE PASSES to the exclusive Brian McKnight VIP show on December 15. Enjoy the show!"
I said WOO-HOO and thanked him and Magic and texted Coll, who was ecstatic. I sounded like a blathering idiot but what a shot in the arm amid a so-so day.
I'll leave the smoothness to McKnight. I just hope we can get a picture with him!
I really look forward to South Bend and, like I said, maybe just need to let some relationships and women go. This concert gives me something to look forward to in December.
I thought today was going to be another exercise in frustration when my work line rings. I didn't recognize the number but picked it up anyway, and instantly heard the familiar voice of a community colleague, radio DJ Xavier "The X-Man" Hernandez of Magic 92.5-FM. The next two minutes were just surreal.
I had registered for a contest, at Karen Madden's urging, to win tickets to a private performance by Brian McKnight for 92 listeners. Then K-Mad said she couldn't go but that I should apply anyway because both myself and my pal Colleen McDonald are huge McKnight fans. Besides, she said, all it requires is a sappy essay on why you deserve the tickets, in 92 words or less. Right up my alley!
But since I'd submitted my essay nearly a month ago and hadn't heard anything, I figured my prose about Colleen's encouragement during the Rock 'n' Roll Marathon wasn't sappy enough. Maybe I should've written that I lost my limbs saving a Brian McKnight CD from a burning building?
So X-Man says, "You know why we're calling, right?" In an instant I realized 'we' were on the air and my mind went blank and mouth turned dry.
"Um, no," I responded.
"Well let me read your letter then!" And he did, citing word for word how doing the RnR in 2010 and 2011 changed my outlook on life.
"Alex, tell me about Colleen."
My response: "Well, she's a great friend...who's always provided me a lot of encouragement...and I just really value her...because she's just, um, uhhhh....really encouraging."
I then proceeded to bang the phone receiver against my forehead.
"That's...nice," says X-Man. "Alright, brotha, well you and your friend won TWO FREE PASSES to the exclusive Brian McKnight VIP show on December 15. Enjoy the show!"
I said WOO-HOO and thanked him and Magic and texted Coll, who was ecstatic. I sounded like a blathering idiot but what a shot in the arm amid a so-so day.
I'll leave the smoothness to McKnight. I just hope we can get a picture with him!
I really look forward to South Bend and, like I said, maybe just need to let some relationships and women go. This concert gives me something to look forward to in December.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
What Heavy D. Meant to Hip-Hop and to Me
At work I have a close friend, Karen Madden, with whom I've attended concerts, participated in endurance races, and shared many conversations about likes and dislikes. We know each other well. So when she walked over to my desk today, stopped, didn't say anything, and kind of looked at me like she wanted to say something but didn't want to say something, I knew it was not good news. She's only given me that look once before in the five years we've worked together, when she heard something within our job didn't go well and I'd be asked about it. So I instantaneously knew this wasn't a crisis. But I knew it wasn't good.
"TMZ just reported," she said, and then paused, "Heavy D. is dead."
Whaaat?
It was so random and sudden. I looked online and verified it and still couldn't believe it. What was crazy was just days earlier I'd seen a new or recent video of his and he'd lost a lot of weight! "He looks good but what do we call him now?" I'd asked K-Mad. "Vitamin D?"
I can't believe that one of the first rappers I genuinely followed is gone, just like that.
I first started really liking hip-hop late in junior high. Previously, I knew of Sugar Hill Gang, but they were like disco era; Grandmaster Flash, who was cool but he and his Furious Five were just that, a little too furious; and LL Cool J, who I respected but he embodied the gold-chain, sideways hat clique that just seemed kind of silly. So admittedly I gravitated more toward pop and R&B.
And I'm still more of an R&B guy. But then 1988 happened.
We all have a year or period we tend to romanticize and this is one of mine. The Fighting Irish won the national championship in football and I fell in love with them. The economy was great. My favorite group, New Edition, had a comeback album. Fades were fresh and high and clothes were colorful. And a new breed of rappers were emerging, primarily from the East Coast, whose lyricism was being heard all the way in my corner of the country, San Diego.
KRS-One. Dougie Fresh. Kool Moe Dee. Big Daddy Kane. MC Lyte. Public Enemy. Tribe Called Quest. Slick Rick.
And one Heavy D., who I'm ashamed to say I still don't know his real name without Googling it.
Now here was a rapper. Quick with a flip of the tongue and clever with a rhyme. He had a crew behind him - "The Boyz" - and they were DJ's, dancers, and singers. That was emblematic of his sound - smooth, catchy, something to which you could easily dance.
And dance he did. It stood out because Heavy D. was, well, heavy. He was a big man. It was as unavoidable as his thick, black goatee and everpresent darkened glasses.
Yet there he was, on "Yo! MTV Raps" or "Fade To Black", pirouetting, spinning, or - the iconic dance move of our generation - doing the Running Man. Hey, go ahead and laugh but when a dance move is done two decades later, if even mockingly, then it's stood the test of time. Heavy would do the Running Man and Cabbage Patch and then either rail against urban street crime or seduce women with his smoothness.
He was versatile. He would crack you up in 1988 with Girls, the girls they love me / 'Cause I'm the Overweight Lover Heavy D. And then he would add punch and credibility to the 1989 ensemble Self-Destruction (for my money one of the best rap songs ever), a USA-for-Africaesque collection of artists pleading for fans to stop stupid violence. And then in 1991 he bowled us over with Now That We Found Love and Is It Good To You, both songs a nod to the radio-friendly, New Jack Swing sound that was taking hip-hop from the underground to the mainstream.
He was dapper. He didn't wear the gold ropes or huge rings other rappers did, but they never begrudged his cardigan sweaters and silky slacks. Yet he was still very street and very respected. Then, in the mid-1990s, always ahead of the curve, Heavy D. was at the forefront of rappers transitioning to acting. Go back and look at his scenes with another pioneering rapper/actor, Queen Latifah, in the sitcom Living Single. It was pure gold and paved the way for Ice T, Ice Cube, and even LL and Will Smith to go from one-dimensional rappers to world-famous actors.
But what I appreciate most was this. Go back to 1988, that romanticized period in my life. I was a kid and as much as I enjoyed the times, I really didn't enjoy me. I had big glasses, thick hair, and three prosthetics. All kids and teens are self-conscious but I was especially so.
Then this big rapper appears on my TV screen and in my radio, proclaiming that he is The Overweight Lover. And you know what? "Girls, the girls they loved him." It was an epiphany. Instead of taking something the world considered a blemish or a blight - his weight - Heavy D. embraced it! He owned it, loved it, and made it a huge positive (not to mention lucrative).
So I started calling myself, that's right, The Handicapped Lover. Yep, even did freestyle rhymes about it at school and impressed many girls.
Now, eventually I grew to disdain that word and chose handi-capable and eventually the more socially acceptable "person with a disability". But this was 1990, man, I was young and I was not embarassed to use the word 'handicapped'. It was what I was physically and if I could accept that, and accept myself, then people could accept me - physically, emotionally, spiritually, unconditionally.
I learned all that from one rap artist.
Sadly, hip-hop has devolved and regressed. At the risk of sounding old (which I am) but even worse, stodgy, rap is not what it used to be. What used to be a beautiful collection of rhymes and storytelling is now an amalgm of bragging, sexual exploits, and violent grandstanding. Radio elevated hip-hop music and has now completely watered it down. It saddens me. Seriously.
Only once in a great while, maybe on a reunion tour or VH-1 special do you see the legends like KRS, Q-Tip, or Lyte. I saw Public Enemy a couple summers ago with my pal Colleen McD at the Street Scene Festival in San Diego, and though Chuck D. was a booming menace, Flavor Flav had degenerated into a reality-show joke. Much love to Flav but come on. Where has the royalty of rap's golden generation gone?
One is in heaven now and he can rest comfortably knowing that he impacted the music world. Heavy D. was a brilliant writer, poet, entertainer, actor, producer, and showman. And to one gawky young teen, he was an inspiration. A light like that never goes out of style.
"TMZ just reported," she said, and then paused, "Heavy D. is dead."
Whaaat?
It was so random and sudden. I looked online and verified it and still couldn't believe it. What was crazy was just days earlier I'd seen a new or recent video of his and he'd lost a lot of weight! "He looks good but what do we call him now?" I'd asked K-Mad. "Vitamin D?"
I can't believe that one of the first rappers I genuinely followed is gone, just like that.
I first started really liking hip-hop late in junior high. Previously, I knew of Sugar Hill Gang, but they were like disco era; Grandmaster Flash, who was cool but he and his Furious Five were just that, a little too furious; and LL Cool J, who I respected but he embodied the gold-chain, sideways hat clique that just seemed kind of silly. So admittedly I gravitated more toward pop and R&B.
And I'm still more of an R&B guy. But then 1988 happened.
We all have a year or period we tend to romanticize and this is one of mine. The Fighting Irish won the national championship in football and I fell in love with them. The economy was great. My favorite group, New Edition, had a comeback album. Fades were fresh and high and clothes were colorful. And a new breed of rappers were emerging, primarily from the East Coast, whose lyricism was being heard all the way in my corner of the country, San Diego.
KRS-One. Dougie Fresh. Kool Moe Dee. Big Daddy Kane. MC Lyte. Public Enemy. Tribe Called Quest. Slick Rick.
And one Heavy D., who I'm ashamed to say I still don't know his real name without Googling it.
Now here was a rapper. Quick with a flip of the tongue and clever with a rhyme. He had a crew behind him - "The Boyz" - and they were DJ's, dancers, and singers. That was emblematic of his sound - smooth, catchy, something to which you could easily dance.
And dance he did. It stood out because Heavy D. was, well, heavy. He was a big man. It was as unavoidable as his thick, black goatee and everpresent darkened glasses.
Yet there he was, on "Yo! MTV Raps" or "Fade To Black", pirouetting, spinning, or - the iconic dance move of our generation - doing the Running Man. Hey, go ahead and laugh but when a dance move is done two decades later, if even mockingly, then it's stood the test of time. Heavy would do the Running Man and Cabbage Patch and then either rail against urban street crime or seduce women with his smoothness.
He was versatile. He would crack you up in 1988 with Girls, the girls they love me / 'Cause I'm the Overweight Lover Heavy D. And then he would add punch and credibility to the 1989 ensemble Self-Destruction (for my money one of the best rap songs ever), a USA-for-Africaesque collection of artists pleading for fans to stop stupid violence. And then in 1991 he bowled us over with Now That We Found Love and Is It Good To You, both songs a nod to the radio-friendly, New Jack Swing sound that was taking hip-hop from the underground to the mainstream.
He was dapper. He didn't wear the gold ropes or huge rings other rappers did, but they never begrudged his cardigan sweaters and silky slacks. Yet he was still very street and very respected. Then, in the mid-1990s, always ahead of the curve, Heavy D. was at the forefront of rappers transitioning to acting. Go back and look at his scenes with another pioneering rapper/actor, Queen Latifah, in the sitcom Living Single. It was pure gold and paved the way for Ice T, Ice Cube, and even LL and Will Smith to go from one-dimensional rappers to world-famous actors.
But what I appreciate most was this. Go back to 1988, that romanticized period in my life. I was a kid and as much as I enjoyed the times, I really didn't enjoy me. I had big glasses, thick hair, and three prosthetics. All kids and teens are self-conscious but I was especially so.
Then this big rapper appears on my TV screen and in my radio, proclaiming that he is The Overweight Lover. And you know what? "Girls, the girls they loved him." It was an epiphany. Instead of taking something the world considered a blemish or a blight - his weight - Heavy D. embraced it! He owned it, loved it, and made it a huge positive (not to mention lucrative).
So I started calling myself, that's right, The Handicapped Lover. Yep, even did freestyle rhymes about it at school and impressed many girls.
Now, eventually I grew to disdain that word and chose handi-capable and eventually the more socially acceptable "person with a disability". But this was 1990, man, I was young and I was not embarassed to use the word 'handicapped'. It was what I was physically and if I could accept that, and accept myself, then people could accept me - physically, emotionally, spiritually, unconditionally.
I learned all that from one rap artist.
Sadly, hip-hop has devolved and regressed. At the risk of sounding old (which I am) but even worse, stodgy, rap is not what it used to be. What used to be a beautiful collection of rhymes and storytelling is now an amalgm of bragging, sexual exploits, and violent grandstanding. Radio elevated hip-hop music and has now completely watered it down. It saddens me. Seriously.
Only once in a great while, maybe on a reunion tour or VH-1 special do you see the legends like KRS, Q-Tip, or Lyte. I saw Public Enemy a couple summers ago with my pal Colleen McD at the Street Scene Festival in San Diego, and though Chuck D. was a booming menace, Flavor Flav had degenerated into a reality-show joke. Much love to Flav but come on. Where has the royalty of rap's golden generation gone?
One is in heaven now and he can rest comfortably knowing that he impacted the music world. Heavy D. was a brilliant writer, poet, entertainer, actor, producer, and showman. And to one gawky young teen, he was an inspiration. A light like that never goes out of style.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
I Love Sports. Obvi.
I love sports. That's about as obvious a statement as I love El Pollo Loco.
It's my passion, my entertainment, and my profession. This weekend illustrated how sports really has impacted my life in myriad ways.
Friday night began with a happy hour at McCormick & Schmick's at the Omni across from beautiful PETCO Park. They have this great deal with cheeseburgers - for me, hold the cheese, please - for $2.50 and select beers half off. I went with Rossi and boy Joslin and as we watched the Brewers-Cardinals postseason game, we ruminated on work, relationships, and life. I love and respect these guys.
From there Shawny and I went to Horton Plaza, where we met up with D-Hanse, and saw Moneyball. I remember when my buddy Candy gave me the book in 2004 when I was desperately trying to break into the baseball biz on a full-time basis. She thought this may help me learn more about the industry. In a sense it did because it introduced me to Sandy Alderson and Paul DePodesta, who at the time were with the Oakland Athletics, and two years later all three of us were working in the Padres front office. The movie is not as statistical as the book but it is marvelous. In watching Brad Pitt (who was terrific) depict A's GM Billy Beane and Jonah Hill (equally sensational) play a character based on DePo, it reminded me how much I love and miss baseball season. It reminded me that I am blessed to work in this field, in this sport, in this cradle of memories and dreams fulfilled.
Shawn and I finished the evening with a nightcap at the new Tilted Kilt in Mission Valley, which neither of us had visited yet. It's cool, very spacious, and more sports bar-oriented than the downtown one. The chill of fall began to cloak the October air and Shawn and I took more time catching up.
I got home and eagerly looked forward to sleeping in. Let me be real. When you're younger, you want to hurry up and go out. As you get older, you want to hurry up and go out so you can return home and go to sleep. Mmmm, sleep.
The next day, with my Irish having a bye week, I really had no plans except to get a Fresh Fade. So at home we fired up a monstrous breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, and fruit and watched the close Michigan-Michigan State game. It took me back to days as a kid when I'd wake up and you'd smell bacon wafting and football blaring. As a kid I'd also devour the sports page and on Saturday I was doing the exact same thing, reading every article while checking on other college games on the tube. This may not be a thrilling or unusual story, but I loved it.
Now, after going to get my fade, I passed a Hispanic grocery store in National City and instantly my mind flooded back to 2008. It was at this store parking lot, on a gray early August day, on East 8th Avenue that we took Adrian Gonzalez for an autograph session. 1,500 people showed up - screaming, cheering, even crying if they couldn't get his autograph (and only about 500 could because of time constraints) and the dawn of Adrian as an MLB rock star began. It was weird to remember all that as soon as we passed by the now-tranquil parking lot.
Later yesterday evening I hopped on a bus, trolley, and bus to Pacific Beach for Colleen McDonald's birthday party. It was a wonderful night at Bub's Dive Bar, full of laughs, beer, college football on TV, and snapping pictures. I really appreciate McD because we've been friends since our Sport Management grad school program, where we met in 2006. Back then, I recall, we'd chat about her grandfather being a huge Notre Dame fan and how she and I had a mutual desire (as all the students in that program did) to have long careers in sports. Now our conversations are about marathons we've participated in (and she's worked), cohort mates getting married, and life's unpredictable journey. Just like Rossi with the Pads, I'm grateful athletics has given me this good friend.
After the night of fun I retreated to Garnett Avenue and walked a few blocks just to enjoy the revelry. Before flagging down my ride I did some posting on Facebook, plus Colleen was texting me saying to inform her that I got home safely. As I did all this on my beloved BlackBerry, kids were walking past, then stopping, to watch me text.
One girl OMG'd. Another guy in a blue flannel shirt said to his friend in a red flannel shirt, "Bro, that guy with hooks is texting. No way, huh?" Two more guys walked past and one said, "Yo, dog, check out his arms."
Finally, a bare-chested kid with a tattooed necklace and a blue SD cap was walking with a group of guys and girls. The chicks giggled and the inked-up guy stopped and told me, "Excuse me but we noticed you texting with your, um, things. I just want to say, that is sick, bro. Can I ask what happened?" So I told him and it was all good. We fist-bumped. I love PB.
Today was the ideal lazy Sunday. We just sat and chilled and watched NFL football while I simultaneously read the sports page, Blue & Gold Illustrated, and Sports Business Journal. When the Niners and Lions coaches had a postgame tussle, I was tempted to blast Jim Harbaugh online because I really don't like him. But I thought back to just Friday, when my ripping of the Occupy Wall Street / Occupy San Diego movements caused such rancor - Slick Nick was pissed off and other people chimed in angrily on both sides - and I realized I didn't like causing such negativity. I stand by my comments, and I'm an opinionated guy, but I need to deliver them in better fashion to where it doesn't cause such friction. So I abstained from posting about Harbaugh, which is ok because every other sports commentator has opined all day.
The weekend ended smoothly. I read, I napped, I lifted, and followed all my fantasy and pick 'em point totals. More important we just relaxed and watched football, along with the Cardinals advancing to the World Series. At night we scarfed a pizza and watched the Bears rout the Vikings. It may not sound much to you but all this meant a lot to me. It was a good weekend. I have sports to thank.
It's my passion, my entertainment, and my profession. This weekend illustrated how sports really has impacted my life in myriad ways.
Friday night began with a happy hour at McCormick & Schmick's at the Omni across from beautiful PETCO Park. They have this great deal with cheeseburgers - for me, hold the cheese, please - for $2.50 and select beers half off. I went with Rossi and boy Joslin and as we watched the Brewers-Cardinals postseason game, we ruminated on work, relationships, and life. I love and respect these guys.
From there Shawny and I went to Horton Plaza, where we met up with D-Hanse, and saw Moneyball. I remember when my buddy Candy gave me the book in 2004 when I was desperately trying to break into the baseball biz on a full-time basis. She thought this may help me learn more about the industry. In a sense it did because it introduced me to Sandy Alderson and Paul DePodesta, who at the time were with the Oakland Athletics, and two years later all three of us were working in the Padres front office. The movie is not as statistical as the book but it is marvelous. In watching Brad Pitt (who was terrific) depict A's GM Billy Beane and Jonah Hill (equally sensational) play a character based on DePo, it reminded me how much I love and miss baseball season. It reminded me that I am blessed to work in this field, in this sport, in this cradle of memories and dreams fulfilled.
Shawn and I finished the evening with a nightcap at the new Tilted Kilt in Mission Valley, which neither of us had visited yet. It's cool, very spacious, and more sports bar-oriented than the downtown one. The chill of fall began to cloak the October air and Shawn and I took more time catching up.
I got home and eagerly looked forward to sleeping in. Let me be real. When you're younger, you want to hurry up and go out. As you get older, you want to hurry up and go out so you can return home and go to sleep. Mmmm, sleep.
The next day, with my Irish having a bye week, I really had no plans except to get a Fresh Fade. So at home we fired up a monstrous breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, and fruit and watched the close Michigan-Michigan State game. It took me back to days as a kid when I'd wake up and you'd smell bacon wafting and football blaring. As a kid I'd also devour the sports page and on Saturday I was doing the exact same thing, reading every article while checking on other college games on the tube. This may not be a thrilling or unusual story, but I loved it.
Now, after going to get my fade, I passed a Hispanic grocery store in National City and instantly my mind flooded back to 2008. It was at this store parking lot, on a gray early August day, on East 8th Avenue that we took Adrian Gonzalez for an autograph session. 1,500 people showed up - screaming, cheering, even crying if they couldn't get his autograph (and only about 500 could because of time constraints) and the dawn of Adrian as an MLB rock star began. It was weird to remember all that as soon as we passed by the now-tranquil parking lot.
Later yesterday evening I hopped on a bus, trolley, and bus to Pacific Beach for Colleen McDonald's birthday party. It was a wonderful night at Bub's Dive Bar, full of laughs, beer, college football on TV, and snapping pictures. I really appreciate McD because we've been friends since our Sport Management grad school program, where we met in 2006. Back then, I recall, we'd chat about her grandfather being a huge Notre Dame fan and how she and I had a mutual desire (as all the students in that program did) to have long careers in sports. Now our conversations are about marathons we've participated in (and she's worked), cohort mates getting married, and life's unpredictable journey. Just like Rossi with the Pads, I'm grateful athletics has given me this good friend.
After the night of fun I retreated to Garnett Avenue and walked a few blocks just to enjoy the revelry. Before flagging down my ride I did some posting on Facebook, plus Colleen was texting me saying to inform her that I got home safely. As I did all this on my beloved BlackBerry, kids were walking past, then stopping, to watch me text.
One girl OMG'd. Another guy in a blue flannel shirt said to his friend in a red flannel shirt, "Bro, that guy with hooks is texting. No way, huh?" Two more guys walked past and one said, "Yo, dog, check out his arms."
Finally, a bare-chested kid with a tattooed necklace and a blue SD cap was walking with a group of guys and girls. The chicks giggled and the inked-up guy stopped and told me, "Excuse me but we noticed you texting with your, um, things. I just want to say, that is sick, bro. Can I ask what happened?" So I told him and it was all good. We fist-bumped. I love PB.
Today was the ideal lazy Sunday. We just sat and chilled and watched NFL football while I simultaneously read the sports page, Blue & Gold Illustrated, and Sports Business Journal. When the Niners and Lions coaches had a postgame tussle, I was tempted to blast Jim Harbaugh online because I really don't like him. But I thought back to just Friday, when my ripping of the Occupy Wall Street / Occupy San Diego movements caused such rancor - Slick Nick was pissed off and other people chimed in angrily on both sides - and I realized I didn't like causing such negativity. I stand by my comments, and I'm an opinionated guy, but I need to deliver them in better fashion to where it doesn't cause such friction. So I abstained from posting about Harbaugh, which is ok because every other sports commentator has opined all day.
The weekend ended smoothly. I read, I napped, I lifted, and followed all my fantasy and pick 'em point totals. More important we just relaxed and watched football, along with the Cardinals advancing to the World Series. At night we scarfed a pizza and watched the Bears rout the Vikings. It may not sound much to you but all this meant a lot to me. It was a good weekend. I have sports to thank.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)