Saturday, June 30, 2007

Great Balls of Fire

There was just another fire on my street tonight. From what the whacked-out neighbors say, it’s the third in the past few months. I think each one was within a football field from my bedroom. From what I can gather, bare with me… it’s 4 am, a garage was caught on fire. I don’t mean to sound ignorant but how does a garage catch on fire at this point in the night? I will discount what the children who roam the sidewalk say tomorrow.

Those neighbors I spoke of spun me some pretty incredible conspiracy stories. A lot of nods to crack, name calling and the like. Look at me, I write the word CRACK and the phrase ‘the like’ in the same fucking sentence. Cleveland summers do this to a dude.

One guy said it was time to get the fuck out. I agree. I used to think I lived in some kind of bohemian utopia. Exposed brick streets, flowers growing on my fence, sex offenders living near by... I was ready to retire. No longer. Fire, crack and racial slurs… yeah, I think I am out.

I have never smoked crack. I, unfortunately, know people who have. One such asshole lived above me. This neighborhood seems to be soaked in it. Fuck, can you be soaked in rocks? It seems so.

Anyway. This all seems kind of great to me. What better a way to kill a Friday night, post-work? More stories to tell and more land bombs I have survived.

And another thing I LOVE about this… Weird neighborhood bickering. I’ve never been a home owner but I suspect this is kind of like a ghetto Desperate Housewives. Instead of complaining about a picket fence too close to my garden, I am stuck between white trash and crack addicts. All they can argue about is which one is worse and all I can think about is how awesome life is when caught in the middle with no loyalty… only concern for my wrestling DVD collection.

Oh, and the last story I heard tonight was about a young girl throwing a Mountain Dew bottle with a LIVE snake inside it into a pool… well, that’s just pure Cleveland legend.

Take my city... PLEASE! hahahaha

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Are You a Star or something?

On my way out of the parking lot of Dave’s Market this evening, I was approached by a heavy set black woman. She called me honey which I liked and she seemed to be stuck there. When she got to the window of my rusty Buick Lesabre, she said something to the effect of:

‘Ooooh you’re pretty! Are you a star or something? Whoooo.’

She took about forty cents from me after telling me the she knew I had a dollar bill somewhere.

Thought I’d share that.

Sunday, June 3, 2007


This past Saturday was a big night for Cleveland. Sports fan or not, we all must appreciate what this means for our city. The attention, the anticipation and the bond it gives us. I knew something huge was happening as soon as my phone started ringing. New York, Missouri, calls came from across the country (well…really just those two calls). Cleveland had proved itself.

I went down to the Gateway Plaza at halftime after sinking a ton of beers at the Garage. Nothing says Cleveland sports like a case of beer in your system. There was no way I could have been prepared for the sight I saw. Thousands of Cavs fans going nuts, the good kind of freak-the-fuck out and party nuts. To make things even stranger, there wasn’t any beer for sale and people didn’t seem to miss it (sans me, I searched and searched for booze, to no avail. I was too late, supply and demand). Weird.

You all know about the game. Who won, who lost. I won’t bore you. BUT I have to point out how amazing my chants were. I started a pretty healthy ‘Boobie’ chant in honor of Gibson (and was the first in my section to be smart enough to chant the title of this blog) but it was the ‘Fuck Rasheed!’ rally cry (sparked as he walked to the locker room after being ejected in the fourth) that I am most proud of. Getting large groups of people to follow along in bad behavior is a healthy hobby of mine. Sure there were children in attendance but innocence has to die sometime. They will never forget the first time they heard a grown man curse a professional athlete.

Ditching downtown after the game in favor of a little less claustrophobic Ohio City, I witnessed something better than a Lebron drunk: poor parenting. After a little boy ate shit on the Lorain/Carnegie bridge and fell toward traffic, his mother dropped him half way through picking him up to yell ‘yeaaah!’ at a convoy of basketball fans who decided it was proper to yell ‘Go Cavs!’ at a fallen child. This is what I love about our town.

Other notable shit: *Some dude rolling in the back of an SUV rocking a flashing red, white and blue grill. That needs to be sent to the troops in Iraqi. *A girl getting out of her car while in traffic on West 25th, jumping on the hood of her car and dancing while a guy from the following vehicle ran around with a bottle of Grey Goose in hand. *A thirty-something year old man, ghost riding his truck down the street. Everyone on the sidewalk waved.

It’s a day latter. You can’t turn on the television or open up a newspaper with out seeing or hearing about the Cavaliers and how rad it is to live in Cleveland right now. I’m not sure winning the eastern finals makes property values rise but it’s pretty fucking cool anyway. I don’t care, I rent.

Everyone is happy and that’s a rare thing.

I’m proud; as a sports fan, a Cavaliers fan and, most importantly, as a Clevelander. Pop in that patriotic grill and smile for once. Cleveland is doing something other than killing people and making steel.