Thursday, August 31, 2006

he who knows george balog… let’s dish!

well, I'll be dipped in fat free, salty man juice. ain't this a vulva lip twitching comment.

by george, anonymous can write. I damn near flooded the building. my neighbors had the red cross on speed dial. I think they were just hoping for free debit cards. keep the dream alive, my friends.

this might be the same george. the george I knew was chuvvy. funny. big guy. balding at whatever age I knew him. 19, 20-1? he doesn't sound hot. he wasn't, but my god did he have charisma. he made me laugh. a lot. he was smart. he moved to lake tahoe and got thin. came back and tried to fuck me with a baggie. I'm smarter than that even when my olivia isn't. I think he was hungarian. and a heeblette, no? not that it mattered. his father was some fancy shmancy something. I don't remember. I wasn't a trust fund kid. I was a fat kid.

did I ever blow you?

just kidding.

did I?

how old are you?

are we the same age?

love the shiksa goddess yarn. stairway to heaven! was she your first? did you marry her? is the torch alive, anon?


From: Anonymous []
Sent: Thursday, August 31, 2006 7:11 PM
Subject: [katie schwartz]
8/31/2006 07:10:53 PM

Well now that’s funny. George Balog just popped into my mind too. So I googled him, and now here I am on Katie’s blog.

Unlike Katie, I didn’t know George very well. We briefly went to junior high school together in San Francisco. He used to go out with this girl Ilena, who was really hot. There was this one party at which I somehow found myself dancing with her. Long after she had broken up with George, of course. George was a nice guy, but he might have clobbered me. He was such a big kid, you know, that George Balog. Really huge and powerful. Anyway, I guess I asked Ilena to dance, and to my shock and surprise, she said yes. To my even greater shock and surprise, the next song that came on was “Stairway to Heaven!” Can you believe it? The ultimate slow dance song. According to the custom of the day, this meant that Ilena was obligated to slow dance with me, at least until the fast part of the song started, when she would be free to back off and fast dance if she wanted.

But she didn’t! What a night. What a memory. Slowly, we swayed back and forth together, for the full seven minutes plus, even during the "and as we wind on down the road" part. My gangly Jewish-boy-on-a-growth-spurt arms tenderly embracing her perfectly proportioned, stunningly mesomorphic torso. My nose nuzzling into her exotically straight, naturally blonde shiksa hair. She rested her cheek softly against my chest, as though she literally didn’t mind the whole thing at all. It was like a lifetime elapsed in those seven minutes. We never even got to first base. Oh, the pubescent bliss.

So anyway, more than 20 years have elapsed since then, and some other things happened. I don’t have any idea what happened to George, but I’ll tell you one thing, I hope he didn’t become the deputy commissioner of public health awareness or something, because if he did, that whole baggie incident might not be such good publicity for him.

However, and this is my main point here, George wasn't Jewish, was he? I thought he was pretty much Hungarian. At least, my George Balog was. Maybe Katie’s was a different guy. Still, though…

--Posted by Anonymous to katie schwartz at 8/31/2006 07:10:53 PM


n.v. said...

you blog about George Balog. Heh.

John Donald Carlucci said...

Mr. Salty sounds like a nickname for Samuel Jackson. "Please pass the mother fucking butter!"

Then again...
Mr. Pepper sounds like he lives in West Hollywood and gets busted for using his cellphone camera in the gym lockerroom all the time. *Click-snap* "Hee."

Maybe this is all just cuz I've had way too much red bull today.


Writeprocrastinator said...

Heh-heh-heh! Damn, Gian Don, you can't miss, lately.

John Donald Carlucci said...

I live to amuse Katie now.


Anonymous said...

Hey, thanks Katie – it’s me, the Anonymous Jew again.

Sadly I’m about all dished out regarding George, and even Ilena for that matter. I kinda blew the whole wad with my first post.

Ilena the blone shiksa goddess and I never married, and probably never even spoke again after our rendezvous on the stairway to heaven. The memory lives alone, in solitary splendor. The torch has long since lost its glow. Actually, the torch never really had a glow, and that, after all these years, is what makes the memory so special. I mean, Ilena was a good kid, but even at that age, when people’s personalities are about as well-formed as a pile of yogurt, and pretty much any two people with compatible genitalia can go at it regularly for three months before they start to get tired of each other, she and I were just not compatible. We REALLY had nothing to talk about. We never would have made it through waiting for a bus together, let alone a first date. And therefore, as it turns out, the moments that we spent in each others arms constituted the most perfect relationship that I’ve ever been in. Two people who couldn’t have said two meaningful sentences to each other actually achieved a real connection between the most vulnerable sides of our respective beings, a moment of real tenderness, of compassion, of togetherness. (Well, at least, it was like that for me. I didn’t actually ask her if she achieved too. But I think she achieved, and I can usually tell with women.) And then, when that was done, we went our separate ways and didn’t hang around to talk about whether Blondie was better than The Cars. We achieved 100% of the relationship that we could possibly have together, and then stopped.

What a great age that was. I mean, just a few short years later, two people couldn’t honestly look back on a night like that with a sense of fulfillment, unless it involved getting buzzed, listening to some good music, getting naked, and having intercourse at least twice (once at the beginning of the night, and again first thing in the morning, after staying over), involving a minimum of two positions each time. Life got so much more complicated before the teenage years were even over. And then there was so much more preparation involved – you had to have a good mix tape… you had to have a baggie ready…

Speaking of which, good for you for insisting on an actual FDA-approved prophylactic. I guess you read the warning on the Ziploc bag. It’s in very small print, under the part about “not recommended for sneezing into, inserting the open end under your neighbor’s door, and then squeezing out all the nasty germs so the bitch will get sick.”


Anonymous said...

Oh, almost forgot the important factual info...

I'm a few years short of 40 (does that make our Georges the same age?) Never had the pleasure of a KJ. Thinking about getting married soon. One gets to a certain age, and one's lists of people that one has shagged and has not shagged get to be more immutable. I probably should have thought about this more seriously in my earlier life. How nice it would have been, in my old age, to be flipping through the channels, saying to myself "hmm, there's Mary Lou Retton. I banged her. Lisa Loeb? We shacked up in the Village for a while in the early nineties. Chelsea Clinton? Banged her, AND both Gore daughters, in the same summer. Kelly Ripa? Never banged her, but I went down on her in the back seat of my Accord once. My neck hurt for a week."

Oh well, too late.

My George wasn't bald when I knew him, but of course he was only about 13. Taller than I was, which is pretty tall, too, and real big-boned. Pretty intimidating to us lightweight boys. I don't remember him being Jewish, but my jewdar was pretty nonexistent in those days. He certainly could have been Hungarian AND Heebish. If he was, I probably should have been less scared of him. Jewish boys don't know how to fight, do they? Plus, he should probably get extra credit for scoring the longer-term attentions of the wondershiksa.


Anonymous said...

I also wonder what happened to George Balog. We were buddies, and roomates in Tahoe in 89/90. Aside from having to beat on his bare feet with ski poles in the morning to get his ass up for work at Squaw Valley, he was a good guy. Yes he was the very definition of a trust funder, although that's not a bad thing to have around when you need first and deposit.

Katie Schwartz said...


You know the same George Balog! If you find him, will you give him my email address? I'd just love to see how he's doing.

I think he mentioned you. I remember when he lived in LT.


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