I can't believe I never told the story about going to play paintball in Long Island. For a bachelor party it was. So damn funny. I only knew one or two of the guys. Well maybe more. They were mostly all New York construction guys. They're all Haley's crew. Make their living doing big budget remodels in manhattan. I'd worked on a couple of jobs with some of them. Then there were three quiet guys from San francisco, touring with a band. They were friends of Noah. The guy for whom the bachelor party was being held.
We met up at the rallye point at 9am. A polish diner on Bedford Avenue in Williamsburgh. All the guys turned up in tuxedos. Except me of course. That was the gag for the day. To dress up for a party and then play paintball. It was kind of amazing I'd never played before. I know a lot of guys here in LA who play it. They even own their own guns and pouches. Tactical webbing you could say. I really had no idea what to expect. I was aware of an ongoing question I'd considered. If i would do well at this simulated combat. Or just get rolled. Untested.

A limousine picked us up fore the long drive out to long island. It was. So stupid. A super-stretch Ford excursion. Seating for twenty people. Probably weighed 15,000 lbs. We brought along war movies to play on the limousine's DVD. And we brought beer. Budweiser cans. The floor of the limo was covered with cases. Glug glug glug. Smoking reefer. It was very overcast and sultry. Mid august. The limousine was careening about, getting onto the Long island expressway.

I really notcied that once you're out of NYC, Long island seems extremely conservative. A lot of American flags. We suppprt our troops. That stuff. Little wooden houses. We got hit.

The painball range, if that's what you call it, is run by a burly, mustached Vietnam vet. When you turn into the gravel parking lot, the first sight is a POW/MIA flag. You are not forgotten. It was totally Soldier of Fortune. They issued us paintball guns and Scott moto-cross goggles. the kind with a plastic mouthguard. The kids who worked at the place sized us up. All drunk like that and wearing tuxedos. The site has half a dozen football fiewld-sized combat ranges. each one has partcular battlefield conditions. We decided to start with the WWII scenario. It was littered with upside-down jeeps, and half-tracks. In the middle of the field was a tower. It obviously had an unobstrutced line of fire on the rest of the field. I tried to take everything in. I was kind of serious about the whole thing. I think every man was.
"Test your guns!" the referee yelled out.
We all began to plink away at the side of a decrepit, olive-painted semi-trailer. TACK TACK TACK TACK. The guns went. Wow I thought. they're really accurate.
The driver of the limousine which took us out there and would wait to take us back to the city was a middle-aged Egyptian guy named Ali. We beckoned him to play with us. He refused. Graciously and smiling. Obviously he was a professional. His job was to drive the limo, make money for some other Egyptian guy, and then get the thing back. A bunch of drunks playing simulated combat probably looked like way to get into a lot of shit and screw up his job. I sure know that feeling. But nevertheless we would not leave him alone. He finally capitulated. Graciously, smiling and self-deferential. They gave him a pair of dark blue mechanics coveralls to protect his shirt and tie.
And of course he was totally badass. He was one of the last guys left. He'd been in the army in Egypt. He sought the best cover. And then hunkered down. picking guys off. When the yellow, .51 cal. ball hits you, it breaks and leaves a gooey, water based yellow ink. And then you're out.
My best performance was street fighting. In a little simulated western town, with false building fronts on both sides of a street. I charged. Took ground. Pinned those motheruckers down. Rolled 'em. Like Audie murphy.

There was a woodland battlefield as well. That was fun. We did it twice. Had two battles. It turned out that the team which began with the high ground was pretty much invincible. There were trenches dug which we could hunker down behind. But if you stuck your head above the earthen edge of the ground-cut it gets hit by three paintballs. TACK TACK TACK.

Withering fire.

We were going to finish up the afternoon in the WWI battleground. A labyrinth of 7' deep trenches. Complete with mucky puddles at the bottom. Heavily overcast day. Tired. It was disorienting. I got plugged in the head pretty early on. That time I kept fighting. I cheated.
We were going to turn it in. Hand over the paintball rifles to the quarter-master. We walked past an undeveloped paintball pitch, behind chain link and tennic court netting. Something about the falt, dead grass plaineness caught our attention. We asked what it was for. They said it was to be a destroyed airfield. They were waiting to get the fuselage of a C-47 and a few other aircraft hulks.
At that moment i had a great isspireation. I suggested we do a revolutionary war style-fight. 18th century style. Each team walks up to the other in a line. Each man takes aim. Fire. The other poor chaps do the same. Some fall. We lined up at opposite ends of the field. I began to bawl the orders like a cockney Hussar. The kind of guy with a 2' tall furry hat, chinstrapped and mustached. Stationed in Lahorre for 15 years. Salty.
RI-FLES FORWARD!!!!!!
TAKE AIM!!!!!!
(come on you guys let's look valiant here)
FIRE!!!!!!

Plink plink plink. And some fell. We made a big show of dying valiantly. I fell over like a tree. just let myself crash. I was totally drunk and covered with mud anyways. A crowd gathered to watch us. Lampooning war. They were all super gung-ho paintabllers. They owned their own rifles and extra magazines and air pouches. We all made a big show of dying and drying out on the lonely battlefield. Theatre. Fuckin-A.