Play Calvinball

This is too good not to post.

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/story?page=caple/070829

The last line is... epic.

The last few months, I've been working for Ferd, who owns and operates a home retractable awning company called Eclipse Awning Systems. It's a very seasonal business, with the high volume time between St. Patrick's Day and Independence Day. Ever since then, it's been an explosion of boredom and I've had a front row seat to the sheer awesomeness of having nothing to do. Here is my story...

Alright, so let me provide a layout to the office so everyone is with me:

Key: Triangle = Door / Line = Wall / Circle = Desk

So as you can see, I am tucked away in my little corner, with only files and the fax machine next to me. For the most part, I am hidden from the rest of the office... which actually made these posts poss-

On second thought, I don't wanna talk about this. Let's pick something else...

What the hell is wrong with Greyhound? I mean how do you fuck up a bus?

Last time I came down to DC, this is what I figured out: Take a bus from New Paltz to NYC, then hop another bus from NYC to DC, of the $35 round trip variety. This sounded too good to be true... which it turned out to be because I routinely made into a bitch by this dog.

So the New Paltz bus station is... small. It's about the size of the small classrooms at the GW Academic Center but like 40 years older. And they force some poor kid to sit inside this asbestos filled room, catching rats for lunch and cockroaches as a side dish, to deal with the cream of the societal crop, bus patrons.

Anyway, some small rural bus company picks you up and it's always the same guy, hating his job and his standard issued employee shirt... even though if I saw it in a Salvation Army for $1 I'd probably buy it. But, can you really blame him for loathing his job? He's getting paid to sit in traffic and travel to the worst driving city in the area. I mean sure, after a while you're used to it, but you'd still, given the chance, run over some pretentious fucker in a Benz who just cut you off.

But besides getting stuck in traffic heading into the Lincoln Tunnel, and watching the social experiment that is "The Bottleneck," NP to NYC isn't all that bad. Once you hit Port Authority... SEEEWWWWWW EH! That's a doosy.

First, I gotta give Port Authority credit. It's not dirty by any stretch of the imagination and the hobo contingency is either subdued or non-existent. The funny part about the place, however, is the disintegration of standards as you go down in floors. Second floor is nicer with more restaurants and bars but it's typically pretty low traffic. Ground floor is full of eateries and people, as well as the Greyhound and Peter Pan and Spic and Span ticket desks. It is easily the highest traffic area for this is where you also head to catch the Subway and also where hobo's hang out, willing to carry bags or dance a jig for loose change.

But... BUT... the basement. Definitely NOT the Boom-Boom room. This is where all (or at least most) of the gates are for the buses. And by gate, I mean a electronic sensor sliding glass door... that is opened by hand because it's one of the many things broken or falling apart or just fucked up in this place. So, you head down the escalator to the Greyhound area and it reminds me of something like Thunderdome. It's hot, crowded, shoddily thrown together and the mantra of "Two men enter, One man leaves" can apply to a variety of situations.

Typically, I am there too early and have to wait too long because I missed the bus I intended on taking because of traffic getting into NYC so (along with no cell phone reception), I have some time to observe my surroundings. They have screens that show the schedule... but it's from 6:00am to 7:30am for March 4, 1997. They have places to wait in line... but not a single seat anywhere. They have times listed above each gate of departure times... but it's a friggin crapshoot anyway so it doesn't really matter. Anyway, if you're majoring in Psychology or Sociology, hang out at Port Authority and observe some of these crazy bastards. Cause you're bound to run into...

- The Loud Obnoxious NYer who demands to know where the bus is every 8 minutes
- The Group of Foreigners who wait on the wrong line for over an hour
- The Illiterate Elderly couple who can't sit still and are always looking for the bathroom so they can empty their colostomy bag.
- The Guy who packed all his belongings in a garbage bag
- The Kid with too many electronics

Oh, and the one person you're more than likely NOT going to run into? Anyone remotely attractive.

PS I need to live a more exciting life where I actually recount fun events as opposed to formulating nonsensical rants like the one you just read...

This comes straight from the "In Case You Didn't Know" section of the Croce Gazette.

In somewhere from 7-14 days from now (depending on ticket cost and whether or not I have to save Ferd's ass by working in the warehouse for another week), I will be on a plane with a good amount of my possessions headed to San Francisco, CA.

I'll give you a minute to digest that... and for me to digest my heavily processed cereal bar.

Now there are a couple of reasons for this move that you will not be privy to mostly because I don't like you. However, the main reason is that I have the opportunity to do so and might as well take this opportunity by the balls. I always wanted to live on the West Coast (to see what the fuss is all about) and since I don't have little Adam's running around or plots of land in rural Maryland, this seems like as a good a time as any.

So, why San Francisco? Well...
- San Diego: Expensive
- Los Angeles: Smog
- Sacramento: Old people (as told by my sister who did an AmeriCorp stint there)

That explains location. Here is occupation...
- Washington, DC: Law firms
- New York City: Financial firms
- San Francisco, CA: Wider range of unique opportunities

I know that's a HUGE generalization (and might of been me lying to myself) but I justified it and that's all there is to it. And no, I don't have a job as of yet but have some things in the works.

Other factors: I know people out there, Nice calm weather for most of the year, Open roads to ride a motorcycle, Good Ultimate.

The thing people won't understand: I like to challenge myself (on occasion, unnecessarily so). Therefore, I am gonna go across the country, find a job and seek my fortune. Oh, and see some cool things, visit some amazing places and experience stuff that I couldn't elsewhere. And all of this builds into my thirty-year plan.

Years 1-5: Build basic business experience and meet some shady people.
Years 6-10: Accumulate a massive amount of money illegally utilizing aforementioned shady people (e.g. drug-dealing, lottery, running guns from Mexico)
Years 11-20: Invest in stable and questionable dealings. Continue to conduct illegal business practices.
Years 21-25: Begin construction of plant in rural part of world. Ideally, a private island but something that is still accessible by freight ship.
Years 26-29: Recruit smart kids from top engineering schools as well as bitter NASA employees.
Year 30: Blow up the moon.

I was thinking that everyone wants to be remembered. And, the longer existence exists, the more people will be forgotten. Or people reach the point where they don't care about anything that happened outside their lifetime. However, if I blow up the moon, I will never be forgotten. So, I am gonna get a ass ton of money, build the biggest friggin' missile ever, and blow up the moon. And though there will probably be effects beyond screwing up the tides, I don't care. The moon will be gone and I will be known as the crazy philanthropist (because I don't know anything about rockets or missiles) who financed a project to blow up the moon and destroy as much of nature as possible.

And this will be the finest moment in my anti-hippie legacy.

Thanks Joe, for reminding me to mention the best thing...

LAWN MOWER TRACTOR PULL!

Alright, so Ferd and I on Sunday wake up with giddy excitement for this competition. Now, to be fair, it's a lot smaller than you might be thinking. This took place as a secondary event at a local town fair, and by town I mean less than 5,000 people live here.

Anyway, the fair was very quaint and small, with booths for the local politicians, the standard moon bounce for the kids and then the expected big roast and turkey sandwich tents. It was in a very beautiful town park with a pond and a peculiar flatten downed 12' by 120' dirt rectangle...

Ferd and I grab some bleachers with the other eight people watching and await the competition. Now, the tractor pull hinges on this thin long metallic mechanism with two axles, one with wheels and the other with a flat angled piece of metal. As you get going, a weight on the mechanism slides from the back where the wheels are towards the front where the sled is, making it harder to move the device. It was actually sort of impressive to see the physics involved in this redneck contraption.

On to the race! So these lawnmowers are hilarious. Here's the closest picture I could find:


Basic set-up of the lawn mower is big ass back wheels with thick tread, tiny front wheels and at least 25 years old. These things were beasts but still had normal lawn mower handle throttle control. The kids started first and I have some great video of a four year old pretty much just sitting there while his dad walked along side operating the throttle and brake.

How it works: Racer/Puller/Toothless yolkle would back up their lawn mower to the sled (that's what I am gonna call it) and Old Guy with Cigarette Dangling from his Mouth would attach the sled to the back of the mower with a chain. Puller would slowly accelerate, then go full tilt and try and go as far as possible. Some utilized the 'lean back to put more weight on the tires thus creating more traction' technique, thus applying more physics inspired by Terror Squad (Get it? Lean Back?). Side Note: Fat Joe would be extremely qualified to use this technique.

So, a racer would gun it on average about 60-70 feet down the range. When they can't move anymore, they brake, unhook the chain then Old Guy with Cigarette would tow the sled back to the starting position. Fat Guy with Clipboard would record how far the sled went using the circle part of that thing engineers and road construction guys use to measure distance, which is connected to the sled's wheel. You know what I mean. It's the circle on the end of a stick that measures how many times the thing turns and multiplying by the circumference to get distance. Shut up, it makes sense.

So the kids would each get like two or three cracks at it, then the adults would go. Some would have these fancy paint jobs, some were painted all white and called Casper and some looked like they could outpull my car from high school (1993 Ford Escort 5-door which at 55 MPH shook like a space shuttle coming in for re-entry).

But, my favorite part of the day, was Rosco. He would hop on the cement paver rolling flattener mobile and smooth out the dirt after 30 or so runs because it would get chewed up by the thick tread wheels of the lawn mowers. I thoroughly enjoyed these moments, because all participants as well as spectators stared on in silent mindlessness as we watched Rosco flatten out this mud, internally criticized his driving ability.

All in all, it was a sight to see. If I can figure out how to get pictures and videos from my phone to my computer, I'll make sure to post them here.

That's how long my family vacation was... and it ended just in time.

The Go-Go's were right: " Vacation / All I ever wanted / Vacation / Had to get away / Vacation / Meant to be spent alone."

I kid, I kid... but not really. Well, to be fair, it was fun; enjoyable even. But the family vacation will be no more!

Highlights included:
- Jet Skis: Ferd, Lauren and I wake up, run to the rental place and get in the 11:00am group. It's a windier day than most and the water is a bit choppy. Oh, that coupled with the 1200CC water crafts we got, made for a bumpy ride... which was awesome! If you've never been on a jet ski, it has two parts: throttle handle and the Oh Shit mechanism, a lanyard that is attached to your wrist that if you bite it and fall off, kills the engine. Thankfully, Oh Shit never happened. However, I did manage to hit 42MPH on rough water and not crash into an oil tanker.

- Golf with my uncle and the old man: Never a disappointment, though after the second round of the week, I couldn't hit a drive to save my life. Up until that point, it was halfway decent play which for me is breaking 100. Why, you may ask, is that considered decent? Well, because I lost my short game, can't putt and have the uncanny ability to snap slice AND snap hook. But many beers were drank, many balls were lost. EXCEPT... the last hole we played on Friday has water in front of the green. So as we hit out approach shots to the green and drive the cart up, we see like two dozen balls just in the water. So Ferd, hops down and retrieves a bunch. Jackpot.

- Seafood: Goooooooooooood.

Lowlights:
- Dinner Arrangements: With 11 of us, it took a while to get tables, and my relatives are... how do I say this... fussy about things. Therefore, there was a lot of awkward standing around as hostesses and servers would arrange tables and chairs.

- Sleeping: Slept on a couch. Yeah it had a pull-out bed but that would've been worse.

- Sunburn: Got it the first day I went to the beach. I've had the full-on lobster look before, but I forgot what that next shower is like. Zoinks!

Overall, couldn't complain. Didn't have to drive down in my mom's car *cough* Back Seat Driver *cough* and managed not to kill/be killed by my sisters. I knew it was probably the last full Croce family vacation for a while and made sure that everyone enjoyed themselves. Cue sappy music and slowly fade out...

Starting Saturday morning at 5:00am, the Croce family will be on vacation. We will be heading towards our standard location, Ocean City, Maryland.

In tow this weekend will be the Croce clan (Ferd, Chris, Lauren, Adam and Morgan), the grandparents (Betty and John) and my mom's sister with family (Kevin, Ginger, Lexi (11) and Camryn (7)).

It's either gonna be awesome or suck it hard. I am leaning towards the former.

Highlights will include:
- The Dough Roller
- Thrashes boardwalk freedom fries
- Two to three rounds of golf
- A lawn mower tractor pull (THIS WILL RULE!)
- Convincing Ferd to do Jet Ski's again and not have to worry about loosing my glasses this time

This will most likely be the last full family vacation the Croce's ever have so it's gonna be a test of patience to make sure we don't all kill each other. Wish me luck...

Well, not officially as of yet, but once the paperwork comes in the mail, I'm set.

And if you disagree with my claim, I have a nice tall glass of freshly squeezed Shut the Hell Up for you right here.

Anyway, if you're confused at this point, I'll explain. This past weekend, I took a Motorcycle Safety School (MSS) beginner class. It was a 2.5 day endeavor consisting of approximately 5 hours of classroom instruction and 12 hours of actual riding which, if completed, exempts you from taking the DMV driving course and provides a full license.

Friday afternoon, I show up to Ulster County Community college and find room 135. I am paranoid about being late so I get there like 20 minutes early. At 5:30, the "teacher" comes rolling in. Now, this woman is about 4'11" tall and 4'11" around her ass. She told us a bunch of stories about her illegal teenage bike use, buying a motorcycle without even a permit and driving it through a big city, stalling at every traffic light because she didn't practice starting and stopping. So we're off to a good start. Rest of the evening consists of reading from the guide and watching a coordinating DVD. Boring, but necessary.

Participants: The demographic broke down to:
- Three middle-aged woman, two former passengers looking to ride on their own and Pat (more to come on her later).

- Six middle-aged men, two riders who first got their license twenty years ago but were looking for a refresher course, and four guys with limited to no experience.

- Three young kids, me and two other guys, Joe (18) and Keyvan (22), all of us with no experience.

Saturday morning, we show up to the college parking lot at 7:15am (who needs sleep?) and hop on our bikes. We are rolling around on Suzuki 250's and they are little beater bikes, like the one pictured below.
Now that may look impressive, but it ain't. 250cc stands for the amount of engine displacement, essentially meaning how much power the bike can put out. Now, you're average crotch rocket starts at 750cc and your standard Harley is rolling in at 1,000cc's so these are like Huffy's with lawn mower engines, and at this point, that's just fine with me.

To reiterate, I have no experience on a motorcycle and have never been taught to drive a standard car and that is BECAUSE by the time I was 16, my parents didn't have standard cars anymore and in high school I was the one who drove around all my friends, in my automatic 1993 navy blue Ford Escort 5-door. This lead to some comedic interactions with my clutch.

First thing we did was "power-walk" our bikes down the parking lot, which is putting the bike in 1st, slowly engaging the clutch and moving at about 2 miles an hour, walking your feet along the ground to balance. Simple enough. Then we progress into harder things and I remember the first time I had to brake, I didn't use my clutch and stalled. Instructor says, surprisingly very calmly (like he's said it thousands of times before) "Make sure to pull that clutch in when you brake." Ladies and gentleman, I give you your moron.

So 7:30am-1:00pm is riding on the bikes. Lots of stuff was done with all 12 riders going in a big loop, weaving through cones, or working on shifting. Other stuff consisted of going through a task and then waiting in line, so there's a lot of stopping and going. Because of this, and my complete lack of knowledge regarding standard vehicles I stall no less than 30 times. Once, I stalled 5 times in a row in the same exact spot. That was awesome. Nothing is more emasculating than having a middle-aged woman waiting behind you because you can't operate a fucking motorcycle.

After that we grab lunch and have a couple more hours of classroom instruction, mostly about not pounding beers and riding home... which seems contrary to the whole biker lifestyle. Then, we take the written evaluation, which is 50 multiple choice questions, with only three choices for each question. And each question would consist of one choice which was utterly ridiculous...

Q: What should you do when a dog approaches a car? Funny Answer: Kick him.
Q: What should you do when someone is tailgating? Funny Answer: Throw debris at his windshield.

Everyone passes and we sleep on our impending evaluation.

Sunday morning we're back on the range at 7:15am, a time I've seen more as bed time than as wake-up time. We start the day with the hardest exercise called "The Box." Seriously. It is a box about 16 feet wide by about 36 feet long, where you have to complete two u-turns and exit the opposite side of the box. This thing sucked and I never really got it down. Let's move on.

Let's talk about Pat for a second. Middle-aged woman, 9th grade French teacher, amateur belly dancer... though you wouldn't want to find out first hand. She was a work in progress on the bike and was the only one to drop the bike, and she did it twice. The whole class was pushing for her, supporting her but she was just always a step behind.

BOOM. Evaluation. It's high noon and we start the riding evaluation. You start off with zero points and once you reach 21 points, you fail. It consists of four parts. Oh, wait, MS Paint is my friend. Here ya go...

#1 and #2 - "The Box" into "Swerve." Enter the box in the bottom right, go forward, make a U-turn tot he left, angle to the opposite side, make a u-turn to the right all without exiting the box or putting your foot down. Exit the box, get into second gear and then swerve to the right without braking. *(Side Note: For the evaluation, they made the box three feet narrower).

I sucked at the box during the exercise and in practice but nailed it in the evaluation, going over the line once. Then owned the swerve.

So, the rules of the evaluation are if you drop the bike, it's an immediate failure... and that's what one guy did as he was entering the box. He just rolled on the throttle, grabbed the front brake and dumped it at 0.5 miles an hour. Funny thing is he is a professional cycling coach and he told me that everything on a bicycle is the complete opposite on a motorcycle, which I don't necessarily agree with but in the end... Sucks to be him!

#3 - Quick Stop - Go forward about 70 yards, get into second gear and once your front tire reaches the front cones, stop and shift into first as quickly as possible without locking up the tires. When we were practicing this, I was told not to anticipate the stop because if I did it on the test, I would have to do it again... so I made sure to wait until I reached the cones, which might of cost me a point or two.

#4 - Managing Curve - Enter the cones, hit second gear. Slow down as you approach the curve, make sure to keep a consistent speed or accelerate in the curve and then stop at the last set of cones. I think I slowed a little in the curve which costs me some points.

All in all, the test wasn't too bad. The instructors admitted that "The Box" was impractical and will "only make you look in cool in the parking lot at Wal-Mart." We go inside and await our fate.

So... as you probably have guessed, I passed. I got a total of 7 points (WHICH BEATS MATT SHIEL) and I was relieved to say the least.

Oh, and Pat? It was remarkable, since I have the ability to remark on it. She stepped up. She wasn't flawless, but neither was anyone else. Regardless, she passed the course. The great thing about the course is that the instructors (Betty-Ray and Van) beat it into you that everyone needs more practice and squashed any undue confidence we may have, which is a good plan.

In the end, I should be getting my paperwork in the mail in the next couple weeks, which will prompt another fun-filled trip to the DMfuckingV. But I guess even badasses need to fill out paperwork from time to time.

Timeline Style... though it will probably disintegrate to nonsensical rambling after a while.

FRIDAY
12:00pm - Leave from work and head to Target to try and find a suitable field chair. I ended up having two over the weekend which worked out well because everyone else brought a total of none. Also headed to a Marshall's, where I realize that I am not a XXL so 100% of the clothes in there won't fit me, and then to a Kohl's, where I realize that I am the most critical person when it comes to buying jeans but will not spend more than $24.00.

2:00pm - After braving the Taconic Parkway, I roll into Smalltown USA, somewhere in Westchester county to pick up Kerry. She provides some Ommegang and Three Philosophers beer for the ride down.

3:30pm - Come down the Henry Hudson and pick up Mr. Shiel at 43rd and 11th Avenue.

4:30pm - Travel a total of two blocks and finally enter the Lincoln Tunnel entrance. Thanks, Worm.

8:00pm - Arrive in Wildwood... 8 hours later. Here's how long it should of taken: I Hate Jersey

9:00pm - Old Man Steve. Alumni. Shelf's drunk and Dre's hitting on my girlfriend again. Just like old times...

10:30pm - Fat Boy (Simon) meets up with Julia and I at the room. After pounding some beers, we realize that Pete has done zero work on getting us registered. (We later found out he did SOME stuff). We start filing out paper work and head to the Bolero Hotel to register.

SATURDAY
12:00am - Get to the hotel to see that the line to register is longer than my...well you get the idea. The three of us decided to wait until 90 seconds into waiting Julia makes the suggestion "Why don't we make Pete do it?"

12:05am - Back in the room drinking.

12:15-2:00am - Rest of the team shows up, head to Bolero, are the last team to register, take some exhausted shots of Jaeger. (Note: Jaeger is recognized by Blogger spell check. Bunch of drunks working there...)

2:30am - Everyone falls asleep. Oh, but it's better than that. Let me describe this prison cell of a room we had. Actually, I'm gonna draw it. Be right back.


Alright, so we crammed 8 people in here on Friday night. That was three in each bed with Julia and I on the floor. For the people in the beds, it was like the Spoon Olympics; not out of friendship or anything nice like that but rather it was the only way to actually fit everyone in there.

10:00am - Our first game. Before we begin, Linc and Simon get foot-long sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches from a boardwalk bodega. I don't wanna discuss this meal anymore so let's move on.

*Background: Our team name was "Very Glad You Exist," which stemmed from a gChat conversation I had with Julia, which snowballed into a gChat away message battle starring no fewer than a dozen different people. We played in the 3-1 non-competitive division because basically, we didn't want to run or really have to play defense. Yeah, we're lazy, as made abundantly clear when we tried to put a team together, it boiled down to e-mail chains of "Well, I don't wanna do any organization. Why don't you do it?"

Anyway, safety green jerseys and beer cozies helped us reach new levels of awesome.

10:01am - 4:59pm - We win all our games. Some are closer than the should be, while others are blowouts. Highlights include:
- Eating a slice of pizza and a lemonade and then twenty minutes later, covertly booting it up and hiding the evidence under handfuls of sand.
- The preparation message we got from Ben about Linc losing his wallet and all of us going "Ohhhhhh crap. Now we get to deal angry Linc all day."
- Trying to throw blade after blade at Julia and yelling at her when she didn't catch it and only half kidding.
- Jenee's drunk heckle attempts.
- The ocean temperature... perfect.
- The fact we would let teams throw 20 short throws, get to the end zone, turn it and then bomb a 2-pointer... and that it would actually work most of the time.

5:00pm - Shower, Eat (Wawa turkey sandwich), Some pre-boozing

7:30pm - Head to the beach beer party which is beyond being in full swing. I end up bumping into a lot of people I haven't seen for a while which was awesome... and carefully avoiding the people I don't want to see (which is no one [or is it?]). Everyone watches the video, it ends, beer's gone and the place empties quicker than Matt Shiel's bowels after Mexican. [Gross.]

9:30-11:00pm - Hotel hanging out. Plus 40's. First Naylor sighting of the weekend. Get on my level ensues.

SUNDAY
11:15pm-3:00am - Umm... Fun times at the party. Much dancing, Many drinks, Multitude of conversations. Highlights include:
- Seeing Chaz out of nowhere.
- The 8 person lap dance simultaneously performed on Julia. Bonus was Misty getting in on it second and jumping on my back part way through.
- Watching no less than 40 people screw up the lyrics to 'Blister in the Sun' by Violent Femmes.
- My favorite: Obtaining a central vantage point and watching the raging hormones of individuals as they attempt to woo someone into a romantic escapade.

3:30am - Asleep. In a bed. What a luxury.

9:30am - Pete goes down to the tournament tent to see if we are playing at 10am or 11am. Now, this may be me, but I remember that the 2-2 and 3-1 divisions alternate their start times over the weekend, as in 10am start time on Saturday means 11am start time on Sunday. Turns out I was wrong. We scramble to get our shit together, everyone leaves something behind but we make it on time for our first game.

10:00am - We win. Boom

12:00pm - We win, again, this time against Dan Sigal's team. This was the first time I think anyone played any actual defense. I remember one point where I had two end zone lay out blocks and the kid ended up yelling to his team "Don't throw it to me anymore." He was also out of shape and borderline portly so that was my incentive to not let him score.

2:00pm - Finals, against some older DC schwag. Finals format is a best of three game system: Game #1 - Race to 7 points / Game #2 - Race to 7 points / Game #3 - Race to 5 points.

Game #1 - We suck. Lose 7-4. We go for too many two pointers, can't seem to throw to Jenee and generally are lazy. After that game, Jenee yells at us to not suck and that they are not non-competitive, taking this way too seriously.

Game #2 - We rule. Win 7-2. Jenee may be on to something.

Game #3 - We go up early, but they make it close. It comes down to 4-4, next point wins. About 10 seconds before they are about to pull to us, a guy walks over and says to our sideline that we need to clear the beach because of the impending thunder and lightening and that we can return in 30 minutes. Julia opens her mouth to yell to our 4 on the line the news and I give her the "ERRR!!" interruption noise. They pull, we turn it, they almost get a nice layout for the score but they suck and don't catch it. Tufsky tosses up his patented high-release backhand to Linc for the win.

We walk over to the tent, force one of the TD's to present us our trophy and we rejoice. I proceed to steal the trophy using the "I'm oldest" excuse, something I rarely have the opportunity to utilize.

4:00pm - We say our goodbyes, departing like safety green champions.

10:30pm - I get home. Basically, the Holland Tunnel sucks, I hate the NYC traffic system and I am also terrible at following directions.

All in all, I wanna thank the cast of characters that made this the most fun Wildwood for me ever:

Linc - I'm glad you exist because we had the chance to talk so openly, as well as in front of other people, about the reverse cowgirl position.
Pete - I'm glad you exist because I know you are more than just British; You are also terrible at organizing things.
Simon - I'm glad you exist because you honestly thought you didn't get drunk on Saturday night... only because you don't remember doing it.
Ben - I'm glad you exist because you like to get injured a lot playing Ultimate, and it's fun to watch you rile in pain and yell "He's fine! Get up!"
Greg - I'm glad you exist because you slept in a bath tub. Well done.
Mae - I'm glad you exist because in a weird way, you made our team a little bit classier. I can't explain my rationale... but it make sense.
Julia - I'm glad you exist because, oh, you know why. Wink wink.
Misty - I'm glad you exist because I feel as though you would kick the shit out of any girl that gave you beef on the field... and I want to be around when that happens.
Jenee - I'm glad you exist because you managed to achieve a higher level of anger (though very temporarily) than me this weekend.

Alright, this was long. Comment on things I missed. Then get back to work.

PS Oh right, I forgot to mention. I was THAT guy again when I injured someone laying out for a block in the finals.