Mr. Costello, Jerome the Barber, and Trail Running
"Women love men who love women. Make sure you tell them that, son. 'I love women.' You do that and you'll have so many you won't know what to do."
- John Costello on women
Before I metamorphasized into a competitive number cruncher, I was a competitive tennis player. I was fortunate enough to find a good coach and the opportunity to get a lot of playing time while I attended the University of San Francisco. One of the fringe benefits of playing at USF was our home court was The Olympic Club--the oldest athletic club in the United States and one of the most prestigious as well.
As part of the gig, all the guys on the team had to do grunt work for the Olympic Club. It was sort of an unwritten rule. Most of the time it just meant hitting with a club member, or checking out their stroke and giving feedback. And it was the latter case that introduced me to Mr. John Costello.
Their are very few hard facts about Mr. Costello; at this point the man is more legend and myth than anything else. One story holds that he made his money by winning the landmark age discrimination case. Another states that he made his money through several shrewd real estate investments. Irregardless of how he made his money, every one knew what Costello spent his money on: women.
As the story goes, I'm getting done with my match and just toweling off, and this old man on the court next to me offers to play a set for $100 USD per point. At the time I had about $40 in my checking account, and I started to salivate. Then I thought about USF's relationship with the Olympic Club might be slightly tainted if they found out that grifting was going on at the club. The challenge of course came from Costello. What came next truly blew me away.
"Never mind, son. I'm not at my best today and you only play for money when you know you are at your best. My girlfriend and my wife are fighting again, and my head isn't one-hundred percent here."
"Your wife and your girlfriend," I asked.
"Yeah. I've got this 22 year old Chinese gal, and she just has the best ****y I've ever had. Really, I've been with hundreds and hundreds of women, and hers is the best. How old are you son?"
"I'm 21, sir."
"How many women have you had sex with?"
"Ahh....I don't think that's any of your business, sir."
"Fine. Just know that the more women that you have, the more women will want you. It's true."
That is how I met John Costello. I was laying in bed a few nights ago and thought that I should write something about him, so this is it. He was truly inappropriate at times, but he was always genuine. With any luck he's gotten things resolved between his wife and his girlfriend. Those words on women nicely tie into my experience at the barber shop yesterday.
It took me three years, but I finally found a solid barber. His name is Lazaro and the man is a professional. I go into the barbershop yesterday, head towards Lazaro's station to see how long it will be, but there is no Lazaro. There is this other man there named "Ernie." I walked up to the counter and ask about Lazaro.
"Well, he had some paper work problems," says the man. Lazaro is a native of Mexico, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he was deported to Mexico for some idiotic reason, probably related to the Patriot Act. With this new knowledge, I take a seat and wait for the next chair to open up. A chair opens up all right and I take a seat. I introduce myself and I meet Jerome the Barber for the first time.
From what I know about the standard barber-patron relationship, barbers are usually depositories of great knowledge, but only dispense it when asked. I don't have any serious problems right now, so I am expecting this to be a pretty standard haircut: state I was a "two" on the side, clean up the top, and taper the back--done. Well, I give the marching orders, and then Jerome takes off on a trip I will not soon forget.
As it turns out, Jerome has been married three times--and he stated that he was probably not a very good husband. By far though, his favorite was #2. She paid her way through barber school "dancing." There is a brief silence after he said this, and then he follow up with, "Nude, you know."
"Well Jerome," I say, "I haven't heard of too many women paying there way through school as a ballerina."
Well as it turns out Wife #2 was into women as well. She would bring them home, and "share" with Jerome. According to him it was the greatest five years of his life.
After this whole wild, sexual tale--which was absolutely hysterical--I get out of the chair and see nothing but a sea of parents--mostly mothers--with their little boys waiting for haircuts. The huge grin on my face drops as I think, "How much of that did they hear?" Anyway, Jerome gave me a solid haircut, and some wild stories.
Yesterday was my first trail run ever. It is by the most challenging run I have ever done. It was a seven-mile course that I expected to be a nice little run in the desert. I was dead wrong. I felt like I was riding a psychotic horse to a burning barn. The footing was poor, the terrain fit for the guys in the French Foreign Legion, and the other runners were running each other over. It was horrible. Lesson learned: be wary of trail running.
That's all I got right now. I am terribly sore, but feel like I really developing a deep cardio base. We'll see how it all pans out come January 13, 2008.
Namaste
- John Costello on women
Before I metamorphasized into a competitive number cruncher, I was a competitive tennis player. I was fortunate enough to find a good coach and the opportunity to get a lot of playing time while I attended the University of San Francisco. One of the fringe benefits of playing at USF was our home court was The Olympic Club--the oldest athletic club in the United States and one of the most prestigious as well.
As part of the gig, all the guys on the team had to do grunt work for the Olympic Club. It was sort of an unwritten rule. Most of the time it just meant hitting with a club member, or checking out their stroke and giving feedback. And it was the latter case that introduced me to Mr. John Costello.
Their are very few hard facts about Mr. Costello; at this point the man is more legend and myth than anything else. One story holds that he made his money by winning the landmark age discrimination case. Another states that he made his money through several shrewd real estate investments. Irregardless of how he made his money, every one knew what Costello spent his money on: women.
As the story goes, I'm getting done with my match and just toweling off, and this old man on the court next to me offers to play a set for $100 USD per point. At the time I had about $40 in my checking account, and I started to salivate. Then I thought about USF's relationship with the Olympic Club might be slightly tainted if they found out that grifting was going on at the club. The challenge of course came from Costello. What came next truly blew me away.
"Never mind, son. I'm not at my best today and you only play for money when you know you are at your best. My girlfriend and my wife are fighting again, and my head isn't one-hundred percent here."
"Your wife and your girlfriend," I asked.
"Yeah. I've got this 22 year old Chinese gal, and she just has the best ****y I've ever had. Really, I've been with hundreds and hundreds of women, and hers is the best. How old are you son?"
"I'm 21, sir."
"How many women have you had sex with?"
"Ahh....I don't think that's any of your business, sir."
"Fine. Just know that the more women that you have, the more women will want you. It's true."
That is how I met John Costello. I was laying in bed a few nights ago and thought that I should write something about him, so this is it. He was truly inappropriate at times, but he was always genuine. With any luck he's gotten things resolved between his wife and his girlfriend. Those words on women nicely tie into my experience at the barber shop yesterday.
It took me three years, but I finally found a solid barber. His name is Lazaro and the man is a professional. I go into the barbershop yesterday, head towards Lazaro's station to see how long it will be, but there is no Lazaro. There is this other man there named "Ernie." I walked up to the counter and ask about Lazaro.
"Well, he had some paper work problems," says the man. Lazaro is a native of Mexico, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he was deported to Mexico for some idiotic reason, probably related to the Patriot Act. With this new knowledge, I take a seat and wait for the next chair to open up. A chair opens up all right and I take a seat. I introduce myself and I meet Jerome the Barber for the first time.
From what I know about the standard barber-patron relationship, barbers are usually depositories of great knowledge, but only dispense it when asked. I don't have any serious problems right now, so I am expecting this to be a pretty standard haircut: state I was a "two" on the side, clean up the top, and taper the back--done. Well, I give the marching orders, and then Jerome takes off on a trip I will not soon forget.
As it turns out, Jerome has been married three times--and he stated that he was probably not a very good husband. By far though, his favorite was #2. She paid her way through barber school "dancing." There is a brief silence after he said this, and then he follow up with, "Nude, you know."
"Well Jerome," I say, "I haven't heard of too many women paying there way through school as a ballerina."
Well as it turns out Wife #2 was into women as well. She would bring them home, and "share" with Jerome. According to him it was the greatest five years of his life.
After this whole wild, sexual tale--which was absolutely hysterical--I get out of the chair and see nothing but a sea of parents--mostly mothers--with their little boys waiting for haircuts. The huge grin on my face drops as I think, "How much of that did they hear?" Anyway, Jerome gave me a solid haircut, and some wild stories.
Yesterday was my first trail run ever. It is by the most challenging run I have ever done. It was a seven-mile course that I expected to be a nice little run in the desert. I was dead wrong. I felt like I was riding a psychotic horse to a burning barn. The footing was poor, the terrain fit for the guys in the French Foreign Legion, and the other runners were running each other over. It was horrible. Lesson learned: be wary of trail running.
That's all I got right now. I am terribly sore, but feel like I really developing a deep cardio base. We'll see how it all pans out come January 13, 2008.
Namaste
posted by Zen_Accountant at 10:26 AM
1 Comments:
I would have to strongly disagree with Mr. Costello. In actuality, the less that women know the better. Two many and you scare them, too few and you scare them as well. The problem is everyone has a different threshold for too many and too few.... just a thought.
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