I Probably Won’t Be a "Big Brother" Anytime Soon

So this guy brings his kid to my fake boot camp class that you're all tired of hearing about. He's fifteen, and apparently runs a 6-minute mile on his JV track team. And for a week before he shows up, his dad keeps mentioning it to everyone. His son wants to see if he can outrun us, wants to show us how it's done, runs it actually in less than six sometimes, but they go by averages, etc, blah blah, kid can't even drive so what else is he gonna do besides run fast, who cares, etc, some more. I'm elaborating here and there.

And so the day comes, and we're all circled up, and Dad introduces Son, and suddenly, I'm as furious as I've ever been in my entire life. All I can think is: this kid has no idea. I get it. He's fast. He might run a mile in five minutes and never have a care in the world. He might never sleep on the floor in his clothes because his weirdo brain won't let him get a good night's rest. He might never wake up, change shirts, re-gel his hair and go to work like everything's awesome. He might never look in the mirror and say "what happened to you?" He might never understand Fight Club or Karma Police or some fantastic, dark, violent book that I probably wouldn't understand either. He might not need three Red Bulls a day to make small talk at work. He might not be able to count his friends on his fingers (and he probably doesn't need to count the dog to get there). He might be an incredible, dedicated guitar player. He might remember to floss and take vitamins. He might have a hot girlfriend. He might be able to do some kind of crazy one-legged, upside-down bullshit on his skateboard. He might have no time for things like blogging. I bet he never bites his tongue or sticks his foot in his mouth or shows up late to anything.

And on the day that kid visits in my fake boot camp class, to run the mile and show us how it's done, there's something else he doesn't do. He doesn't outrun me*. Because I'm mainlining Taurine, listening to Beastie Boys, wearing my Flash cuff, and most importantly, I'm pissed.. And sometimes, cocky fifteen year-olds of the world, this is how you learn. Spread the word.

You're welcome.

*Some other dude beat us both. Suck on bronze, Kid Flash!

Ryan B's Playlist for Outrunning Teens

Beastie Boys, Intergalactic
Artic Monkeys, Red Light Indicates Doors are Secure
Blur, Song 2
Jamie Lidell, Hurricane
The Black Keys, Strange Times

You only need a couple of these for your mile, but you're pumped by then and will probably keep listening while you bounce around in the parking lot taunting a kid.

An Open Letter to Mark Mardon, AKA the Weather Wizard

Dear Mark:

You win. I've obtained the $15 million in unmarked bills. It wasn't easy, if you're interested. Between the third and fourth layer of bundles, you'll find a small, lead-lined box. Inside is the Flash's ring, as well as the blueprints for the first three levels of the Hall of Justice. As promised, in one week you will receive, via UPS (no return address—you know where to find me, obviously) bootleg (yet complete) DVDs of seasons 4 and 5 of Lost, the new iPhone, and the names, birthdates and delivery location of Angelina Jolie's twins. The Flash ring was hard to figure out at first, but I did it. I'm not proud, but this was our agreement.

So, we're square, right? We're even? The deal's done? Good. So go ahead and knock it off with the shitty fucking weather already. It's rained, snowed or just been generally ugly every single day so far this year. Some days, I'd think we were in the clear, and then around 4 p.m., the sky opened. This morning, Bandit woke me up at 3:30, barking at thunder. Nothing that cute should ever be called an asshole, yet I had to do it, because of your crappy storms. The other day, I had to hand out flashlights at work. Come on. It's almost summer, yo, I should not have a jacket in my car "just in case" for another five months. Take your money and leave me be with a warm, sunny June. It's all I've ever wanted.

Watching the skies,
Ryan B