The TRUTH!

HOW MY DOG’S BREATH AND ASS ALMOST KILLED ME

Pete Correale — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 14:54:41 +0000

I officially made it across the country, but didn’t have time to share any more adventures till now…a little heads up. The following story ain’t pretty so if your eating maybe wait a few hours.
A few weeks back, as we slowly bounced across this great country… I love my 2001 Jeep Wrangler but you can loosen vertebrae jostling up and down, I threw my back out once while driving my Jeep, that’s how uncomfortable the ride is. I’d rather take a stage coach across the country than one of those god damn things. And they burn gas so fast, to give you an idea. When I bought my jeep ten years ago, while driving down the highway for the first time, I pulled over twice, crawled under the Jeep and checked the gas tank. Because I was convinced there must be a pinhole in the tank. I am used to burning gas, but with the Jeep weighted down with all that crap, we were pulling into gas stations so often, sometimes I didn’t even have to piss. I needed to fill my gas tank more often than I needed to empty my bladder.
My point is being on the road for that long and in that ride, our dog, a thirteen year old English Cocker Spaniel was having a rough time. Dogs are used to a set routine, they thrive on a set routine, this dog was stressed out man! It’s old, it’s used to laying in the sun without a care in the world, now it’s getting tossed around the back of a Jeep for days on end. At first the dogs breath got to be so bad, I was driving with my f***ing head sticking out the window. My damn dog likes to lay on the console between the two front seats so she can be up front with us. But her breath was so devastating every ten minutes I was gently pushing her face into the back seat, and if the dog’s mouth touched any exposed skin, even for a second, that part of your skin would smell like rotting flesh until you cleaned it. That’s how gross my dogs breath was. It was pure torture, because every once in a while I wouldn’t smell her breath, then I’d get cocky and start taking full deep breaths thinking maybe the worst was over. However eventually, usually within five minutes, I’d inhale deeply and catch a full whiff of the dogs breath right up my nostrils. It was debilitating, I would literally go blind for about two full seconds. If we could bottle up my dogs breath and spread it on a large scale level, there would be no wars. In fact, if we could bottle my dogs breath, I’d label it WHITE FLAG. Because when the enemy gets a whiff of this, they will instantly surrender.
As brutal as the dog’s breath was, after about a week on the road, an odor began emanating from my dog’s ass that was so unreal, it made me actually MISS smelling the breath. The odor from her ass was so mind blowingly foul, the smell of a skunk would be like an air freshener. The smell was actually violent, I never knew a smell could be so offensive that the pain of smelling it is equal to being pummeled.
Keep in mind, I’ve had my dog long enough, that I have smelled this odor before, but only on rare occasions and only briefly. But this smell was constant, plus she started licking her ass, so now the smell from her ass was mixing with the smell of her breath, whenever she licked her ass I was afraid we were all going to combust. So, thru the internet and some friends in the know I was able to piece the problem together. As some of you may already know, dogs have two glands in their ass. These glands create a ridiculously gross, brownish liquid substance with an odor that is the dogs “calling card.” They leave a small shot of this whenever they shit, as the crap comes out it puts pressure on the glands and this nasty smelling brown stuff comes out. That’s why they sniff each others asses as well as each others crap, it let’s the dog know, whose been around. Now… when a dog is stressed out, as was the case with my pooch, they tend to create more of this fantastically disgusting substance. Also, my dog normally eats really good dog food that requires refrigeration. Unfortunately I was only able to feed the dog, canned dog food which loosened my dogs stool.
So it was the perfect storm brewing in my dog’s ass. You got a stressed out dog making more of this nasty odorous brownish liquid, and you have nothing hard rubbing against the glands to release this stuff. What happens is the stuff builds up inside her and just starts leaking out on it’s own. My dog jumped on my lap, when I got her off, there was a wet stain no larger than a quarter. That stain smelled up my vehicle so bad, I pulled over and stuffed the pants in the back hitch and drove the last two hours in my underwear. The dog laid on my wife’s pillow-she had to throw out the pillow because the smell was embedded inside.
At the height of this insanity, we were driving through Arizona. My wife suggested going to Sedona, we’d both heard the Red Rock cliffs driving into town were stunning, that’s actually an understatement. The town of Sedona and the landscape surrounding it is some of the most beautiful in the world. To be laying eyes upon such beauty for the first time, while simultaneously smelling the foulest stench known to man kind, was the ultimate yin yang, good vs evil. We checked into a great little hotel with a sick view of the Red Rock cliffs. Of course we had to pay an extra $50 for traveling with a dog.
A few nights of the journey we’d sneak the dog into a side door of whatever hotel we were staying at just to save a couple of bucks, even if they don’t allow dogs. We had a system, I would make sure not to pull up in front of the hotel or motel because the damn dog barks when you get out of the vehicle. So I would park in the back of the establishment and my wife would give the dog a “treat” before I got out so it wouldn’t bark. But sneaking a dog into a hotel/motel is just not worth it. It’s way too stressful because the dog barks and we’d start freaking out that security was going to come up and kick us out in the middle of the night. Plus when I’d have to take the dog outside to “go”, I’d have to wrap the dog in a coat and pretend I am casually going outside for a smoke or something. It’s not easy to wrap a 35lbs Cocker-spaniel in a coat and stroll outside.
So there we were in a great little hotel with a view of the Red Rock cliffs and a little backyard area connected to our room. As gorgeous as the sight was the dog’s ass was just too dominant, it was ruining any chance at a good time. My wife and I were forced to take matters into our own hands. We went online and viewed a youtube clip that demonstrates how to drain the dogs anal glands. Oh my god, I am not exaggerating when I say I would rather re-use a strangers dental floss than ever drain a dogs anal glands, and I had the easy part, I just had to hold the dog to keep it from biting. So there we were, outside our hotel room on a little patch of grass, I have the dogs muzzle on and I am gently petting it’s head while I whisper sweet nothings. Meanwhile my wife has the small plastic bags that come with an ice bucket on each hand, (we had no rubber gloves so we made do with the bags.) She rubbed vaseline all over the bags and gently stuck her fingers up the dog’s ass. My wife is f***ing awesome man! Talk about taking one for the team, she’s got both hands up our dog’s behind as she’s saying, “I feel two lumps, they must be the glands right?”
I said, “Yes, now squeeze them hard.”
“I don’t want to hurt the dog.” She answers.
I said, “The dog is hurting us, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, for the love of god, squeeze woman!” She gently squeezed the glands and the dog didn’t wince in pain, in fact the dog seemed relieved. My wife started yelling, “Oh my god, this is so gross.”
I can’t see because I am upfront caressing the dog, I’m like ‘What, what?”
She goes, “It’s all pouring out, this is the grossest thing I’ve ever done in my life!”
I go, “We’ll keep squeezing it must be working.” Before you knew it there was a stench so strong filing the Arizona air that I thought the National Guard might be called in. Finally after about ten minutes of rubbing and squeezing the anal glands my dog was “tapped out.” My wife gently cleaned the dogs behind with some disinfectant, gave it a “treat” and plopped it on it’s freshly laundered dog bed. Low and behold the stench was officially gone. The last four days of our trip were scent free, and just in time. Because it rained the last leg of the trip and we had to keep the windows up. If my dog’s ass was still leaking at that point I would have had to drive the rest of the way in a wet suit and goggles with rain pouring in because no human could survive the stench of the brown liquid.
Thank god youtube had a clip on how to deal with this situation, I’d like to take a moment to thank Steve Jobs, Bill Gates and all the other geniuses that were responsible for inventing the computer, the web and in this particular case, You Tube. Because without it, I’d probably be passed out in the front seat of my jeep on the shoulder of a deserted Arizona highway.

Autobiography…not happening.

Pete Correale — Thu, 05 Apr 2012 05:20:01 +0000

From a night on February 4 2012-
People often ask me why I don’t write a book about all my funny stories. (Alright no one has ever asked me that) But I often think about writing that book. I end up debating wether anyone would read it, or would I be wasting my time, last night I got my answer.
I just finished the second show Fri night at West Palm Improv, great shows by the way, thank you sincerely to everyone whose come out to the shows. So I had a few beers and I am walking back to my hotel feeling no pain. I cut through a parking garage, it’s 2-am, and I take the stairwell toward the roof. Everyone knows how nasty the stairwells are in parking garages, even in West Palm. So as I make my way down the stairwell, I notice a hard cover book sitting on the ledge between the first and second floor.
It was KEVIN SORBO-HOW ALMOST DYING, SAVED MY LIFE. For those who may not know, Kevin Sorbo played Hercules on tv for years, he almost died but didn’t. His career did but he didn’t. My point is, if nobody cares about Hercules I seriously doubt they’re going to care about my stories about flying to Beirut, Lebanon with weed, or getting arrested in Elmira, NY because of an unfortunate “misunderstanding.”
As much as I would love to write that book, I know it would end up in a parking garage stairwell just like Kevin Sorbo’s rag. I have received my sign, there will be no book.

CAR RENTAL RIP-OFF

Pete Correale — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 16:59:55 +0000

Last week I had to rent a car at LAX (Los Angeles International Airport), in retrospect I’d have been better off horseback riding on the shoulder of the 405. First of all let’s start with the actual act of renting your car. I’ll refrain from stating the name of the company but needless to say it wasn’t Hertz Gold or one of those other companies that have express rentals. A friend of mine goes via Hertz Gold I can’t afford that, renting a car from Hertz is extremely convenient but you pay for it. When I traveled with my friend you walk out of the airport and hop on the Hertz bus that takes you to the lot. The Hertz bus comes around basically every five minutes, if your a smoker you can easily see three Hertz buses before you finish your cigarette. If you rent from my company you can smoke half a pack before you even start to hear rumors that the mini van is in the airport. When you rent via Hertz Gold when the bus reaches the Hertz parking lot you look for your last name on this electronic board in front of the bus-stop, the board will tell you what parking space your car is in. You walk over, start her up, drive over to the gate , show your license to the guard and your gone. But again, Hertz Gold is more than double what I was paying, my contract was for a compact car for $26.99 for 24 hours, BARGAIN BABY!
When my van finally shows we get to the lot with no problems, then I walked inside to rent my vehicle and there was a line of 12 people in front of me with only two clerks behind the counter. In both corners of the room their were television sets mounted on the wall, when a place has television sets I get nervous. TV sets are usually an indicator that your going to be waiting an awfully long time. So I am watching the two clerks checking folks in and I am blown away, literally blown away at how long it takes them to rent out a vehicle. And were talking about a line of customers that all have pre-existing reservations…whats the fucking hold up? Photo copy the license, swipe their card for deposit, get a signature ask if they want the extra insurance and give them the god damn keys.

From being thirteenth in line at a car rental agency it took more time to rent a car and drive off then it took me to buy one and drive off. I swear to you I am not making that up, I always wanted a Jeep Wrangler Sahara, I didn’t even need to test drive it. In 2001 I went to the dealership, picked out a black Jeep, finished the paperwork and drove off in the vehicle faster than I rented a car in LA.

These clerks at the rental company ask a simple question like, “Will you fill the tank up or shall we pre charge you for a tank of gas?”
I go, “I’ll fill the tank up myself thank you.”
She answers back, “Are you sure?”
I go, “Yes thanks.” So then this lady starts typing away for a solid three minutes. I am looking at her typing furiously, I just want to say. “Lady I said I’ll fill the tank myself. Why are you rewriting Gone With The Wind?” If you don’t normally rent vehicles a word of advice, always fill up the gas tank yourself it’s way cheaper than paying the car rental company to fill it up for you, because they use liquid gold instead of gas. So I finally have my rental car, the guy does the walk around to show me that there is no body damage then he looks at me and goes, “There’s no smoking in the car.” I don’t smoke so it’s irrelevant but I so bad just wanted to say, “Will you be in the car with me?…no you won’t so there’s smoking.”
I finally drive off and do what I have to do around LA, the next morning is when the fun really starts. I have a 10:30 am flight so I prepare myself to drop the car off at the agency around 8:45 giving me plenty of time to go thru airport security. At precisely 8:40 AM I find myself at a gas station right next to the car rental drop off, preparing to fill up the tank. At first I pull in not sure what side the tank is on, as usual I guess wrong and have to turn the vehicle around. Then I go to pop the gas tank open and there is no lever. I step outside to check if it’s a manual open situation but no luck. There is no key hole or button just a square cut out showing where the tank is. I climb back inside the vehicle and still can not find the button, I see the lever that clearly indicates the hood will open. I pull it and the hood opens, but still not the gas tank. I pull the manual out of the glove and look up any info on the gas tank- nothing in there about opening it. Meanwhile time is ticking and I have a flight to catch, plus airplanes are taking off and zooming over the gas station just reminding me mine will be doing the same at 10:30 with or without me. Finally I give up and decide I will drive into the rental agency find out how to open the tank then drive back over to the gas station and fill it up.
I zoom into the rental lot and over to a garage where a mechanic works on the rentals. I explain my dilemma and he tries to open the tank but has no luck either. St one point he goes, “I honestly have no idea.” I go, “Well considering no one knows how to open the gas tank you think they will waive the penalty for not filling it up myself?”
He goes, “I couldn’t answer that, you’d have to ask the manager.”
I go, “You do realize were all here to catch flights right? I don’t have to chat with the manager.”
Just then he presses on the square area covering the gas tank and it pops open. Do you believe that shit? I try everything including jamming my key and attempting to pry the damn thing open, but all this time all you had to do was press down on it. It’s now about 9:05 still plenty of time to drive over and gas it up myself (keep in mind I already had my boarding pass so all I had to do was go thru security) I get to the car rental gate and the security woman comes strolling out and asks me for my papers… I’ll spare the comparison.
So I try to explain to her that I am just gassing it up and she goes, “I still need to see your papers.”
I pull out the contract and she goes, “I can’t let you out this car was due back at 9;00 am.”
I go, “It’s 9:10 and I am only going right there to get gas.” This is when she just keeps mumbling over and over like a cackling idiot. “Rules are rules.”
I plead, “I couldn’t open the tank, your own mechanic couldn’t figure it out.”
“Rules are rules.”
“The gas station is right there, I won’t even be out of eye sight.”
“Rules are rules.”
“You can hold onto my license and luggage.”
“Rules are rules.”
Finally I snapped, “Rules are rules! Rules are rules! Is that all you know how to say, use some fucking discretion lady!”

It amazes me how people always complain that machines are taking jobs, but so many people don’t utilize the one thing we have over machines, the ability to reason. A machine can’t go, “Wow you couldn’t figure out how to open the tank that sucks sorry about that. Hurry out of here and when you get back if there a line I will waive you thru so you don’t miss your flight.” All a machine can do is let you thru if your contract is valid or not let you thru if your contract expired. If this dumb lady isn’t going to do anymore than a machine would then fuck it go with the machine. It’s seems like anytime you have a problem with customer service these days the person your dealing with goes, “Sorry I don’t make the rules I am just doing my job.” Well where the fuck is the guy that makes the rules?! How come that guy is never around? It’s like the guy who makes the rules comes in at three in the morning writes down a bunch of rules that gets the hell out of there. I wish for once someone would come out of the back room and go, “I am the supervisor and I wrote the rules is there a problem?”

So now that this blockhead won’t let me out of the rental lot, I decide the hell with it I will just let them re- fill the tank and charge me I have a flight to catch. I pull into the return area a man checks the speedometer, starts it up and checks the gas tank, punches some numbers in his portable credit card machine and hands me my receipt. With tax my pre estimate for one day was $39. As the guy hands me the receipt he says, “We charged the card you left on file plus we had to charge you for half a tank.” I look at the bill, $132.99
I go “A hundred thirty three dollars are you out of you fucking mind?”
He goes, “We had to fill up the tank and we charge $11.99 a gallon when you don’t fill after stating you would.”
“$95 for gas, I couldn’t get your tank open, your stealing from me! This would be $25 at the gas station.”
“I’m sorry sir I am just doing my job.” Here we go again! At that moment I decided I am willing to miss my flight because this is bullshit and it’s got to stop. We are living in a time in which everyone is so broke if you make one mistake or one thing goes wrong everyone is looking to penalize you and get you for more cash. You have to really focus in order to keep from getting ripped off these days.
The guy points me to the managers office and I storm in waiving my receipt. To the manager’s credit he immediately gets off the phone and hears me out but still says there’s not much he can do. As luck would have it the mechanic was coming out of the bathroom adjacent to the managers office, I yell over to him, “Excuse me can you come over here for a moment sir?” The mechanic comes over and I ask, “Was it me or was it difficult to figure out how to open the gas tank?”

The mechanic goes, “It was difficult, I only found it by luck, when I pressed in I didn’t expect the tank to open.”
Finally with the mechanic’s testimony I got the manager to lower the gas charge to $45, which is still a rip-off but a bit easier to swallow. After all the nonsense I finally catch the van at 9:50. Luckily there was no line at security and I reached the gate as they were boarding my Zone.

But for anybody in the car rental business, let’s step up! And even if you can’t make the line go any faster can you at least pretend to give a shit. The line is twelve deep and these people shuffle around like they are heating warm milk in their robe at 4 am. Let’s hustle man, I worked front desk at a hotel for years I know what it’s like. Perception is half the job and speed is the other half.
And remember folks, no matter how hard you try to be fully prepared, sometimes your still gonna get screwed! Grin and bare it baby! Life’s too damn short.

People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive

Pete Correale — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 02:10:49 +0000

So I was walking past a news stand the other day and I saw something that did not sit well with me to say the least. People magazine had it’s yearly issue in which they unveil the winner of the sexiest man alive. As I walked past I noticed the cover, on it was that guy that used to be in the sitcom titled -Two Guys A Girl and a Pizza Place. Now I ask you all, how in the hell did Ryan Reynold’s win Sexiest Man of the Year by People magazine. Sexiest man alive. Am I the only one who takes this shit seriously? I get it if you have Ryan Reynold’s on the cover of a magazine with the title Hollywood Heart Throb’s Dishes About His Latest Movie. But to state unequivocally, Ryan Reynold’s is the sexiest man alive… I was so perplexed I started to ponder scenarios that would possibly make sense. Stuff like checking to see if Reynold’s mother was the editor of People magazine. She’s not. Then I checked to see if Brad Pitt was dead? He’s not. If Johnny Depp was dead? He’s also not. If Mathew McCaughney may be dead? Nope. Tom Brady dead? Not as of last Sunday. Are about 20 thousand other men in entertainment as well as my neighbor Roger all dead as of me writing this blog? The answer is a resounding no, they are all alive, even my neighbor Roger, I just called him to make sure. So again I ask how was Mr. Reynold’s voted the sexiest man alive when all of those men are still alive and eligible?

Don’t get me wrong, this piece isn’t designed to rail on Ryan Reynold’s, the guys got talent and he’s definitely an attractive fella. But the sexiest man alive? C’mon I bet his own mother wouldn’t give him the nod. This blog is about people Magazine insulting me with their choice. In defense to the magazine if it stated you couldn’t be a past winner than I understand why Pitt, Depp and McCaughney couldn’t be on the cover, but there are still a zillion guys who have never won that are sexier than Reynold’s.
First of all who does the voting? If it’s just in house staff at people Magazine then shame on you folks. Do you understand the magnitude of what your saying? How irresponsible your voting is? You are saying that if aliens came down to earth and asked to see our finest example of a perfect male specimen you would introduce them to Ryan Reynolds. I’d be less bewildered if you presented Ryan Adams, Ryan Seacrest or even Ryan O’Neil. He’ll I’d argue less vehemently if Burt REYNOLD’S won. I mean you literally got aliens with cameras ready to snap up photo’s of the sexiest male specimen we have to offer and your going to call forward Ryan Reynolds? To the people that voted for Ryan Reynold’s I ask you further, if aliens asked for the sexiest male specimen alive on our planet, and Lenny Kravitz was standing in front of Ryan Reynold’s, would you literally say, “Excuse me Lenny can you please step aside and let Ryan through.”
If you told me the voting was done by young girls at Malls all across America, I’d say maybe Reynold’s has a chance, although in that case I still think he’d lose out to Ashton Kutcher or a Jonas brother for that matter. But in my opinion the sexiest man alive should be able to grow a beard, and often times does. Does Ryan Reynolds have that ability? I think Justin Beiber can grow a thicker beard. I know Reynold’s has got an attractive wife but let’s be honest she’s a tad over rated as well, besides if the award were given to the man with the hottest wife it would go back to Brad Pitt again. I am totally hetero, and just commenting rationally here but no matter how you slice it or dice it all roads lead back to Brad Pitt.

Look I’m obviously having some fun with this blog and at the end of the day beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all Julia Roberts was married to Lyle Lovett at one time. Although that marriage lasted ten minutes longer than the length of all of Julia Robert’s movies played back to back and after Lovett she married a camera man named Danny Moder. Who, while were on the subject, is also sexier than Ryan Reynold’s.

Recalling an Embarrassing Moment

Pete Correale — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 14:32:31 +0000

Being embarrassed is something we’ve all experienced at one point or another, it’s never fun. The only silver lining about an embarrassing moment is that there is usually a funny story to share once the smoke clears. However once in a while something happens that’s so embarrassing, days, months and even years later it’s still embarrasses you when you recall it. I myself have such a tale, an embarrassing moment from years ago that creeps into my head from time to time. Normally you can laugh at a long ago moment, make some off hand remark to yourself like, “I was young.” or “I was drunk, it was college.” Unfortunately every time this particular moment pops in my had all I can think is, “uhhh, I am a real zero.” Which is exactly how I felt at the time.
It begins with me celebrating Christmas time my Junior year in College. I lived in an enormous house a half a mile off of campus. The house was actually made up of four separate apartments, each apartment had four occupants, eight were men and the other eight woman, no one ever bothered to close their respective apartment doors so it was as if we all lived together under one big roof. The girls were an absolute ball, they could drink as much as us, they were pretty and a whole lot of fun.
One particular evening we were trimming a Christmas tree that we had illegally chopped down off a farm earlier in the evening. In college the rule of thumb is to try not to spend a dime on anything other than books and booze. If you were paying for toilet paper or dish detergent you weren’t thinking creatively enough about where we could steal it or get it for free. So there we were with our gorgeous Christmas tree, we made ornaments, had popcorn tinsel and polluted the thing with candy canes, we even made a star out of tin foil. All our tree needed was some lights, but lights cost at least $5 a box, which could get you a twelve pack of Milwaukee’s Best at that time. So one of my female housemates and myself went searching high and low for lights to steal off of someone’s house. Needless to say we were both boozed up but still very efficient, keeping very quite and always hiding in darkness. After trolling three blocks we still hadn’t found a single set of lights. Not a wreath or a plastic Santa plopped on the stoop, nothing, it was as if the Grinch and his little dog came through an hour earlier. It started to dawn on me that I probably wasn’t the first college student to have the brilliant idea to steal Christmas lights off of front yards. Then I realized that this town has probably had so many lights ripped off each year that they simply stopped decorating. I was pleased I had deduced the reason for the lack of Yuletide spirit but also felt a slight pang of guilt: me and others like me, could prevent an entire town from showing their Christmas spirit.
On our dejected walk back to the house to my surprise I noticed some white lights on a front porch just up the way. Now that I had figured out why no one put up lights in this town, I was perplexed as to why this particular home felt immune from Christmas light thievery. The answer came quick because as we got closer I realized the white lights were decorating the home of a history professor that teaches at the college. Not only do I know this professor, but he was arguably the coolest professor and most popular one at the entire University. In fact on Friday afternoons from time to time, he would stop at our house and join us for a quick game of whiffle ball on the front yard with a couple of cold beers. He was happily married and had two adorable little girls. Having said all that about the man I still lifted his lights without hesitation. I stole his Christmas lights as if he owed me money and this was the only way I could ever recoup some of it. Let me also go on record that the girl I was with backed me one hundred percent. As she put it in a whisper while unhooking the lights from the porch railing, “I never had ‘em as a professor, how would I know how COOL he is?” I dug where she was coming from, when your committing a crime you have to emotionally distance yourself from your victim.
We brought the lights home, put them on the tree and had a fantastic Christmas party. About six months later, it’s early June the weather is beautiful and the school year is almost over. Just about everyone in our house is thru with exams, it’s about 4 in the afternoon and we all start drinking, and drinking and drinking. A few hours later were out of beer, a housemate just got home from work and agreed to drive a couple of us to a beverage store to get a keg. So I jumped in the passengers seat and two housemates hopped in the back and we were off. As we drove slowly down the road we passed the professors house, from which I stole the lights. The front door was closed, the lights were out and there was no car in the driveway. So, just to be funny, as we passed the house I yelled out, “Thanks for the lights.” And sure enough my housemates cackled recollecting my thievery.
The following September I was back at college ready to begin my senior year. I still lived at the same house with most of the same house mates. it was my first day of classes and I was walking down the sidewalk with a buddy of mine on a beautiful summer type day. Walking directly toward me was the professor of whose lights I stole. He had one daughter on each side of him and they both held his hands as they continued toward me. I bent down and gave a big smile to his girls as I said “Hello ladies?” Then I straightened up, smiled and offered my well tanned hand to my professor as I said, “Dr. Blare good to see you.” The professor never let go of his daughter’s hands as he looked down at my outstretched well tanned arm. Then he looked up at me with total disgust and said, “Hey Pete you know those Christmas lights you stole from my porch?” referring to his daughters he continues, “they were theirs.” Then he looks down at both his girls, were talking five and seven years old maybe. They were confused, they didn’t know what was going on, but they realized their dad wasn’t being nice and he’s always nice. Still looking down at his girls, with a soft soothing voice he said, “Remember when daddy said a bad person took your Christmas lights away in the night time?”
Now I’m standing there thinking, alright man let’s tone it down, I didn’t knock a piece of bread out of your starving girls hand, were talking forty fifty white lights, max. Then my professor continues, “This is that bad man.”
You can not imagine what an awkward moment it is when a father introduces you to his girls as a bad man. They both cowered behind his legs, peeking back at me hoping I’d be gone. It turns out my professor was at home when I yelled out like a drunken idiot, “thanks for the lights.” Because the next thing he said was, “Actually it’s my girls you can THANK for your Christmas lights Pete.”
So then I had to bend over and try to apologize two a couple of girls as they were cowering in fear behind my college professor’s legs.
I smiled and said,”Hey girls I am sorry about your lights.” then I looked up at the Prof and said, “I really am so sorry.” Before I can finish, he just sighed, the way people do when they just make the sound of the letter p and keep blowing. Then he goes, “Save it Pete.” And he walked off with a daughter’s hand in each of his. He never said another word to me the rest of the school year. It’s weird how a private thought reminiscing about something that happened twenty years ago can still embarrass you as if it happened an hour ago. I don’t regret stealing the lights, only yelling out “thank you” six months later, and if I had to do it all again I would. After all, a Christmas tree with out lights is as pointless as an embarrassing moment that you don’t share.

THE WORLD IS NOT ENDING-TRUST ME I GOT A SOURCE

Pete Correale — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 21:40:49 +0000

So my nephew was receiving his communion recently, as the Godfather I had to get a certificate from my Catholic church indicating I am in fact Catholic. I went to my local church, suprisngly I remembered the location from my yearly Christmas Eve visits (and an occasional Easter visit, I’m no Pagan). There’s a rectory office just to the side of the church, I rang the doorbell and was immediately buzzed inside. An elderly woman was sitting behind a desk, as kindly as you’d expect and old lady working for the church would ask, she asked, “Good morning son, how can I help you?” Instantly hearing an elderly woman call me son made me feel nice. Like when a heavy set black woman calls me baby, I love that. There’s a short heavy set black woman at my post office, whenever I get her at the counter she immediately would say, “Good morning baby, how can I help you honey?” Normally, I’d say no exchange with a stranger compares to a heavy set black woman calling me baby, sugar or honey, but a simple “son” from the lips of an eighty year old widow working for the church is a close second.
I politely explained to the woman that I needed the priest’s signature on a certificate, she immediately knew what I was talking about, then explained that the priest was on the telephone and he might not have time on this day, I may have to come back tomorrow. I sat down waiting patiently when I noticed a photo of the elderly secretary on her desk. In the photo she was at a mass on the Great Lawn in Central Park, in the background of the photo far away was the pope. I said, “You saw the pope give mass in the park in ‘96 huh?” She goes, “Oh yes it was magical, were you there?” Of course I wasn’t there I was twenty six years old and in no position to drop $200 for a ticket to mass. Pope or no pope at twenty six I wouldn’t drop $200 to see anything other than Billy Joel for the hundredth time. A good sermon can move you a tad but singing Piano Man, drunk arm in arm with strangers closing out a Billy Joel concert, that’s a life changer.
Even though I didn’t see the pope I figured if I smooth talked the old broad she may be more inclined to get my certificate signed. So I said, “Yeah I was there, my dad was an architect, he did a lot of work in Central Park and they gave him two tickets.” He really was an architect and did do quite a bit of work for the park, and they did give him tickets but they went to clients, not his twenty six year old hard drinking aspiring comedian son. As soon as I told the old lady I was at the pope’s mass her eyes lit up.
“Good for you son, did it effect you?”
I go, “You know it sounds corny to say but my life has been more fulfilling ever since, life was really put in perspective after seeing the pope, in a way very few people can ever understand unless perhaps if you’ve had a near death experience.”
She goes, “It warms my heart to hear you say that son.”
All I could think was this is going fantastic, there’s no way I am going to have to walk all the way back here again tomorrow. I did feel kind of weird though, here I am in the priest’s private quarter’s for two minutes and I am already lying to his secretary. Ironically I was there to get him to sign a certificate proving I’m Catholic, as if lying to serve your purpose wasn’t proof enough. So we chatted for a few minutes about this amazing religious experience she thinks we both shared that warm Sunday afternoon in ‘96. Meanwhile I was either drinking beers at a beach or drinking beers in the bleacher seats at Yankee stadium, I couldn’t say for sure but I can guarantee you I was miles away from the pope, emotionally and physically. Finally she goes, “Father Tom is surely off the phone by now, I’ll go see what I can do son.” I smiled and said thank you.
She comes out of the priest’s chamber’s moments later and explains the Father Tom will see me in a few minutes if I can just be patient. I said, “Oh ok great thanks so much Ms, but you did explain all I need is a signature.”
She goes, “Father Tom doesn’t like to just sign stuff like this, he prefers to have a conversation before he signs.”

Of course I smiled and explained how I’d love to chat with Father Tom, but I was just lying to her AGAIN. In reality I was annoyed and nervous at the same time. Why does the priest have to have a conversation with me? Was he going to give me some Catholic test? I don’t even know all the words to a single prayer, I know the beginnings of most than I just mumble the rest of the way through. It’s like singing Elton John’s Bennie and The Jets. Everybody knows the first line. “HEY KID SHAKE YOUR BOOTS TOGETHER.” Than it’s mumble, mumble, mumble, “B, B, B, BENNIE AND THE JETS.” Than I started getting annoyed thinking about how the priest is probably going to try and get me to come to church more often. I can’t even lie and say I’m there most Sundays because turn-out’s for Sunday mass are so light these days, he’d recognize if I was in attendance, especially considering I’m under eighty. I started thinking about how to answer mock questions the priest might ask, “How come you haven’t seen me in church? Oh I’m a comedian and I’m on the road a lot. As a comedian you have to be on stage all the time or you don’t grow, if the crowd senses your bored or not confident they will eat you alive Father. You must know that, ever give a sermon after a long vacation, the first time back onstage can be a bit disconcerting.” Then if he asks me why I haven’t memorized the prayers I’ll explain my memory has never been very good, which wouldn’t be an altogether lie. I’m not good at memorizing things that don’t interest me, i.e. the bible. However I could recite every word from the film Goodfellas or tell you Derek Jeter’s current batting average with the snap of a finger. If he asks me anything beyond that I’ll simply say, “Listen Father I’d love to chat but I am in a real jam here, if I could just get your John Hancock that would be fantastic.”

With my mental test done inside my head the priest’s chamber door opens and he waves me inside. I had never been inside a priest’s chambers before and it was all I’d hoped it would be. Everything was made of dark oak wood including the floors, his chair was covered with a dark red velvet fabric and the arms were dark oak hand carved to look like angels. The curtains were also made from a thick red velvet, it was a gorgeous sunny day but the curtains were closed and a couple of candles lit the room. The place looked like it was set up for a religious ceremony and for a minute I thought the old lady knew I lied to her and told the priest I needed an exorcism not a signature.

With an incredibly slow and smooth gesture the the priest opens his hands with his palms facing the ceiling and indicates for me to sit in the chair across from his enormous oak desk. All I could think is a couple of cigars and a brandy snifter would be perfect in this environment. “I understand you need something signed my son.” My son, I love it man this guy was authentic, I appreciated that. I’m not a fan of those modern priest’s that try to “roll with the times.” The church needs to maintain it’s dignity, if the church doesn’t believe it is what it is no one else will. I used to co host a radio show and Dice Clay would join us from time to time. I was and always will be a Dice Clay fan, unfortunately many people are long done with him and laugh at him instead of with him. When he’d be coming on the radio show guests would call before his arrival and say stuff like, why would you have Dice on he’s washed up, he’s career is over ect. I would always say, “Dice will always be Dice to me, nothing can sway that, I will always treat Dice like it’s 1989.” The beauty of this was Dice would do the same. By that I mean to this day Dice still acts as if he’s as huge a star as he was in 1989 and I dig that. Because if Dice came on the radio lacking self esteem and believing what the people are saying about him then he wouldn’t stand a chance, they’d only make fun of him worse. It’s no different with a Catholic priest, in the midst of all the scandal’s that harm the Church’s reputation a priest must remain strong and true, he must believe he is a communicator for God. If I were to walk in and say, “Hello Father Tom how are?” And he opened a can of budweiser and said, “Not good kid, were getting blasted around the world, if things don’t turn around soon we’ll have to file for bankruptcy, Catholicism may have to close up shop for good.” Now I am forced to try and cheer him up, noboday expects to ever have to cheer up a clown a bartendar and certainly a priest. I wouldn’t even know what to say, ”You had a good run Father. Don’t beat yourself up, even the electronics giant Nobody Beats the Wiz had to shut down at some point. It seems McDonald’s and Starbuck’s are the only ones unaffected by a recession.”
But this priest acted as if we were still in mideveil times when priests were sometimes as powerful as Kings, he was committed, even his black shoes were classy. Some priests today wear black payless sneakers sticking out from the bottom of their robes because they want to be comfortable during mass. Why should they be comfortable during mass? Were certainly not. How ’bout putting cushions on those hard wooden pews for us, than maybe we can talk about you wearing Converse high-tops. Again, not this priest, he was dressed to the nines man, long red robe, sharp shoes, hair perfectly slicked back, clean shaven, no perspiration. Priest’s rarely sweat, even on a hot day in church I’ve never seen a priest sweat, I think it’s because they know they’ll be let through the pearly gates upon arrival, for most of us it’s all up in there till we get there.
Father Tom did none of the things that concerned me, no reciting of prayers or questioning my faith, it’s as if he just wanted to say hello to one of his flock. It was so far from what I expected it threw me off my game a little and I became vulnerable, I felt myself wanting to open up, I was thinking, “This guy is good.” He was so purposely disarming it made me start to grasp how those cults get started. All it takes is one smooth talker with a couple of free acres of land for a compound. Father Tom signed my certificate and I was done with the intention of my visit when suddenly to my own surprise I said, “Father can I ask you something?”
“Of course son.”
“Father with everything going on in this world, from the Katrina floods, the earth quake in Haiti the wars, the oil spewing in the gulf, what is going on? Is the world truly coming to an end? Somedays it’s so overwhelming you know.” And there it was, a tear in my eye, just the right eye and it didn’t break and roll down the cheek, but he saw it. The priest put his hand on my left shoulder and said, “For many, many years the earth has gone through devastating changes and many of God’s children have died from these tragedies. Today there are no more or less of these tragedies, it is simply now with technology we are constantly informed of them. When the volcano erupted in Pompeii, the rest of the world did not know for years, when the black plague and small pox killed millions, there were millions of other people around the world who knew nothing about it. But now you know every tragedy the second it happens and you are reminded of it on the computer the television and the radio constantly. However that does not mean the world is ending son, it’s simply technology growing. Know God loves you and all his people and that this world will survive and continue to thrive because that is what God wants my son.”
I know the priest didn’t say anything most of us haven’t heard someone else say before. However when you hear it from a man wearing an expensive red robe that has sacrificed his life (more specifically weed and woman) for God, it really resonates. I’m not a religious man, I believe in the big fella upstairs but truthfully, mostly because the alternative blows. No heaven, we rot in the earth and teenagers drink beers next to your headstone a hundred years later as they say, “Wow look how old this one is, this guy was born in 1970.” But maybe God knew I needed to hear those words from someone with a little pull ya know. When I have a chest pain and my wife says it’s heartburn I’m not very relieved, but when my wife’s best friend whose a nurse tells me it’s heart burn I pop a tums and go about my day. It’s all about your source man.
So the oil spill is an absolute disaster of epic proportions, but we’ve had disaster’s before and we will have them again. The important thing is to keep the faith, work together and this too shall pass. Oh, and if you ever need a signature from your priest, just forge it, no one’s going to check and you’ll save yourself an immense amount of time that can be used for other things, like more sinning.

A LAST LOOK BACK ON SUMMER

Pete Correale — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 20:11:55 +0000

With the onset of winter I found myself looking back on this past summer one last time, it had been a memorable one. I went camping in Montana where they have Grizzly bears. I asked one of the park rangers when I arrived, “So do you have a lot of Grizzly bears?” She answered, “What’s a lot?”
“One,” I responded. Then she goes, “Don’t worry, the bears are more afraid of you then you are of them.” I said,”You know people keep telling me that but I am not getting that vibe.” At one point my wife and I parked the rental car on the side of the road to view a couple of Grizzlies several yards away at the bottom of a hill. The two huge bears were eating berries without a care in the world. At one point one of the Grizzlies looked up in the direction of the on lookers and instantly, everyone took one step back toward their vehicles. Clearly the humans were more scared. I mean the bear takes one glance in our direction and we all head in the direction of our steel automobiles? Meanwhile the bears eat the berries with that carefree look, as if to say, “if anything comes in this viscinty I am going to eat it, it’s that simple.” However as nerve racking as it may be to hike through woods loaded with Grizzlies, chances are incredibly minute that one would actually have an encounter with one of the beasts. Heck, you’d be hard-pressed to even see one up close. Although there is another creature that will get you, whether your in a National Park in Montana or your own backyard at home….the mosquito. They will always find you. I use OFF bug repellant and quite frankly it works as advertised – keeping the bugs off. But I am waiting for the invention of another product called AWAY, tish is the bug repellant were all in dire need of. When you spray yourself with OFF the mosquitos do in fact stay off your skin but they don’t go anywhere, instead they hover about six inches from your face waiting for the OFF to wear off. It’s reminds me of myself, waiting for an apple pie to finish baking in the oven. I just stare through the oven door window, watching my pie bake as I mumble to myself, “Oh yeah I’m gonna munch in about thirty minutes, yeah, yeah, yeah I can’t wait.” That’s exactly what the mosquitos are doing. You ever spray yourself with OFF yet you still get bit by one random mosquito? That’s a taste test. One mosquito is designated to fly in and take a bite to determine whether the bug spray has worn off yet. If not, he flies back to the swarm relaying the bad news, “He’s not done yet, he’s not done yet, twenty minutes at least, twenty minutes til we munch, have a cigarette we got time.”
I actually had a mosquito bite me last week on my forearm. Rather than kill it I slowly brought my arm up to my face to get a closer look. I watched the mosquito as it continued to suck blood from my arm. I began whispering to the mosquito, “Your so dead, you have no idea how dead your are. Keep sucking cause it’s your last meal pal.” I couldn’t help but think how unbelievably dumb this insect is. I know they are miniscule in nature and have the brain capacity of a worm…but still…if your eating something and suddenly two eyeballs appear in front of you - at least two hundred and fifty times your size – wouldn’t something click in inside you? Wouldn’t you have that moment where your like, “You know what, I probably shouldn’t be eating this…all I know is there weren’t any eyeballs in front of me until I started sucking.”

I read recently a study about why mosquitos bite some people while completely ignoring others. Apparently our bodies give off a chemical when we are overly stressed, this chemical is not appealing to mosquitos. So while someone your with may be getting chomped on, if your not, it could mean you need a little R & R. I was hiking in the Catskill Mountains of NY and the mosquitos came swarming while I was making my way through a swampy area. I hadn’t bothered to pack and OFF and I started to get bit. Remembering what I read about the little bloodsuckers not liking humans with high stress levels I tried to muster up some undue stress. I sat on a boulder and began mulling all the low points of my current existence….. I have no money, my wife seems bored, my respiratory system is suspect from all the cigarettes. But the mosquitos continued to bite anyway, it’s as if they were saying, “Yeah we ain’t buying it.”

While on the subject of summertime…..at some point it’s inevitable that I am left with the task of starting an outdoor campfire. And every year I am instantly reminded that I am half a man. No mater how much kindling I gather, no matter how much newspaper I lay down as my base and no matter how hard I try, I cannot get a roaring fire going without frustration. I have built fires that roared five feet high only to turn around a minute later to no flames and smoldering smoke that seems to blow in my face no matter where I stand. Is smoke actually attracted to humans? It seems to be, because no matter how hard I try to keep the smoke from blasting me, it always changes directions to find me and my clothes. You ever try to keep warm by an outdoor fire AND not get your clothes smokey? It can’t be done. I said to a buddy, “I could jump in a lake and not get my clothes wet before I could hang by a fire and not have my clothes get smokey. He goes, “It’s impossible to jump in a lake and not get wet.” I had to delicately explain that was my point. At least I have the wherewithal to try and avoid the smoke. My dog was sitting on a chaise lounge, basking in the warmth of the campfire when suddenly the wind changed directions and the smoke billowed into her face. My dog just sat there stoically as smoke poured into her nostrils and eyes. Finally I had to grab her collar and pull her way from the smoke as I thought to myself, “What a dumb dog, she’s just letting smoke blow in her face.” Then I took another drag off my cigarette and decided….what an even dumber dog owner.

TV/LOS ANGELES AND OTHER BULLSHIT

Pete Correale — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 14:17:14 +0000

I was watching NFL football last Sunday afternoon and one of those Coors Light commercials came on. Tthe one where guys pretend they are asking pro coaches questions. Then they take a clip of the coach saying something from a different time and make it appear as if they are answering the guy’s questions, I can’t stand these goddamn commercials! What the coaches are saying never matches up with what the actors are asking them. Speaking of commercials, the government recently passed a law that will make it illegal to raise the volume on commercials. I was excited to hear about that to say the least. I was watching TV recently and a commercial came on and the TV volume went up about twelve bars. My wife came walking out from the next room and yelled, “God, lower that.” I said, “I didn’t raise it, it raised itself.” Does she actually think I was sitting there and thought, “Ohhh a Ford commercial - I love these ones.” Then I raised the volume? I can’t stand informercials even more than regular commercials because infomercials are down right insulting. I was watching an infomercial in which they were trying to sell me a new knife, but before they could sell me the new knife they first had to show me how ineffective my current knife is. So they had this guy trying to cut through a piece of chicken, he goes, “You ever try to cut something and this happens?” Then he goes to cut the chicken but he doesn’t actually hold the chicken in place. So the entire time he’s trying to cut the chicken it’s sliding all over while he makes a frustrated face. I was so insulted and annoyed I was literally yelling at the guy through the screen, “You got to hold the chicken idiot.” But of course the minute he uses the new knife he holds the chicken, apparently the new knife comes commom sense too. As much as I hate informercials, I was still sad to see Billy May’s pass away. For the few of you who may not know him, Billy May’s was the best TV pitchman in the business. He’s the guy who always had the perfectly trimmed dark beard. After Farah Fawcett died, then Michael Jackson, then Billy May’s a friend of mine said to me. “You heard about Billy May’s right?” I said, “Yeah.”
He goes, “They say these things happen in 3’s man…it’s crazy.” I explained to him politely that I don’t think Billy May’s was the 3rd one. One of the greatest sex symbols of all time in Farah, a rock icon in MJ and the sham sham pitch man…I don’t think so. I think there are still a lot of stars in Hollywood going, “I don’t think Billy May’s was the third, let’s all lay low for a while, no flying.” They’re all playing it safe, when was the last time you saw a picture of Patrick Dempsey on his bicycle?
While were on the subject of TV can someone explain to me why Courtney Cox and Kelsey Grammer have new shows? They both already had other shows that failed since Friends and Frasier respectively, why does the TV industry keep using retreads? TV isn’t like the movies, I can except Brad Pitt as Jesse James then as a man aging backwards then as a Nazi killing machine, because each flick is a couple of hours not five years. I can’t except Kelsey Grammer as anything other than the uptight psychiatrist Frazier Crane. That’s why TV actors get paid so well, because your effectively paying them to never work again. Once a TV character is embedded into our heads, we cannot see that actor as anyone else on TV, it just doesn’t work for us. I guarantee Kelsey Grammer’s new show, Courtney Cox’s new show and especially Ray Ramono’s new show do not last more than one season, they are too expensive and will not be popular enough. You think that TNT got Ray Ramono at a discount? Ray Ramono has more money than Brad Pitt, he don’t do discounts.
Speaking of discounts (I am a segway machine) they say now that we’re in a recession you can find discounts everywhere, I ain’t seeing that. In fact I am seeing the exact opposite, everybody is trying to “nickel and dime” me wherever I go. I was at a gas station in LA last week and the self service pump didn’t take a credit card, so that you had to go inside and see the cashier. I go inside and the cashier informs me that it’s an extra dollar on top of the gas price for using your credit card. It’s two thousand and fucking nine, everyone uses credit cards. Basically this gas station said, “Fuck it, let’s charge everyone an extra dollar to use our pumps, some may drive off but enough will pay.” I then check into The Standard hotel on Sunset Blvd in Hollywood (don’t ever stay in a hotel on Sunset, they’re all dumps no matter how nice they look on the outside). I got a good room rate of $160 a night. When I checked in there was an overly hip hotel attendant manning the front desk…I use the word manning loosely. He was wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt, spare me with the hipness, he’s a front desk clerk not a bartender in Chelsea. I used to work front desk at a hotel in Manhattan, you wear a polyester suit and a name tag, it sucks but it’s the gig. Now they are trying to make it seem cool to check people into rooms and answer phone calls about movie channels and restaurants that deliver. So the overly hip front desk guy asks me if I have a vehicle, obviously because he’s about to tell me how much I am gonna get spanked to park it at the hotel. That is such bullshit, do I have a car? No I walked from the airport, the 405 highway has just enough shoulder space to walk with luggage…of course I have a vehicle it’s LA, everyone has a vehicle except the Mexican illegals that can’t risk a fender bender sending them back over the border. So now it’s an extra $30 a night to have a vehicle and if I want to take it out it’s an extra $5 each time. He then asked me if I planned on using the internet because that’s an extra $10 a night. I leaned in and informed him I planned on brushing my teeth and I needed to know how much extra to pay for running water. He was too hip to smile let alone laugh. The good news is they had an organic food store directly across the street, yeah. Fuckin LA man…it’s just not for me. I pulled into this small shopping center, one of those places with a Subway sandwich shop a Panda Express Chinese fast food place, a GNC nutrition store ect. There was a 7-11 and I wanted to buy a pack of smokes but the two parking spaces in front of the 7-11 were occupied by blue-collar guys eating hot dogs in their trucks for lunch. But when I tried to find another spot each one was reserved for the store in front of it, and there was a security guard monitoring the lot. If you parked in front of a store you didn’t enter, you’d get a ticket. After 15 minutes of backing up for this car and moving over for that one I finally said the hell with it and drove off. But when I left the parking lot I wanted to go left however the traffic was too heavy so I had to go right. It took me three turns of the traffic light before I could make a u-turn and head back in my original direction. As I passed by the 7-11 on my left I glanced at the dash board clock, thirty-two minutes earlier I had casually turned into the shopping center for cigarettes. Thirty two minutes later I am back to the spot I originally turned off at AND I still have no cigarette’s, fuckin LA. I have to admit though, during that entire odyssey…the weather was fantastic.

WE DON’T NEED ANOTHER HERO: FANTASTIC CAUSE I’M NOT ONE

Pete Correale — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 03:52:16 +0000

I’m not one to quote expressions, but the old saying, be careful what you wish for because it might come true applied to me in a big way a short time ago. A few weeks back I was reading in the New York Post about a guy in his mid thirties that jumped on the subway tracks to save another man that fell. Keep in mind these weren’t two friends,… it’s the story of one stranger that fainted and fell on to the tracks, and another complete stranger that made the split decision to save his life. Some skeptics would initially lesson the heroism saying things like, “We’ll the guy probably has no wife or kids. it’s still brave what he did but a man with no kids has less to lose.”

But here’s the kicker…the guy jumped onto the subway tracks IN FRONT of his wife and kids. Can you imagine being a kid and watching your dad save another man’s life? As children we already have our father’s on pedestals, a dad could simply put you on his shoulders and we’d think, “God this man has super human strength.” Imagine watching your dad jump down on to the subway tracks and carry a lifeless body back up to the platform? I’d be thinking, “Where is this man’s cape?”

I was having all types of thoughts after reading about this New York hero. I told my wife how it must be an unbelievable feeling to be considered a hero like that. An ordinary man going about his day is suddenly a hero, is it coincidence or was that person destined to be a hero? I mean you could be walking down the street and a baby accidentally falls from a window and all you do is hold out your arms, like catching a duffel bag. But you are still a hero. However when you actually see someone in distress and make a choice to risk your own life to save them, that’s a different level of hero. I’ve often walked the east river in my neighborhood and in fifteen years I have never seen anyone fall into the river. Yet even after all these years, every time I walk the river I look out at the current, I take the temperature into consideration then I ask myself. “If someone was drowning in the river right now would you jump in?” Every time my answer is the same, that being, “Let’s cross that bridge when I have to.” Because I could say I would jump in but when the moment arrises whose to say what’s going to happen, who really knows what they are made of? As for me, recently I found out.

It was a little after 9pm and I was exiting my apartment on route to meet a friend. I am not exaggerating at all when I say, the last words I had with my wife before leaving were about the guy who jumped on to the subway tracks. I said, “God, how great would it be to be a hero? To wake up and see your face on the cover on the Post, with the headline HERO?” My wife goes, “I don’t think most people imagine it or dream about it like you do, it just happens.” “I know, I know, but it’s gotta be some feeling if it does happen.” Then my wife cautioned that it’s not something you should wish for, she said no one should want bad things to happen to other people. I said,”Nothing bad would happen because I’d be saving them.” With that little banter coming to an end, I kissed my wife and yelled at my barking dog to shut the fuck up then I headed out the apartment door. Seconds later I exit the building and I am standing on the top step of our building’s stoop. Before I can take another step I hear the unmistakable sounds of a woman screaming, “Help me, Help me!” I turn in the direction of the screams and immediately spot a big black man running down the street in my direction with a bag in his hand. Behind the big black guy is a little nebby white guy, a Woody Allen type , wearing a suit and tie and chasing after the guy with the bag. Behind the Woody Allen fellow was the screaming woman, who I quickly deduced was his girlfriend. She started yelling to him, “Jerry stop, let him go! No Jerry you’ll get hurt stop, God somebody help us!”

We’ll this was her lucky day because a guy that has been yearning to be a hero had just arrived and that man was me. It was the most picture perfect scenario to be a hero for so many reasons. For starters, the mugger was heading directly toward me and he had nowhere else to go. Also, at this point he still didn’t see me so I had an opportunity to blindside him or trip him. And most important of all, I had at least six solid seconds to figure out what to do before the guy would reach me. The fact that I had an opportunity to be a hero right in front of my apartment was nice too, this way after all the media interviews on the scene I could just walk up stairs and go to bed. Even Super Heros hate a long commute.

I decided to crouch behind a vehicle parked on the side of the street as the mugger continued to run directly toward me. He was bigger than I realized and he was exhausted, clearly he’d been running with this bag for a long time. The guy chasing him wasn’t really trying to catch the mugger, he was just trying to keep him within eyesight until a cop or a hero like myself showed up. So I remained crouched, as the mugger approached I looked for a knife in his free hand or a gun in his pants, I saw nothing. Although let’s be honest, if I saw anything shiny, I was out. I don’t care if he had a bottle opener in his hand…show me a weapon and I walk. When the mugger was no more than thirty feet away I jumped up from behind the car and yelled at him to stop. You are not going to believe this but he didn’t. I yelled it louder (as if maybe he couldn’t hear me) but he still didn’t stop and before I knew it he was right in front of me. All those times I had yearned to be a hero, the moment was happening, it was now. The mugger raised his right fist getting ready to deliver a blow as he tried to run past. Before he reached me I put both hands out if front and yelled for him to stop again, then I quickly sidestepped to my left as he ran past, I looked like a matador without his red cape. Once the mugger was completely past me and still running I turned back in his direction and yelled stop one more time, nothing. The little white guy in the suit came huffing past in his loafers and gave me a look as if to say, “Thanks for nothing pussy.” I was so embarrassed, I had my chance and blew it. To try and compensate for my lack of bravery I began running side by side with the little white guy, at one point I even said, “Don’t worry we’ll get him.” And the little guy yelled back, “You had ‘em.”

He was right, I did have him and I did nothing. I thought I’d be more disappointed in myself but surprisingly I wasn’t. Would I rather be a hero? Sure, who wouldn’t? Unfortunately I am not and that’s my cross to bare. At least now when I walk the east river I won’t have to wonder if I’d jump in to help a drowning stranger…the end of a long stick is all you can hope from this half a man.

A ROMANTIC EVENING GONE WRONG

Pete Correale — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 16:19:07 +0000

CARNIVAL IN LITTLE ITALY
One evening I took my wife Jackie out for dinner in Little Italy, we had a fantastic meal by candle light. Afterward, hand in hand we began strolling down Mulberry Street when I noticed there was a carnival just up the block. It was a small and only spanned the length of three city blocks…just some ice cream and cotton candy stands plus a bunch of games you could play to win a stuffed animal. We ended up standing in front of this one particular game in which the stuffed animals hanging from above the booth were enormous. In order to win one of these you had to simply toss a regular official softball into a peach basket that was propped on a 45 degree angle about five feet away. I will never forget the face or the name of the man operating the booth that day. He was a short white guy with a bushy blonde mustache, his name was Brian and he chained smoked Winston cigarettes. He explained, “You bet $5, your goal is to toss this regulation softball into the tilted peach basket. If you can toss the softball into the basket ten times you win anyone of these gigantic stuffed animals. If you toss your softball and miss you can continue to play from where you left off simply by doubling your money on the table. Once you get the tenth toss in the basket you get the stuffed animal AND all of your money back.”
To me this was a no brainer. It was impossible to lose, as long as I get ten softballs in the basket no matter how long it takes, I get all my money back and the stuffed animal. Immediately Jackie starts saying, “Forget it Pete, I honestly don’t even want one of those things, besides there’s a trick to it, your not going to be able to do it.”
But I was watching Brian do it, he was smoking his Winston cigarette with one hand and tossing ball after ball into the basket with his other, clearly there was no trick to this. So I slapped down my $5 and grabbed a softball, my first toss landed smoothly in the peach basket, nine more times to go. I toss again and it lands inside, then a third, I was cruising. On my fourth toss I missed but it was no big deal, I simply threw down another $5 and continued. My next toss was successful, I only had six more to go than I’d cap off this romantic evening by handing my wife a mammoth stuffed animal. My next toss was too hard and it bounced out. In order to continue playing I had to match the two $5’s already on the table so I laid down $10 and tossed again…and missed. Now I have to match the $20 already down so I throw down another $20. At this point Jackie goes, “Guy, there’s $40 on the table. What are you doing?” I answered calmly, “Baby relax, all I have to do is toss six more balls into the basket and I get all the money back…relax.” So I toss another softball and bingo it lands in the basket. Then I toss another and it lands snug inside the basket as well, only four more to go. My next toss seemed perfect but somehow it rimmed out and now I was forced to match the $40 on the table, so I took out my wallet and laid down another $40. There was now a total of $80 on the table… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t getting a tad nervous at that point. I grabbed the same softball I’d been tossing each time, I gave the ball a couple of spins in my hand, then slowly lobbed it toward the basket. The softball bounced hard out from the middle of the peach basket. It was my worst toss yet and to continue I had to match the $80 on he table. At this point Jackie gasps, “Oh my God!” Without looking at her I say, “Not now Jack, I need to focus.” “Forget it it just walk away.” She reasoned. I go, “I’m not losing $80 at a fucking carnival.” I turned my attention to Brian who was calmly smoking his 8th or 9th cigarette since this fiasco began and I explained,”I want to keep playing but I can’t match the $80 on the table unless I hit a cash machine.” So he says, “Well how much do you have left on you?” “Forty bucks,” I reply. ”Alright,” he says, ”I’ll make you a deal, you can throw down your last $40 and continue to play, if you make the last three you can have all your money back and the stuffed animal. But if you miss you can go to a cash machine once to get the money to keep playing.” He continues to explain, “you gotta understand where I’m coming from, if I let you continue to hit the cash machine eventually you’ll get to ten, the idea is to win all the money you have, not to let you go get more.”
In my head I’m thinking, whatever man I don’t even hear what your saying, all I know is there is no way I am leaving here without my money, this shit got way out of hand. So I laid down my last $40, now there was a total of $120 on this stupid shitty little table. I get ready to toss the softball and I can hear Jackie whispering loudly, “This is nuts, what is going on, this is crazy.” I turned to her and yelled, “Jack shut up man your messing up my concentration!” We’ve come a long way from the candle light dinner we were enjoying twenty five minutes ago.
So I toss the softball and miss very badly, I couldn’t even look at my wife. I just lost a significant amount of our money, but the worst was yet to come. I look up at my new “friend” Brian and ask, “Where’s the closest cash machine?”
Of course Jackie is now grabbing my arm yelling “Are you crazy? Listen to yourself, let it go.” I yell back, “Let it go?! I’m sorry but I can’t let $120 go, not on a sidewalk on Mulberry Street. Listen baby, we have three more to go. I know it’s scary and there’s a lot of money laying out but I can do this.”
It really didn’t mater what she had to say, I was totally hell bent on getting that money back. So I go to this Korean deli next door that has a cash machine, the machine had a $300 limit thank god. I walk back over to the table and lay down $120 to match the $120 on the table. At this point a small crowd had gathered around to watch. I toss the softball and bingo it landed in the basket. My wife and I high fived, everyone was cheering me on, I only had two more to go. My next toss landed inside the basket, everyone was going nuts it was looking really good I only had one more softball to get in the basket and the nightmare was over. My next throw is too hard and the ball bounces out while everyone groans.
Jackie puts her arm around me as she says, “Let’s go home, it’s done.” Just then I reach into my pocket and pull out the rest of the cash, $180. There is $240 on the table, technically if I wanted to keep playing I had to match the $240 but Brian was willing to make another deal. With the crowd still gathered around he makes a short speech about how much he likes me and because he’s such a fair guy he’s gonna give me one more chance. He goes, “Lay down your last $180 for a grand total of $420 on the table. You get one toss, if you make it all the money is yours and a stuffed animal, if you miss were done, no more visits to the cash machine.”
Instantly Jackie goes, “Guy forget it, he’s making a fool of you can’t you see?”
I go,”I’m only a fool if I don’t do this, have a little faith baby. I made nine already, you act like I haven’t made any.” She goes, “Have some dignity, you really want this guy to have all your money? Don’t you at least want to walk away with some of it?” “I want to walk away with all of it!” I yelled back. Then I go, “If you don’t want to watch wait over there, I will call over when it’s time to pick out a stuffed animal.”
So I threw down the last of my money, I had $420 lying on the table at a carnival and $600 in my bank account at the time. Everybody was silent behind me, I cradled the softball gently and very softly sent it sailing thru the air toward the basket. The ball hit the middle and bounced out HARD, it wasn’t even close. There was no ice in my veins on that night. My audience of twenty or so all groaned and walked away, Brian took a long drag off his butt and scooped up the money. I remember just staring blankly straight ahead thinking what a loser I was, then I I looked over at my wife and said, “Baby I only have three things to say. I love you to death, I’m really, really sorry and let’s agree right here and right now to never bring this up or discuss this ever again.” She smiled, agreed and we kissed and took the subway home.
That night we were laying in bed in the pitch dark and she goes, “Are you sleeping?” And I go, “How could I be sleeping when I know Brian is somewhere out there eating a steak dinner, sucking down a pack of Winston’s that I paid for. That god damed Red Neck played me, what was I thinking.”
Jackie starts laughing and goes,”I thought we weren’t going to talk about it ever again?”
I snapped back, “How can I not? God I’m an idiot.”
She starts laughing and says, “It was like you momentarily became a big dumb ape.”
“Oh my God I know, I know.”
Then we spent the next hour and a half laying in bed making up funny scenarios of what Brian the game operator was doing with all our money. It was a regret at the time, but in retrospect that evening, laughing in bed was the best $420 I ever spent.