What I'm not Talking About
Trip Start
Apr 01, 1979
1
28
109
Trip End
Ongoing
San Francisco, California, United States
Thursday, October 21, 2004
write about that I'm not sure where to begin. I could
talk about my recent work trip to San Francisco (well
not really San Francisco since we stay at the airport
hotel 30 minutes outside of the city). On that trip,
I was so bored on the Saturday of the Thursday-Monday
voyage, that I went to a Sushi buffet, saw a movie,
and watched little league baseball in a town called
Daly City all by myself. I was so bored on the Friday
afternoon that I sat in Borders books for three hours
until I had a movement and decided it was best to
vacate the premises before anyone matched me up with
that vileness. On that Friday evening I was so bored
that I actually decided to hang out with my boss at a
baseball game, one which the home team (Ra Ra Ra) lost
12-0. I was so bored on Thursday that I actually
watched the hotel services channel (one of about 7
stations in our 4 star palace) where they clearly
stated that they had a pool, an exercise room, and
early checkout 17 times every hour (no kidding, I
counted). And I was so bored on Sunday, that I
thanked the heavens I finally had work to do, on a
weekend. But I'm not going to talk about San
Francisco.
I guess I could talk about soccer, where futility has
a new name and it is me. Despite the fact that I
am honestly playing the best soccer of my life and
that I've become one of my teams most consistent
performers (and if you count both of those and include
a bag of donuts you'll have exactly one bag of
donuts), my two teams in a combined total of 10 games
this Fall season have won exactly one game (this past
weekend actually, I scored a great goal and we
obliterated the team 6-2, but they only had 7 players
and they still scored 2 goals). I could also mention
that before last weekend's game I had a violent bout
of the nasty D word. And when I say before last
weekend's game, I mean about 10 minutes before last
weekend's game. I could also mention that there was
not a scrap of soft tissue within miles and how I
pleasant improvised to everyone's delight. But no,
I'm not going to talk about soccer.
I could talk about my sister's wedding. The wedding
where she endured over a year of indoctrination
followed by a quick conversion to Cath. just so
she could sit down during the ceremony (I don't know
why they sit down, but I don't like it, and I don't
know why her husband doesn't think its funny when I
ask him questions like, When are you going to break
the glass? And are we gonna do the chair dance
thing?). I don't know why I was a groomsman for a
groom that I didn't even know, man. But I was, and I
escorted some breasty, and yet very manly, chick down
the aisle in the procession, and she told me if I made
one wrong move she would snap my neck like a twig and
throw my fat butt right out of the church. I certainly
don't know why I had to bow at the front of the
church, and I was more than lost when the priest said
some line and everybody already knew what to say back
(he would say things like God be with you, and we were
supposed to say back and also with you, but I didn't
know so I said 'right on my brother'). I thought for
a long time and finally figured out why the priest
reminded my of a serial killer, and how I couldn't
stop thinking that it must be a no-win situation to be
an altar boy nowadays. And I certainly had no idea
what was going on when the priest broke in, during the
middle of the ceremony, and asked my sister and her
man friend not to argue in public in some kind of
pleading shepherd to the mean sheep kinda way. I
mean, really, they are getting married, this isn't a
counseling session you dope. I also didn't think I
would get drunk at the reception or that husband man's
gay brother (who by the way sticks steadfastly to the
not-gay thing even though he lives in San Francisco,
in a neighborhood he describes as mostly gay
populated, and despite the fact that he's single, in
his 30s, thin, and wears those tight form-fitting
super gay muscle man shirts tucked-in with pleated
pants. Oh no, not gay, certainly not gay, but
seriously that dude was queerer than a three-dollar
bill), who also happenned to be the best man, would
make some long-winded tear jerker speech that made me
have to wait 10 more minutes to get some roast beef
after I was super-fricking hungry for like 5 hours.
But no, I'm not going to talk about that wedding.
There really isn't much to talk about there.
Rather instead, I think I'm going talk about
entertainment and halloween. First, entertainment,
and I don't mean the strip club kind, rather I mean
the movie kind. Some advice, go see Garden State,
you'll be glad you did. Some other advice from the
other side of the coin, watch the new syndicated talk
show, The Tony Danza Show. Or better yet, stab
yourself in the foot. Each produces an equal
sensation. Also, some new advice, go see any movie
made in the 1980's that stars Rob Lowe and/or Andrew
McCarthy. Better yet, check out Sketches, a decidedly
abysmal movie that stars Jonathan Silverman, C. Thomas
Howell, and Jason Bateman. Then ask yourself why this
life is worth living three times? If you are anything
like me, ask a loved one to remove all sharp objects
from the room before doing this exercise. And as for
Halloween, don't give kids poison starburst or candied
apples with razor blades Rather give them something they'll
cherish for a long, long time, a donation card, from you, to the
charity of your choice (I recommend the Human Fund)
because it'll make their little hearts glow.
That's all. Take care of yourselves, and your loved
ones.
