Boutros-Ghali

"You must be older than David Letterman's 'call me Boutros' joke to drink in this establishment."

Update

Blog traffic has exploded over the past few days since I announced my mugging (as I remarked to one frequent visitor over email, "My audience has spoken, and while it finds my little musings readable, what it really wants to hear about me getting punched in the head"), and it occurs to me that having provided no updates might convey the message that things are worse than they are.  

So by way of an update:  Things aren't that bad.  'Bout the worst injury I sustained was to my knee, which collided with the pavement, and while that was pretty stiff the day after, it seems to be sorting itself out pretty well, and today my little limp seems to have disappeared almost entirely.  (I'm something of a running enthusiast, but I'm in lousy shape and tend to overdo things, so I'm rather familiar with the spectrum of joint injuries in the lower body, particularly in the spring when I first hit the track after taking the winter off.  I know you guys were saying, "Hank, you claim that you're your knee's on the mend, but do you really know?"  "Homeboy, please.  I know.")  A couple of tender spots on the side and back of my head, more consistent with mild bruising than with anything more intrusive, and while still tender, they seem to be going away on the anticipated timeline.  A cut on the inside of my lip has scabbed over slightly to where there is precisely zero chance I could convince someone it wasn't a herpes blister,[fn1] so that's likely it for dating for the foreseeable.
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fn1:  Yeah, a regrettable double negative.  I did try to rephrase but couldn't come up with satisfactory alternatives.

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All in all?  I'm pretty sure I'm fine.  Don't get me wrong:  I appreciate the attention.  But in case the recent traffic is driven by concern for my well-being, kindly allow me to disabuse you of any fears.  

"You must have been born when the Soviet Union still existed in order to drink here."

"Unless, I guess, you were born before the Soviet Union existed.  You look pretty good for 95, actually."  

Swol' temple

So.... I just got mugged.  Well, by "just" I mean two hours ago; going to the NYPD precinct is really a comprehensive endeavor, it turns out.[fn1]  I'm bleeding from my upper lip (where the guy hit me), and also from my knee, where I fell onto (when the guy hit me).  Neither hurts bad, and neither is particularly troubling, medical-wise, and the emergency services mostly just asked me my phone number and social, because "it feels kind of swollen, like when you bite your cheek" and "I fell down but didn't lose consciousness" apparently aren't great dramatic scripts.  
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fn1:  Yeah, "it turns out" is code for "footnote:  shit EVERYONE KNEW except for me."  Sorry.  
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As an aspiring author of great dramatic scripts, this is useful insight.  

So what happened is this, and by sheer coincidence this is exactly what happened the last time I got mugged, which was 8-9 years ago:  I left a bar, thinking nothing of the local circumstances, because, fuck, I'd just left a bar.  One block later, I was awakened to the wrongness of my presumption when someone ran up on the side of me and struck me with his fist. 

Let me pause here.  To be punched with a fist is a ... variable experience.  Had the person striking me been Mike Tyson, I have no doubt I would have surrendered my possessions, my sexual availability (Mike, of course, don't play 'dat, but as a matter of respect purely I would have offered---call me Mike!), and if he had expressed interest I would have chaired his presidential campaign.  But Mike Tyson is more than merely human.

Mere humans one reacts to differently.  When it happened to me 8-9 years ago I merely scampered.  Tonight I hit the concrete (that's when my jeans tore and why my knee bleeds).  Both then and now, the purported brigand had not thought through what to do, and when I offered up no money, he had little to do besides.  Last time he merely asked for "your money"; this time, he thought to specify iPad, et cetera, but when I didn't have anything to proffer, both times the robbery turned pretty disappointing. 

So I found myself in a police car outside an apartment building where a guy was being handcuffed, and cops were asking me if the guy looked like the guy who hit me (he did), and people who knew that guy were asking the cops who the fuck was I this guy in the back of a squad car wearing some gangster had (I swear to god I didn't think the hat was gangster).  So... I guess I'm not wearing that hat anymore.

Other than that, I have no comment on the police investigation.  It's just... almost seven in the morning.  Perhaps some day.  

This day, I have a throbbing head---I hit the pavement, when he hit me---and I'm exhausted and I just don't feel good about anything.  I would love to have some refuge in music or books or a recent baseball event, I wish there were something that besides-all-of-that remained a source of solace and joy, but...  I just don't.  

He didn't get my wallet, and he didn't get my iPad.  He got my solace and joy, though.  Shit.

"You must be older than JFK to drink in this establishment."

...uhh, no.  Not the guy.  The misguided Oliver Stone paranoia project.  Jesus, the guy---what was he born in, 1920?

"What're you talking about? Armani doesn't make a blue tuxedo."

"You must be older than Father of the Bride to drink in this establishment."

Can you come to the bathroom with me? The doc said I shouldn't lift anything heavy.

"You must be older than The Last Boy Scout to drink in this establishment."

"You must be older than Tecmo Super Bowl to drink in this establishment."

Not as classic as the original, of course, but the link above notes this was the first game to have teams feature their in-reality players.

"You must be older than Hook to drink in this establishment."

Falling drop like a stone

"You must be older than 'Sax and Violins' to drink in this establishment."

I didn't know this---it actually appeared for the first time on the End of the World soundtrack, as did all other tracks on that album except the eponymous U2 single.

"You must have been born before the end of the Judds Era to drink in this establishment."

... and happy birthday, Rhonda!

[programming note:  Apologies for the slow pace; hopefully it'll improve soon.  Also, hereby soliciting better formulations than "born before the ___ era" for dates that mark the beginning or end of entertainers' careers; I'm not terribly satisfied with this one.]

"You must have been born before the Tim Russert Era to drink in this establishment."

... and happy birthday, Kelly!

I come and I go (in between your kidneys)

"Happy twenty-first birthday, last kids who could have been Serge Gainsbourg's illegitimate love child!"