Tall People Are Tall
Another note about the wedding. This wedding was attended by Joel Przybilla of the Milwaukee Bucks basketball team. Now, I stand about 6' 2", and I have a friend who stands 6' 6", but this Joel guy stands at 7' 1", which is the tallest human being I've ever seen within a three foot distance, let alone shake hands with. Not being a particular fan of B-ball, I had no idea who this man was, but as I entered the church in my tuxedo, looking fairly cool if I do say so myself (which I just did), I was pretty sure it didn't matter how good I looked: every girl, guy, child, pastor, insect, and spirit of God was looking at this Joel guy because he was just a towering presence. He was just soooooo tall. In movies and television, when they want to represent a tall creature, they show a lot of close-ups with the camera low to the subject pointing up, and they have the "tall" subject, who is actually 4' 11", move slowly. Here's the deal: the taller a person is, the slower they appear to move. Take this Joel guy, for example; he moved toward us, and it seemed like his actions were turtle slow, but he was upon us before we finished extending our hands for a handshake, making up a 20 foot distance in three steps.
US: "Hey, Joel, *step* have a *step* good night. *step*
*Hand shake with a human paw that could actually shelter you during a thunderstorm*
JOEL: "Good meeting you. *step* I gotta go. *step* My girlfriend is. . . *step*
*Unable to hear hear Joel because he has stepped three more times and is half a state away.*
At least he didn't hear the fire alarm.
Wedding Warrants
Sometimes, I genuinely can't understand the mind of an inebriated person. The wedding went off without a hitch. Very nice. The reception, too, went swimmingly. All us groomsmen were on our best behavior despite the vast quantities of alcoholic beverages consumed by all. Then. . . the hotel after the dance, and the fire department, and the cops, and the fire alarm that just wouldn't shut down. Although the details are still somewhat sketchy, two of our wedding party ended up in jail over the whole affair. Apparently, the groomsman who shared my hotel room, and an usher four rooms down decided to grab a fire extinguisher at about 2:30 a.m. At some point, they fired up the extinguisher in the elevator, covering the lift in white powder that got sucked into the ventilation system and set off the fire alarm. Before you knew it, the entire hotel was awake and in the lobby as firefighters and police officers swarmed into the building. Surveillance tapes clearly showed the two culprits in the act of taking the fire extinguisher and, come 6 a.m., there was an officer at the door who took Butch and Sundance away in handcuffs. It cost $2,000 to bail them out, and the hotel is charging them for all the hotel guests who demanded refunds, which could easily add up to another $1,000. There was one bright spot surrounding the whole deal. A German family were wedding guests and they stayed in the same hotel. Their 19 year old daughter was absolutely ecstactic the next day because she had the opportunity to see real American firefighters and police officers. All that for only $3,000. What a bargain.
Broadcast Brain Candy
For those not familiar with The West Wing and Law and Order, I deeply feel for you. Tonight's season finales were drooling great entertainment. And, although I'm primarily a West Wing fanatic, I have to tip my hat to Law and Order for broadcasting a top notch show about the fears of 9/11. One of my roommates is so paranoid about all the terror warnings, she's talking about locking herself in her room and never coming out. I have to admit, I find it more and more difficult each day to search within myself and find the security and playfulness that are so precious yet were taken for granted during the innocent time prior to that awful day. It's disconcerting to feel as if I'm wearing an invisible target, a target I earned because I live in the greatest and most powerful nation on earth. Whoa. I guess my late night TV is affecting my mood. I apologize for that. I'll play some Jedi Knight on my computer. Nothing jolts me into a better mood than putting an end to Imperial storm trooper scum. As Yoda is fond of saying: "Terrorists suck, yes? Play video games you must." Okay, Yoda never says that, but he should. That would make Yoda sooooo cool.
Procrastination, You Are My Enemy
Before I do anything else, I must share this with the world.
I am hereby hanging my head in shame because I forgot to wish my father a happy birthday. It's not like it's that difficult. My parents live and work in Tokyo, so all that's expected of me is to either call or drop an e-mail. That's it. And I couldn't even remember to do that. It sucks to be a bad son. So, after a chastising e-mail from my mother, I sent an apologetic e-mail to my father. I may not be around for a couple of days. You see, I going on a guilt trip. Destination: Shameville, Iowa. Ewwwww, Iowa. *shudder*
I see in the news that America is still under alert for more terrorist attacks. I really don't need the alert any more. Can't I just assume that, for the rest of my days here on earth, my existence will forever be under the ominous haze of potential terrorism? Wouldn't that be easier? Yes, I'm fully aware that there are totally disturbed people out there who believe it is their holy duty to go out there and blow themselves and others apart. Yes, I'm fully aware that those same people will eventually gain access to nuclear, chemical and biological weapons and use them indiscriminately against innocent people whose only crime is that they had the audacity to try and live a normal existence. I figured all of this out on my own in the hours directly following 9/11. I really don't care to hear the folks in Washington cry "Fire!" whenever a whiff of criticism comes their way.
"Excuse me, Mr. Bush, what about the whole Enron thing?"
"Duck, you fool! Don't you know there's terror afoot?! Go to red alert, men!"
"Er, yes, well, I was just wondering why our economy continues to sputter along and. . ."
"Red alert! Red alert! How can you possibly question us during this difficult time? Don't you know that we're at war?"
"Um, yes, I know we're at war. We're quite busy over there in Afghanistan, but I was just curious why our top intelligence agencies were bickering and ignoring crucial information leading up to the attacks."
"They may have nukes! Do you know what that means?! Great Jupiter, man! Hide! Seek shelter! Vote Bush!"
I'll be absent for the next couple of days, because I'll be attending the wedding of my good friend and former roommate, Mark. I get to be all smoking hot in a tuxedo and hit on women I don't know and get rejected by women I don't know. It should be loads of fun! Also, it appears that Minnesota has finally decided to allow its residents to enjoy warm weather again. Joy! I'll be able to go running tonight and not debate whether to wear a sweatshirt or a tee-shirt. Who knows? It may be warm enough that I can opt for no shirt. Watch out world, hairy chested man coming through. Ladies, you may commence with the groping.
Music to My Ears
Um, I must apologize for that last post. Apparently, Blogger was down and my blog wouldn't appear and my world was crashing down around me and I could barely function as a human being and I was suffering from run on sentences. But. . . I'm back, and my blog is up, so life has returned to normal.
I was driving to work this morning and that song by Pink came on (the one that goes "please prescribe me a day in the life of someone else, don't let me get me" or some such nonsense like that) and I was enjoying the melody. Of course, it was one of those songs that just refuse to leave your head, so I started whistling the tune at work. Suddenly, my officemate demanded to know why I was whistling that God-awful song, and she then went on to recite the lyrics, and I had to admit that they really are terrible lyrics, but I still liked the melody. Here's the deal, at least according to me: guys don't listen to songs and dissect the lyrics. We just absorb the tune and acknowledge the singer as acceptable background noise. In all seriousness, I loved Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit," even though I had absolutely no idea what ol' Kurt was wailing about. He could have been singing about onions on the kitchen counter for all I cared. I just liked the tune.
So, let us visit the lyrics of Pink's song and see if we can't come to an understanding as to what she's complaining about.
Never win first place, I don't support the team. I can't take direction, and my socks are never clean. Teachers dated me, my parents hated me. I was always in a fight cuz I can't do nothin' right.
So, now I'm envisioning an unathletic, unattentive, unhygienic, belligerent, overall useless member of society whose only apparent skill lies in bedding the faculty. And, when did "cuz" become a word?
Everyday I fight a war against the mirror. I can't take the person starin' back at me. I'm a hazard to myself.
How does one fight a war against a mirror? "It's no use, general! It seems no matter what we do, the enemy stays right in our face. We can't get around them!"
Don't let me get me. I'm my own worst enemy. Its bad when you annoy yourself. So irritating. Don't wanna be my friend no more. I wanna be somebody else. I wanna be somebody else, yeah.
Okay, now I'm starting to totally dislike this song. So far, she's managed to whine her way through three entire verses. And really, how does one annoy oneself? Do you slowly waggle your fingers near your face while making a "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa" sound? I will agree that it must be bad when you annoy yourself. That could make for a really long day.
LA told me, "You'll be a pop star, all you have to change is everything you are." Tired of being compared to damn Britney Spears. She's so pretty, that just ain't me.
I know most women just despise being told they look like Britney Spears. Women love to be told they're ugly. "Who are you calling pretty?! You take that back, cuz if'n you don't, I'll attack you with my stinky socks."
Doctor, doctor won't you please prescribe somethin. A day in the life of someone else? Cuz I'm a hazard to myself.
DOCTOR: Well, no, um, Ms. Pink, I can't really prescribe a day in the life of someone else, but I could recommend a good speech therapist. You'll learn to use a "g" at the end of "something," and you'll lose that nasty habit of saying "cuz."
Don't let me get me. I'm my own worst enemy. Its bad when you annoy yourself. So irritating. Don't wanna be my friend no more. I wanna be somebody else.
Wait a minute, didn't she already say this? Certainly she could have gone further into what a failure of a human being she is instead of simply re-hashing the same old stuff. If she can tell me about her dirty socks, the least she can do is expound on her repulsive armpits or something similar. But no, she's just saying the same thing all over again. How IR-RI-TAT-TING!!
My officemate is right. This song sucks.
The Force Compels Me to Blog
Must. . .fight. . .urge. . .to. . .blog. It's no use, I can't stop myself. This daily nonsense is as addicting as any drug. Literary crack. Must write. Must re-read what I write. Must monitor comments like a pride of lions hovering over a kill. I honestly can't explain the appeal. I couldn't jot down mind garbage like this on good old-fashioned notebook paper, but give me a cyber world in which complete strangers can peruse my prose, and I'm tapping away at the keyboard religiously. I imagine that psychology textbooks aren't even used in universities any more. No, students simply log on to the Internet, find a random blog, and determine from what psychosis the author suffers:
Monday, May 20, 2002: Visited blog of "The Countess" today. Subject seems to suffer from paranoid delusions complemented by severe manic depressive tendencies. Refers to male species as "a genetic dead end," possibly a result of her last relationship that apparently ended ugly according to her lengthy rants about "Bob the Bastard." Subject should be heavily medicated and undergo several therapy sessions.
Although I have not yet joined the masses and dragged my behind to "Episode 2: Attack of the Clones," I found that I am not immune to the allure of Star Wars. I went to Best Buy yesterday to "look around," and promptly emerged with Jedi Knight: Dark Forces II, Jedi Outcast. It's a first person shoot-em-up, that also allows the player to wield a light saber and user Force powers. What can I say? I'm a total sucker for the chance to slice and dice computer enemies with a light saber. The graphics are astounding; storm troopers actually get blown back by blaster fire, and they scream bloody murder when you push them over a precipice and they go tumbling down a chasm. Oh, those special moments. However, the state of computer games now is such that I must ponder upgrading my computer system yet again. It takes forever for a game to load. And then I die have to start over. And that takes forever too. It's bad enough that I'm wasting my life playing computer games, but now I have to waste even more time waiting to waste my life playing computer games. Hmmm, there's a lesson in there somewhere. Maybe a lesson about Heather Graham. Heather Graham. Heather Graham. Or, how about Angelina Jolie? Angelina Jolie. Angelina Jolie. Angelina Jolie.
