Sentence of Dave: Search results for watermelon

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This Is Different Than It Sounds (Not That There's Anything Wrong With That)

The other night at the Park Pub, one of our regular gang tried to explain what was going to happen at the Rutgers Pool on Labor Day Weekend . . . apparently the staff was going to throw a "greased watermelon" into the deep end of the pool and then you could do "some wrestling" for the aforementioned greased watermelon with the "buff lifeguards," and we thought this sounded like a rather odd event to happen at a family pool, but he insisted that not only were their no erotic overtones to the event, but that it was a manly pursuit . . . and now that I know of what he speaks, I can attest: it is a manly pursuit; the event works like this

1) prior to the event one of the pool employees coats a watermelon with petroleum jelly

2) the willing adults and teenagers (no one under thirteen allowed in this melee) are split into two teams

3) the watermelon is tossed into the deep end

4) no goggles are to be worn

5) each team is trying to maneuver the watermelon to their side-- which is indicated before the event begins-- and then raise it above the water and out of the pool

6) the head life-guard asked us not to be too violent, which proved impossible . . . for the first few minutes I was clueless as to where the watermelon was-- as there were thirty adults treading water and diving for it-- in fact, I dove down once to grab the melon, only to find it was the pool drain-- but then someone near me had the melon and I stripped it from him and turned over, and-- like an otter places a clam shell on his belly-- I balanced the watermelon on my stomach and started kicking for dear life . . . I advanced the melon nearly to the wall and kicked a few friends in the ribs before it slid away from me, but luckily one of the buff lifeguards that was on our team (Team Two, baby!) retrieved it and lifted it over the edge of the pool and spiked it down, breaking the melon and ensuring that we did not have to play another round, which was best for all parties involved . . . so the lesson here is that if a buff lifeguard asks you to wrestle around with a greased watermelon, don't get too excited because it's going to be extremely ugly, not hot and sexy.

Wrestling for a Greased Watermelon is Laborious

Last year on Labor Day weekend, I learned that "wrestling for a greased watermelon with buff lifeguards" is not the theme of an adult film, it is an event at our family swim club-- and this year I learned that last year's melee was rather tame because the watermelon broke open after one round; this year we played best of three and I am proud to say that I scored the first point, hefting the watermelon over the side of the pool from distance . . . but there is plenty that went on in this scrum that I'm not proud of-- ankle grabbing, the dunking of minors, pleading with the almighty that I might be allowed to return to the surface, attempting to drown my friends and neighbors, occasional cowardice, and a general sense of bewilderment that I have never felt in any other sport (besides cricket) . . . a petroleum jelly coated watermelon behaves very strangely in water-- someone said it is neutrally buoyant, so it goes in whatever direction you push it-- up, down, sideways, or all three-- and apparently, you can see where it is from the sidelines, so there is lots of cheering and screaming, and when my tall friend John, from Team 1 (my team!) spiked the melon over the side and broke it, cementing both our victory and the end of the battle, everyone was exhausted and relieved, and I am positive that the event was far more exciting than an Olympic water polo match.

Dave Labors to Complete Summer

So I'd like to assure everyone that the summer is complete-- diligent readers might be worried, but yes I saw Lecompt at the Springfield a couple of times . . . I just never got around to writing about the shows, and yes I wrestled in a pool with a bunch of men, some teenage boys and one brave young woman for a greased watermelon . . . this year's scrum was especially epic and went on far too long; the watermelon actually split into pieces in the first match, but the lifeguards had a back-up watermelon (also fully slicked with vaseline) so we were able to play a second game, and while I was fighting for my life, treading water, breathing heavily, occasionally shot-putting the melon, and mainly trying not to drown, I managed to salvage two proud moments: the first was when I made an accurate behind the back pass (with a greased watermelon) under heavy pressure from The Deatz and the second was when one of my soccer players got into space on the wing, called for the melon, and finished perfectly . . . and though when he tossed the melon over the lip of the pool, this was to defeat my team (Team 2!) I attribute his heads-up play, communication, and spacing to my unparalleled coaching . . . so though it was a loss, it was also a victory . . . but let me assure you, it wasn't all treading water and high-fives, I also had one shameful moment, when an opposing player surfaced with the melon, and I violently dunked this person, and then I realized it wasn't an adult, it was one of the youngsters . . . one of the kids on my middle school team, in fact, and I know this doesn't bode well for the future-- when we started this watermelon thing five years ago, it was a bunch of dads and a few twenty-somethings, but this year a lot of the older guys decided they would not participate-- they were too old and it was too exhausting-- and so we recruited a batch of kids, and they're just going to get bigger and stronger and angrier . . . eventually, vengeance will be theirs.

The Usual Vaseline-Coated Shit-show

I played pickleball this morning, then mowed the lawn, then helped my son Alex move a TV and some furniture to New Brunswick . . . forgetting that I should have been conserving my energy for the traditional Labor Day pool party greased-watermelon-rugby match; this year's match was more epic than usual-- and it's usually fairly epic . . . after jumping out to an early lead, my team eventually lost 3-2 but it took far longer than usual and by the end, most of us were gassed-- from treading water; from wrestling and dunking folks; from trying to keep our with our fully grown, athletic children, and mainly from diving into the murky depths of the deep end in pursuit of the neutrally buoyant melon-- -- with dozens of legs kicking above you, blocking your path to oxygen-- and while most of the match was the usual Vaseline-coated shit-show, I was proud of two particular moments:

1) Alex had the watermelon a yard from the end line, but when he rose up to toss it over the side of the pool and tie the score, I rose up with him-- and like (a very short and hairy) Dikembe Mutombo, I cleanly blocked his scoring attempt . . . it was fucking sweet-- and when Alex scored on the next possession, he said, "Thank God I scored, or I'd never hear the end of that block"

2) during a frothy chaotic melee, I ended up clutching the watermelon to my belly, but my back was turned to our opponent's end-zone and I was holding the melon below the surface of the water-- and no one knew that I was in possession of the melon-- so I channeled Daniel-Day Lewis, looked around frantically, and said, "Where is it? Where did it go?" and I simultaneously started kicking my legs and proceeding very slowly into enemy territory-- and I made it a couple of yards utilizing this deception, but then Alex jumped on me and pushed the melon loose, and he claims "you were making that face that you always make when you're doing something stupid like that."

The Piano Man Will Be Right Back . . .

Today at school I did not apply something I learned over the summer and I heard something new from my last-period class:

1) over the summer I learned that watermelon is a diuretic (and quite a healthy diuretic at that . . . eating watermelon helps flush ammonia out of the kidneys and also helps prevent stone formation) but I forgot that fact today and ate many many watermelon chunks during snack time (and also drank copious amounts of coffee) and then I had to pee the rest of the day . . . eating a diuretic is fine in the summer when you can pee whenever you want, but once you start teaching 84-minute classes back-to-back it's to not consume double diuretics;

2) my last period class decided that I looked like a younger version of Billy Joel, even though I played them a song on my guitar . . . and Billy Joel is a new one, I've gotten Bruce Willis and Walter White-- but when I googled him, I could see the resemblance . . . basically, if you're a white guy and you hit a certain age, shave your head, and have a graying goatee-- then kids find you interchangeable with anyone else of that mien.

Two Things I learned at the Pool Yesterday (Both Explosive)

The first thing I learned at the pool yesterday is that if you put enough rubber bands around a watermelon, it will explode . . . my wife and I saw a bunch of kids clustered around a picnic table, and so we went to investigate, and we saw a dad and a bunch of brave children stretching rubber bands around a watermelon-- which seemed very odd until someone explained the premise, and it took quite a few rubber bands and a good ten minutes, but the end result was a real crowd-pleaser; moments after the watermelon exploded all over the participants, our own children arrived (they were with friends) and we excitedly told them what we had witnessed, but they were unmoved by the information . . . apparently "everyone has seen that on YouTube" and the second thing I learned at the pool is that intestinal gas is visible in an x-ray; I learned this fun fact from a friend (a lady friend!) who will remain nameless (her request) when she recounted her last visit to the chiropractor, he took a full upper body x-ray, put it on display, and began assessing her spine, but she wasn't paying attention to his chiropractic wisdom, and instead was looking at the numerous black balls in her stomach and intestines . . . she knew what they represented and was appropriately mortified (even more so when the chiropractor said, "Wow, you're quite gassy," but she still had the wherewithal to reply, "I had Thai food for lunch").

Another Labor Day, Another Greased Watermelon Water-polo Rugby Match

Yesterday was the end of the season picnic at the Rutgers pool and the end of the season picnic culminates with the greased-watermelon-rugby-water-polo match in the deep end of the pool . . . and it was the usual melee-- no goggles allowed, so everyone's eyes were burning, a few of us (including me) got kicked in the head, lots of dunkings and near drownings, a lack of ability to sweat because your skin gets covered in vaseline, and so much treading water that by the end, it was difficult to pull yourself out of the pool-- but I also noticed something with the dynamic-- the game was seven on seven this year-- kind of small-- and the only people playing are the crew that is my age (around fifty) and our children (and some of our children's friends) and the rest of the eligible pool members-- all the twenty and thirty and forty year olds-- pull up chairs and watch the match . . . we got exactly one new player, a 44 year old named John who was a water polo player-- and he told me after the match "I didn't realize it would be so intense! and I thought I would swim circles around everyone but there are some really good swimmers," which is true because one family is all swimmers and their kids can grab the watermelon and submerge to the bottom of the pool and swim with it, which is pretty much an indefensible play . . . anyway, this gladiatorial event may die (sink and drown) with our generation (and I think this year's match caused me to pass a very small kidney stone, I won't go into further detail on that front).

The Return of the Greased Watermelon!

This morning my shoulder felt awful, my legs were sore, and I was still a little slick from the vaseline . . . which are all good things as this means that the Rutgers pool was open this season and we were able to have an end-of-the-season-greased-watermelon-rugby match; this one was the most epic ever-- we decided to end it at 2-2 and call it a tie (though both points the other team scored were cheesy-- one wide of the cone and both in shallow water, the watermelon tossed by a standing person-- our goals were much more beautiful) and here a couple of pics of the youngsters and oldsters who participated (mt younger son was away but my older son Alex was in there, and his buddy Luke, both defenders don't he soccer team).

Summer is Over (Time to Wash Off the Vaseline)

As usual, the greased-watermelon-rugby-polo-challenge signified another summer in the books-- and this was an especially epic summer (a trip to Costa Rica, a lot of soccer and tennis, a couple trips to the beach, and my kids had gainful employment) and an especially epic greased-watermelon-match (which my friend John decided to document, so perhaps this one is coming to a theater near you . . . hopefully his daughter/camerawoman caught the magical moment when I kicked my son Alex in the head) and now it's time to shower off all the petroleum jelly and get ready to enter the work week.

Summer is Over (Time to Wash Off the Vaseline)

That's Good Stuff

I've been grading Rutgers essays all week and procrastinating on posting my good content, but Larry David hasn't been holding back his best stuff: episode 4 of the new season (11) may be one of the best ever . . . check out the"The Watermelon" as soon as possible.

Dave Belabors Labor Day

I have concluded my Labor Day labor: I worked from 8 AM to 1 PM trimming trees in our backyard; I started the morning using my circular saw-- which was dangerous and not particularly effective-- then I borrowed my friend Alec's electric chainsaw, which-- as promised-- had an extremely dull chain-- and I finally walked over to my buddy Ashley's house and got his industrial strength Sawzall, which was the best tool for the job; I had to do a lot of sawing and trimming while standing on a ladder, I had to thoroughly clean the debris because yew berries and needles are poisonous to dogs, and I had to drive three loads of yew tree branches to the dumpster in the park, so I'm (pun intended) bushed but unfortunately, I'm not done expending energy today, and so I have begun drinking beer in the hopes that it will assuage my sore muscles and imbue me with berserker strength for our annual aquatic greased-watermelon rugby match.

Old Men Are Good at Something (Just Not Anything Anyone Cares About)

Another Labor Day, another ugly scrum at the family pool for the greased watermelon -- except this year the old folks played against the youngsters, and we trounced them three to nil . . . though they were leaner, better looking, better swimmers, and had more hair, we had an unbeatable strategy which took years and years to prepare . . . we out-massed them: our superior weight made us an unstoppable flailing juggernaut, and our high body-fat to muscle ratio made us far more buoyant than our young opponents . . . and the way things are going, I think we're just going to get better and better.

Headline: Hurricane Prevents Heart Attacks!

So our communal beach vacation was going to culminate on Friday night in a frenzied bout of much anticipated frying (Michelle brought a deep fryer) and all week suggestions were made about what to deep fry-- Dom called these suggestions "fry-deas"-- and items such as watermelon, frozen Snickers, Oreos, Twinkies, bacon, and maraschino cherries (which are not as toxic as legend suggests) were all slated for the oil, but lucky for our arteries, Hurricane Irene rolled into town and saved us from this orgy of saturated fat.

Some Deets

Yesterday's sentence was vague, Yoda-esque, and boring-- so here's a bit more detail: yesterday, Ian and I took off for Hamilton, New Jersey at 6:50 AM so he could take the SAT at Trenton Catholic because there were no seats available for the test near us; I dropped him off at 7:35 AM and they admitted him into the testing facility; I then when and played pickleball with my brother at Veteran's Park-- which was only a few miles away-- and this was elite pickleball competition, in fact, they wanted me to "try-out" to play with them, but my brother vouched for me-- and then my brother and I beat nearly everyone there so there were no longer concerns about my skill level-- then I went to my brother's place and Amy made me a sandwich and gave me some watermelon- and then I headed over to the school to pick Ian up, and I parked in the lot, got out of the car, and wandered and stretched . . . and I put my tennis shoes and socks on the hood so they could dry out and not stink up the car . . . and there was no sign of the test ending, though it was supposed to be a 3 hour test with one fifteen minute break-- but now we were going on noon and they were supposed to start at eight AM so it should have been over but it went on and on . . . I reparked the car on the road in a shady spot, I got really annoyed with all the people sitting in their cars, idling, making me breathe all kinds of fumes while I wandered around, but they sat on their phones in the AC, burning fossil fuels, and the kids didn't get out until nearly 1 PM and Ian was starving, so we stopped at Wendy's and he got some ridiculous chicken sandwich with fried pickles and honey habanero and bacon and then I went over Stacey's house for Ed's birthday, ate BBQ, played cornhole and lawn darts-- lawn darts made for a very long and boring game to 7-- and I just think the SAT is not equitable, normal, or useful-- there should be some hour long test that every kid takes in school and that should be enough.

Kids Love Earwax and Vomit

Our friends went to Disney last week and they brought the boys back some Bertie Bott's Jelly Beans from HoneyDukes Candy Store; some of the beans are tasty: watermelon, blueberry, and lemon . . . some are bizarre: grass, black pepper-- which is actually kind of satisfying-- and dirt (which left a lingering dusty flavor at the top of my mouth) . . . and some are thoroughly disgusting: earwax, vomit, sausage, rotten egg, and soap . . . and the kids kept selecting the gross ones, so they could scream about how repulsive they tasted and then spit them into the garbage.