This is the sixthling. That's the name of this week's column which is fitting because of the little fingerling I had on my right pinky finger.
Yes, I was born with six fingers on one hand. I wonder what it would be like to have six fingers, would I be able to type faster? The whole reaching for the enter key with my pinky would be so much easier. It would be hard to find gloves though. I'd have to get specially ordered football gloves for six fingers. Do you know the edge I could have though against offensive linemen? I'd just be waving at those linemen, it would completely take their mind off their assignment, and that really would have been great.
But, now it's just a memory. I miss my finger even though I can barely remember having it. Well, actually, I don't remember having it. I remember it being cut off. It was just nerves and flesh so they didn't just cut it off, they had to cut off the circulation first, and so they tied a string real tight and then it just went limp and then they surgically removed it, ouch.
I was about 11 months, twenty one days, fourteen hours, thirty six minutes, twenty five seconds, and 19/100s of a second old when they removed my lucky finger.
That's pretty much a guess, but I'll go with it.
Anyhow, it's been a busy week.
I got to paint down in Chinatown on Tuesday, and showed my artistic skills to the world as I painted over graffiti. Anyone walking down the alleys of Chinatown can now see my hard work. Parys and I are cool now. We've made peace. We're even. For the most part, everything is copasetic. Basically what happened, on accident, I just barely brushed Parys' arm with the paint brush that just so happened to have paint on it. It was kind of his sleeve and a little on his arm. But it was an accident, okay so it wasn't. I was painting somebody and he just happened to be the closest victim. Lo and behold, I'm once again bringing out the Michael Angelo in me and painting on the wall and somebody tells me that I have marks on my shirt. And the culprit to have done so was standing behind me denying everything but looking guilty, and that just happened to be Parys. When I confronted him, he confessed that he was trying to draw the letter P on my shirt. I have to give it to him because if no one told me, I would have had a big P on my shirt because I didn't feel anything. I tried to put a handprint back on him but he was watching me the whole time.
I had a great meal the other night over at Vickiel Vaughn and Marcus Hudson's place. It was some type of pork and mashed potatoes and croissant rolls and green beans and it was really good. I stuffed my plate full and I wasn't going to let the food beat me. You can't leave three or four spoonfuls on your plate, but it was really just trying to win. I didn't let it. Marcus got beat though. The food was delicious. Vickiel can cook but his friend pulled off that one for us.
As far as the Raiders game, nobody touched me on that blocked punt. I went scott free and for the most part I just had to make sure that I got my hand on the ball. I'm learning a lot of new things this year, but blocking punts is something I've been doing consistently since college. That was the 8th one of my career, and so as it happens, I immediately spotted the ball and I was thinking to myself that the kicker is probably up looking for it too because I didn't run into him at all. So, as I'm rolling, and please note after the blocked punt, if I had to be graded in gymnastics my roll would get perfect scores. The transition was flawless, effortless. I must say I've had a lot of practice doing rolls in my days of blocking punts, but anyway, as I was rolling, I saw his foot out of the corner of my eye and I just knew he was on the way to the ball. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I was thinking should I trip him and let someone else get it or just try to beat him or if I get close enough, maybe I can punch it to the end zone, flip over him and grab the ball and score. But it didn't work. He beat me to the ball. I think he slid under me because I was in the process of falling on it, and all the sudden he's under me. He just ruined it for me. He's a hater.
I played two years at NC State with Phillip Rivers. I wish I could tell some funny stories but although he'll giggle, crack a joke now and then, he's like a B.Y., all business. I'm looking forward to the challenge of playing against him and this talented Chargers team.
I had the TV 49 and Total Access crew over this week to tape my overly nightmarishly priced home that will be put in a museum once I'm finished with the interior decorations. Unfortunately, I just bought new dishes for the kitchen and they did not make the show. I still haven't gotten my fake plants, still have to do some pictures on the wall, and I just bought pillows, comforters and all of that for my guest bedroom. So that didn't make the show either. BUT, everyone who watches will get to see my lucky Buddha which is the most important artifact in my home. I think everyone should have one, regardless of the size, although no skinny buddhas allowed. Tune in next week to catch the show!
