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April 28, 1986 (18 years old)
Published 19990101 by Digital Slob.
As a rule I skip school on Mondays, and this one started out as no exception.
But as editor of the school newspaper, I have responsibilities beyond beauty sleep. If I missed sixth-period journalism class today, we'd miss our appointment with the printer, and May's edition would be online-only.
And since I have on double-secret deep background that the Web's not going to get going until the late 1990s, this is what we in the newspaper biz would call "blowing deadline big time."
Complicating matters further, you can't check into school past third period, and as a truant I refuse to wake up earlier than half-past fourth.
So, to make deadline I had to sneak on campus, which proved deceptively more nuanced than simply sneaking off campus in reverse.
Vice Principal Powell nabbed me with the "Do you have a hall pass?" indictment. I pulled out a blank ad contract I keep on hand for emergencies and said I was out failing to get a hobby store to buy an ad for the next edition.
Smelling fear, he escorted me to class for confirmation.
"He says he was trying to sell an ad," Mr. Powell said, with a strong whiff of sarcasm.
Without missing a beat, my newspaper adviser said, "Curt, I told you not to come back here without selling that ad!"
She covered for me. Cool. That settles it. I'm majoring in journalism at college -- especially if none of the classes meet on Mondays.
But as editor of the school newspaper, I have responsibilities beyond beauty sleep. If I missed sixth-period journalism class today, we'd miss our appointment with the printer, and May's edition would be online-only.
And since I have on double-secret deep background that the Web's not going to get going until the late 1990s, this is what we in the newspaper biz would call "blowing deadline big time."
Complicating matters further, you can't check into school past third period, and as a truant I refuse to wake up earlier than half-past fourth.
So, to make deadline I had to sneak on campus, which proved deceptively more nuanced than simply sneaking off campus in reverse.
Vice Principal Powell nabbed me with the "Do you have a hall pass?" indictment. I pulled out a blank ad contract I keep on hand for emergencies and said I was out failing to get a hobby store to buy an ad for the next edition.
Smelling fear, he escorted me to class for confirmation.
"He says he was trying to sell an ad," Mr. Powell said, with a strong whiff of sarcasm.
Without missing a beat, my newspaper adviser said, "Curt, I told you not to come back here without selling that ad!"
She covered for me. Cool. That settles it. I'm majoring in journalism at college -- especially if none of the classes meet on Mondays.
Aug. 8, 1982 ( 14 years old)
Published 19901101 by Digital Slob.
Haven't seen Jeremy around the basketball court for a couple of weeks. Don't know what's up. Maybe he's got mono or something.
Aug. 5, 1982 (14 years old)
Published 19901001 by Digital Slob.
My brother-in-law, with my 18-year-old brother Chris cheer-leading, talked Mom into buying a $5,000 pre-Windows Texas Instruments computer because he wanted one and could get a discount buying two.
I bet Chris will get more use out of the parachute pants he bought last Friday for the disco. I’ve figured out how to use it like a 95-pound legal pad that I can password-protect.
That reminds me, I still need to look up “umbilical cord.”
I bet Chris will get more use out of the parachute pants he bought last Friday for the disco. I’ve figured out how to use it like a 95-pound legal pad that I can password-protect.
That reminds me, I still need to look up “umbilical cord.”
July 15, 1982 (14 years old)
Published 19900901 by Digital Slob.
Bumped into my friend Jeremy over at the basketball court today — he's only 12 and covered in freckles, but goes to a Magnet school, so I consider him almost equal to me.
We got bored, so I turned philosophical.
"Say, Jeremy," I said, "theoretically speaking, would you say it's in the realm of possibility that you could marry someone who was, say, 10 years younger than you? I mean, let's say you're 40 years old ... could you imagine having a wife that's 30 years old?"
"Well, yeah, I guess," Jeremy said.
"Do you realize that, if you do that, your future wife is now only 2 years old?" I said. "Kinda creepy, huh?"
Jeremy seemed to agree, but stared into space without comment. Then said he had to go home for dinner, even though it was only 4:30 p.m.
We got bored, so I turned philosophical.
"Say, Jeremy," I said, "theoretically speaking, would you say it's in the realm of possibility that you could marry someone who was, say, 10 years younger than you? I mean, let's say you're 40 years old ... could you imagine having a wife that's 30 years old?"
"Well, yeah, I guess," Jeremy said.
"Do you realize that, if you do that, your future wife is now only 2 years old?" I said. "Kinda creepy, huh?"
Jeremy seemed to agree, but stared into space without comment. Then said he had to go home for dinner, even though it was only 4:30 p.m.
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.
Dec. 25, 1977 (9 years old)
Published 19900701 by Digital Slob.
This will be my last entry for a while. I got Silly Putty, an Etch-a-Sketch and the Lego Moonlander kit for Christmas, so I'll be stuck in Research & Development until at least mid-April.
July 1, 1976 (8 years old)
Published 19900601 by Digital Slob.
My 26-year-old sister and eldest, 20-year-old brother fought bitterly today about the coming presidential election between Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford. Every time she yelled “Tim, you’re an idiot not to vote for Carter! Shut up!” I backed her up with a “Yeah, Tim, shut up!”
I’ve decided I’m a staunch liberal, and by liberal I mean siding with the eligible voter most likely to make me Macaroni & Cheese for dinner.
I’ve decided I’m a staunch liberal, and by liberal I mean siding with the eligible voter most likely to make me Macaroni & Cheese for dinner.
June 2, 1976 (8 years old)
Published 19900501 by Digital Slob.
Been waiting for weeks to get mygrades, because McDonald's had this ad saying you could get a freecheeseburger if you got an "A" on your report card.
I got allA's, so I figured I had six free burgers headed my way. Turns out, it'sjust one cheeseburger per person, so my "A" in gym alone would havebeen plenty.
What a rip. That's the last time I make straight A's again, I'll tell you that.
I got allA's, so I figured I had six free burgers headed my way. Turns out, it'sjust one cheeseburger per person, so my "A" in gym alone would havebeen plenty.
What a rip. That's the last time I make straight A's again, I'll tell you that.
June 28, 1972 (4 years old)
Published 19900401 by Digital Slob.
My trip to Disney World is being ruined by the fact that the Stuckey's rest-stop chain refuses to recognize my right to exist.
They've got personalized key chains, wallets, corkscrews, faux license plates — everything, but not one says "Curt."
My7-year-oldbrother, Chris, however, was in hog heaven. Not only dideverything comein his name, but there were countless variations —"Chris,""Christopher," "Christian," "Christina," "Christine." I gotmore andmore ticked off as my sister drove us down the interstate.
"Who died and made his name king?" I asked.
My sister laughed, then told Mom, "maybe he should go to Sunday school, at least once."
They've got personalized key chains, wallets, corkscrews, faux license plates — everything, but not one says "Curt."
My7-year-oldbrother, Chris, however, was in hog heaven. Not only dideverything comein his name, but there were countless variations —"Chris,""Christopher," "Christian," "Christina," "Christine." I gotmore andmore ticked off as my sister drove us down the interstate.
"Who died and made his name king?" I asked.
My sister laughed, then told Mom, "maybe he should go to Sunday school, at least once."
Dec. 8, 1972 (4 years old)
Published 19900320 by Digital Slob.
Dec. 8, 1972 (4 years old): Out of nowhere, Mom rocked my world today when she told me she could see colors when she grew up.
“But all the movies and TV shows from back then are in black and white,” I insisted.
“Yes, but we could see color in real life with our eyes, just like you,” she said.
How could TV lie to me like this, when it so accurately reflects the world around me otherwise?
Tom chases Jerry — cats hate mice. Got it.
Ping Pong balls fall on Captain Kangaroo — grownups are dumber than mooses and bunny rabbits. Got it.
Dean Martin makes Johnny Carson laugh — things are a lot funnier with bourbon. Got it.
Why, then, would television dupe me with a duotone Shirley Temple?
History is full of lies. Got it.
“But all the movies and TV shows from back then are in black and white,” I insisted.
“Yes, but we could see color in real life with our eyes, just like you,” she said.
How could TV lie to me like this, when it so accurately reflects the world around me otherwise?
Tom chases Jerry — cats hate mice. Got it.
Ping Pong balls fall on Captain Kangaroo — grownups are dumber than mooses and bunny rabbits. Got it.
Dean Martin makes Johnny Carson laugh — things are a lot funnier with bourbon. Got it.
Why, then, would television dupe me with a duotone Shirley Temple?
History is full of lies. Got it.
Nov. 6, 1972 (4 years old)
Published 19900315 by Digital Slob.
I got a new plaid shirt for kindergarten. I’d never seen so many colors and stripes, and I assumed no one else had, either.
From story time to nap time to play time, I worked the room, making sure everyone knew that even if they were my approximate height, they were still beneath me. “Know what this is? It’s plaid,” I kept saying with a nonexistent pause, all the while pointing at my chest.
Once certain everyone was well aware of how better I was than them, I took a well-deserved break, picking my nose and wiping the boogers on my shoulder. Suddenly, Mrs. Jolly rushed over, pointed her finger at the insidious social violation near my neck and screeched her infamous catch-phrase, “That’s rude!”
Confused, I stared back and replied at the same decibel level, “No it’s not! It’s plaid!”
As she dragged me to the principal’s office, all I could do was cry for my mom. I needed a representative that knew how to use a dictionary — there were some things I had to look up.
From story time to nap time to play time, I worked the room, making sure everyone knew that even if they were my approximate height, they were still beneath me. “Know what this is? It’s plaid,” I kept saying with a nonexistent pause, all the while pointing at my chest.
Once certain everyone was well aware of how better I was than them, I took a well-deserved break, picking my nose and wiping the boogers on my shoulder. Suddenly, Mrs. Jolly rushed over, pointed her finger at the insidious social violation near my neck and screeched her infamous catch-phrase, “That’s rude!”
Confused, I stared back and replied at the same decibel level, “No it’s not! It’s plaid!”
As she dragged me to the principal’s office, all I could do was cry for my mom. I needed a representative that knew how to use a dictionary — there were some things I had to look up.
March 28, 1972 (4 years old)
Published 19900302 by Digital Slob.
Got a good lesson in scarcity economics today. With five of us eating dinner, Mom put a platter of nine pork chops in the middle of the table. We all got one, leaving four in the neutral zone.
My 72-inch tall, 175-pound, 17-year-old brother (benefiting from 12 more years of math) quickly figured out that not everyone could get seconds. So he immediately snared a second piece of meat before dinner had officially begun.
If he had taken physics, however, he would've realized that I'm only 35 pounds and 36 inches tall, and can't even cut my own food, let alone compete on a level playing field for pig meat, especially when the regular chair I'm sitting in puts all of my body and most of my head below said field.
But then, pecking orders are more about conditioning over the long term, I suppose.
My 72-inch tall, 175-pound, 17-year-old brother (benefiting from 12 more years of math) quickly figured out that not everyone could get seconds. So he immediately snared a second piece of meat before dinner had officially begun.
If he had taken physics, however, he would've realized that I'm only 35 pounds and 36 inches tall, and can't even cut my own food, let alone compete on a level playing field for pig meat, especially when the regular chair I'm sitting in puts all of my body and most of my head below said field.
But then, pecking orders are more about conditioning over the long term, I suppose.
Feb. 19, 1972 (4 years old)
Published 19900301 by Digital Slob.
Today I finally made a public stand against Mom taking me into the women’s restroom when I have to pee. “Why can’t we go into the men’s room sometimes?” I asked.
“Because I’m not a man,” she said.
“But I’m not a woman, and I always go in there with you!” I said. “All I’m asking for here is 50-50.”
I lost this battle but — mark my words — I will win the war.
“Because I’m not a man,” she said.
“But I’m not a woman, and I always go in there with you!” I said. “All I’m asking for here is 50-50.”
I lost this battle but — mark my words — I will win the war.
April 1, 1969 (2 months old)
Published 19900201 by Digital Slob.
OK, I’ve figured it out. When I’m hungry, I cry and get fed. When I’m dirty, I cry and someone changes my diapers. I can sleep as much as I want, whenever I want, and anyone who accidentally wakes me up is severely punished. Apparently, the whole world revolves around me. This is going to be SWEET!
Late January, 1968, noonish (prenatal):
Published 19900101 by Digital Slob.
Achieved consciousness, finally — kinda bored, groggy. I figure this is a good time to think up easy-to-remember passwords and PIN codes that I might need later. Right now I’m liking “umbilical cord,” assuming I learn how to spell it, or for that matter develop the brain functioning to comprehend things as abstract as language or an alphabet.
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