Street Games

An old blogpal of mine once told me that my best posts are when I tell stories of my past. Okay, I'll indulge. After all this "happy dad" crap I've been posting, it's time to go into the Spartacus Way Back machine.

What inspired this entry is a recent post by MauiGirl about the New York City Public Schools Athletic Association's inclusion of Double Dutch as an officially sanctioned sport. Like her, I remember this activity fondly; but only because I was always one of those jackass boys who would try and jump into the moving ropes while my sister and her friends were taking their turns. Hey! What brother wasn't a jackass or an asshat or some kind of an *ass to his sister?

But Mauigirl also laments the fact that these games have lost out to more passive activities like video-game playing, chatting on AIM, and hitting social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace. (Sorry, but those sites don't need any linking here...)

She wrote:

Making something a competitive sport doesn't mean it will result in more kids getting exercise. What happens is they get driven to the site where the sport takes place; parents must provide snacks for their kids and their friends to eat afterward; kids jump for a short period of time and then their round is over. It's not like the old days when a bunch of friends would gather in a seldom-used street and jump rope all afternoon just for the fun of it, and get real exercise.

She makes a good point here. Even though my kids get out of the house plenty, it's nowhere near the amount of time I spent outside the house playing games back in the 1970s. And growing up poor in the East Village of Manhattan, you learn to get pretty inventive with the games you play.

Some you've heard of before -- Stickball, Handball, Whiffleball, Red Rover and Spin The Bottle are but a few.

A staple of many of the games I played was a pink rubber ball known as the Spaldeen, made by the Spalding®. But spaldeen games are all variations of baseball, so I'll leave those for another post. The games I'm covering here required a great deal of skill, balance, ingenuity, speed, agility, and a tolerance for brutality.



Ah, Let the games begin. Shall we?

Skelsies - I played this game quite a bit in the summer. I lived in Jacob Riis Houses where the skelsie boards like the one on the right were painted onto the asphalt yards between buildings. All you need to play is a ketchup bottle or pickle jar cap, and a good eye for angles. The caps were typically filled with melted wax or crayon. The crayon melts were cool because you could make some pretty neat designs with them.

The object of the game was to shoot your cap into each succeeding box, the winner being the first to reach box 13. The cap must be completely inside the box before you can shoot to the next one. But the game's not as easy as it looks. For one, you can prevent opponents from reaching a box by knocking them out of the way. The way we used to play at Jacob Riis was if you called "kicksies", you can kick someone's cap across the yard if happened to be near yours after a successfully entering a box. Another challenge was avoiding the trapezoidal areas around box 13. Those were the penalty boxes. Land in there with your cap and you lose a turn. We didn't use numbers in our boxes. As I recall, you had to wait a turn or two before you can shoot out of the trapezoid, or you can resume playing if someone was stupid enough to knock you out of one.


Kick The Can - I have a special place in my heart for this game because of kid I knew named Edgardo who was always "it." This game is very similar to hide-and-go-seek except that it's played with a beer or soda can. The game starts with everyone rushing to find a can; the last one to find a can (usually Edgardo) was "it." The first person to find a can was given the honor of being the first to kick or toss the can far enough away for the rest of the group to hide while the "it" person retrieves the can. The "it" kid would then try to find the players who were hiding. The "it" person captured you by tapping the can on the ground and saying "Tap, tap, tap, I see Spartacus behind a tree. One, two, three. One, two, three. Once found, you sat on the "base" bench and waited for someone to rescue you by kicking the can. The "it" guy wins by capturing everyone hiding; the new "it" person being the first person captured. What made this game a hoot for us was when Edgardo was "it". My friends and I would always hide together in the same spot, allowing one or two of us to be captured, before we'd all come out and bum rush the can. I swear, you had to see the desperation on Edgardo's face as he tried to tap us all out. We tortured him. He's probably going through some serious therapy sessions from all those times he was "it". Oh Edgardo, I'm sorry. But damn it what a pisser this game was when you were it.


Okay, you can stop reading here if you're not into brutal acts of violence committed in the name of fun. The next two games make scenes from Los Olvidados look tame.

Hot Peas And Butter - This was one of those stealthy games best played at night. The game required a leather belt, a place to hide it, a safe location called the "base" and lots of speed. If you owned the belt, you got to hide it first while the other players waited at the base. Once hidden, the belt-hider would call out "hot peas and butter, come and get your supper" to begin this masochistic search. The hider would then direct seekers to the hiding spot by telling them whether they were hot or cold. The closer they got to finding the belt, the more animated the hider became. "You're cold. Your getting warmer. You're hot. You're hotter. You're BOILING!!!!!" Can you guess what happens next? Yup! That's right. The person finding the belt gets to chase and whip the shit out of anybody who can't make it back to home base. The best part about this game was the sheer terror derived from seeking the belt. I swear this game was like a urban version of lions hunting antelope on an African plain. It's easy to see why this game fell out of favor. It was sanctioned corporal punishment. But damn it, if you didn't get a good cardio workout out of running from a good ol' ass-whoopin.


Johnny On The Pony - I saved the best game for last. This is the quintessential "ball-less" team game. It required about five players a side for it to be worthwhile; the more players the better. I recall playing this game as a high school in my junior and senior years in the yard at lunch with as many as 12 kids a side. And these were big kids, too. The team designated as the pony would line up, perpendicular to a wall. One player would stand resting his (or her) back against the wall and act as the pillow allowing the next player to bend at the waist and brace against the "pillow". Each succeeding player would do the same, bending over to wrap their arms around the waist of the player bent before them. The opposing team would then run, one at a time, from a distance of 20-30 feet and vault onto the pony in an attempt to break the pony or ride it until the words "Johnny On The Pony. One. Two. Three." can be repeated three times. Break it or ride it and your team wins. Fall off and your team becomes the pony. Believe it or not players fell off the pony as often as the pony broke. And that's where it gets bloody. Like I said, some of these guys are big. Can you imagine having a 200-pound behemoth fall on a 140-pound 11th grade body? I can because this happened to me. Alot. Thankfully, I suffered no broken bones, but many happy lacerations, scrapes and bruises.

That's all I got for tonight kids. There are more games I played as a kid. These just happened to be the ones I remember best. I would love to hear about your kid games stories.

(h/t to Mauigirl and my special blog friend...)

Warped on Long Island

What do you get when you get 48 bands to play on 6 stages for one full day of music?

Warped Tour

I was planning this whole post about the experience of taking my sons to this show. They've been bugging me about since the 2008 line up was announced last December. "Yeah, yeah," I said to them dismissively, hoping they wouldn't bug me about it.

But they persisted.... and persisted... and persisted.... until..



Here's what you should know about last Saturday's show At Nassau Coliseum in Uniondale, NY:



- Arrive at the parking lot with enough time to build the grill and get the charcoal going. Otherwise, you end up eating burgers and dogs that taste like lighter fluid. Come to think of it, they weren't half bad.

- Do your drinking outside the gates. Warped Tour organizers have a strict "No Re-entry" policy, which lets them charge $5 for a 24-ounce bottle of tap water and $6 for a 20-oz Gatorade -- even when it's over 90 degrees out.

And yes, me and my BFF, Glen, were drinking beers.

- Have a plan. There's just NO FRIGGIN' WAY to see all 48 bands that played on the six stages scattered over a huge parking lot.

- Never pass on a free hug.

- Warped Tour shows are supposed to be fun. Even if you can't bring yourself to let loose because someone needs to play the role of "responsible parent", ya gotta let the kids skank .

- After watching my sons go nuts over Reel Big Fish and The Aggrolites, I was reminded that kick-ass music comes in all forms shapes and sizes, even if it is Ska. And, yes, I'll do anything to make sure my kids get the most of the experience, even lifting Rick on my shoulders so he can watch and listen.

My apologies for the video and sound quality and Rick's vocal overdubs. What would you expect from an excited kid sitting on his dancing dad's shoulders shooting video from a Sony CyberShot?



But if you prefer, here's some video from these bands shot with a much steadier hand:

Reel Big Fish -- Beer


The Aggrolites -- Don't Let Me Down

Another Shout Out For Kelso

Kelso, of Editorials from Hell's leading daily newspaper, is a good friend of mine living down in Panama, who is also happens to be one of the biggest fans of the New York Mets. So, when me and my boys Zeb and Rick went out to Shea Stadium to catch the opening game of their three game set against their National League East rivals the Philadelphia Phillies, I thought of him. Circumstances being what they are. it just not possible for Kelso to get to one last game at Shea before it's torn down. Here's a photo essay I put together to bring one last game at Shea to him.

Enjoy!


Zeb and Rick before the game got underway. Zeb is a *gasp!!!!* Yankees fan and Rick is a Mets fan. So, when the game finally got underway, Zeb gets up and shouts "Let's Go Phillies!!!" He's got some pair, that Zeb, and I'm not talking baseballs.





Play ball! Notice the new stadium - Citifield - the background? This pic does it no justice because my Sony Cybershot has no real zoom feature, but the presence of the new structure in the outfield changes the whole feel of being at Shea. In fact, it no longer felt like we were at Shea at all.









No game at Shea is complete without a jet plane taking off from one of the scariest airports in the world -- LaGuardia Airport.









Only true Met fans know where to catch a game -- The Upper Deck!








Can you tell that the batter is Carlos Delgado right before he cranked out a dinger to deep left? Neither could we from the upper deck...at least not without the help of the scoreboard.







Poor kid! How was he to know that five Met relivers would come on in the 9th inning, fall to their knees and blow the game by giving up six runs. His mom told me this was his first game. I could have sworn I heard him say "fucking Jimmy Rollins!" as the final out was made on this pathetic 8-6 loss.




Hey K-man. I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane as much as I enjoyed bringing it to you. Peace bro!


P.S. - The Mets redeemed themselves tonight beating the Phillies 6-3 to move back into a tie for 1st place.

My Boy Zeb is 14!

Boy Zeb. It's been a long time since your feet were this tiny. Remember these? Probably not. This is what your feel looked like moments after you were born on this day in 1994.

It was as really hot on your birthday. The sweltering sun beat down on you and Skippy and Aunt Kate as you were riding to get some pizza from Umbertos. On the way there, someone bumped Kate's car from behind giving three of you quite a jolt. No one was hurt in the accident, but Skippy swears that it was that fender bender that set the ball rolling. The accident happened at 1PM. You were born less than 3 hours later.


I don't know if she's right. Whenever you put your mind to something, you are always in a rush to get to it, even being born. The only caveat being waking up in the morning. Somehow your incredible sense of urgency getting up out of bed on most days.

Sorry to embarrass you with this Halloween picture. It was your mom's idea to dress you this way. She called your her darling pumpkin then, and you should know that even though you're a few inches taller than she is, you're still her little darling pumpkin.


You should know, too, that nights with you were not always as peaceful as they seem in this picture. You probably don't remember the time I spent the whole night in the hospital when you became severely dehydrated from a bad stomach flu. Your mom and I were so worried for you then. Let me fill you in on a little secret, Zeb -- that hasn't changed.



You are also very loyal. Here you on your 7th birthday with your first, and still, best friend, Greenie. Do you realize that you've been friends with Greenie for more than 12 of the 14 years you've been alive?

I do. Have I told you how envious I am that he's still your best friend? How could he not be? Like me, Greenie probably remembers the time you stood up to the fifth grader that made him cry on the bus home from school one day. I was home from work that day and met you at the bus stop. As we were walking away, the fifth grade bully yelled from the bus, "Hey, is that your kid?

Me: Yeah. He is.

5th Grader: Well, he spit at me.

I was really pissed at you for doing that, and after I lectured you on why it's not a good thing to spit on other kids, you started to cry, "But Dad. He made Greenie cry. I had to do something."

I never said a word about it to you again. I realized then just how special you are. You're always doing something to defend your friends and family.

You know, Zeb, as you get older, you and I will have our disagreements on lots of things. Please understand that I'm not trying to make your life miserable, but sometimes I see alot of me in you and I can't help but say "Please, don't be that way."

Like when you and Rick go at it because he looked at you the wrong way or won't let you on the computer in the basement. If there's anything I've learned about being one of six brothers is that, in the end, your family is all you have. So, why engage it in the first place? I guess you have to. A brother's right of passage I suppose.

But then I say no. Be like me. I'm a good guy who, with Skippy, managed to raise three great kids who are all special in their own way. I hope to the heavens that you, too, will find that special someone with whom to share your life. I did.

And did I ever tell you how proud I am of your guitar skills? Man, you've learned more in one month than I learned in two years. I've told you that before, but I can't tell you enough. You rock.

Hope you've had a wonderful birthday, Zeb. May you enjoy many, many more.

Dad.

My Vacation from Jonestown...

...is over.

I put up a "dope" post over there today. Here's the link:

Even To The Best of Us

If you're new the site, take a moment and check out what's going on there. I guarantee that you will not be disappointed.

Oh Yeah....About That Test...

I passed.

About three weeks ago, I sat for the CISSP exam . Brutal does even begin to describe the ordeal. It covered all 250 questions in four of the six allotted hours, and emerged onto the empty streets near the Jacob Javits Convention Center wondering how I could be so stupid to blow $550 bucks for another professional designation.

Well...I passed. Here's the proof.

Dear Spartacus:

Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have passed the Certified Information Systems Security Professional (CISSP®) examination - the first step in becoming certified as a CISSP.

The second step in the certification process requires submission of two additional items:

1. A COMPLETED ENDORSEMENT FORM. The endorsement form and instructions are available for download at https://www.isc2.org/cgi-bin/content.cgi?page=1278.

2. YOUR RESUME/CV. Please provide a copy of your resume/CV along with your Endorsement in one email (Note: your resume/CV should be the same as the copy you give to your endorser).

Jeez, as if taking the test wasn't enough! Now I've to find full-fledged CISSP and grovel for their endorsement. Next their going to want blood samples to make sure I didn't take any steroids. Man, I feel so dirty.

I'll say this for the CISSP designation -- from an employment perspective, this is a nice card to have in my hand because in Corporate America, IT Security is a huge, HUGE, deal.

I can't imagine why.

So, even if I sometimes loathe working in a cubicle for "the man," it's a J-O-B like any other that helps pay bills and the feed hungry mouths of these three mangansones.





Is there a better reason than this?






Before I leave you, give this sample question a try:

1. Which of the following is not an encryption algorithm?

   • Skipjack
   • Twofish
   • DEA
   • SHA-1

Leave your answer in comments. Or if you care to peek.....









Answer: SHA-1. The SHA-1 is a hashing algorithm producing a 160-bit hash result from any data. It does not perform encryption.

Stepping Up For Skippy

I was all set for a quite evening last night.

I had no races to run. No guitar lessons to take. No one to drive to this friend's or that friend's house. No test to study for. Nothing.

That is until Skippy called to tell me that she was headed for the dentist. She had been complaining about a toothache for the last few days which made her mouth and face sore. Being the smartass I am, I suggested that her pain may be because she talks too much. Oh, wait, that's my problem....

It turns out that Skippy's problem was much worse than she thought. She called me at work to tell me that she got an emergency appointment with our dentist and that it was at 5:15 p.m. The nerve underneath her tooth was infected and the it had to be pulled.

Me: So what are we going to do about dinner for the kids?

Skippy: I shouldn't be long. I'll make it when I get back.

Me: Don't be silly. What were you planning to make.

Skippy: Garlic pasta.

Me: I can take care of that. Leave me the instructions and dinner will be ready by the time you come home.

Skippy: You would do that?

Me: Sure. Why not?

Famous last words. I've always known that that the job of "mom" is no easy task, but I had forgotten just how hard is that task. Last night, the rust in my ability to play the role showed.

Before you beat me up about making an apparently, sexist remark about the roles of moms and dads. Please understand that our family structure is quite anachronistic. Skippy handles much of the day-to-day load of the household tasks like cooking and doing laundry, while I take care of things like fixing fences, painting basements, car maintenance...etc... It's just how things work best in our 6-member unit most of the time. I help out with her self-assigned tasks and she helps me with mine. Noodle, Zeb and Rick also pitch in by doing their daily chores of tidying up the kitchen, bathrooms and basement.



Here's the lazy one in our house. Eat, sleep, shit and bark at postal workers. What a life! I digress...







My offer to cook dinner last night was sincere, despite the fact that I hardly ever cook. On occassion, I'll fix something for myself. But sandwiches and scrambled eggs don't count, do they? I'm just not that into it.

I am fascinated by those who can cook and create culinary works of art out of any ingredient available. The Cunning Runt comes to mind at this point. The man is a genius in the kitchen and has pictures to prove it.

Me? I can barely follow a recipe, and drove Skippy nuts with my incessant phone calls on how to mix ingredients and the location of important utensils. Here's a partial transcript of our 6:30PM conversation:

Me: Uh...how much olive oil do I use to brown the garlic?

Skippy: Oh, you think I measure?

Me: What do I use to do this part?

Skippy: C'mon man. Use your imagination. My mouth is killing me and I'm still waiting to see the oral surgeon.

Click!

You get the idea folks. I'm clueless in the kitchen. I admit it. By the time it was all over I had yelled at Rick for only wanting plain pasta, and at Zeb for wanting his without garlic in it. (There are other ingredients added -- grilled chicken, broccoli and sun-dried tomatoes are in this concoction.) Thankfully, Noodle was hanging with her BFF, Rachel at her house, so she was spared my wrath.

My patience wore so thin that by the time it was all said and done, I had placed at least five calls to Skippy and swore at my boys at least 10 times, all of which ended with: "What do you think this is? A fucking restaurant?"

When Skippy finally returned home, I barely showed any interest in her condition. That made her cry.

"Oh shit," I thought. "I've done it now."

That's when I grabbed the dog's leash and harness and took him for a walk around the park. It was as much a therapeutic walk for me as it was a strategy session on what to say to her when I returned, starting with an "I'm sorry."

I got home 30 minutes later, gave her a big hug and kiss, apologized profusely for my actions. I then took her out to Friendly's for one of her favorite treats -- a vanilla/chocolate swirl sundae with whipped cream. I apologized again after we returned home. We ate our ice cream in our living room and talked about what happened. She accepted my apology reminding me that I am more than capable of managing the house in her absence. Her point? The drama was unnecessary. Point taken.

Before I close this, though...I need to say one more thing:

Skippy, I'm sorry I went off the deep end last night. You were the one suffering here. Not me. All I needed to do was step up and cook some dinner. I should have just handled things as best I could and not bother you as I did. I should have stepped up and done what other fathers in my placed the world over do on a daily basis.

If anything, days like this show how much I need you and how much the kids need you. We love you and, while we would manage in your absence, we are quite lost without you. There is nothing in the world we would not do for you.

Love.... Spartacus




Isn't she a beauty? I think so. Pick on me if you must. I deserve it. But, please, if you leave a comment, show Skippy some love. She's hurting now and could use a hug or two.

Getaway....

I had an idea to write a long narrative post about my weekend in Livingston Manor, NY, but I thought I'd show you in pictures. Skippy and I packed the Jeep with kids, clothes and the family pet and took off on July 4th to escape the yearly re-enactment of the Tet Offensive on our block to the Catskill Mountains countryside.

We were up there for a little over 24 hours. We snapped 160 pictures. Here are ones I liked best:


Spartacus and the boys










Isn't she lovely?








Noodle (formerly known as The Eldest) and Peanut.










The Clark-Travanti barn where most of happenings happened.








There was music.....










and dancing.....









and people who just couldn't keep up with the rest of us.







At one point in the day, Skippy and I took off down this road to find a little adventure....

and found just the right spot to stop....







and admire the beautiful scenery.