Archive | June, 2010

Great Food, Forbidden Love, and The Mystery of Naked Old Men

29 Jun

My family and I spent last weekend in San Francisco. Saturday night we ate in a fantastic restaurant in the financial district (Barbacco Eno Trattoria – San Francisco Restaurant). From beginning to end this place knocked it out of the park. The food was amazing. Despite that, I did think it was a bit pretentious; as we walked into the uptown chic trattoria, we were handed an iPad to peruse the electronic wine list. (My daughter thought that was the coolest thing she had ever seen). And after being seated, we were greeted by a casually arrogant and tousled young hipster who informed us, in a mumbled hush so full of disdain it was nearly palpable, that it would be his honor to serve us. The irony was not lost on us. He also delighted in saying things like, “excellent choice” and “certainly, sir.” We spent most of the night trying to decide whether he was being serious or if we were being Punked. Needless to say we had a great time.

We also spent an afternoon exploring the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate park (California Academy of Sciences – San Francisco Museum and Planetarium – Bay Area Natural History Museumin). They’d been advertising a new exhibit called Extreme Mammals and my daughter was excited to see it. Unfortunately, it ended up being an extreme jip.

What wasn’t an extreme jip, however, was the Gay Pride Parade that we accidentally stumbled onto Sunday morning.

But, was our daughter old enough? What exactly is the appropriate age for your first sighting of ass-less chaps? How much mesh and studded leather can one teen take? We decided it was worth the risk. The good cause we’d be supporting would balance out whatever craziness she might see.

And so we went. We grabbed the camera and headed down to Market St.


Despite the rainbow flags that were flying in every direction and the vibrant rainbow clothing everyone was wearing, I was surprised by how thin the crowd was. There were plenty of people, but it wasn’t the mob scene I’d expected.

There weren’t even any protesters, except for this guy, who passed in front of us as we crossed to the edge of the street. I watched him as he silently trudged up and down the sidewalk, carrying his sign all by himself. Eventually I lost sight of him. I spent a few minutes wondering how it would go, how far he might push it.

But then the parade was starting, the thundering roar of approaching motorcycles coming closer, and he was gone, lost in the crowd of supporters, his Jesus sign invisible behind all the fluttering rainbow banners in the air.

We quickly found a spot on the edge of the street and waited, anxious for the glorious spectacle to come. I mean, hello. This wasn’t just a parade after all, but a Gay Parade. I expected a show.

Dykes on Bikes were first, and they were fun. Lots of couples, of all ages, rode by. Some were on Harleys, just as butch as can be, and some looked like the elementary school librarian and her best friend were on their way home from afternoon tea on a little scooter. (P.S.-that’s because it probably was the elementary school librarian and her best friend). Some were in outrageous outfits (my favorite was the couple dressed as a bride and groom) and some were not.

But as they went past and the parade continued, I began to realize that there was nothing to worry about for my daughter. Everyone was pretty tame. Well, except for this guy, who nearly gave her a seizure as he rode by completely nude.

(How about the mad skills it took for my husband to snap this shot? NICE.)

But no one was making out or being in your face. We didn’t even see one pair of chaps all day. Go figure. Of course there were costumes (there seemed to be a conservative Southern Belle theme that afternoon), and provocative chants like:

“A..C..L..U!  We..Reserve..The..Right..To..Screw!”

But mostly it was a celebration. And much more of a family event than I’d expected. There were men and women with little kids on their shoulders standing next to gay couples, all mixed in with hetero couples like us. It was all pretty diverse. And it worked.

There were tons of cool groups in the parade, including a bunch of giant motorized cupcakes that circled and swirled as they rode by.

But one of the best was a float I saw near the end. As it passed I noticed an older woman with her arm around a very handsome young man. She was beaming, just smiling and waving a sign that said, “Proud Mom.” Nice.

And then came my favorite: the Prop 8 peeps. For the first time all day the hoots and cheers coming from the crowd were drowned out by an uproarious applause. Countless couples marched past, triumphantly holding hands and walking by, fighting for something the rest of us take for granted everyday. The simple right to marry.

The whole day was fun, the atmosphere jubilant and free, full of people enjoying the right to be themselves and to love whoever they want. In fact, it was all pretty gay.

Check out S.F. Gay Pride Parade 2010 Photos – SFist for more pics. I think our favorite old man even made one of the shots.

As we were driving back to Sac later that afternoon, I asked my daughter what she thought of the whole thing. She was still pretty bitter about the nude guy, but overall she thought it was pretty cool.  As for him, all she said was, “That guy was gross. Isn’t that illegal? And I don’t even get it. What’s that got to do with gay pride, anyway?”

It’s a good question. I have lots of gay friends and I’ve never seen them nude.

I was proud of her.  In fact, I was proud all the way around. I was proud that my family and I had been there to support the gay community, even in such a very small way. I was proud of the members of the SFPD who stood up in uniform and walked with their partners. I was proud that everyone had behaved and that it had turned out to be a real family event for so many. And I was proud of the progress that we’ve made on the whole. After 40 years of marching, things are still far from perfect, but I’d like to think that the crowd was thin on Sunday because people are finally starting to realize that it’s just not such a big deal to be gay. Duh.



Before it Was Weird…

25 Jun

I’m old enough to have been a Michael Jackson fan before things got out of hand. I remember being 12 or 13, sitting in the living room, waiting anxiously for the premier of Thriller. YouTube – Thriller – Original. Man that was cool. I remember the “scary” gangs from Beat It (YouTube – Michael Jackson – Beat It) and the glittery glove, and sliding all over any smooth floor, trying to perfect the moonwalk. I remember the tip of the hat and all of it. I even had this poster. And I remember when the biggest scandal surrounding Michael Jackson was that Billie Jean was trying to frame him as the father of her illegitimate baby. Billie Jean | Michael Jackson | Music Video | MTV.

But then the wheels came off.

He became this weird, insanely self destructive shut-in and then, coup de grace, became a pedophile. It was kind of a game changer for me.

This afternoon I discovered that for the last few months, Disney has been playing the old Michael Jackson short film, created by Francis Ford Coppola and George Lucas in 1986, Captain EO. YouTube – Michael Jackson Captain Eo. I don’t remember this movie, in fact I’m sure I never saw it at all, but it made me wonder.

Disney and Michael Jackson? Really? Isn’t that, like Alanis Morissette said, a little too ironic? I mean, surely it’s a conflict of interest, right?

But people love their King of Pop. And with today marking the 1-year anniversary of his death, trust me when I say you won’t be able to get away from him and his tragic tale on tv. Highlights: Michael Jackson, king for a day. So if you’re a fan, dig in. Otherwise, I hope you have something on Tivo.

I don’t know, but for me it ended back in the late 80’s, before the surgeries and the bleached-out skin, before that freak show at Neverland Ranch. You know, back when he had a jheri curl and the red and black leather jacket was still awesome.

Love him or not, he had an unprecedented influence on music (I hear it all over the place in Justin Timberlake) and somehow managed to become a powerful cultural phenomenon, despite his crazy childhood and the creepy allegations of child molestation that came later.

And sorry superfans, but come on. You know as well as I do that the children of the world are safer now that he’s gone. Despite that though, I do hope he finally found some peace.

Closet Crack

21 Jun

I have a confession. I am a junkie. But it’s under control. Seriously, I don’t have a problem. I can stop anytime I want. And anyway, I don’t do it all the time. Even though I wish I could. Ahh…to forget everything and indulge my most base desire, to lose myself in the pure sinful joy…of chips.

Go ahead, laugh. But I’m not the only one. You know who you are. Whether it’s barbecue, sour cream and onion or ruffled, we’re all the same.

I’ve always been a chip lover, ever since I was little. When other kids cried for ice cream, I cried for chips. In college I blacked out for three days; when my roommate finally found me, I was face down on the cold floor of my bedroom, surrounded by dozens of empty chip bags. The only thing I remember is how sore the roof of my mouth was. Scratched to bloody ribbons.

As an adult I’ve fought to get it under control. For God’s sake, I have a child. But just the other day, somewhere between having a “handful” of chips with my lunch (as if) and putting them away, I found myself standing in my darkened pantry, slowly, comfortingly swaying back and forth as my hand went from the bag to my mouth and back again. I was in a glossy-eyed haze, promising myself that each salted, wrinkly slice of kettle cooked perfection would be the last. Over and over.

How are these bags of crispy crack legal?

When I woke from my woozy trance I was a complete mess, my grease-covered, salty fingers holding that annoyingly smug, empty bag and all those damn cuts on the roof of my mouth. I had fallen off the wagon. Hard.

“Mom!” my daughter called, “are you coming or what?”

I was supposed to be in the car, driving her somewhere. How long had she been waiting? How long had I been standing here? And then the real question floated to the surface, just like a perfectly cooked, thinly sliced potato. How long until she gets her license? How long until she can drive herself and I can be alone? Free to stand in the pantry all day long…

You might think it’s just the salt. Salt is essential (the thought of an unsalted chip makes me so sad), but the glorious potato, that King of Carbs, could never be replaced. Think about it. Who inhales a bag of pretzels? No one. They’re like that guy your mom kept inviting over for dinner in high school. You know, the one who played accordion at all the home games and never bothered getting his license because he was too busy as a level 5 dungeon master. Safe.

Chips, on the other hand, are like that hot guy who was always in detention. He rolled in everyday (when he bothered to come to school at all) on that badass motorcycle he had restored over the summer (everyone was talking about it) and walked to class with a smile that could melt the panties off the most bitter, hardened heart. A whole football field of them. (Hearts, not panties).

My husband likes Fritos. Not me. They have too much of a stinky foot funk for me. They remind me of the kid who only washed on holidays. (New Years to Valentine’s was rough).  No, for me it will always be the purity of plain, kettle cooked chips.

And just when I thought my shameful relapse had plunged me all the way to rock bottom, that my sad little addiction had reared it’s ugly head once again, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I found this lady in England. Snacks yer lot, Gina | The Sun |News. At 22, Nurse Gina Gough was rushed to the hospital and underwent surgery after eating nothing but chips for years. NICE.

So thanks Gina. Thanks for being a kindred spirit who kept it most real and took it all the way downtown. And above all, thanks for making me feel like my occasional moments of shame in my shadowy pantry aren’t so bad after all. This one’s for you.

Great Gifts for Dad (especially if you’re passive aggressive and looking to send a message)

17 Jun

This Sunday is Father’s Day. And if that’s news to you this late in the week, you’re probably a jerk.

Either that or you’re some kid who stumbled on my blog during the commercials. You shouldn’t be here. Anyway, iCarly’s back on. Get out or you’re grounded.

For the rest of us, I’ve put together a list of some of the more unconventional gift options out there; something other than the picture tie or custom golf balls. Something guaranteed to cause a reaction. One way or the other.

The Tushee:

This thing rocks. Somewhere in a hazy, smoke-filled room there are a couple of guys bent over laughing, just counting the cash. It’s a towel. I can’t even believe this thing is real. YouTube – TUSHEE – The Towel for you Tushee – As Seen on TVAt least the Snuggie (and it’s low-rent cousin, The Slanket) had sleeves.

The G-Spout:

Yeah, you heard me. If your dad loves to cook, your prayers have been answered. YouTube – g-Spout – Years Best New Kitchen Tool for Pouring and Straining.  This revolutionary kitchen gadget will transform your dad’s life in the kitchen from messy and mundane to clean and, ooh la la…sassy.  Nice name. It’s so…subtle.

The Hawaii Chair:

I guess I’m late to the game. I just discovered this thrilling piece of engineering this morning. YouTube – Hawaii Chair InfomercialAnd what a discovery it was. There are literally no words for how inappropriate this thing is.

Give this to your dad on Sunday and I promise it can only go one of two ways.

1.  Your dad is a normal human being and this will happen:

“Thanks, guys!” he’ll say with a shaky voice, his eyes wide with shock and humiliation. They think I’m a complete fat ass…too far gone to even work it off in the gym. Guess real clothes are out next. Nothing but sweats and loose knits for me now.

OR

2. Your dad is a nut job and this will happen:

“Thanks, guys!” he’ll say as he gleefully unwraps the box, his secret dream of lounging away the rest of his life in a lurid, swiveling Hawaii chair finally realized. He skillfully cuts away the box and stands proudly, hands on hips, basking in the beauty of his major award. He backs up to it, gently, lovingly, then sits. He caresses the arm rests, tentatively at first, then squints and  boldly flicks the “on” button.  As the seat moves, sending him endlessly round and round, a content smile spreads across his face and his eyes glaze over.

Nice. The next thing you know you’ll be sitting at the breakfast table trying to choke down a bowl of Cheerios while your dad spins his way through the Sunday paper, the constant whirring of that relentless motor haunting even your most private moments.

Any way you look at it, this thing can mean nothing but trouble.

Rejuvenique Face Mask:

YouTube – Rejuvenique Electric Facial Mask. This funky gadget is perfect for the dad who is into keeping his youthful appearance. Or maybe he’s just a guy who always wanted to be Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky. When dad pops this creepy mask on for a few minutes each day (maybe right after shaving, when the skin is extra sensitive) he’ll feel his facial muscles tone as the expensive gold electrodes send a shocking dose of electricity through his twitching face. So exhilarating! Imagine the multi-tasking possibilities!

But don’t take my word for it, watch this testimonial. YouTube – The Mask of Death!!!!.

And hey, if you’re really feelin’ the love for your dad this year, go ahead and splurge! Spoil him rotten with both the Hawaii Chair and Rejuvenique. Just when you thought that breakfast table interaction couldn’t get any worse…

But if none of these seem right for your special dad, don’t despair. Check out the Huffington Post: The Worst Father’s Day Gifts Ever: 11 Things NOT To Get Your Pop (PICTURES) for even more ideas.

As for me…I’m going all out:

Nothing says “I love you, Dad!” quite like a gun-shaped grill.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there…and good luck on Sunday.

Daniel LaRusso Goes Dark

14 Jun

The new Karate Kid movie opened last Friday. The Karate Kid – Official Movie Site 2010. I haven’t seen it yet, but it looks pretty good, considering the formula. Like an updated version of the classic. Swap China for California, Jaden Smith for Ralph Macchio, and a roving gang of chinese kids for the Cobra KAI lunkheads and you’ve got what looks to be a very watchable summertime movie. I predict success.

I wonder if there’ll be a shoving match on the beach, or if Jaden will ride his bike over a giant embankment. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Maybe he’ll even date a girl who looks like she could be his babysitter, or like he’d have to stand on his tippy toes to kiss her.

It got me wondering though, what the heck happened to Ralph Macchio? Where has the original skinny kid who couldn’t catch a break been? (Am I the only one who thought Daniel looked like he was in 4th grade instead of high school?)

And then I found him. Turns out, he’s an actor. Well, sort-of. Not seen him in awhile? That’s because at 48 (yes, Ralph Macchio is 48 years old), he still looks like he’s in 4th grade. I guess that “nice guy” image isn’t so awesome when you’re an adult.

While the rest of us have grown up, he’s been trapped inside that cute little body, struggling to get work in Hollywood. And no one’s been buying.

Couple that with a lifetime of watching fellow “Outsider” cast members (Patrick Swayze, Matt Dillon, Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez and Tom Cruise) grace the tabloids for wild, bad boy behavior while their careers have taken off, and having some a-hole on the corner shout “Hey Mr. Miyagi!” or “Sweep the leg, Johnny!” every time you walk to the drug store, and you’ve got a recipe for diaster.

Then last year, the final blow for Macchio came as his publicist informed him that he had lost the voiceover role for Sunshine Bear in the new version of “Care Bears:The Movie.” (Turns out his voice was too high-pitched).

Since then, sources close to Macchio have noticed a change. The once mild-mannered, polite family man has unleashed a dark side. Spotted last week waxing a vintage 1950‘s yellow Chevrolet outside of his middle class track home, dressed only in a thong and a Japanese flag headband, Macchio has apparently decided to stand on one foot and with the strength and determination only a true Karate Kid could muster, crane kick the shit out of his image (as long as it isn’t too much trouble to anyone).

And to seal the deal, just last week he and Emmy award winning director Todd Holland released the trailer for their new movie: “Wax on, F*ck Off.” Check out: The Karate Kid Is Back! (But Not Before He Becomes A Badass).  It’s AWESOME.

Look out Colin Farrell, there’s a new bad boy in town. And he’s got mad chopstick skills.

Ride From Hell, Part II

10 Jun

Where did we leave off? Ahh yes…I had taken a dive and then been dissed by Ricky Schroder.  After my graceful maneuver with the kid, my husband and I decided it was time to get off the trail. Fighting cars on the open road suddenly seemed less dangerous. So we hit the street and in no time, we were cruising.

Ten miles later, my right knee gave out; completely and without warning. I could stand, but pedaling was out of the question. (I wonder if it had anything to do with how it slammed into the ground half an hour before?) Anyway, having one bum knee isn’t awesome when you’re riding a bike. It’s kind of a two-legged thing.

Fortunately we weren’t very far from home, maybe 5 miles. We talked it over and considered the options. They were all pretty bad: walk barefooted so I didn’t ruin my biking shoes, wait while my husband went home for the Jeep, or ride one-legged. I decided to ride home with the one leg. It wasn’t far, and it felt like a challenge. I was up for it. Suddenly I was in the trenches, like Ralphie’s dad with a flat tire. Bring it on.

The only thing was, I had to ride up a very long and winding hill, maybe a mile. This thing is no gimmee, even with two legs. But I was excited about it. I knew I could do it.

So I started up the hill. And I was doing it; grunting through the fire in my left thigh, fighting for every little inch of distance. It was awesome.

I must’ve been about half way up when I heard a loud noise behind me, like a car backfiring. I looked over my left shoulder and saw this junked up, ancient motorhome coming up behind me, swerving like it was out of control, right into the bike lane. Right where I was.

So much for the traffic being safer.

I didn’t even have time to think. This monstrous POS was coming up behind me, oblivious to the fact that it was about to run me down. It backfired again, louder this time. Closer. I did the only thing I could. I freaked out and threw it to the right.

At this point it was beginning to feel like my signature move.

Only this time I had a 5-6 in. curb to tangle with before I landed “safely” on the sidewalk. Sweet.

When the dust settled, the attack Winnebago was in front of me, about 25 feet up the hill, broken down on the side of the road. Shockingly I was fine. For the second time in less than an hour, I crawled to my feet and picked myself up from the wreckage. I started walking my bike up the hill, trying to decide how to handle this.

I was pissed. Who the hell drives like that? Honk the horn! Throw me a bone or something. And not only did I almost get squashed by this random wanker in his 1950‘s motorhome (could it get any worse?) but my super human effort to make it up the hill one-legged was now shot. (I so could’ve done it.) I was torn between climbing in the front door of the broken down beast and clawing the eyes out of the driver (like a Mentos commercial gone wrong) or just walking by, too disgusted to even speak.

I headed up the hill and figured I’d let fate decide.

As I got to the motorhome (a truly classic display of obscene graffiti covering the entire right side), a gnarly looking guy, complete with shaggy grey hair, mustache, and cut off jean shorts, came stumbling out the passenger door. He looked at me, and are you ready? Said nothing. Not, “Hey, sorry I almost killed you a second ago,” or “Are you okay?” or even, “Want a beer? ‘Cause I’ve got a few under the seat that I didn’t drink yet.”

You’re expecting a scene here, I can feel it.  And with good reason, ‘cause I was too.

But the truth is, as soon as this burner shuffled down the two rusting grates that served as steps, all I could think was, “1972 called. They want their faded, fringed shorts/mustache/hair back.”

Fate had intervened and handed me this cat. Far out, man. Can you dig?

I burst out laughing, my anger replaced with a wave of hysteria. Can you imagine the pictures in the paper if something had happened? Of all the ways to go. It should’ve been a van (with a tear drop shaped window in the upper back corner). NICE. Run down by an aging Jeff Spicoli, without the pizza. I shook my head, gave him the finger and walked my bike the rest of the way home.

Looking back, the ride that day was not a favorite.  Although, I bet even Lance Armstrong didn’t have a signature move this early in his career.


Ride From Hell, Part I

8 Jun

Last weekend my husband and I went for a bike ride. It was a nice, warm Saturday and people were taking advantage of it everywhere; walking their dogs, jogging, and riding bikes with their kids. It was a bit crowded on the trail, but still fun.

About halfway through the ride I crested the top of a long hill (a good distance behind my husband, who is like, in ridiculous shape), when I noticed two kids in front of me. They looked like they were probably 6 or 7 years old, and were both riding thin little razor scooters. And because they were kids, they were taking up the whole path, swerving back and forth all over both lanes as they rode.

I slowed down as I came up behind them, and loudly said, “On the left,” hoping to pass the swerving derby without incident.  As if. I should’ve just unclipped, gotten off and walked by. Oh well.

Speed Racer #1 looked behind him, and as soon as he saw me, his eyes got wide and fearful. He was stunned, like a deer caught in headlights, his whole body quivering with indecision. You could almost hear his little brain clicking as the gears turned:

Which way is my left? Which way is my left?

And then, just as I was about to pass, he made his decision. He put his head down and turned his scooter, you guessed it, to the left. Nice.

Stupidly, I hadn’t anticipated that.

So I took a dive. I threw my bike (and myself, completely clipped in to my pedals) over to the right, desperately trying to avoid running over this cute little boy on his scooter.

A minute later, after the dust settled and my head stopped spinning, I crawled to my feet with the help of an older guy who was also on the path. Both of the kids were standing beside me, dumbfounded, their faces lit with amazement.

Geez, lady, what’d ya’ do that for?

I looked Speed Racer over and made sure he was alright. I knew I hadn’t hit him, but I wanted some reassurance.

So I said, “Are you okay?” And I wasn’t even mad. Kids are stupid about stuff like that and no one had gotten hurt. To be honest, I probably should’ve seen it coming.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, the slightly irritated tone in his voice catching me a little off guard.

I walked around and looked him over again, much to his dismay, just to be sure he wasn’t bleeding or something. Though I’m not sure how he would’ve been bleeding. He didn’t do anything but stand there, wide-mouthed and full of wonderment as I careened past, flying from the paved path into a tangled and twisted heap in the scrubby dirt, like some circus clown who’s late for the bigtop. The only thing that could’ve made it better was if I’d been singing a song or something as I went sailing by. “Da da dadadada da da da da…”

I walked away and was picking my bike up as I heard him say, “I’m fine, even though you did hit me.”

Before I even had time to answer, the old guy spoke up. Yeah? Remember him?

“She didn’t hit you. Either one of you. And you should pick a lane. You can’t just swerve all over like that! Somebody could get hurt.”

My hero. YES! Score one for the grown ups!!!

So, mildly amused by the gruff old man and the clumsy lady who had attacked them with her bike, the two kids took off.

And just like that, it was over. Except my bike was jacked. My back wheel wouldn’t move. About this time my husband showed up. He had gotten worried and back tracked, trying to find me. I was telling him what had just happened as he fixed my wheel. Turns out the brakes were just a little stuck. From the sudden impact with the ground, I imagine.

We were still working on it as the two boys rode by again. I half expected the parents to be trailing along, angrily searching for the maniac who had run their kid over with a bike. But no, they were alone.

They slowed down, and with the complete assurance of someone who still believes in Santa Claus, Speed Racer looked at me, nodded his head and said, “You’re prob’ly having trouble ‘cause you hit me back there, a minute ago.”

Swear to god.

I just looked at my husband. Yeah, kid. That’s why. It wouldn’t have anything to do with how you freaked out like I was speaking in tongues when I tried to pass you. It wouldn’t be because I threw myself to the ground to avoid running over your smug little ass. I’m having trouble ‘cause I hit you a minute ago. You got it.

I just smiled and they rode off. I think I handled it pretty well, considering. My only regret is that I’ll never get to hear his version of the story, the one you know he told his parents later that night.

Johnny and I were just riding along the bike path, and then OUT OF NOWHERE this crazy lady on a bike came up behind us. It was scary too, ‘cause she was screaming, “You’re DEAF! You’re DEAF!” the whole time. You should’ve seen her, dad. She had big red eyes and under her scary spiked helmet, her hair was on fire! I could see the flames! Honest! As soon as I saw her coming, I got right out of her way, just like you taught me, dad. But she came at me anyway, pedaling faster and faster, trying to run me over! And then, she pointed her icky claw hand out in front of her. It must’ve been a secret signal too, ‘cause then this wrinkly old man who was beside us just started pushing me until I was right in her way! But then, just in time, Johnny pulled me back by my lucky vest and saved me, otherwise I’d be dead. Dead I tell you. Except then, don’t listen to this part mom, she turned around and came back. And that’s when (sniff sniff) she hit me with her bike. Her front handlebars crashed right into my chest and almost poked a hole right in my heart. Honest! You can’t see the bruise because the force was deflected by my vest. Thank goodness I had it on. It saved my life! Well, Johnny helped some, too. Can I have some more ice cream now? It really numbs the pain. And mom, you’re not really going to make me give my lucky vest to the poor kids anymore now, are you? It did actually save my life and stuff, just like I always knew it would.

Yeah, that’s just about how I imagine it went. I must admit that his story is much better than mine.  Honest!