3hree Things: On The Art Of Falling Down

3hree Things: On The Art Of Falling Down

Last Friday afternoon, I took a leisurely stroll down East Carson, a busy street flanked with bars, restaurants and retail shops in the South Side of Pittsburgh. Cars filled with people itching to get home to start their weekends sat bumper to bumper on the rain soaked asphalt, and the sidewalks buzzed with the pitter patter of the feet of folks walking to or from their favorite watering hole or eatery.

This stroll didn't have an objective, really. After load-in, I usually wander the streets for a few minutes, checking out spots for a post-soundcheck meal or post-show beverage, try to clear my head a bit, and get the blood flowing in a bangover and post-show stiffness riddled body that has been transported horizontally in a bus bunk from wherever we'd played the night before.

If there's an unspoken objective for any stroll, it's to not fall flat on your face. And if falling flat on your face should occur, you'd probably rather it happen where nobody can bear witness to it. East Carson Street is not a place to fall flat on your face in broad daylight.

I fell flat on my face on East Carson Street.

I wish I could blame a sniper, or a tripwire, or at least a small dog, but I can't. I just fell. And there was no recovery whatsoever, no trip-to-stumble-to-shuffling away unscathed, no stumble-to cartwheel-to-back-handspring gymnastics. This went from a full-blown bonk of the right foot to being completely airborne, straight into an involuntary headfirst slide on the wet sidewalk. A portrait of grace. Poetry in motion. Coordination personified.

I lay there for a second, felt the rain soak into my shirt, laughed, and stood up. And laughed. And dusted myself off. And laughed. And made sure I didn't break either of my wrists. And laughed.

I really need to work on my dismount.

It was another one of those situations that I covered a little over a month ago in my 3hree Things: Life's Uncanny Ability To Punch My Ego In The Balls piece. I was feeling pretty good about myself, my band was about to play a sold out show, the tour has been going great, response to the new record has been far better than expected, and then before I could build on a shred of self-confidence, life said, "TASTE THE PAVEMENT, DORK!"

Thankfully, I'm not alone. And thankfully YouTube is a goldmine of people falling of their faces. So in an effort to feel a little better about myself, I dug up three videos of people blowing it even harder than I did on Friday.

Before we start: Yes, I realize that most of these are fairly old (some more than others) but lets not let that ruin it for the folks that read that column that haven't seen every YouTube video over.


1) The Grape Stomping Lady Introduces Her Face To Mother Earth

2) Nobody Is Safe. Not Even The World's Finest Athletes

3) Walking Is Hard, Guys

..and The Bonus Round

To add injury to insult, my klutziness continued on Sunday as I split my forehead open on the sharp edge of a cabinet in our tour bus...doing nothing, really. Standing up, maybe? Existing? I'm buying a football helmet today.


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