My wife and I are overwhelmed most of the time. They outnumber us and need a lot. So when we found ourselves down at the beach on Sunday having just dropped off the two little ones with my in-laws for a few days (the older girls are tearing it up in Cali with my Mom), it hit us like a ton of bricks: WE ARE AT THE BEACH WITH NO CHILDREN AND NO RESPONSIBILITIES EXCEPT TO MAYBE PUT ON PANTS SOME OF THE TIME! Why are we driving back to Charlotte to do chores around the house? Straight to Wrightsville Beach to check in at the Blockade Runner. I texted the BRR fellas to see who would cover for me at Horsey. I really didn’t want to include Fish on the text because I know Monday is his rest day and that he would never say no. Of course, he said yes. Feeling like I was asking for too much I told him not to worry about the backblast, I would cover that. The return text:
I received a note from Horsehead and Chelms at beginning of Horsey season (as they attempted and failed to recruit me) that the Q is not required to post so long as Q writes a BB. You’re the best in the business (well, asidefrom me and a few other guys) so like, you’re the 7th best in the business. Write the shit out of that thing!
But the Horsey Sheriffs wouldn’t let him off the hook so easy. Apparently he was peppered with emails and texts threatening to cut off “unused appendages” or “drop the kids off in your pool while you are sleeping”. Sounds like some rough customers. Fish succumbed to the pressures and posted this beauty:
“IT’S A HAND PHONE!” will forever replace, “MA… THE MEATLOAF!” in my hanging with the fellas, shenanigans based lexicon.
But my word is my bond, and Horsey rulez matter, so here I am. After the performance above by Fish, and Slaughter and Cindy’s offerings this week, I humbly submit, without further ado, my 2019 Horsey BB. 7th best may be a stretch, but what I lack in quality, I always make up for in word count.
And away we go…
The good ol’ days, the good ol’ days, everybody’s talkin’ ’bout the good ol’ days…
a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.“I was overcome with acute nostalgia for my days in college”
synonyms: wistfulness, longing/yearning/pining for the past, regret, regretfulness, reminiscence, remembrance, recollection, homesickness, sentimentality“there is a nostalgia for traditional values”
something done or presented in order to evoke feelings of nostalgia.“an evening of TV nostalgia”
It’s such an odd word. Definition 1 above might lead one to believe that it has a positive connotation. But then look at the synonyms: regret, homesickness, longing, yearning. Is it sad? Wistfulness… definitely that. Melancholy comes to mind.
Don Draper said: it’s delicate, but potent. Teddy told me that in Greek, “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound.” It’s a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone.
Oof, yeah, that sounds about right too.
I have nostalgia? I am nostalgic? Which one is it? Don’t know, but I have been feeling it lately.
I was at my Mom’s house last month, the house I grew up in. I had to be in NYC for work on Monday so decided to fly up Sunday for a quick visit. It was nice to do it alone. Normally that would be a trip with the whole crew. No time to be nostalgic with 4 screaming kids in tow. My Mom had my last remaining box of crap that had been pulled out of the basement. Do or die. Take it or leave it. You either want it or it goes on the curb on trash day. Interesting. I won’t be able to bring this home because my wife has no time or patience for nostalgia and no space to put a box of old shit. This would have to get pared down to the essentials.
I still remember the commercial on TV, narrated by a guy who must have been gargling a combination of gravel, vinegar, and piss before bed every night. “One night only, MONSTER TRUCK MADNESS AT THE NASSAU COLLISEUM. COME SEE GRAVEDIGGER, BIGFOOT, AND A 100 FOOT TALL FIREBREATHING MEGATRON!!!!”. Man… if only I could get to that show. I must have mentioned it to my Mom and she said, “well, that’s right around your birthday, do you want that to be your party?”. FUCK AND YES I DO. We didn’t have much growing up and I remember thinking that she must have been breaking the bank to make this happen. But make it happen she did, and I felt like the baddest kid on the planet when I was allowed to invite 4 or 5 friends to ride in the family van out to Long Island to watch this tomfoolery. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you won’t find a quality mullet north of the Mason-Dixon line…
Fast forward to the spring of 1995 when I went to that same Nassau Coliseum to see the Beastie Boys on their Ill Communication tour. This time it was my big brother driving the family van full of a bunch of snot nosed punks ready to bust some shit wide open….
That takes me to the next summer when I drove the family van with my little sister in tow to Lollapalooza on Randall’s Island. She was certainly not old enough to be at Lollapalooza with Metallica as the headliner. But I’ll be damned if we didn’t roll a fatty right there in front of the stage and make sure she got corrupted the proper way, amongst family… circle of life…
See, that’s how nostalgia works, one memory triggers another, triggers another, and before you know it you’re down the rabbit hole…
They sold all kinds of gems like this print on St. Marks Place. I was probably 14 or 15 and I’d take the train to Grand Central and then head downtown for t-shirts, posters, mix tapes, sunglasses. I remember I bought a pair of gold ones just like Clarence Worley wore in True Romance. Never found a girl quite like Alabama though. The City was still gritty back then. My sister talked the bouncer at the Limelight to let her kid brother in, you couldn’t walk ten steps in Washington Square Park without hearing “Smoke, smoke, you need smoke?”, you could get two slices and a Snapple for $2.50. Fat Beats, The Big Enchilada, Tower Records, Gray’s Papaya. What a time to be alive…
But also feelings of angst and loneliness and being heartbroken about some girl that didn’t feel the same way. I guess that’s what 15 feels like. But having the city there to escape always felt special. The anonymity. The city doesn’t care who you are or what your problem is, just keep walking fast with your head down and you can be a part of the team.
This one is courtesy of good old Grandma Q. Grandpa (Romeo Quaranta, no shittin’, that’s his name) worked as an audio guy for CBS for 127 years. He was in the 18th tower with Ken Venturi and Pat Summerall in the glory days. Then with Jim Nantz in Jim’s early years #hellofriends. So Grandma used to get to go to Augusta every year and got a grounds pass to get into the place. Here we have the 1987 map that was distributed to the Patrons (don’t you dare call them fans) along with her badge (that blue thing that I hardly got in the picture). Frankly, this isn’t my nostalgia. Grandma never took me to Augusta. I only got to go to the Manufacturer’s Hanover Trust Westchester Classic aka the Barclay’s aka the Northern Trust Open which Tiger just withdrew from today! So this is Grandma’s nostalgia. How do I know that? Because two weekends before this I was hanging with GQ down in Wilmington and she said “Daniel, do you still have the program I gave you from the Masters with the badge that I had the golfers’ sign. That could be worth money someday”. “Yeah Grandma”, I lied, “I still have that.” Well hot damn, I wasn’t lying. Found two weeks later in a box of shit. So someone make a bid and let’s make Grandma’s dreams come true.
Again with Grandma Q. I have only questions:
How did GQ find herself face to face with Dom Deluise some time during the 1980s?
Why did GQ have a glossy 8×5 head shot of Dom Deluise at her disposal at the time of that fateful meeting?
What was going through GQ’s mind, who mind you, has 15 grandchildren, to single me out as the one that would most appreciate a personalized signed headshot of this man?
Again, highest bidder.
What does any of this have to do with Horsey? Nothing really, just felt like sharing.
Although if Don Draper’s quote about nostalgia doesn’t describe what brings us idiots back out to that godforsaken neighborhood every summer, I don’t know what does. Season’s almost over. If you haven’t done it yet, ya best get to steppin’.