In 1992 I went to culinary school in Baltimore.
After school I worked at Ocean City Burgers and Fries, at the Inner Harbor. After work was a long walk to my car in little Italy.
I had just passed Sabatino’s restaurant when I noticed three tall young black men coming toward me.
The one in the middle reached up and sprayed my face. I covered my face with my hands. I backed up and faced them, but I couldn’t see.
In an instant two Italian guys ran up and started swinging crowbars. They all ran off around the corner and I was alone. In the dark, eyes burning.
The two guys who saved me came walking back and the short one says,
“Why didn’t you hit the motherfucker?”
I told them I couldn’t see. They took me into their home,
helped me wash my eyes, and gave me two cream filled cannoli.
Those thugs were lucky. If I would’ve gotten my hands on my chef’s knife, I would have turned them into chopped liver.
Summer is ending fast, so I decided to do my yearly swim from pole to pole at Greenbriar Lake.
The swimming area was crowded, so I swam out to the deep rope and started my lengthy swim.
Soon, I realize that people are moving to get in my way. I understand my family and friends treating me badly, but is the general public against me too?
I’m confronting all my enemies head on these days, so I splashed an old lady in the face, and, with an extra kick, passed by another woman and her ugly husband and then grabbed the final rope. I made it. As I walked through this strange group of people, I left them a salty trail of my urine. If they drank some so be it.
I must confess that at the age of eighteen I suffered an episode of road rage.
I was going 55 mph in the slow lane when I saw coming at me, very fast, maybe 85mph, a white Mercedes Benz. It came right up behind me, swerved at the last second, barely missing me and then went on by.
I saw it was a woman wearing a fancy wide-brimmed hat.
I went temporarily insane and floored the gas peddle of my VW Beetle.
I was able to pull up beside her. I lowered my window, raised my middle finger and screamed,
“Eat shit, Bitch!”
She was a very old lady and I startled her.
She pulled off the road, went into the grass and slid sideways.
I didn’t stop to help. If she got hurt it was my fault.
I felt bad for nearly one hour.
I think that what really made me mad was, when she swerved around me,
I dropped the piece of pizza I was eating onto the floor.
My life is usually pretty good.
Every now and then some bad news or a health scare can make things tough.
This is when I have to keep a stiff upper lip, batten down the hatches, pull up my bootstraps, and summon up that inner courage to get through.
This week I have to get a biopsy on my kidney.
This test will determine what is causing so much damage to my kidneys.
Afterwards I have to wait six hours to see if the kidney stops bleeding properly.
I am hoping that there are some cute nurses, and I’m going to ask if I can spend the six hours in the cafeteria.
I was typing another great blog on my laptop when I noticed
my dog was sitting on his rear end and sliding his butt across
my freshly vacuumed bedroom carpet. I googled, dog is sliding butt
on carpet and l learned that this is called scooting. I also made a note to get carpet cleaned.
To my chagrin I found out that his butt could be infected. Hair removal, and a
stream of warm water applied to this area was what the internet ordered. I know my
dog and his high strung ways. When I grabbed his tail I had my oven mitten on. I raised his tail and shot water into his butt I expected him to give me a bite. Unbelievably, he seemed to
enjoy this. and there was a smile on his face, and I couldn’t stop his tail from wagging.
The scooting stopped, the vet bill was avoided. The operation was a success.