It is Sunday, August 12th, around 330pm. The sun is shining. The sky is blue, and nearly cloudless. It is, in short, a beautiful day. A beautiful day to die.
I am 10,000 feet above a cornfield in the middle of nowhere, CT. I am inside the belly of a "plane". I say "plane" because this vehicle is small enough to taxi into the average 2-car garage. It is basically a pilot's seat and a cubbyhole inside a thin aluminum shell. Consequently, the "plane" is shaking rather violently as it makes its slow ascent. Violent shaking, it turns out, is not behavior you want to experience when riding a plane.
It is also cold, because the "door" of the "plane", which is a piece of transparent plastic with a handle on it, is wide open. A crazy man with a parachute is standing by the door cracking jokeOH MY GOD HE HAS JUST FALLEN OUT OF THE "PLANE"!!!
No, no, wait, there's nothing to worry about; apparently he meant to do that. It seems that particular point in empty space was just the point he wanted out at. I guess when it's your time, you've got to go.
Me, I'm suddenly experiencing my first moment of: hey, is it possible that voluntarily falling out of a plane from 13,500 feet while strapped into a another man's groin is a dumb idea? We've still got another 3,500 feet to climb, which, since I'm riding in The Little "Plane" That Could, is going to take awhile, so I have plenty of time to reflect on how I got here...
Gracie's, 86th and 1st ave, Friday afternoon, circa May '07
Me, Ed, MK, Tom, and Alex are seated around a table after that most glorious of traditions, friday basketball. Now, you may be smugly thinking to yourself, "Wow, basketball with a bunch of high-powered SAT tutors- must be a lot of fun!" To which I say, resoundingly, "Yes!", because although we are too short and slow to really score, we are also too short and slow to really play defense, so it all nets out and the games are in fact a lot of fun. Plus we have MK, who once toured with the Harlem Globetrotters and thus knows cool tricks.
Aside...
Personally, though I always loved Friday basketball, it was a little frustrating that we never once played any other sport, because since we never played any other sport, I can only assume that my compatriots think I have all the athleticism of a chimpanzee on quaaludes. Which is totally unfair- I have all the athleticism of a chimpanzee that's high on life.
Although I can play football, soccer, softball, and volleyball at levels ranging from "competent" to "pretty good", after four years of Friday basketball and a lot of patient tutelage by MK, the best I can say is that I'm within striking distance of mediocrity. But in my defense, prior to Friday basketball about 80% of my basketball experience occurred on the courts of inner city StL, where the game is played according to the following rules:
1) Teams: a team shall consists of one (1) Large Black Man (LBM), 6'2" to 6'8" in height, and anywhere from one to twelve kids.
2) Offense: If you are an LBM, you will wait for the ball, and upon receiving it, attempt to dunk it over the other team's LBM. If you are a kid, and acquire the ball, you will immediately give it up to your LBM. (see 'Crimes and Misdemeanors' below)
3) Defense: If you are an LBM, you will attempt to prevent the other team's LBM from dunking over you, as this will result in a one point gain for the other team and a 1000 point testosterone loss for you. If you are a kid, you will attempt to acquire the ball by any means necessary, including physical violence. Upon acquisition, you are now on Offense (see (2) above).
4) Crimes and Misdemeanors: If you are an LBM, this does not apply to you. If you are a kid, the following actions constitute crimes:
4A) Dribbling. This crime ranges in severity. For instance, if you are dribbling while your LBM is occupied by fighting for position under the basket, it is a misdemeanor offense punishable typically by scowling from the LBM. If you are dribbling while your LBM is waiting for the ball, this is a 3rd degree offense punishable by a lot of angry yelling. If you are dribbling and it leads to a turnover, this is a 2nd degree offense punishable by yelling and threats of brutality. Note that any appeals for clemency based on identifying physical violence by a defender as the primary cause of the turnover, even if such appeals are evidenced by blood or injury, will be universally denied, as you should have given the ball up to your LBM immediately (see (2) 'Offense' above). Multiple offenders will be forcibly ejected from the game.
4B) Shooting. There is never an excuse for this. A shot that results in a 'bucket' is a 2nd degree offense. A shot that results in a miss is a 1st degree offense. Due to the particularly heinous nature of missed shots, multiple offenders will almost certainly be beaten before being forcibly ejected from the game.
This is the game of basketball as I learned it. As a result, when I first showed up to Friday basketball, I played an aggressive, high-contact form of defense. On offense I was clueless, since I had no idea what to actually do with a basketball when I had one other than to look around immediately for a large black man to throw it at. Which was a problem, given that I was playing with a bunch of small-ish white men. So, on those occasions when someone passed me the ball, I found myself overwhelmed by a number of different internal reactions, including:
a) paralysis, since there was no LBM to pass to
b) fear of holding onto the ball, since this had historically resulted in being at a bare minimum violently stripped of the ball, and
c) fear of shooting the ball, since this had historically resulted in an airball and a beating.
Consequently, in those early days, people would pass to me presumably expecting that I would either pass, dribble, or shoot, and not just stand there clutching the ball with a look of terror on my face. And so, when I say that I'm now within striking distance of mediocrity, what I'm talking about is being near the end of a long, hard journey.
Anyway, back to the story...
Lunch after Friday basketball is also a grand tradition. My ex-girlfriend Nacole once asked me if she could come to Friday basketball lunch, and the conversation went something like:
N: "So can I come??"
Me: "Uh, well, you _could_ come, but I don't think it would be a great idea..."
N: "WHY? What is it you guys talk about that I can't hear??"
Me: "It's not that you _can't_ hear it, it's just that... listen... here's how Friday basketball lunch goes. Basically, for an hour there will be nothing but dirty jokes, sexist remarks, flatulence, impugning/lampooning of someone's manhood, and during every break in the conversation MK will call someone gay."
(MK is burdened by a tragic feeling of loneliness resulting from his fervent belief that he is a lone island of heterosexuality floating in a vast sea of gayness).
N: "Whatever. You guys are ridiculous."
Me: "Yes! Now you're getting it!"
So, conversation has taken an unusual break from the routine of dirty jokes, sexist remarks, etc., when someone, possibly Ed, says: "Hey, we should go play paintball sometime."
Paintball? There is a moment of silence while we all digest this. You mean run around and shoot at each other with GUNS? What an AWESOME fucking idea!!
At this point MK jumps in and says, "Carrie and I went skydiving a few weeks ago. It was pretty cool. We should do that. Oh, and Ed- you're gay."
Now things are really going. Tom throws in that if we do it on a weekend, we can go to his parents' house on Long Island and his mom will cook for us. She's Italian, and can really cook. MK throws in that we can go up to his house in CT, and his mom, who is Filipino, will cook for us and let us stay overnight. And Alex throws in that we can go to _his_ parents' house in CT, and _his_ mom, who is French, will cook for us and let us stay over.
At this point, I have contributed nothing to the conversation since I have neither any crazy activities in mind that we should do, nor a local mom to cook awesome food for us. So I do the only thing I can, which is to be like the guy in the commercial who pounds the beer on the TV and says, "Let's do both!" So I outline a plan in which we go to Long Island Friday night for dinner at Tom's, crash there, play paintball Saturday morning, go to MK's house for dinner, crash there, go skydiving Sunday morning, and then go to Alex's house for dinner there. We'll do it all, in one glorious weekend.
And that was the genesis of my last weekend in NYC.
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