Weekend Musings

Have you ever gotten a call in the middle of the night and assumed that because of the ungodly hour, that someone has to be dead because nothing else would warrant a phone call then? For normal people, this is almost always the case. For me, it’s usually someone who’s drunk. Saturday night I get a call around 2:15. My first impulse is again someone is dead. I see that it’s K-Dog. I’m in no mood/condition (half awake/half drunk) to talk, so I let it go to voicemail. Here’s what I get:
“Yo Barnes, you’re missing it here this weekend in Philly. I just saw Charles Barkley at this spot we were at. He was dancing with all the white girls. I think you would have enjoyed this. Peace.”
Those are the type of voicemails and messages only I get. I also got a text message at 5:15 Friday morning regarding Zach Randolph going to the Knicks. The funnier thing is that this didn’t surprise me. I knew Chuck had a white wife. I remember on a Sportscentury episode, someone accused Chuck of being racist against white people. His response was, “How can I be racist? I married a white woman.” That’s brilliant right there, marrying another race to make jokes with impunity. 18 years until Tiger Woods’ new daughter is legal. Whoever marries her would be able to make any racist joke out there without repercussions.
So where does this rank on my favorite voice message my friends have left for me? I think the top three would look something like this:

3: My roommate calls to leave a message that guess who’s on the cover of the Daily News? That’s right, Lindsay Lohan’s dad. This also coincided with Mean Girls jokes for the next two months. I still regret doing that drunken toast to Lindsay turning 18 back in 2004, but at least its brought a lot of comedy to a few people’s lives (More Lindsay comedy to come. That folks is called a teaser. I know, I know, try and contain yourselves).
2: The above Chuck story.
1: The number one random voicemail I got was when Qyntel Woods got signed by the Orlando Magic. Qyntel had been inactive on the Blazers because of an alleged dog fighting charge. I had Qyntel on my all head case fantasy team and thus being inactive, was giving me very little production. So when he went to Orlando, Brock decided that it was necessary that I know this as soon as he saw it on ESPN. I bet Qyntel’s mom didn’t even know before I did.

On to two instances that might prove I’m quickly going insane. I guess this was Thursday night. I’ve been battling insomnia recently, so I wake up around 2 am. It’s 3 am and I’m still not asleep. I give up sleeping and turn on the tv. Planet Earth is on, which is an entertaining show in my book, plus one of the few non-infomercials on at this hour. This episode is on the temperate forests, whatever that means. They start talking about an animal that eats conifer leaves and squirrels. Now normally the squirrels are faster, so whatever this animal is has to sneak up on the squirrels. And what better time to do so then when a squirrel is trying to get a nut (You like that? That’s witty right there. See the squirrel’s having sex and they also eat nuts. Get it? Haha, I crack myself up sometimes.) So they cut to the guy squirrel giving backshots and what pops into my mind? That’s right, “Doing it, and doing it, and doing it well.” You might be going insane if at 3:15 in the morning you have a voice in your head saying, “I represent Queens, she was raised up in Brooklyn,” and that voice is a chipmunk.
I finally get back to sleep and have a dream where I’m making out with Lindsay Lohan (After she gets out of rehab and she’s looking Mean Girls good). This is one of the few dreams that I remember. So anyway, we’re at this apartment that I have to assume is in Hollywood somewhere, that’s owned by a couple of twentysomething guys. I think they’re trying to get with Lindsay’s friends, but she’s firmly entrenched with me. Then one of the guys says, “Do you know who our roommate is? It’s the guy who played Carl Winslow.” I immediately change focus, and say something like, “The one who was in Die Hard?” They respond yes, and I’m really distracted now. Anyway, Carl comes home and sits down on the couch across from me. I’m sitting there, say hi to Carl, then look down at Lindsay, who’s smiling with that “I’m in love” smile. There’s a coffee table with a few letters on it next to the couch where I’m sitting and she’s laying down on. I’m looking right into her eyes filled with love/lust. Carl Winslow goes, “Hey son, can you pass me my mail?” And what do I do? I stop looking at Ms. Lohan and immediately deliver Carl Winslow his mail. Then I wake up. What does this dream mean? Is meeting Carl Winslow more important to me than hooking up with Lindsay Lohan? Because it seems that way. I’m completely confused and concerned for my mental well being.
(Waking up again at 3 am this morning (I do some of my best thinking right after waking up), I think I have a reason. It’s all about what would be a better story. In my subconscious state I was thinking that I could impress my friends more with the Carl Winslow thing. I imagine this exchange with my brother in Iraq:Brother: So I shot and killed a guy yesterday.
Me: (Brief pause) I handed mail to the guy who played Carl Winslow. He’s one of the three people remaining who still has a subscription to Sport magazine.
Brother: (Longer pause) That’s impressive.

My subconscious was also processing was that no one would believe that I hooked up with Lindsay Lohan or any other actress unless I had physical evidence. What it wasn’t processing that revealing the truth about the real/fake issue would trump the Family Matters reference. Imagine being able to say, Terri Hatcher “They’re real, and they’re spectacular” line. Now that would be a story. (Also, my subconscious could also have been processing the fact that I wasn’t desperate to get Fez’s sloppy seconds. In a prior dream, I also debated if having sex with Lindsay was worth the STD risk. I woke up before settling that one too. And yes, these are the only two dreams I remember over the past three months.)
As Matt Damon said in The Departed, “What Freud said about the Irish is that they’re impossible to psychoanalyze.” If the previous 500 words don’t prove that, I don’t know what does.

Two more things, then we’re done (if you’ve made it this far, I congratulate you). First, I was watching a special on Yo! MTV Raps from back in the day, and in Naughty by Nature’s OPP video, there a video chick wearing a CCCP shirt (think the old Soviet hockey jerseys). I’ll continue to investigate this further. Lou Dobbs can have the immigration issue, but I’m all over the Communist Stripper issue.
Finally, saw Live Free or Die Hard over the weekend. Great action movie, lots of explosions, and its John McClane, you really can’t go wrong with that. Plus there’s always the little voice in the back of your head going, “Wait, how is the dork from Dodgeball doing this? He must have trained a lot more dodging wrenches.”
Alright, that’s this weekend’s musings. Enjoy the 4th, I plan on being hungover the entire day. And to my brother in Iraq, keep doing what you’re doing. In the words of Boobie Miles, “Be perfect, win state, all that shit.” That’s not a reflection of my selfishness, just that I’m too emotional immature and not a good enough writer to put something substantial down on paper.