The spring meeting of the Stony Meadows Condominium Association was supposed to be held on the first Tuesday at7pmin the fitness center which is next to the meter room and where bicycles are stored. The same six people who always came to the association meeting showed. There was the president of the association, the treasurer, the secretary and then the same three concerned, displeased, disgruntled, disenchanted and wholly disgusted property owners who missed the days when they were renters.
Robert- Okay, I would like now like to call this meeting to order for the first quarter association meeting of the Stony Meadows Condominium Association. Abby, is your recorder working?
Abby- Um no. My son got hold of it last week while playing in the Lu. It wasn’t until I was about to use the toilet that I noticed it floating about… Georgia, do you mind taking notes and I will print them up and post them on the association portal?
Georgia- I can do that.
Robert, during the day trained unmotivated and semi-motivated people to get back into shape. He owns a small gym where serious body builders spend eight hours a day or more, working out. Robert has been taking steroids for a number of years and had arms that looked like most people’s thighs. His body fat was 5.2% and he is striving for 4%. When he sits on the toilet to relieve himself, he notices that his stomach makes a roll. Robert believes it is fat and doesn’t reason that it is skin that is bunched up together in one spot due to the fact that his body is at a 90 degree angle while he defecates. He has been eating a dozen eggs, sixteen ounces of lean ground beef and chicken breast with a vegetables and fruit for years. Robert knows he looks good but wants to look better than anyone and everyone on the planet. Robert spends most of his time admiring himself naked in front of his mirror at home.
Abby moved fromEnglandsome years back. Abby is English and not Scottish, Welsh or Northern Irish. She married an American and decided to follow him wherever he may go. He opted to move back fromLondonto the Midwestern part of theUnited States. Abby is short and squatty and has close to thirty percent body fat. She is a stay at home mother who is trying to get a book published about her experiences as an English mother in the colonies. Abby calls theUnited Statesthe colonies throughout her manuscript. She thought it was a bit cheeky and agents for the most part thought she was speaking aboutBermudaor some other remote outpost that had not been cast aside byGreat Britain.
Georgiais an educated African-American woman who works in an all white law firm. She was being lined up to be a partner in the firm when her superior and ally decided that her calling was to represent those detain inGuantanamoBay. Georgiajust received an email from her mentor who was interviewing her potential client who vowed to behead all Americans and Israelis if ever set free but would consider living in harmony with them if theUnited Statesgovernment would be willing to move his family toNew YorkfromSaudi Arabia. Oh and give him five million dollars for informing on the movers and shakers within his terrorist organization. Georgia’s mentor was negotiating the deal with the government. Georgiain the meantime dreaded working for a mealy mouthed, beady eyed Harvard graduate that constantly let everyone know that he had graduated with Obama and finished second in his class. Georgia’s boss was fearful of the fact thatGeorgiawas more competent than him and quicker in evaluating a case and making sound determinations. Georgia’s boss found her to be “forbidding, hostile and distant”. Georgiatold her boss that her name was actually Sapphire and wanted to be called Sapphire from then on out. Georgia’s name wasn’t such but wanted to get the message out to other blacks in the law firm that she was being viewed as a defiant Negro a la Sapphire from the old Amos and Andy show.
Timothy- Okay, I really don’t have time to be here with you people and go through this whole charade like you have some business that you’re attending to and then we get to voice a few things and after an hour, you then give lip service to our concerns and nothing gets done for three more months. What I have seen thus far this spring is Tiger lilies. What about the yellow spots of female dog urine, the Irish lads who are occupying units by our former developer fromIrelandwho has turned over this association to you fine people and pulled the wool over all our eyes. What about our unfinished porches, leaking roof and plumbing system that backs up constantly. I want this addressed. my feeling? Fuck the Tiger Lilies… Pardon my language.
Martha- That’s a good start… I want to discuss the guy on the third floor in my tier who beats the shit out of his girlfriend constantly and flicks his cigarette butts out of the window onto the grass outside my window. Now I’m a smoker but not one who pollutes the common area that is here for us all to enjoy. I have to listen to him yell in Greek or Italian. He isn’t the owner but a renter of Andy who has moved toWest Germanyto finish his doctorate in something or other. I don’t understand how people just come and go and we don’t got any say in who rents here. How do we know if we’re living with criminals? I know we’re living with rude, women beating slobs.
Johasophat- Is there still aWest Germany? I thought that died with the tsar. In any event, Prudence and I are devout Buddhists and we try to meditate at an hour that is convenient for us. The people upstairs have dogs and children that run all night. I have tried to discuss them being aware of others and respectful. I know they are trying to do a short sale. I propose that the association buy their unit and turn it into a facility such as a library or a meeting room, possibly a place where we could meet periodically and really try to cultivate a sense of community. We all live here. We are in a sense a family of sorts.
Timothy sneered.
Timothy rides his bicycle to a nearby grocery store that he has worked at since his junior year of high school. When his grandmother passed, he was left her condominium. Timothy constantly tells people that he is a land owner and has certain rights under the law that those who just rent, do not have. Since becoming a land owner, Timothy has become interested in the Tea Party and truly believes President Obama is a foreign born citizen. He spends his time watching Fox News and looking at his neighbors in his dark living room through a high powered telescope. Timothy has seen everyone present at the meeting doing things within their apartments that nobody should really know about nor see. Timothy likes to know a lot about a lot of things. He has an inquiring mind.
Martha is a chain smoking woman in her fifties that appears to be in her sixties. She has three Pug dogs and visits the tavern on the corner occasionally for a beer and to watch baseball games. Now and then a male patron will engage her in conversation and wind up in her bed for a few hours. When that doesn’t happen, Martha usually goes home and watches taped episodes of Dancing with the Stars and uses a wide variety of sex toys on herself that she bought on what she calls, “The Dildo Channel”.
.
Johasaphat is actually Joe. Joe gave himself that exotic name upon moving toKoreafor a year. While inKorea, he met a woman named Jun that took his English class. Joe gave his wife the name Prudence. Joe became a Buddhist, a vegan and opened a bookstore devoted to Buddhism. Joe used to be in a Skinhead band back when he was younger called Vehrmacht. Joe is still bald but is quite peaceful and loving of all things and all colors now. He no longer listens to loud and aggressive music anymore.
Now Timothy interrupted everyone who spoke and muttered little things under his breath until Robert who was always sort of edgy, threatened to beat his ass if he said another word while someone was speaking. Timothy said he would go to the state board and police if he were attacked physically.
Johasphat tried to reason with the two men while Martha discussed Dancing with the Stars with Abby who talked about her children. Georgia took notes and noticed an email on her Blackberry. It was a message she from a man she met through a dating site. They had several dates and something was growing between them. The man from the dating site told her that all he could think about was her since the last time they saw one another. He wanted to know if she was available for dinner on Friday night. Georgia reread the message three times while the rest of the board discussed and argued about painting, porches, leaking roofs, Irish renters, cigarettes butts and Tiger Lilies. Georgia responded with the word yes in block letters to the invitation for dinner. Georgia was a million miles away and in a happier place than her neighbors. Georgia sat smiling as people complained around her. She was no longer taking notes. She was in that place that we all find ourselves when we feel truly drawn to someone and can think of little else except being with that person who has captivated us. Georgia was in love and nothing else mattered. And that is really one of the few things that matter in life.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
baseball not a sport or Vishnu at the Plate
Vishnu Patel was able to anonymously come to the United States without having to wear a scarlet letter or fear for his life so much. In India, Vishnu Patel was simply known as Vishnu since Patel is about as common a name as Jones is in the ghetto.
Vishnu was a Cricket playing prodigy who was a fast bowler. Bowling is much akin to pitching a baseball and has nothing to do with the sport of bowling even though Vishnu came to love that over time upon moving to the United States.
Vishnu was a rich young man in India. He could bowl fast and spin the ball so that when it hit the ground, it would bounce like a superball. Vishnu was sponsored by all sorts of companies that wanted his name on cricket bats. He was in songs and in movies and drove sports cars and had a big home. At bat, Vishnu easily scored and had several centuries meaning that while at bat, he scored over 100 points all by himself. Vishnu was the Michael Jordan, Wayne Gretsky, Brett Favre and Babe Ruth rolled into one. Like the Hindu god of the same name, Vishnu seemed to walk on water but like all mortals he had something about him that tarnished him in the eyes of Indians; homosexuality.
Vishnu had kept his secret under close wraps in India. He was always seen in public with a pretty girl. It was during a test match in Australia that he was photographed dancing and kissing another man in a gay night club. Vishnu had crushed his supporters upon the revelation that he was in fact homosexual. There were death threats and Vishnu’s kept man and he fled the country in 2008.
Endorsements dried up and Vishnu fled for the United States for fear that he would be killed or jailed. There was a fear among Indian parents that perhaps their sons might deem homosexuality as something that would be, “not so bad” because the great Vishnu fancied lads.
Vishnu took whatever money he had left and bought a Tim Horton’s franchise right outside of Cleveland, Ohio. Tim Horton’s was quickly becoming the biggest Canadian export after beer. Vishnu was satisfied being just another Indian in America. People mistook him for a cab driver and a computer technician but nobody recognized him as a former great cricket player except one sports columnist who wrote for the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Tim Jones, who never lived in the ghetto by the way, relished being a thorn in the side of the Cleveland Indians. It was Tim Jones who recognized the former star who single handedly decimated the West Indies Cricket Club in Barbados. Jones was on had to witness Vishnu’s feat. Vishnu had five wickets as a bowler and batted over a century to defeat the West Indies more or less, by himself. Tim Jones went after the Cleveland Indian’s front office in his column. Here is what he had to say:
“Chief Wahoo should have a tear in his eye just like the crying Indian from the early 1970’s commercial who was saddened and dismayed by what had become of his land. What has become of Chief Wahoo’s Indians? If the Cavs and Browns don’t make you cry, maybe this year’s Indians will. A mere 9,000 fans managed to make it out to see their team win 7-1 against the Chicago White Sox. David Hasslehoff might draw more than that if he were to perform at Progressive Field. If you didn’t hear it already, the Indians turned their first triple play since 2008 on Sunday. It is nothing like the front office’s triple play of getting rid of their three best players and expecting a dwindling population to step up and pay to see a shell of what once was a proud franchise. Proud like an Indian. Speaking of Indians, most of you would never know this but one of the best players to have ever played the sport of cricket owns Tim Horton franchises right here in the state of Ohio, right in the city of Cleveland. I’d be willing to bet my wigwam and teepee that The Great Vishnu could save the franchise single handedly. Picture any of our current has-beens or never-will-bees pitching like Cliff Lee and batting like a healthy Grady Sizemore. I throw out the challenge to Mr. Patel and Mr. Acta. Do something different. Bring back the crowds. Let an Indian, a real Indian save the Indians from oblivion. Wipe that tear from Chief Wahoo’s cheek and restore that stupid smile once again.”
Everyone who read Mr. Jones’ column knew that he was brutal on sports teams in Cleveland and knew that the Cleveland Indians held the most promise of success in the city of Cleveland before losing several players who may one day end up in the baseball hall of fame. Tim Jones caught up with Vishnu and was surprised what he had to say about the sport of baseball. Vishnu had laid down the gauntlet.
“Meester Tim… I dawn vant to put dawn dee national pastime of a nation but ven I pass by parks and I see over-vait, middle aged men hitting a beach ball, under hand at a speed dat ees barely able to support it in dee air, I liken eet to a hunter tracking a cow. How caan you meese shooting a grazing cow who looks at you stupidly vile lining up her head weeth a scope? Now hitting a baseball might be a tad more difficult but eet ees naught cricket. Cricket ees a sport. Baseball ees a hobby.”
Native Clevelanders or rather white people and blacks who were once owned by whites, who have resided on indigenous people’s land that were mistaken by Christopher Columbus for Indians, were indignant by the brazen comments of Vishnu. It was one thing for Americans residing in Cleveland to attack their own team and their own beloved sport; it was another thing to have a gay foreigner verbally bitch slap baseball. Vishnu had no choice but to face those who loved baseball and the Indians.
Vishnu studied tapes of baseball for a few days and even watched some games on ESPN before contacting Tim Jones to set up a meeting between him and the Cleveland Indians. If you can imagine this, Progressive Field sold out every seat in the stadium to watch the exhibition between a former cricket great and professional baseball players. The Cleveland Indian front office loved the publicity.
Vishnu emerged from a tunnel wearing a collared shirt that had the letters, INDIA across the front with his name on the back with the number 13. Vishnu swung his arm in a circle a few times before facing the first batter. Manny Acta sent up a pitcher to face Vishnu. Vishnu came running up from second base, hit the mound and threw the ball in a windmill fashion, delivering a pitch that did not bounce. A 160 km/h fastball or damn near 100 miles an hour pitch for a strike. The speed gun registered 101 mph. The pitch twisted in the air and dropped like it fell off a cliff. Vishnu struck out two pitchers, then two batters that would be lucky to pinch run and then some real big fish. The guys that might make more than entire population of the average worker in the city of Cleveland combined. One of the bonus babies got a few foul tips before being felled. It was then Vishnu’s turn to come to the plate. Vishnu stood on the plate as though he was protecting a wicket. He wore what looked like a jockey’s helmet with a protective grill with gloves and leg guards that one might find on a goalie in ice hockey. Vishnu whacked everything that came his way whether it was a strike or a ball. The last pitch was an 85 mile an hour fastball. Vishnu took two steps towards the pitch and knocked it into the right field stands where a group of Indian expatriates were banging drums, waving an Indian flag with painted faces. Vishnu carried his bat with him as he would have in cricket as he rounded the bases. Backwards.
It would be fair to surmise that baseball fans, The Cleveland Indians and Americans in general felt badly about the publicity stunt and that would be correct. Upon signing Vishnu to a multi-year contract as a relief pitcher and designated hitter, the Indians suddenly began to win and fans returned to Progressive Field. After a while nobody seemed to notice or care that their star player was not only not American or a baseball player, that he was gay too. As Americans often like to say to one another: Only in America.
Vishnu was a Cricket playing prodigy who was a fast bowler. Bowling is much akin to pitching a baseball and has nothing to do with the sport of bowling even though Vishnu came to love that over time upon moving to the United States.
Vishnu was a rich young man in India. He could bowl fast and spin the ball so that when it hit the ground, it would bounce like a superball. Vishnu was sponsored by all sorts of companies that wanted his name on cricket bats. He was in songs and in movies and drove sports cars and had a big home. At bat, Vishnu easily scored and had several centuries meaning that while at bat, he scored over 100 points all by himself. Vishnu was the Michael Jordan, Wayne Gretsky, Brett Favre and Babe Ruth rolled into one. Like the Hindu god of the same name, Vishnu seemed to walk on water but like all mortals he had something about him that tarnished him in the eyes of Indians; homosexuality.
Vishnu had kept his secret under close wraps in India. He was always seen in public with a pretty girl. It was during a test match in Australia that he was photographed dancing and kissing another man in a gay night club. Vishnu had crushed his supporters upon the revelation that he was in fact homosexual. There were death threats and Vishnu’s kept man and he fled the country in 2008.
Endorsements dried up and Vishnu fled for the United States for fear that he would be killed or jailed. There was a fear among Indian parents that perhaps their sons might deem homosexuality as something that would be, “not so bad” because the great Vishnu fancied lads.
Vishnu took whatever money he had left and bought a Tim Horton’s franchise right outside of Cleveland, Ohio. Tim Horton’s was quickly becoming the biggest Canadian export after beer. Vishnu was satisfied being just another Indian in America. People mistook him for a cab driver and a computer technician but nobody recognized him as a former great cricket player except one sports columnist who wrote for the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
Tim Jones, who never lived in the ghetto by the way, relished being a thorn in the side of the Cleveland Indians. It was Tim Jones who recognized the former star who single handedly decimated the West Indies Cricket Club in Barbados. Jones was on had to witness Vishnu’s feat. Vishnu had five wickets as a bowler and batted over a century to defeat the West Indies more or less, by himself. Tim Jones went after the Cleveland Indian’s front office in his column. Here is what he had to say:
“Chief Wahoo should have a tear in his eye just like the crying Indian from the early 1970’s commercial who was saddened and dismayed by what had become of his land. What has become of Chief Wahoo’s Indians? If the Cavs and Browns don’t make you cry, maybe this year’s Indians will. A mere 9,000 fans managed to make it out to see their team win 7-1 against the Chicago White Sox. David Hasslehoff might draw more than that if he were to perform at Progressive Field. If you didn’t hear it already, the Indians turned their first triple play since 2008 on Sunday. It is nothing like the front office’s triple play of getting rid of their three best players and expecting a dwindling population to step up and pay to see a shell of what once was a proud franchise. Proud like an Indian. Speaking of Indians, most of you would never know this but one of the best players to have ever played the sport of cricket owns Tim Horton franchises right here in the state of Ohio, right in the city of Cleveland. I’d be willing to bet my wigwam and teepee that The Great Vishnu could save the franchise single handedly. Picture any of our current has-beens or never-will-bees pitching like Cliff Lee and batting like a healthy Grady Sizemore. I throw out the challenge to Mr. Patel and Mr. Acta. Do something different. Bring back the crowds. Let an Indian, a real Indian save the Indians from oblivion. Wipe that tear from Chief Wahoo’s cheek and restore that stupid smile once again.”
Everyone who read Mr. Jones’ column knew that he was brutal on sports teams in Cleveland and knew that the Cleveland Indians held the most promise of success in the city of Cleveland before losing several players who may one day end up in the baseball hall of fame. Tim Jones caught up with Vishnu and was surprised what he had to say about the sport of baseball. Vishnu had laid down the gauntlet.
“Meester Tim… I dawn vant to put dawn dee national pastime of a nation but ven I pass by parks and I see over-vait, middle aged men hitting a beach ball, under hand at a speed dat ees barely able to support it in dee air, I liken eet to a hunter tracking a cow. How caan you meese shooting a grazing cow who looks at you stupidly vile lining up her head weeth a scope? Now hitting a baseball might be a tad more difficult but eet ees naught cricket. Cricket ees a sport. Baseball ees a hobby.”
Native Clevelanders or rather white people and blacks who were once owned by whites, who have resided on indigenous people’s land that were mistaken by Christopher Columbus for Indians, were indignant by the brazen comments of Vishnu. It was one thing for Americans residing in Cleveland to attack their own team and their own beloved sport; it was another thing to have a gay foreigner verbally bitch slap baseball. Vishnu had no choice but to face those who loved baseball and the Indians.
Vishnu studied tapes of baseball for a few days and even watched some games on ESPN before contacting Tim Jones to set up a meeting between him and the Cleveland Indians. If you can imagine this, Progressive Field sold out every seat in the stadium to watch the exhibition between a former cricket great and professional baseball players. The Cleveland Indian front office loved the publicity.
Vishnu emerged from a tunnel wearing a collared shirt that had the letters, INDIA across the front with his name on the back with the number 13. Vishnu swung his arm in a circle a few times before facing the first batter. Manny Acta sent up a pitcher to face Vishnu. Vishnu came running up from second base, hit the mound and threw the ball in a windmill fashion, delivering a pitch that did not bounce. A 160 km/h fastball or damn near 100 miles an hour pitch for a strike. The speed gun registered 101 mph. The pitch twisted in the air and dropped like it fell off a cliff. Vishnu struck out two pitchers, then two batters that would be lucky to pinch run and then some real big fish. The guys that might make more than entire population of the average worker in the city of Cleveland combined. One of the bonus babies got a few foul tips before being felled. It was then Vishnu’s turn to come to the plate. Vishnu stood on the plate as though he was protecting a wicket. He wore what looked like a jockey’s helmet with a protective grill with gloves and leg guards that one might find on a goalie in ice hockey. Vishnu whacked everything that came his way whether it was a strike or a ball. The last pitch was an 85 mile an hour fastball. Vishnu took two steps towards the pitch and knocked it into the right field stands where a group of Indian expatriates were banging drums, waving an Indian flag with painted faces. Vishnu carried his bat with him as he would have in cricket as he rounded the bases. Backwards.
It would be fair to surmise that baseball fans, The Cleveland Indians and Americans in general felt badly about the publicity stunt and that would be correct. Upon signing Vishnu to a multi-year contract as a relief pitcher and designated hitter, the Indians suddenly began to win and fans returned to Progressive Field. After a while nobody seemed to notice or care that their star player was not only not American or a baseball player, that he was gay too. As Americans often like to say to one another: Only in America.
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