The Daily Derenger

6/27/2002

I took my godson, Gary, to his first Cubs' game yesterday. He's 6 and just finished his first year of tee-ball. A Cubs' game seemed like the perfect birthday gift. We were there early for batting practice. A ball came near us. My dumb ass was on the phone and missed the opportunity to snag the ball. At Gary's first game, a ball would have left such a great and indellible memory with him. Now he thinks his Uncle Scott is lame, talking on the phone to some chick who had never given him the time of day. And why would he think differently? I missed the ball. I'm a schmuck. At least he saw home runs hit and Sammy Sosa. Even though the Cubs lost, Gary had a great time. He had a hot dog and his dad and I drank an Old Style. Only a seat in the bleachers would have made it better. That would've brought a lot of explaining from us though.

I want to be a beer vendor. And we all have dreams. But this wouldn't be my dream. Rather, it would be a source of income and much comedy. I wouldn't even have to sell beer. Peanuts would be fine. But beer would be the best money. Imagine that? I already get paid to tell jokes while drinking beer. I could also get paid to make more jokes, be obnoxious, and sell beer.

I wouldn't want to sell much else though. Like the strawberry smoothie guy. That guy hates life. He went for the job to sell beer. Or maybe even Pepsi. Instead, he gets a pink cooler-bag filled with some frozen concoction . "Hey beer man" being yelled by and at you sounds great at a ball game. The more they drink, the more I'd yell and make jokes, and the more cash I'd make. Hearing "Hey smoothie man" would have me wanting to punch a nun in the head.

Gary did see his Uncle Scott hit on a hot, older woman though. She was 38 and from NYC with a Mets cap on while also being a brunette with a phenomenal body. Women who look good in a baseball cap are hot. This just added to her near perfection. With that said, she thought I was 34. "What," I emphatically questioned. I then guessed her at 45. I felt she deserved it . It was like chatting with one of the "Sex in the City" ladies. Amy was better looking though. She even let me finish her beer while she went to the ladies' room. Now she's in Jamaica. But for one day in Chicago, she was laughing with me. Gary saw this, thought I was cool, and forgot about the ball I missed. I hope.

6/25/2002

I saw Poison Sunday night. The 80's glam-rock band that rocked the decade and my youth. It gets better. Their opening acts were, in order from first to third: Faster Pussycat, Winger, and Cinderella. There were mullets with bandanas everywhere. Women in their late 30's and 40's flashing their "yuck" while squeezing into jeans and shorts they wore when the bands were regulars on MTV. That was 15 years ago.

All four bands were awesome. Ironically, I wasn't into Faster Pusscat. Never heard a thing they did. We drank while they played. $7 beers. Highway fuckin' robbery. Winger and Cinderella played their hits. I played the air guitar to about two songs each. And then held up a lighter for the others three. Monster ballads kick ass.

I had seen Cinderella once before in their prime (yes they even had one). My 3 big-hair bands of the 80's were Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, and Poison. The 2 formers I saw years ago. Poison I was hoping to see to achieve my nealy perfect, musical white trash trifecta. Mission accomplished. I was a huge fan as a teen-ager but then when grunge and hip hop took off, glam rock was done. Then "Behind the Music" came out and the 80's bands had another stage so to speak. I've seen all their stories about 12 times each. Sex, drugs, and rock n' roll - to the 87th power.

6/24/2002

Gambling sucks. Well, I guess it's just when you lose that it sucks. I've never been much of a gambler. I have no money to gamble with. On top of that, whatever money I have come across in my days has been gotten through hard work generally. I've never quite figured out why I would be asked to chance that money at a game of cards or if the Dolphins will cover.

I lost my ass in roulette over the weekend. I had to find another way home. The ass had become the house's. I had never played roulette. It was a Saturday night at the Elgin, IL casino and the circus must've let out just before I got there. There were people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. At the table I was at for a game, there was a black man, two Indian men, an Asian woman, a couple from Europe, and me. I was't sure if we were gambling or having a United Nations conference.

Cyndi was with me and got me hooked on the game. "Red 14 is gonna hit," she kept telling me. It never did. And I have the negative hundred bucks to prove it. Roulette is like playing Twister with money. There's strangers pushing and sliding chips all over the table in an attempt at getting the most plays on the board. The serious players are totally nuts, almost obsessive.

I have to go to bed now. I'm not in the mindset to write because I have to figure out where my ass is and how my car insurance is gonna be paid. Damnit to hell that Red 14.