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Survivor-Man Me?

8 Feb

February 8, 2018

Let me tell you what I was wearing. Not because I think you’ll get a thrill out of it, but because it is relevant to the story.

Blue sweat pants. Brown slip-on Skechers that I say are trendy and Saarah says are not. No socks. An old, thin green worn out t-shirt that is only good for wearing around the house. A winter coat.

That’s quite an ensemble and no, I was not on my to the Queen’s Ball. I was outside throwing out the trash. It was midnight and about 25 degrees outside. (That’s degrees Fahrenheit, not that Celsius nonsense. Celsius is just a scam perpetuated by the big mercury conglomerates to make us buy new thermometers.)

Does the dude in this stock photo look cold? He just looks creepy to me.

I walked around the side of my building to where the garbage cans are and put my trash in one of the already full cans so that my bag was precariously balanced atop a mountain of who knows what. I’m pretty sure that my building’s super empties these cans once in a while, but then again, what do I know? They never seem to get any emptier. (Yet they never get any fuller either. Maybe he empties just enough to keep the status quo.)

So, mission accomplished, I was walking back around the building when there was a gust of wind and I realized just how poorly I was dressed for the weather. Good thing I was only going to be outside for a minute or two and had a warm home to go back to.

But what if I didn’t? What if I were homeless?

Dressed as I was, was I prepared to survive a night of sudden homelessness?

I was already feeling a chill in my toes and since I wasn’t wearing socks my feet weren’t particularly comfortable to begin with.  So if I was forced to spend a night outdoors, braving the elements, how would I handle it?

My first worry was about frostbite. My hands I could jam in my jacket pockets, but with no socks my toes were an obvious frostbite target. I could probably tear up my shirt and wrap my feet in the cloth, then jam them into my shoes. But then I’d be shirtless (calm down ladies). Well, I was wearing a winter coat so I could zip it all the way up. My head was bare and my jacket didn’t have a hood. Maybe I could save some of the ripped t-shirt to wrap around my head like a bandanna to protect my ears from frostbite. Nothing I could do about my legs. The wind blew right through the sweatpants.

I had to face the fact that I was barely dressed to survive the minute and a half I’d be out in the winter, there was no way I’d survive overnight.

It was one thing to toss out the trash dressed that way, but I’d have to prepare better if I were to live outside.

If I were ever really homeless, I’d somehow make my way down to Florida. It’s much easier to be homeless in the winter laying on Miami Beach than it is here on Coney Island Beach.

That’s the life!

Being homeless on the beach does have some perks.

 

 

 

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Mom Loves Netflix

30 Jan

January 30, 2018

I was spending a nice evening at home with my mother, I wrote, knowing that she may read this. It was a Saturday night but hey- do I have anything better to do? No I do not.

We were watching TV. More accurately, we were not watching TV. It was on but I was at the computer where I may have been one of the last humans on the planet to finally see an episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee. It stars some Jerry Seinfeld fella you may have heard of. Mom was reading the newspaper.

Reading the daily newspaper is a lost art, one that frankly deserves to be lost. Think about it. The paper gets printed in the morning, full of stories written about news the night before. It gets bought in the late morning then sits around until afternoon or evening. By the time you read about a bank robbery, the crooks have already been caught and are planning their escape. Many is the time, and this is true, I’ve said to Mom “wow that was some horrible tragedy yesterday” and she’d say “yeah, the Mets lost again.” Meanwhile I was talking about the latest natural disaster in which 287 Sumatrans died when their village was flattened by a hurricane.

But the plight of the poor Sumatrans is not what we’re talking about here. (Honestly, I say if you can’t stand the heat, get out of Sumatra.) It is the sorry state of television. There was nothing worth watching on TV that night, unless you want to see the 697th rerun of The Big Bang Theory where Walowitz gets shot into space, or an episode of Redneck House Flippers Live!

I asked Mom if maybe there was something she wanted to see on Netflix. She said that Netflix has all those good TV shows she’s been dying to see. How long has she been dying to see them? For about eight years, which is also about how long she has had Netflix. (In case you haven’t figured it out yet, she has no idea how to access Netflix. “What time is the Netflix on? Does it come on after Judge Judy?”)

Well this was her big chance because I actually know which button to press to get Netflix. HINT: It is the same button you press to get everything else. So, Mom, what should we sit down and watch?

“I want to see Orange is the New Black.”

 I was thinking more in the line of the new Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Me to Mom: “You want us to watch a show about women getting beat up and sexually assaulted in prison?”
Mom: “I heard it was good.”

So I did what any good son would do. I watched another episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee (guest: Joel Hodgeson) while Mom watched Walowitz getting shot into space.

 

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