Archive | 4:17 pm

Pathetic Paper Airplanes AKA The Jeopardy Blog

13 Nov

from January 17, 2008

I had one of those brilliant moments of clarity yesterday. You know the ones I mean, the kind that usually come too late to be of any use. For example, George Costanza two hours later coming up with “the jerk store called and they’re out of you.” (Somehow, just the words “jerk store” have become an insult. I can’t explain it.)

GUY IN CAR YOU JUST HIT: “Hey asshole! Didn’t you see the red light? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

YOU: “Jerk store!”

But I had the moment of clarity at the exact right time. What’s more, it lasted nearly an hour.

I was at the Laundromat last night doing, don’t be shocked now, my laundry. While my laundry was spinning around in the dryers I sat and watched TV. Normally I’d listen to my iPod (iPods rock, but the new Touch makes my video ipod look like betamax.) but I came straight from work and didn’t have it. Jeopardy came on. Jeopardy is maybe the best game show on TV aimed at 70-year olds. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not ragging on Jeopardy, I’m a fan, but since Bob Barker left TV Alex Trebek has had to pick up the workload of being the pin-up favorite of nursing homes across the country. Drew Carey, um, not so much.

I tend to do fairly well on Jeopardy but it is hit or miss. Sometimes the categories fall right and I can answer everything. Sometimes I can answer nothing, but usually I do OK. Last night, wow, last night was great. I answered about 90% of the questions and only missed three. I knew “who was Archduke Franz Ferdinand?” I knew “what is sashimi?” I knew “who was Voltaire?” The final Jeopardy question was “what was Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon?” and I said it before the words had passed out of Alex Trebek’s formerly mustachioed lips.

Cool right? It gets better. There was a guy there also watching the show. Guy was middle aged, about 50, as opposed to the not-quite-yet middle aged 37 but with the soul of a young weird child that I am. He was standing at the other end of the washers. He was dressed in a way that I can’t stand: Red baseball cap. (Yankees, ugh.) Red t-shirt. Red zippered sweat shirt. Red sneakers. The guy looked like one of the Star Trek security guys who get killed before the credits roll. NOTE TO EVERYONE: Dressing all in one color makes you look like a jerk store. Don’t do it.

 Now he was intently watching the show, while I was slouched down in chair reading the paper while I watched. He looked serious, I looked, um, like I usually look, suavely distracted with an aura of mystery. But I was saying the answers out loud. Not loud enough to draw attention to myself, but loudly enough to be heard. I didn’t begin doing it on purpose, but I soon continued on purpose. I was answering almost as an afterthought, barely glancing up from the paper long enough to say “what is cesium?” But the red dude didn’t get as single answer. (If he did he didn’t say anything.) Problem was, Mr. Serious Player started shooting glances my way, slightly angry glances.

I didn’t care. How often do I get a chance to be a Laundromat Jeopardy bully? Come to think of it, how often does anybody get to be a Laundromat Jeopardy bully? I couldn’t stop.

The more I knew the more it bothered the guy. “What is the atomic weight of gold?”  “Who is King Kamehameha?” Clearly, he hated me. At sometime before Double Jeopardy I put my wash in the dryer’ so that when Final Jeopardy came up I was standing only about three feet from the guy. As soon as I had the answer I said it aloud, almost right in the guy’s ear. Being the sensitive type I said it low. (I knew it would piss him off.) To the guys credit, he didn’t say a word, but turned almost as red as his stupid hat.

Before Wheel of Fortune (a show that makes average brains turn to compost) channel 7 did the lottery numbers. The guy said, loudly, to someone near him “I bet that guy hit the numbers too!” He was pissed. And it got worse when I solved all of the Wheel of Fortune puzzles before he did too. (Not a hard thing. That show is crap. But did you ever read Pat Sajak’s blog? Seriously, the guy may be the sanest and most level-headed guy in show business. Who would have guessed?)

Eventually my wash was done, dried, folded, and it was time to leave. On my way out I glanced at another TV, one that was showing The Beverly Hillbillies. Just to annoy the guy, I turned to some random woman near the set and said “they’re showing the one with the kangaroo again?” just to twist the knife in the guy and show him that I know everything.

Don’t feel sorry for the guy, he got what he deserved for dressing so badly.

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I wore my trench coat today.

13 Nov

from January 3, 2008

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea because it was one of the coldest days of the year. (But I’m full of stupid ideas. Remind me to tell you ’bout the time that I thought it would be a good idea to become a teacher.) [HEY! See the parenthesis, apostrophe, brackets, and caps? It’s going to be one of THOSE blogs. Stop reading now.] [Don’t say I didn’t warn you.]

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea (you may have read somewhere) because it was one of the coldest days of the year. And to make it worse I took out the lining so it was a THIN trench coat on one of the coldest days of the year, which you may have heard was a pretty stupid thing to wear on such a day, i.e.: the coldest day of the year so far. Or “thus far.” Will one of the present and/or (heh heh) past English teachers who allegedly read this blog help me out here? “So” far or “thus” far. I got it: It was one of the coldest days of the year up to that point. (Italics.) That’s how I’ll roll.

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea (and I am solidly ignoring this sentence fragment which I am typing for the third time) because it was one of the coldest days of the year up to that point. But today was colder. SHIT!

I wore my trench coat the other day. Which was a pretty stupid idea (and I am still solidly ignoring this sentence fragment which I am typing for the fourth time) because it was one of the coldest days of the year up to that point, until today, which was colder.

Where was I? I am confusing myself. And I haven’t even gotten to the point yet. And what are the chances of that happening before my laptop spontaneously bursts into flame to save itself from having to save this crap on its hard drive?

To  recap:

1- I wore my trench coat.

2- I took out the lining.

3- It was cold.

4- But today was colder.

Yada yada trench coat yada I wore the aforementioned black trench coat (and no, I did not afforemention that it was black. And no, “afforemention” is not a verb. I’m trying to start a trend. Remember how “blog slinging” caught on?)  I also wore black (albeit faded) jeans (albeit?) and black (albeit gray) sneakers (albeit again?) and a black t-shirt (no albeit here) and a nice black shirt (albeit it was blue) and carried a black backpack and it occurred to me that I looked just like one of those “trench coat mafia” guys that shoot up schools, and here I was walking into a school, and all I could think of was “damn it is cold. Why did I wear a trench coat (without the lining) on the coldest day of the year? Up to this point. Although it may be colder on another day soon.” 

But I entered the school without a glance toward me and took out my shotgun and it turned out I really was one of those trench coat mafia guys and- [Hold on a sec, I know the government reads everyone’s blogs and thermostats. DO NOT send the FBI around to break my legs, I’m kidding. I am a merry funster.]

It was warmer in the building, so it turned out I was glad I took out the lining (on such a cold day, coldest of the year, up to that point, etc etc) so I could walk around for a while with the coat billowing out behind me.

I’ve gone on record about capes. Love ’em! (Apostrophe again.) But as I’ve said before, unless you are the late Godfather of Soul James Brown or in drag as Supergirl there is no excuse for wearing a cape. And I am not the late Mr. Brown come back to life, and white, nor am I going to risk an assault by dressing as Supergirl (though I do have the legs for it) so wearing a long trench coat is the closest I can come to legally wearing a cape and pretending to be a superhero.

So, as I said, and if I didn’t repeat myself this blog would have been finished last week, I walked around for a while with the coat billowing out behind me. It was sooooo cool. Unless you were not me and just one of the people in the halls who saw me and thought I was sooooo uncool.  (I was told I looked very gothic, which just proves that people still dig Goths, but who cares she’s cute.) 

In fact, I wanted to keep the black trench coat on all day. Which would have looked silly (but soooo cool) but for the annoying fact that it was actually warm in my room. Who expected a warm room in Lafayette? So, take a guess, what do you think I did? Think carefully now! What did I do? What did I do? Hmmmm?

I took it off, that’s what I did. I was warm. And what fool (me?) wouldn’t take off his coat when it is warm? Even a very cool black gothic-looking trench coat (which had picked up some dust on the bottom, it being so long) without the lining? On the coldest day of the year so far up to that point, etc, in a warm room, though today was both colder outside and warmer inside my room.

This blog is why I get headaches so often.

So I took the coat off, but when I went outside my room, guess what I did? What did I do? What did I do? Hmmmm? I didn’t put it on. Why would you guess that? That would just be silly. And I may be stupid (often) [Hey!] but I am not silly. But it would have been cool, striding the halls, casting a fearsome shadow, cutting a dashing figure, using more descriptive phrases than usual, looking for all the world like a member of the trench coat mafia [Just kidding, FBI! Merry funster and all that.] and just generally being cool as Hell. (A- I am capitalizing Hell, even though I often don’t. B- Why is Hell cool? Shouldn’t Hell be hot? Is this a mixed metaphor thingy? Nah, I am using cool in a totally different sense than temperature. You should have known that. Why do I have to tell you these things?)

But when I left the building I put it on again and damn if it wasn’t still sooooo cool. But it was the coldest [shut up!] and I was freezing my coolness off, not to mention my ass, and I got in the car and pulled out of the laundry bag a big heavy sweater which I wrapped around my trench coat while I sat and shivered until the car warmed up. (Yes, I was going to do the laundry, and damn if I wasn’t the coolest cat in the place.) (“Coolest cat?” Who am I, Sammy Davis Jr. here?)

Well, I love my trench coat. I wonder if it loves me? (Oh my God. That is so lame. ) [So why didn’t I just delete it?] Anywho, or how, anyhow, I put my trench coat away, after brushing the dust off the bottom, and there it awaits until the temperature rises and I once again decide the need to feel pretty. I mean cool. Cool. Until I feel the need to be cool.

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