All About BJ's

"I like BJ's!"

You're never supposed to begin a story with a quote, but who cares, when we're talking about the BlogWorld, right?

The quote has nothing to do with porn. My little nephew, James (not Vanishing James), a few years ago. You see, my brother and sister-in-law are (were?) frequent shoppers at a place called BJ's Wholesale Club.

The wife and I went there this morning. A little low on water, we bought six cases of 2.5-liter thingies (2 per case, so 5 gallons x 6 cases = 30 gallons). That'll last us a few weeks, for sure. It's not like we're in the middle of the desert; we just like to remain hydrated.

We got some other crap there, like Skippy and canola oil.

Did you know the B and the J in BJ's stand, respectively, for Berkley and Jensen? (I don't give a sh!t, either.)

Speaking of sh!t, I always remember that time in kindergarten when David Isaac sh!t his pants. Mrs. Halpern was so diplomatic about it.

"David had a little accident, and he had to go home," she said after we wondered why he got to tip out after a potty stop.

After that, everyone wanted to sh!t their pants, if they wanted to go home. Not me, though. I had some great kindergarten friends, especially Keith Blumenstock. He was cool, and I think I had like a 5-year-old's crush on his sister, Karen, who was a year behind us.

The Blumenstocks lived right near the school -- much closer than me, in terms of a kindergartener's view of the world map -- and had the forest leading to the fields right behind their house. Back then, you were allowed to play in the woods, and I fondly recall going through their backyard gate, walking the path, and hanging out at the field and talking about how David Isaac sh!t his pants.

That was the one year of my life spent in public school. The next year, I was in Catholic grammar school, and I subsequently went to an all-boys Catholic high school and a Jesuit university. I still love Jesus to this day. He is (was) an extremely cool dude. We should forget about Berkley and Jensen and have BJ's stand for Big Jesus' or something. Actually, that might be a little over the top.

Oh yeah. So Keith Blumenstock remained in public school. As such, even in our small town, we rarely saw one another, although we always recognized each other. To my amazement, he appeared later in life, I think in college for a time. But I just checked the records and he did not graduate with me at any level post-kindergarten. Weird how the memory just does not seem to work as well after time passes. Maybe I just imagined the whole thing.

In checking said records, I took a few moments to check through my college yearbook. It was the total opposite of my high school yearbook in that there are next-to-no pictures of me. In the college yearbook, there is my graduation photo, of course, and only one other -- of the top of my graduation cap.

How, you are wondering, can I tell the top of my cap from everyone else's? Well, I used white tape and spelled "It's Done!" on the top of mine to be unique (sort of), stealing the idea from something contemporary to the times. I am pretty sure I still have that cap there.

"It's Done!" came from a saying that we had back in the day. The San Francisco Giants were storming the National League with the 3-4 combo of Will Clark and Kevin Mitchell. With the game at an important juncture, Mitchell would engage Clark before the later would head to the batter's box.

"Let's do it," Mitchell would say.

"It's done!" was Clark's response.

Being testosterone-driven, Strat-O-Matic-crazed 21-year-olds at the time, these words were like the gold standard for us. They might come up at any time, like when it was time to chug a pitcher at the Lantern or to approach a cute girl. If you needed that extra boost of confidence or adrenaline, you hoped one of the boys would give you a "Let's do it," so you could go into battle with an "It's done!"

The Bachelor of Arts in Communications, of course, was secondary.

Speaking of secondary, it recently was the Second of February, which is Groundhog's Day. That made it the 14-year anniversary of Jerry M's cockblock of my efforts to woo the H-Bomb, Heather Donlon.

I had the worst crush on this girl; maybe I was a little star-struck. She was on the basketball team but she was short, and if you saw her you would never mistake her for a baller. Well, Jerry used his Sports Information Department hook to get her and some of the other ballers, who happened to be an especially good-looking bunch for basketball players, to come to our Groundhog's Day bash.

There I am, sitting on our couch, and I have the H-Bomb as my captive audience. It's starting to go well. I am thinking this could be it. It continues to get better.

Then, out of nowhere, Jerry pops over, sits right between us, and just dominates the conversation.

Of course, he knew her very well. I knew her only a little, just from going to the games all the time and doing their radio broadcasts. See, although I am generally an outgoing person, I am shy when it comes to these things. My moment had passed. I was never able to get myself in the right position ever again. My life was changed.

I remind Jerry about it every year, although now I thank him for helping my life take this course.

By the way, the H-Bomb earned her nickname because she was a great 3-point shooter. In her freshman season of 1989-90, she set the NCAA Division I single-season 3-point shooting percentage record (57.5). It still stands today.

As more than a PR stunt, Jerry, who was the SID for the women's team, got us to go to the games with pictures of bombs (the ones that look like bowling balls with a fuse attached) drawn up by Russ, the artist and future priest.

Everytime Heather hit a 3-pointer, the Bomb Squad would get up and raucously cheer, then hang a bomb for all to see. Considering there usually were a couple of hundred people attending the games, we stood out. It helped her get some local and even national exposure.

I, of course, wanted to do more, since I was smitten. I'm pretty sure he had a crush on her, too, but we always just laugh when we talk about it now. I never actually have asked him.

Like a little kid, I cannot let a Groundhog's Day pass without somehow bringing up the story to Jerry, the same way that when my nephew James is old enough to understand, he'll be reminded of his most famous quote everytime he passes BJ's.