I've been busy packing up and getting ready for next week's move back to New York, so to fulfill my desire to blog I'm bringing you the next installment in my occasional series in which I rerun a post from the old blog for Laugh Out Loud, my (sadly, now former) improv troupe.
I'll be at my parents' house most of my remaining time in Utah, and they still use dial-up, so I probably won't blog again until after the move. That week or so off may help me to get out of the habit I've been in the last few weeks of writing about stuff that happened several years ago. But this is a good one--I chose it because yesterday, for the first time since the show mentioned in this post, I saw my friend Talitha at American Idol auditions (which I will definitely blog about soon), and also because this weekend is my ten-year high school reunion. Which is almost as good as a 13-year reunion. I originally posted this, under the same title, on September 27, 2006:
About this time last year, me and my roommate Will started to get hooked on this show on Fox called Reunion. The premise of the show was that six close friends from high school meet up for their 20-year reunion, and one of them is murdered. Each episode covered the major events of one of those 20 years, interspersed with scenes from the murder investigation in the present day. The writing was awful and the acting was even worse, but they did a decent job picking music that represented the era, and the serial nature of the show made me want to keep watching.
So what did Fox do? They pulled the plug on the show after about six or seven episodes. Like they couldn't have taken two Saturdays on FX and played 10-episode marathons or something like that. It was extremely disappointing. I even signed an online petition to keep it on the air (I never sign online petitions for proposed constitutional amendments or anything like that, but this was important--this was TV), but to no avail.
Laugh Out Loud avoids toying with people's emotions like that by making our reunions one-night-only affairs. The pictures in this post come from our most recent alumni show [unfortunately, all of the pictures from the old blog are inaccessible], which was our final free summer show back in early August. (I know, I know, that was eight weeks ago, but it's not easy to schedule time in a darkroom to get your digital pictures developed.) The show was great fun. We had six former players come back and join me, Brendan, and Andrew for the biggest non-Maestro show ever. Someday, I'll get someone to show me how to put pictures where I want them instead of all at the beginning, and how to load the video clips I have as well. For now, just scroll back up and take a minute to enjoy the frozen comedy now that you have some context for it.
Other groups that organize reunions could learn from our example. For instance, this weekend thousands of people will attend mission reunions. I used to go to mission reunions but stopped for two reasons: first off, there's usually an LOL show the same night, as is the case this year (more on that later); and second, I got tired of getting stuck on the freeway for two hours, trying to get to Salt Lake so I could see old "friends" and have the following conversation:
Me: Hey, it's you!
[Fellow former missionary and I shake hands, pull each other in and give a single pound on the back--it's the mandatory missionary greeting.]
Former Elder So-and-So: I haven't seen you forever! How have you been?
Me: Fine. What've you been up to?
Former Elder So-and-So: Not much.
Me: Well, see you in six months!
If the conversation goes beyond that, within 60 seconds someone will ask "Are you dating anyone?" or "How come you're not married yet?" and everyone will feel awkward. Those with even less tact will say something along the lines of "Boy, you sure put on weight, didn't you?" I deal with these questions enough when I talk to my mom; I don't need extra aggravation from former apostate missionaries (you know who you are)!
One last bad reunion experience and then I'll move on. Three years ago I went to my five-year high school reunion (yes, I'm old). When I got there, I was directed to a table where one of our senior class officers, a girl I took to the last dance of the school year back in '98, was helping people make name tags. I noticed hers had her "high school" name on it, so I said "Hey, I thought you got married." "I did," she replied, and told me that her divorce had just been finalized. If I had any self-respect, I would've left right then, but I don't, so I adjusted my foot so it fit more comfortably in my mouth, stayed for a while, and had, well, a boring time, because after all--it was a reunion! (If you're reading, Robin, I apologize. You're not reading? Dang!)
So once again, it's up to LOL to set the standard for good reunions. This Friday, another former cast member, Joey Leavitt, will be returning to the law school stage. I'm the longest-tenured current LOLer (this weekend will mark the fourth anniversary of my first show), but Joey was one of my coaches when I first started with the group. I'm not sure if that is an endorsement or an indictment of his comedic skills, but I think he's funny.
Joey throws everything he has into his jokes, especially in jump-up games. When Joey jumps to the front of the stage, you can be sure one of three things is going to happen: his joke will get a big laugh, or it won't get a big laugh so he'll spend an extra 30 seconds explaining why you should've laughed, or he'll start singing "Oops I Did It Again" and make it fit with whatever game we happen to be playing.
My favorite Joey memory is from years ago, when he and Talitha (the girl in these pictures and the one responsible for me joining LOL) were performing a scene that required them to kiss. It was the funniest "kiss" ever, as they puckered their lips but kept their faces about 18 inches apart, while moving their hands and arms in a "wax on, wax off" type of motion. It was awesome.
(Random side note: Talitha's husband, also a part of the alumni show, is named Tom Hanks. Seriously.)
A few other things you should know about Joey:
1) He works for the federal government and probably has access to your credit rating, so laugh at his jokes.
2) He's in his late-mid-twenties and still goes by Joey. Most Joeys switch to Joe or Joseph when they are about 11. But our pal Joey is a non-conformist.
3) Joey was my neighbor for about a year before I had even heard of LOL, so I've known him for a while. Three out of the four guys who lived in his apartment had, at some point, dated the same girl, who was also in our ward. The roommate switch is always pretty impressive, but this girl pulled off the double roommate switch--unprecedented!
Clearly, this Friday's show is going to be amazing. Get your tickets in advance if you can, because we'll almost certainly sell out. It's sure to be the best performance you see this fall--unless someone decides to put together a "Charles In Charge" reunion show.
Remember, this is an old post. There's no big show this weekend. By the way, Talitha made it past the first round of Idol auditioning. I didn't. Again, many more details will come later. Oh, and if you like funny blogs, check out Joey's. Especially if you also like Bryan Adams.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
It's Friday, it's 8:30, we're waiting for a bus, it's time to party
I'm your excellent host, Jeff Hofmann. With me as always is...well, all of you readers. Party on, readers.
Inspired by last week's missionary mama drama posts, the few minutes of Wayne's World I saw on TV yesterday, and the lack of anything else particularly entertaining to write about right now, I thought I'd share my favorite missionary story. It doesn't involve babies.
When I was about five months into my mission, I was transferred to the somewhat depressing town of East Kilbride (I linked to that article because it was written less than a month after I left the city, and also for the bizarre reference to "Charlie Dimmock's nipples," which I don't get at all), to be companions with the more depressing Elder McInelly, who had been on his mission almost a year and a half.
Even though he was the senior companion, he was an incredibly indecisive and nontalkative guy. If an appointment fell through, he'd pull out his map and stare at it for ten minutes until I'd finally say, "we could go visit so-and-so," or "we could chap (Scottish for tract) in this neighborhood," and he would say "I guess" in his southern Utah twang, as if to say "fine, but if it doesn't go well it's your fault."
There was only one semi-affluent neighborhood in our proselyting area. It also happened to be the neighborhood farthest away from our apartment. We only went there at night, because during the day the residents were at work (hence the affluence). We always stopped a little earlier than usual when chapping in that neighborhood, because there was only one bus an hour, and as I said we were pretty far away from our ghetto 13th-story apartment.
One night, we were waiting for the bus, and as usual making conversation with Elder McInelly was difficult. We sat there for over five minutes without saying a word to each other. I thought to myself, "This is stupid. We ought to talk to each other."
So I blurt out, "Did you ever find Bugs Bunny attractive when he put on a dress and played a girl bunny?"
The response came: "No."
That was it. That was all he said. I waited about a minute and asked, "Have you seen Wayne's World?"
"I think so, but I don't really remember it."
I explained to him that I was referring to a scene in the movie where Wayne (ironically, Mike Myers' only successful non-British character) and Garth were sitting in the dark in silence, much as we were, when Garth surprised Wayne with the same question. (I've always believed, and this site confirms, that this scene was literally a surprise for Myers--it wasn't in the script. Excellent!)
I can't find the relevant clip from the movie, but here's how it would look in anime. If you don't get the Bugs Bunny reference, here's a uniquely appropriate example of what Garth was talking about.
Side note: if a Scot said something about "Looney Tunes," he'd likely be referring to towns for boys. No way! Way.
If I recall correctly, the bus came a few minutes later, and we didn't speak to each other the rest of the night, and hardly at all for the ten weeks we were companions. I really wanted to ask him what I was supposed to do with a gun rack, but I didn't want him to look at me like monkeys had just flown out of my butt.
P.S. I Googled Charlie Dimmock, and my memory was immediately jogged. Charlie is a woman, for starters, a woman who was on a TV gardening show while I was on my mission, known for not wearing a bra (she was known for that, not me). So the comment in the article makes sense. I suppose it would've been easier to delete the above parenthetical than add this postscript, but I never take the easy way out. (As if!)
Inspired by last week's missionary mama drama posts, the few minutes of Wayne's World I saw on TV yesterday, and the lack of anything else particularly entertaining to write about right now, I thought I'd share my favorite missionary story. It doesn't involve babies.
When I was about five months into my mission, I was transferred to the somewhat depressing town of East Kilbride (I linked to that article because it was written less than a month after I left the city, and also for the bizarre reference to "Charlie Dimmock's nipples," which I don't get at all), to be companions with the more depressing Elder McInelly, who had been on his mission almost a year and a half.
Even though he was the senior companion, he was an incredibly indecisive and nontalkative guy. If an appointment fell through, he'd pull out his map and stare at it for ten minutes until I'd finally say, "we could go visit so-and-so," or "we could chap (Scottish for tract) in this neighborhood," and he would say "I guess" in his southern Utah twang, as if to say "fine, but if it doesn't go well it's your fault."
There was only one semi-affluent neighborhood in our proselyting area. It also happened to be the neighborhood farthest away from our apartment. We only went there at night, because during the day the residents were at work (hence the affluence). We always stopped a little earlier than usual when chapping in that neighborhood, because there was only one bus an hour, and as I said we were pretty far away from our ghetto 13th-story apartment.
One night, we were waiting for the bus, and as usual making conversation with Elder McInelly was difficult. We sat there for over five minutes without saying a word to each other. I thought to myself, "This is stupid. We ought to talk to each other."
So I blurt out, "Did you ever find Bugs Bunny attractive when he put on a dress and played a girl bunny?"
The response came: "No."
That was it. That was all he said. I waited about a minute and asked, "Have you seen Wayne's World?"
"I think so, but I don't really remember it."
I explained to him that I was referring to a scene in the movie where Wayne (ironically, Mike Myers' only successful non-British character) and Garth were sitting in the dark in silence, much as we were, when Garth surprised Wayne with the same question. (I've always believed, and this site confirms, that this scene was literally a surprise for Myers--it wasn't in the script. Excellent!)
I can't find the relevant clip from the movie, but here's how it would look in anime. If you don't get the Bugs Bunny reference, here's a uniquely appropriate example of what Garth was talking about.
Side note: if a Scot said something about "Looney Tunes," he'd likely be referring to towns for boys. No way! Way.
If I recall correctly, the bus came a few minutes later, and we didn't speak to each other the rest of the night, and hardly at all for the ten weeks we were companions. I really wanted to ask him what I was supposed to do with a gun rack, but I didn't want him to look at me like monkeys had just flown out of my butt.
P.S. I Googled Charlie Dimmock, and my memory was immediately jogged. Charlie is a woman, for starters, a woman who was on a TV gardening show while I was on my mission, known for not wearing a bra (she was known for that, not me). So the comment in the article makes sense. I suppose it would've been easier to delete the above parenthetical than add this postscript, but I never take the easy way out. (As if!)
Friday, July 25, 2008
Weekend at Burn-ies
My parents and youngest sister recently made their annual road trip to Missouri to visit my Grandpa. Along the way, they stopped at a hotel with this phone number.
My sister took the picture on her phone, which explains the blurriness (or maybe Chelsea was just running really fast at the time). I don't think they were at this hotel, but that would've been cool.
A random note about my mom: she's a very talented person, but she has one skill that I only recently found out about. My mom kicks butt at those store-front claw games. She wins about half of the times she plays, and she's always bringing home plush toys for her kids, grandkids, and the neighbors' kids (thanks for the California Raisin, Mom). She's pretty awesome...although it would be even more awesome if she claimed they were her awards from army (relevant clips are about six, nine, and 19 minutes in, but the whole episode is fantastic, if a little PG-13).Thursday, July 24, 2008
Hit me, baby, one more time
And now for the thrilling conclusion. And yes, this really happened. If this were made up, we could probably come up with a more dramatic ending (it's still really good, though, don't stop reading). But that's the best part about this--it's a first-person account. Most of the time when you hear really good stories, it's been filtered through several retellings and you have no idea if it's true or not. But this one's legit.
So without further ado, here's the rest of Joni's story:
"I left her, and I hated leaving her, but then at the same time, like, there was nothing I could have done in that situation. I left her there, and the member, this is sort of funny, the member said like, “Sister, I never understood you in Portuguese until that one time when you were trying to obey the rules.” When I was trying to tell her that she couldn’t stay alone. So that was sort of a funny thing.
"So I go the member’s house, and I’m just sitting there, like not proselyting, not doing anything, and the husband comes home of the member. And the husband’s like “where’s your companion?” and I’m like “at the hospital” and he was like “let me call” and I’m like “don’t call, she’ll get so mad, she’s so mad at me.” And he was like well let me see so he called the hospital and the hospital told him that she was in the maternity ward and he got off the phone and he talked to me and he was like “Sister, she’s going to be so mad when she finds out that she’s in the maternity ward because the hospital thinks she’s pregnant and she’s not.” And I’m like “I know, why does everybody think she’s pregnant and she’s not” and so we sat down to dinner.
"At dinner I remember one of the members asking me “so, how long has your companion been out?” and I was like “7 months” and I could see him counting on his hand and everybody thinks she’s pregnant! Anyway, he called again, she was still in the maternity ward and he said we have to go to the hospital but I was like “yeah, but I don’t want to go, let’s pick up a different Sister that speaks Portuguese better and take her to the hospital.”
"So we picked up the other Sister and I stayed at the house with her companion. To make a long story short, the sister came back, she was like, “she’s really sick, I’ve got to go back to the hospital and stay with her.” So I thought my companion was really deathly sick or whatever.
"The next day I worked with that other sister the whole day long, I thought nothing of this, like my companion’s just sick and we even went to the hospital but we didn’t go inside, and the other sister was like “let’s go inside, let’s go inside” but we didn’t because I was like “no, she’s sick, just let her be” and I sort of wish we would’ve because I would’ve liked to actually be there but we went tracting and proselyting for a little longer and the other sister came and found us with a member, the sister that was staying with the pregnant sister, and said that the mission president was coming tonight.
"I thought that was sort of strange because we were in one of the farthest cities, like the very border of our mission, and I was like “Whoa! He’s coming tonight? She must be really sick.” I didn’t get it.
"Anyway, to make a long story short, we came home from proselyting that night and the mission president was there. So I was like, if she’s really pregnant or if something’s going on that I should know about he’s going to ask me because I was with her the whole time. And he was an American mission president and his wife was with him too. I thought, wow, this is strange that they both came.
"The first thing he said was like, “why aren’t there any lights on out here? You need to get more lights, you need to fix this, people are going to break in, it’s not very safe.” So I was like, oh, if he’s just concerned about our safety, then probably nothing is going on with the other sister who’s really sick. And he was like, I need you to pack her bags up, because she’s going to be coming home with us. Like, she’s really sick, she needs to go home. And so I still thought nothing of it, I sort of went to see her to say goodbye.
"Anyway, the mission president left. That night we were fixing dinner, it was the three sisters. One of the sisters was making dinner, I was setting the table and the other sister was just in there. One of the sisters, that wasn’t with the pregnant girl said “so, I heard this sister was pregnant” and she was like “no, everybody thinks that but she’s not” and I was like “why does everybody think she’s pregnant, because even the doctors thought that, the doctor even told me in English that she was going to have a baby boy? Why would the doctor do that?”
"The sister that had been with her was like “How did you find out?” And I was like “I was at the hospital.” She was like “yeah, she did have a baby” and I was like no, stop lying to me, you’re lying too. Everybody lies! And she’s like no, she really had a baby, she had a baby boy. And I’m like oh my goodness, this is too weird, I knew she was going to have a baby boy, but I didn’t really process it, it was very weird.
"And so, I come to find out she had the baby, when she had the baby she wasn’t very happy about it, she said some things she probably shouldn’t have, and it took a while for her to acknowledge that she’d had the baby, so she left the next day with the mission president to the mission home.
"She sort of had to stay hidden so none of the members would know why she left. We couldn’t tell anybody why she left, like even the APs didn’t know why she left. She had to stay in the mission home for ten days because the baby couldn’t fly. She had to stay hidden, nobody knew she was there. And then she went home…and that’s the end of my story."
Happy Pioneer Day everybody!
So without further ado, here's the rest of Joni's story:
"I left her, and I hated leaving her, but then at the same time, like, there was nothing I could have done in that situation. I left her there, and the member, this is sort of funny, the member said like, “Sister, I never understood you in Portuguese until that one time when you were trying to obey the rules.” When I was trying to tell her that she couldn’t stay alone. So that was sort of a funny thing.
"So I go the member’s house, and I’m just sitting there, like not proselyting, not doing anything, and the husband comes home of the member. And the husband’s like “where’s your companion?” and I’m like “at the hospital” and he was like “let me call” and I’m like “don’t call, she’ll get so mad, she’s so mad at me.” And he was like well let me see so he called the hospital and the hospital told him that she was in the maternity ward and he got off the phone and he talked to me and he was like “Sister, she’s going to be so mad when she finds out that she’s in the maternity ward because the hospital thinks she’s pregnant and she’s not.” And I’m like “I know, why does everybody think she’s pregnant and she’s not” and so we sat down to dinner.
"At dinner I remember one of the members asking me “so, how long has your companion been out?” and I was like “7 months” and I could see him counting on his hand and everybody thinks she’s pregnant! Anyway, he called again, she was still in the maternity ward and he said we have to go to the hospital but I was like “yeah, but I don’t want to go, let’s pick up a different Sister that speaks Portuguese better and take her to the hospital.”
"So we picked up the other Sister and I stayed at the house with her companion. To make a long story short, the sister came back, she was like, “she’s really sick, I’ve got to go back to the hospital and stay with her.” So I thought my companion was really deathly sick or whatever.
"The next day I worked with that other sister the whole day long, I thought nothing of this, like my companion’s just sick and we even went to the hospital but we didn’t go inside, and the other sister was like “let’s go inside, let’s go inside” but we didn’t because I was like “no, she’s sick, just let her be” and I sort of wish we would’ve because I would’ve liked to actually be there but we went tracting and proselyting for a little longer and the other sister came and found us with a member, the sister that was staying with the pregnant sister, and said that the mission president was coming tonight.
"I thought that was sort of strange because we were in one of the farthest cities, like the very border of our mission, and I was like “Whoa! He’s coming tonight? She must be really sick.” I didn’t get it.
"Anyway, to make a long story short, we came home from proselyting that night and the mission president was there. So I was like, if she’s really pregnant or if something’s going on that I should know about he’s going to ask me because I was with her the whole time. And he was an American mission president and his wife was with him too. I thought, wow, this is strange that they both came.
"The first thing he said was like, “why aren’t there any lights on out here? You need to get more lights, you need to fix this, people are going to break in, it’s not very safe.” So I was like, oh, if he’s just concerned about our safety, then probably nothing is going on with the other sister who’s really sick. And he was like, I need you to pack her bags up, because she’s going to be coming home with us. Like, she’s really sick, she needs to go home. And so I still thought nothing of it, I sort of went to see her to say goodbye.
"Anyway, the mission president left. That night we were fixing dinner, it was the three sisters. One of the sisters was making dinner, I was setting the table and the other sister was just in there. One of the sisters, that wasn’t with the pregnant girl said “so, I heard this sister was pregnant” and she was like “no, everybody thinks that but she’s not” and I was like “why does everybody think she’s pregnant, because even the doctors thought that, the doctor even told me in English that she was going to have a baby boy? Why would the doctor do that?”
"The sister that had been with her was like “How did you find out?” And I was like “I was at the hospital.” She was like “yeah, she did have a baby” and I was like no, stop lying to me, you’re lying too. Everybody lies! And she’s like no, she really had a baby, she had a baby boy. And I’m like oh my goodness, this is too weird, I knew she was going to have a baby boy, but I didn’t really process it, it was very weird.
"And so, I come to find out she had the baby, when she had the baby she wasn’t very happy about it, she said some things she probably shouldn’t have, and it took a while for her to acknowledge that she’d had the baby, so she left the next day with the mission president to the mission home.
"She sort of had to stay hidden so none of the members would know why she left. We couldn’t tell anybody why she left, like even the APs didn’t know why she left. She had to stay in the mission home for ten days because the baby couldn’t fly. She had to stay hidden, nobody knew she was there. And then she went home…and that’s the end of my story."
Happy Pioneer Day everybody!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Sisters are doin' it for themselves
Are all y'all on the edge of your seats, waiting to see what happened next? I know I am! Here is the penultimate installment of Joni's story! (Yes, that means there will be one more tomorrow; and yes, I could've cleaned up the writing a little, but I couldn't be bothered, and I think it still flows pretty well, and hopefully it will serve as a reminder that this is how most people talk. And um, I think that's like, ok.)
"So we walked for a while, and then she looked at me and was like, “what did the doctor tell you?” And I was like “I don’t know, we need to talk” and she was like, and then I told her “he said you were pregnant.” Then she was like, “Oh, I knew he would do that because when I was in the room with him I told him that you were American and he said he was going to go play a trick on you and tell you I was having a baby.”
"And I was like oh, man, I can’t believe the doctor would do that, that’s so mean, everything, that’s just like, wow, that would be a malpractice suit in the United States, she’s like “I know,” and so we went to lunch. And so I’m totally thinking she’s not pregnant, it’s just the doctor’s tricking me.
"So we went to lunch and my companion didn’t eat anything and, which was really weird, and she felt really sick, was just hurting. We went to a first discussion, and the lady we happened to be teaching the first discussion was pregnant, which was really sort of interesting. We ended up not teaching her a first discussion because she didn’t have time but the fact that she was pregnant brought on another discussion with my companion.
"We said, my companion said to me, “Do you think I look pregnant because why does everybody call me pregnant?” And I was like, “well I kind of understand because you’re really pretty skinny it’s just your stomach is sort of bigger and your ankles are always swollen. So I can see why people say you might look pregnant.” She said “no, no, no, no, no, if I was pregnant I’d look like that lady.” So she was sort of brainwashing me to make sure that I like, didn’t think she was pregnant.
"So I’m like okay, you don’t have to explain yourself, but anyway, so it was February 18, 2000, the year 2000, I remember the day, and it was one of the hottest days of the year, and we were walking to an appointment, and it was like dirt roads, plus these rock roads, and it was so hard to walk on, like my feet hurt and it was like two miles to our appointment. We taught the appointment and I remember just sweating, and I was almost falling asleep, it was so hot, but she just kept truckin’, she was a strong, determined girl.
"After that she’s like, I feel really sick. And so we walked probably another mile or two to another member’s house and she, the member was like “Here, here’s some medicine” and she took the medicine and to me that was such a big deal because in our mission you couldn’t take medicine from members. But she did. And then she also, the member’s like, “Do you want to lay down?” and so she laid down and went to sleep. And I was like whoa, she’s like, she’s breaking two mission rules, I can’t believe this, because she was a very good companion, she obeyed all the rules.
"So she slept and I sat there with the member, and she was like “what’s wrong?” I was like “she’s really sick, we went to the hospital earlier, but it was sort of crazy, the doctors didn’t know what they were talking about,” so I was really confused. Anyway, she woke up and came out and was like “you know what, I think I need to go to the hospital” and I was like, well, why do you want to go the hospital if you don’t like the doctor? I was really confused.
"But she said that it was okay, they were going to give her some saline, and the doctor told her to come back and get some saline. I thought that was strange from an American perspective but if you live in Brazil it’s not very strange if you just stop by the hospital and get some saline to charge you up. It’s very common, at least from what I experienced down there.
"So we’re going to the hospital and I was like, “Sister, I know there’s a rule in the mission that if you go to stay in the hospital you have to call the mission president to get permission.” And so, she’s like, she didn’t want to, but finally she agreed to call, and, so I was sort of excited because she was going to call the mission office, and I have no idea how to use the phone in Brazil. So she said she was going to call and I was hoping that she’d get the American Elders or the mission president and I could sneak on the phone and ask him like, what I should do, because I was sort of suspicious, I was just confused.
"So we went to the chapel, we called, and she’s on the phone, and I was like “who are you talking to?” She said it was one of the Brazilian Elders. So I was like dang it, how am I supposed to tell somebody about this in English. I couldn’t. She said it was okay, and we went to the hospital.
"We got to the hospital, and on the way there she’s like “okay, Sister, you’re going to stay with the member and I’m going to go to the hospital and you’re going to go proselyte for a couple of hours and then come back and pick me up because we can’t lose proselyting hours. And I was so confused because like, wait a second, the mission rule is you have to stay with your companion, I know that.
"And then she’s like, “oh the sisters do it all the time in my old area they would just leave me in the hospital and leave me with the doctors and go and work so we didn’t miss hours.” And I was all what? I was so confused and I was like, “Sister, I know this is a rule.” And she’s like, “well wait here.”
"She went outside and she came back in like five minutes because she wanted to find out how long it would be. And she also told me I shouldn’t go because if I went the doctors would just make fun of me and tease me that she was pregnant and having a baby and I shouldn’t go because they would just make fun of me.
"I was really confused, but she came back out, and she was like shaking, sweating, and I was like “no, Sister I have to go with you” and she was like “no you can’t” and the member was like we’ve got to get out of here, she’s crazy just leave her here. She was just, she was insane basically."
Will Joni ever become un-confused? Come back tomorrow and find out!
"So we walked for a while, and then she looked at me and was like, “what did the doctor tell you?” And I was like “I don’t know, we need to talk” and she was like, and then I told her “he said you were pregnant.” Then she was like, “Oh, I knew he would do that because when I was in the room with him I told him that you were American and he said he was going to go play a trick on you and tell you I was having a baby.”
"And I was like oh, man, I can’t believe the doctor would do that, that’s so mean, everything, that’s just like, wow, that would be a malpractice suit in the United States, she’s like “I know,” and so we went to lunch. And so I’m totally thinking she’s not pregnant, it’s just the doctor’s tricking me.
"So we went to lunch and my companion didn’t eat anything and, which was really weird, and she felt really sick, was just hurting. We went to a first discussion, and the lady we happened to be teaching the first discussion was pregnant, which was really sort of interesting. We ended up not teaching her a first discussion because she didn’t have time but the fact that she was pregnant brought on another discussion with my companion.
"We said, my companion said to me, “Do you think I look pregnant because why does everybody call me pregnant?” And I was like, “well I kind of understand because you’re really pretty skinny it’s just your stomach is sort of bigger and your ankles are always swollen. So I can see why people say you might look pregnant.” She said “no, no, no, no, no, if I was pregnant I’d look like that lady.” So she was sort of brainwashing me to make sure that I like, didn’t think she was pregnant.
"So I’m like okay, you don’t have to explain yourself, but anyway, so it was February 18, 2000, the year 2000, I remember the day, and it was one of the hottest days of the year, and we were walking to an appointment, and it was like dirt roads, plus these rock roads, and it was so hard to walk on, like my feet hurt and it was like two miles to our appointment. We taught the appointment and I remember just sweating, and I was almost falling asleep, it was so hot, but she just kept truckin’, she was a strong, determined girl.
"After that she’s like, I feel really sick. And so we walked probably another mile or two to another member’s house and she, the member was like “Here, here’s some medicine” and she took the medicine and to me that was such a big deal because in our mission you couldn’t take medicine from members. But she did. And then she also, the member’s like, “Do you want to lay down?” and so she laid down and went to sleep. And I was like whoa, she’s like, she’s breaking two mission rules, I can’t believe this, because she was a very good companion, she obeyed all the rules.
"So she slept and I sat there with the member, and she was like “what’s wrong?” I was like “she’s really sick, we went to the hospital earlier, but it was sort of crazy, the doctors didn’t know what they were talking about,” so I was really confused. Anyway, she woke up and came out and was like “you know what, I think I need to go to the hospital” and I was like, well, why do you want to go the hospital if you don’t like the doctor? I was really confused.
"But she said that it was okay, they were going to give her some saline, and the doctor told her to come back and get some saline. I thought that was strange from an American perspective but if you live in Brazil it’s not very strange if you just stop by the hospital and get some saline to charge you up. It’s very common, at least from what I experienced down there.
"So we’re going to the hospital and I was like, “Sister, I know there’s a rule in the mission that if you go to stay in the hospital you have to call the mission president to get permission.” And so, she’s like, she didn’t want to, but finally she agreed to call, and, so I was sort of excited because she was going to call the mission office, and I have no idea how to use the phone in Brazil. So she said she was going to call and I was hoping that she’d get the American Elders or the mission president and I could sneak on the phone and ask him like, what I should do, because I was sort of suspicious, I was just confused.
"So we went to the chapel, we called, and she’s on the phone, and I was like “who are you talking to?” She said it was one of the Brazilian Elders. So I was like dang it, how am I supposed to tell somebody about this in English. I couldn’t. She said it was okay, and we went to the hospital.
"We got to the hospital, and on the way there she’s like “okay, Sister, you’re going to stay with the member and I’m going to go to the hospital and you’re going to go proselyte for a couple of hours and then come back and pick me up because we can’t lose proselyting hours. And I was so confused because like, wait a second, the mission rule is you have to stay with your companion, I know that.
"And then she’s like, “oh the sisters do it all the time in my old area they would just leave me in the hospital and leave me with the doctors and go and work so we didn’t miss hours.” And I was all what? I was so confused and I was like, “Sister, I know this is a rule.” And she’s like, “well wait here.”
"She went outside and she came back in like five minutes because she wanted to find out how long it would be. And she also told me I shouldn’t go because if I went the doctors would just make fun of me and tease me that she was pregnant and having a baby and I shouldn’t go because they would just make fun of me.
"I was really confused, but she came back out, and she was like shaking, sweating, and I was like “no, Sister I have to go with you” and she was like “no you can’t” and the member was like we’ve got to get out of here, she’s crazy just leave her here. She was just, she was insane basically."
Will Joni ever become un-confused? Come back tomorrow and find out!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Hump day, slump day...baby bump day?
I've been going through my stuff in preparation for my upcoming move, and it turns out I've been a bit of a pack rat over my last seven years in Provo. Among the relics I've discovered: the tights from my costume shown in the previous post, the receipt from the time I rented Zoolander (I have no problems with linking to my previous posts, Joey), some of my amazing song parodies that I've written for various ward talent shows and FHE musicals over the years, and a $5 bill in an old birthday card.
I also found a bunch of old floppy disks, containing most of the papers I wrote in my undergrad days. I got an external floppy drive from my brother and sister for my birthday (along with "Earl Weaver Baseball," because my siblings read my blog), so I've been able to look back and see how my writing has improved over the years (not much; I was really good back then too).
The paper I was most interested in finding was my final project from my folklore class--a collection of stories, songs, urban legends, traditions, etc., about sister missionaries. I chose this topic because I had a great centerpiece for it: a coworker had once told me the story of one of her mission companions having a baby while in the field. I've mentioned this story to several people recently (although I'm unsure if any of them read my blog) but couldn't remember all the details. Now, though, I have it again, so I think I'll post it here in it's entirety. It's long, though, so I think I'll serialize it.
Here, then, is part one of my former coworker Joni Miller's story (I wouldn't be surprised if Corina and Anna know Joni, but again, I don't know if they're among my readers). According to my paper, it was "transcribed from audio cassette with 'um's, pauses, and many 'like's, 'and so's, and 'anyway's removed."
"Okay, I was a missionary in Brazil. My second companion out in the field, there’s an interesting story about her, I guess you could say. I had only been out in the field for two months, I was a greenie with my American companion and my American companion left, so I was left with her, this new companion, and all other Brazilian Sisters [in her house].
"Every time I’d go out with her people would say, “Gee, you look pregnant” to her. She was a little bigger but nothing bad at all, and I’d always be defensive because, she sort of looked pregnant but, hello, she’s a sister missionary and I didn’t think anything of it, so I’d be like “No, she’s not” and get mad at the, sometimes I’d get mad and frustrated at the people in Brazil that would judge her.
"Anyway, so, one day we woke up and she, I remember her being really tired, and she stayed in bed, which is really rare for her because usually she’d get out of bed and study, and this day she didn’t she just studied in bed and she was sleeping so I thought man, she must be really sick. So she got up and she asked if she could borrow one of my skirts which I was fine with, and she, as we were leaving she was like “we’ve got to go call the doctor, because I feel really sick” so I was like “okay” and it was a common thing because she was sick before with the other sisters that she’d been companions with, sort of common for her to be sick but we thought nothing of it.
"Anyway, she, I thought it was because of the food because the food down there is really fatty, I guess, really sticks to you I guess. When she was leaving I remember walking out the door and I looked at my dress and I was like “Oh, man, she already sweated in my dress” because in Brazil you sweat all the time and little did I know that that was her water breaking.
"And so, we went and called the doctor, and she talked to the doctor and she told me, like, “okay, we have to go to the hospital,” and I didn’t think anything of it ‘cause that’s where the doctor was doing his rounds. When we went to the hospital we went to the maternity ward and I still didn’t think anything of it because I knew she was going to see a female, or a ob-gyn kind of doctor. So I was like “oh, no big deal”. And she was very adamant to tell me that lots of people stay in the maternity ward, even men. And I was like “okay, I don’t care” and so the doctor came and saw her and brought her into a room and I was hoping I could go in her room with her because I just wanted to hear what the doctor had to say but she wouldn’t let me.
"So anyway I stayed there for a while and the doctor came out and said “how do you know that girl?” And I was like, “well, she’s my friend.” And he said, “They’re getting her ready to have a baby.” And I was like, “No, no, no, no, you are wrong, because she’s not pregnant, you’re wrong” and he was like, okay, and he looked at me strangely and I was thinking maybe I’m wrong, so I went and I, I remember thinking well, maybe there’s a different word to the word gravida, which means pregnant.
"So I looked it up in my English-Portuguese dictionary and I saw that the only meaning was pregnant! So I was like what!? And so, the doctor came back and he talked to me in English and he said “Okay, we’re getting her ready to have a baby boy” in English and I was like whoa and I’m like “no, no, no, no” and right then, like, what goes through your mind, like call the mission president, and then like, it was a mistake, like maybe the doctor’s wrong, maybe she’s wrong like, maybe she didn’t know it’s like Jerry Springer or Ricki Lake.
"And so, I said “Can I talk to her?” And he said “Yeah, come into her room.” So I walked to the room and as soon as we got to the room she ripped open the door and she’s like, she’s dressed and she’s runnin’ out and she grabbed me by the arm and she was pulling me out of the hospital and screaming “This doctor’s crazy, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” all this stuff, and I in my broken Portuguese was like, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry” to everyone because she’s making this big scene in the hospital.
"So we left the hospital and I’m freaked out because I don’t know if everybody in, like all the doctors lie and stuff like that, or if the doctors aren’t smart enough or if my companion’s lying, so I’m really confused."
I'm going to take a pregnant pause here (ha!), but I'll post more of the story tomorrow.
I also found a bunch of old floppy disks, containing most of the papers I wrote in my undergrad days. I got an external floppy drive from my brother and sister for my birthday (along with "Earl Weaver Baseball," because my siblings read my blog), so I've been able to look back and see how my writing has improved over the years (not much; I was really good back then too).
The paper I was most interested in finding was my final project from my folklore class--a collection of stories, songs, urban legends, traditions, etc., about sister missionaries. I chose this topic because I had a great centerpiece for it: a coworker had once told me the story of one of her mission companions having a baby while in the field. I've mentioned this story to several people recently (although I'm unsure if any of them read my blog) but couldn't remember all the details. Now, though, I have it again, so I think I'll post it here in it's entirety. It's long, though, so I think I'll serialize it.
Here, then, is part one of my former coworker Joni Miller's story (I wouldn't be surprised if Corina and Anna know Joni, but again, I don't know if they're among my readers). According to my paper, it was "transcribed from audio cassette with 'um's, pauses, and many 'like's, 'and so's, and 'anyway's removed."
"Okay, I was a missionary in Brazil. My second companion out in the field, there’s an interesting story about her, I guess you could say. I had only been out in the field for two months, I was a greenie with my American companion and my American companion left, so I was left with her, this new companion, and all other Brazilian Sisters [in her house].
"Every time I’d go out with her people would say, “Gee, you look pregnant” to her. She was a little bigger but nothing bad at all, and I’d always be defensive because, she sort of looked pregnant but, hello, she’s a sister missionary and I didn’t think anything of it, so I’d be like “No, she’s not” and get mad at the, sometimes I’d get mad and frustrated at the people in Brazil that would judge her.
"Anyway, so, one day we woke up and she, I remember her being really tired, and she stayed in bed, which is really rare for her because usually she’d get out of bed and study, and this day she didn’t she just studied in bed and she was sleeping so I thought man, she must be really sick. So she got up and she asked if she could borrow one of my skirts which I was fine with, and she, as we were leaving she was like “we’ve got to go call the doctor, because I feel really sick” so I was like “okay” and it was a common thing because she was sick before with the other sisters that she’d been companions with, sort of common for her to be sick but we thought nothing of it.
"Anyway, she, I thought it was because of the food because the food down there is really fatty, I guess, really sticks to you I guess. When she was leaving I remember walking out the door and I looked at my dress and I was like “Oh, man, she already sweated in my dress” because in Brazil you sweat all the time and little did I know that that was her water breaking.
"And so, we went and called the doctor, and she talked to the doctor and she told me, like, “okay, we have to go to the hospital,” and I didn’t think anything of it ‘cause that’s where the doctor was doing his rounds. When we went to the hospital we went to the maternity ward and I still didn’t think anything of it because I knew she was going to see a female, or a ob-gyn kind of doctor. So I was like “oh, no big deal”. And she was very adamant to tell me that lots of people stay in the maternity ward, even men. And I was like “okay, I don’t care” and so the doctor came and saw her and brought her into a room and I was hoping I could go in her room with her because I just wanted to hear what the doctor had to say but she wouldn’t let me.
"So anyway I stayed there for a while and the doctor came out and said “how do you know that girl?” And I was like, “well, she’s my friend.” And he said, “They’re getting her ready to have a baby.” And I was like, “No, no, no, no, you are wrong, because she’s not pregnant, you’re wrong” and he was like, okay, and he looked at me strangely and I was thinking maybe I’m wrong, so I went and I, I remember thinking well, maybe there’s a different word to the word gravida, which means pregnant.
"So I looked it up in my English-Portuguese dictionary and I saw that the only meaning was pregnant! So I was like what!? And so, the doctor came back and he talked to me in English and he said “Okay, we’re getting her ready to have a baby boy” in English and I was like whoa and I’m like “no, no, no, no” and right then, like, what goes through your mind, like call the mission president, and then like, it was a mistake, like maybe the doctor’s wrong, maybe she’s wrong like, maybe she didn’t know it’s like Jerry Springer or Ricki Lake.
"And so, I said “Can I talk to her?” And he said “Yeah, come into her room.” So I walked to the room and as soon as we got to the room she ripped open the door and she’s like, she’s dressed and she’s runnin’ out and she grabbed me by the arm and she was pulling me out of the hospital and screaming “This doctor’s crazy, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” all this stuff, and I in my broken Portuguese was like, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry” to everyone because she’s making this big scene in the hospital.
"So we left the hospital and I’m freaked out because I don’t know if everybody in, like all the doctors lie and stuff like that, or if the doctors aren’t smart enough or if my companion’s lying, so I’m really confused."
I'm going to take a pregnant pause here (ha!), but I'll post more of the story tomorrow.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Girth-am City
The Dark Knight opens today, and I'm pretty excited to see it tonight. Batman is my favorite movie franchise, but I'm not the type of fan to wear a costume to a midnight showing. I had no problem donning the tights for Halloween '03, however, even though it looks like I ate Robin.
Even though I look like George Clooney, and I've really enjoyed every non-Clooney Batman movie that's been made in my lifetime, when it comes to costumes, the Adam West version is clearly the way to go. A friend pointed out that I have no shark repellent on my utility belt, but other than that I think I pull it off pretty well--and even though my physique isn't great, this doesn't look good on anybody.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Shake the ring ropes like a Polaroid picture
As promised, here are some pictures from WWE's "Monday Night Raw" at the E Center last month. Most of the pictures were taken by my brother Derek (his turned out better because he has a better camera, and he had better angles because he's several inches taller and was on the aisle. But I still had a really good view).
The ring, a few minutes before the event got under way. It's like Christmas Eve! Derek dared me to jump the rail and see how many times I could bounce off the ropes before security escorted me from the arena. But we had just been to Cracker Barrel, and I was feeling a little sluggish.
You may not be able to read the sign, but it says "Polygamy 3:16," playing off the late-90s "Austin 3:16" phenomenon, which of course is a reference to the "John 3:16" posters often seen at sporting events. You'll see several clever posters at most wrestling events, which is even more impressive when you see who's holding them up. As I mentioned in the last post, the majority of the audience is rather hick-ish (plenty of people from other races were there, so I can't just call them white trash). Unfortunately, neither of us took good pictures of the crowd.
This is from one of the two "dark matches," where the wrestlers who are either too new or too crappy to be involved in any televised storylines earn their money. Amazingly, the match ended just in time for the broadcast to go on the air. How convenient.
That's John Cena, one of the top WWE superstars today. See the shirt he's wearing? I bought one just like it at the concession stands. It was grossly overpriced, but unlike 75% of the audience, I didn't buy any $9 beers, so I had just enough cash. (Seriously, they were charging $9 for a cup of beer. Crazy.)
Cena ended up in a match against Umaga, "the Samoan bulldozer." He prevailed, despite this rocky moment early on. This was a picture I took--I got much better shots of the "Titantron" video monitor than I did of the actual action going on in the ring.
The biggest ovation of the night went to Ric Flair, who made a surprise appearance--his first since his "retirement party" three months earlier. Woooooo!
I'm amazed that Ric has stayed "retired" as long as he has. Even though he's nearly 60, no pro wrestler ever really retires--they keep wrestling until injuries force them to stop, or in the case of far too many of them, they die. Literally dozens of wrestlers I've watched over the years have died relatively young, often due to suicide or drug-related reasons. It's quite sad, actually.
This is Vince McMahon, chairman of WWE and, more than any other single person, the man responsible for those untimely deaths. Here he is on the stage about to give someone lots of money as part of "McMahon's Million Dollar Mania," a publicity stunt that ran for a few weeks. I didn't get any. Mr. McMahon is a heartless, savvy businessman who's brought me a ton of entertainment over the years. I have a love-hate relationship with Vince.
At one point Vince brought out Hacksaw Jim Duggan, another 50-something wrassler who refuses to quit the biz, to help him give away some of his cold, hard cash. Hooooo! USA! USA!
My favorite picture from the whole night. Hacksaw always carries his trusty 2x4 to the ring with him; on this night he dressed it up, and here it looks like he's a walking piece of wood. It's a considerable improvement, actually.
One of many ways Vince McMahon has made today's pro wrestling way different from the stuff your dads used to watch: this "summertime bikini showdown" (or similarly smutty segments) between six of the WWE's "Divas" is a regular occurence. Derek took a LOT of pictures of this part of the show.
This is Hardcore Holly, who reminds me of John McCain (what do you think?). By the way, his real name is Bob Holly; he's not just an extremely roided-up woman.
All of the Divas have the occasional match, but it's usually just an excuse to have them on TV wearing very little clothing. This is Mickie James, one of the few who actually has some wrestling training and ability. She's not bad-looking, either.
My favorite picture that I took. This is Triple H, the man who shared his Juicy Fruit with me and my friend all those years ago. He has one of the cooler entrances in the WWE. (When he first started wrestling, he played the character of a blue-blood, stuck-up snob named Hunter Hearst-Helmsley. His character is now a tough guy, so he goes by Triple H, which is kind of weird. He's also known as the Game, the Cerebral Assassin, and the King of Kings. Most wrestlers have multiple monikers, and yes, some of them are quite ridiculous or even sacriligious).
"Hey! You in the second row! Give me back my gum!"
The night's main event pitted WWE Champion Triple H against Intercontinental Champion Chris Jericho, one of my all-time favorite wrestlers (the IC title is a lower tier belt, sort of like comparing a AAA team (not Triple H) to a major league baseball team). When I first started watching wrestling, this kind of champ vs. champ pairing would've been a really big deal, but now it happens all the time. In the late '90s, when WWF and WCW were involved in bitter competition for the wrestling audience, both companies kept upping the ante, to the point that each week they were booking matches of the caliber that used to be reserved for the five annual pay-per-views. Overall, it's not as good as it used to be.
Here's Jericho and his protege Lance Cade, after the show went off the air, yelling at some fans who threw stuff at them. It's the kind of behavior that earns wrestling fans their redneck reputation, and also the kind of thing that might make WWE hesitant to come back again. But they perform in New York all the time, so chances are good that I'll get to do a post like that again sometime in the future. Don't worry, I'll give you advance warning. Thanks for bearing with me through my wrestling homage.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The Doublemint twins would've made a great tag team
It was bad enough that I missed last Saturday's free Bon Jovi concert in Central Park. (Why couldn't you wait until August, Jon? Why?) But I was also denied an opportunity to see a nearly-as-awesome concert the night before.
Journey, Heart and Cheap Trick were playing USANA in West Valley, and my friends Rhiannon, Adrienne and I decided semi-last minute to go, hoping to get a good deal from scalpers. The concert started at 7:00, but thanks to unforeseen traffic delays, come 7:45 we were still eight blocks away from the venue entrance in a barely-moving line of cars. Figuring we wouldn't get in until at least 8:30, and since we hadn't actually bought tickets yet, we glumly gave up on our quest (could've used journey there, but that pun is too weak even for me).
Still wanting to hang out with white trash, we headed for the local drive-in. I was unaware that we still had drive-in theaters in Utah. I think the last movie I saw at a drive-in was Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.
But if you really want to see a lot of mullets and guys in sleeveless shirts, there's one event that tops even a Journey concert or a movie you watch from a lawn chair in the back of a pickup truck, and that's pro wrestling.
In about six months, I will reach the 20th anniversary of the first time I watched the WWF. I'll probably run a week's worth of wrestling blog posts or something to commemorate the occasion.
Last month, the WWE (the new name since losing a lawsuit against the World Wildlife Fund in 2002) came to the E Center, and my younger brother Derek and I were there. I'm surprised I've waited this long to write about it.
I've been to live wrestling events probably at least a dozen times. This one was televised, so everyone sat down during the commercial breaks, then we'd all stand back up when the show resumed. I kept feeling like I was sticking to my seat, but whenever I examined it or my pants I couldn't find any sticky substances.
It turns out I wasn't looking far enough down the leg of my jeans. As I got out of my bro's car at the end of the night, I saw that I had in fact sat in gum. Fortunately, lots of picking and scrubbing, an application of WD-40, more scrubbing, and two trips through the washing machine later, my pants are none the worse for wear.
I've never been much of a gum-chewer myself. The few kinds of gum I've actually enjoyed eating have been attractive more for their novelty value than their taste: a wad of Big League Chew added some legitimacy to my backyard baseball games against my older brother, Bazooka Joe provided comics and fortunes along with the gum, Bubble Tape allowed me to measure how many feet of gum I could cram into my mouth at once, and the gum that came in packs of Topps stained one of my new cards and helped me know what it would taste like to eat cardboard. And yes, when I was a kid, I was a gum swallower.
Big Red is the only gum name that would also make a good name for a WWE superstar. Most of the new gum brands would make good American Gladiator names, though. Eclipse. Orbit. Stride. Ice Breaker. Five. Well, not so much that last one...but it would fit in on my new game show, "Gladiator, Gum or Boy Band?"
Now that I'm done trying out my new stand-up material, I can tell you about a much happier gum-related wrestling experience (I'll wait until the next post to put up a photo essay of last month's event).
Back in the summer of '97, my best friend Jerrett and I (we actually became best friends through our WWF fandom) decided to bring dates to a wrestling event at the Delta Center. The practice of elaborate, creative but absentee date-asking made it difficult for me to just pick up the phone, call a girl and ask her out (I actually still have problems with that). I knew several weeks in advance who I wanted to invite, but I waited, and ultimately sent Jenny Erickson a postcard from Missouri, where my family was vacationing. Amazingly, she agreed to go, and thanks to e-mail, when I'm too afraid to call a girl I've never had to use the postal service to get a date again.
We had second row floor seats, the closest I've ever been to a wrestling ring. Our dates didn't know what to think; overall, I think they had a good time, and I'm pretty sure they've never been to a wrestling match on a date, before or since, but they definitely didn't like the Godwinns, because they thought some of the hog farmers' spittle might land on us.
They actually weren't too far off: during the Mankind-Triple H match, the action spilled outside the ring. Mankind gained the advantage, and with HHH prone against the guardrail, the masked superstar punched him in the face. Hunter Hearst-Helmsley's head snapped back, and his gum flew out of his mouth. It slid underneath the front row and settled on top of the "It's Hoover Time!" poster I had made (a reference to the wrestler Vader, replacing his name with my high school nickname, which I may explain the origins of in this space someday--and yes, I brought a poster with me on a date).
Jerrett had purchased a pair of Bret "Hitman" Hart's signature wraparound sunglasses earlier in the evening, and he quickly scooped up the gum in the plastic wrapper they came in, and he had himself an unexpected souvenir.
Which is the bigger surprise: that I never went out with Jenny again, that Jerrett did go out with Anjuli again, or that Jerrett's mom threw the gum away while he was at Ricks College? Oh, if only we knew about eBay back then.
Journey, Heart and Cheap Trick were playing USANA in West Valley, and my friends Rhiannon, Adrienne and I decided semi-last minute to go, hoping to get a good deal from scalpers. The concert started at 7:00, but thanks to unforeseen traffic delays, come 7:45 we were still eight blocks away from the venue entrance in a barely-moving line of cars. Figuring we wouldn't get in until at least 8:30, and since we hadn't actually bought tickets yet, we glumly gave up on our quest (could've used journey there, but that pun is too weak even for me).
Still wanting to hang out with white trash, we headed for the local drive-in. I was unaware that we still had drive-in theaters in Utah. I think the last movie I saw at a drive-in was Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.
But if you really want to see a lot of mullets and guys in sleeveless shirts, there's one event that tops even a Journey concert or a movie you watch from a lawn chair in the back of a pickup truck, and that's pro wrestling.
In about six months, I will reach the 20th anniversary of the first time I watched the WWF. I'll probably run a week's worth of wrestling blog posts or something to commemorate the occasion.
Last month, the WWE (the new name since losing a lawsuit against the World Wildlife Fund in 2002) came to the E Center, and my younger brother Derek and I were there. I'm surprised I've waited this long to write about it.
I've been to live wrestling events probably at least a dozen times. This one was televised, so everyone sat down during the commercial breaks, then we'd all stand back up when the show resumed. I kept feeling like I was sticking to my seat, but whenever I examined it or my pants I couldn't find any sticky substances.
It turns out I wasn't looking far enough down the leg of my jeans. As I got out of my bro's car at the end of the night, I saw that I had in fact sat in gum. Fortunately, lots of picking and scrubbing, an application of WD-40, more scrubbing, and two trips through the washing machine later, my pants are none the worse for wear.
I've never been much of a gum-chewer myself. The few kinds of gum I've actually enjoyed eating have been attractive more for their novelty value than their taste: a wad of Big League Chew added some legitimacy to my backyard baseball games against my older brother, Bazooka Joe provided comics and fortunes along with the gum, Bubble Tape allowed me to measure how many feet of gum I could cram into my mouth at once, and the gum that came in packs of Topps stained one of my new cards and helped me know what it would taste like to eat cardboard. And yes, when I was a kid, I was a gum swallower.
Big Red is the only gum name that would also make a good name for a WWE superstar. Most of the new gum brands would make good American Gladiator names, though. Eclipse. Orbit. Stride. Ice Breaker. Five. Well, not so much that last one...but it would fit in on my new game show, "Gladiator, Gum or Boy Band?"
Now that I'm done trying out my new stand-up material, I can tell you about a much happier gum-related wrestling experience (I'll wait until the next post to put up a photo essay of last month's event).
Back in the summer of '97, my best friend Jerrett and I (we actually became best friends through our WWF fandom) decided to bring dates to a wrestling event at the Delta Center. The practice of elaborate, creative but absentee date-asking made it difficult for me to just pick up the phone, call a girl and ask her out (I actually still have problems with that). I knew several weeks in advance who I wanted to invite, but I waited, and ultimately sent Jenny Erickson a postcard from Missouri, where my family was vacationing. Amazingly, she agreed to go, and thanks to e-mail, when I'm too afraid to call a girl I've never had to use the postal service to get a date again.
We had second row floor seats, the closest I've ever been to a wrestling ring. Our dates didn't know what to think; overall, I think they had a good time, and I'm pretty sure they've never been to a wrestling match on a date, before or since, but they definitely didn't like the Godwinns, because they thought some of the hog farmers' spittle might land on us.
They actually weren't too far off: during the Mankind-Triple H match, the action spilled outside the ring. Mankind gained the advantage, and with HHH prone against the guardrail, the masked superstar punched him in the face. Hunter Hearst-Helmsley's head snapped back, and his gum flew out of his mouth. It slid underneath the front row and settled on top of the "It's Hoover Time!" poster I had made (a reference to the wrestler Vader, replacing his name with my high school nickname, which I may explain the origins of in this space someday--and yes, I brought a poster with me on a date).
Jerrett had purchased a pair of Bret "Hitman" Hart's signature wraparound sunglasses earlier in the evening, and he quickly scooped up the gum in the plastic wrapper they came in, and he had himself an unexpected souvenir.
Which is the bigger surprise: that I never went out with Jenny again, that Jerrett did go out with Anjuli again, or that Jerrett's mom threw the gum away while he was at Ricks College? Oh, if only we knew about eBay back then.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
See you in the funny papers
If you're curious about the origin of that old-timey expression, here's a good resource.
I got a lot of comments on my previous, comic-filled post, and I wish to make it clear that I wasn't seeking pity or feeling sorry for myself or anything. I just wanted to preserve the humor in those cartoons before they got too yellow and faded--which is also the purpose of this post.
As of last Thursday, I am now unemployed, in preparation for my return to New York in a few weeks (I'm hoping to rejoin the workforce as soon as possible after I get there, but I don't have a job yet). On my last day, I cleaned up my work area and packed my personal effects, which included the only comic I have ever used as a decoration other than those pictured in last week's post. I got it from a coworker's Dilbert calendar back when I worked for Marie Osmond, and kept it all through the three-plus years I spent at Backstage Library Works, the longest I've ever been at one job. Here it is:
I got a lot of comments on my previous, comic-filled post, and I wish to make it clear that I wasn't seeking pity or feeling sorry for myself or anything. I just wanted to preserve the humor in those cartoons before they got too yellow and faded--which is also the purpose of this post.
As of last Thursday, I am now unemployed, in preparation for my return to New York in a few weeks (I'm hoping to rejoin the workforce as soon as possible after I get there, but I don't have a job yet). On my last day, I cleaned up my work area and packed my personal effects, which included the only comic I have ever used as a decoration other than those pictured in last week's post. I got it from a coworker's Dilbert calendar back when I worked for Marie Osmond, and kept it all through the three-plus years I spent at Backstage Library Works, the longest I've ever been at one job. Here it is:
Isn't it great? It still makes me laugh, nearly four years after I first saw it. I'm hoping whatever job I end up with doesn't leave me feeling like Dilbert.
I actually don't read the funnies that often, especially since the greats like Far Side and Calvin were retired. I used to like Fox Trot and Sherman's Lagoon back in high school.
However, my best piece of "investigative journalism" from my days as a reporter for the BYU paper involved comic strips. When The Daily Universe stopped running Rubes, a Far Side-esque single panel strip, I stopped at nothing to find out why. (Holy crap! In searching for that article, I found out that I'm now a Wikipedia reference! How cool is that?) The only other piece I wrote that could've been considered investigative was when I reported on the practice of BYU students making Las Vegas gambling junkets--and I only wrote that because I hoped it would inspire some passionate letters to the editor. As everyone knows, the DU editorial page is much funnier than any comic.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I'm no chick magnet
A couple of things happened last week that reminded me of my thus far life-long bachelorhood. One was July 4th, which marked the seventh anniversary of my return from my mission in Scotland (yes, I've made many jokes about it being my "Independence Day" from the strict missionary lifestyle). I don't feel like I'm too old to still be single, but my mom does, and as each year passes I remember assuming while on my mission that I would be one of those guys who gets married within a year of coming home.
The other thing was more random--I was at Macey's (the grocery store, not the department store) a few days earlier, and I saw this weird guy who had been in my social dance class way back in 2002 (one of many places where I failed to find a wife; I was too much of a wuss to ask Kelli Towers out). I've seen him around Provo occasionally ever since, but last week was the first time I've seen him with a wife and child. Within a few seconds I had three thoughts: 1) good for him, he looks happy; 2) if even someone as strange and semi-creepy can get married, then surely I can find someone who wants to marry me; and 3) if even this weirdo can find a wife, what's wrong with me?
I actually have those last two thoughts (or similar manifestations) quite often, though the more positive version occurs much more frequently. I would like to get married, and would rather it happened in the near future rather than the distant future, but I don't stress about it. Maybe I should stress about it more; I would probably date more often. But, as with most things, I don't take it too seriously. In fact, here are some comics about relationships that I can kind of relate to which I've had up on my refrigerator for the last few years. They're usually clumped together, in a way that's kind of like a story, but I'll show them one at a time so I can comment on them too. Hopefully you'll be able to read them.
The other thing was more random--I was at Macey's (the grocery store, not the department store) a few days earlier, and I saw this weird guy who had been in my social dance class way back in 2002 (one of many places where I failed to find a wife; I was too much of a wuss to ask Kelli Towers out). I've seen him around Provo occasionally ever since, but last week was the first time I've seen him with a wife and child. Within a few seconds I had three thoughts: 1) good for him, he looks happy; 2) if even someone as strange and semi-creepy can get married, then surely I can find someone who wants to marry me; and 3) if even this weirdo can find a wife, what's wrong with me?
I actually have those last two thoughts (or similar manifestations) quite often, though the more positive version occurs much more frequently. I would like to get married, and would rather it happened in the near future rather than the distant future, but I don't stress about it. Maybe I should stress about it more; I would probably date more often. But, as with most things, I don't take it too seriously. In fact, here are some comics about relationships that I can kind of relate to which I've had up on my refrigerator for the last few years. They're usually clumped together, in a way that's kind of like a story, but I'll show them one at a time so I can comment on them too. Hopefully you'll be able to read them.
This is something I worry about. When I do eventually get married, I assume I'll be getting someone out of my league in the looks department; almost every guy does. But I don't want someone who's "blah." In fact, if I were to make a list of attributes I want in a spouse, after the items relating to moral standards and values, the first one would probably be "spunky" or some similar word. I need someone who is feisty, sarcastic, and can get my jokes.
If I was more humble, or maybe even just more thoughtful, this might worry me too, but I have never considered myself a "blah" person. I hope I'm not wrong. But it's still a good representation of the frustration that arises from failed attempts to find someone you like who also likes you.
Dilbert is basically a grown-up Charlie Brown, wouldn't you say? After too much frustration like that referred to above, I find myself in an apathetic state similar to Dilbert's. Plus he's watching TV, which is probably more responsible for my lackluster dating record than any other single thing.
So to sum up: Dating is hard. I'd like to be married someday. I get bitter/discouraged about it far less often than the average 28-year-old single Mormon guy. And those comic strips are funny.
Here's a bonus picture of some of the other magnets on my fridge.
I've got some cool Scotland magnets (do you like how I've come full circle here? I'm good), and the Laugh Out Loud one is pretty good (well done, Kenny). The four corners have arrows, presumably pointing to stuff the magnets are holding up, with clever accompanying phrases like "don't forget," "precious," "what the?" and "knew each other for 3 weeks."
But I'm sure that, like me, you're wondering why I have a magnet showing a guy throwing away a swastika. I have no idea. It was left by a former roommate, a guy at least as weird as the one I saw at Macey's. I'm just hoping it's not actually a drawing of a guy pulling Nazi paraphernalia out of the trash.
So whether it's women, magnets, or trying to figure out how long that leftover potato salad has been in there, I always have a mystery waiting for me when I go to the fridge.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Gosh, I love America!
A few times, I've linked to the old blog for my comedy troupe, for which I was the primary writer. Recently, the web site became inaccessible, but luckily I can still access the original posts. To preserve them, I'm going to occasionally put them up on here. In my oh-so-humble opinion, most of them are pretty good; they ought to be considering how much time I spent on them. I seriously spent, on average, about two hours on each of the two dozen or so posts on that blog. There isn't two hours worth of enjoyment in each one, but they are a little entertaining.
To start things off, here's my first-ever foray into the world of blogging (not counting a brief introductory post). I figured that would be a good one to rerun first, especially since it mentions Stadium of Fire, which is happening tonight. Happy Independence Day, everybody!
While driving from Salt Lake to Provo on Saturday, I was passed on the freeway by a Hummer limo. I figure the chances were pretty good that inside was Taylor Hicks, the American Idol, on his way to perform at Stadium of Fire.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm an Idol fan. I hate Ryan Seacrest, I find the judges' comments predictable and lacking substance, and a lot of the performances are boring. But there's something strangely addicting about the drama, plus they have those ridiculous Ford music videos that the contestants will regret for the rest of their careers.
In LOL, we have an American Idol-style game that we dust off once in a while. The last time we did it in a show, Courtney was playing a Simon Cowell-type judge, and after one of the "contestants" finished their song, Courtney offered the following critique: "I'd rather play leapfrog with a unicorn than listen to you sing again." Hilarious. It was my second-favorite Courtney moment ever in a show (#1 deserves its own post at some point).
I bring all this up because...several friends and family members have been calling me Taylor lately, because I bear a resemblance to the leader of the Soul Patrol. That's fine with me, since People magazine, that bastion of journalism, recently called him America's hottest bachelor. When I was in high school, a lot of people would tell me I looked like George Clooney; as I got fatter, it was more like, "Hey, you look like Jay Leno"! It's good to have a doppelganger closer to my age for a change, even if he does have gray hair.
Most people I know remind me of someone else, famous or otherwise. Sometimes it's because of their looks, sometimes it's their personality, and sometimes I have no idea what triggers the comparisons. Probably the weirdest one: whenever I see Reese Witherspoon, I'm somehow reminded of Robin Givens, the actress from "Head of the Class" (ask your older siblings) who was married to Mike Tyson.
That being said, of course some of my fellow LOL-ers make me think of other people. Here's some that remind me of celebrities, for various reasons (you can probably find pictures of them somewhere on the website and see how crazy I am):
Allan--Conan O'Brien
Kenny--Seth Meyers (the guy on SNL who played John Kerry)
Lauren--Natalie Portman
Mark Bohn (LOL alum)--Ashton Kutcher
Erica--Winona Ryder
Jared--the elf/dentist from "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"
Andrew--Brad Pitt (but that was a no-brainer)
So, when you see us on stage, who do we remind you of? Or are our shows so engrossing that your minds have no chance to stray? Let us know.
Soul Patrol!
To start things off, here's my first-ever foray into the world of blogging (not counting a brief introductory post). I figured that would be a good one to rerun first, especially since it mentions Stadium of Fire, which is happening tonight. Happy Independence Day, everybody!
While driving from Salt Lake to Provo on Saturday, I was passed on the freeway by a Hummer limo. I figure the chances were pretty good that inside was Taylor Hicks, the American Idol, on his way to perform at Stadium of Fire.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm an Idol fan. I hate Ryan Seacrest, I find the judges' comments predictable and lacking substance, and a lot of the performances are boring. But there's something strangely addicting about the drama, plus they have those ridiculous Ford music videos that the contestants will regret for the rest of their careers.
In LOL, we have an American Idol-style game that we dust off once in a while. The last time we did it in a show, Courtney was playing a Simon Cowell-type judge, and after one of the "contestants" finished their song, Courtney offered the following critique: "I'd rather play leapfrog with a unicorn than listen to you sing again." Hilarious. It was my second-favorite Courtney moment ever in a show (#1 deserves its own post at some point).
I bring all this up because...several friends and family members have been calling me Taylor lately, because I bear a resemblance to the leader of the Soul Patrol. That's fine with me, since People magazine, that bastion of journalism, recently called him America's hottest bachelor. When I was in high school, a lot of people would tell me I looked like George Clooney; as I got fatter, it was more like, "Hey, you look like Jay Leno"! It's good to have a doppelganger closer to my age for a change, even if he does have gray hair.
Most people I know remind me of someone else, famous or otherwise. Sometimes it's because of their looks, sometimes it's their personality, and sometimes I have no idea what triggers the comparisons. Probably the weirdest one: whenever I see Reese Witherspoon, I'm somehow reminded of Robin Givens, the actress from "Head of the Class" (ask your older siblings) who was married to Mike Tyson.
That being said, of course some of my fellow LOL-ers make me think of other people. Here's some that remind me of celebrities, for various reasons (you can probably find pictures of them somewhere on the website and see how crazy I am):
Allan--Conan O'Brien
Kenny--Seth Meyers (the guy on SNL who played John Kerry)
Lauren--Natalie Portman
Mark Bohn (LOL alum)--Ashton Kutcher
Erica--Winona Ryder
Jared--the elf/dentist from "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"
Andrew--Brad Pitt (but that was a no-brainer)
So, when you see us on stage, who do we remind you of? Or are our shows so engrossing that your minds have no chance to stray? Let us know.
Soul Patrol!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
More potty humor
I know I have at least one Ivy League alum among my readership (hi Tamara!), and it's conceivable there are others (President Bush? Elisabeth Shue? Stephen Colbert? who knows), but in general mine is more of an everyman blog. Not blue collar, common man, but everyman.
I come to you regular folks today with good news, although it's something you likely already suspected: you're just as smart as people who go to Ivy League schools. My proof: the graffiti in the stalls of at least one bathroom at Columbia University is no different than what you'd find at Florida State or Texas Tech.
(Quick side note: while Columbia students seem to possess average intelligence, whoever designed this particular bathroom is a genius. In an isolated area of the basement of one of Columbia's minor libraries, there were nine stalls and seven urinals! Compare that to the three or four stalls and two urinals--one always out of order--in the heaviest traffic area of the Wilkinson Center, the busiest building at BYU. Plus, the toilets in the stalls are ridiculously powerful--not even I could clog them. Anyway...)
Admittedly, some of the graffiti was academic in nature. In one stall, someone had written "You are not your GPA." Beneath it someone else had scrawled, "But it counts." And some messages indicated varying levels of social awareness, from "stop snitchin'" to "Male circumcision is mutilation and is not an appropriate means of HIV prevention" to an interactive piece of graffiti put up during the presidential primary season.
In one stall someone had created a "Who would you sleep with?" poll, and listed some choices beneath the query. The last time I used the stall, there had been no love given to McCain, Clinton, Huckabee, Edwards, or Paul, but Romney had one vote and Obama two.
But most of the loo-ny self-expression was much more juvenile, including crude drawings, vulgar expressions, and racially and religiously discriminatory statements that I won't repeat here. (We should probably keep in mind that some Ivy Leaguers are just one year removed from high school; surprisingly, I didn't see "4:20" written anywhere, although there was one stall that was always locked, so I wasn't able to see everything. Of course, that means someone probably had to get all the way down on the floor to slide underneath the stall door, which is pretty gross.)
Thankfully, at least a few people think of pleasant things while in the bathroom. Some just want to express affection for their favorite musicians, including Pearl Jam, Jack Johnson, and Dishwalla (seriously? Dishwalla?). I was surprised to see Jack's name on a stall door, since I assumed all of his fans were too laid back to put forth the effort to write his name down.
And, of course, in the stall farthest from the door, someone had left a "All your base are belong to us" graffito-tag. Beautiful.
All of this begs the question: why in the name of El Barto are so many people bringing pens and pencils with them when they use the bathroom?
I come to you regular folks today with good news, although it's something you likely already suspected: you're just as smart as people who go to Ivy League schools. My proof: the graffiti in the stalls of at least one bathroom at Columbia University is no different than what you'd find at Florida State or Texas Tech.
(Quick side note: while Columbia students seem to possess average intelligence, whoever designed this particular bathroom is a genius. In an isolated area of the basement of one of Columbia's minor libraries, there were nine stalls and seven urinals! Compare that to the three or four stalls and two urinals--one always out of order--in the heaviest traffic area of the Wilkinson Center, the busiest building at BYU. Plus, the toilets in the stalls are ridiculously powerful--not even I could clog them. Anyway...)
Admittedly, some of the graffiti was academic in nature. In one stall, someone had written "You are not your GPA." Beneath it someone else had scrawled, "But it counts." And some messages indicated varying levels of social awareness, from "stop snitchin'" to "Male circumcision is mutilation and is not an appropriate means of HIV prevention" to an interactive piece of graffiti put up during the presidential primary season.
In one stall someone had created a "Who would you sleep with?" poll, and listed some choices beneath the query. The last time I used the stall, there had been no love given to McCain, Clinton, Huckabee, Edwards, or Paul, but Romney had one vote and Obama two.
But most of the loo-ny self-expression was much more juvenile, including crude drawings, vulgar expressions, and racially and religiously discriminatory statements that I won't repeat here. (We should probably keep in mind that some Ivy Leaguers are just one year removed from high school; surprisingly, I didn't see "4:20" written anywhere, although there was one stall that was always locked, so I wasn't able to see everything. Of course, that means someone probably had to get all the way down on the floor to slide underneath the stall door, which is pretty gross.)
Thankfully, at least a few people think of pleasant things while in the bathroom. Some just want to express affection for their favorite musicians, including Pearl Jam, Jack Johnson, and Dishwalla (seriously? Dishwalla?). I was surprised to see Jack's name on a stall door, since I assumed all of his fans were too laid back to put forth the effort to write his name down.
And, of course, in the stall farthest from the door, someone had left a "All your base are belong to us" graffito-tag. Beautiful.
All of this begs the question: why in the name of El Barto are so many people bringing pens and pencils with them when they use the bathroom?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Potty humor
I think most of my regular readers (wait, don't you have to be a regular writer to have regular readers? dang) already know this, but here's my big news: I'm moving back to Harlem in early August! I have a place to live, but I don't yet have a job. That's just a minor detail, however. (If I'm still unemployed in, say, December or January, that detail would be a little less minor, but right now I'm not too worried. Who wouldn't want to hire me?)
In honor of my impending return, here's a "lost" New York blog post. I call it that because, well, until recently the notes I took for this post were lost.
As I've written before, the little room I worked in at Columbia often became unbearably hot, which led to me drinking a lot of water, which led to frequent trips to the bathroom. The nearest lavatory was down the hallway from my little office, at the back of a group study area. Three or four visits a day over six months allowed ample opportunities for me to observe some unusual behavior from some strange people.
There was one guy who I saw in there all the time who looked like a younger version of my Uncle Lewis--tall, with a big beard. We either had identical urinary cycles, or he went A LOT, because he was in there when I came in almost every time.
Another guy I saw on a regular basis had a strange, Lady MacBethian hand washing routine, but that's better than the dozens I witnessed leave the room without washing at all. Some did much more than wash their hands. I saw a few people shaving in the bathroom, and several brushing their teeth. Once a guy went into a stall and, um, started multitasking while brushing his teeth. Your schedule is probably a little too tight if you don't have time to do those things separately.
In my notes, I've written "Sly Stallone" with no explanation. I must have seen a guy who looked like him. Or maybe I saw someone injecting steroids so they could continue going to the bathroom long after they should've retired.
The study area, and by extension the bathroom, was often crowded with international students who reminded me of Eric from Head of the Class. I'm glad to see that hairstyle is being kept alive somewhere in the world. Alas, the library didn't feature nearly the same number of Simones.
I realize that most if not all of these examples of strange bathroom folk probably fall into the "you had to be there" category. So to reward you for your patience, in my next post I'll get into a much more interesting bathroom topic--the graffiti I found in the stalls. Check back soon.
In honor of my impending return, here's a "lost" New York blog post. I call it that because, well, until recently the notes I took for this post were lost.
As I've written before, the little room I worked in at Columbia often became unbearably hot, which led to me drinking a lot of water, which led to frequent trips to the bathroom. The nearest lavatory was down the hallway from my little office, at the back of a group study area. Three or four visits a day over six months allowed ample opportunities for me to observe some unusual behavior from some strange people.
There was one guy who I saw in there all the time who looked like a younger version of my Uncle Lewis--tall, with a big beard. We either had identical urinary cycles, or he went A LOT, because he was in there when I came in almost every time.
Another guy I saw on a regular basis had a strange, Lady MacBethian hand washing routine, but that's better than the dozens I witnessed leave the room without washing at all. Some did much more than wash their hands. I saw a few people shaving in the bathroom, and several brushing their teeth. Once a guy went into a stall and, um, started multitasking while brushing his teeth. Your schedule is probably a little too tight if you don't have time to do those things separately.
In my notes, I've written "Sly Stallone" with no explanation. I must have seen a guy who looked like him. Or maybe I saw someone injecting steroids so they could continue going to the bathroom long after they should've retired.
The study area, and by extension the bathroom, was often crowded with international students who reminded me of Eric from Head of the Class. I'm glad to see that hairstyle is being kept alive somewhere in the world. Alas, the library didn't feature nearly the same number of Simones.
I realize that most if not all of these examples of strange bathroom folk probably fall into the "you had to be there" category. So to reward you for your patience, in my next post I'll get into a much more interesting bathroom topic--the graffiti I found in the stalls. Check back soon.
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