Thuds.

Thud. Thud. WOOO!
Thud. Thud. Thud. Oof.
It's 1 am and this has been going on for a while. It was okay at first, because I was reading couldn't sleep. They'd been at it for at least two hours. Cornholing. Out in the alley.
Now, this is not a lurid tale of buggery or spoonerism or whatever else it's been called in the past (though I am looking forward to seeing what sort of webtraffic I may get from this*). This is about a past-time that I've never seen adults play before moving to Chicago. Cornhole**. Which is basically bean bag toss into two large wooden bins (sometimes painted with college and sports logos). How this game earned the name cornhole, I, sadly, do not know.
I don't want to degrade the game, because if you look at any pasttime to the bare essentials of action, they all seem silly. (Really, we can throw little missles at a board? I'd love to play darts! Seriously, even baseball can look silly if you think about it in the wrong way. I mean, they're running in a square. Isn't that a more circular activity? But I digress.) I just don't understand how you can play what is basically a child's game for (at least) two hours. Now, I understand beer was involved and the weather was gorgeous here last night. Probably the best it'll be for a while. And, in Chicago especially, you have to get out there and enjoy the weather while you can. But, two hours? Playing a game I haven't enjoyed since kindergarten. (Not that I don't love doing many of the same things I did back then. I love sitting in circles, and taking naps, and breaking graham crackers along the perferation, and only working half a day.)
But there they were at 1 in the morning. Thud. Thud. Thud. Woo!, playing the game with vigor. And there I was, lying in bed, earplugs in my ears, finally frustrated enough to say something. So, I sit up, lean out toward the window and yell, "All right shitbirds, it's 1 am. Enough of the fucking cornholing." (Yup, I turn into a bad imitation of Herc from the Wire at 1 in the morning. I'm not proud of it, but it's interesting.)
"It's not cornholing. We're playing cornhole." I heard someone say not that loudly or confrontationally. "Why do people call it cornholing?" But they shut it down pretty quickly after that.
*Note. As you may have noticed, I have (for vanity's sake) started keeping track of the number of views the blog gets. It's kind of a fun thing. I can see the locations of people who look at my blog. Big shout out to whomever is looking at my blog in Russia.
**Note, the second. Jesus, this is an actual thing. I really thought it was just some local, stupid thing. Who knew?
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I wake up this morning to the sound of my alarm clock. It's one of those docking systems for my iPod, so it wakes me with some Springsteen. I get up slowly, leaving the music going as I usually do. I'm a little tired from the cornholing last night. (Let's take that out of the context of the previous story, shall we?) Dinah's in California with work this week, so I get up a little later, but not enough.
I take my morning shower, the water helping to ingratiate some life into me. As I'm getting out and just starting to towel myself off, I hear a beeping. I quickly realize it's my alarm clock. For some reason (either the iPod has been disconnected somehow or the the thing just sucks), it's beeping. didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. Loudly.
So, I do what any normal-thinking person does. I wrap the towel around myself and run (run!) into the room to turn off the alarm before it disturbs the upstairs neighbors. (I really like the upstairs neighbors. Not for anything they do, but simply because they're not the last guys. Those guys where horrible. Terrible shitty loud music all the time. Breaking doors. Shouting and hollering. And sounds from upstairs that I think meant they were getting out the stridgels and oiling up for some greco-roman wrestling. I'm not sure if the upstairs neighbors were the cornholers. But even if they were, they are wayyyy better.)
I start out with a zeal that somehow makes perfect sense to me, but I realize quickly that my feet aren't dry and the hardwood floors aren't forgiving. I skid a little as I come out of the bathroom, but keep going. didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. As I reach the doorway to my room, my right foot slips. And my left foot doesn't hold. And I go ass over applecart landing on my hip and smashing my right elbow, actually cutting it in a shower of noise that I would think would be much more disturbing than the pinging of the alarm clock. Thud. Oof.
didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. I get up slowly and shut the alarm off. Then I collapse on the bed for a second. A bandage on the elbow and a bruise on my hip, nothing big.