The Litter Box Bar League

A friend called me up and said he needed one more team to sign up for a volleyball league that takes place on a sand volleyball court outside of a bar in Chicago on Wednesday nights. I threw a team together and showed up that first Wednesday and couldn't believe that it was even worse than you would expect a court outside of a bar would be. At first I was pissed that I had committed my friends and I to playing in an unsanitary and unsafe environment once a week, but slowly all of these quirks have grown on me. I took some pictures to help you get a sense of just how crazy this whole thing is because I don't think you would believe me unless you saw it for yourself. 

Here is the court. It is a bunch of sand poured into a giant plywood box, which is why we started calling it Litter Box Volleyball. The net permanently droops in the center, and there is no way to adjust it. You get the volleyballs from the bar before your game, and many of the balls have bite marks in them. Why, you may ask? Because when the ball goes over that wall you see pictured, it lands in a Doggy Daycare. When that happens, the ball either flies over the fence back to us right away and we say thank you to the staff, or it mysteriously flies back over 45 minutes later, or it never comes back at all and becomes a permanent chew toy for the doggies. Because this disrupts the game and because the balls are expensive, whoever is deemed at fault for having the ball get into the jaws of the hounds has to take an immediate shot of room temperature Malort, which is just about the grossest liquor you'll ever have. 

The sand is not nearly deep enough, and in some spots there will be two inches of sand with concrete underneath. I dove a couple of weeks ago and cut my knee up really bad. One of the Litter Box veterans then told me, "Oh yeah, don't dive." Don't dive? I can't help it. I just react and go if I see a ball about to hit the sand on my side. Right when it was just about healed from a week or two before, I dove again and opened the cut right back up, which is what you see above. 

So you got the DoggyDaycare on one side line, the other side line is a street, and then on one end line you have two very smelly dumpsters, as you see pictured above. It's smells terrible on that end of the court, so dumpster side always serves first. Seems fair. If someone spikes one past you that doesn't get stopped by a dumpster, then someone has to run down the street barefoot to fetch the ball. Sometimes it sort of veers down the street and just rolls forever downhill. This is why I have found that when I'm holding down the dumpster side, it's good to keep my flip-flops handy so that I can slip those on and run down the street more swiftly and safely.

On the other end line you have the back wall of the bar, and there is an apartment above the bar. Sometimes the ball will hit the satellite dish, knocking out the transmission on the NASCAR event viewed by the regulars in the tavern, or it will land on the upstairs tenant's porch. The guy up there has visitors that come by very briefly and leave, there are some strange chemical smells coming out of there, and other signs that make us think maybe he runs a "business" out of there. But would he take such a risk with all these yuppies in his backyard drinking beers and playing volleyballs in his backyard? Maybe so because the other night he had not problem drawing attention to himself by hopping on his bicycle/motor cycle, cranked up that engine, and went around the block to fetch two tallboys of Icehouse beers. It looks to me like this is what we called a "mini bike" as kids, only this one has an engine attached to a bicycle so he has the option of pedaling as well. It was loud too, let me tell you! A five city block radius is always aware when this dude is making a beer run.  

There is one little nook where a ball can go down this alley as well. There are rusty nails everywhere,  so this is also a good opportunity to slip on your sandals before venturing in. Tetanus shots should be given out as readily as Malort shots around this joint. I'm serious. 

We usually drink buckets of beer outside by the shabby court, but on one rainy night my friend and I noticed the fine array of beef jerky flavors prominently displayed behind the bar. In case you can't read them, the flavors from left to right are as follows: Jerk This, Tickle My Teriyaki, Pepper My Cornhole, Blowout Cajun Jerky, Fire In the Hole, and Hot Habanero. You'll notice that's my hand throwing out a pair of scissors because I was thinking it would be a fun game to play paper, rock, scissors and the loser has to try the jerky of the winners choosing. If a guy had already Doggy Daycared a few balls that evening and earned a few Malorts, some Pepper My Cornhole jerky could really push him over the edge to have a reversal of fortune, or at the very least have a very, very rough Thursday ahead of him.

What do you guys think of Litter Box Volleyball? Anyone want to sub in next Wednesday? Anyone play in any goofy leagues of any kind this summer that you want to share with us in the comments?

Hot For Professor

I was playing volleyball and drinking some beers with friends on the beach the other day, and one buddy said he wanted to wrap it up soon because he had his first day of the semester in the morning.  This guy is over thirty, waits tables, and he is working towards finishing his undergraduate degree.  He wasn't so concerned about being rested to get a good start in his classes but because he wanted to make a good impression on his hot female professor.  How does he know she is attractive?  Well, apparently there is a website where people rate their teachers on all of the more important aspects related to their job but also they get a chili pepper if they are deemed "hot" by enough students.  Can you believe this?

A couple of women we play volleyball with came over to sit out a game while we were having a beer and discussing our friend's first day of class.  I like making sure everyone is up to speed so I said, "Hey, girls.  If you're just joining us, Bob here is trying to bed his professor tomorrow morning."  I like Bob because he wasn't at all embarrassed and filled them in on the whole chili pepper thing.  The girls said that he needs to bring her an apple.  I said he should sandwich it with an apple at the beginning of class and offering to clean her blackboards at the end.  He pointed out that no professor has used a blackboard in like 10 years.  They all laughed and that got the steady "goof on someone" onslaught off of him and onto me for a while.  We all get it for a portion of the day, and it's all in good fun.

I texted him recently to ask if La Senora Caliente was worthy of the chili pepper rating, and apparently she is.  He said he wants to tell me all about it over a beer when next we meet, and I'm greatly looking forward to it.

In other news, here is a cool song I heard on Sirius radio the other day.  It's called "A.C.D.C." from 1972 by Sweet, the guys who brought us "Fox On the Run" and "Ballroom Blitz."  It's really ahead of its time if you ask me, because it's about a guy dating a bisexual girl who fools around with tons of women.  Rivers Cuomo from Weezer would write "Pink Triangle," another terrific song, years and years later about falling in love with a lesbian.  At least I thought it was about a bisexual chick, but then in the second verse they sing "you aught to see her ding-a-ling . . . In any event, "A.C.D.C." has been on my head all day today.  It's a terrific sleazy, pop, punk, glam, hard rock song impossible to pin down into any specific category.  Give it a listen.

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And I give you all, my favorite readers a chili pepper rating of your own.  Make that two chili's.

I have a few more weeks of vacation to enjoy, and I'm spending a little time right now at a place called Heritage Bikes in Chicago where you can get coffee and get your bicycle fixed.  At least I think they'll work on your bike because there are bikes everywhere in this joint.  Anyway, I thought it would be a good day sit outside enjoying the weather with a cup of coffee and catch up on blogging.

A few things . . .

1. So, I got married on August 1st.  When I started this blog back in 2005, I was fresh off a divorce that left me pretty scared and confused.  I thank any and all readers who have been along for any part of me documenting my misadventures in dating and other things.  It has all led me to the right lady, and I'm very happy.

We got married in San Francisco.  Mrs. Noisewater's grandfather volunteers on a ship on Fisherman's Wharf, the very boat he served on during the Normandy Invasion in World War II.  They fired off the cannons when we were pronounced man and wife, it was all pretty awesome, and everyone had a great time.  

I'll never forget waiting in my tuxedo for the "first look" photo, which in case you don't know (because I didn't until a couple weeks ago) is the photo session of the bride and groom right when they see each other for the first time before the actual wedding.  I was standing on a pier facing the bay with my back turned to my bride coming towards me (it all reminds me of some ancient Greek mythology), when this cool black man walks by and says to me "Damn, you look debonair as fuck!"  I have had a lot of compliments in my day, but I doubt I will get one with such a perfect blend of robust vocabulary, profanity, and a perfect delivery.

That's an actual picture from the big day.

2.  The honeymoon was relaxing, beautiful, and a downright love fest in Maui.  I hadn't ever been to Hawaii, and if it weren't for the fact that it's really expensive, I would probably go every year.  We signed up for a tour where a van picks you up from your hotel at 2AM and drives you up a volcano.  They give you jackets and gloves and things because it's freezing way up there, and then you watch the sun come over the horizon right at eye level.  It was pretty incredible.  You are then given bicycles and a helmets and you coast on your bike down the volcano!  We got dropped off back at the hotel at 12PM, and it was like, "What do we do now?  We've already biked down a volcano before noon!"

Here's a volcano crater sunrise pic from the internet that is better than the ones I took on my crummy phone.

 3. The other night my bride and I cooked a nice meal together and opened up a good bottle of wine.  We were looking for something to watch and she says, "Why don't we watch this beach volleyball match that you taped?"  I got the right lady.  She's awesome.  Awesome "as fuck," as a matter of fact.

This isn't us.  But this is how I felt after her DVR choice.

Super Tan Roy

Some folks I have been playing pick up volleyball with for a quite a while now went to visit a friend in the hospital; a friend who just discovered cancerous tumors in his chest and neck.  Roy, sometimes called Super Tan Roy, has to go into for chemotherapy treatments for four days at a time every three weeks.  We call him Super Tan Roy because he is always very sun tanned, and he probably lays out tanning twice as much as he plays volleyball when he comes down to the beach with us the last few summers.  This means that you actually get to know him better because he is always in the sitting out area talking to everyone, and he is just a great dude.  I have never heard him say anything bad about anyone, and he is always in a good mood.

So it was no surprise when we came to visit that he was walking around his spacious hospital room in his cargo shorts and listening to iPod speakers at high volume.  He was really happy to see us, and at no point did he seem down at all.  Apparently what he has is very treatable, and the doctors are confident that after only the first few treatments the tumors will be all wiped out.  Also, when he left after his first stay, he lived his life like normal, going to the gym and everything.  He really hasn't felt any of the side effects, and he even said that the second they hooked him up to the orange bag of chemotherapy juice, he felt better instantly.

Roy was telling us that it sounds strange, but he has never felt this good.  Seeing how many people have been contacting him has made him feel grateful to have so many great friends and family members.  Roy also stays in touch with some rock bands that he has seen over the years and who have played concerts at his house (I suspect Roy is rich), and one pretty big band that I won't say by name said that they want to do a benefit concert just for him!

I told Roy that his point of view has inspired me.  I know for a fact that there is no way I would maintain this guy's level of confidence and upbeat attitude in the face of what he is going through.  Friends would likely come visit me only to hear me blubbering "why me?"  Do you know this dude has made it a point not to turn the giant television in his hospital room on once?   He said that he spends his time emailing friends and writing blogs on his Facebook page.  I like to think that if I were in a similar predicament that it would light a charge into my writing somehow.  But who knows.  I could very likely have the TV on and guests would catch me crying to "The Dukes of Hazard" because Rosco P. Coltrane died and I was scared I would be joining him in a sad redneck afterlife.  But through my brief visit with Roy, I know that wallowing for too long would only be a waste of precious time and a downer to anyone else.

Even though I didn't know Roy all that well, I am glad I decided to go the hospital that night.  It was the right thing to do because he was happy to see all of us but also for the insight he has given me.

Updates. More Damn Updates.

1. Published Buddy:

 Here's a picture of me reading a long time blog buddy of mine, Mr. Shife's, book.  He asked that his people take pictures like this, but then he said he was doing too much promoting and felt weird about it.  Well, I will promote for him so that he gets the massive influx of my 7 readers over to his site.  It's the least I could do.  We have never met in person, but through blogging all these years, it's like we're close friends.  I couldn't be more happy to say that he is a published author.  

I thought the glasses on the end of the nose would make me look smarter.  Just made look older and nerdier.

2. Ancient Farts

And here is a picture that has been on my laptop for months now.  I forget where I found it, but it is from ancient China or Japan or somewhere, and it illustrates that try as you might, you have to admit that farts are funny in any time period or any distant land.  

3. Type O Is the Awesome Type

It has been so long since I have been really passionate about a band.  I guess the last time would be when I got way into Kyuss around 5 years ago or so.  I just recently started listening to Type O Negative on a daily basis.  I listen to them at the gym, in the car, and late at night when I come home drunk.  That last listening session scenario isn't too popular with Mrs. Noisewater.  Type O struck that perfect balance of being heavy, funny, emotional, evocative, and just brilliant.  And the more you read about the late Peter Steele, the more you love him.  

I read one story where he overdosed,  and when the doctors asked him what he was addicted to, he said "Cocaine, heroin, and redheads."  The doctors then asked his band mates what type of drugs redheads were, and his good friends and fellow band members just laughed.  Some of you may have noticed that the top 10 nude scenes podcasts I published on this blog a few weeks back all had Type O Negative music in the background.  This was for no reason, really.  They're just a great band.  

4. Coach Noisewater's Breakthrough Game:

The girls volleyball team I coach this season seemed to always show up to games and clam up, play all tight, and not give it their all.  All season it has been frustrating because practicing with them, I know what they're capable of.  I take this hard because I'm kicking myself wondering what I'm doing wrong.  What could I have done to get these girls more mentally prepared?  Well, tonight they pulled it all together and played their tails off like I knew they always could.  Tomorrow at practice it's all about letting them know that playing like that is how they need to play from now on.  Always.  Approach the game like that and do everything like that.  Work your butt off and control your own destiny.  That's what it's all about, friends.  

Talk to you again soon, blog buddies young and old . . .

A Friend I Will Miss and Another I Avoid

A Friend I Will Miss

I got a really good friend, one of the guys I officiated a wedding for as Reverend Ken, and he suddenly announced he is moving away in three weeks.  It's really sad, and I feel like I wasn't given enough notice.  If you told me a few months, sure, but three weeks?  Sorry, but my man-love heart needs a little time to process these things.  I tried to be happy for him when he told a few of us the other night, but I couldn't.  And then I made him sad by being sad.  Eventually I just gave up trying to feign happiness and I posted this video on his Facebook wall.



I thought the clip would be good for a laugh, but I ended up crying.  Guess it was good for a cry too.  I know.  A man crying over a Star Trek clip might be the nerdiest thing ever, but it happened and I'm better for it.  I needed to get the crying out of my system, and Kirk and Spok helped me out to those ends.  Those devilish, space traveling, pointy eared (one of them), bastards . . .

And Another I Avoid

This other friend of mine I have been playing volleyball with for years, and he makes everyone miserable by telling everyone what to do and how they messed something up.  He has a thick accent and his command of the English language isn't too good either.  He often times ends his description of how he thought you should have returned the last serve with "does that make sense?"  And it never makes sense.  The thing is, he is easily the worst player of all of us, yet he always tells people how to play, which makes it all the more difficult to stomach his lectures.  I always have to do some affirmations on my way to the court like "Okay, he is going to be terrible.  Just nod your head and be positive.  Move on to the next point and don't yell at him."  Sometimes it works, and on rare instances, usually when I'm hungover and emotional, I do end up yelling at him.  And then I'm disappointed in myself because it doesn't do any good.  

He isn't much better in social gatherings either.  His jokes are often as misunderstood as his volleyball analysis, and he will try to make wise cracks about people that never quite work.  This makes it sound like he is a jerk, but that isn't quite it.  He is just a little off.  It's no longer cultural, and he can't use that as an excuse anymore.  He has been in the country a long time now.  He is just kind of weird. 

So some of the volleyball friends are meeting up to watch NCAA games, and I actually asked if this dude is going to be there.  I felt really bad about asking that, but here is the thing: I really value my weekends, and if that dude will be there describing how the little people on the television should have executed that inbounds play and I have to keep taking pees I barely have to take and get beers I don't need just to get away, that will detract from the loveliness of my oh so important Saturday afternoon.  

I just got the word that he will, in fact, be there.  Just like on the way to the court, on the way to the bar I will do my affirmations: "I can do this.  Be nice to him.  He really isn't that bad . . ."

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Anybody have friends like the first one?  How about the second one?  Any tips on how to handle the second one because I'm about out of ideas.  

I just got back from another trip to see my lady, LSD, out in Los Angeles, and one highlight was definitely getting a chance to play some beach volleyball because it's cold as crap here in Chicago.  While we were playing, a bald black man walks over to the outdoor showers you use rinse sand off before going home, and he proceeds to take a full on shower with soap and shampoo.  He left his shorts on, thank God, but he did reach down there to excessively clean his junk and his butt.  It could have been considered lewd conduct the way he was lathering away on those balls.  I mean, they had to be really clean by the time he was done.

Then "Gangnam Style" came on, and he started doing the dance while he washed his nuts, at which time I just fell out laughing.  Thank you, weird guy.  I needed that laugh. 

I play volleyball in the summer with some cats, and this year our commissioner spliced together some video.  My team fared just so-so, but I guess I had a killer diving dig at 1:52 as documented in this video (I'm the guy in the over-sized yellow shorts)



I guess that's not as interesting to you if it's not you diving around.  So, I guess watch Black Dynamite.  Even if you don't like that, there's titties for no reason.

the cast period

this post and a a bunch to follow will be in all lower case with minimum characters (shift buttons are not easy for me these days) and with a lot of typos because this cast on my hand is messing up my blog functioning.  it's cool though because this will be known as the 'cast period' when i'm studied in blogging courses at universities some day, or more likely in case profiling for nut-jobs. 

i think i mentioned in a previous post that this is a kickball injury.  yes, the game we played in recess as a kid.  yes, the ball is big and mushy, so there is no logical answer for how i could manage to hurt myself other than i'm a fragile wuss of a man.

knowing that i would have to get surgery on the finger monday morning, screwing up most physical activity for just about the whole summer, i decided to soak up as much beach volleyball time as possible sunday afternoon by lake michigan in chicago.  volleyball on sundays in the summertime for me is like church to people who go to that sort of thing - people with beliefs and a moral compass.  volleyball is one of the first things i think about when i think of chicago summers, and my whole week is out of whack if i don't get out there.  that being said, i was geeked to get onto the beach, and only an hour or so in, a giant storm comes out of nowhere.  it got suddenly dark with insane winds, all the seagulls were getting the f' out of there in a hurry, and a voice comes over the p.a. telling us to do the same.

oats and i sought refuge by his place for a while and put on the cubs home game to watch for when they pulled the tarp to play ball as a means of gauging when the storm was going to blow over, which it eventually did in a couple of hours.  so i'm hauling balls on my bike back to the beach on the lakeshore drive bike path, and when i'm almost to our courts, this middle aged man i'm about to pass suddenly decides that he needs to do a u-turn right into oncoming traffic without looking.  i actually reasoned in my head that i had zero time to avoid this and just braced for impact, t-boning him, knocking us both off our bikes.  he kept asking if i was okay, and i told him i was - but only to get away from him without swearing at him.  then he asked if my bike was all right, and i saw the chain hanging off and the front tire knocked flat.  still, i said i was fine and locked the thing up to get a few games in before fixing it at the boathouse up the road.

because the back tire still had air, i just flipped it upright and literally ran to the bike shop barefoot.  on my way i heard a squak and felt a shot to the back of my head and immediately knew it was that asshole bird who dive-bombs the back of people's heads.  i wrote a post about him years ago, but i'm too lazy to provide you with a link.  the point is that this was just not a good day for me.  then the bike guy tells me that the wheel is all screwed up and it cost me around 70 bucks.  guess i should have taken the idiot who hit me straight to the shop instead of jumping right into a few rounds of v-ball, but i was sort of in shock and very pissed.

when i got into the shower that night i found some very gnarly bruises and then found a few more scrubbing up before surgery this morning.  i had to tell the doctors where all t he damage was so no one could think or claim that  some whacky stuff went down during the operation. 

this stupid injury is very annoying to me because i'm an extremely active person, and there are very few types of exercise i can do.  also, at my summer job i need to handle things quickly and efficiently (like dealing with each customer for around 12 seconds), which i love, but it's going to be a pisser with this thing on me.  however, the way i see it, there are people in the world with afflictions far worse than this, and many of them had much more critical surgeries down the hall from me this very morning.  as for work, i remember a girl i worked with years ago doing the same job with very little use of one hand, and that was permanent.

it has just been a bad couple of days so i wanted to get it down onto the page, even if i have it more in perspective now.  thanks for listening if you have made it this far into this whopper-long post.  and here's a pic of edward .44 magnum hand, and yeah, i have eyes.  that's just my trademark here at the the gancer:

have gun, will travel - and write corny captions.

Tonight my volleyball team played one of those independent teams where none of the players know each other, and they only had one male player this evening.  And he was old.  Really old, like maybe knocking on 70.

I told a guy on my team that we might want to watch out because would if he took a dip in that pool from "Cocoon?" 

I am flabbergasted. As some of you know, I coach 6th and 7th grade volleyball. My principal just came up to me in the middle of practice, mad as hell, asking me if I whipped a volleyball at a kid’s face. What DID happen was two kids got mad at each other when they were chasing down their volleyballs, and one threw the ball at the other one’s face. I asked them what the heck was going on, they verified that they were throwing balls at one another, so I made them do laps. The one kid stopped, so, naturally, I asked him why he stopped, to which he replied he had to go. So, I said, finish your laps and THEN go. About 20 minutes later is when my principal came to me saying that this kid told his mother that I whipped a ball in his face and threw him out of practice. I love working with kids, it’s why I got into the business of school social work, but I’m so fed up with dealing with parents, politics, misunderstandings, and outright lies. I think I’m going to be a house painter. I want to just paint houses with some music on and have ZERO coworkers. Wouldn’t that be great?

Sit Down?

I’m coaching boys, 7th grade volleyball this year. I just got done with my first game, and I need to kill a half hour to charge my ipod and to let traffic die down. So, I figured this would be a great time to knock out a blog.

We lost both games today, but we did way better than the last time we faced the same team. I was out of town, but I heard we didn’t crack 10 points in either game the first time we faced them. In today's games we were up in the 20's both games. I’d like to think that the spike, pun intended, in point production had something to do with Dr. Kenneth Noisewater’s coaching prowess. What I lack in knowledge, I make up for with enthusiasm. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty good volleyball player, and I know the rules. It turns out all my years of playing volleyball at the bar and on the beach did not equip me with the knowledge of all the anal, little nuances in organized volleyball. When you sub in players you have to have them run to the sidelines with the backs of the guys subbing out to the judge, and the front of the guys subbing in has to face her. There is also a hand shaking format in which they have to go to opposite corners, run straight up to the front, so that they can run across and slap hands under the net. Okay, I’m willing to learn these particulars and abide by them, but what I REFUSE to do is sit down while I coach.

I have ADHD. It’s never been diagnosed, but I have a brutal case of it. If you saw my desk right now you’d know what I’m talking about. When I coached basketball I NEVER sat down during a game. I pace back and forth like a caged panther and I howl like a, well, caged panther. Today, midway through the second game, the judge told me to sit down. There were some snickers as the crowd heard the howling come to an abrupt halt, and I sheepishly sat down and put my clipboard under my chair. I really would have liked to have found another place for my clipboard, namely in that bitch judge's corn hole, sideways.

I have a tournament this weekend, and I’m going to continue to pace until I am warned a few times, at which point I’ll sit, but I don’t have to like it.

-Coach “Panther” Noisewater