I got a question from Sam, a curious reader located in Terre Haute, IN today: “Doesn’t a moustache usually terminate at the mouth (in north-south terms)?” Well, yes, that’s correct. However, look at this fuckin’ thing:
My upper-lip makes me look like Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite if he were an Irish-Swiss mutt (Sidebar: what a terrible movie. I can’t believe I liked that at one point. Something is wrong with our generation.). I need some kind of facial hair to cover my cross until my journey into Tom Seleck/Ron Jeremy territory is a little more mature. I guess, just like those stars-and-bars-waving rednecks in Virginia, Georgia et al, the South just isn’t ready to concede quite yet.
Crash – It’s time to work on your interviews.
Nuke – My interviews? What do I gotta do?
Crash – You’re gonna have to learn your clichés. You’re gonna have to study them, you’re gonna have to know them. They’re your friends. Write this down: “We gotta play it one day at a time.”
Nuke – Got to play…it’s pretty boring.
Crash – ‘Course it’s boring, that’s the point. Write it down.
It seems to me that there’s always a quote from Bull Durham that applies to my life. I kinda feel like both Crash and Nuke right now—I know I have to take it one day at a time, but in terms of what’s being said to my adoring fans, I want to throw some fastballs out there and announce my presence with authority.
About once every few months, the guys that I go to the bar with in the afternoon and I come up with some absurd gimmick that we’re going to do for a day at work. We’ve done Ugly Sweater Day (where I wore a Cosby-esque sweater that my mom got me for Christmas last year, sorry Mom), Ugly Polo Day, and Ugly Hat Day (for which they told me to wear my Colts hat, hurr hurr hurr). Today is Egregious Spelling Error Day in honor of my predecessor, Randy. Randy got shipped out to Iraq in April, and I took over for him after that. The thing about Randy was that it wasn’t that his spelling was terrible, it’s that he would use the completely wrong word to the point that spell-check thought he was correct when he was, in fact, absolutely wrong. So for the day today, we’ve been BCC-ing each other on all the emails we send out and either get the phonetics completely wrong (e.g. know = gnoh) or use the entirely wrong word (e.g. chutes = shoots). I know it’s not really thrilling news, but any little thing to keep yourself entertained at the rat-race, ewegnohwutImene?
This is my first real foray into the digital world where I’ve allowed my parents to see what’s going on. Until now I’ve been pretty private regarding that whole thing (I only became my mom’s facebook friend because she was so distraught after I got a tattoo that it was the only way I could get her to STFU. Either that, or she played me…). I guess it’s just part of growing up, though. At some point you stop being too cool to hang out with your family.
Crash – What’s wrong?
Nuke – I’m nervous—my old man is here.
Crash – Where?
Nuke – He’s behind home-plate. Don’t look. Don’t look!
Crash – Hey, he’s waving. He’s just your father, man—he’s just as full of shit as anybody.