RIP, Grammar (1828-2011)

By Chris Gay

Mourning Grammar

My friends, it is with great sadness today that we come together to mourn the loss of Grammar. I’d known Grammar for nearly my entire life and, as we had such a great working relationship over the years, I feel it’s my obligation to deliver a eulogy on his behalf.

Similar to many of our nation’s deceptive aunts and grandmothers, no one truly knows how old Grammar really is…or was. So let’s approximate his birth year to be 1828. That was the year Noah Webster published the First Edition of the American Dictionary of the English Language. If the logic of this decision escapes you, you’ll recall that CBS actually aired Green Acres for six seasons. I guess my point is, sometimes it’s better to just accept things and move on.

What’s truly painful is that his loss could have been avoided. Although a relatively young 183, he slowly began to suffer this past decade from the effects of apathy, abuse and neglect until it simply became too much to bear. Or was it bare? Beer? No, wait-it’s bear.

Grammar’s Untimely Passing

Grammar’s untimely passing is indeed ironic. For example as America begins the official remembrance of our Civil War Sesquicentennial, we’ve had greater interest in and occasion to read some of the massive correspondence generated throughout that era. Remarkably, those thousands of young men with little education and no computers, spell checkers, search engines or smart phones were able to compose a garden variety sentence far more eloquently than most of today’s college graduates.

In the 21^st Century it’s easier to check one’s grammar than it is to find something for which the state of Connecticut will tax you; yet still we somehow managed to let Grammar unceremoniously expire. It’s hard to determine whether most people just don’t care anymore, or simply can’t tell the good from the bad. I’m not quite sure which is worse.

In honor of Grammar’s memory, here are two? Too? To? of his many pet peeves that he would’ve wanted you to know about:

If you’re commenting on an internet news story or a social media website and want to express your contempt for a fellow poster by questioning whether he or she possesses a life, that person would be known as a “loser.” Referring to someone as a “looser” simply let’s him or her know that you think he or she has a knack for rendering various objects less tight.

If the word you’re writing is meant to be a contraction of “they are,” it’s “they’re.” If you’re specifying possession, it’s “their.” If you’re talking about a place, it’s “there.” Such as, “they’re over there looking for their keys.” If you find yourself becoming increasingly irritated by a word snob sarcastically pointing out the obvious to you, it’d be “Now there’s a guy who really ought to shut the hell up.”

In conclusion, as we continue to celebrate the life of a truly decent form of communication let’s also hope that numbers can elude Grammar’s fate. After all, the repercussions of careless, sloppy mathematics would be much worse.

By the way, I know what you’re thinking and don’t bother. I absolutely made damn sure to spell check this piece thrice before posting.

Love,

-Christopher

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books; Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbook, and the children’s book written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs.

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

Top 10 Reasons Americans Don’t Like Soccer

By Chris Gay

10 ) “Injuries” sustained during play are more fake than the ones the actors treat on the set of “House“

9 ) Concept of game clock running up simply too difficult to grasp

8 ) Have trouble with the English translation of “Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooallllllllllllll!”

7 ) A 1-0 deficit in the 4th minute nearly insurmountable

6 ) After a bad call, chants of “kill the ref” are not necessarily facetious

5 ) Color-blind Americans can’t tell the difference between yellow and red cards

4 ) No Designated Hitter

3 ) The goal isn’t quite big enough

2 ) Penalty kicks simply too difficult to make

1 ) Please, somebody, just pick up the freakin’ ball

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books; Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well asAnd That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbook and, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio
commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance
articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

The Askin’ of the Chris: A Realistic, Semi-Fictitious Advice Column*

By Chris Gay

Dear Chris:

I’m a guy who just can’t figure out women. In most cases we seem to speak the same language literally, but not figuratively. In conversations with various girlfriends I’ve been straightforward and enunciate clearly; and when they talk I take their words at face value, under the presumption that what they’re saying is indeed what they mean. However, my words always seem to be misinterpreted into some odd meaning I never intended, while conversely I’m often chastised for not looking past their actual words to read the signs that supposedly reveal clues to what they really mean. I’m almost ready to join a monastery. Any suggestions?

-Confused in Columbus

Dear Columbus:

My guess is you’re under 25, and as such not quite as experienced in navigating through such verbal gymnastics as you will later become. There is some good news, however. As you get older, you’ll realize that it doesn’t  get any easier to figure out. But eventually you’ll take comfort in the understanding that most men of all ages never will, either. So there’s that. At any rate, the next time someone asks you to ignore what they’re saying outwardly and instead read their signs, mention politely that you’re fluent in English, and not trying to date a 3^rd base coach. This sentiment most likely won’t be warmly received, but you have to admit it’s a fairly decent comeback.

Alternate Politically Correct Response-

Dear Columbus:

Learn to better explore your inner feelings so that you may better understand hers. Only then will you be able to correctly interpret the signs she so lovingly longs for you to translate. This will permit you both to continue along on your mutual path of respect, as well as allow for the construction of the strong foundation required on which to build a healthy relationship.

Dear Chris:

I have dated a long string of jerks and I don’t know how to break the cycle. The pattern seems to be that I fall for a guy who’s smoking hot. However once in the relationship, he begins to treat me with immense disrespect. For example, against my requests and better judgment he’ll engage in a diversity of undesirable activities, as well as use various types of derogatory nouns in place of my given name. Also, it soon becomes apparent that his most significant skill is a seemingly ethereal proficiency with Halo 2 on Xbox. Why can’t I change any of these guys into the good men I’d hope they would be?

-Lady in Waiting  

Dear Waiting:

Do you know why, after 4,500 years, Stonehenge still remains a collection of stones? Because that’s what they are. If you stand by one hoping for it to become a pillow someday, you’ll likely be in for an awfully long wait. On average, the women who relate stories similar to yours indicate that they generally spend two years, give or take, in relationships like these before finally giving up on them. If you’re 40, that’s 5% of your life- per jerk. You’re probably younger than forty, too; which makes it an even higher percentage. I only used forty because it’s an easier number to figure out a percentage on, and frankly I’m awful at math. Anyway, here’s a little secret; guys are very simple to figure out, and once set in their ways they rarely change. If it helps at all to know, men like these are shallower than an empty pool after a light rain. Instead of dating a jerk and trying to change him into the decent man he’ll never be, why not try dating a man who’s decent from the start?

Alternate Politically Correct Response-

Dear Waiting:

Like the Monarch butterfly, all men need to fly free in order to truly find out who they are. Only after they know themselves thoroughly can they better work on what others are expecting from them. With certain men, such as those you’ve described, patience is the key. While it likely won’t change who they are into what you’d hope they might become, the silver lining is there’s an outside chance they may someday win a video game tournament. The downside to that, however, is if the winnings are large enough, they’ll probably leave you for someone else. On the other hand you never know; they may be too lazy to look.

To submit your questions for consideration of use in this periodic humor column, please email them to christopherjgay@gmail.com.

*I am not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or professional doctor of any kind. I’m a writer and a humorist with an honorary degree in Common Sense. These columns are for entertainment purposes only, and some submitted questions may have even been written by me. That oughta cover things.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbookand, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio
commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance
articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

Pulp Fiction. Or at Least a Reasonable Facsimile

by Chris Gay

Dawn broke on a new day in the old silk town situated just east of Hartford, Connecticut. Morning comes early here in the east. In fact, it consistently gets here three hours earlier than it does in the west. But you’re not here for a geography lesson. Actually now that I think about it, rarely does the west coast get to see an actual “live” performance of Saturday Night Live. Although that, too, is irrelevant; so we’ll move on.

As I got myself out of bed and headed for the door to retrieve the morning paper, two thoughts occurred to me. Firstly, (yes it’s a word) why do I bother with the paper when anything that could possibly be in it I’d already have learned through my computer, cable TV, & cell phone the night before? Secondly, (also a word, but I’m guessing most of you knew that) I was hungry. So, I decided to do what the men in my family have done for centuries, ever since our family’s original patriarch came over on the Mayflower. Or was it the Sunflower? No, wait. Neither. He was Lithuanian.

At any rate, though the rest of this sentence may sound redundant, like my forefathers before me I decided on journey to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts. As an aside, imagine if you were on Wheel of Fortune, that was the puzzle, and you guessed a “G”? I mean technically, there are two G’s in that phrase if spelled correctly. There are also 2 G’s at some point in every trip to space. Or maybe not, though it seems like a safe assumption. But I digress.

With strawberry frosted doughnuts, excuse me, donuts now fully occupying my thoughts, I quickly tossed the paper on the table, grabbed my keys, and headed for the car. Minutes later I was at the counter, cursing myself for holding the door for the woman who now stood in front of me on line ordering a half dozen coffees, each with preparation instructions so unique that they’d aggravate Wolfgang Puck. Had I known this would be the case-and I should have based on prior experience-chivalry indeed would not have survived on this day. It was eerily reminiscent of a garden variety trip to the deli counter; only with pastry instead of cold cuts.

Finally, she was on her way without as much as a cursory acknowledgment to my inconvenience. No matter. I was on the clock. With my anticipation levels having been built up to a crescendo, I looked out upon the racks and instantly found myself wracked with disappointment. (Like that? Racks and wracked are nearly homonyms. In fact, if I could’ve used them as ‘rack’ and ‘wrack’ they would’ve been) But I couldn’t.

So anyway, what I saw was a very sparse selection. I should’ve known this, as when you take a chance on a Dunkin’ Donut’s connected to a gas station, you’re chancing slim picking’s. I mean the assortment, not the singer. He passed decades ago and spelled his surname ‘Pickens,’ in any case.

What I glazed-sorry, gazed-out on was disappointing to say the least. Cruellers (the ‘e’ is optional, but I’m trying for a decent character count here) and Boston Cream. I really hate Boston Cream, and not just because I’m a Yankee fan, as ‘Yankee Cream’ doesn’t sound any more appetizing than the aforementioned. Frankly it sucks. Vanilla Kreme, whose innards taste as if they were harvested from a can of Duncan Hines frosting, are far superior. Alas, there were none. So cruellers it was. I placed and then paid for my order and, not being a coffee drinker, swung by the station’s cooler to grab a Coke Zero. Yes, I do realize that it’s an absurd justification to think diet soda makes up for two large French pastries, but I don’t make the rules.

I paid separately for my aspartame-infused seltzer water and made my way back into the saddle of my 4 liter mount. For one fleeting moment, I considered consuming them right there, but for some unknown reason take-out food tastes better if eaten from your own couch, while reading your antique newspaper. I drove away unhappy in the knowledge that I’d soon be left satiated, albeit unsatisfactorily. What can you do? I thought to myself. It’s been said that Life has its little peaks and valleys. This was a valley. So be it.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbook and, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio
commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance
articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

 

A Connecticut Yankee Fan in Red Sox-leaning Hartford

By Chris Gay

I am a New Englander, born and bred. I love pumpkins, hayrides, and the concept of clambakes. (What can I tell you; I hate seafood. Except for those little Pepperidge Farm Goldfish) I also love flea markets, sledding, autumn leaves, long walks on longer beaches and…the New York Yankees. How is that, you ask? It’s a short story. But first, a little filler; er, perspective.

Connecticut’s  Identity Crisis

I’m from Hartford, Connecticut, where generations of people have grown up rooting for either of these teams not only in the same neighborhood, but often in the same household. As if Hartford doesn’t have enough of an identity crisis. (I’ll get to that topic another time) For those of you more well-versed in the Jersey Shore than in geography; unless, of course, the geographical question is actually about the New Jersey shore, we’re centrally located between New York and Boston. In fact, depending on whom you ask, “Hartford” translates either to “Southern Massachusetts” or “Upper Manhattan County.” Just kidding. In truth, Hartford translated loosely means “Deer Crossing,” but that wouldn’t have been quite as funny. (Incidentally New England trivia buffs, “Boston’s Lap Dog” can be interpreted as “Providence, Rhode Island”)

I’ve played softball next to nine other men alternatively wearing Red Sox and Yankees jerseys; where else on Earth would you see that? What baseball has regressed into here in the Constitution State is a never-ending war of words between native Nutmeggers; both fighting for the honor of two wholly separate states that, apart from the contents of our wallets, couldn’t possibly care less about us. Be that as it may, the barbs are unending. Arguments between friends, family. co-workers, teammates, gym attendees and wait staff are common, everyday occurrences here.

In the Beginning…

Here’s the chronology of becoming a baseball fan in Connecticut. You’re 1) Born 2) You choose (or in many cases, be assigned to) the Yankees or Red Sox while still in the maternity ward. From that day on, the only thing that separates you from the native fans of either team in their respective states, is that you don’t have some form of unintelligible accent.

If you’re a guy, generally your preference for one team over the other is based on either emulating or rebelling against your father. If you’re a woman, I couldn’t tell you. I chose the Yankees in my formative years, and if you think I’m a bandwagon jumper it’s worth noting that over my lifetime I’ve also rooted hard; and in some cases much harder, for the Hartford Whalers, Buffalo Bills, Buffalo Sabres, Montreal Expos, Seattle Super Sonics and Kansas City Royals. But I digress. As I grew up, became my own man and began forming my own opinions on everything from sports to politics, I realized I had made the right choice, regardless of parentage.

Like both Democrats and Republicans, fans of the Red Sox and Yankees are to some extent hypocrites. The Red Sox ladle out contracts by the multi-millions while their fans still accuse the Yankees of buying titles. (One can only imagine a Pittsburgh Pirate fan’s reaction after listening to Boston-ians whine about payroll) Citing loyalty, they simultaneously call Johnny Damon a carpetbagger and worse for taking 12 million more dollars to play the same game 4 hours south, while remaining curiously silent as their own management signs Bronson Arroyo to a hometown discount, just before promptly trading him to Cincinnati. They erupt intermittently with chants of “Yankees suck!” even when the Red Sox are below them in the standings. (Which makes sense, one would imagine, if you’ve consumed enough liquefied barley and hops) Prior to 2004, listening to arrogant Red Sox fans you’d never know which team had gone 86 years without winning the World Series. In fact, among my friends who dislike both teams, they prefer the Yankees to win just to keep Sox fans quiet for awhile, as if that were possible.

As for Yankees fans, we are…well, on second thought, a perfect representation of manners and sportsmanship. (What did you expect? This isn’t Curt Shilling’s blog)

At any rate, I love New England. It’s part of the fabric of who I am and always will be. I’m a history buff who’d much prefer spending the day in Boston than New York. I treasure the foliage of Vermont, the beauty of New Hampshire, and the beaches of southern Maine. But as for becoming a New England pro sports fan, aside from a return of my beloved Hartford Whalers, I’ll pass.

The best thing I can think to say on behalf of Boston fans is this: a bartender in Old Orchard Beach, Maine once served me a cold beverage in a New England Patriots glass, and didn’t throw it at me when she was immediately asked to pour it into a neutral one.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbook and, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

My First Sonic Experience

By Chris Gay

One of my medium-sized pet peeves is being made to watch commercials and ads for appetizing junk food restaurants whose nearest location is, at minimum, four states away.  Having lived in Connecticut nearly my whole life so far, I’ve never had occasion to try Chick-fil-A Carl’s Jr., or Sonic. Well, now you can scratch one of that list. Sonic recently came to my hometown, bringing with it fanfare the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Nutmeg State got its first Krispy Kreme a few years back.

After passing the new eatery several times, I discovered that my desire for one of those cool looking slushy drinks had not yet been surpassed by my disdain at the prospect of waiting in a line that seemed even longer than this run-on sentence. Last night was a Tuesday however, and though the place was still jammed I had doubts that it’d become any less so as the week progressed.

Costly Wasted Fuel Versus the Pull of a Chili Dog

After a quick glance to the left, where a gas station marquee literally illuminated the fact that my lengthy idling would come at a cost of $4 a gallon, I decided to pull in anyway. What the hell. My latest birthday wasn’t even two weeks past, and it was still fresh enough in my mind to serve as a reminder that time and cholesterol wait for no man.

Now it would seem that I was too dumb to connect the dots between the endless commercials showing Sonic customers in their cars, and the fact that Sonic is an exclusively exterior bistro. Fine. I’d play along. At issue though was that all the stalls were full. As I circled around and around, cars that had come in after me were lucking into slots vacated by their occupants almost instantly after I passed them by. Much like a missed highway exit, there’s no backing up at Sonic. My stomach was getting impatient, and I was playing the automobile equivalent of musical chairs.

The time had come for a different strategy. After one more circle around I pulled off to the right and waited like a famished lion, ready to pounce on the first open stall to present itself. Finally at long last, I saw them; brake lights. Someone was backing out! Immediately I accelerated to 2 MPH less than the maximum parking lot speed limit allowed, and pulled in.

At long last I had made it. Years of being made to watch witty repartee over tasty looking tators in thirty second increments without the ability to join in (short of buying a bag of frozen Ore-Ida’s or spending hours on the New Jersey Turnpike) were over. I decided to savor the moment and the menu. I took my time; thinking there had to be some reason for all of the fervor. The more I read, the more I realized I was looking at a slight variation of a typical fast food menu. No matter. I would not be dissuaded.

Time Travel Through Music

As I read, I could hear the sounds of Sonic’s own radio station spilling music out into the warm summer night. I was born in the 1970’s, and most of the songs predated me. I couldn’t complain though since several of them are on my iPod. What can I say? The Grass Roots “Midnight Confessions” still holds up as well today as it ever has. But I digress.

Even though there’s not the same urgency to order quickly as there is in a more conventional drive-thru lane, eventually it comes time to make up your mind. I decided to push the red order button and give myself until The Voice came on to choose. After a minute or two, it did. I was asked by The Voice to whom had she the pleasure of addressing. I was caught off guard; not certain of the question’s relevance. However, after realizing she didn’t write the script, I passed on several mildly sarcastic response options and answered “Chris.”

The pleasantries dispensed with, I now had to place my order. I was wracked by indecision and out of time. From somewhere I could hear myself asking for the two Chili Cheese Coney combo and a cherry ice cream slushy. And just like that, it was done. I was told my food would be out shortly. With the pressure off and a little time to wait, I checked the cell phone to see if my Buffalo Bills had finally signed a much needed quality offensive lineman. They hadn’t. So I kept waiting and listening to the songs my mom grew up with until the Coneys showed up at my window.

I paid the server and took the bag. I was only five minutes or so from home, but for the full experience, I opted to eat my dinner there. I started with a Coney, then some taters. They were good. I don’t really know what I thought I was getting. Maybe I was anticipating some sort of gourmet dish after all the hype. Then I realized I was in all likelihood expecting far too much for my $7.

The Verdict

The service was friendly, the food decent, and the prices reasonable. Although I’ll wait till the novelty wears off a little and the lines decrease before returning, I’m glad I went. I’m not sure if it was the music, or that the only basketball team I ever cared even a little about was the Seattle Super Sonics. I’m an ice hockey and football guy, but hey; in all sports you have to root for somebody.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbook and, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

Chris Gay’s Reality Based Horoscopes and Birthstone Ratings (Cancer)

Cancer (June 21-July 22)

By Chris Gay

Wow. Where to begin? The King of Zodiacal signs, natives of Cancer have a tendency to be handsome and quick-witted, with a strong character and high moral fiber. Cancer-ians generally possess an extremely elevated intelligence level.

They are compassionate, and will go to great lengths to help others. (As long as they’re not watching  TV, sleeping, or playing ice hockey somewhere) They are generous to a fault, and romantic like you only read about.

Virtually flawless, they are born bathed in the warm summer sunshine, and serve as a constant reminder of all that is good in the world, along with the best childhood memories; laying out on a grassy terrain watching the stars, barbequing, camping and walking on the beach as the waves crash on a perfectly temperatured evening, et al.

Honestly, it’s almost unfair to go on. But I will. Fiendishly clever, astute; often with piercing blue eyes and sandy brown hair, Cancers are also great writers, and in some rare Lithuanian-Irish instances; they are ambidextrous. Sagittarius plays role. Life’s issues will work themselves out and happiness, along with a potentially massive, successful, lucrative writing, broadcasting, voice over or acting career may be on the horizon.

July Birthstone Rating-Ruby:10

A stone among stones, the Ruby is a near perfect gem. Its clarity, texture and hardness draw comparisons to its only real competition, the diamond. The Ruby’s singular drawback is merely that it’s not green.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbookand, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

Chris Gay’s Reality Based Horoscopes and Birthstone Ratings (Aquarius)

Aquarius (January 20-February 18)

By Chris Gay

You get some points for being cool, if only because no other Zodiac sign has a groovy hit song written about it. You feel a misplaced air of superiority due to this, but remember-aside from Super Bowl Sunday- your sign falls into quite possibly the dullest, dreariest section of the year. This alone could speak volumes about your personality; that is, if there was any genuine validity to horoscopes whatsoever. Since there isn’t, you’ve lucked out. Unless of course you’re genetically predisposed to being a dull, dreary person. If that happens to be the case, you’ll probably need more advice than you’ll get from a sarcastic fake horoscope, anyway. Pisces plays role.

February Birthstone Rating-Amethyst: 9

The near-jackpot birthstone. If you have ever been lucky enough to date a woman born in February, you know that the Amethyst, which is essentially purple Quartz, is very easy on the pocketbook. That can be helpful during the month that includes Valentine’s Day.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbook and, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

The Gripping Tale of My Only Cup of Coffee, Ever

By Chris Gay

1979

The year was 1979. With it came the debut of the Sony Walkman, the Happy Meal and ESPN. The Pittsburgh Pirates had actually won the World Series. (I’m not kidding; look it up) Among those notable happenings was yet one more that’s remembered, if at all, with much less fanfare. It was the year that saw me consume both my first and last cup of coffee.

I was seven, and having spent most of my youth with my great-grandma I had become more and more curious about the taste of the dark, aromatic brew she consumed with regularity. My curiosity ultimately got the best of me, and I asked to try a cup. She told me I wouldn’t like it. I told her I would. She reminded me that we had had a similar conversation once when I’d asked to sample her bar of baker’s chocolate. In that instance, she’d warned me that it tasted nothing like the standard Hershey bars I’d become accustomed with. I didn’t believe her. She was right. This time would be different, though. In hindsight I’d never seen anyone snacking on baker’s chocolate; but every grown-up I knew drank coffee.

I asked her over and over until she at last acquiesced. On that memorable morning, she opened a fresh can and began the ceremonial Brewing of the Grounds. Though it was a daily ritual for her, this time brought with it an air of greater significance. It was to be the day I took another step toward adulthood, while simultaneously pushing my youth a little further into the rear-view mirror. Once I had conquered coffee, I figured the only rung left on the ladder to full-fledged maturity would be to extricate myself from the smaller table at Thanksgiving. That was the future though, and this was the present. I still had to prove my mettle and somehow best the bitter beverage.

Last Minute Waffling

As the brown liquid percolated and fell into the coffeepot drop by drop I wondered if the old adage be careful what you wish for was actually true. There was still time to back out. My great-grandma was one of the all time good ones. She’d understand and, what’s more, she’d keep my flip-flopping to herself. No, I finally decided. It would be drunk. After all, I’d already been on this Earth long enough to have seen seven Christmases in person; easily old enough to handle one nondescript cup of coffee.

Suddenly, a familiar scent filled the kitchen; one I had come to know only too well. Time was growing short. Grandma reached into the cupboard and took down one of the white plastic cups with the weighted, inexplicably yellow bottoms she favored for these more caffeinated occasions. It looked like a Weeble-Wobble except that the top was open, so if you were to tip it over, instead of bouncing itself back into place, it would stay down and spill out its contents. Clearly, that was merely a procrastinating thought that carried no relevance now. Coffee time was upon, and I was wavering.

With all the drips now dropped, Grandma pulled the coffeepot from the hotplate and poured my cup, seemingly oblivious to the magnitude of the moment. She placed it in front of me while I tried my best to look unconcerned in my generic, yellow football pajamas. I took it, and then glanced up at her. For one brief moment our eyes locked. Hers filled with sympathy; mine, with apprehension. In the distance I could hear the tick-tock of the old Seth Thomas clock that she had brought with her many years before from Scranton, Pennsylvania to East Hartford, Connecticut. The moment held a little longer. She began to look at me as if I was awaiting a call from the governor. If so, none came. I raised the cup to my lips and, after one more slight hesitation, took my sip. “Well?” She asked with uncharacteristic impatience. I briefly considered what I had just consumed and then reached my verdict. “This sucks, Grandma.” She nodded, knowingly.

Over the years that followed I’ve often considered trying another cup. Especially nowadays, when coffee comes in more flavors than a bag of Jelly Bellies. I’ve even walked into the occasional Starbucks; albeit only to buy a large cookie and the tasty, frozen green tea concoction that my ex-wife introduced me to a few years back. Perhaps at some point the day will come when I am willing to try again, if only to stop being subjected to the snide commentary I receive when someone sees me drinking a diet soda at eight in the morning. Until that day comes however, I’ll content myself with the one special memory coffee allowed me to share with my great-grandmother in 1979.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbook and, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com

Memorial Day Poem

By Chris Gay

At  this time of the year there’s a day set aside,
To honor the memory of those who have died.
To praise the brave troops on this land we call home,
Where the rockets glared red, and the buffalo roamed.
From Washington’s army; Continental it was,
Winning our Independence, for the Glorious Cause.
To Abe Lincoln’s war, that so tore us apart,
Yet sowed fertile seeds to create a new start.
Then The Great War they called it, absurd in its name,
The whole World got involved, and was never the same.

And then on came the Second, the worst of the lot,
As our men crossed the seas, to give all that they’d got.
Today they are known as the great Generation,
Who like those before them, showed no hesitation,
To lay down their lives without consternation.
Then followed Korea, Viet Nam and Iraq,
Where in only one decade, we found ourselves back.
I’ll ask on this day to lay down our iPods,
Turn off the TV, and our microchip gods.
And honor the brave, who protect you and me,
As nothing we’ve done, nor could possibly be,
From the Midwestern Plains, to each high rolling sea,
Would ever occur without those who will stand,
And give us their all while defending our land.

Chris Gay is a freelance writer, voice-over artist, broadcaster and actor. He writes and broadcasts a daily, sponsored radio humor spot in Hartford, Connecticut. He’s written two humor books: Shouldn’t Ice Cold Beer Be Frozen? My 365 Random Thoughts To Improve Your Life Not One Iota, as well as And That’s the Way It Was…Give or Take: A Daily Dose of My Radio Writings. Look for his upcoming supernatural, theological crime novel Ghost of a Chance and its sequel, Perdition’s Wrath, his humor book The Bachelor Cookbookand, written in partnership with KSpin Designs, Suesea Sunscreen and the Big Lesson.  He has written and voiced radio commercials, authored both comedic and non-comedic freelance articles, scripts, and press releases, done occasional radio color commentary for local sports, and acted in a couple of movies and plays. He is the media and technical writer for national clothing company KSpin Designs, and the publicity director for the Connecticut Authors & Publishers Association. (CAPA)

Movies:

2012:

Great Hope Springs (Barfly)

2009:

Testimonies of a Quiet New England Town (Constable John Gilbert)

http://www.chrisjgay.com

https://chrisgay.wordpress.com