Final Posting for Tyrel Gonzos. Well for the seven of you that might see this post, it was fun while it lasted. I am hanging up the blogging crown on this site since it's too messed up (read dangerously illegal) to be helpful if I turn this into a real career or a reference for a career. If you click on the link for this posting you can find my tumblr account with some cool stuff I am doing at Gawker. For the retarded readers, here is the link for that tumblr account. Also, you can read my mainly sports postings over at my other blog here.
Now this might not be my final posting on this site, but for now I am keeping my long form writing to myself, and keeping the small stuff on tumblr or my other blogspot site. You can email if you have any questions or you just really want to have some dialogue with the unfamous Ceremony.
For now, just enjoy this picture of my favorite food in the world. The Rochester Garbage Plate.
I am not sure if I am supposed to be a social man. My old man is an introvert and my moms is an extrovert. Supposedly, I have inherited my moms personality and my old mans length (height you perverts). But sometimes, like today, nothing could be better than being alone and nothing could be worse. I have spent a large part of my adult life utterly convinced I was to die without being truly happy with what I do.
I started my internship today and it became a perfect Ceremony day. Now, I am far from perfect. In fact, many people, including my girlfriend and closest friends reserve the right to call me an absolute abomination of humanity. This is fine. I have come to grips with it. Sometimes, sadly, I relish in it. Well, because of my foibles, my seeming* peccadilloes, this day started with me wide awake...at six in the morning.
The night before, I had done everything possible to fall asleep early. I had gotten up at the ungodly hour of 11:00 in the AM. I had taken a Tylenol PM at 11:00 PM that same night. I had gotten high. I got high until getting high left only superficial effects. I had read instead of watching a movie or TV (reading always relaxes me and sends me to Morphean delights). I had not fallen asleep. The nervousness and excitement of this new internship just kept me awake and awake and awake.
I have lost my job (with little fanfare--thank God), and I am headed on the road to something better because of it. The internship, once I got there, was everything I had wanted it to be. It was fuckin' interesting. It was interesting in a way that no profession, few classes and even fewer drunken warblings have failed to elicit. I had an hour and a half of sleep, and I was emersed in it, that I did not eat, I did not surf the web, I did not even blog. It was so much that someone like me wants. It was still my first day.
After finishing my job at 5, I stayed until 7, and it wasn't some attempt at impressing my superiors (and they actually are), it was because I was really willing to do anything else they needed. I was and am hooked. After leaving work at 7 I headed uptown. I had no intention of doing anything except smoke a pipe, eat my first meal of the day, and going to bed.
Instead I went to the bar. My girl works there. I met her, realized I did not want to be in that bar right then and left (I sometimes bartend there and always feel uncomfortable getting free drinks mainly because I know that they probably shouldn't and I hate feeling like a free-loader). Anyways after things with Papawawa and Nonsequitur fell apart, I headed home...finally. Except, I wanted a fuckin' drink and liquor or beer never lasts long enough in my apartment for me to enjoy it when I get home.
I wanted a drink mainly to unwind and to stave off my exhuastion (I had taken a tequila shot at the bar I work for on Wednesdays, but it's fuckin' Cinco De Mayo, so I am not one to protest). I decide to go to the bar in the basement of my building. I do this more than I should, mainly because I love the tinkle of liquor and the loud outbursts of drunks. Sometimes I even prefer to go alone (although my friends are great to drink with). This is why I mentioned my parents almost opposite personalities in the opening (in case you thought that I was flying off on tangents because I was drunk--I am not). I go in, order some food and go up to my apartment. After smoking a pipe and taking a massive shit (ADD medication, coffee and cigarettes are laxatives like no other in history), I got back down to wait for my food in the bar. While sitting at the bar, I decide I should take another shot of tequila when someone offers me one without my prompting (few things I enjoy as much as a free shot from a stranger). I returned the favor and we ended up buying five shots for each other (I could not offord it, but what the hell).
Anyways, Artie, the ol' man who I was exchanging shots with railed against the new NBA. We exchanged anecdotes supporting his theory, and clasped hands as we said goodbye. I came home. I am writing this.
As ICE CUBE would say:
"Today was a good day."
*I say seeming because I do not think my faults are that bad, but everyone that knows me at all also knows that they are serious flaws that will eventually lead to my downfall.
In his most recent column today here Simmons ranks his top ten stages for hitting game winning shots and the subsequent reactions. I completely agree with all of them, and the last one (the top stage) could not be more accurate. My pops and I laughed about this all night after we saw the replays in '98. Larry Bird was a fuckin' assassin at the end of games, and hitting game winners in the playoffs or the regular season was just like showering at the end of games. He actually looked bored with it. He was that lethal. I don't normally crib someones entire spot in an article, but these just made me smile too much not to post about them. Check them out:
Stage 1: "I can't believe that went in, I'm going to jump around like a huge dork, and I am definitely getting laid tonight." (Best example: Any game-winner from a dorky shooting guard.)
Stage 2: "I have no idea how to act but I'm going to try to seem like I'm an assassin and do some preening, and you're going to hate me by the time I'm done." (Best example: The Iguodala example above or Ben Gordon's crotch grab in Game 4.)
Stage 3: "I'm going to try to seem like I meant to do this, but you'll know I'm rattled as soon as I blow my first three chest-bumps or stagger around like I'm drunk." (Best example: Any game-winner ever made by Patrick Ewing.)
Stage 4: "Even though I should be acting like I've been here before, I'm still going to jump around and completely lose my crap because I'm so freaking excited." (Best example: Reggie Miller running around like a chicken with its head cut off after his 3 in Game 4 of the Bulls series in '98.)
Stage 5: "I'm going to pretend to be Michael Jordan to the point that you will feel creepy." (Best example: Kobe's game-winner against the Suns in 2006 that recently made the slew of cool playoff commercials. We haven't seen an imitation that uncomfortable since Jennifer Jason Leigh got Bridget Fonda's haircut in "Single White Female.")
Stage 6: "I normally don't get excited, but that was just too damn cool. (Best example: Tim Duncan nailing the game-saving 3-pointer against Phoenix last spring, or John Stockton nailing the series-winner against the Rockets in '97.)
Stage 7: "I am not surprised this happened. I am really, really good and the moment needs to be commemorated in some way." (Best example: Dwyane Wade's steal and banker to beat Chicago, followed by Wade calmly running over to the scorer's table, hopping on it and staring at the fans. That was cool. Gotta hand it to him.)
Stage 8: Any Jordan game-winner from 1996-98 or any Bird game-winner from 1985-88. The defining "Come on, of course that was going in" guys of my lifetime.
Stage 9: Jerry West. Remember when West nailed the 60-footer to tie Game 3 of the NBA Finals in 1970? THE MAN DOESN'T FLINCH. No celebration, no fist pump, no smile. I'm not even sure his hair moved. But he did accept a few handshakes. So ...
Stage 10: Bird again. Remember when Reggie made that aforementioned 3-pointers in '98 against the Bulls when he hopped around like a pansy? The crowd explodes. His teammates go bonkers. It's complete chaos. NBA cuts to a replay of coach Bird's reaction. The Legend doesn't even blink. Just stands there. He couldn't be less impressed. Wake me up when someone else gets to Stage 10. (See, everything comes back to Larry Bird.)
Here is the video. Pay special attention when they show Bird's reaction:
No this is not some link about an informant in Boston. It's actually about Rats. According to the Boston Herald report rats are growing in Brighton and Allston. Some are incredibly large as well. Oh No! Harvard, a bastion of snobbishness and the easiest targets when I go out to drink in Boston, seems to be the culprit. Of course they deny this (I hate people that got into better schools than I did).
...neighbors blame the rodents on the massive hole Harvard began digging a year ago to build a five-acre science project.
“I have been here for five years and I have never seen a rat before, until last fall,” said Gallagher. “That seems like an obvious reason for the rats. It’s an unbelievable hole in the earth.”
But Harvard officials strongly refute that the construction of its 530,000-square-foot science complex along Western Avenue has had any role in the rat infestation.
Of course all public officials fail to blame Harvard
“We are very confident that the science complex is not the source of these problems,” said Harvard community liaison Kevin McCluskey. He said the university took extensive steps before construction began to wipe out any existing rats at the site by baiting, gassing or trapping them, and installed 90 rodent-monitoring stations around the perimeter.
The city’s Inspectional Services Department “wiped out some major colonies” at the Harvard site, said chief health inspector John Meaney, adding that it was hard to say if some rats fled the area and took up residence elsewhere. “We can’t tell you where every rat came from,” said Meaney, adding that Harvard “did an excellent job” going after the vermin.
But the residents in these communities know the truth
Jennifer Mangenella, 39, said she has lived on Bayard Street her whole life and never saw a rat until last summer, shortly after earth movers began digging at the Harvard site a block from her house. Now her neighbor’s black cat, Klondike, drags home one to two dead rats a day.
Thank God Voldemort lives in the Back Bay. I had my share of rats in DC. They are impossible to get rid of. They are like bigger cockroaches that can survive anything. Here's hoping that residents in Allston and Brighton start taking their anger out on pretentious Harvard students.
Since I wrote such a long post about basketball, and since Renews spent so much time lambasting the NBA and extolling the virtues of Canada's national sport, I thought I would post about the NHL for him (or his girlfriend who is a HUGE Devils fan sorry). Sudden interest in hockey and a new girlfriend for Renews(coincidence? hmmm). Anyway, her Devils had a rough time of it last night IN A GAME SEVEN! I didn't even know that Carolina had a hockey team, but they do and they are called the Hurricanes. The Carolina Hurricanes shocked the Devils last night in last 1:20 of action in game seven. Martin Brodeur has had a historic season and career, but he will probably be remembered for this terrible game seven where he let in two goals in just a minute and twenty seconds. It was also a game seven, so that's it. Although, it will be nice not to hear about hockey anymore from Renews, I feel bad for his girlfriend, who really does bleed Devils blood. Don't' watch this video girl.
