Trouble w Being Tall 2
February/19/2007 10:41 AM Filed in: Random
You wanna what else sucks if you’re tall? I’ll tell you... it’s kind of obvious, but it’s airplanes. So much about them is just retarded. Seriously, the airlines must think that anyone over 6’5” is just not allowed to fly. Considering that I have flown pretty much weekly for the last 5 years, I pretty much know exactly how to make a flight “comfortable” against all odds. However there are still certain things that will always be all bad.
Being tall has disadvantages as soon as you enter the airport. First thing, you gotta go through security. Don’t you dare worry about handing/showing your boarding pass while walking through the X-Ray machine or Whammy! Chances are good you’ll hit your head like I did.
The actual plane ride depends on which airline you fly. Being from San Diego, I am very used to Southwest. What used to be great about southwest was the fact that they let you board early if you were tall. Southwest is the only airline with “chose your own” seating anyways, and on every single southwest plane, there is a seat in the exit row with no seat in front of it. It’s pretty much the only seat I sit in. Since Southwest changed their policies, I can’t get this seat anymore unless I get an “A” card and get there first...nearly impossible. Now, sometimes there are jackasses and 4’11” in fat women who take this seat. I literally make it a point to stare at that person long enough to make them realize that they are a joke for taking it. True story, one time when I was a freshman at CAL, I boarded the plane, early, and there was a small asian woman in the seat next to “my” seat. No, she wasn’t in it, just next to it. I didn’t know how she got on early, but I didn’t care...it was “my” seat anyways. I went and started to sit in it. She taps me and says “that’s my husbands seat.” I was preparing my intimidating stare as I asked “Whos?” I hear is a deep, but raspy and somewhat recognizable voice. I turn around in full stare mode and Bill Walton is standing right behind me, waiting to sit down. It’s been almost 5 years since then, but I remember for some reason, he was kind of mean about it. It wasn’t just a “me”, it was more of a “me”. I’m pretty sure he thought I was retarded for not recognizing him earlier or realizing that he had the shortest wife on the plane. Either way, my teammates definitely made fun of me. “You got punked by Bill Walton. Throw it DOWN big man, throw it DOWN!”
I digress. So Southwest has that seat, and the the normal exit row and that’s it. I now live in North Dakota, meaning that most planes that come in and out are little tiny prop planes and whatnot. This is a whole different story. For starters, there are seat reservations, so if an exit aint open, I might as well fagitaboutit. Once I sit, there is literally no way I can fit my legs behind the chair in front of me if someone is sitting next to me, so I’m forced to turn out into the aisle.
That’s my legs completely in the aisle. This sucks because the attendants need to wheel their snacks and beverages up and down the aisle, basically running my feet over every single time. I can’t fall asleep because of all the bumping and moving that goes on in that aisle. I’m 6’10”, James Maye is only 6’7” and he has it bad too:
So it’s terribly uncomfortable the whole ride. No doubt about that. So let’s say I have to use the bathroom...suchhh a joke. Let’s assume that during my lifetime, I may get with a supermodel, and I might have a threesome, but I will never, ever, join the mile high club, no way. The bathroom is for some reason like half the height of the rest of the plane with less space than my seat. Here’s me squeezing into the bathroom:
If the plane hits some turbulence? If I slip even a little? If I try to reach the “flush” button that is usually somewhere around my knees? ALL BAD! Well I guess that’s just how it goes when you’re tall. I know that every time I leave the bathroom, the attendants kinda stare at me like “Wow, how does that work?” It’s kind of like passing a test that you didn’t study for -- every time. Each time I go in there I feel like I’m gonna fail, then my instinct takes over. It actually really bothers me that I’ll never be a mile high guy unless I get a G4 jet or something. Tough times for tall people...tough times. Well, until next time...holla! Oh and lemme kno if you wanna kno about a certain tall situation and maybe I’ll add it...
Being tall has disadvantages as soon as you enter the airport. First thing, you gotta go through security. Don’t you dare worry about handing/showing your boarding pass while walking through the X-Ray machine or Whammy! Chances are good you’ll hit your head like I did.
The actual plane ride depends on which airline you fly. Being from San Diego, I am very used to Southwest. What used to be great about southwest was the fact that they let you board early if you were tall. Southwest is the only airline with “chose your own” seating anyways, and on every single southwest plane, there is a seat in the exit row with no seat in front of it. It’s pretty much the only seat I sit in. Since Southwest changed their policies, I can’t get this seat anymore unless I get an “A” card and get there first...nearly impossible. Now, sometimes there are jackasses and 4’11” in fat women who take this seat. I literally make it a point to stare at that person long enough to make them realize that they are a joke for taking it. True story, one time when I was a freshman at CAL, I boarded the plane, early, and there was a small asian woman in the seat next to “my” seat. No, she wasn’t in it, just next to it. I didn’t know how she got on early, but I didn’t care...it was “my” seat anyways. I went and started to sit in it. She taps me and says “that’s my husbands seat.” I was preparing my intimidating stare as I asked “Whos?” I hear is a deep, but raspy and somewhat recognizable voice. I turn around in full stare mode and Bill Walton is standing right behind me, waiting to sit down. It’s been almost 5 years since then, but I remember for some reason, he was kind of mean about it. It wasn’t just a “me”, it was more of a “me”. I’m pretty sure he thought I was retarded for not recognizing him earlier or realizing that he had the shortest wife on the plane. Either way, my teammates definitely made fun of me. “You got punked by Bill Walton. Throw it DOWN big man, throw it DOWN!”
I digress. So Southwest has that seat, and the the normal exit row and that’s it. I now live in North Dakota, meaning that most planes that come in and out are little tiny prop planes and whatnot. This is a whole different story. For starters, there are seat reservations, so if an exit aint open, I might as well fagitaboutit. Once I sit, there is literally no way I can fit my legs behind the chair in front of me if someone is sitting next to me, so I’m forced to turn out into the aisle.
That’s my legs completely in the aisle. This sucks because the attendants need to wheel their snacks and beverages up and down the aisle, basically running my feet over every single time. I can’t fall asleep because of all the bumping and moving that goes on in that aisle. I’m 6’10”, James Maye is only 6’7” and he has it bad too:
So it’s terribly uncomfortable the whole ride. No doubt about that. So let’s say I have to use the bathroom...suchhh a joke. Let’s assume that during my lifetime, I may get with a supermodel, and I might have a threesome, but I will never, ever, join the mile high club, no way. The bathroom is for some reason like half the height of the rest of the plane with less space than my seat. Here’s me squeezing into the bathroom:
If the plane hits some turbulence? If I slip even a little? If I try to reach the “flush” button that is usually somewhere around my knees? ALL BAD! Well I guess that’s just how it goes when you’re tall. I know that every time I leave the bathroom, the attendants kinda stare at me like “Wow, how does that work?” It’s kind of like passing a test that you didn’t study for -- every time. Each time I go in there I feel like I’m gonna fail, then my instinct takes over. It actually really bothers me that I’ll never be a mile high guy unless I get a G4 jet or something. Tough times for tall people...tough times. Well, until next time...holla! Oh and lemme kno if you wanna kno about a certain tall situation and maybe I’ll add it...
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Hollywood
February/10/2007 10:35 AM Filed in: Random
It really feels good to be back in California right now. It’s 66 degrees (I used to think that was a little cold), there are beautiful women, and there are things to do...a lot of things. We got in on Friday to play the Anaheim Arsenal on Saturday so it was pretty much official that I’d have to go out friday night to have any chance of offsetting the weeks of boredom spent in Bismarck. Seriously, I honestly, really, spent Tuesday - Friday sitting at the dining room table, eating Hamburger Helper (lasagna flavor of course), wearing nothing but boxers and a comforter, hitting “refresh” on my myspace home page. If that doesn’t sound lame to you, I don’t know what does, but I digress. Everyone was going out and taking advantage of the change of scenery. I had my whole entourage in town so I went out with them. To be more specific, there was Rell, JGANT, Renee, Christina, Alex, Mario, and Becca.
Some interesting notes about our night at the club:
Rell:
My boy Rell is a real lightweight when it comes to his drinks. He makes these faces every time he consumes alcohol like his appendix just burst because he can’t stand the taste. He will literally take a shot, wait ten seconds, and then say “mann, Im kinda feelin it.” Anyways, before we left for “AREA”, I had filled up my cup from In ‘N Out with 3/4 Vodka and 1/4 Coke, but didn’t tell anyone. I pressured Rell into taking a shot even though he wanted to wait a little bit. No joke, I poured him a triple shot, maybe a quadruple and basically just harassed him into taking it. His only request was that I give him a chaser. “I have some Coke,” I said. He grabs the “Coke” and sets it on the counter next to him. I count down “3, 2, 1!” He takes the super shot kinda slowly because he knows how much it is, then lunges for the “Coke” and throws it down his throat like Napoleon Dynamite drinks his Gatorade after practicing dance moves. I swear it was one of the funniest moments of all time as his mind tells him that the shot has been chased, but his throat and mouth ring like there’s a three alarm fire in his asophogous. He basically runs around the kitchen screaming for a real chaser. He yells at Mario “What’s in here?!” Mario says “Lemonade.” Rell yanks Mario’s cup from his hands and begins to chug, “--and vodka.” Mario says. Rell flips out because he has probably just swallowed about 8 shots in 12 seconds. He runs to the sink and spits out whatever is left in hist mouth as the rest of us in the kitchen are just laughing at the top of our lungs. Here’s Rell snatching some real orange juice from Alex’s hands:
It’s blurry because I was laughing so hard, but you can basically see the look on his face -- so much pain and shame in those eyes. As you could guess, that drink melee really got to him. How bad did it get to him? Take a look:
As you can see, he’s not in this photo. That’s not important here is that I don’t know this girl. In fact, the only reason I have this photo is because as soon as I walked into club AREA, no joke, this girl walked right up to me and asked “Are you famous?” and wanted to take a pic with me (Hollywood, what a place). But anyways Rell, literally kicked this girl in the head...twice. He said he was trying to see if he could kick his leg over her head. He was unsuccessful so he tried again. I stood there and watched his foot kind of bobble between her neck and shoulder and she screamed in disgust. But he didn’t stop there, no, this is “One Shot Rell.” 8 shots take it a little further:
Yea, that’s him alright. Shirt up, pants down. I question myself as to why I took this photo, but then I remember that I took it for you. In his defense, this used to be our signature move. We would take our pants down for a song or two back at Berkeley house parties. But now, at a big time club, in our grown man gear? No way was I even thinking about it.
You can see all the wacky photos from the night in the Photo section.
So I had a great time that night but I had to get to work the next day as we had a game. Oh yea I only grabbed 21 rebounds on em holla at ur boy! Wow It must have been all the beautiful women and warm weather or somethin because I havent gotten that many boards since high school. It was also cool because about 15 people came to watch me play. It’s always nice to have friends and family come out and support me.
I mentioned it earlier, but I need to revisit the “Are you famous?” line. Hollywood is pretty much the only place where a question like this could really be asked. Yea, she got kicked in the head later that night, but still she could ask it. It’s because in Hollywood there are two types of people: people who are somebody and people who pretend to be somebody. Either way, someone like me is a lot better physically equipped to handle such situations being that I’m 6’10”. In a club like “AREA”, there are always big time people doing big time things. It basically costs you $1000 just to sit down at a table so you if you see someone sitting, expect that they are big time (or just fronting and going broke until the 15th of the month).
In Hollywood you tend to see a lot of interesting things. Like imagine you’re on the freeway, half asleep, and you see a Chevy Aveo pass you by. In North Dakota I wouldn’t even think twice because Aveo’s are some of the lamest cars ever made, especially since the only way I would fit inside of one would be to remove the drivers seat and drive from the back seat. But in Hollywood, the land of people who do too much, you might look twice at this Aveo:
Yea, in case you can’t see it right or you think you’re trippin, that really does read “Da Baddest Bitch” right there on the back of the car. It really reminds me of a bad myspace display name. This is the exact type of girl who will one day see my page and message me with “u lukk gud git wit the da baddest b holla bakk” or something retarded like that. She basically just publicly identified herself not only as “da baddest bitch,” but also as a walking billboard for the new book “How to Look Like a Dummy -- for Dummies.”
Well despite the lack of common sense amongst some people, I still love my SoCal. I can’t wait to come back down here in April after my season’s over. Thanks to all those who came out and watched me (Renee, Alex, Branden, Mario, JGant, Becca, Rell, Christina, Mom, Terrance, Keelon, Sjondron, THE Stacy D, and Tila). You guys just remember that when I go back to Bismarck and I’m refreshing my Myspace and lowering the temperate from “Boiling” to a low “Simmer” as directed by my hamburger helper box, that you are in my thoughts.
Some interesting notes about our night at the club:
Rell:
My boy Rell is a real lightweight when it comes to his drinks. He makes these faces every time he consumes alcohol like his appendix just burst because he can’t stand the taste. He will literally take a shot, wait ten seconds, and then say “mann, Im kinda feelin it.” Anyways, before we left for “AREA”, I had filled up my cup from In ‘N Out with 3/4 Vodka and 1/4 Coke, but didn’t tell anyone. I pressured Rell into taking a shot even though he wanted to wait a little bit. No joke, I poured him a triple shot, maybe a quadruple and basically just harassed him into taking it. His only request was that I give him a chaser. “I have some Coke,” I said. He grabs the “Coke” and sets it on the counter next to him. I count down “3, 2, 1!” He takes the super shot kinda slowly because he knows how much it is, then lunges for the “Coke” and throws it down his throat like Napoleon Dynamite drinks his Gatorade after practicing dance moves. I swear it was one of the funniest moments of all time as his mind tells him that the shot has been chased, but his throat and mouth ring like there’s a three alarm fire in his asophogous. He basically runs around the kitchen screaming for a real chaser. He yells at Mario “What’s in here?!” Mario says “Lemonade.” Rell yanks Mario’s cup from his hands and begins to chug, “--and vodka.” Mario says. Rell flips out because he has probably just swallowed about 8 shots in 12 seconds. He runs to the sink and spits out whatever is left in hist mouth as the rest of us in the kitchen are just laughing at the top of our lungs. Here’s Rell snatching some real orange juice from Alex’s hands:
It’s blurry because I was laughing so hard, but you can basically see the look on his face -- so much pain and shame in those eyes. As you could guess, that drink melee really got to him. How bad did it get to him? Take a look:
As you can see, he’s not in this photo. That’s not important here is that I don’t know this girl. In fact, the only reason I have this photo is because as soon as I walked into club AREA, no joke, this girl walked right up to me and asked “Are you famous?” and wanted to take a pic with me (Hollywood, what a place). But anyways Rell, literally kicked this girl in the head...twice. He said he was trying to see if he could kick his leg over her head. He was unsuccessful so he tried again. I stood there and watched his foot kind of bobble between her neck and shoulder and she screamed in disgust. But he didn’t stop there, no, this is “One Shot Rell.” 8 shots take it a little further:
Yea, that’s him alright. Shirt up, pants down. I question myself as to why I took this photo, but then I remember that I took it for you. In his defense, this used to be our signature move. We would take our pants down for a song or two back at Berkeley house parties. But now, at a big time club, in our grown man gear? No way was I even thinking about it.
You can see all the wacky photos from the night in the Photo section.
So I had a great time that night but I had to get to work the next day as we had a game. Oh yea I only grabbed 21 rebounds on em holla at ur boy! Wow It must have been all the beautiful women and warm weather or somethin because I havent gotten that many boards since high school. It was also cool because about 15 people came to watch me play. It’s always nice to have friends and family come out and support me.
I mentioned it earlier, but I need to revisit the “Are you famous?” line. Hollywood is pretty much the only place where a question like this could really be asked. Yea, she got kicked in the head later that night, but still she could ask it. It’s because in Hollywood there are two types of people: people who are somebody and people who pretend to be somebody. Either way, someone like me is a lot better physically equipped to handle such situations being that I’m 6’10”. In a club like “AREA”, there are always big time people doing big time things. It basically costs you $1000 just to sit down at a table so you if you see someone sitting, expect that they are big time (or just fronting and going broke until the 15th of the month).
In Hollywood you tend to see a lot of interesting things. Like imagine you’re on the freeway, half asleep, and you see a Chevy Aveo pass you by. In North Dakota I wouldn’t even think twice because Aveo’s are some of the lamest cars ever made, especially since the only way I would fit inside of one would be to remove the drivers seat and drive from the back seat. But in Hollywood, the land of people who do too much, you might look twice at this Aveo:
Yea, in case you can’t see it right or you think you’re trippin, that really does read “Da Baddest Bitch” right there on the back of the car. It really reminds me of a bad myspace display name. This is the exact type of girl who will one day see my page and message me with “u lukk gud git wit the da baddest b holla bakk” or something retarded like that. She basically just publicly identified herself not only as “da baddest bitch,” but also as a walking billboard for the new book “How to Look Like a Dummy -- for Dummies.”
Well despite the lack of common sense amongst some people, I still love my SoCal. I can’t wait to come back down here in April after my season’s over. Thanks to all those who came out and watched me (Renee, Alex, Branden, Mario, JGant, Becca, Rell, Christina, Mom, Terrance, Keelon, Sjondron, THE Stacy D, and Tila). You guys just remember that when I go back to Bismarck and I’m refreshing my Myspace and lowering the temperate from “Boiling” to a low “Simmer” as directed by my hamburger helper box, that you are in my thoughts.
The Trouble with Being Tall
February/08/2007 10:32 AM Filed in: Random
I am consistently asked how tall I am. What usually follows is some mention of how cool it is to be tall or how the person wishes they could be tall too. I must admit that it is pretty great, but there are times when being tall isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve decided to highlight those times so that you realize that sometimes it’s just not as easy as you think.
In this particular blog we look at the “public bathroom.”
Im sure none of you ever thought about what it takes for a successful trip to a public bathroom when you’re 6’10”. The answer is really not that much, but it’s still hella awkward. For example: the urinals are all just a little too low. Think about any public bathroom you’ve ever been in. If it was a big one then chances are that there was that urinal that’s about a foot lower than the rest that’s made for little kids or whoever. Now imagine that they’re all like that. 5 urinals that are all too low...now you have to CONCENTRATE. One lapse in concentration may lead to wet shoes and floor, or worse yet, wetness on the shoes of your neighbor which is never cool.
As you can see in the photo above, these are two standard urinals, yet my belt-line is as high as the flusher, meaning that serious knee bend and/or downward pointing is necessary.
The urinals are only half of the story. The stalls happen to pose an even bigger problem. The idea with stalls is that they are designed to limit the visibility of two people in neighboring toilets. All your really supposed to see is the boxer-pants-shoes pile that covers the ankles of the person next to you. The average person can basically do whatever they want once they close that stall door because they essentially disappear. I, on the other hand, am visible the whole time until I sit down. It never feels comfortable staring at some guy washing his hands as im getting situated in the stall. What if its a hot day and I want to take my shirt off? What if I smell the place up real bad and I want to kind of escape without being seen? Impossible. My whole head and shoulders are above the stall level.
In this photo, taken at my eye level, I see right over the stall with ease.
Now imagine you just wanna piss at the urinal on the left and then there’s me in the stall next to you, I can clearly see you and I’m changing my shirt -- awkward. The only time that it was ever cool to see over a stall was when I was 17 and I lived in Co-Ed dorms with Co-Ed showers. Now it’s just a joke.
So that concludes this edition of “The Trouble With Being Tall”. Look out for more editions soon because there’s so many normal things for you that are just awkward for us.
In this particular blog we look at the “public bathroom.”
Im sure none of you ever thought about what it takes for a successful trip to a public bathroom when you’re 6’10”. The answer is really not that much, but it’s still hella awkward. For example: the urinals are all just a little too low. Think about any public bathroom you’ve ever been in. If it was a big one then chances are that there was that urinal that’s about a foot lower than the rest that’s made for little kids or whoever. Now imagine that they’re all like that. 5 urinals that are all too low...now you have to CONCENTRATE. One lapse in concentration may lead to wet shoes and floor, or worse yet, wetness on the shoes of your neighbor which is never cool.
As you can see in the photo above, these are two standard urinals, yet my belt-line is as high as the flusher, meaning that serious knee bend and/or downward pointing is necessary.
The urinals are only half of the story. The stalls happen to pose an even bigger problem. The idea with stalls is that they are designed to limit the visibility of two people in neighboring toilets. All your really supposed to see is the boxer-pants-shoes pile that covers the ankles of the person next to you. The average person can basically do whatever they want once they close that stall door because they essentially disappear. I, on the other hand, am visible the whole time until I sit down. It never feels comfortable staring at some guy washing his hands as im getting situated in the stall. What if its a hot day and I want to take my shirt off? What if I smell the place up real bad and I want to kind of escape without being seen? Impossible. My whole head and shoulders are above the stall level.
In this photo, taken at my eye level, I see right over the stall with ease.
Now imagine you just wanna piss at the urinal on the left and then there’s me in the stall next to you, I can clearly see you and I’m changing my shirt -- awkward. The only time that it was ever cool to see over a stall was when I was 17 and I lived in Co-Ed dorms with Co-Ed showers. Now it’s just a joke.
So that concludes this edition of “The Trouble With Being Tall”. Look out for more editions soon because there’s so many normal things for you that are just awkward for us.