GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #558: BORN TO BE MILD PART 2

 When I was a kid I thought skateboarding was so cool. I wanted to learn how to do it, having no idea that my lack of balance would work against me in such an endeavor. After having discovered my stepfather's porn, the next thing that fascinated me was his skateboard. It was like none of the ones I'd seen at the time. It was very old fashioned and didn't look cool, but I wanted to learn how to ride it.

I made the mistake of expressing this to him. He flew off the handle and called me all kinds of names. "Crazy" and "stupid" were the least of them. He went on this tirade about how people who rode skateboards died at a young age, and their lives were miserable because their bones were broken all the time. I found it hard to believe because he clearly was a skateboarder at some point in his life. Why else would he have this old thing from the 'Sixties?

If that had happened now I would have held up a doll and asked him where the skateboard had touched him. I suspect that he had tried to be a skateboarder when he was a kid, and he failed miserably. Hard and often. I have no idea why he didn't just throw the fucking thing in the garbage.

But then? I bought it all and decided, no, riding skateboards was not worth the broken bones and other injuries that I would probably suffer. It was probably for the best. I think I've talked here before about how I "learned" to roller skate. That . . . did not work out well. I can't imagine how badly I would have fucked up skateboarding.

Yep. This rebel was born to be mild.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #553: BORN TO BE MILD PART 1

So I'm not what you would call a risk taker, physically speaking. I mean, aside from abusing my body with decades worth of alcohol and a few flirtations with harder drugs. And I guess drinking gallons of Coke a day for nearly my entire life. I'm talking about stuff like skydiving. Or doing Jackass type stuff. Or even playing sports. I remember when the football coach at my high school tried to get me on the team because he thought I could beat the shit out of people on the field. I said no because I kind of liked getting around without crutches.

So I'm not a big fan of motorcycles. I know, everyone on the fucking planet thinks they're cool as shit. Everyone has their own fantasies about rolling down the highway with a ton of Harley between their legs. I just don't get it.

I can trace it back to my Uncle Bill, the one who married my Aunt Sue, not my dad's brother. He had a motorcycle, and he loved tearin' ass down the road.

Even as a child I didn't see the appeal, but one day I was hanging out with my cousin, and Uncle Bill decided to give us rides on his motorcycle. My cousin went first and loved the hell out of it. Then I got on and was taken on the terror ride of my life. I don't think I was older than five at the time, but I remember the sheer terror of going what felt like a million mph with the wind ripping at my face. I didn't wear glasses yet--that would be three years later--so I felt every inch of that goddam wind. I remember thinking, well shit, I guess this is how I'm going to die. When I got off the motorcycle I couldn't walk straight. I felt like I was in a daze and that I probably had died, but my brain hadn't caught up to that fact yet.

I tell a lot of people this story, and they still don't understand how stupid I think riding a motorcycle is. I remember feeling vindicated, however, when a friend of mine who fantasized about riding a motorcycle all her life told me she finally understood me. Part of her fantasy had been to ride just behind a hot guy, and she got her wish, much to her dismay. She did not like the ride, but I suspect it was mostly because she didn't know where to put her legs and wound up getting a horrible burn from the exhaust pipe.

So yeah. I still don't get it. And I have even worse memories from when I was arrested for DUI at a Harley-Davidson dealership, but I think I've told that story here before. Anyway, fuck that noise.