Yesterday I made the first effort to make video clips of the sport that made itself a mission. I'm out to make and throw the Great American Boomerang, assimilating the Aboriginal aspect to suit the suit and tie set. Proper dress required. You get points for accessorizing. It's a fashion sport. But the sartorial aspect not withstanding, the attempted filming failed completely, though I got some grand snaps of the decrepit vacinty with my peach pit size spy cam. Then a societal thing happened that itches of deep south social strife. I was approached by two seriously attractive young women. Highschool Age.
I was throwing the boomerangs just fine. The camera has no screen or eyepiece, you have to hope you lined it up the way you think you did, and hit the button. Then you have to hook it up to a computer to own your success or failure. I didn't get the bad news about the videos till a good hour after the two young women approached, as I was throwing in Fowler Field. "Hey, can I throw that thing?" one of the tall beauties asked.
I was forced to effect my cheap imitation of a high school principal's voice, "No. I'm sorry. I can't let you." They were coming towards me aggressively.
She asked why not, and I continued, like a nerd health official, "You can be injured if one of these things hits you. Can't let you do it. Sorry." And I gathered up my rangs, stuffed them hastily in my 'rang bag, also known to normal folks as a back pack, and made a beeline out of hot hot humid contentious Fowler Feild.
You can get your head split, fingers broke, knees knocked excruciatingly, and people have been known to lose teeth, on the return trip, after a perfectly excecuted throw. It's very hard to catch a boomerang. I'm still working on it. But that's not the real reason I high tailed it like a wood chuck. The two broads were jail bait. All I need is for one asshole to see what was happening, something too fucking creepy, like free boomerang lessons in a public park, and go screaming, "Hey, quit luring young women into a van, you 'rang throwing pervert."
I worry about things like that happening. Probably everyone does, now that it's a world of raving perps and perves. None the less, Pittsburgh's Perryhilltop is a gem. There's a deer in the picture, above and to the right of the fire hydrant. It's tiny, hard to see.
I was throwing the boomerangs just fine. The camera has no screen or eyepiece, you have to hope you lined it up the way you think you did, and hit the button. Then you have to hook it up to a computer to own your success or failure. I didn't get the bad news about the videos till a good hour after the two young women approached, as I was throwing in Fowler Field. "Hey, can I throw that thing?" one of the tall beauties asked.
I was forced to effect my cheap imitation of a high school principal's voice, "No. I'm sorry. I can't let you." They were coming towards me aggressively.
She asked why not, and I continued, like a nerd health official, "You can be injured if one of these things hits you. Can't let you do it. Sorry." And I gathered up my rangs, stuffed them hastily in my 'rang bag, also known to normal folks as a back pack, and made a beeline out of hot hot humid contentious Fowler Feild.
I worry about things like that happening. Probably everyone does, now that it's a world of raving perps and perves. None the less, Pittsburgh's Perryhilltop is a gem. There's a deer in the picture, above and to the right of the fire hydrant. It's tiny, hard to see.
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