Popping Bubbles

Month: September, 2013

Ordinary America, Portrait 1

When I was a growing boy I played ice hockey, many years for the entire year.

When I wanted an expert sharpening job on my skates my mom would take me to Neal’s.

Neal operates a full-service skate shop out of his basement.  He was 89 last year so I’m guessing he’s 90 now, unless he was born sometime later in the year.  His wife, bless her soul, answered the phone and booked appointments and sat up with him all night in the basement shop–she was a cheerful, attentive woman and a laugh riot.

Neal is a retired Pennsylvania Turnpike engineer.  He originated the habit of locating rumble strips at the shoulder of highways.  That’s a clever innovation that saved many lives.  I should know–I was once on a youth hockey team bus that hit the rumble strip before the coach noticed the driver had passed out.

Neal will never be as known as Steve Jobs but I’ll always be more impressed with him.


A WN Finds His Way

[This is going to be a little monologue with an opportunity at the conclusion to donate towards a distinct phase of my own little Project Mayhem. If you’re into ongoing masculinity crises and grandiose, semi-organized agendas, cool! Donations in the three to twenty dollar range are especially appreciated.]
Hi, I’m Dr. Murray F. Rottencrotch. You may remember me from such hit internet outburtsts as, “Let’s Bring Back Those Humanitarians, The KKK,” “Debbie Wasserman-Schultz Goes To Work Camp,” and, “Uncle Adi, We Hardly Knew Ye.”
Prior to that I was a writer with an actual name, writing for actual people in actual magazines. I flamed out pretty hard in that pursuit and never amounted to anything, but I had an interesting time.
For the last five years I’ve been cultivating a different sort of project. I reside on the outskirts–and occasionally inside of–a little sinkhole of urban decay and black undertow, a state capital that makes national news semi-regularly for its collapse into bankruptcy and disorder. During my time here I’ve placed my explicit WN activities on a back burner and focused on my trip through area judo, jiu jitsu, and MMA clubs, garage gyms and CrossFit boxes.
That brings me to now: I’m facing the opportunity to start a pretty sweet fight club. I’m a member in good standing on the strongest competition team with the sickest international black belt jiu jitsu champion in the region. I and my closest teammates and training partners need an auxiliary training location–our club headquarters is a minimum forty-minute drive from where the four of us reside, not ideal for guys with day jobs and family lives. Turns out my CrossFit box–in my experiential opinion the best fitness outlet in our area–is ideally located and flirting with me over the idea of hosting a jiu jitsu mat and club.
Our location is taken care of and the box owner/operator has offered to bankroll a mat. Excellent! Yet, to secure a stable coach’s role in a CrossFit setting one needs to be CrossFit Level 1 Certified. Help me out! (It’s a $1,000 bill.)
If you’re unable or discinclined to throw down but still would enjoy watching a miniature Project Mayhem unfold in an cavity of liberal democratic decay, don’t worry–I’m dedicated to my pursuit even if I don’t get a cent. (A funding boost will just help me accelerate my monomaniacal plan!) More important than my appeal for funding is the underlying premise that all of us WNs ought to be quietly building our dreams and projects. An American and European renaissance is coming to a neighborhood near you, so be ready!  Give the white restoration in your area a little WN oomph and authenticity–Don’t let it be all Alinskyite evil and SWPL irrelevance.