Blogger Brawl: The Lost Entries

If you didn't already know it by now, you probably guessed it: I lost in the quarterfinals of the MormonTimes Blogger Brawl. Thank you to everyone who voted for me. It was a pretty fun experience.

Due to the deadlines set by the contest's editor, I had already submitted my semifinal entry and nearly completed my final blog before I was eliminated. They won't go to waste, though. Here's the marvelous piece of prose you would've had the chance to vote for if I had reached the semis.

I am a long-time student of television—literally while in high school and college, but unofficially since I was very young. I watch a lot of TV, and appreciate it for its entertainment value. But I’m also fascinated by the industry itself, and pay close attention to all the little things that go into getting a show on the air.

For example: my mom likes to tell a story that happened when I was five years old. I was in the hospital, and had patiently endured days of tests, needles, and the like, without crying or complaining. But one day I just started bawling uncontrollably.

The event that sent me over the edge? Someone had misplaced the remote, and by the time we found it and turned the hospital TV on, He-Man had already started. It was only a minute or two into the show, but that was late enough to miss the title of the episode, and what’s the point of watching if you don’t know the title? I was inconsolable.

I don't actually recall this event, but I don't doubt its veracity, because my mother is an honest person, and because He-Man was a really great show.

I often think about He-Man when I'm trying to get a date, mainly because I retire to my bedroom so I can have some privacy to call the girl, and once there I see my He-Man pillowcase. I missed the show opening that one time, but I've seen it enough to know that “fabulous secret powers were revealed” to cowardly Prince Adam, transforming him into the fearless hero.

Oh, how I wish I could channel some of those powers when I'm asking someone out (I also wish I had his smile; with just one long tooth in each part of my jaw, I'd never need to floss again). I'm rarely nervous while on a date, but the process of calling a girl to invite her on one terrifies me. When you're on a date, it’s easy to relax because she's set aside that time to spend with you; when you're talking to someone on the phone, there's no way of knowing if you're bothering them—unless they tell you that, which is even more awkward and unpleasant.

You can't see her, so there's no body language cues to pick up on. Plus, I never know how to end the conversation (or begin it, for that matter). Do I get right to the point and ask her out? Do I make small talk first? For how long? After asking, do I make more small talk, or if she said yes do I make my escape as quickly as possible before she can change her mind? I long for the days of high school dances, where the norm was incredibly elaborate methods of asking that allowed me to show off my creativity and avoid any awkward conversations or immediate rejection.

Another of my TV heroes, Batman (the Adam West version), once told Catwoman that "a wife, no matter how beauteous or affectionate, would severely impair my crime fighting." I don't have that excuse. Plus, I know that I need a wife if I ever want to become a "master of the universe." So I'll continue stretching my comfort zone and keep calling girls for dates, using my childhood idols to psych myself up if necessary. And if my dates are ever a little late, I'll do my best not to cry.