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Nov, 10, 1981 (13 years old)
Published 19900820 by Digital Slob.
Today an orthodontist convinced my mom that my yapper needs a decorator — fewer teeth, more track lighting and maybe a few throw pillows.
As I sat on the assembly line with a large mold in my mouth that kept plaster paste in place as it hardened around my uppers, another kid wailed wildly during a cavity spot check. “Calm down,” the dental assistant said to him, “you’ll scare the other kids!”
“HE’LL scare the other kids?” I thought. “What about me? I look like Victim No. 3 in one of those old Vincent Price torture flicks. No one can hear me scream, but anyone glancing my way could tell one is definitely implied.”
As I sat paralyzed by mouth paraphernalia, Dr. Thomas showed me gruesome jaw photos he claimed came from little boys and girls who didn’t strictly follow the three-inch thick “care and feeding of your oral erector set” rule book. But I was pretty sure I was looking at half-eaten pomegranates that had been left out in the sun.
He then asked me if I was paying attention. I gave a big thumbs up. But I think the tear quietly rolling down my right temple was a clearer signal.
As I sat on the assembly line with a large mold in my mouth that kept plaster paste in place as it hardened around my uppers, another kid wailed wildly during a cavity spot check. “Calm down,” the dental assistant said to him, “you’ll scare the other kids!”
“HE’LL scare the other kids?” I thought. “What about me? I look like Victim No. 3 in one of those old Vincent Price torture flicks. No one can hear me scream, but anyone glancing my way could tell one is definitely implied.”
As I sat paralyzed by mouth paraphernalia, Dr. Thomas showed me gruesome jaw photos he claimed came from little boys and girls who didn’t strictly follow the three-inch thick “care and feeding of your oral erector set” rule book. But I was pretty sure I was looking at half-eaten pomegranates that had been left out in the sun.
He then asked me if I was paying attention. I gave a big thumbs up. But I think the tear quietly rolling down my right temple was a clearer signal.
May 28, 1980 (12 years old)
Published 19900815 by Digital Slob.
I have to permanently switch over from taking baths at night to taking showers in the morning. I'm suddenly secreting this strange pubescent oil from my pores that's causing high-octane bed hair.
Yesterday I walked into homeroom looking like Squiggy from "Laverne & Shirley," and that's a tough look to pull off without the leather jacket.
Besides, everybody knows Lenny's the cool one.
Yesterday I walked into homeroom looking like Squiggy from "Laverne & Shirley," and that's a tough look to pull off without the leather jacket.
Besides, everybody knows Lenny's the cool one.
May 29, 1979 (11 years old)
Published 19900810 by Digital Slob.
After moving last summer, my plan was to stay invisible at University Elementary for the entire sixth grade — the only year I’d be here. And it was working. Until yesterday.
Last week, Mrs. Adams insisted I sign up for field day. I picked “Basketball Toss,” since it involves the least amount of movement under duress.
The first shot, worth a ridiculous 2,000 points, was an impossible 30-footer way past the free-throw line. For an oily kid standing outside in ill-fitting Husky blue jeans at 10 a.m., it seemed like the most pointless exercise yet in a most pointless day. But that didn’t stop a few dozen other kids from standing behind me, waiting their turn, in alphabetical order.
Without any arc, rotation or dramatic pause, I heaved the ball at the goal. It slammed into the back of the rim, then relentlessly beat about the whole thing the way Apollo Creed went after Rocky in rounds 2 through 14. But then, also like Apollo (in “Rocky II”), the ball eventually ran out of gas and collapsed — through the hoop. The gasps were so loud, I mistakenly thought all the excitement had caused my Huskies to faint to my ankles.
The blue ribbon was unavoidable. And everybody wanted to know my name.
So today I got to play hoops with the jocks — for about three minutes. Maybe their scout should spend a little more time sizing up new talent and a little less tormenting that little kid who eats his own hair.
Last week, Mrs. Adams insisted I sign up for field day. I picked “Basketball Toss,” since it involves the least amount of movement under duress.
The first shot, worth a ridiculous 2,000 points, was an impossible 30-footer way past the free-throw line. For an oily kid standing outside in ill-fitting Husky blue jeans at 10 a.m., it seemed like the most pointless exercise yet in a most pointless day. But that didn’t stop a few dozen other kids from standing behind me, waiting their turn, in alphabetical order.
Without any arc, rotation or dramatic pause, I heaved the ball at the goal. It slammed into the back of the rim, then relentlessly beat about the whole thing the way Apollo Creed went after Rocky in rounds 2 through 14. But then, also like Apollo (in “Rocky II”), the ball eventually ran out of gas and collapsed — through the hoop. The gasps were so loud, I mistakenly thought all the excitement had caused my Huskies to faint to my ankles.
The blue ribbon was unavoidable. And everybody wanted to know my name.
So today I got to play hoops with the jocks — for about three minutes. Maybe their scout should spend a little more time sizing up new talent and a little less tormenting that little kid who eats his own hair.
April 18, 1978 (10 years old)
Published 19900801 by Digital Slob.
Our game of Nerf football ended early today, after I got into a fight with Junior when I pushed his little brother, Marvin, down on my way to my fifth touchdown.
Marvin started crying and Junior said "why did you push him?" and I said "because it's football!" and he said "how'd you like it if I pushed you?" and I said "then maybe you could've stopped my fifth touchdown. We're winning 56-7, y'know."
Then he said "yeah?" and I said "yeah!" Then he said "yeah???" and I said "yeah!!!" Then I said "Up your nose with a rubber hose!" That's when Junior said "C'mon, Marvin, we're going home!"
I guess pushing little brothers around is one thing, but for Junior, infringing on the copyrights of "Welcome Back, Kotter" is beyond the pale.
Marvin started crying and Junior said "why did you push him?" and I said "because it's football!" and he said "how'd you like it if I pushed you?" and I said "then maybe you could've stopped my fifth touchdown. We're winning 56-7, y'know."
Then he said "yeah?" and I said "yeah!" Then he said "yeah???" and I said "yeah!!!" Then I said "Up your nose with a rubber hose!" That's when Junior said "C'mon, Marvin, we're going home!"
I guess pushing little brothers around is one thing, but for Junior, infringing on the copyrights of "Welcome Back, Kotter" is beyond the pale.
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