![The Ansonian Wine Party… but first, How to Make Friends]()
by Richard Timothy | Apr 12, 2010 | Adolescent Shenanigans, Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something to Wine About, When I Was a Kid
So I had one of my best friends visiting from out of town this weekend, which is always a grand time. We have known each other since I broke his collar bone during recess in kindergarten and we’ve just sort of been friends ever since. Look, it wasn’t my fault. Ok, it was, but it was not intentional. I was 5 and I had just recently been introduced to the magical devices known as slides. It was a big slide too. It was your standard straight run slide with an accelerator hump half way down. It was steel, shiny, and obviously a gift from the gods. Apparently Zeus had shagged one of the locals and at some point blessed that child and all generations of that child with this brilliant gift of sliding perfection.
One of the things you could always count on in kindergarten was the b-line all the kids made to that slide once the recess bell rang. Kids would like climb up the two story ladder, which was probably about 6 feet up, but when you are only half the size of an adult Ewok a ladder that high is only about three steps shy of being able to grab the moon so you can use it to play catch. This slide was Mount Olympus, and then you got to the top you would look over all of the known world.
Apparently, on the day of the event I was a little imaginationly blinded. I saw the top of the slide as the one place on the planet that had to be at, as soon as humanly possible. If I was not on the ladder platform, the world was going to explode. The off switch was on the top of the slide platform and I was the only one who knew exactly where it was. I had to save everyone on the planet. So I pushed and stepped and climbed over, around and on the other kids climbing the ladder to the top of the slide so that I could get to the top. Once there I pushed the Cancel World Destruction button and saved the planet. Then I had to slide down before the platform dissolved making it impossible for anyone to ever push the Earth Self Destruct button ever again.
As my feet hit the ground I made an explosion noise and jumped away from the slide. I was safe! But something wasn’t right. There was a congregation of kids gathered around the slide, but none of them were trying to get on the slide. No, this was a group of kids trying to get a look at something that had just happened on the ground. When I got closer to see what was happening, I was greeted with a flank of little fingers pointing at me yelling, “You did it!” This was not the “Hooray you just saved us all” meaning of “You did it!” No, this was the “It’s all your fault.” translation accompanied by the finger of blame. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I did notice there was a kid lying on the ground a little dazed and a teacher was picking him up and rushing him to the small school building we had class in.
As I faced the horde of my peers taunting me with blame, and telling me I had just pushed Anson off the top of the slide, and that my teacher was going to find out, and that I would going to have to go to the principal’s office, and was going to get a spanking, and that they were going to call my parents and tell on me, I did what any hero who had just save all those people and the Earth would do, I started crying. Then I tried running away. The problem I discovered with being 5 and trying to flee the scene of a crime is… short legs. You can run has fast as you can, but you really don’t get that far.
Because I was the unintentional assailant of the whole affair part of my punishment was to face the person I had so carelessly pushed off the slide and apologize. I still claimed that I didn’t do it. I mean I honestly did not see him. The 30 eye witnesses saying contrary sealed my blame. So when my mom took me to see Anson and told me to apologize to him, I did it. No questions asked, whether I agreed or not.
Anson responded in the only way a 5 year old wearing a new cast knows how when confronted by another kid of the same age. He handed me a marker and let me draw on his arm sling. Our parents took this as a good sign that the apology was accepted, and we, not sure what apology really meant, were way past talking about broken bones and were now discussing the finer points of spaceship themed Legos. And it just sort of kept going from there. Now, 31 years later we’re still going strong, and I always try to make sure I buy him Legos for his birthday.
So now, since we has moved to Iowa to teach 3D animation, he has a sort of yearly ceremony where, when spring break rolls around he takes advantage of the off week and pops by Utah for a week of play, party, and possible parental visits. Meaning he possibly visits his parents if there’s time and not that he visits people that might possibly be his parents. He does have a lot of family in the area, so it’s always a good trip for him to catch up with friends and family. During this time my brother and I will always take at least one day (sometimes more) off of work to hang out and catch up.
There are always three things that always happen when he visits. One is that we go out and eat epic amounts of sushi for dinner one of the nights he in town. Second, we always watch at least one MST (or MST subsidiary). And last, we have a party. As it worked out, we were having the monthly wine party the same Saturday that he was going to be in town. Granted it worked out that way because we planned it that way, but when given the opportunity to go with a “happenstance” explanation vs. a “we planned it that way” explanation, I’m usually going to go with the “and it just so happened that…” version of the story.
The Anson wine party was brilliant, and I’m tickled with the new people that are becoming more regular wine party attendees. Although, I did experience a wine party first this past party. We actually had some wine left over. In the four or five years we’ve been doing it, it’s never happened. I mean sure there have been cases were there was one or two half bottles left by the time people were sober enough to drive home. But as it turned out, we had 5 unopened bottles left! When I got up Sunday morning I walked downstairs and saw the dinner table covered with wine bottles. Then, I noticed it. There was only one at first, but as I started examining the collection of empty bottles I found that there were 2, no 3, no 4, no 5… yes 5! There were 5 bottles of unopened wine. Ha ha ha. (Count von Count would be so proud.)
Traditionally the recommendation for our wine party is to bring a side dish to share and bottle of wine for people to try. This applies to couples and singles, meaning that if you come as a couple you bring a bottle and if you come alone you bring a bottle. What happened is that people were in a “let’s try wine” mood. Instead of one bottle per couple, we had each person bring a bottle. We even had one friend bring three bottles just from him, the little sweetheart. I tried too. We were all for trying every wine that graced our presence that evening, but I’ll tell you, after 16 bottles of wine, and one small bottle of 12 year old scotch we reached a universal “I’m done” point in the evening 5 bottle shy of completion.
As for the wine of the month, I believe I’m going to have to go with the 2007 Trapiche Broquel Malbec, although we did have a 2008 there as well. Both were yummy, but if given the choice, I recommend the 2007 over the 2008. It’s an Argentinean red wine that upon the first sip, asks your mouth if you’d like to dance the tango. I recommend that you speak for your mouth when this happens by nodding yes and then take another sip. After the third swallow of this wine your tongue will stop prancing around your mouth and begin to get the hang of the rhythm the wine and tongue need to make together to fully enjoy all of the flavors and depth that this wine brings to the table. At only $14 a bottle, it’s a fabulous wine for a very reasonable price.
I did have one kind of, sort of epiphany like thought during the night. One friend brought me a wine in hopes that I could save it. He claimed it was one of the worst wines he has ever tasted, ass wine if you will, and wanted it out of his house forever. He thought it was sacrilege to just dump it. So he was hoping I could work some of my drink mixing magic and get it to a point where people might actually enjoy drinking it. Well I do love a good challenge and after 2 lemons, some strawberries and pineapple, a hint of honey, and a handful of a cinnamon and sugar the wine abomination did become quite drinkable, in a “no too bad” kind of way.
Well when my little sister arrived someone handed her a wine glass that had a tiny bit of the pre-surgery ass wine. Her face, after tasting the wine, announced to everyone in the house that she agreed that it was one of the worst wines every made. The thing was that every other wine she tried that night was “fabulous” according to her. So this was my though, if you are sharing wine with someone who is trying to work their way up to drinking and appreciating more wine, a tiny sample of ass wine might be helpful. For the sheer fact that anything else you try the rest of the night is going to be so monumentally better that you sort of shock a struggling palate into appreciation. I think it could work, then again it just might be one of the “seems like a good idea at the time” ideas, and we all know how those usually end.
As with all my wine reviews, what are some of your wine suggestions? I’d love to hear them… the good I mean. Thanks.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Trapiche Broquel Malbec 07, playground slide, running kid, save the world, broken collarbone, bad taste face, and bottles of wine.
![The Ansonian Wine Party… but first, How to Make Friends]()
by Richard Timothy | Apr 2, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
I think everyone finds themselves in situations throughout life that requires them to evaluate certain things about themselves and then make a decision based on that self evaluation. Usually when I tell people that I am a certified minister there is always that confused pause where I imagine they are either waiting for me to share my story of this self evaluation that lead me to that decision, or that I’m lying to them. It is true though, I can, if I choose, legally put the title Reverend at the beginning of my name. This also enables me to legally perform certain ceremonies like, well the only one that comes to mind is weddings, but I’m sure there’s more. I’ve even thought about making some business cards that sport the title Reverend on them, but I’ve yet to find a functional purpose for doing that… unless it will get me discounts at restaurants. Hmm… looks like it’s time to do a little research.
The fact of the matter is yes I truly am a reverend. How and why you may ask? Easy, it was the result of a life changing event. The event actually took place in Central Park in New York City, just across from the corner were John Lennon was shot. It was where my dear friend Mike proposed to my dear friend Kathy. I never said the life changing event was mine. There was absolutely no inner evaluation on my part to make this choice. Once they got home we had one of our many and always fabulous wine parties and they announced the engagement. This created a frenzy of joy and emotional outbursts.
It was after I stopped screaming and clapping and jumping up and down in place they popped the big question. It was actually really groovy the way they put it… or at least the way I remember them putting it. They said that with all of the planning they had to do with finding a location, getting a guest list made, and all the planning involved in planning a wedding there was one thing they wanted to be perfect and didn’t want to have to worry about, they wanted me to create their ceremony and be the one to marry them, well, perform the ceremony I mean. And that was it. That was event that got me reverendized. Yes, much like Charlie Brown, I am a good man. Although, I’ve yet to have a musical written and performed stating this, but I am still holding out that it’s only a matter of time.
Being one of self set beliefs about life, the universe, and everything the first thing I knew is that becoming an ordained minister needed to coincide with my lack of religious beliefs. Thank you world wide web you fabulous little vixen of endless links from random Google searches in the hopes of finding something that would give me the title required to perform a wedding for these two amazing and incredibly trusting friends.
The first thing I discovered was that by simply googling “becoming an ordained minister” you get over 1 million results. To save you some time, you really don’t need to go past the first page of results to find the information you’re looking for. I found a “church” that claimed an all inclusive philosophy towards belief. Or to coin a phrase that is already a small shiny ore disc that some people flip into the air for the sake of betting, or for assisting indecisive people to make decisions, they are a “nondenominational” organization. They even had three key selling points that sold, sealed…, helped me chose them for getting my ministers status.
One selling point was their overall inclusion of belief structures, which includes the following: Agnosticism, Atheism, non-Religious, Baha’i Faith, Buddhism, Cao Dai, Christianity, Confucianism, Hinduism, Humanism, Islam, Jainism, Juche, Judaism, Natural Law, Neopaganism, New Age, Primal Faith, Primal Indigenous, Rastafarianism, Scientology, Shinto, Sikhism, Spiritism, Taoism, Tarahumara Beliefs, Tenrikyo, The Occult, Traditional African Religion, Unitarian Universalism, and Zoroastrianism. I have no idea what most of those mean, but they are all accepted and ok ideologies according to the “church”.
Selling point two, at the time (it has since been removed) there was a bulleted list on the ordination application page that stated the three key reasons that people become ordained ministers. The first was because people want to share their beliefs with others in a professional setting and not a street corner, i.e. start a church and preach to others. The second reason was to legally perform certain ceremonies, i.e. legally perform weddings for friends or family. And the final reason was, and I am quoting here, “a lark.” Yes as a joke. These people had not delusions about why some people become ministers. I was impressed. And had I not been doing it for the second reason, I would have definitely done it for the third reason at that point.
Finally, and the most significant reason for becoming an ordained minister with this organization, it was free. Turns out all you need to become a reverend is your full legal name, e-mail address, home address, and a working internet connection. It took about three minutes. I filled out the information and clicked on the submit button. They checked to make sure I was a real person living at the address I gave them and… call me reverend. I even have a certificate that I printed out on my computer, and an e-mail stating I am an official minister for the organization and can officially use the title reverend.
Now, if you want a high resolution certificate printed on a nice paper along with a ministers card and additional forms of identification stating that you are a reverend, well that’s going to cost you. Yes the pretty paperwork costs, but you get ordained for free. Hey, religions need money to survive, even all inclusive ones that offer a service so that you can wed your friends. They also have doctorates of religion courses you can take so you can become a Doctor Reverend. I figured one title that I never use is enough, but the option is always there! You know, in the event that I lose a bet that required me to either shave my goatee or become a doctor.
You many ask what becoming a reverend had meant over the years. Pointless titles aside I have actually performed 3 different wedding ceremonies so far and one funeral. I think it’s called conducted, or commenced over, or oversaw… something like that. Those are a little more difficult than weddings, but just as big of an honor.
My favorite wedding that I’ve performed so far is easily the one for my two dear friends that originally asked me to become a minister so I could marry them. There is something immensely satisfying about creating a ceremony for two wonderful people that you know and love. There are no rules for creating a ceremony like that. You start with what you know about each one and add them together. Throw in a lot of love, a line from Monty Python’s Spamalot, maybe a stick if you happen to find one lying around, some almond champagne, a white sand beach, and two rings and you have a ceremony that is not only beautiful and brilliant, but is from beginning to end… totally and utterly them and no one else.
The few wedding I have done have been pretty groovy though, and who knows maybe someday I’ll do a few more. The weirdest part about the whole thing is that everyone looks at you as the one with all the answers. All I can say is that for my first wedding, it was a good thing that I was married so I knew how things were suppose to go as far as lineup, precession, etc. I imagine a wedding planner usually takes care of that, if there is one, otherwise, as the wedding officiate you sort of become hyphenated, meaning the reverend-wedding planner. Although I highly recommend that you never put that on a business card. One thing I know for sure, every wedding does become its own little adventure.
What do you think about my reverendness?
Source Images:
Google Images, key words: reverend, free, and clapping.
![The Ansonian Wine Party… but first, How to Make Friends]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 31, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
The battle of the sexes, it’s a battle that has been going on as long as there has been sex, well sexes. It’s not so much a battle type battle, like Helm’s Deep or… um, Highlander I guess. No, I mean that battle of perspective where discussions happen on epic levels about issues that makes no sense to one sex, but perfect sense to another.
Actually, I think to get as accurate as possible, it’s not so much a sex thing as it is a personality type thing, namely the masculine and feminine personality types. This is not the same thing as male and female. I have met some very feminine men and very masculine women. I myself have been known to have some typically feminine perspectives about some commonly male topics, like football for example. Of course there are exceptions to the rules, but for the sake of today’s Smirk the thing to remember is that they are exceptions and not the standard traditional stereotype.
So what am I talking about? What is this topic of endless hours of banter between the masculine and feminine personality types? Nothing less than the always controversial topic of… throw pillows. Here let give you a conversational setting that cover both perspectives on this topic:
Feminine (F): I got some new throw pillows.
Masculine (M): Ok… um, why?
F: Because they’re pretty.
M: I can see that, but they don’t look very comfortable.
F: You don’t use them.
M: You mean you bought pillows that are not meant to be used?
F: Of course you use them.
M: What? Wait do can I or can’t I use them to sleep on.
F: You don’t use them to sleep on.
M: Then what’s the point?
F: They’re throw pillows. They add color and design to places in the home.
M: But you said we don’t use them.
F: Not like you mean when you say use.
M: So they serve absolutely no functional purpose?
F: Yes they do.
M: Like what?
F: They’re pretty!
And this is where people voices generally tend to increase in volume as the circular conversation continues, sometimes for hours.
For the feminine perspective throw pillows fall under the visually aesthetic realm of things that help make the world more beautiful, especially your home, apartment, flat, bungalow, etc. The main point that the masculine perspective always fails to realize is that for the feminine something that helps an area look prettier constitutes as a very viable and real functionality.
For the masculine perspective somethings can be pretty, but it becomes much prettier if that object is functional, like Italian leather shoes, or a fully restored cherry condition 1969 Mustang. The concept of throw pillows falls into pointless frivolity on a number of levels for a number of reasons. The first and most obvious reason is the feeling of utter pointlessness the masculine type gets when looking at one.
Personally I think the main problem comes from the name throw pillow. You have two separate words that when the masculine perspective combines them together they automatically think that they are specially made pillows for optimal striking in a pillow fight setting. To the masculine a throw pillow should be the ninja star of the pillow industry. A pillow that you can throw at advancing pillow toting minions in a goose down battle for control of the house… or television remote at the very least.
When the masculine type first learns that throw pillows are not to be thrown in any context what so ever, it creates a sort of syntax error is almost the human equivalent of the blue screen of death. Even after they reboot, the idea of gently moving the arsenal of things called throw pillows from the bed to a designated storing area on the floor makes their brains cry a little.
The end result of this debate consists of two separate resolutions that each type chooses to not tell the other. The masculine rejects the functionless attributes of the throw pillow and uses them whenever the feminine is away. This rarely allows for a comfortable and deep sleep opportunity because the masculine has to be on their toes so they can place the used throw pillow in its place when the feminine returns home.
The feminine are well aware of this practice. The ware and oil stain left by a sweaty sleeping head on the throw pillow is a bit obvious even if the masculine can’t really tell. What this does is ignite a “I’ll show them” reaction in the feminine to purchase more throw pillows. The rational is that the old ones are becoming dirty and worn out. Besides it’s cheaper to buy new throw pillows than it is to buy a steam cleaner. This also creates a desire in the feminine to find the holy grail of throw pillows. A completely functionless yet brilliantly beautiful throw pillow.
I am here to tell you that not only have I seen this holy grail throw pillow, but it lives at my house. That’s right, I am telling you we already got one. And you know what. It’s very nice. Seriously, when looking at it even I’ll say, “Oooo what a pretty throw pillow.” It’s about 14 inches by 14 inches and one full side is covered with ½ inch mother of pearl squares. Again, for the record I do concede it is very beautiful… and utterly useless, but very pretty.
It’s a debate that I don’t know will ever go away. The only real compromise I have been able to find is that for every two throw pillows the feminine type purchases the masculine type is allowed to trash one of them as they see fit. Yes this is a compromise, and believe me, to all you masculine types out there a 2 to 1 ration is actually pretty damn good odds in this situation. The thing is, the longer you take to wear out, trash, blow up, sneeze on, use in pillow fights for control of the remote, or use as a sponge to wash your car, the longer it will be before the feminine type purchases new throw pillows. Please note that both parties need to agree on this compromise before you, the feminine perspective, begins purchasing new throw pillows, and before you, the masculine perspective, begin lighting fires to existing throw pillows.
The throw pillow debate is one that has been going on far too long on this planet and it needs to stops. Can’t we all just get along?
Although, and this is a theory I’m making up on the spot here, if an alien race ever does attempt to invade our planet I honestly think we could avert it by simply introducing throw pillows to the feminine type aliens. Then all we’d need to do is get some popcorn, sit back, and enjoy the show.
Any throw pillow thoughts from your end?
Images Sources:
Google Images, key words: bed pillows, pillow fight, mother of pearl throw pillow, throw pillows, and battle of the sexes.
![The Ansonian Wine Party… but first, How to Make Friends]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 29, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Well bugger… again… Soooo you know when lose something. There is a standard process that you experience. I think it’s the 7 or 8 steps for handling loss. Yes, 7 or 8, the eighth step may or may not happen. It’s always a toss up really. It just turns out that in my case, this time, I did get to experience all 8 steps.
The process breaks down as such:
- Vague unsettling: This feeling is initial feeling that something isn’t quite right, but you can’t exactly put your finger on what it is.
- Subtle realization: This step is when you begin realizing that what something you had seen a few days ago might not be where you thought it was.
- Specific local searching: This step is when you perform a very thorough search in the area you last thought you saw the missing item.
- Panicked searching: This step involves rampant random searching where you stop looking where you know the missing item was a day or so ago and begin searching in irrational and random locations. Locations like under the car seat, then in the bathroom, then under your bed, and then in your freezer. And between each new odd search spot you go back to the original location you remember the item being and search that entire room again, you know, just in case. My “just in case” rationale was that my notebook entered a time warp and if I kept going back at random intervals it might suddenly reappear.
- Grumpy pouting: This is when you realize what losing the item means to you, both emotionally and, in my case, literaturally. Long fits of profanity, both loud and whispered are commonly associated with this step.
- Slow paced random searching: This is after the panic passes and then for the next day or so you still randomly look around and keep your eyes open for the missing item, but it’s not going to disrupt your day or cause you to miss sitting down and enjoying an episode of The Big Bang Theory or The IT Crowd. Note: The time warp ideology still applies so you do still continue to look where you last saw in it, you know… just in case.
- Acceptance: This is the step where you blog to everyone that you lost your notebook, but it’s ok because such is life and on a groovy note, you get to go shopping for a new notebook.
And then in my case (yes, you nailed it Cathy) there is the one more step:
- I call it the “What the… SonofaBi… YEAH! Hehe, opps… Just kidding everyone.” step.
It was in my backpack the whole time! And I looked there at least five… teen times. You know that Pac-man book hiding fluke that happens to humans all over the world on a regular basis so it’s really not that much of a fluke, but we all call it a fluke anyway? Yeah, that’s what happened. I have a green notebook in backpack that is slightly larger than the Pillsbury Doughboy notebook. Well, the Pillsbury notebook got flipped around and ended up sliding up into the green notebook. So every time I looked in the backpack I could only see the green notebook. I never pulled the green notebook out of my backpack, but this was because there was not second notebook to be seen on either side of it.
Yeah, so opps. I guess I could feel a little silly for dedicating Friday’s post to the loss of my little notebook, but I really see no point. It just makes me laugh more than anything. Besides I take comfort knowing that it’s something that everyone has done. It’s one of those random common experiences that bring us together as a species that no one really thinks about as an experience that brings us all together. Or to put it a little more plainly it’s one of those, “Hey look! I’m just like you.” experiences.
So thanks for the support you gave when I had lost my notebook forever. And thanks for laughing at… I mean with me now that it has been returned. (I’m still not ruling out that some random time warp had something to do with it though.)
Any of you care to share your “It’s lost forever… opps… found it!” story?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: lost and found.
![The Ansonian Wine Party… but first, How to Make Friends]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 24, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, When I Was a Kid
There are a few things that I have been quite good at most of my life. Not necessarily due to practice, but due to the exact opposite of that. Being pasty and on the verge of bio-luminescence when the lights go down due to my lack of exposure with the sun on a regular basis is one of those things I have excelled at most my life. It’s true I usually had to put on sunglasses just to take a shower. Ok not really, but I did think about it once or twice.
While growing up in rural Wyoming, which for the record is the only type of Wyoming there is, there were a number of peers of the farming persuasion who, much like the people of San Francisco, would be outside without their shirts on catching some rays at the first sign of any actually sunshine. It’s true. I spend a summer in San Francisco and the second the sun comes out, people start appearing all over outside. They are in swimming suits laying down on any open spot of grass they can find, catching some sunshine and working on their laptops. This usually lasts about 10 to 30 minutes tops and then as the sun ducks behind the local clouds everyone puts their cloths back on and go back inside to their desks. You do get use to this, but the first time you experience this phenomenon, it does give the first time viewer a “what the f…unny randomness just happened” moment of contemplation.
All that being said I’ve never been big of my inclusion of the “run around shirtless” genre of social activities. When the sun is involved my shirtless activity has almost always resulted in me becoming the same hue of a thirteen year old boy on his first date who has just accidentally farted loudly sitting next to his date while sneezing softly into a napkin. That is a very special kind of red that take years to recover from, and I believe requires you to never see that date ever again. The sun has a way of ensuring my skin remains that color for a pain filled week or two.
With that, let’s jump back a few years. In 7th grade, I did what your average 7th grade boy does when the opportunity arises. I tried out for sports. My father had been a basketball hero when he was a lad and at 13 there is a desired emulation that often happens where you think that if you should try doing what your father did then he was your age. The desired outcome consisted of him being proud of you and you being proud that he was proud. So I tried out for the team. It was open to anyone that wanted to give it a go, and a go I gave.
Tryouts consisted of played a few rounds of basketball while the coach watched you play. After watching you play for a total of maybe 10 minutes, the coach would tell you to get off the court so someone else could give trying out a go. At the end of the day, before you would rush to catch the bus home, you would check the roster to see if you had made the team. Yeah, I never made the team, but there were a few reasons for this.
Reason 1
Difficulty concentrating on the game. I think I would have been a little more clearheaded had I not been on the team required to be “skins.” Instead of giving us different colored tops we could put on over your shirts we would play shirts vs. skins, or shirtless, or half nude… awkwardly breezy comes to mind as well. Being on the skin team meant that I was you run up and down a basketball court half naked. The uncomfortable awkwardness came from knowing that the cute girls I fancied were in the bleachers watching all of the boys trying out for the team.
This translated to the cute girls looking at my goofy assed clumsy 13 year old body. I felt like a piece of meat on parade. But I wasn’t a piece of prime rib, or t-bone, or Alaskan Salmon, or even a marinated chicken breast. No, I felt like a slice of that prepackaged bologna with those weird different colored specks of gum drops, or whatever the hell those things were. Ok so it was sliced pickle and pimento loaf, but as a kid, it was gummy bear bologna and it was creepy. I mean sure, it was always fascinating to look at for about 10 seconds. Then it’s eeriness becomes too much and you leave it there in the cooler, scaring small children that wanted regular bologna and ended up grabbing the gummy bologna instead by accident.
This meant that I spent most of the 10 minutes trying to hide my half nakedness behind the other kids. This failed for a few reasons, but mainly because I was the tallest kid on the court and I was about the same color as the florescent lights in the ceiling.
Reason 2
I suppose the main and most obvious reason was that I just wasn’t any good at the game. I mean I wanted to be. But when it take four tries for you to make a basked while standing right next to it and you keep getting your own rebounds because you are taller than the others around you, it’s a little obvious where your skill level lies. I did enjoyed playing the game outside with my friends for the three months out of the year that it was warm enough to play basketball outside. Although this consisted mostly of playing HORSE or PIG, or other games that required us to be polite and take turns and not get in each other’s face. When it came to skill in the game, I was about as useful as mop at a sneezing competition… actually that would be quite useful. No, how about a mop IN a sneezing competition. Yeah, that analogy works much better.
Reason 3
There was something else that happened during those 10 minutes of play. It was the realization that I didn’t want to play basketball. There is something so incredibly dreary about the sportsmanship you experience on the court, field, ice, or whatever. There are some people that are amazing sportsmanshipy kinds of sportsmen. Win or lose they are about the game first and foremost. If they win, grand. If they don’t, at least it was a good game. My experience is that this is a rare breed of sportsmen, women… people. In my tiny experience in playing sports and watching sports, what I noticed about sportsmanship is that is that 9 times out of 10 there isn’t much, if any.
People turn into mean angry frumpy little bitches… and I was no different. I didn’t like getting angry at people for stealing the ball away from me, or for blocking my shot. Nor did I enjoy having people get angry at me when I did the same thing to them. I didn’t agree with the coach congratulating me with a “good foul” cheer when I’d do something to negatively affect another player. At 13 I saw sports responsible for causing more damage than good. So, I banned me from them. I think I tried again in 8th grade just to make sure. Turns out I was sure, and I haven’t looked back since.
I’ve have dabbled a bit here and there over the years. I played soccer for two summers and I played late night volley ball on tennis courts. I also became mildly competent at pool my first year in college and could endure a volley or two of ping pong with someone who actually played ping pong. I even got an A in my bowling class. If you do love sports, well done! I say go with it, enjoy it as much as you can as long and you can. I’ll even politely listen while you talk about it. Just know that I couldn’t care less. As for me, all in all I’m Zen sporting reject. I reject them and they reject me, and ever since we came to that understanding, we’ve gotten along just great.
What are your sporting stories?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: pasty white guy, youth basketball, pickle and pimento loaf, and poor sportsmanship.
![The Ansonian Wine Party… but first, How to Make Friends]()
by Richard Timothy | Mar 4, 2010 | Confessed Confidentially, Gratefully Grateful, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My Cutie Baby Sweetie Pie, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
So to assist my cutie-baby-sweetie-pie with her Ignite Your Spark Conference I ended up taking last Thursday and Friday off from work. Yeah, I’m a pretty kick ass husband. Hmm, maybe I should start teaching a class. I could call it, um, ohhh, I know! KAHN… Kick Ass Husbands National. That way when people look into the sky and yell KAAAAAAAAHHHHN! It could actually be considered a good thing. I’d like to say I’m taking the whole “KAAAAAAHN!” thing back, but I can’t really. That’s because I think the Kirk approach to Kahn was the original take on it. There’s nothing to take back. If anything I’d be completely reconstructing it. I guess you could say I’m just taking it.
I think this would be the first KAHN lesson:
Chapter 1 – Get Married.
It seems to me that in order to become a kick ass husband the first thing that would need to happen is for you, in fact, to become one. Sure if I really wanted to I could change it to KAPN, Kick Ass Partners National, but frankly I don’t appreciate the lack of pun and I’m not especially keen on accessorizing with eye patches and birds sitting on your shoulder.
Side Note: I will concede that if you choose to acquire the status of husband via some other means not limited to the concept of traditional, or nontraditional, union ceremonies involving rings, flowers, and/or shotguns, then I will ask that you submit your process for how you acquired such status. It will be reviewed and voted on by me and a bottle of Chianti. For the record, the bottle always votes yes and your chances of getting in do increase as the evening progresses.
The conference was a fabulous time for both me and my ego. Everyone was so kind and friendly and happy. There were a few things that I consistently heard from women while at the conference.
- “You’re Angela’s husband? Oh! It’s so nice to meet you.”
- “I love your wife.”
- “I’ll bet you can’t wait for this to be over.”
- “All the support you’ve given her is just amazing. You’re amazing.”
I always responded to the second statement with an ecstatic and resounding, “Me too!” because it was both clever, cute, and true. Hmm, that seems to exceed the both identifier. Let’s just go with clever and true then. It was the third statement that always left me a little confused. I mean I understood what they meant, but with all the hours, tears, joy, worry, excitement, and other roller coaster of emotions that you embrace throughout a year of putting a conference like this together, I could wait. I wanted to savor every moment I could of those two days. It had earned that from me, and I deserved experience all I could before it ended.
I wish that theme was able to stay concrete throughout the event, but here’s one of the things I learned… hauling hundreds of books up and down stairs and trying to clam presenters down when they mailed something and UPS had not delivered it on time, and having an endless stream of questions directed to me that I just couldn’t answer to help assist those asking the questions, does have a tendency to wear on ones bubbly exterior. It left me a little like a helium balloon that has exhausted most of its supply of pixie dust. It’s not popped or deflated, it’s just lost its soaring ability. It mostly just hovers and begins moving a lot slower than it did before.
I think I may have managed to leave the conference a bit stronger than when I started it. Again, this is solely due to the hours of lifting and hauling heavy boxes up and down flights of stairs. Let’s just say that when I got out of bed Saturday morning my legs, especially my calves, started a revolt. Much like the towns people carrying torches on the way to ol’ Doc Frank’s place. My legs and feet felt like they were burning. Every step hurt and I didn’t even wear heels! Next time I’m getting those gel shoe inlay things.
Emotionally, sure it was exhausting, but there were those moments that picked you up, dusted you off, and got you ready to start all over again. One moment that just killed me, and not in a “oh no zombies, run for your life or they’ll ea…AHhhhh!” kind of way, but in the “I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to cry, ok I’m going to cry” kind of way. It was a special break out session all the VIP guests got to experience with Lisa Nichols.
The thing about Lisa is that you either know who she is, which will cause you to get excited about this next bit. Or, is some lady you have never heard of her before, which probably won’t mean as much, but still worth reading about.
So Lisa is giving her presentation. Chatting with everyone in the room, making everyone laugh, and most cry. Encouraging everyone and letting them know that now matters, and so do they. As the end of her talk drew near, she decided to give away a few items to some people in the audience that she felt could use them. Out of the 70+ people in the room, guess who she calls up? No… it wasn’t me, but it was my little sister. This got her all emotional, which got my parents, who were sitting next to me, all emotional, which got me all emotional. Hey, hit my thumb with a hammer and swear for a good ten minutes and eventually I’ll be fine. But put my little sister in the front of a room crying tears of joy, transition and hope, and you better just pass me the tissues as soon as you finish grabbing some for yourself.
Lisa was emotional, amazing, and healing, so in a word… um… let’s go with emazaling. Yes… YES! I do believe that covers it nicely. It was two days of people coming together to encourage each other, listen to each other, help each other, and empower each other. When you are surrounded by that much love and support, it doesn’t matter if you arrived under dark clouds. You become the sun that dissipates those clouds, and you shine. More than that though, you know it’s ok for you to shine. I saw that a lot at the conference… it was beautiful.
Only a year to go until we get to do it all over again!
To those of you who made it to the event, and/or helped us out with the event, thank you, thank you thank you. I love you all. Feel free to share some of your thoughts on event.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: yelling Kahn, shotgun wedding, carrying boxes, happy woman, and box of tissues.
So I had one of my best friends visiting from out of town this weekend, which is always a grand time. We have known each other since I broke his collar bone during recess in kindergarten and we’ve just sort of been friends ever since. Look, it wasn’t my fault. Ok, it was, but it was not intentional. I was 5 and I had just recently been introduced to the magical devices known as slides. It was a big slide too. It was your standard straight run slide with an accelerator hump half way down. It was steel, shiny, and obviously a gift from the gods. Apparently Zeus had shagged one of the locals and at some point blessed that child and all generations of that child with this brilliant gift of sliding perfection.
As I faced the horde of my peers taunting me with blame, and telling me I had just pushed Anson off the top of the slide, and that my teacher was going to find out, and that I would going to have to go to the principal’s office, and was going to get a spanking, and that they were going to call my parents and tell on me, I did what any hero who had just save all those people and the Earth would do, I started crying. Then I tried running away. The problem I discovered with being 5 and trying to flee the scene of a crime is… short legs. You can run has fast as you can, but you really don’t get that far.
Anson responded in the only way a 5 year old wearing a new cast knows how when confronted by another kid of the same age. He handed me a marker and let me draw on his arm sling. Our parents took this as a good sign that the apology was accepted, and we, not sure what apology really meant, were way past talking about broken bones and were now discussing the finer points of spaceship themed Legos. And it just sort of kept going from there. Now, 31 years later we’re still going strong, and I always try to make sure I buy him Legos for his birthday.
The Anson wine party was brilliant, and I’m tickled with the new people that are becoming more regular wine party attendees. Although, I did experience a wine party first this past party. We actually had some wine left over. In the four or five years we’ve been doing it, it’s never happened. I mean sure there have been cases were there was one or two half bottles left by the time people were sober enough to drive home. But as it turned out, we had 5 unopened bottles left! When I got up Sunday morning I walked downstairs and saw the dinner table covered with wine bottles. Then, I noticed it. There was only one at first, but as I started examining the collection of empty bottles I found that there were 2, no 3, no 4, no 5… yes 5! There were 5 bottles of unopened wine. Ha ha ha. (Count von Count would be so proud.)
