Short, tall, true, and semi true tales about a young boy growing up in upstate New York.
Firecrackers, gun powder, matches, Estes rocket engines, and gasoline. When you are 10 years old, all of these things are like magic. Man has always fought for the control of fire, and still does. From flaming bags of dog poop at Halloween to roadside bombs in Afghanistan, we have used our mastery of fire as […]
Doctor My Eyebrows Read More »
Punkinhead Avery lived around the corner from me in a two family duplex with his Gramma and his idiot younger brother, Carl. We all knew his name was Punkinhead because his Gramma would walk out onto the porch at least once a day and scream Punkinhead!! Punkinhead Avery, you get your ass home right now!
Baseball!! The greatest of all sports. As a young lad, I remember rising up at the dawns early light, mounting my trusty banana bike, and spending most of the morning gathering the gang for a baseball game over at the Crescendoe Road sand lot across from my house. I do want to clarify that the following
Big Joe Torre lines out Read More »
Just recently, I read with great glee about the demise of one of our old neighborhood bullies. I resisted the urge to photobomb his funeral, as well as the urge to go and take a huge dump on his grave. The obituary sang the praises of this douche wad from my youth as well as
You know, when I ‘‘twas a wee lad, I had a VW bug, followed by two VW microbuses. They was the greatest years of my life. And then, suddenly, I see that VW is resurrecting an all electric version of that wondrous icon of my yoot. It is kismet my friend. It is truly s
I Think That This Might Be IT Read More »
So there I am at the top of Crescendoe Road Hill parked on the seat of my green Schwinn Banana Bike. Yes I do date myself don’t I. Next to me is John Luft, seated atop his equally mighty banana bike. For those of you who have not a friggin’ clue as to what a
Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On Read More »
Every neighborhood has a cast of characters. Strangely, certain events get tied to a person and they are forever remembered for some small character flaw or inane statement that they might have made. That’s probably how serial killers get their nicknames. In my neighborhood there was this feller named Tim Vose, whose nickname was King
Now I am not saying that my brother is in any way physically flimsy, so let’s get that straight right up front. It is just that, when you are a kid, a couple of years difference is huge. Not so much as you get older, more on that later. So there was this time, when
I Want to Ride My Bicycle Read More »
Ya gotta jump down, turn around, and pick a bale of weed. You know, when you are little, immortality is an assumed state. Such is the case with the creator as a young boy. We used to climb up to the very peak of the garage roof, and leap into the snow bank some 20
I am not a crook or a trouble maker for that matter. Some event occurred in second grade to which the details are not entirely clear. It may have been note passing, note reading, booger picking, booger sticking, or any number of offenses punishable by having your pee pee whacked. The end result was a
